gerjolt >n SHERRY A DAY OR TWO MORE OF THE SIMPLE LIFE IN THE WOODS AND HE WOULD BE FIT AS A FIDDLE Page 50 SHERRY BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON Author of "Graustark," "The City of Masks," etc. FRONTISPIECE BY C. ALLAN GILBERT NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1919 COPYRIGHT, 1919 BT DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. SRLF. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I 1 II .. * 14 III . 24 IV 36 V .'.' 49 VI .. 61 VII . . . . 74 VIII ............. 86 IX 99 X 116 XI 134 XII 153 XIII 167 XIV 177 XV 188 XVI 199 XVII 214 XVIII 229 XIX . ' . . 239 XX 250 XXI . 268 SHERRY CHAPTER I "fT"^ HAT'S my last dime," said young Redpath, as he deposited the coin with elaborate pre- JL cision upon the shiny surface of the bar. As the bartender slid the glass and the bottle in front of him, he added, unsteadily : " And this is my last drink." The dispenser of drinks did not smile. He had heard that sort of proclamation before. He tenderly polished the surface of the bar with his towel, squinted at it, and removed a recently deposited splotch of water, the result of his patron's unsteadiness of hand in pushing aside the " chaser." " Good ! " said he, squinting again. " You mean the last for today," he added, turning to the cash register. His customer watched him ring up the amount, starting slightly as the bell gave forth its per- emptory clangs-- J^^^t^t , " The last ever" said the patron, and dashed off the brimming glass of bourbon. His throat contracted with the spasm customary to him who drinks his liquor " neat " : and then, thinking better of his habits, he reached out and lifted the small glass of water to his lips. It had been his vainglorious boast that he al- ways took his whisky straight. Somehow this " last 2 SHERRY drink " seemed to burn a little more fiercely than usual. He looked into the empty glass wonderingly. "What's the matter with it?" demanded the bar- keeper sharply. " Ain't it all right ? " " Sure," said Redpath. " I was just wondering why a fellow's last drink should go down harder than the first one. I don't remember that my first drink took the skin off like that one did. Maybe it's just as well that it did burn. Something to remember all the rest of my unpickled days." The barkeeper now eyed him with interest. " Going to cut it out for good, eh? " he said derisively. " Ab-so-lute-ly," said the other, meeting the look with one that was strangely direct, considering his con- dition. " Good work. Stick to that, Sherry, and you'll be somebody in spite of yourself. You been boozin' pretty steady for a feller of your age and " His customer, still reflecting, expounded his reflec- tions aloud. " You see, it's really the first time I ever took my last drink. My insides simply can't under- stand it. They don't believe that such a thing exists as a last drink, Patsy." " They'll feel different in the morning," said Patsy. " They'll be asking for another last drink, and they'll keep on askin', they like it so well. But, say, kid, you're young enough to cut it out. Taper off gradual-like " " But I'm never going to take another," said Red- path, in some surprise. " Didn't you hear what I said? I've quit, Patsy, quit for good. And, say, I hope you notice that I'm quitting with a little edge on, SHERRY too. Anybody can swear off when he's sober or get- ting over a bun, but it isn't every one who can stop right in the middle of one. Well, that's what I'm doing, Patsy. I'm doing something nobody else on earth ever did. I've turned decent and respectable 7 / and industrious right in the middle of a jag, that's / what I've done. It isn't human nature to do that, now is it? I leave it to you, Patsy." " Well," said Patsy, " I've seen 'em turn religious and sing psalms right at the very top of a jag, and I know one feller that always says his prayers when he's full. I'd call that being decent and respectable, wouldn't you? " " Say, I believe you're trying to kid me," growled Redpath, straightening up suddenly. He laid his fist gently upon the bar. " You don't believe I'm in earn- est. You don't think I can do it. Well, let me tell you something right now, Patsy. That was my last drink. I'll never take another one as long as I'm con- scious. I said a long and permanent farewell to booze when I swallowed that last ten cents' worth. I've no- ticed that you never touch a drop, Patsy. Why is that?" " I couldn't hold my job if I touched that stuff," said Patsy, promptly, almost severely. " I haven't had a drink in let's see, this is 1910 seven years. You never see any souses behind the bar, my boy." " Well, speaking of jobs, I'm going out to look for one myself," said Redpath firmly. " And I'm going to begin by being as good as any bartender on earth. If a bartender can be good, so can I." "You'll never get a job in this burg. They know 4 SHERRY you too well. You never did a lick of work in your life, and these people in this town won't let you begin, no matter how virtuous you virtuous ain't the word I want, but it will do in a pinch. No matter what you do, they'll pan you to a finish. Get out of this town as quick as you can and say, ever think of going farther West?" " I refuse to go West. I'm going to stay right in this town. Good Lord, who'd want to go any far- ther West than this?" " I mean some place like Seattle or California," ex- plained Patsy. " You can brace up and be some- thing if you get away from these blood-suckers around here." He lowered his voice. Two men seated at a table in the corner were watching them with interest. With an almost imperceptible jerk of his head, he in- dicated the pair. " Couple of 'em setting' over there. Between 'em they've got a small fortune out o' you." Redpath bestowed a lofty stare upon the couple, checking the barkeeper's speech with an upraised hand. " They can't get anything more out of me, Patsy, because I haven't got anything more for them to get. Not a red. I'm strapped. That was my last dime. What do you suppose Joe Stetson would say if I walked over right now and tried to borrow five dollars of him? He'd say I was drunk, and that he'd let me have it in a minute if I was sober. I'm through with that gang." " Gosh," said Patsy, sorrowfully, " what a chance you had and what a mess you made of it ! There never was a boy in this town that had the " " Never mind, never mind," interrupted the other, SHERRY 5 frowning. " That's all dead and gone. I buried the last of it when I took that drink. I started out with a couple of hundred thousand dollars, and see where I am now? Well, I'm going to see if I can do any bet- ter by starting without a red cent. Everything to gain and nothing to lose. See what I mean? I'm go- ing to see how it feels to make money. I certainly know how it feels to spend it." " I always said your dad made a mistake sending you East to college," said Patsy. " Never catch me sending a son of mine to college. Why, I used to work in a" " My dear sir," broke in Redpath, with extreme gravity, " you will be interested to hear that I never touched a drop of liquor durin' during the three years I was in college. Not a drop." "Come off!" " It's the honest truth. Ask anybody. Ask the faculty. I" " Well, be that as it may," said Patsy, with the air of one admitting nothing. " What was you fired for?" " Who said I was fired ? " " Don't it take four years to go through a college ? " " It depends entirely on whether you start in the fress freshman or the soph'more class," said his cus- tomer, loftily. " Wasn't you ever a freshman ? " demanded Patsy, amazed. " Never ! " said Redpath, profoundly. " Never in my life." Patsy was thoughtful as he wiped a tall glass after 6 SHERRY breathing on it carefully. " Maybe that explains why you never took a drink in college." " Not at all. I promised some one I wouldn't drink until I was through college." "Some girl, eh?" " No," said the young man, lowering his eyes sud- denly. " Some one better than any girl, Patsy." He went no farther, but Patsy understood and nodded his head. " It's a pity," the bartender began and then stopped, an innate sense of delicacy reminding him that a public bar is not the place in which to allude to one's mother. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say that it was a pity she hadn't live.d to look out for her boy after he came out of college. " 'Gad," began Redpath, a quizzical grin on his handsome, flushed face, " you wouldn't think to look at me now that I'm not a drinkin' man, would you? " " No, I wouldn't," said Patsy. " I'd say you in- dulged once in awhile," he added sarcastically. " About once every twelve or thirteen minutes." " Well, that's what makes it all seem so queer to me. Here I am half-full and yet I am not a drinkin' man. I don't drink a drop, Patsy, not a drop. I used to drink, Lord, you know that, don't you? but I don't drink now. Funny, isn't it? " It was four o'clock in the afternoon of an August day. Trade was always slack at that hour, Patsy Burke explained; in fact, he was in the habit of dozing comfortably over the Police Gazette. The soda-founts and ice-cream parlours on Main Street took his cus- tomers away from him at that time o' day. Later on, SHERRY 7 of course, about six or half-past, say, things would pick up. The same fellows who went into the drugstores for phosphates and sundaes would drop in at his place, not always for the purpose of getting something stronger to drink but to see who was there, and they would stay on till supper-time. (Patsy did not know that some of his more advanced custom- ers called it dinner-time.) The saloon was quiet, and dark, and delightfully cool from the refrigerators that preserved the " draft beer." There was chipped ice beneath the bar, and the tiled floor was in a constant state of being washed with cold water by a sleepy negro who paused in his mop- ping every now and then to restore his failing energies at the proprietor's expense. The glare of the hot sun failed to penetrate to the interior of this cool retreat; two huge ceiling fans stirred the damp, sluggish air with gentle persistence; the glassware ranged along in front of the vast mirror glistened pleasantly and re- flected cleanliness ; bottles of many hues lent cheer and gaiety to the almost cloister-like retreat; ecclesiastical somnolence prevailed ! Except for the sticky fly paper at the opposite ends of the bar, somewhat ostentatiously protected from human elbows by plates of free-lunch, which con- sisted of crackers, cheese, dried herring, ham-sausage and pickles, the place was as immaculate as a chapel. An artistic manipulator of castile soap had placarded the borders of the long mirror with such legends as these : " We won't go home till morning," " One good turn deserves another," "All others cash," while di- rectly above the elaborately carved stretch of mahog- 8 SHERRY any Patsy, a true wag, had hung this motto, done in green and yellow worsteds : " God Bless Our Home." Three large and flourishing palms, set in tubs, es- tablished the boundary line between bar and billiard room. There were four tables, two for pool in the foreground and two for billiards at the back ; all of them were now neatly swathed in their black oilcloth shrouds, awaiting the reviving influence of electric lights later on in the evening. Racks of cues and tri- angles of pool balls were solemnly at rest in the dark- ened area beyond the palms, for this was their sleep- time. Outside the palms were two small tables, each offi- cered by a tiny but business-like call-bell, while in the corner nooks on either side of the street-door stood similar objects. At one of the latter, two men were seated, sporty looking chaps who conversed in con- fidential tones, as is their wont. This was the fashionable saloon of the town. The best men in the place did their shopping there. Even the travelling salesmen who, in all reason, should have patronized the bars connected with the Tremont House and the New Savoy, where they were registered and where they were on speaking terms with all of the wait- resses, (both hostelries had tried coloured waiters and found them wanting) even the " drummers " af- fected the Sunbeam, which happened, through rare good luck or because of a stupid miscalculation on the part of the owners of the two hotels, to be so advan- tageously situated that if you missed either of the hotels you couldn't help finding yourself in front of SHERRY 9 the Sunbeam. In other words, it was two doors west of the Tremont and three doors east of the New Savoy, and just across the street from the Grand Opera House. It had its regular clientele. Selecting any one of a certain number of men and hitting upon the exact min- ute, say, eight-thirty-five in the evening, or half- past eleven in the morning, or a quarter before twelve at night, you would only have to dodge into the Sunbeam and there he would be, unless, of course, the unforeseen had transpired unbeknownst to you, such as his sudden death or a necessary visit to Chi- tzSJL~tL- - ,-yX-o-^.JL ^u^t^v. Of* Mil * v,. r ^ a *y^ / f a _^ i t ^ ' r J . . Tf /J, ' f ^ lCuJ *-?j I Believing himself doomed to a place among the muckers, he cast restraint to the wind and increased his excesses. He despised the profligates as deeply and as utterly as any one else in college; there was a grain of comfort for him in the belief that if he re- , framed from drinking as they drank he would not be put in a class with them. It was his rather pitiful boast that he didn't " trail " that crowd, and yet he knew that it was with them that he really belonged. He had the instincts of the true gambler. His methods were daring yet cautious. In his senior year he was regarded as the shrewdest card-player in col- lege. Fair-minded, wild-hearted lad that he was, he never rejoiced in winning from his friends. To them SHERRY 17 he preferred to lose. It went against the grain to " clean out " the fellows he liked, and who, as he knew, in most cases could ill-afford to lose. Once and only once did he sit in a game of poker with the " vulgar rich," as he called the little coterie of outsiders. The news went around next day, fol- lowing an all-night session in the Babylonian apart- ment of a spoilt young New Yorker, that Sherry Red- path had " trimmed " them in a most historic manner. Stories of his " winnings " varied. The lowest figures breathed by sophisticated seniors put them at two thousand dollars, while one freshman wrote to a friend in Harvard that Sherry had won a trifle over one hun- dred thousand. The whole student-body rejoiced, not over his winning but because the others had lost. Deceived by the universal glee, he took upon himself a great deal of glory; he found comfort and happi- ness in the belief that his fellows were grateful to him for having " massacred " the Philistines. For many a day he lived in an atmosphere of su- preme self-exaltation, only to come smashing to earth with the sickening discovery that he was not wanted in the exclusive senior society for which his name had been proposed. He was, in a sense, blackballed. He never got over the sting of that humiliating and, to him, astonishing slap in the face. It meant, in plain words, that he wasn't desirable. He left college hating ,the years he had spent there, despising himself for his mistakes, scoffing at the de- gree he carried home to his mother, and cursing the ill-fated loyalty that ordered him to sacrifice his strength and good-nature for three successive sea- 18 SHERRY sons to the development of the 'varsity foot-ball eleven when, as viewed in retrospect, he was certainly entitled to a place in the first squad instead of among the drudging, buffeted scrubs. It never occurred to him, in his sullen fury, that abstinence from alcohol is not the only requirement exacted by the trainers and coaches. His mother, still bejieving him to be impeccable, pursued her course of folly ; she sent him off on a lux- urious and extended trip around the world. He was in upper India when she died, quite suddenly. Many days went by before word of her death reached him in Bombay. Since leaving college, and with her tacit consent, if not actual approval, he had abandoned his stand in regard to strong drink, (it was her stand, not his, he was wont to argue), taking to the mild indulgence that is supposed to establish manhood on the estate once occupied by adolescence. His mother had cried a little over him, though she managed also to smile, when he came home a bit tipsy for the first time. He was careful after that, and drank sparingly. He did not like the tipple he was taking in order to become a man. During the two or three months of idleness at home prior to the long trip around the world, his behaviour was quite exemplary. Despite the raw edges left by his disappointments at college and the consequent grudge against fate, he managed to conduct himself so admirably, that he was in danger of being referred to as a " molly-coddle." It was not until he was far off in the Orient that he found pleasure and stimulation in drink. He fell in with SHERRY 19 brandy-drinking Englishmen and expatriated Amer- icans in Japan and China, where drink is food, and, still disliking the stuff, drank steadily and heavily be- cause it was his nature to excel, if such is the word, in any contest with his fellow-man. The death of his mother, whom he loved with all his wild, hungry heart, was the final, desolating trag- edy. The winds from that day on took care of his development. He sowed with the wind and he reaped with it as well. A fortune of three hundred thousand dollars came to him as recompense for the loss of the one person whom he loved and who, he believed, was the only one to love him. He despised the money. He could look upon it only as something substituted for that of which he had been robbed, something in the shape of palliation, something he ought to be thankful for be- cause it is the beloved of all mankind. It is not necessary to go into the history of the next five years. Young Redpath went the pace that kills. Money ran through his fingers like water through a sieve. He drank and gambled and squandered with such amazing recklessness and perseverance that even to him the end was soon in sight. He did not have to be told by the wise men of the town that he was going to the devil. He knew it quite as well as they, and he did not resent their well-meant advice. In fact, he rather enjoyed having them preach to him, for it gave him many a laugh that otherwise he might have missed ! Paris, London, Monte Carlo, Rome, all of them, took tribute from him. His trips to New York and Chicago were referred to as " classic " by envious SHERRY would-be sports in Farragut, but they were looked upon as something else by the fathers and mothers of these same young men. His name was the synonym of all the vices known to man. He was pitied and feared and scorned by every soul in Farragut. Small chil- dren were told that they would grow up to be like Sherry Redpath if " they didn't behave." Strange as it may appear, his degradation was not in any sense accelerated by the central figure in the well-known trinity: wine, women and song. A singu- lar, almost unnatural wisdom preserved him from the wiles of the women who despoil. He was uncanny in his ability to avoid the gravest of all co-operatives in the career of the squanderer. He had no respect for man, but he succeeded in keeping his respect for woman. Evil in woman was repulsive to him. He re- fused to look upon the bad woman, and the good woman was not allowed to look upon him. Of this state of affairs he was acutely sensible. So he avoided both the good and the bad, and owed nothing to either. And then came the day when he had to pause and take stock of himself and his affairs. He estimated himself on a piece of hotel notepaper. His hand was unsteady, his eye wavering, but his brain was strangely clear. Piled in front of him were a score of bills, long overdue, his tailor and hatter and all the rest of them. His check-book revealed the extent of his bal- ance in bank, all that was left of the handsome for- tune handed down by his mother. He had had no drink that day. For half an hour he wrote checks, a grim smile at the corners of his mouth, a frown in his eyes. His extreme gravity in purchasing fifty cents' SHERRY 21 worth of stamps at the news-stand so impressed the young lady behind the counter that she assisted him in licking and putting them on the hotel envelopes. Then he went to the desk and paid for the stationery, much to the clerk's surprise, and also demanded, with con- siderable impressement, his bill for the past six weeks. It amounted to ninety-seven dollars and thirty-five cents. This called for further calculations on the sur- face of a blotting pad, together with countless attempts to subtract something from something else on the last stub in his check-book. Finally he gave forth a deep sigh of relief and triumph and asked for the loan of a fountain-pen. He had conquered his balance completely. Handing over the check to the clerk, he said: " Give me the rest in cash, Harry, two dollars and ninety-three cents." Receiving the cash and the receipted bill, he made his way down the sweltering street to the stand of Nicky the bootblack. " Polish 'em up, Nicky," he said, taking his seat in the chair. "How much do I owe you?" he inquired, later on, squinting at the highly polished shoes. " I mean all-told." Nicky consulted his vest-pocket ledger, a look of res- ignation in his eyes. Was he about to have ten cents added to the account? " One dollar sixty-five, Mr. Redpath," said he, gloomily. " Take it out of this," said Sherry magnificently, thrusting a two-dollar bill into the little Italian's hand. He jingled the change in his pocket as he sauntered 22 SHERRY away, leaving Nicky in such a state of excitement that he ran after him for fifteen or twenty paces, trying to wipe invisible specks of dust from the far from sta- tionary extremities of his late customer and debtor. The spendthrift dropped in at the little flower shop near the corner, where he bought a gay boutonniere. The young lady pinned it on the lapel of his crumpled blue serge coat. " Sprucing up a bit today, old sport," said she, with fine disregard for conventionality. " What's the mat- ter? Goin' to a masquerade? " " How much? " said he, ignoring the flippancy. " Fifteen centuaries," said she. " Two for a ko- vort. Better take two. Then you'll be sure you're seein' two instead of one." " Hush, Minnie," said he gently, and strolled away. Presently he entered the Sunbeam. He was square with the world and still had ten cents in his pocket. He did not owe a penny to anybody. An hour later the owner of the saloon came into the place. He was likewise the owner of the biggest brewery in the town. Redpath was sound asleep in a chair under one of the boundary palms. " Throw him out o' here, Burke," growled the owner, glaring at the flushed, perspiring face of the sleeper. " This ain't a drunkards' home. He's nothing but a bum now, and you'll have him sneakin' in here every day for just that sort of thing if you don't nip him at the start. Throw him out. It don't look pretty havin' a loafer like that " " He's left a good many thousands o' dollars on this bar, Herman," said Patsy absently. SHERRY 23 " Well, he got his money's worth, didn't he ? " " I'll wake him up," said the barkeeper. " Tell him to get out and stay out." " I won't have to do that. He beat me to it. He ain't coming back any more. He's reformed." Herman Schwick stared. " Refor well, for the love o' " Patsy was shaking Redpath gently by the shoulder. "Wake up, Sherry. You'll ketch cold settin' out here in the woods." CHAPTER III THE proprietor's heart smote him. He knew how it felt to wake up with a head. " Say, Sherry, have a drink on the house. It will do you good. Patsy, fix him a Tom Collins." Redpath straightened up, and met Schwick's eye. " Nothing doing, Herman. Not even a pick-me-up. I've cut it out." " You need a bracer to " " No, thank you." Schwick looked troubled. " Men don't break off sudden like this, Sherry. It's bad. Taper off grad- ually." Redpath moved toward the door. He was quite steady on his legs, but his head was going round. " Guess I'll slip out before the regulars ooze in. I can't buy drinks for 'em any more, Herman, so I'll not use up valuable space waiting for some one else to thaw. So long, Patsy. Good-bye, little Sunbeam ! " His hand described a sweeping farewell to the four corners of the bar-room ; a whimsical smile spread over his face. " I may drop in again all togged out in a Salvation Army suit, passing my little tin box around for spare change, or I may come in as the iceman, but otherwise, never again ! So fare-thee-well, merry Sunbeam. Good-bye, palm trees and free-lunch, and good-bye, booze ! "i^tr4u!^ Patsy followe'd him to the door. Except for Her- 24 SHERRY 5 man Schwick, in his crisp linen suit, the bar was empty. The court-house clock was banging the hour of six. The sidewalk was almost deserted. Pedestrians were using the opposite side of the street, keeping to the shade. " Where are you going, Sherry? Still got your room in the Tremont ? " " No. I've got two suit-cases and a hat box in the check-room over there, but I say, Patsy, have you any use for a silk hat ? " " I never go to funerals," said Patsy, without a smile. " See here, what are you going to do for grub and a place to " " Patsy," said Redpath, with extreme gravity, " I'm going to be a squirrel and live on nuts. I've taken lodgings up in Compton's Woods, a large, airy room trimmed with oak and elm and with a nice green carpet that stretches as far as the eye can see. There's where I'm going to sleep while the weather lasts. I'll get plenty of fresh air on these hot nights, and there's running water with fish in it right at my elbow. All I'll have to do is to roll into Burton's Creek and roll right out again. Beats drawing a bath all to smash. Don't worry about me, Patsy. I'm young and I used to be strong. I'm going to sleep almost as long as Rip Van Winkle did, and when I get up you won't know me for the whiskers. Nobody will know me. That's how I'm going to deceive my prospective employer. He won't know until it's too late that I'm me and not old Santa Claus. Excuse me if I run along and " " Say, boy, I'm worried about you," said the bar- 26 SHERRY keeper, looking over his shoulder anxiously. " You ought to be 'round where you can have attention if you " " Oh, I'm not that far gone. I'll not get the dee- tees." " But you can't stop short with your hide full of the stuff, you know. You'll get sick or " "If I do I'll call in old Doc' Nature," said the young man, affecting airiness. Patsy laid a hand on his shoulder. " I like you, Redpath," he said, seriously. " You've played hell with your life, and I've watched you doin' it, and couldn't say a word. Now, I believe you got it in you to buck up and be a credit to yourself and this here town. The only way to do it, though, is to get started right. You got to get braced up and all set for the start. Fve got a closed-in porch up at my house on Ellum Street and a swingin' hammick in it. All you've got to do is to drop in late of evenin's, after the kid- dies are in bed, and the Missus and me will " " That's that's awfully good of you, Patsy," in- terrupted Sherry, his face turning a darker red. He looked away suddenly. " I couldn't think of bothering your wife and " " No bother at all. Nothing to it ! " " Thanks, but I think I'll stick to Compton's Woods." " Anyhow, in case it rains you can hike down to my house and turn in on the porch. And I'll fix you up with coffee and " " You're awfully good," repeated the young man, his voice husky. " Awfully." Then, after a moment, SHERRY 27 he squared his shoulders and smiled. " But I shan't need help. I'm going to fight it out alone. Never mind about me. As soon as I get pulled together a bit, I'll get out after a job. I don't care what it is, I'll take it. I'll sweep streets or curry horses, or any- thing. So long. I think I'll sneak up to Compton's Woods now and pick out a nice mossy bed and turn in. I need just forty-eight hours' sleep." He started away. Patsy called out after him: " Keep out o' the sun, kid. It's ninety-two right now. And don't forget about the hammick." " I won't," said Sherry, without looking back. He slept under the moon and stars that hot, stifling night. Below him lay the town, its sweltering thou- sands gasping for a breath of refreshing air. Not a leaf stirred in the trees above his grassy bed. Before he dropped off to sleep, his mind flew back to the days when, as a child, he had looked upon the dark, for- bidding vastnesses of Compton's Woods on the lofty hill as the abode of bandits, imps and all the foul crea- tures with which nursemaids threaten the noisy and sleepless when they have made sure that no one else is listening. He grinned sleepily as he looked, blear-eyed and stupid, into the still, peaceful clouds of foliage overhead, and pictured himself at the tender age of six howling his lungs out in terror at the very thought of being alone at night in Compton's Woods. There had been nightmares, peopled by the most horrific bogi- men ; the mere mention of Compton's Woods chastened him as no reprimand could have done. And what a quiet, harmless, dull place it was, after all! The barking of a dog put an end to his reflections. 28 SHERRY He was suddenly conscious of a glare in his eyes, but many minutes passed before he realized that it was broad daylight and that he was staring up through an aperture in the tree-tops at a fiercely white sky. The barking of the dog continued, sharp, staccato, very business-like barks. He rolled over on his side, blinking, and discovered an audience of two hard-by : a barefoot boy of ten and a bristling fox terrier. They were not ten feet away and both were eyeing him with an equally vast interest, not to say alarm. With his abrupt, convulsive move- ment the dog retreated a few paces, but the boy, per- haps through sheer inability to stir his stumps, re- mained motionless. "What do you want?" demanded Redpath, more gruffly than he knew. The boy began slowly to edge away. " What time is it ? " he went on, more gently, rubbing his hot, smarting eyes. " Gee," gasped the boy, " you are alive, ain't you ? " "Alive? Well, I should hope so. Is it rumoured that I am dead?" " I never saw a dead man. You looked like you might be one. But I guess I'll be going. Huh, Sport ! " With more haste than seemed really neces- sary the youngster scooted for the fence that paral- leled the distant roadway, preceded with even more unseemly haste by Sport. After a moment, Sherry sat up and laughed, not a hearty, joyous effort ; on the contrary, it was a pain- ful one. " I'd run too," he commented, aloud. " Well, it's to- SHERRY 29 ," he reflected, a puzzled scowl on his brow. " W'hen did it arrive ? Where did it come from so sud " He fumbled for his watch, and gazed dizzily at its bronze face. It was nearly one o'clock. " Holy Smoke ! One o'clock, and it must be afternoon. Get up, Rip! You've slept long enough. It may be next week for all you know. No, it's only tomorrow," he decided shrewdly. " Watch would have stopped Oh, what a thirst ! " He was lying on a mossy bank at the edge of Bur- ton's Creek, a clear, cool, swift little stream that gurgled appealingly. Crawling down to the edge he plunged his hot face into the water. He well knew it would be cold, for there were springs in the hill above that fed the stream. Drinking his fill, he sank back refreshed. " Too late to take my tub," he mused, regretfully. " Must get up earlier after this, if I'm to have a bath." Leaning back against the huge trunk of a tree, he rum- inated lazily, hazily. He craved something, but it was not food. His throat was parched, his skin felt tight and drawn, his eyes ached. It occurred to him that he ought to be hungry, very hungry, and then came the whimsical notion that if he could fall asleep again it wouldn't in the least matter whether he was hungry or not. " It's cheaper to sleep than it is to eat," he reflected, and rolled over into the shade. When next he opened his eyes he was in absolute darkness. A hoarse voice assailed his ears. He had just been dreaming of a thunder-storm. 80 SHERRY '* Wake up ; ye've had sleep enough for a lifetime." " Who the who is it ? " cried Sherry, sitting up, blinking his eyes. He could distinguish nothing except the bulky, indistinct trunks of trees, nothing Ah, one of them was moving ! And it was from this mo- bile tree-trunk that the voice issued ! " The Czar of Roosia," announced the bulk in a rich Irish brogue. A brilliant light flashed suddenly upon the rotund, smiling face of an old friend and supporter : Officer Barney Doyle, as genial a " cop " as ever lived, and a good one too. " Hello, Barney," mumbled Sherry. " Wha what am I wanted for? " " Bless me soul," cried Barney Doyle, running the light of his dark lantern over the recumbent figure, " ye're wanted for supper. Have ye an idee what time it is? Bedad, it's a quarter av twelve. Ye must be starved." " Supper ? I'm not hung yes, I am ! By George, I certainly am hungry! I never was so hungry in my life. Queer how suddenly it struck me " " Well, I've got a bountiful repast f er ye, as they say in the newspapers. D'ye mind Patsy Burke at the Sunbeam? Well, he drops in at roll-call this evenin' and says he to me, * Barney, who's workin' the upper half av the Sixt' Ward nights?' 'No wan but meself,' says I to him. * Well,' says he, 'would ye know Sherry Redpath if ye were to see him?' 'I would,' says I, ' if it were in the jungles av Africa.' * Thin,' says he, ' will ye do me a favour ? He's up there in Compton's Woods sleepin' off a five-year bun, and I'd like ye to take a stroll through the woods this night SHERRY 31 and see if ye can \o-cate him.' * Compton's Woods ? ' says I. * Sure,' says he, and started in to tell me where it is, a refliction on me ability as a policeman, bad luck to him. ' It is not on me beat,' says I ; ' and besides it's a dom big woods,' says I. * It'd be like lookin' fer a needle in a haystack.' * Thin ye won't do me the favour? ' says he, and called me a lot o* names I wouldn't take from another soul but Patsy Burke. * I'd do anything fer ye, Patsy,' says I, ' but I can't spind the night in Compton's Woods lookin' fer any- thing short av an assassin. I haven't been in the dom woods since I was a boy.' * Well,' says he, ' ye pass it by a half dozen times every night av your life, don't ye? Couldn't ye stroll in and take a look? Ye may be the means av savin' a man's life. Ye wouldn't want a fellow crature to freeze to death all alone up there in the woods, would ye ? ' ' Wid the temperature at the roastin' point,' I says, * no, I wouldn't ; and I'll take a walk t'rough the woods fer ye, Patsy,' says I. * Whin ye find him,' says he, * give him this box of grub ; and tell him there's a small lookin' glass and a razor and soap and brush in the bottom av the box. He's goin' to look for a job, and I don't want him sawin' wood in people's back-yards like a long whiskered bum/ says he. So here's the grub and, bedad, on me own hook I've added a toot' brush I bought fer ye. Knowin' ye as I do, I felt certain ye wouldn't be carryin* wan in yer vest pocket." Redpath listened attentively to the voluble copper. He was as hungry as a bear, but he wouldn't have in- terrupted Barney's discourse for anything in the world. 