BY ARTHUR. J. EDDY
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF CAPT. AND MRS. 
 PAUL MCBRIDE PERIGORD
 
 ANGELES 
 LIBRARY
 
 CANTON & CO.
 
 Ganton swung around and said sharply, " Why did n t we make a 
 better showing last month, Browning?" [Page 12]
 
 CANTON & CO 
 
 A Story of Chicago Commercial 
 and Social Life 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR JEROME EDDY 
 
 Author of " Tales of a Small Town" "Recollections 
 and Impressions of Whistler," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY THOMAS FOGARTY 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1908 
 
 -1 O J J >J i
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1908 
 
 Published September 26, 1908 
 Entered at Stationers Hall, London, England 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 Cfjf lakfbe ^rcss 
 
 R. R. DONNELLEY * SONS COMPANY 
 CHICAGO
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE OFFICE ON LA SALLB STREET ... 9 
 
 II. GALA- NIGHT AT THE PARK CLUB ... 30 
 
 III. NOTORIETY 42 
 
 IV. JOHN GANTON, JR 49 
 
 V. A WIRELESS MESSAGE 56 
 
 VI. THE GREAT STRIKE 71 
 
 VII. NOT A CENT FOR TRIBUTE 81 
 
 VIII. A DINNER AT THE GOLF CLUB .... 92 
 
 IX. A DAUGHTER OF JEM KEATING . . . . 119 
 
 X. ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON 135 
 
 XI. A GLASS OF WINE 165 
 
 XII. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 186 
 
 XIII. EFFORTS TOWARD COMPROMISE .... 204 
 
 XIV. THE WORK OF THUGS 219 
 
 XV. END OF THE STRIKE 235 
 
 XVI. BLOOD WILL TELL 257 
 
 XVII. JOHN GANTON S REMORSE 284 
 
 XVIII. FATHER AND SON 303 
 
 XIX. MRS. JACK S DINNER 319 
 
 XX. A STRAIGHT TIP 331 
 
 XXI. DELANEY S LAST PLAY 354
 
 CONTENTS CONTINUED 
 
 XXII. OUT OF THE YARDS 374 
 
 XXIII. THE SENTENCE OF DEATH 384 
 
 XXIV. JOHN GANTON S VISION 396 
 
 XXV. THE END AND THE BEGINNING .... 408
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PASE 
 
 Ganton swung around and said sharply, "Why 
 didn t we make a better showing last month, 
 Browning ? " . . . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 It was the regular gala-night at the Park Club, and, 
 
 as usual, Mrs. Jack had secured her favorite corner 34 
 
 Allan walked slowly along the dimly lighted street, 
 his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the side 
 walk, thinking 232 
 
 "You remember what I said to you," his father 
 repeated in harsher tones. If you marry that 
 girl I 11 cut you off without a penny !" . . 316 
 
 "Not much, 1 Will exclaimed jubilantly, "I ll hang 
 
 on until it touches " 358
 
 CANTON & CO. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE OFFICE ON LA SALLE STREET 
 
 THE day was hot, very hot for June ; a strong southwest 
 wind swept clouds of dust along the dirty street 
 and through the open windows of the high buildings 
 on each side. 
 
 John Ganton sat with coat off and vest unbuttoned in his 
 La Salle Street office, mopping sweat from his forehead as he 
 pored over the balance-sheets showing the profits of his 
 great company for the previous month, his company, 
 because he owned practically the entire capital stock. The 
 outstanding minority interest was held by his son Will, a few 
 heads of departments, and the managers of branches, upon 
 conditions which gave him the right to purchase at a fixed 
 price if the holder ever wished to sell, or should leave his 
 employ, or die, conditions which bound his men to him 
 without permitting them to exercise any real ownership over 
 their stock. Furthermore, the company was his because he 
 had made it; his brains, his industry, his genius, had built it 
 up from a small beginning to the greatest concern of the kind 
 in the world. The papers before him showed that at the 
 " Yards " in Chicago, and in his plants in different cities, he 
 frequently killed more than twelve thousand cattle, about the 
 same number of sheep, and thrice as many hogs every twenty- 
 
 [9]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 four hours, over sixty thousand animals a day. For the ben 
 efit of visitors to the cattle-killing room, a great sign read 
 
 CAPACITY 1200 CATTLE PER HOUR 
 
 Yet it was the aim of John Ganton s life to double the 
 output of his company, to make it greater than that of all 
 other packing companies taken together, to extend his con 
 trol over the slaughtering and packing industry until the 
 world depended upon him for meat. 
 
 In every city of any importance he had established his 
 agencies, until the sign "GANTON & Co." was almost as 
 familiar in Hong Kong as in Omaha. He owned his own 
 cars and his own ships, and each carried conspicuously the 
 blazing sign, " GANTON & Co." His name meant more to 
 the millions who ate his foods and consumed his products 
 than that of any monarch. 
 
 An electric fan in one corner of the small room which 
 served as his private office kept the hot air in circulation, 
 and helped some, but not much, for the wind was stifling, and 
 John Ganton felt the heat; felt it, as he frequently said, 
 more than when he was younger and worked at the Yards. 
 Besides, he was not satisfied with the business of the previous 
 month as shown by the figures before him. 
 
 From time to time he shook the dust from the papers, and 
 scrutinized first one sheet, then another, as if searching for 
 the weak point. They had made only a little over four 
 millions in May, an increase of only three hundred thousand 
 over the same month of the year before ; and it failed to sat 
 isfy him. For that matter, he seldom was satisfied with 
 the showing made, demanding larger and larger returns, and 
 
 [10]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 by his indomitable will and tireless energy spurring his 
 lieutenants on to greater efforts, until the force in every 
 branch, from office-boy to manager, were moved by the fever 
 ish desire to outdo themselves and others; to make each 
 month, each quarter, each year, better than the last. John 
 Ganton s spirit moved not only those about him, but men 
 in his employ in far countries, men he had never seen and 
 who would never see him. If a man did not speedily be 
 come imbued with that spirit, the company had no use for 
 him; if he was not ready to sacrifice his days and nights, 
 his youth, his life, his home and family, to advance the 
 interests of the company, he could go. Somehow, such was 
 the power and influence of the iron-willed man at the head, 
 that men fell unresistingly into his way of doing things and 
 became his slaves; they followed him in his great fight for 
 industrial supremacy as soldiers follow a successful general 
 in a campaign of conquest. 
 
 As he put his short, stubby forefinger on one footing after 
 another, the scowl on his face grew deeper, and he chewed 
 away viciously at the end of the cigar in his mouth. He did 
 not smoke, always said he could not afford it; but in his 
 earlier days he had been an inveterate chewer, and while 
 that habit had been partially conquered, it survived in the 
 chewing of cigars he never lighted. 
 
 Coming to a report which was particularly unsatisfactory, 
 he called to the boy who sat at the small desk just outside the 
 door connecting with the main office, 
 
 "Tell Browning to come here." 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, mopped his red face, and 
 looked out of the open window toward the big brick building 
 opposite, where he could read on a long row of windows the 
 
 I"!
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 signs of his chief competitor, and reading these did not 
 improve his frame of mind. 
 
 Browning was manager of the home office; in reality he 
 was John Ganton s right-hand man, at once his ablest and 
 most abject slave. Ganton valued him without knowing 
 how much he really depended upon him. 
 
 Browning entered and stood quietly beside the desk. 
 His employer swung around and said sharply, 
 
 " Why did n t we make a better showing last month, 
 Browning ? " 
 
 " All things considered, it seems to me we did pretty well," 
 Browning replied deferentially. 
 
 " I don t think so ; we should have done twenty per cent 
 better; there is something wrong somewhere. The com 
 pany needs shaking up, a few changes would do no 
 harm." 
 
 That was his way, always threatening changes but seldom 
 making any, for no one knew the disadvantage of frequent 
 changing better than John Ganton. Yet, strange to say, 
 the men always thought he meant it, and trembled and 
 struggled accordingly. 
 
 "We lost on wheat last month, you know," suggested 
 Browning. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know: bad judgment. Parker ought to 
 have known better." 
 
 "He says he followed your orders." 
 
 "I told him to buy, but I did not tell him to buy all in 
 sight; there is no reason why a man should lose his head 
 because he gets a hint; but," changing the subject hastily, 
 " how about the poor showing at Omaha ? " 
 
 " The strike " 
 
 [12]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 " That s no excuse. Why did Billings have a strike ? " 
 
 "He could not help it; the men demanded an advance 
 you would not concede, you remember." 
 
 " Of course we could not give in to those fellows ; it would 
 have meant trouble all along the line. You know that as 
 well as I do. Billings should have seen the leaders and 
 arranged matters." 
 
 "He said it could not be done." 
 
 " Which means he could not do it. The next time trouble 
 is brewing, I want to be notified earlier. If we had sent 
 Norberg out there in time, there would have been no walk 
 out." 
 
 " Perhaps, but it was a difficult situation. The men were 
 working pretty long hours 
 
 " Long hours ! That is always the complaint. If there is 
 a man in the employ of this company of my age who has 
 worked anywhere near as many hours in his lifetime as I 
 have, I 11 give him a lot on Michigan Avenue ! Long hours ! 
 Why, men nowadays don t know what work is! I don t 
 know what we are coming to, Browning, with all this talk 
 about an eight-hour day ! " 
 
 Nothing irritated John Ganton more than a demand for 
 fewer hours a day. He would rather advance wages. All 
 his life he had worked early and late. There was hardly a 
 waking moment when his business did not occupy his mind 
 to the exclusion of nearly everything else. His work was 
 his play, his rest, his recreation; and he could not under 
 stand how men could wish to fool away time that might be 
 profitably spent working. 
 
 Browning was too accustomed to the impatience and 
 irritability of his employer to add fuel to the flame by 
 
 [13]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 contradiction ; he waited in silence while the old man looked 
 at the sheets spread on his desk. 
 
 "Write Billings to report here next Monday; I will see 
 Parker at three-thirty this afternoon; stir up Liverpool and 
 Vienna sharply; send Rosenthal back to Hamburg with 
 instructions to keep an eye on what they are doing in Berlin, 
 I expect trouble from that quarter, they are bound to hit us 
 if they can; look over our reports from Japan and China, 
 and give me your suggestions Monday, either we don t 
 understand those yellow fellows or they don t understand us, 
 for we are not doing the business with them we should for 
 the money we are spending." 
 
 " They do not seem to eat the stuff we re canning," said 
 Browning, with as near an approach to a smile as he ever 
 indulged during business hours. 
 
 " Then we must can the stuff they do eat, if we buy up the 
 entire crop of rice and rats. It s a hot day, Browning," 
 he exclaimed, dropping the papers on his desk and facing the 
 window once more. 
 
 "The hottest of the season, so far." 
 
 " How are things at the Yards ? " 
 
 "Cattle and hogs in bad condition; three men down 
 from sunstroke, up to one o clock." 
 
 " Phone McCarthy that I want him to look sharp after 
 the cattle such a day as this. Be careful in watering and 
 feeding. It s hotter than blazes. Where is Will ? " and a 
 look of anxiety passed over John Ganton s face as he asked 
 about his son, a look he tried to conceal from Browning by 
 keeping his back turned. 
 
 "He was at the Yards this morning," Browning answered 
 evasively. 
 
 [14]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 " Is n t he there now ? " 
 
 " Some one telephoned he came down town about eleven 
 o clock." 
 
 "It must be hot at the Yards," the old man remarked 
 after a moment s silence, as if trying to excuse the boy s 
 absence from his place of work. 
 
 " Three sunstrokes this morning," repeated Browning. 
 
 "Of course, it must be hot out there. Where did they 
 say he had gone ? " 
 
 "They did not know; he only said he was going down 
 town." 
 
 " Did he get his mail off?" 
 
 "Well," and Browning hesitated, "not all of it." 
 
 The old man s face grew stern as he said slowly, "That 
 won t do, Browning. There has been altogether too much of 
 that sort of thing lately. I shall have to talk with him, 
 that s all." 
 
 As Browning went out he left the old man still looking 
 out of the window; but the reports on his desk, the heat of 
 the day, the big red-brick building opposite, with its row of 
 windows bearing the signs of his competitor, no longer in 
 terested him. 
 
 Browning s " private office " consisted of a desk railed off 
 from the others, large and small, that filled the great main 
 office where hundreds of employees bent over their tasks, 
 spurred on by the exhaustless energy of John Ganton, who 
 passed to and fro among them nearly every hour of the day. 
 It was his boast that he could take the place of any man or 
 boy in the service of the company and do twice his work ; 
 perhaps he could, at all events his employees believed he 
 could, and worked accordingly. 
 
 [15]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Browning called up McCarthy at the Yards and gave him 
 directions about the stock, " and, McCarthy," he added, 
 "I want you to look after the men, see that those who are 
 down from the heat are well cared for. . . . What s that, 
 McCarthy? . . . No; the old man did not say anything 
 about the men ; but he knew we d look out for them. . . . 
 Yes, he s all right. . . . By the way, McCarthy, have you 
 seen Will ? . . . Not there ? . . . Too bad ; it worries the 
 old man. But the boy is all right ; he 11 turn up. You and 
 I must keep an eye on him. ... I say, McCarthy, there is a 
 rumor of trouble with the teamsters, anything in it ? . . . 
 We can handle our men if the International and Union can 
 take care of theirs. The old man will not yield an inch. . . . 
 No; no use of the men asking anything now. They ought 
 to see that this is no time to make demands. . . . That s a 
 good idea. Give Fanning and Scotty good jobs with nothing 
 to do, they control the teamsters ; need n t put their names 
 on the pay-roll; send the memorandum to me." Browning 
 rang off and turned to a short, thick-set man waiting outside 
 the railing, " What is it, Norberg ? " 
 
 "Trouble with the teamsters," said the man in a low tone. 
 
 "Come inside," and Browning motioned to the chair 
 beside his desk. Only persons whose business was of im 
 portance were asked inside; Browning, like most busy 
 Westerners, found he could do more business and do it faster 
 if he did not ask his visitors to sit down. All day long he 
 turned his chair to and fro, from the phone and his stenog 
 rapher on the left to the railing and his callers on the right, 
 despatching an amazing amount of business. Now and then 
 the matter was of sufficient importance to warrant asking 
 the visitor in. 
 
 [16]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 As Norberg sat down, hat in hand, Browning asked 
 quietly, 
 
 " What is the complaint ? " 
 
 "No complaint in particular; men satisfied, but the 
 leaders are stirring them up and they are getting restless; 
 talking an advance of three cents an hour for single horse, 
 five for teams, and seven for three horses 
 
 "They re getting good wages now." 
 
 " I know it; but the agitators are busy." 
 
 "The company will make no advance." 
 
 "The leaders know that," said Norberg, dryly. 
 
 " Then what are they stirring up trouble now for ? " 
 
 " For what there is in it." 
 
 " Who control the situation ? " 
 
 " Fanning, Scotty, and Ballard." 
 
 "I think we can take care of Fanning and Scotty at the 
 Yards. How about Ballard ? " 
 
 "Hardest nut of the three." 
 
 " Can t we find a place for him ? " 
 
 " Don t think so. He s pretty close-mouthed, and it s 
 hard to tell what he wants. He says he stands for the men, 
 and won t listen to reason." 
 
 " Is n t he one of the Union Company s men ? " 
 
 "Yes/ 
 
 "Well; take this note to Littlejohn, vice-president of the 
 Union, you know him, and if he wishes you to talk with 
 Ballard you do exactly as he tells you. If you and Littlejohn 
 fail to bring the man around, report to me. Don t let the 
 trouble spread at the present time ; nip it now. Say nothing 
 to Fanning and Scotty unless I tell you to. That s all." 
 
 Norberg had hardly disappeared when Allan Borlan, 
 [17]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 junior member of Borlan Brothers, another of the great com 
 panies at the Yards, called up to say he would be over in a 
 moment to see Browning on important business. Browning 
 knew it was about the trouble brewing among the teamsters, 
 and turned to some telegrams on his desk with something 
 like a sigh. He knew that Allan, with his absurdly strict 
 notions, would be an obstacle in the way of a quick adjust 
 ment along easy lines. Youngest of the three brothers, 
 Allan was not yet sufficiently accustomed hardened, some 
 might say to modern ways of adjusting labor difficulties. 
 More than once he had made trouble for his brothers and the 
 other packers by untimely objections to the methods proposed. 
 When he came hurrying in a few moments later, Browning 
 looked up and said quietly: 
 
 " Well, Allan, what s the matter now ? " 
 
 "What are we going to do about this trouble with the 
 teamsters, Mr. Browning ? " 
 
 Allan was so young in the Yards, being only a few years 
 out of college, that he still " Mistered " the older men in the 
 business. For that and other characteristics, his sincerity, 
 frankness, and directness among them, he was well liked, 
 even if he did interfere inopportunely now and then. 
 
 " Settle it in some way," answered Browning in the same 
 matter-of-fact tone. 
 
 " But how ? " The question was insistent. 
 
 "That I cannot tell yet. We must wait developments. 
 It may amount to nothing." 
 
 "I think it will; our foreman tells me Fanning, Scotty, 
 and Ballard mean business ? " 
 
 "I guess they do; in more senses than one," said Brown 
 ing, dryly. 
 
 [18] 
 
 1
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 " And I hear Norberg has been to see them." 
 "Possibly; it is his business to keep posted on what is 
 going on among the men." 
 
 " Well ; I want to say, Mr. Browning, that I am opposed to 
 any dealings with these men. There has been altogether 
 too much of that sort of thing, and I won t stand for it any 
 longer. If we must have a strike, let us fight it out fair and 
 square. The men will soon find out the sort of leaders they 
 have, and we will all gain in the end." Allan was very much 
 in earnest. 
 
 " A strike of the teamsters would be rather bad just now." 
 "It might as well come one time as another." 
 " Yes ; but we do not want trouble now. Stocks are too 
 low and trade is too good. Possibly in August 
 
 "That may all be. We do not want trouble any more 
 than your people; but I won t stand for buying these men 
 off." There was such a ring of dogged firmness in young 
 Borlan s voice that Browning leaned back in his chair and 
 said wearily: 
 
 " Well, Allan, it is a matter I do not control 
 "Then I should like to see Mr. Ganton," interrupted 
 Allan, impulsively. 
 
 " He is over there," and Browning pointed toward the 
 private office. Paying no attention to the small boy, as he 
 vainly tried to stop him, Allan Borlan stood for a second in 
 the gateway, before he said : 
 
 " Mr. Ganton, may I speak with you ? " 
 
 John Ganton was still seated with his face toward the 
 
 window, his hand resting on the papers on his desk, but he 
 
 was thinking of something besides his last month s business 
 
 and his competitors across the way. He swung around, but 
 
 [19]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 the look of impatience passed quickly away when he recog 
 nized his unceremonious visitor; young Borlan was one of 
 the few men doing business at the Yards he liked. He did not 
 know why: perhaps Allan s indefatigable industry, or his 
 exceptional business ability, or his frankness, or, who 
 knows ? his scrupulous honesty in all dealings. 
 
 " Why, Allan, sit down. It s a hot day for June." The 
 old man mopped his forehead and threw his waistcoat back. 
 
 " It is hot, and we feel it, coming so early in the season. 
 The men in the pens are suffering 
 
 " So are the cattle. McCarthy reported many down " 
 
 " I want to see you a moment about this stir among the 
 teamsters." 
 
 "Well ? " John Ganton s tone was abrupt and harsh, for 
 he knew the young man s peculiar notions. 
 
 " What are we going to do about it ? " 
 
 "Handle it." 
 
 " But how ? " insisted the young man earnestly. 
 
 " The best way we can." 
 
 " Does that mean, Mr. Ganton, we are to buy off the 
 leaders ? " 
 
 " If that is the cheapest way." 
 
 " It is n t the cheapest way in the long run, and I am 
 opposed to having any dealings with Fanning, Scotty, and 
 Ballard. Our company will fight it out, if it takes all sum 
 mer." 
 
 " Have you talked with your brothers ? " The question 
 came dryly. 
 
 "No; but I made up my mind the last time we put up 
 money that we would never do it again, and they know how 
 I feel." 
 
 [20]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 "Better leave the settlement of these matters to them. 
 They have been in the business longer and know the Yards." 
 
 "That may be, but I am opposed to buying off these 
 rascals, and we will not contribute another penny for that 
 purpose. What good does it do, Mr. Ganton ? In three 
 months they are after us again." 
 
 "It is a matter of dollars and cents. Just now it is 
 cheaper to pay them than have a strike ; a little later a strike 
 may be a good thing. We shall go into August with large 
 stocks and low prices. A strike then would clean us all up 
 in good shape. Yes; a strike would not be a bad thing in 
 August; but not now, not now, my boy." 
 
 "And so you will pay this ring of rascals tribute," ex 
 claimed Borlan, hotly. 
 
 " They say all money contributed is used for union pur 
 poses ". 
 
 " But you know better, Mr. Ganton. You know that they 
 divide it up among themselves, and I don t see how you can 
 permit it. You are the head of this great industry, all 
 the others follow in your footsteps, whether they want to or 
 not, and you can put a stop to anything you don t like. 
 Let us deal with our men direct, and kick those three agitators 
 out of the Yards." 
 
 There was something in the tone of Borlan that appealed 
 to Ganton; his vanity, too, was flattered by being acknowl 
 edged the head of the great slaughtering and packing industry ; 
 and he answered kindly: 
 
 "You are young in the business, Allan, and have many 
 things to learn ; you d better let your brothers handle these 
 labor troubles ; they ve been through the mill and are hard 
 ened. You say, Deal directly with the men. That cannot
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 be done ; can you talk with every one of the thousands of men 
 in your employ? No. Then you must deal through your 
 representatives; can each of your men talk with your rep 
 resentatives ? No ; hundreds cannot even speak English. 
 Then the men must act through their representatives. You 
 choose yours; they choose theirs. If their representatives 
 happen to be rascals, that is not your fault, but theirs; if their 
 representatives sell them out, that is their affair, not yours; 
 if their leaders say they would rather have so many thousands 
 of dollars in hand for the good of the union, of course 
 rather than strike for shorter hours or better pay, that is 
 their affair, and a question of dollars and cents to us whether 
 we pay it. It is not for us to dictate to the regularly chosen 
 leaders of the men what their demands shall be. They may 
 use the money we give them for the union, for the good of the 
 cause, and they may not, that is none of our business. If 
 the men select dishonest leaders, then the men must suffer the 
 consequences. Shall we insist that the men strike and 
 everybody suffer, when their committee tells us a contribution 
 of ten or twenty thousand dollars to the union will tide 
 matters over and satisfy every one ? What right have you 
 or I to assume these men are dishonest ? " 
 
 He looked at the young man with a quizzical look in his 
 keen gray eyes. 
 
 " That s all very plausible, Mr. Ganton, but you know 
 the men are deceived by those rascals. If we turn them 
 down once, they will soon lose their influence." 
 
 " To make room for others of the same breed ? The men 
 do not choose their leaders any more than a political party 
 chooses the men who make up the machine. They choose 
 themselves. The leaders come to the top like corks, and 
 
 [22]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 you can t keep them down. When one disappears another 
 like him takes his place. It is not a question of individual 
 honesty. The labor movement demands leaders of a certain 
 calibre, and it gets them, just as every organization and every 
 business is managed by the men who are fitted to run it. If 
 men get in control who are too strict and too honest for the 
 business, they make a failure of it and have to get out. 
 There s no use preaching to those you do business with." 
 
 Allan Borlan was one of the few men to whom John Gan- 
 ton talked at any great length; it seemed to amuse him 
 to play upon the young man s susceptibilities, to speak what 
 he considered plain truths in a harsh, almost brutal manner. 
 
 "That may be all very true," was the dogged response, 
 " but I can t see it helps matters any for us to deal with these 
 fellows on their level. All I can say is, we won t give them 
 a cent." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? " 
 
 "Fight." 
 
 " Why not give the men what they demand ? Would n t 
 that be more phi-lanthropic, according?to your high notions ? " 
 John Ganton grew sarcastic. 
 
 "No, for the men themselves are making no demands; 
 they know conditions are not ripe, and they are satisfied. It s 
 their leaders who are stirring up the trouble. I ve talked 
 with our men, and know they are against a strike." 
 
 " But if called they will go out like a lot of sheep." 
 
 " That may be, but let us fight it out, once for all." 
 
 "Better talk with your brothers." 
 
 "No; my mind is made up. We will not contribute a 
 cent to these fellows ; we 11 shut down first. I came over to 
 appeal to you, Mr. Ganton, to join us in that stand." 
 
 [23]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "I will consider the matter." Ganton swung about and 
 once more gazed out of the window, his right hand impa 
 tiently fingering the papers on his desk. Allan Borlan knew 
 the interview was at an end; as he passed out he said to 
 Browning, " I hope you people will stand with us if there is 
 to be a fight." 
 
 " What does the old man say ? " asked Browning, looking 
 up from his desk. 
 
 "That he will think the matter over." 
 
 " Oh ! " was Browning s only reply ; a moment later he was 
 called into the private office. 
 
 "Tell Norberg," John Ganton said sharply, "we want no 
 strike until August ; he must stave it off until then. The 
 Borlans will not contribute; the rest of us must put up the 
 money. If their men are called out, it does not concern us. 
 The matter will require careful handling, Browning." 
 
 " They always have acted with us. What s the matter ? " 
 Browning s tone expressed his surprise. 
 
 "The young man has kicked over the traces and must 
 take his medicine," was the dry response. 
 
 "Too bad; he s a fine fellow." 
 
 "The best of the lot, and bound to make his mark. I 
 wish my own boy had his industry and I wonder where 
 Will is; call up the Club and see if he has been there this 
 afternoon. Ask for Perkins, and tell him I wish to know; 
 otherwise he will lie like a thief." 
 
 He did not say so, but Browning knew it would be idle to 
 call Perkins. Often as he had done so, he always got the same 
 answer; Perkins liked the son more than he feared the father. 
 
 At that moment Will Ganton was playing bridge in one 
 
 [24]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 of the card-rooms of the Club, and was a winner to the extent 
 of some fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars. 
 
 " It s too beastly hot to play," exclaimed George Axford 
 throwing down his cards. 
 
 " Not if you are winning, old boy," Will replied blandly. 
 
 "Oh, let s quit." 
 
 " Just as you say, but you are something out just 
 now." 
 
 " We 11 settle and take it out of you another time. How 
 do \ve stand ? " After a moment s figuring, Axford made a 
 memorandum on a piece of paper which he stuck in his waist 
 coat pocket, saying, " All right ; send you a check to-morrow." 
 He pushed his chair back from the card-table. 
 
 The other loser, Lawrence Delaney, hesitated a moment. 
 " If I send you a check to-morrow, would you mind holding 
 it until next day before depositing ? " 
 
 "That s all right, Larry." Will looked up surprised. 
 " What s the matter ? Exchequer low ? " 
 
 " No ; but I am carrying some customers on rather slender 
 margins, and my account is pretty heavily overdrawn. I 
 don t want to crowd the bank too hard." 
 
 " How is the market, anyway ? " asked Axford. 
 
 "Dull; nothing doing." 
 
 " What s the outlook ? " 
 
 "Professional market for next thirty days, then a bull 
 movement," replied Delaney, with confidence. 
 
 "What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " Many things, too many to explain ; but there is sure 
 to be an upward movement soon, barring serious complica 
 tions." 
 
 " Such as ? " 
 
 [25]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 "Wars, crop disasters, strikes - 
 
 " Well, there is not much danger of war, and the crop 
 reports are all right up to now, but strikes may come any 
 day." 
 
 " All quiet on the Potomac so far, and the outlook for the 
 next sixty days is good. But look here, Will, is there any 
 thing in this rumor of trouble at the Yards ?" Delaney turned 
 to young Ganton. 
 
 " I guess not," the latter answered with indifference, sip 
 ping his Scotch-and-soda. "Always something brewing, 
 you know, but the old man manages to keep out of trouble 
 when he wants to." 
 
 " But suppose he should not want to ? " insisted Delaney. 
 " It might be for the packers interest to let the men go out. 
 A man not a thousand miles from the Yards intimated as 
 much to me this morning." 
 
 " Can t say anything about that, not in my department ; 
 but I would n t lie awake nights worrying about it." 
 
 " Well, if there are no labor troubles of importance, we 
 shall have a better market by August." 
 
 " Thought August was always a dull month, with every 
 one out of Wall Street," said Axford. 
 
 " Ordinarily, yes ; but conditions this year are peculiar. 
 There are two or three large pools that must realize on their 
 holdings, and I have reason to believe they have chosen 
 August as a good month for a spurt." 
 
 " If you are sure of what you say, you may take on some 
 stock for me," said Axford. 
 
 "And a thousand shares or so for me," said Ganton. 
 
 Delaney made a minute of the orders, and before he 
 finished his losses at cards were more than covered by his 
 
 [26]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 commissions. It was not often Larry Delaney lost at cards, 
 he was so good a player that his friends often called 
 him "the Professional," and when he did lose, the winners 
 usually became his customers before he left the table. He 
 had built up his business as a stock-broker in the card-rooms 
 of the Club, and his customers seldom called at his small 
 office on La Salle Street. Once, indeed, a member of the 
 house committee quietly notified him the Club was not the 
 place to transact business. This made him a little more care 
 ful in the reading-room and cafe, but in the card-rooms he 
 was free to do as he pleased. He gradually built up a profit 
 able business, most of which was carried on his books under 
 initials and numbers, the key to which he alone knew. This 
 system possessed many advantages in the way of secrecy, 
 but it possessed also some disadvantages, as, for instance, 
 when one customer, irritable and suspicious from losses, 
 insisted upon looking over his books and tracing the sales 
 and purchases in New York, it was found impossible to 
 identify each transaction with sufficient certainty to say 
 whether it was his order or that of some one else which had 
 been executed. With great patience and plausibility, De 
 laney seemingly made everything plain ; but to the customer, 
 a clear-headed man in matters of accounts and book-keeping, 
 there seemed to be great possibilities in Delaney s method. 
 He could not detect anything wrong without examining 
 and comparing the transactions of every customer, a 
 request Delaney courteously but firmly refused, so he left 
 the office muttering " bucket shop " in a tone audible enough 
 to Larry, though he pretended he did not hear. 
 
 No one knew much about Delaney. He came from New 
 York, and was acquainted with most of the men on the Street 
 
 [27]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 there. He was a keen card player, a good golfer, a good 
 dancer, a popular club man, and all in all a useful and orna 
 mental member of society, as society goes. No one could 
 discover he had any particular social antecedents in the East, 
 but he certainly knew a good many New Yorkers, spoke 
 with indifference of Narragansett, and with more or less 
 familiarity about Newport. To the men he was useful and 
 companionable; while the doubtful character of his status 
 made him interesting to the women, who liked him because 
 they more than half believed they ought not to receive him. 
 His good looks, suavity, accomplishments, and excellent 
 manners made him too desirable a guest for a hostess strug 
 gling against a dearth of agreeable men to neglect, however 
 discriminating in her selection. 
 
 As the young men came out of the elevator, Perkins in a 
 low tone said to Ganton, " There was an inquiry for you, 
 sir, from the office." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Mr. Browning, I think, sir." 
 
 "What did you tell him?" 
 
 " That you were not here, sir." 
 
 "Quite right, Perkins. When I m here, I m not here; 
 when I m not here, I m often here, keeps Perkins busy 
 remembering the combination, Larry," and Will Ganton 
 laughed. " I m afraid some day you 11 get things mixed, 
 Perkins, and then there 11 be the old Harry to pay; I half 
 believe the governor thinks you lie to him." 
 
 " There was another call for you, sir." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " She would leave no name, sir." 
 
 " She she what she, Perkins ? " 
 [28]
 
 The Office on La Salle Street 
 
 "I think it was the same lady who called up Saturday. 
 She left a telephone number and wished you would call up 
 when you came in." 
 
 Ganton took the slip of paper and went to the telephone- 
 booth. In a few moments he came out hurriedly, saying: 
 " Perkins, call a cab. Larry, I am going to the Park Club 
 to dine, and I m asked to bring you along; come on." 
 
 "Who s the party ? " asked Delaney, laconically. 
 
 "Mrs. Jack and her sister." 
 
 " Who s the chaperon ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Jack can take care of herself." 
 
 " I was n t worrying about Mrs. Jack. I was thinking 
 about my weak, defenceless self - 
 
 " Let up, old man. You 11 meet us at the club house at 
 six-thirty sharp ? " 
 
 "All right; it goes." 
 
 [29]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 GALA-NIGHT AT THE PARK CLUB 
 
 IT was the regular gala-night at the Park Club. Once 
 a week a table d hote was served, and an orchestra strug 
 gled heroically, and in the main successfully, to drown 
 conversation; though whenever Mrs. Jack had a dinner 
 party, whether large or small, the orchestra grew discouraged. 
 The evening being warm, the small tables were arranged 
 on the broad veranda facing the lake instead of inside, and 
 every seat was taken. As usual, Mrs. Jack had secured her 
 favorite corner, where she could see everything and be seen 
 by all. Too short to be handsome, too clever to be homely, 
 she was of that type common in one sense, uncommon in 
 another which somehow ties the world and half-world 
 together, lingering wistfully on the borders of the forbidden 
 and not quite achieving the promised land, which makes 
 society either run, fight, or follow with reluctant admiration. 
 In short, Mrs. Jack was one of those interesting creatures 
 who eclipse their husbands after securing names and fortunes, 
 relegating them to that sub-social obscurity for which Nature 
 in her wisdom intended the husbands of such women. Mrs. 
 Jack appropriated all that was serviceable in John Brown 
 Wilton s good, old-fashioned, anti-slavery name, dropped 
 the Brown as impossible, rechristened herself Mrs. Jack, 
 with occasional reference to the Wilton, and made her own 
 whirlpool in society. Before marriage she was one of the 
 daughters of Jem Keating, of doubtful fame; after her 
 
 [30]
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 marriage to Wilton, a thoroughly good fellow with family and 
 money, she cut loose from all former connections and made 
 her own way, carrying along her sister May, whose beauty 
 and wit made her an attractive and attracting companion. 
 No one could really say anything against Mrs. Jack, and 
 therefore every woman tried ; she was the most talked about 
 woman in the city, and that amused her. Once when her 
 husband protested against so much notoriety, she had said : 
 
 " Before I married you, you were a nonentity; now every 
 body is asking who you are," and Wilton pondered long and 
 earnestly the exact nature of his status, concluding at length 
 with no little philosophy that if a man cannot achieve fame 
 for himself the next best thing socially is to have a wife who 
 can achieve it for him. He therefore accepted the situation, 
 a situation in which if he was occasionally required to 
 perform irksome social tasks, there were long periods of 
 inactivity when his wife apparently forgot his very existence. 
 The night in question was in one of those periods. He had 
 not been invited to dine at the Park Club with Mrs. Jack; 
 hence, like the well-bred man he was, he was not there, but went 
 with his older sister to the Ruskin Settlement in the purlieus 
 to hear a paper on " Social Strata, " by Miss Higbee Hig- 
 ginson of Boston, the net result of which to him was a con 
 fused notion that the stratum he occupied bore to the 
 oppressed masses about the same relation that a comfortable 
 mattress bears to the creaking springs beneath, with his wife s 
 stratum spread over him like a wet blanket. 
 
 Miss Higbee Higginson seemed to know what she was 
 talking about in her high, shrill voice. She was not at all 
 satisfied with the existing arrangement of social strata, 
 neither was he for that matter. Nothing but a social 
 
 [31]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 upheaval little short of a revolution would satisfy her notions; 
 he was rather inclined to agree with her. He, too, could 
 think of a stratum or two that would be all the better for a 
 "society-quake," the term was hers, and it pleased her 
 hearers every time she used it, so she used it frequently. 
 
 Miss Higbee was one of the bright and shining lights 
 of the Ruskin Settlement. Her lectures were eagerly listened 
 to by the radical element of the quarter; without knowing it 
 she was the arch-priestess of all the socialism and much of 
 the anarchism that centred about the settlement; when she 
 talked of "Social Strata," the prosperous and well-to-do 
 were left without a shred of an excuse for living and 
 with hardly an excuse for dying, since all hope of salvation 
 was denied them in explicit terms. There were points 
 John Brown Wilton did not applaud, but he did enjoy the 
 digs at the members of the "Smart Set," "who spend their 
 useless lives in idle revelry, who exploit the lives of others 
 that they may drink from golden chalices the blood of the 
 downtrodden and the oppressed "Hot stuff!" some one 
 shouted, and there was a burst of applause in which he 
 joined so vigorously that his sister, scandalized, nudged him 
 to keep quiet. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Jack was dealing with conditions rather 
 than theories, and having a much better time. 
 
 "Where s Jack?" asked Will Ganton rather inoppor 
 tunely, during a lull in the conversation. 
 
 " Dear me, how do I know ? " sighed Mrs. Jack. 
 
 "What a question on so convivial an occasion," pro 
 tested Delaney. "Don t you know, my dear fellow, it is 
 quite contrary to the rules nowadays to ask after a charming 
 woman s husband ? " 
 
 [32]
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 " There, I hope you 11 remember that ; while I am so 
 domestic I don t mind it, there are others who might," and 
 Mrs. Jack glanced significantly in the direction of the 
 adjoining tables as if there were women present who would 
 be embarrassed by such an inquiry. 
 
 " Hope you 11 forgive me, but it s been so long since 
 I ve seen Jack. Still on earth?" queried Will, with an 
 appearance of deep concern. 
 
 "Very much on earth," said Mrs. Jack. 
 
 " Of the earth, earthy, whereas the angel who sought to 
 work his social redemption by marrying him still wings her 
 way in the cerulean blue accompanied by a few admiring 
 satellites like ourselves. Here s to the angel!" Delaney 
 raised his glass. 
 
 "And her satellites," interrupted Mrs. Jack. 
 
 "To one, at least." May Keating looked at Will and 
 smiled, as she sipped her champagne. 
 
 "Hold, stop, not another drop," Delaney raised his hand 
 in exaggerated protest. "Why am I, who proposed this 
 toast, who framed the beautiful sentiment which we are 
 about to drink, whose poetic thought, next to the angel 
 herself, is the inspiration of the moment, why am I cut out 
 by the lady on my left ? That s what I want to know." 
 Delaney s mock indignation rose to great heights. 
 
 "Possibly because you had flown so far in the cerulean 
 you were out of sight; possibly because you were not fit to 
 fly with angels ; possibly " But Delaney interrupted : 
 
 " Hold, enough, as somebody said to Macduff. I 
 acknowledge my unworthiness to be even an obscure unit in 
 this bright constellation ; but when it comes to pluming one s 
 feathers for flight, my wings are of a spotless and snowy 
 
 [33]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 whiteness as compared with the ruffled pinions of our 
 mutual friend, William Ganton. There, Miss May Keating, 
 what do you think 
 
 "I can t think when you are about, Larry; it s just im 
 possible, you know. Between you and that snare-drum thought 
 is out of the question ; one can t get a word in edgewise " 
 
 "But when your words do come, they come edgewise, 
 don t they, Larry?" laughed Ganton. "Here s to you, old 
 boy, plumage or no plumage! If no one will drink your 
 health, I will." 
 
 "And I," chimed in Mrs. Jack. 
 
 " Your health and your modesty, which is so conspicuous 
 by its " said May Keating. 
 
 "Enough," interrupted Delaney, "many a good toast is 
 spoiled by too long a speech. I myself will drink to my 
 health and my modesty, which, as the discriminating Miss 
 Keating says, is so conspicuous. " 
 
 "Now that we have disposed of the angel and Mr. De 
 laney, tell me, Mr. Ganton, what are you going to do this 
 summer ? " May Keating turned to Will, leaving her sister 
 and Delaney to their own stray thoughts. 
 
 " Can t tell work, I suppose." 
 
 " Do you really work out there at the Yards ? " 
 
 "Some of the time. Come out and see." 
 
 "I should like to; I ve never been, and here I have 
 lived in Chicago all my life. But that is always the way; 
 every stranger coming to Chicago visits the Stock Yards, 
 to me it has always seemed an awful place." 
 
 "You are right, it is an awful place. There are days 
 when I just can t stand it. To-day it was particularly 
 awful," said Will, soberly. 
 
 [34]
 
 It was the regular gala-night at the Park Club, and, as usual, Mrs. 
 Jack had secured her favorite corner.
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 "Why are n t you in the office down town ? " 
 
 "That is not father s idea; he began in a slaughter 
 house and he thinks I should. But it is one thing to start 
 in as a boy killing cattle, and it s another thing to let a fellow 
 play in the fresh air until he is grown and then throw him 
 into the pens and rendering tanks." 
 
 "But you won t have to work at the Yards long, will 
 you ? " May Keating sat with her elbows resting on the 
 table, her chin in one hand and her delightfully modulated 
 voice expressing possibly more sympathy than she really 
 felt. To Will Ganton she seemed unusually attractive that 
 night, so different from her vivacious sister, so tall and 
 graceful, so perfectly self-possessed. Envious tongues called 
 her clever and scheming, she was certainly clever, far too 
 clever for Will Ganton. 
 
 "I cannot tell," he replied thoughtfully; "it all depends. 
 I guess I am not shortening my period of probation by 
 jumping my job as I did to-day." 
 
 " Does your father know ? " 
 
 " Know ? gad, he knows everything that goes on at the 
 Yards; nothing escapes him. I 11 bet I had not been gone 
 from the Yards two hours before he knew it." Will s tone 
 expressed the admiration he felt for his father s sagacity, 
 and at the same time a certain amount of apprehension. 
 
 "Who would tell on you ? " 
 
 "No one, that is, not willingly; but no one dares lie 
 to him, except Perkins at the Club. It is more natural to 
 Perkins to lie; it s part of his business." 
 
 " Are you not afraid of falling out with your father some 
 day ?" May Keating s voice dropped and she looked keenly 
 at Ganton. 
 
 [35]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "No; he must have some one to step into his shoes." 
 
 " But you have a brother 
 
 "John? Oh, yes; but he can never make a business 
 man out of John. He gave up all notion of that long ago. 
 John is a dreamer." 
 
 "I heard some one say he is a very unusual young man." 
 
 " He has a lot of queer notions. I don t understand them, 
 guess no one else does, but he is a mighty good fellow 
 in spite of his notions." 
 
 " You say your father takes no interest in him ? " 
 
 " Does n t understand him ; no one does. Father is down 
 on him because he won t go into the Yards and take hold in 
 the business. John can t stand the Yards; it makes him 
 sick. He went there once when he was a little fellow, and he 
 did n t get over it for weeks. Gad, I shall never forget how 
 pale he was when he came out of the killing-room. If we 
 had not pulled him into the air he would have toppled over 
 in a dead faint. Father was always down on him after that." 
 
 " Has he no taste for business ? " 
 
 "None at all; cares for nothing but books. As a little 
 fellow he used to say he would like to write a book." 
 
 "Perhaps he will." 
 
 "Hope so. We ought to have an author in the family, 
 and there is no use trying to make a packer of him." 
 
 " Your father, then, looks to you to take his place at the 
 head of the business some day ? " 
 
 "That s his idea," was the careless response. 
 
 "Then why don t you work hard for a few years and 
 show him what you can do ? " Her voice had a practical 
 ring. 
 
 " Easier said than done. I would rather play a game of 
 [36]
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 bridge in a cool room at the Club on a hot afternoon than 
 fume in the stench at the Yards; I would rather dine here 
 with you on such an evening as this than pore over reports 
 in father s stuffy den at the house." 
 
 " But he will not like it." 
 
 " Not the first time. To-morrow I 11 make up by doing 
 the work of two men oh, you need not smile. I can do 
 it, and he knows it. That s all that holds my position with 
 Ganton & Co. Whew ! let s not talk shop, makes me 
 hot to think of it, three men down from the heat to-day 
 at the Yards. What are you going to do this summer ? " 
 he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " Nowhere." 
 
 Ganton looked up surprised at the tired ring in the 
 voice. " Why, I thought you and John and Mrs. Jack were 
 going to Europe." 
 
 "That is given up." 
 
 " Why, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Oh, a dozen reasons. John won t go, Sally has changed 
 her mind, and I well, I don t count; I somehow am out 
 of the spirit of going myself." 
 
 " Mighty glad on my own account you re not going. I 
 should have missed you, town gets pretty slow in summer." 
 
 "And we furnish the vaudeville," just a tinge of irony. 
 
 "Better than that, you are the green spot in a hot and 
 dusty desert," exclaimed Will, earnestly. 
 
 " Thanks for the sentiment, even if the metaphor is a bit 
 worn." 
 
 "We can dine here often, though I like almost any night 
 [37] 
 
 ,
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 better than these band nights, when every social rowdy in 
 town turns out and tries to talk the music down." 
 
 " Not very complimentary to Mrs. Jack, who always has 
 her table." 
 
 " Oh, I did n t mean Mrs. Jack, you know she can 
 do anything " Will stammered with some confusion. 
 
 " Rather ambiguous. What, for instance, can she do, 
 that others cannot ? " The tone gave point to the question. 
 
 "Oh, she can do as she pleases, you know." 
 
 "But are we social rowdies because we come band 
 nights ? " persisted the young woman, enjoying his obvious 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "Why, no, of course not, you know what I mean." 
 
 " Better than you yourself, perhaps, for without knowing 
 it you include us with the others here." Her voice became a 
 trifle hard as she continued : " And why are we not social 
 rowdies ? I like your phrase ; it is picturesque and highly 
 descriptive. Are we not loafers on the highways of society, 
 noisy idlers and lazy tramps, without trade or useful occupa 
 tion in life? If not social rowdies, at least vagrants; I, for 
 one, plead guilty, and you confess you have shirked work 
 to-day. Mr. Delaney, what do you think Mr. Ganton calls 
 those who come here to dine on band nights ? Social row 
 dies. " 
 
 "Oh, you wretch!" exclaimed Mrs. Jack. 
 
 " Not bad, Will. I m one of the worst, and there are 
 others." Delaney cast his eye over the many tables, pictur 
 esque in the gathering darkness with their many softly shaded 
 lights and the chattering parties of gay diners. Social 
 rowdies, yes; I can see a good many, but surely Mrs. Jack 
 and Miss Keating 
 
 [38]
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 "Are quite as worthless as the rest, as every one in the 
 room would be only too quick to admit." Now there was a 
 ring of defiance in May Keating s voice, which did not escape 
 Delaney s keen ear. He looked at the brilliant girl with 
 admiration; he knew she was clever, much deeper than her 
 sister, and he knew she fully appreciated the slender tenure 
 whereby she held her social position; but he did not know 
 how clearly she viewed the world about her, and the exceed 
 ing accuracy of her judgment of both men and women and the 
 motives that swayed them. Well as he knew the elder 
 sister, Delaney sometimes felt he did not know the younger at 
 all; she seemed entirely indifferent to his devotion to Mrs. 
 Jack, and yet he felt sure his attentions had been the subject 
 of many a sharp discussion, and he could see that the younger 
 exercised a restraining influence of which there was never 
 a sign in public. His respect for May Keating increased 
 accordingly; in fact, he was a little in awe of those clear, 
 penetrating blue eyes, which were so often hard and cold, and 
 might be he was very sure relentless and cruel. When 
 they first met, with the confidence born of many major and 
 more minor successes, he had devoted himself to her for sev 
 eral weeks, only to find that as an admirer he simply counted 
 numerically; he could not get beyond the friendship which 
 springs up casually between two clever and congenial people, 
 and even this friendship was chastened by a feeling of dis 
 trust, slight on his side, possibly more pronounced on hers. 
 He doubted the genuineness of her feelings, she doubted the 
 honesty and strength of his character; but he found her a 
 most delightful companion, she found him a most agreeable 
 acquaintance. 
 
 At the third table from the corner, Mrs. Northwood King 
 [39]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 was saying to Mrs. Range Salter : " This is the second time 
 Will Ganton has dined with May Keating and Mrs. Jack 
 within three weeks. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 "And they were here last Saturday afternoon for tea." 
 Mrs. Range Salter eyed the two in question as if they were 
 offenders whose guilt was only too clearly established. Mrs. 
 Northwood King had a marriageable sister, and Mrs. Range 
 Salter a daughter who would be marriageable in another 
 season. 
 
 "Mrs. Jack is doing all she can to help that along," said 
 Mrs. Northwood King, with some tartness. " I can t under 
 stand how some women will go to such lengths." 
 
 "Nor I, but May Keating won t get Will Ganton." 
 Mrs. Range Salter spoke significantly. 
 
 " How do you know she won t ? That s what they used 
 to say about Sally Keating and John Wilton ; but she married 
 him just the same. May is cleverer than her sister ever 
 thought of being." 
 
 " There was no John Ganton to look out for Wilton, and 
 that makes a world of difference." Mrs. Range Salter 
 nodded her head knowingly. 
 
 "Do you mean to say Will s father does not approve of 
 May Keating?" asked Mrs. Northwood King, agreeably 
 surprised. 
 
 "All I know is, that Salter heard him say, speaking of 
 John Wilton, that if a son of his married a daughter of Jem 
 Keating he would cut him off without a cent." 
 
 "That would settle it, for May Keating is not marrying 
 any penniless young man." Mrs. Northwood King felt 
 relieved. The next day Will Ganton received two notes. 
 One read: 
 
 [40]
 
 Gala-Night at the Park Club 
 
 DEAR MR. GANTON: 
 
 Will you dine with us at the Park Club Saturday evening 
 at seven ? There will be only my sister and Northwood. 
 Do not bother to write, but telephone reply. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 VIRGINIA KING. 
 
 The other was very similar: 
 
 DEAR MR. GANTON : 
 
 Will you dine with us at the Park Club Saturday evening 
 at seven ? As my daughter does not come out until next 
 season, we shall be quite by ourselves. I do hope you have 
 no other engagement. Very sincerely, 
 
 HARRIET SALTER. 
 
 Will groaned as he put the notes in his pocket, hoping 
 something would turn up so he could truthfully say he had 
 an engagement. He finally accepted the Salter invitation, 
 not that he liked the Salters better than the Kings, but Salter 
 was one of the principal owners of the Union Company, and 
 it fell in with his father s peculiar policies to cultivate in 
 certain directions competitors he fought unscrupulously in 
 others. W r ill felt that the dinner Saturday night would figure 
 for him as a credit mark in an account where the debit balance 
 was already too large. 
 
 [41]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NOTORIETY 
 
 LONG after they were home that night Mrs. Jack, moved 
 by some secret impulse, stole into her sister s room, 
 expecting to find her in bed and asleep, and yet feel 
 ing that she might not be. May Keating was seated by the 
 open window apparently lost in contemplating the darkened 
 windows of the houses opposite, and in listening to the rumble 
 of a belated cab clattering over the pavement. 
 
 " Why, May, why are n t you in bed ? " 
 
 " And you ? " was the quiet response. 
 
 " I ? why, I could not sleep so 
 
 " Neither could I, so I am looking at those houses opposite, 
 and wondering whether behind each dark front there are 
 pleasant dreams, or nightmares." 
 
 "How silly! Go to bed." 
 
 "I am not sleepy." 
 
 " You ought to be. What are you thinking of ? " 
 
 " I told you dreams." 
 
 " Your own, May ? " Mrs. Jack s voice was tender as 
 she sat down beside her sister and put an arm about her 
 neck. 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Tell me what they are, dearie." 
 
 "They are too shadowy to take shape in words." 
 
 " Are you thinking of Will Ganton ? " 
 
 "Possibly," slowly, "but I dare say I was thinking more 
 [42]
 
 Notoriety 
 
 of myself, and of life, and of the utterly idle things we do 
 from day to day. What does it all amount to ? I wish " 
 
 " Do you like him ? " interrupted her sister. 
 
 " I don t know, how can I tell ? There are things about 
 him any woman would like. He is a good fellow, yet so 
 weak in some ways. But then, what difference does it make 
 whether I like him or not ? " adding, with some bitterness, 
 "I suppose I must marry him if I can." 
 
 "Why do you talk that way, May? If he is a good- 
 hearted fellow you are sure to love him. I did not care the 
 snap of my finger for Jack when I married him, and yet we 
 are perfectly happy." 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 "Of course we are. What a question!" Mrs. Jack 
 spoke irritably; she did not like the pointed manner in 
 which her sister spoke. 
 
 But May continued as if she had something on her mind 
 that must be said: "Do you realize, Sally, that Harold is 
 getting to be quite a boy; that he will soon begin to notice 
 more than you care to have him see ? " 
 
 "Nonsense; Harold is just a baby." 
 
 "With eyes and ears that are getting keener every day. 
 He is his papa s boy. Are you willing he should forget you 
 entirely ? " 
 
 "Why are you always talking about Harold, and what 
 I do ? " asked Mrs. Jack, in a tone of annoyance. " I am 
 sure I am a devoted mother; every one says so; you talk as 
 if I never saw the child." 
 
 " It is not enough, Sally, to see him and lavish tenderness 
 upon him. He knows you love him, but by-and-bye he will 
 begin to see that you do not love Jack." 
 
 [43]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 "But I tell you I do love Jack." 
 
 " Then why not have him out with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is so hopelessly matter-of-fact. You know that 
 company bores him, and he does not care to go out." 
 
 " Because he knows you do not care to have him, because 
 he feels you would much rather be with your friends, and 
 because he loves you too much to interfere with your pleas 
 ures. Jack is a good fellow. Men like him, and I like him 
 better than some of the men you have about ; I believe I could 
 have married Jack and been happy." 
 
 " I wish to gracious you had ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jack, with 
 a mixture of irritability and amusement. "Then I could 
 have sympathized with you both." 
 
 May laughed, but quickly becoming serious, she continued 
 quietly : 
 
 "It is a sore subject, and you must forgive me; but, 
 Sally, can you not manage to see less of Larry Delaney ? I 
 am sure," she continued rapidly, pressing her sister s hand, 
 " you do not care especially for him, and that there is nothing 
 wrong in it all, but people do not know these things. They 
 talk and they look at us so when we are out that sometimes 
 it seems as if I could not stand it." 
 
 During the moment s silence which followed, May watched 
 a swarm of big, filmy-winged sand-flies that fluttered about 
 the street lamp just below her window only to lose their lives 
 in seeking the shining goal. For a second it seemed to her 
 as if she saw all society in the swarm of insects, and all the 
 people she knew flying hither and thither in a mad struggle 
 to reach some glittering end, only to fail and fall and be 
 trampled and crushed. In one of those instantaneous psy 
 chological processes of which dreams are made, the panorama 
 
 [44]
 
 Notoriety 
 
 of her social environment spread before her, the flies even 
 began to take familiar shapes, she could see her sister and 
 herself, and 
 
 Mrs. Jack s voice was cold and hard as she said deliber 
 ately : 
 
 " You have spcken of Lawrence Delaney, and and of 
 my friends and manner of living before, and I have put you 
 off, May, with some sort of an answer, because well, 
 because I did not think it worth while to talk seriously of 
 matters which might never concern you ; but since you insist 
 upon trying to manage my affairs and make of me a sedate, 
 respectable, and stupid matron in society, I will tell you why 
 it cannot be done, on your account even more than my own." 
 
 May listened with surprise. She had never heard her 
 sister speak in this hard, matter-of-fact way before; for the 
 time being the frivolous woman of the world seemed to have 
 disappeared. 
 
 "You and I are daughters of James Keating, familiarly 
 known as old Jem Keating ; when you were only a child and 
 I a little girl, our father failed under conditions which made 
 him an outcast in the business world; while you were still 
 in school I was struggling to gain some sort of foothold in 
 society. As the daughter of old Jem Keating, I did not stand 
 much chance in competition along conventional lines; but 
 I had to win a husband who had money. That I did, but 
 as Mrs. John Brown Wilton I was received on only the most 
 formal terms, and every stupid old woman in the city looked 
 down upon me. 
 
 " I soon saw that people do not get on socially by crawling; 
 that the thing to do is to fight. Society is jealous of but one 
 thing, notoriety, which it feverishly seeks, while condemning 
 
 [45]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 it hypocritically. The short cut for the newcomer to 
 social distinction is notoriety; social success is founded on 
 notoriety, and while a few of the sedate and eminently re 
 spectable maintain their positions without it, even they do 
 so by entertaining and catering to the notorious. The women 
 they most fear, the men they most despise, are the brilliant 
 and clever guests at their tables. To be talked about is a 
 woman s surest passport, and the more vicious the gossip 
 the more certain her place at the right hand of the host. Go 
 where you will, look around you, ask the credentials of the best 
 known women in the room, not the figure-heads, but the 
 real leaders, those without whom any social function would 
 be a failure, and you will find the credentials of each are 
 summed up in the word notoriety, that the prestige of each 
 is based upon the things said about her, and that men like 
 her and women envy her for the gossip and scandal attached 
 to her name, for what she has done, or is whispered to have 
 done. 
 
 "The clever woman is the one who manages to acquire 
 a large amount of doubtful reputation at a very small expend 
 iture of virtue. It has been my ambition to be at the head 
 of the latter class, and I have succeeded. I encourage the 
 suit of every admirer, but I draw the line where I please. 
 Jack has nothing to complain of except that I do not take 
 him, like a lap-dog, wherever I go; but he is bright enough 
 to know it would not do; what chance would I, Sally Keating, 
 stand at family dinner parties with Jack at my side ? The 
 invitations would be few and long between, and the guests 
 carefully selected with reference to my parentage and Jack s 
 mesalliance. But as Mrs. Jack, with all the agreeable men 
 in town at my beck and call, I am in demand everywhere, 
 
 [46]
 
 Notoriety 
 
 for every good matron knows only too well that I can queer 
 her party if not invited. 
 
 I like the fun of it all, I enjoy the fight ; to win out against 
 women who would like to scratch and bite even while they 
 are fawning is worth while. I did it first for my own sake, 
 now I am doing it partly for yours. When you are married, 
 May, I may settle down, and you can take up the battle, or, 
 if you prefer, you can avoid notoriety and be as stupidly 
 respectable as you please, that is your lookout, but until 
 you are married sensation is our winning card." 
 
 May had never heard her sister speak so long about any 
 thing; it sounded like a chapter out of some cynical book, 
 and it depressed her because she felt there was more or less 
 truth in it all, because she knew that most of the women and 
 not a few of the men of their acquaintance looked upon them 
 to a certain extent as two brilliant and successful adven 
 turesses. Again and again had this reflection hardened her 
 heart and made her feel ready to fight the devil with fire. 
 Often in company she would look about and feel that if it 
 were not for her sister s money and dash and her own 
 beauty and intelligence, their pretended friends would turn 
 and rend them, and at such times the loneliness of her 
 position forced itself upon her. 
 
 Even while her sister was speaking, the thought of Will 
 Ganton hovered in her mind, and by the time Mrs. Jack had 
 finished, it seemed as if fate pointed to him as her only hope. 
 She did not love him, that was certain ; she did not love any 
 one, that was not quite so certain, for two summers 
 before, at Newport, she had met but that was merely an 
 episode of a season, and the fascination she felt could hardly 
 be called love. At least she tried to persuade herself it was 
 
 [47]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 not love, but then there are so many kinds of love and so 
 many degrees in each kind, that who can say what is and 
 what is not love ? But whether love or not, he had no money, 
 and from a worldly point of view scant prospects, so what 
 was the use? Why should she think it was more than a 
 passing fancy on his part, a bit of midsummer madness on 
 hers? There was nothing said, nothing done, scarce so 
 much as merest friends betray at meeting, and yet 
 
 Long after her sister had left the room, she sat there look 
 ing out of the window and thinking. The sand-flies swarmed 
 in foolish flight about the light, the walk was strewn with 
 those that flew too near. 
 
 [48]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 JOHN GANTON, JR. 
 
 JOHN GANTON, JR., had fully persuaded himself that 
 he had no taste for business. He looked upon the 
 Yards and everything connected with that place of blood 
 and offal with positive aversion. Once as a boy he had 
 visited the slaughter-houses, and should he live a thousand 
 years, never, he was certain, would the scene fade from his 
 mind; never could he lose the impression of those hot, fetid, 
 steam-filled rooms, those horrible, bubbling vats, those end 
 less rows of reeking carcasses still warm from life, those awful 
 killing-rooms flowing with blood, where his clothes were 
 spattered and in his fright he hugged one of the great iron 
 pillars lest he, too, should fall into the clutches of the merci 
 less men who laughed as they slaughtered the great, round- 
 eyed cattle which stumbled from the darkness of the runways 
 into the light to be killed ! For years after he could not be 
 induced to eat meat, and even now it was so distasteful to 
 him that for long periods he went without. 
 
 What could he do in such a business as that ? Nothing, 
 his father had said before he let him go to the university; 
 nothing, his father repeated each time they met; nothing, 
 that seemed only too plain. His brother would succeed to 
 the business; that was quite well understood ; and he well, 
 no one seemed to know just what he would do, except his 
 father did not propose that he should become a "drivelling 
 idiot of a professor," as he put it. 
 
 [49]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 John Ganton the elder had little use for learned or literary 
 men. His own education had been a few winter months of 
 schooling in the few years while he was working as a boy on a 
 farm, and he was accustomed to refer to those days as mostly 
 wasted. " I got my education by hard knocks," he frequently 
 said, adding, with a philosophy possibly profounder than he 
 realized, " Life is the only schoolmaster worth having : a boy 
 never knows more than he learns himself." Considering 
 the poverty of his early advantages, it was amazing how he 
 had managed to learn so much, not only about his own busi 
 ness, but about things in general. Like many a self-made 
 man, he was so resourceful, so strong mentally, that profes 
 sional and literary men were subdued and awed in his pres 
 ence, instinctively yielding before his aggressive personality. 
 Hence his contempt for them, for he acknowledged no equals 
 except those in the business world who fought him instead of 
 cringing. 
 
 When it was suggested that John should become a lawyer, 
 he said bluntly, " I buy my pettifoggers as I do my cattle ; it 
 don t pay to raise em." And when another friend spoke of 
 the practice of medicine, he blurted out, "Don t want any 
 smelling pill-mixer about my house." It was his boast that 
 he had never called a doctor for himself in his life. " A dose 
 of castor oil now and then is all the medicine any man needs," 
 was a favorite maxim; and he used to say, "The drug habit 
 is worse n the drink habit, and of all fools the man who 
 dopes himself is the biggest." 
 
 However, neither law nor medicine had the slightest at 
 traction for the son, and it was therefore no disappointment 
 when he heard that his father had vetoed the suggestions. 
 
 His four years of university life were drawing to a close, 
 [50]
 
 John Ganton, Jr. 
 
 and nothing had been decided for the future ; though he was 
 to go to England for a time. Such were his father s orders 
 in the letter just received, a curt, formal, business-like note 
 dictated to "Steno. No. 13," indorsed "File AA42721," and 
 which read as follows: 
 
 JOHN GANTON, JR. 
 
 Dear Sir : You have finished your college course. It is 
 my desire that you now learn something of business, even 
 though you adopt some other career. I have placed with 
 the Illinois Trust Co. bonds which will yield you an income 
 of $10,000.00 per year; this leaves you free to choose your 
 own occupation. In return, however, I expect you to spend 
 one year in the service of Ganton & Co.; if at the end of 
 that time you wish to leave you may do so. You will report 
 at the Liverpool office at once, sailing on the " Deutschland " 
 Thursday of next week. You will find all necessary instruc 
 tions awaiting you on the other side. Call at the New York 
 office for your steamship ticket, and all necessary funds. 
 
 Enclosed find draft for $1,000.00 with which to settle any 
 outstanding bills and accounts. Yours, JOHN GANTON. 
 
 The curt and formal tone of this letter affected him pro 
 foundly. He knew the disappointment his father felt, and 
 what it cost him to dictate such a letter. The year in Liver 
 pool was a last effort to win him over, to persuade him to 
 take an active interest in the great company; the provision 
 for the income was a confession in advance that the effort 
 would prove futile. He felt grateful for this assurance of 
 independence, for at the end of twelve months he would be 
 free to do as he pleased, to travel, to study, to write, any 
 thing; the least he could do in return would be to work just 
 the best he could during the year ahead. 
 
 No one, not even his sons, ever thought of addressing 
 [51]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 John Ganton on other than formal terms. Affection seemed 
 to have died out of old John Ganton s nature, or, more 
 accurately speaking, to have been buried beneath a weight 
 of other and more important considerations. With the 
 rapid expansion of his business, he had become more and 
 more absorbed, until he thought of little else day and night. 
 His plain and unpretentious wife had gradually retired into 
 the background, until she was merely the silent manager of 
 his matter-of-fact household. She did not care for society, 
 and was conspicuous only in certain charitable enterprises 
 which she did not dare discuss with her husband; in some 
 of the poor quarters about the Yards she was as well known 
 to the women and children as he was to the men, and much 
 more favorably. Yet in all she did she tried hard to keep 
 out of sight, to secure for others the credit which rightfully 
 belonged to herself; but, in spite of her efforts to conceal 
 her good deeds, they were known, and she was respected and 
 loved accordingly. 
 
 In the early days of John Ganton s career, when he came 
 home and told her with pride all he was doing, she, too, was 
 interested. But soon things got beyond her comprehension; 
 so long as he had a little shop of his own and just bought and 
 sold, she could understand it all, but when he went out to the 
 Yards and laid the foundation of his vast business, and 
 figures ran up into the thousands, then into hundreds of 
 thousands, then into millions, she could not grasp it all, and 
 gave up trying. When after a time he came home at night 
 with bundles of letters and papers and pored over them 
 until exhaustion followed, creeping into bed only to rise with 
 the sun and hurry off to the Yards, she began to feel that 
 
 [52]
 
 John Ganton, Jr. 
 
 something had gone out of their lives, and that they would 
 never again be just the same to each other. Many a time 
 of a Sunday evening, when there was a lull in the mad rush 
 of business, she timidly said : " John, I wish we had n t so 
 much money. I wish we were back over the little shop, 
 where I could hear you working all day long, and at night 
 we talked things over and made our plans. Oh, John, what 
 good is all this money ! " 
 
 The first time he smiled and patted her hand gently and 
 tried to explain. After a while he became irritable and cut 
 her short with "Women don t understand these things," so 
 she ceased to ask. Thereafter he went his way more and 
 more absorbed in business, and she went hers very quietly 
 about the big brownstone house where they lived, and among 
 the sick and the poor, in hospital and hovel, trying to do 
 some good with the money which seemed so useless, and yet 
 continued to flow in such abundance from mysterious and 
 magic sources. She did not dare spend it on herself, that 
 would be a sin, just as much of a sin as if the money were 
 stolen ; therefore she must give it away, and the task seemed 
 never-ending and hopeless the more she gave the more she 
 had. Would that stream of gold never end ? she often asked 
 herself; would it end only with the ending of the stream of 
 blood at the Yards ? 
 
 It had not occurred to John Ganton that his son might 
 wish to come home, or that the mother might like to see her 
 boy before he sailed to be gone a year or longer. So far as 
 he was concerned, there was no necessity for John to come 
 to Chicago. Full instructions could be mailed, and the 
 sooner the boy got to work the better, that was John 
 
 [53]
 
 Ganton & Co 
 
 Ganton s notion. Before writing he called Browning into 
 the little private office. 
 
 " Who s in charge of the Liverpool office now ? " 
 
 "McMasters; King is in London on special work, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, yes; h m, h m." Ganton thought a moment. 
 " What sort of a fellow is McMasters ? " 
 
 "A hard worker, very methodical." 
 
 " I am going to send John over there for a year." 
 
 " What ! to Liverpool ? " Browning exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, to Liverpool. I don t see anything very queer in 
 that," the old man replied impatiently. 
 
 " Is that the place for him ? Will he get on there ? " 
 Browning could not help asking by way of protest. 
 
 " No, he won t get on there, he would n t get on any 
 where; but I propose to give him his chance. Then if he 
 wants to go back to his books he can, for all I care." 
 
 Browning was on the point of asking whether John would 
 not do better at home, in the Chicago office, but he could 
 see the old man s mind was made up, and he kept quiet. 
 
 "Write McMasters to put him at work; to put him 
 through the mill. We 11 see if we can t get some of these 
 fool notions out of his head. Tell McMasters to give him 
 so much to do that he won t have time to think of anything 
 else. To think, Browning, a boy of mine should want to be 
 a doddering fool of a professor, or something of that kind! 
 I 11 give him his chance, and then if he don t take it he can 
 go to the devil, for all I care." 
 
 The old man s tone, more than his words, betrayed the 
 disappointment he felt. 
 
 [54]
 
 John Ganton, Jr. 
 
 Young John would have liked to go home; he had much 
 of his mother s tenderness of heart. Now that he was going 
 away for a year without seeing her, a feeling of homesickness 
 crept over him, and he poured out his heart in a letter he 
 wrote her, a letter she read and reread through the tears that 
 filled her tired eyes. 
 
 [55]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A WIRELESS MESSAGE 
 
 ALTHOUGH the season for transatlantic travel was at 
 its height and the ship had been sold out for several 
 weeks, he found at the New York office a cabin de 
 luxe reserved for him. The influence of Ganton & Co. was 
 such that at the eleventh hour any one connected with the 
 great concern could command the best on board; not that 
 more was paid for the favor; as a matter of fact nothing at all 
 was paid, an illustration of the power of freight, the power 
 which secured passes, concessions, and rebates from railroads 
 and steamship companies. 
 
 To the manager of the New York office young John Gan 
 ton said, 
 
 " I should much prefer, Mr. Sanford, a cabin down below, 
 so I could travel quite unknown." 
 
 Mr. Sanford smiled indulgently; he knew John s pecu 
 liarities. 
 
 " I fear it will be quite impossible. The ship was sold out, 
 and only an application from headquarters for a member 
 of the firm I suppose you are a member now secured 
 the accommodation. They offered me the captain s room, 
 but I recalled your experience of two or three summers ago, 
 and declined, so they made some changes and assigned you 
 this room. I do not see how we could very well decline it 
 without offence. In fact, they would be quite apt to think 
 we did not wish to accept favors, and would be suspicious. 
 
 [56]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 As our rebates are very satisfactory, most satisfactory, I think 
 we should show our appreciation by letting them have their 
 own way." 
 
 "But I do not see why I should sacrifice my comfort 
 simply because the rebates are satisfactory," said John, with 
 some impatience. 
 
 "You are now connected with Ganton & Co., and no 
 longer a private individual ; and as such you will have to make 
 some sacrifices; most young men would not consider it a 
 hardship to cross in a cabin de luxe." 
 
 " Well, I consider it a ridiculous display and a waste of 
 money." 
 
 "But it costs us nothing," Sanford hastened to say. 
 
 "So much the worse. Every one will know I am travel 
 ling free because I m connected with Ganton & Co. I do 
 not like it at all, Mr. Sanford, and I wish you would make a 
 change." 
 
 The tone of the young man was sharp and peremptory, 
 and Hart Sanford looked perplexed. He did not wish to 
 offend John, he did not wish to offend any one who might in 
 time occupy a superior position; but above all he did not 
 care to offend old John Ganton, for that would be disastrous. 
 
 " I d do anything I could, you may be sure," he said hesi 
 tatingly, "but your father wired us to do as we have done. 
 In fact, the agent of the steamship company in Chicago ar 
 ranged the matter with your father himself; you are booked 
 as a representative of the company, and the officers of the 
 ship have been instructed to give you every attention you 
 know your father has his own ideas about maintaining the 
 prestige of Ganton & Co., and they are very positive." 
 
 John knew this only too well. His father s aggressive 
 [57]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 business methods were distasteful to him; everywhere he 
 went in Europe as well as America the firm name, GANTON 
 & Co., confronted him, as a brand on soap, tallow, lard, 
 oleomargarine, glue, fertilizers, dried, smoked, and tinned 
 meats, soups, beef extracts, health foods, chemicals, per 
 fumes, products and by-products in almost endless varie 
 ties. GANTON & Co. everywhere! The great sign was on 
 streets, stores, warehouses, factories, cars, ships, along 
 highways, in fields, on hillsides and mountains, on the 
 roofs of houses, on the sides of barns, along fences and 
 walls. Everywhere GANTON & Co., until he sometimes 
 felt as if the world were staring at him, as at an animated 
 advertisement. 
 
 Now, more than ever, did he feel himself a factor in the 
 display of the business. He felt as if his individuality were 
 slipping away from him; as Sanford made plain his power- 
 lessness in so simple a matter as choosing a stateroom on a 
 steamer, this feeling of helplessness increased. 
 
 What could he do ? What could any one do ? were 
 some of the thoughts which flitted through his mind. Though 
 he should change his name and fly to some remote corner of 
 the earth, he would surely be discovered. For that matter, 
 where could he find a spot beyond the long reach of GANTON 
 & Co. ? If it was part of his father s plan to have him 
 travel as a known and duly accredited representative, how 
 could he help himself ? 
 
 For a time he sat in Sanford s private office, thinking. 
 There was nothing to do but accept things as he found them. 
 The mere crossing under conditions he did not like did not 
 amount to so much, but, somehow, the ship assumed a vast 
 importance in his mind, for it seemed as if he were now about 
 
 [58]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 to choose once for all his vocation in life, to decide whether 
 or not he should bend his neck to the yoke. 
 
 Sanford Avatched him curiously, half divining what was 
 in the young man s mind. There had been times, years 
 before, when Hart Sanford, too, had felt restless under the 
 pressure of the organization of which he was now a useful 
 member. He had once cherished notions of his own not 
 ideals, but very positive notions concerning business and 
 business methods. One by one these notions had been 
 absorbed so far as useful, dissipated so far as useless, by the 
 great organization, until he came to have no notions at all, 
 but simply worked as a human machine. He did not under 
 stand John, but he knew he had queer ideas that must be 
 taken out of him, and a more tractable disposition substituted. 
 The process of elimination and substitution would not be 
 pleasant, and in his heart he had a feeling of sympathy. It 
 was Sanford s lot to deal with many a young man fresh 
 from college. John Ganton was prejudiced against college 
 graduates. He often said: 
 
 "Young men who begin life at twenty-four are office 
 boys at fifty ; you have to catch a boy early to make a man of 
 him"; and he seldom allowed a college man to enter either 
 the Yards or the Chicago office. In the East it was different; 
 college men were so numerous they had to be taken into 
 various subordinate positions. It therefore fell to the lot 
 of the managers of the Eastern branches to break them 
 in, and Hart Sanford knew from many an unpleasant ex 
 perience how hard it was to knock the ideals, nearly all 
 vague and visionary, out of a young man fresh from con 
 tact with the world of unreality, and make of him a hewer 
 of wood and drawer of water, a two-legged beast of 
 
 [59]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 burden. But it had to be done, else business would come 
 to a standstill. 
 
