b'\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nNOVELS BY \n\nHAROLD H. ARMSTRONG \n\nThe Groper, 1919 \nZell, 1921 \n\nFor Richer, For Poorer, 1922 \nThe Red-Blood, 1923 \n\n\n\n/ \n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nA Novel \n\n\nBY \n\nHAROLD H. ARMSTRONG \n\n11 V \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe have divided men into \nRed-bloods and Mollycoddles.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x94G. Lowes Dickinson, \xe2\x80\x9cAppearances.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\ni > \n> > \xc2\xbb \n\n\n> \n\n\nHARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS \n\n\nNEW YORK AND LONDON \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n/ \n\n\nCONTENTS \n\n\nCHAPTER PAGE \n\nPreface .. . ix \n\nBOOK I \n\nI. Two Encounters. 3 \n\nII. The Graveyard. 12 \n\nIII. His Mother. 23 \n\nIV. The Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn.30 \n\nV. He Has a Patient.41 \n\nVI. In the Tent. 52 \n\nVII. The Cult of B. Franklin. 66 \n\nVIII. The Good Book. 75 \n\nIX. Suny Grizard Speaks.83 \n\nX. Amos Milk Bends the Knee.89 \n\nXI. He Presents the Album. 93 \n\nXII. Embarkation . 100 \n\nBOOK II \n\nI. How to Manage Women.107 \n\nII. The Foss Family . I 3 I \n\nIII. More About the Management of Women . . 161 \n\nIV. He Holds On . 185 \n\nV. Jenny. 2I 4 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nVll \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS \nBOOK III \n\n\nI. The Mausoleum.. . .227 \n\nII. Ennui.252 \n\nIII. Frustration.270 \n\nIV. Enticement.285 \n\nV. The Shorn Lamb.298 \n\nVI. The People\'s Paladin. 330 \n\nBOOK IV \n\nI. The Good Scout.355 \n\nII. The Gay Gossoon.388 \n\nIII. Misgivings. 410 \n\nIV. The Rarer Altitudes. 435 \n\nV. Peripety.447 \n\nBOOK V \n\n\nI. You Are Old, Father William . \nII. When Life Slips Its Tether . \n\n\n. 465 \n\xe2\x80\xa2 472 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE \n\n\nThere is something rather comical, I suppose, in my \npresent decision to write a biography of my grandfather, \nthe late Hon. Wellington Dennison McNicol. \n\nFor he and I are highly antithetical types. My grand\xc2\xac \nfather in many ways was both ignorant and vulgar, and \nconsequently quite en rapport with the life about him; \nI am hyperfastidious, aloof, book learned\xe2\x80\x94and miserably \nout of joint with the man on the street. He drew his wis\xc2\xac \ndom fresh from raw life, while I have ludicrously con\xc2\xac \ntinued attempting to fit life into the resonant copy-book \ntheories of what life ought to be. My grandfather \nfocused instinctively upon making money, being success\xc2\xac \nful, getting himself elected to office\xe2\x80\x94and I sit in my small \nroom among my books, a perfect specimen of dry rot, \nand speculate concerning the relative ethical values of \nselfishness and unselfishness. \n\nWhy then should I stay out of bed nights to write a \nbiography of him? I\xe2\x80\x94who never really knew him, and \nmust, therefore, often eke out meager hearsay with \ndubious inference? \n\nFirst, because, being so different from myself, he \nabsorbs me. The two types will always exist: the con\xc2\xac \nstructive and the destructive; the creative and the criti\xc2\xac \ncal. One must do, the other see. Each is indispensable \n\xe2\x80\x94and curiously interesting\xe2\x80\x94to the other. And yet the \noddest aspect of my grandfather\xe2\x80\x99s character is the curi\xc2\xac \nous blending of the two types in him. Predominantly, of \ncourse, he was a doer, a constructor; yet always lurking \n\nix \n\n\n\nX \n\n\nPREFACE \n\n\nin the background, ready to emerge at the strangest and \nmost inconvenient times, hovered this other self, this \ninexplicable strain of cloudy temperament, this strange \nblur of idealism, of starved Celtic sentimentalism. Note, \nfor example, the incredible streak of political utopianism \nthat brought his public career to so disastrous a con\xc2\xac \nclusion. \n\nIn the second place, I have a genuine affection for \nhim. The life essence was in him, and he had certain \nindubitable propria of greatness. A certain marred \nnobility\xe2\x80\x94yes, in the larger sense, he was even a good \nman. And because I have this affection for him, to some \nextent I understand him. I want to explain him, to wipe \nout some of the ignorant judgments of his memory. I \nwant to paint a three-dimensional portrait of him\xe2\x80\x94per\xc2\xac \nhaps even a fourth-dimensional! He has been dead now \na scant twenty years, yet there survives to posterity no \nauthentic record of him\xe2\x80\x94save that staring bronze statue \non Belle Isle. Authentic? That stiff forensic pose, that \narched chest, that sanctimoniously unruffled brow\xe2\x80\x94 \nauthentic? Oh, my beloved grandfather! They have \nmade you out a pitiful thing of virtue and cold metal. \nWhere is that warmly beating heart of yours, that mortal \nflesh and blood, that crude force, that errant passion\xe2\x80\x94 \nthat was you? \n\nAgain, I have a very real admiration for that latter \nnineteenth-century era. Nothing brings a more poignant \nemotion to my breast than to turn over the pages of \nHarper\xe2\x80\x99s Weekly or some other illustrated periodical of \nthat bygone age. Those marvelous whiskers, those for\xc2\xac \nmidable bustles! Those belching locomotives! That \npervading air of steam-heat morality! Somehow, to me, \nthe period seems youthful. Late self-conscious youth, if \nyou will, but none the less youth\xe2\x80\x94the precursor of that \n\n\nPREFACE \n\n\nxi \n\n\nfleshy disillusioned middle age upon which this nation \nnow seems embarked. Yes, I admire both those times \nand the people who vitalized them. We have not marched \nthence so many parasangs as w T e like to imagine. The \nyoung bucks of 1950 will fairly snort at us. Life is \ncomparison. \n\nAnd lastly, I expect to get a good deal of pleasure out \nof writing the book. That, I dare say, is my principal \nmotive. A hope of surcease from the self-accusation of \nlonely sterile hours. A vehicle of expression\xe2\x80\x94something \nto justify me to myself. Without that, a man dies. \n\nIt suffices. \xe2\x80\x9cAndiam! Incoviinciate!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWellington McNicol Pasco. \n\nDetroit, 1922. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nN. \n\n\nBOOK ONE: HIS RESOLVES \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nBOOK ONE: HIS RESOLVES \n\n\nCHAPTER I \n\n\nTWO ENCOUNTERS \n\n\nI \n\n\nS he reached the top of this last and steepest Cana- \n\n\n\ndian hill, his eyes left the oncoming thundercloud \nand rested upon the muddy road that now abruptly came \ninto view. Two hundred yards ahead he saw a horse \nand buckboard, and a driver curiously bent forward. \nThe horse\xe2\x80\x94palpably scrawny, even at this distance\xe2\x80\x94 \nstood still; and now the man in the buckboard sat slowly \nupright. But his face was still invisible, being totally \neclipsed by the bottom of the two-gallon jug which he \nstraightway began to decant into the customary orifice. \n\nThe scowl of unconscious fatigue deepened slightly on \nthe pedestrian\xe2\x80\x99s face. A familiar enough spectacle: some \ngawk of a farmer jolting home from the Cartwright mill \nand distillery, already well liquored up with the whisky \nhis tailings had paid for\xe2\x80\x94yet he hated it obscurely. He \nhad no objection to whisky; everyone drank it, including \nhimself; his medical education, in fact, proved it indispen\xc2\xac \nsable. But this dull sottishness\xe2\x80\x94the wastefulness of it! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDamned sawney!\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered, and thought fleetingly \nof his father. \n\n\n3 \n\n\n4 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHe continued to plod on through the viscous mire, his \nscrutiny constantly reverting to the buckboard ahead. \nHe remarked the absence of the usual worn-out farmer\xe2\x80\x99s \nwife, dumbly awaiting her master\xe2\x80\x99s pleasure; and it oc\xc2\xac \ncurred to him as odd that the man should have been \nbartering grain for whisky in April. \n\nThe carefully wrapped photograph album, a present \nfor Minnie Onweller, slid from under his relaxed left \narm and splashed into a scummy puddle. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the Lord Harry!\xe2\x80\x9d He quickly deposited his bag \nand new medicine case, and rescued the album. Then, \nthrough his dismayed preoccupation, he heard a peculiar \nsniggering laugh that somehow contrived to stir up in \nhim all his deepest hatreds. \n\nHe looked up quickly from the soiled photograph \nalbum and saw the ancient buckboard approaching him, \nsome twenty feet away. His scowl became formidable \nwhen he perceived that the driver was Aleck Grizard; \nhis whole body braced for the encounter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhoa!\xe2\x80\x9d Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s intent was amiable enough, it \nseemed. He reached for the jug under the seat, pulled \nout the twisted paper plug. \xe2\x80\x9cJoin me, Denny McNicol? \nNo? Then I\xe2\x80\x99ll take a swig mysel\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAgain the upturned chalice. The young man in the \nroad could see the drinker\xe2\x80\x99s bony Adam\xe2\x80\x99s apple rising \nconvulsively under the elevated mass of red beard. God! \nHow he would like to seize that raw throat in both his \nhands! But he stood impassive an instant, then silently \ngathered his bags and started on. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHey, there! W T ait a minute!\xe2\x80\x9d Grizard almost dropped \nthe jug. The younger man was now directly opposite \nthe buckboard. He could have reached out and struck \nthat crafty, stealthily cruel face\xe2\x80\x94yes, and gouged out \nthose watery, slinking little eyes. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve naught to say to you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTWO ENCOUNTERS \n\n\n5 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, happen I hiv to you, Denny. Better call you \nDoc McNicol now, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d He laughed in his whining way, \nand McNicol stirred uneasily. \xe2\x80\x9cHappen I\xe2\x80\x99ve just been \nlooking for you in town, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell?\xe2\x80\x9d He frowned at the black horse\xe2\x80\x99s pitiably \nconcave buttock. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLike to \xe2\x80\x99ve been your first patient, Doc. Yes, sir. \nLearn anything \xe2\x80\x99bout confinement cases while you been \nin school? \xe2\x80\x99Cause the woman\xe2\x80\x99s having another baby.\xe2\x80\x9d \nOnce more his rankling chuckle. \xe2\x80\x9cShe wanted me t\xe2\x80\x99 git \nyou, but your ma didn\xe2\x80\x99t know when you\xe2\x80\x99d be coming. \nSo I got Doc Milk.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYoung McNicol thrust his slightly flushed face forward \nan inch or two. \xe2\x80\x9cBefore I\xe2\x80\x99d budge, Grizard, you and \nyours could burn in hell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow that come, Denny?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cScars on my back from your poker. D\xe2\x80\x99you fancy I\xe2\x80\x99ve \nforgotten?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s anger was getting beyond control; \nof its own accord, his right fist trembled near that odious \nface. \xe2\x80\x9cMy turn\xe2\x80\x99s coming some day not so far off\xe2\x80\x94d\xe2\x80\x99you \nhear?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Twas all for your soul\xe2\x80\x99s best good, my boy. The \nLord came to me and commanded me to save you from \neverlasting damnation-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol had crowded in between the buckboard\xe2\x80\x99s \nwheels; his face, beginning to be contorted with passion, \nwas not a foot away from Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd did the Lord tell you to beat me and call me \nbastard?\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted. \xe2\x80\x9cSome day I\xe2\x80\x99ll be killing you for \nthat!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt this, Grizard leaned slightly back, and with sur\xc2\xac \nprising celerity reached into the interior of his heavy \nfullcloth coat and produced a pistol, which he leveled at \nhis assailant. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStill Satan\xe2\x80\x99s own,\xe2\x80\x9d he jeered. \xe2\x80\x9cHappen I\xe2\x80\x99d best put \n\n\n\n6 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\na shot through your belly\xe2\x80\x94in self-defense.\xe2\x80\x9d His eyes \nwere cunningly meditative. \xe2\x80\x9cBastard!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe youth at the side of the buckboard was aware of \na sensation of creeping life along the top of his skull. \nBut he was so replete with fury there seemed no room \nfor fear. He decided to hurl himself upon Grizard, risk\xc2\xac \ning the bullet. \n\n\nii \n\nIn that pregnant instant they both became conscious \nof the impact of hoofs on the road, and each cautiously \nglancing around, perceived a top buggy careening rapidly \nnearer. \n\nGrizard\xe2\x80\x99s gloating smile disappeared in a last flicker \nof indecision. He replaced the pistol and had brief resort \nto the whisky jug. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHurry up, Doc,\xe2\x80\x9d he called to the now adjacent rig, \nand with a final truculent glance at his late antagonist, \ndrove on. \n\nUnder ordinary circumstances, McNicol would have \ngrinned his pleasure at seeing Dr. Amos Milk, after a \nseparation of nearly two years; and he might at the very \nleast have been expected to express some grateful appre\xc2\xac \nciation to his rescuer. Instead he stood a moment longer, \nstaring implacably after the buckboard. \n\nDoctor Milk\'s wheezing voice recalled him. \xe2\x80\x9cHaving \nsome trouble, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol turned about sullenly. \xe2\x80\x9cHe would have shot \nme.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEh, what\xe2\x80\x99s that? Shot you! \xe2\x80\x9d Doctor Milk, ever since \nhis protege could remember, had suffered from some \naffliction of the vocal cords; it required a definite mus\xc2\xac \ncular effort for him to produce the semblance of a voice; \nand even so, the result was a most singular frayed and \nbreathy falsetto gasp. \n\n\nTWO ENCOUNTERS \n\n\n7 \n\nAbruptly there entered his owlish eyes the glint of \nrecognition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Denny McNicol, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinking.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe scowling youth\xe2\x80\x99s faculties slowly reconverged. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, Doctor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDidn\xe2\x80\x99t know you at first,\xe2\x80\x9d strained the venerable \nMilk\xe2\x80\x99s earnest voice. \n\nMcNicol by this time was able to look at his medical \npreceptor with friendly curiosity. For two years, before \nhe had entered the medical school of the University of \nMichigan, Doctor Milk and he had maintained the rela\xc2\xac \ntionship of teacher and pupil. By day and by night \nthey had ridden about the country together in this self\xc2\xac \nsame old top buggy, behind this very strong, if inelegant, \ngray mare, the meanwhile Doctor Milk issued pearls of \ntheoretical and practical wisdom. Twenty months ago, \nthe physician had scrawled out the coveted certificate for \nthe university authorities. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, Doctor. A bad penny always shows up, you \nknow.\xe2\x80\x9d The young medical graduate was beginning to \nsmile again. It gave him a curious sense of perspective, \na realization of the lapse of time, to come thus upon the \nancient Milk. Long before his apprenticeship was over, \nhe had achieved an amused condescension for the old \nman. Milk was no doctor, he felt; had no science, no \ncurative faculty, at all. Practically, he could handle the \nordinary ailments of the little Ontario community; but he \nwas no better than a midwife, an ignorant old woman \nwith a little dangerous knowledge. And now\xe2\x80\x94to the \nyoung graduate, fresh from the founts of knowledge\xe2\x80\x94 \nold Milk was a prodigious joke as a physician. Person\xc2\xac \nally, however, he still cherished some contemptuous affec\xc2\xac \ntion for the decrepit bachelor. \n\nAs he stood in the rich ooze of the road, shaking hands, \nhe could, in fact, scarcely help laughing outright. Doc \n\n\n8 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMilk was so consciously and heavily solemn. By look\xc2\xac \ning the part of a venerable wise man, he made the people \nbelieve he was genuinely sapient. He never appeared \nwithout his dilapidated frock coat and his ancient bell\xc2\xac \nshaped top hat. Yet of late years his hold had loosened. \nEven before his pupil\xe2\x80\x99s departure, a few people had begun \nto commit the sacrilege of ridicule. Certainly that impos\xc2\xac \ning fringe of yellowish-white whiskers under his round \nchin, those learned spectacles halfway down his red- \ntipped nose, that small tight mouth, those round, curi\xc2\xac \nously burnished Scotch eyes, could never fool McNicol \nagain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou old quack!\xe2\x80\x9d he silently addressed his quondam \nmentor. \n\nYet this was the man who had first thrilled him with \nthe flaming ambition to become a doctor! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99ve you been?\xe2\x80\x9d he asked, simulating his old def\xc2\xac \nerence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRight well\xe2\x80\x94but busy. Too busy to cough.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis, McNicol recalled, was one of the physician\xe2\x80\x99s \nthree jokes, and he laughed appreciatively. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the \nnews in town?\xe2\x80\x9d For the instant he found himself pre\xc2\xac \noccupied with the bulbous end of Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s long \nnose\xe2\x80\x94more particularly, with the tiny purple veins that \nrose to its red surface so profusely, there to expire \nabruptly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo serious cases just now. Ain\xe2\x80\x99t nobody died since \nyour small brother.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol nodded, a little sadly. \xe2\x80\x9cMy mother wrote \nme.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSorry I had to lose him.\xe2\x80\x9d The old physician\xe2\x80\x99s shallow \nconcern at once flowed into a deeper instinct of self\xc2\xac \njustification. \xe2\x80\x9cThe only patient I\xe2\x80\x99ve lost this year. On \nmy way now to see Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s woman. Ay, I\xe2\x80\x99m \nbusy. My practice was never so large.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTWO ENCOUNTERS \n\n\n9 \n\n\nThe way he issued the word \xe2\x80\x9cpractice,\xe2\x80\x9d the slight \ntilting back of his senescent head, the perceptible \nwidening of his misty eyes, gave his young disciple \nsome prescience of the impending skirmish. Truly it \nwas a somewhat difficult situation. Doctor Milk had \ngiven him his start, in a way; there was that slight debt, \neven though he felt he had more than repaid the obliga\xc2\xac \ntion. Yet now he was returning to Cartwright, young, \ninfinitely better trained, ten times more competent, to \nfilch the old man\xe2\x80\x99s patients away from him, if he could. \nIf he could! His slow sense of humor began leavening \nhis tetchiness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGlad to hear of it,\xe2\x80\x9d he responded, with becoming \ngravity. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve thought all along there ought to be two \ndoctors here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was royal comedy to watch old Milk\xe2\x80\x99s bleary face \nstruggle valiantly against his anxiety. He moved his \nlower jaw up and down slightly; for the instant, with his \npensile hooked nose and crisp whiskers rather short and \nupcurling, he was an extremely apprehensive Punch. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNay, nay, Denny\xe2\x80\x94I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t go so far as that. I \ncan tend to it all.\xe2\x80\x9d Doubtless the old fish conceived \nhe was being very crafty. \xe2\x80\x9cI was intending to write \nyou. I hear there\xe2\x80\x99s a good opening for a green young \nfellow down at Elora. My advice is for you to go \nthere and bury your mistakes. Maybe in five or ten \nyears-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis condescension was stupendous. Young Doctor \nMcNicol, himself none too agile mentally, had the un\xc2\xac \nusual and pleasurably feline sensation of toying with an \ninferior, mouselike intellect. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve given it thought myself,\xe2\x80\x9d he countered, with an \nexpression of conscientious uncertainty. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd I always \nend in wondering what keeps you here. Cartwright\xe2\x80\x99s all \nwell enough for a young chap like myself, but for a man \n\n\n\n10 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nof your professional reputation! You ought to go to \nGuelph\xe2\x80\x94or why not Toronto? Even London? Why, \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re known all over Europe!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had not intended to spread it on so thick; he \nstopped and watched Amos Milk\xe2\x80\x99s pale eyes doubtfully. \n\nBut the old sham scarcely blinked. He believed it, \nor at least he thought his junior believed it. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh yes, I dare say.\xe2\x80\x9d He defied the press of business, \nand took time to cough. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve had letters from the other \nside, of course\xe2\x80\x94but duty comes first with a man like me. \nMy patients hereabouts wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t hear on it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe unmitigated hypocrite! Yet even as McNicol \nscoffed he was taking note of the old man\xe2\x80\x99s distinctive \nmanner of speech, only partially abraded by the dialect, \nhalf Scotch, half provincial Canadian, that pervaded \nWellington County. Fresh from twenty months in the \nStates, he could distinguish such things. Doctor Milk, \nhe knew, had had advantages as a boy; he had traveled \nall over Europe before emigrating to the Dominion. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA fine lot of patients for a physician of your stand\xc2\xac \ning,\xe2\x80\x9d he nevertheless pursued. \xe2\x80\x9cGrizard, for example. \nA fat fee you\xe2\x80\x99ll get out of him for your night\xe2\x80\x99s work.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDoctor Milk seemed a bit crestfallen. \xe2\x80\x9cA new patient \nhe is.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI reckon so. Surprised he\xe2\x80\x99d even call a doctor for \nhis wife.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cKind of worried for once,\xe2\x80\x9d explained Milk. \xe2\x80\x9cShe \nalmost died when the last baby came. Kidney poisoning, \nmy diagnosis.\xe2\x80\x9d It was ludicrous how his difficult wheez\xc2\xac \ning sounds lent everything he said an air of profound \nearnestness. \xe2\x80\x9cBut they\xe2\x80\x99re not all Aleck Grizards. The \nGough family, now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGough?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy. Came here while you\xe2\x80\x99ve been gone. Own the \nmill now. Rich. Big new house. And say, Denny\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94he \n\n\nTWO ENCOUNTERS \n\n\nii \n\n\nleaned over with confidential waggishness, till his listener \nmust draw back to avoid being enmeshed in the reticula\xc2\xac \ntion of that venerable white beard\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cwait till you see \nyoung Jenny Gough. I\xe2\x80\x99m a-tell. ; n\xe2\x80\x99 you the Onweller girl \nhad best watch out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was not displeased. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll see about that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDoctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s proximity to his former student gave \nhim another thought. With paternal familiarity he drew \naside the younger man\xe2\x80\x99s coat and reached for one of the \ncheroots that protruded from a waistcoat pocket. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe mentor\xe2\x80\x99s tithe,\xe2\x80\x9d Milk laughed breathily and \ndecapitated the cheroot with deplorable fangs. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, \nmust be jogging along now.\xe2\x80\x9d He became solemnly appre\xc2\xac \nhensive once more. \xe2\x80\x9cBest think over that opening in \nElora. No room for you here, Denny boy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt so happened that Dr. Wellington Dennison McNicol \nhad come back home with a disturbing doubt in his \nmind; a profound skepticism whether, after all these long \nlaborious years of preparation, he still really wanted to \npractice medicine; a half-expressed, dim desire to throw \nhis new profession into the scuppers and go back to the \nadventure, the wide-roving opportunity, of the States. \nHe had intended to tell Doctor Milk something of all this \nuncertainty, but his preceptor\xe2\x80\x99s dull condescension, the \nchallenge to his own abilities, made him hesitate. Then, \ntoo\xe2\x80\x94the rare fun of keeping the old boy on the anxious \nseat a while longer! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, Doctor\xe2\x80\x94here I am and here I stay. Even if I \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t make a shilling a twelvemonth, it\xe2\x80\x99s worth while to \nme\xe2\x80\x94just the opportunity of seeing a great physician like \nyourself at work.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCHAPTER II \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\nI \n\nCTILL merry with inward amusement, he surveyed \n^ Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s departing buggy a moment longer; \nthen, his face settling again into its habitual belligerent \nintentness, he plowed on through the mud once more. \nHis heavy stoga boots were encysted in the sticky stuff, \nand even the nethermost six inches of his tight tweed \ntrousers. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA damn\xe2\x80\x99 fool for coming over to-night,\xe2\x80\x9d he swore \naloud. Much wiser to have waited for the Drayton mail \nwagon to-morrow morning. This impatience, this never \nsatisfied restlessness of his, was forever thus catching him \nup, miring him. \n\nHis displeasure was in no way abated by the increasing \ncertainty of rain. The storm-cloud encroached rapidly \non the fresh, slightly inclement west wind. \n\nWhen he came to the Cartwright graveyard he deter\xc2\xac \nmined to cut through it, thus saving himself the long \nwalk around by the road and affording himself some shel\xc2\xac \nter should the storm break. \n\nAs he carefully deposited his bags and that precious \nalbum on the other side of the zigzagging rail fence and \nwas in the act of throwing one leg over the top rail, his \neye caught a white blur some eight feet up on the trunk \n\nof the fir tree that stood just inside the graveyard fence. \n\n12 \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\n\n13 \n\n\nHe retraced a few steps. The white blur resolved itself \ninto a cardboard placard; on it he read: \n\nPROFESSOR EVANTUREL\xe2\x80\x99S \n\nMammoth Medical Exposition and Minstrel Show \n\nAt Cartwright, April 16-21, 1863 \nSee the Latest Discoveries of the Scientific World! \n\nAdmittance Free. Come One, Come All! \n\nThe time and place were in a red-crayon scrawl; the \nrest was printed in bold-faced type. \n\nMcNicoPs first interest, slightly amused, was turning \ninto obscure rancor even before he had once more thrown \nhis leg over the graveyard fence. He was not given to \nself-analysis; his prejudices, deep seated and powerful as \nthey were, seemed frequently inexplicable. Halfway over \nthe fence, his peculiar resentment had so possessed him \nthat he dextrously mounted the top rail, snatched Pro\xc2\xac \nfessor EvanturePs poster from the fir trunk, then\xe2\x80\x94on \nthe ground again\xe2\x80\x94tore it to small pieces and threw it \ninto the A.pril wind. \n\nCharacteristically, his justifications followed action. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhite-livered humbugs!\xe2\x80\x9d His broad, surprisingly \nfull mouth drew even farther down at the comers. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd \nin a cemetery!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCharacteristically also, once having discharged his \ninstinct into action, he straightway forgot the episode. \nAnother recollection overran his mind vividly. It seemed \nhe could never traverse the ancient burial ground without \nencountering this poignant arresting specter of his boy\xc2\xac \nhood. The graveyard seemed not to have changed in the \nslightest particular during the intervening fifteen years. \nHe trod the same dead discouraged grass competing \n\n\n\n\n14 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nunsuccessfully with the smothering quilt of pine and hem\xc2\xac \nlock needles; this same soft path cutting across the rear \nof the small plot. He beheld the same neglected weather\xc2\xac \nworn flat headstones, leaning obliquely forward or back\xc2\xac \nward, wistfully staring at the earth or sky. On some \ngraves, the ruins of wreaths and potted flowers, which \nmight indeed have been there the night of that frantic \npassionate runaway escape of his. \n\nA raindrop struck his hand, clenched fiercely around \nthe handle of his medicine case, unnoticed. That handle \nwas Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s corded throat; his hand grew white \nwith the fierceness of compression. \n\nHe stopped short. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBastard!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGrizard\xe2\x80\x99s hot little eyes stared at him. His mind \nskipped back from this last tense encounter to the squalid \nlog cabin five miles south in the woods; Suny Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s \nwhite, imploring face; the sting of the crooked poker end \nupon his back and legs; Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s frenzied face\xe2\x80\x94 \nand that mysterious, ugly word, heaped upon him with \neach blow. \n\nFor a moment he stood stark in the unperceived, gently \naugmented susurrus of the spring rain. The eyes were \nclosed, as if from the pungency of that bitter recollection; \nbut above them, his broad low forehead, slightly knobbed \nover each brow, intimated a certain indomitable resolute\xc2\xac \nness; so, too, underneath, the high cheek-bones rising \nfrom the hollow of his cheeks, and the heavy, insensitive \njaw. His whole figure, only average in size, but muscu- \nlarly close-fibered\xe2\x80\x94swaying slightly now with the inten\xc2\xac \nsity of his emotions\xe2\x80\x94seemed to give off an almost visible \neffluence of young and irresistible strength. \n\nThe flux of feeling passed off. His eyes, when he \nopened them, chanced to be resting directly, almost fate\xc2\xac \nfully, upon a white handkerchief at one side of the path \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\n\ni5 \n\nahead. Dully he picked it up, became slowly aware \nof the counter-irritant of curiosity. A woman\xe2\x80\x99s hand\xc2\xac \nkerchief, round and small, of fine linen, bordered with \nValenciennes lace, yielding a faint perfume. A girl\xe2\x80\x99s \nhandkerchief, not a woman\xe2\x80\x99s\xe2\x80\x94young feminine vanity \namong moldering gravestones. \n\nHe studied the embroidered monogram. \xe2\x80\x9cG. J.\xe2\x80\x9d Per\xc2\xac \nhaps \xe2\x80\x9cJ. G.\xe2\x80\x9d He had by now quite lost his bitterness of \nmood. Who was she? He reflected, heavily, it could not \nbe Minnie Onw^eller; her handkerchiefs would not be \nof such extravagant fineness, either. \xe2\x80\x9cG. J.\xe2\x80\x9d He began \nrecalling the names of the various girls of the town. \nPleasing sentimental implications pricked him; he had \na vision of himself, a Prince Charming, romantically \nsearching for his Cartwright Cinderella. \n\nWater seeped through the cloth cap to his scalp; he \nrealized abruptly it was raining hard. Ahead, the woods \ngrew denser again, and as he ran forward he remem\xc2\xac \nbered the shelter at the far end of the graveyard where \nas a runaway boy he had slept all night. He could see \nit now, two pine trees whose trunks oddly crossed fifteen \nfeet above the ground, and the protective roof of their \nthickly intermeshed lower branches. \n\nBut as he rounded a final slight twist in the path he \nheard the sharp crepitation of broken branches, saw two \nfigures hurriedly emerge from beneath the crisscrossed \ntrees. He stopped short and stared. The black thunder\xc2\xac \ncloud overhead had intensified the habitual obscurity of \nthe woods, and there were intervening patches of under\xc2\xac \ngrowth; but as the two figures quickly disappeared down \nthe path, he descried that one was a young woman. \n\nHe took possession of the shelter, smiling grimly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSorry\xe2\x80\x94but my best thanks!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe could not be certain, but there had been a certain \nguiltiness in their quick flight; and in his first view of \n\n\ni6 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthem, a suggestion of sudden standing apart from each \nother. The savor of scandal possessed him. Who were \nthey? He had not recognized either of them; their \napparel, in fact, intimated they were not natives of the \ndistrict. The man had worn a brown bowler hat and a \nlong coat; the woman a dark gray pelisse. But what had \nthey been up to? No woman of gentility took cross\xc2\xac \ncountry walks in these days when a certain delicate sickli\xc2\xac \nness was deemed the vogue; yet the girl definitely did \nsuggest gentility to McNicol. \n\nSlowly he stared down at the round frippery of the \nlace handkerchief. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo\xe2\x80\x94ho!\xe2\x80\x9d He nodded with profound astuteness. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, my queen, I\'m afraid your fine feathers are in \nfor a wetting.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFor the rain had become a torrent. Few drops per\xc2\xac \ncolated to him, but he was near enough the edge of the \nlimestone escarpment to discern the open space of the \nunderlying valley, to catch some sense of vast inunda\xc2\xac \ntion. All at once, a terrific report dazed him; a flash of \nvolatile flame danced before his eves; the whole forest \nseemed to shrink from some appalling blow. The cata- \nclvsmic vibrations died awav; not more than twoscore feet \naway he could see a stricken electrocuted hemlock, its \nbark stripped off in a long spiral groove, still standing \nin mute death agony. \n\nDoctor McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s nerves were sound; the tragic over\xc2\xac \ntones escaped his ear: he could even smile. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYet some fools tell you the safest place is under a \ntree,\xe2\x80\x9d\' he muttered. \n\nAnd there had been just such a storm, he recalled, that \nApril night fifteen years ago. Yes, here it was precisely \nthat he had shivered with cold and wet, and fitfully slept. \nThe shelter was identical\xe2\x80\x94yet now he was vaguely con\xc2\xac \nscious of changes. That fresh monument ten feet away, \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\n\n17 \n\n\nfor example, and those four footstones nearer. Looking \nabout, he saw other stones, not yet time-eroded, and \nremembered he was in the newer part of the graveyard. \n\nThe monument near him was a poor-enough thing, \na truncated column some five feet high; but what slowly \nriveted him was the name embossed in large characters \nalong its base, under the graven open book and the \nmotto, \xe2\x80\x9cAsleep in Jesus.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe name was, quite unmistakably: \n\nMCNICOL \n\nOf course\xe2\x80\x94he nodded his head knowingly\xe2\x80\x94the new \nfamily monument his mother had written him about, with \njust the faintest touch of pride showing through her grief. \nBut the queer coincidence of it\xe2\x80\x94that this very spot, so \nacutely a part of himself, should have become the family \nburial ground. Perhaps one day, he too\xe2\x80\x94. Phlegmatic as \nhe was, the thing took hold of him. \n\nThe rain had slackened for the moment, and he ap\xc2\xac \nproached the footstones curiously, vaguely wondering \nwhy there were four. He drubbed his memory. No, only \ntwo of the family had died. \n\nThe first stone bore the words: \n\nbaby\xe2\x80\x94 1856 \n\nHis little sister who had died in infancy. He could not \neven recall her name. \n\nThe next: \n\n\nThen: \n\n\nFATHER \n1820\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMOTHER \n\n1819- \n\n\ni8 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nGrave markers for the yet-alive! He thought it a little \ngruesome, some odd perversion of vanity. His mother, \nhe fancied, would doubtless set great store on that pitiful \nlittle proof of her existence. But his scoffing, errant \nfather! How he would laugh, bitterly, if he knew of it. \n\nMcNicol half expected the last footstone w T ould be \ndedicated to himself; but this was the inscription: \n\nANGUS \n\n1855-1863 \n\nHis brother, carried off not two months ago with some \nstrange intestinal inflammation. Perhaps he might have \nsaved him if he had been here; but old Milk! He snorted \ncontemptuously. \n\nHis sneer faded out into a very genuine grief. He had \nfancied Angus more than any of the other children. \nHe remembered his curly hair, his bright, intelligent eye\xe2\x80\x94 \na certain promise of quick-wittedness, of joyousness, quite \napart from the stolid quality of the others. And now, \na fresh grave. \n\nA final spurt of rain, a sudden access of wind, sent him \nback to his shelter. Startled, he heard a faint and in\xc2\xac \nfinitely plaintive moaning overhead; it issued, he soon \nperceived, from the close, slightly undulating embrace of \nthose still youthful pine trees; yet he continued to stare \nupward at the mournful sound, captivated. The com\xc2\xac \nplaining ceased. He glanced about him once more, his \nthick sensibilities strangely pierced; his eyes flitted from \nother new gravestones back to his small brother\xe2\x80\x99s. At \nthat, a sharp gust of departing wind twitched from the \nreluctant pines an angrier, more resentful note; and all \nat once the air seemed full of the fierce echoing protests \nof the young untimely dead. \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\n\n19 \n\n\nHe shook himself free with an effort. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBetter clear out of this,\xe2\x80\x9d he grunted. \n\nAbruptly the setting sun enkindled the woods to a \nmahogany glow, and he stepped forth through shadows \nthat were almost purple into another world, a more char\xc2\xac \nacteristic mood. \n\n\n11 \n\nA mood of strong self-assurance, of courage and am\xc2\xac \nbition. The view from the brink of the limestone escarp\xc2\xac \nment, on which he now paused and again deposited his \nluggage, had always evoked such emotions. Thrice be\xc2\xac \nfore in his life he had stood thus, looking out over the \nvalley toward the town; once as a terror-stricken runa\xc2\xac \nway boy of eight years; next as a nineteen-year-old school\xc2\xac \nteacher, astir with the new ambition to become a doctor; \nthen, two years later, a gawky young man, faring forth \nindecisively toward the States and the University of \nMichigan. And each time, this steep promontory with \nits Olympian perspective had curiously revivified his \nhope, hardened his resolution. The escarpment commem\xc2\xac \norated the epochs of his career; from its bold crest he \ncould survey the course of his life thus far, just as he \nsurveyed the panoramic sweep of the earth beneath\xe2\x80\x94yes, \ncould dimly but surely seem to chart the years ahead. \n\nHis gaze, becoming less preoccupied, mounted slowly \nfrom the narrow angular Conestoga River, choked with \nrain, overflowing at intervals, coursing obliquely south- \nwestward across the valley; skimmed over the town, and \ncame to rest upon the gradual compensating rise of the \ncountry beyond. The view was superb just now; the \nrain-washed air seemed liquidly magnifying. Between \npatches of pine forests he could scan the open clearances. \nDue north, directly in line with the village, arose a \nrounded hilltop, thrice as high as the cliff on which he \n\n\n20 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nstood and perhaps five miles distant: Mount Judah, they \ncalled it; and something of its noble boldness always \ncaught him. Farther east, he identified the gloomy leaf\xc2\xac \nless mass of a familiar sugar bush; then, against this \nsomber background, a farmhouse, standing out whitely \npoignant in the residue of sunlight. \n\nFollowing the Conestoga back toward the town, his \neye halted on an unfamiliar landmark\xe2\x80\x94what appeared \nto be a new brick house, directly east and across the \nstream from the Cartwright mill. The grove of poplars \nin which it stood had long been one of the curiosities \nof the vicinity, but this square sorrel edifice, seemingly \nenormous, must have replaced the small log hut that \nhad shrunk back among the trees since his earliest recol\xc2\xac \nlection. \n\nThe new Gough house, undoubtedly. He recalled Doc\xc2\xac \ntor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s impressed accents. And this glamorous new \ngirl\xe2\x80\x94he searched his memory for her name\xe2\x80\x94Jenny \nGough. With an unusually rapid association of ideas, he \nstared down at the fragile bit of handkerchief. \xe2\x80\x9cJ. G.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo that\xe2\x80\x99s how it is!\xe2\x80\x9d he murmured. \n\nWalking in the cemetery with a man! No, not even \nwalking. He grinned, a thought salaciously; yet already \nhe was obscurely disappointed, thwarted\xe2\x80\x94permeated with \na sense of envious suspicion. Who was the man with her? \n\nBut his darkened glance had drifted across the Cone\xc2\xac \nstoga to the mill and the adjacent distillery\xe2\x80\x94her father \nowned them now\xe2\x80\x94and thence to the low, unpainted frame \nstructure, conveniently close to the distillery, the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s \nInn. The hotel faced the other way; but on either side \nhe could detect black specks of rigs, immobilely awaiting \ntheir owners\xe2\x80\x99 return from the barroom within. He had \nan instant\xe2\x80\x99s visualization of that long narrow chamber \nof conviviality, crowded, doubtless, even at this time of \nday with farmers and town loafers pouring down raw \n\n\nTHE GRAVEYARD \n\n\n21 \n\n\nwhisky; and again his mouth curved down at the corners. \nIt would be strange, he avowed, if his father was not \nthere, waiting to be dragged home. \n\nThe sun had gone; and realizing his time was brief, \nhe passed on to the rest of the town\xe2\x80\x94over familiar \nhouses: Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s, Reverend Cockburn\xe2\x80\x99s, the On- \nwellers\xe2\x80\x99; the general store, George Boole\xe2\x80\x99s blacksmith \nshop, the ashery, the cooper shop, the stubby tower of \nthe Methodist church, the log schoolhouse where he had \nearned the money for his medical course\xe2\x80\x94until at last \nhe came upon his own home, facing him from a slight \neminence in the westerly part of the town, small, in\xc2\xac \ncredibly bleak-looking with its unpainted, weather- \nsmirched fagade. \n\nThat was the trouble with the whole community: this \nforlorn, dismal, unpainted quality\xe2\x80\x94everything rotting \nlike the sawn boards of the houses\xe2\x80\x94a frontier town with \nnone of its first vigor left. He contrasted it unfavorably \nwith the freshness of towns in the States; with Detroit, \nwhere he had clerked last summer; even with Ann Arbor. \n\nHis chest expanded with the sense of his achievement. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank God, I had the grit to get away and have a \nlook at the world!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOnce more the limestone escarpment was beginning to \nimbue in him something of its own exalted perspective; \nhe found himself taking hold of his life, rising temporarily \nfrom the weeds of everyday irritations and sloths that \nseemed most of the time to choke off his sense of vision; \nformulating broad, pleasurably stirring resolutions. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShall I stay here or shall I go back and enlist?\xe2\x80\x9d he \ndemanded of the earth beneath. Yet no revelation seemed \nvouchsafed to him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll decide this week,\xe2\x80\x9d he temporized. \n\nIt was possible, he thought, the new railroad might \ntransfuse fresh life into Cartwright. \n\n\n22 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nA second urgency returned. He gripped his hands into \nstubborn fists. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd this week, whether I go or stay\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94 \nhis keen, unimaginative, gray eyes grimly regarded the \nlow Canadian hills opposite\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll settle once and for \nall this bastardy business.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA slight relaxation from tension came upon him; he \nbecame aware of perspiration on his forehead, drew off his \nsoggy cloth cap\xe2\x80\x94revealing a short stiff pompadour of a \ndiluted brown color\xe2\x80\x94and wfiped away the moisture with \nhis coat sleeve. It was growing warmer; the wind had \nfallen away to nothing. He caught himself tweaking his \nthick eyebrows\xe2\x80\x94always, with him, the unconscious ges\xc2\xac \nture of fatigue. \n\nHis final glance at the town picked up a patch of \ndubious white, even farther west than his home. A can\xc2\xac \nvas tent, perhaps. He stared perplexed a moment, then \nnodded his head in identification, remembering the placard \nhe had stripped from the fir tree. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cProf. Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s Mammoth Medical Exposition.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe mouthed the words ironically. \n\nBut already it was darker; a first point of light from \nthe Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn punctured the twilight. Reluctantly he \npicked up his burdens again, and began descending along \nthe brink of the escarpment into the increasingly humid \nair of the valley below. \n\n\nCHAPTER III \n\n\nHIS MOTHER \n\nI \n\nTNSTEAD of knocking at once, he chose to continue \n-*\xe2\x96\xa0 past the door and pause outside the window of the \nsitting room. A tallow dip burned dim on a low center \ntable; but he could descry no one in the room. A brighter \nillumination, however, fell across the rag carpet from \nthe usually deserted parlor, and now he could hear faint \nsounds of music. \n\nThe parlor window, when he had descended the veranda \nand circled around to its sill, gave him little more recom\xc2\xac \npense. A very young girl in a short dress of printed \ncalico stood with her back to him, bending slightly down \nover the side of the reed organ. He could see a little \nof her right cheek and eyebrow\xe2\x80\x94enough to tell him he did \nnot know her\xe2\x80\x94strongly illumined in the light from the \nlamp, which he realized must be in its accustomed place \non top of the organ. She seemed to be regarding the \nkeyboard fixedly; the idea came to him she was probably \none of his mother\xe2\x80\x99s music pupils, through whom she eked \nout the meager earnings from her dairy. He tried to \npeer over the girl\xe2\x80\x99s shoulder for a glimpse of his mother. \n\nThe sound of the organ continued, and he turned his \nhead to catch it more distinctly. Just then the girl moved \na little; and there in the narrow interstice was his mother\xe2\x80\x99s \nface, the light beating down on it searchingly. For an \n\n23 \n\n\n24 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ninstant he scarcely identified her, for her broad, rather \nbony face, usually so passive, so stolid, stood out, for \nthe moment transfigured with a kind of contented, listen\xc2\xac \ning rapture. She was looking, not at her music, but \nupward full into the light\xe2\x80\x94yet unseeingly, as if wholly \nlost in the wonder and delight of her simple act of creation. \n\nThe music now filtered into her son\xe2\x80\x99s emotions\xe2\x80\x94an \nancient hymn he had heard her play a hundred times. \nThe young girl still stood at his mother\xe2\x80\x99s shoulder, and \nhe noted her immature face likewise touched with feeling, \nher lips slightly moving with the words of the song; but \nhe somehow resented her. \n\nYet his own lips moved, too, with the familiar chorus: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn the sweet \nBy and by \n\nWe shall meet on that beautiful shore.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStanding outside the window, the dusk enfolding him, \nhe vaguely sensed a peculiar disquiet in the music, a \ncertain withholding of peace, a continuance of restlessness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn the sweet\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d \nthe chorus went on\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy and by\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe chords had somehow instantly resolved into a \ndelicious, poignant certitude of tranquillity. His throat \ntightened absurdly\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe shall meet on that beautiful shore.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe girl started in fear; she was straining wide-open \n\n\nHIS MOTHER \n\n\n25 \n\n\neyes through the window at him. He came closer, and \nmet his mother\'s anxious scrutiny with a smile. \n\n11 \n\nPresently they heard a hesitant voice: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be leaving now, Mrs. McNicol.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey both looked round. The young girl had thrown a \ncloak about her shoulders, and was diffidently closing \nthe hymn book on the rack. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh!\xe2\x80\x9d His mother gestured half apologetically. \xe2\x80\x9cWell \nthen\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99ll make up the time next lesson; Thursday\xe2\x80\x94 \nay?\xe2\x80\x9d She had the habit, distinctively Canadian, of ending \nher sentence with this peculiar rising inflection. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCertainly,\xe2\x80\x9d acquiesced the girl sweetly, and moved \ninto the sitting room toward the still open door. \xe2\x80\x9cOn \nThursday, then.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe was on the doorstep before Mrs. McNicol remem\xc2\xac \nbered her manners. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThis is my son, Doctor\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94she repeated the new title \nproudly\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cDoctor McNicol. Miss Gough.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis eyes still refused credence after the girl had gone. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMiss Gough!\xe2\x80\x9d he faltered. \n\nHis mother paid no attention to his perplexity. \xe2\x80\x9cYes\xe2\x80\x94 \nGough. They moved in a year ago\xe2\x80\x94from Toronto.\xe2\x80\x9d She \npronounced it To-rawn-to. \xe2\x80\x9cHer pa bought the mill from \nFerguson.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis deflation was acutely painful. The glamorous Miss \nGough, then, was a little girl\xe2\x80\x94not more than fourteen \nyears old. And that bit of frivolous handkerchief in his \npocket\xe2\x80\x94it was not hers, after all. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99re rich, I hear,\xe2\x80\x9d his mother expatiated. Her \ntone was casual; never under any provocation would she \nhave admitted knuckling down to anyone. He could \ndetect, all the same, that she was mightily impressed. \n\n\n\n\n26 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHe nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cSo Doc Milk told me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe took up that cue eagerly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve seen him al\xc2\xac \nready?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMet him coming over from Drayton.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe pulled himself together a little. What would his \nmother think, he wondered, if she realized he might not \nsettle down in Cartwright, after all? \n\nShe had a great deal to say on this score, it seemed. \n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd none too glad to see you, either, I\xe2\x80\x99ll warrant. He\xe2\x80\x99s \nbeen after your pa and me every day the past month, \na-tellin\xe2\x80\x99 us how loony you\xe2\x80\x99d be to settle here. Poor old \nsoul, he\xe2\x80\x99s gettin\xe2\x80\x99 thin with worry.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut whatever pity she felt was swallowed up in vast \npride for her son. She had even less doubt than he of his \neasy superiority over the senile Cartwright physician. \nAnd in return, he now regarded her with an intense loyal \naffection\xe2\x80\x94her eyes, like his, open and practical, but misty \nwith emotion for the moment\xe2\x80\x94her wide sound upper \nteeth, arching out slightly like his own, affecting a little \nthe conformation of her mouth. Her nose was longer \nthan his; he had, in fact, inherited his father\xe2\x80\x99s short snub \nnose. \n\nShould he tell her of his indecision? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMilk offered me the same advice,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\nShe laughed a little. \xe2\x80\x9cPeople have been asking me \nfor weeks when you were coming home. They\xe2\x80\x99re sick and \ntired of Doctor Milk.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI fancy I\xe2\x80\x99ll be able to hold my own,\xe2\x80\x9d he hazarded, \n\xe2\x80\x9cif I decide to stay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother took a step toward him. \xe2\x80\x9cIf you stay!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m thinking I may go back to Detroit and enlist, \nmother.\xe2\x80\x9d Characteristically, he had determined on blunt \nfrankness. \n\nShe was clearly incredulous. \xe2\x80\x9cFight for the Yankees\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\nHIS MOTHER \n\n\n27 \n\nafter what they did to the Trent! Insultin\xe2\x80\x99 the British \nflag!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, mother.\xe2\x80\x9d He could smile tolerantly at her in\xc2\xac \ntense Canadian chauvinism. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, I\xe2\x80\x99ve not made \nup my mind yet\xe2\x80\x94but the opportunities in the States are \nso much bigger than here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe was severely wounded, both as a Canadian and as \nhis mother. \xe2\x80\x9cIt would be cannier, Denny, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99, \nto wait at least till the war is over, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis answer was significantly practical. \xe2\x80\x9cNo\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94he \nshook his head decisively\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cthe war\xe2\x80\x99s almost over now; \nthere\xe2\x80\x99s little risk in enlisting. And no man who hasn\xe2\x80\x99t \nbeen in the war is going to have much chance of succeed\xc2\xac \ning, anywhere in the States, for years to come.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nstopped. \xe2\x80\x9cBesides, there\xe2\x80\x99s the bounty. I can get sixteen \nhundred dollars the minute I enlist.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRebecca McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s undemonstrative gray eyes\xe2\x80\x94 \nslightly strabismic, always patiently sad\xe2\x80\x94admitted the \npotency of the argument. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Twould be good practical experience for a doctor, \nhappen.\xe2\x80\x9d She was thinking already for his good, not \nof her own loneliness. \n\nHis acquiescence was deceitful, he realized; if he \nenlisted at all, it would be as a soldier. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s no haste about deciding,\xe2\x80\x9d he reassured her. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ve plenty of time to think what\xe2\x80\x99s best. Meantime, \nhow about some supper?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nhi \n\nAs if summoned by the magic word, the three younger \nchildren came bursting in through the kitchen\xe2\x80\x94the boy, \nGlen, surveying the stove expectantly as he passed\xe2\x80\x94then \nstopped short in an ecstasy of shyness. \n\n\n\n28 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow then,\xe2\x80\x9d Mrs. McNicol cajoled, \xe2\x80\x9cdon\xe2\x80\x99t be tellin\xe2\x80\x99 \nme you\xe2\x80\x99ve forgot your own brother.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNaomi, the older girl, a contemporary of the dis\xc2\xac \nillusioning Miss Gough, was the first to recognize him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Wellington Dennison!\xe2\x80\x9d She rushed upon him. \n\nHe was glad enough to see them; the family bond was \nstrong in him; yet they had never captured his affection \ndeeply. They were so much younger, for one thing\xe2\x80\x94his \nmother had been childless for eight years after his own \nbirth; they had never played together; they had no \ncommon enthusiasms. But more than this, they failed \nto interest him: they seemed so stolidly overfed; so \nthick-headed; so destitute of charm, of personality; so \nvague of outline. Three fat faces, patched with freckles. \nSome finer-textured, more sensitive person, surveying the \nfamily, would perhaps have thought them all dismayingly \nsluggish of soul; but Wellington Dennison felt himself a \nphoenix of nervous volatility, by comparison with those \nthree juniors. \n\nHis mother had left them together; and now there \ncrept out stealthily from the kitchen a pungent, smoky \naroma, which he seemed to smell more acutely with his \nthrobbing stomach than with his nostrils. They found \nher stooping attentively over the chunk of pork fat sizzling \non the griddle. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, ma!\xe2\x80\x9d from Evva, the smaller girl. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot hungry, any of you?\xe2\x80\x9d Mrs. McNicol feigned \nastonishment at the fierce outcry. \xe2\x80\x9cA pack of wolves\xe2\x80\x94 \nyou too, Denny. You\xe2\x80\x99re almost as bad as the rest.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe satisfaction of hunger was by common consent a \nsubject for high humor. He thumped his empty stomach. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be wanting a straight thousand of them cakes, \nma.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEat what\xe2\x80\x99s set before you, and hold your peace,\xe2\x80\x9d she \nenjoined. \n\n\nHIS MOTHER \n\n\n29 \n\nThe water in a pot began to boil; and Mrs. McNicol, \nwith a grand air, reached for a green caddy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll be having tea, too\xe2\x80\x94ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was simply stupendous. Their loud mirth died \naway, and they watched her in awe-stricken gravity as she \npoured the expensive delicacy into the pot. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGlen\xe2\x80\x99s inquiry, natural enough, seemed to dispel the \nmoment\xe2\x80\x99s gayety instantly. Mrs. McNicol, lifting the \nfirst spoonful of batter from the crock in her arm, paused \nabruptly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll go fetch him,\xe2\x80\x9d she announced, with decisive mat\xc2\xac \nter-of-factness, then handed the pancake batter to Naomi. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut keep an eye on them pork ribs, mind.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV \n\nTHE QUEEN\'S INN \n\nI \n\nH E left the younger children avidly contemplating the \nfirst batch of pancakes, and caught up with his \nmother outside. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou go back,\xe2\x80\x9d he told her, with a show of authority. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\'ll fetch pa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe hesitated an instant. Even in the settling dark\xc2\xac \nness he could note, through the outer wrap she had thrown \nabout her\xe2\x80\x94even through her dress of worn homemade \nwincey\xe2\x80\x94the bony quality of her neck and shoulders, the \nflatness of her chest. \n\nShe shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99ll be payin\xe2\x80\x99 more heed to \nme,\xe2\x80\x9d she decided, and hurried forward. \n\nHe was nettled, as always, by her independence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t want you should be going into the inn, ma, \nbefore a lot of drunken sots, and begging him to come \nhome.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t understand your pa, Wellington.\xe2\x80\x9d She \nnever called him by his first name except in moments \nof anxiety. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99d only fight with him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat I should!\xe2\x80\x9d he broke in, gruffly. \xe2\x80\x9cBut it\xe2\x80\x99s not \nyour place-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve done it many times lately\xe2\x80\x94he\xe2\x80\x99s been much worse \n\xe2\x80\x94and I might as well keep on doin\xe2\x80\x99 it, now\xe2\x80\x99t you\xe2\x80\x99re \ngoin\xe2\x80\x99 back to the States again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe felt suddenly penetrated with selfish guilt; yet there \nhad surely been no accusing inflection in her voice. She \n\n30 \n\n\n\n\n3i \n\n\nTHE QUEEN\xe2\x80\x99S INN \n\nspoke quite passively; evidently she regarded the foray \nupon the inn\xe2\x80\x99s barroom not as a bit of high heroism, but \nin the light of an everyday sortilege of fate\xe2\x80\x94of a piece \nwith nursing the sick, the laying out of the dead. And \nyet these things had not blunted her; she was not coarse \ngrained, like most of the women about; even in her un\xc2\xac \nquestioning acceptance of life as she found it, he sensed \nthe conquering of fine recoils. \n\nAnd this mother of his, who had given him life, who \nhad struggled for him and with him, who had fought \nevery easy self-satisfaction in him and prodded him out \ninto the larger world, whose ill-paid music lessons, yes, \nwhose long hours over the churn, even, had helped him \nthrough college\xe2\x80\x94he was planning to desert her without \na qualm. \n\nNot she, but his own sluggish conscience for her, seemed \nto be saying: \xe2\x80\x9cI have planned, I have toiled, I have \nsuffered, to bring you to manhood; and now you leave \nme, forlorn, alone, almost spent\xe2\x80\x94to keep on fetching \nyour father out of the inn, unprotected.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe spoke impulsively, just before they reached the \nplace. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThen I\xe2\x80\x99ll not be going back to the States, ma; I\xe2\x80\x99m \nstaying here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn the illumination from the hotel\xe2\x80\x99s interior he could \nsee her face again. It remained unaffected; her lips did \nnot quiver, even slightly. She merely turned tow T ard him \na little\xe2\x80\x94yet he could feel her emanation of great relief. \n\nn \n\nShe opened the door and entered the inn. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut, ma-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll wait here,\xe2\x80\x9d she answered his unspoken objection. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou can go see.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n32 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nThe lobbv seemed deserted. At the sound of the \nclosed door, however, a woman emerged from a passage\xc2\xac \nway just beyond the desk. Her slattern\xe2\x80\x99s eyes were dull \nand hopeless. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe ain\xe2\x80\x99t here,\xe2\x80\x9d she observed briefly to Mrs. McNicol, \nand disappeared again without recognizing Wellington \nDennison. \n\nFrom the screened door to the left issued the sounds \nof clinking glasses, scuffling feet, and raw drunken voices. \n\nHe led his mother to the farther end of the lobby, \nwhere there were a few stiff chairs. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d best take a look, nevertheless,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\nAt this end of the room stood an immense wood stove, \nand as Mrs. McNicol moved around it toward a chair \nin the corner they both paused abruptly. Behind the \nstove sat a young man, evidently a farmer, with the red \nface typical of the district. On his lap was a girl. \n\nThe two looked up, somewhat startled, but did not \nmove. An expression of extreme silliness came over their \nfaces. The man\xe2\x80\x99s great slack mouth twisted into a defiant \ngrin; the girl seemed slightly disconcerted, but un\xc2\xac \nashamed. \n\nBoth Mrs. McNicol and her son stood staring a mo\xc2\xac \nment. This was an unusual spectacle, even for the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s \nInn. Drunken men were common enough, but the women \nwere ordinarily shut off from such convivialities. This \ngirl, whose only charm was youth, who a few years hence \nwould be a shapeless kitchen drudge, had refused to abide \nby the conventions; her pitifully brazen smile and the \ntwo emptv glasses on the window sill established that. \nThe man\xe2\x80\x99s large, stubby hands gripped her shoulder more \ntightlv. nulled her down upon him a little closer. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRebecca McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s scarcely audible gasp preceded her \nquick withdrawal from the stove. Her son followed her \n\n\n33 \n\n\nTHE QUEEN\xe2\x80\x99S INN \n\nuntil they had reached the desk once more. He did not \nknow either of the intrigants, but he caught himself \nslightly envying the young farmer, savoring the lure of \nseduction. The girl was nothing at all, poorly dressed, \nwith ill-fitting muddy shoes sticking out ungracefully; \nshe had no faintest claim to charm or distinction, like \nthat other dimly seen girl in the cemetery\xe2\x80\x94and yet, her \nyoung slimness, the look of reckless expectancy in her \neyes! \n\nHe left his mother at the desk and strode past the \nscreen into the barroom. \n\nLater on in the evening this musty, slightly rancid \nroom, occupying the entire wing of the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn, \nwould be thickly populated with the men of Cartwright; \njust now, however, its life was at low tide. A half dozen \nloiterers, mostly peasants, \xe2\x80\x9cchaw-bacons,\xe2\x80\x9d from the sur\xc2\xac \nrounding farms, sprawled about obscenely, many of their \ndull, unkempt faces blackened with the scorch of burning \nlog heaps. And once more McNicol had his feeling of \nphysical disgust. This barbarous whisky-soaking, with \nno brightness of humor, no sparkle of gayety, to redeem \nit, revolted him. It was so sodden, so swinish; worst \nof all, to him at least, it was so unthrifty: these boors, \nbecause they swilled whisky, were not worth a straw as \nfarmers. \n\nThey veered toward him stupidly, and he saw at once \nhis father was not there. \n\nBen Beatty, the inn\xe2\x80\x99s round-jowled owner, standing \nbehind the long bar in his linsey-woolsey shirt sleeves, \nwas the only one sober enough to recognize the intruder. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHel-fo, Denny McNicol!\xe2\x80\x9d The sense of his duties \nas host prompted a formal introduction. \xe2\x80\x9cBoys, here\xe2\x80\x99s \nour new doctor\xe2\x80\x94and a damn\xe2\x80\x99 sight better n the old one. \nEvery one drinks on me!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n34 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nThe newcomer was in no mood to mix with these \nsweaty cattle, even at the risk of professional unpopu\xc2\xac \nlarity. His sharp voice cut through the bellow of in\xc2\xac \nebriated enthusiasm. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, thanks, Ben\xe2\x80\x94not now. My father been in?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBeatty shook his head sullenly; his sense of fitness was \noffended. Besotted eyeballs rolled resentfully. The bar\xc2\xac \nroom was silent an instant with astonishment at the un\xc2\xac \nprecedented slight; but as the intruder turned shortly, a \nlow grumbling seemed to waft him out into the hallway. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGo to the devil,\xe2\x80\x9d he thought he heard a voice call \nafter him. \n\nHis mother still waited immobile by the side of the \ndesk; but now her habitual matter-of-factness had de\xc2\xac \nparted; she seemed wrapped in some subtle impenetrable \ngrief. \n\nHe shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cNot there.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer features did not lighten, as he had expected; ner \nalert apprehension rested somewhere else. He stood \npuzzled. Never had he seen this expression of acute and \ndevastating pain on her capable, homely, raw-boned face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter?\xe2\x80\x9d he faltered, awkwardly. \n\nFrom beyond the stove at the end of the barren, car\xc2\xac \npetless lobby came a hoarse laugh, then a girl\xe2\x80\x99s inept \ngiggling. He reverted quickly to those shameless lovers; \nat the recollection of the girl\xe2\x80\x99s eyes, full of the promise \nof abandon, his mind took on the hue of keen covetous\xc2\xac \nness. \n\nBut the vivid hue faded suddenly into an ashy gray \nand he discovered himself filled with a caustic sorrow, an \naching compassion, for the sordid human tragedy that \nseemed crying out to him from behind the stove. All \nthis\xe2\x80\x94a sniggering guffaw burst from the barroom\xe2\x80\x94and \na sickening shame for himself and all men. \n\n\nTHE QUEEN\xe2\x80\x99S INN 35 \n\nFor he had seen an unprecedented thing\xe2\x80\x94a tear, faintly \nreminiscent, rolling down his mother\xe2\x80\x99s gaunt cheek. \n\nhi \n\nHis father\xe2\x80\x99s tears, on the contrary, were far too facile \nto be impressive. He was awaiting their return in the \nkitchen; when he caught sight of his son he wept copi\xc2\xac \nously, insisted on kissing him, made a much greater stir \nthan had his wife. If outward demonstration counted for \nanything, he loved Wellington Dennison ten times as \nmuch as she. It was annoying, almost disgusting; only \nan unwilling filial restraint, underlying the younger man\xe2\x80\x99s \ncontempt, kept him from brushing his father off, curtly \nbidding him to stop his snivel. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy boy! my boy!\xe2\x80\x9d sobbed Guy McNicol noisily. \nWellington was conscious of a current of surprise that \nhis father\xe2\x80\x99s moist exhalations were guiltless of alcohol. \n\nThe younger children ranged around the spectacle, \nfaintly interested, but already restive that supper was \nbeing delayed. Rebecca McNicol, long since unaffected \nby her husband\xe2\x80\x99s easy emotions, was pouring out the \nboiled tea. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSupper\xe2\x80\x99s ready,\xe2\x80\x9d she cut in. Her own solitary tear, \nback there in the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn, she seemed to have wholly \nforgotten. \n\nBut her spouse\xe2\x80\x99s sensibilities had not yet had their \nfling; he veered from paternal affection to personal griev\xc2\xac \nance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd you were thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 I was at the inn,\xe2\x80\x9d he accused \nher. \n\nMrs. McNicol surveyed his fresh weeping with a prac\xc2\xac \ntical eye. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, why shouldn\xe2\x80\x99t I be thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 so?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was clear he conceived himself treacherously \nwronged. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd only this mornin\xe2\x80\x99 I was tellin\xe2\x80\x99 you I\xe2\x80\x99d \n\n\n36 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nnever go there again.\xe2\x80\x9d He wagged his unkempt head \ndolefully. \n\nWellington Dennison viewed his weakling father with \na renewal of cold appraising disgust. This shambling \nman, who could shed tears so fluently over his son, would \nnever think, had never thought, of performing one solid \ntoilsome service for him. No, he w T ept, and let his wife \ndo the drudgery, the farm work, all the actual everyday \ntoil and even all the planning, that the family might be \nkept together, that the children might somehow be given \na chance in life. Yes, his father w T as entirely worthless; \nhe was improvident; he spent every tuppence he could \nlay lazy hands on, in strong drink. But was he a hypo\xc2\xac \ncrite, in the bargain? His son thought so, but could not \nbe sure; perhaps these easy surface emotions were gen\xc2\xac \nuine enough in their way. \n\nOne thing was certain: he could never tolerate accusa\xc2\xac \ntions against his mother. She did not weep over him, but \nshe it was who had scrimped and saved and drudged, \nthat one day he might be somebody. And even as he had \nalways hated fiercely and contemptuously that maudlin- \nism, that slothfulness, of his father, so had he, from his \nboyhood\xe2\x80\x99s earliest recollection, linked himself with her \naffectionately, sprung instinctively to her defense. \n\nThus he now darkened. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve promised her before \nto keep out of the bar. Why should she put any faith \nin what you say?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, senior, had a fierce, flamelike temper on oc\xc2\xac \ncasion; for the twinkling of an eye he flickered between \nwrath and fresh tears. \n\nWellington\xe2\x80\x99s mother stirred uneasily. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere were \nyou, Guy?\xe2\x80\x9d she diverted him. Always she sought to in\xc2\xac \ntervene between their clashes. \n\nThis time she was successful. Her husband\xe2\x80\x99s eyes, an \nirresolute skeptical blue, suddenly irradiated the fervor \n\n\n37 \n\n\nTHE QUEEN\xe2\x80\x99S INN \n\nof new high resolves. Mother and son were not deceived: \nit was a familiar look; he was forever coming home in a \nfine frenzy over some wild, worthless scheme. He sucked \nall the thrill out of his virtuous intentions\xe2\x80\x94then never \ndid anything. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI was waitin\xe2\x80\x99 in the tent yonder to see the professor\xe2\x80\x94 \nEvanturePs his name,\xe2\x80\x9d he began, quickly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve not \nheard him yet, Denny. A wonderful man\xe2\x80\x94a marvelous \nhealer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA wonderful faker, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be bound.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis father ran on, without noticing the irreverence. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThe show opened last night. Everybody\xe2\x80\x99s daft about \nhim. He\xe2\x80\x99s cured a dozen people already. Tapeworms, \nrheumatism\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d His enthusiastic eyes stopped short on \nthe tea in his son\xe2\x80\x99s cup. \xe2\x80\x9cRebecca!\xe2\x80\x9d he called, sharply. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s my tea?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMrs. McNicol said gently: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTea! You don\xe2\x80\x99t take tea\xe2\x80\x94it upsets you. You know \nthat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWellington Dennison remembered with professional in\xc2\xac \nterest his father\xe2\x80\x99s weak stomach. McNicol, senior, drank \nhot water; and on his plate was the customary dish of \njunket. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cUpsets me!\xe2\x80\x9d He threw the water contemptuously on \nthe floor. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m wantin\xe2\x80\x99 tea, I tell you\xe2\x80\x94and tea I\xe2\x80\x99m \ngoin\xe2\x80\x99 to have!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe took the cup and looked questioningly at her son. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDoctor Milk said-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDoctor Milk be damned!\xe2\x80\x9d Guy McNicol was on the \nverge of one of his fits of passion; he pounded on the bare \ntable with the bone handle of his knife. The younger \nchildren stared in fright. \n\nHis son yawned wearily. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, let him have it, ma.\xe2\x80\x9d \nOf what use was any diet to a stomach constantly pickled \nwith cheap whisky? \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n38 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course I can have it\xe2\x80\x94and pancakes too!\xe2\x80\x9d He \njabbed a fork into the pile of steaming wheat cakes in the \ncenter of the table. \xe2\x80\x9cThe professor said I could eat \nanything\xe2\x80\x94if I used one of his electric belts. Cured \nMaggie Sutherland overnight. Yes, sir, heem a great \nfeller.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe poured a sip of the caustic tea into his mouthful \nof pancakes and glared at them all defiantly. Rebecca \nMcNicoks calloused hands dropped resignedly into her \nlap. The new physician was wholly indifferent. If his \nfather wanted to kill himself off, so much the better. \n\nHe queried, \xe2\x80\x9cAnd for what did you want to see this \nEvanturel\xe2\x80\x94to buy an electric belt?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe other gulped down enough of the contraband food \nto vouchsafe explanation. \xe2\x80\x9cI was wantin\xe2\x80\x99 to see him on \nbusiness\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s for what. I must wait till he came back. \nWas walkin\xe2\x80\x99 out all afternoon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDr. McNicol scowled again. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, go on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThis town\xe2\x80\x99s no place for a man like me,\xe2\x80\x9d quavered \nGuy McNicol between mouthfuls. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat chance is there \nhere? Cartwright never \xe2\x80\x99ll be any bigger\xe2\x80\x94and now I \nhear the councilors are thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 of refusin\xe2\x80\x99 to pay the \nGrand Trunk its bonus. Goin\xe2\x80\x99 to throw away the town\xe2\x80\x99s \none chance to grow. Railroad \xe2\x80\x99ll never come through here \nwithout a bonus.\xe2\x80\x9d Once more he hammered the table. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, no place for me. I\xe2\x80\x99ve been wantin\xe2\x80\x99 to get out\xe2\x80\x94 \ntravel\xe2\x80\x94see the world; and now I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94with this \nProfessor Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s show.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere were mild exclamations of surprise, but no \namazement, no grief. They all knew he would never stir \nfrom the town. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, siree!\xe2\x80\x9d the head of the family swept on, un\xc2\xac \ndampened. \xe2\x80\x9cGoin\xe2\x80\x99 to Allandale next week, then Moore- \nfield\xe2\x80\x94and right through to Toronto.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE QUEEN\xe2\x80\x99S INN 39 \n\nGlen, the boy, began to discern the romantic aspects \nof life with a tent show. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, pa, what you goin\xe2\x80\x99 to do? Play the bagpipes?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis frayed-out parent tried hard to keep up the illusion. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNot at first, sonny. Later on, the professor says, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be \none of the minstrels, but right now, startin\xe2\x80\x99 to-night or \nto-morrow, he\xe2\x80\x99s goin\xe2\x80\x99 to use me to demonstrate his medi\xc2\xac \ncines.\xe2\x80\x9d This did not appear to have had its effect, so \nhe added: \xe2\x80\x9cExpert medical treatment free of charge. I \ncan eat anything I want from now on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWellington Dennison, in the very midst of his scornful \ndistaste for the futile person he called his father, had an \nodd sense of disassociation. He felt himself so anaesthetic \nto this already old man of forty-three; so alien, indeed, \nfrom these three dull-witted children. He was his moth\xc2\xac \ner\xe2\x80\x99s son, unmistakably; their physical resemblance was \napparent, even if he had not felt the bond of the blood \nshe had given him. But between his father and himself \nhe could detect no similarity, even of feature. Their noses, \ntrue, might be called alike: they both turned up at the \nend; but his own was certainly longer, more forceful. \nThe whole facial scheme was so diverse. The accent was \nall upon his father\xe2\x80\x99s forehead\xe2\x80\x94high, under his untrimmed \ngray hair with its slight wave, and almost distinguished; \nbut from the brows down his face fell away to nothing: \nhis eyes were uncertain, unsteady, except for their in\xc2\xac \nfrequent flashes of anger; his mouth and chin lagged in\xc2\xac \ncredibly behind the rest of his countenance. His son\xe2\x80\x99s \nfeatures, on the contrary, reached their crest in the \npromontory of his chin; one felt that his pertinacity, \nhis capacity for endurance, more than compensated for \nany lack in him of quick perceptives, of intuitive insight. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI was wonderin\xe2\x80\x99, Beck,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol, senior, was saying, \n\xe2\x80\x9cwould you shave me and trim me up a bit for the show \nto-night?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n40 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nThe words did not actually get to the younger man\xe2\x80\x99s \nconsciousness, for he had of a sudden been transfixed by \na convulsing sense of revelation\xe2\x80\x94an uncanny revelation \nthat helped explain that disturbing mystery of his early \nyears, that ugly word of Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s. He had sensed \na disgraceful something in that mystery, yet he could \nnever see the thing clearly. The marriage of Guy and \nRebecca McNicol was a matter of record. \n\nBut now, for the moment, he had an instinctive cer\xc2\xac \ntainty he could not be the son of Guy McNicol. \n\n\nCHAPTER V \n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\nI \n\nA SHARP knocking on the front door aroused him \n^ from his abstraction. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNaomi, you go,\xe2\x80\x9d said his mother. \n\nHe heard the door unlatched, saw his parents at the \nother end of the table lean sideways in their chairs and \npeer out into the sitting room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDenny here?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNaomi reappeared in the kitchen. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Mr. Grizard.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAleck Grizard?\xe2\x80\x9d Guy McNicoks inflection mirrored \nthe unusualness of the event. Pie leaned toward the sit\xc2\xac \nting-room door again. \xe2\x80\x9cCome right in, Aleck.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, by God!\xe2\x80\x9d Wellington Dennison\xe2\x80\x99s first amazement \nat the intruder\xe2\x80\x99s brazenness had given ground rapidly to a \nrecurrence of his stinging rancor. His action, character\xc2\xac \nistically, was swift, instinctive. He found himself con\xc2\xac \nfronting his enemy in the sitting room, swung open the \nfront door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGet out!\xe2\x80\x9d he fairly shouted. \n\nAleck Grizard, to his credit, was no coward; he stood \nhis ground stolidly, but a little uncertainly. \n\nThe muscles of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s upper arms and shoulders \ntwitched covetously: but when he took his quick spring \nforward he found his mother already in the way, facing \nhim. \n\nShe threw a glance at Grizard. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat is it\xe2\x80\x94Suny?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe matted red beard nodded. The man seemed dazed, \nunaccustomedly flaccid. \n\n\n41 \n\n\n42 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nMcNicol was exasperated by his mother\xe2\x80\x99s calm inter\xc2\xac \nvention. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI won\xe2\x80\x99t have him in this house, I tell you.\xe2\x80\x9d He tried \nto outflank her. \n\nShe held up her hand, gently restraining. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll talk to \nhim outside.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe paced up and down impotently, at intervals glaring \nat the door that had closed behind them. He v/anted to \npounce out upon Grizard, bear him to the ground. His \nmother ought not to be out there talking to him\xe2\x80\x94the man \nwho had been slandering both of them. \n\nThe children moved about furtively, young Evva whim\xc2\xac \npering with fear. Then his father\xe2\x80\x94his putative father\xe2\x80\x94 \ncame up to him full of grievance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI must get shaved,\xe2\x80\x9d he whined. \xe2\x80\x9cFor the show to\xc2\xac \nnight.\xe2\x80\x9d He carried a mug and a razor in his trembling \nhands. \xe2\x80\x9cYou used to shave me pretty fair yourself, \nDenny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had an impulse to push that rheumy face violently \nbackward. Begging to be shaved\xe2\x80\x94at a crisis like this! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll grow a beard to the ground, for all of me!\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe shot out contemptuously. \n\nHis mother was back in the room, and he heard \nGrizard\xe2\x80\x99s rig starting up. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll talk to Wellington alone.\xe2\x80\x9d She led him through \nthe kitchen toward his own bedroom. \n\nHer husband\xe2\x80\x99s lamenting accents arose. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m wantin\xe2\x80\x99 \nyou to shave me, Beck.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn a minute.\xe2\x80\x9d She closed the bedroom door softly on \nhis plaints. \n\nMrs. Grizard, she said, was near death with her unborn \nbaby. Her labor had begun early in the morning. An \nold midwife was summoned forthwith. Toward afternoon \nthey had all begun to grow frightened. Suny Grizard, \nin her agony, besought her husband to fetch Denny \n\n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\n\n43 \n\n\nMcNicol; she had no faith in Doctor Milk. That old \nbotcher had been able to do nothing for her since his \narrival at the cabin. By now she was very weak\xe2\x80\x94perhaps \nshe was already dead\xe2\x80\x94and her baby undelivered. Would \nDoctor McNicol please come? \n\nNo, he wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t! Wellington Dennison threw back his \nshoulders. \xe2\x80\x9cFirst of all, it\xe2\x80\x99s against professional ethics, \nmother. There\xe2\x80\x99s another doctor already on the case.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut Doctor Milk wants you to come, himself.\xe2\x80\x9d Re\xc2\xac \nbecca McNicol gestured, a thought impatiently. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThen I\xe2\x80\x99ll tell you what I told Grizard on the Drayton \nroad this afternoon: before I\xe2\x80\x99d budge, he and his\xe2\x80\x99n \ncould burn in hell! D\xe2\x80\x99you think I\xe2\x80\x99d lift a hand to help \nthat rat? D\xe2\x80\x99you think I\xe2\x80\x99ve forgotten?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother\xe2\x80\x99s eyes held his. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Suny who\xe2\x80\x99s dying, \nnot Aleck.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd then\xe2\x80\x94listen\xe2\x80\x94he called me bastard.\xe2\x80\x9d His voice \nchoked with passion. \n\nA whim of pain passed across her face. \xe2\x80\x9cWellington, \nI want you to go. Suny tried to be good to you\xe2\x80\x94you\xe2\x80\x99ve \nnot forgotten? And she did me a great service once. \nSome day you\xe2\x80\x99ll know what it was. You\xe2\x80\x99ll always regret \nit if you don\xe2\x80\x99t go.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStrange, inexplicable, the hold she had on him when \nshe chose. In crises, she was always the stronger. \n\nHe said, sulkily, \xe2\x80\x9cI thought he drove away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTo get a fresh horse.\xe2\x80\x9d She smiled faintly up at him\xe2\x80\x94 \na smile challenged by the wistful sadness of her eyes. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s a-comin\xe2\x80\x99 back now, I fancy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nn \n\nGrizard, without a word, handed him the reins, while \nhe himself dismounted clumsily and swung open the \ngate. McNicol had rebuffed the other\xe2\x80\x99s first servile over- \n\n\n\n\n44 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\ntures of conversation; after the first mile they had ridden \non in an aura of dense hostile silence. \n\nThe horse, borrowed from George Boole, the black\xc2\xac \nsmith, proceeded cautiously, reluctantly, down the nar\xc2\xac \nrow unfamiliar corduroy road into the gloom of the forest \nthat seemed to encroach ever more impassably about \nthem. McNicol had himself forgotten the menacing wild\xc2\xac \nness of the place, the road\xe2\x80\x99s perverse jeopardies. The \nbuckboard reflected each jolt to his spine; he put his \nmedicine case on the floor between his feet, and grasped \nthe edge of the seat with both hands. The horse stumbled, \nrecovered itself miraculously. Grizard began cursing the \nanimal with obscene, revolting oaths. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShut up!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol broke out, harshly. \n\nThe right front wheel of the buckboard descended \nstiffly upon a cobblestone in a mud-hole between two \nlogs, slid insecurely down the stone\xe2\x80\x99s slanting surface, \nand sank deep into the mud. McNicol heard another \noath, then the thud of a body striking the ground. \n\nBut now Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s wild imprecations aroused in him \nonly a grim humor. The whole expedition, in fact, had \nits profoundly ironic overtones: it was comical enough \nthat this archenemy of his should be pitched out on his \nhead; but how infinitely more sardonic that they two \nshould be jolting side by side along this corduroy road, \nlinked by the insidious assault of the impenetrable night \nand this smothering malignant forest into an involuntary \ndefensive bond. There was, too, a drop of satisfaction \nin his cup, that this sinister foe, who had meant to crush \nhim into the mire, to stamp out all hope in him and all \nambition, should now be bending the knee to him, suppli\xc2\xac \ncating him as indispensable. The wonder of fifteen years! \nThen he was a little boy, forlorn but somehow uncon\xc2\xac \nquerable, seemingly cut off from the young sweet beck\xc2\xac \noning of life\xe2\x80\x94and now, incredibly, he was a man, strong \n\n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\n\n45 \n\n\nalready, but sentient of the possibilities of enormously \ngreater power\xe2\x80\x94a professional man, a doctor! The mir\xc2\xac \nacle seemed all at once stupendous. He thrilled. \n\nHe could save human life. Even negligible human life \n\xe2\x96\xa0\xe2\x80\x94like Suny Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s, imploring him pitifully, from the \nlog cabin ahead, for the privilege of dreary battered \ncontinuance. How much better for her to die\xe2\x80\x94yet she \nhad sent for him, pathetically human, as if to live meant \nineffable bliss. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI owe her this much, happen,\xe2\x80\x9d he told himself. \n\nShe would have helped him, it was true, if she had \ndared. Her mute tears he remembered, as he lay sobbing \non the ground back of the cabin after that last rendezvous \nwith the poker end. Her arm had been in a sling. The \nwhole picture came clearly back to him, and he smiled \na little: she, with her husband, had been caught in the \nAdventist craze; the universe was to be abruptly burned \nto cinders one night; Suny Grizard had sewed a pair of \nwings to her shoulders and earnestly endeavored to soar \nstraight to heaven from the roof of the cabin. \n\nAnd now, quite irrelevantly, he had a vivid personal \ndesire to save this mean little life of hers. His new ob\xc2\xac \nsession returned puissantly to him: he must somehow, \nsomewhere, at all costs, seek out and take hold of the \ntruth of his parentage; till then he could know no tran\xc2\xac \nquillity. To some degree, he was certain, the story was \ninterwoven with that brief and tragic interval in this \nselfsame cabin. And whence else could he wrest the \nfacts; her husband or his own father he would not go \nto; he could not, to his mother. But this wretched \nwoman, feebly craving the prerogative of life, knew. And \nshe was, for the moment, literally at his mercy. \n\nA yellow light shone intermittently between massive \ntree trunks; the buckboard bumped slowly across the \nintervening road. \n\n\n\n46 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nAs he pushed open the cabin\xe2\x80\x99s heavy door he was \ntaking his oath: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy God! I\xe2\x80\x99ll have it out of her, I will.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut he heard an infant\xe2\x80\x99s spasmodic wailing\xe2\x80\x94aggrieved \nclearly, at having been born alive into a vile world. And \nold Milk wheeled toward him with obvious relieved \nexultation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHad your trip for nothing, Denny,\xe2\x80\x9d he wheezed. \n\nMcNicol resented the triumphant announcement\xe2\x80\x94and \nhe was disappointed, too. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGrizard said you were wanting me to come,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nresponded shortly, and stared at the dumpy untidy \nmidwife holding the blanket-swathed baby near the open \nhearth. \n\nThe old man tilted his head toward the bed in the \ncorner of the room. \xe2\x80\x9cShe asked for you\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94as if there \nwere no accounting for such folly\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cand I thought no \nharm. Plenty able to handle the case alone, I was.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA sudden access of moaning from the bed drew McNicol \nto the corner. Suny Grizard lay unconscious under a \nsqualid and frayed piece-quilt. An unlovely object\xe2\x80\x94 \nher graying hair disheveled, her freckled lanky face \nperspiring and still racked with pain, eyelids and the \nunderlying pouches both unpleasantly reddish. \n\nHe would not be denied the dignity of a consultant, \nanyway; lifting the quilt a little, he drew out her inert \nsinewy arm and took her pulse. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVery low\\\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDoctor Milk parried this impertinence with a comical, \ninfinitely condescending shrug of the shoulders, as if \nsaying scornfully: \xe2\x80\x9cNow, what would you, boy, after \nfourteen hours?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut McNicol with sudden decision threw off the cover\xc2\xac \ning. He started back, for an instant petrified. \n\nThe ancient Milk peered down through dingy spec- \n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\n\n47 \n\n\ntacles. \xe2\x80\x9cSay, now\xe2\x80\x94hemorrhage, looks like, don\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s paralysis vanished in a flash of contempt. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat are you for doing? Your case, you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe pantaloon chewed gravely on that. \xe2\x80\x9cNothing \ny\xe2\x80\x99 can do.\xe2\x80\x9d His fingers raked that patriarchal, noxious \nfringe of whiskers. \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99ll be gone in no time.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey heard a cry of grief, almost snarling. Aleck \nGrizard had come in. He dropped to his knees in front \nof, not Amos Milk, but the boy he had beaten with the \npoker end. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFor God\xe2\x80\x99s sake, Doc, don\xe2\x80\x99t let her die!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, with a short exclamation, jerked the bed out \nfrom the wall, leaped into the breach\xe2\x80\x94instinctively he \nwanted to work from the left\xe2\x80\x94and roughly pulled the \nbody toward him. Even then he had no clear idea of \nwhat he was going to do. Some deep necessity for action \n\xe2\x80\x94anything\xe2\x80\x94drove him blindly. He had not been affected \nin the least by Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s frantic invocation. Per\xc2\xac \nhaps his resentment at Milk helped urge him on. \n\nNow, however, he had a miraculous inkling. His \nhands worked quickly, instinctively, powerfully, but he \nwas hardly conscious of what they did. In his brain \nwelled up an astonishingly vivid picture of a certain \nclassroom in the medical building at the university\xe2\x80\x94he \neven caught the smell of the building\xe2\x80\x94then the lecturer, \nslightly quizzical, his mouth twisting a little with skeptical \nhumor. And McNicol, toiling with extreme physical effort \nover the sluggish body on the bed, seemed miles away; \nas if he were back there in the lecture room, he could hear \nthe professor drawl out: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd if you get a post-partem hemorrhage\xe2\x80\x94why, God \nhelp you! Only one thing to do\xe2\x80\x94a brutal thing. You \nshove your fist up and\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBy Heaven! he was an apt pupil! \n\nThe vision faded out. \n\n\n\n\n48 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe ergot\xe2\x80\x94quick!\xe2\x80\x94in my bag!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPoor old Milk, in that impressive frock coat of his, \nhung pop-eyed over the bed, his talons twitching, half in \nprotest, half in futility. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJesus!\xe2\x80\x9d shouted McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cKeep those slimy paws \nout of here! The ergot, damn it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe dotard couldn\xe2\x80\x99t move; it was the fumbling mid\xc2\xac \nwife who finally brought the contractive drug. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere!\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol presently, not without the \nsatisfaction of a difficult job well done. He was dimly \nsurprised to find his face wet with perspiration. \n\n\nhi \n\nYes, he had accomplished something. He was a suc\xc2\xac \ncess, a made man. In the first decisive clash with his \nrival, he had won, and won impressively. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll be cornin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 see her in the morning?\xe2\x80\x9d Aleck \nGrizard had besought him, quite ignoring old Milk. And \nhe, equally oblivious, had nodded surlily. His bitter \nenemy pressed whisky on him, even a huge block of \nmaple sugar, in offensive maudlin gratitude; then, with \na superb emotional outburst: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94send in your bill, Doc.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe issue had been clear; its stakes, the medical su\xc2\xac \npremacy of Cartwright; and everyone in the room knew \nthe outcome. Within twenty-four hours the whole village \nwould have heard. \n\nThe alarming truth must seemingly have filtered \nthrough even the ancient Milk\xe2\x80\x99s opaque brain, but Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol could not be certain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust what I was going to do,\xe2\x80\x9d came the gasping, \nstraining voice of his former preceptor, as they rode \ntownward. \xe2\x80\x9cToo quick for me, Denny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRemembering the patriarch\xe2\x80\x99s doddering helplessness of \n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\n\n49 \n\n\nan hour ago, McNicol could have snorted. But why not \nplay with such incredible conceit? He spoke gravely, \nmodestly: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m pleased if you approve of my treatment, Doctor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAmos Milk\xe2\x80\x99s reassurance became tainted with his \nformer superciliousness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, it\xe2\x80\x99s well enough, I dessay. Of course, she won\xe2\x80\x99t \nlive, anyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe conqueror, in the darkness, could grin as much \nas he chose. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, won\xe2\x80\x99t she?\xe2\x80\x9d he derided, to himself. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll find out about that, my hearty.\xe2\x80\x9d But audibly \nhe ventured: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou think not?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever had one live, in all my practice.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHad the old boy heard his snicker? He must be more \ncareful. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll just wager you never did, Amos,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nthought. \n\nA half mile of silence, and Doctor Milk, with sudden \nirrelevance, announced: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, there\xe2\x80\x99s no room for you here in Cartwright, \nDenny. I feel kindly toward you, understand. That\xe2\x80\x99s \nwhy I don\xe2\x80\x99t want y\xe2\x80\x99 to be making a bad mistake.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was really scared to death, after all. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPshaw! Lots of room,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol answered. \xe2\x80\x9cCart\xc2\xac \nwright\xe2\x80\x99s going to be a big town\xe2\x80\x94especially with the \nrailroad-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDr. Milk\xe2\x80\x99s interruption was pitifully eager. \xe2\x80\x9cBut the \nrailroad\xe2\x80\x99s not a-coming, Denny. I\xe2\x80\x99m one of the coun\xc2\xac \ncilors. We\xe2\x80\x99ll never pay that bonus. Why should we \nbe wantin\xe2\x80\x99 those devil-wagons through our town?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd McNicol did not bother to answer. How futile \nto waste breath on a fool who couldn\xe2\x80\x99t perceive what rail\xc2\xac \nroads meant. And why, he thought, waste his young \nmagnificent energies on a town that wanted to stay \nbackwoods? \n\n\n\n\n50 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nThe waning moon came tardily over tree tops and cast \nits unnatural light over the desolate road ahead. He \nwould be glad to get home; his feet were still wet and he \nwas suddenly tired. On the steady night wind, through \na clearing, swelled weirdly the howling of wolves a mile \nor two away. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cReminds me of Russia,\xe2\x80\x9d he heard Milk saying. \xe2\x80\x9cOnly \nthere they come right at you. Kill people, they do. \nSometimes the women folks in Siberia have been known \nto throw their children out of the sleigh in order to-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol did not listen. The idiot was forever prating \nof his youthful travels; some of his yarns the younger \nman had had to listen to a hundred times, it seemed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd it\xe2\x80\x99s wolves you\xe2\x80\x99ll be having here for years and \nyears,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol arraigned silently. \xe2\x80\x9cJust because you \nwon\xe2\x80\x99t pay a railroad bonus.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe thought covetously of the States\xe2\x80\x94their energy, \ntheir luring opportunity, their up-and-coming quality. \nStill, his odd satisfaction with himself persisted unac\xc2\xac \ncountably. The memory of his swift skill, his emergency \neffectiveness with Suny Grizard, slowly warmed through \nhim once more. He had done something, he had vindi\xc2\xac \ncated himself, he had shown himself powerful. He had \nachieved. If that sort of melodrama was what a doctor \nlived, perhaps, after all, he wanted to be a doctor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd by the Lord Harry,\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered, \xe2\x80\x9cshe\xe2\x80\x99s not \ngoing to die, either.\xe2\x80\x9d Then with an afterthought, \xe2\x80\x9cAt \nleast not till I\xe2\x80\x99ve had out of her what she knows of me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis reversion to bitterness seemed to find echo in the \nplaintive yodling call of a near-by loon. \n\nTo Milk, though, the sound suggested pleasanter fan\xc2\xac \ncies. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHappen the fishing\xe2\x80\x99s getting about ripe on the lake,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhis noduled vocal cords wheezed. \xe2\x80\x9cAy, Doctor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nHE HAS A PATIENT \n\n\n5i \n\n\nDoctor! \n\nIt was a tribute, the professional accolade\xe2\x80\x94the admis\xc2\xac \nsion into medical confrerie. \n\nMcNicol could not but smile; he was surer than ever \nnow that the ancient Milk was thoroughly frightened. \n\n\nCHAPTER VI \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\nI \n\n\nHE thoroughly detestable Grizard sounded his \n\n\n\nA praises so vigorously at the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn barroom \nnext day that before evening he had three new patients \nin Cartwright. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll be having to pick up a rig somewheres,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nhis mother. She was vastly proud and happy over his \nsuccess, and she almost permitted herself to show it. \n\nIt was a consideration he had already given thought \nto. Obviously he must have a horse as soon as he had \nbuilt up a practice in the surrounding country. Aleck \nGrizard had had to drive him in the buckboard that \nnoon, both to and from his still alive but inarticulate \nwife. But this was hardly a precedent; most farmers, \nrather than do this, would go to Doctor Milk instead. \n\nHe smiled a little, recalling one of the countryside \nsayings: \n\n\nOh, the rich may ride in chaises, \nBut the poor, b\xe2\x80\x99 Jasus, \n\nMust walk. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd there\xe2\x80\x99s professional dignity to be thought of,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe reflected, more seriously, as he left the abode of his \nfourth and latest patient\xe2\x80\x94a baby with convulsions, from \ngreen apples\xe2\x80\x94and began trudging home to a belated \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n53 \n\n\nsupper. Many people would refuse to believe him a \ndoctor till he owned a horse and buggy. \xe2\x80\x9cBut damned \nif I ever wear a coat and hat like Milk\xe2\x80\x99s!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe poor old duffer! He wondered if his rival had \nheard of these latest rapid signs of the inevitable. Prob\xc2\xac \nably not. And even if he had, he would by now have \nthought of enough explanations to bolster up his vanity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, the race is always to the swift\xe2\x80\x94and the young,\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol half justified himself. \xe2\x80\x9cNo room for the stupid \nbungler anywhere.\xe2\x80\x9d Old Milk had been decent enough \nto him, of course. He\xe2\x80\x99d hate to see him starve\xe2\x80\x94in fact, \nhe wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t let that happen. When he had clearly demon\xc2\xac \nstrated his superiority, when he had taken the old man\xe2\x80\x99s \npractice away from him, perhaps he\xe2\x80\x99d give him some job \nor other in his office. \n\nIt gave him a definite shock, arriving home in this \nnimbus of magnanimity, to discover his ancient competitor \nin the act of leaving the house. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust been in to have a look at your father, Denny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy, he\xe2\x80\x99s a bit sick\xe2\x80\x94nothing serious. Sent for me right \naway.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol decided, then and there, the old man could \nstarve, for all of him. That posture of benign superiority \nas he drove away! The whole town would know of it at \nonce: the new doctor\xe2\x80\x99s own family couldn\xe2\x80\x99t trust him, \nmust send for an older, wiser practitioner, even for a \nminor illness. \n\nMcNicol, senior, lay on a sofa in the living room, his \nwife near by. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s all this\xe2\x80\x94having in another doctor? Give \nfolks a fine idea of me, won\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYour pa\xe2\x80\x99s stomach\xe2\x80\x99s been bothering him again,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nRebecca McNicol, defensively. \xe2\x80\x9cSomething he swallowed \nat the tent last night\xe2\x80\x94or maybe them pancakes or that \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n54 \n\ntea. You weren\xe2\x80\x99t home\xe2\x80\x94and he thinks Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s \nmedicine helps him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHumbug!\xe2\x80\x9d scoffed Wellington Dennison, righteously \nwrathful. \n\nHis father sat up, to belie the calumny. \xe2\x80\x9cHumbug \nnothing! Feel better already. Must be getting ready \nfor the performance.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRebecca McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s protest was apprehensive. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re \nnot going again to-night?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe master of the house stood up unsteadily, and \nmoved toward his felt hat. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA matter of honor,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced grandly. \xe2\x80\x9cI \npromised the professor I\xe2\x80\x99d come, and I never break a \npromise. He needs me in the show.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut you\xe2\x80\x99ll be bad off to-morrow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe martyr to duty paused at the door, slightly \nruffled by the implication he was not completely able to \nlook after himself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI won\xe2\x80\x99t either, Beck. Yes, I\xe2\x80\x99m going to keep my \nword and go, but he\xe2\x80\x99s got to use me for something else. \nMy stomach\xe2\x80\x99s too weak\xe2\x80\x94not for a hundred dollars, not \nfor a hundred shows, is Guy McNicol going to drink any \nmore of that tapeworm medicine!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nn \n\nA shade reluctantly, he rewrapped the photograph \nalbum. It was a beguiling and gaudy affair of thick \nmaroon morocco and profuse gilt; obliquely up the front \ncover ran a silver plate, resolving into the script, \xe2\x80\x9cAlbum.\xe2\x80\x9d \nA bit of extravagance, he reflected. He had seen it in a \nDetroit show window, and had been quite unable to resist \npurchasing it. But fifteen dollars! Already the Cart\xc2\xac \nwright scale of values had repossessed him. Hadn\xe2\x80\x99t he \nbetter keep it himself, or at least give it to his mother \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n55 \n\n\nand thus retain it in the family? It cost him a very \ngenuine pang to decide to go through with his first plan. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m going out for a time, ma.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh?\xe2\x80\x9d She appeared faintly disappointed. \xe2\x80\x9cWell \nnow, I was thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 we might go to the tent together.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt amazed him. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x94me go listen to a medical \nfaker? I\xe2\x80\x99d look pretty\xe2\x80\x94a regular doctor\xe2\x80\x94encouraging \na fraud like that. The fellow ought to be run out of \ntown! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother looked apologetic. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s the music I go \nto hear.\xe2\x80\x9d He observed she was wearing her best bonnet \nand, in place of the usual worn dress of homemade flannel, \nher black Orleans. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMusic!\xe2\x80\x9d he sniffed. \xe2\x80\x9cMust be grand music that \nshow\xe2\x80\x99d be having.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey stood facing each other an instant, before she \nsaid: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cListen! What\xe2\x80\x99s that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe too caught scarcely audible strains, opened the door \nand preceded her out upon the porch. \n\nDown the street, perhaps in front of the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn, \nhe discerned moving lights, flitting figures. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99d be the parade startin\xe2\x80\x99,\xe2\x80\x9d said his mother. \n\nYes, the lights were coming closer, along the road\xe2\x80\x99s \nslight upgrade. But McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s lethargic excitement \nseemed rather engaged with the wild, whining music; some \nobscure spring of emotion was tunneling its way to outlet. \nHe could see the procession distinctly in a moment: two \nblack-faced minstrel men in front, performing a lively \ndouble-shuffle step; behind them, incongruously, two other \nmen in Highland costume\xe2\x80\x94the one straining at his bag\xc2\xac \npipe, the other buffeting a big brass drum. Then, at \nthe rear, in a brightly painted carriage, a pale melan\xc2\xac \ncholy Hamlet in silk hat and frock coat, gazing sadly, in \ndistrait fashion, over the swarm of townspeople and chil- \n\n\n$6 THE RED-BLOOD \n\ndren who encroached upon him from all sides, respectfully. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s him!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe did not need his mother\xe2\x80\x99s identification. Along the \nsides of the carriage stretched banners, proclaiming in \nbold paint: \n\nPROF. EVANTUREL\xe2\x80\x99s MAMMOTH EXPOSITION \n\nSome small surprise invaded him that the great healer \nshould wear so aloofly mournful, so fragile, a mien, and \nhis contempt diminished infinitesimally; the fellow looked \nsmart. He glanced at the crowd. Here were Cartwright\xe2\x80\x99s \nmost substantial freeholders. He waved at George Boole \nand Ed Onweller, Minnie\xe2\x80\x99s father. He saw his young \nbrother and sisters, open-mouthed at the minstrel men. \n\nBut all these things were on the fringe of conscious\xc2\xac \nness; having noted them, his eyes instinctively centered \non the musicians. The spectacle fascinated him: the \nabandoned free-arm trajectory in which the drummer\xe2\x80\x99s \nright hand recurrently reached over to the left of the \ndrum, and vice versa; the pennant that streamed out \nfrom the end of the bagpipe\xe2\x80\x99s longest reed; the plaid of \nthe kilts. Yet these things, too, were as nothing save \nas they were physical expressions of the music itself. \nHe did not even recognize the tune; all he knew was that \nhe was inexplicably, powerfully affected; in some strange \nway, the turbulent nasal timbre of the sound gripped \nhim. And he was incensed that negro minstrels should \nbe dancing to such a melody. \n\nAs the parade passed on out of sight around a bend \nin the road, the emotional spring within suddenly insisted \non vent. His eyes were wet. He was astonished, violently \nangry. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cReal good music, after all,\xe2\x80\x9d said his mother. \xe2\x80\x9cAy?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe looked down at her sharply. Her features were \nclearly visible in the light from the sitting room, and he \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n57 \n\nwas distinctly puzzled to note that the bagpipe had \nmade no deep impression on her. \xe2\x80\x9cReal good music\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94 \nno better, no worse than any other. To him it had been, \nnot music at all, but the primitive echo of a very part \nof himself. \n\nThe bagpipe suddenly ceased. The procession must \nhave reached the tent. Now he could hear quite clearly \nthe song of a male quartette. The song itself meant \nnothing to him, but he grew restless, unconsciously, that \nhe should thus be removed from the scene of excitement. \n\nRebecca McNicol turned reluctantly toward the door. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWell-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf you want to go, ma, I\xe2\x80\x99ll walk over to the tent with \nyou,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, and was pleasantly conscious of his gener\xc2\xac \nosity. \xe2\x80\x9cYou can even go in, if you like; but don\xe2\x80\x99t be \nexpecting me to do the same.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe was pleased, but not much fooled. \xe2\x80\x9cNobody\xe2\x80\x99ll \nlikely be at home, anyway, Denny,\xe2\x80\x9d she pointed out, as \nthey set forth. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll have to go to the tent, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99, \nif you\xe2\x80\x99re after seein\xe2\x80\x99 Minnie Onweller this night.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nhi \n\nSo brief was the distance uphill to the tent, they came \nupon it even before the male quartette\xe2\x80\x94the two High\xc2\xac \nlanders, the two minstrels, side by side\xe2\x80\x94had for the \nsecond time completed the chorus of that popular song, \nfamiliar even in Ontario, \xe2\x80\x9cWhen This Cruel War Is \nOver.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe vocalists stood\xe2\x80\x94yearning toward one another in \nthe manner peculiar to male quartettes\xe2\x80\x94on what appeared \nto be a small platform adjacent to the tent itself. At \neither end, fastened in tin reflectors, were a number of \nflaring tallow dips, dimly illuminating the faces of the \nmultitude. \n\n\n\n58 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nThe applause died away reverently when the figure of \nProfessor Evanturel displaced the quartette. The chap \nhad already acquired some reputation in the village, \nMcNicol knew, but he had expected nothing like this \nobvious awe. The whole affair was a preposterous fake, \nof course; the only comfort to him was his certainty that \nsome of these yokels would be demanding real medical \nattention as an aftermath; and yet he could not gainsay \nthe young healer carried an impressive air. His thin \nascetic face seemed transfigured with a zeal almost holy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFriends of Cartwright,\xe2\x80\x9d he now enunciated distinctly, \nsadly, \xe2\x80\x9cthis is my third evening in your midst. We are \nno longer strangers. Perhaps some feeling of confidence \nhas come to you. I trust so, for I can truthfully say \nthat, though I have visited many cities, many countries, I \nhave never yet found such intelligent people, such splendid \naudiences, as I have found in Cartwright. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI bid you all welcome. Herein you will discover \nsome entertainment, and some profit, I hope. There is \nno obligation to purchase, but to any persons who may \nbuy let me repeat my personal guaranty: your money \nback, if not entirely satisfied. The quartette will now \nrender one more number, and then the exposition will \nopen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe listeners, perhaps three hundred souls, seemed \nunder his spell already. Even McNicol, fresh from \nmedical school, had to resist a curious feeling of trustful\xc2\xac \nness in this earnest personality. Professor Evanturel had \na real gift, the semblance of a divine mandate. \n\nBut as he turned with dignity and stepped from the \nrostrum, McNicol had an uncomfortable baffling sense \nof having laid eyes on him before. And recently. Some\xc2\xac \nthing about the back of the fellow\xe2\x80\x99s head. He kneaded \nhis brain for recollection while the quartette began: \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow happy is the man \n\nWho has chosen wisdom\'s ways, \n\nAnd has measured out his span \n\nTo his God in prayer and praise." \n\nSacred music\xe2\x80\x94and yet nobody minded: oddly, the \nhymn seemed to go not inharmoniously with the deport\xc2\xac \nment of Professor Evanturel. A lofty mission his. Did \nnot a greater than he go about miraculously curing the \nlame, the halt, and the blind? People sensed the religious \nallusion, the camp-meeting flavor; after that the whole \nproceeding took on a mystic justification, a hint of \nHeaven\xe2\x80\x99s dispensation. \n\nThe crowd now rapidly drained off into the tent that \nhoused the anointed one\xe2\x80\x99s magic; but McNicol, anxious \nnot to be seen, remained with his mother well beyond \nthe purview of the tallow dips. Only too clearly she \nwanted to follow the rest. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGoing in, ma?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot alone, Denny. I\xe2\x80\x99m not likin\xe2\x80\x99-\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nIt was no time to temporize. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, ma, I won\xe2\x80\x99t do it. \nI can\xe2\x80\x99t be vouching for rank heresy like that.\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nShe spoke to some one just behind him, and, turning, \nhe could recognize Minnie Onweller. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, Wellington!\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 Even in the half light, he was \nsensible of her brick-red hair gathered back under her \nstraw bonnet, her eyes slightly staring, her whole face \nsomewhat vigilant and pedagogical. \n\nHe forestalled any implication he had not been suffi\xc2\xac \nciently ardent. \xe2\x80\x9cI was hoping to see you before this, \nMinnie, but-\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nShe professed she understood his professional cares. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou must be tired,\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 she sympathized, and looked down \nwith unerring intuition at the wrapped photograph album \nunder his arm. \n\n\n\n\n6o \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA present for you/\xe2\x80\x99 he was about to say; then reflected \nhe would prefer to give it when they were alone. \n\nHis mother was staring at the album, too. The situ\xc2\xac \nation was embarrassing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy don\xe2\x80\x99t you two go in together?\xe2\x80\x9d he suggested, \nand detailed his professional scruples to Miss Onweller. \n\nHe escorted them to the entrance. Within, the bag\xc2\xac \npipe was playing once more, and it wrenched him to \nturn away. \n\nJust then he observed the figure of a man moving \nsteathily toward him around the outside of the tent. \nMcNicol, curious, stepped close to the canvas, and thus \nremained hidden until the man had nearly reached him. \n\nSimultaneously they caught sight of each other. It was \nDoctor Milk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGoing in?\xe2\x80\x9d asked McNicol. \n\nHis aged rival stood pitifully inarticulate. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve just brought my mother.\xe2\x80\x9d Wellington Dennison \nwas torn between his scorn and an exceedingly vivid \ndesire to laugh outright. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, I shouldn\xe2\x80\x99t think \nof going in, myself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMilk had an inspiration. \xe2\x80\x9cI was just out takin\xe2\x80\x99 the air. \nHappened to come by\xe2\x80\x94nothing but an accident, Doctor. \nNothing but an accident.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was excruciatingly funny to see him take himself \noff; once he turned about, to assure himself McNicol \nhad not himself entered the forbidden precincts. \n\nThe younger man, having started homeward, paused a \nmoment to listen to the alluring call of the bagpipe. By \nthe Lord Harry! it really was a pity to have to stay \naway. \n\nThen he saw a girl approach the tent\xe2\x80\x94a bit timidly, as \nhad Milk. He ventured closer, and all at once saw that \nshe wore a dark gray pelisse. \n\nThe girl he had seen in the graveyard\xe2\x80\x94whose faintly \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n61 \n\n\nperfumed handkerchief of lace he still carried in his inner \npocket! In the stress of things he had all but forgotten \nher. Then, too, with unaccustomed acumen, he identi\xc2\xac \nfied her companion of yesterday\xe2\x80\x94Professor Evanturel. \nAnd no one could have budged him from this sudden \nconviction. \n\nThe girl hesitatingly inserted herself into the tent, \nand McNicol came to a halt. The bagpipe played on \nand on. Doctor Milk had vanished. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s hardly proper ma and Minnie should be left to \nsit by themselves,\xe2\x80\x9d he rationalized, as he proceeded once \nmore toward the entranceway. \n\n\nIV \n\nIt so happened his mother and Miss Onweller were \nsitting next to the center aisle in the very last row of \nbenches. They made no stir over his unexpected appear\xc2\xac \nance, and the audience\xe2\x80\x99s attention, fortunately, converged \njust then upon the two black-faced minstrel men who \nwere emerging upon the narrow stage. McNicol stepped \nquickly behind Minnie Onweller and over the low bench \nto a seat of reassuring obscurity. \n\nThe venture, after all, was safe enough. The audi\xc2\xac \ntorium proper was badly lighted; people naturally were \nintent upon the stage, in comparison dazzlingly illumined \nby a row of oil-lamp footlights. He could steal out just \nbefore the end of the performance, and nobody would \never be the wiser. \n\nThe twanging banjo, the dancing minstrel, the rythmi\xc2\xac \ncal cadence of the song, were captivating; but he began \nalmost at once to search for the gray pelisse. It startled \nhim, after he had craned his neck vainly in every direc\xc2\xac \ntion, to come upon the girl, directly in front of his mother; \nhe had an errant impulse to reach out and touch her. \n\n\n62 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMinnie\xe2\x80\x99s convex scrutiny was upon him, he realized. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat is it?\xe2\x80\x9d she whispered. \n\nHe shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cWanted to see who I knew.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nhad enough wit not to ask her about this far more \nfascinating stranger. Her eyes, in fact, did instinctively \nturn toward the silk pelisse; she gave a scarcely percep\xc2\xac \ntible shrug of hauteur. \n\nHis own gaze he virtuously directed toward the stage. \nHe must be cautious; Minnie, he suspected, could be \neasily jealous. But in that brief moment he had seen \nthat the new girl was of a condition far above his own \nor Minnie Onweller\xe2\x80\x99s: his masculine consciousness told \nhim vaguely her clothing was fine and modish; she was \nno Cartwright dowdy. Most acutely, though, he felt \nshe was beautiful. \n\nThe minstrel act came to an end with a marvelous \nocarina duet; and in the midst of the crowd\xe2\x80\x99s applause \nthe girl twisted around and glanced at his mother in \nsympathetic approbation. Her easy smile included \nMinnie Onweller, its periphery just touched McNicol; \nand he was aware her full face was vivid and colorful, \nher eyes warmly brown. \n\nThe enticing, unfaded lips\xe2\x80\x94almost sensuous\xe2\x80\x94parted \nuncertainly, as if she was about to speak. Then, inter\xc2\xac \ncepting a current of expectancy through the spectators, \nshe swiftly turned toward the stage again. \n\nProfessor Evanturel had appeared, and McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nfaculties were similarly captured for a moment. What \nwas there about this charlatan\xe2\x80\x99s demeanor, he asked \nhimself, that drew his audience to a sharp point of inten\xc2\xac \nsity even before he had begun speaking? There was a \ncertain reluctance in the way he advanced to the foot\xc2\xac \nlights, a certain apologetic disdain for the lighter enter\xc2\xac \ntainment that had preceded him. Above the long frock \ncoat about his slender figure, his face stood out distinctive \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n63 \n\n\nand arresting. He was young\xe2\x80\x94a year or two older than \nMcNicol, perhaps. His visage was thin, his features \nwell formed; and down across his high forehead\xe2\x80\x94just \nreaching his left eyebrow\xe2\x80\x94hung obliquely a heavy mass \nof black hair. But McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s hostile scrutiny rested in \nthe end upon the healer\xe2\x80\x99s large dark eyes, humid, morbid, \nyet sensitive. \n\nHe commenced, with sad ecstasy: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLadies and gentlemen of Cartwright: For the benefit \nof those who have not attended these meetings before, I \nwish to announce once more the grand voting contest for \nthe most popular lady. One vote with every ten cents\xe2\x80\x99 \nworth of medicine you buy. For example, if you purchase \na bottle of Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s Famous Liver Persuader for fifty \ncents, you get five votes. As a special inducement, with \nevery one of Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s Miraculous Electric Belts, guar\xc2\xac \nanteed to cure rheumatism, blood disease in all forms, \nstomach complaint, et cetera ad infinitum , which I\xe2\x80\x99m sell\xc2\xac \ning this week at the reduced price of five dollars\xe2\x80\x94with \neach belt I give you not only the usual fifty votes, but \nanother fifty, forming a grand total of one hundred votes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe took up a slip of paper. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe three leaders in the contest to-night are as follows, \naccording to the judges\xe2\x80\x99 report: \n\n\nMrs. William Fergus \n\nMiss Onweller. \n\nMiss Jenny Gough. . \n\n\n\nMinnie gave a little exultant start. \xe2\x80\x9cLast night, I wasn\xe2\x80\x99t \non the list at all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol felt the imminence of complications. \xe2\x80\x9cIf she\xe2\x80\x99s \nexpecting me to buy her any votes\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered. \n\nProfessor Evanturel was pointing out the felicitous \nfact that there was still hope for any lady to win. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe prize, which will be awarded at the conclusion \n\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n64 \n\nof Saturday night\xe2\x80\x99s performance, is this wonderful string \nof coral beads, which, if you had to buy it in Toronto, \nwould cost you twenty-five dollars. Genu-eyne gold) \nclasp.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe held the treasure aloft that all might glut their \nvision. \n\nA smooth scamp. McNicoi intertwined his hands \naround his knee and leaned back. Out of the rim of \nhis eye he became aware of someone slinking into the \ntent. \n\nIt was the perfidious Milk\xe2\x80\x94in fancied security. \n\nBefore McNicoi could dodge forward, their eyes met. \nProfessional honors were easy. \n\nv \n\nThe girl in the silk pelisse, he was dismayed to note, \nleaned forward as though enchanted, her eyes raptly fixed \non the magnetic Evanturel, her lips a little apart. He \nquite forgot Doctor Amos Milk. \n\nWhat had she been doing with this magnificent faker \nin the cemetery? \n\nMiss Onweller was again prompt in pouncing upon \nhis look, and whispered maliciously: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s daft over him. Can\xe2\x80\x99t stay away from him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe hated Minnie. He hated Evanturel and this un\xc2\xac \nknown girl. All at once he was crucified with jealousy, \nan illogical sense of deep personal grievance. Still, it \nwas an opportunity to identify her. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho d\xe2\x80\x99you mean, Min?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis innocence could not have deceived her, but she \nsaid, \xe2\x80\x9cThat girl, there.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, \xe2\x80\x9cJenny Gough.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mind groped dully for perception. \xe2\x80\x9cJ. G.\xe2\x80\x9d Of \ncourse, but\xe2\x80\x94that other girl, his mother\xe2\x80\x99s young pupil? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI regret I shall not be able to give you a demonstration \n\n\nIN THE TENT \n\n\n65 \n\nto-night of EvanturePs Radiant Tapeworm Remover.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe professor\xe2\x80\x99s somber tones seemed spoken to him \nalone. \xe2\x80\x9cThe first demonstration will be of EvanturePs \nPainless Tooth Extractor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd then, before McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s distorted vision, came \ninto view that shambling, pusillanimous father of his. In \nspite of the authority of the healer\xe2\x80\x99s voice, the audience \ntittered. Guy McNicol unsuccessfully affected an easy \nnonchalance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA bad tooth.\xe2\x80\x9d The professor pushed back his pa\xc2\xac \ntient\xe2\x80\x99s lips. \xe2\x80\x9cFirst, a little of the Extractor rubbed \naround on the gooms.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe subject flinched a little at sight of the gleaming \nforceps, but a single hypnotic glance from Evanturel \nquelled him instantly. \n\nMcNicol, junior, was far from thin skinned, but this \nwas too much. He rose hurriedly, had one glimpse of \nMiss Gough slightly averting her lovely face, of Doctor \nMilk peering intently at the dental surgery, and made \nfor the tent entrance. \n\nAs he rushed out he heard his parent\xe2\x80\x99s yelp of pain\xe2\x80\x94 \nscarcely a convincing tribute to the Tooth Extractor\xe2\x80\x99s \nefficacy\xe2\x80\x94then the crowd\xe2\x80\x99s outburst of guffawing. \n\n\nCHAPTER VII \n\n\nTHE CULT OF B. FRANKLIN \n\nI \n\nQOME inconsiderate was knocking persistently on the \n^ bedroom door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy?\xe2\x80\x9d he finally collected his senses to say. \n\nIt w r as his mother with her time-honored reveille. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDenny\xe2\x80\x94spring to-pah!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nReluctantly he sat upright on the side board of the \nspindle bed, knuckling the drowsiness from his heavy \neyes, groping in the semidarkness for his clothing. No \nadversity had the power in those days of robbing him of \nhis sleep; he was in the act of stuffing his shirt tails into \nhis trousers\xe2\x80\x94half dressed\xe2\x80\x94before he recalled last night\xe2\x80\x99s \ncasualty. \n\nCasualties, rather\xe2\x80\x94for now, with even sharper concern, \nhe thought of Miss Jenny Gough and the look in her \neyes as she drank in the personality of Professor Evan- \nturel. \n\nIt consoled him strangely to remember her handker\xc2\xac \nchief, to touch its fragile softness in his inner coat \npocket. He felt it afforded him some small power over \nher. \n\nAbruptly he pulled open the door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMa, what was that girl\xe2\x80\x99s name you were giving the \norgan lesson to?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMrs. McNicol was alone in the kitchen, her fixed \nexpression of unassuming common sense revealed by the \nlamp on the dining table. Overhead he heard the younger \nchildren stamping about. \n\nHer attention lingered on the preparations for break- \n\n66 \n\n\nTHE CULT OF B. FRANKLIN 67 \n\nfast; already his presence in the house was taken for \ngranted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat girl? You mean the Gough girl?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s her first name?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLessie.\xe2\x80\x9d She now looked at her son. \xe2\x80\x9cAs sweet a \nlittle girl as I know, too. Why? Have you seen her \nsince?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe shook his head glumly and returned to his bed\xc2\xac \nroom. \n\nShe called out after him: \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s a bad cold, her sister \nJenny was tellin\xe2\x80\x99 me last night, after you went away. You \nknow, the one settin\xe2\x80\x99 just in front of me. Can\xe2\x80\x99t take her \nlesson to-day, Lessie can\xe2\x80\x99t.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn the darkness of his room he felt quite safe in pro\xc2\xac \nceeding, casually: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMinnie was saying the Gough girl\xe2\x80\x94the older one\xe2\x80\x94 \nwas daft on that quack healer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe plates clicked together as she went on methodically \nsetting the table. \xe2\x80\x9cMebbe so. More likely the other \nway round. She\xe2\x80\x99s a fine voice, Jenny\xe2\x80\x94sings in church\xe2\x80\x94 \nan\xe2\x80\x99 everybody from the minister down is in love with \nher.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol thought of the scrambling retreat from the \nshelter in the graveyard, and half smiled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll I say is\xe2\x80\x94if she\xe2\x80\x99s as good as she\xe2\x80\x99s bonny, she\xe2\x80\x99ll \ndo,\xe2\x80\x9d concluded his mother, inscrutably. \n\nHis father did not appear for breakfast. McNicol \nwas just as well pleased; he\xe2\x80\x99d be glad if this supposed \nparent of his continued sleeping in his bedroom the rest \nof his life\xe2\x80\x94never issued forth again to plague his family. \n\nBreakfast over and the children gone, he went for \nhis cap moodily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGot to see about that rig,\xe2\x80\x9d he told his mother, \xe2\x80\x9cthen \nmake another call on Suny Grizard. She\xe2\x80\x99s not doing well. \nMustn\xe2\x80\x99t lose my first patient, you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n68 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nRebecca McNicol was plucking at her eyebrows\xe2\x80\x94with \nher, as with her son, an unfailing sign of anxiety and \nfatigue. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWellington Dennison, your pa\xe2\x80\x99s not come home yet.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was on the tip of his tongue to say: \xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94and \nwhat of it? Let\xe2\x80\x99s be hoping he never does!\xe2\x80\x9d But he \nsaw at once, if he himself did nothing about it, his mother \nwould; and in spite of his irritation, he found his heart \nvisited by a sudden access of protectiveness. He had \ntaken his oath to spare her these degradations; he would \naccept his new role patiently, for her sake. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI didn\xe2\x80\x99t tell you, Denny\xe2\x80\x94but he\xe2\x80\x99s been gettin\xe2\x80\x99 worse \nof late. He\xe2\x80\x99s had the delirium three times this spring \nalready. And Doctor Milk says-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe cut her off. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99d he most likely be\xe2\x80\x94at the \nInn?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe speculated, grave eyed. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d be certain, but he \nhas no money. Perhaps they\xe2\x80\x99d be knowin\xe2\x80\x99 at the tent, \nnow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nii \n\nEvery step he took seemed an infinitesimal fraction of \nrepayment for all he owed her\xe2\x80\x94life itself, and the chance \nto lay hold on life. It afforded him a kind of happiness \nunusual to him to blot out those insistent, recurrent \ncravings of his to be gone from all this petty puppet \nworld of Cartwright and fling himself into a broader \narena where the favors were worth playing for. \n\nThe very socks he wore were her knitting. And he \ncould go salvaging his worthless pseudo-father every day \nas long as he lived, and still be irreparably in her debt. \n\nNone too pleasant a job, admittedly, and an undoubted \nhandicap to his professional success. Even rather absurd, \nthis hunting out one\xe2\x80\x99s parent in barrooms, pleading with \n\n\n\nTHE CULT OF B. FRANKLIN 69 \n\nhim to come home; it reminded him of a cheap melo\xc2\xac \ndrama he had once seen in Ann Arbor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI cut a pretty figure\xe2\x80\x94playing little Nell,\xe2\x80\x9d he reflected, \nsardonically. \n\nProfessor Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s tent looked barren and bleak in \nthe early morning light. All the glamour of night, of \ncrowd enthusiasm, of human tenancy, was gone. The \nentrance curtain flapped desolately; the interior was as \nof a musty, deserted theater. \n\nDisillusion grew caustic when he came up to the five \nmembers of the troupe sleeping on cots near the stage. \nToes protruded from blankets, unshaven faces seemed \nchoked by slumber, tw T o of the four entertainers lay on \ntheir backs and snored raspingly. Evanturel alone, on \nthe farthest cot, slept like a gentleman, his pale morbid \nface on one arm. \n\nThe eyes of the nearest minstrel opened viscidly, \nblinked inimically. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s up with you?\xe2\x80\x9d he growled. His high talent \nfor jocularity he reserved for larger audiences, it seemed. \n\nMcNicol moved on toward the leader of the crew. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGod damn!\xe2\x80\x9d called out the minstrel. \xe2\x80\x9cLeave him be!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the interloper shook his man by the shoulders, \nundeterred. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat the devil!\xe2\x80\x9d said Professor Evanturel. \xe2\x80\x9cHello!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol stared implacably down. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s my \nfather?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYour father!. . . All right, Joe.\xe2\x80\x9d This to the min\xc2\xac \nstrel whose swift advance threatened the intruder\xe2\x80\x99s rear. \n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd who\xe2\x80\x99s your father?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s the name.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvanturel passed his long, uncalloused fingers over his \nsomewhat small jaw, yawned slightly, then looked up with \na show of respectful interest. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re Doctor McNicol? Speak low, will you? These \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n70 \n\nboys want their sleep. Your father\xe2\x80\x94 Oh yes, the nice \nold chap who was helping us out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, though he noted the charlatan\xe2\x80\x99s refined \naccents and perfect hospitality, refused to let the pro\xc2\xac \nceedings develop into a friendly social visit. It assisted \nhim in keeping the affair in the proper key to detect a \nsnicker of derision from Joe. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHelping you out\xe2\x80\x94ay, if that\xe2\x80\x99s what you call filling \nhim up with tapeworm bellywash, pulling out all his \nteeth.\xe2\x80\x9d His host raised a deprecating hand. \xe2\x80\x9cListen \nnow\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99m telling you here and now, my friend, you\xe2\x80\x99re \nto leave him alone henceforth\xe2\x80\x94or I warn you, you\xe2\x80\x99ll \ntake the consequences.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt seemed to affect Professor Evanturel not one whit \nthat he was being thundered at from above by an offen\xc2\xac \nsively threatening young man who refused to be governed \nby the amenities, who gave every indication, in fact, of \nbeing about to resort to crude physical measures. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t alarm yourself further, Doctor,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, not \nless courteously than before. \xe2\x80\x9cYour father is no longer \nassociated with us. In brief, he quit last night; and in \nspite of the fact he\xe2\x80\x99d thereby broken his contract with \nme, I paid him his salary in full.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol glared down an interval longer, with an un\xc2\xac \ncomfortable feeling of having been thwarted, then turned \nbrusquely toward the entrance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt is just possible, Doctor,\xe2\x80\x9d pursued Professor Evan- \nturel\xe2\x80\x99s polite solicitude, \xe2\x80\x9cjust possible you may find your \nfather at the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nhi \n\nAgain it was Mrs. Ben Beatty he first encountered. \nBut now she nodded, and shrugged her listless shoulders \ntoward the tavern\xe2\x80\x99s barroom door. \n\n\n\nTHE CULT OF B. FRANKLIN \n\n\n7i \n\n\nThe scene within came as a perceptible surprise to \nMcNicol; he never could forget it. His eyes ran over \nthe half dozen figures soddenly asleep on the floor around \nthe great stove; it was among these he counted on finding \nhis father. He could scarcely breathe the close hot \nair, scarcely see through the pall of stale tobacco smoke. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnother round, Ben\xe2\x80\x94and a toast to D\xe2\x80\x99Arcy McGee, \nthe greatest of them all. Everybody drink!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis father\xe2\x80\x99s accents, he was certain; but even now his \nsmarting eyes refused corroboration. But no one else \nwould be thus saluting McGee, the Canadian leader of \nthe Irish Liberals\xe2\x80\x94cordially detested by every soul in \nCartwright except his father. As well expect a toast to \nSir John MacDonald, in a riding committed heart and \nsoul to George Brown! \n\nThe man nearest the door, unknown to McNicol, veered \naround and caught sight of him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, Guy!\xe2\x80\x9d this stranger called to the far end of the \nbar, \xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s a new one.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBen Beatty, seemingly quite fresh after the all-night \ndrinking bout, shouted a recognition. But McNicol, still \nconvergent upon his one purpose, strode rapidly past the \nrow of limp forms till he came to his father. \n\nThen it was his surprise reached its climax. Guy \nMcNicol stood erect, a whisky glass in his left hand, a \ncocked pistol in his right. He appeared entirely sober; \nwhat astonished his son, in fact, was his complete control \nof the situation and himself. All these other louts seemed \nto hang on his words; he was the center of the picture. \nHis eyes were clear and commanding; a certain force, a \nmagnetic quality, issued from his customarily apologetic, \nslouching figure. He dominated the room magnificently. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe One-Thousand-and-One Society\xe2\x80\x99s drinkin\xe2\x80\x99 to \nD\xe2\x80\x99Arcy McGee,\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated, and covered the group with \nhis pistol. Half awed, half amused, they lifted their \n\n\n72 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nglasses. Then, to his son, imperiously, \xe2\x80\x9cYou too, my \nboy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, though amazed by the transformation in his \n\nsire, acted effectively, as usual. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEnough! You\xe2\x80\x99re coming home with me!\xe2\x80\x9d He \n\nwrenched the pistol instantly from his father\xe2\x80\x99s hand, \n\nknocked the glass to the floor, and jerked him toward the \n\ndoor. Guy McNicol severed fropi the bar seemed \n\nenfeebled once more; he resisted but weakly. \n\nThe One-Thousand-and-One Societv was w T ith its col- \n\n* \n\nlapsed tyrant, of course. Angry protests arose. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLeave him alone!\xe2\x80\x9d objected Ben Beatty. \xe2\x80\x9cHe ain\xe2\x80\x99t \nhad his two gallon yet. Has he, boys?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt the door, McNicol turned fiercely and published his \nsecond warning: \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re to sell him no more drink, \nBeatty. He\xe2\x80\x99s not to come inside this stinking hole again, \never\xe2\x80\x94or you\xe2\x80\x99ll rue it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nIV \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow get up on your legs\xe2\x80\x94see if you can walk.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe sun was rising; McNicol had an instant\xe2\x80\x99s vague \nperception of the ironic discrepancy between the vast \nnobility of the cloudless sky, the bold hills already slightly \ncaressed with green\xe2\x80\x94and the street ahead, the shabby \nhandiwork of man. \n\nThe radiant light seemed to have shrunken Guy Mc- \nNicol\xe2\x80\x99s final remnant of insubordination. He was his \nfutile pathetic self once again; he could scarcely stand \nup; he bore heavily on his son; his features were flaccid. \nWorse than that, he began to weep noisily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to die. I\xe2\x80\x99m no good. I\xe2\x80\x99m old\xe2\x80\x94never be \nyoung again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome along, and don\xe2\x80\x99t be a fool!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t know, Denny. You\xe2\x80\x99re young. But listen \n\n\nTHE CULT OF B. FRANKLIN \n\n\n73 \n\nto me.\xe2\x80\x9d With maudlin gravity he tried to turn toward \nhis son. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t do like me-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNeedn\xe2\x80\x99t fret yourself\xe2\x80\x94no danger of that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t sacrifice your life reformin\xe2\x80\x99 the world, doin\xe2\x80\x99 \nthings for the people. They never \xe2\x80\x99predate it. Take me \nan\xe2\x80\x99 the Canadian Rebellion-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was a nasty job dragging one\xe2\x80\x99s besotted parent\xe2\x80\x94 \nreputed parent, anyway\xe2\x80\x94along the muddy road. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t \nfret yourself, I tell you. Thank God, I\xe2\x80\x99m no son of \nyours.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, senior, was sufficiently shocked to stop crying \nan instant. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s this you\xe2\x80\x99re sayin\xe2\x80\x99, Denny\xe2\x80\x94no son \nof mine! Don\xe2\x80\x99t blame you for wishin\xe2\x80\x99 you weren\xe2\x80\x99t.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe tears recommenced. \xe2\x80\x9cBut you got a little of me \nin you, all the same. Watch out for it. Don\xe2\x80\x99t be a \nreformer, like me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol felt more convinced than ever. He repeated \ndoggedly: \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m no son of yours.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d His father\xe2\x80\x99s faculties still functioned! \nfeebly. \xe2\x80\x9cLook at my ears\xe2\x80\x94then look at yours.\xe2\x80\x9d In the \nmiddle of his lamentations he laughed triumphantly. \n\nAnd even as McNicol looked, he knew this broken- \ndown, obscene old creature was inescapably his own \nfather. How inexplicable he should have overlooked this \none link of convincing physical evidence. The ear was \npeculiar enough to have attracted his attention\xe2\x80\x94long, \nnarrow, oblique, and wholly lacking its tragus. His own \nears identical. \n\nThe proof bit into him unpleasantly. He found himself \nwondering what hidden tendency, what weakening trait, \nhe had inherited as the inward counterpart of that peculiar \near. To his father\xe2\x80\x99s maunderings he gave no heed. \nMcNicol, senior, was forever talking of the lost causes \nof his youth\xe2\x80\x94the Canadian Rebellion of 1838, especially, \nwhose untimely collapse had forced him to flee to New \n\n\n\n\n74 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nYork State for a year. As a young man he had evidently \nbeen an unpractical visionary, embracing first one nos\xc2\xac \ntrum for all the world\xe2\x80\x99s ills, then another. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s what made me what I am to-day,\xe2\x80\x9d he sobbed. \n\xe2\x80\x9cTryin\xe2\x80\x99 to help the people.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey were almost home now, thank Heaven. His son, \nrevolted, ashamed, thanked a kindly destiny for keeping \nthe road deserted. \n\nThen from his own house emerged a woman\xe2\x80\x94not his \nmother\xe2\x80\x94and approached them rapidly. He would not \nhave minded any one else in the world so much; it was \nMiss Jenny Gough, he saw. \n\nWith one haughty contemptuous glance she compre\xc2\xac \nhended the situation\xe2\x80\x94drunken Guy McNicol pitching \nalong on the shoulder of his red-faced son\xe2\x80\x94then swept \nfastidiously past in a blur of crinoline and curls. \n\nBut from the depths of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s abasement suddenly \nleaped a clear and revivifying image. The picture\xe2\x80\x94 \ngleaned from some schoolbook years ago\xe2\x80\x94of young Ben \nFranklin trudging along the streets of Philadelphia, a \npoor working boy, more insignificant even than himself\xe2\x80\x94 \nsnubbed by just such a young aristocrat as Miss Jenny \nGough. \n\nAnd he said to himself, with all the power of youthful \ndesire: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy God! I\xe2\x80\x99m going to marry that girl some day!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII \n\n\nTHE GOOD BOOK \n\nI \n\nI N spite of his preoccupation, McNicol rather liked \nyoung Lessie Gough. She had an expression of appeal\xc2\xac \ning innocence, and a friendly way of smiling up at him. \n\nAs he snapped his medicine case shut, James Gough \nentered the sick room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow do you find your patient to-day, Doctor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9cBetter. Fever down a whole degree. She\xe2\x80\x99ll be up \nby the first of the week.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe three smiled cheerfully. \n\nMcNicol added: \xe2\x80\x9cNext time, she\xe2\x80\x99d best stay in when \nit rains.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy\xe2\x80\x94and stay away from tent shows,\xe2\x80\x9d warned Gough. \nMcNicol no longer cherished any awe of the mill \nowner. Gough was a mild and slightly deaf man of fifty, \nthe prevalent fringe of gray whiskers bordering his \nshrewd face. His eyes were small\xe2\x80\x94so small the whites \nwere rarely visible; his mouth pursed together in little \nvertical folds. He was almost too amiable, in McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nview; it seemed out of keeping that one of his station \nshould not be impressively gruff. How else, indeed, is \nsuperiority to be recognized? \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s somewhat plain face became suddenly inspir\xc2\xac \nited. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, did you hear the news, father? Sister\xe2\x80\x99s in \nthe lead in that voting contest for the coral beads!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9cNay, now\xe2\x80\x94you\xe2\x80\x99re joking,\xe2\x80\x9d chaffed Gough. One \n\n75 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n76 \n\nnever would have suspected he was the richest man in \nCartwright, that he had lived most of his life in metro\xc2\xac \npolitan Toronto. \n\nMcNicol clouded a little. Charlatans like Evanturel \nwere not proper subjects for jesting. Gough would laugh \nout of the other side of his mouth, if he knew about that \nlittle affair in the graveyard shelter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFll be going,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust a moment, Doctor, and I\xe2\x80\x99ll go across to town \nwith you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe left McNicol alone in the parlor while he went \nupstairs. The young physician glanced about the room, \nin spite of himself impressed. The luxuriousness of itl \nHis eyes fell on two large new books on the table. Les \nMiserables: he read the title curiously. And he w^as the \nphysician of this resplendent household! He\xe2\x80\x94not Amos \nMilk. Jenny Gough herself had been on the way home \nfrom summoning him, when he and his father encountered \nher so disastrously, yesterday morning. \n\nOn the instant his bride-elect opened the outer door \nand entered the parlor. \n\nThey stood as if turned to marble. McNicol had been \nwishing, every moment of his three professional calls, \nthat this very miracle might come to pass. Yet now he \nwas a country gawk, almost letting his lower jaw drop, \nstaring tongue tied down at the new Brussels carpet. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDr. McNicol, isn\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe smiled charmingly, graciously, as if upon an equal. \nHe nodded with simulated gravity, the while he flayed \nhis soul for its shameful doubtings of her radiant goodness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve heard so much about you,\xe2\x80\x9d she was saying. \xe2\x80\x9cAre \nyou staying on in Cartwright?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know yet.\xe2\x80\x9d He tried to enunciate slowly, \nwithout the provincial twang. \n\nJames Gough, failing obtusely\xe2\x80\x94as fathers will\xe2\x80\x94to \n\n\nTHE GOOD BOOK \n\n\n77 \n\nperceive he was invading holy ground, collared him just \nthen. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll ready, Doctor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol suffered himself to be led forth, as in a \ntrance. His new felicit}^ crumpled considerably, however, \nwhen he descried the figure of Professor Evanturel hastily \nwithdrawing from view on the far shore of the Conestoga. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s been out walking with him again this morning I\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nii \n\nSome nebulous intuition propelled him past the front \nstoop and around the corner of his house. What he saw \ndrew an exclamation of anger from him. He dropped \nhis medicine case to the sod and began creeping steathily \nalong the high tight-board fence that bordered the \nMcNicol vegetable garden and back yard. \n\nBefore he had progressed one half the distance he was \ndiscovered by the smallest of the little cluster of boys \ncrowding against the fence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere he comes!\xe2\x80\x9d shrieked this sentinel, and the whole \ngang, with one frightened look at McNicol, scrambled \nup the road in precipitate flight. He chased them a few \nrods; they dropped their shinny sticks and ran the faster. \nA boulder almost tripped him. He halted, sent a stone \nand an intimidating imprecation after them. Back at the \nfence, he looked around. They were out of sight, still \n\nrunning for dear life, probably. \n\nKnowing only too painfully what they had been looking \nat, he nevertheless approached the broken board that \nafforded a view of the yard within. And at first he could \nsee nothing grotesque. Some of the ground his mother \nhad recently been plowing. On the neai side oi this \npatch, McNicol observed one or two stakes driven into \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n78 \n\nthe earth\xe2\x80\x94ludicrous reminders of the great real estate \nboom of 1857, when his father, like everyone else, had \nfeverishly plotted every inch of ground into building \nlots. \n\nThen at last his eyes found their goal. \n\nGuy McNicol stood at the remote end of the long \nyard. He was in his shirt sleeves of coarse gray wool; \nhis shapeless trousers and stoga boots were feculent with \nmud. Hatless, he stared fixedly, cataleptically, toward \nthe house. In his hand was a heavy club. A brood of \nhens coursed warily about him, weaving in and out of \nthe near-by currant bushes. \n\nAll at once, with no preliminary movement, he exe\xc2\xac \ncuted a sudden frenzied spring into the air, twisting a \nlittle toward the currant bushes. The chickens scurried \naway. Uttering no sound, he began striking at the bushes \nwith his club, insensately, madly, in the last reaches of \nfrantic terror. \n\nMcNicol looked on unmoved, noting dispassionately \nthe suggestion of physical feebleness in his father\xe2\x80\x99s \ndelirium. This thing had been going on for forty-eight \nhours; the lunatic had refused all food; sometimes he \nwould fall asleep for a time, on the floor of the back \nshed. This was his fourth attack, Mrs. McNicol said. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe beast!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGuy McNicol now stared unseeingly at the house once \nmore\xe2\x80\x94till a fresh onslaught of imaginary serpents roused \nhim to his crazed reprisal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank God, whatever else I\xe2\x80\x99ve inherited from him, I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nnever be a drunkard.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn cold disgust his son started to turn away, then \nsuddenly began scaling the fence. In the midst of his \nmania, McNicol, senior, had fallen weakly to the ground, \nand now lay inert. One or two of the bolder chickens, \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD BOOK \n\n\n79 \n\nbrave fellows, were already venturing near him with \ntilted heads, inquiringly. \n\n\nhi \n\nReturning home toward the setting sun in the rig he \nhad rented from the obliging Reverend Cockburn, Mc- \nNicol, junior, was not surprised to discover the gray \nmare and top buggy of his rival still in front of the \nhouse. His father, in his one brief interval of full \nconsciousness, had perversely called upon Doctor Milk to \nsave him. \n\nHe was considerably taken aback, however, when he \nperceived Minnie Onweller coming down the porch steps. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, Denny\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94her eyelids were red with protracted \nweeping\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m so sorry for you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe situation was embarrassing. He had no hesitation \nat all about jilting her, but he dreaded the scene she \nwould make when she knew his infidelity. It only made \nmatters worse that she had spent the whole afternoon \nhelping his mother. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI felt my place was here.\xe2\x80\x9d Her school-teacher\xe2\x80\x99s face \nwas homely\xe2\x80\x94just now, especially, with her tears; but \nwhat chiefly alienated him was her virtuous dowdiness. \nHer brick-red hair hung down lank and wispy over her \nears\xe2\x80\x94without a trace of curl. It was hateful to be under \nobligation to her. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be back as soon\xe2\x80\x99s ever I\xe2\x80\x99ve cooked \na bite for pa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe joined his mother and Milk in the front bedroom. \nThe decrepit physician was fussily ponderous, as usual. \nMrs. McNicol gazed down dry eyed at the bed. Her \nhusband, for the moment, was conscious, but palpably \nweak\xe2\x80\x94as docile as a child. With a slight movement, \nindicating she supposed the two physicians wished to be \nleft alone, she went from the room. \n\n\n8 o \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol, none too sentient ever, nevertheless became \ngrudgingly aware of the lack in Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s demeanor \nof any gusto, of triumphant condescension; and he was \nsurprised at the old man\xe2\x80\x99s all too evident perturbation. \nHis competitor, it suddenly came to him, really liked his \nfather. \n\nGuy McNicol closed his eyes for a moment, and Doctor \nMilk looked quickly around with an expression that was \nundisguisedly mournful, pressed his lips together, and \nshook his head significantly. \n\nThe verdict came to McNicol as enough of a shock to \nclarify his senses, to stimulate his mind to an unnatural \nattentiveness. He had no feeling of sorrow; quite pro\xc2\xac \nfanely, indeed, there promptly bubbled up the sharp per\xc2\xac \nception that now he would be free to go where he chose. \nAnd he also thought: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere is an end to humiliation and disgrace.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYet the imminence of death could not but move him \nprofoundly. \n\nGuy McNicol had no prescience of the end, it seemed. \nHe had opened his eyes and was whispering something. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat does he say?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOld Milk seemed about to weep. \xe2\x80\x9cWants to know when \nwe can go fishing.\xe2\x80\x9d To the dying man, he said: \xe2\x80\x9cWon\xe2\x80\x99t \nbe long, Guy. I\xe2\x80\x99m going in the morning, mayhap\xe2\x80\x94bring \nyou a nice lake trout, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis father had heretofore paid no heed to McNicol, \nbut now his dull gaze shifted from Doctor Milk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s trying to talk to you, Denny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol bent down and heard his parent saying, \n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you go tryin\xe2\x80\x99 to reform the world, Denny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA wave of unconsciousness inundated him. His face, \nIneffably worn and feeble-looking, became an imoassive \nmask\xe2\x80\x94as if with the withdrawal of his soirit. Only his \nlips twitched, reflexively, without the guiding volition of \n\n\nTHE GOOD BOOK \n\n\n81 \n\n\nhis brain. On the bedspread his long imaginative hands \n\xe2\x80\x94not unlike Professor Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s, thought his son\xe2\x80\x94 \nrelaxed and flexed a little, rhythmically. \n\nStill McNicol had no thought of pity, of grief. Only \nof tragic wastage. \n\nDoctor Milk blew his nose and nodded toward the \ndoorway. \xe2\x80\x9cBetter have your mother in, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe found her finally in the unused room upstairs, \ndirectly above where her husband lay. Her back was \ntoward him; she was bending over a low table; and when \nshe heard him and turned around, he was amazed\xe2\x80\x94and \nthrilled\xe2\x80\x94to see the repetition of that unprecedented thing: \na tear coursing from her high cheek bone into the valley \nof her sunken cheek, glistening a bit in the faint light from \nthe window. \n\nAs long as she lived, he never beheld a third tear. \n\nShe made as if to close the large book on the table, \nthen: \xe2\x80\x9cLook.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe identified it as a Bible\xe2\x80\x94an unused Bible, quite dis\xc2\xac \ntinguishable from the Holy Word below in the parlor. \nOn the open leaf he descried a marriage record in faded \nink; under it, the ferrotype of a young man and woman, \nhe sitting in an ornate leather chair, she standing at his \nside, her hand on his shoulder, her little finger studiously, \ndelicately crooked up a little; a book on the floor reclining \nagainst one leg of the chair\xe2\x80\x94the note of culture and \nrefinement; a heavy curtain incomprehensively flowing \nfrom somewhere down across the table next the chair, \nwith a grand effect. \n\nHe was puzzled, groped for the significance of the \nphotograph. Then he perceived that the young woman \nso solemnly and so hopefully gazing out at him was his \nmother; and this handsome young buck, whose fire of \nyouth, whose brilliancy and talent almost leaped forth \nat McNicol\xe2\x80\x94this must be his father. \n\n\n\n\n82 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nShe looked up at him with an acuteness of sorrow, an \nagony of disillusion, that transfixed him, carried across \neven to him its record of high young hope broken, of \nhigh faith and trust beaten down. And he understood \n\xe2\x80\x94she, too, was thinking of tragic wastage. \n\nShe turned and closed the Bible. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99d best come down, directly,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\nAs he followed her downstairs he was conscious of his \nown virtue and all the strength of his twenty-three years. \nHe would never wreck the life of the woman he married \n\xe2\x80\x94delicious visions of Miss Jenny Gough involuntarily \nfilled his brain; never go harum-scaruming after dreams \nand impossible visions, while his wife broke her back with \ndrudgery. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be a good provider, Jenny,\xe2\x80\x9d he caught himself \nwhispering. \n\nAnd he\xe2\x80\x99d support and protect his mother, too, the rest \nof her days. \n\nAs she passed silently into the death chamber he \ndropped back. For all at once he had a disturbing, \ncuriosity-breeding remembrance of his mother\xe2\x80\x99s hand \ncovering the lower part of that fateful page in the unused \nBible. He stole back up the staircase. \n\nSubsconsciously, he noted the old trunk whence she had \nexhumed the book, then with a powerful focusing of atten\xc2\xac \ntion turned up the cover and the first two pages of the \nancient volume, and read\xe2\x80\x94underneath the ferrotype\xe2\x80\x94in \nflowing, elaborate scroll: \n\n\nGuy McNicol \nAged 28 \n\n\nRebecca Youell \nAged 29 \n\n\nUNITED IN HOLY WEDLOCK \nApril 20, 1848 \n\n\nCHAPTER IX \n\n\nSUNY GRIZARD SPEAKS \n\nI \n\nI T must have been midnight when he closed the Grizard \ngate behind the buggy and began leading his weary \nhorse down the corduroy road into the forest. For count\xc2\xac \nless hours\xe2\x80\x94ever since the moment he crept downstairs \nand out of his house\xe2\x80\x94he had been driving through the \ncountry, without purpose, without destination. His \nmother he had not seen again. He did not know posi\xc2\xac \ntively whether his father was dead or alive. \n\nThe concrete fact stunned him; being prepared for \ncalamity seldom eases the force of the blow when it \neventually falls. To such a one as McNicol, however \ncoarse-grained, the discovery of illicit birth seems the \nultimate disgrace, an incubus never to be shaken off, a \ntaint of blood never to be exorcised. He was laid low, and \nit seemed to him at first he could never rise again and \ngo on. \n\nGradually, however, his torment began to give off cer\xc2\xac \ntain apperceptions. By some weird coincidence, it was \nprecisely fifteen years ago to-day his father- and mother \nhad been married. April 20th. His numb brain found \nsome surcease in the calculation of finite time. \n\nHe must have been eight years old then. All at once \nhe remembered: it was toward the end of April he had \nrun away from Aleck Grizard. It could not have been \n\n83 \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n84 \n\nmany days after the marriage that he had arrived in \nCartwright, hungry, footsore, terror-stricken; had sud\xc2\xac \ndenly recognized his mother through the window, smiling \nhappily at this strange man he had never seen before; \nhad opened the door and flung himself into her arms and \nsobbed for protection from Grizard. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll never have to go back now,\xe2\x80\x9d she had said \npresently. \n\nHis father spoke: \xe2\x80\x9cIs this the boy?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHow he hated them now\xe2\x80\x94yes, even the mother he \nhad worshiped all his life. A loose woman. \n\nInstantly there came to him the image of the girl on \nthe man\xe2\x80\x99s lap in the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn\xe2\x80\x94and his mother\xe2\x80\x99s tear. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll the crying in the w T orld won\xe2\x80\x99t wash that out,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe thought, bitterly. \xe2\x80\x9cFrom you or me, either.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDid he ever want to see her again? Could he face \nher without casting stones? \n\nThen an impetuous urgency had possessed him to drain \nthe last drop in the cup, to know every detail and cir\xc2\xac \ncumstance of his shame. He remembered Suny Grizard \n\xe2\x80\x94surely too ill, even now, for cross-examination; yet he \nhad straightway taken his bearings and turned the horse \ntoward the Drayton post road. \n\nAnd now he saw a light still burned in the log cabin. \n\n11 \n\nWhen, by volunteering to sit up with the patient, he had \nfinally got rid of that old nuisance, the midwife\xe2\x80\x94Aleck \nGrizard, he had learned, was in Cartwright, looking for \nhim\xe2\x80\x94McNicol turned toward the bed, with a certain \ntightening of determination. \n\nSuny Grizard was an exceedingly sick woman; the \nthreatened kidney complication had actually developed, \nand alarmingly. Her disfiguring freckles stood out \n\n\nSUNY GRIZARD SPEAKS \n\n\n85 \n\n\nvividly on her long Scotch face; and the brushing of her \nhair straight back over her head, away from her forehead, \nhad accentuated the anaemic unloveliness of her features. \nIn spite of her pallor, he knew she was running a high \ntemperature. \n\nStill, she would probably get well, McNicol thought. \n\nWhether she lived or died, he intended to have the \ntruth out of her to-night. No thought of his duty as \na physician withheld him; he did not care a straw whether \nor no she was strong enough for the ordeal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cListen to me,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, quietly, as he sat down. \xe2\x80\x9cCan \nyou understand what I\xe2\x80\x99m saying?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe would have given her some whisky, if necessary, to \nstimulate her consciousness. But she moved her chin up \nand down feebly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re alone, Mrs. Grizard, and I\xe2\x80\x99ve something to say \nto you.\xe2\x80\x9d He lunged straight for his goal, as usual. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re grateful to me for trying to save your life?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAgain that recumbent nod. Her lips moved, \xe2\x80\x9cYes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had no scruples. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re going to die\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94her eyelids \nfluttered\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cprobably.\xe2\x80\x9d He paused. \xe2\x80\x9cBefore you go you \nmust tell me about my mother and father.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe waited. Her eyes had closed, but only a faint sound \nof mewing distress issued from her dry lips. Pie felt \nbalked by her impassivity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI know, anyway,\xe2\x80\x9d and he told her of the marriage \nrecord. \xe2\x80\x9cMy mother \xe2\x80\x99d want you to tell me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill that same unflecked immobility. It was as if \ntheir two wills were invisibly grappling over the rude bed\xc2\xac \nstead, and the sick woman\xe2\x80\x99s were the stronger. He com\xc2\xac \npressed his lips impatiently, glanced at the dim-burning \nlamp near her pillow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s no reason for not telling me, now. My father\xe2\x80\x99s \ndead.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe opened her eyes and stared at him\xe2\x80\x94as if it had \n\n\n86 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nbeen Guy McNicol, not his wife, who must be guarded \nby her silence. \n\nHe pressed his advantage: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to know; I\xe2\x80\x99ve got to know. My mother didn\xe2\x80\x99t \nadopt me, did she?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe moistened her lips. He could barely catch her faint \nresponse: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, she had you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe hitched his chair closer. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut\xe2\x80\x94but they weren\xe2\x80\x99t married then?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe asked for water, seemed anxious to speak further, \nthen suddenly collapsed. \n\nMcNicol walked up and down the room, scowling. She \nwas willing to tell him the tragic story and could not. He \nwas unable to find Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s whisky jug, and approached \nthe bed to ask her if her husband had taken it with \nhim. \n\nShe was trying to say something. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLetters,\xe2\x80\x9d he made out. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe was too weak to point, but he followed her eyes \nto the area above the doorway. \n\nAleck Grizard might come home any moment. McNicol \nhurriedly moved the table across the room; by standing \non it he had access to the zone her mute gaze prescribed. \nFor fifteen minutes he explored each crevice between the \nlogs. \n\nShe spoke once: \xe2\x80\x9cUnder\xe2\x80\x94roof.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe kept bumping his head against the low rafters, grew \nconstantly more exasperated. A dozen times he thought \nhe heard footsteps outside, expected to see the door flung \nopen. Then at last his fingers distinguished a narrow \nniche where a log had rotted, and pursuing its rough sur\xc2\xac \nface encountered the feel of a paper packet. \n\nHe did not take time to marvel at the patient search \n\n\nSUNY GRIZARD SPEAKS 87 \n\nSuny Grizard must have made, to put hands on such a \nhiding place. \n\nUpon the instant of disclosure she had closed her eyes \nagain, as if in contentment after her vast effort. \n\nhi \n\nTwo of the letters he reread several times, his heavy \nlower jaw set tight. \n\nW ednesday \n\nAug. 11, 1847 \n\nDear friend Suny \n\nI am in great trouble Suny are you willing and able to help \nme. \n\nNobody can ever say I haven\xe2\x80\x99t looked after my boy as I \nshould or that he hasnt had a good home. I thought I had \nlived down past things Suny you know what I mean. I never \nconcealed anything and most of the people respect me, but a \nfriend told me this morning the minister had ritten to Guelph \nabout the boy and wanted them to take him there because \nthey say he has no father. \n\nWell Suny they will never get me to tell who his father is, \nand what is more, they will never take the boy to Guelph if I \ncan help it. \n\nI am sending this to you by Aleck. If they try taking him \naway from me, will you hide him at your place for a short time \nuntil the danger is over. Send your anser by Aleck. \n\nBecky. \n\nMonday a. m. \n\nApr. 18, 1848 \n\nDear friend, \n\nWell suny and how are you and what do you think I have \njust heard from him. His wife has died and he is coming to \nCartwright from Stratford to see me day after tomorrow. \nWhen I got his letter, I knelt down and thanked God. If all \ngoes well and he still wants me it looks like all my troubles \n\n\n88 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nwere over and we will begin all over and I can have my darling \nboy back. I want you to see the father sometime he is so \nhandsome and fine. \n\n\xe2\x80\x94McNicol remembered his mother\xe2\x80\x99s second tear\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd oh I am so grateful for you tending after him so good this \nlast hard year. I can hardly wait to see him again. Aleck says \nhe is looking so well and is so happy at your house. I pray \nGod to bless you both for all you have done for me. \n\nI will let you know in a few days. Wish me happiness, \nSuny. I will come for Denny myself mayhap. \n\nBeck. \n\nP. S.\xe2\x80\x94Does my boy ever speak of me? \n\n\nCHAPTER X \n\n\nAMOS MILK BENDS THE KNEE \n\nI \n\nW HEN he looked up at last, he could see through the \nwindow, dimly, pale wraiths of tree trunks griev\xc2\xac \ning infinitely in the hush of the approaching dawn. \n\nMcNicol aroused himself to action. Suny Grizard slept \ndeeply. The two letters he slid into an inside pocket, out \nof which mockingly ascended to his nostrils the faint per\xc2\xac \nfume from Jenny Gough\xe2\x80\x99s embroidered handkerchief; the \nbalance of the packet he returned to the niche in the log. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s on the mend,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, softly, after he had sum\xc2\xac \nmoned the puttering midwife. \xe2\x80\x9cWhen she wakes up, tell \nher I put them back. No, that\xe2\x80\x99s all\xe2\x80\x94I put them back. \nShe\xe2\x80\x99ll understand.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPast familiar objects in the clearing\xe2\x80\x94the ramshackle \njumper sled; the burned-out stump and the billet of wood, \nattached to a spring-pole, which served Aleck Grizard \nas mortar and pestle to grind his corn\xe2\x80\x94he made his way \nquickly, and started home. \n\nA turtle dived from the corduroy road into a puddle, \nhis horse shied violently once at a rattlesnake, and just \nbefore he reached the post road a deer went crashing \nthrough the underbrush; ordinarily his hunter\xe2\x80\x99s sense \nwould have taken keen note, but now he remained obliv\xc2\xac \niously introverted. \n\nBy the time he came out upon the thoroughfare and \nentered the buggy, it was light enough to read. The \n\n89 \n\n\n90 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhorse started forward through the chilly, lifeless air, but \nMcNicol checked it, and once more sought the faint and \nscarcely legible scrawl of those letters, as if he wanted \nto test their reality by the daylight. \n\nAlways his weary eyes came back to that final post\xc2\xac \nscript: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDoes my boy ever speak of me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe let the impatient horse have its head then; but as \nthey went swiftly forward in an unequal race with the \ndawn, his glance never lifted to the miry road ahead. \nMental stress was unnatural to him; never before had \nhe thought and felt so intensely for so long a time. Some \nclimax, some discharge of his emotions, had to come. \n\nThus he discovered himself abruptly bursting into tears. \nThe whole tragedy had focused in the sudden vivid pic\xc2\xac \nture of his mother writing that postscript. The ineffable \npathos of the thing! Her bearing the shame alone, \nrefusing to implicate the man who had seduced her. More \nthan that, her pitiful new hope of happiness as his wife. \nBut most of all, her sublimely loyal devotion to himself, \nher son. \n\nAnd he had been reviling her, just now\xe2\x80\x94saying he \nwould never see her face again. \n\nIt was entirely characteristic of McNicol to end upon \na sentimental note, yet he began anathematizing his tears \nalmost at once. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re as much a fool as your father.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had been greatly relieved, nevertheless, and re\xc2\xac \nfreshed. His mood vaulted almost to tranquillity; he \nlifted his heavy eyes to the road and then to the pale \nsky, slowly warming to azure; felt the imminence of the \nsun behind him; noted with a degree of interest the \nflight of a cloud of passenger pigeons. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMust be thousands.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe thought he heard, very faintly, the howl of a wolf \n\n\nAMOS MILK BENDS THE KNEE \n\n\n9i \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x94then, near at hand, came once more the final yodling \ncall of a loon. He looked about him; yes, the lake lay \nover to the left, at the end of the narrow intersecting \nroadway just ahead. \n\nAs McNicol glanced up this lane he fancied he caught \nsome movement in its obscure depths, and a scarcely \naudible sound of distress. He halted the horse instantly; \nand in the act, the south wind bore to his senses a strong \nand acrid odor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSkunks!\xe2\x80\x9d He wished he had his rifle with him. \n\nHe saw now it was a man running toward him franti\xc2\xac \ncally. Every few yards he seemed to halt an instant, \nreach into a basket at his side, and hurl something into \nthe lane behind him. All at once, the man tripped over \nthe fish pole he carried, and when he scrambled to his \nfeet McNicol perceived it was Doctor Milk. \n\nHe arrived at the post road, panting, exhausted, an \nexpression of enormous relief in his staring eyes when \nhe saw the rig. As he half fell info it he shouted to \nMcNicol: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDrive for your life, Denny!\xe2\x80\x9d He seized a last fish \nfrom his basket, threw it passionately toward the entrance \nto the lane. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPolish kitties!\xe2\x80\x9d He could hardly speak. \xe2\x80\x9cPolish \nkitties\xe2\x80\x94Siberian mother!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe surveyed the empty basket ruefully. \n\nn \n\nThe lower sank Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s spirits, the higher \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s rose. He did not neglect mentioning he was \non his way back from Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s and that Suny \nGrizard would live. \n\nThe old man leaned forward forlornly. \xe2\x80\x9cAll them nice \ntrout gone. Things running against me nowadays.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n92 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol was by now completely jocular. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, cheer \nup, Doctor. Here\xe2\x80\x94have a cigar!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMilk twisted off the end of the cheroot and they both \nlighted up. The uncommon luxury seemed to lighten the \nincompetent\xe2\x80\x99s melancholy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, now, Denny. I\xe2\x80\x99ve been giving considerable \nthought to this thing,\xe2\x80\x9d he gasped out in that strangu\xc2\xac \nlated wheeze of his. \xe2\x80\x9cI like you, I\xe2\x80\x99m wantin\xe2\x80\x99 to help you. \nI\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 I might take you into partnership.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, Doctor, that\xe2\x80\x99s grand of you.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol enjoyed \nincredibly the old foozler\xe2\x80\x99s air of generosity. He tried \nto appear overcome with the magnanimity of the offer. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYe\xe2\x80\x99ll do it?\xe2\x80\x9d Milk asked, anxiously. \n\nHis former disciple shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cMuch as I\xe2\x80\x99m \nappreciating the compliment.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAh, well.\xe2\x80\x9d The senile one surveyed his broken fish \npole and empty basket tragically. His easy condescension \nseeped away. He let his cigar go out. \n\nMcNicol decided to let him worry a bit. \xe2\x80\x9cMy father\xe2\x80\x99s \ndead, of course?\xe2\x80\x9d he changed the subject. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy.\xe2\x80\x9d The recollection served to deepen the old man\xe2\x80\x99s \nwoe. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd a fine man gone. Not so fine as your ma\xe2\x80\x94 \nbut nobody understood him the way I did. Nobody \nunderstood him at all, Denny\xe2\x80\x94how life kept trippin\xe2\x80\x99 him \nup. My best friend, he was. And now his boy won\xe2\x80\x99t go \npartners wi\xe2\x80\x99 me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis small figure, huddled in obvious defeat, was \nenough of a triumph for McNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll tell you why I won\xe2\x80\x99t, Doctor. Have a light? It\xe2\x80\x99s \nbecause I\xe2\x80\x99m leaving Cartwright\xe2\x80\x94going to Detroit to \nenlist.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou be!\xe2\x80\x9d Milk\xe2\x80\x99s relief was ludicrous. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMonday morning,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll turn my \npatients over to you.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, as a final shaft, \xe2\x80\x9cBut when \nthe war\xe2\x80\x99s done, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI \n\n\nHE PRESENTS THE ALBUM \n\nI \n\n^X 7 \' 0 U\xe2\x80\x99LL be goin\xe2\x80\x99 to see Minnie to-night and say \nA good-by?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother set down the smoothing iron and hung his \nshirt over the back of the chair. She was in her black \nOrleans dress; the house was still pervaded with the \nsickish odor of funeral flowers. \n\nHe continued to pack his bag. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe was complainin\xe2\x80\x99 she hadn\xe2\x80\x99t hardly laid eyes on \nyou,\xe2\x80\x9d his mother went on, contriving a glance into his \nbedroom. \xe2\x80\x9cI said you\xe2\x80\x99d doubtless be cornin\xe2\x80\x99 to-night. \nShe\xe2\x80\x99ll be expectin\xe2\x80\x99 you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol quickly transferred the two letters from his \npocket to the depths of the valise. He had said no word \nof his discover}^ to her; and she had apparently noticed \nnothing of his agitation. \n\nNow he acknowledged her inquiry. \xe2\x80\x9cToo soon after \nthe funeral to be thinking of such things,\xe2\x80\x9d he set forth. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI should stay with you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, now,\xe2\x80\x9d she countered, \xe2\x80\x9ccallin\xe2\x80\x99 on Minnie\xe2\x80\x99s a duty. \nShe\xe2\x80\x99s a good girl and she\xe2\x80\x99s expectin\xe2\x80\x99 you.\xe2\x80\x9d He inter\xc2\xac \ncepted her shrewd glance. \xe2\x80\x9cJust be takin\xe2\x80\x99 that present \nof yours to her\xe2\x80\x94make her feel happy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe did not even attempt to feign surprise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMinnie\xe2\x80\x99s feelin\xe2\x80\x99 right bad to-night\xe2\x80\x94what with your \ngoin\xe2\x80\x99 off again and her losin\xe2\x80\x99 the votin\xe2\x80\x99 contest last night. \n\n93 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n94 \n\nI felt so sorry for her I told her you had a little present \nyou were wantin\xe2\x80\x99 to give her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMa!\xe2\x80\x9d He was irritated by the compulsion she had \nput upon him. \n\nShe pretended to disregard his annoyance. \xe2\x80\x9cEverybody \nsays she won the coral beads by right, but that sneakin\xe2\x80\x99 \nprofessor fixed it so\xe2\x80\x99s his own girl got \xe2\x80\x99em.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was coming near home. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHis own girl?\xe2\x80\x9d His tone was carefully casual. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAy\xe2\x80\x94Jenny Gough. Plenty of fine feathers, but not \nhalf the woman Minnie is.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe did not outwardly reveal he had detected the sig\xc2\xac \nnificance of her inflection\xe2\x80\x94but where under heaven had \nshe discovered his new devotion? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMay have danced with the Prince of Wales in Toronto, \nlike they say; but she\xe2\x80\x99ll bear watchin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe laughed. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter with her, ma? Only \nlast Thursday you were telling me how grand she was.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s grand enough, doubtless.\xe2\x80\x9d His mother deflected \nhis counter-thrust with a shaking of her head. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s the \nway her and Evanturel carry on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn spite of himself, his smile burned out. \n\nShe must have observed it instantly. \xe2\x80\x9cThe rest of the \nshow\xe2\x80\x99s moved over to Allandale already, but he\xe2\x80\x99s still \nhangin\xe2\x80\x99 around. Minnie said she heard he was trvin\xe2\x80\x99 to \nget the girl to elope with him.\xe2\x80\x9d She launched her supreme \nbit of invective: \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s a pucey young fellow\xe2\x80\x94ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWith an unexpected movement, McNicol reached down \nand picked the photograph album from the floor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI doubt I\xe2\x80\x99ll be settin\xe2\x80\x99 up when you come in,\xe2\x80\x9d his \nmother said, in pleased accents. \n\nHe turned to kiss her. \n\nThis was, to all intents, their farewell; in the morning \nthe children would be on hand and there could be no \nprivity of emotion. He was embarking, for how long \n\n\n\nHE PRESENTS THE ALBUM \n\n\n95 \n\n\nneither could guess\xe2\x80\x94to his death, possibly; though she \nstill believed he would enlist as a doctor. They had been \ntogether six short days\xe2\x80\x94days replete with anxiety and \nshame\xe2\x80\x94and she had counted on having him there with \nher the rest of her life. \n\nShe did not tremble in his arms. No suspicion of mois\xc2\xac \nture glazed her eyes. She accepted his abrupt change of \nplans stoically, matter-of-factly, perhaps phlegmatically. \n\nAll she said was, \xe2\x80\x9cBest take your overcoat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere was a woman! \n\nHe was devoutly glad she should never be aware he \nknew. \n\n\nii \n\nTo reach the rope ferry he must pass directly by the \nOnweller cottage. A light burned behind the blinds\xe2\x80\x94with \na quality of expectancy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTime enough,\xe2\x80\x9d he assured himself. \n\nThe skiff was on the opposite shore. He found he \ncould not pull it across; the rope in some way was caught. \nAll the more determinedly, he made his way along the mill \nwharf, then with great caution stepped upon the ridge of \nhuge boulders that formed the dam. \n\nHalfway across, groping in the darkness, he slipped. \nBoth legs splashed into the fast-flowing water; he was \nall but swept into the stream. Cursing silently, he drew \nhimself up on the dam once more, and crept the remaining \ndistance. He had kept the album dry. \n\nHe would just find out about this elopement business. \n\nThat odd poplar grove received him into its mysterious \nshadows. The several lights from the great manor house \ngleamed quaintly through the branchless tree trunks. He \nsensed the blowing of the wind, the scudding of clouds \nacross the starlit sky. But within the grove the darkness \nwas suffocating. \n\n\n\n\ng6 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol reconnoitered with extreme discretion. Per\xc2\xac \nhaps on the other side of each thick tree, he would come \nsuddenly upon the two\xe2\x80\x94the girl he had sworn to marry, \nand Evanturel. Perhaps, even now, they w T ere stealing \noff together in some other quarter of the grove, unde\xc2\xac \ntected, and he was too late. His wet trousers clung to \nhis legs clammily. \n\nAs he came closer he observed that some of the windows \nhad not been screened. The lamps within threw a vague \nillumination out into the area directly in front of the \nhouse. \n\nMcNicol, with a sudden physical shock, stopped. Ap\xc2\xac \nproaching the house from another angle, he had descried \na second prowler. He had an instinct to dodge behind \na tree, then perceived he had already been discovered. \nThe illumination did not suffice to reveal the other\xe2\x80\x99s fea\xc2\xac \ntures, but he was, quite unmistakably, Evanturel. \n\nCome to abduct his, McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s, chosen wife! \n\nInstantly he dropped the photograph album and rushed \nforward, had time to get home to his rival\xe2\x80\x99s face two \nsmashing blows each with a full shoulder behind it. \n\nWith a cry of terror the pucey one managed to extricate \nhimself and departed with unbelievable speed. McNicol, \npursuing like a mad bull, ran full tilt into a poplar tree, \nsat down abruptly. \n\nPresently, as he remained on the ground, rubbing his \ntingling scalp, he became aware of a familiar and pleas\xc2\xac \nantly significant sound\xe2\x80\x94the creaking of the iron pulleys \nof the rope ferry. \n\nThere would be no elopement this night! \n\nHalfway to his feet, he became conscious a lamp was \nbeing lighted in one of the second-story rooms. \n\nHer bedroom. In a year, perhaps \xe2\x80\x94their bedroom. \n\nSome one was moving about in that shrine. He could \nsee blurred silhouettes on the ceiling and wall. She! Shift \n\n\nHE PRESENTS THE ALBUM \n\n\n97 \n\nabout, twist his neck as he would, he could not envisage \nher. He started climbing a tree trunk. \n\nThen the occupant of the room came to the window\xe2\x80\x94 \nstood gazing up at the heavens raptly. And it was only \nhis patient\xe2\x80\x94the young child, Lessie Gough. \n\nThe mute aspiration of her posture did not touch him. \nThe object of his adoring quest must be still downstairs, \nthen. He circled to the right, hoping to catch one last \nblessed glimpse of her. \n\nThe soldier\xe2\x80\x99s final silent leave-taking. The romantic \naspects of the situation came fervidly to him. \n\nIf she could know! If he could but draw her out to \nhim by the very force of his longing! It seemed to him \nhe must see her again, must let her know, somehow, he \nworshiped her. \n\nShe might marry some one else while he was away, \nfighting\xe2\x80\x94without ever realizing he cared. \n\nHe stopped again. Some one was coming, actually, out \non the porch. As the figure passed through a shaft of \nlight he recognized her. \n\nShe stood perfectly immobile. He was not fifty feet \nfrom her. This was his God-given opportunity. Should \nhe fail? \n\nJust then he was aware of an afterthought, acutely \npainful. Perhaps she was waiting for Evanturel! \n\nWhile he wrestled with his jealousy she quickly went \nwithin. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou fool!\xe2\x80\x9d he berated his indecision. \n\nAs he wandered, disconsolate, his foot struck something \n\xe2\x80\x94the photograph album. He stared down at it, and a \nsudden determination came to him. \n\nHe had been perfectly clear, all along, that he meant \neventually to get to Minnie Onweller\xe2\x80\x99s house and give her \nthe album. He had bought it for her, and it was only \nright she should have it. Later\xe2\x80\x94when he was miles \n\n\n\ng8 the red-blood \n\naway\xe2\x80\x94he would write her and explain his change of heart. \n\nBut now he rapidly inscribed another name on the paper \nwrapping, stole up the front steps of the Gough mansion, \ndeposited the album on the doorsill, vigorously plied the \nknocker, and flitted back into the night. \n\nIt was James Gough, he thought, who answered the \nsummons, stood scrutinizing the package curiously an \ninstant, then closed the door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99ll never know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd he remained subtly comforted, even though a few \nmoments later he saw the light still burning behind the \nOnweller blinds, patiently, expectantly. \n\nhi \n\nThe kitchen lamp in his own home had not been \nextinguished, either. He climbed the driveway gate noise\xc2\xac \nlessly, planning to enter by the back door. Doubtless his \nmother had sanctioned the extravagance lest his stum\xc2\xac \nblings in the dark interior awaken them all. \n\nBut as he came to the kitchen window he saw she was \nstill up. Sitting torpidly in one of the bare wooden chairs \nnear the lamp, her face toward him; he could remark \ndistinctly its every lineament. She was reading some\xc2\xac \nthing, with a slight strabismic frown. \n\nMcNicol came a step closer, to confirm his shocked per\xc2\xac \nception. The sheets in her fingers were the two letters \nshe had sent to Suny Grizard. \n\nHe could not believe the fact, so lethargic her scrutiny. \nA thread of irritation unraveled in his brain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s what she gets for snooping. Serves her right.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut he retraced his steps cautiously and entered the \nfront door with elaborate banging, that she might have \nsufficient warning. \n\nIt amazed him that she had not changed her posture \n\n\nHE PRESENTS THE ALBUM \n\n\n99 \n\never so slightly. Her calm glance rested on her son\xe2\x80\x99s \nbruised forehead. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd what\xe2\x80\x99s this you\xe2\x80\x99ve been doin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 yoursel\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \nAutomatically he rubbed the swollen area, staring at \nthe letters. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhen I come t\xe2\x80\x99 pack your shirt in the grip, th^se got \npulled out somehow,\xe2\x80\x9d she explained, with steadfast, un\xc2\xac \nashamed gray eyes. \xe2\x80\x9cI could tell, anyway, you\xe2\x80\x99d found \nout.\xe2\x80\x9d She gave the letters to him. \xe2\x80\x9cPut them back. \nLet sleepin\xe2\x80\x99 dugs lie.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs he received them and started silently toward the \nbedroom, she noted the disappearance of the photograph \nalbum. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94and was Minnie likin\xe2\x80\x99 your present?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCHAPTER XII \n\n\nEMBARKATION \n\nI \n\nB EFORE proceeding to the brink of the escarpment \nhe detoured to the family lot and stood for a moment \nwithin the shelter, surveying the marker at the foot of \nthe mustard-colored mound of earth, laden with spring \nflowers still unwithered. \n\nMcNicol stooped. Yes, the stone mason had already \ncome and gone. \n\nFATHER \n\n1820-1863 \n\nThis last freshly graven date roused no emotion in \nhim; he was interested chiefly in assuring himself the \nwork had been capably done. His eyes drifted\xe2\x80\x94fell \nupon the hemlock trunk, its spiral scar already maculated \nwith weather stains; and in a flash he was back in the \nthunderstorm, witnessing the tree\xe2\x80\x99s electrocution, feeling \nhis cap wet on his brow, wondering about that bauble of \na handkerchief. \n\nHe resurrected it now, pressed it sentimentally to his \nlips, inhaled its faint perfume. \n\nA sharp recollection of more practical exigencies pres\xc2\xac \nently drew his watch forth; he must watch the time. But \nas he prepared to leave the shelter, the snapping of a \n\nbroken branch drew his attention alertly toward the road. \n\n100 \n\ne, \n\n( * \n\ni \n\n\nEMBARKATION ioi \n\nA girl, quite alone, was approaching him rapidly along \nthe path. \n\nMcNicol dodged behind the two intertwining pine trees, \nhis heart beating fast. For though the brim of her flat \nLeghorn hat concealed her features, he had recognized her \nat once. No other woman in Wellington County would \nbe walking alone in a cemetery at this hour of the morn\xc2\xac \ning, and so delicately, so radiantly attired. She wore \nboots, he could see, under her short flaring petticoat of \ndark blue, and a close-fitting jacket of pearl gray. As \nshe came nearer, then passed by, he caught the glint of \nthe sunlight upon the sequins of her velvet hand bag, \ntook note of the folds of the camel\xe2\x80\x99s-hair shawl embracing \nher lovely neck and dark-brown ringlets. \n\nShould he go forth, seize hold on the miracle, or stay \nmiserably, supinely inert? Easy enough, later, to tell \nhimself he would have been brave; the girl, however, had \nsuddenly stopped, with a startled movement; she was \nturning toward him; she saw him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh! I was afraid-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe came out of the shelter, compressing the handker\xc2\xac \nchief into his fist, doffing his cloth cap. \n\nMiss Jenny Gough\xe2\x80\x99s vivid gaze enthralled him. She \nwas superb\xe2\x80\x94a goddess\xe2\x80\x94with a lavish, opulent beauty. \nNot beauty, exactly. Certainly not fragile prettiness. \nHandsomeness\xe2\x80\x94that was it. Vigorous, colorful, full\xc2\xac \nblown handsomeness. \n\nBut what was this incredible thing she was saying? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I was afraid I\xe2\x80\x99d been too late. You see, your \nmother told me I might find you here if I hurried.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhat! This divine creature pursuing him! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean you wanted to see me?\xe2\x80\x9d he faltered in\xc2\xac \ncredulously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes\xe2\x80\x94before you went. I felt I had to thank you for \nthat beautiful album.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n102 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHis servile lower jaw would drop. \xe2\x80\x9cHow-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI knew/\xe2\x80\x99 she answered mysteriously. Her warm \nsmile had an ingredient of coquetry. \xe2\x80\x9cI thought it was \nintended for some one else.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nConfound this provincial gabbling! His own grin was \nsheepish. Some outlying preoccupation presaged an \nunpleasant episode, one day, with Miss Minnie Onweller. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m sorry you\xe2\x80\x99re going,\xe2\x80\x9d she said presently. \n\nHe had an instinct to disclaim any heroism of motive. \nHe almost told her, \xe2\x80\x9cNobody can expect to amount to \nmuch in the States who hasn\xe2\x80\x99t a war record.\xe2\x80\x9d He might, \nin his pride of shrewdness, even have told her of the \nbounty. But some small residue of perceptiveness kept \nhim silent; he discerned a more idealistic mood in her. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy duty,\xe2\x80\x9d he blurted. \n\nHer eyes acclaimed him. \xe2\x80\x9cHow wonderful! What a \nglorious chance for a physician!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe saw a further opportunity to impress her. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m \nnot going as a doctor. I shall enlist as a soldier\xe2\x80\x94to \nfight.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe hoped she wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t tell his mother. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I wish\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d She stopped. \n\nBut he sensed her meaning. \xe2\x80\x9cThis handkerchief of \nyours\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He extended it humbly; then, to save her dis\xc2\xac \ntress, lied chivalrously: \xe2\x80\x9cI just found it here. Won\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou let me keep it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe incident was surely romantic. Jenny Gough gave \na little sigh of bliss, and, as a queen to her paladin, con\xc2\xac \nferred the lacy favor. \n\nMcNicol instinctively craved reassurance on one point. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m hoping you\xe2\x80\x99ll still be here when\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He did not \nhave to finish the period. \n\nShe did not answer directly. Instead she gave him her \nhand; he knelt and kissed it. \n\n\n\nEMBARKATION \n\n\n103 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDo something fine!\xe2\x80\x9d she bequeathed. \xe2\x80\x9cDo something \nbeautiful!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n11 \n\nCuriously enough, the last impression he had was of the \ntiny holes pierced in the lobes of her delicately fashioned \nears. Curiously, too, these minute puncturings elevated \nher in his eyes, made her that much more desirable of \nacquisition. She was above him, beyond him, now\xe2\x80\x94a \ngoal to measure his strength, a possible trophy for his \nunconquerable wilJ-to-power. \n\nShe had disappeared, and he looked masterfully from \nthe escarpment out across the valley, past the Conestoga \nand the bleak little town huddled into the rise of ground, \nto the free scope and sweep of the sun-freshened hills, \nand on the northern horizon the bold contour of Mount \nJudah. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, I\xe2\x80\x99ll marry her \xe2\x80\x9d he said, breathing deep\xe2\x80\x94the \npanorama, as ever, distilling broad resolves within him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd I\xe2\x80\x99ll make money \xe2\x80\x9d He thrust his head perceptibly \nforward on his thick neck. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd be a great man.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe wheeled abruptly; and after a second glance at his \nwatch began running back along the path toward the \nDrayton post road, where the mail coach was to pick \nhim up. \n\n\n\nBOOK TWO: MARRIAGE \n\n\n\nBOOK TWO: MARRIAGE \n\nCHAPTER I \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\nI \n\n\nAWAKENING abruptly about six o\xe2\x80\x99clock, McNicol had \n\n\n\n^ bounded to his feet and was standing in the middle of \nthe small bedroom, before his slowly clearing conscious\xc2\xac \nness reminded him of three unique circumstances: that he \nhad spent the night at the Drayton Western Star; that it \nwas Sunday morning; that the hotel dining room would \nnot be open for another hour. \n\nHe found he was staring stupidly at a large framed \nengraving suspended on the wall over the side of his bed. \nA faint prick of curiosity impinged; he went a step nearer \nand read the indistinct title characters: \xe2\x80\x9cKing William \nCrossing the Boyne.\xe2\x80\x9d Thence his glance descended to the \ninviting folds of the feather mattress. He had not slept \nso luxuriously since leaving Cartwright, twenty-six long \nmonths ago. His initial impulse was to go back to bed, \nbut even as he stood debating he became aware of the \nfirst shafts of the morning sun slanting horizontally \nacross the room upon the heroic figure of King William. \nPromptly his instinct for activity possessed him; he \nturned without further questioning from the bedstead \ntoward the room\xe2\x80\x99s solitary window. \n\nBeyond the ugliness of the brick and frame buildings \nthat lay east of the Western Star slowly emerged the \nmajestic slope of green Ontario hills. Suddenly the air \nin the little bedroom seemed intolerably close; he \n\n\nio8 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nwrenched the astonished window open, and leaning out a \nlittle, tasted the peculiar piquant freshness of the air; \nsomething of its familiar pioneer flavor reached his slow \nsensibilities; he was indefinably stirred, reenforced. \n\nMcNicol, to be sure, was not one to moon rapturously \nat any landscape, however lovely. Swiftly the panorama \nbecame for him but an appropriate background for his \nown triumphant return from the war; he measured him\xc2\xac \nself against the Canadian hills and sensed his own strength \nand maturity. The picture returned of himself, standing \non the limestone escarpment at Cartwright that April \nmorning, more than two years ago; and he almost smiled, \nso pathetically callow and unfledged did his younger self \nnow appear. \n\nHe turned quickly away from the window, already \nobsessed with the necessity of doing something. Over the \nback of a chair hung the coat of his officer\xe2\x80\x99s uniform; \nhe picked it up with sudden pride. The uniform was \nquite new; he had obtained it after his discharge from \nAndersonville prison. And highly becoming. In it he \nrecognized himself a handsome presence. But more than \nthis, the uniform betokened solid achievement: in \ntwenty-four months of service he had become a captain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnother year\xe2\x80\x94and I\xe2\x80\x99d have been a general,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nassured himself, with acute regret. \n\nHalf dressed, he stepped to the washbasin and began \nshaving in front of the square flyblown mirror, meanwhile \nsurveying himself with the solemn stare of one celebrating \nhigh ritual. The sharp razor blade retreated downward \nfrom his long sideburns\xe2\x80\x94he wondered, inadvertently, \nwhether he ought not to grow a mustache\xe2\x80\x94and started \ntraveling over his chin with a slight scraping sound; all \nat once it seemed to skid slightly, and he gave an \nexclamation of pain. The white lather under his lower \nlip became suffused with red. \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n109 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDamnation!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol washed away the lather \nimpatiently. Blood coursed down his chin from the \nincision. He had forgotten to avoid the jagged rifle-bullet \nscar that mutilated the right corner of his lower lip and \nsagged diagonally down across the front of his jaw, almost \nlike a second grotesque mouth. The flaps of the wound \nhad never healed smoothly; unless he used extreme pains \nin shaving, he was certain to send his razor into the tender \nscar tissue. \n\nEven after the flow of blood slackened and he had \nfinished shaving, his resentment continued to smolder. \nHe reexamined the scar. Always until now he had been \nrather proud of it\xe2\x80\x94his soldier\xe2\x80\x99s credentials, a scarlet \nchevron of valor. But now he found himself regarding \nit as a blemish\xe2\x80\x94wondering what Jenny Gough, for \nexample, might make of it. For however lightly he held \nthat more youthful McNicol of two years ago, he still \ncherished with grim determination those same three \nresolves; and it was, in fact, for the express purpose of \naffiancing Miss Gough that he had hastened from Detroit \nimmediately after his discharge from the army. \n\nHe glared at the scar a moment more, revolving in his \nmind the feasibility of growing an Imperial to conceal \nits distorting contour. \n\n\n11 \n\nWhen McNicol, after a brief excursion, returned to \nthe Western Star, shortly before seven o\xe2\x80\x99clock, he found \na blowsy, collarless youth yawning behind the hotel desk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here, son,\xe2\x80\x9d he accosted, \xe2\x80\x9cwhat time does the \nlivery stable open?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe clerk, still enveloped in an aura of sleep, stared \nstupidly at McNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLivery stable?\xe2\x80\x9d His voice was catarrhal, as if his \n\n\nno \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nlarge nose was completely stopped up. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, this is \nSunday, mister. Can\xe2\x80\x99t get no rig on Sunday, y\xe2\x80\x99 know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol blinked. He had forgotten the inviolability \nof the Canadian Sabbath. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I\xe2\x80\x99ve got to go to Cartwright,\xe2\x80\x9d he persisted, as \nthough expecting his personal exigencies to move the inert \nmountains of tradition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t git no rig to-day,\xe2\x80\x9d reiterated the youth, stolidly, \nsensing the full moral support of convention. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s gray eyes glittered. He had an almost irre\xc2\xac \nsistible impulse to pound the desk with his fist and shout \nloud challenges to this gawky representative of local \nvirtue. Yet he had the wit to perceive that not all the \nwill power in the world could indent such inertia. His \ncontempt became sardonically humorous; he remembered \nhis role of the successful man of the world indulgently \nreturning to his humble origin. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou people ought to wake up\xe2\x80\x94get a move on,\xe2\x80\x9d he told \nthe clerk. \xe2\x80\x9cHow much do I owe you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStayin\xe2\x80\x99 for breakfast?\xe2\x80\x9d The boy found a pencil and \nprepared for difficult mathematical feats. \xe2\x80\x9cTwenty-five \ncents for sleepin\xe2\x80\x99 and washin\xe2\x80\x99 y\xe2\x80\x99, and fifteen cents for \neatin\xe2\x80\x99 y\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s forty cents in all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol spun a coin on the desk, his good humor nearly \nrestored. Forty cents! He reflected he would have had \nto pay twice that in a Detroit hotel. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll leave my grips here\xe2\x80\x94have the stage bring them \nover in the morning,\xe2\x80\x9d he condescended to the oscitant \nyouth. \n\nThe dining-room door was opened just then by a girl \nwho might have been the clerk\xe2\x80\x99s twin sister. McNicol \nentered and took a chair near the door. These people \nw^ere all alike, he assured himself: no quickness, no dash, \nno ambition; fully content to live precisely as had their \nfathers; convinced their own little corner of the w T orld \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\nhi \n\n\nembraced all wisdom, all virtue\xe2\x80\x94the people, indeed, espe\xc2\xac \ncially chosen of God and Queen Victoria. His own view\xc2\xac \npoint had expanded enormously; he had traveled hun\xc2\xac \ndreds of miles; he had seen Abraham Lincoln and General \nGrant, face to face; frightful forms of death and human \nagony, the scorching intensity of battlefields, had hard\xc2\xac \nened him into a grim and resourceful man; he had tested \nhimself against people in the mass and grown stronger \nwith each test. Already he was thinking of himself as \na citizen of the United States, a resident of Detroit; these \nprimitive backwoods Canadians seemed akin to vege\xc2\xac \ntables, with no quickening sense of progress to inspirit \nthem. Yet in the States he was always the first to resent \nany slighting reference to his Canadian birth, to spring \nto the defense of these same unimaginative yokels as \nparagons of honesty and intelligence. \n\nThe clerk\xe2\x80\x99s twin sister appeared with his meal: two \nlarge fried pork chops, several sausages, fried potatoes, \ncorn cakes, tea, and a piece of very pallid apple pie. \nMcNicol smiled anew at the Ontario conception of break\xc2\xac \nfast; by now he had advanced to a preference for ham and \neggs, and coffee; but he was hungry and not disposed to \nbe fastidious. \n\nThe waitress walked a few feet away, then wheeled and \nstood scrutinizing him, unabashed and determinedly help\xc2\xac \nful. He could not reach for one of the elliptical side- \ndishes without being forestalled by her. As he plowed \nthrough toward completion, she swiftly descended, re\xc2\xac \nmoved the glass cover from a plate of cheese, and tendered \nhim an assortment of hard soda biscuit dotted here and \nthere with what might have been dust specks. McNicol \ngrunted his refusal; now that his appetite was satisfied, \nhe remembered he must not take liberties with a stomach \ntemporarily weakened by prison fare. \n\nThe girl\xe2\x80\x99s stare annoyed him. All at once her swarm \n\n\n\n112 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nof freckles reminded him of Minnie Onweller, and he was \nimmediately conscious of a slight uneasiness. What was \nMinnie likely to do? Had she heard about the photo\xc2\xac \ngraph album? Would she make a scene\xe2\x80\x94perhaps throw \nher arms about his neck and weep? His wished a little \nhe had not come. Might it not be better to cross off his \nfirst great resolution? Even Jenny Gough seemed a little \nless desirable now, in his new scale of values. Perhaps, \nsince he intended settling in Detroit, it would be cannier \nto marry some girl there\xe2\x80\x94some one who could help him \nmake a start. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou a soldier?\xe2\x80\x9d The waitress\xe2\x80\x99s curiosity suddenly \nbroke through her womanly reserve. \n\nAdmiration from even a freckled girl is not ungrateful. \nMcNicol nodded sternly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFrom the States?\xe2\x80\x9d Then, before he could answer, \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhich side you on?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn the midst of his astonishment, he threw out, \xe2\x80\x9cThe \nNorth, of course.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe seemed distinctly disappointed, but forced herself \nto broadmindedness. \xe2\x80\x9cHow much longer you thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 it \nwill last?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol pushed back his chair and really gaped. Here \nit was the middle of June, and people in Drayton didn\xe2\x80\x99t \neven know the war was over, probably hadn\xe2\x80\x99t yet heard \nof President Lincoln\xe2\x80\x99s assassination. A scant two hun\xc2\xac \ndred miles away, life still revolved all-inclusively about \nthese cataclysmic facts; but here in the middle of \nOntario, a so-called civilized community- \n\nThen something happened to bring him down out of \nhis high indignation to more concrete concerns. Two men \nentered the dining room, glanced carelessly toward him, \nthen proceeded to a table at the far end of the room. \n\nMcNicol gave a start of recognition. The waitress\xe2\x80\x99s \nprecipitate desertion of him passed unnoticed. He had \n\n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\nn 3 \n\nsuddenly perceived that one of the newcomers was, quite \nbeyond question, Professor Evanturel. \n\nAll doubt of the singular and unexampled luster of \nMiss Jenny Gough whisked from his mind. He decided \nhe must set out for Cartwright immediately. \n\n\nin \n\nWhen at length he reached the escarpment two hours \nlater, and caught his first view of the town, he did not \npause, as had been his custom. There was no time to be \nlost, he felt. Already the sun was high in a crystalline \nsky. His body was powdered with fine summer dust; he \nlonged for a few minutes\xe2\x80\x99 respite on the cemetery\xe2\x80\x99s shaded \ngrass; but he pressed on along the declivity\xe2\x80\x99s brink, still \ndriven by his fixed resolve to see Jenny Gough before \nEvanturel could overtake him. \n\nThe clang of the bell in the truncated church tower \npulsated across the valley to him. He could see black \nmarionettes creeping toward the structure from both \nsides; his mother and some of the children he fancied he \ndescried leaving the bleak blob of gray that was his home. \nBut more intently he kept watch on the patch of poplars \nthat almost smothered the square corners of the Gough \nhouse\xe2\x80\x94hoping fervently that no woman\xe2\x80\x99s figure might \nemerge. Perhaps, if his luck held good, he would find \nher there alone. \n\nLong before he reached the first outlying house the \nchurch bell had sent forth its final peremptory trio of \nsharp peals, and subsided. McNicol decided he would \nhave a look at the congregation; if Jenny had not come, \nhe would proceed directly to her house and bring matters \nto some decision before Evanturel\xe2\x80\x99s arrival. \n\nThe town\xe2\x80\x99s familiar street came into view, every foot \nof it pregnant with some boyhood association. The faint \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n114 \n\nbreeze reached his nostrils, fragrant and crisply warm \nfrom caressing the hills and trees he knew so intimately. \nBut all unconscious of such gossamery nothings, McNicol \ncame to the church and prepared to enter. \n\nThere was no outer vestibule, he remembered; and \nit occurred to him that the front door had a permanent \nsqueak. His ingress would attract attention; he could \nscarcely leave, once inside. Then he noted and recalled \nan outdoor staircase on one side of the edifice, giving \naccess to a shallow rear gallery. He stole up the little- \nused steps. If the door at the top chanced to be \nunlocked- \n\nTo his relief, it yielded noiselessly to his pressure. He \npeeped within. No more fortunate pass could have be\xc2\xac \nfallen: the minister was praying; all heads were bowed \ndevoutly low over pew backs. McNicol edged his way \nin with extreme caution, succeeded in closing the door \nbehind him without the faintest vestige of sound, and \nsat down on the gallery\xe2\x80\x99s sole row of hard benches. Then \nhe noted for the first time that he was not alone in the \nbalcony; at the other end of the bench knelt an aged \nnegro. \n\nForce of habit constrained McNicol to bow his own \nhead for one moment. The Rev. Aubrey Cockburn, he \nat once recognized, had reached the final \xe2\x80\x9cwe-thank- \nThee\xe2\x80\x9d section of his prayer; the unctuous accents became \never more insistent. From various points of the boxlike \ninterior arose fervent amens. McNicol was no atheist, \ncertainly; if catechized, he would promptly have affirmed \nhis belief in a jealous God. No, it was simply that more \nexigent things had pushed religion into the background; \nhe never thought about it any more. Now, at any rate, \nhe was becoming bored. \n\nAn especially loud and quavering, \xe2\x80\x9cAmen,\xe2\x80\x9d breaking \nfrom the old negro, startled him into fresh recollection of \n\n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\nii 5 \n\nhis quest. His eyes, raised discreetly, began probing rest\xc2\xac \nlessly among the suppliant worshipers below. Many of \nthem he identified at once: Minnie Onweller, for example, \nkneeling next to her father\xe2\x80\x99s burly figure. Her brick-red \nhair induced a slight shiver of aversion in him; he con\xc2\xac \ntinued to foresee difficult complications. Then, a little \nfarther forward and to the right, his elder sister, Naomi, \nand his brother Glen. Spontaneously, his glance lifted \nto the chair stall, at the left of the pulpit. Yes, his \nmother w r as there, crouched down beside the diminutive \nreed organ; he could identify her black Orleans dress, \nthe gibbous slope of her back. \n\nAt the very moment of recognition the invocation \nceased, and his mother quickly moved to the organ stool. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet us all unite in singing hymn number Forty-six,\xe2\x80\x9d \nurged Reverend Cockburn as soon as he had found his \nfeet. \xe2\x80\x9cHymn number Forty-six: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFrom Greenland\xe2\x80\x99s icy mountains, \n\nFrom India\xe2\x80\x99s coral strand-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis eyes, traveling piously heavenward, paused full \non McNicol\xe2\x80\x94remained there a moment. The aged \nnegro, too, was now scrutinizing him with curiosity. The \nreturned warrior scowled a little; it did not at all suit \nhis purpose to be recognized. To leave the gallery now \nwould be difficult. He was glad the congregation faced \nthe other way; only the minister and the choir could \nenvisage the gallery. He heard Tom Boole\xe2\x80\x99s corded bass \nvoice, idly remarked Mrs. Sarah Fergus\xe2\x80\x99s squat figure \nemitting contralto tones excessively stentorian; then, his \ngaze resting on the third member of the choir, he gulped \nabruptly. Of course! He remembered now his mother\xe2\x80\x99s \ntelling him about the fine soprano voice of Miss Jenny \nGough \n\n\n\nn6 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nYes, there stood his future wife, sharing a hymn book \nwith the dowdy Mrs. Fergus, the sun slanting in from \nthe near-by window across her figure. Her voice, not so \nblatant as the others\xe2\x80\x99, nevertheless stood out clear and \nmusical; it was what people called a \xe2\x80\x9ctrained voice\xe2\x80\x9d; she \nsang almost effortlessly, in contrast with the others\xe2\x80\x99 mus\xc2\xac \ncular straining. But McNicol was scarcely aware of this. \nHe hung inanimate upon the mere fact of her radiant \npresence; he could not have said what she wore, save that \nit was of some light-blue material\xe2\x80\x94and so remarkably \nfresh-looking! All at once he wanted her to see him. He \nstood up straighter, moved a little, projected his desire \ntoward her. But, perversely enough, she would not raise \nher glance from the hymnal. \n\nThe congregation sat, and the Reverend Cockburn \nbegan his sermon with appropriate ponderousness. Still \nMcNicol could not attract the attention of his divinity, nor \neven his mother\xe2\x80\x99s. Now if he had been trying to remain \nunnoticed, they would have seen him instantly! The \nsituation irked him; he had no appetite for the Reverend \nCockburn\xe2\x80\x99s terrifying pictures of hell fire; at any minute, \ntoo, Evanturel might himself enter the edifice. Yet there \nwas no escape. At frequent intervals the minister would \nimpale him with stern glances and earnest gestures\xe2\x80\x94as \nif defying him to leave. \n\nFans undulated through the humid air; more than one \nman, without relaxing at all his fixed probity of expres\xc2\xac \nsion, peeled off his coat. Small boys like Glen McNicol \nfell asleep. \n\nBut for McNicol the hour\xe2\x80\x99s ordeal was somewhat \nalleviated by the circumstance that he could look his fill \nat the girl in the choir stall. She was sitting between \nhis mother and Mrs. Fergus; and he could not help notic\xc2\xac \ning that whereas she sometimes exchanged whispers and \nsmiles with the contralto, she gave no heed to Mrs. \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n117 \n\nMcNicol. Or was it that his mother covertly ignored \nJenny? \n\nBy this time McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s first inner turmoil had given \nplace to a more impersonal appraisal of the girl. She \nwas as colorfully handsome as he had remembered her. \nHer brown and glossy hair, escaping a little the sides \nof her bonnet, framed perfectly her round, slightly tanned \nface. If her eyes had been less arresting in their dark \nvividness, perhaps the lower half of her face might have \nseemed weak. Her beauty, in spite of her youthfulness, \nhad a quality of maturity, a certain exotic opulent strain. \n\nEven the Reverend Cockburn\xe2\x80\x99s bony forehead glistened \nwith perspiration now, as if he suffered in person the fiery \ntorments he designed for unbelievers. The sermon \nbecame a test of endurance; each moment it seemed he \nmust stop, 3^et he strove valiantly on and on. Modern \nlaxity in religion and morals received his most stinging \nassaults. Children were no longer being reared, as had \ntheir parents, in proper reverence for the sacred things \nof life; the younger generation, unless promptly checked, \nwould convert Canada into one vast sea of iniquity. And \nconditions in the States, he hinted\xe2\x80\x94and seemed to look \nstraight at McNicol\xe2\x80\x94were inexpressibly more shocking; \nthere, godlessness already ran rampant. \n\nThen all at once the incredible happened and the ser\xc2\xac \nmon ceased. An effluence of gratitude rose almost visibly \nfrom the tortured audience. All eyes turned expectantly \ntoward the choir stall. Mrs. McNicol w^as already play\xc2\xac \ning soft introductory measures from a page of sheet music. \nQuite without warning, Jenny Gough stood up and started \nher offertory solo. Her manner was diffident, almost \nmeek, as if she wished to demonstrate to the Reverend \nCockburn and to the worshipers that here was one mem\xc2\xac \nber of the younger generation, at least, who had no traffic \nwith modern sinfulness. McNicol could not fail to \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n118 \n\nnotice the convergence of all interest upon the soloist. \nFans stopped vibrating. Octogenarians listened with \nopen mouths, their hands cupped to ears. Even the Rev. \nAubrey Cockburn turned toward the music, perhaps to \nindicate he was a liberal-minded man and open to con\xc2\xac \nviction. \n\nThe song Jenny sang was full of a sweet and plaintive \nsadness; many of the women applied pocket kerchiefs to \ntheir eyes. McNicol himself felt tremendously moved. \nHis neighbor, the ancient negro, must have been similarly \naffected; for all at once, just before the end of the solo, \nhe emitted a loud and agitated, \xe2\x80\x9cAmen.\xe2\x80\x9d So loud, in fact, \nthat Jenny Gough looked up into the gallery, startled, for \nthe first time that morning; and her eyes darted ques- \ntioningly from the old negro across to where McNicol sat \nenthralled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy George!\xe2\x80\x9d he mumbled. \n\nThe soloist regained her aplomb only with visible effort, \ncompleted the song a bit uncertainly, and resumed her \nseat. \n\nShe had recognized him. Always her glance returned \nto the gallery, yet McNicol could not construe her \nexpression as delighted. Surprised, she naturally would \nbe; but why did she appear so uneasy, so apprehensive? \n\nHe saw her whisper briefly to his mother. Mrs. Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol looked quickly up at him, and her deeply felt joy \nmade Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s perturbation the more distinct. \n\nA brief final supplication from the Reverend Cockburn \nand the service was over. \n\nMcNicol gathered himself together for incisive action. \nHe decided he would meet his mother at the door below, \nthen, upon Jenny Gough\xe2\x80\x99s appearance, detach himself as \nunobtrusively as possible and accompany her home. Al\xc2\xac \nready, doubtless, Evanturel was somewhere in town. \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n119 \n\nMrs. McNicol was waiting for him when he descended \nthe steep gallery staircase. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, ma,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, and kissed her awkwardly. \n\nIn spite of his preoccupation, he noted that she was \nolder. Her hair was almost white, and her face and neck \nmuch more emaciated; her neck, especially. Its thick \nsuperficial muscles stood out perceptibly from the loose \nfolds of skin. And even as he watched the church door, \nhe did not wholly miss the infinite fondness in the pose \nof her head, turned up toward him sidewise. \n\nThen, with surprising celerity, he found himself sur\xc2\xac \nrounded by familiar faces\xe2\x80\x94people he had known all his \nlife. From their midst appeared the old negro, whom he \nhad never seen till this morning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCapt\xe2\x80\x99n McNicol?\xe2\x80\x9d the negro quavered. \n\nThe hero nodded shortly and kept his eyes upon the \nentrance doorway, against the coming of Jenny Gough. \n\nAll at once he became aware that the old negro had \nknelt before him and was fervently kissing his hand. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWas a slave once,\xe2\x80\x9d he heard his mother explain. \n\nMcNicol was irritated, and not a little embarrassed. \nThe negro wept abundantly; but there was something \nvaguely theatric in his demeanor, as if he secretly enjoyed \nthese large gestures of grateful humility, savored to the \nfull his conspicuousness. McNicoPs distaste had its \ningredient, too, of wonderment: he had not fought to \nfree the slaves; he wasn\xe2\x80\x99t so sure, to tell the truth, that \nslavery didn\xe2\x80\x99t have its uses. No, he had played his \nwarrior\xe2\x80\x99s part, not from deep-seated principles, not be\xc2\xac \ncause really he gave a fig whether the South seceded or \nnot, but for the very simple reason that the war meant \nopportunity\xe2\x80\x94the strong man\xe2\x80\x99s chance to rise a little from \nthe rubble. \n\nStill, such vague, scarcely formulated concepts are not \nfor publication. Both he and this gibbering old fool at \n\n\n120 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhis feet were hypocritical enough, no doubt\xe2\x80\x94but let the \nshow go on! This hero effect was exactly the role he had \nwanted to play. He could, in fact, imagine no more fitting \ntableau to impress Jenny Gough\xe2\x80\x94if she would only come \nout now! \n\nBut instead, he beheld Minnie Onweller on the door\xc2\xac \nstep. McNicol stiffened. He had a shadowy presenti\xc2\xac \nment his herohood was to be short lived. Would she \nignore him, or berate him to his face, perhaps? No, surely \nnot\xe2\x80\x94yet you never could tell what these red-headed \nScotch women might do. \n\nBut Minnie, after an instant of bewilderment, came \nstraight toward him; greeted him kindly, quite without \nrancor. He could detect no knowing smirks on the faces \naround him. Was it possible, after all, that the romantic \nhistory of the picture album was unknown? Did Minnie \nOnweller still deceive herself with hopes in his quarter? \nCertainly her one-time air of proprietorship over him was \nlacking, and in its place a certain distant quality, a com\xc2\xac \nplete loss of interest in him, and a something about her \nsmile that betokened forgiveness. Or wasn\xe2\x80\x99t it more \nlike condescension? \n\nMinnie did not linger. People began moving on. The \ndecrepit negro, sensing the loss of his audience, clambered \nto his feet and tottered off. The Reverend Cockbum \nappeared at the church entrance and locked the door. He, \ntoo, shook hands, sadly, clammily, and passed onward. \nOnly Mrs. McNicol remained, and the two children. \n\nBut where was the unparallelel Miss Jenny Gough? He \ncould take his oath she had not yet emerged. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll be startin\xe2\x80\x99, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d said his mother, turning toward \nthe road. \n\nMcNicol bit his lip, chose the lesser disadvantage of \nspecific inquiry: \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99d she go?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother looked back over her shoulder. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n12 I \n\n\ndidn\xe2\x80\x99t you see that big, fine-lookin\xe2\x80\x99 man she was with?\xe2\x80\x9d \nThen, \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s her husband.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHer husband!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDidn\xe2\x80\x99t I write you? Oh yes, you waited too long, \nDenny. She got a fine man, Minnie did.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYoung Naomi\xe2\x80\x94not so young, either, any more\xe2\x80\x94cleared \nthings up. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, he don\xe2\x80\x99t mean Minnie, ma.\xe2\x80\x9d Her grin \nwas very knowing. \xe2\x80\x9cHe wants to know about Jenny\xe2\x80\x94 \nand I can tell him. She went out by the back way. I \nsaw her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol frowned. The thing was too much for him. \nDid his divinity really choose to avoid him? \n\nHe compelled himself to ask, \xe2\x80\x9cShe isn\xe2\x80\x99t married, too?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis mother laughed a little. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, but she might as \nwell be. Might better be, I say. She\xe2\x80\x99s engaged, any\xc2\xac \nhow\xe2\x80\x94to that Evanturel. He just left here last night.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIV \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what are you going to do, Denny?\xe2\x80\x9d asked Dr. \nAmos Milk, endeavoring unsuccessfully to conceal his \nvast relief. \n\nMcNicol kept his eyes away from his mother. \xe2\x80\x9cGo into \nbusiness in Detroit,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, the practice of medicine is a hard life,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nthe venerable physician, virtuously. He presented a frow\xc2\xac \nsier picture than ever; he had seemingly given his white \nwhiskers carte blanche; they now grew down over his \nshirtfront; and his eyes and enormous jointed nose pro\xc2\xac \njected almost timorously from veritable thickets of tangled \nhair. \xe2\x80\x9cBut what I say is, too bad you\xe2\x80\x99re going to waste all \nthat education\xe2\x80\x94all that experience in the army.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen his mother spoke: \xe2\x80\x9cDenny wasn\xe2\x80\x99t a doctor in the \narmy. He was a soldier.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnother surprise in this day of unexpected things. \n\n\n122 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol turned quickly toward her, wondering how she \nhad learned his secret. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cKnew it all the time,\xe2\x80\x9d she rejoined. \n\nIf she was enduring torments of disappointment at the \nnews of his departure, she gave no unequivocal sign. But \nher mouth seemed a little more set than usual, and her \neyes had a lusterless far-away look. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMa\xe2\x80\x99s coming to Detroit with me,\xe2\x80\x9d he said to Doctor \nMilk. \n\nMrs. McNicol did not take the trouble to deny so \ntransparent an untruth, but her lips curved into a quiv\xc2\xac \nering smile. Her son saw all at once that she was an old \nwoman. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe must do what he thinks best,\xe2\x80\x9d she confided to the \nopposite wall. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s this way, Doctor,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol quickly justified. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBeing a physician doesn\xe2\x80\x99t appeal to me any more, and I\xe2\x80\x99d \nnever be content here. The States\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s where the \nbig opportunities are. A man can make money there fast. \nAnd as to wasting my medical education, I\xe2\x80\x99m not so sure. \nPerhaps I can find some business where it \xe2\x80\x99ll come in \nhandy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf I went anywhere, it\xe2\x80\x99d be back to the old country,\xe2\x80\x9d \nsaid Milk, sagely, pumping the words through his frayed \nvocal cords. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe old country!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol derided. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat do I \nwant with the old country? No, it\xe2\x80\x99s the States. That\xe2\x80\x99s \nthe place for young fellows, I\xe2\x80\x99m telling you. I like the \nway they do things over there. Some ginger, some hustle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThem Yanks are no good, Denny. Sharpers, every \none of them! Dishonest, that\xe2\x80\x99s what!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol laughed. He felt very tolerant, very wise. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, anyway, they\xe2\x80\x99re not asleep. Don\xe2\x80\x99t catch them \nmissing any tricks. People here in Cartwright didn\xe2\x80\x99t even \nhave enough brains to get the railroad to come through. \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN 123 \n\nI\xe2\x80\x99ll wager, fifty years from now, there won\xe2\x80\x99t be any town \nhere at all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDoctor Milk stood up hastily, his local pride mortally \nwounded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay good day t\xe2\x80\x99 you,\xe2\x80\x9d he wheezed angrily, then \nstamped out to his waiting buggy. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s boisterous laughter quickly died away to the \nrealization of graver things. He dreaded being alone with \nhis mother\xe2\x80\x99s stoical disappointment, and felt a lift of \nrelief when she silently departed into the kitchen. Out\xc2\xac \ndoors, it was almost dark; the children, except Naomi, \nw r ere already in bed. The time was at hand for his pre\xc2\xac \nmeditated coup, yet he could not set forth until he had \nquestioned his mother further. \n\nHe found her sitting in a rocker, her gaze through the \nwindow fatalistic. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMa, there\xe2\x80\x99s something I got to ask you. What did \nyou mean this morning\xe2\x80\x94about Jenny Gough?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMrs. McNicoi surveyed the empty back yard. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJenny\xe2\x80\x99s going to marry Ed Evanturel\xe2\x80\x94that pucey \nfellow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut you said-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer interruption was sharp. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd she better get mar\xc2\xac \nried, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99, after all the skylarkin\xe2\x80\x99 they been up to.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSkylarking! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOut walkin\xe2\x80\x99 alone with him at night. Folks have \nseen \xe2\x80\x99em.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe considered the point. \xe2\x80\x9cHow long\xe2\x80\x99s this been going \non, ma?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll this spring. Mrs. Onweller says he started writing \nto her from Toronto last April. Then all at once he \nbegun cornin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 see her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s Evanturel doing now\xe2\x80\x94still running that show \nof his?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cPuts up medicines, just like he \n\n\n\n124 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ndid before; but has other people sell \xe2\x80\x99em. And Mrs. On- \nweller heard he was a gambler and a drinker, too. I \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t know. Some folks say Mr. Gough don\xe2\x80\x99t like the lay \no\xe2\x80\x99 things, but he\xe2\x80\x99s meek as molasses; the girl rides right \nover him. Headstrong. Wants her own way.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was silent, yet he was whispering to him\xc2\xac \nself: \xe2\x80\x9cDoes, ay? Well, we\xe2\x80\x99ll soon settle that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. Gough told Reverend Cockburn there was always \none girl like Jenny in every generation of his family,\xe2\x80\x9d \nMrs. McNicol explicated. \xe2\x80\x9cGood-looking, all the men \ncrazy about her\xe2\x80\x94but no sense. Just weak and foolish. \nEach girl like that, he said, had an unhappy marriage; \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t pick the right man; just took the first one that \ndid any fussin\xe2\x80\x99 over her. And Jenny, with no mother t\xe2\x80\x99 \nwatch over her, is the worst one of all, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \nFor the first time she looked directly at him. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll \nnot be wastin\xe2\x80\x99 any pains on her, Denny?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer anile prejudices had not in the slightest swayed \nhim. \xe2\x80\x9cPshaw, ma\xe2\x80\x94all the girl needs is some one to tell \nher her own mind.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd you\xe2\x80\x99re thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 all the while Denny McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nthe man t\xe2\x80\x99 do that?\xe2\x80\x9d She twitched impatiently. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll \ntell y\xe2\x80\x99 this much: Jenny Gough was boastin\xe2\x80\x99 all over town \nabout how Denny McNicol had give her a photograph \nalbum and asked her to wait for him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe frowned at this. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s more,\xe2\x80\x9d said his mother, \xe2\x80\x9cshe told everybody \nshe\xe2\x80\x99d never have y\xe2\x80\x99. She wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t marry a man who had \nno romance to him. That\xe2\x80\x99s why she likes that Evanturel \nfellow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIf Mrs. McNicol thought thus to dissuade her son, she \nbetrayed an incredible lack of understanding of his fiber. \nIf she had urged him on toward the charms of Miss Jenny \nGough, pointed out to him the manifest advantages of \nsuch a match, he might imaginably have cooled\xe2\x80\x94just to \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n125 \n\n\nshow he had a will of his own. But now his mind was \nmade up. He\xe2\x80\x99d show people whether he was a laughing\xc2\xac \nstock. He\xe2\x80\x99d show Jenny Gough what man could master \nher willfulness. Just now he had no consuming love for \nher, no undying affection; his quest had become solely a \ntest of strength. \n\nThey heard the front door open, and Naomi appeared. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, ma, what you doing, sitting here in the dark \nlike this?\xe2\x80\x9d Her first youthful instinct was to light every \nlamp in the house. \n\nMcNicol watched her without interest. To him she \nwas still a child, in spite of her sixteen years. On the \npretext of helping her, he moved away from his mother. \n\nNaomi replaced a lamp shade. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, Denny\xe2\x80\x94and have \nyour ears been burning hot?\xe2\x80\x9d she suddenly demanded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve just been across at the Goughs\xe2\x80\x99 house, talking to \nLessie; and she\xe2\x80\x99s been sayin\xe2\x80\x99 how grand you look in your \nuniform.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe stared blankly at his sister\xe2\x80\x99s plump face. \xe2\x80\x9cAt the \nGoughs\xe2\x80\x99 house?\xe2\x80\x9d That was all that mattered. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd who \nelse was there?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust Mr. Gough.\xe2\x80\x9d She saw her opportunity to tease \nhim. \xe2\x80\x9cYour sweetheart, I\xe2\x80\x99m thinking, must be gone to \nDrayton.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol did not smile. When, a moment later, Naomi \nstarted chattering to her mother of the latest glories of \nthe Gough menage, he tiptoed stealthily through the \nempty parlor toward the front door. \n\nv \n\nDescending the front porch steps, he had unaccountably \ntripped and gone stumbling at full length upon the stony \nroad; and now, mounting the far side of the river bank, \n\n\n126 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nhe lost his footing a second time and fell skidding down \nthe incline. \n\nPerhaps, had he been an older, wiser man, equipped \nwith sensitive mental antennae, these last adversities might \nhave given him pause. The whole drift of some obscure \nfate seemed in opposition to his present enterprise. First, \nthe look of apprehension on Jenny Gough\xe2\x80\x99s face when she \nsaw him in church\xe2\x80\x94and her furtive escape. Next, the \nnews of her engagement. Corroboratingly, the public \nannouncements she would never marry him. Her open \nridicule of him. And now, the circumstance she was not \nat home. Finally, these two ignominious sprawlings to \nearth, as if his destiny, discouraged with subtler warnings, \nmeant to hold him back by crude physical force. \n\nIn point of fact, however, such an interpretation did \nnot even occur to him. He scrambled up the river bank, \ntrampling down the loose detritus as he would have some \nantagonist; brushed the sand from his trousers knees and \nlacerated palms; and walked rapidly forward to the rim \nof the poplar grove\xe2\x80\x94the labyrinth within whose convolu\xc2\xac \ntions he meant to come to grips with whatever and who\xc2\xac \never defied him. \n\nSo intense, so forward looking was his temper, he did \nnot smile even grimly as he came to the spot where two \nyears before he had put to rout his persistent and more \nsuccessful rival. To-night he was in no mood for mere \nreconnoitering; he proceeded straightway, with unmuffled \ntread, up the steps and pulled at the knocker resolutely. \n\nAt once he caught the faint sound of movement within; \nthe door swung back, and the benevolent lineaments of \nJames Gough became visible. \n\nHe peered out into the darkness, squinting a little, \nand raising his reading spectacles. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, Doctor McNicol! Come in.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was no one else in the big sitting room, though \n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n127 \n\nfrom some adjoining chamber came the strains of an \norgan. \n\nThe mill owner\xe2\x80\x99s mild, kindly features confirmed his \nhospitable intent. \xe2\x80\x9cGlad to see you. Heard you were \nhome.\xe2\x80\x9d He folded his newspaper and gestured with it \ntoward a chair. \xe2\x80\x9cWant to hear all about the war. A \ncaptain, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere was the one man in Cartwright who read a Toronto \ndaily paper, who had revealed even a tepid interest in the \nmajor happenings of the outside world. McNicol felt a \nwarm current of reassurance. \n\nBut he did not sit down, nor relax at all his inclemency \nof mien. He meant to carry things off with a high hand, \nto ride rough shod. Raising his voice a little to pene\xc2\xac \ntrate Mr. Gough\xe2\x80\x99s deafness, he demanded: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYour daughter Jenny\xe2\x80\x94is she here?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nUnprepared for his guest\xe2\x80\x99s inexorable tone, James \nGough nevertheless replied, surprisingly: \xe2\x80\x9cJenny? I be\xc2\xac \nlieve she is. . . . Shall I call her?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol nodded. \n\nMr. Gough puckered the pleats of his mouth depre- \ncatingly and stepped toward a rear door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust one moment,\xe2\x80\x9d deterred his visitor. \xe2\x80\x9cIs your \ndaughter engaged to any one else?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mill owner gazed his frank astonishment. \xe2\x80\x9cBless \nmy soul, young man, not that I know of! I hope not!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol bowed a little. He fancied he could descry a \nfaint twinkle in the older man\xe2\x80\x99s shrewd little eyes. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd please come back here with your daughter.