IC-NRLF 
 
 I 
 
 Hi 
 
 B 
 
 ARREl r WE 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 DAVIS 
 


 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 THE DUCHESS EMILIA. 
 
 & Romance. 
 
 i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 " The plot is as weird as one of Hawthorne's wildest, but the picture 
 ii wonderfully painted." The Churchman. 
 
 " One of the literary events of the season. One of the most striking 
 features of this romance of metempsychosis is the delicate poetic 
 feeling with which he has invested it. The plot is one Hawthorne 
 would have chosen." The Springfield Republican. 
 
 " The leading conception is very noble, especially after the hope of 
 redeeming one's self is exchanged for the higher aim to lose one's self 
 in the happiness of others." The Nation. 
 
 " It is an original, ingenious, and, in some respects, powerful story ; 
 its materials the rich and august elements of Roman life." The Lit- 
 erary World. 
 
 " It is an admirable and poetic romance of Rome of forty years ago, 
 the mysterious and semi-feudal Rome of Pope Gregory and his Car- 
 dinals, full of rich reminiscences of the ancient papal families, the 
 Barberini, Colonna, and others, and saturated in the dreamy atmos- 
 phere of the Campagna in the States of the Church." 
 
 Sold by Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Pub- 
 lishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, BOSTON. 
 
 
 
RANKELL'S REMAINS 
 
 AN AMERICAN NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 BARRETT ^ENDELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE DUCHESS EMILIA" 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 1887 
 
 LIBRARY 
 

 Copyright, /556, 
 BY TlCKNOR AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION ............. 9 
 
 RANKELL .............. 15 
 
 THE WYBORNES ..... ....... 43 
 
 THE LOTTIMERS ............ 129 
 
 THE CONVENTION ........... 201 
 
 THE END OF RANKELL ......... 261 
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. MARY THE VIRGIN . . . 279 
 
 RANKELL'S REMAINS . . ........ 299 
 
 CONCLUSION .... ......... 315 
 
 

 
 
 Copyright, /556, 
 BY TlCKNOR AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Snibtrsitg JJrrss : 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 - 
 
 PAQB 
 
 INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 RANKELL 15 
 
 THE WYBORNES 43 
 
 THE LOTTIMERS 129 
 
 THE CONVENTION 201 
 
 THE END OF RANKELL 261 
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. MARY THE VIRGIN . . . 279 
 
 RANKELL'S REMAINS . 299 
 
 CONCLUSION 315 
 

 
RANKELL'S REMAINS. 
 
 
RANKELL'S REMAINS. 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 TT is now some time since I told a little com- 
 * pany, gathered after dinner, a fragmentary 
 story that had come to my knowledge. Some 
 of them paid little attention, thinking it, I sup- 
 pose, dull and broken. But some listened from 
 beginning to end, and told me when all was 
 over, and we were parting for the night, that I 
 should do well to write it down. 
 
 I have tried to. The task has not been easy ; 
 yet the harder it has been, the better it has 
 seemed worth the doing. In the life about us 
 there are meanings that men who dabble in 
 books are apt never to see, while those who 
 see them have no time in the midst of business 
 
10 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 to write them down or even to express them in 
 their own thoughts. And this story, fragment- 
 ary as my knowledge of it is, has, at least for 
 me, a meaning that I can ill put in words, but 
 that helps me to feel, what of all things I hold 
 a man should teach himself to feel, that this 
 modern world of ours, even in our own America 
 which the fastidious are prone to sneer at, is as 
 true a passage in the great book of human life 
 as was the Greece of Homer, or the Palestine of 
 the Hebrews, or the Italy of Dante, or the Eng- 
 land of Shakspeare. The same sun lights our 
 lives ; the same shadows darken them ; the 
 same humanity lives and throbs and rejoices 
 and suffers about us, and leaves us in new 
 forms the same lessons of wisdom and of folly. 
 
 Yet after all, as I have said, my story is only 
 a few fragments, ill fitted together, and telling 
 little more of the man with whom it chiefly 
 deals than those broken bits of frieze that the 
 archaeologists uncovered at Assos tell of the 
 great temple of which they formed a part. 
 And what task was before me has often been 
 
Introduction. 11 
 
 a puzzle. Was it to make a restoration, com- 
 plete in itself but bearing in every line the 
 stamp of me, the restorer? or was it not rather 
 to place side by side what fragments I had, and 
 let whoever chose think for themselves what 
 the fragments mean ? After more than one 
 year of thought, the latter way has seemed the 
 better. 
 
 So this is what I shall tell to such as care 
 to read what I write. There lived among us, 
 in times that we can still remember, one Ran- 
 kell, a man whose name at least was known to 
 everybody, and is not yet quite forgotten. He 
 lived, and worked, and sinned, and died. His 
 life altered the lives of others that it touched, 
 now for the better, now for the worse. And 
 he left behind him sundry things that have per- 
 ished, and others that survive. 
 
 Now, it happened that at three several times 
 I came to know something of the work that, 
 meaning or unmeaning, he was doing in the 
 world; and to me that work seemed all evil. 
 But now that he is dead and the years begin 
 
12 Rankeirs Remains. 
 
 . 
 
 to pass, even though as yet they be not very 
 many, I grow to think of these matters differ- 
 ently, and to see that when we are no longer 
 left to tell of what harm he worked about us, 
 the traces of him on the earth will bear a differ- 
 ent aspect from the aspect he bore. But all 
 this I see only dimly, and can express best, I 
 think, by telling it just as it has come to me. 
 
 In this book, then, I shall tell first how Ran- 
 kell looked, and what was the common story 
 of his daily life ; for nowadays the dead ride 
 fast, and it may well be that what a few years 
 ago was common talk is already out of sight and 
 out of mind. Next, in the order in which I 
 knew them, I shall tell the three passages of 
 his life that I came to know ; and except that 
 all three concern him they have nothing in 
 common. Then I shall tell how he died, 
 and what he left behind, and finally what is 
 become of it. 
 
* 
 
 I. 
 
 RANKELL. 
 
"PRECISELY at half-past eight o'clock in 
 -*- the morning, if you happened to be walk- 
 ing down town, you might have seen emerge 
 from a brown-stone house neither more nor less 
 over-ornamented than its neighbors, a brisk little 
 gentleman in a decent black suit. Of a fine 
 day he would turn his face resolutely to the 
 business part of the city, and tramp along block 
 after block at such a rate that you would have 
 found it hard to overtake him. But you might 
 have kept near enough to observe that his 
 beaver hat was old and very carefully brushed, 
 that his clothes were a trifle threadbare but 
 scrupulously neat, and that he wore well- 
 blacked top-boots and carried a black cane 
 with a plain gold head, rather as a badge of 
 respectability than because he needed aid in 
 walking. If you happened to meet him, you 
 
16 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 might have noticed that his low-cut waistcoat 
 revealed an old-fashioned plaited shirt fastened 
 with plain pearl buttons, that his black cravat 
 was rather negligently tied about a high collar, 
 and that this collar was surmounted by a col- 
 orless little face, surrounded with thin yellow 
 hair and a bristling yellow chin-beard. And as 
 you came near enough to see that this queer 
 countenance was habitually wrinkled with a 
 fixed smile that made the light-blue eyes look 
 very cunning, and displayed a full set of teeth 
 of much the same color as the hair, you might 
 well have wondered if indeed the incon- 
 spicuous little man excited your curiosity 
 whether he was forty years old or seventy. 
 
 If the day were cloudy, you might have seen 
 the same man armed with a large cambric um- 
 brella instead of the gold-headed cane ; and at 
 such a time, when he stepped out of doors he 
 would look curiously at the heavens, and some- 
 times stand for a moment in colloquy with him- 
 self. Then, if an -omnibus came lumbering 
 along, he would often hail it, and clamber in 
 
Eankell. 17 
 
 to be borne off through the mud toward his 
 destination. The first I ever saw of him, I 
 remember, was in an omnibus one drizzling 
 winter morning. What makes me remember 
 him is that in paying his fare he accidentally 
 dropped a small coin into the straw at his 
 feet, and passed a good five minutes in hunt- 
 ing for it, to the manifest discomfort of his 
 neighbors. The act excited my sympathy, 
 particularly as some in the omnibus were 
 disposed to smile. To me the sight of an 
 elderly man treasuring his pennies was by no 
 means ludicrous ; so I offered to help in his 
 search. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," he said, rather sharply, " I 
 can find it myself ; " and sure enough, in time 
 he found it. Then, having pocketed it, he rested 
 his thin yellow hands on the handle of his um- 
 brella, and looking about with his by no means 
 contagious smile, nodded to one or two solid- 
 looking citizens in the omnibus, wishing them 
 good-morning. 
 
 " Bad weather, sir," said one of them. 
 2 
 
18 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 " Yes, 't is," he answered, with no change of 
 expression. " Any news ? " 
 
 " Don't hear of any," said his friend ; whereat 
 the little gentleman nodded briskly, and stared 
 at the opposite window lost in thought. 
 
 If you had watched this personage closely, 
 you would have discovered that at precisely 
 nine o'clock, rain or shine, he reached and 
 entered Rankell's ; and anybody in that part of 
 the town could have told you that he was Ran- 
 kell himself. Rankell's was known throughout 
 the country as the place where you could buy, 
 at the lowest price, the best quality of every- 
 thing, from kitchen furniture to French lace 
 and English harnesses. How any business had 
 ever attained such size and complexity, or hav- 
 ing attained it was ever carried on, puzzled 
 people far and wide. But the fact remained, 
 and is notable, among other things, for having 
 stirred to the utterance of parable a very sol- 
 vent banker who amuses himself with farming 
 somewhere in Connecticut. 
 
 "Well, sir," said this banker, when I once 
 
Rankell. 19 
 
 expressed wonder at the growth of Rankell's, 
 " do you know how I set to work to grow a prize 
 squash ? I get the vine well planted, and put 
 in a lot of manure, and then when the blossoms 
 come I make my man cut off all but one. When 
 that one grows, sir, it 's a whacker. I 've taken 
 prizes at the county show any time these fifteen 
 years, let alone honorable mention." 
 
 This was uttered at a political dinner, and so 
 exhausted the creative powers of the banker, 
 that for the rest of the evening he did little but 
 listen to the speeches as he contemplatively 
 chewed the end of his cigar. 
 
 Once inside his store, Rankell might have 
 been seen to thread his way through the maze 
 of counters with the skill of one who knows 
 every inch of his ground. And though busi- 
 ness was hardly begun at nine in the morning, 
 every man, woman, and child in the establish- 
 ment was sure to be in the proper place ; and 
 there was no whispering or loitering as the 
 sharp-eyed proprietor made his way to an inner 
 counting-room. Here was a single desk, and 
 
20 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 a pivot chair, and a ticker. And here, report 
 said, Rankell would sit down at once and set to 
 work. 
 
 Just how Rankell worked nobody knew, 
 except that he worked alone. Of course, cer- 
 tain superficial facts were patent. He always 
 found a pile of letters waiting for him, and 
 always opened them himself; as fast as he 
 read one he would make a note on it in pencil 
 and fling it down. And he could take in at a 
 glance letters that anybody else would have 
 puzzled over for an hour ; no eccentricity of 
 handwriting or rhetoric offered any obstacle to 
 his intelligence. When his letters were read 
 he would strike a little bell summoning his 
 confidential clerk, Mr. Lottimer, of whom 1 
 shall have something to say by and by. He 
 was called a confidential clerk, because he was 
 allowed to enter Mr. Rankell's office when any- 
 body wished to communicate with Mr. Rankell ; 
 but so far as confidences went, he knew, I take 
 it, as little of Rankell as anybody else. Rankell 
 told him what to do : Lottimer never asked 
 
Rankell. 21 
 
 or expressed an opinion ; and what opinions 
 Rankell had he always kept to himself. 
 
 Mr. Lottimer's first summons of a morning 
 was to receive a number of letters, to be an- 
 swered by the clerks. His second was usually 
 to receive other letters which Rankell had 
 thought proper to write for himself, and which 
 were to be copied in a private book. Then, 
 when Rankell had despatched his correspon- 
 dence, the brisk little man would be seen, 
 when by any chance his door was ajar, busy 
 with newspapers, with his ticker, or with some 
 of the documents that always littered his desk. 
 Every now and then he would summon Mr. 
 Lottimer for a few words of direction ; and in 
 these directions lay the mystery of his method, 
 for no one of them often appeared to have 
 anything to do with the last, yet somehow at 
 the end of the year all fitted together. 
 
 You have been at an industrial exhibition, 
 I dare say, where a machine was busily 
 making some complicated product of modern 
 ingenuity, a pair of corsets, or a silk book- 
 
22 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 mark illuminated with allegorical devices and 
 a portrait of Garfield or the Lord's Prayer ; 
 you have seen the warp rise up and down with 
 irregular regularity, like waves in a pool where 
 a stone has been thrown ; you have seen vari- 
 ous shuttles fly back and forth as wildly as 
 dragon-flies ; and by and by there has issued 
 from the machine a finished article, pronounced 
 beautiful by the manufacturer and the crowd. 
 You have seen the thing made ; but how it has 
 been made you have no idea, because you have 
 not understood the machine. Rankell was once 
 likened to a machine of this kind ; his function 
 being to weave a fortune, or, if you prefer, 
 to hammer out dollars. He was in perfect 
 working order ; and the mystery about him 
 was simply that nobody understood his mech- 
 anism. 
 
 This simile always seemed to me good. Like 
 a machine, Rankell had no friends, though 
 everybody knew him by name ; like a machine, 
 he never consulted anybody ; like a machine, 
 he never went out of his way ; and like a ma- 
 
Rankell. 23 
 
 chine, he played the devil with whatever was 
 in it. 
 
 Another fact that helped remove him from 
 ordinary humanity was that nobody rightly 
 knew where he came from. People vaguely 
 believed that he had been raised somewhere in 
 the country, and began life as a pedler. At all 
 events, there had once been a time when there 
 was no Rankell's. Then a small shop had ap- 
 peared with his name over the door ; and year 
 by year the shop had grown. The origin of the 
 germ, however, was as mysterious as if the great 
 store had been Asiatic cholera. All that people 
 definitely knew of Rankell was that when he 
 first appeared in his small shop he was already 
 a colorless little man, with faded yellow hair 
 and beard, and decent black clothes. The only 
 change ever noted in him was that when he 
 moved into the great building that made his 
 name national he first allowed himself the lux- 
 ury of a gold-headed cane. He never went into 
 society of any kind, and he never married. 
 
24 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 II. 
 
 So much the whole world knew of Rankell, 
 and more too ; for, like most things in Chris- 
 tian lands, he had one aspect for six days of the 
 week and another for the seventh. 
 
 He went to church a long way from home. 
 And as he always walked, and always made it a 
 point to be in his pew before service began, he 
 had to start betimes ; so when he stepped out 
 of doors the avenue he lived on would be almost 
 empty. The omnibuses were laid up for the 
 day ; a few carriages might be waiting at doors 
 for people still at breakfast ; an occasional baker 
 or milkman might dash about with irreverent 
 clatter, that would be all. The flagged side- 
 walks would be almost as bare as the pave- 
 ments ; so for a good while there would be 
 few to observe the change that was come over 
 Rankell. 
 
 For of a Sunday he looked old. He walked 
 slowly, pausing at street-crossings, as if the 
 
RankelL 25 
 
 gutter were an obstacle not lightly to be passed 
 over. His clothes, soberly decent as ever, 
 looked very new ; his face lost the cunning 
 lines that marked it of a week-day ; the 
 wrinkles about his small eyes and his thin 
 lips assumed a benevolent air. So with slightly 
 trembling step he would walk down block after 
 block of flagged sidewalks from the new brown- 
 stone region, where he lived alone, to older 
 streets, where square brick houses with breath- 
 ing spaces about them remain to show what 
 the town was like before Rankell or Rankell's 
 were thought of. Now and then elderly folks 
 in Sunday clothes would emerge from one of 
 these houses ; and sometimes the men would 
 bow to him, and he in return would take off 
 his unfashionable Sunday hat, putting his cane 
 under his left arm the while. 
 
 Walking at his slow pace, it took him an 
 hour to reach the church where he had been a 
 regular attendant for years ; so by the time he 
 turned into the iron gate of the churchyard, 
 open that one day of the week, there were plenty 
 
26 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 of people of the better sort and not a few of the 
 poor to keep him company at worship. 
 
 It was a queer church for Rankell to go to. 
 Most men of his kind, notable for success in 
 what everybody is trying to do, serve God in 
 churches as new and rich as themselves. Ill- 
 natured people, indeed, say that the only reason 
 they go to church at all is that in conservative 
 minds not to go would still affect their credit ; 
 so they naturally prefer conspicuous places of 
 worship, where the reporter who comes to take 
 the sermon may occasionally note their presence. 
 But old St. Peter's, where Rankell went, was 
 not a place to attract reporters. 
 
 Away back in colonial times the church had 
 been built in the midst of fields, where of a 
 Sunday the churchmen could look across rolling 
 country to the rivers that still flowed between 
 green banks. So they looked, Sunday after 
 Sunday, all through the eighteenth century ; 
 and many of them were safe in the churchyard 
 before the Revolution came to drive most of 
 the rest away, and to leave what few remained 
 
Rankell. 27 
 
 perplexed as they listened to a service with the 
 king's name stricken out. In the prayer-book 
 of St. Peter's the parson will still show you a 
 yellow piece of parchment pasted over the 
 prayer for God's servant George, the second 
 of the name, King of Great Britain, Ireland, 
 and France. After the Revolution the country 
 grew richer, and the trees in St. Peter's church- 
 yard tall and full, and the gravestones plentiful; 
 and marble memorials of the great folk began 
 to cover the walls under the galleries. Then 
 the city, which used to be far away over a coun- 
 try road, crept nearer ; and the river-banks 
 began to be covered with wharves, and great 
 ships came sailing by, instead of the smaller 
 craft that used to dot the waters. By and by, 
 you could hardly say when, the city was upon 
 the green churchyard, eddying about it as the 
 tide eddies about a little island; and before 
 Rankell's time the tide of the city had surged 
 past St. Peter's, leaving the churchyard, with 
 its century-old trees, surrounded by shops and 
 stores and apartment houses less expensive than 
 
28 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 those in fashionable neighborhoods. Now the 
 place was half forgotten, except by the descend- 
 ants of the families whose monuments were on 
 the walls or in the churchyard, and by such 
 astute poor people as understood the advantages 
 of frequenting a place of worship where the solid 
 part of the congregation inherit traditions of 
 benevolence along with fortunes two or three 
 generations old. 
 
 Rankell had gone to St. Peter's for years, 
 and for twenty or thirty had been on the ves- 
 try, which boasted some of the oldest names 
 in town. Every Sunday, just before service 
 began, he would come gravely down the aisle, 
 his hat upside down in his right hand, his 
 stick dragging in his left. He would slowly 
 turn the wooden button that fastened the white- 
 panelled door of his pew, and resting his hand 
 on the polished mahogany rail would open the 
 door and pass in. Then, after laying his hat 
 and his stick on the red cushion, he would 
 reach over and fumblingly turn the button 
 again, to lock himself in. The sexton had in- 
 
Rankell. 29 
 
 structions that no stranger was under any cir- 
 cumstances to be allowed in the pew. Then 
 Rankell would bow his head in preliminary 
 prayer, and lifting it before long, would sit 
 until the service began, with features composed 
 to an expression of benignity. 
 
 When the parson began to inform his dearly 
 beloved brethren to what ends the Scripture 
 moveth them in sundry places, Rankell would 
 open a large-printed prayer-book ; and holding 
 the volume in his wrinkled hand he would read 
 the responses with a loud voice, rising to his 
 feet and bending his head in prayer among the 
 first. And when the sermon came, whatever 
 it was about, Rankell would listen with scrupu- 
 lous attention. 
 
 When the sermon was over, and the time for 
 contribution arrived, he would emerge from his 
 pew, and walking deliberately to the chancel- 
 rail would receive at the hands of the officiating 
 divine a large silver plate. This he would 
 gravely pass from pew to pew in one aisle, 
 while other vestrymen did likewise in others. 
 
30 RanJceirs Remains. 
 
 When this task was done, he would come slowly 
 down the broad aisle, holding the plate in his 
 left hand, his right fumbling in his waistcoat 
 pocket for his own share of the contribution. 
 This never appeared until, last of all the 
 vestrymen, he was mounting the altar steps. 
 Then, having deposited his plate and his offer- 
 ing on the top of the pile the waiting parson 
 held, he would turn about, and with calmly 
 serene countenance go back to his pew ; there 
 he would bow his head to receive the benedic- 
 tion. Then, with his fellow- worshippers, he 
 would rise to organ music, and gravely passing 
 down the aisle would make his way out of 
 church and so home to dinner. 
 
 III. 
 
 AND this, I think, is all that common report 
 said of Rankell. At all events, I knew nothing 
 more of him for a long time. What else I shall 
 tell here came to me later. 
 
 Among the old parishioners of St. Peter's was 
 
Eankell. 31 
 
 a family called Wyborne, of whom by and by I 
 shall have a good deal to say. They had held 
 their pew in the broad aisle, I believe, ever 
 since the church was built, and still came there 
 during the season when they were in town, 
 chiefly, I take it, because their grandfathers had 
 come before them. It is certainly agreeable, 
 when the sermon is dull, to look at a series of 
 stately, if ugly, marble tablets, on which are 
 carved, along with your family arms, many flat- 
 tering things about several generations of your 
 ancestors ; and this is particularly agreeable 
 when the flattering things are all couched in a 
 sonorously barbarous Latin that affords healthy 
 exercise to the half-forgotten scholarship which 
 at length enables you to understand it. 
 
 At the time when I knew the Wybornes the 
 head of the family was an elderly gentleman, 
 the fourth or fifth who in the direct line had 
 borne the name of Lawrence. He was a big, 
 good-natured man, with sleek gray hair parted 
 in the middle and brushed forward above his 
 ears ; and he wore a patriarchal beard, and 
 
32 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 a moustache that quite covered the lips from 
 which issued a voice mellowed by generations 
 of good dinners, good wine, and good company. 
 Those who knew him best were accustomed to 
 say few respectful things about his brains ; but 
 I never heard anybody question the simplicity 
 of his heart or the excellence of his manners. 
 
 One Sunday morning I took it into my head 
 to go to St. Peter's ; and meeting at the door 
 Mr. Wyborne, who offered me a place in his 
 pew, I sat with him through the service. When 
 we came out of church together, we stood for a 
 moment in the portico buttoning our coats, as 
 the sunshine came streaming between the round 
 columns with Corinthian capitals. It was early 
 spring ; crocuses were sprouting in the church- 
 yard, and I said something about the quiet 
 charm of the place. 
 
 " I 've always been fond of it," said Mr. Wy- 
 borne. " It 's one of the few left where you 
 can be sure to find nobody who does n't belong 
 there. But, do you know, we shan't be able to 
 say that much longer. That spruced-up tomb 
 
Rankell. 33 
 
 is n't a new one, but it is the next worst thing. 
 A few years ago it was in bad condition, and 
 John Van Brugh, the man it belonged to, put 
 the whole family in pine boxes and carted them 
 over to Lawnwood. Then he got leave from 
 the Aldermen to sell the old tomb to Rankell 
 the shopkeeper ; and Rankell put it in order 
 to be buried in. Rankell 's not a bad kind of 
 person, to be sure ; I 've known him for years, 
 and in a business way he has done me some 
 friendly turns ; but you can't help feeling that 
 among the old people here a man like Rankell 
 will be horribly out of place." 
 
 Here Mr. Wyborne suddenly stopped talk- 
 ing ; for just as he was expressing his opinion 
 of Rankell with the freedom he permitted him- 
 self in all expression of what opinions he had, 
 the little man appeared at his elbow ; and as 
 Rankell stiffly acknowledged Mr. Wyborne's 
 greeting, his face had more of the grinning im- 
 penetrability that marked it on week-days than 
 was commonly to be seen in it of a Sunday. 
 
 For of a Sunday, as I have said, Rankell 
 
34 RankelTs Remain*. 
 
 looked Tenerable as he sat alone in his pew, 
 with his eve-glasses at such an angle on his 
 nose that he could look through them at his 
 prayer-book and over them at more distant ob- 
 jects. And as I had watched him listening to 
 the sermon with an elderly, benevolent air, his 
 faded yellow hair and beard had reminded me 
 of a shopworn halo. He would make an ad- 
 mirable type, I thought, of the patron saint of 
 American shopkeepers. I said so now to Mr. 
 Wyborne, suggesting that we might invent a 
 legend for him. 
 
 "Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Wyborne, "I 
 never invented anything in my life. But you 
 know Rankell has a kind of story. I '11 tell it 
 you some day when we have time." 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE time came one afternoon not long after- 
 wards, when I met Mr. Wyborne at the Club 
 and reminded him of his promise. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said, as we lighted cigars. "The 
 
RanML 
 
 story is about the way Rankell took to coming 
 to St. Peter's. Yon would n't think it, to look 
 at him ; but, 'gad, sir, if the story means what I 
 think it does, it 's as pretty a piece of sentiment 
 as you 'd wish to hear. 
 
 ** You know the pew he sits in, opposite mine. 
 It used to be the Lees' ; they were cousins of 
 mine on my mother's side. They're all dead 
 now ; Rankell bought the pew when old Philip 
 Lee died, fifteen or twenty years ago. Of course 
 you can't remember Mary Lee ; but in her day 
 she was the prettiest girl in town. She had 
 more offers than any three others, and why the 
 deuce she always said 'no,' she couldn't have 
 told you herself. Well, like other girls my 
 daughter among the number she liked to 
 spend money ; and as she had plenty to spend, 
 you could generally find her of a morning run- 
 ning about among the shops. So when Ran- 
 kelTs shop got to be known a little, I suppose 
 she went there. Anyhow, he saw her some- 
 where. Of course he didn't know her; he 
 never did. But one Sunday he turned up at 
 
36 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 St. Peter's in a gallery seat where he could look 
 down at the Lees ; and from that time, sir, he 
 never missed a Sunday, and was always in his 
 place before anybody else. I used to watch him 
 sometimes when the sermon was heavy, it was 
 apt to be heavier in those days than it is now. 
 As a rule he wasn't paying much attention; 
 he was generally looking down, with just such 
 a queer smile as he has now, at Mary Lee's 
 bonnet. She used to wear a big bonnet lined 
 with blue. They would call it frightfully ugly 
 nowadays ; but it showed off a pretty face 
 uncommonly well. 
 
 44 1 used to laugh with Mary about her con- 
 quest, and she didn't like it much. He was a 
 horrid little vulgar tradesman, she used to say ; 
 and so he was, even if he couldn't help it. 
 Well, to make a long story short, she took a 
 fever when she was n't much over twenty, and 
 it carried her off. She was ill two or three 
 weeks, and while she was ill, her father told me, 
 a curious thing happened. Every single night a 
 man the servants did n't know would call to ask 
 
EanML 37 
 
 how she was. They got to wondering who it 
 could be ; he never left his name. She died, I 
 said, did n't I ? They buried her from old St. 
 Peter's. Everybody came, and the body of the 
 church was full. About the middle of the ser- 
 vice I happened to look up, and there was Ran- 
 kell all alone in the gallery, looking just as he 
 looked of a Sunday, only that the grin was 
 gone. His face, sir, was a study. When a man 
 that looks mean feels a thing he shows it in a 
 way that 'g awful. I felt horribly about Mary, 
 you know ; but when I caught my first glimpse 
 of that queer little man looking queerer than 
 ever I could n't help smiling. But, I tell you, 
 when he looked down and caught my eye I 
 did n't smile any more. And I did n't smile 
 afterwards, when they had taken her out into 
 the churchyard, and I saw Rankell standing 
 back all alone, where the family would not be 
 apt to see him, without a sign of a grin on his 
 mean little face. 
 
 " When the funeral was over he did n't move 
 for a minute, so I went up and held out ray 
 

 SS RankeWs Remains. 
 
 hand. I knew him a little ; I 'd bought gloves 
 and things at his shop. Well, he took my hand 
 and squeezed it hard, and shook it. Then he 
 said it was a fine day, though it was really a 
 nasty raw one ; and then he blew his nose with 
 a big red handkerchief, and walked off without 
 another word. 
 
 " Of course the servants were there ; and 
 when Rankell was well out of the way, one of 
 the men came up to fne and asked if I would 
 tell him who had been talking to me. I thought 
 he was abominably rude ; but before I had time 
 to say so, he begged my pardon. He asked, it 
 seems, because he felt sure it was the stranger 
 that had kept coming to inquire for Miss Mary. 
 I happened to go by RankelPs shop later, and, 
 do you know, the fellow had closed it for the 
 day. 
 
 " It was n't long before he moved down into 
 the side-aisle, in a pew next the Lees'. And 
 when old Philip Lee, Mary's father, died, Ran- 
 kell bought theirs. It must be forty years since 
 Mary died ; I could n't have been much above 
 
EankelL 39 
 
 twenty at the time ; but only last week, as I 
 came out of church, I noticed Rankell, just in 
 front of me, looking over his shoulder at the 
 place where she was buried. I looked too. 
 There were fresh flowers on her grave. It was 
 just about this time of year she died." 
 
 V. 
 
 AND this, I think, is all I know of RankelPs 
 life, beyond the three stories I am going to 
 tell. It is little enough ; and so much of it 
 is only hearsay, that I find myself wondering 
 now whether perhaps I might not have done 
 better by trying to fill the outline. But, after 
 all, this outline, slight though it be, is what 
 has made Rankell seem to me what he seems 
 to-day. So I think that by leaving it here in 
 all its imperfection I shall do my work most 
 truly. 
 
II. 
 
 THE WYBOKNES. 
 
I. 
 
 THE first of my three stories has to do with 
 Mr. Wyborne, of whom I have already 
 told something. His family was popularly sup- 
 posed to have been in easy circumstances since 
 the beginning of time, or at all events since 
 the settlement of the country. But in point 
 of fact, I believe, the Wyborne fortune began 
 with the successful trading of a person of ob- 
 scure origin, who nourished a generation or two 
 before the Revolution and was permitted by 
 the lax custom of the time to engrave on his 
 plate the arms of an English family whose 
 name resembled his own. His descendants 
 carefully preserved the fortune, made the arms 
 a prime article of faith, and bequeathed to the 
 Lawrence Wyborne of whom I write, a con- 
 siderable landed estate not far from town, an 
 income from rent and other sources suffi- 
 
44 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 cient to preclude the necessity of doing any- 
 thing, and all the instincts of a gentleman. 
 
 He married for love, but had the good sense 
 to fall in love with a lady by no means penni- 
 less ; and for many years he lived an unevent- 
 ful, inoffensive life. In a private way he became 
 pretty well known. For both he and his wife 
 were fond of company ; and having a fine 
 house in the country and another in town, 
 and being accustomed to the use of what they 
 had, however fine, they kept up, year in, year 
 out, a round of entertainments that ultimately 
 made them as famous in society as anybody 
 can be in America. 
 
 Mrs. Wyborne, however, was old-fashioned 
 enough to be mindful of her matronly duties. 
 At intervals her social career was interrupted 
 by the birth of a child. I forget how many 
 were born ; three survived, two sons, and a 
 daughter, a good deal younger than her brothers. 
 The birth of this daughter marked the turning- 
 point in the family history. Mrs. Wyborne 
 never recovered from the effects of her con- 
 
The Wybornes. 45 
 
 finernent; and in the course of a year or so 
 she died, leaving her husband for the first time 
 face to face with the serious facts of life. 
 
 These he faced with the courage of a gentle- 
 man. He sent his boys to a boarding-school 
 and subsequently to college, where they learned 
 as little and enjoyed as much as most youths 
 in easy circumstances. He engaged for his 
 daughter a governess of unimpeachable charac- 
 ter, who was neither pretty nor clever, and so 
 managed for years to keep her in the house 
 without being accused of intending to marry 
 her. And feeling, no doubt, lonely, and being 
 perforce prevented from living the active social 
 life that had absorbed his energies in his 
 wife's time, he turned his attention to the man- 
 agement of his property. This he proceeded, 
 as the phrase goes, to improve. He greatly 
 beautified his country-place ; he set out trees, 
 cultivated flowers, and with the help of pro- 
 fessional advice achieved some triumphs of land- 
 scape gardening. He started model farms, too ; 
 and in general attempted to better the condi- 
 
46 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 tion of his tenants, by way incidentally of mak- 
 ing the portions of his estate which brought 
 him an income do a little more towards meet- 
 ing his increasing expenses. And finding after 
 a while that model farms did not produce model 
 farmers anxious to pay more than their neigh- 
 bors for the use of land, he began, with varying 
 fortune, to dabble in outside affairs, purely, 
 he was careful to state, with a view to judicious 
 and profitable investment. 
 
 II. 
 
 MY knowledge of him began at this time. 
 Hospitable temper and habit were still strong 
 within him. So when his boys came home for 
 a vacation they were free to bring with them 
 what friends they pleased, sure of a royal wel- 
 come. As I went to school with the Wyborne 
 boys, in the classes with Howard, the younger, 
 I was often bidden to these vacation festivals, 
 which we were accustomed to think the per- 
 fection of earthly bliss. No one, I suspect, 
 
The Wylornes. 47 
 
 really cared much for Howard Wyborne, a 
 commonplace youth of uncertain temper and 
 a tendency to unwinsome weakness of charac- 
 ter ; yet, thanks to his father's hospitality, 
 which I honestly believe the simple-minded 
 gentleman dispensed without a thought beyond 
 the pleasure of his guests, Howard was what 
 is called popular. Without analyzing our 
 motives, we bore with his oddities and treated 
 him as if he were the best fellow imaginable. 
 In return came the regular invitations to the 
 Wy homes', for which we eagerly curtailed the 
 time allotted for displaying to our affectionate, 
 uninteresting families the growing results of 
 the educational processes to which we were 
 subjected. 
 
 As I write, there come back memories of 
 many visits to the old colonial place, with its 
 terraces, and its lawns sloping down to the 
 river where we could swim and row at will, 
 and its gardens always full of bright flowers, 
 and its tall elms rustling in the summer breeze ; 
 of winter visits too, with coasting, and skating, 
 
48 BankelFs Remains. 
 
 and dances, and ghost-stories before wood-fires 
 blazing on tall brass andirons, and sundry warm 
 drinks provocative of delicious dizziness. But 
 one visit, I think, fairly typical of the rest, is 
 alone worth dwelling on ; and that because 
 some trifling things that happened then have a 
 little bearing on the story I mean to tell. 
 
 III. 
 
 IT was just before I went to college. Law- 
 rence Wyborne, the older son, was already 
 there ; and Anna, his sister, was just emerging 
 from the condition of a little girl. It was then, 
 I remember, that I first found her something 
 more than a tiresome fact. The visit was in 
 winter; and the day after we arrived Miss Anna 
 declared an intention of joining us in skating. 
 Lawrence, the most good-natured of boys, said 
 it would be great fun ; Howard grumbled some 
 bad language which nothing but my manners 
 prevented me from echoing. But when we got 
 to the ice, and Lawrence had gallantly strapped 
 
The Wybornes. 49 
 
 his sister's skates, and we were fairly skimming 
 over the little pond, with dark evergreens all 
 about and bright sunlight overhead, I began 
 to change my mind ; for the sparkle of little 
 Anna's eyes, and the flush of her cheeks in the 
 frosty air, and the dark hair waving under her 
 little fur cap that had jauntily slipped to one 
 side, made her very pleasant to look at. Natu- 
 rally I asked her to skate with me ; so hand in 
 hand we went flying from one end of the pond 
 to the other. She could skate, I found, as well 
 as anybody. There was little chance for talk, 
 though; all I remember is that as we ceased 
 our strokes at the end of the pond, and went 
 wheeling about in a great circle, she found 
 breath enough to exclaim, " Is n't this fun ? " 
 and I to rejoin, "Isn't it?" These speeches, 
 for the rest, exhaustively expressed my mental 
 condition. 
 
 I had come from school with Howard to stay a 
 week. We had had a short railway journey, en- 
 livened by surreptitious cigarettes. And these 
 had made me so unwell that they quite spoilt 
 4 
 
50 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 the dinner which awaited us when, early in the 
 evening, we were driven up to the rounded 
 porch, whose wooden pillars with florid Corin- 
 thian capitals looked like marble in the moon- 
 light. A number of young people, boys and girls, 
 were already at the house, with Mrs. Henderson, 
 Mr. Wyborne's cousin, to chaperon them. This 
 Mrs. Henderson was a widow, with a comfort- 
 able fortune and no children. She liked society, 
 and was good-natured enough now and then to 
 like young people. And to this day I rarely 
 think of Mr. Wyborne, as he used to sit at the 
 head of his table beyond the silver candelabra 
 with twisted branches, without calling up a 
 companion picture of Mrs. Henderson beside a 
 little table in the drawing-room, on which stood 
 a moderateur lamp with a classical bronze base. 
 Her silk skirts were arranged in folds that never 
 moved in a whole evening. She wore fine laces 
 about her throat and wrists; her dresses were 
 usually so cut as to show that throat and wrists 
 were still pretty ; and as she sat disdaining the 
 back of her chair, after the manner of the last 
 
The Wylornes. 51 
 
 generation, her bright eyes with good-natured 
 lines growing about them, and the almost girl- 
 ish smile with which now and then she showed 
 her firm white teeth, made her, in spite of gray 
 barrel-curls surmounted by a lace cap with pur- 
 ple ribbons, an ideal presiding figure for the 
 merry company about her. 
 
 What girls were in the party have nothing to 
 do with this story, except that their pretty 
 figures helped make up the picture I am trying 
 to draw. But two or three of the boys in later 
 days played some part in the events I am to 
 tell. There was Tom Henderson, a nephew of 
 our amiable patroness ; he was a clumsy youth, 
 with good clothes of which he took little care, 
 and marked precocity in the society of stable- 
 boys. There was young Dudley, whose family, 
 Mr. Wyborne once said, was one of the oldest 
 in America, and who nevertheless, perhaps be- 
 cause the family in question was no longer rich, 
 would have been quite like anybody of humbler 
 origin but for a knack of caricature that filled 
 us with envy. I still have somewhere one of 
 
52 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 his expressive if artistically imperfect sketches. 
 It was executed by candlelight in Howard's 
 room, while Howard and I, in our night-clothes, 
 looked on with shivering admiration. It repre- 
 sents the presentation of Dick Hastings, recog- 
 nizable by his heavy boots, to Mr. Wyborne 
 and Mrs. Henderson, recognizable respectively 
 by a beard vast enough to nest all Audubon's 
 birds, and barrel curls that might have come 
 straight from the cooper's. 
 
 This Dick Hastings, who had just appeared 
 to us for the first time, was in Lawrence's class 
 at college, and had been invited to occupy the 
 second single bed in Lawrence's room, just as I 
 had come to occupy that in Howard's. He ar- 
 rived at about dusk, rather unexpectedly. Mrs. 
 Henderson was dressing for dinner, and Mr. 
 Wyborne, by some accident, not at hand ; so 
 Hastings was bundled up to Lawrence's room, 
 to make himself fine for the evening. Before 
 he and Lawrence appeared we were all gathered 
 in the drawing-room, dressed in our best. Their 
 approach was announced by a piercing creak of 
 
The Wylornes. 53 
 
 shoe-leather ; and as they entered they were in 
 queer contrast. Lawrence, a handsome boy, 
 could never help being neat ; and beside his 
 friend his attire seemed even more perfect than 
 ever. For Dick Hastings, a pale youth with 
 signs of a coming blond moustache and many 
 freckles, looked by no means like the rest of the 
 company. His coat,- though it did not fit him, 
 was tidy enough, and his linen immaculate ; 
 but his trousers, which bagged immensely at 
 the knee, were evidently the same in which he 
 had travelled, and his heavy top-boots, whence 
 came the creak, were covered with the stains 
 of mud. His hair, too, which was parted just 
 above his left ear and well enough brushed in 
 front, looked behind, where invisible from his 
 dressing-glass, innocent even of a comb. And 
 though Mr. Wyborne and Mrs. Henderson were 
 too well bred to vary their welcome, we felt 
 instinctively that this unkempt youth put their 
 breeding to a test. 
 
 Hastings shook hands stiffly, said nothing 
 whatever in answer to their pleasant speeches, 
 
54 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 preserved throughout dinner impenetrable si- 
 lence and an aspect of gloom, declined to join 
 in after-dinner games, and finally announced 
 thus opening his lips for the first independent 
 time that he felt tired and guessed he would 
 go to bed. So to bed he went, followed by 
 Lawrence, whose hospitality would not suffer 
 him to desert a guest. 
 
 Our boyish breeding was by no means equal 
 to that of our elders. In Howard's room we 
 talked Hastings over to our heart's content. 
 Dudley, as I said, executed a drawing of his 
 advent; Tom Henderson, having sententiously 
 described him as a thundering scrub, sought the 
 restless sleep of indigestion ; and Howard sur- 
 mised that we should not get much fun out of a 
 fellow like that. 
 
 "Lawrence is a queer chap," he remarked 
 later, when we were fairly tucked up in our 
 respective beds. 
 
 " I like him anyway," said I, partly, I fear, 
 from a sense of hospitable obligation. 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Howard, curtly ; it 
 
The Wylornes. 55 
 
 never entered a Wyborne's head that a Wy borne 
 could command from outsiders anything but 
 admiration. " Only, you see, he is always freez- 
 ing to some confounded fool, like that country- 
 man he has scared up now." 
 