32 SHERRY " It was mighty fine of you, Barney, to come so far out of your way to " " God love ye, lad, I enjoy the change. Now niver mind thankin' me. Get to work on the grub. I'll tell Patsy I seen ye, and that ye are as well as could be expicted." He flashed his light in all directions and then, lowering his voice, inquired : " Would ye be feelin' the need av a drop av somethin' to pull ye to- gether? Say the word. I have it in me hip pocket." " No, thank you, Barney. I'm drinking nothing but Burton's Creek now," said Sherry, with a grin. " If you should notice that the creek is running dry, don't be alarmed. I've drunk barrels of it. Have you ever tasted water, Barney? " Barney appeared to reflect. " I have," he said. " It was once when I fell in the river below the bridge and swallied a couple o' buckets of it before they pulled me out. As I renumber it now, I didn't like the stuff. Well, 111 be movin' on. So long, lad. Save a bite o' that fer the breakfast. Ye might stop on the way downtown in the morning and get a cup av coffee at my house. I live at 14*33 Hooper Street, just be- low here a bit. I'll tell the old lady to Here, what's the matter wid ye? There's nothin' to be blubberin' about, lad. Have I said a word to hurt yer feelin's ? " Sherry had buried his face in his arm, and convul- sive sobs shook his long frame. It was some time be- fore he could speak, chokingly, to the burly policeman who stood over him and marvelled. " I'm just foolish, that's all, Barney. You you are awfully kind. I've never realized what it meant to have any one kind to me, because I've never felt that SHERRY 33 I needed it. I'll not forget you and Patsy. You're both fine." " Oh, hell ! " said Barney, resorting to what he thought was tactfulness. " Don't mention it. We'd do as much fer a dog. Bedad, I I wouldn't mind sleepin' out here in the woods meself, nights like this," he went on heartily. " It's a dom sight better than Well, so long, Sherry. Will ye, by any chance, be roostin' here tomorrow night ? " ** I suppose so. I'll not show my face in town until I'm in shape to convince people that I'm actually sober. Good night, Barney." " Sleep tight," said Barney, from the shadows. The sound of his footsteps died away. The young man ate his midnight repast with a relish. He had had countless suppers at midnight but not one had been as delectable as this simple feast of sand- wiches, hard-boiled eggs, cold chicken, bottled milk and doughnuts. With a sort of grim frugality he denied himself all that his new-born appetite demanded. He reflected that a day or two ago he would have eaten all that he wanted and thrown the rest away. But he was no longer a prodigal. He was careful to pre- serve in the pasteboard box every scrap that was left over, tucking it away as tenderly as the miser puts away his gold. This new sensation of thrift amused him. Sitting with his back to a tree, the box once more tied up with its good stout string, he allowed his thoughts to range with some clarity over a career of wastefulness. Long afterward he realized that he was holding the lunch-box tightly against his breast, and that he was 34 SHERRY gripping it with a strength that meant he would defend it as he would defend his life. It has already been stated that he was, despite his waywardness, a clean-minded fellow. He was quite as honest with himself as he was with the world to which he revealed his sporting integrity. He blamed no one but himself for his present condition ; he had no ax to grind, no grudge to feed. He believed in his soul that he could be and would be a nobler man without money than he could possibly be with it, unless it was ob- tained by no uncertain sacrifices on his part. There was not the remotest doubt in his mind, as he sat there in the black depth of Compton's Woods, that he would be able to fight his own way out of the slough into which he had deliberately and foolishly immersed himself. Indeed, he was looking forward with pleasur- able interest and a surprising zest to the struggle that lay ahead of hiim. His was an adventuresome nature; he liked to think of himself as opposed by difficulties which only courage and prowess could overcome. In a sense, he was a moral braggart, but in no sense a physical one. If pinned down to an analysis of this peculiar condition, he would no doubt have tranquilly contended that his life was his own and he could take care of it better than any one else, and this notwith-" standing the sickening muddle he had made of it. The night was dark; a starless sky hung over the black wood, and the world he had known seemed a mil- lion miles away. He could scarcely believe it had ever existed for him. He was alone ; it seemed to him that he was alone for the first time in his life. Slowly he became conscious SHERRY 35 that an odd sort of dread was stealing over him. He knew there was nothing to fear, and yet he shivered occasionally and caught himself listening for ominous sounds in the darkness, just as he had listened when a tiny boy in the great big bed-chamber where he slept alone. In those nights of childish terror he had called out shrilly and his mother had come to him. How long ago was that? He counted the years. They repre- sented ages now as he looked back to them. His mother had come to him, always she had come and quickly, and she had driven away the fear of night that caused his little heart to thump so violently. His mother ! She was sleeping alone over there in Greenvale Cemetery, ah, but not alone ! There were countless dead and ugly things lying beside her in He sprang to his feet, a cold sweat on his brow. She was alone over there ! Alone at night in that dreadful place. Hardly knowing what he did, he rushed headlong through the darkness, his eyes fixed on the faraway, straggling lights of the street that formed the lower line of Compton's Woods. He avoided the fallen and the upright trees, the boulders, the underbrush and the tiny ravines as though guided by Providence, and came at last to the broad clearing at the base of the hill. Gasping for breath, for he was no longer the trained athlete, he staggered weakly to the fence, and almost fell from the top of it upon the gravel side- walk beyond. CHAPTER IV A QUARTER of an hour later he was passing the long, low stone wall that formed the State Street front of Greenvale Cemetery. There were few houses in this part of the town, and street lamps were widely separated. He was a lonely pedes- trian in this sparsely settled region. The bark of a dog would have been a welcome, cheery sound in his ears, which now were filled with the noise of his own thick, heavy breathing and the pounding of his feet on the firm macadam roadway. But the night itself was as still as death, as still as the place he was coming to. Vaulting over the wall at a spot far below the big iron gates where stood the sexton's house, he made his way stealthily through the winding avenues and across the green sward to the place where his mother slept. It was a well-remembered spot; he had been there many a time before. Time and again, between his drinking bouts, he had visited her grave, always carrying flow- ers to lay upon the mound. He never forgot her, and he never went near her grave except when he was com- pletely sober. It was not maudlin sentiment that inspired the words he muttered as he lay face downward upon the lonely mound. They were tender, consoling words, bidding her to be not afraid ; he was there ; she was not K SHERRY 37 alone in the night; he would not leave until the dark- ness was gone. And when the first faint glow of sunrise stole in among the evergreens and ever-whites, he arose and stood looking down upon the place where he had lain. " The day is here," he said to her. " If I could, I would come to you every night. I cannot bear the thought of you being here all alone in the dead of night, with Ah, but Lord ! How well off you are I You are not here to see your son as he is today. You went away while I was still worthy of the hope and trust you had in me. You loved me then, and you'd love me now in spite of everything. You would never have ceased loving me. That's the rotten part of it. You would be loving me now just as much as ever, and you would have come to me up there in Compton's Woods tonight without a word, just as you came when I was a kid. Just because you were Mother." He brushed his hand across his eyes and turned away. A cock crowed in the distance. Lifting his head, he stood for many minutes watching the pink and grey light steal up into the blue-black dome. A soft breeze was blowing through the trees. Birds be- gan to chirp sleepily, and then with sudden vehemence burst into shrill and stormy acclaim. The sparrow, the pewee, the wren and the sweet-voiced thrush op- ened up their little throats and gave glad welcome to the new day, utterly unimpressed by the fact that they were in the city of the dead. He stood there amid the ghostly grave-stones, be- wildered by the sudden revelry, so sacrilegious and out- of-place. He opened his lips to hiss a shocked, re- 38 SHERRY proving, " Sh ! ", and then was conscious of a strange, amazing revival of his own spirits, so strange that he. wondered what had come over him. A curious light-heartedness affected him ; an inex- plicable sensation of energy, of exhilaration surged through him. He flung up his head and gazed about in the lessening gloom ; the breeze struck his face with a gentle, kindly touch ; his brain seemed in that instant to have been released from the trap that held it fast; his whole being shed something that was heavy and clumsy and pressing; he felt himself expand. In absolute wonder, he cried out aloud : "I I never felt like this before. I I guess I must be sober at last." Seized by an impulse that could not be resisted, he dropped to his knees beside his mother's grave and, with ineffable tenderness, patted the thick grass with his open hands, lovingly, caressingly. Then he leaped to his feet and strode briskly away. Vaulting into the roadway, he retraced his steps toward Compton's Woods. Cocks were now crowing everywhere; raucous voiced cocks and shrill, treble voiced fellows ; faraway cocks and cocks nearby; and all of them proud and happy cocks. " Gad ! " he cried exultantly, as he swung along. Houses and barns and poles and fences were taking shape in the growing dr.ylight, desolate objects that soon would stand out clear and sightly in the mellow dawn. " Gad ! " he repeated. " I'm hungry again." Soon he was wending his way among the sturdy oaks SHERRY 39 and elms of Compton's Woods, pointed like a hunter for the forgotten lunch-box. He essayed a joyous whistle, but his " wind " was not what it used to be. Rapid walking had told upon him. He panted, much to his disgust. As he drew near the spot where he had slept the early part of the night, he was greeted by an appari- tion that caused him to pause in no little surprise and considerable dismay. A burly, ragged, unkempt indi- vidual was examining the contents of the box with ob- vious interest and glee. " Hey ! " shouted Sherry, starting forward again. " Drop that ! Put it down, damn you ! " Every drop of blood in his body leaped to fighting heat. The stranger looked up quickly and was about to take to his heels with the treasure. A second glance at the gaunt, disheveled person who uttered the com- mand, encouraged him to stand his ground. The scowl deepened on his already unprepossessing face. " Come and get it, you shrimp," he roared, with a prodigious oath inserted for full measure of contempt. Sherry halted a few yards away. He was clear- headed now and sensible enough to take stock of his man before venturing into combat. Courage was by no means lacking. " It belongs to me," he said levelly. " The hell you say," sneered the tramp. " G'wan away now, you, or I'll beat the face ofPn you. Skip ! " His manner was most alarming. Sherry had sized him up. He was a big, flabby, but powerful looking fellow, filthy with the dust and sweat of travel. 40 SHERRY " I'll give you a minute and a half to put that box where you found it," said Sherry, cold with determin- ation. "You will, eh? Oh, you will? Why, you " Put it down ! " " Say, I don't want to hurt you, young feller. You look sick an' " " Put it down ! " "How do I know it's yours? And even if it was, it's mine now. Don't try any rough stuff or " " If you were half way decent, I'd share it with you," said the other. " You may be as hungry as I" " That's got nothin' to do with it. Beat it ! " Sherry hesitated. He was suddenly curious. " Say, answer this question before I fix you so that you won't be able to talk at all. Where did you spring from? " The tramp glared at him. " Come to think of it," he said, ominously, " I will put it down. I'll put it down just long enough to bump that purty face of yours so that your mother, damn her, won't know it." He hurled the box to the ground and advanced swiftly upon the young man. Sherry quickly placed a tree between himself and the approaching foe. " I fought so ! " roared the tramp. " Come out o' that till I " At that instant Sherry came " out o' that," divested of his coat. The light of battle was in his eye, the joy of a righteous cause in his soul. He sailed into his adversary like a whirlwind. SHERRY 41 " I'll show you ! " he shouted gleefully. He knew that he would have to make short work of the fellow. No one knew better than he the price that excesses such as he had practised exact of the strongest con- stitution. The vast strength of his old football days was still in his body but it was not to be depended upon in case of a prolonged encounter. The onslaught was so swift, so vicious, that the tramp, over-confident in his burliness, sustained the shock of his life. He was fairly smothered by the blows that rained upon his face and body. Almost be- fore he knew that the fight had begun, he was defending himself with fear in his soul. He tried to cover up, but the savage blows beat down his guard. It was too late to run away, much as he wished to do so. Never had he been so deceived as this! What was he up against? How could he possibly have dreamed that this pale- faced, hollow-eyed stranger was a prize fighter out for a morning sprint And just then he saw a mil- lion stars. The back of his head struck the ground first. He remembered that'much very clearly for half a second or so, and then he felt suddenly cold and wet. Somehow he was having great difficulty in getting his breath, and no wonder, for he was floundering face downward in a far from shallow place in Burton's Creek. When he did get his breath, it was more of a spray than a breath, he scrambled to his feet and dashed for the bank. With singular foresight, all the more remarkable because he couldn't see, he chose the bank farthest removed from the one he so lately had occupied. He slipped backward twice on the muddy 42 SHERRY ledge, but he persevered without so much as a glance behind. All the while he was sputtering something which might have been recognized, by stretching the imagination, as " for God's sake ! " Once out of the water, he shot a swift, scared look over his shoulder, but he did not pause. That glance revealed to him a tall, white-shirted figure standing very erect on the opposite bank, his chin high and his arms, what mighty arms they were ! folded across his chest, for all the world like a picture he had once seen of an actor, he couldn't at the moment remember who, representing somebody in one of Shakespeare's plays, he couldn't for the life of him remember which one it was. He was having a hard time of it remem- bering anything. There was one thing he had for- gotten more completely than anything else: the appe- tite that had got him into the trouble. But he never forgot that heroic, defiant figure on the opposite bank, nor the look of exaltation that transfigured the face of his conqueror. A hundred feet away, he slowed down to a walk, and turned to hurl anathemas and also a fair-sized stone at the motionless But the amazing creature sud- denly came to life and leaped forward in pursuit ! He did not see, for obvious reasons, but he distinctly heard the splashing of water and the hoarse shout of victory as the pursuer crossed the creek. With head thrown back and eyes lighted by the fire of a superlative ambition, the vagabond resumed his onward progress, this time with a purpose and inten- sity that left no room to doubt that he was in a great and vital hurry. Never in all his life had he tried to SHERRY 43 run so fast, and never had he seemed so distressingly stationary. As a matter of fact, a deerhound couldn't have caught him. When Redpath stopped to lean against a tree and laugh, his late adversary had picked up a lead of at least a hundred yards and was still running for dear life, crashing through obstructing underbrush and hurdling fallen logs with all the vanity of a scornful rhinoceros. Sherry watched him until he disappeared over the brow of a small hill, and then walked slowly back to the scene of battle. He was wet and exhausted, but he was very happy. " Gee," he said to himself, his hand pressed tight against his side, " I'm glad he didn't let me catch him. He would have made mince-meat out of me. I'm all in." Crossing the stream on the exposed boulders, he threw himself upon the ground and panted for breath. " But wasn't it great? " he mused blissfully. For an hour he lay there, gazing up into the cool green foliage, a queer little smile on his lips, reminis- cent of triumph, and, as the painful thumping of his heart subsided, a peacefulness stole over him, for he knew that he had made a good start up the long hill. He shaved with cold water and was philosophical about it. Then, glowing warmly, after a plunge into the stream, he set himself down to a most unusual breakfast. Never before had he partaken of lettuce sandwiches for breakfast, and never had he dreamed it possible for a sane person to relish pickles at that un- godly hour in the morning. He contrasted his cus- 44 SHERRY tomary breakfast of a piece of dry toast and a cup of coffee with this feast of sandwiches, eggs, pickles and Yes, fruit cake, and chuckled. Certainly he was entertaining a strange man at breakfast. This couldn't be Sheridan W. Redpath who scraped up every crumb and devoured it so eagerly. Here was parsi- mony unequalled ! His thoughts ran down the hill to the home of Officer Barney Doyle, and they were of hot coffee. The mere thought of a brimming cup of coffee with thick cream well, the most exquisite longing engaged his vitals. Had the amount been in his pocket at that instant, he cheerfully would have given a hundred dollars for a cup of coffee. If only he had that last ten cents back in his fingers again ! What a glorious treat he could give himself down at the junction lunch-room! He ate with a vast pride and no little self-esteem. Had he not battled for and preserved his breakfast? There was a tremendous satisfaction in feeling that he owed his present state of contentment to a superior, though sadly battered, pair of fists, and a stout heart. Strange as it may seem, he had not the slightest craving for an alcoholic stimulant. The thought did not enter his head that he actually needed such a thing. He wanted coffee and nothing else. All that day he kept to the woods. By nightfall he was ravenously hungry. From time to time dur- ing the day he inspected himself in the little mirror, and always he shook his head resolutely. His eyes were inflamed and his hand shook as he held it up for inspection. SHERRY 45 " No," he said ruefully, " you won't do yet, Sherry. You're just one notch removed from a hang-over, and everybody on earth hates a hang-over. You're not all here yet, not by any means. I certainly can't afford to be seen on the streets with you in your present con- dition. People wouldn't have a particle of confidence in me if they saw me associating with you. They'd say I was in very bad company." He looked himself over. His linen was far from immaculate, his blue serge suit needed pressing badly. He sighed. " Pretty seedy, old top, pretty seedy. I shudder when I look at you. I'd hate to meet you in a lonely spot on a dark night." He sighed again. " I see that I'll have to take a run into the city tonight, when all the good people are asleep, and reclaim your wardrobe." His fingers encountered the round brass hotel check in his trousers pocket. " It gives me an awful shock when I come in contact with that infernal check. It feels like a half dollar, and for a second or two I think I'm rich again." From his sequestered hiding-places in the depths of Compton's Woods he could see the roadway below. As the day wore on, he became aware of an increasing interest on the part of the people who passed along this more or less unfrequented street in the outskirts of the town. Even from a great distance he could see that pedestrians were gazing intently into the wooded region above. Drivers of delivery wagons leaned for- ward and searched the forest with unmistakable cu- riosity. People in automobiles pointed their fingers in a vaguely general direction and put their heads to- gether as if living up to the theory that two heads 46 SHERRY are better than one when in doubt. Moreover, he no- ticed, as the afternoon progressed, that the number of passing automobiles increased. Most of them moved with funereal slowness and some of them actually stopped at points of special vantage. He was not long in grasping what it all meant. A bitter smile came to his lips and a look of dismay to his eyes. " The whole darned town knows I'm up here," he reflected, clenching his sore hands. " They're prob- ably saying I'm completely surrounded by whisky bot- tles, loaded to the guards, guzzling and sleeping and guzzling again. Lordy, what are they not saying! Probably saying that women are not safe as long as I'm at large, that children mustn't come within a mile of Compton's Woods, that I ought to be locked up and then run out of town ! The newspapers are describing me as a wild man of the woods, and all the old fogies in town are saying * I told you so.' That scamp of a Sherry Redpath is up there drinking himself to death, * thank the Lord, that's what they're saying, and * What a God's blessing it is that his poor mother is in her grave and can't see her son now.' Rubber, you infernal idiots ! You can't see me from the road, and there isn't one of you that's got nerve enough or char- ity enough to come in here to see what's become of me. I might die of starvation for all you care. Enjoy yourselves ! " He leaned forward to devote his undivided attention to a certain object. " Well, can you beat that? As I'm alive, it's Uncle Henry and Aunt Phoebe taking in the sights ! Show- SHERRY 47 ing me their new car, too. Now that's nice of them. What a beautiful new Ford they've got! They want me to see it before they have it washed. What kind, thoughtful people they are! Cheering me up always. Couldn't bear to think of me dying up here without having something pretty to look at before I croak. Returning good for evil, too. Showing me they've forgiven me for punching Cousin Ben's nose last spring when he called me down for saying hello to him on Main Street." When nightfall came he eagerly made his way down to the lower end of the woods. Barney Doyle would be along soon, traversing the lonely street on his first round of the night. With gleeful anticipation, he waited at the point where Hooper Street intersected Compton's Road. Here he would intercept the kindly policeman and His soul turned sick with the possibility of disap- pointment. Barney would surely come, but would he bring another box from the wonderful Patsy? And Barney came and was startled almost out of his helmet when the half-famished, eager young fellow sprang over the fence, squarely in his path, and cheer- ily ordered him to throw up his hands ! This time there was a thermos bottle filled with hot coffee, besides an even larger box than the one of the night before. " Me old lady sends ye the coffee with her kindest re- gards," said Barney, " and I'll run ye in if ye don't return that bottle by six in the mornm'." " You tell her I'll kiss her if I ever meet her," cried Sherry, happier than he had ever been in his life. 48 SHERRY " See that ye do," said Barney, magnanimously. " She hasn't had a young felly kiss her in twenty-five years, and, bedad, I think she'd enjoy it." The cheery policeman stopped for half an hour, chatting with the young man while he ate of the good things the barkeeper had sent up to him. " There's a bum in j ail this minute who says they's a crazy man up in Compton's Woods," said Barney. " And by the looks av him I'd say he was an uncom- monly vicious lunatic. I never saw such a pair av eyes as the poor divil's got." He left a couple of Chicago newspapers with Red- path, and went his way with an ill-timed prayer for rain. The country was parched from the effects of a six weeks' drought. A thunder-storm was the only thing that would cool off the air, and a three days' rain was needed. Or, at least, so said Barney Doyle. Far back in the wood, Sherry built a little fire that night, and lying close beside it, read the papers. He had not failed to observe that Barney tactfully neg- lected to leave either of the local dailies. CHAPTER V HIS third day in the woods brought a beautiful adventure. He awoke bright and early and hungry. His first act was to take account of himself in the looking-glass, and his spirits went up with a bound. The bleary droop was gone from his eyes ; they looked back at him with something of their old brightness and vivacity. Despite a certain blood- shot condition, which he knew time alone could erad- icate, they were most agreeably clear and direct. The old smile was in them and they no longer blinked uncertainly when he tried to focus them on any def- inite object. He sang as he splashed in the cold waters of Burton's Creek, and whistled as he shaved. And glory be! the coffee was still hot in the thermos bottle. His spirits soared higher and higher. Late the night before he had stolen down the back streets and, long after twelve o'clock, presented him- self at the check-room in the Tremont. From one of his suitcases he brought forth a supply of clean linen, his hair-brushes and a long-despised bottle of lilac toilet-water. The pipe he had smoked in college was also forthcoming, and a tin of smoking tobacco that he had forgotten he possessed. Rolling these articles up in a newspaper he tramped back to his lodgings in the wood, but not until the night watchman, who was also the hotel valet, had pressed his blue serge suit. 49 50 SHERRY A day or two more of the simple life in the woods and he would be as fit as a fiddle. He remarked, how- ever, as he grew stronger and his brain cleared, that it was impossible to rest comfortably on the hard bed that Mother Earth provided for him. This, he ar- gued, was most encouraging. Only a night or two be- fore he wouldn't have cared whether his bed was hard or soft. A greensward is all very well when you are drunk, but it is a cruelly unresponsive thing when you are sober. His mind took frequent excursions to the hammock in Patsy Burke's porch ; it would swing very nicely between two stout saplings and He sighed deeply. Alas, he had a thousand saplings at his com- mand but not a single hammock. Shortly after breakfast he started off on a long walk through the woods, his pipe going busily. He had cut for himself a stout walking-stick and in the band of his panama hat he had jabbed the gaudy wing-feather of a blue- jay. With all the cunning of a forest- dweller, he made safe the remnants of his breakfast by hiding it among the thick branches of a stately oak. His discarded linen, clumsily washed in the stream, hung out to dry on a less imposing tree ! Right jauntily he swung along through the shady bois, he employed the French because his mood was gay, twirling his stick and whistling an inconstant air. " Bedad," he said, abandoning the French for Bar- ney Doyle, " if I felt any better I'd die." Compton's Woods spread out over a huge tract of land, running back from the city to a point nearly three miles from Hooper Street, its northern boundary. SHERRY 51 Topographically it represented a succession of hills and vales covered by an apparently endless sweep of timber. For many years this expanse of forest-land had been in litigation. As far back as one could well remem- ber, excepting the oldest inhabitant, of course, Compton's Woods had been in the courts, the battle- ground of countless lawsuits, apparent compromises and renewed wrangles. Combative heirs could not be induced to agree upon a partition of the property; so bitter was the animosity governing the conflict that neither side would give an inch. Through a sort of hereditary spite on the part of the contestants the forest remained as God created it, and no man's hand had been allowed to improve upon His handiwork. Narrow, serpentinous dirt roads transversed the tract by virtue of a necessity which disregarded property rights, and on these roads certain unrestrained farm- ers and gardeners found a " short cut " to the lower end of the city. In the main, however, the roads were unfrequented. They were not inviting to motorists, and, in these days of rapid transit, even the most lowly of agriculturists prefers the long road to the short one if only to keep his place in the procession along the broad highway, where he may see and be seen, a product of advancing civilization. South, east and west ranged the broad grain-fields, the level savannas, and the stock-farms of the ever-com- plaining but independent agriculturists. Compton's Woods stood like a green oasis in the midst of a sheer desert of yellow wheat-fields at the time of which I write. The harvesters were at work in the fields; the 52 SHERRY threshers would soon be grinding away in their place. On one side of the tract ran the huge farms of the Compton family ; on the other those of their bitter en- emies, the Burtons. In all that part of the State there were no wealthier, no more powerful landed interests than those represented by the holdings of the Comp- tons and the Burtons. For fifty years they had fought each other vindictively because a common grandfather had grievously erred in the matter of a title to the stretch of timberland that lay between them. In the old days, when the sword was mightier than a pen in the hands of any lawyer, they had fought with sanguinary effect in the recesses of the wood, and many a Compton had nursed a battered counte- nance as the result of such encounters, for, be it said, the Burton branch of the family was the sturdier and more primeval in its habits. The Comptons were con- fessedly " quality," while the Burtons were as " com- mon as dirt." That was in the old days. In these new days, the Burtons regarded themselves as simon-pure county aristocrats, while the Comptons no longer were a sig- nificant power in the community. Singular as it may appear, there were now no male Comptons, while the Burtons were fairly alive with masculinity. The male of the Compton species was apparently extinct; the ranks were beginning to be decimated as far back as the early nineties, and at the outset of the twentieth century there remained but one masculine member of the family, and he was venerable, if not venerated. His wife now survived him with her five daughters. There were aunts and female cousins in abundance, but SHERRY 53 no uncles except by marriage. The stock was thin- ning out. In place of Comptons there grew up an assortment of Browns, and Coles, and Binghams. On the other hand, Burtons were multiplying. There were sons and uncles and nephews without end; visibly the Burtons were bipeds. The petticoats of the fam- ily were acquired by means of the ancient and sacred rites of matrimony. And so it came to pass that there were a dozen heads to the Burton family, and but one for the clan of Compton : a sharp, autocratic little old lady who had mothered five daughters and despised herself even more than she pitied her husband. If she could only have brought one promoting Compton into the world! If she could only have had grandchildren named Comp- ton instead of Brown, Bingham, Cole, Stevens and O'Brien! (The youngest of the five had run away with and married a farm-hand whose Christian name was Patrick.) Mrs. Compton reigned alone in the midst of her acres. As far as the eye could reach in the southwest- ern part of the county the fields and pastures were hers. Her sons-in-law, with the exception of Patrick, went to the city to live to bring up their children. Patrick did not go to the city. He was still trying to obtain forgiveness for himself and his wife, after five years of unsuccessful effort, when a horse kicked him in the pit of the stomach and he died. Mrs. Comp- ton forthwith forgave her daughter. The Compton homestead, one might be justified in saying the Compton headquarters, was situated at the top of a long, sloping hill, not more than a quar- 54 SHERRY ter of a mile from the southern boundary of the woods. Visible to the eye for miles from at least three points of the compass, it was a singularly bleak and cheerless looking house of a quasi-colonial type: high and square and flanked by unimposing though practical wings which rambled off at various angles in the direc- tion of the huge barns, granaries and silos. A Vir- ginian forefather had built the house long before the Civil War ; each succeeding generation felt called upon to add something to it, the result being seen in the off- shooting wings with their shingled roofs, their brisk chimney tiles and their less severe fa9ades. The old part of the house was roofed with slate, escalloped in dual colours. The whole structure was of brick, each cube carefully outlined by a narrow, geometrically pre- cise strip of white. The four lofty columns protecting the porch and gallery that fronted the house were snowy white and sometimes glistened in the sun. It was here that the family conclaves were held, and the Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners, and, not in- frequently, dances to which young people from town were brought in bob-sleds or automobiles by the en- terprising grandchildren of the mistress of the house. Sherry Redpath, having traversed the length of Compton's Woods in his joyous stroll, sat down in the shade of the most southern oak and gazed passively at the not distant birthplace of all the Comptons. A wide macadam highway skirted the lower end of the woods. By travelling directly westward for four miles one would come to the homes of the Burtons. The sons and daughters of this family had stood by the soil. They were content to remain farmers or farm- SHERRY 55 ers' wives. Their homes were modern and substantial, and there were half-a-dozen of them scattered over the family possessions. There was something arrogant, even Teutonic, in the smugness of these carefully placed houses, like so many fortresses guarding ex- posed territory. Young Redpath knew birt little of the history of the two families. The grave disputes were of another gen- eration ; today, the survivors merely sat quiescent in the midst of their belongings and refrained from open conflict. Sherry's interests were of the city, not of the country. A farm was, to him, no more than a suc- cession of fields, populated by cattle, and sheep, and horses, and conducted for the sole purpose of supply- ing city people with the necessities of life. He knew two or three of the younger Burtons, and, in a remote way, several of the granddaughters of old Mrs. Comp- ton. They were little girls in the grade-schools when he was in the high-school. When he came home from college he found them in long frocks and easily diverted by the attentions of young gentlemen. They were all, at this time, somewhat vague to his memory. The riches of the old lady on the hill meant nothing to him, for he too had been rich in his day. He did not envy her the possession of all these acres. There was no rancour in his heart. He had no grudge against the well-to-do and prosperous. His only thought of Mrs. Compton as he gazed upon her habita- tion was one of pity because she was old and her course so nearly run. He pitied her because he was so young and had so much ahead of him to live for. Suddenly his gaze fell upon a solitary figure that ap- 56 SHERRY peared as if by magic in the avenue leading up to the house on the crest of the hill. It was some time before he realized that the figure had emerged from the thick hedge that lined the avenue, evidently employing a short cut to the big gate at the bottom of the hill. There was a swiftness in the approach of the pedestrian that signified more than an ordinary effect of haste, and a purposefulness in the hunched attitude that soon ex- plained itself in the laboured effort to manage two heavy suitcases, pendant at the extremities of a pair of rigid arms. He observed the costume of the person who struggled so manfully with the two bags and yet was as far from being manly as any creature he had ever seen. It was tan coloured, surmounted by a smart, somewhat rakish panama hat from which flut- tered the ends of a green veil. Arriving at the bottom of the lane, the young person dropped the two bags and, before opening the gate, stretched her lithe, slender figure in very evident relief and relaxation after a strenuous, back-breaking quar- ter of a mile. Then she opened the long, white gate, and, with pos- itive dismay, took up her double burden again. The unseen watcher at the edge of the wood was sharply aware of a suspicion concerning this toiling young woman. He glanced at his watch, and found that it was a few minutes after seven o'clock. His conclusion was instant and startling. The young person in the tan dress was making way with the Compton family plate! She was an early bird! A thrill of excitement swept over him. Here was a pretty kettle of fish. What was he to do? Stop her SHERRY 57 and turn her over to the police or Just then she sat down upon a huge boulder at the roadside and patted her brow with a small white handkerchief. The bags reposed at her feet. Ah! He knew what was coming! An accomplice in an automobile would dash up in a minute or two and whisk her off with the booty, And what an uncommonly pretty girl she was, too ! He couldn't recall having seen a prettier one. From time to time she looked anxiously down the road, and once or twice sent an apprehensive glance toward the house at the top of the hill. Her shoulders sagged a little. He was close enough to see that she breathed deeply and rapidly as if from exhaustion. Presently her eyes fell upon him. He was not more than fifty feet away, and there was unmistakable in- terest in the gaze with which he favoured her. Her body stiffened, her breathing seemed to stop altogether. She appeared to be extremely ill-at-ease, not to say dismayed. He found himself wishing that the automob'le would hurry along and relieve her anxiety. It wasn't any of his business if she got away with the Compton silver and jewels. He certainly wouldn't interfere. If old Lady Compton left her plate and jewels lying loose about the house, she ought to expect to have them " lifted." In any event, he wouldn't pounce upon a creature so helpless and so tired and so pretty as this one, and drag her back to the scene of her crime, not for anything in the world. He was not such a brute as all that. Besides, the old lady probably did not know how to treat a servant, especially a pretty one, 1 no doubt underpaid and overworked her. 58 SHERRY He stared with renewed interest when she nervously pulled down the top of a long glove and glanced at the watch on her wrist. Rather a smart, unusual sort of servant, he thought. The longer he looked, the more he was convinced that she was decidedly unusual, even in these days when it is so difficult to distinguish be- tween mistress and maid unless you know the name of the dressmaker. She had quite an air about her, quite a definite air. She was frowning now and tapping the ground im- patiently with a small, neatly shod foot. He began to feel ashamed of himself. Certainly it was not very gentlemanly to be lounging across the way and staring her out of countenance. In some embarrassment, he came to his feet and stretched himself with poorly as- sumed indifference. To his surprise, she also sprang up, and grasped the handles of the heavy bags. She lifted them with an effort, and, without so much as a glance in his direction, started off down the road in the direction of town. He watched her progress for some minutes, and was not surprised when she set the bags down to rest her weary arms. Really, thought he, she ought not to be carrying those stupendous Why, she was such a slim, dainty little thing, and yet how manfully and resolutely she took up her burden again ! Once more she was off, the bags banging against her knees, her Tiead bent to the toiling. He came to an abrupt decision. The confounded ;automobile wasn't coming after all. Something had gone wrong with her plans. But that was no reason why he, a big, strong lout, should allow her to carry SHERRY 59 those bags, no matter what they contained. He was not long in overtaking her. x The fence was still be- tween him and the road along which she trudged so arduously. " I beg your pardon," came an eager, masculine voice to her ears. She stopped short and dropped the bags. He distinctly heard her murmur, " Oh, dear me ! " and then she faced him defiantly. His hands were on the top rail of the fence, but her manner had a strangely subduing effect on his ardour. " I am not going back," she began, with decision in her eyes if not in her voice, which suffered sadly from lack of breath. " Not a bit of it," he exclaimed promptly. " I should say not. I don't want you to go back. Allow me to suggest that " " Nothing, nothing in the world will induce me to go back," she went on, her voice gaining strength and a deeper, more natural note. He thought it a very lovely voice. " I don't care who you are, or what you intend to do, I " " Please don't be alarmed," he made haste to reas- sure her. " I'm not a detective. I only want to help you with those bags. You needn't be afraid of me. If you'll let me carry them for you 1 , I'll be as happy as a well, as anything." She drew herself up. " Thank you, but I think I can manage them." " They're awfully heavy," he reminded her. " I'm really an uncommonly strong chap, and if you'd " " What are you doing out here in the woods at this hour of the morning? " she demanded sharply. 