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nQuite meekly, James Gough was gone. \n\nMcNicol took a turn around the room, holding a tight \nrein on his satisfaction. Things were not so bad as he \nhad thought: Jenny was at home; Jenny was not engaged \n\xe2\x80\x94not professedly engaged\xe2\x80\x94to Evanturel. He wondered \n\n\n128 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\na little if his mother hadn\xe2\x80\x99t invented that story of a \nbetrothal, just to discourage him. \n\nThe reed organ continued its plaintive sighing. Some \none\xe2\x80\x94perhaps the girl Lessie, his mother\xe2\x80\x99s pupil\xe2\x80\x94was \nplaying hymns. \n\nHis eyes flitted about the parlor abstractedly and he \nwas dimly aware it no longer seemed so richly magnificent. \nMore wonderful rooms than this, by far, he had seen in \nprofusion, and Brussels carpets twice as richly patterned. \n\nHe found some unsuspected deep-laid scruple definitely \nstirred by the spectacle of the Bible on the center table\xe2\x80\x94 \noverlaid by two other books! He speculated what his \nmother would say to such sacrilege. His gaze rose by \nchance to a crayon enlargement of a woman\xe2\x80\x99s face that \nhung on the wall beyond the table. Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s mother, doubt\xc2\xac \nless. \n\nHe heard a rustle behind him\xe2\x80\x94discovered Jenny and \nher father in the room with him. \n\nThe triangle they outlined seemed suddenly electric \nwith intensity. Mr. Gough stood near the table, his con\xc2\xac \ntracted left hand tapping the wood lightly. Jenny had \nnot ventured far from the rear door through which she \nhad entered; she appeared ready for instant escape, an \naura of hesitancy enveloping her. She and McNicol hung \nan instant on each other\xe2\x80\x99s look; and he was not so obtuse \nas to miss a certain reluctance, a species of unwilling \nacquiescence, in her manner. She stood just beyond the \ncircle of light from the table lamp\xe2\x80\x94half shrouded, half \nrevealed in the illumination refracted through its green \nshade. Her head she inclined forward a little; her dark \neyes surveyed him from underneath her perfectly formed \nbrows. \n\nFor this vital crux, McNicol had thought out no pro\xc2\xac \ncedure. He had small aptitude for careful planning; \nwhenever he did attempt to map out a definite campaign \n\n\n\nHOW TO MANAGE WOMEN \n\n\n129 \n\nin all its details, he found his prearrangements hampered \nhim, made him self-conscious. Yet, given an intense \nenough desire, he never had to hesitate in the emergency. \n\nThus now, his instinct was for reaching out and taking \nwhat he wanted, boldly, by force. Instinct discharged \ninto prompt action. He walked quickly toward Jenny, \ntook her by the wrist, and wheeled upon her father \ndefiantly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYour daughter is to be my wife.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNothing happened for a moment. \n\nThen James Gough coughed politely; and McNicol \nknew he had nothing to fear from Cartwright\xe2\x80\x99s wealthiest \ncitizen. In that cough were uncertainty, the desire to \noffend no one\xe2\x80\x94even a vestige of relief. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe wants me to marry her,\xe2\x80\x9d thought McNicol. \n\nThen Mr. Gough interposed, \xe2\x80\x9cAnd what have you to \nsay, my daughter?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe instant was at hand. What would she do\xe2\x80\x94tell \nher father she loved some one else; oppose a will as strong \nas this insolent suitor\xe2\x80\x99s; or, worst of all, perhaps laugh \noutright in his face? \n\nMcNicol tightened his hold and drew her toward him, \ninexorably. Their eyes met; his dominated hers\xe2\x80\x94and \nthen all at once she started weeping. He put his arm \nabout her and she no longer resisted. \n\nJove! He had won. Nov/ that the issue was settled, \nthe achievement suddenly seemed incredible. That was \nthe way to manage women! Of her tears he took no cog\xc2\xac \nnizance; of his astounding triumph, only. \n\nHe heard James Gough say: \xe2\x80\x9cNow that\xe2\x80\x99s just the way \nit should be.\xe2\x80\x9d The pacifist seemed grateful there was to \nbe no trouble. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m right glad to have a young man like \nyou in the family.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey became conscious of the reed organ\xe2\x80\x99s despondent \nnotes. \n\n\n\n130 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll bring in Lessie.\xe2\x80\x9d Mr. Gough disappeared. \n\nStill Jenny would not look at him\xe2\x80\x94a mute acknowl\xc2\xac \nedgment, McNicol thought, of complete submission. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA rich mams wife you\xe2\x80\x99re going to be,\xe2\x80\x9d he told her, and \npatted her arm proudly, possessively; then whisked out \nthe lace handkerchief she had bestowed upon him. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve \ncarried it with me every minute since that morning,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nsaid devoutly. \xe2\x80\x9cKept the bullets away, I guess.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe master of the house returned with his younger \ndaughter. \xe2\x80\x9cYour future brother-in-law,\xe2\x80\x9d he told her. \n\nThe victorious McNicol, smiling indulgently down at \nLessie Gough, was startled by the direct and intense look \nin her eyes. A look of radiant innocence, perhaps of \nyouthful adoration, certainly of startled disappointment. \n\nHe was puzzled, mysteriously thrilled, and somehow \nshaken in his glory of conquest. Then he checked him\xc2\xac \nself sharply. What, a mooning school girl throw him off \nhis balance! \n\nHe bent to kiss the cheek of his bride-elect. Jenny \ntrembled a little. \n\nHis mother, when he returned home at last, still sat \npassively in her kitchen rocking chair, her hands listlessly \nin her lap. And all she would say, when he told her of \nhis splendid exploit, was: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat must be, must be.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFrom sheer desolation and fatigue, she tweaked her \ntufted eyebrows. \n\n\nCHAPTER II \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\nI \n\nM cNICOL crossed Woodward Avenue, plowing \nthrough the snow that covered the cobblestone \npavement, avoiding the jingling cutters that sped down \nthe thoroughfare; then struck off briskly along Jefferson \nAvenue toward the Young Men\xe2\x80\x99s Hall in the Biddle Block, \nwhere he was to meet Charley Foss. He would be two \nor three minutes late, he reckoned; but then, Foss was \nbound to be even later than he. \n\nA crippled soldier, still in uniform, accosted him: \n\xe2\x80\x9cMister, could you give a fellow a dime?\xe2\x80\x9d The man\xe2\x80\x99s \nface was gaunt and unshaven; his right trousers leg, \nempty, flapped about his crutch; he held out a grotesque \n\n, little tin cup. \xe2\x80\x9cHon\xe2\x80\x99bly wounded at Shiloh, sir-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol passed on impatiently. The streets were \ncrowded even now with soldiers out of work, some horribly \nmaimed, some not at all, but every one of them begging. \nLazy ruffians! Why couldn\xe2\x80\x99t they go to work? Times \n\\yere hard; but he had found work, and so could they. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey ought to be rounded up, the whole herd of \xe2\x80\x99em/ 7 \nhe muttered. \n\nWhat especially affronted him was the way these loafers \nhad of exploiting their uniforms to get sympathy from \npeople; just because they had been soldiers, most of them \n\n\n\n132 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ninvoluntarily, they seemed to think the country ought to \nsupport them the rest of their days. Yet now, all at once, \nhis emotions underwent a rapid readjustment: he was no \nlonger an indignant civilian, but himself a rebuffed and \nfootsore soldier trudging vainly from office to office. That \nhad been a year ago last June, after his return from \nCanada\xe2\x80\x94a young engaged man, full of resolution and \nthe hope of quick success, determined to get married as \nsoon as possible. He had not scorned wearing his cap\xc2\xac \ntain\xe2\x80\x99s uniform those days; he cherished an unexpressed \nconviction, in fact, that he had but to reappear in Detroit, \nand an impressed and grateful community would shower \nits favors upon him. Then the disheartening reality: no \nwork of any kind available; employers, some of them \nmade rich by the war, surveying his uniform coldly, almost \ncontemptuously, and turning him away with curt denials. \nHe himself might conceivably have been one of these \npitiful skeletons in blue\xe2\x80\x94though he did not admit this to \nhimself\xe2\x80\x94if the Foss family had not found a job for him \nwith old Rorick. \n\nWhat sort of a country was it, anyway, that asked you \nto\xe2\x80\x94nay, made you\xe2\x80\x94face sudden death or frightful muti\xc2\xac \nlation, then let you beg or starve for your pains? McNicol \nhad a sudden vivid recollection of the stirring band music, \nthe wildly cheering crowds, that had sent these soldiers, \nhimself included, to the frightful, searing actualities of \nwar. And now they walked the streets this cold December \nnight\xe2\x80\x94and proffered tin cups. \n\nA wave of emotional generosity came over him. He \nturned around, on an impulse to return to the one-legged \nsoldier, give him a piece of silver. But just as quickly \na cross-current of feeling cut athwart his magnanimous \ninstinct; his face became its customary intent and rigid \nmask. Life was a fight; if these fellows were as tough- \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\ni 33 \n\n\nfibered as he, as indomitable, they too would succeed; \notherwise they deserved to remain beggars. \n\nHe hurried on toward the Young Men\xe2\x80\x99s Hall. \n\nn \n\nTo his surprise, he found Charley Foss already at the \ntheater entrance, staring at the poster: \n\nTO-NIGHT! TO-NIGHT! \n\nThe Eminent Tragedian \n\nMR. EDWIN BOOTH \n\nIN \n\nWm. Shakespeare\xe2\x80\x99s \xe2\x80\x9cJulius C-esar\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHimself chronically unpunctual, Foss displayed some \nannoyance at McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s slight tardiness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHalf past seven, I told you, Mac,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, aggrievedly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cToo late now, probably.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey started running toward the alley that led to the \nstage door, Charley Foss slightly ahead of McNicol. A \ncurious pair of friends, antithetical in every respect: Foss \nshorter and much slighter of mold, less substantial phys\xc2\xac \nically and mentally; but with a mind considerably quicker, \na temperament more volatile, a keen and humorous per\xc2\xac \nceptiveness McNicol could never hope to attain. Yet the \nunderlying fact remained, in spite of superficial things\xe2\x80\x94 \nCharley Foss was unstable, McNicol strong. Tacitly, \nboth had recognized it since their first acquaintance at \nAndersonville. Charley\xe2\x80\x99s frail health could not endure \nthe rigors of prison life; when McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s parole had \narrived and his name was called out in the open-air pen, \nit was Foss who had stepped forward\xe2\x80\x94at the risk of \npossible death for both of them if the deception was dis- \n\n\n134 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ncovered\xe2\x80\x94and left McNicol behind until the war\xe2\x80\x99s end. \nAfter a beginning like that, there is little room left for \ndispute over fundamental superiorities. Charley Foss, \nindeed, openly worshiped his rescuer, however much he \nmight joke him about his slow-moving stodginess; and \nMcNicol admitted to himself a kind of condescending \nattachment to the rich lumberman\xe2\x80\x99s son. \n\nIn the middle of the dark alley, opposite the stage door, \nthey almost collided with a carriage. From it had stepped \nthe figure of a man, all at once sharply silhouetted in the \nlight of the door he pushed open. Charley Foss gripped \nhis friend\xe2\x80\x99s arm. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSneak in behind this other supe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBefore the stage door could swing shut they were inside. \nMcNicol, in his clumsy agility, sent Charley stumbling \nagainst the stranger who had preceded them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook out!\xe2\x80\x9d cried Foss. \n\nMcNicol, somewhat dazed by the sudden illumination, \nbecame aware they w T ere in the wings of the stage. He \nperceived the rough canvas of the curtain, singularly \nbleak-looking and blemished here and there by small \nblack circles. In front of one of these, an undersized \nindividual in shirt sleeves seemed to be peering through \na peep-hole. Otherwise, the barren inclosure appeared \ndeserted. \n\nThe stranger had turned around and taken a step \nbackward, as if fearing further assault from Charley Foss. \nBut he was not angry; his large melancholy brown eyes \nsurveyed them with mild surprise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here,\xe2\x80\x9d said Foss. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere is it we go, d\xe2\x80\x99 you \nknow?\xe2\x80\x9d The thin stranger shook his head, uncompre\xc2\xac \nhending. \xe2\x80\x9cI mean\xe2\x80\x94us supers.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol observed that the shirt-sleeved man had \nspied them and was approaching rapidly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s where we get the boot,\xe2\x80\x9d he thought. \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\ni35 \n\nBut Shirt-sleeves was almost cringing in his obeisance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, you\xe2\x80\x99re here, Mr. Booth!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x99s turn to step back, in guilty con\xc2\xac \nfusion. McNicol, however, did not budge. For wealth, \nfor business success, he might have given way; but not \nfor one of these strutting actor fellows, no matter how \nmuch other folks might idolize hirn. Especially not for \nthe brother of John Wilkes Booth! \n\nThe tragedian, having acknowledged Shirt-sleeves\xe2\x80\x99s \ndevoirs with a nod, now spoke for the first time. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSol, conduct these young gentlemen to the supers\xe2\x80\x99 \ndressing room, if you please.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA weakling! McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s scorn increased. If he had \nbeen Mr. Booth addressing two humble hangers-on, you \ncould bet he\xe2\x80\x99d not be so damned polite; he\xe2\x80\x99d raise his \nvoice and swear. \n\nBut Charley was incomprehensible. \xe2\x80\x9cGod! What a \nprince he is\xe2\x80\x94and what a voice! I\xe2\x80\x99d give my eye teeth \nif I could talk like that!\xe2\x80\x9d This in whispers, as they fol\xc2\xac \nlowed Sol down a rickety ladder into the basement. \n\nMcNicol shook his head. Charley was a bit daft on \nsome subjects; he would talk for days now about the \nepisode, McNicol predicted\xe2\x80\x94would boast of having \nspoken to Edwin Booth. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou friends of Mr. Booth\xe2\x80\x99s?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired Sol, not quite \ncertain of the proper tone to be used toward his charges. \n\nFoss nudged McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cKnow him well,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\nThey passed through a door and came abruptly upon \nfifteen or twenty men in various stages of becoming \nRoman citizens. Here was one youth with a tunic over \nhis plaid trousers. Another, completely costumed, sat \ngrimacing with upturned face and closed eyes, while a \nmember of the regular troupe applied brownish-red grease \npaint with astonishing celerity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCouple more, Harry,\xe2\x80\x9d Sol called out briefly. \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n136 \n\nThe make-up man, with a practiced lateral motion, \nshifted the half-burnt cheroot from one end of his mouth \nto the other, and eyed the newcomers without enthu\xc2\xac \nsiasm. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cKyn\xe2\x80\x99t use \xe2\x80\x99em/\xe2\x80\x99 he snapped. \xe2\x80\x9cGot a full crew.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSol winked. \xe2\x80\x9cB. brought \xe2\x80\x99em. Told me to put \nthem on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe disappeared. Harry, the make-up man, looked very \nsurly; his supreme authority as supe-master was not to \nbe questioned lightly even by a great tragedian; but when \nhe had finished with the youth before him, he rummaged \namong the heaped-up costumes and presently beckoned. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Ere, put these on\xe2\x80\x94and be quick abaht it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe two friends sat down upon a bench and rapidly \nundressed. Charley Foss was in high spirits. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGod! There\xe2\x80\x99s luck for you!\xe2\x80\x9d he whispered jubi\xc2\xac \nlantly. \n\nMcNicol, more phlegmatic, remained unimpassioned. \nThe more he thought about it, in fact, the more he regret\xc2\xac \nted having agreed to join in Charley\xe2\x80\x99s silly project. What \nwas the good, he pondered dourly, of wasting an evening \nin such nonsense, of capering about a stage as part of a \nRoman rabble? What did it profit him? Was this \nmaking money\xe2\x80\x94becoming a successful business man? \nDid this sort of juvenile foolishness bring his marriage \nto Jenny Gough a single hour nearer? And he had sworn \nto her he would toil day and night till he had proved his \nmettle! Surely his path was proving impassable enough \nwithout this sort of frivolity. \n\nThe situation seemed even less palatable when he had \nsucceeded in putting on his costume. The attire of the \nother supers was dubious enough: tunics reaching well \ndown to the knees, flesh-colored tights and sandals. But \nMcNicol and Charley Foss, arriving after the distribution \nof all the better apparel, had been forced to take what \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n137 \n\n\nwas left. Foss\xe2\x80\x99s tunic descended like an overcoat, almost \nto his ankles, while McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s dangled about his thighs, \nmuch in the manner of shirt tails. And his sandals were \nan inch too long; he had to buckle them with extreme \ntightness to prevent them from dropping off. \n\nEven in those days he cherished a very jealous sense of \nhis own dignity; and he now wavered close to the point \nof throwing up the whole venture. His odd predilection \nfor neatness was revolted, too; the ridiculous tunic he \nwore was smeared about the neck with reddish stains \nfrom the necks of numberless supers before him. \n\nJust then Harry completed Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x99s make-up, \nand called to McNicol: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Ere you are, my beauty! The larst one, thynk \nGawd! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol sat and endured the final indignity of being \nswabbed with grease paint. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDone!\xe2\x80\x9d announced their cockney overlord, pushing \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s angry features away from him with distaste. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNaow, let\xe2\x80\x99s \xe2\x80\x99ave a look!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey clustered about him for inspection. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA \xe2\x80\x99ell of a lookin\xe2\x80\x99 mob you myke! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Roman rabble laughed sheepishly. All sorts of \nmen were here: a few, like Charley Foss, for the lark of \nthe thing; but most\xe2\x80\x94including the half dozen ex-soldiers \nwhose uniforms lay on the benches\xe2\x80\x94because they needed \nthe ten cents they were earning for the evening\xe2\x80\x99s work. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell,\xe2\x80\x9d drawled Harry, and mounted a low stool, \xe2\x80\x9ca \nmob\xe2\x80\x99s what you are, anywy. A regular blahd-thirsty \nmob! Out to kill some one. First you\xe2\x80\x99re after Brutus\xe2\x80\x94 \nthat\xe2\x80\x99s Mister Booth. Then you\xe2\x80\x99re after Marc Ynthony. \nLet\xe2\x80\x99s \xe2\x80\x99ear yer graowl a bit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe held out his arms and they roared, diffidently. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNah, nah!\xe2\x80\x9d Harry spat disgustedly. \xe2\x80\x9cThis \xe2\x80\x99ere yn\xe2\x80\x99t \n\n\n138 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nno Sundy school. Graowl, I said\xe2\x80\x94like this!\xe2\x80\x9d He emit\xc2\xac \nted a petrifying bellow. \n\nThey roared, less self-consciously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s better,\xe2\x80\x9d he complimented, then raised one hand. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWatch this \xe2\x80\x99ere arm o\xe2\x80\x99 mine. When I \xe2\x80\x99old it daown\xe2\x80\x94 \nlike this\xe2\x80\x94you graowl low, see? When I ryse it\xe2\x80\x94so\xe2\x80\x94you \ngraowl louder.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey practiced mob-barking perspiringly in the dank \nbasement. McNicol found himself faintly interested; \noddly enough, he discovered he could put himself into this \nludicrous clamor; before they were through, he was con\xc2\xac \nvinced he could howl more terrifyingly than any of his \nfellow Romans. \n\nThen Harry explained the business of the scene, and \nthey rehearsed dashing madly back and forth about the \nstool from which he exhorted them. McNicol became \never more in earnest, yet his loose sandals interfered \nconsiderably with his proficiency in this phase of his \nduties. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCurtain in fifteen minutes!\xe2\x80\x9d they became aware of \nSol\xe2\x80\x99s voice warning from the door. \n\nHarry, the dynamic, descended to their midst. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll you got t\xe2\x80\x99 do is watch me,\xe2\x80\x9d he continued. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be \nin front of you all the time. When I run ahead, you fol\xc2\xac \nlow me; when I back up, you do the syme. Also watch \nmy arms.\xe2\x80\x9d He threaded his way to the door. \xe2\x80\x9cNaow you \nsty right \xe2\x80\x99ere till I call you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOne of them, a slender, studious-looking chap with \nspectacles, voiced their common disappointment: \xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t \nwe go up and stand in the wings?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHarry drew down one corner of his mouth sardonically. \n\xe2\x80\x9cSy, d\xe2\x80\x99you think you\xe2\x80\x99re being pyde t\xe2\x80\x99 watch the shaow? \nHaow much room d\xe2\x80\x99you s\xe2\x80\x99pose there\xe2\x80\x99d be on the styge if \nwe let you all loose? Right \xe2\x80\x99ere\xe2\x80\x99s where you sty, see? \n\n\n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\ni39 \n\n\nWe don\xe2\x80\x99t use you till Act Three; but if you\xe2\x80\x99re good, I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nlet you see the rest of the ply, mybe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe slammed the door behind him. \n\nMcNicol looked at his friend significantly. Charley\xe2\x80\x99s \neyes were docile; his small, indecisive mouth, humorous \nbut infirm, accepted the confinement philosophically. \n\nBut McNicol had no intention of beeing cooped up in \nthis ill-smelling dungeon. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome on,\xe2\x80\x9d he directed. \n\nFoss followed him half-heartedly. A few of the others \nrose, as if to emulate his example. \n\nAt the ladder, the watchful Harry pounced upon \nMcNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDidn\xe2\x80\x99t you \xe2\x80\x99ear what I told you?\xe2\x80\x9d he objurgated. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBack you go, naow!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol continued up the steps. \xe2\x80\x9cMr. Booth said us \ntwo could come up.\xe2\x80\x9d Charley Foss, emboldened by his \nally\xe2\x80\x99s physical impressiveness, corroborated the fact. \n\nHarry\xe2\x80\x99s acquiescence took negative form; he turned \nfiercely upon the two or three other supers who had started \nup the ladder, tentatively. \xe2\x80\x9cBack you gao,\xe2\x80\x9d he bullied, \n\xe2\x80\x9cor git aht altogether.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey vanished abjectly. McNicol felt nothing but \nself-satisfied contempt for them and their fellows, sitting \nmeekly on the benches in the cellar below. They were \nstupid; they were timid; he was bold and he was in\xc2\xac \ngenious. He deserved preference over them. \n\nThe performance was about to begin. Members of the \ncompany crowded about him: conspiratorial Senators \nchatted with flower girls; soothsayers unbent to Roman \nmatrons. The actresses, with their rouged cheeks and \npenciled eyelids, made McNicol vaguely uncomfortable. \nAll of them were immoral women, he made small doubt; \nand his presence among them seemed to give his sanction \nto their turpitude. At any rate, he had quite lost his \n\n\n140 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nearlier self-disgust over having come; on the contrary, he \nnow admitted himself actively interested in the unfamiliar \nproceedings. Somehow, the fact he had outwitted Harry, \nhad demonstrated his superiority over the other members \nof the rabble, filled him with buoyant gusto. \n\nThen all at once\xe2\x80\x94he had heard no command for silence \n\xe2\x80\x94the surf of chatter completely subsided, and hopeless \nconfusion disentangled itself into order. The curtain \nswished up. \n\nMcNicol, standing discreetly back in the right wings, \ncould see nothing of the audience; the stage was precisely \nas it had been for the past fifteen minutes, save for the \nactors who had begun speaking; yet even he could per\xc2\xac \nceive the electric change in the atmosphere, a certain \nimpalpable pulsating quality\xe2\x80\x94as if the convergence of \ntwo thousand eyes upon one spot had impregnated the \nvery air. The waves beat in upon him, sheltered as he \nwas, with a force almost physical; and he caught himself \ndreading the moment when he must bare himself to that \nfocused scrutiny. \n\nPresently there issued from the auditorium a crackling \nrataplan of applause, and he identified Edwin Booth on \nthe stage. An odd hesitancy seemed to cloak the great \nman, as if he could not be entirely certain of his welcome; \nrecently in another city there had been some sort of dem\xc2\xac \nonstration against him because of his brother\xe2\x80\x99s crime. \nOnce he had begun speaking, however, his uncertainty \nmelted away, like a will-o\xe2\x80\x99-the-wisp before warm sunshine. \n\nThe universal tension infused in McNicol a reluctant \ncuriosity; he watched the tragedian alertly. Yet the \nstrange feeling of expectancy Edwin Booth had the faculty \nof evoking in most people scarcely touched him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHmpf ! He\xe2\x80\x99s not so much,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol told himself, \nstubbornly. The thing looked absurdly easy. Grace of \nmind and body, gentle melancholy, effortless poise, \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n141 \n\nbeauty for itself\xe2\x80\x94these were not attributes he could \nappraise highly. Edwin Booth, he speedily diagnosed, \nwas \xe2\x80\x9cpucey.\xe2\x80\x9d And the character of Brutus annoyed him \nexcessively\xe2\x80\x94all this indecision, this backing and filling, \nabout sacred duty. If Brutus meant to kill Caesar, why \nnot do it and have done? Introspection in any form \nseemed obviously silly. \n\nJulius Caesar, now, he could understand and appreciate; \nhe thought the actor who played that part far superior to \nBooth. Here was a man who did things, a successful gen\xc2\xac \neral, a shrewd politician, a person of energy and courage. \nLater on, McNicol almost had a thrill when Caesar spoke \nthe noble lines: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCowards die many times before their deaths; \n\nThe valiant never taste of death but once.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYet ultimately he suffered some disillusion when Caesar \npermitted himself to be stabbed to death without even \nmaking a fight of it. \n\nThe first act ended; and McNicol, released from ab\xc2\xac \nsorption, suddenly realized Charley Foss was nowhere \naround. It was not till he had crossed to the left wings \nthat he discovered his friend regrettably engaged in con\xc2\xac \nversation with some stage hetaera. Charley was forever \nup to this sort of thing; he seemed to have a weakness \nfor good-looking women. Whenever he and McNicol \nwould pass such a one on the street, he would look around, \nstare after her, wink covetously. McNicol had no pa\xc2\xac \ntience for this form of dalliance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat the devil are you doing?\xe2\x80\x9d he upbraided, when \nCharley had loathfully answered his summons. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust talking,\xe2\x80\x9d parried the young gallant. \xe2\x80\x9cNo harm in \nthat, is there, Doc? Nice girl, too.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol scoffed. \xe2\x80\x9cNice girl\xe2\x80\x94yes, I\xe2\x80\x99ll bet she is! Your \nfamily\xe2\x80\x99d think so, wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t they?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n142 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, you are broad-minded. Always harping on my \nfamily. As if they\xe2\x80\x99d specially appointed you to look after \nmy morals.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s make-up concealed the fact that his face \nflushed. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, they didn\xe2\x80\x99t do that, but I guess they \nwouldn\xe2\x80\x99t take it amiss if I did.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCharley laughed boisterously. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, by the way.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nsobered instantly. \xe2\x80\x9cI forgot to tell you my sister\xe2\x80\x99s here \nto-night.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWith old Ketchum. You know\xe2\x80\x94her regular beau.\xe2\x80\x9d \nCharley was searching his expression with peculiar intent\xc2\xac \nness, McNicol realized. \xe2\x80\x9cI told her we were going to be \nin the show; and if you ask me, it\xe2\x80\x99s because she wants \nto see you she made Ketch get tickets.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSeveral sensations commingled in McNicol: a pardon\xc2\xac \nable conceit; a sudden self-consciousness; pique at his \nfriend for having told Ellen Foss; a peculiar animosity \ntoward the inoffensive, forty-year-old Ketchum; but most \nof all, a renewal of his curiosity as to just what Charley \nwas driving at. That young irresponsible had dropped \nhints like this before, but never so broadly. McNicol \nhad fancied, once or twice, that the whole family\xe2\x80\x99s grati\xc2\xac \ntude to him for saving Charley\xe2\x80\x99s life was tempered with \na certain additional interest. \n\nHe determined upon blunt inquiry. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd what d\xe2\x80\x99you \nmean by that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCharley laughed again, but not so explosively. \xe2\x80\x9cOpen \nyour eyes, man! that\xe2\x80\x99s all you got to do.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol had it on the tip of his tongue to tell his \nfriend to go to the devil; that he, McNicol, was an \nengaged man. Yet, as before, wdien he had had the same \nimpulse, a species of canny inhibition restrained him. \n\nCharley responded to a glance of riant invitation from \nthe young actress, and rejoined her\xe2\x80\x94without interference. \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n143 \n\n\nFor McNicol, as the force of his friend\xe2\x80\x99s intimation be\xc2\xac \ncame clear, stood staring at the floor in perplexity. It \nseemed to him he saw things quite clearly, all at once: \nhe had a chance, a very good chance, of displacing \nKetchum and marrying the daughter of a wealthy man. \n\nThe summoning of the supers at the end of the first \nscene of the third act discovered him still dazed. As \nthey collected in the wings, under Harry\xe2\x80\x99s astringent eye, \nhe had a violent attack of self-consciousness. It seemed \nfor the moment unthinkable that he should rush out upon \nthe stage, shout and cavort ridiculously about, with all \nthese other sheep; yes, that was bad enough, but to \nappear before Ellen Foss in this scanty, flapping tunic! \n\nHe hung back, and when he must at last join in with the \npack, he was careful to keep as far away from the audi\xc2\xac \nence as possible. Charley Foss he detected roaring ex\xc2\xac \ncitedly, enjoying the experience to the utmost; but he him\xc2\xac \nself became one vast apprehension, lest he be exposed \nto the satire of Claude Ketchum. \n\nDuring one of the mob\xe2\x80\x99s rapid shiftings about the ros\xc2\xac \ntrum whence Marc Antony swayed them, McNicol sud\xc2\xac \ndenly lost one of his sandals. Wretchedly, he attempted \nto find it; but the oration was reaching its climax and his \nexcited fellow Romans shunted him to and fro. In \nanother instant his other loose sandal had slipped off and \nhe was hopping gingerly about\xe2\x80\x94with much the same \nembarrassment as the dreamer who fancies himself on \nbusy thoroughfares in a nightgown. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere was a Caesar! Whence comes such another?\xe2\x80\x9d \ndemanded Marc Antony. \n\nThere was a tumultuous rush backward. McNicol, \nunprepared, was almost knocked down. The brawny \ncitizen just in front of him stamped one heel down on his \nunprotected toes; at the moment, the pain was terrific, \nand he seemed unable to move. Then the rabble was \n\n\n144 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\npast him; for one quivering instant, he stood alone, con\xc2\xac \nscious chiefly of an instinct to minister to his mangled \nfoot. A couple of yards away he caught sight of one of \nhis sandals. The dim realization of Harry\'s apoplectic \neyes in the wings finally galvanized him into precipitate \nflight\xe2\x80\x94just as a barely perceptible ripple of laughter \nwas becoming audible from the dark void beyond the \nfootlights. \n\n\nhi \n\nHis first glimmering awareness next morning seemed \nto flutter about the unusual sensations in his head. \nUsually he awoke instantly, all his faculties alert; but \nnow consciousness came slowly, reluctantly. When he \nsat up, he felt a slight giddiness. His eyes would not \nseem to focus sharply. A twinge of pain lanced his right \ntemple. \n\nFrowning, he remembered going to bed the night before. \nNow, at any rate, the bed no longer spun around as it had \nlast night, so that he must grip its sides to keep from \nbeing thrown out. He recalled, too, coming home in a \nhack with Charley Foss; and Charley\xe2\x80\x99s maudlin mirth \nwhen McNicol had staggered a bit in walking from the \nrig to the front door of the rooming house. At the time, \nit had seemed funny even to him, but now\xe2\x80\x94 He shivered \nwith self-disgust. Drinking hot gin till after midnight \nwith Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x94that was something to be proud of! \n\nHe stood up, and the sudden spasm of torment from \nhis injured toes resurrected all the vivid details of last \nnight\xe2\x80\x99s disgraceful catastrophe. For the first time, the \ninjury claimed his undistracted attention; he sat down \non the edge of the bed and bent over his foot. None of \nthe bones were broken, but the flesh on the outside of his \ngreat toe had been torn open; the whole toe was lead \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\nX 4 S \n\n\xc2\xab \n\ncolored, could not be moved without an astonishing \namount of anguish. \n\nThen his thoughts became even more painful than his \ntoe. He did not at all mind the audience\xe2\x80\x99s snickering, nor \nHarry\xe2\x80\x99s savage scorn. These people did not identify \nhim; to them he was only a luckless, sprawling, unnamed \nbuffoon. But what of Ellen Foss, and that assiduous \nbeau of hers, Ketchum? \n\nHe decided abruptly he would go to the Foss house \nthat night for dinner. \n\nBut even if he had made a fool of himself, there was \nstill the day\xe2\x80\x99s work to be done. He began dressing. \nOrdinarily, the operation required not more than fifteen \nminutes; but now, constantly handicapped by his maimed \nfoot, he must proceed cautiously, clumsily, at less than \nhalf his usual speed. He had awakened late, too; so that \nby the time he quit his small hall bedroom and limped \ndown the stairs to the street it was nearly eight o\xe2\x80\x99clock, \ninstead of half past seven. \n\nHis boarding house was also on Montcalm Street, only \na few doors farther east. He entered it testily, and began \nswallowing his oatmeal and coffee, his legs astride the \nchair in a posture that constantly suggested he was \nabout to spring upon the food. His head had stopped \naching, but it still felt disagreeably muggy. There was \na certain internal pressure upon his eyes; he had the sen\xc2\xac \nsation of having caught a heavy cold. There was no \nappetite in him, either, for work, and this was extraordi\xc2\xac \nnary: usually he fairly bounded from his bed, eager to \nplunge into activity of some sort. \n\nAs he approached Woodward Avenue he perceived a \nsouth-bound street car a block or two away; and it oc\xc2\xac \ncurred to him that by taking it he might save a little time \nand simultaneously spare his injured foot. The street \ncar, an ill-favored contraption drawn haltingly by a single \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n146 \n\nwretched horse, drew near and paused for him, with an \nair of accomplishing an unusual feat. And indeed, the \nappearance of a prospective passenger on a street corner \namounted to a rare phenomenon. The car was empty, in \nfact. McNicol boarded it with a sense of unfamiliarity. \nIt was possibly the third time he had done so during his \neighteen months in the city. A street car was a convey\xc2\xac \nance for cripples and old women; everybody else walked, \nor drove about in private carriages. \n\nHe surrendered five pennies grudgingly, but with an \nair of helping finance the traction company, and sat down \nto concentrate upon his more immediate problems. He \nw\'ould be half an hour late, even with the street car\xe2\x80\x99s help. \nOld Rorick would be crabbed, of course: McNicol could \npicture him at this instant, beginning to fume. Punctual\xc2\xac \nity was a positive mania with old Rorick; he was always \nat the chemical works by a quarter before eight at the \nlatest\xe2\x80\x94usually by seven thirty; ordinarily he gave the \nbounce to any employee who was not already at work at \neight. Probably he would dock McNicoPs ten dollars a \nweek, at the very least. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, he won\xe2\x80\x99t, either!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol shook his head sav\xc2\xac \nagely. \xe2\x80\x9cJust let him try. I\xe2\x80\x99m about ready to quit the \nold skin, anyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut half an hour late! The transgression took on \nenormous proportions; it was simply unprecedented. It \nwas his first offense, true; but that would not save him. \nTrue, also, he was dissatisfied with his job and intent \nupon improving it at the first opportunity. Well enough; \nbut it would be one thing to leave Cyrus Rorick, when he \nhad found something better, or perhaps was ready to \nstart a business of his own; and quite another thing to \nbe discharged, to be out of work once more, to walk the \nstreets\xe2\x80\x94like that soldier, last night! Even with an ex\xc2\xac \ncellent reference, getting a job was hopeless enough these \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\ni 47 \n\n\ndays. And what would the Foss family think, after \nhaving gone to considerable trouble to find him employ\xc2\xac \nment with Rorick? Would they help him again? \xe2\x80\x9cI guess \nnot!\xe2\x80\x9d And Jenny! How much longer would she wait \nfor him? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDamn Charley Foss, anyhow!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was not of the apprehensive sort; usually he \nwas thoroughly occupied with maintaining the offensive. \nBut now he scowled blankly; something must be done. \nThe street car bumped along the uneven strap rails with \nmaddening sluggishness. All the octogenarians in town \nwere out, it seemed; the car, for the first time in its long \ncareer, probably, stopped at every block. Yes, something \nhad to be done. In his disquietude, McNicol reached \ninto his inside pocket and drew forth a small packet of \npapers. These were billheads; at the top of each sheet \nappeared the printed script: \xe2\x80\x9cTo Cyrus Rorick, Dr.,\xe2\x80\x9d \ntogether with an impressive and highly flattering pictorial \nrepresentation of the concern\xe2\x80\x99s four-story brick edifice \non Jefferson Avenue, an imaginary flag undulating vigor\xc2\xac \nously from an imaginary flag pole. The words, also: \n\xe2\x80\x9cDrugs and Chemicals. Pharmaceutical Supplies.\xe2\x80\x9d Each \none of the five or six billheads bore upon its horizontal \nlines of pale blue the statement of indebtedness of some \nlocal druggist; and each account was past due. For \nMcNicol was not only the leading salesman for the con\xc2\xac \ncern, but, in addition, the principal bill collector. \n\nThen, all at once, came the solution to his difficulty. \nThe uppermost statement of account bore the name of \nWillard Weems. The amount due was some eighty-nine \ndollars. The fortunate coincidence of the matter, the \ncircumstance that gave McNicol his inspiration, was that \nWillard Weems\xe2\x80\x99s drugstore was situated on Farmer Street, \nat a point scarcely more than a block away from the street \ncar\xe2\x80\x99s present position. Promptly McNicol disembarked \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n148 \n\nand began limping thither, his plans rapidly taking form. \nHe would explain his tardiness to Cyrus Rorick on the \nscore of having attempted to collect the bill from Weems. \nSlight misgivings threatened to overcloud the brightness \nof this story: it was unprecedented procedure, for one \nthing; and to a man like Rorick anything unprece\xc2\xac \ndented was extremely suspicious, ipso facto. The mis\xc2\xac \ngivings thickened; in fact, the more McNicol deliberated \nabout the matter, the more certain he became that his \nemployer would see through the stratagem. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve got to get results this time,\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered. \xe2\x80\x9cShow \nRorick some actual money.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe prospect of doing so, however, was not exactly \nrosy. His pencil notations along the bottom of the bill\xc2\xac \nhead corroborated the fact that he had already inter\xc2\xac \nviewed Willard Weems at least a dozen times during the \npreceding three months. Always the druggist had pleaded \nhard times and promised to settle the account in the im\xc2\xac \nmediate future. Upon each occasion, McNicol had grown \nmore aggressive, more threatening; he suspected that \nWeems could find the money if necessary. But lately he \nhad never been able to find his man in the store. \n\nAnd this was precisely what happened again this morn\xc2\xac \ning. Weems\xe2\x80\x99s daughter, a timid-looking and very obese \nvirgin of thirty, presently emerged from behind the pre\xc2\xac \nscription case, and abased herself before him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, pa hain\xe2\x80\x99t home.\xe2\x80\x9d She seemed perpetually \nshort of breath and inhaled noisily. \n\nThe collector bristled with a rage that seemed quite \nhelpless. \xe2\x80\x9cDid you tell him what I said last time I was \nhere?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh yes, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAfter all, what could you do with a woman like this? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s very strange your father\xe2\x80\x99s never here when I call.\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol glanced about the stuffy little shop menacingly, \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n149 \n\n\nas if he suspected that his prey might be concealed behind \none of the rows of dusty glass bottles. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat does he do \n\xe2\x80\x94run out when he sees me coming?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d panted the Weems girl, meekly. \n\nTill this instant he had felt frustrated, groping in the \ndark. But the druggist\xe2\x80\x99s daughter, at his belligerent \nscrutiny of the store\xe2\x80\x99s interior, had taken a single in\xc2\xac \nstinctive step in the direction of the prescription case, as \nif to forestall his advance in that quarter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo ho, my dear,\xe2\x80\x9d he surmised swiftly, \xe2\x80\x9cthat\'s the lay \n0\xe2\x80\x99 the land, is it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis inherent urge to activity and his present predica\xc2\xac \nment with Cyrus Rorick conspired to bring him to an \nimmediate determination. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\'ll call in again to-morrow,\xe2\x80\x9d he told the fat girl, and \ntook a step toward the door; then quickly ran around the \nend of the counter and back of the prescription case. The \nlittle triangular area was quite empty. \n\nHe heard the Weems girl\xe2\x80\x99s indignant puffing behind \nhim. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll tell my pa. You\xe2\x80\x99ll be sorry-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFaintly disconcerted, he was noting that a door to the \nleft, up one step, stood ajar. He swung it open and per\xc2\xac \nceived a dark narrow staircase leading to the second \nfloor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you dare-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, warmed to the chase by now, sprang up the \nsteps; strangely enough, his injured foot gave him no pain \nat all. A dining-room appeared first, the half-eaten \nbreakfast still on the oilclothed table. Xo fugitive debtor \nhere. Xoises of the fat daughter ascending the staircase \nreached his ear. Rapidly he proceeded into an adjacent \nbedroom, also empty. He began to doubt the truth of \nhis sudden conjecture. \n\nThe daughter burst into the room, replete with right- \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n150 \n\neous anger. With poorly concealed anxiety, too. McNicol \nsaw her round eyes glance hastily\xe2\x80\x94at his feet, apparently. \nHe looked down; and then, with a final inkling, knelt and \nlooked under the bed. Yes, assuredly, there lurked some \ndark object there. He reached out, encountered solid \nsubstance, and dragged forth an exceedingly sheepish little \nold man with red eyes and drooping Dundreary whiskers. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll pay, I tell you,\xe2\x80\x9d squeaked Willard Weems. \xe2\x80\x9cBe \nstill, Gertie, can\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nIV \n\nCyrus Rorick, having had a very hard time of it him\xc2\xac \nself during his younger days, seemed imbued now, in the \ndays of his prosperity, with the righteous idea of keeping \nall his dependents thoroughly underfoot, of stamping out \ninexorably the slightest manifestation in any employee of \nan incipient ambition to emulate his own difficult rise in \nthe world. He discouraged initiative and originality\xe2\x80\x94 \nwhat he called \xe2\x80\x9cmonkeyshines\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94because, secretly, he \nfeared such things. What he wanted was a slavish and \ntremulous subordination. His private desk was in the \nouter office, where he could keep an eye on his hirelings \nevery instant, and assure himself they were not conspiring \nto cheat him of time or money. \n\nThus he spied McNicol the instant he appeared. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome here, sir!\xe2\x80\x9d The other workers stole scared \nlooks at the culprit. \xe2\x80\x9cD\xe2\x80\x99you know what time it is?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was not precisely afraid of his employer; \ncertainly he had no sense of physical shrinking from the \nencounter. Rorick, in fact, always seemed a rather \nludicrous little man with his crack-the-whip attitude. \nMcNicol could have picked him up and thrown him \nthrough the window without much effort. He was very \nshort and spare, not much over a hundred pounds in \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n151 \n\nweight. His features were small and sharp; he himself \nwas sharp, he liked to think. The more salient details \nof his appearance were, first, his wig, which no longer \nmatched his own fast-graying hair at the sides and back, \nwhich indeed had never properly fitted him\xe2\x80\x94this was \nperhaps why he always wore that shabby and discolored \nstraw hat in the office, both summer and winter. Sec\xc2\xac \nondly, the fact that he was smooth-shaven: a rare phe\xc2\xac \nnomenon in those days. And thirdly, the remarkable \nnarrowness of his head: it had neither breadth nor depth; \nit possessed a cylindrical shape that would have astounded \nand delighted a craniometrist, and was scarcely thicker \nthan his neck\xe2\x80\x94so that people said truly that Cyrus \nRorick was the one man in Detroit who could take his \nshirt off without unbuttoning his collar. \n\nThere was in McNicol, however, an innate respect for \nall authority. The circumstance that Cyrus Rorick was \nan employer invested him with a certain impersonal pres\xc2\xac \ntige that commanded instant obedience. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI stopped on my way to see Willard Weems,\xe2\x80\x9d he ex\xc2\xac \nplained, briefly. Even at this critical pass he found it \nimpossible to truckle. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, you did, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d sneered Rorick, and confirmed the \nwords with several rapid nods that were unmistakably \nthreatening. McNicol was by all odds the most valuable \nemployee in the place; both of them knew it. He worked \nas hard as any of the others; and in addition he was more \nenergetic and enterprising. Already he knew the local \npharmacy trade intimately, and the fact that he was a \nfull-fledged doctor gave him a certain distinction with the \nphysicians and druggists he called upon. The results he \nhad achieved spoke for themselves: Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s Detroit \nbusiness had increased within the eighteen months a full \ntwenty per cent. Not only that. He was an exceptionally \ngood collector; he got money out of people without driv- \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n152 \n\ning their business elsewhere. In short, an exceptional \nman; one whom the average employer would have con\xc2\xac \ngratulated himself on possessing. \n\nBut not Cyrus Rorick. The greater his subordinate\xe2\x80\x99s \nachievement, the more he belittled him. He did not want \nany one of his vassals to grow too successful, too strong; \nit might prove dangerous; he would rather lose a little \nbusiness and keep an unchallenged whip hand. \n\nAt the moment, McNicol half realized all this; he could \ndetect in Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s somewhat shifty eye an uncompro\xc2\xac \nmising hostility. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd can you tell me any good reason for calling on \nthe trade before you report at this office?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol explained that he had repeatedly tried to find \nWeems in his store. \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s been dodging me; and I \nthought if I dropped in on him at an unexpected hour, \nI\xe2\x80\x99d catch him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill those incredulous nods from the battered straw \nhat. McNicol had planned to produce the spoils of his \nraid with a grand gesture; but now he drew the money \nforth and laid it on the desk with a somewhat self-con\xc2\xac \nscious air. Nor was the effect upon Rorick at all stag\xc2\xac \ngering, or even mollifying. He seemed, in fact, a little \nchagrined. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Bout time,\xe2\x80\x9d he snapped, and counted the money \ncarefully, suspiciously. Then he dismissed McNicol \ncurtly, without looking up: \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t let this happen again. \nNever!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMore relieved than anything else, McNicol walked back \nto his high desk in silence. George Wickham, the stock \nclerk, a blond young man of thirty and the only occu\xc2\xac \npant of the office for whom he had any liking, caught his \neye and winked humorously. But McNicol scarcely \nsmiled. Straightway he began working at his accounts, \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n153 \n\nand shortly thereafter set forth for his round of calls \nupon various druggists. \n\nHe was not in the slightest degree revengeful toward \nhis employer. The truth, as he was honest enough to per\xc2\xac \nceive, was that he himself was solely at fault: he had \noverslept\xe2\x80\x94a serious offense; and it was pure luck, pieced \nout with a bit of fast thinking, that he had not lost his \nposition. He did not in the slightest blame Cyrus Rorick \nfor reprimanding him; in fact, he had that much higher \nopinion of him for seeing through the story. \n\nBut though he carried no grudge, McNicol remained \nmore thoughtful than usual throughout the day. For it \ncame to him with greater clarity than ever that there was \nno hope of advancement for him in Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s employ. It \nwas a one-man concern, and always vrould be. His salary \nmight eventually be increased, but even that was doubt\xc2\xac \nful. There was quite no chance of his ever becoming a \nmember of the firm. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot that I\xe2\x80\x99d ever be wanting to go partners with \nhim!\xe2\x80\x9d he sniffed. \n\nNo, Rorick was far too conservative. He\xe2\x80\x99d be satisfied \nforever with things as they were. He had no imagination, \nno aggressiveness; he wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t reach out for opportuni\xc2\xac \nties. McNicol, on the contrary, already felt the stirring \nof big ideas within himself; the pharmaceutical business \nwas still in its swaddling clothes, he was convinced, and \ndestined to achieve astounding proportions. There was \nin him an irresistible urge to expansion, a fierce refusal \nto remain obscure and mediocre. His present situation \nfrustrated his deepest instincts and desires. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI like the business. It\xe2\x80\x99s the thing I want to do.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe day\xe2\x80\x99s work was done now, and he pointed toward \nthe office once more, to turn in his reports. And all at \nonce there took form within him, more definitely than \n\n\n*54 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\never, the full-fledged resolution to cut loose from Rorick \nas soon as possible, and launch a business of his own. \n\n\xe2\x80\x98Til make him look sick in five years\xe2\x80\x99 time.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was no visionary, extracting spurious emo\xc2\xac \ntional thrills from good intentions he would never carry \ninto effect. From that very moment, indeed, he began \nplanning the details of his future venture. He himself \nwould be the head of the new enterprise, of course; he \nwould supply all the energy\xe2\x80\x94sell the output, look after \nthe finances, make the wheels go round. He might be a \nbit weak on the manufacturing side. Perhaps it would \nbe well to broach the plan to George Wickham, the stock \nclerk; he was capable of looking after that part of the \nbusiness. \n\nBut money! At that thought his heart misgave him. \nWhere could he lay his hands upon the necessary capital? \nAll he had in the world was his sixteen hundred dollar \nbonus, which he had religiously preserved. He would \nrequire at least five thousand. Wickham, he knew, had \nalmost nothing. His family could not help, by one \npenny. What of James Gough? His attention rested \nupon that possibility, hopefully; it did not occur to him \nthere was anything mercenary in speculating upon what \nsized dot his fiancee might bring him. But here, too, the \nprospect was highly dubious: James Gough was not the \nrich man Cartwright people had imagined; he was merely \nwell-to-do, and most of his money was tied up in his mill \nand house. He might help a little, but not much. \n\nHis fugitive mind, caroming off recreantly, came with\xc2\xac \nout warning to Ellen Foss; and before he could check \nhimself there leaped into his consciousness a lusty temp\xc2\xac \ntation: if he married Ellen Foss, now, instead of Jenny! \nThen the rest of him caught up with this traitorous sug\xc2\xac \ngestion and instantly expunged it. \n\nNevertheless, when he found on his desk a brief note \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n155 \n\nt \n\nfrom Charley Foss reminding him of his promise to come \nfor dinner that night, he reversed his earlier determina\xc2\xac \ntion and decided he would go. The Fosses were the only \nrich people he knew. Surely there was no harm in keep\xc2\xac \ning on the right side of them. \n\nv \n\nUnfairly enough, Charley was the only member of the \nfamily with either charm or good looks. Still more un\xc2\xac \nfairly, they were all under his spell. Mr. and Mrs. Foss \ndoubtless cared just as much for Ellen and Benjamin, \njunior, the solemn elder brother; but their youngest child \nwas the one they spoiled. It followed that they were \ndeeply beholden to the man who had saved Charley\xe2\x80\x99s life \nat Andersonville. They had come to like McNicol, more\xc2\xac \nover, for his own qualities, once they really knew him. \nIn spite of the lack of commanding height, his magnifi\xc2\xac \ncent physique lent him a very definite presence. By no \naccount handsome, his features nevertheless reflected an \nundeniable blunt forcefulness; the very presence of the \ndisfiguring scar across his lower lip seemed to contribute \na crude distinction. Rightly, his friends regarded him as \na \xe2\x80\x9ccomer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, and how do you get along with our friend Rorick, \nthese days?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired Benjamin Foss, senior, after the \nwomen had left the dining-room. \n\nHe spoke genially, which in itself was a convincing \nproof of his benignant attitude. For he was given to \nirritability\xe2\x80\x94the result, very largely, of insomnia. His \nprotuberant eyes of faded blue held a look of nervous \ndread, as if he feared the wakefulness of each succeeding \nnight. Yet he appeared extremely healthy because of \nhis fresh and rosy complexion; indeed, it was one of \nhis hardest crosses that no one would take his ail- \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n156 \n\nments seriously. Altogether, an odd-looking person; yet \nduring the past decade he had become one of the richest \nmen in the city. This new three-story frame house \nof his on Fort Street was a show place for tourists \nto gape at. \n\nMcNicol reflected an instant before replying. It was \nMr. Foss who had procured him his present employment; \nbut he judged that his host was not an intimate of \nRorick\xe2\x80\x99s and that his own relationship with Foss was the \ncloser. \n\nCharley chimed in, irreverently. \xe2\x80\x9cYes, Mac\xe2\x80\x94how is \nCy, the old spendthrift?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIf anyone else, even Benjamin, junior, had ventured \nsuch impudence, he would have come to grief. But know\xc2\xac \ning Charley, they all smiled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. Rorick is a very fine man,\xe2\x80\x9d answered McNicol, \ntactfully. \xe2\x80\x9cA very good business man, too.\xe2\x80\x9d It was \nevident he was reserving his real opinions. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut an old skin, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d demanded Charley. \xe2\x80\x9cIs that \nwhat you mean? Don\xe2\x80\x99t be afraid\xe2\x80\x94speak up. That\xe2\x80\x99s \nwhat we all think of him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis father felt called upon to remonstrate. \xe2\x80\x9cTut-tut! \nMr. McNicol doesn\xe2\x80\x99t mean any such thing.\xe2\x80\x9d But he ap\xc2\xac \npeared amused. \n\nThe visitor nodded a little. \xe2\x80\x9cI have all the respect in \nthe world for Mr. Rorick, but I don\xe2\x80\x99t know how well we \nget along together. The fact is, Mr. Foss, I\xe2\x80\x99m a bit dis\xc2\xac \ncouraged. I don\xe2\x80\x99t believe there\xe2\x80\x99s any future for me where \nI am.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you think,\xe2\x80\x9d Mr. Foss asked, after a moment, \n\xe2\x80\x9cyou\xe2\x80\x99re really making a mistake in not practicing medi\xc2\xac \ncine?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was a slight tightening of attention among the \nthree male Fosses, at this, as if they were all vitally inter\xc2\xac \nested in his future. \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\n157 \n\nBut McNicol shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, I don\xe2\x80\x99t,\xe2\x80\x9d he in\xc2\xac \nformed the rich lumberman, respectfully, but flatly. How\xc2\xac \never much he might be dazzled by the Foss grandeur, \nhowever much he wanted to bask in the family\xe2\x80\x99s favor, \nhe was shrewd enough not to attempt to ingratiate him\xc2\xac \nself by false servility. Even if he was an obscure nobody, \nhe would not let them take him cheaply. \n\nBenjamin Foss looked slightly nettled and more dis\xc2\xac \nappointed, but the irrepressible Charley started laughing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJudas Priest, you\xe2\x80\x99re a cocky beggar!\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xe2\x80\x99s the good of grubbing at some filthy busi\xc2\xac \nness when you can be a professional man? Like me, for \ninstance,\xe2\x80\x9d he added, with mock dignity. \n\nBenjamin, senior and junior, smiled tolerantly. Char\xc2\xac \nley\xe2\x80\x99s feeble law practice was one of the family jokes. \nEven McNicol compelled himself to appear amused, but \nthen he directed himself to Mr. Foss once more, in all \nearnestness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, business is what I was made for. Selling \nthings, dealing with people. And the chemical business \nI like better than any other sort. You see, it gives me a \nchance to use my medical education; it\xe2\x80\x99s a combination \nof business and profession.\xe2\x80\x9d He leaned forward, by way \nof emphasis. \xe2\x80\x9cJust between ourselves, sir, what I mean \nto do, as soon as I can, is to start a concern of my own.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe watched his host\xe2\x80\x99s face expectantly. Anything \ncould happen. Mr. Foss might wring him by the hand \nand even urge him to come to him if he needed money. \nOr he might shake his head disapprovingly, tell McNicol \nhe was a fool. \n\nMr. Foss, as a matter of fact, did neither. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA natural ambition,\xe2\x80\x9d he commented, but appeared \nonly mildly interested. \xe2\x80\x9cMy advice is, go slow, take your \ntime. Most young men are too impatient; they want to \nstart out for themselves before they\xe2\x80\x99ve had enough expe- \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n158 \n\nrience. Remember, too, conditions are bad right now; \nit\xe2\x80\x99s a poor time to be beginning a new business.\xe2\x80\x9d He \npushed back his chair and made as if to stand up. \n\nMcNicol felt somewhat rebuffed. But after all, he re\xc2\xac \nflected, it was too much to expect that a seasoned business \nman like Benjamin Foss should divulge any great enthu\xc2\xac \nsiasm on the instant. More than likely he wanted to \nthink the proposition over at his leisure. It was enough, \nMcNicol decided, to have opened the subject, to have put \nthe idea into Mr. Foss\xe2\x80\x99s head. \n\n\xe2\x80\x98Til certainly bear your advice in mind,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, as \nthey left the dining-room together. \n\nMrs. Foss, a stout, white-haired woman, was talking \nin the sitting-room with Claude Ketchum, the unobtrusive \nmiddle-aged suitor for her daughter\xe2\x80\x99s favor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEllen\xe2\x80\x99s gone upstairs to write a letter,\xe2\x80\x9d she told Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99ll be right back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe bowed and sat down, but inwardly he was consid\xc2\xac \nerably disturbed. Why single him out for an explanation \nof her daughter\xe2\x80\x99s absence? He wasn\xe2\x80\x99t courting Ellen \nFoss. Now that his eyes were slightly opened to the em\xc2\xac \nbarrassing state of affairs, he remembered that of late \nMrs. Foss had adopted a beamingly maternal manner \nwith him. Then there was that cryptic remark of Char\xc2\xac \nley\xe2\x80\x99s at the theater last night\xe2\x80\x94about his sister\xe2\x80\x99s having \ncome to the performance solely to see him. Ellen herself \nhad given many evidences of liking him; but now the \nflattering but uncomfortable truth burst in upon him, for \nthe first time clearly, that she had fallen in love with him; \nthat the Foss family had wind of how matters stood, and \nwere already acclaiming him as a son-in-law elect. \n\nMcNicol glanced uncomfortably at Claude Ketchum, \nwhose long and faithful pursuit now seemed definitely \nenshrouded with failure. Poor old Ketch! He looked as \ninoffensive as ever, but a little woebegone, his pudgy body \n\n\nTHE FOSS FAMILY \n\n\ni59 \n\n\nhunched together, his mild, bearded face overcast with \nan expression of tranquil resignation. Ordinarily, Mc- \nNicol liked him well enough; but now he burned with \nsudden contempt. Here was an interloper about to run \noff with Ketchum\xe2\x80\x99s girl, and Ketchum wasn\xe2\x80\x99t going to lift \na finger. McNicol would like to see any one play that \ngame on him! It would serve Ketchum jolly well right \nif he, McNicol, did shove him into the discard. \n\nBut that was the perplexing part of it: his hands were \ntied, his fealty already plighted. In short, he was pre\xc2\xac \nempted. A vague regret filled him that he had so success\xc2\xac \nfully played the swashbuckler in the Gough parlor that \nJune night. If he were free now, he could with one ges\xc2\xac \nture step instantly into the possession of wealth and \npower. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t marry Ellen Foss, anyway,\xe2\x80\x9d he sought to \nsolace himself. She wasn\xe2\x80\x99t as good looking as Jenny \nGough, by a long way; in fact, she was almost homely. \nHe respected her; yes, even liked her. But he was a \nlittle afraid of her. She had too good a head for a woman. \nAs a final fatal barrier to sentiment, she was a full two \ninches taller than he, and, he suspected, a year or two \nolder. \n\nNo, he didn\xe2\x80\x99t love her. Still- \n\nWhat harassed him most sorely, however, was the fact \nthat he was here under false pretenses. The Fosses took \nhim for a fancy-free, unaffianced young man, and they \nwere within their rights in assuming as much from his \nsilence; for surely if one\xe2\x80\x99s affections are otherwise placed, \nit behooves one to announce the fact at once and not let \nunhappy maidens languish in vain. Every time he came \nto the Foss house, every time Mrs. Foss smiled at him, \nthe knot was being drawn about him more tightly. \n\nUnquestionably it was his bounden duty, by all the \n\n\n\ni6o \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ncodes in existence, to speak out now\xe2\x80\x94to-night\xe2\x80\x94however \nawkward the announcement might be. \n\nNo, it would be much easier to tell Charley, in an off\xc2\xac \nhand way, the next time they met downtown. And\xe2\x80\x94 \ninsidious thought!\xe2\x80\x94perhaps if he delayed telling any one, \nthe situation might change, somehow, and his predicament \nsolve itself. It galled him to think of surrendering the \nenormous advantages that might be his so easily; per\xc2\xac \nhaps, too, the Fosses might lose all interest in him. He \nwanted more time to think. \n\nEllen appeared at the sitting-room door just then, \ndressed for the street. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI must just step out and mail this letter,\xe2\x80\x9d she said. \n\xe2\x80\x9cIt has to go at once.\xe2\x80\x9d Then she glanced, with a sum\xc2\xac \nmoning of all her brazenness, right past Claude Ketchum, \nfull at McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cAnybody want to walk out with me to \nthe post office?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol rose automatically. It was in his mind to tell \nher he was leaving soon, anyway, and would spare her \nthe trip. Then he had the sense to perceive the ruse. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet me go,\xe2\x80\x9d he suggested. \n\nMrs. Foss beamed. Ketchum did not stir. \n\n\nCHAPTER III \n\n\nMORE ABOUT THE MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN \n\n\nI \n\n\n\nWO months later, one slushy February afternoon, \n\n\n-\xc2\xae- McNicol cut short his round of calls and turned \ntoward the office, a good half hour earlier than usual, with \nthe settled resolve to bring things to a head between \nCyrus Rorick and himself. \n\nAfter his first talk with Mr. Foss on the subject, he \nhad made up his mind to postpone the establishment of \nhis own business for another year, at least. Financial \nconditions would doubtless be more auspicious then; his \nexperience would be greater, and his judgment sounder. \nThis prudent decision of his was all very well, save that \nit took no account of his employer; it assumed that Rorick \nwould be content to let the situation remain as it was. \nThis premise was woefully false. Ever since the episode \nof the Weems collection and McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s tardiness, Rorick \nhad become more and more unendurable. McNicol toiled \nwith greater fervor than ever. Local sales mounted and \nreceipts increased, in spite of the hard times. But Rorick \nhad evidently made up his mind that this useful subordi\xc2\xac \nnate of his was growing far too strong and self-confident; \nfar better to lop off his head now on some pretext or other \nthan to continue fostering a young giant who might soon \nbe powerful enough to inflict fatal blows. Thus he found \nfault with everything McNicol did, made himself as dis\xc2\xac \nagreeable as possible, and was now merely biding his time \nagainst a suitable moment for the decapitation. \n\n\n162 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEll force the old man\xe2\x80\x99s hand right now / 5 McNicol told \nhimself. When in doubt, always attack\xe2\x80\x94get in the first \nblow. \n\nEntering the office in this belligerent frame of mind, he \nwas somewhat let down to discover that Rorick was not \nat his desk. Yet when he spoke to George Wickham, it \nwas in a stealthy whisper. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s the old man\xe2\x80\x94upstairs ?\xe2\x80\x99 5 \n\nThe stock clerk shook his bespectacled head. \xe2\x80\x9cGone \nout somewhere.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol dumped his order blanks on the tall desk and \nprepared to complete his day\xe2\x80\x99s work. Then it occurred \nto him he was overlooking an opportunity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSee here, George,\xe2\x80\x9d he began, in low tones, \xe2\x80\x9chave you \never thought of quitting the old man and starting in for \nyourself?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWickham seemed dazed. He was a lanky person with \na long, undershot jaw; when he permitted himself to smile, \nhe revealed, not his teeth, but an unprepossessing crescent \nof upper gums. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, cautiously. \xe2\x80\x9cMaybe, some \ntime. Why?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol tapped the desk with the end of his penholder. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause that\xe2\x80\x99s what I\xe2\x80\x99m going to do. Right away. I\xe2\x80\x99d \nlike you to go in with me. You know the manufacturing \npart; I know the selling. A good combination.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe conscientious George started. \xe2\x80\x9cNot\xe2\x80\x94not now?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s decisiveness seemed to reassure the stock \nclerk a little. But just then they heard footsteps outside \nthe office door, and Wickham shrank back from his \ntempter with nervous apprehension. It would never do \nfor Rorick to catch him communing with the unpopular \nMcNicol; he would be tarred with the same stick. \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 163 \n\nThe door opened, but it was the volatile Charley Foss \nwho entered. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello, old skeezicks!\xe2\x80\x9d he saluted his friend, noting the \nabsence of restraint. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere you been hiding yourself ?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was one of Charley\xe2\x80\x99s peculiar ideas of humor, when\xc2\xac \never he encountered an acquaintance, to extend his hand \namiably; and then, as often as possible, to grip the other\xe2\x80\x99s \nfingers in a pitiless clasp until he cried for mercy. Mc- \nNicol was ordinarily alert against this indignity; he \nwould either refuse to shake hands, or, sometimes, seize \nCharley\xe2\x80\x99s hand and with his superior strength force the \njoker to his knees. But now he was preoccupied with \nweightier matters and Charley succeeded in getting his \nfavorite hold. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDown you come!\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted, and pulled his victim \nfrom the high stool. \xe2\x80\x9cNow then\xe2\x80\x94beg!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol half fell on the floor, then wrenched his hand \nloose. He had been exceedingly irritated, in the first \nplace, by his breezy friend\xe2\x80\x99s interruption; but now he \nboiled over. The fact that the whole office was snickering \nat him only made things worse. It was all he could do to \nkeep from striking Charley in the face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTo the devil with you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSteady, steady!\xe2\x80\x9d soothed Charley, more than half \nalarmed. \xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t you take a joke?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGeorge Wickham interpleaded. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d like to talk with \nyou some other time about that\xe2\x80\x94you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, still exasperated, gave a curt nod of acquies\xc2\xac \ncence, then confronted the intruder. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99you want\xe2\x80\x94coming around here like this?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCharley grinned unfazably. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s this way, Mac,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, confidentially, and came \ncloser. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m organizing a male quartette\xe2\x80\x94more fun than \na barrel of monkeys\xe2\x80\x94and I jes\xe2\x80\x99 want to find out if you \ncan sing bass.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n164 \n\nMcNicol was more incensed than ever by such levity. \n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here\xe2\x80\x94you mean t\xe2\x80\x99 say\xe2\x80\x94in business hours\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He \nchoked with indignation. \xe2\x80\x9cYou act like a six-year-old, \nyou do!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCharley, in such circumstances, always became peni\xc2\xac \ntent; it was difficult to remain angry with him long. \xe2\x80\x9cNo \nharm, Mac\xe2\x80\x94honest. What I really came around for was \nto remind you about to-night.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTo-night?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe pseudo-lawyer nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cDinner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicoPs resentment, however, had not wholly evap\xc2\xac \norated. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, I\xe2\x80\x99m not coming.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut you promised.\xe2\x80\x9d Charley\xe2\x80\x99s mood was serious now, \nbeyond all doubt. \xe2\x80\x9cThe family\xe2\x80\x99s expecting you.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy can\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere was an unsurpassable chance to be rid of a \ntroublesome quandary, to tell the truth, to reveal to Char\xc2\xac \nley the existence of Miss Jenny Gough and her claims \nupon him. By way of preparation, McNicol suddenly \ndemanded: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy is it you\xe2\x80\x99re always after me to come to dinner?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99you mean?\xe2\x80\x9d For once in his life, Charley \nseemed offended. \xe2\x80\x9cBecause we like you, that\xe2\x80\x99s why. But \nwe can get over it, if you think you have to get nasty. \nD\xe2\x80\x99you suppose it\xe2\x80\x99s any fun for me to be chasing after you \nall the time? If you had any eyes in your head\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He \nbroke off, biting his lip. \n\nNow was the time! A dozen words would solve his \ndilemma. But McNicol somehow could not speak. In \nbusiness\xe2\x80\x94with men\xe2\x80\x94he could be bold and incisive \nenough; but in a delicate situation like this, one involving \na woman, he seemed tongue-tied. \n\nCharley meanwhile had recovered his amiability. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \nwill come, won\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 165 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I\xe2\x80\x99ll try, but you don\xe2\x80\x99t understand how busy \nI am.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine! We\xe2\x80\x99ll expect you.\xe2\x80\x9d Charley grinned and held \nout his hand once more. McNicol, not to be caught a \nsecond time, seized it, crumpled it in his own large palm \ntill Charley\xe2\x80\x99s finger cracked. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGet down yourself,\xe2\x80\x9d he hooted. \xe2\x80\x9cOn your knees! \nBeg like a dog!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nUpon this pleasing spectacle of just retribution\xe2\x80\x94Char\xc2\xac \nley feebly shrieking for mercy from the floor, McNicol \nstanding over him menacingly\xe2\x80\x94the door opened again, \nrevealing the bulging eyeballs of Cyrus Rorick. \n\nIn spite of himself, McNicol straightened up with a \nguilty flush. Charley Foss, smiling sheepishly, scrambled \nto his feet and tried to pass the thing off as a joke. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe had me that time all right, Mr. Rorick,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, \nineptly. \n\nThe diminutive proprietor was so outraged by the \nwanton sacrilege that he could not control his voice for a \nmoment, nor even his facial muscles. His lower jaw hung \nopen and quivered. Finally he was able to point to the \nopen door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cClear out! \xe2\x80\x9d he squeaked to Charley. Then he wheeled \nupon McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cYou I\xe2\x80\x99ll \xe2\x80\x99tend to, after office hours.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBy now there was a glint of satisfaction in his little \neyes. McNicol read his doom, as did the whole office; \nand his heart sank. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFool!\xe2\x80\x9d He cursed not only himself, but the mis\xc2\xac \nchievous Charley as well. \xe2\x80\x9cNow you\xe2\x80\x99ve done for your\xc2\xac \nself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAn hour later, nevertheless, when all the others had \ngone and his time had arrived, he was in a coldly defiant \nmood once more. He did not even permit Cyrus Rorick \nan opportunity to speak. \n\n\ni66 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEm giving you notice, sir\xe2\x80\x94that is, unless you can pay \nme more money.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe crass effrontery of the thing nipped all the old \nman\xe2\x80\x99s suppressed venom. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFifteen dollars a week, or I quit,\xe2\x80\x9d demanded McNicol. \n\xe2\x80\x9cUnderstand?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRorick slid back in his chair and somehow got to his \nfeet, as if to escape the pressure of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s physical \naggressiveness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFifteen dol\xe2\x80\x94!\xe2\x80\x9d he suddenly shrieked. \xe2\x80\x9cLook here\xe2\x80\x94 \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re discharged! All them monkeyshines-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, I\xe2\x80\x99m not. I\xe2\x80\x99m quitting. Give me my pay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRorick sneered. \xe2\x80\x9cYour pay, eh? Well, if you claim \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re quittin\xe2\x80\x99, you \xe2\x80\x99ain\xe2\x80\x99t any pay cornin\xe2\x80\x99. Forfeited for \nbreach of contract/\xe2\x80\x99 He produced an execrable grin. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s experience as a successful collector of bad \naccounts now proved invaluable. With one rapid lunge \nhe was upon his employer, wrenching his coat lapels with \nboth hands. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSix sixty-seven!\xe2\x80\x9d He gave the fragile figure a little \nshake. \xe2\x80\x9cShell out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cExtortion!\xe2\x80\x9d peeped Rorick, but disgorged the money. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll report this to the police. You\xe2\x80\x99ll rue it!\xe2\x80\x9d He slid \nback into his chair. \n\nMcNicol pocketed his gains. \xe2\x80\x9cThanks.\xe2\x80\x9d At the door \nhe turned for a final ultimatum. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd listen to this: \nI\xe2\x80\x99m going to start a new business; five years from now \nyou won\xe2\x80\x99t be on the map.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOutside, in the corridor, he paused an instant to sniff \nappreciatively the odor of the place, acrid, sulphuric. \nThen he glanced at his watch\xe2\x80\x94already it was after six \no\xe2\x80\x99clock\xe2\x80\x94and decided he would proceed directly to the \nFoss house. To-night, more than ever, was a time for \nfriendly intercourse with capital. \n\n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 167 \n\n\nn \n\nAs he sat waiting in the magnificent parlor, he had an \nabrupt impression of the place\xe2\x80\x99s silence. The Fosses \nwere a noisy family; ordinarily there was a continuous \nchattering, a running to and fro, the bustle of movement. \nNow, all he could hear was the sound of the maid setting \nthe table in the adjacent dining room. \n\nThen Ellen entered, a curious look of flushed anticipa\xc2\xac \ntion on her face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow nice of you to come,\xe2\x80\x9d she said. \n\nMcNicol greeted her awkwardly, his faculties groping \nfor the hidden significances he could not help sensing \nvaguely. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDinner is served,\xe2\x80\x9d announced the maid. \n\nEllen\xe2\x80\x99s casual manner was slightly overdone. \xe2\x80\x9cShall \nwe go out?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill he floundered. \xe2\x80\x9cBut\xe2\x80\x94but you\xe2\x80\x99re not going to wait \nfor the rest?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe rest?\xe2\x80\x9d She shook her head and laughed with \npalpable nervousness. \xe2\x80\x9cI hope you won\xe2\x80\x99t mind. They\xe2\x80\x99ve \nall gone over to my uncle\xe2\x80\x99s. You see, Charley didn\xe2\x80\x99t think \nyou were coming, and\xe2\x80\x94well, I thought you might, don\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou see?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, I told him\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He gaped. \n\nHis first concern had to do with the state of his hands; \nthey were very grimy from the day\xe2\x80\x99s work, and he had \ncounted on Charley to furnish soap and water incon\xc2\xac \nspicuously, as he frequently did. \n\nEllen diagnosed his distress intuitively. \xe2\x80\x9cI forgot to \nask you if you didn\xe2\x80\x99t want to wash. Won\xe2\x80\x99t you just run \nupstairs? You know where Charley\xe2\x80\x99s room is?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSimple, sensible, kind-hearted suggestion; yet when \nthe prudish young man surveyed his countenance in the \nmirror over the washbowl, it was scarlet with mortifica- \n\n\ni68 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ntion. Being sent upstairs to cleanse his hands, and by a \nyoung woman! It seemed grossly immodest. \n\nAnd then this subterfuge about the family. Pretty \nthin, he called it\xe2\x80\x94everybody sneaking away, so that \nEllen could have him to herself. Pretty raw. They were \nalways inventing excuses for leaving him alone with her, \nbut this was the worst yet. Flattering enough, in a way, \nfor a rich girl to be hunting him so shamelessly, yet his \ndeepest masculine instincts were revolted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s the man\xe2\x80\x99s job to do the choosing, not the woman\xe2\x80\x99s; \nand, by God! that\xe2\x80\x99s what I\xe2\x80\x99m going to do.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhat he had done, in fact. He recalled his rough \nwooing of Jenny Gough with pride, now. That was the \nway things ought to be carried off. Man, the pursuer; \nwoman, the shy quarry. \n\nThis final episode to-night was too much. It was high \ntime for him to reveal the truth, even if he thereby \nalienated the whole Foss family. At that thought, he \nscowled into the looking-glass. Now, when he needed \nmoney so desperately; it was too bad, but they were \nforcing the thing upon him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou do mind, I\xe2\x80\x99m afraid,\xe2\x80\x9d said Ellen ruefully, as they \nsat down. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMe?\xe2\x80\x9d He affected surprise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t want you to think you\xe2\x80\x99ve kept me home just \nout of politeness,\xe2\x80\x9d she went on, courageously. \xe2\x80\x9cI had to \nstay. You see, I have an engagement here to-night.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis slow relief must have been obvious, for she laughed \na little. And that quizzical humor was one of the traits \nthat always made McNicol slightly uneasy with her. Not \nthat she was as bad as Charley; though her wit was far \nsaltier and more perceptive, and thereby more uncom\xc2\xac \nfortable. And she was too keen, too self-reliant for a \nwoman. McNicol missed the seductive note of inferiority, \nof clinging dependence. She made no strong appeal to \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 169 \n\nhis emotions. Rather fine eyes and a broad, capable \nbrow; but her features were too large, her mouth espe\xc2\xac \ncially. \n\nYet McNicol could not deny he liked her. The fact \nthat she had fallen in love with him could not wholly \naffront him. He was feeling much easier, moreover, now \nthat their time together was to be curtailed. Perhaps, \njust possibly, he had been unjust, and this wasn\xe2\x80\x99t a trick \non him, after all. \n\nThen the thing happened. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCan I stay till\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d he began politely, and stuck fast. \n\xe2\x80\x9cTill somebody-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEllen had preceded him into the parlor and now stooped \nto ignite the kindling wood under the logs heaped up in \nthe fireplace. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDo!\xe2\x80\x9d she urged. Then, without rising, \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Mr. \nKetchum who\xe2\x80\x99s coming.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat might almost be taken for granted,\xe2\x80\x9d he com\xc2\xac \nmented, for no reason at all. \n\nShe stood up and faced him. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat makes you say \nthat?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt her tenseness, McNicol suddenly perceived he had \nventured upon dubious ground. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x94I don\xe2\x80\x99t know. He\xe2\x80\x99s here a lot.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBoth of them stared a moment at the flame\xe2\x80\x99s forked \ntongues, darting in and out through the firewood. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. McNicol.\xe2\x80\x9d Ellen commanded his eyes by her \ntone. \xe2\x80\x9cI want you to understand something. Mr. \nKetchum and I are not engaged.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re not?\xe2\x80\x9d Some emergency instinct within him \nbade him express surprise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo. But I may as well tell you he is coming here \nto-night to insist on a final answer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs she made the announcement, Ellen seemed to move \nimperceptibly closer to him. Her hands she put behind \n\n\n\n170 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nher back in an attitude of tentative surrender, and into \nher splendid eyes came a look that could neither be mis\xc2\xac \nconstrued nor ignored. \n\nA sort of horror came upon McNicol, a helpless con\xc2\xac \nsternation. He blushed again, violently. Then he seemed \nto see a path. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI thought you were engaged to him,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, lamely. \n\nThe melting luminance died away a little in Ellen\xe2\x80\x99s \neyes. \xe2\x80\x9cBut why? Wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t I\xe2\x80\x94somebody\xe2\x80\x94have told \nyou?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe shook his head stubbornly. \xe2\x80\x9cPeople don\xe2\x80\x99t always \ntell when they\xe2\x80\x99re engaged.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis meaning succeeded in communicating itself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPerhaps you\xe2\x80\x99re thinking of your own case.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cI would have told you, if I hadn\xe2\x80\x99t \nthought you\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He did not look at her now. \n\nThere was a pause. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI see,\xe2\x80\x9d came a steady voice. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd I\xe2\x80\x99m awfully glad\xe2\x80\x94 \nfor your sake.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWitnessing her swift self-control, her unbroken dignity, \nMcNicol was thrilled with a sudden new admiration for \nher. \n\nThen the doorbell rang; and inexplicably, to his admi\xc2\xac \nration was added a swift and piercing throe of regret, the \npuzzling and illogical conviction that in his honorable \nfidelity to his troth he was somehow making an irrepara\xc2\xac \nble and enormous mistake. \n\n\nhi \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOld Ketch has got her by now,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, half aloud, as \nhe reached his rooming house and mounted the porch \nsteps. And the certitude that Ellen Foss had put herself \nbeyond his reach made her incredibly more desirable. \n\nOddly enough, it had proved quite unavailing to re- \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 171 \n\nassure himself over and over that he had done the right \nthing. That he had kept the faith, as any man of integ\xc2\xac \nrity must do. Exasperatingly, there continued to grow \nwithin him the premonition of grievous blundering; and \nwhen he unlocked the door and, in the light from the dim \nhall lamp, saw two letters lying on the newel post, his \npremonition became vivid to the point of actuality. \n\nIt was wholly unnecessary to inspect the envelopes. \nThe familiar Canadian stamps had told him instantly \nfrom whom the letters came. His mother and Jenny \nGough, indeed, were almost his only correspondents. In \nhis bedroom\xe2\x80\x94shabby and slatternly, a depressing contrast \nto the rich comfort of Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x99s\xe2\x80\x94he slit open the \nletters and read grimly. \n\nJenny\xe2\x80\x99s beautiful handwriting first: \n\nDearest Denny: \n\nHope you will pardon my not answering yrs of two weeks \nago, but have been so busy what with this and that, just \ncouldn\'t seem to find time. \n\nNot much news, anyway. Lessie told me she hadn\xe2\x80\x99t taken \nher music lesson this week because your mother wasn\'t feeling \nvery well. \n\nJust think, yesterday was Lessie\'s seventeenth birthday. \nQuite grown up she is, makes me feel like quite an old lady, \nha-ha Denny. Well we had a party for her last night, an \napple-paring bee, and afterward we played forfeits, and what \ndo you suppose, Denny, I had to pay more forfeits than any\xc2\xac \nbody else, and they all said I must like to get kissed by the \nmen, ha-ha. \n\nWell I promised to go sleigh-riding this afternoon, so must \nclose now. Will try and do better next time. \n\nSincerely, \n\nDenny\xe2\x80\x99s Jenny. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPlayed forfeits\xe2\x80\x9d! \xe2\x80\x9cLike to get kissed\xe2\x80\x9d! McNicol, \nswept over with a tide of black anger, had a vision of his \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n172 \n\naffianced\xe2\x80\x94her face handsome, full and inept. Then he \nthought of Ellen Foss as she had looked when she was \ncongratulating him. \n\nThe letter from his mother was equally brief, and far \nmore illegible: \n\nMy darling boyboy- \n\nCurious how the restraints she put upon her affection \nwhen they were together seemed to vanish utterly when he \nwas miles away and she must have recourse to letters. \n\nMy darling boyboy, \n\nHave been in bed with reumatism for several days, but am \nfeeling better today. Lessie Gough just brought me some nice \ncakes and cheered me up the sweet little girl. Told me all \nabout her birthday party and Denny, that pucey Ed Evanturel \nwas there and just a little while ago I see him and Jenny go \npast the house in a sleigh together and I do not think that is \nany way for her to act. \n\nAnd how are you, my darling. I pray to God every night \nto watch over you and may God protect you from evil and \nshower all his blessing upon you my darling. It is cold and \ngloomy today and I am so lonesome for the sight of your dear \nface. Lessie was asking me when you were coming home again. \n\nChildren all well. With great love from \n\nMo. \n\n% t \n\nCustomarily her letters touched him deeply, and he had \neven shed sentimental tears over them. But to-night, as \nhe glowered at that first paragraph again, his only reaction \nwas a continuation of sullen rage at the sharp turn his \nfortunes had taken. \n\nEllen Foss now seemed the finest woman in the world \nto him; and he had given her up for a silly, shallow\xc2\xac \nbrained, faithless hoyden, because of a foolish sense of \nduty, because he wanted to keep his promise. \n\n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 173 \n\nSuddenly he sprang up with a desperate idea, looked \nat his watch. It was nine o\xe2\x80\x99clock. Ketchum had been \nthere an hour already. \n\nToo late\xe2\x80\x94he had lost her. . . . \n\nThe perception that cut into him most excruciatingly \nwas that the chief role in the tragedy had been played by \nFate\xe2\x80\x94or merest accident. The two letters must have \narrived during the day; if he had but followed his usual \ncourse and come home before going to the Foss house! \nIf he could only have known- \n\nWellington Dennison McNicol, however, was not of a \nmold to stay supine for long, even when arrayed against \nsuperhuman agencies; he had an almost immediate in\xc2\xac \nstinct to do battle with the gods. Always, prompt action \nwas his best weapon, and he was inexpressibly relieved \nthat there was a train for Cartwright at midnight. \n\nIV \n\nIt was almost twenty-four hours later when he stood \nin front of his mother\xe2\x80\x99s house, watching Doctor Milk\xe2\x80\x99s \nsleigh disappear around the corner into the darkness. His \ntrain, because of the inclement weather, had finally \nreached Drayton at seven, instead of two. McNicol \nfound that the mail wagon had not even attempted the \ntrip from Cartwright; and it was only by the greatest of \ngood fortune that he chanced upon his aged medical pre\xc2\xac \nceptor, who had braved the intense cold in search of drugs \nfor an emergency case. McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s estimate of doctors \nrose several notches: even a pretentious old fogy like \nAmos Milk w 7 as willing to risk his own life and his horse\xe2\x80\x99s \nin a dubious endeavor to save his patient. \n\nThe two drank several hot brandies in the Western \nStar barroom, then set forth. McNicol, in five years\xe2\x80\x99 ab\xc2\xac \nsence, had quite forgotten the ferocity of Canadian win- \n\n\n\n\n\n174 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nters. Dressed as he was in city clothing, he suffered \nintensely; Milk, for all his years, appeared impervious \nby comparison. The brandy seemed to oxidize into the \nicy air without the faintest effect of intoxication; before \nthey had gone half the distance both of them needed \nwhisky from Milk\xe2\x80\x99s medicine case. Luckily there had \nbeen no snowfall of late, the road was well defined, and \nthe gray mare, half protected by her rough winter coat, \nsomehow toiled on. Doctor Milk constantly brushed away \nthe drops of moisture that impended from the end of his \nlong red nose; yet even so, a tiny stalactite gradually \ntook form and reached down toward his matted whiskers. \nHe narrated the fate of one of the neighboring farmers \nwho had got lost in the woods earlier in the winter, and \nwhose body, when finally discovered, was frozen stiff, \nthrough and through. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe was that brittle you could ha\xe2\x80\x99 cracked him into \nbits, like glass.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol could believe it. The cold bit savagely into \nhim; his ears and fingers had long since become numb; \nand now he began to feel insidiously drowsy. Pride not\xc2\xac \nwithstanding, he surrendered, half fell to the floor of the \nsleigh, and let the ancient physician cover him completely \nwith the bearskin robe. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere y\xe2\x80\x99 be,\xe2\x80\x9d wheezed Milk, without undue gloating. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThat \xe2\x80\x99ll set easier.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAll at once McNicol began to feel warmer. He sat up \nagain, with a return of self-esteem. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWant me to spell you off a bit?\xe2\x80\x9d he asked, with chival\xc2\xac \nrous intent, and gestured toward the blanket on the floor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBless me, no!\xe2\x80\x9d Milk had emitted one of his rare \naspirate laughs. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you feel the difference? We\xe2\x80\x99ve \nrun into a warm streak. Ten degrees up already.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nlooked up at the heavens which till then had been start\xc2\xac \nlingly brilliant with stars and three-quarters moon, but \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 175 \n\nat that moment were already shrouded with faintly lumi\xc2\xac \nnous white clouds. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s as well we\xe2\x80\x99re almost home, I\xe2\x80\x99m \nthinkin\xe2\x80\x99. There\xe2\x80\x99ll be snow in an hour, and lots of it. \nFeel that wind.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYet now, as McNicol turned toward the house, he was \nstill soaked through and through with cold, and he was \nglad his journey was at an end. Nor was he sorry to \narrive at this late hour and on such a night; the news of \nhis return would not be abroad before morning, and he \nintended to make strategical use of the fact. \n\nHis bleak little home vouchsafed no comforting aspects \nof animation. He tried the front door and to his surprise \nfound it bolted; then, remembering that the front rooms \nwere closed off in wintertime, he made his way around to \nthe kitchen entrance, the snow crunching to his tread. \nStill no light. Inconceivable that his family had gone \nout. Then he remembered that most of the houses he \nand Doctor Milk had driven past were similarly dark, \nthat Cartwright\xe2\x80\x99s bedtime was scarcely metropolitan. \n\nThe back door yielded, and he felt his way into the \nfamiliar kitchen. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho\xe2\x80\x99s there?\xe2\x80\x9d His mother\xe2\x80\x99s voice came out of the \ndarkness, and he could not help noting how courageous, \nhow unafraid it was. \n\nIn spite of the sternness of his mood, he laughed. \nThere was a slight exclamation, the noise of sudden move\xc2\xac \nment in the bedroom next the kitchen\xe2\x80\x94his old room\xe2\x80\x94 \nthen the flare of a match, and behind a flickering candle \nhis mother\xe2\x80\x99s face, incredulous, expectant, one high cheek \nbone reflecting the light oddly, one hand tweaking anx\xc2\xac \niously at her eyebrows. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, ma, it\xe2\x80\x99s me\xe2\x80\x94Denny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe could not remember ever having seen her give way \nso shamelessly to sheer happiness; several minutes passed \nbefore he observed that she hobbled about painfully. \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n176 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEll just be gettin\xe2\x80\x99 you a hot snack.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow, ma, I\xe2\x80\x99m telling you I had supper in Drayton.\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol became aware he must be on his way once more. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll wake the children.\xe2\x80\x9d But he ate heartily, not\xc2\xac \nwithstanding. \n\nHis mother\xe2\x80\x99s rapturous gaze suddenly turned curious. \n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd how could y\xe2\x80\x99 find the time to come, Denny? You\xe2\x80\x99ve \nnot been losin\xe2\x80\x99 your job!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe shook his head. It was not a matter he cared to go \ninto. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, but I\xe2\x80\x99m going into business for myself, as \nsoon as I go back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe sighed. \xe2\x80\x9cI was thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 perhaps you\xe2\x80\x99d had enough \nof the States.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat was the difficulty, he reflected, about coming back \nto Cartwright at all: his visits invariably gave his mother \nalmost as much pain as joy. And now he had to let her \nknow, too, that she was not the principal quest of his \nvisit, that her health was not his chief solicitude. At \nleast, she would see through anything he might say to the \ncontrary. \n\nHe rose at once, nevertheless. \xe2\x80\x9cI must be going, ma,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe said gruffly. \n\nShe understood instantly, of course, and the truth hurt \nher. But she had already had to give him up a dozen \ntimes before\xe2\x80\x94as all mothers must; and she would have \ndied rather than utter a complaint. Watching her un\xc2\xac \neasily\xe2\x80\x94her strength, the close-knit fiber of her resolute\xc2\xac \nness\xe2\x80\x94McNicol suddenly thought of the night before, and \nEllen Foss. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBe careful of the ice,\xe2\x80\x9d his mother cautioned him, and \nheld the candle outside the door to lighten the way. \xe2\x80\x9cGo \nacross above the dam.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSmall need to remind him! He had fallen through \nmore than once, as a boy, in reckless adventurings on the \nConestoga. Yet he had need of some prudence, for the \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 177 \n\nsnow had now set in thickly; and once beyond the shelter \nof the house, he encountered a rushing wind. The roads \nwere seething flurries of obliterating white. It was diffi\xc2\xac \ncult to believe, as he strove on through the blizzard, that \nhe was not lost in some wild, remote waste\xe2\x80\x94that behind \nthis pale curtain that shut him in, three hundred souls \nexisted in close proximity. Yet when he had left the ice \nbehind him he fancied he could discern vague boot tracks \nin the drifted snow, as if some other bold pioneer had but \nlately preceded him up the steep slope. \n\nWithin the poplar grove there was sudden surcease from \nthe storm; and between the tree trunks, lights from the \nbrick house glistened through his wet eyelashes. Here, \nat least, more sophisticated notions about late hours pre\xc2\xac \nvailed. \n\nAt the instant of knocking, McNicol had never been \nquite so convinced he wanted Jenny Gough for his wife. \nThe threat of rivalry, the intimation he might have to \nfight to retain her\xe2\x80\x94his sense of grievance against her, \neven\xe2\x80\x94made her seem wholly indispensable. He would \nhave her, at any cost. Ellen Foss was a forgotten name, \nfor the moment. \n\nThen the door was opened and he saw James Gough\xe2\x80\x99s \nbenign features; and beyond, his Jenny, her handsome \nface beginning to twist into apprehensiveness. Without \na word he strode into the room; and from beyond the \ngreen-shaded table lamp Evanturel sprang up, his right \nhand moving swiftly to his hip pocket. \n\nv \n\nMcNicol, with his well-defined theory concerning the \nmanagement of women, intended to seize what was his, \njust as he had before, and defy the world. \n\nBut this time Jenny retreated quickly around the table \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n178 \n\nand he found himself confronted by a pistol and Evan- \nturel\xe2\x80\x99s morose distempered eyes. He sensed that his rival \nwas badly frightened\xe2\x80\x94frightened enough to pull the trig\xc2\xac \nger, even. \n\njenny screamed and fell limply to the floor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGentlemen! gentlemen!\xe2\x80\x9d implored James Gough, step\xc2\xac \nping hastily between the two men. He, too, was greatly \nagitated; his pleated lips trembled; he cupped a hand \nabout his ear to catch what was said. \xe2\x80\x9cNo violence in my \nhouse. Put up that weapon!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvanturel lowered the pistol a little, but when his \nassailant advanced again, instantly raised it. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. McNicol!\xe2\x80\x9d pleaded the mill owner, \xe2\x80\x9cI beg of \nyou-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe needn\xe2\x80\x99t be afraid. I won\xe2\x80\x99t touch him.\xe2\x80\x9d The in\xc2\xac \ntruder snorted contemptuously at Evanturel. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I want \nis your girl. She\xe2\x80\x99s mine\xe2\x80\x94you yourself heard her give \nher pledge.\xe2\x80\x9d He glared at James Gough. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I can say \nis, I\xe2\x80\x99m surprised you\xe2\x80\x99d be letting this scoundrel into your \nhouse. Is that fair treatment to me, sir?\xe2\x80\x9d He stood \nbreathing heavily, somehow stultified because he could \nnot transmute his indignation into some form of physical \nenergy. \n\nMr. Gough shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly, as if \nthe matter was quite beyond him. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m not the kind to \nforce my daughter into anything against her will. It\xe2\x80\x99s \nher affair, not mine.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvanturel spoke tremulously, for the first time. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99ll be no more forcing in this case. What I \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat you say!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStand back!\xe2\x80\x9d Evanturel retreated a step. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat I \nsay is, let Jenny choose for herself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow that\xe2\x80\x99s sensible!\xe2\x80\x9d Mr. Gough was for peace at \n\n\n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 179 \n\nany price. \xe2\x80\x9cNothing\xe2\x80\x99s ever decided right by quarreling, \nis it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAgain the belligerent McNicol felt manacled. Instinc\xc2\xac \ntively he knew, if the issue were to be settled by mere \nwords, he would be at a disadvantage. He was no \nplausible debater. What he wanted was action\xe2\x80\x94if pos\xc2\xac \nsible, a fight. For the moment, however, he was check\xc2\xac \nmated. Better to pretend an acquiescence, till Evanturel \nwas off his guard. Then it wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t take long to prove \nwhich was the better man. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEd\xe2\x80\x99s a nice boy,\xe2\x80\x9d went on the mediator, propitiatingly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, you and him are in the same line of business I\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe moved the chairs nearer the hearth fire. \xe2\x80\x9cNow you set \nhere, Ed, and you right here, Captain.\xe2\x80\x9d He signified \nopposite ends of the semicircle. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll set in between, and \nwe\xe2\x80\x99ll see if we can\xe2\x80\x99t settle\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn their acrimony they had all forgotten the swooning \nJenny; but now a faint moan from beyond the table in\xc2\xac \nterrupted the work of pacification. Both young men \nsprang up, but James Gough elevated an arresting hand. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll see to her,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \n\nMcNicol observed covertly that his antagonist had \nplaced his pistol in the side pocket of his coat, but that \nhis fingers still gripped its handle. \n\nIn a moment Jenny had recovered sufficiently to be led \nto a chair in the semicircle. Prudently, her father sat be\xc2\xac \ntween her and McNicol; to the latter, however, it seemed \nan additional affront that she be allowed nearer Evan\xc2\xac \nturel than himself. But he bided his time. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s see, now,\xe2\x80\x9d said Mr. Gough, rubbing his hands \namiably together. \xe2\x80\x9cAre we all here? No\xe2\x80\x94there\xe2\x80\x99s Les- \nsie; if we\xe2\x80\x99re going to hold a family council, she should be \npresent, too.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe younger daughter, summoned to the arena from \nsomewhere upstairs, stared at them perplexedly, especially \n\n\n\ni8o \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nat the newcomer, while her father explained. McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nthoughts were elsewhere; he did not even look at her \nclosely until she approached and offered her hand. Then, \nsuddenly perceiving with some surprise that she was no \nlonger a little girl, he felt obscurely moved to stand up at \nher greeting. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow do you do?\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s words were mere polite\xc2\xac \nness; yet now again he was aware of her direct and very \nintimate look\xe2\x80\x94innocently adoring. Yes, she had defi\xc2\xac \nnitely traversed the shadowy line between childhood and \nearly youth. Her hair no longer hung in thick braids. \nBut as yet she had none of her sister\xe2\x80\x99s maturity; young, \ncallow, touchingly immature she still remained; plastic, \namorphous, with a shy emanation of sincerity from her \nlight-blue eyes. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll state the case,\xe2\x80\x9d said Mr. Gough, as chairman of \nthe meeting. Evidently, the conclave was to be conducted \naccording to parliamentary rules. \xe2\x80\x9cBoth you young men \nseem to want to marry my daughter. She\xe2\x80\x99s promised \nCaptain McNicol, here; but I hold she has a right to \nchange her mind if she sees fit. It\xe2\x80\x99s too bad there has to \nbe any difficulty; but things being as they are, what\xe2\x80\x99s the \nbest way out for all concerned?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvanturel, his hand still in his pocket, spoke promptly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy not let Jenny say? I\xe2\x80\x99ll abide by whatever she \ndecides; if she takes him, I\xe2\x80\x99ll promise never to see her \nagain.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTheir eyes pivoted to McNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s a trick!\xe2\x80\x9d he blurted. \xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99ve talked it over \ntogether.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJames Gough addressed the convulsive figure at his \nright. \xe2\x80\x9cIs that true? Have you spoken to Ed about \nthis?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJenny, presumably the person most interested in the \nentanglement\xe2\x80\x99s unraveling, yet surely till now the most \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 181 \n\n\npassive, shook her head without looking up. McNicol, \nthough he still purposed to have her at all costs, felt a \nslow tide of disgust rising within him. Hadn\xe2\x80\x99t she any \nspirit at all? He recalled what his mother had said\xe2\x80\x94 \nhow Jenny was the one beautiful stupid girl of the present \ngeneration of Goughs. \n\nHe nodded. For the present\xe2\x80\x94as long as the pucey \nEvanturel kept his right hand where it was\xe2\x80\x94he must pre\xc2\xac \ntend to play the game. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVery well. Let Jenny decide.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood!\xe2\x80\x9d The pacifist chairman seemed greatly re\xc2\xac \nlieved. \xe2\x80\x9cD\xe2\x80\x99you hear what they say, Jenny? They want \nyou to choose.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt first she would only shake her head. Once she \nglanced at McNicol, miserably. \n\nHis gorge mounted higher. \xe2\x80\x9cCome\xe2\x80\x94let\xe2\x80\x99s hear you \ndecide,\xe2\x80\x9d he commanded, roughly. \n\nAt that she tried to speak. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that?\xe2\x80\x9d her father inquired, and they all leaned \nforward to catch the fateful words: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI just don\xe2\x80\x99t know what to do.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was on his feet instantly. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, if you don\xe2\x80\x99t \nknow,\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted, \xe2\x80\x9cby the Lord Harry! that\xe2\x80\x99s enough \nfor me!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvanturel leaped up, too, a glint of triumph in his \nmorbid black eyes. His hand surrendered the pistol; \nMcNicol had him at his mercy. But now it did not mat\xc2\xac \nter. His savage loathing for Jenny\xe2\x80\x94for all of them, in\xc2\xac \ndeed\xe2\x80\x94reached a climax when it flashed across him vividly \nthat such was the reward for his high-minded loyalty. \nEllen Foss\xe2\x80\x94for this it was, then, he had given her up. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFool!\xe2\x80\x9d an inner voice mocked. \n\nHe seized his hat and overcoat, and at the door turned \nfor a last scorching look. Inexplicably, his eyes rested, \nnot upon the faithless Jenny, but upon her younger sister; \n\n\n182 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nand it was still possible for him to be faintly surprised \nwhen he saw tears streaming from her eyes\xe2\x80\x94her rather \nplain face informed with utter solicitude. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, Denny! \xe2\x80\x9d she cried out, and, running to him, threw \nher arms about his neck. \xe2\x80\x9cI feel so sorry for you I\xe2\x80\x99d \nalmost marry you myself!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe room vibrated to an intense silence; and then, quite \ninvoluntarily, McNicol was speaking strange syllables: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, that suits me!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTenseness splintered into a thousand fragments. \nJames Gough, delighted with the success of his effort to \nplease both sides, advanced with outstretched palm. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine! That\xe2\x80\x99s just splendid! We\xe2\x80\x99ll have a double \nwedding.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nVI \n\nFour days later, still somewhat astonished at himself, \nMcNicol tramped the deck of the car ferry that was \ntransporting his train across the ice-caked river from \nWindsor to Detroit. His bride was still asleep in the \nsuffocating warmth of the day coach; and that circum\xc2\xac \nstance irritated him a little, for he had chosen the Wind\xc2\xac \nsor instead of the Sarnia route, largely because he wanted \nher to have this first awe-inspiring view of their future \nhome. \n\nImpatient that she required to sleep so long, he started \ntoward the day coach; then as abruptly paused, remem\xc2\xac \nbering his mother\xe2\x80\x99s solemn advice, after the wedding of \nthe day before. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLessie will make you a lovely wife. But she\xe2\x80\x99s so \nyoung\xe2\x80\x94you must be very kind to her, and patient.\xe2\x80\x9d And \nhe had promised. \n\nHis mother\xe2\x80\x99s relief at the unexpected turn of events \nand her frank delight had subtly reassured him. \n\nTo Lessie, in turn, she had said: \n\n\nMORE ABOUT MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN 183 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDenny\xe2\x80\x99s a good boy, but headstrong. Don\xe2\x80\x99t try to \nhamper him. Let him go his own road, and most of the \ntime he\xe2\x80\x99ll do the right thing of his own accord.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn a way, he was just as glad to be left alone at this \nmoment. The past few days had been so full of immediate \nexigencies he had had no time to think of the future. The \nharsh realities that lay ahead\xe2\x80\x94the fight to establish his \nnew business, to wrest power and wealth from an obsti\xc2\xac \nnate world\xe2\x80\x94seemed vague and unreal; it was difficult to \nemerge from the fog of things sentimental, and focus \nupon the problem of making a livelihood for his wife and \nhimself. \n\nHe braced himself to the effort; and as he surveyed the \ncity before him a thrill of masterful self-assurance began \nenkindling him. The sun had risen out of the tree-tops \nof Belle Isle and was shining down radiantly upon \nfamiliar eminences: the Michigan Central Depot, the \nCass House, and nearer, those two other magnificent \nhotels, the Russell House and the Biddle House. He \nfound himself proud of every church spire. What a pity \nthe new city hall was not up yet; that would have been \nsomething to show Lessie, with a gesture of proud owner\xc2\xac \nship. For this was his, all of it; his imagination, at least, \ndominated the whole metropolis. And some day his mas\xc2\xac \ntery would be actual, concrete. \n\nAs the car ferry turned upstream a new alignment of \nstructures permitted him a sudden fleeting vision of the \nstore of Cyrus Rorick. He stared, slightly taken aback, \nthen shook his fist. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou, too\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99ll be showing you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter, Denny?\xe2\x80\x9d He heard a timid \ninquiry, and perceived Lessie at his side. Her hair and \nclothing had a somewhat disheveled look from the long \nnight\xe2\x80\x99s trip, and he was not pleased to observe the rem\xc2\xac \nnants of fatigue, the touch of pathetic dependency, in \n\n\n184 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nher expression. This wife of his, this stranger whom he \nknew as yet neither physically nor spiritually, this enigma \n\xe2\x80\x94was it possible she could be blighted with the fatal \nblemish of frailty? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIsn\xe2\x80\x99t it wonderful?\xe2\x80\x9d she quickly diverged. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve missed the best part by sleeping.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe became gloomy, embittered. Lessie seemed an \nunwelcome appendage\xe2\x80\x94excess baggage he must bear \nthroughout the remainder of his days. \n\nAs he trudged gloomily up the depot platform\xe2\x80\x94his wife \na foot behind him, submissively\xe2\x80\x94the first soul he encoun\xc2\xac \ntered was Claude Ketchum, whose office was somewhere \nin the station building. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood morning,\xe2\x80\x9d said Ketchum amicably, and stopped. \n\nAfter all, it was some consolation to introduce his \nformer and more fortunate rival to the bride. It would \nnever have done to come back empty handed, to admit \nthat he had been jilted. As far as Ellen Foss, or anybody \nelse, need know, Lessie had been his first and only choice. \n\nBut old Ketch, the lucky dog! McNicol groaned \ninwardly at his own ill fortune. \n\nThere was no air of felicity in the meek little man\xe2\x80\x99s \ndemeanor, however. Rather he seemed amazed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYour wife\xe2\x80\x94not really! Why, I thought-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol smiled wryly and explained to Lessie: \xe2\x80\x9cMr. \nKetchum is soon to be married, himself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd then the final episode in this incredible network of \nmischance occurred. Ketchum\xe2\x80\x99s face became ineffably \nsad, his whiskers drooped woebegonely, and he seemed \nabout to burst into tears. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no; you\xe2\x80\x99re mistaken, Denny. My hopes\xe2\x80\x94dashed \nto the ground! Neither of us will ever marry now. And \nI thought it was you-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe broke away from them to hide his unmanly grief, \nand quickly disappeared. \n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\nI \n\n<f X70U see?\xe2\x80\x9d said George Wickham, with something \nA very much like abject consternation. \n\nMcNicol took the letter impatiently, with no sense of \nimpending calamity. For his partner, it seemed, had to \nbe apprehensive about something or other every moment \nof the day. If not about sales, then about the supply of \nraw materials. If not that, then the unsatisfactory ship\xc2\xac \nping facilities. Most of the time, about money\xe2\x80\x94the im\xc2\xac \npossibility of securing additional capital. He was the \nworrying kind. \n\nThe letter was from the most formidable law firm in \nthe city. \n\nMarch 13, 1870. \n\nMessrs. McNicol, Wickham & Co., \n\nManufacturing Pharmacists, \n\nHigh Street East, \n\nDetroit, Michigan. \n\nDear Sirs: \n\nWe have this day been retained by Cyrus Rorick, Esq., to \nprosecute you for your theft of a certain pharmaceutical for\xc2\xac \nmula belonging to him, and for your manufacture, under said \nformula, of the preparation you are selling under the name of \n\xe2\x80\x9cNargine.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis formula, Mr. Rorick advises us, was discovered by your \nMr. Wickham while still in the employ of our client, some \n\n185 \n\n\ni86 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthree years ago. The law on this point is clear: any such \nformula is the exclusive property of the employer. \n\nMr. Rorick has instructed us to afford you an opportunity \nto settle the matter out of court; but you must not hope to do \nso except by taking the following measures promptly: first, \nsurrendering up all right to such formula and accounting to \nour client for all profits unlawfully made to date. Secondly, \npaying adequate damages for your wrongful conversion of \nhis property, say two thousand dollars. This is, of course, \nmerely a compromise offer, and not to be taken as including \nthe full measure of our claim. \n\nIf, however, we have not heard from you by Monday, the \n17 th inst., we shall move the Court for an injunction and the \nassessment of damages, and shall further lay the facts before \nthe Prosecuting Attorney of this county, with a view to insti\xc2\xac \ntuting criminal proceedings. \n\nYr obd\xe2\x80\x99t servants, \n\nBuchanan & Stoner. \n\nMcNicol reread the letter carefully, converging his \nbrows into a characteristic expression of somewhat obtuse \nforcefulness. Three years had brought small change in \nhis appearance; he had let both his sideburns and his \nmustache grow longer, till now they united luxuriantly on \nhis cheeks. The scar on his lower lip still balked his \nattempts to conceal its disfigurement with an Imperial, \nstill lent to his countenance a note of intimidating bru\xc2\xac \ntality. There was, however, a barely perceptible incre\xc2\xac \nment of maturity about him, a slight effect of solidifica\xc2\xac \ntion. And this morning he looked a little worn, for he \nand Lessie had worked together in the barn that served \nas the new concern\xe2\x80\x99s manufactory, until after midnight. \nYet this fatigue was entirely superficial; he worked thus, \nusually with Wickham, every night; and each morning, \nafter a sluggish first half hour, his furious energy came \nback to him as freshly as ever. \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON 187 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou see?\xe2\x80\x9d George Wickham repeated tremulously. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI told you this would happen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what of it?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol demanded brusquely. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re perfectly within our rights. Most of your work \non that formula came after you\xe2\x80\x99d left Rorick; what little \nyou did before was at night\xe2\x80\x94on your own time. You \nknow that, and Rorick knows it. What can he do to us?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat can he do?