 " He has the right stuff in him," he muttered to himself as 
 John left the office, " he has the right stuff in him. I should 
 not be surprised " and Hart Sanford whistled softly and 
 looked at the ceiling without finishing the sentence, for at 
 that moment one of his salesmen entered, the keenest man 
 connected with the New York branch. 
 
 " Did you see the young man who just went out ? " asked 
 Sanford carelessly, at the same time eying the other closely. 
 
 " Yes. Why ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " How did he strike you ? " 
 
 " U mm so-so mind of his own bull-doggy about 
 the jaw. Why ? Is he looking for a place ? " 
 
 " No or rather yes 
 
 " No good as a salesman, I should say might make a 
 good manager ha-ha ! " 
 
 " That s no joke. That young fellow is John Ganton, Jr." 
 
 "Whew! You don t say so. Well, there is something of 
 the old man in him, and no mistake." 
 
 " That s how he strikes me," Sanford remarked thought- 
 fully. 
 
 The next morning as John Ganton, Jr., walked slowly 
 down the long covered pier, he watched the people rushing 
 to and fro, the porters, stewards, messenger boys, all excite 
 ment and confusion, shouting and noise, and every one acting 
 as if the boat were leaving the next moment. He was in no 
 hurry he never did hurry. It was a peculiarity of his 
 that excitement in others had the reverse effect on him, and 
 he was never so self-possessed as when others lost their heads. 
 His father had once noted that unusual trait when they were 
 
 [60]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 on a street car as it was struck by a locomotive at a cross 
 ing and several injured, one or two quite seriously. Young 
 John, then only fifteen, was neither frightened nor excited, 
 but so coolly tried to help the passengers out that his father 
 afterward said approvingly: 
 
 "You 11 manage men all right, my boy; the winner is the 
 man who plays ball when the rest get rattled." 
 
 In his cabin he found a telegram of hearty good wishes 
 from his brother, and an affectionate letter in his mother s 
 cramped and labored handwriting, in which she said : " I am 
 afraid your father is disappointed in Will. Poor boy, he does 
 not like to stay out at the Yards these hot days. I wish he 
 had something to do in the office down town but your father 
 won t hear of a change. I don t know what it will all come 
 to, I am sure, but your father gets very angry and I am afraid 
 to say anything. I hope, John, you won t disappoint your 
 father too. Do try and please him and come back soon. 
 Will is out so much evenings that this big house is very lonely. 
 If Will would only marry some good wife and settle down, how 
 happy I should be ! I hear he goes a good deal with one of the 
 Keating girls, you remember the Keatings. May and her 
 sister, Mrs. Jack Wilton, are much talked about, and your 
 father is down on the family. I am sure I don t know how 
 it will all turn out. Your father is more wrapped up in busi 
 ness than ever, and I see very little of him. So many strange 
 men come here to the house that he works as hard at home 
 as in the office. There is more to live for than money; I 
 wish we did not have so much ; it frightens me. I hope and 
 pray, my dear boy, you will care more for other things." 
 
 John smiled sadly as he read his mother s anxious fore 
 bodings, fears and hopes she never failed to repeat in her 
 
 [61]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 letters. Dear, sweet little woman, she had no thought in life 
 but the happiness of others. Her view might not be broad, 
 but it embraced no selfish aim. 
 
 The cabin de luxe, with its profusion of clumsy wood- 
 carving, stucco ornaments, gilding, startling silk brocades, 
 and tufted furniture, was more distasteful than ever; the 
 smirking steward was already at the door forcing his sendees 
 in anticipation of the liberal tip he expected at the end of the 
 voyage; curious travellers of both sexes going through the 
 narrow passageway half paused at the open door to wonder 
 what celebrity occupied so gorgeous a suite of rooms; he 
 was already paying the penalty of the notoriety thrust upon 
 him. 
 
 The corresponding suite at the other end of the passage 
 way was occupied by a New York banker and his wife. They 
 were travelling with a valet, two maids, and a poodle one 
 maid cared for the dog. To get their rooms settled re 
 quired the sendees of all their retainers, several stewards, 
 and a stewardess; and it was no part of the banker s plan 
 to conceal the fact he had bought the best the ship afforded. 
 When he met John in the passageway, he held out his hand 
 and said in a loud voice: 
 
 "This is Mr. Ganton, of Ganton & Co., I presume. I 
 know your father; in fact, he does considerable business with 
 us. The agents told me you would be aboard. Permit me 
 to introduce myself, Jarvis Townsend of Townsend Brothers. 
 We shall see more of each other; Mrs. Townsend will be so 
 glad to meet you," and hardly waiting for a reply to his 
 breezy salutation, Jarvis Townsend hurried away to get off 
 some telegrams. John wondered if every man on board 
 who had ever heard of Ganton & Co. or used any of the 
 
 [62]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 company s by-products would feel free to greet him and 
 claim an acquaintance. 
 
 A few hours later the ship was composing itself for the 
 voyage. Sailors moved about silently, making things snug 
 and tidy. Among the passengers smart jackets and hats 
 had been exchanged for less perishable and more comfort 
 able wraps and millinery, a transformation becoming to 
 some, fatal to most, women. Take it all in all, masculine 
 man is the better-looking animal on the wing, his outward 
 apparel lending itself more gracefully to the nomadic life, a 
 slouchy suit becoming him well. 
 
 After luncheon Ganton was seated in a corner of the 
 smoking-room trying to read a paper which he had thrust 
 in his pocket as he came on board. He did not smoke; had 
 never acquired the habit. That it was social and a mark 
 of good-fellowship did not appeal to him. 
 
 Two men seated themselves on the opposite side of the 
 small table, ordering coffee with their cigars. John knew 
 one was the Austrian Ambassador at Washington. 
 
 After a desultory conversation the companion of the 
 Ambassador asked : 
 
 "And why are you crossing now, Count? I thought 
 you were home only a few months ago." 
 
 " So I was ; to tell the truth, I am getting away from some 
 unpleasant negotiations." 
 
 " Indeed, what s the trouble now ? " 
 
 " Since we are well under way and there is no reason for 
 further secrecy, I 11 say that the fact is, to-morrow my govern 
 ment is promulgating certain orders regarding the inspection 
 of American meats which will pretty effectually shut Ameri 
 can pork out of Austria." There was a perceptible ring 
 
 [63]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 of exultation in the Ambassador s voice which betrayed his 
 satisfaction, and he spoke so loudly it was quite apparent 
 that he was willing John or any other American should hear 
 of the action of his government. 
 
 " But why do you leave Washington at such a time ? " 
 
 " In order that " the Ambassador hesitated; diplomatic 
 reasons are diplomatic secrets, not to be disclosed, therefore 
 he continued : " Oh, for a brief rest ! Meanwhile the negotia 
 tions sure to follow will be carried on at Vienna through the 
 American Ambassador convenient for us, I should 
 say for both parties," and the Ambassador smiled as all 
 ambassadors smile when they think they have achieved one 
 of the petty advantages which constitute the triumphs of 
 modern diplomacy. 
 
 Without a moment s hesitation, and scarcely knowing 
 what impelled him, John rose from his seat and made his 
 way directly to the second -cabin deck, where he found the 
 operator of the wireless system just leaving his instruments. 
 Giving his name, he asked, 
 
 " Are you still in touch with land ? " 
 
 " Just exchanged the last word." 
 
 " Can t you send a short message ? " 
 
 " I doubt it, Mr. Ganton, but I can try. Give me your 
 message in as few words as possible," and he hastily adjusted 
 his transmitter until the heavy, hoarse buzz of the long spark 
 was again heard as he signalled the shore. After several 
 attempts, there was an answer. Meanwhile John had 
 quickly pencilled the following : 
 
 GANTON, Chicago: 
 
 Austria excludes American pork to-morrow. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 [64]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 "Please ask shore to repeat that, so we may be sure," 
 he requested. 
 
 After many repetitions of letters and words the operator 
 transmitted the message, but communication became more 
 and more difficult, and it was a good half-hour before he 
 secured a repetition. 
 
 John thanked the operator for his trouble and asked, 
 " What are the charges ? " 
 
 "We are taking no general business this trip, and there 
 fore have no tariff yet ; I could not have sent the message if 
 the captain had not told me to send anything you wished." 
 
 Leaving a gold piece on the little table which held the 
 instruments, John returned to his book and seat in the 
 smoking-room, giving the incident no further thought; in 
 fact, he erased it from his mind almost as completely as if it 
 had not occurred. 
 
 The Ambassador and his companion had finished their 
 coffee, and disappeared. 
 
 It was just fifteen minutes before two, allowing for the 
 difference in time, when Browning hurriedly entered the 
 private office and handed old John Ganton the despatch. 
 
 " It does not seem possible. Where could John get such 
 information ? What shall we do about it ? " 
 
 " Do ? " exclaimed the old man as he glanced at the de 
 spatch, and without a moment s hesitation, " Sell ! Is Parker 
 on the floor?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Put him on my phone." 
 
 In a moment Parker, the suave and silent representative 
 of Ganton & Co. on the Board of Trade, was at the private 
 
 [65]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 telephone, and in a few words the old man ordered him to 
 sell not only everything Ganton & Co. dealt in, but the entire 
 list, and give the market all it would stand for future delivery. 
 " Place a few buying orders among our own brokers, and also 
 with the Union, International, and Borlan brokers, so there 
 will be an appearance of good buying; let the speculative 
 crowd do the selling; be careful, time is short." 
 
 Turning to Browning, he said sharply: 
 
 " Have the New York office send over the ticker a rumor 
 from Washington that Austria has adopted a more liberal 
 policy regarding American meats; also tell Sanford to see 
 that some large buying orders at prices just below the market 
 are sent in here at once by strong New York brokers with 
 foreign connections; in the turmoil we will unload what we 
 have, and go short to the limit of the market s capacity. Give 
 me the New York wire; stocks will go off a point or two 
 to-morrow." 
 
 It was ten minutes of two in Chicago, of three in New 
 York, when John Ganton finished giving his orders ; at two 
 o clock he was in close conference with the president of the 
 Central Railway, devising a schedule of switching and demur 
 rage charges whereby Ganton & Co. would secure indirectly 
 a rebate on all shipments. The transactions on the Board 
 quite passed out of his mind ; he gave them no further thought 
 until later in the day he read on the financial page of the 
 Evening Star: 
 
 " The provision market was lifeless until the closing hour 
 of the session, when it was suddenly galvanized into a state 
 of feverish activity. On rumors from Washington that 
 the Austrian government had taken favorable action regard 
 ing the inspection of American meat, trading was heavy. 
 
 [66]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 Apparently Ganton & Co., the International, the Union, and 
 Borlan Bros, were buyers; the speculative crowd were large 
 sellers. The singular feature of the trading was that not 
 withstanding the favorable rumors from Washington and the 
 buying by the big packers, the market closed weak; wheat 
 and corn were off, pork closed 5 @ 12^ c, lard 2 \ @ 7| c, and 
 ribs 5 @ 7^ c lower for the day; this caused an old trader to 
 remark when the flurry was over, It looks as if somebody s 
 been unloading on the boys. 
 
 The next morning when John Ganton arrived at his office, 
 he said to Browning with a smile of satisfaction, 
 
 "I guess the International, Union, and Borlans must 
 have bought some of the stuff yesterday." 
 
 " As near as I can gather they took on most of it, with the 
 room traders at their heels. We are short a big line, and if 
 John has given us the wrong tip we stand to lose considerable 
 money." 
 
 "The boy is not mistaken," exclaimed Ganton, impa 
 tiently. " He may be a fool in most things, but when he says 
 a thing it goes." 
 
 " But where could he have got " Browning was urging 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Where ! Who cares where ? If you did not stop to think, 
 Browning, you would be one of the greatest traders in Chi 
 cago; to get to the top in this world a man must think and 
 act sy-mul-taneously." That was a favorite maxim with 
 John Ganton : " A man must think and act sy-mul-taneously." 
 
 "There are plenty of men," he went on, "in the world 
 who act without thinking, and a lot who think without acting, 
 but there are mighty few who think and act sy-mul-taneously, 
 and they are near the top." 
 
 [67]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " There s no confirmation of John s report in the morning 
 papers," Browning said. 
 
 " Did n t expect it. They go to press too early. But 
 it s now afternoon in Vienna, and we ought to hear some 
 thing soon." 
 
 At nine o clock all the big packers had private despatches 
 announcing the new orders virtually excluding American 
 pork and pork products from Austria. The papers issued 
 extras, and all was excitement on the Street. 
 
 John Ganton was reading the cablegrams spread on his 
 desk when Allan Borlan rushed in unannounced. 
 
 " Why, Allan, good-morning. What s the trouble now ? " 
 
 " Have n t you heard the news from Vienna ? " asked 
 Allan, breathless with excitement. 
 
 " Just looking over the despatches ; it seems they do not 
 want our pork." 
 
 " What are we going to do about it ? " 
 
 "Kill pigs," was the terse response. 
 
 "Yes; but what are we going to do about the Austrian 
 market ? " 
 
 "Sell pork." 
 
 "How can we, with their unreasonable and arbitrary 
 regulations ? " 
 
 "Inspection, my boy, is a question of inspectors; inspec 
 tors is a question of money," was the bland answer. 
 
 " I don t understand you, Mr. Ganton," and Allan Borlan 
 looked puzzled, " if you mean we are to bribe " 
 
 " No one bribes, nowadays, it is simply a matter of fair 
 compensation for services performed. No one expects in 
 spectors to work for the paltry salaries paid by their govern- 
 
 [68]
 
 A Wireless Message 
 
 ments, we must all chip in a little." John Ganton leaned 
 back in his chair and eyed the young man s perplexity with 
 an amused expression. 
 
 " I cannot consent that our firm " Borlan was proceed 
 ing with some hesitation. 
 
 " There are some things, Allan, as I said to you the other 
 day, which you d better leave to your brothers. I like you 
 too well to see you make a fool of yourself." The old man s 
 voice was rough but kindly, for there was something about 
 Allan Borlan he liked, in spite of the latter s " fool notions," 
 as he called them. 
 
 "We bought pretty heavily yesterday," said Borlan rue 
 fully. "I suppose you did also, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 "No, we sold everything we had, and, I am afraid, a 
 leetle more." 
 
 Borlan looked up in amazement. " Why, I thought your 
 people were buyers." 
 
 " Just enough to keep the boys guessing." 
 
 " Did you know " 
 
 "It s our business to know." 
 
 " But the rumors from Washington - 
 
 "Are seldom reliable unless well paid for." 
 
 Allan Borlan left the small, dingy private office profoundly 
 impressed with the sagacity of John Ganton. When he 
 repeated the substance of the conversation to one of his 
 brothers the only comment was: 
 
 " So the old man has fooled us all again, and wants us to 
 know it. There is n t his equal in the country, hang him ! " 
 
 That morning the provision market went all to pieces, 
 with the grain market weak in sympathy. Many a trader 
 was closed out, and three small brokerage concerns went to 
 
 [69]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 the wall. Indeed, it was so near to a panic that only the 
 buying of Ganton & Co. to cover their short line kept the 
 bottom from dropping out of everything. 
 
 "An illustration," John Ganton said to Browning late 
 in the afternoon, " of the good effects of speculation. If we 
 had not gone short yesterday, we could not have supported 
 the market to-day, and there would have been a panic sure." 
 
 " John s despatch has netted us about four hundred 
 thousand dollars," Browning calculated. 
 
 "Put half of it in the bank to his credit." And the old 
 man continued dryly, " It may be the only money he 11 ever 
 make." With that the incident was closed. 
 
 When John Ganton, Jr., landed in Liverpool, MacMasters 
 met him, and together they went to the dingy office, over the 
 door of which was the sign, GANTON & Co. Without wasting 
 a moment in idle conversation, he turned to the desk in the 
 main office which had been assigned to him and began asking 
 about the details of the business. 
 
 That night MacMasters remarked to his wife : 
 " For a chap without experience, he is about as keen as 
 they make them." 
 
 [70]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE GREAT STRIKE 
 
 BORLAN BROS. teamsters and firemen went out the 
 second week in July. The strike tied up most of their 
 plant, the engineers refusing to work with non-union 
 firemen. 
 
 The firemen had no grievance, but went out at the request 
 of the teamsters. In doing so they deliberately broke their 
 contract with the employers, containing as it did a provision 
 against sympathetic strikes. 
 
 "You see," said George Borlan, bitterly, to his brothers, 
 "what agreements with the unions amount to. They are 
 not worth the paper they are written on." 
 
 Allan had nothing to say. The men had violated their 
 contract, and that was all there was to it. He was sorry, for 
 he himself had made the agreement with the firemen only 
 four months before. The president of the firemen s union 
 was in the employ of Ganton & Co.; when he called out 
 Borlan Bros. men Allan charged him with breaking the 
 agreement regarding sympathetic strikes. 
 
 "Agreement be damned!" he growled insolently. "The 
 men propose to stand by the teamsters." 
 
 On the afternoon of the Tuesday preceding the strike 
 three men were seated about a table in a small rear room in 
 the second story of one of the old buildings on Clark Street. 
 On the first floor was a saloon of unsavory reputation; the 
 upstairs room was reached by a narrow stairway leading 
 
 [71]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 from a hallway into which a side door opened from the 
 saloon, so that persons could enter direct from the street or 
 by way of the saloon, as discretion might dictate. 
 
 The room was Norberg s private office, an office so private, 
 in fact, he never used it except for conferences of the most 
 delicate nature. When he did use it he invariably came 
 through the saloon, the proprietor of which was paid to be 
 friendly. 
 
 The three men, Norberg, Fanning, and Scotty, were 
 drinking beer and smoking cheap cigars, a box of which lay 
 open before them. 
 
 " Why does n t Ballard show up ? " asked Norberg. 
 " Did n t he say he d be here at three o clock ? " 
 
 " Oh, he 11 come around all right. I saw him this morn 
 ing; he said he was going out to the Yards first." 
 
 "What for?" Norberg looked up suspiciously. 
 
 " To see some of the boys, and make sure the thing can be 
 handled." 
 
 " To see some of the boys ! " exclaimed Norberg. " Look 
 here, Fanning, how many are in this thing ? I thought you 
 three were going to handle it." 
 
 " Thought so myself, but this idea of letting Dorian s men 
 go out two weeks in advance of the others is a new kink, and 
 if we don t look out for two or three of their fellows it can t 
 be done." 
 
 "That s all right," said Norberg, warmly, "but I don t 
 propose to buy up every slippery agitator in the Yards." 
 
 " You don t, eh ? " shouted Scotty, bringing his fist down 
 so hard on the table that the glasses rattled, " you don t, eh ? 
 Well, I tell you you 11 pay the men we say, or we 11 strike the 
 entire Yards and do you up at the same time." 
 
 [72]
 
 The Great Strike 
 
 Norberg saw he had spoken too hastily. "Hold on, 
 Scotty, don t get excited. I m always willing to do the 
 fair thing, but," he added slowly, "the fewer there are 
 the bigger each man s share; there s no use dividing up 
 a good thing." 
 
 The argument went home to Scotty and Fanning, and they 
 ooth expressed themselves strongly against taking in a 
 crowd. They were proceeding to discuss figures when there 
 was a light rap on the door, and Norberg let Ballard in. He 
 was a man of medium height, rather slender, with very dark 
 hair, beard, and mustache; and apparently not over thirty- 
 five years of age. He was not only younger than his two 
 associates, but in dress and general appearance far superior 
 to either of them. As he seated himself directly opposite 
 Norberg, the latter offered him a glass of beer, which he 
 pushed to one side. 
 
 "You two fellows have had too much beer already," he 
 said to Fanning and Scotty. "Why can t you let booze 
 alone when there s business on hand ? " 
 
 " Do you mean to say we re drunk ? " flared up Scotty. 
 
 " Not drunk, but so near it you re of no use," he answered 
 bluntly. "It is all arranged," he said, turning to Norberg. 
 " Borlan s men will be ordered out any day we name, but it 
 will be hard work keeping them idle with the others at work. 
 The men themselves don t want to go out, and if it were left 
 to a vote of the locals they would vote ten to one against a 
 strike at this time." 
 
 "How are you going to manage it?" asked Norberg 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Hold the meeting down town and pack it, there s no 
 trouble about that. The difficulty will be in keeping the men 
 
 [73]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 in line when once out, and to do that we must take five of 
 the boys out there into camp." 
 
 " For how much ? " This time Fanning and Scotty as 
 well as Norberg looked anxious. 
 
 "A thousand dollars to one, five hundred to each of the 
 others, three thousand in all. In addition to that," continued 
 Ballard, methodically, " we must have fifteen thousand dol 
 lars for our own secret service fund." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Norberg, "five thousand dollars 
 apiece 
 
 " Not so loud, Norberg ! I did not say, Five thousand 
 dollars apiece, I said fifteen thousand dollars for our secret 
 service fund. Not a cent less will do." 
 
 Ballard s tone was firm, and Norberg could see he meant 
 exactly what he said. "When do you want the money?" 
 he muttered at last. 
 
 "To-morrow morning at ten-thirty; we will meet here. 
 See that you have the currency." 
 
 "Look here, Ballard," Norberg exclaimed suspiciously, 
 " you and I have never done business together before. How 
 do I know the goods will be delivered ? " 
 
 " My word for it, that s all," was Ballard s cool response. 
 
 "Well, just suppose you take my word for it and get 
 your pay afterwards. That s the way I ve always done 
 business. Fanning and Scotty can tell you my word goes." 
 
 "So does mine. Some day your employers may take 
 the high moral and go back on you, Norberg, and we 
 would get left; I ve had one such experience. Cash in 
 advance, is my motto, to-morrow at ten-thirty, eighteen 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 " Look here, Ballard," Scotty asked with a sudden clear- 
 [74]
 
 The Great Strike 
 
 ing up of his befuddled intelligence, " who s going to have 
 the handling of the three thousand ? " 
 
 " I am," said Ballard, positively. 
 
 " Are n t we in it ?" 
 
 "Not within a thousand miles." 
 
 " Well, if we re not I 11 be blowed if - 
 
 "See here," Ballard s voice was sharp and peremptory, 
 " do you suppose there s a man at the Yards who would let 
 you handle his money? They know they will get every 
 dollar that s coming to them through me, and I 11 see that 
 they do." Turning to Norberg he continued, "We 11 hold 
 the meeting next Sunday afternoon and vote to strike unless 
 our demands are complied with; it is for you to see that 
 the packers talk arbitration and concessions and keep things 
 moving until they are ready for a tie-up." 
 
 " I 11 take care of that," said Norberg, confidently. " We 
 can keep the thing going in the newspapers and by confer 
 ences for a couple of weeks." 
 
 "You say you will be ready to shut down by the first of 
 August ? " Ballard asked, making a few notes on a slip of 
 paper that he afterward stuck in his pocket. 
 
 " Perhaps a day or two earlier. I 11 let you know in time, 
 and we can break off negotiations and bring things to a 
 head." 
 
 With that the conference broke up. Ballard went out 
 first, going directly to the street; Fanning and Scotty went 
 into the saloon, and lounging over the sloppy bar ordered 
 more drinks. Norberg, waiting, sat for some time until he 
 thought it entirely safe to sneak through the side door and out 
 the alley entrance of the saloon. The only fear he had was 
 of being seen by other labor leaders with whom he had done 
 
 [75]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 business in the same room, and who would be sure to suspect 
 something was going on now. 
 
 Two days before the strike Allan Borlan sent for those of 
 the teamsters who had been longest in the firm s employment 
 and said to them: 
 
 "You men have been with this company a good many 
 years, through good times and bad ; most of you I have seen 
 about here ever since I was a boy; I have ridden on the 
 wagons with you, and you taught me how to drive; we were 
 good friends long before I had anything to say about the busi 
 ness, and we are good friends still, now tell me honestly, 
 boys, do you want to quit and tie us up ? " 
 
 The men shifted about uneasily and looked from one to 
 another, but said nothing. No recognized leader was pres 
 ent, and they did not dare say anything themselves. They 
 liked Allan Borlan, they had no grievance, they did not want 
 to quit work, and they did not understand just why they were 
 to quit ; but it was not for them to express an opinion. Some 
 where down in the city the union had voted to strike, and 
 they had to obey. 
 
 "Tell me, men, do you want to go out? " Allan Borlan 
 again asked. 
 
 Old Mike was the oldest teamster present. He had 
 worked for Allan Borlan s father, so the others looked to him 
 for an answer. The old man passed his battered and greasy 
 felt hat from one hand to the other and said hesitatingly: 
 
 " Why, you see, Mr. Borlan, we ve nothing to say 
 about it " 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mike, that you and the men who 
 are to go out and lose their positions have nothing to say 
 about it ? " Allan Borlan exclaimed. 
 
 [76]
 
 The Great Strike 
 
 " Not exactly that is to say, sorr, we hov our votes, 
 o coorse, but we can t attind the meetings down town very 
 well, so it is left to others to decide, the locals niver have 
 much to say in the matter." 
 
 " Who does decide it ? " 
 
 The old man looked at the others, puzzled and helpless. 
 "I can t just say, Mr. Borlan, none of us has ever been to a 
 meeting. Ballard over at the Union could tell you, sorr; he 
 knows all about it 
 
 "Yes; but Ballard works for the Union Co. I have 
 nothing to do with him. What I want to know is, whether 
 Borlan Bros. teamsters are going out of their own free will, 
 or whether they are going out at the command of men who 
 are in the employ of our competitors." 
 
 Old Mike s eyes dropped before the clear, straightforward 
 gaze of the young man, and the old felt hat was crumpled 
 in a manner that would have been detrimental to it six or 
 eight years earlier, before time had inured it to ill usage. 
 
 " We ve got to do as they tell us," the old man muttered. 
 
 " Even if you know you are being used by our competitors 
 to injure us ? " There was a ring of scorn in young Borlan s 
 voice which the men felt. 
 
 "Why, all the teamsters are going out, Mr. Borlan," Mike 
 protested. 
 
 "But not this week, or next," was the sharp response, 
 " not until the other packers are ready. If we had contrib 
 uted toward buying up your dishonest leaders you would not 
 be called out, but because I refused to be blackmailed, they 
 propose to tie us up. 
 
 "See here," he went on energetically, "you are led about 
 like a lot of sheep by men who sell you out at every turn. 
 
 [77]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Look at Ballard at the Union, at Fanning and Scotty over at 
 Ganton s. Do they work? Not two days a week. How 
 do they manage to hold such easy jobs ? Because they are 
 useful, because they control your organization, because they 
 can be bought. If we had put Scotty on our pay-roll ten 
 days ago, you would not be called out. If we had chipped 
 in five thousand dollars, you would not be called out. As it 
 is, we are to suffer. 
 
 " Why, your leaders will play into the hands of our com 
 petitors, and there will be no tie-up of the other plants until 
 the companies are ready. They will run till the first of 
 August, until they have large stocks on hand, and then the 
 men will be called out, that s the programme. What I 
 want to know is, whether you men who have been with us 
 all these years are going to let yourselves be traded in like 
 cattle, and leave us simply because you are ordered to by 
 leaders who are in the pay of our competitors ! " The eyes 
 of the young man flashed, his tone was sharp and ringing, he 
 had risen to his feet and stood facing the men only a few feet 
 from them. In a dim way they felt the truth of all he said, 
 they knew that somehow they were made the tools of others ; 
 but the machinery of it all was far beyond their dull compre 
 hension; all they understood clearly was that if they diso 
 beyed orders they would be fined heavily, or have their cards 
 taken away, which would mean no work at any of the plants. 
 
 "That may all be, Mr. Borlan," said old Mike, slowly, 
 " we ve nothing to do with these things. We ve got to do 
 as we re told. We d like to stay with you, sorr, but we 
 must do as we re told or lose our cards. 
 
 "Then quit the unions," Allan interrupted warmly. 
 "We 11 take care of you." 
 
 [78]
 
 The Great Strike 
 
 The old man shook his head doubtfully. " Ye could n t 
 do it, Mr. Borlan. All the men would go out; we could n t 
 work in the Yards at all if we were n t union men ; we must 
 do as we re ordered," he repeated mechanically. 
 
 "And you will go out?" 
 
 "We can t help ourselves, Mr. Borlan." 
 
 " Then if you do, Mike, you and the rest of you need never 
 expect to work for Borlan Bros, again. You worked for my 
 father when I was a child, you have worked for us as long as 
 I can remember, I expected you to stay with us as long as 
 you cared to drive a team; but if you go out now, you and 
 every man of you leave us for good." 
 
 The young man s voice had lost its defiant ring, there was 
 even a slight tremor as he uttered the last words; the men 
 looked down at the floor, and old Mike cleared his throat with 
 an effort as he said in a hopeless sort of a tone : 
 
 "I suppose it can t be helped, Mr. Borlan. Perhaps 
 ye 11 take us back." 
 
 " Never! " was the firm response, and the men filed out. 
 
 It was only by threat of withdrawing from the company 
 that Allan Borlan had persuaded his brothers to let him 
 handle this strike; they wished to join the other packers in 
 putting up what money was needed to control the situation, 
 but he had absolutely refused to permit a dollar of the com 
 pany s money to be used in that way. Further, he had 
 exacted a promise from his brothers that they individually 
 would not contribute, but would let events take their course. 
 
 By working large forces day and night he had placed the 
 company in fairly good shape for a tie-up ; but with the best 
 he could do, some loss and great inconvenience could not be 
 avoided. If he could have kept running until the first of 
 
 [79]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 the month he would have been in position to reap his share 
 of the advantages expected by his competitors. 
 
 As Allan Borlan was leaving the Yards late that afternoon 
 to take the car, a man with a dark beard and mustache ac 
 costed him, 
 
 "You are Mr. Borlan?" 
 
 "Yes." Allan looked at the man curiously. 
 
 " I am Ballard of the Teamsters Committee." 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 " I understand you called in some of your men to-day and 
 told them we were selling them out." 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " Well, I would advise you to keep mum on that line. " 
 
 "And if I do not?" 
 
 "You might get hurt, that s all." Ballard met the 
 look of the young man without flinching. 
 
 " For you and your threats I do not care a rap ; you and 
 your associates are a pack of cowards, who hire thugs to do the 
 work you do not dare do yourselves; you are a set of black 
 mailers, and you know it." Allan was warmed up, and noth 
 ing would have pleased him better than to have the man 
 assail him then and there ; but Ballard only laughed and said 
 sneeringly : 
 
 " Oh, you may talk to me as much as you please. I m 
 used to it, and it does you good to let off steam you all pay 
 in the end ; but, " and once more he grew threatening, " I 
 warn you good and fair against talking to the men. Take 
 my word for it, you will be better off if you keep your mouth 
 shut. You are young at the business, and have things to 
 learn." With that the man walked off. 
 
 [80]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 NOT A CENT FOR TRIBUTE 
 
 THAT night when Allan Borlan met his two brothers at 
 the home of the oldest in Michigan Avenue, the dis 
 cussion of the situation was long, earnest, and at 
 times heated. 
 
 "You say you won t pay a cent!" exclaimed George 
 Borlan. "I tell you it is the only way this labor situation 
 can be handled, and every one knows it. How do you sup 
 pose the Rapid Construction Company is putting up our 
 new warehouse without strikes ? It s taking care of the 
 walking delegates and the business agents. That is the 
 secret of their success. There s not a building contractor 
 in the city who does not use money to keep the unions in 
 line." 
 
 " And how about the men who lose time and wages, who 
 stand by their unions loyally, who pay their assessments and 
 support leaders that sell them out?" asked Allan, bitterly. 
 
 "Who cares for the men?" his brother answered hotly- 
 " If they permit themselves to be handled like so many hogs, 
 that is their lookout. It is not our fault that their leaders 
 are dishonest. " 
 
 " But it is if we bribe them," interrupted Allan. 
 
 "No; the men are dishonest before we have a chance to 
 bribe them. They are looking for the bribe before it is 
 offered. They come with their hands open. They are dis 
 honest when chosen as leaders, and are chosen because they 
 
 [81]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 are dishonest. Talk about honesty! I tell you it is easier 
 for the rich man to get into the kingdom of heaven than for 
 an honest man to be elected head of one of the labor organi 
 zations." 
 
 " But there are honest men among them. " 
 
 " How many ? Name three. Now and then there is one 
 who is said to be honest and disinterested, though no one 
 knows whether he really is or not, but honesty in union 
 management is so rare that to have the reputation for being 
 honest is sufficient to make a man conspicuous above all 
 the others. They call him Honest John, or Honest Tom. 
 Just as Kelly used to be called Honest John Kelly when he 
 ran Tammany Hall, simply because he kept his word with 
 his followers, and was honest as compared with some of the 
 notorious rascals who preceded him. When honesty becomes 
 a conspicuous virtue in an organization the organization is 
 rotten." 
 
 Allan Borlan could not help acknowledging the force of 
 what his brother said. He knew that petty bribery of walking 
 delegates and business agents was the rule in all the building 
 trades, and that in one form or another the agents of the 
 unions were taken care of. Yet when it came to their own 
 men he could not tolerate seeing them betrayed, and he re 
 belled against the use of money. He had some ideals left 
 over from school and college, he even dreamed that employers 
 and employees should work together; but when he tried to 
 impress these views upon his brother, the latter exclaimed : 
 
 " That s all stuff. There was a time when employers and 
 employees did work together in a spirit of loyal cooperation, 
 but times have changed. In the old days the union used to 
 be along perpendicular lines, now it is along horizontal. 
 
 [82]
 
 Not a Cent for Tribute 
 
 Once every plant was solidly united from top to bottom, but 
 now-a-days it is different. Our firemen are no longer united 
 with our engineers, who are their natural allies, but with the 
 firemen of our competitors who are their industrial rivals; 
 our engineers are united with the engineers of other concerns, 
 and so are our butchers, our teamsters, and every grade of 
 employees. Sympathies no longer permeate the mass from 
 the bottom up, and weld employers and employees together, 
 but flow laterally in the futile endeavor to weld strangers and 
 competitors together. That is the trouble with the labor 
 situation to-day ; no industrial concern is a unit composed of 
 men cooperating sympathetically; but every concern is com 
 posed of so many layers of independent and jealous trades 
 each of which is only too glad if it can assert its independence 
 at the cost of the others and regardless of the employer. Our 
 teamsters will stand by Ganton s teamsters sooner than by us 
 or by the other men in our employment. They care nothing 
 about the success or failure of Borlan Bros. ; all they care 
 about is the success or failure of the teamsters union." 
 
 George Borlan walked up and down the long library, 
 talking vehemently. In his way he was a student and a 
 keen observer of conditions. He had seen the various plants 
 at the Stockyards organized one by one, until the unions were 
 in complete control. Then came the question of handling 
 the new situation. Since it was no longer possible for each 
 employer to deal with his own men, he was compelled to do 
 the best he could with the organizations ; and to the surprise 
 of the packers the new order of things was found cheaper 
 than the old. It was cheaper to deal with the unions than 
 with the men. With the exception of an outbreak now 
 and then, when the men made a fuss and insisted upon some 
 
 [83]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 consideration, all difficulties could be adjusted by the use of 
 comparatively small amounts of money shrewdly distributed. 
 
 By purchasing the walking delegate or business agent, a 
 task-master was secured more powerful and about as mer 
 ciless as the traditional slave-driver; and he ordered the men 
 about as no foreman ever dared. 
 
 "Things have changed since father founded this busi 
 ness," George Borlan continued earnestly; " and the trouble 
 is, you do not realize it, Allan. He used to look out for his 
 men. When they were sick he helped them, when they were 
 injured he cared for them, and when they were old he found 
 easy places for them, he treated them like men and they 
 were loyal to him, which simply means they were loyal to the 
 business they helped him build up. Now all is different. 
 If men are sick they are laid off and lose their time, if they 
 are hurt an insurance company steps into our shoes and 
 either settles with them or fights them if they sue for dam 
 ages. We have nothing more to do with their welfare, if 
 they are sick, injured, or old we have no use for them, and 
 why should we bother about them? They have their 
 own organizations to which they have transferred their loy 
 alty, the unions stand between them and us, and contract 
 with us for so many able-bodied slaves at so much per hour 
 per head. Under the contract we are under no obligation 
 to look after the sick and decrepit, for the union will furnish 
 us sound animals in their places. As a matter of dollars 
 and cents we should be ahead if there were a horse union 
 doing business on the same cash basis; as it is, we are obliged 
 to treat our horses almost as well as we used to treat our men." 
 
 " But, George, unionism has come to stay," Allan inter 
 rupted in a tone of protest. 
 
 [84]
 
 Not a Cent for Tribute 
 
 "Yes; and for my part I am glad of it," his brother 
 almost shouted. "The unions have fixed the hours of 
 work and the wages, and we are entitled to the work of 
 a strong man for eight hours a day for our money. We 
 can lay off the sick and discharge the old. Pretty soon no 
 industry will keep a man after he is turned forty, and why 
 should we ? The unions are run by the young and able- 
 bodied in the interest of the young and able-bodied, they 
 encourage the employment of their active members, and they 
 have no use for the old man with a family, since he is natu 
 rally a conservative, and therefore instinctively opposed to 
 radicalism, which is at the basis of unionism. It is money 
 in our pockets to deal with unions on a business basis, and if 
 you would only listen to reason and do as the other packers 
 do we could control the labor situation more easily than ever 
 before." George Borlan s tone expressed the irritation he 
 felt because his brother would not follow his advice. 
 
 " It s no use, George," Allan said stubbornly. " I will 
 not pay those fellows a cent. Why, one of them, Ballard, 
 threatened me to-night as I left the Yards." 
 
 George Borlan turned in surprise as Allan told him what 
 Ballard had said. 
 
 " He is in a position to make that threat good, Allan ; he 
 is the most dangerous of the lot. Do you carry a pistol ? " 
 
 " No, never," and Allan laughed at the idea. 
 
 "Well, you ought to; you must take no chances. Why, 
 those fellows control a gang of sluggers who would just as 
 soon assault you as they would a scab. 
 
 "I m not afraid," was the careless response; "they re 
 a pack of cowards." 
 
 " Therefore they re the more dangerous ; the professional 
 [85]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 slugger takes no chances, and he gives none. I want you to 
 be careful, Allan. You don t understand the Yards yet. 
 Why, some of those foreigners out there don t know they are 
 living in America, and many of them would knife a man as 
 quickly as if they were in their own God-forsaken countries." 
 
 Allan laughed at his brother s anxiety. He could not 
 conceive there could be any real danger, and he looked upon 
 Ballard s threats as idle. 
 
 For some time longer the brothers discussed the situation ; 
 finally Allan said he would see John Ganton the first thing 
 in the morning, and ask him once more if he would not stand 
 with them in resisting the demands of the labor leaders. 
 
 "It s no use, I can tell you that," said George Borlan; 
 "the old man has been through the mill too many times. 
 He fights when he feels like it, but knows when it is best to 
 pay, and just now it is cheaper to pay." 
 
 " It is never cheaper to buy up professional blackmailers," 
 said Allan, warmly; " these fellows are leeches. Give them a 
 taste of blood and in time they will drain you dry." 
 
 " But it s only a matter of twenty or thirty thousand 
 dollars now, a mere bagatelle divided amongst us all. 
 Why, we 11 lose more than that the first week of the strike." 
 
 " It s only twenty or thirty thousand now, but it will be 
 that much more in a month from now to another gang, and 
 so on without end. Aside from the principle involved I am 
 opposed to paying a cent on grounds of economy." 
 
 "Have your own way, then," his brother said wearily; 
 " but when you have been at the Yards as long as I have, you 
 will find there are some things you can t control to suit your 
 own fancy, and the labor situation is one of them. I do not 
 like paying money to these rascals any better than you, but 
 
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 Not a Cent for Tribute 
 
 it can t be helped ; besides, it s my opinion that buying the 
 leaders will in the end disintegrate the whole labor move 
 ment. It breeds distrust and dissension, it keeps them at 
 war among themselves, and pretty soon the men will learn 
 they are being bought and sold, and they will get ugly. 
 Why, already it is comparatively easy to play one union 
 against another by buying up first one crowd and then an 
 other. As soon as it is rumored that there s some money 
 in sight there is a scramble to get it. It is n t necessary to 
 buy all the unions at any one time. They don t trust each 
 other, for each organization knows the other is for sale, and 
 it is a question which crowd of insiders gets hold of the money 
 first." 
 
 "Well, it s a poor policy in the long run," Allan Borlan 
 insisted. 
 
 " That may be ; but I don t see it. Others do it, and if 
 we expect to live we must. The man who tries to run his 
 business on a higher plane than his competitor will make a 
 failure of it." 
 
 "There is no harm trying," urged Allan, quietly. 
 
 " If you object to paying these labor leaders, why don t you 
 object to the secret arrangements we have with every railroad 
 running into Chicago ? Why don t you object to the way 
 we handle our assessments and taxes ? Why don t you ob 
 ject to what we pay the political heelers and the inspectors ? " 
 and George shook his finger at his brother, punctuating every 
 word with a gesture. So the discussion came to an end. 
 
 As Allan Borlan walked back to his own home that night 
 he could not help thinking both his brothers had greatly 
 changed in the last few years, and he wondered if it was 
 possible the same apparently relentless conditions would 
 
 [87]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 work a similar change in him, whether he, too, would be 
 obliged to swim with the current or go to the bottom. 
 
 John Ganton was in an irritable frame of mind when Allan 
 Borlan called to see him. Will had not been home at all the 
 night before. It was not that his being away was anything 
 new, but at this particular time, with a strike brewing and 
 each department being pushed to its uttermost, John Ganton 
 wanted every man about him in his place. 
 
 "I tell you," he said to Browning, "if he does n t attend 
 to business better, I 11 ship him to Kansas City, where the 
 work is n t quite so pleasant and there are n t so many clubs." 
 
 "He 11 turn up all right," was Browning s invariable re 
 sponse to these outbursts. He tried to shield Will as best 
 he could, and every man in the employment of the company 
 did the same. Even the office-boy gave Will a hint when 
 his father was in an unusually bad temper. They all liked the 
 son and wished him good luck, and yet each knew that by no 
 possibility could he ever fill the shoes of old John Ganton as 
 the head of the great company, the one obvious truth which 
 John Ganton would not see. He had brought Will up to 
 take his place, and in his boy s neglect of business he saw 
 only the indifference of youth, not incapacity; for that mat 
 ter Will Ganton did not lack a certain amount of ability, but 
 he lacked application ; he was easy-going and readily diverted 
 from the duty of the hour. 
 
 It was at this inopportune moment Allan Borlan pre 
 sented himself at the door of the small private office. 
 
 "Well, what is it, young man?" the old man asked 
 roughly, barely lifting his eyes from the papers before him. 
 
 "I came to see you about this strike, Mr. Ganton." 
 [88]
 
 Not a Cent for Tribute 
 
 "You were here about it the other day, were n t you?" 
 
 "Yes; but" 
 
 "Well, have you come to your senses and decided to 
 let your brothers manage these matters?" The tone was 
 harsh. 
 
 "No; we will not pay these blackmailers a penny." 
 
 "Then what are you here for? You said that the other 
 day." 
 
 " I am here, Mr. Ganton, to see if you will not join with 
 us in fighting them." 
 
 " No ; you can fight them alone. You don t like my way, 
 I have no use for yours; so we 11 each paddle his own canoe 
 and see how we come out." 
 
 The old man s tone was so disagreeable Allan Borlan was 
 disheartened, and his face showed it. He simply said, 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Ganton," turned on his heel and went 
 out, not even stopping to exchange a word with Browning 
 as he looked up from his desk. 
 
 A moment later Browning was closeted in the private 
 office going over the situation. They called up the Union 
 Co. to see if their man Ballard could be relied upon. 
 "Absolutely," was the immediate response. They sent for 
 Norberg and found that every detail had been attended to, 
 but that in order to keep the firemen and engineers in hand 
 about fifteen thousand dollars more would be needed; for 
 that amount they would be kept at work or ordered out in 
 sympathy with the teamsters, as might be desired. 
 
 "Let them go out at the Borlan plant as soon as they 
 please," said the old man, "a complete tie-up there will 
 do us no harm." 
 
 " Some day we shall have to fight these fellows to a finish," 
 [89]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 said Browning, " we cannot go on paying them much longer, 
 they are getting too greedy." 
 
 " We 11 choose our own time, and then whip them to a 
 standstill," was the grim response, and both Norberg and 
 Browning knew that when the time did come to fight, the 
 old man would win. 
 
 At the Yards little groups of men gathered here and 
 there earnestly talking over the impending trouble. No 
 one had a very clear idea what it was all about; there was 
 talk of shorter hours, increased wages, new classifications, and 
 so on, but hardly a man knew just what the demands were. 
 Scotty and Fanning were appealed to for information, but 
 they usually answered with a string of oaths which might 
 be levelled at either the men or their employers, quite as 
 frequently the former as the latter. 
 
 No one dared ask Ballard any questions. He moved 
 about like a sphinx, saying little and doing nothing in the 
 way of work. He was on the pay-roll of the Union, but no 
 one ever saw him doing anything ; he spent most of his time 
 down town, and was a potent factor in the central organiza 
 tion. Every labor leader knew Ballard and stood in no 
 little fear of him, for in his own union his word was law, 
 and with many of the others he possessed an influence 
 beyond that of their own oflicers. 
 
 Fanning and Scotty always had plenty of money, but they 
 spent it freely and were popular; while Ballard had more 
 money, but he saved it and was unpopular. No one knew 
 whence he came; there were rumors lie had "served time" 
 somewhere out West for killing a man, but the rumors could 
 not be traced to responsible sources, nor could they be true, 
 for it was generally known that he did not carry a pistol or 
 
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 Not a Cent for Tribute 
 
 weapon of any kind, and he never lost his temper or got 
 drunk and quarrelsome like Fanning and Scotty. There 
 was, however, a glitter about his keen black eyes that the 
 men did not like, and it had a sobering effect upon Scotty 
 in his most maudlin moments. 
 
 The prospect of a strike was hailed with delight by the 
 hot-headed younger men; but most of their elders shook 
 their heads and pointed to the fact that all the companies 
 were carrying large stocks, that prices were low, and a tie- 
 up would be playing into the hands of their employers by 
 cutting down production and advancing prices. 
 
 "It s no time to go out, b ys," said old Mike to a little 
 knot of men gathered near one of the doors of Borlan 
 Bros. team shed; "iv ry house in th Yarrd would loike to 
 shut down nixt month." 
 
 "That s about right," murmured several of the men. 
 
 "Oh-h, we 11 show em," shouted a young fellow, who 
 had driven a team less than six months ; " they can t stand 
 it more than a week." 
 
 Old Mike shook his head. " It 11 be longer than a 
 week; those of youse who have no families can stand it, 
 but it s hard for us." 
 
 It was all Mike could do in the best of times to support 
 his family, which now consisted of himself and his old wife, 
 and a sick and nearly helpless daughter with her three little 
 girls; the husband and father had been killed three years 
 before on the railroad. The old man had not saved up a 
 cent; it was with difficulty he met his rent and paid his bills, 
 and there were times when he would get behind in spite of all 
 he could do. To him the strike meant nothing short of 
 disaster, and yet he dared not remain at work in defiance of 
 the union. 
 
 [91]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A DINNER AT THE GOLF CLUB 
 
 LARRY DELANEY S office consisted of two small 
 rooms on one of the upper floors of the best build 
 ing on La Salle Street; the confidential character of 
 his business did not require large quarters on the ground 
 floor, " Could not afford it," he was in the habit of mod 
 estly saying. 
 
 There was an atmosphere of economy, integrity, and 
 secrecy about Delaney s office which inspired confidence; 
 the rooms were decorated and furnished in the best of 
 taste; the oak floor was stained a brown that was almost 
 black, and covered with two or three Oriental rugs which 
 were really old and charming in their soft and faded colors, 
 but which were so ragged and imperfect they cost com 
 paratively little, Delaney often said, " Any one who pays 
 more than ten dollars for an old rug is sure to be cheated." 
 The walls were a dull green, "There are plenty of artists 
 nowadays," he observed, "but no painters; plenty of men 
 who can paint pictures, but few who can paint walls." 
 
 His furniture he had picked up in out-of-the-way places, 
 buying dilapidated old pieces for a song and having them 
 made serviceable without being restored. 
 
 " I would n t risk myself in one of your rickety chairs, 
 Delaney," a friend frankly remarked one day. 
 
 You are quite right, my dear boy," Delaney replied ; since 
 antique furniture has become a fad it is folly to sit down." 
 
 [92]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 A ticker in one corner of the small outer office and a 
 telephone on his desk in the still smaller inner room were 
 almost the only modern contrivances in sight. 
 
 An office-boy too dull to be observing, and too forgetful 
 to remember names, rare qualifications from Delaney s 
 point of view, was his only assistant. 
 
 While his father was closeted with Norberg and Brown 
 ing arranging the details of the strike as methodically as 
 if it were part of the regular business routine, Will Ganton 
 was talking earnestly with Delaney in the latter s private 
 office. 
 
 "Borlan s teamsters are going out next week," said 
 Delaney, "and there are rumors the firemen and engineers 
 will strike too. If they do, that means a complete tie-up; 
 and if this thing spreads, it means a tumble in stocks." 
 
 "But it won t spread," Will Ganton urged, his face 
 betraying his anxiety. " I know our people have the matter 
 well in hand; I have that from one who knows." 
 
 "Who ? " asked Delaney. 
 
 "I can t tell you that, but he is the man who keeps in 
 touch with what is going on in the labor world, I m sure he 
 knows." 
 
 " But what did he say ? " 
 
 " He said they had the matter in hand, that s all he 
 would say, but that s enough, isn t it?" 
 
 " It is if the packers don t want a strike, but suppose they 
 do ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know they don t want any strike. You need n t 
 worry about that." Will seemed very confident. 
 
 " Well, I m not so sure," said Delaney, doubtfully. " It 
 may be all right, but I don t like the looks of things. The 
 
 [93]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 market is off this morning, prices are very shaky, and there 
 has been a steady selling pressure from some direction for 
 several days, as if big interests were unloading for a drop. 
 These troubles, whether they amount to anything or not, are 
 sufficient to put an end to any bull movement. We shall be 
 called upon for more margins before the day is over unless 
 there is a sharp rally." 
 
 The two went into the outer room and looked at the 
 ticker; Delaney ran the narrow ribbon of paper through his 
 fingers and shook his head. 
 
 " Market opened weak, and everything we are interested 
 in is off." 
 
 He said "we," as if he, too, ran a chance of losing, and 
 Will Ganton felt a certain degree of comfort on that account, 
 but Larry Delaney seldom speculated. He had learned that 
 it is much safer to risk the money of others than one s own. 
 
 While the two were watching the ticker, a note was 
 handed Delaney from the firm of brokers below through 
 which he placed his New York business. 
 
 " Just as I thought," he exclaimed, " a call for additional 
 margins, market very unsteady." 
 
 " How much ? " Will Ganton asked gloomily. 
 
 Delaney figured a moment on the back of an envelope. 
 
 " It will take at least ten thousand dollars. You see you 
 are carrying a pretty long line; we ve been buying steadily 
 on the declines." 
 
 " I don t see how I can put it up, Larry," and the situation 
 really seemed hopeless to him. "I have borrowed every 
 cent I dare and my account is overdrawn. I don t see how 
 I can raise another cent." 
 
 "And you don t want to ask your father?" 
 [94]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 " I would n t dare to. I have told you what he thinks of 
 speculating." 
 
 " Yes, I know, but he goes in so heavily himself - 
 
 " That s another thing. He has the money, and more 
 than that, he knows what he is about. He can make or 
 break stocks from the inside. Why, if he were short a lot 
 of stocks, it would be like him to hurry on a strike or a 
 panic just to break prices." 
 
 " Well, I can tell you one thing," Delaney exclaimed, as if 
 suddenly struck with a new idea, " some big fellow has been 
 selling nearly the entire list for the last two weeks, no one 
 knows who." 
 
 " I don t believe he has. Why should he want low prices 
 with the crop outlook so good ? " 
 
 "He may know more than we do about this strike busi 
 ness," Delaney remarked significantly. 
 
 "Well, I don t believe there will be any general tie-up," 
 but this time the young man s voice expressed uncertainty. 
 
 "Strike or no strike, we must meet this call for margins," 
 said Delaney, firmly. 
 
 " How can I, Larry ? Where can I raise the money ? " 
 He looked so miserable Delaney was sorry for him. 
 
 "Is there no one in the Company who would help you 
 out?" 
 
 Will thought a moment, and answered doubtfully, "I 
 might ask Browning, he always stands by me, he might 
 let me have the money." 
 
 "Try it," said Delaney, encouragingly. 
 
 " He will ask for a list of all my trades the first thing." 
 
 Delaney pulled a statement out of a pigeon-hole in his 
 desk. 
 
 [95]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " There you are, in detail. Show it to him, but hurry. 
 If the market sags much more we might be closed out. I 
 don t like the looks of things," and Delaney once more went 
 to the ticker, which was working steadily, indicating a very 
 active market. "The bears are going to have their inning 
 to-day, that s sure." 
 
 Will did not care to go to the office and run the risk of 
 meeting his father, so he telephoned Browning to come to 
 one of the private rooms of the bank where he kept his ac 
 count. Fearing something was wrong, Browning hastened 
 over. As Will went on to explain how much he needed ten 
 thousand dollars immediately, Browning s face fell. 
 
 "Let me see the list of trades," he said quickly. As he 
 looked over the statement, he pursed his lips and drew in his 
 breath with a low whistle, as he always did when disagreeably 
 surprised. 
 
 "You stand to lose now, let me see," and he made seme 
 rapid calculations on a piece of paper, "not less than forty 
 or fifty thousand dollars as the market is going this morning, 
 and yet that is the best you can do. Call up Delaney," 
 Browning continued rapidly and decisively, " and tell him to 
 close the trades at once." 
 
 Will Ganton looked up in amazement : close out his trades 
 at a loss of forty or fifty thousand dollars! Nothing was 
 farther from his thoughts. What could Browning be think 
 ing of? 
 
 "Why, you re crazy, Browning!" he exclaimed. "The 
 market is bound to turn soon as this strike talk is over." 
 
 "But it won t be over," the other answered quietly. 
 
 " Do you mean to say there s going to be a general tie- 
 up?" The young man s tone expressed his surprise. 
 
 [96]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 "I don t mean to say anything one way or the other. 
 All I can say is, that the best thing you can do is close these 
 trades at once." 
 
 " I 11 be dashed if I will unless you tell me there is going 
 to be a general tie-up." 
 
 "I can t tell you that, Will," said Browning in a friendly 
 tone ; " but I can tell you this : you are trading against your 
 father, and for every share of stock you have bought he has 
 sold ten. I don t think you or any other man can hold out 
 against him. That s confidential, mind you." 
 
 Will was dumfounded; so his father was in the market 
 and on the short side for one of the big turns for which he 
 was famous in the street. That meant a strike or something 
 to bring prices down. Browning was right, and the best 
 thing he could do was get out from under, so he called up 
 Delaney and told him to close out all his trades. 
 
 " What s that ? " Delaney almost shouted into the phone. 
 
 "Close em out, quick." 
 
 "What s up?" 
 
 " Never mind, don t know, can t raise the money. 
 Close em out, and we 11 figure up where we stand over at 
 the Club this afternoon." 
 
 As he rang off, Will turned to Browning and asked des 
 perately, 
 
 " Look here, Browning, can t you give me a pointer so I 
 can recoup some of my losses ? " 
 
 " Keep out of the market, Will. You have n t the money 
 to play the game in a big way, and you can t afford to play it 
 in a small. You know how your father feels, what will he 
 say when he hears of this ? " 
 
 "He must n t hear of it," exclaimed Will in alarm. 
 [97]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "How can he help knowing it? You have lost nearly 
 fifty thousand dollars, and you owe the bank here over forty 
 and are overdrawn. What are you going to do ? " 
 
 "Damned if I know," was the reckless answer, and 
 Browning knew the young man was in a desperate frame of 
 mind. 
 
 "There is just one thing to do," he said, "and that is to 
 make a clean breast of the whole matter to your father." 
 
 " I can t do that. He s down on me already, because I 
 cut work yesterday and did not turn up last night. I don t 
 care to run my head in the lion s jaw this morning." 
 
 " But he must know in the end." 
 
 " Well, not to-day, Browning; I 11 go out to the Yards and 
 slave for a few days, until it puts him in good humor. If 
 you will speak to the bank they will carry me as long as 
 necessary." 
 
 Browning thought a moment; then, seeing no better way, 
 he sent for the vice-president of the bank and arranged with 
 him to carry Will. To do this Browning became morally 
 bound to see the debt paid, but Will did not fully realize that. 
 
 They were on the point of leaving, when Browning put his 
 hand affectionately on the young man s arm and said, 
 
 " May I say something to you, Will ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly. I guess you are entitled to read the 
 riot act to me if any one is," and Will laughed as he turned 
 restlessly in his chair. 
 
 " I am not going to read the riot act," said Browning, with 
 a smile that was almost sad, " I am going to tell you a little 
 experience of my own," he hesitated a moment, and con 
 tinued. "There was a time, when I first worked for your 
 father, when I was nearly ten thousand dollars behind; 
 
 [98]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 I had speculated and lost every dollar I had and did not 
 know where to turn. I went to your father and told him 
 where I stood. He made good my losses, and he did it 
 without a word of reproach. I had lost the money in wheat 
 at a time when he was operating heavily on the other side of 
 the market; but I did not know this, and every one in the 
 office thought he was buying when in reality he was selling. 
 All he said to me was, Young man, I guess I ve won your 
 money; if I give it back will you promise never to speculate ? 
 I was only too glad to make the promise. Very well, he 
 said, I will loan you the money. That will help keep you 
 straight, and you can work it out. I owe him that money 
 yet, for he will not let me pay him ; he will not even let me 
 talk about it. However, that is neither here nor there. 
 What I wish to say is, that I have watched the game from the 
 inside and know that only those win who are in a position to 
 control the market, to make or break prices. Panics are 
 brought on for the benefit of pools; war scares, crop scares, 
 strike scares, are all part of the machinery of speculation. 
 Every man who has been behind the scenes knows how they 
 are worked; the market is honest only when it is dull. You 
 ask me for a pointer to help you recoup your losses ; I might 
 give you one, and before you could act your father or some 
 other great man in the financial world might see fit to get on 
 the other side of the market, and you would lose again. Men 
 who make and break prices act quickly." 
 
 Will had never heard Browning speak with so much force, 
 and he was greatly impressed, far more impressed than by 
 anything his father had ever said to him; besides, there was 
 something in Browning s own experience that appealed to him. 
 When he left the bank he went straight to his desk in the Yards. 
 
 [99]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 That evening Will Ganton was expected to dine with 
 Mrs. Jack and her sister at the Golf Club; these dinners had 
 become quite a matter of course of late, and people were 
 beginning to take it for granted that he and May Keating 
 either were or soon would be engaged. 
 
 At the five-o clock train he saw many men he knew; but, 
 depressed by the disastrous events of the day, he threw him 
 self into a vacant seat and buried his face in the evening 
 paper to avoid the bother of conversation. 
 
 " What s the matter with Ganton ? " George Axford 
 asked of his three companions, seated a little in the 
 rear. 
 
 "Looks as if he had been hard hit," one remarked, 
 glancing at Will. 
 
 "They say he s in the market pretty heavily," was the 
 comment of another. 
 
 " Well, if he is on the bear side he is all right. The mar 
 ket went all to pieces to-day." 
 
 I rather think he is on the wrong side," interrupted 
 Axford; "I know he took a flyer about a month ago. I 
 did, myself, but I pulled out when I saw how things were 
 going. I guess he went in deeper." 
 
 "Well, he can stand it." 
 
 "Maybe he can, and maybe he can t. The old man 
 proposes to do all the speculating for the family, and there 
 will be trouble if he has to make good Will s losses." 
 
 " How about May Keating ? They say the old man " 
 Their voices dropped and the four young men put their 
 heads together confidentially. 
 
 " Beautiful, clever too, no name for it, not so 
 clever as Mrs. Jack ? I rather think so, but in a different 
 
 [100]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 way, make a safer wife, Delaney " and here the voices 
 dropped to almost a whisper. 
 
 The entrance just then by the rear door of the three people 
 whose names were being taken in vain interrupted the confi 
 dences, and the four young men rose hastily to offer their seats. 
 
 With a single glance Mrs. Jack had taken in the entire 
 car and the possible combinations it afforded; she saw the 
 vacant seat next to Will Ganton, and with the decision of a 
 general on the field of battle she distributed her forces to the 
 best advantage, instead of placing her sister beside Will 
 Ganton she sat there herself. 
 
 " Why did n t you telephone this afternoon ? " were her 
 first words. "We did not know whether you would come 
 to-night or not." 
 
 " I have not had a moment s time," he answered apologet 
 ically, " I have been tied up all day." 
 
 "What is the matter? Anything gone wrong?" This 
 time she looked at him critically, and her quick eye saw that 
 evidently something had gone very wrong. 
 
 " No that is, not much," he hesitated, "just a matter of 
 business." 
 
 " Has " and she bit her tongue, for she was on the point 
 of asking whether he had had trouble with his father. Some 
 how Mrs. Jack was haunted by the fear that Will Ganton 
 and his father did not get on well together, and that any day 
 there might be a rupture. The thought was not pleasant, 
 for what did Will Ganton amount to without the millions of 
 old John Ganton ? Nothing, less than nothing, in the eyes 
 of Mrs. Jack. She had asked Delaney, but he knew 
 only what most people knew: that as between the two sons 
 Will was his father s favorite. 
 
 [101]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Changing the form of her question, she asked as if only 
 casually interested, "How is your father?" 
 
 " All right, I guess, have n t seen him for a day or two," 
 was the short response; but Mrs. Jack felt relieved, for if 
 Will had not seen his father for a day or two the immediate 
 trouble could not be in that direction. 
 
 "I have a surprise in store for you," and she looked at 
 him dubiously. " Mrs. Range Salter and her daughter are 
 to dine with us. The young lady is not out, but an exception 
 is made as the dinner is, of course, quite informal, and I 
 told Mrs. Salter you were to be of the party. Now, I shall 
 place you between them, and I want you to do your best to 
 be agreeable, for I shall have my hands full." 
 
 Will Ganton made a feeble protest. " Could n t you 
 put the mother at the other end of the table ? The girl is 
 not half bad, I dined with them a few weeks ago, she s 
 bright, but the mother I tell you, let Delaney look after 
 the mother," and he brightened up at the happy suggestion. 
 
 " No ; if you have the daughter, you must take the mother 
 with her," said Mrs. Jack, sharply, a vague doubt arising 
 in her mind about the wisdom of placing Will Ganton beside 
 a young girl who certainly was sweet and charming, but 
 oh, pshaw ! the thought was ridiculous. 
 
 On the Club porch Mrs. Jack found some of her guests, 
 but Mrs. Salter and her daughter had not yet arrived. Will 
 Ganton dropped into a chair by one of the tables and ordered 
 a high-ball, "good and stiff," he said to the boy. Two 
 or three men seated at the same table accepted his invita 
 tion to "have something," and the conversation turned on 
 the scores, actual and possible mostly the possible of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 [102]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 "Bully good play," one was saying. 
 
 " Could n t do it again in a thousand years," was the 
 response. 
 
 "Made the ninth hole in two this afternoon," said little 
 McDuffey, one of the crack players, and he swelled up like 
 a game bantam. 
 
 " I 11 go you a box of balls you can t do it again, and we 11 
 try it right now," shouted Slafter, who bet and talked as 
 recklessly as he played, and who delighted in baiting little 
 McDuffey. 
 
 " Done. Wait until I get my Scotch-and-soda." 
 
 " Oh, if you re going to fill up on whiskey and soda the 
 bet s off. I m willing to bet against a Scotchman sober, 
 but a Scotchman drunk is another proposition." Slafter 
 laughed so loud at his own joke that all at the table joined 
 without knowing what they were laughing at. 
 
 "What did you make it in to-day?" Will asked the 
 man next to him by way of manifesting an interest in the 
 current topic. He did not know the man, had never seen 
 him before, and did not care a rap what his score was. 
 
 " Hundred and ten, but if it had not been for the long 
 grass 
 
 "I say," shouted Slafter, "that will be a bully match. 
 I 11 back his royal highness " 
 
 At that moment the boy came with the drinks, and the 
 identity of his royal highness remained undisclosed, like 
 wise that of his doughty opponent. 
 
 Will Ganton drank his high-ball because he felt the need of 
 a stimulant ; the others drank as a matter of habit. With the 
 next good fellow who seated himself at the table they would 
 all drink again, and so on to a condition of imperfect sobriety. 
 
 [103]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 As Will left the circle Slafter was offering to bet McDuffey 
 a box of balls a hole that he could not beat an Irishman the 
 latter did not like. Little McDuffey s sunburnt face fired a 
 darker red with indignation at the suggestion, and in his rage 
 he relapsed into broad Scotch mixed with profanity, much 
 to the delight of his tormentor. 
 
 May Keating was talking with several athletic young 
 women. One of them, a girl whose reddish brown hair 
 found an echoing note in the color of the Russia leather 
 shoes beneath her short duck skirt, was just saying, viva 
 ciously, 
 
 " I should have given him a piece of my mind if he had 
 done that to me." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed another, whose heavy eye 
 brows, almost meeting over her nose, gave her face a strong, 
 almost coarse look. " Who cares nowadays what a man does, 
 so long as he " at that moment she noticed Will Ganton 
 approaching, and stopped short. 
 
 "I hope," he said embarrassed, "I do not intrude." 
 
 "Oh, no!" exclaimed one. 
 
 "Not at all," said the young woman with the dark eyes 
 and heavy eyebrows, regaining her assurance. "We were 
 just discussing whether being drunk is any excuse for a man 
 who kisses another man s wife." 
 
 "Why that depends I suppose " The cynical 
 coolness of the question staggered him so he could get no 
 farther. 
 
 "Exactly," she continued, enjoying his confusion; "as 
 Mr. Ganton says, it depends, of course, upon the degree 
 and nature of the intoxication. If spirituous, then he is 
 excusable from the husband s point of view, but not the 
 
 [104]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 wife s; if spiritual, then from the wife s point of view, but 
 not the husband s. But I contend a woman would rather 
 have the kiss drunk than miss it sober; don t you think so, 
 Mr. Ganton ? " and her laugh had an unpleasant ring 
 which seemed to go with the heavy eyebrows and the mas 
 culine cast of her features. She was one of the brilliant 
 young married women of the smart set, and Will Ganton 
 dreaded her tongue. It always seemed to him she was 
 talking either at or about some one in an uncomfortably 
 pointed way. Moreover, she did not care what she said, and 
 every now and then reduced a dinner-table to silence with a 
 remark which might have challenged the attention of the 
 police if uttered in public. She could make most men blush, 
 and took delight in doing so, yet every hostess seemed to 
 consider her an indispensable element in every social func 
 tion. 
 
 "People cannot talk sense; they are tired of nonsense; 
 and there is nothing but inde-cence left," she once said to a 
 young clergyman who was vainly struggling to keep conver 
 sation within bounds. 
 
 May Keating looked bored. She did not care for young 
 Mrs. Trelway or for her manner of talking; not that she ob 
 jected particularly to her reckless allusions to things com 
 monly supposed to be avoided in polite society, but because 
 she did not like the woman. Possibly it was due to the fact 
 that she was considered so very brilliant, possibly because 
 she had the faculty of carrying men by storm, and of doing 
 as she pleased generally, but who can divine the hidden 
 causes of feminine aversions ? The two young women dis 
 liked each other so cordially they invariably sought one an 
 other s company. 
 
 [105]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 On account of this feeling of antipathy, Mrs. Trelway 
 took especial delight in embarrassing Will Ganton and mak 
 ing him appear at a disadvantage. 
 
 " You have n t answered my question, Mr. Ganton," 
 she insisted maliciously. " Would n t a woman rather have 
 the kiss 
 
 " Really, Carrie," interrupted May Keating, indifferently, 
 "don t you think you are in a better position to answer that 
 question than Mr. Ganton ? " 
 
 " Why, that depends, as Mr. Ganton is so fond of saying, 
 upon the extent and variety of his experiences. We all 
 know," she continued brutally, "that he has been drunk and 
 sober often enough to find out, but perhaps he lacks the 
 courage in either state." Again she laughed, this time sneer- 
 ingly, and Will Ganton began to feel ill at ease and angry. 
 
 "The question is not the courage of the man," said May 
 Keating sharply, "but the desire of the woman; and I am 
 afraid, Carrie, you are the only one of us who can speak with 
 authority." 
 
 " What rot! " and the heavy eyebrows drew a trifle nearer 
 together. " That sort of hypocrisy makes life a burden ; in 
 another moment you will all be protesting you have never 
 been kissed, and don t want to be. What do you think of 
 these petit es demoiselles, Mr. Ganton ? Are they not charm 
 ing in their naivete? What a pity their fresh innocence 
 should be subjected to the vicious atmosphere of this de 
 praved Club, where they are so sure to hear things that will 
 shock them; or is it possible they have come to this horrid 
 place to be shocked ? " and she poured out a stream of witty 
 and ironical remarks which convulsed her companions. 
 Even May Keating was amused; Will Ganton alone failed 
 
 [106]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 to see anything to laugh at, and was sure that in some way 
 he was the butt of her wit. 
 
 As the little group separated to get ready for dinner, he 
 stood for a few moments with May Keating. 
 
 " I can t see what you all find to laugh at in the stuff she 
 gets off," he said by way of protest. 
 
 " Oh, she has a sharp way of putting things." The tone 
 of the response exhibited the indifference of the young woman 
 to anything Mrs. Trelway might say. 
 
 " Too infernally sharp to suit me, always poking fun at 
 some one, I don t like her," and he went on in an injured 
 manner as if May Keating were partly to blame for his fan 
 cied humiliation. 
 
 "She was not referring especially to you; she was ridi 
 culing us : could n t you see that ? " A slight accent of impa 
 tience could be heard in her voice; there were times when 
 Will Ganton seemed positively dense, and that was a trait 
 May Keating could not tolerate, for stupidity grated upon her 
 nerves like the filing of a saw. She sometimes said to her 
 sister, " I can t stand it, I can t stand it ; I shall fly to 
 pieces some day, I know I shall." Mrs. Jack always tried 
 to sooth her by dwelling upon Will s good qualities, his un 
 failing good nature, his generosity and kindness of heart. 
 
 " Yes, those are the qualities that go with stupidity," she 
 answered once, "the brilliant man is never good-natured, 
 kind, or generous except by fits and starts. If he were he 
 would be commonplace, and not brilliant." 
 
 It was when they were in the company of clever people 
 that Will Ganton showed to the greatest disadvantage. He 
 was not bright, he was not witty, and he was neither well 
 read nor well informed. W r ith his own companions he was 
 
 [107]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 a good fellow and well liked ; in society he was considered a 
 trifle heavy, and never, save by accident, was he placed next 
 the guest of the occasion. What a contrast between him and 
 Larry Delaney, who could rise or sink to any level of con 
 versation with facility, who could meet even Mrs. Trelway 
 on her own doubtful footing, and come as near reducing her 
 to silence as any living being. 
 
 At dinner Will Ganton had Mrs. Range Salter on his 
 right and her daughter on his left; immediately opposite were 
 Mrs. Trelway and Delaney, a combination he dreaded. 
 When he saw Mrs. Trelway take in Mrs. Range Salter and 
 her daughter at a glance, then look at him and whisper some 
 thing to her companion who nodded his head and laughed, 
 Will felt sure there were uncomfortable moments in store 
 for him, with May Keating too far away to help. 
 
 Mrs. Salter greeted him with marked cordiality. 
 
 "W r hy haven t you been to see us, Mr. Ganton," she 
 asked, with as much of a look of grieved resentment as her 
 round, plump face could express. 
 
 " I have been so so very busy," he stammered, suddenly 
 remembering he had not been near them since their dinner 
 at the Club. 
 
 "But I have seen you very often at the Club with others," 
 she insisted, with an arch look. Mrs. Range Salter, like 
 many short and plump women, was apt to forget she was 
 no longer a girl. 
 
 "Why, mamma," interrupted her daughter, "if Mr. 
 Ganton has been busy, that is surely a good excuse." It was 
 said so sweetly, Will Ganton looked at her gratefully and felt 
 all the more guilty. 
 
 " I shall come and see you at once," he said with the 
 [108]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 emphatic earnestness of a man who knows he has neglected 
 a social duty. 
 
 " If you really wish to see us you will have to come very 
 soon, for we are going away next week;" and Julia Salter 
 smiled as all young girls smile when they talk of holiday trips. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he asked with sudden interest. 
 
 "To Manchester-by-the-Sea." 
 
 " For the summer ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; only for August. Then perhaps to the White 
 Mountains, though we may come home if papa cannot join 
 us. He says there may be a strike, or something of that kind, 
 and if there is he will have to remain in Chicago. Do you 
 think there will be a strike, Mr. Ganton ? " she looked up at 
 him as if he knew all about the matter, and he felt flattered 
 at this confidence. " Oh, dear, I hope there won t be," she 
 continued, without giving him a chance to reply, " for papa 
 has taken no vacation for three years." 
 
 " My father has never taken one," he said. 
 
 "Never taken a vacation! " she exclaimed, her eyes wide 
 open. "I think that is just awful. Don t you believe in 
 vacations, Mr. Ganton ? " and again she looked up at him 
 as if his opinion would be quite conclusive. 
 
 "I should say so. I think a man works better after a 
 little play." He looked down at her patronizingly, as if the 
 cares of the industrial state rested heavily on his shoulders. 
 " But I don t see why you should need a vacation, you do not 
 work," he continued lightly. 
 
 " Oh, but I have ever so many things to do. I am busy 
 from morning to night ; ask mamma. " 
 
 "What is that, Julia? " asked Mrs. Salter, turning from 
 the man next her, who was beginning to look bored. 
 
 [109]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " Mr. Ganton thinks I have nothing to do, and I told him 
 to ask you if I m not busy from morning to night." 
 
 "You have no idea, Mr. Ganton, how much the dear 
 child does," exclaimed Mrs. Salter, with all the enthusiasm 
 of a mother describing the merits of a marriageable daughter; 
 and she proceeded to tell that Julia could sew a little, cook 
 a little, and keep house. " I believe in teaching young girls 
 how to keep house, so they will not be dependent on their 
 servants when they are married." 
 
 He knew Mrs. Trelway was taking in every word, for Mrs. 
 Salter did not lower her voice in describing the accomplish 
 ments of her daughter. 
 