 " Where did you say he came from ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Lord knows. Somewhere up in the coun- 
 try. His father is a doctor there, Lawrence 
 says. Good-night." And in a minute more 
 Master Howard was peacefully snoring. 
 
 Hastings' s boots it was that gave rise to the 
 two little incidents I am going to recall. The 
 next day Tom Henderson came to us with a 
 grin. 
 
 " I say, fellows," he began, " that chap Hast- 
 ings has been and asked me where they keep 
 the blacking, and I told him I 'd send him some, 
 and I 've just been down to the village and 
 bought half a dozen bottles. What do you sup- 
 pose he'll say?" 
 
 What we supposed I do not remember ; but 
 the result of Henderson's pleasantry was an 
 
56 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 unexpected visit from Lawrence, who came 
 panting up to him a little later and called him 
 aside. At first we could not hear what they 
 said, but as the talk waxed warm their voices 
 rose. 
 
 " I '11 do what I like," exclaimed Henderson. 
 
 "If you do," said Lawrence, "you'll come 
 here no more. And if it was n't my own house 
 I 'd thrash you now." Whereupon he turned 
 away. 
 
 " Like to see you ! " shouted Henderson after 
 him, very red in the face. But from that time 
 throughout the visit he behaved with circum- 
 spection. 
 
 From that time, too, Hastings's boots were 
 beautifully polished. He never changed them, 
 though. Evidently they were his only pair. 
 
 A day or two later, as we were dressing, there 
 came a tap at our door, and Anna's voice was 
 heard calling Howard. 
 
 " I want your old pumps," she said, when he 
 opened the door. Miss Anna, who was a bit 
 spoilt, was accustomed to talk imperiously. 
 
The Wybornes. 57 
 
 " What for ? " asked Howard. 
 
 "I want them: that's enough," was her 
 answer. And she got them. 
 
 Howard was ready for dinner before me. As 
 he passed into the hall I heard Lawrence's 
 voice greet him, and they walked off together. 
 A few minutes later, when I emerged from 
 the room, I descried Miss Anna, pumps in 
 hand, stealing on tiptoe toward Hastings's door. 
 There she tapped, and standing behind the 
 doorpost held out the shoes. I saw the door 
 open slightly. Then, as Hastings caught sight 
 of the proffered gift, he dashed the door open, 
 snatched the pumps, and flung them with all 
 his strength after the scampering little figure 
 that he did not stop to look at. Anna's foot 
 slipped, and she fell heavily against a chair. In 
 a moment Hastings, half-dressed, was at her 
 side, and I at his heels. 
 
 " My God ! " he exclaimed, " I 've killed her." 
 
 Poor Anna's forehead was bleeding from a 
 rough gash, but she opened her eyes. 
 
 " Don't tell anybody," she said faintly. " You 
 
58 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 did n't mean to. You did n't understand. I 
 thought you would like them." And the little 
 woman fainted. 
 
 Anna's command, possibly having the sanction 
 that attaches itself to last words, no matter how 
 unwittingly uttered, seemed to me sacred. 
 
 " Hide the shoes, you fool!" I said. " I '11 go 
 and call somebody." 
 
 With a dazed look he obeyed rne, and no- 
 body ever knew how poor Anna came to grief. 
 The wound was not serious, to be sure, but the 
 stitches left a scar. This, when she grew up, 
 caused her to part her hair on one side, and 
 draw it over her forehead, a method of hair- 
 dressing that gave rise among conventional 
 people to a belief that she was rather fast. 
 
 Hastings went home next day, pretending 
 that a letter called him. It was only after some 
 hours, when a box of gaudy, inexpensive flowers 
 arrived, with his compliments, for Anna, that 
 anybody spoke of him. 
 
 "A very quiet young man," Mr. Wyborne 
 called him. 
 
The Wybornes. 59 
 
 " Not wholly at ease," was Mrs. Henderson's 
 comment. 
 
 " He is awfully bright when you know him," 
 said Lawrence. 
 
 " I dare say," said Mr. Wy borne. " He 
 is respectably connected." And the subject 
 dropped. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I SHALL write no more of these matters, so 
 trivial to those of whose own childhood they 
 formed no part. I have told enough, I think, 
 to show what the old life at the Wy homes' 
 was like ; and that is all I wished to do here. 
 For a good many years had passed, and with 
 them the Civil War, before the matters fell out 
 that have made me put the story of the Wy- 
 bornes in this book concerning Rankell. 
 
 Lawrence Wyborne fell at Gettysburg. His 
 body was never found. All that we knew of his 
 end came from Dick Hastings, who was in the 
 same regiment and brought home his effects. 
 
 Howard, who like his brother had gone 
 
60 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 straight from college to the army, was wounded 
 more than once, but came home at last un- 
 maimed. He was greatly changed, however, 
 from the commonplace, unamiable gentleman 
 of means that he would have grown to be in 
 times of peace. Quiet life he found unbearable. 
 After some doubt as to how he should direct 
 his energy, he violated all family tradition, and, 
 I suspect, gravely disturbed his father, by tak- 
 ing, like most of his fellows, to a down-town 
 life. A few years after the war he was a bus- 
 tling member of the Stock Exchange, ready 
 among the first to smash such hats as unwritten 
 law forbade good brokers to wear. 
 
 The strain of these years had told on Mr. 
 Wyborne. He was grayer than he used to be ; 
 he had lost one or two teeth, and spoke with a 
 slight lisp. When the boys went to the war he 
 stopped entertaining, and he never left off the 
 mourning he wore for Lawrence. His manner, 
 to be sure, kept the old courteous charm ; but 
 as time went on he grew grave and silent, often 
 looking worried, and seeming absent-minded 
 
The Wybornes. 61 
 
 when you spoke to him. If it had not been for 
 Anna, I believe he would never have opened 
 his house again. But of course it was necessary 
 to bring her out ; so one year a new round of 
 festivities began at the old Wyborne place. 
 
 To some of these I went. Young girls 
 thought them as perfect as I used to think the 
 Wybornes' parties in the old days ; but to me 
 these new gayeties seemed forced. Mr. Wy- 
 borne was more formal than he used to be ; his 
 hospitality was becoming a matter rather of 
 manners than of heart. And as for Howard, he 
 voted the whole thing a bore until the dining- 
 room opened ; then he found consolation which 
 usually absorbed him. 
 
 The first of these parties I distinctly remem- 
 ber. It was a garden-party, given one fine 
 summer afternoon to introduce Anna ; and as 
 all the world came, you naturally saw a great 
 many people you did not know. You saw others 
 whom you knew only by sight ; for Mr. Wy- 
 borne had always maintained that when you 
 gave a general party, and had the room, it 
 
62 RanlceWs Remains. 
 
 was only kind to pass the compliment of an 
 invitation to all the respectable people you 
 knew. 
 
 "Half the time," he would say, "they won't 
 come ; and if they do come, no harm is done. 
 You forget it next day, and they always 
 remember it." 
 
 Thus it was that on this occasion society, for 
 the first and last time, saw Rankell ; Mr. Wy- 
 borne, it appeared, had lately had a good deal 
 to do with him in a business way. And apart 
 from Anna, who had grown so pretty that 
 even without her vivacity she would have been 
 a belle, it is Rankell that I chiefly remember. 
 Though I came early, he was there before me. 
 Subsequently I learned that he had arrived ex- 
 actly at the hour named in the invitation, to 
 find nobody ready to receive him ; and as he 
 wore a dress suit apparently made for the 
 occasion Mrs. Henderson, when she at last 
 appeared to receive the company, had the 
 misfortune to mistake him for a waiter. 
 
 By thereafter devoting to the awkward little 
 
The Wylornes. 63 
 
 man as much attention as she could spare, she 
 tried to atone for this misadventure ; and Anna 
 had smiles for him; and Mr. Wyborne neglected 
 other people in his efforts to put Rankell at 
 ease. But for all that, nobody could quite for- 
 get that, though invited, he had not been 
 expected ; and Rankell, as he stood unrespon- 
 sively silent in his dress suit, looked aware 
 of the fact. At last 'Mr. Wyborne took him 
 away from the company for a walk about the 
 grounds ; but even this excited from him no 
 further expression than that he should think a 
 place like this must require a great deal of 
 money. And when finally, declining refresh- 
 ment, he took his departure without a formal 
 farewell, everybody was relieved. 
 
 " The truth is, my dear Lawrence," was Mrs. 
 Henderson's comment on this incident, " that 
 no man yet born ever understood how to make 
 out a list of invitations. Positively you must 
 leave all that to me.'* 
 
 Mr. Wyborne was more than glad to do so. 
 It was Mrs. Henderson, then, with unchanged 
 
64 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 smile and curls, who acted as Anna's chaperon 
 in society, where the young woman's toilets 
 always as brilliant as the extreme limits of taste 
 permitted were the despair of her contem- 
 poraries. This fact, together with the evident 
 interest of Mrs. Henderson in her new duties, 
 led people to whisper that the brisk old lady 
 had views of her own about Anna. 
 
 For besides being pretty and amiable, the girl 
 was commonly regarded as a good match ; and 
 young Tom Henderson, who had done good ser- 
 vice in the war, was come back to figure as a 
 leader of fashion, with habits quite as expensive 
 as his income could stand. His aunt, it was 
 thought then, had a natural anxiety to provide 
 for him and for Anna at one stroke. The only 
 serious obstacle in her way was that, very un- 
 fortunately, the young gentleman's catholicity 
 of taste in matters feminine was a trifle 
 more obvious than the customs of his time 
 permitted. 
 
The Wylornes. 65 
 
 V. 
 
 AT this period I began to see a good deal of 
 Howard Wyborne. For, finding home life dull, 
 he took to dining mostly at the Club, where I 
 dined too. And though there was little sym- 
 pathy between us, our old intimacy made us 
 such good friends that we often talked with a 
 freedom that could never have come had we 
 met only in the later times. 
 
 One night when I happened to be dining 
 with him, he asked me in the course of talk if 
 I knew a man named Asa Cutting. 
 
 " Fat, elderly person?" I asked. " Gray chin- 
 beard and big watch-chain ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Howard. " He is a real-estate 
 agent, or something of the kind." 
 
 " I know him by sight," I said. " I believe 
 he looks after some of Rankell's business." 
 
 " Rankell ! " exclaimed Howard. " By Jove ! 
 Do you suppose it was Rankell that sent him 
 to the Governor? You ought to have seen them 
 together." 
 
 5 
 
66 HankelFs Remains. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Why, Cutting and my father. It was as 
 good as a play." And Howard went on to tell 
 the story. 
 
 Mr. Wyborne, it appeared to my surprise, 
 had found himself in temporary want of money ; 
 so he had sent for this Cutting, with a view to 
 placing a mortgage on one of the farms about 
 the old country-house. The day before Howard 
 told me the story, Cutting, who had taken the 
 matter in charge, unexpectedly presented him- 
 self. He was a ponderous, awkward man, 
 whose fat right hand occupied half its time in 
 running pudgy fingers through his beard, and 
 the rest in fumbling with the enormous watch- 
 chain that decorated his protuberant person. 
 
 Mr. Wyborne began the conversation by ask- 
 ing if the business was arranged. 
 
 "No, sir," said Cutting, awkwardly. "It can 
 be done, though, if you choose to go on with it." 
 
 " That question was decided," said Mr. 
 Wyborne, " when I placed the matter in your 
 hands." 
 
The Wylornes. 67 
 
 " Of course, sir," said Cutting. " Only another 
 question has turned up." 
 
 " Ha ! Is anything wrong ? " 
 
 44 No, sir ; quite the reverse. You see a gen- 
 tleman has seen the property and likes the 
 looks of it " And here Cutting hesitated, 
 growing red in the face. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Wyborne, testily, " what 
 of it ? Does he want higher interest ? I never 
 borrow on other terms." 
 
 "Exactly, sir. He knows that. You can 
 easily get what you want, sir. Only this gen- 
 tleman thinks so well of the property that he 
 does n't know but what he might like to buy." 
 
 44 1 thought you understood," said Mr. Wy- 
 borne, waxing warm, 4 ' that I have no intention 
 of dividing the estate." 
 
 44 Exactly, sir. That is quite understood. This 
 gentleman doesn't propose anything of the kind. 
 The fact is, sir, my friend is prepared to make 
 you a real handsome offer for the whole." 
 
 At this Mr. Wyborne quite lost his temper. 
 Cutting knew, he declared, what was wanted ; 
 
68 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 if he chose to execute a specific commission, 
 he might do so; but nothing could make this 
 proposal better than a gratuitous piece of im- 
 pertinence. 
 
 Cutting muttered something, in a deprecatory 
 tone, about a rare chance. 
 
 Mr. Wyborne cut him short. In future, he 
 declared, he should place his business in the 
 hands of men who had discretion enough to act 
 as they were directed. And Cutting retired in 
 discomfiture, leaving Mr. Wyborne to vent his 
 wrath on Howard, who had been a silent spec- 
 tator of the interview. 
 
 " The idea of asking the Governor to sell ! " 
 said Howard, as he finished the story. " You 
 might as soon ask him to cut his whiskers. He 
 has regular English ideas about that precious 
 estate of ours. It costs him no end of money ; 
 but I believe he thinks the whole world would 
 go to smash if he undertook to part with an 
 acre. I 've been wondering who was after it. 
 Cutting, you say, does business for Rankell. I 
 don't believe it was Rankell, though. He 
 
The Wylornes. 69 
 
 would have been apt to speak of the matter 
 to me ; I know him pretty well. Besides, what 
 the devil should he want of a place like ours ? 
 It 's only fit for a gentleman." 
 
 VI. 
 
 ABOUT this time it was apparent that some- 
 thing was going wrong with the Wybornes. 
 Mr. Wyborne was becoming testy ; the uncer- 
 tain temper shown in Howard's anecdote was 
 evident even to casual acquaintances. And 
 Howard himself grew taciturn, as might be ex- 
 pected when one of his disposition had something 
 on his mind. Anna, however, was full of life 
 and gayety. She went everywhere, and gener- 
 ally seemed uncommonly successful in the ordi- 
 nary occupation of young women of her age 
 and rank, that is, in so filling her time with 
 the pursuit of amusement that she had no lei- 
 sure to reflect whether she was really amused 
 or not. 
 
 Like other young women of her kind, too, she 
 
70 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 was possessed not only of admirers in general, 
 but of one or two in particular. Dissatisfaction 
 with these, it was surmised, underlay the grow- 
 ing infirmity of the family temper. I was inclined 
 to this view. Neither of the men whose names 
 were oftenest coupled with hers was of the kind 
 you would have chosen. One, as I have said, 
 was Tom Henderson, about whose gallantries 
 many stories were afloat. The other, whose 
 qualities were ver} 7 different, was Dick Hastings. 
 Hastings was grown to be a self-contained 
 fellow, whom nobody liked. He had served in 
 the army with some little distinction ; and his 
 intimacy with the Wybornes had lasted because 
 he had been with Lawrence almost until he fell, 
 and had brought home what last news of him 
 had come. After the war he had disappeared 
 for a while from general view ; then he had 
 turned up at the bar, with a promising practice. 
 Irreproachable enough and to spare, profession- 
 ally and in private life, and regarded as a man 
 with a future, he managed to alienate whoever 
 was disposed to be friendly. What a man who 
 
The Wylornes. 71 
 
 had known him in the army said was commonly 
 accepted as final. " I can't stand Hastings," 
 exclaimed this usually genial personage. " He 
 is too confoundedly on the make." 
 
 There was no real objection to Hastings, of 
 course. Everybody respected his ability ; he 
 was aggressively blameless. But for all that, it 
 was by no means pleasant to see the cold-blooded 
 fellow, in search of money and position, deliber- 
 ately using what advantages accident gave him 
 to slip into the berth he wanted. He never 
 went into society; I doubt whether he was 
 asked anywhere. In public it was Tom Hender- 
 son who sent Anna flowers, and danced and 
 drove and walked with her, after the manner of 
 orthodox lovers. But now and then, particu- 
 larly of a Sunday, you would find Dick Hast- 
 ings at the Wybornes', tete-d-tete with the 
 dashing young woman, who generally quieted 
 down for his benefit. To be sure, Anna had 
 tact enough to adapt herself to any company; but 
 it certainly looked as if she fancied Hastings. 
 
 So people talked about the rivals, wondering 
 
72 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 which it would be ; and Mr. Wyborne could 
 not help knowing this, and knowing too that 
 neither of the men was of the kind to better a 
 girl's condition in life. Both of them apparently 
 wanted money and position. And Tom's rela- 
 tion to Mrs. Henderson made it impossible to 
 break without a scandal; while Hastings, whose 
 friendship with Lawrence Wyborne everybody 
 knew, had thereby established a sacred right to 
 visit the house when he pleased. 
 
 One night there was much talk at the Club 
 about Tom Henderson. He had figured in a 
 scrape with a pretty French governess whom 
 somebody had brought home from Paris, and 
 who had been hurriedly dismissed from service. 
 Various versions of the story were circulating. 
 Suddenly one of the narrators abruptly stopped, 
 and began to chatter irrelevantly. Looking up, 
 I saw that Howard Wyborne had joined the 
 company. The impression was curiously dis- 
 agreeable. Each of this group of men about 
 town, chuckling over a loose story, had Anna 
 Wyborne in mind. 
 
The Wybornes. 73 
 
 It happened that Hastings was standing by, 
 and as the group separated I caught his eye. 
 My look must have expressed more than I 
 meant it to, for he shrugged his shoulders with 
 a disagreeably cynical smile. 
 
 " It is her own fault," he said. " A woman 
 in her position knows what she exposes her- 
 self to. She is food for philosophy, not for 
 sympathy." 
 
 And poor Miss Anna, people said, was bound 
 to make her choice between these two aspirants. 
 It was commonly thought, too, and Hastings's 
 mood made it seem likely, that she began to 
 prefer the more agreeable if the more erratic 
 Henderson. No wonder Mr. Wyborne and 
 Howard were disturbed in mind. 
 
 It was not long, however, before we found 
 out that there were other things to trouble 
 them. The story of what these things were I 
 shall tell, not just as it came to me, but briefly 
 as in the end I learned it to be. 
 
74 RarikelVs Remains. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I HAVE said already that Mr. Wyborne, from 
 the first, found the management of his property 
 troublesome. As time went on it grew by no 
 means less so ; but he rarely permitted himself 
 to brood over the matter. If things go wrong, 
 he used to say, you only make them worse by 
 thinking of them ; and early in life he had mas- 
 tered the fine art of dismissing from his mind 
 what he could not comfortably keep there. By 
 the time, then, that Howard abandoned family 
 tradition to become a man of business, Mr. 
 Wyborne was so used to lack of ready money 
 that it rarely occurred to him to want any. 
 Howard's business, however, occasionally re- 
 quired cash ; and Howard, accustomed as a 
 matter of course to rely on his father for any- 
 thing of that kind, made no scruple to ask for 
 what he wanted. 
 
 For a long time Mr. Wyborne gave uncom- 
 plainingly ; and more than once, it is fair to 
 
The Wylornes. 75 
 
 remember, Howard returned with profit what 
 advances his father made. Oftener, however, 
 some unexpected turn of events made his trans- 
 actions result in loss. It was not surprising, then, 
 that when at last Howard came with an un- 
 usually large demand, Mr. Wyborne hesitated. 
 
 In the secrecy of his library, where Howard, 
 like the rest of the world, had supposed that his 
 father did little but doze over newspapers and 
 occasionally take down respectable books with 
 a view to sustaining his favorite notion that he 
 was a man of culture, Mr. Wyborne produced 
 a startling array of business papers. These he 
 carefully went over with his son. They showed 
 how for years his affairs had ceased to prosper. 
 What advances he had made to Howard had 
 demanded fresh mortgages on the estate that 
 was so precious to him in all but pocket ; and 
 now not an acre was free except the old house 
 and the grounds about it. These he had re- 
 ligiously preserved. 
 
 " I hate to say no, Howard," he told his son, 
 " but can I honestly do more for you ? " 
 
76 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 There were tears in Howard's eyes when he 
 found how matters stood. All his life, with the 
 rudimentary ancestor-worship that survives in 
 respectable families, he had thought of his 
 father as one to whom you could turn with 
 every-day troubles, secure in the belief that he 
 knew no such trouble of his own. And here 
 these folded papers, and these volumes of con- 
 fused memoranda, and these books full of fig- 
 ures, showed how for years, under his quiet 
 exterior, Mr. Wyborne had thought, and wor- 
 ried, and planned, and failed, without a word 
 of complaint. 
 
 " Good Heavens, sir ! " exclaimed Howard, 
 " you have done enough and too much. You 
 shall never sacrifice another cent for me." And 
 he held out both hands, fairly breaking down. 
 
 Mr. Wyborne took his hands, and for the 
 moment, I believe, thought only of the comfort 
 of being free at last to speak with his son of all 
 that was on his mind. Now they should draw 
 near together again, just as they had been near 
 when Howard was a little boy. And then came 
 
The Wylornes. 77 
 
 planning together as to how the trouble could 
 best be cured. In the end the plan they chose 
 was this. 
 
 The matter that Howard had in mind when 
 he made this last appeal for help was different 
 in kind from anything he had been concerned in 
 before. Up to this time he had been acting for 
 himself, or at least with no other judgment to 
 help him than that of men little wiser than he. 
 This new plan argued that he had acted better 
 than any one supposed. With no imaginable rea- 
 son beyond respect for his ability, a well-known 
 financier had confidentially sent for him. Un- 
 fortunately he was not at liberty to say who the 
 able financier was ; for the sake of convenience 
 he would call him Smith. Well, this Smith had 
 set forth how a small syndicate every one of 
 them known for solid men were about to un- 
 dertake an operation that was sure in a few 
 weeks to result in profit amounting to hand- 
 some fortunes for every one of the lot. Want- 
 ing a young man to help them in some details 
 of the business, they had determined to propose 
 
78 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 the plan to Howard. The chance was such as 
 does not come twice in a lifetime. This Smith 
 was perhaps the ablest financier in America. 
 His partners were second only to him. This 
 operation was just such as they were used to. 
 And the whole responsibility of management 
 rested with them ; Howard's part was merely 
 to do as they directed, and in the end to share 
 profits that were as sure as any earthly thing 
 could be. 
 
 Knowing now what a burden he had been, he 
 declared that for himself he would have no pare 
 in the business. But this he would do : let 
 him have what money could be raised, and he 
 would use it, under Smith's direction, just as, 
 if he had had any, he would have used his own. 
 Then, when the profits came, they should go 
 straight to his father and do what they could 
 to repair the damage that had been done the 
 family fortune. 
 
 Howard wished he were at liberty to tell such 
 details of the plan as he knew; but these he was 
 in honor bound to keep secret, along with the 
 
The Wybornes. 79 
 
 names of Smith and his partners. More than 
 once, however, he repeated that everybody 
 knew these men to be among the ablest in 
 America. So their confidence assured him that 
 his career had been by no means as fruitless as 
 it had sometimes seemed. 
 
 Seeing no other way, Mr. Wyborne bowed to 
 fate, and at last reluctantly consented for a 
 while to encumber this last part of his lands 
 that he had hoped always to keep free. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THIS he wished, if possible, to do secretly. 
 He hated the idea of publicly recording, even 
 for a few weeks, the fact that any one but a 
 Wyborne had established a claim to property 
 that he was accustomed to regard as a Wy- 
 borne 's by the fundamental laws of nature. So 
 he went to a man whose advice he often took 
 in business matters, and whom he knew able 
 to give, if he pleased, the help that Howard 
 wanted. This was Rankell. 
 
80 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 The prudent little man received Mr. Wyborne 
 with much civility in the inner counting-room, 
 where more than once they had sat together 
 before. He listened attentively to all Mr. Wy- 
 borne had to say. Of course Mr. Wyborne was 
 not at liberty to tell why he needed the loan he 
 asked; and Rankell did not even inquire, but 
 contented himself with pointing out, in much 
 detail, the irregularity of an unrecorded mort- 
 gage. At first he would not think of granting 
 such a request ; at last, however, protesting that 
 he would do so unusual a thing for nobody else 
 on earth, he consented, with other lively profes- 
 sions of esteem, to make the loan. So, very 
 quietly, the papers were drawn and locked up 
 in Mr. Rankell's boxes, and Howard had the 
 money. Whence it came he was not told, for 
 Rankell had made absolute secrecy a condi- 
 tion of the loan. It was a friendly transaction, 
 so remote from his common habits of business 
 that even a whisper of it might cause him grave 
 inconvenience. 
 
 For a while matters went well. Howard gave 
 
The Wylornes. 81 
 
 good accounts of the progress of affairs, and at 
 length grew jubilant over the prospect of restor- 
 ing at a single stroke the failing fortunes of his 
 family. I remember him well at this time, full 
 of an excitement I failed to understand, laughing, 
 bustling about, accosting us with a good-fellow- 
 ship strange to his habits of life. I remember, 
 too, how Mr. Wyborne was unlike himself in a 
 very different way: how at the Club he often 
 sat alone, in a brown-study, leaving unread in 
 his lap papers that other men were waiting for. 
 More than once, it afterwards appeared, Howard 
 came for more money; it was only for a little 
 while, perhaps only for a few days, and it 
 was sure to be repaid a hundred-fold. He bor- 
 rowed what he could from his friends, into the 
 bargain. And some of us lent him quite as 
 much as we could afford, out of remembrance, 
 I fancy, of the pleasure his hospitality used to 
 give us. 
 
 Then came a time when the papers were full of 
 confused accounts of a great battle for wealth. 
 There was a certain stock, of which the name is 
 
 6 
 
82 RankelPs Remains. 
 
 neither here nor there, much in demand, and 
 generally to be had if you chose to pay for it. 
 Suddenly it grew scarce, and those who were 
 bound to have it must pay what was asked. 
 The price steadily rose, until it was doubled, 
 trebled, quadrupled ; the whole machinery of 
 finance was disturbed; a well-known banker 
 failed ; ministers preached timely sermons about 
 the sin of greed. And all the while Howard 
 grew more jubilant ; matters were going as he 
 wished. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ONE night, after dinner, I- was leaving the 
 Club, when at the foot of the steps I heard some 
 one call my name. Turning, I saw that it was 
 Howard Wyborne, whose voice I had not recog- 
 nized. As he came up to me and took rny arm, 
 I felt that his hand was trembling. 
 
 " I want you to go home with me," he said 
 hurriedly. " I can't go alone. I 've been wait- 
 ing for somebody to come.'* 
 
The Wylornes. 83 
 
 At first I did not realize that anything serious 
 had happened, nor yet when he suddenly turned 
 about and passed into the Club, calling for bran- 
 dy. Then, as he stood in a bright light, I could 
 see that he looked strangely. His face was very 
 pale ; his moustache, which was generally fixed 
 in a fierce military curl, was ragged ; his dress 
 was disarranged, his linen limp and soiled. As 
 he poured out a glass of brandy, his hand trem- 
 bled so that he spilt some on the table. Then 
 he drank the liquor at one gulp, and taking my 
 arm again, hurriedly bade me come with him. 
 
 Feeling the question ill-timed, I neverthe- 
 less permitted myself to ask what was the 
 matter. 
 
 He laughed in a queer, nervous way. 
 
 " Never you mind," he said ; " it 's nothing 
 nothing. You '11 find out when we get home." 
 
 So we hurried through the lamplit streets, 
 jostled by the passing crowd, and listening to 
 the jingling car-bells, and the snatches of talk 
 of the passers-by, and the rumbling clatter of 
 wheels on the stone pavements, and the piercing 
 
84 RankelT '* Remains. 
 
 shrieks of newsboys. At last we passed into 
 the quieter street where the Wybornes lived, 
 and so up the freestone steps of the square brick 
 house that a generation ago had been among the 
 finest in town. 
 
 Howard handed me a key. " Open the door," 
 he said ; " I can't." 
 
 I turned the latch, and we passed in. On one 
 side of the hall was a square room, of which the 
 dark polished door stood open. Over the mar- 
 ble chimney-piece hung a large picture, reli- 
 giously believed to be by some old Italian mas- 
 ter, and so black with age that, for all we could 
 see, it might have been a Raphael. Behind a 
 glass screen a coal-fire was crackling in the 
 grate. Mr. Wyborne was slowly pacing the 
 room, his hands behind his back ; and on one 
 side Anna sat at her piano, with Dick Hastings 
 beside her. One of the candles that lighted her 
 music had burned so low that the flame flickered 
 in the draught that came from the opened street- 
 door ; the other light came from a long-necked 
 mode'rateur lamp on a table beside the red plush 
 
The Wylornes. 85 
 
 arm-chair where Mr. Wyborne had been sitting 
 before he began his restless walk. 
 
 Howard clutched my arm with a grip that 
 hurt me. 
 
 " Come in," he whispered. " I can't walk 
 alone ; I don't know why." 
 
 And so we entered, and all three of them 
 looked at us in surprise. Mr. Wyborne started 
 towards us ; Anna uttered some exclamation at 
 Howard's strange appearance ; Hastings stood 
 up, looking extremely awkward. 
 
 As Mr. Wyborne came toward us, Howard 
 dropped my arm and held out both his hands. 
 
 "Father," he said, "it's all over. We are 
 ruined." Then, with a kind of sob, he stag- 
 gered, and would have fallen forward if Hast- 
 ings and I had not caught him in our arms. 
 We carried him to a sofa, where we laid 
 him, with a fixed look on his pale face, quite 
 insensible. 
 
 It was better thus, I believe, for they thought 
 of him and not of themselves. Hastings van- 
 ished somehow, I know not whither; and I 
 
86 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 hurried away for the nearest doctor, and waited 
 to hear what news he brought. It was pa- 
 ralysis, he said. Poor Howard never walked 
 again. 
 
 X. 
 
 THUS it happened that Hastings and I, who 
 by mere chance were by when the trouble came, 
 and so seemed nearer to Mr. Wyborne and 
 Anna than others whom they knew as well, 
 found our offers to help the poor gentleman 
 in his confusion by no means unwelcome, and 
 came to know what the trouble really was. 
 
 In brief it was this : Howard, seeing his spec- 
 ulation prosper in the hands of the eminent 
 financier whom he had called Smith, had been 
 seized with a wish to win more than his share 
 of what profits came to the syndicate. In this 
 wish it seemed as if he must have been en- 
 couraged by Smith himself. At all events, 
 the man he described by that name appeared 
 to have lent him no small part of what money 
 
The Wylornes. 87 
 
 he used. But all this was confused and secret; 
 and as poor Howard's mind was never quite 
 clear afterwards, we could learn little from him. 
 This, however, was certain : as the price of the 
 stock he was watching went slowly up, he began 
 to buy privately, and ended by buying and 
 agreeing to buy so much that at length he 
 found himself at the end of his rope ; and just 
 then, greatly to his dismay, the price began to 
 fall. Then, on the day I have just written of, 
 he had gone to Smith and peremptorily asked 
 what this changed aspect of affairs meant. 
 When was the syndicate's stock to be forced 
 up to the highest price ? And then he had 
 learned that it was not to be forced up at all. 
 His sly friend, it appeared, had been buying so 
 openly that all the world might know that he 
 bought, trusting rightly that the unwary would 
 follow his lead. Then quietly, through secret 
 hands, he had sold more than he was buying, 
 thus leading and beguiling all who followed 
 him, and Howard most of all. And now 
 these aspirants for wealth were left to do what 
 
88 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 they might with the property and the con- 
 tracts for which they had paid a dozen times 
 their value. 
 
 Then when Howard learned what trick had 
 been played him, he came home as I have told; 
 and the man Smith who had led him into this 
 trouble was no other than Rankell. 
 
 XI. 
 
 WHEN Hastings and I laid before Mr. Wy- 
 borne the papers that proved these facts, he 
 would not believe what the writings told him. 
 
 " Rankell!" he exclaimed. "There's some 
 mistake. He 'd play nobody such a trick. 
 Why, I 've known him for years. I 've shaken 
 hands with him too many times to believe it." 
 
 So, as there was no other way to convince the 
 honest gentleman, it was arranged that Mr. 
 Wyborne and I should ascertain the true facts 
 by calling on Rankell in person. To Rankell's, 
 then, we went, where we were kept waiting 
 some little time. At last the door of his private 
 
The Wybornes. 89 
 
 office opened to us. I had never seen the little 
 den before. On two sides were white plastered 
 walls ; on the other two, white wooden frames 
 filled with ground glass ran up to the ceiling 
 twenty feet high. So great was the height, in- 
 deed, compared with the other dimensions, that 
 the place looked like a whitened pit, with a 
 grinning little pale-haired monster lurking at 
 the bottom to work his pleasure on whoever 
 happened to fall in. 
 
 Rankell bade us welcome over his shoulder. 
 As we entered, he was scratching away at 
 some letter. He did not even look up from 
 his rolling-topped desk, covered with papers. 
 Sit down, he said ; he would be at liberty in 
 a minute. 
 
 There was something in his dry manner that 
 I found exquisitely irritating. This scampish 
 little creature must know perfectly well that we 
 came to confront him with a piece of rascality 
 for which he deserved to have his neck wrung ; 
 yet here he coolly treated us like intruders. 
 We were to wait his pleasure, it appeared. Be- 
 
RankeWs Remains. 
 
 yond the ground-glass windows we could hear 
 the bustle of the office, and farther off, of the 
 great store. Nearer by, Rankell's scratching 
 pen kept up a staccato duet with the clicking 
 ticker that was vomiting paper tape into a tall 
 basket at his side. I was tempted to bid him 
 drop his work and listen. But, after all, the 
 move ought to come from Mr. Wyborne, who 
 sat silent. He was restless, though ; he leaned 
 forward in his chair, playing with his stick, 
 whose ivory head was grown a little yellow with 
 age. If the stick had been mine, I thought, I 
 should have been tempted to let Rankell feel it. 
 Possibly it was some such idea in Rankell's 
 own mind that kept him so busy. This im- 
 portant letter of his was probably a subterfuge 
 by means of which he was collecting self- 
 possession for the exposure that was at hand. 
 
 I rather expected that when the prolonged 
 minute he kept us waiting came to an end he 
 would still be in confusion. But closely as I 
 watched him I could see no outward signs of it. 
 He scribbled away as unconcernedly as if he 
 
The Wybornes. 
 
 had been alone. Finally with a vicious scratch 
 of the pen he signed his name ; then he 
 reached out his hand and touched a bell. In 
 came a clerk to receive a handful of papers and 
 sundry words of direction. And then Mr. 
 Rankell was ready to deal with us. 
 
 I watched him with curiosity. I almost pitied 
 him, thus forcibly brought face to face with his 
 knavery. But as Rankell wheeled about in his 
 pivot chair he looked by no means abject. He 
 rocked his chair back on its curling spring ; 
 he crossed his legs ; he interlaced his yellow 
 fingers and put the ends of his thumbs together. 
 Then, looking Mr. Wyborne straight in the 
 face, with every wrinkle showing about his 
 pale blue eyes, he snapped out the words, 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " I 've come to tell you of a serious misunder- 
 standing," began Mr. Wyborne. 
 
 " Go ahead, sir," said Rankell, curtly. His 
 manner had quite lost the civility he commonly 
 showed the elderly gentleman, who was a bit 
 confused at the change. Nevertheless, agreeable 
 
92 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 to Rankell's bidding, he went ahead, telling at 
 some length what Hastings and I conceived the 
 state of things to be. To him, he hastened to 
 protest, this view was quite incredible. 
 
 " Well, sir ? " repeated Rankell, when Mr. 
 Wyborne paused. 
 
 " I 've come to learn the real facts," said Mr. 
 Wyborne. 
 
 " I don't see," said Rankell, " but what your 
 friend here has got 'em straight." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asked Mr. Wyborne, 
 with a blank look that anywhere else would 
 have been comical, " that you played my bo;y 
 this trick?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Rankell, emphatically. 
 
 " I was sure of it," said Mr. Wyborne, bringing 
 down his stick with emphasis. And he looked 
 at me as if to say that I might take what com- 
 fort was to be had in the reflection that I had 
 found a mare's nest. 
 
 " I play nobody tricks," asserted Rankell. 
 
 " That 's just what I said, sir," put in Mr. 
 Wyborne. 
 
The Wybornes. 93 
 
 " But if a man tries to play tricks on me," 
 went on Rankell, with a grin, " he is apt to get 
 bitten, sir." 
 
 " That 's proper enough," said Mr. Wy borne. 
 u A man must defend himself." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Rankell, dryly, "that's 
 how your son Howard got bitten." 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Wyborne, jumping up. 
 
 u Just that," said Rankell, coolly looking him 
 straight in the face. " There 's no use in getting 
 excited, Mr. Wyborne. The milk 's spilt." 
 
 " Do you mean to intimate," began Mr. 
 Wyborne, "that Howard " 
 
 " Look here, sir, was n't he a sort of partner 
 with me in that little transaction ? " 
 
 " Apparently, something of the kind ; but " 
 
 t; Well, did n't he try to get more than his 
 share of the profits? " 
 
 " It looks so, sir ; but " 
 
 "Well, he didn't get it. Folks generally 
 don't when they try that game on me. That 's 
 the whole story, sir." 
 
94 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 Mr. Wy borne did not answer a word. Lean- 
 ing on his stick, he grew so deathly pale that I 
 thought him faint. I turned to the door, calling 
 for water, but he stopped me. 
 
 " Not a drop here," he said with an emphasis 
 that showed him able to do without it ; but he 
 took my arm. 
 
 " Look here, sir," went on Rankell as coolly 
 as ever, " we might as well have the whole thing 
 out. You 're mixed up in this, I suppose." 
 
 Mr. Wyborne, who was moving away, turned 
 back, looking Rankell straight in the eye ; and 
 as the little creature blinked impudently back, 
 there came over his wrinkles the sign of a 
 flush. 
 
 " I don't understand you, sir," said Mr. Wy- 
 borne. There was something in his tone that 
 marked the difference between them. I had 
 never, I thought, so felt his dignity. 
 
 " I don't understand you, sir," he repeated. 
 " I knew no details of- what Howard was doing; 
 but I knew what I know still, sir, that I brought 
 him up to be a gentleman." 
 
The Wylornes. 95 
 
 "No doubt," said Rankell. u And I s'pose 
 you 've lent him money on that." 
 
 " I have," said Mr. Wyborne. "What is mine 
 is his." 
 
 " Well, he will have to fail, and so will you, 
 for all I see." 
 
 " Our debts shall be paid, sir, whatever 
 happens." 
 
 " All right, sir ; though I advise you to 
 take full advantage of the law ; it 's common 
 sense. But that ain't what I had in mind. 
 I 've got to protect myself, you see ; so I 
 shall have to have that mortgage on your 
 place recorded." 
 
 " I might have expected it, sir," said Mr. 
 Wyborne. " There is nothing but your word to 
 prevent you." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Rankell, quickly, "don't 
 I take that back first?" 
 
 Mr. Wyborne turned on his heel and strode 
 out of the office thumping the wooden floor 
 with his stick. Anxious lest some serious 
 reaction should overtake my poor old friend, I 
 
96 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 hastened after him. And so we left Rankell 
 sitting with crossed legs and interlaced fingers. 
 
 Once in the street Mr. Wyborne took my 
 arm, and without speaking tramped hastily 
 along, drawing deep breaths ; but his pace soon 
 slackened, and he leaned on me heavily. 
 
 " 'Gad, sir," he said at last, " I came near los- 
 ing my temper before that scoundrel. I 've a 
 devilish bad one ; but I would n't let it get 
 the better of me there. I must rest some- 
 where." 
 
 We were passing a large hotel. Spruce fel- 
 lows stood smoking on the untidy marble porch, 
 while within the office a bustling crowd of 
 porters and buttoned boys and travellers and 
 what not were scurrying about the tessellated 
 pavement; but as no other resting-place was 
 at hand, I led him in. There for a while he 
 sat listlessly in a stained red leather arm-chair 
 that was screwed to the wall near one of the 
 plate-glass windows. After a little rest he 
 asked me kindly to bring him water. " Would 
 not wine do better ? " I asked. From our seats 
 
The Wylornes. 97 
 
 we could see a part of the neighboring bar- 
 room, whence came noisy talk and the tinkle 
 of glasses. But he shook his head ; so, not 
 wishing to oppose him, I brought water in 
 a plated goblet that stood near at hand. 
 From this, after curiously looking at its 
 cheap ornamentation, he took a sip or two. 
 " Iced water," he remarked, " is dangerous to 
 digestion." And thus refreshed, he walked 
 homeward. 
 
 On the way he talked, with a calmness that 
 made me doubt whether he fully realized what 
 he said, about the duty that lay before him. 
 All his property must go without delay ; and 
 he told me what I knew before how the 
 man Cutting had lately come with some offer 
 for the old place that he had expected always 
 to keep. As we parted at his door he turned 
 to me with words of thanks for what he called 
 my kindness ; and then, holding my hand, and 
 speaking in a doubtful tone, he said that he 
 should venture to trouble me just a little more. 
 He was tired out ; he must rest. Should I mind 
 7 
 
98 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 calling on Cutting with word that his offer 
 might now be considered? 
 
 To Cutting then I went. I found him in a 
 huge beehive of a building, with half a dozen 
 elevators to 'carry whoever would go to the 
 upper cells. He received me curtly, and did 
 not mend his manners when he heard my busi- 
 ness. He was playing with a pocket-knife, 
 whose handle of crinkled brown bone pro- 
 truded from his fat knuckle. 
 