\xe2\x80\x9d echoed the junior partner excitedly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat can\'t he do? He can ruin us, that\xe2\x80\x99s what! We \ncan\xe2\x80\x99t afford no lawsuit. We\xe2\x80\x99re almost on the rocks, as it is. \nMaybe you\xe2\x80\x99re right about the formula, and perhaps you\xe2\x80\x99re \nwrong. You\xe2\x80\x99re no lawyer, are you? I told you from the \nfirst it would be dangerous to take the chance, but you \ninsisted, didn\xe2\x80\x99t you? You know as well as I do Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s \njust been waiting for some excuse to sue us\xe2\x80\x94put us out of \nbusiness. And now he\xe2\x80\x99s got it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis minnow eyes became misty with despair, his under\xc2\xac \nshot jaw quivered; he gulped down his sense of grievance. \nIt was true the present emergency must be laid at Mc- \nNicol\xe2\x80\x99s door. Dissatisfied with the firm\xe2\x80\x99s slow progress \nand the never-ending struggle to keep its head above \nwater, he had been the one to urge taking risks, exploiting \nnew fields, reaching out boldly for each possibility of \nexpansion. Wickham was all right in his way: a hard \nand conscientious worker; so efficient and painstaking in \nhis work of preparing the firm\xe2\x80\x99s products and shipping \nthem to customers that McNicol was entirely free for the \nmore important affair of building up sales. But there \nGeorge\xe2\x80\x99s capacity ended. He had no aggressiveness, no \nconception of the business\xe2\x80\x99s potential growth. From the \noutset, he had been faint hearted, fearful; it was only \nafter weeks of persuasion that he had ultimately decided \nto cast in his lot with McNicol. At that, he had put in \nonly a thousand dollars, to his partner\xe2\x80\x99s fifteen hundred; \nMcNicol it was, indeed, who had had to go begging for \n\n\ni88 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthe balance of their capital\xe2\x80\x94five hundred from his father- \nin-law and a niggardly thousand from Benjamin Foss. \nAnd it was McNicol who must not only be continually \nbolstering up his weak-kneed partner, but also blazing \nnew trails, tackling all the firm\xe2\x80\x99s rough pioneer work\xe2\x80\x94 \nthe incredibly difficult task of making headway with a \nnew idea, of slowly dispelling the antagonism and distrust \nof druggists and doctors who had always dispensed their \nown remedies\xe2\x80\x94and at the same time looking after collec\xc2\xac \ntions, and finances in general. In short, it was McNicol \nwho must each day be the life blood of the infant business. \n\nFrom such dismaying obstacles, \xe2\x80\x9cNargine\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94George \nWickham\xe2\x80\x99s one and only contribution to pharmaceutical \nprogress\xe2\x80\x94had seemed a way out. Had, in fact, proved a \nway out: in the past two months, McNicol had sold more \nof their first specialty than of all their standard products \ncombined; orders were swamping him. \n\nAnd now this! \n\nFor the moment nonplused, he stared at Wickham, \nthen around the barn\xe2\x80\x99s bare interior and at the meager \nequipment that had ravenously snatched away so much of \ntheir first capital: the drug mill, the ether still\xe2\x80\x94purchased \nfrom the pucey Evanturel at an exorbitant figure!\xe2\x80\x94the \nalcohol still, the hydraulic hand press, the ammonia appa\xc2\xac \nratus. For each one he held a rare, unconscious affection, \nand for the medley of pungent odors. For the life of him \nhe could not understand why the neighbors complained of \nthe smell, as a nuisance. \n\nGive up all this, for which he had toiled and bled three \nblack years! At the threat, his powerful instinct of self- \npreservation sent him rebounding to normal. His cheeks \nflushed with anger. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, we fight! D\xe2\x80\x99you hear?\xe2\x80\x9d he told Wickham. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut how can we?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe fight\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s all!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol stuffed the letter \n\n\n\nHE HOLDS ON 189 \n\ninto his pocket. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re no quitters. I\xe2\x80\x99ll see Charley \nFoss this very morning.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nii \n\nA few minutes later, having assured himself that he \nhad stiffened Wickham\xe2\x80\x99s spine a little and that operations \nwould proceed as usual, he left the barn and, traversing \nthe few feet of intervening path, entered the small frame \ncottage that was his home. \n\nIf Lessie had been at the kitchen sink washing the \nbreakfast dishes, he would not have noticed her, so accus\xc2\xac \ntomed was he to their daily routine. He seldom really \nobserved her at any time now; once the thrill of acquisi\xc2\xac \ntion was over, he had pigeonholed her as a definitely estab\xc2\xac \nlished and unexciting fact, and gone about his work. \nBusiness success was not to be won so cheaply as a wife! \n\nBut Lessie was not there, the dishes lay in the pan un\xc2\xac \nwashed; and he became aware of a definite surprise, col\xc2\xac \nored with incipient disapprobation. For he had inherited \nthe Cartwright conception of woman\xe2\x80\x99s duties. His wife\xe2\x80\x99s \nwillingness to slave for him, to submit herself to him, he \naccepted as both usual and eminently proper. It was her \nduty to be his mistress, housekeeper, and emergency \nhelper at the manufactory, equally without pay and \nthanks; and her occasional lapses, from illness and fatigue, \nprovoked in him a very real resentment. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGone to bed again!\xe2\x80\x9d he surmised, impatiently. That \nwas a fine kind of a wife for a man to have, when his \nback was against the wall and he was fighting hard for \nlife. He was indefatigable, himself\xe2\x80\x94in that, he differed \nfrom the average Cartwright male\xe2\x80\x94and he expected her \nto possess an equal capacity for drudgery. \n\nBecause the spectacle of her frailty always affronted \nhim, he avoided the dark bedroom and strode into the \n\n\n190 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nfront room where he kept his business records; and there, \nsitting in a rocking chair near the window, he found his \nwife. His bad humor increased. She had not even the \nexcuse of illness, then, for idling away the precious morn\xc2\xac \ning hours. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s wrong?\xe2\x80\x9d he demanded. \n\nNo one would have dared tell McNicol he did not love \nhis wife, or that he was unkind to her. In fact, he did \nlove her, as one loves any dependent, in a half-contemptu\xc2\xac \nous way; and if he was not kind, if he was not demonstra\xc2\xac \ntive in his affection, he was at least just. He fed her, \nclothed her, and housed her; he spent even less on himself \nthan on her. He was faithful to her, he was dependable, \nand he had a future. Few women, he felt, would have \nrefused to change places with her. \n\nYet, why that perpetually unhappy look in her eyes? \nIn three years she had matured, and she was rather better \nlooking than the seventeen-year-old girl he had installed \nin this cheaply furnished cottage. Still, the air of pathos \nclung to her increasingly. \n\nWhen she did not respond to his question, he glanced \nat her more sharply and noted an envelope and sheets of \npaper lying on the apron that covered her relaxed figure. \nLessie, then, had had her letter, too, that morning; and \nif her eyes with their unshed tears were any evidence, \nits contents must have proved equally distressing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBad news?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe attempted a weak smile of reassurance. \xe2\x80\x9cOh no. \nIt\xe2\x80\x99s just from Jenny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHmpf! Anything the matter with her?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie shook her head dispiritedly. \xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99re all well, \nshe says.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe frowned and turned to his business papers. Jenny \nwas not a congenial topic for either of them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe doctor told me to come again to-day,\xe2\x80\x9d she went on \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n191 \n\nin a desolate voice. \xe2\x80\x9cHe wants to have a consultation with \nsome surgeon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe stopped short. \n\nSo that was it! He understood her depression now. \nFor Lessie was a childless woman, and apparently con\xc2\xac \ndemned to remain so. It was their supreme misfortune \n\xe2\x80\x94the bitter blight that was insidiously estranging them. \nThe fact that she was entirely without blame could not \nsuffice to check the unspoken grievance that grew up in \nMcNicoFs heart. In him the instinct to propagate the \nrace was strong. He wanted children\xe2\x80\x94even now, in his \nfinancial straits; that he would never be a father fell upon \nhim as a crushing blow. It was a woman\xe2\x80\x99s solemn duty \nto be, not only mistress, housekeeper, and factory helper, \nbut a mother as well. A mother, first of all. A barren \nwoman seemed a repulsive thing. The circumstance that \nLessie must feel the stain even more acutely did not soften \nhim. Well might she shed tears. \n\nHe said slowly: \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the use of running after fools \nof doctors? They can\xe2\x80\x99t do nothing to change things. I \nforbid it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nUnexpectedly, the passive, self-effacing Lessie rose \nfrom her chair with a sobbing noise and ran out into the \nbedroom. He heard the door slam. \n\nOpen defiance! The thing was unprecedented, incred\xc2\xac \nible. His mouth opened a little; he glared after her. \n\nOne of the sheets of paper had fluttered to the floor \nnear his feet. Mechanically he picked it up, and his eyes \nchanced upon these words, in Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s regular hand\xc2\xac \nwriting: \n\nDear Sister: \n\nWhat news! I am just able to write letters once more. \nOur second baby came day before yesterday, early in the \nmorning, and what do you suppose? It is a boy and a little \ndarling. Ed says he is the cutest- \n\n\n\n192 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nm \n\nCharley Foss was not in his office. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, I can\xe2\x80\x99t say exactly when he will be here,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nthe young law clerk. \n\nThough McNicol might have known better than to \ncount upon finding Charley at work, he paused at the \nentrance gateway an instant longer, quite at a loss. This \nwas the first law office he had ever been in\xe2\x80\x94a circum\xc2\xac \nstance that inevitably added to his disquiet. Through an \ninner door he caught sight of a second individual, whom \nhe identified as Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x94the attorney who, \nbecause of the magic name of Benjamin Foss, had taken \nCharley into a nominal partnership. This Bigelow was a \nlawyer of considerable achievement and even greater \npromise, according to the Foss family. Certainly he was \nno shirker; McNicol instinctively liked the aggressive \nconcentration with which he sat hunched over his desk. \nHe had a definite urge to go in and see Bigelow, turn the \ncase over to him. Here was a man who could fight Cyrus \nRorick and the redoubtable Buchanan & Stoner to a \nfare-thee-well. \n\nBut the fear of the unknown\xe2\x80\x94the ethics of law offices, \nthe chance of offending Charley\xe2\x80\x94turned McNicol away. \nHe had no money to pay legal fees; more than likely he \ncould get Charley to do the work for nothing. \n\nIll fortune continued to gather about him as the day \nprogressed. There were few sales; most of the physicians \nhe interviewed ridiculed his claims, often with open hos\xc2\xac \ntility; and somehow he could not summon up the cus\xc2\xac \ntomary resiliency with which he was wont to meet their \nattacks and disarm them. \n\nAt Willard Weems\xe2\x80\x99s shop, where he happened to wind \nup the afternoon, fresh anxiety awaited. He found the \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\ni 93 \n\nfidgety little apothecary in consultation with a certain \nwell-known physician. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere he is now!\xe2\x80\x9d said Weems, with evident spleen, \nand they both descended upon him. \xe2\x80\x9cThat damn\xe2\x80\x99 ipecac \nof yours. My daughter took some of it\xe2\x80\x94been deathly \nsick all day.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s wrong with it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe doctor answered, with an air of gravity, \xe2\x80\x9cThe drug \nis much too active.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTired as he was, McNicol had to repress a very \nindecorous mental picture of the obese Miss Weems\xe2\x80\x99s \nparoxysms. This was no laughing matter; when it be\xc2\xac \ncame known, it might hurt business immeasurably. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, that\xe2\x80\x99s the difficulty,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, sympathetically, \na trifle relieved to catch an answering glint of humor in \nthe physician\xe2\x80\x99s eyes. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re working on that very thing \nright now. Trying to standardize all our extracts by \nchemical assay. Meanwhile we\xe2\x80\x99re just as careful as we \ncan be.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWeems fizzed with contemptuous disdain. \xe2\x80\x9cCareful! \nWhy, all your stuff is rotten\xe2\x80\x94either so weak it\xe2\x80\x99s worthless, \nor so strong it\xe2\x80\x99s dangerous. Your nux vomica\xe2\x80\x94poof! It \nalmost killed one of my customers. Careful! You don\xe2\x80\x99t \ncatch Cyrus Rorick putting out such swill. Tell you one \nthing, young fellow: there\xe2\x80\x99ll never be another ounce of \nyour stuff in this store. Tell you another thing, too: I\xe2\x80\x99ve \na good mind t\xe2\x80\x99 sue you\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 if Gertie ain\xe2\x80\x99t better by to\xc2\xac \nnight, by jiminy, I will!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOutdoors, McNicol looked at his watch and found that \nit was close upon five o\xe2\x80\x99clock. Too late even to hope to \nfind Charley Foss at his office. Yet the letter from \nRorick\xe2\x80\x99s lawyers demanded immediate attention. He \ndecided to go to the Foss house; that seemed his best \nchance. \n\nAs he walked, his mind kept sliding back to the episode \n\n\n194 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nof the ipecac\xe2\x80\x94a sure sign he was subnormal. Ordinarily \nhe would have thrown off the recollection, as a healthy \norganism sloughs off disease. Willard Weems was right, in \npart. It was not true that Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s drugs were more \ndependable than his own. But McNicol perceived more \nclearly than ever that the pharmaceutical business could \nnever really grow until its product became absolutely \ntrustworthy. Somehow, medicinal extracts must be \nstandardized. This could be done only by chemical \nanalysis, and McNicol realized a fundamental weakness \nin his organization\xe2\x80\x94neither Wickham nor he was a pro\xc2\xac \nficient chemist. \n\nHis arrival at the Foss mansion forced the problem \nfrom his mind. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIs Mr. Charley at home?\xe2\x80\x9d he asked the maid. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir. Will you wait for him?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn the parlor, it suddenly occurred to him to ask for \nBenjamin Foss. Here, obviously, was a good opportunity \nto solicit further financial help. An additional thousand \ndollars, right now, would be an absolute godsend. \n\nBut Mr. Foss had not reached home, either; and the \nvisitor sat down, taking but casual notice of the hearth \nfire and the once familiar room. He came here seldom \nnowadays. Not more than a half dozen times since that \nawkward and unhappy revelation between Ellen and \nhimself. \n\nThen all at once Ellen was in the room with him \nagain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. McNicol!\xe2\x80\x9d Palpably she had not known he was \nthere. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m looking for Charley.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey were both mature, practical-minded people, yet \nalways there fell an uneasy self-consciousness when they \nsaw each other. But now, at the mention of his errand, \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n195 \n\nanother emotion took possession of Ellen, broke through \nthe crust. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCharley\xe2\x80\x99s not here.\xe2\x80\x9d She sat down, seeming very \ntroubled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut when-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know whether he\xe2\x80\x99s coming at all. None of \nus know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol chanced a quick look. Her features appeared \nmore definite, clearer cut, than he had remembered; there \nwere the first signs of an attenuation into virginal middle \nage. In comparison, Lessie was still a child. Ellen\xe2\x80\x99s eyes, \nso fine, surveyed the fire sadly; and he marveled all over \nagain that she had remained unmarried, regretted anew \nthe splendid wife she might have made him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI wanted to consult him, legally.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCharley?\xe2\x80\x9d She smiled a little and shook her head, \nthen moved toward him earnestly. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m worried about \nCharley. We used to be very close to each other, but \nnow we\xe2\x80\x99re out of touch, somehow. And I\xe2\x80\x99m so afraid he\xe2\x80\x99s \njust going to seed.\xe2\x80\x9d She had to force herself to go on. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s really brilliant, you know; he could do so much\xe2\x80\x94 \nand actually does nothing.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m sorry to hear that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s a tragedy\xe2\x80\x94and none of us can seem to get hold \nof him again.\xe2\x80\x9d Her fingers intertwined tightly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re \nthe only person in the world who could really control \nhim\xe2\x80\x94if you would!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt presented itself to him that he had enough trouble \nwithout assuming the guardianship of a young profligate; \nand he was slightly annoyed. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, I shouldn\xe2\x80\x99t worry,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe reassured her. \xe2\x80\x9cCharley\xe2\x80\x99s all right. He\xe2\x80\x99ll settle down. \nBut I\xe2\x80\x99ll think it over, and if there\xe2\x80\x99s anything-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe outer door had opened and closed, and Benjamin \nFoss now looked into the parlor. He carried a queer air \nof reserve; but its source did not become manifest until \n\n\n\n\n196 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nEllen had left the room and McNicol began speaking of \nmoney. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot one cent, not another penny/\xe2\x80\x99 the rich man inter\xc2\xac \nrupted, decisively. \xe2\x80\x9cI happened to see Cyrus Rorick this \nafternoon, and he told me about the stealing of his \nformula.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStealing!\xe2\x80\x9d began McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cBut-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMr. Foss would not be cut off. \xe2\x80\x9cStealing\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s not \ntoo strong a word for it. That formula belongs to Mr. \nRorick\xe2\x80\x94absolutely! Let me tell you, if any employee of \nmine did what you\xe2\x80\x99ve done, I\xe2\x80\x99d have him locked up. Oh, \nyou may have been clever enough to cover up your tracks, \nbut with me honesty is honesty and thievery is thievery. \nThere\xe2\x80\x99s only one right way to do business; the sooner you \nfind that out, the better. Understand, I\xe2\x80\x99m still grateful \nto you on Charley\xe2\x80\x99s account, but I\xe2\x80\x99m disappointed, \nMcNicol. Perhaps you did it thoughtlessly\xe2\x80\x94in which \ncase, the sooner you make amends to Mr. Rorick and ask \nhis pardon, the sooner I\xe2\x80\x99ll be willing to help you again.\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe checked McNicol once more: \xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, not an\xc2\xac \nother word! Honesty is something that can\xe2\x80\x99t be argued \nabout\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94and strode from the parlor. \n\nAstonishing how his hot scorn burned away all techni\xc2\xac \ncalities, all refinements. McNicol, as he crept out of the \nhouse, had to fight hard to keep from feeling borne down \nby enormous guilt. The structure of justification he had \nfabricated seemed suddenly to collapse. Simple honesty! \nAll at once it became the sweetest, the most-to-be-desired \nprize in the world. He felt tricky. Presumably, Mr. Foss \nwas quite unprejudiced in the matter; if the transaction \nappeared to him tainted with fraud, the evidence must be \nconclusive. Later on, it was easy to demonstrate that the \nwealthy lumberman had not been so impartial, after all; \nhe had accepted Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s version of the affair ex parte . \n\n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n197 \n\nBut for the moment he seemed some stern impersonal \nminister of probity. \n\nYet when McNicol came to the thought of making \namends, when he visualized Cyrus Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s sly, mean \nface, when he considered the abject surrender of his \nbeloved business, he balked flatly. His gorge began to \nrise, his face grew rigid. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever!\xe2\x80\x9d he swore, grimly. \xe2\x80\x9cBy God! I\xe2\x80\x99ll never give \nin! \xe2\x80\x9d Every living soul might turn against him\xe2\x80\x94the whole \nFoss family, all the druggists and doctors in the country\xe2\x80\x94 \nand he w^ould still fight on alone. \n\nCyrus Rorick must have been ubiquitous that day, for \nwhen McNicol finally reached the barn, George Wickham \nalso reported having encountered their former master. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMet him face to face, right out here on Woodward \nAvenue.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou did, did you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd d\xe2\x80\x99you know, Mac, he actually stopped and shook \nhands\xe2\x80\x94just as if nothing was wrong.\xe2\x80\x9d George exposed \nhis gums ingratiatingly. \xe2\x80\x9cSeemed real friendly.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll just bet!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe faint-hearted George looked hurt, then went on \nhopefully: \xe2\x80\x9cAnd he says, if w T e\xe2\x80\x99ll settle, he might even \nthrow off the damages.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDoes, ay? And you believe him?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol turned \nsavagely toward the door. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, there\xe2\x80\x99ll be no settling \nwith me. He can go to the devil!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe evil day\xe2\x80\x99s final infliction scourged him when he \nfound Lessie in bed with a fever, and the doctor and a \nnurse in attendance. \n\nShe gave them a peculiar, admonishing glance, and \nthen smiled up at him with inexplicable happiness. But \nneither phenomenon made an impression: he was far too \ndisgusted to notice anything. \n\n\n198 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nIV \n\nThe two friends were in Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x99s law office late \none afternoon, three months later, McNicol walking the \nfloor restlessly, his attorney seated at the desk with a \ndejected face. \n\nThis was Friday, and the Rorick case was set for hear\xc2\xac \ning the following Monday. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI advised you to settle in the very beginning,\xe2\x80\x9d Charley \nexonerated himself. \xe2\x80\x9cBut no! You had to show how \npig-headed you could be. And what did it get you? You \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t furnish an indemnity bond, and they tied you up \nwith their injunction the first week. You haven\xe2\x80\x99t been \nable to sell a nickel\xe2\x80\x99s worth of \xe2\x80\x98Nargine,\xe2\x80\x99 have you? And \nlook at the bad publicity you\xe2\x80\x99ve been getting in the news\xc2\xac \npapers. Everybody\xe2\x80\x99s afraid to buy from you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol shook his heavy head gloomily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou haven\xe2\x80\x99t any money to put up a real fight,\xe2\x80\x9d the \nyoung attorney pursued. \xe2\x80\x9cYou wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t have a chance of \nbeating Rorick, anyway\xe2\x80\x94with George Wickham giving \nthat wishy-washy testimony of his. And Lord only knows \nwhat old Buchanan will make him say when he gets him \non cross-examination.\xe2\x80\x9d He looked up with sudden recol\xc2\xac \nlection. \xe2\x80\x9cBy the way, where is Wickham. You were \ngoing to bring him down to-day.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSick. Hasn\xe2\x80\x99t showed up for two days.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat!\xe2\x80\x9d Charley suddenly began laughing. \xe2\x80\x9cScared \nto death\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s his trouble. Bet you a dollar he\xe2\x80\x99s twice \nas sick by Monday.\xe2\x80\x9d He meditated. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, that \nmight give us an excuse to adjourn the case.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol struck his hands together with a \nsharp report. \xe2\x80\x9cNo more adjournments. I want to know \nwhere I stand. We\xe2\x80\x99ll go ahead on Monday.\xe2\x80\x9d He picked \nup his hat. \n\nCharley rose precipitately. \xe2\x80\x9cLook here, Mac\xe2\x80\x94don\xe2\x80\x99t be \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n199 \n\n\na fool. I\xe2\x80\x99ve worked hard to get this settlement offer. All \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ve got to do is agree to pull out of the field. No \ndamages, no costs. And my own old man\xe2\x80\x99s willing to \nforgive and forget\xe2\x80\x94offers to give you a lumber job that\xe2\x80\x99ll \npay you twice as much as you\xe2\x80\x99ll ever earn from your one- \nhorse business.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol looked very tired. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll see you in court \nMonday morning.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThen you\xe2\x80\x99re a dead duck.\xe2\x80\x9d Charley threw himself \nback into his chair pettishly. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve half a mind to quit \nyou. And you needn\xe2\x80\x99t come around here telling me it \nwas my fault. God knows I\xe2\x80\x99ve sweat blood over this \ncase!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was true enough. He had come to the scratch nobly, \nhad become a paragon of activity in his friend\xe2\x80\x99s behalf\xe2\x80\x94 \nand all without a penny\xe2\x80\x99s compensation. More than that, \nhe had been willing, in his loyalty, to brave his father\xe2\x80\x99s \ndispleasure; he alone, of all the Foss family apparently, \nhad sided against Rorick. \n\nEven so, McNicol on his way out again glanced long\xc2\xac \ningly at the door of Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s office. Charley \nwas loyal, yes\xe2\x80\x94but so pitifully lacking in aggressiveness. \nHe had wanted to compromise with Rorick from the first; \nalways he was predicting defeat, always holding McNicol \nback. He was worse than useless; McNicol felt he could \nhave fought better alone. \n\nThat was the disheartening part of it: he had to struggle \non unaided. There was no one to help him. He seemed \nperpetually surrounded by weaklings\xe2\x80\x94Lessie, George \nWickham, Charley Foss. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cO God! If I only had a good lawyer!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis incessant rain of adversities, this sagging of his \nfortunes lower and lower without ever an upward turn to \ngive him courage, this sensation of being gradually \n\n\n200 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nengulfed in a sink hole\xe2\x80\x94this tightening reticulation of \nFate: would it never begin unknotting itself? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThings can\xe2\x80\x99t go on much longer like this/\xe2\x80\x99 he muttered, \nwithout much conviction, as he shouldered his way toward \nhome. \xe2\x80\x9cThe luck has got to change some time.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie, who seemed nowadays in a perpetual state of \nsuppressed excitement, opened the door, and handed him \na letter. \n\nGeorge Wickham\xe2\x80\x99s meticulous handwriting. McNicol \nopened the envelope and read, half stupidly, by the \nkitchen lamp: \n\nJune 14, 1870. \n\nDear McNicol: \n\nAs you know, I have differed with you a good deal concern\xc2\xac \ning various matters recently, especially the unjust things you \nhave said about Mr. Rorick. He has been kind enough to \noffer me my position back, and I have decided to accept. My \nlawyers, Buchanan & Stoner, will attend to my interests in \nMcNicol, Wickham & Co. \n\nI hope you will not think harshly of me. I cannot afford to \ngo on working for next to nothing, especially with a man like \nyou, who I could never hope to agree with. And I am only \ntrying to do what is right to both sides. \n\nResp\xe2\x80\x99y your friend, Geo. Wickham. \n\nAs McNicol raised his weary eyes and stared through \nthe back windows into the darkness outside, he perceived \nwhat at first appeared to be a reflection of the kitchen \nlamp in the window panes of the barn, but what to his \ncloser horrified scrutiny revealed itself as an unmistak\xc2\xac \nably authentic flame within his beloved manufactory. \n\nv \n\nToward the close of the following afternoon he stood in \nhis back yard watching the carpenter complete a few \ntemporary repairs to the barn. \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n201 \n\n\nThe scene was surely a dismal one\xe2\x80\x94smashed-in win\xc2\xac \ndows, charred wood, adjacent fences demolished by \nzealous firemen, Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s vegetable garden trampled into \nan ooze of slippery mud. He himself had had no sleep, \nand he was wet through and through with the rain that \nstill poured down unceasingly upon the spectacle of \ndesolation. \n\nYet McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s courage was still unbroken; his heart, \nindeed, was lighter now than for many days. The rain \nitself seemed ineffably sweet to him, because it bespoke \na miraculous intervention in his behalf\xe2\x80\x94the first hint of \nthe beginning of a reversal of his fortunes. For last night \nin his darkest hour, when the fire had appeared beyond \ncontrol and was threatening to spread to his house, when \neven the firemen had retreated in fear of the explosion of \nhis precious chemicals, there had abruptly come, first a \nchange of the wind to the southeast, carrying the flames \naway from the house, and then this stupendous torrent, \nputting to the blush such puny marvels as steam fire \nengines, saving from destruction not only his house, but \nthe greater part of the barn. For a few hundred dol\xc2\xac \nlars, the carpenter said, it could be wholly restored; and \nin the meantime McNicol might actually continue business \noperations. Not a single item of his stock, not a solitary \nbit of his equipment, had been seriously damaged. \n\nAnd during the day there had been further portents of \nFate\xe2\x80\x99s relenting. Quite by accident he had sold two con\xc2\xac \nsiderable bills of goods. More vital, when he hurried \ndown to Charley Foss\xe2\x80\x99s office, half in despair, to tell the \nnews of George Wickham\xe2\x80\x99s defection, he had learned that \nhis friend was ill and confined to his bed. \n\nThis seemed almost as providential as the rain. \nMcNicol made up his mind in an instant to lay the case \nbefore Charley\xe2\x80\x99s associate. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course, I can\xe2\x80\x99t supplant my own partner,\xe2\x80\x9d said \n\n\n202 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nArtemas Bigelow, \xe2\x80\x9cbut you can retain me to assist him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol shrugged his shoulders. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat I need is \nsomebody to go in Monday morning and fight for me. \nI don\xe2\x80\x99t care how you fix it with Charley.\xe2\x80\x9d He felt an \nenormous reassurance at the very sight of his new attor\xc2\xac \nney\xe2\x80\x99s pugnacious countenance, and a great relief, as if \npart of a heavy burden had already been lifted from his \nshoulders. Bigelow, it developed, already knew some\xc2\xac \nthing of the controversy from Charley, and he grasped \nthe details quickly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll work up the law over Sunday,\xe2\x80\x9d he agreed. \xe2\x80\x9cBut \noffhand I don\xe2\x80\x99t see where Rorick has a leg to stand on. \nAs far as your friend Wickham goes, don\xe2\x80\x99t worry! If he \ngoes on the stand and starts lying, we\xe2\x80\x99ll shoot him so full \nof holes he\xe2\x80\x99ll think he\xe2\x80\x99s a sieve.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat was the way for a lawyer to talk! And Charley \nand all the other faint-hearts had been saying there was \nnot the slightest chance of winning. McNicol felt so \ngrateful to his new champion he was afraid to speak. \n\nBut there had been aspects, not so agreeable, involved \nin enlisting Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s aid. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnother thing,\xe2\x80\x9d he concluded, easily. \xe2\x80\x9cI under\xc2\xac \nstand Charley\xe2\x80\x99s been working for you without pay, just \nas matter of friendship. Naturally, I can\xe2\x80\x99t afford to do \nthat. My time\xe2\x80\x99s worth money. I\xe2\x80\x99ll want a retainer.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nsurveyed his client appraisingly. \xe2\x80\x9cSuppose you bring in \na hundred dollars with you Monday morning.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol swallowed, restrained his impulse to cry out \nat the outrage. A hundred dollars! \n\nYet one cannot protest very effectually at a professional \nfee. Bigelow had him at a disadvantage. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right,\xe2\x80\x9d he had said, quite as if he were accustomed \nto lawyers\xe2\x80\x99 bills. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll find the money somewhere.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWell enough to say\xe2\x80\x94but how? \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n203 \n\nAnd now, as he stood in the undiminished downpour, \nthe carpenter approached him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll have my men here Monday, ready to start in. \nNow about the money-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t worry\xe2\x80\x94you\xe2\x80\x99ll get your pay all right.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe carpenter\xe2\x80\x99s shrewd gaze was very much like Arte- \nmas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat I was goin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 say, this bein\xe2\x80\x99 a \nrush job, we\xe2\x80\x99ll have t\xe2\x80\x99 have special arrangements, like. \nSay you advance me one hundred dollars on Monday, a \nsecond hundred a week from Monday, and so on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s neck veins distended. This was sheer rob\xc2\xac \nbery! Lawyers might draw their pay in advance, but not \ncarpenters. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA hundred dollars won\xe2\x80\x99t bother a man like you, Mr. \nMcNicol,\xe2\x80\x9d said the carpenter, with a laugh that was not \nquite ingenuous. \n\nFor the second time, McNicol surrendered to the force \nof circumstances. He could not afford to have his poverty \nknown. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhatever you say,\xe2\x80\x9d he acquiesced to the carpenter, \nwith a gesture of dismissal. \n\nBut his spirits sank once more. Evidently the rain had \nbeen a false augury, after all, and his evil destiny was not \nyet ready to surrender its custody. Two hundred dollars! \nThe sum seemed stupendous; it numbed his faculties. \nThe firm\xe2\x80\x99s bank balance, he had calculated, was twelve \ndollars and one cent, and there were overdue bills of more \nthan a hundred dollars; it would be well nigh impossible to \nkeep going another month, even without this additional \ncrushing burden. Yet he must hold on somehow; not \nonly that, he must press forward, retain the offensive; \nonce his momentum slackened, his instinct told him he \nwas lost. He had to have Artemas Bigelow. The barn \nhad to be rebuilt at once. \n\nBut two hundred dollars! All his sources of credit had \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n204 \n\nlong since been tapped dry. His father-in-law? James \nGough had already refused him twice. Mr. Foss? He\xe2\x80\x99d \nbe lucky if the lumberman didn\xe2\x80\x99t demand his thousand \ndollars back. \n\nSome malevolent sprite within kept whispering, \xe2\x80\x9cThis \nis the end.\xe2\x80\x9d He shook the rain from his hat angrily, paced \nto and fro in shoes so saturated they gave forth a faint \nswishing noise. Abruptly he paused, reached into his \npocket, and counted what money he had. A sardonic \ngrin came involuntarily to his face. \n\nFifty-nine cents. \n\nLessie rapped sharply on the kitchen window and \nbeckoned; but he turned away, resenting the interruption. \n\nThen she opened the door. \xe2\x80\x9cDenny! Come in. You\xe2\x80\x99ve \na visitor.\xe2\x80\x9d And as he sulkily approached the back stoop, \nshe whispered, \xe2\x80\x9cMiss Foss.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJudas Priest!\xe2\x80\x9d He surveyed his damp and shapeless \nclothing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou won\xe2\x80\x99t have time to change. She\xe2\x80\x99s in a hurry.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs he shook hands somewhat apologetically with \nEllen, he was nettled to observe that his wife had followed \nhim into the parlor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t go,\xe2\x80\x9d pleaded Ellen, and smiled kindly at Lessie. \nAlways McNicol was caught by her unfailing graciousness \nto his wife. One might have supposed she would belittle \nher successful rival! For that matter, why should any\xc2\xac \nbody pay much attention to Lessie? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn the first place, I have a message from Charley,\xe2\x80\x9d \nEllen began. \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s ill\xe2\x80\x94afraid he may not be able to \nlook after your case on Monday. And he wants you to go \nto Mr. Bigelow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol opened his mouth. \xe2\x80\x9cBut-\xe2\x80\x9d Then he \n\ndecided to say nothing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI can\xe2\x80\x99t tell you how grateful I am for what you\xe2\x80\x99ve \ndone for my brother,\xe2\x80\x9d she went on, earnestly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve \n\n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n205 \n\n\nquite steadied him\xe2\x80\x94just by making him take an interest \nin your case, by showing him you trusted him.\xe2\x80\x9d His face \nreddened a little, as she hurried on: \xe2\x80\x9cI read in the news\xc2\xac \npaper about the fire. Father said it was the wrath of \nGod.\xe2\x80\x9d She smiled a little. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I\xe2\x80\x99d like you to know \nI have implicit faith in your integrity.\xe2\x80\x9d She opened her \npurse. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd in your brains. I don\xe2\x80\x99t know anything \nabout business details, but won\xe2\x80\x99t you let me invest in your \ncompany? It\xe2\x80\x99s not much\xe2\x80\x94five hundred dollars\xe2\x80\x94my own \nmoney. Later on, I\xe2\x80\x99ll have more.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe remained helplessly inarticulate\xe2\x80\x94could not have \ntold her, if he wanted, the real truth about his motives \ntoward her brother: that he had gone to Charley, not \nwith any idea of helping him, but solely to save money; \nthat he had already consulted Artemas Bigelow. \n\nEllen placed the bank notes on the center table and her \nvoice became almost querulous. \xe2\x80\x9cPlease understand this \nisn\xe2\x80\x99t a gift, or even a loan. It\xe2\x80\x99s an investment.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, \nas if relieved, she took Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s hand affectionately\xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou must come to see me much oftener\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94and a moment \nlater was waving them good-by from the door of her \nwaiting carriage. \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s young eyes were triumphant, and he thought \nit was because of this swift and inscrutable rebound of \nfortune, the full significance of which only he could savor. \nOr, more likely, because Ellen had made so much \nof her. \n\nAll she said was: \xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s a letter from your mother \nin the bedroom.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAutomatically he read it: \n\nMy darling, \n\nPoor Dr. Milk died last night, and I am writing you right \naway in case it might make a difference in your plans. Every\xc2\xac \nbody says we must get in a new doctor here and what a fine \nchance for the right party it would be. And I cannot help \n\n\n206 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nfrom thinking and hoping God may put it in your heart to \ncome home now and Mr. Gough called here this morning and \nas much as said the same thing. \n\nHe ought to have been able to laugh at this now; but, \nstrangely, he was already slipping down into a mood of \nmelancholy, a sharp reaction from his sudden jubilation. \n\nAnd Mr. Gough showed me a picture Jenny had sent him of \nher and the two babies and says she is just getting along fine. \n\nAll well here. Be good to that sweet wife. Much love \n\nfrom \n\nMo. \n\nP. S. Iam worried for fear of the kind of food you get over \nthere so am sending you a package of bacon and good Cana\xc2\xac \ndian tea. \n\nAbsurd! A tear rolled down his nose and he sank \nweakly into a vague and sentimental despondency. \n\nAfter all, what was the use of this interminable strug\xc2\xac \ngling? And what was it he was trying to do? The future, \nso assured and inviting a moment ago, began to cloud up, \na black morass of endless strife and profitless anxiety. \nWhat did it all avail him\xe2\x80\x94with that heroic mother of his \ndesperately in need of his strength, abandoned by his \nselfishness to meet a forlorn and comfortless old age? He \nthought of her first valiant fight for him, her manifold \nsacrifices that he might have his chance\xe2\x80\x94a thousand \ndevotions. \n\nThen all at once he saw her bleak, prosaic features, \nand, unaccountably, another face, a young girl\xe2\x80\x99s\xe2\x80\x94Les- \nsie\xe2\x80\x99s! The lamplight shone down on the two of them, \njust as when\xe2\x80\x94in a flash he remembered\xe2\x80\x94he had first \nseen them the night of his return from medical college. \nAnd the organ music! He could hear its tristful, wailing \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n207 \n\nnotes as distinctly as if he were still on the outside of his \nmother\xe2\x80\x99s house, peering through the window. \n\nIn the sweet \n\nBy and by \n\nWe shall meet on that beautiful shore. \n\nAt that he broke down completely, in a welter of \nvoluptuous sadness. The facile tears streamed from his \neyes. Spasmodic sobs choked his throat and nose. It \nwas precisely the phenomenon he would have condemned \nin another as disgustingly maudlin. Had, indeed, con\xc2\xac \ndemned so many times in his own father. \n\nSome recollection of this checked his emotion at last. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMust brace up.\xe2\x80\x9d What if his wife should see him in \nsuch a state? \n\nThe horrifying thought came that really he was enjoy\xc2\xac \ning himself greatly. A little ashamed, he looked up from \nhis wet hands; and with that, all his grief, his contrition, \neven the two spirit faces, disappeared instantly. But the \nsound of the organ remained. Those other manifestations \nmight be insubstantial enough, the gossamery products of \nabraded nerves; but those doleful strains were real. \nMcNicol, still infirm of soul, rose and groped his way \ntoward the music. There, in the parlor\xe2\x80\x94before the \norgan she had brought with her from Cartwright, her face \nillumined very much as he had first seen it\xe2\x80\x94he came at \nlast upon his wife. \n\nIn the sweet \n\nBy and by \n\nIt was a fitting moment for her great revelation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI didn\xe2\x80\x99t want to tell you till I was sure,\xe2\x80\x9d she said. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou see, I disobeyed you that day and went to see the \nsurgeon.\xe2\x80\x9d There had been sudden hope and the slightest \n\n\n2 08 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nof operations\xe2\x80\x94and now, \xe2\x80\x9cThe doctor says the baby will \ncome next February.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA child! He was to be a father, after all! A tre\xc2\xac \nmendous exultation, eclipsing all the other sensations of \nthat fateful day, laid hold of him. All else was nothing. \nHis depression had evaporated magically and all his peni\xc2\xac \ntence for the neglect of his mother. Even his wife, the \nauthor of this new felicity, had small place in his rapture. \n\nHe squared his shoulders to the future with fresh \ncourage. \xe2\x80\x9cBy God!\xe2\x80\x9d he told himself. \xe2\x80\x9cThat gives a man \nsomething to fight for!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen he found he was grinning fatuously at the equally \necstatic Lessie. \n\n\nVI \n\nArtemas Bigelow pointed to the list of Supreme Court \ndecisions. \n\nAffirmed: Rorick vs. McNicol, Wickham & Co. \n\nHis client gave an involuntary sigh of relief. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd that \nends that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAbsolutely.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s air was negligent, as if such \nvictories were everyday affairs with him. \xe2\x80\x9cThey were \nfools even to appeal\xe2\x80\x94never had a ghost of a chance of \ngetting a reversal.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was so elated he could not remain \nin his chair, but began striding up and down the office. \nHe\xe2\x80\x99d like to see old Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s face this minute! And \nGeorge Wickham\xe2\x80\x99s! Spacious visions of the future glowed \nin his mind. The last barriers "were down; nothing could \nhold him back now. Through the window he caught a \nvision of the metropolis\xe2\x80\x94the new City Hall, the scores \nof people hurrying along the sunlit wintry streets\xe2\x80\x94and it \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON 209 \n\nseemed to him once more that he dominated all this mag\xc2\xac \nnificent activity. \n\nWith an afterthought, he asked: \xe2\x80\x9cDoes Charley \nknow?\xe2\x80\x9d Throughout the litigation he had been careful \nto make his friend feel indispensable. \n\nBigelow shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t suppose so. Hasn\xe2\x80\x99t \nbeen near the office all week.\xe2\x80\x9d He and McNicol had by \nnow become warm familiars. \xe2\x80\x9cAfraid Charley\xe2\x80\x99s not cut \nout for a lawyer. I\xe2\x80\x99ve been wondering, Mac, if you \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t find a place for him. You\xe2\x80\x99re the only person \nI ever saw who could make him work. Why don\xe2\x80\x99t you \ntake him into your business?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol weighed the suggestion and vetoed it. \xe2\x80\x9cNot \nright now. Maybe later. If Charley were only an expert \nchemist-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSuddenly he made for the door, remembering that on \nthis day even a Supreme Court victory was relatively \nunimportant. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the hurry?\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow demanded. \n\nWith increasing perturbation, McNicol glanced at his \nwatch. \xe2\x80\x9cGreat Scott! I may be too late!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn front of the Russell House, so great was his anxiety, \nhe committed the wild extravagance of hiring a cab. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDrive like hell!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe wrenched savagely at the handle, but the coach \ndoor would not open. The driver climbed down with \nmaddening lethargy and applied himself to the balky \nmechanism. \n\nOne or two loafers converged upon the spot. McNicol, \nswearing impotently, looked about. There were no other \nconveyances in sight, not even a street car. Then he \nnoted a third idler appear in the hotel door, and, as \nif magnetically attracted by the accents of profanity, \napproach the cab with unsteady gait. Evidently he had \ncome directly from the bar. \n\n\n\n210 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nAll at once McNicol recognized him as one of his former \ntutors at Ann Arbor\xe2\x80\x94that selfsame professor, in fact, \nwho had taught him the heroic treatment for post-partem \nhemorrhage that had saved Suny Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s life; and in \nspite of his irritation at the cab driver, and the slight \nrepugnance that the spectacle of intoxication always \naroused in him, he still retained enough of his old respect \nfor members of the faculty to nod toward the newcomer. \n\nThat sufficed. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s McNicol!\xe2\x80\x9d Most unexpectedly, \nProf. Oscar McOscar embraced his pupil; then, as if his \nlegs had grown tired, he sprawled heavily, confidently, \nupon this new-found support. \n\nThere were hilarious comments from the rapidly in\xc2\xac \ncreasing throng: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHold on, old boy!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook out, mister\xe2\x80\x94he\xe2\x80\x99s goin\xe2\x80\x99t\xe2\x80\x99 bite your ear!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe cab driver suggested, tactfully. \xe2\x80\x9cHere y\xe2\x80\x99are, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe door, it seemed, had at last yielded to persuasion. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBetter put him right inside, sir\xe2\x80\x94no extra charge.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTogether they hoisted the inert figure into the convey\xc2\xac \nance. After all, this was the quickest way out of the \nmess. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow let\xe2\x80\x99s see you make time!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol charged the \ndriver. To the jeering crowd he shouted, \xe2\x80\x9cGet back to \nwork, you swine!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe cab began moving briskly over the cobblestones. \nProfessor McOscar at first was content to lie back \nexanimate and recover from the tremendous emotion of \nrediscovering a friend. His hat had fallen off, and his \nstraight coarse hair\xe2\x80\x94still jet black at fifty\xe2\x80\x94hung down \nover his closed eyes with an effect of ribald bangs. The \ncheek muscles jerked spasmodically, and his mouth kept \nquivering into a characteristic brutal scoffing leer. A \nman of great individuality, McNicol remembered; ex\xc2\xac \ntremely popular with his classes, and yet feared, looked \n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n2 11 \n\n\naskance at, because he was a professed agnostic. Because, \ntoo, it was rumored he was a heavy, solitary drinker. His \nlong, equine face, indeed, always reflected the marks of \ndissipation and near-exhaustion\xe2\x80\x94and yet, discrepancy, \nan extraordinary, blazing vitality. \n\nIn a moment or two he bestirred himself to a maudlin \ngratitude to his rescuer, threatened to become affectionate \nagain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHands off!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol warned, sharply. \xe2\x80\x9cSee here\xe2\x80\x94 \nyou ought to be ashamed of yourself\xe2\x80\x94a university profes\xc2\xac \nsor like you rolling around in the gutter! What d\xe2\x80\x99you \nfancy they\xe2\x80\x99d be saying out in Ann Arbor if they saw you \nthis way?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcOscar began to weep. \xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Sail right, my boy\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x99sail \nright. Never going back there again. All through.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean you\xe2\x80\x99ve left the faculty? I\xe2\x80\x99ll wager they \nkicked you out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no.\xe2\x80\x9d He wagged his head in solemn protest. \n\xe2\x80\x9cMere diff\xe2\x80\x99rence opinion \xe2\x80\x99bout morality\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s all. Old \nfools out \xe2\x80\x99n Ann Arbor don\xe2\x80\x99t know what lib\xe2\x80\x99ral European \nideas are. Narrow-minded, my boy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t blame them a bit. And what d\xe2\x80\x99you think you\xe2\x80\x99re \ngoing to do now, seeing you\xe2\x80\x99ve lost your job?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMe? Back t\xe2\x80\x99 Scotland by the first boat\xe2\x80\x94where a \nman can do as he pleases.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, obsessed as he was by the major event that \nlay ahead of him, had an abrupt idea. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSee here, Professor, d\xe2\x80\x99you know anything about \nchemistry?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cChemistry?\xe2\x80\x9d McOscar seemed affronted. \xe2\x80\x9cFive years \nat Edinburgh\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s all I know. Chemistry\xe2\x80\x99s the thing \nI ought to Ve been teaching all this while\xe2\x80\x94only those \ndamned old women\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He trailed off again into inco\xc2\xac \nherent anathema. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll give you a job\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94McNicol made up his mind \n\n\n212 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ninstantly\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cprovided you\xe2\x80\x99ll sober up. And I\xe2\x80\x99ll give you \na chance at some real chemistry. Research work.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe cab stopped in front of his house. It was entirely \nfutile, he perceived, to attempt to talk business with \nMcOscar now; and besides, he must hasten immediately \nto the more important rendezvous. Nevertheless, he had \nno intention of letting this new opportunity escape him. \n\nWith the cabman\xe2\x80\x99s assistance he succeeded in convey\xc2\xac \ning the inebriate to the barn. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou sit here a bit, Professor, until you\xe2\x80\x99re in better \nshape. I\xe2\x80\x99ll come back in a few minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d Then he turned \nthe key silently in the lock and ran toward the house. \n\nMrs. Lepper, the conoidal German midwife, was in the \nkitchen, washing surgical instruments in a basin of cold \nwater. The towel she had the habit of pinning over her \nhair on such occasions gave her a businesslike air that \nsomehow filled McNicol with the most calamitous fore\xc2\xac \nboding. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIs\xe2\x80\x94is she-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMrs. Lepper compressed her ample mouth severely and \nshook her head. She made no secret that she resented \nthe presence of a doctor as a direct and intentional reflec\xc2\xac \ntion upon her own vast experienced capabilities. \n\nHe stared at the instruments. \xe2\x80\x9cWill you have to use \nthose?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe jerked her head toward the bedroom disparagingly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHe say so\xe2\x80\x94maypee.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut how is she\xe2\x80\x94getting along?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe midwife permitted herself to look highly dubious; \nthen, collecting the instruments, swept back into the \nchamber of travail. \n\nHe sat down and tried to smoke. It seemed extremely \ndifficult for him to be rational\xe2\x80\x94inexplicably so, since he \nhimself was a doctor. Had he not assisted heroically at \nMrs. Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s confinement? Not only heroically, but \n\n\n\nHE HOLDS ON \n\n\n213 \n\n\nwith perfect cool-headedness as well. No, this was quite \ndifferent. He was in an abject funk. \n\nIt helped him a little to look back over the long months \nthat had succeeded Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s announcement of conception, \nand to be able to remember his unfailing chivalry toward \nher. Before that, perhaps, he had not done so well; but \nsince last June, there was nothing he could reproach him\xc2\xac \nself with. Not a single quarrel. \n\nUnless one counted their clash over the baby\xe2\x80\x99s name. \nHe himself was in favor of christening the child \xe2\x80\x9cWelling\xc2\xac \nton Dennison,\xe2\x80\x9d after himself; but Lessie, with the usual \npregnant woman\xe2\x80\x99s caprice, held out for her own choice, \n\xe2\x80\x9cJohn.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill, even that disagreement was nothing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe can have her own way,\xe2\x80\x9d he resolved. \xe2\x80\x9cJohn \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s not so bad.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPresently the fat jowls of the doctor appeared in the \ndoorway. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust come in here,\xe2\x80\x9d he summoned. \xe2\x80\x9cI need another \npair of hands.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt required every inch of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s resoluteness to \npropel him into the bedroom. \n\nAges later, it seemed, he hastened back to the barn, \npale and exhausted. \n\nProfessor McOscar had fallen from his chair and now \nlay full length upon the floor, fast asleep. Several min\xc2\xac \nutes elapsed before he could be aroused to a proper \nunderstanding of the splendid news. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA baby, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d he remarked, obviously attempting to \ndo justice to the occasion. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd what\xe2\x80\x99s his name?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s a girl,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol, with slightly punctured \nenthusiasm. \n\nOscar McOscar regurgitated with dignity. \xe2\x80\x9cA girl? . . . \nWell, that\xe2\x80\x99s nice, too.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCHAPTER V \n\n\nJENNY \n\nI \n\nf I a HE banquet that celebrated the formal opening of \nW. D. McNicol & Company\xe2\x80\x99s new west-side plant \non the evening of July 15, 1875, was a stupendous success. \nNinety-five per cent of the city\xe2\x80\x99s doctors and druggists \nhad attended the affair\xe2\x80\x94among them, surprisingly, the \nfat Weems girl, escorting her senile but voracious parent. \nNone of what the speakers referred to as \xe2\x80\x9cthe fair sex\xe2\x80\x9d \nhad been expected\xe2\x80\x94Ellen Foss, one of the directors, \nhaving steadfastly refused to come, and Lessie being \nobviously incapacitated\xe2\x80\x94and accordingly Miss Weems\xe2\x80\x99s \nappearance had necessitated the abrupt modification of \nmany of the toasts. But the occasion had proved a \ndazzling and original triumph, nevertheless, both socially \nand professionally. The guests had gone away more \nconvinced than ever of McNicol & Company\xe2\x80\x99s sterling \nworth and predestined glory. For these salient points \nhad been stressed by each of the evening\xe2\x80\x99s orators; not \nmerely by the presidents of the medical society and the \nretail druggists\xe2\x80\x99 association, but also by the eminent New \nNew York physician, brought to Detroit especially for the \naffair, and even by the mayor himself. There had been \nspeeches, too, from the firm\xe2\x80\x99s own representatives. Oscar \nMcOscar, just intoxicated enough to be impressive, told \nthe story of his latest scientific expedition to Mexico in \nsearch of new medicinal flora, and briefly touched upon \n\nthe subject of chemical standardization. Artemas Bigelow \n\n214 \n\n\nJENNY 215 \n\nmade the best effort of the evening; but Charley Foss \nmarred his own response by a disposition to too great \nlevity. McNicol himself preferred to limit his opening \nwelcome to five brief sentences. \n\nFor him, however, as he stood in the now deserted room \nwaiting for McOscar to reappear, the banquet marked \nfar more than the completion of the new plant, gratifying \nas that achievement was. Ten thousand dollars\xe2\x80\x99 worth of \nbrick and stone, three hundred dollars\xe2\x80\x99 worth of food and \ndrink, a few fine speeches\xe2\x80\x94well, it was enough to set the \ncommon herd gaping. But he, McNicol, whose brains \nand blood had created all this splendor, whose un\xc2\xac \nconquerable spirit it was that animated this material \nmagnificence\xe2\x80\x94surface things could not suffice for him \nto-night. \n\nMonths and months of unshowy striving, of struggling \nagainst the heavy inertia of these very guests who had \nbeen so eager to applaud him to-night, now that he had \nbeaten them. The outpouring of tremendous energy, the \nenergizing of weaker vessels\xe2\x80\x94men like McOscar, who \nwere dissipated, or like Charley Foss, who were lazy. \nEven spineless men like George Wickham, who had re\xc2\xac \nturned to him in tears, begging to be taken back, and \nwhom he had remolded into an invaluable subordinate. \n\nMiracles. And yet the fact that seemed most astonish\xc2\xac \ning to McNicol was that his present assured success had \neluded him so long. On that rainy June afternoon, when \nEllen Foss had brought him her first five hundred dollars, \nwhen Lessie had regenerated him with the news of her \npregnancy, he had deemed the victory already won and its \nrewards close at hand. Yet the days passed by, and some\xc2\xac \ntimes he seemed farther away from his goal than ever. \nThere had been another fire\xe2\x80\x94a disastrous one, this time\xe2\x80\x94 \nand then the panic of \xe2\x80\x9973, which all but scuttled him. A \ncouple of lawsuits: one by the widow of a man who had \n\n\n2 l6 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nbeen killed by an overpowerful narcotic; the other by an \nemployee injured in an explosion. \n\nSince that eventful day in June, more than five difficult \nyears had dragged by. The recollection made McNicol \nslightly skeptical of success\xe2\x80\x99s capricious attendance, \neven now. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI wonder-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe glanced around at the banquet chamber, and its \nvery actuality gave him comfort. So, too, the solid re\xc2\xac \nassurance of the new building. No, prosperity was at \nhand; there was no longer any doubting it. Within the \nlast three months orders had doubled without any overt \nreason. McNicol, who still acted as head salesman for \nthe concern, had made his first trip to New York and \nthrough the East; everywhere he found himself already \nknown to respectful physicians and druggists. And to\xc2\xac \nday, even in spite of the cost of the new plant, there had \nbeen enough money in the treasury to warrant a first \nsubstantial dividend. \n\nHis future opened out, as a tortuous mountain trail \nsuddenly broadening down into sloping plains and fertile \nvalleys. The days ahead glowed with the promise of a \nserene well-deserved affluence. \n\nYet McNicol was aware of a queer restive dissatisfac\xc2\xac \ntion, even in this, his hour of fitting exultation. If he \ncould have but read himself\xe2\x80\x94he wanted no prospect of \nsloping plains and fertile valleys. \n\nOscar McOscar returned to the banquet hall, still very \nmuch alight with the recent convivialities. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll ready?\xe2\x80\x9d He led the way to where his carriage \nstood waiting. It was he who was paying for the rig; \nMcNicol, left to himself, would have walked home, just \nas he had walked to the plant. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine \xe2\x80\x99casion!\xe2\x80\x9d began McOscar, jovially. \xe2\x80\x9cEvery- \n\n\n\nJENNY 217 \n\nthing\xe2\x80\x99s going to run downhill from now on, ay? Smooth \nsailing.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe idea annoyed McNicol indescribably. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t talk \nnonsense! We\xe2\x80\x99ve hardly begun to grow yet. We\xe2\x80\x99re going \nto expand\xe2\x80\x94drive ahead. The next thing is a branch in \nNew York City. Maybe one in Canada.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t be going ahead too fast.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cToo fast! Splendid business head you got, Professor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe effect of such contempt was to transmute Mc- \nOscar\xe2\x80\x99s gayety into a species of sentimental somberness. \nThere was a long pause, then he ventured: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd where was Mrs. McNicol this night?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHome.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHome!\xe2\x80\x9d The word unlocked a freshet of Celtic emo\xc2\xac \ntion. \xe2\x80\x9cAh, y\xe2\x80\x99 don\xe2\x80\x99t know how it feels, Mac, to be without \na home. Look at me\xe2\x80\x94wi\xe2\x80\x99 no place to go but a vile little \nhotel room. A grand life for a man, ay? No sweet wife \nwaitin\xe2\x80\x99 iot me\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood thing, too. Some folks don\xe2\x80\x99t know when they\xe2\x80\x99re \nwell off.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey glared at each other, each mutely accusing his \nfellow of a lack of appreciation of good fortune, each \nsecretly envying the other\xe2\x80\x99s lot. \n\nMcNicol perceived he had been indiscreet. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, get\xc2\xac \nting married\xe2\x80\x99s all right,\xe2\x80\x9d he affirmed, but without \nenthusiasm. \xe2\x80\x9cThe right thing for a man t\xe2\x80\x99 do. I\xe2\x80\x99m \nsatisfied. What I\xe2\x80\x99m saying is\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x99twould never set well on \nslippery shoulders like yours, my boy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe chemist\xe2\x80\x99s eyes were still reproachful. \xe2\x80\x9cA home, \na fine wife\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 children, too.\xe2\x80\x9d He sighed lugubriously. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHow many wee laddies are there?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNone.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol set his jaw in exasperation. \xe2\x80\x9cAll \ngirls.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcOscar coughed deprecatingly; he had touched a \nsore spot. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, then\xe2\x80\x94how many lassies?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n218 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThree\xe2\x80\x94and a half. Or rather, three and eight-ninths.\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol smiled grimly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThree and\xe2\x80\x94! You don\xe2\x80\x99t mean you\xe2\x80\x99re expectin\xe2\x80\x99 an\xc2\xac \nother one already?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy not?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe inebriate still seemed staggered by this revelation \nof Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s fecundity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, now,\xe2\x80\x9d he said at last, as the carriage turned into \nHigh Street, \xe2\x80\x9cyou\xe2\x80\x99re certainly wastin\xe2\x80\x99 no time.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was relieved that the interview was \nat an end. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I have to do,\xe2\x80\x9d he added with a note of \npersonal grievance\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9call I have to do nowadays to start \nanother baby, it seems, is to walk into the bedroom and \njust unbutton my vest.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n11 \n\nDespite not having retired till after midnight, he awoke \nat four o\xe2\x80\x99clock the next morning, as usual, and leaped \ninstantly to his feet. These first few hours were the cream \nof the day; it was then his boldest conceptions, his \nmost fertile expedients, came to him. \xe2\x80\x9cBy the time other \nmen are getting up,\xe2\x80\x9d he liked to boast, \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve done a good \nhalf day\xe2\x80\x99s work.\xe2\x80\x9d The idea had first suggested itself \nwhile he was in the thick of his fight with Rorick; and \nnow, though his office was two miles away in the new \nplant, he persisted in the habit of spending the lonely \nvigil in the deserted barn. It was a time of uninter\xc2\xac \nrupted quiet, a time for constructive planning\xe2\x80\x94and hence \ninvaluable. \n\nHe lighted the lamp and began dressing. His couch \nwas in the parlor, because there was no place for him \nelsewhere; the three children and Lessie, the perpetual \nmother, were all crowded into the bedroom; and Mrs. \nLepper, the midwife and nurse, slept on a cot in the \n\n\n2 19 \n\n\nJENNY \n\nkitchen\xe2\x80\x94an ever-present inmate, these days. The house \nwas inconvenient and much too small; yet McNicol, in \nthe full tide of his new prosperity, had characteristically \ngiven almost no thought to a larger residence. A new \nbusiness plant was one thing, a new home quite another. \nThe house, in fact, remained as bare and poorly furnished \nas in the days of his utmost poverty. \n\nBut this morning, as ever, he was oblivious of such \nconsiderations. The phenomenon that obtruded half \nnoticed upon his consciousness was an unprecedented lack \nof zest. His odd restlessness of the night before had per\xc2\xac \nsisted. He felt bored, middle-aged. The recollection of \npast triumphs settled down over his faculties smother- \ningly. This morning there were no especial plans to be \nthought out, no fight to be made, no opposition to be over\xc2\xac \ncome, no enemies to be routed. His long-sought success \nthwarted and baffled him. \n\nOr perhaps it was because he had been disappointed \nin not having a boy in the family. Yet that regret, keen \nthough it was, was one of long standing; he fancied he \nhad become reconciled to the fact. In any event, there \ncould be no reason for this shadow\xe2\x80\x99s falling athwart him \non this particular morning. In fact, there was always \nhope of a variation. Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s next baby, due in another \nmonth, might be a boy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot likely,\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered, and went out into the \nbarn. \n\nBreakfast time found him actively disturbed over his \ncondition. His mind refused to concentrate on business \nprojects, and he had been unable to do any work at all. \n\nThe three children were eating in the kitchen. The \nolder two girls\xe2\x80\x94Mary, earnest faced and delicate look\xc2\xac \ning; Kitty, robust and phlegmatic\xe2\x80\x94both at a low table; \nBecky, the baby, in her crib, engorging a bottle of milk \nrapidly and powerfully. Ordinarily, McNicol was an en- \n\n\n220 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthusiastic father, willing to undergo almost any drudgery \non behalf even of female infants, buoyed up by a strong \nconviction that he had a way with children\xe2\x80\x94that all \nbabies, indeed, instinctively took to him. But this morn\xc2\xac \ning the spectacle of the trio somehow irritated him and \nhe rebuffed their advances. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here,\xe2\x80\x9d he assailed Mrs. Lepper, gruffly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re \nnot giving those children hash!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe midwife was not one to cower even to the head of \nthe house. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVy not? Vot is wrong wit\xe2\x80\x99 dot?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol entertained advanced notions about child \nfeeding. \xe2\x80\x9cHash\xe2\x80\x94to a two-year-old 1 It\xe2\x80\x99s idiotic!\xe2\x80\x9d He \nsimply must quarrel with some one. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI haf alretty given dot hash to hundrets of children \nund it iss goot for dem. It make dem grow big und \nstrong.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNonsense! I\xe2\x80\x99m telling you I\xe2\x80\x99m a doctor. I know \ndifferent.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had picked on the wrong person. Mrs. Lepper \nfolded her ample arms across her even more ample breast \ndefiantly. \xe2\x80\x9cSo? Veil, perhaps you do not like my vay \nof doin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99ings. Perhaps I better go.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOne of the little girls set up a plaintive wail. McNicol, \nraging inwardly, recognized that he had become enmeshed \nin serious difficulties. \n\nLuckily, Lessie had heard the altercation from the \nbedroom, and now intervened placatingly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever mind, Mrs. Lepper,\xe2\x80\x9d she soothed. \xe2\x80\x9cJust go \nright ahead. We\xe2\x80\x99ll discuss it some other time.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol \nfound himself mysteriously propelled toward the dining \nroom. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll look after getting his breakfast.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was one of his cardinal principles that the women of \nthe household must at all times be conscious of his \nmastery; but this hardly seemed a fitting time for its \n\n\nJENNY 221 \n\napplication. He felt a little sheepish, but much relieved. \nRemarkable how formidable his wife\xe2\x80\x99s power of tacit \nresistance could reveal itself at times! He looked at her \ncovertly when she came in with the porridge. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe old fool!\xe2\x80\x9d he growled, by way of indicating he \nhad been wholly in the right. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, yes, my dear,\xe2\x80\x9d she smiled, \xe2\x80\x9cbut we can\xe2\x80\x99t afford \nto lose her just now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie wore a loose calico wrapper that concealed the \nprecise degree of her disfigurement. Her cheeks were \nslightly sunken. But the outstanding circumstance was \nthat her health was much more vigorous now than five \nyears ago. She was no longer a fragile young girl. Inces\xc2\xac \nsant child-bearing seemed actually to have given her a \nnew strength; she flourished on the ordeal of confinement. \nAnd the pathetic unhappiness in her eyes had transmuted \nitself into a look of almost tranquil patience. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMrs. Lepper thinks it might be a boy,\xe2\x80\x9d she observed. \n\nMcNicol looked up quickly. \xe2\x80\x9cBut\xe2\x80\x94but what makes \nher think that?\xe2\x80\x9d Even the slenderest hope had power to \nsend a thrill through his heart. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, she won\xe2\x80\x99t tell me exactly\xe2\x80\x94but it\xe2\x80\x99s some charm \nshe has. A little piece of wood an Indian gave her. Every \nnight she touches me with it and mumbles something \nor other.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe snorted angrily, his hope fractured. \xe2\x80\x9cThe old faker! \nI\xe2\x80\x99ll bet-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe front-door bell rang just then, and Lessie hastened \nto answer it, apparently glad to be spared his maledic\xc2\xac \ntions. \n\nShe was gone for several minutes, and he had just begun \nto wonder what was happening when she returned, an \nexpression of excitement and acute distress on her face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Jenny.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJenny!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n222 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nLessie nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cHer husband\xe2\x80\x99s deserted her\xe2\x80\x94left \nher without a penny. And she wants your advice.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s first reaction to this astounding intelligence \nwas a fresh access of irritation. More people\xe2\x80\x99s troubles \ndumped on his shoulders! But as he stood up from the \ntable and followed Lessie back into the parlor to greet \nthe woebegone figure of his former betrothed, his annoy\xc2\xac \nance began giving place to a more pleasurable emotion of \nnaive, glowing complacence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI could have told her so,\xe2\x80\x9d he thought. And felt him\xc2\xac \nself avenged. \n\nhi \n\nThat complacence still lingered unabated five mornings \nlater as his train embarked on the car ferry and started \nacross the river to Detroit. \n\nBut now it proceeded from rather different sources. \nThere was little of meanness in McNicol. The moment \nhe laid eyes on Jenny and saw how broken spirited she \nhad become\xe2\x80\x94sensed how all her arrogant beauty had been \nstripped from her, how bitter the humiliation of being \ncompelled to come to him thus\xe2\x80\x94all his lively self- \nsatisfaction had suddenly seemed hollow. One cannot \nlong relish one\xe2\x80\x99s vindication in the presence of such \npitiful abject misery as Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s. Yet for all his sym\xc2\xac \npathy, he felt a certain contempt for her, as he did for all \nweakness. \n\nHis present buoyancy, in fact, sprang partly from the \nvery fact that he had been so magnanimous with his \nstricken sister-in-law. Together they had journeyed to \nToronto to wind up her affairs. The handsome, irresist\xc2\xac \nible Evanturel, who was rumored to have eloped to the \nStates with some other woman, had left his business in \nthe most shocking disorder; but McNicol was surprised \nto discover there were few debts. After a day or two\xe2\x80\x99s \n\n\n\n223 \n\n\nJENNY \n\ninvestigation he bought the business, paying Jenny con\xc2\xac \nsiderably more than it was worth; and then accompanied \nher and the two children to her father\xe2\x80\x99s home in Cart\xc2\xac \nwright. \n\nThroughout, there had been not the slightest intimation \nof their past relationship from either of them. Jenny \nwas tearfully grateful to him, but no more; and for his \npart, he remained aloofly considerate. Once or twice he \npermitted himself to marvel that he had ever been in love \nwith her, to congratulate himself upon his emancipation. \nLessie, in comparison, was a priceless treasure. And the \ndifference in the children: Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s were fretful, dis\xc2\xac \nobedient; and the boy, the news of whose advent had \nthrown McNicol into such envious despondency, seemed \na poor, malnourished little beggar with legs badly bowed \nby an attack of the rickets. \n\nAnother factor that contributed to his present serenity \nof mood was that he had found his mother in exceptional \nhealth and comfort. His brother and sisters were old \nenough now to take part of the burden from her back. \nNaomi had married a near-by farmer and contrived to \ncome to town frequently. Evva was still in school, and \nGlen a clerk in the general store. He liked them all, but \nperceived anew how unlike him they were; none of them \nharbored the faintest dissatisfaction with Cartwright, the \nsmallest ambition to emulate his glowing example and \nventure forth upon wider, more expansive seas. \n\nAnd this morning, as he surveyed the long skyline of \nthe city before him, he felt the prouder of his own spacious \ndestiny. \n\nAll these recollections had a share in his contentment \nwith himself; but the major ingredient\xe2\x80\x94what, after all, \nreally put to flight his odd restiveness of five days ago\xe2\x80\x94 \nwas the fact that he had been able to achieve a capital \nstroke of business. He had done Jenny a great kindness, \n\n\n2 24 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nfreely and generously\xe2\x80\x94but McNicol & Company now had \na Canadian branch! The idea of taking over EvantureFs \nequipment and stock of chemicals, of rehabilitating the \nsickly business and making it a profitable adjunct, had \ncome to him in a flash; instantly he had made up his mind, \nand in a few hours the thing was accomplished. \n\nThe unexpectedness of his exploit still fascinated him \nas he left the train and boarded a street car. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the way to do things,\xe2\x80\x9d he soliloquized sagely. \n\xe2\x80\x9cQuickly, or not at all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis felicity reached its apex when he arrived home. \nMrs. Lepper, her broad Bavarian face flecked with red \npatches, met him at the door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe baby hass come!\xe2\x80\x9d She waved aloft the Indian \ncharm. \xe2\x80\x9cGott sei dank \xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x96\xa0\xe2\x80\x94I tell your wife it vould not \nfail!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol felt only the slightest mitigation of his exult\xc2\xac \nancy when she told him that Lessie had already christened \nthe boy John. \n\n\n\n\nBOOK THREE: \n\n\nMONEY \n\n\nBOOK THREE: MONEY \n\nCHAPTER I \n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\nI \n\n"^WENTY years went by before the career of Welling- \nton Dennison McNicol reached the novel and wholly \nunforeseeable phase that was to affect the remainder of \nhis existence so profoundly. And because New Year\xe2\x80\x99s \nof 1896 marks the real beginning of his new inquietude, \nthe varied and somewhat extraordinary events of that day \nmust be chronicled with some particularity. \n\nBehold him, then, still asleep at six o\xe2\x80\x99clock in \nthe bedroom occupied by his wife and himself on the \nsecond floor of the splendid new mansion into which \nthe family had moved two months earlier. \n\nLessie arose promptly, lighted a gas jet, inserted a \ncurling iron in its yellow flame, and began dressing. She, \nat least, had not deviated in the slightest degree from the \ndaily routine of those earlier, more frugal times. That \nshe was now the mate of a very rich husband, that her \nchildren had all grown up, that she was the mistress of six \nservants, influenced her not one jot. Nor even that this \nwas a holiday. \n\nBut McNicol dozed on. Even half conscious, he seemed \nanimated by an unaccustomed sense of deep tranquillity; \nand as he gradually emerged into fuller awareness, his \ntranquillity deepened into the profoundest of satisfac\xc2\xac \ntion. Satisfaction with himself and his stupendous suc- \n\n227 \n\n\n228 THE RED-BLOOD \n\ncesses. Satisfaction with the texture and quality of life \nitself. \n\nLessie gave her hair a final preoccupied pat and turned \ntoward the bed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHadn\xe2\x80\x99t you best be gettin\xe2\x80\x99 up, pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol raised his heavy form with a show of irrita\xc2\xac \ntion. \xe2\x80\x9cI am gettin\xe2\x80\x99 up,\xe2\x80\x9d he responded, employing the \nloud nasal tones with which one addresses a partly deaf \nperson. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll be late for prayers,\xe2\x80\x9d she warned. \n\nOrdinarily he would have been annoyed. These pacific \ncoercions of hers still contrived to stir up a form of help\xc2\xac \nless resentment in him. Lessie had a way of ignoring his \nauthority, or countering his angry outbursts with a cer\xc2\xac \ntain deadly patience. And her deafness now gave her an \nadditional defense: she could pretend not to hear his \nsternest commands, his soundest arguments. But this \nmorning, so exultant was his mood, he could afford to be \nmerely amused by her exactions. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be on time, no fear,\xe2\x80\x9d he assured her, and moved \ntoward his heaped-up clothing. \n\nLessie eyed him dubiously an instant more, her hands \nclasped in front of her comfortably stout abdomen. There \nlurked in her few reminders of the seventeen-year-old girl \nMcNicol had taken to wife a score and a half years ago. \nLessie was forty-six now, and no longer plastic material \nawaiting her molder\xe2\x80\x99s touch. Her chin was double and \nsagged down into the slack lines of her neck. Her eyes \nwere habitually apprehensive and noticeably pouchy. \nHer hair, though, revealed not the faintest flaw of gray, \nand there persisted in her face a look of alertness, of dis\xc2\xac \ntinct personality. She had lived half a lifetime with a \ndominating, intolerant man, yet she remained curiously \nunconquered by him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome, Babe!\xe2\x80\x9d she summoned. \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n229 \n\n\nA yellowish-brown pug dog with a fat and senile back \ncrawled reluctantly forth from underneath the bed and \nfollowed its mistress toward the door. \n\nMcNicol heard the key turn in the lock. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean to tell me you\xe2\x80\x99re still lockin\xe2\x80\x99 that door \nevery night?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s mien conveyed unassailable prudence. \xe2\x80\x9cA \nhouse as big as this is a regular invitation to burglars.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe chuckled aloud as she disappeared into the hallway. \nBurglars! What next wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t she be imagining? Poor \nLessie! Pathetic how dazed she seemed in the midst of \nall the refulgent splendors of the new house. She would \nwander through the unaccustomed halls like a lost soul, \ntrying to conceal her bewilderment, affecting, indeed, a \ncertain brisk competence that defrauded no one; then she \nwould suddenly disappear, and they would presently find \nher in the refuge of the bedroom, rocking back and for\xc2\xac \nward in her favorite chair, wdiich she had insisted upon \ntransplanting from the old home on Second Avenue. \n\nMcNicol, on the contrary, felt nothing but the highest \ngratification over the new house\xe2\x80\x94not that it was actually \nany more comfortable to live in, but simply because it was \nso much larger and more expensive. It had cost a hundred \nthousand dollars; therefore it enhanced his self-esteem. \nTo the architect he had issued but two instructions: first, \nthat it should be bigger than any other residence in \nDetroit; secondly, that it should be conspicuous. Or, as \nMcNicol put it: \xe2\x80\x9cI want people to say, \xe2\x80\x98Who lives \nthere?\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThese commands the conscientious architect had exe\xc2\xac \ncuted to the letter. The house, erected on Jefferson \nAvenue just beyond the bridge, was built of rough-cut \ngranite, sufficiently high priced to dazzle any passer-by. \nIt towered three and a half stories high. Little turrets \njutted out at the oddest imaginable angles of the second \n\n\n230 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nand third floors; and there were two lofty projections \nfrom the roof\xe2\x80\x94one a square Gothic tower, the other sur\xc2\xac \nmounted by a bulbous dome and round minaret. In brief, \nthe structure pleasingly united the finest features of the \nFrench, Gothic, and Persian schools with the best tradi\xc2\xac \ntions of our own American architecture: the full effect, \nif novel, was undeniably arresting. \n\nHis hands-off policy having worked so well in the case \nof the architect, McNicol had delegated the problem of \ninterior decoration to a celebrated New York art dealer\xe2\x80\x94 \nwith results equally happy. Crystal chandeliers upstairs \nand down in all of the important rooms. A stained-glass \nwindow pronouncing its benediction upon the grand stair\xc2\xac \ncase. Furniture of every style known to the courts of \nEurope\xe2\x80\x94with a definite leaning, however, to elaborate \ncarvings, scroll work, and other rococo ornamentation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat about some nice objets d\xe2\x80\x99art?\xe2\x80\x9d the dealer had \ninquired. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\'ll want a few, of course, to round things \nout.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol scratched his head. \xe2\x80\x9cSure\xe2\x80\x94you bet! Go \nthe limit!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe art dealer had. There were two of what McNicol \nnow carelessly referred to as Old Masters, and by his \nspecial request a number of English hunting scenes. But \nthe triumph of taste found expression in a marble statue \nin the main reception hall, just opposite the front door. \nThe half-clad figure of a young girl gingerly dipping one \nfoot into an imaginary stream ; at her side, a gallant \nhound, frolicking. There had been some difficulty over \nthis indubitable masterpiece: Lessie, who knew nothing \nabout art, didn\xe2\x80\x99t think so much nudity quite refined. \n\nHer husband had shrugged impatiently. \xe2\x80\x9cYou got to \nbe liberal, ma, when it comes to statuary. Ain\xe2\x80\x99t I right?\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe appealed to the art dealer. \n\nThe New-Yorker tactfully refrained from taking sides. \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n231 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHave you noticed, Mrs. McNicol, how greatly the hound \nin the statue resembles your own pug dog?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSeems to me it does look a little like Babe,\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie \nhad capitulated. Then with a note of regret, \xe2\x80\x9cToo bad it \nain\xe2\x80\x99t Babe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNaturally one cannot have such gorgeousness without \npaying for it. The recollection of the New York dealer\xe2\x80\x99s \nbill still brought a momentary pang to McNicol as he sat \ndressing this morning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cArt comes high,\xe2\x80\x9d he soliloquized, \xe2\x80\x9cbut I guess it\xe2\x80\x99s \nworth it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs he adjusted his broad black four-in-hand in front \nof the bureau mirror, he surveyed himself with some com\xc2\xac \nplacency. True, the McNicol of 1896 was beginning to be \nbald; his figure was undeniably abdominous and a little \nflabby. A McNicol somewhat coarsened and vulgarized \nby the passing years. In some ways, though, his appear\xc2\xac \nance had improved. His sideburns, never becoming to \nhis wide face, had been considerably abbreviated; so, too, \nhis mustache. And the scar on his chin, formerly so great \na mutilation, had now subsided into pale inoffensiveness. \nDespite the fact that he lacked all distinction of demeanor, \nhe could not be gainsaid a very palpable crude forceful\xc2\xac \nness. A thick-skinned, bludgeoning earnestness. His \neyes ordinarily were not arresting: they had a suety, \ncombative look, a certain obtuse mulish expression; yet \ntheir inexpressiveness was partly redeemed by his heavy, \npenthouse brows. Sometimes, when he was deeply moved \nor excited, his whole face had the power of glowing \nvividly. \n\nAbruptly a flicker of disquiet dispelled his naive \nvanity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the Lord LTarry! I forgot about that New Year\xe2\x80\x99s \nreception this afternoon. Mebbe I oughta dress dif\xc2\xac \nferent.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n232 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHis vest and trousers were wrinkled and shapeless, he \nnoted. The shoes he wore were old and had been half- \nsoled twice. For it was characteristic of him that his \npersonal habits had remained simple and his wardrobe \npainfully scanty. He had not yet learned to spend money \non himself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPshaw! \xe2\x80\x9d His vanity returned to comfort him. \xe2\x80\x9cGuess \nI\xe2\x80\x99ll look as good as any of them swells.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEven the room\xe2\x80\x99s inanimate decorations could contribute \nto his self-esteem this morning. The photographs on top \nof the bureau, for example. First, a likeness of himself in \nhunting clothes, a rifle under his arm, proud male achieve\xc2\xac \nment in his eyes, one foot perched upon the carcass of that \nselfsame stag whose head now embellished the dining room \nbelow. He glanced quickly away from the pictures of \nKitty and Becky, the two little girls who had died in early \nyouth; and his eyes paused, first upon the infant likeness \nof Beatrice, his youngest and best beloved child; then, \nmore lingeringly, upon the latest photograph of his \nmother. \n\nHe took the oxidized silver frame in his hands. Some\xc2\xac \ntimes his eyes would fill with tears when he looked at the \nphotograph. He still idolized her, and it was his greatest \ntribulation that he could not persuade her to live with \nhim. But just now his thoughts were written in a major \nkey, and instead of becoming sentimental, he remembered \nher unspoken but enormous pride in his astounding \nsuccess. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve given her the best reward a son can give his \nmother,\xe2\x80\x9d he affirmed. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve made something of myself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA moment longer he paused in front of the mirror, \nenthralled as never before by the miracle he had wrought. \nWellington Dennison McNicol\xe2\x80\x94the millionaire, the \npresident and principal owner of one of the greatest \nbusiness concerns in the country, the owner of the most \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n233 \n\n\nmagnificent residence in Detroit\xe2\x80\x94looked back across half \na century upon the forlorn, fatherless boy, beaten and \nhunted; and gave him salutation. Looked back at the \nyoung man, fresh from medical school, leaving Cartwright \nto enlist as a soldier in the Civil War. \n\nQuite abruptly he saw himself once more standing in \nthe cemetery, upon the brink of the escarpment. Heard \nhimself once more taking the broad resolves that were to \nfashion his whole life. \n\nHow had he fared? How many of his goals had he \nachieved ? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, I didn\xe2\x80\x99t marry Jenny.\xe2\x80\x9d He smiled grimly as he \nthought of his broken-spirited sister-in-law, now a per- \nh petual guest at his home. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I did better\xe2\x80\x94I married \nLessie.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe went on to his second goal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, I\xe2\x80\x99m rich. There\xe2\x80\x99s no getting around that. Got \nsugar on my eggs now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen to the third and last. \n\nWas he a Great Man? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe name of McNicol is known throughout the \nworld,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. And it was true. \n\nHis gusto reached its highest peak. \n\nSuddenly he awoke to the fact that it was already after \nseven. Remembering what Lessie had said about being \nlate for morning prayers, he hurried toward the bedroom \ndoor. Then he retraced his steps, having decided, \nin deference to the holiday, to put on his coat for \nbreakfast. \n\n\n11 \n\nAs he tiptoed his way into what was officially known \nas the music room, he perceived that he was indeed very \nlate. Lessie had finished reading the Scriptures, and the \nassemblage knelt on the carpet, each worshiper pros- \n\n\n23 4 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ntrating himself over his particular chair. McNicol could \nidentify each pair of upturned shoe soles, each rear eleva\xc2\xac \ntion. There was his wife, of course; Jenny, the one-time \nbelle of Cartwright\xe2\x80\x94it was Jenny who was interceding \nwith the Deity just now; Mary, his first-born; John, \nthe older son; five women servants and the coachman, \nall regularly dragooned to salvation by Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s iron \ninsistence. \n\nMcNicol exposed his own half-soles in front of the \nnearest chair as silently as possible. He did not wholly \nshare his wife\xe2\x80\x99s religious fervor. Church-going, for her, \nhad become life\xe2\x80\x99s greatest privilege; she surmised that a \nspecial corner in heaven was set aside for good Meth\xc2\xac \nodists. To her husband, churches were all very well; \nhe went with her every Sunday morning. And morning \nprayers had his passive approval. Once or twice a week \nhe would consent to read the chapter from the Bible, and \nat supper time he was equal to a short grace. But \nthese long-winded prayers, such as Jenny was delivering \n\xe2\x80\x94let the women make them. He certainly wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t. \n\nFinally she was through. They all rose and filed out, \nthe servants to the kitchen, the family to the dining \nroom. \n\nMcNicol felt his wife\xe2\x80\x99s reproachful scrutiny upon him, \nand by way of diverting attention from his own tardiness \npromptly opened fire upon his co-delinquents. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s Bee and Arthur?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cBee says she ain\xe2\x80\x99t feelin\xe2\x80\x99 very \nwell. Asked t\xe2\x80\x99 have her breakfast sent up to her room.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, she did, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d he blustered. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, she can make \nup her mind to come down here and eat with the rest of \nus or else go hungry. Just one of the fine ideas she\xe2\x80\x99s \npicked up at school. But she ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to be coddled \nwhen she\xe2\x80\x99s home.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n235 \n\nHis wife hesitated. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, mebbe I better tell her, \nthen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSend up one of the servants,\xe2\x80\x9d he commanded, working \nhimself up to a genuine indignation. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd Arthur\xe2\x80\x94 \nwhere\xe2\x80\x99s he? He claims to be sick, too?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBy now they were all in the dining room, but no one \ndared sit down while the tyrant roared. Lessie looked \nmore troubled than ever. \xe2\x80\x9cArthur\xe2\x80\x99s still asleep.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAsleep!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes. He didn\xe2\x80\x99t come home till late, I guess, an\xe2\x80\x99 I \nthought mebbe he\xe2\x80\x99d need-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol snorted with angry disgust, then sat down at \nthe head of the table. He was not, as a matter of fact, \nparticularly angry this morning. Once having blown off \nsteam, he felt he could afford to relax into rough jocosity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, ma, looks like you\xe2\x80\x99d picked a good day for your \nparty,\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted. \xe2\x80\x9cBet you every swell in town \xe2\x80\x99ll be \nhere.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe prospect scarcely seemed to titillate Lessie. \xe2\x80\x9cI \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t know, I\xe2\x80\x99m sure. I do hope everything will go all \nright.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou act like you were scared stiff already,\xe2\x80\x9d he laughed, \ncondescendingly. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter? \xe2\x80\x99Fraid people \xe2\x80\x99ll \nbite you, or something?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, but-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, now, just looka here. They\xe2\x80\x99s nobody in Detroit \nany better \xe2\x80\x99n we are, even if we don\xe2\x80\x99t put on airs. Pre\xc2\xac \ncious few as good. I could buy out the whole bunch \nt\xe2\x80\x99-morrow, and never feel it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis attention was distracted by the maid\xe2\x80\x99s entrance \nwith Aunt Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s special breakfast. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, Jen, why don\xe2\x80\x99t you quit eatin\xe2\x80\x99 such slops? Put \na little real stuff inside you, and you\xe2\x80\x99d feel somethin\xe2\x80\x99 like. \nA bit of ham and eggs now?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, thank you,\xe2\x80\x9d Jenny repeated, not without pride \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n236 \n\nin her infirmity. For ten years she had eaten nothing but \noatmeal gruel and crackers; and of late had dispensed \nwith the crackers as not agreeing with her. \xe2\x80\x9cI know what \nI can digest better \xe2\x80\x99n anybody else, I reckon. Ham an\xe2\x80\x99 \neggs indeed!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHam and eggs won\xe2\x80\x99t hurt no one,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol asserted \nwith conviction. But he forbore to press the point. \nToward Jenny he cherished no emotion stronger than a \ncertain easy contempt. To think what she might have \nbeen now\xe2\x80\x94his wife, the mistress of all this splendor\xe2\x80\x94 \nsave for her gross stupidity! Occasionally he would catch \nher watching him with the oddest and most inscrutable \nof expressions in her faded eyes, and he wondered how \nmany times she must have bitterly regretted the moment \nof folly that had wrecked her life and cast her upon the \ngenerosity of the man she had broken faith with. A queer \ntrick of Fate! McNicol felt sorry for her; she was almost \npenniless now; both her children had turned out badly. \n\nHe turned to his elder daughter, on the other side of the \ntable. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPass your plate, then.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMary complied. \xe2\x80\x9cJust eggs this morning, please. No \nmeat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo meat!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol glared as if personally affronted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever any meat for me. From to-day on I\xe2\x80\x99m a vege\xc2\xac \ntarian.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt is difficult to describe the effect of this simple pro\xc2\xac \nnouncement upon McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s equanimity. Essentially he \nwas a conservative, conventional being to the uttermost \nfiber. What other people said and did took on for him, \nquite unwittingly, the semblance of inviolability. He \nhated anything that was different, newfangled\xe2\x80\x94what he \ncalled fads. And Mary was always taking up some \nstrange new fad. \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n237 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA vegetarian!\xe2\x80\x9d he gasped. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd what\xe2\x80\x99s the reason \nfor that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause it\xe2\x80\x99s wrong to slaughter thousands of defense\xc2\xac \nless animals every year, just for food. It\xe2\x80\x99s unnecessary \nand it\xe2\x80\x99s cruel!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMary voiced these heretical convictions with an air of \nfrantic courage, quite as if she expected to be sent to the \nstake forthwith. Tears welled up in her gray eyes; her \nsensitive mouth quivered. She awaited her martyrdom \nwith passive defiance. \n\nThe sole question was what form the punishment would \ntake. McNicol felt outraged, the more so because he had \ndetected her swift glance up at the stag\xe2\x80\x99s head above him. \nShe was daring to accuse him, her own father, of cruelty, \ntoo\xe2\x80\x94just because he occasionally went hunting. His \nfirst instinct was to send her from the table. A vege\xc2\xac \ntarian! What next? Mary was an alien to him; he \nunderstood her less than any of the others of his strange \nbrood. Even as a little girl she had been odd\xe2\x80\x94a sedate, \nsolemn-faced sprite to whom childhood always seemed \nsomehow an indignity. And here she was now, a mature \nwoman of twenty-four\xe2\x80\x94practically twenty-five\xe2\x80\x94still un\xc2\xac \nmarried and on his hands. Why, she ought to have three \nor four children of her own by this time! And she could \nhave had: Mary wasn\xe2\x80\x99t bad looking; several men had \nwanted her. But always she kept them at a distance be\xc2\xac \ncause of some abnormal fastidiousness, some strange rest\xc2\xac \nlessness. Uneasy, dissatisfied, a potential trouble maker \n\xe2\x80\x94born unhappily a generation ahead of her time. No one \ncould comprehend her. Except Ellen Foss, possibly. \n\nAs McNicol mustered his indignation, however, there \ncame a diversion. No one else would have ventured to \nintervene at such a crisis; but John, the skeleton in the \nfamily closet, pushed his plate toward his father with a \nloud guffaw. \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n238 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGive me her ham, pa. I\xe2\x80\x99ll take it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt this counter-irritant McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s expression changed \nfrom blazing anger to a species of sorrowful, brooding \nhostility; for if Mary was inexplicable, John was quite \ninescapably \xe2\x80\x9cqueer.\xe2\x80\x9d Not an imbecile, of course, and \nentirely harmless\xe2\x80\x94but not quite right in his head. There \nhad been nothing wrong with him at first, except his odd, \nlopsided face. Always, in fact, he had been a \xe2\x80\x9cgood\xe2\x80\x9d boy, \nperfectly obedient and rather bright in school. McNicol \nhad put him in the factory at fifteen, and it was shortly \nthereafter that his present obscure malady had begun to \nmanifest itself\xe2\x80\x94these peculiar, meaningless explosions of \nmirth, an occasional tendency to fall down, fits of fainting \nand wild incoherent jabbering. In brief, poor John had \nabruptly developed into what was more or less a common\xc2\xac \nplace in those days\xe2\x80\x94the family\xe2\x80\x99s one defective child. \nHis father had been obliged to take him out of the fac\xc2\xac \ntory; he did nothing now except wander vacuously about \nthe house, read weird books, sleep a good deal, sometimes \ngo out for a walk \n\nIf McNicol had been to blame, if he had sown his share \nof wild oats in his youth, the tragedy might have been \neasier of endurance, he told himself. But that this thing \nshould happen to him\xe2\x80\x94the upright, the chaste\xe2\x80\x94seemed \nintolerable. Bitterly he speculated about that dissolute \nfather of his. \n\nJohn now emitted a second vociferous laugh. \xe2\x80\x9cWon\xe2\x80\x99t \ncost near so much t\xe2\x80\x99 feed sister if she\xe2\x80\x99s turned vegetarian.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWon\xe2\x80\x99t, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol fumed as he filled his son\xe2\x80\x99s \nplate. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, it costs enough for two people, the amount \nyou eat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was one of his acutest grievances that John\xe2\x80\x99s appetite \nseemed to grow with his disease. He had, indeed, never \nbeen so robust, physically. \n\nThen, as if to cap the meal\xe2\x80\x99s exasperations, the figure \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n239 \n\n\nof Arthur, the second son, came into view through the \ndoorway and approached the table with an obviously \nslinking gait. \n\nIn some ways Arthur was his father\'s greatest chagrin. \nMary was a girl, and didn\xe2\x80\x99t count much, one way or the \nother. John? A crushing enough disappointment, but, \nafter all, his affliction was not his fault. But Arthur! He \nhad always been a bad boy, stubborn, disobedient, willful. \nIn most ways he was more like his father than any of \nthe rest. In appearance, even. But the similarity seemed \nto arouse the deepest of antipathy between them. Twice, \nas a boy, Arthur had run away from home after being \nwhipped. Now, at nineteen, he worked sullenly, against \nhis will, in the factory. Went out nights, nobody knew \nwhere\xe2\x80\x94probably to some low saloon, or worse. Came \nhome so late he couldn\'t even get to breakfast on time. \n\nIt was too much. McXicol\'s wrath, dammed up thus \nfar, burst through. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGit outa here! \xe2\x80\x9d he bellowed to his son. \xe2\x80\x9cIf you\'re too \nlazy to get up when other folks do, you can go without \nyour breakfast! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nm \n\nA little later McXicol repaired to the music room, \npulled off his coat, drew a cuspidor within target range, \nsat down in a deep leather armchair, and prepared to \nenjoy the offices of his quill toothpick. \n\nThere "was within him an admirable capacity for self- \nhealing. Already the vexations of breakfast time had \nautomatically erased themselves from his attention; his \nmood bounded resiliently to his unrestrained satisfaction \nof the earlier morning. He was alone in the room; but \nhe could hear Lessie in the spacious hall outside, confer\xc2\xac \nring with the florist and his two assistants. Even at this \n\n\n240 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhour the whole household had begun to rotate centripetally \nabout the glittering pageant of the afternoon. From where \nhe reclined McNicol could envisage a crew of men erect\xc2\xac \ning a long awning from the street to the front porch of \nthe house: and the spectacle reinforced his contentment. \n\nThe interval of lethargic repletion, of post-prandial \ncoma, was at hand. He himself had no duties to perform, \nno part to play in making ready the resplendent festival. \nHe could rest in undisturbed ease\xe2\x80\x94and not merely this \nholiday morning, but even\' morning hereafter, if he chose; \nfor with the last day of the old year, he had retired from \nactive participation in the business. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot that I\'m goin\xe2\x80\x99 to do much loafin\xe2\x80\x99,\xe2\x80\x9d he defended \nhimself. He was still president of the company and he \nintended to keep closely in touch with its management. \nVarious other business projects beckoned him invitingly, \nand this summer he and Lessie were going to Europe. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust enough work to keep sweet,\xe2\x80\x9d he argued. \xe2\x80\x9cGuess \nI\'ve earned the right to take things a bit easy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe glanced blissfully over the music room\'s varied ele\xc2\xac \ngances, and out into the reception hallway. By craning \nhis neck he could just environ the delectable marble \nmaiden and her noble hound. That sufficed; he bit off \nthe end of his cigar, blew the tobacco dust through it, and \nlighted a match. \n\nAs he spread out the morning newspaper his younger \ndaughter, Beatrice, stepped briskly into the room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello, papa!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat \xe2\x80\x9cpapa" alone would have marked her off as a \nsuperior, refined product. The other children said \xe2\x80\x9cpa\xe2\x80\x9d, \nor \xe2\x80\x9cfather\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99; but Beatrice, the bright particular flower of \nthe family, had not spent the last three months in a New \nYork finishing school for nothing. She knew the better \ndeportment, the correct thing\xe2\x80\x94not merely in such super\xc2\xac \nficial matters as \xe2\x80\x9cpapa,\xe2\x80\x9d but in the larger aspects of living \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n241 \n\n\nas well. She had learned, for example, how to \xe2\x80\x9cget her\xc2\xac \nself up.\xe2\x80\x9d Her dress this morning was of a flaming scarlet \nsilk that made even more striking her vivid, handsome \nface, her small, vibrant figure. Already, at seventeen, \nshe had a dangerous enticing quality: men of all sorts \nand as:es \xe2\x80\x9cwent crazv" over her\xe2\x80\x94and certain!v Beatrice \ndid nothing to dampen their passion. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMorninV McXicoi answered, uncertainly. Beatrice \nwas his favorite, yet now he remembered her delinquency \nin not coming to breakfast. He had punished Arthur for \nthe same offense, and he meant to be an impartial parent. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA pretty time to be gettin\' downstairs. " he fumed. \n\xe2\x80\x98\xe2\x80\x98\'Ain\'t vou ashamed of yourself?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nm * \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh. papa, please don\'t say \xe2\x80\x99ain\'t\' any more. It sounds \nso vulgar.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVulgar, ay?" The young hussy! Trying to give her\xc2\xac \nself airs. \xe2\x80\x98*Looka here, don\'t vou trv to come anv of \nthem Xew York notions on me. \'cause I won\'t stand it, \nnot for a minute. Guess I don\'t speak no different from \nanybody else around here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh. but you co. papa! You may not realize it. but \nyou\'ve grown awfully careless about vour grammar.\'\' \n\nJust then Mary intervened hesitantly: \xe2\x80\x9cI forgot to tell \nvou. father, but I\'ve engaged Mr. Pasco to sins at the \nreception this afternoon.\'\' \n\nMcXicoi surveved her testilv. \xe2\x80\x9dWhat did vou want to \n\n^ ^ \n\ngo an\' do that for? \' \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell,\xe2\x80\x9d Mary faltered, \xe2\x80\x9cmother and I agreed it would \nbe nice. Other people have music at such affairs \' \n\nHe picked up his paper. \xe2\x80\x9cWho is this\xe2\x80\x94what d\xe2\x80\x99you \ncall him?\xe2\x80\x94Tobasco?" The witticism almost restored his \ngood humor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\'t you remember? He came here and sang for us \none night last fall. A vocal teacher, he is.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, him! That dago you wanted to take lessons \n\n\n\n242 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nfrom?\xe2\x80\x9d He washed his hands of the enterprise. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, \nwell, if you and your ma want him to come-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho\xe2\x80\x99s Mr. Pasco, sis?\xe2\x80\x9d Beatrice demanded. \n\nMary\xe2\x80\x99s tone was cold. \xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t know him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll just bet he\xe2\x80\x99s a beau of yours. I\xe2\x80\x99ll bet you\xe2\x80\x99re in love \nwith him.\xe2\x80\x9d She giggled maliciously. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, Mary!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was horrified. \xe2\x80\x9cAn Eyetal- \nian!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNonsense!\xe2\x80\x9d Mary denied, her face coloring a little. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHowever, what I wanted to ask of you, father, was to be \nsure to send Mr. Pasco a check for ten dollars.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTen dollars! Just for cornin\xe2\x80\x99 here and singinM No \nsir, not one cent outa me\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d But Mary had gone. \n\nPresently Bee went to the piano and herself began to \nsing: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGin a body meet a body \nCornin\xe2\x80\x99 thro\xe2\x80\x99 the rye\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOnce more McNicol relaxed into perfect contentment. \nThis was something like! Beatrice might not be much to \nboast of either as a pianist or vocalist, yet one Scotch \nsong from her lips was worth more to him than all the \nclassical music in the world. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYet a\xe2\x80\x99 the lads they smile at me \nWhen cornin\xe2\x80\x99 thro\xe2\x80\x99 the rye.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe closed his eyes, half ashamed of the tears that filled \nthem. There was a girl for you! Pretty as a picture, \na regular high-stepper\xe2\x80\x94yet not too puffed up to play the \nkind of music he liked. \n\nThis morning, however, all his intervals of tranquillity \nseemed doomed to abrupt invasion. As Bee finished the \nsong there issued from the far corner of the room a jarring \noutburst of applause, and he perceived that John had also \nbeen enjoying the music. \n\n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n243 \n\n\nBee\xe2\x80\x99s somewhat willful features clouded with resent\xc2\xac \nment and she confronted her father determinedly. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat \nin the world are we going to do with him? He\xe2\x80\x99s simply \na disgrace to all of us! How can we ever amount to any\xc2\xac \nthing socially as long as he\xe2\x80\x99s around?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis caustic arraignment, delivered in rapid staccato \nsyllables, dazed McNicol. What, indeed, was there to \nsay? She had thrust at one of his sorest perplexities, and \nhe had no answer. \n\nSome sense of pity visited him, nevertheless. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \ngo, John.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe defective bestirred himself reluctantly. \xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t \nwant to go.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHurry on, now\xe2\x80\x94clear out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut why do I have to go, pa? What have I done?\xe2\x80\x9d \nThere was an expression of pathetic bewilderment on \nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s face. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat are you goin\xe2\x80\x99 to do with me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol half arose, with a threatening movement; \nthen, as his son fled the room, sank back wearily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you see, papa?\xe2\x80\x9d went on Beatrice, implacably. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m as sorry for poor Johnny as any one else, but he just \ncan\xe2\x80\x99t be allowed loose any longer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLock him up\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s what! Send him to an asylum, \nthe way other families do.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe shook his head sadly. \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s not that bad off. Per\xc2\xac \nfectly harmless, ain\xe2\x80\x99t he?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, he\xe2\x80\x99s not, either! Anyway, something\xe2\x80\x99s got to be \ndone with him this afternoon. There\xe2\x80\x99ll be lots of nice \npeople here\xe2\x80\x94people I want to stand in with. Well, just \nsupposing John starts acting up. You can\xe2\x80\x99t tell what he \nmight do! Not only go round blurting out a lot of idiotic \ndrivel\xe2\x80\x94maybe fall in a fit. That \xe2\x80\x99d look fine, wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nit? Simply ruin all of us! I\xe2\x80\x99d never dare show my face \nin this town again\xe2\x80\x94and you wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t, either.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n244 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHe still shook his head with morose impotence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI tell you you must!\xe2\x80\x9d said Beatrice, imperiously. \xe2\x80\x9cIt \n\xe2\x80\x99ll be easy enough. Stick him upstairs out of the way, with \nsomebody to watch him during the reception.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe proposal did sound feasible. \xe2\x80\x9cBut who\xe2\x80\x99d there \nbe? I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t want none of the servants-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course not! Well, there\xe2\x80\x99s Mary.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, she\xe2\x80\x99s got to stay downstairs t\xe2\x80\x99 help your ma.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBee was not to be denied. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, Arthur then. Nobody \n\xe2\x80\x99ll miss him much, I guess. And he might much better \nbe doing that than hanging around some saloon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThus the problem of what to do with John was solved, \nat least temporarily. By great good fortune, McNicol suc\xc2\xac \nceeded in catching Arthur in the kitchen, bidding adieu \nto one of the servant girls\xe2\x80\x94in the very act, indeed, of \nclearing out for the day. \n\n\nTV \n\nThe ordeal of standing in the reception line for ninety \nminutes had proved unexpectedly wearing to him. Some \ntwo hundred and fifty people, most of them total strangers, \nhad shaken hands with him. It was, in fact, a consid\xc2\xac \nerable surprise to him that he knew so few of the guests. \nThere were a half dozen of his business associates: \nArtemas Bigelow, now the city\xe2\x80\x99s most successful law\xc2\xac \nyer; Oscar McOscar, surprisingly distinguished look\xc2\xac \ning at seventy-five; George Wickham, very gray, and \nsomewhat out of countenance in the midst of such splen\xc2\xac \ndor; two or three others. A few of the family\xe2\x80\x99s former \nneighbors on Second Avenue, invited over Beatrice\xe2\x80\x99s vio\xc2\xac \nlent protests. Ellen Foss, of course. She it was who had \ngone over the list of prospective guests with Lessie. She \nit was who had undertaken to form the connecting link \nbetween the McNicols and this strange new world of \n\n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n245 \n\n\nfashion, to pilot the family through devious channels and \nunfamiliar shoals to a safe harborage of social prestige. \n\nSave for this handful, McNicol knew scarcely a soul; \nhe felt like a stranger in his own house. He considered \nthe whole formality a futile and silly affair. His right \nhand was lame, his back ached from all this bowing and \nscraping. \n\nStill, there were compensations. After all, the reception \nwas nothing more or less than a tribute to his enormous \nsuccess. It was pleasing, too, to note how everybody \nseemed staggered by the magnificence of the place. Yes, \non the whole, he was glad to be here, to exhibit himself \nproudly in all this glory of proprietorship. \n\nThe first intimation that the reception was not an undi\xc2\xac \nluted triumph came from Beatrice, who stood next to him \nin the line. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf mama doesn\xe2\x80\x99t stop saying, Tt\xe2\x80\x99s real nice of you to \ncome\xe2\x80\x99 to everybody,\xe2\x80\x9d she announced, irritably, \xe2\x80\x9cI think \nI shall scream!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol glanced in surprise from her petulant features \nto the stout figure of his wife, near the other end of the \nline, and all at once had a fresh perspective on her. \n\nIn truth, Lessie did appear to sad disadvantage. Her \ndress was expensive enough by all accounts, yet it con\xc2\xac \nveyed not the slightest hint of smartness. Her manner, \neven more, revealed how pitifully unaccustomed she was \nto playing the gracious hostess. \xe2\x80\x9cJust a real home body,\xe2\x80\x9d \nthat was what she prided herself on being. \n\nHere she was, straining to catch the names of the latest \narrivals, greeting each one with the same homely formula: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cReal glad t\xe2\x80\x99 meet you. Real nice of you t\xe2\x80\x99 come.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJust then, moreover, he chanced to observe Ellen Foss \ncirculating among the chattering groups of people. Lessie \nhad wanted her in the receiving line, but she had chosen \n\n\n246 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nto serve as a sort of floor marshal, while the family re\xc2\xac \nmained sequestered in the line. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the Lord Harry!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol wanted to exclaim. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s a woman for you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd beyond dispute, Ellen contributed a fine presence \n\xe2\x80\x94tall, somewhat spare, direct and candid of expression. \nActually, she was far handsomer than she had been thirty \nyears ago. A sublimated spinster\xe2\x80\x94and all because of \nhim! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat a wife she would have made some man!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol sighed a little. His dissatisfaction deepened \nas he cast a brief glance at his other womenfolk. Jenny, \nstanding next to Lessie; then Mary. Beatrice, thank \nHeaven, was different\xe2\x80\x94a daughter any father would be \nproud of! There wasn\xe2\x80\x99t a girl here this afternoon who \ncould touch her. \n\nHer pert beauty, however, remained overcast, except \nwhile she talked to newcomers; and the look she now gave \nher father did not reciprocate his admiration. Her eye \ntraveled disparagingly over his baggy business suit. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou ought to be wearing a frock coat, papa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt occurred to him that he, too, might not fully measure \nup to polite standards. Nearly every other man in the \nroom was wearing a Prince Albert. Still, he would not \nadmit himself inferior. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s not like I couldn\xe2\x80\x99t afford one,\xe2\x80\x9d he justified. Then, \nnoting that her frown did not diminish: \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the mat\xc2\xac \nter? Ain\xe2\x80\x99t you havin\xe2\x80\x99 a good time?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere aren\xe2\x80\x99t enough men.\xe2\x80\x9d Bee tossed her head. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHardly any young men at all. A lot of old ladies\xe2\x80\x94and \nat that, there\xe2\x80\x99s scarcely anybody here who\xe2\x80\x99s really smart, \nwho really belongs!