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 gi|Mi
 
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 THE PLATED CITY
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 BY 
 
 BLISS PERRY 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE BROUGHTON HOUSE," " SALEM KITTREDGE 
 AND OTHER STORIES," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1895
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
 
 2072234
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " ONE strike ! " 
 
 A murmur of discontent ran along the open 
 stands on either side of the Bartonvale ball 
 grounds, and even in the grand stand, where the 
 umpire's decisions were usually taken philosophi 
 cally, there was a decided shrugging of shoulders. 
 In one of the directors' chairs, exactly behind the 
 catcher, sat a young woman who was determined 
 to know all about the game. 
 
 " Why, he didn't strike at all I " she exclaimed. 
 " He didn't move. I was looking at him all the 
 time." 
 
 " I don't know anything about it, my dear," 
 said the elderly gentleman at her right, taking 
 off his broad-brimmed felt hat and mopping his 
 forehead patiently. "You'll have to ask Mr. 
 Kennedy." 
 
 Craig Kennedy smiled, without taking his eyes 
 from the pitcher. " You are quite right, Sally. 
 He didn't move ; the strike was called on him. 
 It was wide of the plate, though. Look out now ; 
 here it comes again ; watch it ; watch it ! " 
 B l
 
 2 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Two strikes ! " 
 
 The umpire's voice was dispassionate, but he 
 gave a nervous hitch to his trousers, and bent 
 lower than ever behind the catcher's shoulder, in 
 line with the ball, while a series of commiserat 
 ing epithets was launched at him from the open 
 stands. It was the favorite ball-player of Barton- 
 vale who was being called out on strikes. 
 
 "That last one was fair enough," explained 
 Kennedy to Miss Thayer. "Didn't you see the 
 ball curve across the outside corner of the plate ? " 
 
 "No, I didn't, to be honest. All I could see 
 was just a sort of gray streak. That poor umpire ! 
 Think of having to make up your mind instantly, 
 without any deliberation, you see, and then to 
 have all those horrid mill hands over there dis 
 satisfied with everything. I should think it would 
 be dreadful." 
 
 " It's rather an easy way of earning ten dollars, 
 nevertheless." 
 
 " Ten dollars ? " interrupted the elderly gentle 
 man, incredulously. " Is that fat fellow paid ten 
 dollars for dodging around down there ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Dr. Atwood," laughed Kennedy, 
 and then' some one touched his shoulder from 
 behind and asked, " How's it going, Mr. Ken 
 nedy? I've just come." 
 
 " New Havens five, Bartonvales four ; last of 
 the fifth, two out, a man on second, and Tom 
 Beaulieu at the bat, with two strikes called."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 3 
 
 Kennedy did not look around as he answered, 
 being engaged in watching a couple of vicious 
 throws to second by the New Haven pitcher, in 
 the hope of catching the runner napping. 
 
 Once more the pitcher twisted himself cun 
 ningly and delivered the ball, but it came straight 
 for the head of the batter, who ducked so cleverly 
 as to win the approbation of the crowd. 
 
 " One ball ! ft 
 
 " Two balls ! " The umpire's voice was respect 
 fully positive. 
 
 " Three balls ! " The pitcher was growing ner 
 vous, and the smiling black eyes of the batter 
 watched every movement of his fingers as he 
 curled them around the ball. There was a hush 
 of excitement over the field, and even the Italian 
 peanut vender in the grand stand stopped to look. 
 
 "Watch it now, Sally," whispered Kennedy 
 under his breath. "All depends 011 this ball. 
 It has to be either three strikes or four balls, you 
 know." The girl nodded, straining her eyes 
 through the wire screen that guarded the centre 
 of the grand stand. 
 
 " I'd give five dollars," muttered an excited 
 director behind her, "to see Tom Beaulieu " 
 
 But before the words were out of his mouth he 
 saw what he desired : saw the ball shoot in over 
 the plate and the statue-like batsman swing for 
 ward quick as lightning, with a stroke like an 
 axeman's, clean and hard. The dry sharp ring
 
 4 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 of the ash was swallowed up by a roar of voices, as 
 half the spectators sprang to their feet to watch the 
 ball on its long, low flight down the field. The 
 grand stand was full of clapping hands and stamp 
 ing feet and cheers. 
 
 " Where is it, Craig ? " cried Miss Thayer in dis 
 appointment. " I couldn't see the ball at . all. 
 Oh, just see that man run ! " 
 
 For answer he caught her by the wrist, and 
 made her look along the line of his outstretched 
 arm. " Don't you see," he cried, his face almost 
 against hers, so deafening was the noise all about 
 them, " away out there in left field ? He's hard 
 after it ; now he's stooping to pick it up. See ? 
 Watch close now, and we'll get some pretty field 
 ing. Just notice where their short-stop is, clear 
 out in left ; don't you see ? " 
 
 And a pretty piece of ball-playing it was, to 
 which the excited young fellow was calling her 
 attention. The left-fielder, overtaking the rolling 
 ball away over by the race track, lined it in to the 
 short-stop, who was half-way down the field, and 
 the latter, whirling on his heels, threw it straight 
 for the hands of the big third- baseman, who stood 
 towering above his bag. It seemed for a moment 
 as if the runner, well past second and trying des 
 perately for third, were sure to be cut off, but 
 when still a dozen feet away, he threw himself head 
 foremost in a wriggling dive, and just as the third- 
 baseman, with a single savage motion, caught and
 
 THE PLATED CITT 5 
 
 swept the ball down upon him, the fingers of the 
 runner were resting quietly upon the corner of 
 the bag. There was another round of cheers from 
 the grand stand and a scattering volley of de 
 lighted ejaculations from the "bleachers." 
 
 " Tom knows where that base is ! " 
 
 " Golly, what a slide ! " 
 
 " Five And ! ! " 
 
 The runner jumped to his feet, with a broad 
 grin on his swarthy face, and began to brush the 
 dust from his stomach and knees. 
 
 "What's the matter with Tom Beaulieu?" 
 shouted an enthusiast from one side of the field, 
 and from hundreds of voices came the quick cho 
 rus of response : " He's all right ! " and then 
 the umpire ordered the next man to the bat, 
 while the reporters engaged themselves with not 
 ing, in the metaphorical dialect dear to readers of 
 the sporting column, the fact that Beaulieu had 
 made a drive to left-centre for three bases and had 
 tied the score. 
 
 That summer, for the first time in years, the 
 Plated City had a ball team that was making 
 money for the directors, and steadily tightening 
 its hold upon the championship of Connecticut. 
 Every mill and foundry and silver plate shop in 
 town had agreed to shut down at three o'clock for 
 the Saturday games during July and August. To 
 this end skilful pressure had been brought to bear 
 upon the owners by the young business men who
 
 6 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 were backing the team. Dr. Atwood, president 
 and chief stockholder of the largest plate works 
 in Bartonvale, had been the last one to hold out 
 against the reduction of hours, and it was the gen 
 eral opinion upon Main Street that nobody except 
 Craig Kennedy could have talked the " old man " 
 around. Kennedy himself was immensely proud 
 of his diplomacy. He had followed up his 
 victory by dragging Dr. Atwood to this game 
 with the New Havens, and giving him by way of 
 compensation a seat on the other side of Sally 
 Thayer. But Miss Thayer was too much inter 
 ested in the game to pay much attention to the 
 Doctor. During the first five innings he amused 
 himself by looking around the grand stand and 
 marvelling that any people from the Hill should 
 drive down to these hot flats below the town, and 
 sit on dirty benches, applauding a professional ball 
 nine. Why did they not stick to tennis, which 
 had been the rage among the Hill people the last 
 summer, or croquet, which had absorbed their in 
 terest not many seasons before ? Then he began 
 to compute the number of people on the open 
 stands, and to determine how many dollars of ex 
 penditure, at twenty -five cents a person, this game 
 represented. And how little that Avas, after all, 
 compared with the potential earnings of say fifteen 
 hundred able-bodied operatives between the hours 
 of three and six on all the Saturday afternoons of 
 July and August ! The more he calculated, the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 1 
 
 more irritated he grew at the imbecility of the 
 spectacle, and at the economic waste involved. 
 More than once he turned impatiently upon Ken 
 nedy, to rebuke him for having inveigled him into 
 connivance with the folly of it all ; but Miss 
 Thayer was invariably asking Kennedy a question, 
 and the Doctor had not the heart to intrude his 
 grumpy mathematics upon the enthusiasm of the 
 young people. Then came Tom Beaulieu's great 
 hit, and in spite of the old gentleman's prejudices, 
 he found himself guilty of a sort of interest in the 
 situation. 
 
 " It's just even now, is it ? " he inquired of Craig 
 a moment later, as the Plated City batter fouled 
 out, and the New Havens came trotting in from 
 the field. 
 
 " Five to five," said Kennedy, contentedly turn 
 ing his handsome face to the Doctor. " Didn't I 
 tell you there was nothing like a good game of 
 ball?" 
 
 Dr. Atwood grunted incredulously, and his keen 
 little eyes began to sparkle with controversial fire. 
 " Young man, have you ever stopped to consider 
 the amount of money the laboring men up and 
 down this Mattawanset Valley throw away every 
 week?" 
 
 But Sally had come out for a good time, and did 
 not propose to have it spoiled by a set argument. 
 
 " Now, Dr. Atwood," she remonstrated, " I have 
 heard you and Mr. Kennedy argue once before,
 
 8 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and you got the better of him. It left him 
 very cross ; didn't it, Craig ? He's certainly good- 
 natured to-day, and I want him to keep so. Be 
 sides, I must have him tell me ever so much more 
 about the game. It's just splendid, whether it's 
 money thrown away or not ! Now you mustn't 
 argue ; you really mustn't ! " 
 
 She shook her sailor hat imperatively in the 
 Doctor's face. He pursed his lips a little, and 
 taking off his felt hat again, passed his handker 
 chief across his forehead and the obstinate tufts 
 of gray hair that crowned it. It was a sign of 
 surrender, but for that matter he always surren 
 dered to Sally Thayer. She nodded her approval 
 most magnanimously, and then turned easily to 
 Kennedy, and made him find the next batter's 
 name up^on the score-card. 
 
 For three innings Dr. Atwood tried submis 
 sively to give attention to the game. It was 
 mainly a pitcher's battle, and no runs were scored. 
 From time to time Kennedy leaned past Miss 
 Thayer and volunteered some information, which 
 the Doctor vainly endeavored to comprehend. 
 The only thing that gave him real amusement 
 was watching Tom Beaulieu, reputed to be the 
 best third-baseman in Connecticut, and the best 
 coach anywhere, dance along the coaching lines, 
 shouting advice to the Plated City runners, and 
 commenting, to the exquisite delight of the mill 
 hands, upon the personal appearance and moral
 
 THE PLATED CITY 9 
 
 character of the New Haven pitcher. But the 
 latter pitched more steadily with every inning. 
 
 " Tom ought to let him alone," whispered the 
 man behind Kennedy. " I'm blest if I don't think 
 he's doing more harm than good now. He's got 
 that fellow nerved up to pitch his prettiest." 
 
 The ninth inning came. Since the fifth not a 
 man had reached third on either side. The New 
 Havens went out quickly in the first half, and 
 it was now or never for the Plated City team. 
 Their three best batsmen were up, but the first 
 two flied out, amid groans from the spectators. 
 Then a great cry of " Beaulieu ! Beaulieu ! " ran 
 around the field, as the third-baseman stepped to 
 the plate once more. He had to take off his hat 
 to the grand stand before the crowd would stop 
 cheering, and when some one shouted " A home 
 run, Tom ! " the tumult began all over again, until 
 the fat umpire pulled out his watch threateningly 
 and cried " Play ball ! " Then there was quiet 
 again, that strained quiet which is more trying 
 to the nerves than noise. The only players who 
 seemed entirely cool were Beaulieu and the pitcher, 
 who grinned amicably at each other as the first 
 ball was delivered, two feet wide of the plate. 
 The second was even farther out of Tom's reach, 
 though the New Haven man made a well simu 
 lated effort to controvert the umpire's decision. 
 His tactics were plain enough now. The cool 
 hand that he was ! The next batter was a certain
 
 10 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 victim, and the pitcher was going to send Beaulieu 
 to first base on balls, and leave him stranded there. 
 
 " Three balls ! " 
 
 There was no doubt of it, though the last one 
 had curved dangerously near the plate, and Beau- 
 lieu's elbows had lifted a trifle, irresolutely, as it 
 shot by. One good ball was all that he asked for. 
 But would he get it ? The pitcher's grin widened 
 into a leer as he rolled the ball under his fore 
 finger. A few hot-headed men in the open stands 
 began to hiss : it was a low trick to give Tom 
 Beaulieu his base on balls in that fashion, when 
 everybody knew that the next man at the bat, the 
 Plated City pitcher, had made but two hits that 
 year ! 
 
 " Four balls ! " 
 
 There it was. Beaulieu took first on a dog 
 trot, shaking his head dubiously. The next 
 batter advanced ruefully to the plate, and the 
 New Haven man stopped leering and settled 
 down to end the inning. 
 
 " One strike ! " 
 
 The ball had shot across the plate like a bullet, 
 and the catcher fumbled it. There was a roar of 
 delight from the crowd, for Beaulieu had stolen 
 second, and was dancing around the short-stop, 
 hoping to make the pitcher throw. But the lat 
 ter knew his business, and proceeded to finish the 
 inning as planned. 
 
 " Two strikes ! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 11 
 
 Before the ball had left his fingers Beaulieu 
 plunged furiously for third. r The catcher threw 
 low, and he was safe. Panting like a deer-hound, 
 he pulled himself to his feet, and fifteen hundred 
 Plated City people yelled their admiration. Yet 
 there was not one likelihood in a hundred of his 
 getting in, and no one knew it better than Tom 
 Beaulieu. He dashed the dust out of his eyes, 
 and led off recklessly. If he could only tempt 
 the pitcher to throw to third, there was a bare 
 chance. But the pitcher only grinned, and pre 
 pared to deliver the third strike. As his hand 
 went up, Beaulieu sprang forward, and was half 
 way home as the ball struck the catcher's glove. 
 
 " One ball ! " cried the umpire, amid a murmur 
 of intense excitement. The runner checked him 
 self by a violent effort, his black eyes fastened 
 upon the ball. The catcher made a feint of 
 throwing to third, and then tossed the ball delib 
 erately to the pitcher. And alas for him, he 
 tossed it too deliberately, for certainly the ball 
 had not left his hand before Tom Beaulieu, with 
 a cat-like bound, darted for the plate ! Ten 
 yards to run and five to slide, before the pitcher 
 could return the ball ! The grand stand leaped 
 to its feet as one man, as the frantic pitcher seized 
 the ball it seemed forever before it would reach 
 him and hurled it in with a throw that was 
 perfection itself. Man and ball seemed to reach 
 the plate together in a cloud of dust ; but as it
 
 12 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 settled, it disclosed Beaulieu lying at full length 
 across the plate, while the catcher, upset by that 
 tremendous slide, lay on his back, a yard away. 
 The umpire waved his hand impressively. He 
 could have been heard if he had whispered, so 
 hushed was the crowd. 
 
 " That man is safe," he said. 
 
 The catcher sat up and flung down his mask 
 with a curse; Beaulieu leaped to his feet, wiping 
 his forehead with his brown forearm ; then Bed 
 lam broke loose, and the game was over. 
 
 "Stole home while the pitcher held the ball," 
 yelled a red-faced director, in a falsetto voice 
 that soared above the hoarse tumult of the Plated 
 City folk. " Well, well, I am blamed. Hooray 
 for Tom Beaulieu! Everybody together now; let 
 him have another ! Hooray ! ! " 
 
 Dr. Atwood and the young people had risen 
 like the rest, and Kennedy waved his hat in hom 
 age to the crack player of Bartonvale, though not 
 without a sidewise look at Miss Thayer. They 
 were hired players, after all, and it was scarcely 
 good form in a director who represented the Hill 
 people to betray too much partisanship. The 
 ragged, leaderless shouting seemed in rather poor 
 taste for the grand stand; really, they used to 
 manage that sort of thing very much better at 
 Yale! Miss Thayer also, as the noise subsided 
 and the party awaited its turn to pass down 
 toward the exit, was conscious of a sudden mis-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 13 
 
 giving as to the character of the entertainment 
 she had been enjoying. To be sure, several 
 women friends of hers were there, but they were 
 quite obliterated behind the throngs of loud- 
 voiced, showily dressed young men whom she 
 did not knoAv. These crowded past her, a few 
 of them raising their hats elaborately to Craig. 
 At two or three places in the line Dr. Atwood 
 sniffed the air suspiciously; intemperance, as well 
 as extravagance, he believed to be a necessary 
 accompaniment of the national game. 
 
 Kennedy seemed to divine Miss Thayer's mis 
 givings. " It is a queer crowd in some ways," 
 lie volunteered. " They are not the faces that 
 you've noticed in the Library." 
 
 " I should say not! " murmured the young 
 woman. 
 
 " Here's our chance," cried Kennedy, leaping 
 over a chair and clearing the way for Miss Thayer 
 and the Doctor. " There's no use waiting any 
 longer." 
 
 They gained the front of the grand stand, and 
 made good their place in the slowly moving line. 
 Twenty feet away was the end of the first open 
 stand, now three-quarters emptied, and towards 
 the narrow passage between the stands were 
 marching the Plated City players, followed by a 
 screaming crowd of boys. The creeping line on 
 the grand stand checked itself to watch them. 
 
 " Here come the team," Kennedy exclaimed,
 
 14 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 turning to Miss Thayer. "You see they're not 
 half bad. looking fellows, after all." 
 
 But Miss Thayer ignored the salaried heroes of 
 the hour. "Look, Craig," she whispered, "just 
 see that girl on the open stand. You are wrong 
 about the Library faces; that's the girl I told you 
 of, who draws all the French books. Now what 
 do you make of her ? I don't mind saying that 
 she puzzles me." 
 
 Kennedy followed her eye. At the end of the 
 open stand, half-way up the tiers of seats, stood 
 a girl of perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, 
 entirely alone. She was very perfectly dressed 
 in a close-fitting waist of some cool cheap print, 
 with skirts of a darker material. One gloved 
 hand carried an unopened parasol; with the other 
 she shaded her eyes to watch the on-coming file 
 of ball-players. The July sun threw her tall, 
 lithe figure into sharp relief against the silver- 
 gray benches; beneath the shadowing hand her 
 dark eyes grew darker still, gleaming under 
 dusky lashes; but the lower face and throat, in 
 full sunlight, glowed like clear brown amber. 
 Her cheeks seemed slightly flushed, and the full 
 red lips were parted. For an instant the vul 
 garity of the place and hour was dominated by 
 her grave yet girlish beauty, and half the men 
 in the grand stand stopped looking at the team 
 to stare at her. 
 
 " What did I tell you, Craig ! " whispered Miss 
 Thayer. " Isn't she fine ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 15 
 
 " Fine ? " ejaculated Craig Kennedy. " She is 
 superb ! " 
 
 At that moment the players tramped past be 
 neath her, bats in hand. Tom Beaulieu, who had 
 shaken off his most effusive admirers, was the last 
 man in the line. As he reached the girl, she 
 leaned over and touched his shoulder with the tip 
 of her parasol. A dimple came into her brown 
 cheek as their eyes met, and hers sparkled with 
 a message. The swarthy third-baseman nodded 
 merrily, and then, realizing suddenly that the 
 eyes of fifty men were upon the girl, he scowled 
 an instant, reassumed the practised nonchalance 
 of the ball-player in uniform, and hurried on to 
 the dressing-room. 
 
 The file of men upon the grand stand crept 
 forward again toward the exit. 
 
 " That's Tom's sister," said some one in front 
 of Kennedy. 
 
 He turned to Miss Thayer. "It's Beaulieu's 
 sister." 
 
 " Why, yes," she said. " Beaulieu was the name 
 she gave at the Library ; of course, Esther 
 Beaulieu. But she said she had just come here 
 from Quebec." 
 
 " That Canuck girl ? " continued the random 
 voice in front of them. "She a sister of Tom? 
 Oh, come ! Tom Beaulieu's a colored fellow ! 
 Say, he doesn't look it, though, any more 'n I do, 
 does he ? "
 
 16 i THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Is that true ? " whispered Sally Thayer, as 
 Kennedy gave her his hand down the rickety 
 steps. " Is he a colored man ? " 
 
 " So they say," replied Craig, " but it doesn't 
 hurt his ball-playing. I don't know that he really 
 is, though. How is that, Dr. Atwood? haven't 
 you always heard that Tom Beaulieu's mother 
 was colored ? " 
 
 " I don't remember," said the Doctor, fussing 
 with his driving-gloves. " I should hate to sort 
 out all the relationships on Nigger Hill." He 
 glanced at Craig, and the men dropped the subject. 
 
 " Help Sally into the back seat, won't you, Ken 
 nedy ? Want to be left at the Library, little girl ? 
 I'll drive myself, Roberts." 
 
 Dr. Atwood stepped lightly into the surrey, 
 and touched the whip to his nervous black horses. 
 The clay dust of the Flats rose chokingly about 
 the carriage ; the pedestrians on both sides of the 
 road were noisy, and not all of them were sober ; 
 and Miss Thayer renewed her impression that 
 Craig Kennedy had offered her a recreation of 
 slightly dubious character. The Doctor's horses 
 crossed the Mattawanset at a trot that made the 
 old bridge swing ; the policeman on duty at the 
 farther end would have arrested anybody else 
 for fast driving, but he only touched his helmet 
 respectfully to Dr. Atwood. Along Main Street 
 the crowd was thick upon the corners and before 
 the saloons, and the Doctor shook his head in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 17 
 
 silence. He believed in Saturday holidays less 
 than ever. The curtains were down in the office 
 windows of his own Plate Works for the first 
 time in twenty-five years, except on Sundays and 
 legal holidays. He muttered this to Craig, as he 
 swung the horses sharply around the corner of 
 the Works, across the tracks of the new electric 
 road, and into the cool, elm-shadowed Green. 
 
 Half-way down the Green he pulled up. " Going 
 to your office, Kennedy ? " he inquired. " I forgot 
 to leave you." 
 
 "No, sir," said the young architect, humbly, 
 " I'm as bad as all the rest. I haven't anything 
 on hand now, anyway, except a new bay window 
 up at Mrs. Gascoigne's. And I suppose the car 
 penters have been at the game," he added, with 
 a ruefulness that made Sally Thayer laugh. 
 
 "Exactly," was the grim response of the Doctor. 
 " You fellows got me to promise this Saturday 
 foolishness for two months, and I'll keep my word, 
 but it'll be enough, all around. Well, we'll drive 
 up to the Library, then. Let's see, what are your 
 hours, Sally ? " 
 
 " Five to eight, Saturdays. I seem to be the 
 only one with a clear conscience. Oh, dear ! " 
 she cried comically, as the clock on the Congre 
 gational church struck five. 
 
 In a moment, however, the surrey mounted a 
 steep street, closely lined with the lower of the 
 two tiers of houses that clustered about the Hill.
 
 18 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The professional people of Bartonvale, the lawyers 
 and ministers and the more successful store-keep 
 ers, lived here on High Street. One tier above 
 them, on Summit Street, were the residences of 
 the mill-owners and plate-shop presidents, whose 
 enterprise had transformed the sleepy, ancient 
 town of Bartonvale into the Plated City ; and 
 crowning the crest of the Hill was a melancholy 
 row of pines a landmark for miles around 
 which enclosed three sides of the old Atwood 
 place. At the intersection of High and Summit 
 streets, the horses stopped before a beautiful little 
 Gothic building in brownstone, over whose en 
 trance was affixed a bronze tablet "set in place 
 by the fellow-citizens of Dr. James Atwood, in 
 appreciation of his public spirit in erecting this 
 Library." Kennedy leaped out, followed by Miss 
 Thayer. A half-dozen mill hands and schoolgirls 
 were already waiting upon the Library steps, with 
 brown-covered books to be exchanged. 
 
 "Good by, Dr. Atwood," said the librarian. 
 "Thank you so much. And don't tell the di 
 rectors, please, that I was five minutes late. 
 They're such a conscientious body, what wouldn't 
 they do to me ! But I should tell them that you 
 were at the ball game too." 
 
 The Doctor twinkled behind his steel-bowed 
 glasses. Sally Thayer was one of the few people 
 in Bartonvale who were not afraid of him. He 
 watched her trim figure as she ran up the steps,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 19 
 
 unlocked the door, and waved farewell at Mr. 
 Kennedy, Avlio stood by the carriage with the air 
 of a man whose occupation was suddenly gone. 
 The Doctor looked at him keenly an instant, and 
 drew a long breath. Yes, the young fellow had 
 the best of it, after all ! 
 
 " Take you anywhere you like, Craig," he said. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," replied Kennedy ; " I'll stroll 
 around to Mrs. Gascoigne's, and get a look at the 
 window, I think." 
 
 The elder man nodded, and gathered up the 
 reins. Then he paused, and necking with his 
 whip at the shoulder of the off horse, added, 
 without raising his eyes to the architect, 
 
 " By the way, Kennedy, suppose you come up 
 to my house to-night. I'd like to have a talk 
 with you."
 
 20 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 DR. ATWOOD'S absent-mindedness at supper 
 that evening was a source of very slightly con 
 cealed hilarity on the part of the pert Irish girl 
 who waited upon his bachelor table. The Doc 
 tor's peculiarities had indeed for twenty-five years 
 been the staple subject of conversation among 
 the long series of cooks, waitresses, and coachmen 
 who had successively ministered to his neces 
 sities. They alternately bullied and wheedled him, 
 without even letting him suspect the fact ; though 
 away from his own roof the men or women who 
 bullied or wheedled James Atwood were very few 
 indeed. The servants made endless fun of his 
 old-fashioned ideas and bachelor economies, and 
 could never understand, any more than did the 
 rest of Bartonvale, why the owner of the Silver 
 Plate Works should keep on living in the identi 
 cal story-and-a-half frame house he had inherited 
 from his father. When the Doctor came out 
 upon the narrow verandah after supper, for in 
 stance, he seated himself in the same wooden- 
 bottomed, fiddle-backed armchair that had served 
 him for a quarter of a century. The great lawn 
 of the Atwood place was always mown as smoothly
 
 THE PLATED CITY 21 
 
 as a scythe could cut it, but the Doctor disliked 
 the sound of a lawn-mower, and would never 
 allow his man to use one. He had been ap 
 proached diplomatically, at various times, with 
 reference to cutting down the long line of pine 
 trees which fringed the crest of the Hill, and 
 spoiled the view of several of his wealthy neigh 
 bors. But here Dr. Atwood's conservatism was 
 supported by his sentiment. Those pine trees 
 had been set out by his father when his mother, 
 coming to Bartonvale as a bride, had owned that 
 she missed the soughing of the Maine pines. 
 They had grown old with her children, and now, 
 when the Doctor was the last Atwood in Barton- 
 vale, they were giant-boughed, full of purple 
 grackles in the springtime, and murmuring with 
 a more melancholy music of their own through 
 out the year. In front of the house there were 
 no trees. The lawn stretched to the very verge 
 of the cliffs that formed the south side of the 
 Hill, and at the bottom there was just room for 
 the embankment of the Mattawanset Valley Rail 
 road between the Hill and the river. Beyond the 
 river, which curled swiftly here, and retained 
 something of the wildness of its upper reaches, 
 were dense masses of tall-chimneyed buildings 
 rubber, and brass, and wire mills and the huge 
 straggling Silver Plate Works of Dr. Atwood 
 himself. To the right and left were low, conical 
 hills again, covered with the tenements of the
 
 22 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 mill hands, while the Mattawanset flowed south 
 ward through the Flats, along an ever-widening 
 valley at whose end, on a clear sunset, one might 
 see from the Atwood place the flashing of the 
 Sound. Sea-breezes, undreamed of in the steam 
 ing, fretting valley, often reached the hilltop, and 
 seemed to blow back and forth among Dr. At- 
 wood's pines. Often, however, when the west 
 wind blew, and the big air furnaces of the machine 
 shops underneath the Hill were in full blast, the 
 bitter smoke, bearing the scent of molten metal, 
 would drift over the Atwood place in gray scuds, 
 and fine metallic cinders choked the air. 
 
 But to-night the smoke of the Plated City's tor 
 ment was carried westward, and the Doctor sat 
 tranquilly on his verandah, looking at the roofs of 
 the Plate Works. It was in war time that he had 
 bought stock there, and after a little had given up 
 his medical practice altogether, to devote his en 
 tire energies to Silver Plate. From a boy he had 
 always wanted to go into business, and though he 
 started late, few Bartonvale boys- had ever made 
 more money in twenty -five years than he. And 
 yet there were other things in the world besides 
 money ; that had been brought sharply home 
 again to the Doctor in the afternoon, when he 
 was watching Craig Kennedy and Sally Thayer. 
 
 Sally Thayer ! If the world and the people in 
 it had only been built on slightly different lines, 
 she might have been his child, instead of the child
 
 THE PLATED CITY 23 
 
 of another man. His love for the girl's mother 
 was the one romance of James Atwood's life. 
 Thirty-five years before, in the early fifties, there 
 was a time when he might have won her, but grad 
 ually there deepened in her the conviction that it 
 was her duty to be a foreign missionary, and with 
 a saintly simplicity of purpose she obeyed that 
 inner voice. She accepted as a call from God the 
 marriage proposal of a gawky theologue from 
 East Windsor Hill, and they went to Burmah. 
 Neither of them had any faculty for acquiring 
 languages nor the slightest gift for teaching. 
 Filled with the highest ideal yearnings, they were 
 nevertheless both of them too thorough New Eng- 
 landers to have any sympathy with the Oriental 
 mind, and though they searched the Scriptures 
 daily, they never discovered that there was such 
 a thing as an Oriental point of view. After years 
 of painful effort, the husband gathered material 
 for a 'Burmese dictionary, but when he forgot to 
 make a ditch around their bungalow to carry off 
 the water in the rainy season, the jungle fever 
 swept him off remorselessly. The widow came 
 back to Bartonvale, bringing a little girl and a 
 large collection of idols, and for a while supported 
 herself by giving magic lantern lectures before 
 ladies' missionary societies on the life and charac 
 ter of the Burmese. 
 
 James Atwood, who had now abandoned his pro 
 fession, and was engrossing himself in business, re-
 
 24 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 newed his suit, with a fervor that had only grown 
 with years. But she regarded herself as bound to 
 the dead man, out there in the jungle, and was 
 gently firm in her refusal. She was still a beauti 
 ful woman, with a sweet girlish face under her 
 prematurely gray hair, and had a heart that was 
 brave and loyal, but in the practical State of Con 
 necticut, Mrs. Thayer seemed to find no function 
 for herself except that of talking about missions, 
 and the prevalent Bartonvale opinion that she had 
 been a remarkably successful missionary was based 
 on the tacit understanding that she was good for 
 nothing else. 
 
 Then, very slowly, there came upon her an in 
 curable disease that confined her for years to the 
 house, and at last to her room, a tiny, sunshiny 
 room looking out on the quietest corner of the 
 Green. Dr. Atwood had entered it but once. He 
 came to beg her to accept a room in a private hos 
 pital in New York, knowing well that constant 
 surgical supervision would prolong her life and 
 that the favorable moment for a successful opera 
 tion might be found. She shook her head slowly, 
 and then lay back upon the pillows, smiling at 
 him with the old gentle obstinacy in her eyes. If 
 it were the Lord's will that she should die of this 
 hardness in her breast, she would die in Barton- 
 vale, where she could close her eyes in peace. 
 "And I am an old woman, James," she said. "I 
 am more than fifty. I think it would be of no
 
 THE PLATED CITY 25 
 
 use." It was an inexpressibly painful moment 
 for him. He wondered if she had not loved him 
 a little, all the while, and if that was not why she 
 shrank from accepting a favor from him. There 
 was nothing for him to say. He glanced around 
 the peaceful, white-painted room, with its gerani 
 ums and cyclamens blooming in the window, the 
 canary twittering in its cage, the old-fashioned 
 stand by the bedside, holding a Bible and a pile 
 of Missionary Heralds ; and then he went silently 
 out. If he could have looked back, he might have 
 seen her long lashes close wearily, and heard the 
 thin lips murmur over again, with a passionate 
 endeavor at- fidelity, the sacred words they 
 were at once an outcry of love and a prophecy 
 of reunion whispered by her gaunt husband, 
 as he lay dying, on the other side of the globe. 
 
 No, there was nothing that Dr. Atwood could 
 do for the woman whom he had idolized all his 
 life long, except surreptitiously to smooth her 
 daughter's path. The ingenuity he showed in 
 providing for Sally Thayer was extraordinary. 
 When the Atwood Library was dedicated, the 
 self-satisfaction of Bartonvale in the gift would 
 have been sadly lessened if the townsfolk could 
 have suspected how potent a reason for the en 
 dowment of the institution was the opportunity 
 to offer the position of librarian to Sally Thayer. 
 Miss Thayer endeavored by a most scrupulous dis 
 charge of her not very onerous duties to make a
 
 26 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 fair return for the salary voted her by the Library 
 directors, of whom Dr. Atwood was chairman, 
 but she knew well enough why she had been 
 appointed. 
 
 It was of the daughter that the Doctor was 
 thinking, as he sat in his wooden-bottomed chair, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the Plate Works, wait 
 ing for Craig Kennedy. He meditated, vaguely 
 as yet, and still with increasing definiteness of 
 purpose, a step which would astonish Bartonvale, 
 but which was after all nobody's business but his 
 own. The last of the At woods, he was slowly 
 making up his mind to leave the Atwood place, 
 and most of his fortune, to the child of the one 
 woman whom he had loved. There was every 
 reason why he should act deliberately. He did 
 not come from a long-lived race, it is true; not an 
 ancestor for four generations had reached sixty, 
 and the Doctor was fifty-eight. Nor did he look 
 forward to so many more years of business activ 
 ity; there were many competitors in the silver 
 plate industry nowadays, the profits were smaller 
 than they once were, and it seemed increasingly 
 difficult to get along without trouble from the 
 workmen. The Doctor had secretly determined 
 to sell out when the right opportunity showed 
 itself. In the meantime there were a great many 
 things to be thought of, of which the probable 
 future of Sally Thayer was one. 
 
 Whom, for instance, would she be likely to
 
 THE PLATED CITY 27 
 
 marry? It pleased the old bachelor's fancy to 
 imagine Sally Thayer's children playing about 
 the lawn of the Atwood place, but he did not 
 propose to leave his property to the wife of a 
 spendthrift, or a drunkard, or he had never out 
 grown his antipathy to the Rev. P. W. Thayer 
 a minister of the gospel. He had taken alarm 
 the previous summer, and again more recently, 
 at the attentions shown Miss Thayer by the 
 Rev. Whitesyde Trellys, the young rector of St. 
 Asaph's. They had won the Hill tennis champion 
 ship in doubles the year before he had picked 
 up during a year at Oxford some strokes which 
 he used exasperatingly well and being ex-officio 
 a director of the Library, and particularly inter 
 ested in the reading habits of what he termed the 
 " working classes," Trellys found ample opportu 
 nity to continue his intimacy with Miss Thayer 
 throughout the winter. There was something 
 about his low, fatigued voice, his high-cut waist 
 coat, and even the way he spelled his name for 
 the Whitesides and the Trellises had been good 
 farming folk in the Mattawanset Valley for a hun 
 dred years before the young fellow entered the 
 Church that excited the animosity of Dr. At 
 wood. He dreaded lest Sally, in spite of all her 
 occasional levity of manner, should have inherited 
 a fatal reverence for the clerical profession. 
 
 Greatly to his relief, he had often seen her of 
 late with Craig Kennedy. The latter was an old
 
 28 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 playmate of hers, to be sure ; a Bartonvale boy 
 who had never been farther away from the Plated 
 City than was necessitated by a couple of years' 
 attendance at the Sheffield Scientific School in 
 New Haven, and a subsequent course in archi 
 tecture in New York. As compared with White- 
 syde Trellys, Kennedy had in the Doctor's eyes 
 the merit of being distinctly secular. Besides, he 
 was a much more wholesome young man to look 
 at, for the rector of St. Asaph's was lean and 
 colorless, and sidled along the streets of Barton- 
 vale as if he were in the town on sufferance. 
 Whether Kennedy was really making a living, 
 however, to say nothing of the further question 
 of whether he was capable, if necessary, of sup 
 porting Sally Thayer, was a point upon which 
 the Doctor felt a pardonable curiosity. It was 
 difficult to ascertain the exact state of affairs. 
 He had accordingly conceived the idea of test 
 ing Craig's professional competence by asking his 
 ideas about a certain imaginary residence to be 
 built upon the Atwood place, and the Doctor 
 trusted to his own shrewdness to find out some 
 thing incidentally, not only about Kennedy's 
 business prospects, but also whether there were 
 any discoverable inclination on his part toward 
 the young woman whom he had escorted to the 
 ball game that afternoon, and who had waved 
 him such a familiar and as it were cousinly 
 good-by from the steps of the Library.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 29 
 
 While Dr. Atwood was turning over in his mind 
 the form of certain adroit inquiries which he in 
 tended to address to the young architect, there 
 was a step on the gravel, and Kennedy came 
 around the corner of the verandah. 
 
 " Good evening, Doctor," he said, waving his 
 hand toward his straw hat. " I hope I haven't 
 kept you waiting." 
 
 " Oh, no, not a bit of it. Take that rocking- 
 chair, Craig." 
 
 " I stopped a 'minute at the Library, coming 
 up," continued Kennedy, in the innocence of his 
 heart. 
 
 " You did, eh ? " returned the elder gentleman, 
 concealing his delight at the information. 
 
 " Yes, I wanted to return a book. " 
 
 " Oh," said Dr. Atwood, his face falling a little. 
 " That was it, was it ? Find some books there of 
 the kind you want, once in a while, do you ? " 
 
 " I should say so ! " replied Kennedy. " It was a 
 great thing for this town, Doctor, when you gave 
 that Library. Lewis says that if we only had a 
 law library now, with a court-house and a county 
 jail handy, Bartonvale would be fixed." 
 
 The Doctor laughed. " Who said that ? Lewis?" 
 
 " Yes, Norman Lewis. We're rooming together, 
 you know, down in the Bank block. You'd better 
 come up some evening, sir, and smoke a cigar 
 with us." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Doctor, cautiously.
 
 30 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " You may see me, but I guess it's doubtful. I 
 think well of Lewis, though. Wants a law library, 
 does he ? Well, it ain't likely that any one'll give 
 him that. Finds it pretty expensive to buy books, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Dreadfully," responded Kennedy. " Books on 
 architecture are bad enough." , 
 
 " But that idea of a jail is a good one," pur 
 sued Dr. Atwood, cheerfully. " Tell him I'll build 
 it, if he'll fill it ! That is, if he'll let me name the 
 inmates. What were you saying about archi 
 tecture, just now ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Craig, " except that the 
 Library has some very good plates. English 
 cathedrals, you may remember, and things of 
 that sort. I've been looking them over lately." 
 
 " Going to build a cathedral ? " inquired Dr. 
 Atwood, quizzically. 
 
 " Not exactly," laughed Kennedy. " But I've 
 been drawing some plans for Trellys. There's 
 some talk of a new Episcopal church." 
 
 The Doctor sniffed. The intelligence was a 
 dozen or fifteen years old, and he had lost faith 
 in it. 
 
 " Well," said Kennedy, " it does no harm to 
 have the plans, anyway ; and I haven't had much 
 else to do lately. I've designed the church and 
 a parish house, and a rectory." 
 
 " And a what ? " asked the Doctor, with a sudden 
 trepidation.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 31 
 
 "A rectory." 
 
 Dr. Atwood pursed up his lips, and thrust his 
 fingers deep in his trousers pockets. " What does 
 Trellys want of a rectory ? " he demanded suspi 
 ciously. " Doesn't expect to get married, does 
 he?" 
 
 Kennedy shook his head. "He doesn't honor 
 me with his confidence, if he does. But Trellys 
 is one of those fellows who don't tell all they 
 know. He has a long head." 
 
 " And a dreadful narrow one ! " pursued the 
 Doctor, sententiously. " His skull's no wider than 
 a woodchuck's. I saw him play tennis once last 
 summer with his hat off, and I made up my mind 
 then that he was a fellow that would bear watch 
 ing." 
 
 Kennedy tipped back in his chair and laughed. 
 " I must tell that to Norman Lewis. He isn't any 
 fonder of Trellys than you seem to be. But I 
 haven't anything against the rector ; and then 
 business is business." 
 
 " Yes," admitted the Doctor, " if it is business. 
 But if it's only tomfoolery, it ain't. Now I don't 
 believe that Episcopal society's got any money to 
 build with. They'll have to stay in their old 
 sheet-iron church awhile yet. They're most of 
 them poor, you know ; a lot of 'em work in the 
 brass mill. And the Episcopalians up here on the 
 Hill wont put up a cent if the church is going to 
 be down toward the Flats. You can count on that."
 
 32 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Well," said Kennedy, " Lewis says they have 
 a Church Building Fund, anyway. He was told 
 so at the Bank." 
 
 Dr. Atwood shifted impatiently in his chair. 
 " I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 " It is made up of the proceeds of Trellys's lec 
 ture last winter on Gothic Architecture," contin 
 ued Kennedy, calmly. "It amounts to $13.75. 
 That's one of Lewis's stories though, and not 
 mine." 
 
 The Doctor was mollified. "You can't build 
 much of a rectory for that," he admitted. " But 
 I don't want to see Trellys get ahead of you, 
 Craig. In that, or in anything else." The Doc 
 tor breathed freer after that enigmatic last clause, 
 but the cheery, gossipy young architect seemed 
 not to catch the purport of it. 
 
 " Well, Doctor, " he said more confidentially, 
 still wondering why Dr. Atwood did not bring 
 forward the subject he had desired to talk over 
 with him, " I'll tell you why I designed all those 
 things for Trellys. It wasn't that I expected to 
 make anything out of it ; it was just for the pleas 
 ure of working away at some good stone buildings 
 that I could do what I liked with. It's three 
 years since I hung out my shingle, and most of 
 what I've done is what Lewis calls ' afterthoughts.' " 
 
 " Afterthoughts ? " 
 
 " Yes. Like Mrs. Gascoigne's bay window. No 
 part of the original plan, you know, but stuck
 
 THE PLATED CITY 33 
 
 on because the woman didn't know what else to 
 do with her money. Didn't you hear about my 
 St. Paul fireplaces ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Why, that confounded Lewis told all the fel 
 lows at the Mattawanset Club that I had designed 
 a new fireplace : automatic adjustments and a lot 
 of nonsense of that sort, I've never heard the 
 last of it, all because a couple of people on the 
 Hill put in new fireplaces just after St. Paul pre 
 ferred stock went up ten points, last fall ! That's 
 where the automatic business came in : ' up goes 
 the stock ; in go the fireplaces ! ' And that isn't 
 the worst of it," he went on lugubriously. " Lewis 
 has begun now to run me on my Rubber porte- 
 cochere. You know Ed Ebbins was caught ter 
 ribly in Rubber last May ? Well, I had just got 
 up a big granite porte-cochere for him, he would 
 have it granite and he would have it big, and the 
 thing was half done when the squeeze in Rubber 
 came. Well, it left Ed so flat that he built the rear 
 posts of brick, when the plans called for stone, of 
 course, and as you come down High Street it 
 looks like the very deuce ! That's my Rubber 
 porte-cochere, you see one of my choice after 
 thoughts ! Do you wonder that I like to turn 
 around and get up a quiet little Norman rectory, 
 that may never be built, but won't need any after 
 thoughts when it is built?" 
 
 Dr. Atwood nodded briskly, and hitched his
 
 34 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 chair a trifle closer to Craig's ; the talk was tak 
 ing exactly the turn he liked. "No," he said, 
 " that's good. That's all right. There's no harm 
 done. But what would you say to trying your 
 hand at something that would be more in the line 
 of a forethought? The fact is, Craig, I wanted 
 you to come up to-night to see what your ideas 
 would be as to a house here on my place." 
 
 The young fellow stared. 
 
 " In other words," continued the Doctor, "what 
 sort of house ought there to be here, suppose you 
 could go ahead and put up anything you wanted 
 to? That's it." 
 
 Kennedy drew a long breath, and his eye 
 glanced ' over the three or four acres of gently 
 rounding greensward. Dusk was falling, and 
 through the lowest branches of the pines gleamed 
 here and there the lights from the chambers of 
 the houses on Summit Street. But the upper sky 
 was clear, and to the southward the valley stretched 
 on in the evening light until it met a band of rosy 
 cloud that hung above the Sound. From Main 
 Street, far below, rose the indistinct murmur of 
 the Saturday night throng that streamed aim 
 lessly up and down the pavement, under the elec 
 tric lamps ; and along the river bank, and down 
 the Flats as far as the eye could reach, twinkled 
 the red and green switch lights of the Valley 
 Road. 
 
 "There isn't a building site like this in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 35 
 
 the whole Mattawanset Valley," said the archi 
 tect, slowly. " If you're going to build at all, 
 you ought to have a house to match it. But " 
 He hesitated, finding it impossible to imagine an 
 old bachelor of Dr. Atwood's shrewdness capable 
 of any elaborate folly. 
 
 "You think the old house is good enough for 
 the old man, do you? So it is, so it is. But I 
 don't know that there's any harm in figuring a 
 little on what might be done. Why can't I make 
 a fool of myself as well as Whitesyde Trellys? " 
 
 " To be sure ! " assented Kennedy, jocosely. 
 " If you won't set a thirteen dollar and seventy- 
 five cent limit, I shouldn't wonder if we could 
 produce quite a house ! Give the word, and we'll 
 go ahead." 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Atwood, meditatively, throw 
 ing one leg over the arm of his chair, "suppose 
 we say one hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 Kennedy's tone changed instantly. " I didn't 
 know that you meant it seriously, Doctor. If 
 you will give me some idea of what is in your 
 mind, I can give a rough estimate, certainly." 
 
 " Never mind what's in my mind," said the 
 autocrat of Bartonvale. " I want to see what's in 
 yours. Suppose you had a hundred thousand to 
 work with, what could you do with it up here?" 
 
 The architect sauntered to the end of the ver 
 randah and measured with his eye the distance 
 to the top of the cliff. Then he gazed off be-
 
 36 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 hind the house toward the stables. He was 
 trying to think fast, and to keep cool. There 
 seemed to be no doubt of Dr. Atwood's serious 
 ness. In any case, the affair promised at least 
 as well as Trellys's Norman rectory. 
 
 " That's on the supposition of tearing this house 
 down, is it ? " he asked, in his most off-hand pro 
 fessional manner. "This is the best site, of 
 course. No, I'm not sure but a hundred feet 
 to the north would be even better." 
 
 Dr. Atwood nodded. " I don't want the pine 
 trees touched, though." 
 
 "That wouldn't be necessary. There's plenty 
 of room off behind there for new stables. You 
 wouldn't want them quite so near the house, 
 building nowadays." 
 
 The Doctor gave a toss of his head, indicative 
 of profound scepticism of various modern notions ; 
 but Kennedy disregarded it and went on. 
 
 " A house on the crest of these cliffs ought cer 
 tainly to be of stone ; a dark limestone, I should 
 say, or perhaps some of that new granite from up 
 the river, with darker trimmings. It ought not 
 to be too high, of course ; one would have to 
 study the lines of the Hill, as seen from the 
 Green, to get just the right proportions. But 
 how would something of this sort strike you?" 
 The architect had a certain Newport house in 
 mind, which was useful as affording a basis for 
 his fancy to work upon, and off he went, tenta-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 37 
 
 tively at first, until he saw that the Doctor meant 
 to interpose no suggestions of his own, and then 
 more rapidly, as the enthusiasm of creation seized 
 him, into a sketch of the sort of house he would 
 like himself. The Doctor listened attentively, 
 while the dusk settled in upon the narrow old- 
 fashioned piazza of the Atwood place, to Kennedy's 
 proposals of a huge south verandah, and another 
 on the east, leading to the porte-cochere it was 
 to be no Rubber porte-cochere, either ! of square 
 halls and big fireplaces and morning room and 
 music room ; of Tudor staircases, and library and 
 billiard and smoking rooms, and a loggia on the 
 second floor, and guest chambers without end ; of 
 the latest improvements in heating and plumbing, 
 and lighting and electric bells ; and all, stables 
 included, for one hundred thousand dollars, with 
 perhaps a few thousands to spare. It was not 
 quite dark when the young fellow finished. No 
 conversation for a long time had made Dr. Atwood 
 feel quite so old. What a different world it was 
 that Craig Kennedy looked out into, from the 
 world James Atwood entered as a boy ! 
 
 " Well, Mr. Kennedy," he said, at last, " I can't 
 follow you in all of those details, for I'm behind 
 the times, you know, and the old Atwood place 
 has always been good enough for me. But you 
 seem to know what you are talking about, and I 
 wish you'd draw up some plans. There's no hurry 
 you understand ; take your own time about it."
 
 38 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The Doctor's Irish housemaid came through 
 the front hall, whistling, and lighted the swinging 
 kerosene lamp. It shone through the screen doors 
 full on the Doctor's face as he turned to Kennedy 
 and added slowly : " And when you get the plans 
 to suit you, I wish you'd see how they suit Sally 
 Thayer." 
 
 " Sally Thayer ? " repeated the amazed young 
 fellow, automatically. " Sally Thayer ? " 
 
 " That's what I said," replied Dr. Atwood, shut 
 ting his lips testily in a way that threw his white 
 tuft of chin whiskers forward. The face said, 
 more plainly than words, "Whose business is it 
 but mine?" 
 
 It flashed over Kennedy that there might be 
 something after all in the gossip current upon 
 Main Street to the effect that the " old man " was 
 failing. This impression was instantly succeeded 
 by another to the effect that Sally Thayer was 
 destined to be a lucky girl. The Doctor's former 
 attachment to the mother was no secret in Barton- 
 vale, and he was capable of giving the girl a hun 
 dred thousand dollar house, or two or three of 
 them, if he took it into his old head to do so. 
 To do justice to Craig Kennedy, however, it did 
 not occur to him that his own fondness for Sally 
 Thayer was in any way related to whatever eccen 
 tric generosity Dr. Atwood might choose to show 
 her. He was startled, consequently, by the im 
 plication of the Doctor's next question, which
 
 THE PLATED CITY 39 
 
 followed upon a pause that both men had felt to 
 be a trifle awkward. 
 
 " Do you think you and Sally would like the 
 same kind of house ? " 
 
 " Well," said Craig, laughing the question off 
 as lightly as possible, " Sally and I don't quarrel 
 about most things, but I don't remember that we 
 have ever discussed that particular topic." 
 
 " Here's a good chance for it, then." 
 
 " Yes, but it strikes me that might be a some 
 what delicate subject to talk over with well, say 
 with Miss Thayer." 
 
 " That's for you to say," replied the Doctor, 
 imperturbably. " It seems simple enough to 
 me." 
 
 " If you wouldn't mind making a suggestion or 
 two, then," said the architect, humbly, " I should 
 really like to know what I am to give Miss Thayer 
 to understand." 
 
 Dr. Atwood peered keenly at him. 
 
 " You can tell her this," he answered, striking 
 the arm of his chair with his closed hand : " There's 
 an old fellow named James Atwood who wants to 
 build her a house on Bartonvale Hill. She can 
 have it for a wedding present whenever she gives 
 the word. Sally ain't engaged to any one now, 
 is she ? " The fear of Whitesyde Trellys was still 
 struggling in his mind with the hope that there 
 might be some understanding between the girl 
 and Craig.
 
 40 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 "Not to my knowledge," said Craig, a trifle 
 stiffly. 
 
 " All right. That's none of my business, except 
 just to say this: I want that little girl to be happy. 
 If she's going to marry the wrong sort of man, 
 she might as well stay down on the Green, or 
 anywhere else. And so the old fellow on the 
 Hill isn't going to take any chances; he wants 
 to know whom Sally is going to marry before he 
 goes ahead with the house. You can tell her so, 
 if you like. Do you see ? " 
 
 Kennedy nodded gravely. Touched and flat 
 tered as he was by the old autocrat's confidence, 
 certainly never did a rising architect of twenty- 
 five have a more puzzling commission to execute. 
 If Sally Thayer were only somebody else, the mat 
 ter would be so much simplified ! 
 
 Suddenly he divined the real message which 
 even the Doctor's brusqueness had failed to state 
 in set terms. It was, " Marry Sally Thayer your 
 self and build your own big nest on the hilltop." 
 The blood swept into his face at the thought. He 
 was really fonder of Sally than of any one else: 
 but some way or other the proposition struck him 
 as unsportsmanlike. It gave him an immense 
 advantage over Trellys. Was not Dr. Atwood's 
 offer, after all, a bribe to him as well as to her ? 
 He felt this vaguely, without being able to phrase 
 it to himself, as he rose, and took a troubled turn 
 or two upon the dark piazza.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 41 
 
 "Dr. Atwood," he broke out, "don't you see 
 that I can't give that message to Miss Thayer ? 
 I'm not the one to do it. I should like immensely 
 to draw the plans, though; let me do that and 
 turn them over to you." 
 
 The Doctor rose too, and stood a moment gaz 
 ing down upon the lights of the Plated City. 
 
 " As you like," he said, realizing that he might 
 have been incautious. "There's no hurry, any 
 way. Only, I don't want the little girl to make 
 any mistake that she'd be sorry for afterward. 
 That's all." 
 
 There was a silence of some minutes, and then 
 the young fellow put out his hand, with a formal 
 ity not usually observed among the business men 
 of Bartonvale, 
 
 "Good night, Doctor," he said; "I'll have some 
 thing to show you, then, one of these days." 
 
 " Good night, Craig," replied Dr. Atwood. 
 "This is all between us, you understand. Good 
 night." 
 
 He stood listening to Kennedy's retreating foot 
 steps until the sound was lost in the murmur of 
 the pines. He had assured himself of the archi 
 tect's professional competence. No one could 
 have sketched the plan of that house, off-hand, 
 who did not know his business. But Dr. At- 
 wood's new respect for the architect was lost 
 sight of in the consciousness of a yearning lik 
 ing for Craig himself. If he had only had a boy
 
 42 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 like that of his own! And it might have been, 
 perhap3 perhaps. Yet there was no use in 
 thinking any more about what might have been. 
 He was the last of the Bartonvale Atwoods; a 
 sort of fatality had followed them. If poor 
 Everett had only lived, the Atwood place might 
 not be so lonely now, but . The Doctor dropped 
 into his chair again, and thought how much Craig's 
 voice, in the dusk, was like that younger brother's, 
 the reckless, hot-headed brother who had fallen in 
 a wretched skirmish in Louisiana, while fighting 
 on the wrong side. Poor Everett; he had been 
 one of the " black Atwoods," with the crisp blue- 
 black hair and wild eye and tawny skin that once 
 in every two or three generations appeared in the 
 Connecticut branch, the unfailing indication of 
 an untamed nature, a roving fancy, an ungovern 
 able blood, and he had been like all the rest, 
 except that he was the only one to take arms 
 against his country. Perhaps it was as well that, 
 dying in disgrace, he had left no child. Yet a 
 wave of pity surged over the solitary Doctor as 
 he recalled how the dead man and himself had 
 chased each other as children over the very lawn 
 where the fireflies were gleaming so lustrously 
 now, neither of them dreaming in all their boyish 
 fancies, that in one generation the old Atwood 
 place might pass into the hands of others it 
 was too bad too bad. But the Doctor rose
 
 THE PLATED CITT 43 
 
 after a little, and went in. There was no use in 
 brooding over the irrevocable. It was more cheer 
 ful to throw one's mind forward, to think about 
 something pleasant, about Craig Kennedy, for 
 instance, and Sally Thayer.
 
 44 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 III 
 
 THE steam whistles of the Plated City shrieked 
 in piercing chorus that it was noon. Before the 
 bells had ceased striking the hour, the stream of 
 operatives poured from shop and mill, filling the 
 narrow streets of the Flats with reverberating 
 voices and shrill laughter. The long south room 
 on the second floor of the Atwood Plate Works 
 emptied rapidly and of the women and girls who 
 sat at the etching bench in front of the windows, 
 Esther Beaulieu was the only one who still lin 
 gered over her task. She held in her hand a plated 
 ice-pitcher, upon whose dull surface she had been 
 laboriously tracing a florid design of oak-leaves 
 and acorns. A pile of brown paper patterns lay 
 in front of her, with a tiny pot of asphalt varnish, 
 and a half-dozen etching tools. The only other 
 occupant of the bench was a great blue heron, 
 standing sleepily by one of the polisher's lathes a 
 few feet away, with one of its ungainly legs tied 
 securely. The polisher had caught it on Decora 
 tion Day, and was immensely proud of his ill- 
 natured pet. Miss Beaulieu chirruped to the 
 captive, as the room grew still, and then bent 
 lower than ever over the ice-pitcher. She had
 
 THE PLATED CITY 45 
 
 been but a month at the bench and still dreaded 
 lest her wrists might not be found firm enough 
 for the work required. There was a noiseless step 
 behind her. The jaunty young foreman of the 
 room had thrown on his coat with the rest, when 
 the whistle blew, but he was coming back now for 
 a word with "the French girl." For an instant 
 he watched her. The sleeves of her thin shirt 
 waist were tucked up, leaving her slender arms 
 bare to the elbow ; her heavy black hair was 
 knotted behind, and the loose collar gave a glimpse 
 of little curls around the neck ; from where he 
 stood leaning he could just see her long dark eye 
 lashes and one brown, rich-blooded cheek. She 
 heard him breathe, and turned swiftly, nervously 
 tightening her grasp upon the etching needle. 
 He smiled reassuringly, and with a timid bow she 
 bent again over the ice-pitcher. He had always 
 been noticeably polite to her. 
 
 " Well, how do you like us here ? " he said, pull 
 ing at his mustache. u Good place, isn't it ? " 
 
 "You have been very kind." She spoke Eng 
 lish slowly and with a deliciously foreign accent. 
 
 "There is one fault I have to find with you, 
 though." 
 
 " A fault ? " She glanced up quickly. 
 
 "Yes." His left hand was upon the back of 
 her chair now. "You work over time. Didn't 
 you know that I could fine you for that ? " 
 
 She shook her head with a puzzled smile that
 
 46 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 intoxicated him. " I cannot work so fast as the 
 rest. Perhaps my hand is not strong enough 
 yet." 
 
 " Let me see." He slipped his right hand 
 along the bench, and grasped her wrist trium 
 phantly. " Now take your fine ! " he cried, stoop 
 ing to kiss her. She had already made a startled 
 movement as his fingers closed upon her arm, 
 and now, with a desperate effort, she twisted her 
 self free, and stood panting. The young fellow 
 laughed and sprang towards her, not meaning to 
 be foiled again. The girl retreated, but stumbled 
 over a chair, and fell helplessly against the bench 
 in front of the blue heron, dozing in the August 
 noon. She hid her face with a frightened sob. 
 There was a swift rustle above her head, an oath, 
 a groan, and she was conscious of blood spurting 
 against her arm. The great heron, savage at the 
 interruption of its nap, had stealthily darted its 
 terrible beak straight between the eyes of the 
 laughing foreman. 
 
 Miss Beaulieu raised her head. Above her 
 towered the gaunt bird, its long bill poised again, 
 its yellow eyes glittering. But the man had 
 enough. He groped his way along the bench to 
 the door, and swayed down the stairs, moaning. 
 The room grew still again. Little by little the 
 heron's beak sank upon its breast. Its eyes closed. 
 It did not mind Esther Beaulieu. 
 
 The girl was unnerved. She took her hat from
 
 THE PLATED CITY 47 
 
 the peg, rolled down her sleeves, and slipped fear 
 fully out of the Plate Works. The hot streets 
 were silent, in this middle of the noon hour, and 
 she stole along with downcast eyes, toward one of 
 the sandy hills that shut in the Flats on the south 
 west. Half way up the hill she stopped at a new, 
 yellow-painted tenement house, and went in. A 
 stout, mellow-voiced colored woman met her at the 
 door. 
 
 "Yo' dinnah's all ready, Miss Bowlyer." 
 
 " I don't care for any dinner, to-day," replied 
 the girl, in a strained voice. " You need not keep 
 anything for me." 
 
 The colored woman shook her head protest- 
 ingly, but the girl mounted the stairs to her own 
 room, and turning the key, flung herself upon the 
 bed, where she lay, sobbing softly, until long after 
 the Plated City whistles had screamed that the 
 noon hour was over. 
 
 The Plated City, in swiftly succeeding lessons, 
 was teaching Esther Beaulieu where she belonged. 
 The two months that had elapsed since her arrival 
 from Quebec seemed longer, far longer, than her 
 whole previous life. When her Aunt Beaulieu 
 died, and she started for the States to live with 
 Tom, she was, in spite of her twenty-two years, 
 a child. Of Bartonvale, her birthplace, she re 
 membered nothing, except that there was a river 
 there. Of her father, Pierre Beaulieu, who had 
 sent her to his sister in Canada upon her mother's
 
 48 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 death, she had a vague remembrance, in which 
 huge mustaches and a pipe and a stone-mason's 
 hammer played the chief parts. He died before 
 Esther had been many years in Canada ; but as 
 Tante Beaulieu could not take his boy, too, a 
 home had been found for Tom by the selectmen 
 of Barton vale. The girl recalled absolutely noth 
 ing about her mother. Tante Beaulieu had rarely 
 spoken of her, and then in an enigmatical fashion 
 that betrayed nothing except an enduring resent 
 ment that Pierre should have married without 
 consulting his elder sister. Queer old Tante Beau- 
 lieu, with her odd house in the Rue St. Jacques, 
 and her stories of the South of France, and her 
 desperate republicanism ! She and her brother 
 had emigrated in 1849, and she whispered to the 
 girl, often enough, that her father might have 
 been by this time a great sculptor in Paris in 
 stead of a stone-cutter in the States, if he had not 
 been a martyr to his republican principles. Tante 
 Beaulieu passed in the Rue St. Jacques for an 
 atheist ; at any rate, she never went to mass, and 
 she read Diderot and Rousseau by the hour, and 
 when it came to a matter of argument was quite 
 too much for the priest. She would never allow 
 Esther to be confirmed. On the contrary, she 
 sent her to an English chapel and Sunday school, 
 maintaining to her remonstrating neighbors that 
 this was the easiest method of teaching the girl 
 English. She was forever talking about migrating
 
 THE PLATED CITY 49 
 
 to the States herself, when Esther should be old 
 enough, but the time never came. One bitter 
 December she dropped away suddenly, and when 
 Esther wrote her annual New Year's letter to Tom, 
 the brother she had never seen since they were 
 babies, she asked him if she could not now come 
 to Bartonvale, since Tante Beaulieu was dead, and 
 she was homeless, 
 
 Tom's misspelled reply bade her wait until 
 spring. He could get no work at present, but 
 he was hoping for something later. In May, how 
 ever, when her slender . inheritance from Tante 
 Beaulieu was nearly spent, came a buoyant letter 
 from the Plated City. Tom had found a business 
 at last that was just to his liking. He was earn 
 ing seventy -five dollars a month. She must come 
 without fail. Perhaps she could get work ; but 
 if not, he could look out for her and himself, too ; 
 he had such a fine business now ! 
 
 When Esther Beaulieu alighted upon the dirty 
 platform at the Bartonvale depot, one June even 
 ing, her real life began. No one advanced to 
 meet her ; the long row of loafers leaning against 
 the dingy brick wall of the station stared at her ; 
 finally the train rattled on up the Valley. Just 
 then a swarthy, well-knit young fellow, with coal 
 black eyes, who had been standing by her side 
 scrutinizing all the arriving passengers, touched 
 her shoulder. 
 
 your pardon ; you ain't Esther, are you ? "
 
 50 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Are you Tom ? " she asked ; and as he nodded, 
 she put out both hands, the sister's love shining 
 from her eyes. Then she burst into rapid French, 
 until he shook his head. 
 
 "Don't understand it not a word. Never 
 did learn it. But say, I'm awful glad to see 
 you." He looked her over for an instant, with 
 admiring eyes. Then he whistled commandingly 
 for a hackman, and put her into the carriage with 
 a seventy-five-dollar-a-month disregard of ex 
 pense that was fine to see. But their triumphant 
 progress was a brief one, for in five minutes the 
 carriage stopped in front of old Cyrus Calhoun's, 
 on Nigger Hill. 
 