 "How perfectly delightful!" Mrs. Trelway interrupted 
 in a clear loud voice. " What an accomplished wife Julia will 
 make, Mrs. Salter! Now if she can only play and sing a 
 little, and paint a little and bind books, she is a paragon. 
 May," she called down the table, "you should hear this list 
 of accomplishments. Can you sew ? I can t mend even my 
 own stockings, to say nothing of poor Billy s socks." 
 
 Mrs. Salter was furious, but she did not quite know how 
 to resent the cool impertinence of the young woman who 
 was leaning on her elbows and playing with a flower as care 
 lessly and indifferently as if her remarks were of the most 
 casual nature. 
 
 "Really," Carrie Trelway continued in the same tone, 
 "I think mothers ought to furnish prospective suitors with 
 printed lists of their daughter s accomplishments, don t you, 
 Mrs. Salter ? " 
 
 "It would be more to the point to furnish lists of their 
 disagreeable qualities, Mrs. Trelway," was the angry retort. 
 
 " Why, yes, if not too long, a very happy thought, or, 
 [110]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 better still, a list of vices. I m sure every man would rather 
 have a list of a woman s vices than of her virtues. Is n t that 
 true, Mr. Ganton ? " Under the bold, straightforward look 
 of Mrs. Trelway s dark eyes Will was so confused he could 
 only stammer, 
 
 " It depends " 
 
 " Precisely. I agree with Mr. Ganton perfectly his 
 views are always so interesting," she ran on ironically. 
 
 "You should have heard, May," May and the entire 
 table had heard everything. "We all think mothers should 
 compile and print a list of their daughters vices as well as 
 virtues." 
 
 "With due regard to postal regulations," interrupted 
 Delaney, softly. 
 
 "And hand them to prospective suitors," she continued, 
 noticing Delaney s remark only by hitting him in the face 
 with the flower in her hand. 
 
 "Some might never get married, Mrs. Trelway, if that 
 custom were in vogue." Mrs. Salter was still angry. 
 
 " I dare say, but who knows ? Men are such queer 
 creatures, they seem to prefer vices to virtues. Take Mr. 
 Salter, for instance." 
 
 " I will thank you to leave Mr. Salter out of the discussion, 
 Mrs. Trelway." Mrs. Range Salter s cheeks were getting 
 just a little white, and Delaney could see an explosion was 
 imminent. 
 
 "That s fair," he interrupted. "Suppose you use Billy 
 by way of illustration. What would he have done if he had 
 had " Delaney hesitated. 
 
 " If he had had a list of my vices," exclaimed Mrs. Trel 
 way, coolly, " he would have been more madly in love than 
 
 [111]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 ever. As it is, he loves me for the few he has discovered. He 
 has never tried to find out my many virtues, a man never 
 loves a woman for her virtues," she added with conviction. 
 
 Julia Salter was listening with both ears wide open. She 
 had often met Mrs. Trelway, but had never heard her talk, 
 and all these queer notions came so much like dashes of cold 
 water that she caught her breath at every third word. 
 
 Slafter, McDuffey, and a party of men in red jackets, at 
 an adjoining table, soon became as boisterous as men usually 
 become under the influence of golf and whiskey. As their 
 disputes waxed warm and their hilarity ran high, Mrs. Range 
 Salter began to have misgivings about her wisdom in permit 
 ting her daughter to dine at the Club. But the daughter was 
 greatly diverted by the men in the red coats. Later, when 
 Slafter got up not without difficulty and proposed the 
 health of the prettiest girl in the room, she blushed, for she 
 felt sure he meant her, he had looked so directly at her. 
 The shouts of "Hear! hear!" which greeted the toast, and 
 her daughter s red cheeks, quite convinced Mrs. Salter she 
 had made a mistake in coming. 
 
 " How those men act, Mr. Ganton ! " she exclaimed appre 
 hensively, "I do hope they are not drunk," and her round, 
 plump face betrayed the anxiety she felt. 
 
 "They re all right," he answered reassuringly, "they re 
 a pretty noisy crowd, but they don t mean anything." 
 
 " Who is the man at the head of the table ? " Julia Salter 
 asked, with all the curiosity of a child, indicating Slafter. 
 
 "The man who proposed your health?" Will asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 " He did n t propose my health," she contradicted, at the 
 same time blushing violently. 
 
 [112]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 "You know he did," he continued mischievously, "for I 
 saw him look right at you, and I believe he nodded or some 
 thing of the kind." 
 
 "Why, Mr. Ganton, he did nothing of the kind. How 
 you can fib, mamma will hear you ! " By this time she was 
 covered with confusion and looked apprehensively toward 
 her mother. She was talking across the table to Mrs. Trel- 
 way, who was saying, 
 
 " From my observation, the young women of to-day know 
 more than their mothers and nearly as much as their fathers." 
 
 " I can t agree with you, Mrs. Trelway," said Mrs. Salter, 
 sharply. 
 
 " That is because you are not a young woman, Mrs. Salter. 
 Ask your daughter," was the curt response. 
 
 "There are some things my daughter does not discuss." 
 
 "With her mother, perhaps." 
 
 " With any one. I wish you to understand, Mrs. Trelway " 
 The dispute was becoming acrimonious, and Delaney again 
 hastened to intervene. 
 
 "I quite agree with Mrs. Salter," he said diplomatically; 
 " there are many things young people should not discuss " 
 
 " Should not, that s another thing," interrupted Mrs. 
 Trelway. "Mrs. Salter said they did not; I say they do. 
 Suppose we submit the matter to Miss Julia, since she is the 
 only one at the table who can tell us." 
 
 Julia Salter was again listening to the extraordinary de 
 bate; she was fascinated by the dark, penetrating eyes and 
 the heavy eyebrows of Mrs. Trelway, and felt sure she must 
 know all about what she was saying; and she knew her 
 mother was so hopelessly old-fashioned and stupid about 
 many things. 
 
 [113]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "Does Miss Salter look as if she were ignorant of any 
 thing ? " Mrs. Trelway gave a quizzical glance at the young 
 girl, who again blushed violently. 
 
 Delaney tried to divert his companion, and Mrs. Salter 
 was about to make a sharp rejoinder, when the room was 
 reduced to silence by Slafter, who straggled to his feet once 
 more with all the audacity of his condition, and called out 
 loudly, 
 
 " Mrs. Jack, we want to drink to the health of Mr. Jack. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 Without a moment s hesitation Mrs. Jack answered, 
 " At home ; he declined to come because you men are apt to 
 disgrace yourselves by drinking too much," 
 
 " Here s to the man who gets a drink 
 
 And lays it on his brother; 
 May he live and die of old age, 
 And never get another!" 
 
 was the maudlin response of Slafter as he waved his glass 
 high in the air, spilling half its contents on the red head of 
 little McDuffey. 
 
 By this time Mrs. Range Salter was so nervous she could 
 not remain quiet. " Don t you think we d better go ? " she 
 whispered to Will Ganton. He felt, himself, that it would 
 be just as well if the dinner could be brought to an end, and 
 apparently Mrs. Jack was of the same opinion, for she told the 
 waiter they would have their coffee on the porch, and giving 
 the signal, they all rose to leave; but they did not escape a 
 parting shot from Slafter who called out, 
 
 " Here sh to the departing stars who leave ush to grope 
 and drink in darknesh." 
 
 "I say, Slafter," said little McDuffey, admiringly, as he 
 [114]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 mopped the champagne off his head with a napkin, "you re 
 a poet." 
 
 When on the porch Mrs. Jack asked Delaney at the first 
 opportunity, 
 
 " What is the matter with Will to-day ? He is not at all 
 like himself." 
 
 "Lost some money in the market," Delaney replied 
 laconically. 
 
 " Very much ? " 
 
 " No-o. Forty or fifty thousand, more or less," was the 
 evasive answer. 
 
 "Surely, he would not feel that." 
 
 " He has no money of his own, and I fancy his father is 
 down on speculation, that is, on Will s speculating." 
 
 Mrs. Jack s face clouded over. " He ought to have sense 
 enough to keep on the right side of his father. What idiots 
 some men are!" 
 
 "Will Ganton needs a clear-headed wife to keep him 
 straight. The fact is, he s not strong enough to stand alone, 
 and the right sort of a wife would make a man of him." That 
 was Delaney s honest opinion, and more than once he had 
 told Will Ganton he ought to marry. Mrs. Jack was decid 
 edly of the same opinion, but she did not want her sister to 
 marry him if there was any doubt about his prospects in 
 life. From her point of view it was all well enough for a 
 clever woman to marry a dull husband, provided the husband 
 had sufficient wealth to offset his stupidity. 
 
 " Money is clever, so very clever," she often said. 
 
 On the train going back to the city Will and May Keating 
 sat together; but they had little to say. He was moody and 
 she quiet. It was a moonlight night, and as she pressed her 
 
 [115]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 face close against the window-pane and looked out upon the 
 fields and villages as they sped by, it seemed to her as if she 
 were looking out upon another world, a strange and unknown 
 world. Though she knew perfectly each little village flying 
 by in the silvery moonlight, they appeared like the ghosts and 
 shadows of reality in a land of dreams, her imagination 
 carrying her farther and farther away until in her flight she 
 had left the earth far behind. She was half asleep and 
 really dreaming, when the sound of Will Ganton s voice 
 rudely aroused her. 
 
 " I say, May, you re not very talkative this evening. 
 Perhaps you d rather have some one else sit here." This 
 was said in a tone that irritated her almost beyond endurance. 
 
 " No ; I don t see why you say that. I was looking out 
 the window ; it is a lovely night. " 
 
 " That may be, but I can tell you I have had a deucedly 
 disagreeable evening. " 
 
 " Why, I thought you were having a delightful time with 
 Julia Salter." 
 
 " She s all right mighty pretty girl ; but I can t 
 stand that Mrs. Trelway." 
 
 " No, so you said. " 
 
 " She thinks she is so very clever." 
 
 "She is clever." 
 
 " Well, I don t see it, unless making other people mighty 
 uncomfortable is being clever." He warmed up as he re 
 called his injuries. 
 
 She made no answer; there was nothing to be said. 
 They relapsed into silence. The matter, however, followed 
 a devious path through his brain, and he suddenly ex 
 claimed, 
 
 [116]
 
 A Dinner at the Golf Club 
 
 " May, you ought to marry a clever fellow like like 
 Delaney." 
 
 "I do not care for Mr. Delaney." Her tone betrayed the 
 irritation she felt. 
 
 "I don t mean Delaney himself," he hastened to add, 
 " but some one as bright as he is." 
 
 " Clever people are not the easiest to get on with, as you 
 might imagine from Mrs. Trelway s case." 
 
 " Gad ! " he exclaimed, " I would not be in Billy Trelway s 
 shoes for a fortune." 
 
 " Nor I in the shoes of a Mrs. Delaney," she added, smiling. 
 
 There was something in her manner that lent him con 
 fidence and restored his good humor. For the moment he 
 forgot his losses, the dinner, and even Mrs. Trelway with her 
 unflinching black eyes and heavy eyebrows ; he only remem 
 bered he was seated by the side of May Keating, and that 
 every one seemed to take it for granted he alone had the right 
 to sit with her. 
 
 " Do you think you could marry a man who is not clever ? " 
 he asked in a tone that she knew implied more than the mere 
 words. She hesitated; she knew the question would come 
 sooner or later, but she had not expected it in that form. 
 Yet it was the very thing she had been asking herself for a 
 long time, " Can I marry a man who is not clever, who is, on 
 the contrary, dull and heavy ? Can I do it ? " Suddenly 
 she found herself in a corner where she must answer, and she 
 could not ; she could not bring herself even to say that she 
 might; that, she knew, meant she would. Still, she knew 
 she should not say no. 
 
 " Really, " she hardly knew how to get out of the pre 
 dicament, "that question will never arise." 
 
 [117]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 "Yes, it will," he doggedly persisted; "tell me, May, do 
 you think you could marry a man as dull and stupid as 
 he hesitated, only to blurt out, " as stupid as I am ? " 
 
 There, he had said it. He did not look up at her, but he 
 noticed she grasped the fan lying in her lap so tightly that 
 she broke one of the sticks, and he wondered what that 
 meant. It seemed a long time before she replied, so long 
 he began to think she had not understood, and was on the 
 point of asking again, when she replied slowly in a low voice : 
 
 "I think I could." 
 
 "And that means you will, May? " he asked eagerly, for 
 he began to be filled with delight at the thought of really 
 winning and having as his own the beautiful girl by his side. 
 
 "Yes," she answered; this time with an accent of de 
 termination, as if her mind was made up, and there was no 
 longer any use debating the matter. 
 
 When he sought to look into her eyes to confirm his hap 
 piness, she turned and once more pressed her face against 
 the window; but though the moon was still gorgeously 
 bright, its silvery beams fell upon grim reality, the dirty streets 
 and alleys, and the wretched hovels of the outskirts of the 
 great city. 
 
 [118]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF JEM KEATING 
 
 FOR some days Will Ganton worked in his hot, stuffy 
 office at the Yards as he had never worked before. 
 He carefully avoided his father, spending his nights at 
 the Golf Club. He took an early train into the city, and fre 
 quently remained at his desk until six or seven. He knew 
 that soon or late he would have to tell his father about his 
 losses and his indebtedness to the bank, but to his surprise 
 he found he felt less hesitation about speaking of his financial 
 troubles than of his engagment to May Keating. He and 
 she had agreed to keep the engagement secret for a time; 
 for some reason she did not care to have it announced, and 
 he much preferred to tell his father in his own way ; though 
 why he should hesitate he did not know, for the question of 
 his marrying had never been discussed by them. The en 
 gagement, however, was noised about, not as an admitted 
 fact, but as one well authenticated. Mrs. Jack took pains 
 to tell two or three of her intimate friends, " quite confiden 
 tially," and each of these friends had her circle of intimates 
 who were also pledged to strict secrecy, so everybody knew 
 all about it within a few days. 
 
 Browning was delighted with Will s devotion to duty. He 
 called him up two or three times a day, partly on matters of 
 business, but also to see if he was still at work. 
 
 " Keep this up," he said one day, " and your father will 
 give you anything you want; he is a different man here at 
 the office." 
 
 [119]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 That was true. The reports that his son was doing more 
 than his share of work so pleased old John Ganton that he 
 even joked with the office-boy when he came down mornings, 
 and as for Stenographer No. 13, when she looked tired and 
 sick one hot afternoon, he insisted she must take a holiday, 
 and gave her tickets to Lake Geneva for herself and her mother. 
 
 " Browning," he said, " the boy is all right. He can work 
 if he wants to, and he has a good head on him. The trouble 
 has been too much society; it 11 spoil any young man." 
 
 He stopped Allan Borlan on the street, and exclaimed in 
 a friendly manner: "Well, young man, how are you getting 
 on with your strike ? I guess I spoke a little roughly the 
 other day." 
 
 "Yes, you did, Mr. Ganton," was the firm response, 
 " and I felt hurt ; but I care less about that than about the 
 act that you and the other packers are forcing this strike 
 on us just because we will not put up money." 
 
 " Well, well, Allan, you 11 live, and in time you 11 learn 
 it s better to do as others do. The world was n t made in 
 a day, and it can t be changed in a minute. Any time you 
 care to come in and take your chance with the rest of us, 
 I 11 do what I can for you," and the burly form of the old 
 man disappeared up the steps of the bank. 
 
 Saturday night Will Ganton went home, and on Sunday 
 morning he met his father at breakfast. 
 
 " Well, young man, where have you kept yourself lately ? " 
 was the gruff but cordial greeting as Will entered the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " At the Golf Club mostly, where it s a little cooler than 
 in the city," he replied. 
 
 [120]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 " When I was your age I had no chance to look about for 
 cool spots to sleep. The city s cool enough for me now, 
 and ought to be for you." The old man had little sympathy 
 for the tender sensibilities of the rising generation. " The 
 hotter the day the faster a horse will trot, and the same s 
 true of a man," he invariably said when any of his employees 
 complained of the heat, adding sometimes: " It s all right to 
 look out for the cattle, but the men can look out for them 
 selves. I ve had to all my life." 
 
 " How are things at the Yards ? " he asked abruptly, with 
 out raising his eyes from the paper spread out on the table 
 before him, and at the same time munching loudly a piece of 
 toast, and drinking his coffee with a disagreeable sucking 
 noise. As far back as Will could remember his father s 
 breakfast had been the same ham and eggs and coffee and 
 toast, with old-fashioned, black buckwheat cakes in the win 
 ter. Nothing roused the anger of John Ganton more than to 
 hear people talk of coffee and rolls in the morning, and break 
 fast at twelve o clock. "That may do for a frog-eating 
 Frenchman, but not for an American who does a day s work 
 before the rest of the world is up. You might as well try 
 to get a head of steam by feeding a boiler with a handful of 
 shavings. Stoke a man as you do a furnace and you 11 get 
 the power; that s my motto." 
 
 "Things are rushing. Is there anything in this talk of 
 a general strike ? " Will asked the question in a tone of 
 assumed indifference. 
 
 "Maybe there is, and maybe there is n t," his father 
 chuckled. " Borlan s tied up." 
 
 " Yes, and they say we shall all be tied up by the first of 
 the month." 
 
 [121]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " Well, in what shape will you be for a tie-up ?" The old 
 man looked up shrewdly. 
 
 " Pretty good, if we rush things for the next two weeks as 
 we have these last two." 
 
 "Then we don t care whether there is a strike or not. 
 That s the shape to be in always," he said, bringing his big 
 fist down on the breakfast-table so hard that the dishes 
 jumped. "Never let the factory stop when the warehouse 
 is empty; just keep that in mind, and you won t go wrong. 
 We shall be ready for a tie-up in two weeks." 
 
 "But I thought you said in May, when the schedules 
 were signed with the unions, that there would be no strike to 
 amount to anything for a year." 
 
 " So I did, so I did, my boy; but conditions have changed. 
 The teamsters propose to break their agreement, and we want 
 them to. The action of Austria has affected the demand 
 for products so that a shut-down is necessary to keep up 
 prices." 
 
 " What is an agreement with the unions good for if they 
 break it whenever they please ? " 
 
 "Not worth the paper it is written on. What is any 
 agreement good for where one of the parties is an irrespon 
 sible and unscrupulous body, managed by a lot of rascals 
 ready to sell out to the first bidder? What do the unions 
 care for their agreements ? Not a picayune. All the agree 
 ment is good for is to enable the leaders, after we have paid 
 them their price, to keep the men in line by talking about the 
 sanctity of the obligation, and all that sort of stuff. Then 
 the papers sing the same tune, and praise the unions for 
 living up to their agreements. Here s an editorial now 
 praising the leaders of the teamsters for trying to hold their 
 
 [122]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 men in line and make them live up to their contract with 
 us. 
 
 "Umph!" the old man snorted; "these leaders will go 
 on trying for two weeks, then they will order the men out 
 the day and the minute we tell em to, and the papers will 
 print a lot of twaddle about broken agreements." The 
 old man always read the comments of the papers on affairs 
 at the Yards with great interest; they amused him, as 
 if the press knew anything about what was going on in the 
 Yards, in that strange city within a city, that city of for 
 eigners, of interests, of powers and combinations, of crime 
 and mystery, which the laws of neither State nor Nation 
 could reach. Out there old John Ganton was more power 
 ful than the mayor, or the governor, or the president; he 
 could do things they could not; and whenever he felt dis 
 posed he could and did defy the law of the land with impunity. 
 Every attempt to reduce the Yards to subjection, to investi 
 gate them, to check unlawful practices, fell by the wayside 
 in council chambers and legislative halls, where "influences" 
 were felt. So the Yards flourished like the green bay-tree, 
 unrestrained. 
 
 Will Ganton felt that if his father had only taken him 
 into his confidence a little earlier, he would not have plunged 
 so heavily in the market. "All I can say, father, is I wish 
 you had told me sooner that there might be a strike." 
 
 " Why ? " The old man looked up quickly. 
 
 " Well, you see Will hesitated, for it was not easy 
 to tell about his speculations ; " you said there would be no 
 strike, so so I went into the market a little." 
 
 " Been speculating, eh ? " This time there was no mis 
 taking the anger of the old man. His voice lowered itself 
 
 [123]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 almost to a growl, and the veins were turgid beneath the 
 cleanly shaven skin. "Been speculating, eh?" he repeated 
 slowly. " What have I told you ? Have n t I told you to 
 keep out of the market ? Men fatten off just such fools as 
 you are." 
 
 Will flushed at his father s harsh words. He was on 
 the point of making an angry retort, but he bit his tongue 
 and kept silent. For a moment his father glared at him. 
 Recovering a little from his first burst of anger, he asked 
 gruffly : 
 
 " How much have you lost ? " 
 
 Will gave him the figures and the amount of his indebted 
 ness to the bank. 
 
 " So ! And where do you expect to get the money ? " The 
 tone was cutting, but the flash of temper had subsided. 
 
 " I have no means of raising it, unless you will help me, 
 father." The accent of appeal was not lost on John Ganton, 
 and he relented. 
 
 "It is a good thing for the family that I have made a 
 little money in the market the last week or two, otherwise we 
 might find ourselves on the way to the poor-house. I will 
 make good your losses on certain conditions," he continued 
 sharply; " first, that you will give me your word not to specu 
 late again; and second, that you will give up your room at 
 the Golf Club, and attend steadily to business at the Yards. 
 Is it a bargain?" 
 
 Will was only too glad to make the promises; for the 
 time being he had lost all desire to get rich quick in the 
 market. Giving up his room at the Club came a little 
 harder, for it was pleasant to get away from the city and 
 out into the country on summer evenings and hot nights. 
 
 [124]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 Then, too, at the Club he was able to see more of May 
 Keating. 
 
 Not another word was exchanged at the breakfast-table, 
 but when they went into the long front room which the 
 architect on his plans called " the library, " and had filled with 
 as many bookcases as he thought the character of the room 
 required, John Ganton finished his papers; he wasted 
 no time on news that did not directly or indirectly affect 
 some of his many interests. Throwing the papers on the 
 floor, he turned to Will and said with as much affection as he 
 ever displayed : 
 
 " I ve been watching the way you have attended to busi 
 ness the last few days. I was beginning to think there was 
 nothing in you, and that I could make nothing of you, but 
 you are doing better. All you need is less clubs and less 
 society to make a good business man. Some day you will 
 have to take my place as the head of Ganton & Co., and 
 I want you to be good and ready when the time comes. A 
 little fun at your time of life may be all right now and then, 
 though I never knew what it was to drop business for pleas 
 ure; I got my fun out of my work, but you can t hang 
 around clubs, play golf, dine out every evening, and be fit 
 for business. You can t do that, and I know it. I have 
 seen too many likely young fellows spoiled by that sort of 
 thing. You ve got to make your choice of either work or 
 play, and the mixture is weak in proportion to the amount of 
 play it contains. This talk about a certain amount of play 
 being necessary is all bosh, and it encourages the idea that 
 work is drudgery. I tell you the successful man finds his 
 pleasure in his work, and a man can t be successful unless 
 he takes more pleasure in his work than in anything else. 
 
 [125]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 I can t make anything of your brother," the old man s 
 voice rang bitter, " he s no better n a bookworm ; but 
 it is in you to work if you buckle to it." 
 
 Will had never heard his father speak at such length, and 
 he looked at him in no little astonishment. 
 
 " One thing more, Will," the old man continued, com 
 pressing his lips tightly as if the subject were distasteful; 
 "it doesn t matter to me what girl you marry, so long as 
 she is honest. You will have money enough whether your 
 wife has any or not, and I do not propose to interfere; 
 but " he paused, and the lines of his mouth were drawn 
 still firmer " I hear you have been seen a good deal lately 
 with the Keating girls, with Mrs. John Wilton and her sister. 
 It probably does n t mean anything, but I warn you in time; 
 the less you have to do with them the better. If any son 
 of mine should marry a daughter of old Jem Keating, I d 
 cut him off without a cent." The old man s voice rose, and 
 once more the veins of his face swelled as if they would burst. 
 
 Will Ganton stood as if petrified. He had never heard his 
 father speak of Jem Keating, and this bitter prejudice was 
 a complete surprise. He had intended in due course, after 
 proving his diligence at the Yards, to tell his father of his 
 engagement. Up to that moment he had not dreamed of 
 objection or opposition; on the contrary, he had felt sure 
 his father would be only too glad to hear he wished to 
 marry and settle down. What should he do now ? Tell 
 his father? That was out of the question at the moment; 
 he must wait. It was some time before he could gather his 
 wits together, and then he said, in a low voice: 
 
 "Why, father, I did not know you were so down on Mr. 
 Keating. " 
 
 [126]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 "Down on him down on Jem Keating!" the old man 
 snorted, his anger rising with each word. " He s no better 
 than a common thief; there s not a drop of honest blood in 
 him, or any of his tribe. " 
 
 "That s rather rough on the family," Will protested. 
 " They are not to blame for any faults the father may have." 
 
 " It s all the same rotten blood. The son went to the 
 devil long ago, and the girls will go there too in their own way. 
 Look at the one who married John Wilton for his money. 
 I m told she s no better than a common 
 
 "Stop, father! I don t think it s exactly fair to say 
 such things about a woman behind her back. " 
 
 " If she were here I d say it to her face," the old man 
 bellowed ; " and I don t want you to stand up for her or any 
 member of the Keating family. The mother was a decent 
 woman, and she cried herself to death. The children are like 
 the father, not a decent hair on their heads. I want you 
 to drop em; I don t want to hear of your being seen with 
 em. There are plenty of women who will be mighty glad 
 to get you," he added grimly, " if not for your own sake, then 
 because you are the son of John Ganton. Just bear in 
 mind what I say! " and he left the room, slamming the door 
 behind him. 
 
 Will Ganton dropped into a chair by the open window, 
 hopelessly dejected. This bitter opposition was a bolt out 
 of the clear sky. He could not remember that he had ever 
 heard his father so much as mention Jem Keating s name; 
 but now that fact struck him as singular. Both men had 
 lived in Chicago nearly all their lives, and Keating had once 
 been prominent on the Board of Trade, though many years 
 before he had lost all his money. Of course his father knew 
 
 [127]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 him, and the fact that he never spoke of him showed there 
 must have been trouble some time or other. It all seemed 
 clear enough now ; but what should he do ? what could he 
 do ? Any day his father might hear of the engagement, 
 what then? Will Ganton was afraid of his father; from 
 a child, so long as he could remember, he had stood in awe 
 of the gruff, burly, stern-featured man who said so little 
 except when in a violent passion, and of whom every one 
 stood in terror no, not every one, for, oddly enough, his 
 brother John never seemed to fear their father, neither as a 
 child, nor later as a boy and a young man. John had once 
 or twice broken out in fits of anger, so violent that they 
 seemed to awe every one about him; but for the most part 
 he was silent, and apparently unmoved by things which 
 disturbed others. "A sulky little brat," his father said 
 during one of the boy s fits of temper, and left him alone. 
 
 When his mother entered the room she saw something 
 was the matter, and with all a mother s apprehension feared 
 there had been a scene between Will and his father. Hasten 
 ing forward, she asked nervously, 
 
 " What is the matter, Will ? " 
 
 " Nothing much." He tried to appear indifferent. 
 
 "Your father was here. I thought I heard his voice 
 way up stairs. What is the matter now ? " She laid her 
 thin hand gently on Will s shoulder, and looked into his 
 face, trying to read the truth. These scenes between father 
 and son were not frequent, but they never occurred without 
 filling her heart with apprehension. She feared some day 
 the rupture would be open and irreparable; that her boy 
 might be sent to some Western city, as had been often threat 
 ened, where she could not look out for him and care for him. 
 
 [128]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 Paying no attention to his mother s question, he asked 
 abruptly : 
 
 " Mother, was there ever any trouble between Mr. Keat 
 ing and father?" 
 
 " Dear me, why do you ask about that ? " She dropped 
 helplessly into a chair. " That was a long time ago. They 
 were once good friends, dear me, how long ago it seems ! 
 John was a baby, and Molly Keating used to come over. 
 What a good woman she was, we thought everything of 
 her " 
 
 "But," he interrupted, "what was the trouble between 
 father and Mr. Keating ? " 
 
 "Dear me," she repeated helplessly, "I don t know; 
 something about business. You know Mr. Keating failed 
 and lost all his money. They did say but I don t know. 
 I was so sorry for them, they were so poor. After she died 
 your father would not let me have anything to do with the 
 family. I have never known the children since they grew 
 up, but they say the girls are very beautiful." 
 
 "And so they are, mother," he exclaimed enthusiastically. 
 " May Keating is the most beautiful girl in the world." 
 
 " Is she ? I don t know. I have not seen her since she 
 was a child; but of course you know all these fine people, 
 Will. I am glad you do, but " her tone became appre 
 hensive " I would be careful. Your father would not 
 like it if he heard you knew the Keating girls." 
 
 " That s just it, mother. Why should he care ? What 
 have the girls done ? They are not to blame for anything 
 the father may have done." 
 
 "Of course, of course they arc not; but your father is 
 very much set against them. He vrould not let me see them 
 
 [129]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 after their mother died. I never dared disobey him, and 
 you do you know them very well ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 "Why, yes. That is," he stammered, "I have seen 
 quite a little of them." 
 
 "And was that what your father was angry about this 
 morning ? " she asked with quick intuition. 
 
 "Partly. He said some very mean things about the 
 family. I don t care about the father, I don t know him; but 
 the daughters, that s another thing. May Keating is the 
 finest girl I ever met." 
 
 "Why, Will dear, you are not in love with her, are 
 you ? " She looked straight into his eyes with so much 
 anxiety and so much affection that he could not hide the 
 truth. 
 
 " Yes, I am, mother. You would be in love with her too 
 if you knew her. Every one likes her," he continued with 
 the enthusiasm and exaggeration of a lover, " she is so hand 
 some and so clever much cleverer than I am." 
 
 " But your father what will your father say when he 
 hears of it ? " she repeated anxiously. 
 
 " I don t know. I did n t dare tell him." 
 
 "No, no; you must not tell him," she interrupted hur 
 riedly. "He would send you away. Perhaps you will get 
 over it," she added hopefully. 
 
 " I am not very apt to." He smiled at the absurdity of his 
 mother s suggestion. " I want you to go and see her," he 
 continued. 
 
 The suggestion struck terror into his mother s timid 
 heart; to fly in the face of her husband s absolute com 
 mands was something she had never done. 
 
 " Oh, I would not dare to, Will." 
 [130]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 " But you must for my sake, mother. You must call on 
 them. Father need not know." 
 
 " He would be sure to know. He knows everything, and 
 even if he did n t, it would be just as wrong." 
 
 "They are not to blame. They are women, and you 
 liked their mother. I want you to go and see them for my 
 sake; I want you to know May Keating. You need not go 
 right away, but by-and-bye, in a week or two. I want to tell 
 them you are coming to call. Will you go ? " 
 
 How could she resist the appeal ? Besides, might it not 
 be that her husband was unjust in his prejudice ? She 
 folded her thin white hands helplessly in her lap. 
 
 " I want you to promise me you will go, mother. I said 
 you were coming to see them. I did not know there was 
 any trouble. They expect you." 
 
 In the end there was nothing for her to do but yield. 
 Mingled with her desire to please Will was a curiosity to see 
 the young woman he loved. In fact, she persuaded her 
 self that it was her duty to see and know May Keating, 
 even at the risk of incurring her husband s anger. 
 
 The Wiltons lived on the North Side, in one of those 
 extraordinary houses, so common and conspicuous, wherein 
 the architect attempts to embody novel features in what pur 
 ports to be a more or less exact copy of some good original 
 to graft the nineteenth century on an earlier. 
 
 Wilton had spent a good deal of his money, and Mrs. 
 Jack all her ingenuity, on this house to make it one of the 
 "sights of the city," as Delaney irreverently put it. As a 
 girl, Mrs. Jack cherished the ambition to live in a house so 
 great that strangers would gaze at it; and she was no sooner 
 
 [131]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 married than she began to talk about building a house. The 
 modest rented place in which they first lived did not satisfy 
 her ambition at all. 
 
 "I did not marry you to live in a flat," she angrily ex 
 claimed once when they were discussing the matter. 
 
 " But, my dear ^Yilton urged mildly, for he soon 
 learned to dread his wife s outbursts of temper. 
 
 "I tell you I won t live here another year," she in 
 terrupted, her face taking on the unpleasant expression 
 he had never noticed before they were married, but 
 which was far from infrequent after. So the house was 
 built; he paying the bills, she attending to all the other 
 details. 
 
 The result justified the expectations of Mrs. Jack s 
 enthusiastic admirers; the house was indeed a marvel. 
 
 J. Bosworth "Wai worth, who lived next to the Wiltons, 
 and whose Colonial house was an excellent example of that 
 delightful type, wrote a long letter to the press, complaining 
 that people should be permitted to erect such monuments 
 of ugliness on public thoroughfares ; but the letter was care 
 fully edited before printed, and it appeared with a picture of 
 J. Bosworth Walworth and his own home as a mild protest 
 against poor architecture in the abstract, but with a glow 
 ing tribute to Chicago architecture in general, and J. Bos 
 worth Walworth s Colonial house underlined as the finest 
 example of its kind in the country. Mrs. Jack thought she 
 saw a flattering reference to her own Venetian palace, and 
 smiled so sweetly on J. Bosworth when next they met, and 
 referred in such complimentary terms to his literary skill, 
 that, on the whole, he was mighty glad his letter was not 
 printed verbatim et literatim, and even went so far, under the 
 
 [ 132]
 
 A Daughter of Jem Keating 
 
 influence of Mrs. Jack s permeating smile, as to compliment 
 her on the successful outcome of her efforts. 
 
 "If my house were only half so charming as yours, Mr. 
 Walworth," she said modestly. 
 
 "It is a palace beside my poor hovel," he replied mag 
 nificently. 
 
 " How good of you to say so ! I value the opinion of any 
 one who writes as you do," and she gave him such a look 
 from her expressive eyes that J. Bosworth thanked his 
 lucky stars and the discreet editor who had revised his 
 communication. Nevertheless there were moments when the 
 Venetian palace troubled him, and to his intimate friends he 
 said, "That style of architecture has about as much con 
 nection with America and American civilization as a Hindoo 
 pagoda, and it is as ugly and incongruous in Chicago as the 
 twenty-two story Masonic Temple would be in Venice." 
 
 Not content with displaying her originality and inde 
 pendence of tradition in the matter of Byzantine capitals 
 and Saracenic colonnades, Mrs. Jack, encouraged by her 
 complacent architect and a well-known Wabash Avenue 
 firm of interior decorators, chose a Louis Quinze salon, an 
 Elizabethan dining-room, and a library the wainscoting of 
 which was brought intact from an old house at The Hague. 
 John Wilton was relegated to a den, the hangings of which 
 were imported direct from Cairo, together with a smell 
 which no amount of smoking on his part could dissipate. 
 He had been made to understand he had the privileges of the 
 Louis Quinze salon only on state occasions, and that he was 
 not to take his friends into the panelled library; therefore, 
 when not at the club, he spent most of his time in a room in 
 the third story which, by some lucky chance, had been over- 
 
 [133]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 looked by the decorators. He surreptitiously installed a 
 billiard table and a few comfortable chairs, and spent many 
 an evening with equally homeless married cronies knocking 
 the balls about in a vain endeavor to convince themselves 
 they were having a good time. 
 
 "I say, Jack," one of them said one evening, "what s 
 the use of putting your money in a big house like this if you 
 have to spend your time in the attic ? " 
 
 "No use," was the laconic response. 
 
 " Then why the Old Harry did you do it ? " 
 
 " Could n t help it. . . . Your shot." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you let your wife pull you about by 
 the nose, like that ? " 
 
 " You have met Mrs. Jack ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then what s the use discussing the matter ? 
 Your shot." 
 
 "Well, I ll be" 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 " Why don t you perk up and be a man, run things your 
 self?" 
 
 "You know Mrs. Jack?" 
 
 " Of course I do. " 
 
 "Then what s the use? . . . Your shot." 
 
 That was about all his friends could get out of John 
 Wilton. What he really thought or how he really felt no one 
 knew. Yet he seemed to enjoy himself in his quiet way, 
 playing billiards up there under the roof. 
 
 [134]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ONE SUNDAY AFfERNOON 
 
 THE day was warm, but there was a cool breeze off the 
 lake when Will Ganton rang the bell and was ad 
 mitted to the hall of the " Mosque at Cordova," as 
 Larry Delaney had christened the Wilton mansion, to the 
 secret delight of Mrs. Jack. He gave his hat and stick into 
 the keeping of the sleek footman, whom he recognized as a 
 former employee of the Club, whence he had been discharged 
 for pilfering. He wondered how the fellow happened to get 
 into the service of Mrs. Jack. 
 
 There was no one in the library, but he heard loud shouts 
 and childish laughter in the den beyond, where he surprised 
 Jack Wilton and his little boy in the midst of a fierce pillow- 
 fight. The covering had been pulled from the divan, the 
 rare rugs were in disorder, a very antique Turkish narghileh 
 was overturned on the floor, and at the precise moment 
 Harold had his father down and helpless, pelting him with 
 Mrs. Jack s very best pillows. 
 
 " Dere ! " he exclaimed triumphantly, " oo are a wobber 
 and oo are beaten; now, oo are dead," and he gave the 
 helpless and panting " wobber " a blow on the head with the 
 biggest pillow he could lay his little hands on. He caught 
 sight of Will Ganton and ran toward him, shouting: 
 
 " Look, Mithter Ganton, I ve killed the wobber." 
 
 Just then the " wobber " came to life most unexpectedly, 
 and fired such a volley of hot pillow shots at his small as 
 sailant that the latter flew to Will for refuge. 
 
 [ 135 ]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 " Help ! help ! Milliter Ganton ; the wobber s turn to life ! 
 Hit him!" and with that both began throwing the pillows 
 back with great zest. The battle raged fast and furious, 
 until a crash and the sound of broken glass brought the 
 hostilities to a sudden pause. A flying pillow had brought 
 down a vase valued rather in proportion to the fabulous price 
 paid for it than for any obvious merits. 
 
 Will Ganton looked at the fragments in dismay, for many 
 a time had he heard Mrs. Jack relate the marvellous history 
 of that vase. John Wilton looked on phlegmatically. He 
 never did care for that particular vase; a "fake," he once 
 called it, and for three days he and his wife did not speak. 
 
 " What will mamma thay ? " Little Harold was frightened, 
 and his small voice trembled; he stood in great awe of his 
 mother. 
 
 "Never you mind, Major," said his father consolingly, 
 as he drew the little fellow to him, "it was n t your fault; I 
 did it. ... No," he said, looking at Will with a twinkle 
 in his eye, "no, it was Mr. Ganton who threw that pillow. 
 Suppose you and I go upstairs, youngster, and leave him to 
 settle with mamma. . . . Naughty man, to throw a pillow 
 and break mamma s precious vase." 
 
 " Did oo do it ? Mamma will scold." The little fellow 
 looked at Will as if he were sorry for him. 
 
 " Mamma won t scold him as badly as she would you and 
 me, so let s vamoose. " He grabbed up the boy and disap 
 peared beneath the portieres at the rear of the den before 
 Will could do more than call out, 
 
 " Look here, Jack, you don t mean to say - 
 
 " What does all this mean, Mr. Ganton ? W T hat has 
 happened ? " Mrs. Jack s face could not conceal the anger 
 
 [136]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 she felt when she saw the disorder. Before he could reply 
 she noticed the fragments of the vase; stepping forward 
 quickly she picked up a piece and spoke in a tone of such 
 fury that Will Ganton was startled. He had never before 
 seen her so angry. Her face took on the expression of some 
 vicious little animal. 
 
 "Who did that?" she demanded. 
 
 He did not wonder the other two had fled. He was glad 
 they were out of the room; the scene would have been 
 unpleasant had they remained. 
 
 " That s some of Jack s work, pillow fighting with 
 Harold down here where they know they have no business 
 to play. I 11 see ! " Her voice grew hard and threatening. 
 
 " I guess I threw the pillow that hit the vase, Mrs. Wilton," 
 he interrupted meekly. 
 
 " Oh no, you did n t, Mr. Ganton ; you need not take the 
 responsibility to shield them. I ve told them often enough 
 not to do this sort of thing." 
 
 " Anyway, I was in it, and it s likely I hit the vase, for I 
 was throwing that way." 
 
 With an effort Mrs. Jack kept her tongue between her 
 teeth ; she realized she was making an exhibition of herself. 
 
 " Oh, never mind ; it can t be helped," she exclaimed with 
 an effort to appear indifferent; "accidents will happen. . . . 
 Let s go into the library." 
 
 May Keating had spent part of the morning writing a long 
 letter to Mrs. Jarvis Townsend. Their friendship was one 
 of those intimacies which often spring up on short acquaint 
 ance between women. Unlike in many respects, there were 
 so many points of contact and sympathy that they felt drawn 
 
 [137]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 to one another from the moment they met; the friendship 
 really began one afternoon at the Casino in Newport, when 
 Mrs. Townsend noticed the futility of her husband s efforts 
 to make an impression upon the handsome Western girl. 
 May Keating s delightful poise and perfect self-possession 
 pleased the maturer woman of the world; she had not the 
 slightest hesitation about inviting her to visit them ; so their 
 friendship ripened. 
 
 It was not often they wrote one another; Gertrude Town- 
 send was a poor correspondent. " Letters are so ridiculous," 
 she said. "They are of no use except in the divorce court; 
 correspondence nowadays leads to co-respondents. The 
 telegraph is so much more discreet." 
 
 But now and then a woman must write a dangerous 
 impulse, as every man knows. On this particular Sunday 
 morning May Keating felt she must talk with some one 
 some one besides her sister, to whom she could not tell every 
 thing, so she wrote in part as follows : 
 
 "You are in Paris; that means you are in another world. 
 The distance between us cannot be measured in miles; you 
 have slipped out of my sphere, and for the time being are as 
 far away as if in some fairy-land beyond the clouds. 
 
 "I can see you lazily sipping your coffee in your room 
 mornings, half bored with the thought that the day must be 
 spent somehow and somewhere; that the evening must be 
 passed with some one, or two or more, for if with more than 
 one it matters not how many. I can see you breakfasting 
 at at where ? with with whom ? I cannot see the 
 face distinctly, as the fortune-teller says, but tall and dark, 
 I fancy; distinguished, I am sure. Again I can see you 
 driving in the Bois, slowly following the grand procession of 
 monde et demi-monde, gazing listlessly at the same rouged 
 
 [138]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 faces and chic toilettes that appear in the Grande Alice 
 season after season. Whence come these painted faces ? 
 How are their ranks recruited ? Do they never grow old ? 
 Do they never die ? The men one sees are seldom the same ; 
 they wither like leaves; they appear for a season to return 
 perhaps never again. But the women ? 
 
 " I can see you dining at the Chateau Madrid in a secluded 
 corner, at a little table for two, I hope the blind god is good to 
 you, with the soft shades of the candles lighting up your pale, 
 fascinating face. You are resting your chin in your hands, 
 and your elbows on the table looking him who is he ? 
 direct in the eyes, as you are wont to do when the eyes are 
 worth searching ; while he write me who he is yields 
 like a dove to the subtle power you exercise over all men you 
 care to look at twice. I can almost hear the strains of the 
 weird Hungarian dance. Does the big fellow in the red coat 
 still walk to and fro among the tables, playing his violin and 
 leading his band of players as if in a dreamy rapture ? 
 
 "Could the ingenuity of man devise surroundings more 
 seductive to the weak soul of woman ? Has not some one 
 called Paris Hell s gateway ? If you do not want my imagi 
 nation to picture you as behaving worse than you are, write 
 and tell me what you are doing, and with whom you are 
 driving and dining, for I am bored to death. I must have 
 some excitement. I feel like doing something desperate, and 
 were I in Paris instead of Chicago I should be ready for any 
 thing the Fiend might suggest. Here the few temptations 
 there are present themselves in a guise so coarse that a taste 
 at all fastidious craves virtue by contrast; no woman who 
 has any respect for herself can be tempted by daylight ; gas 
 light is common, electricity impossible only by the flicker 
 ing light of softly shaded candles, or by the pale silvery rays 
 of the moon, or where ten thousand stars make darkness 
 visible, does the Devil walk abroad in his most subtle moods. 
 Here they ask a woman to folly as one man invites another 
 to take a drink. 
 
 [139]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " What a school of vice your Newport is! Really it is a 
 post-graduate course to that University of Sin, Paris. Your 
 women are all so clever; your men such delightful fools, with 
 nothing to do but wear their motley for your amusement. 
 I would give all I have in the world to be able to spend my 
 summers in Newport. But alas ! what have I to give ? 
 No money, some reputation, but reputation is so soon 
 spent at Newport. How much virtue must a woman really 
 squander to be successful in your colony ? And once gone, 
 does the paste substitute which passes current meet all the 
 requirements of good society ? Tell me, that I may decide 
 where to go and what to do. 
 
 " A question equally serious: Shall I marry for money 
 for a whole lot of money? You know I would not marry 
 for a few thousands, or even for a million or two I have 
 too much sentiment for such a mercenary match; but every 
 sentiment has its price, and mine begins to yield at the pros 
 pect of many millions. What do you say my price should be ? 
 assuming the man to be neither attractive nor unattractive, 
 neither good nor bad, neither clever nor hopelessly stupid, a 
 negligible quantity socially. 
 
 " If I had my choice, but then, I have not, so what is the 
 use of speculating ? I must marry. Shall I marry for 
 money, and if so for how much ? Answer me quickly for the 
 opportunity is here, or rather will be here for luncheon, and 
 I may have difficulty in staying the bans until your reply 
 tells me what to do." 
 
 Adding a few lines more, she folded the letter and hurried 
 down to luncheon. 
 
 As Wilton came into the dining-room, he greeted Will as 
 cordially as if they had not met before that day. 
 
 "Why, Ganton, glad to see you." 
 
 " You need n t Mrs. Jack interrupted sharply, but 
 suppressed the angry exclamation that rose to her lips. The 
 
 [140]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 look she gave her husband was, however, far from reassur 
 ing; but he gave Will an almost imperceptible wink as he 
 took his seat, as much as to say, " You see, old fellow, I am 
 in for it," and thereupon relapsed into his customary silence, 
 this time to his wife s disgust. Strive as she might, the con 
 versation lagged. 
 
 Will Ganton was depressed by the unpleasant interview 
 with his father. May Keating, \vith the uncanny intuition 
 of a woman, divined that something was wrong, and felt sure 
 the trouble affected her; the luncheon was passing in mono 
 syllables. Mrs. Jack at length lost patience, and exclaimed 
 with some irritation: 
 
 " Well, if you people won t talk, but want to eat like a lot 
 of dummies, you may do so." 
 
 " It is not the hour of day for talking," her sister answered. 
 
 "Then why did you ask Mr. Ganton to luncheon if you 
 had nothing to say ? " was the sharp and rather tactless re 
 joinder. 
 
 " For the pleasure of his company. It is n t necessary to 
 keep talking continually, is it, Will ? " Strange, how hard 
 it was for her to call him by his first name. 
 
 " By no means," he answered quickly. " I should be 
 sorry if you treated me as company; besides," he added, 
 looking at Mrs. Jack with mock penitence, "I am in dis 
 grace." 
 
 "How what have you been doing?" May Keating 
 asked, looking up in surprise. 
 
 Up to that moment the broken vase had not been men 
 tioned, Mrs. Jack having carefully avoided the subject. 
 
 " Well, you see," he went on apologetically, " when I came 
 in I found myself in the midst of an awful battle between 
 
 [141]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 Harold and a big, burly, ugly, villainous stage robber. I 
 immediately took a hand against the robber and threw a 
 pillow which ought to have killed him, but instead it hit one 
 of Mrs. Wilton s most precious vases, and smashed it into 
 smithereens. How can you expect me to talk with a load 
 like that on my conscience ? " 
 
 "You don t mean to say you broke that iridescent vase! " 
 Wilton exclaimed in a tone of exaggerated surprise, mingled 
 with well -feigned regret. 
 
 " It s all right for you two men to make light of that vase, 
 but it was the most perfect example of its kind in America. 
 It came from the Dampur collection. And you broke it," 
 Mrs. Jack said threateningly, turning to her husband ; " you 
 know you did." 
 
 " My dear, Mr. Ganton says he broke it," Wilton protested 
 meekly. 
 
 "No, he didn t," she snapped, "you and Harold were 
 playing downstairs and you both know better. I have half 
 a mind to punish him for his disobedience. He is old enough 
 to know better." 
 
 A look of pain and anxiety passed over John Wilton s 
 face; he feared his wife in her anger might punish the little 
 fellow in order to reach him, so he hastened to say: 
 
 "It was not Harold s fault, Sally; he did not want to 
 play." That was a fib. " I began it, and just as Will came 
 in I knocked the vase down." 
 
 "That sounds more like the truth," she commented 
 sharply. 
 
 " But it is n t," Will Ganton protested. " I took a hand 
 in the fight, myself, and have n t the slightest doubt I threw 
 the pillow that hit the vase." 
 
 [142]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 "What difference does it make?" May Keating inter 
 rupted in a tone which expressed her weariness with the dis 
 cussion. " The vase was broken accidentally ; it is no one s 
 fault. Why not let the matter drop ? " 
 
 "But they knew better than to play," Mrs. Jack per 
 sisted, as if personally aggrieved. 
 
 " Suppose they did ; we all know better than to do many 
 things we do do," was the pointed rejoinder. "If you say 
 much more Jack and Mr. Ganton will replace the vase, 
 these unique examples are always in the market, at a price." 
 
 When her sister spoke in this tone of scarcely veiled irony, 
 Mrs. Jack was always just a little afraid, so she changed the 
 subject. 
 
 When they were alone in the library after luncheon, May 
 Keating scrutinized Will Ganton closely. A delightful 
 breeze came through the open windows, blowing the filmy 
 curtains out into the room; the furniture wore its summer 
 covering of chintz, the pattern of which was rather loud. 
 
 "What a lovely afternoon," he said, as he stood with his 
 hands in his pockets, looking out of one of the windows. 
 
 "Yes," she assented shortly, knowing perfectly well his 
 mind was no more on the weather than it had been on the 
 luncheon; but she waited for him to speak. There was a 
 long pause, during which he fidgeted about. Withdrawing 
 his hands from his pockets he played with the cord to the 
 shade, tying it into many little slip-knots, then with a sharp 
 jerk undoing them. 
 
 "I say, May," he exclaimed, turning toward her, but 
 still standing by the open window, "my mother says she is 
 coming to see you and Mrs. Jack very soon." She noticed 
 that he hesitated a little before he said "very soon," and she 
 
 [143]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 knew just as well as if she had been present and heard the 
 conversation between mother and son that some objection 
 had been urged, that some obstacles had arisen; that, for 
 some reason, Will had difficulty in persuading his mother to 
 make this call. She wondered what the trouble was, but 
 merely remarked, 
 
 " You have told her, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is, I have told her that you are the loveliest 
 girl in the world, and that I love you." He continued to 
 fidget with the curtain cord. " I have not told her we are 
 engaged." 
 
 " Why not ? " Her tone was hard and peremptory, and he 
 felt confused, why had he not told his mother the whole 
 truth ? He felt guilty. 
 
 "Well you see May," he hesitated, "of course, she 
 knows she understands, so it was n t necessary* for me to 
 say it in so many words." He brightened up at this 
 thought. 
 
 "But why did you not tell your mother the truth di 
 rectly ? " she insisted, and her tone seemed to him still 
 harsher. " Is there any reason why she should not know ? " 
 
 "Why, you see, we were not going to announce it for a 
 time." 
 
 " Not formally, no, to avoid a lot of silly congratulations, 
 but you seemed very glad to tell Jack and my sister." 
 
 " Of course they ought to know." 
 
 "And most of my friends know." 
 
 "But I haven t told them upon my honor, May, I 
 have not said a word to any one about it. I can t imagine 
 how so many have managed to find it out." He looked 
 mystified. 
 
 [144]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 A faint smile hovered about her mouth at the earnest 
 ness of his protest. 
 
 "They know it, that is sufficient; the engagement is as 
 good as announced, and yet for some reason you do not tell 
 your mother. What is the reason ? " 
 
 "I tell you she does know, May; of course she under 
 stands." 
 
 " Does your father also know ? " she interrupted sharply. 
 
 " No no it would never do to tell him just now," he 
 exclaimed hurriedly, his voice expressing his apprehension 
 at the mere suggestion. 
 
 "And why not, pray? " she asked coldly. 
 
 " Why, you see, May," how often he began his explana 
 tions with those same words ! they irritated her, " father 
 is very peculiar. He expects me to devote all my time to 
 business,- and all that sort of thing. He s down on me for 
 playing the social game so much." 
 
 " So you do not dare tell him you have staked yourself in 
 this social game and lost?" Her lips were tightly com 
 pressed. 
 
 " Gad, that s about it, May," he said, relieved that she 
 should take this view of it. "To tell you the truth, I lost 
 some money in the market this last week, and when I told 
 him he came down on me pretty hard. He made me promise 
 not to speculate, to give up my room at the Golf Club, not to 
 go out so much, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 "When did all this happen?" she asked, wondering if 
 he was telling her the whole truth. 
 
 " This morning I told him about my losses." 
 
 "And you did not dare tell him about your gains? " she 
 asked, with an irony he completely missed. 
 
 [145]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "My gains?" he looked up surprised; "but I didn t 
 make any gains that s the worst of it." 
 
 " Yes ; that while you lost some money a mere baga 
 telle, I dare say you had gained a wife, a prospective 
 wife." 
 
 He did not know whether she was serious or making fun 
 of him, whether she was angry or not, and he was therefore 
 more than ever embarrassed. 
 
 " I did not dare, May. . . . Not yet; we must wait." 
 
 " How long ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 " Why, until until I get into the rut out at the Yards, 
 and show him I mean business." 
 
 "Very well," she said, so calmly that he congratulated 
 himself on getting out of an awkward predieament. He 
 went over and sat down beside her, and attempted to take 
 her hand in his. 
 
 Drawing back quickly, she said, " Don t you think you 
 had better sit over there ? " 
 
 " What is the matter, May ? " he asked in amazement. 
 
 "Nothing, only I should feel embarrassed if any one 
 came in and saw you sitting beside me, and trying to hold my 
 hand." She drawled her words, and looked at him through 
 her half-closed eyes with an expression he did not like. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. It s perfectly absurd. They all know." 
 
 "But they do not know that you do not dare tell even 
 your mother to say nothing of your father that you are 
 willing to play the lover here, but not at home. These 
 things they do not know, and would not approve if they did ; 
 therefore, if you do not at once take that chair I shall be 
 obliged to sit there myself." 
 
 He could see that she meant what she said. Without 
 [146]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 another word he changed his seat, feeling and looking very 
 foolish. At the same time he was dimly conscious she was 
 right; that until he had the courage to make their engage 
 ment known he had no right to ask favors. 
 
 They sat in silence; he hoping she would relent a little 
 and say something, while she looked bored. 
 
 "I have some letters to write," she remarked at last, 
 " and as we are to meet later at the Club for dinner, I will 
 ask you to excuse me. I dare say you will find Jack in his 
 billiard room, if you care to go up." 
 
 Without waiting for his reply she left the room. Angry 
 and chagrined, he had no desire to see Wilton; he stood a 
 few moments by the window undecided what to do. At 
 last, finding his hat and gloves, he hurried from the house. 
 He walked toward the Park, rapidly at first, more slowly as 
 his anger cooled. 
 
 It was so early in the afternoon that comparatively few 
 people were out walking; hardly any one he knew. 
 
 On reaching the Park he turned to the outer drive, follow 
 ing the broad concrete walk along the Lake. A host of con 
 fused thoughts chased through his mind. 
 
 Why had May Keating treated him so ? he kept asking 
 himself. Had he not done the best he could ? What dif 
 ference did it make whether he told his father one time or 
 another ? Had they not agreed not to announce the engage 
 ment ? . . And yet, every one seemed to know. Who 
 had told ? What an ugly expression Mrs. Jack had 
 
 when she was angry over the broken vase, and how sorry he 
 felt for John Wilton how sorry every one seemed to feel 
 for John Wilton ! He was such a good fellow, so quiet, so 
 gentle, so meek and unassuming, and so devoted to his boy. 
 
 [147]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Many even went so far as to say that if it were not for the 
 boy Mr. and Mrs. Jack would have separated long ago. 
 And he knew all these things, and yet he was in love with 
 Mrs. Jack s sister, and intended to marry her. 
 
 Could it be the two sisters were at all alike? He had 
 persuaded himself May Keating was different from her 
 sister, and had never so much as thought of her as the daugh 
 ter of old Jem Keating. That connection seemed altogether 
 casual; yet the two women were sisters, and daughters of the 
 one man. He could see that Mrs. Jack might be as like her 
 worthless father as a woman can be, and still maintain her 
 self in good society was it possible that he was blind to 
 the shortcomings of the younger sister, or that in the eyes of 
 others she, too, was a daughter, physically, mentally, and 
 morally, of her father? The thought was so objectionable 
 that he rejected it as beyond the range of possibilities; but 
 it came back to plague him. 
 
 He seated himself on the edge of the concrete which 
 divides the walk from the stones that slope down to the water ; 
 when he sat down there was not a soul in sight. His atti 
 tude betrayed his dejection; as he endeavored to think he 
 looked out upon the lake, his eyes unconsciously following 
 a steamer disappearing slowly in the northwest. While 
 he was trying to concentrate his mind upon the problem 
 before him, some small voice within was pertinaciously say 
 ing: "I wonder if that steamer is bound for Milwaukee! 
 Yes; it must be. It is an excursion steamer. No." and so 
 on endlessly, as if one branch of his mind were thinking of 
 one thing, and another entirely occupied with something 
 else, both clamoring for his undivided attention. And that 
 was always the way, it was so hard to think, to put his 
 
 [148]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 mind on one thing and keep it there, to exclude absolutely 
 all vagrant thoughts. The fate of himself and May Keating 
 became somehow inextricably mixed up with the destination 
 of the receding steamer: if that was really bound for Mil 
 waukee, then, but if it was not . . . how utterly ridicu 
 lous ! Once more he looked down at the stones at his feet, 
 and tried to think whether the two sisters were really alike, 
 and whether they resembled their father. Instead of coming 
 to a conclusion he noticed to his surprise that his left glove 
 was split between the first and middle fingers. This led him 
 to examine the right carefully the gloves had been pur 
 chased only the day before. " What rotten stuff! " he said to 
 himself. " I 11 take them back to-morrow," and as he put 
 them in his pocket, his mind returned to the all-important 
 subject, circling about it endlessly. 
 
 "I hear you are engaged, Mr. Ganton; permit me to 
 congratulate you." 
 
 He recognized the loud, clear voice at once, and turned 
 to find Mrs. Trelway behind him. He felt embarrassed, 
 as he always did in her presence, while a faint smile played 
 about her firm lips, and she looked him full in the face with 
 that bold, penetrating look he knew so well. Noting his 
 confusion, she continued : 
 
 "You do not seem very happy, sitting here alone and 
 gazing moodily over the lake. You look more like a jilted 
 lover. You you are not thinking of jumping in, are 
 you?" 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Trelway " He was about to attempt a 
 bit of sarcasm; but, ignoring his manner, she sat down 
 beside him and continued : 
 
 "After all, why not? Might not the lake be preferable 
 [149]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 to the sea of matrimony whereon so many risk and lose both 
 lives and fortunes ? Why do you marry, Mr. Ganton ? Why 
 does any young man with prospects in life marry ? " 
 
 She looked at him keenly, but now her tone was friendly 
 and her manner serious. 
 
 " For love, I suppose," he answered doubtfully. " Most 
 men marry for love, don t they, Mrs. Trelway P " 
 
 "In most countries, no. Why should you marry the 
 first woman who captivates your fancy? Why not the 
 second, or the third, or the tenth ? By what mark do you 
 recognize the divinely chosen one ? If you lived hi New 
 York or San Francisco, is it not certain some other appointed 
 one would be found at about this period of your life ? You 
 have arrived at the age when a man craves a woman - 
 usually a good many; some woman is sure to find you in 
 this susceptible condition, and gather you as a gardener 
 plucks the fruit about to fall. Why drop into the first apron 
 stretched beneath you ? Why not consider a prospective 
 alliance for life as coolly, calmly, and soberly as you would 
 the offer of a business partnership for a few years ? " 
 
 "Then you don t believe in love, Mrs. Trelway," he 
 said. 
 
 "Love, love, love!" she exclaimed impatiently. "What 
 do you know about love ? What do you mean by love ? A 
 bundle of impulses, most of them bad. You say you love a 
 woman ; you think now you are in love with the one woman 
 destined from the beginning of time to make you happy. I 
 tell you the love of the unmated man is simply the natural 
 craving for woman, not for a woman, but for the sex. If 
 you had gone to live elsewhere years ago, do you think you 
 would have wandered about the earth disconsolately in search 
 
 [150]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 of your present divinity, or that she would have waited for 
 you to come from the antipodes ? " 
 
 He could not help laughing at the extravagance of her 
 speech. 
 
 " Perhaps not; but I am not in Europe or Asia, and here 
 there is but one woman." 
 
 "Oh, bosh! There are a dozen, a hundred, who would 
 be glad to get you; most of them for your money, possibly 
 some of them for yourself women are such fools." 
 
 "But I don t want them." His tone expressed the 
 annoyance he felt. 
 
 "That is because you have not considered them. You 
 are like a small boy whose heart is set upon a pop-gun, when 
 everybody knows he will be just as crazy for a drum a Kttle 
 later. . . . Don t you like Julia Salter ? " she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Why, yes, a lovely young girl. I like her very much. 
 But why ? " he asked doubtfully. 
 
 " Well, if you were left to yourself and looked twice, you 
 would fall in love with her." 
 
 He laughed at the suggestion, but she continued: 
 
 "I could introduce you to a dozen girls, to say nothing 
 of anxious young widows, with any one of whom you would 
 be madly in love, with a little clever management. You 
 are ripe, and you don t know it; somebody is about to pick 
 you, and you don t know it," she added, with some of the 
 coarse frankness for which she was notorious. 
 
 He did not like what she said or her manner of saying it. 
 Yet he did not quite know how to resent it, for he felt she 
 was not trying to make fun of him. On the contrary, he was 
 sure she thought she was giving him good advice. 
 
 [151]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "It is none of my business, of course," she continued; 
 " but if I were you, if I were a young man in your position, 
 I would go about matrimony as I would the purchase of a 
 horse, and get the best I could for my money; and" - she 
 paused significantly "make sure of the breed." 
 
 This time the hard, cold ring in her voice was unpleas 
 antly obtrusive. 
 
 "Perhaps I am stupid, but I can t look upon marriage 
 as I would on a horse trade, Mrs. Trelway." He meant 
 by his tone and words to administer a cutting rebuke. 
 She only laughed and looked at him with her big dark 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes; you are stupid, Mr. Ganton. Most men are, but 
 you are stupider than the average." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, with all the resentment he could 
 express. 
 
 "But, like most stupid men, you are rather likable, and 
 really " she paused and held out her hand - " I do wish 
 you well." To his surprise he found himself taking her hand 
 in a most friendly grasp. "If you would only adopt the 
 horse-trade policy it would be so much better in the end." 
 She turned and walked away without giving him an oppor 
 tunity to reply. 
 
 He was at a loss where to go; he had expected to spend 
 the afternoon at the Wiltons and go with them to the club, 
 and now he did not care to return home. He was not in 
 the mood to go to one of his clubs. He even thought of 
 dropping out of the dinner, if he were only sure it would 
 pique May Keating, he would do so. As always happens, 
 he had reasoned himself into the attitude of the injured 
 
 [152]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 party, and so wished to have some revenge for the slight put 
 upon him. 
 
 In this mood he called at the Range Salters , fully intend 
 ing, if they invited him to dinner, to remain, or rather 
 to return, for it was still early. But the Salters were all out, 
 at least so the sleek-faced footman said, though the man 
 was probably lying. He was sure the Salters had seen him 
 coming up the steps, and he was quite certain he saw Mrs. 
 Salter s round face disappear behind the curtain of one of 
 the front windows. " Now that it is reported I am engaged, 
 they are not so anxious to see me," he thought to himself, 
 "that is where they make their mistake. I may not be so 
 much engaged after all," and he walked down the broad 
 steps of the Range Salter mansion feeling as if there were 
 eyes at every window to watch his discomfiture. 
 
 Now that he was possessed with the idea that somehow 
 he must find an invitation to dinner in order to show his 
 independence of Mrs. Jack and her entire family, he tried 
 the North wood Kings , where he had never called in his 
 life, notwithstanding several friendly and pressing invitations. 
 But they were out of the city, this time he knew the foot 
 man was not deceiving him, for the man came to the door 
 in a greasy, shiny alpaca coat and with dirty collar and 
 cuffs ; besides, the steps were thick with dust, and the papers 
 of several mornings were in the corner of the vestibule where 
 the newsboy had thrown them. 
 
 As he crossed over to Rush Street the idea occurred to 
 him to go and see Delaney, whose bachelor quarters were 
 not far from the water works. 
 
 A neat and pretty maid said she thought Mr. Delaney 
 was in, "Second floor front, if you please, sir." 
 
 [153]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 His knock at the door was repeated before it was answered 
 by a loud " Come in." Entering, he found Delaney stretched 
 at full length on the sofa, apparently just awakened from an 
 afternoon nap. 
 
 "Why, Ganton, is that you?" he exclaimed, sitting up; 
 "where the deuce did you come from? Sit down," and he 
 brushed the newspapers out of an easy-chair. 
 
 Will Ganton sat down, feeling not quite at home. He 
 had been in Delaney s rooms only once before, one afternoon 
 when the latter served tea to Mrs. Jack and a few friends. 
 The truth was, he did not know Larry Delaney very well, 
 no one did, and it struck him that he might be intruding. 
 
 "Sony to disturb you. I didn t know you were 
 napping." 
 
 " Of course you did n t; how could you ? I did n t know 
 it myself." Delaney s manner was so cordial, Will felt more 
 at ease and put his hat on the table beside him and leaned 
 back in the comfortable reclining-chair. Delaney s room 
 reflected the tastes and habits of its occupant; there were 
 shelves filled with books that were thumbed and worn, the 
 walls were decorated with foils and masks and boxing- 
 gloves which had seen hard usage, and there were one or 
 two emblems which Will did not understand and which 
 Delaney never troubled himself to explain. It was singular 
 that every one took it for granted Delaney was a university 
 man, but no one knew his alma mater. He never talked 
 about himself, perhaps because he knew that the atmos 
 phere of mystery made him all the more interesting. 
 
 "Thought you were lunching at the Wiltons ," he said 
 after a pause. 
 
 "So I was," Will Ganton answered shortly. Larry 
 [154]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 Delaney did not fail to note the young man s manner, and 
 suspected a lovers quarrel. 
 
 " It must be hotter than blazes in the sun," he remarked 
 casually, by way of changing the subject. 
 
 "Yes; but there is a cool breeze off the lake. I was 
 just up through the park, met Mrs. Trelway. " 
 
 "Ah!" Delaney appeared indolently interested. 
 
 " She s a queer woman," Will remarked, with emphasis 
 on the adjective. 
 
 " Rather an interesting woman. Don t you think so ? " 
 Delaney s manner was so indifferent, Will Ganton was sur 
 prised. 
 
 "I thought you two were great friends." 
 
 " Not great friends, just good or bad friends, as one 
 looks at it. A great social philosopher would probably hold 
 that a man and a woman may be the best of enemies, but 
 never good friends. Goodness is a quality not closely 
 allied to friendship between the sexes." 
 
 This was too deep for Will, for what he did not know 
 about philosophy would fill several volumes, and what he did 
 know about women could be compressed within the covers 
 of a very small primer. Be it said to his credit, he never 
 pretended to a knowledge he did not possess, but if anything, 
 was rather too quick to admit his ignorance. 
 
 " She s a queer talker, anyway," he remarked in a tone of 
 profound conviction. 
 
 " So few people nowadays say what is in their minds that 
 the frank expression of one s thoughts sounds queer." 
 
 "Gad, I should say so. A few more like her would 
 paralyze society. " 
 
 " Or galvanize it out of its moribund condition into life. 
 [155]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Who knows ? Society may need a few Mrs. Trelways to 
 get acquainted with itself, to see its own smirking countenance 
 as in a mirror, and thereby learn to be and look more natural." 
 Delaney had dropped back on the sofa, and with his legs 
 drawn up and crossed was looking at the ceiling, where he 
 detected a cobweb in process of manufacture near the window- 
 casing. " Mary Jane is a good looker, but a poor duster," 
 he thought to himself. 
 
 "For my part, I don t care to have my faults and failings 
 discussed at the dinner-table," Will Ganton answered with 
 the air of a man who had passed through some uncomfortable 
 experiences. 
 
 Delaney laughed. 
 
 "If she would pounce on you, then I might see the fun 
 in it," Will continued. 
 
 " We have had our moments of frankness, I guess we 
 understand each other." 
 
 "If I had your gift of repartee, Larry, I would get on 
 better." 
 
 "Oh no, you wouldn t," Delaney interrupted; "you d 
 lose half the friends you have. It is better to take things 
 in your good-natured way than to fight back. There is a 
 good deal of the Indian in women; they never forgive any 
 one who beats them at their own game. My position is 
 not unlike that of the Czar of all the Russias; I keep my 
 ascendancy by terrorizing, but may be blown up at any 
 moment." 
 
 There was a pause; Delaney knew there was something 
 on Will s mind besides Mrs. Trelway, but he was not a little 
 startled when the latter blurted out, 
 
 " I say, Larry, you know I am engaged." 
 [156]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 "Yes I" 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it?" 
 
 "I congratulate you, of course," was Delaney s hearty 
 response. 
 
 " I do not mean that. What I want to know is, what do 
 you think of it ? Am I the sort of man to marry May Keat 
 ing ? You know them so well, tell me what you think, hon 
 estly." 
 
 He spoke so earnestly, so appealingly, that Delaney for a 
 moment hardly knew how to reply. His assurance nearly 
 forsook him; for a second he was on the point of saying 
 frankly, " No, a thousand times no, my dear fellow, you are 
 not!" but recovering his self-possession he tried to evade a 
 direct answer. 
 
 "That is for you to decide; apparently you are, or she 
 would not have accepted you." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," Will muttered doubtfully; 
 "mighty few women marry for love, nowadays." 
 
 " More than you think," was Delaney s quiet interjection. 
 "To their sorrow, for the most part." 
 
 " Well, anyway, no woman is going to marry me for love," 
 rejoined Will in a hopeless tone. 
 
 " Why not ? " Delaney looked at his friend in surprise, 
 and could scarcely repress a smile when he saw the utter 
 dejection expressed in the latter s countenance. 
 
 " Because because I am the son of John Ganton, and 
 they think I shall inherit some of his millions. They may 
 get fooled on that score." 
 
 This time Delaney looked at Will more keenly as he asked : 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " 
 
 "No one will know where father s money goes until his 
 [157]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 will is read ; if he took it into his head to cut me off he wonld 
 do it in a minute." 
 
 " You have no interest in the business ? " 
 
 " Only some stock he gave me, but that has a string to it ; 
 I could not sell it without first offering it to him at a price 
 fixed. I say, Larry, do you think May Keating would care 
 to marry me if I were a poor man ? " 
 
 " Well, frankly speaking, my dear fellow, I do not think 
 she is cut out for the wife of a poor man ; or rather if I were a 
 poor man I would not run the risk of making two people 
 unhappy by marrying her. However, she is a strange girl, 
 with more fine qualities than her friends suspect, and she 
 might do anything with the man she loved." 
 
 " I guess I don t understand her very well," Will remarked 
 disconsolately. 
 
 "Then I would advise you to get acquainted with your 
 future wife before you are married. Many a man postpones 
 this important introduction until it is too late." 
 
 " I say, Delaney, how is it you never married ? " Will 
 asked his question so suddenly Delaney was quite taken by 
 surprise, and made no reply. He turned and looked out of 
 the window on the hot and dusty street, where the worn and 
 rotten wooden block pavement made it rough going for a 
 carette that was passing north : by a freak of fancy the street 
 changed to a broad boulevard, well paved and lined with trees, 
 the lumbering vehicle to a victoria, the limping horses to a 
 team of spirited bays, the fat and round-shouldered driver 
 with his battered hat to coachman and footman in spotless 
 livery, those within to He looked but he could not quite 
 make out who were in the carette, but the features of the 
 woman in the victoria were familiar, very familiar indeed. 
 
 [158]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 How singular he should recall this scene so vividly ; he thought 
 he had quite forgotten! There he was in Chicago, looking 
 out upon Rush Street from the second-story window of an old 
 red brick house, while by some subtle psychological process 
 the reality before his eyes was transformed to quite another 
 scene. As the rumbling vehicle disappeared, the victoria, 
 with its men in livery, and the woman whose features he so 
 well recalled, also vanished, and only the street with its rotten 
 pavement and swirls of dust remained. 
 
 " I say, Delaney " Will Ganton repeated. 
 
 "Yes; I know," Delaney interrupted with a trace of 
 impatience, "you were asking why I never married. That 
 is a long story, too long and boresome for a hot afternoon." 
 
 " Gad, I half believe you Ve been married," Will ex 
 claimed, with a sudden suspicion that his friend had been 
 keeping it secret. 
 
 "I wish I were," Delaney responded evasively, but with 
 an appearance of frankness quite disarming; "for then I 
 should not be keeping bachelor quarters in this miserable 
 hole. Let s go for a walk. I have not been out of the house 
 to-day." 
 
 But Will Ganton did not care to walk. He knew they 
 would be certain to meet some of their friends on the lake 
 front or in the Park, and he was not in the mood. So he left 
 Delaney at the door, and went down to the Club, where he 
 found two or three acquaintances with whom he spent the 
 remainder of the afternoon talking and drinking. 
 
 When May Keating went to her room she threw herself 
 down in a chair by the window, angry with Will Ganton and 
 angry with herself for being angry with him. She began to 
 
 [159]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 feel she had acted impulsively and foolishly, like a young 
 girl in love, like a hot-headed child, after all, what did it 
 matter to her whether he told his parents at one time or 
 another ? 
 