 " The offer 's not open," he grunted, as he 
 scraped his pudgy finger-nails. " It looks now 
 as if the gentleman that talked to me could get 
 the thing cheaper. The moral of that is that 
 when you get a chance you nab it, if you 've 
 got any sense." 
 
 With such satisfaction as this maxim might 
 afford I turned to go. Cutting, still staring 
 at his finger-nails, whose appearance seemed to 
 afford him much satisfaction, called after me : 
 " See here, sir. I don't know but what you 
 might as well tell Wyborne who the gentle- 
 man was. It was Mr. Rankell." 
 
The Wybornes. 99 
 
 XII. 
 
 How the Wyborne property was sold, root 
 and branch, I need not tell in detail. Not a 
 bit was reserved. Mr. Wyborne held that his 
 honor was pledged, and that no technicalities 
 should be permitted to protect anything that 
 might help redeem what obligations Howard 
 or he had incurred. Where the town house 
 went, or the furniture, or the paintings, or the 
 wine (that half the clubs in the country bid 
 for), does not concern us. But sure enough, 
 when the old country place, that was most 
 precious of all, came under the hammer, it was 
 Rankell that began the bidding ; and as nobody 
 cared to bid against him, he had it for what he 
 pleased. 
 
 Once in possession, he made clear why he 
 wanted it. The place, as it had stood, with a 
 great house and grounds and farms, much in 
 the English style, was, as Howard had affirmed, 
 fit only for a gentleman. But in no great time 
 
100 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 Rankell had changed all that, and made the 
 place what, if it had ever been, it had not been 
 for years, a paying piece of property. An 
 army of laborers were set to work. Farms and 
 lawns and gardens disappeared ; the old trees 
 that had been Mr. Wyborne's pride and the 
 new ones that he had expected to be the pride 
 of his descendants, were chopped alike into fire- 
 wood ; and a whole town of spruce little houses, 
 each with a breathing-space about it, sprung 
 into existence along the broad streets with sen- 
 timental names, which Rankell's workmen laid 
 out in the rectangular fashion dear to the 
 American heart. A better place of residence 
 for well-to-do shopkeepers and the like, whom 
 the railway took back and forth from town in 
 less than an hour, could not be imagined. To 
 cap the climax, Rankell undertook personally 
 to manage all the business of the place ; so, 
 thanks to his capital and his management, the 
 cost of living was lower there than anywhere 
 else. Deserving people of the middle class 
 flocked to the town in any number you please. 
 
The Wylornes. 101 
 
 Rankellville, as it was called, soon grew fa- 
 mous in its way. Rankell's proceedings there 
 impressed the public as a nobly philanthropic 
 use of fortune ; he won untold praise, too, by 
 rigorously forbidding the sale of intoxicating 
 drink within the limits of the township. Trav- 
 ellers from abroad went to Rankellville and 
 discussed its merits in newspapers and reviews; 
 and people generally held that a more admir- 
 able and successful experiment had not been 
 tried for years. So, as the small man walked 
 down town, and sat of a Sunday in St. Peter's, 
 he was looked at with fresh respect. He was not 
 only the richest man in the city, but perhaps 
 the most conspicuous benefactor of his kind. 
 
 There was one feature of the town, however, 
 which nobody could understand. In the middle 
 of one of the square blocks the old Wyborne 
 house was left untouched ; and the land about 
 it, though fenced in, was not at all improved. 
 So as Rankellville grew and prospered, there 
 remained in the midst of its extremely modern 
 life this curious spectacle of a square country 
 
102 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 house, with closed blinds and constantly more 
 dingy paint. So it stood for a good while, 
 with the few stray trees about it which the 
 plan of the town permitted to survive ; and 
 what had once been the garden grew to be 
 a tangled mass of weeds. At last some boys, 
 who had made an entrance to the cellar, and 
 taken to holding high festival in the empty 
 rooms, managed somehow to drop a lighted 
 match in an inaccessible corner. In half an 
 hour the house was in ashes and the trees had 
 their death-scars. 
 
 There was painful speculation in Rankellville 
 as to what Mr. Rankell would say. Everybody 
 was surprised, however, when he simply re- 
 marked that the accident had saved him the 
 trouble of pulling the old thing down ; and he 
 went on to leave the vacant block as uncared- 
 for as ever. So as Rankellville grew and pros- 
 pered, all that was left to remind you of what 
 had once been in its place was the blackened 
 cellar full of weeds and cinders, that marked the 
 spot where the old Wyborne house had stood. 
 
The Wybornes. 103 
 
 XIII. 
 
 AND now that I have told something of how 
 the Wybornes lived, and of how Rankell saw 
 and coveted what they had, and so wove his 
 web about them until he had it for himself, and 
 of what use he made of it when it was his, I am 
 tempted to think that, imperfectly as my work 
 is done, the time is come to leave these matters. 
 But perhaps, after all, this is where I may best 
 set down what more I have to say concerning 
 Mr. Wyborne and his children. 
 
 Their case, of course, gave rise to much talk 
 and much sympathy. To be sure, people said, 
 it was their own fault ; Mr. Wyborne's im- 
 prudence and Howard's folly had been un- 
 paralleled. And this generalization was so 
 comprehensive, and withal so easy to repeat, 
 that it soon came to be accepted as an adequate 
 version of what had happened. But, after all 
 was said, the fact remained that their impru- 
 dence and folly had no shade of dishonor ; and 
 
104: RankelTs Remains. 
 
 then everybody had liked the Wybornes, and 
 had freely taken what they gave in the days of 
 their prosperity. So for a while there was talk 
 of helping them, of buying a house somewhere, 
 and subscribing enough to keep them in com- 
 fort. When this came to Mr. Wyborne's ears, 
 however, he quite lost his temper, declaring that 
 no Wyborne had been a beggar yet, and that 
 none should be in his time. They were not 
 penniless, he went on to state ; Anna had a 
 little something from her mother. To be sure, 
 he was grieved to say, he had managed her 
 property ill ; but still there was enough, thank 
 God, to support them until he found some- 
 thing to do. So pray let him hear no more 
 of help. 
 
 This disheartening reception of proffered kind- 
 ness made the . first of the breaches that began 
 to grow between the Wybornes and their old 
 friends. The benevolent ladies who had taken 
 the matter of helping them in hand put up their 
 purses in a dudgeon. To use no stronger term, 
 Mr. Wyborne's conduct was very extraordinary, 
 
The Wybornes. 105 
 
 and one who will not take a friendly hand must 
 not expect a friendly smile. Mrs. Henderson, 
 too, who at first was all kindness, and offered 
 her house to them as long as they would stay in 
 it, was much put out at the rebuff she had. To 
 be sure, she had thanks and to spare ; but they 
 would rather shift for themselves. At least, 
 she hoped, they would let her offer a home to 
 Anna. Well, that was as Anna pleased ; she 
 was free to choose for herself. And Anna chose 
 to stay with her father and Howard. 
 
 " In short," said Mrs. Henderson to whoever 
 would listen, " their behavior is quite uncon- 
 scionable. Of course their case is hard, and I 
 am sure they have all our sympathy; and if 
 they come to actual want, as there 's no 
 earthly reason to suppose they won't, we 
 shall do our duty by them. But it will be a 
 thankless task. The truth is, my dear, it takes 
 character to bear misfortune ; and we all know 
 the Wybornes." 
 
 So the Wybornes displayed their signal 
 want of character by taking quarters in an out- 
 
106 RanlceWs Remains. 
 
 of-the-way boarding-house, where they found 
 reasonable comfort within the means that what 
 was left of Anna's property afforded. There 
 was little enough left, though. Mr. Wyborne 
 had undertaken the care of his daughter's estate, 
 and though he had cared for it as well as if it 
 had been his own, he had cared no better, for 
 the excellent reason that he did not know how. 
 Year by year, then, it had shrunk along with his. 
 Now at last he was more than willing to put 
 what remained into skilful hands. On this they 
 lived, obscurely but not unhappily; and How- 
 ard, who was hopelessly stricken, had every 
 care that his father's and his sister's self-denial 
 could afford him. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THUS cut off from their old surroundings, the 
 Wybornes liked to see me, whom accident had 
 kept near them throughout their troubles. I 
 often went to their lodgings, then, of an even- 
 ing, sure of a welcome as hearty as of old. 
 
The Wylornes. 107 
 
 This welcome, indeed, went far to repay what 
 little trouble the visits cost me; but I am bound 
 to confess that the cigars Mr. Wyborne gave 
 me in these days were enough to put my friend- 
 ship to a test. The three had a dingy little 
 parlor, up two flights of stairs, with a bronzed 
 chandelier, and furniture that was not comfort- 
 able to sit on. Howard always had the lounge. 
 He would lie there stupidly, with fat, white 
 face and ragged beard, now and then complain- 
 ing a little ; but as he spoke with difficulty, 
 he was apt to lie pretty still, and often fell 
 asleep. 
 
 " I sometimes think the boy is in luck," Mr. 
 Wyborne would say. " Half the time he does n't 
 seem to realize what has happened. The other 
 day he asked when we meant to go out of town. 
 I didn't correct him. There was no use in 
 making him uncomfortable. Of course he 
 did n't mean to bring us to this." 
 
 At other times he talked more cheerfully. 
 
 "You have no idea, until you try it," he 
 would say, " what a tolerable life people live in 
 
108 Rankett's Remains. 
 
 this kind of place. I had a notion it would be 
 frightfully dull, and it's not a bit. The table- 
 talk is uncommonly good. There is a man here 
 who used to be a consul in Japan or somewhere, 
 very widely informed, tells a capital story. 
 And there is a queer old woman not at all 
 the kind you meet in society who has seen no 
 end of life and says the drollest things. Anna, 
 do you know it occurs to me that Mrs. Finch 
 may have been on the stage. She reminds me 
 of a Miss Something-or-other I forget the 
 name whom your mother thought the best 
 Lady Teazle she ever saw." 
 
 Meantime he would stoutly declare that he 
 should soon find something to do, and so help 
 matters along. But this something to do never 
 turned up ; and indeed I suspect he rarely went 
 farther in search of it than the side of his 
 marble-topped table, over which Anna had 
 spread a pretty cloth. Here he would sit, puff- 
 ing his cigar, or reading a stray book ; and 
 reflecting, so far as you could judge from his 
 occasional remarks, that it was high time to 
 
The Wybornes. 109 
 
 bestir himself, and that he was quite ready to 
 do so. The marvel was, as time went on, that 
 he had managed to keep off the catastrophe as 
 long as he had. 
 
 It was on Anna, then, that more and more 
 the charge of affairs fell, and she bore it in 
 a way that surprised me ; for up to this time 
 she had never known what it was to want 
 anything, or even to be contradicted. I re- 
 member a speech of Mr. Wyborne's when she 
 was growing up, that to my mind augured ill 
 for her when she should be grown. 
 
 "It's a bad plan, I know," he said, "to let 
 a child do as it pleases. But if it doesn't 
 please to do what it should n't, you can't inter- 
 fere without making it bad. If Anna was a 
 boy, I believe I should rather like her to get 
 drunk. A man without a touch of wild oats 
 isn't exactly human, though you can't feel 
 quite that way about a girl. Or if she were 
 devote, a female prig, you know, there 
 would be something to do. But she is nothing 
 of the kind. She likes a good time riding 
 
110 RanJceWs Remains. 
 
 and dancing and small-talk with the best of 
 them. Only somehow she manages to stop of 
 her own accord just where she ought. So what 
 the devil can I do ?" 
 
 Without the intimacy of paternity it was im- 
 possible as well as unmannerly to contradict 
 him. I doubt, however, whether anybody shared 
 his view of the pretty young woman. To com- 
 mon eyes she seemed a fly-away little body, up 
 to her ears in the rush of society, always eager 
 for the last new gayety, dressed at heaven knows 
 what expense, and systematically spoilt from 
 the day she was born. When the trouble came, 
 then, I for one looked for grumbling from Anna. 
 In all likelihood, I thought, the hardest change 
 for her father to bear would be the change in 
 her. Yet, after the first shock was over, and 
 she had reluctantly become convinced that Ran- 
 kell was in no way amenable to the criminal law, 
 you would hardly have known from her bearing 
 that there was any change at all. There was 
 but one marked difference in her: from having 
 worn such gay clothes as I believe she would 
 
The Wybornes. Ill 
 
 never have had if her mother had survived to 
 keep an eye on her, she took to wearing gowns 
 so simple that you could never tell whether it 
 was one or another. 
 
 Often smiling, now and then singing a 
 snatch of some song as she sat and sewed, she 
 seemed as happy and as thoughtless as ever. 
 But in little ways I could see that there was 
 no real thoughtlessness about her; she took 
 care that her father should never sit long 
 brooding, and to Howard she was the best 
 of nurses. I have seen her arrange his pil- 
 lows for the hundredth time when he com- 
 plained that he could not lie comfortably. And 
 every day she would read to him, chiefly from 
 the newspapers, for when he felt strong 
 enough to think of anything but himself, he 
 was constantly more anxious to know what 
 was going on in the world. Particularly he 
 liked to follow the ups and downs of stocks, 
 uttering with his heavy tongue sage remarks 
 as to what great things he would have done 
 if his confounded luck had not laid him up. 
 
112 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 And Anna would read and listen to him as 
 if she cared about such things herself. The 
 only change I saw in her was, that she grew 
 thin, and the veins swelled in her white hands, 
 and her forefinger grew rough with the sewing 
 she insisted on doing for herself. 
 
 At last, however, another change came. She 
 began to protest, as I had expected at first, 
 that this hum-drum life was depressingly dull. 
 Before long, though, I found out that this was 
 a subterfuge. She had always been fond of 
 music, and had been well taught; now, for 
 mere distraction she said, she chose to put her 
 accomplishment to use. She tried singing once 
 at a private concert where Mrs. Henderson con- 
 sented to find her a place. But as she chose 
 some simple German songs, and as a dashing 
 young woman followed her with a rollicking 
 English one, stamped with the approval of the 
 Prince of Wales, she had little success. In the 
 end, then, she preferred taking pupils, who soon 
 occupied much of her time. And thus, while 
 Mr. Wy borne, who grew rusty in his wits, 
 
The Wybornes. 113 
 
 seemed not to realize what she was about, she 
 eked out what scanty living her little property 
 brought them. 
 
 XV. 
 
 IT was about this time that Tom Henderson 
 came to the Club one night with a story that 
 he for one thought highly comical. Strolling 
 somewhere after dark, he had been attracted 
 by a pretty little figure making its way through 
 a crowded street without a protector. The 
 chivalrous courtesy that always marked Tom's 
 relations with the other sex impelled him at 
 once to make chase, with a view, in case his 
 attentions should not be repulsed, to supplying, 
 at least for the moment, this lack so deplorable 
 from the point of view of etiquette. 
 
 " So off I went after her," he said, " and be- 
 fore long she twigged and did n't seem to like 
 it. So we had a regular race, till at last I caught 
 up with her under a lamp-post. And, by Jove! 
 it was Anna Wyborne ! Well, I had sense 
 8 
 
114 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 enough to pretend I 'd known her all along, 
 and she made believe she believed me. I saw 
 her home. She 's devilish pretty, I tell you, 
 prettier than she ever was before." 
 
 Among the listeners to this anecdote was 
 Dick Hastings, whom I observed, when the 
 group separated, to call Henderson aside. In 
 a neighboring corner they engaged in pretty 
 serious talk ; but Henderson, who, to do him 
 justice, was the most good-tempered of men, 
 seemed by no means as much in earnest as 
 Hastings. 
 
 "Well, my dear fellow," he said in the end, 
 rather petulantly, " I admit it, don't I ? Per- 
 haps I shouldn't have mentioned the tiling." 
 
 " There 's no ' perhaps ' about it," said Hast- 
 ings, whose voice rose too. Nobody else was 
 left in the room. 
 
 Oh, it ! " said Tom, angrily. 
 
 " And I beg," went on Hastings, " not only 
 that you will mention it no more, but that you 
 won't go near her." And with that he left 
 him. 
 
The Wybornes. 115 
 
 This proceeding annoyed me. Hastings 
 was right, to be sure, as usual ; Tom had 
 acted abominably. But what business was that 
 of Hastings's? In the last days of the Wy- 
 bornes' fortune, as I have told, Hastings had 
 devoted himself to Anna conspicuously enough 
 to make people whisper that he was trying com- 
 fortably to feather his still bare nest. Then, 
 when the crash came, he had behaved very 
 decently, joining with one or two more of us 
 in doing what we could to help Mr. Wyborne 
 through his perplexities. And then, when he 
 had done just enough to prevent people from 
 remarking any discreditable change in his con- 
 duct, he had suddenly stopped going near the 
 unlucky family. I never saw him at their lodg- 
 ings; and from questions that Mr. Wyborne had 
 asked me, I was sure that they knew as little 
 of Hastings as if he had never been a close 
 friend. At the very moment when, according 
 to my notions, he should have come forward to 
 offer Anna what comfort his devotion could give 
 her, he had civilly bowed and walked away. 
 
116 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 There was nothing in his conduct to lay 
 hold of; so far as I knew, he had been fortu- 
 nate enough -not to have committed himself. 
 But surely his behavior gave him of all men 
 no right to play champion to the woman he 
 had coolly left without defence. I never liked 
 the self-centred fellow, and liked him the 
 less for this parade of uncompromising virtue. 
 Still, the matter was no affair of mine. If he 
 chose to quarrel with Henderson, he was at 
 liberty to do so. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A LITTLE after this I found the Wybornes 
 one night in a state of high excitement. Quite 
 unannounced, a document had come to Howard, 
 setting forth how, in recognition of his distin- 
 guished services in the army, his grateful Gov- 
 ernment had granted him a pension for life. 
 This, I suspect, was a godsend to the Wybornes. 
 For Howard's illness grew costly ; and Mr. 
 Wyborne still found "something to do" easier 
 
The Wylornes. 117 
 
 to talk about than to find ; and what Anna 
 earned, even with what her little property 
 brought them, was no great matter. But 
 some evil impulse had set Mr. Wyborne to 
 inquiring how the Government had ever come 
 to think about them ; and when I happened 
 in upon them they had just found out that 
 the pension was due to the kind offices of 
 Mr. Rankell, who had recommended it to a 
 statesman of his acquaintance. 
 
 This unlooked-for benevolence caused the 
 first quarrel I ever knew them to have. For 
 Anna was for taking the money ; it was no 
 gift, she said, but honestly won by years of 
 fighting, and what road it came by was no 
 concern of theirs. But Howard had raised 
 himself on one elbow, swearing in his thick 
 speech that he would rather starve than touch 
 a cent that came from Rankell ; and Mr. 
 Wyborne had taken his side. 
 
 My coming did not disturb them ; they 
 were beginning to grow careless. Already 
 the letter was sealed in which Howard had 
 
118 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 managed, with no small pains, to scrawl his 
 refusal of the proffered gift. And Anna was 
 begging him not to send it ; for they were 
 coming to need all they could honorably get. 
 
 " That 's just it," said Mr. Wyborne, who 
 was tramping up and down the little room. 
 44 If you think we can honorably take what 
 that scampish fellow pleases to fling us, you 
 forget who brought us to this, and you for- 
 get God forgive you the old place and 
 what has happened to it. Thank God, we 're 
 not paupers yet. And if we were, we could 
 hold our heads up." 
 
 " But, papa," sighed poor Anna, " we 
 need it." 
 
 " Anna, we need nothing, I tell you," retorted 
 Mr. Wyborne. u We need nothing so long as 
 we keep our honor. If you were n't a woman 
 you would understand me." 
 
 In the old times Mr. Wyborne had been fond 
 of declaring that no woman ever knew what 
 honor means. 
 
 Poor Anna's eyes were swollen with tears ; 
 
The Wybornes. 119 
 
 and even now that I was by she could hardly 
 keep back her sobs. She had had, she began to 
 say, as much as she could bear ; heaven knew 
 she had done her best. 
 
 And so it went on. As soon as might be, I 
 left them, still angry. And thus, for once, a 
 pension was refused. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 IT was a little later that Hastings, who had 
 grown very brief in his intercourse with me, 
 surprised me one day by abruptly asking if I 
 could tell him how matters were going with the 
 Wybornes. I made no scruple to tell him that 
 they were going very ill, and to give some ac- 
 count of this last scene, so new in their life, 
 that bade fair to be no strange one in future. 
 
 44 H'm," said Hastings, with irritating cool- 
 ness. " It 's too bad." 
 
120 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 AND now comes the end of this little drama. 
 One night, soon after this, I was alone in my 
 room, thinking of bed, when there came a rap 
 at my door, and in walked Hastings. There 
 was a frankly joyous look in his face that I had 
 never seen there before. 
 
 " It 's very late," he said. " But I know you 
 will like to hear what I have to tell you. I 
 am going to be married to Anna Wyborne." 
 
 With that, he held out both hands ; and I 
 took them and wrung them, though in my sur- 
 prise I hardly realized what he said. And 
 after that we sat together, late into the night, 
 and he told me all his story ; for I had been 
 the best friend of her people, and for his part he 
 had no near friends of his own. And as he 
 talked on, I began to understand how all the 
 time I had read him wrong. 
 
 For he told how, from that first visit to the 
 old house, years ago, he had felt, when he saw 
 
The Wylornes. 121 
 
 the merry little girl who had tried to treat him 
 kindly and was wounded for her pains, that he 
 should never love any one but her. Yet when 
 he thought of his clumsy self, and of the pov- 
 erty of his people, he had known how little 
 he was worthy of such a prize ; and it was 
 without hope that he had let himself dream of 
 her through his hard-working college life, and 
 after that in the army. Then one night he had 
 been seized with a belief that in a battle that 
 was coming he should surely fall. Of this he 
 had felt so certain that, gathering courage, he 
 had gone to Lawrence Wyborne, whose quarters 
 were near by, and had told Lawrence all his 
 story. He could not die, he felt, without one 
 word of farewell to her who alone made the 
 world hard for him to leave. Lawrence had 
 smiled at his fears, speaking kindly of hopes 
 that Hastings's love might not go unrewarded. 
 But he had promised that if the worst came 
 Anna should surely know how the lover 
 who had never spoken had loved her. Then 
 the battle came, and it was Lawrence himself 
 
122 7W,v//'x 
 
 \\ ho fell. And llaslin-s hron-hl. home \vli;i(, 
 
 i ic us (.1 1 1 is IViolid was loft to tell, and HO 
 always li:ul a, welcome in the house where IK; 
 loved to go. 
 
 I ;ni as I he shook of grief wore off, and Anna 
 began :i#ain to lead tho lifo she was used to, she 
 
 had drawn away from him. Mr miisl. plod at. his 
 profession, sli ii",".lm<.'; for I he livelihood Mint 
 nothing hut work could brin^ him, while .-.he 
 
 kin-died in whal seemed lohima round of emply 
 folly, lisl(>niii"; d Mie prdly speech. -s of frllows 
 \\ ho learned I heir arts of pleasing in eoin|)aiiy 
 far diflrrenl, from hers. Then I lasl in;;s had 
 hi s led h, and wnrkrd nnlil he had hei.nin lo win 
 himself a name, hating all I he while every one 
 to whom she sp>ke kind words; for his was a 
 nature Ihal, emild have hilt 0116 great passion, 
 
 and lha! disiortod all things else. There \v< re 
 
 limes evetJ when he lhondi(, her j'Towin;- nn- 
 
 wn rll iv of the love Ihal, \\ilhoiil spcaKni",, In' ",;i\<- 
 
 her. ll was only now and then, in quiet hours 
 
 like Ihal. in which (heir lalk had l)00n broken by 
 Howard's coming wilh I lie news of ruin, thai 
 
The Wylorne*. 1 2:i 
 
 he had found her ntill gentle and sweet and 
 :-.imple. Yet what slight words she spoke in 
 - mes as these, that had seemed pass- 
 in;^, wore ever a fresh inspiration for the \v 
 he was doing. 
 
 Thou, when the crash came, he had helped 
 her people with a full heart. And one day, 
 finding her alone, ho had dared to tell her all, 
 begging her to rest on him, and so escape the 
 tii,., vere coming. He had begged that, 
 
 he mi;djt help her father too; his work was 
 winning money now, and there were none to 
 depend on him. lint, f-.ho had :-,hakon lif;r head 
 and f:lo.v:d her lij>s, tuniing pale. If matters 
 had fallen otherwise, she eould not tell; but, 
 now h';r duly wan with her own people. They 
 must stand together, and honor hade them st 
 alone; so, as he loved her, let her hear no 
 of this. 
 
 lie had taken her at her word. For months 
 that had lengthened into years he had worked 
 on, watehing her as he could, but giving no 
 sign, arid resolved to give none until the end. 
 
124 Rankeirs Remains. 
 
 At worst it was only what he had known from 
 the first, even in her sorrow, he was not wor- 
 thy to help her. He had never doubted that, 
 for all their trouble, her people were free from 
 want. And so he had worked on, prudently, 
 as we thought, feathering his empty nest. 
 
 But at last, when what I said gave him a 
 glimpse of the misery that was coming to her, 
 he had gathered courage to disobey ; and go- 
 ing timidly to her lodging, he had found her 
 alone. Then he had spoken again. He asked 
 for nothing but that she would let his life- 
 work, that was bringing him fortune at last, be 
 brought an offering to her in need. Let her 
 take of it, never saying whence it came, until 
 at least she and hers wanted for nothing. It 
 was hers by right ; for she alone, all unknow- 
 ing, had made him win all that he had. 
 
 Then Anna had said nothing, but with eyes 
 full of tears had held out her thin hand. And 
 reverent and amazed, for he could not bring 
 himself all at once to know his happiness, he 
 had drawn her slowly to himself; and beneath 
 
The Wylornes. 125 
 
 her dark hair he had been suffered to kiss the 
 scar that when she was a little child he had 
 unwittingly made. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THEEE is little more to tell here. It was not 
 long afterward that with one or two more I 
 saw the quiet wedding that began for those of 
 whom I have been writing a new life. In the 
 house where they lived together I saw them 
 often in time to come. There, by and by, 
 poor Howard's life flickered out in peace. And 
 as Anna bore children, and they grew big 
 enough to play about the chair whence Mr. 
 Wy borne rarely moved now, it seemed to me 
 that he had never, in his most prosperous days, 
 been so full of the gentle courtesy that made us 
 love him. So, with his new children about him, 
 he glided on toward his end, speaking, when 
 his thoughts and his speech were not gently at 
 rest, chiefly of those olden times of which we 
 all, and he most of all, loved to think. 
 
III. 
 
 THE LOTTIMERS. 
 
I. 
 
 / T V HE second of my three stories deals with 
 the fortunes of Mr. Joseph Lottimer, for 
 many years confidential clerk at Rankell's. Of 
 him I personally knew very little, and of his 
 family, who play a good part in the story, less 
 still. But a knowledge of what they were like, 
 and of what befell them, came to me in this way. 
 For a long time an old friend of mine has prac- 
 tised medicine in a suburban town where his 
 father practised before him. With this quiet 
 career he commonly seems contented ; but now 
 and then, at intervals that are growing longer, 
 he is seized with a desire to stretch himself, 
 as he expresses it. So he turns up in town with 
 an eager appetite for such news as does not 
 get into the papers. 
 
 On one of these flying visits, when he chose 
 to put up at my lodgings, I told him, over a 
 9 
 
130 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 pipe and a glass of spirits and water, something 
 of what had happened to the Wybornes ; he had 
 known the boys at college. In return he pro- 
 fessed to have a tale about some patients of his 
 that would more than match mine, and a tale, 
 oddly enough, that concerned one of the chief 
 actors in that of the Wybornes, namely, Ran- 
 kell. So in a graphic way of his own he pro- 
 ceeded to tell me the story of the Lottimers. 
 
 Much as he told it I shall tell it here, adding 
 perhaps a few things that came otherwise to my 
 knowledge, and perhaps, too, filling in some 
 degree what outlines of the story seem too bare. 
 For these people, I find, are grown very real to 
 me ; and very likely I do not always distinguish 
 between matters as they must have been and 
 matters that I know for a certainty. 
 
 II. 
 
 IN a small way of his own Mr. Joseph Lotti- 
 mer was a well-known man. If everybody in 
 town knew Rankell, everybody at Rankell's 
 
The Lottimers. 131 
 
 knew Mr. Lottimer, the confidential clerk. Be- 
 sides, he lived in a suburb where society was 
 simple enough to entitle him to prominence as 
 a leading member of the Baptist Church. 
 
 His position at Raukell's, where he was ex- 
 pected to keep an eye on everybody, from 
 cashier to cash-boy, was a rather delicate one. 
 But Mr. Lottimer attended to his duty in so 
 simple and unpretentious a way that he was 
 never unpopular. If any one was puzzled and 
 came to him for advice he was always ready 
 with the best advice at his disposal. And 
 though no jurist, he was in his own way a good 
 case-lawyer. If there was a precedent he al- 
 ways remembered it ; if there was none he 
 naturally appealed to Rankell, and never forgot 
 the decision. 
 
 One Christmas Eve he had been interrupted 
 in the act of putting on his coat, and requested 
 to step into the counting-room. There he had 
 found a considerable company assembled ; and 
 one of the book-keepers, who was thought to 
 possess a vein of eloquence, had made a speech, 
 
132 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 requesting him to accept as a token of good-will 
 and prosperity from the employees of Rankell's 
 a beautiful Christmas gift, consisting of a silver 
 ice-pitcher and goblets. These, the spokesman 
 declared, the donors hoped would flourish for 
 years in Mr. Lottimer's unbroken family circle. 
 The ice-pitcher was not silver, but plated ; and 
 together with the goblets and the waiter on 
 which they stood was decorated with roses and 
 acorns intertwined with an Arabesque design, 
 which merged in handles representing some- 
 thing with the head of a sphinx and the tail of 
 a Renaissance Triton. But Mr. Lottimer had 
 fairly broken down at the sight of this unex- 
 pected tribute to his character. With red face 
 and stammering voice he had assured his friends 
 that he should never forget this delightful occa- 
 sion ; he trusted he should prove himself wor- 
 thy of it ; he should always be happy to see 
 them if they visited his neighborhood. And after 
 much hand-shaking he had borne off the elegant 
 testimonial, as he called it, to be thenceforth 
 the most treasured ornament of his parlor. 
 
The Lottimers. 133 
 
 Mr. Lottimer's career was quite free from 
 mystery. If his friends in general knew no 
 more than that he was Rankell's factotum, it 
 was because they never inquired further. You 
 could hardly talk with him for half an hour 
 without learning what few facts there were in 
 his history. 
 
 His father, an Englishman, had been a ship- 
 master. In this part of the world he appeared 
 early in middle life, and after the manner of 
 those who follow the sea presently married a 
 native. When not away on a voyage he lived 
 good-naturedly with his wife in a small house on 
 the outskirts of the city, and now and then he 
 sent home money. At last, when Joseph was a 
 small boy, the captain sailed away for good and 
 all. There was a story, which Joseph firmly 
 believed, that he had been lost overboard in a 
 gale. Another version of his fate was that he 
 preferred another family, which he cultivated in 
 the neighborhood of Liverpool ; but this was 
 only scandal. 
 
 The widow, a gentle, uncomplaining woman, 
 
134 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 managed to support her child decently by going 
 out as a monthly nurse. In this capacity she 
 became very popular ; and to the end of his 
 life Joseph Lottimer took much satisfaction in 
 telling how he had known, in their earliest 
 infancy, some of the most prominent people in 
 town. His range of social anecdote, indeed, 
 gave him among people he met casually a repu- 
 tation, that he would have been the first to dis- 
 claim, of having seen better days. For his part, 
 he was innocently proud of his own success. 
 
 He had been sent to the public schools. 
 Then, when he was twelve or fifteen years old, 
 the husband of one of his mother's clients had 
 given him a small place in a wholesale store. 
 Here he proved himself so valuable that by the 
 time he was twenty years old his salary was 
 sufficient to enable his mother to retire from 
 active life. So they took rooms together in a 
 decent boarding-house kept by a motherly old 
 lady named Jones. This Mrs. Jones, who often 
 talked of a son that was gone West, had a pretty 
 daughter, who helped keep house and made eyes 
 
The Lottimers. 135 
 
 at the male boarders. But Joseph Lottimer was 
 too good a son to permit himself more than pass- 
 ing interest in anybody but his mother. So, 
 surrounded with every attention, Mrs. Lottimer 
 lived much respected until one night she quietly 
 died of heart-disease, at the age of sixty-three. 
 
 Joseph's heart, thus lacerated, was for the 
 moment peculiarly sensitive. Naturally enough, 
 then, he proceeded to fall in love with pert Miss 
 Rhoda Jones. For a while she was disposed to 
 laugh at her diffident admirer. Her smiles she 
 reserved for a spruce young man of business who 
 frequented the house. But one day this young 
 man unexpectedly married somebody else ; and 
 the effect of this union on Miss Rhoda was 
 such that before long she was engaged to Joseph 
 Lottimer. There was no reason for delaying 
 marriage. Mrs. Jones was quite satisfied with 
 the match ; and Joseph, who had just gone into 
 Rankell's employ, had a capital salary. So they 
 were immediately married, and lived on at Mrs. 
 Jones's much as they had lived before. 
 
 The chief difference was that Mrs. Rhoda 
 
136 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 Lottimer was by no means as cheerful a person 
 as Miss Rhoda Jones had been, nor yet so easy 
 to satisfy as her elderly predecessor in Joseph's 
 affections. Before long the trouble was ex- 
 plained. She was prematurely brought to bed 
 of a boy who did not live, and who came near 
 proving the end of his mother. It was Joseph's 
 devotion, indeed, that brought her through the 
 illness ; for Mrs. Jones, who had little head, gave 
 herself over to laments. Joseph passed every 
 moment he could spare from Rankell's at his 
 wife's bedside. The power of caring for the 
 sick that he inherited from his mother served 
 to keep hope alive in Rhoda's mind. And when 
 at last, after weeks of critical illness, she reached 
 a condition where the doctors pronounced her 
 out of danger, she seemed to feel that it was 
 her husband alone who had saved her. She 
 rose up at last, looking ten years older than she 
 was, and without the pert gayety that used to be 
 her most salient quality. But she was changed 
 in more ways than one ; from the day the fever 
 left her, and she first asked Joseph to kiss her 
 
The Lottimers. 137 
 
 thin face, she seemed almost to worship the 
 prosaic husband at whom she used to laugh. 
 
 For a long time little varied the life of the 
 Lottimers. Old Mrs. Jones had a stroke of 
 paralysis that closed the boarding-house and 
 ultimately sent the whole family out of town. 
 There, in the suburb where my friend the doctor 
 practised, they lived for years, with growing 
 respectability. A second stroke disposed of 
 Mrs. Jones. And two children, a boy and a 
 girl, were born to the Lottimers, and survived 
 the allotted dangers of infancy. The girl's 
 career had been wholly uneventful ; her chief 
 characteristics being a fondness for finery which 
 her father's improving circumstances enabled 
 him to supply, and later a promising soprano 
 voice, cultivated at a city conservatory. 
 
 Her brother, who was some years older, was 
 less fortunate. As a small boy he was vigor- 
 ous in every way ; but one unlucky day his 
 father was teased into taking him to town, with 
 the understanding that he should take good 
 care of himself, and without leaving Rankell's 
 
138 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 should keep out of the way during business 
 hours. In his efforts to do so the youth wan- 
 dered to the third story of the store, whence he 
 managed to tumble down the shaft of the ele- 
 vator, landing on his head. Though he was 
 picked up for dead, his unusual physical vigor 
 pulled him through the illness which resulted 
 from his severe concussion of the brain ; but 
 he was never quite like other people. 
 
 Before the accident he had been a fair scholar 
 for his age, and his father had cherished an idea 
 of sending him to college. But his fall seemed 
 to knock all power of learning out of his head. 
 He grew very large and powerful in body ; in 
 off-hours he was fond of straying into the com- 
 pany of laborers, who were astonished at his 
 feats of strength ; he would often lift weights 
 that staggered two ordinary men. But he was 
 very slow of wit ; and at last his father aban- 
 doned dreams of education, and made bold to 
 ask Mr. Raukell whether a place could be found 
 for Joe in some corner of the establishment. 
 
 Rankell asked a good many questions, sent 
 
The Lottimers. 139 
 
 for the lad, and finally gave him a small position 
 in the carpeting department, where heavy goods 
 needed constant handling. For some years 
 after that, father and son came to town together 
 every morning ; and while Joseph Lottimer was 
 busy among the clerks, young Joe passed his 
 days in pulling about and unrolling and rolling 
 up endless carpets. He worked well, he showed 
 no sign of discontent, he never asked for pro- 
 motion, and Rankell showed no sign of promot- 
 ing him. Still, Mr. Lottimer always said, Mr. 
 Rankell had been very kind to give Joe any 
 place at all, and the family was duly grateful. 
 
 III. 
 
 MB. LOTTIMER'S home life was as regular as 
 his life at Rankell's. Supper took him half an 
 hour. Then he re-read the evening newspaper. 
 This, by the way, he always bought of a news- 
 boy ; subscription he held extravagant, inas- 
 much as you could never tell but that you 
 might be prevented from reading your paper. 
 
140 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 When his reading was done he commonly fell 
 asleep. Mrs. Lottimer, sewing or knitting, 
 would keep very quiet for fear' of waking 
 him. Joe, meanwhile, would commonly twirl 
 his thumbs, staring at vacancy. When a fel- 
 low feels tired, there is no sense in moving or 
 thinking ; but going to sleep before going to 
 bed, or going to bed before bedtime, formed no 
 part of his life, 
 
 Sadie was not so easy to manage. As a little 
 girl, she was sent to bed immediately after sup- 
 per ; but when she grew older it was thought 
 that she might well relieve her mother of the 
 work of washing dishes. So her regular tasks 
 began after those of the rest of the family 
 ended. She did not assert herself so strongly 
 as to decline this work, but she never lost a 
 chance of complaint ; nor did she often manage 
 to wash the dishes without a noise that men- 
 aced at once her father's slumbers and the 
 family crockery. 
 
 " Sadie ! " Mrs. Lottimer would be heard to 
 call, in a piercing whisper, almost every night. 
 
The Lottimers. 141 
 
 " Well ? " Sadie would answer in a shrill 
 tone. 
 
 " 'Sh ! " would come from her mother, who 
 by this time would be near the pantry door. 
 
 "What's that you say?" would come back 
 from Sadie, in a higher key than ever. 
 
 " You 've got to keep quiet. Father 's 
 asleep." 
 
 " Well, I ain't making any noise." 
 
 " Yes, you are. He jumped just now." 
 
 " So he did," Joe would grunt, " and said 
 1 What 's that ? ' I heard him." 
 
 " Keep quiet, Joe," Mrs. Lottimer would say 
 despairingly. " You '11 wake father yourself." 
 
 " I guess it 's him, not me," would come from 
 Sadie. 
 
 " If you don't keep quiet," poor Mrs. Lotti- 
 mer would sigh, " I don't know what I shall 
 do." 
 
 " If you want folks to wash dishes so as you 
 can't hear 'em," Sadie would retort, " you '11 
 have to get deaf." 
 
 Whereat Mrs. Lottimer, with offended dig- 
 
142 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 nity, would softly close the pantry door ; while 
 Sadie's voice might often be heard through the 
 thin partition, singing hymn- tunes in a muffled 
 crescendo. 
 
 All this time Mr. Lottimer, quite tired out, 
 would slumber on. He never waked until 
 half-past nine. Then he would start up, rub 
 his eyes, and exclaiming, " Dear me ! it 's 
 bed-time," would proceed to lock up for the 
 night. 
 
 Occasionally, of course, something would vary 
 this routine. The Baptist Church, of which Mr. 
 Lottimer was a faithful member, was by no 
 means so old-fashioned as to confine its energies 
 to spiritual matters. And whenever there was 
 a parish sociable, or an Old Folks' Concert, or a 
 reception of the Ladies' Sewing Society, as 
 the old Dorcas Society had been rechristened, 
 the Lottimers were sure to be on hand. 
 Once a month or so, too, Sunday was an unusu- 
 ally great day ; instead of the regular evening 
 service there would be a Sabbath-school con- 
 cert in which Sadie, whose voice was much 
 
The Lot-timers. 143 
 
 admired, always took a prominent part ; while 
 Joe regularly came to grief in an heroic effort 
 to sing bass. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ONE Sunday a notable concert was to take 
 place. A cantata, based on the story of Samuel, 
 was to be sung in costume. Sadie had been 
 chosen for the part of Hannah, which opened 
 the cantata with a solo devoted to the cause 
 of temperance, and beginning : 
 
 " I am not drunk. I spurn the cup 
 
 Wherein the serpent lies. 
 Wine raiseth evil spirits up 
 
 And blinds its votaries. 
 Strong drink and wine I spurn as foul, 
 
 By evil men adored. 
 For my part I pour forth my soul 
 
 Before my righteous Lord." 
 
 The orthodoxy of these sentiments was assured 
 by a note on the programme referring the curi- 
 ous to 1 Samuel i. 15. A cantata in costume, 
 it was felt, required extraordinary Scriptural 
 support. 
 