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was astounded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess you\xe2\x80\x99re wrong. Your ma invited the whole kit \nan\xe2\x80\x99 caboodle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n247 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s just it! We invited them\xe2\x80\x94and they\xe2\x80\x99ve snubbed \nus. Of course, there are a few of the best people here, \nbut the rest are just staying away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAre, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d His slightly pendulous cheeks grew hot. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, they\xe2\x80\x99d best watch out what they do to me. Better \nnot try an\xe2\x80\x99 make joy of W. D. McNicol, they hadn\xe2\x80\x99t. I \ncould buy out the whole bunch.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe balance of the afternoon held still further disturb\xc2\xac \ning incidents in store for him. \n\nA few minutes later, for example, after the receiving \nline had broken up, there came a sudden cessation of \nvolubility and from the music room issued the preliminary \nnotes of the piano. Mary\xe2\x80\x99s young protege was about to \nearn his ten dollars. McNicol happened to be standing, \nunattached, near the door of a small reception parlor, \nand he seized the opportunity of sidling into this room for \na moment\xe2\x80\x99s breathing space. One of the gilt chairs invited \nhim; here he could sit, just within the heavy portieres, \nand, quite unobserved, command the crowded hall outside. \n\nThe singing of Signor Pasco evoked a prodigious enthu\xc2\xac \nsiasm from the guests; there were several encores. Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol was amazed. Possibly this sort of nonsense was \npopular with people of fashion. Perhaps, after all, he\xe2\x80\x99d \nbetter pay off the young dago. \n\nAs he prepared to rejoin his guests there came the \nsound of voices on the other side of the curtain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow d\xe2\x80\x99 you suppose they ever had enough sense to give \nus some music?\xe2\x80\x9d The accents were a woman\xe2\x80\x99s. McNicol \ncould just see one edge of her hat brim and the flare of \nher skirt. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGive up.\xe2\x80\x9d A man laughed. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99 you think of \nthe outfit, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94just about what I expected. The usual vulgar- \nrich idea, don\xe2\x80\x99t you think? Frankly, I came wholly out \nof curiosity.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n248 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSame here. And then Miss Foss fairly begged me to .\xe2\x80\x99 7 \n\nThe hat brim nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99 you think of that \ndaughter?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe young one?\xe2\x80\x9d The man whistled softly. \xe2\x80\x9cI say \n\xe2\x80\x94won\xe2\x80\x99t she just raise the deuce before she\xe2\x80\x99s through?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was a pause before the unidentified lady went on: \n\xe2\x80\x9cHave you given adequate attention to yonder marble \nstatue?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I say!\xe2\x80\x9d Both laughed violently. \xe2\x80\x9cLook at the \nphiz on the damsel.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd that dog! Did you ever!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMore furtive tittering. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I\xe2\x80\x99m glad I came. I never expect to see a house \nthat\xe2\x80\x99s quite such a monstrosity as this one.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHa! I\xe2\x80\x99ll tell you what it reminds me of. A grand \nmausoleum.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, that\xe2\x80\x99s perfect! A mausoleum. And think of the \nmoney they must have squandered!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe man spoke more soberly. \xe2\x80\x9cI hear McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s the \nrichest man in town. . . . Well, let\xe2\x80\x99s move on, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe effect upon the mausoleum\xe2\x80\x99s owner of all this \nscorching candor was a rather curious motley of emotions. \nPrimarily, of course, he had been convulsed with rage, \nsorely tempted to leap out and confront these smirking \ntraducers. That last respectful reference to his wealth, \nhowever, went a long way toward assuaging his spleen. \nThey might malign his house, if they chose, and even his \nmarvelous statue; but in the end they did obeisance to his \nmoney and his power. \n\nHe debouched from the reception parlor, still somewhat \nstaggered, and followed the guilty pair uncertainly. More \nthan anything else, now, he felt wounded, misjudged; and \nthere took substance within him a desire to vindicate \nhimself to show these proud and jaunty strangers they \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n249 \n\nwere wrong. Yes, he wanted them to go away impressed, \nopen mouthed. \n\nThe Old Masters! \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the trick,\xe2\x80\x9d he nodded. \nSurely there could be no means of refuting their authen\xc2\xac \nticity. \n\nHe accosted the couple. Wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t they like to see his \ncollection of paintings? \n\nThe false-hearted lady smiled charmingly. \xe2\x80\x9cSo sorry \n\xe2\x80\x94we\xe2\x80\x99re just going.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA flicker of amusement pranced across her escort\xe2\x80\x99s face. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut we really ought to see them, don\xe2\x80\x99t you think?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust take a few minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol led the way \ntoward the grand staircase. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve put \xe2\x80\x99em up on the next \nfloor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOccupying the lower steps they encountered a second \ntrio: Mary, Beatrice, and a dark young man whom Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol identified as Signor Pasco. Their faces made an \ninteresting study: Mary, restless, obviously vexed by her \nsister\xe2\x80\x99s presence; Bee gloating over Mary\xe2\x80\x99s annoyance \nand thoroughly enjoying the process of beguiling Signor \nPasco; the vocalist, perplexed but polite, endeavoring to \ndivide his dazzling smiles impartially. \n\nTo McNicol, however, the encounter signified some\xc2\xac \nthing else: an opportunity to establish himself, in the \npresence of his two guests, as a generous patron of the \narts. \n\nHe pulled out his pocketbook. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s see, now\xe2\x80\x94how much was you to get for singing?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA brief silence. Signor Pasco\xe2\x80\x99s face mantled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPapa!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMary\xe2\x80\x99s voice was more controlled than Bee\xe2\x80\x99s. \xe2\x80\x9cCouldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou let it go till later?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, no, I just as soon pay him now,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol, \nhandsomely. \xe2\x80\x9cLike as not he can use the cash. Ten \ndollars, wasn\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n250 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nNot a little proud of this demonstration of liberality, \nhe convoyed his two guests to the spacious hallway of \nthe second floor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere they are!\xe2\x80\x9d he gesticulated, proudly. \n\nThe lady stepped back with a little gasp. \xe2\x80\x9cNot a Rem\xc2\xac \nbrandt!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes sir-ee! That\xe2\x80\x99s just what it is. An Old Master. \nCost me twenty-five thousand, it did, an\xe2\x80\x99 I could sell it \nto-morrow for thirty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cReally!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, in his element, pointed to the next painting. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, sir\xe2\x80\x94and here\xe2\x80\x99s a Rubens by the same artist.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis ears must have deceived him\xe2\x80\x94he fancied he had \ndetected a snickering sound; but when he turned quickly \ntheir countenances were entirely solemn. \n\nWouldn\xe2\x80\x99t they like to see the rest of the upstairs? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPerhaps just one room,\xe2\x80\x9d said the lady, \xe2\x80\x9cand then \nwe really must hurry away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, ma\xe2\x80\x99am.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol considered the situation. They \nwere standing closest to the suite occupied by his wife \nand himself, and his first impulse was to exhibit these \nrooms; but he reflected that Lessie, like as not, had al\xc2\xac \nready fled thither, and they would stumble on to her, \nplacidly rocking back and forth, her hands folded over \nher stomach, the faithful Babe at her feet. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t look so pretty,\xe2\x80\x9d he told himself. \n\nThen he remembered the guest-room at the other end \nof the hallway. What the family jocularly called the \nbridal suite. Here was luxury to make even the \xe2\x80\x9cbest \npeople,\xe2\x80\x9d the \xe2\x80\x9cold families,\xe2\x80\x9d turn green with envy! Here \nwas finery to induce even these two elegant slanderers to \neat their words. \n\nWould they please step this way? \n\nHe turned the knob, but the door refused to open. Then \n\n\nTHE MAUSOLEUM \n\n\n251 \n\nhe saw a key in the lock. Funny thing, that\xe2\x80\x94probably \nsome of Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s apprehensive work. \n\nHe turned the key briskly, swung back the portal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThis,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced, grandiosely\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cthis is the bridal \nsuite!\xe2\x80\x9d And he watched their faces avidly for the first \ndawning of stupendous wonderment. \n\nStupendous wonderment, yes\xe2\x80\x94but with it an ingredient \nof distaste. There issued a queer blubbering noise, too. \nMcNicol wheeled about and beheld his son John sitting \non the side of the magnificent bed. He was only half \ndressed. Arthur, in deserting his post, had evidently de\xc2\xac \nvised the ingenious expedient of depriving the defective \nboy of most of his clothing, and taken the further precau\xc2\xac \ntion of locking the door. \n\nHowbeit, McNicoks elder son apparently resented his \nbanishment from the afternoon\xe2\x80\x99s festivities most griev\xc2\xac \nously. The lopsided face he turned toward his father \nand the two stylish guests was distorted with extreme \nunhappiness and the marks of many tears. \n\n\nCHAPTER II \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\nI \n\n\nRTHUR meeched into his father\xe2\x80\x99s office with obvious \n\n\n\n^ reluctance, the usual expression of slouching defiance \nin his posture and on his snub-nosed, freckled face. \n\nMcNicol surveyed him unamiably from his large ma\xc2\xac \nhogany desk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what is it this time?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nArthur remained inarticulate a moment, then his sense \nof injustice gushed impetuously into words: \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve got to \nhave more money, that\xe2\x80\x99s all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMore money!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s resentment was instant. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I guess not! I\xe2\x80\x99m not givin\xe2\x80\x99 you another cent to \nthrow away in your dirty poolrooms\xe2\x80\x94make up your mind \nto that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis son\xe2\x80\x99s countenance grew more sullen. \xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t \nthrow away money in poolrooms. I make money there. \nIf I didn\xe2\x80\x99t, I couldn\xe2\x80\x99t live!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA cheap gambler, ay? I thought so. Well, you better \ngo on makin\xe2\x80\x99 a livin\xe2\x80\x99 that way; that\xe2\x80\x99s \xe2\x80\x99bout all you\xe2\x80\x99re \ngood for!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nArthur stuck to the issue. \xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t pay me a tenth \npart of what you give Bee. Six dollars a week\xe2\x80\x94why, a \nman can\xe2\x80\x99t even dress on that much! Other fellows have \nspending money, and-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhen I was your age I got along on a dollar a week. \nI feed you, too, don\xe2\x80\x99t I? Give you a mighty soft bed \n\n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n2 53 \n\n\nto sleep in\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 don\xe2\x80\x99t charge you a cent, neither. Six \ndollars a week\xe2\x80\x99s clear velvet to you\xe2\x80\x94and a whole lot \nmore \xe2\x80\x99n you\xe2\x80\x99re worth to the business.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMaybe it is and maybe it isn\xe2\x80\x99t. Not my fault, is it, \nyou keep me stuck down in the packing department? Why \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t you give me a chance?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA chance!\xe2\x80\x9d ridiculed his father. \xe2\x80\x9cFine use you\xe2\x80\x99ve \nmade of the chances I\xe2\x80\x99ve given you already.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve got to have more money,\xe2\x80\x9d Arthur persisted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all from you!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol pointed to the door. \n\xe2\x80\x9cClear out, now! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nRank ingratitude! What was this younger generation \ncoming to? If ever there was a boy who ought to revere \nhis father, that boy was Arthur. Instead, he was sulky, \ndisobedient\xe2\x80\x94a \xe2\x80\x9cwild one,\xe2\x80\x9d evincing no sense of his respon\xc2\xac \nsibilities, apparently preferring the lowest companionship. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll keep that young rascal on a short tether,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol \nresolved, grimly. Such was clearly his bounden duty, as \na parent; if he didn\xe2\x80\x99t, there was no telling just what bad \nend the boy might come to. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll learn him!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn his present slough of virulence, he could find no \nsolace in the splendor that surrounded him. His spacious \noffice, in one corner of the plant\xe2\x80\x99s new marble administra\xc2\xac \ntion building, usually had power to enthrall him with its \nreminders of astounding achievement. He stood up now, \nand crossed the rich maroon carpet toward a pho\xc2\xac \ntograph on the wall. The picture of that humble frame \nbarn, behind his first home on High Street, where for \neight bleak years he had struggled for his foothold. And \nto-day\xe2\x80\x94all this spacious magnificence. On either side \nof the ancient photograph hung other more recent pic\xc2\xac \ntures: of the present plant; of the branch houses in other \nAmerican cities; of the firm\xe2\x80\x99s office in London, in Paris\xe2\x80\x94 \nwhere Charley Foss now contrived to endure life\xe2\x80\x99s tedium; \nin a dozen other foreign capitals. \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n254 \n\nHe walked to the window whence he could envisage \nthe length and breadth of his business domains\xe2\x80\x94from the \nfirst brick structure, which had been christened so aus\xc2\xac \npiciously by that memorable banquet to the city\xe2\x80\x99s physi\xc2\xac \ncians and druggists, and which now shrank into compara\xc2\xac \ntive insignificance\xe2\x80\x94to the latest huge unit in course of \nerection on the other side of Cooper Street. From a colos\xc2\xac \nsal brick smokestack issued billows of dense black smoke \nto be swept horizontally across the railroad tracks toward \nthe river by the inexorable March north wind. In the \nair that pervasive pungent smell of countless drugs he \nloved so well. Everywhere, busy animation, sheer big\xc2\xac \nness, vast sweep and scope. \n\nMcNicol ought to have been satisfied. Perversely \nenough, all this stupendous panorama\xe2\x80\x94his own autograph \non brick and stone\xe2\x80\x94soured him with its very majesty and \nmight. For he could think only of those baffling children \nof his: John, with his incurable blemish; Mary with her \nfoolish fads; Arthur, the sulky ingrate. And Beatrice, \nthe only one of the four who knew how to handle him, was \na thousand miles away at her finishing school. \n\nHe sighed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat a fool I been to slave and sweat all these years \nfor the likes of them! \xe2\x80\x9d For the moment he was convinced \nthat his sole motivation had been to heap up a handsome \ninheritance for his children. \n\nThe monthly directors\xe2\x80\x99 meeting was to be held at eleven \no\xe2\x80\x99clock. McNicol drew out his watch half hopefully, and \nwas disappointed that it was only ten-thirty. Time seemed \nto hang a bit heavy on his hands these days. He experi\xc2\xac \nenced a very definite relief, in truth, when his secretary \nbrought word that a caller awaited his pleasure. \n\nThe visitor, a dapper young fellow, announced that he \nwas getting up an elegant book, to be entitled, \xe2\x80\x9cLeading \nMen of Detroit,\xe2\x80\x9d and to be sumptuously bound in morocco \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n255 \n\n\nleather. He had already interviewed the mayor and the \nlocal United States Senator, and thence, impliedly, he \nhad hurried to McNicoPs office. All he wanted was a \nphotograph and a biographical synopsis. It was a matter \nof complete indifference whether McNicol subscribed for \nthe book or not. That wasn\xe2\x80\x99t the point. The organizer \nof this splendid project was anxious to have only the truly \nrepresentative citizens in his volume. And he was going \nto be mighty particular about whom he let in; obscure \npersons would be refused admission peremptorily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicoPs thorax seemed to expand invol\xc2\xac \nuntarily. \n\nThe young man\xe2\x80\x94really a pretty discriminating chap, \nit seemed\xe2\x80\x94forthwith assumed the role of a deferential \nBoswell, concerned solely in preserving to posterity the \ninspiring record of an unexampled career. First he ob\xc2\xac \ntained an autograph, then set down the place and date \nof birth, the names of his subject\xe2\x80\x99s parents. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow then\xe2\x80\x94any special facts or circumstances regard\xc2\xac \ning your birth or ancestry?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol coughed uncomfortably. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, they ain\xe2\x80\x99t.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe biographer went on to other details; then: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cClubs?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAgain the great man was conscious of certain defects \nin his prestige. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir; don\xe2\x80\x99t think much of them. , . . \nBut my wife she belongs to the Oratorio Society. Sings \nalto.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes? Now\xe2\x80\x94what public offices have you held?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was growing uncomfortable. \xe2\x80\x9cI got no use \nfor dirty politics. Though I guess, if I wanted to-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course,\xe2\x80\x9d the young fellow coincided easily. \xe2\x80\x9cNot \na bit of doubt of it. The city would be proud to give you \nany office you wanted.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe veered tactfully to the topic of the pharmaceutical \nbusiness, and McNicol for the next ten minutes enjoyed \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n256 \n\nthe subtle ecstasy of dilating upon his prowess to a thor\xc2\xac \noughly appreciative auditor. He was quite deprecating \nabout it, too\xe2\x80\x94as if what he had accomplished didn\xe2\x80\x99t \namount to so very much, after all. But the interviewer \nrefused to be fooled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x94have a cigar!\xe2\x80\x9d proffered the distinguished citi\xc2\xac \nzen to the discriminating young chap. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank you. And now, in case you should happen to \nwant a copy of the book, I\xe2\x80\x99ll leave one of these order \nblanks with you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis seemed fair enough. \xe2\x80\x9cHow much you charg\xc2\xac \ning? . . . Twenty-five dollars!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe solicitor seemed not at all abashed. \xe2\x80\x9cNo binding \ncould be too good for such a volume.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99ll take one.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cUnderstand\xe2\x80\x94there\xe2\x80\x99s not the slightest obligation. But \nI think you\xe2\x80\x99ll be proud to own a copy. That\xe2\x80\x99s the way \nMayor Pingree felt.\xe2\x80\x9d The young man exhibited a signed \nsubscription blank. \xe2\x80\x9cYou see, he ordered two.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, then, give me two.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was not to be out\xc2\xac \ndone by any one. The extra copy he could send to his \nmother for exhibition around Cartwright. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThanks!\xe2\x80\x9d The caller seemed greatly impressed by \nsuch patronage. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll see you\xe2\x80\x99re given a conspicuous \nplace in the book. Mail me your photograph next week, \nplease.\xe2\x80\x9d He glanced rapidly over his notes. \xe2\x80\x9cGuess I \nhave everything. No. I forgot to ask you whether or \nnot you have any children.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was a grievous anticlimax, certainly; and, as if \nit did not suffice in itself, his first-born offspring herself \nappeared in his office just then. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what is it?\xe2\x80\x9d he demanded, inimically, as soon as \nthe bright young solicitor had departed. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll have t\xe2\x80\x99 \nbe quick. Directors\xe2\x80\x99 meeting in three minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n257 \n\n\nMary\xe2\x80\x99s frequent air of conscientious martyrdom \nseemed painfully intensified. \n\n\xe2\x80\x98Tm sorry to disturb you, father; but there are a \ncouple of things I feel I must speak to you about.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nInstinctively he braced himself for opposition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThings I\xe2\x80\x99ve just heard about, and that you ought to \nknow. For example, somebody told me the other day \nthat the girls in the capsule department were paid only \nthree or four dollars a week. If that\xe2\x80\x99s true it\xe2\x80\x99s simply \noutrageous!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer father could scarcely credit his sense of hearing. \nMary had for several years been a source of exaspera\xc2\xac \ntion to him, with her finicky ideas about marriage, her \nsuccession of freakish caprices; but always heretofore she \nhad remained entirely on the defensive. Now she dared \nto invade his business domains, made bold to tamper with \naffairs that did not concern her in the least. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow can anybody expect girls to stay decent on three \ndollars a week?\xe2\x80\x9d she demanded. \n\nThe utter injustice of her accusation! For McNicol \ndeemed himself an exceptionally liberal employer. To his \ncredit be it said he had never forgotten the hard lessons \nhe had learned from old Cyrus Rorick; a large part of \nhis success, indeed, was traceable to his fixed policy of \npaying high prices for brains. True, this principle applied \nonly to administration officers and scientific investigators \n\xe2\x80\x94not to his unskilled laborers or these numskull girls \nhis daughter was ranting about. For all forms of medioc\xc2\xac \nrity, in fact, he still retained his earlier contempt. \n\nPerhaps the circumstance that she had not yet been \nstruck dead for her temerity encouraged Mary. There \nwas genuine indignation in her voice now\xe2\x80\x94a crusader \nzeal in her demeanor. \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n258 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve been told also that live animals are being experi\xc2\xac \nmented on\xe2\x80\x94frightfully tortured.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnother incredible gratuitous assault upon his beloved \nbusiness. The firm\xe2\x80\x99s new biological laboratory\xe2\x80\x94that \nmust be what she meant. \n\nMcNicol managed to stand up. \xe2\x80\x9cYou mind your own \nbusiness, you\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d The epithet that came to his lips was \none not ordinarily applied by fathers to daughters; he \ncontrived to check it at the very threshold. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf these things are true,\xe2\x80\x9d said Mary, firmly, \xe2\x80\x9cI shall \nleave your house.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe office door had been left slightly open; and upon \nthis impasse of clashing wills Ellen Foss now cheerfully \nobtruded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAm I late for the meeting?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe pretended not to observe their set faces, but Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol was somewhat puzzled and nettled by the way she \nwent straight to Mary and put her arm about the \nyounger woman\xe2\x80\x99s thin shoulder\xe2\x80\x94protectively, it ap\xc2\xac \npeared. \n\n\n11 \n\nThe directors\xe2\x80\x99 meeting proceeded uneventfully along \nfamiliar channels until close to adjournment time. Then \nMcNicol precipitated a very lively little rumpus by \nbroaching a project he had been nursing in his mind \nfor several weeks. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe time has come,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced portentously, \xe2\x80\x9cto \nbranch out into new fields.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe other directors looked politely skeptical. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSuch as what?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired one. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, why not a few specialties? Take a good baby \nfood, for instance. Add fifty thousand a year to our \nprofits. Or mebbe a good stiff tonic.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn brief\xe2\x80\x94patent medicines! They seemed aghast at \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n259 \n\nthe heresy. What! McNicol & Company start dabbling \nin proprietary remedies, after all these years of strictest \nethical standards! Why, the medical profession would \nbe instantly antagonized. One and all, the other direc\xc2\xac \ntors vetoed the idea. \n\nThis dastardly doing-to-death of his brilliant plan had \nthe effect of heightening the disillusion that had been \ngrowing in McNicol since the mortifying episodes of the \nNew Year\xe2\x80\x99s reception two months ago. Now he was the \nvictim of elusive misgivings about his gorgeous new home, \nhis cherished marble statue, even his Old Masters. In the \nbusiness, too, he was beginning to feel himself frustrated. \nHis partial retirement had not worked out well; he was \nfinding his new leisure incredibly irksome. \n\nWhat he was groping for was some new groove of \nself-expression, some new outlet for his energy. Hence \nhis proposal to manufacture baby foods and tonics. Yet \nhere were these directors brushing aside his suggestions \ncontemptuously, trying to tell him what he could or \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t do with his own business, intimating, indeed, that \nthings ran more smoothly without him. In short, that \nhe was an obsolescence. \n\nArtemas Bigelow, quite as if the matter were com\xc2\xac \npletely disposed of, introduced another topic: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAbout that Cooper Street mixup. As you all know, \nI\xe2\x80\x99ve been endeavoring to persuade the Common Council \nto close the street, so\xe2\x80\x99s we could connect up the new addi\xc2\xac \ntion with the rest of the plant.\xe2\x80\x9d His heavy brows con\xc2\xac \nverged. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I\xe2\x80\x99ve struck a snag. A couple of the \naldermen are acting sort of queer\xe2\x80\x94like they wanted \nsweetening.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol temporarily forgot his personal grievance. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean\xe2\x80\x94bribes?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow\xe2\x80\x99s enormous bald head, so impressive to courts \nand juries, nodded slightly. \xe2\x80\x9cCall it anything you like.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n260 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell,\xe2\x80\x9d struck in another director, \xe2\x80\x9cit\xe2\x80\x99s certainly worth \nsomething to us to get all that extra land, to say nothing \nof the added convenience.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut McNicol arose in a great passion and struck the \ntable with his clenched fist. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot a nickel, understand! The dirty sneaks\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nteach \xe2\x80\x99em to try and stand in my way. We\xe2\x80\x99ll just see \nwho\xe2\x80\x99s runnin\xe2\x80\x99 this town\xe2\x80\x94honest men or thieves!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA complete silence. None of the directors dared stand \nup against such incandescent wrath. \n\nThe meeting adjourned. McNicol felt a little better. \n\nhi \n\nOther irritations, however, followed one another \nthroughout the day; and that evening, toward the end of \nsupper, just as he was looking forward with some relish \nto the usual rich pastry, Selma, the comely young dining\xc2\xac \nroom maid, emerged from the pantry pale-faced, and made \nit known that the apple pies had mysteriously disap\xc2\xac \npeared. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho stole \xe2\x80\x99em?\xe2\x80\x9d stormed McNicol. \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s housewifelv instinct was to defend the serv- \n\nj \n\nants. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat makes you think anybody stole \xe2\x80\x99em?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPies don\xe2\x80\x99t walk off by themselves, do they?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I\xe2\x80\x99m sure all our girls are \nhonest, pa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe whole trouble with you is, you spoil \xe2\x80\x99em,\xe2\x80\x9d Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol reopened the topic a little later, in the library. \n\nLessie looked up from the Methodist weekly paper. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that, pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI say, you\xe2\x80\x99re spoilin\xe2\x80\x99 them girls,\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted. \xe2\x80\x9cLettin\xe2\x80\x99 \n\xe2\x80\x99em run over you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey didn\xe2\x80\x99t steal those pies.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMebbe so, mebbe not. Some one stole \xe2\x80\x99em, didn\xe2\x80\x99t \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n261 \n\n\nthey? I\'m tellin\xe2\x80\x99 you they take advantage of you, ma. \nFor example, about their pay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cI spoke to \xe2\x80\x99em about that; \nbut they don\xe2\x80\x99t understand such things.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe method of paying the servants\xe2\x80\x99 wages had caused \nhim no small inconvenience lately. Selma received her \npay on the 1st of each month; the cook, by some prescrip\xc2\xac \ntive custom, on the 10th; another maid on the 15th, and \nso forth. Five times during the month McNicol must re\xc2\xac \nmember to bring home enough ready money to pay some \nservant\xe2\x80\x94obviously an unbearable nuisance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98Don\xe2\x80\x99t understand!\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x9d he parodied. \xe2\x80\x9cSimplest thing \nin the world. Tell you what, Lessie. This is the first of \nMarch and I\xe2\x80\x99ve brought home enough cash to settle with \neach one up to to-day\xe2\x80\x94and after this, you pay \xe2\x80\x99em all \non the first of the month.\xe2\x80\x9d When she continued to shake \nher head dubiously, he added: \xe2\x80\x9cWell, then, I\xe2\x80\x99ll explain \nit to \xe2\x80\x99em myself. I\xe2\x80\x99ll settle with \xe2\x80\x99em this time, and, once \nthey\xe2\x80\x99ve got used to it, you can start in again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe remained doggedly impervious. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m tellin\xe2\x80\x99 you, \npa, they won\xe2\x80\x99t understand.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol grunted irascibly and detoured toward the \nrear of the house. Lessie was grossly incompetent as a \nhousehold manager. All women were, for that matter\xe2\x80\x94 \nexcept that paragon, Ellen Foss. They had absolutely \nno conception of efficiency. All that was needed in the \npresent situation was a bit of firmness and the applica\xc2\xac \ntion of business methods. He\xe2\x80\x99d show his wife how things \nought to be run! \n\nThe kitchen was quite deserted; but from the basement \nhe detected the sounds of singing. The servants\xe2\x80\x99 Satur\xc2\xac \nday evening song service. He hastened down the back \nstairs and came to the door of the cook\xe2\x80\x99s room, opened it \nan inch, and looked in. \n\nThere was no piano or organ to guide the worshipers, \n\n\n\n262 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nand they flatted so woefully that each verse of their \nhymns was wont to end at least two full tones lower \nthan it had begun. The effect was of a phonograph \nslowly running down. The singing was unspeakably \ndreary and dispirited; the fatigued women swooped in\xc2\xac \ncessantly from one note to the next. \n\nMcNicol could not have discerned such flaws even if \nhe had been listening intently. His first reaction had \nbeen a fretful speculation as to how long he would have \nto wait. Now, however, he was surprised to observe \nArthur in the room. His son sat a little behind the others, \nand he was not singing. His attention seemed definitely \ncaught, nevertheless; his father, still marveling at this \nunprecedented interest in religious worship, traced his \nlook to the buxom waitress, Selma. \n\nWhatever Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s motives, there could be no deny\xc2\xac \ning the girl\xe2\x80\x99s fervor as a vocalist. Her voice dominated \nall the others; she was the precentor of this dismal choir. \nJust now her accents rose shrilly with the final lines of \nthe gospel hymn, as if perhaps she hoped even her deaf \nmistress on the floor above might overhear and reward \nsuch praiseworthy zeal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWash me in the blood of the La-a-mb, \n\nAnd I shall be whiter than snow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol decided he would wait no longer to demon\xc2\xac \nstrate his notion of business methods in the home. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust like I told you,\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated to Lessie in their \nbedroom, a half hour later. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I had to do was explain \nthe idea and give \xe2\x80\x99em the money. They wa\xe2\x80\x99n\xe2\x80\x99t a word \nsaid.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMebbe not, but\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d She seemed imbued with the \ngloomiest possible forebodings. \n\nA sudden recollection presently distracted McNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBetter get rid of that Selma, ma.\xe2\x80\x9d He narrated the \n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n263 \n\nphenomenon of Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s presence at the song service. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHe sneaked out mighty fast when I came in the room.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut Selma!\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie appeared incredulous. \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s \na real Christian, that girl. More religious than any of \nthe rest. And Arthur, too\xe2\x80\x94he\xe2\x80\x99s a real good boy at heart. \nThey\xe2\x80\x99s no harm in his goin\xe2\x80\x99 there to sing, if he feels \nlike it, is they?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou can\xe2\x80\x99t trust none of the baggages,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol as\xc2\xac \nserted. \xe2\x80\x9cMind you, I\xe2\x80\x99m not sayin\xe2\x80\x99 they\xe2\x80\x99s aught wrong \nso far, but Em takin\xe2\x80\x99 no chances.\xe2\x80\x9d He checked his im\xc2\xac \npulse to tell her just what he thought of Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s worth\xc2\xac \nlessness, for Lessie could see no fault at all in the young \nrascal. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd by the way, ma\xe2\x80\x94 Mary didn\xe2\x80\x99t say nothin\xe2\x80\x99 \nto you about leavin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe surveyed him anxiously. \xe2\x80\x9cLeavin\xe2\x80\x99!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cUm-m.\xe2\x80\x9d At that, he must explain his daughter\xe2\x80\x99s un\xc2\xac \nconscionable intrusion into his business affairs. \xe2\x80\x9cShe got \nhuffy\xe2\x80\x94said something \xe2\x80\x99bout leavin\xe2\x80\x99. But I reckon she\xe2\x80\x99ll \nthink twice before she quits a fine home like this.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie sighed unhappily. \xe2\x80\x9cSometimes I can\xe2\x80\x99t make out \nwhat\xe2\x80\x99s got into Mary\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 with Johnny as bad off as he \nis. . . . My gracious, Babe, what\xe2\x80\x99s ailin\xe2\x80\x99 you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe pug dog, ordinarily fast asleep by this hour, had \nbeen moving restlessly about the room. Now he whined \nuneasily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLie down!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol commanded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI tell you they\xe2\x80\x99s something wrong with him. You \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t suppose they\xe2\x80\x99s any burglars in the house!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBurglars!\xe2\x80\x9d Her lord roared with laughter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn a great big house like this, y\xe2\x80\x99 can\xe2\x80\x99t tell what might \nbe goin\xe2\x80\x99 on. Like as not, I forgot\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d She tried the door. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, it\xe2\x80\x99s locked all right,\xe2\x80\x9d she discovered with infinite \nrelief. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t see what you got to be scared \xe2\x80\x99bout,\xe2\x80\x9d jested \nMcNicol, \xe2\x80\x9cwith a splendid watch-dog like Babe in the \n\n\n264 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nroom.\xe2\x80\x9d A sudden recollection caught him. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, say, \nma\xe2\x80\x94who\xe2\x80\x99s livin\xe2\x80\x99 up in the tower room?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99s nobody, so far\xe2\x80\x99s I know. Why?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat afternoon, when approaching the Mausoleum, he \nhad chanced to look up at the Gothic tower, and per\xc2\xac \nceived what seemed to be a sudden movement of the \nlace curtains. \n\nProbably his imagination. At any rate, there would \nbe no point to telling Lessie\xe2\x80\x94getting her all worked up \nagain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy?\xe2\x80\x9d she persisted. \n\nHe shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cNothin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nIV \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s sharp exclamation awakened him early the \nnext morning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWelly!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe stirred irately, not opening his eyes. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWelly\xe2\x80\x94the door\xe2\x80\x99s unlocked!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou probably forgot-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, I didn\xe2\x80\x99t, either. Remember\xe2\x80\x94I tried it the las\xe2\x80\x99 \nthing I did.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe approached the door grudgingly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou make me tired,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, crossly. \xe2\x80\x9cThe key\xe2\x80\x99s \nhere, ain\xe2\x80\x99t it? You know \xe2\x80\x99s well \xe2\x80\x99s I do nobody could \nput another key-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie exclaimed again as the truth dawned upon her: \n\xe2\x80\x9cThe door\xe2\x80\x99s been unlocked from the inside. Oh, Welly, \nthey musta been somebody in the room last night while \nwe was talkin\xe2\x80\x99 together. Under the bed!\xe2\x80\x9d She knelt \ndown fearfully to make an examination. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNonsense, I tell y\xe2\x80\x99!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut she screamed, \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Babe!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHalf convinced by now that something was amiss, Me- \n\n\n\n\nENNUI 265 \n\nNicol bent down and perceived the inert figure of the \npug dog. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere you\xe2\x80\x94clear out!\xe2\x80\x9d he called. \n\nBabe, however, deigned not to respond, and his master \nhaled him forth roughly. Then it became evident that \nhis inattention was entirely forgivable\xe2\x80\x94that, in fact, his \nupturned limbs presented an authentic specimen of rigor \nmortis. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s been poisoned! \xe2\x80\x9d cried Lessie from a rain of tears. \n\nMcNicol, shocked into clear-headedness, glanced rap\xc2\xac \nidly about the bedroom. Everything seemed as usual \nuntil he noted with a start that the top of the bureau \nlooked unfamiliarly bare. The photograph of his mother \nhad disappeared\xe2\x80\x94yes, and most of the other pictures. \nEven the lace doily was gone. Then he observed the \nmissing photographs jumbled together in a waste-basket; \nbut their silver frames had vanished utterly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy God! They has been somebody in here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMechanically he pulled open the upper drawer and \nsurveyed its ransacked interior. In one corner lay \nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s worn jewel case, its cover half torn off; her few \npoor rings and necklaces flung out\xe2\x80\x94contemptuously, as \nit were. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMighty slim pickin\xe2\x80\x99s around this place,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol re\xc2\xac \nflected, fleetingly, and felt his policy of close-fistedness \nthoroughly vindicated. \n\nBut another, more disturbing thought suddenly visited \nhim. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey musta been lyin\xe2\x80\x99 under the bed all the time we \nwas talkin\xe2\x80\x99 together las\xe2\x80\x99 night.\xe2\x80\x9d What had he said? . . . \nThe discussion about the servants\xe2\x80\x99 wages; about that \nbaggage, Selma; about Mary. Then, finally, he and \nLessie had talked about burglars\xe2\x80\x94and how the marauder \nmust have chuckled when he listened to that part of the \nconversation! \n\n\n266 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol turned toward his clothing, only to discover \nthat his trousers, containing his wallet, his small change, \nand his keys, had likewise been stolen. He did not even \npause to search for his second-best pair, but hastened \nsans-culotte out into the corridor, past the moaning \nLessie, still huddled over Babe\xe2\x80\x99s pitiful clay. \n\nThe spacious gilt frames that had circumscribed his \ntwo Old Masters now stared at him blankly, emptily. \nThe canvasses, he found, had been neatly, sharply dis\xc2\xac \nsevered around the edges. Connoisseurs, these bold rob\xc2\xac \nbers: they had not molested the English hunting scenes or \nthe marble statue in the hall below. Everywhere he came \nupon evidences of hasty vandalism: rugs thrown in heaps, \ntapestries torn from the walls, books dumped out on the \nfloor\xe2\x80\x94yet offhand he could detect few outright thefts. \nWhen he reached the dining room, however, he discov\xc2\xac \nered the sideboard drawers overturned upon the carpet. \nAll the new household silverware, provided by the New \nYork art dealer at the cost of an odd thousand dollars, \nwas missing. \n\nAs McNicol contemplated this scene of disorder, scowl\xc2\xac \ning darkly, he suddenly remembered the agitated curtains \nof the tower room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the Lord Harry! I wonder-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut as he hurried to the staircase again he heard a \nfeminine shriek from the upper regions of the house; and \nwhen he reached the servants\xe2\x80\x99 hallway on the third floor \nhe discerned the comely waitress, Selma, kneeling with \nhorror-stricken eyes at the side of Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s unconscious \nform. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s this? What\xe2\x80\x99s this?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d protested the girl. \xe2\x80\x9cI jus\xe2\x80\x99 come \nout of my room and found him lyin\xe2\x80\x99 like this.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol noted that his son, like himself, was clad \nonly in a nightgown. \n\n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n267 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xe2\x80\x99s he doin\xe2\x80\x99 up on this floor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow should I know, sir?\xe2\x80\x9d There was a filament of \nhard defiance in Selma\xe2\x80\x99s voice. \xe2\x80\x9cI was jus\xe2\x80\x99 startin\xe2\x80\x99 down \nto the kitchen,\xe2\x80\x9d she added, with a gesture that drew \nattention to the circumstance that she, alone of the three, \nwas fully dressed for the day. \n\nArthur interrupted at this instant with a groan. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFetch some water, can\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol demanded, \ntestily. \n\nThere was a livid contusion under one of his son\xe2\x80\x99s \neyes, he discerned, and a scalp wound behind his ear. \nOne or two other servants came running to the scene, \nthen Mary, and finally Lessie. Arthur soon revived suf\xc2\xac \nficiently to tell his story. As to how he happened to be \non the third floor he remained hazy. It was there, at \nany rate, he had suddenly encountered three men. There \nwas just enough light for him to be able to see them; it \nwas probably early dawn. The trio held him up with \nrevolvers, he said, and ordered him into one of the rooms; \nbut with imprudent courage he had suddenly hurled him\xc2\xac \nself upon them, knocked one of them down and was en\xc2\xac \ngaging with a second when the third must have struck \nhim with a revolver butt from behind. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cArthur! Arthur!\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie cried, temporarily forget\xc2\xac \nful even of Babe\xe2\x80\x99s sad demise. \xe2\x80\x9cThey might have killed \nyou.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe hero\xe2\x80\x99s freckled face was full of contentment. \xe2\x80\x9cI \ngot one of \xe2\x80\x99em, anyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d Then he remembered, \xe2\x80\x9cThey \nwere carrying bags, all of them\xe2\x80\x94full of swag, I s\xe2\x80\x99pose.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol repressed the very definite glow of pride he \nfelt in his scapegrace son\xe2\x80\x99s intrepidity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere were they coinin\xe2\x80\x99 from when you first see \n\xe2\x80\x99em?\xe2\x80\x9d he queried. \n\nArthur\xe2\x80\x99s brows drew down with an effort of recollec\xc2\xac \ntion. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, I guess\xe2\x80\x94yes, they seemed to come from \n\n\n268 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nthat staircase. You know\xe2\x80\x94the one that goes up to the \ntower.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAttended by a timorous train of domestics, McXicol \nmarched up the staircase and threw open the door of \nthe tower room, prepared to confront the three vandals \nwho had despoiled the Mausoleum. \n\nThere was no one in the small chamber. On the \nfloor, however, appeared an old ragged shirt, an incredible \naccumulation of cigarette and cigar stubs, and the re\xc2\xac \nmains of many a festive meal. McXicol identified the \nhalf-eaten apple pies that were to have graced last \nnight\'s supper table. \n\nBut the cook seemed chiefly interested in the desiccated \nvestiges of a once-ample ham. \xe2\x80\x9cThey stole that there \na whole month ago,\xe2\x80\x9d she volunteered. \xe2\x80\x9cMusta been liv\xc2\xac \ning up here ever since.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTwo hours later, after the police had completed a bar\xc2\xac \nren search of the house, Lessie found her lord in the \nfarthest and most obscure recess of the library, chewing \nhis cigar disconsolately. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, pa,\xe2\x80\x9d she began, pitilessly, \xe2\x80\x9cI always said the \nhouse was too big. I always said we was regularly in\xc2\xac \nvitin\xe2\x80\x99 burglars to rob us.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcXicol was in one of his rare moods of inadequacy. \nPresently he would rally to his accustomed blustering \npugnacity, but for the moment he felt overwhelmed by \nthe sequence of adversities. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\'ll get it all back in twenty-four hours\xe2\x80\x94have the \nscoundrels behind the bars,\xe2\x80\x9d he professed. But there \nwas no conviction in his words. \n\nHis wife shook her head dolefully. \xe2\x80\x9cYou knew about \nMary\xe2\x80\x99s leavin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLeavin\xe2\x80\x99!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cL T m-hm. Says she\xe2\x80\x99s goin\xe2\x80\x99 to visit a friend of hers \nfor a week or so, but I don\xe2\x80\x99t know. I\xe2\x80\x99m \xe2\x80\x99fraid-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nENNUI \n\n\n269 \n\nHe contrived to shed that blow. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you worry, \nma. Mary\xe2\x80\x99ll learn her lesson soon enough\xe2\x80\x94come kitin\xe2\x80\x99 \nback home mighty fast.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s glazed eyes reflected a morose dissent. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd \nthe servants\xe2\x80\x94they\xe2\x80\x99re all leavin\xe2\x80\x99 this mornin\xe2\x80\x99, too. Seems \nlike, when you paid \xe2\x80\x99em off las\xe2\x80\x99 night, they figured you was \ndischargin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99em.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDischargin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99em!\xe2\x80\x9d Some remainder of exasperation \nflickered up. \xe2\x80\x9cThe fools! I never said a word-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis wife again shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cI told you they \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t understand such things. They got to be \nhandled! You got to treat \xe2\x80\x99em the ways they\xe2\x80\x99re used to.\xe2\x80\x9d \nShe paused. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, shall I tell \xe2\x80\x99em it was all a mistake\xe2\x80\x94 \nand they\xe2\x80\x99ll get their pay at the same times as always?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNico! had never sensed such paralyzing impotence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGo ahead,\xe2\x80\x9d he acquiesced, almost meekly; and inad\xc2\xac \nvertently tweaked his heavy eyebrows with a gesture of \nfatigue. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER III \n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\nI \n\nM ATTERS did not much improve for McNicol dur\xc2\xac \ning the succeeding weeks of spring. \n\nMary was still visiting her mythical friend, contrary \nto his most confident predictions. She had returned to \nthe house several times to see her mother, but always \nwhile he was away. Ellen Foss, he suspected, was also \nin touch with his errant daughter. He himself had not \nlaid eyes on her since the Sunday morning of the burglary, \nand steadfastly maintained that he had no desire to do so. \nShe would simply have to learn her lesson, eat humble \npie; when she was ready to admit her mistake, he would \nforgive her. Vague, alarming intimations reached him, \nhowever, that Mary was engaging in what she called \n\xe2\x80\x9csocial work\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94that is, putting false ideas into the heads \nof wretches who were too lazy to earn an honest living. \nYes, even consorting with the unspeakable women who \nwere brought into police court each morning, intervening \nwith the judge in their behalf. Dragging the name of \nMcNicol through the city\xe2\x80\x99s foulest mire! How people \nwould smirk w T hen the fact became common property. \n\nAnd his Old Masters, his refulgent silverware\xe2\x80\x94not a \nsingle trace of them had been discovered, nor of the \nscoundrels who had perpetrated the outrage. The police \nforce seemed in a stupid trance; day after day passed, \nand nothing was being done, apparently. \n\n270 \n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n271 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99ll let the finest residence in town be robbed,\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol snorted, \xe2\x80\x9cand then never turn a hand t\xe2\x80\x99 catch \nthe thieves. It\xe2\x80\x99s an outrage\xe2\x80\x94it \xe2\x80\x99ll give the city a black \neye all over the country.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNoboby paid much attention to his complaints\xe2\x80\x94that \nwas what aroused his hottest indignation. The loss itself \nwas bad enough, but he could have borne that. \n\nAnother grievance, which he and Artemas Bigelow hap\xc2\xac \npened to be discussing in the pharmaceutical office one \nSaturday afternoon, had to do with the closing of Cooper \nStreet by the Common Council. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll admit I\xe2\x80\x99m stuck,\xe2\x80\x9d said the attorney, pulling his \nlong adimc nose. \xe2\x80\x9cNobody\xe2\x80\x99s ever going to use the street, \nand there\xe2\x80\x99s no possible objection to closing it and letting \nyou build your new addition right across. I\xe2\x80\x99ve convinced \na lot of the aldermen; but all the reformers are against \nit\xe2\x80\x94claim its converting public property for private use, \nthreaten to raise hell in the papers about giving away the \npeople\xe2\x80\x99s land to wealthy corporations, and all that sort of \nrot. The answer is, the Council\xe2\x80\x99s about evenly divided \nand the balance of power\xe2\x80\x99s in the hands of three lousy \ncrooks who\xe2\x80\x99ll either sell you their votes or knife you in \nthe back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever!\xe2\x80\x9d asseverated McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cThey ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 \nto hold me up.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow surveyed his client thoughtfully. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, that\xe2\x80\x99s \nall right with me. But remember this: Cooper Street\xe2\x80\x99s \nworth fifteen or twenty thousand dollars to you, and it \nwon\xe2\x80\x99t cost more \xe2\x80\x99n a thousand, at the outside, to swing \nthose three votes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd I\xe2\x80\x99m tellin\xe2\x80\x99 you it don\xe2\x80\x99t make no difference how \nmuch it costs. It\xe2\x80\x99s bribery, jus\xe2\x80\x99 the same, ain\xe2\x80\x99t it? What\xe2\x80\x99s \nthis city cornin\xe2\x80\x99 to if honest business men are t\xe2\x80\x99 be gov\xc2\xac \nerned by dirty thieves?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, it\xe2\x80\x99s a rotten state of affairs, I\xe2\x80\x99ll grant you; but \n\n\n272 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nyou know what municipal politics are.\xe2\x80\x9d The lawyer con\xc2\xac \nsidered the situation anew. \xe2\x80\x9cNo use going to the mayor; \nhe\xe2\x80\x99d probably be against us. I\xe2\x80\x99ve already talked with \nJoe Cottrell, the boss who controls these boodle aider- \nmen; but he won\xe2\x80\x99t interfere. Maybe, if you saw \nhim-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf I saw Cottrell I\xe2\x80\x99d tell him a thing or two!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow grinned. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t do that, or he\xe2\x80\x99ll raise your \ntax assessment. But seriously, why don\xe2\x80\x99t you go with \nme to Joe\xe2\x80\x99s place and have a chat with him? He knows \nwho you are\xe2\x80\x94probably be impressed by what you said.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe telephone rang. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello!\xe2\x80\x9d answered McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cThat you, Lessie? . . . \nArthur? . . . Yes, I\xe2\x80\x99ll remember.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe pivoted around once more. \xe2\x80\x9cMe see Cottrell?\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe idea impressed him favorably. \xe2\x80\x9cAll right\xe2\x80\x94but not \none cent for corruption.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhen could you go? To-night\xe2\x80\x94say nine or ten \no\xe2\x80\x99clock? That\xe2\x80\x99s the best time to catch him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol jerked his head toward the telephone. \xe2\x80\x9cThat \nthere was Lessie remindin\xe2\x80\x99 me this was my son, Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s, \nbirthday. I got to be home for supper\xe2\x80\x94but I guess I \ncould manage to get away later on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBe at my office at nine-thirty,\xe2\x80\x9d instructed Bigelow, \n\xe2\x80\x9cand I\xe2\x80\x99ll give you your first lesson in practical govern\xc2\xac \nment. You\xe2\x80\x99ll probably end up by going into politics \nyourself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMe go into politics!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure. Why not? Once a man gets a taste of the \ngame, he usually wants to play it all the time.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPolitics!\xe2\x80\x9d exploded McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cNone-a that dirty \nmess for me\xe2\x80\x94thank you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the suggestion somehow persisted in his mind for \nseveral moments after Arte mas Bigelow had departed. \n\nJust as he himself was leaving he bethought himself \n\n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n2 73 \n\nof Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s birthday. Lessie had asked him to bring \nhome some present for his son. He debated the matter \nponderously. Arthur, on the whole, had conducted him\xc2\xac \nself admirably since the episode of the burglary; and, \nnow that his father had taken the precaution to arrange \nfor the departure of the comely waitress, Selma, no \nfurther trouble on that score need be anticipated. \n\nBut what kind of a present? Completely at a loss, \nMcNicol had recourse to one of his letter files, labeled \n\xe2\x80\x9cFamily,\xe2\x80\x9d and turned to a tab inscribed with his son\xe2\x80\x99s \nname. He had some hazy recollection of a list Arthur \nhad given him, several years back, of certain Christmas \ngifts he yearned for at the time. \n\nYes, here it was, in a begrimed juvenile scrawl: \n\nMy dear Father, \n\nThese are the things I would like for Xmas. \n\n1 Premier bicycle with copper rims. \n\n1 air rifle. \n\nA regular allowance of $.50 per wk. \n\n1 gray check suit with long trousers, like Harry Wickham\xe2\x80\x99s. \n\n1 camera with automatic shutter. \n\n1 developing outfit and tripod. \n\n(But if you don\xe2\x80\x99t get the camera don\'t buy the develop\xc2\xac \ning outfit either, because it is no use without the \ncamera.) \n\nIf you will give me these presents, I will try hard to do the \nthings you expect of me, and to give better satisfaction in every \nway. \n\nYrs obdtly, \n\nArthur McNicol. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCheeky young scamp!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut there was an unmistakable ingredient of affection \nin McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s voice. He was not a little proud, too, of \nthe bravery Arthur had displayed in grappling with three \narmed burglars. There was real stuff in the boy, after \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n274 \n\nall; he would surprise him to-night with a generous gift. \n\nBut which one? He scanned the list again. Arthur \nhad certainly outgrown most of these callow desires. A \nbicycle? No, bicycles were expensive luxuries, and his \nson might not want one by now. An allowance? Yes, \nArthur would like that; only last month he had asked \nfor one. Perhaps as much as a dollar a week! \n\nStill, allowances were apt to be fruitful sources of dis\xc2\xac \nsipation. No telling what Arthur might do with all that \nextra spending money in his pockets. Better something \nwholesome, something useful. \n\nMcNicol, with a sense of abundant generosity, decided \nin favor of the suit of clothes. He would announce the \ngift as a sort of grand climax to the birthday supper. \n\n11 \n\nLessie he encountered in the main hall, raptly admiring \nthe marble statue. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHuh! See they finally got it changed,\xe2\x80\x9d he noted. \n\nThe transformation, indeed, was well-nigh staggering. \nGone the aristocratic hound that once had frolicked so \ngravely at its mistress\xe2\x80\x99s side. Instead, the figure of a \npug dog\xe2\x80\x94the ill-fated Babe immortalized in deathless \nstone! A somewhat etherealized conception, perhaps: \nBabe had never been quite so svelte as this, even in his \npuppyhood; never displayed quite so soulful a mien: yet, \non the whole, the New York art dealer had done marvel\xc2\xac \nously well. Lessie, inconsolable till now, could smile once \nmore, almost happily; perhaps she went so far as to \nidentify the lightly clad maiden as a reincarnation of her \nown girlhood, so remote in fact, yet still so freshly re\xc2\xac \ncent in Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s own mind. \n\nApprehensiveness quickly repossessed her eyes, how\xc2\xac \never. \xe2\x80\x9cSelma says she wants to see you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n275 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSelma! Ain\xe2\x80\x99t she gone yet?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie explained, \xe2\x80\x9cTo-night\xe2\x80\x99s her last night.\xe2\x80\x9d It was \nevident she did not concur in the waitress\xe2\x80\x99s discharge. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, anyhow, I\xe2\x80\x99m not a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to talk with her,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nasserted. \xe2\x80\x9cNo amounta arguin\xe2\x80\x99 or cryin\xe2\x80\x99 can make me \nchange my mind.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut Selma says it\xe2\x80\x99s not that, pa. Somethin\xe2\x80\x99 else.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSomethin\xe2\x80\x99 else?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis wife nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cSomethin\xe2\x80\x99 important, like. Says \nshe\xe2\x80\x99s got to see you for a few minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA vague prefigurement of misfortune gnawed at Mc- \nNicol\xe2\x80\x99s heart. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSend her into the music room, then,\xe2\x80\x9d he directed. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll make mighty short work of her, you can bet.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt must be set down, however, that the honors of the \npainful interview that ensued rested clearly with Selma. \nShe was explicit, she was brazen. Arthur, it developed, \nhad been guilty of a regrettable dalliance with her affec\xc2\xac \ntions. Did Mr. McNicol happen to remember it was just \noutside her bedroom that his nightgowned son had en\xc2\xac \ncountered the burglars? There was plenty of other cor\xc2\xac \nroborative evidence, she indicated\xe2\x80\x94a great deal of which \nwould prove spicy reading if the case reached the criminal \ncourts and the newspapers. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe promised to marry me, he did, an\xe2\x80\x99 I can have \nhim sent to state\xe2\x80\x99s prison for five years.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was in a great fury. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s his lookout! \nIf he\xe2\x80\x99s done anything wrong, he\xe2\x80\x99ll have to suffer for it. \nI wash my hands! But you\xe2\x80\x99re the one who led him on, \nyou\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d A torrent of drab epithets, suitable for applica\xc2\xac \ntion to women of frail virtue, rushed to his lips. \n\nSelma\xe2\x80\x99s highly colored, coarse-skinned features became \nmore sullen. \xe2\x80\x9cIf you think you\xe2\x80\x99re helpin\xe2\x80\x99 your case by \ncallin\xe2\x80\x99 me names-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n276 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGit outa this house!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol fulminated with a \nmajestic sweep of the hand. \n\nThe waitress stood up and played her trump card. \n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right, I\xe2\x80\x99ll go\xe2\x80\x94but first I\xe2\x80\x99ll tell your wife.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat final shot brought him down, surprisingly enough. \nFor though he was aware of certain growing dissatisfac\xc2\xac \ntions with Lessie, though he was accustomed to belittle \nher in the secret recesses of his mind, there yet lurked \nin him, quite unsuspected, a powerful instinct of pro\xc2\xac \ntectiveness toward her. She would never recover from \nthe news of her favorite child\xe2\x80\x99s delinquency, and he \nfound himself wanting intensely to ward off the mortal \nblow at any cost. \n\nHe lowered his voice. \xe2\x80\x9cSee my lawyer Monday,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nsuggested, and gave her Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s address. \xe2\x80\x9cIf \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re willin\xe2\x80\x99 to be reasonable-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you worry,\xe2\x80\x9d assured Selma, smiling with aston\xc2\xac \nishing composure. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I want\xe2\x80\x99s fair treatment. I\xe2\x80\x99m not \nsayin\xe2\x80\x99 a word about the ten dollars your son borrowed \noff me; come to me an\xe2\x80\x99 said he was broke, an\xe2\x80\x99-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever mind about that. My lawyer \xe2\x80\x99ll settle with \nyou.\xe2\x80\x9d He indicated the conference was over. \n\nBut Selma eyed him approvingly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re all right, \nMr. McNicol. Sorry now I picked out Arthur, instead \nof you!\xe2\x80\x9d And she flounced out of the music room, tri\xc2\xac \numphantly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat was it, Welly?\xe2\x80\x9d solicited Lessie, anxiously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, nothin\xe2\x80\x99 much,\xe2\x80\x9d he affected. \xe2\x80\x9cSomethin\xe2\x80\x99 about \ngivin\xe2\x80\x99 her a job at the plant.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe turned shortly and began ascending the staircase \ntoward Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s room, afraid he might not be able to \ncontrol his agitation. For, though he had once or twice \nfelt an uneasy presentiment, the abrupt unveiling of the \nsordid fact came as an inexpressible shock to him. He \nwas no fool, of course; he knew that such shameful iniqui- \n\n\n\n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n277 \n\n\nties occurred with other men and in other families. Yet \nhe himself had always held aloof from such degradations, \nausterely, puritanically. \n\nA son of his stooping to unspeakable vulgarities\xe2\x80\x94in \nhis house, right under his nose\xe2\x80\x94with a common hired \ngirl! The strumpet had even insinuated that he, Mc- \nNicol, would not have proved invulnerable to her seduc\xc2\xac \ntions. \n\nAll at once, for no reason at all, he visualized the \nservants\xe2\x80\x99 song service in the cook\xe2\x80\x99s room in the cellar; \nsaw again his son\xe2\x80\x99s fascinated stare; heard the piercing \ntones of the baggage, Selma, as she sang: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWash me in the blood of the La-a-amb, \n\nAnd I shall be whiter than snow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe sighed deeply as he reached Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s door. The \nthing was hurting him acutely, excruciatingly. There \nwas nothing to do, obviously, but order his son from \nthe house, strike the infamous name from his will. \n\nBut the bedroom was already empty. McNicol, with \nan inexplicably poignant emotion, descried a pair of iron \ndumb-bells on the floor, under the bed; and on top of \nthe dresser, a photograph of his son, stripped to the \nwaist, gripping the dumb-bells and pressing his arms close \nagainst his chest to accentuate the size of his biceps. \nArthur had always been that way\xe2\x80\x94passionately interested \nin his muscular development. There was a second pic\xc2\xac \nture, of an actress in tights\xe2\x80\x94the sort of premium com\xc2\xac \nmonly given away with packages of cigarettes. McNicol \nfrowned more heavily; he seemed to remember having \nonce discovered Arthur in the act of gazing speculatively \nat the marmoreal nymph in the hall below. \n\nOn top of the dresser, also, he found a note, addressed \nto him and marked \xe2\x80\x9cPersonal!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n278 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMy dear Father, \n\nSelma says she is going to tell you, so it is better for me \nto clear out. Sorry I\xe2\x80\x99ve made you so much trouble. \n\nSay you\xe2\x80\x99ve sent me off on a business trip, or anything you \nlike. Don\xe2\x80\x99t tell mother. Ill write her later. Maybe Til \nsurprise you yet some day. Anyway, I won\xe2\x80\x99t bother you any \nlonger. \n\nArthur. \n\n\nm \n\nOn the way to Joe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s Gratiot Avenue sample \nroom that night, McNicol compelled himself to divulge \nthe scandal to Artemas Bigelow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat makes two of my children who\xe2\x80\x99ve left the \nhouse,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced, grimly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99d almost think I \nw^as a bad father.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow was disposed to take the affair lightly. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, \nArthur \xe2\x80\x99ll turn out all right. Good stuff in him; just has \nto have his fling. That kind of thing happens oftener \nthan you believe. Bet you did the same thing more\xe2\x80\x99n \nonce when you were his age. Probably still do, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe poked McNicol familiarly in the ribs. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever\xe2\x80\x94in my whole life!\xe2\x80\x9d averred the outraged \nparent. The easy assumption of immorality rather \nstartled him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo? Honest Injun? What\xe2\x80\x99s the matter with you, \nanyway?\xe2\x80\x9d the attorney bantered. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, rest easy. I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nlook after young Miss Delilah for you, all right. You\xe2\x80\x99ll \nnever hear from her again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe pushed open the saloon door and rapidly strode \npast a cigar stand and through a pair of smaller swinging \ndoors into the barroom proper. McNicol followed re\xc2\xac \nluctantly, and for a moment was bewildered by the spec\xc2\xac \ntacle that confronted his eyes. The long narrow inclo\xc2\xac \nsure was jammed with a vociferous, gesticulating Satur\xc2\xac \nday-night mob of roisterers. They clustered about the \n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n279 \n\n\nbar at the left, two and three deep in places\xe2\x80\x94and even \nmore thickly at the free-lunch counter, where hot roast- \nbeef sandwiches were being dispensed. The overflow \neddied into quieter bayous among the tables and chairs \nalong the right wall. It was curious to mark how the \nfaces varied in expression; some of the revelers clasped \neach other warmly about the necks and roared out maud\xc2\xac \nlin badinage; others sipped whisky gravely, disconso\xc2\xac \nlately, with never a word. The layers of tobacco smoke \nwere so dense that they could send vague shifting shadows \nacross the bare floor; yet McNicol was able to discern \nimmediately that all but a few of the celebrants were \nrough customers\xe2\x80\x94hard-faced fellows who would just as \nlief cut a man\xe2\x80\x99s throat as not. The pictures above the \nbar\xe2\x80\x94prize fighters and one or two scantily draped bur\xc2\xac \nlesque queens\xe2\x80\x94did not help to reassure him. A vicious \nand disquieting world! He had ventured inside such \nplaces scarcely a half dozen times since the morning he \nhad dragged his dissolute father from the barroom of the \nQueen\xe2\x80\x99s Inn\xe2\x80\x94and not once in the past twenty years. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s get outa here!\xe2\x80\x9d he urged Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cI can\xe2\x80\x99t \nafford to be seen in a dive like this. Can\xe2\x80\x99t we talk to \nCottrell somewheres else?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, buck up!\xe2\x80\x9d retorted his companion. \xe2\x80\x9cSome of the \nbest people in tow r n come here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYeah\xe2\x80\x94looks like it!\xe2\x80\x9d The initiate jerked his head \ncontemptuously toward the crowded inclosure. To tell \nthe truth, he had been somewhat surprised to find the \ntown\xe2\x80\x99s political magnate ensconced in such shabby head\xc2\xac \nquarters. \n\nBigelow effected a precarious contact with the bar rail\xc2\xac \ning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s yours?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol hesitated. \xe2\x80\x9cGinger ale.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis convoy\xe2\x80\x99s mouth opened in alarmed protest; but \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n280 \n\nat that instant a third individual approached. A some\xc2\xac \nwhat undersized person, this, and severely attentuated; \nattired neatly, but a thought too conspicuously, in a \nplaid suit, with a large diamond glittering from his scar\xc2\xac \nlet four-in-hand. His features would have been excellent \nsave for a nose whose bridge was scarred and flattened, \nas if it had been broken and improperly reset. \n\nWithout a word he extended his hand to Artemas Bige\xc2\xac \nlow; and his mouth, partly concealed by a slinking reddish \nmustache, relaxed into a confiding credulous smile. \nUsually, though, his expression was ineffably doleful and \nplaintive, his pale blue eyes sad with disillusion. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, hello, Joe!\xe2\x80\x9d Artemas Bigelow, by contrast, was \neffusiveness itself. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat \xe2\x80\x99ll you have?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol realized that the insignificant little man, \namazingly enough, was no one else than the redoubtable \nJoe Cottrell, the proprietor of this sink of depravity and \nthe acknowledged political boss of the city. He could \nnot help sensing the fact, in spite of all contradictory \nappearances, for he became aware that the glances of \nmost of the hooligans in the room were converged upon \nCottrell, furtively but very respectfully. For his own \npart, however, he cherished no such deference. He felt \nhe could easily overawe this half-grown midget, compel \nhim to agree to the closing of Cooper Street; if need be, \ncatch him up by the heels and hurl him across his own \nsaloon. \n\nCottrell waved his dissent. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, thanks,\xe2\x80\x9d he answered \nBigelow in soft, meticulously correct accents. \xe2\x80\x9cToo busy \njust now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I want you to meet Mr. McNicol,\xe2\x80\x9d persisted the \nattorney. \n\nThe boss\xe2\x80\x99s hand encountered the neophite\xe2\x80\x99s in a pneu\xc2\xac \nmatic clasp. His eyes, however, alighted inquiringly \nupon a boisterous young jingo in an adjacent group. \n\n\nFRUSTRATION \n\n\n281 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShut your mouth/\xe2\x80\x99 this person was brawling, \xe2\x80\x9cor I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nshoot up th\xe2\x80\x99 whole damn\xe2\x80\x99 place!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol observed a faint luminance come into Cot\xc2\xac \ntrell\xe2\x80\x99s mournful eyes, and a scarcely perceptible dilation \nof his nostrils. The little man stepped quickly up to the \ntrouble maker. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTime for you to be goin\xe2\x80\x99 home, sonny,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, \ncrisply. \n\nAll at once the tumult of the room had dropped into \na dead hush. By some odd telepathy, everybody became \ninstantly conscious of the altercation. The belligerent \nyouth swung around to face the proprietor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuick now!\xe2\x80\x9d bade Cottrell, his voice even more inci\xc2\xac \nsive. \n\nThe swaggerer, however, had no intention of being \nthus easily humiliated by an opponent thirty years older \nand eight inches shorter. As Cottrell reached for his \narm, he took one stride backward and his hand darted \ntoward his hip pocket. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook out!\xe2\x80\x9d a voice yelled, and there was a precipitate \nscrambling for cover. \n\nBut McNicol, not so well versed in saloon brawls, re\xc2\xac \nmained dazedly inert. Something happened, so rapidly \nthat his eye could not detect its precise character. Joe \nCottrell\xe2\x80\x99s shoulder seemed to move\xe2\x80\x94and the foolhardy \nyoung Goliath fell backward on the floor with an astonish\xc2\xac \ning impact; next, at a signal from the victor, his pros\xc2\xac \ntrate hulk was dragged from view by two bartenders, \nmuch as a dead bull is removed from the crowded amphi\xc2\xac \ntheater. \n\nThe diminutive boss dusted the offensive contact from \nhis hand and returned to McNicol with an apologetic \nair. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHappy to meet you,\xe2\x80\x9d he resumed, impersonally. \n\nArtemas Bigelow, his moon face still pale, broached \n\n\n282 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ntheir mission. \xe2\x80\x9cWe want to have a little talk with you, \nJoe\xe2\x80\x94you know, about that Cooper Street deal.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCottrell had seemingly not identified his distinguished \nvisitor; but even now he did not appear greatly im\xc2\xac \npressed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy don\xe2\x80\x99t you go up to the Annex?\xe2\x80\x9d he suggested, \nconfidentially. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be along in a few minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOn the dark staircase Bigelow took his charge severely \nto task. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLucky Joe didn\xe2\x80\x99t hear you ordering ginger ale. You \ngot t\xe2\x80\x99 loosen up, be a good fellow. If Cottrell don\xe2\x80\x99t like \nyou, he\xe2\x80\x99ll snap his fingers in your face, no matter who \nyou are; but if he does like you, you can have any\xc2\xac \nthing he\xe2\x80\x99s got.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol absorbed this advice without making his usual \nself-confident retort. He had not fully recuperated, in \nfact, from the breath-taking tour de force he had just \nwitnessed. \n\nThe second-floor Annex was a large room at the rear \nof the building, reserved, apparently, for Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s more \nfavored patrons. Here, indeed, one encountered a costly \nluxury that well-nigh rivaled that of the Mausoleum itself: \nrugs, crystal chandeliers, a piano, easy chairs, even oil \npaintings. Of these, the largest depicted a nude woman \nvoluptuously reclining on a couch\xe2\x80\x94a spectacle that \naroused McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s greatest abhorrence, yet curiously in\xc2\xac \nterested him. He was exceedingly uneasy. What if \nLessie should see him now? What if any of his business \ncustomers and associates, his fellow church members, \nshould find out he had sat in this wicked room\xe2\x80\x94nay more, \nhad actually drunk beer? Yet here he must remain, under \nstrictest injunctions to pretend that he was as profligate \nas any of the carousers who surrounded him. \n\nIt was after eleven o\xe2\x80\x99clock before Cottrell entered the \n\n\n\nFRUSTRATION 283 \n\nAnnex, and half an hour later when he finally sat down \nwith them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ve been talking about your pictures,\xe2\x80\x9d initiated \nBigelow tactfully. \n\nThe boss smiled childishly. \xe2\x80\x9cPretty good, aren\xe2\x80\x99t \nthey?\xe2\x80\x9d It was palpable he took a very personal pride \nin the room\xe2\x80\x99s furnishings. \xe2\x80\x9cJust picked up another one,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe recollected with a collector\xe2\x80\x99s enthusiasm. \xe2\x80\x9cLike to \nsee it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe conducted them to a small office next door and un\xc2\xac \nrolled a canvas. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s eyes bulged out. \xe2\x80\x9cMy God! That\xe2\x80\x99s mine!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYours?\xe2\x80\x9d said Cottrell, softly. \xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t think so.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s my Rubens, I tell you!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol ignored Bige\xc2\xac \nlow\xe2\x80\x99s restraining gesture. \xe2\x80\x9cStolen outa my house six \nweeks ago, it was, with a lot of other valuables.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis host betrayed a melancholy regret. \xe2\x80\x9cToo bad\xe2\x80\x94I \nsorta liked it. This yours, too?\xe2\x80\x9d He fished a newspaper \npackage out of a waste basket and unwrapped the Rem\xc2\xac \nbrandt. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCertainly is!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, pretty lucky you came in. I was just going \nto throw this one away\xe2\x80\x94not much good. But the other \none\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He smiled sadly. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I don\xe2\x80\x99t know that it\xe2\x80\x99d \ngo so well with my other pictures, anyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was overjoyed. \xe2\x80\x9cYou mean you\xe2\x80\x99ll give \xe2\x80\x99em \nback to me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess I\xe2\x80\x99ll have to. My loss. Might \xe2\x80\x99ve known \nbetter.\xe2\x80\x9d But Cottrell locked the office door and led them \nback to their table somberly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay! \xe2\x80\x9d he abruptly reverted. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat else did you lose?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSilverware, mostly.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Fraid I can\xe2\x80\x99t help you much there.\xe2\x80\x9d Then the boss \nexplained, quite casually: \xe2\x80\x9cYou see, my men don\xe2\x80\x99t touch \nany of that sort of stuff. All they take is money and \n\n\n\n284 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\njewelry. But I\xe2\x80\x99ll inquire around\xe2\x80\x94see what I can do \nfor you.\xe2\x80\x9d Then he came to the point at issue. \xe2\x80\x9cNow \nabout Cooper Street.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe feel that the public interests couldn\xe2\x80\x99t possibly be \njeopardized,\xe2\x80\x9d began Bigelow in his best professional man\xc2\xac \nner, \xe2\x80\x9cand that-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe boss checked him good-naturedly. \xe2\x80\x9cNever mind \nthe arguments, old man. Now here\xe2\x80\x99s the situation: I un\xc2\xac \nderstand how you feel about giving the boys in the Coun\xc2\xac \ncil a little rake-off. Same time, they need the money\xe2\x80\x94 \nand you\xe2\x80\x99re getting a lot of land for nothing.\xe2\x80\x9d His in\xc2\xac \nscrutable, poker eyes rested appraisingly upon his guests. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNow suppose I give those pictures back to you\xe2\x80\x94mind \nyou, I don\xe2\x80\x99t have to, either. And suppose I locate that \nsilverware. How much of a reward is it worth? A \nthousand dollars, easy, eh? Well, why not turn the re\xc2\xac \nward over to me? You needn\xe2\x80\x99t know what happens to \nyour money\xe2\x80\x94but the Council \xe2\x80\x99ll close Cooper Street at \nits next meeting. That clear?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol still had little liking for the proposal; it was \nsimply a polite method of bribery. At the same time, he \nreflected, it was certainly w r orth a thousand dollars to him \nto get back stolen property worth forty or fifty thousand \n\xe2\x80\x94to say nothing of having Cooper Street closed. Most \npersuasive of all, however, was the effect of Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s \nscrutiny upon him: morose as he habitually seemed, the \nboss nevertheless had the rare and precious faculty, when \nhe chose to exercise it, of conveying to the person he \nwished to influence a certain intimation of high regard, \nof sincere helpfulness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all right with me,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol, somewhat \nto his own surprise; then he stipulated, cautiously, \xe2\x80\x9cPro\xc2\xac \nvided I get my silver back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCertainly,\xe2\x80\x9d agreed Cottrell. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll see it\xe2\x80\x99s returned \nwithin a week.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhich was precisely the miracle that eventuated. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV \n\n\nENTICEMENT \n\nI \n\nF OR some four months now\xe2\x80\x94since the day of the \nNew Year\xe2\x80\x99s reception, to be exact\xe2\x80\x94he had become \nincreasingly restless and unhappy, increasingly aware of \nhis apparent futility and impotence. He, McNicol, the \ngreat captain of industry, forced to bend the knee to a \ncommon saloon keeper, whenever he wanted any political \nfavors! That one episode seemed to typify the whole \nvexing situation. He realized vaguely that something \nwas amiss; he felt intolerably muzzled; yet he had not \nbeen able to penetrate to the precise nature of his \npredicament. \n\nIt was three weeks after his unrighteous compact with \nJoe Cottrell, and the middle of May, when he achieved \nhis first clear inkling. He had gone downtown in the fore\xc2\xac \nnoon, to engage passage to Europe for Lessie, Beatrice, \nand himself a fortnight later, in accordance with their \nlong-talked-of plans. On the way from the ticket agent\xe2\x80\x99s \nemporium to his office he found his itinerary blocked by \nthe vanguard of a parade. First, a platoon of mounted \npolice, next a band, then a half dozen open carriages. In \nthe first of these there stood a profoundly bowing person\xc2\xac \nage whom he instantly recognized as the Governor of the \nState; beside him sat the Mayor, almost equally mag\xc2\xac \nnificent. McNicol remembered now: some public cere\xc2\xac \nmony, the accurate details of which he could not recall. \n\n285 \n\n\n286 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMore than a little put out by the delay, at first, he now \nfound himself strangely fascinated by the spectacle. All \nthis infectious music, this glittering pomp; this great man \nnodding with gracious beneficence to the salvos of fealty. \nLast of all, this sweaty, vociferous mob that thronged \nthe sidewalk, eager to shriek its deathless reverence for \nthe exalted ruler of its destiny. \n\nMcNicol had caught his breath, enviously. If only it \nwere he, complacently bowing from that magical car\xc2\xac \nriage! And that somehow was his rightful place, he con\xc2\xac \nsidered. Actually, however, he was but an indistinguish\xc2\xac \nable insignificant unit in the crowd. Actually he was not \nthe Governor. So far as public esteem was concerned, he \ncounted for naught. All at once, for the first time in his \nlife, he sensed the allure of the mystical mirage men call \npopularity. \n\nAnd now T , seated at his desk, the spell was still strong \nupon him. He felt cheated. \n\nA package lay before him and he unwrapped it, \nmechanically, till he perceived two large books with shin\xc2\xac \ning gold titles: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLeading Men of Detroit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere, providentially, was nutriment for his starved self\xc2\xac \nesteem! He opened one of the lavish volumes eagerly. \nHere, verily, the proof of his real renown, adjudged not \nby a bawling rabble of commoners, but by the very dis\xc2\xac \ncriminating young chap who had been so impressed by \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s splendid achievements. \n\nYes, indeed. \n\nThe front page bore the photograph and biography \nof that usurping Governor whom he had lately been eying \nso jealously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI s\xe2\x80\x99pose they had t\xe2\x80\x99 give him first place,\xe2\x80\x9d he admitted, \ngrudgingly. \n\nSecond appeared the two United States Senators, and \n\n\nENTICEMENT \n\n\n287 \n\nthen Mayor Pingree\xe2\x80\x94just as the young solicitor had said. \nMcNicol turned the following page in high expectancy; \nbut, oddly enough, it did not show forth his lineaments \nat all, but those of some minor city official. \n\nHe could not find his photograph anywhere in the next \nfew pages, in fact; and sought the index in the rear of \nthe volume, with some annoyance. \n\nYes, here it was: \xe2\x80\x9cMcNicol, W. D., 347.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe reverted to the body of the book with growing dis\xc2\xac \nquietude. There must be some mistake\xe2\x80\x94page 347 was \nwell toward the rear. At length he found the place, and \nstared stonily. His picture was there, beyond all possi\xc2\xac \nbility of error; but it was only one of four on the page! \nAs if the printer had become weary and intended to dis\xc2\xac \npose of smaller fry in wholesale lots. \n\nAnd now McNicol noted with unbelieving eyes that \nnext to him on the sheet appeared the narrow-headed octo\xc2\xac \ngenarian likeness of Cyrus Rorick, his former employer\xe2\x80\x94 \nstill alive and puttering over his little one-horse busi\xc2\xac \nness. Rorick and McNicol, side by side, bracketed to\xc2\xac \ngether as if of equal importance to the world. \n\nBut an even more pitiless thrust lancinated his vitals \nwhen he read his biography, boiled down to a quarter page. \nFor he was heralded forth as Wellington Dennison Mac- \nNichol. MacNichol! \n\nIt did not occur to him that of the five hundred De\xc2\xac \ntroiters who were this very day anxiously perusing copies \nof \xe2\x80\x9cLeading Men,\xe2\x80\x9d no less than four hundred and ninety \nwere arriving at the bitter conviction that they too had \nbeen outrageously slighted. \n\nMcNicoFs mordant virulence ebbed away. The sense \nof utter ineptitude which had been gradually gathering \nbulk within him seemed ail at once to focus into an irre\xc2\xac \nsistible tidal wave. For a few moments he felt himself \n\n\n288 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ninundated, swept off his feet\xe2\x80\x94then at last, there came a \nflash of perspicuity and he gained his true bearings. \n\nHe had been mistaken in believing he had reached all \nthree of his goals. Marriage, yes\xe2\x80\x94and wealth: these \nachievements were indisputable. But the melancholy fact \ncame home\xe2\x80\x94he was not famous. A certain degree of \npower was his to wield, but only within the sphere of his \npharmaceutical business. In the more spacious world \nbeyond he counted for nothing. He was not popular, \nhe was not even known. In short, a nonentity. And \nall these recent stinging adversities\xe2\x80\x94perhaps a jealous \nFate had dispatched them to mock him for his vain boast\xc2\xac \ning. \n\nYes, that was the whole trouble, he saw now\xe2\x80\x94he was \nnot a Great Man. And suddenly he was suffused with an \nacute and incredibly poignant longing to become such a \none. \n\n\nn \n\nAs if in answer to this fervent wash, there promptly \nhobbled into view the shabby figure of a Civil War \nveteran whom McNicol knew slightly through his some\xc2\xac \nwhat inactive membership in one of the local G. A. R. \nposts. \n\nThe comrade settled into an armchair, deposited his \nstout cane against the desk, blew his nose vigorously, and \ncame to the portentous point. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI been delegated by the committee in charge of the \nparade t\xe2\x80\x99 notify you, officially, you been unanimously \nselected t\xe2\x80\x99 act as Grand Marshal.\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nMcNicol, who had braced himself to refuse the cus\xc2\xac \ntomary comradely petition for a loan, now became faintly \ninterested. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat parade you talkin\xe2\x80\x99 of?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nENTICEMENT 289 \n\nThe veteran manifested incredulity. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, the Deco\xc2\xac \nration Day parade, o\xe2\x80\x99 course!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, now.\xe2\x80\x9d The suggestion had its charms. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s a Grand Marshal have to do, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot much,\xe2\x80\x9d vouchsafed the delegate. \xe2\x80\x9cChiefly \nhon\xe2\x80\x99ary. Each year the boys pick out some prominent \nmember of one-a the posts.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, but what\xe2\x80\x99d I have to do?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m a-telling y\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94nothin\xe2\x80\x99 much, \xe2\x80\x99cept ride at the head \nof the procession.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe head of the procession! Into McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s brain \nflitted the picture of the parade he had witnessed but an \nhour ago: the band, the howling populace, the illustrious \npresence of the governor; and instantly he visualized him\xc2\xac \nself, a proud figure, leading a much statelier pageant. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAt the head, you say?\xe2\x80\x9d he sought confirmation. \n\nThe country\xe2\x80\x99s defender nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cRight behind the \nband.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol chanced just then to observe his two copies \nof \xe2\x80\x9cLeading Men of Detroit,\xe2\x80\x9d still lying on his desk, and \nthe painful association bred a certain wariness in him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow much will it cost me?\xe2\x80\x9d he demanded, bluntly. \n\nThe veteran grinned weakly. \xe2\x80\x9cNot a penny\xe2\x80\x94unless \nyou say so. Course, they\xe2\x80\x99s certain expenses t\xe2\x80\x99 be met\xe2\x80\x94 \nbands, carriages f\xe2\x80\x99r the boys who ain\xe2\x80\x99t able to walk\xe2\x80\x94 \nthat sorta thing. The posts usually look after all that, \nbut this year there\xe2\x80\x99s a deficit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow much?\xe2\x80\x9d pursued the candidate for glory. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I reckon five hundred dollars\xe2\x80\x99d be \xe2\x80\x99bout right.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was glad he had not yet accepted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d be glad to help out, of course,\xe2\x80\x9d he affected, \xe2\x80\x9cbut \nI got my tickets to Europe all bought for the twenty- \nninth. \xe2\x80\x99Fraid I won\xe2\x80\x99t be here.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, that\xe2\x80\x99s too bad, now!\xe2\x80\x9d commiserated the mes\xc2\xac \nsenger. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s a mighty big honor\xe2\x80\x94git your picture in all \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n290 \n\nthe papers, y\xe2\x80\x99 know. Couldn\xe2\x80\x99t y\xe2\x80\x99 change your tickets?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll find out.\xe2\x80\x9d Here was a welcome opportunity to \nthink the matter over. \xe2\x80\x9cLet y\xe2\x80\x99 know to-morrow \nmornin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis visitor paused at the door. \xe2\x80\x9cEven if you can\xe2\x80\x99t \nserve, you might still help out on that deficit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat was the rub, McNicol reasoned. He could hardly \nescape now from some sort of a contribution; and if the \naffair was going to cost him money, anyway, why not \nhave the luster as well? There would be no difficulty \nabout postponing his trip a week, he was certain. The \nmore he considered the Heaven-sent opportunity, the more \nhe felt inclined to embrace it. \n\nArtemas Bigelow, whom he consulted that afternoon, \nwas unkind enough to throw cold water. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t do it,\xe2\x80\x9d he advised. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re not one \nto go in for cheap showy things like that. Leave that \nkind of buncombe to the lightweights and the politicians.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cYou were the one who ad\xc2\xac \nvised me t\xe2\x80\x99 go into politics, remember? Well, seein\xe2\x80\x99s \nhow you\xe2\x80\x99re always right \xe2\x80\x99bout everything, I guess I will \ngo into politics.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow\xe2\x80\x99s sagacious face mirrored the utmost concern. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI told you to go into politics? Never!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, you did, too.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf I said that, I must have been joking.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJokin\xe2\x80\x99 or no jokin\xe2\x80\x99, that\xe2\x80\x99s what I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to do.\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s program rapidly took form even as he talked. \n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess I\xe2\x80\x99ll run for governor this fall.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPolitics,\xe2\x80\x9d said Bigelow, inadvertently copying his \nclient\xe2\x80\x99s phraseology of three weeks earlier, \xe2\x80\x9cis a dirty \nmess.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol neatly rationalized his new craving for kudos . \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThen it becomes the duty of all good citizens to \nhelp clean up the mess,\xe2\x80\x9d he pronounced solemnly, and \n\n\nENTICEMENT 291 \n\nwent out to telephone his acceptance of the grand mar- \nshalship. \n\nm \n\nThis glamorous notion, once having invested his imagi\xc2\xac \nnation, waxed with astonishing celerity into a fixed obses\xc2\xac \nsion. He took to statesmanlike posturing in front of the \nmirror; surveyed with complacency his new white bow \ntie\xe2\x80\x94identical with the Governor\xe2\x80\x99s. Lessie, quite aglow \nover her husband\xe2\x80\x99s preferment, spent hours renovating his \ncaptain\xe2\x80\x99s uniform and letting out the vest and trousers \nto accommodate his increased girth; his appearance in \nthe refurbished garments, they both agreed, was spiritedly \nmartial. \n\nThe precise technique of being elected to the governor\xc2\xac \nship, however, remained recondite. The feat seemed \nentirely possible, theoretically. In every way he was a \nlogical and superior candidate. But just how did one \ngo about such things? How make a start? \n\nMcNicol spent the next fortnight in a condition of \neager receptivity, listening intently for the people\xe2\x80\x99s call; \nthen, hearing nothing, and being impatient for action, he \nwent boldly to Joe Cottrell for enlightenment in methods \nof procedure. \n\nThe boss, he ascertained from a barkeeper, was at his \nhome with an attack of la grippe \xe2\x80\x94quite able, however, \nto receive visitors. McNicol jotted down the address and \nmade his way thither, enormously relieved that the inter\xc2\xac \nview need not occur in the saloon: that environment would \nhardly have been appropriate for the inception of any \nlofty emprise such as his. For he had resolved more or \nless vaguely that his political career should be one of \nhigh-mindedness and heroic integrity. Joe Cottrell would \nhave to understand, first as last, that there were to be no \ncrooked dealings, no unholy compacts\xe2\x80\x94that he, McNicol., \n\n\n292 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nwould assume office wholly independent, free from all \nnefarious entanglements. \n\nThe invalid greeted his visitor with one of his intimate, \nconfiding smiles, as if no other dispensation could pos\xc2\xac \nsibly have afforded him quite such piquant pleasure. Mc- \nNicol was greatly heartened. Artemas Bigelow had \nassured him that the boss liked him, and now he was \nconvinced of the fact. Cottrell would surely be willing \nto give him pointers, just as a matter of friendship, with\xc2\xac \nout any hope of nrofit to himself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCertain people have been urging me to go into politics,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe began, with an air of reluctant coercion. \xe2\x80\x9cI feel in a \nway I owe a duty to the Republican party of this great \nstate-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s right. The way I like t\xe2\x80\x99 hear a man talk,\xe2\x80\x9d \nencouraged the sick man with very evident sympathy. \n\xe2\x80\x9cIf more citizens of your class felt like you, politics would \nbe on a much higher level. If there\xe2\x80\x99s anything I can do \nto help you, just let me know.\xe2\x80\x9d Again that irradiation of \npersonal regard, of a peculiar friendliness reserved for \nMcNicol alone. \n\nHis caller warmed with gratification. This was even \nbetter luck than he had anticipated. \xe2\x80\x9cTo tell you the \ntruth, that\xe2\x80\x99s what I came for t\xe2\x80\x99-day.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine!\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s meek face contrived an excessive \ninterest. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, just what is it you have in mind?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to make the race for Governor this fall.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean against Pingree?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicoPs discomfiture was pathetic. \xe2\x80\x9cHe ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 \nt\xe2\x80\x99 run, is he?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, thank God!\xe2\x80\x9d the boss permitted himself to exult. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll have him off my hands.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, swiftly recalling the \nimmediate issue, \xe2\x80\x9cWould anything else do?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe receptive candidate gathered his forces. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, \nthere\xe2\x80\x99s the U. S. Senate.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nENTICEMENT \n\n\n2 93 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut of course you know no Senator\xe2\x80\x99s to be elected \nfor another two years.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s so.\xe2\x80\x9d He had not known, as a matter of fact. \nAll his elaborate designs for a scintillant career seemed \nabruptly to crumble. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, if Ping\xe2\x80\x99s a-going to be Gov\xc2\xac \nernor, who\xe2\x80\x99ll be the next mayor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCottrell looked regretful. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m afraid that\xe2\x80\x99s all fixed. \nYou\xe2\x80\x99re too late\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99m already committed on the mayor\xc2\xac \nalty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I don\xe2\x80\x99t much believe I\xe2\x80\x99d want to be mayor, \nanyhow,\xe2\x80\x9d confessed McNicol, disconsolately. \xe2\x80\x9cAin\xe2\x80\x99t much \nto that.\xe2\x80\x9d The office was by no means worthy of his \ntalents. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI think we might hope to put you in as an alderman,\xe2\x80\x9d \nreflected Cottrell. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the best way to start in poli\xc2\xac \ntics, anyway\xe2\x80\x94at the very bottom, in the Common \nCouncil.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA boodle alderman! The aspirant for fame stared at \nhis mentor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou see,\xe2\x80\x9d the boss explicated, \xe2\x80\x9cyou\xe2\x80\x99re not identified \nwith the party machinery at all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol revealed his deep hurt. \xe2\x80\x9cI voted the straight \nRepublican ticket for the las\xe2\x80\x99 thirty years.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI mean actively identified. The boys don\xe2\x80\x99t know you; \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ve never done any organization work. So far as I \nknow, you\xe2\x80\x99ve never even contributed to a campaign fund.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I never been interested before.\xe2\x80\x9d He regretted \nnow that he had always curtly refused his party\xe2\x80\x99s requi\xc2\xac \nsitions. \xe2\x80\x9cBut if I get into politics, I\xe2\x80\x99ll fork over my \nshare.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJust discernibly, Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s faded eyes glittered and his \nnostrils quivered, precisely as at the moment of squelch\xc2\xac \ning the young rowdy in his barroom. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood!\xe2\x80\x9d he approved. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d do that right away. We\xe2\x80\x99ll \n\n\n294 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nput you to work this fall; might fit you in as campaign \ntreasurer. 5 \xe2\x80\x99 \n\nCrushed ambition revived slightly. \xe2\x80\x9cI was plannin\xe2\x80\x99 to \ngo to Europe in a couple of weeks, but if you think-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo\xe2\x80\x94go ahead. Won\xe2\x80\x99t be much stirring till Septem\xc2\xac \nber. You\xe2\x80\x99ll be back by then, and we\xe2\x80\x99ll start building up \nyour public reputation.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcXicol coughed. It came to him that he was not \nbeing taken at his true value. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess mebbe you don\xe2\x80\x99t realize I got quite a reputation \nalready. Guess mebbe you don\xe2\x80\x99t know I been picked out \nto act as Grand Marshal of the big parade on Decoration \nDay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCottrell seemed considerably impressed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGlad to hear it.\xe2\x80\x9d He assayed the novice anew, with \nimpeccable gravity. \xe2\x80\x9cGlad we had this talk, too. I\xe2\x80\x99ll \ncertainly bear you in mind. Maybe something \xe2\x80\x99ll turn \nup for you sooner than we expect. I might even be able \nto run you for something this fall.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIV \n\nThe parade, for McNicol, was quite a success. It \nwould have been a complete triumph, save for one vexa\xc2\xac \ntious incident. \n\nAt ten o\xe2\x80\x99clock, the hour appointed for starting, the \nGrand Marshal, accompanied by his aides, swept majes\xc2\xac \ntically past the various units assembled along Jefferson \nAvenue east of Russell Street. The inspection corrobo\xc2\xac \nrated the fact that everything was in perfect order. First, \nthe squad of mounted police; and the handsomely accou\xc2\xac \ntered band, its silver instruments flashing bravely in the \nwarm sunlight. Then the several G. A. R. posts, with \ntheir complement of a thousand senescent veterans\xe2\x80\x94some \nerect, still defying the blight of cumulative years; some \n\n\n\nENTICEMENT \n\n\n295 \n\n\nbent and feeble, scores of them propped up on canes, and \nnot a few on crutches: but every last one of them deter\xc2\xac \nmined to march two miles to the reviewing stand at Grand \nCircus Park, or perish in the attempt. Many of them \nsaluted McNicol as he passed, and he was not so wrapped \nin his own lofty estate as to be quite insensible to the \npathos of this spectacle of man\'s swift transience. \n\nThen more bands, the state militia, a detachment of \nregulars from Fort Wayne. The fourth and hnal section \nof the procession was comprised of various private organ\xc2\xac \nizations, some military, some fraternal. Most of them \nwere unimpressive assortments of mere stragglers, poorly \nequipped and sadly lacking in snap and esprit; the effect, \nafter the preceding sections, was decidedly anticiimactic. \n\nAt the very end of the line, just as he was about to \ngallop back to the van, McNicol was suddenly confronted \nby a rufous individual with fierce mustachios, mounted on \nan unbelievably lanky sorrel horse. This person made it \nknown in broken but vehement English that he was greatly \ndissatisfied with the humble position allotted to his com\xc2\xac \nmand; he demanded his place in the sun. \n\nThe Grand Marshal noted the unit\xe2\x80\x94the sorriest collec\xc2\xac \ntion he had yet seen, evidently some Polish detachment. \nThis ignominious rear guard was attired in ill-fitting civil\xc2\xac \nian clothing; its only pretense of uniform was a broad and \nflaming red sash tied about the waist. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho are you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cKosciusko Reserves,\xe2\x80\x9d said their commander, proudly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, stay where you are. This is the position assigned \nto you,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol ordered brusquely, then hurried back \nto his own proud station and waved a signal to the cap\xc2\xac \ntain of mounted police. \n\nThe parade began. \n\nA rare and enravishing experience, this: promenading \nwith dignified hauteur at the head of a superb python- \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n296 \n\nlike procession. He was the undisputed master of four \nthousand perspiring souls. The common herd, packed \ndeep along the street, gazed at him ecstatically, even as \nthey had at that less illustrious Governor, two weeks ago. \nAnd he knew himself now as an anointed leader of men, \none destined to direct the destinies of millions. A noble \nfigure, assuredly. He rode easily the magnificent saddle \nhorse he had purchased for the occasion. This spirited \nbeast, so antithetical to the Kosciuskoan bag-of-bones, \npranced and caracoled, its nostrils dilated to the blaring of \nthe adjacent band; but McNicol sat his saddle upright \nand unperturbed\xe2\x80\x94as becomes a Great Man. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWorth five hundred dollars any day, this is,\xe2\x80\x9d he ap\xc2\xac \npraised. \n\nHis sole regret was that his span was passing so rapidly. \nAlready, the mounted police were sweeping into Wood\xc2\xac \nward Avenue. As he himself made the turn, he looked \nback over the hosts still on Jefferson Avenue, perceived \nthe splendid panorama of flying banners and marching \nmen. \n\nEnvisaged, too, an unscheduled phenomenon: the beet\xc2\xac \nfaced leader of the Kosciusko Reserves was but a scant \nhundred feet to the rear now, at the head of a platoon of \nG. A. R. veterans. McNicol gaped. The Polish contin\xc2\xac \ngent was nowhere visible, but the red sash and carroty \nsteed of its commander were unmistakable. Apparently \nhe had left his men to their humiliating fate, and himself \npushed forward to more conspicuous realms. \n\nThe Grand Marshal gestured one of his aides alongside. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSend that skunk back where he belongs.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe interloper retired with evident bad grace and Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol felt free to enjoy himself once more. \n\nGrand Circus Park was only a block away now. He \ncould make out the bedizened reviewing stand, where the \nGovernor himself, Mayor Pingree, and a hundred other \n\n\nENTICEMENT \n\n\n297 \n\nfortunate individuals awaited to do him homage. He sat \nmore erect, expanded his chest to its maximum cubic \ncapacity. An electric sense of aliveness tingled through \nhim. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s that Polack again,\xe2\x80\x9d cried the aide. \n\nMcNicol glanced back. Not to be denied his aspira\xc2\xac \ntions, the commander of the Kosciuskoan detachment had \ncrept up again\xe2\x80\x94even nearer; he was only fifty feet back \nnow. Palpably it was too late to do anything. McNicol \nforced himself to concentrate upon the reviewing stand; \nalready he could see the gubernatorial features turned \nexpectantly upon him. \n\nThen, ail at once, a red sash blurred past on a clatter\xc2\xac \ning, loose-jointed sorrel mount, and did not settle info high \nvisibility again until it had passed the band and achieved \nits rightful place in the Scheme of Things\xe2\x80\x94at the very \nhead of the parade. Polish autonomy was vindicated\xe2\x80\x94 \nKosciusko avenged. His disciple it was, and not Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol, who first gravely acknowledged the enthusiastic \napplause of the reviewing stand: Grand Marshal in every\xc2\xac \nthing but name, without having paid any fraction of five \nhundred dollars for the privilege. \n\n\nCHAPTER V \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\nI \n\n\nFTER three months devoted to ingurgitating his way \n\n\n\niT across Europe under the benevolent despotism of \nMessrs. Cook & Son, McNicol descried the Statue of \nLiberty again, the first week of September, with emotions \nof the liveliest satisfaction and anticipation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGive me the good old U. S. A., every time,\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted \nto Lessie as their ocean liner steamed majestically up \nNew York harbor. \xe2\x80\x9cThem foreigners ain\xe2\x80\x99t in it with us; \nI wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t give a nickel for the whole caboodle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis wife, however, though exceedingly contented at \nthe prospect of returning to the familiar comforts of home, \ncherished no such contempt for the attractions of the Old \nWorld. She had been quite overawed by what the guides \ntold her of the art treasures of Rome and Paris; and in \nthe latter capital, which she had always viewed as the \nmodern Gomorrah, she had actually been prevailed upon \nby that sophisticated cosmopolite, Charley Foss, to drink \na glass of light wine. But the trip through Palestine \nremained for her the glorious apogee of the trip; she had \nbrought back innumerable pictures for display to the \nSunday school, a quart bottle of the waters of the River \nJordan\xe2\x80\x94yes, and even a tiny fragment of what was quite \nundoubtedly the true Cross. \n\nBeatrice, too, had been entranced\xe2\x80\x94but without her \nmother\xe2\x80\x99s reservations. She and Charley had struck up \na great friendship\xe2\x80\x94had \xe2\x80\x9cdone\xe2\x80\x9d Paris together. One \n\n\n298 \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n299 \n\n\nnight\xe2\x80\x94though even McNicol did not know this\xe2\x80\x94the two \nof them had torn up their opera tickets and stolen off to \nthe Folies Bergeres. Bee decided she had still undevel\xc2\xac \noped possibilities as a siren. Paris was the place for her. \n\nBut McNicol maintained from first to last a querulous \nattitude, eminently suitable to an American business mag\xc2\xac \nnate abroad. What principally annoyed him about Europe \nas a whole were the culinary stupidities. Why, a man \ncouldn\xe2\x80\x99t buy a good cup of coffee from one end to the \nother, nor a piece of pie, nor a decent cigar. The single \nepisode that stood out in his mind like a solitary corrus- \ncating flash of light had to do with the Jungfrau: not the \nview, which he observed but inattentively; but the excel\xc2\xac \nlent luncheon he had eaten in the small inn at the top of \nthe funicular\xe2\x80\x94more explicitly, the incredible, marvelous \ndish of fresh strawberries that topped off the meal. Those \nstrawberries represented the one wholly satisfying mem\xc2\xac \nory Europe\xe2\x80\x99s patient laborious centuries could store \nsecurely in McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s brain. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJiminy Chrismus! but they certainly tasted fine!\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe smacked his lips in recollection. What a story to tell \nhis friends at home! \n\nAs the ship moved lethargically up the North River, \nhe joined his fellow passengers in the contemplation of \nNew York\xe2\x80\x99s bristling sky line. And now an odd phenom\xc2\xac \nenon of chauvinism obtruded: New York from the Bay, \nNew York as an integral part of his native land, New \nYork as against Europe, had a moment since stirred in \nhim the most pungent patriotism; but now, at close range, \nsafely within the country\xe2\x80\x99s portals, he deemed the metrop\xc2\xac \nolis not quite so admirable. To a European he would still \nhave defended New York as the most splendid city in the \nworld; but not to a fellow countryman. His viewpoint, \nall in an instant, became that of the envious provincial, \ncriticizing from within. \n\n\n300 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNew York ain\xe2\x80\x99t so much,\xe2\x80\x9d he told himself. \xe2\x80\x9cA lot of \nsmart Alecks, who think they own the rest of the country. \nI\xe2\x80\x99d rather live in Detroit any day.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDetroit! The name evoked a sudden pang, half pride, \nhalf restless disquietude. What destiny awaited him \nthere? The inception of a bedazzling political career? \nOr nothing at all? All at once, he bitterly regretted his \nEuropean truancy. Why had he been fool enough to cut \nhimself off for three long months from a situation so preg\xc2\xac \nnant with possibilities? Abroad, he had necessarily been \nout of touch with local developments. He knew about \nthe nomination of McKinley and Bryan\xe2\x80\x94and that was \nall. What had happened in Detroit, in Michigan? What \nhad Joe Cottrell been up to? Had he forgotten or ignored \nhis promise to do something for a hopeful aspirant? \n\nProbably. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou chump!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol reviled himself again. \xe2\x80\x9cNow \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ll have to wait another two years.\xe2\x80\x9d Another two years \nof fretting impotence, of galling insignificance. \n\nBut at the pier a messenger boy presented a telegram. \nMcNicol tore it open eagerly, sentient of the rustling of \nwings. \n\nNominated for mayor by Republican city convention this \nmorning. Hearty congratulations. Your triumph at the polls \nin November is assured. \n\nCottrell. \n\nAfter one instant of suffocating rapture, the anointed \nhero handed the message to Lessie, with elaborate care\xc2\xac \nlessness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy, my! Now that\xe2\x80\x99s red nice, pa\xe2\x80\x94ain\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, his brow already clouded with disinclination, \nunburdened himself of a statesmanlike utterance: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t want to be mayor,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir; \n\n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n301 \n\nnot a speck. But no man has the right to refuse the call \nof the people.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd intuitively he thrust his right hand inside the lapel \nof his coat, with precisely the adequate gesture. \n\nn \n\nEach of the morning papers, he found upon his arrival \nin Detroit next morning, carried a two-column photograph \nof him and long accounts of the convention. But greatly \nto his surprise, there was no delegation at the station to \nmeet him. He had sat up most of the night on the train, \npreparing his statement of acceptance for delivery to a \ncrowd of hurrahing partisans. Perhaps there would be a \nband and a triumphal parade through the downtown \nstreets. But no one appeared save Artemas Bigelow and \ntwo reporters. \n\nMcNicol, slightly relieved as well as disappointed, was \nabout to read his oration to the gentlemen of the press, \nwhen Bigelow intervened. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCall at my office this noon,\xe2\x80\x9d he said tersely, without \neven consulting the candidate. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll have a statement \nready by then.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTo his slightly nettled client, he vouchsafed: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo sense in reading anything to those chaps. They \naren\xe2\x80\x99t shorthand reporters; they\xe2\x80\x99d just get the thing all \ngarbled. Better give each one a typewritten copy\xe2\x80\x94then \nthere\xe2\x80\x99s no chance of misquotation. Besides, now that \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re a public figure, it\xe2\x80\x99s best to be very cautious about \nwdiat you say.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt his office, he deigned to read McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s speech: \n\nMy Fellow Citizens: \n\nIn accepting the Republican nomination for mayor of this \ngreat city of ours, I feel little personal pride, but on the con\xc2\xac \ntrary, a feeling of the greatest responsibility. This is an impor- \n\n\n3 02 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ntant crisis in the history of Detroit. The great Republican \nparty can point with pride to the record of its great mayor, \nHazen S. Pingree, and the question now before us is whether \nwe shall go forward in his illustrious footsteps or turn back \nto the corrupt leadership of the Democratic party. \n\nIt is for you to decide, my fellow citizens. So far as I am \nconcerned, the office has sought the man. I shall make no \ncampaign. I will have no machine. If I am elected I shall \nbe free of all boss rule and my only object will be to serve \nthe people of this great city. Also, if elected, I shall serve \nbut one term, because I cannot help but feel that it is a dan\xc2\xac \ngerous thing for one man to hold the same office too long. \n\nFellow citizens, this great question rests with you. Let the \npeople choose. \n\nMcNicol strove to conceal his pride. \xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94that all \nright?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot bad.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow looked puzzled. \xe2\x80\x9cWho wrote it \nfor you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI wrote it myself,\xe2\x80\x9d the candidate averred, with heat. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I guess it \xe2\x80\x99ll do.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow gave the statement \nto one of his stenographers for transcription. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s short, \nanyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd now,\xe2\x80\x9d quoth McNicol, \xe2\x80\x9ctell me just how it hap\xc2\xac \npened.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGod knows! The convention met two days ago with\xc2\xac \nout any particular candidate in view, according to the \npapers. Your name began to be mentioned all of a sudden, \nand, lo and behold! you went through on the first ballot. \nNobody seems to know how your boom got started. \nHere\xe2\x80\x99s what one of last night\xe2\x80\x99s papers said.\xe2\x80\x9d He picked \nup a clipping. \xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98The explanation of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s unfore\xc2\xac \nseen nomination, according to those on the inside, was \nthat the Republican treasury was low and some candidate \nwhose leg could be pulled was needed. Boss Cottrell \ncast his eagle eye over the town and picked out McNicol \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n303 \n\nas the sacrificial lamb, he being out of town and unable \nto protest.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe lamb betrayed some apprehension. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat paper \nsaid that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe Herald .\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut that\xe2\x80\x99s Democratic, ain\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure thing. That\xe2\x80\x99s the sort of stuff the Herald\xe2\x80\x99s going \nto print about you every day from now on till election.