 She sighed wearily and looked out of the window; she 
 knew she ought to go back to the library, but she did not. 
 She watched Will Ganton go down the steps, and she felt 
 that it was all a blunder on her part, and that for once she 
 had not played her cards well. But the truth was, the 
 luncheon had bored her beyond endurance. To see him sit 
 at the table eating as stolidly as if they were already married 
 and in their own house irritated her: could she stand it day 
 after day and year after year? For that sort of humdrum 
 domesticity she was not cut out. She noticed that he bolted 
 his glass of water in great gulps, and swallowed his claret as 
 if it were beer; that his hands were large and his finger nails 
 short and stubby, and she wondered why she had never 
 before seen those short and stubby finger nails, and could not 
 help recalling Delaney s small but very strong hand, the 
 slender fingers, and perfect finger nails. Blood tells; the 
 blood of the butcher, of old John Ganton, versus the blood 
 of the adventurer; for who knew anything about Delaney s 
 antecedents ? 
 
 She noticed how he grasped his fork, how firmly he held 
 his knife far down the blade, and how brutally he used them 
 both as if they were the implements of his trade. He ate 
 so rapidly and so heartily; as if the luncheon, the food, the 
 satisfaction of hunger, were all he had come for. What 
 possessed her to suddenly note all these things, to his dis 
 advantage ? They had lunched and dined at the same table 
 a hundred times, and he had not struck her as essentially 
 
 [160]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 different from most men ; but now what had come over 
 her ? Was it the letter she had written Gertrude Townsend ? 
 Was it the thought of Paris with its thousand and one de 
 lightful places where people meet to make love under pretence 
 of eating ? She could not tell, but this was one of the days 
 when Chicago and all its people seemed to her crude beyond 
 endurance; when she longed to get away, somewhere, any 
 where, even into the country, where she would see no one. 
 
 She was subject to these moods; there were times when 
 life about her pressed with such exasperating familiarity that 
 she thought she would go wild. She had even walked beside 
 the Lake wondering if it would not be better to throw herself 
 in and end everything at times this idea had seized her so 
 strongly she would draw back startled at the almost over 
 whelming force of the secret suggestion. What had she to 
 to live for ? What promise of happiness did the future hold 
 out ? None, absolutely none : merely marriage with a man 
 she did not love, for the sake of money she did not care for. 
 Unlike her sister, she was not dependent upon money; she 
 could marry a poor man for love ; she could have married 
 but what was the use of thinking of that ; the dream of a sum 
 mer ? Unlocking a small drawer in her secretary, she took 
 out three or four unmounted photographs, small prints of 
 snap-shots made at the seashore, and as she looked at the 
 groups caught in holiday mood, at herself seated on the sand 
 beside a young man whose fine features betrayed no line of 
 coarseness or vulgarity, she recalled those precious hours 
 which sped so swiftly by fleeting seconds never, never to be 
 revived, and her eyes were wet with tears. Hastily locking 
 the photographs in the little drawer, she threw herself upon 
 the couch and sobbed like a school-girl. 
 
 [161]
 
 Ganton & Co 
 
 Later, when Mrs. Jack found that Will Ganton had left the 
 house, she went to her sister s room, feeling sure there had been 
 a quarrel of some kind. It was only after a series of search 
 ing questions that she learned the truth. She looked at her 
 sister, and said in a tone that did not disguise her exasperation, 
 
 "May Keating, you are a fool!" 
 
 "Perhaps I am; most women are fools. 
 
 "Here you are engaged to Will Ganton, the son of the 
 richest man in Chicago, and you quarrel with him because 
 he has not told his father quite as soon as you think the pro 
 prieties require. You are a fool ! " Mrs. Jack s anger was 
 rapidly rising. 
 
 "There is no use scolding about the matter, Sally." May 
 Heating s nerves were already at breaking tension. " I just 
 could not help it ; he irritated me so I could not stand it, and 
 when he as much as said he did not dare tell his father, it was 
 the last straw. Why should he be afraid to tell his father ? 
 What right would John Ganton have to raise any objection ? 
 Are we not as good as he is a common " 
 
 She was excited; her hands played nervously with the 
 covering of her chair. She was becoming hysterical; an 
 unusual thing for one ordinarily so self-possessed. Yet Mrs. 
 Jack had known her sister to walk the floor many a night in 
 the effort to quiet her overwrought nerves, and she hastened 
 to say soothingly: 
 
 "Never mind, dearie, it will all come right in the end. 
 You will see him at dinner to-night." 
 
 "I don t want to see him I don t want to see him," 
 she repeated, as she bent forward and covered her face with 
 her hands. "I can t marry him, Sally, what is the use? 
 I can t marry him, that is all there is about it." 
 
 [162]
 
 One Sunday Afternoon 
 
 Dismayed at her sister s tone of desperation, Mrs. Jack 
 put her arm about May s neck, whispering softly : 
 
 " There, there ; don t think anything more about it now. 
 You don t have to marry him to-day ; there is plenty of time. 
 You are tired and nervous; lie down and rest a while." 
 
 After persuading her sister to take off her dress and lie 
 down, Mrs. Jack left the room quietly. But May Keating 
 did not go to sleep, and there was no use trying. Whenever 
 she closed her eyes all she could see was the burly figure and 
 round, red face of old John Ganton, with his sharp eyes, his 
 big nose, and thick lips. Yes; Will Ganton would look like 
 him in time. He would be big and burly, and his face would 
 take on that look of brutal animal strength; but his eyes 
 were not the same. They were softer and milder, and his 
 mouth was weak; yes, any one could see he had a weak 
 mouth. He must have inherited his eyes and mouth from 
 his mother, for there was nothing weak about his father s 
 face. Men feared the father, but who would fear the son ? 
 Who could ever stand in awe of Will Ganton ? 
 
 She found herself asking these questions, repeating them 
 over and over, chasing the same thoughts around in a circle 
 with her eyes closed until she really did doze off. Father 
 and son became so confused in her mind that she thought 
 she had promised to marry the former; and she could see 
 his sharp eyes looking straight at her; his thick lips laughing 
 ironically, as much as to say: "Well, my girl, how do you 
 like me for a husband ? " Oddly enough she felt no repug 
 nance at the thought, for there was something fascinating 
 about the brutal strength of the coarse features, and the power 
 of the man appealed to her. She felt relieved to think that 
 after all it was the father she was to marry, and not the son. 
 
 [163]
 
 Ganton &; Co. 
 
 . . . On a sudden the expression of the old man changed ; 
 his face became purple with rage, he turned upon her as if 
 to strike her, his eyes blazing, his big lips parted as with an 
 oath, and With a cry of terror she jumped up. 
 
 She did not know John Ganton, and had never seen him 
 except at a distance. Was it possible that this vision of 
 hatred and rage was some subtle reflection from the weak 
 face of the son ? How could she have imagined it ? Where 
 could she have seen it ? 
 
 [164]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A GLASS OF WINE 
 
 ONE Sunday afternoon, if pleasant, is very much like 
 another at the Park Club during the summer: the same 
 young men playing tennis or boating ; the same young 
 people sitting about on the verandas and lawn, saying, no 
 doubt, much the same things, there is so little originality 
 about a club. Club conduct is substantially the same the 
 world over, threadbare subjects and threadbare reputations, 
 threadbare friendships and threadbare loves, threadbare 
 engagements and threadbare marriages, threadbare differ 
 ences and threadbare divorces, the very atmosphere ex 
 hausted and stale. 
 
 At each of the dozen or more tables, groups of young 
 people were seated, drinking different concoctions; few be 
 cause they were thirsty, more from habit or weak submis 
 sion to idiotic custom. 
 
 The tables were sloppy, and here and there pieces of lemon 
 peel and bent and broken straws betrayed the carelessness 
 of the waiters. 
 
 " How perfectly lovely the lake is to-day." 
 
 "Beautiful day." 
 
 "Chicago is a great summer resort." 
 
 " I rather guess New York is not in it. I was down 
 there last week; hotter than blazes." 
 
 " Well, it was hot here last week." 
 
 " Never lasts more than three days, though." 
 
 "That s right; the lake breeze helps out." 
 [165]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " Whose yacht is that ? " 
 
 "Axford s." 
 
 " No; I mean the one 
 
 "Strikes me the water is pretty cold for bathing." 
 
 " Oh, they go in every Sunday afternoon." 
 
 " When the crowd is here to see them ? " 
 
 "That s about it." 
 
 "She s the limit." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " Why, don t you know ? She s " The voices fell. 
 
 " You don t say so. Who brought her here ? There will 
 be a row if Mrs. - 
 
 " Have another drink ? " 
 
 " Seltzer lemonade for me this time, too hot for any 
 thing stronger." 
 
 "High-ball." 
 
 "Waiter, three high-balls and a lemonade." 
 
 " What machine you driving now ? " 
 
 And so on, such the stereotyped remarks, the current 
 coin, the small change of conversation. 
 
 "Whose boat is that ahead ? " exclaimed a young woman 
 in pink, pointing eagerly to the small yachts scudding along 
 under the fresh breeze. 
 
 "Don t know," said her companion, sucking away at the 
 straws in his glass. "Looks like Smithers s." 
 
 "Oh, I do hope he 11 win," the young woman in pink 
 exclaimed enthusiastically and immediately forgot all 
 about the yacht race and Smithers s fate. 
 
 At another table they were discussing the prospects of an 
 engagement between two young people who had been seen 
 at the Club three successive Saturday afternoons. 
 
 [166]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 " She could n t do better," was the charitable remark 
 of one of the young women. 
 
 " I m not so sure about that. She s a stunning girl," 
 replied one of the young men. 
 
 " Stunning ? Well, I can t see where that comes in," the 
 young woman turned up her nose at the thought ; " if a girl 
 dresses loud and talks slangy you all call her stunning." 
 
 " I guess it 11 make a match all right enough," the young 
 fellow remarked, as he tipped back his chair and thrust his 
 hands into his pockets. 
 
 Some one called to one of the waiters and asked : 
 
 " Who are going to dine here this evening, do you know ? " 
 
 "I can t just say, sir; there are several parties. lean 
 find out, sir." 
 
 "Find out who has the corner table." 
 
 In a moment the man returned: "That is Mrs. Wilton s 
 table, sir." 
 
 Whereupon this particular group fell to discussing Mrs. 
 Jack in terms which must have made one of her ears burn 
 fiercely. 
 
 " I 11 bet a penny Jack is not of the party," exclaimed 
 one of the men, and they all laughed. 
 
 "He s a rattling good fellow, too," said another. 
 
 " Just a trifle heavy." 
 
 "Well, I can t understand how he tolerates some things 
 that go on under his very nose," remarked a sharp-faced 
 young matron. 
 
 " They say May has landed Will Ganton at last, they are 
 really engaged," said the young man who had inquired about 
 the table. 
 
 "Well, I don t believe it," spoke up the sharp-faced 
 [167]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 young matron; "he wouldn t be such a fool as to marry 
 her." 
 
 " Strikes me it s the other way, she is too deucedly 
 clever to marry him." 
 
 "She d be glad enough to get him for his money." 
 
 People came and went, more women than men, for 
 many of the latter were at the country clubs playing golf. 
 Everybody looked up as each newcomer made his or her 
 appearance, and conversation at each of the small round 
 tables immediately shifted to the newly arrived, which 
 was a large part of the amusement of the afternoon. There 
 was, in fact, little else to do for those who did not play tennis 
 or go on the water; no one ever thought of reading, thinking, 
 or just sitting still in the presence of the restless Lake, over 
 which lights and shadows in endless variety played from hour 
 to hour, and the surface of which reflected a thousand iri 
 descent hues. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Jack and her sister 
 drove up in a victoria, with coachman and footman in spot 
 less and somewhat conspicuous liver} 7 . The two sisters were 
 dressed in white, but while May Keating carried a white par 
 asol, Mrs. Jack s was of a brilliant red. 
 
 " One can tell Mrs. Jack a mile off," said the sharp-faced 
 young matron. 
 
 "Rather a striking turn-out," some one remarked. 
 
 " Did you ever see such horses ? " another woman said in 
 an envious tone. 
 
 " Tries to be conspicuous," said another, whose one man 
 not only served as coachman, caring for two horses and the 
 stable, but also cleaned floors, rugs, and wirfflows, swept 
 walks, took care of the furnace, and froze the ice-cream 
 
 [168]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 Sundays, besides attending door in a second-hand swallow- 
 tailed coat whenever his services were required. As most 
 of Mrs. Jack s acquaintances relied upon one such general 
 utility man, they were accordingly envious of her extrava 
 gance and love of display ; few had two men on the box, and 
 most of these dressed up their stable-boys or housemen to 
 serve as footmen. It was therefore impossible to tell in many 
 a household whether the dinner was being served by a stable- 
 hand, or the carriage door opened by the butler, with the 
 chances in favor of both alternatives. 
 
 The afternoon at the Club down town had materially 
 raised the spirits of Will Ganton, so that when he drove up in 
 a cab a little before seven, he met May Keating very much as 
 if nothing had occurred. 
 
 Delaney not only considered it good policy from his own 
 point of view to aid Mrs. Jack in making this match, but, 
 on the whole, he believed it a good thing for the two people 
 immediately concerned. Would not everybody say May 
 Keating had made a great catch, and that Will Ganton was 
 lucky to get so clever and handsome a girl ? 
 
 Leaving Will Ganton with Mrs. Jack, who was already 
 surrounded by a throng of gallant admirers, Delaney and May 
 walked slowly across the lawn to the far side of the grounds. 
 The tennis-courts were now deserted; the players had scat 
 tered, some for their homes, others to get ready for dinner. 
 
 Seating themselves on one of the benches, May leaned her 
 elbows on her knees, and made holes in the sod with the tip 
 of her parasol. For several minutes neither said a word. 
 Delaney watched her closely, noting the expression of weari 
 ness in her face, and the nervous irritation with which she 
 played with her parasol. At length he asked quietly: 
 
 [169]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "Well, May, what s up ? 
 
 Smiling bitterly she answered, "It is all up, I guess, 
 Larry." 
 
 "Lovers quarrel," he commented laconically. 
 
 " It takes two to make a lovers quarrel," she said slowly. 
 
 " When did it all happen ? " 
 
 "To-day, after luncheon." 
 
 " Sudden squall, soon blow over," he said encourag 
 ingly. 
 
 "It is n t to-day, or yesterday," she exclaimed earnestly, 
 " it is the to-morrow I am afraid of. It is the every day of 
 the years to come; the every hour of the endless weeks. At 
 times it seems to me as if I just could not do it." There was 
 a ring of despair in her voice which appealed to Delaney. 
 
 " You don t love him ? " he asked gently. 
 
 "No," she answered slowly. 
 
 " Do you dislike him ? " 
 
 "No; on the contrary I rather like him. Before there 
 was any question of love I liked him very much. There is 
 something likable about him, but nothing lovable, you 
 understand what I mean." 
 
 " I think I do, and let me tell you, May," he spoke with 
 the assurance of knowledge, " the likable man makes a much 
 safer husband than the lovable. May I use myself as an 
 illustration ? Would you call me a likable man ? " She 
 shook her head, smiling. "No; for women either love or 
 hate me; for the most part they dislike me cordially. To 
 you I am companionable because because possibly I am 
 more than half in love with you myself. But you would not 
 marry me, you would not dare take the risk ; " his lip curled 
 cynically. " With Will Ganton you take no risk ; you know 
 
 [170]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 what he is. His good and bad points are plain to be seen; 
 you know just the kind of husband he will make, just the 
 sort of husband that nine-tenths of American business men 
 make husbands who attend to business and find their 
 recreation in commercial and club life, leaving social duties 
 to their wives safe sort of husbands ; dull, heavy, stupid at 
 dinners, impossible at afternoon teas. But they do stay at 
 home and manage things while their families are in Europe 
 or making a splurge at some resort. As a patient and long- 
 suffering beast of burden, the American husband has not his 
 equal the world over. He is the only man with whom the 
 clever, brilliant, ambitious American women can possibly live 
 on terms of peace. She is the fine fruition of social condi 
 tions which foster independence, originality, ambition, and 
 resourcefulness mixed with a certain amount of unscrupu- 
 lousness in the attainment of ends. The same conditions 
 have produced men like Will Ganton to meet her financial 
 requirements, and support her in careers wherein they play 
 obscure parts. You have taken it into your head that you 
 must marry for love. You are foolish. Rather than marry 
 for love the safer rule would be never to marry while in love. 
 Love is a species of insanity, a mental aberration, an over 
 whelming impulse to do the foolish thing. The law should 
 not permit people to enter into a contract so important as 
 that of matrimony while laboring under the illusions and 
 delusions of love." 
 
 May Keating could not but laugh at the extravagance of 
 Delaney s theories, and the sobriety with which he uttered 
 them. In spite, however, of their extravagance, she derived 
 a certain amount of consolation from what he said; for it 
 was undeniably true that some of her most intimate friends 
 
 [171]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 who had married for love were unhappy, while most of those 
 who had been influenced solely by more practical considera 
 tions seemed quite contented. But she could not help asking 
 herself if the rule held good for all classes, and her answer 
 was emphatically in the negative; in all but those exclusive 
 circles which form polite society, love is absolutely essential 
 to happy marriages. 
 
 "You are speaking," she said reflectively, "of the exclu 
 sive few of the smart set. How about the multitude ? " 
 
 "Oh! the multitude; that is very different. The multi 
 tude have their own code, we have ours; if they did not 
 marry for the animal attraction they call love, they would 
 not marry at all. With us it is different. Among the reasons 
 which impel the society woman to marry, love is quite over 
 shadowed; other considerations, pro and con, are so much 
 more important. If love were the only consideration you 
 would not think of marrying at all, for just now you are not in 
 love; but you are compelled to consider the matter by cir 
 cumstances over which you have no control. You are bound 
 to marry soon ; you cannot help it. Knowing that, you have 
 surveyed the field of eligibles, and, like a shrewd, practical 
 young woman, have chosen a man whose prospects are bril 
 liant even if he is not; and, like a sensible young woman, you 
 are not going to let slight differences interfere with your plans. 
 At the appointed time you will march down the aisle to the 
 strains of Lohengrin, and make your vow to love, honor, 
 and obey the man who will love, honor, and most emphati 
 cally obey you." 
 
 In the depth of her being she felt sure it would all turn out 
 exactly as he said ; that neither she nor Will Ganton had very 
 much to say about it. Yet this thought, this feeling of help- 
 
 [172]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 lessness, irritated her and stirred within her the spirit of 
 revolt. Why should she tamely submit, be led like a lamb 
 to the altar ? Why should she not rebel even to the flinging 
 of propriety to the winds by doing something outrageous ? 
 
 At dinner Will Ganton drank rather more champagne 
 than was good for him, and he did not appear to advantage. 
 Under the influence of the wine he became talkative, and soon 
 his loud voice and laughter attracted the attention of all in the 
 room. 
 
 " Ganton is feeling pretty good to-night," a young fellow 
 at one of the tables remarked to his companions, three men 
 about his own age. 
 
 " He looked glum enough before dinner," said one of the 
 others. 
 
 "May be a case of drinking to drown sorrow," the first 
 responded with a wink. 
 
 " Can t see what he has to feel blue about with a girl like 
 May Keating in love with him." 
 
 " She does n t look as if she were very much in love ; that 
 may be the trouble," and they all turned and looked at her. 
 
 May Keating was conscious of the looks and secret com 
 ments, and felt annoyed. She was so accustomed to having 
 people stare at her and talk about her, that ordinarily she did 
 not even notice it; but now to be made the subject of com 
 ment and conjecture because Will Ganton was acting like 
 a fool was intolerable. 
 
 In vain Mrs. Jack motioned the waiter to serve no more 
 wine; Will called for it so loudly he could not be denied. 
 Only the four were at the small oblong table, but unfortu 
 nately Delaney was at the end opposite Ganton, so he could 
 exercise no restraining influence, and could neither do nor 
 
 [173]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 say anything without others observing him, which would 
 lead to disagreeable consequences. Left to drink as he 
 pleased, Will Ganton invariably became more and more 
 boisterously good-natured; if, however, he thought any one 
 was trying to restrain him, it made him ugly, so ugly that 
 once in a restaurant he had struck a well-meaning friend full 
 in the face with his heavy fist, knocking him to the floor sense 
 less. It was not often he drank to excess ; he had not formed 
 the habit, and really did not care very much for champagne 
 or wine of any kind, but at times, when laboring under some 
 mental depression or from physical exhaustion, he felt a 
 craving for stimulants. 
 
 May Keating looked at him, her eyes and compressed lips 
 showing her disgust and anger; not that a man in the maud 
 lin stages of intoxication was a novel sight, but to have him 
 get drunk at their table, in the presence of a room filled with 
 people they knew, under the observation of women who were 
 enjoying her discomfiture, was an affront she could not stand. 
 
 In a voice plainly audible some distance away, she said: 
 
 " Mr. Ganton, don t you think you have had all the wine 
 that is good for you ? " 
 
 She did not mince matters, but put the question as point 
 edly and directly as she could. For a few seconds he did 
 not grasp the full significance of her question, but smiled 
 stupidly and lifted his glass as if to drink her health. When 
 he finally comprehended, his face became first red, then 
 almost purple with anger, the veins of his neck swelled, and 
 his thick lips parted as if to say something coarse ; he dropped 
 his hand, spilling the wine, and looked at her with his eyes 
 half shut, as if trying to concentrate all his wandering faculties 
 upon the object of his rage. 
 
 [174]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 Without the slightest fear, she kept her eyes fixed upon 
 his until she saw them waver as if to avoid hers, saw the 
 thick lips tremble; and instead of the outburst of fury the 
 others expected, he muttered something no one heard, fum 
 bled a moment with his napkin, struggled to his feet and 
 left the room. 
 
 The dining-room was silent. Even the waiters paused 
 in their places, feeling something extraordinary had occurred. 
 May Keating sat resting her chin in her left hand, nervously 
 playing with a spoon with her right. 
 
 Delaney was the first to break the oppressive silence, 
 by leaning over and whispering to Mrs. Jack: 
 
 " Let us go." 
 
 She nodded a quick assent, said something to her sister, 
 and they left the dining-room by the door opposite that 
 through which Will Ganton had just passed. 
 
 One could almost hear a great sigh of relief as they dis 
 appeared, and in an instant every one was talking. 
 
 " That s the end of that little affair," said the sharp- 
 faced young matron, smiling with satisfaction, and her 
 opinion was echoed from all sides. 
 
 " They 11 be lucky if it does n t get into the papers," 
 said one young fellow, glancing around. " There s Miss 
 Evermore they say she does society for the Times, and she 
 took it all in." 
 
 " She won t mention it for fear it would hurt the Club, 
 and everybody would be down on her if she did." It was 
 one of the board of governors who spoke, but he looked at 
 the keen-eyed young woman apprehensively. 
 
 The two sisters exchanged hardly a word as they drove 
 home. Mrs. Jack was disappointed and chagrined; May 
 
 [175]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Keating felt humiliated. She knew that occasionally Will 
 Ganton drank too much, everybody knew that, but 
 she also knew from carefully veiled inquiries that he was by 
 no means a drunkard, and she had been led to believe his 
 occasional lapses were upon convivial occasions, when many 
 a man with a weak head drinks more than he should. She 
 had never heard of his becoming intoxicated at the Club; 
 and to think that he should have made such an exhibition of 
 himself while dining with her in a room filled with people, 
 most of whom would gloat over her sister s and her own 
 embarrassment! She felt the blood rush to her cheeks 
 from shame and indignation, felt it surge back to her heart 
 as she became white with anger. She could not say any 
 thing to her sister; what was there to say? Just as they 
 neared the house Mrs. Jack made a feeble attempt to excuse 
 Will Ganton, stammering something about " quarrel 
 depressed misunderstood," but May interrupted her 
 sharply. 
 
 "There is no need of discussing the matter, for there is 
 nothing to be said," and she went to her room and locked 
 the door. 
 
 Will Ganton did not go home that night, nor was he at 
 the Yards all the next day. Browning was anxious, and 
 John Ganton s face a thunder-cloud; he ordered the in 
 debtedness at the bank satisfied, because he knew that 
 sooner or later he would be obliged to pay it ; but as he gave 
 the necessary instructions to Browning he said gloomily: 
 
 "This is the last time, Browning, I will make good his 
 losses; if he gets in trouble again he may go to the devil." 
 
 The old man wheeled about in his chair and looked out 
 [176]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 on the street; the morning was hot, and he was in his shirt 
 sleeves with his vest thrown open, his collar unbuttoned and 
 flaring. His head dropped down into his shoulders, and for 
 the first time in his life Browning thought John Ganton 
 began to show signs of age. 
 
 A little later Browning had occasion to go into the pri 
 vate office, and to his astonishment the old man still sat 
 looking out of the window, the papers on his desk untouched ; 
 this was so unusual Browning could not help exclaiming: 
 " Mr. Ganton, don t you feel well ? " 
 
 Turning with a start, he hastily picked up the papers 
 before him, as if ashamed of being caught idle. 
 
 " Why yes, I m all right, Browning. My stomick s a 
 little out of kilter, but" and he leaned back from his desk 
 "I was thinking what would become of Ganton & Co. 
 if anything happened to me. Who would take my place ? " 
 
 There was a pathetic ring to the old man s voice. The 
 great business of Ganton & Co. was his baby; he had watched 
 it grow from nothing; fathered it, fostered it, nursed it; it 
 was the offspring of his brain and his energy the greatest 
 business of the kind in the whole world. Competitors had 
 followed in his footsteps, had even tried to win some of his 
 prestige, but he crushed or cowed them until all acknowl 
 edged his supremacy. Each year his business expanded; 
 like a ball of snow rolling down a steep hill, it gained in 
 volume as it gained momentum, until in its progress over 
 the face of the globe it was now so far beyond control that 
 it must go on and on and on, or disintegrate if brought to 
 a standstill. 
 
 There had been a time when he felt he was master of the 
 business, but now the vast organization swept him along 
 
 [177]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 as irresistibly as it carried ana provided for the thousands 
 upon thousands of employees. There had been a time 
 when he could have sold it, but that was long ago. Who 
 would buy Ganton & Co. now ? Who could buy ? No one 
 man had the means, no coterie of men would dare try to con 
 trol the leviathan; for the business had become a living, 
 breathing giant, an industrial monster his structure of 
 mechanical and commercial processes had started into life. 
 Once he might have wound up and liquidated the business 
 if he desired ; but that was before the business had acquired 
 strength and will of its own; before it had become so large 
 that to wind it up would spread disaster throughout the 
 country, even to the far ends of the earth. 
 
 The courts had referred to the great packing industries 
 as quasi-public corporations, as no longer so exclusively 
 private as to be subject to the caprice of any one man or 
 body of men. Legislatures had passed laws with special 
 reference to these great concerns, until in no less than fif 
 teen States Ganton & Co. maintained lobbies at each 
 session of every legislature, to secure favorable and prevent 
 unfavorable legislation. 
 
 There were times when the old man felt his impotency 
 in the presence of the huge industrial mass, the expansion 
 of which was seemingly so irresistible ; again he felt his power 
 and gloried in it. For while he was swept along as the captain 
 and crew are carried by a great ship, the organization needed 
 his guidance much as a ship, however huge, needs the con 
 trol of the captain; and it troubled him to think there was 
 no one to take his place when he should be compelled to 
 step down and out. For a time affairs would go on much 
 the same, the organization was so perfect, the heads of 
 
 [178]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 departments so competent; but without some one to decide 
 with unerring sagacity the questions that came up every 
 day, questions of policy, questions of contract, questions 
 of immense purchases in the market, of quick sales in 
 distant countries, matters which could no more be debated 
 than emergencies on a field of battle, what would become 
 of the great business ? If Will should turn out a failure, to 
 whom could he look ? 
 
 Tuesday May Keating received a penitent and remorse 
 ful letter from Will Ganton. The letter came just as she 
 was dressing to go for a drive; she read it, tossed it to one 
 side, gave one of her gloves so vicious a pull it ripped; with 
 an exclamation of impatience, she picked up the letter and 
 re-read it. For some moments she stood in front of her 
 dressing-table, so absorbed in thought that, as her eyes rose 
 and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, it startled 
 her as if she had seen a stranger before her; she noted the 
 look of irritation and indecision on her own face, and she was 
 curiously interested. She wondered if the young woman 
 in the mirror, the young woman in hat and street costume, 
 with brown hair and dark eyes, would listen to the appeal in 
 the letter. No, she did not think the woman in the mirror 
 would ; she did not look as if she would, for the lines about 
 her mouth were just a little hard, and there was an expression 
 in her eyes she did not quite like. This woman looked as if 
 she could be merciless and cruel when she chose, and she was 
 worldly, that was certain. Why, then, did she hold that 
 open letter in her hand as if undecided what to do ? Why 
 did she pick it up and read it a second time? 
 
 How long she might have stood there lost in thought it 
 [179]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 is impossible to say, for at that moment Mrs. Jack opened 
 the door, saying: 
 
 " Come, May, are n t you ready ? " 
 
 "Yes; in a second. I ripped a glove. There s a letter 
 from Will Ganton," she added carelessly. 
 
 " Well, I should say it s time he attempted some sort of 
 an explanation," Mrs. Jack exclaimed, as she eagerly seized 
 the letter and proceeded to read it. When finished she 
 looked up with the remark: 
 
 "Not bad. You were pretty hard on him. He is peni 
 tent enough, that s certain. . . . What are you going 
 to do about it ? " She looked at her sister anxiously. 
 
 "I don t know. Nothing, I guess," was the uncertain 
 response. 
 
 "You will have to answer it." 
 
 " Why ? " There was a marked accent of irritation. " I 
 can let the matter drop as it is, can t I ? " 
 
 " Of course, of course you can, dearie; but I think a letter 
 like that deserves an answer. It is not a crime to get drunk," 
 Mrs. Jack continued apologetically. 
 
 " It is worse than a crime to get drunk when dining in 
 public with ladies. It reduces them to the level of 
 she hesitated, and her sister hastened to interpose. 
 
 "Of course there is no excuse. It was outrageous, and 
 I intend to give him a piece of my mind at the first oppor 
 tunity; but I think you ought to write him and tell him 
 that that " 
 
 " What ? " asked her sister calmly. Mrs. Jack did not 
 know what she would tell him, or rather, she knew very 
 well that she would tell him to come back and all would be 
 forgiven; and that that was what she wanted her sister to 
 
 [180]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 write, only she did not dare say it in so many words. But 
 May knew perfectly well what was passing in Mrs. Jack s 
 not very subtle mind; she knew that ever since the dinner 
 her sister had been hoping something might be done to heal 
 the breach. She had set her heart on this match, and did 
 not propose to be balked. 
 
 " Well, let us go. I am ready," May suddenly exclaimed, 
 as she quickly buttoned her glove. 
 
 Mrs. Jack hesitated. " Are n t you going to answer the 
 letter?" 
 
 " No, not now. There will be time enough later. Let 
 us go." 
 
 There was something in the tone which made Mrs. 
 Jack feel as if the victory were won. She knew that the 
 woman who debates always answers. 
 
 Half-way up the outer drive they saw Delaney walking 
 with Mrs. Trelway. 
 
 " I don t like that woman," Mrs. Jack exclaimed in a tone 
 of annoyance. 
 
 "Who? Oh, Carrie Trelway," said her sister, looking 
 up and catching sight of the two on the walk. 
 
 " Horribly vulgar," continued Mrs. Jack, and her round 
 face expressed her disgust 
 
 "Because she is walking with Larry Delaney?" was the 
 rather cutting rejoinder. 
 
 "No; of course not. What a mean thing to say, May. 
 She says such disagreeable and indecent things, I can t see 
 how people tolerate her." 
 
 When the victoria drew up alongside the curb so she 
 might speak to them, Mrs. Jack s face was wreathed in the 
 blandest of smiles. 
 
 [181]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " I m so glad to see you, Mrs. Trelway." 
 
 " You did not look so pleased a moment ago," was the 
 blunt rejoinder. Mrs. Trelway looked at Mrs. Jack boldly 
 and laughed at her confusion. "Heard all about the time 
 you had at the Club Sunday night, May," she continued, 
 turning suddenly to May Keating, who was leaning back 
 with an air of bored indifference ; " sorry I was not there to 
 help you take care of the young man." 
 
 "Yes; your experience would have been helpful." Every 
 one knew Billy Trelway s many weaknesses. 
 
 "Oh, Billy is the best fellow in the world when he is 
 drunk. You can do anything with him," was the perfectly 
 frank rejoinder. No one could feaze Mrs. Trelway by refer 
 ences to the shortcomings of either her husband or herself; 
 her self-possession being of that adamantine character which 
 defies attack. " I suppose," she continued lightly, " Will and 
 Billy are a good deal alike, more interesting drunk than 
 sober." 
 
 Delaney listened with an amused expression, which added 
 to Mrs. Jack s irritation. She was furious, and all the more 
 so because she could think of nothing to say that could 
 disturb the equanimity of Mrs. Trelway. Apparently May 
 Keating was quite indifferent, for she sat there with the 
 same bored expression. Delaney admired her self-possession, 
 and said to himself, "By Jove! but you are a great girl." 
 
 As the victoria drove on, Mrs. Trelway turned to him 
 and, as if divining his thoughts, said : 
 
 " You are right, Larry, she is a stunning girl, but no 
 wife for Will Ganton." 
 
 " Why ? " he asked, curious to know her reasons for the 
 conviction so positively expressed. 
 
 [182]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 "Because they would both go to the devil if married," 
 she answered positively 
 
 " I don t see that," he remarked slowly. 
 
 " Of course you don t, no man would see it, but 
 they are no more fitted for one another than oil and water, 
 they won t mix. He is not a bad fellow in his way, 
 rather likable; and I wish him better luck than to marry 
 May Keating." 
 
 " Are n t you rather down on her ? " he protested. 
 
 " Not at all ; she is a stunning girl that is just the word 
 for her stunning, and she ought to marry a man like 
 you. Why don t you marry her, Larry?" She brought 
 her heavy eyebrows even nearer together, and gave Delaney 
 so searching a look that he dropped his eyes in some con 
 fusion. 
 
 "I " he stammered, "why, I have no intention of 
 marrying. I cannot afford to besides," he continued, 
 recovering his equanimity, " she would not have me." 
 
 " She might be wise there ; nevertheless, she needs a hus 
 band with some of your brilliant and unscrupulous char 
 acteristics." 
 
 "Thanks," he said, nettled. There were times when 
 Mrs. Trelway was too outspoken to suit even him. What 
 could she mean by " unscrupulous characteristics " ? Nor 
 did he feel much more at ease when she continued, coolly: 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing. We all have our unscrupulous 
 sides, and some of us have more than one. You, I take it, 
 are especially favored, since most clever men are. We are 
 all criminals more or less veneered, and it is the lawless ele 
 ment in us that makes life worth living, worth living to 
 those who indulge it, better worth living to those who con- 
 
 [183]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 quer it; but inane and insipid to those who so far obliterate 
 it that they no longer feel the contest between the evil and 
 the good." 
 
 "You believe, then, in the virtue of sin?" he suggested. 
 
 " Yes ; for how can there be any virtue without sin ? Are 
 they not relative terms? The one is simply the contrast 
 which makes the other perceptible." 
 
 "All of which is interesting; but how would you apply 
 these general observations to Will Ganton and myself, the 
 two cases under discussion ? " 
 
 "Will Ganton needs a wife of good common sense, 
 domestic tastes, stubborn and phlegmatic disposition. You 
 follow bad impulses from choice, and even cultivate them to 
 secure more exquisite enjoyment. The woman who married 
 you to reform you would waste her life; what you need is a 
 wife who will not mourn over your follies, but match them 
 with her own, and so live with you on terms of perfect under 
 standing and more or less accord." 
 
 " And you think May Keating that sort of a woman ? " 
 Mrs. Trelway s direct manner of putting things interested 
 him ; she certainly saw the people about her very clearly. 
 
 " She is just the wife for a man like you, only the man 
 who marries her must have money." 
 
 " That bars me," he interrupted, smiling grimly. 
 
 "Oh, you are clever enough to make money, Larry 
 Delaney." She looked at him sharply. 
 
 "I have been trying a long time, and so far have only 
 enough to keep the wolf from the door." 
 
 "You may not be trying in the right way. The trouble 
 with you is that you try to do everything by your wits ; you 
 are too clever for your own good." 
 
 [184]
 
 A Glass of Wine 
 
 She did not know how near her random shots came to the 
 bull s-eye, but he hastened to change the subject; he had no 
 desire to discuss his personal affairs with a woman so keen. 
 He knew he had his enemies, and that some of them did not 
 hesitate to say very sharp things about him and his business 
 methods. Billy Trelway himself was one of those who had 
 lost considerable sums trading through him, but whether 
 Billy had ever questioned the regularity of the transactions 
 he did not know. But it was more than likely that Mrs. 
 Trelway knew of the losses and probably of the rumors, 
 since she knew everything that was worth knowing and much 
 that was not. At one time she was in the habit of asking 
 him to invest a little money for her in the market ; and while 
 her investments had been successful in nearly every instance, 
 she suddenly stopped speculating through him, though he 
 was certain she still did so occasionally through others. 
 
 Every successful speculator is annoyed by these social 
 customers. Some Larry Delaney could not refuse without 
 offending, and there were others whom he wished under 
 obligations to him; but though it had cost him several 
 thousands of dollars to carry these clients and protect them 
 from losses, the money he thought well spent in most in 
 stances, and not altogether wasted in any. 
 
 He could even point out the jewels, the hats, the gowns, 
 his money had bought; for women invariably put their 
 winnings into some particular thing they want, and exhibit 
 the purchase to friends as the result of their sagacity. 
 
 [185]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 WHEN John Wilton came home about five o clock that 
 afternoon, he looked over the mail on the hall table, 
 picked out his own letters, and went upstairs to the 
 nursery. It was his habit as soon as he entered the house to 
 hunt up his boy; many days that was about all he came home 
 for, just to see the little fellow and have a romp with him. 
 They were great chums. 
 
 As he opened the door he heard an indignant little voice 
 shouting : 
 
 " Oo told a lie, I hate oo I hate oo, I won t 
 speak wiv oo. Go away go away," and he saw Harold 
 struggling with the French governess, a young woman he did 
 not like. The moment the little fellow caught sight of his 
 father he tore himself away and rushed into Wilton s arms; 
 all his rage welled into tears, and he sobbed as if his little 
 heart would break. 
 
 " What s the matter, Major? What has happened?" 
 
 The governess began a confused explanation in broken 
 English, that the boy would not speak to her in French; 
 "and Monsieur, he know, eet ees Madame s wish zat he 
 spik French all ze time wiz me." 
 
 " She told a lie she told a lie. I won t speak wiv her! " 
 the little fellow cried out between his sobs. 
 
 Wilton looked at her. For just a second her eyes dropped, 
 but she looked up brazenly and said nothing. 
 
 [186]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 "What does he mean by saying you told a lie?" he 
 finally asked. 
 
 Shrugging her shoulders, she replied indifferently, "Je 
 ne sais pas." 
 
 Oo do know oo do know. Oo know oo told a lie/ 
 shouted the boy, hugging his father tightly about the neck, 
 but at the same time looking fearlessly at the governess. 
 Her face assumed a hard and ugly look. 
 
 " You may go," said Wilton quietly, " I will inquire into 
 the matter." 
 
 "I prefare to stay, eef he ees to say zings about me," she 
 said stubbornly. 
 
 "You may go," he repeated, and this time so sternly she 
 turned and left the room; but as she did so he heard her 
 mutter something about " Madame." He knew from past 
 scenes that Mrs. Jack would take the part of the French 
 woman against Harold and himself. Time and again he had 
 tried to get rid of her, but her influence over his wife seemed 
 something unaccountable. He hated to have his boy with 
 her; but when he expostulated with Mrs. Jack she sharply 
 asked, " Why ? " and because he could give no very definite 
 reasons, said impatiently, "Just one of your prejudices. 
 You don t like her because she is French. Well, the child 
 must have a French governess, and that is all there is to it." 
 
 He could not see why they should take into their home a 
 young woman whose antecedents were not only unknown, 
 but apparently wrapped in mystery, whose account of her 
 own life and the reasons why she came to America were so 
 vague and conflicting as to challenge suspicion, and whose 
 conduct while in their service had not been above criticism. 
 He once said gently, "You would not employ a cook or 
 
 [187]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 maid without some sort of recommendation, without know 
 ing where she had worked; is it not just as important to 
 know something about the girl who is to live in the same 
 room with our boy ? " 
 
 But it did no good: Mrs. Jack was bound to have a 
 French governess ; it was the thing to do, and that was suffi 
 cient. 
 
 From the moment the strange girl entered the house, 
 Harold hated her. That pleased his father, but it brought 
 the little fellow many a sharp vord from his mother. As 
 for the governess, she paid no attention to the child s aversion, 
 but steadily ingratiated herself with Mrs. Jack until she felt 
 she was an indispensable factor in the household. 
 
 When the girl was out of the room, Wilton said soothingly: 
 
 "Tell papa all about it, Major," using his pet name, as 
 "Harold" seemed too ponderous for such a little shaver, 
 " Harry " too slangy, but " Major " just expressed him. 
 " What did she say ? " 
 
 " She told a lie. She said mamma did n t love oo, and zen 
 she laughed." 
 
 Wilton felt something tighten about his heart at hearing 
 this from his own child. He pulled nervously at his mus 
 tache and looked at the boy, wondering if he understood the 
 significance of what he was saying; but all he saw were the 
 big blue eyes, still filled with tears, looking frankly into 
 his own, and he knew no suspicion of the truth had entered 
 the little curly head. 
 
 "I guess she was fooling," he said slowly; "she did n t 
 mean it." 
 
 "Oh, ess she did, for she said mamma loved some one 
 else better zan she loved oo." In his anger and excitement 
 
 [188]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 the sounds of " th " and " y " were too much for his little 
 tongue. 
 
 Wilton s face flushed with shame and anger, to think the 
 woman had put such notions into the head of his boy, his 
 baby; he knew she had done it spitefully to wound him. 
 Perhaps she had not counted on the little fellow s resentment, 
 but probably thought he would repeat what she said as a 
 careless remark which she could deny if called to task. 
 
 For a moment he thought of hunting her up and ordering 
 her from the house instantly, but felt that would not do. 
 It would create a scene, and only make bad matters worse, 
 in fact, it was altogether likely she would refuse to go at his 
 command, but coolly say she had been engaged by Madame. 
 Besides, what reason could he give for her sudden dismissal ? 
 He could not say she had said his wife loved another better 
 than him ; it would sound too ridiculous. 
 
 Before these conflicting considerations one resolution 
 after another faded away, and he sat there so silent and 
 gloomy that little Harold was afraid to utter a word ; he had 
 never before seen his father s face look like that. 
 
 " She must go, and go at once," he kept repeating to him 
 self, as if by repetition he strengthened his determination 
 and made her dismissal sure. "I will speak to Sally as 
 soon as she comes in, and she must get her out of the house 
 to-day, yes, to-day. She shall not see the boy again." 
 The thought that she would ever again speak to Harold 
 caused the blood to rush to his face, and he pulled his mous 
 tache viciously. 
 
 " Wat s ze matter, papa ? " was the timid inquiry. " Oo 
 look sick." 
 
 " Nothing nothing much, Major. Papa is not sick." 
 [189]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 The little fellow brightened up and exclaimed, confidently, 
 
 " It was a lie, was n t it, papa ? " 
 
 That cut, and it cut deep. " Of course, Major; she should 
 not say such things. No one should say such things," 
 he hesitated, " whether true or false." 
 
 "I don t like her, papa. I hate her." 
 
 "Mustn t say that, Major. Hate is a naughty word. 
 You don t hate any one." 
 
 Ess I do. I hate her; I don t hate any one else, not 
 even ze boy who frew stones at Buzzer. Won t oo send her 
 away, papa ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, she shall go. Where is mamma ? " 
 
 " Mamma s out d wiving wiv Aunty May. Oo send her 
 away before mamma turns back/ He felt instinctively 
 that his mother would not discharge the governess, no matter 
 what she had done. 
 
 "Can t do that, darling. Mamma would not like it; 
 but don t you be afraid, she shall go." 
 
 Still holding the little fellow on his knee, W T ilton in an 
 absent-minded manner began opening his letters. He knew 
 they were of no importance, mostly bills, receipts, adver 
 tisements, and he scarcely glanced at them, until suddenly 
 his attention was arrested by one which contained simply a 
 sheet of plain note-paper, on which were pasted letters cut 
 from a newspaper, which read : 
 
 " JOHN WILTON, ESQ. If you will watch your wife and 
 Lawrence Delaney a little more closely you will discover 
 things that will interest you. A FRIEND." 
 
 It was an anonymous letter, the most contemptible and 
 cowardly of all attacks. John Wilton detested such things, 
 
 [190]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 and had always said they should be burned and forgotten 
 immediately. He knew there were seasons when they were 
 epidemic, like typhoid, diphtheria, and other infectious and 
 contagious diseases ; that frequently neighborhoods were per 
 secuted, and not only men and women, but even young girls 
 just out in society, were made the victims of some malicious 
 or disordered brain. In rare instances the writers were 
 exposed and prosecuted; more often they were suspected 
 and shunned. John Wilton had always felt sure that if 
 he ever received such a communication, he would tear it up 
 without giving it a thought. Now, face to face with the 
 literal fact, the thing seemed different; possibly because it 
 came with cumulative force upon what the governess had 
 said only a few moments before. It caught him in a moment 
 of depression, when he was off his guard, and the shaft went 
 home. 
 
 "What a funny letter, papa," Harold exclaimed, looking 
 with childish curiosity at the sheet of note paper, with its 
 printed letters awkwardly pasted together. 
 
 Hastily folding the letter, Wilton put it in his pocket; 
 it was so contaminating he was sorry the child had seen it. 
 
 " It is nothing, Major. Some one pasted those letters on 
 the paper for fun, I guess." 
 
 " I m doin to write a letter like zat to mamma. Where s 
 ze mooslage ? " He jumped down, and ran as fast as his 
 little legs would carry him to the desk in the corner where he 
 kept his writing materials, his paper and pencils, he was 
 not allowed ink, and a bottle of very gummy " mooslage," 
 which he kept for mending dolls, and " tickin fings togedder " 
 generally. 
 
 Wilton knew there was no use trying to divert him. The 
 [191]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 novelty of the letter had completely taken his childish fancy, 
 and he would not rest until he had written one like it to every 
 one in the house. He was a great letter- writer ; but of late 
 making scrawls on papers, sealing them up and giving them 
 to the postman, who good-naturedly handed them in with 
 the regular mail, had lost its charm. Now this new way of 
 writing aroused his flagging enthusiasm, and he would begin 
 all over. 
 
 " I s all wite Aunty May, and mamma, and oh, ess, 
 I s all wite Mister Delaney a dood long letter, and tell him to 
 bwing me anuzzer box of tandy wight away. " 
 
 "No, no," Wilton exclaimed earnestly; "no, Major, you 
 must not write Mr. Delaney that sort of a letter." 
 
 " W y not, papa ? " he looked up, his big blue eyes wide 
 open in amazement that his father should not want him to 
 write to Mr. Delaney. He always wrote him letters, and 
 always got whatever he wrote for, the two were such good 
 friends. 
 
 "Papa does not want you to write Mr. Delaney any 
 more." Wilton spoke so quietly and so sadly that the little 
 fellow looked at him wonderingly. " Write me the letter and 
 I will bring you the candy," he continued, in the effort to 
 divert the set purpose of the determined little mind. 
 
 "Will oo bwing ze same kind as ze last box?" was the 
 doubtful and somewhat suspicious inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, of course. What was the last box ? " 
 
 "Toklate solders wiv wed and w ite tandies for flags." 
 
 " That s all right, Major, we ll have the chocolate sol 
 diers and the red and white candies to-morrow. You need 
 not write me the letter." 
 
 "Oh, ess, I must." 
 
 [ 192]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 "Well, remember, don t write any letter to Mr. Delaney 
 
 ever again. Write me for whatever you want." 
 Wilton was surprised to find himself wondering where he 
 
 could find such extraordinary candies. He did not remem 
 ber having ever seen chocolate soldiers with red and white 
 flags, but he would visit every confectioner s in the city if 
 necessary. Suppose Delaney had bought them in New 
 York it was quite likely, for he was fond of giving novelties 
 
 what then ? These thoughts were running through his 
 brain as freely as if his mind were not wholly occupied by 
 more serious matters. What should he do about the gover 
 ness and the letter ? Those were the real problems, and not 
 the whereabouts of the chocolate soldiers and the red and 
 white candies ; yet the latter obtruded itself whenever he was 
 about to come to a decision regarding the more important 
 matter. 
 
 WTien Mrs. Jack returned, Wilton went at once to her 
 room, closed the door carefully behind him, and said in a 
 constrained voice, 
 
 " I want to have a little talk with you, Sally." 
 
 His manner was so unusual, and his tone so unfamiliar, 
 that she turned and looked at him in surprise. The time 
 was not favorable for a talk. Mrs. Jack was decidedly out 
 of sorts; meeting Mrs. Trelway had quite upset her; but 
 John Wilton did not know all this, and did not even raise his 
 eyes to look at her when she asked irritably, 
 
 " Well, what is it now ? " 
 
 He had seated himself and was looking at the curled-up 
 corner of the rug. He tried to turn it back with the toe of 
 his shoe, but it would not stay flat. He knew his wife was 
 standing there glaring at him angrily. It was what she 
 
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 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 always did when he attempted to remonstrate with her, but 
 he did not care, now that the time had come for him to speak 
 plainly, if the corner of that rug would only stay down, he 
 could go on. 
 
 " When you get through fussing with that rug I hope you 
 will say something, or " 
 
 That was all that was necessary to recall him to himself. 
 Looking straight at her, he said quickly, 
 
 " The governess must go. " 
 
 "Indeed, what is the matter now?" 
 
 Without heeding the tone of a question meant to belittle 
 him, he continued, 
 
 "She must go, to-day." 
 
 The repetition grated upon her. Her round, pretty face 
 flushed with anger, and with her eyes half shut she took sev 
 eral steps toward him, almost screaming: 
 
 " Why must she go to-day ? W T hat has she done ? What 
 have you to say about it, anyway? I tell you she 
 sha n t go to-day or any other day, and I don t want you 
 to meddle. " 
 
 " She has been talking to Harold, " he went on quietly. 
 
 " That is what she is hired for, is n t it ? " 
 
 " She has said things no decent girl would say to a child." 
 He spoke more firmly now, and his wife began to wonder 
 what had happened. 
 
 " What has she said ? " she asked more soberly. 
 
 "I do not like to repeat her words, but " he hesitated, 
 " I suppose there is no other way. She told Harold you did 
 not love me, and that you loved some one else better. It is 
 not that I care about myself, Sally, but to think any girl could 
 be so low as to talk that way to a child ! " 
 
 [194]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 The blood left Mrs. Jack s face, and she felt herself be 
 come suddenly pale. For the first time in her married life she 
 felt afraid, afraid of her husband, afraid of her servants, 
 afraid of herself. The feeling of fear which for the moment 
 overwhelmed her little soul was sickening, and she grew faint. 
 Could it be possible that people really talked about her, that 
 they really knew, that her own servants knew? She had 
 been reckless and imprudent; she had done so many things 
 other women would not do that her own sister had often 
 remonstrated with her, but all this was part of her theory of 
 life. Every woman who amounted to anything had some 
 man at her heels, a social substitute for her husband, and 
 she believed the two should be linked together by a certain 
 amount of gossip ; that people should speak of them as " good 
 friends" and inseparable. Beyond that she did not want 
 people to go, realizing that those who endeavored to maintain 
 their social footing on the dizzy pinnacle of notoriety were 
 in danger of bad falls. She desired the notoriety and the 
 doubtful status it gave her without disastrous consequences; 
 and lived in that atmosphere of blind confidence which 
 always surrounds the social transgressor. 
 
 Like many a woman with her head in the sand, she believed 
 herself completely hidden from curious observation, and she 
 did not know either what people were saying or how much 
 they really knew. What the governess had said was the first 
 intimation that people were saying ugly things. If her own 
 servants talked so openly, then the matter was serious ; for a 
 servant s lie is commonly accepted as the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Jack dropped into a chair and sat silent after her 
 husband s last words. He waited for her to speak. Of 
 course she must make light of the matter in some way, as it 
 
 [195]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 was the only thing she could do; but her voice sounded 
 forced and artificial as she said : 
 
 " She did not mean it. It is ridiculous. But if she said 
 such an absurd thing, we will discharge her. Harold might 
 have misunderstood her." 
 
 " She tried to lie out of it; I was there." 
 
 "I I will send for her at once." 
 
 "One thing more, since we are on this subject." John 
 Wilton spoke slowly and with an effort. No one knew how 
 hard it was for him to talk of anything like this. He seemed 
 to feel as if he had no right to do so, as if his wife might sus 
 pect some selfish motive, a desire to claim her affection against 
 her will. "I received this letter this afternoon. I would 
 have destroyed it immediately if it had not been for what that 
 governess said to Harold; but if people are talking I think 
 you ought to know, for your own sake and Harold s." 
 
 He handed her the sheet of notepaper with its irregularly 
 pasted letters. She read the words slowly, but instead of 
 being more terrified, by a sudden revulsion of feeling she be 
 came furious, furious to think he would pay any attention 
 to an anonymous letter, furious to think she should be 
 made the subject of that sort of an attack. Jumping up, she 
 shook the letter in his face, screaming : " How dare you show 
 me this nasty, miserable letter ? How dare you ? There ! 
 there ! there ! " and she tore the sheet of paper into a 
 hundred pieces and threw them in his face, stamping her 
 foot with rage as she did so. 
 
 Wilton was always afraid of his wife when in one of her 
 fits of temper; he felt she might do anything, for she was 
 like a mad beast. Once she had thrown a paper-weight 
 which just missed hitting him, and crashed into the wall at 
 
 [196]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 his back ; and more than once she had smashed things in fits 
 of ungovernable rage. These moods were usually followed 
 by a flood of tears, and now he waited silently for the reac 
 tion; to say a word would, he knew, merely add fuel to the 
 already white-hot flame. 
 
 For a moment she stood glaring at him, then her features 
 became convulsed, and with a sob she threw herself on the 
 bed, crying hysterically. 
 
 Wilton left the room. 
 
 When Mrs. Jack came to herself so she could think, 
 she knew she must do something about the governess, but 
 what could she say to her ? WTiat reason could she give for 
 discharging her? She could not tell her it was on account 
 of what she had said to Harold; that was something she 
 could not discuss with the girl, but what could she say ? 
 Perhaps there would be no need of giving any reason. The 
 girl might want to go. Doubtless she did, for otherwise 
 she would not have acted so. That seemed so plausible 
 that she felt more at ease. She hastily picked up the pieces 
 of the letter from the floor, and rang for the governess, all 
 the time trying to reassure herself by mentally repeating, 
 " Of course the girl knew nothing ; of course not ; how absurd ! 
 
 Nothing escaped the keen eyes of the governess as she 
 entered the room as stealthily as a cat. She knew there had 
 been a scene between husband and wife, and she was sure 
 she had been the cause of it. Yet no one could have told 
 from her expression that she noticed anything at all unusual ; 
 her self-possession was perfect. 
 
 Without turning from the dressing-table where she sought 
 to appear as if rearranging her hair, Mrs. Jack said abruptly: 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I am sorry, but we shall have to make 
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 Ganton & Co. 
 
 a change. I shall not need your services any longer. I 
 will pay you a month ahead. " 
 
 Without betraying the slightest emotion, the young woman 
 asked in her broken English: 
 
 "Pardon, Madame, but may I ask why I am deesmis ? " 
 
 " Certainly. We that is, Mr. Wilton and I think 
 Harold does not need a French governess just now. " 
 Mrs. Jack was so confused that she could see her own con 
 fusion in the mirror, and was glad it stood at such an angle 
 that the governess could not see her. 
 
 "I am surprise Madame deed not know zis morning." 
 She was so exasperatingly cool and collected that it irritated 
 Mrs. Jack. 
 
 " I talked with Mr. Wilton this afternoon. It is sufficient 
 that we have decided." 
 
 " Perhaps Monsieur haf tol Madame somezing ? " 
 The accent on the " somezing " was disagreeably significant. 
 
 "Yes; he did tell me something," was the sharp retort. 
 Mrs. Jack forgot herself, but paused in time; she did not 
 care to go into that matter. 
 
 The governess waited without moving, but there was a 
 hard look about her eyes. 
 
 " Somezing I said to " she said interrogatively, but Mrs. 
 Jack interrupted her sharply : 
 
 "There is no need of discussing the matter, Mademoi 
 selle." 
 
 " But eef ze ladies ask me why I go, how s all I say ? " 
 
 " I don t care what you say," Mrs. Jack answered irritably, 
 her nerves giving away under the continued stress. 
 
 "Ver well, Madame." The response came slowly, as 
 if the girl were trying to find words to express herself to the 
 
 [198]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 point. "I can tell ze ladies I was deesmis because I haf 
 seen Madame and Monsieur Delaney togedder so ver often, 
 and zat I know " 
 
 "Stop!" Mrs. Jack was panic-stricken at the change 
 that came over the face she saw in the mirror. Was it pos 
 sible those pale and terror-stricken features belonged to her ? 
 Why did she look so guilty ? She did not dare turn around 
 and face the girl for fear she, too, would see. 
 
 " Stop! " she repeated, with an effort at indignation ; " not 
 another word. So this is the return you make for all I have 
 done for you." 
 
 "It ees Madame who sen me away. I like to stay wiz 
 Madame, but eef I go I mus tell w at I haf see ." The 
 tone was humble, and yet the threat so plain that Mrs. Jack 
 understood perfectly: the price of her silence was an easy 
 position; if discharged she would make trouble. 
 
 " Go to your room. I will consider the matter. Perhaps 
 Mr. Wilton will but go! go! go!" She could stand the 
 strain no longer, and her voice rose almost to a shriek. The 
 girl knew she had won, and with a soft, " Merci, Madame," 
 glided out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her. 
 
 During the entire interview Mrs. Jack had not turned 
 from where she stood before her dressing-table, her hand 
 mechanically attempting to arrange her disordered hair; but 
 she no sooner heard the door close than she whirled about 
 and walked back and forth like a caged beast seeking a 
 possible place of escape. " What shall I do ? What shall I 
 do ? " she kept repeating monotonously. Then she tried to 
 reassure herself by arguing : 
 
 " She knows nothing. She can t know anything. There 
 is nothing for her to know. It is all absurd. Why should 
 
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 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 I be afraid ? " But another voice whispered : " She would 
 talk, and people would believe her. People always believe 
 anything against a woman. Besides, there is the letter, that 
 anonymous letter. Who could have sent it ? Some jealous 
 woman ? " She ran over in her mind all her acquaint 
 ances, and all Delaney s so far as she knew them. It might 
 be this one, or that one, or the other one, yes, it might be 
 any one of half a dozen women she could think of, not one of 
 whom would hesitate to do a mean and malicious thing to 
 make her uncomfortable, if there was no chance of exposure. 
 Still the trouble was with the governess, not the letter: why 
 should she care who sent that contemptible note ? Any 
 woman might be made the victim of that sort of an attack; 
 no one would pay much attention to an anonymous letter. 
 But the governess, what could she do about her ? She 
 did not dare discharge her. Even if she had said things to 
 Harold she ought not to have said, she would not do that 
 again. No, she would not discharge her at present, but she 
 would find a way to get rid of her without incurring her 
 ill-will. Mrs. Jack persuaded herself such a course was 
 feasible, and she felt easier. 
 
 When her husband came into her room just before dinner 
 and asked her what she had done, she was more composed, 
 and explained it was not possible to send the governess off 
 without some notice; that such a course would cast such a 
 reflection upon the girl she would not be able to get another 
 place. 
 
 "But I will pay her a month or two ahead, and her 
 expenses to New York, anything to get her out of the city," 
 exclaimed Wilton. 
 
 "That would hardly do. Every one would know she 
 [200]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 was discharged for some reason. Besides, she would talk. 
 Leave it to me and I will manage it somehow." 
 
 "I told Harold she should go to-day," Wilton said, as 
 if keeping his word to the boy was of more importance than 
 anything else. 
 
 " Well, you should n t have told him anything of the kind," 
 his wife retorted impatiently; "it is none of his business." 
 
 Wilton thought it concerned the little fellow more than 
 any one in the house, but he knew from his wife s tone there 
 was no use saying anything more. Moreover, he felt that 
 possibly it would be wiser to get rid of the girl without a 
 scene. To discharge her because she said his wife did not 
 love him would set every one laughing, and saying the girl 
 had simply told the truth. The resolution so firmly taken in 
 the nursery seemed to melt away before these various con 
 siderations; he would have to explain to Harold that every 
 thing would be arranged by and by. Meanwhile the little 
 fellow should not be with the governess, that much he 
 would insist upon. 
 
 Nothing more was said about the letter. His wife did 
 not mention it, and he did not care to occasion another 
 scene by referring to it, though he did go so far as to suggest 
 in a mild and deferential tone : 
 
 " Would it not be wise, Sally, on Harold s account, I 
 mean, to see less of Delaney ? He s a good fellow, I 
 know," he hastened to add, noting the expression on his 
 wife s face, " and I am glad to have him come here, but, on 
 Harold s account " 
 
 She turned on him furiously : " Never mind Harold. You 
 need n t hide behind him. If you are jealous, speak for 
 yourself without sneaking behind the child." 
 
 [201]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 His face flushed, but he said quietly: "I am not jealous, 
 Sally. I have never interfered with your pleasures, and I m 
 glad to have you have a good time, but the boy is old enough 
 to notice things, and if the servants talk he will be sure to 
 "Servants talk !" she screamed, echoing his words; 
 " let them talk : what do I care ? I can take care of myself, 
 and I will see as much of Lawrence Delaney as I please." 
 
 She approached him and shook her finger in his face as if 
 she would like to strike him, her eyes small, and her features 
 bearing the expression of rage that made her look like a 
 vicious little beast. 
 
 Wilton did not attempt to answer. He looked down at 
 the floor and unconsciously began once more to try to make 
 the corner of the rug lie flat. It flashed over him he had 
 tried to do the same thing every time he had a dispute with 
 his wife, and this thought diverted him for an instant, but he 
 frowned and concentrated his mind upon the situation 
 which confronted him. His silence did not tend to mollify 
 his wife; on the contrary, it rasped her; it always irritated 
 her. Anger is a flame which feeds on all kinds of fuel. 
 
 "If you have nothing more to say I wish you would go 
 and leave me alone," she exclaimed. 
 
 He arose without a word and left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Jack sent word that she would not be down to 
 dinner. When her sister came to inquire what was the 
 matter, she did not let her in, but simply said she had a bad 
 headache and was going to bed early. 
 
 That night when Wilton went in to kiss his boy good 
 night, the little fellow said : 
 
 "Papa, s e is n t dawn." 
 
 "No; not yet, Major, but very soon." 
 [202]
 
 An Anonymous Letter 
 
 "I fought oo said s e would do to-day." 
 " So I did ; but you see, Major, mamma can t manage il 
 to-day, but by-and-bye. You won t have to speak French 
 with her any more. Nora will look out for you." 
 
 The Major liked Nora, and the prospect of her companion 
 ship and the promise of no more French appealed to him. 
 He did not care how long Mademoiselle remained in the 
 house provided he had nothing to do with her; though with 
 a child s inherent despotism he would have liked very much 
 to see her put out bag and baggage, that would have 
 satisfied his primitive sense of justice. 
 
 [203]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 EFFORTS TOWARD COMPROMISE 
 
 ON the second of August the teamsters went out at 
 the Yards. The firemen followed in sympathy, and 
 as the engineers refused to work with non-union 
 firemen, the shut-down was practically complete at all the 
 large plants. 
 
 The Yards were a law unto themselves. For years the 
 growth and prosperity of the city had been so dependent 
 upon the development of the great packing industries, that 
 they were looked upon with special favor, and enjoyed many 
 immunities and privileges not accorded lesser enterprises. 
 Once when the great packers threatened to withdraw and 
 establish new Yards just across the line in Indiana, it so 
 frightened not only the city but the railroads centring in 
 Chicago, that concessions were immediately made to placate 
 the great companies. 
 
 As against the public, the Yards ordinarily presented a 
 solid front; as between themselves, employers and employees 
 were on terms of more or less open hostility most of the 
 time. When, however, this condition of hostility assumed 
 the phase of open warfare in the shape of a strike, with all 
 its incidental lawlessness, both sides promptly appealed to 
 the city for aid and to the public for sympathy. In the heat 
 of the controversy grave disclosures affecting public health 
 and safety were made. Each side accused and betrayed 
 the other; and for the time being it seemed as if the devious 
 
 [204]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 and lawless ways of the Yards were about to be exposed. 
 But just as the highly inflamed indignation of the public 
 was getting ready to take concrete form in the shape of in 
 dictments and prosecutions of the guilty parties, all contro 
 versies were adjusted, all recriminations suddenly ceased, 
 all solicitude for the general welfare evaporated, and the 
 Yards once more retired within itself, and went on with its 
 ancient practices. The men who were fiercest in denounc 
 ing their employers for violating all the ordinances of the 
 city and most of the laws of the State, were the first to op 
 pose the authorities when they attempted to meddle. 
 
 Considering the atmosphere in which their working lives 
 were spent, the atmosphere of indifference to and contempt 
 for the law, it is small wonder that the men felt as if they 
 could do as they pleased; that, like their employers, they 
 might obey or not obey the law, as they saw fit. The only 
 law-making bodies with power to enforce their decrees the 
 men knew anything about were their labor unions. These 
 were potent organizations, trying offenders in secret and 
 executing them in alleys, in the streets, even in the street 
 cars, anywhere and everywhere the thug and the slugger 
 could reach them. It was all well enough to talk about police 
 protection, but there were not policemen enough in the city 
 to follow each man to his home and guard him day and night. 
 Besides, every one knew most of the police were in sympathy 
 with the unions. 
 
 Hence it was that when the teamsters were called out 
 they went, to a man, though few knew why, and though the 
 great majority were satisfied and did not wish to quit work. 
 
 There was talk of a readjustment of the scale of wages 
 and better hours. The officers of the union formulated 
 
 [205]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 their demands, presented them to the packers, and caused 
 them to be published in the papers, together with long state 
 ments tending to show that the men were worked and treated 
 worse than slaves ; that the average weekly wage of an able- 
 bodied driver was so low he could not hope to support a 
 family decently; and that his hours of work were so long he 
 was given no time for such rest and recreation as is an es 
 sential part of the gospel of relaxation preached to-day. 
 
 These harrowing pictures were met by the employers. 
 In joint session they appointed an official mouthpiece and 
 press-agent, who compiled endless figures to prove that the 
 teamsters were among the favored sons of industry, and that 
 they received so much and did so little most of them had 
 become fat and lazy. 
 
 Each side had its measure of truth. There were team 
 sters who were lean and poor in both senses of the term; 
 there were others who were well paid, well fed, fat, and lazy; 
 but each side lied so about the other that it was impossible 
 to get at the truth. However, the public, as usual, entered 
 into the controversy with zest, and fanned the flame. The 
 papers published columns of stuff, the exaggerations of the 
 reporters being treated as sober truths in ponderous editorials 
 which few read and none heeded. Numerous conferences 
 were held for the sake of publicity rather than for agree 
 ment : there were conferences at which both sides were repre 
 sented, there were conferences at which only one side was 
 represented, and there were conferences where no one was 
 present, which took place only in the overworked imagina 
 tions of the representatives of the press. 
 
 Some enterprising young women connected with the 
 Ruskin Settlement, rushing in where angels feared to tread, 
 
 [206]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 simplified matters by suggesting to the packers that they 
 not only yield all the men asked, but go farther and grant 
 all that the young women thought the men ought to ask. 
 
 The social reformer is ever aggressive, and in the person 
 of the young woman she is irrepressible. The man who 
 is going to reform the world is content to harangue the 
 multitude from the street corners, or at most to insinuate a 
 leaflet with a request for a subscription between door 
 and sill; but the young woman formulates her theories in 
 the club, and lays them hot-baked upon the desk, or quite 
 as likely on the lap, of the offending tyrant. She invades 
 his office, pursues him to his home, dogs his footsteps, inter 
 rupts his meals, spoils his digestion. She will not be denied. 
 If she is pretty no one wishes to deny her; but unhappily, 
 she is not often pretty. Handsome women so seldom try 
 to reform the world; the historical rumor is to the contrary. 
 Beauty and reform never go far hand in hand without the 
 latter succumbing. Indeed, a woman s zeal for social 
 regeneration has been said to be invariably inverse to her 
 good looks. 
 
 The Ruskin Settlement was an oasis in a desert of poverty, 
 wretchedness, and vice; a leavening influence in a seething 
 mass of degradation. Its band of earnest workers had 
 increased from a few to many. Every young woman who 
 felt she had a mission, and every young man who felt the 
 attraction of young women with missions, joined the Settle 
 ment for longer or shorter periods, according to the strength 
 of the conviction and the attraction. Not infrequently the 
 young women and the young men merged their enthusiasms, 
 and devoted their combined efforts to the solution of the 
 matrimonial to the neglect of the less intricate social problem; 
 
 [207]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 thereby unconsciously substituting the egoism of domesticity 
 for a more abstract altruism. 
 
 When Miss Higbee Higginson presented herself at the 
 office of Ganton & Co., as the duly accredited representative 
 of the Settlement, and demanded to see John Ganton, she 
 would not be denied. There was no use telling her he was 
 out, for she would wait; there was no use telling her he was 
 busy and could not see her, for the patience and pertinacity 
 of the woman-reformer outlives all engagements. All this 
 was known in the office, for they had had experiences with 
 representatives of the Settlement before, and knew their 
 characteristics. Besides, such was the disposition of press 
 and public toward the Settlement that to refuse to see a 
 representative, even though that representative were a young 
 woman who knew less than nothing about the business in 
 which she was meddling, would be bad policy. Miss Hig 
 ginson, therefore, was received deferentially, if not cordially. 
 
 John Ganton was in his shirt-sleeves, wnth his waistcoat 
 thrown open and his collar unbuttoned as usual. He swung 
 about in his chair as Miss Higginson entered and seated 
 herself defiantly; though her mission was supposed to be 
 pacific, her manner was bellicose. 
 
 "I have come to see you, Mr. Ganton, about this strike 
 at the Yards." Her sharp, shrill voice exasperated the old 
 man. He had no use for reformers, especially reformers in 
 skirts ; but he kept his temper and meekly replied : 
 
 " Yes, ma am." 
 
 "We think the differences should be arbitrated," she con 
 tinued. 
 
 " Who are we, ma am ? " 
 
 "The Ruskin Settlement, Mr. Ganton," she answered 
 [208]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 with some exultation in her tone, as if the influence and power 
 of the Ruskin Settlement were too well known in the commu 
 nity to be denied. 
 
 "Oh!" That was all he said. Miss Higginson was 
 uncertain just what he meant by the ejaculation, and the 
 doubt annoyed her, so she repeated with additional emphasis : 
 
 "We think, Mr. Ganton, the differences should be arbi 
 trated." She looked at him sharply through her eye-glasses 
 to note the effect of the suggestion, but his big red face was 
 impassive to the point of dulness. With one hand he fumbled 
 the papers on his desk, and his small eyes gazed at her almost 
 stupidly from beneath the bushy sandy eyebrows. 
 
 " What differences ? " the question struck her as extremely 
 stupid 
 
 "What differences!" she exclaimed. "Why the differ 
 ences between you and the men." 
 
 " And what are they, ma am ? " The " ma am " annoyed 
 her, in the depth of her soul she clung to the belief she was 
 still young. 
 
 "You know what the differences are, Mr. Ganton. 
 There is no need for me to enumerate them." 
 
 "You will confer a favor, ma am, if you will mention 
 those you think we ought to arbitrate." He was so defer 
 ential in his manner it threw her off her guard, and she 
 replied somewhat helplessly: 
 
 " I can t, that is, I am not prepared to enumerate the 
 differences at this minute. But," she brightened up, "I 
 can confer with the teamsters committee and let you know." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "In an hour perhaps, anyway not later than this after 
 noon," she continued hopefully. 
 
 [209]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "And will you arbitrate the differences? " 
 
 " Suppose you find there are n t any ? " He peered at her 
 with a funny expression in his small eyes, which did not 
 look so sleepy and stupid now. 
 
 "Oh, but there are, else there would be no strike," she 
 confidently urged. 
 
 "Suppose, ma am, you find out whether there are any 
 differences and what they are, and then talk about arbitra 
 tion. You might," he accented the " might " significantly, 
 " conclude the men are in the wrong." 
 
 " Oh, that can t be," she exclaimed impulsively. 
 
 " Why not, ma am ? " he asked sharply. " Why can t 
 the men be in the wrong as well as the employers ? You 
 come here as the representative of the Ruskin Settlement 
 and demand that we arbitrate differences you know nothing 
 about, when you do not even know differences exist. But 
 you assume there are differences, and that the men are in the 
 right and we are in the wrong. Your notions may be all 
 right, but you are meddling in affairs you know nothing about. 
 Before you make suggestions I should advise you to make 
 investigations, and," he added significantly, " for your infor 
 mation, ma am, I can tell you a strike does not necessarily 
 mean that there are differences between employer and em 
 ployees which they cannot settle themselves, when they get 
 good and ready to settle." 
 
 Miss Higbee Higginson was chagrined. She was even 
 mortified to think she had come on such a mission without 
 first making some inquiries. To hide her embarrassment 
 she said defiantly as she rose to go : 
 
 " And so, Mr. Ganton, I am to report that you refuse all 
 [210]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 offers of mediation, that you will not arbitrate, that you 
 refuse " 
 
 " You may say whatever you the old man caught 
 himself just in time, " please, so long as you get your name 
 in the papers that is what you are here for. You and the 
 Ruskin Settlement want a little free advertising, and think 
 this is a good time to get it." 
 
 The old man s face was red and his small eyes blazed 
 with anger. He had intended to keep cool ; Browning had 
 urged him to be diplomatic, but it was no use. 
 
 Miss Higbee Higginson was just a little frightened and 
 made a hasty exit from the small office. The afternoon papers 
 all had big " scare " head-lines to the effect that the packers 
 were stubborn, that they refused all offers of mediation and 
 arbitration, that they were bent upon disrupting organized 
 labor, and so on, with sensational accounts of the rude re 
 ception accorded a representative of the Ruskin Settlement, 
 " that band of philanthropic men and women, enlightened 
 experts in sociological matters, whose influence for good in 
 the community, " and so on and on. In all the reports 
 Miss Higbee Higginson figured prominently, and the general 
 impression conveyed was that she had covered herself with 
 a good deal of glory and not a little immortality by bearding 
 the packers in their den, and demanding justice for down 
 trodden employees. 
 
 The example of the Ruskin Settlement was contagious; 
 a strike offers exceptional opportunities for self-exploitation 
 and notoriety. 
 