144 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 The Lottimers looked forward to this enter- 
 tainment with a delicious mixture of pleasur- 
 able emotion. In the first place, as the cantata 
 was to be sung in church, whoever went would 
 enjoy the satisfaction of serving God all the 
 while. At the same time, unlike some devo- 
 tional exercises, the cantata itself would doubt- 
 less be interesting ; and Sadie's performance 
 would do credit to the family. As for Joe, 
 he had only a small part in a chorus of priests, 
 where the defects of his musical method would 
 not be apparent. Altogether, they sat down 
 to early tea in a very comfortable state of 
 mind. 
 
 Tea was not half over when somebody rang 
 the door-bell ; and Sadie had to leave her bis- 
 cuit and answer the summons, amid general 
 wonder as to who might be there. It turned 
 out to be a stranger, a tall man in a soft 
 felt hat and a linen duster. His cheeks were 
 shaven, but he wore a heavy reddish moustache 
 and chin-beard ; and he had the air of one 
 in a hurry. 
 
The Lottimers. 145 
 
 "Is this Joe Lottimer's ? " he asked, the 
 moment the door opened. 
 
 " Mr. Joseph Lottimer lives here," said Sadie, 
 with offended dignity. 
 
 " Are you Sarah ? " 
 
 " No, sir. My name is Sadie. Who did you 
 wish to see ? " 
 
 "Named for your grandmother Jones, were n't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was," she replied with asperity. 
 The visitor's address was not engaging. Be- 
 sides, it was nearly time to start for the 
 cantata. 
 
 " Well," said the stranger, " Sarah was a 
 good enough name for her, and it ought to be 
 for you. Folks at home?" 
 
 " They 're going out, sir. You '11 have to 
 call some other time." 
 
 " Some other time," repeated the stranger, 
 derisively. " If they were to wait till I called 
 some other time they'd have to wait. Here, 
 take my gripsack, will you." 
 
 And handing her a valise, he strode past her 
 10 
 
146 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 into the house. By this time the rest of the 
 family, catching some sound of the talk, had 
 come into the hall to see what it was all about. 
 So there the stranger met them. 
 
 "How'de do Rhody ?" he said to the aston- 
 ished Mrs. Lottimer, and proceeded to kiss her. 
 
 Mrs. Lottimer gasped at this unwonted treat- 
 ment. Mr. Lottimer drew himself up with 
 angry dignity. 
 
 " What' does this mean ? " he asked. 
 
 " This is your husband, I s'pose," said the 
 stranger, ignoring the question. " How are 
 you, Joe ? That 's your name, ain't it ? " And 
 he held out a big hand. 
 
 Mr. Lottimer stood in dismay. His habitual 
 methods afforded no suggestion of how to treat 
 a large stranger who kisses your wife and then 
 makes friendly advances ; but Mrs. Lottimer 
 suddenly solved the problem. 
 
 " Why, it 's William Jones, my own 
 brother, that I have n't seen for years and 
 years!" she exclaimed. And throwing her 
 arms about his neck, she burst into tears. 
 
The Lottimers. 147 
 
 " Did n't you know me ? " asked Jones. 
 " Well, I don't know as it 's strange, if I 've 
 aged the way you have. Yes, it 's me, sure 
 enough, straight from Colorado. Come, we 've 
 had kissing enough, unless Sarah here wants 
 to begin." 
 
 Sadie tossed her head disdainfully. She 
 had no intention of answering to the name of 
 "Sarah." So her uncle, having freed himself 
 from the embrace of Mrs. Lottimer, and having 
 shaken hands with his newly found brother-in- 
 law, and having informed Joe that he was a 
 big fellow if he wasn't handsome, proceeded 
 to announce that he was mighty hungry. Amid 
 incoherent exclamations of welcome, then, from 
 all but the offended Sadie, he made his way 
 to the dining-room and set to with appetite. 
 
 Jones who was one of those Western men 
 that carry with them the atmosphere of a coun- 
 try too big to live in ate fast, and talked 
 fast the while ; and his talk was chiefly about 
 himself. 
 
 " Let 's see ; when did I write you last ? 
 
148 RanlceWs Remains. 
 
 St. Louis ? Oh, yes ; I was talking of going to 
 Arizona. Well, I did n't ; went to Colorado in- 
 stead." So he rattled on, giving without much 
 method some account of his thirty years' strug- 
 gle for money, which apparently still eluded 
 him. At one time or another he had lived in 
 pretty much every State west of the Mississippi, 
 always trying his hand at something new, which 
 always proved unsuited to his purposes. At 
 last, he said, he had struck a thing that looked 
 well, and thereupon he had run East to see his 
 relations. They had given him, he was pleased 
 to say in conclusion, a bang-up supper. Thus 
 refreshed, he declared with an air of approval 
 that the Lottiraers looked real comfortable. 
 
 " I don't feel comfortable at all," put in 
 Sadie. " If we don't start, we shall be late 
 for the cantata." 
 
 " Don't you think we had better stay with 
 your uncle ? " suggested Mr. Lottimer, " we 
 have n't seen him for so long." 
 
 " Did n't know you 'd ever seen me," inter- 
 posed Jones. 
 
The Lottimers. 149 
 
 " Well, father ! " exclaimed Sadie. " And 
 disappoint all the people ? They can't have 
 the cantata without me ; and I ain't dressed 
 yet." 
 
 " That 's so," said Joe, solemnly. And there- 
 upon Mr. Lottimer described the delights of 
 a cantata, suggesting that William would per- 
 haps go with them. 
 
 But William, with much frankness, declared 
 that he would see them further first. Go 
 ahead, though ; don't mind him. He 'd stay 
 and talk to Joe. 
 
 " Joe sings, too," said Sadie ; " he 's a 
 Rabbi." 
 
 " Hell ! " exclaimed Uncle William, uncon- 
 scious of the stir his expletive made. " At 
 his age?" 
 
 A short explanation corrected his confusion 
 of father and son. Then, as Mr. Lottimer de- 
 clared he would much prefer staying at home 
 with his newly found relative, while the others 
 were in duty bound to start at once, the two 
 men were left alone, to talk, or, if they found 
 
150 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 nothing to talk about, to digest the apologies 
 with which Mrs. Lottimer took her leave. 
 
 V. 
 
 MR. LOTTIMER had nothing to say. He 
 could think only of how odd it was to be con- 
 fronted in his own house with a noisy stranger 
 who treated him as if they were old friends. 
 
 Jones, however, was quite at ease. He be- 
 gan by offering his host a cigar. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Mr. Lottimer ; " I 
 never smoke." 
 
 "Call me Bill," said Jones, biting off the 
 
 end of his cigar. " it, Joe, ain't I in the 
 
 family ? That 's what made me want to come 
 and have a talk with you." 
 
 " I 'm sure we are all very glad to see you," 
 said Mr. Lottimer, civilly. And the conversa- 
 tion lapsed ; while Jones produced a match 
 and lighted his cigar with quick puffs. 
 
 The cigar once kindled, he looked at the end 
 to be sure it was burning evenly. Then with 
 
The Lottimers. 151 
 
 a swift motion of the hand he extinguished the 
 match and threw what was left of it on the 
 spotless carpet. Then, blowing a cloud of smoke 
 into the hitherto unpolluted air of Mr. Lottimer's 
 parlor, he jerked out the surprising question, 
 "What are you worth?" 
 
 "Why " said the astonished Lottimer, U I 
 don't exactly know, sir." 
 
 Oh, figures," said William. " Take it 
 
 in the rough." 
 
 ;t Well, even roughly, sir," stammered Lotti- 
 mer, " it 's difficult to say all of a sudden." He 
 knew to a penny what he had, and where it 
 was, but common prudence forbade him to tell. 
 Jones's methods of questioning drove him to 
 prevarication. " I 've got a little something," he 
 added by way of soothing his conscience. 
 
 " Is it ten thousand, or twenty, or fifty ? 
 That 's near enough for me." 
 
 " Excuse me," said poor Lottimer, shifting in 
 his chair, and wishing to goodness that he was 
 at the cantata. "But what do you want to 
 know for?" 
 
152 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 "That's fair enough," said Jones. "I've 
 struck a good thing for a man that has a little 
 money to spare, and I want to keep it in the 
 family." 
 
 44 1 'm very much obliged," said Lottimer. 
 " But what little I have is all invested." 
 
 "What does it pay?" 
 
 "Why " and Lottimer stammered again. 
 
 "Seven per cent? " 
 
 "No, sir, hardly that." 
 
 "Six?" 
 
 "Well " 
 
 "Five?" 
 
 " Yes, I should say so as a rule." 
 
 " And you 're satisfied with that ? By 
 thunder!" 
 
 " Why, you see, sir, I have to make my in- 
 vestments safe. I can't afford to lose anything. 
 If I should be taken away there 'd be nothing 
 for the family but what I 've saved and what 
 poor Joe could earn." 
 
 Jones blew a huge cloud of smoke with a sort 
 of whistle. 
 
The Lottimers. 153 
 
 "Well," he 'remarked, "you're what I call 
 a real enterprising kind of man. That 's what 
 you are." 
 
 "I don't pretend to be enterprising," pro- 
 tested Lottimer. " Some men can be, and it 's all 
 right. Some men ain't made so ; and it 's no 
 use trying to be what you weren't intended 
 for." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Jones, "I don't set up to 
 know what you was intended for ; but if God 
 Almighty didn't put us Americans in this 
 country so as we might go just as far as we 
 can, I don't see the use of us at all ! " 
 
 " It 's all very mysterious," said Mr. Lottimer, 
 displeased with the vigor of William's address ; 
 "but we can't doubt it's for the best 
 
 " See here, Joe," put in Jones, with determi- 
 nation, "I don't mean to let this thing drop 
 right here. Just you listen to me." 
 
 And seating himself at right angles with Mr. 
 Lottimer, with his foot on the rung of Mr. Lot- 
 timer's chair, he began his exposition, emphasiz- 
 ing the chief points by laying his right hand on 
 
154 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 Mr. Lottimer's knee. As this hand often held 
 his cigar, and the curling smoke made Mr. Lot- 
 timer cough and weep, the chief points were 
 not always so clear as Jones intended. But at 
 the end of an hour or so Lottimer had grasped 
 enough of his brother-in-law's proposition to 
 make him profoundly unhappy ; for it set him to 
 questioning all the principles of his existence. 
 To begin with, Jones admitted that so far he 
 
 had made little headway in life, "But it, 
 
 Joe," he said, "a man must take knocks if he 
 wants to learn how to give 'em." And he had 
 kept his eyes open right along. This vigilance 
 had at last been rewarded by the discovery of 
 some land in Colorado that was "rotten with 
 silver, sir, perfectly rotten," and yet that had 
 escaped the notice of less experienced adven- 
 turers. It was to be had almost for the asking. 
 Unfortunately Mr. Jones was penniless. He 
 needed no more than a beggarly twenty or 
 thirty thousand ; but if at that moment he could 
 lay his hand on a beggarly five, he declared 
 that he wished he might die. Under these 
 
The Lottimers. 155 
 
 circumstances the only thing to do was to hold 
 his tongue until he could borrow what he 
 needed. So the question arose as to whom he 
 should address with a promised certainty of 
 riches. There were plenty of people out West 
 who would have gone into the speculation 
 "even as a flyer, let alone a sure thing;" but, 
 just on the eve of approaching some of them, 
 Jones had bethought himself that nothing would 
 give such commanding dignity to the coming 
 fortune as to have it all in the family. So, as 
 the secret was too precious to be written, he 
 had come posting eastward as fast as steam 
 would carry him, to propose to Lottimer the 
 plan that should place them, kith and kin, 
 among the great and good of the land. 
 
 There was a straightforward simplicity about 
 the man, with all his roughness. He did not 
 pretend to be disinterested. " It 's a big thing 
 to be rich," as he expressed it, " but it's a sight 
 bigger to have a rich crowd." It seemed wrong 
 not to consider the matter ; yet how could 
 you tell that Jones was not mistaken, as he 
 
156 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 admitted he had been in the past. To lose money 
 would be dreadful ; to neglect a real chance of 
 making a fortune would cause life-long regret. 
 Poor Lottimer took refuge in wishing that Jones 
 had never thought of him, and before long was 
 stupidly wondering how soon the family would 
 return from the cantata. 
 
 " Well," said Jones, testily, recalling him to 
 the puzzling question, " have n't you anything 
 to say ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. It 's very kind of you to propose 
 this." 
 
 " Kind be ! " said Jones. " Will you 
 
 come in ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, it is so unexpected. I must take 
 time to think." 
 
 " You '11 have to look sharp. This thing ain't 
 going begging." 
 
 But poor Lottimer, who was far too flurried 
 to say yes or no, finally had leave to sleep on 
 it. He would give a definite answer the next 
 evening ; and William agreed to pass a day 
 with his sister. 
 
The Lottimers. 157 
 
 This conclusion was hastened by the opening 
 of the outer door as Mrs. Lottimer returned 
 from the cantata ; and Jones had barely time 
 to remind Lottimer that he must n't talk to her 
 about the matter, thereby depriving the un- 
 happy man of one means of settling doubt, 
 when she appeared with Joe. The cantata, 
 they said, had been a great success. Sadie, 
 who had sung beautifully, was taking a walk 
 with a young gentleman who had asked to be 
 introduced. The costumes had been very effec- 
 tive, and several new bonnets had appeared in 
 the congregation. When Mrs. Lottimer had 
 made these statements, and had been assured 
 that the gentlemen had passed a pleasant even- 
 ing together, the conversation lapsed. 
 
 Mr. Lottimer then proposed that they should 
 go to bed ; he would leave a light in the entry 
 for Sadie, who could be trusted to lock the 
 door. And to bed they went, where everybody 
 but Mr. Lottiraer was soon asleep. He lay 
 very quiet, for fear of disturbing his wife ; but 
 this dreadful puzzle of Jones's kept sleep from 
 
158 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 him. And long after Sadie had come home, 
 with cheerful words of farewell to the young 
 gentleman who had taken a walk with her, 
 Mr. Lottimer lay wide awake listening to the 
 church clocks as they rang the small hours of 
 morning. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ON the rare occasions in the past when doubt- 
 ful questions had troubled him, he had settled 
 them by appealing to higher authority. To 
 make up his mind without advice seemed quite 
 beyond his power. So the next day, when his 
 routine business was over, he asked Mr. Ran- 
 kell for a few minutes' private talk. 
 
 "Anything wrong? " asked Rankell. 
 
 " No, sir ; it 's about a little business of my 
 own." 
 
 " Did n't know you had any." 
 
 " Well, sir, I have n't exactly." 
 
 " Glad of it. When a man 's got a regular 
 business, I believe in his sticking to it." 
 
 " Yes, sir, so do I. This is very unusual; you 
 
The Lottimers. 159 
 
 see " And he stammered, for he felt guilty 
 thus trespassing on Mr. Rankell's time. 
 
 Rankell gave him fifteen minutes in the little 
 counting-room, and with the help of leading 
 questions elicited the main facts in less than 
 five. Then, without giving any opinion, he 
 asked a good many questions of detail : where 
 was the land, what was the price, who owned 
 it, and so on. Having informed himself on 
 these points, playing meantime with a lead- 
 pencil and a sheet of paper, he abruptly asked 
 whether that was the whole story. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I think so. What had I better do 
 about it?" 
 
 "In your place," said Rankell, "I wouldn't 
 touch the thing with a ten-foot pole." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Lottimer, gratefully. 
 " That's just what I thought myself." 
 
 And leaving Rankell busy with a letter 
 which he began the moment he uttered his 
 advice, Mr. Lottimer withdrew. He was re- 
 lieved in mind ; prudence was certainly the 
 true wisdom, after all. 
 
160 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 That night he told William Jones that he 
 must decline the opportunity so kindly offered 
 him ; and William, little pleased, took the night 
 train for the West, in search of somebody enter- 
 prising enough to grasp a fortune once placed 
 in his hand. 
 
 VII. 
 
 SOME months later Mr. Lottimer read in his 
 paper that there was great excitement in Colo- 
 rado. At the spot of which Jones had spoken, 
 silver had been discovered in fabulous quantities. 
 A company was organizing to develop what 
 bade fair to be the richest mines in America. 
 
 So William had been right, he thought, and 
 timidity had lost him the one chance of his life- 
 time. If he had listened to William, Mrs. Lot- 
 timer could have had her carriage, and poor Joe 
 might have stopped handling carpets, and Sadie 
 might have gone abroad to study. He had 
 been a fool, he exclaimed as he flung down the 
 paper. 
 
The Lottimers. 161 
 
 " Why, father," asked Mrs. Lottimer, " what 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 There was no longer reason for secrecy, he 
 thought ; the matter was in the papers. So out 
 he came with the whole story of William Jones's 
 fruitless errand. Mrs. Lottimer listened with 
 despairing shakes of the head ; Joe sat silent, 
 as usual ; Sadie, it happened, was gone walk- 
 ing with a young gentleman. 
 
 " Well, father," said Mrs. Lottimer when 
 the story was told, " it does seem dreadful ; but 
 I s'pose you knew what was best." 
 
 Encouraged by this declaration of confidence, 
 Mr. Lottimer began to defend himself. After 
 all, they knew nothing of Jones's success beyond 
 what a short despatch in the evening paper 
 told. That spoke only of a company which was 
 going to develop the mine. Everybody knows 
 44 there 's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." 
 Such speculations mostly turn out badly ; they 
 look well on paper, but people who touch them 
 burn their fingers. Besides, Mr. Rankell had 
 distinctly disapproved of the whole thing. 
 11 
 
162 RanMTs Remains. 
 
 To the Lottiraers the word of Mr. Rankell 
 had for years been law ; this statement, then, 
 was meant to be final. However William 
 might prosper for the moment, he was sure, 
 if Mr. Rankell disapproved of his proceedings, 
 ultimately to come to grief. And, consoled by 
 this thought, Mr. Lottimer would doubtless 
 have fallen asleep as usual, had not Joe uttered 
 an astounding remark. 
 
 " If it was me," said Joe, " I 'd 'a' gone dead 
 against what Rankell told me." 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " asked his father, 
 sternly. 
 
 "I mean what I say," said Joe. "Rankell 
 ain't going to let anybody else get hold of any- 
 thing when he 's there to grab it." 
 
 "Say 4 Mr. Rankell,' sir," commanded Lottimer. 
 
 "I'll say what I want to," said Joe. 
 
 " Why, Joe," said Mrs. Lottimer, " that ain't 
 the way you speak to your father." 
 
 " I ain't speaking to father," said Joe, dog- 
 gedly. " I 'm just talking, and I mean to. I 've 
 kept quiet long enough." 
 
The Lottimers. 163 
 
 " You shan't say another word about Mr. 
 Rankell," declared Lottimer. " You know he 's 
 the best friend I have in the world." 
 
 " He ain't a friend of mine," persisted Joe, 
 " nor of anybody else at the store. Oh, I 'm stu- 
 pid, I know. I ain't so bright as other folks. 
 But I ain't all fool. I can handle carpets, he 
 says, and makes me do it. I can't help myself; 
 but I can think there while I 'm rolling and un- 
 rolling until my arms are half pulled out, and 
 no chance of anything better." 
 
 " If you were fit for anything better," burst 
 out Mr. Lottimer, " you 'd have it." 
 
 " All right. I ain't fit for much. I don't tum- 
 ble on my feet, I don't. I tumble on my head." 
 
 " So he does, poor boy," said Mrs. Lottimer, by 
 way of mediation, " and gets taken up for dead. " 
 
 " I did n't mean to speak unkindly," said Mr. 
 Lottimer, relenting at the thought of poor Joe's 
 mishaps. 
 
 " Who thought you did ? " said Joe. " ' T ain't 
 in you. It's you just as much as me that makes 
 me mad when I think and think, rolling and 
 
164 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 lifting. It 's slave, slave, both of us, me with 
 my hands, and you with your head. And who 
 gets what comes of it? Rankell, as he sits 
 there and grins." 
 
 " Joe is n't well," said Mrs. Lottimer, anx- 
 iously. Her husband looked anxious too ; such 
 talk as this he thought insane. 
 
 " I 'in as well as they '11 ever let me be," said 
 Joe. "I'm tired out, that's all, tired out 
 working for him that never says a kind word 
 or anything but work, work, and he '11 take 
 the pay." 
 
 " Joseph," said Mr. Lottimer, very sternly, 
 " you are n't so strong as if you had n't had 
 misfortunes, and that 's all that keeps me from 
 speaking out just as hard as I know how to." 
 
 " That 's you all over," put in Joe. " You 
 ain't hard on anybody." 
 
 " So you ain't," assented Mrs. Lottimer ; "it 's 
 gospel truth." 
 
 " I try and do men justice," admitted Mr. 
 Lottimer. " But I want to say this once for all, 
 and I don't want you to forget it. I 'm older 
 / 
 
The Lottimers. 165 
 
 than you are, Joseph, and I 've seen more of the 
 world, and gone through more than I hope 
 you'll ever have to. And what I say now I 
 know. The best friend I 've ever had, and the 
 best friend you 've ever had, is Mr. Rankell." 
 
 " And how does he show it ? " interrupted 
 Joe. " Making us work and taking his pay for 
 it right down to the bottom. And now when 
 he sees you getting a chance to make a little 
 something and stand on your own legs, he says, 
 4 Stop right there and don't ask why.' And 
 you believe him. You 're too trusting not to." 
 
 u Go to bed, sir ! " roared Mr. Lottimer, jump- 
 ing up. 
 
 " Why, father ! " exclaimed Mrs. Lottimer in 
 dismay. 
 
 44 Go to bed, sir ! " repeated Lottimer. " If 
 you say another word I shall say something I 
 shall be sorry for." 
 
 44 All right," said Joe, doggedly. And he 
 slouched out of the room, leaving his father 
 to tramp up and down like an animal in the 
 menagerie. 
 
166 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE storm blew over, of course. Next day 
 everything went on as usual. But if poor Lot- 
 timer's tongue was at rest, his thoughts were 
 not. To have heard Joe express these wickedly 
 mistaken ideas about Mr. Rankell, which he had 
 supposed current only among viciously disposed 
 people quite apart from his own little world, 
 affected him as if drunkenness or other scanda- 
 lous disorder had turned up in the house. His 
 system, which involved the moral excellence of 
 his immediate surroundings, was upset ; scep- 
 ticism took possession of him. He began by 
 wondering what ground Joe could have for 
 holding such abominable ideas ; then came 
 questions as to whether there might not con- 
 ceivably be grounds for holding them. And 
 though he checked such questions as resolutely 
 as the devout check fleshly thoughts, he could not 
 get rid of them. So he was very unhappy. 
 
 Meanwhile he thought it no more than proper 
 
The Lottimers. 167 
 
 to write William Jones, wishing him all success 
 in the enterprise that was fairly begun. So a 
 letter was sent, with assurances of the affection- 
 ate regard of the whole Lottimer family. 
 
 A fortnight later a fat envelope directed in 
 a scrawling hand to J. Lottimer, arrived from 
 Colorado. Wondering why William had writ- 
 ten so much, Mr. Lottimer opened the envelope. 
 There, to his amazement, he found his own let- 
 ter, along with the following : 
 
 J. LOTTIMER : 
 
 SIR, All I have read of this letter is the 
 name at the end. I don't want to hear from }*ou 
 or any of your crowd. If there 's arrything meaner 
 than giving a man away, it is trying to crawl out 
 of it as I suppose you 've tried in this letter of 
 yours. We make short work of you kind of men out 
 here, sir. 
 
 Truly yours, 
 
 W. JONES. 
 
 With a face as long as a sermon Mr. Lotti- 
 mer read this surprising letter to his wife. 
 What it meant neither of them could imagine. 
 
168 EankelVs Remains. 
 
 " I know," said Sadie, who was within hear- 
 ing. But when her parents turned to her for 
 explanation, she gave no more than, " It means 
 he 's mad. I 'm real glad of it," she added, as 
 she whisked out of the room to escape the wrath 
 her frivolity would have brought down on her. 
 " He 's a horrid man." 
 
 " He ain't," said Joe, who was sitting by. 
 " He 's square. I '11 tell you what I think that 
 letter means. It means Rankell." 
 
 And in spite of Mr. Lottimer's angry objec- 
 tions, Joe went on to expound why he thought 
 it meant Rankell. His father had spoken of 
 Jones's plan to nobody else, and Rankell always 
 kept his eye peeled for a good thing. He did 
 n't tell folks to hold back for nothing, either. 
 And now that somebody had evidently got 
 ahead of William Jones, it was only sense to 
 remember that Rankell was famous for getting 
 ahead of everybody. 
 
 Scold as he might, and declare as he might 
 that a charge dishonorable to Mr. Rankell was 
 a thing he would not listen to, Mr. Lottimer 
 
The Lottimers. 169 
 
 could not help feeling that Joe's theory sounded 
 plausible. Mr. Rankell was his best friend, he 
 asserted again and again ; he would not listen 
 to one of these shameful words about such a 
 man. But all the time the shocking things 
 that Joe permitted himself to say stuck in 
 his ears. Finally the poor man began to feel 
 that nothing could set his mind at rest short 
 of personal assurances from his employer that 
 all this wicked talk was false. And in the 
 midst of his angry denials he secretly deter- 
 mined to go to Mr. Rankell with the whole 
 story. Then, with Mr. Rankell's own word 
 to back him, he could put Joe where he be- 
 longed. If the boy's damaged head was open 
 to conviction, he could shame him into con- 
 fessing that these notions were not only wicked 
 but insanely mistaken. 
 
 IX. 
 
 WHEN the time came, however, for putting 
 this plan into execution, he gave it up. To ad- 
 
170 EankeWs Remains. 
 
 dress Mr. Rankell with questions concerning his 
 personal honor would be like asking a woman to 
 give account of her reputation. And matters 
 would probably have rested where they were, 
 giving rise to periodical family squabbles, but 
 for a very trivial accident. This was no more 
 than that the boy who made press copies of 
 Mr. Rankell's private letters happened one 
 morning to be out of the way ; so, to save 
 time, Mr. Lottimer began making the copies 
 himself. 
 
 Letter after letter he pulled mechanically off 
 the tissue pages where they had left their 
 ghostly images, and folding them, damp and 
 sticky, addressed them with no thought of 
 where they were going. That was no business 
 of his ; and besides, his mind was busy with 
 other matters. He was a good deal worried by 
 a whispered rumor, in which he devoutly dis- 
 believed, that his minister was growing too 
 fond of calling on a lady who sang in the choir. 
 It was merely by chance, then, that he discov- 
 ered himself addressing a letter to the town in 
 
The Lottimers. 171 
 
 Colorado where William Jones had found his 
 silver. Of course he had no right to draw a 
 conclusion from this fact ; Mr. Rankell had 
 business all over the world. Still less right 
 had he to read the letter in question, a pro- 
 ceeding that violated private correspondence as 
 much as if he had broken open an envelope 
 in Mr. Rankell's morning mail. But Lottimer 
 was excited. Without an instant's reflection 
 he turned back a page of the private letter- 
 book and ran his eye over the blurred copy of 
 Rankell's crabbed manuscript Then he seized 
 the envelope he had just sealed, tore that open, 
 and with short breath read the letter he pulled 
 out ; he must assure himself that the miserable 
 machine had not lied. And there, sure enough, 
 he read some dry directions concerning the very 
 property that had been snatched from under the 
 nose of William Jones. 
 
 He grasped the desk beside him, and stood 
 swaying to and fro. 
 
 44 My God ! " he heard a clerk exclaim. " Look 
 at Lottimer ! " 
 
172 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 In a moment, before he could regain control 
 of himself, a dozen clerks, with well-meant 
 officiousness, had left their desks and run to 
 aid him. They seized his arms, asking what 
 was the matter ; they called for water for a 
 doctor, adding to the misery of his confusion. 
 
 " Let me alone ! " he cried, with a roughness 
 they had never seen in him before. " Nothing 
 is the matter. I'm old enough to know what 
 I 'm about. Mind your business and I '11 mind 
 mine." 
 
 Amid this hubbub Rankell's door was flung 
 open, and the little man appeared, showing his 
 yellow teeth in a grin of anger. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. "What 
 are you all about ? " 
 
 " Mr. Lottimer " began half a dozen clerks 
 at once. 
 
 "Yes, sir, it's me," said Lottimer, in a voice 
 broken by excitement. " I 've got something to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Say it, then," snapped out Rankell, " and 
 put a stop to this racket." 
 
The Lottimers. 173 
 
 u I '11 say it to you alone, sir," said Lottimer. 
 " Come into your office." 
 
 The clerks stared. No one had ever spoken 
 so to Rankell before. 
 
 "Confound you, sir!" cried Rankell. "You'll 
 say it where I please." 
 
 But by this time Lottimer had reached the 
 small man's side and taken his arm in a grip 
 that meant mischief. Rankell had no mind for 
 a violent scene. 
 
 " Go to your desks," he ordered the clerks, 
 who minded him like well-trained dogs. "And 
 you, Lottimer, come with me." And pretend- 
 ing to lead the way, he let Lottimer force him 
 into the inner office and close the door. 
 
 " Let me go ! " he commanded, the moment 
 the door was closed. 
 
 Lottimer obeyed ; in the little room with its 
 bare white walls and its one desk and its ticker 
 the force of habit grew stronger. 
 
 Then Rankell sat down in his pivot chair, 
 wheeled it round until it faced Lottimer, and 
 glaring at the unhappy fellow with all the 
 
174 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 anger his wrinkled face could show, snapped 
 out : " Now, sir, what the devil does this 
 mean ? " 
 
 Lottimer stood for an instant with his brain 
 in a whirl. Then he held out the letter which 
 he had kept in his hand. 
 
 44 What does this mean, Mr. Rankell?" he 
 asked with a sob-like gasp. 
 
 Rankell coolly took the letter and glanced 
 at it. 
 
 " So you 've been reading my correspon- 
 dence ? " he said coldly. 
 
 Lottimer stood still. His mind could not 
 work so fast. He had expected explanation : 
 he was not prepared -for attack. 
 
 44 Why don't you answer?" asked Rankell 
 sharply. 
 
 44 1 saw what you wrote there, sir. I could n't 
 believe that it meant " 
 
 " Ha ! I might have known you 'd be at these 
 tricks. Open the door and call Murray." 
 
 Hardly knowing what he did, Lottimer 
 obeyed. Murray was the cashier. In he came, 
 
The Lottimers. 175 
 
 a decent man with gray whiskers, and a gold 
 pen stuck behind his right ear. 
 
 " Here, Murray," said Rankell, " take this 
 letter and have one of the boys direct it. And 
 draw a check for Mr. Lottimer's salary. He's 
 been prying into my private letters." 
 
 " What did you say, sir ? " asked Murray, 
 staring. To him, as to all in the office, Lottimer 
 had been as inseparable a part of Rankell as 
 was Rankell's grin. He had been the best part 
 of Rankell, too. 
 
 "Draw a check for Mr. Lottiraer's salary. 
 Can't you understand the English language ? Go 
 with Murray, Lottimer. He'll attend to you." 
 
 "I don't understand what this all means, 
 Mr. Rankell," gasped poor Lottimer. 
 
 " Don't you ? " said Rankell. " I '11 tell you, 
 then. When a man in my employ violates my 
 correspondence, I give him a month's salary 
 and make an end of it. Good-day." 
 
 " And is that all ? " asked Lottimer, foolishly. 
 
 "Can't you understand what 'good-day' 
 means?" said Rankell. "Go with Murray." 
 
176 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 He pointed to the door ; Lottimer stag- 
 gered out, followed by Murray, the picture 
 of dismay. 
 
 " Shut the door," said Rankell, coolly. And 
 as Murray turned to shut it he saw his em- 
 ployer already busy with the paper tape that 
 issued from his ticker. 
 
 Meanwhile in the basement stupid Joe was 
 handling carpets as he had handled them for 
 years. In the midst of his work some one 
 laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and 
 saw his father, pale as death, and wearing his 
 hat and coat. 
 
 " Joe," he said in a strange, hard voice, 
 " I Ve been wrong. He 's all you said he 
 was ; and when I asked him what it meant 
 he turned me off. God help us ! " And poor 
 Lottimer broke down and sobbed. 
 
 Joe gave the roll of carpet a kick. 
 
 " Turned you off, did he ? " he asked in his 
 dull way. 
 
 " Yes, Joe, turned me off without a word." 
 
 " Well, father," said Joe, biting a bit of 
 
The Lottimers. 177 
 
 cord he bad picked up, " it 's just what you 
 might 'a' looked for. He 's nothing but a grin- 
 ning old devil." 
 
 " God help us ! " sobbed Lottimer, sitting 
 on the roll of carpet. 
 
 " Don't worry, father," said Joe. " I '11 stick 
 to you. Go along home." And he stroked 
 the poor fellow's back as if the father had 
 been the helpless one. And Joseph Lottimer, 
 with a tragic look of misery, rose and walked 
 slowly out of the great store, leaning heavily 
 on his stick. 
 
 Joe sat down on the roll of carpet and bit 
 the cord again for a while. 
 
 " Now then, Lottimer," cried a salesman, 
 "show this lady number sixteen four fifty- 
 three." 
 
 "Show it yourself," blurted out Joe, and 
 went lumbering out of the room amid the 
 amazement of his superiors. 
 
 He walked straight to the counting-room, 
 and through it towards Rankell's office. The 
 
 clerks stared at him, whispering among them- 
 12 
 
178 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 selves. As he laid his hand on the door-knob, 
 one of them called out that he had better not 
 go in. 
 
 " Leave me alone ! " said Joe, roughly. And 
 opening the door he could see the wizened 
 little man scribbling at his solitary desk. 
 
 As Rankell heard Joe's tread he turned, 
 sharply asking who was there. 
 
 Joe stood blinking at him. 
 
 "I've got something to say to you, Rankell." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Oh, you know. I 'm Joe Lottimer, that 's 
 been rolling carpets for you." 
 
 "What do you mean by coming here?" 
 
 "I mean this Just you sit still if you 
 don't want a hiding You 've turned off my 
 father " 
 
 44 Go to Murray, sir. Tell him to pay you." 
 
 44 1 don't want your money. Keep it. Much 
 good may it do you. I 've quit your work ; 
 and I 've only got just one thing to say to 
 you, Rankell." 
 
 " I won't hear you, sir." 
 
The Lottimers. 179 
 
 44 Yes, you will. It 's this : Damn you ! " 
 And Joe stood for a moment glaring at the 
 frightened little creature who dared not stir in 
 the presence of this half-witted giant. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders, and turning on his heel 
 went lumbering out of the great store after his 
 father. 
 
 X. 
 
 IN this tale concerning Rankell there is no 
 need to tell in detail Mr. Lottimer's efforts to 
 shift for himself. It is enough to know that 
 after vainly trying for some other place, which 
 for want of a good word from his old employer 
 he could never find, he finally opened, in the 
 suburb where he lived, a small shop. For a 
 while this enterprise, which required all the 
 money he had saved, went well. Joe was all 
 help, and so was Mrs. Lottimer, who, with an 
 air of dignity, consented to wait on the counter. 
 Mr. Lottimer would have liked Sadie to help 
 too, but she resolutely declined. She did n't 
 mean to be a shop-girl, she declared ; whatever 
 
180 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 happened she could do better than that. Sure 
 enough, she did ; somehow she got a place in 
 a city choir, and so moved to town, where, 
 to do her justice, she asked no help from her 
 father. He had to hire help in her place, 
 though, and wages came hard. 
 
 For a time, as I have said, Mr. Lottimer's 
 shop prospered. Everybody in the town knew 
 him, and as no secret was made of his story he 
 had general sympathy. But sympathy is one 
 thing and common -sense another; so when 
 people began to find that in spite of Mr. Lotti- 
 mer's efforts to keep prices down he could not 
 contrive to sell as cheaply as the great city 
 stores, or indeed as one or two of his competi- 
 tors, who were suspected to have an under- 
 standing with city dealers, his custom fell 
 off. There was trouble about credit, too ; he 
 found the effort to manage business for him- 
 self very different from managing it under 
 another man's direction. Joe would mind, but 
 he could not advise; neither could Mrs. Lotti- 
 mer; neither could what assistants he could 
 
The Lottimers. 181 
 
 hire. In the end he closed his shop pretty 
 nearly insolvent. 
 
 About this time an unexpected opening ap- 
 peared. In the course of his work at Rankell's 
 Mr. Lottimer had come to know some Govern- 
 ment officials. One of these, hearing of his 
 troubles, and valuing Rankell's conduct at what 
 it was worth, procured him a small appointment 
 yi the Custom House. This he gratefully ac- 
 cepted. He sold the house where he had lived 
 since the children were little, and moved to 
 town, where he decided that a tenement of 
 the better sort was quite good enough for the 
 present state of his fortunes. 
 
 Joe, who stuck by his father so long as he 
 could help, now bravely tried to take care of 
 himself, and finding no better chance, was will- 
 ing to earn what he could by working along 
 shore. Here his strength stood him in good 
 stead, but at the same time excited ill-feeling 
 among fellow-laborers who could not lift as 
 much as he. His temper, too, docile enough at 
 home, sometimes got the better of him abroad ; 
 
182 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 and once or twice his difficulties with envious 
 fellows who made game of his slow wits re- 
 sulted in a free fight. At last he had a six- 
 months' sentence for half-killing a comrade in a 
 brawl. It was the saddest day of Joseph Lotti- 
 mer's life when he went to see his son in jail. 
 He went with his heart full of anger ; but 
 when he found poor Joe blubbering out that it 
 was only for father's sake he was glad he had not 
 killed the fellow, who began the row by calling 
 him a vile name, Lottimer's heart softened. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " he said. " It 's your misfortune, 
 not your fault." 
 
 And for all Joe's roughness, he was, even as 
 a jail-bird, as good a son as he knew how to be. 
 
 Sadie, meantime, was doing well with her 
 music. Besides her choir- work she had pupils, 
 who obliged her to live in a better way than the 
 rest of the family, and to spend so much for 
 clothes that there was nothing left for anybody 
 else. Occasionally, too, she had a chance to 
 sing at private concerts. It was at one of these 
 that I first saw her. 
 
The Lottimers. 183 
 
 The concert, indeed, was the same at which 
 Anna Wyborne failed to make an impression, 
 and it was Sadie who overshadowed her. Sadie 
 wore a pink dress with a long train, very effec- 
 tive at a distance ; and with a monstrous bush 
 of blond hair frizzled over her forehead, and 
 with things that looked like diamonds in her 
 ears, and with a suspiciously brilliant complex- 
 ion, she looked, as Tom Henderson was heard 
 
 to whisper, " pretty handsome." She sang 
 
 with a reckless jollity, quite different from 
 the staidly correct fashion of pale Anna. Every- 
 body knew it was in bad taste, but everybody 
 liked it. After she had finished, Tom, who 
 somehow knew her, made his way to her side. 
 She received him with a saucy little incline of 
 the head to the left ; as she talked with him she 
 did not scruple to make eyes over her big fan at 
 other admirers. And long after Anna had gone 
 home with a faint heart, Miss Sadie kept her 
 carriage waiting, while she sat in the dining-room 
 with Tom and others of his kind, amid a profusion 
 of champagne and needlessly loud laughter. 
 
184 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 XL 
 
 ME. LOTTIMER worked faithfully ; he was 
 among the first at his desk and the last to leave 
 it. But when it came to the unwritten services 
 on which the tenure of such a place as his de- 
 pends, he was found wanting. Politically he was 
 useless. One day, then, he was notified that his 
 services were no longer needed. Some politi- 
 cian, I suppose, wanted his desk for a worker. 
 
 The day this news came he attended to his 
 duties with an absent air, now and then fetching 
 a deep breath. He did not tell his fellow-clerks 
 what had happened ; nor did he say anything 
 of it when he came home with no appetite for 
 his unsavory dinner. But after dinner, instead 
 of sleeping, as was still his habit, he took his 
 hat and stick, and professing that he had busi- 
 ness, passed out into the dark. Two or three 
 hours had passed before he came home ; then he 
 was ready enough to tell on what business he had 
 gone, and what had happened to him meantime. 
 
The Lottimers. 185 
 
 XII. 
 
 HE had made up his mind for one last effort, 
 the only hope he saw. So he resolutely walked 
 up the lamplit streets until he came to the 
 plain brown-stone house where Rankell lived. 
 There he rang the bell, and timidly for to him 
 the man-servant in a white cravat was an awful 
 being asked for Mr. Rankell. Mr. Rankell, 
 the man said, could never be disturbed of an 
 evening. But Lottimer insisted. Relenting a 
 little, the man inquired if he had an appoint- 
 ment. No ; but his business was important, 
 and would take only a very few minutes. In 
 the end the fellow was teased into taking his 
 name to Rankell ; and Lottimer was left stand- 
 ing in the hall, where the sentiments with which 
 for the better part of his life he had regarded 
 the owner, arose to prevent him from sitting 
 uninvited in one of the empty chairs. 
 
 That evening Rankell must have been in 
 a benevolent mood. Any one who knew the 
 
186 JKankelVs Remains. 
 
 circumstances would have given odds that his 
 answer to Lottimer's request would be a curt 
 refusal to have anything to do with him. In- 
 stead of this, the servant came back with mended 
 manners, asking Mr. Lottimer if he would have 
 the kindness to walk upstairs. So, hat in hand, 
 he followed the man up the red-carpeted stairs, 
 to a kind of library smelling of stale cigar-smoke. 
 Here, beside a large walnut table on which a 
 droplight stood amid a loose pile of evening 
 papers, sat Mr. Rankell. As was his habit 
 when reading, his glasses were half-way down 
 his nose ; and he looked over them at Lot- 
 timer with the venerable air that was grow- 
 ing habitual when he was not busy with his 
 trade. His long upper lip, unshaven since the 
 morning, closed more feebly than it used to ; 
 and in the gaslight his yellow hair and beard 
 looked white. 
 