60 SHERRY "Enjoying a constitutional," he explained. "You see, I'm taking a rest cure. May I enquire if it is your intention to walk all the way to town, carrying these bags?" " Unless I can catch a ride," she replied, melting a little. " I should think some one would be coming along in a car or wagon before Are you sure you are not employed to watch I should say, didn't my grandmother ask headquarters to send some one up to" " Your grandmother? " " Yes. Don't you know who I am? " " I regret to say that I " " Well, I'm glad of that," she said, composedly. " Thank you, and good day." She stooped to take up the bags again. " You will not pick up a ride at this time o' day," he declared, noting with satisfaction that she strained a little at the lifting. " Too early, you see, for mo- torists, and the rubes don't go to town until after they've done a half-day's work. Besides, it's Thurs- day. Saturday's their day. A quarter-past seven. It's a good three miles to the nearest street-car line, and by the way, it looks like rain. See those clouds?" She walked slowly, very slowly, her feet set straight ahead but her ear turned toward the tempter. " We need rain badly," she said. " What have you got in those bags? " he demanded suddenly, a marked change in his voice. CHAPTER VI SHE stopped and faced him, but did not relin- quish her grip on the handles. " None of your business," she said, flushing. " Please do not annoy me any " " What did you mean by ' headquarters ' a moment ago? Why should police headquarters be sending a man out here to watch Mrs. Compton's house? And what are you doing out here at this time of the morn- ing? Looks like a getaway to me." " Getaway? What do you mean? " " You know what I mean." She paled slightly. " If you if you mean that I am stealing anything from How dare you ! " " Well, if you haven't anything but your own prop- erty in those bags you'll let me carry 'em for you," he expounded. She surprised him by smiling, radiantly. " Oh, dear me! It does look as though I was making off with the family plate, doesn't it? How thrilling! And how shocking ! " " Thank heaven, you're innocent ! " he cried. " How do you know I am innocent ? I may have the jewels " He was climbing over the fence. She stood her ground, unafraid. He looked honest, and a gentle- man. " I am looking for work," he said, stopping in front 61 s 62 SHERRY of her. " I'm not a tramp, but just a poor wretch who hasn't a penny to his name, no place to sleep ex- cept in the woods, and nothing to eat " " My goodness ! " she broke in, staring hard at his good-looking, eager face. " Why, why, is it possible that you are the Redpath person that every one is talk- ing about? The wild man of the woods? " " That's just who I am. Don't run away! I'm not dangerous, you know." " But but you are such a terrible so terribly dissipated. You " " Not a bit of it," he cried. " I don't drink a drop. I'm as sober as a judge 'Gad, a good deal soberer than some of them I happen to know. So you've heard of me, eh ? " " Everybody has," she confessed. " You are as famous as Zip the What-is-it or the Siamese Twins in Barnum's Circus. Now I understand. You haven't a penny. The whole county knows you haven't a penny. You poor thing!" " No sympathy expected," he said, unoff ended. " I'm stony broke and I'm happy." He hesitated a moment. " It just occurred to me that I might start out earning my daily bread by acting as porter for you this morning. I'll carry your bags to the car-line for twenty-five cents. That, I'm sure, will put us on the proper footing. You you've got twenty-five cents, haven't you? " His expression was one of con- cern. " Indeed I have," said she, a dubious shadow in her eyes. " But I have me doubts about you," she went on, affecting an Irish brogue. " It's a subterfuge SHERRY x 63 you're attempting. Why should you want to carry my luggage three miles for twenty " " I need the money," he said engagingly. " Surely you will not deny me the opportunity to earn an honest quarter, the first penny I've ever attempted to earn, mind you. You may be the means of starting me off on a brilliant, successful career. What I need, you see, is encouragement. I had planned to go down town today to look for a job. I'm going to " " They say you are utterly worthless, that you'll end up in the gutter or the Oh, I'm sorry ! L didn't mean to hurt your feelings." " You couldn't hurt 'em if you tried," he assured hei- cheerfully. " Don't look so distressed. Just give mer the job, that's all I ask." " What will you do with the quarter if I give it to you? " she demanded. " Buy drink with it? " " I shall keep it for ever as a lucky coin. Didn't you hear me say a moment ago that I don't drink? " " I have as much right to question your integrity as you have to question mine. You thought I was a, thief." " Well, supposing you are," said he, " what differ- ence should it make to a fellow who wants to earn a penny honestly? I don't know who you are, but I do know that you're in a tremendous hurry to get away from that house on the hill before any one catches you. I ask no questions, however. I offer my services at a price. You couldn't get any one else to carry them for you for less than a dollar, and there's not much chance for a lift at this ungodly hour." " I'll give you fifty cents," she said, after a moment, 64 SHERRY with a rueful glance at the bags. " You see, what makes them so heavy is this : I've got all of my toilet silver and photograph frames and don't laugh ! shoes, and my own private library, and some jars of strawberry preserve, do you like strawberry pre- serve ? besides as much of a wardrobe as I could stuff into " " Well, we'd better be on our way," he interrupted, with a sharp look up the hill. " Yes, I do like straw- berry preserve. Here, let me have those bags. Fifty cents on delivery." He took up the bags. " As light as feathers," he said. She did not stir. " You ought to know about me before it's too late," she said, nervously. " I don't want to involve you in any " " Come along ! " he urged impatiently. " Talk as we walk." She took her place beside him, and together they moved off briskly toward the city. He was surprised to find she was taller than he had at first thought. Indeed, now that she was relieved of the burden that dragged her down, she was quite well above the med- ium height for women. She was five feet seven or eight and as straight as an arrow. " You may get into all kinds of trouble, helping me in this way," she went on uneasily. " What with your reputation and my transgressions, we can't hope for much in the shape of amnesty if we are caught red- handed like this, so to speak. You see, I'm running away from home." He slowed up suddenly. " Running away ? You you don't mean that you are eloping? " SHERRY W " How could I be eloping? " she cried. " Who would I be eloping with? Do you see a man anywhere in the vicinity? You can't elope without having some one to elope with, can you? I said I was running away from home." " Is that your home up there? Old Mrs. Comp- ton's?" " It has been my home for fifteen years, but it isn't any longer. I'm leaving it for ever. She is my grand- mother, you know." " Oh ! I remember you mentioned a grandmother." He looked back over his shoulder. " By George, I be- lieve I'd run away from that place myself if I thought I had to live there for ever. It doesn't look especially cheerful. Why doesn't she set out a few trees around the house? It looks as cold and barren as a Siber- ian " " She had them all cut down when I was a little girl," explained the young lady. " They were black walnut, you see. Do you know what black walnut is ? " " It's wood," he replied. " It's worth a lot of money in these days. You buy it by the ounce, it's so rare. The walnut that used to grow up there is now trimming the insides of a mil- lionaire's house in Fifth Avenue." " May I enquire why you are running away from home?" " Surely. It's because I want to." " Where are you going? " " I engaged you to carry my luggage, Mr. Red- path," she said pointedly. " I beg your pardon." For as many as three min- 66 SHERRY utes, neither spoke. " You have relatives in town, I be- lieve. I suppose you'll go to one of them " " I'm running away from them too," she was quick to inform him. Indeed, she was rather glad he did not regard her rebuff as a permanent obstacle to confi- dences. " I intend to make my own way in the world. Oh, don't look so sceptical. I can do it, never fear." " Sure you can," said he warmly. " You won't have the least bit of trouble getting married. That's the way most women get along in the world." " The world is full of competent, capable, independ- ent women who " she was saying indignantly. " Are you a suffragette? " he broke in. " Who never even think of marrying," she con- cluded. " It's the men who want to marry, sir. If they didn't, they wouldn't be asking us all the time. Walk a little faster, please. That's better. I am trying to catch the nine-twenty train for Chicago." "Chicago? It's a wicked city." " It isn't as wicked as Paris, and I lived there for six years. It's dirtier, that's all." " You didn't answer my question a while ago. Why are you skipping out like this? " " I did answer it, but I'll go a little further now. I feel as though I ought to talk to some one about it. I just can't get along with grandmother, if you must know. She is dreadfully set in her ways." " And you are not, I take it." She flushed warmly. " At any rate my ways are not stupid and old-fashioned." " I've always heard Mrs. Compton spoken of as a fine, high-minded old lady," said he. SHERRY 67 " She is that ! " exclaimed the girl, with decision. " I'll not have a word spoken against my grandmother. She is wonderful. But, of course, that doesn't mean she cannot be wrong once in a while. No one is per- fect. Isn't that so? " She seemed to be appealing to him for support. " I don't know," said he, non-committally. " Let's hear your side of the controversy first." "Meaning that I may be perfect? Well, I'm not. I'm quite as much at fault as she. No doubt she con- siders me an ungrateful yes, Mr. Redpath, she must look upon me as a snide." She appeared to fall into moody reflection. Some time passed before she sighed and resumed her com- ments. " The whole trouble with grandmother is that she doesn't realize that I am nearly twenty-one years old, or, if you care to look at it the other way, that she is nearly seventy-one. It's quite natural that we shouldn't see things in the same light, isn't it?" " For instance? " said he adroitly. " Well, for instance," she began, frowning, and then thought better of the impulse. " Really, you don't think I'm such a goose as to tell you of my private, personal affairs, do you? " " We're on a public highway," he said. " I haven't asked anything about your affairs, have I? " " It isn't necessary. Everybody knows about me. I'm common property." " I think, if you don't mind my saying so, that you deserve a great deal of credit for swearing off drir.l< 68 SHERRY and I do hope you'll stick to your resolution, Mr. Redpath. They say it's very difficult to stop sud- denly. Quite dangerous, sometimes, I believe. My uncle, Henry Bingham, know him ? says that your that is, a man's system demands " " Henry Bingham never took a man-sized drink in his life," said Sherry scornfully. " What does he know about it? Forgive me for speaking disrespect- fully of your uncle, but he is the darnedest old sissy in Farragut." Her eyes sparkled. " Good ! I'm glad to hear you say it. I wish grandmother could hear you. That's just what I've been trying to tell her." He stopped. " Well, if it will assist you in smooth- ing things over with her, I'll go back with you right now and tell her exactly what I think of her son-in-law. If that's all, " He paused eloquently. " No," she said thoughtfully, " it would be fatal. She has a very poor opinion of you. You wouldn't be any help, I'm sorry to say. Come, let's be moving along." She looked at her watch. " It's half-past seven. I'm afraid I'll miss my train, Mr. Redpath. Would an extra half-dollar spur you on any? " " Not at all. If I started in to run with these things, with you tagging along behind, some farmer would have a shot at me with a gun, taking me for a highwayman, Well, what's the matter now? " " Didn't you hear the honk of an automobile ? Let's stop here and wait. Better to ride than to walk, especially " " Maybe it's your grandmother in pursuit. Did you think of that?" SHERRY 69 " She will not pursue me," said the girl, with con- viction. " I told her last night that I'd be leaving the first thing in the morning, and she said I could doi as I pleased about it. You don't know my grand- mother. She'll never beg me to come back." " It's a big red car," said he, looking back over the road. " We'll wait," said she, with relief. " She despises red." The motor approached rapidly. When it was barely a quarter of a mile away, she started violently, a look of dismay in her lovely eyes. " Come ! I know that car. I wouldn't get into it if my legs were dropping off. That's a Burton car." " Burton? I never heard of the make. Something new " " I mean it belongs to a Burton. Step to one side, quick The brute wouldn't hesitate to run over me. Don't you know about the Burtons ? " " I know Jimmy Burton, and Aleck " " I mean about the Burtons and us. We're ene- mies." " Sure. I remember now. Well, there he goes." The big red car shot past, throwing a cloud of dust over them. The driver, a dark-faced young man, gave them a look of interest as he passed, and turned later on to favour them with another. " I hope he looks back again and runs off the road while he's doing it," she said vindictively. " I trust he is no friend of yours, Mr. Redpath," she went on, with an ominous cloud in her eyes. " Not at all," he assured her. " You forget who I 70 SHERRY am. By the way, if I threw off ten cents, would you tell me your name? It seems " " You may have it free, for nothing. My name is O'Brien, Morna O'Brien. They called me Mickey at school. Me fayther was Patsy O'Brien." She made delicious use of the brogue. " I am not allowed to be Irish, however. My grandmother hates the Irish. She insists that I'm all Compton, and that's one of the reasons I'm leaving her. My father was the very worst divvel that ever lived, in her estimation. I daresay he was not all that a man should be, my mother some- times said as much, but some of his blood is in my veins and I love a ruction. Whenever I am especially irritating to Grandma Compton she says it's the beastly Irish in me, and last night I said it was nothing of the kind. I said it was the unspeakable Compton in me. The result was awful. She said she was going to town today to see her lawyer and change her will, cutting me off with a penny. I told her that it wouldn't be neces- sary to hurry so much as all that, she could do it any time this week. I wouldn't touch a penny of her money even if she died before the will could be changed. She has been bully-ragging me about the Compton money all these years, and I'm tired of it. Money isn't everything, is it, Mr. Redpath? " She was in a fine state of indignation now. Her dark eyes were snapping and her breast was heaving with something that was not the result of exercise. "Well," said he judicially, "it isn't so much to a strong, able-bodied man, but I should say it would come in very handy for a frail, inexperienced girl " " Do I look frail? " she demanded. " Don't I look SHERRY 71 as though I could earn my living anywhere in the world? Thousands of girls " " I take it all back," he cried hastily. " I only meant to suggest that well, that it isn't to be sneezed at, Miss O'Brien. Better think twice before you give up your share of the Compton fortune. Better " " I'll carry my bags, if you please, sir," she said loftily. " Here is your half-dollar, or was it a dol- lar? I shan't need your services any " " See here," he said, stopping abruptly to confront her, a serious note in his voice, and an even more seri- ous expression in his eyes, " are you sure you know what you are doing? Aren't you likely to regret all this ? Wait ! I'm speaking for your own good, Miss O'Brien. This is a pretty serious step you are taking. It's no use glaring at me like that, either. I'd be a fine sort of a man, wouldn't I, if I let you go on without trying to show you what you've got ahead of you. You have a little row with a nice old lady, fly off the handle, slam a few doors, get madder and madder " " That's just what I'm doing now," she cried in exas- peration : " getting madder and madder. In the first place, you don't know anything about it, and in the second place you're as fresh as paint. Has anybody asked you for advice? When I want that, I'll write to Laura Jean Libbey or some other newspaper. I " " I expect old Mrs. Compton will cry a little in the solitude of her room when she finds you have skipped out. And she'll cry a little every day, too. She'll miss you, and she'll grieve " " I wish you wouldn't talk like that," she cried out irritably. 72 SHERRY " She has been good to you, hasn't she ? Didn't she take you to Paris and educate you and oh, well, do a whole lot of things for you? Hasn't she made a real bang-up city girl of you instead of bringing you up like a country jake? And hasn't she saved you from being an ordinary little Mick? Answer me " " Mr. Redpath ! How dare you ! " " Well," said he resignedly, " I'll let up if you're going to get sore about it. Thank the Lord, I've given you something to think about though. I can see the tears back there in your eyes now." They walked on in silence for many minutes. Fi- nally she turned to him. Her eyes were soft and dark and sweet, and there was a shy smile at the corners of htr mouth. " I'm sorry I spoke as I did to you. You'll forgive me, won't you ? " " I've been thinking for the past five minutes that I ought to ask your forgiveness. I " " Well," she said quaintly, " if you'll forgive me I'll forgive you." "Done!" " But, mind you, I'm not going back," she declared resolutely. " I'm going to be free, and I'm never going to touch a cent of her money." " Just as you like," said he magnanimously. '* That reminds me. You're starting out in the world on your own. How much capital have you? How much money have you got in your pocket? " She hesitated. " I guess it's perfectly safe to tell you," she said. " It's broad daylight. I have thirty- seven dollars and fifty cents cash and my Savings Bank SHERRY 73 pass-book. I have nearly a thousand dollars in the bank. Now are you satisfied? " He gave a sigh of relief. " Well, that alters things considerably. I sha'n't reproach myself for having helped you to run away. And, by the way," with an uneasy glance overhead, " I'd suggest that we do a bit of actual running. It will be raining in thirty seconds, and unless we can make that bridge ahead there, you'll be drenched to the skin. Come along ! " She had paid but little heed to the darkening skies; her mind was too completely occupied by the enterprise that confronted her. But he had watched the gather- ing clouds with concern. From afar off he had sighted the concrete culvert that spanned the dry run through which, in the wet spring months, flood waters from the hillside fields rushed down to swell the tor- rent in Burton's Creek. He saw no other shelter. They would have to scramble down the embankment and establish themselves under the protecting arch of the bridge. Morna O'Brien outraced him. She was strong, fleet footed and free in her stride. " Hurry ! " she called out over her shoulder, a thrill of exultation in her voice. She plunged recklessly down the side of the road and scuttled like a rabbit into the shelter of the bridge. A second later her bags and her porter came clattering after her, and then the deluge. " Gosh ! " he gasped, leaning weakly against the con- crete wall. " They must be filled with pig-iron ! " CHAPTER VII NEVER had he known it to rain so hard. The water came straight down in sheets, with a roar that was almost deafening, and so thick was the curtain it produced that Compton's Woods to the left and the yellow wheat-fields to the right were completely obscured. There was thunder and light- ning too, venomous crashes and flashes. Miss O'Brien shrank against the wall, her hands pressed to her ears. Her eyes were tightly closed. She was panting from the wild dash she had made for shelter. " It will soon be over," he shouted, his lips close to an obstructing hand. " What? " she gasped, opening her eyes slightly. " Just a little thunder shower," he bawled. *' An hour? Oh, dear me, I " Gently but firmly he removed the hand nearest him, and repeated his observation, adding: "Lay the dust nicely too. Cool the air off wonderfully." She stared into the veil of water. " Cats and dogs," she remarked, " and pitchforks. Goodness, what a torrent! I'm glad we got here ahead of it, aren't you?" " I never knew before why the county builds concrete culverts," he said, breathing heavily. " Retreats for tramps. Hello, we're going to have a raging river 74 SHERRY 75 zipping through here if it do.oii't let up pretty soon." The dry bed of the run was already hidden by a rap- idly increasing stream of water. He took off his coat and spread it on the base ledge of the abutment. " Hop up," he said, " you'll get your feet wet if you that's the way ! High and dry." He placed the suit-cases on the ledge and then sat down beside her. Their heels were well above the still puny stream. " We can watch it grow into a regular rivulet," he ex- plained. "I've never seen a rivulet grow, have you? " " Thank you so much for running the way you did with those silly bags," she said irrelevantly. " I never could have managed them myself. Oh, goodness ! I'll bet that struck somewhere near ! " The most appall- ing crash splintered the air. Even Redpath cringed. "I Oh, I do hope it didn't strike grandma's house. She's mortally afraid of lightning. Would you mind peeping out to see if But, how stupid of me. You'd get soaked, and I can't ask you to do that for fifty cents. Come back! You'll be struck and killed. Oh, dear me! " He came back, but not before peering intently if fruitlessly down the road. " I beg to report that the house is still standing." " You're wet. How silly." " Would the old lady be in a closet or under the bed ? What are her habits in time of " " I'll thank you not to speak disrespectfully of my grandmother," she broke in, stiffly. " That's right," he agreed. " I don't seem to know my place. You see, it's my first job." She was not listening to him. Her brow was fur- 76 SHERRY rowed, a troubled light in her eyes. " She always has me come in and get into bed with her when it storms, and in the daytime she closes all the windows and pulls down the shades. I I wonder what she's doing now. I wonder if she has been calling to me Oh, dear ! Say something cheerful, Mr. Redpath. I don't like to think of the poor old dear creeping out of bed to look for me and " " Only to find that you've vanished," he supplied as she paused. He spoke softly, but she heard him. "Do you really think it will soon be over?" she asked, twisting her fingers nervously. " No telling," he replied grimly. " That's a fear- fully exposed place for a house too." He waited a few moments. " I suppose she'll be terribly worried if she thinks you're wandering about in this storm, By the way, I hope her heart is good. Old people some- times go just like that." He snapped his fingers. " Seems awful that she should be all alone up there But, of course, she isn't alone. Your brother is un- doubtedly " " I have no brother," she said miserably. " She is all alone. The servants sleep in the west wing, Oh, I wish I'd waited till this afternoon." " I'm glad you didn't," said he. " I'd be out of a job if you had, you know. And what's more, I'd prob- ably be out there in the woods with lightning striking the trees on all sides of me. Gee ! That was a ripper, wasn't it? That hit something big, sure as you're alive." She had her hands over her ears again, but her eyes were wide open. SHERRY 77 " Poor old granny ! She has been awfully good to me, Mr. Redpath. Awfully. And I was a terrible pest when I was little. I was like my father, I suppose. Oh, dear, will it never stop? " She turned on him re- proachfully. " You said it was only a summer shower ! Look at it! Listen to it! No! Don't try to explain. Any fool can see that it isn't a shower. It's the wrath of God! It wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed at home. The sky was as clear as a crystal when I started out. Then, suddenly, everything got black and" " I think it's beginning to let up a bit," he broke in soothingly. " Is it truly ? " she cried. " The thunder does seem to be a little farther away, doesn't it ? " He was silent, thinking hard, trying to decide a very; serious question that had been troubling him for a quarter of an hour. Finally she sighed, somewhat contentedly. " Granny will be perfectly delighted with all this rain. She has been praying for it for days. All of our harvesting is done, you see." " Umph," was his only response. He was staring thoughtfully at the new little brook. She gave him a look of annoyance. " Of course, it's pretty hard on the farmers who haven't got their wheat cut and Is there anything the matter with you? " she demanded querulously. He had reached a conclusion. The proper course revealed itself quite plainly and he would follow it up. It was a part of his 1 strategy to look gloomy and dis- trait. 78 SHERRY " I beg pardon? " " Do you think you've caught cold? " There was a small note of concern in her voice. " I have some as- perin in my bag, I don't know which one, and if you'll take ten grains " " I'm all right, thanks," he said, the sadness deepen- ing in his eyes. He rather liked her for thinking of the asperin. He knew her kind. She was one of those gentle-hearted girls who are always trying to " mo- ther " a fellow. " Cheer up," she cried. " See how light it's getting, and the rain is stopping." He was unresponsive. She studied him for a long time in utter perplexity. What had come over him ? He had been so gay and impulsively she laid a little hand on his arm. "Have I said anything to hurt your feelings? I'm sorry if " ** Lord love you, no," he interrupted. " I know it will make you very angry, but I can't get my thoughts off that frightened old lady But there ! Never mind; I'll try to forget her. She's nothing to me, of course, so why should I care what happens to her? Still I " and he fell to brooding again without com- pleting the sentence. " Oh," she said, and looked away suddenly. Pres- ently she began to beat a soft tattoo with her dangling heels. " I know it's silly of me," he resumed, " but I'm such a soft idiot that I just can't bear the thought of well, especially old people being miserable and un- happy, and afraid. You see, it's so much worse when old people are afraid of things. Young people SHERRY 79 don't matter so much. But old people get to thinking about death and " " I wish you wouldn't talk like this," she cried. " Well, they do, you know," ke persisted. " It's only natural. They know they haven't many years left and Oh, what's the good of getting all worked up like this over nothing? I daresay your grand- mother is good for ten or fifteen years more, and besides she may not have heard the storm at all. Lots of people sleep right through the most horrible '* " She never does," cried Miss O'Brien unhappily. " And she hasn't been very well lately, either. I I wish I knew how she " She broke off to look at him with eyes in which trouble lurked and spoke volumes. A marvellously pretty girl, thought he. " Of course," he reflected aloud, " it isn't likely that anything could have happened to her this Oh, by the way, she was all right when you left, wasn't she? " She looked startled. "I I suppose so. I went out the back way, Mr. Redpath. She sleeps till eight." " Sometimes they never wake up," he began senten- tiously, " and then, on the other hand," he made haste to qualify, noting the distress in her eyes, " she may not have slept at all last night, worrying over the way she abused you, her unspeakable cruelty and arro- gance, and all that. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to hear that she's had a stroke. Is there any one about the place with sense enough to telephone for the doc " He broke off suddenly as if dismayed by his lack of consideration for her feelings. " Oh, I'm sorry if I've alarmed you with " " She's not a termagent," said Miss O'Brien, paling, 80 SHERRY but managing with considerable effectiveness to main- tain her dignity. " If I conveyed such an impression, I must correct it at once. Mrs. Compton is not harsh or cruel or overbearing. She is one of the best women in the world." " Well, I'm sorry to hear that," he said. " Sorry ? And why ? " she demanded. " I wanted to hate her for your sake, but by George, it's hard to hate her, if she's all you now say she is, left alone up there to grieve and droop and, as I said before, blame herself for having made you so unhappy you couldn't endure the thought of living in the same house with " " Mr. Redpath, if you don't stop talking like this," said she, " I shall have to ask you to not speak to me at all. I employed you as a porter and not as a a what-do-you-call it? a wet blanket. Goodness knows I'm not happy, running off like this, and to have you, Why, you positively make me feel like a crim- inal. I thought you might cheer me up a bit as we went along, but, good heavens, you're the worst gloom I've ever seen." " We'll talk of something else, then," he said, so- berly. " Heaven is my witness, I don't want to think of that poor old lady up there, eating her heart out because No, sirree, I prefer to think of something cheerful. Naturally, I'm an optimist. I'm never blue or lugubrious. It's nothing to my discredit, however, that I happen to be tender-hearted, and when I come up against a situation like this, I just feel as though I can't resist the impulse to go back there and do what I can to console and comfort " SHERRY 81 " There you go again ! " she exclaimed, and her lip trembled. " Here you are, young and strong, with the world ahead of you, going forth to conquer, and there she is, old and didn't you say she was not feeling up to the mark lately ? and frail Yes, yes, it's much bet- ter not to think about it, Miss O'Brien. You are quite right. We'll be cheerful. I think the rain has stopped altogether. We'd better be on our way. Nearly eight o'clock. We'll have to sprint some if we are to catch that train." He heard her sigh as he took up the bags and picked his way along the edge of the little stream toward the opening. The storm was over. The sun was trying to sift its way through the dispersing clouds. The world looked bright and clean and sweet and the air was laden with the, scent of wet soil. He looked back. She was still perched upon the ledge, and her chin was lowered. Subduing a desire to grin all over, he began the laborious ascent of the muddy, slippery embankment. Some little time passed before she appeared at the bottom of the cut. He went half way down to give her a hand in ascending. Clutching her skirts with one hand, she gave him the other, and was whisked up the bank. " Wait," she said, as he took up the bags. Her eyes were very dark and wistful as they gazed past him in the direction from which they had come. Then they searched the clearing sky with speculative sever- ity. " I don't believe the storm is over," she said. " See those dreadful clouds ? " 82 SHERRY He looked. " The tag end of catastrophe," said he, reassuringly. " We're safe enough now, Miss O'Brien." There was a far-away, faint flicker of lightning in the north, whence the storm had swept. " See ! " she cried triumphantly. " Did you see that terrible flash? It's coming back." He appeared gravely alarmed. " I hope not. They're always more violent when they come back over a partially devastated territory. Seems as though they want to finish up the job " " Mr. Redpath," she began, with decision in her voice, " I have been thinking over what you said a few minutes ago. If you'll carry the bags as far as the gate I'll be ever so much obliged ; I will carry them the rest of the way myself." He could hardly conceal his satisfaction. " You mean you are going back home?" He tried to look incredulous. " I shall catch the afternoon train," she said, with some asperity. " It leaves Farragut at four o'clock." " I see," said he. " I think it's a very good idea. Allow me to suggest, however, that I go on to town now with the bags, and deliver them to you at the sta- tion. It will save carrying them " She faced him squarely. " I may as well confess, Mr. Redpath, that I've changed my mind. I'm not go- ing away. Don't ask questions, please. I sha'n't an- swer them." " I don't have to ask 'em," he said readily, " because they're already answered." They trudged along in silence. He had difficulty in SHERRY 83 keeping pace with her. She did not attempt to avoid the puddles in the road, but forged ahead eagerly, her eyes fixed on the house at the top of the hill. " She has been a mother to me," said Miss O'Brien, after many minutes, addressing her remark to the hori- zon. " If we hurry we may get there before she finds out that you've left," said he, with singular penetration. "Do you think we could? " she cried, her eyes shin- ing. " I'll tell you what," said he enthusiastically : " you run on ahead and let me follow as fast as I can. You may be able to get in, the back way, before she" " How clever you are ! I would never have thought of that. Oh, I'd give my very soul if I could " "Well, beat it!" he cried. "Don't worry about the evidence. I'll hide 'em in the hedge if you think best. She may never know." " No," she said, compressing her lips. " I sha'n't deceive her. I've never deceived her in my life, Mr. Redpath, and I sha'n't begin now. I'm going to tell her everything. I want her to see the suit-cases and I want her to see me carrying them home. Maybe she'll forgive me sooner if she sees me Do hurry, please ! She has been complaining of a pain in her left side, and Look ! There's a car coming down our drive. I I wonder " " It's the chase," said he, thrilled by a new excite- ment. " And they're coming fast too. I say, did you leave a note for her ? " " Yes," she said, " I did. I pinned it to my pillow. 