 The Common Council adopted resolutions appropriate to 
 the emergency, and appointed a committee to wait upon the 
 packers always upon the employers, rather than upon the 
 
 [211]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 men and urge such concessions as would immediately end 
 the strike. The resolutions did not contemplate asking the 
 strikers i. e., the voters to make concessions, it being 
 tacitly assumed they were not only right in their attitude, 
 but, withal, exceedingly modest in their demands. 
 
 The enterprising secretary of the National Association 
 for Civic Reform came on from Washington, and made the 
 strike an occasion for calling a national conference of civic 
 and other reformers in Chicago, even offering to intervene 
 personally and officially in the controversy, with a view to 
 giving it the prominence it deserved, and incidentally work 
 ing out a solution which would redound to the credit and 
 profit of his National Association. The fact that he was 
 at that moment offering to intervene in to " break into," 
 as an irreverent labor journal put it seventeen other 
 strikes, ranging from that of the " dock wollopers " in San 
 Francisco to that of the bobbin-makers in Massachusetts, 
 did not deter him from facing the Chicago situation. His 
 Association had as officers and committeemen prominent 
 politicians enough to settle every strike in the country, and 
 could furnish any number of arbitrators or conference com 
 mittees on telegraphic notice, as they were kept constantly 
 on hand ready for every emergency, and it was an important 
 part of his business to find or create the emergencies. 
 
 The indefatigable secretary was in no wise discouraged 
 when the packers declined his proffered services. He was 
 used to that. His services were commonly declined, often 
 without thanks. If they had been accepted he might have 
 been at a loss just what to do, since, like Miss Higbee Hig- 
 ginson, he had not the remotest idea what the strike was 
 about, and, unlike her, he did not care. Inasmuch as his 
 
 [212]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 services were declined, he knew precisely what to do. He 
 called a convention, and arranged to have every man of 
 prominence in the city who courted publicity preside at some 
 of the numerous sessions, act as one of the two hundred vice- 
 presidents, read a paper, or deliver an address. Such was 
 the sagacity of the experienced secretary that no one was over 
 looked. Politicians of national, State, and local importance 
 were to be present in name or person, and the affair speedily 
 assumed an importance that quite overshadowed the strike 
 which was its immediate occasion. In fact, the strike was 
 forgotten; and when the great convention was held, lasting 
 an entire day, with three sessions, and a banquet the follow 
 ing evening as a sort of a soft afterglow, only two speakers 
 referred to the strike, and these were hissed for trying to 
 destroy the supreme harmony of the occasion by introducing 
 local matters into debates of national and academic mag 
 nitude. 
 
 Men from every walk in life were gathered upon the plat 
 form: labor-leaders touched elbows with hated capitalists, 
 preachers with the politicians they denounced from their 
 pulpits, doctors, lawyers, and merchants, all were there, 
 and each was subdued to the occasion. Utterances assumed 
 the complimentary and negative line of polite conversations 
 between foes who happen to meet at a friend s dinner-table. 
 Labor and capital were lauded to the skies as indispensable 
 to and dependent upon each other. Though it was frankly 
 conceded that both might make mistakes, no speaker went 
 so far as to assert that either had ever really done so. If 
 not a feast of reason it was a flow of soul. The head of the 
 American Workingmen s Association clasped hands with the 
 president of the great Bituminous Trust, and in his address 
 
 [2131
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 spoke eloquently of " that new era, the dawn of which is 
 even now breaking over the rugged hilltops, when labor and 
 capital shall be united, and shoulder to shoulder stand 
 triumphant before the world." That was the key-note of 
 the assembly, and each speaker played his little variation on 
 the theme. The only discord was when a half-intoxicated 
 delegate from the Workingmen s Club of Englewood blurted 
 out the question: 
 
 " How about this strike down at the Yards ? " 
 
 He was promptly suppressed, and the chairman one 
 of the leading merchants of the city expressed the hope 
 that " nothing further would occur to mar the felicity of this 
 great occasion. We are not here," he continued grandly, 
 "to discuss local matters." 
 
 "Then what the hell are we here for?" shouted the 
 obstreperous delegate. 
 
 The chairman paused as if grieved, and continued firmly : 
 "We are here to discuss questions of the highest general 
 import, questions of sociological significance, questions 
 questions " the chairman lost himself in the breadth of his 
 comprehension, but immediately added, grandiloquently, 
 "questions which the world expects us to answer." 
 
 He swept his arms about him as if to embrace the universe. 
 There was a hush, in the midst of which the Englewood dele 
 gate remarked loud enough for all to hear: 
 
 "Rot!" 
 
 The convention was considered a great success; before 
 adjourning it passed a resolution prepared in advance to 
 meet such an emergency complimenting the secretary for 
 his patriotic and disinterested efforts. 
 
 The proceedings filled columns of the city papers, and 
 [214]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 were telegraphed broadcast by the Associated Press. The 
 great end, publicity, was attained, and the National Asso 
 ciation for Civic Reform had accomplished its purpose. 
 True, it had not brought the packers and the teamsters 
 together, it had not brought any particular workman nearer 
 his particular employer, it had not attempted either of these 
 insignificant ends; but it had brought labor and capital 
 together on the same platform, where they could indulge in 
 platitudes to the edification of the admiring public. 
 
 The strike was made the subject of sermons in those 
 churches where the preacher, too, felt the need of publicity ; 
 the occasion being especially fruitful to those unattached 
 divines who felt so personally and particularly called by the 
 Lord that they could not be restrained within established 
 orders, but had places of talk of their own. Every American 
 city contains a number of these zealous spirits; a number 
 directly proportioned to the population, some two or three 
 to the million, for more the papers have not space. They 
 gather their texts from head-lines, their themes from the 
 criminal columns, their inspiration from the events of the 
 day, and they not only keep abreast of the times, but now 
 and then thump it familiarly on the back. They attend 
 meetings, dinners, conferences, and conventions, deliver 
 long invocations, speak when called upon, and if not called 
 upon speak just the same; the narrow confines of their 
 pulpits they find irksome, and they always furnish the papers 
 with outlines of the sermons they intend to deliver. If these 
 worthy men could have agreed they would undoubtedly 
 have called upon the packers in a body, and protested against 
 the tyranny of capital, but unhappily they could not agree 
 concerning either this world or the next. Each, therefore, 
 
 [215]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 separately took it upon himself to settle the strike by 
 visiting one or more of the packers, and urging arbitration 
 or some other popular course. Failing in this mission, each 
 had material for his Sunday s sermon and his Monday s 
 publicity. When the strike did come to an end, and without 
 their assistance, down in their hearts they regretted the loss 
 of good material, for there is no use fulminating against 
 capital when labor says it is satisfied; when the lion and 
 the lamb lie down together the occupation of the shepherd 
 is gone. 
 
 When one of the independent pastors forced his way into 
 the house of George Borlan, and urged the settlement of the 
 strike, talking about the needs of the workingman and the 
 beneficent influence of the unions, Borlan lost all patience, 
 and in his nervous way answered: 
 
 "Unionism stands for corruption, lawlessness, and plun 
 der. It stands between the employee and the employer with 
 itching palm ready to take the bribe it demands. It has 
 destroyed every relation of confidence, good-will, and esteem 
 between master and man. It has reduced labor to a com 
 modity to be dealt in wholesale. It has destroyed the indi 
 viduality of the workman by denying him the right to work 
 when, where, and for whom he pleases, as long as he pleases, 
 and for the wages he pleases. It denies the right of the 
 coming generation to work by curtailing the number of 
 apprentices. It denies the right of the ambitious workman 
 to get on by limiting the amount of work he shall do each day. 
 It does all it can to prevent a man from working at more than 
 one trade, fining the gas-fitter if he does the work of the 
 plumber, the bricklayer if he puts a few stones in place, the 
 painter if he hangs a strip of wall-paper. The history of 
 
 [216]
 
 Efforts Toward Compromise 
 
 mankind knows no tyranny so arbitrary, so complete, so 
 oppressive and heartless, as that of the modern trades union 
 over its terrorized members. " 
 
 " Would you destroy the unions ? " asked the amazed 
 pastor. 
 
 "Destroy them!" Borlan exclaimed as he paced to and 
 fro. " Why should I, as an employer, destroy them ? They 
 cause us some inconvenience now and then, but it is cheaper 
 for us to buy a few leaders than deal with all our men." 
 
 "I am surprised, Mr. Borlan, to hear that the employers 
 descend to such corruption. " 
 
 " Corruption ! Corruption ! " Borlan fairly shouted ; " it is 
 not we who corrupt. You can t corrupt these men, they 
 are rotten to the core before they ever come to us. They get 
 their positions because they are rotten, because unionism is 
 rotten and needs rotten agents to perform its dirty work. 
 The theory of unionism is rotten, and therefore the practice 
 must be rotten; the men choose their own representatives, 
 and we deal with them on their own terms. It is not for us 
 to tell them they are corrupt, for the men know it, their 
 unions know it, and the court records show it. If one of 
 these men is convicted of selling out his union, and sentenced 
 to the penitentiary, is he repudiated by the unions ? No ; 
 and you know it. He is hailed as a martyr, reelected to 
 office, welcomed as a hero, and greeted with wild applause 
 by every union gathering where he appears. Why should 
 we expose and convict when it is cheaper and more popular 
 to buy ? Go about in the union headquarters down town , 
 and you will soon learn who are running this strike. Three 
 men, just three men, have the matter in the hollow of their 
 hands." 
 
 [217]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " If that be so, Mr. Borlan," the worthy pastor interrupted 
 with some emphasis, "and they are as corrupt as you say, 
 why have n t you paid them and stopped the strike ? " The 
 good man smiled at the dilemma in which he thought he 
 placed Borlan ; the latter hesitated a moment, and said : 
 
 "You are now talking of matters which do not concern 
 you. All I can say is the packers are not in business for their 
 health, and they are not fighting strikes as a matter of prin 
 ciple. When they get ready to settle the strike it will come 
 to an end, and not before. Meanwhile you and your asso 
 ciates can go on patting the unions on their backs; but 
 don t forget that a short time ago you were, every man of 
 you, denouncing the livery drivers union for striking and 
 interfering with weddings and funerals, your business ; 
 from the point of view of the driver, the wage-earner, what 
 difference does it make whether he hauls a corpse, or a 
 bridegroom, or sugar-cured hams ? Why have not the livery 
 drivers the same right to strike and make it warm for scabs 
 who take their places at funerals, as our teamsters ? If inde 
 cent as you all shouted from your pulpits to interfere 
 with the burial of the dead, is it not doubly indecent and crim 
 inal to interfere with the cartage of food for the living ? " 
 
 The worthy pastor of independent and sensational pro 
 clivities was greatly shocked, and picking up his hat he 
 hurriedly left the house. 
 
 [218]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE WORK OF THUGS 
 
 THERE was rioting in the streets whenever the packers 
 attempted to haul goods with non-union teamsters. 
 The police endeavored to preserve peace with the 
 least possible interference with the rioters. Meanwhile the 
 price of meat steadily advanced from day to day, and 
 the stock accumulated in the warehouses was being disposed 
 of at a handsome profit. 
 
 Old John Ganton had numerous conferences with Nor- 
 berg; of all the conferences held in the city these were the 
 only ones which really meant anything, and they were not 
 reported in the papers. 
 
 One evening after a particularly eventful day, wherein 
 two men had been nearly killed and many severely injured, 
 Norberg was closeted with the old man in the private office. 
 
 "The tie-up must last two weeks longer, Norberg; can 
 you rely upon Ballard and those two loafers, Scotty and 
 Fanning ? " 
 
 " They re all right. The leaders will keep the strike 
 going as long as they can. The teamsters union alone is 
 taking in over forty thousand dollars a week in contributions 
 from other unions. Mighty little of that money will the rank 
 and file get hold of." 
 
 "Umph," the old man grunted; "so that s their game, 
 is it?" 
 
 "That s where they make their money; strikes pay 
 nowadays." 
 
 [219]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " We need n t have given them one cent. How much will 
 they collect ? " 
 
 "If the strike lasts six weeks, the teamsters will gather 
 into their treasury from other unions between two and three 
 hundred thousand dollars, at the very least. In the coal 
 strike, the anthracite union started out with less than 
 thirty thousand dollars in its treasury, and when the strike 
 was called off they had nearly a million. I tell you this 
 striking business is profitable for every one but the men 
 who are out of work, and for the public that foots the bills." 
 
 "Well, we must keep up a show of doing business with 
 non-union men." 
 
 "Even if a few do get slugged," Norberg interrupted, 
 smiling deferentially. 
 
 "That s their lookout; we shall demand more police 
 protection, and there will be talk of calling out the militia; 
 but you tell Ballard and the rascals with him to keep their 
 organization well in hand and stop the slugging. Yesterday 
 things went too far." 
 
 " That s just the trouble, Mr. Ganton, the men can t be 
 controlled. They take the matter in dead earnest. Besides, 
 Borlan Bros, are making no end of trouble. They are going 
 right ahead with non-union men, and say they will never 
 take their old men back unless they quit the unions. Allan 
 Borlan is talking pretty plainly." 
 
 " Allan Borlan is a fool," interrupted the old man, shortly. 
 
 "He is telling some pretty plain truths, and Ballard is 
 getting ugly. If I were the young man I would look out. 
 Ballard has more ways than one of getting even." 
 
 " What do you mean, Xorberg ? " John Ganton looked 
 sharply at the stolid face of the man before him. 
 
 [220]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 " I don t know anything, of course, but I ve heard em 
 talking, and the gang is down on young Borlan. He is n t 
 a bad fellow. I would n t like to see him come to harm. 
 Could n t you give him a friendly hint, Mr. Ganton, to keep 
 his mouth shut for a time ? " 
 
 Even Norberg rather liked Allan Borlan for his fearlessness 
 in exposing the way in which the men were betrayed by 
 their leaders, and no one knew better than he the truth of 
 every charge made. 
 
 " It s no use, Norberg. I have talked with him, but 
 he s as stubborn as a mule. He won t join us in anything. 
 They must paddle their own canoe, but " and here the 
 old man s voice became sharply peremptory, "I don t want 
 him to come to any harm, do you hear ? Tell those fellows 
 they may talk as much as they please and fight Borlan 
 Bros, all they want to, but if they hurt the young man there 11 
 be trouble." 
 
 When Norberg warned Ballard not to go too far with 
 Allan Borlan, the latter s face assumed an ugly look. " Then 
 tell him to keep his mouth shut," was the only response. 
 
 Contrary to his usual indifference toward what did not 
 concern himself or his business, John Ganton could not get 
 out of his mind what Norberg had said, and it troubled him 
 so much that at length he told Browning to send for young 
 Borlan. The next moment he was irritated with himself 
 for doing so. 
 
 When Allan Borlan entered the small office, the keen eye 
 of John Ganton could see in the young man s careworn face 
 the effects of the strain he was under; the burden of the 
 strike had fallen on his shoulders. " You got us into it, you 
 must fight it out," George Borlan had said at the outset.
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 " Sit down, Allan, sit down," the old man said in a friendly 
 tone. " I sent for you to warn you against going too far in 
 talking about the rascals who are running this strike; they 
 are a bad lot." 
 
 " I am not afraid of them, Mr. Ganton, and they know it," 
 was the firm response. 
 
 "All the more danger. They don t fight in the open, 
 and they d just as soon hit a man from behind as not." 
 
 " I can take care of myself. At the same time I thank you 
 for your interest." There was a pause. Allan Borlan was 
 on the point of saying something. He hesitated, but at 
 length he looked up and said slowly: 
 
 "I had not intended coming here again, Mr. Ganton, 
 but you sent for me, and now that I am here I can t help 
 telling you what I think." The old man s lips were pressed 
 tightly together and the friendly look went out of his counte 
 nance. "You and the other packers control the men who 
 are running this strike, and you have them under pay. You 
 struck our plant first because I refused to join with you and 
 put up money, and you are willing there should be a shut 
 down now because you have big stocks on hand. This is an 
 employers strike, not a labor strike, and the poor devils 
 who are out of work and wages are being played by both 
 sides. Now, who are responsible for the disturbances, the 
 disorder, the riots, the assaults ? Are the three loafers who 
 are running the labor end responsible or the employers who 
 control them ? Are " 
 
 "Look here, young man, if you mean to insinuate that 
 I that I " the old man s face was purple with rage 
 and he could scarcely speak, " you may go to hell for all 
 I care. Get out of here now clear out!" 
 
 [222]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 Without another word Allan Borlan left the small office. 
 As he disappeared through the door, John Ganton swung 
 around in his chair with a vicious twist and looked out on 
 the street below, his features working, muttering to himself. 
 Yet a look of indecision crept into his features, for he could 
 not rid himself entirely of the feeling that Allan Borlan was 
 right; where did the responsibility rest? 
 
 When Norberg came in about five o clock John Ganton 
 once more, and this time more emphatically, told him to warn 
 the leaders against violence. "I won t have it," he almost 
 shouted ; " if they don t call off their thugs I 11 land them in 
 prison, every mother s son of them." 
 
 Night and day Allan Borlan had worked with feverish 
 energy to keep his plant going. As fast as the employees 
 of one department after another quit work he got in new 
 hands to take their places. These he housed and fed in the 
 Yards, but they were so inexperienced that the work went 
 on under difficulties. With indefatigable energy he was 
 here and there in every building, in every room from the 
 killing to the shipping, directing, showing, often doing the 
 work with his own hands. When the rioting was fiercest he 
 mounted a wagon, and without the slightest hesitation drove 
 into and through the mobs outside the gates, against the 
 earnest protestations of the police, choosing the streets 
 where the danger was greatest. Strangely enough, instead 
 of being stoned, he was cheered by the strikers themselves, 
 and when some young toughs started to throw stones, they 
 were so roughly treated by some of the striking teamsters 
 that thereafter when the young man appeared on one of the 
 wagons he was allowed to pass without hindrance. 
 
 [223]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 The men liked Allan Borlan, the harder he fought them 
 the better they liked him, all except the leaders he denounced. 
 These scoundrels hated him just because he was so popular 
 among the men, because the men trusted him, and in their 
 hearts felt he was telling the truth about the situation. The 
 more intelligent among the rank and file began to talk among 
 themselves, and ask what the strike was about anyway, and 
 who would be benefited in the end, wondering where all the 
 money w r as going that was being contributed each w r eek by 
 other unions. Some said this amounted to ten thousand 
 dollars a week, and some said one hundred thousand dollars, 
 but whether ten thousand or a hundred thousand made little 
 difference, the men got little of it. 
 
 Two or three relief stores had been opened near the 
 Yards early in the strike, but the supply of food and neces 
 saries quickly gave out, and the families, the women and 
 children who most needed help, never seemed to get anything. 
 There were mutterings and discontent; only the threats of 
 the leaders and business agents kept the good men in line, the 
 loafers who did the rioting and backed up the professional 
 toughs and sluggers who did the fighting, all these were well 
 taken care of from some mysterious source. They had plenty 
 of money, as every saloon-keeper in the vicinity could testify. 
 
 No one did so much to spread distrust and discontent 
 among the men as Allan Borlan. He lost no opportunity 
 to speak to them. He invited conferences, and again and 
 again laid bare the inner workings of the strike. He did not 
 mince matters, but named the leaders who had sold out 
 their unions; his bitterest denunciations being directed 
 against Ballard, who received from his spies exaggerated 
 reports of w T hat was said. 
 
 [224]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 So great an impression did Allan Borlan make that at 
 length some of his old men, men with families dependent 
 upon them, one by one appeared at the office, tore up their 
 union cards, and asked to be taken back. Among the first 
 was old Mike. 
 
 " I told you, and the rest of the boys, Mike, that if you 
 went out you were out for good," said Allan Borlan to the 
 old man who stood before him, twisting his old battered hat 
 in his hands, a pathetic figure, looking more poverty-stricken 
 than ever ; " but if any of you want to come back as indi 
 viduals, not as members of a union, you can come." 
 
 " I have to find work, Mr. Borlan. There are too many 
 of us to live on what the union gives." 
 
 " Get your team and I will make the first trip with you, 
 to see you safe down town." 
 
 "There s no need of that, sorr, I can go alone." The 
 old man was no coward. 
 
 " I m afraid not, Mike. They will be down on you." 
 
 There were no cheers for Allan Borlan as he rode down 
 beside Mike. He noted the scowling faces and ominous 
 signs, and when they returned he asked for an escort of police 
 for the old man. 
 
 Another trip to the city was made in safety, but that night 
 when Mike boarded a car just outside the gates to go home 
 two men got on the platform. When he stepped down in 
 front of the little old frame house, hardly more than a shanty, 
 where he lived, one of the men came up behind him, the 
 other in front. The one in front said, " You damned scab, 
 take that!" and dealt the old man a stunning blow in the 
 face. Before he could defend himself the thug behind 
 grabbed him about the body, pinning his arms to his sides,
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 holding him defenceless against the ugly blows that were 
 rained upon his bleeding face by the first assailant. Covered 
 with blood, he was left lying unconscious in the road, where 
 his old wife and daughter found him, and with the aid of the 
 neighbors carried him into the house. In spite of all they 
 could do, he remained unconscious through the night, and 
 when the doctor came he said the old man s skull had been 
 fractured by something heavier than a man s bare fist. 
 Before the ambulance arrived the old man was delirious. 
 With a strong brogue he talked of his boyhood, of his home 
 in Ireland, of the days when he courted his wife. His 
 mutterings gradually became incoherent, until he knew no 
 one about him, not even the little grandchildren who stood 
 half frightened, half curious by the rickety old couch. Now 
 and then he said something about the strike, but his voice 
 fell so low they could not understand. 
 
 Before he could be moved to the County Hospital for an 
 operation, the old man died, the first victim of the strike. 
 
 When Allan Borlan heard of the cowardly murder his 
 face assumed a look of grim determination. Mounting one 
 of the wagons, he drove straight into the crowd of strikers 
 assembled without the gates. The news of Mike s death 
 had spread with that mysterious rapidity which character 
 izes the dissemination of bad news, until every one in the 
 neighborhood of the Yards, even the most ignorant foreigners, 
 knew all about it. There was some exultation on the part of 
 the ugly and vicious, but for the most part the strikers them 
 selves were depressed and silent; Mike had been a well- 
 known figure in and about the Yards for a generation, and the 
 men liked him, besides they knew how sorely he needed the 
 work. Therefore, when the wagon on which Allan Borlan 
 
 [226]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 was standing stopped in their midst and he began speaking 
 with all the energy and all the bitterness he possessed, they 
 were cowed and listened without a murmur. Even Ballard, 
 who was lounging in the doorway of a saloon with his hands 
 in his pockets, made no attempt to stay the torrent of denun 
 ciation which was poured out upon the unions and their 
 methods. 
 
 "Too cowardly to fight man to man in the open, you 
 employ thugs and murderers to do your work. Like a pack 
 of whipped curs, you cower before me. Alone and unarmed 
 I am in your midst, and not one of you dares lift his hand 
 against me. But at night, in the darkness of alleys, in the 
 shadows of buildings, by twos and threes, you and your paid 
 thugs lie in wait for an unsuspecting and defenceless victim. 
 If an old man, or a boy, or a woman, your courage rises to 
 the striking point, and you beat and maim and kill, all in the 
 name of your unions; for all that is foul and cowardly 
 Chicago has become a byword in the mouth of peace-loving 
 people. No city on the face of the earth has been so dis 
 graced, so humiliated, so injured in reputation and prosperity 
 by unionism, as Chicago. It is shunned by decent people 
 as a resort for outlaws and criminals. 
 
 "I once thought there was some good in labor unions, 
 that some good might grow out of them, and I stood for 
 them, and even encouraged their organization. Now I know 
 I was wrong ; now I know they are rotten and corrupt to the 
 core, that they are organized and controlled to suit the 
 selfish ends of the unscrupulous demagogues who run them, 
 and that you, the rank and file, have nothing to say; you are 
 terrorized into blind obedience to orders. You strike when 
 you are told to strike, and you work when you are told to 
 
 [227]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 work, without daring to question or protest. You are bought 
 and sold, and you know it. The men who manage your 
 unions get rich and live in luxury. Where do they get the 
 money ? Out of your earnings and out of the employers 
 they blackmail by threats of ruin. Show me a labor leader 
 who is not living in luxury, who is not openly or secretly 
 laying up more money than he could ever earn at any honest 
 calling! From the bottom of my soul I pity you, robbed of 
 your earnings, of your employment, driven about like cattle, 
 bought and sold like so many sheep, deceived and cheated 
 in your ignorance by unscrupulous leaders, you stand here 
 to-day conscious that the blood of an old man, a man you 
 liked and who liked you, is on your heads. That he was 
 killed at the command of your leaders, that he was murdered 
 by your paid tools, and " pausing a second with uplifted 
 arm pointing directly at Ballard, "there, there in that door 
 way, with his hands in his pockets, as smiling as a fiend from 
 hell, is the man who prompted the murder." 
 
 Every eye in the crowd was turned upon Ballard. Sur 
 prised by the suddenness of the attack, he started, withdrew 
 his hands from his pockets, and turned a sickly yellow. He 
 attempted to smile, but fear and rage distorted his features. 
 Losing the self-control that so seldom deserted him, he 
 shook his fist toward Allan Borlan, muttered something 
 beneath his breath, turned quickly, and disappeared within 
 the saloon. 
 
 The tension was so great that an audible sigh of relief 
 went up as the door closed behind Ballard. As Allan Bor 
 lan went back into the Yards more than one man whispered 
 to his neighbor, " I should n t like to be in that young fellow s 
 shoes, Ballard s a bad one when he gets started." 
 
 [228]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 " What do you think he 11 do ? " asked one man. 
 
 " Who can tell ? But if I were Borlan I d keep my eye 
 peeled going home." 
 
 "And steer clear of alleys," was the significant rejoinder. 
 
 For a day or two there was a lull in hostilities. All of 
 Borlan s men were sorry for the death of old Mike, and 
 many of the strikers contributed to the fund raised for his 
 widow and daughter. A committee even waited upon 
 Allan Borlan, and in rough terms expressed their regret the 
 old man had been killed, presenting at the same time a 
 resolution which some cleverer hand had drawn, to the 
 effect that "union labor condemns lawlessness as contrary 
 to its fundamental principles," and so on. 
 
 Allan Borlan listened to what the spokesman of the 
 committee, one of his own teamsters, had to say. He read 
 the resolution, and the curl of his lips showed the contempt 
 he felt. 
 
 "I believe you are sincere, boys, in your regret for the 
 death of Mike. There is not one of you he has not helped 
 out in some way; there was n t a better teamster or a more 
 loyal friend in the Yards. He did not want to quit, but he 
 stood by you and obeyed orders until his family was starving. 
 When he found that the money contributed for the support 
 of the strikers did not reach them, that he could not pay rent 
 or get food enough to keep him alive, he had to come back 
 to work, and the union turned its paid assassins upon him 
 and killed him in cold blood. Now, you pass this lying 
 resolution; you did not draw it, you did not even adopt it, 
 but some one more cunning has put it in your hands to 
 deliver to the public. Every man of you knows as well as 
 I do that it is false. Take your lying resolution back to the 
 
 [229]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 man who drew it I can guess his name and tell him 
 from me he is a murderer in his heart, and the blood of Mike 
 is on his cowardly head." 
 
 The men were so abashed by the words and manner of the 
 young man, that without attempting any reply they silently 
 filed out. 
 
 George Borlan had listened from an inner office, and 
 when the men were gone he said : 
 
 " What s the use of talking to them that way, Allan ? 
 It can do no good, and it only makes bad matters worse." 
 
 " I can t help it. It s all true, every word." 
 
 " That may be, but what s the use stirring up so much 
 ill-feeling ? We 11 have to make some deal with them in 
 the end." 
 
 " Never. I will quit the business before I will have any 
 thing to do with these unions," was the emphatic response. 
 
 George Borlan shrugged his shoulders, and retired into 
 his own office, but on the way home that night he urged: 
 
 "You had better be careful about going out evenings. 
 Those fellows have it in for you, and they won t stop at 
 anything." 
 
 " They are a lot of cowards." 
 
 "That may be," said the elder brother earnestly, "and 
 therefore all the more dangerous. They may waylay you 
 anywhere." 
 
 " I can take care of myself," was the curt response. 
 
 " Do you carry a pistol ? " 
 
 " No; that is a sign of cowardice. When I carry a pistol 
 I will join the police force." Allan Borlan had profound con 
 tempt for men who carried weapons. In his mind it was a 
 confession of fear and lack of confidence not only in one s 
 
 [230]
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 self, but in the community generally. " It reduces us all to 
 the level of border ruffians," he remarked. 
 
 " Well, I can t see much difference between Chicago with 
 a strike on and a lawless mining camp. Life is certainly no 
 safer," answered his brother. 
 
 "If I lived in a mining camp I would find some way of 
 protecting myself besides carrying a bowie-knife and a six- 
 shooter, like a drunken tough." 
 
 With reckless indifference, Allan Borlan sought excuses 
 for going out evenings. He attended meetings down town, 
 held conferences at their city offices, made speeches, pub 
 lished interviews, and in every possible way made himself 
 obnoxious to the unions. Notwithstanding his youth and 
 inexperience, he was the head and front of the fight against 
 the unions. The other packers contented themselves with 
 a show of opposition ; they were so little aggressive, that the 
 public suspected they were only too well satisfied with the 
 situation. The price of meat was steadily advancing. 
 
 Nearly a week had elapsed since the death of old Mike. 
 There had been no additional fatalities, though many non 
 union men had been viciously assaulted, and a few union slug 
 gers had been arrested. These had been either discharged 
 or let off under suspended sentences by complaisant political 
 magistrates. So far not a rioter had been fined or committed 
 to jail, the extent of their inconvenience being measured by 
 a night in the station-house. This lax administration of 
 justice was attracting attention and threatened to develop 
 into a scandal. 
 
 It was Saturday night. Allan Borlan left the Yards later 
 than usual to hasten home for dinner, to attend afterward 
 an important conference at their city offices. It was nearly 
 
 [231]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 midnight when he and his brother started for home; they 
 took an Indiana Avenue car, which carried each within a 
 block of his home; Allan Borlan got out at Twenty-first 
 Street to go over to Prairie Avenue, where he lived with his 
 mother, w r hile George rode some blocks farther south. 
 
 The two had discussed long and earnestly the business 
 of the evening, and when Allan left the car his mind was so 
 preoccupied with the various considerations urged by his 
 brother that he walked east on Twenty-first Street with less 
 than his usual caution. He never thought to keep well to 
 the outer edge of the walk, as had been his custom of late, 
 but walked slowly along, his hands in his pockets and his 
 eyes on the walk, thinking. The street was dimly lighted; 
 he had just passed the corner of the alley extending south 
 between two stables, when he heard footsteps behind him. 
 Turning quickly, he caught a glimpse of the face of a man 
 who darted out of the shadow of the building, and before he 
 could defend himself, struck him a blow on the head with 
 some heavy weapon. With a groan that was little more 
 than a deep sigh, the young man sank to the ground in a heap. 
 Stopping but a second to look at his victim, the assailant fled 
 south through the alley. 
 
 About three in the morning the policeman who covered 
 that beat found Allan Borlan, called the patrol, and had him 
 taken to St. Luke s Hospital. He was not dead, but for three 
 days, in spite of every effort to arouse him, he remained in a 
 comatose condition. The surgeons were at a loss to account 
 for this prolonged lethargy. The skull was not fractured, 
 though he had evidently been dealt a heavy blow r with a 
 sand-bag. Quite likely a clot of blood had formed, but his 
 stupor was so complete it was impossible to form an opinion 
 
 [232]
 
 Allan walked slowly along the dimly lighted street, his hands in his 
 pockets and his eyes on the sidewalk, thinking.
 
 The Work of Thugs 
 
 as to the location of the clot and attempt its removal. There 
 was nothing to do but encourage by every means known to 
 science some signs of returning consciousness. 
 
 When Allan s paralyzed brain did begin to recover its 
 dormant powers, it was observed he was flighty and forget 
 ful, manifesting only a vague interest in what was going on 
 about him. He expressed no surprise on finding himself in 
 the hospital, nor did he so much as inquire how he came 
 there; as his condition improved, they asked him about the 
 circumstances attending the assault, to see if it was not pos 
 sible to identify his assailant, but he could recall nothing 
 that had happened that evening. He did not remember 
 that he had attended any meeting in the city, or that he had 
 taken the car with his brother. He had a confused recol 
 lection of a strike, " somewhere," as he put it, and knit 
 his brows and tried to think. " But I don t know just where, 
 it must have been a long time ago," he said slowly, the image 
 of the reality flitting so elusively before his disordered memory 
 that it seemed remote and unsubstantial. 
 
 When his brothers came to see him he made no attempt 
 to talk about business. His interest in the affairs of Borlan 
 Bros, had so completely evaporated that for him the firm 
 no longer existed. 
 
 To his mother he turned for rest and consolation, like a 
 little child; he kissed her again and again, as he had when 
 a boy playing by her side, and he held her hand by the 
 hour, as she sat by the bed struggling bravely but often 
 ineffectually to keep back the tears that filled her eyes. 
 Specialists were called, and after exhaustive examinations 
 and tests, they shook their heads, baffled. 
 
 "No positive sign of physical injury, either external or 
 [233]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 internal, appears," they said. "An operation at present 
 would be probing in the dark. There is nothing to do 
 but wait. He may recover his intellectual powers any day, 
 then again They hesitated to pronounce the dread 
 alternative of a life of comparative imbecility, but that was 
 what they meant, and every one knew it. 
 
 When able to move about, he was the shadow of his 
 former self, the wreck of a man physically and mentally. 
 He walked slowly, hesitatingly, as if uncertain of himself, 
 bending forward to make sure of his steps, and leaning 
 heavily upon a cane. He loved the sunshine, and sat for 
 hours in the small yard back of their house, merely vege 
 tating, barely taking note of what went on about him, but 
 responding with a sweet smile and some vague remark when 
 ever any one addressed him. 
 
 [234]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 END OF THE STRIKE 
 
 THERE was great consternation at the Yards when it 
 was reported Allan Borlan had been assaulted and 
 could not live. Throughout the city the news spread 
 and aroused such a feeling of resentment and indignation, 
 such a storm of protest and denunciation against the city 
 authorities, the police, and the unions, that the leaders were 
 cowed and sought peace. Most of the strikers realized that 
 matters had gone too far, and even the yellow journals, 
 which find capital in fomenting discontent and disorder, were 
 obliged to come out for the moment on the side of law and 
 order, and condemn brutalities, not as criminal, but "as 
 injurious to the great cause of union labor." At the same 
 time, however, urging apologetically that "there is no evi 
 dence the assault upon Mr. Borlan had any connection with 
 the strike. It might have been one of the many hold-ups for 
 which Chicago is gaining such an unenviable notoriety, and 
 for which the present city administration is directly respon 
 sible," at once seeking to relieve unionism and turn the 
 crime to political account. 
 
 Utterances like these deceived no one; everybody knew 
 Allan Borlan was the victim of the cowardly vengeance of 
 the men he had denounced. He had no other enemies, and 
 the fact that his money and watch were found upon him 
 proved conclusively he was not the victim of an ordinary 
 city highwayman. 
 
 [235]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 In the vicinity of the Yards there was only one opinion 
 concerning the identity of the man responsible for the assault: 
 if Ballard did not do it himself, and those who knew him 
 well felt sure he did, he had ordered it done. This was 
 the conviction of most of the men, and they did not hesitate 
 to express this conviction covertly among themselves; but 
 keen detectives employed by Borlan Bros, could not dis 
 cover sufficient evidence to connect him with the crime. 
 All they could learn was that he had attended a committee 
 meeting down town on the night in question, leaving about 
 eleven o clock to go to his rooms in Wabash Avenue. In the 
 apartment building where he lived no one knew what hour 
 he had entered, but a woman on the floor below thought she 
 heard him walking about long after midnight; that was all, 
 not enough to justify his arrest. Meanwhile Ballard was 
 not so much in evidence about the Yards. His face had lost 
 none of the cold, cynical, at times ugly expression which 
 made him feared by his most intimate associates, but he 
 thought it wise to stick close to headquarters until the storm 
 of indignation blew over. 
 
 On the Monday afternoon following the assault, Norberg 
 and he met in the room above the saloon on Clark Street, in 
 response to Norberg s urgent telephone message. 
 
 The secret agent of Ganton & Co. was covered with per 
 spiration, nervous, and excited as he hurriedly entered the 
 dingy room where Ballard was already seated coolly smoking 
 a fine cigar. 
 
 Carefully locking the door behind him, Norberg exclaimed 
 excitedly : 
 
 " I say, Ballard, this thing has gone too far." 
 
 " What has gone too far ? " was the nonchalant response. 
 [236]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 " This this you know what I mean. The jig s 
 up; the old man is terribly worked up over this slugging 
 of young Borlan, and he threatens to help land some one 
 in Joliet." 
 
 "You can tell the old man to go to hell!" This time 
 Ballard s eyes flashed, and he struck his fist heavily on the 
 beer-stained wooden table. " If he goes to making trouble, 
 things may come out he would not like." 
 
 Norberg knew what the threat meant, and furthermore 
 he knew, if pushed to the wall, Ballard was desperate 
 enough to make his threats good regardless of consequences, 
 so he said more soothingly: 
 
 "All the same, Ballard, you must call the strike off." 
 
 " That s easier said than done. Why should we send 
 the men back to work?" 
 
 " The public is getting worked up the slugging of 
 Borlan" 
 
 "Then lower the price of meat," interrupted Ballard with 
 a sneer, " and the public will forget all about that little affair." 
 
 Paying no attention to the other s tone, Norberg continued 
 hurriedly: "We can arrange for a conference to-morrow 
 morning, and there can be a show of give and take on both 
 sides, with talk of leaving all differences to arbitration. That 
 will give you a chance to order the men back." 
 
 " That s all very fine, Norberg, but it won t work without 
 a little lubrication. Let me see," Ballard thought a moment, 
 tapping his fingers on the table as if counting, " it will take 
 just about ten thousand dollars to call this strike off." 
 
 " Ten thousand nothing ! " shouted Norberg hotly. " You 
 fellows have been well paid, and you are lucky to get out with 
 any sort of recognition, for I can tell you, Ballard, some of 
 
 [237]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 the packers are in favor of seizing this opportunity to shut 
 the unions out of the Yards entirely." 
 
 "Let them try it," interrupted Ballard, and his face 
 assumed the look that all his associates feared. 
 
 "Anyway, there s no use asking for more money." 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars, or let them take the conse 
 quences," Ballard repeated laconically. Norberg knew it 
 was useless to argue with the man. The matter would have 
 to be fought out, or the money paid. 
 
 A day or two later the papers contained announcements 
 that a conference had been arranged, and that there was a 
 prospect of adjusting differences. The mayor, the commit 
 tee of aldermen, the Ruskin Settlement, the independent 
 clergy, and the indefatigable secretary of the National Civic 
 Association came out in carefully prepared interviews, claim 
 ing the credit of having brought the contending parties 
 together. 
 
 At the meeting there was talk of conciliation and arbitra 
 tion and concessions. The result was that the men, or rather 
 all for whom there was work, were ordered back with no 
 advance in wages or change in conditions of employment, 
 but with the vague promise something would or might be 
 done for them in the near or distant future. The net result 
 to the men was a loss of so many weeks wages, and the loss 
 of positions for a large number, for it was tacitly understood 
 that the companies would take this opportunity to weed out 
 a lot of old and worn-out employees. The unions made 
 loud complaints that the men were not all taken back, but 
 these complaints were not intended to carry weight save 
 here and there where a local leader or agitator had been inad 
 vertently dropped; for the old men with families who were 
 
 [238]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 not taken back, the unions had no solicitude beyond a general 
 protest which amounted to nothing. 
 
 The public was disappointed because the price of meat 
 did not drop immediately upon the ending of the strike, but 
 the packers explained at length that the plants were in a 
 condition of great disorder, the business disorganized, stocks 
 on hand greatly reduced, so it was impossible to reduce 
 prices; also, somewhat inconsistently, that prices were kept 
 up by the retail dealers rather than the wholesale. To the 
 surprise of the public, all these explanations, consistent and 
 otherwise, were affirmed as reasonable by the strikers, by the 
 very men who but a few days before had been accusing the 
 packers of all sorts of unlawful practices to keep prices up. 
 The Yards were once more united against city, State, and 
 nation, against everybody and everything outside the gates. 
 
 No one could estimate the profits Ganton & Co. made, 
 directly and indirectly, out of the strike. It was easy to 
 figure the saving in wages and running expenses, and the 
 advance in the prices of nearly all food products, but John 
 Ganton had taken every advantage of the market. Before 
 the strike was rumored he had gone short of ribs, pork, corn, 
 and wheat on the Chicago Board of Trade, and of a large line 
 of stocks on the New York Exchange ; during the progress of 
 the strike he had used all the resources at his command to 
 depress the market, and before there was so much as a sug 
 gestion of a settlement he covered his short lines at a huge 
 profit. 
 
 " I 11 bet the old rascal has made over a million out of the 
 strike," Range Salter remarked enviously. 
 
 As a matter of fact, that figure was considerably below 
 the truth. 
 
 [239]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 Notwithstanding the successful outcome of all his plans, 
 John Ganton was restless and irritable; he worried over 
 the condition of Allan Borlan, and every one in the office 
 knew it. 
 
 " How is he getting on ? " was the question he asked 
 Browning every morning. 
 
 " Just the same," was the invariable response; whereupon 
 the old man shuffled about uneasily, and paid no attention 
 to the telegrams and letters on his desk for some time. Dur 
 ing the day it was not uncommon for Browning to find him 
 gazing out of the window in an absent-minded fashion, so 
 unlike his accustomed manner that at length Browning 
 ventured the inquiry: 
 
 " Are n t you feeling well, Mr. Ganton ? " 
 
 With a start the old man wheeled around in his chair. 
 
 "I don t know, Browning. I ain t quite up to the mark; 
 my stomick s out of sorts lately, but I guess I ll be all right 
 in a day or two." 
 
 " Why don t you see a doctor ? " 
 
 "Doctors are all fools; a good dose of castor oil is all I 
 need. Why don t the doctors help young Borlan ? " he sud 
 denly asked. " If they know so much, why don t they help 
 him?" 
 
 "His is a very strange case; some injury to the brain." 
 
 " Well, why don t they cure him ? the idiots ! " The tone 
 was so sharp, and at the same time plaintive, that Browning 
 looked up surprised. " Why don t they cure him ? " The 
 question was monotonously repeated, then suddenly, " Brown 
 ing, I would give ten thousand dollars to see that young fellow 
 all right again." 
 
 "They are doing everything they can, Mr. Ganton." 
 [240]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 " I suppose so, I suppose so ; but the doctors are all fools. 
 They will kill him yet, then that will be their fault, won t it ? " 
 
 " It s not so bad as that. They say he may come to him 
 self any day. He is sound in every way but his brain." 
 
 " Well, is n t that enough ? " the old man snarled. " Keep 
 posted, Browning, and let me know soon s he s better." 
 
 There was no doubt about it, John Ganton had changed 
 since the strike. He was not himself. Others remarked it 
 besides Browning. He was irritable, which was nothing 
 new, for the old man had a violent temper, but his irrita 
 bility assumed a new phase; he had become nervously and 
 fretfully irritable, as if laboring under a heavy weight of 
 anxiety, or suffering from some unrecognized ailment. At 
 home his wife noticed he did not eat so heartily as was his 
 habit, and his appetite was freaky. At one meal he was 
 ravenously hungry, at the next he might turn suddenly from 
 the table, exclaiming, "I can t eat anything, Maria." 
 
 In response to her anxious inquiries he only said, " I 
 guess my stomick s out of kilter." 
 
 He took huge doses of castor oil, which would cramp him 
 double with pain, but afterward he always felt relieved and 
 could eat with more relish. Nothing would induce him to 
 see a doctor. "They are all fools," was his stereotyped 
 reply to the suggestion. "They would just run up big bills 
 and kill me in the end. When I go to a doctor I will make 
 a bargain with the undertaker first." 
 
 The trouble was not altogether physical. John Ganton s 
 mind was not at ease. Down deep within his heart he felt 
 he was in a way to blame for Allan Borlan s condition. Had 
 he not refused to help the young man, to stand by him, 
 to fight the strike openly ? Did he not even go so far as 
 
 [241]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 to encourage the strike of Borlan Bros. men in advance ? 
 That was what troubled him, and made him so anxious 
 about the young man s condition. 
 
 Another matter was the report that Will was to marry May 
 Keating. This news came like a bolt out of a clear sky. 
 Just after a meeting of the directors of the bank Range 
 Salter turned to him and said, "Well, Ganton, I hear Will is 
 engaged to the Keating girl ; I thought you were down on the 
 old man." 
 
 John Ganton was staggered, and could only look at Salter 
 in dumb amazement; it was the first intimation he had 
 received that Will had not obeyed his injunction to have 
 nothing to do with the Keating girls. Without a word he 
 hurriedly left the bank and returned to his office; calling 
 for Browning he said to him : 
 
 " Look here, Browning, your wife keeps track of what s 
 going on in the fool world better than we do. I want you to 
 tell me plain, have you heard anything about Will and this 
 Keating girl being engaged ? " 
 
 The question took Browning by surprise. He had 
 heard a good deal, and he more than suspected that what he 
 heard was true, but he had not intended saying anything 
 about the matter to John Ganton. It could only make 
 trouble ; he knew how bitterly the old man disliked Keating, 
 and he dreaded the consequences of Will s infatuation. 
 
 Browning s confusion answered the inquiry more plainly 
 than words. 
 
 "I want the truth, Browning," the old man repeated 
 sharply. 
 
 " I really don t know anything in particular, Mr. Ganton," 
 Browning stammered. 
 
 [242]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 " But you have heard something. I want to know what 
 you have heard." 
 
 " I have heard that Will is very attentive 
 
 " Have you heard they are engaged to be married ? 
 that s what I want to know! " the old man shouted, his face 
 red with anger. 
 
 "People say they are engaged, but," Browning hastened 
 to add deprecatingly, "you can t rely upon what people say." 
 
 " It is enough that he has given them reason to say so, 
 that a son of mine should be even reported engaged to a 
 daughter of Jem Keating. If he marries her I 11 not leave 
 him a cent, Browning, not a red cent! " 
 
 "They probably won t marry," Browning urged sooth 
 ingly. "It does not follow nowadays because young people 
 are engaged they are sure to marry, it s different from 
 what it was when we were young." Browning tried to 
 speak lightly, but the attempt was a failure. The old man 
 was too absorbed in his passion to notice what was said, and 
 only repeated, half to himself, " I 11 cut him off without a 
 penny." He clenched the big hairy fist that rested on the 
 desk, and Browning knew it would be worse than useless to 
 try to shake his determination. 
 
 During the strike Will had worked like a tiger, going to 
 the Yards early and remaining late, often sleeping on the 
 old leather-covered couch in his office. The unusual excite 
 ment appealed to him and aroused his sluggish energies. 
 To the surprise of many of the foremen, he made himself 
 useful in more than one department; he stoked in the hot 
 boiler-rooms or drove teams as the mood seized him, his 
 strength and endurance commanding the respect of the 
 brawniest men alongside. The manual labor and outdoor 
 
 [243]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 life, the excitement and danger, he liked better than the office 
 work. As he stood one afternoon all grimy and sweaty at 
 the door of the boiler-room, he said to Browning, who had 
 just driven up: 
 
 " By Jove, I believe I would make a first-class hand about 
 the plant, but I m no good in the office. It makes me sleepy 
 to sit at a desk all day." 
 
 Browning looked at the stocky, powerful figure before him 
 and in his own mind agreed it was a mistake to try to make 
 an office man out of Will Ganton; he was not cut out for 
 the counting-room. 
 
 At that moment one of the negro teamsters who had 
 been employed to take the place of the strikers drove up, and 
 throwing down his reins said: 
 
 " Dere s no use, boss, I se ready to quit." 
 
 " What s the matter now?" Will asked sharply. 
 
 " De crowd s too big for me. Dey 11 stone me to def 
 soon s I git outside de gates; I se ready to quit." 
 
 " Get back on that seat, you black coward. I 11 see you 
 through." Will jumped up on the seat beside the man, 
 who was more afraid to disobey than to face the crowd of 
 strikers and strike sympathizers outside. 
 
 "You better be careful, Will," Browning shouted warn- 
 ingly as they drove off, but the young man apparently did 
 not hear. At the big gate a policeman stopped them and 
 said: 
 
 " There s an ugly crowd outside. Better let me call the 
 wagon if you intend to drive through." 
 
 " Never you mind, officer, I 11 put the wagon through 
 without an escort. Open the gates." 
 
 The officer drew back, shaking his head doubtfully. He 
 [244]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 knew the temper of the mob outside, for he had been on duty 
 since early in the morning, and he knew mighty little would 
 be required to precipitate a riot. The bringing in of negroes 
 to take the places of the strikers had infuriated the men. 
 Not a wagon had left the yard with a negro driver without a 
 police escort, and in several instances drivers and officers had 
 been indiscriminately stoned. Toward noon there had been 
 a lull; no wagons went out, and the extra details of police 
 had returned to the stations. 
 
 As the great gates swung open and the wagon passed 
 through, the horses on a gallop, the crowd outside gave way. 
 There was a murmur of astonishment when the mob saw 
 only a single wagon with two men on the seat, and no patrol 
 wagon following. The audacity of the attempt so dazed 
 the strikers that for some distance no effort was made to 
 block the road, but about midway of the second block a 
 huge truck stood across the narrow street, left there as an 
 obstacle in the way of any team that might come from the 
 Yards. On the sidewalk groups of thugs and men reckless 
 from drink were gathered to take advantage of the blockade. 
 
 When Will Ganton, the cowering negro at his side, came 
 to a sudden stand by the truck, a hoarse growl went up 
 from the crowd, and there were ugly threats and calls to the 
 young man to get down and leave the " nigger " to his fate. 
 A stone was thrown, followed by several, then a fusillade, all 
 aimed at the negro crouched behind the seat in mortal terror. 
 A sharp piece of rock hit Will on the forehead, bringing 
 the blood and rousing in him the fury of a wild animal. 
 Seizing one of the iron-shod stakes of the wagon, he leaped 
 from the seat and dashed into the thickest of the mob. In 
 his blind rage his strength was doubled. At the first sweep 
 
 [245]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 of the ugly weapon he crushed the arm of the nearest man ; 
 pressing forward, he swung the merciless stake to the right 
 and left indiscriminately upon the rioters. They fell back 
 before his terrific onslaught, turned, and ran, leaving four 
 of their number bruised and senseless on the pavement. 
 
 By the time the officer at the gate came running up, the 
 trouble was over, the rioters dispersed. Will Ganton s fury 
 evaporated somewhat as he looked at the bruised and bleed 
 ing fellows he had struck down. Leaving the police to 
 ascertain the extent of their injuries and look after them, he 
 quickly swung the pole of the truck that blocked the street 
 to one side so as to open up a passageway, resumed his seat, 
 and ordered the negro to drive on. 
 
 When May Keating read in the morning papers highly 
 sensational, but not greatly exaggerated, accounts of the 
 "daring of Will Ganton in dashing into a crowd of rioters 
 and dispersing them single-handed, disabling four and 
 nearly killing one," her cheeks flushed with excitement, and 
 she said to her sister: 
 
 " I could almost love that sort of a man." 
 
 " Well, for my part," exclaimed Mrs. Jack, " I can t see 
 why he should risk his life among those strikers, and for a 
 negro, at that! " Her tone exhibited her profound disgust. 
 
 "If for a negro, so much the better; to risk one s life in 
 any cause is more than most men are capable of doing." 
 
 " I suppose now he has broken a few heads you will marry 
 him," responded Mrs. Jack, hopefully. 
 
 " I don t know, perhaps ; since this strike he has been 
 a different fellow." 
 
 " I should say he had, so dirty and oily and greasy it 
 takes one s appetite away to see him at the table." 
 
 [246]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 May Keating laughed. The few times Will Ganton had 
 dined with them at the Club since the beginning of the strike 
 he certainly had been far from agreeably clean; in spite of 
 the vigorous use of hot water and the strongest of soft soaps, 
 his hands and finger nails showed the grimy effects of his 
 new occupations. For the time being he was a laboring man, 
 looked like one, acted like one, ate like one. 
 
 "Old John Ganton over again," Larry Delaney mur 
 mured as he watched him one evening across the table; 
 " he does look like his father, does n t he ? " 
 
 " I never noticed it so much before," responded Mrs. Jack. 
 
 "He has the body, but not the head," was Delaney s 
 shrewd observation. 
 
 When McCarthy telephoned down how Will had dis 
 persed the strikers without police assistance, John Ganton 
 was immensely pleased. 
 
 "The boy has the right stuff in him, after all," he said to 
 Browning. "How many did McCarthy say were hurt?" 
 
 "The patrol wagon took four to the County Hospital. 
 One had his shoulder crushed, and another his arm broken. 
 It s a wonder they were not killed." 
 
 "Would have served them right if they had been, the 
 cowardly rascals," The old man s eyes blazed, and he 
 added, in another tone: "But the boy must not take such 
 chances, no need of it. Let the niggers look out for 
 themselves. Their heads are harder to crack." 
 
 Under these conditions John Ganton could not bring 
 himself to speak to Will about his rumored engagement to 
 May Keating. His mind was so taken up with the events of 
 the hour, especially by the assault upon young Borlan and 
 the settlement of the strike, that the report which at the time 
 
 [247]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 had aroused his ire was almost forgotten; when he did 
 think of it he dismissed the matter as beyond the range of 
 possibilities, and he persuaded himself it was unnecessary 
 to speak about it again. 
 
 This was quite contrary to the habit of John Ganton. 
 He seldom refrained from speaking without restraint con 
 cerning anything that crossed his wishes, but his aversion to 
 Jem Keating was so deep-seated he did not like to talk of 
 the man. The thought that any son of his could marry 
 a daughter of the "old reprobate," as he called Keating, 
 seemed ridiculous. Of course Will could not help meeting 
 a lot of people at the clubs, the Keating girls as well as 
 others, good, bad, and indifferent, but further than seeing 
 them in that way there could be nothing serious. 
 
 Beyond lunching hurriedly once or twice a week at the 
 Club, and dining occasionally with business associates, the 
 old man knew nothing of social life ; ordinarily he slipped in 
 by the back entrance of the Grand Pacific and bolted a 
 luncheon of steak, baked potatoes, and coffee, the waiter 
 knew his order. Not infrequently he had a cup of coffee 
 and a sandwich sent to his office from the lunch-counter in 
 the building. On days of great excitement in the market 
 he went without anything to eat until dinner time, but this 
 he did not believe in for himself or others. He had often 
 gone so far as to threaten to discharge men whose dinner- 
 pails came scantily supplied. " I ve no use for a starved 
 horse or a hungry man." 
 
 He cared nothing for politics, he read only the papers, 
 for years he had not gone to the theatre, he could not 
 remember when he had been inside a church. Now and 
 then he attended a bankers or a merchants dinner, invari- 
 
 [248]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 ably sitting at a table with business associates so he might 
 talk over the affairs of the day. His name figured on promi 
 nent committees on great public occasions, but he never 
 attended meetings or wasted a moment s time, whether the 
 guest were the Governor of the State or the President. 
 
 Outside the Yards and the companies in which he was 
 interested the world was a passing show to John Ganton, 
 and one so vain and inconsequential from his point of view 
 that it did not divert him in the slightest degree. 
 
 Aside from the money he had made, which he accepted 
 as a matter of course, the one encouraging feature of the 
 strike was the behavior of Will. The unexpected energy 
 with which the boy worked, the brute force he displayed, his 
 dare-devil courage, all pleased the old man ; again and again 
 he said to Browning : " He s all right. The boy s got the 
 right stuff in him," and he rubbed his big hairy hands 
 together in satisfaction. 
 
 About a week after the strike was called off he happened 
 to meet Range Salter on the street near the Board of Trade, 
 and the thought suddenly occurred to him it was Salter who 
 had spoken about Will s engagement. 
 
 "Look here, Salter," he said, stopping the other, "you 
 said something about Will s going to marry that Keating 
 girl. I want to tell you there s nothing in it; there s nothing 
 in it," he repeated sharply. 
 
 " Well, it s the talk of the town, that s all I know about 
 it," Salter answered impatiently. 
 
 " You can just say for me there s nothing in it. Do you 
 hear ? There s nothing in it," and John Ganton moved off 
 toward the entrance of the building. 
 
 When Range Salter wrote Mrs. Salter about this conver- 
 [249]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 sation, a smile of satisfaction spread over that little lady s 
 round face. " I thought as much," she said to herself, 
 " now there will be some chance for others." 
 
 In accordance with her promise, Mrs. Ganton called upon 
 Mrs. Jack and her sister. It was an eventful day for the 
 timid little soul in black, the first time in all her life that she 
 had done anything which she knew was contrary to her hus 
 band s wishes, the first time she had ever done anything she 
 felt obliged to conceal from him, and as she drove over to the 
 North Side her conscience pricked her. Twice she ordered 
 the man to drive back and then on again, until the coach 
 man shrugged his shoulders in disgust at what seemed to 
 him a woman s inability to make up her mind what she 
 wanted to do. 
 
 As they approached the Wilton palace she became more 
 and more nervous, wringing her thin white hands in positive 
 distress. Left alone in the grand reception room, her mind 
 was diverted for the time being by the gorgeousness about 
 her. She had never seen anything like it ; her own sombre 
 parlor, with its set of upholstered furniture, its big chande 
 lier, and profuse stucco ornaments on the ceiling, had always 
 seemed grand, too grand really to use, but it was barren 
 simplicity compared with the tiling, the marble, the decora 
 tions, the paintings, the porcelains, the gilt and glitter of 
 Mrs. Jack s imposing salon. She shrank into a corner quite 
 overcome, and during the entire call, marked by effusive 
 cordiality on Mrs. Jack s part, and a curious but sympathetic 
 interest on May Keating s, she did not fully recover from 
 the conviction of her own utter insignificance. She felt so 
 completely out of place, it was with positive relief she heard 
 
 [250]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 the massive door close behind her as she hastened down the 
 stone steps. 
 
 Not a word was said of the engagement, and little about 
 Will ; somehow she could not bring herself to speak of what 
 was uppermost in the minds of all of them. Several times 
 Mrs. Jack referred in glowing terms to Will s bravery, his 
 devotion to business, his ability, and the like, but the mother 
 could do no more than murmur an assent to these appre 
 ciations. She could not discuss her boy with these strange 
 women ; by what right did they talk as if they had an inter 
 est in him ? The natural, the inevitable resentment of the 
 mother toward the intervention of the other woman filled 
 her heart. 
 
 She did not like Mrs. Jack so well as her sister. That 
 she was sure of, though the latter did not make so much of an 
 effort to be agreeable. There was something about Mrs. 
 Jack which did not seem true, something forced and artifi 
 cial, a striving to produce an effect. " She wants her sister 
 to marry Will. She has set her heart upon it, because she 
 thinks Will will be rich, just for his money, that is all. 
 No; I do not like her, but May Keating " and for a long 
 time on the way home she thought of May Keating, of her 
 father and her mother, of her as she was when a child, of the 
 family before Jem Keating had failed and fallen so low. 
 
 " Yes, she is more like her mother," she thought. " She 
 has more heart, but the other is like the father. I would not 
 trust her. I wish Will was in love with some one else. What 
 shall I do ? " Again she wrung her thin hands in painful 
 indecision over what she should tell her husband, for she 
 felt she must sooner or later tell him what had occurred, 
 how could she keep it ? Now the call was over, now she had 
 
 [251]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 done it, it seemed more difficult than ever to keep from tell 
 ing all about it that very day; an inward voice kept repeat 
 ing, "You must tell, you must tell, you cannot help telling," 
 until she almost made up her mind it was the best thing to 
 do. But when John Ganton came home that evening he 
 was so tired and cross she did not dare speak of it. 
 
 There was a drawn look in his face she did not like; a 
 look of pain and suffering rather than of care and worry. 
 He ate scarcely any dinner. 
 
 " What is the matter, John ? Are you sick ? " 
 
 "No; I m not sick, but my stomick s all upset, some 
 thing I ve eaten. I guess a dose of oil will straighten me 
 out." 
 
 " Remember how it cramped you the last time you took 
 it. Don t you think you d better see a doctor ? " she sug 
 gested timidly. 
 
 "Not if I w T ant to keep my feet," he answered irritably. 
 " I can take care of myself yet." 
 
 " You look bilious. I ve never seen you looking so 
 yellow, John." 
 
 "So Browning said. My liver needs stirring up." 
 
 " You will be careful what you take, won t you ? You 
 take such strong doses I am afraid you will hurt yourself." 
 
 He made no answer, but pushing his plate to one side, sat 
 silent, his head dropped forward on his breast, muttering 
 half to himself, "It s my stomick that s out o kilter." 
 
 After dinner he took off his shoes, put on his pair of old 
 slippers, and went into the library to read the evening paper; 
 this was his habit when he had no business on hand. 
 
 He dropped into the big easy-chair beside the old- 
 fashioned table, but instead of reading the paper he let 
 
 [252]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 it fall in his lap, and his appearance indicated that he was 
 absorbed in considerations other than the news of the day. 
 
 That vague sense of discomfort in his stomach, accom 
 panied now and then by a sharp pain he did not like, he did 
 not understand. His health had never bothered him, he 
 always ate plain food, so why should he be conscious he had 
 a stomach ? The sense of discomfort had increased of late, 
 and the pains had become sharper and more frequent; at 
 first they would just come and go, amounting to nothing, but 
 of late there had been disagreeable sensations present most 
 of the time. When his mind was not occupied with other 
 matters he was conscious of these queer feelings. Such, 
 however, was his iron will, he had been able for the most part 
 to suppress even the feeling of bodily discomfort, to ignore 
 it as if it did not exist ; but since the strike, since the assault 
 upon Allan Borlan, the old man had not been quite the same 
 as before. He was subject to fits of abstraction, and he had 
 become moody and more irascible than ever. Range Salter 
 remarked one day to Browning : 
 
 "What is the matter with the old man, he looks sick? " 
 
 " I don t know," Browning answered slowly; " I am afraid 
 there s something wrong with his liver, at times he is so 
 yellow. But he won t see a doctor." 
 
 "He d better look out at his time of life," was Salter s 
 response. 
 
 "I have tried to warn him, but he has always been as 
 strong as an ox, and he does not like to have any one tell him 
 he looks sick." 
 
 As John Ganton sat there under the light of the kero 
 sene lamp he would not have an electric light on his table 
 he looked so old and careworn and sick his wife was 
 
 [253]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 frightened. She had never seen him quite like that before, 
 but she did not dare say anything. 
 
 After a silence that lasted so long it was oppressive, he 
 suddenly observed: 
 
 " Maria, they say young Borlan is no better." 
 
 "I heard to-day the doctors from New York hold out 
 very little hope. He is as helpless almost as a baby. What 
 an awful thing that strike was ! " 
 
 " It was n t the fault of the strike," he said sharply. 
 
 "Why, they say " 
 
 " It don t matter what they say. No one knows who 
 did it." 
 
 "Will says he is sure it was a man by the name of 
 Ballard, one of the strike leaders." 
 
 " Well, no one knows, just as likely a common footpad." 
 
 " But he was n t robbed, was he ? " 
 
 John Ganton made no answer, and apparently did not 
 hear his wife s remark. His mind followed its own train of 
 thought. At length, with something like a groan, he said : 
 
 " I would give anything if that young fellow were himself 
 again." 
 
 Surprised at his tone and manner, his wife urged sooth 
 ingly: "Why, John, it can t be helped. It s not your fault. 
 You did all you could to end the strike. Will says Allan 
 Borlan himself did more to bring on the strike than any one 
 else." 
 
 " What does Will know about it ? " the old man inter 
 rupted angrily. " I wish he would stop talking and tend to 
 his own affairs. By the way," he said, changing the subject 
 as if a new thought had occurred to him, " Range Salter said 
 the other day Will is engaged to that Keating girl. If he 
 
 [254]
 
 End of the Strike 
 
 goes fooling around those girls there 11 be trouble, that s 
 all I ve got to say." 
 
 The old man relapsed into a moody silence, and Mrs. 
 Ganton s heart sank within her. How could she tell her 
 husband she had called that day on those very girls ? What 
 good would it do to tell him ? He would only storm at Will, 
 and there would be a scene; she would wait until he felt 
 better and was less irritable. 
 
 To divert him, she at length asked timidly : 
 
 " What do you hear from John ? " 
 
 Her husband s thoughts were elsewhere, and it was several 
 seconds before he heeded her question. 
 
 " John ? Oh, he is doing better n I expected ; Mac- 
 Masters says he s tending close to business." 
 
 This made his mother s heart glad. 
 
 " I always knew " 
 
 "He 11 never amount to much," he interrupted roughly; 
 "he has too many fool notions to make a business man. 
 What use would he have been in this strike ? " 
 
 " I don t know, but 
 
 " Just no use at all; " the tone of this answer to his own 
 query betrayed the contempt old John Ganton felt for his 
 younger son. 
 
 The mother subsided ; it was quite useless to argue with 
 her husband, his opinions were fixed, his prejudices ad 
 amantine. 
 
 The thought of one son evidently brought to mind the 
 other, for he said sharply : 
 
 " I want you to tell Will what I say. If he goes hanging 
 about those Keating girls there will be trouble. I won t 
 have it, and that s all there is about it." 
 
 [255]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 He picked the paper from his knees. He glanced at the 
 market reports, and began reading the column headed, 
 "Gossip on Change." It always amused him to read the 
 rumors and gossip of the Street, paragraphs in which the 
 name of Ganton & Co. figured so often and so conspicuously. 
 Half-way down the column he came upon the following : 
 
 " There is an ugly rumor afloat to the effect that the recent 
 strike was brought on by several of the large packers who 
 had stocks on hand they wished to dispose of at good prices ; 
 if so, it is pretty safe to say Borlan Bros, were not in the 
 conspiracy." 
 
 It was just a malicious little paragraph, but the shot 
 went home. John Ganton angrily threw the paper on the 
 floor, and dropped his head upon his hand in an attitude of 
 dejection. 
 
 [256]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BLOOD WILL TELL 
 
 THIS was the first summer Mrs. Jack had spent in town 
 since her marriage. To go somewhere the last week 
 in June and return during October was a habit with 
 her, not that she found Chicago hot and disagreeable in 
 summer, quite the contrary, but it was good form to 
 go somewhere. She had fully expected to go to Norway 
 this summer; but the possibility of marrying her sister to 
 Will Ganton kept her at home. It was too good a chance to 
 let slip. 
 
 As for Jack Wilton, he much preferred staying in Chicago. 
 
 " Summer s the pleasantest season of the year, Sally ; 
 what s the use of going away ? " he used to say when they 
 were first married. But he soon found his wife s movements 
 were governed by considerations other than climatic. He 
 liked to play golf, to ride and drive, in short, to do most 
 of the things Mrs. Jack cared nothing at all about; he did 
 not like to sit around on club verandas and gossip with 
 women " club harpies " he called them. He lacked the 
 faculty of making himself agreeable, and possibly for that 
 very reason was popular with all the men and looked upon 
 with friendly condescension and sympathy by most of the 
 women of his acquaintance. 
 
 August, with its dust and heat, its strikes, riots, and dis 
 turbances, had gone. Mrs. Jack fumed and fretted ; she did 
 not care anything about the strike; the Yards were so far 
 
 [257]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 away that people on the North Side read each morning about 
 the riots of the day before with the unconcern they felt when 
 reading of disturbances in Russia. So long as the down-town 
 district was not invaded, it did not much matter; but what an 
 noyed Mrs. Jack was that the strike kept Will Ganton so close 
 ly confined they saw very little of him. She felt, therefore, 
 as if she were wasting time, as if no progress were being made. 
 
 " If we had only known, we might just as well have gone 
 to the seashore for August," she exclaimed impatiently to 
 her sister. 
 
 "I am not at all bored; I like Chicago best in the sum 
 mer, when all the people are away," was the quiet response. 
 
 May Keating was content to remain in the city for the 
 very reasons Mrs. Jack wished to get away. She read the 
 news of the Yards with curious interest, and for the first 
 time Will Ganton began to interest her as something more 
 than a good fellow. He became a personality, a force in his 
 way, possibly a crude, rough, brutal force in his contact 
 with the men about him, but none the less a force; and 
 that is a good deal in a woman s estimation. 
 
 She wondered if after all she might not love him, if he 
 might not possess some of the masterful qualities so essential 
 to command a woman s devotion ; but every time the thought 
 of love crossed her mind, memories of another summer, of 
 another face, another voice, would flow in upon her with 
 overwhelming force. What was the use ? 
 
 She had received but one letter from Gertrude Townsend, 
 dated from Paris, and it said in part : 
 
 " Not a soul, cherie, not a soul ; the world is a desert, Paris 
 the most barren spot in the universe. So I am bored to 
 
 [258]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 death, so bored I lack the ambition to move. There is not 
 a man in sight. Think of it ! I dined last night in the Bois 
 with Jarvis ! can you imagine it ? Poor fellow, I really 
 felt sorry for him ; the waiters were so funny, they knew him 
 and did not know me, so they served us as only French 
 waiters can serve a man who is supposed to be dining with 
 another man s wife, their airs of sympathetic and discreet 
 comprehension were delightful. It was only too plain that 
 Jarvis had dined there often, and not alone. 
 
 " He was so uncomfortable he did not know what to do 
 when a boy came up with a fan, a fiery red creation, and 
 said in his best English, Pardon, here is ze fan madame haf 
 dropped ze ozzer evening, I really pitied him, he was in such 
 a state of confusion. He stammered out something and tried 
 to deny all connection with the fan, but the boy persisted, 
 sure it was madame who had dropped the fan just as she 
 drove away with monsieur. In my sweetest accents I said, 
 Never mind, dear, take the fan, it is such a pretty red it 
 quite goes with your complexion for the moment. You 
 should have seen the poor fellow s face; from the fan I 
 should say madame was tall, probably slender, and a 
 pronounced brunette. 
 
 " You ask me if you should marry for money. I did, why 
 should not you ? If you marry for love you are sure to be 
 miserable; you may be happy if you many for money, I 
 am quite contented. You have been in love, and there is 
 nothing left but money. 
 
 " By the way, there was a young man from Chicago on 
 the steamer; you may know him, John Ganton, son of the 
 great packer. He quite distinguished himself by exposing 
 the tricks of a gang of professional gamblers who were fleecing 
 Jarvis out of my pin-money. For lack of better material I 
 amused myself by trying to become acquainted with the 
 young ogre, but his stolidity was proof against all my blan 
 dishments. He struck me as a singular mixture of sagacity 
 and animal strength, with a highly polished, intellectual 
 
 [ 259 ]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 veneer which might be easily scratched, an instance of the 
 reincarnation of sweaty forefathers in perfumed sons, only 
 that he does not quite answer that description. He is inter 
 esting, but hopelessly unresponsive. I tried to make some 
 thing of him, but he lacked pliability a bit of as stubborn 
 material as I have run across in the male line for many a 
 year. There was no one else on board worth a dozen words, 
 a little fat Austrian Ambassador and the gambler. I rather 
 liked the gambler, and might have done something with him 
 if I had not wasted all my energies on your young pork- 
 packer. If he ever returns to Chicago, cultivate him; he is 
 worth while, if only as a very literally piece de resistance 
 upon which to whet the edge of your appetite. 
 
 " Marry, cherie, marry, and be free to do as you please, 
 then stagnate with ennui because everything worth doing 
 has been done, and done incomparably better ages ago." 
 
 How singular Gertrude Townsend should have met the 
 brother of Will Ganton, the student and dreamer; how much 
 more singular that the young man should occasion that clever 
 woman of the world a second thought, truly there was some 
 thing aggressive, something irrepressible, in the blood of old 
 John Ganton! 
 
 Mrs. Jack had exhausted all her ingenuity in endeavoring 
 to further the marriage upon which she had set her heart, but 
 since the engagement no progress had been made so far as 
 she could see. Her intimate friends began to inquire, with 
 a solicitude that barely disguised their impertinent curiosity, 
 if any date had been set. 
 
 " Don t play a fish too long, is a good angler s motto," 
 Carrie Trelway called out in her loud clear voice one after 
 noon on the veranda of the Golf Club. 
 
 The three or four women sitting about the round-topped 
 [260]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 table smiled at the audacity of the remark, and Mrs. Jack s 
 face turned crimson. But what could she say ? What could 
 any one say to Carrie Trelway, who invited an angry retort 
 only that she might cut deeper still ? 
 
 Will Ganton was dining with them as usual, just as he 
 had dined with them twenty times in the past two months, 
 just as he might dine with them for an indefinite period to 
 come unless something were done to bring matters to an issue. 
 
 During the afternoon May and he had taken a long walk, 
 and during the dinner both were preoccupied to such an 
 extent that conversation was maintained with an effort. 
 Mrs. Jack did not know what it meant, but she determined 
 to find out that night. Delaney sat back in his chair and 
 looked from the one to the other quizzically; but to his sur 
 prise he received no answering glance from May Keating. 
 Something s up this time, sure, he thought to himself ; not a 
 quarrel, but something really serious. 
 
 After dinner he ventured to ask in a friendly way: 
 
 "What s the matter now, May?" 
 
 "Nothing you can help, Larry," she answered in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Serious?" 
 
 "Possibly," she hesitated a moment, to continue impul 
 sively, " What sort of a wife would I make a poor man ? " 
 
 Delaney laughed. "I can t conceive such a contingency; 
 no need of puzzling my brain to answer that conundrum." 
 
 " Well, it is one which must be answered," she said quietly. 
 
 " What under the sun do you mean, May ? " He looked 
 at her in surprise, but the light was too dim to let him catch 
 the expression of her features. 
 
 "I mean just what I say. It is for me to make up my 
 [261]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 mind whether I could or should marry a poor man. The 
 prospect is not so terrifying as that of a rich husband," she 
 added; "it has its advantages." 
 
 "No doubt," he answered lightly. "However, if you are 
 considering poverty-stricken candidates, I might offer myself 
 with some degree of assurance. But Will Ganton is not a 
 poor man." 
 
 " He has practically nothing, a small interest in the 
 company and his salary." 
 
 " But he is the son of John Ganton and the future head of 
 Ganton & Co." 
 
 " If his father sees fit to make him." 
 
 "But he will." 
 
 " That depends I must have caught the phrase from 
 Will." 
 