 This unexpected benevolence of aspect made 
 his welcome less strange. Without rising he 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Lottimer," he said 
 
The Lottimers. 187 
 
 rather slowly. In all ways, Lottimer thought, 
 Rankell seemed older than he should have be- 
 lieved possible. "Sit down, sir. How does the 
 world treat you ? " 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Lottimer with diffi- 
 dence, " times are pretty hard just now." 
 
 " Sho ! " said Rankell, almost s} 7 mpathetic.ally. 
 " Sorry to hear that. You don't smoke, do you? " 
 
 " No, sir. Much obliged," said Lottimer. 
 
 Rankell, taking up a half-finished cigar that 
 lay extinguished on the edge of the table, 
 proceeded, with the aid of a charred match 
 which he kindled in the flame of the droplight, 
 to relight it. Then puffing out with a slight 
 effort a white cloud of strong-smelling smoke, he 
 looked at Lottimer again over his glasses, as if 
 pondering some significant speech. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said after a little pause, " and 
 how do you do ? And the family ? " 
 
 " Pretty well, thank you, sir," said Lottimer, 
 fingering his hat. 
 
 "That's right," said Rankell. "Health's a 
 great blessing, sir." 
 
188 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 These amenities, in themselves agreeable, 
 were by no means what Lottimer had looked for. 
 Nor was either of the gentlemen sufficiently used 
 to purely social intercourse to find the situation 
 quite easy. So, after a preliminary cough, 
 Lottimer boldly started off. 
 
 44 1 supposed you might think it peculiar in 
 me to come here, Mr. Rankell," he began. 
 
 " Well, yes, sir," said Rankell, " I was kind of 
 surprised when I heard you were downstairs." 
 
 " It was n't an easy thing for me to do, Mr. 
 Rankell." 
 
 " All the more credit to you for doing it, sir. 
 I 'm real glad to see you, Mr. Lottimer. It 
 shows there 's no ill-feeling ; and when a man 
 gets to be my age, sir, that 's pleasant news." 
 
 This turn of the conversation was unexpected. 
 Lottimer shifted uneasily in his seat. 
 
 " I ought to tell you, Mr. Rankell," he said, 
 " that I Ve felt hard." 
 
 "So have I, sir," retorted Rankell, more 
 sharply than before. 
 
 44 And I Ve said hard things, sir." 
 
The Lottimers. 189 
 
 " Well, they have n't hurt me, sir. I guess I 
 can stand all that folks want to say." 
 
 "But there were a good many years, Mr. 
 Rankell, when you and I were good friends." 
 
 " So there were, Mr. Lottimer." 
 
 " And, if I do say it, I served you well, sir." 
 
 " Yes ; you did. If I was a younger man, 
 Mr. Lottimer, I don't know just how I should 
 feel. But I'm getting on in years, and I find 
 it 's the old times that take hold of me the most. 
 That 's why it pleased me, sir, to find you 'd 
 come ready to say let bygones be bygones." 
 
 " I 'm glad to hear you say that, Mr. Rankell; 
 I feel that way too, sir. And there are times 
 when I begin to think myself that the right 
 wasn't all on my side." 
 
 " I don't understand what you mean by that," 
 said Rankell, sharply. 
 
 " Why, sir," said Lottimer, simply, " the 
 whole trouble began when I told you what I 'd 
 promised not to tell anybody, and " 
 
 " See here, Lottimer. What did you come 
 for? If it was to fight, the sooner you go 
 
190 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 the better. I 've got enough of that every 
 day without starting up with you all over 
 again." 
 
 " God knows, sir," said poor Lottimer, " I 've 
 no wish to fight." 
 
 44 Well, what the devil do you mean, then, by 
 talking this way ? " 
 
 " What way, sir?" 
 
 " As if you did n't know you were the only 
 man I ever played fool with. I might have 
 known it was only a question of time when I 
 should catch you at tricks that ought to have 
 sent you to jail " 
 
 u Mr. Rankell," interrupted Lottimer, " I 'm 
 a poor man, and in a bad way, but I 've got 
 self-respect, sir 
 
 " Confound your self-respect ! " snapped out 
 Rankell. " What do you want here ? " 
 
 Which question brought poor Lottimer to his 
 bearings. 
 
 44 Just this, sir," he began humbly enough. 
 Then he went on to tell, with much prolixity, 
 how ill his affairs had gone, and how at last his 
 
The Lottimers. 191 
 
 little place in the Customs service was taken 
 from him. 
 
 Rankell listened impatiently. " Well, what 's 
 all this got to do with me ? " he asked. 
 
 " Mr. Rankell," said Lottimer, " if there was 
 anywhere else to turn I would n't come to you. 
 But I don't know any one else to help me." 
 
 " Help you ! You don't want me to take you 
 back, I hope." 
 
 " No, sir. That would n't do for me even if 
 it would for you." 
 
 44 That's lucky," interposed Rankell. 
 
 " But I did hope, sir, that you would n't mind 
 speaking a word for me to the collector." 
 
 This word might have meant much, for Ran- 
 kell was high in the councils of the party in 
 power. And Rankell, knowing this, pursed his 
 lips, and thoughtfully rising relighted his cigar, 
 which had gone out again. Lottimer, mean- 
 time, sitting on the edge of his chair, heard 
 thumping heart-beats which curiously mingled 
 with the faint ticking of a French clock on the 
 chimney-piece. 
 
192 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 " Look here, Lottimer," said Rankell at last, 
 " I 'm a fair man." 
 
 " Yes, sir," assented Lottimer, hardly know- 
 ing what he said. 
 
 " And I don't forget that before you took 
 to your tricks," went on Rankell, " you did 
 good work for me." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Lottimer. 
 
 " Well, if I could do anything for you in 
 justice to myself, I 'd do it." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Lottimer, whose heart 
 began to bound with hope. 
 
 " But I can't ; so there 's an end of it." 
 
 " Can't, sir ? Why not ? " 
 
 " Why, look here, Lottimer ; you know as 
 well as I do that I Ve got more men in my 
 employ than any dozen could look after prop- 
 erly. Well, if they should find out that I was 
 ready to begin the forget-and-forgive business 
 with a man that violated confidence like you, 
 where should I be? No, sir; it can't be done." 
 
 Poor Lottimer stammered something about 
 his family. 
 
The Lottimers. 193 
 
 " Well, sir," said Rankell, calmly, "it's your 
 family, not mine. Time was when you had a 
 chance to support them honestly." 
 
 " Mr. Rankell," exclaimed Lottimer rising, 
 amazed at himself, " I have supported them 
 honestly, and you know it ! " 
 
 "I don't know anything of the kind, sir. 
 I know why I turned you off. That did n't 
 look very honest." 
 
 " Mr. Rankell," said Lottimer, solemnly, " you 
 know, and I know, sir, which of us two is the 
 honest man." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" cried Rankell, 
 in a rage. 
 
 " I mean this, sir : I 'm a broken man, and 
 a poor one ; and what 's coming to me now, and 
 to my wife, and to my boy working like a black 
 slave, and to my little girl " 
 
 " Aged twenty -three or so," snarled Rankell, 
 " and going on the stage, I hear." 
 
 "What's coming to us," went on Lottimer, 
 " is more than I can tell. But whatever comes, 
 sir, I can look men in the face. For I know, 
 
 13 
 
194 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 and you know, and God knows, Mr. Rankell, 
 whose tricks it's owing to." 
 
 " He does, does He ? " grinned Rankell, show- 
 ing all his yellow teeth ; " then He knows this, 
 sir : you 've made your bed, and you 've got 
 to lie in it." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So, with broken hopes, but knowing more 
 clearly than ever which was the better man, 
 Joseph Lottimer made his way home. There 
 he found his wife, who was growing very 
 querulous ; Sadie had happened in, too, and was 
 picking a quarrel with dirty Joe, who sprawled 
 on the sofa. 
 
 Still full of excitement he told them what 
 had happened. 
 
 Mrs. Lottimer whined an accompaniment to 
 his recital. It was too much to bear ; they 
 should end in the poor-house. Mighty little 
 she could do to help along, now that sew- 
 ing was paid so low. She had done her best. 
 
The Lottimers. 195 
 
 If other folks had done theirs she did n't see 
 how they could have come to all this trouble. 
 
 44 Well, pa," said Sadie, "you used to say 
 that where there 's a will there 's a way. Ain't 
 that true any more ? " 
 
 But Joe, sprawling with half-closed eyes, kept 
 growling out, " Damn him ! I wish I 'd killed 
 him. I had the chance." 
 
 Mr. Lottimer, still rather exalted, kept say- 
 ing that whatever came he could hold up his 
 head. There was nothing in his life to be 
 ashamed of. And for that he thanked God. 
 
 Then, after a while, feeling drowsy, he kissed 
 his thin wife, who made some motion of discon- 
 tent at the touch of his lips; and crossing 
 infirmly to where Sadie sat he bent over and 
 kissed her forehead, she taking little heed of 
 him the while. But when Joe wrung his hand, 
 the tears came into his eyes. 
 
 " Don't worry, my boy," he said kindly ; "we 
 will sleep on it. Things will look brighter in 
 the morning." 
 
 And so he went to bed. 
 
196 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 IN the morning there came a great scream- 
 ing from the room where the old couple slept ; 
 and, hurrying thither, the people in the house 
 found Mrs. Lottimer leaning over her husband 
 and crying out very loud. Speak to her, she 
 begged him. It was she, Rhoda, Rhoda, 
 whom he saved in the old days, Rhoda, who 
 loved him. She had been wicked, ungrateful. 
 She would never be so again. And resting her 
 head on his breast she kept moaning out his 
 name, " Joe ! Joe ! " 
 
 But he made no answer ; for, as years be- 
 fore the mother he cared for so well had 
 fallen asleep never to wake again, so now had 
 he. And he lay there with a look of rest on 
 his pale face. And this was all that most who 
 came thither saw. 
 
 But some, who were near Joe, saw too that 
 there was something more than grief in his heavy 
 face as, shaken with sobs, he looked at his dead 
 
The Lottimers. 197 
 
 father. And they wondered among themselves 
 what he meant when he grumbled, not caring 
 who might hear, that this was murder. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THERE is very little more to tell. The clerks 
 in the Custom House surprised Mrs. Lottimer 
 by sending an elegant floral tribute to the fu- 
 neral ; still more to her surprise, another came 
 from the employees of Rankell's, who had known 
 Joseph Lottimer so long. But having thus ex- 
 hausted what tangible sympathy was in them, 
 these thoughtful friends troubled themselves 
 no further about the family he left behind 
 him, and soon could not tell what had become 
 of them. 
 
 For a while Sadie was willing to give part of 
 her^ earnings to her mother; but as these fell 
 off, she found she needed all for herself. Then 
 poor Joe could not earn enough to help much, 
 for times were growing hard and work scarce. 
 At last William Jones, who began somehow to 
 
198 HanJcelVs Remains. 
 
 prosper in the West, had word of his sister's 
 hardship ; so, with the benevolent condition that 
 he should never hear her name again, he bought 
 her a place in an Old Ladies' Home, where she 
 querulously went to her end. And Joe and 
 Sadie, after a while, were quite lost to sight. ' 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THIS, then, is the story concerning Rankell 
 that my friend the doctor, who had known the 
 Lottimers in their country home, told me, in his 
 graphic way, over our spirits and water. And 
 I have written it down, as nearly as might be, 
 in the manner in which he told it. 
 
IV. 
 THE CONVENTION. 
 
I. 
 
 last of my three stories is different 
 from the others. Those have told how 
 Rankell dealt with private men whose path 
 crossed his. This last, which perhaps may be 
 hardly called a story at all, shows him dealing 
 no longer with this man or that, but with those 
 great masses we call the people. 
 
 I am no politician. I have little familiarity 
 with the life of which I must here give a 
 glimpse. T have wondered more than once 
 whether the wiser course were not to leave 
 this part of Rankell's story untold. But with- 
 out it I cannot show all that Rankell means to 
 me. So here I shall set down, as best I may, 
 what in the last years of his life Rankell had 
 grown to be among those to whom he was little 
 more than a name. 
 
202 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 II. 
 
 IT is now several years since the Hon. Wil- 
 liam D. Cox was a prominent candidate for 
 the Presidency. By this time, I dare say, he is 
 half forgotten. In war days, however, he was 
 a famous member of Congress, where he first 
 appeared as a poor man. With no other means 
 of support than his office afforded he grew rich. 
 Before long, then, he naturally advanced to the 
 Senate, where his career was much what it had 
 been in the House. In general legislation he 
 took no leading part ; his record had no spots 
 that change of public opinion might weaken ; 
 but now and then he would deliver himself of 
 what his admirers called a ringing speech in 
 favor of some. popular cry. Thus he became 
 popular among the utterers of such cries. At 
 the same time his undoubted good-fellowship 
 made him a host of friends who maintained 
 with truth that there was no better diner-out 
 in America. And people who had irons for the 
 
The Convention. 203 
 
 fire of legislation were unanimous in the opinion 
 that the Hon. William D. Cox was among the 
 greatest of living statesmen. 
 
 What with his popularity and his friends 
 and his mone} r , it is not strange that he grew 
 anxious to crown his career with a term or two 
 in the White House. With becoming modesty, 
 then, he caused it to be heralded in the numer- 
 ous papers at his command that he had retired 
 from public life to pass his remaining years 
 in study at the beautiful home his mysterious 
 wealth had bought ; and thereupon his friends 
 went trooping to a Western city where a Na- 
 tional Convention was to be held. 
 
 Just at this time affairs called me thither, and 
 there I was compelled to stay throughout the 
 Convention. The prospect offered little pleas- 
 ure. Like many of my fellow-citizens, I held 
 that in the prevailing lack of political issues the 
 coming nomination had no importance. The 
 election itself would decide little more than 
 who should have great dinners at Washington, 
 and who should spend a pretty fortune in Lon- 
 
204 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 don or Berlin, and who should handle the mails 
 in this or that country post-office. To me, then, 
 the National Convention, which overcrowded 
 my hotel, presented itself as little else than a 
 personal annoyance. 
 
 It was in this mood that among the motley 
 crowd of political people who elbowed me at 
 table I met my friend Bobbins. He was a del- 
 egate, it appeared, and, bothered by his un- 
 wonted occupation, had been looking every- 
 where for what he called a white man he could 
 blow off steam to. For this purpose he deemed 
 me suitable ; he began forthwith to deliver him- 
 self of much pent-up feeling that I failed at 
 first to share ; wherefore he upbraided me as 
 highly unpatriotic. 
 
 This Robbins was a man of easy fortune who 
 in his youth studied law. He never practised, 
 chiefly, I suspect, because during the early 
 years when he still had an office his friends 
 assumed that he did not wish to be troubled 
 with business. So in a private way he turned 
 his attention to public matters, and won in time 
 
The Convention. 205 
 
 the reputation of a thoughtful writer who be- 
 lieved what he wrote. He never held office ; 
 even his admirers deemed him a trifle too 
 much of an idealist for practical life. But by 
 keeping a sharp eye on whoever was in office 
 he had long ago attained a position that made 
 him when a moral question arose in politics 
 one of its natural representatives. 
 
 At this moment such a question had arisen. 
 Members of the dominant party who disapproved 
 the career of the Hon. William D. Cox had 
 not been idly watching what was described as 
 the growth of his boom. Black sheep, they 
 admitted, had been suffered before this to stray 
 into the White House, but none so black as 
 he. Now was the time, they loudly said, for 
 honest men to assert themselves. The country 
 must not be dishonored by placing at its head 
 a clever trickster whose career on a smaller 
 scale would have been punished as crimi- 
 nal. We must assert ideals. We must teach 
 a lesson to those who preach that the whole 
 political duty of man is to follow your leader, 
 
206 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 no matter who he be nor whither he go. Ac- 
 cordingly there had been more discussion in 
 caucuses than political workers liked. And in 
 the end a good many delegates went West with 
 the avowed purpose of asserting such moral pre- 
 cepts as were taught us in youth with no notion 
 that we should think of putting them in practice. 
 
 Among these delegates Robbins was promi- 
 nent. And most of the steam which he began 
 blowing off to me consisted in such extrava- 
 gantly ideal parts of their creed as practical wis- 
 dom counselled him to keep from the people 
 among whom he was come to do serious work. 
 It was scandalous, he asserted before long, that 
 an educated man like me should listen with so 
 languid interest. 
 
 The truth was, I said, that I knew little 
 about such matters. Well, that was equally 
 scandalous, he thought. An intelligent citizen 
 ought to be ashamed of behaving under such 
 circumstances as these like a country minister 
 at a horse-race. He had no idea of letting this 
 go on. 
 
The Convention. 207 
 
 "Now that I 'm in politics," he continued, " I 
 feel bound by custom to be of use to my friends ; 
 and the most useful thing I can do for you is 
 to make you feel like an American." 
 
 Accordingly he somehow secured me a seat 
 on the speaker's platform, where I could see 
 and hear the Convention from beginning to end. 
 With this prospect, and Robbing's incessant 
 talk, I grew interested in what was doing about 
 rne ; and thus unexpectedly I came to know 
 what gave me my last impressions of Rankell. 
 
 III. 
 
 RANKELL, it appeared, was come West, as the 
 phrase went, " to boom Cox." The little man 
 always kept clear of active politics ; he showed 
 no ambition outside of his business. But now 
 and then, though he wanted no office, he ap- 
 peared sitting on platforms, and subscribing 
 handsomely to campaign funds as a stalwart 
 member of a party whose policy helped fill his 
 pockets. Now, he was so eager a supporter of 
 
208 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 Cox, that in view of the rising opposition he 
 had consented to come as a delegate to the Con- 
 vention. For Cox personally, to be sure, there 
 was no reason to suppose he cared a fig ; but 
 the astute statesman had pledged himself to 
 recommend certain acts which, however they 
 might affect the country at large, were sure 
 favorably to affect the purses of Rankell and 
 others of his kind. 
 
 "Of course the President does n't legislate," 
 said Robbins, " but American citizens rarely 
 stop to remember that constitutional truth ; 
 and there 's no denying that the President has 
 a great moral effect. That 's why Rankell 
 wants Cox. It 's also what I 'm here for." 
 
 The first I saw of Rankell in the West, how- 
 ever, was in no political character. I happened 
 one afternoon to be walking with Robbins about 
 the city that daily grew more crowded ; for 
 delegates and the like came by every train 
 to swell the numbers that commonly scurried 
 about. It was a city of endless straight streets 
 crossing one another at right angles, and lined 
 
The Convention. 209 
 
 as far as you could see with clumsy structures of 
 stone or iron covered with gilded signs. Here 
 and there were huge public buildings, mostly 
 incomplete, and uglier, if so may be, than the 
 public buildings we were used to at home. 
 
 " There is a compensating justice," Robbins 
 observed, "in the fact that nothing can make a 
 job look handsome in America." 
 
 In the streets were horse-cars and cable-cars, 
 and men with soft hats and straw hats and 
 white stove-pipes, and women apparently re- 
 spectable who wore diamond ear-rings as they 
 passed in and out of big-windowed shops. But 
 for all these signs of what continent we were 
 on, there was something foreign about the place. 
 Though we were near midsummer, the air was 
 thick and damp and chilly. Now and then a 
 few drops came drizzling from what looked like 
 a tremendous storm-cloud, yet brought forth no 
 more than this mouse of a shower. There was 
 a smell of coal-smoke ; flakes of soot came set- 
 tling down on our hands and our linen ; even 
 the half-finished public buildings were as grimy 
 14 
 
210 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 as if they had stood there for a century. So as 
 we looked at them through the murky atmos- 
 phere, and heard the talk of passers-by whose 
 language we knew, though every face was 
 strange, I found myself feeling as I have felt 
 in some of those cities of the Old World that 
 have none of its charm. 
 
 Presently we came to a shabby building where 
 there was excitement. Bustling fellows with 
 anxious faces w0re hurrying in and out, while 
 from within came the sound of a Babel of 
 voices. The place, I knew, was the Grain Ex- 
 change, where such business goes on as you 
 may see wherever they deal in stocks. 
 
 " It 's different, though," said Robbins, " when 
 you stop to think. The question here is not who 
 shall pay most for a bit of paper, generally about 
 as valuable as an ivory chip. It is much more 
 exciting than that ; it is who shall hold half the 
 breadstuff of the world. I don't wonder that 
 Socialism is growing popular." 
 
 Just then the sidewalk was so crowded that 
 we had to check our walk, and so overheard a, 
 
The Convention. 211 
 
 little of the talk about us. From this it trans- 
 pired that Sloane & Williams had just bought 
 half a million bushels of wheat, thereby turning 
 the market upside down. And once or twice, 
 as familiar sounds always catch the ear, I heard 
 people name Rankell. 
 
 The name of Sloane & Williams sounded 
 familiar, too ; in an instant I saw why. Across 
 the street it was gilded on a plate -glass win- 
 dow ; and looking toward this, impelled I sup- 
 pose by some unconscious memory of having 
 noticed it before, I saw why Rankell's name 
 was in the air. For there, just behind the win- 
 dow, stood the wizened little man listening 
 attentively to a stout fellow with a long mous- 
 tache, who held between his teeth a wooden 
 toothpick. When I caught sight of Rankell his 
 long-drawn upper lip gave him what I thought 
 an expression of dismay ; but as I watched him 
 he raised the hand that held his gold-headed 
 stick, and with the edge of his forefinger rubbed 
 the lip until the irritation that had caused its 
 closing was allayed. Then as he nodded a brisk 
 
212 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 assent to what the fat broker was saying, I saw 
 the old grin break over his face. 
 
 Rankell, the papers told us later, was sus- 
 pected of improving the opportunity afforded by 
 his trip West to take what was described as a 
 "flyer" in wheat; and this purchase of half a 
 million bushels was said to be the opening gun 
 of his campaign. This meant, as Robbins said, 
 that in the midst of political work he had 
 stepped aside to play a pretty little game with 
 famine. 
 
 It was during another walk that Robbins said 
 this. Along with a bearded delegate in brown 
 clothes we had strolled to quite a different part 
 of the city, near the circus-like building of cor- 
 rugated iron where the Convention was to sit. 
 This was close to the lake, separated from the 
 water by no more than a railroad where freight- 
 trains puffed up and down. In front of us, 
 as far as we could see, stretched the narrow 
 park through which we walked. On one side, 
 beyond sidewalks lined with half-grown trees, 
 were elaborate houses which, in this region 
 
The Convention. 213 
 
 where, within the memory of man, people lived 
 in log huts, looked unused to being expensive. 
 On the other side, just across the railroad, was 
 the lake, its surface stirred by a light breeze 
 that blew toward us ; and here, when the pass- 
 ing trains permitted, we could look out over a 
 great expanse of iridescent water, shining in the 
 dim sunlight with a thousand dreamy hues of 
 blue and green and purple. 
 
 " Yes," repeated Robbins with rising warmth, 
 " Rankell is playing with famine." 
 
 " I don't say he ain't, sir," said the cautious 
 delegate. 
 
 " And there are his counters," cried Robbins, 
 turning about with an air of eloquence. 
 
 He pointed back toward the city. There, 
 among the tall chimneys that were belching 
 out black clouds of smoke to join the clouds 
 that always overhung them, we could see the 
 dark masses of grain-elevators looming up like 
 misshapen mountains. 
 
 " Men like Rankell never work without pay," 
 went on Robbins with more heat than logic. 
 
214 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 44 Famine is what you vote for if you vote for 
 Cox." 
 
 44 1 don't say it ain't," repeated the delegate, 
 laying his hand on Robbins's arm. " Rankell 's 
 practical, but I don't like him. And I don't like 
 Cox either, not a bit better than you do. 
 But how about the people ? He 's awful smart. 
 How about the people ? " 
 
 And there, Bobbins said later, we had before 
 us the two things honest men were bound to 
 fight : one was money won and spent no one 
 cared how, so long as there was little waste ; 
 the other was such temper as the delegate 
 had shown. 
 
 44 These men are not dishonest," said Rob- 
 bins. 44 Nothing impresses me more than that ; 
 but they are so horribly afraid of seeming un- 
 practical to a bugbear they call ' the people,' that 
 you can frighten them by saying ' Boo ! ' ' 
 
The Convention. 215 
 
 IV. 
 
 BEFORE the Convention sat I had two other 
 glimpses of Rankell : the first was one evening 
 when, according to the papers, the working- 
 men of the West made a grand spontaneous 
 demonstration in favor of the Hon. William D. 
 Cox. This was the culmination of much pre- 
 liminary enthusiasm. For while Rankell and 
 other men of practical reputation were hard at 
 work with delegates and committees, political 
 clubs in blue flannel suits and white stove-pipe 
 hats had patrolled the streets with bands, and 
 banners decorated with colossal portraits of Cox, 
 who therein resembled a gray-haired fish. Of 
 an evening, too, companies of rough fellows, sup- 
 posed to be honest workingmen resting after the 
 day's toil, would tramp noisily about, uttering 
 rhythmical cries of " Cox! Cox! BilJlee! Cox!" 
 These spontaneous expressions of public feeling 
 impressed delegates more than Bobbins liked. 
 
 " I 'm afraid," he said, " that a man must 
 
216 RanJceWs Remains. 
 
 be something more than practical to recognize 
 claque." 
 
 When the claque culminated in this demon- 
 stration, which took place before the hotel 
 where Cox's committee, along with most others, 
 had their headquarters, Robbins and I sat in 
 a club window across the way. The street was 
 crowded with just such rough fellows as we had 
 often seen in smaller groups shouting the name 
 of Cox. And as Mr. Cox's managers at the 
 head of whom was a military-looking personage 
 called General Bob .Tompkins stood on the 
 gallery above the portico, they were constantly 
 greeted with the drum-like rhythmical shouts. 
 Two or three times General Bob endeavored 
 to quiet the disorder by making a speech. We 
 could see him remove his broad-brimmed mili- 
 tary hat, and hear him utter the words, " Fellow- 
 citizens! " But shouts of " Cox ! " overwhelmed 
 his further eloquence. And each time, with a 
 smile that we could see by the electric lights, 
 he gave it up, and, turning to his friends, shook 
 his bald head. 
 
The Convention. 217 
 
 Among this company, I presently observed, 
 Rankell did not appear. 
 
 " Of course he does n't," said Robbins, when 
 I spoke of the fact ; "this is a time for mo- 
 nopoly to keep dark. You may depend upon it, 
 though, that he helps pay the bills." 
 
 So we sat watching, until at last, when the 
 crowded street seemed on the verge of riot, we 
 heard the notes of an approaching band. Some- 
 how the crowd parted, leaving such a narrow 
 path as you see in old pictures of the passage 
 of the Red Sea ; and presently along came the 
 band, playing a brave march quite in keeping 
 with the drum-major in a huge white shako 
 who stalked at the head. The shouting pro- 
 cession that followed with torches and banners 
 and Roman candles had hardly begun to turn 
 the next corner, when another band became 
 audible from the direction whither the first had 
 marched. In a minute more a second proces- 
 sion, coming from that side, began boldly to 
 force its way into the narrow street that had 
 seemed too crowded for the first. And then all 
 
218 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 semblance of order disappeared ; and we sat 
 looking down at a confused struggle of men 
 with torches and men without, of bands half 
 disbanded and bauds still playing their loudest, 
 of fireworks, and transparencies decorated with 
 the fish-like countenance of Mr. Cox, and hats 
 tossed in the air, possibly not by their owners. 
 And over all the noise came from time to time 
 solid rhythmical shouts of "Cox! Cox! Bil ! 
 lee! Cox!" 
 
 To me the demonstration looked alarmingly 
 genuine. I said so to Bobbins. Claque could 
 not reach such dimensions. 
 
 Bobbins laughed at me. 
 
 " It 's cleverly done," he said, "but it 's hum- 
 bug. If it was genuine there would have been 
 a dozen fights by this time." And thereupon he 
 pointed out one or two details that had escaped 
 my notice. We sat high enough to see above the 
 heads of the people that the avenues whence 
 the rival processions had entered the narrow 
 street were by no means crowded. And in the 
 counter procession which had capped the climax 
 
The Convention. 219 
 
 of enthusiasm we soon descried the white shako 
 of the drum-major who had headed the first. 
 
 " All they are really doing," said Bobbins, 
 "is to fill one of the narrowest streets in town. 
 These fellows are counter-marching like proces- 
 sions at the opera. What bothers me is that 
 it must be frightfully expensive ; and men like 
 Rankell would n't do it if it did n't pay." 
 
 Just as the tumult was at its highest I hap- 
 pened to look across the way. At a window 
 of the hotel, a story or two above the portico 
 where General Bob Tompkins, with his fierce 
 military moustache and imperial, stood bowing 
 and smiling in patriotic enthusiasm, I saw two 
 figures. The room from which the window 
 opened was dark, and the lace curtain had been 
 pulled aside to give these two, who were hardly 
 visible from the street, a clear sight of what 
 was going on. From where we sat we could 
 plainly see them by the electric lights. One 
 was a red-faced fellow with a black moustache, 
 who wore the blue flannel uniform and white 
 hat of a political club. He looked busy, and 
 
220 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 pointed here and there as he talked excitedly 
 to his companion ; and the companion was 
 Rankell, grinning in his more venerable man- 
 ner as he nodded his wizened little head to 
 show that he understood what was going on. 
 
 Presently Rankell pointed toward a part of 
 the crowd that was becoming quiescent. There- 
 upon the red-faced man leaned forward and 
 made some signal. Forthwith from that region 
 arose louder than ever the rhythmical shout of 
 "Cox! Cox! Bill lee! Cox!" 
 
 Then Rankell, with expanding smile, threw 
 back his little shoulders and said something to 
 his companion, who interrupted the biting of a 
 fresh cigar to make a jolly answer, laying his 
 hand on Rankell's shoulder ; and together they 
 slipped behind the flapping lace curtain. 
 
 The red-faced man, Robbins told me, was one 
 Mike Macmanus, boss of the county. 
 
 " He's stage-manager, you see," said Robbins. 
 "Rankell can't show to-night; but he 's making 
 sure that Mike gives them their money's worth/' 
 
The Convention. 221 
 
 V. 
 
 MY other glimpse of Rankell was the day 
 before the Convention sat. By that time Rob- 
 bins was so deep in political work that he had 
 little time for me, and seemed rather absent 
 when we came together. He needed all his 
 steam, he apologetically said, to keep him going ; 
 there was none left to blow off. 
 
 The work that kept him busy was much like 
 what Rankell was about. In the great hotel 
 whence General Bob Tompkins and his friends 
 had watched the demonstration in honor of 
 Cox every available room had been taken by 
 committees and delegations. Above the doors 
 that lined the hot velvet-carpeted corridors, 
 where chandeliers were lighted and the air was 
 thick with tobacco-smoke, were printed placards 
 telling the ceaseless crowds that elbowed their 
 way about who was within. " National Com- 
 mittee " stared at you above one door, the 
 names of States above others, and so on. With- 
 
222 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 in these rooms committees and delegations some- 
 times sat closeted ; again in formal session they 
 would receive deputations of speakers come to 
 urge the claims of this or that candidate. It 
 had grown plain that Cox was the most promi- 
 nent. Rankell and other practical men were 
 making so serious an impression that opposition, 
 to be effective, must be more than negative. 
 Accordingly Robbins and men come like him 
 to check what they called the national disgrace 
 involved in Cox's nomination had been forced 
 to choose whom they should support against 
 him. Their choice fell on a certain Senator 
 Campbell, whose career, though partisan, had 
 been thoroughly honest. 
 
 There were two or three objections to him, 
 though. He was not magnetic ; he had a cast 
 in the eye that would lend itself to caricature ; 
 and on one occasion, in the warmth of a speech 
 excited by some trumped-up terrorism in the 
 South, he had so far forgotten himself as to 
 proclaim that a black skin could give a man 
 no higher rights than a white. This dictum 
 
The Convention. 223 
 
 admitted by Senator Hotchkiss, his chief man- 
 ager, to be " the sole stain on an otherwise 
 spotless and philanthropic public career" had 
 alienated, practical men declared, a great part 
 of the negro vote. Robbins and his friends 
 were hard at work trying to convince delegates, 
 who, as he said, u would like to be honest if 
 they dared," that these objections were not so 
 insuperable in the eyes of a free and indepen- 
 dent people as what might be urged against 
 a statesman like Cox, who, for all his practical 
 friends, had made a fortune in offices where his 
 salary would hardly pay his board. 
 
 At this moment the chief object of their 
 efforts was the delegation from Alabama. Al- 
 phabetically, Robbins pointed out to me, Ala- 
 bama was the most valuable State in the Union. 
 She led the roll-call ; if she voted solidly for 
 a candidate the impression would be hard 
 to unmake. Besides, half the delegates from 
 Alabama were negroes or mulattoes ; if they 
 could be brought to vote for Campbell, the 
 effects of that unlucky speech on terrorism 
 
224 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 would be nullified. Yet Cox's men were vig- 
 orously attacking Alabama too, and the work 
 became so important that Campbell's managers 
 pressed into service whoever could help them. 
 At one time Robbins was seized with an idea 
 that even I might do some good, and so 
 led me into the committee-room where, with 
 Campbell's other leading supporters, Senator 
 Hotchkiss sat in state. 
 
 The Senator, a thin, sallow man, with a droop- 
 ing gray moustache and appalling solemnity of 
 manner, received me with sorrowful courtesy. 
 Much as a physician might question a patient 
 whose symptoms were alarming, he proceeded 
 to ask my opinions. "What was the state of 
 feeling in the business community? How far 
 had the speech about terrorism influenced what 
 he might describe as the Abolition vote? Of 
 these matters, on which I understood Rankell 
 and his friends dwelt at much length, I knew 
 little. My answers, then, were so far from sat- 
 isfactory, that in spite of the enthusiasm which 
 by this time had made me, as Robbins said, 
 
The Convention. 225 
 
 44 positively explosive," the Senator soon dis- 
 missed me with a disconcertingly solemn bow, 
 and turned his attention to a more practical 
 gentleman with gray hair. 
 
 The last I saw of the - committee-room, this 
 Governor, whose name I failed to catch, was 
 taking a handful of cigars from a box that lay 
 open on the table, meanwhile assuring an anx- 
 ious friend that though the expenses of the 
 canvass were enormous, we might rest assured 
 that Mr. Campbell's managers would husband 
 every resource. 
 
 Robbins had not rested here. He privately 
 presented me in the corridor to General Crowley, 
 the chairman of the delegation from Alabama, 
 and to Mr. Montgomery, a leading member 
 thereof. Crowley was a large man, in an ill- 
 fitting frock-coat ; he wore a gray moustache 
 and chin -beard ; his stiff gray hair was brushed 
 straight behind his ears ; his thick aquiline nose 
 was surmounted by steel-rimmed spectacles ; 
 and he carried his left hand in a red silk sling. 
 Montgomery was a spruce negro whose coun- 
 15 
 
226 RankeW* Remains. 
 
 tenance in repose had the air described as 
 Napoleonic, but whose manner when he spoke 
 revealed in its vivacity that before the war he 
 had been a body-servant. These gentlemen 
 received me with formal courtesy, asking wheth- 
 er I should like to stump the State in the 
 autumn. But finding me unavailable for this 
 purpose, and discovering, I suppose, no practical 
 traits, they proceeded the next day to forget my 
 name. So Bobbins gave me up as a bad job. 
 
 " You see," he said as he whisked off to his 
 committee-room the morning before the Conven- 
 tion, " what you might have done if you had 
 not wasted your youth." 
 
 Thus left alone, and pretty thoroughly 
 wrought up, I found myself that morning aim- 
 lessly pushing about the hotel which for the 
 moment was the centre of American political 
 life ; and in my wanderings I had my last 
 glimpse of Rankell before the Convention. 
 
 In the crowd that was passing up one side 
 of the great staircase from the office, while 
 policemen forced a companion stream to pass 
 
The Convention. 227 
 
 down the other, some one called my name ; 
 and there to my surprise I found Tom Hen- 
 derson, whose heavy cheeks, unshaven for a 
 day, were covered with a grayish stubble. 
 
 He was on his way home from Montana, he 
 said, where he had been shooting. He had 
 been fool enough to stop for a look at things 
 in this confounded hole. 
 
 And taking my arm he proceeded, as we 
 slowly passed upstairs, to relate with much 
 indignation how he had been knocked up in 
 the middle of the night. His visitor turned 
 out to be a certain Mr. Grand, of Sharon 
 Springs, Nebraska, who, much the worse for 
 drink, stated that he was come to share his 
 bed. 
 
 " I told the beggar to clear out," said Tom, 
 " and he would n't. He got pathetic, said that 
 such treatment at his time of life made him 
 
 feel hurt, fifty-three years old, by , and 
 
 always voted the regular ticket. And do you 
 know the fellow began pulling off his trousers. 
 Well, I rang for the clerk ; and, by Jove ! sir, I 
 
228 RanJcelTs Remains. 
 
 was told that if I did n't like it I might move 
 out ; there were plenty of people waiting for half 
 a bed. I did move out. Sat up all night. I 'm 
 off by the next train." 
 
 " By the way," he went on, mollified by my 
 sympathetic listening, " a queer thing happened 
 last night. Have you been to the Occidental 
 Theatre?" 
 
 "No," I said. 
 
 "Shady kind of place. They're doing a leg- 
 piece, Hiawatha. Well, the first girl I saw in 
 the chorus was that blonde who used to sing at 
 parties, little Lottimer, don't you know. She 
 winked at me ; I was in the front row. I cleared 
 out. She's gone off like the devil thin as a 
 rail, false teeth, and whole kegs of paint. It 's 
 too bad she's got so low; she used to be a 
 nice little thing. Damn it, I've half an idea 
 I started her myself." 
 
 And Tom, who had done his best to repair 
 the ravages of a sleepless night with brandy 
 and soda, looked the image of virtuous repent- 
 ance. 
 
The Convention. 229 
 
 Just then a door opened in the over-heated 
 corridor we had reached. There was a rush of 
 reporters and other curious people to know what 
 was at hand. So Tom and I were crowded 
 aside as a path was opened for a company that 
 emerged from the room in double file. 
 
 44 Where are the}^ going?" asked a man reach- 
 ing over my shoulder to pull the sleeve of one 
 who was clearing a way for the procession. 
 
 " Alabama," was the answer. 
 
 " Who are they, any way ? " asked Tom of the 
 questioner. 
 
 " Cox men," he answered with a look of con- 
 temptuous surprise. 
 
 u Barrels ! " sung out a voice behind us. 
 But only feeble laughter greeted this sally, 
 for every one of these Cox men, it appeared, 
 was somebody. And at the head of the pro- 
 cession, along with General Bob Tompkins, 
 whose military hat was well on one side, trotted 
 Rankell, doing his best to keep up with his 
 companion's strides. 
 
 As I looked at the little man I felt my anger 
 
230 EankelVs Remains. 
 
 rising. Excited by the unwonted bustle of the 
 past few days, I remembered in one flash all 
 that I had known of him to this time. And 
 here he was now, placidly trotting away to per- 
 suade the puzzled men from Alabama that the 
 wise course was to make a nomination they 
 knew disgraceful. If they made it he would 
 be the gainer ; and that was all he cared for. 
 Thinking thus, with the heat I had caught from 
 Bobbins, I stared rudely at Rankell's face ; and 
 he in passing caught my eye. He thought, I 
 suppose, I was some one he knew. At any rate 
 he nodded his head, with a dry " How d-e do, 
 sir?" 
 
 44 Who is that? " asked Tom in my ear. 
 
 What Tom had told of Sadie, and all the story 
 of her family, were fresh in my mind. 
 
 "The man that started little Lottimer," I 
 burst out. 
 
 "Thunder!" exclaimed Tom, who failed to 
 grasp my metaphor. " Who M have thought it ? 
 And how should you know ? " 
 
 But when I did not answer he tactfully 
 
The Convention. 231 
 
 refrained from pressing the question, with a sigh 
 of relief, and the words, " Well, I 'm mighty 
 glad to hear it wasn't me." 
 
 VI. 
 
 WHEN I found next day the seat which Rob- 
 bins had secured me on the platform, there were 
 still few people in the hall where the Conven- 
 tion was coming together. As I looked about 
 at the wilderness of rough pine carpentry where 
 delegates and substitutes and reporters and 
 guests and public were slowly straggling in, 
 the place seemed like a circus-tent too large for 
 the town where it is pitched. On all sides the 
 hall was draped with flags and bright bunting. 
 At regular intervals on the front of the galleries 
 appeared pasteboard shields gaudily painted 
 with what by courtesy are styled the arms of 
 the several States of the Federal Union. In the 
 midst of all, and largest of all, blazed the stars 
 and stripes surmounted by a stuffed bald eagle. 
 And the circus-like impression was enhanced 
 
232 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 by a brass band, which from just above this 
 national emblem was blowing into the cubic 
 acre of walled space the thin notes of popular 
 melodies that we have chosen to describe as 
 national airs. 
 
 Robbins's parting speech had perhaps sug- 
 gested the idea. " This Convention is to be- 
 gin," he said, " with a regular circus. And the 
 opening act will be a fight for who shall be 
 ring-master and who clown." 
 