84 SHERRY Just a good-bye note, telling her Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't said what I did in that note." "Snippy?" " I said I'd never darken her doors again. I I hope they're not going for the doctor good heavens, I'm trembling like a " " There's a woman in the back seat, a woman with a black bonnet," he broke in, gazing intently. "That's Granny!" she cried joyously. "Don't look at me, please ! " An unmistakable sniffle came to his ears. He could control his eyes, but not his ears ; nor could he control the twitching sensation that troubled his lips. He was having great difficulty in keeping a smile from expand- ing into a grin that would have been most offensive if she had caught him at it. The big automobile had whirled into the highway and was coming toward them at a furious rate. Miss O'Brien began waving her handkerchief frantically. Sherry deposited the bags at the roadside and wiped his forehead. His whilom employer sped onward, for- getting him completely. Quite well pleased with him- self, he up-ended a suit-case and sat down upon it to await developments, overlooking the fact that mud, while not as penetrating as water, is by no means as clean and sparkling. A hundred feet away the machine came to a stop. Sharp, treble-voiced cries sounded above the purr of the engine. A black-crowned head popped over the side of the car and black arms gathered in the tan- coloured figure that had scrambled onto the running board. Sherry studiously inspected the forest. SHERRY 85 Presently a coarse, unlovely masculine voice dis- turbed his pleasant reflections. Diverting his gaze, he looked with some annoyance upon the individual who shouted. The driver of the car, a red-faced fellow in his shirt-sleeves, was beckoning him to approach. "Hey! Bring them valises here, will you?" He took up his burden once more and advanced. Miss O'Brien's head was resting on the shoulder of the little old lady, and neither observed his approach. " Put 'em up here in front, young feller," ordered the driver, eyeing him with unmistakable animosity. " All right," said Sherry cheerily. He succeeded, with well-managed clumsiness, in putting one of them rather earnestly against the exposed knee of the driver, who said something under his breath, and threw in the clutch viciously. Sherry sprang aside as the car leaped ahead, preparatory to making the complete turn for home. He had the impression a moment later that the fellow was trying to back the machine over him as he stood there, hat in hand, beaming upon the unheeding occupants of the tonneau. Then the car shot off homeward, leaving him stand- ing with bared head, the smile dying in his eyes long before it disappeared from his lips. " Well," he mused, as the driver turned in at the dis- tant gate, " my first job wasn't a lucrative one." He fingered the brass check in his pocket. " Anyhow, I'm glad she's happy enough to forget everything else in the world. It was a good day's work, even though I didn't get a cent for it. It was worth fifty dollars just to hear her sniffle." CHAPTER VIII HIS sigh was a long one, as of pleasant fatigue. He was far from being vexed. As a matter of fact, it would have been most embarrassing for him when the time came for her to produce the coin that was to settle their account. A fifty cent piece was such a small thing! The more he thought of it, the more relieved he was that she had gone off without paying. He was spared a most unsentimental mo- ment, and so was she, no doubt. His cogitations, as he climbed the fence and set off briskly through the woods, included pictures of her confusion in passing the coin to the notorious spendthrift, Sheridan Red- path, and there were other thoughts that bespoke a certain jauntiness in his physical as well as his mental reconstruction. Deep in the woods he suddenly realized that he was repeating over and over again the melodious, plaintive word " Morna." Morna ! What a world of tender- ness there was in those two syllables. One couldn't utter them harshly if he tried and he did try. He drew the first syllable out in a long, soft whisper, and, letting it die away in the second, was conscious of a queer delight in the tunefulness of it. He cut the syl- lables off then in quick, staccato, business-like jerks and still there was a gentle caress in them. The name was one he had never heard before. Then and there 86 SHERRY 87 he decided that if he ever had a daughter he would call her Morna. Meadow-larks were calling to each other in the distant wheat-fields. He loved the lilt of the meadow-lark. Two songs now were running through his brain, and both were of the fresh, new morning. An impulse to be nearer the blithe caroller in the wheat- fields came over him; an aimless sense of wandering gave way to definite purpose; he turned and walked slowly back over the ground just traversed. Several hundred yards from the highway, he stopped to cut for himself another walking stick. He was con- scious of a sudden sheepishness. The cutting of the " shoot " from the base of the haw-tree provided an occupation, and, to some extent, a definite reason for his return to that particular part of the woods. He recalled, in pleased self-apology, that he had re- marked to himself as he passed this very tree earlier in the morning that never had he seen sprouts so admi- rably shaped for walking-sticks as these. He leaned against a tree and vigorously whittled away on his new cane, stripping the twigs with especial regard for nobbiness, and with a laudable desire to im- prove upon the one he had cast aside when he took up the burdens of Miss Morna O'Brien. Now and then he directed a somewhat intensified gaze upon the house of the Widow Compton, plainly visible from a singularly well-chosen position among the trees. At such times his knife, fortunately, was idle. A pensive, far-away look settled in his eyes. How long it remained there he never knew ; having the means but not the inclination to calculate time, he was content to dawdle. And, curiously enough, the meadow-larks, 88 SHERRY singing louder than ever before, poured their melody upon deaf ears. He was day-dreaming, an unpar- donable offence in a man who sleeps well at night. Suddenly he started, his eyes lost their dreamy ex- pression, his body its indolent attitude. An automo- bile stole out of the barnyard gate on the hilltop, and a moment later shot into the hedge-lined avenue; then it came racing down to the main highway. A delighted grin spread over his face. No spy-glass was needed to tell him who was driving the car at such break-neck speed. There was no other occupant. She came alone and the gay panama hat was missing. With the perversity of a woman, he deliberately hid himself behind the tree against which he had been lean- ing, and, from the obscurity of shadow and distance, spied warily upon the actions of Morna O'Brien. Coming to the highway, she brought the car to an abrupt stop. Then she stood up and peered cityward along the road. He was too far away to make out the expression of her face, but her attitude bespoke in- tense concern. After a moment, she flopped back into the seat and began to ply the Klaxon horn. Never had he heard a more appalling din than she made for the next two or three minutes. Failing to resurrect him from any comfortable nearby resting-place, she threw in the clutch and drove rapidly toward town, but not before she had indulged in a long and intense scrutiny of the thick woodland. He laughed aloud in his elation. " She's remem- bered the fifty cents, bless her heart," he said to him- self. "Well, that's all I ask, just that she should remember it and try to do the right thing. Good-bye, SHERRY 89 Morna O'Brien ! You gave me a little sunshine and a mighty nice job to boot. I may never see you again, so I thank you for the first happy hour I've had in years. I'll never have another just like the one you gave me, you and your excess baggage. God love you for trying to find me, and forgive me for hid- ing!'' Happy once more, and strangely exalted, he fled into the depths of the wood again. Somehow he did not relish the prospect of witnessing her return after the fruitless search for her creditor. Afterwards it occurred to him that he might have spared her many a twinge of conscience if he had stepped forth to collect his wage. In time he came once more to his " camp." Devas- tation met his gaze. The rain had played havoc wit!* the paste-board box in the forks of the tree. It was a. sorry spectacle. He climbed up and recovered the one^ object that retained its customary shape: Mrs. Doyle's thermos bottle. Cleansing it in the stream and drying* it carefully with his handkerchief, he stuffed it into his pocket, and, after collecting his " laundry " from the mud into which it had been blown by the wind, he set out for town. His cherished luncheon was gone, soaked out of all recognition by the storm, but he was not down-hearted, not even dismayed. He would earn his next meal, or go hungry, said he to himself as he strode down the slope toward Hooper Street. The time for loafing and rehabilitation was over. His eye was clear, his brain was awake, and his limbs were strong and steady. The awakening of a long passive gallantry impelled 90 SHERRY him to deviate widely from his course to visit a thick clump of wild rose bushes. There he made up a huge bouquet of fresh red roses, and, with these in his hand, sauntered gaily down the street to the home of Officer Barney Doyle, oblivious to the stares and grins of un- sentimental passersby. If Mrs. Doyle, a comely woman of forty-five, was surprised by the delicate tribute of this tall young man she was also immensely pleased. So pleased indeed was she that she aroused Barney from his early morn- ing slumber and ordered him forthwith to appear in the little parlour. Nor was Barney irritated when he came sleepily downstairs, half-clad, to greet the disturber. Sherry declined their hospitable invitation to par- take of a specially prepared breakfast. " No more hand-outs for me," said he resolutely. " I'm an able-bodied labourer from now on, Mrs. Doyle. I shall work for my breakfast, my dinner and my supper, and I'll sleep when the good Lord lets me." He gave her his whimsical smile. " You don't happen to have any wood that needs chopping, or a lawn that requires shaving, or " " God bless me soul," said Barney Doyle. " Will ye listen to that ! " " And you a college graduate," said his wife, aghast. " The son of Robert Redpath doin' the work of a dago Why, Mr. Redpath, your poor father would turn completely over in his grave, God rest his soul." " Well," said Sherry, " I have reason to suspect he has had to do it a good many times, if he has kept tab on the actions of his only son and heir." Barney's shrewd little eyes were studying him spec- SHERRY 91 ulatively. " Bedad," said he at last, " ye might do worse than mow a lawn or two." " For the love of Mike ! " exclaimed Mrs. Doyle, witheringly. " Go back to bed." Her husband ignored the command. " Hard work hurts no man," said he, " and some- times it makes a fella forget his troubles, likewise his sins. Come here to the windy. Look ! D'ye see that break in the stone wall around Mr. Gilman's garden- patch? The storm washed out the dirt foundation this morning. He was over here before eight o'clock askin' for me wife's brother, just over from Ireland, at present an odd- job man, being " (this he inter- polated behind his hand) " too short a while in the country to get a place on the force, to see if he could hire him to help in the patchin' up av the wall. Thfe work's too heavy for the old gentleman himself, or he'd be at it this minute. Bedad, he's up there now mix- ing the mortar, and him worth a million or more. If ye think " Sherry sprang to his feet. " I'll tackle him at once." " Don't be too much in the sun," cautioned Mrs. Doyle, as their visitor ran down the front steps. " He will pay two dollars a day," advised Barney. " Me wife's brother went to work for the gas company yesterday or he'd be " " Mind you come back here for your dinner, Mr. Redpath," called out the wife. " We have it at half- past twelve." Mr. Gilman was not favourably impressed with the applicant. On the contrary, he was suspicious, and quite naturally so. This fellow had none of the ear- 92 SHERRY marks of a day-labourer and many of those that iden- tify the confidence man such as clean linen, well-kept hands, a platinum watch-chain and silk socks, to say nothing of a stout, formidable looking cudgel fashioned ostensibly for walking purposes but no doubt intended for the more sinister business of suppressing pedestrian- ism in other people. It was not until Officer Doyle walked over and put in a word for the young man that old Mr. Gilman, who was on the point of sending for Barney anyhow, consented to give Sherry a trial. " Understand, young man," he said testily, " I'm only taking you on trial. This is no soft snap. Have you a pair of overalls? " " No, sir," said Sherry. " I never thought of that." " Well, you'll find something of the sort in the car- riage house. I knew your father. I also know a whole lot about you, and it isn't good. You don't get your pay until the job is finished. I'm not going to have you sailing off tonight and getting drunk and leaving me in the lurch tomorrow. Understand that, young man?" " I don't drink, Mr. Gilman," said he good-humour- edly. " You don't ? " exclaimed Mr. Gilman, blinking his eyes. " Not a drop, sir. Ask Barney." " Not a drop, sir," repeated Barney Doyle, without being asked. " Then all these stories I've heard about Bob Red- path's son going to the devil are " Mr. Gilman hes- itated. SHERRY 93 " Damn lies," said Officer Doyle. " He's simply goin' to work, sir." " For my bread and butter," added Sherry, truth- fully. " Nothing altruistic about it at all, Mr. Oil- man." " Not a bit av it," vouchsafed Barney Doyle, un- staggered. All the rest of that broiling day the young man la- boured cheerfully, lifting and setting the heavy boul- ders in the mortar laid down by his indefatigable em- ployer. When the time came to knock off for the day he was so tired he could hardly straighten his broad back. His arms and shoulders ached and his hands were so sore that he winced when he tried to close them ; they were sadly scratched and bleeding. Contrary to his announcement, Mr. Gilman paid him for the day's work. Although he had worked but lit- tle more than half the day, the old gentleman gave him a crisp two-dollar bill. " I can't change it, Mr. Gilman," said Sherry, flushing. " Never mind," said his employer. " We'll call it an honest day's work. The first you've ever done, I take it." " Yes, sir," replied the young man frankly, " the very first. And I am much obliged to you. I'll be here at eight in the morning." He slept in Compton's Woods that night, and the next, so dog-tired that he missed the usual serenade ef the frogs and katydids. He had his meals at Barney Doyle's, insisting on paying for them in advance, much to the disgust of Barney's wife, in whose warm Celtic 94* SHERRY heart lingered the thrill that his bouquet of roses had produced. She would take no more than a quarter for each meal. He did not make the mistake of bringing roses to her on the succeeding mornings; nothing so banal as that entered his head ; she was not to feel that the delicate attention could be made cheap by repeti- tion. Toward the close of the third day the last stones were being set in place; the repairs to the wall neared completion, and he would soon be out of a job. In some pride he stood off with old Mr. Gilman and sur- veyed the reconstructed wall. There still remained the task of filling in with dirt and gravel the gap be- hind the wall. That would require shovelling from the big pile of earth that had been dumped at the edge of the hole earlier in the day by a teamster, and a certain amount of tamping. " Pretty good job, young man," said Mr. Gilman, eyeing the work critically and not without pride. " Ripping," said Sherry, wiping his brow with his bare forearm. " The Egyptians couldn't have done better." The old gentleman looked at his watch. " It is now half-past three. I don't believe you can move all that dirt by five o'clock. Could you finish the job by seven ? " " I could," said Sherry promptly. " Don't you worry about it, Mr. Gilman. You're tired. Go up to the house, sir, and leave all this to me. I don't belong to a union. I have no regular hours." Right cheerfully he shovelled and as cheerfully he tamped. Automobiles passed by in Hooper Street, un- SHERRY 95 seen and unheard by the one-time owner of high-speed runabouts and racers. He had no time to think of au- tomobiles but, yes, he did think occasionally of a big touring car with a hatless girl at the wheel. Indeed he was thinking of that very combination when the violent shrieking of a Klaxon horn caused him to whirl suddenly as if to leap out of danger, so close at hand was the machine. Not thirty ^eet away, standing perfectly still in the street, was a big green touring car. The girl at the wheel was not hatless now, nor was she alone. A little old lady in black sat beside her, speechless but eloquent, " Come here ! " called the young lady peremptorially. " My dear," said the old lady, visibly annoyed. " I can't," said the young man, grinning with de- light. " My boss is watching." Nevertheless, he hopped over the wall and did as she commanded. " You went away without waiting for your pay," said Miss O'Brien severely, when he stood before her. " I went away? " with emphasis on the pronoun. " Morna, is this the young man who " " T-his, Grandma, is the wild gentleman of the woods. I owe him fifty cents or is it seventy-five ? " Mrs. Compton's sharp little face lighted up. " And I owe him a great deal more than that," she said. " You transformed a vile, stubborn, unreasonable hussy into a meek and sensible darling, sir, and sent her home " " Now, Granny, we'll quarrel again if you are not careful. And the next time I won't blubber and run home as I did the last time." 96 SHERRY Mrs. Compton was appraising the young man with her shrewd grey eyes. " So you are the much-talked of Sheridan Redpath. If I were a bright, precocious child I might be excused for saying that you don't look at all like an example. You " " We are keeping Mr. Redpath from his work, Granny," broke in Miss O'Brien curtly. For three days she had been displeased with herself for having forgotten to pay the labourer his hire, and at the same time irritated with him for not presenting himself with a demand for the money. His aloofness indicated something more than resignation on his part : it savoured unpleasantly of disdain and by no proc- ess of argumentation could she convince herself that it was the money he disdained. She was humiliated. She did not like being humiliated. " You may keep the change." With a loftiness that should have shrivelled him, she thrust a silver dollar into his hand, or, strictly speaking, at his hand, for it was not extended. But he did not shrivel. Instead, he expanded. " Thanks. I think I can make change today. Fifty cents, Miss O'Brien. Here's your " " Keep it," she said, compressing her lips. " Don't you always expect a tip? " He was not offended. " Tip ? And what is a tip, if I may ask? " She bit her lip. " It happens to be fifty cents in this instance. Oh, take it," she cried in exasperation. For answer he placed his own half-dollar carefully on the spare tire, and addressed himself to Mrs. Comp- ton, affecting grave solicitude. " I trust Miss O'Brien SHERRY 97 is a careful driver. Otherwise it may be jostled off and lost for ever." Mrs. Compton permitted a faint smile to steal into her eyes. " Offering a tip to you, Mr. Redpath, is like carrying coals to Newcastle, I should say. You, I am told, are the source from which more blessings in the shape of tips have sprung than " " Granny, dear," interrupted Miss O'Brien firmly, " we did not stop to pay compliments but to pay wages. Good day, Mr. Redpath. I am sorry to have been so long in paying you in paying " " I'll crank it, Miss O'Brien," said he, obligingly. " This year's models have a self-starting contraption that Don't get out ! I'll do it." He had cranked a great many cars in his day, but never had he encountered one so unresponsive as this one. He jerked and pulled and hauled until he thought his neck would burst. " Let me do it," said a calm voice at his side. He turned, red-faced and exasperated, to look into her tantalizing blue eyes. She actually elbowed him aside, and gripped the crank with her little gauntleted hand. A quick jerk or two and the engine was throbbing! " Simple twist of the wrist," she said sweetly, and went back to the wheel. " I see," said he, jumping to one side to avoid being run down. " It's a trained car. Performs only for its tamer." " Thank you just the same, and good-bye." The car leaped forward so suddenly that Mrs. Comp- ton clutched her bonnet and suspended utterance. She too had started to say " good-bye." 98 SHERRY He went back to his shovelling, and did not whistle his merry tune. A perplexed frown appeared on his brow. From time to time he shook his head and sighed. He couldn't, for the life of him, solve the problem. She was inexplicable. " Treated me like a dog," he mused. " Quit your dreaming, old boy. You're awake now. She hasn't any more use for you than " A tender light came into his eyes and he rested on his shovel to look up the street in the wake of the vanished car. " But you've got the gentlest, softest, prettiest name in the world, I'll say that for you," he pronounced, by way of con- trast. CHAPTER IX A SURPRISING thing happened when he re- ported to Mr. Gilman a few minutes before seven o'clock. He was invited to supper. " I'd like to have a good, sound talk with you, young man," said his late employer. Noting the younger man's change of expression, subtle though it was, he added, with a sly twinkle in his eye : " I promise not to lecture or advise you, or anything like that, so you need not be alarmed. Mrs. Gilman hasn't been down- stairs to a meal in seven years. I like a bit of com- panionship once in a while, my lad, and somehow, of late, I've taken a fancy for the company of the young and strong. I hope you'll stay. It is barely possible that I may not bore you, even though two whole gen- erations separate us." " I'll be happy to stay, sir, if you'll allow me the time to run over and tell Mrs. Doyle not to expect me." " That's one thing I admire in you," said the older man. ** Your consideration for others. Supper will be ready at half-past seven. Bring your appetite." " No fear. My appetite will bring me." After supper the two men, one old and gaunt and crusty, the other young and vibrant, sat on the broad veranda and smoked. Redpath, still a little dazed and bewildered by the unexpected affability of his host, was further surprised by the excellence of the eigar he held in his fingers. All his life he had heard 99 100 SHERRY Mr. Gilman spoken of as a skinflint and miser. He was looked upon as the stingiest man in town, and nothing worse than that could be said of any individ- ual, for Farragut, according to Sherry's estimate, was full of stingy people. And here he was now, smoking his second thirty-cent Corona-Corona, taken from a box that was passed to him without the slightest indi- cation of reserve or reluctance. Their supper had been excellent. At the home of any one of the social leaders in town it would have been regarded as a " bang-up " dinner. Mr. Gilman, however, apologized for it. He lived very simply, he said. During their association as wall-builders, Sherry had found the old man silent and unapproachable. He sel- dom spoke. When he did it was to. give a terse order, or, on occasion, to express criticism. His helper soon came to regard him as a sour, grumpy old party, and abandoned all efforts to be agreeable. The invitation to supper came as a distinct surprise, and but for the strange wistfulness in the old man's eyes would have been declined. As it was, he accepted because he had no ready excuse for declining, and now he was glad that he had done so. Andrew Gilman, he was known over town as Andy Gee, exposed an amazing side to his character, hith- erto unsuspected by the young man. He was chatty, agreeable, and at times witty. Before Sherry had been in the house ten minutes he found himself absurdly free from the constraint so natural in the young and well- bred when in the presence of their seniors. Convinced at the outset that he would be bored and uncomfortable and eager for the hour of departure to come, he had SHERRY 101 entered the house with misgivings, and, to a certain ex- tent, prepared for unpleasant though no doubt well- meant references to his own past and future. But Mr. Gilman talked of himself and not of his guest. More than that, he talked unreservedly and with a twinkle in his sharp little eyes. The truths he uttered had to do with the successful career of Andrew Gilman and not the unsuccessful career of Sheridan Redpath. With the rest of the population of Farragut, young Redpath had looked upon Andy Gee as a soulless, hard-fisted money-grabber in whom neither charity nor humour had an abiding place. As a small boy he had stood in actual awe of the old man. In common with his kind and generation, he had made faces at the miser from behind fences and other redoubts ; he had hurled derisive but humorous shouts after him as he passed along the street, and had scooted for dear life when the object of scorn turned a mephitic eye upon him. And here he was now, sitting in the ogre's house, en- joying himself! That he should be there laughing at the quaint remarks of Andrew Gilman was almost be- yond comprehension. Why, the man was no ogre at all! He was a kindly, unctious old chap that you couldn't help liking. Sherry knew little about books, saving the lightest sort of fiction, (you might say daily fiction), but he was not so ignorant that he failed to grasp the sig- nificance and importance of the library in which he had his coffee with Mr. Gilman. There were thousands of volumes in the great cases that lined the room from floor to ceiling, and it was not necessary for him to be 102 SHERRY told that his host admitted no light fiction to those ex- alted shelves. There were etchings and engravings in the hall and living-room; an atmosphere of quiet ele- gance, of rare good taste, pervaded the house. He found himself wondering what sort of woman Mrs. Gil- man must have been in her day to have wrung all this splendour out of the soul of a miser. Later on he was to know that the old man himself was responsible for everything. " Few people, aside from the tax collectors, know that this library exists," said Mr. Gilman, as they left the room to seek the coolness of the porch. " We rarely have visitors here. The doctor sits with me here once in a while, and occasionally the minister comes up to see me, although I am beginning to fear that he no longer considers it worth his while. I give a certain amount to the church each year, and so much extra for home missions. The fund for the construction of the proposed new church lacks my contribution. The old church is quite good enough for me. It is large enough for its congregation and it still resembles a place of worship, which is more than can be said for some of them. But, as I was saying, our visitors are few and their visits far between. I suppose you are aware of the fact, young man, that I am a very cor- dially despised person. Have you ever heard a good word said for me? " He put the question with a smile. There was no bitterness in his voice. " Yes," admitted Sherry ; " I've heard it said that you are a splendid judge of real estate." He spoke lightly and without fear, and the old gentleman chuckled,^ just as he was expected to do. " Well, that's something," he said, drily. " And you are good pay," added Sherry. The old man stared out over the shrubbery on the lawn. An electric lamp, suspended in the street below, seemed to afford attraction for his gaze. Pres- ently he spoke. " I can count on one hand all the friends I have in this city, Redpath. A few years ago it would have been necessary to employ the digits of both hands, but even good friends can't go on living for ever, you know. You may think that I am a lonely as well as a despised old man. I am seldom lonely, for I am always busy. A busy man is never lonely, remember that always, my young friend. Five years ago I retired from active business, but that does not mean that I retired from active life. I want to live to be a very old man. That may be accomplished only by keeping mind and body active. Don't give the mind a chance to grow dull with introspection, and don't let the body go to seed. I lost my only son a good many years ago. He never could see any sense in my getting down to business at seven o'clock in the morning, usually ahead of any of my employes. I always walked to and from the store. People said I was stingy. I claim that I was merely sensible. Nowadays I ride about in an automobile, and I drive my own span of thoroughbreds. I do the one because I must keep up with the procession, the other because I can afford to stay behind it and enjoy myself if I prefer." " That's the right way to live," said Sherry. " I guess I kept pretty well ahead of the procession," he added ruefully. " I too, sir, have retired from active 104 SHERRY business. My business was to get rid of money, while yours was to acquire it. That's just the difference between us, Mr. Gilman." " You are mistaken. The difference between us is, I should say, a matter of fifty years. With me it is what I have done, with you it is what you are still to do. I am through. You are just beginning. When I was twenty-five I did not have more than ten dollars to my name. How old are you? Twenty-seven? And you have six dollars in your pocket, " " Four and a quarter," corrected Sherry. " I paid my board bill at Barney's." " Well, you have the youth and the stamina that I once enjoyed and you know more about money than I've known in all my years. I should say that you have a decided advantage over me as I was at twenty- seven. You are not lazy. A lazy man couldn't have gone through with all the money you possessed in so short a time without working pretty hard to do it. But I promised not to talk of your affairs, at least, not of the past. I should like, however, to discuss the future with you. What are your plans, my lad? " " I have no definite plan, Mr. Gilman," said Sherry. " I shall work until something better turns up," he added quaintly. " Have you er a position in prospect? " " No, sir. I like the idea of earning money, how- ever. Next month I shall look for a permanent job." "Next month? Do you expect to subsist for a month on the four dollars and a quarter? " " I shall do odd jobs for the next couple of weeks,'* said the young man, serious despite his words. " I SHERRY 105 have thought the whole thing out, sir. The three days I spent with you on that wall convinced me that I am not yet in a condition to settle down to steady employ- ment. Young as I am and strong, I don't mind con- fessing to you that there were times when I thought I'd keel over from weakness. The only thing that kept me going was your example. I couldn't give up as long as you were going strong, you see. So I stuck it out. I need a few weeks of hard work in the open air to put me in any sort of form. If I can earn no more than my daily bread, I'll be doing myself a good turn. You see, sir, I have lived a rather abnormal life. I owe it to my regular employer, if I get one, to be normal in every particular. So I intend to split rails or break stones or well, you see what I mean, don't you?" Mr. Gilinan, watching him through half-closed eyes, nodded his head slowly. " Replenish the fires, eh? I see. It seems a pity that so fine a specimen of young manhood as you appear to be should have abused ah, well, we'll say no more about it." He was thought- ful for a few moments. Redpath's meditations ap- peared to be centred in the coils of smoke he was blow- ing into the soft, still air. The old man cleared his throat. " We've had a very agreeable evening don't get up, please. I don't mean that it is over and time for you to leave, my boy. What I meant to con- vey is that we have been rather good company for each other. You haven't found me as terrifying or as ugly as you thought. In fact, you are disappointed in me. Permit me to observe that I have been studying you for a couple of days. You are not bad, you are not even 106 SHERRY half-bad, despite your evil reputation. Your eye is clear and straight, and your right hand appears to know what the left is doing. This brings me to the point. How would you like to enter my employ? " Sherry started. " Are you in earnest, Mr. Gil- man?" " Certainly. I rarely jest." " But I understood you to say you have retired from active business, sir." " Quite so. I sold out my business five years ago. The wholesale grocery concern of Andrew Gilman & Co. exists only on the letter-heads of the house; there is no Andrew Gilman in the business. I not only sold out the stock and good will, but my name as well. That, I submit without conceit, is an asset, no matter how bitterly hated I may have been." " You have taken me by surprise, sir. I I don't know just what to say." " Well, if I were in your place, I'd ask what sort of employment is intended, whether it is nefarious or honourable, in fact, and I'd discuss the question of hours, wages and the prospects of