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what they say don\xe2\x80\x99t count! They\xe2\x80\x99re a-workin\xe2\x80\x99 \nfor the other side. By the way, who the Democrats got \nup against me?\xe2\x80\x9d It was the first time he had thought \nto ask. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJim Pettit.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow divulged the name gloomily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPettit? Who\xe2\x80\x99s Pettit?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t know who Jim Pettit is!\xe2\x80\x9d The attorney stared \npityingly. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I\xe2\x80\x99ll tell you. Jim Pettit is at present an \nalderman from the first ward. Been in the Council ten \nyears, in politics twenty. Record, pretty fair\xe2\x80\x94at least \nthere\xe2\x80\x99s nothing definite against him. Known to every \npolitician in town by his first name. A wire puller and \nfence builder from the word go. Protestant, Mason\xe2\x80\x94but \npopular with the Catholics.\xe2\x80\x9d He broke off from his \nresume. \xe2\x80\x9cNot know Jim Pettit? Well, my boy, you\xe2\x80\x99ll \nknow him by November fifth, and you\xe2\x80\x99ll know you\xe2\x80\x99ve been \nin a good scrap, too.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I guess I can look after Mister Pettit, all right.\xe2\x80\x9d \nSecretly, McNicol did not take kindly to his attorney\xe2\x80\x99s \nintimations. \xe2\x80\x9cBut mebbe I better go have a talk with \nCottrell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood idea,\xe2\x80\x9d agreed Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t mix \nwith him too much.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to. Cottrell nor nobody else is goin\xe2\x80\x99 to \nrun me. I\xe2\x80\x99m absolutely independent.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStill, seeing it was Cottrell who nominated you, don\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou think he\xe2\x80\x99ll expect some say?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n304 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t make no difference what he expects.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol \narose with traces of annoyance. \xe2\x80\x9cAll the same, mebbe \nhe can give me a few pointers.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nArtemas Bigelow still scrutinized his friend with an \nodd sadness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cUnderstand, Mac: if you go into this thing, I\xe2\x80\x99m going \nwith you just as strong as I can. But, seriously, hadn\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou better think things over? You\xe2\x80\x99re getting mixed up in \na filthy business. You\xe2\x80\x99re playing a game you don\xe2\x80\x99t know \nthe rules of. And what will you get out of it even if \nyou do win? You don\xe2\x80\x99t honestly give a damn about the \ndear people; you feel just as I do\xe2\x80\x94that men of brains \nand character pull themselves out of the mass, just as \nyou and I\xe2\x80\x99ve had to do; the others, the majority who never \nget out of the mud, are weaklings and quitters who don\xe2\x80\x99t \ncount and whom nobody can help, anyway. \xe2\x80\x98The dear \npeople!\xe2\x80\x99 For God\xe2\x80\x99s sake, don\xe2\x80\x99t spend your life truckling \nfor votes. Politics is just a game for alternately tickling \nand hornswoggling the rabble. There\xe2\x80\x99d be no satisfac\xc2\xac \ntion in that sport for an individual of your capacity.\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe spoke supplicatingly. \xe2\x80\x9cMy advice is\xe2\x80\x94stay out; de\xc2\xac \ncline the nomination.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTo McNicol this tirade seemed nothing but a personal \naffront to his own ambitions. \xe2\x80\x9cPolitics may be like that \nto other men,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced, curtly, with lofty emphasis. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut to me it is an opportunity to serve my fellow \ncitizens.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn high dudgeon, he stalked out, and made his way to \nJoe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s sample room. \n\nAs he turned in toward the door, he beheld the boss on \nthe other side of the glass panel. His face lighted up, \nand he was about to enter the saloon when he observed \nthat Cottrell was shaking his head emphatically and ges\xc2\xac \nturing him on his way. Considerably mystified, he walked \nslowly along Gratiot A 1 venue, and in a moment found him- \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n305 \n\nself overtaken by a youth whom he vaguely identified \nas the clerk of the cigar stand. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome around the back way!\xe2\x80\x9d his conductor pre\xc2\xac \nscribed; then led him through an alley and up a dark \nstaircase into the private office. \n\nCottrell came in presently, closed and locked the door, \nstill with his alarming air of imminent danger. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s a Herald reporter downstairs,\xe2\x80\x9d he explained. \nThen abruptly his arid face was transfigured by a naive \nand simple pleasure; he grasped his visitor\xe2\x80\x99s hand in a \nsoft warm embrace. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCongratulations! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol perceived that Cottrell had never before in \nhis life been so delighted; his own heart warmed in re\xc2\xac \nsponse. Here was appreciation, here was appropriate \nhomage. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to thank vou-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot at all!\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell expostulated. \xe2\x80\x9cAll I did was to \nsuggest your name. The delegates did the rest. The \nparty is fortunate to have such a leader as you. My only \nregret is that we couldn\xe2\x80\x99t have offered you something \nbigger\xe2\x80\x94but there\xe2\x80\x99s time enough for that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA faint remnant of Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s poisonous doubt \nlingered in McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s mind. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou think I\xe2\x80\x99ll be elected?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe boss almost laughed. \xe2\x80\x9cElected? Why, it\xe2\x80\x99s a \ncinch!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSomebody was tellin\xe2\x80\x99 me this Jim Pettit would be \npretty hard to beat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy friend, somebody\xe2\x80\x99s going to be telling you that \nten times every day. Each afternoon the Herald will say \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re licked; and each morning the Sun will repeat it. \nTake my tip and don\xe2\x80\x99t waste time on what the quitters \nsay\xe2\x80\x94or the Democrats.\xe2\x80\x9d He touched the candidate\xe2\x80\x99s knee \nconfidentially, but an odd, intimidating pin point of light \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n306 \n\nglinted from his eye. He even permitted himself one of \nhis rare oaths. \xe2\x80\x9cChrist! You could beat Pettit to a \nfrazzle even in an off year. But this is a presidential year. \nMcKinley will carry Detroit by ten thousand votes. Pin- \ngree, by twenty thousand. Figure what that means to \nyou\xe2\x80\x94on the same ticket. You could drop five thousand \nRepublican votes and still win. But you won\xe2\x80\x99t; you\xe2\x80\x99ll \nrun even with the rest of the ticket, at least.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOf course! How absurdly simple! But you couldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nexpect an amateur like Artemas Bigelow to think of things \nlike that. \n\nCottrell felicitated his visitor, also, upon the letter of \nacceptance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine! Shows you\xe2\x80\x99re a born campaigner. That stuff \nabout being free from all boss rule had exactly the right \nring.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was embarrassed. It w r as a rather delicate \nsituation; he did not want to offend Cottrell, yet he fully \npurposed being his own master in office. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCourse that don\xe2\x80\x99t mean I won\xe2\x80\x99t listen to good advice,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe began, lamely. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo; you\xe2\x80\x99re perfectly right. You\xe2\x80\x99ve got to paddle your \nown canoe.\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell solved the difficulty and doubled \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s gratitude by his graceful self-effacement. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNow listen, Mac. You must steer clear of me from now \non. If that Herald reporter had caught you in my saloon, \nor if anybody knew we two were in this room conferring \ntogether, you\xe2\x80\x99d stand to lose that five thousand votes. \nYou must not only stay away from me; you must attack \nme. It\xe2\x80\x99s always sure-fire stuff to sail into the boss.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nsmiled craftily. \n\nThe candidate\xe2\x80\x99s relief verged into anxiety. \xe2\x80\x9cBut how \n\xe2\x80\x99ll I know what t\xe2\x80\x99 do? I ain\xe2\x80\x99t had no experience in makin\xe2\x80\x99 \ncampaigns.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t make any campaign!\xe2\x80\x9d The points of light re- \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n307 \n\n\nglinted. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s what you promise in your letter of \nacceptance. And why should you, when you\xe2\x80\x99re just going \nto be rolled into office on the Republican band wagon? \nIt\xe2\x80\x99s all right, of course, to open headquarters, and keep \nmoving around. In a pinch, you can always get in touch \nwith me through some go-between. Meantime, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be \nworking for you every minute, and so will all the boys.\xe2\x80\x9d \nHe paused. \xe2\x80\x9cNow one thing more: the campaign \ntreasury.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis topic was scarcely so agreeable; yet when McNicol \nstole out through the alley door of the saloon fifteen min\xc2\xac \nutes later, after having engaged to contribute ten thousand \ndollars toward swelling the sinews of war\xe2\x80\x94for one cannot \nmeet generosity with niggardliness!\xe2\x80\x94he was still buoyed \nup by the certitude of easy victory. \n\nHe could even say to himself: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA right fine fellow, Cottrell\xe2\x80\x94offerin\xe2\x80\x99 to step outa the \nway for me like that!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nhi \n\nAs he rode up Woodward Avenue one morning some two \nweeks later, and at length reached the contiguous areas \nin front of the City Hall, McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s eyes, as usual, sought \nout the brick fagade of the Temple Theater building. \nEach morning he had the same sense of unreality until he \nreached this vantage point. Then swift reassurance always \nvisited him. \n\nOn the facade was displayed an enormous canvas sign \nin red and black. \n\n\nFOR MAYOR \n|X] WELLINGTON D. McNICOL \n\n\nThe People\xe2\x80\x99s Choice \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n308 \n\nAt this particular moment a crew of workmen were \nengaged in suspending a second sign, under the first. \nMcNicol dismissed his carriage and stood in the triangular \nplot of ground across the street from the theater building, \nwatching the proceeding with ingenuous enchantment. \n\nThe second sign, somewhat less heroic than its prede\xc2\xac \ncessor, slowly swung into place, so that he could scan its \nimport. At the left it bore an imposing picture of himself; \non the right, the announcement: \n\nHeadquarters \n\nMcNICOL-FOR-MAYOR CLUB \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Jiminy\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s the ticket!\xe2\x80\x9d escaped involuntarily \nfrom his lips. Now more than ever he was proud of his \nsagacity in engaging the suite of rooms in the theater \nbuilding, with its enormous facilities for outdoor adver\xc2\xac \ntising. Then quickly he glanced around at the other \nstructures that hemmed in the City Hall and Campus Mar- \ntius, as if fearful that the night might have brought some \nnew rivalry. But, no! Pictures of McKinley and Bryan, \nand of Pingree, were visible at intervals\xe2\x80\x94none so large \nas his; and on the Hammond Building, diagonally across \nthe area from where he stood, still hung the pitifully \ndiminutive, already weather-beaten display-sign: \n\nVOTE FOR JAS. PETTIT FOR MAYOR \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPooh!\xe2\x80\x9d he scoffed, and continued on his way to the \ntheater building. \n\nThe McNicol headquarters consisted of one immense \nroom, furnished with bare-looking chairs and tables, a \ntelephone, a typewriter, vast stacks of pamphlets contain\xc2\xac \ning the standard bearer\xe2\x80\x99s photograph and letter of accept\xc2\xac \nance, and in one corner his desk. He had seriously con\xc2\xac \nsidered partitioning off a private room for himself, but \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n309 \n\n\nhad discarded the idea as undemocratic. There should be \nno favoritism here, he determined; no back doors for poli\xc2\xac \nticians to creep in and out of; everything must be in the \nopen. Rich and poor, the powerful and the humble, stood \non an equal footing here, at least. There was no secre\xc2\xac \ntary, no campaign manager, to stand between the people \nand their candidate. McNicol himself was spending ten \nhours a day in the place, so that all who desired might \nhave his ear. \n\nThis particular morning he found Ellen Foss awaiting \nhim by appointment. There w r as also an unknown male \nperson with hangdog eyes. McNicol ascertained from the \ngirl stenographer that the latter had arrived first; there\xc2\xac \nfore, with his new and godlike impartiality, he prescribed \nthat Ellen must bide her turn. \n\nThe hangdog male was not an entirely prepossessing \nperson: he had not shaved recently, his eyes were muddy, \nand when he leaned confidentially close McNicol perforce \ninhaled the strong fumes of bad whisky. \n\nThe stranger divulged his name. \xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t know me,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe announced, redundantly, \xe2\x80\x9cbut I been a great admirer \nof yours for many years. Seen you in the parade on\xe2\x80\x94 \nlet\xe2\x80\x99s see, was it the Fourth of July?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDecoration Day.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure enough. Well, Mr. McNicol, you don\xe2\x80\x99t know \nit, but I been workin\xe2\x80\x99 mighty hard f\xe2\x80\x99r you over in the \nthird ward, first precinct\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 I know every voter down \nthere. Ask anybody y\xe2\x80\x99 meet who Frankie is, and they\xe2\x80\x99ll \ntell y\xe2\x80\x99. I want t\xe2\x80\x99 see you elected; you\xe2\x80\x99re the kind of a \nmayor this city needs.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank you,\xe2\x80\x9d said the candidate with becoming mod\xc2\xac \nesty. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo I want t\xe2\x80\x99 organize a little club f\xe2\x80\x99r you\xe2\x80\x94get up a big \ncelebration an\xe2\x80\x99 have you make a speech. Now, of course, \nI don\xe2\x80\x99t want a cent f\xe2\x80\x99r myself, y\xe2\x80\x99 understan\xe2\x80\x99, an\xe2\x80\x99 if I had \n\n\n3io \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthe money I\xe2\x80\x99d pay f\xe2\x80\x99r the whole thing outa my own pocket \nAs it is, I\xe2\x80\x99m givin\xe2\x80\x99 my time free gratis. I thought mebbe \nyou might feel like helpin\xe2\x80\x99 the club out on the expense.\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nMcNicol was in a quandary. He was publicly com\xc2\xac \nmitted against the use of money in his campaign, and he \nhad flatly refused thus far to respond to begging letters \nand personal appeals for loans. But this case of Frankie \nseemed rather different. True, he had a dubious look; \nyet he seemed sincere in his esteem and he was willing to \ncontribute his own services free of charge. What could \nbe fairer? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow much will the club be needin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe petitioner gauged his victim expertly. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, say \nfifty dollars?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right,\xe2\x80\x9d acquiesced McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cBut mind you, I \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t want one penny of the money spent in saloons.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn saloons!\xe2\x80\x9d Frankie was offended, obviously. \xe2\x80\x9cCer- \nt\xe2\x80\x99nly not! Stationery, rent, an\xe2\x80\x99 things like that. If they\xe2\x80\x99s \nanything left over, I\xe2\x80\x99ll bring it back, so help me God!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere!\xe2\x80\x9d said the bounteous provider. \xe2\x80\x9cAn\xe2\x80\x99 help your\xc2\xac \nself to them pamphlets.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThanks. You just watch the first of the third on \nelection day. Won\xe2\x80\x99t be one vote against you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEllen Foss approached the throne with a quizzical smile. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd how does it feel to be famous?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was a little afraid of her banter, as always. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m \nnot thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 of fame. I\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 of my heavy respon\xc2\xac \nsibility to my fellow citizens.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell,\xe2\x80\x9d she smiled, \xe2\x80\x9cI only wish I had a vote.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, no\xe2\x80\x94politics ain\xe2\x80\x99t no place for a woman,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nhastened, gallantly. \xe2\x80\x9cShe don\xe2\x80\x99t want to mix in such \nthings. It\xe2\x80\x99s her duty to stay on a higher plane, to be an \ninspiration for some man.\xe2\x80\x9d His face clouded. \xe2\x80\x9cBut it \nwas about Mary I wanted to talk to you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe showed Ellen an article in the Sun which dealt half \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n311 \n\nhumorously with one of his daughter\xe2\x80\x99s police-court ven- \nturings on behalf of some first offender; the article con\xc2\xac \ncluded with a pointed reference to the fact that she was \nthe Republican candidate\xe2\x80\x99s daughter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThis sort of thing\xe2\x80\x99s hurtin\xe2\x80\x99 me. And it don\'t look \nright for Mary to be livin\xe2\x80\x99 away from home; that\xe2\x80\x99s what \nthey\xe2\x80\x99ll be findin\xe2\x80\x99 out next. I want to ask you if you can\xe2\x80\x99t \nget her to stop her foolishness an\xe2\x80\x99 come back to the house.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEllen\xe2\x80\x99s levity vanished. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, as a matter of fact, I\xe2\x80\x99ve \nbeen urging her to do that very thing. I\xe2\x80\x99ve already ironed \nout one difficulty for you: I took her through the biologi\xc2\xac \ncal laboratory this summer and convinced her the animals \nwere treated humanely. The only sticking point now is \nthe girls\xe2\x80\x99 wages. As you know, she believes that immo\xc2\xac \nrality is largely a matter of economics.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe prudishness in him effected a deep magenta flush. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat right\xe2\x80\x99s a girl in her position even thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout \nsuch things?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEllen\xe2\x80\x99s tact was superlative. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe can\xe2\x80\x99t all see alike in all things,\xe2\x80\x9d she went on, \ngently. \xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t always agree with Mary; she\xe2\x80\x99s a bit too \nmuch of a radical for me; yet there\xe2\x80\x99s no finer girl on \nearth, and I often wish I had her courage. As far as the \nquestion of wages is concerned, you can do as you like\xe2\x80\x94 \nbut wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t the announcement in the papers of a raise in \npay help you politically?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI doubt it.\xe2\x80\x9d But he was impressed with the notion, \nand Ellen perceived the fact. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, if you do decide to increase the wages, let me \nknow,\xe2\x80\x9d she concluded. \xe2\x80\x9cMary, of course, must think \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re doing it of your own free will\xe2\x80\x94but I promise to get \nher back home in two days thereafter.\xe2\x80\x9d She glanced \naround and perceived there were others in the room. \n\xe2\x80\x9cGood-by and good luck.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n312 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nShe was as a benediction to McNicol; always she left \nhim inexplicably strengthened and exalted. \n\nIV \n\nThat particular forenoon was noteworthy, in that it \nbrought him his first renewal of self-doubt. Till to-day, \nhe had been projecting himself into this new sublime cru\xc2\xac \nsade heart and soul, with a certain fierce dispersal of en- \nergy\xe2\x80\x94yet all the time enveloped in the coma of conviction \nthat he was somehow invulnerable, that his elevation to \noffice was a mere formality. Now, however, for the next \nfew hours, his easy complacency was nibbled into by a \nseries of episodes, trifling in themselves, yet faintly dis\xc2\xac \nquieting as a whole. \n\nTo begin with, the gentlemen of the press. More spe\xc2\xac \ncifically, the political reporters of the afternoon papers, \nthe hostile Herald and the amicable Post. Two young \nchaps with alert eyes and rakish expressions, who would \nhave died rather than admit that life, particularly life\xe2\x80\x99s \nmore devious phases, still held any secrets from them. \n\nThey sought audience with McNicol each forenoon. \nEach forenoon he kept them waiting their regular turn. \nNo favoritism, even to the envoys of publicity. Besides, \nhe considered himself grievously slighted by the news\xc2\xac \npapers. Since the day following his nomination his name \nhad not once bedighted a front page. That species of \noblivion was to be anticipated from free-silver sheets like \nthe Herald and the Sun, but he had a right to expect \nmore honorable treatment from the Republican dailies\xe2\x80\x94 \nthe Post and the Globe. It did not much assuage his an\xc2\xac \nnoyance that the Democratic press was not featuring Jim \nPettit to any degree. All the papers seemed engrossed \nsolely with the national campaign; there was little space \nleft for the lilliputian combat in their own back yard. \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n313 \n\nThe two reporters at length progressed to his desk and \nproduced soft-leaded pencils and folded copy paper. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, gentlemen, what can I do for you this morning?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou can give us a good story.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood story?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNews. News. Something with guts in it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was puzzled. \xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94the only thing I can tell \nyou is that everything is goin\xe2\x80\x99 fine, and all indications \npoint to my election by the overwhelmin\xe2\x80\x99 demand of my \nfellow citizens.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA further proof of the conspiracy of silence against \nhim: the newspaper men did not even make a note of his \nconfident pronouncement. Instead, they looked bored \nand discouraged. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xe2\x80\x99s happening? What issue are you banking \non? What\xe2\x80\x99s all the row about?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGentlemen,\xe2\x80\x9d he responded, acidly, \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve already told \nyou I intend t\xe2\x80\x99 make no campaign f\xe2\x80\x99r office. The people \ndo not have to be coaxed to vote for me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt this, McNicol threw back his coat front and thereby \nexposed to view a row of cigars protruding from his vest \npocket. The reporters displayed sudden interest. One \nof these fragrant Havanas he extracted and eyed thought\xc2\xac \nfully. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou might say that the McNicol-for-Mayor Club is \nholdin\xe2\x80\x99 a large and enthusiastic meetin\xe2\x80\x99 here this noon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWith that he bit off the end of the cigar and inserted \nit between his teeth, then fumbled in his pockets. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAin\xe2\x80\x99t either you boys got a match \xe2\x80\x99bout you, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe press minions wilted back into their chairs with \na renewal of pessimism regarding human generosity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh yes,\xe2\x80\x9d recollected the apostle of political purity, be\xc2\xac \ntween exhalations of fragrant tobacco smoke. \xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s \nsomething else for you.\xe2\x80\x9d This with an air of throwing \nscraps to a pair of hungry dogs. \xe2\x80\x9cMcNicol & Company \n\n\n3i4 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhave decided to raise the wages of their workin\xe2\x80\x99 girls from \nthree to four dollars a week, without any increase of \nhours.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe telephone rang. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMcNicol there?\xe2\x80\x9d reverberated a masculine bellow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHim speakin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, this is Leo Toole, foreman at the Wolverine Stove \nWorks. We was goin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 have Jim Pettit out here for a \nnoon meeting t\xe2\x80\x99day, but he\xe2\x80\x99s sick. The committee wants \nt\xe2\x80\x99 know if you\xe2\x80\x99d come instead. Make a little talk t\xe2\x80\x99 the \nboys, see? Swing a few votes your way.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI understand.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was not entirely pleased to \nact as a substitute for his rival, but he perceived his duty. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI am always glad to address my fellow citizens, Mr. \nToole\xe2\x80\x94but of course I don\xe2\x80\x99t claim t\xe2\x80\x99 be no speech maker.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou ain\xe2\x80\x99t?\xe2\x80\x9d The modest disclaimer seemed to give \nMr. Toole pause. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, come along, anyhow. I guess \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ll be better \xe2\x80\x99n nothin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI said, you\xe2\x80\x99ll be better \xe2\x80\x99n\xe2\x80\x94no, forget that part! My \nmistake.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol blew another cloud of cigar smoke into the re\xc2\xac \nporters\xe2\x80\x99 faces and acquainted them with Mr. Toole\xe2\x80\x99s in\xc2\xac \nvitation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess that\xe2\x80\x99s all,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, with a sense of having re\xc2\xac \nsponded amply to their needs. \xe2\x80\x9cReckon that \xe2\x80\x99ll do for \nme, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re quite right,\xe2\x80\x9d said the Post representative, with \npeculiar emphasis. \xe2\x80\x9cIt will do for you, so far\xe2\x80\x99s I\xe2\x80\x99m \nconcerned.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnother vaguely disconcerting manifestation concerned \nthe nature of the interviews from that moment on until \nhe left his headquarters to go to the noon meeting. Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol was sought out by some twelve persons, and of these \nall but two proved to be counterparts of Frankie\xe2\x80\x94not a \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n3*S \n\nlittle down-at-the-heel, but, like their prototype, fired with \nholy zeal for the Republican leader. Each one had some \nprecinct in his pocket, so to speak. Each one was pro\xc2\xac \nmoting a McNicol club, and, although eager to give his \nown services without pay, confessed himself distressingly \nunable to finance the club\xe2\x80\x99s legitimate expenses. The sole \ndivergence occurred in the estimate of the required sub\xc2\xac \nvention: the first organizer suggested seventy-five dol\xc2\xac \nlars, instead of Frankie\xe2\x80\x99s fifty\xe2\x80\x94and McNicol agreed; the \nsecond thought one hundred dollars might do. When the \npeople\xe2\x80\x99s choice balked on paying the third politician one \nhundred and twenty-five dollars and induced him to be \ncontent with an even hundred, the standard scale seemed \nto have been set; and thereafter, by odd coincidence, all \nthe subsequent devotees tendered uniform budgets of one \nhundred dollars each. More curious still, Frankie him\xc2\xac \nself reappeared just at noon, and on the theory of over\xc2\xac \nlooked items, reluctantly sued for a second fifty dollars. \n\nThe noon rally, too, left a saline residue in his con\xc2\xac \nsciousness. Not that the audience was meager: five hun\xc2\xac \ndred smeary-faced stove workers were herded together \ninto an inclosed yard. Not that Mr. Leo Toole failed to \nintroduce him with a eulogy that was honest, if rough. \nNot that there were lacking some indications of a high \ndegree of success: the Rev. Ronald Beemish\xe2\x80\x94his Metho\xc2\xac \ndist minister, also president of the McNicol-for-Mayor \nClub\xe2\x80\x94who accompanied him and sat with him on the \nplatform, assured McNicol he had scored a great triumph. \n\nThe great difficulty seemed to be that he was, as he had \nwarned Mr. Toole, no speech maker. He had had no \ntime to write out a suitable oration. Even so, he was \ngenuinely perplexed and even grieved by the mulish \napathy of his audience, the occasional spindrift of mock\xc2\xac \ning laughter blown off the crowd\xe2\x80\x99s surface into his face. \n\nFor he had not done so badly, he felt, everything con- \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n316 \n\nsidered. Certainly he had been guilty of no high-flown \nairs. No one, in fact, could possibly have been more \ncharitable toward the sooty rabble. Yes, he had gone \nso far as to assure these brutalized creatures that they \nwere as good as he, to encourage them to take an interest \nin politics. He had even called them, \xe2\x80\x9cfellow citizens\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 \n\xe2\x80\x94not once, but a dozen times. In short, from first to \nlast, he had done his best to put them at their ease. \n\nv \n\nHe felt decidedly more cheerful when he and the \nReverend Beemish returned to headquarters and he was \nacclaimed rapturously by the McNicol-for-Mayor Club. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThree cheers for our next mayor!\xe2\x80\x9d exhorted Reverend \nBeemish. \n\nThe club scrambled to its feet and articulated its death\xc2\xac \nless fealty. Several members gave the Chautauqua \nsalute. \n\nLest it be feared that in sanctioning this organization, \nMcNicol had violated his pledge to conduct no active cam\xc2\xac \npaign, it should be stated at once that the McNicol-for- \nMayor Club had formed itself, quite spontaneously and \nwithout the help or knowledge of its patron saint. He \nwas not even a member. Reverend Beemish it was who \nhad conceived the brilliant idea. The occasion seemed \nripe for a few of the best citizens of the city to take an \nactive part in municipal government; to unite themselves \ninto one compact phalanx to defeat the corrupt element \nand to carry the real champion of the people into office \ntriumphantly. \n\nHe epitomized the club in addressing its members at \nthis, the first meeting, in the following apt phrase: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA mighty gathering together of the Forces of Right\xc2\xac \neousness.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n3 i 7 \n\n\nIn describing the organization as \xe2\x80\x9cmighty\xe2\x80\x9d he was \nmeasuring its intensity, not its bulk. For thus far, the \nClub had but ten members, selected for the most part by \nthe Reverend Beemish. There were two other divines\xe2\x80\x94 \none Baptist, one Congregational\xe2\x80\x94just to indicate to the \nworld that the organization was not narrow-minded. Two \nphysicians, also, and two G. A. R. veterans\xe2\x80\x94to give \nproper accent to the candidate\xe2\x80\x99s war record. A high-school \nteacher, a retired insurance man\xe2\x80\x94and Artemas Bigelow. \n\nMcNicol, in answer to unanimous insistence, delivered \na brief speech, in which he set forth the purity of his \nown motives, as well as those of his hearers, and ventured \nto predict a brighter future for municipal affairs. The \nclub listened much more respectfully than had the stove \nworkers. \n\nAt the end, he intimated that inasmuch as he was not \na member of the organization, it would be more delicate \nfor him to retire from the assemblage at this point and \nleave it to its own deliberations. This suggestion pre\xc2\xac \ncipitated a lively dispute. There were cries of, \xe2\x80\x9cNo, \nno!\xe2\x80\x9d; and it was decided after fifteen minutes that he \nshould remain during the first meeting, at least. \n\nThe members all agreed that his election was assured; \nthe talk was most informal and everybody was having a \nthoroughly pleasant time, when Artemas Bigelow, who \nhad thus far taken no part in the symposium, interjected \nan uncivil inquiry: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what are we actually going to do?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA slight resentment emanated from the club, and they \nall fidgeted uncertainly a moment. Then one of the doc\xc2\xac \ntors spoke up: \xe2\x80\x9cNot much necessity of doing anything, \nis there, with the outcome so certain?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThen,\xe2\x80\x9d demanded Bigelow, \xe2\x80\x9cwhat\xe2\x80\x99s the function of \n\nthis organization?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n318 \n\nThere was adding insult to injury, obviously. But the \nReverend Beemish could take punishment manfully. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s something in what our friend says. We must \nbe doers, not mere talkers. We must swell our chieftain\xe2\x80\x99s \nvictory into a tidal wave of godliness.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow was not satisfied. \xe2\x80\x9cAs a matter of fact, we \naren\xe2\x80\x99t sure of electing McNicol. Nothing is certain in \npolitics. We\xe2\x80\x99ve got to work day and night\xe2\x80\x94take no \nchances.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe McNicol-for-Mayor Club was distressed, and \nshowed it. The candidate himself glowered unamiably at \nhis attorney. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what\xe2\x80\x99s your program?\xe2\x80\x9d he demanded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOrganization. Publicity. Pettit is doing a lot of \nquiet, effective hustling\xe2\x80\x94getting all the machine precincts \nlined up. The intelligent vote is our hope, but it\xe2\x80\x99s asleep. \nWe\xe2\x80\x99ve got to wake it up.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPresident Beemish coughed deprecatingly. \xe2\x80\x9cWhile I \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t wholly agree with Mr. Bigelow, I think we ought to \nplan something. The only question is\xe2\x80\x94just what?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was a point not a soul had thought about. None \nof them, in fact, had ever essayed politics before. Prac\xc2\xac \ntical expedients somehow refused to descend from the \nheavens. \n\nHow did one go about it to elect a mayor, anyway? \n\nThe school teacher had an inspiration: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy can\xe2\x80\x99t we distribute those pamphlets?\xe2\x80\x9d He in\xc2\xac \ndicated the stacks of literature piled everywhere about the \nroom. \xe2\x80\x9cI mean\xe2\x80\x94actually stand on the street corners and \nhand \xe2\x80\x99em out. Or leave them on the doorsteps through\xc2\xac \nout the city.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey fell upon the suggestion with fervor. The very \nthing\xe2\x80\x94a direct appeal to the voters. But when Bigelow \ntook out his pencil and began to make a schedule of pre\xc2\xac \ncisely what hours each member could give to the work, \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n3 i 9 \n\n\nunforeseen complications developed. For everyone pro\xc2\xac \nfessed himself a busy man, especially at this time; willing \nto snatch time to attend meetings, eager to do everything \nhe could, of course; but not able to state definitely just \nwhat period of the day he could devote to peddling cam\xc2\xac \npaign booklets. \n\nBigelow put his pencil back with a sardonic smile. \n\nReverend Beemish made a sensible suggestion: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI shouldn\xe2\x80\x99t be surprised if we were all just a little \nunprepared, as yet; but, now that we have met together \nand glimpsed our problems, I\xe2\x80\x99m sure we shall all go home \nand think seriously about their solution, with God\xe2\x80\x99s gra\xc2\xac \ncious help. Suppose we adjourn now, to meet again on \nFriday.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe club dispersed with avidity. It was after half \npast one, anyway, and most of the zealots had not lunched \nas yet. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cComing, Welly?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired that trouble maker, Arte- \nmas Bigelow. \n\nMcNicol shook his head. He was low spirited enough \nalready, without listening to the attorney\xe2\x80\x99s skeptical \nthrusts another hour or two. \n\nStill further affliction impended, nevertheless. The \ntelephone rang at that instant, and he was acquainted \nwith the depressing news that John had just suffered a \nsevere stroke. \n\nWhen he reached home, twenty minutes later, the worst \nwas over. He found his son in an armchair in his bed\xc2\xac \nroom, still partly unconscious, his head collapsed forward \non his knees, his right index finger meticulously tracing \nimaginary figure-eights around his shoe tops, with a \ndogged and terrible incessancy\xe2\x80\x94as if that ritual alone had \npower to deliver him from the demon-ridden blackness \nof imbecility. \n\n\n320 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing that \nthe dangerous phase of the stroke had passed. \n\nIt was Beatrice, her piquant mouth and nose still quiv\xc2\xac \nering with anger, her eyes still sparkling with the tears \nof humiliation, who took him into another room and har\xc2\xac \nrowed him with a recital of what had happened. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook!\xe2\x80\x9d she cried, and pointed through a window to \nthe half dozen loiterers still grouped on the sidewalk be\xc2\xac \nfore the Mausoleum in postures of elaborate unconcern. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d Uncomprehending, he saw one of the strag\xc2\xac \nglers point down to the grass alongside the stone walk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s where he had his fit,\xe2\x80\x9d she burst out. \xe2\x80\x9cRight \nin front of the house! With fifty people fighting each \nother for a look at him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was appalled. Always heretofore John had had the \ngrace to be stricken while within the privacy of his home. \nThis present performance in public was what they had all \nbeen dreading for years. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI was the only one here,\xe2\x80\x9d Bee sobbed, hysterically. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI had to go out there all alone and get them to carry \nJohn in. Oh, it was terrible! The beasts! They all \nstared so, just as if it were a mad dog; and some of them \nwere making fun of John. And, oh\xe2\x80\x94he looked so \nghastly, so vile!\xe2\x80\x9d She turned upon him passionately. \xe2\x80\x9cI \ntold you this would happen some day. I warned you to \nget rid of him. And now you\xe2\x80\x99ve simply got to!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGet rid of him?\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated dazedly. \xe2\x80\x9cHow can I?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t care how! Send him away somewhere\xe2\x80\x94him \nand his filthy disease together!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe clinched the matter by voicing a salient aspect that \nhad the instant before suggested itself to McNicol with \nsickening cogency. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat chance d\xe2\x80\x99you think you\xe2\x80\x99ll have of being elected \nmayor, if people find out your son has fits all over the \nstreet?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n321 \n\n\nVI \n\nA fortnight later, on the evening of October first, Mc- \nNicol entered his son\xe2\x80\x99s bedroom briskly, with a factitious \nair of breezy cheerfulness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll packed?\xe2\x80\x9d he queried. \n\nJohn, a little pale from his two weeks\xe2\x80\x99 confinement, \nnodded morosely toward his closed suitcase. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to know where we\xe2\x80\x99re going?\xe2\x80\x9d He ceased his \nmonotonous rocking to and fro in the armchair. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI told you this morning\xe2\x80\x94to Chicago.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, but why am I being sent off this way?\xe2\x80\x9d And he \nrepeated the unanswerable question, \xe2\x80\x9cWhat have I done?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou haven\xe2\x80\x99t done anything,\xe2\x80\x9d reassured his father. \n\xe2\x80\x9cOnly you ain\xe2\x80\x99t very well, see? You\xe2\x80\x99re goin\xe2\x80\x99 to a\xe2\x80\x94a sort \nof hospital where you\xe2\x80\x99ll get better.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJohn shook his head stubbornly. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s wrong with \nme, anyway? I feel all right.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat was one of the distressing features of the case. \nHe was perfectly sane and normal ninety per cent of the \ntime. Naturally, he was not aware of his occasional \n\xe2\x80\x9cqueerness\xe2\x80\x9d; and his more serious strokes seemed to leave \nnot the slightest impress on his consciousness. \n\nMcNicol, not being wholly inhumane, sighed deeply, \nbut silently. The whole episode, in truth, had been a \nbitter Calvary for him. His initial plan had been to send \nJohn to his mother\xe2\x80\x99s house in Cartwright. There his son \ncould have as many fits as he chose, and it would concern \nno one. But wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t it? He had no small pride con\xc2\xac \ncerning his reputation in his home village. Then, too, \nthe thought of Cartwright somehow brought back the \npoignant boyhood memory of his own wretched captivity \non the Grizard farm. That sufficed to erase his mother\xe2\x80\x99s \nhouse as a possible refuge and to heighten his repugnance \nalmost to the point of giving up the entire project. Yet \n\n\n322 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nBeatrice had remained insistent; and she was quite right \nin a way, he felt. John would really be much better off \nin some institution where he could receive scientific care \n\xe2\x80\x94where, moreover, his condition might actually improve. \nBee it was who found out about the \xe2\x80\x9chome\xe2\x80\x9d for just such \ncases in a suburb of Chicago, and thereby dissevered the \nknotty problem. \n\nThere was a knock on the door, and a middle-aged, be\xc2\xac \nspectacled man with a reddish beard entered the room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94all ready, I see,\xe2\x80\x9d he observed, employing the \nsame soothingly optimistic inflection that McNicol him\xc2\xac \nself had affected. The superintendent of the \xe2\x80\x9chome,\xe2\x80\x9d \nthis, who had come to escort the new patient back with \nhim that night. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, sir\xe2\x80\x94every bit,\xe2\x80\x9d answered McNicol, participating \nin the conspiracy of jollity. \n\nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s eyes searched his prospective keeper\xe2\x80\x99s face, first \nwith mere uneasiness, then with acute apprehension. \nSuddenly he sprang up. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI won\xe2\x80\x99t go with him!\xe2\x80\x9d he cried, with anguish. \xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99ll \nmistreat me; he\xe2\x80\x99ll-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe superintendent was used to such unreasonable out\xc2\xac \nbursts. \xe2\x80\x9cThere, there, you\xe2\x80\x99re all right, John.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was an odd contortion to the man\xe2\x80\x99s mouth, Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol thought; and all at once he was visited by the ab\xc2\xac \nsurd conviction that something in the ofAcial\xe2\x80\x99s demeanor \nresembled Aleck Grizard\xe2\x80\x99s. Outlandish! The superin\xc2\xac \ntendent was a physician of good repute, he knew; and the \n\xe2\x80\x9chome\xe2\x80\x9d a well-managed and prosperous institution. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t be silly!\xe2\x80\x9d he told his son. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m goin\xe2\x80\x99 along \nwith you, ain\xe2\x80\x99t I? An\xe2\x80\x99 if you don\xe2\x80\x99t like the place, I prom\xc2\xac \nise you you don\xe2\x80\x99t have to stay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s answer was a look of such appealing gratitude \nthat McNicol sensed a sudden piercing twinge of com\xc2\xac \npunction. Perhaps, had the mood lasted, he might even \n\n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n323 \n\nnow have sent the superintendent back to Chicago empty- \nhanded. \n\nBut Beatrice entered the room, an expression of vir\xc2\xac \ntuous resignation on her handsome countenance, as if to \nsay, \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m more upset about poor John than anyone else, \nbut I\xe2\x80\x99ve done my duty.\xe2\x80\x9d She considered, indeed, that she \nwas practically saving the family\xe2\x80\x99s fortunes these days. \nHad she not postponed her return to school, most un\xc2\xac \nselfishly, just to see that her brother\xe2\x80\x99s case was properly \ndisposed of? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMr. Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s here,\xe2\x80\x9d she announced. \xe2\x80\x9cWants to \nknow if he can see you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nVII \n\nArtemas he discovered in a high degree of agitation, \nstriding back and forth in the library. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s up?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDespatches from the firing line, O Satrap!\xe2\x80\x9d The at\xc2\xac \ntorney\xe2\x80\x99s broad face relaxed somewhat into one of his pro\xc2\xac \nvoking smiles. \n\nMcNicol instantly knew that Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s tidings con\xc2\xac \ncerned the political situation\xe2\x80\x94and further, that the news, \nwhatever it was, would be bad. That was Bigelow all \nover: not once had he encouraged his client; everybody \nelse continued to assure McNicol of his triumphant elec\xc2\xac \ntion, but not Bigelow. Always pessimism, always the \npossibility of defeat. \n\nTo record truly, the candidate himself was not quite \nso buoyant as he had been a fortnight ago. Not that his \nfriend\xe2\x80\x99s dour misgivings had appreciably shaken him. \nNot that there was any tangible trouble of any sort. The \nMcNicol-for-Mayor Club continued to meet with ever- \nincreasing emotional fervor, to convey its splendid loyalty \nand its messages of eloquent assurance to the great \n\n\n324 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nChieftain. Still, the club wasn\xe2\x80\x99t doing anything, as Bige\xc2\xac \nlow lost no opportunity of pointing out. And the coun\xc2\xac \nterparts of Frankie continued to inundate the people\xe2\x80\x99s \ngalliard with their proffers of generous, yet expensive, \nassistance. By now, there were at least forty precincts \nwhere he could count on unanimous support. \n\nHis sense of ineptitude had continued to gather force, \nnevertheless. Partly because of his worry about John, \nundoubtedly, but principally as the result of more relevant \ncauses. Those noon meetings, for example\xe2\x80\x94he had ad\xc2\xac \ndressed three more of them; and though in each instance \nhe had had time to prepare his remarks, there was no re\xc2\xac \nsisting the conclusion he had not been a success. The \nattitude of the newspapers, too\xe2\x80\x94they were giving him \nless space than ever; the Democratic organs predicted \nhis defeat with disquieting frequency; more surprising, \nthe Post and the Globe, his natural allies, which had been \nmerely apathetic before, now treated him quizzically, with \na faint tinge of ridicule. He could not understand it\xe2\x80\x94in \nfact, that was his constant sensation: he could understand \nalmost nothing of what was transpiring all about him. \nNow, more than ever, he felt as if he were playing blind \nman\xe2\x80\x99s buff\xe2\x80\x94and his were the eyes that were inextricably \nbandaged. \n\nWithin the last three days, moreover, there had come \na more specific source of misgiving. The morning Globe \nhad announced a \xe2\x80\x9cstraw vote\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94that is, each day its rep\xc2\xac \nresentatives were to go to a different ward of the city and \nthere circulate condensed ballots among a certain number \nof its electors. The Bryan papers scoffed at this pro\xc2\xac \ncedure, and predicted that the vote would be doctored; \nand though the Globe guaranteed that the count would be \nmade and published with strict honesty, it was fairly cer\xc2\xac \ntain that the various Republican candidates would not re\xc2\xac \nceive the worst of the deal. \n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n325 \n\n\nThe first two days\xe2\x80\x99 vote, taken respectively in the first \nand second wards\xe2\x80\x94admittedly \xe2\x80\x9csilk stocking\xe2\x80\x9d districts\xe2\x80\x94 \nhad been printed as follows: \n\nPresident Governor Mayor \n\nMcKinley, 223 Pingree, 239 McNicol, 187 \n\nBryan, 126 Sligh, no Pettit, 162 \n\nIt was of course not particularly pleasing to ascertain \nthat he was running a full 16 per cent behind the presi\xc2\xac \ndential candidate; but, as the Reverend Beemish pointed \nout, Jim Pettit resided in the first ward and had repre\xc2\xac \nsented it as alderman for many years; and it was fair to \nassume he would develop unusual strength there. \n\nThis morning had come the report from the third ward, \nnotoriously unregenerate in its ways: \n\n\nPresident \n\nTo-day Total \nMcKinley, 61 284 \n\nBryan, 109 235 \n\n\nGovernor \n\nTo-day Total \nPingree, 58 297 \n\nSligh, 112 222 \n\n\nMayor \n\nTo-day Total \n\nMcNicol, 54 241 \n\nPettit, 116 278 \n\n\nMcNicol was seriously disturbed by now, not because \nhe had anticipated a majority from the Democratic third \nward; but because he could see no reason for falling be\xc2\xac \nhind McKinley and Pingree. He was now the only Re\xc2\xac \npublican candidate who was trailing his rival on the three \ndays\xe2\x80\x99 showing. And where, oh, where was Frankie, who \nhad sworn to deliver every vote in the first of the third? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess the Globe must have skipped that one,\xe2\x80\x9d he re\xc2\xac \nflected, ruefully. \n\nSo disgusted was he that he conveyed a subterranean \nmessage to Joe Cottrell. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe says not t\xe2\x80\x99 worry about no straw vote,\xe2\x80\x9d reassured \nthe envoy, upon his return. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re goin\xe2\x80\x99 t\xe2\x80\x99 win by a \nlandslide.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n326 \n\nReverend Beemish also advised him to be of good cheer. \nThe fourth ward, normally Republican, was also the min\xc2\xac \nister\xe2\x80\x99s place of residence; he had done a great deal of \nwork among his neighbors, he said; and he predicted a \nmighty avalanche of Forces of Righteousness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll get three votes out of four,\xe2\x80\x9d he affirmed, with\xc2\xac \nout hesitation. \n\nAnd McNicol took heart again and waited eagerly. \n\nArtemas Bigelow, realizing this expectancy, had just \ntelephoned the Globe office. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s the fourth ward for you,\xe2\x80\x9d he cried, and without \ncomment handed his friend a sheet of paper inscribed \nwith pencil notations: \n\nPresident Governor Mayor \n\nTo-day Total To-day Total To-day Total \n\nMcKinley, 103 387 Pingree, 107 404 McNicol, 85 326 \n\nBryan, 70 305 Sligh, 66 288 Pettit, 88 366 \n\nMcNicol could not comprehend the figures for a mo\xc2\xac \nment\xe2\x80\x94then: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDamn it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cExactly,\xe2\x80\x9d said Artemas Bigelow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve went an\xe2\x80\x99 made some mistake.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo mistake, I fear. I repeated it back to the city \neditor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe anointed one blinked. \xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xe2\x80\x99s it mean?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt means,\xe2\x80\x9d interpreted the prophet of pessimism\xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x9cit means right now you\xe2\x80\x99re skunked.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe gold crown over one of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s bicuspids be\xc2\xac \ncame abruptly visible. \xe2\x80\x9cBut Joe Cottrell says-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cListen,\xe2\x80\x9d interrupted Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cYou may distrust my \npolitical opinions, but you surely must believe my cold \nfacts. I\xe2\x80\x99ve just come from a saloon on Congress Street, \nnot three blocks from here. Every saloon is a political \n\n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n327 \n\nheadquarters these days; that\xe2\x80\x99s why I stopped in at this \n\none\xe2\x80\x94to get a straight line on what\xe2\x80\x99s actually going on. \n\nLet me tell you what I saw. A gang of fifteen or twenty \n\nmen bunched together at one end of the bar. Drinking \n\nbeer, of course\xe2\x80\x94as fast as the barkeep could hand it out. \n\nOne fellow was buying the booze for the crowd. \xe2\x80\x98Come \n\non, boys,\xe2\x80\x99 he kept yelling. \xe2\x80\x98Let\xe2\x80\x99s have another on Mc- \n\nNicol.\xe2\x80\x99 And once he said: \xe2\x80\x98You bovs understand none of \n\n* \n\nthis money ain\xe2\x80\x99t goin\xe2\x80\x99t\xe2\x80\x99 be spent in no saloon.\xe2\x80\x99 I thought \nthey\xe2\x80\x99d all die laughing at that; and finally one lad \nshouted: \xe2\x80\x98T\xe2\x80\x99 hell with McNicol! Three cheers f\xe2\x80\x99r Jimmy \nPettit!\xe2\x80\x99 And they all cut loose.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nm/ \n\nThe nominee applied a handkerchief to his glistening \nforehead and seemed about to articulate. \n\nBut Bigelow was merciless. \xe2\x80\x9cAfter a while I bought \na couple of drinks for the other barkeep and asked him \nwhat it was all about. He said the boy with the money \nhad got it from you, but was spending it to make votes \nfor Pettit. The barkeep thought it was pretty funny him\xc2\xac \nself. I said, \xe2\x80\x98But somebody told me Joe Cottrell was out \nfor McNicol.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x98That\xe2\x80\x99s just what that blankety blank \nMcNicol thinks,\xe2\x80\x99 the barkeep said, and had another good \nlaugh. \xe2\x80\x98Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s double-crossed him, that\xe2\x80\x99s what.\xe2\x80\x99 Then \njust as I was leaving I asked him who was going to be \nelected. \xe2\x80\x98Pettit, by ten thousand. That Christer, Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol, ain\xe2\x80\x99t got no more chance than\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94 Well, I guess I \nwon\xe2\x80\x99t repeat his exact words.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe color mounted the Republican candidate\xe2\x80\x99s pendu\xc2\xac \nlous cheeks. \xe2\x80\x9cBy God!\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAs things stand now, you\xe2\x80\x99re licked,\xe2\x80\x9d said the attorney, \nphilosophically. \xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99ve got you trimmed forty ways, \nand they\xe2\x80\x99re splitting their sides because you\xe2\x80\x99re such an \neasy mark.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll show them who\xe2\x80\x99s an easy mark!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n328 \n\nBigelow\xe2\x80\x99s accents were deliberate. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, how will you \nshow them? What are you going to do about it, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicoPs fury seemed suddenly punctured and he \nfound himself staring in impotent bewilderment. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust one thing possible.\xe2\x80\x9d The lawyer answered his \nown question with convincing decisiveness. \xe2\x80\x9cGet some \none who knows the ropes to help you. We\xe2\x80\x99re all babes \nin the wood. We\xe2\x80\x99re amateurs. Ninnies! Rag chewers! \nAnd you\xe2\x80\x99re the shorn lamb, picked for the sacrificial knife. \nWe\xe2\x80\x99ve blundered long enough. Let\xe2\x80\x99s get hold of a pro\xc2\xac \nfessional! Some chap who\xe2\x80\x99s wise to the game.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe shorn lamb shook his head in helpless exasperation. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know nobody-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow caught his friend\xe2\x80\x99s arm. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I think I\xe2\x80\x99ve \ngot the right man lined up,\xe2\x80\x9d he disclosed, not without \npride in his astuteness. \xe2\x80\x9cPut on your hat and coat and \ncome down to my office. I\xe2\x80\x99ll phone him to be there.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhile McNicol was in the act of pulling on his fall \novercoat, he espied the superintendent of the Chicago \n\xe2\x80\x9chome\xe2\x80\x9d standing in the hallway, and at the sight he sud\xc2\xac \ndenly recalled his promise to his afflicted son to accom\xc2\xac \npany him to the institution. Recalled also that unfor- \ngetable look of pathetic trustfulness on John\xe2\x80\x99s face. \n\nArtemas Bigelow reappeared from the telephone booth. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI got him! He\xe2\x80\x99ll be there in half an hour.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFor another instant McNicol was torn between prac\xc2\xac \ntical necessity and mere sentiment. Then he approached \nthe red-bearded superintendent briskly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 with you,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \xe2\x80\x9cTell John impor\xc2\xac \ntant business\xe2\x80\x94I\xe2\x80\x99ll be over to see him in a few days. And \nI\xe2\x80\x99ll try to be at the station when the train leaves.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOutside in the crisp autumn night, he turned to his \ncompanion. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho is this fellow you got in mind?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nTHE SHORN LAMB \n\n\n329 \n\nThe marplot smiled contentedly. \xe2\x80\x9cHis name is Gayly \nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOddly reassuring, somehow, in spite of its Irish sound. \n\xe2\x80\x9cAfter all\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94he stifled a vague whisper of remorse\xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x9cthey wa\xe2\x80\x99n\xe2\x80\x99t no reason for me goin\xe2\x80\x99 to Chicago. John \xe2\x80\x99ll \nbe better off without me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCHAPTER VI \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \nI \n\n* f, \\ 7 ES,\xe2\x80\x9d confirmed Mr. Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien at once, \xe2\x80\x9cCot- \n* trell\xe2\x80\x99s sold you out, all right. I\xe2\x80\x99ve known that for \nthree weeks.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA dolichocephalic Irishman, this nervous perspicacious \nyoung man: thin faced, narrow headed, with a beaklike \nnose and a thin-lipped, faded mouth. Almost the fanati\xc2\xac \ncal, doctrinaire type of Irishman, he was saved from this \nby a pair of extremely merry blue eyes, an unexpectedly \nrugged neck, solid shoulders and torso\xe2\x80\x94most of all, by \nhis quiet yet keen-witted amiability. \n\nArtemas Bigelow was not too offensive in his vindica\xc2\xac \ntion. \xe2\x80\x9cYou see?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol nodded sourly. He had been not unfavorably \nimpressed with O\xe2\x80\x99Brien; and though some obstinate racial \nprejudice prevented him from trusting any Irishman com\xc2\xac \npletely, he had already learned enough of his prospective \nmanager\xe2\x80\x99s past career to respect his political sagacity. \nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien was an ex-newspaper man; he had worked \nfor both the Herald and the Globe in his time. Thence \nhe had graduated naturally into politics; and for the last \ntwo years he had served as a clerk in the city assessors\xe2\x80\x99 \noffice. Not a particularly remarkable record, perhaps, yet \nhe spoke of things political with confident authority. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJoe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s always played ball with the Vote Swap\xc2\xac \nper\xe2\x80\x99s League,\xe2\x80\x9d he expanded. \xe2\x80\x9cNominally, he\xe2\x80\x99s a Repub- \n\n330 \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n33 i \n\nlican; but he swings his support to whichever side he \nhappens to be thickest with. He and Jim Pettit have \nteamed it together for years\xe2\x80\x94under cover, of course. \nWhereas you\xe2\x80\x99re an outsider, a dude; your ideas wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nbe apt to jibe with his.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnd just as well pleased I am not to have his support,\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol asserted. \xe2\x80\x9cWouldn\xe2\x80\x99t want to be elected that \nway. Now I can go into office absolutely free handed.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien smiled. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, Cottrell figures he\xe2\x80\x99s play\xc2\xac \ning both sides in this instance. If you should happen to \nbe elected, he\xe2\x80\x99ll come to you and claim all the credit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe damn\xe2\x80\x99 scoundrel! He\xe2\x80\x99ll get what\xe2\x80\x99s cornin\xe2\x80\x99 to him \n\xe2\x80\x94you jus\xe2\x80\x99 watch.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow yanked his client back to unpleasant actuali\xc2\xac \nties. \xe2\x80\x9cBetter wait till you\xe2\x80\x99re elected.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNettled, McNicol pivoted toward the assessors\xe2\x80\x99 clerk. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell,\xe2\x80\x9d he demanded, point blank, \xe2\x80\x9chow \xe2\x80\x99bout it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI think\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d said O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, without bravado. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I \nthink I can still put you across.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAccustomed as he was to the high emotional voltage of \nthe McNicol-for-Mayor Club, to say nothing of the vocif\xc2\xac \nerous promises of the phalanx of Frankies, the candidate \nfound a subtly tonic quality in this impersonal, almost \nhesitating, statement. His recent disillusions, however, \nhad made him slightly cautious. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou think you can, ay? Well, now, have you got any \nplans?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll tell you, in a general way. At the beginning of the \ncampaign, you had everything in your favor. For ex\xc2\xac \nample, McKinley and Pingree: all you had to do was \ncoast downhill on the same sled with them. If I had been \nyour manager from the start, there\xe2\x80\x99d be no doubt about \nyour election, I think. Now, the only question is\xe2\x80\x94have \nwe enough time left to undo the mistakes that have been \nmade?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n332 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI know,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol, with a spacious gesture. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut just what would you do if I put you in charge?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe young man continued evasive. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d calk up the \nleaks, first of all\xe2\x80\x94eliminate the errors. Then I\xe2\x80\x99d arrange \nthe right publicity. In brief, I\xe2\x80\x99d see that the public got \nto know you. Thirdly, I\xe2\x80\x99d stir up a bit of excitement\xe2\x80\x94 \nget the voters interested in the campaign.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, that\xe2\x80\x99s all very fine, but anybody could tell me that \nmuch. What I want you to show me is exactly-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWait a minute, Mac,\xe2\x80\x9d cut in Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s hardly \nreasonable to expect Mr. O\xe2\x80\x99Brien to give you the benefit \nof his experience for nothing. You can\xe2\x80\x99t ask him to turn \nover a lot of valuable ideas until he knows whether or not \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re going to sign a contract with him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien gave a deprecating and barely perceptible nod. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right,\xe2\x80\x9d agreed McNicol, unwillingly. \xe2\x80\x9cHow much \npay d\xe2\x80\x99 you want?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe prompt answer staggered him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTwenty-five hundred dollars, win or lose. And if I \nam successful, a two-year contract to serve as your politi\xc2\xac \ncal adviser, at five thousand a year.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s an outrage,\xe2\x80\x9d he wanted to say; but what he \nactually replied was: \xe2\x80\x9cToo much! I can\xe2\x80\x99t afford it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nScoffed Bigelow, \xe2\x80\x9cOf course you can!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy figures may seem high at first.\xe2\x80\x9d Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien \ncould not quite keep the eagerness out of his voice; in \ntruth, the project meant alluring opportunity for rapid \nsuccess to him. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I believe I can save you at least \nthat much on your campaign expenses. Let\xe2\x80\x99s see\xe2\x80\x94you \ngave Cottrell ten thousand dollars, and you must have \nhanded out another five to a lot of ward heelers, haven\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t know.\xe2\x80\x9d It lacerated the nominee that the pro\xc2\xac \nportions of his folly should be known so accurately. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMoney thrown away\xe2\x80\x94most of it. Well, if I\xe2\x80\x99m your \n\n\n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n333 \n\n\nmanager there\xe2\x80\x99ll be no more touches. That\xe2\x80\x99s probably \nfive thousand saved right there. I can lop another five \nfrom your printing and advertising bills. In other words, \nthere\xe2\x80\x99ll be no more leg-pulling.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe phrase was not a mollifying one. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir; you\xe2\x80\x99re askin\xe2\x80\x99 too much,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol insisted. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI might be willin\xe2\x80\x99 to give you a thousand for the cam\xc2\xac \npaign. How do I know you\xe2\x80\x99re any good? If I\xe2\x80\x99m elected \n\xe2\x80\x94well, I\xe2\x80\x99ll do the right thing. But not five thousand a \nyear! Ain\xe2\x80\x99t twenty men in Detroit get that much.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien, in command of himself by now, shrugged his \nshoulders regretfully, as if it gave him personal anguish \nthat the next mayor must be a Democrat. \n\nBut Bigelow again intervened, this time unctuously: \n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all right, boys. Let\xe2\x80\x99s not worry about a few \nhundred dollars difference.\xe2\x80\x9d He threw O\xe2\x80\x99Brien a covertly \nreassuring glance. \xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s think about it overnight and \nmeet for lunch to-morrow noon. Gayly can get his ideas \nin shape and we\xe2\x80\x99ll get going, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d He rose to his feet \nand slapped his friend on the back. \xe2\x80\x9cI feel it in my bones \n\xe2\x80\x94we\xe2\x80\x99ll do the trick, sure!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol himself felt greatly exhilarated. By the time \nhe reached his house he had completely rebounded from \nhis abysmal despair of two hours ago. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMight even give O\xe2\x80\x99Brien fifteen hundred,\xe2\x80\x9d he cajoled \nhis instinctive frugality. \n\nMary, who had returned home several days before, \nconfronted him in the hallway. \xe2\x80\x9cWas John all right at \nthe station?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSlowly, reluctantly, he emerged from the tissue of mag\xc2\xac \nnificent dreams. \xe2\x80\x9cBy Jiminy! I didn\xe2\x80\x99t go!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I\xe2\x80\x99m awfully sorry!\xe2\x80\x9d she deplored. \xe2\x80\x9cWe had a \nhard time persuading him to leave the house at all. \nHe cried\xe2\x80\x94oh, it was tragic! The only way we could get \n\n\n\n\n334 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhim to go was by promising him you were waiting at the \n\nstation. That man who was with him-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI guess John \xe2\x80\x99ll be all right,\xe2\x80\x9d he tried to exculpate his \nforgetfulness. \n\nA tear ran down Mary\xe2\x80\x99s cheek. \xe2\x80\x9cThe poor boy!\xe2\x80\x9d she \nsaid. \n\n\nii \n\nThe next day was Friday, yet Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien straight\xc2\xac \nway ordered rare roast beef for his luncheon. \n\nMcNicol was surprised and delighted. A Belfast Irish\xc2\xac \nman. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI took you for a damn\xe2\x80\x99 Papist,\xe2\x80\x9d he apologized. \n\nGayly was not much amused. \xe2\x80\x9cI am one\xe2\x80\x94but I\xe2\x80\x99m \nafraid not a very good one. What is technically known \nas a fair-weather Catholic. Unfortunately, I don\xe2\x80\x99t like \nfish, and I get eggs for breakfast, so what else is there \nfor me to do except disobey Mother Church?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis principal interest in religious and racial differences \nrelated to the manner in which they might affect votes. \nThroughout the meal he discoursed fluently about consid\xc2\xac \nerations that McNicol and Bigelow had never dreamed of. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCatholics don\xe2\x80\x99t ordinarily hang together at the polls, \nany more than Protestants do; any priest\xe2\x80\x94except pos\xc2\xac \nsibly one or two in the Polish district\xe2\x80\x94who tries to tell \nhis flock how to vote gets the merry ha-ha,\xe2\x80\x9d he asserted, \nsurprisingly. \xe2\x80\x9cBut when it comes to nationalities, you \nhave another situation. Here in Detroit, for example, \nthere are at least three powerful and cohesive minorities: \nthe Irish, the German, and the Polish. The rest of the \ncity usually splits up on any candidate, with the result \nthat when these minorities unite, as they\xe2\x80\x99re apt to do, they \ncarry the balance of power. And they\xe2\x80\x99re influenced by \nfactors that would never occur to a person like either of \nyou. A candidate\xe2\x80\x99s name, for instance. Take your case: \n\n\n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n335 \n\n\nthe average Irishman would be prejudiced against you the \nminute he knew your first name was Wellington. Eng\xc2\xac \nlish, see? Whereas the English and Canadian vote \nwouldn\xe2\x80\x99t probably think anything about the name, either \nfor or against. After this, you\xe2\x80\x99re going to be known as \nW. Dennison McNicol, or Dennis, for short. Better yet \n\xe2\x80\x94Dinny. McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s all right\xe2\x80\x94it might be Irish.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was forever referring to the mass of his own na\xc2\xac \ntionality as \xe2\x80\x9cshanty Irish\xe2\x80\x9d with an unconcealed contempt \nthat struck his listeners with wonderment. \n\nMcNicol, especially, absorbed more practical politics in \nan hour than in all the years that lay behind him. During \nthe earlier part of the talk he had attempted to interject \nhis own lofty formulas from time to time, but soon he fell \nalmost silent. \n\nFor O\xe2\x80\x99Brien seemed frankly awestruck by his pupil\xe2\x80\x99s \nnaivete. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99d you get that idea?\xe2\x80\x9d he would exclaim. \nOr, \xe2\x80\x9cWho told you that?\xe2\x80\x9d And when the candidate re\xc2\xac \nferred once to the McNicol-for-Mayor Club, he actually \nlaughed. \xe2\x80\x9cI suppose they\xe2\x80\x99re harmless enough,\xe2\x80\x9d he \ngranted, \xe2\x80\x9cthough they\xe2\x80\x99re always likely to bust loose with \nsome wild idea that \xe2\x80\x99ll lose you a few thousand votes. \nMind you, they mean well; but they think of politics as \na sort of prayer meeting, instead of just a game not to be \ntaken too seriously. Besides, they\xe2\x80\x99re all good intention \nand nothing else. They\xe2\x80\x99re never willing to peel off their \ncoats and do the required drudgery. They can\xe2\x80\x99t under\xc2\xac \nstand the necessity of committee work. To them politics \nmeans a chance to get into the limelight.\xe2\x80\x9d He shook his \nnarrow head. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I guess we can let them have their \nfun and not hurt their feelings much.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nArtemas Bigelow had to go early. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll leave you two \ntogether,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. \xe2\x80\x9cThe idealist and the young cynic.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I\xe2\x80\x99m not a cynic,\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien protested, good- \nnaturedly. \xe2\x80\x9cThis is a campaign , and in any campaign \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n336 \n\none takes things as one finds them. Mr. McNicol sugar- \ncoats the pills out at his plant, doesn\xe2\x80\x99t he? Well, that\xe2\x80\x99s \nall I want him to do with his political ideas. Once we\xe2\x80\x99ve \nelected him, he can begin to accomplish really valuable \nthings for the city\xe2\x80\x94but not now! He\xe2\x80\x99s got to play ac\xc2\xac \ncording to the regulations, or take his beatings. And at \nthat, I mean he sha\xe2\x80\x99n\xe2\x80\x99t be asked to spend a cent for illegiti\xc2\xac \nmate purposes.\xe2\x80\x9d When the attorney had gone, he pulled \na notebook from his vest pocket. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m ready to give you \nsome of my ideas now, Mr. Mayor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol had an instant\xe2\x80\x99s uneasiness. What was to be \nthe agreement about his lieutenant\xe2\x80\x99s salary? Not a word \nhad been said about the matter thus far; yet O\xe2\x80\x99Brien was \nassuming a satisfactory compact. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFire away,\xe2\x80\x9d he said. After all, it was O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s risk, \nnot his. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou remember my telling you last night the first thing \nwas to calk up the leaks? Well, here goes, and please \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t be offended by anything I say. Let\xe2\x80\x99s see: I\xe2\x80\x99ve \nalready spoken to you about not handing out any more \nmoney to heelers. And about the McNicol-for-Mayor \nClub. Did I say anything about your speeches?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThose noonday meetings\xe2\x80\x94you\xe2\x80\x99re losing hundreds of \nvotes by not handing out the right talk. I think after this \nyou\xe2\x80\x99d better let me write your speeches for you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol gulped. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe next thing is to get the right publicity. We\xe2\x80\x99ve \ngot to land you on the front page.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow you\xe2\x80\x99re talkin\xe2\x80\x99! What\xe2\x80\x99s the matter with the news\xc2\xac \npapers, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, in the first place, you\xe2\x80\x99ve antagonized the report\xc2\xac \ners. None of them likes you.\xe2\x80\x9d And Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien \nglanced meaningly at his employer\xe2\x80\x99s Havana. \n\nMcNicol had an idea. \xe2\x80\x9cSmoke a cigar?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n337 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThanks, I believe I will. And I\xe2\x80\x99m sure the reporters \ncan be won over if you treat them like human beings. \nBut secondly, you never give them anything to write \nabout, no good stories\xe2\x80\x94nothing they can play up. That\xe2\x80\x99s \nwhere I come in. It\xe2\x80\x99s my job to build up a picturesque \npersonality, let people know all the interesting facts about \nyou. For example, I want some group pictures of you \nand your family. \xe2\x80\x98The Republican candidate and his chil\xc2\xac \ndren\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94see?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt occurred to McNicol that such a photograph could \nhardly be supplied. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the way, didn\xe2\x80\x99t I use to know your son Arthur?\xe2\x80\x9d \npursued his henchman, innocently. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s become of \nhim?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x94he\xe2\x80\x99s away at present.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh!\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s sensitive antennae instantly detected \nhe was on a painful topic. \xe2\x80\x9cNice kid, I always thought.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou did, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol lost his temper. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, \nneither of my sons is to be mentioned in the newspapers, \nunderstand? Course, there\xe2\x80\x99s my daughter Bee. I could \ngive you her picture.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat \xe2\x80\x99ll do nicely.\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien scrambled aboard safer \ntopics. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, the third thing we must do is connected \nwith the second. To secure the requisite publicity, we \nmust not only build up your personality, but we must also \ngive the papers some actual news. We must stir up some \nexcitement\xe2\x80\x94incidentally, wake people up; most of them \nhardly know there\xe2\x80\x99s a mayoral election coming. Now \nwhat folks are really interested in, as every newspaper \nman knows, is a good scrap. In other words, we must \nfind some big issue and start a fight.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol lighted a fresh cigar, and this time did not \nneglect to push a duplicate across the table. \xe2\x80\x9cHow about \nmunicipal purity for an issue?\xe2\x80\x9d he set forth, quite pleased \nwith his quick receptivity. \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n338 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no!\xe2\x80\x9d The acceptance of the second cigar did not \ninsure respectful acquiescence, evidently. \xe2\x80\x9cPeople don\xe2\x80\x99t \nwant abstractions; they want something concrete. We \nmust attack something or somebody\xe2\x80\x94and now that I \nthink of it, there\xe2\x80\x99s one institution that can always be \nabused to political advantage. Namely, the street-car \ncompany.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I got no grudge against them!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGayly did not hear. His eyes were bright with exqui\xc2\xac \nsite joy. \xe2\x80\x9cThe very thing!\xe2\x80\x9d he whispered, raptly. \n\nThe sight of a newspaper on an adjacent table sud\xc2\xac \ndenly brought home a more exigent emergency to Mc- \nNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cSay!\xe2\x80\x9d he exclaimed. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat we goin\xe2\x80\x99 to do \xe2\x80\x99bout \nthat straw vote in the Globe?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYoung Mr. O\xe2\x80\x99Brien awoke from his trance, glanced at \nhis watch and sprang up from the table. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t worry \nabout that. I know the reporter who\xe2\x80\x99s making the tally. \nWhat\xe2\x80\x99s more, I\xe2\x80\x99m going out with him this afternoon to \nthe Fifth Ward. As a matter of actual fact\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94he winked \nat McNicol solemnly\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cI have kindly volunteered to help \nhim record the verdict of the people from now on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nhi \n\nThe final tabulation of the Globe\xe2\x80\x99s straw vote, some two \nweeks later, revealed these gratifying figures: \n\nPresident Governor Mayor \n\nMcKinley, 1389 Pingree, 1631 McNicol, 1347 \n\nBryan, 1174 Sligh, 932 Pettit, 1216 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI didn\xe2\x80\x99t want to make your vote too big,\xe2\x80\x9d explained \nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, deferentially. \xe2\x80\x9cGet Pettit and Cottrell \nso scared they\xe2\x80\x99d work their heads off. As it stands, they \naren\xe2\x80\x99t likely to pay so much attention.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEvidence was already accumulating, however, to indicate \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n339 \n\n\nthat the Forces of Evil were beginning to be disturbed. \nAs one instance, this morning\xe2\x80\x99s hostile Sun flaunted a \nludicrous cartoon of McNicol on its front page captioned, \n\xe2\x80\x9cThe Canadian Don Quixote,\xe2\x80\x9d and depicting him with \nbilious eyes and a grossly libelous paunch astride a bony, \ndiscouraged mare. \n\nThe candidate was both wroth and perturbed by this \ndirect thrust at his foreign birth. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Golly! I\xe2\x80\x99ll sue them for that! I\xe2\x80\x99ll make \xe2\x80\x99em pay \ndear!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMake \xe2\x80\x99em pay dear? Why, you ought to be willing \nto give them five hundred dollars for that cartoon!\xe2\x80\x9d \nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien, perplexingly enough, seemed delighted. \xe2\x80\x9cThe \nmore the Sun attacks you, the better.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut how \xe2\x80\x99bout the Irish vote?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all right. Morning papers don\xe2\x80\x99t circulate much \namong the Irish. On the other hand, they do reach the \nCanadians\xe2\x80\x94see? Our friends, the enemy, have stubbed \ntheir toes. And, anyway, it\xe2\x80\x99s much better to be attacked \nthan ignored\xe2\x80\x94see? Doesn\xe2\x80\x99t matter what the papers say \nabout you, so long as they say something!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the People\xe2\x80\x99s Choice sulked. He found himself in \nalmost constant disagreement with his campaign manager, \nthese days. Take this very question of newspaper pub\xc2\xac \nlicity: at first, he had been wholly captivated by the lauda\xc2\xac \ntory articles that commenced appearing in the Republican \npress the day following O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s assumption of com\xc2\xac \nmand. Then an unforeseen change occurred within him: \nhis starved vanity became surfeited and an unsuspected \nBritish reserve began to protest against the exploitation \nof every intimate detail of his life. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat difference does it make if my wife does darn my \nsocks?\xe2\x80\x9d he had exploded after one particularly intimate \nfeature story in the Post. \xe2\x80\x9cStrikes me that\xe2\x80\x99s nobody\xe2\x80\x99s \nbusiness but mine.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n340 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99d be surprised,\xe2\x80\x9d his mentor countered with an air \nof patient explanation. \xe2\x80\x9cThe average individual simply \neats that sort of stuff alive. Makes him feel he knows \nyou\xe2\x80\x94makes you human \xe2\x80\x94see? No, sir; if you\xe2\x80\x99re asking \npeople for their votes, you\xe2\x80\x99ve got to cater to their natural \nappetites. You can\xe2\x80\x99t just tell them to go to hell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was galling to have his objections continually set at \nnaught by this callow stripling; yet he could not help \nbeing conscious of the fact that Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien was achiev\xc2\xac \ning miracles. McNicol wanted more than anything else \nto be elected mayor\xe2\x80\x94at almost any cost; and that was \nthe consummation this obscure assessors\xe2\x80\x99 clerk seemed in \na fair way to snatch from the embers of disaster. His \nprogram was working. There were no more vulpine \nFrankies. However much the McNicol-for-Mayor Club \nmight hysterically acclaim the turn of the tide as its own \nspecial by-the-grace-of-God accomplishment, the peerless \nleader himself was not deceived. However much he was \nmortified to deliver speeches that were not his own, he \ncould not honestly deny that the noon rallies had become \nsuddenly successful, that the unclean rabble no longer \nhooted at him, but instead boisterously applauded. \n\nSometimes, indeed, in rare moments of relaxation, he \nwas astounded by the new aspects of human existence \nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien had unveiled to him. Only last night, he \nhad been drinking beer\xe2\x80\x94beer, that universal political \nlubricant!\xe2\x80\x94with a convivial Polish priest\xe2\x80\x94and then, \nwhen they were both somewhat tipsy, who should mate\xc2\xac \nrialize from some mysterious quarter but that unspeak\xc2\xac \nable rufous-complexioned leader of the Kosciusko Re\xc2\xac \nserves? But the novel feature of the episode was that \nwhen McNicol left at midnight he had won the undying \nallegiance of both priest and Red Sash. Such was his \nnew-found genius for what O\xe2\x80\x99Brien called \xe2\x80\x9cmixing.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis morning, however, the recollection was malodor- \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n34i \n\n\nous. \xe2\x80\x9cGayly may be right/\xe2\x80\x99 he reasoned. \xe2\x80\x9cMebbe it\xe2\x80\x99s \nnecessary to do such things to get elected to office. But \nafter November fifth, he won\xe2\x80\x99t have no say.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJust then his campaign manager, all unconscious of \nforthcoming demotion, reappeared in the private office \nhe had promptly partitioned off in one corner of the head\xc2\xac \nquarters\xe2\x80\x94over the protests of both McNicol and the \nReverend Beemish. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe reporters and photographers are clamoring at the \ngates,\xe2\x80\x9d he apprised. \xe2\x80\x9cAll ready to start?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI suppose so.\xe2\x80\x9d The nominee could bring no relish \nto the appointed enterprise. \xe2\x80\x9cSure you ain\xe2\x80\x99t goin\xe2\x80\x99 to come \na cropper, though? Seems to me we\xe2\x80\x99re bound to win, \nwithout pullin\xe2\x80\x99 any monkeyshines like this.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you ever think it!\xe2\x80\x9d Gayly appeared disheart\xc2\xac \nened that his ingenious stratagem should thus fail of \nappreciation. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ve got to play every card we can \nthink of; even then, it\xe2\x80\x99s nip and tuck who\xe2\x80\x99s elected. Why, \nthis stunt\xe2\x80\x99s liable to be the very thing that will put \nyou across!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe conspirators embarked in two closed carriages up \nWoodward Avenue, toward the spot selected for the coup. \nThere were six people in all: McNicol, Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, the \nPost\xe2\x80\x99s political reporter and its staff photographer, and \nsimilar delegates from the Globe. The opposition press \nhad not been invited to the party. \n\nThe scheme represented the fructification of O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s \ndecision to start a fight, and thereby provide an inter\xc2\xac \nesting campaign issue; more specifically, to attack the \nstreet-railway company. The preliminary skirmish was \nto occur this morning; and the precise plan was that \nMcNicol should board a street car, tender three cents, \ninstead of five, in payment of his fare\xe2\x80\x94be ejected by the \nconductor and then start suit against the company. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s a corker!\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien effervesced. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, \n\n\n342 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nPingree worked the same stunt, but it \xe2\x80\x99ll bear repeating.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol remained gloomy. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat if the conductor \ngets ugly, or the motorman hammers me over the head \nwith that iron crank of his?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll the better, don\xe2\x80\x99t you see?\xe2\x80\x9d his lieutenant radiated. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThe people\xe2\x80\x99s defender brutally assaulted. Gosh! what \na story!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe carriages stopped at the corner of Erskine Street. \nThe two photographers clambered out and adjusted their \ntripods\xe2\x80\x94to cover the chosen scene of carnage. \n\nThen a northbound car appeared, and O\xe2\x80\x99Brien signaled \nit to stop. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s your fare!\xe2\x80\x9d he whispered, admirably thought\xc2\xac \nful of every detail. \n\nMcNicol, more loath than ever\xe2\x80\x94not particularly relish\xc2\xac \ning the prospect of being mutilated, even for the people\xe2\x80\x94 \nclambered up the rear platform. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s three cents!\xe2\x80\x9d he tendered the conductor at \nonce\xe2\x80\x94for the drama must be staged upon the spot, within \nthe purview of the cameras. \xe2\x80\x9cMy name is McNicol, and \nthis is all I\xe2\x80\x99ll pay!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis tone grew bolder, for he had perceived at once that \nthe conductor was an undersized and docile individual. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m sorry, Mr. McNicol,\xe2\x80\x9d said the official, \xe2\x80\x9cbut I can\xe2\x80\x99t \nlet you ride for three cents.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all I\xe2\x80\x99ll give.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMeanwhile the passengers, instantly alert to the un\xc2\xac \nusual, crowded about the disputants; and one indignant \nmale bawled out: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGo on, you cheap skate, pay your nickel or get off the \ncar. Don\xe2\x80\x99t keep the rest of us waiting! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd this was one of the citizenry for whom the peo\xc2\xac \nple\xe2\x80\x99s champion was prepared to shed his life blood! \n\nThe apprehensive conductor still eyed McNicol plain- \n\n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n343 \n\n\ntively\xe2\x80\x94cast one doelike glance at the waiting carriages. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI haven\xe2\x80\x99t any choice\xe2\x80\x94I have to obey the rules or lose \nmy job,\xe2\x80\x9d he pleaded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThree cents is a reasonable fare, and all I\xe2\x80\x99ll pay.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right,\xe2\x80\x9d said the conductor, inconsiderately. \xe2\x80\x9cIf \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re that hard up, I\xe2\x80\x99ll pay the two cents myself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe disappointed voice of a reporter became profanely \naudible from the pavement below: \xe2\x80\x9cHell!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe impasse threatened for the moment to terminate \nmost unheroically. By now, indeed, all of the passengers \nwere vituperating their defender and calling upon him to \nsurrender his fare or leave the car. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere, old boy! I\xe2\x80\x99ll lend you a nickel,\xe2\x80\x9d proffered the \nindignant male. \n\nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, beside himself with anxiety, suddenly \nleaped up on the rear platform and vociferated into the \ntimid conductor\xe2\x80\x99s ear, \xe2\x80\x9cPut him off, you fool!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol extended his elbow obligingly, and the official, \nat last realizing what was expected of him, gently handed \nthe candidate down to the pavement amid the hootings \nof the populace. \n\nBut the cameras had clicked consolingly. That sufficed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJesus!\xe2\x80\x9d sighed O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, devoutly, his face the color of \nchalk\xe2\x80\x94then abruptly fainted in McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s arms. \n\n\nIV \n\nIt had seemed very doubtful during these last days \nwhether the exhausted campaign manager could endure \nthe pace to the very end; but on election morning he ap\xc2\xac \npeared in his superior\xe2\x80\x99s private office at headquarters, \nhaggard but still alert. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRead this.\xe2\x80\x9d He handed a circular letter across the \ndesk. \n\n\n344 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nNovember 4, 1896. \n\nDear Brother Mason: \n\nWhile of course our great Order must never be exploited \nfor political purposes, I trust I may without offense call your \nfavorable attention to the candidacy of Brother James Pettit \nfor Mayor. \n\nBrother Pettit is a thirty-second degree Mason and has been \naffiliated with the Order for the past twenty-five years. His \nqualifications for the mayoralty are so well known that I need \nhardly enumerate them. Let me remind you of this one fact: \nthat he has held public office in this city continuously for the \npast decade. \n\nHe is the only candidate for Mayor who has had actual \nexperience in municipal government. \n\nVote for the man who has had an honorable career, both in \nMasonry and in public office\xe2\x80\x94JAMES PETTIT. \n\nFraternally yours, \n\nB. W. Bismuth, 32 0 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJudas Priest!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol ejaculated. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s this \nmean? Who\xe2\x80\x99s Bismuth?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGayly shrugged his shoulders. \xe2\x80\x9cNobody knows. He\xe2\x80\x99s \njust some poor fish Pettit\xe2\x80\x99s making a cat\xe2\x80\x99s-paw of. Pettit \nwrote the letter himself. Not official, in any sense. Prob\xc2\xac \nably the Masonic Council, or whatever they call it, will \nproceed to raise hell with Bismuth for sending out such \na letter.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow many\xe2\x80\x99d he send?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, something like two thousand\xe2\x80\x94at least Pettit\xe2\x80\x99s \nheadquarters did.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe defender of the faith was very nearly worn out, \nhimself. \xe2\x80\x9cJee\xe2\x80\x94hoshaphat! Liable to do us a lot of \nharm, ain\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI doubt it. Some Masons would be sore about it, and \nothers not pay any attention either way.\xe2\x80\x9d He smiled \nweakly. \xe2\x80\x9cHowever, in order to take no chance, I got a \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n345 \n\n\nfriend of mine in Pettit\xe2\x80\x99s office to change the stenog\xc2\xac \nrapher\xe2\x80\x99s mailing list. So this letter went instead to two \nthousand red-hot Catholics.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFor God\xe2\x80\x99s sake!\xe2\x80\x9d An instant McNicol sat aghast at \nthis revelation of his lieutenant\xe2\x80\x99s capacity for chicane. \nThen, however, he held out his hand. \xe2\x80\x9cShake! I guess \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ve won the election for me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut O\xe2\x80\x99Brien seemed apathetic, even depressed. \xe2\x80\x9cI wish \nI thought so.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA sudden pang of fear lanced the candidate\xe2\x80\x99s breast. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat you mean?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTill this instant he had been superbly confident of the \nresult, and O\xe2\x80\x99Brien had seemed to share his optimism. \nThe episode of his ejection from the street car had un\xc2\xac \ndeniably awakened the city to a vivid interest in the cam\xc2\xac \npaign; and so far as they could judge, had produced a \ndefinite reaction in his favor. \n\nBut now? Apparently so close to victory, he trembled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, you have an even chance,\xe2\x80\x9d the manager recited, \nglumly. \xe2\x80\x9cIn fact, a bit better than an even chance. But \nthat doesn\xe2\x80\x99t satisfy me. There oughtn\xe2\x80\x99t to have been any \ndoubt about it by now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA little later, the Post reporter\xe2\x80\x94by now a sworn ally\xe2\x80\x94 \ncame into the office; and the three of them set out in \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s phaeton to make a brief round of the more \ncentral voting booths. Everywhere they received jocular \nassurances of Republican victory; but Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien \nrefused to be comforted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all hot air. They don\xe2\x80\x99t know any more than \nwe do.\xe2\x80\x9d He consulted his notebook. \xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s have a look \nat the first of the third, next.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFrankie\xe2\x80\x99s bailiwick! \n\nBut that stanch vassal was nowhere visible among the \nhard-looking vagrants who lounged soddenly in the vicin\xc2\xac \nity of the booth. \n\n\n\n346 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThese river precincts are hell,\xe2\x80\x9d said the Post reporter. \n\xe2\x80\x9cMan got killed down here two years ago on election \nday.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol could believe it. Directly across the street, \nhe noted with a chill an undertaker\xe2\x80\x99s establishment, and \nin front of it a pair of horses attached to a hearse. Evi\xc2\xac \ndently the proprietor purposed not to be taken unawares. \nNext door, not inappropriately, stood a frowsy, red- \nfronted saloon; and though its main entrance remained \nseverely closed, obedient to the law, a side door swung \ncontinuously ajar with the ingress and egress of American \ncitizens who would not be denied their inalienable right \nof access to beer. \n\nThe three intruders disregarded the sullen looks that \nconverged upon them, entered the booth, and exchanged \nthe conventional amenities. As they turned to leave, there \nwas a revolver-shot outside; and McNicol, who was in the \nact of stepping out upon the street, perceived an inebriate \nin front of the saloon waving his weapon somewhat indis\xc2\xac \ncriminately toward the scurrying rabble. There was an\xc2\xac \nother shot. \n\nJust as he was about to retreat into the booth he \ndetected the sound of plangent hoofbeats, and by dint of \npeering around the corner of the small edifice was enabled \nto observe his horse galloping down the street in mad \nflight, the phaeton bouncing perilously over the cobble\xc2\xac \nstones. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhoa there, Tom!\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted, and started instinc\xc2\xac \ntively in hopeless pursuit. \xe2\x80\x9cWhoa!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSimultaneously with his confused perception of a third \nrevolver-shot, he felt a sudden burning sensation in his \nback, and to his enormous surprise fell flat upon his face. \n\nWhen he became aware of his surroundings once more, \nhe was being lifted into the hearse by Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, the \nPost reporter, and a doleful yet expectant stranger who \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n347 \n\nmust have been the undertaker. He caught one glimpse \nof a surf of brutish faces. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuick! To St. Mary\xe2\x80\x99s Hospital!\xe2\x80\x9d snapped O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, \nand he and the reporter climbed into the sinister vehicle \nafter their fallen leader. \n\nThe newspaper man seemed principally concerned with \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s injury. \xe2\x80\x9cPretty lucky!\xe2\x80\x9d he diagnosed. \xe2\x80\x9cJust \na few inches lower-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGayly, however, was fascinated, as ever, by political \nsignificance. \xe2\x80\x9cGod! What a story! \xe2\x80\x98McNicol shot down \nby thug!\xe2\x80\x99 No\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x98People\xe2\x80\x99s friend shot by hired assassin!\xe2\x80\x99 \nCouldn\xe2\x80\x99t be better. And just in time for the afternoon \npapers\xe2\x80\x94and the evening vote!\xe2\x80\x9d His voice became lyr\xc2\xac \nically ecstatic. \xe2\x80\x9cMr. Mayor, you\xe2\x80\x99re in by ten thousand!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol scrutinized his adjutant\xe2\x80\x99s face sharply, won\xc2\xac \ndering a little if O\xe2\x80\x99Brien had not planned the casualty \nin advance; yet by now, convinced that his wound was \nnot mortal, even he was able to consider the incident as \na not unmitigated tragedy. He felt, in truth, singularly \nhappy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, I guess I earned the job by this time,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nresponded, with grim humor. And as he was being car\xc2\xac \nried from the hearse into the hospital he caught a final \nview of the undertaker, now wholly sad, with a peculiar \nlook of frustration on his anaemic face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat man,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol whispered to Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, \n\xe2\x80\x9ctell him not to wait!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut at midnight, when his indefatigable campaign man\xc2\xac \nager contrived in some mysterious way to evade the \nhospital sentries and carry through the glad tidings of \noverwhelming victory, McNicol was once more in solemn \nmood. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTwelve thousand, you say? . . . The People can be \ntrusted to choose wisely.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n348 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nHis first act, characteristically, was to send a telegram \nto his mother. \n\n\nv \n\nThe Rev. Ronald Beemish\xe2\x80\x99s invocation was fervid, but \nlong; and the newly inducted mayor could not refrain \nfrom peeping between the fingers that shaded his eyes \ndevoutly. \n\nThe Council Chamber, none too large for its usual pur\xc2\xac \npose, was now crammed to the very gullet with immobile \nhumanity\xe2\x80\x94his people! The Chamber\xe2\x80\x99s gullet, in fact, \nwas also full: through the open entranceway he could \nenvisage the outer corridor likewise suffocated with the \nless privileged masses who had not been able to produce \ntickets of admission to the inaugural exercises. McNicol \nregretted exceedingly that such discrimination had seemed \nnecessary; for was he not the leader of all the people\xe2\x80\x94 \nthe proud and the humble, the poor as well as the rich? \nYet it appeared not wholly unjust that the members of \nhis own household, and those zealous patriots who had \nformed the nucleus of his support, should be insured the \nopportunity of hearing his first public utterance. \n\nOver these more fortunate adherents the chief magis\xc2\xac \ntrate\xe2\x80\x99s covert glance passed rapidly. In the first row of \nthe small gallery sat his family: Aunt Jenny; Beatrice, \nin a conspicuous orange-colored frock; even Mary, intent \nand expectant; and at one end, Lessie, fanning herself \nvigorously\xe2\x80\x94for, though it was January 2d and bitterly \ncold outside, the Chamber itself was intolerably stifling \nwith the generation of animal heat. His wife, clad richly \nin black silk, kept throwing little nervous glances around \nthe inclosure, and more particularly at the closed balcony \ndoor; and it both irritated and amused him to compre\xc2\xac \nhend instantly and infallibly that she was apprehensive \nabout the possibility of a fire and taking the precaution of \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n349 \n\n\ndeciding in advance which method of exit was most prom\xc2\xac \nising. But his eyes clouded morosely when he thought \nof his absent sons. \n\nEmbayed as he was behind a fringe of funereal palms, \nMcNicol could descry but few of the spectators on the \nmain floor. From directly in front of the platform, how\xc2\xac \never, came an unmistakable blur of scarlet\xe2\x80\x94a small \ndetachment of the Kosciusko Reserves, headed doubtless \nby Red Sash himself. Over at one side was plainly visible \nthe boys\xe2\x80\x99 band which had consented to furnish music for \nthe great occasion; its bass drum, perched upon a desk, \nwas proudly inscribed, \xe2\x80\x9cMission of the Immaculate Con\xc2\xac \nception\xe2\x80\x9d; and while the youthful musicians seemed to be \nable to play but one selection, \xe2\x80\x9cHail to the Chief,\xe2\x80\x9d no one \ncould deny the lustiness of their interpretation. \n\nReverend Beemish seemed determined to continue \npraying until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. The vast \naudience, patient, respectful, suffering its vast discomfort \nheroically, now began to sway a little with restlessness. \nMcNicol, too, resented the clergyman\xe2\x80\x99s overlong assump\xc2\xac \ntion of the central role. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the old boy think an invocation is, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe smoldered. A sharp twinge of pain shot through his \nwounded back. \n\nWith them on the platform was the president of the \nCommon Council, who was acting as master of ceremonies. \nBut Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, the real author of this magnificent \nculmination, sat obscurely in the body of the house, not \nfar from the boys\xe2\x80\x99 band. The sight of his alert, sagacious \nface distilled conflicting emotions in the new mayor: he \nwas not lacking in gratitude for his campaign manager\xe2\x80\x99s \nachievements, he hoped; yet already he was persuaded \nthat he himself, and not O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, had been the master \nmind who had guided the ship safely to anchorage\xe2\x80\x94in \nbrief, that he would probably have been elected without \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n350 \n\nthe benefit of expert Celtic assistance. The thought of \nhis two years\xe2\x80\x99 compact with the young Irishman was not \ningratiating; and his restiveness had not been decreased \nby the discovery that Artemas Bigelow had secretly guar\xc2\xac \nanteed the full salary of five thousand dollars a year, and \nthat therefore, he, McNicol, was morally bound to fulfill \nthe contract himself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Jiminy! Gayly ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to run me!\xe2\x80\x9d he \nsilently vowed. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m my own boss. No more cheap \npolitics for me.\xe2\x80\x9d The purity of his motives, his exalted \nconception of office and of his duty to his constituents, \nkindled a mighty flame in his bosom. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to be \nthe servant of the common people, I am!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNear O\xe2\x80\x99Brien he now discerned the disconsolate features \nof Joe Cottrell. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99d he get in?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was properly indignant. \nThus far he had steadfastly refused to grant the traitor \naudience. \xe2\x80\x9cIf he thinks he\xe2\x80\x99s ever goin\xe2\x80\x99 to cuddle up to \nme again, he\xe2\x80\x99s got another guess a-comin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Reverend Beemish was still quavering for divine \nintermediation. That added to the new chief magistrate\xe2\x80\x99s \nexasperation. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, dry up!\xe2\x80\x9d he silently vituperated. \n\nYet this somehow ridiculous preacher was the sole \nrepresentative of the McNicol-for-Mayor Club present. \nThe other members had sent back their tickets of admis\xc2\xac \nsion, thereby delicately intimating a deserved rebuke. \nThe Forces of Righteousness were frankly shocked by \ntheir spotless leader\xe2\x80\x99s list of appointments to office. Not \nthat a single one of them had been actuated by selfish am\xc2\xac \nbitions! Yet the high-school teacher considered that he \nhad a perfect right to feel insulted by McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s failure to \nnominate him police commissioner. Both of the phy\xc2\xac \nsicians had apparently counted on the health commission- \nership. The insurance man let it be known he might be \nwilling to assume administration of the department of \n\n\nTHE PEOPLE\xe2\x80\x99S PALADIN \n\n\n35i \n\n\npublic works. And so on. Understand clearly, once more, \nthat personal pique had absolutely nothing to do with the \nClub\xe2\x80\x99s dignified resentment. Heavens, no! It was sim\xc2\xac \nply the principle of the thing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFools! Why, they ain\xe2\x80\x99t one of \xe2\x80\x99em could run a \npeanut stand!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nUpon this mood of disenchantment came the sudden \nperception that the loyal Beemish had at last, incredibly, \ndelivered the merciful coup de grace: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAmen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhile the boys\xe2\x80\x99 band was again blatting out \xe2\x80\x9cHail to \nthe Chief,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol hastily adjusted his white bow tie \nand grasped the manuscript of his inaugural address. \nHis address, not Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s. The recollection sent \na tingle of pride pulsating through him; and when he \nfaced his applauding audience over the buttress of palms \nhe was no longer debilitated by the remotest doubt of his \nmission, or of the refulgence of the years that opened out \nahead of him. All his recent disillusions and self-doubt- \nings seemed swallowed up. \n\nA marvelous achievement, his\xe2\x80\x94and all in one short \nyear! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFellow citizens,\xe2\x80\x9d he began. \n\nBut within the secret recesses of his heart, another \nvoice\xe2\x80\x94the voice of that raw backwoods bumpkin on the \nescarpment\xe2\x80\x94kept trumpeting: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the Lord Harry! I guess I\xe2\x80\x99m a Great Man now!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI \n\n\nBOOK FOUR: A GREAT MAN \n\n\nBOOK FOUR: A GREAT MAN \n\n\nCHAPTER I \n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\nI \n\n\'TpHE telegram lay on his desk, and though he already \n-\xe2\x96\xa0* knew its content, he sat down and perused it \nthoughtfully. \n\nNelson\'s Point, Mich. \n\nSept. 5, 1898. \n\nHon. W. D. McNicol, \n\nMayor, Detroit, Mich. \n\nBig Labor Day celebration here to-morrow afternoon. Life\xc2\xac \nsaving drill, baseball game, patriotic speeches. Thousands \nwill attend. Committee respectfully invites you deliver ad\xc2\xac \ndress of the day. Take Grand Trunk noon train. Wire reply \nat once. \n\nW. P. Tompkins, Chairman. \n\nMcNicol glanced at his watch. Already it was nearly \nten, and he frowned. The telegram had been dispatched \nlate last night, but evidently had not been received at the \nDetroit office till early this morning. It was only by grace \nof luck he had received it at all; his faithful secretary, \nwho observed no holidays, had reached the office at half \npast eight, found the message under the door, and routed \nhis master out of bed by telephone. \n\nNow the mayor frowned a second time. He had \ninstantly communicated with Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien and Artemas \nBigelow, and they had engaged themselves to meet him at \n\n355 \n\n\n356 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nnine thirty. Then he snatched a telegraph blank and \nscribbled: \n\nSept. 6, 1898. \n\nW. P. Tompkins, \n\nNelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point, Mich. \n\nMessage delayed. Accept with pleasure. Arrive via noon \ntrain. \n\nJust as he was about to ring for the secretary, Artemas \nBigelow entered. \xe2\x80\x9cHello, Your Worship! What\xe2\x80\x99s up?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol handed over the telegram and his tentative \nreply without comment. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGreat hat!\xe2\x80\x9d exclaimed the attorney. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99 you \nwant to monkey with that outfit for, anyhow? Nothing \nbut a lot of rubes. Why waste your splendid talents on \nNelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor looked exceedingly sagacious. \xe2\x80\x9cBecause \nI\xe2\x80\x99m thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 of 1900. Because I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to make the \nrun for Governor or U. S. Senator, and I\xe2\x80\x99ll be needin\xe2\x80\x99 all \nthe rube votes I can pick up.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis confidant appeared not at all impressed. \xe2\x80\x9cBetter \nwait until you\xe2\x80\x99ve been reelected mayor, hadn\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHuh!\xe2\x80\x9d grunted McNicol, and gave the reply telegram \nto his secretary for immediate transmission. \xe2\x80\x9cI guess \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re the only person in Detroit who has any doubts \nabout me bein\xe2\x80\x99 reelected\xe2\x80\x94and you don\xe2\x80\x99t count, you ol\xe2\x80\x99 \ncroaker. Why it\xe2\x80\x99s a walkaway!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEven the pessimistic Bigelow could not seriously argue \nto the contrary. There was indeed only a nominal oppo\xc2\xac \nsition to his friend this year: no doughty Jim Pettit, no \nhypocritical Joe Cottrell stealthily marshaling the cohorts \nof iniquity on the other side. Instead, a mere figurehead \nof a Democratic candidate\xe2\x80\x94a cantankerous radical lawyer \nwhom nobody liked; Joe Cottrell penitently endeavoring \nto erase his disloyalty of two years ago and ingratiate \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n357 \n\n\nhimself into McNicoFs favor; the Forces of Righteousness, \nif not so vociferous as formerly, at least not hostilely dis\xc2\xac \nposed. And more than all this, was not McNicol Detroit\xe2\x80\x99s \nfamous war mayor? Had not the city but lately rever\xc2\xac \nberated to his flaming denunciation of Spanish iniquity? \nHad he not sent hundreds of ardent, youthful soldiers to \nCuba, and blessed them in the name of the city upon their \nreturn\xe2\x80\x94those, at least, who did return? Had he not \nunleashed the community\xe2\x80\x99s fury upon those hapless Span\xc2\xac \niards who were found within the city gates? Yes, it must \nbe said for him that he had made the most of his political \nopportunities; his only regret, in fact, was that the war \nwas so soon over. \n\nArtemas Bigelow knew all this, of course, but, instead \nof admitting his error like a man, chose to continue \ngloomy. \xe2\x80\x9cAnyhow, why turn Gayly and me out of bed at \nthe screech of dawn, for a minor detail like this? Espe\xc2\xac \ncially since you never pay any attention to what we say, \nany more.\xe2\x80\x9d He yawned violently. In truth, he did look \nvery tired. \n\nMcNicol laughed loudly\xe2\x80\x94and his laugh was significant \nof the profound changes that had been taking place in his \ncharacter and viewpoints. Two years ago, Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s \nsalient thrust would have left him either indignant or pain\xc2\xac \nfully on the defensive; in any case, he would have dis\xc2\xac \nputed solemnly over the accusation. But twenty months \nof officeholding had taught him the ineffable superiority \nof sugar over vinegar, the indispensable emollient of easy \ngood humor, of tolerance, of being a \xe2\x80\x9cgood fellow.\xe2\x80\x9d On \npublic occasions, he could still affect a befitting earnest\xc2\xac \nness; at funerals, a proper melancholy. But ordinarily, \nnow, he smiled, chuckled, slapped backs, called men by \ntheir Christian names immediately after introduction. \nNor was this new facile bonhomie of his a mere outward \nform, a Jesuitical maneuver. Politics had relaxed most \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n358 \n\nof his former Calvinistic judgments of things and people, \nand by dint of a very simple process: the politicians with \nwhom he was in almost exclusive contact nowadays were \nall men of generous, easy-going dispositions; naturally he \naccepted their manners by degrees, and then their stand\xc2\xac \nards. One conforms imperceptibly. As he came to know \nthem intimately, his distrust vanished; he found himself \npalliating their slight defections from austerer standards. \nAnd actually, he was now kindlier disposed toward every \nman than he had once been. He had learned the game, \nhe was a player in it; and his new familiarity with the \nrules had brought him a comfortable complaisance. More \nespecially, a touching faith in the efficacy of sheer joviality \nas a panacea for all ills. \n\nThus his bantering tone to Artemas Bigelow: \xe2\x80\x9cNever \npay no \xe2\x80\x99tention to what you tell me, ay? Don\xe2\x80\x99t you ever \nbelieve it, my boy. Your advice helps me a good deal, \nbecause I\xe2\x80\x99m always safe in doin\xe2\x80\x99 just the opposite\xe2\x80\x94see?\xe2\x80\x9d \nThis new and persistently riant McNicol laughed loud \nand long. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter with you, anyway, this \nmornin\xe2\x80\x99? You got just as much sleep as I did.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was presumably accurate, for the two had simul\xc2\xac \ntaneously quitted an alcoholic political rally at a late hour \nthe night before. But the attorney refused to be other \nthan sour faced. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, come, now\xe2\x80\x94cheer up!\xe2\x80\x9d And McNicol with a \nwink opened the lower drawer in his desk and abstracted a \nquart bottle of whisky. \xe2\x80\x9cThis \xe2\x80\x99ll do the trick for you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAn expression of nauseated aversion sped into Bige\xc2\xac \nlow\xe2\x80\x99s weary face. \xe2\x80\x9cNever again!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt comported with the host\xe2\x80\x99s sense of humor to apply the \nbottle to his own lips, and at the same time to relish the \nqueasiness in his friend\xe2\x80\x99s face. Bigelow, in fact, was com\xc2\xac \npelled to glance hastily out of the window\xe2\x80\x94then quite \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n359 \n\nwithout explanation, his jaded eyes flickered with ex- \npectant curiosity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWatch out! Don\xe2\x80\x99t let him see you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe drew McNicol out of his desk chair, and from safe \nvantage ground indicated a certain window in the office \nbuilding across the street. There, in plain view, sat a \ngentleman almost as obese and bald headed as the mayor \nhimself, with a young woman in his lap. \n\nMcNicol, though not so excited as his friend, was \nhighly diverted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Jiminy! Look at \xe2\x80\x99em! Who is it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho is it? One of my most distinguished brethren \nat the bar! His name is Michels.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s interest in \nlife had suddenly revived; he could even sample the excel\xc2\xac \nlent contents of the bottle now. All at once an expression \nof unholy joy possessed his features; he searched through \nthe telephone book, then called a certain number. \n\nThey beheld the fat man opposite disengage an amorous \narm and reach for his telephone. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello!\xe2\x80\x9d said Bigelow, in sepulchral tones. \xe2\x80\x9cMr. \nMichels? Well, I advise you to leave off hugging that \nlady. Your wife might not like it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe lawyer in the office opposite could be seen spring\xc2\xac \ning up in wild alarm, so abruptly that his fair burden was \nvery nearly thrown to the floor. Bigelow, his face apo\xc2\xac \nplectic with suppressed hilarity, whispered to McNicol: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe wants to know who I am.\xe2\x80\x9d Then into the receiver, \nhe announced: \xe2\x80\x9cThis, sir, is the ghost of your better self. \nIn two minutes from now I shall be knocking at your \ndoor.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe obese one dropped his telephone and disappeared \nfrom view. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe\xe2\x80\x99s gone to lock the door!\xe2\x80\x9d laughed McNicol. \n\nArtemas Bigelow, in the midst of his frantic outbursts \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n360 \n\nof mirth, suddenly had the further notion of telephoning \nthe janitor of the office building. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello! This is Mr. Smith in the McGraw Building. \nI just saw Mr. Michels standing at the window of his \noffice on the third floor of your building. You know? \nWell, he fell over in a faint, and I think you\xe2\x80\x99d better rush \nright up there and see what\xe2\x80\x99s happened. Break in the \ndoor, if necessary\xe2\x80\x94maybe he\xe2\x80\x99s dying!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe fat man had reappeared at the window by now, \nand was peering out in every direction, attempting appar\xc2\xac \nently to discover the whereabouts of his better self. Once \nhis apprehensive glance swept the windows of the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s \noffice, but the two conspirators were safely beyond the \nreach of his vision. Just behind him hovered the puzzled \nyoung woman. Then they both started nervously and \nturned away; the janitor was storming at the door. \nFinally the gallant disappeared again, and a moment later \na second man\xe2\x80\x94evidently the janitor\xe2\x80\x94came to the window \nand pointed toward the McGraw Building. The obese \nculprit, his face as red as fire, shook his head as if em\xc2\xac \nphatically denying the report of his fainting spell. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou needn\xe2\x80\x99t laugh so hard,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol pointed out \npresently to the practical joker. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s exactly what \xe2\x80\x99ll \nhappen to you one of these days, unless you mend your \nways.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo fear for the man who\xe2\x80\x99s discreet. Besides, I\xe2\x80\x99m \nnot married.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow surveyed his friend with a humor\xc2\xac \nous and frankly sensual eye. \xe2\x80\x9cIn any event, I\xe2\x80\x99d rather \ntake the chance of being found out than be a chaste \nhenpecked husband like you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t henpecked!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot, eh? I\xe2\x80\x99ll lay you an even five dollars you got \ndressed down last night for coming home drunk.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor endeavored in vain to cut off a sheepish \nexpression before it reached his face. \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n361 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou see?\xe2\x80\x9d twitted Bigelow. Then very confidentially, \n\xe2\x80\x9cSay\xe2\x80\x94when are you going to let my Katerina find a \nfriend for you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn spite of the fact that he was now a man of the \nworld, in spite of the further fact that his attorney was \nconstantly chaffing him for his scruples, McNicol still \ncould blush. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir, when it comes to morals-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMorals!\xe2\x80\x9d scoffed Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cMorals are only for the \ninferior man. Isn\xe2\x80\x99t that right, Gayly?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien, who had reached the office in time to witness \nthe final act of the comedy across the street, shook his \nhead. \xe2\x80\x9cThe mayor is right on that point.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPooh!\xe2\x80\x9d said Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cI forgot you were an Irish \nascetic.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s not a question of asceticism,\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien retorted. \n\xe2\x80\x9cIn the case of a man in public office, it\xe2\x80\x99s a question of \nblackmail. Too dangerous, I\xe2\x80\x99d say.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n11 \n\nMcNicol ought to have been gratified by his political \nmanager\xe2\x80\x99s support on this question of personal morals. \nArtemas Bigelow had the knack somehow of making \namour seem an alluring and adventurous pastime, of con\xc2\xac \nveying to his scrupulous companion a subtle intimation \nthat he was missing an important and delightful aspect \nof life by being too strait-laced. Marital infidelity was a \ncommonplace, moreover, among the politicians with whom \nMcNicol was now so friendly\xe2\x80\x94a circumstance that was \nnot without its weight. \n\nYes, he needed reassurance; yet Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s sage \nprudence had the effect of secretly irritating him. The \ntruth of the situation was that everything Gayly said on \nany subject, these days, produced an unfailing antagonism \n\n\n\n362 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nin his superior. No matter how tactful he might be in his \nsuggestions, McNicol conceived this same covert resent\xc2\xac \nment; usually he disregarded his assistant\xe2\x80\x99s advice with \nthe sole motive of establishing his independence, of prov\xc2\xac \ning that he could not be dictated to by any man. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet\xe2\x80\x99s not waste time over such foolishness,\xe2\x80\x9d he pre\xc2\xac \nscribed, and handed the telegram to O\xe2\x80\x99Brien. \xe2\x80\x9cI couldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nwait for you and Bigelow to show up, so I told \xe2\x80\x99em I\xe2\x80\x99d \ncome.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGayly lifted an eyebrow. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s all right, but what\xe2\x80\x99s \nthe good?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust what I asked,\xe2\x80\x9d put in Bigelow. The two inevi\xc2\xac \ntably worked hand and glove together in all questions of \npolicy. \n\nA second time McNicol laid stress on his future plans. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI got to begin linin\xe2\x80\x99 up state support for 1900. Goin\xe2\x80\x99 \nto be either Governor or Senator.\xe2\x80\x9d It was on the tip of \nhis tongue to add: \xe2\x80\x9cAnd in 1904 I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to run for \nPresident.\xe2\x80\x9d But he checked himself resolutely; this latest \nand most cherished ambition of his must not be revealed \nto any one for the present. \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien shrugged his shoulders, as if the Nelson\xe2\x80\x99s \nPoint speech was of little importance, one way or the \nother; then, with an air of recollection, extracted a news\xc2\xac \npaper from his pocket. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve seen this article in the \nSun, of course?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor shook his head and took the paper in silence. \nBigelow leaned over his shoulder to read the front-page \nheadlines: \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n363 \n\n\nHOW ABOUT IT, McNICOL? \n\n\nOpen Letter to Hizzoner From Democratic Candidate \n\nCheadle \n\n\nA SHOCKING RECORD OF BROKEN PLEDGES AND SHAMEFUL \n\nEXTRAVAGANCE \n\n\nWilliam Cheadle, Democratic nominee for mayor, last night \nsent the following open letter to his Republican rival, Mayor \nW. D. McNicol: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSir: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI hereby respectfully request an answer to the following \nquestions, which the thoughtful voters of Detroit are beginning \nto demand enlightenment upon: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c1. In your letter of acceptance two years ago, you stated, \n\xe2\x80\x98If elected, I shall serve but one term, because I cannot help \nbut feel that it is a dangerous thing for one man to hold the \nsame office too long.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuestion: What has caused you to change your mind an \nthis point, Mr. Mayor? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c2. In the same letter, you stated, \xe2\x80\x98I shall make no cam\xc2\xac \npaign. I will have no machine/ It is a notorious fact, how\xc2\xac \never, that during your two years in office you have built up the \nmost flagrantly corrupt political machine this city has ever \nknown; and, further, that in order to do this, you have shame\xc2\xac \nlessly and openly prostituted the public service. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuestion: What has caused you to change your mind on \nthis point, Mr. Mayor? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c3. In the same letter you stated, \xe2\x80\x98My only object will be \nto serve the people of this great city/ \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuestion: You have now been mayor for twenty months. \nHow have you served the people? Please specify one solitary \npiece of constructive legislation you have enacted. One soli\xc2\xac \ntary achievement of any kind your administration is respon- \n\n\n\n\n\n364 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nsible for. You promised the people a business administration. \nWhy is it, then, the poor are groaning wider the highest tax \nrate in Detroit\xe2\x80\x99s history? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c4. In your campaign two years ago, and in many public \nutterances since that time, you have promised the people three- \ncent street-car fares. You have also promised them municipal \nownership. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuestion: What have you actually done to redeem your \npromises? Is it not a fact that you have instructed your \nattorney not to bring your suit against the street-railway com\xc2\xac \npany to trial until after the November election? Is it not a \nfact that the political agent of the company, P. A. Morgan, is \nan intimate crony of yours, and that you conspire with him to \nkeep the people fooled, and that you are frequently to he seen \ndrinking with him in public saloons? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c5. You have made a great display of the fact that you \nwere Detroit\'s \xe2\x80\x98war mayor.\' \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuestion: Which of your two sons enlisted? Also, do you \ndeny that one of your ancestors fled to Canada from New \nYork state during the Revolutionary War, and that he later \nfought as a traitor with Butler\xe2\x80\x99s Rangers against George Wash\xc2\xac \nington\xe2\x80\x99s noble patriots? I wall spare you further embarrassing \ninquiries regarding your ancestry. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn conclusion, Your Honor, let me state that I not only \ndemand a full answer to these questions, but I also challenge \nyou to a series of public debates before the people of this city. \nYour refusal to answer my questions, and to accept my chal\xc2\xac \nlenge, will brand you as either afraid or unable to defend your \nadministration, and therefore unfit for the office you hold. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRespectfully, \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWm. Cheadle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow was the first to speak: \xe2\x80\x9cI like that \xe2\x80\x98respect\xc2\xac \nfully\xe2\x80\x99 at the end. A nice touch.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut McNicol was in a gigantic passion. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll break \n\nevery bone in the-\xe2\x80\x99s body!\xe2\x80\x9d he shouted, and bounded \n\nup as if to seek out the perfidious Cheadle at once. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSit steady, Mr. Mayor!\xe2\x80\x9d The attorney and Gayly \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT 365 \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien pushed him back into his chair. All his usual \nequanimity had woefully vanished. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou start suit against him for criminal libel to-day!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t\xe2\x80\x94it\xe2\x80\x99s a holiday,\xe2\x80\x9d objected Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cBesides, \nI doubt if it\xe2\x80\x99s libelous. In politics, you\xe2\x80\x99re allowed to say \nalmost anything you want about an opponent. And, any\xc2\xac \nway, most of what Cheadle writes is true.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTrue!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol could not believe his ears. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, isn\xe2\x80\x99t it? You did say you wanted only one \nterm, didn\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTheir close friendship of twenty years seemed toppling \nat the edge of a yawning precipice. The mayor glared \nferociously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course I did\xe2\x80\x94an\xe2\x80\x99 I meant it, too. I been forced t\xe2\x80\x99 \nrun for a second term against my own wishes, by the \ndemands of the people.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cQuite so,\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow agreed, placidly, \xe2\x80\x9cand you were \nquite justified in changing your mind. The fact remains, \nhowever, you did change your mind, and you can\xe2\x80\x99t put \nCheadle in jail for calling attention to the fact.\xe2\x80\x9d He \npicked up the newspaper. \xe2\x80\x9cThe same holds good about \nhis second point: You did attack machine rule; yet the \nfact remains you\xe2\x80\x99ve got a very tidy little organization of \nyour own, now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut he says it\xe2\x80\x99s corrupt, an\xe2\x80\x99 it ain\xe2\x80\x99t. I can\xe2\x80\x99t help it, \ncan I, if I\xe2\x80\x99m popular with the boys who round up the \nvotes? I can\xe2\x80\x99t help it if they want me to be their leader. \nI didn\xe2\x80\x99t ask \xe2\x80\x99em to. Anyhow, ain\xe2\x80\x99t a man like me, with \nhigh ideals of his office, justified in keepin\xe2\x80\x99 himself in \npower an\xe2\x80\x99 not lettin\xe2\x80\x99 some crooked ignoramus like Cheadle \nhoodwink the voters? Ain\xe2\x80\x99t it my duty to have a machine, \nso long as it\xe2\x80\x99s a good machine?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou bet your sweet life it is!\xe2\x80\x9d confirmed Bigelow. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou misunderstood me: I\xe2\x80\x99m not holding a brief for this \nbooby, Cheadle. I\xe2\x80\x99m merely telling you he can\xe2\x80\x99t be sued \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n366 \n\nfor showing w r here you\xe2\x80\x99ve changed your mind. Now as \nto his third question: you can\xe2\x80\x99t deny that the tax rate is \nhigher; but you can point out that the city\xe2\x80\x99s growing and \nneeds more money in proportion than it used to. Fourth: \nIt\xe2\x80\x99s true enough you\xe2\x80\x99ve instructed me to delay your case \nagainst the street-car company till after election; but \nthat\xe2\x80\x99s just a shot in the dark, as far as Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s con\xc2\xac \ncerned. We don\xe2\x80\x99t have to admit the fact. What you \ncan\xe2\x80\x99t deny is that you\xe2\x80\x99ve been foolish enough to get caught \ndrinking with Phil Morgan.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s a lie! I never had a drink with him in any \nsaloon\xe2\x80\x94at least, not except mebbe when they was a \ncrowd of us together.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol breathed hard. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m \nnot sayin\xe2\x80\x99 I ain\xe2\x80\x99t never give Morgan a nip of whisky, but \nnever outside this here private office. He\xe2\x80\x99s a good fellow, \neven if he is with the street-car company; he\xe2\x80\x99s got to earn \na livin\xe2\x80\x99 some way, ain\xe2\x80\x99t he? And whose business is it, \nanyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d He snatched up the Sun. \xe2\x80\x9cBut what gets \nme fightin\xe2\x80\x99 mad about this here letter is pokin\xe2\x80\x99 into my \nprivate affairs. This stuff \xe2\x80\x99bout my sons\xe2\x80\x94and \xe2\x80\x99bout \nButler\xe2\x80\x99s Rangers! I don\xe2\x80\x99t know nothin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout Butler\xe2\x80\x99s \nRangers; but even if it\xe2\x80\x99s so, it\xe2\x80\x99s dirty politics\xe2\x80\x94you got \nto admit that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure it is, but not libelous,\xe2\x80\x9d insisted the lawyer in \nArtemas Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cHe doesn\xe2\x80\x99t say anything; he just \nasks questions. No, siree, the thing to do is not sue him, \nbut answer him! You can make him look mighty sick, \nI tell you. Publish your own war record, tell about how \nyou were wounded for vour country\xe2\x80\x94then ask him point \nblank what he did in the Civil War.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Timiny! \xe2\x80\x9d The sullen indignation in the chief mag\xc2\xac \nistrate\xe2\x80\x99s florid face surrendered to extreme thoughtfulness. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI believe you hit it right, at that. I\xe2\x80\x99ll write him an \nanswer that \xe2\x80\x99ll knock him into a cocked hat. I\xe2\x80\x99ll jus\xe2\x80\x99 \ntake him up on them public debates-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n367 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no!\xe2\x80\x9d The interruption, low spoken but decisive, \ncame from Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, who had thus far remained \nwholly silent. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t do anything of the sort!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAn\xe2\x80\x99 why not?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol turned pettishly upon his \nirreverent censor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause that\xe2\x80\x99s exactly what Cheadle wants you to do. \nDon\xe2\x80\x99t you see, you\xe2\x80\x99ll just be playing into his hand. \nHe\xe2\x80\x99s-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe ring of the telephone cut in upon the colloquy. \nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien, though farthest from the instrument, lifted \nthe receiver quickly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello! . . . Yes, we\xe2\x80\x99ve seen Mr. Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s letter. \n. . . Nothing. ... No, not a word. The mayor isn\xe2\x80\x99t \ngoing to dignify personal attacks of that kind by making \na reply.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe hung up the receiver and announced simply, \xe2\x80\x9cThe \nHerald \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOnce again, McNicol bitterly resented the young Irish\xc2\xac \nman\xe2\x80\x99s assumption of authority\xe2\x80\x94an assumption that in\xc2\xac \nferred that he, the mayor, was an incompetent infant, \nwhose judgment was not to be trusted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here, Gayly! You got no right to go over my \nhead that way. I don\xe2\x80\x99t allow no man to make my deci\xc2\xac \nsions for me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien appeared surprised and slightly apologetic. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut don\xe2\x80\x99t you see\xe2\x80\x94?\xe2\x80\x9d he began. \xe2\x80\x9cLet me explain, and \nthen if you\xe2\x80\x99re not convinced, you can call up the Herald \nyourself and make any statement you choose.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow, for once in his life, seemed on McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s side. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t mean you\xe2\x80\x99d completely ignore Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s at\xc2\xac \ntack, surely?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the idea. Listen\xe2\x80\x94here\xe2\x80\x99s the way the cam\xc2\xac \npaign stands to-day: The mayor\xe2\x80\x99s reelection seems abso\xc2\xac \nlutely certain, by twenty thousand majority at least. The \npolitical workers are all plugging for him; he\xe2\x80\x99ll get the \n\n\n\nTI-IE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n368 \n\nvotes that were against him two years ago. The reform\xc2\xac \ners, the intelligent silk-stockings, are pretty much asleep \n\xe2\x80\x94as usual; they may not be shouting for the mayor, as \nthey did before, but at least they\xe2\x80\x99re not definitely against \nhim. That\xe2\x80\x99s the situation Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s up against, and not \nquite fool enough to be ignorant of the facts. He has \nno friends, no organization. His only hope is to stir up \na fight with the mayor, get people excited\xe2\x80\x94just as that \nwas our only hope last election. If he can get the mayor \ninvolved in a personal controversy, he thinks he has a \nchance; he\xe2\x80\x99ll have the offensive, we the defensive; and \nit\xe2\x80\x99s always easy to pick flaws in the other fellow\xe2\x80\x99s job. \nIn other words, Cheadle has everything to gain and noth\xc2\xac \ning to lose; but with you, it\xe2\x80\x99s just the opposite\xe2\x80\x94see? \nThe minute you start exchanging letters with him, or \ndebating with him, you raise him to your own importance, \nyou make people begin to take him seriously. No, just \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t pay any attention to him and you automatically \nrob him of his sting\xe2\x80\x94see? He\xe2\x80\x99ll just fizzle out. More \nthan that, his attacks on your personal character are apt \nto be a boomerang.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis compact precis, so incisive, so brilliantly discern\xc2\xac \ning, convinced even the disaffected McNicol; yet his sense \nof personal indignity still smoldered. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust what I was thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 myself,\xe2\x80\x9d he hastily asserted. \n\xe2\x80\x9cOnly we ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to go to sleep. We got to make \na good vigorous campaign, just on general principles.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh yes, by all means,\xe2\x80\x9d agreed Gayly. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd we\xe2\x80\x99ll \nanswer every point in Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s letter, but without any \nreference to him\xe2\x80\x94see? We\xe2\x80\x99ll stir up another row with \nthe street-car company, just to satisfy the public\xe2\x80\x99s appe\xc2\xac \ntite for gore. Somehow or other, we\xe2\x80\x99ll manage to keep \nthe dear people entertained and distracted from now until \nelection. The war stuff can be played up very nicely, of \ncourse.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n369 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBully!\xe2\x80\x9d exclaimed Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cHow about that But\xc2\xac \nler\xe2\x80\x99s Rangers business? D\xe2\x80\x99you think the mayor had bet\xc2\xac \nter find out the facts?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI doubt it,\xe2\x80\x9d said O\xe2\x80\x99Brien. All at once his blue eyes \nsparkled with swift ingenuity. \xe2\x80\x9cPoor old Cheadle cer\xc2\xac \ntainly put his foot in it when he insinuated that neither \nof the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s sons was in the war.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol blinked uncomprehendingly. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat you get- \ntin\xe2\x80\x99 at now?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, Arthur, of course!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNews to me,\xe2\x80\x9d admitted Artemas Bigelow. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s \nArthur been up to?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou must have been dozing.\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien diplomatically \naddressed himself to the attorney alone, with the assump\xc2\xac \ntion that McNicol, of course, had heard the news. \n\xe2\x80\x9cArthur\xe2\x80\x99s made a proud record for himself, I\xe2\x80\x99m saying. \nEnlisted as a private in the Rough Riders\xe2\x80\x94from some \nplace out west\xe2\x80\x94and ended up with two wounds and a \ncaptain\xe2\x80\x99s commission. Just got back to town yesterday.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor neglected his cue. \xe2\x80\x9cArthur did! But \nwhere\xe2\x80\x99d you see him?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn the Russell House bar, last night. Now that I \nthink of it, he said he was staying at the hotel tempo\xc2\xac \nrarily. I\xe2\x80\x99d better get hold of a photograph of him and \nshove it into the Globe to-morrow morning, with a good \nstory. That \xe2\x80\x99ll be nail number one in Cheadle\xe2\x80\x99s coffin.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow, remembering Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s scandalous dalliance \nwith Selma, the waitress, glanced at McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cCaptain, \neh? A chip off the old block. That\xe2\x80\x99s exactly the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s \nwar record\xe2\x80\x94from private to captain. Don\xe2\x80\x99t forget to put \nthat in the paper, Gayly. Quite a coincidence.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s heart was an arena in which pride, astonish\xc2\xac \nment, relief, and faint annoyance clashed confusingly. \nHow happy Lessie would be over her favorite child\xe2\x80\x99s \ntriumphant return. Triumphant! That was the fly in \n\n\n370 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthe ointment. Arthur ought really to have come back a \ndestitute and penitent prodigal, eager to make amends \nfor past sins. But his crowning error was that he had \nreturned to the city without letting his father know. Had \nhe come to the Mausoleum promptly, sought out his fam\xc2\xac \nily with proper expressions of apology, McNicol would \nhave forgiven him, hero or not. But Arthur was living \nriotously at an expensive hotel! His father scowled for\xc2\xac \nbiddingly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d he directed O\xe2\x80\x99Brien. \xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t want nothin\xe2\x80\x99 \nin the papers \xe2\x80\x99bout Arthur. Not now, anyway.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBoth the campaign manager and Bigelow exhibited \namazement. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut think of the publicity!\xe2\x80\x9d began the lawyer. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPublicity be damned!\xe2\x80\x9d the mayor exclaimed, fiercely. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNot a word\xe2\x80\x94understand?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nin \n\n\nAs he drove home to invest himself in the more resplen\xc2\xac \ndent raiment he wore on all notable occasions\xe2\x80\x94frock \ncoat, starched white shirt, white bow tie, patent-leather \nshoes, striped trousers\xe2\x80\x94he was reflecting somewhat mood\xc2\xac \nily upon the irreconcilable discrepancy between his public \nand his private life. \n\nA Great Man. \xe2\x80\x9cDetroit\xe2\x80\x99s dynamic mayor,\xe2\x80\x9d with a \nstate-wide\xe2\x80\x94nay, national\xe2\x80\x94reputation. His reelection as \nmayor was assured. Nothing short of malignant ill fate \ncould prevent his elevation to the Governorship or Sen- \natorship two years hence; even the White House beckoned \nbenignly at intervals through the roseate mists that clus\xc2\xac \ntered about the path leading upward to the higher alti\xc2\xac \ntudes. \n\nA Great Man, in very surety. Yet each night when he \ncame home\xe2\x80\x94trailing clouds of glory, as it were\xe2\x80\x94he must \n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n37 i \n\n\nleave his wrappings of magnificence outside the door and \nenter a household that neither appreciated his greatness \nnor gave him recuperative peace. The Mausoleum itself \nwas an abode worthy to house a statesman; it remained \nby all odds the gaudiest residence in the city; people still \npaused in front of it to gape at its truly astonishing \nfagade. No, his dissatisfaction had to do, not with the \nMausoleum, but with its occupants\xe2\x80\x94with his family. \n\nWith his wife, first of all. Lessie had not kept pace \nwith him, nor even tried to. She seemed, in fact, to have \nno conception of the wondrous transfigurations the last \ntwo years had wrought. It was as if the affliction of \nphysical deafness had closed her ears to the world\xe2\x80\x99s \nstrident applauding. She knew, of course, she was the \nwife of the mayor of one of the largest cities in the land, \nbut she was utterly without comprehension of her enlarged \nduties and responsibilities. The Mausoleum, which ought \nby rights to have become the rendezvous for all that was \nglittering and elegant, stood resentfully, bleakly barren \nfrom one season\xe2\x80\x99s end to another. Even Ellen Foss, even \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s own prestige, could not coax people into paying \ndevoirs to an unpretentious hostess whose unfailing salu\xc2\xac \ntation continued to be: \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m real glad to see you. It\xe2\x80\x99s \nreal nice of you to come.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was not the only member of the family who \nchafed at the handicap of Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s limitations. Beatrice, \nthe imperious, the high-strung, was even more discon\xc2\xac \ntented. There was this difference between them, however: \nwhereas her father was inextricably enmeshed by the steel \ncords of marriage, Beatrice was a free agent. If the \nfashionable world would not come to her in the Mau\xc2\xac \nsoleum, she was at perfect liberty to seek it out in its own \nabode. Which was exactly what she had done, since her \ngraduation from the New York finishing school; and now, \nby virtue of indefatigable effort and the ruthless pruning \n\n\n\n372 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\noff of earlier, less desirable acquaintances, she had \nsteered her course into the inmost labyrinths of the \nfashionable younger set. This very month she was spend\xc2\xac \ning at an exclusive Massachusetts summer resort, as the \nguest of the Harrison Pitkins, one of the city\xe2\x80\x99s oldest and \nrichest families. She had been away from home all \nsummer, in fact. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s hurr> T ing carriage turned in at the private \ndriveway and he stared gloomily up at the Mausoleum. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy Golly! I wish Bee was here!\xe2\x80\x9d He missed her \ngayety, her pert youthfulness, more than he cared to \nadmit. Then his melancholy lifted a little. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I don\xe2\x80\x99t \nblame her for stayin\xe2\x80\x99 away. She\xe2\x80\x99s got the right idea. \nSome \xe2\x80\x98go\xe2\x80\x99 to her\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s what. A perfect dandy!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs he issued from the vehicle he was scowling again. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut she\xe2\x80\x99s the only one of the lot that\xe2\x80\x99s worth the powder \nto blow \xe2\x80\x99em up.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe nude nymph and Babe\xe2\x80\x99s stone effigy had the hall\xc2\xac \nway to themselves; he had not taken time to telephone \nLessie about his unforeseen trip, and no one was expect\xc2\xac \ning him to return home so early in the day. The second \nfloor seemed similarly deserted. \n\nIn his own room, however, on the bureau, he found a \nspecial-delivery letter addressed to him\xe2\x80\x94left there pre\xc2\xac \nsumably by Lessie against his homecoming. The envelope \nwas postmarked Chicago and bore his son John\xe2\x80\x99s all too \nfamiliar handwriting. \n\nHe opened it with a pang of disquietude. There was \nno date, not even the usual introductory phrase. \n\nFor God\xe2\x80\x99s sake, pa, why don\xe2\x80\x99t you pay any attention to my \nletters? I beg of you to come and see me, and take me back \nhome with you, away from this horrible place. Don\xe2\x80\x99t you \nbelieve what I\xe2\x80\x99ve written about the cruel treatment here? I \nam all right now, and there is no reason for my being locked \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n373 \n\nup and punished like a criminal. What have I done to deserve \nthis fate? \n\nBut if you still believe there\xe2\x80\x99s anything wrong with me, \nplease at least take me to some other place. I will promise \nto go willingly, to make you no trouble. Anything but this. \n\nMaybe my other letters have been meddled with and never \nhave reached you. Or maybe you have been fooled by what \nthe supt. writes you. You have been here to see me only once, \nand that time I swear I had been drugged or something. \n\nBut I am bribing the janitor to mail this letter and it will \nsurely reach you and make you do something for me. When \nyou know the truth your blood will boil. If I don\xe2\x80\x99t hear from \nyou, I will know you have no pity in you, and I swear I will \ntake my own life rather than spend it here in this hell-hole. \nI am just that desperate, pa. \n\nLove to all from your unhappy \n\nJohn McNicol. \n\nThe great man crumpled the letter in one fist and was \nabout to throw it into the waste basket, when he found \nhimself suddenly pinioned and swept away in a mighty \navalanche of remorse. Quite useless to remind himself he \nhad carefully investigated the Chicago \xe2\x80\x9chome\xe2\x80\x9d and found \nit a scientifically, efficiently conducted institution with \nletters of strong recommendation from a hundred repu\xc2\xac \ntable physicians. Quite useless to assure himself that \nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s piteous complaints had no foundation in fact\xe2\x80\x94 \nwere, indeed, the predictable delusions of his disease. \nQuite futile to defend his conduct in having withheld \nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s earlier letters from Lessie. Was it not the humane \nand sensible course to tell her that their stricken son was \nwholly content and thereby spare her unnecessary suffer\xc2\xac \ning? \n\nThat smear of ink across the very last line of the letter \n\xe2\x80\x94as if from wretched tears! That piercing recollection of \nJohn\xe2\x80\x99s final look of pathetic trustfulness, the night of his \n\n\n374 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ngoing to Chicago! The distressing visualization of his \nown hideous servitude on the Grizard farm! He bowed \nhis head in an anguish of self-accusation, convicted for \nthe moment at least of a gross and indefensible betrayal \nof his own flesh and blood. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll go over and see John right off,\xe2\x80\x9d he took a vow of \nexpiation. \xe2\x80\x98Til find out just what\xe2\x80\x99s goin\xe2\x80\x99 on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe felt better. After all, he had done only what other \nparents did. It was heart-wringing, it was tragic\xe2\x80\x94yet \nit was in no sense his fault. Manifestly, John couldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nbe kept at home. And was it not McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s solemn duty \nto think of his political future\xe2\x80\x94to permit no accidental \ndissonance to rob him of his potential power to serve great \nmasses of his fellow beings? Suppose he gave way to his \npresent fit of sentimentality and brought John home at \nonce; suppose John stole out of the house one fine day \nand had another fit, say on Woodward Avenue. How \nquickly the news would spread! With what zest the \ninimical Sun and Herald would set forth the misfortune! \nWhat use of it might not the unscrupulous Cheadle make? \nPeople were queer about such things; some base appetite \nfor the unsavory animated them. There would be whis\xc2\xac \nperings about the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s family life, and snickerings. \nSuch a calamity might even cost him the election. \n\nNo, he could not afford to take the chance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll have to find some other place for John,\xe2\x80\x9d he mut\xc2\xac \ntered; and a vague annoyance crept into his heart once \nmore. These plaguing, mortifying children of his: the \nhalf-witted John; Mary, restless, unhappy, still dreaming \nof an impossible and immediate Utopia on earth; and now \nArthur, impenitent and the most ungrateful of the lot. \nWhy had he ever been cursed with such a vexatious \nbrood? \n\nSuddenly he remembered more immediate urgencies. \nThe coachman was Waiting below, and he must hurry if \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n375 \n\n\nhe would catch the noon train to Nelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point. Half\xc2\xac \nway through his change of attire, he stepped toward the \nbathroom to wash his face and hands, then paused in con\xc2\xac \nsiderable astonishment, aware of some peculiar noise on \nthe other side of the door. \n\nHe listened more intently; and now the sound, he dis\xc2\xac \ncovered, resolved itself into the splashing of water. \nLessie taking a bath\xe2\x80\x94yet somehow the perception sur\xc2\xac \nprised him; his wife was not given to indulging in such \nrites in the middle of the forenoon. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLessie!\xe2\x80\x9d he called, and, hearing no response, pulled \nthe door open impatiently and entered the bathroom. \nThen again he paused abruptly, more taken aback than \nhe had ever been in his whole life. For the occupant of \nthe tub was not Lessie at all, but a strange man. An \nunprepossessing man with matted hair and a week-old \nbeard. His clothing, shabby and soiled, lay in a mal\xc2\xac \nodorous heap on the floor; and his eyes, red-rimmed and \nbleary, reflected a consternation that was no less palpable \nthan the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s. \n\nFor a full moment the two held the pose of inarticulate \namazement. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol gulped out at last. \xe2\x80\x9cWho the devil \nare you? What you doin\xe2\x80\x99 in my bathtub?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe stranger displayed a winning, albeit toothless, \nsmile. \xe2\x80\x9cW\xe2\x80\x99y, gov\xe2\x80\x99ner, the young lady she says t\xe2\x80\x99 me, she \nsays, \xe2\x80\x98Wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t y\xe2\x80\x99 like a good dinner?\xe2\x80\x99 An\xe2\x80\x99 / says I would, \nvery much. But she says, the young lady, \xe2\x80\x98All right! \nBut first you mus\xe2\x80\x99 get yourself all clean.\xe2\x80\x99 I didn\xe2\x80\x99t ask \nher f\xe2\x80\x99r no bath, gov\xe2\x80\x99ner\xe2\x80\x94she forced it on me, like.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho you talkin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout?\xe2\x80\x9d The owner of the bathroom \nwas highly indignant by now. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat young lady?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, the young lady of the house! Met me outside, \nan\xe2\x80\x99 she was the one what begun the subject. I didn\xe2\x80\x99t even \nask her f\xe2\x80\x99r no meal, I didn\xe2\x80\x99t. An\xe2\x80\x99 she says t\xe2\x80\x99 me, she says, \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n376 \n\n\xe2\x80\x98After you had your bath, you better shave yourself, too. \nYou\xe2\x80\x99ll find a razor somewheres about, like enough.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \nThe stranger extended one arm plaintively, as if to indi\xc2\xac \ncate himself the innocent victim of another\xe2\x80\x99s superior \nforce. \xe2\x80\x9cSo that\xe2\x80\x99s how I come t\xe2\x80\x99 be here, gov\xe2\x80\x99ner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol stamped his foot. \xe2\x80\x9cYou bum, you! Get outa \nthat tub an\xe2\x80\x99 into your clothes. An\xe2\x80\x99 if you touch my razor, \nby God! I\xe2\x80\x99ll have you sent up for ten years\xe2\x80\x94hear? \nThat\xe2\x80\x99s a likely story, that is\xe2\x80\x94some one invitin\xe2\x80\x99 you into \nmy house!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRight enough, gov\xe2\x80\x99ner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe wrathful proprietor became conscious of an insist\xc2\xac \nent knocking at the outer door of the suite. It was Mary, \nher thin, sensitive face a little flushed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat is it, father? What\xe2\x80\x99s the trouble?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had an instant of comprehension. \xe2\x80\x9cYou! D\xe2\x80\x99you \nmean it was you-?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes. You see, I met this unfortunate man out in front \nof the house, just as I was coming in, and he looked so \nforlorn, so wretched, I simply had to do something for \nhim.\xe2\x80\x9d Her eyes were humid with compassion. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \nweren\xe2\x80\x99t here to ask, but I knew you wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t mind.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn her time, Mary had committed many an exasperat\xc2\xac \ning impudence in philanthropy\xe2\x80\x99s sweet name. She was \nforever pestiferously interfering with the established \norder, forever spurring her depleted energy to fresh \nfrantic assaults upon anything she deemed an injustice. \nCharity work was all very well for women, McNicol \nfreely vouchsafed\xe2\x80\x94a commendable enough thing for old \nmaids to undertake; but why couldn\xe2\x80\x99t Mary be decently \nconventional about it? Why couldn\xe2\x80\x99t she be satisfied \nwith the women\xe2\x80\x99s organizations of the Methodist church, \nfor example? But, no! She had to hurl herself headlong \ninto the most unsavory and outlandish of crusades. \nWoman\xe2\x80\x99s suffrage! Vegetarianism. Antivivisection. \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n377 \n\n\nMuch worse, into combating such time-proven necessities \nas licensed prostitution and the double standard of moral\xc2\xac \nity. Perpetually she was invading the police courts and \nbrazenly demanding that male fornicators be punished \nequally with female. And she had become even more \nshameless since her father\xe2\x80\x99s elevation to office; she did \nnot hesitate to trade upon his political power, when neces\xc2\xac \nsary. All in all she had embarrassed him without appar\xc2\xac \nent compunction a hundred times. \n\nBut she had never been guilty of anything quite so fan\xc2\xac \ntastic and offensive as this latest performance. And \nwdthal she had the hardihood to confront him unabashed \n\xe2\x80\x94even to say, \xe2\x80\x9cI knew you wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t mind!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cY\xe2\x80\x99 did, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d For an instant he wondered if she, like \nJohn, had turned imbecile. Then his exacerbation re\xc2\xac \nfused to be pent up longer. \xe2\x80\x9cSo this is the kind of sneak \nwork goes on in my own house while I\xe2\x80\x99m gone!\xe2\x80\x9d It \noccurred to him that his precious razor had been inexplica\xc2\xac \nbly dull once or twice recently. \xe2\x80\x9cHow often you been \nfetchin\xe2\x80\x99 bums off the street into my bathroom?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh\xe2\x80\x94perhaps two or three times,\xe2\x80\x9d Mary revealed, \nconscientiously. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98Perhaps two or three times,\xe2\x80\x99 ay?\xe2\x80\x9d he parodied, and \ndischarged an oath full into his daughter\xe2\x80\x99s face. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \nmust be crazy! What you thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 of, anyhow?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe received the onslaught with fortitude. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll tell \nyou what I\xe2\x80\x99m thinking of\xe2\x80\x94and what I believe. It\xe2\x80\x99s not \nenough just to talk about helping the common people, \nabout wanting to be their friend. No, if one is sincere, \none practices what one preaches.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer words themselves, and the marked significance with \nwhich she uttered them, penetrated unerringly to their \nintended mark. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou, you\xe2\x80\x94!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nMcNicol choked. \xe2\x80\x9cGet that pick-up \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n378 \n\nof yours outa this house, d\xe2\x80\x99 you hear? An\xe2\x80\x99 if I ever catch \nyou playin\xe2\x80\x99 any more tricks like that, out you go, too!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was noteworthy that Mary\xe2\x80\x99s defensive powers had \nconsiderably increased within two years. There was but \na faint trace, now, of that demeanor of fanatical martyr\xc2\xac \ndom with which she had once been accustomed to receive \nher father\xe2\x80\x99s angry assaults. She seemed fully self-pos\xc2\xac \nsessed, even a little scornful. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVery well,\xe2\x80\x9d she answered, promptly. \xe2\x80\x9cPerhaps I\xe2\x80\x99d \nbetter go at once.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe had him there, and she knew it. So did he; the \nfact jutted out like a rocky promontory from his receding \nwrath. He did not dare let her go\xe2\x80\x94certainly not during \nthe campaign. That issue had been fought out once be\xc2\xac \nfore, and settled for all time. He was beaten. \n\nWithout another word, he donned the rest of his foren\xc2\xac \nsic attire and left the room. What could he have said, \nindeed? But the demonstration of his helplessness had \nonly condensed his virulence by the process of bottling \nit up. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf things have got to a point where I can\xe2\x80\x99t even keep \ntramps outa my own bathtub,\xe2\x80\x9d he fumed, \xe2\x80\x9cit\xe2\x80\x99s about time \nfor me to fire the whole bunch out on the street. Or else \nfind another place to live, myself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe infuriating part of it was he couldn\xe2\x80\x99t do either: \nfor an ambitious statesman must at all costs preserve at \nleast the overt semblance of happy domesticity for the \nedification of a fickle electorate. He had to choose be\xc2\xac \ntween staying at home, swallowing the indignities that \nwere his lot\xe2\x80\x94and giving up his political career. \n\nAs if to bring his smoldering discontent to a crest, \nLessie now aopeared from the library and intercepted him \nat the carriage door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere you goin\xe2\x80\x99, pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n379 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPolitical meetin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol swung open the door and \nstrode down the steps toward the waiting carriage. \n\nA disapproving expression reached Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s face; and \nshe called out, regardless of the coachman: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRemember what you promised las\xe2\x80\x99 night, pa, \xe2\x80\x99bout \nnever touchin\xe2\x80\x99 another drop of liquor!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIV \n\nAs usual, he began to recover his spirits the moment he \nwas out of sight of the Mausoleum; and by the time he \nreached the Brush Street depot he was almost the jovial \npolitician once more. He swam off easily and confidently \nupon the afternoon\xe2\x80\x99s adventure. \n\nHe sat alone, quite bereft of the usual bodyguard of \nhenchmen. Neither O\xe2\x80\x99Brien nor Artemas Bigelow had \nbeen able to make the excursion with him; and he was \njust as w r ell pleased. Partly because he was in a mood \nthat resented the mere thought of their officious sug\xc2\xac \ngestions. Partly because he wanted an undisturbed inter\xc2\xac \nval in which to plan his speech; by now he could make \na very fair extemporaneous address, but the opportunity \nfor special preparation was welcome. Lastly, because \nhe was under the necessity of giving attention to other \nproblems, the most pressing of wdiich, perhaps, related \nto Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien himself. The two year contract be\xc2\xac \ntween them would not expire until election day; but \nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien naturally was anxious to learn whether or not \nit was to be renewed. Artemas Bigelow, as might have \nbeen expected, was urging a continuance of the relation\xc2\xac \nship, but McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s instincts were all averse to the pro\xc2\xac \nposal. Still, O\xe2\x80\x99Brien was a likable young chap, and \nthere Avas no denying that he had been both loyal and \nindefatigable. McNicol wanted to be fair. \n\nHis self-satisfaction gathered momentum more rapidly \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n380 \n\nthan the train itself. Soon he was able to achieve a tol\xc2\xac \nerant perspective even upon the domestic humiliations \nhe had just undergone. He viewed himself as a victim \nof gross injustice, and all for the sake of his sacred duty \nto his fellow citizens. Suddenly there sauntered into his \nmind a sapient commentary he had once heard Artemas \nBigelow propound: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf Abraham Lincoln had been congenially mated\xe2\x80\x94if \nhe had stayed at home at night, instead of being driven \nout to the refuge of the general store\xe2\x80\x94he would never \nhave learned to rub elbows with humanity; he would \nnever have gone into politics. He might have been \nhappier than he was, but he never in the world would \nhave been President.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNever before had McNicol so fully realized the com\xc2\xac \nforting truth of this point of view. Never before had \nhe applied it to his own case. He, like the Great \nEmancipator, had been virtually driven from his home \nand was finding solace in unselfish service to all man\xc2\xac \nkind. The thought engendered a sensuous melancholy, \nsolaced him ineffably. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat luck!\xe2\x80\x9d a velvety voice presently intervened. \n\nMcNicol was not particularly pleased to recognize Joe \nCottrell, but he made room on the seat. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI saw you several minutes ago,\xe2\x80\x9d confessed the boss, \n\xe2\x80\x9cbut I couldn\xe2\x80\x99t tell whether you wanted company or \nnot. You looked so lonesome and sad I honestly couldn\xe2\x80\x99t \nhelp being reminded of President Lincoln.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFunny,\xe2\x80\x9d the great man thawed, \xe2\x80\x9cI was jus\xe2\x80\x99 thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 \nof him.\xe2\x80\x9d It became apparent that Cottrell, whatever his \nshortcomings, was undeniably a shrewd judge of men. \nInstantly he had perceived the striking resemblance be\xc2\xac \ntween McNicol and the martyr President\xe2\x80\x94a resemblance \nthat quite eluded duller intelligences, like Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s, for \nexample, and Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s. \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT 381 \n\nCottrell next made respectful inquiry regarding the \n\nmayor\xe2\x80\x99s destination. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point!\xe2\x80\x9d he ejaculated. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, that\xe2\x80\x99s right \nnear where I\xe2\x80\x99m going! I must drive over and hear that \nspeech of yours, sure!\xe2\x80\x9d Then with an affecting reverence \n\nin his voice, he added, \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll bring my mother with me, \n\nif she\xe2\x80\x99s feeling better.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was immediately interested. \xe2\x80\x9cGoin\xe2\x80\x99 up to see \nyour mother, ay? She been sick?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe perfidious boss nodded dolefully. \xe2\x80\x9cAfraid she \nwon\xe2\x80\x99t live much longer. The best mother a man ever \nhad, too.\xe2\x80\x9d A tear welled up over one eyelid and rolled \ndown along his battered nose. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI know how you feel, Joe,\xe2\x80\x9d comforted McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cI \ngot a dear ol\xe2\x80\x99 mother myself, who ain\xe2\x80\x99t goin\xe2\x80\x99 to be spared \nto me much longer.\xe2\x80\x9d His own tears could scarcely \nbe held back. \xe2\x80\x9cEverything I\xe2\x80\x99ve done, I\xe2\x80\x94I owe to her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the difference between us, Denny,\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell \nchoked. \xe2\x80\x9cYour mother has a right to be proud of her \nson. She\xe2\x80\x99s sent a noble man into the world. But met \nLook at me, a common saloon keeper! My darling \nmother would die if she knew the truth. She thinks \nI\xe2\x80\x99m a respectable business man.\xe2\x80\x9d He seized his com\xc2\xac \npanion\xe2\x80\x99s hand in frantic appeal. \xe2\x80\x9cYou won\xe2\x80\x99t tell her, \nwill you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course I won\xe2\x80\x99t tell her. Don\xe2\x80\x99t feel bad, Joe. It \nain\xe2\x80\x99t your fault. You\xe2\x80\x99ve done the best you could.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no! \xe2\x80\x9d sobbed Cottrell. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m a bad son.\xe2\x80\x9d Suddenly \nhe gave McNicol a direct, half-defiant look. \xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xc2\xac \never you may think of me, I swear I never double- \ncrossed you two years ago, like O\xe2\x80\x99Brien claimed. As \nGod is my judge, I played straight\xe2\x80\x94but you never gave \nme a chance to explain.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure you did, Joe!\xe2\x80\x9d The great man perceived he \nhad unwittingly done a great injustice. \xe2\x80\x9cGayly was lyin\xe2\x80\x99. \n\n\n382 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nBut that\xe2\x80\x99s all past now, an\xe2\x80\x99 we\xe2\x80\x99re good friends again, \nain\xe2\x80\x99t we?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe other passengers in the car were considerably \nsurprised to observe the uncommon spectacle of two \napparently normal old gentlemen clutching at one an\xc2\xac \nother\xe2\x80\x99s hands and weeping copiously. \n\nv \n\nAfter these thoroughly rapturous throes of reconcilia\xc2\xac \ntion, the Labor Day celebration might well have proven \ntame sport. In point of fact, however, it afforded McNicol \none of the great triumphs of his career. \n\nNelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point was a small village north of Port Huron, \nin what is commonly known as \xe2\x80\x9cthe Thumb\xe2\x80\x9d of Michi\xc2\xac \ngan\xe2\x80\x99s odd, mitten-shaped shore line. It was after three \no\xe2\x80\x99clock when the train reached the forlorn little station; \nand Chairman Tompkins, who met the honored guest and \ndrove him the two miles that lay between the town and \nthe beach of Lake Huron, explained that the afternoon\xe2\x80\x99s \nprogram was already under way. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThey\xe2\x80\x99re playin\xe2\x80\x99 the ball game now between Nelson\xe2\x80\x99s \nPoint an\xe2\x80\x99 Cresswell. Next comes your address, and then \nthe life-savin\xe2\x80\x99 drill.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEven the buggy ride was a profitable experience. \nChairman Tompkins, it developed, was something of a \npolitical personage himself; he had served many terms \nas justice of the peace; and now he was an influential \nmember of the Reoublican County Committee. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat nationality are your voters?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired the dis\xc2\xac \ntinguished visitor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, Americans mostly; some Germans.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAny Irish?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNope,\xe2\x80\x9d avowed his conductor. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t find many \nIrish doin\xe2\x80\x99 farm work.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n383 \n\nMcNicol made a mental note to use only Irish and \nJewish anecdotes. He was a little sorry, for he deemed \nhimself most successful in German dialect stories. \n\nThey reached the picnic grounds in the nick of time, \nfor the baseball game had just broken up in a heated \naltercation over one of the umpire\xe2\x80\x99s outrageous decisions \nin favor of the Cresswell team. The throngs were al\xc2\xac \nready gravitating toward the spacious lawn of the coast\xc2\xac \nguard station, where the remaining exercises were to be \nheld. \n\nMcNicol debouched from his host\xe2\x80\x99s buggy and spent \nthe next ten minutes in shaking hands with the other \nmembers of the committee of the day. By now he \nwas an adept at the business; he could shake hands, if \nneed be, with hundreds of people, shedding their muscu\xc2\xac \nlar clasps along his fingers in a way that protected his \nhand, yet convincing each man, woman, and child that \nhe had waited all his life for that particular contact. \n\nThen a local band struck up \xe2\x80\x9cKail to the Chief,\xe2\x80\x9d and \nthough long since, this martial melody had ceased to \ndo aught but grate drearily on his ears, he mounted the \nflag-bedizened platform with a smile that betrayed only \nprofound gratification and profounder gratitude. \n\nChairman Tompkins w T as saying: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m sure, ladies and gentlemen, you don\xe2\x80\x99t want t\xe2\x80\x99 \nhear no speech from me. You can hear me toot my own \nhorn any day in the week.\xe2\x80\x9d (Laughter and applause.) \n\xe2\x80\x9cTherefore I will not detain you. It gives me great \npleasure t\xe2\x80\x99 introduce the speaker of the afternoon, who \nwe was fortunate enough t\xe2\x80\x99 obtain at the very las\xe2\x80\x99 minute \n\xe2\x80\x94that st.erlin\xe2\x80\x99 patriot an\xe2\x80\x99 friend of the people, Detroit\xe2\x80\x99s \nfamous war mayor\xe2\x80\x94the Hon. William McNicol.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWilliam! Two short years ago the great man would \nhave been deeply embittered; but now the error well-nigh \nescaped him. He advanced into the tumult of applause \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n384 \n\nas a veteran soldier into musketry. No longer was he an \napprehensive apprentice, at a loss for words and gestures; \nbut instead, an accomplished mob shouter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFellow citizens!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYes, the introductory phrase was precisely the one \nhe had employed twenty months ago in his inaugural \naddress. The band\xe2\x80\x99s \xe2\x80\x9cHail to the Chief\xe2\x80\x9d was the same. \nBut he was a changed McNicol\xe2\x80\x94and in aspects more far- \nreaching that the mere capacity to stand before vast \ncrowds without self-consciousness. It was the alteration \nin his viewpoint toward his listeners that was most signifi\xc2\xac \ncant, perhaps. Then, he had earnestly sought to lead the \npeople, to implant noble ideas in them, to instruct and \nuplift them. Now, though he still insisted to himself \nthat his mission was a high and sacred one, he had con\xc2\xac \nceived a new and cynical attitude toward the rabble. \n\nYes, he knew what the commonalty was like now. He \nknew that this horde in front of him had come hither this \nafternoon not to be preached to, not to be enlightened, not \nto be treated as serious and intelligent persons\xe2\x80\x94but to \nbe amused, to be shocked out of the dismal coma that was \ntheir daily existence, to be dazzled. To gape at greatness. \nAnd though he could still assure himself he meant to bet\xc2\xac \nter the lot of these masses\xe2\x80\x94that this, in fact, was his sole \nmotive in seeking authority\xe2\x80\x94he was now amply con\xc2\xac \nvinced of the necessity, nay, the pious duty, of cajoling \nand wheedling his inferiors; of making them impossible \npromises, then distracting them by yet other promises. \nIn brief, of using any means to perpetuate himself in \npower. If somebody had to fool the voters, it was far \nbetter obviously that he, McNicol, with his benevolent \nintentions, should be the one, instead of some scoundrel \nwith no ideals at all. \n\nAnd because he no longer was handicapped by illusions \nas to what his audience wanted, because he knew pre- \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n385 \n\ncisely what commodities to purvey, his speech this after\xc2\xac \nnoon was highly successful. No great orator, admittedly, \nhe had nevertheless acquired the knack of mixing sure-fire \nemotional ingredients together with a touch fairly deft. \nHumor, pathos, patriotism\xe2\x80\x94that was the formula. Irish \njokes, alternating with frequent solemn reassurances to \nhis auditors that they were the glorious foundation stones \nof the greatest country in the world, the greatest state in \nthe Union. A timely reference to the iniquity of all \nSpaniards; a moving tribute to the boys in blue, who \ncould have vanquished the other nations of Europe, in \naddition, without half trying. Nothing original, of course; \nfor originality was apt to be dangerous. Safe plati\xc2\xac \ntudes \xe2\x80\x94cliches he had used a score of times before, always \neffectively. \n\nBut it was in his pronouncements about the hand that \nrocks the cradle that McNicol reached his apex of \neloquence. American womanhood, he intimated, was the \nsole repository of feminine virtue, beauty, and nobility. \nWhen he told the fatigued mothers in his audience that \nthey were the pillars of the nation and the hope of its \nfuture, he was forced to stop a moment and wipe the tears \nfrom his eyes. Sincere tears they were: the recollection \nof the recent poignant episode on the train was still strong \nupon him. He was sorry that Joe Cottrell and his old \nmother were not there to hear him. \n\nThen another impassioned apostrophe to the great flag \nthat fluttered aloft, and his hour\xe2\x80\x99s address was at an end. \nThe crowd\xe2\x80\x99s enthusiasm was stupendous, colossal. He \nhad done his work well. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe fines\xe2\x80\x99 speech I ever listened to,\xe2\x80\x9d congratulated \nChairman Tompkins. \n\nMcNicol rose and bowed a number of times. He re\xc2\xac \ngretted a little that he could not leave the scene at once, \nbefore the oration\xe2\x80\x99s effect had spent itself. The idea of \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n386 \n\nbecoming a mere passive spectator during the balance \nof the program did not appeal to his sense of fitness. \n\nYet even to the end a benignant fortune conspired to \nkeep the spotlight full upon him. \n\nThe life-saving drill consisted chiefly of an imaginary \nrescue of shipwrecked sailors. At the far end of the \ninclosure stood a dummy mast and yard; over this con\xc2\xac \ntrivance a line was shot, and presently a breeches buoy \nrattled out and took off the pseudo-mariners in distress. \n\nMcNicol, viewing this spectacle somewhat languidly \nfrom the speakers\xe2\x80\x99 platform, suddenly heard his name \ncalled out. The captain of the coast-guard crew was \ndirecting a megaphone toward him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWould you like t\xe2\x80\x99 be rescued, Mr. Mayor?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNo, Mr. Mayor did not care at all for the idea; yet \ninstantly\xe2\x80\x94such was his present political acumen\xe2\x80\x94he \nnodded his head and pushed his way through the crowd \ntoward the coast-guard captain. Already the proposal \nhad caught the popular fancy. There were cheers. \n\nThe captain seemed surprised. \xe2\x80\x9cI was only jokin\xe2\x80\x99. \nDon\xe2\x80\x99t do it unless y\xe2\x80\x99 want t\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut McNicol, in full view of the multitude, threw off \nhis coat with a reckless come-what-may gesture that \nbrought an access of applause, strode to the dummy mast, \nclimbed it, swung himself into the breeches buoy\xe2\x80\x94not \nan easy thing to do\xe2\x80\x94and to the accompaniment of vocifer\xc2\xac \nous approving hilarity was pulled toward a mythical shore. \nTo add even greater savor to the episode, he kicked his \nlegs wildly throughout his aerial journey. \n\nAs he disengaged himself from the apparatus, smiling \nas if he had keenly relished the experience, a man with a \ncamera addressed him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want a picture of that for the Detroit papers. Would \nyou mind doing it again?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe manner in which McNicol acquiesced to this un- \n\n\nTHE GOOD SCOUT \n\n\n387 \n\nreasonable request proved how much he had learned in \ntwo years. He did not follow his first indignant instinct \nand bellow: \xe2\x80\x9cWhat do I care \xe2\x80\x99bout what you and the \nDetroit papers want? I\xe2\x80\x99m not a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 through that silly \nbusiness again. Why wasn\xe2\x80\x99t you ready the first time?\xe2\x80\x9d \nNo, he bowed amiably to the demands of the press, re\xc2\xac \nturned to the dummy mast once more, and a second time \nwas rescued, gesticulating even more frantically for the \nphotographer. \n\nTo the uninitiate, it may perhaps seem that these were \nundignified, even cheap, maneuverings\xe2\x80\x94antics unworthy \nof a Great Man. But the soundness of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s political \nintuition was fully vindicated by a remark which he \nchanced to overhear from one of the crowd, and which \nin a way\xe2\x80\x94to him, at least\xe2\x80\x94afforded the most pleasing \ntribute of the afternoon\xe2\x80\x99s celebration. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay,\xe2\x80\x9d the voice announced with a chuckle that was \nnot lacking in respect. \xe2\x80\x9cSay\xe2\x80\x94that fellow McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s a \ngood scout, ain\xe2\x80\x99t he? A real good scout!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThan this, homage can go no further. \n\n\nCHAPTER II \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\nI \n\n\nHE afternoon before election day, McNicol paid \n\n\n\nA what was intended to be a flying visit to his office \nin the City Hall. \n\nHe was in an impatient mood as he let himself in \nthrough the private entrance; for to-day was the busiest \nof the year for him. He had just come from two factory \nmeetings, and he must hurry on to other similar engage\xc2\xac \nments. To-night, after addressing a half dozen smaller \ngatherings, he purposed ending the campaign at a mon\xc2\xac \nster rally of Republican workers at the Light Infantry \nArmory. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI got no time for small change now,\xe2\x80\x9d he muttered to \nhimself. \n\nThe appointment had been arranged by Gayly \nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x94a circumstance that did not diminish McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nanimosity. Yet when he appeared at the open door be\xc2\xac \ntween his private room and the outer office he smiled \nbenignantly upon the little group of persons waiting \nfor him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome right in,\xe2\x80\x9d he urged, with professional sunni\xc2\xac \nness. \n\nThere were four adults and one infant-in-arms in the \nparty. The hapless infant it was who had unconsciously \nsupplied the provocation for the affair by permitting him\xc2\xac \nself to be christened: \xe2\x80\x9cWellington Dennison McNicol \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n389 \n\nSimpers.\xe2\x80\x9d In addition to young Master Simpers, there \nwere his mother, somewhat scared by all this sudden \nprominence; the Globe photographer; the young woman \nreporter who was to write the feature story for the same \npaper; and lastly, another woman of about thirty, rather \narresting in appearance and much more dashingly dressed \nthan Mrs. Simpers. Her connection with the enterprise \nwas not explained, but McNicol assumed she was his \nnamesake\xe2\x80\x99s aunt. \n\nThe ceremony was brief, and not so unpleasant after \nall. He was careful to stand at the right of Mrs. Simpers, \nbecause he had long since discovered that the right side \nof his face photographed much more satisfactorily than \nthe left. It was a source of regret, however, that he could \nnot appropriately wear his hat in the picture; for his \nincreasing baldness seemed incongruous with the Lincoln \nbeard he had been sedulously cultivating during the past \ntwo months. Mrs. Simpers bashfully took her station next \nhim, in front of the camera, and handed over the pro\xc2\xac \ntesting infant. \n\nMcNicol was surprised to find himself thrilled by the \nsimple process of holding a baby in his arms. He had \nquite forgotten his liking for very young children; it gave \nhim naive pleasure to be able to allay Master Simpers\xe2\x80\x99s \nfright at the ordeal of the flashlight. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRaised four of \xe2\x80\x99em myself,\xe2\x80\x9d he explained to the \nreporter. \xe2\x80\x9cGuess I ain\xe2\x80\x99t forgot how.\xe2\x80\x9d And all at once \nhe was racked by the passionate wish that his own chil\xc2\xac \ndren might by some miracle be transformed into little \nbabies once more. \n\nNext he presented his namesake with a ten-dollar \ngold piece. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy the time he has grown up,\xe2\x80\x9d he charged the mother, \n\xe2\x80\x9cI may no longer be here-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe woman reporter was a flip young thing. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course \n\n\n\n390 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nyou will!\xe2\x80\x9d she interrupted, cheerfully. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll live to be \neighty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t talkin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout how long I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to live,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nresponded with asperity. \xe2\x80\x9cI mean I may not be here \nin Detroit.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe young woman made a truly admirable recovery. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s so. More likely in the White House.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol deprecated, though he flushed with \npleasure. \xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t won this election yet.\xe2\x80\x9d Then he re\xc2\xac \nverted to Mrs. Simpers. \xe2\x80\x9cWhen the boy grows up, hand \nhim that gold piece and tell him who gave it to him. Tell \nhim this motto from me: \xe2\x80\x98Work hard, be good to your \nmother, keep away from strong drink, save money\xe2\x80\x94and \nsome day you\xe2\x80\x99ll be a Great Man, too.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDeeply affected by the sound advice, the visitors \ndeparted. \n\nWhen he heard the outer door slam shut, he turned \ntoward his desk instinctively, pulled out the lower drawer, \nand drew forth his bottle of whisky. He was very tired, \nhe discovered, and required fortification for the exhaust\xc2\xac \ning demands of the balance of the afternoon. \n\nAs he tilted his head back, however, he became aware \nthat the unidentified, stylishly dressed woman was stand\xc2\xac \ning in the doorway, surveying him with a curious com\xc2\xac \nbination of amusement and pretended inadvertence on her \nhandsome face. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI beg your pardon,\xe2\x80\x9d she hazarded. It was the first \ntime she had spoken; her voice was low pitched and \nagreeable, with an indefinable caressing quality that \nmight have been partly artificial. But she did not offer \nto retire; there was about her, indeed, a certain unmis\xc2\xac \ntakable assuredness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99 you want?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol was embarrassed as \nwell as annoyed. He set the bottle down on the desk, \nbecause he realized that an attempt at concealment would \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n39 i \n\n\nonly make him more ridiculous. Nevertheless, he made \nthe tactical error of explaining: \xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s times when a \nman needs a stimulant. I don\xe2\x80\x99t often-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was a world of gracious sympathy in her nod as \nshe came toward the desk and helped herself to a chair. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPlease don\xe2\x80\x99t stop on my account.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill he eyed her uneasily, the thought visiting him that \nshe might be a reporter from some hostile newspaper. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWasn\xe2\x80\x99t you with those other people?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe woman laughed impenitently, but placatingly. Her \nteeth were fine and very white. Her mirth also called \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s attention to the fact of physical opulence: she \nwas not fat or in any way misshapen, but her face was \nextremely full and her figure mature and billowy. She \nwas a brunette; her eyes were large but not languorous; \nthe brows above, regular and well chiseled. Her nose was \nstraight, her mouth not unrestrained in its softness; the \nround cheeks so colorful that even the inexperienced \nMcNicol suspected the touch of rouge. He caught, too, \nthe emanation of perfumery. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, I was with them, all right, but I didn\xe2\x80\x99t belong,\xe2\x80\x9d \nshe explained. \xe2\x80\x9cYou see, I had to talk to you, so when \nI found out what was going to happen I just joined the \nparty, d\xe2\x80\x99 you understand? Anything to get in and tell \nyou my troubles.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol was slightly reassured \xe2\x80\x9cAll right, but re\xc2\xac \nmember my time is short.\xe2\x80\x9d He glanced at his watch. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, Your Honor, I\xe2\x80\x99ve come to ask you if you won\xe2\x80\x99t \ngive me a job as stenographer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe revelation caught him unprepared. The woman \ndid not look like a stenographer; as he would have put it, \nshe was too \xe2\x80\x9cdressy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou mean\xe2\x80\x94to work!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe nodded, bravely repelling incipient tears. \xe2\x80\x9cI used \n\n\n\n392 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nto be a stenographer before I got married. My hus\xc2\xac \nband-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDead, ma\xe2\x80\x99am?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I\xe2\x80\x99m afraid so, Your Honor. He enlisted for the \nwar last spring, and\xe2\x80\x94well, he hasn\xe2\x80\x99t come back.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt this precise instant McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s ready sympathy was \nbroken into by the sound of a key in the private door; \nthen Artemas Bigelow, who alone with Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien pos\xc2\xac \nsessed the right of entree through this door, stepped into \nthe room. \n\nThe woman merely twisted around at the intrusion, \nbut McNicol sprang to his feet with what must have \nappeared to be a guilty apprehensiveness. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, it\xe2\x80\x99s\xe2\x80\x94it\xe2\x80\x99s you!\xe2\x80\x9d he faltered. \xe2\x80\x9cJus\xe2\x80\x99 set down a \nminute.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow\xe2\x80\x99s astounded eyes took in the scene at a glance. \n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no,\xe2\x80\x9d he demurred, with an insinuating smile. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll \nwait outside.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCurbing horrible oaths of annoyance at the mischance, \nthe mayor resumed his seat. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m afraid\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d began the woman, propitiatingly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no\xe2\x80\x94just my attorney. Now let\xe2\x80\x99s see. I regret \nto say there ain\xe2\x80\x99t no opening here for a stenographer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer eyes filled with tears of distress. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m so dis\xc2\xac \nappointed! I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t have bothered you, only you have \nsuch a reputation for being generous.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol softened. \xe2\x80\x9cYou have my sympathy, ma\xe2\x80\x99am, \nin your great misfortune. The wife of a soldier who has \ngiven his life\xe2\x80\x99s blood for his country is entitled to first \nchance. Though there ain\xe2\x80\x99t no opening here right now, \nthere might be some time. S\xe2\x80\x99posin\xe2\x80\x99 you leave me your \nname and address.\xe2\x80\x9d He picked up his pencil. \n\nAgain she bravely mastered her grief. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s Irma \nEvans, Your Honor.\xe2\x80\x9d She lived in a small apartment on \n\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n393 \n\nHigh Street, not far from the Mayor\xe2\x80\x99s first home, and \nshe could be reached by telephone. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTil tell you,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol resumed. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll keep your name \non file, and even if there ain\xe2\x80\x99t no vacancy here, I\xe2\x80\x99m likely \nto hear of some other position.\xe2\x80\x9d He deposited the memo\xc2\xac \nrandum in an upper drawer. \n\nMrs. Evans\xe2\x80\x99s gratitude became vaguely tinged by mis\xc2\xac \ngivings. \xe2\x80\x9cHow good you are to me! But I\xe2\x80\x99d ever so \nmuch rather work for you than anybody else.\xe2\x80\x9d She arose \nreluctantly, as if to leave. \n\nTo conceal his confusion at this direct tribute to his \nattractive qualities, he coughed. \xe2\x80\x9cBy the way, have you \ngot any references, or are you jus\xe2\x80\x99 startin\xe2\x80\x99 in to work \nagain?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, I left a position last week,\xe2\x80\x9d she divulged, hesi\xc2\xac \ntantly; then, to forestall his retrieval of the memorandum, \nshe added: \xe2\x80\x9cBut please don\xe2\x80\x99t inquire about me there. \nYou see\xe2\x80\x94well, to tell the truth, I had to leave the place \nbecause my employer\xe2\x80\x94because my employer\xe2\x80\x99s conduct \ntoward me was\xe2\x80\x94well, improper.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe looked so unhappy that all McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s chivalry \nleaped up. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s his name? I\xe2\x80\x99ll see he\xe2\x80\x99s punished \ngood and sufficient for insultin\xe2\x80\x99 a soldier\xe2\x80\x99s wife!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe debated the question. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, I don\xe2\x80\x99t think I ought \nto tell you\xe2\x80\x94though he deserves it, the ugly little cur!\xe2\x80\x9d \nThen her manner changed, she looked straight at McNicol, \nand said, softly, \xe2\x80\x9cOf course, it might be different with \nyou.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was utterly, pitifully stunned, as if his comely \nvisitor had unexpectedly seized the whisky bottle and \nstruck him over the head. The impact was to all intents \nand purposes physical. Then slowly, as the fair inference \nof her words burrowed into his brain, his mouth dropped \nopen and his cheeks began to burn. He stared incredu\xc2\xac \nlously. \n\n\n394 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nIrma Evans had not flushed\xe2\x80\x94that was the puzzling \npart of it\xe2\x80\x94nor was her demeanor that of the traditional \nsiren. It seemed altogether impossible that she could be \naware of the significance of her words. Certainly there \nwas nothing more than appealing gratitude in the warm \ngaze she maintained upon him. \n\nBut now her eyes fell diffidently, as if perhaps it had \ncome home to her that her impulsive affection for her \npatron had carried her too far. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank you so much for your kindness. I\xe2\x80\x99ll hope to \nhear from you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWith one final daring glance of intimate approval, she \nwas gone. \n\nBut McNicol remained cataleptically rigid. His first \ndefinite emotion was one of ingenuous masculine pride. \nA handsome woman had come into the office on a business \nerrand and been instantly enthralled by him. The thing \nwas indefensible, of course, yet how could he blame her \nmuch? His second reaction, however, was an intense \nanger\xe2\x80\x94not so much because of the implied immorality of \nthis widow\xe2\x80\x99s proposal, but rather because it was she who \nhad taken the initiative. The male in him was obscurely \naffronted; man should be the aggressor in such affairs, \nwoman coyly elusive. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou strumpet!\xe2\x80\x9d he execrated. \xe2\x80\x9cApproachin\xe2\x80\x99 me with \nany such proposition. A good thing for you you cleared \nout just when you did! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPresently there came a discreet knocking at the private \ndoor. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCome in!\xe2\x80\x9d He had quite forgotten about Bigelow; \nhe would, in truth, have paid a hundred dollars to escape \nthe forthcoming colloquy. \n\nThe attorney\xe2\x80\x99s spherical head projected itself cau\xc2\xac \ntiously through the entrance way. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCoast clear?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n395 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course, you fool!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSteady! Steady! How should I know what you were \nup to?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWa\xe2\x80\x99n\'t up to nothin\xe2\x80\x99!\xe2\x80\x9d said the Great Man, crossly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cSoldier\xe2\x80\x99s widow lookin\xe2\x80\x99 for work. Just a business inter\xc2\xac \nview.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI dare say. Of course! That accounts for the \nScotch.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow leered at the bottle on the mayoral \ndesk. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, my boy\xe2\x80\x94to think of how you\xe2\x80\x99ve been fooling \nme all these years! Exactly like you to keep it dark. \nCome on now\xe2\x80\x94who is she?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll have to excuse me. I got to go now.\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol \nlooked at his watch and rose with dignity. There was no \nuse protesting his innocence to a fellow with Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s \nevil mind. \xe2\x80\x9cFifteen minutes late already.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right, all right\xe2\x80\x94if you want to be a clam. I just \ndropped in to see what you\xe2\x80\x99d decided to do about Gayly\xe2\x80\x99s \ncontract.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTalk \xe2\x80\x99bout that after election.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m leaving town to-night \nfor a week.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, then,\xe2\x80\x9d the mayor revealed, curtly, \xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 \nto renew O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s contract\xe2\x80\x94see? No good to me any \nmore. In fact, I been payin\xe2\x80\x99 him a high salary for two \nyears and not gettin\xe2\x80\x99 a thing for my money. But jus\xe2\x80\x99 to \nprove I\xe2\x80\x99m a good sport, I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to give him a job out \nat the plant\xe2\x80\x94not a five-thousand-dollar job, mind you, \nbut a good one at that, where he\xe2\x80\x99ll have a chance for \npromotion.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m sorry to hear it.\xe2\x80\x9d The lawyer\xe2\x80\x99s expression, so \nwaggish a moment ago, fell away to melancholy. \xe2\x80\x9cSure \nyou\xe2\x80\x99re not making a mistake to ditch him in favor of \nloe Cottrell?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol moved restively toward the door. \xe2\x80\x9cYou bet \nI\xe2\x80\x99m sure. And now I got to skip along.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n396 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d There came a resilient rebound to jocularity \nin Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s intonation. \xe2\x80\x9cHadn\xe2\x80\x99t you better stow that \nbottle first?\xe2\x80\x9d And when his friend irately returned to the \ndesk, he added: \xe2\x80\x9cTell you what, Mac. We\xe2\x80\x99re both tired \nout. You better come along with me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere you goin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cChicago. Me and Katerina-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cChicago!\xe2\x80\x9d The name always brought an infelicitous \nrecollection of his half-witted son. \n\nBigelow nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cWire Arnold Desmond\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s my \nChicago name!\xe2\x80\x94at the Bremen Hotel if you \xe2\x80\x99ll come. \nKaterina and I will provide you a suitable partner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, thank you!\xe2\x80\x9d The great man approached the \ndoor. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll have no traffic with that sort of sinful \ngoin\xe2\x80\x99s-on.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, sin\xe2\x80\x99s all right. Necessary to wisdom.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow \nchuckled. \xe2\x80\x9cOnly don\xe2\x80\x99t go playing around with some lady \nyou don\xe2\x80\x99t know anything about. Don\xe2\x80\x99t trifle with soldiers\xe2\x80\x99 \nwidows. I say\xe2\x80\x94will you do it? Glad to fix it up for you. \nTo-morrow night, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol indignantly brushed the offer aside and \nplunged once more into the round of speechmaking. Yet \nthe suggestion somehow clung; and toward midnight, \nin the midst of his impassioned harangue to his followers \nat the Light Infantry Armory, he was overtaken by an \nabrupt and astonishingly vivid picture of Irma Evans \nsurveying him ardently, her lips moving to words of \nunequivocal invitation. \n\n\n11 \n\nThe knocking persisted inconsiderately, and McNicol \nfinally grunted out a drowsy response. Then he felt a \nhand on his shoulder and opened his eyes upon Beatrice. \nIt must have been late in the forenoon, for she was fully \ndressed, and there was no sign of Lessie in the bedroom. \n\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n397 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWha\xe2\x80\x94what\xe2\x80\x99s the matter?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFrowningly she handed him one of the two slips of \npaper she had brought. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThese telegrams were just telephoned from your \noffice,\xe2\x80\x9d she explained. \xe2\x80\x9cLucky I happened to be the one \nto get them.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis eyes still smarted a little from the tobacco smoke \nof last night\xe2\x80\x99s political rallies, but he read the message \nanxiously. \n\nNelson\'s Point, Mich., Nov. 3, 1898. \n\nBest wishes from Nelson\xe2\x80\x99s Point Republicans. We predict \nyour reelection by overwhelming majority. Now for nineteen \nhundred and the Governorship. \n\nW. P. Tompkins, Chairman. \n\nHis displeasure was accentuated by a sudden sense of \nphysical nausea. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDidn\xe2\x80\x99t you know no better \xe2\x80\x99n to wake me up on \naccounta this here?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBee, ordinarily, was not one to absorb such outbursts \nmeekly; but on this occasion she seemed preoccupied \nwith more serious matters. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s not all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe eyed the second telegram. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo,\xe2\x80\x9d she withheld. \xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s something I must ex\xc2\xac \nplain first.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJus\xe2\x80\x99 wait a minute, then.\xe2\x80\x9d His stomach\xe2\x80\x99s discomfort \ncould be ignored no longer. That was one of the dis\xc2\xac \nadvantages of being a Great Man: the necessity of gulp\xc2\xac \ning down wholesale quantities of strong drink pro bono \npublico every day\xe2\x80\x94especially during campaigns\xe2\x80\x94carried \nwith it extremely distressing after-effects. \n\nAfter he had had recourse to the box of soda tablets in \nhis coat pocket, however, he felt a little less ill. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what is it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n398 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI was going to tell you this part to-day, anyway,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nBeatrice. a I\xe2\x80\x99ve promised to marry Harrison Pitkins, \njunior. The announcement is to be made in Sunday\xe2\x80\x99s \npapers.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was surprised and at first disgruntled. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhen\xe2\x80\x99d that happen?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, last summer while I was visiting the family in \nMassachusetts. At least it started then, but Harrison \ndidn\xe2\x80\x99t speak to his father about it till last week.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt occurred to McNicol as unseemly that the sanction \nof Pitkins, senior, was considered vital, while his own was \ntaken for granted. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what do I know about young Pitkins? Haven\xe2\x80\x99t \nheard him askin\xe2\x80\x99 my consent, I haven\xe2\x80\x99t.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t be silly, papa!\xe2\x80\x9d But, noting that he was \noffended, she quickly placated: \xe2\x80\x9cNo, I don\xe2\x80\x99t mean silly\xe2\x80\x94 \nbut you see, that\xe2\x80\x99s an old-fashioned idea, asking the \nfather\xe2\x80\x99s consent. Nowadays, young people marry whom \nthey like. Only the Pitkins crowd are frightfully snob\xc2\xac \nbish, so I had to work them very carefully. Of course,\xe2\x80\x9d \nshe added, \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll have Harrison come in to see you. I knew \nyou\xe2\x80\x99d approve, anyway.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHis annoyance receded somewhat as he began to per\xc2\xac \nceive the larger phases of the situation. That Beatrice \nshould be betrothed was in itself an event of magnitude, \nirrespective of the identity of her fiance; but that she \nshould be marrying into one of the great aristocratic \nfamilies of the city\xe2\x80\x94what a feather in her cap! What a \npersonal triumph over the Mausoleum\xe2\x80\x99s varied handicaps! \nHe could not but be proud of her. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhen\xe2\x80\x99s it goin\xe2\x80\x99 to come off?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNext June.\xe2\x80\x9d Bee appeared not at all excited. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, well.\xe2\x80\x9d Though he did not definitely realize the \nfact, he was relieved, too: for more than once, of late \nyears, he had been not a little apprehensive about his \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n399 \n\n\nyounger daughter\xe2\x80\x99s future; she was headstrong, she v^as \nimpulsive; she might easily make a botch of her life by \nmarrying some worthless bounder, some good-looking \nEvanturel. Vaguely, she sometimes reminded him of her \nAunt Jenny\xe2\x80\x94the beautiful, the foolish: there was, to \nbe sure, a certain strain of self-seeking calculation in \nBeatrice that Jenny had never possessed; yet the two \nwomen\xe2\x80\x94one a forlorn fragment of life\xe2\x80\x99s scrap heap, the \nother young, vivid and enchanting\xe2\x80\x94were nevertheless \nremotely akin. \n\nBut now this worry, at least, need no longer harass him; \nand though a sharp pang cut through his heart at the \nthought of losing her, he could not deny that the news \nmade him happy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, well,\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd I s\xe2\x80\x99pose your beau\xe2\x80\x99s \na fine young spark, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEven at that Beatrice remained curiously distrait. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh yes, he\xe2\x80\x99s all right. No Adonis when it comes to \nlooks. Nothing to satisfy one\xe2\x80\x99s dream of romance.\xe2\x80\x9d She \nmade the strange admission almost wistfully. \xe2\x80\x9cBut I \nfancy there\xe2\x80\x99ll be a number of mamas sadly disappointed \nnext Sunday. Harrison\xe2\x80\x99s perfectly all right, too, in his \nway, only\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d She broke off half impatiently, as if dis\xc2\xac \npleased to find herself encumbered with vain, nebulous \nlongings\xe2\x80\x94then handed her father the second telegram. \n\nChicago, III., Nov. 3, 1898. \n\nRegret to inform you your son found dead this morning. \nFell out of his window some time during night while asleep \napparently. Wire disposition desired. \n\n1 \n\nThe message had been signed by the superintendent of \nthe \xe2\x80\x9chome.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJohn . . . dead!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nYet he had known for weeks that this would happen, \nthat one day some one would give him this telegram. In \n\n\n\n400 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\na flash he seemed to pierce through the explanation\xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x9cFell . . . while asleep apparently\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94to the ugly truth. \nThe tear-blotted phrase in his son\xe2\x80\x99s last letter focused \nitself sharply on the retina of his eye: \xe2\x80\x9cI swear I will \ntake my own life rather than spend it here in this hell\xc2\xac \nhole.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFor an instant he was at the mercy of a flux of grief \nand bitter self-crimination. Then the instinct of justifica\xc2\xac \ntion, always so strong in him, began to operate: he had \ndone nothing wrong; the tragedy wasn\xe2\x80\x99t his fault. It \nwas, in fact, a blessing that John had died\xe2\x80\x94far better a \nsudden painless cutting-off than the long slope of count\xc2\xac \nless crepuscular years. A great burden seemed to slip \nfrom McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s shoulders. \n\nThen he thought of what the newspapers might print \nabout the accident\xe2\x80\x94on this, election day! \n\nBeatrice\xe2\x80\x99s intent eyes bored through his preoccupation. \n\xe2\x80\x9cToo bad\xe2\x80\x94yet it\xe2\x80\x99s really a mercy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy didn\xe2\x80\x99t you give me this message first?\xe2\x80\x9d he \ndemanded. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause it concerns me and my plans,\xe2\x80\x9d she retorted \nat once without hint of self-reproach. \xe2\x80\x9cI had to tell you \nabout my engagement first.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI don\xe2\x80\x99t see-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t! Listen, papa\xe2\x80\x94John\xe2\x80\x99s death must be kept \nabsolutely quiet. If it gets out\xe2\x80\x94if there\xe2\x80\x99s anything in the \npapers about it\xe2\x80\x94all my plans will be spoiled and I can\xe2\x80\x99t \nannounce my engagement this week.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHer petulant callousness smote him. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the harm \nin puttin\xe2\x80\x99 it off a bit?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause it can\xe2\x80\x99t be put off, that\xe2\x80\x99s all.\xe2\x80\x9d Bee\xe2\x80\x99s insist\xc2\xac \nence approached hysteria. \xe2\x80\x9cIn the first place, I\xe2\x80\x99ve already \nmailed the announcement to the papers. In the second \nplace, if the Pitkins tribe ever found out I had a brother \n\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON 401 \n\nwho was crazy, you can just bet they\xe2\x80\x99d call the thing off \nin a jiffy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what of it? They ain\xe2\x80\x99t the only pebbles on the \nbeach, I guess. And, anyway, they don\xe2\x80\x99t need know what \nwas wrong with John.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\'t? If people find out about it at all, they\xe2\x80\x99ll know \nit happened at a sanitarium, won\xe2\x80\x99t they? And then the \nwhole nasty mess will come out. Wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t help you much, \neither, I can tell you.\xe2\x80\x9d She clenched her small fists and \nstamped fiercely on the carpet. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, no, no! You\xe2\x80\x99ve \nsimply got to hush it up. I\xe2\x80\x99ve had a hard enough time \ngetting anywhere, as it is\xe2\x80\x94making excuses from morning \nto night so as not to have people come here. Why, any \nother girl would have a reception or a dance at her home \nto announce her engagement, but / can\xe2\x80\x99t, can I? I have \nto make up some lie to explain why I don\xe2\x80\x99t have a recep\xc2\xac \ntion too. / have to get along with a plain announcement \nin the Sunday papers.\xe2\x80\x9d She was sobbing angrily. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd \nnow this has to happen\xe2\x80\x94at just the worst possible \ntime!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThus it came to pass that McNicol, after dispatching \nan admonitory telegram to the superintendent, did take \nthe train to Chicago that night, after all\xe2\x80\x94but to keep a \nsomewhat different rendezvous than that urged by Arte- \nmas Bigelow. Next morning, he ascertained that he had \nbeen reelected by a majority of over twenty thousand; \nand mingling discrepantly with his remorse, there devel\xc2\xac \noped in his mind a very definite sense of personal injury, \nnot unlike Beatrice\xe2\x80\x99s, that the catastrophe should have \noccurred at precisely the moment to vitiate his second \nenormous triumph at the hands of his fellow citizens. \n\nThus it came to pass, also, that John\xe2\x80\x99s unhappy clay \nwas hurriedly, furtively, shunted off to an obscure Chicago \ncemetery\xe2\x80\x94a well-deserved rebuke to him for having been \ninconsiderate enough to die at an inconvenient time. \n\n\n402 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nhi \n\nOne of the first to offer congratulations, after McNicoI\xe2\x80\x99s \nreturn to his office two mornings later, was Phil Morgan, \nthe bland, pink-cheeked political agent for the street- \nrailway company. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re on different sides of the fence,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, \xe2\x80\x9cbut \nthat fact don\xe2\x80\x99t keep me from recognizing a great man when \nI see one. If you don\xe2\x80\x99t end up in Washington, I miss \nmy guess.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s my friends deserves the credit,\xe2\x80\x9d the mayor dis\xc2\xac \ncounted, modestly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, friends are all right; but what I always say is, \nthe real glory goes to a man\xe2\x80\x99s mother. You must have \nhad a good one.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe finest old mother in the w T orld, Phil\xe2\x80\x94and still \nlivin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d He felt greatly drawn to Morgan, all at once. It \nhad not struck him as slightly peculiar that since his \nLabor Day talk with Joe Cottrell a considerable number \nof his associates had begun to make tearful references to \ntheir respective mothers. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell then, you\xe2\x80\x99re lucky,\xe2\x80\x9d bespoke the railway emis\xc2\xac \nsary, with great emotion. \xe2\x80\x9cI wish t\xe2\x80\x99 God mine was!\xe2\x80\x9d \nAfter an interval of silent communion he went on: \xe2\x80\x9cYes, \nYour Honor, I predict splendid achievements for your \nsecond term. You\xe2\x80\x99ve already done a lot; but, after all, \nit takes a man one term in office to really learn the iob, \nto get the hang of the ropes. . . . Now, please don\xe2\x80\x99t think \nI\xe2\x80\x99m taking advantage of a friendly talk to say I hope, and \nthe company hopes, that one of the things you\xe2\x80\x99ll tackle \nwill be a fair settlement of the street-car question.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat you mean?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, you know how it\xe2\x80\x99s been in this town for the last \nten years. Every political pirate attackin\xe2\x80\x99 the company \njust to draw votes, but not one of \xe2\x80\x99em honestly wanting \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n403 \n\n\nto do anything about it. The people are getting sick of \nthe mess, and I\xe2\x80\x99ll say to you in confidence, the company \nis, too. There\xe2\x80\x99s no doubt at all that everybody wants \nsome reasonable solution of the quarrel.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, but looka here!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol objected, naively. \xe2\x80\x9cIf \nthe street-car question\xe2\x80\x99s settled, what issue would we have \nleft?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMorgan retained his gravity. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all very well for \nthe cheap politicians to worry about; but a real statesman \n\xe2\x80\x94like yourself, if I may say so\xe2\x80\x94don\xe2\x80\x99t need that kind of \nhorse-play. Besides, this will be your last whack at \nmunicipal politics. Two years from now you\xe2\x80\x99ll be in the \nGovernor\xe2\x80\x99s chair. Don\xe2\x80\x99t you see\xe2\x80\x94it\xe2\x80\x99s a real chance for \nyou to do something constructive for the city, without ref\xc2\xac \nerence to politics?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe argument was plausible, but the mayor discovered \nhimself instinctively hostile. \xe2\x80\x9cBesides, Phil, how could I \nsettle with you? I been talkin\xe2\x80\x99 municipal ownership to \nthe voters, you know that. I can\xe2\x80\x99t give you no franchise.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s all right. We\xe2\x80\x99d make it a part of the agree\xc2\xac \nment that the city could buy us out any time it wanted to. \nLook here, Mac: You\xe2\x80\x99re a first-class business man; then \nwhy not settle this mess on a business basis? If you\xe2\x80\x99d \nleave politics out, the whole thing could be fixed up over a \nlunch table. You want to do something for the people, \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t you\xe2\x80\x94something that will be a permanent monument \nto you? Understand, I don\xe2\x80\x99t ask you to take my say-so \nalone. Talk it over with your advisers. Ask Bigelow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe suggestion was not entirely a felicitous one. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m \nmakin\xe2\x80\x99 up my own mind, from now on,\xe2\x80\x9d the people\xe2\x80\x99s \nchampion set forth, with palpable asperity. \n\nMorgan discerned that he had said enough, and arose \nto go. \xe2\x80\x9cOf course you are! Well, think it over. No \nhurry.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe next caller, it so happened, was Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien; \n\n\n\n404 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nand it was noteworthy that he entered from the outer office \ninstead of through the private doorway. \n\nMcNicol, indeed, remarked upon the circumstance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy contract expired on election day,\xe2\x80\x9d explained the \nerstwhile campaign manager, \xe2\x80\x9cand with it my license to \nintrude without warning, I suppose. In fact, I\xe2\x80\x99ve come \nto turn in my key.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor was relieved to be spared the necessity of \nterminating the relationship, but he was perplexed as well. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat makes you think I ain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to renew your \ncontract?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s been quite apparent for some time, Chief,\xe2\x80\x9d Gayly \nsaid, quite without animosity. \xe2\x80\x9cYou want to paddle your \nown canoe, which is perfectly natural. We\xe2\x80\x99re still damn\xe2\x80\x99 \ngood friends; and if there\xe2\x80\x99s anything I can ever do for \nyou, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be tickled to death.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCuriosity spread in McNicol; he had expected no such \ncasual leave-taking. He purposed being generous, never\xc2\xac \ntheless. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll be wantin\xe2\x80\x99 another job, I reckon,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, \xe2\x80\x9cand \njust to show you I appreciate your services, I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 \nto get you a position out at the plant.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien shook his long narrow head decisively. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThanks just the same, but I\xe2\x80\x99m already fixed.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou are? Not a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to stay in politics?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo. I like the game, but there\xe2\x80\x99s no future in it. I\xe2\x80\x99m \ngoing into business\xe2\x80\x94the fact is, with your son.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cArthur!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, Chief.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol felt grossly affronted, even betrayed. Any one \nwho countenanced his impenitent son became ipso facto \nan enemy. For Arthur had not come near the Mausoleum, \nhad not yet made the slightest overtures toward a recon\xc2\xac \nciliation. Lessie had seen him a number of times, but \nalways at the hotel. McNicol had been too proud to ask \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n405 \n\n\nquestions; he had no notion of what his son might be up to. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, it\xe2\x80\x99s none of my affairs,\xe2\x80\x9d he disparaged, \xe2\x80\x9cbut ITi \nsay this: I got nothin\xe2\x80\x99 to do with my son; I take no re\xc2\xac \nsponsibility for his actions. I warn you, he\xe2\x80\x99s a good-for- \nnothin\xe2\x80\x99 loafer, and if you have anything to do with him, \nyou\xe2\x80\x99ll come to grief.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien smiled cheerfully. \xe2\x80\x9cOh no, I guess not. \nArthur\xe2\x80\x99s a smart chap and he\xe2\x80\x99s picked up some good back\xc2\xac \ning. Perhaps you don\xe2\x80\x99t know it, but we\xe2\x80\x99re going into the \npharmaceutical business. Going to be competitors of \nyours.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol sat motionless and inarticulate. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, good-by, Chief, and good luck!\xe2\x80\x9d O\xe2\x80\x99Brien \nflushed a little when his outstretched hand was ignored, \nbut quickly recovered. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, yes\xe2\x80\x94here\xe2\x80\x99s the key.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was some moments before the mayor could manage \nto discharge his venom even into unspoken words. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI mighta known it. Jus\xe2\x80\x99 like a Mick. A damn\xe2\x80\x99 good \nriddance\xe2\x80\x94and by God! I\xe2\x80\x99ll smash the both of \xe2\x80\x99em!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe picked up the key to the private door, and an hour \nor two later presented it to Joe Cottrell. \n\nIV \n\nAlong toward the close of afternoon there came a sur\xc2\xac \ncease of affairs of state, and McNicol leaned back in his \nswivel chair wearily. \n\nEver since the visit of Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien that morning he \nhad continued in a morose frame of mind. Now, unfore- \nseeably, he was bored. A Great Man\xe2\x80\x94yes, but bored. \n\nHis secretary brought in the day\xe2\x80\x99s final mail, and he \nglanced at it languidly. The first letter was from a \ntobacco merchant requesting gracious permission to label \nhis latest product: \xe2\x80\x9cThe W. D. McNicol Five-cent Cigar.\xe2\x80\x9d \nAssuredly, this was fame; he could hope for no sweeter \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n406 \n\nboon\xe2\x80\x94yet his ennui remained, and he yawned so vigor\xc2\xac \nously that the interior of his mouth emitted a fine spray of \nmoisture. For the moment he was impervious even to \nvanity. \n\nAnother letter, however, proved more arresting. On \nthe envelope he identified Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s brisk hand\xc2\xac \nwriting, and drew out a card that bore a lithographed \nsemblance of the Bremen Hotel, Chicago\xe2\x80\x94and along the \nlower edge, the written message: \n\n\nStill three days left\xe2\x80\x94better hurry! \n\nArnold Desmond. \n\n\nPlease come! \n\n\nKaterina. \n\n\nThen the door to the outer office opened, and the Rev. \nRonald Beemish was shown in. \n\nThe mayor was distinctly not pleased to discern the \npious and dreary visage of the one-time president of the \nMcNicol-for-Mayor Club. \xe2\x80\x9cThe Great Stone Face\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94 \nthat was Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s irreverent but perfect nickname, and \nit would live as long as the Reverend Beemish himself. \n\nBy now, indeed, McNicol regarded all amateur reform\xc2\xac \ners as a pestiferous nuisance; and it was his minister \nmore than any one else who had induced the change in his \npoint of view. Beemish had bothered him a good deal \nduring the early months of his first term with constant \nclamorings for impossible crusades. The strict observance \nof the Sabbath, for example. The instantaneous abolish\xc2\xac \nment of the red-light district. He seemed to regard the \nmayor as a kind of magnified Sunday-school superinten\xc2\xac \ndent. Like others of his ilk, he was utterly deficient, not \nonly in a sense of humor, but even more markedly in the \nperception of practical difficulties and the necessity of \ncompromise. Of late, indeed, as McNicol came more and \nmore under the influence of liberal ideas, there had de- \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n407 \n\nveloped a mute but obvious estrangement between them. \nHis spiritual shepherd had not so much as set foot in the \noffice for a year. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLet me congratulate you,\xe2\x80\x9d began Beemish, conven\xc2\xac \ntionally, but without enthusiasm. \n\nMcNicol accepted the limp hand. \xe2\x80\x9cThank you, Pas\xc2\xac \ntor.\xe2\x80\x9d He glanced nervously at his desk to reassure himself \nthat the incriminating whisky bottle was safely secreted. \n\nThe Great Stone Face had come on a delicate errand, \nit evolved. He had been deeply pained by the multiply\xc2\xac \ning evidences of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s moral disintegration\xe2\x80\x94more \nspecifically, the matter of indulgence in alcohol; but thus \nfar he had refrained from making a personal appeal. Now, \nhowever, he had been approached by some one very near \nand dear to the backslider, and petitioned to mediate with \na view to saving the strayed lamb. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho you mean\xe2\x80\x94my wife?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol, for the second \ntime that day, was convulsed with bitter resentment. \xe2\x80\x9cShe \nbeen talkin\xe2\x80\x99 to you \xe2\x80\x99bout me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Reverend Ronald, conscious of imminent physical \ndanger, suddenly fell to his knees. \xe2\x80\x9cLet us pray for divine \nguidance.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was an unfair advantage, in a way. The strayed \nlamb, exasperated as he was, scarcely dared to refuse to \nfollow suit. And the worst of it was that the minister did \nnot content himself with seeking divine guidance; quite \non the contrary, he utilized his opportunity to chronicle \nthe complete list of McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s slippings from grace, real \nand fancied; nor did he neglect to point out to God the \nobvious connection between the death of John and the \nsinfulness of John\xe2\x80\x99s father. \n\nAltogether an excruciating ordeal. The victim was so \npitifully helpless; the utmost he could do was to squirm \nand imagine horrible punishments for his tormentor. \nReverend Beemish need not have hurried out so precipi- \n\n\n40 8 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nlately at the prayer\xe2\x80\x99s conclusion, for his victim was far \npast harming him. McNicol, in fact, regained his feet \nwith difficulty. The tremendous energy he had generated \nin suppressing his desire to twist the Beemish neck seemed \nto curdle into an insidious infection. He trembled. A \nsharp spasm of pain contorted his stomach. \n\nYes, he hated Beemish and all others of the same kid\xc2\xac \nney; but his most virulent fury he reserved for his wife. \nLessie it was who had heaped his indignity upon him. \nLessie it was who had revealed the secret of their son\xe2\x80\x99s \nunhappy end\xe2\x80\x94who by blaming him converted the tragedy \ninto terms of personal grievance. \n\nHe fancied Beemish reporting to her in this wise: \xe2\x80\x9cYes, \nsister, I got him to go down on his knees and ask God\xe2\x80\x99s \nforgiveness. I can promise you you\xe2\x80\x99ll have a better hus\xc2\xac \nband from now on,\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere again he was helpless, baffled. He could not in\xc2\xac \nflict physical punishment, as husbands were wont to do \nin the bright days of a bygone generation; and of what \navail would it be to shout his maledictions against the \nstone wall of her deafness? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo she\xe2\x80\x99s a-tellin\xe2\x80\x99 folks I\xe2\x80\x99m a drunkard, ay?\xe2\x80\x9d Yes, the \nGreat Stone Face had hinted even graver accusations. \nSomething about morals. McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s morose eye chanced \nupon the lithographed card from Artemas Bigelow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, if I got the name, might\xe2\x80\x99s well have the game, \ntoo.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt first profoundly thoughtful, his expression gradu\xc2\xac \nally kindled with the alluring idea. Why not slip over to \nChicago for a few days? Somehow it seemed a fitting pun\xc2\xac \nishment for Lessie. For the first time in his life, he per\xc2\xac \nmitted himself to feel unrestrainedly envious of Bigelow. \nAfter all, why be puritanical? His friend was right: \nmorals were only for inferior men\xe2\x80\x94the rank and file who \nhad to be kept in check by foolish fears and taboos. \n\n\nTHE GAY GOSSOON \n\n\n409 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJimmy! I\xe2\x80\x99ve a mind to do it!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen he scowled. No, he couldn\xe2\x80\x99t trust Bigelow. He \nwas afraid of Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s powers of ridicule, too; if he made \na fool of himself he would never hear the last of it\xe2\x80\x94and \nhe did not like to be laughed at. \n\nIn response to a swift association of ideas, McNicol \nwheeled about and glanced up toward the windows of the \noffice building across the street. \n\nBy George! if that fat rascal wasn\xe2\x80\x99t holding the same \ngirl on his lap again! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA fling\xe2\x80\x99d do me good. Nothin\xe2\x80\x99 outa the way, I don\xe2\x80\x99t \nmean\xe2\x80\x94but just a bit of fun.\xe2\x80\x9d He was quite certain on \nthis point: he would not really transgress against the \nmoral law; all he wanted was an innocent flirtation, some\xc2\xac \nthing to relieve the tedium of his existence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf only I hadn\xe2\x80\x99t thrown away that little widow\xe2\x80\x99s ad\xc2\xac \ndress-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe started, sat up straight. As a matter of fact, he \nhadn\xe2\x80\x99t thrown it away. Where was it? In an instant he \nremembered, and drew open the upper drawer. Yes. . . . \n\xe2\x80\x9cMrs. Irma Evans.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe whole delectable episode came back to him vividly. \nAfter an instant\xe2\x80\x99s hesitation he arose and went to the wall \ntelephone, with the demeanor of a small boy about to \nsmoke his first cigar. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNothin\xe2\x80\x99 outa the way, of course,\xe2\x80\x9d he reassured his \nbeating heart. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER III \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\nI \n\nI T was a sparkling afternoon of the following June, and \nMcNicoPs mood as soon as he had left the office of his \nfamily physician and started down Woodward Avenue \ntoward the City Hall speedily caught the exhilaration of \nthe sunshine and the passing crowds. \n\nThe family physician was an old fogy, anyway. Mc\xc2\xac \nNicoPs stomach, after months of sporadic misbehavior, \nhad inflicted such acute agony on him throughout the pre\xc2\xac \nceding night that he had finally listened to Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s ap\xc2\xac \npeals and taken medical advice. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll have to stop drinking and smoking for a time,\xe2\x80\x9d \nsaid the doctor, after pawing him over. \xe2\x80\x9cPie and cake, \ntoo. I don\xe2\x80\x99t think there\xe2\x80\x99s anything wrong organically, but \nyou\xe2\x80\x99d better consult a specialist in order to be on the safe \nside.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFor the moment McNicol had been aghast. Stop drink\xc2\xac \ning and smoking! But now, before he had walked a \nblock, he was scoffing at the idea. His stomach felt quite \nat peace again; and to indicate his derision of all wolf- \ncrying doctors, he paused and lighted one of his excellent \ncigars. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cConsult a specialist! Hell! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs he strode on down Woodward Avenue he became \naware all at once of a familiar touch upon his arm, and, \n\nturning his head quickly, beheld Irma Evans at his side. \n\n410 \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n411 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello, darling!\xe2\x80\x9d she said\xe2\x80\x94and any one might have \nheard the phrase. \n\nMcNicol raised his straw hat with formal politeness, \nas if to a lady he had slight acquaintance with, and forced \na conventional smile. \n\nBut Irma clung intimately to his arm. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99ve you \nbeen keeping yourself lately, Mac?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe had not visited her apartment, nor even telephoned \nher, for a fortnight. Their liaison was indubitably in its \nsecondary and final stages. The Great Man had arrived \nat the not original conclusion that a relationship with a \nwoman for whom he felt no personal affection speedily \nlost its allure. The anticipation had been exciting, the \nrealization depressing. His earlier qualms of fear, how\xc2\xac \never, had quite vanished, and he was more or less aston\xc2\xac \nished at the ease with which such affairs might be carried \non; neither Lessie nor anybody else had the remotest sus\xc2\xac \npicion, he felt certain. And till now his mistress had been \ndiscretion itself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBeen very busy,\xe2\x80\x9d he answered. \n\nHow could he get rid of her? Irma was conspicuously, \nif fashionably, dressed; and there was that in her physical \nopulence that accentuated the sexual. All Woodward Av\xc2\xac \nenue seemed to stare at them knowingly. Had she no \nsense at all, thus to waylay him on the city\xe2\x80\x99s busiest street? \nWhat if Lessie should step out of one of these stores\xe2\x80\x94or \nthe Reverend Beemish? \n\nFortunately, Irma herself paused. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve got to leave \nyou here,\xe2\x80\x9d she explained; but then, as he prepared to make \nhis escape, she went on, with the first arbitrary quality in \nher voice he had ever heard, \xe2\x80\x9cI want to see you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe must continue to simulate an aloof deference. \xe2\x80\x9cYes, \nof course. I\xe2\x80\x99ll call you-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI want to see you to-night \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAll he could do under the circumstances was to feign a \n\n\n\n412 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nglad acquiescence and bide a more favorable time to forbid \nher ever approaching him in public again. \n\nn \n\nAt five o\xe2\x80\x99clock the City Hall reporters for the Globe and \nthe Sun attended him, in accordance with their daily \ncustom. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNothin\xe2\x80\x99 special to-day, boys,\xe2\x80\x9d he announced, but did \nnot neglect to offer them cigars and a drink. \xe2\x80\x9cExcept my \ndaughter\xe2\x80\x99s weddin\xe2\x80\x99 next Monday, and I reckon I can\xe2\x80\x99t \ntell you much \xe2\x80\x99bout that, even.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThey nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cThe society reporters are covering \nthat,\xe2\x80\x9d vouchsafed the Sun man. \n\nMcNicol was now on terms of the utmost friendliness \nwith the newspaper men. Never so sagacious as Gayly \nO\xe2\x80\x99Brien in devising valuable publicity, he had neverthe\xc2\xac \nless come to realize the vast importance of amicable re\xc2\xac \nlations with the press. Having painfully acquired a sense \nof news values, he made careful memoranda of all avail\xc2\xac \nable stories and turned them over to the reporters. They \nappreciated his efforts and liked him personally, with the \nresult that even the hostile Herald and Sun gave him a \ngood deal of space and treated him with as much consider\xc2\xac \nation as possible. Of late, indeed, the Sun had become \nsomewhat more friendly than the Republican Globe, \nwhich seemed to have taken to municipal muckraking. \n\nIt was the Globe man, therefore, who asked, \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s \nnew in the street-car situation?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot a thing, Tom,\xe2\x80\x9d said the mayor. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m still keepin\xe2\x80\x99 \nhot after \xe2\x80\x99em.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut Tom had evidently been instructed to demand more \nprecise data. \xe2\x80\x9cIs there any truth in the report that you \nand Phil Morgan have been hatching up some settlement \nproposition?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot a speck. You can say for me this administration \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n4 i 3 \n\nain\xe2\x80\x99t a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to have no traffic of any kind with the cor\xc2\xac \nrupt corporation that\xe2\x80\x99s bleedin\xe2\x80\x99 the people of Detroit. \nNo, sir, never! I\xe2\x80\x99ll keep on a-fightin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99em till I\xe2\x80\x99ve brought \n\xe2\x80\x99em to their knees.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood! Now about that case against Joe Cottrell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, what about it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere McNicol could not afford to be so frank\xe2\x80\x94at least \nnot for publication. Cottrell, a notorious offender against \nthe law, had only this morning been convicted in police \ncourt of keeping his sample room open after hours\xe2\x80\x94 \nlargely as the result of the Globe\xe2\x80\x99s disclosures. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCottrell\xe2\x80\x99s appealed to the recorder\xe2\x80\x99s court. What we \nwant to know is whether you\xe2\x80\x99re going to press the case.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut what\xe2\x80\x99s that got to do with me?\xe2\x80\x9d the mayor pro\xc2\xac \ntested. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s up to the prosecutin\xe2\x80\x99 attorney.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTom contrived a cynical grimace. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, we all know the \nprosecutor\xe2\x80\x99s office will do what you say. You\xe2\x80\x99re a friend \nof Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s and you could have the case dropped any \ntime you said the word.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAs far\xe2\x80\x99s I\xe2\x80\x99m concerned, the lav/ \xe2\x80\x99ll take its course.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt that moment, the telephone rang. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello, Mac!\xe2\x80\x9d came a soft voice. \xe2\x80\x9cThis is Joe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, hello, Joe! \xe2\x80\x9d McNicol answered, and both reporters \naffected an elaborate unconcern. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSay, Mac,\xe2\x80\x9d the voice continued, \xe2\x80\x9cwho was the lady I \nsaw you walking down Woodward Avenue with this after\xc2\xac \nnoon?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat? Nobody in particular.\xe2\x80\x9d The Great Man \nflushed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, never mind. I just called to say maybe we\xe2\x80\x99ll \nhave to postpone our little trip to the Flats to-night. \nClouding up a bit\xe2\x80\x94may rain. But I\xe2\x80\x99ll phone you again \nlater v/hen we see what it\xe2\x80\x99s going to be like.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right. Hope we can go. I have to be here next \nweek on account of the weddin\xe2\x80\x99, you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n414 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure thing, Mac. But say, did you hear what they did \nto me in police court this morning?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, I heard, Joe,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cBut don\xe2\x80\x99t you \nworry \xe2\x80\x99bout that. Things \xe2\x80\x99ll be different in the recorder\xe2\x80\x99s \ncourt.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI hope so. You\xe2\x80\x99re pretty sure you can fix it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure I can fix it! Leave it to me, Joe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt the conclusion of this surprising conversation Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol returned to his desk with brisk good humor, not at \nall fazed by the presence of the two reporters. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho was that\xe2\x80\x94Joe Cottrell?\xe2\x80\x9d inquired Tom, very \ncasually. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYep. A bit worried, too.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, to remove any doubt \nabout the proper ethics of the matter, he observed: \n\xe2\x80\x9cCourse, you boys understand that was confidential.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, sure!\xe2\x80\x9d said the Sun man, heartily, and Tom ap\xc2\xac \npeared to acquiesce. \n\nNo further news having been exhumed, the mayor dis\xc2\xac \nmissed the journalists in the friendliest manner imag\xc2\xac \ninable. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere, have another smoke!\xe2\x80\x9d he insisted. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd take \nalong a copy o\xe2\x80\x99 this book. One of the finest I ever read. \nJust ordered a thousand of \xe2\x80\x99em to give to my friends.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd he presented each of them with A Message to \nGarcia . \n\nhi \n\nLessie, a little more apprehensive than usual, met him at \nthe door. Seeing her expression, he had an instant\xe2\x80\x99s fear\xc2\xac \nful premonition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cShe knows about Irma. Some one saw us on the street \nand told her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the source of her anxiety was Beatrice. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook here, pa,\xe2\x80\x9d she said, after she had led him up\xc2\xac \nstairs to their chamber. \xe2\x80\x9cCome this mornin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n4i5 \n\n\nHe took the letter. \n\nMy darling, \n\nI must see you once more. Can I come to-morrow after\xc2\xac \nnoon? Oh, my little Carissima, I can\'t lose you, I love you so. \n\nCesare. \n\nThe envelope was addressed to Beatrice. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt come this mornin\xe2\x80\x99,\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie repeated. \xe2\x80\x9cI kinda been \nsuspicious the way Bee was actin\xe2\x80\x99, so I thought I better \nopen it, and if everything was all right I could seal it up \nagain and give it to her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis form of parental censorship did not offend his \nsense of propriety in the smallest degree. On the con\xc2\xac \ntrary, he deemed it eminently proper. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWho\xe2\x80\x99s this here Cesare?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, don\xe2\x80\x99t you remember? Mr. Pasco\xe2\x80\x94that singer?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe did not, for several seconds. \xe2\x80\x9cNot that Eyetalian \nfellow? My God! but what\xe2\x80\x99s this mean, ma?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt means Bee\xe2\x80\x99s been a-carryin\xe2\x80\x99 on with him all the \ntime she\xe2\x80\x99s been engaged.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I thought it was Mary-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie shook her head. \xe2\x80\x9cSeems Bee took him away \nfrom Mary. Listen a minute. After I read this letter, \nI didn\xe2\x80\x99t say nothin\xe2\x80\x99 at all, but this afternoon Pasco come \nhere, anyhow. I crep\xe2\x80\x99 quietly into the library where they \nwas sittin\xe2\x80\x99, and this Pasco had his arms around Bee and \nhe was kissin\xe2\x80\x99 her. When he see me, he jumped up an\xe2\x80\x99 \nstarted to jabber something; and Bee she had one of her \nructions; but I stood my ground. Told \xe2\x80\x99em both what I \nthought \xe2\x80\x99bout that sort of goin\xe2\x80\x99s-on, and finally she said \nto him he better go now and they\xe2\x80\x99d see each other again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe veins stood out turgid from McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s neck and \nforehead. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s Bee now?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIn Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s room.\xe2\x80\x9d Lessie laid a hand gently on her \nhusband\xe2\x80\x99s arm. Recently she seemed to have softened \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n416 \n\ntoward him, almost as if she repented her folly in invoking \nthe Reverend Beemish\xe2\x80\x99s aid. \xe2\x80\x9cBut, pa, I think mebbe \nyou better go easy with her. You know how highstrung \nBee is. Don\xe2\x80\x99t try to force her.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe broke away impatiently, partly because he had no \nmind for such leniency, partly because he wished to es\xc2\xac \ncape her proffered reconciliation. As long as they re\xc2\xac \nmained estranged, even slightly, he felt his dalliance with \nIrma Evans somewhat justifiable. \n\nBut Bee\xe2\x80\x94his favorite, his pride, to whom alone of this \ndreary family all his affection went out! \n\nHe found her, tearful yet defiant, with Aunt Jenny and, \nunexpectedly, Mary. Evidently there had been some sort \nof quarrel between the two sisters. For the first time in \nhis life he saw bitter personal resentment in his elder \ndaughter\xe2\x80\x99s face, and later he could not help wondering how \nmuch she had cared for Pasco; the whole curious triangle \nforever remained shrouded for him. \n\nImmediately upon his truculent entrance, Mary left \nthe room. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow then\xe2\x80\x94what you got to say for yourself?\xe2\x80\x9d he \nshouted, with an air of demolishing Beatrice\xe2\x80\x99s unworthy \ndefenses in advance. \n\nThe encounter, as he might have foreseen, was not so \neasily to be won. Bee\xe2\x80\x99s tearfulness vanished, her defiance \nincreased, and he was discomfited to discover gradually \nthat he had two antagonists instead of one. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe child shall marry the one she wants to,\xe2\x80\x9d Jenny \nsuddenly asserted, with incredible vigor. \n\nHe sneered. \xe2\x80\x9cYeh, you\xe2\x80\x99re a fine one to be givin\xe2\x80\x99 that \nadvice, after the mess you made of things! What hap\xc2\xac \npened to the man you wanted?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m not sorry! An\xe2\x80\x99 I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t trade places with \nLessie, if that\xe2\x80\x99s what y\xe2\x80\x99 mean. I had my hour of happi\xc2\xac \nness, which is more\xe2\x80\x99n she ever did, poor girl.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n417 \n\n\nThe generation-old, long-repressed antagonism between \nthem had suddenly flared up again; and this pitiful residue \nof the beautiful Jenny Gough had thrown off her mock \nmeekness, her self-effacing humility, and was hitting out \nat her protector with blind and lethal fury. He, who had \nfed and clothed her for ten years, and all the time half- \npitied, half-scorned the futility of her existence, now \nfound himself set at naught by her in his own dwelling. \n\nEven so, he was not thinking of the personal affront, nor \neven of her absurd pity of Lessie. What aroused his ful\xc2\xac \nlest passion was the danger to his own child. All his most \ndismal forebodings about Bee\xe2\x80\x99s future seemed on the \nverge of realization. She was the handsome and irresolute \nGough virgin of the present generation\xe2\x80\x94a reincarnation \nof Jenny herself, facing the same alternatives that Jenny \nhad faced. And Jenny, impenitent, still glorying in her \nimpenetrable stupidity, was urging her niece to follow in \nher own tragic footsteps. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou shut your mouth!\xe2\x80\x9d he retorted, brutally. \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s \nmy flesh and blood, not your\xe2\x80\x99n. Who\xe2\x80\x99s a-forcin\xe2\x80\x99 her, any\xc2\xac \nhow? Didn\xe2\x80\x99t she choose young Pitkins herself?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJenny, quite undaunted, began to speak, but Beatrice \ninterrupted: \xe2\x80\x9cYes, I chose him, papa, but I made a great \nmistake.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMistake! A fine time to be findin\xe2\x80\x99 that out, four days \nahead of your weddin\xe2\x80\x99. Now listen here: if you don\xe2\x80\x99t \nstop this monkey business, right off, I\xe2\x80\x99m a-tellin\xe2\x80\x99 you you \nneed never expect another penny from me. I\'ll cut you \noff flat. Hear me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, money!\xe2\x80\x9d Bee enunciated the word with ineffable \ndisdain, then started crying. \xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that compared to \nlove? And I thought\xe2\x80\x94I thought even if everybody else \nturned against me, you\xe2\x80\x99d understand\xe2\x80\x94you\xe2\x80\x99d be on my \nside.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n418 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nShe had the strange power, now as ever, of disarming \nhim. He sensed the futility, moreover, of bullying her. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, my precious\xe2\x80\x94can\xe2\x80\x99t you see I\xe2\x80\x99m only a-tryin\xe2\x80\x99 to \nsave you from unhappiness? Can\xe2\x80\x99t you see you\xe2\x80\x99ll be the \none who\xe2\x80\x99ll have to suffer, not me?\xe2\x80\x9d He cared for this \nwillful child of his more than any one else in the world, \nexcept perhaps his mother; and his mother was almost an \nabstraction. His tones became wistfully persuasive\xe2\x80\x94as \nthey had never before been, probably, in his whole life. \nHe fancied himself fighting with Jenny for Bee\xe2\x80\x99s very life. \n\nThis change of tactics eventually justified itself. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, I\xe2\x80\x99ll go through with it, papa,\xe2\x80\x9d his daughter agreed, \njoylessly, \xe2\x80\x9cif it means so much to you. . . . Yes, I\xe2\x80\x99ll \ngo through with it, but I won\xe2\x80\x99t promise to be much of a \nwife.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nrv \n\nHe rang the doorbell of Irma\xe2\x80\x99s apartment shortly before \nnine o\xe2\x80\x99clock. \n\nAs he stood waiting, he remembered with ironical emo\xc2\xac \ntion the perturbed eagerness with which he had first rung \nthis same bell\xe2\x80\x94years ago, it seemed. But to-night he was \nin a mood of crestfallen disillusion\xe2\x80\x94no longer a gay gos\xc2\xac \nsoon, a venturesome light o\xe2\x80\x99 love, but a man infelicitously \nentangled. \n\nIrma had commanded his presence, and he could not \nrefuse. He felt driven, harassed; but this was not the sole \ncause of his disenchantment. The episode with Beatrice, \nfor example: he had won, to be sure; he had saved her; \nbut the tenderness she had evoked in him made his present \nexpedition all the more revolting. He, the father of an \nexquisite daughter\xe2\x80\x94a daughter about to be married\xe2\x80\x94 \ncarrying on a shabby furtive liaison with a disreputable \nwoman. Amour might be excusable and even becoming \nto very young persons; but in a man of nearly sixty it was \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n419 \n\n\nridiculous and disgusting\xe2\x80\x94nay, grossly indecent. Even \nan occasional old roue of his own years\xe2\x80\x94Artemas Bigelow, \nfor instance\xe2\x80\x94might seem to enjoy such folly; but there \nwas something in McNicol, some strain of Scotch hard\xc2\xac \nness, that prevented his taking immorality lightly. The \nthought of Irma almost sickened him. \n\nAnd to-night, there had been Lessie, too. He had told \nher he must go to an important political conference and \nmight not come home till late; that he might possibly go \nto Joe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s cottage at the Flats for a day\xe2\x80\x99s rest, \nthough this was improbable because of the threatening \nwea,ther. A year, even six months ago, Lessie would have \nprotested, might even have wept; but to-night, though he \ncould perceive her distress, she voiced no complaint. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cD\xe2\x80\x99you think Bee \xe2\x80\x99ll be safe here without you, pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure! That thing\xe2\x80\x99s all over,\xe2\x80\x9d he had announced. \n\nBut now he was not so sure. At any rate, it would have \nbeen far more prudent to stay at home to-night\xe2\x80\x94not to \nlet his perverse offspring out of sight until he took her \nto the church on Monday next. And it did not mend his \ntranquillity to promise that this was precisely what he \nwould do, after to-night. \n\nThen, to make things worse, Lessie had kissed him when \nhe left\xe2\x80\x94for the first time in weeks. And just now, almost \nin front of Irma\xe2\x80\x99s apartment, he had encountered an old, \nold man grinding an equally decrepit barrel organ. The \noccurrence was not unusual, save for the fact that the \nhymn being played was associated in his mind with two \nof the most poignant moments in his life. \n\nIn the sweet \n\nBy and by \n\nWe shall meet on that beautiful shore. \n\nIn a trice he was back at the window of his mother\xe2\x80\x99s \nhouse, staring through the pane at her rapt face and that \n\n\n420 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nof the girl Lessie. He was back again in the little parlor \nof his first home on High Street\xe2\x80\x94scarcely a stone\xe2\x80\x99s throw \nfrom Irma\xe2\x80\x99s apartment\xe2\x80\x94listening once more to the miracle \nof Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s first conception. \n\nAnd now! \n\nHe gave the ancient organ grinder a ten-dollar bill and \nfelt a little better. A moment later, however, as he heard \nIrma\xe2\x80\x99s footsteps on the other side of the door, he was \ndeeply despondent again. Very faintly, he could still \ncatch the wheezing strains of the barrel organ\xe2\x80\x94like some \nghostly Pilgrim\xe2\x80\x99s Chorus summoning a repentant Tann- \nhauser from the Venusberg: \n\nIn the sweet \nBy and by- \n\nBut his mistress opened the door upon his indecision \njust then, and it was too late to fly. \n\nThey were still quarreling two hours later over the deli\xc2\xac \ncate issues raised by her walk with him on Woodward \nAvenue that, afternoon, when the telephone rang. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy God! What\xe2\x80\x99s that?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol leaped up guiltily. \n\nIrma smiled a little, and answered the call. \xe2\x80\x9cFor you,\xe2\x80\x9d \nshe announced. \n\nHis jaw fell. \xe2\x80\x9cWho is it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe secured the information. \xe2\x80\x9cJoe Cottrell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nStill greatly exasperated and frightened, he went to the \ntelephone, swaying a bit unsteadily. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello, Mac!\xe2\x80\x9d said Cottrell. \xe2\x80\x9cSay, it\xe2\x80\x99s all clearing off \nand we\xe2\x80\x99re going. How soon can you be at my place?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt occurred to the mayor that here was a welcome ex\xc2\xac \ncuse for leaving Irma at once. \xe2\x80\x9cFifteen minutes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFine\xe2\x80\x94only don\xe2\x80\x99t let me spoil your fun.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no, that\xe2\x80\x99s all right.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut when he had hung up the receiver, he confronted \nIrma angrily. \xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99d Cottrell know I was here?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n421 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAsk me something easy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou told him\xe2\x80\x94or, anyway, you been blabbin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout \nme to somebod}^.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s a\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d Irma seemed on the point of losing her \ntemper; but more prudent considerations prevailed and \nshe forced herself to smile endearingly. \xe2\x80\x9cNo, darling, I \nswear I never told a soul. Let\xe2\x80\x99s not fight any more. Sit \ndown and be comfortable.\xe2\x80\x9d She began replenishing his \nwhisky tumbler. \n\nThe ensuing five minutes make unpleasant chronicling. \nMcNicol had already drunk enough to be in an ugly frame \nof mind, and his consort enough to have become slightly \nmaudlin. He refused more whisky and announced he was \ngoing\xe2\x80\x94a declaration that produced a totally unexpected \nparoxysm in Irma. No, she would not let him leave her. \nTo-night was hers. He must postpone his trip. But when \nhe remained obdurate, her protestations of love merged \ninto accusations of infidelity; he couldn\xe2\x80\x99t pull the wool \nover her eyes\xe2\x80\x94he had another woman; he was tired of \nher. He\xe2\x80\x99d better be careful how he treated her; she\xe2\x80\x99d \nstand a lot from him, but she\xe2\x80\x99d never give him up without \nmaking a fuss. \n\nIt was the first threat she had ever uttered, and had \nMcNicol been in a judicious frame of mind he might \nhave proceeded more warily. As it was he was consumed \nwith hatred and he met her attacks with even bitterer \nrecriminations. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy God! I\xe2\x80\x99m through with this! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt his words Irma flung herself upon him with passion\xc2\xac \nate entreaty. He threw her off roughly, and when she ran \ntoward him a second time he felt a reflexive twitching of \nhis shoulder muscles and beheld with some surprise the \nimpact of his fist upon her mouth. \n\nThe blow was not a hard one; Irma did not fall down, \nbut retreated a step, a look of increasing perplexity on her \n\n\n422 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nusually impassive face. Suddenly she put one hand on \nher mouth, and when she saw the blood upon it she gave \nvent to a piercing scream. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook out!\xe2\x80\x9d All McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s anger shriveled into para\xc2\xac \nlyzing terror. He could not move. \n\nBut Irma shrieked once more, then a third time. Be\xc2\xac \nfore she could utter a fourth scream, however, he was out \non the street, running for dear life. \n\nv \n\nHe found Joe Cottrell already seated in his phaeton, \nin the alley back of the saloon, and they set out at once \ntoward the boathouse near the Belle Isle bridge wdiere his \ncrony kept a twenty-foot sloop. By now the clouds had \nbroken up, a full moon ambulated through the deep pools \nof intervening blue, and an auspicious west wind sped \nthem on their way with quiet persistence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA wonderful night for sailing,\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell observed. \n\nMcNicol was just as well pleased that their fellow mari\xc2\xac \nners, Bigelow and Phil Morgan, were to meet them at the \nboathouse. He wanted to clear up the matter of the tele\xc2\xac \nphone call. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99d you know where I was, Joe?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSimple enough. I called your house, and when you \nweren\xe2\x80\x99t there I took the liberty of trying the next likely \nplace.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s not answerin\xe2\x80\x99 my question.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, you know I saw you on Woodward Avenue this \nafternoon. Just put two and two together.\xe2\x80\x9d He seemed \nindisposed to explain further. \n\nMcNicol fretted. \xe2\x80\x9cBut who else knows \xe2\x80\x99bout this?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNobody, so far\xe2\x80\x99s I can say. Of course I\xe2\x80\x99m not giving \nyou away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJust as well not to. Especially not to Bigelow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n423 \n\nCottrell nodded with sympathetic comprehension. He \nhad not once departed from perfect gravity; his friend\xe2\x80\x99s \nintrigue evidently impressed him as neither extraordinary \nnor important. Artemas Bigelow would have laughed \nhimself almost to death under similar circumstances; but \nCottrell was soft-spoken discretion itself. McNicol felt \nwell-nigh safe again. There still remained the possibility \nthat Irma\xe2\x80\x99s screams might have attracted a patrolman; \nbut even if she were foolish enough to mention his name, \nthe police department could be relied upon to suppress the \nnews. It was highly incredible, indeed, that any paper\xe2\x80\x94 \neven the hostile Sun or the muckraking Globe \xe2\x80\x94would \ndare to publish private scandal regarding the city\xe2\x80\x99s chief \nexecutive. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI s\xe2\x80\x99pose,\xe2\x80\x9d said Cottrell, \xe2\x80\x9cyou\xe2\x80\x99ve seen the story about \nyou in the Globe \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat story?\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol had another bad moment. \n\xe2\x80\x9cThe Globe ain\xe2\x80\x99t out yet, is it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes. That is, the midnight edition. I meant to bring \nit along, but I thought you\xe2\x80\x99d probably seen it.\xe2\x80\x9d Once \nmore he stopped short, inconsiderately. \n\nIt seemed unbelievable that the sordid episode with \nIrma could have reached the press so rapidly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou mean \n\xe2\x80\x94about her?\xe2\x80\x9d he faltered. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, no. They\xe2\x80\x99ve gone and printed our whole conver\xc2\xac \nsation\xe2\x80\x94over the phone, you know, this afternoon\xe2\x80\x94about \nthat case of mine in police court. At least, they\xe2\x80\x99ve printed \nyour part of it, where you promised me to drop the case \nin recorder\xe2\x80\x99s court. They say you admitted it was me you \nwere talking to, and they want to know if that\xe2\x80\x99s the way \nyou keep your promises to help them clean up the city.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe incredible perfidy of newspaper men struck Mc\xc2\xac \nNicol dumb. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow d\xe2\x80\x99 you figure they got hold of it?\xe2\x80\x9d asked Cottrell. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, Tom an\xe2\x80\x99 that Sun fellow was in the office at \n\n\n424 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nthe time, but I told \xe2\x80\x99em it was confidential and they \npromised not to touch it. Did the Sun run it, too?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCottrell shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cYou don\xe2\x80\x99t mean you actually \nadmitted it was me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure I did. I\xe2\x80\x99ve done the same thing dozens of times \n\xe2\x80\x94given the reporters the inside facts and told \xe2\x80\x99em not to \nuse \xe2\x80\x99em. Not that I give a damn about this particular \nstory. We can both deny it, and later on we\xe2\x80\x99ll let your \ncase die, just like we planned.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, that\xe2\x80\x99s fair enough. I can\xe2\x80\x99t afford to have that \nconviction stamd. It\xe2\x80\x99s the third offense and the recorder \nmay feel he\xe2\x80\x99s got to soak me hard.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you worry \xe2\x80\x99bout that, Joe,\xe2\x80\x9d the mayor reassured \nhim. \xe2\x80\x9cBut you can bet your boots no Globe man \xe2\x80\x99ll ever \nset foot in my office again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was this aspect of the matter, in truth, that wounded \nhim most deeply. Had he not always treated Tom with \nthe utmost generosity? Had he not that very afternoon \ndispensed cigars and excellent liquor to Tom\xe2\x80\x94yes, even \na copy of A Message to Garcia? And this was his re\xc2\xac \nward. A severe blow had been dealt McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s faith in \nthe puissance of friendship, the efficacy of being a good \nscout. \n\nHis melancholy persisted even after they had reached \nthe boathouse, picked up Bigelow and Morgan, and glided \nout upon the river. He had an indefinable presentiment \nof evil. Ought he not to remain behind and make certain \nthat Irma was safely muzzled\xe2\x80\x94to say nothing of issuing \na prompt denial of the Globe story? He remembered \nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s look of distress, too: something\xe2\x80\x94almost any\xc2\xac \nthing\xe2\x80\x94might happen to Bee, and he was the only one \nwho could control her. \n\nBut gradually, under the influence of his companions\xe2\x80\x99 \ninfectious spirits and the liberal rum rations, he reacted \ntoward a cheerfuller viewpoint. The night itself was \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n425 \n\nirresistible in its glamour; slowly the sloop shouldered its \nrippling way against the river\xe2\x80\x99s swift current, past the \nWindmill Point light and out into the mysterious spa\xc2\xac \nciousness of Lake St. Clair. The recollection of other \nsimilar excursions enlivened him as well. Joe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s \ncabin was situated on the north channel of that alluvial \nfan at the foot of the St. Clair River, known to the dis\xc2\xac \ntrict as \xe2\x80\x9cThe Flats.\xe2\x80\x9d Thither this same congenial quar\xc2\xac \ntette had sailed many times before, starting at midnight \nand reaching the cabin sometime the next forenoon. \n\nBut to-day, fortune was not so constant. The three \nguests who had dropped off to sleep shortly before dawn, \nleaving Cottrell at the tiller, awoke at noon to discover \nthe wind had completely died away and that the sloop \nlay becalmed at the approach to New Baltimore Bay. \nThe situation was exasperating; they could discern the \ntall chimneys of the salt block that marked the entrance \nto the north channel, ten miles across the bay, yet they \ncould not stir a foot in its direction; the sail drooped \nlifeless in the hot sunlight that beat down mercilessly \nupon them hour after hour. Hunger began to assail them, \ntoo; for they had brought along little food, relying on the \ncottage\xe2\x80\x99s ample provisioning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank God, we can still keep on drinking,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nBigelow. \n\nMcNicol refused a glass. The intensity of the sun\xe2\x80\x99s \nglare had given him a headache and his much-abused \nstomach now began to throb uncomfortably. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s to our next governor!\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell proposed. \n\nPhil Morgan took exception. \xe2\x80\x9cGovernor\xe2\x80\x94hell! \n\nHere\xe2\x80\x99s to our next President!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, secretly pleased as always to have others \nvoice his own secret ambitions, acknowledged the toast \nwith becoming modesty. \n\n\n426 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPresident, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow wiped his lips. \xe2\x80\x9cSay\xe2\x80\x94too \nbad you can\xe2\x80\x99t ever be President, isn\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t? Why can\xe2\x80\x99t he?\xe2\x80\x9d Morgan fairly took the \nwords out of the Great Man\xe2\x80\x99s mouth. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, because he wasn\xe2\x80\x99t born in this country, of \ncourse.\xe2\x80\x9d The attorney grinned complacently. \xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s \nwhat the Constitution provides, unfortunately.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDog-gone\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s so! Never thought of that.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMorgan acknowledged his error flippantly; more than \nlikely he had never before heard of the constitutional \nstipulation. Certainly McNicol had not. He was stag\xc2\xac \ngered, bereft; it was as if he might casually look down \nand discover that one of his legs had been cut off. \n\nBut the others were watching him, he perceived. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course it\xe2\x80\x99s so,\xe2\x80\x9d he heard himself asserting. \xe2\x80\x9cI \nknew that all along.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt four o\xe2\x80\x99clock Joe Cottrell yawned. \xe2\x80\x9cGuess I\xe2\x80\x99ll go \nforward and lie down. Not likely to be any wind till \nsunset now, but if there is be sure to call me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHardly had his snores begun when a bank of clouds \nrose from the northwest horizon, above the town of New \nBaltimore, and presently the glassy surface of the lake \npuckered with the harbingers of the breeze. The boom \ncreaked. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLeave him lay! \xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow checked Morgan\xe2\x80\x99s tentative \nmovement toward their host\xe2\x80\x99s prostrate figure. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve \nsailed this tub into the north channel in all sorts of \nweather.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAlmost in an instant, it seemed, the sun disappeared \nand the clouds had appropriated the sky. The wind \nfreshened, the sloop lunged through the waves, the water \nslushed along its sides. Still the weary Cottrell slept on. \n\nMcNicol was too far submerged in the revelation of his \npresidential ineligibility to observe closely the swift \napproach of the storm; but Morgan, his face beginning \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n427 \n\nto show white, again crept forward to awaken the sloop\xe2\x80\x99s \nmaster. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHell! Leave him alone, I say!\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow was not \nexactly drunk, but he was in a boisterous mood. \xe2\x80\x9cI guess \nI can skipper this boat-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe thing had happened. A sudden violent gust de\xc2\xac \nscended upon them, and before Bigelow could point up \ninto the wind the sloop had rolled far over\xe2\x80\x94then with a \npeculiar shudder stood on her beam and remained there. \nThe sail struck the waves with a little slap, then slowly \nsank perhaps a foot or two beneath the surface, so that \nthe sloop might be described as being two-thirds capsized. \n\nMcNicol found himself upon the exposed hull, staring \ninto the equally astonished faces of Bigelow and Phil \nMorgan. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m damned!\xe2\x80\x9d said the amateur pilot, and laughed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhere\xe2\x80\x99s Joe?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt that instant Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s despondent face emerged seal\xc2\xac \nlike from the water a few feet off, and he clambered up \nbeside them. \n\nFor the moment, while they were still preoccupied with \nthe novelty of their situation, the affair seemed more than \nanything else a capital joke on all of them, Bigelow espe\xc2\xac \ncially. But when their attention devolved upon the prob\xc2\xac \nlem of extrication, it began to occur to them that the \nmishap might have inconvenient results. An hour ago \nthe bay had shown a dozen sails; now, not one; all the \nother crafts had scurried to harbor long ago. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m afraid this is pretty serious business,\xe2\x80\x9d Cottrell \nfinally remarked. \n\nBigleow refused to acquiesce. \xe2\x80\x9cSome one\xe2\x80\x99s sure to \nspot us.\xe2\x80\x9d He managed to reach a pole from the sloop\xe2\x80\x99s \ninterior, and, attaching his handkerchief to one end, waved \nit ludicrously at the expanse of water. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHell! Nobody \xe2\x80\x99ll see that!\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol. \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n428 \n\nThe air was no longer so clear; they could scarcely \ndescry New Baltimore or Fair Haven, seven or eight \nmiles away to the west. To the north and east lay \nnothing but a low and treeless shore, perhaps two, per\xc2\xac \nhaps five miles away. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnyway, we won\xe2\x80\x99t drown as long as we stay here,\xe2\x80\x9d \nBigelow pointed out. \n\nThe wind, however, was increasing in violence, and \nwith it the waves. The overturned sloop moved uneasily, \nand it became more and more impossible for the ship\xc2\xac \nwrecked four to keep from slipping into the water; yet \nwhenever they did so the waves battered them roughly \nagainst the hull. It began to rain. \n\nAfter an hour they realized they were growing much \nweaker. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMy God!\xe2\x80\x9d gasped Morgan\xe2\x80\x99s blue lips. \xe2\x80\x9cWe can\xe2\x80\x99t stay \nhere.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was obvious enough, yet no hopeful alternative \npresented itself. None of them could swim strongly \nenough to risk an attempt to reach the nearest barren \nshore. All of them were woefully out of condition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOur only chance is to build a raft,\xe2\x80\x9d pronounced Cot\xc2\xac \ntrell. \n\nThey contrived to secure eight or ten floor boards; \nthese they lashed together at both ends with pieces of \nsheet-rope. It was a poor makeshift, but they discovered \nthat by keeping their bodies under water and merely \nresting their hands upon the boards they could keep their \nheads above the surface. By swimming with their legs, \nthey would be able to make some progress. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll aboard!\xe2\x80\x9d commanded Cottrell, and they left the \nplunging, stricken sloop to its fate. \n\nTheir objective was the low coast to the east, which \nhappened to be closest at hand, as well as almost directly \nin the path of the wind. Even now, they had by no \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n429 \n\n\nmeans reached the point of physical exhaustion; their \nfaculties were alert, and they remained confident of the \nissue. The rain ceased, too, and the wind lost a little of \nits rampancy. \n\nAnother hour passed. The shore seemed scarcely \nnearer, and it was only by looking back at the dim con\xc2\xac \ntour of the sloop that they could reassure themselves of \ntheir advance. But by now they had almost spent them\xc2\xac \nselves and it was beginning to grow dark. \n\nThe conviction had gradually descended upon all of \nthem that they were probably going to die, and to each \nthe realization came with the force of considerable aston\xc2\xac \nishment. They had read of other people being drowned \n\xe2\x80\x94yes, by the score\xe2\x80\x94but that this fate should have chosen \nthem seemed incredible. \n\nOtherwise, the conviction reacted divergently, and it \nwould have been interesting to note their contrasting de\xc2\xac \nmeanor in the face of death. Phil Morgan had weakened \nfirst. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m done for,\xe2\x80\x9d he sighed, and would have slipped \nback into the water had not the others interfered. By \nthis time he was less than half-conscious, his eyes staring, \nhis lips maundering imbecilities. Bigelow had to devote \nall his energy to holding him against the raft. \n\nJoe Cottrell had not uttered a sound throughout the \nhour\xe2\x80\x99s torment. What his thoughts were as the end \napproached can never be narrated. His face was set, \nhis eyes melancholy, his mutilated nose purple. Bigelow, \non the contrary, continued very noisy, exhorting Morgan \nto renascent courage, addressing McNicol in jocular \nfashion. No tearful regrets here for past sins; if he \nmust die, he would do so with irreverent grace. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBeen quite a game, Mac. Life\xe2\x80\x99s been good to you \nand me, eh?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, in turn, was in a wholly different frame of \nmind from his fellows. At the first he had buffeted the \n\n\n430 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nwaves with enormous exasperated vigor, as if he ex\xc2\xac \npected to daunt them, abash them into submission, by \nthe onslaught of his indignation. He had been strongest \nof the four, too; but now his splendid life force ran low. \nHe was beginning to feel numb, and his recalcitrant \nstomach, turning traitor, flamed with anguish. \n\nYet he did not want to die. He would not die. Sud\xc2\xac \ndenly he lifted his voice in frantic screams of protest at \nthe indignity; but a wave slopped into his open mouth \nand he was silenced. \n\nAs his senses began to blur a little he was visited by \nan odd obsession, an indefinite but powerful conviction \nof sin\xe2\x80\x94born of his dormant strain of self-scourging Gaelic \npuritanism. And he saw with perfect clarity that this \nwas God\xe2\x80\x99s punishment for all his many derelictions. \n\nAn intense and fervent prayer came to his lips, and \nhe raised his eyes toward the zenith. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cO God,\xe2\x80\x9d he supplicated the personal Deity, \xe2\x80\x9cI know \nI been wicked, but if You\xe2\x80\x99ll only save me now, I promise \nI\xe2\x80\x99ll sin no more! I\xe2\x80\x99ll be a good man! From this day, I \nwill serve You faithfully!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen, as if in immediate response, there came a trium\xc2\xac \nphant shout from Artemas Bigelow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBottom! I can touch bottom!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol felt a little sheepish when he discovered he \nhad been negotiating for divine succor in but four feet \nof water. \n\n\nvi \n\nA promise made under such circumstances\xe2\x80\x94even a \nsolemn promise to God Himself\xe2\x80\x94is tainted with mistake \nand duress, and therefore unenforceable. At least, that \nwas McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s opinion by the following afternoon as \nhe sat thinking the matter over in the interurban trolley \ncar that was carrying him back to Detroit. \n\n\nMISGIVINGS \n\n\n43i \n\n\nHe was alone\xe2\x80\x94a circumstance that contributed not a \nlittle to his resumption of complacency. For he was the \nonly one of the four who had sufficiently recuperated \nfrom the previous day\xe2\x80\x99s ordeal to return to the city. \nThere had been further drains upon their strength even \nafter Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s felicitous discovery: first, a mile\xe2\x80\x99s \nplodding through the shallow water before they came to \nthe forlorn shore; then a long and weary pilgrimage over \nthe sand, till at last they chanced upon a French-Canuck \nsquatter paddling his duck boat in one of the protected \nchannels. By the time he had conducted them to his \nfishing shack it was completely dark, and Phil Morgan \nespecially was in a dangerous state of exhaustion. This \nmorning they had been conveyed to Algonac, where the \nothers still remained\xe2\x80\x94Morgan under a doctor\xe2\x80\x99s care, with \na bad cold and fever; Bigelow and Joe Cottrell in their \nhotel rooms, also at a low ebb. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess I got more guts than any of them fellows,\xe2\x80\x9d \nMcNicol congratulated himself. \n\nHe was feeling extremely well, in fact. The only after \neffect of his exposure was a slight stiffness in his arms \nand neck, but he had apparently not caught cold and \nhis fickle stomach had reverted to complete subservience. \n\nAnd this flattering physical resilience restored his cus\xc2\xac \ntomary self-sufficiency. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI coulda got out all right, by myself.\xe2\x80\x9d It was natural \nenough to belittle Jehovah\xe2\x80\x99s part in the transaction. His \nsins, which had seemed so substantial while he was strug\xc2\xac \ngling in the water, now shrank into negligibility. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cReckon I\xe2\x80\x99m \xe2\x80\x99bout as good as most men.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWith that, he dismissed his compact with God; and as \nif to illustrate the casual nature of his repudiation, he \nflecked the ash from his cigar to the floor of the smoking \ncompartment. \n\nThe impiety hovered on the fringe of his conscious- \n\n\n432 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nness, nevertheless; and, curiously enough, from that \nmoment his buoyancy began to be deflated by sharp mis\xc2\xac \ngivings. \n\nHe could never become President: that recollection \nfulgurated painfully through his breast. But he was \nthinking principally of other matters. What if the news \nof the shipwreck should reach the newspapers? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLook pretty, wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x94me goin\xe2\x80\x99 on a booze party \nwith Joe Cottrell and Phil Morgan. Fine chance I\xe2\x80\x99d \nhave of puttin\xe2\x80\x99 the kibosh on that Globe story, or of \nmakin\xe2\x80\x99 people believe I was fightin\xe2\x80\x99 the street-car com\xc2\xac \npany.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was little likelihood of such a mishap, however. \nThe four had taken care to give fictitious names at \nAlgonac, and it was improbable that they had been recog\xc2\xac \nnized. \n\nBut that revolting fracas with Irma Evans! Suppose \nher screams had attracted, not a discreet policeman, but \na crowd of gossipy neighbors. Just suppose his mistress, \nin the fury of her indignation, had disclosed the shame\xc2\xac \nful liaison. He, the mayor, had struck a woman in the \nface with his fist! It seemed quite possible now that the \nGlobe, having once started after his scalp, would not \nscruple to print Irma\xe2\x80\x99s story. \n\nAnd Beatrice? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ought to\xe2\x80\x99ve stayed home.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThat was the unanalyzable certitude that burned its \nway through his brain, over and over again. \n\nThe moment he reached the city, he bought copies of \nthe afternoon papers, opened them tremulously. \n\nHis fears regarding Irma had been groundless, it \nseemed, for there was no reference anywhere to his illicit \naffair. The front pages of both newspapers, however, \nswarmed with repetitions of the name McNicol. How \n\n\nMISGIVINGS 433 \n\nproud he would have been, once upon a time, of such \nprodigal publicity. \n\nThe first two columns of the Herald, for example, were \nsurrendered to a detailed account of the nearly fatal \nadventure in Lake St. Clair. There were pictures of the \nwhole quartette\xe2\x80\x94and even a fanciful pen-and-ink sketch \nof the mariners clinging to the overturned sloop. The \nfirst lines ran: \n\nMayor McNicol, accompanied by Artemas Bigelow, his \nattorney; Joseph Cottrell, the Gratiot Avenue saloonkeeper; \nand P. A. Morgan, the political agent of the street-railway \ncorporation, narrowly escaped death. . . . \n\nThe four endeavored to conceal their identity, but were recog\xc2\xac \nnized at Algonac. . . . \n\nThe phenomenon that distracted the Great Man from \nthis unfortunate notoriety was the reoccurrence of his \nfamily name in the last two columns of the paper. \n\nBEATRICE McNICOL JILTS FIANCE \n\nMARRIES ITALIAN VOCAL TEACHER \n\n\nmayor\xe2\x80\x99s DAUGHTER, ON EVE OF WEDDING TO HARRISON PIT\' \nKINS, SUDDENLY CHANGES MIND. SECRETLY MAR\xc2\xac \nRIED TO CESARE PASCO. \n\n\nIt became known this morning that Beatrice McNicol, the \nyoungest daughter of the mayor, whose wedding . . . \n\nTaking advantage of her father\xe2\x80\x99s absence on his ill-fated \nsailing trip . . . \n\nThe bride was accompanied only by her aunt, Mrs. Jenny \nEvanturel. . . . \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTaking advantage of her father\xe2\x80\x99s absence. . . .\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen, as if to signalize the final vengeance of a jealous \n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n434 \n\nGod, he found on his desk at the City Hall a letter from \nhis brother Glen, stating that his mother was exceedingly \nill at Cartwright and that she wanted him to come at once. \nThe letter was dated two days ago and must have reached \n\nhis office yesterday morning. Perhaps by now- \n\nHis secretary brought in a telegram. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\nI \n\n^~|~\xe2\x80\x9c V HE day after the funeral, McNicol sat near the edge \n- 2 - of the Cartwright escarpment, passing the events \nof his career in melancholy review. \n\nIn his hand he still clutched his mother\xe2\x80\x99s dilapidated \naccount book. He had been going through its earlier \npages, with their record of the moneys she had earned \nby giving piano lessons\xe2\x80\x94a pittance she had in those days \ndevoted to helping him through medical school. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLessie Gough,\xe2\x80\x9d one entry ran, \xe2\x80\x9cApril 17, \xe2\x80\x9963. 1 les\xc2\xac \n\nson, 15c.\xe2\x80\x9d That might have been the very day of his \nreturn from Ann Arbor. \n\nHis cheeks were wet with tears of regret. It seemed to \nhim he had neglected his mother cruelly in recent years. \nHow glibly he had sentimentalized about her in public\xe2\x80\x94 \nyet, since his first election to office, he had not visited \nher, had not Gnce assuaged her loneliness. And that, \nsurely, was the fair test of how much he cared. Deeds \ncounted, not facile words. Useless to say he had meant \ndifferently. Useless to remind himself of the magnifi\xc2\xac \ncent monument he had ordered for her grave. It was \ntoo late to make amends now; and all his ambitions for \nself-aggrandizement, all the petty schemings that had \npreoccupied him to her exclusion, became all at once \nterribly futile. \n\nThe thought of Beatrice, the only other one he loved \ndeeply, was intolerably agonizing, too. Spoiled for life \n\n435 \n\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n436 \n\nnow, she was\xe2\x80\x94because he had failed as a father. And \nthose others: John\xe2\x80\x94Mary\xe2\x80\x94the ungrateful Arthur? \nPerhaps if he had been more patient\xe2\x80\x94kinder? \n\nHe had defied God and he had been struck down for \nthe sacrilege. The conviction of sin could not be dis\xc2\xac \nlodged a second time. \n\nTill this instant, it cannot be gainsaid there had been an \nodd ingredient of gratification in his gloomy reflections, \na species of voluptuous self-flagellation. He always en\xc2\xac \njoyed crying. But now, let it be recorded, he was not \ncontent to remain groveling and supine. He was still \nan indurate and resolute man, essentially. The effect \nupon him of a culmination of adversities had always been \ntonic, invigorating. As a boy, he had fought his way \nahead over disheartening obstacles. Later in his life, it \nhad been the convergence of mortal blows upon his new \npharmaceutical business\xe2\x80\x94old Rorick\xe2\x80\x99s lawsuit, George \nWickham\xe2\x80\x99s betrayal, the partial destruction of the barn \nby fire, his bankruptcy\xe2\x80\x94that stirred him to his greatest \naggressiveness. He had not really started fighting during \nthe campaign three years ago until Artemas Bigelow dis\xc2\xac \nclosed the improbability of his election. \n\nThe escarpment, which had inspired the three great \nresolves that were to influence his whole adult life, now \nseemed to induce a fresh and radical readjustment of \nvalues. He was as savagely in earnest as that younger \nMcNicol, but greatly chastened. No further fervent \npromises to the Almighty issued from his tense lips, \nyet his temper was tinged with a reverential humility \nwholly without precedent. \n\nIrma Evans. He would sever their sinful relationship \ninstantly. Just an hour ago he had passed the now \ndecaying structure that once had sheltered the Queen\xe2\x80\x99s \nInn; and with abrupt vividness the distressing scene in \nits lobby came back to him: the half-intoxicated girl \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\n\n437 \n\n\ngiggling on her seducer\xe2\x80\x99s knee\xe2\x80\x94his mother\xe2\x80\x99s tears. She \nwho herself had suffered the tragedy of illicit love! At \nthe recollection, her undutiful son bowed his head in \nbitter shame. Irma Evans was no unsophisticated girl, \nto be sure; he had not wronged her; but his own unclean \nprofligacy appeared none the less abhorrent for that. \n\nWhisky. He would never touch it again. \n\nPolitics. His career. He remembered the highminded, \nif shallow-rooted, ideals with which he had been informed \nat first: his professed motive to serve his city honestly, \nto befriend the humble man. And all this righteous zeal \nnow seemed indelibly sweet, and he was surfeited with his \ncheap success. \n\nIn his quest of the good he raised his eyes to the \nunfolded panorama of hills and sky. The valley, too, and \nthe remnants of the village whence he had sprung. Cart\xc2\xac \nwright had paid the penalty for its great blunder in re\xc2\xac \nfusing to subsidize the railroad. Wiser municipalities \nstill flourished, but Cartwright was slowly disintegrating \ninto nothingness. There were not a dozen inhabited \nstructures in the place now; the three hundred souls \nwho once had laughed and wept and haggled together \nwere less than thirty. Burdock weeds and uncut hay \nthreatened to obliterate even these lethargic survivors. \n\nThis spectacle of desuetude saddened McNicol. Even \nas Cartwright typified the fleeting transience of the works \nof man, so did his own life typify the pathetic, inexorable \nevanescence of man himself. \n\nHe was growing old. \n\nSuddenly there leaped up into his mind the passionate \ndetermination to make his life significant, an intense and \nalmost agonized craving to escape the oblivion of death, \nto leave behind him some vestige that would survive \nforever. The pitiful human desire for immortality. \n\n\n438 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nII \n\nThe fruits of this profound conversion were already \nmanifesting themselves when Phil Morgan came into \nthe mayoral office one morning a month later, bearing \nwith him the third draft of the proposed street-railway \nsettlement. \n\nMcNicol did not offer his friend a drink; and indeed \nit is doubtful whether Morgan would have accepted one, \nfor his narrow escape from drowning had had its effect; \nhe, too, was an altered man. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere we are!\xe2\x80\x9d he proffered. \n\nThe mayor began reading the document intently, \nthough by now he knew its content thoroughly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGot it all in, this time?\xe2\x80\x9d he asked, abstractedly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cEvery word.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol nevertheless drew his own annotated second \ndraft from the desk and made careful comparison. He \ntrusted Morgan to a high degree, but the agreement \nrepresented something precious and personal to him, and \nhe could afford to take no chances. \n\nSoon after his return from Cartwright he had opened \nnegotiations with the company. The possibility of settle\xc2\xac \nment had interested him since Morgan\xe2\x80\x99s first mention \nof the matter; but until the hour on the escarpment \nhe had put the idea from him, on the grounds of political \ninexpediency. The people wanted their leader to fight \nthe street car company, senselessly or no; that had been \nGayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien\xe2\x80\x99s creed, and later his own. But now \nhe viewed the project solely on its merits. If he could \nsecure lower fares at once, instead of waging a hopeless \nand interminable contest in the courts, if he could pro\xc2\xac \nvide for municipal purchase and ownership at any time \nthe people desired\xe2\x80\x94why fight at all? \n\nThe street-railway company had been a conciliatory \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\n\n439 \n\n\nopponent. The present agreement provided in brief for \nfour cent fares on the five-cent lines, the other lines \nto continue to charge three cents, with new workingmen\xe2\x80\x99s \ntickets at nine for a quarter. There was a further pro\xc2\xac \nvision that if at any time the company\xe2\x80\x99s net earnings \nexceeded 8 per cent, all fares were to be lowered pro \ntanio. In return for these concessions, the company was \nto receive certain extensions of its franchises, so that \nall the latter would expire together, some twenty years \nlater; but specific arrangement had been made for munici\xc2\xac \npal ownership. \n\nCertainly nothing could be more reasonable from a \nbusiness standpoint and McNicol anticipated no difficulty \nin convincing the electorate. He was highly pleased with \n/ himself. Here at last was one big piece of constructive \nand beneficial legislation he would have carried into \neffect\xe2\x80\x94the amicable settlement of a controversy that had \nvexed the city for many years. Detroit was to be the \nfirst municipality in the country to solve its traction \nproblem sensibly. \n\nEven if he never accomplished another thing, his fame \nwould be fairly secure. But this was to be but the first \nof a series of prodigious benefits to the common people. \nDetroit should be the best governed, the most economi\xc2\xac \ncally administered, city in the world. Later on, as Gov\xc2\xac \nernor, he would achieve more spacious reforms. And \nperhaps when the country beheld the miracles he was \nperforming in Detroit and Michigan, it would insist upon \nthe Constitution\xe2\x80\x99s amendment to permit his elevation to \nthe Presidencv. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSeems O. K.,\xe2\x80\x9d he told Morgan. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI thought it \xe2\x80\x99d be. You see, I got the company\xe2\x80\x99s \nformal execution on the last page. Now all you have \nto do is sign it yourself, and it \xe2\x80\x99ll be ready for the news\xc2\xac \npapers.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n440 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGood,\xe2\x80\x9d approved McNicol. \xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t be too soon, if \nthe people are goin\xe2\x80\x99 to vote on it in November.\xe2\x80\x9d The \nagreement was subject to ratification at the polls before \nbecoming effective. \n\nHe reached for his silver pen\xe2\x80\x94the gift of the Kosciusko \nReserves\xe2\x80\x94with the intention of signing the document at \nonce. \n\nThen his telephone rang. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJoe Cottrell speaking.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol looked carefully about ior secreted reporters. \n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, Joe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m over in the recorder\xe2\x80\x99s court, waiting for my case \nto start and I want you to come clean and tell me first \nas last whether you\xe2\x80\x99re going to call things off or fall down \non me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis vexing issue had at last to be decided, after a \nmonth of evasion. On the one side stood the mayor\xe2\x80\x99s new \nconception of impartial justice, the determination to do \naway with favoritism and personal \xe2\x80\x9cpull\xe2\x80\x9d; on the other, \nhis friendship for Cottrell and his pledged word to inter\xc2\xac \nvene in his behalf. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat more can I do, Joe?\xe2\x80\x9d he temporized. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve \nalready spoken to the prosecutor. You know \xe2\x80\x99s well \xe2\x80\x99s \nI do the Globe\xe2\x80\x99s watchin\xe2\x80\x99 me like a hawk! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHell!\xe2\x80\x9d The saloon keeper\xe2\x80\x99s voice became overtly \nhostile. \xe2\x80\x9cYou got to do more than speak to the prose\xc2\xac \ncutor. You got to tell him. Now mind you, you promised \nto take care of me on this; and if you double-cross me, \nI\xe2\x80\x99m going to get }mu sooner or later, good and plenty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t you dare threaten me!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nCottrell\xe2\x80\x99s tones instantly softened again. \xe2\x80\x9cBut look \nhere, Mac!\xe2\x80\x9d he pleaded. \xe2\x80\x9cThis is damn\xe2\x80\x99 important to \nme. The judge is likely to send me up, and if he does \nit will just kill my poor old mother. It\xe2\x80\x99s chiefly her I\xe2\x80\x99m \nthinking of.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\n\n441 \n\n\nA deft appeal. McNicol was shaken. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll I want this morning is an adjournment,\xe2\x80\x9d the voice \nwent on. \xe2\x80\x9cNo harm in that, is there? The Globe can\xe2\x80\x99t \nobject, can it? That\xe2\x80\x99ll give us time to talk things over.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf I do fix it,\xe2\x80\x9d bargained the mayor, \xe2\x80\x9cwill you promise \nto obey the law after this?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure, sure!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right. Have the prosecutor call me up.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol turned to Phil Morgan, frowning. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s the devil of this game,\xe2\x80\x9d he remarked as he \nsigned the street-railway agreement. \xe2\x80\x9cWhen a man brings \nin his mother, what can you do about it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMorgan\xe2\x80\x99s somewhat cherubic face clouded with inde\xc2\xac \ncision. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d say\xe2\x80\x94find out whether he isn\xe2\x80\x99t just stringing you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99s that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe agent\xe2\x80\x99s new conscientiousness prevailed over his \nless worthy scruples. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ve been mighty decent to me, \nMac, and I\xe2\x80\x99m going to put you wise to something. Re\xc2\xac \nmember my telling you all about my own mother? Well, \nI was lying. I never knew her. She died when I was \na baby. So did Joe Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s. He\xe2\x80\x99s just been pulling \nyour leg, and he was the one who tipped me off that you\xe2\x80\x99d \nfall hard for the mother stuff.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s that you\xe2\x80\x99re sayin\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x94he ain\xe2\x80\x99t got no old mother \nlivin\xe2\x80\x99 up yonder in \xe2\x80\x98the Thumb\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMorgan shook his head. \xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94he picked up the \nsettlement agreement\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m off; and I hope you \xe2\x80\x99ll for\xc2\xac \ngive me for my share of the game. I\xe2\x80\x99m darned ashamed \nof myself.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nScarcely had he gone when the telephone rang once \nmore. \n\nIt was the prosecuting attorney. \xe2\x80\x9cCottrell says you \nwant me to adjourn his case. Of course I\xe2\x80\x99ll be glad to \ndo as you say, but-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n442 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCottrell lies,\xe2\x80\x9d said McNicol wrathfuliy. \xe2\x80\x9cGo ahead \nwith it. Give him hell!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAfter a moment he called in the reporters and handed \nthem copies of the settlement agreement. \n\n. hi \n\nThat afternoon, in Artemas Bigelow\xe2\x80\x99s law office, he \nwas reading over another settlement agreement, bearing \nthe signature, not of the street-car corporation\xe2\x80\x99s officers, \nbut of Irma Evans. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSeems O. K.,\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated, with a sigh of relief. \n\nBigelow had handled the ticklish affair well. More, \nhe had utterly refrained from exploiting the splendid \nopportunity for chaffing his client concerning this sly, \nfurtive venture into the snares of sex. He might so \neasily have said, \xe2\x80\x9cI told you so,\xe2\x80\x9d or even referred satiri\xc2\xac \ncally to the similar negotiations he had conducted three \nyears ago in the matter of the claim of Selma, the wait\xc2\xac \nress, against the licentious Arthur. \n\nBut even now he withheld his quizzical shafts. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re an odd one,\xe2\x80\x9d he puzzled, soberly. \xe2\x80\x9cExactly \nlike you to slip off this way, all by yourself, and try to \nhide the affair from all your friends. Hadn\xe2\x80\x99t you better \nlet me fix things up for you the next time you want to \nplay?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever again! No more women on my neck.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s just it\xe2\x80\x94you take such things so seriously.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThe lawyer studied his friend\xe2\x80\x99s face interestedly. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \nknow, I\xe2\x80\x99ve been thinking about you, and I\xe2\x80\x99ve come to \nthe conclusion you couldn\xe2\x80\x99t ever have had any fun when \nyou were young. It\xe2\x80\x99s the boys who were brought up too \nstrictly\xe2\x80\x94or who had a rather hard time of it for some \nreason or other\xe2\x80\x94that always bust loose when they\xe2\x80\x99re your \nage. I\xe2\x80\x99ve seen it happen time and time again. And that\xe2\x80\x99s \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\n\n443 \n\n\nwhy I was glad to see Arthur have his fling when he was \nyoung. He\xe2\x80\x99ll settle down now and be a model citizen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol did not like even this sympathetic speculation \nat his expense; and he liked even less the attorney\xe2\x80\x99s ap\xc2\xac \nproval of his errant son. Arthur and Gayly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien had \nhad the bad grace not to come to business disaster thus \nfar. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI s\xe2\x80\x99pose that theory explains you, you old skate/\xe2\x80\x99 he \njeered. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt does,\xe2\x80\x9d admitted Bigelow with a trace of regret. \n\xe2\x80\x9cMy father wanted me to be a minister. I escaped that, \nbut I never even looked at women till I was forty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou ain\xe2\x80\x99t boastin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe attorney shook his round bald head ruefully. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBut I know more about handling the frail sex than you. \nThat, I\xe2\x80\x99d say, was your greatest handicap: you don\xe2\x80\x99t \nunderstand women. You either put \xe2\x80\x99em up on a pedestal \nor you despise \xe2\x80\x99em. Chiefly despise \xe2\x80\x99em. But under\xc2\xac \nstand them? Not you!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol had had enough. \xe2\x80\x9cYou keep this.\xe2\x80\x9d He \nhanded the agreement back. \xe2\x80\x9cHave much trouble?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s just it. I did. The lady doesn\xe2\x80\x99t feel very \nfriendly. You see, you didn\xe2\x80\x99t know how to break the \nthing off gracefully. All my ex-Katerinas still love me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnyhow, thank God, it\xe2\x80\x99s all over now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI guess so.\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow hesitated. \xe2\x80\x9cThought you said \nIrma was a widow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure she is! Husband was killed in the war.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo. I asked her about that just to make sure. What \nshe tcld you was that he hadn\xe2\x80\x99t come back from the \nwar. Well, he didn\xe2\x80\x99t, but the reason wasn\xe2\x80\x99t that he was \ndead. Tired of supporting Irma, so he simply dis\xc2\xac \nappeared. n \n\nMcNicol was aghast. \xe2\x80\x9cBut, Jiminy Crismus! where \n\n\n444 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSays she doesn\xe2\x80\x99t know, which is probably true enough.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe penitent went through another purgatory. What \nif, after all, he was not destined to escape unscathed? \nWhat if the scandal did leak out? What if it reached \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s ears? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI shouldn\xe2\x80\x99t worry about Evans ever showing up,\xe2\x80\x9d \nBigelow went on, reassuringly. \xe2\x80\x9cYour secret is quite \nsafe. By the way, I don\xe2\x80\x99t suppose anybody else knows \nabout it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo.\xe2\x80\x9d Then McNicol remembered. \xe2\x80\x9cExcept Joe Cot\xc2\xac \ntrell.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCottrell!\xe2\x80\x9d The attorney whistled. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, I guess \nit\xe2\x80\x99s just as well I got Mrs. Evans to sign up to-day, \nafter what the judge did to Joe this afternoon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDid he soak him hard?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow, by way of response, exhibited a headline on the \nfront page of the Herald\xe2\x80\x99s late edition: \xe2\x80\x9cCottrell Sent to \nPrison. Thirty days in House of Correction for Saloon \nKeeper.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cJoe\xe2\x80\x99s going to be camping on your trail from now on,\xe2\x80\x9d \nhe pointed out. \xe2\x80\x9cProbably \xe2\x80\x99ll get in touch with Irma, \ntry to make you trouble. Lucky for you she settled this \nmorning. But say, what was your idea in turning Joe \ndown at the last minute?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe mayor outlined his motives, not mentioning, how\xc2\xac \never, the disclosure concerning Cottrell\xe2\x80\x99s mother. \n\nThereupon Bigelow resumed his attack. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll grant \nyour sincerity, and I respect it\xe2\x80\x94but why swing too far \nin the opposite direction? You\xe2\x80\x99re sick of cheap politics, \nbut is there any sense in overdoing the reform?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI ain\xe2\x80\x99t overdoin\xe2\x80\x99 nothin\xe2\x80\x99.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cH\xe2\x80\x99m. Listen to what the Herald says, \xe2\x80\x98Cottrell was \nforced to trial and convicted, in spite of Mayor McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s \nfrantic efforts to have the case dropped.\xe2\x80\x99 Get the point? \n\n\nTHE RARER ALTITUDES \n\n\n445 \n\nPeople won\xe2\x80\x99t believe you\xe2\x80\x99ve changed; they won\xe2\x80\x99t under\xc2\xac \nstand your high motives.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe picked up the newspaper again. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd this street\xc2\xac \ncar settlement of yours. Fine thing, of course. Per\xc2\xac \nsonally I admire you for being able to put such a thing \nacross. A sound business proposition. But you don\xe2\x80\x99t \nseriously believe the people will ratify it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou bet I do! Why won\xe2\x80\x99t they?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBigelow might have been pitying his friend\xe2\x80\x99s naivete. \n\xe2\x80\x9cBecause they don\xe2\x80\x99t want a sensible solution; they can\xe2\x80\x99t \ncomprehend such things. Because you\xe2\x80\x99ll have every poli\xc2\xac \ntician in town against you: the street-car problem is \ntheir bread and butter, and they don\xe2\x80\x99t intend to have it \ntaken away from them; you\xe2\x80\x99ll have a shrewd, cynical \nopposition to fight single-handed. Because the news\xc2\xac \npapers won\xe2\x80\x99t neglect to point out your personal friend\xc2\xac \nship with Phil Morgan and to insinuate he\xe2\x80\x99s pulled the \nwool over your eyes\xe2\x80\x94that there must be a nigger in the \nwoodpile somewhere.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe held up a fourth finger. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd lastly, because this \nsettlement is born of political idealism, and as such is \ndoomed to failure. It\xe2\x80\x99s too far off the ground. You\xe2\x80\x99re \ncommitting the folly of sincerity. Listen: people are \nbored by big constructive projects like this. The mob \ndoesn\xe2\x80\x99t w r ant to be uplifted; it demands to be fooled by \nits leaders. And there\xe2\x80\x99s a peculiar ill luck that attaches \nto any statesman who starts flying too high-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, rot!\xe2\x80\x9d interrupted his client, impatiently, and arose \nto go. \xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99re nothin\xe2\x80\x99 but a damn\xe2\x80\x99 snob. Always was. \nAs for me, I reckon I\xe2\x80\x99m willin\xe2\x80\x99 to trust the people.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cMight have known better than to waste good advice \non you,\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow admitted, shaking his head mourn\xc2\xac \nfully. \xe2\x80\x9cAnyway, for heaven\xe2\x80\x99s sake, play this thing safe. \nSubmit it to the people without comment. Say you\xe2\x80\x99re \nneither for nor against it\xe2\x80\x94you want them to decide. But \n\n\n\n446 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ndon\xe2\x80\x99t risk your popularity by sponsoring it yourself. \nDon\xe2\x80\x99t you see, you aren\xe2\x80\x99t up for reelection\xe2\x80\x94you don\xe2\x80\x99t \nhave to involve yourself at all.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol clenched his fists with intense conviction. \n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to stake everything in it. My whole future! \xe2\x80\x9d \nAnd there was something almost august in his expres\xc2\xac \nsion as he spoke. \n\n\nCHAPTER V \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\nI \n\n^ S he descended the grand staircase, a servant came \n^ around the ornate newel post. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe carriage, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe nodded. \xe2\x80\x9cWhere\'s my wife, d\xe2\x80\x99y\xe2\x80\x99 know?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI think in the kitchen, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe w r ent first to the coat closet and put on his over\xc2\xac \ncoat, for it was the first morning of November and the \nwind was sharp out of doors. Then he hurried past the \nmarble nymph, and through the dining room and pantry. \n\nLessie stood in front of the natural-gas range, instruct\xc2\xac \ning the new cook in its complex mysteries. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever go turnin\xe2\x80\x99 on a burner while they\xe2\x80\x99s anything on \ntop of it,\xe2\x80\x9d she cautioned, \xe2\x80\x9cor they\xe2\x80\x99s likely t\xe2\x80\x99 be an ex\xc2\xac \nplosion.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTo illustrate the principle, she started to remove the \nfrying pan from the burner she purposed igniting; but, \nfinding the utensil\xe2\x80\x99s handle hot, she gathered up a loose \nfold of her homely flannel wrapper and made use of it \nto protect her hand from the handle\xe2\x80\x99s heat. She per\xc2\xac \nformed the operation swiftly with the familiarity of long \nhabit. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere now, see?\xe2\x80\x9d she inquired. \n\nMcNicol smiled at this characteristic sample of his \nwife\xe2\x80\x99s apnrehensiveness. Explosions, indeed! The idea \nof not lighting the burner underneath the frying pan \nwas childish. Lessie was always fearing gruesome catas- \n\n447 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n448 \n\ntrophes. She still locked the door of their bedroom \nreligiously each night in spite of the one conspicuous \nproof that such precautions might be futile; and ever \nsince the burglary, she looked under the bed as well. \n\nBut his smile was tolerant, good humored; there was \nno longer an edge of contemptuous impatience in his \nvoice when he spoke. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBetter be thinkin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout not gettin\xe2\x80\x99 that wrapper of \nyours too close to the burner, insteada frettin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout a little \nexplosion.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie paid no more heed than she would have to a \nsix-year-old boy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGoin\xe2\x80\x99 now?\xe2\x80\x9d she digressed, then motioned him back \ninto the privacy of the dining room with an air that \nhe recognized as portentous. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s the name an\xe2\x80\x99 address of that stomach spe\xc2\xac \ncialist.\xe2\x80\x9d She extracted a slip of paper from her pocket. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, yes\xe2\x80\x94I know it already.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe frowned a little. Lessie had been importuning him \nfor weeks to consult the specialist. There was, indeed, \nno gainsaying the chronic disorder of his digestive organs; \nin addition to suffering recurrent spasms of pain, he had \nof late lost considerable weight, and his pallor at times \nwas alarming. But he persisted in making light of these \nsymptoms, attributing them exclusively to the exhausting \nrigors of the campaign. What other reason could there \nbe? Had he not given up whisky entirely? Even cut in \nhalf his former allotment of ten cigars a day? \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut you\xe2\x80\x99re to go see the doctor t\xe2\x80\x99-day,\xe2\x80\x9d said Lessie. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo, can\xe2\x80\x99t to-day, possibly. Too much to do. But \nelection\xe2\x80\x99s only five days off now, and as soon\xe2\x80\x99s it\xe2\x80\x99s over \nI promise I\xe2\x80\x99ll go right away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe was not in the slightest degree moved. \xe2\x80\x9cI made \nan appointment for you at two o\xe2\x80\x99clock this afternoon, an\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n449 \n\nI want you t\xe2\x80\x99 keep it. Might be something serious wrong \nwith you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe manner in which he bowed to this ultimatum \nmarked the extent of the alteration in him. For in spite \nof his annoyance, he could now find some comedy in his \nsituation. He, the mayor, the man of the hour, with a \ngreat issue depending solely on his strength\xe2\x80\x94bossed \naround by his wife! Yes, he even enjoyed this ridiculous \ndictation of hers. Lessie was absurd, old-fashioned, in\xc2\xac \nconceivably childish in most of her ideas, yet he liked \nher. They were closer together spiritually now than at \nany previous era of their marriage. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAll right,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, shortly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou promise?\xe2\x80\x9d Even Lessie was not without a sus\xc2\xac \npicion of humor, it seemed. \xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98Cause I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to \ncall up your office at two, jus\xe2\x80\x99 to make sure.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSo?\xe2\x80\x9d He grinned. \n\nShe took his arm and they walked toward the carriage \ndoor. Even the touch of her hand, belying in its de\xc2\xac \npendence the domination she felt it her duty to exercise, \nthrilled him. Unaccountably, as he glanced down at her, \nhe seemed to glimpse in her answering look a flicker of \ngirlishness\xe2\x80\x94the aloof spirit of her youth, now so deeply \noverlaid with the unchivalrous incrustations of age. How \nunpitying, how indecent of time to have worked this prof\xc2\xac \nanation of her first adolescent freshness! \n\nBut his concern for the moment was with that glim\xc2\xac \nmering of the young girl, and he wondered a little what \nshe was thinking of. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBeatrice\xe2\x80\x94I just heard from her.\xe2\x80\x9d There was a frac\xc2\xac \ntion of hesitation in her accents, for he had not yet for\xc2\xac \ngiven his youngest child. \xe2\x80\x9cShe\xe2\x80\x99s goin\xe2\x80\x99 to have a baby.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFor the astonished gratification that welled up in him, \nhe might have been that more youthful husband, hear- \n\n\n\n450 THE RED-BLOOD \n\ning from Lessie the incredible tidings of her own preg\xc2\xac \nnancy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell!\xe2\x80\x9d That was all he could say. He, a grand\xc2\xac \nfather ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 out to see her this morning.\xe2\x80\x9d Beatrice and \nher Italian husband were achieving romance in a cottage \non Sixteenth Street. \xe2\x80\x9cShall I give her any message from \nyou, pa?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe succumbed. \xe2\x80\x9cSure thing! Tell her I\xe2\x80\x99m cornin\xe2\x80\x99 \nout myself soon\xe2\x80\x99s the campaign\'s over\xe2\x80\x94or say, why don\xe2\x80\x99t \nw r e ask the both of \xe2\x80\x99em here to dinner?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie\xe2\x80\x99s demeanor proved her appreciation of his mag\xc2\xac \nnanimity. Even after he had stepped into the carriage \nand started downtown, he remembered the proud ap\xc2\xac \nproval in her eyes, still felt her farewell kiss on his lips. \n\nNowadays, it occurred to him, he actually hated leav\xc2\xac \ning the Mausoleum, and looked forward all day to his re\xc2\xac \nturn at night. Even his children might turn out all right \nin time. Maty, for example: slowly she was sloughing \noff her abnormalities and steadying down; she had just \ntaken a position as a paid social worker; and however \nmuch he might continue to be baffled by her strange bents, \nthere was no denying that the mere circumstance she \ncould earn ten dollars a week had greatly increased \nhis respect for her. Arthur, too: McNicol was prepared \nto admit the boy might have some good stuff in him\xe2\x80\x94 \nif only he -wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t be so cocky, so irritatingly indepen\xc2\xac \ndent. And now Bee! He was very happy in the prospect \nof seeing her again. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGuess I\xe2\x80\x99m on the right track at last,\xe2\x80\x9d he soliloquized. \n\nIt was with an equally deep satisfaction that he turned \nhis thoughts to the political situation. \n\nArtemas Bigelow had been a shrewd prophet in some \nways. The people had been disappointingly lethargic \nabout the proposed street-car settlement; even hostile. \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n45i \n\n\nMost of his political friends had promptly deserted him; \novernight there had sprung up under the secret leadership \nof Joe Cottrell an organized opposition that had not \nscrupled to play shamelessly upon the electorate\xe2\x80\x99s prej\xc2\xac \nudices and fears\xe2\x80\x94to impute the basest motives to him, \nto arouse mob hatred against the railway corporation, to \ncry out against even a conditional extension of franchises \n\xe2\x80\x94to make use of any weapon, in brief, save logical argu\xc2\xac \nment. The newspapers, too\xe2\x80\x94all save the Sun , once his \nbitterest opponent\xe2\x80\x94had raised an immense hue and cry \nagainst the project, misrepresenting his position, burying \nhis speeches in obscure corners while flaunting his ene\xc2\xac \nmies 5 from the front pages. Lastly, the reform element, \nupon which he might have counted for support, arrayed \nitself solidly against him. The Rev. Ronald Beemish \nwas particularly scathing. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou\xe2\x80\x99ll have to fight single-handed,\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow had pre\xc2\xac \ndicted; and it was so. \n\nBut what a fight! McNicol had worked day and night, \nclumsily yet with fanatical energy; abetted by a strength \nthat seemed not his own, but some magical effluence \nfrom his burning cause itself. And his superhuman ef\xc2\xac \nforts had begun to count. His audiences at first were \nbored, even as Bigelow had foreseen; but gradually his \nprofound earnestness had taken hold. People cheered \nhim now every time he spoke. The Globe\xe2\x80\x99s first straw \nvote, late in the summer, had revealed a majority of four \nto one against the proposal; a second tally, taken a fort\xc2\xac \nnight ago, showed less than one-and-a-half to one. \n\nYes, he was gaining ground each day, and everybody \nknew it. A bet had been placed in a downtown saloon only \nyesterday, at even money. \n\nThis morning, therefore, he rode downtown with a \nsecure and serene faith in his victory. \n\nOn the right track at last\xe2\x80\x94yes, that was it\xe2\x80\x94after all \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n452 \n\nhis blind fiounderings, all his arrogant stupidities of the \npast. \n\nHe thought of his mother. \xe2\x80\x9cIf only she was alive to \nsee what I\xe2\x80\x99ve done!\xe2\x80\x9d But surely her presence was with \nhim still. Surely her blessing was upon him, even from \nbeyond the grave. \n\nHe had redeemed his promise to God, too; and God had \nforgiven him and spared him further punishment for \nhis sins. \n\nBigelow had started to say something sinister about ill \nfortune; and at the recollection McNicol smiled dis- \nsentingly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf a man does his best, if he lets his best side govern \nhim\xe2\x80\x94like I\xe2\x80\x99m doin\xe2\x80\x99 now\xe2\x80\x94no harm can come to him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was his hour of supreme happiness. \n\nAwaiting him at the office, however, he found a letter \nthat did not quite jibe with this confident theory. From \na firm of lawyers, it was, setting forth that they had been \nretained by one Evans to bring suit for alienation of his \nwife\xe2\x80\x99s affections, possibly to press criminal proceedings \nfor adultery as well; and calling upon the Great Man to \nmake satisfactory adjustment of damages not later than \nSaturday, or suffer condign consequence. \n\n11 \n\nBut tranquillity returned to him Saturday afternoon \nwhen Artemas \xc2\xbbBigelow brought over a formal receipt \nand release, signed by Irma\xe2\x80\x99s husband. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cPerfectly preposterous amount to pay that loafer,\xe2\x80\x9d he \ninsisted. \xe2\x80\x9cI doubt if he could have recovered a nickel \nfrom you in court. But you would settle with him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99d have paid ten times as much,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol averred. \n\xe2\x80\x9cHow\xe2\x80\x99d it \xe2\x80\x99ve looked in to-morrow mornin\xe2\x80\x99s papers, ay? \nWhat\xe2\x80\x99d my wife say? What\xe2\x80\x99d the voters think? Man \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n453 \n\nalive, the scandal \xe2\x80\x99d jus\xe2\x80\x99 be enough to swing the election \nthe other way.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI suppose you\xe2\x80\x99re right. Evans\xe2\x80\x99 lawyers knew it, too\xe2\x80\x94 \nworse luck! That\xe2\x80\x99s why they insisted on a settlement \nto-day. They realized they had you where they could \nshake you down.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Mayor wiped his forehead. \xe2\x80\x9cWell, anyway, there\xe2\x80\x99s \nan end to that!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHere\xe2\x80\x99s hoping!\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow still had the habit of pessi\xc2\xac \nmistic innuendo. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHopin\xe2\x80\x99! What you mean by that?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, nothing. The thing that puzzles me about this \nbusiness is where Joe Cottrell comes in. Not the slightest \ndoubt in my mind he\xe2\x80\x99s the one who engineered it, just to \nmake you sweat. Yet if that\xe2\x80\x99s so, why didn\xe2\x80\x99t he have \nEvans file suit at once and get the story into the papers?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Cause he knew darned well the only reason I\xe2\x80\x99d \nsettle was to hush things up; once the news leaked out, \nI wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t give a nickel.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course, of course\xe2\x80\x94but Cottrell doesn\xe2\x80\x99t want your \nmoney, he wants your blood. He wants to do for you\xe2\x80\x94 \nsee? Losing a few thousand dollars wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t hurt you \nmuch; but losing the election, losing your reputation, \nwould\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSure\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s all right,\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol diagnosed, \xe2\x80\x9cbut \nEvans\xe2\x80\x99d want money. Evans wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t give a hang about \nthis election, one way or another.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat\xe2\x80\x99s probably it, but if there\xe2\x80\x99s any way Cottrell \ncan use it against you-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut they ain\'t, is they\xe2\x80\x94not after Evans has taken \nmy money and signed up?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI can\xe2\x80\x99t think of any way,\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow admitted, almost \nregretfully. \xe2\x80\x9cCertainly none of the newspapers would \ntouch it, as long as it stays a private matter. Come to \nthink of it, the Evans outfit would a little prefer to keep it \n\n\n\n\n\n454 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\ndark, I\xe2\x80\x99d think\xe2\x80\x94so they could play the same game on \nsome other rich man. No, I guess you\xe2\x80\x99re safe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhen, therefore, a little later on in the afternoon, Mc- \nNicol snatched time to pay his second visit to the stomach \nspecialist, he was again in a buoyantly peaceful mood. \nHe had escaped this latest grave threat to his happiness, \nafter two days of corroding anxiety; and now his labors \nwere almost over for the present. There remained but \none final mass meeting for him to address this evening. \nSunday and Monday would both be comparatively quiet\xe2\x80\x94 \nand Tuesday, the election and the triumph of truth over \nwickedness! \n\nHe was glad it was so, for he had begun to feel the \nheavy drain upon his strength. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThe right track, at last,\xe2\x80\x9d he repeated, still again. \n\nIt had disquieted him a little, to tell the truth, that \nGod had ever permitted Evans to reappear and harass \nhim in the crisis; but it now seemed plain that this \nwas but the Almighty\xe2\x80\x99s final test of his sincerity. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes,\xe2\x80\x9d he corroborated. \xe2\x80\x9cI remained steadfast in the \nfaith, and once more He delivered me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was with this sense of implicit reliance that he came \nto the specialist\xe2\x80\x99s suite of offices. But when he departed \nthence into the gathering twilight of the street, a half \nhour later, he was a limp and pitiful figure. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m afraid there\xe2\x80\x99s no getting away from the facts,\xe2\x80\x9d \nthe physician had said with elaborate impersonality. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \nhave a carcinoma of the stomach.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMust be something serious judging from his voice. \nMcNicoJ couldn\xe2\x80\x99t for the life of him remember what a \ncarcinoma was. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHad I better give up smokin\xe2\x80\x99 altogether?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t believe that would help much now. Of course \nwe can operate if you want, though at your age I wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n455 \n\nadvise it. But by dropping everything and pampering \nyourself, you may keep on for some time yet.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cKeep on\xe2\x80\x94?\xe2\x80\x9d A horrible dread had prowled through \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s vitals. \xe2\x80\x9cLook here, what\xe2\x80\x99ve I got?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCarcinoma, I said. . . . Stomach ulcer that\xe2\x80\x99s developed \ninto cancer.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCancer!\xe2\x80\x9d McNicol could understand that word well \nenough. He had gulped. \xe2\x80\x9cYou mean I\xe2\x80\x99m a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to die \n\xe2\x80\x94right away?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no,\xe2\x80\x9d the specialist had discriminated lightly. \xe2\x80\x9cNot \nright away. A year, perhaps\xe2\x80\x94but as I say, by dropping \neverything . . . possibly a year and a half, even two-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nhi \n\nIt speaks well for McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s courage that by the time \nhe reached the front door of the Mausoleum he had \nbraced himself to the crushing catastrophe. \n\nNo easy matter, though. At first, it seemed to him he \ncould not possibly walk back to the City Hall. Such \nwas the power of suggestion of the specialist\xe2\x80\x99s pronounce\xc2\xac \nment, that he fancied himself already dying. His mind \nseethed with bitter denunciations of Jehovah. What had \nhe done to deserve this appalling and obscene fate? Of \nwhat avail was it to turn from evil to righteousness \nif God struck one down notwithstanding? \n\nGradually, however, his toughness of fiber had reas\xc2\xac \nserted itself. After all, this new reformation of his was \nbuilt of sincerer stuff than the hope of personal reward. \nAll men had to die, surely; there was nothing unprece\xc2\xac \ndented in that. \n\nThe thought suddenly shot through his brain: \xe2\x80\x9cI \nbeen spared just long enough to put through this one big \nthing. If I can die, leavin\xe2\x80\x99 the street-car fight settled \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n456 \n\nfair, for all time, I won\xe2\x80\x99t have lived in vain. My work \nwill survive anyhow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThus he dismounted from the carriage and walked up \nthe steps, erect and still unbroken. All his ache, the \nshock of death\xe2\x80\x99s imminence, the frustration of his greater \nambitions for the future, seemed to find sublimation into \nthe passionate desire to leave at least this one perpetual \nmonument to the greatness that might have been his. \n\nBut as he opened the door and entered the hallway \nhe crumpled a little. Lessie\xe2\x80\x94he had not thought of her. \nHow should he tell her, and when? \n\nSuddenly, he found himself face to face with a little \ngroup of people\xe2\x80\x94descried Lessie, a suitcase in her hand, \nweeping violently. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat\xe2\x80\x99s the matter?\xe2\x80\x9d he asked, and his heart seemed \nto flounder. \n\nLessie choked. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t come near me! I\xe2\x80\x94I jus\xe2\x80\x99 found \nout about her\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nReverend Beemish flourished a letter. \xe2\x80\x9cThis scarlet \nwoman has written your wife, accusing you of having \nlived with her in unholy lust,\xe2\x80\x9d he pontificated. \xe2\x80\x9cI told \nSister McNicol she ought not to leave her home until she \nhad given you an opportunity to deny the charge, even \nthough there were certain evidences\xe2\x80\x94\xe2\x80\x9d He coughed sig\xc2\xac \nnificantly. \n\nLessie looked up at her husband with piteous and \nmiserable eyes. \xe2\x80\x9cOh, pa\xe2\x80\x94say it ain\xe2\x80\x99t so!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol, discovering he could not lie, stared down at \nthe carpet. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThat settles it!\xe2\x80\x9d came Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s voice, with obvious \nrelish. \n\nBeemish took the suitcase from Lessie. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99m afraid \nso\xe2\x80\x94and may God be with you, sister, in your great \naffliction.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWait a minute!\xe2\x80\x9d The culprit at last found his tongue. \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n457 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI can explain everything.\xe2\x80\x9d If only he could be rid \nof these other harpies who stood between him and his \nwife, who were inciting her against him. \xe2\x80\x9cLet me talk \nt\xe2\x80\x99 you a minute all alone, ma\xe2\x80\x94won\xe2\x80\x99t you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLessie glanced at her advisers, then shook her head. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s nothing to explain,\xe2\x80\x9d Beemish interpreted \nsharply. \xe2\x80\x9cEither you committed adultery or you did \nnot.\xe2\x80\x9d \' \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI did, I did!\xe2\x80\x9d He must make his appeal to his wife \nin the presence of these aliens, or not at all. \xe2\x80\x9cI sinned, \nbut I repented. I made my peace with God. Don\xe2\x80\x99t \nyou remember, Lessie\xe2\x80\x94we was angry at each other, and \nmebbe you was bearin\xe2\x80\x99 down a bit hard on me. So I \ndone it\xe2\x80\x94but it\xe2\x80\x99s all past, I swear it. Been past for months. \nThat woman hates me because I left her, can\xe2\x80\x99t you see, \nLessie? Joe Cottrell, one of my political enemies, put \nher up to doin\xe2\x80\x99 this, jus\xe2\x80\x99 to get even with me. . . . Look \nhow happy we been since I reformed, ma. Y\xe2\x80\x99 ain\xe2\x80\x99t for- \ngettin\xe2\x80\x99 that? And that\xe2\x80\x99s just the way we\xe2\x80\x99ll keep on bein\xe2\x80\x99 \nif you\xe2\x80\x99ll only forgive me.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nJenny spat out a sarcastic inquiry: \xe2\x80\x9cWhy was it you \ndidn\xe2\x80\x99t ask Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s forgiveness before? Why\xe2\x80\x99d you wait \ntill you got found out? You wouldn\xe2\x80\x99t never have told \nher, only for this letter, would you?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis seemed, in her eyes and Beemish\xe2\x80\x99s, to afford con\xc2\xac \nclusive proof of his vileness. But Mary surprisingly \nelected to take his side. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow, mother, you surely don\xe2\x80\x99t want to go.\xe2\x80\x9d She \ntook Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s arm persuasively. \xe2\x80\x9cFather\xe2\x80\x99s confessed his \nfault; he\xe2\x80\x99s sorry for what happened; he\xe2\x80\x99s asked your \nforgiveness. The Bible tells us we mustn\xe2\x80\x99t refuse forgive\xc2\xac \nness when it\xe2\x80\x99s asked, doesn\xe2\x80\x99t it?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cForgiveness, yes,\xe2\x80\x9d Beemish again intervened authori\xc2\xac \ntatively. \xe2\x80\x9cBut your father must make atonement by \nsuffering. I\xe2\x80\x99m sure Sister McNicol forgives him, but \n\n\n458 THE RED-BLOOD \n\nthat doesn\xe2\x80\x99t mean it\xe2\x80\x99s her duty to go on living with \nhim.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThere was not even forgiveness, however, in Lessie\xe2\x80\x99s \nwounded look. Any other sin\xe2\x80\x94drunkenness, desertion, \nnonsupport, even brutality\xe2\x80\x94she would have condoned \nfreely. But not physical infidelity; to her, as to her \ngeneration, that was the one unforgetable wrong. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99ll be goin\xe2\x80\x99,\xe2\x80\x9d she said, in hard, clipped tones. \n\nMcNicol remembered one last heroic dissuasive. \n\xe2\x80\x9cListen!\xe2\x80\x9d he pleaded. \xe2\x80\x9cMaybe I ain\xe2\x80\x99t got long to live. \nThe doctor-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut Lessie either did not hear or did not care, for she \nshook her head once more and moved toward the door. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cStand aside!\xe2\x80\x9d commanded Reverend Beemish. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut where you goin\xe2\x80\x99?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTo Arthur\xe2\x80\x99s house\xe2\x80\x94that\xe2\x80\x99s where!\xe2\x80\x9d This from the \nacidulous Jenny. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re goin\xe2\x80\x99 to wait out on the front \nporch till he comes for her. She won\xe2\x80\x99t stay in your \nhouse another minute.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cArthur!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes, Arthur. She\xe2\x80\x99s going to stay with him till she \ngets her divorce.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, that\xe2\x80\x99s nonsense!\xe2\x80\x9d put in Mary, indignantly. \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat does she want a divorce for? Think of the news\xc2\xac \npaper notoriety!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBeemish closed his thin lips inexorably. \xe2\x80\x9cPerhaps not \na divorce, but a legal separation. She\xe2\x80\x99s going to begin \nproceedings immediately.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDivorce\xe2\x80\x94newspaper notoriety\xe2\x80\x94begin proceedings im\xc2\xac \nmediately. The phrases repercussed in McNicol\xe2\x80\x99s dazed \nmind. He thought: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIf she does that, if this thing gets into print before \nTuesday, I\xe2\x80\x99ll lose the election.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnything to prevent that. He reached the heights of \nself-immolation. It did not matter in the slightest what \n\n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n459 \n\nhappened to him, if only his immeasurably precious set\xc2\xac \ntlement were not defeated. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cListen!\xe2\x80\x9d he halted the exodus at the very door. \xe2\x80\x9cYou \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t need to do anything like that. Think of the dis\xc2\xac \ngrace to the children! I won\xe2\x80\x99t bother you. I won\xe2\x80\x99t try \nto make y\xe2\x80\x99 live with me. You don\xe2\x80\x99t have to leave the \nhouse. If anybody\xe2\x80\x99s to go, I\xe2\x80\x99ll be the one.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBeemish was not mollified, but Jenny evidently con\xc2\xac \nsidered the proposal worth debating. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cRight away?\xe2\x80\x9d she demanded. \n\nWhen the owner of the Mausoleum took his departure, \nten minutes later, he encountered a young man mounting \nthe porch steps. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHello!\xe2\x80\x9d said the youth. \n\nMcNicol perceived it was his recreant son, Arthur. \nArthur\xe2\x80\x94who had fled the Mausoleum\xe2\x80\x99s tyranny, who had \ndisdained thus far even to cross its threshold\xe2\x80\x94now re\xc2\xac \nturning to assume undisputed mastery. \n\nThe two passed each other with an awkward nod\xe2\x80\x94 \nthe old and the new, the supplanted and his successor, \nthe conquered and the conqueror. \n\nYet McNicol was suffused, not with despairing exaspera\xc2\xac \ntion, but with an odd and exquisite joy. And that night \nat the great mass meeting which wound up the street- \nrailway-settlement campaign, he spoke, as did St. Paul, \npure flame. \n\n\nIV \n\nHis few loyal friends, who had assembled in the mayoral \noffice to hear the election returns Tuesday night, slipped \naway one by one as the vote tabulations indicated more \nand more cumulatively that the settlement project had \nbeen lost\xe2\x80\x94till at midnight only Artemas Bigelow re\xc2\xac \nmained. \n\nHe it was who answered the telephone ring. \xe2\x80\x9cThe Sun," \n\n\n4 6o THE RED-BLOOD \n\nhe divulged, \xe2\x80\x9cwants to know if you concede defeat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNever!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAlthough by this time three fourths of the precincts had \nreported, McNicol still clung grimly to the hope of vic\xc2\xac \ntory. \n\nThere followed a number of returns that registered \nmajorities in favor of the agreement, and his hope merged \ninto certainty. After that, however, there came the same \ndull procession of adverse scores. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOver ninety-five per cent accounted for now,\xe2\x80\x9d Bigelow \ncomputed at one o\xe2\x80\x99clock. \xe2\x80\x9cWe\xe2\x80\x99re seven thousand votes \nbehind; and even if the missing precincts are unanimous \nin our favor, we can\xe2\x80\x99t catch up.\xe2\x80\x9d He turned to the mes\xc2\xac \nsenger who had been bringing the returns from the city \nclerk\xe2\x80\x99s office. \xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t bother with any more, boy. Get to \nbed.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA moment later he answered the telephone again. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYes,\xe2\x80\x9d he said, without even asking his chief, \xe2\x80\x9cthe \nmayor admits defeat.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThen he returned to the desk. \xe2\x80\x9cWell\xe2\x80\x94coming?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol sat in his swivel chair, staring blankly. He \ndid not seem to hear the question, and Bigelow repeated \nit. Since Saturday, they had been sharing the attorney\xe2\x80\x99s \nbachelor apartment together. \n\nAt the repetition, the mayor shook his head slightly. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThere\xe2\x80\x99s no use waiting any longer.\xe2\x80\x9d Then, perceiving \nthat his friend wanted to be left alone, Bigelow patted \nhis shoulder gently. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cDon\xe2\x80\x99t regret!\xe2\x80\x9d His voice, also, was unusually gentle, \nfor he knew both of the specialist\xe2\x80\x99s verdict and the do\xc2\xac \nmestic cataclysm. \xe2\x80\x9cYour only fault was that you aimed \ntoo high. Nature always frowns upon the idealist, you \nknew\xe2\x80\x94always showers her misfortunes upon him. Every \nstatesman has had to learn that bitter lesson.\xe2\x80\x9d He shook \nhands in farewell. \xe2\x80\x9cAnd yet, to me, this is undoubtedly \n\n\nPERIPETY \n\n\n461 \n\n\nthe finest moment in your life. Men are only great in \ntheir impossible aspirations and in their splendid failures.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMcNicol continued to stare unseeingly at his desk, a \ndevastated expression of utter melancholy in his lusterless \neyes. He did not move or speak\xe2\x80\x94save once, when the \nmemory of all he had suffered during the past few days \nfound outlet in the agonized, eternal question: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cO God\xe2\x80\x94what\xe2\x80\x99s all this mean?\xe2\x80\x9d And he tweaked his \neyebrows wearily. \n\nOtherwise he remained wholly inert and impenetrable. \nA janitress found him still sitting at his desk at early \ndawn. \n\n\n\n\nBOOK FIVE: \xe2\x80\x94AND THEN \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK FIVE: \xe2\x80\x94AND THEN \n\ni i \n\nCHAPTER I \n\nYOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM \n\nI \n\nL ATE Christmas afternoon of the year 1900\xe2\x80\x94some \nfourteen months after the debacle of the street-car \nsettlement\xe2\x80\x94two persons alighted from a closed carriage \nat the Mausoleum\xe2\x80\x99s porte-cochere\xe2\x80\x94the first a woman of \nabout thirty, who sedulously attended her companion; the \nsecond, a shrunken pantaloon of sixty, very feeble and \ndistressingly pallid. \n\nThe woman, assisted by the coachman, conducted the \nold gentleman up the porch steps and thence silently \nthrough the door and hallway into the library. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow, father,\xe2\x80\x9d she said with the manner of having \nengineered a difficult but thoroughly pleasing feat, \xe2\x80\x9csup\xc2\xac \npose you sit here a bit while I find out the lay of the land.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cThank you, Mary.\xe2\x80\x9d The invalid contrived a faint, \npitiful smile. There was between them, indeed, the air \nof exciting conspiracy: Mary, who alone of the children \nhad kept closely in touch with her father\xe2\x80\x99s circumstances, \nnow deemed the time ripe for a reconciliation, and had \nspirited him back into his former home with a view to \neffecting that commendable result. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat d\xe2\x80\x99 you think?\xe2\x80\x9d he implored, anxiously. \xe2\x80\x9cWill \nshe be willin\xe2\x80\x99 to see me?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOf course she will! Not that she\xe2\x80\x99s said anything, \nbut I know mother\xe2\x80\x99s never had a happy day since you \nleft. When she first heard about your illness last week, \n\n465 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n466 \n\nshe cried\xe2\x80\x94in fact, she\xe2\x80\x99s been crying ever since, whenever \nshe thinks she\xe2\x80\x99s not being noticed.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was evident he was on the margin of tears himself, \nand Mary went on quickly with spurious briskness: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNow, now\xe2\x80\x94you promised not to. Don\xe2\x80\x99t you see, all \nyour troubles are over now? You\xe2\x80\x99ll never have to go back \nto the hospital. You\xe2\x80\x99re going to stay right here, from \nto-day on, and first thing you know we\xe2\x80\x99ll have you all \nwell again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\no \n\nMcNicol shook his head to indicate he was not deceived, \nbut he looked after her fondly as she hurried out of the \nlibrary. What a fine girl she was, to be sure\xe2\x80\x94this Mary, \nwhom he had always censured so harshly. All her freak\xc2\xac \nishness, all her restless abnormality, seemed to have dis\xc2\xac \nappeared as she grew older. She reminded him of Ellen \nFoss a little in the full perfection of her poise, yet she \nradiated a certain warm-hearted fortitude that Ellen, if \nshe had it, could never succeed in expressing. Arthur, \ntoo\xe2\x80\x94that other ugly duckling of the family\xe2\x80\x94was turning \nout well: he and Gavly O\xe2\x80\x99Brien had struck out so vigor\xc2\xac \nously that McNicol & Company were compelled in self- \npreservation to buy out the new venture; both of the \nyoung buccaneers were on the board of directors now, \nand in a fair way to dominate the great concern in time. \nOf course, Arthur was not Mary, but he had been unex\xc2\xac \npectedly friendly, in an awkward way. \n\nWhile Bee\xe2\x80\x94her father\xe2\x80\x99s pride, the one child whom he \nhad deeply cared for\xe2\x80\x94 No, Bee had not come to much. \nAnd he doubted now whether she had ever really loved \nhim; during the long bleak days he had lain alone in one \nhospital or another, the prone victim of the irresistible \nwastage of his disease, she had visited him only once. \n\nAnd alas! How similar the neglect of most of his \nfriends! Perhaps they didn\xe2\x80\x99t understand how lonely a \nman could be, slowly dying in a hospital room. With his \n\n\n\nYOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM 467 \n\nresignation from office, he had seemed to drop out of life \nimmediately, as through a trap door. There was a new \nmayor now\xe2\x80\x94a Democrat at that!\xe2\x80\x94swept into power on \na tide of denunciations of the street-car company, of \nsolemn promises to bring that bloodthirsty corporation to \nits knees instanter. The name of McNicol was never \nmentioned these days. He was on the shelf, impotent, \nfutile, with no longer a single excuse for existence. \n\nThe old gentleman sitting in the library armchair shook \nhis head sadly, and his eyes\xe2\x80\x94the moist eyes of an aged \nSkye terrier\xe2\x80\x94shone dully through the thickets of his \nwhitening brows. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow soon men are forgotten.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nLife was a policeman, he reflected, incessantly shout\xc2\xac \ning: \xe2\x80\x9cPass on! Keep moving\xe2\x80\x94don\xe2\x80\x99t block the traffic. \nPass on!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut it was Beatrice, because he loved her, who had \nwounded him most. \n\nAll at once he became aware of penetrating wails, faint \nand yet somehow near. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cFunny!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt length he found his feet and made his difficult way \nto the window. Just outside, on a sheltered side porch, \nstood a white wicker baby carriage; and it was from \nbeneath the conveyance\xe2\x80\x99s hood that the sounds of protest \nwere issuing. \n\nBee\xe2\x80\x99s six-months-old infant, beyond doubt. McNicol \nbecame intensely interested. He had heard about the \nprodigy; it had been named after him, in fact\xe2\x80\x94Welling\xc2\xac \nton 1 McNicol Pasco. Yet he had never seen it. \n\nBut the baby was crying! And no wonder\xe2\x80\x94left out in \nthe cold that way. A careless nursemaid, probably. The \nthing was monstrous! \n\nIndignant and excited, he shambled out into the hall- \n\n1 See Preface. \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n468 \n\nway. then, in spite of his own defenselessness, out through \na door upon the porch. Hardly had he succeeded in wheel\xc2\xac \ning the carriage within, however, when Beatrice herself \npoiinced upon him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x98\xe2\x80\x98Here\xe2\x80\x94what are you up to?" Xo affectionate greet\xc2\xac \ning. no evidence she was glad to see him. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cSome fool nurse put him out there-" \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cXo. no\xe2\x80\x94that\'s where he sleeps every afternoon. \nHeaven knows we\xe2\x80\x99ve had a hard enough time getting him \nused to it. without people interfering with his schedule!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut it\'s cold out there and he\'s cryin\xe2\x80\x99!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh, stuff!\xe2\x80\x9d She jerked the handle of the carriage \nfrom the anxious grandfather\'s hands. \xe2\x80\x9cXow he\'ll be \nspoiled for a week.*\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nThere was no doubt about Bee\xe2\x80\x99s having faded. Life \nwith Cesare Pasco in the Sixteenth Street cottage had \npalled: there had been bitter acrimonies, both of them \nbeing afflicted with uncurbed tempers; after the baby\xe2\x80\x99s \nbirth Pasco had departed to his native Italy, and Bea\xc2\xac \ntrice\xe2\x80\x94like Jenny, a disenchanted and shrewish woman\xe2\x80\x94 \nhad returned to the Mausoleum. Like Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s, her vivid \nbeauty had passed in a moment, it seemed, at first con\xc2\xac \ntact with life\'s harshness. Like Jenny, she would be an \nold woman at twenty-five. \n\nMcXicol pleaded, \xe2\x80\x9cCan\'t I have a bit of a look at \nhim?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cXo. not now.\xe2\x80\x9d And when, nevertheless, he stooped \nclose over the blankets, she cried out, horrified and re\xc2\xac \nvolted: \xe2\x80\x9cDon\'t! Don\xe2\x80\x99t kiss him!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nMercifully enough, while Beatrice was engaged in \nreconsigning the baby to the rigors of an up-to-date \nschedule. Mary reappeared. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ve broken the news to mother\xe2\x80\x94at least I told her I \nthought you mieht be here for Christmas dinner. She \nwas all excited\xe2\x80\x94first she started to cry again, and then \n\n\n\n\nYOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM 469 \n\nshe rushed down to the kitchen to ask the cook to bake \nanother apple pie for you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe shook his head ruefully. \xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Fraid I can\xe2\x80\x99t manage \nanything like that. Just a little broth or something.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBut to-day\xe2\x80\x94she\xe2\x80\x99ll be so disappointed.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe freckled Arthur had also descended the staircase \nand was shaking hands cordially. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTell you,\xe2\x80\x9d he suggested. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy don\xe2\x80\x99t you go into the \nkitchen now and surprise her?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe idea appealed to all three\xe2\x80\x94to McNicol especially, \ninasmuch as this procedure would spare both Lessie and \nhimself the embarrassments of a public reconciliation. \n\nThe two children guided him to the pantry door, and \ndeparted. Beatrice had returned upstairs. \n\nHe pushed back the swinging door a little and peered \ninto the kitchen. Lessie, not expecting him to arrive for \nanother hour, had not yet changed her familiar flannel \nwrapper for more formal attire. She stood at a table, \nher back partly turned toward him. Even in these latter \ndays of magnificence, she still liked to putter about the \nMausoleum\xe2\x80\x99s spacious kitchen; and now she was busying \nherself with the rapid paring of apples. In all her quick \nmovements was revealed a certain joyous restlessness. \nThe cook was not visible. \n\nJust then there came the slight odor of scorching from \na saucepan of cranberries stewing on the stove, as if they \nhad boiled dry. He saw Leslie turn quickly, test the \ntemperature of the saucepan\xe2\x80\x99s handle, then\xe2\x80\x94as she had \ndone hundreds of times before\xe2\x80\x94gather up a fold of her \nwrapper and apply it to the hot handle, with the intention \nof removing the saucepan from the stove. \n\nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s heart beat fast at the pleasant and homely \nassociations of the scene. His wife\xe2\x80\x99s face, flushed with \nexertion or expectancy, was turned in his direction now. \n\n\n\n470 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nHe found it difficult to believe, indeed, she had not seen \nhim as she came to the stove. \n\nHe could not wait longer. \xe2\x80\x9cLessie!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nShe raised her eyes in startled happiness, recognizing \nhis voice even before she saw him. \n\nThen she dropped the saucepan with a cry of pain. A \nflame leaped from the stove burner up the arm of her \nflannel wrapper, and instantly the whole garment seemed \nablaze. \n\nMcNicol, endeavoring to fling himself upon her, fell \nweakly to the floor. \n\n\nii \n\nTwo mornings later, he sat in his wife\xe2\x80\x99s bedroom\xe2\x80\x94 \ntheir bedroom once\xe2\x80\x94the same chamber that had witnessed \nthe unhappy demise of Babe. \n\nAnd now she herself was dying, so the doctor said. As \nMcNicol watched her bandaged figure, noted the twitch- \nings of pain that occasionally skimmed across her inert \nface, he was musing upon the ironic destiny that ordained \nthat Lessie, after a lifetime of apprehensive precautions \nagainst every conceivable form of accident\xe2\x80\x94precautions \nagainst fire, especially\xe2\x80\x94should now have been brought \nto book by the operation of sheer indeterminate chance. \n\nThat the disaster had occurred at the very moment \nof reconciliation\xe2\x80\x94that he, indeed, by pronouncing her \nname at the wrong juncture was perhaps to blame\xe2\x80\x94 \nseemed more than he could bear. And throughout his \nlong vigil at her side, there had come no personal message \nto him from her; when she was not wholly unconscious, \nshe was monopolized by excruciating physical torment. \n\nOnly her nose and mouth protruded from the mummy\xc2\xac \nlike swathings that encompassed her head. At the spec\xc2\xac \ntacle he was indescribably wrung. That nose and mouth \n\n\nYOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM 471 \n\nseemed so piteous, so precious\xe2\x80\x94the only vestiges of her \nthat remained to him. \n\nShe was to pass away, then, without ever an interval of \nblessed communion to seal her forgiveness. \n\nHe noted all at once, however, a slight gesture of her \narm. He took the bandaged hand gently, but eagerly; \nand through the cloths felt the unmistakable pressure of \nher fingers upon his. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cLessie!\xe2\x80\x9d he cried out once more. \n\nHer lips moved with a whisper of exquisite docility: \n\xe2\x80\x9cReal nice of you t\xe2\x80\x99 come, pa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCHAPTER II \n\n\nWHEN LIFE SLIPS ITS TETHER \n\nI \n\nA FTER a week of April rain, there had come three \n\'L*- fine warm days. Toward the close of Sunday after\xc2\xac \nnoon, therefore, he fared forth from his mother\xe2\x80\x99s house in \nthe dilapidated buggy, owned by his brother Glen, and \ndriven by the latter\xe2\x80\x99s fourteen-year-old son, Glen, junior. \n\nMcNicol had come to Cartwright a fortnight earlier \non what was politely called a \xe2\x80\x9cvisit.\xe2\x80\x9d To tell the truth, \nhis three months at the Mausoleum had not been felici\xc2\xac \ntous. Mary and Arthur were kind to him, but they were \nboth away most of the time. Beatrice and he did not \nget along well together; there had been constant acerbities \nover the care of the baby; for he was instantly drawn to \nhis grandson and insisted that the infant was not receiving \nsuitable attention or food. There were quarrels, also, \nover the mansion\xe2\x80\x99s temperature: McNicol was constantly \ndemanding more heat, but Beatrice would go around \nopening windows, even in the dead of winter. Then, too, \nthe sore afflictions of his disease made him a troublesome \nand fault-finding care\xe2\x80\x94as Bee w r ould have phrased it, \n\xe2\x80\x9ca perfect nuisance around the house.\xe2\x80\x9d She was not of \nthe stuff that makes good nurses; she resented the addi\xc2\xac \ntional complications his presence caused\xe2\x80\x94special food, \nconstant attendance, irritating and inconvenient demands. \nIn brief, she did not want him there; and in this senti\xc2\xac \nment she had the support of Aunt Jenny, who never had \n\n472 \n\n\nWHEN LIFE SLIPS ITS TETHER \n\n\n473 \n\n\nforgiven McNicol the fact she had done him an injury, \nand who now took unconcealed pleasure in the circum\xc2\xac \nstance that she was apparently destined to outlive both \nher sister and her sister\xe2\x80\x99s husband. He still owned the \nMausoleum, still held the family purse strings; both Bee \nand Aunt Jenny were still dependent upon his charity, \nand he might have ejected them from the house; but he \nwas scarcely in the mood or the physical condition to take \nup arms against them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy don\xe2\x80\x99t you go to Cartwright for a little visit?\xe2\x80\x9d \nBeatrice had suggested, late in March. \xe2\x80\x9cIt\xe2\x80\x99s getting warm \nenough, and the trip would do you good.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe was not at all duped by her persuasions; but the \nidea appealed to him. He was tired of strife and domestic \nacrimony. The thought of the hills and fields of his Cana\xc2\xac \ndian birthplace came to him with a sense of unutterably \nsweet peace. He knew as well as Beatrice it was a \nvisit from which he would never return. Well, if he must \ndie\xe2\x80\x94as indeed he must, soon\xe2\x80\x94what better place than \nCartwright? There it was, certainly, that he wanted to be \nburied. The specialist had sanctioned the trip. After all, \nthere was nothing to be done in cancer cases, he reasoned. \nHis patient might linger along a few weeks more for hav\xc2\xac \ning the benefits of expert treatment; but under any cir\xc2\xac \ncumstances the end was inevitable in one month, two \nmonths\xe2\x80\x94possibly three or even four months. Some one \nin Cartwright could give McNicol the morphine hypo\xc2\xac \ndermics that mercifully minimized his agony. \n\nMary\xe2\x80\x94Mary, of course\xe2\x80\x94had brought him here, and \nin another four weeks she would be back to be with him \nto the end. But, there being now no doctor in the mori\xc2\xac \nbund village, it was the fourteen-year-old boy, Glen, who \nfive or six times daily quenched the invalid\xe2\x80\x99s torture with \nthe hypodermic needle, who prepared broth, who per\xc2\xac \nformed all the drudgery incident to such a situation. \n\n\n474 \n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\nMcNicol paid his servitor handsomely, to be sure; but \nthere had come into being between them a relationship \nthat transcended the mere cash nexus. Glen was not \nheavy and phlegmatic like his father; already he had \ndefinite ambitions; he intended to go to Toronto and \nstudy law. He had an unmistakable alert determination; \nand McNicol, recognizing in him the reincarnation of his \nown youth, loved the boy, and had already made pro\xc2\xac \nvision to insure his legal education. \n\nThroughout the week of rain the stricken man had \nfretted at the necessary confinement; and this afternoon \nhe was imbued with a wistful gratitude to the benignant \nsunshine. For he had set his heart on achieving the brink \nof the limestone escarpment once more before he died. \n\nii \n\nGlen had just helped his uncle over the cemetery fence \nand himself was about to follow, when they both heard \na whistle and perceived another boy running toward them \nalong the Drayton road. \n\nThis second youth carried a shotgun. \xe2\x80\x9cC\xe2\x80\x99m on an\xe2\x80\x99 go \nhuntin\xe2\x80\x99 over \xe2\x80\x99n the patch!\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGlen returned to the road, shaking his head conscien\xc2\xac \ntiously. \xe2\x80\x9cCan\xe2\x80\x99t.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAw\xe2\x80\x94why not?\xe2\x80\x9d The boy cast a resentful glance in \nMcNicol\xe2\x80\x99s direction; then with the usual juvenile assump\xc2\xac \ntion that elderly gentlemen have no ears, demanded \nloudly: \xe2\x80\x9cSay\xe2\x80\x94who\xe2\x80\x99s that old man?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGlen, with an impalpable cautioning gesture, reduced \nthe ensuing colloquy to a considerate whisper. \n\nBut McNicol had heard. Old man! Instinctively he \nlooked around, under the misapprehension that the boy \nmust have been referring to some one else, some concealed \nperson who was really old\xe2\x80\x94say eighty. He himself was \n\n\nWHEN LIFE SLIPS ITS TETHER \n\n\n475 \n\nscarcely sixty; still \xe2\x80\x9cmiddle-aged,\xe2\x80\x9d as he conceived it. \nBut there was no escaping the melancholy certainty that \nthe boy had really been describing him. Absurd\xe2\x80\x94yet \nhis heart was chilled. \n\nAn old man! \n\nPerhaps so\xe2\x80\x94but not too old to have forgotten the thrill \nof hunting in \xe2\x80\x9cthe patch.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cGlen!\xe2\x80\x9d he called. \xe2\x80\x9cYou go along, if you want to.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cOh no, uncle. I don\xe2\x80\x99t care nothin\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x99bout-\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHa-ha!\xe2\x80\x9d the pantaloon cackled. \xe2\x80\x9cI\xe2\x80\x99ll be all right \nfrom now on. You have your fun and come back in two \nhours. That \xe2\x80\x99ll be six o\xe2\x80\x99clock, and I won\xe2\x80\x99t be needin\xe2\x80\x99 \nanother injection till seven, you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWith a reluctance that was partly genuine, Glen climbed \nback into the buggy; the boy with the shotgun did like\xc2\xac \nwise with unfeigned alacrity; and the conveyance moved \ndown the road. \n\nMcNicol set off cautiously along the almost obliterated \npath over the soft carpet of hemlock needles. It was not \nunselfishness solely that had prompted him to dismiss his \nnephew. He wanted to experience the present quest to \nthe full, alone and undistracted; for he might never be \npassing this way again. \n\nHow could he share his indelible memories with \nanother? Every step seemed to bring its teeming quota \nof pungent associations\xe2\x80\x94each neglected headstone lean\xc2\xac \ning forlornly backward or forward, each pitiful desiccated \nwreath on its long-forgotten grave. A welter of decay \nand dissolution\xe2\x80\x94yet now he appeared to be advancing \nhand in hand with that terror-stricken, miserable run\xc2\xac \naway boy who was himself. \n\nHe found himself vaguely wondering what had become \nof Aleck Grizard and his wife\xe2\x80\x94yes, and that baby of \ntheirs! \n\nThere was with him, too, the specter of the young man \n\n\n\nTHE RED-BLOOD \n\n\n476 \n\nreturning from medical school, strong and resolute. Here \nit was, precisely, he had picked up that lace handkerchief. \n\xe2\x80\x9cJ. G.\xe2\x80\x9d Jenny\xe2\x80\x99s it had been\xe2\x80\x94that handsome romantic \ngirl. And now he could dimly envisage that same shelter, \nunder the intermeshed pine trees, where he had twice \nfound protection from April torrents, and whence his \nprecipitate intrusion had driven Jenny and the elegant \nProfessor Evanturel. Even at this instant he caught him\xc2\xac \nself speculating as to just what the twain had been up to. \n\nApril. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy, this is April, too,\xe2\x80\x9d he whispered. \n\nHe paused an instant, as if to survey the family graves, \nthen pressed on to the verge of the escarpment, from which \nhe had had the inspired vision that was to fashion his \nwhole life. \n\nThe unfolded panorama was superb, even now. The \ntown itself might continue to molder away into bleak \ndesolation; but the nobility of the terrain was indestructi\xc2\xac \nble, everlasting. His eye wandered up along the willow- \nmargined course of the Conestoga\xe2\x80\x94past the ruins of the \nmill and distillery, and the poplar grove whence still \nemerged the sorrel shoulders of the Gough house\xe2\x80\x94till it \nreached the hills above and beyond. \n\nThe valley and the lower hills were immersed in bril\xc2\xac \nliant sunshine; but halfway up the bald slope of Mount \nJudah, directly north, he beheld a shadow drifting slowly \neastward. Faintly surprised\xe2\x80\x94for he had earlier remarked \nthe sky\xe2\x80\x99s immaculate azure\xe2\x80\x94he looked up and discerned \na great, cumulus cloud making its majestic and solitary \nway across the heavens. \n\nHe continued to regard it for several moments, though \nthe spectacle was not in itself unusual. The sun was \nalready nearing the western horizon, and it incarnadined \nthe not far-distant billows of the cloud to a florid glory. \n\nA glory that was the flush of early youth. A flamboyant \nruddiness that was McNicoPs own that day he had stood \n\n\nWHEN LIFE SLIPS ITS TETHER \n\n\n477 \n\nthus on the escarpment and planned out his life with con\xc2\xac \nfident assurance: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cril marry Jenny Gough. And I\xe2\x80\x99ll make money. And \nbe a Great Man.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut now he looked down at the ground with sad disillu\xc2\xac \nsion. Yes, he had achieved his three resolves\xe2\x80\x94in sub\xc2\xac \nstance, at least: for Lessie had been a finer woman than \nJenny. Yet what had it all availed him, and what at the \nlast had he come to? \n\nWhat had life taught him? One thing only\xe2\x80\x94and that \nwas a lesson he would have scorned as a youth. Yet it \nwas something: patience . . . acceptance. \n\nThere was in him even now little capacity for detach\xc2\xac \nment. He was still bewildered by the abruptness with \nwhich he had seemingly been betrayed by his \xe2\x80\x9cbest \nside,\xe2\x80\x9d the swift convergence of disaster at the very hour \nin which he had sloughed off his baser motives. Yet now, \nas he stood surveying the cloud and the sunlit valley and \nhills, he became aware of unsuspected springs of consola\xc2\xac \ntion flowing up into his soul; and it manifested itself \nto him comfortingly that his stumbling aspirations, his \nbelated gropings upward toward the light, comprised the \nprecious stuff of greatness. \n\nHe could even think of the defeat of his one splendid \nproject with some degree of philosophy. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI forgot the sugar-coatin\',\xe2\x80\x9d he mused, half humor\xc2\xac \nously. \xe2\x80\x9cBut what I done counted, just the same. . . . \nAnd sugar-coatin\' ain\'t always a-goin\xe2\x80\x99 to be necessary in \npolitics,\xe2\x80\x9d he added, reflecting optimistically upon the birth \nof the new century. \n\nAll at once he noted that the sun was gone. The cloud, \nnow halfway on its journey across the sky toward Mount \nJudah, was no longer enkindled with the roseate flush of \nyouth, but more subtly tinged with a saffron pink, almost \nsallow. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS BY \n\nMARGARET DELAND \n\n\nTHE RISING TIDE \nAROUND OLD CHESTER \nTHE COMMON WAY \nDR. LAVENDAR\xe2\x80\x99S PEOPLE \nAN ENCORE \nGOOD FOR THE SOUL \nTHE HANDS OF ESAU \nTHE AWAKENING OF HELENA \nRICHIE \n\nTHE IRON WOMAN \n\nOLD CHESTER TALES \n\nPARTNERS \n\nR. J.\xe2\x80\x99S MOTHER \n\nTHE VOICE \n\nTHE WAY TO PEACE \n\nWHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW \n\nTHE VEHEMENT FLAME \n\n\nHARPER Sc BROTHERS \n\nEstablished 1817 NEW YORK \n\n\n\n\n\n;*eua \n\n\n, Tke . \n\nA mericanization \nStudies \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA Library on Americanization that \ncannot be equalled by any other fifty \nbooks. \xe2\x80\x94New York Evening Post. \n\n\nVol I \n\nTHE SCHOOLING OF THE IMMIGRANT \n\nVol. II \n\nBy Frank E. Thompson \n\nAMERICA VIA THE NEIGHBORHOOD \n\nBy John Daniels \n\nVoL III \n\nOLD WORLD TRAITS TRANSPLANTED \n\nBy Herbert A. Miller and Robert E. Park \n\nVol. IV \n\nA STAKE IN THE LAND \n\nBy Peter A. Speek \n\nVol. V \n\nIMMIGRANT HEALTH AND THE \nCOMMUNITY By Michael M. Davis \n\nVol. VI \n\nNEW HOMES FOR OLD \n\nBy Sophonisba P. Breckenridge \n\nVol. VII \n\nTHE IMMIGRANT PRESS AND ITS \nCONTROL By Robert E. Park \n\n\nVol. VIII AMERICANS BY CHOICE \n\n\nVol. IX \n\nBy John Palmer Gavit \n\nTHE IMMIGRANT\xe2\x80\x99S DAY IN COURT \n\nBy Kate Holladay Claghorn \n\n\nPrice, $2.50 per volume \n\n\nHARPER & BROTHERS * .* Publishers \n\n\nPanel No. 112 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'