 "Upon what?" 
 
 "Upon whether he marries me." 
 
 Larry Delaney could only express his surprise by a long 
 in-drawn whistle. 
 
 "Do not say anything to Sally, or any one else," she 
 hastened to add ; " it would do no good. The situation is as 
 it is, and I must decide for myself." 
 
 "Well, all I can say, May, is, go slow," he urged with 
 friendly solicitude. 
 
 "On the contrary, I am more than half inclined to go 
 ahead full speed." With that she rose and walked away, 
 leaving Delaney to finish his cigar by himself. 
 
 "We were just talking about you," Carrie Trelway 
 called out boldly as May Keating joined the group of young 
 women. 
 
 " I thought so, and therefore came over in self-defence." 
 [262]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 " We were wondering when you and Will Ganton were to 
 be married," the young woman continued loudly. 
 
 " I do not see how that concerns you, Carrie," May Keat 
 ing said quietly; it was useless to take offence. 
 
 " If you expect me to be at the wedding you must fix the 
 day not later than November; in December Billy and I sail 
 for Europe." 
 
 " I should miss you and Billy so much." The tone in 
 which the last two words were uttered made the little group 
 of young women laugh. One of them remarked afterward : 
 
 " May is enough for Carrie Trelway ; she has a quiet way 
 that is positively delicious." 
 
 To Mrs. Jack s acute ear it seemed as if every one at the 
 Club was discussing a single question, When would May 
 Keating and Will Ganton be married ? and discussing it 
 in a manner that implied they might not be married at all. 
 She determined to come to an understanding with May that 
 very night; the matter had dragged too long. 
 
 When they arrived home Mrs. Jack paused just long 
 enough to slip into a light wrapper before going to her sister s 
 room. She found May sitting by the window in the dark. 
 She had not even removed her hat. 
 
 " What are you doing here in the dark ? Why don t you 
 take off your hat?" Mrs. Jack asked impatiently. 
 
 Without answering, May drew the shades, turned on one 
 of the side lights, went to the dressing-table, and began 
 removing her hat; she knew what was on her sister s mind, 
 and simply waited. 
 
 " I want to have a talk with you, May." Mrs. Jack s tone 
 betrayed her irritation. "It is time something definite was 
 decided with Will. When are you going to marry him ? " 
 
 [263]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 May Keating lightly touched her hair with her fingers to 
 remove the impression left by the hat, turned, and sat down 
 facing her sister. 
 
 "We talked about it this afternoon, and," she continued 
 slowly, as if coming then and there to a decision, " I think I 
 shall marry him very soon." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that," said Mrs. Jack with a sigh of 
 relief; "we were beginning to be the laughing-stock of the 
 town." 
 
 " Suppose Will Ganton had n t a penny in the world but 
 his salary, would you want me to marry him, Sally ? " 
 
 The tone in which the question was put startled Mrs. 
 Jack, but she exclaimed, "How absurd! He will be the 
 richest young man in the city some day." 
 
 " But suppose his father should not leave him a penny 
 what then ? " 
 
 "I don t understand you, May," Mrs. Jack said, looking 
 at her sister anxiously. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that if Will Ganton marries me his father threat 
 ens to cut him off without a penny." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Jack could not utter a word, and it 
 was several seconds before she fully comprehended what her 
 sister had said. Then the blood rushed into her cheeks and 
 her eyes blazed with fury. 
 
 "So that is the secret of all this delay, and that is why 
 old mother Ganton has not been to see us again. John 
 Ganton does not think a daughter of Jem Keating is good 
 enough for his precious son, the old brute, I 11 show him. 
 As if he could pick and choose, just a common butcher, 
 a pig-sticker who can t write ten words without misspelling 
 half of them. Oh, I know the old brute; I ve heard father 
 
 [264]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 tell about his rascality. They were great friends once, and 
 just because dad got the better of him in a deal years ago 
 the old brute never forgot it. I knew he did not like us, 
 but I 11 show him he can t lord it over us, the old butcher." 
 Mrs. Jack had risen from her seat and was walking rapidly 
 to and fro with her small plump hands clenched and her 
 features distorted by passion. 
 
 May knew that these fits of temper subsided after a little 
 if fuel were not added to the flame, so she sat still and waited 
 for her sister to recover her reason. A disagreeable feeling 
 came over the younger girl as she heard the rough and 
 brutal language roll from her sister s lips ; could it be possible 
 so coarse a strain permeated both their natures ? 
 
 After a time the storm of wrath abated, and Mrs. Jack 
 sank down on the couch, exclaiming: 
 
 "Well, why don t you say something! What are you 
 going to do about it ? What did you say to him ? " 
 
 " That if he loved me well enough to lose a fortune for 
 my sake, I would marry him anyway." 
 
 Mrs. Jack looked at her sister in blank amazement. 
 
 " May Keating, you re a fool." 
 
 May could not help smiling at her sister s tone of mingled 
 contempt and dejection. 
 
 "That may be, Sally, but I feel more like marrying Will 
 Ganton than ever before." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you will throw yourself away on 
 that fellow when he has n t a penny ? " 
 
 " Did you not come in here to-night with the intention of 
 urging me to marry that fellow, as you call him, as soon 
 as possible ? " The query was sharply put. 
 
 "Yes; but I supposed - " Mrs. Jack floundered. 
 [265]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 "You supposed that he would inherit the larger share of 
 his father s fortune, and you intended I should marry him 
 for his money. I understand perfectly; but now that his 
 father threatens to cut him off if he marries me, and he is 
 ready and willing to sacrifice every prospect for my sake, 
 would you have me throw him over, and by doing so confess 
 to the world that money was the first and only consideration ? 
 Could we afford to do that ? " 
 
 May spoke deliberately. It was evident she had carefully 
 weighed her words, and that she had not come to any hasty 
 conclusion. Mrs. Jack began to feel the position as hope 
 less. It was useless to argue, for she knew her sister too 
 well to attempt to move her if her mind were once fixed. 
 Besides, might not the father relent ? it was among the 
 possibilities, and threats of that kind were seldom carried 
 out. To whom could John Ganton leave his money if not 
 to Will ? Would it not be a stroke of good policy for May 
 to marry the young man, and thereby prove to the father 
 that no mercenary motives entered into the match? Yes; 
 it was just one of old Ganton s tricks to make sure that no 
 girl married his son for his money. 
 
 All these thoughts flashed through Mrs. Jack s mind as 
 she sat there looking at her sister and listening to what she 
 was saying. When May definitely announced her determina 
 tion to marry Will Ganton in spite of all opposition, she 
 was surprised to hear her sister acquiesce without further 
 protest; keen as she was, she could not read all the arguments 
 that had flitted through Mrs. Jack s active little brain, and 
 Mrs. Jack did not enlighten her. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Jack went into her husband s 
 room before he was up, seated herself on the side of the bed, 
 
 [266]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 and told him all that had passed between her and May the 
 night before. 
 
 Jack Wilton listened drowsily. Mrs. Jack had so many 
 troubles, so many squabbles and controversies, that he had 
 long since ceased to take the lively interest in them she 
 expected him to manifest. He liked May, and could not, 
 for the life of him, see why John Ganton should object 
 to Will s marrying her. 
 
 " It is n t May, Jack ; it is something else, some old trouble 
 between the old man and father. I remember hearing about 
 it years ago. I want you to go to Mr. Ganton and have a 
 plain talk with him. May is your sister-in-law, and it is 
 your duty." 
 
 By this time Wilton was wide awake. He sat up in bed, 
 his stiff brown hair standing about his head in such a tangle 
 as to make him look exceedingly comical. 
 
 "The deuce you do!" he exclaimed. "Why, Sally, I 
 can t go to see John Ganton. He would order me out of his 
 office." 
 
 " It is your duty to go, Jack," Mrs. Jack insisted firmly. 
 "You like May, don t you?" 
 
 " Of course I do. She is a bully good girl, and would 
 make any man a fine wife." 
 
 "That is just what you must tell Mr. Ganton. 
 
 " Why, Sally, I would feel like a fool to go to John Ganton 
 and sing May s praises. What good would that do so long 
 as he does n t object to her personally ? " 
 
 "You must find out what his objections are. He says 
 he will not permit his son to marry your sister-in-law, that 
 concerns you." 
 
 Perhaps it was too early in the morning nearly noon 
 [267]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 and he was not fully awake, but Wilton could not get it 
 through his head how John Ganton s quarrel with Jem 
 Keating years before concerned him. Still there was his 
 wife calmly seated on the side of the bed arguing that it did ; 
 and there was May, whom he liked immensely, and whose 
 future happiness was involved. So at last, after many 
 protestations, he promised to go and see John Ganton that 
 day, and ask him his reasons for opposing the prospective 
 union. Mrs. Jack thereupon hied herself off in triumph. 
 
 All the time he was dressing the matter weighed heavily 
 upon Jack Wilton, and the more he thought about it the 
 less he liked it. Twice he cut himself with his razor, and he 
 remained so long in his bath that Mrs. Jack rapped loudly 
 at the door to find out what he was doing and why he did not 
 come down to breakfast. When he did come down his 
 face wore such a sober expression the Major on seeing him 
 called out: 
 
 "Why, papa, what s ze matter wiz oo? Oo look sick." 
 
 "I m not sick. I m all right, Major." 
 
 "Well, oo look sick, anyway." 
 
 The Major proceeded to feel his papa s pulse and listen 
 to his heart and tap his lungs precisely as the doctor did to 
 him when he was sick. The Major loved to play doctor, 
 and nearly everybody in the house submitted patiently to 
 exhaustive examinations, often prolonged beyond the en 
 durance of all except Jack and May, who never tired of the 
 little fellow s persistence. 
 
 It was with misgivings Jack Wilton walked north in 
 La Salle Street to the great building wherein Ganton & Co. 
 had their offices. He knew John Ganton, not very well, 
 but well enough to stand in considerable awe of the rough 
 
 [268]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 old man. His father and Ganton had been more or less 
 intimately associated in several enterprises, and had always 
 remained good friends ; but while Jack Wilton had inherited 
 his father s wealth and enough sagacity to keep it well 
 invested, he had not inherited any of his father s devotion 
 to business; therefore he and John Ganton met only occa 
 sionally. 
 
 He had never been in the office of Ganton & Co., and he 
 felt very much out of place as he stood beside the railing 
 which marked off a narrow space near the door, where in 
 truders were temporarily confined under the supervision of 
 an alert and officious young fellow of sixteen or seventeen, 
 who asked in a sharp, quick tone, " Who do you wish to see ? " 
 
 When Wilton said almost deferentially that he wished 
 to see Mr. Ganton, the young fellow eyed him still more 
 critically, as if he knew the caller had no real business with 
 Ganton & Co. However, he took in the slip of paper on 
 which Wilton wrote his name and soon brought back word 
 that Mr. Ganton would be at liberty in a moment or two. 
 
 When Wilton entered the small private office of John 
 Ganton, the latter dropped a bundle of telegrams he held 
 in his hand and greeted his visitor cordially. 
 
 " Some time since I ve seen you, Wilton. You don t 
 come here as often as your father did." 
 
 "No; in fact, this is the first time, Mr. Ganton." 
 Jack did not feel at all at ease, and would have liked it better 
 if the old man had been less cordial. He knew what he had 
 to say would not be taken kindly, and he was shocked at 
 John Ganton s appearance. Once the personification of 
 health and strength, his face was now drawn and yellow, and 
 there were lines about the mouth which could only come 
 
 [269]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 from pain or suffering of some secret nature. Doubtless 
 there was something in the young man s face that betrayed 
 his thoughts, for John Ganton, with the sharp intuition of 
 the sick, asked querulously: 
 
 " What s the matter ? Why do you look at me that way ? 
 Do you think I look sick ? " 
 
 " Why, I that is, Mr. Ganton, I have not seen you for 
 some time " 
 
 "And you think me changed? Is that it?" This time 
 there was a trace of anxiety. 
 
 "I suppose we all change more or less," Wilton answered 
 evasively ; " you must find me " 
 
 "You re all right; there s nothing the matter with you. 
 
 It s my stomick, John." As he called Wilton 
 
 by his first name there was something almost pathetic in 
 
 the old man s accent. " It s my stomick. I m as yellow as 
 
 lemon peel. I suppose I m bilious." 
 
 "You ought to take a rest, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 "No; that wouldn t do any good. I don t propose to 
 lay down and die like a sick horse. Work s the best medicine 
 I know of, work, with a dose of castor oil now and then." 
 
 "I sincerely hope you will be better soon." Wilton 
 paused, and as John Ganton waited for him to go on, con 
 tinued abruptly: 
 
 " I came to see you this morning, Mr. Ganton, on a mighty 
 unpleasant errand. Will is engaged to my wife s sister, May 
 Keating." 
 
 At the mention of the engagement the old man, who had 
 been sitting hunched forward in his big revolving chair, 
 stiffened back, and all the yellow of his face disappeared 
 before the rush of blood that indicated his anger; from 
 
 [270]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 beneath his bushy eyebrows he looked at Wilton as if he were 
 more than half disposed to visit his fury upon him. 
 
 In as conciliatory a manner as possible Jack continued : 
 
 " I am told that you object to the match, and I came to 
 see to find out what the trouble is." 
 
 The old man s face worked as if he were trying to control 
 himself; at length he blurted out: 
 
 " Who sent you here ? " 
 
 Confused by the sudden query, Wilton could only 
 stammer: 
 
 " I came myself, Mr. Ganton, no one " 
 
 "Yes, there did, some one sent you here. You never 
 came on your own account, John Wilton ; you ve got more 
 sense than to go about meddling in what does not concern 
 you." 
 
 " But May Keating is my sister-in-law. " 
 
 " That does n t make her your sister, does it ? " the old 
 man asked with grim sarcasm. " If she was your sister, that 
 would be different, but she is not. She is the daughter of 
 Jem Keating; she has the old man s blood running in her 
 veins, and rather than have a son of mine tie up to any of 
 that dirty stock I would see him dead." 
 
 John Wilton s face flushed. The old man s language 
 came home to him through his wife. 
 
 " You forget, Mr. Ganton, that I married one of Keating s 
 daughters." 
 
 " No; I don t forget it; and you re not likely to forget it, 
 if all I hear is true." The eyes under the bushy eyebrows 
 snapped viciously, and Wilton felt his heart sink suddenly 
 as if he had been struck heavily in a vital place. " I don t 
 mean to hurt your feelings," the old man continued in a 
 
 [271]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 more kindly tone, as if regretting the words which had slipped 
 between his lips; "I don t believe all I hear, but blood will 
 tell, and I don t want any of Jem Keating s mixed with mine. 
 . That s all I have to say." 
 
 John Wilton had risen from his chair, hat in hand. He, 
 too, had nothing more to say what could he say ? How 
 could he resent the brutal language which had struck home ? 
 Had he not invited it by his visit, by meddling in matters 
 which did not concern him ? Above all, was it not 
 
 true that people did talk ? 
 
 As he turned on his heel and went out without a word, 
 John Ganton half started from his chair as if to stop him and 
 make further amends for what he had said, but he sank back, 
 asking himself what would be the good ? Even his coarse 
 sensibilities realized that what was said could not be unsaid, 
 to try to explain would only make a bad matter worse. 
 
 Wilton did not tell his wife all John Ganton had said. 
 It would have created a scene, and he did not like scenes 
 with Mrs. Jack. But he could not disguise the unpleasant 
 truth that Ganton would not permit his son to marry a 
 daughter of Jem Keating; that much he had to tell his wife, 
 though he tried in a clumsy way to tell it diplomatically. 
 Mrs. Jack, however, was not to be deceived; her husband s 
 embarrassment told her more than his words, and she sus 
 pected things had been said he was not willing to repeat. 
 As she listened without a word, her small eyes flashed omi 
 nously and her round, plump cheeks became red as fire. 
 Wilton knew the tempest was about to break. 
 
 "So," she screamed, "the old brute, the old villain, the 
 old pig-sticker, thinks we are not good enough for him, 
 
 [272]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 and sets himself up above Jem Keating, the old butcher ! 
 There are those who remember when he drove his own cart, 
 and sold meat on the street, the old sausage-maker! Now 
 because he s rich he thinks he owns the earth; but I 11 
 show him there are some things he can t do. I 11 show 
 him I 11 show him, the old - Mrs. Jack was so 
 excited that she could not sit still, but walked to and fro with 
 her small, round fists tightly clenched. 
 
 Wilton waited for her anger to subside. At length he 
 asked in a soft tone: 
 
 "What is to be done now, Sally?" 
 
 " What is to be done ? " she exclaimed in a fresh burst of 
 irritation ; " what is to be done ? Why, get rid of his precious 
 son in some way; show him that we don t care for him and 
 his money." 
 
 " But how ? " urged Wilton, mildly. " Remember every 
 body knows of the engagement, and May you must con 
 sider May, Sally. It won t do to 
 
 " Never you mind, May and I can take care of ourselves. 
 We are not asking old John Ganton for any favors." At the 
 same time Mrs. Jack appreciated, even more keenly than her 
 husband, all the embarrassing features of the situation. What 
 excuse could be given for breaking the engagement ? Every 
 body would know it was on account of John Ganton s oppo 
 sition and his threat to disinherit his son. That was the 
 worst of it ; people would say her sister was willing to marry 
 the old man s money, but not his son without the money. 
 May s chances for the future would be seriously jeoparded; 
 and mingled with these thoughts there flitted through Mrs. 
 Jack s scheming little brain notions of revenge on John 
 Ganton. How could she get even with the old man ? How 
 
 [273]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 could she pay him back ? It was with a thrill of exultation 
 that the thought occurred to her how glorious it would be to 
 defy the old man to his face, by going ahead with the mar 
 riage! That would exasperate him more than anything 
 else. She dismissed the thought instantly. Why should 
 May throw herself away upon Will Ganton if he had no 
 money ? That would be a fine outcome after all her schem 
 ing ; why, she would be the laughing-stock of the city ! 
 
 When she told her sister what she had done, how Jack 
 had called upon John Ganton, and the result of the interview, 
 May listened, surprised and silent, and said : 
 
 "I am sorry you did it, Sally; it could do no good. You 
 ought to have spoken to me." 
 
 " Well, I did it for the best. I thought Jack might have 
 some influence. Any way, it s a family matter, and it was 
 his duty." 
 
 " No ; it is not a family matter, and it was not his duty to 
 interfere; the objection is not on Jack s account, but on ours. 
 I dare say Mr. Ganton would be glad to have Will marry 
 into the Wilton family." The last words were uttered with 
 a bitter ring, which did not escape Mrs. Jack, and she 
 answered with irritation: 
 
 " That may be ; but John Ganton need not hold his head 
 so high above us. He s no better than father." 
 
 "Possibly not half so good," May Keating responded 
 slowly; "but he has been successful, and success covers a 
 greater multitude of sins than charity." 
 
 "Well, how are you going to get rid of the young man, 
 May ? " her sister asked suddenly. May Keating looked at 
 Mrs. Jack s troubled face for a moment or two with a quiz 
 zical look in her dark blue eyes, and replied deliberately: 
 
 [274]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 "I don t intend to get rid of him." 
 
 Mrs. Jack looked up in amazement. "You don t mean 
 to say, May Keating, that you really intend to marry him 
 without a penny ? " 
 
 "Yes; that is just what I mean to say, Sally. I have 
 thought it all over, and it is the only decent thing to do. We 
 have staked our all," she continued more bitterly, " and must 
 play the game out. I cannot quite bring myself to tell him 
 I accepted him only for his money. The only doubt I have 
 is whether I should permit him to make the sacrifice, 
 whether I should not say no, for his own sake." 
 
 "Of course you should," Mrs. Jack interrupted eagerly, 
 catching at the suggestion as a possible line of argument 
 which might swerve her sister s determination; "it is not 
 right to permit him to give up his prospects." 
 
 May Keating smiled sadly. She understood only too 
 well the selfish thoughts underlying Mrs. Jack s sudden 
 solicitude for Will Ganton ; she knew that if her sister could 
 then and there subject John Ganton and every member of 
 his family to the tortures of the damned, she would take a 
 more than Satanic pleasure in doing it. 
 
 "No, Sally, we have gone too far; if Will Ganton wishes 
 it I shall marry him, and take my chances on bringing the 
 father around later. If I really thought I should be the cause 
 of his being cut off I would drop him for his own sake, I 
 like him well enough for that. But there s many a slip 
 twixt the threat and the whip." 
 
 Mrs. Jack looked at her sister inquiringly. She could 
 not quite make out what was passing in May s mind; how 
 ever, since she was determined to go ahead regardlessly, 
 there was nothing to be done but make the best of the situa- 
 
 [275]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 tion, and hope matters might take a more favorable turn. 
 Perhaps John Ganton would relent, as fathers usually do; 
 perhaps Will Ganton would do something, and the engage 
 ment might be broken for good cause; perhaps 
 
 "Jack said John Ganton was not looking well," she 
 exclaimed, as if an idea had suddenly struck her. 
 
 Again a faint smile hovered about May Keating s firm 
 mouth; it was not difficult to follow the thoughts of her 
 sister, even if they did take surprising turns. 
 
 " Did he ? I am sorry to hear it," she answered indiffer 
 ently. 
 
 "Yes. He said he was looking very bad, yellow and 
 drawn. Hasn t Will said anything about his father s health ? " 
 
 "Yes, I believe so; I do not remember what, some 
 trouble with the stomach, nothing serious apparently." 
 
 " No one can tell. Jack says the old man looks very bad ; 
 why not wait 
 
 "Until the father dies," May interrupted, and continued 
 ironically, " but you see, Sally, he may live twenty or thirty 
 years. Besides, I should not know how to suggest such a 
 course. Perhaps you could arrange it, or Jack might." 
 
 Mrs. Jack jumped up, impatient and angry. 
 
 " Do as you please, May Keating ; but you may be sorry 
 in the end. That s all I have to say," and she started to 
 leave the room. But May clasped her about the neck, ex 
 claiming with a sob in her throat : 
 
 "Oh, Sally, I am sorry now; sorry I ever met him, sorry 
 it has all gone so far. But it can t be helped now. I shall 
 keep my word; besides," she continued, half arguing to her 
 self, " there is more to him than I thought. I like him better 
 than I did." 
 
 [276]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 "But you don t love him, May," her sister interrupted 
 quickly, "you don t love him." 
 
 " No; and yet I like him better than I did at first. Every 
 man has his faults, and there are worse than Will Ganton 
 much worse," she repeated almost to herself. She drew 
 her sister close to her, " I want you and Jack to understand 
 if I marry him it is because I think it is the only thing to do, 
 there!" Before she coul d turn away Mrs. Jack gave 
 her a good hug and kiss ; it was not difficult to turn her im 
 pulsive heart, and she vowed to herself on the spot that she 
 and Jack would stand by May through thick and thin. 
 
 When Mrs. Jack told Lawrence Delaney of May s deter 
 mination to marry Will Ganton in spite of the father s oppo 
 sition, Delaney shook his head doubtfully without saying a 
 word. 
 
 "Well, it can t be helped anyway," said Mrs. Jack im 
 patiently. " Why do you look so ? " 
 
 "The old man is an ugly customer and apt to keep his 
 word." 
 
 " Surely he would n t cut Will off without a cent-." 
 
 "If he says he will, he 11 do it." 
 
 "That would be too disgraceful." Mrs. Jack could not 
 bring herself to believe that John Ganton would go quite so 
 far. He might cut down Will s share in his estate ; that would 
 be bad enough, but to cut him off entirely? It did not 
 seem possible, 
 
 "Why can t they wait a while?" Delaney continued 
 thoughtfully. " I saw the old man on the street this morning. 
 He looked sick, yellow, and haggard. They say he has been 
 looking bad lately, and it struck me there must be something 
 
 [277]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 serious the matter with him. Why not wait ? If anything 
 should happen - 
 
 "That s just what I have urged," Mrs. Jack interrupted 
 earnestly. " I have told May to wait, but she won t listen to 
 reason. She is bent on marrying Will Ganton while his 
 father is alive, just to show the old brute she does not care 
 for his money." 
 
 Delaney smiled. He admired May Keating s pluck and 
 determination, but at the same time he thought she was act 
 ing foolishly. 
 
 " Money is too good a friend or too relentless an enemy 
 to be treated lightly," he commented. " I wish I had more 
 of it." 
 
 At Mrs. Jack s request Delaney tried to convince May it 
 would be the better part of discretion to wait for a time ; but 
 without success. 
 
 "There is no use talking, Larry," she replied firmly, "my 
 mind is made up. I was willing to sell myself for his father s 
 millions, and it is rather more creditable to give myself for 
 nothing. However, I am not seeking applause. I am going 
 to marry Will Ganton because I am. It s a woman s rea 
 son, but in this case a good one. I will take my chances." 
 
 Delaney looked at the firmly set mouth of the young 
 woman sitting in front of him, and felt it would be quite idle 
 to pursue the subject further. At the same time he was 
 curious, in a friendly way, to know the real motives that 
 prompted her; he could not bring himself to believe it was 
 anything like love for Will Ganton. 
 
 " I believe you are going to marry him, May, just to spite 
 his father; to be revenged for the slur upon your own father." 
 
 "Possibly I am, but whether I am or not, John Ganton 
 [278]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 and the rest of the world will be convinced that a Keating 
 girl ; there was a ring of scorn in her voice " can marry 
 for something besides money." After a pause, she con 
 tinued in another tone : " Oh, Larry, how sick I am of it all ! 
 What is marriage anyway but a bargain and sale ? People 
 talk of marrying for love. Is there such a thing ? " 
 
 That was too closely in line with Delaney s own philosophy 
 for him to argue in opposition, but he urged : 
 
 "Admitting all that to be true, May, what are the con 
 siderations which compel you to act so hastily in this matter ? 
 I cannot see the necessity." 
 
 " I can t tell you. I hardly know myself. All I do know 
 is, that my mind is made up. . . . Now, Larry, let s not 
 debate the matter any more. I expect you to help me make 
 the best of a situation which will have plenty of disagreeable 
 features; the engagement will be formally announced, and 
 the date of the wedding fixed, all very soon." 
 
 "I don t envy Will Ganton, at home, I mean," De- 
 laney hastened to add with a smile. 
 
 " That is his lookout ; he has something of his father in 
 him, and it may be a case of Greek meeting Greek." 
 
 Delaney shook his head doubtfully. He knew Will better 
 than May knew him. While the son had something of the 
 ugly temper and brute strength of the father, he lacked en 
 tirely those masterful qualities which made men fear the old 
 man. 
 
 John Ganton said nothing to Will about the conversa 
 tion with Wilton; he waited. He believed that when Mrs. 
 Jack and her sister learned that in no circumstances would he 
 countenance the match they would find a way to break it off. 
 
 [279]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "All those girls are after is money," he said to Browning. 
 " There s nothing they would like better than to get hold of 
 some of mine, but they won t not a cent, Browning, not a 
 red cent," his voice rising as he repeated the phrase. " I m 
 sorry for Wilton," he continued more mildly, "he s a well- 
 meaning fellow, but he got roped in like a steer by that Sally 
 Keating; they say she leads him a lively dance. It s in the 
 blood, Browning; they re rotten to the core." 
 
 Browning said nothing. He knew this talk about Will s 
 engagement worried John Ganton, and he was sorry for the 
 old man. Both he and his wife thought Will was making 
 a mistake. They never entered the social circle wherein 
 Mrs. Jack shone. Knowing her only by sight and hearsay, 
 Mrs. Browning had all the prejudice and secret envy of the 
 woman who is just without the exclusive line. She would 
 have given anything to be on calling terms with Mrs. Jack, 
 and since she was not, she lost no opportunity of repeating 
 and accentuating every bit of gossip she heard. Returning 
 from one of her numerous clubs one afternoon, she said to 
 Browning : 
 
 " It s a shame the way Mrs. Jack Wilton carries on with 
 that Lawrence Delaney! They say he is with her all the 
 time; dining and driving and sitting about the clubs. It is 
 scandalous. I don t see how her husband permits it, but 
 some men are so blind. They say John Wilton is a very nice 
 man, much too good for her." The good woman ran on in 
 a torrent of words, her usual manner, and wound up with 
 the question, " Who is this Delaney, anyway ? " 
 
 "A stock-broker. I don t know T much about him, 
 from New York, I believe," Browning replied without look 
 ing up from his evening paper. 
 
 [280]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 " They say he s a sort of an adventurer, and yet no one 
 knows just who he is. He s a great friend of Will Ganton s, 
 is n t he ? " 
 
 Browning had no intention of giving his wife any definite 
 information along that line; she would be altogether too 
 apt to use it to some one s discomfiture, quite likely his 
 own. 
 
 "I suppose they meet occasionally at the clubs," he an 
 swered evasively. 
 
 " Well, I heard to-day that this Delaney is little better than 
 a common gambler, and that Will has lost no end of money 
 to him, you ought to know." 
 
 The last remark was uttered in tones so pointed that 
 Browning could not wholly ignore it without the appearance 
 of concealing something, sq,he answered, with an air of frank 
 ness which threw his wife off her guard : 
 
 There s nothing in it except that Will, like most young 
 fellows nowadays, occasionally takes a flyer in stocks. Some 
 times he wins, sometimes he loses." 
 
 " Is he going to marry Mrs. Jack s sister ? " 
 
 "How do I know?" 
 
 "Well, you ought to interest yourself if you care any 
 thing about him, for they say she is worse than her sister. 
 She had a love affair at Newport two or three summers ago, 
 but nothing came of it. She wants Will Ganton for his 
 money. Those Keating girls will stop at nothing. It s a 
 shame. You d better talk to Will, and tell him plainly what 
 people say. It might open his eyes." 
 
 Browning did talk to Will, not to tell him what people 
 were saying or to open his eyes in the direction indicated by 
 Mrs. Browning, but because he honestly thought Will was 
 
 [281]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 making a great mistake in sacrificing his future by marrying 
 a scheming girl. 
 
 Will listened to all Browning had to say. The talk was 
 well meant, but it did no good. A stubborn look came over 
 the young man s face, a look Browning knew only too well 
 as a weaker reflection of the will of the father. 
 
 "I know you mean all right, Browning, but I asked 
 her to marry me when I thought I would have an interest 
 in the company some day and be a rich man, and I don t 
 propose to back out now. If father wants to cut me off, 
 that is his lookout, I guess I can take care of myself 
 somehow. He s down on her just because he had some 
 trouble with her father years ago; I don t see the sense 
 of that." 
 
 " He s down on the daughter because he thinks she may 
 have inherited some of her father s characteristics," Brown 
 ing urged, as gently as he could. 
 
 "That s all nonsense, and you know it, Browning." 
 
 Browning did not know it on the contrary he believed 
 John Ganton was right, but he could not tell Will that 
 in so many words. 
 
 "I tell you she is the finest girl in the world, Browning, 
 and much too good for me ; when father comes to know her 
 he will change his mind." 
 
 So that was the direction in which hope lay, that John 
 Ganton himself would fall under the spell and yield to the 
 young woman s charms, well, who could tell ? 
 
 Browning did venture to suggest they should wait for a 
 time, the thought that had occurred to Delaney; but Will 
 would not listen to it for a moment. 
 
 "Father is all right. His stomach is out of order, that 
 [282]
 
 Blood Will Tell 
 
 is all. If he wouid quit taking big doses of castor oil and go 
 and see a doctor he would be all right in no time." 
 
 "I wish he would see a doctor," Browning said earnestly, 
 " I don t like his looks." 
 
 " But he won t. He s as stubborn as a mule on that 
 point." 
 
 [283]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 JOHN GANTON S REMORSE 
 
 INDEED, John Ganton s condition caused Browning great 
 anxiety. There were mornings when the old man would 
 come down " feeling first rate, " as he expressed it, but 
 his skin never lost the yellow look, and he became thinner. 
 
 "I m thinning down somewhat," he said; "but that s 
 all right. I can stand losing a little fat." 
 
 He persistently kept his mind on the bright side, and 
 would not admit he was ill. The inquiries of acquaintances 
 who were struck by his changed appearance, the solicitude 
 of friends and business associates, annoyed him so that he 
 either avoided answering their questions or replied so im 
 patiently that soon nearly everybody with whom he came in 
 contact understood how he felt and refrained from asking 
 about his health. It pleased him greatly if men on meeting 
 him remarked, "How well you are looking, Mr. Ganton!" 
 He knew he was not looking well, and he knew they said 
 it to flatter him, nevertheless he derived satisfaction from 
 these hollow assurances. 
 
 In the street he made an effort to walk with the same 
 vigor, and at conferences and directors meetings he en 
 deavored to suppress every sign of weakness and suffering; 
 but in his own office it was different. There he yielded to 
 the lassitude that frequently overcame him. Browning 
 often found him hunched down in his big chair half dozing, 
 with his head dropped forward on his breast and his letters 
 
 [284]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 and telegrams before him unread. He aroused himself with 
 a start, and tried by sudden activity to disguise the fact he 
 had been half asleep, but one day he said apologetically : 
 
 " Did n t sleep very well last night, Browning ; there s 
 something wrong with my stomick. I can t eat as I used to ; 
 nearly everything I eat goes back on me. There s a sort of 
 dull ache down here." He put his hand on the right side of 
 his body just below the ribs. 
 
 "It must be your liver, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 "Maybe it is, maybe it is," he repeated. "I guess I 11 
 take a blue-pill, that 11 fix the liver all right." He bright 
 ened up at the thought of a medicine he had not tried for a 
 long time. " I had n t thought of that. I can t eat as I 
 used to," he repeated almost mechanically. 
 
 " Don t you think you ought to see a doctor ? " Brown 
 ing ventured to suggest again. The old man s face instantly 
 clouded over and he said curtly: 
 
 "I m not ready to die just yet." 
 
 The suggestion of a doctor acted like a tonic. It braced 
 him up, and for a time he seemed to fight his ills and pains, 
 but only for a time. The dull pain in his right side came 
 back with increasing frequency, and in spite of all his doses 
 he could not overcome the discomfort felt after every meal. 
 
 Out at the Yards one day he met old Doc Ruggles, the 
 veterinary surgeon who for a stipulated sum per annum 
 looked after Ganton & Co. s horses. Everybody and nearly 
 every horse in the Yards knew Doc. He was a character; he 
 went about with his hands stained brown from the mixtures 
 he used, and with his clothes smelling of horse liniment. 
 
 " Doc knows his business," the men were accustomed to 
 say; " if he can t cure a horse he 11 kill him." 
 
 [285]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 He took no stock in the more modern methods of the 
 young graduates of veterinary colleges; Doc had acquired 
 his knowledge by hard knocks and still harder kicks. Not 
 infrequently a horse manifested its objection to the bitter 
 doses and hot irons, and hoofed Doc across the stable, but 
 that was invariably accepted as a good sign, the horse 
 would recover. He had passed through the rough school 
 of experience, and his only diploma was a supreme confidence 
 in his own ability. He practised in his shirt sleeves and a 
 pair of stained and discolored overalls, once blue. If he 
 did not know what ailed a horse he gave it something that 
 brought on symptoms he did understand, whereupon he 
 doctored those symptoms. His method was summed up 
 in strong doses and big blisters. He administered his 
 medicines by tying a horse s head to a rafter and squirting 
 a quart of evil smelling and still more evil tasting liquid down 
 the poor animal s throat. There was not much variety in 
 the mixtures, as the same formula seemed to answer for 
 every equine ill, and there was no fooling or dilly-dallying or 
 coddling. The horse was expected to take his medicine and 
 go to work the next morning, and those that did not die over 
 night usually met Doc s expectations. 
 
 John Ganton had known Ruggles for more than thirty 
 years, and his confidence in the medical skill of the old 
 veterinary was measured by Doc s confidence in himself, 
 nothing could shake it. 
 
 When they met at the Yards on the day referred to, Doc 
 was grinding a brown powder in an old iron mortar, and did 
 not look up until Ganton called out: 
 
 "Well, Doc, how are all the horses?" 
 
 Straightening up, Ruggles was about to reply when he 
 [286]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 caught sight of John Ganton s face, and was so shocked he 
 could not conceal it. 
 
 " The horses are all right, Mr. Ganton. A few down with 
 the epizoo-tic, no more than ordinary. But what s the 
 matter with you ? You look sicker n any horse I ve got 
 on my hands." 
 
 A painful smile spread over John Ganton s yellow features, 
 as he tried to make light of his condition. 
 
 " I m all right. It s my stomick, Doc. I can t eat as 
 I used to." 
 
 " I should say it s your liver from that complexion of 
 your n, too much bile." 
 
 " Do you think that s it ? " the old man asked eagerly. 
 "Browning said it must be my liver. Look here, Doc," 
 he blurted out, " what s good for the liver ? " 
 
 "Well," Ruggles drawled as he looked the old man over 
 critically, "if you was a horse I could cure you in about 
 two shakes of a lamb s tail. What you need is a mixture to 
 knock that bile out of you, that s all you need. I can 
 fix you up something I take myself, but it won t taste as 
 sweet as honey; I don t use any sugar-coatin on my pills." 
 Doc laughed, for he always said that to the men in the 
 Yards when he dosed them for their occasional ailments. 
 " I don t give no baby food that slips down so easy you don t 
 know it s there." 
 
 "Go ahead, Doc," the old man eagerly replied; "fix 
 me up something, and if you can bring me around all right 
 I 11 make it worth your while." 
 
 " I 11 send a bottle of stuff around to the office in an 
 hour. You take a tablespoonful before going to bed and 
 in the morning soon as you get up, and if you don t feel like 
 
 [287]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 a new man in a week I 11 take down my sign. It s bile, 
 that s all it is." 
 
 Ruggles was so sure of his opinion that John Ganton 
 felt greatly reassured, and walked off in better spirits than 
 he had been in for some time. 
 
 " He knew just as soon as he looked at me what was the 
 matter," he said to himself; "that comes of experience. I 
 wish I had seen Doc before. He s better than any of 
 those fellows down town who charge ten dollars for just 
 looking at a man, and then don t know what s the matter 
 more n half the time." 
 
 At night when John Ganton swallowed the first table- 
 spoonful of the rankly bitter mixture, his face betrayed his 
 disgust. 
 
 "What are you taking now, John?" his wife timidly 
 asked. 
 
 "Was out at the Yards this afternoon, and Ruggles 
 you remember Doc Ruggles ? said all I needed was some 
 thing for my liver, so he gave me this medicine." 
 
 "Why, he is only a horse doctor. Ain t you afraid?" 
 
 " I d as soon trust him as any one. This is something 
 he takes himself when his liver is out of order. Ugh! but 
 it s bitter. You have n t a lump of sugar, have you ? " 
 
 "No, but I can run down and get you one in a minute." 
 
 When she returned Ganton was sitting on the edge of the 
 
 bed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He 
 
 looked so sick as he sat there half undressed she was 
 
 alarmed. 
 
 "Oh, John!" she exclaimed, "I wish you would see a 
 doctor." 
 
 "No, no," he answered impatiently; "I don t want no 
 [288]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 doctor. I 11 come out all right. It s my liver, that s 
 all." As he spoke he passed his hand slowly across the pit 
 of his stomach, as if in pain. 
 
 " Do you feel bad ? " she anxiously inquired. 
 
 " There is a sort of a dull ache around here, and now and 
 then a shooting pain. I never had anything like it before, 
 Maria, and it hangs on so." There was a helpless ring to his 
 voice that was pathetic. His wife had never before seen 
 him sick for more than a day or two, and then only with some 
 insignificant ailment which readily yielded to his heroic 
 treatment. Now, however, he seemed to suffer nearly all 
 the time, and she could see that so far from improving from 
 week to week, he got worse; his skin became more yellow, 
 his features more drawn, he lost flesh; more and more 
 frequently he sat down at the table and suddenly pushed 
 his plate to one side, saying, "I can t eat anything, Maria, 
 my appetite s gone all at once." At other times when he 
 did eat, the food distressed him, and he sometimes lay 
 down for half an hour or more, to complain of "wind on 
 my stomick, and shooting pains." 
 
 For a long time he impatiently rejected every offer on her 
 part to try to do something to relieve him, but of late he had 
 submitted to the application of a hot-water bag to the pit 
 of his stomach when the pains were very severe. That 
 helped ; under the gentle radiation of the heat the disagree 
 able sensations subsided, and often he fell asleep, to awake 
 much refreshed. When down town, he could not rest 
 after luncheon, and there was no one to get him a hot -water 
 bag, so he was obliged to get along as best he could. He 
 soon learned that if he ate little luncheon he could get through 
 the afternoon very well; some days he got very hungry, but 
 
 [289]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 either ate nothing at all or drank only a glass of milk, which 
 did not distress him so much as solid food. 
 
 He took Ruggles s bitter brown mixture faithfully as 
 directed, and strange to say, felt much better. Each time 
 he took the awful dose he experienced the satisfaction of a 
 man who deals his foe a vigorous and telling blow. Like 
 most men, he had faith in mixtures in proportion to their 
 disagreeable qualities, treating disease as if it were some 
 thing to be reached only by sledge-hammer shocks. 
 
 For some time he ate better, his skin regained some of its 
 normal color, his eye became brighter, and he felt, as he 
 expressed it, more like himself. Browning was quick to 
 notice the improvement, and congratulated him. 
 
 "That s right, Browning; I have n t felt so well in a long 
 time. Would you like to know who did it ? " He looked at 
 Browning with a cunning twinkle in his gray eyes. "None 
 of your high-falutin pill-pedlers down town here; it was 
 Doc Ruggles out at the Yards. He gave me some medicine 
 that fixed my liver all right, and I can eat now just about as 
 well as ever." 
 
 "Well, one can never tell, Mr. Ganton. Sometimes a 
 home-made remedy is just as good as a fancy prescription." 
 
 " Better, Browning, better, I say. A good old-fashioned 
 dose goes straight to the spot; I would n t give a picayune 
 for a cart-load of the lollipops they fix up nowadays at the 
 drug stores. But I tell you it s bitterer n gall," the 
 grimace on the old man s features expressed the disagree 
 able nature of the mixture more eloquently than words. 
 
 During the weeks he felt better John Ganton plunged 
 into business with renewed energy; it was as if he had 
 been taking a vacation, holding aloof for a time and gather- 
 
 [290]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 ing up his strength. He kept his great office force in a tur 
 moil; he was active at the Yards, on the Board, and on 
 Change; he made his influence felt in each of the great 
 packing centres, and he even made a trip to Omaha and 
 Kansas City, and planned large additions to his already 
 enormous plants at those two points. With something like 
 his old interest he read the cables and letters from the foreign 
 representatives, and seemed to know intuitively what was 
 going on in distant quarters of the globe; he never debated 
 a moment the answer to be sent, or the instructions to be 
 given, it was one of his extraordinary characteristics that 
 before he had finished reading a letter or even a telegram, the 
 answer shaped itself in his mind, and it was invariably sent 
 as first conceived; no one ever caught him sitting with a 
 letter or a telegram in his hand wondering what reply he 
 should make. To a business proposition, whether made in 
 conference or on the street, he always gave a definite answer 
 on the spot, unless, as often happened, it suited his purpose 
 to procrastinate. Whatever his course of action, his decision 
 was immediate and irrevocable. "No man can afford to 
 change his mind," he often said; "it s cheaper in the end to 
 go wrong once in a while than get in the habit of thinking 
 what s best to do." All who did business with him had a 
 wholesome respect for this characteristic; they soon learned 
 to make him no proposition they were not ready to stand by, 
 for he never gave them time to withdraw. 
 
 "The old man trades so quickly it takes one s breath 
 away," Range Salter remarked one day after a trying five 
 minutes, at the end of which he found he had involved the 
 Union Company in an agreement highly advantageous to 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 [291]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 He was quite as ready and willing to do business in the 
 street as in his office; it mattered not. "The time to do 
 business is all the time, that s my motto," he said whenever 
 any one suggested taking a matter up at a more convenient 
 opportunity. If a man asked for an appointment he invari 
 ably inquired what was wanted, and nine times out of ten 
 disposed of the matter on the spot. He was a good waiter 
 when he wanted to wait ; no one could prolong negotiations 
 more exasperatingly when he needed time to secure some 
 advantage. 
 
 " He s the slowest man to come to a decision I ever met," 
 a New Yorker once remarked. 
 
 " Then you d better look out, for the chances are he is 
 moving like a streak of greased lightning behind your back," 
 his friend answered. 
 
 During the days he was feeling so much better and tak 
 ing renewed interest in business, he found on his desk one 
 morning a cable in cipher from John. He noticed it was 
 sent from London, instead of Liverpool. When translated 
 it read: 
 
 " Italian government about to make large contracts for 
 meats and canned goods; contract may be secured through 
 influence of South- Atlantic line; prompt action necessary." 
 
 Without pausing to reread the message, he called for 
 Browning, gave the necessary orders to get the Rome 
 and Naples representatives at work, dictated a telegram to 
 Sanford in New York, then, showing Browning the cable, 
 remarked : 
 
 "The young fellow seems to be able to sit up and take 
 notice; I wonder where he got that tip." 
 
 [292]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 " MacMasters says he has a long head." 
 
 " We may make something of him yet, if he 11 get some 
 of his fool notions out of his noddle." 
 
 Browning said nothing, as he had his own opinion con 
 cerning the young man. The old man leaned back in his 
 chair and continued: 
 
 "The trouble nowadays, Browning, is boys are educated 
 too much. Colleges are all right enough in the old country, 
 where men don t have to work, but they don t go in America. 
 A new country s got to have brain and muscle, and boys 
 must work, and work young, or they will get left at the post. 
 What good would a college have been in California in 49 or 
 in Chicago fifty years ago ? Do they need a college in the 
 Klondike ? I guess not ; they need men and women, not a 
 lot of sickly students. There is a time for all things, even 
 learning, but America is not ripe for too much learning. 
 Another generation or so, and this country will go in for 
 colleges and universities and learning to beat the band; 
 just now business is the thing. Ganton & Co. is bigger 
 than any college, the fellows we graduate amount to 
 something." 
 
 In his way John Ganton had shrewd notions concerning 
 the directions in which the energies of a country ought to 
 be applied; he had no particular antipathy to higher educa 
 tion in itself, but he thought the time devoted to it in America 
 mostly wasted; he could not see that it helped in business, 
 and in the case of his own son he was quite sure university 
 life had destroyed what little aptitude for practical affairs 
 the boy had ever had. 
 
 The contracts with the Italian government were closed, 
 largely through the friendly though secret intervention of 
 
 [293]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 the South- Atlantic Company, which, in turn, profited from 
 exceedingly favorable transportation agreements. The com 
 petitors of Ganton & Co. put in lower bids, but their offers 
 were rejected for one reason or another. " What s the use 
 of bidding!" exclaimed the president of the International 
 Company, angrily; "the old man has a cinch on this foreign 
 business. I believe he owns every court in Europe." 
 
 About half-past five one afternoon, when most of the 
 office force had gone for the day, John Ganton was still at his 
 desk, poring over papers and reports and making figures on 
 a piece of blank paper with a short, stubby pencil. Though 
 not much of a writer, he was exceedingly quick at figures, 
 and could run up long columns at a glance, and carry results 
 in his head so long as he had any use for them. In trans 
 actions of great magnitude and complexity he therefore 
 seldom had to refer to memoranda, and always knew what 
 he was talking about, a trait which gave him a decided 
 advantage over most men with whom he had dealings, as 
 they made mistakes where he did not. In addition, he not 
 only knew all about the business of Ganton & Co., but all 
 about the business of each of the principal competitors of 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 At the moment he was engaged in comparing the profits 
 of the International, the Union, and Borlan Bros. ; the profits 
 of Ganton & Co. should exceed the earnings of the other 
 three combined, but under the energetic management of 
 Allan Borlan the business of Borlan Bros, had so increased 
 that for the first time the footings did not result so favorably 
 to Ganton & Co. ; as nearly as he could get at the facts the 
 profits of the three companies now just about equalled his 
 
 [294]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 own. A frown gathered over his face, and his tightly closed 
 lips worked in and out mechanically as he ran the stubby 
 pencil over the figures before him; so absorbed was he that 
 he did not look up when some one entered his private office, 
 but simply asked sharply: 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "I called to see you on a matter of business," was the 
 reply, in a voice that was familiar and yet did not belong to 
 the office. Swinging about, he was surprised to see George 
 Borlan. 
 
 " Why, Borlan, I thought it was Browning or some of the 
 boys in the office; sit down, sit down," he repeated cordially; 
 as Borlan took a chair and dropped his hat on the floor beside 
 him, John Ganton continued in a tone which betrayed his 
 anxiety, and at the same time no little embarrassment, " How 
 is Allan getting on ? " 
 
 George Borlan looked at the old man a moment before 
 replying, as if on the point of saying something that might 
 not be pleasant, but if he had such a thought he repressed it. 
 
 " No better, Mr. Ganton. The doctors say there is only 
 one chance, and that is an operation. By lifting a piece of 
 the skull they may relieve the pressure on the brain, but they 
 are not sure, they are not sure of anything. He may die, 
 but we are going to take the chance." 
 
 George Borlan could not hide his emotion, his voice 
 trembled and he rose from his chair, dug his hands into 
 his pockets, and strode over to the window, where he re 
 mained several minutes apparently looking out on the 
 street below. 
 
 John Ganton was shuffling the papers on his desk ner 
 vously, he did not know what to say. 
 
 [295]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 "It s too bad, Borlan," he murmured, "it s too bad. 
 Maybe he 11 come out all right yet, maybe 
 
 "I did not come to talk about that," George Borlan inter 
 rupted rather sharply as he turned from the window to his 
 seat; "though it is Allan s condition which in a way is the 
 occasion of my being here." He paused a second and John 
 Ganton waited. " He was the life and soul of our business. 
 I am tired and sick of it, and would have retired long ago if 
 Allan had not been coming on. Now that he is no longer 
 able to take any part in the management of the 
 business I want to dispose of it. I want to get rid 
 of it, and I m willing to sell the business and good 
 will for less than it is worth. You once said that if we 
 ever cared to sell out to let you know. There is a statement 
 showing our investment here and in Kansas City, the busi 
 ness and our profits for the last five years. There is our 
 balance-sheet. We are prepared to guarantee our inventories 
 and all bills and accounts receivable. Does the matter inter 
 est you, Mr. Ganton ? " 
 
 In business George Borlan was always quick, sharp, and 
 to the point; he would have made a great trader except that 
 he did not care a great deal about making money. "He is 
 too fond of books to make a first-class business man," his 
 associates often said; but when he put his mind on business 
 be could accomplish almost as much in a given time as John 
 Ganton himself. 
 
 The old man glanced at the two sheets handed him, and 
 at the figures on his desk as if to verify the footings; he 
 pushed all the papers to one side indifferently. 
 
 " What do you want for your business, Borlan ? " he asked 
 as quietly as if he had been purchasing a pair of horses. 
 
 [296]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 " Five million dollars in cash or securities. It does n t 
 matter which." 
 
 " I will give you six millions. Make out your papers 
 to-morrow, with formal deeds and transfers to follow within 
 thirty days." 
 
 George Borlan looked at the old man in blank astonish 
 ment. He thought he had not heard aright. 
 
 " I said five millions, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 " And I said six." 
 
 "But " 
 
 " I know what your business is worth, Borlan, better n 
 you do yourself. There are the figures. I was just looking 
 them over when you came in. I know what you made last 
 year, and I know what you are doing this year." 
 
 "All that was due to Allan." 
 
 " Don t you suppose I know that ? " the old man shouted 
 irritably. " Don t you suppose I keep track of what s going 
 on at the Yards ? Take that extra million and spend every 
 cent of it in trying to get your brother cured." 
 
 There was a strange ring to John Ganton s voice as he 
 uttered the last words. Could it be he looked upon this extra 
 payment as a sort of atonement for any part he may have 
 had in the beginning of the strike ? Could it be he felt in 
 any wise responsible for the rioting and disorder that led up 
 to the assault ? These thoughts flashed through Borlan s 
 mind; he had his own convictions, but he had not thought it 
 possible the coarse fibre of John Ganton responded to any 
 such reflections and emotions. Yet there was something in 
 the tone of the old man which made Borlan feel that beneath 
 the uncouth exterior there might be after all a heart cast in 
 a better mould. 
 
 [297]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 After his caller had left the office, John Ganton did not 
 again look at the paper on his desk; he sat for some time 
 in his big chair apparently lost in thought, and he was not 
 thinking of the purchase of the business of Borlan Bros., or 
 of the extra million of dollars he had given for it. That 
 transaction was closed and past; Browning would attend 
 to the details and pay the money as soon as the papers could 
 be executed. The magnitude of a transaction never affected 
 him, in fact, he often spent more time on a small deal than on 
 a large; he would haggle with a waiter over the amount of 
 his bill, or wait while a newsboy ran across the street to get 
 four pennies in change for his nickel ; but a purchase involv 
 ing millions never bothered him a moment. 
 
 No ; he was not thinking of business as he sat there alone. 
 The big office was now deserted by all save the janitor s 
 assistants, who were emptying the contents of the waste- 
 paper baskets into large sacks. He was thinking of the young 
 man who only a few w r eeks before had entered that very 
 office and pleaded with him to stand firm in the impending 
 strike, who alone had fought the strikers for two weeks, who 
 had denounced the leaders to their faces, who had done 
 more than any one else to expose the corruption and dis 
 honesty of those leaders, and who had fallen victim to the 
 vengeance of the men he so openly and fearlessly denounced ; 
 those were the thoughts which haunted John Ganton, and for 
 the first time since he had taken the mixture fixed up by 
 Ruggles, his face assumed a sallower hue, and he felt a knife- 
 like pain shoot through his stomach. He had been feeling 
 so well, comparatively speaking, that the pain startled him as 
 a vivid reminder of his former sufferings. When he arose 
 to go he said to himself, "I must telephone Doc for another 
 
 [298]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 bottle of that mixture, and ask him to make it a leetle 
 stronger. 
 
 The purchase of Borlan Bros, by Ganton & Co. made 
 a sensation on the Street and at the Yards; it placed the 
 International and the Union at a still greater disadvantage 
 in competition with the big company. 
 
 " Why did n t you tell us you wanted to sell out, and give 
 us a chance to buy ? " Range Salter asked in a disappointed 
 tone when he met George Borlan. 
 
 " You would have wanted a week to consider the matter, 
 and a month to go over the inventories and accounts; I 
 closed with the old man in less than fifteen minutes." 
 
 "I 11 wager a penny you had to sell at his price," Range 
 Salter retorted. 
 
 You are right; I did accept the price he fixed." 
 
 "I thought so. When it comes to driving a bargain 
 Ganton s a tough customer; you might have done better 
 if you had taken a little more time and dealt with us." 
 
 "I hardly think so. We are entirely satisfied with the 
 deal." 
 
 As Borlan walked away Range Salter muttered to him 
 self: 
 
 " I 11 bet the old man took advantage of the condition of 
 Allan Borlan and got the business for nothing, t was too 
 good a chance to lose." 
 
 There were rumors that all the big companies were about 
 to get together in one combination, that competition would 
 be stifled, and the prices of meat and all other products of the 
 Yards materially advanced. Such a consolidation had been 
 frequently suggested. Clever promoters from New York 
 
 [299]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 had called on John Ganton a number of times to discuss the 
 matter, but he received them with scant courtesy, and 
 listened impatiently to what they had to say. The presi 
 dent of the bank in which he was the largest stockholder 
 had tried several times to persuade him a big combination 
 would be to his advantage, but he responded curtly : " I can t 
 see it that way. We are getting all the business we want, 
 and when we want more, we 11 reach out for it." 
 
 Combinations and consolidations were in the air, and his 
 associates could not understand his opposition to the tendency 
 of the hour, quick as he was to approve pools, price agree 
 ments, trade arrangements, and ever} 7 device known which 
 would have the effect of regulating supply and keeping up 
 prices. But it was charged more or less openly that the 
 salesmen and managers of Ganton & Co. did not always 
 faithfully observe these agreements, that they were kept 
 when the old man wanted them kept, and broken when his 
 attention was conveniently bestowed elsewhere; Ganton & 
 Co. had the reputation of never losing any business by 
 keeping faith with a competitor 
 
 He could see no reason why he should merge his individu 
 ality in a large combination, even though he were placed at 
 the head. That meant nothing to him, as he was the head 
 of the packing industry anyway; no one disputed his su 
 premacy. If a competitor wanted to sell out at a price, that 
 was another matter, he would buy; but as for taking in a 
 lot of stockholders and directors and officers for whom he 
 had no use, the suggestion did not appeal to him ; he was too 
 fond of running his own business to suit himself to tolerate 
 the intervention of outsiders. The corporate organization of 
 Ganton & Co. was hardly more than nominal, just sufficient 
 
 [300]
 
 John Ganton s Remorse 
 
 to comply with the law ; with the exception of Browning and 
 Will, the directors were clerks in the office, and the board 
 met only to pass such formal resolutions as were necessary 
 to carry out John Ganton s personal wishes. 
 
 " When I get so old I can t run this business myself 
 I 11 get out and make room for others, but not before," the 
 old man said to the assistant of a great New York banker, 
 who was vainly trying to persuade him that a consolidation 
 would take part of the load off his shoulders. 
 
 Trusts are all right enough down East, where you fellows 
 get down at ten in the morning and quit at one on the days 
 you re not playing golf. It takes a lot of you to do the work 
 of one man, and the bigger the combination the more holidays 
 you have. Things are different out here, where we re not 
 looking for holidays; I don t need no rest; and when I get 
 ready to sell out I 11 let you know." 
 
 It was seldom he expressed himself at such length, but 
 on this occasion his caller represented a house of so much 
 importance in the financial world, that he could not very well 
 avoid the interview; besides, it flattered the old man to think 
 the great men of Wall Street should send their trusted lieu 
 tenants to Chicago to see if it were not possible to organize a 
 gigantic packing corporation, with him at the head. 
 
 A few weeks later two specialists came on from New York 
 to perform the operation on Allan Borlan. The case was 
 baffling because there was no outward sign of the injury, yet it 
 was of vital importance to know precisely where to open the 
 skull. At length, after days of observations and tests, the 
 great man to whom was intrusted the responsibility of saying 
 where and when to operate placed his finger upon a certain 
 
 [301]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 spot a little above and behind the ear, and said in a tone of 
 conviction : 
 
 "There, the seat of the trouble is there, within a space 
 easily covered by a half-dollar." 
 
 He proved to be right, for when they trepanned the skull 
 at that point and removed the pressure a marvellous change 
 occurred 
 
 Even while partially under the influence of the anaesthetic 
 the features of the sick man lost the expression of vacuity and 
 indifference; they became set and firm. The lines about 
 the mouth hardened, the lips moved, and as the effects of 
 the ether disappeared, Allan Borlan uttered in the tone of a 
 man threatened by some great danger, the one word 
 "Ballard!" 
 
 "He saw the man who struck him," the great specialist 
 remarked in a low voice, and those about the table listened 
 intently, but Borlan s eyes closed, and he relapsed into uncon 
 sciousness. 
 
 Days passed before he was strong enough to give an 
 account of the events of the night he was assaulted, but he 
 slowly recovered his strength and all his faculties. 
 
 He had caught a glimpse of his assailant as the man 
 darted out from the shadow of one of the stables. It was 
 Ballard. But when they sought to arrest him he had disap 
 peared. Months afterwards it was reported he had been 
 killed in a brawl somewhere in the great Northwest, where 
 men so often lose their lives in trying to lose themselves. 
 
 [302]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 BEYOND question John Ganton was a sick man. In 
 two weeks he had grown so much worse, had become so 
 yellow and haggard, that his more intimate associates 
 ceased to comment on his appearance one way or the other. 
 That was a bad sign; he had gone through the three stages 
 of human sympathy : the first, when those about him noticed 
 signs of ill-health and inquired sympathetically how he felt; 
 the second, when they endeavored to cheer him up and dis 
 guise the progress of the disease by telling him how much 
 better he was looking; and the third, when his appearance was 
 such that idle words were useless, and even Browning re 
 mained silent. 
 
 In spite of all this, in spite of the dull ache which never 
 left his side and of the excruciating pains which now and 
 then doubled him up in agony, in spite of the distress which 
 nearly all food gave him, in spite of unmistakable outward 
 and inward signs of grave trouble of some kind, with indom 
 itable will John Ganton persuaded himself that it was only 
 some trouble with stomach and liver, which would right 
 itself in time. In his long and hard life he had had too many 
 attacks of biliousness and of indigestion, due to bolting poor 
 food half cooked, to worry over similar symptoms now. 
 Heroic doses of castor oil and blue-pills had always brought 
 him around, and he would come out all right now, he kept 
 saying to himself. 
 
 [303]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 He had tried another bottle of Ruggles s mixture, more 
 bitter and worse smelling, if anything, than the first. He 
 had taken double doses, and again for a few days he felt 
 better. The feeling of relief confirmed him in the conviction 
 it was his liver which needed " stirring up," but this time the 
 improvement did not last. The pains came back sharper 
 than ever, he lost flesh, his clothes hung loosely on his big 
 frame., his cheeks were thin and sallow, his gray eyes, so keen 
 and piercing, became dull and leaden. ^Yhen by himself 
 he sat and stared at his hands, first at one and then at the 
 other. He could not understand why they should be so thin 
 and so bad in color. 
 
 He had always been in the habit of walking a great deal, 
 considering a carriage effeminate ; but now he was driven to 
 and from his office. Even when he attended a directors 
 meeting or a conference more than a block or two away, he 
 called a cab. 
 
 No one dared talk with him about his condition. At 
 home he was so morose and silent that if his wife merely 
 asked him how he felt he answered so irritably that she soon 
 ceased to say a word. But her eyes, half filled with tears, 
 followed him as he moved slowly and painfully about the 
 house; she knew he was sick, though she did not realize how 
 sick he was so clearly as those who saw him less often. Will s 
 mind was so preoccupied with his own affairs and with the 
 pending interview, an interview he had postponed from 
 week to week, hoping a favorable opportunity would present 
 itself, that he had not noticed his father s condition par 
 ticularly. He knew his father was not well, but supposed, 
 of course, he would get better. 
 
 Browning, more clearly than any one, appreciated the 
 [304]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 serious nature of the ailment. He knew that there was 
 something wrong; something that no ordinary remedies 
 could reach. He could see that the trouble was progressing 
 rapidly, and that unless checked the result would certainly 
 be fatal. He even went so far as to talk with his own family 
 physician, a good, level-headed practitioner of the old school, 
 but not a brilliant man. Browning described every symptom 
 he could recall, and had the doctor drop in the office one day 
 so he might catch a glimpse of the old man without the latter 
 suspecting the presence of a physician. 
 
 "It is the liver," the doctor said emphatically, as 
 John Ganton passed slowly by Browning s desk to his 
 private office. "Nothing but an examination can disclose 
 just what the trouble is. It may be only a bad case of 
 jaundice with acute indigestion; but he ought to consult a 
 physician." 
 
 Browning felt relieved to hear it might be only jaundice 
 after all, as Ruggles out at the Yards asserted, but he 
 asked : 
 
 " If it s jaundice why does n t he get better ? He has 
 taken no end of medicines for his liver." 
 
 "Too many, perhaps. It takes time to cure jaundice. 
 We have to get at the seat of the trouble, and ordinary liver 
 pills may do more harm than good." 
 
 " Then you don t consider his condition alarming, doctor?" 
 Browning inquired anxiously. 
 
 " Not necessarily. At the same time if I had his color I 
 should lose no time in doing something for myself." 
 
 Browning ventured to tell the sick man what he had 
 done and what the doctor had said. He listened in silence, 
 and when Browning had concluded, instead of the outburst 
 
 [305]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 of anger which his faithful manager more than half expected, 
 simply remarked, 
 
 "Perhaps he s right, Browning; that s just what Doc 
 Ruggles says; it s my liver and stomick." 
 
 "But won t you go and see a physician, Mr. Ganton ? " 
 Browning asked earnestly. 
 
 " What s the use, Browning, what s the use ? Your 
 man s as good as any, and he says it s my liver and stomick, 
 and that s what Doc Ruggles says. They don t any of 
 them know much of anything." 
 
 The old man, as he sat there leaning forward in his big 
 chair, his left hand resting upon his stomach as if to quiet 
 the pain which hardly ever left him now, looked so thin and 
 yellow and sick that Browning felt the tears spring to his 
 eyes. He was as attached to John Ganton as a faithful dog 
 to his harsh but not unkind master. Moved by the sym 
 pathy he felt, he ventured to say: 
 
 " Mr. Ganton, you are a sick man, sicker than you realize. 
 For weeks you have been getting worse and worse. I have 
 watched you, and everybody in the office has seen the change. 
 Unless you do something for yourself it will not be long 
 before you won t be able to come down at all, and then what 
 would we all do ? What would become of the business ? " 
 
 The words were out before Browning paused to think. 
 At the suggestion that he would not be able to come down 
 to the office, that he would not be able to direct the affairs 
 of Ganton & Co. as he had always done, the old man straight 
 ened back in his chair and looked at Browning so strangely 
 that the latter was confused, and stammered: 
 
 " I do not mean, Mr. Ganton that that 
 
 "I know what you mean, Browning," the old man said 
 [306]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 slowly; "I know what you mean, and I guess you re right. 
 If this pain don t let up soon it will get the better of me, sure. 
 It is hard work to move about as it is. You say the boys in 
 the office notice it, Browning ? " 
 
 "They cannot help seeing you are not well. Of course 
 they don t 
 
 "I know, I know," he interrupted hurriedly. "If I 
 don t feel better in a day or two I will go and see your doctor. 
 He s as good as any, I guess. He says it s my liver and 
 stomick, and that s just what Doc Ruggles says." 
 
 It was pathetic, the old man s distrust of physicians 
 and his faith in the horse doctor at the Yards; but all his 
 life he had looked upon doctors as fit only for the imaginary 
 complaints of old women. He did not believe in their 
 nostrums; as for surgery, he often said he would never let 
 them "stick him like a pig," carrying his prejudice so far 
 that it was next to impossible to get him to contribute toward 
 the erection or maintenance of any hospital, though in his 
 own way he was liberal in his contributions to public institu 
 tions. This prejudice had its origin in the fact that his 
 mother had died after an operation when he was a child, 
 and he had always heard the neighbors say that the doctors 
 had killed her. Just what ailed her, and just what the 
 operation was, he never understood, only that she had gone 
 to the hospital and after a few weeks had died. The mystery 
 surrounding it all made so great an impression on his childish 
 mind that all his life long he never passed a hospital without 
 involuntarily looking at the great walls, the big doors, the 
 driveway for the ambulances and undertakers wagons, and 
 wondering whether any one was being cut up and killed 
 inside. Considering that his own daily life was spent 
 
 [307]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 amidst blood and slaughter, and remembering his utter 
 ignorance of surgery and the wonders it accomplishes, 
 these notions were not so very queer. 
 
 After Browning left him he tried to work, to look over the 
 papers on his desk; but he could not rid himself of the 
 thought that it might be true that in a few weeks or months 
 he would not be sitting at that desk, but would be in his bed 
 a sick and dying man, pshaw ! how absurd for him to 
 think of dying ! Why, he had just turned sixty, in the prime 
 of life, and was perfectly well up to a month or so ago. 
 When did the trouble begin ? he asked himself, and tried to 
 think. Was it before the strike or after? It was before, 
 for he could remember several times during the spring his 
 stomach had troubled him a little after eating, but that was 
 just " wind on the stomick," he said to himself, that did n t 
 amount to anything. " I was all right up to the time of the 
 strike, and I ve been getting worse since." He looked at his 
 hands, turning them over slowly. "How thin and yellow 
 they are ! " he muttered, " and they ain t stronger n a baby s. 
 His thoughts turned to the great business he had built up. 
 What would become of that if anything happened to him ? 
 Who would take his place ? The possibility of the great 
 organization disintegrating and falling prey to the rapacity 
 of his competitors embittered him, and he gritted his teeth 
 together in the determination to live and "fool them all 
 yet." But those pains, how they did come and go! He 
 pressed his hand upon his right side and leaned forward, 
 beads of sweat starting out upon his forehead. Would they 
 never cease? would nothing reach them? Yes; he must 
 see a doctor, and that, too, right soon if he did not get better. 
 There was always the hope of being better the next day. 
 
 [308]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 He had no time to be ill, and he could not afford to die. 
 The thought of death terrified him, strangely enough, for 
 he \vas no coward, and had faced dangers and death in many 
 forms without flinching. Yet to think of dying inch by 
 inch, day by day, to see health and strength and life slipping 
 away from week to week, that filled him with fear and dread ; 
 he could not stand it. 
 
 He fumbled with the papers before him, but when, an 
 hour later, Browning asked him concerning certain telegrams, 
 he replied that he had not read them. 
 
 "There is a letter from John," Browning said. 
 
 " Is there ? " he asked listlessly. " I will come to it." He 
 picked up a bunch of telegrams, but after reading two or 
 three, he dropped them and shuffled through the papers for 
 the letter; just why he should drop the more important 
 telegrams to read the letter he could not say, but it was 
 seldom the office received any letter from John Ganton, and 
 when he did write it was always curtly and to the point 
 regarding some matter of importance; his father had learned 
 to rely upon these brief, business-like letters for accurate 
 information concerning much of their foreign business. 
 When found at last the letter in question simply said: 
 
 " I would suggest a change in Vienna, as the office there 
 has lost several important contracts through lack of diligence. 
 Schiffers at Berlin would do better at Vienna; he is an 
 Austrian by birth and has a valuable acquaintance. To 
 secure the Austrian business a representative should be kept 
 at Buda-Pesth, a man who can entertain and make friends." 
 
 That was all; the letters were invariably addressed to 
 Ganton & Co., and were formally signed. The young man 
 
 [309]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 had not written a personal letter to his father since he landed 
 on the other side. 
 
 Something like a smile stole over the old man s features as 
 he read the short letter. He had known for some time the 
 Vienna representative was inefficient, but he had not been 
 able to place his hand on just the man for the place. He 
 had never thought of Schiffers, the very man, educated, 
 polished, tactful, secretive. He had done well at Berlin, 
 but the Hamburg office could take care of Berlin for a time, 
 and Schiffers could go to Vienna. The idea of a man at Buda- 
 Pesth had never occurred to him, but it was just the scheme, 
 considering the jealousy which existed between the two 
 capitals. It required less than five minutes to give Brown 
 ing instructions to make the changes. 
 
 " John seems to have a pretty clear head on his shoulders," 
 the latter remarked. 
 
 " He keeps his eyes and ears open, that s sure," John 
 Ganton replied; "for a young fellow who made so poor a 
 start he s doing very well." 
 
 When Browning had gone, the old man found himself at 
 last comparing his two sons. As he sat there thinking, the 
 reports of Will s engagement to May Keating occurred to 
 him, and an ugly frown gathered on his forehead. He had 
 said nothing, he was waiting for Will to speak, but if the 
 boy should marry that girl! He clenched his bony fist, 
 and a vindictive look came into his gray eyes; on that point 
 he was relentless. 
 
 On Sunday morning John Ganton, for the first time in 
 his life so far as he could remember, remained in bed. When 
 he tried to get up about seven o clock he felt so sick at his 
 
 [310]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 stomach he was obliged to lie down again immediately. 
 No one knew he felt so sick, for he made no complaint, and 
 did not so much as groan as he lay flat on his back in the 
 effort to conquer the nausea. His wife, an early riser like 
 himself, was already below stairs. He was alone; ashamed 
 of his weakness, he once more tried to sit up, for a moment 
 sitting on the side of the bed bent forward with his elbows on 
 his knees. The effort was unavailing, the feeling of nausea 
 overcame him. 
 
 The whiteness of the pillow made his face look yellower 
 and more haggard than ever. Where his night-dress was 
 unbuttoned at the throat it could be seen that beneath the 
 coarse sandy hair covering his chest, the skin was of the 
 same unhealthy hue. The morning was cool, so he pulled 
 the sheet and a woollen blanket over him, and lay very still, to 
 see if he could not get over the feeling of sickness, repeating 
 to himself, "I 11 be all right in a minute; it s my stomick." 
 The thought came to him if he took his medicine he might 
 feel better, so propping himself up on one elbow he reached 
 for the square black bottle on the stand near the head of the 
 bed, and without attempting to measure a dose, took a big 
 swallow. " Ugh ! " he exclaimed, and shut his lips tightly to 
 gether to keep the mixture down. 
 
 "There, I guess I 11 feel better in a minute," he muttered 
 as he sank down on his back, and such was his faith in the 
 virtue of the medicine that after a time he did get up and 
 even went so far as to get to his clothes and attempt to 
 dress. But again he was forced to get back into bed. The 
 sharp pains which shot through his right side were like a 
 knife at his vitals, and in spite of himself he groaned and 
 pressed both hands on the spot that hurt. It seemed to him 
 
 [311]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 that there was a sort of lump, a hard place in his side, and 
 that all the pains and soreness centred there. "I had n t 
 noticed that before," he said to himself as he felt around 
 just below the ribs. Then he looked very carefully but 
 he could not see there was any swelling. He looked first 
 at one side, then the other; yes, the right side did look a 
 little fuller, but perhaps it was always that way. He passed 
 his hand carefully from one side to the other. The soreness 
 was all on the right side, and beyond any doubt there was a 
 kind of a lump just below the ribs, that was curious, what 
 could it be ? For the moment he forgot his nausea and pains 
 and sat up in bed to get a better look at his side; but when 
 he sat up the lump disappeared beneath the ribs, until he 
 could no longer feel it. Yet when he lay back, it was plain 
 to the touch, and now that he knew where to look, he could 
 see a swelling outside. He wondered why he had not noticed 
 it before. It did not hurt to rub the spot, so the lump was 
 not very sensitive. He knew enough about lumps and swell 
 ings in cattle to know it was nothing in the nature of an 
 abscess or a boil. It must be some sort of a tumor. The 
 thought worried him, a tumor has to be removed, or it 
 grows and grows until it kills. But the very thought of an 
 operation made him shiver; for an instant he saw the red 
 streak left by the keen knife as it passed rapidly through the 
 skin over the swelling, and with his mind s eye he followed 
 the gush of blood as it ran down the side of his body. It made 
 his flesh creep, for there was nothing he dreaded or feared 
 so much as the surgeon s knife ; he hated the sight of trained 
 nurses in their uniforms walking the streets so coolly and 
 indifferently, what did they care whether their patients 
 lived or died ? 
 
 [312]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 He lay there so long that his wife came upstairs to see 
 why he had not joined her at breakfast. When he heard her 
 footsteps he hastily pulled the clothes over him. He did 
 not want her to know anything about the lump in his side, and 
 did not propose that any one should know. Perhaps it was 
 only a strain or something of the kind, and would go down 
 in a few days. 
 