advancement," sug- gested Andy Gee, smiling. " The prospect of advancement is the only thing I should care to discuss at present. Hours and wages are adjustable, you might say. I don't want to take steady employment unless I see a chance to go ahead. What would be required of me, Mr. Gilman? " The old gentleman hesitated. When he spoke it was in lowered tones. " Ostensibly you would be my secretary and agent. You would collect the rents from my tenants, and SHERRY 107 / Well, there is a good deal more that I could find for you to do. You " " But, I have had no experience, sir. How could you entrust important matters to " " You profess to be honest, don't you? " " Certainly." " No one has ever intimated that you are crooked ; your worst enemy would call you no more than a fool." " My best friends call me that, sir." " And with reason," said Andy Gee. " On the other hand, no one has ever called me a fool. They have called me a great many other things, but they have spared me that. I would be a fool, however, to employ you in any capacity, save as a day labourer, if I were not thoroughly satisfied that you are the man for the place. You are honest, sober, I believe you will remain so, too, dead broke, and you have seen better or worse days, take them as you will. Above all other recommendations, you are strong of body and quick of mind. I require the services of a brave, lusty young fellow, who could have no other object than to be loyal to my interests." " Meaning," said Sherry boldly, " that the collecting of rents is a job for the strong and courageous." " Not necessarily," said Andy Gee, frowning. " I collect them with reasonable thoroughness." " So I have heard." There was a hard light in the young man's eyes. " No doubt," said the other quietly. " I have also heard, Mr. Gilman, that certain of your tenants in the lower part of town have threatened your life. You have had several men put under bond 108 SHERRY to keep the peace, if I remember correctly. I suppose it would be my duty to collect the rents down there; and if they didn't pay promptly to use my highly spoken-of strength to throw them out in the street." " Not at all. I shall continue to collect the rents of those people in person. They are afraid of me, old as I am, and they would never be afraid of you as a rent collector." " Is it true that last January you evicted a family in Endsley Street, and that the wife and little daugh- ter froze to death ? " " No," said Mr. Gilman. " You have the right to ask the question, however, and I am not offended. Jim Moore was not evicted. He claims that he was, but only to save his own face. The truth about that case is this : he had been drinking hard and as he is a brute when sober you may well imagine what he is when intoxicated. He threw his wife and children into the street, hurled the furniture into the alley, and well, I was blamed for all of that, my boy. As a matter of fact, his wife had paid the rent. She took in washing. He resented her paying me when he had other uses for the money she had earned. She did freeze to death, and the little girl too. He declared that I had put them out of the house. People said some unkind things about me, you may remember. I own twenty-two small houses in that part of town. Not one of my tenants has a good word to say for me. They hate me because I am their landlord. Some of them have threatened my life. Will you be good enough to explain why these able-bodied men should not pay their rent? They all have jobs, and are well-paid as things go. SHERRY 109 Most of them work in the railroad yards and round- house. In the past year ten families have moved out of my cottages down there, and all of them have said they were evicted. They are now living in other houses and they will move out of them, just as they did out of mine, and they will never have paid a cent of rent dur- ing their occupancy. I did not put them out. They went of their own accord, owing me the rent from the day they moved in. They belong to the class that never pays. And yet, the whole lower end of town heaped maledictions upon me when these people moved their pitiable belongings out of my houses and sought other landlords. The neighbours said : ' Old Andy Gee is at it again, curse him for a dog.' You must not be deceived into the belief that these vagabonds are the ones who threaten my life, nor that anything serious will result from the blusterings of drunken Jim Moore. They will not harm me. It is not a part of their scheme of existence. But there are others, my boy, and they are to be feared." " You mean, sir, that you actually fear that some one will try to get you ? " He leaned forward in his chair and peered through the darkness at the face of his companion. A deep, solemn note in the older man's voice sent a sort of chill through his veins. He suddenly regretted the harshness of an earlier re- mark. " I cannot discuss the matter until I know that you are willing to accept the position I am prepared to of- fer." " And I am not willing to accept until I know what is in the wind, sir." 110 SHERRY " I will be quite frank with you. I want you to act, after a fashion, as a personal body-guard." "Body-guard?" gasped Sherry, startled. " After a fashion, I remarked. Ostensibly as my secretary. Don't misunderstand me. You will have secretarial duties that will keep you fairly busy. I am too old to attend to all of the private business that accumulates from day to day. Such of it as I care to trust to the hands of another you would be required to look after, and no more. My lawyers are quite capable, I believe, of handling the more important mat- ters." He was now speaking in a slightly satirical manner. " I may add that I feel myself still capable of handling my lawyers. You suggested a while ago that you would take no regular employment that did not offer an opportunity for advancement. Well, I cannot promise you that. I can only say that your salary will be a liberal one to begin with, and that I shall increase it as your value expands." " Well, I'm still considerably in the dark, Mr. Gil- man." " I want simply to engage your strength, your youth, your loyalty, and not especially your ambition. I want to have near me all the time a young man who can't be bought. Do you understand? Who can't be bought. You are unique in your way, my lad. Money does not mean as much to you as it does to the average man. You have had it, and you have thrown it away. You are starting out to acquire fortune and honour, after having had both of them in your brief career. Your money is gone, your honour remains. You have no greed in your soul. You have enjoyed affluence, SHERRY 111 and, having done so, are singularly well fortified against the evils that often inspire him who yearns for it and the power it gives. I could hire a robust, husky truck- driver who would serve admirably as a so-called body- guard, but he would never be more than that, and he would afford me no mental relaxation or security. You have mentality, spirit, education and good-breed- ing. Your companionship will mean a great deal to me. I am seventy-seven years of age. My time may be short. I have thought of a way to make this job attractive to you, a sort of gambling chance. Every year for the first three years your salary would be in- creased one hundred per cent. Your first year it would be twenty-four hundred dollars. Your living would cost you nothing for your home would be with me. The second year you will have forty-eight hundred dol- lars, the -third ninety-six hundred. After that the in- crease will be but ten per cent, annually. Assuming that I live ten years longer, a little computation will prove to you that you would be getting a rather hand- some salary when you are thirty-seven. You would be drawing a salary of er something over eight- een thousand a year, besides the income from the in- vestments of previous years. Not to be sneezed at, eh? Don't look so startled. I am not insane, nor am I at present afflicted with paresis or softening of the brain," said the old man, smiling. " Just the same, it's a crazy idea," cried Sherry. " Not at all. I may die inside of two years, or even less. I am not likely to live more than ten, you will agree." " And what will happen to me if you live ten years 112 SHERRY longer and your heirs discover that you have been pay- ing me as high as eighteen thousand dollars a year as secretary and Why, they'd put me in jail for life. It couldn't be explained. Undue influence, they'd call it, and what could I say in " " Quite a reasonable conjecture. That's what I like about you. You think. You reason. But all of that can be avoided if we enter into a bona-fide con- tract, with all the terms set forth. For example: I, Andrew Gilman, being of sound mind, and so forth, do hereby agree, and so forth, to pay Sheridan Redpath a certain salary, plainly stipulated, and so forth, in return for which said Redpath agrees to perform certain services for me. No one can go behind that, you know. I have known you for three days, and no one can say that you have unduly influenced me in so short a time. Moreover, the proposition is mine, not yours. I think you need have no fear of conse- quences." " Sign a contract, eh? That would mean that I'd have to stick to you to the end, whether I wanted to do so or not." *' You may end the agreement by giving me a year's notice. That would be fair to you and fair to me. I should reserve the same privilege." " Supposing I wanted to get married and have a home of my own. Such things happen to the young and strong, you know." " Your marriage would immediately cancel the con- tract," said Mr. Gilman promptly. " I would even prefer to have you refrain from falling in love, but I daresay neither you nor I can regulate that." SHERRY 113 " I may be permitted to fall in love, eh ? " said Sherry musingly. Mr. Gilman started. " You are not already in love, I hope." " No," said the other, and sighed. " Not a bit of it." " Then you may contrive to stay out of it," sug- gested the other hopefully. Sherry fingered the sequestered silver dollar in his left hand pocket, and smiled tenderly. " I think I'd like it, however," he said. " Well, you mustn't," snapped the old man. " There is nothing on earth so useless, so valueless as a young man in love. He isn't worth his salt. I know, be- cause I've had dozens of them in my employ. Their minds were on a perpetual vacation, and drawing full pay all the time." " But the minds of the married men must have made up the shortage. They never get a vacation." " We're talking nonsense now. Let us go back te the text. Does my proposition appeal to you? " " It interests me," said Sherry coolly. " The ques- tion of wages being settled, how about the hours? Is it to be a twenty-four hour job, like a nurse's, or do I work in shifts? " " Virtually a twenty-four hour j ob, for you will sleep in a room connected with my own." "Any vacations? Physical, I mean." " No. Your days will not be irksome, however. You may have considerable freedom when it comes to the hours between seven A. M. and seven P. M., except when winter shortens the days. Your nights must be SHERRY spent in this house, except when I see fit to grant a brief leave of absence." " The question of hours appears to be settled," said Sherry, sighing again. " Everything seems clear now except the principal feature of my job, if I take it. Who or what is it that I am to guard you against? " " It is not necessary that you should know," said the old man, a queer hoarseness in his voice. " The only requirement I shall impose upon you, aside from your duties as my secretary, is that you be near at hand and ready at all hours of the night. Your in- tegrity will not be violated, your work will be honest. More than that, it is not necessary for me to speak." Redpath drew a deep breath and was silent for a long time. The situation was extremely interesting. His curiosity was aroused. What did it all mean? What was behind that grim old man's proposal? What was ahead of him if he accepted the place? The thrill that goes with the mysterious and unexplained crept into his blood. Why shouldn't he take the job? There certainly was something dark and sinister be- hind it all, else this sound, intelligent old man would not be seeking a protector, and all the more sinister would it appear to be in view of his determination to keep the prospective guardian absolutely in the dark concerning the object of his fears. It was most un- canny: guarding a person against the unknown! " Give me a day or two to think it over, Mr. Gil- man," said he at last, and there was a quiver of excite- ment in his voice. " Very well. Give me your answer on Saturday. I SHERRY 115 need not remind you that all this is in strict confidence. I trust to your honour and discretion." " Not a word, sir, to any one. Before I can consent to take the place, sir, I shall have to ask two ques- tions which must be answered." " Ask them now, my boy." " Is your life in peril? " " I don't know. That is why I feel the need of a body-guard. If I knew, I would not need you." " I see. Now for the other one. Would I be called upon to take the life of some one else in order to pre- serve yours? " There was a long silence. " No," said Andy Gee ; " you wouldn't." CHAPTER X MORNA O'BRIEN was lonely. This simple, presignifying condition, and nothing else, was responsible for her amazing and ill-considered flight on a recent early morning. There was no getting around the fact: she was lonely to the point of desperation. She longed for the broad companionship of strife, the blandishments of adven- ture, the joys of uncertainty. Anything was better than the placid, uneventful existence she led amidst the rural comforts of a home in which the days were all alike and the nights even worse. The only breaks in the monotony of life as it moved in the ancestral abode of the Comptons came with the regular if somewhat perfunctory Sunday visits of uncles and aunts and cousins from the city. She did not know which she de- spised the most: the visits or the visitors. Thinking it over, in solitary depression, she decided that it ought to be the visitors, since they alone were the cause of the visits. Her girl cousins were snippy, bazaar-loving crea- tures, and her boy cousins were singularly unfunny de- spite an enterprising determination to be otherwise at all times and on all occasions. All of them wei*e con- scious of a certain superiority over Morna, notwith- standing her envied residence in Paris, a year in New York, and the knowledge that she was the favourite of a common grandmother. They could not permit them- 116 SHERRY 117 selves to overlook the fact that her father had been an Irish farm-hand, and that her mother had married far beneath her station. It rather hurt their pride to have a cousin named O'Brien. They also were annoyed by the occasional trips she made to Chicago with her grandmother. Moreover, it was distinctly irritating to the girls to hear their young men friends exclaim : " That cousin of yours is the prettiest girl I've ever seen." A hum-drum life was not the life for Morna. She was devoted to her grandmother, and she was loyal, but down in her gay, warm heart dwelt the yearning for the things that belong to the young. She longed to be out in the world with the inhabitants thereof, and not to be mooning her youth away in the solitudes. She had tasted the sweets of life and she liked them. They were to be found among the multitudes and not in the pastoral sanctity of a good home ! ** 4*t* Thousands of girls make their own way in the world, and get a good deal out of life. Why shouldn't she do the same? Thousands of girls forsake the comforts of good homes and fare forth into a world of stern ex- actions, there to bloom in full view of all observers. Morna did not want to bloom unseen. True, she wor- shipped the comforts of life ; there were times when she doubted her ability to get along without them, as con- ceivably she might have to do if she undertook to make her own way in the world. Sometimes she shuddered over the possibility of privations, but never did it oc- cur to her to be troubled by doubts concerning the morality of the world into which her young beauty was to venture unattended. 118 SHERRY She was seven years old when Mrs. Compton made her first and only trip across the Atlantic. The child's father had been dead two years. While every one else seemed to consider his widow a very lucky person in being so satisfactorily bereaved, the lady herself was not able to reason along the same lines. She had loved her good-looking, light-hearted Irishman, and he had loved her. Relatives, near and remote, were agreed that it ought to be a tremendous relief, and told her so in what they considered a very warm and sym- pathetic manner. Certainly, they argued, it was not an affliction to be restored to the family fireside after five years of poverty and Catholicism. God, they said, had snatched her from the Roman Catholic church, and they could not understand why she refused to thank Him for the profound benefaction! She could now come back into the church of her forebears and But one day she turned on them with eyes that blazed and a voice that trembled with fury. " I am a Catholic and I shall remain one as long as I live and afterward, too. I loved my husband and I love his church. I shall strive to bring my little girl up to be a good Catholic. If she chooses to forsake our church when she is older, I shall not oppose her. She has as much right to be a Protestant as I had up to the time I was married, and, if she sees fit, she may again become one of you, for she has the divine right to change her mind. She may," and here she smiled in a way they did not like, because they could not com- prehend " she may even marry a good Protestant. There are such things, you know." Only Mrs. Compton spoke in reply to this. That SHERRY lly shrewd, far-seeing lady held up her hand, checking the angry retort of an outraged son-in-law. " Just because Patrick O'Brien had cause to believe there are no good Protestants," she said, " is no reason why his child should grow up believing the same. Let us try to convince her as we go along that there are good Protestants. I don't believe in arguing politics 01 religion. We cannot get into heaven any easier by arguing, but we sometimes get there a little bit quicker, depending on the temper of the person whose religion we abuse. I daresay we shah 1 meet a number of Cath- olics in heaven, and they will probably be as dumb- founded to see us there as we are to see them. Let the mother alone, I say, and let the child alone. They still belong to Patsy O'Brien, dead though he may be, and we can't do anything about it. Time mends everything. I only hope it may soon mend Harriet's heart. Her soul will take care of itself. I will be overjoyed if she sees her way clear to renouncing this new religion of hers, but if she doesn't well, there sha'n't be anything more said about it. So let her alone, all of you." But so inexorable was the resentment of her sisters and her brothers-in-law that Harriet O'Brien, after en- during for two years the polite tolerance of these wor- thy Christians, declared to her mother that she could stand it no longer. Thereupon Mrs. Compton, to the utter dismay of all the relatives, packed herself and Harriet off to Europe, and spent a most enlightening year in travel. She came home alone. For ten years Harriet and her daughter remained in Paris, where the child was given every advantage that love and money 120 SHERRY could obtain for her. Harriet O'Brien did not return to Farragut until they brought her back from New York City to lay her in the Catholic cemetery along- side the grave of her unforgotten and always-beloved Patsy. Morna was nineteen when her mother died. On the day of the funeral, which many Protestants attended, by the way, she took up her abode with Mrs. Compton in the house on the hill, and there she remained, cut off from the world she loved, but happy in being permitted to repay in some measure the great debt of kindness she owed to the mother of her mother. She was a tonic for the old lady. Her vitality, her engaging smartness, her cosmopolitan airiness, and above all, her warm, affectionate nature, brought more to the lonely old woman than is possible to relate in words. Mrs. Compton, the formidable, became acutely dependent upon her exhilarating granddaughter ; she fell into new ways without abandoning old habits, and, instead of shrivelling under the age that had come upon her, throve in spite of it. A time there was when the head of the Compton family considered it a vain extravagance, not in money but in time, to attend the theatre. Now she went frequently and, to her secret amazement, enjoyed herself. One of her sons-in-law took it upon himself on a mem- orable Sunday afternoon to drop a few hints concern- ing the dignity of old age, and received a shock. She told him to mind his own business. Morna knew but few young men in Farragut. She had occasional " callers " at the house on the hill, us- ually circumspect individuals who because of their af- filiation with Mrs. Compton's church assumed a brisk SHERRY 121 familiarity that did not long endure. They did not represent Morna's idea of true manhood although it must be said for them that they neither drank nor smoked nor ventured beyond a perfect " pshaw " in the matter of blasphemy. The " live " young men of Farragut were frowned upon by Mrs. Compton ; she had no use for the dancing crowd whose names one always encountered in the so- cial columns of her newspapers. The few dances Morna attended after her period of mourning was over afforded some lively studies in contrasts. She discov- ered the " drinking set," and was disgusted, if not shocked, by the broad unconventionality of these young men toward the women of their acquaintance; and a painful lack of resentment on the part of the women, married or single, who belonged to the so-called smart set. Morna was not ignorant; she had learned many things in the girls' schools ; but her stock of wis- dom was put to the test before she had been more than thirty minutes in the company of one particular group of young men and women in a home that stood for the highest ideals. She heard things said in the presence of young girls at this big supper table that should have called forth instant rebuke from certain matrons, and were received instead with hilarious laughter by every one present. Morna was clean-hearted. The shrieking attempts at double entendre, the broad play on words, the smart though veiled obscenities, were not funny to her. She did not laugh. She went home disgusted with the whole lot of them, and was astonished to learn that her cousins thought these bold young men amazingly bright SHERRY and clever. She did not like the sanctimonious nin- compoops who came to see her; she could not endure the brazen worldlings ; and, as there appeared to be no young gentlemen of intermediate qualifications handy, she concluded in her own mind that a very forlorn time lay ahead of her. Being lonely, she did the thing that all lonely and romantic-minded young people do at one time or an- other in the transitory stages: she began to write a novel. All lonely people try to write novels. Writing is the solace of the socially unemployed. Six chapters of a very dreadful love story were completed before Morna realized how unutterably bad they were. Her Irish impulsiveness was quick to take advantage of a momentarily weakened state of Compton doggedness. It was responsible for the sudden destruction by fire of two hundred pages of foolscap paper. Shortly after this lamentable literary calamity, she quarrelled with her grandmother and ran away from home. As we already know, she got as far as the concrete bridge, and then went back again. Since that memor- able morn, now five days past, she had been con- sciously keeping alive a new grievance against circum- stance. Try as she would, she could not extract com- fort from any argument in defence of her oversight on the morning of the flight. She had neglected to pay the man his wage, and he had added to the misery of the situation by disappearing in a most significant manner before she had a chance to recall the obligation. He should have awaited her pleasure and convenience. She would have got around to it in time. In any event, a person is expected to at least put in a claim for his SHERRY 123 pay. Who ever has heard of a menial failing to de- mand his due? But this young man had calmly walked away, leaving her in a most unenviable posi- tion /0 c^ M1 ^*' "*"^ ^-*3-* ****LJ+*JkJU / ' She obtained but little solace in paying him at Mr. Gilman's garden wall a couple of days later. The ep- isode was not quite all that she had intended it to be. He was not in the least crushed or humiliated by her top-loftiness. Indeed, he had rather the better of the situation. She had made a complete muddle of the whole business. That is why she sat up nights wish- ing him all sorts of misfortune. Who was he anyhow? A ne'er-do-well, a drunkard, a wastrel, a pariah (she had made use of these words in the construction of her uncompleted novel because they had a sound literary flavor) a disgrace to his family and a But there always intervened an alle- viating recollection of his good looks, his good-hu- moured gallantry, and, above all, the singular effect he had on her emotions that morning. She may have for- gotten to pay him for carrying her bags but she would never forget that she owed him an incalculable debt for the change of heart he had brought about in her. Still, she was very sure that she did not like him. He had behaved most abominably. Occasionally she wondered what he was doing. After night-fall the black depths of Compton's Woods had an extraordinary fascination for her. Sometimes she shivered as she looked down upon their sombre solitudes ; nothing in all the world could have hired her to sleep out there ! On the night that Sherry dined with Mr. Oilman and 124 SHERRY listened to his staggering proposition, Morna and Mrs. Compton attended the theatre in town. There was but one first-class play j house, the Grand, and, as Morna kept herself well posted in matters theatrical, very few of the worthwhile " attractions " appeared there with- out finding the two women in the audience. On this particular August night a brand new " musical com- edy " was having its " try-out " preparatory to an opening in Chicago two weeks later. While it was, as a matter of fact, experiencing its real " opening night," any one of the performers sarcastically would have re- minded you that it was being " tried on the clog," and that the only safe place to do such a thing as that is iri a " tank town." The press agent did not, however, speak of Farragut as a tank town ; in his advance no- tices he called it an enterprising, discriminating city, accustomed to and entitled to the very best of every- thing. He would " no more think of sending a No. 2 company to Farragut, than he would think of putting a Sunday school choir in the Metropolitan Opera ^House." He paid Farragut a compliment by uttering in small caps that Chicago's opinion of the show would be moulded largely after what Farragut had to say about it. If, said he, a play " got over " before such a discerning, intelligent audience as Farragut was able to produce, it was a " pipe " that it would " go " any- ^ where in the world, even in " little old New York," and the newspapers printed it without " quotes." Be that as it may, the hour of midnight arrived be- fore the fall of the final curtain, and lucky it was for Farragut that its inhabitants were not permitted to hear what was said by the manager and the stage di- SHERRY 125 rector to the unfortunate cast and chorus behind that protecting screen. Among other things : " If you can't make these damned boobs laugh, how do you expect to get a smile out of real people? Why, they'll laugh at anything in a burg like this, and you ought to have had 'em cacklin' so hard, with all the stuff this piece has got, that they'd be ehokin' themselves to death on the peanuts and popcorn they brought with them." It was nearly one o'clock when the green touring car slowed down for the sharp turn into Mrs. Comp- ton's driveway. The headlights swung full upon a tall, solitary figure standing just outside the big gate v which had been left open for the return. The driver put on his brakes. "What are you doing here?" he demanded as the car came to a stop and he leaned over the wheel to peer at the man, who was now in darkness once more. "What is it, August?" cried Mrs. Compton quer- ulously, coming out of a pleasant doze. Morna bent forward, staring, a flutter of alarm in her breast. " Don't be alarmed," came from the indistinct figure at the roadside. His voice was quiet and reassuring, although a suppressed note of excitement would have been detected by a close observer. " It's all right, Mrs. Compton. Nothing at all to be alarmed about." "What are you doing here?" queried Morna, a quick little catch in her voice. She did not realize that she was repeating the words August had uttered ; they were the same, but the question had a totally different meaning. She emphasized the pronoun. 126 SHERRY "Who is it, Morna? What does this mean, sir? Who " " Keep still, Granny. It is Mr. Redpath. He won't bite us. Now what has happened? " " Nothing, really. It didn't happen, you see, though it might, just as easily as not." He chuckled. " Drive on, August," commanded Miss O'Brien sharply. Her heart sank. He had been drinking, she was sure of it. "Better let me jump out and chase him " began the burly August. " Drive on ! " cried Morna. " Don't stop to " " What business have you here at this hour of night, young man? How dare you " Redpath stepped forward into the light of the lamps and held up an object for their inspection. It was un- mistakably a sack made of bed-ticking and it was quite full of something that jangled. " See this sack ? In reality it is a pillow case, and it contains, I fancy, most if not all of the Compton silver, with perhaps a soupcon of diadems, crown jewels " " What ! " shrieked the two women. August half arose from his seat behind the wheel. " Thieves ? " added Mrs. Compton shrilly. " My silver? " " Here ! Hand that stuff over ! " barked August, finding his voice. He had at no time lost his courage. "Don't you want to hear about it?" inquired Sherry, almost plaintively. " It's a corking good story. I've waited nearly an hour to tell you the " Morna took the matter into her own bands. " Get into the car, Mr. Redpath," she cried, her voice quiv- SHERRY 127 ering with excitement. " Come up to the house with us. If if there has been a robbery, I we wouldn't dare go in without a man to lead the way. Goodness, Granny, isn't it thrilling? " " There may be a mistake," mumbled Mrs. Compton, still bewildered. " I don't recognize the pillow case. It" " I can search the house, Miss Morna," interposed August loudly. " We don't need any help." " Perfectly safe thing to do, August," said Sherry. " One of the thieves is locked up in the stable now, guarded by a couple of Swedes, and the other is lying in the fence corner just behind me, securely bound in leathern thongs, a belt, Mrs. Compton, and a very stout necktie, the absence of which I would de- plore were I standing before you in broad daylight. However, I shall be delighted to go up to the house with you, provided August remains here to stand guard over our captive. I " " We must telephone to town for the police at once," began Mrs. Compton briskly. " Morna, get up in front and drive. August, you may stay here and Dear me, where is the fellow, Mr. Redpath? You say he is securely tied? Let me see him if " " He is tied but not gagged, Mrs. Compton. He is in a blasphemous frame of mind, so I'd advise you to forego the pleasure of viewing what remains of him. You see, being bound, he can't very well remove the stains of battle from his face, and he isn't a pretty thing at best." " Is he injured? " cried Morna. " Merely damaged. I overtook him here at the 128 SHERRY gates. It was so dark he couldn't see the rock I fired at him, so he didn't dodge. He's all right, however. For the last half-hour he has been telling me what he's going to do to me when he gets out, so I'm sure he is not permanently hors-de-combat. Incidentally, the police have been notified. They ought to be here be- fore long." " Has he got a gun? " demanded August, now on the ground and staring at a black, indistinct object along- side the fence. " Not now, August. Here it is. Perhaps you'd better take it. There are three shots left in it, I think." " Only three ? Then why, by gum, there must Jba' been some shootin ' ! " " Desultory firing," remarked Sherry, from the ton- neau, where he had deposited the sack of silver and was seating himself beside Mrs. Compton. Morna whirled in the driver's seat. Her voice was filled with alarm. " Did did he shoot at you? " " I don't know. He didn't hit me, if that's what you mean. You see it was so dark the poor wretch couldn't get a perfect aim at anything. He says he didn't shoot at me. Says the thing went off without his knowing it, just as revolvers always do. He has the nerve to tell me that he didn't know it was loaded." A few minutes later the three of them were in the dining-room, going over the contents of the sack. The cook and the maid-of-all-work were separating the small and flat silver into piles, all the while interrupting Red- path's story with sharp, excited promptings of their SHERRY 129 own. Even the emphatic Mrs. Compton could not restrain them. There were some things about the robbery that Mr. Redpath didn't know and they did, so why shouldn't " One of these 'ere teaspoons is missin', Mrs. Comp- ton," broke in the cook triumphantly. " Never mind ; we'll find it, Lizzie. Go on, Mr. Red- path, and, Kate, please count under your breath. It isn't necessary to bawl out like that." " Well, all the jewels is safe anyhow," said Lizzie. " Not a thing missin'. Here's that little turkey pin that I give you for Christmas back in " " How many o' these forks ought there to be, Mrs. Compton? " inquired Kate, holding up a sample. " One dozen," groaned their exasperated mistress. " That's right. There's just a dozen." " Funny what a robber would want of a silver thim- ble," commented Lizzie. " As I was sayin', the screen in the south winder at the back of the " " You were saying, Mr. Redpath," broke in Mrs. Compton, after staring Lizzie into utter silence, " that you followed the men up to the house. Now go on, please. Where did you first encounter them? " " It's really quite a short story, Mrs. Compton, and everything was so simple that you'd hardly believe it. You see, I've been sleeping in Compton's Woods thes sultry nights. Miss O'Brien may have told you so." " Yes, yes, I've heard about that," impatiently. " Tonight I dined out and, being a bit exercised over some news I'd had during the evening, I but I think I've already mentioned this " " Yes, you have. Pray get on. The police may be 130 SHERRY here any minute, and I want to see the fellow in the stable before they take him away. Lizzie, ask Mat- son and Ole to fetch him into the kitchen at once. I may be able to identify him. Proceed, Mr. Redpath." "Well, I concluded to take a long walk, just to quiet my nerves, don't you know. Somehow or other I meandered clear down to this end of the woods. It was about half-past ten o'clock. My bedtime, I may say. Inasmuch as I've been making my bed wherever it is dry and convenient, I didn't see any sense in tramping clear back to the other end of my bedcham- ber when the turf is just as good at this end, so I con- cluded to turn in for the night just a little way above your gates. There is a fine bit of turf about a hun- dred yards back in the woods, much superior, in fact, to anything I'm accustomed to, and I was stretching my bones out very pleasantly when I heard some one speak on the opposite side of the clump of hazel brush to my right." " Oh, dear ! " murmured Morna, breathless with ex- citement. " Weren't you lucky they happened to come up on that side ? " " Rather. And you were lucky, too, that they stopped there for consultation. Otherwise I wouldn't have known what was in the air. I don't want to be classed as an eavesdropper, so I was on the point of coughing just to warn him that some one was listen- ing, you see, Mrs. Compton, when a fellow sleeps out in the woods as I've been doing, he hears and sees things that no one is expected to see or hear just to warn him to be careful what he said, when his com- panion spoke, and I discovered, to my surprise, that he was also a man. It isn't such bad form to listen to SHERRY 131 what two men have to say to each other, so I thought better of it and didn't cough. To shorten the story, I distinctly heard these two fellows arranging their plans for the burglarizing of your house. It seems they knew you were in town at the theatre, which was news to me, of course, and that the two hired men sleep above the stable. The plan was to get into the house through the west wing, your side, I ga- thered, and therefore quite unoccupied at the time. The servants were supposed to be asleep at the far end of the other wing. They " " That's where they got fooled," broke in Kate. * iiil^rq0 J A A > WILLIAM, only son of the bitterly estranged Gilmans, was supposed to have died ten years prior to the events which culminated in his sensational return to the house in which he was born. The truth concerning his existence in the flesh was known only to the parents and to the sister-in-law who despised all of them. At the time of his banish- ment from his father's house many years before the report of his death was circulated in town, Mrs. Comp- ton had given him shelter in her home, where he remained in seclusion for a fortnight and then went his way, cursing his father and his aunt, neither of whom he ever expected to see again. At that time he was about twenty-six years of age; he had been looked upon as a model, more or less exem- plary young man by all who knew him best, although none credited him with the stability that his father possessed. Only the father knew him for what he really was: a reprobate whose misdeeds had been screened from the public for at least a half dozen years. A young girl's body recovered from the river into which she had thrown herself after pleading with her be- trayer in the presence of that harassed father was the rock, figuratively speaking, on which Andrew Gilman's endurance split. For years he had endured constant and increasing acts of dishonour in which he alone was the sufferer at the hands of his unscrupulous son. Al- 263 SHERRY 269 ways he had carefully covered up the sins of the son, and to this day not one of the men associated with him in the conduct of his business had the slightest knowl- edge of the true situation. He so altered his own books and accounts that not even the book-keepers discovered the frequent peculations of the junior member of the firm of Andrew Gilman & Co. The secret history of the firm of Gilman & Co. abounded in transactions that never saw the light of day. From sly pilferings at the outset of his career in business, William Gilman's depre- dations developed into bold plunderings, the magnitude of which staggered his father. None save a man of iron could have faced the truth as did Andrew Gilman. The sickening wounds in his heart were never exposed to the public eye. The world was not allowed to suspect for an instant that all was not well with the integrity of the Gilmans. William conducted himself with noteworthy decorum '.' in Farragut ; for that much, at least, Andrew Gilman . - was thankful. So far as Farragut was concerned, there was but one opinion concerning the younger Gil- man, and that was never expressed in the hearing of his forebear: behind his back it was said that William was by no means a " chip of the old block." On the con- trary, he was a friendly, companionable young fellow who spent money freely but sensibly. Some instinct, perhaps that of self-preservation, directed his con- duct along the straight and narrow path while he was under the observation of his fellow-townsmen. He did not deviate an inch from the course laid down by provincial respectability ; his dissipations were genteel, his habits irreproachable, his morals unquestioned. 