 Esther Beaulieu remembered afterwards that 
 Tom watched her with a curious expression, as 
 they entered the house. To her surprise and 
 amusement, she found that Tom lived with col 
 ored people ! It did not occur to her, at that 
 innocent instant, that there was any reason why 
 he should not, if he chose. The Calhouns, who 
 were numerous and of varying shades of com 
 plexion, sat at the table with Tom and Esther ; 
 and the latter's chief impression was that the 
 Calhouns were droll and good-natured, and that 
 the supper was very good. 
 
 It was afterwards, when Tom carried her old- 
 fashioned portmanteau upstairs it was the one 
 that Tante Beaulieu sailed with in 1849 that the 
 truth came out. She asked Tom, gaily enough,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 51 
 
 why he preferred to live with negroes. He looked 
 at her with an air of moody bravado. 
 
 "I suppose I'm one myself," he replied curtly. 
 " Didn't your aunt ever tell you ? " 
 
 She shook her head, wonderingly. 
 
 " Well," he went on, " that's what they tell me. 
 It's too late to change off now, anyway. But 
 I don't look it, do I?" 
 
 She was gazing at him with great eyes. Except 
 for the deep brown skin and black curly hair there 
 was about him no trace of the African. 
 
 " No more do you," he said. " That's what 
 fooled me at the depot." 
 
 "I? Ami " she stopped. 
 
 " I guess you're in it, too, Esther." 
 
 She felt the blood mounting slowly to her face, 
 her neck, her bosom. 
 
 "But you're half French, anyway," he con 
 tinued kindly, " and I ain't even that. I thought 
 you knew all about it. Cyrus Calhoun didn't tell 
 me till I was sixteen. Your father was Pete 
 Beaulieu ; but he wasn't mine. Cyrus says I was 
 a baby when mother came to town, from down 
 South somewhere. By and by your father married 
 her. His own folks wouldn't have anything to 
 do with him after that. See? That proves it. 
 And Cyrus says she was a sort of octoroon, most 
 likely, though he swears she was whiter than I 
 am,- by a good deal. You don't remember her, 
 do you?"
 
 52 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 "I was only three years old, Tante Beaulieu 
 said." She drew her chair nearer Tom and took 
 his hand. 
 
 " I was about four or five, according to Cyrus. 
 Seems to me I remember her : a great tall woman ; 
 they say Pete Beaulieu never dared lay hands on 
 her, not even when he was drunk." 
 
 The girl dropped her head. 
 
 " And it seems to me she was kind o' dark," 
 said the poor fellow, hazily. " She never said 
 anything about her first husband, but I guess 
 they put me down in the census as a nigger. 
 But if she was, I am, and you are : fathers don't 
 count." 
 
 " Tell me about my father ! " demanded the 
 girl, hoarsely. " Wasn't he kind to my mother ? " 
 
 " He was afraid of her, from all I can hear. 
 And after she died I guess he didn't pay much 
 attention to me. Used to drink." 
 
 Esther Beaulieu was crying. The ball-player 
 looked at her helplessly. 
 
 "I might as well go ahead, Esther, and tell 
 what I do know. There ain't much more, except 
 that when your father died, the town paid Mammy 
 Hudson so much a week for taking care of me. 
 When she got too old to work, I came here. 
 The selectmen sized me up as a nigger, you see, 
 and there it is. There's no use in my getting 
 mad over it. But I'm sorry on your account, 
 Esther. If I hadn't thought you knew all about
 
 THE PLATED CITY 53 
 
 it, I wouldn't have written you to come, and 
 perhaps you'd better go back up there, as it 
 is." 
 
 There was a wistful note in his voice. The 
 girl lifted her face and brushed away the tears. 
 She was conscious of a certain shame and disap 
 pointment, but she had not been trained to per 
 ceive at once all the fatal implications of that 
 imputed strain of alien blood. 
 
 " I have no one to go back to," she said simply, 
 " and I would rather stay with you." 
 
 "That's right," replied Tom, stoutly, "I'll take 
 care of you. This is a pretty rough town, but 
 you needn't be afraid of any one who knows Tom 
 Beaulieu." She was gently stroking his arm, 
 where the great muscles lay sleepily. 
 
 "Yes, you will take care of me," she repeated; 
 and then came a long silence. 
 
 " I'm awful sorry," broke in Tom at ]ast, with 
 another misgiving. " You didn't know what you 
 were coming to, did you ? The old lady ought to 
 have told you, and not let you grow up thinking 
 you were white." 
 
 "White?" she demanded, in a tone that was 
 meant to be brave. " You do not see any differ 
 ence between me and other people, do you, Tom ? 
 Look ! " 
 
 It was long past sunset, and the light was grow 
 ing dim in the tawdry little chamber, but he looked 
 steadily into her clear, delicately moulded face and
 
 54 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 shook his head. " You're the prettiest girl in the 
 Plated City." 
 
 "J2h bien! Then what difference does it make 
 whom my father married ? There were half-blood 
 girls in the school at Quebec, and one of them was 
 the best dancer there, such a bright girl ! To 
 be sure, they had Indian blood, and not " she 
 hesitated "negro blood; but what if they had 
 had that ? No one would have cared. And no 
 one would care in France. Think of Alexandre 
 Dumas," she went on, excitedly; "you know about 
 him? You have not read the Three Musket 
 eers ? " 
 
 The Plated City ball-player had never heard of 
 Dumas pere. 
 
 " Why, his mother was a negress, and no one 
 cared. If you have brains, and are brave and 
 good, and people like you what difference does 
 it make ? " 
 
 " It may not make any difference in Canada," 
 said Tom, bitterly, "but you'll find it does in 
 Connecticut ! They won't have anything to do 
 with you, that's all ! " 
 
 The girl made a gesture, half of perplexity, half 
 of defiance. 
 
 " One can get work." 
 
 "Yes," said Beaulieu, wondering what work 
 this slim, high-spirited creature could find. 
 
 " Very well. We can earn money one can 
 not live without money; I have learned that in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 55 
 
 Quebec and we shall have each other. Is not 
 that enough ? " 
 
 She was pacing the room in rapid, nervous 
 strides, but paused at this question and looked 
 at him. He rose without a word, and kissed 
 her on the cheek. 
 
 " We'll get along," he whispered affectionately. 
 " You'd better go to bed now, and get some rest, 
 Esther. I'll look out for you. Good night." 
 
 Such was Esther Beaulieu's initiation to the 
 Plated City. She had gained a loyal brother, 
 though he was not her own father's son, and she 
 had lost caste in a community whose lines of caste 
 were ineradicable. 
 
 As Tom descended the stairs, Mrs. Calhoun was 
 waiting for him. She led him into her own bed 
 room, and shut the door in great excitement. 
 
 "Tom," she exclaimed, "you mustn't keep that 
 po' critter heah. 'Twon't do nohow. Look a 
 heah ! I'se watched her and Cy's watched her 
 when she wa'n't looking, and I tell you yo' sis- 
 tah's white. You mustn't make a nigger of hep 
 by keepin' her heah. You got to go away, Tom, 
 the other side of the river, where the white people 
 are, and get a place for her to boa'd. She belongs 
 over there, and not heah on Nigger Hill. It's the 
 trufe I'm say in'. Look a heah ! Old Mammy 
 Hudson tol' Cyrus las' week that her ol' man lied 
 to the selectmen about you when you was a little 
 chile. The ol' man wanted to git the money for
 
 56 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 yo' boa'd, and swore yo' mother was a kin' o' 
 mulatto, you know, a low down. But Mammy 
 Hudson said she wa'n't. There wa'n't no drop of 
 nigger blood in her. She was one o' dose Creoles 
 
 Louisiana folks, you know French, Spaniard, 
 
 I dunno which and she walked into Barton- 
 vale one day right after the war with a black- 
 lookin' baby, and that was you. She couldn't git 
 no work, and she was kin' o' discouraged and 
 desperate-like, and some days she was out of her 
 head and talked crazy said she had a husband 
 in Bartonvale, and couldn't find him and all 
 that and she settled down on Nigger Hill and did 
 washin' and one day she up an' married ol' Drunken 
 Pete. Yo' sistah's ol' Pete's chile, but she ain't no 
 mo' a nigger than I'm a white woman." 
 
 " Why in hell didn't you tell me all this be 
 fore?" demanded Beaulieu. 
 
 " Cyrus never heard it till las' week. 'Fore de 
 Lord, he never did. Mammy Hudson wanted to 
 confess to a deacon in the church, 'n' Cyrus went 
 accordin'. The selectmen's all dead now, an' 
 there ain't no Men' o' yo' mother's left. Guess 
 she didn't have none, anyhow. Cyrus tol' me 
 that very night, but I says, ' Wait till Tom's sistah 
 comes, and we'll know fo' shu.' You couldn't 
 ever b'leeve what Mammy Hudson said, but that 
 time, 'fore de Lord, I b'leeve she wa'n't a lyin'. 
 She stood too near de Judgment 'n' de Archangel 
 wid a flamin' trump."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 57 
 
 Beaulieu strode upstairs and knocked at his sis 
 ter's door. It was opened timidly, far enough for 
 him to see that her dark hair was down upon her 
 shoulders and all around her pale, troubled face. 
 
 "It's all right, Esther. I've just found out 
 what your mother was. She was straight Spanish 
 or something or other ; anyway, she was no more 
 colored than Pete Beaulieu was colored." 
 
 The girl caught her breath. 
 
 " Your mother ? " she repeated. " Why, she 
 was your mother too, Tom." 
 
 ' ' Well that's so, sure enough ! " cried the sim 
 ple fellow. "And as long as they don't know 
 who my father was, I'm going to be a white man, 
 from now on. See if I won't ! In the morning 
 we'll go somewhere else." 
 
 Downstairs he strode again and out into the 
 street, with his head high. That night, for the 
 first time in his life, he walked into the most ex 
 clusive saloon on Main Street, and ordered a drink 
 like anybody else. It was the only proclamation 
 of emancipation he could think of, and the bar 
 tender, preserving his self-respect under the sub 
 terfuge that he was waiting on Beaulieu the ball 
 player and not Beaulieu the colored man, poured 
 out the whiskey deferentially, and called Tom 
 " Mr. Beaulieu " as he handed over the change.
 
 58 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 IV 
 
 NEXT morning, however, it was evident that 
 the Plated City would have something to say upon 
 the question of emancipation. It was a simple 
 enough matter for the Beaulieus to accept Mammy 
 Hudson's story about their mother, but her repu 
 tation for veracity had never been rated very high 
 in Bartonvale, and the fact that she had made a 
 death-bed confession of deception practised upon 
 the selectmen was scarcely to be credited beyond 
 the precincts of Nigger Hill. Mrs. Cyrus Calhoun, 
 indeed, was loyal to her new faith. When Tom 
 and his sister came downstairs, they found a 
 table for two spread in the parlor. The youngest 
 Calhoun girl waited on them, watching Esther- 
 with big eyes. After breakfast, the Beaulieus 
 crossed the river in search of a boarding-place out 
 side the negro quarter of the town, but they came 
 back silently to dinner at Cyrus Calhoun's. The 
 boarding-houses beyond the river seemed to be 
 singularly full. After a half-dozen efforts, Esther 
 had made Tom wait on the corner for her, while 
 she tried alone. Yes, there were plenty of rooms ; 
 and then Esther beckoned for her brother. At 
 sight of his well-known face the landlady shrugged
 
 THE PLATED CITY 59 
 
 her shoulders. She was very sorry ; she had not 
 understood the young lady's question ; she had 
 no rooms to let. The girl bowed haughtily, and 
 withdrew. It was clear that without Tom she 
 might easily find a boarding-place, but his position 
 in the Plated City had been too long determined. 
 At one house kept by the mother of a former 
 mate of Beaulieu at the public school Tom ven 
 tured to tell Mammy Hudson's story, but the woman 
 shook her head. She too was very sorry ; in fact, 
 everybody that morning was very sorry indeed. 
 
 They had the same experience the next morning 
 and the next. In the afternoons Tom went off 
 moodily to the ball grounds, while Esther sat in 
 her room. The fourth day, Mrs. Calhoun drew 
 Tom aside and suggested a compromise. Her 
 daughter Angelina lived on the very edge of the 
 colored quarter, indeed, there were more Irish 
 and Germans than negroes in the street, and An 
 gelina had always taken white boarders, though just 
 now she had none at all. Would it not be better for 
 them to go there? Thither the Beaulieus went 
 accordingly, and Tom's spirits rose again. The 
 change was not much, but it was something. The 
 simple-hearted fellow had never taken but one 
 step at a time, and was only a trifle less improvi 
 dent than the childlike people to whose ranks 
 fate and a board of selectmen had assigned 
 him. Tom's vague optimism was, in the early 
 days of their life in common, at once a wonder
 
 60 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and a source of comfort to Esther. He had al 
 ways had the experience, totally lacking in her 
 life, of contact with people who felt, and could 
 not help betraying, their consciousness of racial 
 superiority, if not a latent race antagonism. He 
 had learned his role. But in mental power the 
 girl far surpassed him, and the moment she began 
 to brood over the problems involved in those race 
 distinctions, she perceived question after question 
 of which her boyish , happy-go-lucky elder brother 
 had never dreamed. Fortunately for her, the 
 days were full of new impressions, above all of the 
 new sense of sisterly affection, which rapidly de 
 veloped as the irresponsible, immature nature of 
 Tom became daily more clear to her into a feel 
 ing almost maternal in its instinctive pressure of 
 responsibility. She had no leisure to -brood- too 
 long over problems that appeared insoluble. And 
 Esther Beaulieu, besides, was naturally as light- 
 hearted as her brother. She was the child of 
 Pierre Beaulieu, the theorist and exile and might- 
 have-been artist, who cut stone in Bartonvale and 
 built castles in Spain, who got as royally drunk, 
 alas, on Connecticut cider as if he had quaffed too 
 deeply the wines of his own Provence ; and who 
 had crowned his levity by marrying a half -crazed, 
 dubious, babe-encumbered newcomer in Barton- 
 vale, with a dark queenliness of person and a 
 French patois. 
 
 After the girl's first plunge into the Plated
 
 THE PLATED CITY 61 
 
 City, her spirits came back to her with a sort of 
 rebound. There were hours when she faced the 
 future almost with gaiety. 
 
 In one of these buoyant moods, when she had 
 been scarcely more than a week in Bartonvale, 
 she happened to read in the local paper that the 
 teacher of French at the High School was ill. 
 Why not try for the position? She had hoped 
 so much that she might find work ; she had dis 
 covered that Tom's " business " lasted but for the 
 summer time. Acting on the impulse of the 
 moment, her brother was playing ball that day 
 in Hartford, she learned the address of the 
 teacher, and called upon her. Would she like a 
 substitute ? Miss Beaulieu's face was in her favor. 
 She took pains to explain that her French was her 
 aunt's, and not the French of Quebec ; her very 
 name and her slight foreign accent substantiated 
 the truth of her statements ; the address she gave 
 was that of a sufficiently respectable boarding- 
 house on the West Side ; and she was given the 
 position. 
 
 For two days she was happier than she ever 
 remembered being in her life. The girls who 
 came to the tiny recitation room raved over her ; 
 at the end of the second day they were all trying 
 to talk French on the way home. On the morn 
 ing of the third day there were whisperings in 
 the class, scrutinizing looks and nods of confi 
 dential affirmation. In the afternoon, two girls,
 
 62 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 daughters of an Irish foreman at the brass mill, 
 staid away. The next morning the superintendent 
 of schools came into the recitation room, just be 
 fore the time for the first class. Like the board 
 ing-house keepers, the superintendent was very 
 sorry ; he himself would never care to draw any 
 such line, but the feelings of the parents must be 
 respected ; it would be much better all around 
 if she would take this check for a full week's 
 teaching, and consider her services at an end. 
 
 "Please tell me exactly what it is that is 
 wrong," asked Miss Beaulieu. She was not quite 
 sure that she had understood. People sometimes 
 spoke such difficult English in the States. 
 
 " You are a sister of Tom Beaulieu, aren't you ? " 
 
 "Yes. Certainly." She comprehended now, and 
 her head was poised like that of some beautiful 
 animal. 
 
 " Well, these girls' parents don't want them 
 taught by a colored woman, that's all." 
 
 He was rather uncomfortable. 
 
 Esther Beaulieu gazed at him an instant, and 
 then tore up the check slowly, and went home. 
 
 She sat in her hot room all that day, tasting 
 the bitterness of defeat. It had seemed to her 
 so easy, from the vantage ground of the school 
 room, to win some sort of place for herself in the 
 Plated City. But the Plated City did not pro 
 pose to accept her on any such terms, and she felt 
 more clearly than before the intangible nature of
 
 THE PLATED CITY 63 
 
 her antagonist. She was not so much disheart 
 ened as baffled. Whatever may have been the 
 blood in her veins, it was not sufficiently Anglo- 
 Saxon to give her an instinctive comprehension of 
 the situation. Her sense of personal humiliation 
 was lessened by her indignation against what she 
 considered a defective logic, triumphant though 
 it were. She told herself passionately that she 
 did not care whether or not her mother were 
 tinged by negro blood. What mattered the truth 
 or falsehood of an old woman's death-bed gossip ? 
 Here was she, Esther Beaulieu, just what she was. 
 What magic was there in Mammy Hudson's talk 
 to make her better or worse ? Yet the best proof 
 that she was beginning to recognize the Plated 
 City's power was a sort of distrust of her own 
 reasoning ; it might be possible that she was 
 somehow wrong if the parents of all those kindly, 
 pretty schoolgirls were so unanimously right ! 
 It was plain that her relation to Tom was what 
 compromised her. If it were not for him, all 
 would be easy. And this thought drove her back 
 inevitably to her position of defiant struggle ; 
 whatever happened, she would stand loyally by 
 the side of Tom ! 
 
 A day or two after the teaching episode she 
 wandered restlessly across the river again and 
 along the streets that wound around the Hill. 
 The open door of the Atwood Public Library met 
 her eye. She ventured within the vestibule and
 
 64 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 peeped into the interior. Her eyes glowed : there 
 were books and books and books, so many of 
 them ! She stepped timidly forward to a long 
 table strewn with magazines, and glanced hesi 
 tatingly at the big wicker chairs. A friendly- 
 faced young woman, with her hat off, looked up 
 from behind an oak desk in the centre of the 
 room, and nodded kindly. "Won't you sit 
 down?" she said. 
 
 Miss Beaulieu seated herself, and had a raptur 
 ous half -hour. Then she began to eye the alcoves 
 longingly. No one else came into the Library : 
 she did not know whether she might be permitted 
 to touch the books. Sally Thayer watched her 
 awhile, over the leaves of a new book which she 
 was cutting, and then came forward. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 " I would like very much to see the books," 
 hazarded Esther Beaulieu. 
 
 "Most certainly. You may draw three at a 
 time, if you wish. Won't you go to the shelves 
 and see what you would like to take ? " And seeing 
 the fine creature stand irresolute, in the presence 
 of an unexpected joy, she added, in the words of 
 James Atwood, " That's what the Library is here 
 for," and sauntered back to her desk. 
 
 For another half-hour, Esther roved from cool 
 alcove to alcove. She forgot all about the color 
 line, and everything else. At last she found her 
 self by some low shelves where was arranged a
 
 THE PLATED CITY 65 
 
 miscellaneous collection of French fiction, bought 
 at a bargain by the Doctor's purchaser in New 
 York, but hitherto of no use to anybody in Bar- 
 tonvale. Miss Beaulieu dropped upon the floor 
 like a child, and drew out book after book with 
 trembling fingers. Ah, there were such old friends 
 there ! Romances she had read aloud to her aunt 
 till her eyes could see no more ; stories she had 
 laughed and cried over as a little, little girl ; and 
 here was Balzac, whom her aunt had admired so 
 much, and Dumas, yes, dear old Dumas, Les 
 Trois Mousquetaires, and Vingt Ans Apres, La 
 Tulipe Noire, and all the rest ; and here were 
 books by a new generation of writers whom she 
 did not know, Erckmann-Chatrian, and About, 
 and Alphonse Daudet. 
 
 A tiny bell struck from the oak desk. "We 
 close at six on Fridays," said the librarian, 
 approaching the alcove, and smiling to see the 
 tall visitor crouching hungrily over her discov 
 eries. 
 
 Miss Beaulieu was on her feet in an instant. 
 She had Daudet's Jack in her hand. 
 
 " May I take this home ? " she asked. 
 
 Miss Thayer led the way to the desk, and took 
 the number, and Miss Beaulieu's name, which she 
 was obliged to ask to have spelled for her. Then 
 she watched the girl's slender, retreating figure as 
 it disappeared through the vestibule, and decided 
 that no visitor with exactly that air, at once timid
 
 66 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and proud, had thus far entered the hospitable 
 doors of the Atwood Library. 
 
 Miss Beaulieu came the next day and the next. 
 She read Jack and Le Petit Chose and La Belle 
 Nivernaise. Then she stopped coming, except on 
 Saturday evenings. 
 
 " You do not come in the afternoons any more," 
 said Sally Thayer one evening, trying to make 
 friends with her. 
 
 " Oh, no," was the shy answer. " I have work 
 now. I work in the Plate Shops." 
 
 In response to a poster calling for extra hands at 
 the Atwood Works, Esther Beaulieu had presented 
 herself, with a dozen other women, and was the 
 first to be chosen by the foreman. She was adroit 
 with her fingers and eager to learn, and in two or 
 three days she took her seat at the bench with 
 the rest. It was mechanical work for the most 
 part, and her deft touch and natural intelligence 
 supplied the place of experience. She earned six 
 dollars from the very first, and began to feel again 
 that she was winning in the battle with the Plated 
 City. The other women at the bench were appar 
 ently friendly, though she made no effort at 
 acquaintance with them. In the evening she 
 walked or rode in the new electric cars with Tom. 
 When he was out of town, she read Daudet. Tom 
 had growled at first about her working in the 
 Shops, thinking that it was too hard for her ; but 
 seeing how much happier Esther was to be earn-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 67 
 
 ing something, lie concluded with characteristic 
 optimism that it was a fine place for her, very 
 much better than teaching school. His own 
 progress toward social rehabilitation was slow. 
 The rumor got around town that Tom Beaulieu, 
 at this late day, was going to set up for a white 
 man, and everybody laughed at him, though not 
 to his face. His physical prowess and almost per 
 petual good nature made him a pet in Bartonvale ; 
 and the familiarity with which he was treated was 
 often a cover for a patronizing tolerance which a 
 keener witted man would have fiercely resented. 
 The Plated Citys won game after game through 
 out July, and Beaulieu mistook somewhat his 
 popularity as a ball-player for an evidence that 
 Bartonvale approved of his new role of Anglo- 
 Saxon. The colored quarter was secretly jealous 
 at his leaving Cyrus Calhoun's, though inclined 
 to lay most of the blame for this upon Tom's 
 "stuck-up" sister. But very little of this hostile 
 gossip reached the ears of the Beaulieus, and day 
 by day they grew fonder of each other, and proud 
 of their ability to stand alone. Once or twice they 
 even ventured to go to church. St. Asaph's ap 
 peared, upon inquiry, to resemble most nearly 
 the English chapel which Esther had attended in 
 Quebec, and Tom with decorous curiosity watched 
 Whitesyde Trellys go through the service. He 
 had a rather vague idea as to what it was all about, 
 but St. Asaph's was unquestionably more "high-
 
 68 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 toned " than the African Methodist church on 
 Nigger Hill, and Tom was satisfied. 
 
 In a word, everything seemed once more to be 
 going tolerably well with the Beaulieus, until that 
 sultry noonday when Esther lingered in the Plate 
 Shops over her work, and the blue heron took her 
 part against the foreman. But that one minute's 
 experience terrified the girl more than all that had 
 gone before. It was a sudden revelation of her 
 helplessness. With a kind of haughty, virginal 
 unconsciousness of evil she had been walking on 
 the brink of abysses. She understood now what 
 Tom meant by saying that Bartonvale was a rough 
 town. Faithful, strong-armed Tom could not 
 always be by her side. Ah, what a brute world it 
 was ! It sickened her to think of it. There was 
 no one whom she could ask what she ought to do. 
 Tom was playing out of town again, and might 
 be gone for two days more. All the afternoon 
 she lay on the cheap little bed, too wretched to 
 think clearly, disheartened and solitary. But the 
 next morning, fearing she would lose her position, 
 she crept over to the Plate Works, and took her 
 seat at the bench. To her relief, the foreman was 
 not there, nor did he appear that day. The blue 
 heron's place by the lathe was also vacant: its 
 owner had received peremptory orders from the 
 office to wring its neck or let it go, and the king 
 of the marshes was already in the hands of a taxi 
 dermist. When the foreman reappeared on the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 69 
 
 third day, he wore a plaster on the bridge of his 
 nose, and the workmen joked him about the scien 
 tific fashion in which his eyes had been blackened 
 for him. He took no notice of Esther Beaulieu, 
 and her connection with the affair was unsuspected 
 by any one in the room. Tom returned that day, 
 however, and in the noon hour she told him, fright 
 and indignation still vibrating in her voice. He 
 scowled and then laughed, clenching his fingers 
 meaningly. 
 
 "You won't kill him, Tom?" she entreated. 
 
 He was amused. " Kill him for trying to kiss 
 you ? Well, hardly. But he won't try it again : 
 not if my name is Tom Beaulieu." 
 
 At six o'clock that very evening, as the fore 
 man was crossing the old bridge, his coat on his 
 arm and his lips puckered to a tune that had just 
 travelled Bartonvale-ward from the Bowery, the 
 ball-player suddenly blocked his path. 
 
 " Put up your hands, Dibble," demanded Beau- 
 lieu succinctly. 
 
 The other eyed him irresolutely, and shifted his 
 coat to his left arm. Since Tom Beaulieu was a 
 boy, no man in Bartonvale had dared stand up to 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, come, Tom," wheedled the foreman, divin 
 ing the cause of the quarrel from Beaulieu's face. 
 "What's the matter with you? That was only a 
 joke, the other day. Come, take a drink : it was 
 on me, anyway."
 
 70 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Put up your hands ! " 
 
 " Now look here, Beaulieu, I don't want to have 
 a row with you." He was glancing furtively for 
 the Bridge policeman. 
 
 " I see you don't," was the contemptuous re 
 joinder. " And I knew d d well you wouldn't. 
 But all the same I'm going to " 
 
 " Police ! " yelled the foreman. Instantly the 
 tough fingers of the ball-player were around his 
 throat, and he was rushed backward against the 
 rickety rail of the old foot bridge. It bent under 
 the weight of the furiously struggling men. The 
 throng of homeward-hurrying workmen, already 
 pressing upon the combatants from either side, 
 gave an involuntary cry of alarm. But Beau- 
 lieu tore himself loose from his antagonist's 
 grasp, and still keeping his left hand clenched 
 upon the foreman's throat, caught him cleverly 
 by the waistband, and swung him clear of the 
 bridge, out over the black still water of the Mat- 
 tawanset. 
 
 " Apologize," he hissed, " or in you go ! " 
 
 The foreman's face was growing a ghastly pur 
 ple. Beaulieu shook him like a terrier. 
 
 " Apologize ! " 
 
 The fellow's eyes rolled, and his lips murmured 
 something, whereupon the ball-player heaved him 
 back over the rail, and jerked him to his feet. 
 
 " All right. Now don't you forget it ! " growled 
 the victor, sauntering off through the admiring
 
 THE PLATED CITY 71 
 
 crowd, who wondered what in the world could 
 have provoked Tom Beaulieu into a fight. 
 
 When Esther listened to Tom's laconic account 
 of this transaction, she had misgivings as to the 
 consequences, and the event proved that she was 
 right. The next Friday was pay day, and as the 
 hands filed past the paymaster's grated window in 
 the office, Esther Beaulieu's envelope was marked 
 with a blue cross. She did not understand its 
 significance at first, but the woman next her in 
 the line said, " I'm sorry," and other heads were 
 turned to look at her, some in pity, and some 
 with covert satisfaction. Then she guessed that 
 something was wrong. When everybody else had 
 been paid off, she timidly stepped back to the win 
 dow, and pointed to the blue cross on her envelope. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " It means that you have been laid off, " replied 
 the paymaster, not unkindly. 
 
 " Why ? " she demanded, a fierce suspicion taking 
 possession of her. 
 
 The paymaster shook his head. "We in the 
 office don't know anything about what goes on in 
 the shops," he explained. " It's for the foremen 
 to say what help they want. I suppose work was 
 slack again in the etching-room and some one had 
 to leave. The foreman said nothing to us about 
 any fault he had to find with you. Your time is 
 all right, 16.75, isn't it?" He turned back 
 to his empty envelope tray.
 
 72 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The girl still stood at the window, her proud 
 eyes filling with tears. She was impotent. At 
 that moment Dr. Atwood himself bustled out of 
 the inner office, buttoning his driving-gloves, and 
 stopped to ask the paymaster a question. Miss 
 Beaulieu recognized the President of the Works, 
 and looked at him appealingly a moment, before 
 she could find the words she wanted. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Is this Dr. Atwood ? " 
 
 Something in the foreign accent or the expres 
 sion of the girl's face caught his attention. 
 
 " What's that ? " he said. " I'm Dr. Atwood ; 
 yes." Then he saw the blue cross upon her en 
 velope, and wished she had not spoken to him. 
 He always hated to discharge a hand, and this 
 elaborate method of doing it by proxy was his 
 own device. 
 
 "I don't want to stop work," she said. "I 
 can't. I'm doing my very best. Won't you please 
 keep me, and let me try in some other room? I'll 
 work for almost nothing." 
 
 "That's the sort of hands we're after, nowa 
 days," the Doctor replied, with a grim effort at 
 humor. 
 
 " What is it ? " he added, turning to the pay 
 master. 
 
 " Dibble laid her off, that's all I know," said the 
 paymaster, testily, beginning to lock the safe. It 
 was already ten minutes after six, and his bicycle 
 was leaning against the office steps, waiting for him.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 73 
 
 " Sorry," said the Doctor, turning to the grated 
 window, " very sorry always to lose a good hand. 
 But it's the foreman's business, not mine. It 
 wouldn't do, 'twouldn't do. Don't you see ? " 
 
 She looked at him with eyes that failed to com 
 prehend. From the way the operatives had talked, 
 she had always supposed that the " old man " was 
 omnipotent. 
 
 " You'd better go now," said the paymaster, 
 impatient to mount his wheel. 
 
 The irascible owner of the Plate Works turned 
 upon his subordinate. 
 
 " I'm doing the talking just now, Marvin," he 
 sputtered, greatly to the delight of the two office 
 boys. " If the young woman has anything to say, 
 this office is the place to say it." He peered over 
 his glasses at the discharged operative and sud 
 denly discovered that this was the girl Sally 
 Thayer had talked about at the ball game. 
 
 " What's your name ?" he asked. 
 
 "Esther Beaulieu." 
 
 " French, ain't it ? " She nodded. 
 
 " How long have you been in the Works ? " 
 
 Mr. Marvin turned his back sulkily upon this 
 exhibition of the " old man's " eccentricity. 
 
 " Four weeks. And they all told me I learned 
 fast. I tried so hard." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry. Perhaps we may have a 
 place again for you by and by. You can leave 
 your address with the bookkeeper."
 
 74 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The tears were brimming again in her eyes, 
 though the pose of her head was strangely defi 
 ant. She twisted the envelope in her slender 
 fingers and looked first at it and then at Dr. 
 Atwood. Finally she turned away, without a 
 word. 
 
 "Hold on," said the soft-hearted autocrat. 
 " Marvin, didn't that Fennessey girl in the brush- 
 backing room leave this morning ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Marvin, sulkily. 
 
 " Well, why not give this girl a chance there, 
 unless Dibble has some fault to find with her ? " 
 
 " I suppose it can be done," replied Marvin, with 
 the dignity of a man who washed his hands of an 
 indiscretion. 
 
 " Can be done ? " exclaimed the Doctor. " I 
 rather guess it can be done, and will be done. I'll 
 speak to Jenkins about it myself. You report 
 here to-morrow morning, Miss Bowlyer ; that's all 
 you'll have to do. Or wait a minute ; I'll show 
 you where to go. Come with me." He kicked 
 open the spring-gate that barred the inner office 
 from the hall, and led the way up a flight of stairs 
 to a tiny room, flooded with sunlight. The bench 
 was covered with silver plated backs for brushes, 
 waiting to be slipped over the wooden forms. 
 
 "See?" said the Doctor, as he picked up the 
 back of a hair-brush, and slipped it into place, 
 fastening it by a blow of a light hammer. " Don't 
 you suppose you can do it ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 75 
 
 " I think so," said the girl, eagerly. " I am 
 very grateful, Dr. Atwood. And you won't let 
 anybody turn me away ? " 
 
 "Pshaw!" replied the Doctor, bluffly. "No 
 body wants to turn you away. You can work in 
 this little room all by yourself, and if you have 
 any trouble, let me know. I'll keep a lookout for 
 you." 
 
 They were out in the main room now, and as 
 the Doctor, with pardonable egotism, swept his 
 eye over the product of twenty-five years of suc 
 cess, he added, with a twinkle in his eye : " The 
 fact is, that in the Atwood Plate Works, what the 
 ' old man ' says, goes."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 AMONG the many virtues of the Rev. White- 
 syde Trellys was a consuming interest in the wel 
 fare of what he termed "the working classes." 
 Whenever he dined with his parishioners of the 
 Hill, he endeavored conscientiously to turn the 
 conversation, at some feasible moment, to the sub 
 ject of the moral elevation of his far more numer 
 ous parishioners of the Flats. His zeal for the 
 projected Norman church, with rectory attached 
 over the detailed plans for which he had spent 
 many a delightful hour with Craig Kennedy, was 
 grounded, he felt sure, in his conviction of the 
 value of aesthetic surroundings in developing a 
 religious consciousness in the American working- 
 man. He rejoiced at his ex-officio appointment as 
 one of the directors at the Atwood Library , chiefly 
 because of the opportunity it afforded him to be 
 come acquainted with the reading habits of some 
 of the attendants upon St. Asaph's church. A 
 secondary cause, however, as he was willing to 
 admit to himself, lay in the fact that the librarian 
 was Miss Sally Thayer. 
 
 Since the close of the tennis season, the previous 
 year, when Miss Thayer and he had been victori-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 77 
 
 ous in the mixed doubles, Trellys had suffered 
 from the lack of a suitable topic of conversation with 
 his former partner. Not that she suffered from 
 any inability to converse. She was if anything 
 too fluent. She traversed easily the surface of a 
 variety of themes, and always dismissed him with 
 the feeling on his part that she had been amusing 
 herself. Tennis, now, she had taken seriously. 
 There he felt that he really had got at her ; that in 
 the discussion of cuts and lobs and waiting games 
 she had disclosed her real self. He rebelled against 
 the lazy verdict of the Hill set, that there was to 
 be no tennis club this year. It put him under a 
 personal disqualification. If Miss Thayer were 
 only interested in church architecture, for in 
 stance, there would be an unfailing topic of con 
 versation, by means of which he might once more 
 approach those regions of delightful intimacy 
 where he had basked the summer before. But 
 Miss Thayer did not respond warmly to his enthu 
 siasm for clerestories and reredoses. She was 
 even flippant, to his secret disappointment. He 
 had long ago passed the stage of acquaintance 
 where he had been critical of Miss Thayer's per 
 son. He was satisfied that her person pleased 
 him very much. Her nose might indeed have 
 been longer, but that would perhaps have taken 
 a certain piquancy from her face ; her mouth was 
 the merest trifle larger than the laws of conven 
 tional beauty would require, but, after all, when
 
 78 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 she shut her lips resolutely as she tossed up the 
 ball for that famous overhand service of hers, 
 there was nothing finer than Miss Thayer's mouth. 
 No, it was the young woman's mind about which 
 he had harassing moments of hesitation. Was 
 she suited to him? Would her mental processes 
 prove, on still closer investigation, to be wholly 
 sympathetic with his own ? This was a most im 
 portant question for the melancholy-looking rector 
 of St. Asaph's, and he rarely came away from an 
 evening inspection of the Atwood Library without 
 feeling that he had received light upon it, in addi 
 tion to securing some information as to the reading 
 habits of the working people of Bartonvale. 
 
 Sometimes she annoyed him. She showed, for 
 instance, a perverse disinclination to act upon his 
 advice. She persisted in allowing the small boys 
 who flocked around her desk an unlimited quan 
 tity of Cooper and Mayne Reid, in place of cer 
 tain other literature which the new director 
 informed her was far more valuable in instilling 
 proper ethical principles into the immature mind. 
 She shamelessly encouraged the girls to read Miss 
 Alcott and Mrs. Whitney. When he had brought 
 her, printed as a supplement to his religious peri 
 odical The Flying Buttress, a list of " Seventy-seven 
 Best Books for the Young," for her guidance in 
 the selection of the next quarter's instalment of 
 books, he was disheartened to discover that she 
 surreptitiously dropped the list in the waste-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 79 
 
 basket. Neither as a man, a clergyman, nor a 
 library director was it easy for Whitesyde Trellys 
 to have his admonitions ignored. But 'it was 
 impossible for him to harbor any permanent re 
 sentment against Sally Thayer. She contradicted 
 him to his face, with an impertinence that he 
 found after all quite charming ; she interrupted 
 his homilies upon the development of true liter 
 ary taste among the masses with drawling com 
 ments in her cool crisp voice, at which he was 
 forced to smile, though wanly. Having been led 
 at last to reflect that an affinity based upon com 
 plementary qualities augured perhaps as well for 
 future happiness as one founded upon absolute 
 similarity of opinions and tastes, a reflection 
 which Trellys gravely formulated to himself with 
 all the complacency of a discoverer, he pursued 
 his investigation of Miss Thayer's mind with re 
 newed ardor. He felt that at almost any time 
 something might occur to illuminate the entire 
 subject of the relation of her mental processes to 
 his own. As usual, he was right. 
 
 One August evening, as he hovered around the 
 librarian, shortly before the closing hour, a tall, 
 dark girl came out of one of the alcoves and 
 approached the desk. The rector had trained 
 himself to remember faces, and recalled the fact 
 that he had seen the young woman once or twice 
 in St. Asaph's. As soon as she had exchanged her 
 books, he came up to her and put out his hand.
 
 80 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Good evening. I am glad to see that you use 
 the Library." 
 
 She shook hands in an embarrassed fashion. 
 
 " I have noticed you in St. Asaph's," lie went 
 on, " and should have called upon you before this. 
 May I ask your name? " 
 
 "Esther Beaulieu." 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " 
 
 " Esther Beaulieu." At this juncture the libra 
 rian bit her lips and bent over her desk. The 
 rector's ear for a French name was no quicker 
 than hers had been, at any rate. 
 
 " Ah, thank you ; and your address ? " 
 
 Miss Beaulieu gave it to him, in growing rest 
 lessness. She was quite unused to the pastoral 
 function. 
 
 " I hope you will find the Library helpful to 
 your needs. It is an institution most admirably 
 adapted to supplement the home reading of the 
 working classes. You already have access to 
 some good periodical, I suppose? That is very 
 important in affording a proper estimate of some 
 of the great movements of our own time." 
 
 "I have never read the newspapers," said Miss 
 Beaulieu. 
 
 " So much the better," nodded the rector. 
 " But I did not refer to the secular press. It is 
 misleading, as well as vulgar. There is, how 
 ever, a weekly paper that I wish all the young 
 people of our church might read regularly, The
 
 THE PLATED CITY 81 
 
 Flying Buttress. Have you ever chanced to see 
 it?" 
 
 Miss Beaulieu shook her head. The conversa 
 tion struck her as very odd. 
 
 " Then perhaps you will allow me to send you 
 a sample copy? It contains such a full account 
 of all our charitable work in the great cities, 
 a movement really of extraordinary interest, 
 and then there are literary notes, and so forth, in 
 addition to the more distinctly religious matter. 
 Perhaps you may wish to subscribe for it." 
 
 The girl betrayed no particular enthusiasm, and 
 it occurred to Trellys that he was talking some 
 what in the dark. 
 
 " Well, I hope we may continue to see you every 
 Sunday," he remarked, shifting his ground a little. 
 " You have been ah confirmed elsewhere, have 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Miss Beaulieu, looking down at 
 him with her great eyes. " My aunt used to send 
 me to an English chapel in Quebec, but it was to 
 learn the English. She would not have allowed 
 me to be confirmed ; she was I do not know 
 your word for it, Voltairienne, a disciple of 
 Voltaire." And at this she gave the puzzled 
 rector a grave, hesitating bow, and retreated. 
 
 As she disappeared through the outer door, he 
 turned solemnly to Sally Thayer. 
 
 " Did you hear what she said about being con 
 firmed?"
 
 82 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " No," replied Miss Thayer, in one of those in 
 consequential tones that occasionally tried him so 
 much. " I was looking at her bonnet. I thought 
 I knew something myself about trimming a bon 
 net ; but I don't. That girl drives me to despair 
 whenever she comes in. I shouldn't a bit wonder 
 if she makes her own dresses, too. There isn't 
 any one in Bartonvale who can fit you like that. 
 Didn't you notice ? " 
 
 The rector shook his head and changed the 
 subject. " I should be a little curious, now, to 
 see what sort of books she reads. What did she 
 bring back ? " 
 
 Miss Thayer had grown quite used to Trellys's 
 little curiosities of this kind, and she picked up 
 the top book of a pile at her left, with a perfunc 
 tory air that escaped his attention. She glanced 
 at the title page, and held it out to him. " I can't 
 pronounce it decently," she said. It was Fromont 
 Jeune et Risler Ain. " She just drew Numa 
 Roumestan" 
 
 " Who wrote that ? " 
 
 " Oh, the same author, Daudet. She's taking 
 a regular course of Daudet nowadays. I'm glad 
 to have somebody read those French books and 
 get some use out of them. They take up six 
 whole shelves." Miss Thayer yawned a little, and 
 prepared to close the rolling top of her desk. 
 
 " I don't believe Daudet's books are fit for any 
 young woman to read," broke out the rector.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 83 
 
 "I don't know anything about it," said Sally 
 Thayer, humbly. " I've never read any of them." 
 
 Neither had Mr. Trellys. But he omitted to 
 say so. 
 
 "It is very clear to me," went on the new 
 director, dogmatically, " that we as officials of this 
 Library are delinquent in our duty if we allow 
 such books to be disseminated. They have already 
 wrought irreparable mischief to the reading public 
 in this country." And on he marched into a sum 
 mary of his opinions upon the deleterious influ 
 ence of Gallic literature upon the Anglo-Saxon 
 mind. Miss Thayer had already heard him read 
 a fervid paper upon the subject before the Barton- 
 vale Ladies' Club, and thought he ought to have 
 remembered the fact, especially as it was now 
 after library hours. 
 
 She pulled down the desk top with perhaps a 
 little more vigor than was necessary. With the 
 Rev. Mr. Trellys's opinions she had no particular 
 quarrel, and she had a decided liking for many 
 things about Trellys himself, but she was inclined 
 to resent his imputation that she had been a 
 faithless librarian. 
 
 " It seems to me, on the other hand," she said, 
 rising, " that people who come in here must learn 
 to judge for themselves what books they want." 
 
 "That is exactly the point," pursued the rector, 
 eagerly. " Are they capable of judging for them 
 selves? They are not. It is our duty to judge
 
 84 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 for them. We should see to it that not a single 
 book which fails to secure our approbation is put 
 upon the shelves of the Library." 
 
 "We have fifteen thousand books," she replied, 
 with the air of one engaged in mathematical com 
 putation. " It would take some time for any one 
 to pass judgment upon them all ! And it would 
 never do for me to be the censor; I should be so 
 lazily, dangerously lax ! Come now, don't you 
 think I would ? You have practically said so. 
 And the German books I couldn't read at all, 
 and the French ones would have to be very easy! 
 There's poor Dr. Atwood. You might try him. 
 He has to buy all the books anyway; you might 
 make him read them. Isn't that a good idea ! 
 Dear, dear, wouldn't I like to hear his comments 
 on George Meredith, for instance, or Henry James! 
 I'm going home now, Mr. Trellys ; would you 
 mind turning out the gas ? " 
 
 But the new director was not thus flippantly to 
 be put aside. He extinguished the burners in the 
 alcoves, while Miss Thayer gathered up her gloves, 
 and a new book or two for her mother. Then he 
 returned obstinately to his text. 
 
 " If Dr. Atwood hasn't leisure to take the re 
 sponsibility," he persisted, interpreting her with 
 a literalness that was one of his least interesting 
 traits, "then it must be taken by others. The 
 directors ought to decide what books shall be 
 drawn, and by whom. For instance, I object
 
 THE PLATED CITY 85 
 
 most decidedly to a young woman in my parish 
 getting Daudet's novels at this library. I in 
 tend to bring the matter up at the quarterly 
 meeting Wednesday, and to put the directors on 
 record." 
 
 " You'd better stand by the door," responded the 
 librarian ; " I'm going to turn the desk-light out 
 now." 
 
 He held the door open, and she brushed past 
 him in the dusk. It seemed to her that he was 
 uncomfortably conscientious about other people's 
 business. 
 
 " As you like," she said, " as to the directors' 
 meeting. But aren't you making a good deal of 
 what is really a small matter?" 
 
 "Morally speaking," said the rector of St. 
 Asaph's, "there is no such thing as a small mat 
 ter." 
 
 From this ex-cathedra deliverance she had not 
 the courage to dissent, and they went down High 
 Street side by side. But Miss Thayer was con 
 scious of vexation with him, and he was not 
 particularly happy in his endeavors to elicit a 
 confidential interchange of feelings upon the old 
 subject of the defunct tennis club. 
 
 On the day of the directors' meeting, Trellys 
 kept rigidly to his word. The more he reflected, 
 the more convinced he became that it was his duty 
 to interpose some barrier between non-examined 
 Gallic fiction and the working classes of Barton-
 
 86 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 vale, as represented by Miss Esther Beaulieu. He 
 had called upon the young woman, and though she 
 was engaged that afternoon in the brush-backing 
 room at the Atwood Works, he left his card and 
 a sample copy of The Flying Buttress. By what 
 he would fain have considered something deeper 
 than a singular coincidence, that very issue con 
 tained a review of Numa Roumestan, apropos of 
 an English translation, and in connection there 
 with a general arraignment of Daudet and most 
 of his fellow-workers in French fiction. It was 
 written in The Flying Buttress's well-known vein 
 of self-righteous defamation, and Trellys had 
 marked the margin with carmine ink, before 
 leaving the paper at Miss Beaulieu's door. 
 
 His own copy he brought with him to the 
 directors' meeting, together with some pencilled 
 notes from his paper on Gallic literature before the 
 Ladies' Club. Whenever Whitesyde Trellys deter 
 mined to make a certain point, he also made fit 
 preparation for hammering his point in : it gave 
 both his preaching and his tennis-playing an ex 
 asperating air of finality. As he took his seat at 
 the long library table that Tuesday afternoon, a 
 trifle late, he glanced over his fellow-directors in 
 an effort to determine the probable difficulty of 
 bringing them to his point of view. The attend 
 ance, as it chanced, was slender. Most of the 
 clergymen in Bar ton vale were enjoying their an 
 nual vacations, and besides Trellys, who was con-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 87 
 
 scientiously opposed to taking a summer holiday, 
 a bushy-haired, bass-voiced Methodist was the 
 only minister present. Beyond him sat one of 
 Trellys's own vestrymen, a successful stove-dealer. 
 Then came the superintendent of schools, and a 
 middle-aged farmer from the outskirts of Barton- 
 vale. Dr. Atwood had been unexpectedly called 
 to New York, some one said, and on motion of 
 the Methodist minister the chair was taken by 
 Norman Lewis, a slender-bodied, brown-bearded 
 lawyer of thirty-four or five, with a big forehead, 
 gentle observant eyes, already slightly crow-footed 
 at the corners, and a sensitive mouth, whose lines 
 had the faintest suggestion of irony. The chair 
 man was the only person whom Trellys in his rapid 
 survey set down instinctively as a possible oppo 
 nent. He had always felt suspicious of Norman 
 Lewis. It was beyond the rector's comprehension 
 why some people in Bartonvale Sally Thayer, 
 for instance should be always quoting Lewis, 
 especially as she knew him very little and had to 
 quote second-hand through his admiring room 
 mate Kennedy. But aside from the chairman, 
 who, after all, would scarcely feel inclined to join 
 the discussion, Trellys felt sure of his men. 
 
 Miss Thayer, arrayed very charmingly, as the 
 rector thought, in a white outing suit, sat at the 
 opposite end of the table from Lewis, and in her 
 capacity of stated secretary read with a demure 
 voice the minutes of the last meeting. When
 
 88 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 these had been duly approved, she followed with 
 her own quarterly report, which contained the 
 usual statistics as to the number and classification 
 of the books drawn, and a recommendation of a 
 slight change in library hours after the beginning 
 of the public schools in September. The libra 
 rian's recommendation was adopted. Then one 
 or two other matters of detail were attended to, 
 and that was all. The directors' meeting had 
 never been anything more than a formality ; but 
 the gentlemen concerned felt that a half-hour 
 once in three months was properly enough spent 
 in showing respect to the wishes of the public- 
 spirited founder of the Library. 
 
 " Is there any other business to come before the 
 meeting?" said the chairman, pulling out his 
 watch, and snapping it again, mechanically. " If 
 not, it stands adj " 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," interrupted the new director, 
 rising, " I beg leave to introduce a motion relative 
 to a certain matter which I conceive to be of the 
 very gravest import." 
 
 He took breath, and, sweeping his eyes over 
 his auditors, caught a quick, deprecatory look 
 from Miss Thayer. She had not believed that 
 he would really force an issue upon the Beau- 
 lieu girl's choice of books, and she thought it 
 unreasonably obstinate of him. But she had 
 been fairly warned, and the rector was not now 
 to be turned aside, even by a young woman
 
 THE PLATED CITY 89 
 
 whose person and whose mind had been found 
 worthy of his approbation. 
 
 " You will all agree," began Trellys, glancing at 
 his notes, " that no question pertaining to the wel 
 fare of the working classes is more vital than that 
 of the character of the literature upon which they 
 feed. Important no doubt as is the problem of 
 securing physical sustenance, of even greater im 
 portance will it appear to the reflecting, the pene 
 trating observer, that the mental aliment provided 
 for the American working man and working woman 
 should be not only abundant in quantity, but in 
 quality pure from any taint. In a Library like the 
 one of which our own city is so justly proud, there 
 are thousands and thousands of books which are 
 instructive to the mind, uplifting to the soul, and 
 capable of being cordially recommended to every 
 man, woman I had almost said child in Bar- 
 tonvale. No one more appreciates this fact, or is 
 more graterful to the founder of this Library who 
 I regret is not with us to-day than I myself. 
 There are, however " 
 
 " There is no motion before us, Mr. Trellys," 
 remarked the chairman, quietly. 
 
 Trellys flushed. The directors good-naturedly 
 nodded their approval of the chairman's acumen ; 
 and the stated secretary balanced her official pencil 
 upon her forefinger with a fine air of indifference. 
 
 "I will state the motion, then," said Trellys, 
 stiffly.
 
 90 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The chairman bowed. 
 
 "I move that all books which appear open to 
 criticism on the ground of their moral influence 
 be drawn only under the expressed permission of 
 the directors, who shall hold themselves responsi 
 ble for the character of every book hereafter to be 
 purchased." 
 
 " This is an important motion," said the chair 
 man. " Kindly put it in writing for the conven 
 ience of the secretary." 
 
 Trellys bit his lip, but scribbled the wording as 
 nearly as he could recall it, and sent it down the 
 table to Miss Thayer. 
 
 " When I was interrupted," he continued, " I 
 was about to say that, while the Atwood Library 
 is in some respects admirably equipped, in 
 others " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Norman Lewis; "is 
 the motion seconded ? " 
 
 There was an awkward silence ; then the stove- 
 dealer loyally came to the support of his rector 
 with an abashed "Second the motion." 
 
 "Are there any remarks?" said the chairman. 
 "The Rev. Mr. Trellys has the floor." 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Trellys, by this time thoroughly 
 nettled, kept the floor for fifteen minutes. At 
 first he floundered badly, and got the peroration 
 of his remarks where he had intended to place 
 the introduction ; but his earnestness made up 
 for any defect in rhetorical arrangement, and
 
 THE PLATED CITY 91 
 
 the directors listened open-mouthed. They had 
 hitherto had no conception of the capacities for 
 evil that were hidden in the alcoves all around 
 them ; nor had they been aware of the gravity 
 of the responsibility which they had so lightly 
 assumed in accepting appointments as directors. 
 But Whitesyde Trellys made everything very 
 clear indeed. He swept from generals to par 
 ticulars ; from Milton's Areopagitica to Boccaccio's 
 Decameron; from the tendencies of Gallic fiction 
 since the Third Empire to the circumstances in 
 which he saw Esther Beaulieu draw Numa Roume- 
 stan without let or hindrance the very week 
 before. He used plain language, as became his 
 cloth ; and the secretary, the only woman in the 
 room, grew first apprehensive, then uncomfort 
 able, then visibly annoyed at his outspokenness. 
 She began by suspecting that Mr. Trellys might 
 say some horrid things, and she ended by tapping 
 her foot upon the floor, in full conviction that he 
 was perfectly horrid. She stole a look at the 
 chairman : his face wore a quizzical expression 
 which she could not interpret in the least. The 
 other directors gave every evidence of assenting 
 to the orator. To cap the climax, Trellys took 
 The Flying Buttress from the table, and read with 
 husky earnestness things that were not only 
 horrid she felt that she could stand that now 
 but absurd, palpably absurd. Oh, that she were a 
 man, to stand upon her two feet, and make a speech !
 
 92 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Yet when Trellys closed at last, and the chair 
 man remarked gravely that this motion would 
 imply very radical changes in the conduct of the 
 Library, and that he had no doubt the directors 
 would be glad to hear the opinion of the libra 
 rian upon the subject, Miss Thayer's heart came 
 up in her throat, and she shook her head most 
 ingloriously. But her own impotence made her 
 angrier than ever against her old tennis partner. 
 
 " Are there any other remarks ? " asked the 
 chairman ; whereupon the Methodist minister re 
 called an anecdote about General Grant's aversion 
 to impure language, which he related with con 
 siderable elocutionary power, and which he humbly 
 trusted would throw some light upon the question 
 at issue. The stove-dealer remarked that he for 
 one considered the Rev. Mr. Trellys's motion to 
 be well timed, and that he would gladly see some 
 action taken ; though as to just what action ought 
 to be taken under the circumstances, he was not 
 entirely clear. The superintendent of schools, 
 speaking from the standpoint of one whose heart 
 was very closely bound up with all that pertained 
 to the moral welfare of the young, agreed on the 
 whole with the stove-dealer. Last of all spoke 
 the agricultural member of the board. 
 
 " I dunno's I quite got Mr. Trellys's idee," he 
 reflected without rising, "but I understood him 
 to say that we, or else some one on us, oughter 
 read these books as fast as they come in, and see
 
 THE PLATED CITY 93 
 
 what they be. That may be right, but it's a 
 pretty big contract ! My darter, now, started in 
 last summer to read thirty Sunday-school books a 
 week, to see what ones was fit to go into our 
 Sunday-school library, and it gin her insomny, 
 went right to her liver, the doctor said. And 
 there's somethin' else we'd oughter think of : we 
 ain't buyin' these books ; James Atwood's buyin' 
 on 'em, and I s'pose he thinks they're all right, or 
 he wouldn't have 'em here. Anyhow, if any 
 one's goin' to have the say about it, I should 
 think it ought to be Atwood. I should feel that 
 way, I guess, if 'twas me. But I liked all that 
 Mr. Trellys said, fustrate, fustrate." 
 
 The chairman waited a moment. He was 
 himself in a combative mood by this time, but 
 succeeded in maintaining his air of judicial 
 impartiality. 
 
 " If there are no other remarks upon this motion, 
 it comes before us. You will allow me, as chair 
 man, to say, however, that the remarks of the 
 last speaker suggest an aspect of the case which 
 we must certainly face. It is unfortunate that 
 Mr. Atwood is not here. Possibly Mr. Trellys, 
 in consideration of that fact, would be willing to 
 have the matter go over until the next quarterly 
 meeting. We could in the meantime be consider 
 ing it in all its relations." 
 
 Everybody looked at Trellys. He shut his lips 
 doggedly. Then he exclaimed : " If what I pro-
 
 94 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 pose is right, it would be wrong to wait three 
 months before enforcing it. I should be unwill 
 ing to shirk an immediate duty, even at the risk 
 of offending the donor of the Library. In view 
 of the infinite interests that may be, nay, that are 
 at stake, I object to a postponement." 
 
 Lewis glanced up and down the table. He could 
 think of but one other parliamentary resource. 
 
 " The motion is then before us unless," he 
 added with a curious smile, "there is a motion 
 to adjourn. A motion to adjourn is always in 
 order." 
 
 " I move," said the cautious farmer, " that we 
 adjourn." 
 
 It was not seconded. 
 
 " Then," said Lewis, smiling more blandly than 
 before, but with a noticeable change in the key of 
 his voice, " I will call the Rev. Mr. Trellys to the 
 chair. I wish to speak in opposition to the 
 motion." 
 
 The surprised directors shifted their seats ; Miss 
 Thayer glanced gratefully at this unexpected 
 champion of the losing side ; and Whitesyde 
 Trellys, with heightened color, stalked to the end 
 of the table. But before he could seat himself, 
 some one shook the big door of the Library. 
 Miss Thayer opened it, and in bustled Dr. James 
 Atwood. 
 
 " Hullo, Sally ! " he exclaimed cheerfully. 
 " How d'ye do ? I came up on the 4.40, after all,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 95 
 
 and thought I'd drop in. Good afternoon, gen 
 tlemen. Still at it, are you ? Well, what's the 
 discussion?" The Doctor had made a success 
 ful stock transfer that afternoon, and was in 
 the best of spirits. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better take the chair, Doctor," 
 suggested Lewis. " Mr. Trellys was about to do 
 so, in your absence. There is a motion before us." 
 
 " Oh, never mind the chair ! I'll sit here." He 
 dropped into a seat by Sally Thayer. " What's 
 the motion, Lewis ? " 
 
 "The secretary has the exact wording of it," 
 was the reply. Miss Thayer handed Trellys's 
 scrawl to the Doctor, who puzzled over it a 
 moment through his spectacles, and pushed it 
 back. "Read it, Sally; I can't." 
 
 The secretary read it, in an alarmed voice. 
 
 " What's that ? " blurted out the Doctor. " Read 
 it again." 
 
 She obeyed. 
 
 " Oh, I see," said the Doctor, good-naturedly. 
 " Well, what's the matter with the books ? Whose 
 motion is this, anyway ? " 
 
 " I introduced the motion," spoke out Trellys. 
 
 "Why, how d'ye do, Mr. Trellys? I hadn't 
 noticed you. Glad to have you among us." The 
 Doctor, in his endeavor to be cordial, stretched 
 the truth a little here. 
 
 " We have already discussed the matter at some 
 length," Lewis volunteered, "but we haven't
 
 96 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 reached a vote. I presume Mr. Trellys would 
 be willing to give a rtsumg of his reasons for 
 bringing forward the motion, for Dr. Atwood's 
 benefit." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Trellys got up and began all 
 over again. Miss Thayer was conscious of a very 
 strong desire to go home, but she forgot this, little 
 by little, in her interest in watching the Doctor. 
 He sat gazing contemplatively at Trellys, and now 
 and then twirled his broad-brimmed felt hat around 
 his thumb. For some time he did not interrupt : 
 holding the theory that the first ten minutes 
 of a parson's discourse did not count. Then he 
 stopped twirling his hat. 
 
 " This ain't a Sunday-school library, you know, 
 Trellys," he put in significantly. " It's for the 
 town." 
 
 The rector of St. Asaph's ignored the interrup 
 tion. Before long the Doctor flung his hat on 
 the table, and leaned forward. The speaker had 
 finished his general remarks on Gallic fiction, and 
 was relating the incident of the drawing of Numa 
 Roumestan. 
 
 " What did you say the girl's name was ? " Dr. 
 Atwood demanded. 
 
 " Miss Beaulieu. She has recently come to Bar- 
 tonvale from Canada, and belongs to exactly that 
 class of working girls who need all the attention 
 we can give them." 
 
 " Why, I know that Beaulieu girl," said the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 97 
 
 Doctor. " She's employed in my Plate Works. 
 Seems to be a nice straight girl, who minds her 
 own business. I don't know 'why she shouldn't 
 pick out her own books. What was the matter 
 with the one she drew ? " His tone was rapidly 
 losing its cordiality. 
 
 " The matter with it is that it represents a 
 demoralizing class of books, that awaken and 
 stimulate depraved tastes. The book itself treats 
 a forbidden theme, and breathes a pernicious 
 atmosphere." 
 
 " So you say," flung in the Doctor, bluntly, 
 knitting his bushy eyebrows. 
 
 " I do not ask you to take my word for it, Dr. 
 Atwood," replied Trellys, with dignity. " I rest 
 back upon the authority of one of the most 
 thoughtful journals in this country. Let me 
 read." He took up his copy of The Flying But 
 tress, and began. " ' The theme itself of Numa 
 Roumestan is sufficient to condemn it in the eyes 
 of every pure-minded person. The fading away 
 of mutual love between a married pair, the 
 scheming ' ' 
 
 " Oh, skip it ! " burst out the irreverent donor 
 of the Library. " What do we care what that 
 fellow thinks about it? Let's settle the matter 
 in the way you propose yourself. Sally, has the 
 girl brought that book back yet ? " 
 
 Miss Thayer stepped to the French alcove, and 
 returned with Numa Roumestan. Miss Beaulieu
 
 98 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 had as a matter of fact not cared to read it 
 through, and had gone back to Alexandre Dumas 
 for the present. 
 
 " Now," said the Doctor, " we'll see just what's 
 in that book, for ourselves. Sally, I don't believe 
 you need stay any longer." 
 
 There was a dead silence until the big door closed 
 behind the white outing suit of the secretary. 
 
 " All right," remarked Dr. Atwood. " You take 
 the book, Mr. Trellys, and read us the worst things 
 in it. We're none of us boys, and I guess we can 
 stand it." The directors leaned toward Trellys, 
 open-mouthed, resolute in the cause of duty. 
 
 He fingered the leaves, nervously. " Dr. At 
 wood," he said, Avith evident embarrassment, " you 
 will remember that I did not ask you to take my 
 personal opinion about this book. I gave ample 
 authority for all that I said. I am more con 
 cerned, in any case, with the general principle 
 than with specific instances. As a matter of fact, 
 this particular book that I hold in my hand I 
 I have not read." 
 
 " You haven't read it ! " cried the Doctor, his 
 fierce gray eyes kindling. " Then why in creation 
 are you talking against it?" A look of wicked 
 enjoyment crept into Norman Lewis's face. 
 
 " I regard the judgment of The Flying Buttress 
 as far superior to my own. In that article which 
 you, sir, were unwilling to have read,"- -Trel 
 lys drew himself up stiffly, "I have become
 
 THE PLATED CITY 99 
 
 acquainted with the theme, the plot, and the 
 characters, and they are equally objection 
 able." 
 
 " Oh, well," admitted Dr. Atwood, relenting, " if 
 you know as much as that about it, we shall get 
 along. Pick out what you judge from the plot 
 would be the likeliest chapter, I mean, of course, 
 the most objectionable chapter, and let's hear 
 it." The stove-dealer and superintendent of 
 schools exchanged nods of assent. 
 
 Trellys stood motionless, the blood receding 
 from his lips. Norman Lewis, with a sudden 
 suspicion, watched him keenly. 
 
 " That is impossible," stammered the rector. 
 
 " Why ?" demanded Dr. Atwood, losing patience 
 again. 
 
 The author of the paper on Gallic literature 
 looked him in the eye for one humiliating instant, 
 and then told the truth, like a man. 
 
 "I can't read French. " 
 
 " You can't read French ! " roared the astonished 
 and indignant Doctor. " Wfry, I thought to hear 
 you talk, that you were the only man in Barton- 
 vale that could ! Well, well, I want to know ! " 
 
 Trellys sat down. 
 
 The disappointed directors eyed him satirically, 
 and then the Methodist minister broke into a big, 
 foolish laugh. 
 
 "Well," he tittered, "the librarian needn't have 
 gone out, Doctor, after all ! "
 
 100 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 There was general laughter at this witticism, 
 and then Dr. Atwood rose, and wiped his spec 
 tacles. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he remarked, "all I've got to 
 say is this : The purchasing agent for this Library 
 has orders to buy such standard books as he thinks 
 we ought to have. I always supposed he had good 
 judgment. It's been his business to supply libra 
 ries for more than twenty years. If the town of 
 Bartonvale, however, doesn't like the way the 
 books are bought, or the way this Library is 
 managed, it can select its own books, and pay 
 for 'em. It's a free country. That's all." 
 
