IRTftUR 
 
 VEYSEY
 
 .
 
 A CHEQUE 
 
 FOR THREE THOUSAND. 
 
 "It's a jolly good story Mr. Arthur Henry Veysey 
 writes." New York Times. 
 
 " Much to be commended. Many people will enjoy 
 it." New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "Abounds in deliciously funny situations." New 
 York Churchman. 
 
 "A capital story." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 " Bright and clever." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " An unusually original novel." Washington Post. 
 
 " So brisk and breezy is the dialogue and so clever are 
 the situations that the book is decidedly interesting." 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 1 ' Dramatic, full of life and action, it is a brilliant 
 farce from end to end." Cincinnati Enquirer. 
 
 " Written with vivacity and dash." Detroit Free 
 Press. 
 
 " A series of laughable experiences with a clever cli- 
 max." Boston Beacon. 
 
 " One of the most amusing stories we have read for 
 a long while." Boston Times. 
 
 " It will be mentioned many a time by one who reads 
 it when he wants to relate something novel and odd 
 among his friends.'' Toledo Blade. 
 
 " Plenty of fun of a good clean order, with life and 
 vivacity enough to draw a recluse out of his cell." St. 
 Louis Despatch. 
 
 " It fulfills Mr. Crawford's requirement that a novel 
 should be a little pocket theatre. The pages effervesce 
 with life and good spirits." Clara Louise Burnham, 
 author of " Next Door" etc., etc. 
 
 " As interesting as a bright comedy twice so ; for 
 when you've read it once, you read it again." Edward 
 W. Townsend, author of " Chimmie Fadden" etc. 
 
 CLOTH BOUND. PRICE $1.00. 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM CO. 
 
 Publishers, N. Y.
 
 A PEDIGREE IN PAWN. 
 
 In the New York Times, " Saturday Review of Books and 
 Art," June 25th, 1898, one hundred and fifty of the best 
 books adapted for summer reading were selected out of some 
 four thousand. Mr. Arthur Henry Veysey's " A Pedigree in 
 Pawn " was included in this list. 
 
 " It is a cleverly grotesque story. It will keep the reader 
 in a constant state of mirth." TV. Y. Times. 
 
 "A funny story well conceived and well executed. 
 There is much clever dialogue and any number of amusing 
 situations." Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " There are plenty of people who will enjoy laughing at 
 it for its many genuinely funny situations." N. Y. Commer- 
 cial Advertiser. 
 
 ' ' A delightful and diverting story. Its tone is vigorously 
 American, and it is filled with scenes of rich and irresistible 
 comedy of the kind Americans love. We predict a large 
 measure of popularity for the book." Philadelphia Item. 
 
 "Irresistibly amusing, and evinces not only a rare fresh- 
 ness of conception, but an equally rare quality of dramatic 
 execution." Boston Ideas. 
 
 "The grotesque rencontres are extremely funny." Bos- 
 ton Courier. 
 
 " The story has life and snap. It deals with the subject 
 which has given Charles Dana Gibson the groundwork of 
 many of his drawings in ' Life ' the willingness of the Amer- 
 ican heiress to buy with her father's hard earned fortune 
 aristocratic titles and ancient estates." Boston Times. 
 
 "A very amusing story, crowded with incident. The 
 development of the plot is most skillfully accomplished." 
 Toledo Blade. 
 
 "Written purely to amuse in an admirable comedy vein. 
 It is a school for humbug." Detroit Tribune. 
 
 "A Pedigree in Pawn" is a highly diverting comedy for 
 an audience of one ; and it will be very surprising if the suc- 
 cess of Mr. Veysey's first volume is not duplicated and even 
 amplified. The story can be commended at all times as an 
 eradication of the blues. Its spontaniety is irresistible. 
 Kansas City Times. 
 
 "Mr. Veysey's mode of expression shows the spirit and 
 faculty of an artist. His manner of developing an idea and 
 leading up to a situation is boldly dramatic and of fascinating 
 originality." San Francisco Bulletin. 
 
 Cloth Bound, $1.25, 
 G. W. DELLINGHAM CO,, Publishers, 
 
 NEW YORK.
 
 THE 
 
 TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR HENRY VEYSEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A CHEQUE FOR THREE THOUSAND " AND 
 "A PEDIGREE IN PAWN " 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 COPVRIGMT, 18.1, BY 
 
 G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers 
 
 MDCCCXCIX 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAITHR 
 
 I. " By the Sweat of His Brow 7 
 
 II. They View the Elephant ... 23 
 
 III. Castles in Spain 38 
 
 IV. The Elephant is Groomed . . .54 
 V. Mr. Coxe, the Dyspeptic ... 62 
 
 VI. What Shall be Done with Mr. Coxe ? 75 
 
 VII. His First Edition . . . .88 
 
 VIII. Mr. Coxe is Sent to Bed ... 99 
 
 IX. A Very Small Philanthropist . .no 
 
 X. "Mister Textore Kised Francess" . 117 
 
 XI. The Three Mince Pies . . .129 
 
 XII. Jeremiah Coxe on the Rampage . 145 
 
 XIII. The Elephant is Off Their Hands . 153 
 
 XIV. " The Little Booming Squad " . .170 
 XV. Textor's Third Edition . . . .184 
 
 XVI. A Novelist Unmanned . . .196 
 
 XVII. Miss Ruth to the Rescue . . .212 
 XVIII. "Mister Textore Kised Francess 
 
 Againe " ..... 225 
 
 isJ 
 
 O^/^^'O'
 
 THE 
 
 TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." 
 
 "Do you think, sister, that we should offer him 
 breakfast?" asked Miss Ruth, doubtfully. 
 
 "By all means," agreed Miss Elsie, "though he does 
 not appear to be very hungry. Is it not inspiring, 
 Ruth, to watch him shovel that snow? How vigorous 
 he is, and strong!" 
 
 "One might think that he were shoveling it simply 
 for exercise," cried Miss Ruth, enthusiastically. "I 
 am correct, Elsie, in saying that never before has so 
 respectable a young man shoveled snow off our front 
 steps?"
 
 8 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Never. And you have noticed that he wears eye- 
 glasses? You have observed that, Ruth?" 
 
 The two sisters regarded attentively in a puzzled 
 silence the athletic young man without, who, quite 
 unconscious that he was an object of curiosity and 
 interest to the two gentle old ladies watching him 
 from the drawing-room window, was resting for a 
 moment from his labors, looking with intense satis- 
 faction at the steps and sidewalk nearly cleared from 
 snow. 
 
 "When he rings the basement bell for his quarter of 
 a dollar, I shall ask him about himself. He interests 
 me very much. There is something quite respectable 
 about his manner. Actually, I was going to say he 
 looked like a gentleman." 
 
 "Oh, he is a gentleman," declared Miss Elsie, 
 breathlessly. "I am sure of it. We must be very 
 careful not to hurt his feelings, sister. There! He is 
 ringing the bell now." 
 
 When Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie Fairfax entered 
 the kitchen, he was standing by the range, an object 
 of admiration to Eliza the cook, who whispered to 
 the chambermaid that he was a very genteel young 
 person.
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." ' 9 
 
 "You have finished your work?" asked Miss Ruth, 
 a little severely. 
 
 The young man bowed. 
 
 "I trust to your satisfaction, madame." 
 
 "Oh, perfectly perfectly." Miss Elsie beamed 
 through her spectacles. "You have done it very thor- 
 oughly, indeed. I do not see how you can earn many 
 quarters if you are always so conscientious." 
 
 He wiped his eye-glasses with a clean pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, but he gave Miss Elsie no information on this 
 point. 
 
 "Here is your money," said Miss Ruth, holding out 
 the coin to him. "I trust that you will not spend it in 
 drink." 
 
 "Oh, you will promise us that, will you not?" cried 
 Miss Elsie, earnestly. "I feel quite sure that you have 
 not always been accustomed to shovel snow off peo- 
 ple's doorsteps for a livelihood." 
 
 The young man laughed heartily. 
 
 "Oh, you need have no fear of that," he promised. 
 "I do not drink at all. I am sorry I look so dissi- 
 pated." 
 
 "You do not look so at all," declared Miss Ruth,
 
 IO THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 deliberately. "Please do not think me rude, but have 
 you met ill-fortune that you are reduced to the neces- 
 sity of earning your living by your hands? Not," she 
 added hastily, "that there is anything to be ashamed 
 of in that." 
 
 The young man hesitated. 
 
 "You need not be afraid to trust us," said Miss 
 Ruth, persuasively. "There is nothing for you to fear 
 if you tell the truth, and are honest." 
 
 "No, indeed," added Miss Elsie with warmth. 
 "My sister and myself are greatly interested in philan- 
 thropic work; and we shall be glad to be of service 
 to you if we find that you are deserving." 
 
 "There is really no reason why I should not tell 
 you, I suppose, if you are interested to know," he said. 
 "But I am afraid that my story may tax your creduli- 
 ty. And I don't need any assistance, thank you. I 
 am shoveling snow off people's doorsteps simply be- 
 cause I wish to know how much a man who shovels 
 snow, for instance, can earn in a day. I have been a 
 street-car conductor and a hotel-porter for the same 
 reason. I wish to know how such people live; how 
 people treat them; how difficult it is for them to earn
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." II 
 
 a living. You see, I can learn all that accurately only 
 by earning a precarious living myself." 
 
 "We are deeply interested," cried Miss Ruth. "Is 
 it necessary that you earn more quarters immediately, 
 or can you sacrifice the earning of one or two while 
 you tell us just why you desire to know all that?" 
 
 "I happen to be writing a novel with a purpose. It 
 has to do mostly with the problems of capital and 
 labor. It is to be called 'By the Sweat of His Brow.' 
 The hero is a laboring man, who often has no work, 
 and, therefore, sometimes goes to bed hungry. If I 
 am to describe his life accurately, I must live the life 
 he is supposed to have lived; if necessary, I must go 
 to bed hungry myself. You see it is very simple." 
 
 The Misses Fairfax exchanged glances of approval. 
 
 "Will you not be seated, sir?" asked Miss Ruth, 
 with respect. "You must be a very conscientious 
 literary man, it seems to me. I should think that if 
 novelists were always so anxious to be realistic, they 
 would write fewer but more helpful books." 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Miss Elsie, cordially. 
 "But I feel sure, sir, you are writing your book not 
 merely to cater to the amusement of the idle and
 
 12 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 frivolous. You have a message for the world, unless I 
 am very much mistaken." 
 
 She looked at him earnestly through her spectacles. 
 
 "That is true. You see, I have always been inter- 
 ested in economic questions. I have written a paper 
 or two. My name is Textor Richard Bryce Tex- 
 tor." 
 
 "Surely, not the Textor who wrote that splendid 
 pamphlet on the sweating system?" asked Miss Ruth 
 with surprise. 
 
 "I am honored that you have read it," answered the 
 author, much gratified. "And may I be so bold as to 
 ask your own names, or is that an impertinence for a 
 snow-shoveler ?" 
 
 "It is not an impertinence for you, Mr. Textor. I 
 am Miss Ruth Fairfax. This is my sister, Miss Elsie 
 Fairfax. I am afraid you will not, however, recognize 
 our names." 
 
 "But I do," replied the novelist, warmly. "Every- 
 body in New York who is interested in the condition 
 of the poor has heard of your noble services and gen- 
 erous charities especially your determined efforts to 
 do away with indiscriminate giving and the senti-
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." 13 
 
 mental bequests of well-meaning but foolish philan- 
 thropists. Your little book, The Mistakes of Phi- 
 lanthropists,' is a gem of clear and vigorous reason- 
 ing." 
 
 "It is very gratifying to hear praise from an expert 
 like yourself, Mr. Textor," murmured Miss Ruth, a 
 delicate flush on either cheek. "And may I ask how 
 far your novel is toward completion?" 
 
 "I have been working at it for many months now. 
 It is about half finished." 
 
 "And you think that a novel will accomplish more 
 good than a treatise?" queried Miss Elsie. 
 
 "Yes; I am inclined to think so. You must know as 
 well as myself that a dry lecture or an unattractive 
 treatise that is largely made up of statistics really 
 reaches comparatively few people. Even those few 
 are generally already interested. I wish to reach the 
 idle rich, who might do so much if they were once 
 aroused. I hope and believe that a novel will gain 
 an entrance into a lady's boudoir when a treatise would 
 be frowned upon." 
 
 "There is a great deal of truth in that," said Miss 
 Ruth,
 
 14 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Besides," continued Textor, "I cannot make a live- 
 lihood by writing tracts, you know; nor," he added, 
 smiling, "do I wish to earn it always by snow-shovel- 
 ing. I have just been graduated from the Columbia 
 School of Law. I have no liking for the law, how- 
 ever. Though it is against my father's wishes he 
 thinks my plan quite Quixotic I am going to write 
 for one year. If at the end of that time, I am a failure 
 as a novelist, I suppose that I shall have to practise 
 law. My writing is an experiment. That is all." 
 
 "But it is not all," cried Miss Ruth energetically. 
 "It is only the beginning. Your novel will be a bomb 
 cast into the midst of society. It will arouse the slug- 
 gish; it will urge the indifferent into action. I am 
 quite sure you speak as one having authority, because 
 you have lived the life of your hero. You remember 
 the saying, 'First live and then write.' Your book must 
 bear the impress of truth. It must succeed." 
 
 "I should like to think so," said the novelist, mod- 
 estly. "But you must remember, you know, that it 
 is not yet written, much less accepted by a publisher." 
 
 "But it will be. It will be. I feel sure of it. And 
 oh, I do trust" (Miss Elsie clasped her hands eagerly
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." 15 
 
 in her earnestness) "that you will show the world the 
 terrible evils of careless, misdirected charity. Show 
 the world, Mr. Textor, the mistakes of philanthrop- 
 ists, and a future generation will arise and call you 
 blessed. Show how ignorant these so-called philan- 
 thropists are; how all their feeble efforts towards al- 
 leviating the world's suffering must be useless until 
 they humble themselves and sit at the feet of ex- 
 perts until they receive definite, systematic instruc- 
 tion." 
 
 Miss Ruth had been walking swiftly to and fro in 
 evident agitation. At the last words of her sister, she 
 turned: 
 
 "That is it; they must learn of experts experts like 
 yourself, Mr. Textor. But, oh, experts are so rare! 
 And now that we have been so providentially directed 
 to yourself, we claim you. Yes; we claim you. You 
 must help us. You dare not; you cannot with a clear 
 conscience, refuse." 
 
 "I shall be glad to assist you in any way that lies 
 in my power," said the astonished author of "By the 
 Sweat of His Brow." "But, really, I fail to see in 
 just what manner,"
 
 l6 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Mr. Textor," replied Miss Ruth, gesticulating ve- 
 hemently, and walking to and fro from the pantry door 
 to the coal-bin, "as you have said as you doubtless 
 know my sister and myself have been grieved, 
 deeply grieved, at the utter lack of system that gen- 
 erally characterizes those who found colleges, bufld 
 hospitals, support indigent widows and what-not. 
 We have for years fought against capricious chari- 
 ties. We have probed beneath the surface, and we have 
 laid ruthlessly bare much as it has pained us to do 
 so the motives that prompt these charities. We have 
 laid bare the self-love, the vulgar desire for notoriety 
 that lurks beneath. We have seen the childish im- 
 pulsiveness that too often disfigures so-called chari- 
 ties. Yes; we have seen these serpents lurking be- 
 neath the thirst for notoriety. We know from bitter 
 observation that careless benefactions often do more 
 harm than good. Because they are too often badly 
 planned, carelessly administered, impulsively gov- 
 erned. And why does this lamentable state of affairs 
 exist? Because the benefactor is, nine times out of 
 ten, ignorant of fundamental economic principles. 
 Mr. Textor, we have, after years of careful investiga-
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." I/ 
 
 tion, decided that things will be no better until some 
 one assumes the responsibility of instructing these 
 benefactors. We have implored others to do so. 
 They have refused the responsibility. Very well. Are 
 the philanthropists, then, still to grovel in the slime of 
 ignorance? By no means. Instructed they must 
 and shall be! I say they shall be instructed! I am 
 sure of this because my sister and myself are about to 
 supply that instruction." 
 
 Textor listened to this tempestuous flood of elo- 
 quence in some astonishment. He felt that he ought 
 to say something at this juncture, and so he said, with 
 great conviction, "Good; very good." 
 
 "We are about to supply that instruction," repeated 
 Miss Ruth, encouraged by the ejaculation and her sis- 
 ter's approving glances. "We are about to open a 
 School for Philanthropists ourselves." 
 
 "Ourselves!" rapturously echoed Miss Elsie. 
 
 "This school," continued Miss Ruth, with an air ir- 
 repressibly business-like, "is to be no place for theor- 
 ists. It is to be practical wholly so. Philanthropists 
 who attend and we do not for a moment hesitate that 
 many will eagerly avail themselves of the precious
 
 18 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 privilege will be thoroughly made acquainted with 
 all the latest methods peculiar to the establishment 
 and wise government of each and every charitable in- 
 stitution old ladies' homes, colleges, town fountains, 
 monuments, and asylums for orphans. Actual ex- 
 periments will be carried on in a small scale. Under 
 the humble guidance of my sister and myself, the 
 female philanthropists will have a thorough insight 
 into the conducting of cooking schools, sewing circles, 
 mothers' meetings, day nurseries, and bands of mercy. 
 The male philanthropists, under competent guidance, 
 will investigate the sweating system. They will pry 
 into the machinations of the middle man; they will be 
 on the watch to smell out bad drains; to pounce upon 
 landlords of crowded tenements; to raise the voice of 
 protest against bloated monopolies. In short, both 
 males and females will put into actual practice the lec- 
 tures delivered to them at the school." 
 
 "But," exclaimed Miss Elsie, mournfully, "who is 
 to conduct the experiments and the investigations of 
 the males that is the question?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Textor; that is the question that troubles 
 us," continued Miss Ruth, vigorously. "We have in-
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." 19 
 
 terviewed professors of political economy; we have 
 seen preachers; we have advertised for authors. We 
 have found them all impractical." 
 
 "And therefore useless," concluded Miss Elsie. 
 
 "On the other hand, the walking delegates and the 
 master plumbers and the union-labor leaders are too 
 densely ignorant." 
 
 "Not to say ill-bred," interrupted Miss Elsie. 
 
 "Precisely. One who is by birth a gentleman, who 
 is fitted by education to look at things calmly, and yet 
 has a practical knowledge of the masses such a man 
 we have failed to discover until to-day." 
 
 "Until to-day," repeated Miss Elsie, nodding her 
 head with great conviction. 
 
 "Mr. Textor, there can be no doubt of it. Provi- 
 dence has directed us to you or, rather, you to us. 
 You are the man." 
 
 "I?" cried the novelist, shrinking back, somewhat 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Miss Elsie stretched out her hands imploringly. 
 
 "You are not going to refuse us? Surely, you will 
 not be so cruel? You will have more conscience than 
 that. You dare not refuse us, Mr. Textor!"
 
 20 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "If you do," said Miss Ruth sternly, "your protes- 
 tations will be hollow mockery, sir. Besides, we offer 
 you a glorious opportunity. You cannot fill your 
 novel with workingmen alone. You must have the 
 rich, as well. You must have philanthropists. You 
 must study them carefully, as well as the poor." 
 
 "That is very true," agreed the author of "By the 
 Sweat of His Brow." 
 
 "It is not as if we demanded all of your time," 
 pleaded Miss Ruth earnestly. "Only an hour or two 
 a day. You will have ample time to write. You will 
 find us liberal as regards the honorarium." 
 
 "If I were in any way convinced of my fitness for 
 the task," protested Textor. 
 
 "Nothing can be more certain than that," urged 
 Miss Elsie. 
 
 "You are a lawyer," argued Miss Ruth. "There- 
 fore, you will be fair-minded. You are an expert in 
 economic questions. At the same time, you are no 
 mere theorist." 
 
 "But I have my novel to finish. On no account 
 could I delay that." 
 
 "Certainly not," cried Miss Ruth, triumphantly.
 
 "BY THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW." 21 
 
 ''That we should deplore quite as much as yourself. 
 But a great deal of time must elapse before your ser- 
 vices would be in demand. We have not yet even 
 selected a suitable building. At least two months 
 must elapse before all arrangements can be com- 
 pleted. Come, Mr. Textor, will you at least agree to 
 think of our proposition? I will say more. Will you 
 agree to accept a lectureship in our forthcoming 
 school, provided that no serious obstacle prevents your 
 doing so when the time arrives?" 
 
 "Yes," said Textor; "I will agree to that with pleas- 
 ure. And now I am afraid that I must be earning 
 more quarters of a dollar." 
 
 He shouldered his shovel. 
 
 "You will give us the pleasure of calling on us, I 
 trust, Mr. Textor?" asked Miss Ruth, holding out her 
 hand. "We are always at home on Thursdays here 
 at our house at Gramercy Park." 
 
 Textor smiled and bowed, ignoring her outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 "You will pardon me if I do not accept at present. 
 I must not forget, nor must I permit you to forget, 
 that I am merely a snow-shoveler. When I am a
 
 22 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 novelist I shall remember your kind invitation. As 
 soon as my book is published, I shall take pains to let 
 you know." 
 
 And to this arrangement the reformers of philan- 
 thropists gave a reluctant consent.
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 
 
 THE partial promise of the novelist that he would 
 accept a lectureship in the School for Philanthropists 
 greatly encouraged the Misses Fairfax, and for sev- 
 eral weeks they interviewed countless house agents. 
 
 But, in spite of the fact that they were continually 
 being shocked by eccentricities and extravagances 
 of philanthropists, the hyacinths were blooming in 
 their dining-room windows, and yet they had not de- 
 termined upon a building for the school. 
 
 The Misses Fairfax were very precise and particular 
 old ladies. They believed that they would get just 
 such a house as they desired, if they were patient. 
 They did not propose to accept a house in the city, nor 
 one too far out of the city. Their house must have a 
 certain number of rooms, and these rooms must be 
 comfortable and spacious. At the same time they 
 did not want a mammoth hotel on their hands. The
 
 24 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 house must stand on its own grounds, and be secluded 
 from the gaze of inquisitive little boys, and yet it 
 must be accessible and convenient. Such a building 
 was not easy to find. 
 
 Two months after the interview with the novelist, 
 they received a letter from him. His book had been 
 accepted by a publisher, and was going to press al- 
 most immediately. He was now at liberty to call on 
 them for further details regarding the lectureship at 
 any time they should find it convenient to receive him. 
 
 The sisters gazed at each other in consternation. 
 
 "And we have done nothing absolutely nothing!" 
 cried Miss Ruth, holding up her hands in indignant 
 self-reproach. 
 
 "It is simply criminal negligence on our part," mur- 
 mured Miss Elsie. 
 
 Miss Ruth opened the rest of her mail in mournful 
 silence. 
 
 "Sister, we must dilly-dally no more," cried Miss 
 Elsie with energy. 
 
 Miss Ruth made an excited gesture. "Listen," she 
 commanded. "It is from Frances. Really, she is the 
 greatest child. In one corner she has written: 'Dear
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. . 25 
 
 Aunties, Isn't this precisely what you are looking 
 for?' " 
 
 "And what is it that we are looking for?" de- 
 manded Miss Elsie. 
 
 "The dear child has marked the advertisement with 
 a broad, blue pencil mark. I will read it: 
 
 " 'To rent or lease for a term of years, the Shrews- 
 bury Inn. A commodious structure of forty large 
 and lofty rooms, situated six hundred feet above the 
 Hudson, in the heart of the Clifton Hills. The build- 
 ing stands on its own grounds of fifteen acres, and is 
 in the midst of the beautiful Whitehurst estate. A 
 spacious piazza, surrounds the house, affording ample 
 opportunity for exercise in stormy weather. A bowl- 
 ing alley and billiard rooms are attached. There is 
 an abundant supply of pure spring water. The pump 
 that forces the water to the cistern is in excellent con- 
 dition. A complete apparatus is on the premises for 
 the manufacture of gas and ice. Three miles from 
 Clifton-on-the-Hudson, and twenty-three miles from 
 New York City. Especially suitable for a school. 
 Terms very reasonable.' " 
 
 Miss Ruth laid the paper on her knees and looked 
 triumphantly at her sister.
 
 26 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. , 
 
 "Can you imagine anything more satisfactory?" she 
 challenged. 
 
 But Miss Elsie had been deceived so often by flow- 
 ery advertisements, which had turned out to be the 
 commonest weeds, that she restrained her enthusiasm, 
 and answered cautiously: "It certainly sounds prom- 
 ising, Ruth. No doubt, we should investigate the 
 matter. However, I doubt " 
 
 Miss Ruth, being of a more sanguine temperament, 
 cut her short, impatiently: "Yes; and while we are 
 debating, Elsie, and being skeptical, some school- 
 master or inn-keeper, perhaps, will have gobbled up 
 the bargain. We have hesitated long enough. It is 
 time to act. As you said, let us dilly-dally no longer." 
 
 "Then you suggest that we see the place at once, 
 sister?" 
 
 "At once." Miss Ruth rose energetically and shook 
 out her skirts. 
 
 "On our way to the station we will pick up Frances 
 and take her with us. Elsie, it has occurred to me 
 that it would be an excellent plan for us to trust 
 Frances with the practical management of affairs. She 
 certainly shows undoubted ability in that line. She
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 2/ 
 
 could attend to all the culinary arrangements. She 
 could put into practice what she has learned theoretic- 
 ally at the cooking school. If we are compelled to de- 
 vote our energies to such petty details as to where 
 each philanthropist is to sleep, how much he is to pay 
 for his board, or what he is to eat or drink, we 
 shall have little time for the purely intellectual du- 
 ties that should occupy all of our attention. Our 
 strength must be reserved for that. Do you not agree 
 with me?" 
 
 "I think it an excellent idea," agreed Miss Elsie, 
 cordially. "I do not doubt that Frances' parents will 
 be glad for her to have the experience. At the same 
 time, I could wish Frances were less frivolous. She 
 must be cautioned, sister, against inveigling any of 
 the philanthropists in love affairs." 
 
 Frances could hardly contain her joy when Miss 
 Ruth told her of the high calling that was to be hers. 
 
 "And I am really to help you?" she cried excitedly. 
 "But, goodness gracious, Aunt Ruth, I'm awfully 
 afraid that I don't know enough. If it were a school 
 for little girls and boys, instead of for grown-up phi- 
 lanthropists, I might have charge of the kindergarten
 
 28 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 department Or I might teach music. But the grown- 
 up philanthropists' ringers would be too stiff to prac- 
 tice, unless they have studied already." 
 
 "Frances!" Miss Ruth sat extremely upright. "Will 
 you please not talk nonsense? Of course, you are not 
 to teach." 
 
 "Oh, am I only to look on?" asked Frances, much 
 crestfallen. 
 
 "You see, my dear, you are too young to teach," 
 explained Miss Elsie, soothingly. 
 
 "And quite too frivolous!" snapped Miss Ruth, 
 gazing at her niece sternly. 
 
 "But we thought, my dear," continued Miss Elsie, 
 taking Frances' hands, "that you would enjoy look- 
 ing after the practical affairs of the school, since you 
 are so fond of housekeeping. You are to oversee the 
 servants, to buy the provisions, and to make out the 
 bills." 
 
 "That is perfectly delightful." Frances recovered 
 her spirits with wonderful alacrity, and her eyes 
 sparkled with pleasure. "What darling old aunties 
 you are. Nothing could be more fascinating than to 
 keep accounts and to make puddings and things."
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 29 
 
 "Make puddings and things!" cried Miss Ruth, 
 looking at her niece in alarm. "And, indeed, you will 
 not, Frances. We can have none of those indigestible 
 messes that you have learned to concoct at the cook- 
 ing school, smuggled in surreptitiously or otherwise 
 to experiment on the philanthropists. We cannot 
 have them made dyspeptics or discontented, child, by 
 ruined digestions." 
 
 Frances' good spirits drooped perceptibly under this 
 stern reprimand. "I have no intention of hurting your 
 old philanthropists' stomachs by my messes, as you 
 call it, Aunt Ruth," she remarked, haughtily. 
 
 The train, meanwhile, had been wriggling its devi- 
 ous way up the Clifton Hills. 
 
 "It is perfectly amazing how much more pure the 
 air is here than in the city," exclaimed Miss Elsie, 
 putting her head out of the carriage window and draw- 
 ing in a deep breath. 
 
 "And it is glorious to be up so high," cried Frances. 
 "Oh, if that Shrewsbury Inn is not suitable, I shall 
 never believe in advertisements again." 
 
 "I fancy that we must be almost at our destination," 
 remarked Miss Ruth. "Have you noticed that all the
 
 30 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 passengers have left the train but ourselves? And the 
 time-table says this train goes no further than the Clif- 
 ton Hills." 
 
 Indeed, at that moment the brakeman fastened the 
 front door open and shouted: "Clifton Hills. Last 
 stop!" 
 
 The Misses Fairfax and their niece alighted from 
 the train and looked about them eagerly. To Frances 
 the little straggling village, with its shabby, unpainted 
 cottages, untidy backyards and muddy streets, looked 
 dreary and disappointing. To the eyes of the reform- 
 ers of philanthropists, however, all this appealed in a 
 very different manner. 
 
 In every listless loiterer, in every sticky infant and 
 collarless youth, in every slatternly housewife, they 
 saw material for the coming philanthropists to work 
 upon. In a few months, under their enthusiastic tu- 
 telage, there should be no more loiterers. The chil- 
 dren should have on clean pinafores; the housewives 
 should be thrifty and happy. Yes; here, indeed, was 
 magnificent material for practical experiments in mu- 
 nicipal and domestic reform. 
 
 A three-seated buckboard from the Clifton Hills 
 Hotel conveyed them to their destination. They
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 31 
 
 passed through a dilapidated gateway, over which 
 hung an ancient sign, bearing the words, half washed 
 out by exposure, "The Shrewsbury Inn." The road 
 wound among fir trees and pine trees, and then the 
 Inn burst upon their view. They uttered exclama- 
 tions of delight. To the right was the bowling alley; 
 there at the rear were the stables and the gas machine 
 and the pumping-house. The house itself stood on a 
 gently ascending knoll, shaded by beautiful chestnut 
 trees. And the lawns! How smooth they would be 
 when properly mowed and rolled! How admirably 
 adapted for croquet and tennis! How beautiful the 
 elm trees, with rustic seats beneath them! There the 
 philanthropists might come and sit and meditate, in- 
 haling the perfume of those spacious flowerbeds, soon 
 to blossom with tulips and geraniums and roses. 
 