270 SHERRY Certain analysts asseverated that he was a " light- weight " and would never be half the man that his father was, but this estimate was based largely on the fact that he wore a high collar and had been seen hav- ing his nails manicured. Judge Emmons was of the opinion that he might out- grow these signs of ineptitude. His good behaviour was confined to Farragut. Chi- cago, Louisville, St. Louis and occasionally New York saw the other side of him. He was bad to the core. Forgery, theft, and on one occasion the pawning of his mother's jewels, were charged up against him by a long-patient and bewildered father. He robbed his parent with impunity, confident that there could be no such thing as exposure or penalty. Then came a day when, balked in his designs upon the family resources, he stole from an important cus- tomer, actually taking the man's purse from his coat pocket when that individual, suspecting no evil in the house of Gilman & Co., left the garment hanging over the back of a chair in the office while he went out into the shipping department with the head of the firm. A porter was suspected of the theft. Andrew Gilman, apologizing for his humiliated house, restored the money six hundred dollars to the victim and the matter was dropped. This went on for three or four years. Not one word of it reached Mrs. Oilman's ears. She was serene in the belief that her son was immaculate. Andrew Gilman would have kept the truth from her for ever had it been possible. She worshipped her son ; she bitterly resented what she called fault-finding in her husband SHERRY 271 when he took the young man to task for mistakes natural to the young and inexperienced, chiefly in con- nection with money matters. Andrew Gilman bore it all in silence, and suffered alone. He shielded the son, he shielded the mother. He covered up the tracks of the thief so carefully tha"t they might as well never have existed, and he went on, day by day, looking for fresh tracks to obliterate. Thousands of dollars went for the preservation of the family name and the protection of the woman who had brought a thief into the world. It was not until the unhappy girl came forward with her story of an irreparable wrong that he arose in revolt against iniquity. There was a frightful scene. He cursed his son. The girl went to Mrs. Gilman, who put a mother's curse upon her. The next day a dead body was taken from the river. . . . Andrew Gilman turned his son out of his house that night. In the presence of the distracted mother, he gave the young man a roll of bills and told him that he was done with him for ever. Hoping for results from the mitigating influence of his mother, William sequestered himself at the home of his aunt, who, loathing Andrew Gilman as she did at a time when her own quarrel with him was flourishing, was satisfied to believe that her nephew had been cruelly mistreated by an unreasonable, narrow-minded father. Whatever may have transpired in the Gilman house during the two weeks that he remained with his aunt and uncle, Compton was alive at that time, William was brought finally to the realization that his mother was powerless as an advocate. She had failed 272 SHERRY to budge his father from the stand he had taken. He sat down and wrote a letter to Andrew Oilman, and another to his mother. In both he declared that they would never see him again ; in one of them he said it with diabolical fury, in the other so tenderly that its recipient never forgave the man who drove him out into the world. He forswore the name of Gilman. To his mother he wrote that he could no longer answer to a name that was hateful to him; to his father, with more nobility than he intended, he said that as long as his mother bore the name of Gilman he would not risk adding anything to her degradation by using it him- self. He was " going to hell " and he " didn't want her to know it." For ten years nothing was heard of him. They did not know whether he was alive or dead. The mother, adoring him in spite of all that she now knew to be the truth concerning him, grieved terribly. As time went on and no word came from William, she gave up all pretence of friendship for her husband. (Love had long since ceased to exist between them.) Her grief and despair and longing were made easier by the culti- vation of a vast hatred for Andrew Gilman. Every day added something to the raging fire that consumed her. More than once he was tempted to seek out his son and restore him to his mother's side, if only to escape the abuse she heaped upon him, but calm reflection offset this inclination with the certainty that conditions could not be improved by the return of the ne'er-do-well. Andrew Gilman had but one hope in his soul : that his son would work out his own regeneration and then come home ! SHERRY 273 Farragut did not suspect, nor was it ever allowed to suspect. William Gilman was supposed to have gone to South America to engage in business for himself. In response to inquiries both of the Gilmans never failed to say that he was ** doing well " and " might be home for a visit before long." Mrs. Compton had a single but illuminating experi- ence with the young man about eight years after his departure. He came to her hotel in New York and tried to borrow a no inconsiderable sum of money from her. She refused and he became so abusive that she threatened to have him ej ected from the hotel. He was in no position to invite an encounter with the house de- tective or police, so he went away empty-handed, swear- ing that he would " get even " for the way his people had treated him. Mrs. Compton never spoke of this incident. And then one day came an end to Andrew Oilman's secret hopes. His son was in jail in Philadelphia, charged with robbery. After ten years this was the first word they had had from him. He wrote from the prison, smuggling the letter out by a discharged inmate, and implored his father to come to his assistance. With a " wad of money " he could fix the guilt where it really belonged ; they were trying to " railroad " him ; it was a " frame-up " pure and simple. If they " got him " for this alleged crime, it would mean at least twelve or fourteen years in prison. Even the redoubt- able William winced at that. He was smart enough to direct the letter to his mother, in whom lay his only hope. Mr. Gilman wrote to his son, demanding full particulars. He addressed 274 SHERRY the letter to William Colby and signed himself A. Gill. He went to Chicago to post it. In due time a reply came from the prisoner. It was as his father had thought. Cold-bloodedly, William Gilman purposed to hire a couple of witnesses who would hang the guilt upon another man, " a dirty crook who ought to be in the pen for life anyhow, so you needn't have any scru- ples." It was then that the final crash came between Mr. and Mrs. Gilman. Despite her demand that he carry out the plan proposed by his son, he refused to have anything to do with him or his scheme to convict a man who was, in any event, innocent of the crime for which William was to be tried. Moreover, he put his foot down on her proposal to take the matter into her own hands and furnish the necessary cash. To clinch his argument he swore that he would go to Philadelphia himself and expose the " deal," if it were attempted. From that day, Mrs. Gilman never spoke to her hus- band. She retired to rooms which she selected for her- self, engaged a nurse to whom she confided nothing of her physical or mental sufferings, although she com- plained of both, and for ten years lived the life of a recluse. She had violent fits of weeping and tremen- dous depression, and so alarming were her symptoms at first that the physician, a good old-fashioned country doctor, " looked in " every day for six months, at three dollars a visit, and even at the end of that period seemed reluctant to trust her out of his sight for more than a day at a time. Her one object in life was to make Andrew Gilman un- happy. With the short-sightedness of some of her sex. SHERRY 275 she believed that there is no surer way to make a man unhappy than to let him see that he is the supreme cause of misery. fa* cu u j if- -ii, 11 i. 1 i j 11 j '' '** she hated him with all her soul and revelled in it. The pleasure of hating him would not have been so keen, however, if she could have looked into his heart just once and seen what was there. It was not a part of her calculations that he should enjoy the privilege of hating her even more than she could possibly have hated him. His hatred of her terrified him at times. William " Colby " was " sent up " for seven years. His father went east soon afterward and, with the aid of private detectives, learned much of the history of the notorious Bill Colby. He had served a short term in Sing Sing for larceny, and more than once had escaped punishment for other crimes through an almost uncanny ability to cover up his tracks. He was a thief, a card- sharp, a blackmailer and a bunco-steerer. The records also revealed a startling incongruity : he had never been ., , known to take a drink of intoxicating liquor ! With these facts in his possession, Andrew Gilman buried the last, lingering hope. He returned to Far- ragut and the next morning the Dispatch printed the interesting news that William Gilman, only son of " our esteemed fellow-citizen, Andrew Gilman," had died in Buenos Aires. Twenty years after leaving his home town, William Gilman reappeared in the flesh, but no man would have recognized in him the fastidious, natty figure of old. Time and experience had made another man of him. He had grown massive, burly, sinister. The evil in him had expanded its physical habitation to extraordinary proportions ; it was as if nature had been compelled to meet a demand for more room. Mrs. Compton broke the silence of years when she went to Andrew Gihnan with the news that his son had come back to Farragut. A few words only are necessary to explain the pres- ence of William Gilman in the house he had dishonoured. It was his safest refuge. Fleeing from the jail in the driving snowstorm, he made his way direct to the big old house in which he was born. Peering through a window he discovered his father sitting alone in the library. With the assurance and confidence of a fatal- ist, he calmly rang the door-bell. . . . No one would think of looking for him there. His mother provided him with money for the trip to the Pacific Coast on which his mind was set. Andrew Gilman, feeling like a rat in a trap, gave him suitable clothing and besought God's aid in the hazardous un- dertaking that was to follow. During the long, trying day that he remained quietly in his mother's apartment, William was given the treat- ment of the prodigal son. Toward the end of the day the fond and excited old woman exhibited her last will and testament to him. By this she meant to prove to him that she still loved and trusted him. At her death every penny that she possessed, and she was a comparatively rich woman, was to go to her " beloved son, William Gilman." William put his arm around her and said that he hoped God would let her live to be a hundred ! CHAPTER XXII THE posse rounded up the two men at Black Hill, and in disgust released them. Sherry Redpath was in high spirits. His mind was at rest concerning Andrew Gilman. Obviously his employer was not involved in the escape of the two men. His offer of a reward for their apprehension was in itself reassuring. He chuckled delightedly to him- self, however, as he thought of the bomb he could throw into the group of searchers if he were to announce that the big crook was known to both Mr. Gilman and Mrs. Compton. The company of man-hunters, for strategic pur- poses, were scattered throughout the four day coaches in the local train. Sherry sat alone in one of the cane bottom seats. Looking out of the window into the swirling steam and smoke that blew low from the pound- ing, noisy locomotive, he allowed his thoughts to stray from the real business of the night. Morna O'Brien came up out of the gliding abyss and took her seat beside him as he dreamed with wide-open eyes. He recalled her admonitions. They were pleasing. She had urged him to be careful. That sig- nified something, at least, indeed, the more he thought of it, the greater became the significance of her con- cern. He rehearsed their little scene at parting. His imagination placed her in the seat beside him, and as 277 278 SHERRY he repeated from memory every word that she had uttered, he revelled in the preposterous fancy that she snuggled close to him in the dreary day coach and whispered them into his enslaved ear. All day long he had been thinking of her. That in itself was not an unusual occupation for him, but on this particular day he approached a state of confi- dence that made all previous days look black and chaotic. He had almost arrived at the conclusion that she liked him, and that was a great deal farther than he had ever permitted himself to go before. Her manner that morning, well, he tingled a little as he recalled the look in her lovely, troubled eyes. She was really interested in him. She had been worried about him. And that brought the comforting thought that she might even now be sitting at home worrying herself ill over him! (He had called her up from Klein's drug- store just before the train pulled out, to let her know that he was off on a trifling expedition, nothing to speak of, of course, as there probably wouldn't be a bit of fight left in 'em if they saw they were surrounded, even though they had been able to obtain firearms. ) His original resolution to turn over a new leaf now enjoyed the companionship of a thriving and even more attractive resolve: the determination to so order his life that Morna O'Brien would never have cause to be ashamed of him. In his kindly ruminations, he even went so far as to arrogate to himself the singular office of protector-in-chief to this wilful maid. Not saying that Jimmy Burton wasn't a most desirable, perhaps dependable chap, and all that, but some one ought to take a hand there before it was too late. It would SHERRY 279 never do for her to run away with and get married to a Burton. No good could come of such an alliance. As a matter of fact, now that he thought of it, it would be quite as much of a calamity for Jimmy to marry a Compton. Any way you looked at it, they couldn't possibly live happily ever afterward. The ghost of the feud would always be sitting beside them, grinning, and the time would surely come when " Black Hill Junction ! " barked a raucous voice be- hind him, and he got up with a sigh to go out into the cold, unfeeling night. There was not so much need of strategy coming down on the eleven o'clock. The posse united in excoriating the station agent at Black Hill. They crowded to- gether in the forward end of the smoking car and raised their voices in a withering chorus of scorn. They had experienced an hour and a half of extreme discomfort plodding through the snow toward a common centre ; the night was bitterly cold and the wind was high. Nearly every man in the crowd had taken the precau- tion to provide against pneumonia and other ailments ; there were at least a dozen well-filled flasks in the posse when it began the chase. It is safe to say that when the station at Farragut was reached the flasks were empty and the posse full. Redpath was cold and tired. He sat with Barney Doyle, his shoulders hunched, his chin buried in the fur collar that was fastened close about his neck. From time to time his teeth chattered. A dozen men tendered their flasks. " Take a good fat swig o' this, Sherry. It will tickle you to the toes. Don't be a fool. It may head off a 280 SHERRY cold." So spoke the lord high sheriff of the county, poking his " pint " at Redpath. " No, thank you," said the other. " I'm on the wagon, you know." " One drink won't hurt you a bit. Medicinal pur- poses. Just as you'd take quinine if it was prescribed by a doctor. Lord, how it warms a feller up ! I was frozen stiff. Never felt warmer in my life than I do right now. Drink 'er down, you chump." A lean deputy with a hollow voice waved the sheriff aside. " Don't do that, Sheriff. He's our nice little Willie- boy. He's afraid of fire-water. You ught to know better'n " "Are you afraid to touch it? " broke in the sheriff, eyeing the young man curiously. " Not at all," replied Sherry. " I simply don't in- tend to touch another drop of the stuff as long as I live, Mr. Sheriff, that's all." " I never had much use fer a feller that couldn't take a drink or two and then say he'd had enough, 'spe- cially when everybody else is doin' it sensibly and ' Sherry interrupted the lean, sneering deputy. " How many have you had to-night, Swigert ? " "Two," 'said Swigert loudly. " On*y two. But, lemme tell you somethin', if I wanted any more I'd take 'em an' it woul'n' be any your damn* business. Do you get me? I'm no mollycoddle. I c'n take a drink with anybody. I " " I merely wanted to suggest that you've had enough," said Sherry pleasantly. " If you take an- other, you'll begin to show it, Swigert." SHERRY 281 " Aw, you go to hell. I s'pose because you are old man Redpath's son, and went to college, you think you're " " Go and sit down, Swigert," said the sheriff roughly. " Go on, now. I don't want to have to tell you again. Now, Sherry, listen to me. You're shiverin' like a licked dog. Take a little pull at this. It can't" " Take it away," shouted Redpath angrily. The sheriff was gently waving the uncorked bottle under his nose. " God knows I want a drink, and I need it, too. But I'm not going to take one! I know how good it would make me feel. You can't tell me anything about it. But you can't tempt me. Take it away, I say!" " Well, if that's the way you treat a friend who's only trying to be courteous and " " I apologize, Mr. Sheriff. I'm sorry if I said any- thing to offend you. Forget it, please." " And you still won't have a little nip ? " " No." "Just as you say, just as you say." The sheriff took a long pull at the bottle and then, with grave pre- cision, corked it. Slipping it into his coat pocket, he walked away. " That's the stuff, Sherry, me boy," said Barney Doyle, his red face beaming with pride. " Whin I tell the old lady how ye turned all the booze down tonight, and you freezin' as solid as annybody and shakin' your teeth out, she'll raise the roof wid song. The sheriff has been hittin' it up all day. The things they're hintin 5 at in the newspapers, and all that, ye see. It's got on 282 SHERRY his nerves. I'll stake me soul ye've learned him a lesson this night. The way he put up that bottle tells me he's had his last drink for the present." " He gave it a long farewell kiss, I'll say that for him," said Sherry, a twinkle in his eye. Barney studied his young friend's face for a mo- ment. " Did ye want a drink or did ye not? Ye don't have to answer unless ye want to." " I never wanted one so much in my life," said the other frankly. " Then all the more credit to ye," said Barney, vastly relieved. " I'm dom glad to hear it. It wouldn't have meant anything at all if ye hadn't wanted it. The best pleased man in town will be Patsy Burke when I tell him about it. Take my advice, lad; before ye turn in for the night soak your feet in hot water and mustard. Many's the time I've had Patsy Burke recommind the tratement to me. Bedad, I'm thinkin' it will be a tre- menjous relafe to old man Gilman when he hears his thousand bucks is safe." He chuckled loudly. It was Andrew Gilman who rummaged in the butlery for mustard, and it was he who prepared the hot foot bath for the shivering Redpath. The old man had waited up for him. " Well ? " he inquired as the young man entered the warm, cosy library. He looked up from the book he was reading, but did not arise. " False alarm," said Sherry, answering the brief question. " I thought so. Are you cold? " " I guess I'm not as rugged as I thought," said the SHERRY 283 young man sheepishly. " The fire feels good." He stood close to the blazing logs, his back to the fire- place. The fire had been lately replenished. " Mighty good of you, Mr. Oilman, to stay up and keep the fire going like this." " Umph ! " The speaker eyed the young man closely. " It must have been rather a strain on your courage to keep from it, my boy. There's nothing like it when you're chilled to the bone." That was his way of dis- posing of a subject that another might have gone into at length. " Be off to bed now. Anything you'd like? " " If you'll tell me where I can find some mustard, I'll " " Stay where you are. I'll get it. It is as cold as Iceland in the pantry." Half an hour later he piled some extra blankets on top of the grateful but mortified young athlete, and admonished him to be careful not to kick them off in the night. " Sweat it out," he said, and passed into his own room. And so it was that Sheridan Redpath slept soundly within whispering distance of the man for whom the whole country was being raked, on whose head a sar- donic price had been put by a craftier man than any of them, and of whom he dreamed most unpleasantly under the weight of two extra blankets, each weighing a thou- sand pounds. Much to his surprise he got up the next morning feel- ing as fit as a fiddle. There was no trace of a cold, nor was there any evidence of the dolefully anticipated stiff- 284 SHERRY ness in his joints. He had to stretch himself pro- digiously before he could believe his senses. He was awake when Mr. Gilman came through the room at half- past seven o'clock, and responded cheerily to the rather anxious inquiry as to how he was feeling. " Never finer," he cried. " I'll be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Great stuff, that mustard." Mr. Gilman stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. " I am very much relieved," he said slowly, almost calculatingly. " If you had been under the weather this morning, I should have felt obliged to go to Chicago myself, and it isn't a trip that I relish." " Chicago? Something sudden, Mr. Gilman? " " Not at all. If you are quite sure that you are feeling up to it, I shall ask you to take the nine-thirty train this morning in my place. You will have several hours this afternoon in which to attend to the matter I shall speak to you about later on." " All right, sir. I'll be right down." " You will catch the nine o'clock train home this evening without the least trouble." " I know. Due here at twelve-fifty-two. I've seen it come in a hundred times, more's the shame. That shows the kind of hours I kept." " It also shows pretty clearly where you kept them," said Mr. Gilman drily. " I had quite a range," said Sherry, in high good humour. " I have said how-do-you-do to the two o'clock on the Big Four, the two-forty on the Wabash, sometimes they were a couple of hours late, at that, and iVe said good-bye to the milk train at six A. M. on SHERRY 285 more than one occasion. It is no treat to me to see the trains go by." Mr. Gilman was calmly reading the Dispatch at the breakfast table when he bounded downstairs at eight o'clock, after a hurried shave and bath. " I say, Mr. Gilman, didn't Mrs. Gilman have a good night? " he inquired anxiously. " I saw Miss Corse dash out of the room just now and into her own. She seemed to be in a great hurry, so I " " Mrs. Gilman is sometimes very exacting and im- patient," interrupted the other, controlling himself only with the greatest effort of the will. He even smiled, as much as to add in extenuation : " you understand, of course." If the line deepened between his eyes, and if his face went a shade whiter, Sherry, in his flurry, did not observe the changes. " Miss Corse has to fly about pretty lively at such times." He laid the paper down a moment later. A fine moisture appeared on his fore- head. " Perhaps I'd better just step up and inquire. I sha'n't be gone a minute. Look over the paper. There is no news of your fly-by-night friends." He was gone not more than five minutes. " It is just as I thought," he said, resuming his seat. " She had a sleepless night. Her nerves go to pieces at such times. Now about this trip to Chicago. You are to deliver a package to the Title and Trust Company to be placed in their vaults pending future action. I have written a letter of instructions to them, and they will give you a receipt for the package. That is all you will have to do." " It sounds easy," said the other, smiling. " You don't overwork me, I must say." 286 SHERRY " Umph ! I suppose you are wondering why I do not send the package up by express or registered mail. It would seem more sensible, wouldn't it? " " Not if you'd rather trust me than the express company or the U. S. Government." " I am trusting you as I would myself. That ex- plains everything." After breakfast he placed a big sealed envelope in the young man's hand, and gave him the letter to the Title and Trust Company. " You will need ten dollars for expenses. Five-fifty for railroad fare, seventy-five cents for your luncheon and the balance for a dinner at the Annex. You can get a very satisfactory meal there for three dollars if you are cautious, including the tip." " I'll return the change." " You will have to spend something for street-car fare," the old man reminded him. " It will not be necessary, however, to tip the street car conductors," he added, and winked. Redpath carried the sealed envelope to Chicago and delivered it safely. If he had known that it contained nothing but blank sheets of paper, he would not have heaved a sigh of relief when it passed from his posses- sion into that of the Title and Trust Company, and it is quite certain that the gentleman who received it would not have been so careful about stowing it away in the vaults. Neither of them was by way of knowing what was in the mind of Andrew Gilman when he sent his sec- retary off on an errand that would keep him away from home for a well calculated length of time. When the nine o'clock train on the Wabash railroad SHERRY 287 pulled out of Farragut that night one of its passengers was a tall, prosperous looking man who had his suit- case carried into compartment C, and who shook hands cordially with Andrew Gilman on the station platform before following the porter into the car. A reporter for the Dispatch accosted Mr. Gilman as he was returning to the automobile which had conveyed him and the stranger to the depot. " Any news, Mr. Gilman? " " Nothing that would interest the public," replied the old man pleasantly. " You were seeing some one off. Would you mind giving me the name? We're awfully short on local stuff tonight. A two or three line ' personal ' would help." " That was a Mr. Alfred Griffiths, of St. Louis. He stopped off on his way from the East to see me on a little matter of business. Nothing important." The reporter was writing : " Mr. Alfred Griffiths, a prominent citizen of St. Louis, Missouri, was in the city yesterday for a few hours. He returned to his home last night. Mr. Griffiths, who has been in the East, says that the blizzard was particularly severe in west- ern Pennsylvania and Ohio. While here he was the guest of Mr. Andrew Gilman." " What have you put down there ? " demanded Mr. Gilman. The young man read the " item," purposely omitting the gratuitous information concerning the blizzard. " Scratch out what you said about Mr. Griffiths be- ing my guest. It was a business matter. No doubt he saw other people while here. I don't like to have my name in the paper, as a matter of fact." 288 SHERRY " All right, Mr. Gilman. Still pretty cold, isn't it? " " Pretty sharp. Want a ride down ? I go past your office." " Thanks. Drop me at the Tremont, please." They got into the automobile, which lumbered off over the snow-piled street. " Anything been heard of those fellows who broke out of jail? " inquired Mr. Gilman. " Not a word. They never will hear of them," vouchsafed the reporter scathingly. " This gang we got in office now is the worst ever. They couldn't catch a drop of water in a two-gallon bucket. And see what a glorious street cleaning department we've got. Lordy, this is enough to tear an automobile to pieces. I wish we had a few more public-spirited citizens like you, Mr. Gilman* You made a great hit the way you jumped in and cleaned off the sidewalks " "Ahem!" " By the way, is it true that you intend to remodel the row of store-rooms between Cass and Logan streets next spring? " Mr. Gilman gulped. " Is there a rumour to that effect?" " Somebody came into the office a day or two ago and said he saw Sherry Redpath sizin' the buildings up the other day. That's enough to start a rumour these days." " I am not ready to give out anything about it at present. Come and see me later on." " You won't mention it to any one else, will you ? I'd like to get a ' scoop ' on it." " You may trust me not to mention it," SHERRY 289 " Anything in Mr. Griffiths' visit that would be of interest to the readers of the Dispatch? I saw you talking pretty busily to him down at the far end of the platform. Sort of out of ear-range, you might say." " The observation car, it seems, invariably stops at that end of the platform. He reserved a compartment from my house this afternoon. That is how we hap- pened to be down there." " I thought maybe he was a big doctor from some- where, called hi to see Mrs. Gilman," ventured the re- porter. " He looked the part all right." " Just because a man wears spectacles and a silk hat is no sign that he is a doctor, my boy." " I guess that's right. The orneriest gambler in town wears a plug hat and a Prince Albert morning, noon and night. And he wears a fur coat, too, phony, of course, not the real goods like the one Mr. Griffiths had on. You can always tell the real article, can't you? " " Not always," said Mr. Gilman softly. CHAPTER XXIII FOR the next two or three days there was an atmosphere of restraint in and about the Oil- man home. After that the air cleared percep- tibly; not only was Mr. Oilman quite like himself once more, but the behaviour of Miss Corse also underwent a marked change. On the rare occasions when she was unable to avoid Redpath in the hall, her manner had been distant and unfriendly. There were times when he felt certain that she was afraid of him. And then, quite as inexplicably, her manner changed and she be- came even more friendly than before. She went out of her way to engage in somewhat protracted discussions with him, and there were frequent sly little confidences concerning the " crankiness " of the old woman " up there." " She is the limit," confided Miss Corse, and from that simple expression he derived what he consid- ered to be an explanation for her recent conduct. Coincident with the sudden rise in spirits on the part of Mr. Oilman and Miss Corse was the arrival of a telegram from Los Angeles, directed to Mrs. Oilman ; a circumstance unknown to Redpath, however, and there- fore of no value in the formation of his conclusions. The affairs of all the persons connected with this ^narrative settled down for the winter, so to say. The weeks slipped rapidly by in a more or less desultory fashion ; each day was a good deal like the other and they were all short. The nights were long, and for Sherry Redpath, tedious. 