 Nobody said anything. Trellys folded The Fly 
 ing Buttress, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 " Is there any motion before us ? " inquired the 
 Doctor. "If not, we stand adjourned." 
 
 Thus ended the Rev. Mr. Trellys's active interest 
 in the Atwood Public Library. He never attended 
 another directors' meeting, nor was he again 
 invited to read his views on Gallic literature 
 before the ladies of Bartonvale. The story of his 
 attempt to put the directors on record was related 
 by Norman Lewis to an appreciative circle of young 
 fellows at the Mattawanset Club, where the pool 
 tables were usually deserted whenever Lewis could 
 be caught in a story-telling mood. Kennedy, as 
 it happened, was not present, and later, as he and 
 Lewis were smoking a bed-time pipe on their
 
 THE PLATED CITY 101 
 
 balcony above the river, the story had to be told 
 all over again, while Kennedy laughed till the 
 crazy little balcony shook. 
 
 "And that isn't all, Craig," said Lewis, rapping 
 the ashes out of his briarwood. " This afternoon's 
 meeting has done more than give the freedom of 
 the Library to that silver plate girl of dubious 
 ancestry and literary tastes. It has settled some 
 thing else, unless I'm mistaken." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, I naturally didn't mention this aspect of 
 the situation up at the Club, but I think that 
 hour's discussion killed whatever chances Trellys 
 may have had with Miss Thayer." 
 
 "What makes you think so?" said Craig, 
 slowly. 
 
 "From the way she looked at him during his 
 speech. She was watching him, and I was watch 
 ing her." 
 
 "Your old trick, Norman." 
 
 "If you like. But it has worked, some 
 times." 
 
 "Not on women. You can't tell anything by 
 the way a woman looks. And what should you 
 know about it, anyway?" The tone of the 
 younger man was affectionately impudent. 
 
 "I don't pretend to have had your opportu 
 nities, my dear fellow," countered Lewis, severely, 
 "especially in the observation of this particular
 
 102 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 person. But I think Whitesyde Trellys is out 
 of it from this time on. And I notice you don't 
 contradict me." 
 
 For answer the architect emptied his pipe 
 demurely upon the railing of the balcony, and 
 drawing a long breath, blew the ashes into the 
 Mattawanset River.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 103 
 
 VI 
 
 ON the evening of the first of September, Nor 
 man Lewis sat at an old-fashioned desk in a corner 
 of the big room which he shared with Kennedy, 
 engaged in writing. His check-book lay open 
 before him, and the balance which remained to his 
 credit after subtracting the check just drawn to 
 the order of G. W. Lewis was very slender indeed. 
 It was an old story. For nearly ten years now, 
 on the first of every month, he had sent West a 
 letter and a check, and in spite of everything the 
 letters had grown shorter and the checks larger 
 all the while. Norman Lewis had once been boy 
 ishly proud that his father was an inventor, and 
 that so many mills and shops in the Plated City 
 could bear evidence to his erratic genius in this or 
 that clever device. As he grew old enough to 
 perceive that his father always sold out his inven 
 tion too early, or held on to it until some one else 
 secured the patent rights, he began to understand 
 the fatal ineffectiveness that accompanied that 
 versatile inventive skill. By the time Norman 
 had finished reading law and was beginning to 
 pick up a little practice, his father yielded to the 
 Western fever, and being alone in the world, ex-
 
 104 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 cept for his son, migrated perpetually from one 
 mining town to another, always writing the most 
 hopeful letters back to Bartonvale. Then it was 
 that the checks began to be necessary, to meet 
 some temporary emergency. There was always 
 something just waiting to be perfected, or to be 
 decided at the patent office, or to be passed upon 
 by a committee of mining experts a new quartz- 
 crusher, or a patent milling process, or a secret 
 method of tempering steel. When all these proved 
 to be disappointments, he went buoyantly into 
 wildcat mining operations. Norman had a drawer 
 full of stock certificates, sent on as collateral to 
 accompany the notes which were forwarded punct 
 ually upon the receipt of the monthly checks. With 
 the notes also came brief letters, pathetic in their 
 gratitude, pitiful in the unspoiled eagerness with 
 which old George Lewis still looked forward to 
 the day when his luck would turn. His latest 
 scheme was the most ambitious of all : a Land and 
 Irrigation Company, to operate in Southern Cali 
 fornia, where half a county could be bought for a 
 song, because nobody but George Lewis had ever 
 thought of turning the course of a certain river. 
 This time, Norman Lewis himself, sick at heart as 
 he had grown over his father's visionary ventures, 
 thought it Avorth while and another check to 
 commission a San Francisco lawyer to examine the 
 Spanish titles about which his father wrote so con 
 fidently. The lawyer's answer was only a modifi-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 105. 
 
 cation of all those other answers which for ten 
 years the son had trained himself to hear: the 
 titles were indeed perfectly valid, but the reason 
 that San Francisco capital was shy of the Lewis 
 Land and Irrigation Company (a concern of which 
 Norman held the controlling stock it was all he 
 had to show for nearly three years' checks) was the 
 fact that Nature had ordained that a river should 
 not run up hill, which fact George Lewis had 
 apparently forgotten. 
 
 There was nothing for Norman Lewis to do 
 except to grin and bear it. He grew used to 
 bearing it, but it was not always easy to grin. 
 At thirty-five, and after a dozen years of pro 
 fessional work, his sole possessions outside of 
 these various notes and stocks were the slender 
 law library down in his office, and a few books 
 and pictures hung here in the room he shared with 
 Kennedy. One thing else there was : his collec 
 tion of foreign photographs. His only inheritance 
 from his father seemed to be a passion for travel, 
 and as travel was simply out of the question, 
 Lewis stuck doggedly to Connecticut, and little 
 by little filled a whole chest of drawers with pho 
 tographs of the places he would have liked to see. 
 The collection was admirably arranged, and Plated 
 City people who were going abroad frequently 
 came to Norman Lewis for advice as to what they 
 ought to visit. Even Mrs. Gascoigne, whom a 
 natural ambition and a lucky marriage had made
 
 106 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the social leader of the Hill set, had climbed the 
 dingy stairs to Lewis's room, before her recent 
 trip abroad, and begged him to make out for her 
 a two-years itinerary. There was something in 
 this chest of photographs that satisfied a repressed 
 romanticism in Lewis himself, even while it 
 ministered to his sense of irony. Whenever 
 the Plated City grew too repugnant to him, all 
 he had to do was to open a certain drawer, and 
 take a run through Norway, or the English 
 Lakes, or Southern France ; but his own smile 
 at the readiness with which he could thus make 
 himself "make believe" was not always a cheer 
 ful thing to see. It was like a sardonic footnote 
 to a dream. 
 
 Craig Kennedy had learned not to interrupt his 
 roommate when he was in one of these moods, and 
 had also discovered that the monthly letter and 
 check were likely to be the prelude to an evening 
 spent over the photographs. When he strolled 
 into the room on that September night, therefore, 
 and saw Lewis pigeon-holing his check-book and 
 opening the chest-drawers labelled " Italy," he let 
 him alone, in spite of a great temptation to the 
 contrary. Crossing to his own corner, he lighted 
 the gas above the big sloping table, covered with 
 sheets of thick paper and drawing-instruments, 
 where he was wont to elaborate his "after 
 thoughts." Then he got into his working-coat, 
 and sharpened a pencil or two. After all, he had
 
 THE PLATED CITT 107 
 
 something too good to keep ; and it might raise 
 Lewis's spirits. 
 
 " Say, Norman," he spoke up, " I met Trellys 
 after supper." 
 
 Lewis grunted in a tone that would have dis 
 couraged most people from further conversational 
 advances. 
 
 " Yes, and I may score you one as a prophet. 
 Remember what you said after that Library epi 
 sode about Trellys' s chance with a certain young 
 woman ? " 
 
 Lewis swung around slowly on his squeaking 
 swivel chair. 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 " Perhaps nothing of it," said Kennedy, gaily, 
 "but I can't help feeling that you hit it again, 
 that time. I haven't heard Miss Thayer speak of 
 it, of course, " 
 
 " Of course not," interrupted Lewis, cynically. 
 
 " But guess what Trellys said to me to-night ? " 
 
 Lewis waited. 
 
 "He wanted me to give an estimate on the cost 
 of the church and parish house, without the rec 
 tory. He thought there would be no immediate 
 need of a rectory, anyway ! How is that ? " 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 " I told him I'd figure it up without the rectory 
 with pleasure. Wasn't that rather neat for me? 
 Quite worthy of my roommate, now wasn't it ? " 
 
 Lewis gave a long searching look into the young
 
 108 
 
 fellow's frank, happy face. " Go in and win, my 
 boy," lie said quietly. " Good luck to you ! " and 
 he wheeled around and continued his scrutiny of 
 the amphitheatre at Verona. 
 
 Craig shrugged his shoulders, and seated him 
 self noiselessly at his own task. There was no 
 use in trying to get any talk out of Lewis until 
 his mood had passed ; he might have known better 
 than to interrupt him. An hour went by. There 
 was no sound except the occasional rustle of the 
 elder man's photographs, and the scratching of 
 Craig's pencil as he drew and re-drew the side ele 
 vation of the stone house on the Atwood place. 
 Even swifter than the strokes of his facile pencil 
 rose the walls of a castle in the air, whose lines 
 intermingled strangely with those upon his draw 
 ing-board. To plan such a house as he would 
 like to live in, and then show it to Sally Thayer 
 for her approval to brown-haired, jolly, heart-free 
 Sally Thayer ah, there was something more de 
 lightful than drawing a Norman rectory for White- 
 syde Trellys ! Almost unconsciously, during the 
 few weeks that had elapsed since his interview 
 with the Doctor, he had changed his point of 
 view. His scruples about taking advantage of 
 his rival already seemed to him a trifle Quixotic, 
 especially since Trellys had so obviously offended 
 Miss Thayer in the Library matter. Trellys had 
 had all the chance he deserved, anyway ! His re 
 mark that evening about abandoning the idea of a
 
 THE PLATED CITY 109 
 
 rectory for the present had surely indicated that 
 Trellys himself saw that his cause was lost. Mean 
 while the architect had by no means abandoned 
 his habit, formed when they were both children, 
 of spending a good deal of his time in company 
 with Sally Thayer. Their intimacy was of such 
 old standing that it had never excited any interest 
 in Bartonvale. The cousiiiliness of the attach 
 ment was regarded by perhaps everybody except 
 Norman Lewis as the best evidence in the world 
 that nothing would ever come of it. But ever 
 since Craig had begun to draw plans for the big 
 stone house, he was distinctly aware of being self- 
 conscious while in Sally's company. One after 
 noon as they were strolling down High Street 
 together, in the shade of the maples, they met Dr. 
 Atwood driving up. Peering mischievously at 
 Kennedy, he reined in his horses long enough to 
 inquire: " How are you getting on, Craig ? " which 
 simple question confused the rising architect more 
 than any that had been put to him for a long time. 
 He was well aware that the Doctor did not refer 
 to the state of his health, nor the condition of his 
 business, nor his progress with certain drawings, 
 but solely to his prospects of winning the heart of 
 the young woman who was walking innocently by 
 his side. 
 
 After all, why should he not win her if he 
 chose ? She would still be Sally Thayer, even if 
 she were the prospective owner of a great house
 
 110 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 on the Hill. The best use a great house could be 
 put to was to place two happy young people in it ; 
 that was what houses were for. And to think of 
 two impecunious young persons having the chance 
 to work out the very house they would like most 
 to live in, with erratic old Dr. Atwood in the role 
 of the good fairy who should make their dreams 
 come true ! 
 
 Kennedy worked on rapturously, growing little 
 by little oblivious of his silent roommate with the 
 great forehead and sensitive lips, who at twenty- 
 five might likewise have had his castles in the air, 
 but at thirty-five had settled down to photographs. 
 Another hour slipped away. As a bell somewhere 
 struck eleven, Kennedy glanced up suddenly, and 
 saw his roommate, pipe in mouth, and with the 
 old kindness in his eyes. Lewis was himself 
 again. 
 
 "Time to quit, Craig, isn't it? You'd better 
 light up. How's it coming on?" 
 
 " Pretty well, I think. How do you like that 
 outside chimney ? I've changed it since the other 
 night." 
 
 " Capital ! Have you shown anything to the 
 Doctor yet?" 
 
 " No ; oh no. He's in no hurry. He told me 
 to take all the time I wanted. I fancy he took it 
 into his head to see what could be done with the 
 Atwood place sometime. The thing may never 
 materialize." Kennedy had never explained, even
 
 THE PLATED CITY 111 
 
 to Lewis, the exact terms of his commission from 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Meantime, he's encouraging rising talent, is 
 he?" 
 
 "Don't you think I need it?" replied Craig, 
 putting away his pencils. "Mrs. Gascoigne's 
 window is the only work I've had for a month. 
 And you see I've just lost the chance at that 
 rectory." 
 
 "You mean Trellys has lost the chance," cor 
 rected Lewis. " So I told you the other night. 
 There's the tobacco." 
 
 Kennedy flung himself contentedly into a loung- 
 ing-chair, and deigned no answer. 
 
 "Well," continued Lewis, reflectively, "I only 
 wish the Doctor had something for me to do, too. 
 Here's the September term coming on this week, 
 and I haven't a case that goes up. I haven't had 
 so little court business in years." 
 
 " Hold on," said Craig ; " that reminds me. I've 
 got a job for you myself. You needn't grin. 
 There's a notary's fee in it, anyway ; I want to 
 have you sign a paper for Tom Beaulieu." 
 
 " What has Tom done now ? " 
 
 "He has led the State League in batting," 
 replied the director of the Plated City team, 
 proudly, " and if it hadn't been for his confounded 
 fondness for trying to pick up ground balls with 
 one hand, he would have had the best fielding 
 average, too. Anyway, they want him this Avinter
 
 112 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 in California. A San Francisco manager was at 
 our directors' meeting to-day. He'll give Tom 
 two hundred dollars a month this winter, and pay 
 us a good price for his release, next season, if 
 he wants him. The only thing that balks the 
 scheme is this: wherever Tom has played, he's 
 known as a colored fellow, and the San Francisco 
 man says that it won't do to have a nigger on his 
 team. I suppose that's so. But he's got hold of 
 this story that's all over town now you've heard 
 it, haven't you? to the effect that Tom isn't 
 colored at all, that his mother was a Spaniard, or 
 something else, and that he ought to have the 
 benefit of the doubt about his father. It's a queer 
 yarn. Tom got it off to me last week, and swore 
 it was true. They say he collared one of the Plate 
 Works foremen on the bridge the other night, for 
 pretending to disbelieve the story, and held him 
 over the rail till he apologized. That's the first 
 time I ever heard of Tom Beaulieu getting into 
 a row with anybody. There would have been 
 some fun in seeing that scrimmage, eh?" 
 
 "Not for me. My sporting sense isn't suffi 
 ciently developed ; not having had a college 
 training, you see. But that's a rather interest 
 ing situation, Craig. I don't yet understand 
 where my fee is coming in, though ; what use 
 have you for a notary public?" 
 
 " Right here. The manager says he'll be con 
 tent with some sort of legal paper, properly
 
 THE PLATED CITY 113 
 
 signed, you know, bearing out Tom's story. All 
 we have to prove is that to the best of our belief, 
 Tom's mother wasn't a colored woman. It'll 
 mean two hundred a month for Tom ; and won't 
 make the slightest difference to anybody else. 
 Now why can't you look up old Calhoun it's 
 his story, originally, as I understand Tom and 
 make out an affidavit to the facts? I rather 
 imagine from what the manager said, that he 
 might play Tom under a Spanish name, anyway. 
 He thinks that would be a drawing card, but he 
 wants the affidavit to fall back upon, in case it 
 leaked out that Beaulieu had passed as a colored 
 fellow here in the State League. You know we 
 had a big fight with the other teams before we 
 could play him ourselves. The whole thing is 
 curious enough, when you stop to think about it, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 Lewis nodded, but pulled away at his pipe. 
 
 " Jupiter ! " continued the younger man. " Think 
 of your future, or of mine, turning upon an affi 
 davit ! Or worse still, if this story has any foun 
 dation, on the decision of some selectman, twenty 
 years back, who probably never bothered his head 
 one moment about the matter, one way or another. 
 I never thought before what a queer thing the 
 color line is, anyway. Why, it might be that the 
 fellow who takes the census could settle one's fate 
 for life." 
 
 " He does," said Lewis, drily. " Up in Wiscon-
 
 114 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 sin or Michigan, for instance, a man having seven- 
 eighths Indian blood and one-eighth white, is 
 classed in the census as a white man, but let him 
 be one-eighth negro and seven-eighths white, and 
 down he goes as a darky. There you are. After 
 all, the census fellow does nothing but register 
 what everybody else feels. The fault's in us ; 
 that is, if there is any fault in a race feeling that 
 is born with us. I suppose the Anglo-Saxon race 
 would be worth mighty little if it didn't feel 
 itself superior to everybody else." 
 
 Kennedy was silent. Sociological reflections 
 were not exactly in his line, though his interest 
 in the ball-player had involuntarily carried him 
 into them. 
 
 " I'll see Calhoun if you like, Craig. That is, if 
 you think it will amount to anything. I should 
 be inclined to doubt that. Tom Beaulieu has 
 never succeeded at anything yet, has he ? I 
 suppose that is why he is offered two hundred 
 dollars a month for his ball-playing ! Didn't he 
 try driving an express wagon once, or something 
 of that sort ? " 
 
 " He's tried a dozen things. He went over the 
 whole story with me the other day. The reason 
 why he's never had any luck nor ever stuck to 
 anything long, he says, is because the color line 
 was always drawn on him sooner or later. I tried 
 to talk that out of him, but of course he is more 
 or less right. If he doesn't want to turn barber,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 115 
 
 or table waiter, or porter, there isn't much show 
 for him." 
 
 " There are a dozen colored mechanics in town. 
 There's old Calhoun himself." 
 
 " Yes ; but between us, Tom Beaulieu hasn't 
 head enough for anything of that sort. I couldn't 
 say so to him ; but the fact is, he's a child, just a 
 big, handsome, good-hearted, devil-may-care sort 
 of child. He takes to ball-playing by a sort of 
 instinct, but that's the only thing requiring head- 
 work that Tom's up to at all. One story around 
 town now is that Tom's mother was crazy when 
 he was born, and that the boy wasn't considered 
 more than half-witted for a while." 
 
 " Do you want that in the affidavit ? " suggested 
 Lewis, derisively. 
 
 " I don't care what you put in the affidavit, as 
 long as it does a good turn for Tom. Perjure 
 yourself as much as you like. But I'm really 
 sorry for the fellow. He's a natural gentleman, 
 which, between us, is more than can be said of 
 the rest of the Plated City ball team. And he's 
 as generous a fellow as ever lived. He talked to 
 me about his sister, and do you know, I more 
 than half think that the main reason for his want 
 ing this California engagement is that he's got 
 it through his head that she would be better 
 off without him." 
 
 " I don't see that," said Lewis. 
 
 " You would if you had ever seen her. No one
 
 116 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 would ever dream of her being anything but 
 white : of course, if this Calhoun story is true, 
 she is white, that is, whatever she may be, she 
 isn't negro, at any rate, and that's all that people 
 would ever ask. You haven't seen her yet, 
 Norman ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then you'll lose your tough old bachelor head 
 over her, for a day or two, when you do. Make a 
 note of it. She's as pretty a girl as you care to 
 see, and a nice girl, too, I suppose, and if she had 
 come to Bartonvale alone, and could have held 
 that school-teaching position which she lost be 
 cause it leaked out that she was Tom Beaulieu's 
 sister, I can tell you the Hill set would have taken 
 her up within two months. As it is, she works in 
 the Plate Shops, and the only pleasure she has is 
 in drawing French books out of the Library ; and 
 that asinine Whitesyde Trellys, according to your 
 story, tried to draw the line on her even there." 
 
 " That wasn't because she was colored," cor 
 rected Lewis. " Give the rector his due. He 
 was fighting for a principle ! But that aside, I 
 still don't see how the Beaulieu girl's position is 
 going to be bettered by Tom's going away now. 
 The harm has been done, hasn't it ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it has," admitted Craig, " but I didn't 
 want to tell Tom so. It's clear enough that the 
 fellow thinks he's standing in her way. He has 
 some vague idea that if he can make big wages in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 117 
 
 California, he can either support her, after a little, 
 or at any rate, by starting out new with a clean 
 record, as the poor devil calls it, can help 
 her along socially. Tom hasn't brain enough to 
 think the thing through, but his heart is in the 
 right place, and he worships that half-sister of his 
 more than most people in this town worship God ! 
 It quite broke me up to hear him talk about her." 
 
 " Well, I'll do what I can for you," said Lewis, 
 betraying less sympathy for the younger man's en 
 thusiasm than he perhaps felt. " Remind me in 
 the morning to look up Cyrus Calhoun. But I 
 can't help thinking it's doing Tom Beaulieu a 
 rather doubtful service. It takes more than 
 affidavits to make a man white or black, in this 
 country. And if tHe scheme falls through, Tom 
 will be worse off than he is now. I should say 
 he'd better stay here, where everybody likes him, 
 and where he can look out for his sister. Barton- 
 vale isn't the ideal city of refuge for a girl entirely 
 alone, with a taste for romantic fiction, and a 
 pretty face." 
 
 " There you go ! " exclaimed Craig. " On the 
 off side, as usual. Just get up a good certifi 
 cate and don't bother about the rest. All I 
 want is to send Tom off contented. I'm not 
 trying to retain you in the libel case of Beau- 
 lieu vs. The Plated City ! " 
 
 " I'm glad you're not," said the lawyer, yawning. 
 "I'm going to bed. You can count on sending
 
 118 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Tom away with as big an affidavit as you want, 
 Craig, but I can tell you it won't change matters 
 in the least. He might as well start for Cali 
 fornia with his pockets full of my stocks, expect 
 ing to realize on them when he gets there ! Come, 
 let's turn in." 
 
 In spite of his fatalistic prophecies, however, 
 Norman Lewis spent an hour or two the next 
 afternoon in patient interrogation of Cyrus 
 Calhoun. The legends surrounding the arrival 
 of Tom's mother in Bartonvale twenty-three 
 years before had grown marvellously within the 
 last few weeks, since Tom Beaulieu had declared 
 himself a white man. Old Calhoun, while making 
 every effort to narrate the story as he remembered 
 it, and to harmonize his recollections with Mammy 
 Hudson's confession, was evidently hopelessly con 
 fused under Lewis's cross-questioning. Fact and 
 fiction followed with equal readiness from his 
 credulous lips, and the only thing Lewis managed 
 to assure himself of, was the undoubted fact that 
 the Southern woman who had brought her baby 
 to Bartonvale in 1865 was not at the time con 
 sidered by the people on Nigger Hill to be one 
 of themselves. Everything else was uncertain. 
 There was, indeed, one item of intelligence that 
 the perturbed old mechanic quite forgot to men 
 tion, which to the trained discernment of the 
 lawyer might have revealed itself as very im-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 119 
 
 portant information. But Lewis went back to 
 his office without it, and composed a document, 
 smiling somewhat ironically the while, to the 
 effect that, to the best belief of the parties 
 therein mentioned, Thomas Beaulieu, ball-player 
 by occupation, was not known to be of African 
 blood. This statement seemed entirely satis 
 factory to the San Francisco manager, who was 
 given a sworn copy of it. The original, duly 
 signed and sealed, was in Tom Beaulieu's inside 
 pocket, together with his winter contract, when, 
 at the close of the base-ball season in Connecti 
 cut, the simple-minded fellow waved farewell to 
 a huge crowd of his admirers at the Bartonvale 
 depot, and started for California, in the hope of 
 meeting the color line no more.
 
 120 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 VII 
 
 TOM'S departure for California left Esther 
 Beaulieu's position in the Plated City more 
 anomalous than ever. When she saw how his 
 hopes were staked upon the venture, she advised 
 and even urged him to go, though she could not 
 master a growing fearfulness that the outcome 
 would be disastrous. For herself, she dreaded 
 to be left alone in Bartonvale, but she made 
 light of this to Tom. Two months of compan 
 ionship had deepened wondrously her affection 
 for him, and while she recognized clearly enough 
 his slender mental capacity the fellow could 
 scarcely read, and could keep his mind on no 
 subject, except lately upon the color line, for 
 more than five minutes at a time his gentle 
 ness of heart and chivalrous devotion to her 
 made her oblivious of every deficiency. The 
 days when he was away from Bartonvale scarcely 
 counted in her life ; she simply went to the Plate 
 Works and came back again. Now that an 
 absence of many months faced her, it took all her 
 bravery to let him go, but for his sake she could 
 not interpose a word of remonstrance. She could 
 not help discerning that one reason for his restless-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 121 
 
 ness in Bartonvale was his conviction that he was 
 compromising her by remaining. A strange deli 
 cacy kept him from avowing it, and yet she was 
 certain that his heart was set upon the journey 
 very largely because of his vague perception that 
 his sister would have an easier time if he were 
 away, especially if some day he were to come 
 back, with a pocket full of money, and a big 
 reputation in the Great League, and an established 
 record as a white man ! Week by week, she had 
 seen that the color question was preying unceas 
 ingly on his mind. His " emancipation " had made 
 him self-conscious. He grew suspicious and 
 morose. Once he had never known when people 
 were laughing at his pretensions to equality with 
 them ; now he discovered sneers when there were 
 none. Obviously, what Tom needed was a fresh 
 start in a new place, and Pierre Beaulieu's 
 daughter could not help' dreaming, in spite of 
 her fears, that all would go wonderfully well. 
 
 So she kissed him good by with a heart that let 
 itself be light, and turned back to her solitary life. 
 Surely no girl with what Norman Lewis had called 
 a taste for fiction and a pretty face was ever less 
 conscious of the attention she might attract. And 
 the Plated City was too busy with other things 
 to trouble itself long about Esther Beaulieu, 
 except when she needed a lesson. In the cool 
 autumn mornings she hurried unobserved along the 
 foggy streets to the Plate Shops to be at the bench
 
 122 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 when the second whistle blew. At noon she no 
 longer dared as once to linger alone over her 
 work, but hastened back to her boarding-house, 
 where the table was gradually filling up with 
 Welsh and German operatives who treated Miss 
 Beaulieu quite as they would have treated any one 
 else. Her evenings she spent mostly in reading, 
 now and then laying aside her books for the pur 
 pose of making over the cheap gowns and retrim- 
 ming the straw bonnets that won the admiration 
 of Sally Thayer. The daughter of the ne'er-do- 
 weel French sculptor had inherited the artistic 
 eye and hand, and not even Daudet's Desiree 
 Delobelle herself, over whose story Esther had 
 lingered with wet eyes, could lend to a bit of 
 ribbon or fragile flower-spray or bright bird's 
 wing a more inevitable felicity. 
 
 The hours that dragged most wearily for her 
 were those of Sunday'. The freedom from en 
 forced labor made her restless. All of her girlish 
 vitality and curiosity asserted itself; she longed 
 to do one of the things which her instinct for 
 propriety told her was forbidden : to take a boat, 
 for instance, and drop down the black Mattawan- 
 set toward the Sound, or to wander up the valley 
 into the great woods that still hung upon the 
 outskirts of Bartonvale. She wrote invariably 
 to Tom, but that consumed but a single hour. 
 Another hour or more she spent in church, still 
 frequenting St. Asaph's, whose rector greeted her
 
 THE PLATED CITY 123 
 
 usually with undisguised concern. She was igno 
 rant of his endeavor to direct her course of read 
 ing, and she mistook his professional solicitude 
 for the moral effects of unrestricted French fiction 
 upon a young woman of the working classes, for 
 a quite friendly and unprofessional interest in her 
 self. He was one of the very few persons in the 
 Plated City who took pains to address her kindly ; 
 and the girl was so grateful that she seriously con 
 sidered whether she ought not in return to sub 
 scribe for The Flying Buttress, at three dollars a 
 year. But an occasional mild pressure of the hand 
 from the Rev. Whitesyde Trellys did not redeem 
 the entire Sunday from loneliness and restraint. 
 Once or twice she attended the meetings of the 
 Working Girls' Club which Trellys had organized 
 in the Flats, but the reading matter on the table 
 failed to rouse her interest, and she did not find 
 any one to talk to about the things she would have 
 liked to discuss. She was only twenty-three ; 
 she wanted some one to talk to her as dear old 
 Tante Beaulieu did, about books and places and 
 people, and to set her imagination all aflame ! 
 People seemed so stupid here in Bartonvale ; so 
 busy and hurried and worried ; quick in giving 
 you change for a dollar, and fond of making 
 jokes that were not jokes, and perpetually engag 
 ing themselves in tearing up streets for sewer 
 pipes and perching smart little wooden houses 
 on side-hills and reading newspapers in the elec-
 
 124 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 trie cars there were so many queer things in the 
 States ! but then there was nobody in the whole 
 town who cared about Alexandre Dumas ! She 
 herself drew more books from the Library than 
 any one else, the librarian had told her, and she 
 never read more than two or three a week now 
 that she was at work. Yes, there was no doubt 
 of it, the Plated City was a stupid place ! 
 
 Monday brought her happier hours, in forcing 
 her back to her tiny room at the Plate Works. 
 The autumn sunshine filled it all day long. The 
 Mattawanset murmured beneath her window, and 
 if the water was stained with factory dyes and 
 the bottom choked with tin cans and antique hoop- 
 skirts and various abominations, Esther Beaulieu's 
 eyes never detected any of these things. It was 
 a magical river to her ; it was not of Bartonvale, 
 though, like herself, it was compelled for a space 
 to linger there. Often, when the bare-armed boy 
 brought her a fresh tray of silver-plated covers, 
 to be lightly struck into place upon the backs 
 of hair-brushes or the handles of whisk-brooms, he 
 found her gazing at the river, but she never failed 
 to work up for the lost minutes. Mr. Jenkins, 
 the foreman of this part of the works, thought 
 her a great improvement over the Fennessey girl, 
 who had disliked the brush-backing room because 
 there was nobody to talk to. He praised her to 
 Dr. Atwood, who looked in upon her sometimes 
 in his hurried daily round of the Works, and gave
 
 THE PLATED CITY 125 
 
 her a bluff word or so, thinking it might please 
 Sally Thayer. Once he mystified her by stopping 
 to ask : 
 
 "So you read French books, do you? That's 
 right, that's right. Pick 'em out yourself ! When 
 you've read 'em all, I guess we can find some more 
 for you. Don't you let any one try to run you, 
 either ! " And winking enigmatically, he passed 
 on, still twinkling with delight over the recollec 
 tions of Trellys's discomfiture. 
 
 As the autumn wore away, the Doctor was not 
 always in so cheery a mood. Some of his New 
 York investments were proving troublesome, and 
 he had still more prosaic discomforts under his 
 own roof. During his entire business life, it had 
 been his custom to be at his desk at seven in the 
 morning, to give a good example to the other men 
 in the office. His cooks had usually grumbled at 
 the necessity for a half -past-six breakfast, and his 
 latest one, abetted by the housemaid, had openly 
 rebelled. The Doctor promptly and vivaciously 
 discharged them both, but finding it difficult to 
 fill their places immediately, was forced to take 
 his meals at the Bartonvale Hotel, an ancient 
 hostelry upon the Green. The young fellows 
 who were obliged to board at this establishment 
 the year round, for want of a better, the Plated 
 City having as yet no hotel that corresponded 
 with its pretensions in other respects, welcomed 
 the Doctor enthusiastically, and he was given an
 
 126 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 end seat at the table, between Kennedy and Lewis. 
 For a while Dr. Atwood pretended that he liked 
 the change : "it made him so much more inde 
 pendent ; he felt ten years younger for living a 
 little with the boys ! " Two or three times, after 
 supper, he walked around to the Bank block with 
 Craig and his roommate, and climbed the stairs 
 to their room, where he refused a cigar, but peered 
 with some interest at Lewis's pictures, and the 
 collection of bats, tennis racquets, foils, and gloves 
 that Kennedy had brought from Yale. He was 
 exceedingly affable on these occasions, and told 
 stories of his life as an army surgeon, and of the 
 beginnings of the silver plate industry in Barton- 
 vale, and once, to Lewis's outward amusement and 
 secret sinking of heart, he related a scheme for 
 electro-plating by an entirely new process which 
 George W. Lewis had persuaded him to put five 
 thousand dollars into, twenty years before, and 
 which would have made both their fortunes ten 
 times over, if it had only worked ! 
 
 After a little, however, the Doctor discovered 
 in himself the symptoms of indigestion, and won 
 dered if the monotonous hotel cookery were not 
 responsible for it. The young fellows tried hyp 
 ocritically to persuade him that the Bartonvale 
 Hotel set a most excellent table indeed, but in 
 spite of their assertions Dr. Atwood began again 
 to make discouraged inquiries around town for a 
 cook and housemaid.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 127 
 
 He seemed to worry a good deal more about 
 that cook, Lewis remarked to him one day, than 
 he did over the rumor of a coming strike at the 
 Plate Works. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the Doctor. " They won't strike. 
 They never have ; and if they know when they're 
 well off, they won't now." 
 
 " Your cook ought to have known when she was 
 well off, too," retorted Lewis, sagely, " but appar 
 ently she didn't, and struck accordingly. Strik- 
 ing's in the air this year, Doctor." Norman Lewis 
 was running for the Legislature that fall, and was 
 in daily touch with the currents of opinion in the 
 Plated City. 
 
 " Well, I can stand it if they can," said the 
 Doctor, stoutly ; " but I don't believe a word of it, 
 Lewis." 
 
 That very afternoon, nevertheless, Dr. Atwood 
 discovered placards, calling for a meeting of the 
 Plate Girls' Union, tacked here and there about 
 the Works, and impatiently ordered a foreman to 
 tear them down. The next morning, placards 
 twice as big were posted on the walls and fences 
 around the gateway. The Doctor contented him 
 self with a tolerant smile ; his point had been sim 
 ply that the only notices which could be posted in 
 the shops were notices from the office. Mr. Mar 
 vin and the other men in the office owned that 
 they did not like the situation, but they did not 
 know any cause for a strike. For that matter,
 
 128 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 neither did the Atwood branch of the Plate Girls' 
 Union, at least until they had been addressed by 
 delegates from the other plate shops in Bartonvale. 
 Then they learned that the time was ripe for or 
 ganized labor to assert itself against the tyranny 
 of capital, and that it was only by seizing the first 
 occasion to show their power that they could hope 
 for ultimate success. The Atwood employees 
 found these phrases satisfactory, and two or three 
 delegates, who delivered them with varying ter 
 minology, were applauded with some vigor. Then 
 a male delegate from another department of the 
 Atwood Works followed, with a bitter denuncia 
 tion of the Doctor's autocratic methods, his high 
 handed demeanor in tearing down the placards of 
 the Union, and his general indifference to the 
 cause of labor. At this point a tall girl, whose 
 fine-cut face was pale with indignation, rose and 
 made her way to the door of the hall. The meet 
 ing was held behind closed doors, and there was a 
 moment's difficulty about letting her out. " Dr. 
 Atwood has been a friend to me," she declared in 
 a low but perfectly audible voice. " I do not 
 remain to hear him abused ! " whereupon she was 
 allowed to depart, not without an accompaniment 
 of hisses. 
 
 It was Esther Beaulieu's first acquaintance with 
 the Union. She had been waited upon by the 
 committee, a few days previously, and invited to 
 join, and upon the representation that all the em-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 129 
 
 ployees were members and would help support one 
 another in time of sickness, or lack of work, she 
 had parted with her two dollars for initiation fee, 
 and agreed to contribute the twenty-five cents a 
 week, though she could ill spare it. But until that 
 evening's meeting she had no idea of the inten 
 tion of the organization. As she listened to the 
 speeches, it gradually grew clear to her. She had 
 read of such things in books. The cause of labor 
 was no doubt an excellent cause ; but how could 
 she join in a strike with only a few dollars laid by, 
 and Tom far away in California ? It was impossi 
 ble. She must have work ! And when she heard 
 the attack upon Dr. Atwood, her spirit of loyalty 
 was kindled, and she would not have flinched 
 before all the hisses in the Plated City. 
 
 The following noon, the treasurer of the Plate 
 Girls' Union, now suspicious of her fealty, stopped 
 her on her way homewards, and demanded the first 
 week's contribution. Miss Beaulieu replied that 
 she did not care to join the Union, after all, and 
 passed on. The incident was slight enough, but 
 the officials of the Union were eager to take any 
 opportunity for strengthening their influence, and 
 the Beaulieu girl's open refusal to remain in the 
 ranks was bruited all over the Plate Works by 
 night. It was the first break in what had prom 
 ised to be a complete organization, and accordingly 
 deserved decisive action. It was clear that if a Non- 
 Union person could continue to be employed at the
 
 130 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Atwood Works, the cause of labor might suffer 
 serious consequences. Unfortunately for the ap 
 plication of those mildly coercive measures which 
 are sometimes effective, the Beaulieu girl earned 
 her pay in a room all by herself, where she could 
 not be made to feel the pressure of public opinion. 
 Any open persecution upon the streets would prob 
 ably be unsafe ; and the dignity with which she 
 had marched out of the room on the night of the 
 meeting led the officials of the Union to suspect 
 that she would not be amenable to threats. But 
 the solidarity of labor required that her place at 
 the Atwood Works should be taken by another, 
 and much ingenuity, and a rapidly growing excite 
 ment, were devoted to the question. The girl her 
 self was quite oblivious of the tempest she had 
 raised : she hammered lightly away at her brush- 
 backs as before. Nor would Dr. Atwood admit 
 to his associates that there was any unusual state 
 
 L 
 
 of feeling in the shops. The rurm>r grew more 
 definite around town, however, that a strike was 
 to be declared at the Atwood Works over the 
 question of the employment of Non-Union hands. 
 At last Esther Beaulieu was aware that people 
 turned to look at her in the streets. One noon 
 a dozen girls gathered around the door of the 
 Works, and called her names as she came out. 
 She comprehended at last how fully she had 
 aroused the wrath of her fellow-workmen. That 
 very day a new idea occurred to the Central Labor
 
 THE PLATED CITY 131 
 
 Committee : why would not the most diplomatic 
 way of disposing of the case be simply to draw 
 the color line on the Beaulieu girl? She was, as 
 everybody knew, Tom Beaulieu's sister, and Tom 
 Beaulieu, as everybody ought to know, whatever 
 Tom himself might say about it, was a colored 
 man. No colored girl had ever been employed in 
 the Atwood Works. Why not send a delegation 
 to the Doctor, and request that, in view of the 
 feelings of the operatives, the Beaulieu girl 
 might be discharged ? It was an insult to white 
 labor to have such a girl in the Works : not a 
 Labor Union in town was willing to admit a col 
 ored person to its ranks, as the Doctor might have 
 known, and that ought to be proof enough of the 
 way employees felt about the matter. But it 
 might not be politic to say anything about the 
 Labor Union to the "old man." Was it not best 
 to say simply that the Atwood employees disliked 
 to work in the same shops with a colored woman, 
 and trusted the Doctor would see his way clear to 
 get rid of her ? 
 
 So argued the more conservative members of the 
 Union, and they had almost carried their point 
 when some one made an announcement that in 
 stantly changed the aspect of affairs. The Fen- 
 nessey girl had drifted back to town, and it was 
 discovered that she was not only a member of the 
 Plate Girls' Union, but that, instead of giving up 
 the job, she had been discharged by Dr. Atwood
 
 132 TIIE PLATED CITY 
 
 for alleged impertinence, and that on the same day 
 her place had been filled by the Beaulieu girl ! 
 The Beaulieu girl was a scab, then, which was ten 
 times worse than being a nigger ! That night the 
 crowd that awaited her at the doorway had trebled 
 its numbers, and the hated epithet was launched 
 at her from girls' lips, trembling with passion. 
 The Labor Committee dropped the color line argu 
 ment, and chose a spokesman to represent to Dr. 
 Atwood that a Union hand had been dismissed, 
 and a Non-Union one put in her place, and that on 
 this issue the employees of the Plate Works were 
 ready to go out and stay out all winter. 
 
 The report spread to the office that the dele 
 gation would interview the "old man" at noon. 
 Mr. Marvin took it upon himself once more to 
 convince the Doctor that this time the workmen 
 meant business. 
 
 " It would be a bad time for a strike, Doctor," 
 he suggested warily. "We've got two months' 
 work on contracts ahead of us, and we can't 
 afford to shut down. If 'twas only after New 
 Year's, I should be just as independent as you ; 
 but it seems a pity to have a strike on our hands 
 just now, over one girl." 
 
 " Send her down here when the whistle blows," 
 said the Doctor, after listening to Marvin's ver 
 sion of the grievances of the Union against Miss 
 Beaulieu. " Send her down here, and I'll hear her 
 side of the story. Strike or no strike, though,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 133 
 
 Marvin, I guess these Works will be run from the 
 office and not from the shops. Eh ? " 
 
 But Marvin shook his head dubiously. At the 
 stroke of twelve, he trotted upstairs to the brush- 
 backing room. Before he could return, there was 
 a knock at the inner office door, and the Doctor 
 looked up from his littered desk in time to see 
 the entrance of the delegates that Marvin had 
 foretold. Foremost came a professional labor 
 leader, selected by the Central Committee for his 
 glibness of speech ; then the Fennessey girl's 
 father, who had left his tubs in the electro 
 plating room, the polisher who had owned the 
 blue heron, and had cherished a grudge against 
 the office ever since its untimely end, and three 
 representatives from the Plate Girls' Union proper ; 
 a stout married woman, and two slim creatures 
 with crimped hair and deprecatory eyes. They 
 ranged themselves awkwardly before the "old 
 man's" desk, and in response to his "Well, what 
 can I do for you?" looked in helpless admiration 
 at their spokesman, who stepped forward, and 
 began his remarks in a tone half -insinuating, half 
 of assumed equality. 
 
 " We represent, Dr. Atwood, the various labor 
 organizations having members among the em 
 ployees of the Atwood Works, and more espe 
 cially" he waved his left hand gallantly 
 "the members of the Plate Girls' Union. This 
 organization, as you may, or may not know "
 
 134 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Hold on a minute," said the Doctor. " I want 
 to know whom I'm talking with. Let me see, 
 what is your name ? " 
 
 "Donovan. John R. Donovan." The inflec 
 tion was that of conscious pride. 
 
 " Never saw you before, that I remember," re 
 sponded Dr. Atwood. " Is there any such name 
 on the pay-roll, Mr. Marvin ? " The paymaster 
 had just re-entered the outer office, and was in 
 plain view through the door. 
 
 " No, sir," said Marvin. 
 
 "Then you're not employed here?" demanded 
 the Doctor, turning to the labor leader. 
 
 " No ; but I represent the Central Labor Com 
 mittee of the district, which has assumed charge 
 of this difficulty and delegated me " 
 
 " I don't care what you represent," cut in the 
 Doctor, savagely. " When I want any assistance 
 from an outsider in running the Atwood Plate 
 Works, I'll bear your name in mind, Mr. Donovan. 
 Meantime you'll find that side door the quickest 
 one to get out by." 
 
 Donovan's face grew black. He did not stir. 
 The " old man " leaned forward, with a gesture 
 too significant to be trifled with. He eyed him 
 an instant, and sullenly obeyed orders. As he 
 opened the door, it could be seen that the entire 
 passage-way from the Works to the street was 
 filled with operatives, awaiting eagerly the re 
 sults of the conference. The door had no sooner
 
 THE PLATED CITY 135 
 
 closed than an angry murmur ran through the 
 crowd. 
 
 Dr. Atwood turned coolly to the leaderless dele 
 gation. 
 
 " Now, Fennessey," he said, " or you, Robinson, 
 tell me what the trouble is, and we'll see whether 
 anything can be done about it." 
 
 Fennessey rolled down his sleeves uneasily. He 
 was not a talking man, himself, and had counted 
 simply upon backing up Donovan. He was at a 
 loss where to begin, but parental jealousy, joined 
 with race antagonism, got the better of his pure 
 devotion to the cause of Union labor. 
 
 " She's a dommed naygur ! " he burst out. 
 " Ye tuk away me gyurl's job from her for nothin' 
 but maybe a free-spoken wurrd or so, and ye gev 
 it to a dommed Canadian naygur." He stopped 
 sulkily and tugged away at his sleeves. 
 
 " There's some misunderstanding about that, 
 Fennessey," said the Doctor, pleasantly enough. 
 The man had been with him twenty-five years, 
 and was a capital workman. " Maggie told me 
 she was going away the next week, for she didn't 
 like the work. It was pay day, and I said she 
 might as well go at once, if she was dissatisfied, 
 and off she went. That was all. And a couple 
 of hours later I put another hand in her place." 
 
 " Yes," put in the married woman, " and who 
 was the hand you put in her plac6 ? You know 
 who she was. I had to work a month at the same
 
 136 
 
 bench with her before I found out that I was 
 working with a colored woman ! There isn't a 
 plate shop in town, Dr. Atwood, where respectable 
 help are asked to do that." The creatures with 
 crimped hair nodded eloquently at the Doctor. 
 
 " That's it ! " exclaimed Fennessey. " Where's 
 the chance for white labor wid that Bowlyer gyurl 
 shtealin' Mag Fennessey's bread ? There ain't a 
 Union in town that would let in a naygur, savin' 
 only the Relief Corps up at the Machine Shops, 
 and they has three and that ain't a Union at all. 
 It's five and twinty years that I've shtood over yer 
 tubs, James Atwood, and I niver t'ought to see 
 this day." There was a silence, broken only by 
 the sound of angry voices from the crowd outside. 
 . " Is that all ? " inquired James Atwood. " Am 
 I to understand that there is trouble in the shops 
 simply because I hired this Beaulieu girl to work 
 there ? " His voice was conciliatory, but his gray 
 eyes were beginning to gleam ominously. 
 
 " No, sir," said the polisher, who was a stickler 
 for Union rights, and had thought it all along a 
 mistake to drag the color question into the quarrel. 
 " It isn't that the Beaulieu girl is colored, as I look 
 at it. Some say she isn't colored, anyway. The 
 point of it is right here." 
 
 " The point is what I'm waiting for," said the 
 Doctor, testily. Robinson cleared his throat ; he 
 had been secretly jealous of Donovan's leadership 
 in the delegation, all the while. Outside, there
 
 THE PLATED CITY 137 
 
 was a great clapping of hands : Donovan had 
 mounted the fence to make a speech. 
 
 " The situation is this," began Robinson. " The 
 employees in these plate works, like the rest of the 
 working people of Bartonvale, feel that in union 
 there is strength. The laboring man can hope for 
 fair terms that's the way we look at it, Doctor 
 only when he stands united against the power 
 of capital. We've got to hold together, or we're 
 not in it. Now the object of the Plated City 
 Protective Association, which includes almost all 
 the laboring men and women of the town, is to 
 see that we do hold together. We can't have one 
 person saying, I'll work for so much, and another 
 one saying I'll take that job for less. The Union 
 ought to regulate the price of labor. It's the only 
 friend the laboring man has. If there is any man 
 or any girl who ain't willing to stand by the 
 Union, they can get out of here ! We mean 
 business. We're going to protect ourselves ; and 
 when a Union hand is discharged and a Non-Union 
 hand put in her place, you'll find that we've got 
 something to say about it ! " 
 
 " Go on. And what have you got to say about 
 it?" 
 
 " That depends on you. If you agree to give 
 the Beaulieu girl her time, and put a Union hand 
 in her place we don't ask you to put Miss Fen- 
 nessey back again, do we Mike ? there won't be 
 any trouble."
 
 138 
 
 " And suppose I don't? " 
 
 Robinson hesitated. He was a hot-headed 
 fellow, but he knew well enough that he was not 
 empowered to declare the policy of the Union. 
 He almost wished for Donovan, whose resonant 
 sentences could at this moment be plainly heard 
 within the office. 
 
 " I want to know just where you stand," con 
 tinued the owner of the Works. " According to 
 Mike Fennessey, your grievance is that the girl 
 is colored. The other girls don't want to work 
 in the same shop with her ; is that it ? " 
 
 "That's it," affirmed the thick-headed Fen 
 nessey. "There ain't a Union in the town that'll 
 have a dommed wan av thim." 
 
 " So the Plate Girls don't want her in their 
 Union anyway ? " 
 
 The three representatives of that organization, 
 jealous of the slight which Miss Beaulieu had put 
 upon it, walked straight into the Doctor's trap. 
 
 " No," they said, " we wouldn't have her now 
 anyway." 
 
 Dr. Atwood's eyes flashed. " And yet accord 
 ing to Robinson, you ask me to discharge the girl 
 because she isn't in the Union, when you don't 
 want her and won't have her ! " The delegates 
 looked angrily at one another. A round of 
 applause for Mr. Donovan reverberated outside ; 
 but the place where that ready-tongued leader 
 was most needed was evidently within the office.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 139 
 
 "The next time you send a delegation in here," 
 remarked Dr. Atwood, composedly, " you'd better 
 agree on your story beforehand. And now let me 
 say this. Since these shops were opened, twenty- 
 five years ago the thirteenth day of last March, 
 you, Fennessey, were one of the men that began 
 when I did, I have never had any trouble with 
 the hands. I've paid good wages, and as long as 
 a man did his work well, I've never asked whether 
 he was Union or Non-Union, Democrat or Re 
 publican, Catholic or Hottentot. In all that time 
 nobody, except the foreman, came in here to tell 
 me whom to hire and not to hire. It's too late 
 now for me to learn that way of doing business. 
 In the room where she is now, the Beaulieu girl 
 is giving good satisfaction, and whether she's 
 colored or not colored, or belongs to the Union 
 or doesn't belong to the Union, she can have the 
 place as long as she wants to keep it. And what's 
 more, I'll see that she's let alone." The Doctor's 
 voice had risen, from sentence to sentence, and as he 
 reached the last clause, it descended with a crash. 
 
 The youngest delegate began to cry. In the 
 blocked passageway, the operatives were giving 
 three cheers for Donovan, who had finished his 
 harangue. Robinson took a step nearer to the 
 President's desk ; he did not propose to let Dono 
 van carry off the honors with the crowd. 
 
 " That's your final answer, is it, Dr. Atwood ? " 
 he said doggedly.
 
 140 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 "My answers are usually final," thundered 
 James Atwood. 
 
 " Then I want to say, as representing the labor 
 organizations, one word more." 
 
 "Be quick about it." The Doctor's temper 
 was fast becoming uncontrollable. 
 
 " All right. It's this. You're an old man, Dr. 
 Atwood, and I'm a young one, but I can tell you 
 that the day for your high-handed methods of 
 doing business has gone by. You'll find that the 
 laboring men have some rights in the matter too. 
 Keep the girl if you want to ; but if you do, you 
 won't have by to-morrow a man to fire an engine 
 nor one woman at the bench. The Protective 
 Association has promised to back us up, and if we 
 go out, in two days there won't be a plate shop 
 running in Bartonvale. You may not care for the 
 other concerns, you're too cursedly independent, 
 but we know well enough you don't want to 
 stop your own engines just now. We're going to 
 show our hand, Dr. Atwood. We've got a solid 
 organization. Unless you do the square thing in 
 this matter, we propose to tie up the Atwood 
 Works tighter than a drum ! What will you 
 do?" 
 
 " I don't know what I'll do ! " cried James At 
 wood, hoarsely, leaping to his feet in a passion 
 that almost robbed him of words. " But I will 
 tell you what you can do. You can all go straight 
 to the devil ! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 141 
 
 He stamped to the side door and flung it open, 
 in the face of the waiting crowd. The awed dele 
 gation filed past him, and he slammed the door 
 behind them. Then he tottered back to his chair 
 and sank into it, fumbling with his collar button. 
 His face was startlingly flushed. 
 
 " Get me some water, Marvin," he gasped in a 
 thick voice, and the alarmed paymaster ran for it, 
 and then hurriedly opened a window. The ex- 
 surgeon dashed the water upon his own head and 
 wrists, and then lay back, breathing in slowly the 
 chill October air. 
 
 " I'm all right now," he said, opening his eyes 
 after a minute. " I suppose a man of my consti 
 tution ought to avoid any excitement. I may 
 have lost my temper a little, Marvin, eh ? " 
 
 "Possibly," replied the discreet paymaster, "a 
 little." 
 
 " Well, let's see, what's to be done now ? I was 
 just starting for dinner, wasn't I? Why, hullo! 
 I'd forgotten that I sent for you." 
 
 Esther Beaulieu stood before him, with a fright 
 ened face. Marvin had shown her into a room 
 adjoining the President's, and through the open 
 door she had heard every word. 
 
 "We've just been talking about you, Miss 
 Miss Beaulieu." 
 
 "I heard it all." 
 
 " So much the better. I don't suppose I ought 
 to go over the ground again, for fear, possibly, of
 
 142 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 getting excited. Naturally I am a man of strong 
 feelings." His gaze wandered a little. Marvin 
 noticed that his eyes were still colorless. 
 
 " You understand the situation," he continued. 
 " All you have to do is to continue to give satis 
 faction. Go right along and pay no attention to 
 anybody. I'll take care of you. If the rest of 
 'em are foolish enough to strike, let 'em strike. 
 You can have work as long as the brush-backs 
 hold out, anyway." 
 
 " No, no ! " she burst out. " I want to work, 
 I must work, but I cannot work here any more. 
 It would not be right, after you have been so kind 
 to me. If I go away, there won't be any more 
 trouble." 
 
 The Doctor was silent. " It looks as if there 
 was going to be trouble anyway," he replied. The 
 cheery pugnacity was quite gone from his voice. 
 " If they're waiting for a chance to show their 
 hand, the quarrel might as well be over you as 
 over anything else. Not that they really have 
 anything against you," he added kindly. " They 
 don't mind you : they're only trying to show their 
 power. I wouldn't believe it, Marvin, but you're 
 right." 
 
 " They hate me," said the girl. " Listen ! " 
 
 Through the open window there came cries of 
 "Scab!" "Wait for the scab!" The tumult 
 grew with every moment. The crowd knew that 
 the Beaulieu girl had not yet come out, and Rob-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 143 
 
 inson had not bettered their temper by his ver 
 batim report of the Doctor's parting message. 
 
 " Do you hear that ? They have called that 
 after me every noon and night for three days. If 
 my brother were only here, I would not mind, but 
 I am afraid. They hate me so ! I must not work 
 here any longer, Dr. Atwood. If they will let me 
 go home this noon, I will promise not to come back 
 any more. Please tell them so, and make them go 
 away ! And then there needn't be any strike." 
 
 She spoke rapidly, her eyes fastened upon his 
 with pathetic intensity. 
 
 " It strikes me that that is the best way out of 
 it, if you will allow me to say so," put in Marvin. 
 
 "You would be out of a job then," said Dr. At 
 wood, irresolutely, " and I might be no better off 
 than before. But you're a good-hearted girl, a 
 very good-hearted girl. Do you suppose you 
 could get any other kind of work ? " 
 
 " Scab ! Scab ! ! Scab ! ! ! " The roar of voices in 
 the passageway made effective answer. 
 
 " Not if they can help it," answered the girl, 
 despairingly. " But tell them to go away, Dr. 
 Atwood, and I will try. I shall have to begin all 
 over again now." Her voice broke on the last 
 word. 
 
 " Why, wait," said the Doctor, passing his hand 
 across his forehead as if recollecting himself. 
 " This has perhaps confused me a little. I drove 
 around town for two hours this morning looking
 
 144 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 for one. That is to say, do you know how to 
 cook?" 
 
 Esther Beaulieu stared at him. 
 
 " Plain cooking, I mean. And to wash up the 
 dishes, and dust the parlor a little, I suppose, and 
 go to the door. Could you do that?" 
 
 She smiled in spite of her anxiety. " I used to 
 do that for my aunt in Quebec," she replied. 
 
 " All right, we'll try it. If you don't like the 
 cooking, I'll get somebody else to do that, if I can 
 find anybody, and you can just go to the door. 
 That's what I have to keep one girl for ; and no 
 body comes to the door, either." 
 
 " I should be very glad to come," said the girl, 
 with perfect simplicity, "if you think I would 
 please your wife." 
 
 " My wife ? " repeated James Atwood, with a 
 strange laugh. " I haven't any wife. No, nor a 
 chick nor child. Come, we'll go right home now. 
 I'll send Roberts around for your things this after 
 noon. Mr. Marvin, are the horses there ? " 
 
 The paymaster looked out of the window, over 
 the heads of the howling mob, toward the gateway. 
 The coachman, surrounded by a jeering ring of 
 boys, was lashing his terrified black horses to keep 
 them steady. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Roberts is there ; but wouldn't it 
 be better, sir, under the circumstances, for you to 
 slip out on to River Street ? You know you don't 
 want to get excited, sir."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 145 
 
 " Get my hat, Marvin. Thank you. You can't 
 expect a man at my age to sneak out of his own 
 factory by the back door ? Hardly ! Now, Miss 
 Beaulieu, my carriage is here, and we'll start 
 along." 
 
 His step was unsteady as he crossed the office, 
 but as he flung open the door, and the yells from 
 hundreds of voices smote him in the face, he 
 flushed slightly, and drew himself up, with a fine, 
 defiant toss of his gray head. The whole passage 
 way was blocked to the very gate. The girl by 
 his side swept her glance over the jostling, vin 
 dictive throng, the pointing fingers, and clenched 
 fists. She turned deadly pale, but her eyes began 
 to blaze ; oh, if Tom were only here to clear a 
 path for her ! 
 
 " Don't be afraid," said Dr. Atwood, seeing that 
 she was trembling ; " they won't dare to touch 
 you; " and then, still standing on the topmost step, 
 he turned to her with an old-fashioned courtliness, 
 and lifting her left hand, laid it within his right 
 arm. 
 
 " Fall back ! " he cried, in a voice that rang 
 above the tumult like a pistol-shot. " Fall 
 back ! " 
 
 They descended the long steps slowly, arm in 
 arm, the President of the Plate Works and the 
 sister of Tom Beaulieu. Awed by the sheer will 
 power that had vibrated in the " old man's " pas 
 sionate command, astonished at the strangeness of
 
 146 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 that spectacle, the crowd sullenly gave way. The 
 yells changed to hisses, then to mutters, then to 
 silence, as James Atwood and Esther Beaulieu 
 passed down the broad walk that led to the gate 
 way, between the thick files of scowling, open- 
 mouthed faces. It was his turn to be pale now, 
 and his eyes, lustreless from exhaustion, were bent 
 with a melancholy expression upon the ground ; 
 but the girl, as if thrilled by some singular elation, 
 walked erect, her hair bared to the October wind, 
 the color surging back into her lips and cheeks, 
 her great eyes luminous with the fire of uncontrol 
 lable excitement. Even the women who stopped 
 hissing to look at her, as she paced past, scarcely 
 knew her, so utterly had her air of shyness disap 
 peared, so completely was her grave, delicate girl- 
 ishness vitalized into a beauty that was imperial 
 and superb. 
 
 They reached the carriage. Dr. Atwood opened 
 the door for her, with a stately bow, and then half 
 turned to the hushed, wondering crowd, as if he 
 would have spoken. But he seemed to be in a 
 sort of stupor, and murmuring after a moment, 
 " You may drive home, Roberts," he followed Miss 
 Beaulieu into the carriage and sank back upon the 
 cushions.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 147 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE autumn evening grew stormy, as the dark 
 ness fell, and the north wind, roaring down the 
 Mattawanset Valley, began to tug at the elm 
 branches on the Bartonvale Green, in presage of 
 the winter's struggle. Mrs. Thayer, in her silent, 
 flower-filled room, lay waiting for Sally to return 
 from the Library. She listened to the groaning 
 elms, and the swirl of dead leaves against the 
 window, with an invalid's nervous apprehension. 
 " The harvest is past, the summer ended " ; the 
 cadence of the words ran ceaselessly through her 
 brain. She dreaded the changing seasons, which 
 nevertheless brought now so little change to her. 
 Her part in life was simply to wait and pray. She 
 listened for her girl's footsteps in the fallen leaves, 
 her heart going out toward her with inexpressi 
 ble desires, and it seemed as if she had always lain 
 like that, helplessly waiting, listening, yearning. 
 And yet there was so little cause for dread ! The 
 tiny house on the corner of the Green had outstood 
 many a north wind's roaring, and her geraniums 
 bloomed best when the snow lay deepest. And 
 Sally always came in, after a little, all the more 
 cheerful, no doubt, for the two or three hours
 
 148 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 away from the sick-room. Sally was a good girl. 
 How clear-headed and practical and efficient she 
 had always proved; how firm was the touch of 
 her strong hands ; how restful her cool, steady 
 voice as she read aloud The Missionary Herald 
 or the evening psalm ! Yes, she was all that a 
 daughter could be, except no yes, there was no 
 denying it she was not always quite sympathetic 
 with her mother's most exalted moods : she failed 
 distinctly in seriousness of manner ; she allowed 
 herself occasionally to exhibit at least an outward 
 levity with regard to sacred things. She could 
 certainly not have inherited this trait. The poor 
 mother wondered occasionally if it could possibly 
 have come from her having given Sally so many 
 Burmese idols to play with when she was a little 
 girl. Perhaps the daughter would some day out 
 grow her humorous criticisms of their minister's 
 "long prayer," or her irresistible mimicry of a 
 certain deacon's remarks at the weekly prayer 
 meeting, where Sally herself dutifully played the 
 hymns. When she married and settled down, very 
 likely it would be different, provided she were to 
 marry the right person. And Sally was twenty- 
 four now twenty-four in September. Yet she 
 appeared not to trouble herself with thoughts of 
 the future. The gay-hearted creature seemed 
 quite occupied with her mother and the Library, 
 and with having a good time as she went along. 
 Hark ! was that her step ? There were two
 
 THE PLATED CITY 149 
 
 people on the sidewalk at the gate no, they 
 had gone by. Mrs. Thayer's head fell back on 
 the pillow again. She had hoped it was Sally ; 
 Sally, and yes, Mr. Trellys. He had walked 
 home from the Library with her many times that 
 summer and early autumn, but of late, the mother 
 thought, his step was less frequent. It grieved 
 her to grow aware of this. She had encouraged 
 Sally's tennis playing, the year before, partly be 
 cause it threw her into the society of the young 
 clergyman. She could have wished, indeed, that 
 he were not an Episcopalian, but she kept herself 
 closely acquainted with the church work done by 
 all denominations in Bartonvale, and knew that no 
 one was working harder or really accomplishing 
 more than Whitesyde Trellys. His influence over 
 Sally in case a certain contingency were actu 
 ally to be realized would be, she felt sure, all that 
 her heart could desire. His being an Episcopalian 
 did not matter so much, after all. The churches 
 were nearer together now than when she herself 
 was a girl. As long as Trellys was a minister, 
 and a devoted one, she could trust her daughter 
 to him, if he came and asked. But for some reason 
 or other he never came, at least beyond the door. 
 She wondered if it were not Sally's fault. It 
 would have been so like the thoughtless girl to 
 ridicule him, if she had ever detected in him the 
 signs of sentiment ; she always saw the droll side 
 of things ; she
 
 150 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Hush, there they were now ! The wind quieted 
 for an instant, and the steps of two people were 
 plainly heard as they rustled through the elm 
 leaves on the path. Their voices murmured by 
 the steps ; she distinctly caught the tone of Sally's 
 "Goodnight"; it was very friendly. The mother's 
 heart beat quick ; he had begun to come again ! 
 Then Sally's latch-key rattled in the door, and she 
 came in, stopping to light the gas in the dark hall. 
 Sally always liked so much light ! On she came 
 into her mother's room, with a half-humorous 
 greeting, and lighting the student lamp on the 
 invalid's table, bent over and kissed the delicate, 
 pallid cheek. The mother's answering kiss was 
 fervid in its intensity ; her heart was still flutter 
 ing with the thought of Whitesyde Trellys. 
 
 " You are late, my dear," she said, with a peculiar 
 smile. 
 
 " I know it. I'm real sorry. We loitered in 
 the Library a good half-hour after it was time to 
 close. It was so cold, coining down. Do you 
 know, we did a shocking thing, we took hold of 
 hands and ran down High Street for two blocks, 
 with the wind at our backs. It was glorious." 
 
 " Sally ! " 
 
 " But it was such fun, mamma. It was just 
 like being children again, with winter coming ! 
 And there was simply nobody on the street, and 
 the electric lights are out of order again. Was 
 it so very wicked ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 151 
 
 Mrs. Thayer pictured the blameless rector of 
 St. Asaph's tearing down High Street in the wind, 
 hand in hand with her daughter. But her heart 
 to-night was big enough to accept anything. 
 
 " No," she replied, " I don't suppose it was really 
 wrong, that is, if you were honestly trying to 
 make believe you were children. But neverthe 
 less, I think if any of Mr. Trellys's parishioners 
 had happened to see you, they would have con 
 sidered it indecorous." 
 
 The girl had removed her cloak and hat, and 
 was amusedly patting her brown hair into place, 
 before her mother's gilt-framed glass. She whirled 
 around. 
 
 " Mr. Trellys's parishioners ? " she cried, in 
 amazement. " Mr. Trellys ! Oh, you dear mamma ! 
 Imagine it ! I should think they might have con 
 sidered it indecorous ! " And off she went into 
 a gale of laughter. 
 
 " It was Mr. Trellys, wasn't it ? " Mrs. Thayer 
 felt suddenly rather foolish, not to say indiscreet. 
 
 " Oh no! Mercy no ! It was only Craig." 
 
 The widow's face fell. Only Craig Kennedy, 
 who had romped with Sally in the front yard and 
 the back yard, and built snow giants in winter 
 and wigwams in summer, and had taught her to 
 skate and slide and throw a ball, and, unless ma 
 ternal prohibitions had sternly intervened, would 
 have instructed her in the art of climbing trees 
 and vaulting fences, and other similar feats that
 
 152 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 were never attempted by nice little girls when 
 Mrs. Thayer was young. Only Craig Kennedy, 
 and not the Rev. Whitesyde Trellys at all ! 
 
 " Craig always used to try to make a boy of 
 you," she said querulously. 
 
 "So I ' think I've heard you remark before," 
 was the mischievous answer. " I reminded him 
 of it to-night ; it was the only fault you used to 
 find with him." 
 
 " Is he supposed to be doing well ? " asked the 
 mother, somewhat inconsequentially. 
 
 "I imagine so. He does a good many small 
 things for the Hill people ; they like Craig. And 
 he has been making some drawings for Dr. At- 
 wood lately : a most mysterious sort of commis 
 sion apparently. He is going to show them to 
 me sometime, he says. And that reminds me. 
 Do you know, the Plated City has had a sensa 
 tion this afternoon?" She seated herself by the 
 bedside, and stroked the invalid's hand. 
 
 "It's actually romantic. It's just like the 
 French Revolution and Uncle Tom's Cabin and 
 The Ugly Duckling, all in one. You remember 
 Esther Beaulieu, don't you, mamma, the girl 
 with the bonnets, you know, and the grand air, 
 who reads all the French books and won't let me 
 get acquainted with her ? It was her evening to 
 come to the Library, but she didn't appear, and 
 then Craig told me what had happened. It 
 seems there has been trouble in the Plate Works
 
 THE PLATED CITY 153 
 
 because Dr. Atwood employed her. The other 
 operatives consider her a colored girl ; you know 
 they wouldn't let her teach in the High School 
 when she first came to town though for that 
 matter Craig says that Mr. Lewis traced all the 
 available records, and no one really knows whether 
 her mother was colored or not. Her father was 
 a shiftless drunken Frenchman. Anyway, the 
 operatives refused to work with her any longer, 
 and this noon they were going to mob her when she 
 came out. Think of it ; right here in Barton vale ! 
 There were hundreds and hundreds of them ; 
 and finally Dr. Atwood himself came out, simply 
 furious can't you imagine it? and Craig says 
 that he told them I suppose you have to use 
 strong language to those people, to make any im 
 pression, don't you think so, mamma ? that they 
 could go to the devil, one and all. And then he 
 gave Miss Beaulieu his arm just as if she had been 
 his own daughter, and led her right through the 
 middle of the mob they didn't dare to say a 
 word, not one word and showed her into his 
 own carriage ! Wasn't that splendid ? The dear 
 old gentleman ! " 
 
 " It was just like James Atwood," said the 
 widow, with closed eyes. " He always had such 
 strong feelings. And then he was in the war. 
 I suppose he knew just what to do." 
 
 " But you haven't yet heard the strangest part 
 of the story. Instead of driving her home, they
 
 154 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 drove up to the Atwood place. She's there now, 
 because the coachman went over the river for her 
 things this afternoon. Apparently she's going to 
 stay. Craig says that all sorts of stories are 
 around town : that the Doctor is going to adopt 
 her, or educate her, as far as that goes, she's 
 much better educated than I am, now, or even 
 marry her." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " remarked Mrs. Thayer, sharply. 
 
 " Well, it is certainly very queer. But I think 
 it's delightfully entertaining. The situation has 
 such possibilities." 
 
 " Sally ! " 
 
 "But hasn't it, mamma? Dear, dear, if Mrs. 
 Gascoigne were only back ! She would tell us 
 whether we ought to call upon Miss Beaulieu ! 
 To think of the social arbiter of the Plated City 
 being away at such a time as this ! " 
 
 The invalid smiled. It was true that with each 
 year the social lines in Bartonvale grew more 
 and more complicated, and people were learning 
 to fall back helplessly upon Mrs. Gascoigne's self- 
 appointed authority as a disentangler ; but the 
 idea of Mrs. Gascoigne's troubling herself with 
 the social status of the Beaulieu girl was one of 
 Sally's ludicrous extravagances. 
 
 " You seem in very good spirits to-night, my 
 dear," she said fondly. 
 
 The girl drew a full, satisfied breath. " It must 
 be the wind, or else our run downhill. And you
 
 THE PLATED CITY 155 
 
 thought it would have been indecorous in Mr. 
 Trellys ! Won't you let me tell that to Craig? " 
 She laughed again, and then glanced at her 
 mother's table. "Well, would you like me to 
 read something, mamma ? " There were two or 
 three magazines there, besides the pile of Mission 
 ary Heralds and the Bible. 
 
 " Nothing to-night, my dear ; I am a little tired. 
 Simply the Psalm, if you will." 
 
 Sally found the place in the worn book, and 
 read in a clear, tranquil voice, still keeping one 
 hand upon her mother's. The widow lay with eyes 
 closed, listening to the wonderful, familiar words, 
 but in spite of them her mind wandered a little. 
 Her daughter closed the book silently, and moved 
 around the room, making the final preparations 
 for the night. She came back to the bedside with 
 a fresh glass of water, and stooped to turn over 
 her mother's pillow. 
 
 "Sally," said Mrs. Thayer, abruptly. "I I 
 wish it had been Mr. Trellys." 
 
 " You poor, poor mamma ! Is that your little 
 bedtime confession ? I suspected it. I'm so 
 sorry for you." Her tone was very rueful. Then 
 she straightened herself, and looked at her mother 
 with a queer, whimsical smile. " I ought to make 
 a confession too, mamma, about Mr. Trellys. You 
 mustn't think of him in in that way any more ; 
 you really mustn't. I'm afraid I've disappointed 
 you, mamma."
 
 156 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Sarah Thayer, you haven't refused him ? " 
 
 She nodded gravely. "Weeks ago. It was at 
 the time you were worse, and I feared it would 
 excite you if I spoke of it then. You mustn't 
 mind it. I'm so sorry. I know you liked him : 
 and so do I that is to say, yes, I really do, but 
 as for anything else " she shook her head. Mr. 
 Trellys had been quite right in remarking that 
 Miss Thayer' s mouth, on some occasions, was firm. 
 
 " I am disappointed," said the mother, in a 
 quavering voice. " Mr. Trellys is a man of God." 
 Something in the phrase roused a latent antago 
 nism in the girl. 
 
 " I don't doubt it," she replied drily. " But 
 when you think of looking at a man across the 
 breakfast table, year in and year out " She 
 caught the expression on her mother's face, and 
 stopped contritely. " Forgive me, dear." 
 
 The invalid put out her thin hands. " You 
 must follow your own heart, my child. I try 
 not to forget that. But you must be prayerful. 
 Sometimes it is hard to read the heart." The 
 good-night kisses were given, and the girl turned 
 to extinguish the student lamp, 
 
 " Sally," asked the widow, her mind after all 
 not quite at rest. " You didn't refuse Mr. Trellys 
 because because there is any one else, did you ? " 
 
 Miss Thayer blew out the lamp without replying, 
 and bent above her mother in the darkness. Her 
 warm lips brushed slowly over the faded satin of
 
 THE PLATED CITY 157 
 
 the elder woman's cheek. " You dear old inquisi 
 torial mamma," she whispered affectionately. 
 "How soft your cheeks are. I don't know." 
 
 The quiet house on the corner of the Green was 
 not the only one in Bartonvale that night where 
 Dr. Atwood's singular performance was a topic of 
 discussion. The young fellows at the Mattawan- 
 set Club could talk of little else, and hazarded the 
 most extraordinary conjectures as to the Doctor's 
 motives in championing the Beaulieu girl. They 
 exchanged a dozen versions of what had taken 
 place at the gateway of the Works, and were still 
 at it, toward the end of the evening, when Nor 
 man Lewis sauntered into the smoking-room. He 
 had been making a stump speech down town, in 
 furtherance of his campaign for the State Legis 
 lature, whither his party, which was in a hopeless 
 minority in the Plated City, was now trying for 
 the third time to send him. His political pros 
 pects seemed no more encouraging than in the 
 two previous campaigns, in spite of his personal 
 popularity, and he felt jaded in mind and body as 
 he climbed the Hill to the gambrel-roofed house 
 occupied by the Club. 
 
 " Here's Lewis ! " was the greeting of a dozen 
 voices as he came in. " Lewis, what's your idea 
 about it ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me for ideas ; I'm fresh from the 
 rally. Has some one a cigar ? Well, what's up ? "
 
 158 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " The strike." " There isn't any strike ; I tell 
 you the 'old man ' backed down ! " "He never 
 backed down in his life ; did he, Norman ? " " Of 
 course there's a strike ! " " Will he have the 
 nerve to marry her ? " " Say, is she really Tom's 
 sister, after all? " 
 
 Lewis lighted one of the proffered cigars, and 
 then ran a pitying eye over the circle of excited 
 questioners. 
 
 "You are a most romantic lot, I must say. 
 What this club needs is a few more prosaic old 
 fellows like myself, for ballast." 
 
 " Hear him ! He has more romance than all of 
 us put together," growled the man who knew 
 Lewis best. 
 
 The lawyer disregarded the interruption. " The 
 cold fact is," he went on, blowing some smoke into 
 his clean-cut, brown beard, "I got it straight 
 from Marvin, who saw the whole thing the 
 Doctor wanted a cook. He saw a chance to 
 secure one, and bore her off triumphantly. That 
 is positively all there was to it. I'm sorry to prick 
 your bubble." 
 
 " Much you are ! " was the ironical retort from 
 one of the circle ; but Lewis, to the disgust of 
 everybody, strolled away to the reading-room, 
 without a word, and buried himself in an even 
 ing paper. 
 
 If the prosaic version of what had occurred at 
 the Atwood Works failed to satisfy the habitues
 
 THE PLATED CITY 159 
 
 of the Mattawanset Club, it was felt to be still 
 more unsatisfactory to the imagination among 
 the residents of Nigger Hill. The theory there 
 favored was that the Beaulieu girl had already 
 been adopted by Dr. Atwood, who was well 
 understood to be capable of doing anything that 
 he took into his head. Mrs. Cyrus Calhoun heard 
 the news with undisguised rejoicing. It confirmed 
 her own constant conviction that Cyrus had had 
 the truth from the lips of Mammy Hudson. The 
 negro quarter in general was content to interpret 
 the intelligence in the same fashion. Very likely 
 the Beaulieu girl was really white ; the jealousy 
 of her felt at the time of Tom's " emancipation " 
 had already since his departure lapsed into greater 
 or less indifference to her career. At her boarding- 
 house, where the arrival of Dr. Atwood's coach 
 man, in quest of Miss Beaulieu's portmanteau and 
 other belongings, had created a temporary sensa 
 tion, it was felt that she had been lonely and 
 probably wretched enough to deserve whatever 
 undefined good fortune had come to her. None 
 of her fellow-workmen had boarded there, and the 
 hatred she had encountered on the streets had not 
 yet made itself felt at the table. On the whole, 
 the attitude of her fellow-boarders towards Miss 
 Beaulieu's migration across the river was that of 
 respectful good will. 
 
 Not so with the employees of the Atwood Plate 
 Works. Taking advantage of the absence of
 
 160 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the President that afternoon, the diplomatic pay 
 master went here and there through the shops, 
 spreading confidentially the unofficial intelligence 
 that the Beaulieu girl was no longer to be em 
 ployed. The Plate Girls' Union accepted these 
 tidings as a vindication of their personal hostility 
 toward the scab, and as a notable triumph for the 
 cause of labor. Apparently the " old man " had 
 weakened, in spite of his defiant tone. It was 
 currently believed for a few hours that he had 
 had in mysterious connection with the process 
 of weakening a stroke of apoplexy, which might 
 have accounted for his peculiar demeanor while 
 walking to his carriage. Mr. Marvin asserted, 
 however, that the President was perfectly well, 
 and would be at his desk the next morning as 
 usual. At any rate, the Beaulieu girl was out 
 of the Atwood Works for good, and whether or 
 not the Doctor meant to make her his wife, his 
 housekeeper, or his heir all of which statements 
 were very positively made in the shops during the 
 course of the afternoon, she was of no further 
 interest to the Central Labor Committee. Having 
 gained their immediate object, they decided, to the 
 deep wrath of Mr. John R. Donovan, that it 
 would be more prudent to defer for the present 
 the contemplated general strike. 
 
 Meanwhile Esther Beaulieu herself was far too 
 eagerly occupied for any reflections either as to
 
 THE PLATED CITY 161 
 
 the excitement she had caused, or the new exist 
 ence that opened before her. When the Doctor's 
 carriage passed under the shadows of the huge 
 pines that marked the boundary of the Atwood 
 place, he opened his eyes, and endeavored to rouse 
 himself from the stupor in which he had lain 
 since that last troubled look at the strikers. 
 
 " Here we are," he said. " I must tell Roberts 
 to rake up those leaves. Pretty prospect from 
 up here ; don't you think so ? " 
 
 They stopped at the side door. Miss Beaulieu 
 descended first, and as the Doctor's foot seemed 
 to move uncertainly toward the carriage step, she 
 gave him her hand. The coachman's wife, who 
 lived above the stable, had come over to the house 
 to do some cleaning, and was waiting on the door 
 step for Roberts's return. Alarmed at the Doc 
 tor's pallor, she ran to Esther's assistance, and the 
 two women helped him into the sitting-room, and 
 made him lie down upon the haircloth sofa. 
 Then Mrs. Roberts scrutinized the newcomer. 
 
 " It's the cook," explained the master of the 
 house. " Show her where things are, and between 
 you get me a cup of tea ; nothing else." 
 
 The women disappeared into the kitchen, where 
 Mrs. Roberts, still marvelling at the cook's per 
 sonal appearance, was kindness and efficiency 
 itself. In a quarter of an hour Esther brought 
 the tea. The Doctor drank it off, and lay back 
 upon the sofa.
 
 162 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " I want to go to sleep now," he said. " Can 
 you read and write ? Oh, I forgot, you're the 
 great reader, of course. Go into the office there " 
 he pointed to a dark-panelled, low-ceilinged 
 room opening from the sitting-room " and 
 write to Mr. Marvin. Tell him I shan't be 
 back to-day, but shall be all right to-morrow 
 morning. Roberts will take it down. You 
 can tell Roberts where to go for your trunk, 
 if you've got one, arid he'll stop at the market 
 and the grocer's and order whatever you need for 
 the table. I want supper at six fifteen and break 
 fast at six twenty-five. I guess that's everything." 
 Whereupon he curled down upon the sofa, and 
 Miss Beaulieu peeping in from the writing-table 
 in the office five minutes later, as she finished the 
 note to Mr. Marvin, saw that he was asleep. She 
 stole back, drew down the curtains, and covered 
 the autocrat of the Plated City with a faded 
 shawl. Then she closed the door softly and went 
 to find Roberts. 
 
 The girl passed a curious afternoon. Mrs. Rob 
 erts brought her something to eat, and instructed 
 her in the peculiarities of the kitchen range. If it 
 were not for her babies, and the washing she took 
 in, Mrs. Roberts averred, she would like nothing 
 better than cooking for the Doctor herself. If 
 the meals were only prompt, he was easily suited ; 
 not being "great for new-fangled things to eat." 
 She returned to her babies and her ironing after a
 
 THE PLATED CITY 163 
 
 while, leaving Esther to explore the pantries and 
 the china closet, where the Doctor's long line of 
 waitresses had made havoc of his mother's delicate 
 sprigged china. The latest occupant of the 
 kitchen had left a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, 
 and Esther washed them, wondering at the house 
 keeping of the States. Xante Beaulieu's immacu 
 late kitchen had always been the admiration of 
 the women in the Rue St. Jacques. The provis 
 ions which the new cook had hesitatingly ordered 
 were long in coining, and she wandered out of the 
 kitchen door at last, and through the garden, 
 already blackened by the frosts, and so around to 
 the front of the house. She drew a long breath 
 of pleasure ; how beautiful it was here, with the 
 great lawn sweeping away to the giant pines, in 
 whose branches the north wind was keenly sing 
 ing; and with the steel-colored Mattawanset 
 stretching for miles and miles down the valley, 
 past smoky towns and bright patches of October 
 woodland, toward the mist-hidden Sound ! She 
 strolled southward to the very edge of the lawn ; 
 the Plated City lay at her feet. How it had 
 seemed to hate her ; and yet how free of its 
 clutches she stood this afternoon ! Little by little 
 she found her bearings among the huddled chim 
 neys and drifting smoke ; there was the station 
 with the fierce little engines switching and switch 
 ing in front of it, where she had arrived from 
 Quebec scarcely six months before. Those long
 
 164 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 slate roofs by the river must be the Atwood 
 Works ; the queer circle far down upon the Flats 
 was the ball ground ; one of those yellow houses, 
 clinging to the side of the sand-hills away over 
 beyond the Mattawanset, was the boarding-place 
 where she had lived with Tom. For a moment 
 she lost sight of the panorama below her in won 
 dering what Tom would say if he saw her now. 
 Would his newly awakened pride resent her posi 
 tion as Dr. Atwood's kitchen servant ? Very pos 
 sibly. For herself she had learned too well the 
 lessons of the last six months to have any pride 
 about the way she earned her bread. The exulta 
 tion that had sent the blood thrilling through her 
 veins that noon was mainly that of a personal tri 
 umph over enemies who would not grant her a 
 fair chance in the struggle ; toward the man who 
 had treated her as an equal, in the face of that 
 vindictive mob, she felt a passion of gratitude that 
 would have made any service a delight. 
 
 It was with a quick instinct of affection that 
 she recalled herself from her dreamy, triumphant 
 survey of the Plated City, and hastened back to 
 the kitchen. The provisions were waiting for 
 her, and a peep through the door of the sitting- 
 room assured her that the Doctor was still in a 
 heavy sleep. She summoned every memory of 
 Tante Beaulieu's teachings for the task of pre 
 paring a supper that would tempt the appetite, 
 and hovered around the range with feverish en-
 
 TUE PLATED CITY 165 
 
 ergy. At a quarter to six she laid the cloth, and 
 found the silver basket. The table silver was 
 marked with initials that she took to be the Doc 
 tor's mother's ; at any rate, it was fashioned before 
 the days of electro-plate. At six she lighted a 
 fire on the dining-room hearth, for the north wind 
 kept rising, and at six fifteen precisely she 
 tapped on the sitting-room door. Dr. Atwood 
 was already awake. In a moment he appeared, 
 looking at the table and Esther Beaulieu in a 
 dazed fashion, as if he had forgotten how she 
 came to be there. She had discovered a pair of 
 silver candlesticks in the sideboard and managed 
 after a long search to equip 'them with candles. 
 They caught the Doctor's eye. 
 
 " Where did you find these ? " he exclaimed. 
 "My mother used to begin on the tenth day of 
 September, every year, to light those candles for 
 supper. That was her wedding-day. I suppose 
 the girls I've been hiring thought it was less 
 trouble to light a lamp. Well, well ! " 
 
 He bent over and examined the date upon the 
 old wedding gift, but seemed in no hurry to sit 
 down. At last he perceived the peculiar fragrance 
 of the coffee. People often used to stop in the 
 Rue St. Jacques to get a good sniff of the coffee 
 made by Tante Beaulieu. 
 
 "I don't know but I am hungry, after all," 
 he said benevolently, seating himself. "What's 
 this?"
 
 166 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 She hesitated. "We call it omelette aux fines 
 herbes. I do not know what your name for it is." 
 
 The cook trembled, as the Doctor took the first 
 mouthful. 
 
 " Well, it's real nice, ain't it ! " he said, to her 
 immense relief. His naturalness was rapidly re 
 turning. She was standing behind his chair, 
 where servants always stood in fiction. 
 
 " Say, you make me nervous," he exclaimed, 
 after another minute or two. " Just as if I was 
 in New York. Besides, I want to talk to you. 
 Have you eaten anything to-night ? " 
 
 " No," was the surprised answer. 
 
 " And I don't seem to remember much about 
 our getting any dinner to-day." He glanced 
 around the room. " Draw up one of those chairs, 
 and get a plate and knife and fork." 
 
 She protested, her cheeks flushing with embar 
 rassment, but she dared not disobey. 
 
 " Now," he said, " try a little of this yourself. 
 My mother always used to do the cooking when 
 I was a boy. People didn't see the harm in those 
 days of cooking the victuals and sitting right 
 down to the table and eating them. And after 
 mother began to have a girl, the girl always sat 
 down with the family. These new-fashioned ideas 
 have come in since the war. I don't know as I 
 think much of them." His manner was half 
 reminiscent, half a blunt endeavor to set her at 
 ease. She placed a chair opposite him, and toyed
 
 THE PLATED CITY 167 
 
 with some of the delicacies with which he had 
 heaped her plate. The candle-light shone full in 
 her dark, excited eyes, and Dr. Atwood grew 
 aware, for the first time, of her singular beauty. 
 It heightened his sense of the oddness of the 
 situation. 
 
 "Let's talk it all over," he said; "I want to 
 know how you came to come to Bartonvale, and 
 what sort of life they've made you lead here. Who 
 were your father and mother ? " 
 
 For a half-hour he plied her with shrewd, 
 kindly questions, and Esther Beaulieu told him 
 everything about her father, whom he dimly re 
 membered ; her mother, about whom she knew 
 scarcely anything herself ; her aunt Beaulieu and 
 the happy life in Quebec ; then about Tom and how 
 she came to join him ; Tom's struggle for social 
 reinstatement, and her own efforts to make a liv 
 ing in the Plated City, in spite of the color line, 
 down to the time when he had given her a posi 
 tion in the brush-backing room at the Works. 
 She omitted any reference to the blue heron epi 
 sode, and finding that the Doctor was not enthusi 
 astic over Tom's profession, she said little about 
 his California venture ; but in the main she poured 
 out her heart to him, and he listened with grow 
 ing admiration and surprise. When he rose at 
 last, and, in giving the necessary directions as to 
 her room and the breakfast hour, was forced again 
 to assume the role of bachelor master of the house
 
 168 
 
 addressing a new servant, it was his turn to be 
 embarrassed. She had shown such evident refine 
 ment, such courage and frankness as well as purely 
 feminine charm, that it seemed as if he scarcely 
 had the right to finish their conversation by order 
 ing her, with the grimness of long authority, to 
 set her alarm clock for a certain hour in the morn 
 ing. He had a momentary misgiving lest he might 
 have gone too far in asking her to seat herself at 
 his table ; his ostentatious democracy to-night 
 might make it seem bitterly hard for her to take 
 up again her servant's part. But she listened to 
 his commands with an irreproachable deference 
 that betrayed no sense of offended dignity. An 
 hour later, as he sat trying to read by the wretched 
 lamp in his office, she paused at the door to bid 
 him a timid " good night," and he soon heard her 
 light tread passing back and forth in the room 
 above him. By and by his newspaper slipped into 
 his lap, and he leaned back in his chair, musing 
 over her story, until long after the footsteps ceased. 
 Esther Beaulieu was soon hushed to sleep by the 
 hoarse swaying of the Atwood pines, but her 
 dreams carried her far northward. She was once 
 more a little girl, trying to write correctly, at 
 Xante Beaulieu's dictation, a recipe for omelettes 
 aux fines herbeS.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 169 
 
 IX 
 
 AT six twenty -five the next morning the Doc 
 tor's breakfast was awaiting him, and at ten min 
 utes before seven the black horses were as usual 
 at the door. He had had little conversation with 
 the new domestic during the meal ; she was occu 
 pied in keeping him supplied with hot toast and 
 fresh pancakes. 
 
 " This isn't going to be too hard work for 
 you ? " he asked, as he pulled on his gloves. " I've 
 had to keep two girls, you know." 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied, " it is not too hard. And 
 it makes me very happy to be here." There was 
 a childishness about that sentence that touched 
 him. He thought about it all the way down 
 town. 
 
 " How do you like your new cook? " Mr. Marvin 
 ventured to inquire jocosely, during the course of 
 the forenoon. 
 
 " Very much," was the dry answer, and the sub 
 ject was dropped. 
 
 To the men in the office Dr. Atwood seemed 
 preoccupied and haggard. He made no reference 
 to the events of the day before, but he omitted 
 his usual inspection of the Works, and it was easy
 
 170 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 to see that he had not recovered from the strain 
 he had undergone. For the first time in his busi 
 ness life he had felt the ground giving way be 
 neath his feet. His had perhaps been the victory 
 for the hour, but he knew that Esther Beaulieu's 
 sacrifice of her position had purchased for him 
 only a postponement. And he felt no heart for 
 the struggle: the pain of seeing faithful old 
 employees like Fennessey arrayed in unreason 
 ing opposition to him had been too great. He 
 went mechanically through his correspondence, 
 however, and betrayed by no word or action, so 
 far as he was aware, his forebodings of the future. 
 
 Towards noon a new reporter for the local paper 
 succeeded in penetrating to the inner office. 
 
 " Dr. Atwood," he asked, pencil and pad in 
 hand, "how do you stand on the Labor Ques 
 tion?" 
 
 " I stand on top," flashed back the Doctor, but 
 the fighting quality was out of his voice, and he 
 was grateful to Marvin for beckoning the fellow 
 away. By night he felt exhausted. It reminded 
 him of the weariness he had felt in those venture 
 some, exciting months after the war, when with 
 no business experience and the slenderest capital, 
 he had nevertheless put the Atwood Plate Works 
 to the forefront of the industries of Bartonvale. 
 But then he was more than a score of years 
 younger, and in his pulses there had seemed to 
 be a boundless vitality and zest. Then he had
 
 THE PLATED CITY 171 
 
 faced the future ; and that future, year by year, 
 had granted him the success he demanded at its 
 hands, but at fifty-eight his zest was gone. As 
 his horses slowly climbed the Hill to the Atwood 
 place, the Doctor grew conscious that he was old, 
 and when he sat down with his newspaper after 
 supper he felt older still. The lines wavered ; in 
 vain he wiped his spectacles and turned up the 
 lamp. It was not the lamp's fault, clearly ; for 
 it had that day been trimmed and polished in a 
 fashion that had long been strange to it. 
 
 " My eyes must be going at last," murmured 
 Dr. Atwood to himself, querulously. 
 
 Esther Beaulieu was watching him through the 
 sitting-room door. She plucked up courage. 
 
 " Could I read to you, Dr. Atwood ? " she ven 
 tured. " I used to read to my aunt, every even 
 ing. But I make so many mistakes when I read 
 English ! " 
 
 He looked at her wistfully. 
 
 " You've done enough to-day, I guess," he 
 replied. " But I did want to read a little about 
 the election prospects." 
 
 " Let me try, " she said ; and he handed her the 
 Tribune, and turned his eyes away from the light. 
 For an hour she read to him. Her mistakes were 
 indeed many, and some of them so delicious that 
 if he had not been so weary he would have laughed. 
 Nor did she understand in the least \vhat all the 
 election excitement was about. She read gravely,
 
 172 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 with a tentative, shy pause after the words that 
 were new to her as if waiting for his verdict upon 
 her effort. But he did not speak. He lay back 
 in his easy chair, with closed eyes, less heedful of 
 the election intelligence than of the low -keyed 
 music of her voice, with its soft, foreign, hesi 
 tant intonations, that fell upon his ear like a 
 caress. 
 
 The next night and the next she read to him in 
 similar fashion, and Dr. Atwood sat listening and 
 thinking. Before the end of the first week of ser 
 vice he drove home in the middle of the afternoon, 
 and found her washing the kitchen windows. 
 
 " This won't do," he said. " It's too hard work 
 for you to be in the kitchen all day, and then to 
 save my eyes in the evening. I've been thinking 
 it over. In fact, I've just come from the intelli 
 gence office. You needn't get supper to-night. 
 There's a Welsh girl coming up to do all that." 
 
 Esther Beaulieu looked at him in some alarm. 
 " I am not very tired," she replied. " And what 
 do you wish me to do ? " 
 
 He hesitated, with a kindly, half-embarrassed 
 smile. "The Welsh girl wants to cook. They tell 
 me she's a good one, and she's willing to come. 
 She could cook, you know, and you could wipe 
 the dishes, and and dust. That was my 
 idea. But the peculiar thing about the Welsh 
 girl is this : she has a sister. They have always 
 worked together ; the sister wipes the dishes, you
 
 THE PLATED CITY 173 
 
 see, and dusts. I can't get one without the other, 
 and I must have one of 'em anyway, and well, 
 it's going to be a hard winter for working people 
 and so I told them to come ahead. They're on 
 the way now." 
 
 " And I ? " said Esther Beaulieu. 
 
 " Exactly," replied Dr. Atwood, triumphantly. 
 " I've thought it all over. You could go to the 
 door. This girl's sister didn't say anything about 
 going to the door, though I suppose she could 
 any time, if you were busy. And you could read 
 to me in the evenings a good long time, every 
 evening. Then you could see to things in the 
 front part of the house. My mother, now, used 
 to have flowers in the sitting-room window, all 
 winter long. It used to take her a good deal of 
 time, every day, to tend just to them. And I 
 guess you could give the orders for the market, 
 couldn't you, and see that the meals were on time, 
 and all that? The truth is, I've had to bother 
 with those things long enough. I'm getting to 
 be an old man." 
 
 Miss Beaulieu's eyes were full of perplexity. 
 Her first impulse was one of girlish pleasure ; 
 then her gaze fell, and the old fear, forgotten now 
 for a few days, swept over her. A richer hue 
 came into her dark cheek. " Would they be 
 willing to work with me?" she asked. "In the 
 shops, you know, and the school, they said " 
 She stopped. Ah, the dreaded color line !
 
 174 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The kindly old autocrat nodded, with a bellige 
 rent twinkle in his eye. "You needn't worry 
 about that. They might or might not work with 
 you ; that ain't the question ; they're coming to 
 work for you ! Do you see ? " 
 
 She still looked troubled. 
 
 " The fact is," he confessed, " I told those Welsh 
 girls that I had a housekeeper, and that they were 
 to take their orders from you. I explained that 
 the housekeeper would sit at the table with me, 
 and have the general charge of things. They 
 understand it ; I told 'em to think it all over 
 before they made up their minds to come ! You 
 don't need to bother yourself about that, Esther, 
 not a mite, not a mite. Now if I were you, I'd 
 fix up a little and be in the front part of the house 
 when they get here. I've got to go down town 
 again. If you begin right with 'em, everything'll 
 be right." 
 
 The Doctor delivered his closing sentence with 
 a sententiousness born of long experience, but it 
 was quite wasted on Pierre Beaulieu's daughter. 
 She comprehended at last the full scope of his 
 eccentric kindness to her, and stood gazing into 
 his eyes with quick, deep breaths. Then, in 
 obedience to some alien-born impulse that recked 
 not of the conventional usages of the States, she 
 caught at her amazed benefactor's hand, and 
 bending, touched it with her lips.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 175 
 
 The forenoon after the election, Dr. Atwood 
 telephoned for Norman Lewis to come around to 
 the Works. 
 
 " Sorry, Norman," he said cheerfully, as the 
 lawyer entered the office. "I couldn't vote for 
 you, you know, but I'm glad you made so good 
 a run." 
 
 " Thank you," said Lewis. " It's over, anyhow, 
 and that's something to be grateful for. And I'm 
 quite used to being beaten. It's the third time." 
 
 " Well, they say ' three times and out,' Norman, 
 and I hope you'll pull out of it now. Leave poli 
 tics alone, or else come over to the respectable 
 side. Those fellows will work you just as long as 
 they think it best to put up a decent candidate, 
 for the sake of appearances, but you'll find they'll 
 drop you like a hot potato, as soon as they can 
 carry the town. The ungrateful devils ! " 
 
 "There seems to be no immediate danger of 
 their dropping me, then," replied Lewis, smiling. 
 " And meantime I shall stick to my own side. 
 Well, what's this about the watered stock, Doc 
 tor ? " 
 
 The men plunged into a long conversation about 
 some investments of the Doctor's, which were 
 causing him increasing anxiety. He had a good 
 deal of confidence in Norman Lewis's judgment, 
 and noticed that Lewis took essentially the same 
 view of the case as did a distinguished lawyer 
 he had already consulted in New York. Unfortu-
 
 176 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 nately, it was not that view of the case which 
 was particularly hopeful for Dr. Atwood, and the 
 younger man was impressed as never before with 
 the signs of irresolution and shifting opinion in 
 the man whose name had been in Bartonvale a 
 synonym for prompt, clear-headed action. He 
 wondered if it were not true, after all, that the 
 threatened strike at the Works had hit the Doctor 
 pretty hard. Their conversation was renewed 
 again and again during November, usually in 
 the President's down-town office, but once in 
 awhile, of an evening, in the house on the Hill. 
 
 It was after one of these interviews that Craig 
 Kennedy asked his roommate in an apparently 
 casual fashion how much he supposed Dr. Atwood 
 was worth. 
 
 " Well," was the indifferent reply, " he's worth 
 more than you or I, Craig. Of course when I sell 
 my Western securities, that may alter the situ 
 ation ! " Lewis was in good spirits that night 
 and gave himself the rare privilege of joking 
 about the burden he was carrying for his father's 
 sake. 
 
 " Doubtless ; but for the present ? " 
 
 " He's doing very well, though there have been 
 some things to worry him of late." 
 
 " Is he worth half a million ? " persisted Ken 
 nedy. 
 
 Lewis shook his head. 
 
 " Half of that ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 177 
 
 Lewis nodded. " Easily, and more too, if he 
 could realize on all his investments. His hands 
 are somewhat tied just now. This is between us, 
 Craig, of course. My own opinion is that he'd be 
 better off to-day without the Plate Works. It's 
 too much for one man to swing, at his age." 
 
 Kennedy dangled one foot over the arm of his 
 chair, reflectively. 
 
 " Why do you ask, Craig ? " 
 
 " Oh, I was just wondering," was the reply. 
 
 " Wondering what ? " hazarded Lewis. 
 
 "About those house plans," confessed the 
 younger man. "I've finished them at last, and 
 told the Doctor so the other day. I asked him 
 when he wanted to look them over, and I don't 
 know he seems some way or other to have lost 
 interest in them. He said I might bring them up 
 some evening, but he didn't speak as if he cared 
 whether I did or not. I have been trying to hit 
 upon some explanation. It was his own scheme, 
 you remember, to have me design a house for 
 that lot." 
 
 " Well," said Lewis, meditatively, " I'm not in 
 the secret, if there is any. What explanation 
 have you found ? " 
 
 Kennedy hesitated an instant. He had never 
 been quite frank with his friend as to the terms 
 of the Doctor's commission. 
 
 " Here's one, then. The plans were to call for 
 a hundred thousand dollar house. I don't think
 
 178 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the Doctor had any very definite idea as to when 
 he wanted to build indeed, I don't know that 
 he wanted to build it himself, anyway. He may 
 have had just a fancy as to the sort of house that 
 might be put up there after he was dead and 
 gone " Craig was virtuously conscious of coming 
 somewhere near the truth now, and at the same 
 time respecting the Doctor's confidence " and 
 yet it may be that he wanted to build next spring. 
 I'm sure I don't know. Now it occurred to me 
 that what with his business troubles lately it's 
 around town that he was caught badly in some 
 Western securities " 
 
 "He isn't caught yet," put in Dr. Atwood's 
 legal adviser. 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that, of course. But 
 it came over me that he might not have the 
 hundred thousand to spend, and perhaps that 
 accounted for his cooling off." 
 
 " He could raise that amount to-morrow if he 
 had to," yawned Lewis, " though I don't say that 
 he'd welcome the necessity, exactly. You'll have 
 to find some other explanation, Craig. But I'm 
 sorry if there's a prospect of the drawings going 
 the way the rectory did ! It may be that after 
 thoughts are the safest commission, after all, 
 eh?" 
 
 Kennedy, hands in his pockets, took a fidgety 
 turn or two around the room. "Hang it, Nor 
 man," he cried, " that may not be the only ex-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 179 
 
 planation ! I I wish it were. I can't help 
 thinking " 
 
 u Out with it," said Lewis, encouragingly. The 
 architect flung himself into a chair. 
 
 "It's here, Norman," he exclaimed. "Do you 
 like this talk all over the town about the Beau- 
 lieu girl being up there ? " 
 
 " N-no," admitted Lewis ; " he might have known 
 that the Plated City wouldn't keep its tongue off 
 that affair." 
 
 "Hardly!" 
 
 " But there's this to be said," put in the elder 
 man; "not a breath of it has probably reached 
 the girl herself. And James Atwood is not the 
 man to stand back from the right thing or the 
 chivalrous thing for fear of gossip. He isn't 
 happy unless some one is blackguarding him." 
 
 " The right thing ! " burst out Kennedy. " Do 
 you call it the right thing to take that girl to his 
 house, and treat her as an equal ? " 
 
 "Why not?" said the lawyer, coolly. 
 
 Kennedy made a gesture of impatience. " She 
 sits at the table with him, man ! How would you 
 like to drop in there for supper, and have Tom 
 Beaulieu's sister pour your tea ? " 
 
 Lewis eyed him in amusement. " I should have 
 liked the romance of it, at your age, Craig. And 
 as a matter of fact, that is just what I did Tues 
 day night, when you were in New York. I was 
 up there j the Doctor asked me to stay to supper,
 
 180 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and Tom Beaulieu's sister or half-sister, to speak 
 accurately poured the tea." 
 
 Kennedy stared at him. " Do you really mean 
 it ? " Lewis blew a ring of smoke, and nodded. 
 
 "All I can say, is, it's a cursed scandal ! " 
 
 The lawyer laughed outright, wondering in his 
 own mind nevertheless at his companion's heat. 
 Tolerance was usually a virtue that Craig Ken 
 nedy pushed if anything to the extreme. 
 
 " It has its pleasant side, then, like most scan 
 dals, I suppose. I can assure you she talked 
 about the weather, and the view from the hill, 
 and the history of Quebec, and such other topics 
 as my fertile imagination could suggest, very 
 much as any other girl would, only as I thought 
 with a vastly prettier accent. And her tea was 
 very good, too. Where was the sin of it?" 
 
 " Oh, it's easy enough to talk like that ! " retorted 
 the young fellow. " You're only trying to rub it 
 in, Norman. You know well enough it isn't 
 suitable. Everything isn't all right with the 
 Doctor, or he wouldn't have dreamed of it. To 
 put the most charitable construction on the whole 
 affair, and that's more than most people do, I 
 can tell you, it's simply crazy ! " 
 
 " Look here," drawled Lewis, " who was the 
 indignant young fellow, a few weeks ago, that 
 was castigating the Plated City for drawing the 
 color line on Miss Beaulieu? Why, you tried 
 to work on my sympathies : you pictured her
 
 THE PLATED CITY 181 
 
 sisterly devotion to Tom ; you egged me on to 
 get up an affidavit to the effect that Tom and 
 a fortiori his half-sister was to all intents and 
 purposes white ; in fact, it just comes over me 
 that I went so far in my zeal as to forget to 
 send you any bill for composing that affidavit 
 and getting it sworn to ! You had my services 
 for nothing, by virtue of your youth and enthu 
 siasm, my boy ! And now you're backing water 
 in the most curious way ; you're as reactionary as 
 any old woman. What's the matter ? " 
 
 Craig's handsome face grew sulky during this 
 recital, " That was before there was any talk of 
 Dr. Atwood's marrying her," he growled. " That 
 makes a different thing out of it." 
 
 "I don't grant that," said Kennedy, deliberately. 
 " What difference does it make to you or to me 
 whether Dr. Atwood marries her or not ? If you 
 hadn't said what you have, I should infer that 
 you were jealous of the old gentleman. Why 
 shouldn't he marry her if it pleases him and 
 her? He can afford the luxury, which is more 
 than can be said of us, my dear fellow." 
 
 " You're talking now just for the sake of listen 
 ing to your own arguments," flung in Kennedy, 
 beginning to pace the room again. " You're stat 
 ing the case for the other side. You know you 
 think exactly as I do. It's a confounded shame ! 
 What's the use of discussing it ? " 
 
 "I don't remember that I introduced the sub-
 
 182 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 ject," replied Lewis. " Let me see, you had 
 started to give a second explanation of the Doc 
 tor's lukewarmness toward your building project, 
 had you not? And then you swung off on this." 
 
 " Well ? " snapped Kennedy, as if impatient of 
 the unwonted slowness of his roommate's mind. 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " cried Lewis, raising his eyebrows. 
 "To be sure. You didn't change the subject, after 
 all. It's Miss Beaulieu that has caused the Doc 
 tor to neglect his promising young architect. It's 
 she you are jealous of, then, and not the Doctor ! " 
 
 Kennedy shrugged his shoulders, but deigned 
 no answer to his friend's raillery. 
 
 " Now let me think that through," pursued 
 Lewis. "An old bachelor takes it into his head 
 to have some house plans drawn. Very well. 
 Some months afterward he likewise takes it into 
 his head if you go to Main Street for your in 
 formation, which I don't, by the way that he 
 will marry his housekeeper. We'll call that very 
 well, too, begging your pardon. Now I don't see 
 that these two propositions nullify each other in 
 the least. In fact, if it's true that the Doctor is 
 going to marry Miss Beaulieu, why shouldn't he 
 want the house plans more than ever? There's 
 sound logic, and plenty of encouragement for you 
 into the bargain. Why, it's for your interest to 
 have the banns cried at once." 
 
 The younger man flushed, and halted suddenly 
 in his stride. " No, it isn't, Norman," he said
 
 THE PLATED CITY 183 
 
 quietly. " I can't very well explain, old fellow, 
 but I imagine this thing has knocked over an air- 
 castle for me ; that's all." 
 
 Lewis looked up, surprise and sympathy min 
 gling in his gaze. For himself, he had been joking 
 in the main, and humorously enjoying Craig's fit 
 of temper. A new idea flashed upon him. Had 
 the young fellow's sulkiness and evident jealousy 
 of Esther Beaulieu, and indeed the whole matter 
 of the house plans, anything to do with Sally 
 Thayer? There was no other subject, certainly, 
 about which Craig had ever shown any reticence. 
 "I'm tremendously sorry " he began in an altered 
 tone. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " exclaimed Kennedy, pulling himself 
 together, "I'm all right. I've had no business 
 to say anything about it. People get over such 
 things." 
 
 " They thrive on them," assented Lewis, grimly ; 
 and the two men sat in silence for a while, listen 
 ing to the rush of the swollen Mattawanset, as it 
 swept beneath their windows in the midnight fog. 
 
 Dr. James Atwood remained characteristically 
 indifferent to the astonishment and scandal which 
 his latest eccentricity had caused in the Plated 
 City. Apparently he gave himself no concern as 
 to any possible change in Esther Beaulieu's social 
 status, resulting from her altered position. The 
 evening when he had persuaded Norman Lewis
 
 184 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 to stay to supper, he had indeed observed with 
 secret pleasure that the lawyer conversed with her 
 as he would have done with any one else. Two 
 or three times, on Sunday morning, she accom 
 panied him at his request to the Congregational 
 church upon the Green, where they sat side by 
 side in the old Atwood pew, the Doctor arrayed 
 in irreproachable broadcloth, and his protegee in 
 one of those cheap but marvellously fitting gowns 
 that had been the despair of the librarian. It 
 was a fine sight to see the stout-hearted Doctor 
 walk down the centre aisle, and usher that tall, 
 foreign-looking girl into the family pew ; and 
 fully a quarter of the congregation lingered on 
 the step after the service was over, to see him 
 hand Esther Beaulieu into the carriage. But she 
 could not be made to feel at home in the Congre 
 gational church, in spite of the fact that one 
 mother in Israel, bolder than the rest, called upon 
 her, and invited her to join the Young Woman's 
 Bible Class. After a little, Dr. Atwood came 
 alone, as had been his unfailing custom, and Miss 
 Beaulieu was driven down to St. Asaph's, where 
 she slipped into her former place in one of the back 
 pews. The watchful eye of Whitesyde Trellys 
 observed her fidelity, and mindful of even the 
 most indirect opportunity to knit connections be 
 tween St. Asaph's and the people that lived on the 
 Hill, he, too, climbed up to the Atwood place and 
 made her a call, selecting for this pastoral duty,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 185 
 
 however, an hour when he was very certain that 
 Dr. Atwood would be engaged at the Plate Works. 
 The rector was now studying French in his odd 
 moments, but he was not yet prepared to meet 
 James Atwood's eye. 
 
 There was exactly one other person, as the 
 autumn darkened into winter, who ventured to 
 call upon Esther Beaulieu. It was Miss Thayer. 
 Urged partly by her own curiosity to see how the 
 girl would comport herself under the Doctor's 
 roof, partly by a genuine interest dating from 
 Miss Beaulieu's first visit to the Library, and 
 partly by her mother's opinion that the Christian 
 people of Bartonvale ought to show some charity 
 towards one whom Dr. Atwood's rash kindness 
 had placed in a position of singular isolation, the 
 librarian paid her a visit. Contrary to Sally 
 Thayer's expectation, it was she herself who felt 
 embarrassed at the outset : Miss Beaulieu leaned 
 back in one of the big haircloth chairs in the 
 Atwood parlor, and seemed very much at ease 
 there. The conversation ranged over a variety of 
 topics, and grew femininely animated long before 
 the call was over. Miss Thayer was in turn puz 
 zled, fascinated, and piqued at herself for the air 
 of Christian condescension with which she had 
 pulled the door-bell. Really, she thought, this 
 French girl was an extraordinary creature, with 
 her shy way of dropping her long eyelashes and 
 then the very next moment flashing her clear eyes
 
 186 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 fearlessly at you with lip and nostril that seemed 
 quivering with pride ; no wonder the dear old 
 Doctor had become her champion ! To be Quix 
 otic was delightful. Would not Miss Beaulieu 
 come to see her ? 
 
 As Norman Lewis had surmised, scarcely a 
 breath of Bartonvale gossip reached Esther Beau- 
 lieu. Perhaps she would not have greatly cared, 
 if she had known. Safely perched upon the crest 
 of the Hill, out of the Plated City's reach, she felt 
 an indifference as to what might be said of her 
 that was quite equal to the Doctor's. She adapted 
 herself to her newest duties with an instinc 
 tive tact. The Welsh girls, after one or two 
 skirmishes, decided that it was more prudent to 
 do as they were asked, and developed a docility 
 that was the secret amazement of Dr. Atwood. 
 For the first time in twenty years, he found him 
 self daily looking forward to getting home, and 
 luxuriating in genuine comfort. The sitting- 
 room filled up with flowers, as in his mother's 
 time, and in the window twittered a canary, 
 the very image of a certain Don Cesar de Bazan 
 which had been reared by Tante Beaulieu. The 
 furniture in the melancholy-looking office, where 
 Miss Beaulieu read aloud the papers every evening, 
 was brightened until the Doctor recalled that it 
 was mahogany after all, and that Mrs. Gascoigne 
 had once tried to buy it of him. The inalienable
 
 THE PLATED CITY 187 
 
 stiffness of the New England parlor, indeed, re 
 sisted every effort that the girl made to render it 
 less rigid and funereal, and she had to content 
 herself with cleaning the frames .of the daguerro- 
 types and waxen wreaths and ancient crayons, and 
 with dusting the books that were piled thick upon 
 the corner " what-nots " and hanging shelves. 
 
 What singular books there were scattered here 
 and there over the Atwood house ! She had 
 plenty of time to peep into them, as she gaily 
 dusted the tops and slapped the covers, and 
 as she peeped, her wonder grew. In the black 
 chintz-covered bookcase in the hall, were the 
 works of Edwards and Emmons and Samuel 
 Hopkins, and endless other ancient Systems of 
 Divinity ; with Histories of the World, and a 
 Descriptive Geography of Connecticut. The Doc 
 tor's unused medical library stood in fat, sickly- 
 looking rows on the high shelves in the office. 
 In the sitting-room and parlor were volumes 
 designed for family reading ; such as the Me 
 moirs of Edward Payson and Kirke White, and a 
 whole Evangelical Family Library ; the poems of 
 Mrs. Hemans and L. E. L. and John Milton ; and 
 there was an edition of Thaddeus of Warsaw in 
 two volumes, and of Clarissa Harlowe in seven, 
 and the earlier numbers of The Boston Recorder, 
 and The North American Review. There were 
 boys' books there too or whatever thin piosities 
 passed for boys' books in the forties ; tarnished
 
 188 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 little volumes inscribed by the scrupulous mother's 
 hand with the names " James Atwood," " Everett 
 Atwood," and the birthday dates. Curious enough 
 they all were to the keen mind of the girl who had 
 been taught to read in a volume of Diderot, and 
 had filled her childish imagination with the tales 
 of Dumas pere ! Often she sat idle, in the short 
 ening afternoons, with one of the old Atwood 
 books open upon her lap, dreaming about her own 
 childhood, or oftener still about Tom. Letters 
 were coming regularly from him now. He was 
 in high spirits again, and " playing the game of 
 his life," though he wrote that if she would look 
 at the scores in the papers he sent, he always, 
 nevertheless, forgot to send them she would 
 find that his manager was playing him under a 
 Spanish name, to avoid any possible trouble, and 
 to advertise the team. The girl scarcely liked 
 this subterfuge, but for that matter the details of 
 Tom's " business " never ceased to be a source of 
 wonder to her, and she was overjoyed to know 
 that he was well and happy and that he had 
 successfully put the past behind him. That was 
 enough, and she dreamed all sorts of futures for 
 him, starting up sometimes to find that the brief 
 afternoon had vanished and to hear the step of 
 James Atwood in the hall. 
 
 The Doctor's dependence upon her seemed to 
 increase with every week. He turned from his 
 business perplexities with a delight that was quite
 
 THE PLATED CITY 189 
 
 new to him, and questioned her as to the com 
 monplace details of housekeeping, and wandered 
 off into reminiscences of his mother, and of his 
 own boyhood, and of the sleepy old Bartonvale 
 that fringed the Green with its white houses long 
 before it occurred to anybody that there was water 
 power enough in the Mattawanset to turn the 
 village into a city. It was a relief to James At- 
 wood, in these days, to let his mind travel back 
 ward, instead of forward, forward, as he had 
 spurred it for five and twenty years. He even 
 wondered sometimes, if his business career had 
 not been all a mistake, if it might not have been 
 better for him to remain a country doctor, dis 
 tasteful as that life had grown after his return 
 from the war. Had it been worth while to be one 
 of the men indeed, the man above all others 
 who had built up the Plated City ? 
 
 He was in this mood one Sunday afternoon in 
 December, as Miss Beaulieu sat reading a maga 
 zine to him by the open fire in the sitting-room. 
 She thought him unusually tired ; he had been 
 closeted with Norman Lewis in the office for two 
 or three hours the evening before, discussing some 
 business emergency, and though Mr. Lewis had 
 lingered a few moments in the sitting-room and 
 chatted politely to her as she sat over her week's 
 mending, it seemed to Miss Beaulieu that the 
 lawyer, too, looked grave. She wondered if there 
 was any new trouble at the Works. To-day Dr.
 
 190 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Atwood scarcely gave attention to the article she 
 had so carefully selected to read to him, and when 
 she finished it, he walked over to the bookcase, 
 and peered hither and thither over the shelves. 
 He came back with a small book, bound in black 
 cloth, bearing in faded gilt the title, Mammon by 
 Harris. 
 
 " I don't know as I have thought of this book 
 for ten years," he said, with a sort of gentle con 
 trition in his tone, " and yet when mother gave it 
 to me she hoped I would read it every Sunday. I 
 did, I guess, for a while." He scanned the pale 
 ink upon the fly-leaf, and shook his head. " Can 
 you make that out ? " he asked. " My eyes must 
 be about gone." 
 
 The girl took the book and read, " James At 
 wood, from liis Anxious Mother, November, 1865. 
 ' He gave them their request, but sent leanness into 
 their soul, Ps. cvi. 15.' ' 
 
 " That must have been the fall before she 
 died," said the Doctor, slowly. "Twenty-three 
 years ago last month. She was let's see 
 she was almost sixty when she wrote that, and I 
 was a man grown, but she always would worry 
 about me. She was afraid I might get too fond 
 of money, and so she wanted me to read that book. 
 Do you see ? No man ever had a better mother 
 than I had. Suppose you read a little," he con 
 tinued. " Strike in anywhere. It's all pretty 
 much alike, if I remember."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 191 
 
 Esther Beaulieu opened at the section on "Dis 
 guises of Covetousness " and began at random, in 
 her quaint, pure intonations. 
 
 "The propriety of an early retirement from 
 business must depend, of course, on circumstan 
 ces. But how often does the covetousness which 
 wears this mask retain her slave in her service 
 even to hoary hairs, putting him off from time to 
 time with delusive promises of approaching eman 
 cipation. Or else he retires to spend, in slothful 
 and selfish privacy, that which he had accumu 
 lated by years of parsimony. Or else, by min 
 gling readily in scenes of gaiety and amusement, 
 he shows that his worldly aversions related, not to 
 the world of pleasure, but only to the world of 
 business. Instead of fixing his abode where his 
 pecuniary resources and Christian activity might 
 have rendered him an extensive blessing, he con 
 sults only his own gratification, establishes him 
 self at a distance, it may -be, from ' the place of 
 the altar ' and, in a regular round of habitual 
 indulgence, lives and dies an unfaithful steward, 
 a sober sensualist, a curse rather than a bless 
 ing. 
 
 " Sometimes covetousness is heard enlarging 
 complacently on the necessity, and even piety, of 
 providing for children. And here be it remem 
 bered " 
 
 "Well, I don't know as that hits my case," 
 broke in the Doctor, settling himself more com-
 
 192 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 fortably in his chair. " Suppose you skip a little 
 and strike in again." 
 
 She turned a few pages and recommenced, 
 
 " Your station, property, or mental character 
 invest you, it may be, with a measure of author 
 ity and influence ; do you ever employ that power 
 to oppress, and to overrule right ? Are you what 
 the poor denominate hard-hearted ? capable of driv 
 ing a hard bargain? rigid and inexorable as an 
 Egyptian taskmaster in your mode of conducting 
 business ? enforcing every legal claim, pressing 
 every demand, and exacting every obligation to 
 the extremest point of justice ? 
 
 "Are you what is commonly denominated mean? 
 cutting down the enjoyments of those dependent 
 on you to the very quick ? never rewarding exer 
 tion a little beyond what is ' in the bond ' ? doling 
 out requital for services with so niggardly a hand, 
 that want alone would submit to your bondage ? 
 
 " Can you go beyond and defraud another in 
 any matter ? Do not hastily resent the question ; 
 for " 
 
 The reader looked up suddenly, thinking that 
 Dr. Atwood had spoken. His lips were indeed 
 parted, but, far from resenting the Rev. Mr. 
 Harris's burning questions, he had fallen tran 
 quilly asleep.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 193 
 
 IT was three o'clock on a stinging midwinter 
 morning. The moon was long down, but the 
 clear starlight glittered upon two feet of crusted 
 snow. Past the front of the Mattawanset Club, 
 around the long loop that wound through the 
 snow-bent shrubbery, out upon Summit Street and 
 thence past the club house again, circled the closed 
 sleighs of the Hill people, the fur-caped coachmen 
 slapping their arms and swearing softly, the sleigh- 
 runners crunching on the hard-packed snow, while 
 the close-clipped horses tossed their heads wearily, 
 and their silver-plated harness tinkled in the biting 
 frost. 
 
 At the Mattawanset Club, Ladies' Night came 
 but once a year, and each successive house com 
 mittee endeavored to outdo its predecessor in the 
 elaborateness of the honors paid to the annual 
 guests. This winter the Club had gone very deep 
 indeed into its pockets, and the catering, decorat 
 ing, and music had been provided by a New York 
 establishment whose very name wrought like a spell 
 upon the people of the Hill. The Ladies' Night 
 had proved more indubitably a success than ever. 
 Supper had been served to the last pair of strag-
 
 194 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 glers, the orchestra had unweariedly attacked the 
 final section of their programme, the elderly people, 
 including many a chaperon, had left, and the 
 members of the house committee, drifting together 
 in a deserted corner of the smoking-room, were 
 shaking hands in self-congratulatory enthusiasm. 
 Downstairs, in a palm-embowered recess of the 
 billiard room, which had been cleared for dancing, 
 sat a brown-bearded man, watching with a kind 
 of dreamy curiosity the extravagant performances 
 of eight of the younger set who were dancing 
 the Lancers. At his side was Sally Thayer, still 
 breathing deep from her last waltz, and gowned in 
 a brocaded silk that had cost her a whole month's 
 salary. She looked up at him suddenly. 
 
 " I wish you'd tell me what you are thinking of, 
 Mr. Lewis. It's sure to be something, oh, some 
 thing that nobody else would think of ! " 
 
 He laughed. " That's doubtful flattery ! Well, 
 to be honest, I was thinking that towards morn 
 ing the Plated City's plating sometimes wears a 
 trifle thin." 
 
 She swept her eyes over the improvised ball 
 room, from the rompers upon the floor to the 
 bediamonded chaperons in various unattractive 
 stages of fatness and leanness, yawning behind 
 their fans. She knew every person in the room : 
 not a single ludicrous pretence, nor covert ambi 
 tion, nor clever feminine expedient escaped her. 
 
 " That is delicious," she murmured. " We do
 
 THE PLATED CITY 195 
 
 need ' dipping ' every few hours, don't we, if we 
 mean to impose upon each other ! But don't you 
 think it would be a waste of silver ? You, for 
 instance, would be forever scratching through the 
 plating, just the same." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm not forever scratching," put in 
 Lewis, in self-defence. 
 
 " You do something much worse, then," she 
 laughed. " You wait very innocently until some 
 splendid, shiny moment comes, and then you 
 scratch hard. Here was I, a minute ago, sitting 
 so comfortably, admiring the skirt of my new 
 gown. And you remind me that I haven't paid 
 the dressmaker, and that there's a spot on the 
 front breadth already." 
 
 " My dear Miss Thayer," he protested, ." I didn't 
 even look at your gown." 
 
 " So much the worse for you, sir ! You should 
 have. Isn't it pretty ? Come ! But you've 
 brought me back to sordid realities. You've 
 managed to remind me that there isn't a woman 
 on the sofas there who hasn't guessed who made 
 it, and how much it cost me, and that it's destined 
 to last me two years, spots or none. That's the 
 real Hill metal : they care for the price of things ; 
 our mutual airs and graces are just the plating, as 
 you say." 
 
 " It seems to me that your claws are getting 
 sharper than mine," said Lewis. 
 
 "No," she retorted, "because you see I think
 
 196 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the real Hill metal is a good thing, when you 
 scrape down to it, and I don't believe you do. 
 You rail against it ; you make fun of us, plated or 
 unplated, you needn't deny it ! Whereas I 
 laugh with you at the plating, but am thrifty 
 enough at bottom to admire the business sense of 
 these people, their faculty of getting on, get 
 ting up the Hill." 
 
 " And I'm not thrifty enough to admire it ? " he 
 inquired drily. 
 
 " I didn't mean that," she said hurriedly, re 
 membering things Craig Kennedy had dropped 
 as to Lewis's poverty. "I simply mean that I 
 like the Hill people of whom, by courtesy and 
 by childhood association, you will please to observe, 
 I am one when they are talking naturally, when 
 they are just themselves. Did you notice where 
 Craig and I sat when supper was served ? Well, 
 what do you think those two women who were 
 behind us were talking about? You saw the 
 diamonds, didn't you, and their Paris gOAvns ? 
 They were discussing the price of butter and 
 the best way to make lemon ice ; just like any 
 two confidential farmers' wives up and down the 
 Valley. And why shouldn't they ? They were 
 both farmers' girls, who simply happened to marry 
 men who went into manufacturing instead of 
 farming. Consequently I like to hear them talk 
 about butter and lemon ice. It's when they talk 
 about Germans and ' coming out ' parties, yes,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 197 
 
 and books and travel, that I make fun of them. 
 Then I rebel ; but do you know, I fancy you 
 rebel all the time." 
 
 It was a keen thrust, delivered quite uncon 
 sciously. Lewis reflected a moment. "Very 
 possibly," he said. " At any rate, yours is the 
 more healthy point of view. But you will admit 
 that the spectacle of the Hill set in gala dress 
 confuses one a little. I don't get used to it. 
 Things seem to be very much mixed socially, 
 the moment you get beyond the Green and into 
 High Street." 
 
 " Mixed ? It's dreadful, but it's delightful too. 
 That is " she dropped her voice and smiled at 
 him confidentially " if you are snugly established 
 upon a corner of the Green, and haven't money 
 enough to move up the Hill, even if you wished. 
 It's a fine spectacle and great fun. There's posi 
 tively no one to draw the lines, now that Mrs. Gas- 
 coigne is away; and we're fearfully in need of 
 sorting ! " 
 
 " And Mrs. Gascoigne herself ? " suggested 
 Lewis, satirically. 
 
 " Exactly ; a shoemaker's daughter, I know, 
 and married a machinist at first, and a Gascoigne 
 afterwards. But that doesn't make any differ 
 ence now. She was born with a genius for 
 settling difficult points, and the Hill needs her. 
 When is she coming back ? Didn't you tell her 
 where to go? "
 
 198 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Lewis nodded. 
 
 " That seems so queer to me," said Miss Thayer. 
 " You don't go abroad yourself, and yet you plan 
 such delightful trips for other people. Craig told 
 me that she spent two hours up in your rooms, 
 and that she gave him that order for a bay-window 
 by way of showing her gratitude to you." 
 
 " Well, there was nothing she could do for me," 
 replied Lewis, lightly. " I suppose she will sort 
 me periodically, for which I should be duly grate 
 ful. But it was Craig, as usual, who had all the 
 tangible luck." 
 
 " I wanted to ask you about Craig," said Miss 
 Thayer, slowly, smoothing out some folds in her 
 skirt with her closed fan. " You know him 
 thoroughly. Of course you are his best friend." 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted Lewis. The waltzing 
 had recommenced, and at that instant Craig glided 
 past the recess, with one of the winter's debu 
 tantes, and nodded gaily over her beribboned 
 shoulder at the pair seated among the palms. He 
 looked singularly handsome, and the girl was the 
 best dancer in the room. 
 
 "You were saying ?" Lewis remarked. 
 
 Her eyes followed Craig and his partner. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied. " I want to ask if you 
 think Craig's luck hurts him. Do you see what 
 I mean ? " 
 
 " For instance ? " he said. 
 
 " Well, that bay-window for Mrs. Gascoigne, for
 
 THE PLATED CITY 199 
 
 instance. He seems to come by such things so 
 easily; they seem to tumble into his lap." 
 
 " They don't tumble in so very often," said 
 Craig's roommate, loyally. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but everything he gets, he gets 
 in that way, doesn't he? It has always been so. 
 Whatever Craig wants he has for the asking. 
 People don't like to refuse him. And I've been 
 wondering that is, I have sometimes wondered 
 if it wouldn't be better for him if people did 
 refuse him things, if he had to work harder, I 
 mean. Do you suppose it would be good for him 
 if he had to worry more, or don't you ? " 
 
 " Speaking as his roommate, I shouldn't wish 
 his temperament changed in the least. I am ugly 
 enough for two, as it is." He was inwardly de 
 bating her question. 
 
 " Of course," she admitted, " people blessed with 
 good spirits are more cheerful bodies to have 
 around, though mother does say my spirits are so 
 high that they frighten her. But that wasn't quite 
 the point at issue." 
 
 " You mean, then," he said, judicially, nursing 
 one knee between his locked hands, " that if Craig 
 didn't light on his feet so invariably, it might be 
 better for Craig ? " 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " That's a hard question," was his grave re 
 sponse. " Do you remember what the priest says 
 in John Inglesant about being ' led by happiness ' ?
 
 200 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Sometimes I think Craig is being led like that. 
 And at other times " Lewis's voice changed to 
 an abrupt fierceness "I swear I think the Plated 
 City will ruin the fellow yet. This eternal tinker 
 ing with the Hill places will be the death of him 
 professionally. It will knock the capacity for 
 hard work out of him in time. Suppose he does 
 get a fancy price now and then, for designing a 
 new staircase, or sticking on an outside chimney, 
 or putting a cupola on a barn. Suppose he has 
 that accursed knack of wheedling old women into 
 putting in stained glass where they don't want it. 
 I tell you I'd rather see him working at a brick 
 tenement down on the Flats." He checked him 
 self with a characteristic smile at his own earnest 
 ness. 
 
 " Don't stop," she said. " You don't know how 
 I like to hear you say these things." 
 
 " No, I've had my discontented fling, and that's 
 enough. You may ask Craig sometime to pull 
 me to pieces in return. I am a very old friend of 
 his, you know." 
 
 " And so am I," she said. " I want all to go 
 well with him." 
 
 They sat silent for a few moments, apparently 
 gazing across the room at the orchestra. Then 
 Miss Thayer returned to her cross-examination. 
 
 " But surely he can do good work. Mr. Trel- 
 lys showed me once the church plans that Craig 
 had drawn. I thought they were ever so good.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 201 
 
 And he had some important work to do for Dr. 
 Atwood in the fall. He was going to show it to 
 me, he said, but he never did, and lately he has 
 said nothing about it." 
 
 " Can they possibly be quarrelling ? " thought 
 Lewis, remembering his former suspicion that the 
 Doctor's commission might have something to do 
 with Sally Thayer. " Is that why she is analyzing 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied indifferently; "there was 
 something of the sort on hand, I believe, but I got 
 the impression that the Doctor may have changed 
 his mind. I remember that Craig was disap 
 pointed." 
 
 "But on your theory," she went on, her eyes 
 fixed on the toe of her satin slipper, " disappoint 
 ment would be a good thing for him." 
 
 " It was your theory," said Lewis. " I only 
 elaborated it a little. And I think I didn't use 
 the word ' disappointment.' ' 
 
 "But that was what you meant? Yes, that he 
 needed disappointment, or responsibility, or " 
 
 The music ceased suddenly, and Kennedy 
 brushed past them, laughing at some remark of 
 the excited debutante, whom he was conducting 
 back to her mother. 
 
 " Or whatever else it might be that would turn 
 him into a disgruntled old fellow like myself? 
 That's what we usually mean when we find fault 
 with other people's experiences ; we mean that
 
 202 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 they simply have not the advantages we have per 
 sonally enjoyed." 
 
 The light bitterness of his tone puzzled her ; 
 then things that Craig had told her about Lewis's 
 support of his father came into her mind. 
 
 " Thank you," he went on ironically, as if speak 
 ing to himself. " The boy is better off as he is. 
 Let him grow old when he has to, and not before. 
 Just look at him ! " 
 
 Kennedy was crossing the room straight toward 
 them, his hair disarranged, his collar wilted and 
 white tie straggling, but his step was unwearied 
 as an athlete's, and his eyes were sparkling with 
 pure animal spirits. 
 
 " I understand now ; I think I never did be 
 fore," she whispered hurriedly. Lewis's affection 
 ate word "boy" had interpreted to her that of 
 which she herself had been but vaguely conscious. 
 Norman Lewis, grave, ironical, gentle, with a 
 mental and emotional life of which she had never 
 had more than glimpses, was a man. Craig was 
 nothing but a boy. Yet he was a dear boy, never 
 theless. 
 
 " Is this your dance, Craig ? " she said ; and 
 they were gone. 
 
 Norman Lewis glanced at his watch, and started 
 leisurely toward the coat-room, but at the door 
 he paused, and stood looking at Craig and Miss 
 Thayer. She was dancing even more perfectly, 
 he thought, than the debutante,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 203 
 
 " Is their engagement announced ? " said a low, 
 husky voice behind him. Lewis turned. White- 
 syde Trellys was leaning there, too, his pale eyes 
 fixed upon that couple, his clerical garb heighten 
 ing the pathetic, mystical expression of his face. 
 
 " I have not heard of it," replied Lewis, stiffly, 
 and then he felt a sudden pity for the man at his 
 side. " I don't know that they are engaged," he 
 added with a smile. " Do people say so ? " 
 
 " Oh, I understand that she has been receiving 
 congratulations to-night. Otherwise I shouldn't 
 have spoken, you know." 
 
 Lewis shook his head. " It's the first I've heard 
 of it. And I've been talking to Miss Thayer for 
 the last half -hour." It flashed on him, neverthe 
 less, that Miss Thayer's questions about Craig 
 might have had a deeper purport than he had 
 suspected. Had the young people been deliber 
 ately mystifying him? He grew a trifle red at 
 the thought of it. 
 
 " I beg pardon, then," said the rector of St. 
 Asaph's, with a weak laugh. "I supposed you 
 would know. I did not wish to be among the 
 last to congratulate her, if it were true ; we were 
 old tennis partners, you may remember." 
 
 "Yes," said Lewis, "I remember." 
 
 They separated to let some one pass, and then, 
 by some new instinct of companionship, found 
 themselves once more side by side. 
 
 " She might do much worse," hazarded Trellys.
 
 204 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Just run your eye over those ten no, eleven 
 men upon the floor." 
 
 Lewis surveyed them in the character of puta 
 tive claimants for Sally Thayer's hand. A couple 
 of them, sons of Plated City magnates, were, as 
 every man and woman in the room well knew, 
 thoroughly disreputable ; three or four others 
 were silent, successful young fellows who kept 
 whatever sins or virtues they might have had 
 well out of the reach of Main Street gossip ; 
 the rest were indubitably men whom a good 
 woman might marry and make over again, sigh 
 ing perhaps occasionally in the making. 
 
 " She might do very much worse indeed," said 
 he, half to himself. " Trellys," he demanded 
 abruptly, "what is the matter with the Plated 
 City ? You must think about such things more 
 than most of us do ; what ails those fellows upon 
 the floor?" 
 
 " Aimlessness," pronounced the rector, in his 
 fatigued, positive voice. "They have no intel 
 lectual interests. Did you know that the work 
 ing people down on the Flats read more books 
 than the people here on the Hill ? They do ; I 
 have taken great pains to inform myself as to the 
 facts. Why, Mr. Lewis, I believe the intellectual 
 life of this place is growing more slender every 
 year. The pretensions to culture are fearfully 
 superficial ! And boys grow up here with the 
 idea that New York sets the standard for every-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 205 
 
 thing. If Bartonvale were further from New 
 York, I should be thankful. These young fel 
 lows aim to dress and talk and act like New 
 Yorkers it is the only aim most of them have. 
 And do their best, it's all an imitation." 
 
 " Silver plate," suggested Lewis. 
 
 "Precisely. It isn't the real thing. That's 
 why I like to get back to my working-girls' clubs, 
 and all that, on the Flats. There you have the 
 genuine article, such as it is." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Lewis. "And yet I meet 
 you on the Hill very often, Trellys." 
 
 The rector's eyes brightened with a mystical 
 enthusiasm. "The Church has a message for the 
 Hill, too," he said simply. 
 
 " You think the Mattawanset Club has a soul, 
 then, if you could get at it ? " 
 
 " Don't you ? " said the rector. 
 
 "I presume so," laughed Lewis, a trifle reck 
 lessly. "You see I belong to the Club myself. 
 But I think it would be like finding the heart of 
 an onion ; you would have to peel and peel, before 
 you found it." 
 
 " No," said Whitesyde Trellys. " It is nearer 
 the surface than that. There are splendid 
 qualities hidden away beneath the plating. 
 They may be revealed at any hour. If I did 
 not believe that, I should never come near the 
 Hill again." 
 
 " Between you and Miss Thayer," said Lewis,
 
 206 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 after a pause, " the Plated City has been well 
 championed to-night. She was vouching for the 
 women, and now you assert your underlying faith 
 in the men. It leaves me posing as the sceptic." 
 
 " She does believe in the Hill women, does she 
 not, for all her raillery ! " exclaimed Trellys, 
 eagerly. " She will be a noble woman herself. 
 See, they are coming this way, aren't they ? no, 
 she is going to the dressing-room ; they must 
 be leaving now." Then he hesitated an instant, 
 and the yearning, pathetic look came into his face 
 again. " Mr. Lewis," he asked, " why aren't you 
 more of an idealist ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow," replied Norman Lewis, " I'm 
 too much of one already," and nodding good night 
 to the puzzled rector of St. Asaph's, he made his 
 way to the coat-room. 
 
 Craig was standing by the rail, fumbling cheer 
 fully in his pockets for his ulster check. Lewis 
 drew him aside. " Craig," he whispered, " some 
 one has started the report that you and Miss 
 Thayer are engaged. People have been congrat 
 ulating her to-night. I thought you ought to 
 know." 
 
 Kennedy stared at him with a curious, half- 
 boyish, half -troubled expression in his blue eyes. 
 "Thank you, old man," he said, "thank you." 
 And he tossed down a quarter to the boy who 
 had handed him his ulster, and swung out of the 
 room. Sally Thayer, enveloped in wraps, was
 
 THE PLATED CITY 207 
 
 already waiting for him, but there was a moment's 
 delay with the horses, and Lewis reached the front 
 step in time to close the carriage door. It was 
 just four o'clock. 
 
 " Take you down if you like, Mr. Lewis," called 
 out the driver of the carriage next in line. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," was the answer. " I'd 
 rather walk." And he trudged off down the 
 hill, in the frosty starlight. 
 
 Waking late, and dressing silently, so as to 
 avoid disturbing Kennedy, Norman Lewis was 
 quietly passing out of their joint study that morn 
 ing, when the sound of a mighty splashing in 
 Kennedy's tub arrested him, as his hand was upon 
 the outer door. 
 
 "All right, Craig?" he called out. "Want 
 some breakfast saved for you ? " 
 
 "What's that?" shouted Kennedy. "Break 
 fast ? Well, I should think so ! Say, hold on, 
 Lewis. Come here ! " The door of his room 
 opened sufficiently to allow the exhibition of his 
 dripping head and shoulders, and one waving 
 arm. 
 
 "Shake, old man," he cried, tossing the cold 
 water out of his merry eyes, and gripping Lewis's 
 hand with his wet fingers. " We're engaged ! " 
 
 " Since when, if I may ask ? " said Norman 
 Lewis. 
 
 " A quarter past four, or thereabouts. You
 
 208 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 see we thought that we might as well be hung for a 
 sheep as a lamb ! " he added, rather incoherently. 
 "Give a dog a bad name you know " 
 
 Lewis wrung his hand. " I congratulate you 
 with all my heart, my boy." 
 
 " I knew you would. Well, it's great ! It's 
 the greatest thing on earth ! Tell 'em to save 
 some breakfast." The door was slammed again, 
 and the splashing recommenced with renewed 
 vigor. 
 
 The news of the engagement was received with 
 enthusiastic approval along High and Summit 
 Streets. Both Craig and Sally were popular in 
 these more exalted Bartonvale circles, and as 
 everybody knew that they had been friends since 
 babyhood, there was the usual amount of wonder 
 at the fact that they had not become engaged long 
 before. Toward two people only did Craig feel 
 conscious of emotions different from the buoyant 
 self-satisfaction with which he received the con 
 gratulations of the majority of his friends. One of 
 the persons whose approval Craig had every reason 
 in the world to desire was, most naturally, the 
 mother of his fiancee. He entered the quiet, gera 
 nium-scented room to beg her blessing with some 
 thing of the shamefacedness he had been wont to 
 experience as a boy whenever she had dismissed 
 him from the yard in disgrace for trying to teach 
 Sally to climb the plum tree. But she was very
 
 THE PLATED CITY 209 
 
 lovely to him. Her daughter had prepared her 
 for the interview, indeed, and had coached Craig a 
 little as to the nature of his remarks, so that the 
 young fellow's path was made smooth for him. 
 And not every gay-hearted, red-blooded youth of 
 five and twenty could find it easy to enter the 
 sacred peacefulness of that invalid's home and ask 
 if he might not himself share it in the future, 
 for any separation of mother and daughter was of 
 course quite impossible. But Mrs. Thayer, with 
 her yearning, sick-bed eyes, looked Kennedy long 
 in the face, and knew she could trust him. She 
 said so, in touching, almost affectionate words, and 
 he went out, all unwitting of the struggle she had 
 gone through before surrendering the hope that 
 Sally might, after all, fall in love with a minister. 
 It was with some misgivings, likewise, that 
 Kennedy climbed the Hill to the Atwood place to 
 tell his engagement to the Doctor. For two or 
 three months he had jealously avoided him, under 
 the suspicion, which he had betrayed to Lewis, that 
 the Doctor's cooling zeal for the house plans was 
 traceable to his new interest in Esther Beaulieu. 
 He found this person, on his arrival, familiarly 
 ensconced before the sitting-room fire, reading 
 aloud to the Doctor, who lay stretched upon the 
 old haircloth sofa. The Welsh housemaid had 
 asked him into the sitting-room without any cere 
 mony, and there was a moment of embarrassment. 
 Miss Beaulieu, rising, glanced at him in some un-
 
 210 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 certainty. It occurred to Craig that if he had 
 not been just engaged to Sally Thayer, he would 
 allow himself to think that the Doctor's protegee 
 was marked by an extraordinary beauty. Dr. 
 At wood, sitting up slowly, and blinking benevo 
 lently in the strong light, for he had in truth 
 been napping, recognized at length the architect. 
 
 "Oh, hullo, Craig, it's you, is it! Well, well! 
 Glad to see you. Take a chair. Er Miss 
 Beaulieu, this is Mr. Kennedy." 
 
 Mr. Kennedy bowed elaborately. Miss Beau- 
 lieu seemed to hesitate about resuming her seat. 
 
 " I wanted to say something to you, Doctor," 
 said Craig. Miss Beaulieu promptly retreated 
 from the room. 
 
 "A ha ? " yawned the Doctor, encouragingly. 
 
 " Yes. The fact is, you see, Sally Thayer and 
 I are engaged to be married." 
 
 Dr. Atwood pulled his spectacles down from 
 his forehead and settled them in place. His eyes 
 seemed singularly bright, withal, and his erect 
 tufts of white hair gave him a curiously alert 
 expression. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! " he remarked deliberately. 
 " You and Sally are engaged ! I didn't know 
 but she would take up with that Episcopalian 
 fellow, after all. She's a nice little girl, a nice 
 little girl. You've been a good while getting 
 round to it, haven't you ? " 
 
 " All of our lives, I think ; " at which beatific
 
 THE PLATED CITY 211 
 
 sentiment the Doctor sniffed somewhat incredu 
 lously. 
 
 Kennedy sat leaning forward in his chair, wait 
 ing for the Doctor to proceed. 
 
 " I wish you happiness, Kennedy," said the old 
 gentleman, after a pause. " And I don't see how 
 you can fail to have it, though you're going into 
 something that I haven't known anything about 
 myself. It's this winter for the first time in 
 twenty-five years," he went on, "that I could 
 say I had the comfort of a home. I ought to have 
 had it long before." 
 
 These words rang ominous in Craig's ear. They 
 seemed a confirmation of his suspicions as to what 
 the Doctor was going to do next. 
 
 " I suppose, Dr. Atwood," he remarked, think 
 ing it would be as well to have the matter over 
 with at once, " that you don't care to have me 
 keep those house plans any longer ? " 
 
 The Doctor peered narrowly at him. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Well, I thought you might have changed your 
 mind." 
 
 "Why should I change my mind? Don't I 
 think as much of Sally Thayer as I ever did? I 
 don't say a man hasn't a right to change his mind, 
 but why should I change mine ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Kennedy, weakly. 
 
 "Yes, you do," asserted James Atwood. 
 " You've heard some of this fool talk down town
 
 212 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 about the old Doctor and " He nodded signifi 
 cantly toward the door through which Miss 
 Beaulieu had taken her departure. 
 
 Kennedy was silent. 
 
 " I knew you had. Now I want to say this, 
 Craig. When you're fifty-eight years old, and 
 going on fifty-nine, I hope you'll learn to go ahead 
 and do what you want to do, and let folks talk 
 their tongues right down to the socket ! This 
 town has talked me over ever since I came back 
 from the war and quit practising. Much good 
 has it done 'em ! They've had the fun of it all 
 these years, and I never have cared the flip of a 
 lamb's tail and I never will care what people 
 say about James Atwood on Main Street. I know 
 well enough what they're saying now. They can't 
 get over this Beaulieu girl's being here, and they're 
 saying that there's no fool like an old fool. Do 
 you suppose that does me any harm ? Why, I take 
 more solid comfort in fifteen minutes lying here on 
 this sofa with my eyes shut, listening to that girl 
 reading, than their talk would hurt me in fifteen 
 years ! No, sir ! ' Tliere's only one way of getting 
 through this world with any satisfaction, Craig, 
 and I'm going to tell you what it is. Perhaps 
 you'll remember it when I am dead and gone. 
 You want to make up your own mind what is 
 the right thing to do, and then go right along. 
 That's it. You want to learn to go right along. 
 Then, if you've got money enough to pay your
 
 THE PLATED CITY 213 
 
 debts, you can tell everybody on this broad earth 
 to go to the devil." " f~7~ 
 
 " Thank you," said Kennedy, laughing in spite 
 of himself; "I'll bear that in mind." 
 
 " Now let me see, what were we talking about ? " 
 inquired Dr. Atwood. 
 
 " The plans for a stone house." 
 
 " To be sure. Well, you drew some good plans, 
 Craig, very neat very neat. What does Sally 
 think of them ? " 
 
 " Sally hasn't seen them. I haven't said any 
 thing about them, beyond the fact that I had 
 been doing some work for you which I might 
 sometime show her. " 
 
 " Well, why haven't you shown them to her ? " 
 
 Craig hesitated, and then broke into a frank, 
 boyish smile. " I'll tell you, Doctor. Now that 
 we're engaged, it doesn't make any difference. 
 When you first proposed the thing, last summer, 
 I didn't think I ought to say anything to Sally, 
 because well, because it wouldn't have seemed 
 quite fair to another man. If I had given her 
 your message, it would have looked like putting 
 a premium on myself, wouldn't it? And after 
 wards, when I found that the other man didn't 
 have much of a chance, anyway or perhaps it 
 was before that, I don't exactly remember, I 
 looked at the matter rather differently, and had 
 half a mind to tell her, after all. But then came 
 up this other thing, I mean Miss Beaulieu's com-
 
 214 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 ing here, and you seemed not to take much 
 interest in the plans any more, and I don't know 
 
 in short, I didn't know but you had other 
 things in mind. " 
 
 " I see," said Dr. Atwood. " You pick up your 
 news about me on Main Street, Craig. Better 
 not, better not. Well, go on." 
 
 " Why, that's all, except that since we've been 
 engaged I haven't said anything about it because 
 
 well, we've been engaged only a day or two, 
 and there have been so many other things to talk 
 over. And I don't want Sally to think, and I'm 
 sure Sally and I wouldn't want anybody to think " 
 
 the Doctor liked the pride that came into the 
 young fellow's face " that our happiness is de 
 pendent upon the sort of house we are to live in." 
 
 " Good enough ! Now I'm going to be equally 
 frank with you. I have had other things on my 
 mind, Craig, ever since last fall ; a good many of 
 them, but Miss Beaulieu isn't one. The only 
 plan I have for her, as far as I know now, is to 
 give her a good home as long as she wants it. 
 But I've had things to worry me, Craig, ever since 
 the election. I don't know how we're coming out 
 down at the Works ; and there's a long story 
 about some investments, too, that I guess Norman 
 Lewis hasn't said anything of to you. He's a 
 close-mouthed fellow, ain't he ? Yes, and a nice 
 fellow too, ain't he ! Well, the truth is, Craig, I 
 haven't known very well where I stood. Some-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 215 
 
 times I think I'm about through and that I'd 
 better pull out, myself, while I can, provided 
 everything can be put into proper shape. Lewis 
 keeps telling me to go slow, go slow, and not tie 
 myself up anywhere, till we can see just where we 
 are. Now do you understand why I held you off 
 a little ? It isn't that I think any less of Sally ; 
 not a bit, not a bit. She's all right ; there'll 
 always be somebody to look out for Sally." 
 
 " I should hope so," remarked Sally's betrothed, 
 sturdily. 
 
 " I should like to see her living sometime in just 
 the sort of house she wants," Dr. Atwood went on 
 musingly. " Tell her so, will you ? And show 
 her what you've drawn. There wouldn't be any 
 harm in that ; and I suppose you might have 
 some fun in talking it over together. You've got 
 to talk about something, I suppose. Eh ? But I 
 want it understood that I can't bind myself to 
 anything just now. It'll take some time for me 
 to get out of the woods. Let's see, how much 
 money did that design of yours call for ? " 
 
 " A hundred thousand was what you spoke of," 
 replied the architect. 
 
 "H'm," said the Doctor. "I'd forgotten just 
 what was said. Well, that ought to build a good 
 house. It's a good deal of money, but I don't 
 know but money might as well go that way as 
 any other. It's quite a problem what a man ought 
 to do with his property, provided he has more
 
 216 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 than he wants himself. Those things bother a 
 man of my age considerably. Say, did you ever 
 read a book called Mammon by Harris ? " He 
 took it from the table. The surprised young 
 fellow shook his head. 
 
 "No, of course you haven't. Come to think 
 of it, why should you? Your property hasn't 
 troubled you much up to date, has it ? " The 
 Doctor chuckled at his little joke. 
 
 " Not much," smiled Kennedy. 
 
 " It's curious now," said the Doctor, " how easy 
 it is for some folks to divide up another man's 
 money in their mind's eye, and tell him just what 
 he ought to do with it. Even this fellow Harris, 
 who seems to have some pretty good ideas, gets 
 into that streak occasionally. Where is that 
 place ? Oh, here. What do you think of this, 
 for instance ? ' In the great majority of instances, 
 however, the portion of the testator's property 
 which ought to be set aside for benevolent pur 
 poses, is more clear to any disinterested consistent 
 Christian, than it is to the testator himself.' How 
 is that ? " 
 
 "Well," said Kennedy, "I should think a man 
 ought to know his own business best." 
 
 " Right you are ! " cried the Doctor. " I guess 
 Jim Atwood '11 have the say about his own prop 
 erty, and not those disinterested fellows down on 
 Main Street. Eh? You can tell Sally that if 
 you want to."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 217 
 
 Craig told Sally all about this interview, the 
 next evening, and the girl seemed rather awe 
 struck at the Doctor's proposal. 
 
 " It's all on account of mamma," she whispered 
 to Craig. " The Doctor and mamma, you know 
 before she married papa do you know ? " 
 
 Craig said he knew. 
 
 Whereupon they went back to the house plans, 
 and though they agreed at the outset, and again 
 as they rolled the blue sheets up at last, that it 
 really made no difference what sort of house they 
 lived in if they only had each other, there was an 
 hour or so, in between, when they were unanimous 
 in the opinion that to have each other in that 
 particular sort of house would be very agreeable 
 indeed. 
 
 It was when Miss Thayer confided the Doctor's 
 proposal to her mother that the affair took an un 
 expected turn. The widow had listened silently, 
 but with growing agitation, to Sally's excited nar 
 rative. Finally she stretched out her thin hand, 
 and her fingers tightened around her daughter's 
 wrist. 
 
 " Sarah Thayer," she said huskily, " it seems to 
 me that I could not bear to have that happen. It 
 would be wrong do you understand why ? it 
 would be wrong ! Oh, my dear girl," she sobbed, 
 " don't you know that the reason he is doing 
 this is that ever so long ago he he wanted to 
 marry me ? And when we came back from Bur-
 
 218 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 mall, you and I, it was just the same ; he had 
 loved me, Sarah, all that time, and I was married 
 to your papa. I knew it was wrong for him to 
 love me then, and it would be wrong for me to let 
 him give you his money now. He would be doing 
 it because of me, and I must not let him ! " 
 
 Then she broke down completely, and hid her 
 face. By and by, with another effort of what was 
 still an iron will, she calmed herself. 
 
 " And there is another reason why I wish James 
 Atwood not to do this. Sally dear, do you know 
 what I dread for you more than anything else ? 
 What I have dreaded for you ever since you 
 were a little, little girl ? It is that you should 
 grow up to be a worldly woman. It would have 
 been better for you to die out there in Burmah 
 and be buried by the mission chapel, better for 
 you and for me, than to come back to Barton- 
 vale and grow into a worldly woman. If James 
 Atwood gave you that fine house, the best house 
 in the city, as you say, I know the things of the 
 world would gain a very strong hold over you, 
 my dear. You could not help it, living in such a 
 house, on the very top of the hill. And it makes 
 me afraid to think of it. Can you not be very 
 happy, you and your husband, my dear, here in 
 the little house on the Green ? ' Love not the 
 world, neither the things that are in the" world.' 
 It passes away, Sally you remember the verses 
 in the Epistle."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 219 
 
 " You dear mamma," said the girl, softly, " don't 
 be troubled. I couldn't be any happier if I had 
 all the houses in Connecticut. Let me smooth 
 your forehead a little there there, isn't that 
 nice ? " 
 
 Several minutes passed. Then Mrs. Thayer 
 raised herself, struggling with a smile against the 
 pain that daily tortured her. Her eyes were very 
 bright. 
 
 " I am sorry for James Atwood," she said. 
 " He lives all alone in the old house, except for 
 hired servants and that French girl. I am glad 
 you are so kind to her, Sally, but I wouldn't get 
 too intimate, if I were you ! I don't know how 
 much comfort he takes, as he grows old, but I 
 want to get him to do something that will give 
 him happiness as long as he lives. Will you give 
 me some paper and ink, Sally ? " 
 
 The daughter looked at her in amazement. It 
 was years since the widow had penned a line. 
 
 " Yes, please. I feel quite strong this after 
 noon, and I have thought it all over. I am going 
 to write a note to James Atwood."
 
 220 
 
 XI 
 
 THE turnstiles at the Polo Grounds clicked, 
 clicked, as if there had never been an opening day 
 for the League before, and might never be again. 
 It was scarcely three o'clock, but the crowd 
 streamed in from the elevated road, the surface 
 cars, and the dusty pavements, without cessation. 
 If base-ball was losing its hold of the popular 
 heart, as croakers affirmed, there ^was as yet no 
 evidence of it in New York. The huge " bleach 
 ers " that stretched away on either side of the 
 grounds were packed, an hour before the game, 
 with spectators that needed not the strains of the 
 Harlem band to arouse their enthusiasm, and the 
 rocks on Deadhead Hill were black with men and 
 boys. On the grand stand the April air was 
 chilly, and the first comers climbed down to the 
 front seats, as much to get into the sunshine, as to 
 secure a better view of the players. But out on 
 the " bleachers " there was a comfortable spring 
 time warmth, and the ancient patrons of the game 
 sunned themselves contentedly upon the familiar 
 boards, and exchanged connoisseur-like specula 
 tions upon the relative strength of the contesting 
 teams.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 221 
 
 The New York nine had had its annual " shaking 
 up," with what betterment of its chances for the 
 championship, however, remained to be seen. Their 
 opponents for the opening game of the season were 
 the "Buccaneers," whose brilliant though belated 
 rush for the pennant the year before had placed 
 them at the top of the League. The Buccaneers 
 had likewise secured some new players; a pitcher 
 or two from one of the minor leagues, and an 
 in-fielder from California, a Spaniard, it was said, 
 who had made a phenomenal record on the Pacific 
 Coast during the winter. As the time for calling 
 the game drew near, the enthusiasm of the crowd 
 grew momentarily. Men from both teams were 
 on the field, batting flies, and throwing around 
 the bases, or pitching and catching over in the 
 shadow of the grand stand. Now and then a 
 clever pick-up or long running catch was greeted 
 with an applause that showed that not a move 
 ment of the men was lost upon the spectators, and 
 the veterans, on both sides, received shouts of 
 friendly recognition. At last the field was 
 cleared, the band struck up a march, the players 
 and their mascots filed out upon the diamond 
 amid tumultuous acclamation, and wheeled off 
 toward their respective benches. The Buccaneers 
 took the field, the umpire turned up the legs of his 
 trousers, and the game began. 
 
 Two or three innings had passed, when a black- 
 coated body of working men, forty or fifty strong,
 
 222 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 pushed their way vociferously along the front of 
 the bleachers, on the east side. They had come 
 down from Connecticut, on excursion tickets, to 
 witness the opening game of the League, and were 
 wrathful at the lateness of their train. After some 
 difficulty, they squeezed into top seats, and lighted 
 fresh cigars, in full consciousness that Bartonvale 
 ought to show itself on familiar terms with the 
 ways of the Polo Grounds. A few of them bought 
 score cards, and volubly instructed the rest as to 
 the personnel of the two teams. As no runs had 
 been made on either side, the Plated City excur 
 sionists soon persuaded themselves that they had 
 not lost much, and their normal good humor re 
 turned to them. They vied with one another in 
 picturesque comment upon the game, and no feat 
 ure of it escaped their eager notice- 
 All at once, the New Yorks being at the bat, a 
 ball was hit sharply to second. The Buccaneer 
 fumbled it for an instant, and then recovering him 
 self dexterously, threw his man out in the very 
 nick of time. 
 
 " Say, who is that fellow ? " exclaimed one of the 
 Bartonvale men. " He throws like Tom Beaulieu, 
 don't he ! " 
 
 " Got that same over-hand motion," said the one 
 addressed. "Tom used to play an awful good 
 third, didn't he ! Let's see, where is he now ? 
 Out West, somewhere, aint he ? " 
 
 " I thought you read the Sun ! " put in another,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 223 
 
 contemptuously. " Didn't you know Tom was in 
 California ? They say he is making big pay there 
 this year." 
 
 " Seems to me I did hear that," was the reply. 
 " That fellow on second reminded me a little of 
 Tom. Bigger, though, ain't he ? " 
 
 It was a dull stage of the game just then, and 
 this question proved a fertile one to the Barton vale 
 specialists. They agreed on the whole, that if the 
 Buccaneer second baseman would pull off that big 
 sweater, or rather, keep it on, and run a dozen 
 miles a day, he might get down to Tom Beaulieu's 
 figure, but that Beaulieu was a better ball-player 
 than the Buccaneers had ever got hold of yet. 
 
 " What's that second baseman's name ? " some 
 one asked languidly. " Where's your score card ? 
 Oh, sure enough, Mendoza ! The Spaniard, you 
 know." 
 
 "To be sure," said the man who read the 
 Sun. " I heard they were going to try him at 
 second." 
 
 Just then a man hit safely, and they stopped 
 talking. The batter following made what seemed 
 like a safe hit too, a hot ground ball almost directly 
 over second. The crowd yelled. But Mendoza 
 darted toward the ball, picked it up on the dead 
 run with one hand, touched the bag in passing, and 
 then, wheeling, threw the runner out at first as 
 coolly as if he had the whole afternoon before him. 
 It was a double play that sent a roar of delight all
 
 224 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 around the field : that was something like base 
 ball as it used to be ! 
 
 " Bully for the Spaniard ! " sang out somebody 
 on the east side of the field. 
 
 The cry brought one of the Bartonvale men to 
 his feet like magic. For him there was just one 
 ball-player, and no other, capable of a stop and 
 throw like that. 
 
 " Spaniard be d d ! " he screamed hoarsely. 
 " That's Tom Beaulieu ! " 
 
 At the sound of that name the second baseman 
 unconsciously turned his face towards the bleach 
 ers, and then the other forty Bartonvale men 
 recognized him too, and jumped up on their nar 
 row board seats and shouted as one man : 
 
 " Hullo ! ! Tom ! ! " 
 
 A prompt and unsympathetic chorus of "Shut 
 up ! " " Sit down ! " greeted this display of pro 
 vincial patriotism, and the Plated City men re 
 sumed their seats slowly, a few of them still 
 waving their hats toward the Spaniard, who ob 
 stinately refused to look their way again. They 
 quite lost interest in the rest of the inning, so 
 intent were they upon framing satisfactory theories 
 to account for Tom Beaulieu's appearance, under 
 an assumed name, among the Buccaneers. Their 
 demonstrations of proud acquaintance with a mys 
 terious player, about whose engagement by the 
 Buccaneers the papers had had already much 
 to say, excited curiosity all along the bleachers.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 225 
 
 Two bronzed-faced young men, in particular, sit 
 ting close behind the Bartonvale delegates, lis 
 tened attentively to their guesses about Beaulieu. 
 Finally one of them touched a Bartonvale man on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " What are you fellers givin' us about de man 
 on second ? " 
 
 "It's Tom Beaulieu," was the complacent re 
 sponse. " Played third on the Plated Citys last 
 year, and led the State League in batting. He's 
 a daisy. Why, I've seen that fellow play ball 
 ever since he was so high ! " 
 
 " Then he ain't no Spaniard ? " 
 
 "Spaniard? No. I guess you'll find he comes 
 nearer being a nigger ! " 
 
 "A coon?" The man scowled. 
 
 " That's what they say. I dunno. He's always 
 passed for a nigger, anyway. Seems to me last 
 summer, though, Tom claimed to be a white man, 
 after all. Pretty late in the day, I guess, though 
 he's light enough." And the Bartonvale man 
 turned back to the game again. 
 
 " D'ye mind dat, Mike ! " exclaimed the bronzed- 
 faced man to his companion. They were both 
 professional players, and the speaker had just 
 been released by the Buccaneers. " D'ye mind 
 dat, man ? Dat gives away de whole bluff, eh ? 
 Mendoza's a coon ! Let him sign wid de Cuban 
 Giants : dere ain't no place for him in de big 
 League. It won't go down. Say, won't dere be 
 Q
 
 226 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 de hell of a row when dis gets out among de 
 bhoys ? " 
 
 His friend winked, with a black look at the 
 man who had usurped an American's place. 
 
 Upon Tom Beaulieu himself, the unexpected 
 recognition of his townsmen wrought disastrously. 
 He made a hit in the fifth with his wonted clever 
 ness, and the Bartonvale excursionists clapped and 
 stamped. It was like old times ! But their 
 applause seemed to confuse the Spaniard, and a 
 moment later he was caught napping on first, 
 amid the jeers of the supporters of the New 
 Yorks. In the seventh inning he let an easy 
 ground ball roll between his legs, and stood 
 looking after it in a dazed fashion that called 
 out an amazed oath from the captain of the 
 Buccaneers. Mendoza was clearly " off " for some 
 reason or other, and when the New Yorks drew 
 ahead in the eighth, it was deemed more prudent 
 to send him to the bench, to the disgust of the 
 men from Bartonvale. In the ninth, when a hit 
 would have saved the day for the Buccaneers, and 
 the man who had taken Beaulieu's place struck 
 out, the Plated City connoisseurs agreed that it 
 served the Buccaneers quite right for taking Tom 
 out of the game. They entertained each other, 
 the two bronzed-faced men, and many another base 
 ball enthusiast, all the way out to the entrance of 
 the Polo Grounds, with reminiscences of close 
 games which had been won by Tom Beaulieu's
 
 THE PLATED CITY 227 
 
 timely batting in the ninth. A dozen of them 
 lingered about the entrance, in the hope of catch 
 ing a glimpse of their metamorphosed fellow-towns 
 man, but he stayed in the dressing-room until long 
 after the last spectator had left the field. 
 
 " Witt they keep the Spaniard f " was the head 
 line that caught Esther Beaulieu's eye the next 
 afternoon, as she furtively opened the New York 
 paper. Tom had written her, days before, to be 
 on the watch for his first game in the League. To 
 her bewilderment, the paper seemed to imply that 
 the Spaniard's playing had not been satisfactory. 
 The technical language of the paragraph, which 
 headed the columns devoted to base-ball gossip, 
 was quite incomprehensible to her, but it was 
 plain enough that, in spite of one or two brill 
 iant plays, Mendoza had done some stupid things, 
 and very likely had lost the game for the Buc 
 caneers. Her heart went out to him in swift 
 sisterly pity. It must be such a terrible disap 
 pointment to Tom ! He had written so hopefully 
 of his engagement in the big League ; it seemed 
 to crown his phenomenal winter's work in Cali 
 fornia. She had riot seen him since he came 
 East, for it had been necessary for him to join 
 the Buccaneers at once. She had had nothing 
 to go by except two or three letters, and they 
 had never hinted at a possibility of failure : they 
 had made her happy all through the dragging
 
 228 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 New England spring. The assumed name had 
 indeed not ceased to cause her misgivings, but 
 in her ignorance of the American sporting world, 
 she had accepted Tom's assurance that the 
 Spanish name was in his case a necessary part 
 of his professional career ; something, she sup 
 posed, like the stage-name of an actor. And even 
 now it did not appear that the false name had 
 caused any trouble. It was simply that the new 
 player had failed to justify expectations. Poor 
 Tom ! but surely they would give him another 
 chance? Her eyes filled as she thought of his 
 failing now, after all his dreams. 
 
 Wait ! There was another paragraph still ! 
 There were some curious rumors among the 
 spectators, it went on to say, regarding the real 
 identity of the California player whose purchase 
 by the Buccaneers had excited so much interest 
 in the base-ball world. It had been stated posi 
 tively on the bleaching boards that Mendoza was 
 the man whose great batting record, the previous 
 season, in the Connecticut State League, was still 
 fresh in the minds of many a lover of the national 
 game. This was a very singular coincidence. 
 Perhaps the manager of the Buccaneers could 
 throw light upon it if he cared to. One thing 
 would be evident to everybody ; there would be 
 no occasion for any discussion of the color line in 
 connection with players of the National League. 
 That point had been settled, years before.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 229 
 
 Miss Beaulieu laid down the paper with the old 
 terror at her heart. If it was a question of the 
 color line, she felt drearily certain that Tom's 
 doom was sealed. And the next day, surely 
 enough, the head-line ran : " He's a Connecticut 
 Spaniard, After AIL How is this, Buccaneers ? " 
 A reporter had been sent to Bartonvale, and the 
 personal and professional history of Tom Beau- 
 lieu, alias Mendoza, was given in full detail. It 
 was only fair, to state, the paragraph added, that 
 in Beaulieu's native town there were some who 
 doubted the fact that he was a negro. Yet he 
 had been allowed to play in the State League, 
 under a special agreement, with the understanding 
 that he was a colored man. And why should the 
 California manager who had sold his services to 
 the Buccaneers, and the Buccaneers' manager who 
 had bought them, try to impose upon the public 
 in this fashion ? Let us have, this year, straight 
 base-ball ! An interview with the manager of the 
 Buccaneers followed. His tone was inclined to be 
 combative. He had positive legal proofs in his 
 possession, he said, which rendered any discussion 
 of the color line, in connection with Beaulieu, a 
 piece of absurdity ; there was no law against a 
 player's assuming any name he pleased ; and the 
 Buccaneers did not propose to part with what 
 promised to be a valuable acquisition to their 
 team, in obedience to a little foolish talk at the 
 opening of the season. Is this a bluff? queried
 
 230 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the editor of the sporting column. If the man 
 ager means business, why was not Beaulieu played 
 in the second game of the series ? 
 
 Rain prevented the third game which the Buc 
 caneers were scheduled to play in New York, and 
 they moved on to Boston. The discussion of 
 Mendoza's capacity as a player, and his eligibility 
 to an engagement in the National League, was 
 continued in the Boston papers, but it yielded 
 place in the New York dailies to other base-ball 
 topics of still more pressing interest. Esther 
 Beaulieu was left in ignorance of her brother's 
 fate. For a whole week there was no word of 
 the Spaniard in the paper, and still no letter from 
 him came. Her anxiety deepened daily, but she 
 shrank from saying anything to the Doctor, and 
 there was no one else with whom she felt she 
 could discuss Tom's affairs. She pictured him 
 growing reckless and despondent, ostracized by 
 his associates, and yet dreading to come back to 
 Bartonvale and acknowledge the failure of his 
 great venture. Oh, if he would but come back, 
 and let her pet him into forgetfulness of all else 
 but her, were it only for a day ! Then they two 
 would plan and plan once more, as they had in 
 those August days of the year before, and some 
 thing might happen yet ! There were so many 
 chances and happy chances in the world. 
 Had not her own life, for the last few months, 
 proved it ? And Pierre Beaulieu's daughter, in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 231 
 
 spite of her forebodings, dreamed out future after 
 future, in which all might still be well for herself 
 and Tom. 
 
 Meantime the ball-player's professional career 
 was rapidly approaching its crisis, if indeed its cri 
 sis had not been reached in New York at that shout 
 of recognition from the natives of the Plated City. 
 The real difficulty, as the manager of the Bucca 
 neers perceived the very day after that opening 
 game, lay in the attitude of Mendoza's fellow- 
 players. Some one had evidently been talking 
 to them, and the sudden jealousy and hostility 
 towards the new in-fielder had been so marked 
 that it was considered inadvisable to play him in 
 the second game. The captain of the team made 
 no secret of their disaffection, nor of the cause for 
 it : the Buccaneers did not propose to play on the 
 same team with a colored man. In vain did the 
 manager, loath to lose a player of Beaulieu's stamp, 
 try ridicule, persuasion, command. He brought 
 out a copy of the affidavit, which his man had 
 obtained before leaving Bartonvale, and showed 
 it to the player who was most open in his resent 
 ment at Beaulieu's engagement. It happened 
 that the fellow had studied law for a while before 
 betaking himself to the diamond, and being shrewd 
 enough to look behind Lewis's legal phrases and 
 discover the purely negative character of the asser 
 tions therein made, he simply laughed in the mana 
 ger's face. The talk of the men grew hourly more
 
 232 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 open. The Spaniard was sullen and resentful. 
 Nothing but prompt intervention prevented a row 
 in the parlor car, as they were on their way to 
 Boston, one of the players having remarked that 
 for him one nigger at a time in a drawing-room 
 car was enough, and that nigger was the porter. 
 In the first Boston game, the captain of the Bucca 
 neers was persuaded to put Mendoza on second 
 again. He played marvellous ball, but the rest of 
 the team sulked, and the Bostons won as they 
 pleased. In the Buccaneers' dressing-room, a 
 quarter of an hour later, there was a quarrel in 
 which the descendant of a long line of Irish kings 
 was knocked down, and for some ten minutes his 
 sorrowing associates were betting, five to three, 
 that he would never get up again. He did, at 
 last, but the incident proved conclusively to the 
 manager that it was impossible to maintain har 
 mony in the team, and he was reluctantly obliged 
 to give way. The next day Esther Beaulieu's 
 paper contained a dispatch from Boston to the 
 effect that Mendoza, the much advertised second- 
 baseman of the Buccaneers, had been released. 
 
 It was a fatal blow to Tom's hopes, though he, 
 too, had gloomily foreseen it, since the first day 
 in New York. Henceforth the only livelihood he 
 had known was closed to him. No League team 
 would have him now. After the publicity given 
 to his case it was not likely that he could find an 
 engagement even in one of the minor base-ball
 
 THE PLATED CITY 233 
 
 organizations. The Connecticut League, in which 
 the adroit wire-pulling of his friends had with 
 difficulty secured permission for him to play the 
 year before, had this season gone out of existence. 
 There was no use in going back to California, 
 where his old manager had so easily persuaded 
 him to try the assumed name. They would hoot 
 at " the Spaniard " now. As a ball-player, he had 
 but one resource : it was to seek an engagement 
 with the Cuban Giants, and thus confess himself 
 a negro, once for all. And this, with a pride that 
 had for long months grown great, now that he 
 tasted equality, he swore he would not do. He 
 was as good a white man as anybody, was he not, 
 in spite of the stigma which he had borne all his 
 life? Why not? And again and again, in the 
 days that followed his release, he locked the door 
 of his hotel, or chose some deserted bench on the 
 Common, and spelled out the blind phrases of his 
 tattered affidavit, and tried to carry his head high. 
 He was as good as anybody ; he would serve the 
 first man that doubted it as he had served that 
 sneering fellow in the dressing-room. Yet he 
 shrank from going back to the Plated City. It 
 seemed to him that he could never walk its streets 
 again and look his old admirers in the eye. Some 
 one would be sure to whisper " Spaniard " at him 
 around the corner of the street, or ask him why 
 he was not playing ball. No, he could not go 
 back to Bartonvale, not even to see Esther. Deep
 
 234 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 down in his heart, he knew that she would be 
 better off without him. He had felt that when 
 he started for California. It was doubly true 
 now, when, as her long letters in the winter had 
 told him, she was living up at Dr. Atwood's, on 
 the Hill. There was no place for him there, and 
 however lovingly she might have written about 
 going away with him sometime, when he had made 
 the fortune of which he wrote her, or whether he 
 did or not, there must be no more talk of that, 
 now that he was discredited and perhaps going to 
 the dogs. He ought to keep out of the way, and 
 not spoil her chances too. 
 
 So, week after week, he stayed on in the North 
 End of Boston, living upon his winter's earnings, 
 and finding plenty of persons who were willing to 
 help him spend them, without ever drawing the 
 color line. He drank hard, some days, and was 
 loud and free in his talk, but his more common 
 mood was one of reticence, almost moroseness, and 
 there was at times a sullen fierceness in his face, 
 as he sat brooding over his affidavit, or sauntered 
 defiantly along the North End streets. One day, 
 thanks to the good-natured manager of the Buc 
 caneers, there was forwarded to him one of the 
 anxious letters which Esther had persisted in 
 sending to all the cities where she read that the 
 Buccaneers were playing ball. He read it many 
 times, gloomily, and then wrote an answer on the 
 paper of a third-rate hotel.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 235 
 
 "As for coming back to Bartonvale I can't no 
 how. Not after what's happened. Except at 
 night. If you ever hear a little knock at At- 
 wood's back door, when everything's quiet, it's 
 me. Say, will you do something ? See old Cyrus 
 Calhoun yourself and make him tell you every 
 word he knows about mother. I hated to ask 
 him. Mr. Kennedy had a lawyer see him, but 
 the lawyer might lie. They wouldn't believe 
 the affidavit. Calhoun works in the machine 
 shops and does over time most every night, if 
 you don't want to go day times. I am not going 
 to drink any more. But don't know what will 
 become of 
 
 " Your loving brother, 
 
 " TOM BEAULIEU."
 
 236 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 XII 
 
 SALLY THAYER'S wedding day was set for the 
 first week of June. The state of her mother's 
 health, and the tiny size of the house on the Green, 
 made any elaborate affair out of the question^ and 
 the Hill people were scarcely surprised to learn 
 that the ceremony would be private. But the 
 house committee of the Mattawanset Club put 
 their heads together It happened that Craig 
 Kennedy had in January been chosen president of 
 the Club. What could be more fitting, considering 
 all the circumstances, than that the Club should 
 tender its president and his bride a reception, fol 
 lowing the ceremony at the house ? This solution 
 of the difficulty that had seemed to prevent the 
 two most popular young persons in the Hill set 
 from having a proper " send off " was hailed with 
 universal acclamation. Craig and Sally, indeed, 
 were in too transcendental a mood all through 
 May to take any great interest in the preparations 
 to do them honor, but they acquiesced in every 
 thing, and the house committee went triumphantly 
 ahead. 
 
 One incident alone occurred during those final 
 weeks to cause Miss Thayer some of the perplexity
 
 THE PLATED CITY 237 
 
 which no bride escapes, however loyally the en 
 deavor is made to take all perplexities out of her 
 hands. It concerned the question of inviting 
 Esther Beaulieu to the reception at the club house. 
 The house committee, in whose name the invita 
 tions were to be issued, felt themselves in a pecu 
 liar position. Dr. Atwood's interest in Miss 
 Thayer was well understood, and the impression 
 was prevalent upon the Hill that in making her 
 a wedding present he would evince an extravagant 
 generosity. But Dr. Atwood was also well under 
 stood to be the champion of Esther Beaulieu, and 
 likely to resent any slight that might be cast upon 
 her. To be sure, he had never made any attempt 
 to launch her in the Hill society, but he was felt 
 to be quite capable of making such an effort if the 
 idea occurred to him. Would the chivalrous old 
 gentleman be angered if his " ward " as some 
 people were beginning to call Esther Beaulieu 
 were not asked to the wedding reception of the 
 girl who had so long been the Doctor's favorite ? 
 The question was still further complicated by 
 the fact of Miss Thayer's friendship for Esther 
 Beaulieu. The relations of the two young women 
 had grown constantly more cordial throughout 
 the winter, and if there was not now a real inti 
 macy between them, there was something very 
 like it. Would it be courteous to the bride to 
 fail to invite to her bridal reception a young 
 woman with whom she was obviously on the
 
 238 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 friendliest terms ? And yet the house committee 
 had to face the awkward truth that the Hill 
 people Miss Thayer and one or two church 
 workers excepted had never chosen to recognize 
 the existence of Esther Beaulieu. They had in 
 deed entertained themselves by discussing her 
 relations with Dr. Atwood from every possible 
 point of view, but as far as the girl herself was 
 concerned, they had ignored her as completely as if 
 she had lived in Central Africa, where, to tell the 
 truth, a good many Plated City people persisted 
 in thinking that she really belonged. She was 
 born on Nigger Hill, was she not ? Very well, 
 Dr. Atwood ought to have let her stay there. 
 Thus reasoned the residents upon Summit Street. 
 
 Finally, the very day before the cards were to 
 be issued, the wavering house committee seized 
 upon Norman Lewis. As he was to be Kennedy's 
 best man, and had hitherto had no official func 
 tions whatever, they persuaded him that it was 
 his duty to ascertain the bride's wishes in regard 
 to Dr. Atwood's ward. If Miss Thayer wanted 
 her at the reception, the committee gallantly 
 asseverated, at the reception she should be, even if 
 half the Hill people stayed away in consequence. 
 
 Armed with these instructions, Lewis presented 
 himself at the Thayer house that evening, and 
 found Miss Sally burning various bundles of old 
 letters in the parlor fireplace. He chose to be 
 amused at the solemnity with which she was per-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 239 
 
 forming this ceremony, and insisted upon helping 
 her tear up the final bundle and throw the bits 
 into the flames, making droll remarks the while 
 upon the necessity she seemed to feel of burning 
 her ships behind her. Then they passed joint 
 eulogies upon Craig, for a while, and at last 
 Lewis broached his errand. She listened gravely, 
 thrusting away with the poker at the charred 
 remains of her maiden correspondence. 
 
 " What a funny way men have of doing 
 things ! " she broke out at last. " But it's 
 very nice of the house committee to send you 
 down." 
 
 He bowed. "Is that all I shall tell them?" 
 
 "No, I suppose I must settle it," she said 
 vaguely. " Dear me, what a mixed-up world it 
 is, isn't it ! And Mrs. Gascoigne not back yet, to 
 straighten everything out for us ! Isn't it unfort 
 unate ? " 
 
 " Very," assented Lewis, encouragingly. 
 
 " Esther was in here this very afternoon," con 
 tinued Miss Thayer. " I like her ever so much ; 
 I think she is charming. I showed her some of 
 my things, gowns, you know, and she was as 
 pleased as a child. And my going-away bonnet 
 is it awful for me to be telling you these mys 
 teries ? wasn't just right. It wanted the merest 
 tilt. I knew, but I couldn't tell where. The very 
 instant that girl saw it, she discovered what the 
 matter was, and she simply stroked it a little here,
 
 240 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and coaxed it a little there, and, well, you shall 
 see if it isn't lovely ! Or wouldn't you know the 
 difference ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid I shouldn't," said Lewis, humbly. 
 "But I'll keep an eye out for it, nevertheless, 
 if my other duties on the 6th don't prove too 
 engrossing." 
 
 "They won't be severe," laughed Miss Thayer. 
 " Really I think the matter of Esther Beaulieu's 
 invitation is the most puzzling thing we've had to 
 face. The Doctor will be angry if she isn't 
 asked, I'm afraid, and plenty of other people will 
 be angry if she is." 
 
 "Then suppose you check those two facts off 
 against each other," suggested Lewis, " and settle 
 the question on some other basis. Would you 
 mind my asking if you would invite her in case 
 your mother's cards were going out for a recep 
 tion here ? " 
 
 " In that case," replied Miss Thayer, shutting 
 her lips resolutely, "I should invite her. It 
 would be cruel not to. And why shouldn't I ? 
 Because some people persist in thinking that her 
 mother was a colored woman ? " 
 
 "No one absolutely knows that her mother 
 wasn't a colored woman," said Lewis. " It's the 
 uncertainty that's the girl's fate. We tried to 
 clear things up for Tom Beaulieu last year, you 
 know, and I suspect we might better have left 
 him alone. Did Craig tell you about Tom's
 
 THE PLATED CITY 241 
 
 trouble this spring ? We've managed to kill him 
 as a ball-player, and for all I know ruin him as a 
 man, by encouraging him to believe that he was 
 white. Did his sister ever say anything about 
 him to you ? " 
 
 Miss Thayer shook her head. " Has she to 
 you ? " she asked, her mind intent upon Tom 
 Beaulieu's experiment. 
 
 " Once," he replied, in a tone that made her 
 look up suddenly. " She asked me to help her 
 get Tom's address. It was pitiful." 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed, "do you know her 
 well ? I didn't know that you knew her at all, 
 to speak of : I didn't think what I was saying 
 when I asked if she had ever spoken to you of 
 Tom." 
 
 " Oh, I have seen her a good many times," said 
 Lewis, more lightly than before. " The Doctor 
 talks over some of his business affairs with me, 
 and we are less likely to be interrupted at the 
 house than at his office or mine." 
 
 " But she doesn't join in the consultations ? " 
 queried Miss Thayer. 
 
 " No," laughed Lewis, " I can't say that. Never 
 theless I usually see her when I go up there. And 
 two or three times I have stayed to tea. Craig 
 was shocked to hear it. Are you ? " 
 
 " I ? No. Why should I be ? She has poured 
 tea for me there, more than once. I don't know 
 how in the world she picks up those things. I'm
 
 242 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 sure people don't have afternoon tea in the French 
 quarter of Quebec." 
 
 " We're wandering somewhat from the ques 
 tion of the invitation," remarked Lewis. 
 
 " On the contrary," said Miss Thayer, " we are 
 just reaching the solution of it. I didn't know 
 you really knew Esther Beaulieu. Very likely 
 you know her better than I. Now I am going to 
 ask you what you would do yourself ? " 
 
 " It isn't a parallel case," said the lawyer. " I 
 should ask her, if it were I, but I suspect it would 
 be partly because I should be curious to see what 
 the Plated City would do about it. The spectacle 
 of High and Summit Streets brought into per 
 sonal contact with Miss Esther Beaulieu would 
 be extremely interesting." 
 
 "But aside from your curiosity as an observer?" 
 put in Miss Thayer. 
 
 " I should think it a serious ordeal for the girl 
 herself," replied Lewis, quietly. " Why should she 
 be made to face the Hill set in that way ? She is 
 happy enough as she is if it were not for her 
 brother." 
 
 " But you would give her the opportunity to go, 
 wouldn't you ? You would leave it to her to 
 decide. I don't think you would ostracize her 
 because of her parentage ? " She spoke with girl 
 ish warmth. 
 
 "No," said Lewis, "if it came to that, I belong 
 on James Atwood's side, "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 243 
 
 " So do I ! " cried Sally Thayer, and then her 
 voice changed, and a look came into her face that 
 confirmed Lewis in his old opinion that Craig was 
 a lucky fellow. " It is to be my wedding day," 
 she said, " and I don't wish anybody to feel dis 
 appointed or unhappy. I can't bear to have any 
 friends of mine shut out of any chance of pleasure 
 I can give them on that day. So will you tell the 
 committee that if they will be kind enough to ask 
 Esther Beaulieu, I shall be most grateful ? " 
 
 After Lewis had gone, Miss Thayer still lin 
 gered in front of the parlor fireplace, thinking how 
 different was the lot of Esther Beaulieu from her 
 own. She half regretted that she had ventured 
 to joke with her in girlish fashion that afternoon, 
 as they were examining the trousseau. " Your 
 time may come," she had said laughingly, but a 
 sudden shyness, almost alarm, had taken posses 
 sion of Esther's face. The proud, sensitive, lonely 
 girl ! The uncertainty as to her mother was in 
 deed her fate, as Norman Lewis had said. No 
 one worthy of her would ever dream of marry 
 ing her ; and to the imagination of Sally Thayer, 
 at this particular juncture of her life, the destiny 
 of all people who either were not or did not 
 expect to be happily married, seemed a trifle 
 tragic. She wished some splendid man, like 
 Norman Lewis, for instance, would fall in love 
 with her. Mr. Lewis really seemed interested 
 in the girl : perhaps something might come of it
 
 244 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 sometime ? . At this point Sally Thayer laughed 
 outright, with a shake of her square-set shoulders. 
 The most persistently romantic imagination would 
 be rebuffed at the difficulty of arranging a match 
 like that ! She felt positively silly, and went con 
 tritely enough into her mother's room, to read 
 aloud from the Missionary Herald until she should 
 hear Craig's foot upon the doorstep. 
 
 As for Norman Lewis, trudging up High Street 
 to give his report to the house committee, his 
 fancies were quite untouched by any matrimonial 
 possibilities. On the contrary, he was engaged in 
 an extremely prosaic calculation, in the effort to 
 determine whether he would have money enough 
 left to pay for the wedding present he had selected 
 for Miss Thayer, after sending the customary 
 check to his father. This month, unfortunately, 
 the Lewis Land and Irrigation Co. was passing 
 through one of its periodical crises, and the mar 
 gin in Norman Lewis's check-book was a very 
 slender one indeed. Previous to the receipt of 
 the last letter from his father he had almost de 
 cided to magnify his office of best man by order 
 ing a new dress suit for the occasion, but he had 
 now been forced to abandon that rash project, and 
 felt that if he could pay for his wedding present 
 it would be triumph enough. 
 
 The house committee received Miss Thayer's 
 message with respectful acquiescence, but they 
 were immensely relieved three days later, when
 
 THE PLATED CITY 245 
 
 Dr. Atwood's coachman left at the club-house 
 Esther Beaulieu's unconventionally worded re 
 grets. 
 
 Why had she declined? The Doctor, whose 
 pleasure at her receiving an invitation had been 
 undisguised, was vexed when she told him that 
 she could not think of going. But he forebore 
 to press the matter, and contented himself with 
 grumbling in a general way against the fuss and 
 feathers that accompanied a marriage ceremony. 
 Norman Lewis dropped in at Miss Thayer's again, 
 to tell her that he had learned from the house 
 committee that Esther Beaulieu had declined, and 
 they both agreed that it had been perhaps the 
 very best turn that the affair could have taken. 
 Had the girl, by virtue of the subtle instinct that 
 seemed peculiar to her, divined that the bride's 
 evening would be happier if there were no vexing 
 social question to disturb the harmony of the Hill 
 people ? Or was it that she shrank from any con 
 test for recognition, feeling too keenly that all the 
 odds save youth and beauty and the Doctor's 
 chivalrous protection were against her ? Did 
 she realize at last, as she had not seemed to at the 
 outset of her Bartonvale experience, the ineradi 
 cable Anglo-Saxon prejudice against that pre 
 sumptive, though not yet proven, tinge of African 
 blood ? Such were some of the queries that Nor 
 man Lewis put to himself, after his second inter 
 view with Miss Thayer.
 
 246 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 In reality, though none of the motives he had 
 guessed at were altogether absent from Esther 
 Beaulieu's mind, her foremost reason for refusing 
 the invitation was her wretched anxiety about 
 Tom. It left her no heart for making any social 
 experiment for herself. By day and night the 
 ruin of his fortunes weighed upon her, and his 
 letter from Boston, received but the fourth day 
 before the wedding, confirmed many of her fears. 
 He had been drinking : there was nobody to care 
 for him child that he really was ; no one to give 
 him a motive for respect. Oh, if he would only 
 come back to her, and let her comfort him, and 
 put a new courage into his simple heart ! They 
 could talk everything over together, and she would 
 summon up courage and ask Dr. Atwood's counsel, 
 and something could surely yet be done ! She 
 telegraphed him, at the hotel where he had writ 
 ten his letter, to return to Bartonvale without 
 waiting a single day ; but the days went by and 
 no answer from him came. 
 
 She tried, too, to carry out his directions about 
 seeing Cyrus Calhoun. One evening when the 
 Doctor thought her in her room she slipped out of 
 the house and down the Hill to the huge door of 
 the machine shops, which lay close beneath the 
 cliffs. The night watchman, wondering who she 
 might be, told her that Calhoun was not doing 
 extra time that night, for work had been slack in 
 the roll-room. If she would come back Thursday
 
 THE PLATED CITY 247 
 
 evening, she would perhaps find him, or any day 
 in the daytime. She thanked him, and fled up 
 the Hill again unobserved, shrinking from the 
 thought of making known even to the Doctor her 
 endeavor to penetrate the mystery that seemed to 
 envelop her mother's life in Bartonvale. Thurs 
 day evening was the wedding ! It would be easy 
 to take advantage of the Doctor's absence to make 
 another visit to the machine shops. How fortu 
 nate she was in having decided so promptly not 
 to go with him to the Mattawanset Club ! 
 
 Thursday evening came, with a clear sunset, and 
 sharply denned shadows falling from the Atwood 
 pine trees far upon the lawn, and a cool, steady 
 breeze blowing down the river. The ceremony 
 at the quiet house upon the Green was at half- 
 past six. An hour later Dr. Atwood, with a 
 final gruff expression of regret that Esther would 
 not accompany him, started for the reception. 
 The orchestra had been playing there for a quarter 
 of an hour already ; Dr. Atwood's Welsh domes 
 tics, with the coachman's wife, were standing out 
 at the edge of the garden listening to it, for the 
 Mattawanset Club was scarcely a hundred yards 
 below the Doctor's orchard. The windows of the 
 house were wide open, and Esther Beaulieu, wait 
 ing alone in the old-fashioned sitting-room for the 
 dusk to gather, was listening too. The pines 
 began to murmur as the breeze increased, and 
 softened the piercing rapture of the violins to
 
 248 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 a drowsy sweetness, like dream music. Pierre 
 Beaulieu's daughter, reclining in the Doctor's huge 
 chair, with closed eyes, abandoned herself to the 
 languorous rise and fall of the melody. Little by 
 little she grew oblivious of the staid New England 
 room, of the machine shop clanking beneath the 
 Hill ; her purpose for that hour slipped from her 
 like a robe. She was pure woman, thrilling to 
 music. Hush ! Were the soughing pines masters 
 in the strife with the keen-voiced violins ? Surely 
 there was no other sound now than their hoarse 
 somnolent swaying. Hush ! Was there ? Hark ! 
 Hear it ! Hear it ! The clear, mounting, trium 
 phant notes of the wedding march ! The bride 
 is passing slowly, proudly, up the steps of the 
 club-house, leaning upon her husband's arm. The 
 music marches, and the pines march, and the feet 
 of the solitary girl in the old Atwood house beat 
 involuntarily upon the floor. The shadows are 
 thick in the prim room now, and beyond the 
 wide-opened windows there is nothing to be dis 
 cerned but the sombre row of pine trees, and 
 between their tossing branches, the darkening 
 green of the western sky. The girl is alone in 
 the dusk with the music, and the music is over 
 mastering her. Hush ! Hush ! It is ceasing 
 again, and once more the patient pine boughs are 
 carrying all the tune. Nay ! It is but a moment's 
 respite. With burst on burst of passionate 
 ecstasy, the orchestra dashes into a waltz. The
 
 THE PLATED CITY 249 
 
 waves of rhythm-intoxicated sound sweep over 
 the grim pines and drown their murmur, and 
 beating in at the wide windows, flood the lonely 
 
 room where Esther Beaulieu lies. 
 
 ****** 
 
 That sudden, resistless tide bore her out of her 
 self. Obeying some imperious instinct of youth, 
 or was it the fire lurking in an alien blood ? 
 the girl leaped to her feet. Her limbs trembled 
 with excitement and girlish fear. Pushing back 
 the chairs that cumbered the centre of the room, 
 she listened a moment, waiting, palpitating. Then 
 catching up her gown with one hand, and with 
 her other arm uplifted, upborne as it were upon 
 that flood of sound, she began to dance. 
 
 Slowly, lightly, she moved, with head thrown 
 back and half-closed eyelids, her lips parted as 
 she hearkened to the undulating tune. Her 
 maidenly, stately figure swayed like a tall water- 
 weed, swept hither and thither by an incoming 
 surge, now left for a moment to float dreamily in 
 the transparent depths, then caught in a swirl 
 that tosses it back and forth in shadowy circles, 
 drawn by the swift fingers of the tide. Only it 
 was a woman who was dancing, and every throb 
 of the yearning, rioting melody played into an 
 answering pulsation in her veins. The grave self- 
 repression, the severe dignity, beyond her years 
 and forced upon her by the tragic isolation of her 
 life in Bartonvale, seemed in this passionate
 
 250 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 moment like a mask that had been flung aside, 
 and faster and faster the girl circled through the 
 solitary room, her outstretched hand waving 
 ghostly in the dusk, her dark hair shaken loose, 
 her eyes dilating with a fever of delight. Faster 
 yet, faster yet a quick inarticulate cry of 
 rapture burst uncontrollably from her lips 
 and then the music sank suddenly, as if its spell 
 was broken. The girl arrested herself in mid- 
 flight, and stood panting. Outside, the pines 
 began to rustle in the wind ; the stars were shin 
 ing over their topmost branches. Then, above 
 the rustling of the pines, came the monotonous 
 clink, clank, from the steam hammer of the 
 machine shops. 
 
 Esther Beaulieu flung herself into the Doctor's 
 chair, and pressed her hot palms against her tem 
 ples, in an agony of remorse. How could she have 
 forgotten! She had neglected her task, her duty 
 to Tom. The precious hours had almost slipped 
 by. And she had been dancing, forgetful of her 
 brother, forgetful of her own situation, forgetful 
 of everything except the sheer pleasure of the 
 moment. Oh, how could she have been such a 
 child! 
 
 She started to her feet, and catching her heavy 
 hair into a quick knot, groped around the dark 
 room for her wrap. Then she darted from the 
 house and across the lawn, following a footpath 
 that led to the lower town.
 
 251 
 
 In five minutes she reached the great door of 
 the machine shops. No one noticed her, and she 
 stood irresolute, confused by the strangeness of 
 the scene. At her right a dozen workmen were 
 engaged in hoisting a huge casting from its bed, 
 the electric light throwing among their figures 
 bars of sharp shadow from the giant crane above 
 them. At her left, and stretching away in con 
 fused vistas in front of her, were the great ma 
 chines that bored, and planed, and sawed cold 
 steel as if it were so much whitewood, most of 
 them motionless now, like sleeping mammoths. 
 But overhead there was the ceaseless whir of 
 revolving shafts, and the soft slap-slap of flying 
 belting. The motion, and the noise, the dazzling 
 lights and looming shadows of the immense room 
 startled the girl, and she was relieved when the 
 night watchman came toward her, touching his 
 cap. 
 
 " Was it you who wanted to see Calhoun ? " he 
 asked, studying her ^curiously. " Come right this 
 way. Don't get your dress caught." 
 
 Holding her gown close to her, she followed 
 him through mazes of machinery, past open spaces 
 where moulders knelt over boxes of wet sand, and 
 helpers, naked to the waist, hurried to and fro 
 with buckets of molten metal, until she reached 
 the roll-room. The rolls lay in long lines, like 
 cannon, some of them still rough from the cast 
 ing-pit, others polished to a satin finish. Upon
 
 252 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 half a dozen of the gigantic lathes unfinished 
 rolls were slowly revolving, while the bright 
 metallic shavings fell curling to the floor, be 
 neath the steady paring of the tool. Over one 
 of the lathes half-way down the line bent a 
 workman. The night watchman said : 
 
 " There's the man you're looking for, miss," 
 and turned somewhat reluctantly away. 
 
 The gray-haired negro, engaged in scanning the 
 glistening surface of his roll, by the aid of a gas- 
 jet attached to a rubber tubing, looked up in sur 
 prise as she approached. 
 
 " Good evening, Deacon Calhoun," she said, and 
 the flattered negro bowed respectfully. Then he 
 pushed his spectacles higher upon his nose, and 
 recognizing Esther Beaulieu, 
 
 " Good evenin', ma'am," he answered. " It's a 
 long time since I've seen you." 
 
 " Yes," said she. 
 
 " Livin' up to Dr. Atwood's now, ain't you ? " 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Like it ? " 
 
 "Yes," she replied; "Dr. Atwood has been 
 very kind to me." 
 
 " I s'pose so," said Cyrus Calhoun. " Mis' Cal 
 houn was sayin' only yesterday that she thought 
 likely you was gettin' stuck up now from livin' 
 over among the Hill folks, but I said I guessed 
 not. Le' see, it's mos' a yea-r, ain't it, since you 
 come to our house with Tom? That was las'
 
 THE PLATED CITY 253 
 
 summer, wa'n't it, or was it two years ago ? The 
 old man's gettin' kin' o' forgetful." He chuckled. 
 
 " A year next month," said Esther Beaulieu. 
 She found it painfully hard to begin her errand. 
 
 "What's become of Tom?" inquired the gar 
 rulous old workman, coming back from an in 
 spection of the farther end of the roll. 
 
 " I don't know," said the girl, her voice trem 
 bling a little. " He was in Boston when he wrote 
 to me the last time. He isn't going to play ball 
 any more. I hope he can get some other kind of 
 work. Do they want any more men in the ma 
 chine shops ? " she demanded, with a sudden 
 fancy that here might be the very place for 
 Tom. 
 
 "You'll have to inquiah of the fo'man," said 
 Calhoun, cautiously. " I don' ask 110 questions : 
 just go straight along ; that's the way I do." 
 
 " How much do you earn ? " she said, her brain 
 busy with a computation. 
 
 "Two dollars 'n forty cents a day," was the 
 proud answer. "And nights when I'm a mind 
 to work from six to ten, I get a dollar 'n twenty 
 cents more. Three-sixty's pretty good for an ole 
 nigger, eh ? " He laughed a coughing, throaty 
 laugh. 
 
 " Is it very hard work ? " asked Tom Beaulieu's 
 sister. 
 
 " No," he said. " That machine does the work- 
 in', and I'm just the boss. Yes, ma'am, that's it !
 
 254 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 But it takes an awful sight of 'sperience. If you 
 don't keep a lookin' out, you might spile a roll." 
 Again he peered closely along the glossy steel, 
 and tried the diameter with delicate touches of 
 the calipers. 
 
 Her heart sank. " Don't you think Tom could 
 learn ? " 
 
 "Tom?" he repeated, with another throaty 
 laugh, " Tom Bowlyer ? Why, bless yo ' soul, Tom 
 ain't got any mo' mechanic to him 'n a chile. 
 He couldn't learn it nohow." 
 
 She gazed at him in a troubled silence. Her 
 stolen moments were going fast, and still she had 
 not asked the questions Tom had bidden her. 
 
 " Deacon Calhoun," she found courage to say 
 at last, drawing a step nearer him, "there is 
 something that Tom and I want very much to 
 know. Will you tell me all you remember about 
 my mother every single little thing ? You told 
 Mr. Lewis once, Mr. Norman Lewis, and he 
 wrote it down for Tom, but people won't believe 
 it. Now I want you to tell me, to tell me every 
 thing. I would rather know even if she wasn't 
 a good woman. I must know." 
 
 The intensity of her tone solemnized him. 
 " Fore de Lord, Miss Bowlyer," he broke out, " I 
 tole Mistah Lew's the livin' trufe. If I'd a ben 
 in class-meetin ', or settin ' right on the steps in 
 front of the recordin' angel, I couldn't say no 
 mo'. You ask Mistah Lew's. He'll tell you."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 255 
 
 She shook her head. " I can't ask Mr. Lewis," 
 she insisted. " I must hear it from your own lips. 
 Begin with the first day you saw my mother, and 
 tell me how she looked, and whether whether 
 the colored people thought she was colored too 
 and where she said she came from, and how my 
 father came to marry her, and " she stopped, 
 with a sort of sob in her voice. 
 
 Word for word as she had already heard from 
 Tom the old man's story, he began. As he grad 
 ually warmed under the excitement of narration, 
 there were plenty of episodes and discursive obser 
 vations upon the men and manners of Bartonvale 
 in the sixties to which she listened with ill-dis 
 guised impatience, but in its main outlines the 
 deacon's description of her mother coincided 
 exactly with the version she had already heard. 
 There was nothing new. The image of her 
 mother was the same as she had framed it in her 
 fancy now for many a month : a tall, dark, friend 
 less woman from the South, talking vaguely of a 
 husband whom no one much believed in, ostracized 
 and feared by her neighbors in the poorest quarter 
 of the town, married at last to a drunken French 
 stonemason, and dying not many years thereafter, 
 leaving a daughter born to Pete Beaulieu. 
 
 Wait ! There was just one thing that Esther 
 Beaulieu had not heard. "And I forgot to say," 
 the old man was adding in an awestruck voice, 
 " that in those times when she used to be kin' o'
 
 256 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 out of her head, talkin' wild like, that was before 
 she was ever married to yo' papa, she used to say 
 that her husband lived right here in Bartonvale, 
 and that she had come on to find him. And part 
 of the time she said that he was dead, died way 
 down South. It didn't hang together; I s'pose 
 that was why it was crazy talk but she always 
 used to say that her husband's name was Everett. 
 Now there wa'n't no such family here. She was 
 clean out of her head those days. D'ye see ? " 
 
 Esther nodded. The name Everett she had 
 surely heard before, but where, she could not in 
 the least remember. Tom had certainly never 
 told her about any name simply that there 
 were times when their mother had talked crazily. 
 
 " Did you tell Mr. Lewis this ? " she demanded. 
 
 "Certain, certain," said Cyrus Calhoun. 
 "Come to think of it, though, I don't know's 
 I said nothin' about the name. That was only 
 when she was wanderin,' you know. There 
 wa'n't nothin' to that. No, I guess I didn't speak 
 of that to Mistah Lew's. He just wanted to know 
 facts, you see ; he don't care about what your 
 mother made up all out of her own head. 'Tell 
 you, Mistah Lew's talked mighty sharp to me one 
 while. 'Feared like he thought I was tryin' to 
 lie to him. ' I'm a deacon in the Zion Methodist 
 Episcopal Church,' says I, ' 'n a class-leader for 
 mo'n twenty years. What should I lie for ? ' says 
 I. He just laughed ; he didn't have nothin' to
 
 THE PLATED CITY 257 
 
 say to that. I 'spose these lawyers try to frighten 
 some folks on purpose, but I guess Mistah Lew's 
 bark worse'n his bite." 
 
 " Very likely," responded the girl. " And there 
 isn't anything else you can remember, Deacon Cal- 
 houn ? Not anything at all ? " 
 
 The nine o'clock down train thundered past 
 beneath the windows of the roll-room, whistling 
 for the Main Street crossing. It was the train 
 that was to bear the bridal couple away from 
 Bartonvale. 
 
 "No, Miss Bowlyer," said the grizzled mechanic 
 as the windows ceased clattering, "I shouldn't 
 wonder if I toF yo'u some of it twice over now. 
 But I'm kind o' sorry for you. I'm powerful 
 sorry, 'n so's Mis' Calhoun. There can't nobody 
 make her believe but what yo' mother was white. 
 If you only knew for certain, though, whether you 
 was colored or whether you wan't colored, I 'spose 
 you'd be kind o' mo' settled in yo' mind. But 
 de Lord Almighty He don't recognize no differ 
 ence, Miss Bowlyer. I 'spects the everlastin' 
 glory shinin' so full in His face that he can't tell 
 black from white, nohow. Yo' want to put yo' 
 trust in Him, and never be confounded." 
 
 He went with her to the door of the roll-room, 
 his fervid old lips mumbling fragments from the 
 Psalms. The night watchman was lingering near 
 by, and gallantly escorted her out through the 
 foundry, stopping to call her attention to the
 
 258 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 dazzling stream of molten iron that was spurting 
 from one of the huge cupolas. Women never 
 failed to admire it. But Esther Beaulieu's mind 
 was elsewhere. 
 
 As they reached the outer door, an electric bell 
 buzzed sharply among the shadowy timbers of the 
 roof, and the watchman turned, with an exclama 
 tion. The moulders heard it, also, and started to 
 their feet. Outside a bell struck too, the big bell 
 on the town-hall. People on the sidewalk stopped 
 to count. 
 
 "Thirteen two." That was it. "Thirteen 
 two." There was a cry of "Fire "far away. 
 " Where's thirteen two ? " called some one. 
 
 " Plate shop up the river," was the answer. 
 
 " Oh, up the river," was the reply, and the man 
 sauntered on down town. 
 
 The big bell struck again. That meant every 
 engine out, and every volunteer hose company 
 besides. As Esther Beaulieu hastened up the 
 Hill, some of the volunteers overtook her, putting 
 on their helmets as they ran, and the gray horses 
 of No. 2 plunged past her, with the engine trail 
 ing fire. But when she reached the At wood place, 
 all was tranquil as she had left it. The sounds 
 of the orchestra still floated through the windows 
 of the dark sitting-room, and the Doctor had not 
 yet returned.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 259 
 
 XIII 
 
 NORMAN LEWIS heard the alarm, at the instant 
 that he swung himself off the steps of the parlor 
 car whither he had escorted Mr. and Mrs. Craig 
 Kennedy. Pushing through the crowd to the bag 
 gage car, to assure himself once more that none of 
 Craig's friends had decorated the bridal trunk 
 with white ribbons, he heard the baggage master 
 say that the fire was already breaking through the 
 windows of the new plate shops as the train 
 went by. 
 
 " Whew ! It'll be a bad one, with this wind," 
 said some one on the platform, and then the train 
 pulled out for the run to New York. Lewis lifted 
 his hat, as the parlor car glided past him, but Craig 
 had already drawn down the curtain by his wife's 
 seat. For a moment a thrill of loneliness shot 
 through the best man, and then he settled his hat 
 over his eyes, and started at top speed for the 
 scene of the fire, turning up the collar of his light 
 overcoat as he ran. At Main Street he caught 
 an electric car, packed with men bound for the fire 
 too, and for three blocks they raced with a belated 
 engine, frightening the horses with derisive cheers. 
 A block south of the new plate works a hose pipe 
 lay across the track, and the men jumped from the
 
 260 
 
 car and hurried forward. The shops, the largest 
 in town save Dr. Atwood's, a half-mile farther 
 down the river, were blazing from end to end, 
 fanned by the steady north wind. Drawn up on 
 the west side were the four engines, the boast of 
 the Plated City, playing manfully upon the flames, 
 but to little purpose. Five minutes after Norman 
 Lewis reached the scene, the chief called the en 
 gines off, to direct all their efforts toward saving 
 the rubber works on the south. Here the volun 
 teer hose companies had been already at work, 
 drenching the roof and north wall, and skylarking 
 with the mill girls, who were fast gathering from 
 the tenements near by. All of a sudden the four 
 engines clattered down the street, wheeled, and 
 joined the volunteer companies. That meant that 
 the best was to be made of a bad matter, and that 
 the plate shops were already doomed. 
 
 Just then, pattering in from a side street that 
 led off toward the Hill, trotted a straggling line 
 of twenty, forty, threescore men in evening dress. 
 At the Mattawanset Club people had stopped mid 
 way in the waltz, begun just after the withdrawal 
 of the bridal pair, to count the strokes of the town- 
 hall bell, 
 
 " Thirteen two ! Thirteen two ! " 
 
 " That means us ! " gasped one of the owners 
 
 of the works, bowing to his partner, and dashing 
 
 from the room. Plated City boys never outgrew 
 
 their passion for "running with the engine," and
 
 THE PLATED CITY 261 
 
 one of the hose companies was made up from the 
 most exclusive circles of the Hill. There was 
 scarcely a man in the club-house, too, who did not 
 have money interests at stake in the manufactur 
 ing quarter of the town. In two minutes the 
 imported orchestra was left to play away to an 
 empty ball-room, while the women crowded for 
 places at the north windows of the club-house, or 
 streamed out, two by two, upon the lawn. The 
 fire was in plain view, away down there by the 
 river, and the tap, tap, of the line of running men 
 grew fainter and fainter in the distance. 
 
 Down in the trampled yard of the rubber mill, 
 the advent of the "swells" was received with im 
 mense enthusiasm. The mill girls waved their 
 handkerchiefs, and the small boys hurrahed as the 
 men with the white shirt fronts sprang for the 
 hose. The imitative languor and cosmopolitan 
 indifference that had seemed to possess the gilded 
 youth of the Plated City at the club-house had 
 wholly disappeared. They were Connecticut boys 
 now, lighting fire with a shrewdness and energy 
 and daring that they no longer had the good man 
 ners to conceal. The plating had been scratched 
 quite off, with the strokes of "Thirteen two." 
 
 Norman Lewis, astride of a window sill in the 
 lower story of the mill, trying desperately to drag 
 a hose inside, looked up to find Whitesyde Trellys 
 ordering some mill girls out of the way with most 
 uriclerical emphasis.
 
 262 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 "Turn the hose on them, then!" yelled the 
 impassioned rector of St. Asaph's ; whereupon the 
 bevy scattered, and Lewis got the nozzle directed 
 at a flame that crept along the rafters. 
 
 "Thank you, Trellys," he sang out, but the 
 rector had already rushed elsewhere. 
 
 There were plenty of men at work now ; on the 
 roof, covered thick with blown sparks from the 
 falling roof of the plate shops ; and all down 
 the long rooms inside. But the dry rubber dust 
 was everywhere, on rafters and window sills and 
 benches ; it blackened the hose, and smirched the 
 hands and cheeks of the firemen, who stopped 
 even in that furious struggle to dab it in each 
 other's faces, and laugh at the ruin it made of the 
 immaculate shirt fronts from the Mattawanset 
 Club. But at last, as the air within the mill 
 grew hotter and hotter, the black dust seemed to 
 blaze out everywhere at once : the sudden flame 
 ran along the ceiling and walls and floors as if 
 the whole interior had been a trap, waiting to be 
 sprung. The very air seemed on fire, and the 
 men jumped from the windows, and crawled out 
 through the doors, singed and terrified. 
 
 The chief of the fire department, after a hurried 
 consultation with two or three leading manufact 
 urers, among them Dr. Atwood, who had hurried 
 down from the Club not far behind the younger 
 men, again changed his base of operations. 
 
 The engines were sent galloping down to the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 263 
 
 machine shops, the next group of buildings to the 
 south. Already their long straggling roof was 
 ablaze in a dozen places, and still the north wind 
 blew as if that clear June night were in mid- 
 November, and the firemen, looking southward, 
 shook their heads. 
 
 Foot by foot the great machine shops were bat 
 tled for, with a swift and desperate energy une 
 qualled in the annals of Bartonvale, but foot by 
 foot, and moment by moment, the fire won. The 
 roll-room went first, the lathe which the frightened 
 Cyrus Calhoun had abandoned still turning stead 
 ily amid the red roar until the falling girders 
 brought the shafting down. The abandoned en 
 gines, at the south end of the works, toiled blindly 
 on as before, and here and there the inexorable 
 machines, forsaken by their tenders, still pared 
 away the steel, while the disordered belting 
 writhed fantastically in the rolling smoke. Over 
 the dim spaces where the moulders had wrought 
 and the fresh castings were still hissing in the 
 sand, was woven a swift canopy of flame, and the 
 drifting sparks fell fast upon the huge cupolas 
 where the white-hot metal bubbled angrily, wait 
 ing for the pourers to return. But pourers and 
 moulders and machinists had fled. 
 
 Sullenly the firemen, and the grimy volunteers 
 from the Hill, fell back. It was no use. If half 
 the engines in Connecticut were drawn up there 
 on the river bank, how could they fight this wind ?
 
 264 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 More and more keenly it blew; it swept the sparks 
 from the machine shops up, up in revolving circles 
 toward the firelit sky, and then wafted them 
 steadily southward toward the Flats. 
 
 To Esther Beaulieu, standing on the verge of 
 the Atwood lawn, above the cliffs, the valley occu 
 pied by the machine shops and the sheds and fac 
 tories beyond them, seemed a roaring pit of flame. 
 For a quarter of an hour she had had a terrible 
 anxiety for the Atwood place itself, but the fire 
 had already coursed past it down the valley, and 
 High and Summit Streets, and all the old part of 
 the town bordering on the Green seemed safe 
 enough. But the Doctor's plate works, and in 
 deed most of the business quarter of the Plated 
 City, lay straight in the path of the conflagration. 
 Everywhere out over the Flats, and along the 
 hillsides of the tenement districts, she could see 
 lights flashing hither and thither, and could catch 
 the vibration of terrified human cries above all 
 the voices of the fiery gulf beneath her. But it 
 was not necessary to stand on the high wind 
 swept lawn of the Atwood place to see how the 
 fire was going. The chief, shouting hoarse orders 
 down there on the river bank, knew when he was 
 beaten. 
 
 "We'll have to get out of this," he cried. 
 " We've got to stop it at the Neck, or the whole 
 Flats'll go. I guess we can do it. There'll be 
 help here in twenty minutes ! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 265 
 
 In truth, when he had seen the rubber mill 
 flame up with that strange explosion, the chief 
 had telegraphed down the river for more engines, 
 and by massing them at the Neck he thought 
 there might still be a chance. The wide empty 
 freight yard would help them there, as well as 
 the bend in the river, which gave the Neck its 
 name. The straggling masses of buildings above 
 the Neck, now burning all along their northern 
 border, converged here to a narrow wedge, headed 
 by a gaunt wooden warehouse that fronted upon 
 River Street. On the opposite side of the street 
 there were warehouses again, but, fortunately, 
 with blind brick walls to the northward, and roofs 
 that were supposed to be fireproof. If it were 
 still possible for pluck and skill to head off the 
 conflagration, the fight must be waged at the 
 Neck. If that narrow wedge of old buildings 
 could be broken down, there was a bare chance 
 that the fire might flare itself out between the 
 Mattawanset and the empty freight yards, and 
 that everything south of River Street might yet 
 be saved. If only the wind were not blowing ! 
 
 Toward the Neck, then, were lashed the fright 
 ened engine horses, for a final stand; toward the 
 Neck retreated the exhausted volunteer companies, 
 dragging the trailing lengths of blackened hose. 
 The south sidewalk of River Street was packed 
 thick with Plated City people, of every station, from 
 Dr. James Atwood, dizzy with excitement, to Mag
 
 266 
 
 Fennessey, whom Esther Beaulieu had robbed of 
 her daily bread. Suddenly a great cheer ran along 
 the sidewalk; fresh engines were at hand from 
 the towns a few miles down the river: they rat 
 tled down River Street, four, five, six of them, the 
 men jumping to their stations before the horses 
 could be pulled to a halt. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ! 
 The ancient antagonisms of the Valley fire com 
 panies were forgotten in this crisis, and the Plated 
 City people cheered and cheered. And there was 
 other help at hand. The north-bound train had 
 steamed cautiously into the yard, its progress up 
 the Valley blocked by the fallen walls of the 
 machine shops. The passengers swarmed out 
 upon the tracks, and ran toward River Street 
 across the freight yard. Foremost of the runners 
 was a man who had been crouching morosely in a 
 corner of the smoker, a long-visored ball-player's 
 cap pulled down over his eyes. He had sprung 
 up excitedly as the glare from the fire smote into 
 the car, and now, heading the crowd, he leaped 
 like a deer across the gleaming rails of the freight 
 yard, and vaulted the fence into River Street. 
 In another moment he was in the thick of a 
 group of hook-and-ladder men, working like a 
 madman. 
 
 At that instant the chief turned to one of his 
 foreman. " We ain't going to make it, Jack," he 
 muttered, " unless we can get this line of buildings 
 down. Water won't help us. There ain't a dyna-
 
 267 
 
 mite cartridge in town, either. Break open that 
 hardware store, and get some more axes for the 
 boys ! We can pull the sheds down, anyway ! " 
 
 The hardware store was dashed open, and a 
 score of axes dealt among the volunteers. The 
 man with the long-visored cap secured one, and 
 bounded off for the line of sheds behind the ware 
 house. As its path grew narrower, all the more 
 fiercely roared the fiery storm. Its wind-tossed 
 tongues leaped toward the Neck like the flames of 
 a giant blowpipe. Brick and stone were shrivel 
 ling before it, and what was a line of wooden sheds, 
 and an oaken-timbered warehouse ? 
 
 But furiously fell the axe strokes, nevertheless, 
 and one by one the sheds were pushed over, and 
 the debris drenched with water from a dozen 
 streams. The gaunt warehouse, erected before 
 the era of cheap building reached the Plated City, 
 still resisted the unskilful blows that hailed 
 against it. The sheathing was stripped from the 
 lower story, but the white-oak beams stood firm. 
 Already the rolling wave of fire halted above the 
 flattened sheds; its red crest shook impotently in 
 the wind; its base crept forward over the debris, 
 licking, drying, devouring; then came a drift of 
 smoke, and the billow of flame had flung itself 
 over the empty space and the back and sides of 
 the warehouse were all afire. The front was still 
 intact. In the projecting peak of the gable swung 
 a rusty iron tackle block, whose years of service
 
 268 
 
 were long past. A stream of water, aimed by one 
 of the sullenly retreating firemen, struck the block, 
 and it grated harshly as it swung. Along the 
 steep roof the flame swept triumphantly : through 
 the empty garret from north to south it poured, 
 and broke out with malicious flashes from the 
 round windows in the front gables. The heat 
 grew unendurable. The crowd in River Street 
 fell back to east and west, and the engines 
 trotted off dispiritedly to flank the fire in case it 
 should spread to the upper town. 
 
 The Flats were doomed. Already the flames, 
 towering above the warehouse, curled over toward 
 the blank walls beyond the street, and tossed huge 
 sparks upon the flimsy patent roofings, like spray 
 blown from an oncoming breaker. 
 
 In the deserted street before the warehouse, only 
 a half-dozen firemen remained, led by the man in 
 the long-visored cap. He held the slender stream 
 of a hose pipe steadily against the overhanging 
 peak, and laughed recklessly over his momentary 
 victory. It was utter folly, but there was some 
 thing in his careless hardihood that made the other 
 men linger by the side of this unrecognized volun 
 teer. They were dangerously near the building, 
 the heat blistered their hands and faces, the crowd 
 at either side shouted to them to give it up. But 
 still they tarried, while the warehouse loomed 
 above them, its gaunt ribs stripped of their cover 
 ing and sloping black to the ridgepole amid the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 269 
 
 seething flame, the fire darting from the two eye 
 holes in the gable, while the triangular peak, 
 sheathed in reddening iron, was poised fearfully, 
 like the beak of a huge fire-dragon, swaying above 
 its prey. 
 
 " Look out ! " screamed Norman Lewis, from the 
 edge of the crowd. " Look out ! " echoed White- 
 syde Trellys. 
 
 The dragon lunged forward, as if its limbs 
 suddenly gave way. But the cumbrous blow fell 
 short ; the creature hung there upon its knees, 
 half fallen, wrapped in flame. The firemen had 
 leaped back, all but one. The man with the ball 
 player's cap stirred not a foot. With one hand 
 still on the nozzle of the hose, he turned toward 
 his companions. 
 
 " Come back ! " he cried with a boyish laugh 
 that woke the memories of the men swarming 
 there upon the scorching street. " Come on, and 
 put out this fire ! " 
 
 " Good God ! " said somebody, " that's Tom 
 Beaulieu ! " And it passed from mouth to mouth 
 among the awestruck crowd : 
 
 " That's Tom Beaulieu ! " 
 
 The man pulled off his visored cap, and waved 
 it. His face gleamed pallid in the white-hot light. 
 
 " Yes, it's Tom Beaulieu ! " he cried. " I'm all 
 right ! Ain't I ? Come on ! Say, you fellows 
 aren't afraid of the color line, are you ? " 
 
 As that scornful cry escaped his lips, the top-
 
 270 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 pling mass above him, with a last malevolent effort, 
 swung screeching forward, and the iron-sheathed 
 beak of the monster smote him down. 
 
 A hundred men darted from the crowd to res 
 cue Tom Beaulieu, and strangely assorted were 
 the hands that bore him down the street toward 
 the river. They laid him with his head upon the 
 curbing, and Mike Fennessey was the first man to 
 say a word. 
 
 " There ain't a hospital nor a place in this whole 
 dommed town," he exclaimed bitterly, " where you 
 can take a workin' man to die dacint." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't swear, just now," said 
 Whitesyde Trellys, who was kneeling on the other 
 side of the prostrate figure. 
 
 " He's right about it though, Trellys," said James 
 Atwood, in a shaking voice. " There isn't. Men, 
 I want some of you to carry Beaulieu up to my 
 house. Lewis, you see to it, will you? Mr. 
 Trellys, I guess you'd better come right up with 
 me ; you're her minister, you know." 
 
 With one troubled look toward the Flats, where 
 his plate shops were already half engulfed in the 
 smoke that blew before the widening line of fire, 
 Dr. Atwood hurried up the Hill. 
 
 Not many minutes afterward, the ball-player 
 passed for the first time in his life through the 
 gates of the old Atwood place, borne feet first, 
 and with a hole in his temple.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 XIV 
 
 HOUR after hour the ball-player lay unconscious 
 in the guest chamber of the Atwood house. From 
 time to time his curly black head moved rest 
 lessly upon the pillow, or a moan escaped his sat 
 urnine lips, but the dark eyes did not open. 
 Esther hovered wistfully about the bedside, and 
 tried to recall some of the sacred words of conso 
 lation which Mr. Trellys had whispered to her, as 
 the workmen brought Tom in. Norman Lewis 
 had spoken to her too. "You must keep up 
 your courage," he had said ; and at the time 
 the firm notes of the man's voice had vibrated 
 more deeply within her than the murmured words 
 of the priest. But she had need of every fortify 
 ing energy, human or divine, as the hours crept 
 by, and her brother lay there inert, but surely 
 suffering. 
 
 Dr. Atwood watched her affectionately, though 
 he scarcely spoke. He followed with the keenest 
 interest the efforts made by the best physician of 
 Bartonvale to determine the extent of the injury 
 to the wounded brain. With a sort of reawaken 
 ing of his own former professional activities, he 
 pulled down his old books on surgery, and con-
 
 272 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 suited, in technical phrases that came as yet halt 
 ingly to his lips, with the younger man. The 
 reaction from the excitement of the fire seemed to 
 have left him torpid upon those sides of his nature 
 which for twenty-five years had made him a 
 leader in the Plated City. He seemed less inter 
 ested in the burned district of Barton vale 'than in 
 the crushed temple of Tom Beaulieu. He drove 
 down town, indeed, the morning after the con 
 flagration, and joined the throng of sightseers 
 from up and down the Mattawanset Valley, who 
 were staring at the acres of smoking ashes. No 
 one could say that the Plated City lacked nerve. 
 All over the burned district, on stakes hurriedly 
 thrust into the blackened ruins, there were posted 
 placards vying with one another in grim humor 
 and cool audacity : " This shop closed for repairs " 
 " Positively no admittance " " Gone to the 
 Ball Game" "Removed temporarily to Nigger 
 Hill " " We were fully insured " " One month 
 from date Messrs. Blank and Blank will reoccupy 
 this site. Stores for rent in their new block. 
 Apply now." In a shed on the river bank a firm 
 from the next town below was taking orders for 
 building-materials. A half-dozen surveyors were 
 waiting for the ruins to get cold enough to allow 
 them to re-survey old lines. The Bank block had 
 escaped the flames, and both banks, opened an 
 hour earlier than usual, were crowded with bor 
 rowers, offering insurance policies as collateral.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 273 
 
 Young fellows who had been too languid to dance 
 at the Club reception the night before, but who 
 had fought fire till daybreak, were down town at 
 eight o'clock, making shrewd contracts and joking 
 all the while. A special meeting of the Board of 
 Trade was called for ten o'clock. The Plated 
 City proposed to show to Connecticut and the 
 rest of the universe that she was still in the 
 game ! 
 
 It stirred the blood and the local pride of Bar- 
 tonvale to feverish excitement. But Dr. James 
 Atwood watched the bustle, unmoved. Over on 
 the gray and black Flats towered the great chim 
 ney of his Plate Works, the sole reminder of the 
 " plant " which it had taken his best years of 
 manhood to establish. Nowhere on that smoking 
 stretch of ground was there to be seen a saucy 
 placard indicative of James Atwood's self-con 
 fidence and pluck. Rather was he secretly con 
 scious of a sensation of relief. The problem of 
 the disposition of the Plate Works, which had 
 weighed upon him for months, had been solved 
 easily enough, after all, by the pipe of a careless 
 workman and barely three hours of a steady 
 wind ! 
 
 As the hour struck for the Board of Trade 
 meeting, Dr. Atwood turned his horses toward 
 the Hill. The task of setting the Plated City on 
 its feet again he proposed to leave to younger 
 men. He had served his turn. At the corner
 
 274 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 of Main Street Norman Lewis ran out to his car 
 riage. "How's Beaulieu?" he asked. 
 
 " No change," said the Doctor. " It's a curious 
 case of fracture. I'm thinking of telegraphing to 
 New York for Jedway, this afternoon." 
 
 " The surgeon ? " 
 
 "Yes. He and I studied medicine together 
 thirty-five years ago. I should rather like to see 
 Jedway. We used to be great friends. He's at 
 the top of the profession now, while Jim Atwood's 
 gone over to Silver Plate. Yet I beat him in the 
 medical school," continued the Doctor, musingly. 
 
 "I'll run up this evening," said the lawyer. 
 " Well, we won't have to look for a purchaser of 
 the Plate Works any more ! " 
 
 " No," said the Doctor, grimly. " But I suppose 
 I shall have some things to talk over with you, 
 insurance, you know, and that lease." 
 
 Lewis nodded. " I have piled up work for the 
 next six months, Doctor, in the course of the last 
 two hours. ' It's an ill wind ' you know. By 
 the way, don't you think I ought to telegraph 
 Craig to come back ? It's the chance of his life, 
 with everybody wanting building plans at once. 
 I can certainly catch him at Pittsburg, and the 
 Pacific coast can wait." 
 
 " That's a good idea," said the Doctor, but with 
 out much enthusiasm. " Seems a pity to spoil a 
 wedding trip, though ! Don't you suppose Craig 
 can pick up enough after they get back ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 275 
 
 " That's for him to decide," replied Lewis, and 
 the Doctor drove on. 
 
 By noon, Lewis had an answer to his carefully 
 worded telegram, dated at Pittsburg. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Kennedy had left New York without looking 
 at the morning papers, and Lewis's telegram was 
 the first information that reached them concern 
 ing the great fire. 
 
 " Can't give up trip for ten fires" telegraphed 
 Craig. "Back next month.''' Whereupon his 
 former roommate laughed, and liked him better 
 than ever. 
 
 Early that evening Dr. Jedway was driven up 
 to the Atwood place. He shook hands with the 
 local practitioner and made him happy by pre 
 tending to remember him as a student. With 
 what seemed to Esther unpardonable deliberation, 
 he chatted with Dr. Atwood about old times. 
 Finally he bent over Tom Beaulieu, probing, tap 
 ping the edges of the wound with fingers light as a 
 woman's. There was a moment's ominous silence. 
 
 " You were quite right," he said, nodding 
 approval at the young Bartonvale physician. 
 " Very unusual case extremely interesting. It 
 will be necessary to perform the operation at 
 once, though that temperature record is very 
 much against us." 
 
 The younger man said something about hav 
 ing seen that operation successfully performed in 
 Vienna.
 
 276 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Vienna, eh ? Yes, I know. Well, we don't 
 make so much fuss about it this side of the water. 
 But we've records of five operations to their one, 
 nevertheless." The famous specialist chuckled, as 
 he turned to his instrument case. Dr. Atwood 
 watched him with a sort of envy. To be the head 
 of the profession in New York ; was it not after 
 all an achievement more to be proud of than to be 
 the late owner of the biggest silver plate works 
 in Bartonvale ? 
 
 " Now let's see," said Jedway. " I want you," 
 turning to the young physician, " to be ready to 
 help me, if necessary. I must have somebody to 
 hold the patient's head steady. It will take but a 
 few minutes. Dr. Atwood no." His eyes fell 
 on Esther Beaulieu's tall, firm figure and her 
 grave intelligent face. "This young woman 
 would do better. You and I are no longer 
 twenty -five, Jim ;" and he placed her upon the 
 edge of the bed, and laid Tom's head in her lap, 
 between her palms. Then he moved the lamp 
 nearer, turned back his cuffs fastidiously, and 
 began. 
 
 Dr. James Atwood, standing by the foot of the 
 bed, watched in silence. The surgeon's close- 
 cropped gray head, silvery in the lamplight, hid 
 the features of the wounded man, but his matted 
 black hair was visible, parted at the spot where 
 Jedway's instrument glinted. Esther Beaulieu's 
 long fingers held the black head motionless. The
 
 THE PLATED CITY 277 
 
 muscles of her arms and shoulders were rigid 
 with the strain, and her girlish face, its heavy- 
 lidded eyes intent upon every motion of Jedway's 
 fingers, its clear olive tint transparent in the 
 strong light, was full of a strange sweetness, 
 mingled with terror. Gazing at her, an old 
 memory woke suddenly in James Atwood's brain. 
 Somewhere, surely, he had seen that sight before ; 
 that very woman bending over the dark head of a 
 wounded man, with terror in her eyes, while the 
 light glistened upon a surgeon's knife. Where 
 had it been ? Oh, of course ! It had been down 
 there in Louisiana in 1863, when they had let him 
 through the Confederate lines in search of Everett. 
 It all came back, in one swift rush of pain ; the 
 wretched negro church at the cross-roads, turned 
 into a field hospital, the pine torches that flickered 
 over the ghastly sights upon the benches, the scent 
 of blood, the tall distraught woman who sat on the 
 floor, pillowing Everett's head in her lap, while a 
 Confederate surgeon, nerveless through exhaustion, 
 was probing ineffectually for the fatal ball. James 
 Atwood's ride had been in vain. His brother was 
 dead an hour afterwards, and gossip had whis 
 pered to the Northerner that the dark, queenly 
 woman who had disappeared at daybreak had 
 been Everett's wife. Oh, that the keenness of that 
 long-past pain and shame should still divide his 
 heart, while he stood, twenty-six years later, in 
 this room that had once been Everett's, at the bed-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 side of another man, with Esther Beaulieu sitting 
 there, in place of the nameless woman ! He closed 
 his eyes an instant, and when he opened them, 
 Jed way had risen, looking grave. 
 
 " That's all that can be done, Atwood," said he. 
 " It was deeper than I thought." And in answer 
 to a mute inquiry of Dr. Atwood's eyes, the sur 
 geon glanced at Esther Beaulieu, and then shook 
 his head. 
 
 Dr. Atwood drove him down to the nine o'clock 
 train, and, returning, found Norman Lewis in 
 stalled by the side of the patient. 
 
 " We persuaded Miss Beaulieu to lie down for 
 two or three hours, at least," said Lewis. " The 
 doctor says there's absolutely nothing to be done, 
 and that's something that I can do as well as 
 she. You'd better go to bed too, Dr. Atwood. 
 There's no need of anybody sitting up except 
 myself." 
 
 " But why you, more than anybody else ? " said 
 James Atwood. "You've had a harder day 
 than I." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," replied Lewis. " I've been 
 renewing my youth. And besides, Doctor, it's 
 lonelier than you would think for down at the 
 Bank block. I hate to .stay there to-night. I 
 didn't suppose I should miss the boy so much." 
 
 "Will he come back?" asked Dr. Atwood. 
 Lewis repeated the words of Craig's telegram. 
 " Good for him ! " muttered the old gentleman.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 279 
 
 " I wouldn't if it were I. A wedding trip 
 doesn't come every day, and to some of us " 
 
 " Never," said the brown-bearded man by the 
 night-lamp. 
 
 The other peered at him over his spectacles. 
 "Exactly," said he. "Good night, then, Lewis, 
 if you will have your way." And he went down 
 to his own chamber on the ground floor, his per 
 plexed brain haunted again and again, before he 
 sank to sleep, by that group of figures on the 
 floor of the cross-roads church in Louisiana. 
 
 It was scarcely more than ten o'clock. The 
 lawyer moistened the bandage upon Beaulieu's 
 head with the antiseptic solution, glanced again at 
 the physician's written directions as to the treat 
 ment to be followed in case of any sudden rise 
 in temperature, and then settled quietly into the 
 depths of an easy chair. He had gone through with 
 enough in the last twenty -four hours to leave him 
 physically weary, but he was disinclined to sleep. 
 For a while he sat motionless, his eyes fixed upon 
 the ball-player's face. Poor Tom Beaulieu ! They 
 had found in his pocket the tattered affidavit 
 which Lewis himself had drawn up, and with 
 which Tom had thought to establish his fantas 
 tic pretensions to equality. Equality ! what an 
 empty phrase it was, after all ! the lawyer re 
 flected. There was no such thing. The only 
 equality ever dealt out to Tom Beaulieu was 
 given him by the iron-shod peak of the ware-
 
 280 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 house gable, as it struck him down to that dust 
 where all at last must lie. The sole fraternity 
 he had known was the fellowship of pain, and 
 hour by hour now it seemed that pain was fin 
 ishing its initiatory task, and that the bruised 
 body and wounded spirit were at last upon the 
 very threshold of liberty. Liberty, fraternity, 
 equality, to win them all, in an instant, by a 
 blow upon the temple! 
 
 Nor did it seem unlikely to the lawyer that 
 Beaulieu's recklessness had been deliberate. To 
 linger below that toppling, crackling mass of 
 timbers had looked to many at the time like 
 suicidal daring, and as Lewis sat by the side 
 of the ball-player, he found himself wondering 
 whether his surmise of the night before had not 
 been correct. He recalled what Craig had said 
 at the time of Tom's departure for California 
 about his secret feeling that his sister would be 
 better off without him. If that thought had 
 influenced him then, when the future at least 
 looked hopeful, would it not have been doubly 
 operant after the irrecoverable failure of his pro 
 fessional career? Lewis wondered whether any 
 suspicion of this had crossed the sister's mind. 
 Certainly all she knew was that Tom had been 
 hurt while fighting the fire ; no one had told 
 her that he had courted death. It was better 
 that no one should do so, and after all perhaps 
 there had been nothing more in Beaulieu's ac-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 281 
 
 tions than might be accounted for on the theory 
 of the extreme excitement of a naturally reckless 
 nature, under the deadly fascination of an im 
 minent danger. That was the more natural in 
 terpretation of the facts, the lawyer endeavored 
 to convince himself, and he strove to put the 
 memory of Tom's tragic rashness out of his 
 mind. 
 
 His thoughts took a new turn. He tried to im 
 agine what Esther Beaulieu must have felt when 
 she first arrived in Bartonvale and discovered 
 Tom's position. He recollected what had been 
 told him of their struggle together against the 
 prejudices of the Plated City. Yes, there was 
 no doubt that Esther Beaulieu would have had 
 a very different experience in Bartonvale if it had 
 not been for Tom. He had compromised her. 
 Fatally, Lewis wondered ? Would the Plated 
 City ever forgive her for her dubious ancestry 
 on that dimly remembered mother's side, even at 
 some future day when Tom Beaulieu should also 
 be half -forgotten ? Would her beauty and intelli 
 gence and tact count for nothing as against that 
 putative drop of alien blood ? No, said Norman 
 Lewis to himself, with Tom or without him, the 
 Plated City will never receive Esther Beaulieu ; 
 and, after all, by some unconscious, sternly inflexi 
 ble, racial instinct of self-preservation, may not 
 the Plated City be quite right ? 
 
 Tom Beaulieu moved slightly, in his stupor,
 
 282 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and Lewis felt suddenly ashamed of himself for 
 thus coolly speculating upon the future, while he 
 still watched over the bedside of the living man. 
 He glanced at his watch, and moistened the band 
 ages again. It was eleven. He was drowsier 
 now, and after another quarter of an hour, crept 
 downstairs in search of something to read. On 
 the table, in the sitting-room, lay the Doctor's 
 copy of Mammon ly Harris, half open. Lewis 
 turned the leaves a moment. His eye caught the 
 italicized words : " The final destination of the 
 covetous is hell,' 1 '' whereupon he smiled and closed 
 the book with a whimsical sense of security. 
 Covetousness could scarcely be called his beset 
 ting sin at present ; his latest benevolence toward 
 the Lewis Land and Irrigation Company had left 
 him without money enough to pay for his wedding 
 present to Miss Thayer. The Bartonvale fire 
 promised indeed to put some money in his pockets, 
 at the price of hard work in the course of the 
 next few weeks, but as yet he had no excuse for 
 reading Mammon by Harris ! 
 
 He turned to the old bookshelves, and pulled 
 out one book after another. On the fly-leaf of 
 one he noticed the name of Everett Atwood. 
 That must have been the brother who went to 
 the bad, he reflected, and stuck back the book, 
 yawning. There was nothing here he cared 
 for. Finally he selected some magazines from 
 a pile which Esther had brought up from the
 
 283 
 
 Library, and returned to the sick-room. But 
 he could not interest himself in them. His 
 mind was truant. By and by he laid them 
 down softly, and leaned back in his chair, his 
 arms thrown above his head. He knew now 
 what he wanted : he would have liked to be 
 down in the Bank block, before his drawers of 
 photographs. How often had he been able to 
 escape from the Plated City, and from all the 
 worriments and silent sacrifices of his life by 
 simply dreaming over those pictures ! They were 
 of lands he was never likely to see, of towers 
 and arches and sculptured forms which he could 
 scarcely hope to gaze upon in reality. Yet per 
 haps for that very reason, he always dreamed 
 himself back to Bartonvale, after an hour in 
 their company, refreshed at heart and with a 
 spirit set free. Other men had other ways of 
 forgetting the keen sordid life of Main Street, 
 by a drive up the river, or an evening in New 
 York, or a quiet hour with wife and child. Nor 
 man Lewis had his photographs. For a moment 
 he wished he had them now ; he wished that he 
 were not here in the old Atwood house, watching 
 over a wounded man, but down in his cosy cor 
 ner in the Bank block, with Craig Kennedy still 
 silently pulling at his pipe on the other side of 
 the room. And to think that all that was over, 
 that Craig at this very midnight hour was whirl 
 ing westward with his bride, into the No-man's
 
 284 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Land whither happy bridegrooms go, and into a 
 new inner world that would make the old com 
 panionable Bank block world seem small ! Some 
 thing within Norman Lewis, too, cried out for a 
 new experience, for the unexplored, for the larger 
 life that haunts and yet eludes our waking dreams. 
 Was it merely his photographs that he wanted ? 
 
 There was a rustle in the hall, and Esther 
 Beaulieu entered the sick-room. She was fully 
 dressed, save that her hair had evidently been 
 hastily caught into place, and its coils were al 
 ready loosening. There was a startled expres 
 sion upon her face. 
 
 " Has he needed me ? " she whispered. " I did 
 not think I should fall asleep." 
 
 Lewis shook his head. " There is no change," 
 he said. 
 
 The girl leaned over her brother, and smoothed 
 the coverlet. He was lying very quietly now, 
 breathing heavily. She came back softly toward 
 the night-lamp. Norman Lewis had risen. 
 
 "You had better go now," she -said. "Thank 
 you very much. I am perfectly rested, and can 
 do everything that the doctor spoke of." 
 
 " I think you need some one here besides Dr. 
 Atwood," replied Lewis, quietly. " If you don't 
 mind, I won't go home to-night." 
 
 " But you need some sleep," she answered. 
 " It is nearly one o'clock, and you did not go 
 away last night until three." She hesitated.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 285 
 
 " Could you not lie down on the sitting-room 
 sofa ? There is a shawl there. And I could call 
 you, if Tom wakes." 
 
 " I am not sleepy in the least," said Norman 
 Lewis, looking her in the eyes. " If it won't 
 trouble you, I think I'll stay here." 
 
 She yielded, having spoken perhaps more 
 bravely than she felt. It was a comfort to her 
 to have the low-voiced, friendly featured man 
 there in the room. He made her take the easy 
 chair by the night-lamp, and they began their 
 watch together. The June night was profoundly 
 quiet, except for the dull thunder of the big dam, 
 miles up the Mattawanset, and now and then a 
 sleepy rustle of the Atwood pines. Through the 
 open window of the sick-room there could be seen 
 the shifting lights of the watchmen patrolling the 
 burned district, fearful of any new outbreak of the 
 flames. They seemed like fireflies, and crossed and 
 recrossed the Flats as noiselessly. Lewis watched 
 them for a while, and then his eyes wandered back 
 to Esther Beaulieu. Her gaze was fastened upon 
 Tom ; she seemed to count each one of his slow, 
 heavily drawn breaths. Apparently she was per 
 fectly oblivious of Norman Lewis's presence. He 
 found himself studying her face. It was a proud, 
 delicate one, he reflected, and singularly pure. 
 The long lashes drooped wearily above her eyes, 
 but she did not relax her affectionate, troubled 
 gaze at the wounded ball-player. To think, said
 
 286 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the lawyer to himself, that she and he had the 
 same mother ! He renewed his speculations of 
 an hour before as to her past struggle with the 
 Plated City, and her probable future in case Tom 
 Beaulieu were to die. But he was conscious of a 
 change in his own point of view since the girl had 
 come into the room. His analysis of probabilities 
 was no less keen than before, but he discovered 
 that he had now taken Miss Beaulieu's side. At 
 first he felt half amused at the discovery. What 
 retainer had been given him that he should defend 
 her against the Plated City? He surveyed her 
 from head to foot. Was ever a client more 
 empty handed and forsaken ? Save for the 
 chivalrous protection of old James Atwood, she 
 was alone, in a hopeless contest. Even Dr. At- 
 wood's championship of her cause had com 
 promised her in the eyes of Main Street, and 
 innuendoes were not wanting on the Hill. Yet 
 look at the girl's face, sweet as a nun's, and proud 
 as Diana's ! The lawyer's pulse beat quicker; he 
 forgot that a half-hour previously he had been 
 wishing himself down in the Bank block, examin 
 ing his collection of photographs. 
 
 Suddenly Miss Beaulieu turned and looked 
 across the room at Lewis. It was a long, in 
 quiring look, as if she would have spoken. Then 
 she renewed her vigil, but with a change in her 
 position that partly hid her face. For five min 
 utes she had been growing conscious of the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 287 
 
 lawyer's silent scrutiny. It troubled her, vaguely. 
 In her helplessness and anxiety about Tom she 
 had welcomed Lewis's presence, detecting beneath 
 his reticent, sometimes brusque, demeanor a sym 
 pathy upon which she felt she could rely. But 
 she had not known what it would mean for them 
 to watch together ; she had supposed that they 
 might both be busied in some joint ministry to 
 Tom ; she had not foreseen that she would sit 
 here motionless, waiting, waiting, with those grave, 
 searching eyes bent upon her face. Except for 
 her brother, she had never sat alone in a room 
 with a man. She wondered if Tante Beaulieu 
 would have thought it unmaidenly in her that she 
 allowed Mr. Lewis to remain. Why did he per 
 sist in looking at her, instead of out upon the 
 Flats, as he had done at first ? She grew restive. 
 Again she turned toward him, and this time his 
 eyes fell. She made a hesitating movement to 
 adjust the night-lamp, as if it had been for this 
 that she had turned, and in an instant he crossed 
 the room to assist her. Silently he turned the 
 wick down, and then up, to suit her apparent 
 wishes, with the result that the light was left 
 exactly as it had been before. But Lewis did 
 not recross the room. He seated himself in a 
 straight-backed chair by the table, resting his 
 head upon his hand, and turning sidewise toward 
 her as she reclined in the depths of her easy chair. 
 He seemed to her fancy to tower above her, to
 
 288 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 assert himself, in some indefinable way. She 
 felt almost afraid of him, and yet his eyes were 
 so kind ! 
 
 She was the first to speak, stammering out at 
 random something about the medicines. The in 
 stant he answered, nodding down at her gravely, 
 she felt comparatively at ease again. They began 
 to chat, in low tones, much as they had chatted 
 together once or twice at the Doctor's tea-table. 
 It was a relief after the tension of long silence, 
 amid the deep hush of midnight. But the pres 
 ence of the dark figure upon the bed, laboring 
 unconsciously between life and death, awed them 
 both, and they stopped in mid-sentence again and 
 again, startled at the stillness that seemed to follow 
 some unusually deep and painful breath. When 
 the breathing recommenced, they would glance at 
 each other and take up again the broken sentence, 
 but all their talk was of the fire, and of Tom. 
 
 " Tell me," said Esther, " how Tom was hurt. 
 I did not know that you saw the building fall." 
 
 He told her all he could, laying stress upon 
 Tom's bravery, and suppressing any surmises of 
 his own as to the ball-player's deliberate folly. 
 The girl listened with gleaming eyes. " They 
 are brother and sister," thought the lawyer. " She 
 would do that reckless sort of thing herself, if 
 she chose." He hesitated a moment. "And 
 where were you when the fire broke out ? " he 
 asked. " Were you afraid ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 289 
 
 It Avas her turn to pause. Then she opened 
 her heart. What she had shrunk from confiding 
 even to Dr. Atwood it seemed quite natural to 
 tell to this serious-voiced, younger man, who had 
 shown himself friendly to Tom the summer before, 
 and who was sharing her watch over him to-night. 
 
 " I was down in the machine shops when the 
 alarm was given," she replied. " I do not re 
 member whether I was afraid; I was thinking 
 about Tom." 
 
 " In the machine shops ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 She nodded. " I went down there to talk with 
 Cyrus Calhoun. Tom wanted to have me see 
 him about about mother." She was looking 
 Lewis full in the face. 
 
 "I went to Calhoun last summer," said the 
 lawyer, in a voice lower than ever. t 
 
 "Yes," said she, "but Tom did not feel sure. 
 He wanted me to see Cyrus Calhoun myself." 
 
 " Why didn't he go ? " said Norman Lewis. 
 "Why should he send you to the machine shops 
 at night ? " 
 
 She perceived his meaning. 
 
 " I did not mind," she replied, lifting her head 
 a trifle. " No one troubled me. If I had known 
 Tom was coming last night, perhaps I would have 
 waited. But I did not know he was in Bartonvale 
 until you and Mr. Trellys brought him here." 
 She paused. 
 
 " I heard to-day he had just come in on the up
 
 290 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 train," hazarded Lewis, thinking it was better 
 that he should break the silence. " He was just 
 in time to fight the fire at the Neck." 
 
 " And do you know," she said, sitting straight 
 up in the easy chair, so that her face was nearly 
 on a level with Lewis's, " why he came at night ? 
 It was because he felt ashamed to come in the 
 daytime. He thought he was disgraced because 
 he lost his work, when it was not his fault at all ! 
 And he was not sure that Cyrus Calhoun told 
 you the truth, when you made out the paper. It 
 troubled Tom all the time, after he came back 
 from California. Why should every one have 
 been so cruel to Tom ? Why should it make any 
 difference to people whether Cyrus Calhoun re 
 members all about mother or not? We are just 
 what we are. But no one knows what we are, 
 and so they hate us. Is that fair?" Her lips 
 were trembling, but there was a scornful fire in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " It is very unfair," said Norman Lewis, huskily. 
 "It is the way the world is made, however, and 
 you and I cannot make it over again." He 
 stopped, wondering what had made him clumsy 
 enough to say " You and I," and nevertheless, at 
 the instant, he had meant it. Her passionate 
 indignation had for a moment seemed to isolate 
 her and him from all the world beside. 
 
 She flung herself back in the big chair, with a 
 gesture of impatience, and lay with half-closed
 
 THE PLATED CITY 291 
 
 eyes, breathing excitedly. Lewis looked away 
 from her, toward the dumb figure upon the bed, 
 and then through the open window, out upon the 
 Flats. The stars had set, and a thin fog had 
 crept over the Mattawanset Valley. 
 
 "I should like to ask," he said, after a long 
 interval, "whether Cyrus Calhoun told you the 
 same story that he did to me." 
 
 She opened her eyes wearily. Yet he thought 
 he had never seen a lovelier face. " I think so," 
 she replied. " He told me some things about my 
 mother's talk when she was strange which he 
 forgot to tell you, he said, but it made no differ 
 ence. She was crazed part of the time, and used 
 to say that she was looking for her husband, who 
 lived in Barton vale. And *that was before she 
 married my papa." 
 
 " That was curious," said Lewis. 
 
 " Yes," said the girl. " She used to call him 
 Mr. Everett, but Cyrus Calhoun says there was 
 never any family in Barton vale by that name." 
 
 " There isn't," said the lawyer. 
 
 Esther Beaulieu nodded acquiescently. She 
 too, like Cyrus Calhoun, had scarcely given the 
 matter a second thought. " Yet I have seen that 
 name since I came to Bartonvale," she remarked; 
 "I must have read it somewhere." She rose to 
 moisten the bandage upon Tom's brow. 
 
 " Everett ? " thought Norman Lewis to himself. 
 " Surely I have seen that name too, and within
 
 292 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the last twenty-four hours. Everett ? Everett ? " 
 He tried to recall the circumstances in which that 
 name had met his eye, but without avail. 
 
 He was roused by an exclamation from Esther 
 Beaulieu. In an instant he was at the bedside. 
 The dark eyes of the sick man were wide open, 
 roving about the unfamiliar room. It was the 
 room where the Atwood boys had slept together, 
 fifty years before. A frown was upon the ball 
 player's face. Finally his gaze grew fixed upon 
 Esther, the set features relaxed, the saturnine lips 
 moved as if they would have spoken. The girl 
 stooped till her face was close above his. His eyes 
 lightened, and he knew her. Then he shivered 
 slightly, as a man might whose feet are sinking 
 into a darkly rising stream; his chin was lifted as 
 for one deep breath of sweet air before the waters 
 close, and he was gone. With a cry the girl 
 fell on her knees by the bedside; Norman Lewis 
 stole noiselessly out of the room; and through the 
 boughs of the Atwood pines there ran the mur 
 mur of the wind of dawn.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 293 
 
 XV 
 
 LATE that afternoon, in the hushed guest cham 
 ber of the Atwood house, the Doctor stood alone 
 by the side of Tom Beaulieu. One of the west 
 ern blinds had been half unrolled, and the yellow 
 sunlight fell upon the dead man's face. It was a 
 far more peaceful countenance than the haggard 
 one that bent above it. Through James Atwood's 
 troubled dreams of the night before that scene in 
 the Louisiana cross-roads church had risen and 
 sunk away and risen again incessantly. Twenty- 
 six years had fled since he had stood in that aisle, 
 bedraggled and exhausted with his ride through 
 the lines, and stared jealously at the unknown 
 woman in whose lap Everett's head was pillowed. 
 Twenty-six years! And yet the sight of Esther 
 Beaulieu supporting the wounded head of the 
 ball-player had brought everything back, with a 
 remorseless vividness. The intervening years had 
 failed to make the old pain dumb; even in his 
 dreams his heart ached for Everett. Everett's 
 face had been hovering before him in the gray 
 dawn, when Norman Lewis had knocked sharply 
 upon his door, and whispered what had happened. 
 Dressing hurriedly, he had stumbled up the stair'
 
 294 TEE PLATED CITY 
 
 way to Everett's old room, while he seemed to 
 hear as in a dream Everett's voice upon the land 
 ing, and to detect his brother's dark, eager feat 
 ures peering at him from the half-lit corners of 
 the hall. When he opened the door, and advanced, 
 as steadily as his agitation would allow, to the 
 side of Esther's kneeling figure, he beheld upon 
 Everett's bed a pallid face so strangely like his 
 brother's that it required all his self-control to 
 keep him from a startled cry. Never in his life 
 as far as he knew, save once upon the diamond, 
 had he seen the ball-player, until the night when he 
 had ordered him to be carried to his own roof. Dis 
 torted by pain as they had been, there was nothing 
 in Tom Beaulieu's features to remind one of 
 Everett Atwood. But in the sudden dignity 
 which Death lends to the meanest face, there had 
 come a transformation. Except for the stained 
 bandage across the brow, and the mortal pallor, 
 it was Everett Atwood sleeping there. For an 
 instant the Doctor trembled, as at an apparition, 
 then summoning his will-power, he shook off the 
 fancy, as if it had been one with the tissue of his 
 broken dreams. He touched Esther Beaulieu 
 gently upon the shoulder. As she rose, and 
 turned her grief-stricken eyes upon him, his brain 
 whirled again. He had seen just that look in a 
 woman's face once before. It was when the tall 
 person on the floor of the Louisiana church had 
 stood up, and turned to go out, when all was over.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 295 
 
 He caught his breath, the room wavered, and grew 
 blurred. Norman Lewis grasped his arm, and 
 looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " Hadn't you better go downstairs ? " whispered 
 the lawyer, after a moment. "You're not very 
 well, you know, Doctor. I'll call up Roberts at 
 once. I didn't wish to leave Miss Beaulieu alone. 
 I ought not to have waked you. so suddenly." 
 And rebuking himself for what he fancied was the 
 result of his own nervous haste in arousing on 
 such an errand a man not altogether strong, Lewis 
 got him downstairs, and poured out a glass of 
 water, before calling up the coachman. 
 
 When Esther Beaulieu and James Atwood sat 
 together at the table in the pretence of eating the 
 morning meal, while strangers' feet were busy in 
 the room above, she detected the Doctor, more 
 than once, in the act of making some strange scru 
 tiny of her face. But her thoughts at that hour 
 were all of Tom and her own sorrow, and she paid 
 slight heed to the furtive glances of Dr. Atwood, 
 thinking merely that he was trying to discover, 
 in his own fashion, whether she were brave. 
 
 By midday, the Doctor persuaded himself that 
 his morbid fancies were loosening their hold. The 
 fact that he had been dreaming of Everett made 
 it only natural that Tom Beaulieu's features should 
 have reminded him of Everett's, in the dim light 
 of dawn. He repeated this statement to himself 
 until he believed it, and in the early afternoon
 
 296 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 he drove the black horses down to the burned 
 district, and tried to catch the spirit of feverish 
 energy with which the Plated City was battling 
 against disaster. The Plated City was bound to 
 recover herself, he was told at every turn ; in six 
 months she would be putting out more brass and 
 rubber and silk and silver plate than ever. His 
 friends asked him if he had yet placed the con 
 tract for rebuilding the Atwood Works. He 
 shook his head, and after an hour of vain en 
 deavor to interest himself down town, he drove 
 up the Hill again. That morning fancy was 
 reasserting itself ; he could not escape it ; an 
 insatiable curiosity seized him to gaze again upon 
 Tom Beaulieu's face. The house was quiet now. 
 A neighbor was watching while Esther slept, and 
 so it was that James Atwood crept unobserved 
 into the darkened chamber, and half-unrolled the 
 western blind. 
 
 Sickening uncertainty oppressed him as he 
 looked. In the twelve hours that had elapsed 
 since dawn, a subtle alteration had evidently taken 
 place; certain traits that were dominant in the 
 gray morning light seemed half effaced, and other 
 traits, unnoticed then, assumed now the mastery. 
 It was at once less like Everett's face and more. 
 A dull fear took possession of the Doctor. He had 
 never known that Everett had a child. Until the 
 past twelve hours he had never thought of such 
 a possibility. It was months after his brother's
 
 THE PLATED CITY 297 
 
 death before he was assured that the woman he 
 had seen in the torch-lit church was Everett's 
 wife, and then, after he had with secret shame 
 forwarded money for her, because whatever she 
 might have been, Everett had at least married 
 her, he learned that she had disappeared. That 
 was the last of her. And yet ? And yet ? Recall 
 ing Avhat he had been told of Esther Beaulieu's 
 mother wandering to Bartonvale in 1865, why 
 not ? Things strange as that were happening 
 every day somewhere. 
 
 The Doctor's memory seemed jarred and broken. 
 It took all his force to strive to summon up the 
 countenance of Everett at twenty-five, and to con 
 front it with those calm features upon the pillow. 
 The more he sought to visualize Everett's appear 
 ance, the more blurred seemed the image, and 
 confused with the sombre yet infinitely peaceful 
 lineaments now before his eyes. At last he shook 
 his head in despair. It was like matching shadow 
 with shadow. His gaze wandered irresolutely 
 about the prim, familiar room. Suddenly it was ar 
 rested by one of the oval, black-framed daguerro- 
 types upon the opposite wall, taken on the eve of 
 Everett's ill-starred journey to New Orleans. The 
 Doctor hurriedly crossed the room, and taking the 
 picture from the nail, came back to the bedside, 
 tipping the daguerrotype this way and that in the 
 yellow bar of sunlight. He cast one long look at 
 the spectral, pallid, boyish portrait, with the big
 
 298 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 black stock tied under the chin and the dark hair 
 pushed backward, and then glanced, with forced 
 composure, at Tom Beaulieu. Despite his efforts 
 at self-control, a groan broke from his lips. Good 
 God, it was so ! He had been right ! If a father 
 was ever imaged in a son, then there in that tran 
 quil sunlight lay the body of Everett's child ! Dr. 
 Atwood's heart seemed to stop beating. A wave 
 of passionate, rebellious, remorseful feeling surged 
 over him. To think that Everett's boy had been 
 brought home at last to the Atwood house, only 
 when it was too late ! He sobbed, in the silent 
 guest chamber. 
 
 A light step in the adjoining room roused him, 
 and with shaking fingers he replaced the daguerreo 
 type, closed the blind, and groped his way out. 
 He stole through the hall before Esther Beaulieu 
 had time to descend the stairs, and silently enter 
 ing his office door, shut and locked it behind him, 
 and sank trembling into a chair. 
 
 With head thrown back, and outstretched arms, 
 he lay panting, like one that has fled from a mor 
 tal enemy. His eyes were closed, and the veins 
 across his temple were swollen, as his long breaths 
 went and came. The office seemed terribly close. 
 Through the uncurtained window the hot sun 
 shine streamed upon his face, but he did not stir. 
 His bitter misery seemed to paralyze him ; he 
 could only mutter over and over again in pathetic 
 iteration, the words " Everett's boy ! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 299 
 
 After a little his thoughts came back. That it 
 should all end like this ! In gush upon gush of 
 affectionate recollection, his brother's early ambi 
 tions and ill-starred adventures reverted to his 
 mind. He himself had been the stay-at-home, the 
 plodder, and many a time had he stood between 
 Everett and his mother's well-grounded indigna 
 tion. He had loved the boy, he had put him on 
 his feet after a dozen falls, he had even held his 
 own head high during those early years of the 
 war, and stoutly denied that Everett was a rebel, 
 or at least a copperhead. Half the reason for his 
 own enlistment as an army surgeon was to prove 
 to the world that the Atwoods were loyal. He 
 had borne alone the shame and grief that followed 
 upon his discovery of Everett's entanglement. 
 Not a soul in Bartonvale knew the story of his 
 brother's marriage, nor that Everett had fallen 
 with a Northern bullet through his brain. When 
 James Atwood's pride was touched, he could be 
 as secret as the grave. 
 
 And now no one need know the truth which 
 had flashed itself upon him. What could possibly 
 be gained by advertising the fact that the dead 
 ball-player, a posthumous child by a woman of 
 dubious race, was the last of the Atwoods, and 
 the heir to the very crest of the Bartonvale Hill ? 
 There was no proof. There was nothing but an 
 old man's intuition. Silence, and cool earth upon 
 his coffin, were surely the best gifts one could ren-
 
 300 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 der to Tom Beaulieu now. Why should Everett's 
 tarnished and already half -forgotten name be the 
 prey of the Plated City's gossip? Having for 
 twenty-six years opened his lips to no man con 
 cerning Everett's life in Louisiana, was it not too 
 late, and now doubly futile, to tell the story of 
 that old infatuation ? Better to shroud it, closer 
 than ever, and lay it with poor Tom Beaulieu 
 away forever from the sight of men. 
 
 Dr. Atwood rose stealthily from his chair, and 
 opening his office safe, took out a thin bundle of 
 papers from the inmost drawer. He had not 
 looked at them for years, and yet he knew them 
 by heart. It was not that they were so very im 
 portant : most of them were long-outlawed notes 
 held against New Orleans business houses, which 
 had been in Everett's pockets when he fell ; and 
 there were two or three letters from Everett, 
 directed to James at Bartonvale, which had not 
 reached the Doctor until many weeks after he had 
 laid his brother in his Southern grave. These 
 letters were all about the woman he was going to 
 marry. James Atwood had read them originally 
 with a sinking of the heart, and as he now ran his 
 eye over the eagerly penned boyish lines in their 
 fading ink, the old pain, and a new sense of the 
 tragic chances of life, haunted him. 
 
 "... Of course I know I shall be ostracized 
 in this parish, but I do not care. If you could see 
 her, you would know why. Jim, she is enough to
 
 THE PLATED CITY 301 
 
 turn the head of a steadier man than I am, and 
 God knows I am steadier than when I came to 
 New Orleans four years ago. I have had hard 
 luck, but this is going to set everything right. 
 After a while, some of the planters will come 
 round to my side, and understand the sort of 
 woman she is, I know. . . . Oh, if you could 
 only see her, Jim ! She is a pure French Creole 
 the finest women in the world, my boy ! and 
 she knows her family tree, every branch of it, 
 farther back than you or I do. Here are some 
 names and dates, if you want to see for yourself. 
 . . . People here don't believe this ; in fact, there's 
 a lot of talk that I need not repeat to you, d n 
 them all ! I believe her enough to marry her, 
 though I admit that when you look at the circum 
 stances of her life, from the outside, a man might 
 well think twice. . . . 
 
 " She is an angel, but she has had to go through 
 hell. Nobody knows just what that girl has been 
 and done, except me. No one ever will. That is 
 our business, and no one else's, from now on. I 
 don't know that I wonder so much at what some 
 men may have said of her, but henceforth, in my 
 presence, her name crosses no man's lips. We are 
 to be married Sunday. I wonder what mother 
 will say ? Don't tell her ; I want to write by and 
 by, and tell her all about it myself. . . . 
 
 " I say she has not a drop of negro blood, not 
 one drop. But did you ever stop to think that
 
 302 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 there's a good deal of d d nonsense afloat in this 
 world, Jim ? You know well enough that there 
 are queer stories about the 'black Atwoods.' 
 I'm a 'black Atwood,' myself, and yet not fool 
 enough to think that it was an Indian chief who 
 married into the Virginia branch, before they 
 came North. That makes a good enough story, 
 but I think the less said the better about the rea 
 son for the Virginia Atwoods coming to Connecti 
 cut. Mind, I don't say that we've got any black 
 blood ; but the longer I live down here, the more I 
 laugh at that yarn about the Indian chief. What 
 would you say, really, to an African princess up 
 in the branches of our family tree? You don't 
 have to go back two hundred years always to 
 strike something that says that men are men and 
 women are women and that blood is red. Do you 
 understand ? There's too much queerness behind 
 every one of us, if you get back far enough. The 
 safest thing is to shut up, and call no names. All 
 of which means that, though I believe she is a 
 Creole of the Creoles, I don't think a 'black 
 Atwood' would have the right to say much, if 
 she wasn't. I hope I have not disgusted you, 
 Jim. I never thought of such things till I came 
 South ; the Pocahontas story was good enough for 
 me. . . . 
 
 "There is just one thing that is a little awk 
 ward. I hear I'm still wanted in New Orleans, 
 for that row in the St. Charles Hotel. The
 
 303 
 
 fellow died, though I swear I fired high, and it 
 was a man shooting behind me somewhere, who 
 killed him. But it is mixed up with politics, and 
 I still have to lie low. Between us, Jim, that's 
 why I enlisted ; they were getting suspicious of 
 me here, and ' Mr. Everett ' is not enough of an 
 assumed name to fool people, though I've got to 
 stick by it now. She knows me by that name, 
 you see ; and it'll have to be ' Mr. Everett ' all 
 around, till we drive you Yankees out of the Red 
 River district, next month. I'm in rather a queer 
 fix for a good Connecticut Democrat, eh ? But I 
 shall pull through ! Good by ! Did I tell you 
 that we are to be married Sunday ? . . . ' 
 
 The Doctor read them through slowly. Twenty- 
 six years had not robbed those lines of their reck 
 less ardor, their mockery of conventions, their 
 brotherly affection. Slowly he replaced them in 
 the envelope, and lay back in his chair. Had he 
 done right by Everett, after all ? On his return 
 from Louisiana, with the shrugs and innuendoes 
 of Everett's Southern neighbors fresh in his mind, 
 he had said nothing to his mother about the tall 
 dark woman in the church. Their mother had 
 had sorrow enough over Everett already. There 
 was no use giving her an added shame. And even 
 when these last letters found their way to Barton- 
 vale, James Atwood, after long hesitation, had 
 decided to keep them to himself. Undoubtedly 
 Everett had believed in the girl, and married her,
 
 304 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 but why should his old mother know ? Those mock 
 ing sentences about the "black Atwoods," also, 
 would have torn her heart. And so, to the day of 
 her death, James kept the truth from her. Out of 
 sheer love to Everett, he forwarded money for the 
 woman, but when the answer came that she could 
 not be found, he breathed easier, and never pressed 
 the search. It was this that troubled him now, 
 as he sat brooding over the bundle of yellowing 
 papers. Ought he not to have tried harder to 
 trace her ? If the case had been reversed, and his 
 own wife, and possibly a child, had been friendless 
 and forsaken, would not Everett have been tireless 
 in seeking them ? Would the fact that it was war 
 time, and that he was needed elsewhere, and that 
 he shrank from the very thought of such a mar 
 riage, have made any difference to the younger 
 brother, standing in the older brother's place ? 
 The Doctor knew that it would not. His con 
 science stung him at the thought. He whose 
 enterprise and irreproachable integrity had made 
 him the first man in the Plated City, had never 
 theless been fatally lax in the fulfilment of a 
 sacred trust. It was no less sacred because he 
 stood unpledged. Would Everett have faltered 
 in the quest because he had never promised in 
 so many words to care for an only brother's 
 widow? 
 
 But how inexorably was the punishment come 
 upon him ! To think that the widowed outcast
 
 THE PLATED CITY 305 
 
 should have wandered northward with her baby, 
 and reached at last the very town where her hus 
 band had been born ! If she had known him, as 
 the letter had seemed to indicate, only as "Mr. 
 Everett," it was no wonder she had failed to dis 
 cover the object of her search. The name Barton- 
 vale had perhaps clung to her memory when 
 weightier matters had eluded it. And to think 
 that she had lived here in Bartonvale like an 
 Ishmaelite, relegated to the negro quarter, and 
 despised there as a woman of mixed blood ! 
 
 A "Creole of the Creoles" a woman whom 
 Everett had loved, to be outlawed in his native 
 village, and forced at last, in despair, to marry a 
 drunken stone-mason, that she might get bread 
 for her baby ! That that boy, the son of Everett, 
 should grow up in Bartonvale as a no-man's child 
 on Nigger Hill, should turn into a professional 
 ball-player, fail in his one great effort at social 
 rehabilitation, and perish at last in a madcap 
 struggle to save the shops of James Atwood and 
 many another from the flames ! And that James 
 Atwood, all these years, should have been steadily 
 laying dollar to dollar, absorbed in developing the 
 Atwood Works, successful and measurably happy, 
 while a boy of the old Atwood blood was running 
 in the Plated City streets ! " He that provideth 
 not for his own ," the words had long gone out 
 of his memory, apparently, but he remembered 
 now reciting them with Everett at their mother's
 
 306 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 knee one toilsome Sunday afternoon in their boy 
 hood, " He that provideth not for his own, and 
 especially for those of his own house, hath denied 
 the faith, and is worse than an infidel." 
 
 After all, was it true ? Was it not, rather, 
 too pitiful to be true ? There was no proof. It 
 might never have entered his head had it not 
 been for the chance resemblance of Esther to that 
 woman who might have been her mother. That 
 had set him to dreaming, and it was not strange 
 that Tom Beaulieu's face that morning had 
 seemed to him like Everett's. But he had been 
 excited, and such coincidences were not unknown. 
 Even when he stood in the guest chamber, an 
 hour since, might he not possibly have been mis 
 taken ? Was a fancied likeness between two faces 
 strong enough evidence to warrant him in believ 
 ing what would turn his last years into years of 
 miserable, impotent regret ? 
 
 There came a rap at the office door. The Doc 
 tor thrust the papers back into the safe and rose, 
 but he did not approach the door. He was ex 
 traordinarily agitated. He must decide whether 
 he would entertain the evidence of his own senses. 
 He felt by some intuition that the crisis was upon 
 him. Again came the rap, and a low voice that 
 he thought he knew. He hesitated. Before 
 opening that door, he realized that he must 
 choose one course of action or the other. Either 
 Tom Beaulieu was Everett's son, or he was not.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 307 
 
 And even as the Doctor put this dilemma to him 
 self, the darkened chamber was again before his 
 eyes, and the daguerrotype, and the dead man's 
 sombre yet peaceful face, in the revealing sun 
 light. He trembled from head to foot, but he 
 was true to his deepest self. With head erect, he 
 strode to the door, and opened it. 
 
 Norman Lewis stood there. " I beg your par 
 don, Doctor," he said ; "I thought I had attended 
 to everything this morning, but I forgot one 
 thing. Where shall Beaulieu be buried ? " 
 
 Dr. Atwood peered at the lawyer with such a 
 strange pathetic expression that Lewis dropped 
 his eyes. He had not supposed that the Doctor 
 took Tom Beaulieu's death so hard. 
 
 "The young man is to be buried in the Atwood 
 lot," said the Doctor. 
 
 Lewis bowed gravely. There was a moment's 
 silence, and Dr. Atwood closed the door and 
 locked it again. Lewis struck one hand noise 
 lessly into the other, with intense excitement. 
 
 " In the Atwood lot ? " he exclaimed to himself. 
 "That means that he will marry Esther Beaulieu 
 yet." And for the first time in his life, Norman 
 Lewis knew what it is to be jealous.
 
 308 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 XVI 
 
 DR. ATWOOD did not come out to supper. It 
 did not seem to him that he could meet Esther's 
 solicitous, affectionate gaze. In answer to her 
 soft voice at the office door he asked that a cup 
 of tea might be sent in to him, but it remained 
 untasted upon his desk. The sun fell lower and 
 lower through the boughs of the old pines, and 
 at last the office grew quite dark, but still Dr. 
 Atwood sat brooding by the window. He was 
 trying to conquer a sudden unreasonable aversion 
 to the orphan girl whom he had befriended. 
 With a kind of strange shame, he dreaded to look 
 her in the eyes, to read in her mournful visage a 
 likeness to the woman who had won his brother's 
 love. That marriage with a woman concerning 
 whose history those who ought to have known 
 her well shrugged their shoulders and smiled 
 understandingly, had given bitterness to James 
 Atwood's memories of Everett, during all these 
 years. But it was a bitterness that had steadily 
 grown less, and sometimes, as the Doctor had 
 re-read those yellowing letters, he had found 
 himself believing every word that Everett had 
 written in her vindication. Why should not
 
 THE PLATED CITY 309 
 
 Everett have known her best, after all ? He was 
 no fool, though guilty of many a folly. In any 
 case, as the Doctor had often told himself, it was 
 all over long ago, and Everett's reckless alliance 
 made no difference to any one alive. Their mother 
 would have grieved, no doubt, if she had learned 
 it, but her elder son's unbroken secrecy had kept 
 her from knowing. Sleeping dogs had been let 
 lie, and James Atwood had hoped they would 
 sleep on to the world's end. 
 
 But they had wakened. The face and figure 
 of the dark queenly girl now under the Atwood 
 roof were the face and figure that had intoxicated 
 Everett, a quarter of a century before. The life 
 less form in the closed chamber was that of 
 Everett's child, come home to the Atwood house 
 at last. This was the worst. The sight of Esther 
 might give the Doctor pain, as recalling an old 
 sorrow, but the thought of Tom's unregarded 
 existence in Bartonvale, during all the years of 
 boyhood, struck to the old man's soul. He had 
 failed in his duty. He had left undone the one 
 thing that he ought to have done. He had hunted 
 through a dozen courts the title of the land on 
 which stood the Atwood Works ; could he not 
 have traced through a single parish the footsteps 
 of a woman who bore or should have borne 
 his brother's name ? A single slighted duty, 
 among all the duties so scrupulously performed ; 
 one moment of shrinking from an unpleasant
 
 310 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 task, in a lifetime of tasks patiently accomplished ; 
 how bitter that the consequences of it should be 
 visited upon him 'now, when his head was white, 
 and his strength was failing ! It was not merely 
 the future that seemed spoiled to him ; the knowl 
 edge that Everett's son had brushed past him a 
 thousand times upon the streets of Bartonvale 
 seemed to spoil all the past, too ; it made his 
 twenty -five years of business success seem a pitiful 
 and tarnished thing, not worth the winning. He 
 had been the autocrat of the Plated City, but he 
 had never stretched out his hand to his brother's 
 son. Only when it was too late had he shown 
 Tom Beaulieu a kindness, and then it had been 
 simply for the sake of a girl whom he had chosen 
 to champion. Even if the dead man could know 
 that he was to be given burial with the Atwoods, 
 would he not somehow, somewhere feel the 
 irony of his fate ? An outcast all his life, what 
 mattered it that the stone above his head should 
 sometime tell the gossips that he had been an 
 Atwood ? 
 
 No, there was no atonement possible. The one 
 grief of James At wood's life had been the career 
 of Everett. This grief was destined to be deep 
 ened as the knowledge of that career, in all its 
 consequences, was disclosed. That was all. There 
 was no escape. His weakness in failing to do his 
 utmost to seek out his brother's wife would bring 
 life-long regret, a remorse that would not slumber.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 311 
 
 It was idle to think of reparation now. And as the 
 hours of the long evening crept away, even the 
 remorse that preyed upon Dr. Atwood's sensitive 
 conscience was numbed by a dull misery, a vague 
 sense of the impotence of effort, the futility of life. 
 By and by, eleven o'clock struck from one of 
 the churches on the quiet Green. Something 
 turned the Doctor's thoughts to the little house 
 underneath the elms, where Mrs. Thayer was 
 sleeping. Mrs. Thayer ! If Everett's wayward 
 life had taught his brother what grief meant, 
 James Atwood had also learned what it was to 
 love. Love for her, and grief for Everett, had 
 been the two great passions that the lonely man 
 had known. As the stroke of the bell rose softly 
 to his ears through the murmur of the elm boughs 
 and the pines, he found himself thinking of 
 Rachel Thayer. There was something peaceful 
 in the very sound of her name, after the distress 
 ing hours of conflict with himself, and self- 
 reproach. He wondered what she would say to 
 him, if she understood all the trouble that lay 
 upon his heart. It would be something sweet 
 and restful, he was sure, words serious and tran 
 quil, like herself. Some men had women like 
 Mrs. Thayer under their roofs their whole lives 
 long, to give wise and tender counsel, to whisper 
 solace, to grant them refuge from the conten 
 tions and turbulence of the outer world. His 
 own lot had been different. He had gone through
 
 312 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 life without her daily presence, save as that pres 
 ence was constant in his memory. Yet more than 
 once, at certain crises, he was conscious of having 
 been guided by her wishes as actually as if she had 
 been standing by his side. What would she whis 
 per to him now, if she were here in the dark, silent 
 office, and knew everything? Would she say that 
 there was any atonement to be made? 
 
 With a sudden agitation, he rose to his feet. 
 What if she had already spoken ! Had she not, 
 by virtue of some saint-like prescience of his need, 
 already told him what he ought to do ? He struck a 
 match, and lighted a lamp, with hands that shook 
 with emotion. Opening again the door of his safe, 
 he took from the inner drawer the note that Mrs. 
 Thayer had written him, weeks before. He read 
 it, and re-read it, standing close by the lamp. 
 
 " DEAR JAMES : Sarah tells me that you have 
 been planning with Craig Kennedy to build her 
 a fine house on the Atwood place. That was 
 very generous, and just like you, James. But 
 please do not do it. You must not do it. I will 
 tell you some of the reasons why. I am often 
 fearful for Sarah. She is a good girl, but some 
 times the world seems to have a strong hold upon 
 her. If she were to live in such a house as you 
 would wish to give her, I fear it would lead her 
 into temptation. It would be harder for her to 
 be the sort of woman I hope and pray she may
 
 THE PLATED CITY 313 
 
 become. No, do not do it, James. And I know 
 you will not if I ask you. 
 
 "But shall I tell you what I wish you would 
 do, now that you are a rich man, and can do so 
 much good with your money ? I wish you would 
 build a hospital, James, on the very top of the 
 Hill, and call it, like one I have just read about, 
 the House of Mercy. I have thought about this 
 for many years, and if I do not speak to you of 
 it now, I may never have the courage again. 
 There is no place in Bartonvale where a man 
 injured at the shops may be carried, or a stranger 
 may be taken to die. Not a hospital in the whole 
 Mattawanset Valley ! It makes me sad to think 
 of it, with all the wealth there is now upon the 
 Hill. And there might be others besides the 
 wounded who could go there, James, for better 
 treatment than they could get at home. Do you 
 know, when you wished me to go to New York, 
 once, to stay in the hospital, I was afraid to go, 
 though I was grateful. If I could have gone to 
 a hospital here in Bartonvale, it would have been 
 different. It is too late now, and perhaps all was 
 for the best. But there will always be those who 
 will need a House of Mercy. 
 
 "You will think carefully about this, I know, 
 and you will do what seems to you right. You 
 have always done that, James. 
 
 " Sarah seems very happy. 
 
 "RACHEL CARRINGTON THAYER."
 
 314 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 The Doctor dropped into a chair, and resting 
 his elbows on his knees, sat staring at the faded 
 carpet. Was it not an answer to his unuttered 
 cry to her for guidance ? When her note had 
 first reached him, the feeling uppermost in his 
 mind had been disappointment in her disapproval 
 of his plan. Yet his business affairs seemed then 
 so uncertain that her decision gave him a sort of 
 relief, as well. There was one less thing to think 
 of, and he had deferred consideration of her sug 
 gestion about the hospital until he could ascertain 
 more precisely where he stood. But his mind 
 had recurred more than once, in spite of him, to 
 the House of Mercy, and Mike Fennessey's sullen 
 words, the night of the fire, had brought sharply 
 home to him a sense of the Plated City's need. 
 As he sat now, with Mrs. Thayer's delicately 
 written note between his fingers, his heart beat 
 fast. A reawakening energy was asserting itself 
 within him. She had answered him. She had 
 told him of something he could do something 
 that would make his long self-absorption in busi 
 ness seem less selfish, that would quicken ' his 
 remaining years with the pulsation of a new in 
 terest ; above all, something that might serve as 
 a reparation tardy, indeed, and yet not wholly 
 valueless for his unconscious neglect of his own 
 kin. A House of Mercy ! Surely, that if any 
 thing, would bespeak mercy for its builder, who 
 had sinned ignorantly against his brother's son.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 315 
 
 The race of the Atwoods would one day disap 
 pear from the crest of Bartonvale Hill, but it was 
 within the power of the last Atwood to leave a 
 perpetual legacy to the valley that had made him 
 rich, to endow a House of Mercy whose beneficent 
 influence should cover all the secret or open sin 
 and shame and shortcomings of that race as with 
 an everlasting robe of charity. High above the 
 smoke and clank and tumult of the Plated City 
 it should stand, and the sight of it bring thoughts 
 of healing and of peace. Blessed are the merci 
 ful, it would say to the men who glanced up at it 
 from the narrow jostling streets ; blessed are the 
 merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. 
 
 Midnight sounded, but Dr. Atwood did not heed. 
 After a while he began to pace up and down the 
 office, his hands deep in his pockets, his lips com 
 pressed and the tuft of white hair upon his chin 
 thrown forward, as was his wont when scheming. 
 Now and then he stopped at the desk, and made 
 rapid calculations ; so much for insurance, so 
 much for the land on which the Atwood Works 
 had stood ; so much for outlying investments. 
 Yes, it could be done. Jedway had told him 
 about a new hospital just building in New York, 
 embodying the latest theories as to hospital archi 
 tecture ; Jedway would be a good man to consult 
 about the designs. Perhaps he could let Craig 
 Kennedy draw the plans ; or would that be rather 
 rough on Craig, considering his half-promise to
 
 316 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Craig about the stone house for Sally ? No, if 
 Craig had the right stuff in him, he would swallow 
 his disappointment, and accept any commission 
 that came to him. Five per cent, or even three, 
 of the cost of the House of Mercy would keep 
 Craig and Sally in bread and butter for a long 
 time. And there was no one else, now, whom he 
 had need to think of. Stop ! There was Esther. 
 The Doctor's brow contracted. Surely he must 
 provide for her in some way, and yet to-night, for 
 the first time since she had come to the Atwood 
 house, the Doctor almost wished she were not 
 there. She would remind him perpetually, now, 
 of an episode that he longed to forget. His 
 yearning sorrow over Tom seemed to bring him 
 no whit nearer to Esther. She was a Beaulieu, 
 not an Atwood : the fact of her mother's marriage 
 to Pete Beaulieu after she had loved Everett 
 seemed to degrade the woman's memory in the 
 Doctor's eyes. He hoped to bury forever all that 
 pertained to Everett, to hide it away from him 
 self and all men, and let the House of Mercy cover 
 it. He expected indeed to tell Esther what he 
 knew about her mother, but he shrank from doing 
 even that at once. The time would come, doubt 
 less, when he could speak more easily, but at 
 present he felt that there was but one thing for 
 him to do. He must fulfil the command of the 
 woman whom he had never ceased to worship. 
 Everything else could wait. When the House of
 
 THE PLATED CITY 317 
 
 Mercy was assured, he could tell Esther Beaulieu 
 why he was going to build it, and there would be 
 time enough then to make some provision for her. 
 Of course he must secure her against want : he 
 could not do less than offer her a home, as before. 
 But her grief for Tom's loss would not be light 
 ened if she knew the story of his birth. Clearly 
 it was best to say nothing now. There was room 
 in his old brain for but one thing at a time : when 
 he had arranged for the great reparation, he would 
 tell Esther all. Perhaps it was only a fancy that 
 henceforth he should see in her only her mother's 
 face. Perhaps she would remain for him, as be 
 fore, the unobtrusive companion, ministering to 
 him as a daughter might, and never reminding 
 him, by any look or movement, of that other 
 woman whom for six-and-twenty years he had 
 striven to forget. Would that it might be so, 
 after all ! Esther had had no part nor lot in the 
 dark fortunes of the Atwood race. She had come 
 innocently, and at the last, and had brought into 
 the old Atwood house nothing but girlish beauty 
 and strange pride and gentle ministrations. He 
 must treat her exactly as before. She must not 
 suspect, upon the morrow, that he mourned over 
 her brother more than other Plated City gentle 
 men who liked Tom Beaulieu and deplored his 
 fate. By and by, of course, it would be better 
 that she knew the truth. But not now, not now. 
 And James Atwood put her out of his mind,
 
 818 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 and crept off to bed, to dream of the House of 
 Mercy. 
 
 At breakfast he scarcely looked her in the eye. 
 One would have said that he feared to see a ghost 
 there. To cover his uneasiness, he talked inces 
 santly about Dr. Jedway, and recent feats of sur 
 gery of which Jedway had told him. The girl 
 listened with a heavy heart ; she missed the sim 
 ple words of comfort which she thought it would 
 have been like Dr. Atwood to speak to her. It 
 troubled her to see him so eager about surgery, 
 to hear him confess that his former professional 
 enthusiasm had reawakened since Tom's hurt. 
 Could he not see that it pained her ? Why should 
 he talk to her like that, on this day, above all ? 
 
 But the Doctor could think of nothing but his 
 new scheme. One aspect of it after another pre 
 sented itself during the hours of that long forenoon. 
 In the afternoon, when a few people gathered in 
 the parlor and heard Whitesyde Trellys read the 
 burial service for Tom Beaulieu, Dr. Atwood's 
 mind kept wandering back to the House of Mercy. 
 He was even anxious that the service might be 
 ended, and the body of Everett's boy laid away, 
 that he might the sooner begin his expiatory task ; 
 so strangely had the suggestion of Mrs. Thayer 
 already wrought upon his imagination. It was of 
 the House of Mercy that he was thinking as the 
 carriages filed slowly through the gates of the 
 Atwood place, and the hundreds of spectators
 
 THE PLATED CITY 319 
 
 from the Flats fell in behind the cortege, to do 
 honor to the dead ball-player. Dr. Atwood's 
 friends thought it singular that he should have 
 given orders to have Beaulieu buried in the family 
 lot, but no more singular, after all, than that he 
 should have adopted Beaulieu's sister. As for the 
 crowd from the Flats, their sporting instinct got 
 the better of their race prejudice, and they con 
 sidered a corner of the Atwood lot none too hon 
 orable a resting-place for the greatest ball-player 
 of Connecticut. " If they knew the truth ! " 
 thought Dr. Atwood to himself. " But they must 
 not know it yet. " And he comforted himself with 
 the thought of the House of Mercy. 
 
 The morning after the funeral, Esther found Dr. 
 Atwood starting for the train, when she came 
 downstairs. 
 
 " I am going to New York," he explained, 
 seeming to avoid her gaze ; " I have something I 
 want to talk over with Jedway."
 
 320 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 XVII 
 
 A WEEK later Dr. Atwood was seated in his 
 broad-bottomed chair on the front piazza, waiting 
 for Norman Lewis. It still lacked a quarter to 
 seven. The long day was closing tranquilly. A 
 pair of robins were diverting themselves upon the 
 freshly mown lawn ; the young purple grackles 
 were squeaking lustily in the recesses of the pines. 
 The shadow of the Hill already stretched far along 
 Main Street, but the Atwood place lay in full sun 
 light yet, and away beyond the broadening, heavy - 
 foliaged Mattawanset Valley, gleamed the shining 
 Sound. From beneath the cliffs, at the Doctor's 
 right, came the creaking of derricks and the clink 
 of hammers ; the new machine shops were already 
 under way, and the night workmen had gone on 
 at six. Everywhere over the Flats were to be 
 seen the broken red lines of brick walls, half built, 
 and white rows of studding. The Plated City 
 was outdoing herself, in a marvellous display of 
 energy. But the Doctor's eye fell on a dark tract 
 in the middle of the Flats, where a gaunt black 
 ened chimney marked the site of the Atwood 
 Works. Not a stroke of pickaxe or shovel had 
 disturbed the silence there, and the operatives had
 
 THE PLATED CITY 321 
 
 already grown uneasy over the owner's lack of 
 enterprise. Yet Dr. Atwood looked down at the 
 ruins, from his hilltop, with indifference, almost 
 with elation. It seemed months, rather than days, 
 since he had spent his strength down there on the 
 Flats like the rest, finessing with workmen, and 
 watching the market, buying cheaper and selling 
 dearer than younger and stronger men. It was 
 only ten days, by the calendar, but he lived already 
 in another world. Spread out upon his office desk 
 were the papers and memoranda relative to the 
 plan that now engrossed him. They needed sim 
 ply to be put into legal form and properly wit 
 nessed, to make the House of Mercy as established 
 a fact as if its walls were then before his eyes. A 
 half-hour's talk with Norman Lewis, a few min 
 utes' writing, and the thing would be done, and he 
 could sleep. He had not slept well for the past 
 week; by day and night his head had been too full 
 of fancies. But henceforward he felt that every 
 thing would be well. He pulled out his watch 
 again. In five minutes the lawyer ought to be 
 there. 
 
 At that moment Lewis had entered the gate and 
 was slowly approaching the house. For a week 
 he had kept away, though the temptation to see 
 Esther Beaulieu had at times almost overmastered 
 him. Now that he was obliged to go to the 
 Atwood house on a professional errand, however, 
 he had a virtuous sense that he deserved to catch
 
 322 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 sight of Miss Beaulieu, as a reward for his self- 
 control. And yet he satirized himself sharply 
 for allowing a place in his mind to such a theory 
 of compensation. What business was it of his 
 that her face singled her out from other women, 
 or whether Dr. Atwood were really bent, after 
 all, upon an old man's folly? Thus meditating, 
 though without very satisfactory answers, Lewis 
 turned the corner of the house. 
 
 " Mr. Lewis," called a voice from the vine- 
 covered side porch. It was almost a whisper, 
 but it vibrated like a bell. The lawyer turned, 
 raising his hat. She beckoned to him through 
 the vines, and he crossed the greensward, and 
 met her at the steps. Never had she seemed so 
 tall; her black gown, with a tiny deep-red rose 
 from the Atwood garden fastened at the throat, 
 emphasized the singular purity of her complexion; 
 her eyes, in the evening light, were almost a violet. 
 A white shawl that had been around her shoulders 
 had fallen back upon the chair as she had risen, 
 and her fingers were still between the leaves of a 
 French book from the Library. 
 
 " I was waiting for you," she said in a low, 
 eager voice. " Dr. Atwood told me you were 
 coming." 
 
 Lewis stood gazing at her, awkwardly. He 
 had in spite- of himself forgotten, in those seven 
 days, that she was quite so beautiful. She drew 
 the light wicker chair toward him. The lawyer
 
 THE PLATED CITY 323 
 
 seated himself upon the top step, almost at her 
 feet. She bent nearer yet, with a swift glance 
 behind her. 
 
 " Is Dr. Atwood in trouble ? " she demanded. 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. "I don't know. 
 Why ? " he answered. 
 
 She made a gesture of dissatisfaction, and her 
 eyes clouded. " I thought you would know," she 
 said. "He depends so much upon you." 
 
 "Very little," replied Lewis. "Dr. Atwood 
 has always depended upon Dr. Atwood. But 
 why do you think he is in trouble ? " 
 
 She hesitated, and he thought he detected a 
 deeper color in her cheeks. " He has scarcely 
 spoken to me since my brother died," she said at 
 length. " He does not seem to wish to look at me 
 any more. Twice he has been to New York, and 
 when he comes back he shuts himself in the office, 
 and does not come out. He has seemed so old, 
 since the fire. I thought perhaps he had lost a 
 great deal of money, and it would not be wrong 
 if I asked you about it." Miss Beaulieu paused, 
 toying nervously with the book in her lap. 
 
 Lewis was studying her face. " No," he said, 
 in an absent-minded way, " I think he lost very 
 little, if anything. He was heavily insured." 
 
 " Then," said the girl, wistfully, " it is some 
 thing about me. He has done so much for me, 
 and I am so grateful to him, but he will not let 
 me show it. He does not even wish me to read
 
 324 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 aloud. He seems so troubled, and I would do 
 anything for him, anything! " 
 
 The unreasoning jealousy that had stung Lewis 
 once before pricked suddenly at his heart. 
 " Would you ? " he asked, in a tone that was 
 dry, almost bitter. She did not perceive his 
 mood. 
 
 "Of course!" she cried. "Why not! Think 
 of what he did for me last autumn, when they 
 would have driven me from the Works! Shall 
 I forget how Dr. Atwood gave me his arm, and 
 led me through that crowd that hated me, as if I 
 had been his own daughter ? Oh, but I was 
 proud ; prouder than Marie Antoinette in the 
 picture ; I shall not forget that day ! And think 
 how good he has been to me ever since, and the 
 beautiful home he has given me, and and " 
 her eyes filled " how kind he was to Tom ! 
 Do you know," she went on rapidly, dropping her 
 voice still lower, " I think no one imagines how 
 much Dr. Atwood mourns for my brother. When 
 I have begun to speak of Tom, he has stopped me, 
 and would not let me go on. Twice he has gone 
 alone to the place where Tom is buried. I met 
 him going in, once, when I was coming away. 
 And yet he does not talk with me any more ; he 
 seems to wish I were not here. I can feel it. I 
 know what he thinks, when he does not say a 
 word. Can you not tell me what is troubling 
 him ? Do you think I ought to go away ? I
 
 THE PLATED CITY 325 
 
 would do anything you would say, to make him 
 happy, anything in the world." 
 
 " Would you marry him ? " demanded Norman 
 Lewis. 
 
 He was ashamed of himself, the moment after. 
 He knew that he had no right to ask her that ; 
 it was brutal but he was jealous. For an in 
 stant there was a startled silence. His eyes 
 were fastened upon the old-fashioned rose at 
 the girl's throat ; he dared look no higher. She 
 caught her breath ; he looked up, and saw the 
 blood rush into her face, as she lifted her head 
 haughtily. For one moment she held herself so, 
 shy, hurt, aloof, half -risen from her chair ; then 
 her girlish sense of the ridiculous asserted itself, 
 and her eyes shone into his with surprise, embar 
 rassment, comradeship, mirth, curiously mingled, 
 as she gasped, with an adorable little gesture of 
 incredulity : 
 
 "I marry old Dr. Atwood ? " 
 
 There was an almost noiseless footstep behind 
 her, and James Atwood, impatient of Lewis's tar 
 diness, appeared at the side door. The girl did 
 not notice him. The book had slipped from her 
 lap to the piazza floor, and as she bent toward 
 it, the rose which she had carelessly thrust into 
 her bosom fell across the book. The lawyer was 
 quicker than she in stooping, and restored both to 
 her in an instant, murmuring something which she 
 did not catch. She took the Daudet, with a smile,
 
 326 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 but seemed to recall herself as he held out the tiny 
 rose, and exclaimed, in self-reproach, 
 
 " Oh, how could I have worn that ! What 
 would Tom think of me ! I did not know what 
 I was doing when I picked it. Please throw it 
 away ! " 
 
 At that moment, as he stood, with the rose in 
 his fingers, helpless before the sudden outburst 
 of contrition which had followed upon that in 
 toxicating moment of self -revelation, Lewis caught 
 sight of the figure in the doorway. He blushed to 
 the roots of his hair. Seeing his confusion, Esther 
 Beaulieu turned, and beheld the Doctor peering 
 narrowly at the pair of them. With a single ex 
 clamation of consternation, and a French one at 
 that, the girl snatched up her shawl and dis 
 appeared ; how or whither neither of the two men 
 could have told. Dr. Atwood was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " What was that about ' old Dr. Atwood ' ? " he 
 demanded, half jocosely. " I didn't hear the first 
 part of the sentence." 
 
 " Nothing," replied the younger man. " I asked 
 a foolish question, that was all." 
 
 " That was enough," said the Doctor. " I 
 thought you didn't run much to foolishness, 
 Lewis ? Eh ? " He was eying him keenly. 
 " Well, its seven-three ; suppose we go in." 
 
 The lawyer followed him down the gloomy hall 
 way, without having thrown away Esther Beau-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 327 
 
 lieu's rose. As they entered the office, he fastened 
 it swiftly into the lapel of his coat. The Doctor 
 motioned him to a chair by the desk, and placed 
 himself comfortably in his accustomed seat. He 
 seemed in no hurry to begin the business upon 
 which he had summoned the lawyer, now that the 
 office door was closed behind them. He wiped his 
 spectacles deliberately, chatted for two or three 
 minutes about one of the new blocks down town, 
 and then, crossing his legs, and settling himself 
 deeper in his chair, he took up a faded little book, 
 which was lying on the edge of the paper-strewn 
 desk. 
 
 " Did I ever show you this ? " he asked. 
 
 Lewis put out his hand for it. It was Mammon 
 by Harris. " I picked it up one night," said he, 
 " but I think I didn't read it long." He was 
 turning the pages curiously, in search of the 
 lurid sentence that had previously caught his 
 eye. He failed to find it, and went back to the 
 beginning. 
 
 " What do you think of it? " demanded Dr. 
 At wood. 
 
 "I don't think much of the prefatory note," 
 said the lawyer, sarcastically. " Look at this ! 
 ' A premium of One Hundred Guineas, offered 
 by J. T. Conquest, Esq., M. D. F. L. S., was 
 awarded to this incomparable Treatise by the 
 Hon. and Rev. Baptist W. Noel and the Rev. 
 Dr. John Pye Smith, near London ; and em-
 
 328 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 ployed by the Author in the cause of benevo 
 lence.' There's a sweet humility about that, 
 now, isn't there ! " 
 
 The Doctor looked rather uncomfortable. 
 "Well," he admitted, "I should have thought 
 full as much of Harris if he hadn't put that in. 
 But I guess you'd call it a good treatise, all the 
 same. My mother gave me that book, to read 
 Sundays. Miss Beaulieu and I have been read 
 ing it for a spell, along back, and to-day I ran 
 across a good thing in it, 'way on the last page. 
 Let me take it." 
 
 Lewis handed over the incomparable treatise, 
 wondering at the Doctor's simplicity of heart. 
 
 " There," said Dr. Atwood, holding the open 
 page toward the western window, " what's the 
 matter with this? 'And now, Christian, what 
 shall be the practical effect of the truths which 
 have been made to pass before you ? Have you, 
 while reading the preceding pages, felt a single 
 emotion of benevolence warm and expand your 
 heart ? Instantly gratify it. Is your benevolence 
 destitute of plan ? Then, unless you can gainsay 
 what we have advanced on the necessity of sys 
 tem, lose no time in devising one.' Isn't that about 
 right?" 
 
 "Excellent," laughed Lewis, "if you have the 
 cash on hand. For a man in my financial cir 
 cumstances, however ' ' 
 
 Dr. Atwood interrupted him, unheeding his
 
 THE PLATED CITY 329 
 
 raillery. " That's what I've got, Lewis ! " he 
 cried, striking his fist on the edge of the desk. 
 u I've got the cash on hand, and I've devised the 
 plan. I want you to put it into execution, here 
 and now." 
 
 The lawyer sobered instantly. " I am at your 
 service, Doctor," he said. "Can it be about 
 Esther Beaulieu?" he thought to himself. He 
 grew hot at the thought of his folly in having 
 fancied that Dr. Atwood was going to gratify 
 the gossip of Main Street. 
 
 " ' Old Dr. Atwood ? ' " The girl could be de 
 pended upon, even if the Doctor could not. 
 But it must have something to do with her. 
 
 Dr. Atwood leaned back in his chair. " Lewis," 
 he said, " I'm going to do something that will give 
 pleasure to a woman who is the best woman I ever 
 knew, except my mother ; something that would 
 please my mother, too, if she were alive, more 
 than anything her boy could do. I'm going to 
 build a hospital here on the old place, and call 
 it the House of Mercy." 
 
 " I see," said Lewis. He felt a sudden lack of 
 interest in the Doctor's plans. 
 
 " It's been on my mind a good deal lately. I 
 shall feel easier to have it put into proper shape, 
 so as to have no doubt about it. I don't suppose 
 a young fellow like you, now, knows what it is to 
 have something on his mind, eh ? " 
 
 " Sometimes."
 
 330 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Yes, I guess so," said the elder man. " We're 
 all pretty much alike. Some of us have to take 
 our medicine when we're young, and some when 
 we're old." 
 
 "And some all the time," corrected Norman 
 Lewis. 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure. Well, what do you 
 think of the House of Mercy ? " 
 
 "It's needed enough," said the lawyer, drily. 
 " There's nothing of the sort for twenty miles up 
 and down the Valley. If you could put a sick 
 man under a porte-cochere, now, or a barn-cupola, 
 the Plated City could look after him very well. 
 Yes, a hospital would be a good thing. I may 
 want to go there myself, Doctor, in my old age. 
 Would there be a ward for broken-down law 
 yers?" Then he changed his tone. "About how 
 much money do you think of putting into it? " he 
 asked, resuming his ordinary manner. 
 
 " All I have," said James Atwood, quietly. " I 
 want to reserve simply enough to live on, for me 
 and for Esther Beaulieu." 
 
 The lawyer looked up with a start. "For 
 Esther Beaulieu?" he repeated, almost uncon 
 sciously. 
 
 Dr. Atwood nodded, eying him steadily. "What 
 do you think of Miss Beaulieu ? " he asked. 
 
 Lewis did not meet his gaze. " She is a very 
 lovely girl," he said. " It seems strange to think 
 of her as Tom Beaulieu's sister."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 331 
 
 " Why ? " demanded Dr. Atwood, almost fiercely. 
 " What was there against Tom Beaulieu ? " 
 
 "Nothing but his birth," replied Lewis, in a 
 low voice. " And about that, you know as much 
 as I." 
 
 The sudden look in the elder man's eyes sur 
 prised him. " And a good deal more, Norman 
 Lewis," whispered Dr. Atwood hoarsely; " a good 
 deal more." He rose with some effort, while 
 Lewis watched him wonderingly, crossed the 
 room to the western window, and drew down the 
 worn shade. Then he came back to the desk, and 
 lighted the student lamp, still speaking no word. 
 Lewis stared silently at the legal blanks that 
 covered the desk. 
 
 "Look here, Lewis," broke out the Doctor, "it's 
 no use. I might as well tell you first as last, 
 though I didn't know whether I should or not, 
 to-night. I want everybody to know it some 
 time, but now nobody knows it except me." He 
 hesitated, his face working painfully. "What 
 would you say," he burst out finally, " if I told 
 you that Tom Beaulieu was my own brother's 
 boy?" 
 
 " What is that ? " Lewis gasped stupidly. His 
 brain seemed to refuse to act. 
 
 " My brother's boy," repeated the Doctor, with 
 a long sigh, " the son of a woman whom he mar 
 ried in Louisiana three weeks before he fell. You 
 knew about my brother Everett ? "
 
 332 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Lewis caught at the name ; his brain played 
 now like lightning. " Everett Atwood ?" It was 
 the name he had seen on the fly-leaf of a book, the 
 night Tom Beaulieu died. And was not " Mr. 
 Everett " the husband for whom Esther's mother 
 fancied she was searching ? 
 
 " I have barely heard of him," he answered 
 with an effort to speak calmly. " I knew you had 
 a brother in the war." 
 
 " And on the rebel side, though you don't say 
 that," said James Atwood, drearily. " And all 
 these years he had a son living, and I did not 
 know it. I did not find out who Tom Beaulieu 
 was till he was dead." 
 
 " And then ? " queried Lewis. 
 
 "Then I knew who he was only because he 
 looked like Everett, as he lay there. There was 
 no one else, except Everett's son, who could have 
 looked like that." 
 
 Norman Lewis pitied him. " You have no 
 other proof ? " he asked. 
 
 The Doctor shook his head. " That's all I had 
 to go by when I told you to have him buried in 
 the Atwood lot," he said steadily. " I knew that 
 Everett had married, but I supposed his wife had 
 disappeared. They told me so. You see it was 
 considered a disgraceful sort of thing down there, 
 for him to marry that sort of woman. Perhaps 
 they wanted to spare my feelings and hush it up. 
 But she must have come North ; she must have 
 come here to Barton vale."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 333 
 
 " She did," thought Lewis to himself. " Shall 
 I tell him ? " " Does Esther Beaulieu know 
 this ? " he inquired. His pulse was pounding 
 terribly fast. 
 
 "Not a word," said James Atwood. "Not a 
 word." 
 
 " Why ? " ventured Lewis. 
 
 " I can't tell her yet," groaned the old man. 
 " I can't bear to. Some day she will have to 
 know. Perhaps I can get you to tell her. But 
 not till the House of Mercy is a sure thing. Don't 
 you see now why I want to build it ? It'll cover 
 up hard thoughts about the Atwood boys ; how 
 one of them was a rebel, and the other didn't 
 look out for his brother's son. Plated City folks 
 will say : ' There's the House of Mercy, after all ; 
 the Atwoods' good money went into that, plenty 
 of it, and it'll make up for a good deal.' Then 
 there's one other way of looking at it, Lewis. 
 After all, I have no proof except my own eyes. 
 Sometimes during the last six days I have thought 
 to myself: Jim Atwood, why weren't you mis 
 taken ? A man's senses may deceive him. There 
 are plenty of cases in the medical books to prove 
 that. And I don't know positively know " 
 he dwelt piteously on the words " that the man 
 we buried in the Atwood lot was an Atwood. I 
 believe he was ; but don't you see, the House of 
 Mercy gives me the benefit of the doubt? It 
 kind o' says to me, 'Never mind, Jim Atwood,
 
 334 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 you've done the best you knew how. Never mind 
 whether you've been fooled or not. There ain't 
 any mistake about me. My walls'll stand here as 
 long as the Mattawanset River runs, and you can 
 be sure that Bartonvale people won't forget to 
 say : Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
 mercy.' I guess mercy's what we want, Lewis, 
 all of us." 
 
 " Is it not better not to tell him ? " thought 
 Norrnan Lewis. "Would it not be kinder to 
 let him think there was a chance of his being 
 mistaken ? " 
 
 " I've been down in New York," went on Dr. 
 Atwood, more quietly, " talking with Jedway. He 
 has some good ideas. I went around with him for 
 two or three days ; it made me almost wish I'd 
 never gone over to Silver Plate. Surgery is a 
 great profession, and Jedway is at the top of it in 
 New York, they all tell me. Well, Jedway has 
 helped me draw up a plan of this hospital. He 
 thinks Craig Kennedy, or any other likely young 
 fellow, could put it into shape. He seemed to 
 think that a deed of gift, naming my trustees, 
 would be the right sort of thing, legally. I told 
 him I didn't want to run any risks. Last fall, 
 you know, Lewis, I had a time of being a little 
 anxious about myself. But Jedway looked me 
 over Wednesday, and says I'm good for ten years 
 more, and possibly fifteen. Still I don't want to 
 run any chances. Suppose you look at those
 
 THE PLATED CITY 335 
 
 papers and see if they are drawn up to suit the 
 Connecticut law." 
 
 For ten minutes not a word was spoken. The 
 Doctor sat with eyes closed and hands clasped 
 around one knee, as Lewis scrutinized the docu 
 ments. They were carefully drawn, the work of 
 a better lawyer than himself, he decided, though 
 he thought they should be altered here and there. 
 He was forced to wonder, as often before, at the 
 energy and mastery of detail with which the auto 
 crat of the Plated City had carried through his 
 scheme. But while Lewis's brain was busy with 
 searching for flaws in the legal phrases before his 
 eye, his imagination was elsewhere. So Tom 
 Beaulieu's mother had been Everett Atwood's 
 wife ! And she was Esther's mother too ! What 
 had the Doctor meant by saying " that sort of a 
 woman" ? 
 
 He broke the silence at last, with a technical 
 comment upon one of the clauses of the deed of 
 gift. The Doctor was by his side instantly, and 
 together they went over the papers once more. 
 They were wellnigh perfect ; five minutes' writ 
 ing, with the affixing of the proper signatures, and 
 the House of Mercy would be an established fact. 
 
 The exact sum to be devoted to the purpose 
 still required some discussion, in the light of the 
 probable outcome of the suit which Lewis had for 
 many months been pressing in Dr. Atwood's name. 
 The Doctor sat down again, speaking with his old
 
 336 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 shrewdness and force. He seemed to be five years 
 younger, now that he had shared his secret. 
 
 "Exactly," said Lewis, in reply to one of his 
 statements ; " but if you are to reserve enough for 
 a living income for yourself and for Miss Beau- 
 lieu," he added after the slightest pause. 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Dr. Atwood, nodding, " of 
 course I can't see that girl lack for anything now. 
 But do you know, there's something queer about 
 that, Lewis. Ever since well, ever since Jed- 
 way performed that operation, I haven't wanted 
 to look Esther in the face. I guess she must have 
 noticed it. I can't help it. It's like seeing her 
 mother, all over again. I've wanted to keep out 
 of her way, to let bygones be bygones. Perhaps," 
 he added wistfully, " I shall feel differently about 
 it now. She's done everything to make the old 
 Atwood house cheerful, since last October. She's 
 a nice girl, and a brainy girl. It ain't her fault 
 that Everett married her mother, and yet, I sort o' 
 lay it up against her. Don't you suppose it'll be 
 different, as soon as I tell her that Tom was Ever 
 ett's boy ? " 
 
 " Very likely," said Lewis, absently. " Then 
 you have seen her mother?" he added, with a 
 directness that was quite involuntary. 
 
 " Once," said Dr. Atwood, closing his eyes 
 dreamily, " only once. But before God that was 
 enough. She didn't see me. She sat with Ever 
 ett's head in her lap, as he was dying, down in
 
 THE PLATED CITY 337 
 
 Louisiana. If it hadn't been for her, he never 
 would have stayed there ; he might have been 
 here in Barton vale to-day." 
 
 There was a long silence. " Was it true that 
 she was white? " demanded Lewis. 
 
 Dr. Atwood made an impatient gesture. " Don't 
 ask me. Everett thought so. There are letters 
 there in the safe which he wrote about her. She 
 claimed to be a French Creole, and gave him names 
 and dates to prove it. He sent them on ; I guess 
 he must have believed her. But people there 
 who knew her said otherwise. That wasn't all 
 they said, either. But what's the use of raking up 
 old stories now ? That's what I want the House 
 of Mercy for, don't you see ? It says : ' Shut up ; 
 don't ask any questions about the Atwood boys 
 from now on. Let 'em alone till the Day of Judg 
 ment.'" 
 
 " Yes," said Lewis, slowly, "but has not Esther 
 Beaulieu a right to know whatever is to be known 
 about her mother ? It was worry about the color 
 line that drove Tom Beaulieu to his doom. If he 
 had known what you might perhaps have been 
 able to tell him, he could have made good his 
 claim to equality." He paused, realizing how his 
 words must pain the elder man. 
 
 "Don't!" cried Atwood. " How could I 
 know ! I never saw him, to my knowledge, 
 except once. I may be all wrong now ; I have 
 nothing to go by except resemblances. But don't
 
 338 THE PLATED CIT? 
 
 you see I'm doing the best I can to make up for 
 what's past? I'm taking every chance. If I 
 knew that Esther Beaulieu was the child of that 
 woman whom Everett married, I would tell her 
 every word that Everett ever wrote me. I meant 
 to tell her anyway, before long. I've been plan 
 ning in the dark, Lewis : and there's been nobody 
 to help me, except one woman. She told me to 
 build the House of Mercy. I've had to think of 
 that first, and everything else afterward." 
 
 " I must tell him what I know," thought Lewis. 
 " I am wronging Esther if I do not." " If there 
 were any proof," said the lawyer, his eyes on the 
 table, "that Tom Beaulreu's mother and the 
 woman your brother married were the same per 
 son, would it make you any happier as regards 
 Esther Beaulieu ? Would you think more kindly, 
 I know that you will do what is kind, but 
 would you think more kindly of her, and of her 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Do you mean there is proof ? " exclaimed 
 James At wood. 
 
 " No positive proof, perhaps," said the lawyer, 
 cautiously, " but I have reason to know that in 
 certain times of mental disturbance, apparently, 
 Tom Beaulieu's mother told her neighbors that 
 her husband lived here in Bartonvale, and that his 
 name was Mr. Everett." 
 
 Dr. Atwood started to his feet. " You know 
 that ? " he cried hoarsely. Lewis nodded. He
 
 THE PLATED CITY 339 
 
 did not say how he had learned it. His eyes 
 shone with excitement. The Doctor took two or 
 three turns up and down the room, without speak 
 ing. Then he paused in front of the younger 
 man, and put out his hand, with a touching sim 
 plicity. 
 
 " Thank you, Lewis. That was the name she 
 knew him by." The Doctor's face was ashy. " I 
 shall want to talk that all over with you, in a day 
 or two," he went on, after a moment, speaking 
 with evident effort. "And I shall have a talk 
 with Esther to-morrow. But I find myself rather 
 tired now, and I should like to have the other 
 matter finished. Suppose you alter those clauses, 
 and I will sign it, and have it off my hands." 
 
 " We need witnesses to the signature," sug 
 gested Lewis, seating himself at the desk. 
 
 "I will call in Roberts and his wife," replied 
 Dr. Atwood, quietly. 
 
 By the time Lewis was ready, the coachman and 
 his scared-looking wife, summoned from her bread- 
 making in the tiny kitchen over the stable, had 
 entered the office. The formalities required but a 
 moment, and Dr. Atwood and the lawyer were 
 again alone. 
 
 The Doctor spoke first. " Suppose you put 
 that in your safe down town," he said in an off 
 hand tone, as Lewis slipped a rubber band around 
 the deed of gift. 
 
 " As you please," said Lewis.
 
 840 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Let's see ; to-morrow I'd like you to meet that 
 insurance adjuster with me." 
 
 " Any day but to-morrow. I've got to go up 
 to Simsbury to trace a title. The day after ? " 
 
 "That'll do as well." 
 
 There was a pause. " That's all, is it, Doctor ? " 
 inquired the younger man. 
 
 " Everything," replied Dr. Atwood. " No, there 
 is something else. I wish you would stop at Mrs. 
 Thayer's house, on the way home, and tell her 
 what we've done." 
 
 Lewis nodded. He had not known who the 
 woman was who had suggested the House of 
 Mercy to the Doctor, but he had suspected it was 
 Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 " I wonder if she has heard from Sally," mused 
 the Doctor. " Sally has a good husband, eh ? 
 You don't think Craig will take it too hard that 
 I'm not going to build a house for Sally, after all ? 
 You know I thought of that, one spell." 
 
 " Not if I know Craig Kennedy," replied Lewis, 
 loyally. " Craig can look after himself. He'll 
 live in a good house some day, of his own earning. 
 It won't hurt him to wait." 
 
 The Doctor listened approvingly. " Glad to 
 hear you say so, Lewis. I think a great deal of 
 that little girl. I meant to do something first-rate 
 for her, but her mother thought this other scheme 
 was best. Lewis, I wish you knew how much 
 easier I feel, now that this is settled. Look here! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 341 
 
 He crossed the room, and flinging open the door 
 of his safe, returned with a thin bundle of letters. 
 "Twenty-six years, Norman Lewis, those letters 
 have lain in my safe, and they've troubled me all 
 the while. They're about the girl's mother, you 
 know, her story about her family, and all that; 
 I didn't get them till months after Everett was 
 dead, and I've never shown them to a soul. I 
 don't want them here any longer. I'm going to 
 let the House of Mercy cover everything up. I'm 
 not going to keep any reminder of what's dead 
 and done with, now. It was all for the best, I 
 suppose; yet think of it ! While I used to sit 
 here and read those letters and wonder how 
 Everett could have married her, the woman was 
 living down there on Nigger Hill ! I've had to 
 take my medicine, Lewis. I believe it's made an 
 old man of me, in the last six days! But never 
 mind that. It's over now. From now on I've 
 got no quarrel with any one, and nothing to plan 
 for, and nothing to hide. I'm going to make a 
 clean sweep. See ? " 
 
 With an excitement that gave his tread almost 
 the firmness of youth, he stepped to the wide fire 
 place. Jerking open the knot that fastened 
 together the letters, he tossed them one by one 
 upon the heap of ashes. Then he fumbled in his 
 pocket for a match. Norman Lewis caught his 
 arm. The Doctor turned in surprise. 
 
 " Dr. Atwood," stammered the lawyer, " you
 
 342 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 are sure that isn't a mistake ? If those letters 
 are about Esther Beaulieu's mother, ought she 
 not to know what is in them ? " 
 
 " Didn't I say I should tell her to-morrow ? " 
 retorted Dr. Atwood, sharply. " Whose letters 
 are they ? " 
 
 Lewis was silent. 
 
 " There are things there that she ought not to 
 see," said the Doctor, more gently. " It's better 
 to know too little than too much, Lewis." 
 
 "That depends," said Lewis. 
 
 The Doctor struck a match without replying, 
 and in silence the two men watched the letters 
 of Everett Atwood flare and shrivel into nothing 
 ness. 
 
 "There," exclaimed James Atwood, as the last 
 spark faded, "I shall sleep like a top to-night. 
 I'll have a talk with Esther to-morrow, Lewis," he 
 added kindly. " It'll be all right." 
 
 He went to the front door with the lawyer, 
 and they stood a moment listening to the clinking 
 hammers beneath the cliffs, where the new ma 
 chine shops were rising, in the quiet June night. 
 
 " The Plated City is a great place, isn't it ? " 
 said Dr. Atwood. " Good night ! " 
 
 "When Lewis rang the door bell of the tiny 
 white house on the Green and asked if he might 
 see Mrs. Thayer, the trained nurse who was filling 
 Sally's place demurred. Mrs. Thayer had not
 
 THE PLATED CITY 343 
 
 been quite so well for a day or two, and besides, 
 letters had just come from Craig and Sally, writ 
 ten at Denver, and the perusal of them had given 
 the invalid excitement enough for that evening. 
 But Lewis pencilled a note, nevertheless, to the 
 effect that Dr. Atwood had decided to build a 
 hospital on the Hill, and wished her to know it. 
 He sent it in by the nurse, and then trudged 
 around to the Bank block and climbed the stairs 
 to his room. It was not late. He filled his pipe 
 and went out upon the balcony, stretching his legs 
 upon Craig's empty chair. He was restless. The 
 spectacle of James Atwood's moral struggle, the 
 revelation of the secret forces that had swayed 
 that life, apparently so self-centred and unro- 
 mantic, the pathetic belated discovery that Tom 
 Beaulieu was an Atwood, the mystery that still 
 shrouded the woman Everett Atwood had made 
 his wife, had wrought powerfully upon the young 
 lawyer's imagination. He had thought he was 
 not wholly ignorant of life, but two hours like 
 those in Dr. Atwood's office he had never known. 
 Now that it was over, he found himself unstrung. 
 The familiar balcony, the Mattawanset, sweeping 
 with its friendly ripple against the foundations of 
 the block, the Flats, stretching indistinctly in the 
 obscure, enveloping night, seemed touched with 
 unreality. The Plated City itself shrank into 
 nothingness as he sat there. The only real thing 
 in its bustling life seemed to be the long fidelity,
 
 344 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 the unanswered passion, the grief, the hunger for 
 righteousness in an old man's heart. All else 
 was as transient as a dream. . . . 
 
 By and by he was conscious of a fragrance, 
 delicate, almost imperceptible. It stirred his 
 memory vaguely. Where had he breathed that 
 faint perfume, once before ? Suddenly he remem 
 bered, and cast his eyes downward to the lapel of 
 his coat. He had quite forgotten that he was 
 wearing Esther Beaulieu's rose. He drew it out, 
 and gazed at it in the darkness, a slight smile 
 upon his lips. Again her image confronted him, 
 as in that instant upon the vine-clad porch, when 
 her reticence had given way, and beauty, pride, 
 mirth, the superb vitality of youth, had hovered 
 temptingly before his eyes. Ah, what a woman ! 
 His pulse was galloping. Did he love her ? Why 
 not win her ? Why not grasp at unimagined 
 happiness, like other men, letting the Plated City 
 say what it would say ? 
 
 Why not? There were a dozen reasons. He 
 held the rose to his nostrils a moment, the half 
 ironical smile deepening around his mouth, and 
 then with a movement of his wrist, typical of the 
 renunciation that was growing to be the habit of 
 his life, he tossed the flower over the edge of the 
 balcony. Before its petals touched the surface of 
 the Mattawanset he found himself wishing that 
 he had them still.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 345 
 
 XVIII 
 
 JAMES ATWOOD slept that night like a boy. 
 At breakfast Miss Beaulieu instantly detected the 
 change in him. He was open-hearted, almost 
 affectionate. He chatted with her about Craig 
 and Sally, told her about Jedway's giving him ten 
 years' fresh lease of life, asked her plans for the 
 day. Ever since the fire the Doctor's horses had 
 been brought around to the door as usual, at ten 
 minutes before seven, though Roberts had been 
 sent back to the stable with them more than once. 
 To-day Dr. Atwood said he had two or three 
 errands to do down town ; he wanted to see a 
 certain contractor in particular. As he pulled on 
 his thin driving-coat, he told Esther that he 
 wished she would come into the office, after his 
 return ; there was something he wanted to talk 
 over with her. 
 
 " I guess I'll drive down, myself, Roberts," he 
 said cheerily, and the man-of -all-work went back 
 to the stable, stopping to watch the forefeet of the 
 nigh horse, as the blacks trotted down the yard. 
 It was a cool morning, with a bit of wind that 
 quickened the blood, and the Doctor was forced 
 to watch his pair carefully as he drove down
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Summit Street. They had too much life for 
 him sometimes, but this morning he enjoyed 
 their eagerness. At High Street, in front of the 
 Library, he pulled up a moment, and then drove 
 on, remembering that it was much too early to 
 gain admittance. He had wanted to see how 
 Sally's successor was performing her duties. 
 Down the long, gentle slope of High Street he 
 gave the blacks a trifle more rein, and once or 
 twice he leaned over the side of the buggy to 
 watch their action. They were travelling grandly 
 now ; the Doctor jammed his straw hat more 
 firmly on his head, as he turned sharply into the 
 upper corner of the Green. He was enjoying 
 every moment of it ; there was no office at the 
 Plate Works to claim him any more ; it was like 
 entering upon a long holiday. 
 
 At the lower corner of the Green, some one 
 called to him from the steps of the Thayer house. 
 He pulled the horses to a standstill, though his 
 arms quivered with the effort. Mrs. Thayer's cook 
 ran out to the buggy. She was beside herself 
 with excitement. 
 
 " Have you seen Dr. Fairfield ? " she cried. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Or Dr. Osborn?" 
 
 "No. Whoa! Why?" 
 
 " Mrs. Thayer's took worse, and the nurse is 
 run for a doctor, and there's no one in the house 
 but me. Won't you come, Dr. Atwood? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 347 
 
 The color went out of his face. " I don't prac 
 tise any more," he murmured, descending hastily, 
 " but of course I'll come in. You'll have to stand 
 by the horses," he ordered. " There's no post 
 here. Don't be afraid ; that's it they won't run." 
 
 He traversed the narrow walk, hurried up the 
 low steps, and entered the hall, drawing off his 
 driving-gloves with a curious reawakening of the 
 professional habits of long before. He knew her 
 room well, though he had entered it but once. In 
 a moment he was at the door. A window was 
 open, and the tiny room was flooded with sunlight. 
 The invalid lay with closed eyes, the white face 
 lifted upon pillows, a gray dressing-sack about 
 her shoulders. 
 
 " Mrs. Thayer," he called softly, as he advanced. 
 There was no reply. " Rachel," he said, standing 
 by the bedside. The blue- veined eyelids did not 
 lift. 
 
 He hesitated an instant, and then raised her 
 hand, lying quietly upon the coverlet. The touch 
 startled him. Even in the shock of that moment, 
 his professional training asserted itself. Kneeling 
 swiftly, he bent over her, to bring his ear close to 
 her bosom. As he did so, he was aware of a new 
 sensation very sudden, neither painful nor pleas 
 ant, but very strange, like the slipping of belting 
 from its shaft, as if the belting revolved slower 
 slower scarcely crept, while the released 
 shaft whirled faster faster dizzily fast. It
 
 348 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 made him feel faint; lie had to shut his eyes; his 
 head sank lower and lower. It touched the breast 
 of the woman he loved; it rested, there where 
 in life it had never rested. 
 
 Outside, the black horses stamped, impatient to 
 be off, tossing their heads high above the fright 
 ened servant clinging to the bit. Minute after 
 minute went by. The wind blew the long mane 
 into the girl's face. She peered up and down the 
 Green. Why would not some one come? Five 
 minutes passed ten. Dr. F airfield turned into 
 the Green from Main Street, driving fast. He 
 stopped in front of Mrs. Thayer's, stared curi 
 ously at Dr. Atwood's horses, and went into the 
 house. Then came the nurse, panting from her 
 run, who went in likewise, leaving the scared girl 
 by the horses. Dr. Osborn, summoned by another 
 messenger, drove up too, but seeing Fairfield's 
 buggy, drove away. A belated workman, hurry 
 ing toward the new machine shops, good-naturedly 
 stopped to hold the horses for her. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 She shook her head, and ran in. Another work 
 man stopped, and then another. A knot of them 
 gathered about the empty carriages, asking ques 
 tions. People seemed to drift in from Main 
 Street to that usually quietest corner of the Green. 
 The horses stopped stamping, and gazed wonder- 
 ingly at the crowd. Some one came out of the
 
 THE PLATED CITY 349 
 
 house, and now the questions were in whispers, 
 and there were exclamations of surprise and awe. 
 A boy ran off up the Hill, fast as his chubby legs 
 could carry him, and by and by Roberts came run 
 ning down, and the crowd fell back from Dr. 
 At wood's carriage. The coachman, coatless and 
 hatless, gathered up the reins, and turned the 
 black horses toward the Hill, and they went 
 slowly, with their heads down, as if they knew 
 that they were masterless.
 
 350 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 XIX 
 
 IN the dining-room of the Palace Hotel at San 
 Francisco Mr. and Mrs. Craig Kennedy were fin 
 ishing breakfast. It was their second morning 
 since leaving the trans-continental sleeper, and 
 already they were sure that none of the waiters in 
 the dining-room suspected them of being anything 
 other than an old married pair. Craig was scan 
 ning a San Francisco paper in a superior fashion, 
 and Sally was preparing to draw on her gloves. 
 All at once her husband gave an exclamation that 
 made her look up. His eyes were big. 
 
 " What is it ? " she demanded. 
 
 "Wait a minute," he cried. "By Jupiter! 
 Don't bother me." 
 
 " If the waiter could have heard you say that," 
 retorted Mrs. Kennedy, demurely, "he would be 
 certain we weren't just married." 
 
 It was lost upon Craig. He turned the paper 
 nervously and ran his eye down a column upon 
 the inside page. He was open-mouthed with 
 excitement now. 
 
 " Mr. Kennedy," said Sally, in a tone intended 
 for the waiter's ear, " would you mind tearing that 
 paper in two ? "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 351 
 
 The bridegroom paid not the slightest attention 
 to this proposition. Sally waited a moment more. 
 His eyes were nearing the bottom of the second 
 column. 
 
 " Craig," she said, with tragic emphasis, " we 
 have been married but eleven days, and already " 
 
 He tossed the paper over to her, and thrusting 
 both hands into his pockets, gave a low boyish 
 whistle of astonishment. 
 
 " What do you say to that ? " he demanded. 
 
 " ' Triumph of Engineering ! ' Is that it ? " She 
 looked up from the paper in some astonishment. 
 Craig nodded, and she read on. " ' G-eo. W. Lewis 
 the Lucky Man ! Who Holds the Stock of the Lewis 
 Land and Irrigation Company ? ' ' 
 
 She glanced over the column and laid down the 
 paper without turning the page. Had he been 
 joking with her ? 
 
 "Was that really it, Craig?" she asked. "I 
 thought it was something nice." 
 
 "Well I should say it was nice," replied the 
 architect. " Rather nice ; for those who are on 
 the inside. Do you know who George W. Lewis 
 is?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "He's Norman Lewis's father," replied Craig 
 Kennedy, succinctly, "and unless this paper 
 lies " 
 
 " Norman's father ! " broke in Sally. " Why, 
 isn't that interesting ! " And she picked up the
 
 352 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 paper again, perusing it slowly, conscientiously, 
 as only a woman can. 
 
 Her husband watched her face. " Why, Craig," 
 she asked at last, still puzzled by the unfamiliar 
 details concerning irrigating levels and recorded 
 titles and preferred stock, "does this mean that 
 Norman Lewis will get back all that money that 
 you told me he had been loaning to his father ? " 
 
 " Get it back ! " cried Kennedy. " It means 
 that he has his everlasting fortune stuck away in 
 a drawer of his desk up in our old room. That 
 stock is selling at two hundred at this moment. 
 Dear old Norman ! Think of it ! And he never 
 had any luck in anything yet." 
 
 " Why don't you see his father and make sure ? " 
 suggested the practical Mrs. Kennedy. " It would 
 be so nice if we could be the ones to send Norman 
 word." 
 
 " See his father ? " asked Craig. 
 
 " Yes ; he's staying here at this hotel," said Mrs. 
 Kennedy, pointing to the bottom of the second 
 column. Kennedy had overlooked it. 
 
 " Good enough ! " he exclaimed. " So he is. 
 I'll look him up this very minute. Stay in the 
 ladies' parlor till I come, will you ? The Golden 
 Gate can wait ! " 
 
 They hurried out of the dining-room, and Ken 
 nedy escorted his wife to a corner of the parlor, 
 which was at that moment deserted. 
 
 " Craig," she said, putting her hand on his arm
 
 THE PLATED CITY 353 
 
 as he turned to leave her. " We are tremendously 
 glad for Norman, but we don't envy him, do we ? 
 He hasn't the best of it, after all. We think so, 
 don't we ! Look at me ! " 
 
 He obeyed, with results known only to a godless 
 bell-boy, past master in the art of classifying 
 married couples, who was hurrying noiselessly 
 past the parlor door. 
 
 At the office desk the clerk of whom Kennedy 
 inquired for George W. Lewis waved him wearily 
 toward the writing -room. "You're the fourth 
 man after George W. Lewis in the last ten min 
 utes. He's in there." 
 
 A sallow, nervous-looking little man, prema 
 turely gray, with a high square forehead and 
 restless eyes, was scratching off a letter at the 
 writing-table. Opposite him sat three reporters, 
 with pads out, but awed into temporary silence by 
 an outburst of the inventor's wrath. Kennedy 
 strode up to him, and waited till he had finished 
 his sentence. Old Lewis looked up with a snarl. 
 
 " Mr. Lewis," said Craig, putting out his hand, 
 "I am from Bartonvale, Connecticut. My name 
 is Kennedy." The inventor's shrewd little eyes 
 searched the young fellow's face. Here was no 
 reporter, at all events. 
 
 " Your son is my best friend," Craig went on. 
 " We roomed together, till two weeks ago. I've 
 heard him talk about you, sir, of course. I don't 
 know whether he's ever written of me." 
 
 2A
 
 354 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 George W. Lewis nodded, and shook hands. 
 " Been getting married lately, haven't you ? Nor 
 man wrote me the first of the month." 
 
 " On my wedding trip now," proclaimed Craig, 
 jubilantly, whereupon one of the reporters thought 
 fully entered a " personal " upon his pad. 
 
 " I'm just writing to Norman," volunteered Mr. 
 Lewis. " Have you seen the morning papers ? " 
 he added quietly, with a moment's glance of 
 triumph in his eye. 
 
 " Yes," said Kennedy. " Does Norman know 
 anything about it ? It's so, is it ? " The three 
 reporters craned forward, eagerly. The inventor 
 scanned them contemptuously, before replying. 
 
 " Yes," he said to Kennedy, " it's so. I wasn't 
 going to tell Norman till the thing was a dead 
 certainty. I guess that boy has thought some 
 times that his Lewis Land stock wasn't worth 
 much. Sit down. I've just explained to him how 
 it was. You fellows can take this, if you want 
 to, and then go." He turned his shrill, feeble 
 voice toward the reporters. "According to the 
 U. S. Survey, the Buenos Dios River, at Blue 
 Jacket Gap, is eleven inches lower at low water 
 than the land sections held by the George W. Lewis 
 Company. Well, it ain't. It's a good thirteen 
 inches higher. That's all there is to it ; mistake 
 of some government fool just out of college. 
 We've got a stock company, and the rights, and 
 the irrigating canal, and any God's quantity of
 
 THE PLATED CITY 355 
 
 land. We don't ask any odds of the newspapers, 
 and ain't looking for an English syndicate to sell 
 out to. I guess that covers the ground, boys, 
 eh?" His tone relaxed a little, and he nodded 
 a good-morning to the reporters, not unsocially. 
 " You'll have to excuse me, now. I want to 
 talk with this gentleman from the East." 
 
 " May I telegraph Norman ? " asked Kennedy, 
 as they were left alone. 
 
 "If you want to," said George W. Lewis. 
 
 " I can't think of anything I'd like to do so 
 much," replied Kennedy. " He deserves his luck, 
 if anybody ever did." 
 
 " I suppose he hasn't had much ready money ? " 
 inquired the father, uneasily. 
 
 "Not always." 
 
 " He can have it from now on. I want that 
 boy to go to Europe, and have a good time and 
 throw money right and left. Why, when he was 
 a little bit of a fellow, he used to cut out pictures 
 of foreign parts and stick them up around his 
 bedroom. He was wild to go off and see some 
 thing, even then, but he's stayed right there in 
 Bartonvale, and done the square thing ; yes, the 
 square thing ten times over," he added with a 
 queer sort of sob, " by his father. Well, he 
 carries half, and I guess a little more'n half of 
 this stock. He can sell out to-morrow, if he 
 wants to, for a quarter of a million : but there'll 
 be more money made by staying in. He's a good
 
 356 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 boy. Fact is, I was just telling him so, when you 
 came in." He pointed to the unfinished letter. 
 
 "Look here," said Kennedy "won't you lunch 
 with us to-day? Mrs. Kennedy will want to meet 
 you, I know. She is a great admirer of Norman. 
 Will you?" 
 
 The inventor cast a look downward at his 
 threadbare business suit. " Well, I dunno but I 
 will," he said, with an embarrassed pleasure. " I 
 haven't eaten a meal of victuals with a lady since 
 I struck the coast, and that's fourteen years in 
 August. Yes, I guess I will. I don't look very 
 nice, though. This is the first time I ever put up 
 at this house. I didn't know it was so high-toned. 
 You're sure your wife would want me to come ? " 
 
 " Certain of it," laughed Kennedy. " I'll meet 
 you here at one. Good by till then. I want to 
 send that telegram to Norman." 
 
 But at one o'clock the inventor, arrayed in a 
 suit of clothes from which the price-tags had just 
 been ripped, paced the office of the Palace Hotel 
 in vain. Venturing at last to ask for Mr. Kennedy 
 at the desk, he was informed that his man had 
 started East again, at short notice. A death in his 
 wife's family or something of the sort, the clerk 
 believed ; at any rate, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy had 
 had just time to catch the Southern Pacific train.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 357 
 
 XX 
 
 MEANWHILE Norman Lewis, waking late from 
 the night that followed his solitary vigil upon the 
 balcony, hurried breakfastless to the station, and 
 had hardly time to swallow a cup of coffee before 
 boarding the train for Simsbury. He had passed 
 two or three groups of his friends on Main Street, 
 but in response to their beckonings had pointed 
 train wards and hastened on. As he climbed the 
 car steps a couple of Bartonvale men in front of 
 him were discussing Dr. At wood, but for that day 
 Lewis wished to drop Dr. Atwood entirely from 
 his mind, and he purposely went to the other end 
 of the car. He wanted a holiday, more than he 
 ever remembered wanting one before. Since the 
 fire, his professional work had been quadrupled, 
 and he had devoted himself to it with a nervous 
 energy that was telling on him. He longed to 
 escape from the Plated City, were it but for a day. 
 The necessity of tracing the title in Simsbury 
 gave him an excuse for slipping away from the 
 Bank block, and breathing for six or eight hours 
 the unspoiled air of mid- June. As the train rat 
 tled up the Valley, past the last outlying shanties 
 of Bartonvale and the big dam, Lewis stared out
 
 358 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 of the car window with all the enjoyment of a lad. 
 The Mattawanset was low, and the lank, bare 
 legged Connecticut boys, snaring suckers from 
 the rocks mid-stream, moved the lawyer's envy. 
 Now and then the rocky, heavily wooded banks 
 gave way to stretches of meadowland, whitened 
 with daisies, and hovered over by bobolinks that 
 were bubbling yet with the May rapture. But 
 the river was never far away, whether it slept 
 lazily in its worn bed of slate and schist, or flung 
 itself wantonly down the long rapids for the very 
 pleasure of the plunge. With every moment that 
 Lewis fed his eyes upon its clear yellowish water, 
 he felt increasingly refreshed, clearer of brain, 
 more buoyant of heart, secure of himself. The 
 Plated City and all that pertained to it retreated, 
 grew less with every curve that the Valley train 
 rounded and left behind. After an hour's ride, he 
 felt that he had been away for months. Every 
 impression older than that hour seemed to have 
 been smoothed out of his mind, by the all-compel 
 ling power of the glorious June mid-morning. 
 
 At the little country station where lie had to 
 change trains, however, he was conscious that 
 certain prior experiences were beginning to re 
 assert themselves. He had half an hour to wait, 
 and as he paced the long platform, he discovered 
 that the Plated City was lurking, as it were, at 
 either end. In vain he tried to shake off the 
 memory of the place. It was too obstinately in-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 359 
 
 trenched. To no purpose did he saunter up and 
 down, gazing off upon half-grown cornfields, and 
 rolling meadows of timothy drifted with daisies. 
 What he really saw was Bartonvale, twenty-five 
 miles down the river. On the train it had been 
 different. He wished that the Simsbury train 
 would come along ; what was the use of a holi 
 day if the town you were trying to get away 
 from persisted in dogging you ? 
 
 He halted a moment at the station door, and 
 learned that his train was twenty minutes late. 
 Fate seemed against him, and he thereupon turned 
 valiantly to the combat, and asked why he should 
 not think of the Plated City as much as he pleased ? 
 It was not as if he were a criminal, pursued by the 
 memory of scenes he would fain efface ; he was 
 simply a somewhat overworked lawyer on a holi 
 day. It was undoubtedly unlucky that he could 
 not leave his clients behind him, but if he never 
 theless chose to occupy himself, this idle fore 
 noon, with thoughts that he had hoped would 
 remain in Bartonvale, whose concern was it but 
 his own ? He glanced argumentatively up and 
 down the empty platform : the baggage master 
 was lounging, half asleep, upon his truck ; the 
 frizzle-haired telegraph operator was filing her 
 nails ; the station agent was hoeing beans in his 
 garden across the track. The lawyer's position 
 was incontrovertible ; his thoughts were purely 
 a matter of his own concern.
 
 360 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 After all, what were they, that he should not 
 give himself up to them ? They were scarcely of 
 the Plated City in general. He had wasted very 
 little time of late in abstract speculation about 
 the town whose shining title and sharp contrast 
 of Hill and Flats had always tempted his vagrant 
 fancy. He had admired the Plated City, even 
 while mocking at it ; since the fire he had ad 
 mired it more than ever, but wondered whether 
 he cared for it as sincerely as before. At any 
 rate, the Plated City troubled itself very little 
 about him, and it was hardly fair that he should 
 have to carry the town on his shoulders when 
 ever he had a holiday. -No, his thoughts were 
 not of the Plated City in itself, nor even of that 
 particular spot of it where so much of his life had 
 been passed ; the narrow office in the Bank block, 
 and the big room overhead, where Craig Kennedy 
 and he had long been quartered, and the collec 
 tion of photographs had increased slowly from 
 year to year. The portion of the Plated City 
 that confronted him persistently, as he sauntered 
 back and forth along the hot platform, was the 
 very crest of the Hill, the pine -shadowed house 
 of Dr. Atwood. There was no escaping it. The 
 plain old house with its narrow piazza overlooking 
 the turmoil of the Flats, the dusky office where 
 the secrets of James Atwood's life had been sud 
 denly laid bare, the bedroom where he had watched 
 Tom Beaulieu's life flicker out in the dim dawn,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 361 
 
 the vine-covered porch, where for an instant he 
 had been tempted to unimaginable folly - 
 
 At this point the lawyer turned sharply upon 
 his heel and strode away toward the other end of 
 the platform. A reminiscent smile bent his thin 
 lip. Yes, if James Atwood's figure had not ap 
 peared in the doorway, at the nick of time, he 
 would have said something or done something 
 probably both which he would have looked back 
 upon in a cooler moment like the present mo 
 ment, for instance as sheer fatuity. It had 
 taken him off his guard. He had not supposed 
 that a tug of passion like that could almost have 
 swept him from his feet. Perhaps it was his own 
 fault for venturing so nearly beyond his depth. 
 Ought he not to have kept to shallower water? 
 He had been turning over some photographs that 
 evening before starting for the Hill ; why had he 
 ever allowed the face and form of Esther Beaulieu 
 to hover between him and his ancient cronies ? 
 For a week such had been the case ; ever since 
 the night they had watched together. He should 
 have been more resolute in the beginning. He 
 ought not to have let himself gaze at her so long 
 by the light of the night-lamp. Yes, he might as 
 well confess it to himself ; she had gone to his 
 head a trifle ; he had been fool enough to grow 
 jealous of James Atwood ; and when she had 
 called to him from the porch so unexpectedly, and 
 had laughed into his eyes with such infectious
 
 362 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 youthfulness, he had been taken unaware, he 
 was scarcely master of himself, he would have 
 been kissing her in a moment more. 
 
 And then? Norman Lewis stopped upon the 
 farther end of the platform, and gazed off blankly 
 over the June meadows. And then ? His pulses 
 were leaping at the thought, but he fancied his 
 brain was still cool enough to rein them, and he 
 let them leap. Suppose he had kissed her ? 
 What would Dr. Atwood have said, at the dis 
 covery of such an avowal? And what would 
 Craig Kennedy say, and the men at the Mattawan- 
 set Club, and all the Plated City from Summit 
 Street to the outermost Flats ? Norman Lewis 
 in love with Pete Beaulieu's daughter, Tom Beau- 
 lieu's sister, a girl upon whom the Plated City, 
 rightly or wrongly, had drawn the color line ? 
 The lawyer's face flushed ; he was sensitive as 
 a woman. But he bent his brows and stared 
 obstinately over the meadows, as before. It was 
 not a question, after all, of what people would 
 say. Whether he choose to fall in love with 
 Esther Beaulieu was his own affair, and hers. 
 Irretrievable error, irremediable disgrace, it might 
 be in the Plated City's eyes, and nevertheless to 
 him, who had mocked so often at the Plated City's 
 point of view, it might be one of those follies that 
 enfold the inner heart of wisdom. If he loved 
 her, if he were sure he loved her, were not the 
 world well lost ? Beautiful, intelligent, virtuous
 
 THE PLATED CITY 363 
 
 Yes, undoubtedly she is all that, said the steady 
 brain whose task it was to rein the pulses, but her 
 mother may have been an octoroon. This is the 
 naked fact why shroud it? The pulses strug 
 gled, but they slowed. Lewis swung around, and 
 recommenced his pacing of the platform. He 
 tried to place himself where he had been the even 
 ing before, ignorant as yet of Dr. Atwood's story. 
 The woman who had watched with him from mid 
 night to dawn, whose image had hovered before 
 him in his solitary evening hours, the rose from 
 whose breast he had caught as it fell, had been 
 to him the ball-player's sister, ostracized for her 
 mother's sake, an alien in the little Bartonvale 
 world. He had thought of her mother merely as 
 a strange figure upon Nigger Hill, over whose 
 memory the fewer words there were wasted, the 
 better. Yet in spite of all that, the girl had 
 moved him to something more than admiration 
 or sympathy. Possibly he had lost his heart over 
 her ; certainly he had nearly lost his head. Did 
 it either mend or mar matters very greatly that 
 he now knew that her mother was Everett At 
 wood's wife, and that the dead ball-player had 
 been the heir to the summit of the Hill ? It dis 
 sipated one uncertainty only to involve him in 
 another ; it pushed back by one generation the 
 infatuation felt by a Bartonvale man for a woman 
 of doubtful birth, bringing the reckless, renegade 
 Northerner of war times into strange compan-
 
 364 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 ionship with the gentle-natured, self-restrained 
 lawyer of to-day ; but the race question was un 
 touched. Dr. Atwood had said that the woman 
 had called herself a French Creole, that there were 
 names and dates given for verification, in that 
 bundle of letters that were now gray ashes. But 
 there were apparently darker hints as well, things 
 that the kind-hearted Doctor shrank from showing 
 to Esther's eye. Dr. Atwood knew by heart, he 
 had said, all that concerned Esther to know. He 
 had promised to tell her to-day. Perhaps he was 
 even now telling her. The lawyer instinctively 
 pulled out his watch ; it was mid-forenoon. Yes, 
 very probably the girl already knew what there 
 was for her to know and yet Lewis could not 
 help desiring that so much had not been left to 
 an old man's memory. He wished that after so 
 many years of patient guarding of his brother's 
 secrets, the Doctor had not impatiently tossed 
 them to the flames at last, without stopping to 
 weigh their importance to the girl he had so gen 
 erously befriended. Nevertheless, Atwood had 
 always been singularly accurate in names and 
 dates. It would be quite possible to get from 
 him the data necessary for a search in Louisiana ; 
 he could make a confidant of the Doctor if nec 
 essary ; he would go South that very month, and 
 clear Esther's name from that supposititious stain 
 of darker blood than ran in Creole veins if it 
 were possible.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 365 
 
 And if it were not possible ? How then ? Sup 
 pose he were to discover what he would dread to 
 find? "Better know too little than too much," 
 had been the words of Dr. Atwood. Might not 
 uncertainty, after all, be preferable, if he really 
 loved the girl ? Could he steal Southward with 
 out her knowledge, in pettifogging, search for 
 names and registers of births and deaths, if he 
 felt toward Esther Beaulieu the genuine passion 
 of a whole-hearted man ? If he loved her, was it 
 not better to win her as she was, and take the 
 chance ? It flashed upon him that that very day 
 might be the last when he could stand thus, and 
 choose freely. When he should return to Bar- 
 tonvale that night, the girl would know at least 
 in part the contents of the letters. She would be 
 in possession of facts that would enable her to 
 trace the truth. Would it not then be too late 
 for him to cry "I love you I ask no questions 
 I take the chance"? To-night she would feel, 
 she could not help feeling, that at heart he 
 wished her to make sure there was no color line 
 between them ; she would be self-conscious ; she 
 would stand on miserable trial, until the truth 
 were ascertained. At that present hour only 
 could they face each other as they ought, man to 
 woman, ignoring the past, venturing the future ! 
 And the hour was fleeting ; Bartonvale lay far 
 down the valley, and the man and woman were 
 apart.
 
 366 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 A train whistled. The station agent dropped 
 his hoe, climbed the fence leisurely, and crossed 
 the track to the platform. 
 
 " Is that a down train ? " asked Norman Lewis. 
 "I want to get back to Barton vale." 
 
 " Thought you was goin' to Simsbury," was the 
 surprised reply. 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "Well, that's the Simsbury train comin' now. 
 There ain't any down train till the express, this 
 afternoon. You can get to Simsbury and back 
 again before she starts, if you want to. Want 
 me to flag 48?" 
 
 The lawyer hesitated, and then nodded. In a 
 couple of minutes he was flying through white 
 and golden meadows once more, but he did not 
 see them. At Simsbury he managed, after some 
 difficulty, to secure the information he was in 
 search of, but when the last item of business had 
 been finished, it was two o'clock, just too late for 
 the train connecting with the Bartonvale express. 
 He got dinner at a farm-house. There were three 
 hours on his hands. 
 
 "Did you ever see old Newgate?" inquired his 
 farmer host. Lewis shook his head. 
 
 "Lemme drive you round there. It's wuth 
 seein'. There's parties there lookin' at it most 
 every day. What d'ye say ? I can drive you 
 from there to Granby depot just as well as not." 
 
 The lawyer assented, indifferent how the hours
 
 THE PLATED CITY 367 
 
 passed. After half an hour's uphill drive they 
 stopped in front of a huge square inclosure of 
 brick and reddish stone, with sentry boxes at the 
 corners. Over the gateway arch was a marble 
 keystone, with the words "Newgate Prison, 
 1802." Lewis's companion knocked at the back 
 door of a farm-house opposite, and secured a 
 smooth-tongued young countryman as the lawyer's 
 guide, himself strolling off: to talk crops with an 
 old acquaintance, and rather glad to escape from 
 Lewis, whom he had found unexpectedly preoc 
 cupied and unsocial. There had been no sight 
 seers that afternoon, and the guide escorted his 
 single visitor through the gate and into the wide 
 jail yard. 
 
 "Want to go down into the mine first?" he 
 asked, "or would you rather begin by seeing 
 what's above ground? " 
 
 "As you like," said Lewis. "Whichever is 
 easier for you." He was wondering whether 
 Esther Beaulieu, by any glance or word, had ever 
 betrayed that she cared for him. 
 
 They crossed the grassy court, for generations 
 untrodden by the feet of prisoners, and the guide 
 struck glibly into his parrot-like description of 
 the buildings before them. Some were roofless 
 from long neglect, others newly shingled through 
 the thrift of the keeper, who could not risk see 
 ing his show-place in absolute ruin. Lewis fol 
 lowed his loquacious, nasal-voiced companion from
 
 368 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 workshop to kitchen, grim tread-mill to frightful 
 sleeping-chamber, listening idly to quotations from 
 the account of the prison written by an English 
 visitor eighty years before. Crude enough, brutal 
 enough, had it all been, no doubt, but the lawyer's 
 mind was elsewhere. Were any of those things 
 essentially so cruel, he was questioning, as the 
 color line we draw without a thought ? The 
 guide felt piqued at the omission of the usual 
 exclamations of pity and surprise. By and by 
 they emerged into the sunshiny yard. 
 
 " Do you see that flat rock ? " said the country 
 man, with the air of a man who plays a trump 
 card. " Well, right there happened something that 
 I guess would have waked you up some to see." 
 And he told how the rebellious convicts, long 
 ago, had at a given signal broken out of the 
 blacksmith shop, headed by a great negro armed 
 with a red-hot bar, and how, when he had smitten 
 down one guard, and was dashing for the gate, 
 all the tumultuous prisoners behind him, a bullet 
 from the sentry-box struck him, and he pitched 
 forward on the flat rock to die. The fellow told 
 his story well. Lewis fancied he could see the 
 red-hot iron falling from the negro's loosening 
 grasp, and growing darker and darker as it cooled, 
 while the dark streamlet trickled under it into 
 the close-trodden grass. When it comes to cour 
 age, or desire for life, or the swift stroke of death, 
 thought Norman Lewis, it is the same blood that
 
 THE PLATED CITY 369 
 
 courses through us all hot, hot, and cooled so 
 quickly ! 
 
 " Yes, there he lay ! " said the nasal voice, re 
 iterating with satisfaction the final phrase of the 
 narrative. 
 
 "Just like any one else, I suppose," added the 
 lawyer, with a grave irony that was lost upon 
 the guide. " Are we through ? " 
 
 " Through ! " cried the young fellow, " why, you 
 ain't seen nothing yet ! We'll go down into the 
 old copper mine now. I guess I can make you 
 open your eyes. There ain't anything like this 
 anywhere, not even in the old country, so they 
 tell me." 
 
 They entered a sort of shed, protecting the 
 entrance to a pit. A half-dozen old overcoats 
 hung there, and Lewis was directed to put one 
 on. The guide lighted a couple of candles, and 
 began to back down a perpendicular ladder into 
 the icy dark. 
 
 " This mine," he said, pausing with his head 
 and shoulders still above ground, "is well on to 
 two hundred years old. They used to get a sight 
 of copper out of it, and when the Revolution 
 broke out, they put the Tories down here. Old 
 George Washington sent 'em here. Gosh, they 
 couldn't fool him, eh ? Made 'em work right 
 alongside of niggers ! After that, it was a States 
 Prison," and on he went, crawling down the 
 ladder as lie talked.
 
 370 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Lewis pulled on an old cap and followed. A 
 curious sensation came over him as he descended. 
 It was as if the upper world of June sunshine, of 
 whitening meadows and rushing trains and pert 
 Plated Cities had vanished irrevocably, not only 
 from sight but even from his imagination. It was 
 blotted out. Down the dripping, flickering shaft, 
 by the wet-runged ladder upon which his feet 
 stumbled, he seemed to be sinking into a new 
 shadowy world, whose forces were unknown. And 
 it was as if he were bearing from one world to 
 another neither any memory nor any hope, but 
 simply a fierce hunger of soul. He was conscious 
 that his hands were slipping upon the rungs, that 
 at any moment he might fall. The guide's voice, 
 rumbling companionably below him, grew fainter 
 and fainter. 
 
 " Guess you're dizzy," laughed the guide, seizing 
 his arm. " Most of 'em are." Lewis found him 
 self standing on the slimy floor of the first level. 
 Low passages, following the slanting seams of the 
 rock, led away into the blackness. The guide 
 started down one of them, turning every moment 
 or two to caution Lewis against a loose rock, or 
 treacherous pool of water. They threaded passage 
 after passage, now stooping to half-height, then 
 entering vaulted chambers where they could stand 
 erect, and catch the glint of copper in the painfully
 
 THE PLATED CITY 371 
 
 hewn walls. Lower and lower they descended, 
 here stopping to examine the ancient sleeping- 
 bunks, cut into the solid stone, and there to finger 
 some rusty staple where a criminal had been chained 
 as he labored. Everywhere were tokens of suffer 
 ing stolidly endured, of year-long, life-long toil, 
 of sheer brutality enthroned here in the dark. 
 Lewis listened silently, almost apathetically, to the 
 guide's stories of savage punishments, of strange 
 mirth too, that once rioted here, of daring efforts 
 to escape, followed by swift retribution. Up that 
 unused shaft, with the daylight now gleaming at 
 the top of it, a prisoner had once climbed half-way 
 to freedom, when the worn rope parted, and he fell. 
 Down that drain men had crawled like reptiles, 
 seeking to get free ; along that corridor had crept a 
 prisoner, bolder than the rest, and felled his keeper, 
 and headed an impotent, fearfully avenged revolt. 
 
 " He was a nigger, too. I guess they punished 
 him about as they liked, and no questions asked. 
 Niggers didn't count," said the guide. 
 
 The glib words stung Lewis like a blow. Even 
 in this Tartarean world, it seemed, lurked the old 
 race antagonism. Was he about to face it him 
 self, to defy public opinion, to court outlawry? 
 Was he strong enough, desperate enough, to 
 marry Esther Beaulieu and take the consequences ? 
 Was it not like one of those mad dashes for 
 liberty, for happiness, of which he had just heard, 
 a moment's rapture, ending in pitiable defeat?
 
 372 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Down one more slanting passageway he stum 
 bled, following close behind his guide. His 
 breath came quick ; the morbid fascination of the 
 place was upon him, stirring his imagination, now, 
 into unnatural activity. The thought of Esther 
 seemed to bring her bodily presence at his side. 
 It was she for whom he had felt that fierce, vague 
 passion, his sole companion as he descended into 
 this fantastic cavern ; he was aware of it at last, 
 as with a sense that his love for her was the one 
 reality which he might bring down from the sun 
 lit world. Her girlish, stately hgure seemed to 
 pace the shadowy passage, keeping step with him ; 
 he could almost feel her breath upon his face ; 
 once he actually threw out his hand, only to 
 bruise his ringers on the dripping wall. 
 
 At length the guide emerged into the last and 
 worst of his show-places : an oval hollow of the 
 rock, with no egress. It had been the solitary 
 confinement chamber. The concave roof magni 
 fied every whisper into a dull resonant murmur, 
 like a huge sea-shell. Not a moan had been 
 uttered there which the listening roof had not re 
 echoed, in reverberating scorn. At one side there 
 was a rude shelf cut in the rock for a seat or 
 sleeping-place, and beneath it the hole where had 
 once been the staple to which the solitary prisoner 
 was chained. At the end of the shelf there was a 
 tiny hollow, full of clear water that trickled from 
 a crevice in the rocky wall above.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 373 
 
 " There," said the guide, " they all drank of 
 that water, Tories and murderers and niggers and 
 all. That's been running for more'n a hundred 
 years." And he narrated with sickening detail 
 the story of still another negro prisoner, chained 
 to the wall, whose effort to free himself from his 
 shackles had resulted in a dreadful doom. 
 
 Norman Lewis stood staring at the bright hand 
 ful of water. " Did you say he drank of that ? " 
 he asked. A strange exaltation had taken posses 
 sion of him ; his eyes shone ; his head was erect, 
 venturesome in its poise. Had the woman he 
 loved been there, he could not have carried him 
 self more proudly. 
 
 " Certainly he drank it," said the guide. " All 
 of 'em did." 
 
 "Then I want to drink of it, too," said Norman 
 Lewis. He knelt by the narrow shelf, and 
 touched his lips reverently to the stream that had 
 assuaged the agony of those alien lips, long since 
 turned to the common dust ; he drank where 
 criminals and outcasts, in sad succession, had 
 quenched their thirst, years before he or his 
 father had been born. As he knelt, it seemed no 
 fiction of an overwrought imagination that Esther 
 Beaulieu was kneeling by his side, tasting with 
 him, as in a mystic betrothal, this draught made 
 sacred by the memory of immemorial suffering 
 and sin. Together they knelt, it seemed to 
 him, in a moment they would rise together, and
 
 374 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 look into each other's eyes, one forever more. 
 Let the shadow of the unknown past darken their 
 future as it might, it was enough that they lived 
 and loved ! 
 
 Silently the brown-bearded man rose to his feet. 
 The countryman was staring at him. 
 
 "Want some copper ore to carry home with 
 you? " he inquired. 
 
 " I can remember the place without that," said 
 Lewis, holding his candle close to his watch. " I 
 want to go now ; I can't miss my train." 
 
 "You city fellows are terrible rushed, ain't 
 you ? " said the guide, sympathetically. " Some 
 folks, now, want to stay down here all day. 
 Well, I suppose we'll be moving on, then, if you 
 say so. Sure you don't want any copper ore ? " 
 
 Lewis's host was waiting for him at the top of 
 the shaft. "What did you think of it, Mr. 
 Lewis ? " he demanded. " Wuth seein', eh ? Glad 
 you went down ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lewis, inhaling a great breath of 
 the warm, sunlit air. " I'm very glad I went 
 down. Will you drive me to Granby depot ? " 
 
 The train bore him down the Valley to Barton- 
 vale, in the summer dusk. Once only did he have 
 a moment of wavering, and then it was not for 
 his own sake, but for hers. Granted that she 
 loved him, was he not about to doom her to a 
 life-long unhappiness, when she realized the social 
 ostracism she would surely bring upon him ? He
 
 THE PLATED CITY 375 
 
 knew the Plated City through and through, he 
 thought ; he knew it would not pardon him. It 
 would never receive her : yet their bread depended 
 upon his remaining here, where his professional 
 foothold had been slowly won. They must stay 
 in Bartonvale, come what would. Would all the 
 adoration he could give her shelter her from the 
 consciousness of having brought upon her hus 
 band the ban with which she herself had grown 
 bitterly familiar ? 
 
 But he shut his thin lips, and held his head 
 high. His pulses were running away with him 
 now, and he knew it, and did not care. He could 
 have lashed them, in very joy of danger. In the 
 black depths of old Newgate he had already faced 
 the worst and conquered. He was taking the 
 chances now, and his long self-repression, the 
 gravity veined with irony, which early respon 
 sibilities had developed in him, was swept away 
 as by an incoming tide. The passion for life, for 
 joys, raptures, ventures, surged through his veins. 
 Dangerously, recklessly, rocked the express, as it 
 reeled down grade toward Bartonvale around the 
 curves of the Valley road, but it whirled none too 
 fast for the brown-bearded, gentle-faced lawyer, 
 who at thirty-five had made up his mind to defy 
 his little world. 
 
 Of one thing he was sure. James Atwood 
 would stand by him. The chivalrous old gentle 
 man would like him all the better for flinging
 
 376 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 down a challenge to the Plated City. And pos 
 sibly it flashed upon him there need be no 
 challenge : he might win without it. Dr. Atwood, 
 if he had kept his word, had already told her the 
 contents of Everett's letters. It might well be 
 that they would prove her mother as blue-blooded 
 as even Mrs. Gascoigne could wish. However 
 dark the stain that had rested upon her, she 
 might still have been of unmixed race. He had 
 resolved to face the worst ; but how if there 
 might be no worst? Why was the train so 
 slow ? 
 
 The engine whistled at the River Street cross 
 ing. Lewis made his way to the platform. In 
 fifteen minutes he meant to be ringing at Dr. At- 
 wood's door. Swinging himself off the train be 
 fore it reached a standstill, he hurried up an alley 
 to the Bank block. As he entered the hallway, 
 feeling in his pockets for his keys, he discovered 
 the glow of the janitor's pipe upon the lowest 
 stair. 
 
 " Hullo, Benton," he called. " Has anybody 
 been looking for me ? " 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Lewis," said the man, 
 taking his pipe out of his mouth and peering at 
 him in the dusk. " Yes, two or three folks. Kind 
 o' sudden about Jim Atwood, wan't it ! "
 
 THE PLATED CITY 377 
 
 XXI 
 
 Two minutes were spent in hurried question 
 ings, and Lewis hastened upstairs. "At seven 
 this morning ! " he exclaimed to himself as he 
 unlocked his door. "Then he cannot have told 
 her." A letter and a telegram had been pushed 
 through the slit in his door, but he trod over them, 
 unnoticing, and entering his bedroom, lighted the 
 gas there and made a hurried toilet. He was out 
 of his room again in a few minutes, and striding 
 up Main Street. It was not yet nine o'clock, and 
 the pavement was blocked with mill hands, and 
 shrill-voiced plate-works girls, still out of a job. 
 He crossed impatiently to the quieter side of the 
 street, turned the corner of the Green, throwing 
 an awestricken glance at the Thayer house as he 
 passed it, and climbed the Hill. He met no one 
 who recognized him. The crest of the Hill was 
 as silent as death itself ; the crunching of his feet 
 on the gravel sounded loud as he entered the 
 shadow of the Atwood pines. There was crape 
 on the old brass door-knocker, but he struck it 
 sharply, nevertheless. Life counts for more than 
 death, thought Norman Lewis. 
 
 One of the neighbors, a plain motherly looking 
 wife of a lucky speculator, opened the door.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 "Why, it's Mr. Lewis ! " she said. "Come in. 
 They have been trying to find you to-day. Wasn't 
 it sudden ? " 
 
 "Very," replied Lewis. "May I see Miss 
 Beaulieu ? " The matron raised her eyebrows 
 ever so little. 
 
 " She has gone to her room. I'll tell her you 
 are here. Poor girl, she has lost the only friend 
 she had in the world. I said to my husband, ' I 
 am going over to Dr. Atwood's to stay to-night. 
 It isn't right to let that poor thing stay there 
 alone.'" 
 
 She led Lewis down the hall to the sitting- 
 room, and he gave her his card. This formality 
 seemed to embarrass her ; Lewis did not meet 
 the keen glance she threw at him, and she went 
 upstairs wondering what the lawyer could want 
 of Esther Beaulieu. 
 
 She was gone several minutes. When she 
 returned, she handed him back the card. " Not 
 to-night, please," was pencilled upon it. 
 
 " To-morrow morning, then," said Lewis, bow 
 ing gravely. " Will you tell her ? " He mur 
 mured confusedly something about the matron's 
 kindness asked if he might be of any service 
 and was gone. 
 
 Once outside the house, he wondered why it 
 had not occurred to him that some one might be 
 there. He had counted upon seeing Esther alone. 
 Suppose she had come down while Mrs. Foley was
 
 THE PLATED CITY 379 
 
 in the room ; what could he have said to her ? 
 There was but one thing he had come to say. 
 Any other words would have been empty. 
 
 Curiously enough, it never entered his mind 
 that the girl might refuse him. So sure was he 
 now of his own heart, that he did not stop to 
 reflect that she had never betrayed to him what 
 might have been in hers. She had given him no 
 sign, save possibly that one delicious glance, which 
 after all had in it scarcely more than comrade 
 ship. Yet as Lewis neared the Mattawanset 
 Club, on his way down the Hill, he found him 
 self saying, " To-morrow ! To-morrow Esther 
 and I will be facing the Plated City together ! " 
 And so high was his courage at that moment that 
 the time until the morrow seemed long. 
 
 He halted in front of the Club, and then 
 mounted the steps slowly. The evening would 
 pass more quickly here than down in the lonely 
 Bank block, and twenty-four hours hence, he 
 fancied to himself, his Mattawanset friends might 
 already be looking askance at him, as in some 
 way knowing the defiant step he would then 
 have taken. This was his last night, was it not, 
 of unspoiled companionship with the men of his 
 own choice ? Yet he felt something like a traitor 
 as he paused at the pool-room door, and looked 
 in. The room was crowded with men in shirt 
 sleeves, cigars between their teeth, bending over 
 the green tables for a shot, or chatting idly as
 
 380 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 they chalked their cues. No one happened to 
 notice him, and he felt the imaginary gulf deep 
 ening between himself and these men of the Hill. 
 Would they miss him so very much, after all ? 
 
 " ' I care as little for Lord James Douglas 
 As Lord James Douglas cares for me,' " 
 
 he murmured, with a half -smile, and for one in 
 stant he found himself wondering, with a cynical 
 curiosity, what Bartonvale would say to his love 
 affair if he were a rich man instead of a poor one. 
 " If I had a million," he reflected, conscious that 
 his lip was curling, "they would accept anything 
 I chose to tell them about Esther Beaulieu. She 
 would be a patroness here in five years more." He 
 laughed silently at his own fancy, shrugged his 
 shoulders, took a long look at the smoky, noisy, 
 essentially masculine scene before him, and turned 
 away. It was like bidding adieu, but it moved 
 him less than he had thought. 
 
 As he sauntered through the card-room, he was 
 hailed by three members of the Bartonvale Board 
 of Trade, who were laboriously drafting appro 
 priate resolutions upon the decease of Dr. James 
 At wood. At their request he ran his eye over 
 the result of their labors. The stock phrases 
 jarred upon him, but he contented himself with 
 pencilling a couple of grammatical changes, and 
 handed the paper back without comment. Phrase- 
 making was not the chief virtue of the Bar-
 
 THE PLATED CITY 381 
 
 tonvale Board of Trade. Lewis declined some 
 whiskey and water, and left the trio to complete 
 their copying. The Mattawanset Club was prov 
 ing less satisfactory to-night than he had hoped. 
 
 At the tiny writing-desk in the reading-room 
 he discovered the Rev. Whitesyde Trellys, exam 
 ining, with apparent satisfaction, the pages of a 
 letter he had just composed. The rector ad 
 dressed his envelope, rang for some sealing- 
 wax, he had had scruples, ever since his year 
 in Oxford, about the propriety of sticking an 
 envelope together in the ordinary fashion, and 
 then perceived that Norman Lewis was watching 
 him. They had not met since the rector had read 
 the service at Tom Beaulieu's funeral. Trellys 
 rose and crossed the room toward the lawyer. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Lewis?" he said, in his 
 fatigued voice. " Can you tell me when Mr. 
 Kennedy is expected home ? " 
 
 " They have already started East, I suppose," 
 Lewis replied. " At least, the janitor of the Bank 
 block said so. I have been out of town all day." 
 
 "Dr. Atwood's death was very sudden," re 
 turned the rector. 
 
 Lewis assented. 
 
 "I suppose, as his lawyer, you have some idea 
 as to the disposition he made of his property ? I 
 hope there will be something for public purposes. 
 Distinctly religious causes, you know, were not 
 so near to his heart."
 
 382 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Possibly not," remarked the lawyer, indif 
 ferently. "I presume his executors will make 
 public whatever the public ought to know." He 
 picked up a magazine and began to turn the 
 pages. 
 
 "There is a rumor on Main Street," said the 
 rector, " that he left all his property to Miss 
 Beaulieu." 
 
 Lewis dropped his magazine. " You may con 
 tradict that," said he, sharply. "That story is 
 purely without foundation." 
 
 Trellys looked disappointed. J' I didn't know 
 but she might be inclined if the rumor were 
 true to help us in building our new church," he 
 explained, with a sort of embarrassed laugh. 
 
 "Oh, you were burned out," smiled the lawyer. 
 "I had forgotten." 
 
 " But I have hopes of Mrs. Gascoigne," pur 
 sued the rector of St. Asaph's, eagerly. "I've 
 just been writing her. She expects to return in 
 November. I think she has always felt drawn to 
 our service, though she never liked the location 
 of the chapel. But her daughters have just been 
 confirmed, she writes me, confirmed by the Bishop 
 of Duxminster, and they're going to his country 
 house as soon as the London season is over. I 
 thought you might like to know." 
 
 " Very interesting, I'm sure," said Lewis. " It 
 certainly looks as if you might count upon Mrs. 
 Gascoigne."
 
 TUE PLATED CITY 383 
 
 " In fact/' nodded the rector, " that is why I 
 asked about Mr. Kennedy. He drew some charm 
 ing plans for me once, we have a small Church 
 Building Fund, you know, but I had to defer 
 the matter. But now that we must have a new 
 edifice in any case " 
 
 " Exactly," said Lewis. " I remember the plans 
 very well. I wish you good luck, Trellys." 
 
 He took up the magazine again. For a moment 
 the rector followed his example, turning idly the 
 pages of an English review which he had had 
 placed upon the subscription list of the Club. 
 Then Trellys, being in too friendly a mood for 
 silence, remarked in a low tone, without raising 
 his eyes from the review : 
 
 " The Doctor's death leaves Miss Beaulieu in a 
 very singular position, then, does it not ? Think 
 of it ! She is what would be called a lovely girl 
 in in other circumstances. She is educated 
 altogether beyond what one would expect she 
 would be fitted for any social position, almost, 
 she is interested in the Church, and yet 
 Why, think of it ! If we could only regard those 
 race differences in a more Christian way if we 
 had more ideality " He paused, helplessly. 
 " Really," he exclaimed, glancing up at Lewis, 
 "she moves my sympathy." 
 
 Norman Lewis flung back his head. " She need 
 not ! " he flashed out in a voice which save for its 
 low intensity was like the voice of fierce old James
 
 384 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Atwood himself. " You'd better keep your sym 
 pathy ! " 
 
 The rector stared. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Trellys," said Lewis, re 
 covering control of himself, "I beg your pardon." 
 And thereupon he took his hat and walked out of 
 the Mattawanset Club. 
 
 His slender shoulders were very straight, and 
 the sensitive lips were set combatively, as he 
 strode down High Street. The lonely den at 
 the Bank block was better, after all, than the 
 noise of the pool-room or Trellys's twaddle about 
 "ideality." Yet he was glad he had stopped at 
 the Club. Renunciation of the Hill seemed easier 
 for the few minutes he had spent inside. Their 
 world was not his world ; it had never been his 
 world ; there need be no pretences, on either side, 
 from this time on. If he might still keep his 
 clients, that was all he wished. Socially, the 
 Hill might do with him as it pleased. A chance 
 to earn bread for the woman he loved was all 
 that Norman Lewis asked of Bartonvale. 
 
 Striking a match as he entered his room, he 
 discovered a telegram and a letter upon the floor. 
 He lighted the gas, and picked them up indif 
 ferently. The telegram was dated at San Fran 
 cisco, that afternoon. It read : 
 
 ''-Hang to Irrigation stock like grim death. 
 Worth 200 now. Congratulations. Have written. 
 
 " CHAIG KENNEDY."
 
 THE PLATED CITY 385 
 
 " He must have sent that just before Sally got 
 the news," was Lewis's first thought. And at 
 the idea that some enthusiast perhaps his own 
 father had been turning Craig's head with talk 
 about the Lewis Land and Irrigation Company, the 
 lawyer smiled ironically. George W. Lewis had 
 sent him messages like that before. Seeing that 
 his letter was also from San Francisco, however, 
 he tore it open, conscious of a slight quickening 
 of the pulse. It was a long, type-written letter : 
 he glanced through it hastily, then read it slowly, 
 changing color as he read. He flung it down, 
 and crossing the room, threw open the balcony 
 door, and leaned there in the breeze, pressing 
 his fingers to his temples. The rush of blood 
 to his brain had made him faint. He sat down 
 when he came back to the desk, and studied the 
 letter line by line, the veins still standing out 
 upon his white, high temples. 
 
 The writer was a cautious San Francisco lawyer 
 whom Lewis had once employed, at a heavy cost, 
 to investigate the validity of the land titles which 
 his father had secured. He wrote now to say that 
 he and a few other gentlemen had satisfied them 
 selves that owing to a manifest blunder in a pre 
 vious survey, Mr. George W. Lewis's irrigation 
 scheme was not so visionary as it had appeared. 
 In fact, as the titles were good beyond question, 
 and the engineering difficulties had been solved, 
 there was no reason why the stock of the Lewis 
 2o
 
 386 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 Land and Irrigation Company should not deserve 
 the attention of investors. Understanding that Mr. 
 Norman Lewis held the majority of it, he wished 
 to inquire whether it were for sale. He would 
 take the liberty of saying that Mr. Lewis, Senior, 
 had undoubtedly too large ideas about the future 
 of the Company, and had probably already advised 
 his son to hold out for higher figures than there 
 was any likelihood of the stock ever reaching. If 
 he wished to dispose of any or all of it at a hun 
 dred and ten, however, the San Francisco gentle 
 men above mentioned were ready to take it off his 
 hands. Would he kindly telegraph reply ? 
 
 "At a hundred and ten?" repeated Lewis, 
 mechanically. " A hundred and ten ? " He 
 reached down to the lower drawer of his desk, and 
 picked out a dusty bundle of certificates. He had 
 never even taken the precaution to put them in his 
 safe. Glancing at the memorandum pencilled upon 
 the outside, he made a rapid nervous calculation, 
 and leaped to his feet with a queer cry. At a 
 hundred and ten, that bundle was worth a quarter 
 of a million ! The letter was six days old. Craig's 
 telegram had said " Two hundred now." 
 
 The brown-bearded man paced the room, hour 
 after hour. In the rush of sensations that passed 
 over him, mingled of surprise, wonder, gratitude, 
 a ludicrous sense of the fact that he, of all the 
 men in the Plated City, should come into a fortune,
 
 THE PLATED CITY 387 
 
 was not the least. He, the railer against silver- 
 plated harnesses, and nickle-plated bath-tubs, and 
 architectural afterthoughts; he, who was still 
 wearing his last summer's suit, and who had gone 
 into debt to buy a wedding present for Sally 
 Thayer ! He laughed aloud in the hushed June 
 midnight at the grotesqueness of it all, and 
 then his laugh changed to a strange pride. That 
 afternoon, believing himself a poor man, he had in 
 the depths of Old Newgate cast in his lot with 
 those whom the rich ones of the earth despise. 
 He had resolved to fling down the challenge. 
 With the woman he loved by his side, he was 
 about to face the Plated City, however unequal, 
 however desperate the conflict might have proved. 
 And now, thanks to the cunning brain of a father 
 whose schemes had for years been to the son a bit 
 ter burden, he was free of the Plated City in a 
 moment. No bird whose shadow flecked the crest 
 of the Hill for an instant, as it winged its way up 
 or down the Valley, was more absolutely unbound 
 to linger in Bartonvale than he. He could go 
 where he liked, where Esther liked, and with 
 that thought, for the first time since he had known 
 he loved her, the fear that she might refuse him 
 chilled his heart. Why should she refuse him? 
 He could not say, but the suddenly realized dread 
 of it spoiled for an hour his new dreams. But 
 they reasserted themselves as the short summer 
 night slipped by, and the dawn discovered him
 
 388 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 restlessly turning over his photographs ; fancying 
 himself and her on the Nile in Sicily 
 in Southern Spain along the Riviera. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The grass was still wet on the lawn of the 
 Atwood place when he found himself once more 
 at the crape-hung door. One of the Welsh ser 
 vants answered his ring. Could he see Miss 
 Beaulieu ? He stood where he could watch her 
 come slowly into sight down the narrow staircase, 
 the tall black-clothed figure swaying lightly as a 
 flower, a startled look in her eyes as she saw how 
 intently he was regarding her. 
 
 "Will you come into the sitting-room?" she 
 asked, half turning down the hall. 
 
 "Not now. Let us go out doors. You have 
 had too much sorrow in this house." 
 
 "Out doors?" she repeated, but she followed 
 him down the porch, and only hesitated when he 
 seemed about to cross the lawn. 
 
 He turned to her. "Do you mind?" he said. 
 "There is a seat there above the cliff. It must 
 be so gloomy for you in the house, to-day, and 
 there is something I wish to tell you." 
 
 There was a quiet firmness in his tone, a mas 
 terfulness in the carriage of his head and shoul 
 ders, that made her obey. They crossed the 
 sward in silence, and reached the rustic seat. It 
 was out of sight of the house ; at their feet lay 
 Main Street and the Flats. At a motion from
 
 THE PLATED CITY 389 
 
 Lewis, the girl seated herself. He remained 
 standing, gazing down at the Plated City with 
 a singular smile. 
 
 "You feel above it all here, don't you!" he 
 exclaimed. She made no reply. "Did you talk 
 with Dr. Atwood yesterday morning before he 
 drove down town?" he asked, with a sudden 
 change of tone. 
 
 "We breakfasted together." 
 
 " But he told you nothing, nothing in par 
 ticular ? " 
 
 She shook her head. He drew a long breath. 
 The venture was his then, even as he had half 
 wished, the day before ; the truth about her 
 parentage lay hidden in that tiny pile of ashes. 
 
 " Then I have a great deal to tell you," he said 
 steadily; "about your brother and your mother." 
 She looked up with a start. 
 
 " But I have something else to tell you first," 
 he went on, his eyes fastened upon her face. " I 
 love you Esther Beaulieu I love you." 
 
 For a second he saw her eyes dilate, then she 
 covered her face, with a sort of sob. He tried to 
 take her hands. 
 
 " I love you," he whispered ; " I want you to be 
 my wife. Will you ? " 
 
 She trembled violently, but as she lifted her face 
 toward him, the lines of it were superbly firm. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded. Sickening dread
 
 390 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 took possession of him, yet the answer he most 
 dreaded did not come. 
 
 "I have no right," she said, her luminous, 
 dusky eyes gazing full into his. " It would be 
 doing you a wrong. Last night if you had asked 
 me I might not have been strong enough to tell 
 you so. I was so alone, so afraid. I did not 
 dare see you I was glad when you went away. 
 But this morning I am strong. You have been 
 very kind to me, Mr. Norman Lewis, -and so I 
 have told you the truth." 
 
 " But you love me then ! " he cried. 
 
 " If I did," said the girl, rising in almost uncon 
 trollable excitement, "would I be willing to spoil 
 your life ? Do you think I have not learned 
 something since I came to Bartonvale ? These 
 people hate me because of my mother. Do you 
 not know that they would hate you too, if if " 
 She stood panting, the rich color suffusing her 
 cheeks, rising to her temples. 
 
 " Listen ! " he said. " Do you think that I, too, 
 do not know Bartonvale ? When I came here last 
 night to ask you to marry me, I was a poor man. 
 I knew what I was doing. If you would only let 
 me stand with you, that was all I asked. Barton- 
 vale would have given us air and water and bread 
 and a roof -tree. Do you think your loving me 
 would spoil my life?" He paused passionately 
 and then went on. " But this morning I find that 
 I am rich very rich do you understand? I
 
 THE PLATED CITY 391 
 
 can leave Bartonvale to-morrow, never to return. 
 We can live wherever in the world you please ; in 
 France, if you like your father's home or any 
 where. New England isn't the world, thank God ! 
 Will you come ? " 
 
 The girl gave a long, troubled look at the slen 
 der-bodied man with the flashing, honest eyes. 
 But at last she shook her head. 
 
 " Mr. Lewis," she said gravely, her eyes falling 
 to the ground, " you are a brave gentleman, and I 
 can never honor you enough. Will you answer 
 me one question ? You say you have something 
 to tell me about my mother. Was she white?" 
 
 "I do not know," he replied hoarsely, after a 
 long silence. " I think so, but I do not know." 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " That is why it would 
 not be right for me to marry you. Wait ! I be 
 lieve you when you tell me you love me. But the 
 time would arrive you could not help it when 
 this would come between us. You would not love 
 me any more. It would not be your fault ; it 
 would not be any one's fault ; it is the way things 
 are, that is all. And now I am going back to the 
 house. I shall "a curious girlish quaver came 
 into her woman's voice "always be grateful," 
 
 " One moment ! " cried Norman Lewis, with a 
 gesture that arrested her. " If you will look me 
 in the eyes, Esther Beaulieu, and tell me that you 
 do not love ine, I will let you go. But you will 
 not see ! you cannot. I knew it. You dare
 
 392 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 not ! You love me ! And I will not let you go. 
 Listen ! Yesterday I knelt in a cavern, deep 
 under ground, where in bygone years white men 
 and black men suffered in a common doom. It 
 was like being in another world ; it was like hell. 
 But I fancied that you were there with me, Esther, 
 that hand in hand we knelt and tasted the bitterest 
 draught that human cruelty could offer, and it was 
 sweet to our lips, because we loved. We loved 
 each other, dear, and the world might do with us 
 as it would ! " 
 
 There was fire in his low, rapid voice fire in 
 his pleading face she had no longer strength to 
 avoid his gaze she raised her great eyes slowly, 
 tremblingly, wonderingly. 
 
 " That was yesterday," he cried, " and you were 
 with me only as in a dream, and yet, whatever 
 came, I knew we should be stronger than the 
 world. To-day it is no dream. We touch each 
 other see?" He caught both her hands. "We 
 shall win ! We shall win ! Look at me yes, 
 deep deep as you like. I am thirty-five years 
 old, Esther, and it is only yesterday that I began 
 to live. You will not take from me the one 
 chance ? I have waited for happiness so long ; 
 you will not withhold it ? Oh, you cannot ! You 
 will not ! You love me, Esther Beaulieu ; I see it 
 in your eyes. Come." And indeed so marvellous 
 were the girl's eyes, at that instant, that he really 
 ought not to have closed them with his kisses.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 393 
 
 EPILOGUES are long since out of fashion, but I 
 am going to write one, nevertheless. Some two 
 years after Dr. Atwood's death, I happened to be 
 in Bar ton vale for a few hours, and had the honor 
 of lunching with Mrs. Gascoigne. The only other 
 guest was Whitesyde Trellys, who sat between 
 Mrs. Gascoigne's daughters, opposite the hostess. 
 I gathered from the conversation that Kennedy's 
 Norman church was well under way, and then 
 something was said about the rectory. 
 
 " The rectory ? " I could not help exclaiming, at 
 which the younger daughter the one with the 
 white eyebrows chose to blush, and Trellys 
 played nervously with his glass. 
 
 " Oh, yes," put in Mrs. Gascoigne, coming to the 
 rescue, "Julietta and Mr. Trellys ahem it is 
 not announced but as you are an old friend " 
 
 I bowed my congratulations to the pair. . By 
 and by, when the young people had again become 
 engrossed in the rectory, Mrs. Gascoigne said to 
 me, in a lowered voice : 
 
 "You saw the Lewises last spring, I hear." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "at Mentone."
 
 394 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 " Was she received ? " inquired Mrs. Gascoigne, 
 in a sepulchral tone. 
 
 " I don't know," said I. " The afternoon I saw 
 her, she was receiving." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, Norman rented a place there for Febru 
 ary and March, and people used to stroll over from 
 the hotel for tea." 
 
 " That interests me. What sort of people ? " 
 demanded Mrs. Gascoigne. 
 
 " Rather a miscellaneous lot, the day I was 
 there. The lions were Alphonse Daudet and his 
 wife. Mrs. Lewis was amusing Daudet with some 
 story about the Bartonvale Library. I didn't 
 catch it. There were some other literary people, 
 I believe, and a couple of French artists, and an 
 Irish peer, and some Englishmen, of course. 
 Why, yes, there was where I met the Bishop 
 of Duxminster ; he seemed to admire Mrs. Lewis 
 immensely. And by the way, he said he knew 
 you." 
 
 " The Bishop of Duxminster ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Gascoigne. " I count him as one of my dearest 
 friends, though we did not meet until our second 
 London season. It was he that confirmed my 
 daughters. We hope to have him over here, 
 did you know it, for the dedication of our 
 church ? " 
 
 I had not heard of it. For some moments Mrs. 
 Gascoigne nibbled at a radish in silence.
 
 THE PLATED CITY 395 
 
 " Do you think Norman Lewis will ever come 
 back ? " she asked. 
 
 " I should not be surprised if he did, some day. 
 He told me that he got restless occasionally, and 
 had half a mind to come back to Bartonvale and 
 run once more for the Legislature. He's always 
 been beaten, hasn't he ? " 
 
 " I could never understand Mr. Lewis," she 
 replied, disregarding my inquiry. " I never knew 
 when he was joking. It was very embarrassing 
 sometimes. But I always liked him, and I think 
 he made a great mistake in not explaining matters 
 more, when he married. The social aspect of it 
 could have been arranged. If the Bishop of 
 Duxminster knows her, why shouldn't people 
 here ? " 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 "Of course," she went on confidentially, "Mr. 
 Lewis must have known that she was a pure 
 Creole on her mother's side romantic, isn't it ! 
 or he never could have married her. That 
 her father was Pete Beaulieu is unfortunate, but 
 it can be overlooked. When all that queer story 
 came out about Everett Atwood before the 
 House of Mercy was built, you know I said 
 to myself : Mr. Lewis knows more about that 
 girl's ancestry than he tells. He's just angry 
 because the Hill people have never taken her 
 up, and he chooses to let them think what they 
 please. They have thought all sorts of things,
 
 396 THE PLATED CITY 
 
 I can tell you, but he was too sensible, I know, 
 to run any sucli risk as he seemed to. It was 
 very foolish of him not to explain it all to a few 
 friends at the time. If I had been here, I would 
 have given him some good advice. As it is, with 
 out the very best of management, it will be diffi 
 cult for him to introduce her, when he comes back, 
 in spite of the position she would naturally take 
 as as the wife of a wealthy man. Still, I think 
 it might be arranged. And you really thought 
 her charming? " 
 
 " Very," I confessed. 
 
 We talked of other matters for a while, the 
 Kennedys for instance, who had just taken a shore 
 cottage for the summer on account of the baby's 
 health, a quite needless precaution, Mrs. Gas- 
 coigne was inclined to think. But my hostess 
 seemed more or less preoccupied. 
 
 When I took my leave, she carried me around 
 to the side verandah, to see the House of Mercy, 
 whose noble roof towered above the dark fringe of 
 Atwood pines. As we turned away, she pointed 
 to a neighboring house on Summit Street. 
 
 "When you write Norman Lewis," asked the 
 social arbiter of the Plated City, " won't you tell 
 him there is a delightful house for rent, close by 
 us ? The rent is something fearful, I am told, but 
 I suppose Mr. Lewis doesn't mind that, now. I 
 wish they would come back in time to meet the 
 Bishop of Duxminster. Don't you suppose they
 
 THE PLATED CITY 397 
 
 could ? If he likes Mrs. Lewis, and if you 
 do," she was gracious enough to add, "I am 
 sure she must be charming. He never makes 
 a mistake, socially. And won't you please say 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis that I want to give them 
 a little dinner, when they come ? " 
 
 Norfonoti $regs : 
 
 J. 8. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 IE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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