 This, being interpreted, signified that the ad- 
 herents of Cox and of Campbell proposed test- 
 ing their respective strength by nominating 
 rival candidates for the chair. Cox's men, it 
 was understood, brought forward General Bob 
 Tompkins ; Campbell's, Senator Hotchkiss. The 
 Senator, to be sure, was so far from a model 
 representative of reform that he had lately been 
 actively concerned in a vote of public money, 
 that people not benefited thereby described as 
 "a steal." 
 
 " But then," Robbins said, " he hates Cox 
 like the devil. And he understands politics. 
 
The Convention. 233 
 
 And this is a fight where we have everything 
 to gain and nothing to lose." 
 
 In fact, if Hotchkiss were defeated, it would 
 be no more than everybody expected. Cox's 
 name was shouting in every street ; Campbell's 
 was kept very quiet. What work had been 
 done for him was so far beneath the surface 
 that general report declared Cox able to carry 
 the Convention without a struggle. With Rob- 
 bins's help, though, I had seen enough to know 
 that the stout delegate with whom we walked 
 beside the lake was fairly typical of all. These 
 delegates generally liked Cox as little -as we; 
 they honestly thought his candidacy disgraceful. 
 But the shouting demonstrations of his workers, 
 along with the practical speeches of Rankell 
 and the like, had frightened them. How far 
 they dared act on their convictions was the 
 question. Under these circumstances, if Hotch- 
 kiss had even a respectable following the blow 
 to Cox would be serious. 
 
 Thus primed I watched the gathering crowd. 
 Reporters began to fill their seats, sharpening 
 
234 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 pencils and chatting with such unconcern as 
 you see in an orchestra ready tuned for the 
 overture. Distinguished guests moved about 
 the platform, shaking hands and finding their 
 places. Substitutes crowded their seats behind 
 the delegates as thick as boys in the gallery of 
 a theatre. Delegates appeared in such numbers 
 that their yellow, cane-bottomed chairs were no 
 longer visible. And the public, flocking to the 
 pine benches that on all sides rose until they 
 met the lattice-like braces which curled up to 
 the roof, merged in tier on tier of faces that 
 showed like so many dull white spots against 
 the vast background of black coats. Among 
 them my eye picked out a pretty girl with red 
 feathers in her hat, who wore a Campbell badge ; 
 and I looked at her with interest until she 
 caught my eye and flushed. 
 
 So I turned again to the delegates, among 
 whom I presently picked out such as I knew by 
 sight. There was Robbins, brimming over with 
 spirits, whispering right and left things that 
 made his neighbors laugh. There, a little way 
 
The Convention. 235 
 
 off, was Hotchkiss, solemnly lecturing a Jewish 
 delegate with black whiskers. There was Gen- 
 eral Bob Tompkins, looking straight forward, 
 with the air of one sitting for a photograph. 
 Near by, Mike Macmanus shifted uneasily in 
 his seat, crossing his legs first one way and 
 then the other. Farther off, I caught sight of 
 stately General Crowley, the Alabama chair- 
 man, with his steel spectacles, and his red sling, 
 and his iron-gray hair brushed behind his ears ; 
 and close beside him, of the Napoleonic negro 
 Montgomery. Finally, in the front row of the 
 largest delegation I spied Rankell, benignly 
 blinking as if he were in church. 
 
 The band struck up the " Star-Spangled 
 Banner," with startling effects on the cymbals. 
 Everybody sat expectant. A big Irish police- 
 man who was keeping strangers off the floor 
 thrust his round face about the corner of the 
 platform, and I could see his jaws moving as 
 he munched a quid. Then, as the last notes 
 of the national air died out, a lank, smooth- 
 shaven divine who somebody said was the 
 
236 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 Bishop of Minnesota arose, stepped to the 
 front of the platform, lifted up his arms, and 
 at the highest pitch consistent with clerical 
 dignity uttered the words, " Let us pray." 
 
 I saw Rankell's yellow head bob devoutly 
 down. Many delegates followed his example ; 
 others looked undecided how to act under 
 seemingly unfamiliar circumstances. The pub- 
 lic and the distinguished guests preserved 
 respectful silence ; but the reporters kept 
 whispering among themselves, and the stenog- 
 raphers kept their pencils going in pace with 
 the very reverend speaker, and across the hall 
 I could see the gleam of moving instruments 
 as the band repaired the ravages of their recent 
 performance. Meanwhile the Bishop, with 
 closed eyes, was busily intoning a prayer in- 
 telligible only to stenographers. And so the 
 Convention was opened. 
 
 Governor Duddy, of Kansas, was unani- 
 mously elected temporary chairman, and, com- 
 ing to his desk, began a patriotic harangue. 
 In five minutes, having shouted away what 
 
The Convention. 237 
 
 voice he had, he was merely a stout figure in 
 a loose frock-coat, vibrating a brown beard 
 that hung down to his waist, shaking his head 
 to keep a troublesome forelock out of his 63-68, 
 and bending his knees with a sudden jerk when 
 occasionally he emphasized his eloquence by a 
 downward gesture. 
 
 So the formal proceedings went on, until at 
 -last balloting for a permanent chairman was 
 declared in order, and somebody arose among 
 the delegates naming General Robert F. Tomp- 
 kins, of Missouri. At the sound of this name 
 there was a burst of applause, and the listening 
 delegates whispered among themselves. 
 
 Now, I thought, the struggle was coining. 
 Somebody would nominate Hotchkiss ; there 
 would be fresh applause, whose volume would 
 have grave significance ; and the vote that fol- 
 lowed would tell what hopes Campbell's men 
 might cherish. Full of excitement, then, I 
 waited for the applause to end, wondering who 
 among these delegates before me had been chosen 
 to nominate General Bob Tompkins's rival. 
 
/.' / /. /' "U > I', c if. 'i , /. > 
 
 s . * * ..... s . , 
 
 Tte 4f&Mte# jwhwfai ik tost, Ufa** wa# a 
 
 wtwJ a&mMy wm #0 rtill 
 f if n^ 
 
 
 gnwiiy ilwi fta4g 
 4^#j[4it^ fofo ^Uj^i 
 p fM(twr 0f (11^ w 
 P, M/ MoHiftfttttftry, of 
 
 wildljr 
 
thunders of incoherent cheers 
 
 -t* groans and hisses. I 
 
 .1 glimpse of Uobbins, his head tin 
 
 ^ with ' Mwawmus, 
 
 his fat face livid \\ith rage, stare to jump on his 
 chair, and pulled back by his friends 
 the left I saw 
 
 taller than the men about him. I 
 
 edly through h> s. And 
 
 in the midst of all I spied Rank, aalf 
 
 otosed, with a quizzically pu^/.led expressio: 
 he del scratched one of his temples. 
 
 Meanwhile stout (uneruor Puddv imuiv; 
 hummcred his desk, and shook his forelock with 
 me ruo. And to the right, where I turned 
 I peep at the pretty gill, I -a\v ihat she had 
 quit icu my imp, ,\ as she leaned 
 
 tor \x Ml that ; 
 
 &f lips as red as ' 
 
 > hkiss, who understovnl politics, had made 
 his pvunt. When I had time to think, I saw 
 vvl it \\ -. The weakest spot in Campbell's 
 vd was i hat unlucky p*M>h OU te' 
 
240 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 which Cox's men had declared would alienate 
 the negro vote. And here Campbell's own 
 managers proposed for the highest office within 
 their control as black a negro as walked Amer- 
 ica. And Cox's men, taken unawares, had tried 
 to howl down his name. 
 
 "And that's not all," Robbins cried, later. 
 " Tompkins used to be a slave-holder. By Jove ! 
 sir, it begins to look like Campbell." 
 
 And so it did. Tompkins tried to parry the 
 blow by rising to withdraw his name and second 
 the nomination of Montgomery ; but the mo- 
 ment the words were out of his mouth some- 
 body started a laugh that went like wild-fire 
 about the hall, and all General Bob's dignity 
 could not preserve him from looking sheepish. 
 
 So the Hon. Cneius P. M. Montgomery, of 
 Alabama, was made permanent chairman of the 
 Convention ; and thereby the supporters of 
 the Hon. William D. Cox were very practically 
 discomfited. 
 
The Convention. 241 
 
 VII. 
 
 FOR two or three days, so far as I could see, 
 the defeated faction did not rally. Proceedings 
 went on much as they had begun. The Hon. 
 Cneius P. M. Montgomery derisively termed 
 " Pomp " by members of the opposing part}?- 
 had a clerk well primed with parliamentary law, 
 so he succeeded in deciding points of order very 
 creditably. In the intervals of filibustering, 
 then, speakers from every part of the Union 
 delivered more or less audible speeches limited 
 by general consent to half an hour. 
 
 Meanwhile a platform had been constructed, 
 vigorously denouncing the opposite party in 
 long words derived from the Latin, and promis- 
 ing in general terms pretty much everything 
 for which there was reason to suppose a popu- 
 lar demand. Even Prohibition had a good 
 word; and the language in which Mormonism, 
 outrages against negroes, and Chinese immigra- 
 tion were denounced, must have sent thrills of 
 16 
 
242 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 admiration pulsing through the happy fields 
 where the spirits of the dead Abolitionists rest 
 from their labors. The tariff was declared to 
 be a corner-stone of liberty, but one that should 
 never be suffered so to develop as to check the. 
 legitimate progress of American industry. Sil- 
 ver was pronounced a precious metal, and those 
 unfriendly to it as malignantly unpatriotic as 
 demagogues who maintain the violability of con- 
 tracts. The Civil Service was asserted to be 
 the best on earth, but all honest efforts to re- 
 form it should be heartily welcomed. And so on. 
 For the rest, the platform was carefully made so 
 long that nobody need be expected to read it. 
 It was unanimously adopted, printed in all the 
 newspapers, and so consigned to oblivion. 
 
 Nothing but the nominating speeches com- 
 manded much attention. These were listened 
 to, and the band played separate airs to greet 
 the names of the different candidates. Cox was 
 greeted with " Rally Round the Flag ; " Camp- 
 bell with the less stirring " Hail Columbia ; " 
 lesser men with lesser strains. And each came 
 
The Convention. 243 
 
 to be known by his tune, as Wagner's heroes 
 
 I 
 
 are known by one or another flourish of 
 trumpets or hautboys. 
 
 All this time, as I have said, the result of 
 Senator Hotchkiss's master-stroke seemed un- 
 impaired. Cox's managers were apparently at 
 a loss ; their popular demonstrations lessened ; 
 and delegates began freely to say that it would 
 be a burning shame to nominate a man who was 
 not honest. " Honest old Jim Campbell," 
 indeed, the words with which the speaker who 
 nominated that statesman closed his impassioned 
 address, became the phrase of the moment. 
 
 As far as I could see, then, the tide had 
 turned strongly enough to convince the most 
 pessimistic that this Convention was not to be 
 frightened by popular clamor into doing irrepa- 
 rable mischief. The delegates all said so, with 
 an air of conviction. But as time went on Rob- 
 bins, who at first was jubilant, grew anxious. 
 
 " I don't like the way Cox's men behave," he 
 said. " They keep too quiet." 
 
 And now and then he heard disturbing bits 
 
244 Rankeirs Remains. 
 
 of news. An endless telegraphic correspon- 
 dence in cipher was going on with Cox himself. 
 The banks, it was rumored, had cashed some 
 enormous checks for Rankell. A special train 
 was said to be on its way from the East with 
 thousands of copies of an illustrated paper that 
 Rankell owned. Finally, one night came a still 
 more serious matter. 
 
 Robbius turned up, thoroughly excited. He 
 was tempted, he declared, never to meddle with 
 politics again. What disturbed him did not 
 at first transpire. At last, however, he told 
 me how Rankell had openly tried to capture 
 Montgomery. 
 
 " He asked him to dinner," said Robbins, 
 " with all Cox's managers ; and we only found it 
 out just as the fellow was starting. He did n't 
 go, but we had a hateful job to hold him. I 
 wouldn't stay to hear the bargain. Between our- 
 selves, though, I am afraid Montgomery made 
 Hotchkiss commit himself about the Haytian 
 mission. You can't fight money with patriotic 
 arguments." 
 
The Convention. 215 
 
 But at worst the Hon. Cneius P. M. Mont- 
 gomery had proved incorruptible by Rankell. 
 And whatever happened, said Bobbins, as he 
 began to recover equanimity, we could count 
 on Alabama, which was a good deal. 
 
 On the afternoon when at last the Convention 
 came to a ballot, Cox's men made their first open 
 stroke. On every seat in the hall was placed 
 a copy of the paper which, as rumor had rightly 
 prophesied, a special train had brought from the 
 East. The chief cartoon, printed in colors, bore 
 on the situation. Senator Hotchkiss, hardly 
 recognizable for a bland smile, offered an arm- 
 chair to a deserving-looking negro intended to 
 represent the Hon. Cneius P. M. Montgomery, 
 of Alabama. And the Senator had so placed 
 his respectfully bowing person as to conceal 
 from the Hon. CneiusVview the neighboring 
 figure of Campbell, who with folded arms and 
 ferocious smile contemplated, just at the focus 
 of his crossed eyes, a company of piratical whites 
 blazing away at a family of prolific negroes who 
 wallowed in a sea of vermilion blood. 
 
246 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 I noticed Rankell passing this paper about, 
 and blandly calling attention to its apt wit. 
 He was suspected, Robbins informed me, of 
 having conceived the idea of the cartoon. 
 
 In spite of all this, when at last the Conven- 
 tion came to an informal ballot, and the clerk, 
 standing on a platform beneath the pulpit-like 
 desk where the Hon. Cneius P. M. Mont- 
 gomery sat, began to call the roll of States, 
 Alabama cast all her twenty votes for Campbell. 
 And the moral effect of this was such that, 
 though scattering votes prevented anybody 
 from receiving a majority, Campbell turned 
 out in the end to have fifteen or twenty more 
 supporters than Cox. 
 
 With this encouraging result, the Convention 
 adjourned until evening. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now at last Robbins began to breathe freely. 
 
 " We have got them, I think," he said as 
 
 we sat down to a quiet dinner. u We have 
 
The Convention. 247 
 
 had to do hateful things ; but the only choice 
 was a choice of evils. The money has been 
 against us, and money carries the mob. But 
 the right is on our side ; and I hope I shall 
 always be a good enough American to be- 
 lieve blindly that the right is bound to prevail. 
 Let us eat and drink, for to-night, sir, they 
 die." 
 
 As we ate and drank our talk fell on Ran- 
 kell, who more than any other figure seemed 
 to me typical of the evil we had feared was 
 working about us. Wherever the worst mis- 
 chief appeared there you found his traces. Most 
 of those who were here to grab what they 
 could were at least about the business they 
 lived by. But Rankell had stepped aside from 
 what other harms his fortune was working, to 
 play here for his own gain any game that would 
 bring money to him, even though it brought 
 dishonor to the country ; and he played it by 
 stirring up what was worst in these men about 
 him, their silliness and their greed. 
 
 I was waxing warm, when a servant brought 
 
248 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 Bobbins a note. As he glanced at it his 
 face changed. He sprang up with an ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Macmanus is sick again," he explained, 
 " and they can't find Montgomery. I hope to 
 Heaven Rankell has n't got hold of him." 
 
 With that he was off; and until the Con- 
 vention was over I saw nothing more of 
 him. 
 
 It was only later that I learned the signifi- 
 cance of his parting words. On previous occa- 
 sions of political danger, it appeared, Macmanus 
 had been known mysteriously to fall ill. His 
 official place was thereupon taken by a substi- 
 tute ; but his spirit, like that of Julius Caesar, 
 would prove mightier than his bodily pres- 
 ence. For as sure as Mike disappeared, out 
 came the boys from far and near, conduct- 
 ing themselves in a manner that argued able 
 generalship. 
 
 As for Montgomery, things turned out as 
 Robbins feared. Rankell had got hold of him. 
 For an hour or two he was closeted with Cox's 
 
The Convention. 249 
 
 managers, from whose company he emerged, as 
 my informant put it, full of champagne, and 
 devilish mum. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THAT evening the streets about the hall were 
 so crowded that you could scarcely move ; and 
 the crowd so far as you could discern it by 
 the flickering glare of gas-lamps and electric 
 lights looked wicked. Rough fellows surged 
 all about the corrugated iron walls of the build- 
 ing, pushing, shouting, jesting, quarrelling, quite 
 beyond the control of what few policemen ap- 
 peared to assert the dignity of the law. 
 
 Within the building, though I came there 
 early, the seats of the public were already full 
 of a company unlike what I had seen there 
 before. In the seat that until now had been 
 occupied by the pretty girl with red feathers 
 sat a rough young fellow with a week's beard 
 and a collaiiess flannel shirt. His ragged hat 
 was pulled over his eyes, and in company with 
 others of his kind he was preparing himself for 
 
250 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 what might come by occasional pulls from a 
 brown glass bottle shared between them. Once 
 or twice they fell to horse-play. At last the 
 untidy youth was somehow dislodged from his 
 seat, to arise from the floor with a flood of 
 indignant eloquence that augured ill for the 
 future of those about him. 
 
 From time to time came from without the 
 muffled sound of such rhythmical shouts as 
 I had heard when I watched the trumped-up 
 demonstration in honor of Cox. Nothing but 
 the rhythm penetrated to my seat ; yet I seemed 
 to hear the Babel joining in articulate cries of 
 "Cox! Cox! Bill lee! Cox!" 
 
 The platform, all this time, was half empty. 
 Like myself, I suppose, the distinguished guests 
 had found difficulty in penetrating the crowd, 
 and many had given up in despair. But the 
 reporters were all in their places, and delegates 
 were rapidly coming in, some with torn coats, 
 and the band was playing operatic selections, 
 almost drowned in the noisy talk of the assem- 
 bled public. 
 
The Convention. 251 
 
 The delegates talked excitedly among them- 
 selves, most of them standing, or pacing such 
 part of the aisles as they could pass; and after 
 a little while I found myself, still full of my 
 talk with Robbins, watching Rankell, who stood 
 erect in his place. His face wore its most 
 active look; every fibre of his small body 
 even to the wisps of yellow hair that roughly 
 fringed his head seemed instinct with life. 
 He talked right and left, shaking hands, and 
 constantly, with a motion that seemed habitual 
 in his rare moments of excitement, throwing 
 back his shoulders and bending his head to- 
 wards his breast until his bristling yellow 
 beard curled forward to meet his descending 
 nose. And as I looked at him, knowing of him 
 all I knew, and as I watched the smiling pride 
 with which those about him listened to the 
 famous little creature's words, I began to think 
 of him as of a venomous spider stretching his 
 golden web far and wide across this whole con- 
 tinent of America, and grinning as he sees his 
 victims quiver in the meshes. 
 
252 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 The Hon. Cneius P. M. Montgomery took 
 his seat at last. As he rapped the Convention 
 to order he looked more Napoleonic than ever, 
 possibly by way of precaution against the rising 
 vivacity of his champagne. And, to my sur- 
 prise, the rough company that had invaded 
 the building through holes, it afterwards ap- 
 peared, cut in the wall by the lake-side be- 
 came as quiet as lambs. You could plainly hear 
 the motion that the Convention now proceed 
 to a ballot, and indeed all the formal words 
 that preceded the call of the States. 
 
 The clerk stepped forward, then, amid per- 
 fect silence, and, tally in hand, called out in 
 a shrill monotone the name of Alabama. 
 
 On the informal ballot, as everybody remem- 
 bered, Alabama had cast all her twenty votes 
 for Campbell. Naturally she was expected to 
 do so now. General Crowley arose with a 
 paper in his hand. 
 
 "Alabama," he shouted, bending forward 
 with a jerk in his effort to be audible, " gives 
 nineteen votes to Campbell " 
 
The Convention. 253 
 
 Then came a pause, as the General gathered 
 his breath. 
 
 " And one, " he went on pantingly, " to 
 William D. Cox." 
 
 With that began a riot that made such riots 
 as had come before seem nothing. At first it 
 was simply a yell from what you would have 
 thought every throat in the building ; at any 
 rate there were so many that the noise was 
 incessant for minutes, swelling now and then, 
 but never ceasing its shrill inarticulate utter- 
 ance. The whole building was on its feet. 
 Flags, appearing no one knew whence, waved 
 wildly on every side. I saw the dirty fellow 
 who had stolen the pretty girl's place unsteadily 
 standing on his seat, his mouth wide open for 
 his roar. And all about him, as far as I could 
 see, were acting likewise. 
 
 Presently the noise began to take articulate 
 form. The rhythmic sound that I had heard 
 from without faintly arose somewhere in the 
 distance. It was caught up by more voices and 
 more ; and finally, along with the shrill unceas- 
 
254 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 ing yell you began to hear, in bass monotone, 
 solid cries of " Cox ! Cox!- Bil! lee! Cox!" 
 
 Minutes passed, and tens of minutes, with no 
 change. Delegates sprang up in their places 
 and peered about with looks of startled wonder. 
 I caught sight of Hotchkiss, frowning his stern- 
 est and sawing the air with his arm as he talked 
 vigorously to those about him ; of Robbins, no 
 smile left, clutching at the coat of a delegate 
 who was turning from him ; of General Bob 
 Tompkins standing in his chair and waving his 
 flag with the best of them. I could see the 
 men from Alabama, too, clustering about big 
 General Crowley ; and Crowley seemed shouting 
 at them as he waved above his head the paper 
 from which he had read the vote. Finally, in 
 the midst of all I saw Rankell, glasses on nose, 
 coolly writing in a note-book. From this he 
 presently tore a leaf which he gave, along with 
 a coin and a pat on the back, to a messenger 
 who was standing by. And as the messenger 
 made off, Rankell folded his arms and bent his 
 head again until his beard curled forward. 
 
The Convention. 255 
 
 By and by the shrill yell that had persisted 
 throughout the clamor began to subside. Hu- 
 man throats, I thought, could keep it up no 
 longer. In the brief intervals between the 
 rhythmic cries, within and without, of 41 Cox ! 
 Cox ! Bil ! lee ! Cox ! " there came something 
 near enough silence to let us know that the 
 band had begun playing. At last the storm 
 subsided enough to make audible the notes of 
 what they played. 
 
 It was Cox's battle-hymn, "Rally Round the 
 Flag." In an instant thousands of voices took 
 it up. Then, mingling with the chorus, rose 
 again the rhythmical shouts of " Cox ! " Finally, 
 above all and louder than ever, swelled the 
 shrill inarticulate cry that had come first. And 
 flags waved. 
 
 Just then I saw somebody pass to Montgom- 
 ery a twisted bit of paper. And Montgomery 
 stopped his antic pounding on the desk to 
 glance at what was in it; then, as he resumed 
 his pantomime, he looked anxiously towards the 
 delegates. Following his eye : I saw it fixed on 
 
256 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 Rankell, who leaned his little head far out into 
 the aisle, a grin of excitement on his wrinkled 
 face as he nodded so briskly that the glasses 
 fell from his nose. 
 
 A minute later Montgomery was sitting at 
 his desk, scribbling in turn for dear life. Then 
 he called a messenger, and giving him what he 
 had written, pointed with his thumb towards 
 the spot where I could see the back of General 
 Crowley's long hair. 
 
 And when finally the noise abated it was be- 
 cause the General had faced about and forced 
 his way to the foot of the platform where the 
 clerk stood motionless with his tall} r . Here 
 Crowley waved a paper above his head, calling 
 for a hearing ; and by and by he had it. But 
 his voice was gone ; only the clerk could hear 
 what he said. So the whole assembly waited 
 breathless for the impassive monotone in which 
 the clerk announced the news. 
 
 "Alabama," he sung out, "changes her 
 vote. She gives twenty votes to William D. 
 Cox." 
 
The Convention. 257 
 
 And thereupon for another half hour came 
 the shouts for Cox. 
 
 They carried the day. When the roll-call 
 was ended Cox had six hundred votes out of 
 eight. And as Hotchkiss rose to move that 
 the nomination be made unanimous, the shouts 
 that greeted him almost drowned the cannon 
 that in the park by the lake-side close at hand 
 were thundering out the news that the chief 
 work of the Convention was done. 
 
 X. 
 
 AND this was the last I ever saw of Eankell. 
 Just what part he played in this monstrous 
 drama no mere looker-on can tell. What I 
 saw I have written down, leaving unsaid what 
 I and others guessed. All I need tell besides 
 is that when the Hon. Cneius P. M. Mont- 
 gomery went back to Alabama, the papers told 
 us that he purchased a beautiful residence in 
 Mobile. 
 
 17 
 
V. 
 
 THE END OP EANKELL. 
 
I. 
 
 \ S the autumn that followed the Convention 
 wore on, the papers were full of news. 
 The opposite party had nominated a candidate 
 as honest as Campbell. So the campaign that 
 was fighting for the suffrages of the people, 
 with speeches and torches and money spent 
 no one knew how, was after all much what 
 the struggle had been in the Convention. And 
 somehow, in spite of Cox and his backers, who 
 talked loudly in general phrase of everything 
 but honesty, and waved flags amid torrents of 
 military metaphor while bands played their 
 battle-hymn, the issue slowly grew plainer. 
 But Cox was a good fellow and a smart man ; 
 and the party behind him was so beautifully 
 organized that a nomination might practically 
 be considered as good as an election. Moral 
 members of his party, too, having discovered 
 
262 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 that his opponent had as a youth been arrested 
 in a state of intoxication, undertook, with some 
 success, to make a moral issue of their own. 
 But men who cared for the honor of the coun- 
 try rallied strongly, speaking and printing the 
 naked truth about Cox's career. And day by 
 day it was clearer that they were answered by 
 no more cogent arguments than bands and 
 battle-flags. So people who could be roused 
 to think for themselves took to thinking, which 
 was the last thing Mr. Cox's party wanted. 
 
 The papers, then, were full of political news, 
 finely colored to suit the taste of readers ; and 
 you had to turn to the inner pages for anything 
 else. 
 
 By and by, however, another matter crowded 
 to the first columns of the papers, and drove 
 much patriotic eloquence to the inner pages, 
 where it looked out of place among European 
 telegrams, and criminal matters, and the like. 
 There was a panic in wheat, not a little 
 flurry such as I had seen as I walked with 
 Robbins past the Exchange, but a great trouble 
 
The End of Eankell. 263 
 
 that concerned half the world. The people 
 wanted breadstuff. The supply fell short. It 
 was locked up in such great elevators as we 
 had seen looming through the smoke-clouds as 
 we walked beside the lake. Who held it no 
 one rightly knew, along with other names 
 there were whispers of Rankell's, but held 
 it was until hunger should make men ready 
 to pay what the holders chose to ask. What 
 that might be nobody could tell ; the clickers 
 ticked out rising bids and no sales. And I, 
 when I read this news, thought often of the 
 decent little figure in black clothes and top- 
 boots that I had seen in Sloane's big window 
 listening to the words that pushed themselves 
 past the broker's vibrating toothpick, and calmly 
 rubbing the long, shaven upper lip. 
 
 One afternoon came a fresh piece of news 
 that for the moment, in our part of the 
 world, crowded out even the panic. It was 
 a cold, drizzling day, when the flagged side- 
 walks were slippery with mud that passing 
 throngs had carried thither from the roadway. 
 
264 RankelTs Remains. 
 
 As I passed along I heard newsboys crying 
 an "Extra." Catching the sound of RankelFs 
 name, I called a shivering little freckled bare- 
 foot, and bought one of his papers to see what 
 the news might be. Then, with my damp 
 umbrella resting on one shoulder, I stood with 
 my back to a shop-window; and while endless 
 streams of people and of wagons hurried past 
 me I read what had happened. 
 
 Rankell was dead. That very morning the 
 colorless little creature whose touch turned 
 all things to gold, but on whose head no 
 Midas ears ever sprouted, had tramped briskly 
 as ever down to his great store. He had peered 
 about as was his custom, letting no corner escape 
 his sharp eyes. He had scolded some poor girl 
 who came late to her work. Then, as usual, he 
 had passed into his white-walled office and shut 
 the ground-glass door behind him. That was 
 the last mortal eyes saw of him in life. 
 
 When hours had passed and he gave no sign, 
 a clerk had gathered courage to knock at his 
 door ; and after a while, having no answer, 
 
The End of Rankell. 265 
 
 he had timidly opened it and looked in. There, 
 close to the open desk strewn with papers, lay 
 Rankell. His stiff hand still held the paper 
 tape that clicked from the ticker, and in his 
 fall he had overturned the tall basket that stood 
 ready to receive it. So he lay half buried under 
 the snake-like rolls that told what men would 
 pay for his wheat, while the little machine 
 kept ever vomiting down more and more, with 
 such sympathy as the birds showed the dead 
 children in the wood. 
 
 II. 
 
 HE had a grand funeral from old St. 
 Peter's, where on the intervening Sunday an 
 eloquent doctor of divinity had said many 
 things about the vanity of riches and the im- 
 portance of attendance at divine service. In 
 forty years, except when kept away from town, 
 Rankell had never missed a Sunday ; the con- 
 gregation looked with sentiment at the empty 
 pew over whose mahogany rail they should 
 
266 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 no more spy the bald little yellow head. All 
 the papers, too, had printed long obituary no- 
 tices, dwelling on Rankell's honorable mer- 
 cantile career ; from the day when he bought 
 his first recorded bill of goods he had never 
 once hesitated to meet his obligations. Who, 
 wrote the editors, can hope for a nobler epitaph? 
 So said the public, talking in streets, and shops, 
 and horse-cars, and hotels of his great enterprise 
 and his great success. 
 
 But I, for my part, thought far otherwise. 
 What I knew of Rankell was only what had 
 come to the knowledge of an indolent fellow 
 who had happened once or twice to catch a 
 glimpse of what he was doing. Those whose 
 lives had been near his must know far more 
 than I. Yet I myself knew what I have writ- 
 ten. I remembered the gracious home of the 
 Wybornes, and thought of the staring new Ran- 
 kellville that had grown about the blackened 
 cellar, full of weeds, which marked the spot 
 where their house had stood. I thought of 
 Howard in his grave, of Anna as she used to 
 
The End of Rankell. 267 
 
 hurry alone through the darkening streets. I 
 thought of the Lottimers, too, simply living 
 their thoughtless lives until Rankell played the 
 trick that brought them ruin, of how the 
 father, with a broken heart, kissed for the last 
 time the faces that had no looks of love for 
 him ; of the mother dead in the home that 
 charity offered the homeless; of Sadie dancing 
 lewdly before whoever paid to see her shame ; 
 of Joe, God knew where. I thought of the 
 country on the path to dishonor if the work of 
 the man who lay dead should not be undone; 
 and of poor children moaning for the bread 
 that was locked in his storehouses. With all 
 this there was only one picture of a gentler 
 kind, and even that was comical; for I could 
 not check a smile as I thought of the little 
 creature standing in the churchyard years ago 
 and blowing his nose with a big red handker- 
 chief as he called a fine day that dreary morn- 
 ing when they buried Mary Lee. 
 
 This was no time for mourning, but rather 
 one for rejoicing, when at last he could meddle 
 
268 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 in the world no more. Yet when the day for 
 burying Rankell came, I found myself impelled 
 by a curiosity for which I had small respect to 
 go and watch this last scene in the drama of 
 his life. 
 
 HI. 
 
 THE old church and the churchyard were 
 guarded by policemen, who allowed no one to 
 pass in without a black-edged card of admission 
 to the ceremony. But people like me, un- 
 worthy of this honor, might if we pleased 
 stand without the iron fence and watch what 
 was doing. So there I stood that sunny au- 
 tumn morning, as a light wind blew through 
 the thinning branches of the trees and crisp 
 leaves came fluttering down to the tangled 
 grass between the gravestones. 
 
 The company about me was such as in any 
 great city gathers at hours when honest work- 
 ing people are busy at work. There were 
 women of the poorer sort, with dirty shawls 
 
The End of Eankell. 269 
 
 flung over their heads, and sometimes with 
 large baskets that bothered the people near 
 them ; there were bold-faced, shrill-voiced girls 
 in cheap finery ; there were barefoot children 
 in rags, and boys who played truant for the 
 show ; there were men, too, mostly of the 
 rougher kind, with brutal faces and dull eyes, 
 jesting with one another and with such women 
 of their class as were at hand ; and there were 
 odd figures emerged no one knew whence. 
 Near me I saw a blear-eyed old fellow, Avhose 
 pink face seamed with wrinkles was half buried 
 beneath his curly snuff-brown wig and the dyed 
 whiskers that showed a rim of white between 
 his cheeks and the blue-black hair. He wore 
 cotton gloves, and as he blinked at the spectacle 
 about him he rested one hand on a gilt-headed 
 black cane. Close behind him stood a dull- 
 looking giant of a man, in a rough flannel 
 shirt open enough at the neck to reveal the 
 swelling muscles of his sunburnt chest. His 
 ragged hat was pushed back. There was an 
 ugly scar on his bald forehead. Above his dull 
 
270 RarikeWs Remains. 
 
 blue eyes his brow was knitted in a frown 
 that would have made his face wicked but 
 that his heavy jaw hung feebly open and 
 showed a tongue too big for his coarse mouth. 
 As he stood staring over the shoulder of the 
 blear-eyed little man in a wig, he looked half 
 an idiot. Some sailor I thought he must be, 
 not yet free from the fumes of a debauch. 
 
 Such a company jostled one another and 
 thrust their faces close to the iron paling of 
 the churchyard as we stood waiting for the 
 last rites. Within the churchyard were sex- 
 ton's men with cords and shovels, pottering 
 about the little pile of earth and the great 
 slate-stone slab that had been taken from the 
 mouth of the tomb where Rankell was to rest. 
 And from the gray church just at hand came 
 now and then the faint sound of organ music 
 and of voices chanting funeral hymns. 
 
 By and by there was a bustle about the doors 
 of the church, and you could hear the thud of 
 bolts as the sextons drew them back. Then 
 through the opened doors the organ began to peal 
 
The End of Rankell. 271 
 
 out the " Dead March in Saul." And forth be- 
 tween the Roman columns of the portico came 
 into the autumn sunshine a stately procession, 
 which turned slowly to the left and passed down 
 the side-steps into the churchyard. The crowd 
 pressed closer than ever to the paling ; they 
 pushed me to the very side of the blear-eyed 
 little man and the sunburnt giant, who, as his 
 stupid frown grew deeper, looked more drunken 
 still. 
 
 So the procession passed into the churchyard. 
 First came the clergy in their surplices, and 
 with them choir-boys, followed by the tall 
 fellows who sang bass. Then came twelve of 
 the most eminent men in America, in black 
 coats, with broad white sashes over their shoul- 
 ders. These were the pall-bearers. Among 
 them I saw the fish-like pallid face of Cox, with 
 worried eyes and silky white hair. Like the 
 rest, he carried his beaver hat in his hand ; 
 and his face, like the others, which we all 
 had seen in picture-papers and the windows of 
 photograph shops, wore an expression of solem- 
 
272 RankelVa Remains. 
 
 nity. After the pall-bearers came eight clumsy 
 porters carrying Rankell's coffin. This was 
 covered with a purple velvet pall embroidered 
 with a large silver cross. Then, amid the roll- 
 ing peals of the funeral march, came vestry- 
 men; then a long line of mourners, of lesser 
 and lesser commercial and public note. And 
 we little folk, who had not been deemed worthy 
 of the black-edged cards of summons, stood with- 
 out, watching the elect pass into the church- 
 yard. Somehow I found myself dreaming of 
 what this place was like in the olden time, 
 when St. Peter's still looked across green 
 country fields to the blue rivers still unpol- 
 luted with the trade of nations and the un- 
 speakable things that a great city casts into 
 waters that flow about it. 
 
 Then the clergymen read and the choir sang 
 the last lines of the funeral service, as the sex- 
 ton's men lowered old Rankell into his tomb. 
 
 Just then I saw the sunburnt giant grasp 
 the arm of the bewigged little creature in front. 
 And as the startled old fellow turned about in 
 
VI. 
 
 THE CHURCH OF SAINT MARY 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
I. 
 
 V\ THEN Rankell's will was read everybody 
 stared. To be sure, the whole world 
 knew that he left no kin nor any friend behind ; 
 and some had ventured to guess that now per- 
 haps some great public work might arise, to bear 
 witness in time to come that under Rankell's 
 rusty frock-coat a human heart had beaten after 
 all. But nobody expected what came. 
 
 All that Rankell had lands and stores and 
 moneys he left to a little company of shrewd 
 men who were to make themselves into a cor- 
 poration and elect successors to the end of time. 
 Drawing fine large salaries, they might sell and 
 invest and in all ways treat as seemed wise the 
 property they were to manage. But when it 
 came to spending, they must always associate 
 with themselves the Bishop of the diocese and 
 two others whom he should appoint, and three 
 
280 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 artists who might always name their successors. 
 With the advice of these Rankell's millions were 
 to be spent. 
 
 And this is how: In Rankellville still lay 
 vacant the weedy spot where the old Wy borne 
 house had stood. Hither were to be sum- 
 moned a concourse of artists, to compete with 
 one another making plans for a church that 
 should have no equal. This church was to be 
 dedicated to Saint Mary the Virgin. In the 
 midst of the church the rarest artist of all 
 was to make a tomb covered with precious 
 sculpture ; and in that tomb Rankell should 
 finally lie. 
 
 Rankeli's fortune proved not so large as re- 
 port had made it, but for all that larger than 
 any other of his time. In this God-fearing land, 
 too, the cynical remarked, religious foundations 
 are not taxed, and every cent would tell. So 
 there was money enough to support the lucky 
 clergy who should find themselves in the nest 
 that Rankell had feathered so warmly. There 
 was money enough to keep the pile in repair so 
 
The End of Rankell. 273 
 
 alarm, I saw that the other did not look him in 
 the wrinkled face ; but beneath the frown the 
 pale eyes peered into vacancy with an air of 
 terror, as if they had once seen an evil spirit 
 whose image had burned itself into them. 
 
 " Do you believe there is a Hell ? " I heard 
 him whisper, in such half-articulate tones as 
 you utter in a nightmare. 
 
 The little man shrunk away in fright, and 
 I stared at the strange creature. Was he strayed 
 from some mad-house, or only, as I had thought, 
 shuddering through the after-moments of some 
 debauch ? The little man in dyed whiskers 
 shook his arm as if to escape, but found him- 
 self held in a grip as firm as the uncanny 
 mariner's who forced the wedding-guest to hear 
 his tale. 
 
 "Do you believe there is a Hell?" repeated 
 the sunburnt man in the same dreamy voice. 
 " I hope there is. I want to go there to hear 
 him howl." 
 
 " I heard a voice from Heaven," sang the 
 
 white-robed choir as the dry leaves fluttered 
 18 
 
274 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 down from the thinning trees, " saying unto me, 
 Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead 
 who die in the Lord : even so saith the Spirit ; 
 for they rest from their labours." 
 
 "I knew him," went on the strange man. 
 " Father used to be his clerk. If it wasn't for 
 him, we might have been together still, father 
 and mother and Sadie and me. It 's his work, 
 what 's come to us. I knew him." 
 
 The little mummy of a man he spoke to was 
 trembling from head to foot. What the words 
 meant he could not know. But I, who had 
 been told the story of Joseph Lottimer, could 
 guess their meaning; and, seized with a wish 
 to be sure that my guess was right, I touched 
 the clumsy giant's shoulder, asking who he 
 was. 
 
 He dropped the arm of the frightened old 
 man, who slunk away as far as the crowd would 
 let him. He turned his pale eyes on me, but 
 their look never met mine. 
 
 " I 'm nobody,"' he said thickly ; " it 's no use 
 remembering who I am. But I hope there 
 
The End of Eankell. 275 
 
 is a Hell. I want to go there to Lear him 
 howl." 
 
 Then, for the coffin was passed from sight 
 down the granite steps of the tomb, he turned 
 clumsily away, and forced his patli with lumber- 
 ing motion through the jesting crowd. 
 
St. Mary's Church. 281 
 
 long as the earth should be in good enough 
 repair to hold it. And there was more than 
 enough to pay the trustees, bishops, artists, 
 and all, and to build the church of Saint 
 Mar} 7 the Virgin in such manner as Rankell 
 directed. 
 
 II. 
 
 FOE the most part people were pleased. The 
 poorer sort, even though no good came to them, 
 were glad to see a vast fortune taken forever 
 from the hands of single men. The clergy, 
 the architects, and those in general who cared 
 for sentimental and sesthetic matters thought 
 Rankell's plan admirable. To speak against 
 it argued that you were unphilanthropic, or 
 lacking in taste, or, worse still, possessed of 
 an irreverent spirit. 
 
 But I, for my part, could think only of what 
 Rankell had been in life and of what now he 
 would seem in death. With no thought except 
 for himself and for what he could lay his clutch- 
 ing hands on, he had toddled through the world 
 
 ( 
 
282 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 on his short legs, smiling with a smile in which 
 nobody joined, until the cunning lines grew into 
 furrows about his sharp eyes. And now, with 
 no thought but for himself even to the end, he 
 was to rest in peace among precious sculptures, 
 his memory hallowed by the thoughts of those 
 who in the house of his building reverently 
 listened to the praise of God. By and by no- 
 body would think of him apart from the holi- 
 ness with which he should lie surrounded. His 
 relics would grow precious. Those who knew 
 of him only this last work that alone would 
 survive, would dream lying dreams of a holy 
 life that came to this holy ending. So, as 
 other times than ours came upon the world, his 
 name, which most of all should be forgotten, 
 would live on, desecrating the sanctity he had 
 reared about it. 
 