290 SHERRY 291 He was an active person, full of life and spirit, and the evenings spent with Andrew Oilman, while amazingly interesting after a certain fashion, were far from inspir- ing to one who had the call of youth in his blood. Moreover, Mr. Oilman had become more exacting in his demands. He begrudged the young man his occasional " night out." Sherry did not complain. He appre- ciated the other's dread of the long, lonely evenings, and quite as much through pity as through duty he allowed his privileges to lapse. As a matter of fact, the even- ings were not unprofitable. Andrew Oilman was a never-ending source of help and inspiration. The young man realized that he was absorbing sound princi- ples and acquiring a fund of knowledge that would one day be of great value to him. And he gave to Andrew Oilman much that was of value in return. He had new ideas to exchange for old ones, and while his employer did not readily fall in with them, because habit was too strong to be overcome in a trice, he never failed to consider seriously, and not captiously, the suggestion of his wide-awake, occasion- ally visionary, companion in these nightly discursions. Not a few of Redpath's suggestions resulted in actual performances, and in such cases Mr. Oilman was more pleased than he cared to admit when they turned out to be advantageous, not only to himself but to a commun- ity he no longer despised so heartily as in the days gone by. Redpath was becoming quite a novel figure in town. He was doing things. and doing them with old Andy Gee's money. Men who had looked upon him with sus- picion a few months before, now admitted that " maybe 292 SHERRY there's something in the darned scamp after all." He was not content to be merely a figure-head collecting agent; they couldn't understand any man working for Andrew Oilman and still possessing a mind of his own, or a shred of independence. How he managed to wheedle the hard-fisted old skinflint into such an aston- ishing state of progressiveness, was the question that every one asked and no one answered. Old Judge Emmons meant every word of it when he remarked, while watching a gang of men tearing down the time-honoured and unsightly wooden awning in front of Bolger's meat-market, that he'd be " switched if he wouldn't vote for Andy Gilman for mayor if he'd only agree to run." Socially, Sherry was being noticed, if not actually recognized. The women were more afraid of each other than they were of him. They were cautious. It was one thing to say that Sherry Redpath deserved a whole lot of credit and another to say " Oh, you must come, Mr. Redpath ; we want you so much." Feminine Farragut was saying quite openly, however, that he was a terribly good-looking fellow, " you wouldn't believe it, really, if you could have seen the way he looked last spring," and so on. And when he finally took to skating on the ponds in the park above town, a sport in which he excelled, formidable matrons smiled benignly and said they hoped " to goodness it would last." It came to pass, later on, that he was more severely criticized for an unbearable aloofness than for any- thing else he had done. He skated because he loved the exercise, and needed it. It did not occur to him SHERRY 293 that he should have offered his long, graceful body for the support and education of awkward young ladies who struggled with the rudiments : this wilful neglect was not due to snobbishness. Not by any manner of means. He was acutely afraid of being snubbed if he ventured farther than the simple, perfunctory smile of recog- nition with which he favoured one and all without dis- tinction. Six months ago these girls had drawn their skirts aside when he passed them in the streets. He was not taking any chances with them now. He knew most of the older girls ; he had grown up with them ; he had not the slightest feeling of resentment toward them. They had been quite right in avoiding them! If he had had a sister he certainly would have counselled her to steer clear of a fellow like Sherry Redpath. Morna O'Brien came one afternoon to the ponds. She was with a crowd of young men and women in a huge bob-sled. They were going on after the skating to a house in the country for supper and a barn dance. Redpath had removed his skates and, aglow from the healthy exercise, lingered on the bank watching the antics of a couple of beginners. The ponds were crowded. He did not see Morna until she swept by him on the ice, hand in hand with a man he knew. She flashed a smile over her shoulder and called out a merry " Hello, stranger," to him. His heart throbbed so violently for a moment or two that he could feel it pounding against his ear-drums. He followed her with fascinated, hungry eyes as she glided through the maze of skaters. Distance and the throng that darted madly over the surface of the huge 294. SHERRY pond failed to shut her out of his vision. She flashed by again, and again she smiled at him. Her cheeks were glowing, her dark eyes dancing. He felt suddenly sick and weak with longing. She was wearing a check skirt that came down to her shoe tops, a dark green jacket trimmed with fur and a close velvet turban edged with the same brown material. (He credited her with nothing short of sable.) Something brightly scarlet was at her throat. Drunk with the spell of her he watched and waited for that unfailing smile as she whizzed past thrice, four times, five, and then he lost count. There were a dozen girls on that pond who skated as well as Morna, and some of them better, but you could not have con- vinced him of that. He could hardly believe his own eyes. It seemed absolutely incredible that any girl could skate so marvellously well. (You must remem- ber that to him, sport of any description was mascu- line. He gave it a sex.) What beastly luck, he was wailing inwardly. If he had waited but ten minutes before removing his skates 1 Or if fate had ordained that she should appear on the pond fifteen minutes earlier. It would be ridiculous for him to sit down now and strap on his skates. And even if he had been willing to make an ass of himself, what right had he to expect her to ignore the men in her own party for the sake of a few turns about the pond with him? Be- sides, he remembered with a shock that plunged him further into gloom, he was even now due at Mr. Gil- man's to go over the afternoon's mail with him. He sighed profoundly and turned away from temptation. " Hello, Sherry," called out a buoyant, sprightly SHERRY 295 voice. A young fellow, with one knee on the ground, was feverishly adjusting his skates. It was Jimmy Burton. " How's the ice? " " Great," replied the departing one, his spirits going clear to the bottom with a dizzy rush. Jimmy picked his way awkwardly to the ice, and waited, his eager gaze sweeping the pond. " Curse the luck ! " muttered Sherry, and strode off, unwilling to witness the inevitable. He heard Jimmy shout a brisk, domineering " Next ! " and to save his soul could not resist the impulse to look around. Young Mr. Burton was coolly appropriating Morna, edging in between her and the monopolist who had had her from the beginning, and Morna was smiling de- lightedly ! A few days later she appeared again on the pond, coming with her cousins. He was ashamed of the pre- tence that he did not see her, and yet he was doing his cause a world of good without knowing it. She was piqued. In his ignorance he referred to himself as a sulky, impolite idiot. A different sort of ignorance on her part caused her to wonder what on earth she could have done to offend him ! He could not understand himself. Here was he, a grown-up man, behaving like a silly school-boy, pur- posely avoiding her, acting as if she did not exist, it was disgusting ! What was there to be afraid of ? She always had been nice to him, she never had snubbed him, she Good heavens, it couldn't be that he was bashful ? For three days he had been trying to screw up the courage to telephone out and ask her to come in and 296 SHERRY skate with him, while the ice was good! Once he went so far as to take down the receiver. For hours afterwards he thought of himself as a spineless thing unworthy the name of man. When the operator droned " number," he stammered : " Can you give me the correct time, please? " He went home that day too without having had a word with her. Mr. Gilman was a little crusty that evening. His secretary was wool-gathering. He studied the weather reports assiduously, dreading a sudden rise in the temperature and the thaw that would put an end to the skating at least temporarily. February was half gone when he saw an " item " in the society columns of the Dispatch that rendered the whole day bleak for him. Mrs. Compton and Miss O'Brien were leaving on the twenty-third for a six weeks' stay in Florida. This was the sixteenth. It was his day for making the perfunctory " reminder " visits to delinquent tenants. "Ain't ye feelin' well, sir?" inquired Mrs. Cassidy, the first to be seen. She was now three months in arrears. " Never felt better," he assured her, and gave her his customary though somewhat belated smile. " Ah, thin, some one in yer family is sick," she specu- lated, having missed her first guess. " I hope it's noth- ing serious, sir. It's hard weather for " " You will try to pay a little this month, won't you, Mrs. Cassidy? " he broke in, impatient for the first time in her acquaintance with him. Whereupon she told him what she thought of Andrew Gilman. She was still SHERRY 297 telling him when he turned the corner into the next street where Jacob Webber lived. That afternoon Morna put her pride in her pocket and, deserting the Bingham girl with whom she was skating, swooped down upon him from an advantageous angle. " What is the matter with you ? w she demanded, an accusing light in her eyes. " Don't you ever intend to speak to me again? " He flushed to the roots of his hair. " Why, er, there's nothing the matter. I'm awfully glad to see you. I've been waiting for a chance to talk with you for" " I don't believe you like me any more," she said. " Don't say that. Of course, I do. But you always seem to be so busy er don't you know. A poor, out-of-the-running dub like me hasn't a chance to get within a mile of you." " We're going South next week," she said, a trifle ir- relevantly. " I saw it in the paper." " You haven't been very friendly, Mr. Redpath. Granny has spoken of it several times. Aren't you ever coming out to see us again? Or does Mr. Gilman ob- ject? He" " I was thinking of running out to see you tomor- row," he said, which was quite true, for he was always thinking of running out to see her " tomorrow." "You might have asked me to skate with you," she said, a little crossly. " Or perhaps you don't think I skate well enough. Everybody says you are so high 298 SHERRY and mighty you will not condescend to skate with ordinary mortals." " Oh, my Lord," he gasped, genuinely amazed. " You are becoming very unpopular. People are saying dreadful things about you." " I don't doubt it," he said bitterly, misunderstand- ing her. " You can't expect me to live down a " " Oh, I didn't mean that," she cried, flushing pain- fully. " You mustn't think that any more. Nobody thinks of that nowadays. They just can't understand why you won't have anything to do with them. The girls, I mean." " They don't seem keen about having anything to do with me." " You are getting a reputation as a snob. I've heard a dozen girls say you are fearfully stuck-up." " Well, I'm not," he exclaimed wrathfully. His mind leaped backward and released a thought. " Will you skate with me now? " " It's about time," she said pointedly, and placed her hand in his. They skated in silence. He was too happy to utter a word. The tight pressure of her strong little hands in his ; the delicious nearness of her lithe, adorable per- son ; the cool, refreshing perfume that filled his nostrils, he was in paradise. Rapture was his at last. After all the weeks of longing, and doubt, and misery, he was happy again, most unexpectedly so. Some- thing was telling him that she had been hurt by his indifference ; he was amazingly well satisfied with the im- pression that she had mistaken his thundering stupid- SHERRY 299 ity for indifference ! There was a whole lot of glory to be got out of that. " You ought to ask some of the girls to skate with you," she said finally. " They think it's awfully queer that you don't." " I haven't the time to go in very strong for that sort of thing," he said, assuming a loftiness he did not feel. " I'm in business, you see," he added, with an apologetic grin. " Time is very precious, I suppose," she observed, bitingly. " More precious than girls," he replied. " I've never been much of a hand for girls, you know." " Your own experience ought to prove to you that it's never too late to mend. Unless I am greatly mis- taken you were not much of a hand for business up to a very few months ago." " Are you proselyting on the girl question ? " " I'm trying to teach you good manners. You mustn't follow too closely in Mr. Oilman's footsteps. You will be a dreadful person if you don't watch out." " Thanks for the tip. I'll do better. Are you com- ing out tomorrow afternoon ? " " Yes, if it's decent weather. I'm coming with Jimmy Burton." " Oh," he said, and was silent for a long time after- ward. " He's terribly amusing, isn't he ? " she said, as she leaned lightly against him at the turn. "Who? "he demanded. " Jimmy Burton." 300 SHERRY " Terribly," he agreed. " By the way, how is the feud getting along? " " There isn't any feud to get along," she replied sweetly. " That is, so far as Jimmy and I are con- cerned. We've buried the hatchet." " Was Mrs. Compton present at the ceremony ? " " Oh, dear me, no. The burial was quite private, Mr. Redpath. Granny wouldn't go within a. mile of a Bur- ton if she could help it." " Still keeping her in the dark, I see," he said, in- wardly raging. " She is very fond of Jimmy," replied Morna, radi- antly. " Will you be here tomorrow afternoon ? " " To see you skating around with Jimmy Burton ? I should say not." She squeezed his arm delightedly. " I really believe you're jealous," she cried, but in such a gay, sparkling manner that he could find no comfort in the thrust. " I am," he confessed promptly. She laughed as she looked up into his face. There was something in his grey eyes that held her fascinated for a moment. Then she suddenly looked away, con- founded by the discovery she had made. He saw the blithe smile fade slowly from her half-averted face, and his heart sank. Poor fool! He had betrayed him- self, and now it was all over ! " Well," he said gently, after a long interval and as if he were completing a provisional statement of his case, " you might just as well know it now as later on. Much better for me too. Don't think anything more about it. I'm only one of a multitude and I guess I can stand it as well as the rest of them. I'd just like SHERRY 301 you to feel, however, that the very best that's in me goes out to you. You are wonderful, Morna. I shall always be grateful to you. I Well, you've given me something that I wouldn't part with for all the world. Now, don't be the least bit unhappy on my account. I've never had a ray of hope, you know, so there's really nothing to feel badly about. It's all a part of the great game we have to play, and a good loser never squeals." He drew a long, deep breath. The familiar, quizzical smile crept into his face and he fell into the pleasantly satirical way of drawling his words : M I called you Morna a moment ago. I've said it a thousand times to myself. It's like a caress. Hope you didn't mind." She smiled faintly. There was a slight quaver in her voice, as of suppressed excitement, when she responded. " I like you to call me Morna. As you say, it does sound like a caress." She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye, a swift, searching little glance that he missed, being studiously intent on the landscape straight ahead. Then suddenly : " Come on ! Let's sprint awhile. As fast as we can go ! " There was a vibrant note in her voice. He went very red in the face ; a queer glaze came over his eyes. She was laughing at him! But then he had made a silly fool of himself * so, why shouldn't she laugh at him? Some one ought to kick him all the way home and back for presuming to " Come on," she cried impatiently. " Top speed ! " They circled the pond three times at a furious pace. Other skaters made way for them, some cheerfully, oth- ers grudgingly. When at last she gav the signal to 302 SHERRY slow down, she was panting and out of breath, but her eyes were starry bright and smiling. " Wasn't it great ? " she gasped, leaning on his arm as they swerved in toward the crowded centre of the pond. " I never knew it was in a girl to skate like that," he replied, wonderingly. " You are a wonder." " I've skated at San Moritz with some of the best skaters in the world," she said simply, unaffectedly. " I hope I didn't tire you," he apologized. " You see I've skated only with men. I'm not used to girls. Maybe I hit it up too " " I wouldn't have missed it for the world," cried Morna. " I loved every second of it." Her breast was heaving, her red lips were parted in an ecstasy of fatigue, her cheeks glowed warm and rich from the whipping of the chill February wind. Her voice was low and husky, and trembled slightly. " And you will not let what I said a little while ago make any difference in our friendship? " he said, un- easily. She laughed outright at that, a gay, excited little gurgle that consoled him strangely. He hadn't blun- dered irretrievably, and that was something to be thank- ful for. "You might just as well ask me to be a sister to you," she said, still laughing. " Good Lord ! Do you mean that we can't go on as we were before I made that awful break about " " We can never be the same, I'm afraid." He was aghast. "I I can't tell you how sorry I SHERRY 303 am, Miss O'Brien. Won't you forget that I said it? Your friendship means more to me than " " Didn't you mean it? " she demanded, severely. To herself she was saying that she was having the time of her life ! " Of course I meant it," he stammered. " Then what kind of a girl would you take me to be if I even pretended to forget it? " " Well, I didn't mean to put it in just that way. I should have asked you to overlook my impertinence. That's it," he cried ; " my confounded impertinence." " Since you put it in that way," she said demurely, " I suppose I'll have to give you another chance." " You will ? " he cried, relieved. " That's fine of you. Bully!" " But, I warn you, don't ever do it again unless you are prepared to take the consequences." He swallowed hard. She looked up into his face and her heart smote her. He was quite pale. " I'll I'll be as mum as an oyster," he said reso- lutely- She appeared to reflect. " On second thoughts," she said slowly, " I don't believe I'd better risk giving you another chance." " Oh, don't say that," he groaned miserably. '* I should hate to be disappointed, you know. You must promise not to disappoint me, Sherry." " I promise, Morna," he said humbly. " You old dear," she whispered, squeezing his arm tightly. He looked down into her shining eyes and caught his breath sharply. 304 SHERRY " God," he muttered huskily, " it's not going to be easy." " I'll do my best to help you," she said quaintly. " So, do cheer up." A hand was laid heavily on Sherry's shoulder and a hearty voice from behind cried out : " Break away, old man. See who's here. Little old me. My turn, Morna. Clear out, Sherry." Jimmy Burton thrust himself in between them and a second later skated blithely away with Morna. Things went red before Sherry's eyes. For a moment he skated blindly in their wake, hearing their gay laughter but seeing them only as a confused, mobile mass. Then he turned and darted back toward the benches. He missed the queer look of dismay that she shot over her shoulder, and the momentary gleam of pain and contrition that filled her dark eyes. He was saying to himself as he trudged furiously down the hill, homeward bound : " But if I had punched his nose for him she would never have forgiven me, so what's the use thinking about it, you darned fool. She's in love with him and that's all there is to it." CHAPTER XXIV THE Prohibition Party invited him to go on its ticket in the spring elections. He was asked to " run " for councilman in the Sixth Ward. At the same time the Blue Ribbon Society formally re- quested him to address a big meeting in Alexander's Hall on the 25th of May. The committee, which in- cluded, besides ladies, a number of bland gentlemen who had taken the pledge never to touch intoxicating liquor (some of them were proud of the fact that they had taken the pledge more than once, and would go on doing so indefinitely if necessary to overthrow the power of Demon Rum), suggested a topic for the address they expected him to deliver : " The First Drink and the Last." He declined both invitations. The Prohibitionists were shocked when he laconically reminded them that it was no good running for a local office unless you were prepared to buy drinks for half the voters in the ward, and, besides that, you couldn't expect them to vote for you if you considered yourself too good to drink with 'em. Moreover, being a Republican, he couldn't even vote for himself, and that ought to be reason enough why he shouldn't run on the Prohibition ticket. " But you are the logical candidate," they insisted. " You've stopped drinking. You've made a man of yourself. You are a credit to the ward. You are at 305 306 SHERRY this moment one of the most popular, deserving young men in the city. Every one is talking of your manly " " But all of these can't make a politician of me," he said amiably. " You don't have to be a politician to run on the Prohibition ticket." " You have to be a politician if you want to be elected, however." " Oh, we don't for a minute believe there is a chance of your being elected. That isn't the point." " Just what is the point ? " " We are blazing the way. Some day " " Why don't one of you gentlemen run for the office? You don't drink, and you are quite respectable. Why wish it on me? " " To be perfectly frank with you, we've been fight- ing the liquor interests so long that there isn't a chance of our getting a single vote out of the saloons, and that is important, you know. Now you are fresh from asso- ciation with the very people we want to reach more than" " Set a thief to catch a thief, is that the idea? " " Well, that's hardly the way to put it," very be- nignly, deprecatingly. Sherry set his jaws suddenly and the amused smile went out of his eyes. " Gentlemen, the saloon interests in this town, or in any other, for that matter, may not hesitate to make a drunkard of a man, but I've never heard of them trying to make him ridiculous. I will say that much for the liquor dealers, and that's more than I can say SHERRY SOT for you. You would make me the laughing-stock of the town. For five years I drank like a fish and you gen- tlemen held me up to public view as the horrible ex- ample by which all comparisons were to be made. I've been sober for a matter of six months, and you want me to run for councilman on the Prohibition ticket. How in hell, gentlemen, do you know that I'm going to stay sober for the next six months? How does anybody know? Six months on the water-wagon makes me the logical candidate, does it? Six months dry and five years wet, that's my record. If you think that I take your proposition as a compliment, you are very much mistaken. I take it as a joke, and we'll let it go at that. Permit me to recommend a candidate far better supplied than I with all of the qualifications you men- tion. I refer to Patsy Burke, the bartender at the Sunbeam saloon. He hasn't touched a drop in ten years, he is absolutely honest and reliable, he provides for his family, he is popular with the element that frequents the saloons, and, gentlemen, he is a resident and tax-payer in this ward. He is your ideal candi- date." The Blue Ribboners came a little later on and told him that as a " reformed drunkard " he could set the town afire with his " experiences." " We will bill you as the one big drawing card of the convention, Mr. Redpath, and you will fill the hall to its utmost capacity. We'll guarantee that. Every one will be crazy to hear you talk about the evil days you " " I remember, Mr. Edmonds, the last time I ever saw you spifflicated," broke in Sherry, with his most genial, 308 SHERRY friendly smile. " You certainly had me guessing. Patsy Burke said you were alive, but, by George, I didn't think so. Remember that time? In the alley back of the Sunbeam about a year and a half ago ? " Mr. Edmonds drew himself up. There were ladies present. He got quite red in the face. " No, I do not remember any such occasion," he said, ponderously. " Perhaps not. I'm not surprised. You were loaded to the ears. Maybe it wasn't the last time, either. Doubtless I saw you once or twice after " " What do you mean, bringing up such things, sir? " roared Mr. Edmonds. " I consider it extremely bad taste to " " Forgive me," said Sherry, humbly. " I didn't dream you would be offended. I thought you'd rather like to talk about those good old evil days. Believe me, sir, I hadn't the faintest idea that those jags of yours were private. Excuse me if I've betrayed a secret." " I am not proud of them," snapped the red-faced Mr. Edmonds, " and I never speak of them. We came here in good faith to ask you to speak at our convention and you have the effrontery to refer to a part of my life that is a closed book, Mr. Redpath. If you think you are making a hit with me by parading my " " Don't lose your temper," admonished Sherry, shak- ing his finger at Mr. Edmonds playfully. " I didn't lose mine when you invited me to get up in front of a crowd and tell 'em about my sessions with old Mr. Booze. I am beginning to feel, Mr. Edmonds, that you are entirely too modest. You could get your name in large type on the bills if you'd only put your modesty SHERRY 309 aside and volunteer to tell the multitudes how it feels to be so drunk that you don't know it. I am an amateur compared to you, sir. I've never been so full that the police had to slap the soles of my shoes with a night- stick in order to get a grunt out of me, and I've never had the pleasure of sleeping all night in an alley. I'm not the man you want, ladies and gentlemen. I am a piker. Mr. Edmonds here is the logical head-liner for your Well, good-bye, Mr. Edmonds. I don't blame you for feeling embarrassed. Fulsome praise al- ways embarrasses me too. But I must say, before you get entirely out of ear-shot, that Patsy Burke would consider it a personal favour if you'd drop in at the Sunbeam some day and pay him the ninety dollars you've owed the bar for drinks since nineteen-four." These profound indications of the new esteem in which he was held by an astonished citizenry amused rather than gratified him. He had many a laugh over the incidents with Mr. Gilman and Barney Doyle, and once when he met Patsy Burke on his way home from church with the " old lady." But there did come a proposition which interested and pleased him more than mere words can describe. It was on the day of the departure of Mrs. Compton and Morna. He had gone to the station to see them off. The through train which carried them away deposited on the front door-step of the city (it isn't hyperbole to call the platform of the Union depot a front door-step), a distinguished and august visitor, to whom at least two " sticks " were devoted in each of the evening papers (involving the hurried and agitated unlocking of the forms just as they were ready to go to press), and a 310 SHERRY solid two column interview in the Dispatch of the morn- ing after. Double-leaded type informed the people of Farragut that the Hon. James W. Hazelton was in their midst for a day or two only, on business connected with the Inter- urban Traction Company, and that important exten- sions and improvements of the system were being con- templated by the Eastern syndicate controlling the property. The Honourable James was not a stranger in Far- ragut. He had spent forty years of his life in the town, his wife was a first cousin of Sherry Redpath's mother, and his two daughters were graduates of the Farragut high-school. It was no good telling people in Farragut that Jim Hazelton was not a Farragut man, and always would be, notwithstanding the fact that he had been a resident of New York City for the past twenty-five years, or that his wife hadn't been " home " since the time of the World's Fair in Chicago, or that his daughters had been happily married to and happily divorced from men whose geographical informa- tion was limited to a conviction that there wasn't much of anything west of the Atlantic seaboard except con- gressmen and ranches that supplied New York with food. Jim Hazelton was a Farragut man, and his wife and daughters were Farragut girls. (You or I would say women, but we don't count.) He was the president of the Traction Company, chairman of the board of directors of a big National bank, a director in two railroads, receiver for a third, and was on speaking terms with J. Pierpont Morgan. On the occasion of his rare visits to Farragut, he SHERRY 311 created a profound sensation among his old acquaint- ances by speaking of the various Astors and Vander- bilts by their first names, and once (evidently letting it slip out involuntarily) he spoke of Mr. Choate as Joe. Mr. James Hazelton was that kind of a man, so now you ^i , know him perfectly. He talked of millions, abused the administration at Washington, drank malted milk, owned a Gainsborough and a Romney, consulted a specialist every time he had an ache, insisted that the country was going to the devil, knew an actress or two, read the Saturday Evening Post, and was, as you may readily see, and out-and-out capitalist. But why go on ? He is with us for such a very short 1 * time that it seems wicked to waste space on him. His stay is brief. He got into this story at two-forty-five") on the afternoon of a certain day and goes out of it - for ever at eleven-ten on the sext. And as he has noth- ing whatever to do with it except to shake hands with ^ Sherry Redpath and ask him how his mother was, we leave him to the daily press and pass on to the next day but one after his memorable visit to Farragut. But while he was in town he found the time to ex- press his amazement over the present appearance and condition of his distant relative, Sherry Redpath. The last time he was West, that young man was a sight to behold ! He remembered that very clearly. Now he was perplexed. He couldn't believe his eyes. So he forgot his own affairs for a moment and inquired who the deuce, or what, was responsible for the miracle. Whereupon the general manager of the lines, and the local superintendent, and the city engineer, and the entire committee from the Common Council took up a 312 SHERRY good deal more of his time telling him about the remark- able regeneration of Sheridan Redpath. The next day but one the general manager of the system hailed Redpath from his automobile as the young man was walking briskly down Main Street. " I say, Redpath! Look here a moment, will you? " The chauffeur not only stopped the car but backed up a few yards along the curb. " Any time you want to cut loose from old Andy Gee and tackle a job that will get you somewhere, let me know. I've had my eye on you for some time. You've got the right stuff in you and it's a pity to waste it as you're doing now. You'll shrivel and dry up as every one else does in this burg if you stick around here too long. Right now is the time for a young fellow like you to get in on the ground floor with one of our systems. Just say the word, and I'll give you a job that's bound to lead up to better things if you put your heart in it." " That's fine, Mr. McGuire, but I'm under contract with Mr. Gilman for a certain period. I can't consider anything else at present. Thanks, just the same." " When does your contract expire? " " I have to give him a year's notice." " A year? Good God, man, are you crazy? That's the most idiotic " " Don't forget, please, that I wasn't in the position to decline his good offices as I am yours, Mr. McGuire," said Sherry quietly. Mr. McGuire stared for a moment. Then he smiled. " I understand. Well, I just thought I'd put a bug in your ear. I'm interested in you, Redpath, and I want to see you get along. You've surprised the old SHERRY 313 fogies around here, and I don't mind saying you've sur- prised me. But this isn't the place for } 7 ou. You want to get out before it's too late. We're at the back of a new line from Chicago to well, I guess I'd better not say where. There's a good job for you with the syndi- cate if you want to grab it. You would go to Chicago for awhile and later on to New York." " I don't believe I'd like office work. I'm too strong for that." " It wouldn't be office work. We'd start you in as assistant superintendent of construction. I guess that would keep you out in the open a bit, wouldn't it? If you make good, the next step would be into a five thousand dollar job. What are you getting now, if I may ask? About fifty a month? " " Considerably more than that, Mr. McGuire." " More than that out of old man Gilman ? Well, you are a wonder, that's all I've got to say. Nobody ever did that to him before, believe me. Think the matter over, anyhow, and if you put it up to the old man in the right way, showing him the advantages you'll have, he may release you from the contract." " I am sure he would. He's a very fair man. On the other hand, that's what I profess to be. I'll dis- cuss it with him, however. I am sure he will be inter- ested." " We could start you off at twenty-five hundred a year," offered McGuire, magnificently, and, waving his hand in a friendly fashion, drove off. This conversation set Sherry to thinking. He had known for many weeks that he was not engaged in a real man's work. The amazing agreement with Mr. 314. SHERRY Gilman, while it provided inducements for a man with no fire or ambition in his make-up, offered little or no satisfaction to one whose aspirations carried him be- yond the mere thought of earning easy money. He decided to lay this new proposition before his employer, not with the thought of actually terminating his contract with him, but to ascertain, if possible, the exact nature of his present occupation. There was a deep and secret significance behind the far from busi- ness-like arrangement that the hard-fisted, sensible, old man had made with him in order to secure his services for a term of years that might reasonably in- clude his dying day. He made up his mind that he would ask Mr. Gilman for a plain statement of the facts. His own good sense told him that no man could give an adequate return for the amazing wages that were pro- vided for in their agreement. He was not worthy of his hire, and never could be. It was only fair to offer to release Mr. Gilman from his bargain. Mr. Gilman listened to him without the slightest sign of annoyance or concern. When Redpath closed his crisp resume of the situation with the flat statement that he did not believe it was fair and honest for him to accept the pay that was promised him as the years in- creased, and offered to tear up the contract at any time, the old gentleman said wearily: " I know how you must feel, my boy. It is not an elevating occupation. Your pride revolts against taking money that cannot possibly be earned. I can see how attractive this proposition from Mr. McGuire ap- pears to you. If it were left to me to decide for you, I should unhesitatingly advise you to accept. But you SHERRY 315 are under contract to me. I cannot see my way clear to release you at present. As for the rather direct and sensible question you put to me, I can only say that your actual duties here are plain. You are taking care of them admirably. If I have a secret motive for keep- ing you with me, and am willing to pay you the stag- gering wages you speak of so dubiously, it is solely my own affair. I cannot tell you now what your unknown duties here are and I pray God that they may never be disclosed to you. You are not, I perceive, disposed to get rich quickly and easily, and I am glad to see that spirit in you. Most men would jump at the chance you have had thrust upon you. It is not fair of me to hold you to your bargain. I have become very fond of you, and proud as well. You have better stuff in you than even I suspected, and I am a pretty good judge of men. Now, suppose we leave it this way : stay on with me for a year or two. If at the end of that time you feel inclined to cancel pur contract, I shall not oppose you. But, I beg of you, do not leave me now." There was a genuine appeal in Mr. Oilman's voice. There was no mistaking the earnestness of his manner. Sherry was filled with compunction. " That settles it, sir. I see how you feel about it. I will stick to my part of the bargain as long as you are satisfied. You have been my best friend. I hope you may never be in a position to doubt my friendship for you. I'll stick as long as you like, whether I'm worth it to you or not." That night he was awakened by the sound of some one moving about in his room. He knew who it was. It was not the first time he had been aroused from a 316 SHERRY sound sleep to find Andrew Gilman shuffling across the floor, feeling his way in the darkness. Once a heavy sleeper, he now slept lightly, awaking at the slightest sound. He always called out: " Anything I can do for you, Mr. Gilman? " And Andrew Gilman, after a moment's hesitation, in- variably answered : " Nothing, nothing at all." He observed a subtle change in Mr. Gilman's physical appearance as the winter progressed toward spring. A new and increasing haggardness deepened in his face ; his eyes appeared to have sunk farther into their sockets and to burn with a strange brightness. There were times when they seemed to penetrate to the innermost recesses of his brain, pathetic in their intensity, search- ing always for something that eluded him. There was an odd expression, as of fear or apprehension, in them too. His shoulders sagged and he moved slowly, as if tired and dispirited. The sharp, incisive, direct tone was missing from his speech ; his voice had dropped to a dull, sometimes droning monotone. Redpath spoke to Miss Corse about it one day. He was really distressed by these signs of breaking health. " He's old enough to crack," said Miss Corse, unfeel- ingly, and, as she thought, professionally. " Can't expect him to go on being zippy for ever, Mr. Redpath. He's way over seventy." " But why does he have that queer look in his eyes, as if he were horribly afraid of something? " " Umph ! He's afraid of death, that's what he is. They all hate to think of dying. You see, when they get to be seventy-four or five, they begin counting the years that are left. First they say five years, then SHERRY 317 four, then three and so on. They usually give them- selves eighty years at the outside. Well, every little month counts a lot when you're getting ready to shake hands with Death. He's afraid he'll die before that old woman up there, that's what's eating him. And she's afraid she'll die before he does. I never knew any- thing like it." " I've got a notion in my head there's something go- ing on that we don't know anything about," said he, frowning. She winced. " What do you think it is? " she asked, after a moment. Struck by her tone, he shot a quick look at her face. He was startled by what he saw. The colour had faded from her cheeks, leaving them a sickly white; her eyes were half-closed and her lips twitched nerv- ously. Almost instantly she regained control of her shaken nerves and smiled, a forced, unnatural smile that somehow horrified him. It was just the stretching of thin, pale lips, as if in agony. He had heard lawyers in a murder case refer to the " sardonic grin." or risis sardonicus, that appears on the lips of one who has died of strychnine poisoning. Like a shot his own picture of the " sardonic grin " flashed through his brain. " It's something that you know a good deal about, Miss Corse," he said quickly. " I don't know anything," she said, and cleared her throat of a certain huskiness. " That's what scares me. It's getting on my nerves. I don't sleep nights, puzzling my brain over it. It's awful the way they live, those two. I didn't mind much at first, but lately I'm all on edge. They hate each other so horribly." 