 " What is the matter, John ? " Mrs. Ganton asked in sur 
 prise, as she entered the room and found him still in bed. 
 "Are you sick?" 
 
 "No; it s my stomick. I feel a little sick to my stomick 
 I guess I 11 lie still for a while." 
 
 Mrs. Ganton looked at him earnestly. She could see the 
 changes in his appearance during the past few weeks; she 
 had never seen her big, burly husband sick in bed before, and 
 it frightened her. She put her thin hand on his forehead to 
 learn if he had any fever; he did not turn away impatiently, 
 and she knew from that how sick he felt, for usually he 
 resented all evidences of sympathy. 
 
 " Can you eat anything ? " she inquired softly. 
 
 "No; I don t want anything, Maria. My stomick s 
 all upset. I 11 feel better in a little while." 
 
 "Let me get you a little soda and hot water. That 
 settles the stomach better than anything I know of." She 
 waited a second, half expecting him to reject the suggestion 
 impatiently; but as he said nothing, she trotted downstairs 
 to get a cup of hot water with a pinch of baking soda 
 
 "Your father is not feeling at all well this morning," she 
 called to Will as she passed by his room. 
 
 "He isn t? What s the matter?" and Will bounded 
 out of bed. 
 
 [313]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " He is sick at his stomach. I m going after some soda 
 and water. I wish you would go in and see him." 
 
 Without waiting to dress, Will hurried into his father s 
 room. "What is it, father, what is the matter?" he asked, 
 in a tone of such hearty sympathy that the old man was 
 touched. 
 
 " It s nothing, Will, only my stomick s upset, that s 
 all; I 11 be all right if I keep on my back a while." 
 
 Will sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his 
 father. He, too, could see the frightful ravages disease had 
 made in the strong frame, they were only too plain as the 
 old man lay there so ill and so weak. He took one of the big, 
 sallow, bony hands which lay upon the blanket in his own 
 and pressed it affectionately; but nothing more was said. 
 When his mother came up with the soda and water, Will 
 returned to his own room and dressed slowly; this was the 
 morning he had intended speaking about his engagement, 
 but how could he do it so long as his father was so much 
 worse? 
 
 Toward noon John Ganton felt better, so much better 
 that to the surprise of the household he dressed and came 
 downstairs. The feeling of nausea had gone, and with it the 
 sharp pains, but there was a queer feeling in his side he could 
 not describe, a feeling of fulness, a dull heaviness that was 
 more of an ache than a pain. He could not refrain from 
 passing his hand over his side from time to time while he was 
 dressing and even after, to see if the swelling he had noticed 
 was still there. No; he was not mistaken, it was there, now 
 that he knew where to look. He could even feel it through 
 his clothes, and wondered what it was, and how long it had 
 been there. Yes; he would have to consult a doctor, 
 
 [314]
 
 Father and Son 
 
 unless he felt better; there was always the hope of getting 
 well without calling a doctor. To his dislike of doctors was 
 now added his dread of the surgeon; he knew they would 
 want to cut into him, if only to find out what was the 
 matter. 
 
 While he was reading the morning paper his mind kept 
 wandering from the news to his condition ; a half-column on 
 the financial page devoted to rumors of more intimate rela 
 tions between the International and the Union, " made neces 
 sary by the absorption of Borlan Bros, by Ganton & Co.," as 
 the papers put it, diverted him for a moment from his own 
 condition. " So they are getting together," he said to himself, 
 and smiled grimly. " I thought they d be stirred up some; 
 maybe one of em will want to sell some of these days." For 
 the moment he dropped the paper and reflected upon what 
 would happen if Ganton & Co. bought up either of its two 
 great competitors. There would n t be much left then in the 
 way of competition in either buying or selling, and a very 
 slight increase of prices would yield, the figures ran into 
 the millions, but he required no pencil and paper to arrive 
 at results. 
 
 He knew the Union Company would really like to sell out ; 
 he knew Range Salter wanted to retire from business. " That 
 comes from having a wife who wants to mix up in the fool 
 world ; it s the ruin of many a good business man ; Salter s 
 not half the man he used to be," he had often remarked to 
 Browning. 
 
 A shooting pain reminded him of the place in his side. 
 What if he should not get well ? What if there should be 
 something dangerous the matter with him ? What would 
 happen if he did not like to think of dying, he would not 
 
 [315]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 think of it; he was not an old man, there were years of hard 
 work in him yet. 
 
 His head sank forward on his breast. He looked so old 
 and thin and yellow as he sat there lost in thought. 
 
 When Will entered the room a little later he found his 
 father dozing, the papers in a heap on the floor. He aroused 
 himself when he heard the door close and Will asked : 
 
 " How are you feeling, father ? " 
 
 " Better a good deal better. I guess I 11 be all right 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Will sat down near him and for a few moments nothing 
 was said. John Ganton knew that W T ill was about to speak 
 of his engagement, for there was something in the constraint 
 of the young man s manner which betrayed his purpose. 
 The old man waited, his lips closing tightly together. It was 
 time they had an understanding, the thing had gone far 
 enough. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you about something, father, 
 but " and Will hesitated. "But I am afraid you are not 
 feeling well enough 
 
 "Go on. I m all right. What is it?" was the curt 
 response. 
 
 Will could not recall just the words he had intended to 
 use. He felt confused ; and after shifting about in his chair, 
 at length blurted out : 
 
 "Father, I m engaged to be married." 
 
 Without betraying the slightest surprise, John Ganton 
 asked slowly, "Who s the girl ? " 
 
 " May Keating." Will felt his heart thump as he watched 
 his father anxiously. To his surprise there was no such 
 outburst of anger as he expected. 
 
 [316]
 
 " You remember what I said to you" his father repeated in harsher 
 tones. " If you marry that girl I II cut you off without a penny. "
 
 Father and Son 
 
 "So I ve been told; so I ve been told," the old man 
 repeated. "Well, you remember what I said to you." 
 
 But, father, you don t mean to say if I marry May Keat 
 ing, you 11 you 11 
 
 Will could not utter the words hovering on his lips, for 
 he really did not care so much for the money as he did about 
 the breach with his father. He could not believe his father 
 would be so vindictive, there being nothing of that element 
 in his own nature. 
 
 " You remember what I said to you," his father repeated 
 in harsher tones. " If you marry that girl I 11 cut you off 
 without a penny. I mean what I say, I don t propose to 
 have any daughter of Jem Keating living on my money, so 
 if you marry her you 11 have to earn your own." 
 
 " But, father " 
 
 " You need n t talk any more about it; you can make your 
 own bed and lie on it. But if she makes such a fool of you 
 as her sister has made of John Wilton, you may be sorry when 
 it s too late." 
 
 Will s face flushed ; he knew only too well what his father 
 meant. 
 
 " There s a good deal of difference between May Keating 
 and her sister," he answered hotly. 
 
 " About as much difference as bet\v een two peas in a pod ; 
 they re from the same worthless stock; there s not an honest 
 hair in Jem Keating s head, and the girls are like him. They 
 want you for your money. When they find out you won t 
 get any, they 11 drop you quick enough." The keen gray 
 eyes looked at Will from beneath the bushy eyebrows as if 
 to read the young man s thoughts. 
 
 Without stopping to think, Will said, " There s where you 
 [317]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 do her an injustice, father, for I have told her what you said, 
 and she is willing to marry me anyway." 
 
 " So so she thinks I won t keep my word, that 
 after you re married I 11 give in. Well, she 11 see she 11 
 see." The tone was so bitter and relentless that Will felt 
 saying anything more would only anger his father. He sat 
 silent for some minutes, arose, and left the room. 
 
 [318]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MRS. JACK S DINNER 
 
 THERE were thirty-two at the big dinner Mrs. Jack 
 gave for her sister and Will Ganton. On this and 
 similar occasions she supplemented her own household 
 force by a chef from Kinsby s and with four men from the 
 Club. One winter she had a chef of her own, a Frenchman 
 who looked very stunning in his cap and apron. But he 
 weighed nearly three hundred pounds, required so many 
 assistants, consumed so much claret, made such rich sauces 
 and such desperate love to all the maids, that she was obliged 
 to discharge him, to the great relief of John Wilton, who 
 could not stand the "beastly tub," as he called the man. 
 For the month after they lived on beefsteak and boiled po 
 tatoes cooked by Maggie, the laundress, who had served her 
 time in the kitchen. 
 
 "A Frenchman may know how to cook snails," Wilton 
 remarked, " but he frizzles the hide off a beefsteak, and as 
 for plain ham and eggs, they look and taste as if they had 
 come from a hair-dresser s." 
 
 Mrs. Jack was greatly disappointed; she had expected 
 so much from the chef. He had worked for some of the best 
 families in New York, so he said. Furthermore he had 
 once cooked a dinner in Paris for King Edward when he was 
 Prince of Wales, and in the habit of dining about a little more 
 promiscuously, not to mention lesser notabilities without 
 end. Yet his first dinner in the Wilton mansion was a fail- 
 
 [319]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 ure, the purte was thick, cold, and pasty, the fish was drowned 
 in an evil -smelling sauce which deterred all the guests except 
 old Colonel Blowitt, who related how out West he once ate 
 bronco-steak smothered in onions, and found it very palata 
 ble, and he insisted that down South during the war a puppy 
 was a most excellent substitute for young pig. But then 
 every one knew that nothing ever discouraged the gallant 
 Colonel s appetite, not even an unknown fish in a sea of 
 doubtful sauce. The entree was a mystery; the roast a 
 cinder; the game scarce warmed through. When Mrs. 
 Northwood King reached home after this dinner she ex 
 claimed to her maid : " For goodness sakes, get me something 
 to eat! I m as hungry as a bear." 
 
 Other dinners were better, because Maggie, the laundress, 
 helped; that is, she did the cooking to suit herself, while the 
 fat chef sat in the centre of the kitchen and gave orders in 
 broken English which no one understood or noticed. 
 
 After the one experience with the French chef, Mrs. Jack, 
 like most of her acquaintances, relied upon the caterer for a 
 cook when the occasion exceeded the capacity of her own 
 household. As the caterer supplied not only the cook, but 
 most of the things served, from soup to dessert, the custom 
 led to a sameness in dinners so surprising that it caused a 
 distinguished guest in the city to remark, after being enter 
 tained at several houses: "Chicago dinners are good, very 
 good indeed ; but they lack individuality. They all savor 
 of the same kitchen." 
 
 As for butlers, footmen, waiters, and men to stand about 
 in " elegant superfluity," as Slafter remarked, the Club was 
 the never-failing source of supply. Many a visitor remarked 
 upon the extraordinary resemblance between the servants 
 
 [320]
 
 Mrs. Jack s Dinner 
 
 employed by different hosts, and the more discerning de 
 tected the identity at first glance. Wilton was always glad 
 to have the men from the Club. It was his way of tipping 
 them, for then he could give them what he pleased without 
 infringing any club rule, and his liberality was not forgotten. 
 
 The great dining-room was brilliantly lighted, too bril 
 liantly, which was one of Mrs. Jack s failings. She 
 thought candle-light was all well enough if supplemented 
 by plenty of electricity. She covered her table with candle 
 sticks because that was the thing to do, but a dazzling array 
 of electric lights above quite overwhelmed the timid light 
 below. May had often tried to persuade her sister to try 
 only the candle-light, but the effort was in vain. "If you 
 want to sit in the dark you can do so, but I like to see what 
 I m eating," Mrs. Jack replied, and ordered the man to turn 
 on more light. 
 
 "One can t have too much light, May, with a French 
 cook," Wilton remarked during the chef s regime, as he 
 peered apprehensively into the dish before him. 
 
 Will Ganton sat at Mrs. Jack s right; J. Bosworth Wai- 
 worth at her left. It was the first time the Walworths had 
 dined with the Wiltons, though often invited. The Wai- 
 worths were among the most exclusive people of the city, 
 as became a man whose antecedents were wrapped in dis 
 creet obscurity. No one knew just who Walworth s father and 
 grandfather were, and though Mrs. Bosworth Walworth 
 talked more or less definitely of distinguished Massachusetts 
 ancestry, the connecting links were shadowy and unsub 
 stantial. There is a pride of obscurity as well as of race, of 
 uncertain lineage as well as of certain; the luckless man 
 socially is he whose father sits about in his shirt-sleeves and 
 
 [3211
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 betrays signs of honest toil. The \Valworth ancestors on 
 both sides were not in evidence, hence the pride of their 
 descendants. 
 
 The Walworths had no objection to ^Yilton, for his father 
 had been an old resident and a man of wealth. But Mrs. 
 Jack was the more than doubtful quantity. As " one of the 
 Keating girls," she had no passport into exclusive circles; 
 after her marriage and the building of the great house which 
 so dwarfed the modest colonial house beside it, Mrs. Wai- 
 worth called "in self-protection," for, as she explained to 
 a sympathizing friend, "the young woman has a tongue." 
 
 Personally J. Bosworth was rather captivated by his fair 
 neighbor, who understood so well how to flatter his vanity. 
 He saw quite a little of her on the walk, and she was always 
 so gracious that he could not help liking her. From time 
 to time he had in an indirect way urged his wife to be a little 
 more condescending and friendly. "They are our neigh 
 bors, you know, my dear," he said apologetically. " I can t 
 help it if they are," Mrs. AV. replied snappishly, "I don t 
 propose to go out of my way to cultivate a woman who is the 
 talk of the town." But in the end Mrs. Walworth was com 
 pelled to acknowledge that to be the talk of the town was in 
 itself a species of distinction w r hich commanded recognition. 
 
 J. Bosworth was not handsome, one of the many ob 
 vious facts he did not recognize. He was short, stout, and 
 pursy, with thin hair carefully parted in the middle from his 
 forehead down the back of his head, and brushed forward 
 over his ears to meet his reddish side- whiskers, which stood 
 out from his cheeks as straight as he could train them, 
 "after the manner of the old school," he persuaded himself. 
 Like most short men, he eked out his stature by a pomposity 
 
 [322]
 
 Mrs. Jack s Dinner 
 
 which did not fail to impress. His one weakness was a 
 pretty face, he could not help it. In the presence of a 
 pretty woman he invariably gave the reddish side-whiskers 
 an extra twist to make them flare still more. Unhappily 
 for him, this habit was so fixed that his wife could tell from 
 the angle of the whiskers what he had been doing and saying, 
 not that J. Bosworth ever exceeded the bounds of friendly 
 intercourse, but he had so many enthusiasms they bored his 
 wife. He urged her to call on every pretty newcomer who 
 smiled on him, and he sometimes carried his point, as in the 
 case of Mrs. Jack. 
 
 J. Bosworth posed as a patron of the fine arts, and of 
 things aesthetic and intellectual in general. He was one of 
 the governing members of the Institute for Fine Arts, an 
 officer of the Historical Society, a trustee of the University, 
 a supporter of the Ruskin Settlement, and prominently 
 identified with many other public and charitable organiza 
 tions of various kinds, not that he, himself, gave liberally 
 to the several causes, but he made a good figurehead, and 
 generously solicited his friends to give. 
 
 On the whole, J. Bosworth was a credit to the city, "a 
 gentleman of the old school," in the admiring eyes of the 
 rawer social products about him. As he sat by Mrs. Jack 
 and drank in the flattery which flowed in ample stream from 
 her plump red lips, his round face beamed and his whiskers 
 stood out in sharp points on each side of his blooming cheeks ; 
 from the far end of the great oval table Mrs. Walworth could 
 see these signs of naive delight, and rightly interpreted their 
 meaning. 
 
 "Your wife has quite fascinated my husband," she re 
 marked dryly to Wilton. 
 
 [323]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " Gad, when she sets out to she can fascinate any man." 
 
 "Oh!" was Mrs. Walworth s only response. 
 
 " So you like my poor little house ? " Mrs. Jack looked 
 so sweetly at J. Bosworth that he could do no less than 
 reply: 
 
 "It is charming, Mrs. Wilton, perfectly charming. It 
 exhibits such such extraordinary taste, such such 
 He coulcf get no further; his aesthetic conscience began to 
 smite him. and smite him hard. 
 
 "I am so glad; praise from you " Mrs. Jack laid the 
 stress of her eyes upon the " you " " means so much. 
 You are such an authority that, do you know, I was almost 
 afraid to build my house next to yours." 
 
 Down deep in his heart J. Bosworth wished she had not, 
 but with his lips he expressed the disappointment he would 
 have felt had she built elsewhere. 
 
 "Your house is such a dear," Mrs. Jack went on enthusi 
 astically. "Everybody says our two houses just set each 
 other off to the best advantage." 
 
 J. Bosworth discreetly avoided assenting to that proposi 
 tion. 
 
 Despite Mrs. Jack s best efforts, there were moments when 
 the dinner dragged. May Keating exerted herself to be 
 agreeable, but the effort was too obvious; and it was not until 
 he had drunk several glasses of champagne that Will Ganton 
 was able to reply in other than monosyllables. 
 
 John Wilton was never very bright at a dinner. He had 
 long been voted just a little heavy, and hostesses always had 
 trouble in placing him, but on this occasion his sympathies 
 were so enlisted that he aroused himself and fairly shone 
 for him. He proposed the health of Will, and of May, and 
 
 [324]
 
 Mrs. Jack s Dinner 
 
 of nearly every one at the table at inopportune moments, 
 and by dint of much champagne, supplemented by not a 
 little whiskey and water for those who did not drink wine, 
 he kept his end of the table fairly lively. Notwithstanding 
 all these efforts, there were lapses which were depressing, and 
 everybody was glad when the end came and the ladies retired. 
 
 As the men drew their chairs about one end of the table 
 and lighted their cigars, George Axford shook Will Ganton s 
 hand cordially, exclaiming: "Will, old man, I congratulate 
 you. You are a lucky fellow." 
 
 " Many thanks, Axford. Why don t you follow my 
 example ? " 
 
 " Can t afford it. A wife is an expensive luxury, nowa 
 days. " 
 
 Axford was rich, but, as his friends well knew, he was not 
 inclined to spend money on any one but himself. 
 
 "You can afford it better than I," Will laughed as he 
 accepted the small glass of cognac the butler offered him. 
 
 " If I had an interest in Ganton & Co., I might afford a 
 dozen wives. As it is I have all I can do to feed and clothe 
 myself." 
 
 " That s all right, but I may be borrowing of you yet, 
 old fellow." The sudden change in Will s voice and manner 
 did not escape his friend, and Axford was sorry he had men 
 tioned Ganton & Co. The words had slipped out before he 
 thought, and, as the chance expression invariably does, they 
 had betrayed the thought uppermost in the minds of all 
 present that evening. He dropped the subject and tried 
 to talk of other things. 
 
 The men moved their chairs about until the party was 
 split up into twos and threes, each group talking of what 
 
 [325]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 most interested them, mainly business or politics; now and 
 then loud laughter followed a funny story, which was repeated 
 for the benefit of others. The conversation was animated. 
 However stupid and hopeless during a dinner, the American 
 business man shines so soon as the ladies disappear. If he 
 can not talk to them, he can talk with his fellow-kind and 
 talk well. 
 
 By the irresistible attraction of repulsion, Wilton found 
 himself and Delaney chatting quite apart from the others. 
 He did not like Delaney, and the latter knew it ; hence the 
 two were more than ordinarily cordial when they met, as if 
 each unconsciously felt the necessity of keeping up an ap 
 pearance of friendship to blind the eyes of the curious. This 
 was not difficult for Delaney, he had no trouble in dissem 
 bling ; besides, he was not the offended party and that 
 makes a difference. Wilton always felt embarrassed when 
 the other was about, and his embarrassment showed plainly 
 in the effort he made to appear at ease. It went against 
 the grain of his blunt and straightforward nature to pre 
 tend what he did not feel. He therefore did his best to keep 
 up the conversation without touching the one subject he 
 wanted to speak about; he would have given anything to 
 be able to talk right out, to tell Delaney what he thought 
 of him, and then kick him out of the house. But he knew 
 that would never do. He had to consider not only his wife, but 
 their boy, if it were not for Major he would make a scene, 
 yes, he knew he should. These ideas were passing through 
 his mind, even as he sat there talking as calmly as if he liked 
 the man. How he detested those thin, clean-cut features! 
 The droop of the mustache annoyed him, for the fellow 
 was handsome, no mistake about that, and small wonder 
 
 [326]
 
 Mrs. Jack s Dinner 
 
 women raved over him. He looked cynical enough to 
 doubt the existence of any virtue in man or woman, and 
 Wilton could not help recalling some of the ugly stories he 
 had heard, stories of all sorts of entanglements and rumors 
 of irregularities in business transactions, which, if proved, 
 would ostracize the man from the clubs and more than likely 
 land him in jail. He was capable of anything, not much 
 question about that; still he must have his good qualities, 
 for May said he had, and she knew. During a pause in their 
 conversation, for lack of something better to say, he asked 
 idly: 
 
 "What s doing in the market, anything ? " 
 
 "Nothing, the public are out of it. Only professional 
 trading, and that does not come my way." Delaney spoke 
 in a tone of indifference, but as a matter of fact he had not 
 been so reduced financially in a long time. His few cus 
 tomers were out of the market entirely; if something did not 
 turn up before long he would be at the end of his resources. 
 
 What prompted him to do it Wilton could not for the 
 life of him tell, for certainly there was no reason, rather the 
 contrary, why he should help Lawrence Delaney; but 
 yielding to a sudden impulse he said : 
 
 "I never speculate myself, but I can give you a pointer 
 which may be useful; Union Copper will resume dividends 
 at the next meeting of the board." 
 
 Wilton was a large stockholder and an influential director 
 in Union Copper ; interests he inherited had been taken into 
 the great consolidation of mining properties, and it was 
 about the only company in the management of which he 
 actively participated. Delaney knew all this, and further 
 more he knew that if dividends were to be resumed in the 
 
 [327]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 near future it meant an advance of at least twenty points in 
 the stock. 
 
 "May I rely upon that?" he asked earnestly. "You 
 know I have mighty little to lose." 
 
 "Such is the present intention," Wilton answered dryly, 
 sorry he had mentioned the matter. " I have steadily opposed 
 dividends, but the company is now in a position to resume." 
 
 That settled it, for it had been a matter of common knowl 
 edge in the Street that for more than a year the Wilton crowd 
 on the board of directors had steadfastly opposed the pay 
 ment of dividends until the company should accumulate a 
 surplus sufficient to meet every possible requirement. 
 
 The next day Delaney began buying Union Copper, put 
 ting up as margins not only the little money he had, but every 
 cent he could borrow. As the stock steadily advanced it 
 was not difficult for him to secure additional credit with his 
 bank and brokers, since every purchase showed a profit. 
 He kept the information he had received to himself. What 
 was the use of bulling the market when he was trying to buy 
 the stock on his own account ? 
 
 After the great dinner was over and the last guest out of 
 the house, Mrs. Jack went to her sister s room and dropped 
 into a chair with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " There, it s over, and now we are in for it, and no mis 
 take. I hope you won t be sorry." Mrs. Jack s tone 
 plainly showed that she felt quite sure her sister would be 
 sorry; she did not like the situation at all, and she did not 
 like the manner in which their friends accepted it; she felt 
 for once in her life she had made a mess of it. 
 
 May made no reply. She was too accustomed to Mrs. 
 Jack s moods to pay much attention to them. 
 
 [328]
 
 Mrs. Jack s Dinner 
 
 "Why don t you say something?" Mrs. Jack asked 
 crossly. 
 
 " What is there to say ? It is all over, and, as you say, 
 we are in for it. Let us at least make the best of it." 
 
 "That Carrie Trehvay, how I detest her!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Jack, with sudden recollection of past injuries. 
 
 "I thought she and Larry were the life of the dinner." 
 
 "She thinks she can monopolize the conversation wher 
 ever she is." 
 
 "It was fortunate for us she did this evening." 
 
 " Why did n t you keep up your end better ? That old 
 cat, Mrs. J. Bosworth Walworth, was taking everything in." 
 
 Down deep in her heart Mrs. Jack was immensely de 
 lighted over the Walworths acceptance of her invitation, 
 but at the same time she did not like Mrs. J. Bosworth one 
 little bit, and she knew Mrs. J. Bosworth did not like her. 
 
 For a long time Mrs. Jack sat there commenting upon 
 the dinner and her guests so keenly that frequently May 
 could not refrain from smiling. Mrs. Jack did have a 
 tongue, there was no doubt about it. With unerring pre 
 cision she could hit the weak spots in the social or private 
 armor of her acquaintances. When she had exhausted the 
 failings of her guests her mind veered about to the one 
 subject that worried her: 
 
 " I d like to know how you and Will Ganton are going 
 to live if that old brute cuts him off." 
 
 "Will has his salary and an interest in the company. 
 We shall get along." 
 
 " That s a fine prospect for a girl like you, May Keating," 
 Mrs. Jack said scornfully. She could not understand how 
 her sister accepted the situation so calmly. 
 
 [329]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 "I am satisfied." 
 
 "No; you are not satisfied, and what is the use of saying 
 so? You are just throwing yourself away, you know you 
 are; you don t love him." 
 
 "There, Sally," May interrupted firmly, "we will talk 
 no more about it. Whether I love Will Ganton or not, 
 I am going to marry him. I like him as well as I shall ever 
 like any man." She began quietly gathering up her things, 
 which where scattered about the room, and putting them 
 in the closet. Mrs. Jack sat silent a moment, then jumped 
 up and impulsively threw her arms about her sister s neck. 
 " Forgive me, dearie, I did not mean it, but but I do want 
 you to be happy, and and 
 
 "There, Sally, never mind," and May kissed her sister 
 affectionately. "It is all right; I am happy, happier than I 
 have been for a long time. I feel I am doing the decent 
 thing, anyway." 
 
 [330]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A STRAIGHT TIP 
 
 JOHN GANTON read in the papers all about Mrs. 
 Jack s big dinner and the formal acknowledgment of 
 the engagement; his square jaws set firmly together 
 and the ugly look came into his eyes, but he said not a word. 
 His wife knew there was a storm brewing, and she fluttered 
 about the house anxiously, afraid to speak. Will rather 
 avoided his father, but when they did meet they talked of 
 business and conditions at the Yards, each trying to avoid 
 the subject uppermost in his mind. 
 
 For some days John Ganton had felt so much better that 
 he was greatly encouraged ; to be sure, the dull feeling in his 
 side, the sensation of fulness with occasional shooting pains, 
 never left him, and there was always the swelling, which 
 he could now see quite plainly just below the ribs. It did 
 not grow smaller, but he persuaded himself it did not increase 
 in size. Night and morning he carefully examined this 
 strange lump, looking at it and feeling of it carefully and 
 tenderly, and wondering what it could be. 
 
 "It must be a strain," he said to himself; "that is what 
 it is, and it will go away after a while." But it did not go 
 away, and he knew it was no strain, for he had never had 
 anything like it before, and it did not feel like the soreness of 
 a strain or of a bruise, or anything he had ever experienced, 
 - it was more like a hard place, some sort of a large lump 
 inside. He knew that people had tumors and growths which 
 
 [331]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 had to be cut out, but he fought against the very notion of 
 anything of the kind. Notwithstanding the fact that he 
 felt better, still there were days when he could not remain 
 down town more than an hour or two; it tired him so he 
 was unfitted for business. 
 
 " I guess I m growing old," he remarked apologetically 
 to Browning; "I can t stand as much as I used to." But 
 neither Browning nor any one else in the office was deceived 
 by his efforts to disguise his condition ; they all knew he was 
 a sick man, and from week to week, almost from day to day, 
 they could see the change for the worse. There were days 
 when he looked so haggard and seemed to suffer so much 
 they all wondered at his coming down at all. 
 
 John Ganton was not unpopular with his employees; 
 on the contrary, they entertained for him a singular sort of 
 regard and loyalty, the regard and respect men of lesser 
 ability have for one of commanding force and indefatigable 
 energy. They followed him as soldiers follow a stern, tyran 
 nical, but successful general; they were the rank and file 
 of the most powerful industrial organization in the world, 
 and they participated in its prestige; he was something 
 more than their employer, he was their leader. In his way 
 he was kind to those about him, exacting to the last degree 
 Every one had to work, and work hard, and he did not believe 
 in large salaries. " Many a good man is spoiled by too 
 much pay," he often said. " The man who works for money 
 is n t worth having," was another of his maxims. To men 
 who applied to him direct he usually said, " If you want to 
 work for Ganton & Co. take off your coat; if you want to 
 work for wages go elsewhere." 
 
 It was not that he cared so much for money but he 
 [ 332 ]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 honestly believed high salaries meant less work, and that men 
 did better if they had to work hard to make both ends meet; 
 such had been his own experience. That a railroad presi 
 dent should be paid fifty thousand dollars a year seemed to 
 him folly run mad, and he had never taken for himself fifty 
 thousand dollars a year out of his own business. " Pretty 
 soon," he said, "those fellows won t have time to do anything 
 but draw their pay and ride around in private cars." 
 
 Like so many American business men, his passion was the 
 making of money, not the hoarding or the spending. He 
 took a certain satisfaction in reading references to him as 
 one of the very rich men of the country, as a multi-millionaire, 
 but every dollar he had was invested. His credit was well- 
 nigh unlimited, but he had very little ready money, and 
 what he had belonged to his business, his personal account 
 at the bank seldom showing more than a few thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 " Why, look here, I have no money," he once said impa 
 tiently to a committee soliciting a subscription for an ob 
 ject which did not appeal to him, when the spokesman 
 suggested that with his great wealth he ought to make a 
 liberal contribution. " People seem to think I have money 
 to do what I like with. I have no money," he repeated; 
 "all the money I have belongs to my business. You talk 
 about my being worth millions; suppose I should draw out 
 those millions as if I owned them, what would happen ? 
 Ganton & Co. would close its doors, thousands of men would 
 be thrown out of work, people all over the world who look 
 to us for food and meat would go hungry. You think a 
 man is rich because he has a great business, but I want to 
 tell you the man and all he has belong to the business. 
 
 [333]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Every dollar I draw out comes from the business, and others 
 are affected ; every dollar I leave in does good to more people 
 than it would if spent by you." To another soliciting com 
 mittee he once said : " Why do you come to me ? I m not 
 rich; why don t you go to the men who live on their rents 
 and on the interest from their investments ? They have 
 money to burn, their money is their own to do with as 
 they please; my money is tied up in my business, every 
 cent of it; and most of the time I owe the banks." 
 
 None the less, he gave a good deal in his own way; people 
 who knew him best did not ask him for money, but would 
 make known the merits and needs of the institutions in 
 which they were interested and leave the matter without 
 solicitation, and perhaps a month or a year later he would 
 send a check, usually for a generous amount. 
 
 Since reading the account of Mrs. Jack s dinner, John 
 Ganton every Sunday morning hunted through the papers 
 until he found the page devoted to society news, and searched 
 these columns of small chronicles, tittle-tattle, and gossip for 
 any mention of Will s name in connection with the Wiltons 
 and May Keating ; in this way he kept track of what the boy 
 was doing. He had never before read the society news, 
 according to his notions only fools could be interested in 
 that sort of notoriety, but now this endless stream of 
 personal mention gave him information he could get nowhere 
 else. He learned of the luncheons given for May Keating, 
 and the dinners given for her and "Will, how often they were 
 entertained at the clubs, and who made up the parties. 
 Some of the men mentioned he knew personally or by reputa 
 tion, but the women he did not know at all, as they belonged 
 to a world he had never entered. Their amusements were 
 
 [334]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 as strange and foolish to him as performances on the stage. 
 How people could waste their time in such ridiculous fashion 
 he could not understand : the same people, the same names, 
 the same dinners, the same guests, the same clubs, the same 
 places, the same endless monotony of social life, it made 
 him tired to read it, and only the desire to know what Will 
 was doing spurred him on. At last, one Sunday morning, 
 he read the following paragraph: 
 
 " It is rumored the wedding of Miss May Keating to Mr. 
 Will Ganton will take place in December." 
 
 The old man read and reread the item, cut it out, and 
 put it in his pocket. All that day he was restless, uneasy, 
 and irascible, shuffling about the house in his worn old 
 slippers. 
 
 "What is the matter, John? Do you feel worse?" his 
 anxious little wife inquired several times. At last he re 
 sponded angrily: 
 
 " Don t keep asking me that. I m all right." 
 
 She relapsed into silence, but she could see something 
 worried him. With a mother s intuition, she feared it was 
 something about Will. 
 
 The next morning he sent word for Will to meet him in 
 the library after breakfast. 
 
 The old man dressed slowly. He had had his breakfast 
 brought to his room, but he was not hungry. Still, he drank 
 half a cup of coffee and tried to eat a piece of the toast which 
 his wife with her own hands had made and buttered for him ; 
 but the feeling of nausea had come back mornings. He 
 could not account for it, but he thought it might be caused 
 by Doc Ruggles s mixture, therefore he stopped taking it. 
 
 [335]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 He rested a few moments before going downstairs, and 
 the feeling of nausea passed away. When he entered the 
 room Will was standing by the windows looking out upon the 
 street, where a small boy and a little girl were playing as 
 contentedly as if life were one long day of sunshine. As he 
 heard his father enter, Will turned and asked affectionately: 
 
 " Well, father, how are you feeling this morning ? " 
 
 Without answering, the old man sank down in his leather- 
 covered chair near the table, fumbling in the pocket of his 
 waistcoat until he found the newspaper clipping. He held 
 it out to his son. 
 
 " Is that true ? " he asked. 
 
 Will read the few lines of print, hesitated a moment, and 
 replied firmly: 
 
 " Yes, it is, father, that is, w r e are to be married before 
 the holidays. I had intended telling you ; I hoped - 
 
 "That s enough," the old man interrupted. "That s 
 enough," he repeated slowly; "all I wanted to know was 
 whether it s true or not. So you have made up your 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have." There was no accent of doubt or inde 
 cision in the answer; it w T as final, and John Ganton knew it. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "you remember what I told you." 
 
 Will made no reply, and his silence angered his father. 
 
 "You remember what I told you," he repeated sharply; 
 "you can shift for yourself if you marry that girl." 
 
 Will knew it would only add fuel to the flame if he at 
 tempted to plead or argue ; there was no use saying a word ; 
 for several moments his father glared at him, then he con 
 tinued relentlessly: 
 
 "You will need some money to get married." 
 [336]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 Will looked at his father in surprise. "I I can get 
 along, father," he stammered. "I have some " 
 
 "You haven t a cent in the world," the old man inter 
 rupted grimly; "you are overdrawn at the bank and your 
 salary is paid ahead over a month." 
 
 " But I shall make all that good before the wedding. I 
 have had to use a good deal of money lately." 
 
 "In entertaining worthless people, I know, I know. 
 I have read of your doings at the clubs and about town, 
 but you have come to the end of your tether, and you 
 have n t a cent of money. What are you going to do 
 about it?" 
 
 Will could say nothing. It was all true. He had drawn 
 his salary ahead and was overdrawn at the bank; he had 
 spent money freely, as was his habit, without much thought of 
 the future. The truth was, he believed all along that when 
 the time came his father would give in, it did not seem 
 possible that he could be in earnest. 
 
 A disagreeably hard expression played about the haggard 
 features of the old man as he noted his son s embarrassment, 
 then he went on in the same relentless tone: 
 
 " All you have in the world is the stock in Ganton & Co. 
 that I gave you three years ago. You can t sell that to 
 anybody but me; when you re ready to sell I m ready 
 to buy." 
 
 " Father, you don t mean to say you want me to give up 
 all interest in the business, do you ? " There was a pathetic 
 ring to the appeal, which would have moved any one but 
 John Ganton. Apparently he did not hear it, for he merely 
 repeated : 
 
 * When you re ready to sell I m ready to buy." 
 [337]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Will looked at his father a moment, and without a word 
 left the room. 
 
 That afternoon John Ganton was seized with such pain 
 that he had his wife telephone Browning to come to the 
 house and bring his physician. 
 
 When they came they found the old man on the couch in 
 the library. He would not go to bed, for he was afraid that 
 if he undressed the doctor would insist on an examination 
 and discover the swelling in his side. 
 
 He described his sensations vaguely as pains in his side 
 and cramps in his stomach, indicating the locality by passing 
 his hand across his stomach from side to side in such a man 
 ner the doctor was puzzled. 
 
 "There is something wrong with your liver, Mr. Ganton. 
 There can be no doubt about it. Your skin shows it." 
 
 "That s just what Doc Ruggles said," the old man com 
 mented; "he said it was my liver." 
 
 " If I could make an examination " the doctor sug 
 gested. 
 
 "There s no need of it," the old man interrupted hur 
 riedly. " I guess it s my liver. Can t you give me some 
 medicine that will stop these pains ? " 
 
 "I can quiet the pains, but it will do you no good in the 
 long run, Mr. Ganton; it will be necessary for you to submit 
 to an examination sooner or later, and I should advise it 
 immediately." 
 
 "No; you just give me something to stop these pains, 
 and I will be all right in a day or two." 
 
 The doctor could see the old man s mind was absolutely 
 fixed against anything like a thorough examination, and that 
 for some reason he feared it; therefore there was nothing to 
 
 [338]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 do except administer a sedative, just sufficient to allay the 
 pains. Accordingly he left some small white tablets, with 
 directions how and when they were to be taken. " But these 
 will only relieve you for the time being, Mr. Ganton; they 
 will not cure you." 
 
 " That s all right. If I can get the better of these pains 
 I 11 get along first rate," the old man replied confidently. 
 
 As they left the house the doctor said to Browning : 
 
 "I am afraid there is something very serious the matter 
 with his liver. He ought to submit to a thorough examina 
 tion at once. Under the influence of sedatives he may feel 
 better for a short time, but it won t last." 
 
 The prediction came true. For a week or so John Ganton 
 felt much better. Each night he took one of the little white 
 tablets, and it deadened the pain so that he slept better than 
 he had for months. The feeling of nausea troubled him 
 mornings, and he had so little appetite that he had to force 
 himself to eat; but all this he did not mind so long as the 
 sharp pains were reduced to a dull ache, which was often 
 little more than a sensation of fulness in his side. He was 
 sorry he had not called in the doctor earlier and gotten the 
 little white tablets which acted so like magic. 
 
 During these days of temporary relief the great business 
 of Ganton & Co. absorbed all his attention; it seemed to 
 grow and expand in spite of him, like some huge devouring 
 monster that gathered strength with every bound and swept 
 on in uncontrollable might and energy. 
 
 It was with surprise that he noted the increase in the 
 company s English business ; the Liverpool office had accom 
 plished wonders in extending trade, not only throughout 
 
 [339]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Great Britain, but to the colonies. MacMasters wrote it 
 was all due to the efforts of John, that the young man had 
 a " wonderful head on his shoulders," and much more to the 
 same effect. This pleased the old man, though he did not 
 quite believe it all; he did not see how it was possible for 
 such a bookworm to develop such qualities. However, the 
 growth of the business was substantial evidence in his favor. 
 
 Not until this last interview with his father did Will 
 Ganton fully realize that in the future he would have to 
 depend upon his salary and the dividends upon the stock he 
 held in Ganton & Co. By spending less recklessly he could 
 get along, but he owed quite a little money here and there, 
 and these debts must be paid before he could think of 
 marrying. 
 
 It cut him to the quick when his father offered to buy his 
 stock, to drop him out of the business entirely. He felt so 
 sure that, once married, May would win his father over, that 
 he would not think of selling his stock or severing his con 
 nection with the company. May could do anything with 
 people about her, she was so clever, and he had the blind 
 faith in her which the clever woman always inspires. But 
 he must make a little money in some way; naturally his 
 mind turned toward speculation. He lived in an atmosphere 
 of speculation; his father was the most powerful factor on 
 the Board of Trade, and hardly a day passed that the financial 
 columns did not contain reports of the activity of Ganton & 
 Co. in wheat or corn or pork. It was a part of their great 
 business to control the supply and prices of grain and food 
 products; their representative was always on the floor, and 
 every big firm of brokers did business for them. 
 
 Will had not speculated since his last disastrous venture; 
 [340]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 he had steadfastly refused to take even a small flyer, but 
 now, under the pressure of necessity, he dropped into De- 
 laney s office about four o clock one afternoon, just to see 
 what was going on. He found Delaney checking up some 
 figures on a sheet of paper. 
 
 " Anything doing in the market, Larry ? " he asked as he 
 seated himself. 
 
 "Not much. Rails are slow, but there have been good 
 advances in some of the industrials lately." 
 
 " Do you know of any sure thing ? " 
 
 Delaney hesitated, looked at Will, and said: 
 
 " Why do you ask ? I thought you were out of the mar 
 ket for good." 
 
 " Oh, so I am, but I would n t mind making a little money 
 on a sure thing." 
 
 "There are not many sure things nowadays," Delaney 
 answered dryly. 
 
 "That may be, but sometimes you fellows get pretty re 
 liable tips. The fact is, Larry, I would like to make some 
 money, I need a few thousand pretty badly." 
 
 Delaney thought for a moment; he had not told any one 
 about Union Copper, and he had not intended telling any 
 one. But there was really no reason why he should not let 
 Will in; he had bought all the stock he could carry, and 
 already there had been a substantial advance ; in fact, he was 
 figuring up how much he stood to win as Will entered the 
 office. The stock closed that day eighty-two bid; he had 
 begun buying at sixty-nine; if the company resumed divi 
 dends at the next directors meeting the stock would go to 
 par sure. 
 
 "I can give you a pointer, but you must keep it quiet," 
 [341]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 he said at last. Without mentioning Wilton s name, he told 
 what he knew about Union Copper, and called Will s atten 
 tion to the recent rapid advance in the stock. 
 
 "If you are sure about the dividend I will go in," Will 
 said, after considering the figures Delaney laid before him. 
 
 " My tip is from an insider who knows," Delaney answered 
 positively. 
 
 " Then go ahead and buy a thousand shares for me. I will 
 arrange for the margin. I may take on more; it looks safe." 
 
 " As safe as anything can be. The company is sound, and 
 the stock will sell high when on a dividend basis." 
 
 The stock continued to advance, and Will bought all told 
 some three thousand shares at from eight-two to ninety; 
 to put up margins he was compelled to borrow money; as 
 the son of John Ganton his credit was good, and he had little 
 difficulty. He felt so sure of making from ten to twenty 
 points on the stock that he no longer worried over the imme 
 diate future; within two weeks the stock he had bought 
 showed a profit of over twenty thousand dollars, but neither 
 he nor Delaney sold any. The declaration of a dividend 
 would send the stock away above par, so both bought a little 
 more, Delaney in his confidence going so far as to pledge 
 some securities that did not belong to him. 
 
 Larry Delaney felt he owed this lucky stroke entirely to 
 the generosity of John Wilton, and he determined to show 
 his appreciation by keeping away from Mrs. Jack; it was 
 the least he could do in the circumstances. He knew they 
 were talked about altogether too freely for the good name 
 of any woman, though that mattered little to him. He had 
 always been food for gossip, and it was part of the atmos 
 phere in which he lived, part of his fame, his notoriety, his 
 
 [342]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 social stock in trade; women were attracted toward him 
 because to know him implied a certain risk, a certain dare 
 devil recklessness of consequences; there was a hazard in 
 his mere acquaintance, while his friendship was positively 
 compromising. 
 
 For several weeks after receiving from John Wilton the 
 tip about Union Copper, Delaney did not go near Mrs. Jack; 
 he did not call at the house, and declined all invitations. 
 Mrs. Jack wrote many little notes on the paper with the faint 
 perfume he knew so well, and she telephoned again and 
 again; but he pleaded important engagements and was ob 
 durate. He had made up his mind to do the decent thing 
 and gradually cut loose. He had meant to do so once or 
 twice before on May s account, in fact, he had said to May 
 he was going to see less of them, and she knew what he meant; 
 but somehow things had drifted along, and he never carried 
 his better purposes into effect. There were times while 
 playing with the Major he liked the Major better than 
 any one in the world when his conscience rallied and smote 
 him, and he looked into the big blue eyes of the little fellow, 
 and thought to himself : " Major, this won t do. You and 
 I are friends, great chums; you love me and I love you, 
 and yet all the time I am hurting you behind your back. 
 I am doing something that will make you feel bad when you 
 grow up if you hear people talk, and you won t like me any 
 more; you will hate me. No, Major, it won t do, so I will 
 just pull up." But he did n t pull up until he felt the sense of 
 obligation toward Wilton ; he could not accept a favor from 
 a man and repay it with injury. 
 
 Mrs. Jack was piqued ; she did not know what to make of 
 this sudden change. 
 
 [343]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 " Where s Larry nowadays ? " May asked one day, sud 
 denly recalling the fact he had not been around for two weeks 
 or more 
 
 "I don t know, and I don t care," her sister snapped out 
 in a manner that showed, while she might not know, she did 
 care very much. 
 
 May said nothing more, but wondered if there had been a 
 quarrel. 
 
 When Will Ganton asked Delaney where he was keeping 
 himself, the latter replied : 
 
 "Work, my dear fellow, work. I can t afford the social 
 racket all the time." Even Will was not so dense as to be 
 lieve that. 
 
 Delaney did turn up one afternoon at a reception at the 
 Northwood Kings ; on catching sight of him Carrie Trelway 
 called out loud enough for several who were near by to hear: 
 
 " Where s Mrs. Jack ? She has been looking for you 
 everywhere for a month." 
 
 Everybody smiled, and Delaney himself flushed slightly, 
 the hit was too palpable. For once he had no adequate 
 reply at his tongue s end. 
 
 "You scored that time, Carrie," said one of her friends 
 admiringly. 
 
 " Sorry I said it now," Carrie Trelway remarked in a low 
 voice, as Delaney turned and walked away without a word. 
 
 He had come early hoping to get away before Mrs. Jack 
 arrived, but fate willed otherwise; she came in just as he was 
 edging his way out. The moment she saw him, she beck 
 oned to him imperiously, and withdrawing to one corner of 
 the large hall she asked quickly: 
 
 "Why have you not been to see me lately? What have 
 [344]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 you been doing? What is the matter?" All the time her 
 clear blue eyes were fixed so steadfastly on his that he felt 
 confused, and hardly knew what to reply. 
 
 "I I have been busy," he stammered. 
 
 "No; you have not. That is not the reason; I want to 
 know." Her voice rose, and he looked around apprehen 
 sively, lest some one should overhear them. At a little dis 
 tance he could see the group of which Carrie Trelway was 
 the centre eying them curiously. 
 
 " This is no place to talk," he said hurriedly. 
 
 " Then wait a few moments until I can get away and 
 I will take you for a drive." 
 
 He knew it was useless to plead any excuse, as he had 
 none ; they had driven away together from too many similar 
 affairs for him to decline now. Contrary to his usual manner, 
 he remained in the corner by himself while Mrs. Jack flut 
 tered about the reception-room in such high spirits as to 
 attract comment. "The prodigal has returned," remarked 
 Carrie Trelway. 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Delaney ? He was here just a 
 moment ago, and I am sure he was looking for you," Mrs. 
 Northwood King said with anxious hospitality, quite uncon 
 scious of any possible irony. 
 
 Mrs. Jack murmured something in reply. She resented 
 the interest people seemed to be taking in her affairs. As 
 soon as she could decently do so, she made her way to the 
 hall, ordered her carriage, and she and Delaney went out, 
 leaving a buzz of comment behind. 
 
 Once in the brougham, Mrs. Jack turned to him and said, 
 with the emphasis of a woman who feels she has the right to 
 know, " Now tell me why you have not been to see me lately." 
 
 [345]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Delaney had been thinking all the time he waited, and had 
 made up his mind to speak plainly. He saw that subterfuge 
 would be idle, and only exasperate the more. 
 
 "There s no use. This thing can t go on. Jack has 
 done me a great favor lately. He helped me out of a bad 
 hole. He is a royal good fellow, and the least I can do is to 
 to " he hesitated. 
 
 "Thank you; you needn t say it. I understand," she 
 put in so calmly that he was surprised at her self-control. 
 "Men have queer notions of loyalty; pray what has Jack 
 done to work this change ? " 
 
 "Oh, not much; only a tip on the market, but it came 
 when I needed it badly." 
 
 " Only a tip on the market! I thought so," she exclaimed 
 scornfully; "and that is a man s notion of loyalty to drop 
 a woman for a tip on the stock-market." 
 
 He winced because he could not help it. There was a 
 measure of truth in what she said, but she did not understand. 
 
 " It is not the money, that is not it ; but it is the fact 
 that he did me a kindness in his off-hand, generous way 
 when there was no need of his doing it. He does not like me, 
 and I know it; yet because I happened to say I was pretty 
 hard pressed he helped me out, even a dog w T ill show 
 gratitude for favors received," he argued. 
 
 " How much money do you make by dropping me ? " 
 The words came deliberately, but he knew she was filled with 
 rage she could hardly suppress. 
 
 " That s not a fair way of putting it," he answered 
 irritably. "I told you I don t care anything about the 
 money." 
 
 "It s a lie," she burst out, losing all self-control. It s 
 [346]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 a lie; you do! You know you do. All you care for is 
 money. I should like to know my price. If you have sold 
 me for less than than a million you re a brute ! " She 
 collapsed into tears. There was something so ridiculous in 
 what she said that he could not help laughing, and in the 
 midst of her tears she laughed too; the strain was over; he 
 took her little gloved hand in both of his and said : 
 
 " Look here, I want you to help me. I am trying to do 
 the right thing for once in my life." 
 
 " That is all right," she sobbed ; " but there is no need 
 of doing it at my expense. . . . You will come and see me, 
 won t you ? " 
 
 "Why, yes; of course I will, but not so often. Let us 
 be more prudent, let us " 
 
 " You will come and see me to-morrow, won t you ? " 
 
 She said it so pleadingly that he could not find it in his 
 heart to say no, much as he honestly wished to. 
 
 " Yes perhaps I will see would it not " 
 
 "To-morrow at five," she murmured. 
 
 He yielded like an exhausted swimmer struggling against 
 a stiff current, but he firmly determined that if he called 
 the next day he should not go again for a good long time. 
 He intended to adhere to his original purpose, though he 
 could now see it might be necessary to break gradually, if he 
 would avoid unpleasant scenes. 
 
 Mrs. Jack nestled closer beside him. It was dark in the 
 park, and the rays of the high electric lights scarce penetrated 
 the interior of the small brougham as they drove on north. 
 Not a soul could see them ; the two perfectly trained men on 
 the box kept their eyes fixed ahead, the whims of their mis 
 tress were not their business. Mrs. Jack lifted her tear-wet 
 
 [347]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 cheek toward Delaney. "Kiss me," she murmured softly. 
 He drew back a little; he felt that if he yielded all his good 
 resolutions would go for naught, and he must draw the line 
 somewhere. 
 
 At that moment a large swiftly moving automobile with 
 its great double headlights swept suddenly around a turn, 
 and for the fraction of a second the interior of the brougham 
 was as light as day. Startled, Mrs. Jack drew back to her 
 own side, and Delaney shrank into his corner. The auto 
 mobile was gone like a flash, and they were so blinded by 
 the sudden glare they could see nothing. 
 
 For a moment they sat silent; then Mrs. Jack exclaimed 
 nervously : 
 
 Do you suppose they could see in ? " 
 
 "I don t see how they could help it; they were right on 
 us with those infernal lights." Delaney felt all the irritation 
 of a man caught in a compromising situation at a moment 
 when he was trying his best to resist temptation. 
 
 " Well, it was probably some one we do not know." Mrs. 
 Jack was arguing herself out of her fright. 
 
 "They might know us, however. ... I think you better 
 tell the men to drive back." 
 
 On the return they exchanged barely a word, and both 
 were oppressed with a vague feeling of apprehension. De 
 laney was angry with himself to think he had come at all, 
 Mrs. Jack felt the humiliation of a woman whose advances 
 are repulsed. He was dropped at North Avenue, and she 
 went directly home. 
 
 John Wilton was not only in the automobile; he was on 
 the front seat with the chauffeur. As the machine swept 
 
 [348]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 around the turn he recognized the horses and brougham as 
 his, and by the glare of the acetylene lamps he caught a 
 glimpse of his wife and Delaney. Then all was dark as 
 the big automobile passed like a flash; but that one glimpse 
 was more than sufficient. 
 
 For the moment a sickening feeling of depression came 
 over him. The anonymous letter, what the French maid 
 had said, the brutal remark of old John Ganton, his own 
 suspicions, all came back to him. He had never be 
 lieved his wife was more than impulsive, wilful, and im 
 prudent; he had never believed she would do anything 
 wrong, thinking she had too much sense, if not too much 
 pride, for that. She merely loved notoriety, that was 
 her weakness. He had persuaded himself that she kept 
 Delaney at her heels simply to make people talk, and he had 
 never believed there could be anything wrong; but now, 
 with his own eyes he had seen them together, driving at 
 nightfall through the shadows of the park; he had seen 
 them side by side like two lovers, her hand in his, her face 
 turned up to his. He wondered if the chauffeur beside him, 
 if his two friends in the tonneau, recognized who were in the 
 brougham. The fear lest they had overwhelmed him with 
 shame. How could they help seeing what he saw ? The 
 machine was right on the carriage, so close that only by a 
 sharp turn and skilful driving had the chauffeur avoided a 
 collision. The man may have been so occupied that he 
 had no time to look at the occupants of the brougham, but 
 his friends must have seen everything almost as plainly as 
 he did, the light was so bright. To be sure they were in 
 the tonneau, and there was a bare possibility that he and 
 the chauffeur cut off their view. But no; that was ridicu- 
 
 [349]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 lous, the sharp swerve made by the machine gave them 
 the same unobstructed view, they must have seen! 
 
 All the way down the Drive, through Rush Street, and over 
 the bridge, he was turning over in his mind the question 
 whether the others saw or not, his sudden feeling of depres 
 sion giving way to one of apprehension. Not a word had 
 been said since they passed the carriage, and he did not 
 like that; if they had not recognized his wife they would 
 have gone on talking. Just before entering the park they 
 had all been talking about something, he could not re 
 member what, but they were talking loudly and laughing. 
 They had had a delightful run to Fort Sheridan and back, 
 barely escaping arrest in Glencoe for exceeding the speed 
 limit. From the moment of meeting the carriage not a 
 word had been said. As they slowed up at the bridge, he 
 half turned in his seat to say something to break a silence 
 that seemed to him so ominously oppressive, but he could 
 think of nothing to say. He even thought his two friends 
 avoided seeing him, for one looked down the river and the 
 other turned his head and looked back up the street; it was 
 probably all in his imagination, but it certainly did seem as 
 though they wished to avoid speaking. 
 
 When they dropped him at the Club, he muttered some 
 thing about dining down town. They made no comment, 
 neither did they suggest getting out for a drink, seeming to 
 take it for granted he would prefer to be left alone ; of course 
 they knew. 
 
 There was no one in the big reading-room except two 
 men who roomed at the Club ; they" were buried in the even 
 ing papers, and did not look up as Wilton entered. He 
 passed into the deserted cafe, ordered a whiskey and soda, 
 
 [350]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 drank it , and ordered another. After drinking three in suc 
 cession, he felt a little better. The glow of the alcohol 
 mounted to his brain, and as the weight of fear and depres 
 sion lifted, he began to think he was a fool to get in such a 
 state of fright over what his friends might have seen, persuad 
 ing himself that his own eyes might have deceived him, that 
 it was all so sudden his imagination had distorted the scene. 
 His wife would not do anything wrong. Delaney the 
 thought of Delaney filled his heart with rage. How he 
 detested the man, with his handsome face, his cool, cynical 
 ways. Who was he? What was he? No one knew; an 
 adventurer, a blackleg, his outspoken enemies said, but 
 not to his face. 
 
 At the thought of Delaney, Wilton ordered another 
 whiskey and soda. The smooth-faced waiter looked at him 
 in surprise; he had never known Wilton to drink four 
 whiskeys in rapid succession. Long experience within the 
 narrow limits of club-life had made him quick to observe, 
 and he knew what and how much the different members 
 drank. When any man drank more than usual, nine times 
 out of ten he could guess the reason, taking the same kind of 
 pride in this special discernment that the boy in the coat- 
 room took in remembering to whom each hat belonged. 
 The waiter knew that something troubled Wilton; it was 
 plain from his manner as well as from the number of whiskeys 
 he ordered. It was not business, for it was not the hour 
 of day for business worry. It was not losses at play, for 
 Wilton never worried over them. Besides, he drove up in 
 an automobile and came in alone. There must be a woman 
 in the case, a man always drank more recklessly when 
 there was a woman in the case. " If it were only business a 
 
 [351]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 man would drink to cheer himself up, but a woman, that 
 was different; then he drank in an ugly, desperate mood 
 and for forgetfulness. 
 
 The smug-faced waiter felt sure it was a woman, but 
 whether Wilton s wife or some one else s it was not so easy 
 to tell. From club gossip he made up his mind it was 
 Mrs. Jack. He had never heard Wilton s name mixed up 
 with that of any other woman; so, with the petty curiosity 
 of a man whose life is bounded by the four walls of a cafe, he 
 watched Wilton as he sat there leaning forward with one 
 elbow on the small table. 
 
 He sat there for half an hour or more, then he ordered 
 something to eat, the nip of the alcohol making him hungry. 
 He had begun to forget his wife a little, his mind wandering 
 to other things. He was not intoxicated, for it took more 
 than four whiskeys to intoxicate him; but on an empty 
 stomach they were very potent. 
 
 When the boy announced that his dinner was served, 
 he went up to the dining-room. The two members who 
 roomed at the Club were dining together at a small table 
 just behind him, and he could hear snatches of their conver 
 sation, small talk about business, club-life, and people he 
 knew. He paid no attention to them, though there was 
 no one else in the big room. He wondered how men could 
 stand it to live in that way, to dine in such dreary loneliness ; 
 for his part he had never cared to live at a club. Yet the 
 bachelor s life had its advantages, for they could talk about 
 the wives of other men with impunity; they had nothing to 
 fear, nothing to worry about, and at the moment he almost 
 envied the two men back of him. Just then he heard one 
 of them say, " Delaney has made a lucky hit lately." 
 
 [352]
 
 A Straight Tip 
 
 "How s that?" 
 
 " Must have got a tip on Union Copper, for he began buy 
 ing way down, and now it s in the nineties. If dividends 
 are resumed it will go to par, and he will stand to make a 
 mighty pretty sum." 
 
 " Guess he needs it badly enough." 
 
 " I hear he has plunged for all he s worth, and if the stock 
 should drop he would go broke; but they say there is no 
 doubt about a dividend at the next meeting of the directors." 
 
 John Wilton leaned over the paper which he had spread 
 out on one side of his table and appeared absorbed in the 
 news on the front page; he did not wish to be caught in the 
 attitude of listening, but he could not help overhearing, and 
 every word made an impression. So Delaney had acted 
 upon the tip he had given him and bought Union Copper. 
 The meeting of the directors was to be held in New York the 
 following week, a dividend would be declared, the stock 
 would undoubtedly go to par, and Delaney would clean up 
 a lot of money. But if the dividend should be passed again 
 what then ? The stock would drop lower than it ever had 
 been, and and Delaney would go broke. That was what 
 the man behind him had said, and the words sank deep into 
 John Wilton s slightly befuddled brain. 
 
 [353]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 DELANEY S LAST PLAY 
 
 IT so happened that the regular quarterly meeting of the 
 directors of the Union Copper Company fell upon the 
 Tuesday preceding Thanksgiving, an inconvenient 
 date, as it gave directors attending from a distance scant time 
 to return home. However, John Wilton promised to be back 
 for Thanksgiving dinner, promised not his wife, but the 
 Major, who insisted imperiously that everybody should be 
 on hand holidays. 
 
 Oo 11 be back, papa," he said as his father picked him 
 up and kissed him good-bye on the Sunday afternoon when 
 he was leaving the house to take the Limited. 
 
 " Yes, I 11 be back, Major, sure, Thursday morning." 
 
 " Bwing me a box toclates." 
 
 Wilton promised not to forget the chocolates, gave the 
 little fellow a final hug, put him down in the vestibule, and 
 hastened out. He did not inquire for his wife to say good 
 bye, in fact, he had not mentioned the fact that he was 
 leaving that afternoon, as he was under the impression she 
 was out somewhere. Mrs. Jack was not out, but in her 
 room. She saw the footman take the hand-bag out to the 
 carriage, she waited and heard her husband go down the 
 stairs quickly, caught the sound of little Harold s voice, saw 
 Wilton jump into the carriage, wave his hand to the child, 
 and disappear rapidly down the street. 
 
 It was the first time he had ever left the city without in- 
 [354]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 quiring for her; once or twice he had gone when she was out 
 of the house, but he had always left some word. Perhaps 
 he had this time; no, she knew perfectly well he had not; 
 he had tried to avoid her; for several days they had seen 
 little of each other, in fact, not since the evening she was 
 with Delaney in the park. There were moments when she 
 wondered if by any possibility her husband could have seen 
 her, or if he had received another anonymous letter. Of the 
 two contingencies the latter seemed far the more likely; 
 that something had happened was certain. A feeling of 
 depression stole over her as she saw the carriage disappear 
 in the distance. 
 
 Everything had gone wrong since that afternoon. De 
 laney had not been to see her; he had not even telephoned. 
 She had called him up once and asked him to dinner, but he 
 pleaded some excuse so awkwardly that she knew he did not 
 wish to come. It was only too plain he was trying his best 
 to avoid her; instead of being angry, as she would have been 
 ten days before, she was afraid, as if she faced some im 
 pending calamity. 
 
 She looked forward to seeing Delaney on Thanksgiving 
 Day; he was coming for dinner; the invitation had been given 
 and accepted long before, and he had promised the Major 
 most faithfully to dine with him. It would be a family din 
 ner at six o clock, so little Harold could be at the table, 
 only Will Ganton and Delaney besides themselves. She 
 was certain he would not break his word to the Major, how 
 ever much he might wish to avoid her, so she waited. 
 
 John Wilton knew nothing of all this. He did not under 
 stand that Larry Delaney was doing his best to keep away 
 from his wife; all he grasped was that he had seen them 
 
 [355]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 together in the park the week before, and he assumed that 
 what he then saw was repeated at every convenient oppor 
 tunity, why not ? 
 
 Tuesday Will Ganton came down from the Yards and 
 met Delaney at the Club at luncheon, and together they 
 walked back to the latter s office. Union Copper had been 
 fairly active during the morning and was steadily advancing ; 
 at noon it sold as high as ninety-eight; everybody on the 
 Street took it for granted dividends would be resumed. 
 
 " What time is the meeting ? " Will asked as they walked 
 along Jackson Boulevard. 
 
 "Twelve o clock is the hour, but they will probably do 
 nothing until after luncheon," Delaney answered. 
 
 " You feel pretty sure about the dividend, Larry ? " Will s 
 tone betrayed some anxiety. He was carrying a big load; 
 he had borrowed every cent he could and plunged heavily. 
 " As it is, I stand to make over fifty thousand dollars ; I have 
 half a mind to sell and take my profits." 
 
 " I am as certain as a man can be who has the word of an 
 insider who knew what he was talking about. Besides, look 
 at the stock. It would not advance so steadily if there were 
 any doubt about the matter. I am taking greater chances 
 than you are, yet I don t propose to sell. The stock will go 
 to 110 easily when on a dividend basis." Delaney spoke 
 so confidently that Will felt reassured; the disposition to 
 hang on and make just a little more is supreme in the specu 
 lator s breast. 
 
 On entering the office they went at once to the ticker 
 clicking irregularly in the corner; the tape showed sales of 
 Union Copper at ninety-eight, ninety-eight and a quarter, 
 
 [356]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 a half, five-eighths, three-quarters, and a thousand shares 
 at ninety-nine. 
 
 "By Gad, but she s a-booming! " Will exclaimed. "If 
 I had the money to put up I d buy five hundred shares right 
 now." 
 
 "I guess they d carry you downstairs for five hundred 
 more if you want the stock," Delaney replied, referring to 
 the big firm of brokers on the ground floor, through which he 
 did most of his New York business. He telephoned down, 
 and after a moment s delay the reply came that they would 
 be glad to execute the order if Mr. Ganton would send down 
 his note for five thousand dollars. It took but a few moments 
 for Will to sign the note and send it down by the small office- 
 boy. He and Delaney returned to the ticker, Union Cop 
 per had already touched ninety-nine and a half. 
 
 " You will be lucky if you get that five hundred under par," 
 Delaney remarked. 
 
 "It s all right it s a purchase anyway," Will no longer 
 felt doubtful of the outcome, he was all excitement as he 
 fingered the narrow ribbon of paper nervously. Delaney 
 himself was not unmoved, chewing his unlighted cigar to 
 suppress his elation. It meant to him relief from pressing 
 obligations and more than enough money to carry him through 
 the winter. He had staked everything he had, the little money 
 he could raise, exhausting his credit with banks, brokers, and 
 friends. He had even borrowed money on securities which 
 did not belong to him, this worried him, and he did not 
 like to think of it, but he had not used the securities until he 
 was sure he was taking no chances, until he felt absolutely 
 certain the stock would go up, and he intended to take them 
 up with the proceeds of the very first sales he made. As he 
 
 [357]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 watched the tape he could not help thinking of John Wilton 
 and feeling grateful for the tip so generously given, and he 
 was glad he had been firm and had steadfastly kept away 
 from Mrs. Jack, experiencing the novel satisfaction of a 
 man unaccustomed to denying himself forbidden pleasures. 
 He was even sorry he had promised to dine there Thanks 
 giving night, if it were n t for the Major he would not go. 
 He wished he could get out of it in some way, perhaps he 
 could. 
 
 "Five hundred at ninety-nine seven- eighths, I guess 
 that s my stock," Will exclaimed, and Delaney, arousing 
 himself from his momentary abstraction, again glanced at 
 the tape. 
 
 " Guess you re right. Next sale will be at par, and then 
 we must begin to think about letting a little go." 
 
 " Not much," Will exclaimed jubilantly, " I 11 hang on 
 until it touches 
 
 He did not finish. The ticker, which had been operating 
 lazily and intermittently, started suddenly into life, and the 
 tape showed a sale of Union Copper at ninety-nine and three- 
 quarters, then two thousand shares at ninety-nine and a 
 half, followed immediately by sales at ninety-nine, ninety- 
 eight, ninety-seven, and ninety-six; when the stock struck 
 ninety-five a perfect flood came onto the market, and the 
 price broke to the eighties in a few minutes, with no bottom 
 in sight. 
 
 At the first break Will Ganton turned to Delaney. 
 
 " What is the matter, Larry ? " 
 
 The latter did not reply, but went to the telephone, called 
 up the office down below, and asked if they had anything 
 from New York on Union Copper. The answer came back: 
 
 [358]
 
 Not much, " Will exclaimed jubilantly, "I ll hang on until it 
 touches "
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 " Just got a confidential wire that a majority of the direc 
 tors is in favor of passing dividend, that s all." 
 
 That was enough. If true, it meant serious trouble for 
 Will Ganton ; it meant ruin and disgrace for Delaney. 
 
 " It can t be true, Larry, it s some damned stock-jobbing 
 scheme." Will s face was flushed with anger; he felt as if 
 some one were trying to trick him. 
 
 While they were speaking there were sharp calls over the 
 telephone for additional margins. All Delaney could do was 
 to tell the brokers to close out his account, he could not put 
 up another cent. The active partner in the big firm down 
 below came hurrying up. 
 
 " They have passed the dividend, and the stock will drop 
 to seventy or lower," he exclaimed. "What shall we do, 
 Delaney, with the stock we are carrying for you and Mr. 
 Ganton ? " 
 
 "Close mine out," Delaney answered calmly; "I have 
 nothing to put up." 
 
 " Your margins are already more than exhausted. Have 
 you no securities that you can put up to protect us against 
 loss ? " the broker asked coldly. 
 
 " Nothing ; I have put up everything " 
 
 "You know what that means?" 
 
 " Yes ; I cannot help it. Close out the account, and pro 
 tect yourself as best you can," Delaney said slowly. He 
 suddenly remembered the securities which he had put up 
 and which did not belong to him. " Look here those 
 bonds I left with you last week I wish you would hang 
 on to those a little while, and give me a chance to redeem 
 them in some way." 
 
 The broker eyed Delaney suspiciously. From the lat- 
 [359]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 ter s manner he more than half suspected that the bonds 
 belonged to some customer, and he feared there might be 
 trouble with the owner if he held on to them; such things 
 were not uncommon in their business. 
 
 "Sorry, but I can t do it. Those bonds are the best 
 collateral you have with us, and we must get what we can out 
 of them ; we stand to lose anywhere from five to ten thousand 
 as it is. It s hard to realize on the stock, now everybody 
 is unloading. Of course Mr. Ganton can take care of his 
 trades ? " The man looked inquiringly at Will, who had been 
 watching the ticker and at the same time listening to the 
 conversation without fully comprehending at first the extent 
 of the disaster; when asked if he was prepared to take care 
 of his trades, his face again reddened with anger, he turned 
 upon Delaney, and fairly shouted: 
 
 " Look here, Delaney, it strikes me we ve been played 
 for suckers. Who gave you that tip about the dividend ? " 
 
 Delaney hesitated, as he did not wish to mention Wilton s 
 name. Will Ganton noticed the hesitation and instantly 
 became suspicious. 
 
 " By Gad, Delaney, I want to know who gave out that tip." 
 
 Delaney thought a moment, then he replied slowly: 
 
 " You have the right to know, Will ; it was John Wilton 
 himself. The night we all dined there he told me dividends 
 would be resumed at this meeting." 
 
 "Wilton told you that!" the broker exclaimed. "W 7 hy, 
 our New York correspondent says he and his friends de 
 feated the resolution; that is why the stock is dropping out 
 of sight. If Wilton is against a dividend, there must be 
 something wrong with the company, as he never plays the 
 Street." 
 
 [360]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 "Well, it was he who gave me the pointer," Delaney 
 insisted. 
 
 "That s mighty queer, for I cannot see what reason he 
 could have for wishing to do up you and Mr. Ganton." 
 
 " He did n t know anything about my being in the stock," 
 Will remarked gloomily. 
 
 " Oh ! " the broker exclaimed significantly, as if an idea 
 had suddenly occurred to him. He hurried back to his 
 office to pass the word around to buy Union Copper, for 
 there was probably nothing at all the matter with the com 
 pany. Sure enough, in the closing half-hour of the session, 
 the stock began to recover rapidly. But Delaney s account, 
 and with it Will Ganton s, had been closed at almost the 
 lowest figures of the day. 
 
 Delaney was too insignificant a figure in the great world 
 of high finance for the announcement of his failure to cause 
 more than a passing ripple on the surface; it was of greater 
 moment in social circles. Bankers and brokers who were 
 not directly involved read the news with the callous indiffer 
 ence of their class, though their wives manifested a much 
 more curious interest; and when they learned that John 
 Wilton had caused the drop in Union Copper, this was more 
 than sufficient to set tongues wagging. Even the Street 
 ever suspicious and never charitable began to suspect 
 Union Copper had been used for a purpose. One paper in 
 commenting on the unexpected action of the directors said: 
 
 "It is an open secret the action of the directors was a 
 surprise to themselves. A dividend was confidently expected, 
 and it was not until the meeting that Wilton announced him 
 self as opposed on the ground, so it is stated, the company 
 
 [361]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 can use more working capital to advantage; but the published 
 statement of the condition of the company shows a large 
 increase in the surplus and ample working capital ; there are 
 rumors afloat that considerations of a personal nature in 
 fluenced the leader of the majority of the board." 
 
 A gossipy society weekly contained this item: 
 
 " Since the duello is no longer in vogue, the injured 
 husband must get his revenge in ways more in accord with 
 the commercial spirit of the age. Instead of the sword, the 
 large corporation may be manipulated so as to humiliate 
 the hated rival." 
 
 It was not until he bought the Chicago papers of Wednes 
 day while on his way home that John Wilton learned of 
 Delaney s disastrous failure. As he read the brief mention 
 in the news columns a grim smile of satisfaction spread over 
 his features. He could not help exulting over the downfall 
 of the man he detested ; but when he read the more detailed 
 accounts on the financial page, and learned that Delaney was 
 thousands of dollars worse off than nothing, that he was 
 probably involved deeper than any one knew, that he was 
 utterly ruined, a feeling of pity stole into his heart. John 
 Wilton was generous to a fault; never before had he deliber 
 ately set about to injure any one. He began to feel ashamed 
 of himself; he dropped the papers on his lap and sat gazing 
 out of the window upon the fields as they went scurrying by 
 in their light mantle of freshly fallen snow. Was it worth 
 while, he kept asking himself, was it worth while to wreak 
 his vengeance in that way, to jeopardize the interests and repu 
 tation of a great company to crush a man he did not like? 
 Was it a manly and decent thing to do ? That troubled him, 
 and he began to drop in his own estimation. His revenge no 
 
 [362]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 longer gave him any satisfaction ; the more he thought about 
 it the less he liked it. Later, when the waiter came along 
 and rapped at the door of the compartment to ask if he was 
 not going in to luncheon, he said no; he did not care for 
 anything to eat. All the afternoon, until the train pulled 
 into the dingy station in Chicago, he sat looking moodily out 
 of the window. 
 
 All day Wednesday Delaney did the best he could to aid 
 the brokers and bankers in straightening out his affairs; not 
 that they were very complicated, but he was indebted in so 
 many directions. He worked so steadfastly and so quietly, 
 and seemed so desirous of helping all he could, that more than 
 one man expressed sympathy for him. 
 
 "Better luck next time, Larry," said one of his friends. 
 
 "There will be no next time, my boy; this is my last," 
 Delaney answered with a queer smile. He knew it would be 
 only a day or two before the owners of the securities he had 
 hypothecated would discover what he had done, and that 
 meant he did not like to think of the consequences, but 
 he knew that to remain in Chicago meant arrest and prosecu 
 tion. He had done many things in a business way which 
 were not right, but never before had he taken and used what 
 belonged to others ; never before had he placed himself where 
 he could be classed with common thieves and embezzlers. 
 He wondered what some of his friends would say, what 
 Carrie Trelway would say, what May Keating would think, 
 how Mrs. Jack would feel. Strange to say, he felt more con 
 fidence in the charity of the two former than in Mrs. Jack s ; 
 her pride would be offended, her own selfish considerations 
 would more than counterbalance any feeling for him. And 
 
 [363]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 there was the Major, some day he would understand. 
 The thought of the Major brought a lump into Delaney s 
 throat. 
 
 A few of his creditors met on Thanksgiving morning and 
 spent an hour and a half in going over his books and papers. 
 There were not many to go over; he kept his accounts in one 
 small ledger, in such a manner that only he could supply the 
 key, and most of his papers were locked up in the safety- 
 deposit vault in the basement. As the vault was not open 
 that day, it was agreed they should all meet the next morning 
 at ten o clock to make up a final inventory and statement. 
 
 Delaney took luncheon at an obscure eating-house in 
 Fifth Avenue. He went there because he felt certain he 
 would not meet a soul he knew, but he was mistaken. The 
 girl who served his coffee, rolls, and cold tongue recognized 
 him. She had once worked at the Wiltons , and everybody 
 who worked there liked Delaney with that curious devotion 
 which the servant ever displays toward the generous friend 
 of the mistress. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Delaney, what are you doing here on Thanks 
 giving Day ? " she asked as he took his seat on one of the 
 high stools ranged along the moist and shiny counter. 
 
 He looked up surprised, and for a moment could not recall 
 where he had seen the girl. When he remembered, he 
 replied with a friendly smile: 
 
 " I did not suppose any one here would know me. I have 
 been working all the morning, and just stepped around for a 
 cup of coffee and a bite to eat." 
 
 " Well, I never expected to see you at a ten-cent lunch- 
 counter," the girl laughed as she filled his order; "and of all 
 days ! " 
 
 [364]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 " It is not the first time, Katy." 
 
 "Not but what the things to eat are good enough," she 
 exclaimed with a show of pride in her occupation, "but 
 somehow it seems queer to see you sitting there and eating 
 just like just like She did not know how to express 
 herself without offending. 
 
 Delaney laughed, the first time he had laughed that 
 day, and felt grateful to the girl for pulling him out 
 of himself. 
 
 " Just like an ordinary, every-day man, you meant to say, 
 Katy?" The girl nodded her head. " Well, that is all I am 
 to-day. To-morrow," his voice dropped, "I may be 
 something more." 
 
 " You ought to marry and have a home of your own, Mr. 
 Delaney," the girl said in a tone of firm conviction as she 
 gave him another little square pat of suspiciously yellow 
 butter. 
 
 " Marriage is a lottery, you know," he answered smiling. 
 
 " It s no more of a lottery than speculation. Men come 
 in here every day who lost everything they had on the Board 
 of Trade. They lunch at the Club as long as they can afford 
 it, then they drop down here. Oh, I see and hear a lot of 
 things." 
 
 Delaney glanced up suspiciously, wondering if the girl 
 had heard of his failure. No ; she had not, as was apparent 
 from her unconscious manner. But if he came once or twice 
 more she would suspect the truth and learn all about him. 
 
 When he had paid the quarter for his meagre luncheon 
 he left a five-dollar bill on the counter, remarking, " For the 
 sake of old times, Katy," and passed out. 
 
 The girl stood with a towel in one hand and the empty 
 [365]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 coffee-cup in the other, too dazed to say a word; but as he 
 disappeared down the street she exclaimed to herself, " Well, 
 I never! That s just like him. There s something wrong, 
 or he would never have given me that fiver." 
 
 Delaney walked slowly east in Adams Street. At the 
 corner of La Salle he stopped and waited for a carette. The 
 street was nearly deserted. The air was chill, the sky gray, 
 and there was a swirl of snow which blew hither and thither 
 about the great, tall, grimy buildings. It was certainly not 
 a bright and cheerful Thanksgiving Day. As the carette 
 came lumbering along, Delaney took a last look at the Board 
 of Trade at the head of the street. How sinister and for 
 bidding it seemed at the moment ! even less inviting 
 than the great county jail on the North Side. How many 
 men had been ruined within those gray stone walls ! more 
 than any one knew, more than any one could ever find out, 
 men and women all over the country, in every city and vil 
 lage, even in regions remote, from bankers and brokers to 
 drovers and farmers and small merchants, clerks and em 
 ployees, ruined directly or indirectly by what was done 
 within those four walls. 
 
 Silent and deserted for the time being, on the morrow it 
 would awaken to life, and the great room, with its many pits, 
 its hundreds of telegraph instruments, its hurrying messen 
 ger boys, its crowd of excited traders, would resound with 
 the hoarse cries of speculation, but he would not be there; 
 for him the Board would remain forever silent and closed, 
 even as the carette rolled noisily past the corner, and the 
 Board passed out of sight. 
 
 Delaney found at his rooms two notes, one from Mrs. 
 Jack, in which she said briefly they would surely expect him 
 
 [366]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 for dinner at half-past six instead of six, and would wait for 
 him if he were late. Evidently she knew nothing about her 
 husband s connection with his losses and failure, otherwise 
 she would realize that he could not dine with them. 
 The other note read as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAR LARRY: It is too bad, and I am so sorry for 
 you. If I had any money I would give it to you to help you 
 out; but I am poorer than you are, since I am a woman 
 and that is a deficit to begin with. As it is, all I can offer is 
 my heartfelt sympathy; if this could be distributed among 
 your creditors it would be more than enough to pay them in 
 full. Of course you will come out all right in the end ; mean 
 while I know how you must feel , and I want you to know that 
 you have friends who stand by you and sympathize with you. 
 
 "Now don t shut yourself up and get moody, but make the 
 best of the situation. Do not fail to dine with us to-night. 
 We shall expect you, and I, for one, shall eat no dinner until 
 you come, there! "Sincerely, 
 
 " MAY K." 
 
 Delaney s eyes were moist when he finished reading the 
 note; he read it once again, and pressed it to his lips almost 
 reverentially before going to the fireplace to tear paper and 
 envelope in small pieces and cast them into the grate. 
 
 He spent the afternoon going through trunks and boxes 
 and drawers, searching out cards and notes and letters, 
 photographs and little souvenirs of every kind which could 
 in any way betray his friends if they fell into strange hands. 
 It was a long task. He was surprised himself at the accu 
 mulation of years. It had never been his habit to keep evi 
 dences of the imprudences and follies of others, and yet there 
 were notes and letters he ought to have destroyed long ago, 
 
 [367]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 and many he thought he had destroyed. Some of the letters 
 he threw into the fire with careless indifference, others he 
 read, many of them for a second or third or fourth time, 
 before he dropped them into the flames, reading them with 
 all the wistful yearning for the past that creeps over a man 
 when he recalls happy hours forever spent, faces and places 
 never to be seen again under the same delightful conditions. 
 
 It seemed to him as if he were reviewing his life. When 
 he threw his head back and closed his eyes, a panorama of 
 scenes and events and persons passed rapidly before his 
 inner vision; so slight a thing as a bit of faded blue ribbon 
 sufficed to recall a ball he had long forgotten, a ball in one of 
 the great houses of New York that he had attended the first 
 year out of college, when friends were many and life was 
 promising; the crush and the jam, the sea of faces, the whirl 
 of the dancers, the music, all was vague and indistinct, 
 save a corner, a window-seat, some protecting portieres, a 
 fair young face with blue eyes, a white dress, and a bit 
 of blue ribbon. How they had danced and danced until 
 intoxicated with the music, aglow with the excitement of the 
 occasion, made mad by the spirit of the hour, he had talked of 
 love, and she had listened, and for the time being everything 
 seemed so easy of fulfilment ; but of that evening with all its 
 music and intoxication, with all its passionate avowals and 
 tender responses, there remained only a bit of faded blue 
 ribbon. How much better it would have been for him, per 
 haps for her, if the tie had been just a little stronger ! 
 
 Again the fragment of a card, which bore in pencil the 
 one word "Yes," written hastily, impulsively, served as a 
 key to release a flood of vivid recollections, recollections 
 far different from those aroused by the bit of blue ribbon, a 
 
 [368]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 winter s folly, a woman s devotion, jealousy and hatred, 
 his own cynical indifference, how strange it all seemed ! 
 
 There was one packet of letters, most of which bore 
 foreign postmarks ; these he had carefully kept under double 
 lock and key, not that it ever afforded him any pleasure to 
 read them, but with the notion that some day they might 
 prove of use to him. As he cut the cord that bound them 
 together and looked at them one by one, a bitter smile crept 
 into his face; she was the one woman he had loved, blindly, 
 madly, passionately and she had wrecked his life. For 
 her he had done things which caused men to look upon him 
 with suspicion, things for which he despised himself; with 
 her he had lived in a fool s paradise for a time, spending all 
 he had and more than he could make fairly and honestly; 
 for her he had thrown over friends and destroyed every 
 prospect in life. In the end, after he had given her not only 
 his name, but had squandered the present and discounted 
 the future, she had left him with the same heartless indiffer 
 ence he had left others; had gone to live abroad how and 
 with whom he did not know and did not dare to guess, and 
 all that remained was this packet of letters. If he had only 
 married the bit of blue ribbon, how much better! It would 
 have taken so very little to make of him a different man 
 
 It was after six o clock when Delaney finished going 
 through his desk, his trunks, and every nook and corner 
 where by any possibility anything of a personal nature 
 might be found. He even tore out the fly-leaves of a number 
 of books which had been given him. He did not wish to 
 leave behind so much as the scratch of a pencil which might 
 involve a friend. 
 
 [369]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 When the last scrap of paper was destroyed, he walked to 
 the window and looked out upon the street below. There 
 was still snow in the air, and the walks and pavement were 
 white. A cab went by, jolting over the rotten and rough 
 round block pavement. Some one hurrying for dinner, he 
 thought to himself. 
 
 It so happened the man in the cab, hurrying north, was 
 Will Ganton on his way to dine at the Wiltons . Afterward 
 he remembered glancing up at his friend s rooms, and re 
 called that he saw no light in the windows. 
 
 There was not a soul in the house. The people on the 
 first floor were away for the day; the maid w r ho looked after 
 his rooms had gone out; and he was alone. 
 
 He heard the clock in the room below chime the half- 
 hour, it was half-past six. At that moment they were 
 expecting him at the Wiltons Mrs. Jack, May, and the 
 Major. Yes, the Major would wonder and ask why he did 
 not come; the Major would miss him, even if no one else 
 did. Delaney pulled away at his moustache as he thought 
 of the little fellow he would never see again. "It s all right, 
 Major," he muttered to himself; "it s all right. You and I 
 part friends now, but some day you would have learned to 
 hate me. It is a good deal better as it is." He wished he 
 had sent the little fellow a box of candy, and felt irritated to 
 think he had not. "Yes; I m a brute, Major; I forgot all 
 about it, just a selfish brute, thinking all day long about 
 my own affairs, as if they were worth thinking about." 
 
 He was still standing by the window looking out, but he 
 no longer saw the street or the snow -covered pavement, or 
 the flickering light of the street-lamp opposite; he saw the 
 
 [370]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 great dining-room in the Wilton mansion, with its fine white 
 napery, extravagantly decorated china, and profusion of 
 silver and gold. How well he knew that table and every 
 feature of the costly service! There was Wilton at one end 
 and Mrs. Jack at the other; May Keating and Will Ganton 
 on one side, the Major and his vacant chair on the other. 
 They were waiting for him, of that he felt quite sure. John 
 Wilton alone would understand his absence. He would 
 not expect him under the circumstances, but he could hardly 
 explain matters to the others, therefore they would wait 
 how long? That would depend upon the hold he still re 
 tained upon their friendship; the Major at all events would 
 not want to begin without him. He should have sent word 
 he could not come; that would have been the right thing 
 to do. 
 
 It must be nearly seven now; they would not wait much 
 longer. 
 
 He turned from the window, went quickly to the bureau 
 in his bedroom, and from the small top drawer on the left- 
 hand side, near his bed, took out a revolver; returning, he 
 held it down and examined it carefully by the flickering 
 light of the fire, to make sure it was loaded. Seating himself 
 in his easy-chair by the table, he threw his head back, 
 and without a moment s hesitation raised his hand, placed 
 the muzzle of the pistol against his temple, and pulled the 
 trigger. . . . 
 
 There was a flash that seemed to light up everything, a 
 crash like a thousand peals of thunder rolled into one, 
 a thud, a blow that caused every fibre of his being to vibrate; 
 but there was no pain. For an instant every faculty seemed 
 
 [371]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 alive; strange memories poured in upon him, scenes of his 
 childhood long forgotten swept before him; his home, his 
 mother, the town in which he was born and where he spent 
 his boyhood days, the face of every playmate, school days, 
 and college days, all came back to him as vividly as the 
 details of a scene start out of the blackness of night under a 
 flash of lightning. For the time being his mind was aroused 
 to a state of abnormal excitement; it was as if a piece of 
 delicate mechanism had received a rude shock which caused 
 every part to tremble and oscillate to the verge of destruc 
 tion ; cells and fibres long disused thrilled into life. He knew 
 what he had done, he knew he had tried to kill himself; 
 he remembered seating himself in the chair and throwing 
 his head back on the cushion, just as he had done thousands 
 of times before when he wished to think and dream; he 
 remembered placing the pistol against the side of his head 
 and pulling the trigger; then, instead of death and darkness 
 and instant annihilation, life and light intense. He had 
 failed in his attempt; they would find him wounded and 
 mutilated; the surgeons would work over him to preserve 
 the life he valued so lightly, how ridiculous! Still he 
 must try again ; but the thought produced no movement, no 
 sensation of action. It was as if he were detached from his 
 body; as if he were far removed from things physical, as if he 
 were at the same time within and without the room, within 
 and without the world itself. Time itself seemed strangely 
 condensed, the scenes of his life did not pass before him in 
 sequence, in chronological order, but as an entirety, as if 
 childhood and boyhood and manhood were one, as if their 
 apparent separation were only a freak of the imagination 
 or a trick of memory. . . . 
 
 [372]
 
 Delaney s Last Play 
 
 The world of appearances faded away; faces grew dim 
 and recollections vague and shadowy; the startled cells and 
 fibres of the brain sank to rest, and all was peace. 
 
 When they found his body the next morning his brains 
 were oozing from a jagged hole in the right temple; death 
 had been instantaneous the doctor said. 
 
 [373]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 OUT OF THE YARDS 
 
 SATURDAY morning Will Ganton told his father about 
 his losses in the market. He could not postpone the 
 disagreeable interview longer, as the banks and brokers 
 were pressing him for a settlement. It was not that they 
 doubted his ability to make good any losses, but the un 
 pleasant disclosures which followed Delaney s death made 
 every one in the Street suspicious concerning trades with 
 which the latter had anything to do. 
 
 The old man was propped up in bed, reading the morn 
 ing paper, when Will entered the room. 
 
 "So that Delaney was no better than a common thief. 
 He used his customers securities to raise money." John 
 Ganton took a savage satisfaction in reading the exposure of 
 Delaney s affairs. He had never liked him, looking upon 
 him as a " club fellow " and a society chum of Will s, whose 
 influence was anything but good. 
 
 "That is one of the things I came in to talk about," 
 W 7 ill said hesitatingly; he hardly knew how to begin. 
 
 "Well, what is it ? " The old man dropped the paper on 
 the bed and looked up suspiciously. "You don t mean to 
 say you are involved in that rascal s affairs," he continued 
 harshly, half divining the truth from his son s expression. 
 
 "Yes; I am," Will blurted out, "I bought Union Copper 
 when he did, and stand to lose over forty thousand dollars." 
 There was a look of dogged defiance in his eyes. 
 
 [374]
 
 Out of the Yards 
 
 For a moment or two the silence was ominous; John 
 Ganton s gray eyes half closed and his jaws set so tightly 
 that Will could hear the teeth grind together. 
 
 " So," he muttered hoarsely, " you have been speculating 
 again." 
 
 " I needed the money." Will s tone expressed the dogged 
 defiance that was in his look. 
 
 "To get married, I suppose; to marry that girl." The 
 old man s voice expressed his bitterness and hatred. " Well, 
 you have n t got it, and you are forty thousand dollars worse 
 off than nothing. What are you going to do about it ? " 
 
 "Raise the money in some way and make good what I 
 owe." The young man was getting angry, and his manner 
 showed it. 
 
 " Then go out and raise it, what are you bothering me 
 for ? I told you if you speculated again not to run to me for 
 help. Go tell that girl you are forty thousand dollars worse 
 off than nothing, and see if she will be so anxious to marry 
 you. What do you suppose she cares for you ? " the old man 
 continued hoarsely, "what do you suppose she cares for 
 you ? It s my money she s after, I know the breed. 
 But she won t get a cent, not a red cent." 
 
 Will s face was flushed and ugly. 
 
 " I m not asking you for money ; and I don t want to 
 hear anything more against that girl. She s as good as we 
 are, and a damned sight better. Because Jem Keating got 
 the better of you in a deal you are down on him. I don t 
 want your money, and you can take it and go to " the 
 last word died on his lips; angry as he was, reckless as he 
 always was when angry, there was something in the deathly 
 look of his father that brought him to his senses just in time. 
 
 [375]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 A spasm of pain seized the old man. He dropped back 
 on the pillows, great beads of sweat starting out on his fore 
 head, his features writhing in anguish as he clutched at his 
 right side with both hands and groaned deeply. 
 
 In an instant Will s anger evaporated; he rushed to the 
 bedside exclaiming: 
 
 "What is it, father? What can I do? Shall I call 
 mother ? " 
 
 The old man shook his head, and as the pain subsided he 
 collapsed limp and exhausted. His skin, even to his hands, 
 was moist with perspiration. Slowly and almost mechani 
 cally he mopped his forehead with the handkerchief that 
 lay on the coverlet. His hand w r as so thin and his move 
 ments so feeble that Will s heart was filled with pity, he 
 would have given anything to recall his bitter words, but it 
 was too late. John Ganton had heard them, even in the 
 midst of his pain he caught the significance of every syllable, 
 and he did not forget. He w r as vindictive; he never forgot, 
 he never forgave. For a time he was too exhausted to say 
 anything, making no response in any way to Will s overtures 
 of sympathy and affection; as he recovered his strength his 
 face assumed the hard, relentless expression Will knew so 
 wel), and when he did speak, slowly and with an effort, all 
 he said w r as; "You have some stock in Ganton & Co. I 
 will buy it. Take it to Browning. He will give you a check 
 *Ms morning, then you are free to do as you please." 
 
 " But, father This time there was a ring of anguish 
 in the young man s voice. 
 
 "That s all," the old man interrupted relentlessly. 
 "Take the stock to Browning this morning, and then leave 
 the Yards." John Ganton s voice rose as he uttered the 
 
 [376]
 
 Out of the Yards 
 
 last words, he turned on his left side with his face to the wall, 
 and closed his eyes as if he wished to sleep. The interview 
 was at an end; so far as his father was concerned, Will Gan- 
 ton felt his own future was irrevocably determined. 
 
 That morning he indorsed his certificates of stock in 
 blank and delivered them to Browning, went out to the 
 Yards, cleared up his desk, and when he closed it at six 
 o clock he was no longer in the employ of Ganton & Co. 
 
 As he was leaving the Yards he met McCarthy near the 
 gates; they walked along together. 
 
 " How is the governor ? " McCarthy asked. 
 
 "Pretty bad, McCarthy; he is a sick man, and no mis 
 take." 
 
 " That s bad, the business will miss him. He knows it 
 from the ground up, that s sure. I suppose you 11 be taking 
 his place down town soon?" 
 
 "No; I m out," Will answered abruptly. McCarthy 
 looked up as if he did not quite understand. 
 
 "Yes; I m out, McCarthy," the young man continued, 
 with as much indifference as he could assume. " This is my 
 last day in the Yards with Ganton & Co. The governor 
 and I have split." 
 
 "Well, I 11 be " McCarthy exclaimed. "You don t 
 
 mean to say you ve quit the job for good ? " 
 
 " That s about the size of it." 
 
 " Well, I 11 be - - " The old foreman could not finish 
 his exclamation. Words failed him, that Will Ganton 
 should leave the Yards, should leave Ganton & Co., 
 if he had been discharged himself he could not have been 
 more dumfounded. 
 
 As Will swung upon the step of a moving car and shouted 
 [377]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 good-bye, McCarthy still stood at the corner muttering to 
 
 himself, " Well, I 11 be " When the news spread among 
 
 the men they were sorry, even the strikers who had suffered 
 at Will s hands were sorry, they all liked him, liked him 
 for the brute-like strength and qualities that made him 
 feared. More than one man remarked, " He s a chip of the 
 old block; that s why they can t get on together." 
 
 Will did not go home that night ; he felt a good deal as if 
 he had no home; he had been told he was free to do as he 
 pleased, in other words, that he might shift for himself. 
 What right had he to live under his father s roof and sit at 
 his table ? His reflections were many and bitter. 
 
 All day Sunday he sat about the Club trying to make up 
 his mind what he should say to May Keating. There was 
 but one thing to do, and that was, make a clean breast of it; 
 yet how could he tell her all the brutal truth ? How could he 
 explain to her the reason why he and his father had parted 
 in such anger ? But she would suspect the truth ; she would 
 know it was on her account ; there would be no use in trying 
 to conceal anything from her. 
 
 From time to time he ordered a Scotch-and-soda to brace 
 him up, until, when night came, he felt and showed slightly 
 the effect of the whiskey he had taken so steadily during the 
 day. 
 
 When he entered the Wilton reception-room his face was 
 somewhat flushed, and he had the coarse look that May 
 Keating had seen before and disliked so much. She recalled 
 a saying of Delaney s, " Never marry a man until you have 
 seen him drunk." 
 
 Mrs. Jack did not come down. She had kept her room 
 most of the time since Delaney shot himself. She could not 
 
 [378]
 
 Out of the Yards 
 
 get over the tragic death and the disclosures which followed ; 
 that it should turn out the man she had encouraged was a 
 criminal, that in all likelihood he was married and no better 
 than an adventurer, living on his wits, humiliated her. She 
 did not care so much about his death, that was the best 
 thing he could have done; she did not care very much about 
 him; she did care about herself. She had the unpleas 
 ant feeling that every woman she knew was gloating over 
 her humiliation, that people were saying the most outrageous 
 things about her and Delaney. Thank goodness, not a letter, 
 not so much as a scrap of paper, had been found. She was 
 wild with apprehension until Wilton himself made discreet 
 inquiries, and learned that Delaney must have spent most 
 of Thanksgiving afternoon destroying letters, photographs, 
 and papers, the charred fragments of which filled the grate. 
 
 " The fellow had the instincts of a gentleman, anyway," 
 Wilton said to himself, and he could not help adding, "Poor 
 devil! I wish I had kept out of it." 
 
 When he told his wife that no letters or notes of a personal 
 nature had been found, she exclaimed hysterically: 
 
 " There was nothing, Jack, nothing I never wrote 
 him a line you could not see. . . . Don t you believe me, 
 Jack?" 
 
 He chewed away at the end of his moustache and looked 
 out of the window without replying. 
 
 She sank down onto the sofa, sobbing convulsively; she 
 did not care whether he believed her or not, it did not 
 matter so long as every note and letter had been destroyed. 
 
 When Will Ganton entered the room, May Keating felt 
 sure something unusual had happened ; never before had he 
 come to see her after he had been drinking to such a percep- 
 
 [379]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 tible extent; instinctively she knew he had been trying to 
 nerve himself to tell her something he was afraid to tell. As 
 he sat there nervously twisting the fringe on the arm of the 
 chair, he looked so dull, heavy, and stupid, so coarse and 
 common, that a feeling of disgust, mingled with profound 
 pity, came over her; surely he had never appeared quite like 
 that before. Yes; she remembered that the night at the 
 Club when he drank too much wine he had looked much the 
 same, only that night he was boisterous, while now he sat 
 there like a clumsy lout. She began to be angry with herself 
 and with him ; could it be possible that she had ever promised 
 to marry such a man ? And yet there was so much that 
 was worth saving in him, if his father could only see how 
 little encouragement it would take. 
 
 She waited. He had attempted some commonplace re 
 mark, but she did not respond, she waited. 
 
 " I ve got something to tell you, May," he said at length, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "I thought so," she responded quietly, almost indiffer 
 ently; "what is it?" 
 
 " I m out of the Yards." He kept his eyes fixed on the 
 floor and tugged away at the fringe on the chair. 
 
 " Out of the Yards ! " she repeated with a start. " What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 " That s just what I mean, out for good. I quit 
 Ganton & Co. to-day, must shift for myself. You might 
 as well know the worst, May." The words came slowly, and 
 his voice was just a little thick. He did not lift his eyes from 
 the floor, he was afraid of her. 
 
 She looked at him a moment or two, her lip curling slightly 
 as if in contempt. 
 
 [380]
 
 Out of the Yards 
 
 " You have had another quarrel with your father ? " 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " What is the matter now ? Was it on my account ? Tell 
 me! " she said sharply. 
 
 "No; it was n t about you this time, May," he answered 
 hurriedly, " that is not entirely. It was mostly some 
 thing else. You see I had been speculating a little. I 
 bought Union Copper along with Delaney, and when they 
 passed the dividend and the stock went down I stood to lose 
 a good deal. To pay up I had to sell my stock in Ganton 
 & Co., and well, the governor dropped me out of the 
 Yards. That s all there is about it." 
 
 From his manner May Keating knew he had not told her 
 all the truth, but she had heard enough. He had been 
 thrown out of the business and was practically penniless; 
 his father would probably provide a place for him, but not 
 so long as he persisted in his intention of marrying her. The 
 relentless old man was bound to break that match, even 
 though in doing so he wrecked his son s future. For the 
 first time since she had known that John Ganton was op 
 posed to Will s marrying her because she was the daughter 
 of Jem Keating, she began to feel the utter hopelessness of 
 attempting to oppose his iron will. For that matter, was it 
 worth while to struggle, she asked herself, as she looked at 
 the coarse figure and flushed face opposite her; there was 
 something of the father there, all the brute element, but little 
 of that force which made John Ganton respected and feared 
 by friends and foes alike. No; it was not worth while to 
 hazard her own happiness and wreck his future by blindly 
 fighting fate; the matter was hardly debatable now he was 
 in no position to maintain a home. In a day or two every- 
 
 [381]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 body would know that he had left the company, and people 
 would say he had been put out on her account. The best, 
 the only fair thing to do was to break the engagement at 
 once, before it was too late, and let him regain his position. 
 They must come to an understanding now. ... All these 
 thoughts flashed through her mind as she sat there looking 
 at him, hardly knowing how to frame in words what she 
 wished to say. 
 
 "Well, May, what are we going to do about it?" he 
 asked, looking up furtively after the manner of a child who 
 dreads a scolding. The question gave her the opportunity 
 she sought. 
 
 "There is but one thing to do, Will, and that is " she 
 hesitated, and then continued firmly, "break off our engage 
 ment. There is no use," she went on hurriedly, as she saw 
 he was about to protest, " there is no use. Your father will 
 never give in. He is bitter and relentless, he is a sick man, 
 and he will cut you off, all on my account. We could not 
 marry now if we wanted to. You have nothing, I well, I 
 am dependent upon others. Two needs do not make a plenty." 
 
 He looked at her in dull amazement ; all he could say was : 
 
 " Look here, May, you don t mean to say you don t 
 mean to say you re going to throw me over ? " He rose to 
 his feet and took a step toward her, but she got up quickly 
 and avoided him. 
 
 " I mean just what I say. It is better, it is the only 
 thing to do. I have no right to stand between you and your 
 father. I have been wrong, wrong, wrong. Let us drop 
 the matter now, right here, before it is too late. In a day or 
 two everybody would know. You must go back to your old 
 place to-morrow." 
 
 [382]
 
 Out of the Yards 
 
 "I ll be damned if I do!" he said doggedly, his face 
 flushing a deeper red as anger and disappointment got the 
 better of him. 
 
 With all a woman s tact she said soothingly : 
 
 " Do it because I ask you to, Will ; it is for the best. We 
 can wait; let the future take care of itself." 
 
 She knew that she was holding out a hope that might 
 never be realized, but it was the only way to carry her point 
 to get him to avoid the notoriety and consequences of the 
 open breach; that must be avoided at any cost. 
 
 It required both tact and persuasion to bring Will Ganton 
 to her way of thinking. His impulse was to fight it out. 
 He did not care what people said, and he would show his 
 father he could get on. That was the way he felt, but in the 
 end he promised to do as she asked, and he left the house with 
 the firm intention of effecting a reconciliation with his father 
 the next day. But the opportunity never came. 
 
 [383]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE SENTENCE OF DEATH 
 
 MONDAY morning John Ganton was so much worse 
 that without saying anything to him his wife tele 
 phoned for the doctor. 
 
 He had not felt well all day Sunday. He was restless, 
 complained of swelling in his feet and legs, and of the pain 
 in his stomach. 
 
 " Don t bother me. I 11 be better in the morning," he 
 answered impatiently when his anxious wife timidly sug 
 gested calling the doctor. But toward night the pain be 
 came so acute that he could not sleep. It hurt him even to 
 move his body, and he could not stand the pressure of the 
 hot-water bag against his side. It seemed to him as if 
 something had burst inside, and he carefully passed his hand 
 over the hard lump and over his abdomen, which he could see 
 was swollen, and the skin was tense like the head of a drum. 
 He realized that he was a very sick man, that there must be 
 something very serious the matter. But if the doctors came 
 they would look him over and find the lump, and insist on 
 cutting him open, the thought frightened him more than 
 the pain. 
 
 As he lay there flat on his back trying to sleep, it seemed 
 to him that he was more wide awake with his eyes closed 
 than w r ith them open. With them open he saw only the 
 dimly lighted room, the familiar objects, and the shadows on 
 the wall; but with his eyes closed he saw everything, 
 
 [384]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 everybody, the Yards, the great steam-filled rooms, the 
 bubbling vats, the men barefooted and sweaty moving 
 about amidst the slime and offal, the sheep and the hogs and 
 the cattle in the long narrow runways moving in an endless 
 stream on to the killing-rooms. There were moments when 
 it seemed as if a million great, round, meek eyes were fixed 
 on him in reproach; he aroused himself with a start, and the 
 four walls of his bedroom, with the shadows from the dim 
 light, were a positive relief. 
 
 With feverish restlessness his mind wandered from one 
 detail of his great business to another, worrying to think 
 what would become of it if he did not get well. Every time 
 he thought of Will a feeling of depression rather than of 
 anger came over him, and he began to doubt whether he had 
 treated the boy quite fairly; but then he saw the red and 
 bloated features of Jem Keating, the worthless sot, the man 
 who years before had his heart filled with rage. Yet his 
 mind did not dwell long on any particular matter; several 
 times he tried to concentrate his thoughts, to forget, if possi 
 ble, his sufferings, but his fancy wandered, queer shapes and 
 imaginings assailed him. The shadows on the walls danced 
 about as if suddenly imbued with life, coming toward him, 
 bending over the bed, trying to snatch the clothes off him to 
 get at the place on his side. 
 
 On a sudden he could see that they had knives in their 
 hands. They would kill him, and with a cry of terror he 
 tried to push the shadows away. For a second they van 
 ished from the bedside and went back to their places on the 
 walls. He thought he saw his wife moving about the room, 
 - he had been dozing and dreaming, that was all. 
 But soon the shadows began to dance about again as they 
 
 [385]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 came down from the wall, and this time he was sure they 
 gathered about his bed and looked at him. He could see 
 them more plainly, for it was daylight; he could even hear 
 their voices. They were trying to talk to him, but he would 
 not answer, he knew better than that; he would keep quiet 
 and pretend he was asleep, and they would go away, would 
 go back to the walls and stay there. He would just hold to 
 the bedclothes so they could not get at him. But he could 
 feel them tugging, and as they grabbed him by the hands 
 and held him tight, he tried to cry out, to scream for help, 
 to roll over, to get away; but they held him, threw back the 
 bedclothes, and he could feel them touch the spot on his side 
 and tap on his stomach. He knew they were looking for a 
 place to thrust their knives, and the sweat stood out upon his 
 forehead as he groaned and fought, until in an agony of des 
 peration he opened his eyes wide and saw his wife and three 
 men about the bed. He recognized one as the doctor he had 
 seen before, and as his mind cleared a little he knew the others 
 were doctors. He must have been dreaming. 
 
 But who had called them ? A frown came over his face, 
 and he was on the point of ordering every one out of the 
 room, when the one he knew spoke to him gently: 
 
 "You feel better now, Mr. Ganton? " 
 
 He did not feel any better, but he would not admit it. 
 He would not tell those men, so he turned on his side and 
 faced the wall without answering. 
 
 For a long time there was a hum of subdued voices. They 
 were talking together, but he could not hear what they said, 
 and had no desire to. So long as they did not bother him 
 and did not try to meddle he did not care. . . . But why 
 did they not go ? 
 
 [386]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 In a little while they did go, and his wife bent over him. 
 
 "John," she said softly, "are you awake? Do you 
 know me ? " 
 
 That irritated him, and he answered impatiently: 
 
 "Of course I know you; why do you ask such a fool 
 question ? " 
 
 He could hear something like a sigh of relief as she said : 
 
 "The doctors want you to take this medicine, John." 
 
 He turned angrily. 
 
 " What are those doctors doing here ? Who called them ? 
 Send them away. Tell them to go " His voice died 
 away in a groan, the intense pain he was suffering over 
 came him. 
 
 " You have been so sick all night long, that you did n t 
 know me at all. We could n t do anything with you. Take 
 this; the doctors say it will ease the pain." 
 
 He took the medicine without further protest, and eyed 
 his wife suspiciously, as if desirous of asking something, and 
 yet being afraid to. At length he said: 
 
 " Did they look me over at all ? " 
 
 She hesitated a second and replied timidly: 
 
 " They had to, John. It could n t be helped, they had 
 to find out what was the matter." 
 
 He turned his head toward the wall. The worst had 
 happened: he had not been dreaming; the shadows had 
 come down and held him and pulled the clothes off. 
 
 " Well, what do they say ? " he asked, as if indifferent to 
 their opinions. " Do they want to cut me open ? " 
 
 "Oh, no: not that," his wife exclaimed hurriedly. "I 
 heard one say an operation would do no good." 
 
 A feeling of relief came over him. The terror of weeks 
 [387]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 lifted from his breast, and he no longer cared how many 
 doctors looked him over so long as there would be no cutting. 
 On the contrary, he felt a sudden curiosity to know what they 
 did think was the matter with him. 
 
 " Have they gone ? " he asked. 
 
 " No; they are down in the library holding a consultation." 
 
 "When they get their minds made up I want to see them. 
 . . . Who are they, anyway ? " 
 
 She named the two best-known surgeons in the city, 
 one a famous specialist in abdominal troubles. 
 
 " Yes ; I ve heard their names. They would rather cut 
 a man up than eat. I wonder why they did n t want to cut 
 into me." 
 
 When the doctors did come up he was wide awake and 
 in possession of all his faculties; the pain had subsided, and 
 he felt easier in every way. As they approached the bedside 
 he eyed them with something of the old look of suspicion in 
 the gray eyes, now deeply sunken beneath the overhanging 
 bushy brows. 
 
 One of the surgeons, the famous specialist, cleared his 
 throat as if about to speak, but got no farther than a guttural 
 "Ahem!" 
 
 John Ganton became impatient; as the pain subsided 
 his irritability increased. 
 
 " Well, what is the matter with me ? That is what I d 
 like to know. Speak out, and don t try to hide things." 
 
 Again the eminent specialist cleared his throat, and tried 
 to veneer the bitter truth with a series of high-sounding 
 phrases. 
 
 John Ganton listened wearily; it was mostly Greek to 
 him. He had not the faintest idea what the great specialist 
 
 [388]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 was talking about, except when peritonitis was mentioned ; he 
 knew what peritonitis was, a kind of an inflammation about 
 the stomach, and if that was all then he would come around 
 all right in a short time; but the lump in his side, why did 
 they say nothing about that ? At length he broke in abruptly : 
 
 "What s that lump in my side, doctor?" 
 
 The surgeon seemed confused ; he looked at his colleagues, 
 and it was so long before he replied John Ganton knew they 
 were trying to conceal something. 
 
 " I want to know the truth, doctor, and no beating about 
 the bush." 
 
 His voice was so firm and his manner so peremptory, that 
 the three physicians understood they must let him know his 
 real condition. Dropping his professional manner, the great 
 surgeon tried to break the truth as kindly and gently as 
 possible. His heart was not so callous he could pronounce 
 the death sentence unmoved. 
 
 " I wish, Mr. Ganton, we could give you more encourage 
 ment, but the truth is, your condition is very serious. The 
 trouble is with the liver; we fear you are suffering from a 
 cancer 
 
 The doctor paused and looked at his silent colleagues. 
 To John Ganton the term "cancer" carried a terrible signifi 
 cance. He knew it meant death sooner or later; he knew in 
 most cases it meant an operation, and all his fears suddenly 
 revived. Nerving himself, he asked hoarsely: 
 
 "Do you propose to cut me open, doctor?" 
 
 The surgeon shook his head doubtfully. " If it is a cancer 
 it would do no good, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 " But suppose it is n t a cancer ? " the old man was grasp 
 ing at every straw. 
 
 [389]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 " The diagnosis is plain. We feel there can be very little 
 doubt " 
 
 "You are not sure; you don t know for certain," he mut 
 tered hoarsely. 
 
 "No; we do not know for certain, and we could only find 
 out positively by opening it up so we could see." 
 
 For a long time John Ganton was silent, so long that the 
 doctors thought the opiate was taking effect and he was going 
 to sleep. But he was not; his mind was never more active 
 than at that moment. He was thinking, thinking that after 
 all it might be better to let them cut into him a little and 
 make sure. He could not stand the awful suspense of the 
 days and weeks to follow. He would rather die under the 
 surgeon s knife than die by inches from hour to hour. In 
 the presence of that malignant reality, a cancer, the idea 
 of an operation suddenly lost all its terrors. He even felt 
 angry with the fool doctors for not insisting upon finding out 
 the truth at once. Why should they stand there guessing, as 
 if his life were some game to be played by the wits ? Why 
 did they not go ahead and make sure? If that lump was 
 a cancer he was a dead man anyway; if it was not, then 
 they might take it out or do something; he must get rid of 
 that lump or he would die. . . . 
 
 He opened his eyes. The doctors were whispering 
 together in the centre of the room. What were they talking 
 about now ? W r hy did n t they speak up so he could hear ? 
 
 "Doctor," he called out sharply. 
 
 The great specialist came to the side of the bed. 
 
 "Look here, doctor, I want you to find out for certain 
 whether that is cancer or not. Will you have to cut very 
 deep ? " 
 
 [390]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 "No, Mr. Ganton, the operation would be very slight; 
 there would be no danger connected with the mere explora 
 tion, but if it is cancer your condition is desperate, for the 
 disease is well advanced." The great surgeon now spoke 
 plainly and earnestly as man to man, with no subterfuge, 
 no evasion in his manner. John Ganton liked him better 
 and had confidence in him. 
 
 "Well, doctor," he said after a pause, "I don t propose 
 to lie here and suffer hell without knowing whether I am 
 dying or not. I want to find out, and find out quick, so go 
 ahead." 
 
 With that he turned his face to the wall and closed his 
 eyes. One of the doctors bent over and looked at him, and 
 said softly, "He is going to sleep." He heard them tiptoe 
 softly out of the room, and he was alone. He did not feel 
 drowsy, and the pain was mostly gone, leaving only a dull 
 sensation about his stomach. The hypodermic they had 
 given him made him more comfortable, but he was not 
 sleepy. He opened his eyes and gazed at the quaint pattern 
 of the old-fashioned wall-paper, noticing that in one place 
 the careless hanger had not matched the two strips of paper 
 perfectly, and every flower up and down the line was slightly 
 askew. It annoyed him so that he wondered why he had 
 never noticed it before in all the years he had slept in that 
 bed. It irritated him so he shut his eyes, but when he opened 
 them later the flowers were still queer; he would have that 
 fixed if they had to repaper the entire room ; he would attend 
 to that as soon as he got out, but suppose he never got out, 
 never left his bed ; did not the doctor say it might come any 
 moment ? Even now it might be lurking in the hallway just 
 outside his door, or hovering like a shadow beside his bed; 
 
 [391]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 he pulled the clothes tight about his neck and once more 
 shut his eyes ; this time he slept, but his sleep was troubled 
 by strange dreams, were they dreams or memories ? He 
 dreamed he was a child ; he saw a dusty, sandy road stretch 
 ing between fields of grain and green pastures; he was 
 walking with his grandmother. Soon they came to a little old 
 country burying-ground where the mounds were overgrown 
 with weeds and thickets of brush, where the few headstones 
 had toppled over and the boards with painted inscriptions 
 had rotted and decayed; the burying-ground was no longer 
 used ; they turned in and came to a hole in the ground where 
 two men were standing with shovels and ropes. He went 
 to the side of the hole and peered in; there at the bottom, 
 where the water trickled in, he saw a worm-eaten coffin, the 
 lid was off and the coffin was half -filled with water, but he 
 saw a face, a ghastly white and drawn face, a face which had 
 great hollows for eyes, and it grinned and showed its teeth; he 
 saw a mass of black hair coiled about the head, and the water 
 kept trickling in. He staggered back and sat down on the 
 pile of loose, damp earth, the men looked at him and laughed 
 coarsely. His grandmother was crying, she remembered 
 when that body at the bottom of the wet grave was filled 
 with life, when it played about the house and trotted 
 in her footsteps, when it knelt at her knees to pray and 
 nestled by her side to sleep; she remembered when the end 
 came, when the young bright eyes were closed in death, 
 when the fair hands were clasped upon the breast, when the 
 coffin was closed, and with a wreath of flowers was lowered 
 into this grave to moulder and dissolve into earth again, 
 that was long years before, years before he was born ; 
 but his grandmother remembered it all as if but the day 
 
 [392]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 before. Now the grave was opened to move the body to 
 a newer cemetery, she lived her sorrow over again, and she 
 cried as she stood there tall and thin. That was death, 
 that ghastly whiteness, those hollow sockets, the grinning 
 mouth, that was death. Covered with perspiration he 
 awoke. His wife was sitting by the bed, some woman 
 with a cap and in a queer dress was fussing with a 
 bottle over by the bureau, where did she come from ? 
 He could not have dozed more than three or four minutes. 
 
 " Are you awake, John ? " his wife asked softly. 
 
 " Yes, what time is it ? " 
 
 "Nearly four o clock. The nurse wants to give you 
 some medicine." 
 
 He looked at his wife puzzled and helpless, nearly four 
 o clock ! He had slept almost all day; and they had brought 
 in a trained nurse, a strange woman, without saying a word 
 to him. He did not like it, and he should let her go just as 
 soon as he got a little better; but not just now, for the pain 
 had come back in his side and stomach, and she could give 
 him something. 
 
 He took his medicine without protest, and lay there 
 watching the nurse arrange the bottles and make an entry 
 on a big sheet of paper spread on the bureau ; he was curious 
 to know what she put down, but did not ask. 
 
 That afternoon Browning cabled John to come home. 
 
 "There is not one chance in a thousand," the surgeon 
 said to Browning. "We shall make an incision to be abso 
 lutely certain, but there is no doubt." 
 
 " How long will he live ? " Browning asked anxiously. 
 
 " A week or a month, no one can tell. The end often 
 [393]
 
 Ganton &: Co. 
 
 comes pretty quickly in these cases; not only the liver, but 
 surrounding tissue, is badly involved, and he may die of 
 haemorrhage any minute." 
 " Then why operate ? " 
 
 "He insists upon it, to make sure of the diagnosis." 
 " That is strange, for he has always been mortally afraid 
 of the knife. I never knew a man so afraid of an operation." 
 "Well, I don t blame him for wanting to know for sure 
 what ails him. I should if I were in his place." 
 
 " But if it is n t cancer can you do anything to help him ? " 
 "Probably not; whatever the growth is it is too firmly 
 attached to the liver to be removed." 
 
 " Then the operation won t amount to anything in the end ? " 
 " No, only we shall find whether there is a cancer or not." 
 Browning could not see much sense in cutting a man open 
 to satisfy curiosity, even if the patient did insist. 
 
 " Doctors are altogether too willing to use the knife 
 nowadays," he remarked to his wife that evening. He was 
 anxious and worried and all at sea in the office without the 
 commanding influence of John Ganton. Browning had 
 never decided an important matter without referring it to 
 his employer, and the foreign managers were expected to 
 refer everything except routine business to the home office. 
 John Ganton was more than the life, he was the very soul, 
 of his great company ; and unless some one of like force and 
 decision could take his place the entire business must be 
 reorganized on a very different basis. 
 
 "What will you do if he dies?" Mrs. Browning asked 
 apprehensively. 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure I don t know. Will could 
 never run the business even if - 
 
 [394]
 
 The Sentence of Death 
 
 " How about John ? " 
 
 "I don t know. I am afraid he won t take hold; he 
 does n t like the Yards." 
 
 " But he may have to, whether he likes to or not," Mrs. 
 Browning remarked emphatically. 
 
 " It s hard driving an unwilling horse. I cabled John 
 to-day, the doctors said he ought to be here." 
 
 The news that John Ganton was very sick, that there had 
 been a consultation of surgeons, that he could not live, that 
 there would be an operation, and much more to the same 
 effect spread over the city and through the Yards with 
 lightning-like rapidity. 
 
 Within a few hours the rumors became greatly exagger 
 ated and distorted. It was reported that there had been an 
 operation and he had died under the knife, that it had turned 
 out nothing was the matter, but the surgeons had killed him, 
 this the men at the Yards firmly believed until convinced 
 to the contrary; though even when told that he was alive 
 and probably in no immediate danger, they insisted the 
 surgeons would kill him in the end. 
 
 Doc Ruggles did much to confirm this belief. He had 
 no use for surgeons, veterinary or otherwise, of the modern 
 school; he did not believe in the use of the knife; in his 
 opinion a red-hot iron was worth a dozen knives, and a 
 blister never killed any one. 
 
 "I d fix that lump in his side," he said, nodding his head 
 emphatically, " I d burn that out of him in a jiffy," and not 
 a man about Ganton & Co. s stables doubted old Doc s 
 ability to do what he said he could; not one of them was 
 afraid of a red-hot iron, but a knife that was very dif 
 ferent. In their business knives were used to kill. 
 
 [395]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 JOHN GANTON S VISION 
 
 ALL the morning long, John Ganton watched the 
 preparations for the operation. He refused to be 
 moved to a hospital; he did not care to die cooped 
 up in one of those terrible buildings. 
 
 The big front guest-room, which had not been used since, 
 since he could not recall when it had been occupied 
 was thrown open, cleaned, dusted, and aired, although it 
 really did not need cleaning or dusting, for it was kept in per 
 fect order. He insisted on having the door of his room left 
 open, so he could see what was going on. 
 
 First one of the surgeons came with a younger man who 
 had a silky, blonde beard, wore glasses, and smelt like a 
 drug-shop; this young man bustled about with an air of 
 such importance it irritated the old man. "I wonder who 
 that young idiot is," he said to himself. The young fellow 
 ordered the carpet up and the floor scrubbed with some queer 
 liquid. The curtains had to be taken down, leaving only 
 the shades. The stuffy upholstered furniture was moved 
 out. The huge mahogany bed was carried into the third 
 story, and a narrow white-enamelled iron bed, hardly more 
 than a cot, put in its place. 
 
 " I wonder if the young idiot thinks I am going to sleep 
 in that, " the old man muttered as he watched these changes 
 with a hostile eye. 
 
 When he learned the young man was one of the assistants 
 [396]
 
 John Ganton s Vision 
 
 to the celebrated specialist, the little confidence he had in 
 surgeons evaporated completely; if they could tolerate such 
 half -ripe whipper-snappers about them, then their profession 
 was as big a sham as he had always thought it was. It 
 annoyed him to hear his nurse call the young idiot, with a 
 beard like a floss of green corn, " Doctor," as if he knew 
 enough to be anything more than an office-boy; the three 
 physicians, taken together, did not put on so many airs as 
 this young fellow. 
 
 A little later he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and 
 two men came up carrying a long narrow thing with cloth 
 on it, that looked at first like a box. The perspiration 
 started out on his forehead and a cold chill went through 
 him, could it be a box, a a For a moment he 
 thought they were making preparations for the worst, until 
 he saw that it was only a long, narrow table. " That must be 
 the operating-table," he thought; "they will lay me on that, 
 and then they will stick the knife in me." He shuddered, 
 for whenever he thought of the knife all he could see was the 
 pig-sticking room at the Yards, the small vat-like place 
 where the sticker stood up to his ankles in blood and thrust 
 his long, sharp knife in the throats of the squealing hogs as 
 they slid rapidly down the iron runway, dangling from the 
 track above by their hind legs. John Ganton knew how 
 it was done, for he had stuck pigs himself, just a quick 
 jab with the long knife, right in the throat, a gush of red, 
 warm blood, and the pig would go sliding on, squealing 
 louder than ever, while a dozen more came dangling after it, 
 each kicking and spouting blood as if its last mission in life 
 was to get rid of all the blood it contained. He could see 
 himself stretched upon that narrow table, he could see the 
 
 [397]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 knife, the cut, the blood, he felt sick at his stomach, and 
 partially turned away in the effort to shut out the vision. 
 
 By-and-bye another nurse came in the same cap and 
 uniform, and with her a lot of bottles and queerly shaped 
 dishes. She busied herself in the front room. Every time 
 he caught a glimpse of her through the open doors and hall 
 way she was cleaning and wiping the dishes, arranging the 
 bottles, or squeezing out big sponges. She wanted to close 
 the door, but he would not have it; he did not propose to be 
 kept shut up like an old woman. He wanted to know what 
 was going on, it was his operation. He took a certain 
 amount of satisfaction in feeling that all this was being 
 arranged for him; that he was the principal personage in the 
 drama to be enacted, and not the young idiot of a doctor, not 
 the nurses, not even the great surgeon himself. He remem 
 bered that as a small boy going to the dentist to have a tooth 
 out he was the centre of a group of admiring rather than 
 sympathizing companions. They stood at the foot of the 
 stairs while he went up, all his courage vanishing the 
 moment he left them. Funny he should recall that expe 
 rience of nearly sixty years ago at this time. Why, the 
 narrow wooden stairway leading to the dentist s office was 
 just as plain ! The stairs were so dirty they probably had not 
 been swept all summer. He had not noticed it at the time, 
 for his bare feet were used to dirt in those days; but he re 
 membered it now. The dentist was such a fussy little 
 man, with red whiskers and a bald head; his small office had 
 only one window, fronting on the main street of the vil 
 lage, and on this window was painted a big white tooth; 
 there was a glass jar filled with teeth which had been pulled 
 from young and old during the years he had practised 
 
 [398]
 
 John Ganton s Vision 
 
 there, more teeth from the old than the young, for all the 
 boys and most of the girls carried theirs away as trophies. 
 How plain it all appeared! That was his first operation, 
 and beyond the pulling of hollow and aching teeth he had 
 known no other. 
 
 During the days he had been in bed, during the hours he 
 had restlessly wandered about the house, so many events 
 and scenes of his early life had come back to him ! When the 
 pain was intense he could not concentrate his mind, he could 
 not keep it within the narrow confines of the present, but 
 as if released by bodily suffering, it ran riot over his entire 
 career. Often he grew very tired of these endless recollec 
 tions and tried to forget, tried to think of nothing at all, but 
 when he succeeded in blotting out the past his present condi 
 tion with all his disagreeable sensations rushed in upon him. 
 Would he never rest? Would he never again be free from 
 that terrible consciousness of self? . 
 
 Three o clock was the hour fixed for the operation. A 
 little after one John Ganton had a long talk with his wife. 
 He had not talked so long with her since since he 
 could not remember when. For many years they had drifted 
 apart in the big, gloomy house; in all her attachments and 
 sympathies she had remained as she always had been, while 
 he had developed along lines she could neither follow nor 
 comprehend. They had lived under the same roof, but as 
 two beings from different walks of life. In the presence of 
 death they drew together once more ; he leaned on her, and 
 she felt pride in her burden. 
 
 During the hour they were by themselves her eyes were 
 filled with tears, and more than once his own were wet. In 
 
 [399]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 spite of the doctor s assurance that there was no danger in the 
 examination they were about to make, he feared he might 
 not come out from under the anaesthetic, that he would 
 never regain consciousness. All day long this notion 
 haunted him. 
 
 He asked for Will, but Will had not been home since the 
 Saturday before; he had not been seen at the clubs since 
 Sunday, and no one knew where he was. When they told 
 him Will could not be found, something of the old, angry look 
 came into his face, but it passed away quickly, and he said 
 nothing. 
 
 When they came in to prepare him he was lying quietly 
 on his back, with his wife s thin white hand clasped in his. 
 
 His interest was at once aroused in all they did. 
 
 When the two nurses and the young assistant began to 
 clean his side and abdomen with water and alcohol and some 
 other liquid, and swathe him with linen bandages, he angrily 
 told the young fellow to leave him alone, to let the nurses 
 attend to him; then when he saw how surprised and cha 
 grined the young man was, he was sorry he had spoken so 
 harshly. The nurses bathed him so gently, he scarcely felt 
 the pressure of their trained fingers; they handled him like 
 a great baby. But he would not let the doctors carry him 
 into the front room. 
 
 " I m not so far gone as all that, doctor," he protested 
 when they were about to pick him up. I can manage to get 
 there, if," he added, struggling to rise, "you will give me 
 a lift." 
 
 He was bent and thin, and so feeble that as his wife saw 
 him totter through the hall, she buried her face in both her 
 hands and wept as if her heart would break, she had never 
 
 [400]
 
 John Canton s Vision 
 
 expected to see her big, burly husband like that. They had 
 told her to remain where she was until it was all over; the 
 doctors had assured her many times there was no danger, 
 for they did not intend to go very deep, only far enough to 
 find out what was the matter. It would be only a few min 
 utes, half an hour at the most; but how long, how endlessly 
 long it seemed since the door of that front room was closed, 
 and then, when it did open 
 
 Assisted by two of the doctors John Ganton walked feebly 
 through the hall to the front room; he stopped just a 
 moment at the door of his own room and looked back. Ever 
 since the house was built he had slept in that room, and not 
 a piece of furniture had been changed. He never cared for 
 new things ; the fact that the heavy black-walnut furniture, the 
 best they could buy at the time, had long passed out of vogue 
 did not bother him. Having adjusted himself to its ponder 
 ous pretentiousness, he found it comfortable. Now he saw 
 the bed with the counterpane and blanket thrown back in 
 disorder, he saw the stand at the head of the bed with its 
 bottles and a glass half filled with water and the spoon from 
 which he had taken his medicine a few moments before; he 
 saw the bureau and the paper on which the nurse kept his 
 record, her pencil lying where she dropped it after making the 
 last entry. . . . What would be her next ? he asked him 
 self. His eye took in every detail in the few seconds he 
 stood there steadying himself with one hand against the door 
 jamb; last of all, his glance dwelt affectionately, even wist 
 fully, on his wife, who had meekly taken her seat by the win 
 dow to wait, obeying quite literally the doctor s injunction to 
 sit down and be patient. 
 
 He might never enter the room again, that was the 
 [401]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 thought which haunted him, and this last look seemed to him 
 like a farewell. 
 
 All the doctors wore white gowns tied across their backs, 
 even the young assistant was in white, as if he, too, played 
 a part; he stood at the head of the long, narrow operating- 
 table, and on the small stand beside him there were large, 
 queerly shaped sponges, and a black bottle that held a pint 
 or more. It annoyed John Ganton to see this young fellow 
 with his silky blonde beard standing there with an air of 
 such importance, why did they have him around ? 
 
 Pushed to one side there was a small square table with 
 some things on it. They were covered with a towel, so he 
 could not see what they were, but he knew that under the 
 towel were the instruments; they had put them out of sight, 
 so as not to frighten him, though, strangely enough, he was 
 no longer afraid. The operation did not worry him; he was 
 only anxious to get through with it, and find out whether or 
 not the lump in his side was really a cancer. He even wished 
 he could watch them open it so as to see for himself. 
 
 The doctors helped him on the narrow table covered with 
 a white sheet ; somehow the sheet looked to him as if it were 
 already spotted and splashed with blood. 
 
 They were very gentle with him, talking to him as if he 
 needed encouragement and reassurance: 
 
 " It will amount to nothing, Mr. Ganton." 
 
 " It will be over before you know it." 
 
 "You won t feel anything at all." 
 
 " If you will lie perfectly still and take the ether as if you 
 were going to sleep, you will be under the influence in no 
 time." 
 
 They kept saying these things while they were arranging 
 
 [402]
 
 John Ganton s Vision 
 
 him on the narrow table, but he made no reply. He did not 
 care what they said, he was interested only in what they were 
 doing. 
 
 They put broad straps about his legs, and he did not like 
 it, he could not move. The doctors took hold of his hands 
 gently but firmly, one on each side of the narrow table. He 
 saw the surgeon, the specialist, nod almost imperceptibly to 
 the young assistant with the silky blonde beard, and he heard 
 something poured out of a bottle. There was a sweet, sick 
 ening odor; he knew the young assistant was filling the 
 sponge with ether, and he wondered how they gave ether to 
 make a man go to sleep, whether they held it under his nose, 
 or 
 
 Suddenly the big soggy sponge was pressed down over 
 his mouth and nose, even to his eyes. He could not look up, 
 he could not breathe, he smothered, suffocated, strangled, 
 he struggled to free himself. But they held his hands and 
 arms, and some one took him by the head so he could not 
 turn or twist, he would die, they were smothering him, he 
 tried to call out; but the big wet sponge deadened the cry 
 into a groan. He held his breath, he would not inhale the 
 sickening stuff; it went all through him, it made him sick 
 at his stomach, he knew he should vomit, he could not help 
 it, he felt the retching, again he struggled to free himself, 
 but this time more feebly. His strength was gone, he felt 
 so tired. What was the use ? He would just rest. He no 
 longer minded the sweet smell of the ether, it was rather 
 pleasant. In fact, he could not smell it at all; the sponge 
 felt so cool upon his face he hoped they would not take it 
 away. He was not yet under the influence, he was sure of 
 that. He could hear voices, though they sounded far away. 
 
 [403]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 No, he was not yet unconscious, they must not begin yet, 
 they must wait, a feeling of terror swept over him at the 
 thought that they might cut into him before he was under 
 the ether. He would cry out to let them know he was still 
 awake; but he could not make a sound, he was conscious, 
 yet he could not speak, could not even groan. One hand 
 was free, but he could not lift it, the other some one held and 
 felt his pulse. Just as he felt so tired and sleepy he was 
 about ready to doze off, the sponge was lifted a little and 
 some one poked away at one of his eyes. What were they 
 trying to do now ? Some one pulled up one of his eyelids. 
 It was the young assistant with the silky blonde beard. Why 
 did n t he leave him alone ? W 7 hy should he disturb him 
 just as he was dropping off to sleep ? 
 
 They stopped poking his eyes, and he felt the wet sponge 
 again; but this time it was held lightly over his face and 
 removed frequently, as if they wished to give him a chance 
 to breathe. He did not care, he would just as soon breathe 
 the ether now that he was used to it; in fact, he rather liked it. 
 But he was not yet unconscious, he could hear voices, 
 but very distant, and he caught a clicking sound, as if they 
 were rattling a lot of knives and forks in a basket. They 
 were fussing with the instruments, but he was not uncon 
 scious, and they must wait a while yet. He would take deep 
 breaths of the sweet ether and go to sleep as quickly as he 
 could so they would get through. He was afraid they would 
 begin too soon, but every time he took the deep breaths the 
 sponge would be lifted a little, and they would poke away at 
 his eyes and wake him up; he began to feel angry at the 
 idiotic assistant who would not let him go to sleep. 
 
 Just then he felt they were doing something to his side, 
 [404]
 
 John Gan ton s Vision 
 
 feeling of it, putting something wet on it. He heard the 
 rattling of the instruments. They were getting ready; he 
 knew it, and he was not asleep. He could hear them, he 
 could feel what they were doing, and they would cut into him 
 while he was awake and kill him. His old terrors over 
 whelmed him, he tried to move, to struggle, to cry out, but 
 there was only a hoarse guttural sound which did not seem 
 to come from him, but from far away, and the sponge came 
 down over his mouth and nose, this time a little closer and 
 firmer 
 
 He knew they were feeling of his side, poking and work 
 ing at him, all of a sudden there was a sensation down there 
 as if they had drawn the sharp point of a needle across his 
 skin, or no, it was more like the edge of a piece of ice, it 
 was cold. What could they be doing now ? 
 
 After this first sensation he could feel nothing more, only 
 that they seemed to be fussing about his side, pulling it and 
 poking it so it ached a little, then working it with why did 
 they not put him to sleep and go ahead with the operation ? 
 He was getting tired, so weary, he would just go to sleep 
 anyway, ether or no ether, they could do as they pleased, he 
 no longer cared. For some time the young assistant had not 
 poked his eyes; for some time the big sponge had rested on 
 his nose and mouth, it felt so cool and good, they were so 
 interested in his side they must have forgotten all about him, 
 and now he would go to sleep ; he would have a good rest in 
 spite of them. 
 
 And he went to sleep, and he dreamed of the days when 
 he lived on the farm, of those bright, happy days when, a 
 little barefooted boy in patched and faded overalls which 
 
 [405]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 came to his armpits, he drove the cows to pasture and loitered 
 by the brook in the far meadow, or dangled his brown and 
 dirty legs from the rude bridge of tamarack logs ; he dreamed 
 of the crane which stood like a sentinel by the water s edge, 
 of the brilliant dragon-flies he often tried to catch, of the big 
 shiners which darted hither and thither through the rippling 
 waters; he could hear the hoarse croaking of the frogs at 
 night, the shrill sound of the grasshoppers in the fields, the 
 song of the distant whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. 
 
 He dreamed of his rough but kindly father, who rose with 
 the sun and worked all day long until after dark to earn 
 enough to support his family, the father who one day went 
 to bed in the bedroom downstairs, and after a few days 
 died; he could just remember how still the house was, how 
 dark they kept the room, the green shutters open just a little 
 for air, and how strange and white and rigid his father looked 
 in the long black box in the centre of the room. He 
 had never seen his father lie like that, in his Sunday coat 
 and waistcoat, with a big collar and white tie ; he stole in alone 
 and put the tips of his fingers on the white, the awfully white 
 forehead, but it was so cold and damp he shrank back terri 
 fied. Then came the funeral, the neighbors with their bug 
 gies and teams hitched to the fence along the road, the old 
 white-haired minister from the village, the dusty ride to the 
 burying-ground, a mound of earth, a few faded flowers, 
 and that was all. 
 
 He dreamed of his two sisters who had died years and 
 years ago; and he dreamed of his mother, of a thin figure 
 in black who hugged him close to her and cried over him, 
 who seemed to suffer so much. He remembered how she 
 got thinner and thinner, until the village doctor told her she 
 
 [4061
 
 John Ganton s Vision 
 
 must go to the hospital in the neighboring city and have 
 something done, he never knew what. But they took him 
 to see her in the hospital one day, where she lay so still on 
 the narrow iron bed; somehow it seemed to him like the 
 village jail. She held his little brown hand in both of hers 
 and kissed him again and again, and cried when they took 
 him away. He never saw her again, not even in her coffin, 
 for they did not open it when they brought her back to the 
 village to be buried beside his father, the same neighbors 
 with their horses hitched to the fence, the same white-haired 
 minister from the village, the same burying-ground, an open 
 grave, a few flowers, and that was all. . . . 
 
 But he dreamed stranger dreams than these : he dreamed 
 the flowers that seemed withered and dead sprang to life 
 and lifted up their heads in fragrance, that the graves opened 
 and those he loved came forth in dim, mysterious shapes, that 
 they hovered about him, stretched out their hands toward 
 him, beckoned him to join them; and in the far distance he 
 saw a city, the houses of which were of gold and the palaces 
 of clear crystal, it was the city his mother described so 
 often in those days when she taught him to pray, that 
 beautiful city of light; there it was in all its fair reality just 
 as she had said; so he mounted the broad, white stairway, 
 each step a filmy cloud, and he came to the gates of pearl, 
 and he dreamed that before they closed behind him he looked 
 back on the earth beneath, but it was hidden and lost in 
 darkness, shrouded in smoke and bathed in steam and noi 
 some vapors, a place of slaughter and offal. 
 
 [407]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE END AND THE BEGINNING 
 
 THREE days before young John Ganton arrived in 
 Chicago his father was buried in Graceland. In accord 
 ance with a wish expressed long before, they hollowed 
 out a great trench and made a pit of concrete, the bottom 
 and sides of which were more than two feet thick. Into this 
 pit they lowered the leaden coffin and sealed the top with a 
 slab of granite which only derricks could move. There 
 John Ganton, founder, creator, and head of Ganton & Co., 
 was laid to rest, to moulder and with the years decay; but 
 protected from contact with the all-dissolving earth. Gen 
 erations hence his body will remain intact. 
 
 The day after John arrived they opened the will; it was 
 a short, business-like document, executed recently. After 
 distributing a number of bequests to institutions which he 
 favored and to certain of the men who had worked for him 
 many years, and after making ample provision for his wife, 
 he left one million dollars in trust for Will, the income and 
 principal to be paid over upon his marriage, with the pro 
 viso, however, if he married a daughter of James Q. Keat 
 ing, "commonly known as Jem Keating " so the will 
 put it "the bequest should be null and void, and the fund 
 so held in trust should be distributed pro rata among the 
 several institutions hereinbefore named in clause three." 
 
 The entire rest and residue of the estate, in whatsoever it 
 [408]
 
 The End and the Beginning 
 
 might consist, was left to John Ganton, Jr., with the special 
 request that he "devote his life and energies to the service 
 of Ganton & Co." 
 
 They were assembled in the library, Mrs. Ganton, Will, 
 and John, their father s attorney, and Browning, who had 
 been invited to be present. 
 
 When the clause concerning him was read, Will Ganton s 
 face flushed, and he hung his head as if to suppress an ex 
 clamation of anger. He did not care about the money; in 
 all Chicago there was not a fellow who cared so little about 
 money; but it cut him to the quick to hear May Keating 
 referred to in such brutal terms, referred to as plainly as if 
 her name had been mentioned. A bitter feeling against his 
 father filled his heart. Up to that moment he had mourned 
 more than John, for his father had been nearer to him than 
 to his brother. In his clumsy way he had tried to cheer his 
 mother and sustain her under the awful shock of sudden 
 death; like a great dog, he had hung about the house, sitting 
 by her side, and comforting her in mute sympathy. He had 
 missed his father almost as much as she had, but now as he 
 listened to the monotonous accents of the lawyer reading the 
 clause which cut him off entirely if he married a daughter of 
 " Jem Keating," his sorrow gave way to a feeling of bitter 
 resentment. He was glad John was to have charge of the 
 business, that provision relieved him of a lot of responsi 
 bility and worry. He glanced at John to see how he took 
 it, but the latter s firm, smooth face betrayed not the slightest 
 emotion. He sat there looking at the attorney, and listening 
 as if his thoughts were elsewhere. 
 
 While the clause regarding Will was being read, John 
 [409]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 Ganton looked from the attorney to his brother in amaze 
 ment. Beyond a few hints contained in his mother s letters, 
 he knew nothing of what had been going on in Chicago, 
 nothing of Will s quarrel with their father. When away he 
 seldom read the Chicago papers, and never the society 
 columns, and he had no friends to keep him informed. 
 Hence his surprise as he heard how Will was cut off unless 
 he married, and cut off absolutely if he married May Keating. 
 The harsh injustice of his father s resentment struck him 
 forcibly, and he thought to himself, " I will make good that 
 wrong." 
 
 That he should be named as the future head of Ganton 
 & Co. did not surprise him at all, and this lack of surprise 
 came to him afterward as strange. 
 
 He knew he was powerless to evade the responsibility. 
 The "request" from the grave was merely the expression 
 of an overwhelming necessity. 
 
 When the reading of the will came to an end there was 
 silence for several minutes. The thin, keen-faced lawyer 
 looked from one to the other of the brothers curiously. It was 
 all quite beyond the comprehension of the mother, who sat 
 there in the deepest mourning, huddled in one of the big arm 
 chairs. All she understood was the reference to the Keating 
 girls and their father, and she felt sorry for Will when she 
 heard that. But all those long words about trusts and 
 trustees, and devises and bequests, with one provision after 
 another, she could make nothing of, so she said nothing. It 
 would all come right in the end, of that she was certain. 
 She kept thinking how lonely the big house seemed, and 
 wondering what she should do now her husband was gone. 
 
 Will was sitting be^t forward with his elbows on his 
 [410]
 
 The End and the Beginning 
 
 knees, his chin resting in both his hands; he had raised his 
 eyes from the carpet only since the reading of the clause 
 which so affected him. 
 
 The silence had become oppressive, when suddenly 
 John Ganton roused himself as if from a fit of abstraction 
 and asked: 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 The lawyer bowed his head, "There is nothing more, 
 Mr. Ganton." 
 
 "Do I understand that with the exception of certain 
 bequests, the provision for my mother, and the trust fund of 
 a million dollars for the benefit of my brother, my father has 
 left his entire estate to me to do with as I please ? " 
 
 " That is correct ; you are the principal and at the same 
 time the residuary legatee. There are no restrictions." 
 
 " Then, Will," he exclaimed in clear, measured tones, as 
 he rose and went where his brother was sitting, "we can 
 right the wrong which has been done you. If father had 
 lived he would have relented, and happily for us both there 
 is nothing to prevent my doing what is ri^ht between you 
 and me." 
 
 Will Ganton got up impulsively, grabbed his brother s 
 outstretched hand in both his own, and shook it vigorously 
 as he tried to speak; the conflicting emotions were too much 
 for him for several seconds, but at length, half choking, he 
 said: 
 
 "It s all right, John; you mean all right. You re just 
 the same good-hearted, generous fellow you were as a little 
 shaver. I knew you would say it. I was just waiting for 
 you to speak up, just to see if you had changed any. You 
 are all right," he repeated affectionately, " you you re 
 
 [411]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 all right; " and that was all he could say, but he threw his 
 arms about his brother s neck and hugged him as if he were 
 a child. 
 
 When John Ganton, Jr., entered the office of Ganton & 
 Co. , in La Salle Street, every employee in the great outer room 
 looked up and recognized him, though hardly more than a 
 dozen had ever seen him before. 
 
 He looked like his father, though he was not so tall, 
 not so burly, his face was thinner, his eyes were softer, 
 rounder, and bluer, but there was no mistaking the resem 
 blance; even the office-boy at the door noticed it; the jaws 
 were square and firm. As the keen salesman in New York 
 had remarked, there was a "bulldoggy" expression which 
 reminded them of the father. "A chip of the old block," 
 " Looks like him," " Better temper, I should say," " Not so 
 quick to fly off the handle," "Rather like his looks," " He 11 
 do," were some of the comments which spread from desk 
 to desk as he passed through to Browning s desk and with 
 him into the private office. 
 
 "You will find everything just as your father left it, Mr. 
 Ganton." It seemed funny to call him "Mr. Ganton." 
 Browning had always called both the boys by their first 
 names since they were little fellows. "Nothing has been 
 disturbed," he continued. " You have the key to the desk, 
 I believe." 
 
 John did not reply, but looked about him with a strange 
 feeling. So that was where his father had lived and worked 
 so many years, at that desk, seated in that big revolving 
 chair. For the second it seemed as if he were in the room, 
 as if an unseen presence hovered near them, as if his spirit 
 
 [412]
 
 The End and the Beginning 
 
 lingered wistfully, loath to relinquish control of the great 
 business. 
 
 The young man was silent so long that Browning began 
 to feel a little uneasy. At last he said with some hesitation : 
 
 "There are a good many telegrams, shall I bring them 
 in?" 
 
 " Not just yet. I will send for you shortly." 
 
 As Browning went out he closed the door after him. 
 
 John Ganton went to the window and looked out upon 
 the street and at the sign of the competitor on the windows 
 opposite, just as his father had been in the habit of doing a 
 dozen times a day. One of the men in the office of the com 
 pany across the street, looking over, exclaimed in surprise : 
 
 By the great Jehosaphat ! Look there, if that is n t 
 old John Ganton come to life, only he has renewed his 
 youth." 
 
 "Must be young John," some one remarked; "they said 
 he might be down to-day." 
 
 " Well, if he is n t the old man over again, I miss my 
 guess," the first speaker responded emphatically. 
 
 John turned from the window, took a small flat key 
 from his pocket, unlocked the desk, and pushed back the 
 big roll top. 
 
 Everything was just as his father had left it the last time 
 he was down, the day he had signed and acknowledged his 
 will. The pen with its big hard-rubber holder lay across 
 the sheet of blue blotting-paper where he had dropped it; 
 there was a big blot at the point where the ink had run off 
 and been absorbed. The small desk clock enclosed in a 
 sphere of glass had run down days before, and the hands 
 stood at thirteen minutes of six. John found himself won- 
 
 [413]
 
 Ganton & Co. 
 
 dering whether the clock had stopped in the morning or the 
 afternoon. He would wind it and set it by-and-bye. 
 
 There were a number of telegrams and letters pushed to 
 one side, as if his father had been too sick or too occupied 
 with other matters to attend to them; they were all of a 
 business nature, some important, others unimportant. 
 No doubt most of them had answered themselves, as many 
 telegrams and most letters will if lost or overlooked; he 
 would turn them all over to Browning. 
 
 At the left hand he noticed a file of papers carefully 
 gathered together and held by a steel spring clasp. To 
 his surprise he found they were his cablegrams, letters, and 
 reports, from the first wireless message about the Austrian 
 meat inspection order to the last memorandum he had sent 
 regarding business at the Liverpool office, all arranged in 
 chronological order. What were they doing on his father s 
 desk ? He could not imagine. There they were just as if 
 his father had been looking them over the last time he was 
 down. That such was the fact he afterward learned from 
 Browning, for his father had sent for the file about an hour 
 before he signed his will. 
 
 John Ganton looked over his own reports and corre 
 spondence with the interest of a man who is reminded of 
 a series of transactions long forgotten; he had his father s 
 faculty of deciding instantly, acting quickly, and dismissing 
 a matter from his mind completely; he did not burden his 
 memory with the debris of past transactions. 
 
 When he read that first wireless message, sent months 
 before, he recalled the beautiful summer day, the great ship, 
 its deckload of smiling and chatting passengers, the smok 
 ing-room, the pompous ambassador. He could hear the 
 
 [414]
 
 The End and the Beginning 
 
 hoarse buzz of the wireless instruments as the operator com 
 municated with the distant shore; he could see Mrs. Town- 
 send lounging indolently in her chair, all, it all came back 
 to him like a vision from another world, another life, for what 
 had that world and that life in common wHh the world and 
 life before him ? 
 
 It seemed so long ago. 
 
 With something like a sigh he straightened up, threw 
 his shoulders back as if bracing himself for a burden, and 
 sent for Browning to bring the letters and telegrams. 
 
 THE END 
 
 [415]
 
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