 Miss Ruth exultantly preceded them up the broad 
 steps. In her right hand she bore the big key of the 
 front door, procured from the agent in the city. She 
 unlocked the door. She threw it open with a flourish. 
 They entered, praying* that this should indeed prove to 
 be the haven they had been seeking so long. 
 
 "Of course," said Miss Ruth, cheerily, as they
 
 32 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 walked down the echoing hall, "of course, the house 
 is old-fashioned, and will, I imagine, furnish us with 
 no architectural surprises. This, no doubt, is the re- 
 ception-room. The ceilings are in good repair, and 
 the paneling is firm. This is the dining-room; this is 
 the office." 
 
 "But don't you think that it looks a little dismal?" 
 asked Frances, vaguely disappointed. 
 
 "Did you ever see an empty house that did not look 
 dismal, child?" replied Miss Ruth with spirit. "Please 
 use your imagination, Frances. You must first of all 
 imagine these dirty, stained walls freshly calcimined. 
 Then you must imagine a warm, red velvet carpet 
 running the length of this long hall; that will brighten 
 things considerably. Then, please imagine potted 
 plants at the corners and palms at the foot of the 
 stairway. These bare walls will be covered with the 
 portraits of wise philanthropists, who will look down 
 benignly upon our humble labors for the good of hu- 
 manity. Then you must try to imagine the living 
 philanthropists grouped cheerfully about, discussing 
 economic questions in the library, or playing back- 
 gammon and whist in this bright, sunshiny room.
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 33 
 
 Lastly, Frances, you must imagine yourself, standing 
 behind that railed-off place in the office, making up 
 accounts or receipting bills, while your Aunt Elsie 
 and myself will be flitting about, giving the wisest 
 counsels we can, and lecturing on mothers' meetings 
 or day nurseries." 
 
 "Oh, I can imagine all that," cried Frances, en- 
 thusiastically. "And no picture could be more delight- 
 ful and pleasant." 
 
 "And then," continued Miss Ruth, encouraged by 
 her niece's approval, "you can hear the balls clicking 
 in the billiard room (in your imagination, of course), 
 and rumbling down the bowling-alley, and the mallets 
 tapping the balls on the croquet-grounds. And " 
 
 "That is all very pleasant, indeed," remarked the 
 fainted-hearted Miss Elsie. "But I cannot help im- 
 agining, too, sister, what a lot of philanthropists it 
 will take to fill up all these rooms. I am afraid that 
 the building is quite too large for our purposes. It 
 will be an elephant on our hands, I am afraid." 
 
 She was gazing at the call-board, where the indi- 
 cators ran up to fifty-five. 
 
 "That is it," Miss Ruth exclaimed a little bitterly;
 
 34 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "that is it, Elsie. As usual, you must look on the 
 gloomy side of things. You are always casting water 
 on my enthusiasm; you are always drowning the pos- 
 sibilities and rescuing the impossibilities. But you 
 ought to know very well that my enthusiasm is not 
 easily quenched when it burns as brightly as it does 
 at the present moment." 
 
 "I am sure Aunt Elsie does not wish to quench it, 
 Aunt Ruth," said Frances, pacifically. "And I am 
 enraptured with this little love of an office. What 
 cunning little railings! What a high desk! What a 
 big safe! Oh, nothing could look more business-like! 
 I shall wear a dark blue serge gown, with a wide collar 
 and turned-up cuffs. Or would a dark skirt and a 
 shirt-waist, with a high, straight collar and starched 
 bosom, look more business-like, I wonder? And I 
 wonder," she added, most irrelevantly, "if any of the 
 philanthropists will be young?" 
 
 Miss Ruth was still out of temper because of the last 
 remark of her sister. She remembered, too, Miss 
 Elsie's warning that Frances must not be allowed to 
 inveigle any of the prospective scholars in love. So 
 she answered, a little sharply, "Certainly not. I shall
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. '35 
 
 be most careful to have it inserted on the front page of 
 the catalogue, in big, black letters: 'No men under 
 thirty-five admitted.' " 
 
 "Then, Aunt Ruth," declared Frances, firmly, in 
 prompt rebellion, "I am afraid that it will be necessary 
 for me to resign. I cannot live cooped up here with a 
 lot of old fogies." 
 
 "Well, certainly not under thirty," weakly capitu- 
 lated Miss Ruth. "And please remember, Frances, 
 that I positively forbid flirting in any manner or form." 
 
 "Not even with the gray-headed philanthropists?" 
 asked Frances, discontentedly. "Surely it will be 
 quite innocent if they are bald?" 
 
 "No," replied Miss Ruth, firmly, "not even with the 
 bald-headed ones." 
 
 "Because, you see, my dear," gently expostulated 
 Miss Elsie, "if that were allowed, there would be an 
 end to all discipline. They would be neglecting their 
 studies and missing their recitations." 
 
 "And discipline," declared Miss Ruth, crossly, not 
 at all deceived by her niece's demure countenance, 
 "must and shall be preserved." 
 
 "Amen," said Frances.
 
 36 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Well," asked Miss Ruth, when she had locked the 
 front door again, "do we or do we not lease the 
 Shrewsbury Inn?" 
 
 "We do," shouted Frances. 
 
 And Miss Elsie answered somewhat fearfully: "It 
 seems very suitable, sister, if you think it not too large 
 and likely to prove an elephant." 
 
 "Then," declared Miss Ruth, briskly, "it is decided?" 
 
 "It is," shouted Frances again. 
 
 "Would it not be as well to write to Mr. Textor at 
 once, asking him to call, Elsie?" queried Miss Ruth, 
 determined to make her sister assume some of the 
 responsibility. 
 
 "No doubt it would be an excellent plan, if you 
 are sure " 
 
 "It is all settled then." Miss Ruth leaned back in 
 the carriage and closed her eyes to prevent any fur- 
 ther remarks of a desponding character from her sister. 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Textor?" asked Frances, with 
 curiosity. "You have told me nothing of him. Is he 
 one of the prospective pupils?" 
 
 "Mr. Textor, Frances, is a young novelist who will, 
 we trust, be induced to accept a lectureship in this 
 school."
 
 THEY VIEW THE ELEPHANT. 37 
 
 "Is he very old?" asked Frances, innocently. 
 
 "No," replied Miss Ruth, with suspicion. "Why 
 do you ask?" 
 
 "I was wondering whether he would be eligible?" 
 
 "Eligible?" 
 
 "Whether he is over thirty, you know." 
 
 "There are always exceptions to every rule, Fran- 
 ces," answered Miss Ruth, with dignity. 
 
 "Then he is not old," said Frances, complacently. 
 "That is nice." 
 
 "He is a very learned and noble young man quite 
 too serious to take any notice of you, I expect." 
 
 "And," inquired Frances, again with great interest, 
 "is he good-looking?" 
 
 "That, Frances," replied Miss Ruth, severely, "has 
 nothing whatever to do with the case."
 
 $8 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 
 
 THE young man of literary tastes who desires to 
 tfrite a masterpiece has a tolerably straight and nar- 
 row path laid out before him. He may find this path 
 without difficulty, if he is in earnest. He simply has 
 to spend half a dollar in pens and pads, c.nd cover these 
 pads with writing. 
 
 And when the pads are at last covered with writing 
 of more or less excellent English, if the aspirant for 
 fame lives in New York, he walks at intervals of three 
 weeks on lower Fifth Avenue and West Twenty- 
 third street, visiting various publishing houses. Ke 
 keeps up these little walks they are admirable for the 
 temper, and most beneficial from the standpoint of 
 health from six months to a year. At the end of 
 that time, he consigns the manuscript to the waste- 
 basket, or the inestimable happiness is at last granted 
 him of correcting his first proofs. No doubt there is
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 39 
 
 much to try the patience of the writer of a first book. 
 But the path, at least, is not obscure. 
 
 The struggles of Richard Bryce Textor to succeed 
 as a novelist were quite extraordinary. He did not 
 write merely to see his name in print. He had seen it 
 in print already. Nor did he write merely for fame 
 or money, or because he wished to adopt the profes- 
 sion of writing for his daily bread. He had not failed 
 in several other professions. Indeed, as yet he had 
 entered no profession, although he had just been grad- 
 uated from the Columbia School of Law. 
 
 As a law student, Textor's interest in the social and 
 economic questions of the day had been so keenly 
 excited that he had lived at the University Settlement 
 in the slums of Delancey street, and had thoroughly 
 identified himself with the work there. He had in- 
 structed little Hebrew boys in the elements of patriot- 
 ism and of United States history. He had danced with 
 the factory girls at their Saturday evening "at homes" 
 in Rivington street. He had conducted the debates 
 of the Young Men's Mutual Improvement Society. 
 And he had enjoyed this work so much that when he 
 received his diploma, and was urged by his father to
 
 4O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 return to his native city, and there to begin the prac- 
 tice of law, he was very reluctant to give it all up. 
 
 It was not merely that as a practitioner of law he 
 would have less time than he had hitherto enjoyed to 
 indulge his passion for philanthropic work. He had 
 become so interested in the condition of the poor that 
 he longed to interest others in them; and the convic- 
 tion was gradually forced upon him that to arouse this 
 interest was his especial mission. 
 
 He had noticed, as he said to the Misses Fairfax, 
 that his lectures were not largely attended. His 
 pamphlets had no extensive circulation. His remon- 
 strances against municipal corruption, in the form of 
 fiery letters to the daily papers, were either ruthlessly 
 curtailed by the editor or relegated to some obscure 
 corner. The great mass of people, therefore, were 
 never reached by pamphlets or lectures. Was it pos- 
 sible to reach them? Or could he in some way pop- 
 ularize the cause of the poor? 
 
 The conviction gradually forced itself upon him with 
 an insistance not to be denied; the novel with a pur- 
 pose would, if it were earnestly written, arouse the 
 interest he so much desired.
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 41 
 
 When once he was sure of this, he did not wait for 
 someone else to write this novel. With a simple faith 
 in himself that was magnificent, Textor set about writ- 
 ing it with his customary thoroughness. He begged 
 his father that he might devote himself one more year 
 to the study of sociological problems. He did not 
 dare tell him that he intended to become a novelist. 
 This permission his father granted. He insisted, how- 
 erer, that, with the exception of the small check for 
 two hundred dollars which he enclosed, his son must 
 now rely on his own resources. 
 
 This last condition did not in the least worry Textor. 
 Indeed, it accorded with his plans. He had still one 
 hundred dollars saved out of his last year's allowance. 
 He did not intend to touch either this amount or the 
 check his father had sent, until the book should be 
 written. 
 
 The book was to be written, so to speak, with his 
 life-blood. The hero was to be a laboring-man; and 
 Textor intended to live the actual life of the man whose 
 character he was to portray. He would work with his 
 hands as his hero had worked. He would be hungry, 
 if it was necessary eat cheap food, badly cooked
 
 42 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 live in a dark tenement. He did not intend to guess 
 at anything. He determined to know precisely what 
 he was writing about, no matter at what discomfort 
 and self-denial he procured that knowledge. 
 
 Textor had a square lower jaw. He had carried 
 cut his intentions, though it had been terribly hard 
 \vork. He found that prying up cobble-stones with a 
 crow-bar made his back ache very much more pain- 
 fully than playing center-rush on the football field. 
 Eating ten-cent beefsteaks with a two-pronged fork 
 v/as somehow a more formidable affair than eating off 
 a tin plate or drinking out of a tin cup while hunting 
 in the Adirondacks. It was not fun. It was not 
 even roughing it. It was always grim earnest. Some- 
 times it was actual hunger. It is not easy to endure 
 hunger and fatigue, and to remember that three hun- 
 dred dollars are lying in a savings bank up town there 
 in God's country that would buy good cigars and 
 orchestra chairs in theaters, and leisure to call 
 on beautiful girls. 
 
 But he had stuck to his task. He had written the 
 book. The street-car driver who lived in the tene- 
 ment exactly opposite Textor's window in Houston
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 43 
 
 street, had grown accustomed to watch for the familiar 
 sight of a young man in shirt-sleeves, with a pipe be- 
 tween his teeth, always bending resolutely over sheets 
 of paper far into the night. The writing of it had 
 taxed his will power to the utmost. He had not sup- 
 posed it would take much patience to write a mere 
 story. But he had found it harder than writing 
 pamphlets. The story had to live, and sometimes he 
 had gloomy forebodings that it was very dead indeed 
 that it was simply an economic treatise in dialogue, 
 and not a novel at all. But when he felt that, he 
 gritted his teeth together and tore the pages up and 
 began all over again. He was bitterly in earnest. 
 He had something to say he never doubted that for 
 a moment; and he plodded on at his self-imposed task, 
 every day gaining courage, and every day singling out 
 with a touch more and more certain and artistic the 
 really dramatic features of the life he was leading. 
 
 So that "By the Sweat of His Brow" was finished at 
 last. And he could not help feeling very hopeful. The 
 story was heavy. Sometimes it was crude. But it 
 was well written. It was an honest piece of work. 
 At any rate, it was truthful absolutely. Indeed, that
 
 44 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 was all it pretended to be a simple, truthful narrative 
 of the hardships and obstacles to be overcome by any 
 laboring-man attempting to raise himself above the 
 environment in which he is born. 
 
 Textor was altogether too impatient to let the story 
 lie on his desk a month or two and then to revise it 
 critically. He was getting very tired of fifteen-cent 
 course dinners and three-ce-t bowls of coffee. He 
 was turning his mind longingly to the paradise up- 
 town the clean table-cloths and evening coats and 
 flowers and music. 
 
 When the story was type-written, Textor placed it 
 with the firm of Laman & Winslow. He took it to 
 this firm rather than to any other because, in the first 
 place, he had happened to meet the senior partner, 
 and because he knew that Mr. Laman was interested 
 in sociological ideas. Again, he knew that his story 
 would have very little chance of acceptance with one 
 of the great publishing houses. He knew perfectly 
 well that "By the Sweat of His Brow" had few, if any, 
 literary qualities to redeem it; and these qualities, he 
 imagined, a great publishing house would insist upon. 
 
 Laman was one of those men who succeed in any
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 45 
 
 occupation they happen to be engaged in. He had 
 absolutely no knowledge of books. He probably 
 could not have told the names of three of the poets- 
 laureate of England. But he was shrewd enough not 
 to meddle with the literary concerns of the firm. These 
 he left to Winslow, while he attended to the purely 
 practical business. 
 
 But Textor had insisted on seeing Laman. He told 
 his experience in getting material for his novel in so 
 dramatic and manly a fashion that the senior partner 
 had put aside his rule, and for once determined to use 
 his influence in having the book given at least a fair 
 reading. 
 
 "Leave it with me, Mr. Textor," the publisher had 
 said. "Of course, I don't read manuscripts myself, 
 but I'll see that our readers give it a good fair reading; 
 and I can give you an answer a little quicker than you 
 generally get one. Call in a week. Come here in the 
 office and I'll tell you the faults of your book if we 
 can't take it, though that's altogether against our 
 custom. But I'm interested in the way you've come 
 to write this book. I'm interested in what you've 
 hinted at of the plot. Your ideas are right. You de- 
 serve success, sir,"
 
 46 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 That was a very long week for Textor, in spite of the 
 luxuries he permitted himself, now that his novel was 
 actually finished. 
 
 When he promptly presented himself at the end of 
 a week's time, the senior partner was not nearly so 
 cordial. He took the manuscript from the safe, slowly 
 shaking his head from side to side. 
 
 "He can't accept it," thought the young novelist, 
 fearfully. 
 
 "I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Textor." The 
 publisher carefully selected a cigar from a box at his 
 elbow, and offered the box to Textor. "I have read 
 that story myself every word of it. I don't mind tell- 
 ing you frankly, it interested me. Yes, sir, it took 
 hold of me with a grip most books lack. That is, 
 when I once got into it. It drags at first." 
 
 "That was before I really got my hand in," sug- 
 gested Textor, eagerly. 
 
 The publisher nodded gravely. "Very likely, sir. 
 Well, as I said, the book interested me. If that were 
 all " 
 
 "And isn't it all?" asked Textor, anxiously. "Don't 
 you decide on the merits of a book?"
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 47 
 
 "Theoretically, of course, Mr. Winslow and myself 
 have the say of what goes in this office. Practically, 
 however, I don't, myself, attend much to that part of 
 the business. The manuscripts submitted to us are 
 put in the hands of one or two readers who are literary 
 experts. If they report favorably, why, we generally 
 accept a manuscript. If they don't, we reject it." 
 
 "And they haven't reported favorably, I see." Tex- 
 tor cleared his throat and hoped his disappointment 
 was not too noticeable. 
 
 "Well, to be frank, they haven't. They've jumped 
 on you unmercifully, sir every one of them. And 
 I told them to be careful. They say you haven't any 
 notion how to write a story. They say 'By the Sweat 
 of His Brow' is heavy. They say you haven't any 
 grace of style. You are too earnest. The conditions 
 are exaggerated." 
 
 "The conditions are not exaggerated, however, 
 whatever the readers say," declared Textor, quietly. 
 "As I told you, Mr. Laman, I've lived that life for the 
 greater part of a year, and I know." 
 
 "Yes, I remember your story distinctly, sir. That's 
 why I read the book. I wanted to see if it really was 
 so bad as they made out."
 
 48 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "And I suppose you found it worse," said Textor, 
 laughing nervously. 
 
 "No, I didn't. If I did I should say so. But I 
 didn't. However," added the publisher, cautiously, 
 "my word doesn't go for much, you see." 
 
 "Why not, sir?" Textor could not help feeling 
 more hopeful. 
 
 "I told you before. In the first place, I tend to the 
 business end of this concern. I don't know, or pro- 
 fess to know, anything about the literary merits of a 
 book. In the second place, I'm too interested in 
 these social questions to be an unprejudiced judge. 
 Do you see? Of course, we print books to make 
 money. What we've got to ask ourselves is: Will 
 this book interest the people who generally read nov- 
 els? Of course, we couldn't afford to strike off an 
 edition of a book and lose half a thousand on it." 
 
 "No, certainly not." Textor buttoned up his coat. 
 "I'm sure, Mr. Laman, I am greatly obliged to you for 
 being so frank with me." 
 
 "Tut, tut. Wait a bit. You are probably no more 
 in a hurry than I am. I haven't finished yet. I have 
 told you the objections I have in publishing your
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 49 
 
 book. The readers are against you. I know nothing 
 of literature. Winslow's against you. At the same 
 time, I've an idea if this book went at all, sir, it would 
 go like like hell. That's just my idea. Now, don't 
 bank on what I say. Look here, do you believe in 
 this book of yours?" 
 
 "I do," said Textor, quietly. "I do, sir. I can't 
 help doing so. It has been my life for one year." 
 
 Laman nodded approvingly and blew a great cloud 
 of smoke at Textor. 
 
 "Good! Good! That's the way I like people to 
 talk. Now, here's the point. Do you believe in that 
 manuscript of yours enough to risk anything on it?" 
 
 He looked at Textor shrewdly, his hands on his 
 knees, his cigar tilted out of the corner of his mouth. 
 
 "Risk anything on it?" repeated Textor, vaguely. 
 
 "Yes. Risk something on it. Would you invest 
 two hundred dollars in it. If the book fails, you get 
 nothing, perhaps, out of it." 
 
 Textor did not hesitate. It is true he had hoped 
 to enjoy the money that yet remained in the bank. 
 But he would have something left even after the two 
 hundred were paid; and he would, of course, receive
 
 5O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 remuneration for his services at the School of Philan- 
 thropists. He had economized too long not to econ- 
 omize a little longer. So he said, very quietly, "Cer- 
 tainly, Mr. Laman, I believe in it to that extent." 
 
 "Be careful, now," warned the publisher. "Go into 
 it with your eyes open, young man. I don't know 
 how you can spare the money, but if the book's a fail- 
 ure, you may get precious little of your money back. 
 I make no promises. You understand that." 
 
 "Perfectly. You shall have the money to-morrow." 
 
 "Very well, and then we'll sign the contracts. It's 
 the usual ten per cent, arrangement, Mr. Textor; set- 
 tlements semi-annually on application. Now, sir, 
 Heaven knows I make no promises or predictions. 
 I've been in the book business too long to make a 
 fool of myself that way. Besides, Winslow's against 
 me. But I venture to say that there are a good many 
 chances of this book making a hit. At any rate, it's 
 one of those books that have no middle course. If it 
 goes at all it will make a hit, I say, or fall flat." 
 
 "And when will it go to press?" asked Textor. His 
 voice trembled a little. He tried not to be boyish and 
 delighted, but he felt very hopeful indeed.
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. $1 
 
 "Right away, sir. You'll be getting the proofs in 
 a month." 
 
 When Textor was in the street again, he stood there 
 a minute or two trying to realize that it was all over, 
 and finding it quite impossible to do so. It had been 
 so astonishingly easy. It bewildered him. 
 
 He had expected heart-breaking delays; and he was 
 to receive the proofs in a month. He was almost 
 afraid to acknowledge to himself why it had been so 
 easy. But the conviction caught hold of him held 
 him refused to let him go: the book had merit, per- 
 haps great merit. It had conquered the publisher. 
 Why should it not conquer the world as well? It is 
 true, the readers had rejected the novel. But he re- 
 membered reading that the author of "The Sweep of 
 the Monsoon" had been turned away from twenty pub- 
 lishing houses, and that book was now in its fiftieth 
 thousand. Fifty thousand copies! Why, at ten per 
 cent., and at $1.50 a book, the royalties would amount 
 to $7,500. Seven thousand five hundred dollars for 
 his first book! And during the past few months he 
 had known what it was to begrudge the spending of a 
 few cents. Seven thousand for his first book! It was 
 glorious !
 
 52 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 He walked down Fifth Avenue to Washington 
 Square and seated himself among the bums and boot- 
 blacks and little Italian babies. He wished he could be 
 alone with his good fortune. He wanted to calculate 
 to think. 
 
 "Of course, I mustn't be extravagant in my esti- 
 mates," he said to himself, feverishly, ripping open an 
 envelope and covering it with figures. "I must be 
 conservative. Let us suppose at the lowest calcula- 
 tion that 4,000 will be sold by July.* According to 
 Laman, it will be that or nothing. Four thousand at 
 ten per cent, and at $1.50 a copy will be $650. Very 
 well. Then by Christmas I can surely count on sell- 
 ing 4,000 more. That makes $1,200 a year. By 
 August my second book ought to be well under Way. 
 If I write two books a year, I ought to make, then, 
 $5,000 a year. I could think of marrying if I could 
 find a nice girl. There is no doubt of it, I've struck 
 my gait this time. But supposing I shouldn't suc- 
 ceed?" 
 
 He leaped to his feet and stared fixedly at the 
 cross on the church across the square. Then he 
 laughed nervously. It was impossible to fail.
 
 CASTLES IN SPAIN. 53 
 
 He walked over to Broadway to draw the money 
 out of the bank and to sign the contracts. And it 
 was not until he had signed them and had again be- 
 gun to count the chances of success or failure in his 
 room, that he remembered with a little pang of self- 
 reproach that he had written the book, not for fame 
 or money, but to do good. 
 
 But it is astonishing how readily one lusts after the 
 flesh-pots of Egypt the material rewards of success, 
 fame and fortune even when one does things to do 
 good.
 
 54 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS GROOMED. 
 
 "PHILANTHROPIST HALL. Opened on this da\, 
 May I, at Clifton Hills, New York, an institution 
 founded for the broadening of philanthropic ideals. Do 
 you wish to endow a $1,000 scholarship, or to build 
 a $1,000,000 college? Nothing is too great or too 
 small for our attention. Learn of experts where your 
 money will do the most good. Let forethought and 
 knowledge govern your charities, not caprice. You 
 can save yourself worry and needless expense by at- 
 tending a session at our school. Philanthropist Hall 
 and its faculty are at the service of the world. No 
 expense save for board. None but philanthropists of 
 good habits and of thirty years of age admitted. Write 
 for circular to the directresses." 
 
 This was the unique advertisement that appeared in 
 all the prominent magazines and newspapers of the 
 United States on the morning of May i.
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS GROOMED. 55 
 
 Philanthropist Hall was thrown open to the world. 
 
 Hundreds of catalogues had been scattered broad- 
 cast throughout the land. The catalogue was a work 
 of art. Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie regarded it with 
 affectionate pride. It was printed on thick paper with 
 rough edges. The margins were wide. The type 
 was antique and easily read. Miss Ruth had written 
 it with enthusiasm. She trusted that it would arouse 
 guilty philanthropists to the enormity of the /offence 
 of careless giving that it would awaken a fervent de- 
 sire in their sluggish breasts to drink deeply at the 
 pure springs of knowledge bubbling up at Clifton 
 Hills. 
 
 "This school," it declared," has been established 
 only after the most anxious thought and consideration. 
 Its object is as noble as it is clearly defined viz.: 
 
 "To take those who are charitably inclined (not 
 under thirty, however) and to stamp on their minds 
 the vital necessity of reform in distributing moneys 
 for the alleviation of those oppressed in body and 
 soul. 
 
 "Philanthropy has hitherto been the sport of mil- 
 lionaires and the plaything of sentimentalists. It must
 
 56 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 be raised to the dignity of a 'science.' Let knowl- 
 edge reign supreme. 'Knowledge is power.' 
 
 "The largest outlay for the least possible cost 
 this has hitherto been the vulgar aim of so-called phi- 
 lanthropists. So long as the bequest attracts popular 
 applause and brings the coveted notoriety, that is all 
 that has been asked. In the name of humanity, this 
 must stop. 
 
 "The world is slowly awakening to the vital prin- 
 ciple: 'Philanthropists must be trained.' They must 
 understand exactly the evils of society before they can 
 remedy them; they must diagnose the case before they 
 can prescribe a remedy. Philanthropists, be no longer 
 quacks, humbugs. Put on the armor of knowledge. 
 Learn of experts. 
 
 STUDIES. 
 
 "In the strict sense of the word, no daily tasks will 
 be assigned. But it is expected that each student will 
 conscientiously endeavor to master such books as may 
 be recommended by the instructors. Reviews are 
 held often, and any flagrant carelessness will be 
 promptly dealt with. This method, while slow, will 
 involve mastery and thoroughness.
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS GROOMED. 57 
 
 CONFERENCES. 
 
 "Conferences are held, during which practical ex- 
 periments are planned and encouraged. Frequent 
 excursions are made to the city. The village of Clif- 
 ton itself is very happily quite without any of the im- 
 provements of model villages; and therefore admir- 
 ably adapted for experiments on the part of the pupils 
 in domestic and municipal reform. It is requested 
 that philanthropists limit themselves to a compara- 
 tively moderate stipend to be expended in these ex- 
 periments. One hundred and fifty a week is sug- 
 gested as ample. Undue extravagance is discouraged; 
 it breeds a spirit of discontent among pupils whose 
 means are more limited. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "Every article of clothing should be carefully 
 marked with indelible ink (or needle or embroidery), 
 to prevent loss. Do not use a stencil or common ink, 
 as the marking will certainly wash out. 
 
 "No heated discussions will be permitted after the 
 hour of ten, if the voice is raised above a whisper. 
 
 "There is no resident barber on the premises. 
 Students will bring their shaving implements with 
 them,
 
 58 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Male students will please not smoke in the draw- 
 ing-room, to prevent contamination of the curtains. 
 Cigarette smokers are prohibited from indulging in 
 the habit in bed." 
 
 The metamorphosis of the Shrewsbury Inn into 
 Philanthropist Hall had been watched by the two 
 hundred and fifty inhabitants of Clifton Hills with a 
 lively satisfaction and an open-mouthed wonder. The 
 industrious small boys, who had weeded the gardens 
 and pulled up the chickweed and dandelion from the 
 lawns, had been enriched by sundry pennies. Their 
 mothers had scrubbed the floors and cleaned the 
 windows. The fathers had put down the carpets, 
 painted the stables, planted the succulent turnips and 
 golden carots in the flower garden that their offsprings 
 had weeded. So that even before the philanthropists 
 had arrived, Clifton Hills had felt their influence. 
 How much more would the village prosper when each 
 philanthropist arrived with one hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars pocket-money to expend on the village's munici- 
 pal and domestic reform? 
 
 And now it was the first of May.
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS GROOMED. 59 
 
 The red carpet was down on the long corridor; the 
 palms graced the stairway; pictures of great and good 
 but defunct philanthropists (to prevent jealousy on 
 the part of the pupils) beamed expectantly from the 
 walls. The book-shelves, filled with bright volumes 
 of blue and red and gold, invited conscientious study. 
 Chess and backgammon and cribbage lay about the 
 tables in the recreation room; balls of all weights, for 
 both weak and strong players, were placed along the 
 smooth and shining bowling alleys, and red and white 
 balls were piled up in the billiard tables. 
 
 The faculty stood, so to speak, at attention, ready to 
 present arms in honor of the arrival of the first philan- 
 thropic pupils. 
 
 Two shock-headed inhabitants of Clifton Kills 
 (aged fifteen and thirteen, respectively), with shining 
 and freckled faces, and exceedingly tight, short jack- 
 ets, embellished with three rows of nickel-plated but- 
 tons running in curved lines up and down the sides, 
 stood very stiff and uncomfortable one prepared to 
 throw open the front door at a moment's notice, 
 the other to carry pitchers of ice-water, to set up the 
 pins in the bowling alley, or to run any errands that
 
 60 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 the coming pupils might like to have performed. The 
 maids had smart new caps arid beautiful, white aprons 
 with two bows at the corners. The coachman and 
 groom had brand-new liveries; the horses had new 
 monograms (P. H.) on their harness. 
 
 The faculty of the Hall were not less prepared. 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie walked arm in arm in the 
 corridor, their black silk dresses rustling in extreme 
 agitation and importance. Frances stood within the 
 railing with a pen behind her ear, before the clean 
 page of the big register. Textor paced to and fro in 
 the economics classroom, in a long frock coat. He 
 was in an excited frame of mind, due, it is to be feared, 
 rather to the beauty of Frances than to any thoughts 
 of coming philanthropists. 
 
 But the day wore on and no philanthropists came. 
 The coachman drove back from each train with the 
 surrey always empty. Miss Ruth grew greatly de- 
 jected. 
 
 "It does not seem possible that five hundred dol- 
 lars' worth of advertising and two thousand catalogues 
 can have brought forth so little fruit," she said, mourn- 
 fully.
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS GROOMED. 6l 
 
 "At least, the philanthropists might have written," 
 murmured Miss Elsie. 
 
 "Not at all," cried Frances, briskly. "You must 
 not become so easily discouraged, Aunt Ruth. I ex- 
 pect they have no leisure to write. Philanthropists 
 are very busy people. They cannot rush about here 
 and there. They have too many engagements. You 
 will see. They will drop in here without warning. 
 Some of them will come in a day or two, I feel per- 
 fectly sure." 
 
 Indeed, at that very moment there was a crunch of 
 wheels on the gravel drive. The wheels stopped; the 
 front bell rang loudly; the small boy in the nickel but- 
 tons threw open the door exultantly; Miss Ruth and 
 Miss Elsie retreated to the day-nursery classroom. 
 And there entered the first of the philanthropists.
 
 62 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 
 
 THE arrivals were a woman of an angular cast of 
 countenance, and a melancholy man in a long, black 
 coat and silk hat. The woman accosted the boy in 
 buttons in a deep, masculine voice: 
 
 "I want to see the proprietor of this hotel, boy. 
 Coxe, go in." 
 
 The latterwas addressed to the melancholy man, who 
 stepped into the hall with a nervous precipitancy. 
 
 The boy stared. "The what, ma'am?" 
 
 "The proprietor the manager of this hotel," re- 
 peated the angular person, in gutteral accents. 
 
 "Hotel, ma'am? This ain't no hotel, ma'am. And 
 there ain't any manager, if you please, ma'am. There's 
 only a manageress." 
 
 She pushed the boy against the wall, and made her 
 way aggressively into the office, her arms akimbo. 
 There Frances stood, pen in hand, behind the big
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 63 
 
 ledger, ready to greet the first of the philanthropists 
 with beaming smiles. 
 
 "Oh, I suppose you are the clerk, young woman. 
 Well, I want to see the manager. Coxe, sit down." 
 
 Thus admonished, Mr. Coxe seated himself in haste 
 on the extreme edge of a chair and sighed deeply. 
 
 Frances was not favorably impressed with the new 
 arrivals, so she put her pen behind her ear and said, 
 calmly, "The boy is right. There is no manager. 
 What can I do for you?" 
 
 The angular person looked at Frances doubtfully. 
 
 "You're not the clerk that was here before. Well, 
 I suppose it's all the same to me. I want to put Coxe 
 here to board. Coxe, there, is my husband." 
 
 Frances looked at the solemn individual in the silk 
 hat with interest. 
 
 "Indeed," she said, politely. "He is a philanthro- 
 pist, Mrs. Coxe?" 
 
 "A what?" ejaculated Mrs. Coxe, explosively. "A 
 what?" 
 
 "A philanthropist. Does he desire to attend a ses- 
 sion of our school?" 
 
 "School, young woman? Did you say schopl?"
 
 64 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Precisely. School," repeated Frances. 
 
 "School! Why, the last time I put Coxe to board 
 here 'twas the Shrewsbury Inn. You hear that, Coxe? 
 They've turned this place into a school. D'ye want 
 to go to school again, Jerry?" 
 
 Mr. Coxe glanced furtively at his better-half, but 
 expressed no audible desire to again take up the stud- 
 ies of his youth. 
 
 "And how long has this place been turned into a 
 school, young woman?" demanded Mrs. Coxe, in an 
 aggrieved air. 
 
 "Only recently," explained Frances, much disap- 
 pointed that the arrivals were not prospective pupils. 
 "Perhaps it may interest you to look over this cata- 
 logue until the carriage takes you back to the station. 
 I am sorry you have come here under a false impres- 
 sion. And while you are waiting, perhaps you and 
 your husband would like a cup of tea?" 
 
 Mr. Coxe looked up hungrily, and his eyes glittered. 
 
 "Well, you are obliging, I'm sure," said Mrs. Coxe, 
 slightly mollified. "Yes, I should like a cup of tea. 
 But no tea for Coxe. The doctor has forbid him tea. 
 He's a dyspeptic, poor man. Jeremiah, would you 
 like a glass of nice, hot milk?"
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 6|J 
 
 Mr. Coxe moistened his thin lips with his tongue 
 and muttered something about pie. 
 
 Mrs. Coxe bounced up from her seat and pointed a 
 bony forefinger at him. 
 
 "Pie!" she screamed. "Pie, did you say, Jeremiah? 
 Are you bound to make me a widow before my time, 
 Coxe? Won't you never listen to reason? Pie, in- 
 deed! Pshaw! You are like an infant in arms, Coxe. 
 You hanker for this, and you hanker for that, and 
 you know all the while you'd be laid out in your 
 coffin if you ate a tenth of the food you dream of. 
 Oh, Jerry, dear, I wish you'd only let your Coxie say 
 what's good for you, and not be so obstinate." 
 
 Mrs. Coxe was so overcome by the heartless con- 
 duct of Mr. Coxe that she burst into tears. But, like 
 April showers, Mrs. Coxe's tears soon passed. 
 
 "Oh, Jerry, dear, I know it's hard, but it's only for 
 your good, lovey. A glass of milk, hot, for Coxe, 
 miss, steamin' hot. I've got a pepton and a cracker 
 for him here in my bag. And if I could have a bite 
 of bread and butter for myself, cut thin, and plenty of 
 butter, and a bit of chicken a wing, if you've got it 
 with a mouthful of jelly, and a cup of tea Oolong,
 
 66 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 three spoonsful, with a smite of green, steeped three 
 minutes (and be sure the kettle is boiling) why, I'm 
 sure I shall be obliged, and pay for that same gladly. 
 Pie, indeed, you glutton, Coxe." 
 
 When she had delivered this scathing rebuke at the 
 cowering head of her husband, and this extensive or- 
 der for refreshments to Frances, Mrs. Coxe bounced 
 down in her seat again, and began to rock herself and 
 turn over the pages of the catalogue given her by 
 Frances, with an angry violence. 
 
 Frances rushed out to the day-nursery classroom, 
 where Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie were anxiously wait- 
 ing. 
 
 "They are not philanthropists at all," she an- 
 nounced, mournfully. "The woman supposed this 
 was still the Shrewsbury Inn, and she has come 'to 
 put her husband to board,' as she calls it." 
 
 "My dear child, you are not clear," expostulated 
 Miss Elsie, mildly. 
 
 Frances explained the situation at length. 
 
 "Get the woman her tea and chicken, child," Miss 
 Ruth said, wearily. "So much money spent in ad- 
 vertising, and not one philanthropist!"
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 67 
 
 Frances herself carried the refreshment to Mrs. 
 Coxe. 
 
 "I hope Mr. Coxe's milk is hot, Mrs. Coxe," she 
 said. "Why, where is Mr. Coxe?" 
 
 "Never mind about Coxe," answered Mrs. Coxe, 
 in evident excitement. "I've got to speak quick, be- 
 cause I want to catch that 5.20 train. I want to talk 
 to you about Coxe." 
 
 "I hope nothing has happened to him," said Fran- 
 ces, looking around for the dyspeptic in some alarm. 
 
 "No, no. Coxe is all right. He's out in the porch, 
 there, takin' a sun-bath. Now, miss, what do you say 
 to Coxe's enterin' this school?" 
 
 "It would be impossible, Mrs. Coxe. Only philan- 
 thropists are admitted. The rules are very rigid." 
 
 "Well, I haven't any objections to Coxe's turning 
 philanthropist for a while," declared Mrs. Coxe. "I've 
 been readin' your ad. here, and I must say it seems to 
 me this is just the place for my Jerry. If Coxe is 
 only kept amused, he's all right. And all this philan- 
 thropy business and billiards and bowlin'-alleys and 
 things will suit Coxe to a T. Come, what do you say,
 
 68 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "But," remonstrated Frances, "this is not a place for 
 people with weak minds, Mrs. Coxe." 
 
 "Weak minds, young woman?" Mrs. Coxe clutched 
 Frances' arm fiercely and shook her. "Did I say 
 Jerry's mind was weak? It ain't his mind. It's his 
 stomach." 
 
 "But this isn't a sanitarium, either, you know," re- 
 plied Frances, edging away from the determined wife 
 of the dyspeptic. 
 
 "Don't I know that? Haven't I read this ad. of 
 yours? I guess you needn't try to tell me what a 
 philanthropist is, young woman. When it comes to 
 that, I've married one of 'em myself." 
 
 "Then Mr. Coxe is a philanthropist?" asked Fran- 
 ces, brightening up. 
 
 "Honest and truth," declared Mrs. Coxe, solemnly 
 "Why, there isn't a bigger crank in Gotham than my 
 Jerry, if it comes to that. The fool things he's done 
 in the eatin' line would fill a book. You see, he can't 
 do much in that way hisself, and he gets his pleasure 
 in seeing others do it. That's the best treat I can 
 give him is to let him fill up people with things he 
 wouldn't dare touch hisself. My last birthday present
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 69 
 
 to him was to let him feed pumpkin pies to three hun- 
 dred newsboys. If you don't call that philanthropy, I 
 don't know what is, that's all. You see, that's what 
 Jerry's stomach is always hankerin' after nowadays 
 mornin', noon, and night. Pie! pie! pie!" 
 
 "But why after pie, Mrs. Coxe?" 
 
 "Oh, it might just as well be cold beans or welsl* 
 rabbits or lobster salad," said the dyspeptic's wife, 
 transfixing Frances with a gloomy stare. "Sometimes 
 it's one; sometimes it's t'other. Just now it happens 
 to be pie. It don't make much difference to him 
 the greedy glutton so long as it's perfectly indigest- 
 ible." 
 
 "I'm afraid he would be very hard to manage," said 
 Frances, shaking her head at Mrs. Coxe, doubtfully. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," declared Mrs. Coxe in cheerful de- 
 nial. "A widow in her first week's mournin' ain't 
 more meek. Cream ain't more sweet-tempered. If 
 you only watch him careful and keep him out of mis- 
 chief, you can lead him about by his nose, he's that 
 gentle. Why, he's out there now, as good as gold. 
 Come! what do you say to my puttin' Coxe to this 
 hotel to board, eh?"
 
 70 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I've told you, Mrs. Coxe, this is not an hotel. I'm 
 afraid it would be quite impossible." 
 
 "Nonsense! Impossible! What do you advertise this 
 place for, if you turn your back on scholards when 
 they come here, eh? I tell you, Jerry is smart and 
 cheerful as a cricket, if you only keep him amused and 
 not let him go 'round hankerin' after victuals that 
 would put a grave-stone over him in a week if he had 
 'em in his insides. Come, now, miss what do you 
 say?" 
 
 "I will see the directresses, if you insist. But I fear 
 I can offer you no encouragement." 
 
 "Do!" cried Mrs. Coxe, in a voice of deep, mascu- 
 line entreaty. "Tell 'em I'm perfectly willin' for Jerry 
 to be a philanthropist. Tell 'em their ad. says they 
 give a thing, and they've got to give it, and that my 
 money's as good as the next man's. If they don't give 
 what they advertise, it's false pretences. I could have 
 the law on them for less." 
 
 Appalled by the dreadful threat, Frances held a 
 troubled conference with her aunts. 
 
 "No," said Miss Ruth, firmly, when she learned the 
 nature of Mrs. Coxe's request. "Law or no law,
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 71 
 
 Frances,' we refuse her admission absolutely. I see 
 through that woman's machinations. Her interest in 
 philanthropy is merely assumed and specious. Tell her 
 to go, instantly." 
 
 "Yes; I think the dignity of the establishment com- 
 pels us to refuse them admission. And yet there are 
 a great many rooms," said Miss Elsie, wistfully, think- 
 ing of the call-board in the hall. 
 
 "No," declared Miss Ruth, inexorable. "This is 
 no asylum for dyspeptics, Elsie, or for imbeciles. Tell 
 that woman, Frances " 
 
 Miss Ruth was interrupted by a frightful clamor of 
 a bell. The sounds came from the office. 
 
 "It's the office bell!" cried Frances, in alarm. 
 
 She hastened to the office to see what was the mat- 
 ter. She was followed by the maiden aunts. 
 
 At the doorway of the office they paused in con- 
 sternation and astonishment. 
 
 Mrs. Coxe ,was shaking the dyspeptic vehemently 
 by the collar of his coat. But Mr. Coxe seemed to 
 enjoy the shaking thoroughly. His melancholy air 
 had departed. A leer of satisfaction was on his lips. 
 From his chin whiskers hung several crumbs of cake. 
 His eyes rolled at the ladies in ecstasy.
 
 72 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 * 
 Mrs. Coxe turned to Frances in a fearful passion. 
 
 "There! he's gone and done it!" she screamed. 
 "Oh, you cunnin' serpent, Coxe! You great, greedy 
 baby! It was while we was talkin', Miss. And I 
 thought him takin' his sun-bath. You sly fox! He 
 slipped in that dinin'-room window and he's eat half 
 a pound of cake off the sideboard. Oh, you deceitful 
 thing! We shall have to stay, now, willy-nilly. He'll 
 have 'em in an hour the cramps. Come, I've got to 
 get Coxe to bed. Do you hear? I've got to get 
 Coxe to bed. I want a hot-water bag just as soon as 
 it can be het. Oh, you pig! Come, I've got to get 
 Coxe to bed." 
 
 The dyspeptic was put to bed with difficulty. The 
 anxiety of Mrs. Coxe was manifested in such violence 
 that no thought of guile was awakened in the innocent 
 breasts of Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie. But when, the 
 next morning, the gong was sounded for breakfast, 
 neither Mrs. nor Mr. Coxe answered the summons. 
 A maid, sent up stairs to knock at their door, could 
 get no response. 
 
 Alarmed, the ladies entreated Textor to see if any- 
 thing was the matter. Failing to procure any re-
 
 MR. COXE, THE DYSPEPTIC. 73 
 
 sponse, after repeated rappings, the novelist opened 
 the door and peeped in. Mr. Coxe was huddled in 
 bed, the clothes pulled up to his chin. He was groan- 
 ing violently, but disdained to tell where Mrs. Coxe 
 was. 
 
 "Mrs. Coxe is not in the bedroom, and Mr. Coxe 
 refuses to answer any questions," said Textor to Miss 
 Ruth, returning to the dining-room. 
 
 "Not in her room!" repeated the ladies, all of them 
 rising in serious alarm. 
 
 At this moment the shock-headed Cerberus of the 
 doorway in the nickel-plated buttons, was led into the 
 room by Eliza, the cook. 
 
 "I'm thinking as he can tell you where the lady is," 
 said Eliza, grimly, releasing the shock-headed boy's 
 ear. 
 
 "If you please, mam," sobbed the shock-headed 
 boy, very much frightened, "if you are speaking of 
 the lady with the circus voice, mam, Eliza, here, says 
 I'm to tell you, mam, that I seen her goin' to the depot 
 fit tg bust, early this mornin', mam, while I was clean- 
 in' the doorplate with Putz pomade, mam." 
 
 "At what hour, boy?" demanded Miss Ruth, sternly.
 
 74 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "About six o'clock, mam." 
 
 There was a silence to be felt. 
 
 "Why, boy, did you not tell us this before?" asked 
 Miss Ruth again, more in sorrow than in anger. 
 
 "Because no one asked me, mam. And because the 
 lady with the circus voice said she'd have me spanked 
 if I did. And she give me a dime not to, mam," an- 
 swered the youthful Judas, sobbing violently. 
 
 "You may go, boy," said Miss Ruth, quietly. 
 
 Then the faculty of Philanthropist Hall gazed at 
 one another in dismay. There could be no doubt of 
 Mrs. Coxe's black heart. She had basely fled. The 
 dyspeptic was left on their hands.
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE ? 75 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE? 
 
 THAT was a day of depressing anxiety for Miss 
 Ruth and Miss Elsie. They listened fearfully outside 
 the dyspeptic's door to his groans. Through the 
 agency of Textor, they tempted him with dry toast and 
 crackers; milk, au naturel and peptonized, hot and 
 cold, but the dyspeptic obstinately refused to eat. The 
 doctor summoned, Mr. Coxe's stubbornness did not 
 abate. He refused to put out his tongue; he refused 
 to permit his pulse to be felt. He refused to say in 
 what region of his stomach he suffered pain. The 
 doctor lost all patience with him, and drove away 
 after prescribing this heroic treatment: "Let him 
 starve, if he wants to; it won't hurt him; and when he 
 is hungry, keep up his diet of peptonized milk and soda 
 crackers." 
 
 It was all very well, however, for a brutal physician 
 to say, "Let him starve." Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie
 
 76 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 felt the responsibility terribly. Supposing he were to 
 indulge in some secret orgy of pie or cake and die on 
 their hands? What would they say to Mrs. Coxe 
 when she returned? Or supposing she were never to 
 return? Dared they, as Christian philanthropists, 
 thrust the dyspeptic out in the world, where tempta- 
 tion would assail him on every side? 
 
 The day dragged on slowly. The first mail came, 
 but no word from Mrs. Coxe. They waited the even- 
 ing mail with feverish anxiety. 
 
 "If no word comes from the woman by that mail," 
 said Miss Ruth, despairingly, "I shall have hysterics." 
 
 But word from Mrs. Coxe did come by the evening 
 mail. The tidings, however, were not precisely cheer- 
 ing. There were two letters one for the directresses 
 of Philanthropist Hall; one for Jeremiah Stone Coxe. 
 
 Miss Ruth read the former letter to the assembled 
 staff: 
 
 "S. S. Gloriana, 
 "Bermuda Line, May 2, 1898. 
 
 "Ladies, I can't help laughing when I think I got 
 one on you this time -^"
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE. 7/ 
 
 "What does she mean by the expression 'got one on 
 us,' Frances?" demanded Miss Ruth. 
 
 "Oh," explained Frances; "I have no doubt the 
 vulgar creature looks at her desertion of poor Mr. 
 Coxe in the light of a practical joke." 
 
 "Or," suggested Miss Elsie, indignantly, "may not 
 the 'one on us' refer to her husband's being left on our 
 hands?" 
 
 "Very possibly," assented Miss Ruth. 
 
 "Here I am, cosy and snug, as you please, by the 
 time you get this, on my way to Bermuda. (I shall 
 give this letter to the pilot.) And there is Coxe, safely 
 lodged with you, and groanin' like a pig; I'll be bound! 
 I see well enough when I spoke to that pert woman 
 clerk yesterday " 
 
 "I!" exclaimed Frances, tragically. 
 
 " that she was against Coxe's being put to board 
 at your hotel; and while she was talking to the pro- 
 prietors, I slips outside to talk to Jerry, and I see him 
 slipping in the dining-room through the French win- 
 dow, and I didn't say a word, but I held my breath till 
 he had eat enough to show he had been eating, and 
 not enough to make him real sick. Then I collared
 
 78 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 him and dragged him back to the office, and you know 
 the rest. 
 
 "It does seem sort of mean to slip off, like I done 
 last night. But, I tell you, ladies, I'm that tired ot 
 having that big baby tied to my apron strings and 
 gadding about with him that I've got to have a 
 change, and that's all there is about it; and since you 
 call yourselves philanthropists, and like doing good, 
 why, I felt that here was a chance for you; and so all 
 parties being willing and cheerful, I've left Coxe with 
 you, and I'm going off on a little voyage to Bermuda 
 for a week's rest, and now I want to tell you about 
 Jerry. 
 
 "Jerry will be meek as a lamb out in the rain with 
 no wool on his back for the next week. That's be- 
 cause he eat enough cake to keep him quiet and sub- 
 dued, and because he's always that homesick when I 
 run off and leave him this way, with strangers. But 
 if I ain't back in a week, look out! that's all. Jerry 
 on the rampage after pie is as cunning as a serpent 
 and twicet as sharp as a razzor. So, let me see, to- 
 day's Tuesday well, I wouldn't cook any pies after 
 a week from to-day, if I was you. If you do, Jerry
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE ? 79 
 
 will scent 'em out, you may be sure of that. I've wrote 
 Jerry to behave hisself nice. Let him amuse hisself, if 
 he wants to, with bilyards and checkers and filan- 
 thropy, and let him have all the gum he wants to chew. 
 He likes blood orange, but pepsin's better for his 
 stomach. Enclosed find check to pay board for two 
 weeks, and if there's any more to pay I'll pay it gladly 
 when I come back. So, having no more to say now 
 and hoping Jerry will give you no trouble, I will close 
 now. Yours truly, 
 
 JANE B. COXE. 
 
 "N. B. Keep Jerry's mind off his victles, and you're 
 alright. But look out for pie !" 
 
 "Well!" faltered Miss Ruth, folding the letter slow- 
 ly and looking around at the assembled staff. "What 
 is to be done?" 
 
 "It seems to me," said Miss Elsie, "that Mrs. Coxe 
 has really left us very little scope for our imaginations. 
 Either we must keep the dyspeptic until his wife re- 
 turns " 
 
 "That would be intolerable," interrupted Miss Ruth. 
 "How could we devote ourselves to bona-fide philan-
 
 8O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 thropists with that man dragging about our necks, so 
 to speak?" 
 
 "Or," continued Miss Elsie, "we must send him 
 away." 
 
 "But where?" asked Frances. "Surely, not to the 
 poorhouse!" 
 
 "That would not be necessary," said Miss Ruth, 
 holding up a piece of paper. "Here is Mrs. Coxe's 
 check for a considerable amount. I suppose it is 
 genuine." 
 
 "Then," suggested Textor, "why not send him to a 
 private sanitarium or to a private hospital? A man 
 nurse might be engaged to see that he does not in- 
 dulge in forbidden fruit." 
 
 "Unless, Mr. Textor," said Elsie, with gloomy 
 significance, "this reliable young man of yours were 
 bribed by the dyspeptic. What precautions could you 
 take against that?" 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Textor" Miss Ruth spoke very 
 slowly and judicially "that, as a lawyer, you would 
 not say there is any legal obligation binding upon us 
 to receive this man on the ground that he is a philan- 
 thropist?"
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE ? 8 1 
 
 "There is no legal obligation binding on you 
 whatever," replied Textor, promptly. 
 
 "But the moral obligation?" cried Miss Elsie, after 
 a troubled silence. "That is the point, sister. Dare 
 we slight it? Dare we?" 
 
 "I fail to understand you," said Miss Ruth, uneasily. 
 
 "I ask," repeated Miss Elsie, with unusual firmness 
 for her, "if there be no moral obligation? I ask if we 
 dare put from us this responsibility that has been 
 thrust upon us, however unwelcome? Sister, speak- 
 ing for myself, I no more dare put that dyspeptic out 
 in the street, to gorge himself to death with indiges- 
 tible food, than I dare place stimulants before a drunk- 
 ard, or leave a baby to perish of the cold that had 
 been deserted by its unnatural mother on our door- 
 steps." 
 
 "Surely, Elsie, you would not draw a parallel be- 
 tween Mr. Coxe and a baby?" cried Miss Ruth, 
 crossly. 
 
 "Yes, if they have both been deserted," replied Miss 
 Elsie, calmly. "They are both unable to take care of 
 themselves." 
 
 "Do you mean to say the moral responsibility in 
 either case is equal?"
 
 82 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I do," replied Miss Elsie, solemnly. "Nor must 
 we forget, sister, that the word philanthropist means 
 a lover of men, and not a lover of babies." 
 
 Miss Ruth sighed, and yielded reluctantly. 
 
 "Your moral insight is so delicately adjusted, Elsie, 
 that I trust it completely. But I must say that some- 
 times it seems to me a little morbid. I wish your con- 
 scientious scruples were not so sensitive as to compel 
 you to extend a moral protectorate, so to speak, over 
 the unarmored insides of a dyspeptic. Now that we 
 have decided to keep Mr. Coxe, I suppose I must go 
 to New York to engage a young man to watch over 
 him, to administer to his needs, and to amuse him. 
 And, Mr. Textor, I am sure both my sister and myself 
 cannot think of keeping you longer from your literary 
 labors, now that there are no philanthropists to lec- 
 ture to." 
 
 "But I cannot dream of going away now and leav- 
 ing that man on your hands," cried the novelist, indig- 
 nantly. "You will permit me to be the young man 
 who is to amuse Mr. Coxe." 
 
 "Thank you very much indeed," said Miss Ruth, 
 warmly; "but we could not think of doing that."
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE? 83 
 
 "It would be beneath your dignity as a novelist," ex- 
 postulated Miss Elsie. 
 
 "My dignity as a novelist will not suffer greatly," 
 replied Textor, good-naturedly. "The public has not 
 taken it too seriously. I am sure I shall enjoy playing 
 billiards with Mr. Coxe much more than moping 
 about the city wondering why people do not read 'By 
 the Sweat of His Brow.' I am going to see if I can- 
 not induce Mr. Coxe to get up. He will feel much 
 better if he is dressed, than if he is lying huddled up 
 there in bed." 
 
 "What an admirable young man he is!" cried Miss 
 Ruth, after the novelist had left the room. 
 
 "He is a great comfort to us, indeed," chorused Miss 
 Elsie. 
 
 Frances smiled rather doubtfully. She was won- 
 dering whether Textor's enthusiasm for the dyspeptic 
 was quite genuine. 
 
 "Is it true," asked Miss Ruth, "that people do not 
 buy his books?" 
 
 "I fear it is," replied Miss Elsie, mournfully. "I 
 have inquired for it at several of the booksellers', and 
 they do not even seem to have heard of the book, 
 much less have it on sale."
 
 84 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "It is because the people do not like to think," re- 
 torted Miss Ruth, bitterly. "The world is full of 
 Coxes, I believe. They have mental dyspepsia. They 
 cannot digest substantial viands. They are babes. 
 They must be fed with milk. They are not capable 
 of appreciating a noble institution or a noble book." 
 
 "If we could only make them think, Aunt Ruth," 
 cried Frances, with energy. "If we could only make 
 the people think that they must buy the book or they 
 would be missing a great deal." 
 
 "If we could do that, child," remarked Miss Ruth, 
 quietly, "we should have a key to success in every- 
 thing. And while you are thinking of a way to find 
 this key, I wish you would discover a way to compel 
 the philanthropists to come to this hall." 
 
 Textor, meanwhile, had tiptoed upstairs to Mr. 
 Coxe's bedroom. All was silent within. Mr. Coxe 
 was perusing the epistle sent to him by his wife. 
 
 "Well, Jerry, my dear," the dyspeptic read, "you 
 see I am off again this time for a little sea voyage; 
 and I do hope, Coxe, that I shan't hear of any of your 
 tantrums this time when I come back. If you do have 
 'em, look out, that's all. You see, Coxe, I'm taking a
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE ? 8$ 
 
 trip to Bermuda this time. Strictly biz. I've made 
 up my mind that something's wrong with that chap 
 that's running the lily farm. He didn't ship half the 
 lilies this Easter that he did last, and I'm going to 
 know the reason why, and give him fits. Now, Coxey, 
 you will behave yourself, like a dear, this time, won't 
 you? And don't go filling up your stomach with what 
 you oughtn't to. Now, Coxey, if you will be real 
 good, I'll give you a treat. You shall have a whole 
 wedge of rich, gold-spiced, thick pumpkin pie. There! 
 So now no more to my Coxie from his JANE." 
 
 When Textor entered the room, the dyspeptic 
 slipped this letter under his pillow and began to moan 
 again. 
 
 Textor stood at the bedside and regarded him stern- 
 ly. He felt little inclination to be too gentle with the 
 dyspeptic. He proposed to deal with the dyspeptic 
 in a summary manner. He proposed to infuse into his 
 manner a little of the firmness of Mrs. Coxe. So he 
 said, very firmly indeed: 
 
 "Mr. Coxe, I think you would feel better if you got 
 up."
 
 86 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 Mr. Coxe groaned an indignant denial. 
 
 "I said, Mr. Coxe, that you would feel better if you 
 got up." 
 
 Mr. Coxe groaned even more savagely. 
 
 "Mr. Coxe," said the novelist, pleasantly, "do not 
 think, please, that, because Mrs. Coxe is away, you are 
 going to be a naughty little mouse, and play. Be- 
 cause you are not." 
 
 Mr. Coxe stopped groaning and looked at Textor, 
 much as a little child stops crying when its mother 
 arrests its attention. 
 
 "Are you going to get up, Mr. Coxe. or do you wish 
 me to remove the bed-clothes and assist you?" 
 
 Mr. Coxe got up. 
 
 And presently, to the admiration of Frances and of 
 the maiden aunts, he was being guided up and down 
 the sunny side of the verandah, his arm in that of the 
 novelist. 
 
 "How magnificently you have managed him," whis- 
 pered Frances. 
 
 "Oh, it is very easy to manage these sulky fellows 
 with a little firmness," replied Textor, grandly. 
 
 "However, you may bring a dyspeptic to the water,
 
 WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH MR. COXE ? 87 
 
 as it were," said Miss Ruth to Miss Elsie, "but you 
 cannot make him speak." 
 
 "He appears to be very sulky and very stubborn," 
 observed Miss Elsie, anxiously. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Coxe was lying low.
 
 88 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 
 
 "Bv the Sweat of His Brow" had now been pub- 
 lished one month. 
 
 Already Textor had tasted a few of the very few 
 pleasures of the author. He had, too, tasted of the 
 author's very bitter disappointments. 
 
 He had felt the delicious shock when the first bundle 
 of proofs came from the stereotyper, and he saw his 
 ideas rigid and strangely unreal in cold print. He had 
 corrected the long, damp sheets in a boyish elation. 
 Sometimes he was compelled to stop this delightful 
 labor, quite overcome by the realization that he was 
 at last an author that he had created all this himself. 
 It was his very own. He had made it. And some- 
 times as the proofs came from the printer, he was sur- 
 prised at his work. It seemed to him clever and virile. 
 The characters seemed to be talking to him. He could 
 hardly believe that he had written it all. But at other
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 89 
 
 times it seemed to him so weak and foolish and puerile 
 that he could have consigned it to the waste-basket 
 without a regret. He was afraid that his friends would 
 laugh at him. 
 
 One day he received the laconic message : 
 
 "You can have some books to-morrow. You are 
 entitled to twelve copies. The book will be on the 
 market next Saturday." 
 
 The next day he waited precisely one hour after 
 the publishers' offices are opened (so as not to seem too 
 eager) before he went to get any of his books. There 
 they were the whole five hundred of them piled up 
 on a table. 
 
 He held a copy in his hand and reverently turned 
 it over and over, half embarrassed. He wrote his 
 autograph (the full name for the first time) in a bold, 
 half-legible hand in some thirty of the copies to send 
 to his friends. As in a dream, he heard the shipper 
 call out from the end of the long room : "Three copies 
 of 'By the Sweat of His Brow' to Brown's. Three 
 copies of 'By the Sweat of His Brow' to Smith's. 
 Seven copies of 'By the Sweat of His Brow' to Jones.' " 
 He saw the red and blue poster: "The most remarkable
 
 QO THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 book of the year," and he blushed and wondered if 
 Laman did not put it on just a little too thick. But he 
 was very hopeful and proud, and he began to think 
 he had been too modest altogether in the computation 
 of his royalties. 
 
 On the Saturday morning that his book was placed 
 on the market and duly advertised in all the New York 
 papers, Textor was at the nearest newstand almost be- 
 fore the newsdealer had arrived. A heavy April 
 shower came up as he was scanning the paper for the 
 publishers' announcements, but he hardly noticed it 
 
 "Published This Day! 
 'By the Sweat of His Brow/ 
 
 by 
 
 Richard Bryce Textor, 
 
 a novel of unusual strength, dealing with the social 
 problems of the day. It will be placed beside Mrs. 
 Humphrey Ward's 'Robert Elsmere' and Bellamy's 
 'Looking Backward' as an epoch-making book. The 
 author has himself lived the proletarian existence and 
 suffered many of the denials and hardships that are
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 9! 
 
 the lot of the laboring man. He has therefore written 
 with an earnestness that absolutely convinces. A 
 prominent critic says of the book: 'It is a novel with 
 a purpose, but of extraordinary power. It is written 
 with a fire that reminds one of Tolstoi or of Victor 
 Hugo. Its literary skill is as rare as it is remarkable.' 
 For sale everywhere or sent postpaid on receipt of 
 price. 
 
 $1.50, cloth bound, ornamental. 
 Laman & Winslow, Publishers." 
 
 Textor read the advertisement that April morning 
 over and over until the rain had blurred the type into 
 an indecipherable blot. But the shower passed, and 
 the sun beat warmly on him as he bought thirty copies 
 of the paper. He whistled his way back to his rooms, 
 wondering in his innocence who the prominent critic 
 could be. When he had sent the marked papers to 
 those who had already received his books, he went to 
 the publishers to find out. 
 
 Laman was reading the advertisement when Textor 
 entered 
 
 "What do you think of the ad., eh?" asked the pub-
 
 92 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 lisher, looking at it through a cloud of smoke. "I 
 wrote it myself. Pretty neat, eh?" 
 
 "I thought it was almost too flattering," said Textor 
 modestly. 
 
 "Almost! That's great." The publisher laughed up- 
 roariously. "The conceit of you authors. Almost! 
 Ha, ha!" 
 
 "And who is the prominent critic?" asked Textor, 
 flushing hotly, and wishing his publisher had a little 
 more feeling. 
 
 Laman knocked the ashes of his cigar on the floor 
 with his fat, jeweled little finger, and looked up at the 
 novelist coolly. 
 
 "Myself." 
 
 "Yourself!" exclaimed Textor, bitterly disappointed. 
 
 "Haven't I as much right to think myself a promi- 
 nent critic as any one else?" 
 
 The publisher screwed up his eyes and looked 
 shrewdly at Textor. 
 
 "I suppose so," assented the latter. 
 
 "Of course I have. You'll find your books around 
 the stores by noon and at the news-stands of the big 
 hotels. I've sent about fifty of your books to the news-
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 93 
 
 papers for criticisms and three hundred and fifty to the 
 trade. So there's a hundred on the shelves there for 
 re-orders. If this edition goes in New York, our 
 traveling men will take out your book and see that it is 
 placed throughout the country. But if the book 
 doesn't go in New York it won't go in other cities." 
 
 "So there are just one hundred to sell before you get 
 out another edition?" asked Textor. One hundred 
 seemed very few indeed to sell. 
 
 "Wait a bit," said the publisher, pointing his cigar 
 at him. "I didn't say that. Some of those three hun- 
 dred and fifty may come back. In fact, they are pretty 
 sure to. They are not sold outright." 
 
 And Textor left the office strangely oppressed. 
 
 During a great many hours of the following week 
 he haunted the booksellers. Once or twice he saw his 
 book prominently displayed among the new books of 
 the week, and he rejoiced. But too often he had to 
 search many minutes before he found a copy with the 
 wrapper still on, completely covered up by the work 
 of a prominent author. Then, if the clerk was not 
 looking, he put his own book on top and the promi- 
 nent author's underneath. When he did not find the
 
 94 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 book after diligent search, he inquired for it boldly and 
 expressed great surprise that it was not in stock. But 
 when he had done this several times and found that it 
 produced very little effect on the clerks, he grew more 
 sensitive and imagined that the clerks recognized him 
 as an author booming his own book. 
 
 Toward the last of the week he made the startling 
 discovery that several of his books were no longer 
 displayed on many of the hotel news-stands. Over- 
 joyed that they had, as he thought, been sold, he has- 
 tened to the publisher to acquaint him with the fact, 
 and to upbraid him for his carelessness in not supply- 
 ing these stands with other copies. 
 
 Laman laughed queerly, but not unkindly, at his 
 young author's ingenuousness. 
 
 "Why, bless your heart, my dear fellow, they are not 
 sold. They are sent back. Look here." He pointed 
 to some accounts that lay on the desk. "Here are 
 three sent back; here are five; here are two." 
 
 "Sent back!" Textor actually gasped the words out. 
 "Sent back!" 
 
 "Certainly. If a book doesn't catch on, you know, 
 the news dealers can't have the stands littered up with
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 95 
 
 books that won't sell. If a book isn't suited to their 
 class of customers they send 'em back at short order." 
 
 "Then the book has failed," said Textor, slowly. 
 
 "Not necessarily." The publisher shook his head 
 impatiently. "That those books are sent back from 
 the hotel stands proves nothing, except that the book 
 isn't suited to that class of customers. I could have 
 told you that before. Your book isn't light reading. 
 It isn't suited for a railway journey or for a hotel 
 foyer. It's a big thing. It will go, if anywhere, with 
 the serious minded. But you remember I told you 
 distinctly this book business is a gamble. I told you 
 you might lose your money." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't the money so much," said Textor, look- 
 ing out of the window on the street below. 
 
 "I understand," said the publisher, quietly, with 
 something like pity in his voice. "It's the feeling 
 well, that you've failed. It hurts some. I've been 
 there myself. But I have done all I can. The book 
 stands on its merits now. If it doesn't go now, no 
 amount of advertising will help it." 
 
 "I understand that, sir, perfectly. You have al- 
 ways been most kind, and I thank you. Mr. Laman,"
 
 96 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I'm much obliged for your good feeling," said the 
 publisher, grimly. "It isn't often I'm thanked by your 
 tribe unless I pay out checks. I appreciate your 
 thanks, Textor." 
 
 He shook hands with the novelist heartily ; and Tex- 
 tor, somehow greatly comforted, left the office. 
 
 He determined that he would not go to the pub- 
 lishers again for a long time. But a week later found 
 him once more timidly entering Laman's private office. 
 
 The publisher received him with scant courtesy. He 
 looked bored and impatient. 
 
 "No, there's no news," he cried, before Textor had 
 said a word. "The book, sir, is dead dead as that 
 shelf." 
 
 Textor gazed helplessly at the shelf, on which stood 
 all the copies of Laman & Winslow's publications, and 
 wished that he too were dead. 
 
 "Why can't you advertise yourself?" asked the pub- 
 lisher, sulkily. "I've been thinking it over. Why 
 can't you wear long hair and do something eccentric 
 and get yourself in the papers? That doesn't cost 
 money, and it sells books." 
 
 Textor looked imploringly at the publisher.
 
 HIS FIRST EDITION. 97 
 
 "You ought to get some good personal notices. 
 You've lived in those slums, now. You ought to 
 have some freak photographs taken and get them in 
 the ten-cent monthlies." 
 
 "I came in just to see if there were any criticisms, 
 Mr. Laman," said Textor, nervously. 
 
 "Yes, there's one," said the publisher, grimly, hand- 
 ing it to him in an envelope. "But it isn't particularly 
 favorable, I must say. Still, you mustn't mind that. 
 The 'Day' never praises anyone. They always give 
 our books particular Cain. Good morning, Textor. 
 Come and see me again in a month or so. I may 
 have better news." 
 
 Textor left the office, vowing that never again would 
 he enter it unless his book succeeded. He forgot that 
 the publisher was bored a dozen times a day by fail- 
 ures like himself. As he stood by the table to see 
 what his criticism was, he heard a clerk say to the 
 shipper: 
 
 "Author?" 
 
 The clerk nodded towards the novelist. 
 
 "Yes. He wrote 'By the Sweat of His Brow.' " 
 
 "Rot?"
 
 9 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Awful." 
 
 "Catching on?" 
 
 "Presses runnin' day and night." 
 
 The shipper grinned broadly, and Textor swore. 
 
 He flushed furiously with impotent anger. He 
 wanted to fight the shipper and the clerk both to- 
 gether. But when he had read his one criticism, he 
 was so crushed he had no longer any desire even to 
 fight. It was exceedingly brief: 
 
 "This book weighs two pounds."
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. 99 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. 
 
 TEXTOR was upstairs playing billiards with Mr. 
 Coxe. 
 
 It was not an exciting pastime. During the few 
 days that the dyspeptic had been at the Hall, he had 
 dug several holes in the cushion when he had unskill- 
 fully attempted "draw shots." He was playing even 
 worse than usual to-night, and Textor kept glancing at 
 the clock, wishing that the hour would arrive for the 
 dyspeptic to retire. 
 
 There was someone else who wished that Mr. Coxe 
 would retire. Frances was curled up in a window- 
 seat out in the hallway. The click of the billiard balls 
 seemed to make her very nervous indeed. Every 
 time she heard Textor say, "It is your turn, Mr. Coxe," 
 she frowned and made a vicious little gesture with her 
 thumb, imagining she was poking it in the small of 
 the dyspeptic's back. She wished she could take the
 
 100 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 voiceless invalid by the ear and lead him to his bed- 
 room. Then she might have talked with the novelist. 
 
 At last Jeremiah Coxe, in his reckless, aimless un- 
 skillfulness, hit a ball so violently that it bounced over 
 the cushion and rolled along the smooth hardwood 
 floor out of the open doo r and bumped down the 
 stairway. Then Frances heard Textor say, wearily, 
 "You had better get it, Mr. Coxe," and presently the 
 solemn dyspeptic marched down the stairs after the 
 truant ball. 
 
 Frances tip-toed down the stairs after him. She 
 took the cue and the billiard ball the dyspeptic had 
 just picked up from his hand, and said sternly, "Mr. 
 Coxe, it is time for you to go to bed." Mr. Coxe 
 looked wistfully at the ball and the cue and then re- 
 sentfully at Frances. But she pointed authoritatively 
 towards his bedroom, and the unhappy dyspeptic re- 
 tired to rest. 
 
 Frances hid the ball and the cue in a closet at the 
 foot of the stairs, and tip-toed upstairs again. She 
 curled herself once more in the window-seat and 
 ahemed timidly. 
 
 But Textor did not hear the ahems. He had lighted
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. 101 
 
 his pipe, and was seated in a cloud of tobacco smoke, 
 his feet crossed on the billiard table. Perhaps it was 
 because he was dreaming of Frances so intently that 
 he did not hear the timid little ahems. He smoked his 
 pipe, quite forgetful of the continued absence of Mr. 
 Coxe. 
 
 He was thinking how different everything might 
 be if his book had not failed. He remembered how 
 he had seen Frances first. He had called at the Misses 
 Fairfax's to accept the lectureship. Then the por- 
 tieres had been drawn aside and she stood there, tall 
 and fair. His book was in her hand. When they 
 were introduced by the maiden aunts, she had walked 
 swiftly to him, and had shaken hands with him in a 
 manner charmingly frank almost as frankly as a man. 
 She had addressed him as "the novelist" for the first 
 time. She had discussed his book with him. And 
 when he had heard that she was to be at Philanthropist 
 Hall, how enthusiastically he had entered into the 
 project, much to the maiden aunts' delight. And 
 when he had left her he had walked three miles in the 
 wrong direction, wondering if she were yet engaged, 
 and thinking that if his book went into its fifteenth 
 thousand he could afford to marry.
 
 102 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 He thought of all this, until he remembered with a 
 sharp pang what a failure he was, and how he could 
 not even permit himself to fall in love, much less think 
 of marrying. 
 
 But when Frances had ahemed a great many times, 
 more and more loudly, she was righteously indignant 
 that it was necessary for her to cast her pride to the 
 winds and to go meekly to the billiard-room instead of 
 his coming meekly to her. She stood at "the doorway 
 and watched him a moment or two, her tender little 
 heart full of pity that he looked so disconsolate and 
 sad. 
 
 "Are are you very busy?" she asked, at length. 
 "Are you rehearsing a lecture on the sweating system 
 to yourself, or are you making up plots? Oh, I hope 
 I haven't interrupted your hero telling the heroine 
 that he adores her. Or have I broken off a love 
 quarrel?" 
 
 Textor sprang to his feet and smiled at her so de- 
 lightedly that Frances quite forgave him that he did 
 not hear the timid ahems. 
 
 "No," he said, "I was not thinking of any new book 
 at all. It is bad enough to remember that the old one 
 has fallen flat, you know."
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO fcEt). 10$ 
 
 "Oh, has it really? You are not exaggerating?" 
 
 "No, I am not exaggerating. But don't let us talk 
 of that old book any more. Do you play billiards? 
 Then don't you want to learn? You don't mind if 
 I smoke?" 
 
 "No; I do not object to your smoking. I do not 
 play billiards. But I do want to talk about the book, 
 please." 
 
 "You won't find it a very interesting subject, Miss 
 Van Taft," said Textor, knocking the balls about the 
 table. 
 
 "Mr. Textor, I command you to listen to me," said 
 Frances, smiling. "You must put down that stick 
 at once and sit here." 
 
 The novelist obediently put the cue in its rack and 
 seated himself by her side on the settee. 
 
 "And arc we going to be very business-like?" he 
 asked with mock solemnity. 
 
 "Very," declared Frances, looking at him seriously. 
 "You know, I am intensely practical. That is my 
 forte. Now, I wonder if we cannot decide why your 
 book has not succeeded?" 
 
 There was a gravity so adorable and saint-like on
 
 104 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 her face that Textor was thinking of everything ex- 
 cept the book. "I wonder," he said. But he was 
 wondering if he ever should have the happiness of 
 kissing that grave little mouth. 
 
 "I don't think," said Frances, frowning at him in 
 her earnestness, "that your book does not sell because 
 it is worthless. From a purely literal y point of view 
 it may be not well written. I am not capable of judg- 
 ing as to that. It goes heavily at first, and I think 
 the plot is not carefully worked out. But after one is 
 started, it enthralls one. Oh, those poor working 
 men! it made me pity them so. It must be good if it 
 stirs one so." 
 
 "You are prejudiced in my favor, perhaps." 
 
 Frances shook her head obstinately. 
 
 "No; I don't think so. I am trying very hard not 
 to be. If the book has really failed, I do not think it 
 is because it does not deserve success." 
 
 "Thank you very much for saying that," said Textor, 
 simply. 
 
 Frances held out her hand in expostulation. 
 
 "Please do not think I say that just because I care." 
 
 "But you do care,"
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. 105 
 
 "Oh, we all care very, very much," cried Frances, 
 taking refuge behind the non-committal first person 
 pronoun, plural. "And I've wondered and wondered 
 if there wasn't something we could do to wake the 
 stupid public up. Has the book been reviewed?" 
 
 Textor showed her his one criticism. 
 
 'That's the only one," he said, ruefully. 
 
 "Oh," declared Frances, "that makes me mad all 
 over. I shall never read the 'Day' again." 
 
 "But it is very clever, you know," said Textor, un- 
 concernedly. 
 
 "No; it is cruel; it is unjust. And it proves noth- 
 ing nothing! Why, if you gave that same critic a 
 good dinner or a comfortable orchestra chair at the 
 play, he would turn about and pronounce your book 
 admirable!" 
 
 "What wicked creatures critics must be!" 
 
 "Critics," said Frances with conviction, "are very 
 unscrupulous persons. You can bribe them with a 
 dinner, as I said. They are always poor, and they are 
 often hungry." 
 
 "Where did you learn all this?" 
 
 "I read it in Dr. Johnson's works, somewhere,"
 
 106 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 declared Frances. "At least, I think it was Dr. John- 
 son. Do you know any critics you can bribe?" 
 
 Frances looked at him in great anxiety. 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't." 
 
 "That is too bad. I am disappointed. Still, \vc 
 mustn't be discouraged. Couldn't you boom the book 
 yourself in some way?" 
 
 "The publisher said that I ought to advertise myself. 
 I must wear my hair long and do eccentric things, and 
 get myself talked about in the newspapers. And I 
 must have freak photographs taken. Would you like 
 me to do that very much?" 
 
 "Not very much," laughed Frances. "But couldn't 
 you get your friends to inquire for the book at the 
 shops? That would make the booksellers get the 
 books in stock if they hadn't them in stock already." 
 
 "But my friends would have to buy the book," re- 
 monstrated Textor. 
 
 "Of course; but they could give the book away as a 
 present afterwards." 
 
 "I am afraid I haven't any friends so unselfish as to 
 invest five dollars in my books." 
 
 "Then why couldn't you give them the five dollars 
 yourself?"
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. IO/ 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't like to do that." He did not say 
 he could not afford to do so. "There would be some- 
 thing decidedly novel for the author to buy up his 
 own books." 
 
 "You aren't practical enough, I'm afraid," said 
 Frances, shaking her head. "I feel sure that there 
 must be a way if we only thought hard. I shan't rest 
 until I find one." 
 
 "Thank you very much, indeed! And now let me 
 teach you how to play billiards." 
 
 It is astonishing how closely Textor found it neces- 
 sary to lean towards Frances in teaching her to play 
 billiards. He had to look along her cue to see that 
 she was holding it straight. He had to put his hand on 
 hers to guide her aim. He had to see that she did not 
 hold her cue too high or too low. 
 
 "I could play billiards forever!" cried Textor, fer- 
 vently. 
 
 "You don't seem to enjoy it much while playing 
 with poor Mr. Coxe," said Frances, demurely. 
 
 "That is because Mr. Coxe plays so badly." 
 
 "Air. Textor!" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 108 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "A little while ago you said you had no friends. I 
 that is, Aunt Ruth, Aunt Elsie and myself we are all 
 your friends. We all would help you if we could." 
 
 "You would even spend five dollars to boom my 
 book?" said Textor, jestingly, to hide how much he 
 really cared. 
 
 "We would do much more than that," declared 
 Frances, stoutly. 
 
 "Thank you! Thank you, very much!" he said, ten- 
 derly. He was guiding her cue, and he pressed her 
 hand lightly as he covered it. He found her sym- 
 pathy very charming, very dear. He smiled reas- 
 suringly at the troubled little face, up-turned to his. 
 "Oh, I should succeed tremendously if it depended 
 upon you." 
 
 "Yes," said Frances, soberly. "You would. No 
 one longs for you to succeed more than myself. Sup- 
 posing you were to succeed after all what would you 
 do?" 
 
 "What would I do'?" he cried, impetuously. "I 
 should come to you I should say " 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Frances roguishly. 
 
 "That" Textor bit his lip savagely "is all I can
 
 MR. COXE IS SENT TO BED. IOC) 
 
 say now; because I have not succeeded. I have failed. 
 I have no right to say much that I should like to say." 
 
 "The poor failures," murmured Frances. "Can they 
 then say nothing?" 
 
 "Yes," said Textor eagerly. "They can ask you I 
 mean, they can ask one to wait a little. I can ask 
 you I mean, they can ask one to let them try again. 
 I can ask you I mean, of course, they can ask one 
 to trust them a little longer to believe in them a. little 
 longer. Miss Van Taft Frances can I? I mean, 
 can they ask that?" 
 
 Frances nodded her head several times. 
 
 "Why, Frances, there are tears in your eyes. Look 
 at me look at me with those dear eyes." 
 
 "No," said Frances, smiling through her tears, and 
 keeping her head turned obstinately the other way. 
 "You mustn't." 
 
 "But I shall," he said. 
 
 And he kissed her.
 
 110 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A VERY SMALL PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 THREE days had passed since Philanthropist Hall 
 had been thrown open to the world. But with the ex- 
 ception of the dyspeptic, who did not really count, the 
 inhabitants of the world were not in the least disturbed. 
 There had been a few inquiries by mail, mostly of a 
 frivolous character, and these Miss Ruth had haughti- 
 ly ignored. She had also ignored an enterprising 
 reporter who had been sent from the city to write up 
 the humors of the institution. 
 
 But however discouraged Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie 
 might be, they preserved an outward calm. Every 
 morning they prepared lectures for the philanthropists 
 who most rudely refused to come. They serenely dis- 
 cussed economic questions with Textor. They busied 
 themselves in bringing about the municipal reforms 
 they so ardently desired in the village of Clifton Hills. 
 In the afternoons they took long drives through the
 
 A VERY SMALL PHILANTHROPIST. Ill 
 
 delightful roads of Westchester County in the three- 
 seated buckboard which the reformers had hired for 
 the pleasure of their prospective pupils. 
 
 This afternoon they had been for a long drive. Mr. 
 Coxe was seated solemnly with the driver in the front 
 seat. Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie occupied the middle 
 seat. Frances and Textor were in the rear seat. As 
 they drove up to the Hall, the sisters were surprised to 
 see a little girl rocking to and fro in one of the big 
 chairs on the verandah. By her side was a small trunk 
 and a small dress-suit case. 
 
 Before they could alight from the carriage, the 
 shock-headed boy rushed out of the front door in evi- 
 dent perturbation. 
 
 "Boy," said Miss Ruth, transfixing the little girl 
 with a severe look, "boy, what is the meaning of this?" 
 
 "If you please, mam," whispered the boy in buttons, 
 "it's a flambest, mam." 
 
 "A philanthropist, boy," calmly corrected Miss 
 Ruth, alighting from the carriage. But her heart beat 
 wildly. A philanthropist had arrived at last, then. A 
 real one! And this child was his daughter, of course. 
 
 "Yes, man, a flambest a little one," The boy
 
 112 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 glanced apologetically at the small individual in the 
 rocking-chair, who returned his gaze with sedate com- 
 posure. 
 
 "A little one!" cried Miss Ruth. 
 
 "Yes, if you please, mam. And she wouldn't let me 
 set her in the reception-room, mam. She says she's 
 come to school, mam. But Eliza and me had our 
 doubts, mam, and I wouldn't take her trunk in till you 
 come. I told her this school was for grown-ups. But, 
 my, she wouldn't listen to me no how." 
 
 The boy twisted off one of the nickel-plated buttons 
 in his extreme agitation. 
 
 "This child come to school!" echoed Miss Ruth in 
 bewilderment. She addressed the small occupant of 
 the rocking-chair. 
 
 "Child, is that your trunk? Is that your valise?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Yes, what?" repeated Miss Ruth, severely. 
 
 "If you please I don't know what until you tell me. 
 Because you haven't told me whether you are a Miss 
 or a Mrs., you see. But I expect you are a Miss be- 
 cause you are cross and old. Aren't you a Miss?" 
 
 "I am Miss Ruth Miss Ruth Fairfax," replied Miss
 
 A VERY SMALL PHILANTHROPIST. 113 
 
 Ruth, trying to look very stern and succeeding only 
 moderately. 
 
 "Thank you. And I am Miss Hattie Miss Hattie 
 Car. I am nine years old. How old are you?" 
 
 "Who brought you here, Hattie, dear?" asked Miss 
 Elsie. 
 
 Hattie looked at Miss Elsie searchingly. Then she 
 announced quite as a matter of course, "I like you. I 
 like her too." She nodded towards Miss Ruth. "But 
 I like you best." 
 
 The assembled faculty of Philanthropist Hall stared 
 at one another aghast. Even Mr. Coxe, the dyspeptic, 
 gazed at the new arrival with a melancholy interest, as 
 if she were a strange creature in a zoological garden. 
 
 "But, Hattie," continued Miss Elsie, "tell me, who 
 brought you here?" 
 
 "A man with a bony horse. He brought me. You 
 could see the horse's legs sticking right up into his 
 back. He was so thin. And you could see his ribs. 
 Just like auntie's old bustle up in the garret. I counted 
 his ribs. There were six on each side. And his tongue 
 hung out, and his ears flapped flippedy-flop." 
 
 "That's the livery horse, mam," volunteered the
 
 114 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 shock-headed youth, grinning. "She's described his 
 horse, mam, wonderful." 
 
 "Never mind the horsey, darling," interrupted 
 Frances. "Won't you tell us who sent you here?" 
 
 "Horsey's baby talk," said Hattie, turning up her 
 nose contemptuously. "I'm not a baby. I'm a little 
 girl. But you are pretty. I like you. What is your 
 name?" 
 
 "My name is Frances. And who did you say sent 
 you to school here?" 
 
 "I didn't say at all yet. But my papa did. Now 
 I've told you." 
 
 "And where does your papa live, dearest?" 
 
 "He don't live anywhere now," said Hattie mourn- 
 fully. "He's gone away off and off and off, across the 
 sea. To Jerusalem, I guess, or to China, where the 
 laundry men live with the pig-tails like mine. Only 
 their pig-tails are harder than mine is. I've felt them. 
 There was a nice Chinaman once who used to let me 
 feel his for a cent." 
 
 "What an extraordinary child," murmured Miss 
 Ruth, "to pay a cent to feel a Chinaman's queue. Do 
 you think she is a little flighty, Mr. Textor?"
 
 A VERY SMALL PHILANTHROPIST. 115 
 
 He shook his head amusedly. "It is some mistake. 
 Of course she has not been sent to this school." He 
 stooped down and took Hattie's hand. "And why did 
 your papa not bring- you here himself, Hattie?" 
 
 Hattie shyly disengaged her hand. 
 
 "I'm not introduced to you. My papa says it isn't 
 nice for little girls to talk to young men unless you are 
 introduced to them. My papa didn't bring me be- 
 cause he's gone away off. My auntie didn't bring me 
 because she lost me, I guess. Yes, I guess I'm lost 
 really and truly lost." 
 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie held a troubled confer- 
 ence as to what was to be done. 
 
 Hattie meanwhile had been regarding Mr. Coxe 
 gravely. 
 
 "Why do you stare at me like that, mister?" she de- 
 manded. "You look like an owl, you are so solemn. I 
 saw an owl once. It was on a clock. It was stuffed." 
 
 Mr. Coxe, the dyspeptic, turned away, his dignity 
 sadly ruffled. 
 
 Miss Ruth made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "I suppose that we could not send the child away 
 hungry, even if we knew where to send her to. And
 
 Il6 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 we do not. Frances, takes the child upstairs and see 
 that she is washed for dinner." 
 
 Hattie clasped the hand of Miss Frances with cheer- 
 ful alacrity, and tripped upstairs, leaving the assembled 
 faculty of Philanthropist Hall somewhat bewildered. 
 
 "If we do not hear from or of her relatives by to- 
 morrow night, Mr. Textor, you must go to the city 
 and consult a detective."
 
 MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS." 
 
 AND in the meanwhile Hattie amused herself after 
 her own fashion, and managed to embarrass Textor 
 and Frances with fiendish ingenuity and to unduly en- 
 rage Miss Ruth. 
 
 Because the next day the proprietors of Philanthro- 
 pist Hall were overwhelmed with astonishment by 
 seeing this sentence written in chalk on the piazza. 
 steps, on the dining-room table, on the mantle-piece, 
 on the window sills, on the shutters everywhere 
 
 "Mister Textore Kised Francess." 
 
 Miss Ruth was so shocked that she was confined to 
 her room with a severe headache. "That settles it," 
 she declared grimly to her sister, who bent over her in 
 anxious solicitude. "Mr. Textor must go to the city 
 at once. He must consult the directory, and, if neces- 
 sary, see all the Cars in New York City. If the city 
 directory does not help him, he must engage the ser-
 
 Il8 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 vices of a detective. But that child must go. Bring 
 her in to me. She shall be shut in the closet for an 
 hour." 
 
 Miss Elsie led the culprit into the bedroom. Hattie 
 appeared, sucking the corner of her dirty pinafore, sob- 
 bing gently. 
 
 "If you please, Miss Ruth, he did kiss her. I saw 
 him," she cried. 
 
 "You are a naughty child," scolded Miss Ruth. ; 'Go 
 in that closet, and don't you dare to move or to speak 
 until I let you out. Go!" 
 
 "She is incorrigible," declared Miss Elsie, who had 
 been standing solemnly by. 
 
 Hattie approached the closet with an air of great in- 
 terest. She stepped inside as eagerly as if it were a 
 veritable palace of delights. But she took pains to 
 leave the door just enough ajar to permit a broad 
 chink of light to stream through the crack. 
 
 "Yes, she is quite intractable," declared Miss Elsie, 
 closing the closet door tight. "And I am disappointed 
 in Mr. Textor." 
 
 For five minutes Hattie was beautifully silent, and 
 Miss Ruth was able to resume the composition of her
 
 "MISTER TEXTORE KlSED FRANCESS." 119 
 
 poem, "If We Knew." In poetry alone could Miss 
 Ruth find solace for the petty distractions of this 
 naughty world. 
 
 A timid knock at the closet door broke the thread 
 of her thought. 
 
 "Please, Miss Ruth," Hattie asked, putting her head 
 outside the closet, "may I play I'm a wicked prisoner 
 and going to be hung for murdering peoples?" 
 
 "You may shut that door and go inside immediately, 
 miss." 
 
 "Thank you, mam. I will shut the door very gently 
 so as to not make your head ache." 
 
 Miss Ruth resumed her poetical labors. 
 
 "Such a child," she murmured. 
 
 She had written the second stanza when the doer 
 was opened once more. 
 
 "If you please, will you give me a word that goes 
 with Car?" asked eagerly the owner of that name. 
 
 "Goes with Car?" repeated Miss Ruth. "Do you 
 mean a rhyme for Car?" 
 
 "If you please, Miss Ruth." 
 
 Miss Ruth felt that she ought not to gratify the re- 
 quest, but she recognized the kindred spirit. 
 
 "Tar, pa, ma"
 
 120 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Ma. That's just the word," cried Hattie, rejoicing. 
 Again the door was shut. 
 
 "And will you please give a word that goes with 
 name?" asked the Small Adventuress a few minutes 
 later. 
 
 "Blame!" snapped out Miss Ruth. The interruptions 
 were a serious menace to her own poetical inspirations. 
 "If you interrupt me again, I shall slap you hard, 
 miss." 
 
 Now there was a very long silence for at least three 
 minutes. Then the door was opened very, very softly, 
 and Hattie's solemn eyes rested on those of Miss 
 Ruth's, awaiting permission to speak. 
 
 "Well?" cried Miss Ruth at last. 
 
 "And you won't spank me?" demanded the Small 
 Adventuress, cautiously. 
 
 "Well?" repeated Miss Ruth impatiently. 
 
 "I've composed a beautiful poem. Would you like 
 me to sing it to you?" 
 
 "I should like you to shut that door and not speak 
 again, miss." 
 
 "No, mam. But you won't be angry if I think, will 
 you? Because I can't help thinking what a nice time 
 I shall have when you let me out."
 
 11 MISTER TEXTORE KISED FKANCESS." 121 
 
 "Hattie, do you intend to be quiet or do you wish 
 me to call Eliza and have you spanked?" 
 
 "Quiet, if you please," said Hattie, after careful con- 
 sideration. 
 
 "Then let there be silence," commanded Miss Ruth. 
 
 And there was silence. The possible advent of Eliza 
 was not a matter to be trifled with. Hattie played she 
 was going to sleep, and succeeded in being admirably 
 realistic. 
 
 The silence put Miss Ruth in a better temper. So, 
 after Hattie had been given a tea of bread and water, 
 she was released, washed, clad in a clean pinafore and 
 permitted to sit by Miss Ruth's bedside. 
 
 "And please may I read the Scriptures to you, if I 
 am very good?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Ruth, rejoicing at this change of 
 heart. 
 
 "And can I explain them, too?" 
 
 Miss Ruth nodded gravely. 
 
 Hattie opened the Bible at random. 
 
 " 'Heaven is His throne. Earth is His foot-stool/ " 
 she read in an awed voice. 
 
 "Miss Ruth?"
 
 122 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "Mustn't He have long legs?" 
 
 "Go on with your reading, child." 
 
 " 'Wisdom is better than rubbarb,' " read Hattie, 
 opening the Bible again, after shutting her eyes very 
 tight to give a spice of uncertainty to the reading. 
 
 "Rubies," corrected Miss Ruth. 
 
 "What is rubies?" 
 
 "Jewels, dear." 
 
 . "Like those in the crown of the saints in the New 
 Jerusalem?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are the streets of the New Jerusalem like this 
 watch?" Hattie was feeling Miss Ruth's timepiece with 
 her fingers. 
 
 "Yes; gold, like that." 
 
 "Mustn't they be slippery, Miss Ruth?" remarked 
 the Small Adventuress, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "I had a beautiful dream about the New Jerusalem 
 when I'd got tired of playing murderer and writing 
 poetry." 
 
 "What was it?" asked Miss Ruth, curiously.
 
 "MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS." 123 
 
 "I dreamed I wasn't lost, after all. Or, any way, that 
 you found out where I was going to school. 'Now, you 
 must go to school/ you said. 'Oh, but it's so awful 
 windy, Miss Ruth,' I said. 'It's blowing, and blow- 
 ing, and blowing. If I were to go to school to-day 
 it would blow me up to the New Jerusalem.' But you 
 were real mad, and so I went to school. And it blew 
 and blew and blew. And, by-and-bye, I went clear 
 up to the New Jerusalem. And what do you suppose 
 1 did when I got up there?" 
 
 "I don't know, dear." 
 
 "I gave God one good hug, and I took just one fruit 
 (that wasn't wicked, because Eve took two), and then 
 I took one nice look around and then I came down 
 again. That's all." 
 
 "That was a very nice dream, dear. Were you very 
 unhappy in the closet, dearest?" 
 
 "No; not so very," sighed Hattie. "Especially after 
 I had my tea." 
 
 "Why not, my dear?" 
 
 "Because I cut up my bread and butter into tiny, 
 dear little pieces, and I played I was at a party. Did 
 you hear me singing, Miss Ruth?"
 
 124 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Yes. It was very naughty to sing when T told you 
 to be quiet. What were you singing, Hattie?" 
 
 "It was a poem. I wrote it while I was in the closet. 
 Would you like me to sing it to you?" 
 
 "Yes, dear; very much." 
 
 "I hope it won't make you feel too bad," remarked 
 the author, considerately. "Because it's about you a 
 little; but most of it's about me." 
 
 "I will try not to feel too badly," promised Miss 
 Ruth, smiling. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Hattie sung her poem in a very 
 melancholy voice to a very melancholy and original 
 tune. 
 
 "Once there was a little girl; her name was Hattie Car; 
 
 She was so good, she died and went to heaven to see 
 her ma. 
 
 'Why do you cry, my little girl?' an angel said to her. 
 
 'Because they're all unkind to me, and that's the rea- 
 son, sir; 
 
 And that's the reason, sir.' 
 
 " 'Tell me the names of those cruel folks.' The angel 
 
 frowned so stern. 
 'My flaming sword shall cut their heads and hearts; 
 
 I'll make them learn.'
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS." 12$ 
 
 'Oh, no, kind sir,' said Hattie Car; 'I cannot tell the 
 
 names. 
 I do forgive them, one and all; myself shall take the 
 
 blames. 
 
 Myself shall take the blames.' " 
 
 "Why, that's beautiful," said Miss Ruth. 
 
 "And it don't make you feel bad?" 
 
 "Not at all, dear." 
 
 "I'm very sorry," Hattie sighed, heavily. "I hoped 
 it would make you feel bad. You are sure it don't?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps just the tiniest little bit," said Miss 
 Ruth, generously, hoping to appease the soul of the 
 Small Poetess. "I write poetry myself, sometimes, 
 Hattie." 
 
 "Oh, do you? Oh, please, please read me some. I 
 just 'dore poetry." 
 
 Thus urged (and, really, Miss Ruth needed a very 
 little urging to read her own poetry), Miss Ruth re- 
 cited the moral effusion she had composed while Hat- 
 tie was in the closet. 
 
 "It is called 'If You Knew,' " announced Miss Ruth. 
 
 "That's a very nice name," said Hattie, with a critical 
 air.
 
 126 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 IF YOU KNEW. 
 
 " 'If you knew what hearts were breaking, 
 
 If you knew what others thought, 
 You would soothe their wearied aching 
 With a kindness, all unsought! 
 
 You would soothe the throbbing forehead; 
 
 You would calm the troubled breast; 
 And, dispelling passions horrid, 
 
 With a balm of peace and rest 
 
 You would reach them hands of pity; 
 
 Lift them up from shame and sin; 
 Cheer them onward to the City, 
 
 Where the angels dwell within.' " 
 
 As Miss Ruth recited the last stanza, she pointed 
 solemnly to the ceiling. Hattie's reverent eyes looked 
 up to the chandelier. 
 
 "Oh," cried Hattie; "it just makes me feel good 
 all over. My Uncle Jack used to make poetry, too; 
 but I don't think Uncle Jack's poetry is as good as 
 yours." 
 
 "Uncle Jack?" echoed Miss Ruth. "Then you have 
 an Uncle Jack?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Hattie, enthusiastically. "He draws 
 pictures the funniest pictures you ever saw. He'd 
 draw you so funny, people would laugh into splits,"
 
 "MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS." 12? 
 
 Miss Ruth was glad enough to gain some intelli- 
 gence of Hattie Car's relatives. So she said coaxingly, 
 "Do you know where Uncle Jack lives, Hattie?" 
 
 "Why, of course I do," replied Hattie, surprised at 
 the doubt expressed in Miss Ruth's voice. "Why, I 
 could take you right there." 
 
 "Then," said Miss Ruth, with sudden anger, "why 
 did you not mention him before, child?" 
 
 "Why, nobody asked me about Uncle Jack. I 
 could go right to Uncle Jack's." 
 
 "Are you sure?" demanded Miss Ruth, searchingly. 
 
 "Very sure," asserted Hattie, stoutly. 
 
 "Then," said Miss Ruth, grimly, "you shall show 
 Mr. Textor the way there." 
 
 At this Hattie looked at Miss Ruth soberly. 
 
 "Now, you are quite sure you know where your 
 Uncle Jack lives, Hattie? Be very careful," warned 
 Miss Ruth, who had her suspicions. 
 
 "Yes, I'm most sure," declared Hattie. "And shall 
 I ride on the cars and see all the shops, and perhaps 
 buy candy, if I show Mr. Textor where Uncle Jack 
 is?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "Yes," promised Miss Ruth,
 
 128 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Then I'm quite, quite sure I know where Uncle 
 
 \ 
 Jack is. But I couldn't exactly describe it, you know. 
 
 I'd have to ride on the cars and see the shops so as 
 to know the way." 
 
 "Very well. And now you can run out and play 
 with your dolls. And tell Mr. Textor I wish to see 
 him."
 
 THE THREE MINCE HES. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 
 
 WHEN Textor went to the city with Hattie in search 
 of Uncle Jack, Frances was left to take care of Mr. 
 Coxe, the dyspeptic. 
 
 Miss Elsie viewed the arrangement not without con- 
 cern. 
 
 "You remember Mrs. Coxe's warning, sister," she 
 had expostulated. " 'If I ain't back in a week, look 
 out.' " 
 
 "Nonsense," Miss Ruth had answered, sharply. 
 "The man is gentleness itself. I could guide him with 
 my little finger along his milky way of abstinence. 
 Besides, the week is not yet passed. Only five days. 
 Frances will have no difficulty whatever." 
 
 Frances herself had no reason to believe that the 
 dyspeptic would go on the rampage. As Mrs. Coxe 
 had said would be the case, Mr. Coxe had been meek. 
 He had imbibed his peptonized milk and nibbled at
 
 I3O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 his soda crackers with a placidity that was more than 
 lamb-like. It was cherubic. He had shown no dis- 
 position whatever to wander off into forbidden paths 
 after pie or peanuts. "Mr. Coxe," Frances had en- 
 thusiastically declared, "is a dyspeptic of absolutely 
 angelic disposition." 
 
 But the lull comes before the storm. 
 
 Textor had not left the Hall half an hour before the 
 dyspeptic refused to partake of his customary nourish- 
 ment. When he was coaxed by Miss Elsie, he petu- 
 lantly tipped the plate of crackers over and spilled the 
 milk on the table-cloth. The expostulations of the 
 maiden aunts and of Frances he received with stony 
 indifference. 
 
 "I shall slap him soon, if he doesn't behave," said 
 Frances, tearfully. "What can make him so mean? 
 Aren't we kind to you?" she asked of the disgruntled 
 dyspeptic. 
 
 Mr. Coxe did not speak. But he looked at her with 
 the gaze of a hunted animal. He opened his mouth 
 twice and put one hand on his stomach. 
 
 "It's pie," said Frances, tragically, to the maiden 
 aunts, who were deeply grieved at Mr. Coxe's man-
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 131 
 
 ners. "But you can't have pie," she exclaimed to 
 their unwelcome guest. "You know you cannot. It 
 would make you ill. We would give it to you if we 
 dared. But your wife has forbidden you to eat it. 
 Still, if you'll be very good, and won't be a grumpy, 
 disagreeable old thing, you shall have some nice tapi- 
 oca pudding." 
 
 But Mr. Coxe was to be satisfied by no illusory 
 promise of tapioca pudding. He was after higher 
 game than tapioca pudding; and he did not hesitate 
 to show by his conduct that he did not consider the 
 reward promised worth the effort of being good. 
 
 He hurled the balls about in the bowling-alley in the 
 most reckless, savage fashion, aiming apparently at the 
 legs of the shock-headed boy in the nickel-plated but- 
 tons (No. 2), rather than at the nine-pins. He cheated 
 at chess. Twice he put his queen back on the board 
 after he had legitimately lost her. When Frances, los- 
 ing patience, insisted that he play fairly, he closed up 
 the board and swept the chessmen all about the room. 
 When Frances walked up and down the piazza, with 
 him, sometimes he walked only half the length of one 
 side of the piazza; sometimes he walked completely
 
 132 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 around; sometimes he lagged; sometimes he accele- 
 rated his pace almost to a run, and then, without any 
 warning whatever, paused obstinately at the corners. 
 
 "It is perfectly useless attempting to pacify him," 
 declared Frances, at length, flinging herself breath- 
 lessly into a chair. "I am quite exhausted. I shall 
 amuse him no longer." 
 
 "But, in this dangerous mood, surely he ought to be 
 watched," said Miss Elsie. "He looks very desper- 
 ate." 
 
 "I wish he would gorge himself to death, and have 
 done with his miserable existence," said Frances, cast- 
 ing a resentful glance at the dyspeptic, who was con- 
 tinuing his eccentric evolutions on the piazza. 
 
 "But," said Miss Ruth, "we must not forget that he 
 is a fellow-creature. We cannot shirk our duty. I 
 am sorry now that I let Mr. Textor go to the city. 
 But we must do the best we can. We must not let 
 him out of our sight for an instant. I think the best 
 plan will be for each of us to seat ourselves 
 at a corner of the piazza with our sewing. We can 
 then command a view of the piazza on every side, and 
 see that he does not attempt to escape and get into
 
 THE THREE MINCE PlES. I$3 
 
 mischief. I do not deny that his symptoms appear 
 most serious." 
 
 This advice of Miss Ruth was at once put into exe- 
 cution. There were, of course, four corners to the 
 piazza., but Miss Elsie, as the most conscientious, was 
 given the honor of keeping her eyes on two lengths 
 of the piazza instead of one. 
 
 These manoeuvres evidently chafed the dyspeptic. 
 The vigilant guard of the maiden aunts and of Frances 
 made him fuss and fume. He ejaculated frequent in- 
 articulate groans of rage. He fiddled with the flaps of 
 his frock coat. 
 
 "Depend upon it, Frances," whispered Miss Ruth, 
 "that man is up to something. We must not let him 
 out of our sight for a single instant." 
 
 But the May afternoon was very warm. The croaks 
 of the frogs were so drowsy and contented, the bees 
 swarmed about the honeysuckle on the piazza pillars 
 with so musical a murmur, and the gentle breeze 
 fanned the pine trees so slumberously, that Miss El- 
 sie's head began to nod over her sewing, and she 
 forgot all about the unruly dyspeptic. Miss Elsie, 
 the advocate of never-ceasing vigilance concerning the 
 dyspeptic's welfare, slept at her post of duty.
 
 134 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 Perhaps not more than three minutes, but long 
 enough to permit Mr. Coxe to escape. She remem- 
 bered nothing until Miss Ruth shook her vigorously 
 and demanded where Mr. Coxe had gone to. 
 
 "Mr. Coxe?" stammered Miss Elsie, rubbing her 
 eyes. "Is he not on the piazza?" 
 
 "He has escaped!" said Miss Ruth, sternly. "We 
 supposed him to be on one of your sides." 
 
 "Escaped!" Miss Elsie started up, wide awake now. 
 "Escaped! Oh, sister!" 
 
 "I expect he has gone on the rampage," Frances 
 added, grimly. 
 
 "I will have the bay put in the surrey at once," 
 cried Miss Ruth. "We must not stand here talking. 
 We must search for him. If we are prompt, we may 
 catch him before he can do himself much harm." 
 
 "I do not think," remarked Frances thoughtfully, 
 when they were seated in the carnage, and yet doubt- 
 ful in which direction to drive, "that there can be any 
 doubt where he has gone." 
 
 "Then tell us," commanded Miss Ruth. "Tell us at 
 once." 
 
 "Why, to the grocery store!"
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 135 
 
 "Drive to Gibbs's," screamed Miss Ruth to the 
 coachman. "As fast as you can without tipping us 
 over." 
 
 Miss Elsie had turned pale with apprehension at 
 the suggestion of her niece. "Do you mean that he is 
 after pie?" she whispered. 
 
 Frances nodded. 
 
 "Oh," cried Miss Elsie, clasping her hands, "if any- 
 thing happens to him I shall never forgive myself." 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, Aunt Elsie. We shall be in 
 time to prevent him from eating very many pies." 
 
 Indeed, as the surrey halted before the village gro- 
 cery, Miss Ruth clutched Frances' arm convulsively. 
 
 "Frances, were those not his coat-tails flying around 
 the counter?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "And I think I saw his silk hat," said Frances with 
 suppressed excitement. 
 
 "But supposing that he refuses to listen to us sup- 
 posing that he refuses to come back," cried Miss Elsie 
 hysterically. 
 
 "Then I shall get the village constable and have him 
 arrested," said Frances, firmly. 
 
 "But on what pretext?"
 
 136 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "That he is a moral imbecile, Aunt Ruth. I shall 
 fetch him without difficulty. You will see. Wait for 
 me with the carriage here." 
 
 The grocer was standing behind his counter with 
 his thumbs stuck in the arm-holes of his waist-coat. 
 He bowed affably. 
 
 'Good-afternoon, miss. Beautiful weather we're 
 havin', eh, miss? Lovely! Lovely!" 
 
 Frances did not respond as to the state cf the 
 weather. She glanced searchingly about the store for 
 signs of the truant dyspeptic. Then she grasped Mr. 
 Gibbs by his shirt sleeves. 
 
 "Have you sold any pies to any one lately?" she said 
 vehemently, hoping to startle him into a confession, if 
 he was guilty. 
 
 "Pies, mum?" Mr. Gibbs's face assumed an expres- 
 sion of innocent wonderment. "Yes, mum. Three 
 mince, no lemon because we was out of them and 
 a pumpkin." 
 
 "Who to?" asked Frances, oblivious of grammar in 
 her anxiety. 
 
 Mr. Gibbs hesitated. 
 
 "Well, there was a good many. I don't know as I 
 can remember, miss,"
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 137 
 
 v 'Four is not a very large number of persons to re- 
 member, Mr. Gibbs," said Frances, suspiciously. 
 
 "Four is a tolerable amount to mind when you're 
 busy, miss." 
 
 "But you have sold none to Mr. Coxe our Mr. 
 Coxe up at the Hall." 
 
 "I can't say as I know the gent," remarked the gro- 
 cer imperturbably. 
 
 "He is a thin, melancholy gentleman, dressed in a 
 frock coat and a silk hat." 
 
 "That's tolerable warm gear for a hot day like this, 
 miss." 
 
 "Mr. Gibbs, you are not to trifle with me. I am not 
 in a mood to be trifled with. This is a matter, per- 
 haps, of life or death. I repeat, have you sold any 
 pies to such a gentleman as I have described?" 
 
 The grocer's eyes wandered to the rear of the store, 
 and then they wavered, and wandered back to those of 
 Frances. 
 
 "No, mum," he declared boldly. 
 "Be very careful you are telling the truth, Mr. Gibbs. 
 If you have sold Mr. Coxe any pies, not only will you 
 t>e directly responsible for his doctor's bill, or more
 
 138 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 likely for his undertaker's bill, but never again will any- 
 one at the Hall buy a pound of flour from you or an 
 ounce of cinnamon." 
 
 "But they're good pies," quavered the grocer falter- 
 ingly. "They're Lumley's best, mum. No lard in 
 'em. Crust as crisp as a new dollar bill, and puffickly 
 digestible. Wouldn't hurt a child in arms, miss." 
 
 "So," said Frances sternly, "you confess that you 
 have sold him the pies." 
 
 "Indeed, miss," protested the groceryman. 
 
 "Don't deny it. Don't you dare to deny it. Mr. 
 Gibbs, you have told me a falsehood. I am surprised 
 at you. Didn't I get out an injunction against your 
 selling Mr. Coxe any pies? Didn't I warn you that 
 you would be that man's murderer if you did?" 
 
 "Is it as bad as that, miss? But p'raps he ain't de- 
 voured 'em all." 
 
 "Where is he? Bring him forth at once," com- 
 manded Frances. 
 
 "Indeed, I didn't dream of no harm. Indeed, I 
 didn't," pleaded the grocer. 
 
 "While you are talking, he may have eaten them. 
 Where is he?"
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 139 
 
 In- reply the grocer stooped down and pulled vigor- 
 ously at something from under the counter. After 
 considerable effort on the part of the grocer, the mel- 
 ancholy eyes of Mr. Coxe looked over the counter. 
 
 "What you done with them three pies?" beseeched 
 the grocer. "Tell the lady what you done with them." 
 
 By this time Mr. Coxe was standing erect behind 
 the counter. He vouchsafed no reply. But the tri- 
 umphant leer on his lips left no doubt in the mind of 
 Frances that the pies had gone the way of all flesh. 
 
 "Not a crumb left," said the grocer, looking at the 
 dyspeptic with gloomy forebodings. "What we goin' 
 to do about it, miss?" 
 
 "What are we going to do about it?" repeated 
 Frances energetically. "Get him home at once. He 
 must be put to bed. He will have the cramps dread- 
 fully in a few minutes. And Mr. Gibbs, if you would 
 atone for this criminal abetting of yours in this poor 
 man's death, you will drive for the doctor as quickly 
 as you can." 
 
 Mr. Gibbs and Frances dragged the reluctant dys- 
 peptic to the carriage. 
 
 "He's eaten three pies!" cried Frances to the maiden 
 a.unts,
 
 I4-O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Drive home as quickly as you possibly can," cried 
 Miss Ruth. "And never mind, James, if you do tip us 
 over." 
 
 "Go in," commanded Frances, when they had ar- 
 rived at the Hall, after a drive of dizzy peril. "Go in, 
 you foolish, greedy, obstinate old man. I shall tell 
 Mrs. Coxe how naughty you have been. Go to bed at 
 once. The doctor will be here presently. Go to bed 
 at once." 
 
 Mr. Coxe started to obey with so cheerful an alac- 
 rity that he forgot to hang his silk hat on the rack in 
 the hallway. Indeed, so agitated was he that he quite 
 forgot to remove it from his head. 
 
 "Please leave your hat on the rack," said Miss Ruth 
 crossly. 
 
 Mr. Coxe took no notice whatever. 
 
 Frances was determined that for once the dyspeptic 
 should obey orders. Her patience was thoroughly 
 exhausted. So she said very quietly, but very firmly, 
 "Mr. Coxe, did you hear my aunt speak to you? Put 
 your hat on the rack immediately." 
 
 Still he took no notice. 
 
 "Has James driven around to the stables yet?" asked
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 14! 
 
 Frances of Miss Elsie. "If he has not, will you call 
 him, please." 
 
 Mr. Coxe now appeared extremely agitated. But 
 he did not remove his hat. He attempted to pass 
 Frances in a feverish, troubled haste that was ominous. 
 
 Frances planted herself in front of him. 
 
 "No, Mr. Coxe. You will not ascend these stairs 
 until you remove your hat." 
 
 Her temper was up. She was very angry, and would 
 have resisted the stubborn dyspeptic by force if it was 
 necessary. 
 
 Instead of complying with her request however, 
 Mr. Coxe jammed his hat more firmly than ever on his 
 head. Then, clutching the brims with both hands, he 
 advanced swiftly towards the door. 
 
 Frances seized his coat-tails desperately. Now she 
 understood the crafty leer that had wreathed the dys- 
 peptic's lips during the drive from the grocery. 
 
 "Aunt Ruth Aunt Elsie!" she screamed, "call for 
 help! James! James! Where is James? Oh, I can't 
 hold him! He is running away! Help me, Aunt 
 Ruth!" 
 
 But the united strength of the two maiden aunts and
 
 142 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 of Frances applied to Mr. Coxe's coat-tails could not 
 hold him. He was desperate. He was fighting for 
 a great stake, and unnatural strength nerved the dys- 
 peptic's muscles. With a final wrench, still holding 
 tightly to the brim of his hat, he was free. He ran at 
 full speed towards the woods. 
 
 "Did you ever see such obstinacy?" exclaimed Miss 
 Ruth, panting. 
 
 "What can be the matter with him?" asked Miss 
 Elsie. 
 
 "Matter!" repeated Frances. "Are you both blind? 
 Don't you see he is running away, and in his hat " 
 
 "In his hat," repeated the maiden aunts, bewildered. 
 
 "Are the three pies!" 
 
 "Frances!" cried Miss Ruth, sinking helplessly in a 
 chair. 
 
 "It is no time to give way to our emotions," said 
 Frances. "I must follow him. He must not eat those 
 pies. Send James to come, too." 
 
 With these parting commands, Frances gathered up 
 her skirts and swiftly pursued the runaway dyspeptic. 
 
 The distressing conviction that, if caught, the prey 
 in his silk hat would be confiscated, spurred Mr. Coxe
 
 THE THREE MINCE PIES. 143 
 
 to heroic efforts to escape. He had no clear idea 
 where he was running to. To be let alone for five 
 blissful minutes, that was his modest prayer. He could 
 easily dispose of the contents of his hat in five minutes. 
 
 But Frances had no intention of permitting him to 
 enjoy five minutes' solitude if she could help it. She 
 held her skirts high above the brambles, and shouted 
 "Stop, thief!" at the top of her voice. "If," thought 
 Frances, as she ran, "I cannot catch him, I can at least 
 make him run so fast that those pies bumping about 
 in his silk hat will be crushed and ruined. I wish they 
 were pies with liquid fruit." 
 
 Fortune favored the dyspeptic when he was de- 
 spairing most. He had heedlessly run out of the shel- 
 ter of the friendly woods ; he was about to double back 
 on his tracks in the woods again, when he heard the 
 whistle of a locomotive. He ran mechanically on, 
 hoping for a barn or hayrack. To his unspeakable 
 thankfulness and delight, he ran absolutely against a 
 train that was steaming slowly out of the Clifton Hills. 
 
 A bound and a desperate clutch at the iron railing 
 above the steps; and Mr. Coxe was saved. Frances, 
 baffled and breathless, could only stand there and im-
 
 144 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 plore James to say something very emphatic, indeed, 
 beginning with D. James obliged her with great 
 heartiness and good-will. 
 
 But even as she and James stood there, something 
 happened that took a little of the sting out of the an- 
 noyance she felt at the dyspeptic's escape. 
 
 There were three, soft, faint splashes at their feet. 
 They thought the dyspeptic was flinging something at 
 them. Then, to the great astonishment of herself and 
 James, they perceived three bruised, ruined pies. 
 
 The dyspeptic, beside himself with joy at his provi- 
 dential escape, had, in his frenzied delight, waved his 
 hat jeeringly at his baffled pursuers. The result was 
 simple and natural. 
 
 As the train pulled swiftly out of the station, the 
 dyspeptic looked back, dumb and hopeless. 
 
 And Frances and James stared in astonishment at 
 the three battered mince pies at their feet.
 
 JEREMIAH COXE ON THE RAMPAGE. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JEREMIAH COXE ON THE RAMPAGE. 
 
 JEREMIAH STONE COXE went within the car and 
 huddled himself up in a seat. He shrunk within him- 
 self, so that his frock-coat seemed at least two sizes too 
 large for him. Mechanically, as in an unhappy dream, 
 he paid his fare with the seventy cents change he had 
 received from Mr. Gibbs, the grocer, after he had paid 
 for his pies. 
 
 Station after station whirled by; still the unfortunate 
 runaway sat there, too dazed to think. Not until the 
 voice of the brakeman called "Van Cortland Junc- 
 tion!" did he bestir himself, and remember that there 
 were other pies to be purchased, as well as the three 
 he had lost. 
 
 When Mr. Co~xe alighted from that train at Van 
 Cortland Junction, he was possessed with a spirit of 
 perfect devilishness. From the depths of absolute de- 
 spair he suddenly soared to the heights of delirious
 
 146 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 happiness. The loss of the pies had only whetted his 
 appetite to perform startling gormandizing feats. 
 
 He determined to stop at no half-way measures. In 
 for a shilling, he might as well be in for a pound. He 
 would stop at no three pies. He was going to simply 
 raise "Cain" with his stomach. The orgy he was 
 about to indulge in would put a Roman feast to shame. 
 In fact, a Roman feast would be total abstinence com- 
 pared with it. For one blissful hour he would be a 
 pig, and wallow in hard-boiled eggs, cold pork and 
 beans, doughnuts, bologna sausage and pie all the 
 glorious array of indigestibles that a country restau- 
 rant affords. That restaurant was to be cleared of all 
 eatables. Perhaps he would not be able to do it him- 
 self; but when he had gorged himself up to his fifth 
 rib, he would hire others to help him. Not a hard- 
 boiled egg should be left in its saucer; not a sandwich 
 should be left to repose under its glass case. Yes; the 
 restaurant was to be cleared out if it cost 
 
 The rosy vision was clouded over by thick dark- 
 ness. The hands of the dyspeptic darted suddenly 
 into his pockets. An anxious expression flitted across 
 his haggard countenance. From pocket to pocket his
 
 JEREMIAH COXE ON THE RAMPAGE. 147 
 
 hands darted wildly. Then in abject helplessness he 
 sank faint and despairing on the station bench. He 
 was a victim of a brutal, cruel joke of Fate. 
 
 Jeremiah Stone Coxe had left his pocketbook at the 
 grocery store. 
 
 The train departed; but he took no heed. He did 
 not care what became of him now. He sat there on 
 the bench, his hungry eyes gazing fixedly before him, 
 his bony hands clutching either kneecap, his dry lips 
 moistened by his thin tongue. 
 
 Then, out of the darkness of despair, so it seemed 
 to him, there came a voice the voice of conscience, 
 personified in the familiar accents of Jane Bennet 
 Coxe. There were precisely four syllables of deep, 
 stern reproach: 
 
 "Jeremiah!" 
 
 He smiled bitterly. It was fitting that this presag- 
 ing of the inevitable interview that must await him 
 with Mrs. Coxe should be added to his cup of woe. 
 
 "Jeremiah!" 
 
 The voice sounded uncannily distinct more vibrant, 
 more stern, more deep. 
 
 "JEREMIAH!"
 
 148 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 The startled dyspeptic leaped to his feet. It was no 
 spiritual voice that had called him. It was Mrs. Coxe 
 in the flesh. 
 
 "Jeremiah Coxe, you scourge, what you doing here? 
 You've run away." 
 
 Mr. Coxe swallowed an imaginary something and 
 gazed at his wife much as a terrified rabbit gazes at a 
 big boa, into whose capacious mouth it is presently to 
 disappear. 
 
 "You ungrateful, greedy creature. You've run 
 away. Don't tell me. You've been gorgin' yourself 
 again." 
 
 The dyspeptic shook his head unhappily. 
 
 "Well, we'll see about that. Open your mouth. 
 Open it. Hurry up." 
 
 Mrs. Coxe stamped her foot impatiently. Her hus- 
 band opened his mouth. 
 
 "Take your tongue away from your teeth. Open it 
 wider wider, I say. Is that cracker crumbs or is it 
 pie crumb? It's pie crumb." 
 
 Again the dyspeptic shook his head vehemently, 
 tears in his haggard eyes. It is hard to lose three pies. 
 But it is harder to be accused of eating them when 
 they are lost through your own stupidity,
 
 JEREMIAH COXE ON THE RAMPAGE 149 
 
 "Well, Jeremiah Coxe, it's no use my coddlin' you 
 any longer. I've coddled you, and coddled you, and 
 coddled you. This time, Jeremiah Coxe, it's divorce." 
 
 The dyspeptic stared at his wife in tearful misery. 
 But he uttered no word of protest. 
 
 "Divorce has got to come. Here I've been workin' 
 myself to the bone to keep you in food and clothin', 
 and no sooner do I turn my back than you run away. 
 Only this mornin' at six did I set foot on America, 
 from the Bermudy's, and come home to my Coxey, 
 and already I find you in mischief. I tell you, it took 
 me back to see you settin' on that bench there. It 
 didn't take me long to get out of that car. Oh, Jerry, 
 Jerry, what makes you so mean?" 
 
 Mr. Coxe did not disclose the reason of his moral 
 depravity. 
 
 "Well, I don't know as so great harm's done after 
 all. Now you've come half way, I suppose there's no use 
 goin' back again. Now, Coxe, I want you to set right 
 down on that bench and not budge an inch. Do you 
 hear? I'll go and send a telegram to those old ladies 
 up at the Shrewsbury Inn and tell 'em what I think of 
 'em. And they'll pay the charges, too."
 
 150 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 While Mrs. Coxe was speaking, she was investigat- 
 ing the contents of a large valise. She shut it up with 
 a click, taking from it two packages. She looked at 
 one of them in consternation. 
 
 "Well, if I hadn't forgot all about that package, my 
 name ain't Jane Coxe. It's a sample box of Bermudy 
 onions, Jerry. I've gone in the onion business just a 
 little, Jerry, and I've got to send these samples to the 
 commission agent at Charleston. I wonder if I could 
 trust you to express 'em for me, Coxe? There's 
 nothin' to pay. I want to send this telegram to those 
 folks up at the Shrewsbury, and the train'll be goin' 
 before I can do both. And here" Mrs. Coxe tapped 
 the other box she had extracted from the valise "is 
 a nice little lunch, Jerry, and if you send those onions 
 off all right, you shall have a nice bunch of grapes. 
 Here's the package, Jerry. Send it C. O. D." 
 
 While Mrs. Coxe had been talking, she had been 
 writing out a telegram to send to the maiden aunts at 
 Philanthropist Hall. Observe, now, the folly of 
 attempting to do two things at once. Caesar is said to 
 have done two things at once successfully, but Mrs. 
 Coxe, while an excellent woman of business, was not
 
 JEREMIAH COXE ON THE RAMPAGE. 151 
 
 Julius Caesar. The two boxes were wrapped in tissue 
 and brown wrappers respectively. Mrs. Coxe should 
 have given her husband the box wrapped in the brown 
 wrapper. She gave him the box wrapped in the tissue 
 paper. 
 
 Manifestly it was Mr. Coxe's duty to tell his wife of 
 the mistake. But like drunkards and opium eaters, 
 dyspeptics cannot be held morally responsible. 
 
 Mr. Coxe held the tissue paper parcel in both his 
 hands and marched around the corner of the station 
 to the express office. But he did not enter. He sought 
 out a solitary spot at the far end of the station, where, 
 without molestation, he eould pursue any guilty in- 
 vestigation that appealed to him. 
 
 His hollow eyes glittered as he tore a hole in the 
 paper and placed his organ of smell in close proximity 
 to the hole. He drew in a long, lustful, drawn-out 
 sniff. He glanced stealthily about him. No one was 
 in sight. He snapped the string. With the ferocity 
 of a tiger he tore off the paper. 
 
 Then he detached a grape and ate the seeds. Then 
 he nibbled at the corner of a chicken sandwich. Hav- 
 ing thus artistically dallied with his appetite, he
 
 152 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 pounced on the lunch like a ravening wolf. Nibble 
 and bite ended in a savage, murderous onslaught. 
 
 It was all over very soon. There was no retreat 
 now. Let Mrs. Coxe storm. Let her shake him by 
 the collar. Let her secure a divorce. Not even Mrs. 
 Coxe could take from him the delirious joy of that two 
 minutes. 
 
 There was no time to concoct elaborate excuses. 
 He returned to Mrs. Coxe. The murder would out 
 by-and-bye, perhaps. But sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof. 
 
 Mrs. Coxe met him in evident dismay. 
 
 "Oh, Jerry, some thief has gone and stole our lunch. 
 I left it on the station bench just while I went to send 
 off that telegram, and when I came out 'twas gone. 
 So I can't give you your grapes after all. Well, it's 
 lucky 'twasn't the Bermudy onions. Did my Jerry 
 send the onions O. K.?" 
 
 Mr. Coxe, the dyspeptic's, eyes glittered and glit- 
 tered. He placed his hands gently across his abdomi- 
 nal regions. For the first time he spoke a complete 
 , sentence subject, predicate and object: 
 
 "Yes," he whispered hoarsely, "I ugh have de- 
 spatched it."
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 
 
 TEXTOR had gone to the city ostensibly to see 
 that Hattie Car was safely consigned to Uncle Jack. 
 His real purpose, however, was to call upon Mr. 
 Van Taft and to formally declare his love for Frances. 
 Textor would infinitely have preferred to wait until 
 his prospects were brighter before doing this, but 
 Hattie Car's startling and public revelation to the 
 world had made it absolutely necessary. And Fran- 
 ces, incensed against the novelist as she was, could not 
 deny to her aunts that there had been a secret under- 
 standing. Very fortunately, indeed, the maiden aunts 
 had watched with interest and tacitly fostered the nov- 
 elist's love for their niece. When, therefore, Textor 
 made apologies for Hattie Car's premature announce- 
 ment of the state of affairs, to his extreme surprise 
 they received the tidings with a very feeble show of 
 indignation,
 
 154 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 When Textor returned from the city, Frances was 
 at the station with the dog-cart to meet him. 
 
 "So there was an Uncle Jack after all," she cried, as 
 soon as she perceived that Hattie was not in his com- 
 pany. 
 
 "No," replied the novelist, "there was no Uncle 
 Jack. I will tell yotf all about that presently." 
 
 He put a foot on the carriage step, prepared to 
 swing himself beside her. 
 
 "But," said Frances, decisively, "you are not to 
 come with me, you know. You are to go back to 
 the city on the next train. It starts in ten minutes." 
 
 "To go back on the next train!" repeated Textor, 
 greatly surprised, one foot still on the step. 
 
 "To find Mr. Coxe. He has gone on the rampage. 
 He has run away." 
 
 "Well," said Textor, crossly, "good riddance to bad 
 rubbish." 
 
 "Oh, but you must find him, you know. Aunt 
 Ruth and Aunt Elsie made me meet you precisely to 
 tell you, and to ask your advice." 
 
 "But where has he gone to New York?" 
 
 "That we do not know. But apparently not to New
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 155 
 
 York. Mr. Beedy, the telegraph operator, sent a mes- 
 sage to the detectives at the New York station de- 
 scribing Mr. Coxe's appearance. He says that so far 
 no one of that description has been seen. It is seven 
 hours since he disappeared." 
 
 "He must have stopped off at one of the way stations, 
 sir," volunteered the operator, who had been an in- 
 terested listener. "I've wired to 'em all. We shall 
 hear in a short while, I'm thinking." 
 
 When Frances had told Textor all the facts con- 
 nected with the dyspeptic's escape, he seated himself 
 in the cart, despite Frances' expostulations. 
 
 "It would be quite useless for me to start on such a 
 wild goose chase," he said, settling himself comfort- 
 ably in the carriage and taking the reins from Frances. 
 "I would do much for Miss Ruth, and even more to 
 ease Miss Elsie's conscience, especially after that kiss 
 she gave me, but I cannot see my way to stopping off 
 at twenty stations inquiring for the dyspeptic. It 
 would take me three or four days." 
 
 Frances looked at him doubtfully from under her 
 parasol, and reluctantly gathered up her skirts to
 
 156 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 make room for him. "I don't know what Aunt Ruth 
 will say." 
 
 "Oh, I'll be the scapegoat. Let the dyspeptic's 
 death be laid at my door. I can bear it." 
 
 "But it needn't be laid at your door, sir," called out 
 the operator from his little window. "There's a mes- 
 sage coming now, sir, hot over the wire, to the ladies 
 up at the Hall, from Van Cortland Junction. Why, 
 it's from the old gent's wife herself, sir." 
 
 It appeared to be a very long message. 
 
 "It's going to be a corker," cried the operator, ex- 
 citedly. "Two cents every extra word, too. It takes 
 the women folks to say fool things, I must say." 
 
 "It is not because she is a woman that she is send- 
 ing so long a telegram, Mr. Beedy," cried Frances, 
 indignantly, "and it is very ungallant of you to say so. 
 It is because she has a grudge against us and she will 
 make us pay the charges. Is not the message sent 
 'Collect on Delivery?' " 
 
 "That's just what it is, miss," said Mr. Beedy, smil- 
 ing broadly. "Seventy-seven extra words at two 
 cents a word, and ten regulars at twenty-five, with 
 fifteen cents for delivery "
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 157 
 
 "But you don't deliver it, Mr Beedy. We take it 
 now." 
 
 " Is one dollar and ninety-four cents," con- 
 cluded Mr. Beedy, disregarding the expostulation of 
 Frances. He handed the telegram to her. 
 
 "Although it is addressed to my aunts, I feel justi- 
 fied in reading it, since it may be necessary for you to 
 go to Van Cortland Junction," said Frances to Tex- 
 tor. 
 
 "Got back from Bermuda this morning. Seen Coxe 
 setting on depot bench. Got out of train. Enough 
 to try Job's patience. This Van Cortland Junction 
 wiring from. But it's on the heading. Well, let it 
 go at that. Coxe had run away. Providential was 
 caught by me. Has he gorged hisself since I left? 
 Must have treated him bad or he wouldn't have run 
 away. What done to silk hat? Send back money 
 I paid to you less board milk and crackers, mind, for 
 three days. You'll pay for new silk hat for Coxe. 
 If you don't, I'll have law on you. So look out. Send 
 that money for rebate on board and price of new silk 
 hat. JANE B. COXE." 
 
 "It is a most insolent message, and the bill is per>
 
 158 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 fectly exorbitant. But I am sure Aunt Ruth would 
 pay twenty dollars for messages, to get rid of that man 
 and his wife. And now please tell me about Hattie." 
 
 Textor flicked the horse with the whip. "You can't 
 care very much for me," he said, looking sulkily 
 ahead, "if you put me after the dyspeptic and Hattie. 
 Don't you want to hear what your father said to me?" 
 
 "Not until I have heard about Hattie." 
 
 "You mustn't blame me, then, if I am in a bad tem- 
 per when I have finished. That little fibber would try 
 Job's patience quite as much as would Mr. Coxe. As 
 we journeyed nearer and nearer to New York, Hattie's 
 spirits drooped perceptibly. She was less and less cer- 
 tain precisely where her precious Uncle Jack lived. 
 When we came down from the Elevated at the Twenty- 
 third street station, Sixth avenue, and walked towards 
 Madison Square, we had, of course, to pass the Eden 
 Musee. Oh, could she go in and see the wax figures. 
 She had always been dying to. Uncle Jack had al- 
 ways promised to take her, but he was so busy. She 
 would take me to Uncle Jack's house immediately 
 after." 
 
 "So she pretended she did know where her Uncle 
 Jack lived even then?." asked Frances, smiling-,
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 159 
 
 "Yes," replied Textor, crossly. "Of course, the lit- 
 tle fibber was cajoling me. We went to the Eden 
 Musee." 
 
 "I hope you didn't take her to the chamber of hor- 
 rors. It is not a good thing for little girls to see, I 
 think." 
 
 "Yes, we saw the whole show. In fact, Hattie could 
 give a good many people interesting details concern- 
 ing those murderers. Why, the child knew the place 
 by heart." 
 
 "And then you went after Uncle Jack?" 
 
 "No, we did nothing of the kind. Hattie waited un- 
 til we were outside, and I was talking to some people 
 I know, when she suddenly burst into tears before 
 those people and confessed that there really was no 
 Uncle Jack." 
 
 "Poor Dick! The little wretch!" 
 
 "I never was so angry. Not so much at her confes- 
 sion as at her crying at such a time. However, I be- 
 gan to see the humorous side of things presently 
 she certainly is an original little wretch and I took 
 her to the matinee. I didn't know what else to do with 
 her,"
 
 l6o THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "That was a very bad thing to do from a pedagogical 
 principle, after she had been so snappy," remarked 
 Frances gravely. 
 
 "I shall remember that matinee as long as I live 
 with profound gratitude. Between the second and 
 third acts, while Hattie was complacently eating some 
 caramels, I noticed a peculiar expression of horror and 
 dismay on her face. She didn't feel well. Could she 
 go out? She thought the play was stupid. Oh, please 
 could she go away at once? My suspicions were 
 aroused. I looked in the same direction that the child 
 had been staring a minute or "wo before; and I was 
 confronted by two fiery orbs glaring at mine indig- 
 nantly." 
 
 "Yes, two fiery orbs?" echoed Frances expectantly. 
 
 "They belonged to Miss Adele Philips, the principal 
 of Philips Hall, a select boarding school for girls. 
 Three stations below Clifton Hills, on the New York 
 Central Railroad." 
 
 "The idea! Why didn't we think of that place be- 
 fore?" 
 
 Miss Car was returning to -school after her usual 
 weekly holiday at home, when she came to Philanthro-
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. l6l 
 
 pist Hall by mistake. It was not easy to explain things 
 to Miss Philips. It appears, however, that this is not 
 the first time that Miss Car has lost herself. It is a 
 favorite pastime of hers. However, I handed Miss 
 Car over to the care of Miss Philips, and escaped. 
 Miss Philips will send for Miss Car's belongings to- 
 morrow. Miss Hattie Car is probably in an unfur- 
 nished room now, thinking matters over, feasting on 
 bread and water. I imagine she will not be inclined 
 to run away again for some time, judging from the 
 fiery orbs of the principal." 
 
 "Poor little dear. I shall ask her to spend her 
 Christmas holidays with me. And now please tell me 
 about father." 
 
 "There is really very little to say," replied Textor 
 perversely, to pay her back for her apparent lack of 
 interest. "He was going to the Country Club when I 
 called at his office, and he was in a hurry. I told him 
 everything." 
 
 "Not why you were compelled to speak prema- 
 turely?" asked Frances, flushing scarlet. 
 
 "I couldn't help it, Fan. It wasn't any more pleas- 
 ant for me than for you. I took all the blame."
 
 162 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I should hope you did. I was entirely at your 
 mercy." 
 
 "I must say I was awfully relieved when I found 
 your father did not kick me out of his office, but 
 roared with laughter and he called you " 
 
 "What did he call me?" asked Frances curiously. 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't dare tell you. It would make you 
 angry." 
 
 "Was it something very bad?" she said uneasily. 
 
 "It is scandalously bad. It absolves me from all the 
 blame. No jury could convict me after what he said." 
 
 "Tell me," entreated Frances, her curiosity getting 
 the better of her discretion. 
 
 "He said you were an artful little minx." 
 
 "Is that all?" exclaimed Frances, coolly, a little dis- 
 appointed that it was nothing more terrible. "And 
 what did he say then?" 
 
 "He asked me to go to the Country Club and play 
 golf with him. I am not a bad hand at the game, and I 
 was afraid to beat him. So I played carelessly, until he 
 found it out. Then he was in a tearing passion." 
 
 "Did he swear?"
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 163 
 
 "Vigorously, but in only gentlemanly ejaculations. 
 But he badgered and bullied me so that I forgot all 
 about being diplomatic, and I played the game of my 
 life." 
 
 "You foolish old boy. You beat him and he swore 
 in not so gentlemanly a fashion?" 
 
 "Just the reverse. He gave me a severe drubbing, 
 and we both were in an excellent humor. So I had 
 dinner with him, and when we had spent two hours 
 going over the game, and he had demonstrated to his 
 own satisfaction why he had played badly at first, we 
 talked about you." 
 
 "You see, if you come after Mr. Coxe and Hattie, I 
 come after a stupid game," pouted Frances. 
 
 "Not with me, dear girl. Only with your father. 
 He asked me what was my profession, and for the 
 want of anything better to say, I told him I was a 
 novelist." 
 
 "So you are. But I can imagine daddy's dismay." 
 
 "Yes, he was horribly business-like. He asked me 
 what was my income. I told him it was less than 
 nothing. I think he would have been angry then. But 
 he remembered that I had played a good game and
 
 164 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 that he had beaten me, and he remembered what Hat- 
 tie had written on the shutters. So he merely said I 
 was an impudent young beggar." 
 
 "I certainly shall ask Hattie to spend Christmas 
 with me," cried Frances. 
 
 "Yes, I believe she saved the day. Because he 
 would get so frightfully prosaic, and point out in such 
 a terribly logical and clear way how absurd it was for 
 me to ask him to entrust your happiness to me under 
 these circumstances, that I felt like crawling under the 
 table several times, and asking him with tears in my 
 eyes to please trample on me. But every now and 
 again, when he was clinching an argument to prove 
 that I was a worthless sort of fellow for a son-in-law, he 
 would remember what Hattie wrote, and burst into 
 laughter." 
 
 "Dear old daddy. He couldn't understand how an 
 income could come from a book." 
 
 "At last he decided the matter in this way. He 
 liked me personally. His sisters had spoken of me 
 well. He was willing for me to see you. But we were 
 both young and could wait. If I succeed before a year 
 with writing, he will sanction a formal engagement.
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 165 
 
 But he hoped I would not. Because I have promised 
 that if I do not succeed, I will take up the law. Then 
 he will have no objection to me whatever. Because 
 my father will in that case settle a good income on me 
 at once." 
 
 "But 7 shall have an objection," said Frances obstin- 
 ately. "I am determined I will not marry a prosy 
 lawyer. I am going to marry a novelist. If you do not 
 persevere in writing, I shall jilt you." 
 
 Textor recognized the jest beneath the words. But 
 he savv how much she had set her heart on his suc- 
 cess, and he became very despondent. 
 
 "I will try hard to succeed, Fan; but I'm afraid I 
 shall have to go back to the law." 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't be impatient, Dick. I will wait 
 a very, very long time. But please try hard not to 
 give in. I have set my heart on your success. Only 
 hope. Something may happen to give things a better 
 turn." 
 
 Textor shook his head. But Frances looked so 
 hopeful that he wondered. 
 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie heard of Mr. Coxe's cap- 
 ture by Mrs. Coxe, and of Hattie's capture by the
 
 166 THE two WHITE ELEPHANTS 
 
 principal of Philips Hall, with devout thankfulness and 
 joy. 
 
 "Oh, it certainly is a relief to have these people 
 gone," sighed Frances. "And now we are ready for 
 real philanthropists, aren't we?" 
 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie shook their heads in em- 
 phatic denial. 
 
 "We are not," said Miss Ruth. 
 
 She summoned a maid to call James. 
 
 When that respectable servant appeared, Miss Ruth 
 commanded him to provide himself with a sharp axe. 
 
 "Your Aunt Elsie and I have discussed the matter 
 thoroughly since you have been to the station, Frances. 
 We have decided that there shall be no more Philan- 
 thropist Hall." 
 
 Textor and Frances stared. But Miss Elsie seemed 
 to share her sister's satisfaction. 
 
 Miss Ruth turned to James: "I wish you to go to 
 the entrance gate, James, provided with a sharp axe. 
 You will demolish the sign, 'Philanthropist Hall.' 
 You will go to the carpenter's and have him make an- 
 other. You will then go to the painter's; you will in- 
 struct him to paint on the new sign the words: 'Private 
 Grounds. No Admittance.' Do you understand?"
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. l6/ 
 
 James inclined his respectful head, as if it were 
 quite a matter of course to open schools one week and 
 to close them the next. 
 
 "Very well, James. Be sure that the painter puts 
 two t's in 'admittance.' And do not forget that this is 
 a private residence; and if any so-called philanthropists 
 dare to intrude, you will warn them that they are tres- 
 passing." 
 
 Textor gazed at Frances somewhat crestfallen. 
 Philanthropist Hall, as Frances had said, was such a 
 capital place for people to live who were in love. He 
 cleared his throat. 
 
 "Then I suppose that you no longer need my ser- 
 vices I mean that I trust you can now spare me, Miss 
 Ruth, since there will be no philanthropists to lecture 
 to. I can be working at my new book." 
 
 He spoke with a cheerfulness that he did not at all 
 feel. He was wondering how he was going to live. 
 Perhaps he would have to eat bad food now because 
 he could not afford any better. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Ruth. "I am thankful that, how- 
 ever disastrously we may have failed, you will con- 
 tinue to impress on the world the mistakes of philan- 
 thropists by your novels."
 
 168 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I am afraid, Miss Ruth, that I may possibly have 
 to give up writing as a profession." 
 
 "Give up writing as a profession!" chorused the 
 maiden aunts, aghast. 
 
 "I am afraid that I shall have to practise the law. 
 You see, I have an elephant on my hands, as well as 
 yourself. If philanthropists will not patronize your 
 school, neither will novel readers patronize my books. 
 There is almost an edition to dispose of. That is a 
 very big elephant, indeed." 
 
 "My dear Richard" (it was the first time Miss Ruth 
 had called him by his first name, and he smiled grate- 
 fully), "I am deeply grieved to hear that. You are, 
 then, to an extent, dependent upon the financial suc- 
 cess of your novels?" 
 
 "Absolutely so, if I persist in writing novels, I am 
 afraid. Neither Frances' father nor mine recognizes it 
 as a profession. My father will not settle an income 
 on me so long as I write, I imagine; unless, of course, 
 I succeed to a degree. Success reconciles one to 
 many things. Will you be at this house much during 
 the summer?" 
 
 "Yes, a very great share of the time. It is too big
 
 THE ELEPHANT IS OFF THEIR HANDS. 169 
 
 an elephant on our hands for a residence. We shall 
 decide in a few weeks, perhaps, what to do with it, but 
 at present we shall be here. Frances will be here, too. 
 We shall see you often, of course." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "Please do not be discouraged about your book. 
 Let us hope that something will turn up." 
 
 "And I feel almost confident something will," said 
 Frances. 
 
 Again Textor looked at her wonderingly. She 
 seemed so very hopeful so radiantly hopeful.
 
 I/O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 
 
 IT was after tea. The maiden aunts and Frances 
 were gazing across the lawns from the piazza. They 
 were all very much bored and unhappy. But they 
 pretended to be very happy. 
 
 "We have had now a week of perfect rest since those 
 people have gone," sighed Miss Ruth. 
 
 "A blessed relief, indeed," murmured Miss Elsie. 
 "But a little monotonous, sister?" 
 
 "Not at all, Elsie." 
 
 Miss Ruth spoke sharply; but she sighed again. 
 And James, watching them from the stables, remarked 
 to the gardener that the old ladies seemed a trifle down 
 in the mouth. And the gardener replied that things 
 were dead slow since the freaks and the kid were gone. 
 
 "It is true," conceded Miss Ruth, "that it would 
 have been much more enjoyable if the Hall were full 
 pf philanthropists imbibing knowledge,"
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." I/I 
 
 "What are you thinking of, child?" asked Miss Ruth 
 presently of Frances. 
 
 "I was thinking that poor Dick is a failure, too, 
 Aunt Ruth," answered Frances, soberly. 
 
 "Oh," cried Miss Ruth, "it is horrible to think how 
 obstinately ignorant people insist on being. If people 
 would only read that book, for instance, how much 
 good it might do them. It might revolutionize their 
 lives. But they will neither read good books nor 
 learn wisdom. Really, I blush for mankind." 
 
 "I have been thinking," suggested Miss Elsie, "that 
 it might be productive of good if we were to buy sev- 
 eral of those books, and to distribute them among the 
 various libraries of the institutions we are interested 
 in, sister." 
 
 "That is an admirable idea, Elsie." 
 
 "I do not imagine that the ordering of a hundred 
 copies or so would be of much assistance to Richard. 
 One hundred copies at ten per cent, is only fifteen 
 dollars. But it would be something." 
 
 "I suppose that we should have to place so large an 
 order as that with the publishers," said Miss Ruth, 
 thoughtfully,
 
 1/2 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 Frances had been listening to the conversation with 
 breathless interest. She sprang from the rocking- 
 chair in which she was seated, and faced her aunts ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Ruth! Oh, Aunt Elsie! What you have 
 been speaking of has been my idea for several days, 
 though I have not dared to suggest it." 
 
 "What are you talking of?" asked Miss Ruth view- 
 ing her niece's excitement with disapproval. 
 
 Frances recognized the note of disapproval. "Oh, 
 it wouldn't be proper," she murmured, diplomatically. 
 
 "What would not be proper? Really, Frances, I 
 wish you would learn to be more clear." 
 
 "Why, I was thinking, Aunt Ruth, how we might 
 possibly create a demand for Dick's books, if we were 
 only willing to buy a few." 
 
 "I don't understand you, Frances." 
 
 "Please, Aunt Ruth, do not insist. I am quite cer- 
 tain you would not think my plan either ladylike or 
 practical." 
 
 "Nevertheless, you may tell me, Frances. There 
 can be nothing improper in that." 
 
 f 'Qf course, I will tell you if you really insist," said
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 173 
 
 the very artful Frances, with apparent reluctance. "But 
 it is an absurd scheme, very likely. Even if it is prac- 
 tical, you will think it too vulgarly commercial. Or, 
 at least, Aunt Elsie will." 
 
 "Frances," cried Miss Ruth, exasperated, "you are 
 enough to drive Job off his monument." 
 
 "It was a being of the feminine gender, Aunt Ruth, 
 who is so patiently standing on the proverbial monu- 
 ment," corrected Frances, calmly. "But this is my idea: 
 Aunt Elsie and yourself were saying a few moments 
 ago that it would be an admirable plan to buy up a 
 hundred copies of Dick's book. You suggested plac- 
 ing the order with the publisher." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Now, might we not create a real demand by placing 
 the hundred orders among ten booksellers, instead? 
 We might create a demand for a second edition." 
 
 "A second edition!" exclaimed Miss Ruth, skepti- 
 cally. 
 
 "A second edition," repeated Frances. 
 
 "But how, child?" 
 
 "By organizing ourseives into a little booming 
 squad,"
 
 1/4 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "A little booming squad?" 
 
 "What I mean is that we should work together ac- 
 cording to a preconcerted system. We should not 
 work anyhow." 
 
 "I am quite at sea," exclaimed Miss Elsie, in despair. 
 
 "I shall make my plan quite clear in a moment, if 
 you are patient, Aunt Elsie. First of all, we should 
 make out a list of the most influential booksellers' 
 shops and department stores in New York. Suppos- 
 ing we selected ten. We should then visit these shops 
 and find out by careful inspection and inquiry how 
 many of them did not have Richard's book for sale. 
 Very likely none of them would have more than two, 
 or, at the most, three copies in stock. Many would 
 never have heard of the book. I am sure of this, be- 
 cause I have inquired myself." 
 
 "And then?" asked Miss Ruth, becoming interested. 
 
 "I can make it perfectly clear, if I select one shop 
 
 r an example. Substantially the same result would 
 happen in each of the other nine we should select, if 
 we are diplomatic. My plan cannot fail." 
 
 "Then we select Brown's, on Union Square," cried 
 Miss Ruth, impatiently.
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 175 
 
 "Brown's will do very well. YOU will remember 
 that we have already reconnoitred. We have found 
 out that Brown's does not have 'By the Sweat of His 
 Brow' on sale. Very well, I open the campaign." 
 
 "In other words, you order the book," suggested 
 Miss Elsie. 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed! I go to the head clerk. (We are 
 very careful to go to the same clerk in every instance 
 if possible, as I said, the head clerk.) 'Have you a 
 book called 'By the Sweat of His *Brow?' I ask. The 
 clerk will wrinkle up his brow, and will ask for the 
 author. 'I do not know the author,' I shall say, care- 
 lessly ' ' 
 
 "Frances!" exclaimed Miss Elsie, shocked beyond 
 measure. 
 
 "A less black fib will answer the purpose doubt- 
 less quite as well," resumed Frances, coolly. 'I have 
 just heard the book mentioned,' I shall continue, 'as 
 dealing rather cleverly with the social questions of the 
 day. But I suppose that if Brown's has not the book 
 it can be of no importance?' 'None whatever/ the 
 head clerk will answer superciliously. 'But here is 
 the latest book of Bellamy and of Henry George.'
 
 176 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 'Oh, no, thank you,' I shall answer, politely. I was 
 struck by the title, 'By the Sweat of His Brow.' (I 
 repeat it to impress it on his mind.) 'Good morning.' " 
 
 "And then?" asked Miss Ruth, still more interested. 
 
 "After a discreet interval perhaps the next day 
 you will come in, Aunt Ruth. (What we must be very 
 careful to do is to avoid suspicion.) You will ask to 
 see some new novels. Of course, you are still speak- 
 ing to the head clerk at Brown's. Dick's book will 
 not yet be among them. You will have picked out 'In 
 the Sweep of the Monsoon/ and will be about to pay 
 for it, when Aunt Elsie, who has been watching you 
 carefully outside the shop " 
 
 "Frances!" cried Miss Elsie, indignantly. 
 
 But Miss Ruth cried, "Well?" 
 
 " And has precisely timed her entrance to this 
 
 very minute, comes bustling into the shop, greets you, 
 Aunt Ruth, merely as a friend " 
 
 "Frances!" exclaimed Miss Elsie again. 
 
 " Greets you merely as a friend," continued 
 
 Frances, firmly, "sees 'In the Sweep of the Monsoon' 
 in your hand, and asks you with tremendous impres- 
 siveness, loud enough for the clerk to hear, if you
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 177 
 
 have read that wonderfully clever novel, 'By the Sweat 
 of His Brow.' You, Aunt Ruth, will say 'no.' " 
 
 "Frances!" It was Miss Ruth's turn to be shocked. 
 
 "Really, Aunt Ruth, I shall never finish if I am in- 
 terrupted so." 
 
 "And what shall I say then?" asked Miss Elsie, fear- 
 fully. 
 
 "You will say, 'Oh, you must. It is so strong. 
 Everybody at Mrs. Van Pelt's luncheon was talking 
 about it yesterday. They say it is as clever as any 
 book of the year. Indeed, it is the book of the year.' 
 Then you, Aunt Ruth, will say to the clerk, Then let 
 me have it instead of this book.' And you will put 
 'In the Sweep of the Monsoon' back on the table. The 
 clerk is really very sorry this time he is really so 
 can he get the book? But Aunt Elsie will interrupt, 
 'We can get it at Smith's, dear.' (You are the dear, 
 of course, Aunt Ruth not the clerk.) 'I saw a lot of 
 them as I passed.' " 
 
 "But what will happen then?" demanded Miss Elsie, 
 trembling at the audacity of her niece. 
 
 "Then," continued Frances, confidently, "Cousin 
 Bob may come in. (It will be nice to have men, be-
 
 1 78 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 cause they can be rude. They can say things we 
 cannot.) 'I want 'By the Sweat of His Brow,' Cousin 
 Bob will cry. 'I'm in a hurry, too.' (You know Bob 
 has such a manner they can't snub him)." 
 
 "The head clerk will rub his hands and regret ex- 
 ceedingly. They are just out of them. Cousin Bob 
 will be angry. He may even say " 
 
 "Frances," warned Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie in one 
 breath." 
 
 " Anything he chooses that is emphatic. 'What's 
 the matter with the stores?' Bob will cry. 'Do you 
 people take special pains to never have the books any- 
 one wants? I wish you would get it for me at once.' 
 Then the clerk will send a boy post-haste to Smith's for 
 the book. Now, Aunt Ruth, can you guess what the 
 head clerk will do after Cousin Bob leaves the shop?" 
 
 "It is- perfectly clear," cried Miss Ruth gleefully. 
 "He will suggest that the firm buy some copies of 
 Richard's book at once." 
 
 "That is exactly what he will do," cried Frances in 
 triumph. "You see how infallibly my way must work 
 if we are careful." 
 
 "And so the boom is started," joyfully remarked 
 Miss Ruth.
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 179 
 
 "Oh, no, not yet," answered Frances. "The man 
 who buys the books for the firm from the publishers 
 will never have heard of Dick's book, and will be cau- 
 tious about buying it. He will order only two copies 
 at the most. One of these Cousin Larry will buy. We 
 can send James for the other. Now you see, I can 
 come in again by this time without causing the least 
 suspicion. 'Have you "By the Sweat of His Brow," in 
 stock yet?' I shall ask. This time the clerk will be 
 profuse in his apologies. He will absolutely grovel in 
 his servile regret. He is so very sorry. They have 
 just sold the last copy. I shall leave the shop indig- 
 nantly. I shall say I will not go to places where books 
 thaf every one is reading are not for sale. And now 
 what will the clerk do, Aunt Elsie?" 
 
 "He will see the man who buys for the firm the 
 books, I suppose." 
 
 'Yes, he will swear at him, I expect. And this time 
 Brown will order a dozen copies of Dick's book. And 
 he will not hide them under the books of a popular 
 author. 'By the Sweat of His Brow' will be popular it- 
 self now. The clerk will pile them one on top of an- 
 other on the table of the 'Very Latest Books.' There
 
 l8o THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 will be a long criticism in their monthly bulletin. It 
 will be recommended as absolutely the best novel of 
 the year, dealing with the social questions." 
 
 "And now surely the boom is started," cried Miss 
 Ruth, drawing in a long breath. 
 
 "Yes, this time the boom is really started," repeated 
 Frances condescendingly. "And, Aunt Ruth, have 
 you noticed how many copies have been actually pur- 
 chased?" 
 
 "Bob, one; Larry, two; James, three. Precisely 
 three, unless you purchased one yourself, child." 
 
 "No, I did not purchase one. I was angry and left 
 the shop. Now supposing we were to pursue the same 
 method in fifteen of the biggest shops in New York 
 the small shops would have to get the books if the big 
 shops had them and supposing that instead of buying 
 three books we bought six in each shop. We should 
 start the boom with six times fifteen, shouldn't we?" 
 
 "Ninety books!" cried Miss Elsie, who was profi- 
 cient in arithmetic. 
 
 Frances nodded. "And if each book cost one dollar 
 and fifty cents, Aunt Elsie?" 
 
 "The total would be one hundred and thirty-five 
 dollars."
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." l8l 
 
 "Exactly. One hundred and thirty-five dollars to 
 send dear old Dick's book into its second edition. 
 And this other elephant has cost thousands." 
 
 "But, my dear Frances," exclaimed Miss Ruth, 
 "there is one great objection. Your Aunt Elsie and 
 myself would have to tell so many ahem " 
 
 "Fibs? Not at all, Aunt Ruth. I would manage the 
 matter so cunningly that you would have to tell none 
 at all. Or merely the very whitest ones. The reason 
 I have told so many this afternoon is because I have 
 not thought the matter all out." 
 
 "If I were sure it were quite honest," faltered Miss 
 Elsie. 
 
 "Honest, Elsie!" repeated Miss Ruth angrily. 
 "Please let us be reasonable, sister. If we choose to 
 buy four books instead of one, we do no one any 
 harm, I suppose, so long as we pay for the books." 
 
 "I sincerely hope not," said Miss Elsie, wavering. 
 "But we tell Richard, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not for the world, Aunt Elsie," cried Frances im- 
 ploringly. "Oh, not for the world. I want to sur- 
 prise the dear fellow." 
 
 "Then," said Miss Ruth, "we will try the experi-
 
 1 82 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 ment. It certainly is very dull staying here with no 
 philanthropists. I have always been so occupied, the 
 time drags heavily. But this pursuit promises to be 
 of the most exciting character. And if the philan- 
 thropists in their cowardly turpitude refuse to come to 
 us, we will go to them. Let them stop up their ears 
 as they may, we will speak to them through the book 
 of dear Richard. At the same time we will help him to 
 success. Nor will we stop at ninety books. If it is 
 necessary, we will buy up the whole edition in the way 
 you have suggested, Frances. But that book shall 
 succeed." 
 
 "And when," inquired Miss Elsie, trembling with 
 delicious excitement, "does the boom begin?" 
 
 "This very afternon," cried Miss Ruth. "We will 
 see Bob and Larry to-night. And Frances, you shall 
 give us our first lesson. You must pretend to be the 
 head clerk, and Elsie and myself will ask for the books 
 as you have suggested." 
 
 "And on no account will we tell Dick?" pleaded 
 Frances earnestly. 
 
 "Do you think that will be wise, dear?" Miss Elsie 
 asked with some doubt.
 
 "THE LITTLE BOOMING SQUAD." 183 
 
 "Certainly we will not tell Dick," answered Miss 
 Ruth positively. 
 
 "Who comes in first, Frances, Elsie or myself? 
 Really, child, you are the greatest girl. Your en- 
 thusiasm is contagious." 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried Frances.
 
 184 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 
 
 TEXTOR was breakfasting very late. He was seated 
 at one of the little black tables in the shadow of the 
 spire of Grace Church. The tables are placed out on 
 the pavement, hidden from the surging crowd of shop- 
 pers on Broadway by a charming hedge of ivy. 
 
 He had finished a good breakfast, and had lighted a 
 very good cigar. He smoked it leisurely, because 
 when smoked it would be a signal he had set for him- 
 self to turn his back on the streets he loved and reso- 
 
 < 
 lutely to forget that he had ever dreamed dreams. So 
 
 he smoked his cigar as slowly as he possibly could. 
 He tried not to think of the trunk he had to pack, and 
 of the journey he must make back into the West, 
 when he should have said the last good-bye to Fran- 
 ces. For a few minutes, at least, he did not wish to re- 
 member that he was a fool and a failure that to all 
 necessary purposes he was to play the old, old role of
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 185 
 
 the prodigal son, because if he had not actually wasted 
 his time and substance, his father believed that he had 
 done so. 
 
 He felt the hardness of the task he had set himself, 
 but he tried not to indulge in any maudlin sentiment 
 of self-pity. At least he had worked strenuously. He 
 had not drifted with the tide. He had struggled des- 
 perately to accomplish something he believed was 
 worth while. He had staked a good deal on the ven- 
 ture. He did not regret that. But it humiliated him 
 to think that he had fallen down and worshipped a 
 thing he had fashioned in the belief that it was gold, 
 and that it had turned out apparently to be clay. Nat- 
 urally it was not pleasant to acknowledge it. But it 
 was much harder that Frances should have to ac- 
 knowledge it as well. She believed in what she called 
 his literary career so intensely that she could hardly 
 help feeling disappointed in him, if he abandoned that 
 career too easily. 
 
 But now it seemed inevitable. He was absolutely at 
 the end of his resources. He would gain nothing by 
 going back to his proletarian existence of a few months 
 previous. Besides, there was Frances to be consid-
 
 1 86 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 ered. When he had purchased his ticket to Michigan, 
 less than five dollars would comprise his sole wealth. 
 
 The cigar almost burned his fingers now, and he 
 tipped the waiter and pulled himself together to face 
 the future. For a minute his eyes lingered enviously 
 on the publishers' Saturday advertisements in a paper 
 his waiter was reading. Everybody seemed to have 
 succeeded except himself. "A Matter of Doubt" was 
 in its thirty-fifth thousandth; "The Fool" was in its 
 seventh edition; "The Son of His Father" had been 
 dramatized; and " 
 
 It seemed to Textor that his heart had stopped beat- 
 ing then. The advertisements bobbed up and down, 
 and the type looked all blurred. Textor stretched 
 out his hand, and without apology snatched the paper 
 from the stolid German's hand. The big type was 
 plain enough; that was certain; it did not lie. He read 
 the announcement in a dull sort of way, as if it were 
 the book of some one else rather than his own: 
 
 "Laman & Winslow Announce 
 
 the third edition of Richard Bryce Textor's Great 
 Sociological Novel, 'By the Sweat of His Brow/ 
 "This novel has within a very short period sprung
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 187 
 
 into extraordinary prominence. It bids fair to be one 
 of the great books of the year. It is a work of un- 
 usual power and sincerity. The writer has himself 
 lived the life of the laboring man, that his book may 
 bear the impress of truth. These facts should guar- 
 antee for it an extensive circulation. For sale every- 
 where, or mailed postpaid on the receipt of price by 
 the publishers. $1.50, cloth-bound." 
 
 When Textor realized that this simply meant that 
 at the last hour fate had reprieved him had declared 
 him not to be a fool or a failure a great wave of emo- 
 tion seemed to sweep over him, and the paper shook 
 in his hands. He did not dare to look up for some 
 moments. When he did, the German waiter smiled 
 at him respectfully, and asked if der stocks had gone 
 oop. 
 
 "No, waiter; it's not the stocks," replied Textor. 
 "But, you see, I have written a book, and it has gone 
 into its third edition. It it's been a surprise; that's 
 all." Then he realized what an ass he was making 
 of himself in confiding his good fortune to a waiter, 
 and flushed furiously. "Er, waiter, I think I forgot 
 to tip you, didn't I? Fine morning, eh, waiter? Sky
 
 1 88 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 very bright; almost like spring. Good-day, waiter." 
 And Textor rushed off, leaving the waiter still smiling 
 at the half-dollar that lay in the palm of his hand. 
 
 He walked up Broadway and across to the avenue 
 to his publishers, plunging ahead with a rustic's dis- 
 regard of another's rights to the pavement. At every 
 news-stand he bought a different newspaper, and he 
 read the announcement of the third edition of his book 
 over and over. 
 
 At the publishers he was literally greeted with open 
 arms. Mr. Laman shook both his hands in extrava- 
 gant enthusiasm. 
 
 "Where in the world have you been?" he shouted. 
 "We have been wondering if you were dead left the 
 city? been sick? Never heard of such brutal indiffer- 
 ence on the part of one of our authors before. Two 
 editions in a week! Remember, I discovered you; I 
 believed in you when all the readers turned you down. 
 Don't forget that, and have a little gratitude. Now, I 
 want your next book. Do you hear? I want your 
 next book. "Johns (this to the treasurer), make out 
 a check for Mr. Textor for one hundred and fifty on 
 account of 'By the Sweat,' will you?"
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 189 
 
 Textor found this adulation very sweet. He could 
 only shake hands mechanically, and stammer out his 
 surprise and thanks. The check for one hundred and 
 fifty was the best of all. It was a very small check, 
 even less than he had paid to have the book published, 
 but it was tangible evidence that he was not dreaming. 
 So he thanked the publisher effusively. 
 
 "That's all right, Mr. Textor. Wish it was fifteen 
 hundred. No one wants to see you go in and win 
 more than we do. Your suceess is our success. I 
 believed in you don't forget that. So, mind you 
 let me have your next book; that's all. What have 
 you done with it? Written much yet? Don't be too 
 particular with it. If 'By the Sweat' makes the hit 
 it promises, we can sell anything with your name on 
 the title-page. But what a time it took for your book 
 to get started! But that's what I told you. Big things 
 go slowly. I warned you not to give up too soon." 
 
 "And when did it begin to move? I supposed it to 
 have fallen completely flat. I haven't looked in a 
 bookseller's window for three weeks. I didn't dare 
 come to this office." 
 
 "I couldn't wire or write j*> you, because you left
 
 IQO THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 no address. Let me see when did the boom begin? 
 To-day's Saturday; it was not two weeks ago. A week 
 ago Tuesday last that's the time. A batch of your 
 books had just come back from the hotel stands, and 
 I was telling Winslow what a dead thing your book 
 was. (I shall never pretend to know anything about 
 the book business again.) I remember a clerk came 
 in from Brown's on Union Square after a couple of 
 copies. That made very little impression at the time. 
 But, by Jove, sir! before two days were over, we re- 
 ceived an order for a dozen." 
 
 "So it surprised you?" asked Textor, rolling one of 
 the publishers' Henry Clays luxuriously about his 
 mouth. 
 
 "Naturally, especially when I remembered that they 
 had fought shy of the book at first. But the remark- 
 able thing was that within an hour Smith had given 
 almost the identical order that Brown had. That's 
 the way, in fact, it's gone all along the line. Two or 
 three of the department stores have ordered fifty 
 copies. There isn't a place of any account in the city 
 where you won't find your book prominently displayed. 
 They are in every window. It's a miracle you didn't 
 see them."
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 191 
 
 "I wasn't looking for them. But a third edition is 
 that a misprint?" 
 
 "Not at all, sir. The second edition I fired out a 
 week ago last Friday; but only five hundred. I wasn't 
 quite sure of my ground then; so I didn't advertise it 
 again. But this edition is fifteen hundred. Three of 
 our traveling men are off with special orders to push 
 your book for all it's worth. If it moves in other cities 
 as it has in New York, I shall get out another edition 
 of two thousand. If my experience goes for anything, 
 we shall sell fifteen thousand of those books." 
 
 "Fifteen thousand!" Textor's wildest dream was 
 half realized then. He made a rapid calculation 
 fifteen thousand copies at ten per cent., and one dollar 
 and fifty cents a copy, would make the royalties 
 amount to three thousand seven hundred and fifty 
 dollars. 
 
 "Now, I shall want your picture, Mr. Textor. You 
 want to get several of them taken. I want to get them 
 into the magazines and newspapers. I can use them 
 on my circulars. You want to have a freak picture; 
 as a street-cleaner, would be tip-top; something odd, 
 you know. Something that will sell. We want to sell
 
 192 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 books. We mustn't be too squeamish as to the 
 means." 
 
 Then the publisher poured a lot of clippings from 
 the newspapers into Textor's hand. 
 
 "Here are your notices. Some of them are good. 
 Many of them are pretty rough. But I like an ugly 
 criticism; it arouses interest; it sells books. We can 
 afford to have our feelings hurt some if we get the cold 
 cash, eh? I want you to take a few lines of each and 
 to fix them up a bit. Then I'll have a plate made and 
 put it in front of the title page of the next edition 
 the fourth." 
 
 Textor put the criticisms in his pocket and prepared 
 to take his leave. 
 
 "Now, don't forget, I want your next book," 
 shouted the publisher after him. "I want you to prom- 
 ise me that, eh?" 
 
 The novelist smiled happily to himself. It was a 
 novel sensation to find that his brain had a certain 
 market value. It was glorious. As to promising that 
 Laman should have his next book, he intended to do 
 nothing of the sort. If the first book was going to be 
 a phenomenal success, he would get a larger royalty
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 193 
 
 on the second book if he were patient. So he did 
 not reply to the publisher, but shut the door softly 
 after him. He hadn't reached the elevator, however, 
 before an office boy ran after him, and told him that 
 Mr. Laman wished to see him. 
 
 "I wanted to know if you didn't care to have your 
 check cashed, Mr. Textor," said the publisher ner- 
 vously. "If you do, the boy will walk over to Broad- 
 way with you and identify you. And, er, you haven't 
 said, you know, whether you are going to let me have 
 that next book or not. I want to know right now so 
 that I can lay my plans for advertising. If you are go- 
 ing to go back on me, after I have helped you to a 
 little success, I want to know it. Remember that I 
 believed in you first, and have a little gratitude." 
 
 "I shall be glad to let you have it, provided that our 
 relations are perfectly satisfactory in this book, Mr. 
 Laman," replied Textor, somewhat priggishly and 
 conceitedly. 
 
 "You mean if I do the square thing? Of course I 
 shall. Johns, make out another check for Mr. Textor 
 for a hundred on account of his next book. There, 
 sir, that's a sort of a retainer. Now you've got to let
 
 194 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 me have it. I've paid you for it in advance. Don't 
 forget that, and good-morning, Mr. Textor. Glad to 
 see you at any time." 
 
 The author of "By the Sweat of His Brow" felt 
 so extremely important that he was a little ashamed of 
 the shabby office boy who accompanied him to the 
 bank. He shook his head, too, at the check for a hun- 
 dred that the publisher had just paid him for his next 
 book. He was afraid that he had been rather rash in 
 accepting it. In a few weeks all the publishers of New 
 York would be crawling on their knees to him, im- 
 ploring him for manuscripts. Yes, no doubt, he had 
 been rash. 
 
 But he cashed the check for one hundred, and in- 
 sisted on gold. Then he dismissed the office boy with 
 a quarter and wondered what he was going to do next. 
 He clinked the gold about in his pocket with a mag- 
 nificent carelessness. He had had greater sums of 
 money in his pockets before many times, but he had 
 not earned them himself especially by writing novels. 
 The impulse was on him to spend a part of the money. 
 Only that could make it real. 
 
 But he remembered that there was one who had
 
 TEXTOR'S THIRD EDITION. 195 
 
 been longing for him to succeed. He must share his 
 success with her. What delicious enthusiasm she 
 would display! How she would rejoice! And now he 
 could see her father again and demand a formal en- 
 gagement with his daughter. He could see him with 
 a little more self-respect this time. As man to man. 
 He could begin to think of marrying. A man with an 
 income of five thousand a year in plain sight can afford 
 to marry. He forgot that he had only two hundred 
 and fifty in his pocket, and that one hundred of that 
 was for a book he had not written. But an hour ago 
 he had absolutely nothing but five dollars. 
 He took the next train to Clifton Hills.
 
 196 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. . 
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 
 
 "I WONDER," thought Textor, as he walked rapidly 
 from the station to Philanthropist Hall, "what she will 
 say? I can imagine her surprise her girlish delight. 
 I shall take advantage of that surprise. I shall insist 
 that I see her father and have him recognize a formal 
 engagement. I shall even hint that she tell me when 
 she will marry me. I can certainly do that without be- 
 ing unreasonable. I hope I shall find her alone." 
 
 He did find her alone. She was in a hammock, 
 swung across a corner of the piazza, reading for the 
 second or third time the announcement of Textor's 
 third edition. 
 
 As she saw him approaching between the fir trees, 
 she waved the paper at him. 
 
 "Are you happy now?" she called out. 
 
 "Very," he said, taking both her hands in his. "So 
 you have seen the advertisement. I am disappointed. 
 I hoped to surprise you. Isn't it glorious?"
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 197 
 
 "Yes, it is nice very jolly," answered Frances 
 comfortably. "But you will have to get up very early 
 in the morning if you wish to surprise me. It's hot, 
 isn't it? And did you walk up from the station? 
 
 Textor looked at her in surprise. She certainly was 
 not in the least enthusiastic. She was even cold and 
 indifferent. He supposed that she would show more 
 sympathy. He looked at her a little resentfully. 
 
 "How grumpy you appear." Frances pushed a slip- 
 per against a pillar and swung herself lazily. "Con- 
 sidering that your book is in its third edition, and that 
 within the past few days it has sprung into extraordi- 
 nary prominence I think that is how the words go 
 why, I expected you to be radiant." 
 
 Frances, don't." Textor was really hurt. "I 
 thought you told me no one cared for my success so 
 much as yourself." 
 
 "What a serious old boy you are. Why, of course, 
 I care. But what do you want me to do to show my 
 interest? Cheer? Please swing me." 
 
 He looked away from her, and swung the hammock 
 for a few moments in sulky silence. 
 
 "Well?" Frances looked at him mockingly from un-
 
 198 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 der her veiled eyelids. "Do you want me to cheer or 
 do you not?" 
 
 "Frances." He sprung to his feet and imprisoned 
 her hands tightly. "I want you to care, dear. That 
 is what I want." 
 
 "Why, I do care, cried Frances, opening her eyes 
 widely. But she was smiling. Textor thought her 
 not half serious enough. 
 
 "Don't laugh, Frances. If you could know how 
 I've fought for this, like a tiger how I've almost 
 prayed for it, you would understand why I take this 
 success seriously why, I want you to be serious. For 
 a whole year it's been my whole life. First, because, 
 however worthless it might be, I made it it was my 
 own it was myself. Then, because I wanted a little 
 fame, perhaps, though I didn't care much for that. 
 And then because I saw that money only could help 
 a man to look fearlessly ahead made one quite a man. 
 But afterwards, Frances, because success meant not 
 merely silly applause or a few dollars, more or less, 
 but it meant you. Can't you understand that, and see 
 why I want you to care? I want you to care, I say, 
 as well as myself."
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 199 
 
 "I do care," she almost whispered, earnestly. "I do 
 care, more than all the world." 
 
 "If," continued Textor impetuously, "the publisher 
 had been advertising the book extravagantly or boom- 
 ing it, I might be skeptical. At least I should take 
 less credit to myself. I should imagine the book was 
 selling simply because it was pushed so persistently. I 
 should wait a long time before I was willing to be- 
 lieve in it. But that's precisely the thing that com- 
 forts me so inexpressibly, Fan. The book is selling on 
 its own merits on its merits alone. You know as 
 well as myself there has been no advertising, no de- 
 ceptive booming of it. It's fought its way, slowly but 
 surely. It's selling simply because it interests people 
 I hope I'm not conceited if I say because it's worth 
 buying. The people have found it out." 
 
 Frances looked at him anxiously. "Oh, Dick; I 
 don't like to see you too hopeful," she pleaded. "Sup- 
 posing it doesn't last." 
 
 "Supposing! Not last!" He released her hand and 
 pushed her from him roughly. "There is no supposing, 
 I tell you. Do you think I am a vulgar braggart? 
 I'm telling you the truth. I didn't suppose you would
 
 20O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 doubt my word. But if you can't believe me, go to 
 the publisher and ask him. Or if you want more 
 proofs, look at these. They don't lie." 
 
 He held out a handful of gold boastfully towards 
 her. 
 
 "Did the publisher pay you all that for your book?" 
 she asked. The money fascinated her. It seemed to 
 her a great deal. 
 
 "All that! Pooh, that is a mere drop in the bucket," 
 he retorted, stung by her incredulous tone. "Look 
 here, this is on account of my next book." 
 
 He held the check before her eyes, but in such a 
 manner that she could not read how small the amount 
 was. 
 
 "If things go on as they've begun, and the publisher 
 says there isn't a doubt of that, I shall make at least 
 three thousand off this book. I put the figures at about 
 one-half of what they may amount to." 
 
 Frances clasped her hands tightly in serious alarm. 
 She had been afraid that he would be excited and hope- 
 ful. But she had not expected he would be so ter- 
 ribly excited, so extravagantly hopeful. She had ex- 
 pected to dampen his enthusiasm a little, to control it,
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 2O1 
 
 until the success of buying up the first edition should 
 be demonstrated beyond a doubt. But he was so des- 
 perately in earnest he frightened her. She longed to 
 warn him to make him less hopeful. But she could 
 not. She dared not tell him the truth. She had not 
 the courage to disappoint him so. She looked at him 
 in silence. 
 
 "The second edition went like that." Textor 
 snapped his thumb and finger exultantly. "But the 
 first two editions were merely five hundred each. This 
 third edition is fifteen hundred. If it moves as it has 
 begun and there's no reason why it should not 
 there will be a fourth edition in a week. An edition of 
 two thousand. So far, the book has been on sale only 
 in New York. Now the publisher is going to scatter it 
 broadcast through all the country." 
 
 "But if it shouldn't succeed so well in other cities?" 
 "It will. It must. New York sets the pace for all 
 things literary and artistic. Why, Frances, dear girl, 
 what is the matter? Why is it that you have believed 
 in me when all things were black, but now, when for- 
 tune smiles, you begin to doubt? Why is it that when 
 I rush<up here, an hour after I hear of my success, SQ
 
 2O2 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 eager for your congratulations and praise, to hear you 
 say how happy you are I find you cold and unmoved. 
 Oh, Fan; I thought you above all would care." 
 
 "Oh, Dick, dear old boy; I do care more than all 
 the wide world more than anybody else could care." 
 
 Tears filled her eyes. 
 
 "Then Frances, my own girl, you know what this 
 success means to me. As I said, it means the whole 
 world to me yourself. I can go to your father now. 
 I can tell him I have fulfilled his condition. I can tell 
 him I have succeeded. Frances, you must know what 
 I mean." 
 
 "No, no, Dick. Not yet. Please not yet. Let's be 
 patient. He will be so business-like. He will ask you 
 about everything the figures." 
 
 Textor made an impatient gesture. 
 
 "Wait! Haven't I waited? Wait for what, in 
 heaven's name? I shall wait no longer. I don't care 
 what he asks me. I can answer him with the figures 
 you seem to worry about so much. I'm not afraid to 
 tell him all the circumstances. With an income of 
 three thousand " 
 
 "Three thousand!"
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 203 
 
 Frances gasped hysterically. She held on to the 
 sides of the hammock, not to burst into a wild fit of 
 laughter. It was cruel. 
 
 "Yes, three thousand," he answered defiantly. 
 ''Aren't you willing to start life with me if I have that 
 amount?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, dear Dick. With nothing, but " 
 
 "Then why can't you believe in me?" he asked 
 angrily. He poured a stream of gold from hand to 
 hand. Then he flipped one of the five dollar pieces to 
 the gardener who was working at his flower beds. 
 "Drink my health, John," he cried. 
 
 The man caught the coin and looked at it doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "Why, it's gold, sir," he said, holding it up. 
 
 "Well, what of it?" Then he looked at Frances and 
 said bitterly, "I don't care for the money if you don't 
 care for me." 
 
 She regarded him with deep disapproval. 
 
 "You act like a foolish, reckless school-boy," she 
 said coldly. "Not like a man." 
 
 "Oh, I'm a fool. I know it, Frances." Textor 
 looked at her miserably. He clenched the railing of
 
 2O4 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 the piazza with both hands. "But Frances, my pre- 
 cious girl, what is it that has come between us? Don't 
 you care for me any more, Fan? Don't you love me?" 
 
 "Yes, I love you, Richard," she said simply, and held 
 out her hands to him imploringly in that charming 
 way of hers. And Textor, regardless of the apparently 
 unconscious gardener, raised them to his lips and 
 kissed them. 
 
 Frances felt a great tenderness for him. She longed 
 to tell him everything to tell him the whole truth. 
 She had never dreamed that she would have found it 
 so hard to act her innocent part. His earnestness 
 made it very hard for her. She was afraid. But if it 
 was for his good? If it was inevitable?" 
 
 "Dick," she said softly, lifting up her troubled little 
 face to his as he stooped over her, "Dick, would you be 
 very angry if I told you something?" 
 
 "No, nothing can make me angry with you if you 
 care for me," he murmured. "Nothing, Frances." 
 
 "Dear old Dick, do you love me so much?" 
 
 "Yes. So much." 
 
 "More than all your success, Dick?" 
 
 "Success and yourself are inseparable, sweetheart,"
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 2O$ 
 
 "Then Dick, supposing I had done something that 
 you thought wasn't wise, but if I thought it for your 
 good if I thought it would help you, and if it really 
 did help you, perhaps, but if it humiliated you Dick, 
 would you love me then? Even if it humiliated you 
 very much?" 
 
 The words seemed to choke her. She caught his 
 hand and held it very tightly, as if some physical 
 terror menaced her. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean, Frances." 
 
 "I mean I mean oh, Dick, I'm so wretched, so 
 very wretched." 
 
 "Then never mind, dearest. There, cheer up. If 
 you love me, I don't mind about anything." 
 
 "Are you sure? Oh, but I must mind. I want to 
 tell you. I did it for your good, Dick." 
 
 Again he said uneasily, "I don't really know what 
 you mean, Frances. I wish you would try to be more 
 clear." 
 
 "I will tell you soon. You shall understand every- 
 thing. I'm sure everything will be all right. But you 
 must be patient. You mustn't rely too much on this 
 success. It may be only temporary. You must write 
 another book very soon/'
 
 206 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Of course I shall," said Textor irritably, "You 
 are morbid, Frances. Are you not well? If you are 
 hiding anything from me that might separate us, tell 
 me." 
 
 She laughed hysterically. Her ringers played ner- 
 vously with the meshes of the hammock. She ruffled 
 his hair. 
 
 "What a silly old boy it is. It is making a mountain 
 out of a molehill." 
 
 "It is you who are making a mountain out of a mole- 
 hill. If you have nothing to tell me, very well. If you 
 have, then in heaven's name let's have done with it." 
 
 He frowned down at her and tugged at his mus- 
 tache perplexedly. 
 
 "There's nothing to have done with," she said, her 
 courage failing her at the last moment. 
 
 She rose from the hammock, and pretended to ar- 
 range her hair. But her ringers trembled, and he 
 could see the color in her face die away, and surge up 
 to the temples again. 
 
 "Don't protest. If you say there's nothing you are 
 hiding from me, why, I'm glad, that's all. But you 
 seemed so troubled, you frightened me. Let's find 
 your aunts."
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 2O? 
 
 Frances sank into one of the big rockers and cried 
 softly. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, I wish I hadn't been so foolish as to have 
 worried you. It wasn't necessary. I never dreamed 
 of doing it. But you were so hopeful, I wished not 
 to have you disappointed. You need 'never have 
 known. I intended you should not until afterwards. 
 I am afraid it may make you unhappy less confident 
 of yourself. But, indeed it need not. We did it to help 
 you Aunt Ruth, Aunt Elsie and I. I asked them to." 
 
 She stood by his side and put one hand beseechingly 
 on his shoulder. He looked beyond her. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked huskily. "Is is it anything 
 to do with my book?" 
 
 "You have heard me say so often, dear, dear old boy, 
 that no one longed for you to succeed more than my- 
 self no, not a hundredth part as much. And I 
 thought, oh, if I could only help. If I could only get 
 people to read it. They would see what a good book 
 it is. Then I thought I saw a way." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "And you seemed to be so miserable when it ap- 
 parently had failed, Dick. And then Aunt Ruth or
 
 208 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 Aunt Elsie half suggested the way. Oh, Dick, you 
 aren't angry, are you?" 
 
 "You are not clear, Frances," he said in an un- 
 moved voice. "You have not told me any reason why 
 I should be angry yet." 
 
 "And so Aunt Ruth, Aunt Elsie and I we 
 planned" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You needn't be so serious, Dick. Really, it's noth- 
 ing, but Aunt Ruth wanted to buy several of your 
 books to have them put in the libraries. And so we 
 ordered we bought at the different stores a number 
 of copies. That's all. Really I'm very nervous to 
 have thought so much of it." 
 
 "How many books did you buy?" he asked in a 
 strained voice. He was very pale. "A hundred?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps a hundred." 
 
 "Two hundred?" 
 
 "Really, Dick, I am not sure. You see we oh, 
 Dick, please don't be angry." 
 
 "I asked you if you bought two hundred. Tell me 
 the truth, Frances." 
 
 "Yes," she whispered.
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 209 
 
 "Three hundred?" 
 
 "Perhaps, but" 
 
 "In other words," he said very slowly and very 
 sternly, "you and your aunts have bought up the whole 
 of the first edition." 
 
 "Not quite all, Dick." She looked at him beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Now I can understand why you were not more 
 surprised at this thing." He took the paper contain- 
 ing the announcement of his third edition from the 
 railing and tore it into a hundred pieces. "That's how 
 my dreams end like this. I have not succeeded after 
 all. I am a sham. I am a failure." 
 . He groped for his hat on the chair as if he were 
 half-blinded, and buttoned up his coat with trembling 
 hands. 
 
 Frances watched him silently. Her fingers were 
 locked together. But he did not look at her. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I should be glad you have told me 
 the truth. But it stings." 
 
 "Oh, Dick, please don't be foolish," she said tear- 
 fully. 
 
 "Don't! Don't try to smooth things over. Can't
 
 2IO THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 you see that you have done a most cruel thing? Can't 
 you see that it was a most dishonest thing to do? 
 You should have thought of the publisher if you 
 couldn't be thoughtful enough to see the consequences 
 for me. He is spending hundreds of dollars, perhaps, 
 to advertise and push a book for which after all there 
 is no real demand. He ought to be told. But, by 
 heaven, I have been humiliated enough already in 
 hearing this. I shan't tell him. As for myself, I say 
 nothing. But it wasn't kindness. It was folly. I 
 can't face your father after this. I feel like a boy who 
 has been cajoled by a plaything. It meant more to me 
 than that. I never felt so small." 
 
 He spoke in a dull, monotonous tone, and started to 
 walk down the piazza steps. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, where are you going? You are cruel. 
 We only did it because we hoped it might help you 
 to succeed. It may yet. If you'd only be patient." 
 
 "If I am very patient, perhaps you will buy up an- 
 other edition," he said tauntingly. 
 
 "Dick," she implored, "we aren't going to part 
 not like this." 
 
 "I shall go to the West to-morrow," he answered
 
 A NOVELIST UNMANNED. 211 
 
 in a cold voice, lifting his hat formally. "Good-after- 
 noon. My regards to the Misses Fairfax." 
 
 "But, Dick, you aren't really in earnest?" she said 
 piteously. 
 
 "I am afraid it was all a fatal mistake." 
 He turned and left her, and she watched him with- 
 out moving until he had disappeared behind the fir 
 trees.
 
 2 12 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 FRANCES was still standing on the piazza., gazing va- 
 cantly at the fir trees, when Miss Ruth, her eyes spark- 
 ling with excitement and pleasure, stepped out of the 
 dining-room through the French window. 
 
 "Frances," she cried gaily, "are we not magnificent 
 business people? The third edition! Fancy! When 
 will dear Richard come, I wonder? I long to see his 
 radiant face. Really, you are the greatest girl. I 
 shall never call you frivolous again. Nor shall I per- 
 mit Elsie to do so. The third edition! In so short a 
 time. Fancy!" 
 
 She held the paper containing the announcement 
 before her niece's face, and let it float to the wind. 
 
 "Yes, I have seen it, Aunt Ruth." Frances put it 
 aside gently. 
 
 Miss Ruth looked at her in consternation. 
 
 "My dear child, what is it?"
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 213 
 
 "He has been here, Aunt Ruth." Frances spoke 
 wearily. "He says it was all a mistake. He will never 
 care for me again." 
 
 "Come here, child. Sit on auntie's lap. Now tell 
 me all about it. Not care for you again? The idea!" 
 
 She seated herself in one of the big rockers, and took 
 Frances in her arms, just as she had often done in 
 years gone by when she used to bribe the restless little 
 Frances with a quarter, if she would only sit in auntie's 
 lap five minutes. She folded her arms protectingly 
 about her as if to shield her from trouble. 
 
 "I had to tell him everything, Aunt Ruth. He 
 compelled me to. I thought, before I told him, that he 
 would be grateful. But he was dreadfully angry. His 
 pride was so hurt. And he was pale, very pale, Aunt 
 Ruth. He said it has all been a fatal mistake. He will 
 never care for me again." 
 
 Miss Ruth patted Frances gently on the back. 
 "There, there. Is he angry, child, because we bought 
 up his books? Is that it, child?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. He thought the book was selling because 
 it was a good book because it was worth succeeding. 
 Now he savs he's a sham a failure."
 
 214 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Ruth angrily. "That 
 is nonsense, Frances; perfect nonsense!" 
 
 Frances shook her head mournfully. 
 
 "And oh, Aunt Ruth, he says it was actually dis- 
 honest. He says the publisher is spending a great deal 
 of money under a false impression. He is spending 
 money to advertise a book for which there is no real 
 demand. He says the book will fall flat as soon as this 
 false demand shall have ceased." 
 
 Again Miss Ruth said, "Nonsense!" But she said it 
 less decidedly. 
 
 "He insists that the publisher ought to be told. But 
 he has been too humiliated already to tell him himself. 
 Aunt Ruth, do you suppose it is our duty to tell him?" 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Ruth for the third 
 time. But she said it very faintly indeed. 
 
 Frances sprang to her feet with that look of in- 
 domitable determination on her face that character- 
 ized her when a duty was to be performed. 
 
 "If we have to do it," she cried, "then let us do it at 
 once. We will all go. Aunt Elsie, yourself, and I." 
 
 "We will see your Aunt Elsie," said Miss Ruth in a 
 troubled voice. "She has a more delicate perception in
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 21$ 
 
 these matters than myself. She saw what an elephant 
 this house would be on our hands. She warned us 
 against buying up Richard's books without telling him 
 first. If she says the publisher must be told, we will 
 tell him." 
 
 It was a very troubled faculty meting, this last meet- 
 ing of the faculty of Philanthropist Hall, at which one 
 was absent. But the conclusion was inevitable accord- 
 ing to Miss Elsie's nicely-poised conscience. The pub- 
 lisher must be told of their share in helping the sale of 
 the book. He must not spend dollars under a false 
 impression, however disagreeable it may be to en- 
 lighten him. 
 
 So the next morning Miss Ruth, Miss Elsie and 
 Frances, sorrowfully, and in great apprehension, filed 
 into the private office of the senior member of the 
 firm of Laman & Winslow. 
 
 He received them deferentially, somewhat at a loss 
 how to place them. 
 
 "An author, perhaps?" He bowed at Frances. 
 
 "No," said Frances, blushing. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 He rubbed his hands and lighted a cigar, but put it 
 back on his desk with apologies.
 
 2l6 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Pray smoke, sir," said Miss Ruth nervously. 
 
 She dimly felt that the soul of man is often appeased 
 by a good cigar. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," said the publisher, eyeing 
 the three ladies keenly, and wondering what in the 
 world could make them so fidgety. 
 
 "We fear, sir, that we may have done you an in- 
 justice. If so, we are come to do what is in our power 
 to atone for it. At least we hope to prevent further 
 misapprehension in the future." 
 
 "Thank you. That is very good of you, I'm sure," 
 said Mr. Laman, wiping his eye-glasses and staring 
 at Miss Ruth in great perplexity. 
 
 "You published about three months ago a book 
 called 'By the Sweat of his Brow,' sir." 
 
 "We did," cried the publisher proudly. "I do as- 
 sure you, madam, I am proud of that book. I re- 
 gard the author as a special protege of mine. I may 
 say that I discovered him. My readers all rejected his 
 manuscript. But by chance I read it myself. I be- 
 lieved in it. I still believed in it when it had fallen 
 flat. And now that it promises to be one of the books 
 of the year, I am proud to say that my confidence is
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 217 
 
 more than justified. Yes; that is my pet book. I am 
 very proud of it, I do assure you, madam." 
 
 He adjusted his glasses and looked at Miss Ruth 
 inquiringly. 
 
 "My sister and myself, then, have shared that con- 
 fidence with you. It grieved us immeasurably to see 
 that the book at first was not appreciated by the pub- 
 lic. It seemed to us a strong book. We believed in 
 the ideas it contained." 
 
 "So did I," cried the publisher, banging his fist on 
 the table. "They are right." 
 
 "And so," continued Miss Ruth, a faint blush on 
 either withered cheek, "we wished to do what we could 
 to spread those ideas. And so and so we and so 
 we " 
 
 Miss Ruth paused, quite unable to end the sentence. 
 But Miss Elsie continued firmly: 
 
 "And so we purchased a great many copies, sir." 
 
 "Ah, that's the way to show you believe in things. 
 There's no doubt of that, madam. Money talks." 
 
 "In fact," continued Miss Elsie, timidly, "several 
 hundred." 
 
 The publisher leaped to his feet.
 
 2l8 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Several hundred, mam! Not of the jobbers? 
 
 "No, at the booksellers' shops. Practically the first 
 edition," continued Miss Elsie unflinchingly, but in a 
 very faint voice. 
 
 The publisher looked at the three ladies, very much 
 dazed indeed. 
 
 "The first edition! At the stores!" he echoed. 
 "Why that explains " 
 
 He rang the bell of the telephone frantically. 
 
 "Give me ion. I want to see Mr. Stanley, the 
 printer. Hello, is this you, Stanley? Well, how many 
 of those 'By the Sweat of His Brows' have you 
 printed? Have you begun on the second thousand 
 yet? No? Good. Then stop the presses. Yes, that's 
 what I said, stop the presses. Don't print another 
 copy until you hear from me. There's been a mis- 
 take." 
 
 Laman then called up, "The New Jersey Bookbind- 
 ing Concern." 
 
 "How many copies of 'By the Sweat of His Brow' 
 have you bound? Five hundred eight hundred? 
 Eight hundred, did you say? Well, I revoke the pre- 
 vious order. Suspend all work on the book till you
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 2 19 
 
 hear from me again. There's been a mistake. I shall 
 explain later." 
 
 When he had given these orders, Laman crunched 
 up in his hand a memoranda that lay on his desk for 
 advertising. Then he seated himself in his office chair 
 again, and wheeled about and faced the three fright- 
 ened ladies. 
 
 "There!" he said, glaring at them. 
 
 "It it is fortunate we were in time," faltered Miss 
 Ruth. 
 
 "Hump, madam! I wish you could have made up 
 your minds to have been a few days more in time. I 
 may lose a good deal of money if the book is selling 
 simply on the strength of your boom. Another time 
 you decide to buy up an edition of my books I wish 
 you would be kind enough to let me know in ad- 
 vance. Good-morning, ladies." 
 
 He turned to his desk. He was very angry. 
 
 "Mr. Laman," Miss Ruth spoke with a quiet dig- 
 nity, though her voice trembled, "we are sincerely 
 sorry that we have made a mistake. We are willing to 
 do what we can to remedy it. Any indebtedness that 
 may be incurred through our indiscretion shall
 
 22O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 promptly be cancelled by my sister and myself. Good- 
 morning, sir." 
 
 The publisher had been slowly wheeling his chair 
 about, so that he was now facing them. 
 
 "Do you mean to say," he cried, "that you are will- 
 ing to pay any deficit that may occur because you 
 bought up that first edition?" 
 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie bowed. 
 
 He looked at them in astonishment. 
 
 "Will you be kind enough to be seated again. I 
 want to think." 
 
 He sat with his chin in his hand, frowning out of 
 the window. Presently he made an impatient gesture. 
 
 "Will you please tell me when you last bought any 
 books at the stores?" 
 
 Miss Ruth looked at her sister. "It was two weeks 
 ago, was it not, Elsie?" 
 
 Miss Elsie nodded assent. 
 
 "And now will you tell me just how you managed 
 to boom the book without my knowing it? You will 
 see my reason for asking presently." 
 
 Miss Ruth briefly recounted their commercial ad- 
 venture. The publisher listened with the greatest at- 
 tention.
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 221 
 
 When Miss Ruth had finished, he drummed his fin- 
 gers on his desk. Then he nibbled at a pen. At last he 
 rose and rung the bell of the telephone once more. 
 
 "Now I'm going to show you how unbusiness-like 
 the business man can be sometimes," he said. 
 
 "Give me 1101 again, please. Is this Mr. Stanley? 
 Well, will you ignore what I just said? Yes, are you 
 deaf? ignore it. Go ahead with the printing. Yes, 
 print the whole lot." 
 
 The same orders were practically given to the book- 
 binding company. 
 
 Laman flung himself triumphantly in the chair, and 
 enjoyed the amazement of the ladies hugely. 
 
 "Could I be more unbusiness-like than that?" he 
 demanded. "But I want to ask you a question: You 
 didn't buy up all the books in Hartford, did you, or in 
 Boston or Lynn?" 
 
 "Of course not," replied Miss Ruth, hopefully. 
 "Only in New York." 
 
 "Then by the great horn spoon, the book must be 
 selling on its merits. Look here, madam, here are 
 orders for twenty copies at Hartford, and here are re- 
 orders from Boston,"
 
 222 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Then," expostulated Miss Elsie, "why did you 
 countermand your orders at the printer and book- 
 binder, sir?" 
 
 "That's a sensible question. I can't give as sensible 
 an answer, however. The fact is, my crying fault in 
 business is to be too cautious. I want the earth for 
 nothing, you see. I can't bear to take chances. So 
 when you told me you had bought up the whole first 
 edition, instead of being grateful to you for spending 
 your money to push the books of my authors, I got 
 scared and lost my head. I forgot all about those re- 
 orders. I was afraid I was going to lose money. Do 
 you see? But when you, madam" he bowed to Miss 
 Ruth "told me how you were willing to pay any 
 losses I might have incurred, I saw myself in a truer 
 light. I'm not very clear, maybe. But that's the best 
 I know how to say. One of my authors could put it 
 in better language. And suppose that this boom is 
 going to fall through? Well, you are willing to spend 
 a few hundreds of dollars without any reward, and I, 
 who would certainly get something and believe in the 
 ideas, too, am afraid to spend a little, eh? No, sir. I 
 believe in those ideas. They are right. I'll make that
 
 MISS RUTH TO THE RESCUE. 223 
 
 book go or I'll never publish another. But go it 
 shall." 
 
 And Laman brought his great, fat fist down on the 
 table with so tremendous a bang that the paper-weight 
 and the ink-stand and his cigars all bobbed up and 
 down in an agitated manner. 
 
 "Mr. Laman, I don't know how we shall thank you," 
 said Miss Ruth, smiling through happy tears. 
 
 "You are an old dear," said Frances but not quite 
 aloud. 
 
 "Thank me, madam? It's I who ought to thank 
 you. Believe in that book still. And I hope you'll let 
 me apologize, ladies, if I have been rude." 
 
 "Oh, you have been most kind," chorused Miss 
 Ruth and Miss Elsie. 
 
 They filed out of the office again, Laman accom- 
 panying them to the elevator. 
 
 "Call at any time," said the publisher. "It will be as 
 good as a tonic to see people who believe in my books 
 so much that they buy up whole editions. Good- 
 morning, ladies. Good-morning." 
 
 When they entered the carriage that was standing 
 outside for them, Miss Ruth said to the footman in a 
 firm voice:
 
 224 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "The Judson, 53 Washington Square, South." 
 
 Frances blushed. 
 
 "Why, that's Dick's I mean, Mr. Textor's hotel." 
 
 "It is," said Miss Ruth grimly. "I am not going to 
 let you silly young folks be miserable if an old woman 
 can help it." 
 
 And in spite of the somewhat hypocritical protests of 
 Frances, inquiries were made of the clerk for Mr. 
 Richard Bryce Textor. 
 
 "He has left within an hour, madam, for the West," 
 answered the clerk. 
 
 "And his address, please?" 
 
 "He left none, madam." 
 
 "Then by which railroad did he leave? We might 
 catch him." 
 
 "I couldn't say, madam."
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS AGAINE." 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 "MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS AGAINE." 
 
 ALL came. Philanthropist Hall was deserted. Miss 
 Ruth and Miss Elsie had gone back to their city home, 
 taking Frances with them. Still no word came from 
 Textor. 
 
 The editions of his book crept steadily upwards and 
 upwards to the ninth. 
 
 There, for a time, the sales ceased. Every village 
 library from Maine to California had a thumbed copy 
 on its shelves. Every club had discussed its problems. 
 But just when Laman was talking with the junior 
 partner of the advisability of getting out a cheap paper 
 edition, an ex-prime minister of England sent on a 
 postal card hearty and extravagant praises to Textor 
 in care of his publishers. The publisher promptly had 
 its contents printed in every newspaper of importance 
 in the United States and Canada; and the editions 
 started with new life, and went climbing upward again,
 
 226 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 till the fifteenth edition was reached, and the twenty- 
 fifth thousand was in the shop windows. Then, at 
 last, the newspapers and the clubs and the debating 
 societies wearied of discussing "By the Sweat of his 
 Brow," and waited for its author's next book. 
 
 Not a day passed that Laman did not rejoice and 
 despair. Pie rejoiced over the editions. He gloried 
 over his discovery. He lorded it over the junior 
 literary partner. He rejoiced that he had paid some- 
 thing in advance to insure the author's next book; but 
 he despaired daily that neither author nor book was 
 forthcoming. 
 
 Christmas came. The publishers had made out 
 their yearly statement. The royalties had almost 
 reached the figures Textor had wildly dreamed of, and 
 still he did not come to claim them. 
 
 When Textor had gone back to his home in Michi- 
 gan, it was only to find his parents about to leave for 
 an indefinite stay abroad. He had resolutely refused 
 to accompany them. He even refused his father's 
 parting advice to take up novel-writing as his profes- 
 sion. He was sick of the quill. He was sick of cities. 
 Even the little inland city of his birthplace, with its
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS AGAINE." 22/ 
 
 quiet streets, lined with poplar and maple trees, seemed 
 to him artificial and stupid. He longed for the wider 
 freedom of the skies and woods. He wanted to get 
 away from the world to bury himself to forget 
 things for a while at least. 
 
 His father had called him a fool. But he had given 
 his son permission to look after his lumbering inter- 
 ests in the Northern Peninsular. So Textor had 
 camped out in the woods, in places where the latest 
 books are five years old, where literary critics are un- 
 heard of. 
 
 He led a wild, free life. He tramped through the 
 great, silent forests of pine. He followed streams to 
 their source after trout. He camped by the lakes, fish- 
 ing for the mighty muscalonge. He stalked deer, and 
 in the joy of living and killing he forgot his petty ambi- 
 tions. He tried to forget Frances. But he thought of 
 her when the camp fire flickered at the dead of night, 
 and when he crouched behind logs of trees for the 
 passing deer. 
 
 At last the longing for her became unbearable. He 
 turned his face toward the cities again. But just 
 when he was on the border-land of civilization he was 
 stricken down with typhoid fever in a logging camp.
 
 228 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 Late in November they carried him, weak but con- 
 valescent, to a mining town where, late before winter, 
 three thousand miners marched menacingly through 
 the streets, and where at last the militia ruled sternly 
 in martial law. 
 
 Textor had sworn to put away the pen forever, when 
 he left New York. But his old interest in the condi- 
 tion of the masses came back as he lived with the 
 striking miners, as he gained their confidence, ate their 
 food and entered their houses. They trusted him, and 
 he made them speeches and advised them. 
 
 When the miners were crushed and driven back by 
 hunger, Textor withdrew to the outskirts of the vil- 
 lage and began his new novel, "The Striker." 
 
 He knew the joy of living indeed now. He forgot 
 the world. For a time he even forgot Frances. Far 
 into each night he wrote. It astonished him how 
 easily. But the struggles in writing the former book 
 helped him. He did not have to tear up nearly so 
 many pages. 
 
 By the first of the next year it was finished. He 
 knew that it was crude. He would have to spend 
 many weeks working it into shape. He knew, also,
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS AGAINE." 229 
 
 that the story was there a grim, dark story. He be- 
 lieved that it would stir the hearts of men and women, 
 because his own heart had been stirred in writing it. 
 
 When at last it was really finished, and he had writ- 
 ten "End," he awoke one morning and felt homesick 
 for the roar of traffic, for theaters, and, above all, for 
 Frances. 
 
 So one morning he leaped joyously out of bed, and 
 put on his city clothes again, and bought a ticket for 
 New York, his precious manuscript in a bag that never 
 left his hand. 
 
 He was fairly in the heart of the East before he dis- 
 covered that "The Striker" was not to make him fa- 
 mous. He was famous already. 
 
 Laman laughed and almost cried for joy over his ap- 
 pearance among the living again. But when the pub- 
 lisher had himself taken him over to the bank, and 
 had deposited a check with four figures in the name of 
 Textor, the novelist took train to Clifton Hills. 
 
 No footsteps broke the smooth surface of the snow 
 on the drive to the Hall. The shutters were closed. 
 The place was silent and deserted. Textor had not 
 expected really to find them there. But he had not
 
 23O THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 thought the place would make him so very melan- 
 choly. It made him feel more than that. He had 
 played the part of a fool and an egotist. He had 
 wounded hw in his selfish pride, and every dollar of 
 the money in the bank really belonged to her. She 
 had created the first demand for his book. And he 
 had almost hated her for doing it. 
 
 He walked mournfully around the piazza, looking 
 through the shutters. And presently he came to a 
 blind where faintly, yet not so faintly that he could not 
 decipher the words, was Hattie Car's startling revela- 
 tion to the world: "Mister Textore kised Francess." 
 
 He returned to the city, feeling that nothing would 
 be worth while after all, unless Frances would forgive 
 him. 
 
 He dressed himself in splendid attire the next morn- 
 ing. Eliza, who one year ago ogled him when he en- 
 tered the basement kitchen for his quarter of a dollar, 
 would never have dared to ogle this magnificent crea- 
 ture. 
 
 As he entered Gramercy Park it was snowing, 
 and actually, at the house of the Misses Fairfax, there 
 was another young man shoveling the snow off their 
 door-steps.
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KlSED FRANCESS AGAlNE." 23! 
 
 Textor walked almost up to the door. Then his 
 courage failed him. He was afraid to face those gen- 
 tle old ladies. He had been rude and unjust to them 
 as well as to Frances. 
 
 So he gave the astonished young man who was 
 shoveling the snow a half dollar a disreputable young 
 man, who did not, Textor exultantly noticed, shovel 
 the snow half as energetically as he himself had done a 
 year ago and walked away, finding it impossible to 
 call that day. 
 
 But not so hastily that quick little feet did not over- 
 take him, that a little hand did not slip delightedly 
 in his, that little legs did not dance ecstatically up and 
 down. 
 
 Textor took her in his arms. He could have cried 
 over her, he was so glad to see the Small Adventuress. 
 As for the Small Adventuress herself, she cried and 
 laughed at the same time. He carried her back to the 
 house. The door was wide open; and Miss Ruth and 
 Miss Elsie stood there, just as they had done a year 
 ago; and they both also cried and laughed over the 
 prodigal's return.
 
 232 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "I found him! I found him!" cried the Small Ad- 
 venturess, still dancing ecstatically on her toes. "I 
 shall hold him very tight so that he cannot run away 
 again." 
 
 "Yes, hold him, Hattie. Hold him very, very tight," 
 said Miss Ruth, smiling through her tears. 
 
 "I shall never run away again," said the novelist, in 
 deep content, "now that you have forgiven me 
 never." 
 
 Then he told them what had happened to him the 
 past few months, and they told him how they were 
 going to turn Philanthropist Hall into a hospital for 
 crippled children. 
 
 "And so we have both got rid of our elephants," 
 said Textor, smiling. "And have you heard from Mr. 
 and Mrs. Coxe lately?" 
 
 "Yes. Mrs. Coxe secured a divorce at last. Mr. 
 Coxe was advertised at Huber's as a living skeleton, 
 so Hattie says. But Hattie's imagination is still so 
 strong that we receive the statement with a grain of 
 salt." 
 
 "But he is," persisted the Small Adventuress, stoutly. 
 "I felt one of his bones and said, 'How do you do?' 
 And he groaned."
 
 " MISTER TEXTORE KISED FRANCESS AGAINE." 233 
 
 Textor did not dare to ask about Frances. But 
 Miss Elsie read his thoughts, and remarked casually, 
 "Frances is spending the day with us. She is out 
 shopping just at present." 
 
 "Here she is! Here she is!" cried the Small Ad- 
 venturess, dancing as usual ecstatically on her toes. 
 She waved her handkerchief wildly at a young wo- 
 man who stepped out of a carriage, wrapped in furs, 
 her arms loaded with toys. 
 
 Then the portieres were drawn aside, and Frances 
 came in swiftly, just as she had the day Textor first 
 met her in that very room. 
 
 She gave a little glad cry and dropped all the pre- 
 cious toys, much to Hattie's indignation. Then Tex- 
 tor, regardless of the presence of the maiden aunts, 
 put his arms about her and kissed her. 
 
 Miss Ruth and Miss Elsie glided softly from the 
 room, Miss Ruth beckoning fiercely at the Small 
 Adventuress, who did not, of course, understand what 
 it was Miss Ruth wanted, and hid behind a rocking- 
 chair and giggled very, very softly, with her pinafore 
 in her mouth. 
 
 "Then, Frances, sweetheart, you really forgive me 
 for being so cruel?" asked the contrite novelist.
 
 234 THE TWO WHITE ELEPHANTS. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, dear old boy, there is nothing whatever 
 for me to forgive. But I'm very, very proud that you 
 have come back so famous. And have you written 
 anything new since you have been gone?" 
 
 "My new novel, 'The Striker,' is locked up in the 
 publisher's safe at this very moment." 
 
 "You'll let me help with the proofs, won't you? And 
 Dick, aren't you very glad we shan't have to employ 
 the 'little booming squad' to make this one popular?" 
 
 Hattie listened attentively to his answer. To her 
 surprise it was not expressed in words. It seemed to 
 amuse her very much. She stuffed her pinafore in her 
 mouth, and printed these two sentences on the back of 
 the arm-chair with a piece of chalk she dearly prized: 
 
 "Mister Textore Kised Francess Againe. I Saw 
 Him With My Own Eyes." 
 
 THE END.