318 SHERRY " Do they see anything of each other nowadays ? They seemed to be patching things up a little while ago." " He has tried to see her a couple of times lately, but she won't have it. I wish to God she'd die." " Great Scot, Miss Corse ! Don't say a thing like that." " Well, I know it's terrible, but I can't help it. She's the whole trouble here, Mr. Redpath. I oughtn't to talk like this, being paid to take care of her and all, but it just has to come out. She wishes everybody else was dead, so why shouldn't I wish the same for her? " " Do you mean that she wishes you were dead? " " She sure does. She's said it a hundred times." " She doesn't mean it, Miss Corse. It's only a " " Oh, yes, she does. She says I'm paid to spy on her and that I'm nothing more than a dog in the manger. She keeps telling me that Mr. Gilman hires me as a sort of jailer. She hates me worse than poison, and she hates you too. I " " Why should she hate me ? She's never even seen me." " Yes, she has. She looks at you through the window blinds every day. She hates you because he likes you. Yes, sir," she went on, drawing a long breath through her teeth, " it would be a godsend if she'd shuffle off and be done with it." "Why do you stay?" She answered very deliberately. " Well, you see, I've been here so long that I'm sort of used to being miserable. I don't believe I'd be content to leave be- SHERRY 319 fore she died. It would seem as though I'd wasted the last ten years if I wasn't here to see her die." " By Jove, Miss Corse, you're a queer one," he ex- claimed, impressed by the singular candour of the woman. "Maybe I am," she said curtly, and left him. His peace of mind was further disturbed by an " item " in the Dispatch a day or two later. It was in the " Personal and Society " column and read : " Mr. James Burton left today for a three weeks' sojourn in the Sunny South. He will visit Palm Beach, Jacksonville and other resorts in Florida, returning via Old Point Comfort and New York." That settled it. It had all been arranged before- hand. She was expecting Jimmy Burton to join her in Florida. He put his fond and secret hopes aside, but refused to languish. If it was in the cards that Morna was to lose her heart to Jimmy Burton there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it. Obviously he had no chance himself, and he was learning to be a philos- opher. So he buckled down to work and tried to put her out of his mind. And then, two weeks later, he received a long letter from her, written at Ormond. She began it : " Dear Sherry," and signed herself " Your good friend, Morna." The first two pages were devoted to a glow- ing account of the rare good time she was having, and then, abruptly : " Jimmy Burton is here. We were staying in the same hotel at first, but, would you believe it, Granny suddenly decided to move to another. She had found out who he really is. She said she never 320 SHERRY dreamed that he could be one of those Burtons. Some- how she had gone on all the while believing him to be one of the town Burtons, no connection of the Burtons out our way, you know. Or do you know? There is a Burton family in Farragut, one of the oldest there, so I suppose you must know of them. The funny part of it is that I let her go on believing it, and I am afraid Jimmy did the same. But the other day, she asked him point-blank if he was related to our Burtons, and what could he say but yes? He couldn't lie to her, could he? You'd think his honesty would have appealed to her, wouldn't you? Well, it didn't. She flew into a perfectly dreadful rage, and so did I. Of course in the end, I begged her pardon. She cried a little, and so did I. But when I went on to say that she ought to be ashamed of herself for picking on poor Jimmy for something he couldn't possibly help, (he cannot help being a Burton, can he?) she calmly informed me that I was not to have anything more to do with him. I was not even to speak to him. I was furious. It was too absurd. I told her so and that afternoon we moved over to this hotel. I had to telephone Jimmy and he was terribly cut up over it. He can't understand why he and I should be punished because our silly ancestors rowed with each other. Neither can I. Being a Bur- ton doesn't make a Bill Sykes of him, does it? Granny and I had another flare-up last night. She said I had gone out to sit with him on the porch, (I don't know how it was possible for her to see us, it was so dark), and I didn't deny it. I will not put up with such treat- ment, Sherry. You would think she knew me well enough by this time to see that she cannot bully me any SHERRY 321 longer. I am quite able to think and act for myself, and I told her as much. I started to run away and leave her once before and if I ever start out to do it again, there will be no turning back. I told Jimmy that I wouldn't stand it, and he said he wouldn't either if he was in my place. The way I feel tonight it wouldn't surprise me in the least if I packed up my duds and walked off for good. But I don't want to bore you with my troubles, so I'll close before I say anything fool- ish." He was profoundly distressed. All day long he thought of the impending calamity. She was likely to do something foolish, and it might be that she would regret it all the rest of her life. If she ran away with and married Jimmy Burton He rushed down town to the telegraph office and sent a night letter to her. It was the result of an hour's effort in composition. " My earnest advice in the matter you have consulted me about is to go slow. Don't do anything without long and careful deliberation. There are a great many things to consider. There is a lot of good sense in the old saying, ' Think twice before you leap.' ' The reply came that afternoon. " Thanks. I have thought twice. Morna." CHAPTER XXV ON the morning of the sixteenth of March, Mrs. Gilman was found dead in her bed. She had been murdered some time during the night, strangled to death by hands that left cruel black marks on her white neck ! A wild shriek of terror aroused Sheridan Redpath from the first sound, heavy sleep he had enjoyed in many a night. He sprang out of bed to find that it was broad daylight. Some one was running frantically down the hall, screaming inarticulate calls for help. He felt his hair rise on end as he leaped toward the door. A chill ran through his body, leaving it as cold as ice. As he threw open the door, Miss Corse, her hair down, a loose dressing-gown clutched tightly across her breast, almost fell into his arms. " She's dead ! She's dead ! Oh, God save us all ! " burst from her writhing lips. " Sh! For heaven's sake, be quiet," he cried, push- ing past her into the hall and closing the door. " The shock will kill him. Calm yourself " " She's dead as a door nail ! My God, don't you un- derstand? She's dead ! " He caught her as she slipped toward the floor. The light from a window at the end of the hall fell upon her face. It was livid with terror. He shook her with more violence than he intended. "Brace up, can't you? What kind of a nurse are 322 SHERRY 323 you anyhow? Haven't you seen a dead person before? Don't act like this. You've said yourself that she might go off at any Keep quiet, I say ! We've got to break it gently to him. He is " " She didn't die, she didn't die," moaned the quiver- ing nurse, clutching at his arms. " Then why in thunder are you making all this row over " " She was murdered, killed in her bed, choked to death. Oh, God, it is horrible! The bed is all torn to" " Murdered ! " he gasped. " pieces. She fought for her life. Bed clothes scattered everywhere. Pillows on the floor. Black in the face, and oh, what a looking face ! I " He dashed off down the hall. The house-maid was standing near the head of the stairs, where she had halted, frightened almost out of her wits. One glance-at the occupant of the bed was convincing. There had been a violent struggle ; there could be no doubt that Mrs. Gilman came to her end in a most hor- rible manner. For a full minute he stared wide-eyed and fascinated at the gruesome figure of the woman he had never seen before. Then he came out and closed the door behind him. "We've got to tell him at once," he said, hoarsely, as he came up to the two shivering women. The house- maid was supporting the tragic figure of the nurse. "Who done it?" she whispered, almost dumb with awe. " Telephone for the doctor at once," commanded Red- 324 SHERRY path. " And you, Miss Corse, go in and see if by any chance she may still be alive. You never can be sure " " I wouldn't go in there again for a million dollars," chattered the nurse. " She's dead all right. Been dead for hours. I felt of her. I did that much." " I guess you're right. Go and telephone, Maggie. I'm going in to Mr. Gilman." Andrew Gilman was standing in the middle of the room, clad only in his night-shirt. He had just left his bed and was unmistakably puzzled by the disturbance in the hall outside. "What's the matter?" he demanded irritably. "What is all this noise about? Did I hear a scream or was I dreaming? Speak up ! Don't stand there like a post." " Something shocking has happened, Mr. Gilman," began Sherry, going quickly to his side. " Mrs. Gil- man, you'd better sit down, sir. It's really quite ter- rible. I I don't know just how to " The old man caught his arm in a grip of iron. " Go on ! Don't be afraid to tell me. I can stand it. Is is she " " She is dead, sir." Andrew Gilman's face went deathly white. "In in the night?" " Yes, sir." "Was she alone? Why wasn't I called?" " Miss Corse didn't know until a few minutes ago. I've had them telephone for the doctor. He ought to be here in a few minutes." " Are you sure she Have have you seen her? " SHERRY 325 " Yes, sir. Just for a second. You'd better not go in yet, Mr. Gilman. It's it's horrible." "Horrible? What do you mean?" He sat down on the edge of the bed suddenly. His face was ghastly. " I can't tell you, sir, I don't see how I can^possi; bly tell you what has ^ a PP encd -"^^^^WS^^A The old man was staring at film, glassy-eyed. ' "HisjC^ lips began to work spasmodically, his bony hands''"" 5 "' clutched the bedclothes and trembled so violently that the whole bed shook. " Don't for God's sake don't tell me she has killed herself ! " he groaned. " Not that, sir. It couldn't have been that. She couldn't have done it. Some one else Oh, the most horrible thing has " Mr. Gilman's chin sank to his breast. He uttered a hoarse, gasping cry, and his body stiffened. Sherry threw himself down beside him and put a strong arm around his shoulders. " I'm sorry, sir, if I've broken it to you too " " Go away," muttered the old man hoarsely. " I'll I'll dress at once. Wait for me in the hall." " Better let me assist you " " Put on your own clothes," said Andrew Gilman, lifting his head. " Leave the door open. You can tell me everything you know while we're dressing." " We've got to get busy at once, Mr. Gilman. Don't you understand ? A dreadful crime has been committed. This is no time to think of " " You think she was murdered? Why do you think that ? Why, I ask ? " cried the old man, struggling to his feet. He was panting thickly. 326 SHERRY " There is every indication of a struggle. She was strangled to death. The marks " " Strangled?" fell from the lips of Andrew Gilman. He sat down again heavily. " Choked to death? My God, boy, do you know what you are saying? " " There has been a murder, Mr. Gilman," interrupted the younger man firmly. " Some one in this house may have done it. Pull yourself together, sir. Leave everything to me. I'll send for the police at once. There isn't a moment to waste." " The police ? Oh ! not the police ! " " Why not ? There's got to be a search, an investi- gation while the trail is warm. Good Lord, sir, can't you see the position the rest of us are in here? Sus- picion may fall upon any one of us " " No, no ! " cried the other. " That must be headed off at once. No one here shall be suspected. You are right. Go at once and telephone." The doctor arrived a few minutes later, coming in haste from his home down the street, and soon after- wards three or four police officers. There could be no question as to the cause of Mrs. Gilman's death. The doctor announced at once that she had been throttled by a powerful pair of hands, and that she had been dead for four or five hours. Andrew Gilman waited in the hall while the examina- tion was going on. He refused to enter the room. Dr. Andrews seemed to understand. He knew more of the unhappy history of the two Gilmans than any one else. The police, after inspecting the room, began to ques- tion the occupants of the house. Inquiry drew from SHERRY 327 Miss Corse the facts which follow. She had put Mrs. Gilman to bed at ten o'clock, after which she opened all of the windows as usual. The old lady was half asleep when she left her and retired to her own room across the hall, where she was soon sleeping soundly. It was after seven o'clock when she awoke and tapped on her patient's door. She always went, the first thing in the morning, to see if Mrs. Gilman was in urgent need of anything. Failing to receive the usual response, she opened the door and went in, expecting to find her asleep. She described the scene that met her gaze. Not suspecting that Mrs. Gilman had come to her death by foul means, she rushed over to the bed and began to work with the stiff, cold body, hoping that life was not extinct. . . . She ran out of the room, hardly knowing what she did, and screamed for help. Mr. Redpath came into the hall in his pajamas. " Were the windows open when you went in there this morning? " inquired the " plain-clothes man," who, up to a year or so before had been patrolman No. 17, but was now a detective. " I didn't look. I guess they were," said Miss Corse, twisting her fingers nervously. " That's all I know about it, so help me God. You don't think I know any- thing more about it, do you? I swear to God I " " Nobody's accusin' you," said the detective, eyeing her steadily. " Was Mrs. Gilman feelin' all right when you put her to bed last night ? " " What's that got to do with it, Ed? " demanded the chief of police roughly. " It don't make any difference how she was feeling. See here, Miss, did you hear any sounds during the night? Anybody in the hall? " 328 SHERRY " No, sir. I never woke up. I'm a light sleeper too." " Do you know whether Mrs. Oilman kept any valu- ables in her room ? " " She kept her jewels in the bureau drawer, that's all I know." " This bunch of rings and bracelets and dewdads I've got here in my hand ? " " Yes, sir. I think that's all of them." " Any money ? " " I don't think so. I never saw any, except occasion- ally five or ten dollars when I had a check cashed for her." They got no more than this out of Redpath, and nothing at all from the distracted servants. Mr. Oil- man was so crushed that they forbore questioning him. The densest mystery surrounded the murder. The strangler, whoever he may have been, was not actuated by thoughts of ro'bbery, for nothing had been taken from the house. A search for footprints on the ground outside the windows, an easy drop of ten feet, was with- out result. One of the windows opening onto the side porch was unfastened, but if it had been used as a means of entrance to the house the invader was careful to close it on his departure. The house-maid was prepared to swear that it had been fastened. Mr. Oilman, she said, was very particular about having the porch windows locked ; he had been especially strict about it during the past few months, frequently testing them himself. The coroner, as usual, was late in arriving. Nothing could be done until he had " viewed the body." He got there at ten o'clock. Being of an opposition political SHERRY 329 party, he did all that he could to retard the activities of the police department. Everything stood still until he was (as he put it himself) " good and ready." He set the inquest for the next day and summoned the wit- nesses on the spot. Then he went down town and told every one he knew that the police force of Farragut was the rottenest, stupidest gang of blockheads the Lord ever let live. (This is no place to repeat what the police force was saying about him.) Mr. Gilman established himself in the library, and there he remained all day, seeing no one except Red- path and his lawyer. He seldom left the chair in which he had dropped, wearily, after listening to the pro- foundly sympathetic remarks of the coroner and the statement of the chief of police that he would " get the^ perpetrator of this dastardly crime ifjie had to rake, the United States from one end to the other." The shades and curtains in the library were drawn. He complained of the cold, unfeeling light that poured in through them when he first came downstairs. A sombre dusk pervaded the room, which was as still as death itself. Only Andrew Gilman spoke in ordinary tones ; every one else in hushed half-whispers. Men came and went all day long : the undertaker and his assistant, the pastor, the reporters, the detectives. Scores of curious people stood on the sidewalks below the lawn and stared by the hour. Some of them boldly encroached upon the lawn itself, and a few got as far as the porch. Officer Barney Doyle, routed out of bed at noon, stood guard over the lawn and had no easy time of it keeping it clear of trespassers. It was not until the gloomy day was far advanced 330 SHERRY that Redpath's thoughts reverted suddenly to the conversation he had had with Miss Corse a few days earlier in the week. For a moment he felt that his heart was standing still; his blood seemed to turn to ice. Miss Corse ! Could it be that she But it was too monstrous ! Nevertheless he experienced strange, ugly sensations, when, on several occasions thereafter, he found her gaze bent upon him with curious intensity. He became convinced at last that she had a very definite purpose in following him about the house, never closely but always somewhere within earshot. He confessed to an actual .shiver when she finally beckoned to him to follow her into the kitchen, at the moment unoccupied. " Say, Mr. Redpath, you mustn't pay any attention to what I said to you a day or so ago," she began, in a low, agitated voice. " About her, I mean. If the police ever heard what I said about wishing she was dead they'd well, they'd suspect me sure, and, so help me God, I am as innocent as an unborn child. I was terribly foolish to say the things I did. As a mat- ter of fact, I loved Mrs. Gilman. I didn't have a thing against her. So just forget that I " " My dear Miss Corse," he broke in, " I don't mind confessing to you that I have just recalled your re- marks, and I've been thinking it would be foolish for you to repeat them. I don't believe you had anything to do with this ugly business, of course, but my advice to you is to keep your mouth closed from now on." " And you won't blab on me ? " she cried eagerly. " Certainly not. But let me go a little farther with my advice. If you know of a single thing that may SHERRY 331 have any bearing on the case, tell the authorities, no matter who it may hit the hardest. The chances are a hundred to one you will be put through the third degree before they're done with you. They may even go so far as to try to fasten the guilt upon you." " The third degree? " she murmured. " I've heard of that. It must be frightful." She began twisting her fingers again. " They can't accuse me," she went on, holding her voice down with an effort. " I don't know any more about it than " She broke off abruptly and clutched his arm in a frenzy of desper- ation. " See here, Mr. Redpath, I want you to tell me just what to do. I am not supposed to breathe a word of this, but I'm not going to keep mum if they begin to pump me too hard. I'm not going to have them suspect me, and I don't care a hang who is hurt by what I can tell. Will you be absolutely square with me and tell me what to do ? " " If there is anything to tell, Miss Corse, you'd better go straight to the police with it," he said, a thrill in his veins. " You see, I am more or less in the same boat with you. Why shouldn't they suspect me as well as " " They won't suspect any of us if I tell all I know," she said doggedly. " Listen : there were great goings- on in this house last November, things that not a soul knows about except me and Mr. Oilman. She knew, but she's out of it now. You were the worst fooled person on the place. Lord, how he did pull the wool over your eyes." " What are you talking about? " " That jail-break, you remember that, all right, all 332 SHERRY right. Well, all the time you and the police . were scouring the country for those fellows, one of them was hiding right here in this house. Not only that, but he was hiding in her room, and all three of us knew it." " Good Lord The the big one? " " Yes. Talk about nerve ! He came straight to this house and Say, and why shouldn't he ? Do you know who he is ? He's their son ! " The whole story came out, hurriedly, jerkily, cau- tiously. Sherry listened like one in a daze. As she went on, he began to piece things together and, when she had finished, the whole situation, from beginning to end, was as clear as day to him. First of all, Mrs. Compton's interest in the man was explained, and lastly Mr. Gilman's extraordinary agreement with him. Now he knew who it was that Andrew Gilman feaYed and against whose malevolence he was preparing when he engaged a " body-guard." And he had failed to per- form the one important duty! The blow had fallen while he slept! " And she made a will leaving everything she had to this son of hers," Miss Corse was saying. " Mr. Gil- man tried to stop her, but she laughed in his face. That was just a little while after I came here. They didn't speak to each other again until last fall. When this crook was here in the house, she showed him the will, just to prove her undying love for him. She always kept it in her room, locked up. Now, I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Redpath. That fellow was just mean enough to sneak back here and kill his own mother. They'll never be able to prove it on him though. He is too slick for that. All day long I've been thinking SHERRY 333 it out. If he did come back, you can bet your life he has covered up his tracks so well that they'll never prove he was here. He went to California last fall. If he didn't do it, he hired some one else, and will pay him after he gets the money. It amounts to more than a hundred thousand." " But he cannot claim the estate without giving him- self up. He is a fugitive from justice." " I never thought of that," she muttered. " On the other hand, no one knows that George Smith, the j ail-bird, and William Gilman are one and the same. Unless his father is willing to admit that his son is alive, when supposed to be dead, and that he aided him in escaping, he is quite safe so long as he remains far away from Farragut. The settlement of the estate can be accomplished through lawyers. He will not even have to appear. Even though his father may suspect him, he is probably clever enough to have prepared an alibi. By Jove, it may be the solution ! " " I'll bet my head that Mr. Gilman gets a letter from Los Angeles inside of the next ten days," said she, sig- nificantly. " The news of this murder will go all over the country. You see if I'm not right. And Mr. Gil- man won't be able to do a thing. Hell have to sit still and see this scoundrel get away with it." Redpath was silent for a long time, thinking hard. Miss Corse watched him anxiously. " See here, Miss Corse," he said finally, " it* up to you to go to Mr. Gilman and talk this matter over with him. Don't breathe a word of this to the police at pres- ent. If the son committed this murder, it will be a simple matter to land him. He will put in a claim for 334 SHERRY the estate under his own name, and a word from you will reveal his dual identity to the authorities." " I can't talk to Mr. Gilman about it," she said, nervously. " Why not ? You are in on the secret. It's only fair that you should give him a chance. He may decide to tell everything to the police." " He'll fcever do that. I'll be leaving here I suppose. My job is finished. I can't get away quick enough." Her voice sank to a low, husky whisper and her eyes were filled with terror. " That fellow knows that I can do him a lot of dirt. He'll try to put me out of the way. I'll be the next to go. I know too much. He'll get me sure as " "Nonsense! He'll not bother about you. You're as culpable as the rest of them. All he'll have to do to you is to threaten to include you in the conspiracy, and that would mean disgrace, if not jail. He is willing to gamble on your silence. The thing for you to do is to go to Mr. Gilman at once and state your position. You have nothing to fear from the law, and you have nothing to fear from him. I want to see that scoundrel sent to the gallows." " You promised you wouldn't betray me," she whined, " so you can't repeat what I've told you and be hon- ourable." " I shall not breathe a word without your consent. But here is the situation so far as you and I and the servants are concerned : detectives from Chicago will be put on this case and they will suspect every one of us. They will work on the theory that the crime was com- mitted by some one in this house." SHERRY 335 " I've always liked Mr. Oilman. He is a fine man and he's had enough misery. I don't want to hurt him now. I'd rather keep still and take the consequences, than to turn against him," she said, with a strange dig- nity that he did not believe she possessed. " He trusts me." " 'Gad, what a position he is in," said Sherry, feel- ingly. " A word from him would send his own son to the gallows. It's horrible." " He doesn't love his son, and he didn't love his wife. I'll bet my head he's glad she's dead. Maybe he gets some satisfaction thinking how she must have felt last night if she recognized her precious darling as the fellow who was choking her to death. Maybe " " Oh, for God's sake, Miss Corse ! " he cried, re- volted. "You say they'll have Chicago detectives on the case?" she inquired suddenly. " Probably." " Who'll hire them ? Not Mr. Oilman, you can bet," she said, eyeing him sharply. " Mrs. Gilman's relatives, there are nephews, I be- lieve, and a sister, you know. She isn't going to let this thing" " Old Mrs. Compton ? They hated each other like poison." The cook came into the kitchen at that juncture. She started violently on beholding the two in close com- munion, and in that instant suspicion began to shape itself in her bewildered brain. Much to Sherry's surprise, Mr. Gilman instructed him to telegraph to Mrs. Compton. Not only that, but 336 SHERRY he sat at the table with the young man and assisted in shaping the message to his sister-in-law. It was so worded that the shock would be lessened when she read the full details of the crime in the news-dispatches. The old man's face was like marble. Every vestige of colour had left it, and it seemed incredibly old and worn out. There were other messages to go by wire. Redpath took them to the telegraph office at three o'clock. He found himself wondering, as he walked down town, what Sherlock Holmes would have said to this freedom of action on the part of one of the inmates of the house of murder ! Late that evening a reply came from Mrs. Compton : " I am leaving tonight for Farragut, arriving day after tomorrow. Morna is not with me." CHAPTER XXVI ANOTHER telegram came up with the one from Mrs. Compton. Andrew Gilman opened both of the envelopes and read their contents. He passed one of them to Redpath, and, calmly arising from his chair, crossed over and threw the other into the fire that blazed in the grate. For a long time he stood with his back to the room, clutching the mantel- piece with one bony hand, his head bent, his body as rigid as steel. Sherry was staring bleakly at the message from Florida. " Morna is not with me." Five words that told a vast and complete story to him ! It w&s impossible to sleep that night. The horror in the room at the end of the hall, the awful stillness of the house, the knowledge that a police officer sat in the library downstairs, and, as may be suspected, the dismal certainty that Morna had quarrelled irrevocably with her grandmother and was even now fleeing happily with a triumphant lover, all these conspired to baffle the slumber that might have assuaged the united pangs of dread and despair. Mr. Gilman was sleeping soundly, heavily, for the first time in many weeks. His deep, stertorous breath- ing could be heard in the next room. It must have been long past midnight when he heard the creaking of the bed in Mr. Oilman's room, and a moment later sounds which indicated that the sleeper 337 338 SHERRY had waked and was moving about. He watched the cnack in the partly opened door between their rooms for the light that must soon come streaming through. In- stead of that, however, the door was opened slowly, cautiously, and, by the dim light from the star-lit win- dow, he saw the shadowy form of his employer. Only for a second or two did he remain motionless in the doorway, apparently listening. Satisfied that Red- path was asleep, he advanced, stealing softly past the bed and making his way toward the door of Mrs. Gil- man's sitting-room. Sherry did not move. He lay perfectly still, watching the dim figure with fascinated eyes. As the old man disappeared into the room be- yond, after turning the knob with extreme stealthiness, Sherry slipped out of bed and followed with equal caution. He knew, even though Mr. Gilman may have been ignorant of the fact, that the door to Mrs. Oilman's bed-room was sealed by order of the coroner. It was quite clear to him that Mr. Gilman was actu- ally on his way to the room from which he had been persistently barred for so many years, urged, no doubt, by the resurrection of a long-dead love for the woman who lay there dead after the bitter storms of half a life-time. He was going to her now to make peace with her, to kneel at her side, and to kiss the still, cold brow. But if such was his object he was going about it in a most extraordinary manner. The light from an arc lamp in the street below revealed his white figure, bent low at the intervening door, his ear to the key- hole! From his position Sherry heard, rather than saw, his hand turning the knob. Then, after a moment, SHERRY 339 the bent figure straightened slightly ; it was evident that he was straining to open the bolted door. A sudden impulse, created by pity for the unhappy old man, moved Redpath to switch on the electricity, flooding the room with light. He expected Mr. Gilman to whirl upon him in consternation. To his utter astonishment, the old man did not change his position. He continued to strain at the locked door, to all intent utterly oblivious to the light or the presence of a wit- ness. For a moment the watcher stared in wonder. Then the truth burst upon him suddenly. Mr. Gilman was asleep ! He felt his flesh creep. Dazed for an instant by his discovery, he started to withdraw, overcome by a feeling of awe. The spectacle of that unconscious old man pulling vainly at the immovable door was one that he would never forget. He was back in his own room, his eyes still glued upon the pitiful object, before the great' question flashed into his brain. Was this the first time that Andrew Gilman had passed through his room while asleep? For a moment it seemed to him that he was in utter darkness ; everything went black before his eyes. A monstrous fear possessed him. . . . He crossed the room swiftly and laid a heavy hand upon the old man's shoulder. " Mr. Gilman ! " he shouted. The old man had abandoned his efforts to open the door and was in the act of crawling through the window to the roof of the veranda. . A quavering cry rose in Gilman's throat. His body stiffened convulsively and a second later he began beat- ing the air with his clenched hands. 340 SHERRY " Help ! Help ! Keep off of " "It's all right it's Sherry Redpath," cried the young man. " Steady, sir, steady ! " Mr. Oilman clutched him frantically, gasping with fear; his bony fingers sank into the young man's arms with the power of a vise. His eyes were tightly closed, as if he dreaded to look upon his assailant ; for an in- stant, however, they had been wide-open and charged with utter bewilderment. " What is it ? Where am I ? What are you trying to do with me ? " he whimpered, querulously, his voice high and thin. " Don't be afraid, sir. Come back to bed. You " "Why am I here in this Oh, my God!" He crumpled up suddenly and would have fallen to the floor but for Redpath's strong arms. Moaning and mum- bling meaningless words, he suffered himself to be half- carried, half-dragged from the room. It was with dif- ficulty that Sherry got him into bed, and there he lay speechless for many minutes, his eyes closed, his lips working spasmodically, his fingers bent like great, gaunt claws. The young man turned on the lights and stood beside the bed, helpless and bewildered, watching the heaving breast and surging throat of the old man. He did not know what to do. - The horrid truth was fastening itself upon him, and he was appalled. A great pity be- gan to take possession of him; his throat was tight; there was a sob of anguish in it that he could not re- lease. Finally Andrew Gilman turned his haggard face toward him, and, bleak-eyed with consciousness, raised SHERRY 341 himself upon his elbow. His voice was low and hoarse and something seemed to rattle in his throat as he spoke. His mind was clear ; he had succeeded after a mighty effort in regaining command of himself. " Tell me everything," he said.