 III. 
 
 SUCH thoughts as these were in my mind and 
 on my tongue when I heard the last news of 
 him that has ever come to me. And as this 
 
St. Mary's Church. 283 
 
 was in some measure different from what I have 
 told of late, I must not keep myself from writ- 
 ing it here. 
 
 On the evening of the day when at last the 
 people made choice between Cox, with his clev- 
 erness and his trickery, and the other candidate, 
 who at least was honest, a little party gathered 
 to hear the despatches that began to tell whether 
 torches and shouts and battle-hymns had won 
 the day, or the honest thought we had striven 
 to arouse. For a long time this was doubtful ; 
 and as we sat talking of what might come, I 
 fell to telling what I had seen of Rankell at the 
 Convention, and then to speaking of him as I 
 have just written. 
 
 In the company was one whom until lately 
 none of us had seen for a long time. This was 
 Dudley, the same who, when we were boys, 
 used to stay at the Wybornes', and who drew 
 the little sketch of big-booted Hastings making 
 his first bow. Years ago he had gone abroad 
 to study nobody quite remembered what. And 
 long after other men had begun the active work 
 
284 RanlceWs Remains. 
 
 of life he had stayed there, still studying, until 
 those who sometimes spoke of him surmised 
 that he doubtless knew everything. Lately he 
 was come home at last, a slight, pale man with 
 a broad forehead, and a dark beard parted in 
 the middle. And he had quite upset the sur- 
 mise of his friends by announcing that when he 
 finished his studies he purposed practising the 
 art of architecture. As yet, he said, he could 
 not pretend to be more than a critic. The only 
 things he had approached mastering were two 
 or three schools of mediaeval church-building. 
 He was come home now, preparatory to another 
 period of study, to satisfy himself as to what 
 the genius of the American people demanded. 
 He was satisfied already that he had made a 
 false start ; that churches were as much things 
 of the past as Greek temples. The typical 
 building of the future, he began to think, was 
 the public library. 
 
 Dudley talked well when he chose, but 
 oftener chose to display his consummate mas- 
 tery of the art of listening. So everybody 
 
St. Mary's Church. 285 
 
 liked him, and he had an acquaintance among 
 the most unexpected kind of people. For all 
 this, everybody was surprised when one of the 
 three artists named by Rankell's will to super- 
 vise the building of his church drawing envi- 
 able salaries the while turned out to be this 
 same Dudley. A little before the Convention, 
 it appeared, something had called Rankell for a 
 few weeks to England. Here he had fallen in 
 with Dudley, and they had come home in the 
 same steamer. 
 
 Dudley declined the appointment. It would 
 interfere with his study, he said ; besides, he did 
 not yet feel competent to deal with so grave a 
 responsibility as Rankell cast on him. Still, he 
 was not averse to talking of the old fellow, and 
 he talked more kindly than most. So now, 
 when he heard me inveighing with more vehe- 
 mence than taste against a still green memory, 
 he interposed. So far as Rankell had shown 
 himself in their short acquaintance, he said, the 
 man was by no means as purely vicious as I 
 made him out. 
 
286 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 "Any way," said Dudley, " it seems to me 
 that you draw him a shade too simply for truth. 
 Psychological fact involves more inconsistency, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 Then he went on to give us a glimpse of what 
 he called another phase of Rankell, telling how 
 they met. 
 
 IV. 
 
 IT was in an old English town, on the rofvd 
 from London to one of the manufacturing dis- 
 tricts, far enough from both to keep itself un- 
 spotted from the dust of either, not so far as 
 to keep disturbing modern energy from being 
 drawn away in one direction or the other. So 
 it still remains a quiet, sleepy place, clustering 
 about its tall cathedral. Here one day were 
 gathered in the choir, for some local festival, 
 half the church singers in the diocese; and nave 
 and aisles were full of people standing about 
 the Gothic chantries, and the quaint slabs where 
 crusaders lay with their mailed hands on their 
 sword-hilts, while the music rose full and clear 
 
St. Marys Church. 287 
 
 to the groined roof. Here Dudley first saw 
 Kankell, not guessing who he was. The little 
 man stood beside the effigy of one William 
 Longspear, who came back from Palestine to 
 die in peace under the Plantagenets ; and Ran- 
 kell had laid his rusty beaver hat on the 
 crossed feet of the crusader, so that nobody 
 should sit or tread on it ; then, with his hands 
 loosely crossed in front, he was looking intently 
 at the carved oaken stalls and benches full of 
 white-robed singers, and now and then slowly 
 bowed his head as if in approval of the an- 
 thems. Once or twice his eyes grew moist, 
 and he slowly drew out a large handkerchief 
 and wiped them with deliberation ; whether 
 this moisture was due to emotion, or to the sun- 
 light that streamed through a painted window 
 close at hand, was not apparent. 
 
 Dudley's curiosit}' was stirred by this emo- 
 tional little man, whom he guessed to be one 
 of those obscure unfortunates whose broken 
 lives find comfort in the venerable sanctuaries 
 of the English Church. There are plenty such 
 
288 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 in cathedral towns never missing a service. 
 And Dudley found the little figure so typical 
 that he permitted himself to stare at it until 
 the devout old man grew aware of his attention, 
 and looking up reminded him of his manners 
 by dryly muttering, " How d-e do, sir ? " 
 
 The voice and manner were so unlike what 
 Dudley had expected, that when the service 
 was over he ventured to address the small man, 
 hoping to find what manner of person he really 
 was. His speech was some commonplace about 
 the rare beauty of the cathedral with its rich- 
 toned windows, and its towers and buttresses 
 overgrown with glossy ivy. 
 
 " Handsome edifice, sir," assented the little 
 man. * l Know it well, sir ? " 
 
 This sudden and incongruous betrayal of 
 nationality would have disconcerted anybody 
 whose sensibility was less genuine than Dud- 
 ley's. But he, more interested than ever at 
 hearing what seemed like honest sentiment thus 
 expressed in the dialect of Broadway omni- 
 buses, answered that he knew the place a little 
 
St. Mary's Church. 289 
 
 and was about to look at it with care ; would 
 his new friend join him ? 
 
 " Well," said Rankell, deliberately, " I don't 
 care if I do. I 'm a stranger here myself." 
 
 So together, with an untidy verger who 
 emerged from behind a pillar, they spent a 
 long time in the old church ; and Dudley, find- 
 ing his companion eager to learn, talked much 
 about the growth of the pile. He showed the 
 heavy round arches that had first been reared ; 
 then he pointed out how those who continued 
 the work found their thoughts soaring higher, 
 and so the pointed arches came ; then there 
 was decorated work full of the aspiration of 
 a throbbing faith; then, as the heat of enthu- 
 siasm waned, came the cold perpendicular win- 
 dows and central tower. Then the empty 
 niches and the whitened walls told the story 
 of iconoclasm and Puritan sternness. And 
 there was a fine new reredos covered with 
 mystical sculpture, that spoke of Oxford in 
 the times when men who are now old believed 
 that they should make the world better than 
 19 
 
290 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 it was in their youth. Finally, from a restored 
 capital there grinned at them the distorted 
 countenance of a living statesman whose eye- 
 glass we have all seen in Punch, and whose 
 portrait was held to be a masterpiece of 'gro- 
 tesque, conceived in the true mediaeval spirit. 
 
 Rankell asked a number of questions that 
 displayed intelligence, but made no comments; 
 and except that Dudley found appreciative 
 listening a pleasant surprise, the talk was dis- 
 appointing. But in the end Rankell wished 
 him good-day in a way that he felt touching. 
 Hesitating a moment, the little man timidly 
 held out his wrinkled hand. 
 
 44 It 's a big thing to a man like me, sir," he 
 said, " to come across somebody who knows 
 what he 's talking about. I don't know much 
 myself, sir, and I like to be told. Good- 
 morning, sir." 
 
 With that Rankell lifted his hat and trudged 
 off across the close, disappearing through a war- 
 like Norman gateway. And Dudley, remaining 
 awhile to sketch some details of the porch, 
 
St. Marys Church. 291 
 
 wondered who his quaint little friend might 
 be. 
 
 " What impressed me most," said Dudley, 
 " was that I could not help talking to him ; 
 so, you see, he must have been really sym- 
 pathetic." 
 
 On the steamer coming home, as I have said, 
 Dudley mat Rankell again. His aspect was 
 changed. Americans were on board who looked 
 at a millionnaire with such respect as the British 
 feel for a lord. And Rankell appeared comi- 
 cally conscious of dignity as he tramped the 
 deck in his low-cut black waistcoat, nodding 
 curtly under his black silk travelling-cap to such 
 fortunate fellow-passengers as he happened to 
 know. For several days he ignored Dudley ; 
 but at last, as Dudley sat watching a cloudless 
 sunset, he heard a sharp little voice wishing 
 him good-evening. And there was Rankell, 
 who professed much pleasure in finalty assuring 
 himself that Dudley was the gentleman with 
 whom he had inspected the cathedral. 
 
 He fell to talking of this at once ; and from 
 
292 RanMVs Remain*. 
 
 that time on, though they talked much, he 
 always led the talk to the same subject. 
 
 "It's the biggest thing in England, sir," he 
 kept repeating. " I've visited 'em all, and there 
 isn't another that can hold a candle to it." 
 
 He asked unexpected questions about the 
 old place, among others, for whom it was 
 named. Dudley, thinking he referred to the 
 town where the church stood, began an 
 explanation which displayed knowledge of 
 Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 " I don't mean that," interrupted Rankell ; 
 " I read that in the guide-book, sir. I mean 
 the building. The book says it was dedicated 
 to Saint Mary the Virgin. Is that the same 
 as the Virgin Mary ? " 
 
 Dudley believed it was. 
 
 " I s'posed so," said Rankell. " I understand 
 the edifice was erected by the Catholics. Only 
 I wondered whether there was any other Mary 
 they might have named it for, somebody they 
 knew, for instance, somebody that lived there 
 
St. Mary's Church. 293 
 
 Dudley went on to explain how the founders 
 of the old religious houses used to name them 
 after their patron saints instead of themselves 
 and their friends. Rankell listened thought- 
 fully. 
 
 ''It's a real pretty idea," he said. "The 
 name sounds a sight better than if it was the 
 Mary So-and-so Memorial, don't it?" 
 
 So day after day they talked about the ven- 
 erable place where they first met, and Rankell 
 kept saying that we ought to have something 
 of the kind in America. Dudley tried to point 
 out the impossibility of such a thing. A great 
 church means a great sacrifice of time and 
 thought and money. It can grow only in a time 
 when the lives of thousands are consecrated to 
 the work. But this was too deep for Rankell, 
 who persisted in asserting that the church in 
 question was a big thing, that we ought to have 
 things like it in America, and that in his opinion 
 there was a growing demand for them. 
 
 When the steamer reached America they 
 parted. Dudley never saw Rankell again. His 
 
294 RankelUs Remains. 
 
 surprise at the honor paid him in the will was 
 as great as anybody's. 
 
 " But I was touched, too," he said in conclu- 
 sion. " The old fellow may have been a skin- 
 flint, if you please, or even an out-and-out 
 knave. But there was this other side to him ; 
 and this church he wanted built shows it was 
 genuine." 
 
 V. 
 
 Dudley told his story so sympathetically that 
 it touched us all for the moment ; and I, who 
 could recall what Mr. Wyborne told of Mary 
 Lee, began to wonder whether in my warmth 
 I had quite done justice to the grotesque little 
 man who lay, fresh in death, in St. Peter's 
 churchyard. But just then despatches about 
 the elections, coming thick and fast, began to 
 show that there was small room for hope that 
 Cox was beaten. And when we parted, with 
 little belief that the next da}^'s news would 
 prove the people to have thought honestly, 
 Rankell was once more in my mind what he 
 
St. Mary's Church. 295 
 
 had been when I last saw him alive. As I 
 made my way home through streets where the 
 name of Cox was in everybody's mouth, there 
 kept rising before me a picture of the Conven- 
 tion as I had seen it, with hired fellows shouting 
 and waving flags, and frightened delegates in 
 pale disorder, and in the midst of the turmoil a 
 grinning little bald yellow head nodding its 
 gold glasses off its nose as it caught the eye of 
 the Hon. Cneius P. M. Montgomery. 
 
 And this aspect of Rankell, which was what 
 I had grown used to, was what stayed by me. 
 It was with no pleasure, then, that I read 
 how there was a famous competition of designs 
 for the Church of Saint Mary the Virgin, and 
 what more was told of the structure. The 
 work was begun, and day after day and year 
 after year it grew. In summer-time, when the 
 papers lacked news, there were long descrip- 
 tions of its progress. We read how the corner- 
 stone was laid, and how the foundations were 
 finished, and how the walls and the roof rose, 
 and how the stone floor was put in place. 
 
296 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 We read statistics of the cost of all this, and 
 of the numbers of otherwise penniless labor- 
 ers who could find work on the pile. More 
 and more we read sentimental eulogies of the 
 great benevolence and the sterling piety of the 
 dead millionnaire whose will was thus coming to 
 pass. 
 
 But to me, Rankell was still the Rankell I 
 had known. And my temper rose in anger 
 when at last I began to read that the Church of 
 Saint Mary the Virgin was almost finished ; and 
 finally how, on a certain day early in the coming 
 spring, all that remained of Rankell was to be 
 taken from the simple tomb under the trees of 
 St. Peter's churchyard, and with grand music 
 and solemn prayers to be laid to rest for all 
 time to come in the great stone sepulchre that 
 the cunningest workmen in the world had built 
 to hold it. 
 
VII. 
 RANKELL'S REMAINS. 
 
I. 
 
 night, a little before the time fixed for 
 the translation, there came such a storm as 
 men remember for years. The spirits of all the 
 dead heretics cast forth into the upper air could 
 not have made fiercer weather. Even the night- 
 birds who flit about great cities fled back to 
 their unhallowed nests. The watchman who 
 paced up and down before St. Peter's church- 
 yard made sure that no living thing would ven- 
 ture out to spy him ; so he slunk into the driest 
 corner of the church porch, where he pulled 
 his cap about his ears, and shivered, and swung 
 his arms across his chest, until dawn came and 
 drove away the tempest. Then, when the sun 
 peeped between the scurrying clouds, the streets 
 were full of brown slush that had fallen in snow 
 white as an infant's soul, and had been tossed 
 and trampled and buffeted into the thing it 
 
300 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 was. And down the gutters ran muddy streams 
 which poured baby cataracts into the grated 
 mouths of the sewers, sweeping along to the 
 greasy rivers the hideous things that would have 
 stopped their flow. These the tides wash back 
 and forth until at last they sink down in the 
 black mud, there to wallow through years with- 
 out end, while fresh corruption ever settles 
 down above them burying them deeper and 
 deeper still. 
 
 When the watchman ventured out from St. 
 Peter's porch he saw a sight that sent him on 
 the run for the police ; and the police came 
 on the run, along with enterprising reporters. 
 And the morning papers published extra edi- 
 tions profitable to stockholders telling 
 what had happened. 
 
 In the midst of the smoky mist that curled 
 up from the churchyard mire lay a little heap 
 of muddy sod, freshly dug. Beside it Rankell's 
 tomb stood open, its great slate-stone cover 
 cracked in two by some giant blow. At the 
 foot of the granite steps, down which the 
 
RankelVs Remains. 301 
 
 churchyard wet was trickling into dank pools, 
 lay the broken coffin, its satin lining covered 
 with stains where the corruption of death 
 mingled with the droppings of the tempest. 
 And of Rankell there was nothing left except 
 one tuft of faded yellow hair that had caught 
 on a nail as his unwelcome visitors had drawn 
 him from the bed where he had thought to lie 
 so snug. 
 
 II. 
 
 GHASTLY black-mail, the papers called the 
 deed. And preachers sighed out despairing 
 questions : to what depth of wickedness will 
 not the greed of money bring evil-minded men ? 
 No one doubted what the news meant. Some 
 band of rascals, knowing with all the world 
 what a fortune the lucky corporation held who 
 were building the church of Saint Mary the 
 Virgin, had plotted to have a part of it for 
 themselves. Stealing through the storm they 
 had crept between the broken bars of the iron 
 paling. What noise they made in breaking 
 
302 EankeWs Remains. 
 
 them was lost in the roaring of the tempest. 
 Then with skilful hands they had turned back 
 the sod, and coming to the slate-stone slab 
 they had broken it with some heavy tool, so 
 that they might lift it with more ease. Then 
 they had slunk down the steps, with lanterns 
 they dared light at last; and by the strong light 
 that a turn of the hand could darken if the 
 guard they left without spoke a warning word, 
 they had pried open the silver-nailed coffin and 
 looked on the shrunken face of the dead. With 
 that, perhaps, they had stopped for a moment, 
 sick with the horror of what they did ; very 
 likely they were roused again only by the voice 
 of the guard, who peering down asked what 
 checked the work. They were gone too far to 
 turn back ; so nerving themselves, and thinking 
 of what profit would come when all was done, 
 they had braved the sanctity of death and the 
 horror of corruption, and had rudely pulled the 
 sickly thing from its coffin and dragged it up 
 the granite steps. There a coarse bag lay ready 
 for it; so in they thrust it in the darkness. 
 
RankeWs Remains. 303 
 
 Then with their grisly treasure they had hur- 
 ried off through the storm ; and so waited now 
 until they could have what terms they might 
 ask. 
 
 All this was clear enough, and finely written 
 up in the papers. But who the ghouls were, 
 or how many, nobody could guess. There was 
 much virtuous talk at first ; not a cent should 
 the rascals have, but they should be hunted 
 down and punished with all the severity our 
 merciful law allows. A great army of detec- 
 tives were set on their track. But days went 
 by, and weeks, and months ; and all the detec- 
 tives found was what they found the very first 
 day. Then one of them had spied a half-starved 
 cur licking the stone of the churchyard wall 
 close by where the paling was broken. And 
 looking to see what the greedy creature found, 
 he had driven off the brute, who slunk growling 
 away and sat hungrily watching on the curb- 
 stone. There, on the edge of the wall, was a 
 stain which by and by the chemists said might 
 have oozed from what had once been human 
 
304 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 flesh. And that was all the detectives ever 
 found of Rankell. 
 
 So at last, when the papers declared it was 
 evident that detectives could not detect, people 
 began to say that the rogues must have their 
 way. A man like Rankell must never be suf- 
 fered to lie unknown so long as there was 
 money left to bring him to the light. The cor- 
 poration of the new church that still lay uncon- 
 secrated had stormy meetings. Finally came 
 advertisements asking what sum was demanded 
 for the return of the body that had been stolen. 
 And when these brought no answer there 
 followed others, promising at last, along with 
 sums that made us all stare, that those who 
 brought back what was left of Rankell should 
 go free. 
 
 But even this, which people now declared was 
 the least that a pious regard for the dead could 
 decently demand, met with no more success 
 than the threats and the questions. Nothing, 
 it seemed, could bring Rankell to the light 
 again. 
 
RankeWs Remains. 305 
 
 What all this meant nobody rightly knew. 
 But at last people came to believe that the 
 body-snatchers, vile as they might be, were sick 
 with shame and horror at what they had done. 
 It is one thing to dig up a dead nobody for the 
 doctors to dissect ; it is far another to take pos- 
 session of the mortal remains of an eminent 
 citizen whose sterling piety has written itself on 
 the face of the earth in characters of carven 
 stone. The most hardened must shrink from 
 confessing even to themselves such a deed as 
 that. It is the most unspeakable of sins un- 
 speakable. So this, people guessed, is why to 
 this day RankelFs grand stone sepulchre stands 
 empty under the fretted roof that was built to 
 hold it. 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT for all that Rankell was gone, the 
 Church of Saint Mary the Virgin stood ready 
 for the service of the Lord, with its twin towers, 
 and its painted glass, and its dim aisles, and 
 its organ with three unique stops. A Doctor of 
 20 
 
306 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 Music, too, who was a famous philosopher into 
 the bargain, was come from Germany to play 
 the organ for the highest salary on record ; and 
 a corps of parsons as sound as country eggs had 
 been appointed to conduct the services. So one 
 day a glorious company of lawn-sleeved bishops, 
 along with a goodly fellowship of surpliced 
 presbyters, and a noble army of professional 
 singers, came to consecrate the church. And 
 as all the world went to Rankellville to see 
 the sight I went too. 
 
 Dudley, who had a ticket of admission to one 
 of the best seats, went with me. Once or twice 
 since he came home with Rankell he had flitted 
 back and forth from Europe. His studies puz- 
 zled him, he said; the conditions of American 
 life were so like those of the Old World, and yet 
 so different, that it was hard to decide just how 
 far the old models would serve him for serious 
 work. He needed constantly to refresh his im- 
 pressions both here and there. When at home 
 he had liked to watch the growth of the church 
 in whose building he would have no hand. He 
 
RankeWs Remains. 307 
 
 would talk of it in a vein that some thought 
 absurdly mystical. 
 
 " Rankell was right," he said once, " and I 
 was wrong. A real church can be built to-day. 
 What misled me was that the motive is so rare 
 that I thought it dead. A church, you know, 
 must be the outcome of thousands of life-works. 
 The old churches, we like to think, were the 
 outcome of consciously devoted lives. This one 
 has all the lives behind it, but they never knew 
 what they worked for. It needed Rankell, in this 
 doubting age, to gather them all together and 
 express them in the best truth he knew." 
 
 So thinking, he wished of course to see 
 the christening of the church ; and as we 
 slowly walked towards the structure, he fell 
 to criticising. 
 
 "It is far better," he said, "than we had 
 any reason to hope. There is feeling in every 
 line. But to me the most meaning fact of all is 
 that they have used the round arch throughout. 
 I thought they were wrong at first, but I was 
 wrong myself. Christianity is past its zenith. 
 
308 RarikeWs Remains. 
 
 That marvellous soaring Gothic belongs to a 
 time when men feel that there are endless 
 things beyond what they see. All that is past 
 now. Could anything better express what re- 
 ligion is to-day, than those massive lines, half 
 sinking under the weight they bear, yet bravely 
 bearing it all the same ? By the way, it 's a 
 pity they have had to put a wooden roof above 
 the stone vaulting ; the foundations, as I was 
 afraid, were too weak for more stone." 
 
 A little later we spoke of Rankell, wondering 
 where he might be lying instead of here where 
 his tomb stood empty. 
 
 "It is horrible to think of," said Dudley with 
 a shudder ; " yet after all, if you will only make 
 yourself feel it, the lasting part of him is here, 
 and always will be." 
 
 A little afterwards he passed on to the seat 
 where his ticket took him, and I was left alone 
 in the crowd, not far from the empty tomb. 
 The service began. It was very beautiful, and 
 so I think all felt who were come to hear it ; 
 for they knelt, and rose, and stood, in the dim 
 
RankeWs Remains. 309 
 
 light that came through the painted windows, 
 with a reverence more of other days than of 
 ours. By and by a white-haired bishop began 
 reading the Gospel, and the whole company 
 rose to hear the sacred words. 
 
 "And the Jew's Passover was at hand," 
 read the saintly man, whose voice trembled 
 with the wear of eighty holy years, " and Jesus 
 went up to Jerusalem, and found in the tem- 
 ple those that sold oxen and sheep and doves, 
 and the changers of money sitting: and when 
 he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove 
 them all out of the temple, and the sheep, 
 and the oxen ; and poured out the changers' 
 money, and overthrew the tables ; and said 
 unto them that sold doves, Take these things 
 hence ; make not my Father's house an house 
 of merchandise." 
 
 Just then I heard behind me a muttering 
 as if some one were speaking to himself ; and 
 turning to see who disturbed the quiet, I saw 
 close at hand the rude giant of a fellow whom 
 I had recognized for Joe Lottimer when they 
 
310 RankdVs Remains. 
 
 buried Rankell in St. Peter's churchyard. 
 He was pale now, and thin. His cheek-bones 
 stood out like those of a dead man, and there 
 were dark lines beneath the pale blue eyes 
 that peered into vacancy with a stare more 
 terrified than before. He stood feebly rub- 
 bing his bald brow with a gnarled hand that 
 seemed all bone ; and he looked toward the 
 sculptured tomb, muttering words that as I 
 turned I could understand. 
 
 " They won't have to cast him out," mum- 
 bled his thick voice. " He '11 never be there 
 to cast out." 
 
 I laid my hand on his arm. Whatever 
 his wrongs, he must be silenced now. I spoke 
 his name in a whisper. 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked roughly, loud 
 enough to disturb the people about us. 
 
 I whispered that I was a friend who knew 
 what was in his mind. This was no place 
 for us ; let him come with me. And I gently 
 took him by the arm. 
 
 He looked at me doubtingly ; for a moment 
 
RankeWs Remains. 311 
 
 I thought he would oppose me, for he pulled 
 his arm roughly from my grasp ; but it was 
 only to take my arm instead, with a grip 
 from which I felt I could not free it. 
 
 "Yes," he whispered, "it's no place for men 
 like you and me. There 's where he would 
 have been." And lie pointed, with the hand 
 that held his woollen cap, to the empty tomb. 
 
 Together we made our way through the 
 troubled worshippers, and so out into the sun- 
 shine, where the shadows were growing long. 
 And when we stood before the round arches 
 of the porch that bent beneath the weight of 
 the twin towers, he looked back, with a face 
 full of hatred, and spoke again. 
 
 " They won't have to cast him out. He '11 
 never be there." 
 
 " Who knows ? " I said, half wishing his 
 words were true. " They may find him yet." 
 
 He turned his dull eyes and looked straight 
 at mine. 
 
 " I know," he said. " Come with me and 
 I '11 show you why." And his grasp on my 
 
312 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 arm tightened until I thought the bone would 
 break. 
 
 He turned back once. Through the open doors 
 of the church we could see the sparkle of candles 
 on the great altar, and above the throng of peo- 
 ple rose the dim white outline of the marble tomb 
 that was made for Rankell ; and the sound of the 
 Hundredth Psalm came pealing from the choir. 
 
 " Look there," he said. " There 's where he 
 would have been." 
 
 With that he led me away through the decent 
 streets of the town that Rankell built where the 
 Wybornes' gardens used to grow ; and I had 
 no choice but to go with him, feeling that, 
 whatever chanced, I had saved from desecration 
 the solemn service we left behind. 
 
 In such strange company I made my way 
 back to the city, wondering whither he would 
 lead me, and so beset by this wonder that after 
 a while I would not have left him if I could. 
 And he kept silent, looking nowhither, but with 
 his pale face and hanging jaw seeming rather 
 like a dead man than a living. 
 
RankeWs Remains. 313 
 
 When at last we came to the city, he led me 
 through the streets, until finally we stood just 
 without the paling of St. Peter's churchyard. 
 It was evening now, and the moonlight cast the 
 shadow of St. Peter's spire among the graves, 
 and the black outline of the cock who turned 
 his face to the wind on the topmost point lay 
 just across the tomb where Rankell had once 
 rested. 
 
 " Look there," said Lottimer, his breath heav- 
 ing deep. " There 's where we saw him put. 
 Now come with me." 
 
 He led me only a few steps farther, and 
 pointed down. 
 
 " There 's where he is," he said in a whisper 
 that sent a shiver through me. The grated 
 sewer-mouth grinned at our feet, and the gurgle 
 of the foul waters within laughed in our ears. 
 
 I stood sick with horror as I felt his grasp 
 loosen from my arm. 
 
 44 It was me that did it," he went on, speak- 
 ing faster than I had thought he could, u me 
 all alone. I was strong enough then." 
 
314 RankeWs Remains. 
 
 And then be grasped my arm once more, and 
 put his lips close to my ear as he spoke again. 
 
 "There is a Hell!" he said. "I know it 
 now. I 'm going there to hear him howl ! " 
 
 With that he let my arm drop, and turning 
 suddenly fled away into the shadow of St. 
 Peter's Church ; and though I called out aloud, 
 hastening after him, I could not tell whither he 
 went. 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 OO now I have placed side by side the frag- 
 ments that tell me how Rankell lived, and 
 how he died, and what he left behind, and 
 what is become of it. Throughout his life he 
 worked evil, and to pay for that he lies now 
 where no human hands can find him. 
 
 Yet if this were all, I for one would not have 
 dragged him back from the nameless place 
 where his sins might lie forgotten. There is 
 another meaning in his story, and a deeper. 
 Of old, I used to think only how his merciless 
 life was all spent in clutching what came 
 within his grasp, how with his last act he 
 built a vast monument to the self that busied 
 all his thoughts. But now I begin to see that 
 this was not all. I begin to remember how, 
 years ago, he wept over the grave where they 
 were burying the dead girl he never knew. I 
 
316 RankelVs Remains. 
 
 begin to remember how Dudley found him with 
 moist eyes listening in the old cathedral to sa- 
 cred music. Even in Rankell, I begin to see, 
 the better nature, choked and stifled by the 
 world in which he struggled, had never yielded 
 up the ghost. 
 
 With his last act he built, half unawares, a 
 monument that will tell no untruth to those 
 who kneel and give thanks in the church he 
 made consecrate to Mary the Virgin. The twin 
 towers and the painted glass and the solemn 
 service will speak truth of him through the 
 centuries, telling only of what in him was best. 
 What was base and foul is gone where no 
 human eyes can see it. What is left he con- 
 secrated with his last act to the name of one 
 in whose presence he was always humble. As 
 from corruption spring flowers, there has sprung 
 from the sordid thing we knew as Rankell a 
 work that, so long as even memory of the 
 Christian faith shall last, will bear to men 
 messages of pardon and of peace. 
 
BENJAMIN H. TICKNOR. THOMAS B. TICKNOR. GEORGE F. GODFREY. 
 
 A LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 AMERICAN-ACTOR SERIES (THE). Edited by LAU- 
 
 EENCE II0TTON. A series of 12mo volumes by the best writers, embracing 
 the lives of the most famous and popular American Actors. Illustrated. 
 Six volumes in three. Sold only in sets. Per set, $5.00. 
 Vol. I. Edwin Forrest. By Lawrence Barrett. The Jeffersons. By 
 
 William Winter. 
 Vol. II. The Elder and the Younger Booth. By Mrs. Asia Booth Clarke. 
 
 Charlotte Uushman. By Clara Erskine Clement. 
 
 Vol. III. Mrs. Duff. By Joseph N. Ireland. Fechter. By Kate Field. 
 Also a limited edition on large paper, especially adapted to the use of 
 collectors and bibliophiles, for extending, extra illustrating, etc. 6 vols. 
 Per vol., $5.00. 
 
 AMERICAN ARCHITECT. See last page. 
 ARCHITECTURE. See MONOGRAPH. 
 
 ARNOLD'S (EDWIN) The Light of Asia. Beautiful illus- 
 trated edition. 8vo. $6.00. In antique morocco, or tree-calf, f 10.00. 
 
 ARNOLD'S (GEORGE) Poems. Edited, with a Biographi- 
 cal Sketch of the Poet, by WttLUM WINTER. With Portrait. 16mo. $1.50. 
 Half-calf, $3.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $4 00. 
 
 AUSTIN'S (JANE G.) A Nameless Nobleman. A Novel. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. Seventh edition. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 The Desmond Hundred. A Novel. 16rao, 
 
 $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents, 
 
A List of Books Published by 
 
 AUSTIN'S (JANE G.) Nantucket Scraps; Being Experi- 
 ences of an Off Islander, in Season and out of Season, among a Passing 
 People. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 BACON'S (HENRY) Parisian Art and Artists. 8vo. Pro- 
 fusely illustrated. $3.00. 
 
 BALLOU'S (MATURIN M.) Genius in Sunshine and Shadow. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. 9 1-50. 
 
 Edge-Tools of Speech. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.50. 
 
 Sheep, $5.00. Half-calf or half-morocco, $6.50. 
 
 BARTLETTS (TRUMAN H.) The Art-Life of William 
 
 Rimmer. With Illustrations after his Paintings, Drawings, and Sculptures. 
 4to. Full gilt. $10.00. 
 
 BATES' S (ARLO) Patty's Perversities. A Novel. 1vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 BELLAMY'S (EDWARD) Miss Ludington's Sister. 1.25. 
 BENJAMIN'S (S. G W.) Persia and the Persians. 1 vol. 
 
 8vo. With Portrait and many Illustrations. Beautifully bound. $5.00. 
 Half-calf, $9.00. 
 
 BENTS (SAMUEL ARTHUR) Short Sayings of Great Men. 
 
 8vo. Third edition. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50. 
 
 BOITS (ROBERT APTHORP) Eustis. 12mo. $1.50. 
 BOSTON, Memorial History of. See page 24. 
 BOWD01N COLLEGE. See CLEAVELAND. 
 BROOKS' S (HENRY M.) The Olden-Time Series. Each vol. 
 
 16mo. 50 cents. 
 
 I. Curiosities of the Old Lottery. 
 II. Days of The Spinning-Wheel in New England. 
 
 III. New-England Sunday. 
 
 IV. Quaint and Curious Advertisements. 
 
 V. Some Strange and Curious Punishments. 
 VI. Literary Curiosities. 
 Other volumes in preparation 
 
 BROWN'S (FRANCES CLIFFORD) A Stroll with Keats. 
 
 1 vol. Square 16mo. Richly illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 BROWN'S (HELEN DA WES) Two College Girls. 12mo. 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 BROWN'S (SUSAN ANNA) The Invalid's Tea-Tray. Illu- 
 minated boards. 50 cents. 
 
 How the Ends Met. 12mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - In Bridget's Vacation. Leaflets to hang up. 
 
 50 cents. On gilt bar and rings. 75 cents. 
 
 BROWNING'S (MRS. ELIZABETH BARRETT) Sonnets from 
 
 the Portuguese. Illustrated by Ludvig Sandoe Ipsen. 1 vol. Oblong folio. 
 Beautifully bound. Gilt top $15.00. 
 The unrivalled gift-book of 1886. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 
 
 BUDDHIST RECORDS OF THE WESTERN WORLD. 
 
 Translated from the original Chinese, with Introduction, Index, etc. By 
 SAMUEL DEAL, Trinity College, Cambridge. 2 vols. 12nio. $7.00. 
 
 BUDGE'S (ERNEST A.) The History of Esarhaddon (Son 
 
 of Sennacherib), King of Assyria, B.C. 681-668. From Cuneiform Inscrip- 
 tions. 8vo. Gilt top. $4.00. 
 
 BUNNER'S (H. C.) A Woman of Honor. 16mo. $1.25. 
 BURNHAM'S (CLARA LOUISE) Next Door. 12mo. $1.50. 
 BUSH'S (JAMES S.) The Evidence of Faith. 12rao. $2.00. 
 BYNNER'S (EDWIN LASSETER) Damen's Ghost. A Novel. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 BYROWS (LORD) Childe Harold. A sumptuous new illus- 
 trated edition In box. 86.00. In antique morocco, padded calf, or tree- 
 calf, $10.00. In crushed Levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 Childe Harold. Treraont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. With red lines and gilt edges. $2.50. Half-calf, 
 84.00. Antique morocco, tree-calf, flexible calf, or seal, $5.00. 
 
 . Childe Harold. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little- 
 
 Classic size. Many Illustrations. Elegantly bound. 81.00. Half-calf, 
 82.25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or padded 
 calf, 83.50. 
 
 Childe Harold. Students' Edition. Edited, with 
 
 Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 CABLE'S (GEORGE W.) Doctor Sevier. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 CARLYLE (THOMAS) and RALPH WALDO EMER- 
 SON, The Correspondence of. Edited by CHARLES ELIOT NORTOX. 2 vols. 
 12ino Gilt tops and rough edges. With new Portraits. $4.00. Half- 
 calf, $8.00. Half-morocco, gilt top, uncut edges, $8.00. 
 New revised edition with 100 pages of newly-found letters. 
 
 Supplementary Volume, including the newly- 
 found letters. 16mo. $1 00. 
 
 CAROLING 1 S (PEDRO) New Guide of the Conversation 
 
 in Portuguese and English. First American edition. With an Introduc- 
 tion by MARK TWAIN. 16mo. ftl.OO. Paper, 50 cents. 
 
 CARRYUS (CHARLES E.) Davy and the Goblin. 1 vol. 
 
 8vo. Fully illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 CESNOLA'S (GEN. L. P. PI) The Cesnola Collection of 
 
 Cyprus Antiquities. A Descriptive and Pictorial Atlas. Large folio. 500 
 Plates. Sold by subscription only. Send for Prospectus. 
 
 CHAMBERLAIN'S (BASIL HALL) The Classical Poetry 
 
 of the Japanese. 8vo. 83.00. 
 
 CHAMPNEY'S (MRS. L. W.) Rosemary and Rue. A 
 
 Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
A List of Books Published by 
 
 CHASE'S (Miss E. B.) Over the Border. 1 vol. 12rao. 
 
 Illustrated with Heliotype Engravings from Original Drawings of Scenery 
 in Nova Scotia. With Map. 12mo. Third edition. $1.50. 
 
 CHENOWETH'S (MRS. C. VAN D.) Stories of the Saints. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 CLARK'S (T. M.) Building Superintendence. 8vo. With 
 
 Plans, etc. $3.00. 
 
 CLARKE'S (RKV. JAMES FREEMAN) Every-Day Religion. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Events and Epochs in Religious History. 
 
 Crown STO. Illustrated. $300. Half-calf, $5.50. 
 
 - The Ideas of the Apostle Paul. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Self -Culture. Thirteenth edition. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Half-calf, $3.00. 
 
 CLEAVELAND'S (NEHEMIAH) and PACKARD'S (AL- 
 
 PHEUS SPRING) History of Bowdoin College. With Biographical Sketches 
 of its Graduates, from 1806 to 1879, inclusive. With many full-page Por- 
 traits, and other Illustrations. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 CLEMENT'S (CLARA ERSKINE) and Katherine E. Con- 
 way's Christian Symbols and Stories of the Saints. 1 vol. Large 12mo. 
 With many full- page Illustrations. $2.50. Half-calf, $5.00. 
 
 Stories of Art and Artists. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 Profusely Illustrated. $4.00. Half-parchment, $4.60. 
 
 and Laurence Button's Artists of the Nineteenth 
 
 Century. 12mo. Fully revised up to 1885. $3 00. Half-calf, $5.00. 
 Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 A Handbook of Legendary and Mythological 
 
 Art. Eighteenth edition. 12mo. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Painters, Sculptors, Architects, Engravers, and 
 
 their Works. Illustrated profusely. Ninth edition. 12rno. $3.00. Half- 
 calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Eleanor Maitland. A Novel. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 CLEMMER'S (MARY) Poems of Life and Nature. $1.50. 
 Men, Women, and Things. Revised and 
 
 Augmented. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - His Two Wives. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Memorial Biography. An American Wo- 
 man's Life and Work. By EDMUND HUDSON. 1 vol. 12mo. With Portrait. 
 $1.50. 
 
 COLLIER'S (ROBERT LAIRD) English Home Life. 16mo. 
 
 Gilt top. $1.00. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 
 
 COLLING'S (J. K.) Art Foliage. Entirely new plates 
 
 from the latest enlarged London edition. Folio. $10.00. 
 
 CONWA Y'S (M. D.) Emerson at Home and Abroad. $1.50. 
 COOKE'S (GEORGE WILLIS) George Eliot ; A Critical 
 
 Study of her Life, Writings, and Philosophy. 12tno. With Portrait. $2.00. 
 Half-calf, $4.00. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson ; His Life, Writings, and 
 
 Philosophy. 12mo. With Portrait. $2.00. Half-calf, $4.00. 
 
 Poets and Problems: Tennyson, Ruskin, Brown- 
 
 ing. 12mo. $2.00 
 
 (MRS. LAURA S. H.) Dimple Dopp. Small 
 
 4to. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 (RosE TERRY) Somebody's Neighbors. 12mo. 
 
 Fourth edition. $1.50. Half-calf, $3.00. 
 
 - The Sphinx's Children. 12ino. $1.50. 
 
 (JOHN ESTEN) Fanchette. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 16nio. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 CRADDOCK'S (CHARLES EGBERT) Where the Battle 
 
 Was Fought. A Novel. 12ino. Fourth edition. $1.50. 
 
 CROWNINSHIELD'S (FREDERIC) Mural Painting. 1 vol. 
 
 Square 8vo. With numerous full-page Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 CUNNINGHAM'S (FRANK H.) Familiar Sketches of the 
 
 Phillips Exeter Academy and Surroundings. Illustrated. $2.50. 
 
 DAHLG REN'S (MRS. MADELEINE VINTON) A Washington 
 
 Winter. I2mo. $1.50. 
 
 The Lost Name. A Novelette. 1 vol. 
 
 13mo. $1.00. 
 
 Memoir of John A. Dahlgren, Rear- Admiral 
 
 U. S. Navy. 8vo. With Portrait and Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 South-Sea Sketches. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 South- Mountain Magic. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 DANENHOWER'S (LIEUT. J. W.) Narrative of the 
 
 Jeannette. Paper covers. 25 cents. 
 
 DOBSON'S (AUSTIN) Thomas Bewick and his Pupils. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo. $3.50. Limited large-paper 
 edition. $10.00. 
 
 DODGE'S (THEODORE AYRAULT, U.S.A.) A Bird's- Eye 
 
 View of our Civil War. 1 vol. 8vo. With Maps and Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 - The Campaign of Chancellorsville. 8vo. $3.00. 
 EASTWICK'S (EDWARD B., F.R.S.,M.R.A.S.) The Gulis- 
 
 tan ; or, Rose Garden of Shekh Mushlin'ddin Sidi. 8vo. $3.50. 
 
6 A List of Pooh Published by 
 
 EATON'S (D. CADY) Handbook of Greek and Roman 
 
 Sculpture. Second edition, revised and enlarged. 12mo. $2.00. 
 Pocket edition, for travellers. 16mo. 415 pages. $1.00. 
 
 EDMUNDSON'S (GKOKGE) Milton and Vondel. A Curi- 
 osity of Literature. 1 vol. Crown 8vo. $2.50. 
 
 EMERSON, The Genius and Character of. A Series of 
 
 Lectures delivered at the Concord School of Philosophy, by eminent 
 authors and critics. Edited by F. B. SANBOKN. Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 EMERSON-CARLYLE CORRESPONDENCE (THE). 
 
 See CAELYLE. 
 
 EMERSON'S (MRS. ELLEN RUSSELL) Myths of the In- 
 dians ; or, Legends, Traditions, and Symbols of the Aborigines of America. 
 8vo. Gilt top. With numerous Plates and Diagrams. $5.00. 
 
 FAVORITE-AUTHORS SERIES. Favorite Authors, 
 
 Household Friends, Good Company. Three volumes in one. Illustrated. 
 8vo. Full gilt. $3.50. 
 
 FA WCETTS (EDGAR) The House at High Bridge. 12mo. 
 
 $1 50. 
 
 Social Silhouettes. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - The Adventures of a Widow. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Tinkling Cymbals. A Novel. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Song and Story. A Volume of Poems. $1.50. 
 
 . Romance and Re very. A Volume of Poems. 
 
 12mo. Fine laid paper. Rough edges. $1.50. 
 
 FEATHERMAN'S (A.) The Aramaeans; Social History 
 
 of the Races of Mankind. 8vo. Uncut edges, gilt top. $5.00. 
 
 FENOLLOSA'S (ERNEST F.) Review of the Chapter on 
 
 Painting in Gonse's " L'Art Japonais." 12mo. Paper covers. 25 cents. 
 
 FOOTERS (MRS. MARY HALLOCK) The Led-Horse Claim. 
 
 A Novel. Illustrated by the Author. 16mo. $1 25. 
 
 John Bodewin's Testimony. A Novel. 12mo. 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 FROMENTTN (EUGENE): Painter and Writer. From the 
 
 French of Louis Gonse, by Mrs. MARY C. ROBBINS. 8vo. Illustrated. $3.00. 
 
 FROMENTJN'S (EUGENE) The Old Masters of Belgium 
 
 and Holland. 8vo. With eight full-page Heliotypes. Translated by Mrs. 
 MARY C. ROBBINS. $3.00. 
 
 FULLER'S (ALBERT W.) Artistic Homes in City and 
 
 Country. Fourth edition. Oblong folio. 76 full-page Illustrations. $4.50. 
 
 GARDNER'S (E. C.) Homes and all about them. 3 vols. 
 
 inl. Profusely illustrated. 12mo. $2.50. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 
 
 GAR FIELD (PRESIDENT JAMES ABRAM) The Works of. 
 
 E.Jited by BURKE A. HINSDALE. 2 vols. 8vo. With new Steel Portraits. 
 $6.00. Sheep, ^8.50. Halt-morocco or half-calf, $10.00. 
 Edition de luxe. 2 vols. 8vo. $25.00. Sold by subscription only. 
 
 GAYARRE'S (CHARLES) Aubert Dubayet. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 GERALDINE: A Souvenir of the St. Lawrence. A Poeti- 
 cal Romance. 16mo. Ninth edition. $1 25. Half-calf, $3.00. 
 
 GOETHE, The Life and Genius of. Concord Lectures for 
 
 1885. Edited by F. B. Sanborn and W. T. Harris. With Portraits. $2.00. 
 
 GOETHE'S Faust. Translated by A. Hay ward. $1.25. 
 GRANTS (ROBERT) An Average Man. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 . The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl. $1.25. 
 
 - The Knave of Hearts. $1.25. 
 
 . A Romantic Young Lady. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 GREENOUGH'S (MRS. R.) Mary Magdalene. $1.50. 
 GREVILLE'S (HENRY) Cleopatra. A Russian Romance. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. With portrait of the author. $1.25 
 
 . Dosia's Daughter. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 H ALE'S (LucuETiA P.) The Peterkin Papers. New and 
 
 copiously illustrated Holiday Edition of 1886. 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 HAMILTON'S (KATE W.) Rachel's Share of the Road. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 HAMLIN'S (AUGUSTUS C.) Leisure Hours among the 
 
 Gems. Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 HAMMONDS (MRS. E. M.) The Georgians. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 $1.00 In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 HARRIS'S (JOEL CHANDLER) Mingo, and other Sketches 
 
 in Black and White. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 Nights with Uncle Remus. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 HARTING'S (JAMES EDMUND, F.L.S., F.Z.S.) British 
 
 Animals Extinct within Historic Times. With some Account of British 
 Wild White Cattle. Illustrated. 8vo. Giit top. $4.50. 
 
 HARTT'R (PROFESSOR C. F.) Geology and Physical Geog- 
 raphy o* Brazil In preparation. 
 
 HASSARD'S (J. R. G.) A Pickwickian Pilgrimage. 16mo. 
 1.00. 
 
 HA TTON'S (JOSEPH) Henry Irvine's Impressions of Amer- 
 ica. 1vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 HAWTHORNE'S (JULIAN) Nathaniel Hawthorne and 
 
 his Wife. A Biography. With New Portraits on Steel, and Etched 
 Vignettes. 2 vols. 12mo. $5.00. Half-morocco or half-calf, $9.00. 
 Edition de luxe. $12.00. 
 
A List of Books Published by 
 
 HAWTHORNE'S (JULIAN) Confessions and Criticisms. 
 
 A Volume of Essays and Reminiscences. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 Love or a Name. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Beatrix Randolph. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Fortune's Fool. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 HA WTHORNE'S (NATHANIEL) Dr. Grimshawe's Secret. 
 
 12mo. $1.50. Library edition. Gilt top. $2.00. 
 
 HAYES'S (HENRY) The Story of Margaret Kent. $1.50. 
 HAYWARD'S (ALMIRA L.) The Illustrated Birthday 
 
 Book of American Poets. Revised and enlarged edition, with index for 
 names, and portraits of thirteen great American poets. 1 vol. 18mo. 1.00. 
 Half-calf, $2.25. Flexible morocco, seal, or calf, $3.00. 
 
 HAZEWS (GEN. W. B) A Narrative of Military Service. 
 
 8vo. With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 HE A RN'S (LAFCADIO) Stray Leaves from Strange Litera- 
 ture. Stories reconstructed from the Anvari Soheili, Baital-Pachisi, Ma- 
 habharata, Gulistan.etc. 1vol. 16mo 1.50. 
 
 HENDERSON'S (ISAAC) The Prelate. A Novel. 1vol. 
 
 12mo. With covers designed by Elihu Vedder. $1.50. 
 
 HINSDALE'S (BURKE A.) President Garfield and Educa- 
 tion. Portraits of Gen. Garfield. Mrs. Garfield, etc. 12mo. $1.50. Half- 
 calf, $3.00. Morocco antique, $4.00. 
 
 - Schools and Studies. IGmo. $1.50. 
 HOME-BOOK OF ART (THE). Heliotype Plates after 
 
 One Hundred Classical and Popular Pictures by the most famous Artists of 
 the World. With descriptions. Twenty-five parts at one dollar each. Of 
 all bound in 1 vol. Cloth, 28.00 Half morocco, 31.00. Full morocco^ 
 33.00 By subscription only 
 
 HOSMER'S (G. W.) The People and Politics. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 HOWARD'S (BLANCHE W.) Aul nay Tower. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Aunt Serena. A Novel. 16mo. Thirteenth 
 
 edition. $1.25 
 
 Guenn. 12mo. Fifth edition. SI. 50. 
 
 HOWE'S (E. W.) The Mystery of the Locks. 12mo. $1.50. 
 The Story of a Country Town. 12mo. Fourth 
 
 edition. $1.50. 
 
 A Moonlight Boy. 1 vol. 12mo. With Portrait 
 
 of the author. $150. 
 
 HOWELLS'S (W. D.) Tuscan Cities. With many fine 
 
 Illustrations, by JOSEPH PFNNELL. Richly bound, full gilt edges, in box, 
 $5.00. In tree-calf, or antique morocco, 10.00. 
 
 Indian Summer. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 
 
 HOWELLS'S (W. D.) The Rise of Silas Lapham. 12mo. 
 tI.6Q. 
 
 - A Fearful Responsibility. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - A Modern Instance. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - A Woman's Reason. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Dr. Breen's Practice. 12mo. $150. 
 
 The Elevator. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 The Sleeping-Car. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - The Parlor Car. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 The Register. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - Three Villages. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 - Poems. New revised edition. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 In box. Printed on fine hand-made paper. Parchment covers. $2.00. 
 
 A Counterfeit Presentment. A Comedy. 
 
 Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 Out of the Question. A Comedy. Little- 
 Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 A Little Girl among the Old Masters. Being 
 
 her own Compositions and Inventions in Sacred and Legendary Art. With 
 Introduction and Commentary by W. D. Howells. Oblong. Fifty-four 
 Illustrations. $2.00. 
 
 - Choice Autobiographies. A collection of the 
 
 most entertaining autobiographies, carefully edited, and with preliminary 
 Critical and Biographical Essays. Little-Classic size. 8 vols. Each, $1.25. 
 I., II. Memoirs of Frederica Sophia Wilhelmina, Margravine 
 of Baireuth. 
 
 III. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and Thomas Ellwood. 
 
 IV. Vittorio Alfieri. 
 V. Carlo Goldoni. 
 
 VI. Edward Gibbon. 
 VII., VIII. Fran9ois Marmontel. 
 
 HOYTS (WILLIAM E.) Household Sanitation. 16mo. 
 
 30 cents. Paper covers, 15 cents. 
 
 HUBBARD'S (Lucius L.) Woods and Lakes of Maine. 
 
 A Trip from Moosehead Lake to New Brunswick in a Birch-Bark Canoe. 
 With Indian place-names and their meanings. 1vol. 8vo. With Illustra- 
 tions, and a large map. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50. Tree-calf, or antique 
 morocco, $8.00. 
 
 HUDSON (EDMUND). See CLEMMER. 
 
 HUNNE WELL'S (JAMES F) The Imperial Island: Eng- 
 land's Chronicle in Stone. 1 vol. 8vo. Copiously illustrated. $4 00. 
 
 The Historical Monuments of France. 
 
 1vol. 8vo. Illustrated. $3.50. 
 
 Bibliography of Chaiiestown, Mass., and 
 
 Bunker Hill. 1vol. 8vo. Illustrated. $2.00. 
 
10 A List of Books Published by 
 
 HUTCHINSOWS (ELLEN M.) Songs and Lyrics. 16mo. 
 
 With Frontispiece. $1.25. 
 
 BUTTON'S (LAURENCE) Literary Landmarks of London. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 IRVING (HENRY). See HATTON. 
 
 JAMES (HENRY, SR.), The Literary Remains of. Ed- 
 ited by WILLIAM JAMES. 1 vol. 12mo. With Portrait. 2.00. 
 
 JAMES'S (HENRY) The Author of Beltraffio ; Pandora; 
 
 Georgiua's Reasons; The Path of Duty; Four Meetings. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 The Siege of London ; The Pension Beaurepas ; 
 
 and The Point of View. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Tales of Three Cities (The Impressions of a 
 
 Cousin ; Lady Barberina ; A New-England Winter). 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - A Little Tour in France. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Portraits of Places. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Daisy Miller : A Comedy. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 JOHNSON'S (ROSSITER) Idler and Poet. 16mo. $1.25. 
 JOHNSTON'S (ELIZABETH BRYANT) Original Portraits 
 
 of Washington. Sixty Portraits, from paintings, sculptures, etc. With 
 descriptive text. 1 vol. 4to. $15.00. Half-morocco, $20.00. By sub- 
 scription only . 
 
 KEA TS. See BROWN (F. C.). 
 
 KEENE'S (CHARLES) Our People. Four Hundred Pict- 
 ures from Punch. 4to. $5.00. 
 
 KENDRICK'S (PROFESSOR A. C.) Our Poetical Favorites. 
 
 Three volumes in one. Illustrated. 8vo. Full gilt. $3.50. 
 
 KING'S (CLARENCE) Mountaineering in ihe Sierra Nevada. 
 
 12mo. With Maps. Eighth edition. $2.00. 
 
 (EDWARD) The uolden Spike. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - The Gentle Savage. 12mo. $2.00. 
 KIRK'S (MRS. ELLEN OLNEY) A Midsummer Madness. 
 
 A Novel. 1vol. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 A Lesson in Love. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In 
 
 papei covers, 50 cents. 
 
 LEOPARD!' S (G.) Essays and Dialogues. 8vo $3.00. 
 LIEBER, The Life and Letters of Francis. Edited by 
 
 Thomas Sergeant Perry. 8vo. With Portrait. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50. 
 
 LIGHT ON THE HIDDEN WA Y. With Introduction 
 
 by JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 LINCOLN'S (MRS. JEANIE GOULD) Her Washington 
 
 Season. A Novel. 12mo. $1.60. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 11 
 
 LONGFELLOW S (SAMUEL) Life of Henry Wadsworth 
 
 Longfellow. With extracts from his Journals and Correspondence. Crown. 
 8vo 2 vols. With Steel Portraits, Engravings on wood, fac-similes, etc. 
 $6.00 ; half-calf, with marbled edges, $11 00 ; half-morocco, with gilt top 
 and rough edges, $ 11.00. 
 
 LOWELL'S (PERCIVAL) Choson: The Land of the Morn- 
 ing Calm. A Sketch of Korea. 1vol. 8vo. Illustrated. $500. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI (NiccoLo), The Historical, Political, 
 
 and Diplomatic Works of. Translated by Christian E. Detmold. 4 Tola. 
 8vo, with Steel Frontispieces, in a box. $15.00. Half-calf, $30.00. 
 
 MADAME LUCAS. Vol. VIII. of the Round- Robin Se- 
 ries of novels. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 MADDEN' S (F. W.) The Coins of the Jews. 4to. $12.00. 
 MA TTHE WS. See SHERIDAN. 
 
 MEREDITH'S (OWEN) Lucile, Illustrated. Holiday Edi- 
 tion. With 160 new Illustrations. Elegantly bound, with full gilt edges, 
 in box, $6.00. Tree-calf, padded calf, or antique morocco, $10.00. Calf 
 or morocco, inlaid mosaic, $12.50. Crushed levant, silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 Lucile. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. With red lines and gilt edges, $2.50. Half-calf, 
 $4.00. Antique morocco, tree-calf, flexible calf, or seal, $5.00. 
 
 Lucile. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little- 
 
 Classic size. Thirty Illustrations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, $2.25. 
 Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 MONOGRAPHS OF AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE, 
 
 No. 1. Harvard LHW School. H. II. Richardson, architect. 18 Plates 
 (Gelatine, from nature), 13 X 16. In portfolio. $5.00. 
 
 No 2. The State Capitol, at Hartford, Conn., Richard M. Upjohn, 
 architect. 22 Plates (Gelatine, from nature), 13 X 16. $6.00. 
 
 No 3. The Ames Memorial Buildings at North Easton, Mass. H. H. 
 Richardson, architect. 22 Gelatine Plates (from nature). 13x16 inches. 
 Also two Lithographs. In portfolio. $6.00. 
 
 No 4. The Memorial Hall at Harvard University. Ware & Van Brunt, 
 architects. 13 Gelatine Plates (from nature), 13x16 inches. Also one 
 Photo-lithograph. In portfolio. $5 00. 
 
 MONTI 1 S (LuiGT) Lpone. A Novel. 1vol. 16mo. $100. 
 
 In paper covers, 50 cents 
 
 MORSE'S (EDWARD S., Pn.D.) Japanese Homes and their 
 
 Surroundings. 8vo. With 300 Illustrations. $5.00 ; half-calf, $9.00. 
 
 NEKRASOV'S (X. A.) Red-Xosed Frost. Translated in 
 
 the original meters from the Russian. With the Russian Text. 1 vol. 
 16mo. With Portrait. $1.50. 
 
 NELSON'S (HENRY L.) John Rantoul 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 NORTON'S (GEN. C. B.) American Inventions in Breech- 
 loading Small Arms, Heavy Ordnance, etc. 4to. 250 Engravings. $10.00. 
 
 OLDEN-TIME SERIES. See BROOKS. 
 
12 A List of Books Published by 
 
 OSGOOD'S GUIDE-BOOKS. See TICKNOR. 
 
 OWEN'S (WILLIAM MILLER) In Camp and Battle with the 
 
 Washington Artillery of New Orleans. Illustrated with Maps and Engrav- 
 ings. 1vol. 8vo. $3.00 
 
 PALFREY'S (JOHN GOHHAM) A Compendious History 
 
 of New England. 4 vols. 12uao. With new Index. In a box. $6.00. 
 Half-calf, $12.00. 
 
 PEIRCE'S (MRS. MELUSINA FAY) Co-operative House- 
 keeping. Square 16mo. 60 cents. 
 
 PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN (THE) of General McClel- 
 
 lan in 1862. (Vol. I., Papers of the Military Historical Society of Massa- 
 chusetts.) 8vo. With Maps. $3.00. 
 
 PERRY'S (NORA) For a Woman. 16mo. $1.00. 
 - A Book of Love Stories. 16mo. $1.00. 
 After the Ball: and, Her Lover's Friend. Two 
 
 vols. in one. $1.50. 
 
 The Tragedy of the Unexpected. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 PERRY'S (THOMAS SERGEANT) From Opitz to Lessing. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 PICTURESQUE SKETCHES. Statues, Monuments, 
 
 Fountains, Cathedrals, Towers, etc. 1 vol. Oblong folio. $1.50. 
 
 PLYMPTOWS (Miss A. G.) The Glad Year Round. 
 
 Square 8vo. $2.50. 
 
 POETS AND ETCHERS. Twenty full-page etchings, by 
 
 James D. Smillie, Samuel Colman, A F. Bellows. II. Farrer, R. Swain Gif- 
 ford, illustrating poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Aldrich, etc. 
 4to. $10.00. Also a limited edition on China paper. 
 
 POOLERS (W. F., LL.D.) An Index to Periodical Litera- 
 ture. 1 vol. Royal 8vo. $15.00. Sheep, $17.00. Half-morocco, $18.00. 
 Half-morocco, extra. Gilt top. Uncut edges, $19.00. 
 
 POPE in 1852, The Virginia Campaign of General. Vol. II. 
 
 of Papers read before the Military Historical Society of Massachusetts. 8vo. 
 With Maps and Plans. $3.00. 
 
 PORTER'S (ROBERT P.) Protection and Free Trade To- 
 
 Day : At Home and Abroad. 16mo. Paper covers, 10 cents. 
 
 PRERLE'S (ADMIRAL GEORGE H.) History of the Flag 
 
 of the United States of America, etc Third Revised Edition. 240 Illus- 
 trations, many of them in colors. 1 vol. Royal quarto. $7.60. 
 
 PRESTON'S (Miss H. W.) The Georgics of Vergil. 18mo. $1. 
 
 The Georgics of Vergil. Holiday Edition. 
 
 Four full-page Illustrations. 1vol. Small 4to. Full gilt. $2.00, 
 
TicJcnor and Company. 13 
 
 PUTNAM'S (J. PICKERING) The Open Fire-Place in all . 
 
 Ages. With 300 Illustrations, 53 full-page. I2mo. $4.00. 
 
 - Lectures on the Principles of House Drainage. 
 
 With Plates and Diagrams. 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 QUINCY'S (EDMUND) The Haunted Adjutant; and other 
 
 Stories. Edited by his son, EDMUND QUINCT. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Wensley ; arid other Stories. Edited by his 
 
 son, EDMUND QUINCY. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 REVEREND IDOL (A). A Kovel. 12mo. Twelfth 
 
 edition. $1.50. 
 
 RICHARDSON'S (ABBY SAGE) Abelard and Heloise. 
 
 1vol. Little-Classic size. Sl.OO. 
 
 - Old Love-Letters ; or, Letters of Senti- 
 ment. Written by persons eminent in English Literature and History. 
 1 vol. Little-Classic size. 81.25. 
 
 ROCKHILL'S (W. WOODVILLE) The Life of the Buddha, 
 
 and the Early History of his Order. 1 vol. 12mo. Gilt top. $8.00. 
 
 ROCHE'S (JAMES JEFFREY) Songs and Satires. A Volume 
 
 of Poems. 1vol. 12mo. 81.00. 
 
 ROLFE'S (W. J.) Students' Series of Standard Poetry. 
 
 Edited, with Notes and Introductions, by W. J. ROLFE. Each in 1 vol. 
 12mo. Beautifully Illustrated. 75 cents 
 
 Byron's Childe Harold. Tennyson's The Princess. 
 
 Scott's Marmion. Young People's Tennyson. 
 
 Scott's The Lady of the Lake, Select Poems of Tennyson. 
 
 ROUND-ROBIN SERIES (THE). A series of original 
 
 novels by the best writers. Each is complete in 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 Also, new popular edition, in paper covers, each, 50 cents. 
 
 A Nameless Nobleman. A Tallahassee Girl. 
 
 A Lesson in Love. Dorothea. 
 
 The Georgians. The Desmond Hundred. 
 
 Patty's Perversities. Leone. 
 
 Homoselle. Doctor Ben. 
 
 Damen's Ghost. Rachel's Share of the Road. 
 
 Rosemary and Rue. Fanchette. 
 
 Madame Lucas. His Second Campaign. 
 
 SADI'S GULISTAN. See EASTWICK. 
 
 SAN BORN' S (KATE) A Year of Sunshine. Comprising 
 
 cheerful selections for every day in the year. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 Grandma's Garden. Leaflets, with illumi- 
 nated covers. $1.26. 
 
 Purple and Gold. Choice Poems. Leaflets, 
 
 with illuminated covers by ROSINA EMMET. $1.25. 
 
 Round-Table Series of Literature Lessons. 
 
 Printed separately on sheets. Twenty-five authors. Price for each author, 
 enclosed in envelope, 25 cents. 
 
 (F. B.). See EMERSON, also GOETHE. 
 
14 A List of Books Published by 
 
 SANGSTERS (MARGARET E.) Poems of the Household. 
 
 1vol. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 SCH1EFNERS (PROFESSOR) Tibetan Tales. Translated 
 
 by VV. R. S. RALSTON, M.A. $5.00. 
 
 SCHOPENHA (JEWS (ARTHUR) The World as Will and 
 
 Idea. Translated from the German by R. B. HALDANE, M.A and JOHN 
 KEMP, M.A. 3 vols. 8vo. $5.00 a vol. 
 
 SCOTTS (Sm WALTER) The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 Holiday Edition of 1886-87. 1 vol. 8vo. In neat box. With over 1(0 
 new Illustrations by famous artists Full gilt edges. Elegant binding. 
 $6 00. Flexible or tree calf, or antique morocco, $10 00. Crushed levant, 
 with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 - Marmion. Holiday Edition. Over 100 new 
 
 Illustrations by famous artists. Elegantly bound. Full gilt edges. In 
 box, $6.00. Tree-calf, padded calf, or antique morocco, $10 00. Crushed 
 levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 - Marmion. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated With red lines, bevelled boards, and gilt edges, 
 $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Antique morocco, flexible calf,' flexible seal, or 
 tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 - Marmion. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little-Classic 
 
 size. With thirty Illustrations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, 
 $2.25 Antique morocco, or flexible calf or seal, $3.00. Tree- calf or padded 
 calf, |3 50. 
 
 - Marmion. Students' Edition. Edited, with 
 
 Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Holidav Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 8vo. In box. 120 Illustrations. $6.00. Tree-calf"padded calf, or antique 
 morocco, $10 00. Calf or morocco, inlaid mosaic, $12.50. Crushed levant, 
 with silk linings, $25 00. 
 
 - The Lady of the Lake. Tremont Edition. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrate'd Red lines. $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Tree-calf, 
 antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $5.00. 
 
 The Ladv of the Lake. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 Little-Classic size. 30 Illustrations. $1.00. Half-calf, $2.25 Antique 
 morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or padded calf, 3.50. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Students' Edition. 
 
 Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 Beautifully illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 SENSfER'S (ALFRED) Jean-Frai^ois Millet: Peasant and 
 
 Painter. Translated by HELENA DE KAT. With Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 SEALER'S (PROFESSOR N. S.) and DA VI&S (WILLIAM M.) 
 
 Illustrations of the Earth's Surface. Part I. Glaciers. Copiously illus- 
 trated. Large folio. $10.00. 
 
 SHEDD'S (MRS. JULIA A.) Famous Painters and Paint- 
 ings. Revised edition. With 13 Heliotypes. 1vol. 12mo. $3.00. Half- 
 calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 15 
 
 SHEDD'S (MRS. JULIA A ) Famous Sculptors and Sculp- 
 ture. With thirteen Ileliotype Engravings. 12mo. $3.00. Half-calf, 
 $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Raphael : His Madonnas and Holy Families. 
 
 Illustrated with 22 full-page Heliotypes. 1 vol. 4to. Full gilt. $7.50. 
 
 SHERIDAN'S (RICHARD BRINSLEY) Comedies : The 
 
 Rivals, and the School for Scandal. Edited, with Biography and Notes and 
 Introduction, by BRANDER MATTHEWS. Illustrated. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 SHERRATT'S (R. J.) The Elements of Hand-Railing. 
 
 38 Plates. Small folio. $2.00. 
 
 SIKES'S (WiRT) British Goblins. Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy 
 
 Mythology, and Traditions. Illustrated. 8vo. Gilt top. $4.00. 
 
 SNIDER'S (DENTON J.) Agamemnon's Daughter. A 
 
 Poem. 1 vol. Square 16mo. Fine laid paper. $1.50. 
 
 A Walk in Hellas. 1 vol. 8vo. $2.50. 
 
 : An Epigrammatic Voyage. A Poem. 1 vol. 
 
 Square 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 SPOOLER'S (SAMUEL) and CLEMENTS (MRS. CLARA E.) 
 
 A Biographical History of the Fine Arts. In preparation. 
 
 STAN WOOD'S (EDWARD) A History of Presidential Elec- 
 tions. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 STERN BERG'S (GEORGE M., M.D ) Photo-Micrographs, 
 
 and How to Make them. Illustrated by 47 Photographs of Microscopic 
 Objects, reproduced by the Heliotype process. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 STEVENSON'S (ALEXANDER F.) The Battle of Stone 
 
 River, near Murfreesboro', Tenn., December 30. 1862, to January 3. 1863. 
 1vol. 8vo. With Maps. $3.00. 
 
 STILLMAWS (DR. J. D. B.) The Horse in Motion, as 
 
 Shown in a Series of Views by Instantaneous Photography, and Anatomical 
 Illustrations in Chromo, after Drawings by WILLIAM HAHN. With a Preface 
 by LELAKD STANFORD. 1 vol. Royal quarto. Fully illustrated. $10.00. 
 
 STIRLING'S (A.) At Daybreak. A Novel. 16mo. S1.25. 
 STOCKTON'S (LOUISE) Dorothea. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 STODDARD'S (JOHN L.) Red-Letter Days Abroad. Svo. 
 
 With 130 fine Illustrations!. Richly bound, full gilt edges, in box. $5.00. 
 la tree-calf or antique morocco, $10.00. In mosaic inlaid, calf, $12.50. 
 
 STONE'S (CHARLES J.,F.R.S.L.,F.R.Hist.C.) Christianity 
 
 before Christ ; or, Prototypes of our Faith and Culture. Crown Svo. $3.00. 
 
 SWEETSEWS (M. F.) Artist- Biographies. With twelve 
 
 Heliotypes in each volume. 5 vols. 16mo. Cloth. Each, $1.50. 
 
 Vol. I. Raphael, Leonardo, Augelo. 
 
 Vol. II. Titian, Guido, Claude. 
 
 Vol. III. Reynolds, Turner, Landseer 
 
 Vol. IV. Diirer, Rembrandt, Van Dyck. 
 
 Vol. V. Angelico, Murillo, Allston. 
 
 The set, in box, 5 vols. $7.50. Half-calf, $15.00. Tree-calf, $25.00. 
 Flexible calf, elegant leather case, $28.00. 
 
16 A List of Booh Published by 
 
 TENNYSON'S (LORD) A Dream of Fair Women. Forty 
 
 Illustrations. 4to. 5.00. In morocco antique or tree-calf, $9.00. 
 
 - The Princess. Holiday Edition. 120 Il- 
 lustrations. Rich binding. In a box. 8vo. $6.00. Morocco antique, 
 padded calf, or tree-calf, $10.00. Crushed levant, with silk linings, 26.00. 
 
 The Princess. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, bevelled boards, and gilt 
 edges, $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Antique morocco, flexible calf, flexible seal, 
 or tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 The Princess. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 Little-Classic size. With 30 Illustrations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half- 
 calf, $2.25. Antique morocco, or flexible calf or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or 
 padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 The Princess. Students' Edition. Edited, 
 
 with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 Select Poems of . Students' Edition. Edited, 
 
 with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. Beautifully illustrated. 
 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 
 
 Young People's Edited, with Notes and 
 
 Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. Beautifully Illustrated. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 75 cents. 
 
 THA CKERA Y (WILLIAM M.), The Ballads of. Complete 
 
 illustrated edition. Small quarto. Handsomely bound. $1.50. 
 
 THOMAS A KEMPIS'S The Imitation of Christ. 16mo. 
 
 Red edges. 300 cuts. $1.50. Flexible calf or morocco, 4.00. 
 
 Pocket edition R.-und corners. $1.00. Flexible calf, $3.00. 
 
 Edition de luxe. 8vo. Many full-page etchings, red ruling, etc. Full 
 leather binding, $9.00. In parchment covers, $5.00. 
 
 THOMPSON'S (MAURICE) Songs of Fair Weather. $1.50. 
 . A Tallahassee Girl. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 $1 00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 His Second Campaign. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 TICKNOR'S AMERICAN GUIDE-BOOKS: Newly re- 
 
 vised and Augmented Editions. 
 
 New England. With nineteen Maps and Plans. Ninth edition. 16mo. $1.50. 
 The Maritime Provinces. With ten Maps and Plans. Fifth edition. 
 
 16mo. $1.50. 
 The White Mountains. With six Maps and six Panoramas. Seventh 
 
 edition. 16mo. $1.50. 
 The Middle States. With twenty-two Maps and Plans. 16mo. Seventh 
 
 Edition in preparation. 
 
 TIERNAN'S (Mns. MARY F.) Horaoselle. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. In'paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 TOWLE'S (GEORGE MAKEPEACE) England and Russia in 
 
 Central Asia. No. 1, Timely-Topics Series. 1 vol. 16mo. With Maps. 
 50 cents. 
 
 - England in Egypt. No. 2, Timely-Topics Series. 
 1vol. 16mo. With Maps. 60 cents. 
 
Ticknor and Company. 17 
 
 TOWNSEND'S (MARY ASHLEY) Down the Bayou. A 
 
 volume of Poems. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 TOWN SEN D'S (S. NUGENT) Our Indian Summer in the 
 
 Far West. With full-page Photographs of Scenes in Kansas, Colorado, 
 New Mexico, Texas, etc. 4to. $20.00. 
 
 UNDERWOOD'S (FRANCIS H.) John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 A Biography. 1 vol. 12mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 12mo. 
 
 Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. A Biographical 
 
 Sketch. 1vol. Small quarto. 6 Heliotypes. $1.50. 
 
 VENTURA'S (L. D.) and S. SHEVITCWS Misfits and 
 
 Remnants. A volume of short stories. 1vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 VIOLLET-LE-DU&S (E. E.) Discourses on Architecture. 
 
 Vol. I. Translated by HENRY VAN BKUNT. With 18 large Plates and 110 
 Woodcuts. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 VIOLLET-LE-DUC (E. E.). The Same. Vol. II. With 
 
 Steel Plates, Chronics, and Woodcuts. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 VIRGINIA CAMPAIGN (THE) OF GEN. POPE IN 
 
 1862. Being Vol. II. of Papers read before the Military Historical Society 
 of Massachusetts. With Maps and Plans. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 WALLACE'S (MRS. LEW.) The Stoned Sea. 1vol. Little- 
 Classic size. $1.00. 
 WARE'S (PROFESSOR WILLIAM R.) Modern Perspective. 
 
 A Treatise upon the Principles and Practice of Plane and Cylindrical Per- 
 spective. 1vol. 12mo. With Portfolio of 27 Plates. $5.00. 
 
 WARINCfS (CoL. GEORGE E., JR.) Whip and Spur. 
 
 Little-Classic size. $1.25. Large Paper edition, $4.00. 
 
 - Village Improvements and Farm Villages. 
 
 Little-Classic size. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 The Bride of the Rhine. Two Hundred Miles 
 
 in a Mosel Row-Boat. To which is added a paper on the Latin poet 
 Ausonius and his poem " Mosella," by Rev. CHARLES T. BROOKS. 1 vol. 
 Square 16mo. Fully illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 Vix. No. 1 of Waring's Horse- Stones. 10 cents. 
 
 - Ruby. No. 2 of War ing's Horse- Stories. 10 cents. 
 
 WARNER'S (CHARLES DUDLEY) The American News- 
 paper 32mo. 25 cents. 
 
 WARREN'S (JOSEPH H., M.D.) A Plea for the Cure of 
 
 Rupture. 12mo. In cloth, $1.25 In parchment paper covers, $1.00. 
 
 A Practical Treatise on Hernia. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 Sheep. $6.50. 
 
 WEDGWOOD'S (HENSLEIGH) Contested Etymologies in 
 
 the Dictionary of the Rev. W. W. SKEAT. 1 vol. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 WEEKS' S (LYMAN H.) Among the Azores. 1 vol. Square 
 
 16mo. With Map and 25 Illustrations. $1.50. 
 

 18 A List of Pooh Published by Ticknor $ Co. 
 
 WELLS' S (KATE GANNETT) About People. A volume of 
 
 Essays. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 WENDELL'S (BARRETT) The Duchess Emilia. $1.00. 
 
 WHEELER'S (CHARLES GARDNER) The Course of Em- 
 pire ; Being Outlines of the Chief Political Changes in the History of the 
 World. 1vol. 8vo. With 25 colored Maps. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50. 
 
 WHEELER'S (WILLIAM A. and CHARLES G.) Familiar 
 
 Allusions: A Handbook of Miscellaneous Information. 12mo. $3.00. 
 Half-calf, $5.50. 
 
 WHIST, American or Standard. By G. W. P. Seventh 
 
 edition. Revised and enlarged. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 WILLIAMS' S (ALFRED M.) The Poets and Poetry of Ire- 
 land. With Critical Essays and Notes. 1vol. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 WINCKELMANN'S (JOHN) The History of Ancient Art. 
 
 Translated by Dr. G. H. LODGE. With 78 copperplate Engravings. 2 vols. 
 8vo. $9.00. Half-calf, $18.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $25.00. 
 
 WINTER'S (WILLIAM) English Rambles, and other Fugi- 
 tive Pieces in Prose and Verse. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Poems. New revised edition. 1 vol. IPmo. 
 
 Cloth, $1.50. Half-calf, $3.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $4.00. 
 
 The Trip to England. With Illustrations by 
 
 JOSEPH JEFFERSON. I6mo. $2.00. Half-calf, $4.00. Morocco antique or 
 tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 - Shakespeare's England. 1 vol. 24mo. 50 cents. 
 
 WITHERSPOON'S (REV. ORLANDO) Doctor Ben. A 
 
 Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 WOODS' S (REV. LEONARD) History of the Andover Theo- 
 logical Seminary. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.50. 
 
 MR. HOWELLS'S LATEST NOVELS. 
 
 Indian Summer. The Else of Silas Lapham. A Woman's 
 Beason. A Modern Instance. Dr. Breen's Practice. A 
 Fearful Responsibility. Each in 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 MR. HOWELLS'S COMEDIES. Each in 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 Out of the Question. A Counterfeit Presentment. 
 
 MR. HOWELLS'S PLAYS. Each inl vol. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 The Begister. The Parlor-Car. 
 
 The Sleeping-Car. The Elevator. 
 
 MR. HOWELLS'S POEMS. Printed on imported hand-made 
 
 paper. White parchment covers. Enlarged edition. $2.00. 
 THREE VILLAGES. 1vol. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 CHOICE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 8 vols. 16mo. $1.25 each. 
 
 
THE STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MARGARET KENT. 
 
 BY HENRY HAYES. - 
 $1.50. 
 
 The Springfield " Republican " says : 
 
 " In this we have the American novel pure and simple. The style is fascinat- 
 irlg, the conversation witty and natural." 
 
 And the " Literary World " says : 
 
 " Thfc author is at work with aims and impulses that are lofty. The book is 
 uplifting. It is admirably written, interesting, strong, impressive, helpful." 
 
 And the " Critic " says : 
 
 " It is a dainty story, full of grace and tenderness and color. We feel her 
 bewitching beauty to our finger tips." 
 
 And the Boston " Journal " says : 
 
 "The novel is thrilling with strong, healthy feeling, unusually marked with 
 spontaneity and naturalness." 
 
 And the " Christian Register" says: 
 
 " Margaret Kent is so beautiful that one dreams of her after only reading about 
 her." 
 
 And the Boston " Advertiser " says : 
 
 "In ' The Story of Margaret Kent ' we have that rare thing in current litera- 
 ture, a really good novel." 
 
 And the " Transcript " says : 
 
 " Tliere is in the social setting a human life, deep and stirring, beautiful and 
 real, which holds our interest, sympathy, and admiration." 
 
 And the Chicago " Inter-Ocean " says : 
 
 " In its brilliancy of touch, vivid delineation of character, and realistic truth, 
 * The Story of Margaret Kent* is one of the greatest novels of the day." 
 
 MORAL: 
 
 BUY THE BOOK, AND JUDGE FOR YOURSELF. 
 
 *** For sale by all booksellers. Sent, postpaid, upon 
 receipt of price ($1.50) by the publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston. 
 
LIFE OF HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Edited by REV. SAMUEL LONGFELLOW. 2 vols. 1 2mo. With 
 5 new steel-engraved portraits and many wood engravings and 
 fac-similes. In cloth, $6.00 ; in half calf, with marble edges, $i i .00 ; 
 in half morocco, with gilt top and rough edges, $n.oo. 
 
 " Altogether the most fascinating book that has been published for months. It 
 is full of the most interesting and picturesque and poetic things." Boston Record, 
 
 "One thinks of the gentle scholar as a man who can never have made an 
 enemy, or lost a friend; and we lay down his autobiography (for such the book 
 can fairly be called) with a feeling that in these posthumous pages he has opened 
 a view of his own soul as beautiful as the creations ot his fancy." New York 
 Tribune. 
 
 " It is an admirable piece of biographical work, and the story of the poet's 
 career gives a view of the growth of American literature that is full of instruction 
 and interest. It is a book that is sure to become a classic both in this country 
 and England, and, indeed, in cultivated circles throughout the world." Boston 
 Budget. 
 
 " It is needless to add that the publication of these noble volumes is the literary 
 event of the day, that all continents will greet it with delight, and that coming 
 ages will quote it affectionate' y in recalling that Longfellow was not only a pure 
 and great poet, which is much, but also a pure and great man, which is more." 
 The Beacon (Boston). 
 
 " These volumes tell the story of his life with exquisite taste ; they also unfold 
 a panorama of the literary history of America, and are among the rare and monu- 
 mental books of the present century." Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE AND HIS WF. 
 
 By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. With portraits newly engraved on 
 steel and vignettes. Two vols. I2mo. In cloth, $5.00. Half 
 morocco or half calf, $9.00. Edition de luxe, numbered copies, 
 $1200. 
 
 The fullest and most charming accounts of Hawthorne's ancestry and family ; 
 his boyhood and youth ; his courtship and marriage ; his life at Salem, Lenox, 
 and Concord ; his travels and residence in England and Italy ; his later life in 
 America ; and his chief works and their motives and origins. 
 
 " It increases my admiration for the character of Hawthorne and my respect 
 for his genius as an author." R. H. Stoddard, in J^ie Critic. 
 
 " The most charming biography of the year, pure and sweet from beginning to 
 end." The Beacon (Boston). 
 
 " Colored with the very hues of life, and bearing the signature of truth. The 
 reader will close the book with a new admiration for the pure-minded and honest 
 gentleman who was the greatest original writer our country has produced." A'ew 
 York Tribune. 
 
 "And so the inspiration left behind by this biography is that of increase of 
 happy faith in the power of high, disinterested love to transmute the prose of daily 
 life into poetry, to give beauty for ashes, the garment of praise for the spirit of 
 heaviness." Boston Herald. 
 
 " Leaves on the mind of the reader a clear perception of Hawthorne's moral 
 and intellectual character, a vivid impression of his personal traits, disposition, 
 and habits, as manifested in the alternations of work and play, in the study, in 
 the family, and in society, and a singularly distinct and life-like image of his 
 person." George William Curtis, in Harper's Magazine. 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE 
 RECALL 
 
 LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS 
 
 Book Slip-Series 458 
 

 N? 863872 
 
 Wendell, B. 
 
 Rankell's remains 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS