THE MAN WHO COULD 
 NOT LOSE 
 
They found Dromedary in the paddock, and thanked him, 
 
 and Carter left Dolly with him, while he 
 
 ran to collect his winnings 
 
THE MAN WHO 
 COULD NOT LOSE 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 LONDON 
 
 DUCKWORTH & CO., 
 
 3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C. 
 
 1912 
 
Copyright, 1911, by Charles Scribner's Sons, for the 
 United States of America 
 
 Printed by the Scribner Press 
 New York, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE MAN WHO COULD NOT LOSE .... I 
 
 '> 
 
 MY BURIED TREASURE 67 
 
 THE CONSUL 101 
 
 THE NATURE FAKER 139 
 
 THE LOST HOUSE 163 
 
 ^901.7 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 They found Dromedary in the paddock, and thanked 
 him, and Carter left Dolly with him, while he ran 
 to collect his winnings Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 As though giving a signal, he shot his hand into the 
 
 air 30 
 
 Carter rose. Leaning forward with a nod and a smile, 
 he presented the programme to the beautiful Miss 
 Winter 60 
 
 His eyes were wide with excitement, greed, and fear. 
 In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. " Get 
 out," he shouted 94 
 
 "Then I am to understand," he exclaimed, "that you 
 refuse to carry out the wishes of a United States 
 Senator and of the President of the United 
 States?" 132 
 
 With a cockney accent that made even the accompa- 
 nist grin, Ford lifted his voice 186 
 
 Something white sank through the semi-darkness. It 
 
 was a woman's glove 188 
 
 Then, covered by the fire from the roofs, he sprang 
 to the lamps and tilted them until they threw 
 their shafts into the windows of the third story . 246 
 
THE MAN WHO COULD 
 NOT LOSE 
 
THE MAN WHO COULD NOT LOSE 
 
 THE Carters had married in haste and refused 
 to repent at leisure. So Windly were they 
 in love, that they considered their marriage their 
 'greatest asset. The rest of the world, as repre- 
 sented by mutual friends, considered it the only 
 thing that could be urged against either of them. 
 While single, each had been popular. As a bach- 
 elor, young "Champ" Carter had filled his modest 
 place acceptably. Hostesses sought him for din- 
 ners and week-end parties, men of his own years, 
 for golf and tennis, and young girls liked him 
 because when he talked to one of them he never 
 talked of himself, or let his eyes wander toward 
 any other girl. He had been brought up by a 
 rich father in an expensive way, and the rich 
 father had then died leaving Champneys alone in 
 the world, with no money, and with even a few 
 of his father's debts. These debts of honor the 
 son, ever since leaving Yale, had been paying off. 
 It had kept him very poor, for Carter had elected 
 to live by his pen, and, though he wrote very care- 
 
 3 
 
; -:-i;hj$:;M3n;)yfio Could Not Lose 
 
 fully and slowly, the editors of the magazines had 
 been equally careful and slow in accepting what 
 he wrote. 
 
 With an income so uncertain that the only 
 thing that could be said of it with certainty was 
 that it was too small to support even himself, 
 Carter should not have thought of matrimony. 
 Nor, must it be said to his credit, did he think 
 of it until the girl came along that he wanted to 
 marry. 
 
 The trouble with Dolly Ingram was her mother. 
 Her mother was a really terrible person. She was 
 quite impossible. She was a social leader, and of 
 such importance that visiting princes and society 
 reporters, even among themselves, did not laugh 
 at her. Her visiting list was so small that she did 
 not keep a social secretary, but, it was said, wrote 
 her invitations herself. Stylites on his pillar was 
 less exclusive. Nor did he take his exalted but 
 lonely position with less sense of humor. When 
 Ingram died and left her many millions to dispose 
 of absolutely as she pleased, even to the allowance 
 she should give their daughter, he left her with 
 but one ambition unfulfilled. That was to marry 
 her Dolly to an English duke. Hungarian princes, 
 French marquises, Italian counts, German barons, 
 Mrs. Ingram could not see. Her son-in-law must 
 
 4 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 be a duke. She had her eyes on two, one some- 
 what shopworn, and the other a bankrupt; and in 
 training, she had one just coming of age. Already 
 she saw herself a sort of dowager duchess by mar- 
 riage, discussing with real dowager duchesses the 
 way to bring up teething earls and viscounts. For 
 three years in Europe Mrs. Ingram had been drill- 
 ing her daughter for the part she intended her to 
 play. But, on returning to her native land, Dolly, 
 who possessed all the feelings, thrills, and heart- 
 throbs of which her mother was ignorant, ungrate- 
 fully fell deeply in love with Champneys Carter, 
 and he with her. 
 
 It was always a question of controversy between 
 them as to which had first fallen in love with the 
 other. As a matter of history, honors were even. 
 
 He first saw her during a thunder storm, in the 
 paddock at the races, wearing a rain-coat with the 
 collar turned up and a Panama hat with the brim 
 turned down. She was talking, in terms of affec- 
 tionate familiarity, with Cuthbert's two-year-old, 
 The Scout. The Scout had just lost a race by a 
 nose, and Dolly was holding the nose against her 
 cheek and comforting him. The two made a 
 charming picture, and, as Carter stumbled upon 
 it and halted, the race-horse lowered his eyes and 
 seemed to say: "Wouldn't you throw a race for 
 
 5 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 this ?" And the girl raised her eyes and seemed 
 to say: "What a nice-looking, bright-looking 
 young man! Why don't I know who you are ?" 
 
 So, Carter ran to find Cuthbert, and told him 
 The Scout had gone lame. When, on their return, 
 Miss Ingram refused to loosen her hold on The 
 Scout's nose, Cuthbert apologetically mumbled 
 Carter's name, and in some awe Miss Ingram's 
 name, and then, to his surprise, both young people 
 lost interest in The Scout, and wandered away 
 together into the rain. 
 
 After an hour, when they parted at the club 
 stand, for which Carter could not afford a ticket, 
 he asked wistfully: "Do you often come racing ?" 
 and Miss Ingram said: "Do you mean, am I 
 coming to-morrow?" 
 
 "I do! "said Carter. 
 
 "Then, why didn't you say that?" inquired 
 Miss Ingram. "Otherwise I mightn't have come. 
 I have the Holland House coach for to-morrow, 
 and, if you'll join us, I'll save a place for you, and 
 you can sit in our box. 
 
 "I've lived so long abroad," she explained, 
 "that I'm afraid of not being simple and direct 
 like other American girls. Do you think I'll get 
 on here at home ?" 
 
 "If you get on with every one else as well as 
 6 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 you've got on with me," said Carter morosely, "I 
 will shoot myself." 
 
 Miss Ingram smiled thoughtfully. 
 
 "At eleven, then," she said, "in front of the 
 Holland House." 
 
 Carter walked away with a flurried, heated suffo- 
 cation around his heart and a joyous lightness in 
 his feet. Of the first man he met he demanded, 
 who was the beautiful girl in the rain-coat ? And 
 when the man told him, Carter left him without 
 speaking. For she was quite the richest girl in 
 America. But the next day that fault seemed to 
 distress her so little that Carter, also, refused to 
 allow it to rest on his conscience, and they were 
 very happy. And each saw that they were happy 
 because they were together. 
 
 The ridiculous mother was not present at the 
 races, but after Carter began to call at their house 
 and was invited to dinner, Mrs. Ingram received 
 him with her habitual rudeness. As an impedi- 
 ment in the success of her ambition she never con- 
 sidered him. As a boy friend of her daughter's, 
 she classed him with "her" lawyer and "her" 
 architect and a little higher than the "person" 
 who arranged the flowers. Nor, in her turn, did 
 Dolly consider her mother; for within two months 
 another matter of controversy between Dolly and 
 
 7 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Carter was as to who had first proposed to the 
 other. Carter protested there never had been any 
 formal proposal, that from the first they had both 
 taken it for granted that married they would be. 
 But Dolly insisted that because he had been afraid 
 of her money, or her mother, he had forced her to 
 propose to him. 
 
 " You could not have loved me very much," she 
 complained, "if you'd let a little thing like money 
 make you hesitate." 
 
 "It's not a little thing," suggested Carter. 
 "They say it's several millions, and it happens to 
 be yours. If it were mine, now!" 
 
 "Money," said Dolly sententiously, "is given 
 people to make them happy, not to make them 
 miserable." 
 
 "Wait until I sell my stories to the magazines," 
 said Carter, "and then I will be independent and 
 can support you." 
 
 The plan did not strike Dolly as one likely to 
 lead to a hasty marriage. But he was sensitive 
 about his stories, and she did not wish to hurt his 
 feelings. 
 
 "Let's get married first," she suggested, "and 
 then I can buy you a magazine. We'll call it Car- 
 ter's Magazine and we will print nothing in it but 
 your stories. Then we can laugh at the editors!" 
 
 8 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "Not half as loud as they will," said Carter. 
 
 With three thousand dollars in bank and three 
 stories accepted and seventeen still to hear from, 
 and with Dolly daily telling him that it was evi- 
 dent he did not love her, Carter decided they were 
 ready, hand in hand, to leap into the sea of matri- 
 mony. His interview on the subject with Mrs. 
 Ingram was most painful. It lasted during the 
 time it took her to walk out of her drawing-room 
 to the foot of her staircase. She spoke to herself, 
 and the only words of which Carter was sure were 
 "preposterous" and "intolerable insolence." Later 
 in the morning she sent a note to his flat, forbid- 
 ding him not only her daughter, but the house in 
 which her daughter lived, and even the use of the 
 United States mails and the New York telephone 
 wires. She described his conduct in words that, 
 had they come from a man, would have afforded 
 Carter every excuse for violent exercise. 
 
 Immediately in the wake of the note arrived 
 Dolly, in tears, and carrying a dressing-case. 
 
 "I have left mother!" she announced. "And I 
 have her car downstairs, and a clergyman in it, un- 
 less he has run away. He doesn't want to marry 
 us, because he's afraid mother will stop supporting 
 his flower mission. You get your hat and take 
 me where he can marry us. No mother can talk 
 
 9 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 about the man I love the way mother talked about 
 you, and think I won't marry him the same day!" 
 
 Carter, with her mother's handwriting still red 
 before his eyes, and his self-love shaken with rage, 
 flourished the letter. 
 
 "And no mother," he shouted, "can call me a 
 'fortune-hunter' and a 'cradle-robber' and think 
 I'll make good by marrying her daughter! Not 
 until she BEGS me to!" 
 
 Dolly swept toward him like a summer storm. 
 Her eyes were wet and flashing. 
 
 "Until who begs you to ?" she demanded. " Who 
 are you marrying; mother or me?" 
 
 "If I marry you," cried Carter, frightened but 
 also greatly excited, "your mother won't give you 
 a penny!" 
 
 "And that," taunted Dolly, perfectly aware that 
 she was ridiculous, "is why you won't marry me!" 
 
 For an instant, long enough to make her blush 
 with shame and happiness, Carter grinned at her. 
 "Now, just for that," he said, "I won't kiss you, 
 and I will marry you!" 
 
 But, as a matter of fact, he did kiss her. 
 
 Then he gazed happily around his small sitting- 
 room. 
 
 "Make yourself at home here," he directed, 
 "while I pack my bag." 
 
 10 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "I mean to make myself very much at home 
 here," said Dolly joyfully, "for the rest of my 
 life." 
 
 From the recesses of the flat Carter called: "The 
 rent's paid only till September. After that we live 
 in a hall bedroom and cook on a gas-stove. And 
 that's no idle jest, either." 
 
 Fearing the publicity of the City Hall license 
 bureau, they released the clergyman, much to the 
 relief of that gentleman, and told the chauffeur to 
 drive arcoss the State line into Connecticut. 
 
 "It's the last time we can borrow your mother's 
 car," said Carter, "and we'd better make it go as 
 far as we can." 
 
 It was one of those days in May. Blue was the 
 sky and sunshine was in the air, and in the park 
 little girls from the tenements, in white, were play- 
 ing they were queens. Dolly wanted to kidnap 
 two of them for bridesmaids. In Harlem they 
 stopped at a jeweller's shop, and Carter got out 
 and bought a wedding-ring. 
 
 In the Bronx were dogwood blossoms and leaves 
 of tender green and beds of tulips, and along the 
 Boston Post Road, on their right, the Sound 
 flashed in the sunlight; and on their left, gardens, 
 lawns, and orchards ran with the road, and the 
 apple trees were masses of pink and white. 
 
 ii 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Whenever a car approached from the rear, 
 Carter pretended it was Mrs. Ingram coming to 
 prevent the elopement, and Dolly clung to him. 
 When the car had passed, she forgot to stop cling- 
 ing to him. 
 
 In Greenwich Village they procured a license, 
 and a magistrate married them, and they were a 
 little frightened and greatly happy, and, they both 
 discovered simulanteously, outrageously hungry. 
 So they drove through Bedford Village to South 
 Salem, and lunched at the Horse and Hounds Inn, 
 on blue and white china, in the same room where 
 Major Andre was once a prisoner. And they felt 
 very sorry for Major Andre, and for everybody 
 who had not been just married that morning. 
 And after lunch they sat outside in the garden 
 and fed lumps of sugar to a charming collie and 
 cream to a fat gray cat. 
 
 They decided to start housekeeping in Carter's 
 flat, and so turned back to New York, this time 
 following the old coach road through North Castle 
 to White Plains, across to Tarrytown, and along 
 the bank of the Hudson into Riverside Drive. 
 Millions and millions of friendly folk, chiefly 
 nurse-maids and traffic policemen, waved to them, 
 and for some reason smiled. 
 
 "The joke of it is," declared Carter, "they don't 
 
 12 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 know! The most wonderful event of the century 
 has just passed into history. We are married, and 
 nobody knows!" 
 
 But when the car drove away from in front of 
 Carter's door, they saw on top of it two old shoes 
 and a sign reading: "We have just been married." 
 While they had been at luncheon, the chauffeur 
 had risen to the occasion. 
 
 "After all," said Carter soothingly, "he meant 
 no harm. And it's the only thing about our wed- 
 ding yet that seems legal." 
 
 Three months later two very unhappy young 
 people faced starvation in the sitting-room of Car- 
 ter's flat. Gloom was written upon the counte- 
 nance of each, and the heat and the care that 
 comes when one desires to live, and lacks the 
 wherewithal to fulfil that desire, had made them 
 pallid and had drawn black lines under Dolly's 
 eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Ingram had played her part exactly as her 
 dearest friends had said she would. She had sent 
 to Carter's flat, seven trunks filled with Dolly's 
 clothes, eighteen hats, and another most unpleas- 
 ant letter. In this, on the sole condition that 
 Dolly would at once leave her husband, she offered 
 to forgive and to support her. 
 
 To this Dolly composed eleven scornful answers, 
 13 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 but finally decided that no answer at all was the 
 most scornful. 
 
 She and Carter then proceeded joyfully to waste 
 his three thousand dollars with that contempt for 
 money with which on a honey-moon it should 
 always be regarded. When there was no more, 
 Dolly called upon her mother's lawyers and in- 
 quired if her father had left her anything in her 
 own right. The lawyers regretted he had not, but 
 having loved Dolly since she was born, offered to 
 advance her any money she wanted. They said 
 they felt sure her mother would "relent." 
 
 "SHE may," said Dolly haughtily. "/ won't! 
 And my husband can give me all I need. I only 
 wanted something of my own, because I'm going 
 to make him a surprise present of a new motor- 
 car. The one we are using now does not suit us." 
 
 This was quite true, as the one they were then 
 using ran through the subway. 
 
 As summer approached, Carter had suddenly 
 awakened to the fact that he soon would be a 
 pauper, and cut short the honey -moon. They re- 
 turned to the flat, and he set forth to look for a 
 position. Later, while still looking for it, he spoke 
 of it as a "job." He first thought he would like 
 to be an assistant editor of a magazine. But he 
 found editors of magazines anxious to employ new 
 
 14 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 and untried assistants, especially in June, were 
 very few. On the contrary, they explained they 
 were retrenching and cutting down expenses they 
 meant they had discharged all office boys who re- 
 ceived more than three dollars a week. They fur- 
 ther "retrenched," by taking a mean advantage of 
 Carter's having called upon them in person, by 
 handing him three of four of his stories but by 
 this he saved his postage-stamps. 
 
 Each day, when he returned to the flat, Dolly, 
 who always expected each editor would hastily 
 dust off his chair and offer it to her brilliant hus- 
 band, would smile excitedly and gasp, "Well?" 
 and Carter would throw the rejected manuscripts 
 on the table and say: "At least, I have not re- 
 turned empty-handed." Then they would discover 
 a magazine that neither they or any one else knew 
 existed, and they would hurriedly readdress the 
 manuscripts to that periodical, and run to post 
 them at the letter-box on the corner. 
 
 "Any one of them, // accepted" Carter would 
 point out, "might bring us in twenty-five dollars. 
 A story of mine once sold for forty; so to-night we 
 can afford to dine at a restaurant where wine is 
 not' included/" 
 
 Fortunately, they never lost their sense of hu- 
 mor. Otherwise the narrow confines of the flat, 
 the evil smells that rose from the baked streets, 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 the greasy food of Italian and Hungarian restau- 
 rants, and the ever-haunting need of money might 
 have crushed their youthful spirits. But in time 
 even they found that one, still less two, cannot 
 exist exclusively on love and the power to see the 
 bright side of things especially when there is no 
 bright side. They had come to the point where they 
 must borrow money from their friends, and that, 
 though there were many who would have opened 
 their safes to them, they had agreed was the one 
 thing they would not do, or they must starve. 
 The alternative was equally distasteful. 
 
 Carter had struggled earnestly to find a job. 
 But his inexperience and the season of the year 
 were against him. No newspaper wanted a dra- 
 matic critic when the only shows in town had been 
 running three months, and on roof gardens; nor 
 did they want a "cub" reporter when veterans 
 were being "laid off" by the dozens. Nor were his 
 services desired as a private secretary, a taxicab 
 driver, an agent to sell real estate or automobiles 
 or stocks. As no one gave him a chance to prove 
 his unfitness for any of these callings, the fact that 
 he knew nothing of any of them did not greatly 
 matter. At these rebuffs Dolly was distinctly 
 pleased. She argued they proved he was intended 
 to pursue his natural career as an author. 
 
 That their friends might know they were poor 
 16 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 did not affect her, but she did not want them to 
 think by his taking up any outside "job" that 
 they were poor because as a literary genius he 
 was a failure. She believed in his stories. She 
 wanted every one else to believe in them. Mean- 
 while, she assisted him in so far as she could by 
 pawning the contents of five of the seven trunks, 
 by learning to cook on a "Kitchenette," and to 
 laundry her handkerchiefs and iron them on the 
 looking-glass. 
 
 They faced each other across the breakfast- 
 table. It was only nine o'clock, but the sun beat 
 into the flat with the breath of a furnace, and the 
 air was foul and humid. 
 
 "I tell you," Carter was saying fiercely, "you 
 look ill. You are ill. You must go to the sea- 
 shore. You must visit some of your proud friends 
 at East Hampton or Newport. Then Til know 
 you're happy and I won't worry, and Til find 
 a job. 7 don't mind the heat and I'll write you 
 love letters" he was talking very fast and not 
 looking at Dolly "like those I used to write you, 
 before " 
 
 Dolly raised her hand. "Listen!" she said. 
 "Suppose I leave you. What will happen? I'll 
 wake up in a cool, beautiful brass bed, won't I ? 
 with cretonne window-curtains, and salt air blow- 
 
 17 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 ing them about, and a maid to bring me coffee. 
 And instead of a bathroom like yours, next to an 
 elevator shaft and a fire-escape, I'll have one as 
 big as a church, and the whole blue ocean to swim 
 in. And I'll sit on the rocks in the sunshine and 
 watch the waves and the yachts " 
 
 "And grow well again!" cried Carter. "But 
 you'll write to me," he added wistfully, "every day, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 In her wrath, Dolly rose, and from across the 
 table confronted him. 
 
 "And what will I be doing on those rocks?" 
 she cried. "You know what I'll be doing! I'll 
 be sobbing, and sobbing, and calling out to the 
 waves: 'Why did he send me away ? Why doesn't 
 he want me ? Because he doesn't love me. That's 
 why! He doesn't love me!' And you DON'T!" 
 cried Dolly. "You DON'T!" 
 
 It took him all of three minutes to persuade her 
 she was mistaken. 
 
 "Very well, then," sobbed Dolly, "that's settled. 
 And there'll be no more talk of sending me 
 away!" 
 
 "There will wof/"said Champneys hastily. "We 
 will now f " he announced, "go into committee of 
 the whole and decide how we are to face financial 
 failure. Our assets consist of two stories, accepted, 
 
 il 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 but not paid for, and fifteen stories not accepted. 
 In cash" he spread upon the table a meagre col- 
 lection of soiled bills and coins "we have twenty- 
 seven dollars and fourteen cents. That is every 
 penny we possess in the world." 
 
 Dolly regarded him fixedly and shook her head. 
 
 "Is it wicked, "she asked, "to love you so?" 
 
 "Haven't you been listening to me ?" demanded 
 Carter. 
 
 Again Dolly shook her head. 
 
 "I was watching the way you talk. When your 
 lips move fast they do such charming things." 
 
 " Do you know," roared Carter, " that we haven't 
 a penny in the world, that we have nothing in this 
 flat to eat?" 
 
 " I still have five hats," said Dolly. 
 
 "We can't eat hats," protested Champneys. 
 
 "We can sell hats!" returned Dolly. "They 
 cost eighty dollars apiece!" 
 
 "When you need money," explained Carter, "I 
 find it's just as hard to sell a hat as to eat it." 
 
 "Twenty-seven dollars and fourteen cents," re- 
 peated Dolly. She exclaimed remorsefully: "And 
 you started with three thousand! What did I do 
 with it?" 
 
 "We both had the time of our lives with it!" 
 said Carter stoutly. "And that's all there is to 
 
 19 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 that. Post-mortems," he pointed out, "are useful 
 only as guides to the future, and as our future will 
 never hold a second three thousand dollars, we 
 needn't worry about how we spent the first one. 
 No! What we must consider now is how we can 
 grow rich quick, and the quicker and richer, the 
 better. Pawning our clothes, or what's left of 
 them, is bad economics. There's no use consid- 
 ering how to live from meal to meal. We must 
 evolve something big, picturesque, that will bring 
 a fortune. You have imagination; I'm supposed 
 to have imagination; we must think of a plan to 
 get money, much money. I do not insist on our 
 plan being dignified, or even outwardly respect- 
 able; so long as it keeps you alive, it may be as 
 desperate as " 
 
 "I see!" cried Dolly; "like sending mother 
 Black Hand letters!" 
 
 "Blackmail " began that lady's son-in-law 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Or!" cried Dolly, "we might kidnap Mr. Car- 
 negie when he's walking in the park alone, and 
 hold him for ransom. Or" she rushed on "we 
 might forge a codicil to father's will, and make it 
 say if mother shouldn't like the man I want to 
 marry, all of father's fortune must go to my hus- 
 band!" 
 
 20 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "Forgery," exclaimed Champneys, "is going 
 further than I " 
 
 "And another plan," interrupted Dolly, "that 
 I have always had in mind, is to issue a cheaper 
 edition of your book, 'The Dead Heat/ The rea- 
 son the first edition of 'The Dead Heat' didn't 
 sell- 
 
 " Don't tell ME why it didn't sell," said Champ- 
 neys. "I wrote it!" 
 
 "That book," declared Dolly loyally, "was 
 never properly advertised. No one knew about 
 it, so no one bought it!" 
 
 "Eleven people bought it!" corrected the author. 
 
 "We will put it in a paper cover and sell it for 
 fifty cents," cried Dolly. "It's the best detective 
 story I ever read, and people have got to know it is 
 the best. So we'll advertise it like a breakfast food." 
 
 "The idea," interrupted Champneys, "is to 
 make money, not throw it away. Besides, we 
 haven't any to throw away." 
 
 Dolly sighed bitterly. 
 
 "If only," she exclaimed, "we had that three 
 thousand dollars back again! I'd save so care- 
 fully. It was all my fault. The races took it, 
 but it was 7 took you to the races." 
 
 "No one ever had to drag me to the races," 
 said Carter. "It was the way we went that was 
 
 21 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 extravagant. Automobiles by the hour standing 
 idle, and a box each day, and " 
 
 "And always backing Dromedary," suggested 
 Dolly. 
 
 Carter was touched on a sensitive spot. 
 
 "That horse," he protested loudly, "is a mighty 
 good horse. Some day " 
 
 "That's what you always said," remarked Dolly, 
 "but he never seems to have his day." 
 
 "It's strange," said Champneys consciously. "I 
 dreamed of Dromedary only last night. Same 
 dream over and over again." 
 
 Hastily he changed the subject. 
 
 "For some reason I don't sleep well. I don't 
 know why." 
 
 Dolly looked at him with all the love in her eyes 
 of a mother over her ailing infant. 
 
 " It's worrying over me, and the heat," she said. 
 "And the garage next door, and the sky-scraper 
 going up across the street, might have something 
 to do with it. And YOU," she mocked tenderly, 
 "wanted to send me to the sea-shore." 
 
 Carter was frowning. As though about to 
 speak, he opened his lips, and then laughed em- 
 barrassedly. 
 
 "Out with it," said Dolly, with an encouraging 
 smile. "Did he win?" 
 
 22 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Seeing she had read what was in his mind, 
 Carter leaned forward eagerly. The ruling pas- 
 sion and a touch of superstition held him in their 
 
 g ri P- 
 
 "He 'win* each time," he whispered. "I saw 
 
 it as plain as I see you. Each time he came up 
 with a rush just at the same place, just as they 
 entered the stretch, and each time he won!" He 
 slapped his hand disdainfully upon the dirty bills 
 before him. " If I had a hundred dollars ! " 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and Carter 
 opened it to the elevator boy with the morning 
 mail. The letters, save one, Carter dropped upon 
 the table. That one, with clumsy fingers, he tore 
 open. He exclaimed breathlessly: "It's from 
 Plymptorfs Magazine! Maybe I've sold a story !" 
 He gave a cry almost of alarm. His voice was 
 as solemn as though the letter had announced a 
 death. 
 
 "Dolly," he whispered, "it's a check a check 
 for a hundred dollars! " 
 
 Guiltily, the two young people looked at each 
 other. 
 
 " We' vegot to!" breathed Dolly. "Got to! If 
 we let TWO signs like that pass, we'd be flying in 
 the face of Providence." 
 
 With her hands gripping the arms of her chair, 
 23 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 she leaned forward, her eyes staring into space, 
 her lips moving. 
 
 "Come on, you Dromedary!" she whispered. 
 
 They changed the check into five and ten dollar 
 bills, and, as Carter was far too excited to work, 
 made an absurdly early start for the race-track. 
 
 "We might as well get all the fresh air we can," 
 said Dolly. "That's all we will get!." 
 
 From their reserve fund of twenty-seven dollars 
 which each had solemnly agreed with the other 
 would not be risked on race-horses, Dolly sub- 
 tracted a two-dollar bill. This she stuck con- 
 spicuously across the face of the clock on the 
 mantel. 
 
 "Why?" asked Carter. 
 
 "When we get back this evening," Dolly ex- 
 plained, "that will be the first thing we'll see. 
 It's going to look awfully good!" 
 
 This day there was no scarlet car to rush them 
 with refreshing swiftness through Brooklyn's park- 
 ways and along the Ocean Avenue. Instead, they 
 hung to a strap in a cross-town car, changed to 
 the ferry, and again to the Long Island Railroad. 
 When Carter halted at the special car of the Turf 
 Club, Dolly took his arm and led him forward to 
 the day coach. 
 
 "But," protested Carter, "when you're spending 
 24 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 a hundred dollars with one hand, why grudge fifty 
 cents for a parlor-car seat ? If you're going to be 
 a sport, be a sport." 
 
 "And if you've got to be a piker," said Dolly, 
 "don't be ashamed to be a piker. We're not 
 spending a hundred dollars because we can afford 
 it, but because you dreamt a dream. You didn't 
 dream you were riding in parlor-cars! If you 
 did, it's time I woke you." 
 
 This day there was for them no box overlook- 
 ing the finish, no club-house luncheon. With the 
 other pikers, they sat in the free seats, with those 
 who sat coatless and tucked their handkerchiefs 
 inside their collars, and with those who mopped 
 their perspiring countenances with rice-paper and 
 marked their cards with a hat-pin. Their lunch 
 consisted of a massive ham sandwich with a top 
 dressing of mustard. 
 
 Dromedary did not run until the fifth race, 
 and the long wait, before they could learn their 
 fate, was intolerable. They knew most of the 
 horses, and, to pass the time, on each of the first 
 races Dolly made imaginary bets. Of these men- 
 tal wagers, she lost every one. 
 
 "If you turn out to be as bad a guesser when 
 you're asleep as I am when I'm awake," said 
 Dolly, "we're going to lose our fortune." 
 
 25 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "I'm weakening!" declared Carter. "A hun- 
 dred dollars is beginning to look to me like an 
 awful lot of money. Twenty-seven dollars and 
 there's only twenty of that left now is mighty 
 small capital, but twenty dollars plus a hundred 
 could keep us alive for a month!" 
 
 "Did you, or did you not, dream that Drome- 
 dary would win ?" demanded Dolly sternly. 
 
 "I certainly did, several times," said Carter. 
 " But it may be I was thinking of the horse. I've 
 lost such a lot on him, my mind may have " 
 
 "Did you," interrupted Dolly, "say if you had 
 a hundred dollars you'd bet it, and did a hundred 
 dollars walk in through the door instantly?" 
 
 Carter, reassured, breathed again. 
 
 "It certainly did!" he repeated. 
 
 Even in his proud days, Carter had never been 
 able to bet heavily, and instead of troubling the 
 club-house commissioners with his small wagers, 
 he had, in the ring, bet ready money. Moreover, 
 he believed in the ring he obtained more favorable 
 odds, and, when he won, it pleased him, instead of 
 waiting until settling-day for a check, to stand in 
 a line and feel the real money thrust into his 
 hand. So, when the fourth race started he rose 
 and raised his hat. 
 
 "The time has come," he said. 
 26 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Without looking at him, Dolly nodded. She 
 was far too tremulous to speak. 
 
 For several weeks Dromedary had not been 
 placed, and Carter hoped for odds of at least ten 
 to one. But, when he pushed his way into the 
 arena, he found so little was thought of his choice 
 that as high as twenty to one was being offered, 
 and with few takers. The fact shattered his con- 
 fidence. Here were two hundred book-makers, 
 trained to their calling, anxious at absurd odds 
 to back their opinion that the horse he liked could 
 not win. In the face of such unanimous contempt, 
 his dream became fantastic, fatuous. He decided 
 he would risk only half of his fortune. Then, 
 should the horse win, he still would be passing 
 rich, and should he lose, he would, at least, have 
 all of fifty dollars. 
 
 With a book-maker he wagered that sum, and 
 then, in unhappy indecision, stood, in one hand 
 clutching his ticket that called for a potential 
 thousand and fifty dollars, and in the other an 
 actual fifty. It was not a place for meditation. 
 From every side men, more or less sane, swept 
 upon him, jostled him, and stamped upon him, 
 and still, struggling for a foothold, he swayed, 
 hesitating. Then he became conscious that the 
 ring was nearly empty, that only a few shrieking 
 
 27 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 individuals still ran down the line. The horses 
 were going to the post. He must decide quickly. 
 In front of him the book-maker cleaned his board, 
 and, as a final appeal, opposite the names of three 
 horses chalked thirty to one. Dromedary was 
 among them. Such odds could not be resisted. Car- 
 ter shoved his fifty at the man, and to that sum 
 added the twenty dollars still in his pocket. They 
 were the last dollars he owned in the world. And 
 though he knew they were his last, he was fearful 
 lest the book-maker would refuse them. But, me- 
 chanically, the man passed them over his shoulder. 
 
 "And twenty-one hundred to seventy," he 
 chanted. 
 
 When Carter took his seat beside Dolly, he was 
 quite cold. Still, Dolly did not speak. Out of 
 the corner of her eyes she questioned him. 
 
 "I got fifty at twenty to one," replied Carter, 
 "and seventy at thirty!" 
 
 In alarm, Dolly turned upon him. 
 
 "SEVENTY!" she gasped. 
 
 Carter nodded. "All we have," he said. "We 
 have sixty cents left, to start life over again!" 
 
 As though to encourage him, Dolly placed her 
 finger on her race-card. 
 
 "His colors," she said, "are 'green cap, green 
 jacket, green and white hoops. '" 
 
 28 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Through a maze of heat, a half-mile distant, 
 at the starting-gate, little spots of color moved in 
 impatient circles. The big, good-natured crowd 
 had grown silent, so silent that from the high, sun- 
 warmed grass in the infield one could hear the 
 lazy chirp of the crickets. 
 
 As though repeating a prayer, or an incantation, 
 Dolly's lips were moving quickly. 
 
 "Green cap," she whispered, "green jacket, 
 green and white hoops!" 
 
 With a sharp sigh the crowd broke the silence. 
 "They're off!" it cried, and leaned forward ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 The horses came so fast. To Carter their con- 
 duct seemed outrageous. It was incredible that 
 in so short a time, at a pace so reckless, they would 
 decide a question of such moment. They came 
 bunched together, shifting and changing, with, 
 through the dust, flashes of blue and gold and 
 scarlet. A jacket of yellow shot out of the dust 
 and showed in front; a jacket of crimson followed. 
 So they were at the half; so they were at the 
 three-quarters. 
 
 The good-natured crowd began to sway, to 
 grumble and murmur, then to shout in sharp 
 staccato. 
 
 "Can you see him ?" begged Dolly. 
 29 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "No," said Carter. "You don't see him until 
 they reach the stretch/' 
 
 One could hear their hoofs, could see the crimson 
 jockey draw his whip. At the sight, for he rode the 
 favorite, the crowd gave a great gasp of concern. 
 
 "Oh you Gold Heels!" it implored. 
 
 Under the whip, Gold Heels drew even with the 
 yellow jacket; stride by stride, they fought it out 
 alone. 
 
 "Gold Heels!" cried the crowd. 
 
 Behind them, in a curtain of dust, pounded the 
 field. It charged in a flying wedge, like a troop of 
 cavalry. Dolly, searching for a green jacket, saw, 
 instead, a rainbow wave of color that, as it rose 
 and fell, sprang toward her in great leaps, swal- 
 lowing the track. 
 
 "Gold Heels!" yelled the crowd. 
 
 The field swept into the stretch. Without mov- 
 ing his eyes, Carter caught Dolly by the wrist and 
 pointed. As though giving a signal, he shot his 
 free hand into the air. 
 
 "Now!" he shouted. 
 
 From the curtain of dust, as lightning strikes 
 through a cloud, darted a great, raw-boned, ugly 
 chestnut. Like the Empire Express, he came 
 rocking, thundering, spurning the ground. At his 
 coming, Gold Heels, to the eyes of the crowd, 
 
 30 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 seemed to falter, to slacken, to stand still. The 
 crowd gave a great cry of amazement, a yell of 
 disgust. The chestnut drew even with Gold Heels, 
 passed him, and swept under the wire. Clinging 
 to his neck was a little jockey in a green cap, green 
 jacket, and hoops of green and white. 
 
 Dolly's hand was at her side, clutching the bench. 
 Carter's hand still clasped it. Neither spoke or 
 looked at the other. For an instant, while the 
 crowd, no longer so good-natured, mocked and 
 jeered at itself, the two young people sat quite 
 still, staring at the green field, at the white clouds 
 rolling from the ocean. Dolly drew a long breath. 
 
 " Let's go ! " she gasped. " Let's thank him first, 
 and then take me home!" 
 
 They found Dromedary in the paddock, and 
 thanked him, and Carter left Dolly with him, 
 while he ran to collect his winnings. When he 
 returned, he showed her a sheaf of yellow bills, 
 and as they ran down the covered board walk to 
 the gate, they skipped and danced. 
 
 Dolly turned toward the train drawn up at the 
 entrance. 
 
 "Not with me!" shouted Carter. "We're go- 
 ing home in the reddest, most expensive, fastest 
 automobile I can hire!" 
 
 In the "hack" line of motor-cars was one that 
 31 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 answered those requirements, and they fell into 
 it as though it were their own. 
 
 "To the Night and Day Bank!" commanded 
 Carter. 
 
 With the genial democracy of the race-track, the 
 chauffeur lifted his head to grin appreciatively. 
 
 "That listens good to me!" he said. 
 
 "I like him!" whispered Dolly. "Let's buy 
 him and the car." 
 
 On the way home, they bought many cars ; every 
 car they saw, that they liked, they bought. They 
 bought, also, several houses, and a yacht that they 
 saw from the ferry-boat. And as soon as they had 
 deposited the most of their money in the bank, 
 they went to a pawnshop in Sixth Avenue and 
 bought back many possessions that they had feared 
 they never would see again. 
 
 When they entered the flat, the thing they first 
 beheld was Dolly's two-dollar bill. 
 
 "What," demanded Carter, with repugnance, 
 "is that strange piece of paper ?" 
 
 Dolly examined it carefully. 
 
 "I think it is a kind of money," she said, "used 
 by the lower classes." 
 
 They dined on the roof at Delmonico's. Dolly 
 wore the largest of the five hats still unsold, and 
 
 32 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Carter selected the dishes entirely according to 
 which was the most expensive. Every now and 
 again they would look anxiously down across the 
 street at the bank that held their money. They 
 were nervous lest it should take fire. 
 
 "We can be extravagant to-night," said Dolly, 
 "because we owe it to Dromedary to celebrate. 
 But from to-night on we must save. We've had 
 an awful lesson. What happened to us last month 
 must never happen again. We were down to a 
 two-dollar bill. Now we have twenty-five hun- 
 dred across the street, and you have several hun- 
 dreds in your pocket. On that we can live easily 
 for a year. Meanwhile, you can write 'the' great 
 American novel without having to worry about 
 money, or to look for a 'steady job.' And then 
 your book will come out, and you will be famous, 
 and rich, and " 
 
 "Passing on from that," interrupted Carter, 
 "the thing of first importance is to get you out of 
 that hot, beastly flat. I propose we start to-mor- 
 row for Cape Cod. I know a lot of fishing villages 
 there where we could board and lodge for twelve 
 dollars a week, and row and play tennis and live 
 in our bathing suits." 
 
 Dolly assented with enthusiasm, and during the 
 courses of the dinner they happily discussed Cape 
 
 33 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Cod from Pocasset to Yarmouth, and from Sand- 
 wich to Provincetown. So eager were they to 
 escape, that Carter telephoned the hallman at his 
 club to secure a cabin for the next afternoon on 
 the Fall River boat. 
 
 As they sat over their coffee in the cool breeze, 
 with in the air the scent of flowers and the swing 
 of music, and with at their feet the lights of the 
 great city, the world seemed very bright. 
 
 "It has been a great day," sighed Carter. 
 "And if I hadn't had nervous prostration I would 
 have enjoyed it. That race-course is always cool, 
 and there were some fine finishes. I noticed two 
 horses that would bear watching, Her Highness 
 and Glowworm. If we weren't leaving to-morrow, 
 I'd be inclined " 
 
 Dolly regarded him with eyes of horror. 
 
 "Champneys Carter!" she exclaimed. As she 
 said it, it sounded like "Great Jehoshaphat!" 
 
 Carter protested indignantly. "I only said," 
 he explained, "if I were following the races, I'd 
 watch those horses. Don't worry!" he exclaimed. 
 " I know when to stop." 
 
 The next morning they took breakfast on the 
 tiny terrace of a restaurant overlooking Bryant 
 Park, where, during the first days of their honey- 
 moon, they had always breakfasted. For senti- 
 
 34 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 mental reasons they now revisited it. But Dolly 
 was eager to return at once to the flat and pack, 
 and Carter seemed distrait. He explained that 
 he had had a bad night. 
 
 "I'm so sorry," sympathized Dolly, "but to- 
 night you will have a fine sleep going up the 
 Sound. Any more nightmares?" she asked. 
 
 " Nightmares ! " exploded Carter fiercely. " Night- 
 mares they certainly were! I dreamt two of the 
 nightmares won! I saw them, all night, just as I 
 saw Dromedary Her Highness and Glowworm, 
 winning, winning, winning!" 
 
 "Those were the horses you spoke about last 
 night," said Dolly severely. "After so wonderful 
 a day, of course you dreamt of racing, and those 
 two horses were in your mind. That's the ex- 
 planation." 
 
 They returned to the flat and began, indus- 
 triously, to pack. About twelve o'clock Carter, 
 coming suddenly into the bedroom where Dolly 
 was alone, found her reading the Morning Tele- 
 graph. It was open at the racing page of " past 
 performances." 
 
 She dropped the paper guiltily. Carter kicked 
 a hat-box out of his way and sat down on a 
 trunk. 
 
 "I don't see," he began, "why we can't wait 
 35 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 one more day. We'd be just as near the ocean 
 at Sheepshead Bay race-track as on a Fall River 
 boat, and " 
 
 He halted and frowned unhappily. "We needn't 
 bet more then ten dollars," he begged. 
 
 "Of course," declared Dolly, "if they should 
 win, you'll always blame me!" 
 
 Carter's eyes shone hopefully. 
 
 "And," continued Dolly, "I can't bear to have 
 you blame me. So " 
 
 "Get your hat!" shouted Carter, "or we'll miss 
 the first race." 
 
 Carter telephoned for a cab, and as they were 
 entering it said guiltily: "I've got to stop at the 
 bank." 
 
 "You have not!" announced Dolly. "That 
 money is to keep us alive while you write the great 
 American novel. I'm glad to spend another day 
 at the races, and I'm willing to back your dreams 
 as far as ten dollars, but for no more." 
 
 "If my dreams come true," warned Carter, 
 "you'll be awfully sorry." 
 
 "Not I," said Dolly. "I'll merely send you to 
 bed, and you can go on dreaming." 
 
 When Her Highness romped home, an easy win- 
 ner, the look Dolly turned upon her husband was 
 one both of fear and dismay. 
 
 36 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "I don't like it!" she gasped. "It's it's un- 
 canny. It gives me a creepy feeling. It makes 
 you seem sort of supernatural. And oh," she 
 cried, "if only I had let you bet all you had with 
 you!" 
 
 "I did," stammered Carter, in extreme agita- 
 tion. "I bet four hundred. I got five to one, 
 Dolly," he gasped, in awe; "we've won two thou- 
 sand dollars." 
 
 Dolly exclaimed rapturously: 
 
 "We'll put it all in bank," she cried. 
 
 "We'll put it all on Glowworm!" said her hus- 
 band. 
 
 "Champ!" begged Dolly. "Don't push your 
 luck. Stop while " 
 
 Carter shook his head. 
 
 "It's NOT luck!" he growled. "It's a gift, it's 
 second sight, it's prophecy. I've been a full- 
 fledged clairvoyant all my life, and didn't know it. 
 Anyway, I'm a sport, and after two of my dreams 
 breaking right, I've got to back the third one!" 
 
 Glowworm was at ten to one, and at those odds 
 the book-makers to whom he first applied did not 
 care to take so large a sum as he offered. Carter 
 found a book-maker named "Sol" Burbankwho, 
 at those odds, accepted his two thousand. 
 
 When Carter returned to collect his twenty-two 
 37 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 thousand, there was some little delay while Bur- 
 bank borrowed a portion of it. He looked at Carter 
 curiously and none too genially. 
 
 "Wasn't it you/' he asked, "that had that thirty- 
 to-one shot yesterday on Dromedary ?" 
 
 Carter nodded somewhat guiltily. A man in the 
 crowd volunteered: "And he had Her Highness in 
 the second, too, for four hundred." 
 
 "You've made a good day," said Burbank. 
 "Give me a chance to get my money back to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Carter. "I'm leaving New 
 York to-morrow." 
 
 The same scarlet car bore them back trium- 
 phant to the bank. 
 
 "Twenty-two thousand dollars?" gasped Car- 
 ter, "in cash! How in the name of all that's hon- 
 est can we celebrate winning twenty-two thousand 
 dollars ? We can't eat more than one dinner; we 
 can't drink more than two quarts of champagne 
 not without serious results." 
 
 "I'll tell you what we can do!" cried Dolly exci- 
 tedly. "We can sail to-morrow on the Campania!" 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Carter. "We'll have a sec- 
 ond honey-moon. We'll 'shoot up' London and 
 Paris. We'll tear slices out of the map of Europe. 
 You'll ride in one motor-car, I'll ride in another, 
 
 38 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 we'll have a maid and a valet in a third, and we'll 
 race each other all the way to Monte Carlo. And, 
 there, I'll dream of the winning numbers, and 
 we'll break the bank. When does the Campania 
 sail?" 
 
 "At noon," said Dolly. 
 
 "At eight we will be on board," said Carter. 
 
 But that night in his dreams he saw King Pep- 
 per, Confederate, and Red Wing each win a race. 
 And in the morning neither the engines of the 
 Campania nor the entreaties of Dolly could keep 
 him from the race-track. 
 
 "I want only six thousand," he protested. "You 
 can do what you like with the rest, but I am going 
 to bet six thousand on the first one of those three 
 to start. If he loses, I give you my word I'll not 
 bet another cent, and we'll sail on Saturday. If he 
 wins out, I'll put all I make on the two others." 
 
 "Can't you see," begged Dolly, "that your 
 dreams are just a rehash of what you think during 
 the day ? You have been playing in wonderful 
 luck, that's all. Each of those horses is likely to 
 win his race. When he does you will have more 
 faith than ever in your silly dreams " 
 
 "My silly dreams," said Carter grinning, "are 
 carrying you to Europe, first class, by the next 
 
 steamer." 
 
 39 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 They had been talking while on their way to the 
 bank. When Dolly saw she could not alter his 
 purpose, she made him place the nineteen thou- 
 sand that remained, after he had taken out the 
 six thousand, in her name. She then drew out 
 the entire amount. 
 
 "You told me," said Dolly, smiling anxiously, 
 " I could do what I liked with it. Maybe I have 
 dreams also. Maybe I mean to back them." 
 
 She drove away, mysteriously refusing to tell 
 him what she intended to do. When they met at 
 luncheon, she was still much excited, still bristling 
 with a concealed secret. 
 
 "Did you back your dream?" asked Carter. 
 
 Dolly nodded happily. 
 
 "And when am I to know?" 
 
 "You will read of it," said Dolly, "to-morrow, 
 in the morning papers. It's all quite correct. My 
 lawyers arranged it." 
 
 " Lawyers ! " gasped her husband. " You're not 
 arranging to lock me in a private mad-house, are 
 you?" 
 
 "No," laughed Dolly > "but when I told them 
 how I intended to invest the money they came near 
 putting me there." 
 
 " Didn't they want to know how you suddenly 
 got so rich ?" asked Carter. 
 
 40 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "They did. I told them it came from my hus- 
 band's 'books'! It was a very 'near' falsehood." 
 
 "It was worse," said Carter. "It was a very 
 poor pun." 
 
 As in their honey-moon days they drove proudly 
 to the track, and when Carter had placed Dolly in 
 a box large enough for twenty, he pushed his way into 
 the crowd around the stand of "Sol" Burbank. 
 That veteran of the turf welcomed him gladly. 
 
 "Coming to give me my money back?" he 
 called. 
 
 "No, to take some away," said Carter, handing 
 him his six thousand. 
 
 Without apparently looking at it, Burbank 
 passed it to his cashier. " King Pepper, twelve to 
 six thousand," he called. 
 
 When King Pepper won, and Carter moved 
 around the ring with eighteen thousand dollars 
 in thousand and five hundred dollar bills in his 
 fist, he found himself beset by a crowd of curious, 
 eager "pikers." They both impeded his operations 
 and acted as a body-guard. Confederate was an 
 almost prohibitive favorite at one to three, and in 
 placing eighteen thousand that he might win six, 
 Carter found little difficulty. When Confederate 
 won, and he started with his twenty-four thousand 
 to back Red Wing, the crowd now engulfed him. 
 
 41 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Men and boys who when they wagered five and 
 ten dollars were risking their all, found in the sight 
 of a young man offering bets in hundreds and thou- 
 sands a thrilling and fascinating spectacle. To 
 learn what horse he was playing and at what odds, 
 racing touts and runners for other book-makers 
 and individual speculators leaped into the mob that 
 surrounded him, and then, squirming their way 
 out, ran shrieking down the line. In ten minutes, 
 through the bets of Carter and those that backed 
 his luck, the odds against Red Wing were forced 
 down from fifteen to one to even money. His ap- 
 proach was hailed by the book-makers either with 
 jeers or with shouts of welcome. Those who had 
 lost demanded a chance to regain their money. 
 Those with whom he had not bet, found in that 
 fact consolation, and chaffed the losers. Some 
 curtly refused even the smallest part of his money. 
 "Not with me!" they laughed. From stand to 
 stand the layers of odds taunted him, or each other. 
 "Don't touch it, it's tainted!" they shouted. 
 "Look out, Joe, he's the Jonah man!" Or, "Come 
 at me again!" they called. "And, once more!" 
 they challenged as they reached for a thousand- 
 dollar bill. 
 
 And, when in time, each shook his head and 
 grumbled: "That's all I want," or looked the 
 
 42 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 other way, the mob around Carter jeered. "He's 
 fought 'em to a stand-still!" they shouted jubi- 
 lantly. In their eyes a man who alone was able 
 and willing to wipe the name of a horse off the 
 blackboards was a hero. 
 
 To the horror of Dolly, instead of watching the 
 horses parade past, the crowd gathered in front of 
 her box and pointed and stared at her. From the 
 club-house her men friends and acquaintances in- 
 vaded it. 
 
 "Has Carter gone mad?" they demanded. 
 "He's dealing out thousand-dollar bills like cig- 
 arettes. He's turned the ring into a wheat pit!" 
 
 When he reached the box a sun-burned man in 
 a sombrero blocked his way. 
 
 "I'm the owner of Red Wing," he explained, 
 "bred him and trained him myself. I know he'll 
 be lucky if he gets the place. You're backing him 
 in thousands to win. What do you know about 
 him?" 
 
 " Know he will win," said Carter. 
 
 The veteran commissioner of the club stand but- 
 tonholed him. "Mr. Carter," he begged, "why 
 don't you bet through me ? I'll give you as good 
 odds as they will in that ring. You don't want 
 your clothes torn off you and your money taken 
 from you." 
 
 43 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "They haven't taken such a lot of it yet," said 
 Carter. 
 
 When Red Wing won, the crowd beneath the 
 box, the men in the box, and the people standing 
 around it, most of whom had followed Carter's 
 plunge, cheered and fell over him, to shake hands 
 and pound him on the back. From every side 
 excited photographers pointed cameras, and Land- 
 er's band played: "Every Little Bit Added to 
 What You've Got Makes Just a Little Bit More." 
 As he left the box to collect his money, a big man 
 with a brown mustache and two smooth-shaven 
 giants closed in around him, as tackles inter- 
 fere for the man who has the ball. The big 
 man took him by the arm. Carter shook himself 
 free. 
 
 "What's the idea ?" he demanded. 
 
 "I'm Pinkerton," said the big man genially. 
 "You need a body-guard. If you've got an empty 
 seat in your car, I'll drive home with you." 
 
 From Cavanaugh they borrowed a book-maker's 
 hand-bag and stuffed it with thousand-dollar bills. 
 When they stepped into the car the crowd still sur- 
 rounded them. 
 
 "He's taking it home in a trunk!" they yelled. 
 
 That night the "sporting extras" of the after- 
 noon papers gave prominence to the luck at the 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 races of Champneys Carter. From Cavanaugh 
 and the book-makers, the racing reporters had 
 gathered accounts of his winnings. They stated 
 that in three successive days, starting with one 
 hundred dollars, he had at the end of the third 
 day not lost a single bet, and that afternoon, on 
 the last race alone, he had won sixty to seventy 
 thousand dollars. With the text, they "ran" pict- 
 ures of Carter at the track, of Dolly in her box, 
 and of Mrs. Ingram in a tiara and ball-dress. 
 
 "Mother-in-law will be pleased!" cried Carter. 
 
 In some alarm as to what the newspapers might 
 say on the morrow, he ordered that in the morning 
 a copy of each be sent to his room. That night in 
 his dreams he saw clouds of dust-covered jackets 
 and horses with sweating flanks, and one of them 
 named Ambitious led all the rest. When he woke, 
 he said to Dolly: "That horse Ambitious will win 
 to-day." 
 
 "He can do just as he likes about that!" replied 
 Dolly. "I have something on my mind much 
 more important than horse-racing. To-day you 
 are to learn how I spent your money. It's to be in 
 the morning papers." 
 
 When he came to breakfast, Dolly was on her 
 knees. For his inspection she had spread the 
 newspapers on the floor, opened at an advertise- 
 
 45 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 ment that appeared in each. In the centre of a 
 half-page of white paper were the lines: 
 
 SOLD OUT IN ONE DAY! 
 
 ENTIRE FIRST EDITION 
 
 THE DEAD HEAT 
 
 BY 
 
 GHAMPNEYS CARTER 
 SECOND EDITION ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND 
 
 "In Heaven's name!" roared Carter. "What 
 does this mean ? " 
 
 "It means," cried Dolly tremulously, "I'm 
 backing my dream. I've always believed in your 
 book. Now, I'm backing it. Our lawyers sent me 
 to an advertising agent. His name is Spink, and he 
 is awfully clever. I asked him if he could adver- 
 tise a book so as to make it sell. He said with my 
 money and his ideas he could sell last year's tele- 
 phone book to people who did not own a telephone, 
 and who had never learned to read. He is proud 
 of his ideas. One of them was buying out the first 
 edition. Your publishers told him your book was 
 'waste paper,' and that he could have every copy 
 in stock for the cost of the plates. So he bought 
 
 46 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 the whole edition. That's how it was sold out in 
 one day. Then we ordered a second edition of one 
 hundred thousand, and they're printing it now. 
 
 The presses have been working all night to meet 
 the demand!" 
 
 "But," cried Carter, "there isn't any demand!" 
 
 "There will be," said Dolly, "when five million 
 people read our advertisements." 
 
 She dragged him to the window and pointed 
 triumphantly into the street. 
 
 "See that!" she said. "Mr. Spink sent them 
 here for me to inspect." 
 
 Drawn up in a line that stretched from Fifth 
 Avenue to Broadway were an army of sandwich 
 men. On the boards they carried were the words: 
 "Read 'The Dead Heat.' Second Edition. One 
 Hundred Thousand!" On the fence in front of 
 the building going up across the street, in letters a 
 foot high, Carter again read the name of his novel. 
 In letters in size more modest, but in colors more 
 defiant, it glared at him from ash-cans and barrels. 
 
 "How much does this cost?" he gasped. 
 
 "It cost every dollar you had in bank," said 
 Dolly, "and before we are through it will cost you 
 twice as much more. Mr. Spink is only waiting 
 to hear from me before he starts spending fifty 
 thousand dollars; that's only half of what you won 
 
 47 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 on Red Wing. I'm only waiting for you to make 
 me out a check before I tell Spink to start spend- 
 ing it." 
 
 In a dazed state Carter drew a check for fifty 
 thousand dollars and meekly handed it to his wife. 
 They carried it themselves to the office of Mr. 
 Spink. On their way, on every side they saw evi- 
 dences of his handiwork. On walls, on scaffold- 
 ing, on bill-boards were advertisements of "The 
 Dead Heat." Over Madison Square a huge kite 
 as large as a Zeppelin air-ship painted the name of 
 the book against the sky, on "dodgers" it floated 
 in the air, on handbills it stared up from the 
 gutters. 
 
 Mr. Spink was a nervous young man with a 
 bald head and eye-glasses. He grasped the check 
 as a general might welcome fifty thousand fresh 
 troops. 
 
 "Reinforcements!" he cried. "Now, watch me. 
 Now I can do things that are big, national, Napo- 
 leonic. We can't get those books bound inside 
 of a week, but meanwhile orders will be pour- 
 ing in, people will be growing crazy for it. Every 
 man, woman, and child in Greater New York will 
 want a copy. I've sent out fifty boys dressed as 
 jockeys on horseback to ride neck and neck up 
 and down every avenue. 'The Dead Heat* is 
 
 4l 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 printed on the saddle-cloth. Half of them have 
 been arrested already. It's a little idea of my 
 
 own." 
 
 "But," protested Carter, "it's not a racing story, 
 it's a detective story!" 
 
 "The devil it is!" gasped Spink. "But what's 
 the difference!" he exclaimed. "They've got to 
 buy it anyway. They'd buy it if it was a cook- 
 book. And, I say," he cried delightedly, "that's 
 great press work you're doing for the book at the 
 races! The papers are full of you this morning, 
 and every man who reads about your luck at the 
 track will see your name as the author of ' The 
 Dead Heat,' and will rush to buy the book. He'll 
 think 'The Dead Heat' is a guide to the turf!" 
 
 When Carter reached the track he found his 
 notoriety had preceded him. Ambitious did not 
 run until the fourth race, and until then, as he sat 
 in his box, an eager crowd surged below. He had 
 never known such popularity. The crowd had 
 read the newspapers, and such head-lines as "He 
 Cannot Lose!" "Young Carter Wins $70,000!" 
 "Boy Plunger Wins Again!" "Carter Makes Big 
 Killing!" "The Ring Hit Hard!" "The Man 
 Who Cannot Lose!" "Carter Beats Book-mak- 
 ers!" had whetted their curiosity and filled many 
 with absolute faith in his luck. Men he had not 
 
 49 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 seen in years grasped him by the hand and care- 
 lessly asked if he could tell of something good. 
 Friends old and new begged him to dine with them, 
 to immediately have a drink with them, at least to 
 "try" a cigar. Men who protested they had lost 
 their all begged for just a hint which would help 
 them to come out even, and every one, without 
 exception, assured him he was going to buy his 
 latest book. 
 
 "I tried to get it last night at a dozen news- 
 stands," many of them said, "but they told me 
 the entire edition was exhausted." 
 
 The crowd of hungry-eyed race-goers waiting 
 below the box, and watching Carter's every move- 
 ment, distressed Dolly. 
 
 "I hate it!" she cried. "They look at you like 
 a lot of starved dogs begging for a bone. Let's go 
 home; we don't want to make any more money, 
 and we may lose what we have. And I want it 
 all to advertise the book." 
 
 "If you're not careful," said Carter, "some one 
 will buy that book and read it, and then you and 
 Spink will have to take shelter in a cyclone cellar." 
 
 When he arose to make his bet on Ambitious, 
 his friends from the club stand and a half-dozen 
 of Pinkerton's men closed in around him and in 
 a flying wedge pushed into the ring. The news- 
 
 50 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 papers had done their work, and he was instantly 
 surrounded by a hungry, howling mob. In com- 
 parison with the one of the previous day, it was 
 as a foot-ball scrimmage to a run on a bank. When 
 he made his first wager and the crowd learned the 
 name of the horse, it broke with a yell into hun- 
 dreds of flying missiles which hurled themselves at 
 the book-makers. Under their attack, as on the 
 day before, Ambitious receded to even money. 
 There was hardly a person at the track who did 
 not back the luck of the man who "could not lose." 
 And when Ambitious won easily, it was not the 
 horse or his jockey that was cheered, but the 
 young man in the box. 
 
 In New York the extras had already announced 
 that he was again lucky, and when Dolly and 
 Carter reached the bank they found the entire 
 staff on hand to receive him and his winnings. 
 They amounted to a sum so magnificent that Car- 
 ter found for the rest of their lives the interest 
 would furnish Dolly and himself an income upon 
 which they could live modestly and well. 
 
 A distinguished-looking, white-haired official of 
 the bank congratulated Carter warmly. "Should 
 you wish to invest some of this," he said, " I should 
 be glad to advise you. My knowledge in that di- 
 rection may be wider than your own." 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Carter murmured his thanks. The white-haired 
 gentleman lowered his voice. 
 
 "On certain other subjects," he continued, "you 
 know many things of which I am totally ignorant. 
 Could you tell me," he asked carelessly, "who will 
 win the Suburban to-morrow?" 
 
 Carter frowned mysteriously. "I can tell you 
 better in the morning," he said. "It looks like 
 Beldame, with Proper and First Mason within 
 call." 
 
 The white-haired man showed his surprise and 
 also that his ignorance was not as profound as he 
 suggested. 
 
 "I thought the Keene entry " he ventured. 
 
 " I know," said Carter doubtfully. " If it were 
 for a mile, I would say Delhi, but I don't think 
 he can last the distance. In the morning I'll wire 
 you." 
 
 As they settled back in their car, Carter took 
 both of Dolly's hands in his. "So far as money 
 goes," he said, "we are independent of your 
 mother independent of my books ; and I want to 
 make you a promise. I want to promise you that, 
 no matter what I dream in the future, I'll never 
 back another horse." 
 
 Dolly gave a gasp of satisfaction. 
 
 "And what's more," added Carter hastily, "not 
 5* 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 another dollar can you risk in backing my books. 
 After this, they've got to stand or fall on their 
 legs!" 
 
 "Agreed!" cried Dolly. "Our plunging days 
 
 are over." 
 
 When they reached the flat they found waiting 
 for Carter the junior partner of a real publishing 
 house. He had a blank contract, and he wanted 
 to secure the right to publish Carter's next book. 
 
 " I have a few short stories " suggested Carter. 
 
 "Collections of short stories," protested the 
 visitor truthfully, "do not sell. We would prefer 
 another novel on the same lines as 'The Dead 
 Heat/" 
 
 "Have you read 'The Dead Heat'?" asked 
 Carter. 
 
 "I have not," admitted the publisher, "but the 
 next book by the same author is sure to We 
 will pay in advance of royalties fifteen thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 "Could you put that in writing ?" asked Carter. 
 When the publisher was leaving he said: 
 
 "I see your success in literature is equalled by 
 your success at the races. Could you tell me what 
 will win the Suburban ?" 
 
 "I will send you a wire in the morning" said 
 Carter. 
 
 53 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 They had arranged to dine with some friends 
 and later to visit a musical comedy. Carter had 
 changed his clothes, and, while he was waiting for 
 Dolly to dress, was reclining in a huge arm-chair. 
 The heat of the day, the excitement, and the wear 
 on his nerves caused his head to sink back, his 
 eyes to close, and his limbs to relax. 
 
 When, by her entrance, Dolly woke him, he 
 jumped up in some confusion. 
 
 "You've been asleep," she mocked. 
 
 "Worse!" said Carter. "I've been dreaming! 
 Shall I tell you who is going to win the Suburban ?" 
 
 "Champneys!" cried Dolly in alarm. 
 
 "My dear Dolly," protested her husband, "I 
 promised to stop betting. I did not promise to 
 stop sleeping." 
 
 "Well," sighed Dolly, with relief, "as long as it 
 stops at that. Delhi will win," she added. 
 
 "Delhi will not," said Carter. "This is how 
 they will finish." He scribbled three names on a 
 piece of paper which Dolly read. 
 
 "But that," she said, "is what you told the gen- 
 tleman at the bank." 
 
 Carter stared at her blankly and in some em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 "You see!" cried Dolly, "what you think when 
 you're awake, you dream when you're asleep. 
 
 54 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 And you had a run of luck that never happened 
 before and could never happen again." 
 
 Carter received her explanation with reluctance. 
 "I wonder," he said. 
 
 On arriving at the theatre they found their host 
 had reserved a stage-box, and as there were but 
 four in their party, and as, when they entered, the 
 house lights were up, their arrival drew upon them 
 the attention both of those in the audience and of 
 those on the stage. The theatre was crowded to its 
 capacity, and in every part were people who were 
 habitual race-goers, as well as many racing men 
 who had come to town for the Suburban. By 
 these, as well as by many others who for three days 
 had seen innumerable pictures of him, Carter was 
 instantly recognized. To the audience and to the 
 performers the man who always won was of far 
 greater interest than what for the three-hundredth 
 night was going forward on the stage. And when 
 the leading woman, Blanche Winter, asked the 
 comedian which he would rather be, "the Man 
 Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo or the Man 
 Who Can Not Lose?" she gained from the audi- 
 ence an easy laugh and from the chorus an ex- 
 cited giggle. 
 
 When, at the end of the act, Carter went into the 
 lobby to smoke, he was so quickly surrounded that 
 
 55 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 he sought refuge on Broadway, From there, the 
 crowd still following him, he was driven back into 
 his box. Meanwhile, the interest shown in him 
 had not been lost upon the 'press agent of the 
 theatre, and he at once telephoned to the news- 
 paper offices that Plunger Carter, the book-maker 
 breaker, was at that theatre, and that if the news- 
 papers wanted a chance to interview him on the 
 probable outcome of the classic handicap to be 
 run on the morrow, he, the press agent, would 
 unselfishly assist them. In answer to these hurry 
 calls, reporters of the Ten o' Clock Club assembled 
 in the foyer. How far what later followed was 
 due to their presence and to the efforts of the press 
 agent only that gentleman can tell. It was in the 
 second act that Miss Blanche Winter sang her top- 
 ical song. In it she advised tke audience when 
 anxious to settle any question of personal or na- 
 tional interest to "Put it up to tke Man in the 
 Moon." This night she introduced a verse in 
 which she told of her desire to know which horse 
 on the morrow would win the Suburban, and, in 
 the chorus, expressed her determination to "Put 
 it up to the Man in the Moon." 
 
 Instantly from the back of the house a voice 
 called: "Why don't you put it up to the Man in 
 the Box ?" Miss Winter laughed the audience 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 laughed; all eyes were turned toward Carter. As 
 though the idea pleased them, from different parts 
 of the house people applauded heartily. In em- 
 barrassment, Carter shoved back his chair and 
 pulled the curtain of the box between him and the 
 audience. But he was not so easily to escape. 
 Leaving the orchestra to continue unheeded with 
 the prelude to the next verse, Miss Winter walked 
 slowly and deliberately toward him, smiling mis- 
 chievously. In burlesque entreaty, she held out 
 her arms. She made a most appealing and charm- 
 ing picture, and of that fact she was well aware. 
 In a voice loud enough to reach every part of the 
 house, she addressed herself to Carter: 
 
 "Won't you tell ME ?" she begged. 
 
 Carter, blushing unhappily, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders in apology. 
 
 With a wave of her hand Miss Winter desig- 
 nated the audience. "Then," she coaxed, re- 
 proachfully, "won't you tell them?" 
 
 Again, instantly, with a promptness and una- 
 nimity that sounded suspiciously as though it 
 came from ushers well rehearsed, several voices 
 echoed her petition: "Give us all a chance!" 
 shouted one. "Don't keep the good things to 
 yourself!" reproached another. "7 want to get 
 rich, TOO!" wailed a third. In his heart, Carter 
 
 57 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 prayed they would choke. But the audience, so 
 far from resenting the interruptions, encouraged 
 them, and Carter's obvious discomfort added to 
 its amusement. It proceeded to assail him with 
 applause, with appeals, with commands to "speak 
 up." 
 
 The hand-clapping became general insistent. 
 The audience would not be denied. Carter turned 
 to Dolly. In the recesses of the box she was 
 enjoying his predicament. His friends also were 
 laughing at him. Indignant at their desertion, 
 Carter grinned vindictively. "All right," he mut- 
 tered over his shoulder. "Since you think it's 
 funny, I'll show you!" He pulled his pencil from 
 his watch-chain and, spreading his programme on 
 the ledge of the box, began to write. 
 
 From the audience there rose a murmur of in- 
 credulity, of surprise, of excited interest. In the 
 rear of the house the press agent, after one startled 
 look, doubled up in an ecstasy of joy. "We've 
 landed him!" he gasped. "We've landed him! 
 He's going to fall for it!" 
 
 Dolly frantically clasped her husband by the 
 coat-tail. 
 
 "Champ!" she implored, "what are you do- 
 ing?" 
 
 Quite calmly, quite confidently, Carter rose. 
 58 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 Leaning forward with a nod and a smile, he 
 presented the programme to the beautiful Miss 
 Winter. That lady all but snatched at it. The 
 spot-light was full in her eyes. Turning her back 
 that she might the more easily read, she stood for 
 a moment, her pretty figure trembling with eager- 
 ness, her pretty eyes bent upon the programme. 
 The house had grown suddenly still, and with an 
 excited gesture, the leader of the orchestra com- 
 manded the music to silence. A man, bursting 
 with impatience, broke the tense quiet. "Read 
 it!" he shouted. 
 
 In a frightened voice that in the sudden hush 
 held none of its usual confidence, Miss Winter 
 read slowly: "The favorite cannot last the dis- 
 tance. Will lead for the mile and give way to 
 Beldame. Proper takes the place. First Mason 
 will show. Beldame will win by a length." 
 
 Before she had ceased reading, a dozen men 
 had struggled to their feet and a hundred voices 
 were roaring at her. "Read that again!" they 
 chorused. Once more Miss Winter read the mes- 
 sage, but before she had finished half of those 
 in the front rows were scrambling from their 
 seats and racing up the aisles. Already the re- 
 porters were ahead of them, and in the neighbor- 
 hood not one telephone booth was empty. Within 
 
 59 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 five minutes, in those hotels along the White Way 
 where sporting men are wont to meet, betting com- 
 missioners and hand-book men were suddenly as- 
 saulted by breathless gentlemen, some in evening 
 dress, some without collars, and some without hats, 
 but all with money to bet against the favorite. 
 And, an hour later, men, bent under stacks of 
 newspaper "extras," were vomited from the sub- 
 way stations into the heart of Broadway, and in 
 raucous tones were shrieking "Winner of the Sub- 
 urban" sixteen hours before that race was run. 
 That night to every big newspaper office from 
 Maine to California, was flashed the news that 
 Plunger Carter, in a Broadway theatre, had an- 
 nounced that the favorite for the Suburban would 
 be beaten, and, in order, had named the three 
 horses that would first finish. 
 
 Up and down Broadway, from rathskellers to 
 roof-gardens, in cafes and lobster palaces, on the 
 corners of the cross-roads, in clubs and all-night 
 restaurants, Carter's tip was as a red rag to a bull. 
 
 Was the boy drunk, they demanded, or had 
 his miraculous luck turned his head ? Otherwise, 
 why would he so publicly utter a prophecy that 
 on the morrow must certainly smother him with 
 ridicule. The explanations were varied. The 
 men in the clubs held he was driven by a desire 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 for notoriety, the men in the street that he was 
 more clever than they guessed, and had made the 
 move to suit his own book, to alter the odds to 
 his own advantage. Others frowned mysteriously. 
 With superstitious faith in his luck, they pointed to 
 his record. " Has he ever lost a bet ? How do we 
 know what he knows?" they demanded. "Per- 
 haps it's fixed and he knows it!" 
 
 The "wise" ones howled in derision. "A Sub- 
 urban FIXED!" they retorted. "You can fix one 
 jockey, you can fix two; but you can't fix six- 
 teen jockeys! You can't fix Belmont, you can't 
 fix Keene. There's nothing in his picking Bel- 
 dame, but only a crazy man would pick the horse 
 for the place and to show, and shut out the favor- 
 ite! The boy ought to be in Matteawan." 
 
 Still undisturbed, still confident to those to whom 
 he had promised them, Carter sent a wire. Nor 
 did he forget his old enemy, "Sol" Burbank. "If 
 you want to get some of the money I took," he tele- 
 graphed, "wipe out the Belmont entry and take all 
 they offer on Delhi. He cannot win." 
 
 And that night, when each newspaper called him 
 up at his flat, he made the same answer. "The 
 three horses will finish as I said. You can state 
 that I gave the information as I did as a sort of 
 present to the people of New York City." 
 
 fa 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 In the papers the next morning "Carter's Tip" 
 was the front-page feature. Even those who never 
 in the racing of horses felt any concern could not 
 help but take in the outcome of this one a curi- 
 ous interest. The audacity of the prophecy, the 
 very absurdity of it, presupposing, as it did, occult 
 power, was in itself amusing. And when the cur- 
 tain rose on the Suburban it was evident that to 
 thousands what the Man Who Could Not Lose 
 had foretold was a serious and inspired utterance. 
 
 This time his friends gathered around him, not 
 to benefit by his advice, but to protect him. 
 "They'll mob you!" they warned. "They'll tear 
 the clothes off your back. Better make your get- 
 away now." 
 
 Dolly, with tears in her eyes, sat beside him. 
 Every now and again she touched his hand. 
 Below his box, as around a newspaper office on 
 the night when a president is elected, the people 
 crushed in a turbulent mob. Some mocked and 
 jeered, some who on his tip had risked their every 
 dollar hailed him hopefully. On every side police- 
 men, fearful of coming trouble, hemmed him in. 
 Carter was bored extremely, heartily sorry he had 
 on the night before given way to what he now 
 saw as a perverse impulse. But he still was con- 
 fident, still undismayed. 
 
 62 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 To all eyes, except those of Dolly, he was of all 
 those at the track the least concerned. To her he 
 turned and, in a low tone, spoke swiftly. "I am 
 so sorry," he begged. "But, indeed, indeed, I 
 can't lose. You must have faith in me." 
 
 "In you, yes," returned Dolly in a whisper, "but 
 in your dreams, no!" 
 
 The horses were passing on their way to the 
 post. Carter brought his face close to hers. 
 "I'm going to break my promise," he said, "and 
 make one more bet, this one with you. I bet you 
 a kiss that I'm right." 
 
 Dolly, holding back her tears, smiled mourn- 
 fully. ' 
 
 "Make it a hundred," she said. 
 
 Half of the forty thousand at the track had 
 backed Delhi, the other half, following Carter's 
 luck and his confidence in proclaiming his convic- 
 tions, had backed Beldame. Many hundred had 
 gone so far as to bet that the three horses he had 
 named would finish as he had foretold. But, in 
 spite of Carter's tip, Delhi still was the favorite, 
 and when the thousands saw the Keene polka-dots 
 leap to the front, and by two lengths stay there, 
 for the quarter, the half, and for the three-quarters, 
 the air was shattered with jubilant, triumphant 
 yells. And then suddenly, with the swiftness of a 
 
 63 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 moving picture, in the very moment of his victory, 
 Beldame crept up on the favorite, drew alongside, 
 drew ahead, passed him, and left him beaten. 
 
 It was at the mile. 
 
 The night before a man had risen in a theatre 
 and said to two thousand people: "The favorite 
 will lead for the mile, and give way to Beldame." 
 Could they have believed him, the men who now 
 cursed themselves might for the rest of their lives 
 have lived upon their winnings. Those who had 
 followed his prophecy faithfully, superstitiously, 
 now shrieked in happy, riotous self-congratula- 
 tion. "At the MILE!" they yelled. "He TOLD 
 you, at the MILE!" They turned toward Carter 
 and shook Panama hats at him. "Oh you Car- 
 ter!" they shrieked lovingly. 
 
 It was more than a race the crowd was watching 
 now, it was the working out of a promise. And 
 when Beldame stood off Proper's rush, and Proper 
 fell to second, and First Mason followed three 
 lengths in the rear, and in that order they flashed 
 under the wire, the yells were not that a race had 
 been won, but that a prophecy had been fulfilled. 
 
 Of the thousands that cheered Carter and fell 
 upon him and indeed did tear his clothes off his 
 back, one of his friends alone was sufficiently un- 
 selfish to think of what it might mean to Carter. 
 
 14 
 
The Man Who Could Not Lose 
 
 "Champ!" roared this friend, pounding him on 
 both shoulders. "You old wizard! I win ten 
 thousand! How much do you win ?" 
 
 Carter cast a swift glance at Dolly. "Oh!" he 
 said, "I win much more than that." 
 
 And Dolly, raising her eyes to his, nodded and 
 smiled contentedly. 
 
MY BURIED TREASURE 
 
MY BURIED TREASURE 
 
 THIS is a true story of a search for buried 
 treasure. The only part that is not true 
 is the name of the man with whom I searched for 
 the treasure. Unless I keep his name out of it 
 he will not let me write the story, and, as it was 
 his expedition and as my share of the treasure is 
 only what I can make by writing the story, I must 
 write as he dictates. I think the story should be 
 told, because our experience was unique, and might 
 be of benefit to others. 
 
 And, besides, I need the money. 
 
 There is, however, no agreement preventing me 
 from describing him as I think he is, or reporting, 
 as accurately as I can, what he said and did as he 
 said and did it. 
 
 For purposes of identification I shall call him 
 Edgar Powell. The last name has no significance; 
 but the first name is not chosen at random. The 
 leader of our expedition, the head and brains of 
 it, was and is the sort of man one would ad- 
 dress as Edgar. No one would think of calling 
 him "Ed," or "Eddie," any more than he would 
 consider slapping him on the back. 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 We were together at college; but, as six hundred 
 other boys were there at the same time, that gives 
 no clew to his identity. Since those days, until 
 he came to see me about the treasure, we had 
 not met. All I knew of him was that he had 
 succeeded his father in manufacturing unshrinka- 
 ble flannels. Of course, the reader understands 
 that is not the article of commerce he manu- 
 factures; but it is near enough, and it suggests 
 the line of business to which he gives his life's 
 blood. It is not similar to my own line of work, 
 and in consequence, when he wrote me, on the 
 unshrinkable flannels official writing-paper, that 
 he wished to see me in reference to a matter of 
 business of "mutual benefit," I was considerably 
 puzzled. 
 
 A few days later, at nine in the morning, an 
 hour of his own choosing, he came to my rooms 
 in New York City. 
 
 Except that he had grown a beard, he was as I 
 remembered him, thin and tall, but with no chest, 
 and stooping shoulders. He wore eye-glasses, and 
 as of old through these he regarded you disap- 
 provingly and warily as though he suspected you 
 might try to borrow money, or even joke with 
 him. As with Edgar I had never felt any temp- 
 tation to do either, this was irritating. 
 
 70 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 But from force of former habit we greeted each 
 other by our first names, and he suspiciously ac- 
 cepted a cigar. Then, after fixing me both with 
 his eyes and with his eye-glasses and swearing me 
 to secrecy, he began abruptly. 
 
 "Our mills," he said, "are in New Bedford; 
 and I own several small cottages there and in Fair- 
 haven. I rent them out at a moderate rate. The 
 other day one of my tenants, a Portuguese sailor, 
 was taken suddenly ill and sent for me. He had 
 made many voyages in and out of Bedford to the 
 South Seas, whaling, and he told me on his last 
 voyage he had touched at his former home at 
 TenerifFe. There his grandfather had given him 
 a document that had been left him by his father. 
 His grandfather said it contained an important 
 secret, but one that was of value only in America, 
 and that when he returned to that continent he 
 must be very careful to whom he showed it. He 
 told me it was written in a kind of English he 
 could not understand, and that he had been 
 afraid to let any one see it. He wanted me to 
 accept the document in payment of the rent he 
 owed me, with the understanding that I was not 
 to look at it, and that if he got well I was to give 
 it back. If he pulled through, he was to pay me 
 in some other way; but if he died I was to keep 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 the document. About a month ago he died, and 
 I examined the paper. It purports to tell where 
 there is buried a pirate's treasure. And," added 
 Edgar, gazing at me severely and as though he 
 challenged me to contradict him, "I intend to dig 
 fork!" 
 
 Had he told me he contemplated crossing the 
 Rocky Mountains in a Baby Wright, or leading a 
 cotillon, I could not have been more astonished. 
 I am afraid I laughed aloud. 
 
 "Youl" I exclaimed. "Search for buried treas- 
 ure?" 
 
 My tone visibly annoyed him. Even the eye- 
 glasses radiated disapproval. 
 
 "I see nothing amusing in the idea," Edgar 
 protested coldly. " It is a plain business proposi- 
 tion. I find the outlay will be small, and if I am 
 successful the returns should be large; at a rough 
 estimate about one million dollars." 
 
 Even to-day, no true American, at the thought 
 of one million dollars, can remain covered. His 
 letter to me had said, "for our mutual benefit." 
 I became respectful and polite, I might even say 
 abject. After all, the ties that bind us in those 
 dear old college days are not lightly to be dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 "If I can be of any service to you, Edgar, old 
 7* 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 man/' I assured him heartily, "if I can help you 
 find it, you know I shall be only too happy." 
 
 With regret I observed that my generous offer 
 did not seem to deeply move him. 
 
 "I came to you in this matter," he continued 
 stiffly, "because you seemed to be the sort of 
 person who would be interested in a search for 
 buried treasure." 
 
 "I am," I exclaimed. "Always have been." 
 
 "Have you," he demanded searchingly, "any 
 practical experience ?" 
 
 I tried to appear at ease; but I knew then just 
 how the man who applies to look after your fur- 
 nace feels, when you ask him if he can also run 
 a sixty horse-power dynamo. 
 
 "I have never actually found any buried 
 treasure," I admitted; "but I know where lots 
 of it is, and I know just how to go after it." 
 I endeavored to dazzle him with expert knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 "Of course," I went on airily, "I am familiar 
 with all the expeditions that have tried for the one 
 on Cocos Island, and I know all about the Peru- 
 vian treasure on Trinidad, and the lost treasures 
 of Jalisco near Guadalajara, and the sunken gal- 
 leon on the Grand Cayman, and when I was on 
 the Isle of Pines I had several very tempting offers 
 
 73 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 to search there. And the late Captain Boynton 
 invited me " 
 
 "But," interrupted Edgar in a tone that would 
 tolerate no trifling, "you yourself have never 
 financed or organized an expedition with the ob- 
 ject in view of " 
 
 "Oh, that part's easy!" I assured him. "The 
 fitting-out part you can safely leave to me." I 
 assumed a confidence that I hoped he might 
 believe was real. "There's always a tramp 
 steamer in the Erie Basin," I said, "that one can 
 charter for any kind of adventure, and I have 
 the addresses of enough soldiers of fortune, fili- 
 busters, and professional revolutionists to man a 
 battle-ship, all fine fellows in a tight corner. And 
 I'll promise you they'll follow us to hell, and 
 back- 
 
 "That!" exclaimed Edgar, "is exactly what I 
 feared." 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "That's exactly what I dont want," said 
 Edgar sternly. "I don't intend to get into any 
 tight corners. I don't want to go to hell!" 
 
 I saw that in my enthusiasm I had perhaps 
 alarmed him. I continued more temperately. 
 
 "Any expedition after treasure," I pointed out, 
 "is never without risk. You must have disci- 
 
 74 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 pline, and you must have picked men. Suppose 
 there's a mutiny ? Suppose they try to rob us of 
 the treasure on our way home ? We must have 
 men we can rely on, and men who know how 
 to pump a Winchester. I can get you both. 
 And Bannerman will furnish me with anything 
 from a pair of leggins to a quick-firing gun, and on 
 Clark Street they'll quote me a special rate on ship 
 stores, hydraulic pumps, divers' helmets " 
 
 Edgar's eye-glasses became frosted with cold, 
 condemnatory scorn. He shook his head dis- 
 gustedly. 
 
 " I was afraid of this ! " he murmured. 
 
 I endeavored to reassure him. 
 
 "A little danger," I laughed, "only adds to the 
 fun." 
 
 "I want you to understand," exclaimed Edgar 
 indignantly, "there isn't going to be any danger. 
 There isn't going to be any fun. This is a plain 
 business proposition. I asked you those ques- 
 tions just to test you. And you approached the 
 matter exactly as I feared you would. I was 
 prepared for it. In fact," he explained shame- 
 facedly, "I've read several of your little stories, 
 and I find they run to adventure and blood and 
 thunder; they are not of the analytical school of 
 fiction. Judging from them," he added accus- 
 
 75 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 ingly, "you have a tendency to the romantic/* 
 He spoke reluctantly as though saying I had a 
 tendency to epileptic fits or the morphine habit. 
 
 "I am afraid," I was forced to admit, "that to 
 me pirates and buried treasure always suggest 
 adventure. And your criticism of my writings is 
 well observed. Others have discovered the same 
 fatal weakness. We cannot all/' I pointed out, 
 "manufacture unshrinkable flannels/' 
 
 At this compliment to his more fortunate con- 
 dition, Edgar seemed to soften. 
 
 "I grant you/' he said, "that the subject has 
 almost invariably been approached from the point 
 of view you take. And what," he demanded tri- 
 umphantly, "has been the result? Failure, or at 
 least before success was attained, a most unneces- 
 sary and regrettable loss of blood and life. Now, 
 on my expedition, I do not intend that any 
 blood shall be shed, or that anybody shall lose 
 his life. I have not entered into this matter 
 hastily. I have taken out information, and mean 
 to benefit by other people's mistakes. When I 
 decided to go on with this," he explained, " I read 
 all the books that bear on searches for buried 
 treasure, and I found that in each case the same 
 mistakes were made, and that then, in order to 
 remedy the mistakes, it was invariably necessary 
 
 76 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 to kill somebody. Now, by not making those mis- 
 takes, it will not be necessary for me to kill any one, 
 and nobody is going to have a chance to kill me." 
 
 "You propose that we fit out a schooner, and 
 sign on a crew. What will happen ? A man with 
 a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a black 
 patch over one eye, will inevitably be one of that 
 crew. And, as soon as we sail, he will at once 
 begin to plot against us. A cabin boy, who the 
 conspirators think is asleep in his bunk, will over- 
 hear their plot and will run to the quarter-deck to 
 give warning; but a pistol shot rings out, and the 
 cabin boy falls at the foot of the companion ladder. 
 The cabin boy is always the first one to go. After 
 that the mutineers kill the first mate, and lock 
 us in our cabin, and take over the ship. They 
 will then broach a cask of rum, and all through 
 the night we will listen to their drunken howlings, 
 and from the cabin airport watch the body of the 
 first mate rolling in the lee scuppers." 
 
 "But you forget," I protested eagarly, "there is 
 always one faithful member of the crew, who " 
 
 Edgar interrupted me impatiently. 
 
 " I have not overlooked him," he said. " He is 
 a Jamaica negro of gigantic proportions, or the 
 ship's cook; but he always gets his too, and he 
 gets it good. They throw him to the sharks! 
 
 77 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 Then we all camp out on a desert island inhabited 
 only by goats, and we build a stockade, and the 
 mutineers come to treat with us under a white 
 flag, and we, trusting entirely to their honor, are 
 fools enough to go out and talk with them. At 
 which they shoot us up, and withdraw laughing 
 scornfully." Edgar fixed his eye-glasses upon me 
 accusingly. 
 
 "Am I right, or am I wrong?" he demanded. 
 I was unable to answer. 
 
 "The only man," continued Edgar warmly, 
 "who ever showed the slightest intelligence in 
 the matter was the fellow in the 'Gold Bug.' He 
 kept his mouth shut. He never let any one know 
 that he was after buried treasure, until he found 
 it. That's me! Now I know exactly where this 
 treasure is, and " 
 
 I suppose, involuntarily, I must have given a 
 start of interest; for Edgar paused and shook his 
 head, slyly and cunningly. 
 
 "And if you think I have the map on my person 
 now," he declared in triumph, "you'll have to 
 guess again!" 
 
 "Really," I protested, "I had no intention " 
 
 "Not you, perhaps," said Edgar grudgingly; 
 "but your Japanese valet conceals himself behind 
 those curtains, follows me home, and at night " 
 
 r* 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 "I haven't got a valet," I objected. 
 
 Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating 
 self-sufficiency. "It makes no difference," he 
 declared, "^o one will ever find that map, or 
 see that map, or know where that treasure is, 
 until 7 point to the spot." 
 
 "Your caution is admirable," I said; "but 
 what," I jeered, "makes you think you can point 
 to the spot, because your map says something 
 like, 'Through the Sunken Valley to Witch's 
 Caldron, four points N. by N. E. to Gallows 
 Hill where the shadow falls at sunrise, fifty fathoms 
 west, fifty paces north as the crow flies, to the 
 Seven Wells' ? How the deuce," I demanded, "is 
 any one going to point to that spot ?" 
 
 "It isn't that kind of map," shouted Edgar tri- 
 umphantly. "If it had been, I wouldn't have 
 gone on with it. It's a map anybody can read 
 except a half-caste Portuguese sailor. It's as 
 plain as a laundry bill. It says," he paused appre- 
 hensively, and then continued with caution, "it 
 says at such and such a place there is a some- 
 thing. So many somethings from that something 
 are three what-you-may-call-'ems, and in the cen- 
 tre of these three what-you-may-call-'ems is buried 
 the treasure. It's as plain as that!" 
 
 "Even with the few details you have let es- 
 79 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 cape you," I said, " I could find that spot in my 
 sleep." 
 
 "I don't think you could," said Edgar uncom- 
 fortably; but I could see that he had mentally 
 warned himself to be less communicative. "And," 
 he went on, "I am willing to lead you to it, if 
 you subscribe to certain conditions." 
 
 Edgar's insulting caution had ruffled my spirit. 
 
 "Why do you think you can trust ME ?" I asked 
 haughtily. And then, remembering my share of 
 the million dollars, I added in haste, "I accept 
 the conditions." 
 
 "Of course, as you say, one has got to take 
 some risk," Edgar continued; "but I feel sure," 
 he said, regarding me doubtfully, "you would not 
 stoop to open robbery." I thanked him. 
 
 "Well, until one is tempted," said Edgar, "one 
 never knows what he might do. And I've simply 
 got to have one other man, and I picked on you 
 because I thought you could write about it " 
 
 "I see," I said, "I am to act as the historian 
 of the expedition." 
 
 "That will be arranged later," said Edgar. 
 "What I chiefly want you for is to dig. Can you 
 dig?" he asked eagerly. I told him I could; but 
 that I would rather do almost anything else. 
 
 "I must have one other man," repeated Edgar, 
 80 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 "a man who is strong enough to dig, and strong 
 enough to resist the temptation to murder me." 
 The retort was so easy that I let it pass. Be- 
 sides, on Edgar, it would have been wasted. 
 
 "I think you will do," he said with reluctance. 
 "And now the conditions!" 
 
 I smiled agreeably. 
 
 "You are already sworn to secrecy," said Edgar. 
 "And you now agree in every detail to obey me 
 implicitly, and to accompany me to a certain place, 
 where you will dig. If I find the treasure, you 
 agree to help me guard it, and convey it to where- 
 ever I decide it is safe to leave it. Your responsi- 
 bility is then at an end. One year after the treas- 
 ure is discovered, you will be free to write the 
 account of the expedition. For what you write, 
 some magazine may pay you. What it pays you 
 will be your share of the treasure." 
 
 Of my part of the million dollars, which I had 
 hastily calculated could not be less than one-fifth, 
 I had already spent over one hundred thousand 
 dollars and was living far beyond my means. I 
 had bought a farm with a water-front on the 
 Sound, a motor-boat, and, as I was not sure 
 which make I preferred, three automobiles. I 
 had at my own expense produced a play of mine 
 that no manager had appreciated, and its name 
 
 81 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 in electric lights was already blinding Broadway. 
 I had purchased a Hollander express rifle, a real 
 amber cigar holder, a private secretary who could 
 play both rag-time and tennis, and a fur coat. So 
 Edgar's generous offer left me naked. When I 
 had again accustomed myself to the narrow con- 
 fines of my flat, and the jolt of the surface cars, 
 I asked humbly: 
 
 "Is that ALL I get?" 
 
 "Why should you expect any more ?" demanded 
 Edgar. "It isn't your treasure. You wouldn't 
 expect me to make you a present of an interest in 
 my mills; why should you get a share of my 
 treasure?" He gazed at me reproachfully. "I 
 thought you'd be pleased," he said. " It must be 
 hard to think of things to write about, and I'm 
 giving you a subject for nothing. I thought," he 
 remonstrated, "you'd jump at the chance. It 
 isn't every day a man can dig for buried treasure." 
 
 "That's all right," I said. "Perhaps I appre- 
 ciate that quite as well as you do. But my time 
 has a certain small value, and I can't leave my 
 work just for excitement. We may be weeks, 
 months How long do you think we " 
 
 Behind his eye-glasses Edgar winked reprovingly. 
 
 "That is a leading question," he said. "I will 
 pay all your legitimate expenses transportation, 
 
 82 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 food, lodging. It won't cost you a cent. And 
 you write the story with my name left out," he 
 added hastily; "it would hurt my standing in the 
 trade/' he explained "and get paid for it." 
 
 I saw a sea voyage at Edgar's expense. I saw 
 palm trees, coral reefs. I felt my muscles aching 
 and the sweat run from my neck and shoulders as 
 I drove my pick into the chest of gold. 
 
 "I'll go you!" I said. We shook hands on it. 
 "When do we start ?" I asked. 
 
 "Now!" said Edgar. I thought he wished to 
 test me; he had touched upon one of my pet 
 vanities. 
 
 "You can't do that with me!" I said. "My 
 bags are packed and ready for any place in the 
 wide world, except the cold places. I can start 
 this minute. Where is it, the Gold Coast, the 
 Ivory Coast, the Spanish Main " 
 
 Edgar frowned inscrutably. "Have you an 
 empty suit-case?" he asked. 
 
 "Why EMPTY?" I demanded. 
 
 "To carry the treasure," said Edgar. "I left 
 mine in the hall. We will need two." 
 
 "And your trunks?" I said. 
 
 "There aren't going to be any trunks," said 
 Edgar. From his pocket he had taken a folder 
 of the New Jersey Central Railroad. "If we 
 
 83 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 hurry," he exclaimed, "we can catch the ten- 
 thirty express, and return to New York in time 
 for dinner." 
 
 "And what about the treasure ?" I roared. 
 
 "We'll bring it with us," said Edgar. 
 
 I asked for information. I demanded confi- 
 dences. Edgar refused both. I insisted that I 
 might be allowed at least to carry my automatic 
 pistol. " Suppose some one tries to take the treas- 
 ure from us ? " I pointed out. 
 
 "No one," said Edgar severely, "would be such 
 an ass as to imagine we are carrying buried treas- 
 ure in a suit-case. He will think it contains pa- 
 jamas." 
 
 " For local color, then " I begged, " I want to 
 say in my story that I went heavily armed." 
 
 "Say it, then," snapped Edgar. "But you 
 can't DO it! Not with me, you can't! How do 
 I know you mightn't " He shook his head 
 warily. 
 
 It was a day in early October, the haze of Ind- 
 ian summer was in the air, and as we crossed the 
 North River by the Twenty-third Street Ferry the 
 sun flashed upon the white clouds overhead and the 
 tumbling waters below. On each side of us great 
 vessels with the Blue Peter at the fore lay at the 
 wharves ready to cast off, or were already nosing 
 
 84 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 their way down the channel toward strange and 
 beautiful ports. Lamport and Holt were rolling 
 down to Rio; the Royal Mail's Magdelena, no 
 longer "white and gold," was off to Kingston 
 where once seven pirates swung in chains; the 
 Clyde was on her way to Hayti where the bucca- 
 neers came from; the Morro Castle was bound 
 for Havana, which Morgan, king of all the pirates, 
 had once made his own; and the Red D was 
 steaming to Porto Cabello where Sir Francis Drake, 
 as big a buccaneer as any of them, lies entombed in 
 her harbor. And 7 was setting forth on a buried 
 treasure expedition on a snub-nosed, flat-bellied, 
 fresh-water ferry-boat, bound for Jersey City! 
 No one will ever know my sense of humiliation. 
 And, when the Italian boy insulted my immac- 
 ulate tan shoes by pointing at them and saying 
 "Shine ?" I could have slain him. Fancy digging 
 for buried treasure in freshly varnished boots! 
 But Edgar did not mind. To him there was noth- 
 ing lacking; it was just as it should be. He was 
 deeply engrossed in calculating how many offices 
 were for rent in the Singer Building! 
 
 When we reached the other side, he refused to 
 answer any of my eager questions. He would 
 not let me know even for what place on the line 
 he had purchased our tickets, and, as a hint that 
 
 85 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 I should not disturb him, he stuffed into my hands 
 the latest magazines. "At least tell me this," I 
 demanded. "Have you ever been to this place 
 before to-day?" 
 
 "Once," said Edgar shortly, "last week. That's 
 when I found out I would need some one with 
 me who could dig." 
 
 "How do you know it's the right place?" I 
 whispered. 
 
 The summer season was over, and of the chair 
 car we were the only occupants; but, before he 
 answered, Edgar looked cautiously round him and 
 out of the window. We had just passed Red 
 Bank. 
 
 "Because the map told me," he answered. 
 "Suppose," he continued fretfully, "you had a map 
 of New York City with the streets marked on it 
 plainly ? Suppose the map said that if you walked 
 to where Broadway and Fifth Avenue meet, you 
 would find the Flatiron Building. Do you think 
 you could find it?" 
 
 "Was it as easy as that?" I gasped. 
 
 "It was as easy as that!" said Edgar. 
 
 I sank back into my chair and let the maga- 
 zines slide to the floor. What fiction story was 
 there in any one of them so enthralling as the actual 
 possibilities that lay before me ? In two hours I 
 
 86 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 might be bending over a pot of gold, a sea chest 
 stuffed with pearls and rubies! 
 
 I began to recall all the stories I had heard as a 
 boy of treasure buried along the coast by Kidd 
 on his return voyage from the Indies. Where along 
 the Jersey sea-line were there safe harbors ? The 
 train on which we were racing south had its rail 
 head at Barnegat Bay. And between Barnegat 
 and Red Bank there now was but one other inlet, 
 that of the Manasquan River. It might be Barne- 
 gat; it might be Nfanasquan. It could not be a 
 great distance from either; for sailors would not 
 have carried their burden far from the ship. I 
 glanced appealingly at Edgar. He was smiling 
 happily over "Pickings from Puck." We passed 
 Asbury Park and Ocean Grove, halted at Sea Girt, 
 and again at Manasquan; but Egdar did not 
 move. The next station was Point Pleasant, and 
 as the train drew to a stop, Edgar rose calmly and 
 grasped his suit-case. 
 
 "We get out here," he said. 
 
 Drawn up at the station were three open-work 
 hacks with fringe around the top. From each a 
 small boy waved at us with his whip. 
 
 "Curtis House? The Gladstone? The Cot- 
 tage in the Pines?" they chanted invitingly. 
 
 "Take me to a hardware store," said Edgar, 
 87 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 "where one can buy a spade." When we stopped 
 I made a move to get down; but Edgar stopped 
 me. 
 
 I protested indignantly, "I haven't much to say 
 about this expedition;" I exclaimed, "but, as 7 
 have to do the digging, I intend to choose my own 
 spade." 
 
 Edgar's eye-glasses flashed defiance. " You have 
 given your word to obey me," he said sternly. 
 " If you do not intend to obey me, you can return 
 in ten minutes by the next train." 
 
 I sank into my seat. In a moment the mutiny 
 had been crushed. Not even a cabin boy had 
 fallen ! Edgar returned with a spade, an axe, and 
 a pick. He placed them in the seat beside the 
 boy driver. 
 
 "What is your name, boy?" he asked. 
 
 "Rupert," said the boy. 
 
 "Rupert," continued Edgar, "drive us to the 
 beach. When you get to the bathing pavilion 
 keep on along the shore toward Manasquan In- 
 let." He touched the spade with his hand. "I 
 have bought a building lot on the beach," he ex- 
 plained, " and am going to dig a hole, and plant a 
 flagpole." 
 
 I was choked with indignation. As a writer of 
 fiction my self-respect was insulted. 
 
 88 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 " If there are any more lies to be told," I whis- 
 pered, " please let me tell them. Your invention is 
 crude, ridiculous! "Why," I demanded, "should 
 anybody want to plant a flagpole on a wind-swept 
 beach in October ? It's not the season for flag- 
 poles. Besides," I jeered, "where is your flag- 
 pole? Is it concealed in the suit-case?" 
 
 Edgar frowned uneasily, and touched the boy 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 "The flagpole itself," he explained, "is coming 
 down to-morrow by express." 
 
 The boy yawned, 7 and slapped the flanks of his 
 horse with the reins. "Gat up!" he said. 
 
 We crossed the railroad tracks and moved tow- 
 ard the ocean down a broad, sandy road. The 
 season had passed and the windows of the cottages 
 and bungalows on either side of the road were 
 barricaded with planks. On the verandas ham- 
 mocks abandoned to the winds hung in tatters, on 
 the back porches the doors of empty refrigerators 
 swung open on one hinge, and on every side above 
 the fields of gorgeous golden-rod rose signs reading 
 " For Rent." When we had progressed in silence 
 for a mile, the sandy avenue lost itself in the deeper 
 sand of the beach, and the horse of his own will 
 came to a halt. On one side we were surrounded 
 by locked and deserted bathing houses, on the 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 other by empty pavilions shuttered and barred 
 against the winter, but still inviting one to "Try 
 our salt water taffy" or to "Keep cool with an ice- 
 cream soda." Rupert turned and looked inquir- 
 ingly at Edgar. To the north the beach stretched 
 in an unbroken line to Manasquan Inlet. To the 
 south three miles away we could see floating on 
 the horizon like a mirage the hotels and summer 
 cottages of Bay Head. 
 
 "Drive toward the inlet," directed Edgar. 
 "Thjs gentleman and I will walk." 
 
 Relieved of our weight, the horse stumbled 
 bravely into the trackless sand, while below on the 
 damper and firmer shingle we walked by the edge 
 of the water. 
 
 The tide was coming in and the spent waves, 
 spreading before them an advance guard of tiny 
 shells and pebbles, threatened our boots, and at 
 the same time in soothing, lazy whispers warned 
 us of their attack. These lisping murmurs and 
 the crash and roar of each incoming wave as it 
 broke were the only sound. And on the beach 
 we were the only human figures. At last the 
 scene began to bear some semblance to one set for 
 an adventure. The rolling ocean, a coast steamer 
 dragging a great column of black smoke, and cast 
 high upon the beach the wreck of a schooner, her 
 
 90 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 masts tilting drunkenly, gave color to our purpose, 
 It became filled with greater promise of drama, 
 more picturesque. I began to thrill with excite- 
 ment. I regarded Edgar appealingly, in eager 
 supplication. At last he broke the silence that 
 was torturing me. 
 
 "We will now walk higher up," he commanded. 
 "If we get our feet wet, we may take cold." 
 
 My spirit was too far broken to make reply. 
 But to my relief I saw that in leaving the beach 
 Edgar had some second purpose. With each heavy 
 step he was drawing toward two high banks of 
 sand in a hollow behind which, protected by the 
 banks, were three stunted, wind-driven pines. His 
 words came back to me. "So many what-you- 
 may-call-'ems." Were these pine trees the three 
 somethings from something, the what-you-may- 
 call-'ems ? The thought chilled me to the spine. 
 I gazed at them fascinated. I felt like falling on 
 my knees in the sand and tearing their secret from 
 them with my bare hands. I was strong enough 
 to dig them up by the roots, strong enough to dig 
 the Panama Canal! I glanced tremulously at 
 Edgar. His eyes were wide open and, eloquent 
 with dismay, his lower jaw had fallen. He turned 
 and looked at me for the first time with considera- 
 tion. Apology and remorse were written in every 
 line of his countenance. 
 
 91 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 "I'm sorry/' he stammered. I had a cruel pre- 
 monition. I exclaimed with distress. 
 
 "You have lost the map!" I hissed. 
 
 "No, no," prostested Edgar; "but I entirely 
 forgot to bring any lunch!" 
 
 With violent mutterings I tore off my upper and 
 outer garments and tossed them into the hack. 
 
 "Where do I begin?" I asked. 
 
 Edgar pointed to a spot inside the triangle 
 formed by the three trees and equally distant from 
 each. 
 
 "Put that horse behind the bank," I com- 
 manded, "where no one can see him! And both 
 you and Rupert keep off the sky-line ! " 
 
 From the north and south we were now all three 
 hidden by the two high banks of sand; to the east 
 lay the beach and the Atlantic Ocean, and to the 
 west stretches of marshes that a mile away met 
 a wood of pine trees and the railroad round-house. 
 
 I began to dig. I knew that weary hours lay 
 before me, and I attacked the sand leisurely and 
 with deliberation. It was at first no great effort; 
 but as the hole grew in depth, and the roots of the 
 trees were exposed, the work was sufficient for 
 several men. Still, as Edgar had said, it is not 
 every day that one can dig for treasure, and in 
 thinking of what was to come I forgot my hands 
 that quickly blistered, and my breaking back. 
 
 92 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 After an hour I insisted that Edgar should take 
 a turn; but he made such poor headway that my 
 patience could not contain me, and I told him I 
 was sufficiently rested and would continue. With 
 alacrity he scrambled out of the hole, and, taking a 
 cigar from my case, seated himself comfortably in 
 the hack. I took MY comfort in anticipating the 
 thrill that would be mine when the spade would ring 
 on the ironbound chest; when, with a blow of the 
 axe, I would expose to view the hidden jewels, the 
 pieces of eight, coated with verdigris, the string of 
 pearls, the chains of yellow gold. Edgar had said a 
 million dollars. That must mean there would be 
 diamonds, many diamonds. I would hold them in 
 my hands, watch them, at the sudden sunshine, 
 blink their eyes and burst into tiny burning fires. 
 In imagination I would replace them in the setting, 
 from which, years before, they had been stolen. I 
 would try to guess whence they came from a 
 jewelled chalice in some dim cathedral, from the 
 breast of a great lady, from the hilt of an admiral's 
 sword. 
 
 After another hour I lifted my aching shoulders 
 and, wiping the sweat from my eyes, looked over 
 the edge of the hole. Rupert, with his back to the 
 sand-hill, was asleep. Edgar with one hand was 
 waving away the mosquitoes and in the other was 
 
 93 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 holding one of the magazines he had bought on the 
 way down. I could even see the page upon which 
 his eyes were riveted. It was an advertisement 
 for breakfast food. In my indignation the spade 
 slipped through my cramped and perspiring fin- 
 gers, and as it struck the bottom of the pit, some- 
 thing a band of iron, a steel lock, an iron ring 
 gave forth a muffled sound. My heart stopped 
 beating as suddenly as though Mr. Corbett had 
 hit it with his closed fist. My blood turned to 
 melted ice. I drove the spade down as fiercely as 
 though it was a dagger. It sank into rotten wood. 
 I had made no sound; for I could hardly breathe. 
 But the slight noise of the blow had reached Edgar. 
 I heard the springs of the hack creak as he vaulted 
 from it, and the next moment he was towering 
 above me, peering down into the pit. His eyes 
 were wide with excitement, greed, and fear. In 
 his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. Like a 
 lion defending his cubs he glared at me. 
 
 "Get out!" he shouted. 
 
 "Like hell!" I said. 
 
 "Get out!" he roared. "I'll do the rest. 
 That's mine, not yours! Get out!" 
 
 With a swift kick I brushed away the sand. I 
 found I was standing on a squat wooden box, 
 bound with bands of rusty iron. I had only to 
 
 94 
 
C O) 
 
 15 "3 
 
 c o 
 
 _ 
 
 f 
 
 *J yj 
 
 QJ t/3 
 S U 
 
 ' 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 stoop to touch it. It was so rotten that I could 
 have torn it apart with my bare hands. Edgar 
 was dancing on the edge of the pit, incidentally 
 kicking sand into my mouth and nostrils. 
 
 "You promised me!" he roared. "You prom- 
 ised to obey me!" 
 
 "You ass!" I shouted. "Haven't I done all 
 the work ? Don't I get " 
 
 "You get out!" roared Edgar. 
 
 Slowly, disgustedly, with what dignity one can 
 display in crawling out of a sand-pit, I scrambled 
 to the top. 
 
 "Go over there," commanded Edgar pointing, 
 "and sit down." 
 
 In furious silence I seated myself beside Rupert. 
 He was still slumbering and snoring happily. 
 From where I sat I could see nothing of what was 
 going forward in the pit, save once, when the head 
 of Edgar, his eyes aflame and his hair and eye- 
 glasses sprinkled with sand, appeared above it. 
 Apparently he was fearful lest I had moved from 
 the spot where he had placed me. I had not; 
 but had he known my inmost feelings he would 
 have taken the axe into the pit with him. 
 
 I must have sat so for half an hour. In the sky 
 above me a fish-hawk drifted lazily. From the 
 beach sounded the steady beat of the waves, and 
 
 95 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 from the town across the marshes came the puffiing 
 of a locomotive and the clanging bells of the freight 
 trains. The breeze from the sea cooled the sweat 
 on my aching body; but it could not cool the rage 
 in my heart. If I had had the courage of my feel- 
 ings, I would have cracked Edgar over the head 
 with the spade, buried him in the pit, bribed 
 Rupert, and forever after lived happily on my 
 ill-gotten gains. That was how Kidd, or Morgan, 
 or Blackbeard would have acted. I cursed the 
 effete civilization which had taught me to want 
 many pleasures but had left me with a conscience 
 that would not let me take human life to obtain 
 them, not even Edgar's life. 
 
 In half an hour a suit-case was lifted into view 
 and dropped on the edge of the pit. It was fol- 
 lowed by the other, and then by Edgar. Without 
 asking me to help him, because he probably knew 
 I would not, he shovelled the sand into the hole, 
 and then placed the suit-cases in the carriage. With 
 increasing anger I observed that the contents of 
 each were so heavy that to lift it he used both 
 hands. 
 
 "There is no use your asking any questions/' 
 he announced, "because I won't answer them." 
 
 I gave him minute directions as to where he 
 could go; but instead we drove in black silence to 
 
 96 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 the station. There Edgar rewarded Rupert with 
 a dime, and while we waited for the train to New 
 York placed the two suit-cases against the wall of 
 the ticket office and sat upon them. When the train 
 arrived he warned me in a hoarse whisper that I 
 had promised to help him guard the treasure, and 
 gave me one of the suit-cases. It weighed a ton. 
 Just to spite Edgar, I had a plan to kick it open, 
 so that every one on the platform might scramble 
 for the contents. But again my infernal New 
 England conscience restrained me. 
 
 Edgar had secured the drawing-room in the par- 
 lor car, and when we were safely inside and the 
 door bolted my curiosity became stronger than 
 my pride. 
 
 "Edgar," I said, "your ingratitude is contempti- 
 ble. Your suspicions are ridiculous; but, under 
 these most unusual conditions, I don't blame you. 
 But we are quite safe now. The door is fast- 
 ened," I pointed out ingratiatingly, "and this 
 train doesn't stop for another forty minutes. I 
 think this would be an excellent time to look at 
 the treasure." 
 
 "I don't!" said Edgar. 
 
 I sank back into my chair. With intense en- 
 joyment I imagined the train in which we were 
 seated hurling itself into another train; and every- 
 
 97 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 body, including Edgar, or, rather, especially Edgar, 
 being instantly but painlessly killed. By such 
 an act of an all-wise Providence I would at once 
 become heir to one million dollars. It was a beau- 
 tiful, satisfying dream. Even my conscience ac- 
 cepted it with a smug smile. It was so vivid a 
 dream that I sat guiltily expectant, waiting for 
 the crash to come, for the shrieks and screams, 
 for the rush of escaping steam and breaking 
 window panes. 
 
 But, it was far too good to be true. Without a 
 jar the train carried us and its precious burden in 
 safety to the Jersey City terminal. And each, with 
 half a million dollars in his hand, hurried to the 
 ferry, assailed by porters, newsboys, hackmen. To 
 them we were a couple of commuters saving a 
 dime by carrying our own handbags. 
 
 It was now six o'clock, and I pointed out to 
 Edgar that at that hour the only vaults open were 
 those of the Night and Day Bank. And to that 
 institution in a taxicab we at once made our way. 
 I paid the chauffeur, and two minutes later, with 
 a gasp of relief and rejoicing, I dropped the suit- 
 case I had carried on a table in the steel-walled 
 fastnesses of the vaults. Gathered excitedly around 
 us were the officials of the bank, summoned hastily 
 from above, and watchmen in plain clothes, and 
 
 98 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 watchmen in uniforms of gray. Great bars as 
 thick as my leg protected us. Walls of chilled steel 
 rising from solid rock stood between our treasure 
 and the outer world. Until then I had not known 
 how tremendous the nervous strain had been; but 
 now it came home to me. I mopped the per- 
 spiration from my forehead, I drew a deep 
 breath. 
 
 "Edgar," I exclaimed happily, "I congratulate 
 you!" 
 
 I found Edgar extending toward me a two-dollar 
 bill. "You gave the chauffeur two dollars," he 
 said. "The fare was really one dollar eighty; so 
 you owe me twenty cents." 
 
 Mechanically I laid two dimes upon the table. 
 
 "All the other expenses," continued Edgar, 
 "which I agreed to pay, I have paid." He made a 
 peremptory gesture. "I won't detain you any 
 longer," he said. "Good-night!" 
 
 "Good-night!" I cried. "Don't I see the 
 treasure?" Against the walls of chilled steel my 
 voice rose like that of a tortured soul. " Don't I 
 touch it ! " I yelled. " Don't I even get a squint ? " 
 
 Even the watchmen looked sorry for me. 
 
 "You do not!" said Edgar calmly. "You have 
 fulfilled your part of the agreement. I have ful- 
 filled mine. A year from now you can write the 
 
 99 
 
My Buried Treasure 
 
 story." As I moved in a dazed state toward the 
 steel door, his voice halted me. 
 
 "And you can say in your story," called Edgar, 
 "that there is only one way to get a buried treas- 
 ure. That is to go, and get it!" 
 
 100 
 
THE CONSUL 
 

 THE CONSUL 
 
 PR over forty years, in one part of the world 
 or another, old man Marshall had served 
 his country as a United States consul. He had 
 been appointed by Lincoln. For a quarter of a 
 century that fact was his distinction. It was now 
 his epitaph. But in former years, as each new 
 administration succeeded the old, it had again 
 and again saved his official head. When victo- 
 rious and voracious place-hunters, searching the 
 map of the world for spoils, dug out his hiding- 
 place and demanded his consular sign as a reward 
 for a younger and more aggressive party worker, 
 the ghost of the dead President protected him. 
 In the State Department, Marshall had become 
 a tradition. "You can't touch HIM!" the State 
 Department would say; "why, HE was appointed 
 by Lincoln!" Secretly, for this weapon against 
 the hungry head-hunters, the department was in- 
 finitely grateful. Old man Marshall was a consul 
 after its own heart. Like a soldier, he was obe- 
 dient, disciplined; wherever he was sent, there, 
 
; ; ; ..'; : . The Consul 
 
 without question, he would go. Never against ex- 
 ile, against ill-health, against climate did he make 
 complaint. |Nor when he was moved on and 
 down to make way for some ne'er-do-well with in- 
 fluence, with a brother-in-law in the Senate, with a 
 cousin owning a newspaper, with rich relatives 
 who desired him to drink himself to death at the 
 expense of the government rather than at their 
 own, did old man Marshall point to hjs record as 
 a claim for more just treatment, 
 
 And it had been an excellent record. His offi- 
 cial reports, in a quaint, stately hand, were models 
 of English; full of information, intelligent, valu- 
 able, well observed. And those few of his country- 
 men, who stumbled upon him in the out-of-the- 
 world places to which of late he had been banished, 
 wrote of him to the department in terms of admi- 
 ration and awe. Never had he or his friends peti- 
 tioned for promotion, until it was at last apparent 
 that, save for his record and the memory of his 
 dead patron, he had no friends. But, still in the 
 department the tradition held and, though he was 
 not advanced, he was not dismissed. 
 
 " If that old man's been feeding from the public 
 trough ever since the Civil War," protested a 
 "practical" politician, "it seems to me, Mr. Sec- 
 retary, that he's about had his share. Ain't it time 
 
 104 
 
The Consul 
 
 he give some one else a bite ? Some of us that 
 has done the work, that has borne the brunt " 
 
 "This place he now holds/' interrupted the Sec- 
 retary of State suavely, "is one hardly commen- 
 surate with services like yours. I can't pronounce 
 the name of it, and I'm not sure just where it is, 
 but I see that, of the last six consuls we sent there, 
 three resigned within a month and the other three 
 died of yellow-fever. Still, if you insist " 
 
 'The practical politician reconsidered hastily. 
 "I'm not the sort," he protested, "to turn out a 
 man appointed by our martyred President. Be- 
 sides, he's so old now, if the fever don't catch him, 
 he'll die of old age, anyway." 
 
 The Secretary coughed uncomfortably. "And 
 they say," he murmured, "republics are un- 
 grateful." 
 
 "I don't quite get that," said the practical 
 politician. 
 
 (Of Porto Banos, of the Republic of Colombia, 
 where as consul Mr. Marshall was upholding the 
 dignity of ihe United States, little could be said 
 except that it possessed a sure harbor. When 
 driven from the Caribbean Sea by stress of \veather, 
 the largest of ocean tramps, and even battle-ships, 
 could find in its protecting arms of coral a safe 
 shelter. But, as young Mr. Aiken the wireless 
 
The Consul 
 
 operator pointed out, unless driven by a hurricane 
 and the fear of death, no one ever visited it. Back 
 of the ancient wharves, that dated from the days 
 when Porto Banos was a receiver of stolen goods 
 for buccaneers and pirates, were rows of thatched 
 huts, streets, according to the season, of dust or 
 mud, a few iron-barred, jail-like barracks, custom- 
 houses, municipal buildings, and the whitewashed 
 adobe houses of the consuls. The back yard of 
 the town was a swamp. Through this at five each 
 morning a rusty engine pulled a train of flat cars 
 to the base of the mountains, and, if meanwhile 
 the rails had not disappered into the swamp, at 
 five in the evening brought back the flat cars 
 laden with odorous coffee-sacks. / 
 
 In the daily life of Porto Banos, waiting for the 
 return of the train, and betting if it would return, 
 was the chief interest. Each night the consuls, 
 the foreign residents, the wireless operator, the 
 manager of the rusty railroad met for dinner. 
 There at the head of the long table, by virtue of 
 his years, of his courtesy and distinguished man- 
 ner, of his office, Mr. Marshall presided. Of the 
 little band of exiles he was the chosen ruler. His 
 rule was gentle. By force of example he had made 
 existence in Porto Banos more possible. For 
 women and children Porto Banos was a death-trap, 
 
 106 
 
The Consul 
 
 and before "old man Marshall" came there had 
 been no influence to remind the enforced bachelors 
 of other days. They had lost interest, had grown 
 lax, irritable, morose. Their white duck was sel- 
 dom white. Their cheeks were unshaven. When 
 the sun sank into the swamp and the heat still 
 turned Porto Banos into a Turkish bath, they 
 threw dice on the greasy tables of the Cafe Bolivar 
 for drinks. The petty gambling led to petty quar- 
 rels; the drinks to fever. The coming of Mr. Mar- 
 shall changed that. His standard of life, his tact, 
 his worldly wisdom, his cheerful courtesy, his 
 fastidious personal neatness shamed the younger 
 men; the desire to please him, to stand well in his 
 good opinion, brought back pride and self-esteem. 
 
 The lieutenant of her Majesty's gun-boat Plover 
 noted the change. 
 
 "Used to be," he exclaimed, "you couldn't get 
 out of the Cafe Bolivar without some one sticking 
 a knife in you; now it's a debating club. They all 
 sit round a table and listen to an old gentleman 
 talk world politics." 
 
 / If Henry Marshall brought content to the exiles 
 of Porto Banos, there was little in return that 
 Porto Banos could give to him. Magazines and 
 correspondents in six languages kept him in touch 
 with those foreign lands in which he had repre- 
 
 107 
 
The Consul 
 
 sented his country, but of the country he had 
 represented, newspapers and periodicals showed 
 him only too clearly that in forty years it had 
 grown away from him, had changed beyond recog- 
 nition. 
 
 When last he had called at the State Depart- 
 ment, he had been made to feel he was a man with- 
 out a country, and when he visited his home town 
 in Vermont, he was looked upon as a Rip Van 
 Winkle. Those of his boyhood friends who were 
 not dead had long thought of him as dead. And 
 the sleepy, pretty village had become a bustling 
 commercial centre. In the lanes where, as a 
 young man, he had walked among wheat-fields, 
 trolley-cars whirled between rows of mills and 
 factories. The children had grown to manhood, 
 with children of their own. 
 
 Like a ghost, he searched for house after house, 
 where once he had been made welcome, only to 
 find in its place a towering office building. "All 
 had gone, the old familiar faces." In vain he 
 scanned even the shop fronts for a friendly, home- 
 like name. Whether the fault was his, whether 
 he would better have served his own interests than 
 those of his government, it now was too late to 
 determine. In his own home, he was a stranger 
 among strangers. In the service he had so faith- 
 
 108 
 
The Consul 
 
 fully followed, rank by rank, he had been dropped, 
 until now he, who twice had been a consul-gen- 
 eral, was an exile, banished to a fever swamp. 
 The great Ship of State had dropped him overside, 
 had "marooned** him, and sailed away. 
 
 Twice a day he walked along the shell road to 
 the Cafe Bolivar, and back again to the consulate. 
 There, as he entered the outer office, Jose, the 
 C*l*mbian clerk, would rise and bow profoundly. 
 
 "Any papers for me to sign, Jose ?" the consul 
 would ask. 
 
 "Not to-day, Excellency," the clerk would reply. 
 Then Jose would return to writing a letter to his 
 lady-love; not that there was anything to tell her, 
 but because writing on the official paper of the 
 consulate gave him importance in his eyes, and 
 in hers. And in the inner office the consul would 
 continue to gaze at the empty harbor, the empty 
 coral reefs, the empty, burning sky. 
 / The little band of exiles were at second break- 
 fast when the wireless man came in late to an- 
 nounce that a Red D. boat and the island of Cura- 
 coa had both reported a hurricane coming north. 
 Also, that much concern was felt for the safety of 
 the yacht Serapis. Three days before, in advance 
 of her coming, she had sent a wireless to Wilhelm- 
 stad, asking the captain of the port to reserve a 
 
 109 
 
The Consul 
 
 berth for her. She expected to arrive the following 
 morning. 
 
 But for forty-eight hours nothing had been 
 heard from her, and it was believed she had been 
 overhauled by the hurricane. Owing to the pres- 
 ence on board of Senator Hanley, the closest friend 
 of the new President, the man who had made him 
 president, much concern was felt at Washington. 
 / To try to pick her up by wireless, the gun-boat 
 Newark had been ordered from Culebra, the 
 cruiser Raleigh, with Admiral Hardy on board, 
 from Colon. It was possible she would seek shel- 
 ter at Porto Banos. The consul was ordered to 
 report. ^ 
 
 As Marshall wrote out his answer, the French 
 consul exclaimed with interest: 
 
 "He is of importance, then, this senator?" he 
 asked. "Is it that in your country ships of war 
 are at the service of a senator?" 
 
 Aiken, the wireless operator, grinned derisively. 
 
 "At the service of this senator, they are!" he 
 answered. "They call him the 'king-maker/ the 
 man behind the throne." 
 
 "But in your country," protested the French- 
 man, "there is no throne. I thought your presi- 
 dent was elected by the people ? " 
 
 "That's what the people think," answered Ai- 
 110 
 
The Consul 
 
 ken. "In God's country," he explained, "the 
 trusts want a rich man in the Senate, with the 
 same interests as their own, to represent them. 
 They chose Hanley. He picked out of the can- 
 didates for the presidency the man he thought 
 would help the interests. He nominated him, and 
 the people voted for him. Hanley is what we call 
 a 'boss/" 
 
 The Frenchman looked inquiringly at Marshall. 
 
 ' The position of the boss is the more dangerous," 
 said Marshall gravely, "because it is unofficial, 
 because there are no laws to curtail his powers. 
 Men like Senator Hanley are a menace to good 
 government. They see in public office only a 
 reward for party workers." 
 
 "That's right," assented Aiken. "Your forty 
 years' service, Mr. Consul, wouldn't count with 
 Hanley. If he wanted your job, he'd throw you 
 out as quick as he would a drunken cook." 
 
 Mr. Marshall flushed painfully, and the French 
 consul hastened to interrupt. 
 
 ''Then, let us pray," he exclaimed, with fer- 
 vor, "that the hurricane has sunk the Serapis, 
 and all on board." 
 
 /Two hours later, the Serapis, showing she had 
 met the hurricane and had come out second best, 
 steamed into the harbor. 
 
 in 
 
The Consul 
 
 Her owner was young Herbert Livingstone, of 
 Washington. He once had been in the diplomatic 
 service, and, as minister to The Hague, wished 
 to return to it^* In order to bring this about he 
 had subscribed liberally to the party campaign 
 fund.' 7 
 
 With him, among other distinguished persons, 
 was the all-powerful Hanley. The kidnapping of 
 Hanley for the cruise, in itself, demonstrated the 
 ability of Livingstone as a diplomat. It was the 
 opinion of many that it would surely lead to his 
 appointment as a minister plenipotentiary. Liv- 
 ingstone was of the same opinion. He had not 
 lived long in the nation's capital without observing 
 the value of propinquity. How many men he knew 
 were now paymasters, and secretaries of legation, 
 solely because those high in the government met 
 them daily at- the Metropolitan Club, and pre- 
 ferred them in almost any other place. And if, 
 after three weeks as his guest on board what the 
 newspapers called his floating palace, the senator 
 could refuse him even the prize legation of Europe, 
 there was no value in modest merit. As yet, Liv- 
 ingstone had not hinted at his ambition. There 
 was no need. To a statesman of Hanley's astute- 
 ness, the largeness of Livingstone's contribution 
 to the campaign fund was self-explanatory. 
 
 112 
 
The Consul 
 
 After her wrestling-match with the hurricane, 
 all those on board the Serapis seemed to find in 
 land, even in the swamp land of Porto Banos, 
 a compelling attraction. Before the anchors hit 
 the water, they_were^m^ the Taunqh. On reach- 
 ingsKore"7 they made at once for the consulate. 
 There were many cables they wished to start on 
 their way by wireless; cables to friends, to news- 
 papers, to the government. 
 
 Jose, the Colombian clerk, appalled by the un- 
 precedented invasion of visitors, of visitors so dis- 
 tinguished, and Marshall, grateful for a chance 
 to serve his fellow-countrymen, and especially his 
 countrywomen, were ubiquitous, eager, indispen- 
 sable. At Jose's desk the great senator, rolling 
 his cigar between his teeth, was using, to Jose's 
 ecstasy, Jose's own pen to write a reassuring mes- 
 sage to the White House. At the consul's desk a 
 beautiful creature, all in lace and pearls, was strug- 
 gling to compress the very low opinion she held 
 of a hurricane into ten words. On his knee, 
 Henry Cairns, the banker, was inditing instruc- 
 tions to his Wall Street office, and upon himself 
 Livingstone had taken the responsibility of reply- 
 ing to the inquiries heaped upon Marshall's desk, 
 from many newspapers. 
 
 It was just before sunset, and Marshall pro- 
 "3 
 
The Consul 
 
 duced his tea things, and the young person in 
 pearls and lace, who was Miss^airns^ made tea 
 for the women, and the men mixed gin and limes 
 with tepid water. The consul apologized for pro- 
 posing a toast in which they could not join. He 
 begged to drink to those who had escaped the 
 perils of the sea. Had they been his oldest and 
 nearest friends, his little speech could not have 
 been more heart-felt and sincere. To his distress, 
 it moved one of the ladies to tears, and in embar- 
 rassment, he turned to the men. 
 
 "I regret there is no ice," he said, "but you 
 know the rule of the tropics; as soon as a ship 
 enters port, the ice-machine bursts." 
 
 "I'll tell the steward to send you some, sir," 
 said Livingstone, " and as long as we're here 
 
 The senator showed his concern. 
 
 "As long as we're here ?" he gasped. 
 
 "Not over two days," answered the owner ner- 
 vously. "The chief says it will take all of that to 
 get her in shape. As you ought to know, Senator, 
 she was pretty badly mauled." 
 
 The senator gazed blankly out of the window. 
 Beyond it lay the naked coral reefs, the empty sky, 
 and the ragged palms of Porto Banos. 
 
 Livingstone felt that his legation was slipping 
 from him. 
 
 114 
 
The Consul 
 
 "That wireless operator/' he continued hastily, 
 " tells me there is a most amusing place a few miles 
 down the coast, Las Bocas, a sort of Coney Island, 
 where the government people go for the summer. 
 There's surf bathing and roulette and cafes chan- 
 tant. He says there's some Spanish dancers " 
 
 The guests of the Serapis exclaimed with inter- 
 est; the senator smiled. To Marshall the general 
 enthusiasm over the thought of a ride on a merry- 
 go-round suggested that the friends of Mr. Living- 
 stone had found their own society far from satis- 
 fying. 
 
 Greatly encouraged, Livingstone continued, with 
 enthusiasm: 
 
 "And that wireless man said," he added, "that 
 with the launch we can get there in half an hour. 
 We might run down after dinner." 
 
 He turned to Marshall. 
 
 "Will you join us, Mr. Consul?" he asked, 
 "and dine with us, first ?" 
 
 Marshall accepted with genuine pleasure. It 
 had been many months since he had sat at table 
 with his own people. But he shook his head 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "I was wondering about Las Bocas," he ex- 
 plained, "if your going there might not get you 
 in trouble at the next port. With a yacht, I 
 
 1*5 
 
The Consul 
 
 think it is different, but Las Bocas is under 
 quarantine " 
 
 There was a chorus of exclamations. 
 
 "It's not serious," Marshall explained. "There 
 was bubonic plague there, or something like it. 
 You would be in no danger from that. It is only 
 that you might be held up by the regulations. 
 Passenger steamers can't land any one who has 
 been there at any other port of the West Indies. 
 The English are especially strict. The Royal Mail 
 won't even receive any one on board here without 
 a certificate from the English consul saying he has 
 not visited Las Bocas. For an American they 
 would require the same guarantee from me. But 
 I don't think the regulations extend to yachts. I 
 will inquire. I don't wish to deprive you of any 
 of the many pleasures of Porto Banos," he added, 
 smiling, " but if you were refused a landing at your 
 next port I would blame myself." 
 
 "It's all right," declared Livingstone decidedly. 
 "It's just as you say; yachts and war-ships are 
 exempt. Besides, I carry my own doctor, and if 
 he won't give us a clean bill of health, I'll make 
 him walk the plank. At eight, then, at dinner. 
 I'll send the cutter for you. I can't give you a 
 salute, Mr. Consul, but you shall have all the side 
 boys I can muster." 
 
 116 
 
The Consul 
 
 Those from the yacht parted from their consul 
 in the most friendly spirit. 
 
 "I think he's charming!" exclaimed Miss 
 Cairns. "And did you notice his novels? They 
 were in every language. It must be terribly lonely 
 down here, for a man like that." 
 
 "He's the first of our consuls we've met on this 
 trip," growled her father, "that we've caught 
 sober." 
 
 "Sober!" exclaimed his wife indignantly. "He's 
 one of the Marshalls of Vermont. I asked him." 
 
 "I wonder," mused Hanley, "how much the 
 place is worth ? Hamilton, one of the new sena- 
 tors, has been devilling the life out of me to send 
 his son somewhere. Says if he stays in Washing- 
 ton he'll disgrace the family. I should think this 
 place would drive any man to drink himself to 
 death in three months, and young Hamilton, from 
 what I've seen of him, ought to be able to do it 
 in a week. That would leave the place open for 
 the next man." 
 
 "There's a postmaster in my State thinks he 
 carried it." The senator smiled grimly. "He 
 has consumption, and wants us to give him a con- 
 sulship in the tropics. I'll tell him I've seen Porto 
 Banos, and that it's just the place for him." 
 
 The senator's pleasantry was not well received. 
 117 
 
The Consul 
 
 But Miss Cairns alone had the temerity to speak 
 of what the others were thinking. 
 
 "What would become of Mr. Marshall ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 The senator smiled tolerantly. 
 
 "I don't know that I was thinking of Mr. 
 Marshall," he said. "I can't recall anything he 
 has done for this administration. You see, Miss 
 Cairns," he explained, in the tone of one address- 
 ing a small child, "Marshall has been abroad now 
 for forty years, at the expense of the taxpayers. 
 Some of us think men who have lived that long 
 on their fellow-countrymen had better come home 
 and get to work." 
 
 Livingstone nodded solemnly in assent. He did 
 not wish a post abroad at the expense of the tax- 
 payers. He was willing to pay for it. And then, 
 with "ex-Minister" on his visiting cards, and a 
 sense of duty well performed, for the rest of his 
 life he could join the other expatriates in Paris. 
 / Just before dinner, the cruiser Raleigh having 
 discovered the whereabouts of the Serapis by 
 wireless, entered the harbor, and Admiral Hardy 
 came to the yacht to call upon the senator, in 
 whose behalf he had been scouring the Caribbean 
 Seas. Having paid his respects to that personage, 
 the admiral fell boisterously upon Marshall. 
 
 118 
 
The Consul 
 
 The two old gentlemen were friends of many 
 years. They had met, officially and unofficially, 
 in many strange parts of the world. To each the 
 chance reunion was a piece of tremendous good 
 fortune. And throughout dinner the guests of 
 Livingstone, already bored with each other, found 
 in them and their talk of former days new and 
 delightful entertainment. So much so that when, 
 Marshall having assured them that the local quar- 
 antine regulations did not extend to a yacht, the 
 men departed for Las Bocas, the women insisted 
 that he and the admiral remain behind. 
 
 It was for Marshall a wondrous evening. To 
 forgather with his old friend, whom he had known 
 since Hardy was a mad midshipman, to sit at the 
 feet of his own charming countrywomen, to listen 
 to their soft, modualted laughter, to note how 
 quickly they saw that to him the evening was a 
 great event, and with what tact each contributed 
 to make it the more memorable; all served to 
 wipe out the months of bitter loneliness, the stigma 
 of failure, the sense of undeserved neglect. In 
 the moonlight, on the cool quarter-deck, they sat, 
 in a half circle, each of the two friends telling 
 tales out of school, tales of which the other was 
 the hero or the victim, "inside" stories of great 
 occasions, ceremonies, bombardments, unrecorded 
 "shirt-sleeve" diplomacy. 
 
 119 
 
The Consul 
 
 Hardy had helped to open the Suez Canal. 
 Marshall had assisted the Queen of Madagascar 
 to escape from the French invaders. On the Bar- 
 bary Coast Hardy had chased pirates. In Edin- 
 burgh Marshall had played chess with Carlyle. 
 He had seen Paris in mourning in the days of 
 the siege, Paris in terror in the days of the Com- 
 mune; he had known Garibaldi, Gambetta, the 
 younger Dumas, the creator of Pickwick. 
 
 "Do you remember that time in Tangier," the 
 admiral urged, "when I was a midshipman, and 
 got into the bashaw's harem ?" 
 
 " Do you remember how I got you out ? " Mar- 
 shall replied grimly. 
 
 "And," demanded Hardy, "do you remember 
 when Adelina Patti paid a visit to the Kearsarge at 
 Marseilles in '65 George Dewey was our second 
 officer and you were bowing and backing away 
 from her, and you backed into an open hatch, 
 and she said my French isn't up to it what 
 was it she said ?" 
 
 "I didn't hear it," said Marshall; "I was too 
 far down the hatch." 
 
 "Do you mean the old Kearsarge?" asked Mrs. 
 Cairns. "Were you in the service then, Mr. Mar- 
 shall?" 
 
 With loyal pride in his friend, the admiral 
 answered for him: 
 
 120 
 
The Consul 
 
 "He was our consul-general at Marseilles!" 
 
 There was an uncomfortable moment. Even 
 those denied imagination could not escape the 
 contrast, could see in their mind's eye the great 
 harbor of Marseilles, crowded with the shipping 
 of the world, surrounding it the beautiful city, the 
 rival of Paris to the north, and on the battle-ship 
 the young consul-general making his bow to the 
 young Empress of Song. And now, before their 
 actual eyes, they saw the village of Porto Banos, a 
 black streak in the night, a row of mud shacks, 
 at the end of the wharf a single lantern yellow in 
 the clear moonlight. 
 
 Later in the evening Miss Cairns led the admiral 
 to one side. 
 
 "Admiral," she began eagerly, "tell me about 
 your friend. Why is he here ? Why don't they 
 give him a place worthy of him ? I've seen many 
 of our representatives abroad, and I know we 
 cannot afford to waste men like that." The girl 
 exclaimed indignantly: "He's one of the most 
 interesting men I've ever met! He's lived every- 
 where, known every one. He's a distinguished 
 man, a cultivated man; even I can see he knows 
 his work, that he's a diplomat, born, trained, that 
 he's " 
 
 The admiral interrupted with a growl. 
 
 "You don't have to tell ME about Henry," he 
 
 121 
 
The Consul 
 
 protested. "I've known Henry twenty-five years. 
 If Henry got his deserts," he exclaimed hotly, "he 
 wouldn't be a consul on this coral reef; he'd be 
 a minister in Europe. Look at me! We're the 
 same age. We started together. When Lincoln 
 sent him to Morocco as consul, he signed my com- 
 mission as a midshipman. Now I'm an admiral. 
 Henry has twice my brains and he's been a consul- 
 general, and he's here, back at the foot of the 
 ladder!" 
 
 "Why? "demanded the girl. 
 
 " Because the navy is a service and the consular 
 service isn't a service. Men like Senator Hanley 
 use it to pay their debts. While Henry's been 
 serving his country abroad, he's lost his friends, 
 lost his ' pull.' Those politicians up at Washington 
 have no use for him. They don't consider that a 
 consul like Henry can make a million dollars for 
 his countrymen. He can keep them from ship- 
 ping goods where there's no market, show them 
 where there is a market." The admiral snorted 
 contemptuously. "You don't have to tell ME the 
 value of a good consul. But those politicians don't 
 consider that. They only see that he has a job 
 worth a few hundred dollars, and they want it, 
 and if he hasn't other politicians to protect him, 
 they'll take it." 
 
 The girl raised her head. 
 122 
 
The Consul 
 
 "Why don't you speak to the senator?" she 
 asked. "Tell him you've known him for years, 
 that " 
 
 "Glad to do it!" exclaimed the admiral heart- 
 ily. "It won't be the first time. But Henry 
 mustn't know. He's too confoundedly touchy. 
 He hates the idea of influence, hates men like Han- 
 ley, who abuse it. If he thought anything was 
 given to him except on his merits, he wouldn't 
 take it." 
 
 "Then we won't tell him," said the girl. For 
 a moment she hesitated. 
 
 "If I spoke to Mr. Hanley," she asked, "told 
 him what I learned to-night of Mr. Marshall, 
 would it have any effect?" 
 
 "Don't know how it will affect Hanley," said 
 the sailor, "but if you asked me to make any- 
 body a consul-general, I'd make him an ambas- 
 sador." 
 
 Later in the evening Hanley and Livingstone 
 were seated alone on deck. The visit to Las Bocas 
 had not proved amusing, but, much to Living- 
 stone's relief, his honored guest was now in good- 
 humor. He took his cigar from his lips, only to 
 sip at a long cool drink. Fie was in a mood flatter- 
 ingly confidential and communicative. 
 
 " People have the strangest idea of what I can 
 123 
 
The Consul 
 
 do for them/' he laughed, It was his pose to 
 pretend he was without authority. "They be- 
 lieve I've only to wave a wand, and get them any- 
 thing they want. I thought I'd be safe from them 
 on board a yacht." 
 
 Livingstone, in ignorance of what was coming, 
 squirmed apprehensively. 
 
 "But it seems," the senator went on, "I'm at 
 the mercy of a conspiracy. The women folk want 
 me to do something for this fellow Marshall. If 
 they had their way, they'd send him to the Court 
 of St. James. And old Hardy, too, tackled me 
 about him. So did Miss Cairns. And then 
 Marshall himself got me behind the wheel-house, 
 and I thought he was going to tell me how good 
 he was, too! But he didn't." 
 
 As though the joke were on himself, the senator 
 laughed appreciatively. 
 
 "Told me, instead, that Hardy ought to be a 
 vice-admiral." 
 
 Livingstone, also, laughed, with the satisfied 
 air of one who cannot be tricked. 
 
 "They fixed it up between them," he explained, 
 "each was to put in a good word for the other." 
 He nodded eagerly. "That's what / think." 
 
 There were moments during the cruise when 
 Senator Hanley would have found relief in drop- 
 
 124 
 
The Consul 
 
 ping his host overboard. With mock deference, 
 the older man inclined his head. 
 
 "That's what you think, is it?" he asked. 
 "Livingstone," he addded, "you certainly are a 
 great judge of men ! " 
 
 The next morning, old man Marshall woke with 
 a Tightness at his heart that had been long absent. 
 For a moment, conscious only that he was happy, 
 he lay between sleep and waking, frowning up 
 at his canopy of mosquito net, trying to realize 
 what change had come to him. Then he remem- 
 bered. His old friend had returned. New friends 
 had come into his life and welcomed him kindly. 
 He was no longer lonely. As eager as a boy, he 
 ran to the window. He had not been dreaming. 
 In the harbor lay the pretty yacht, the stately, 
 white-hulled war-ship. The flag that drooped 
 from the stern of each caused his throat to tighten, 
 brought warm tears to his eyes, fresh resolve to 
 his discouraged, troubled spirit. When he knelt 
 beside his bed, his heart poured out his thanks in 
 gratitude and gladness. 
 
 While he was dressing, a blue-jacket brought a 
 note from the admiral. It invited him to tea on 
 board the war-ship, with the guests of the Serapis. 
 His old friend added that he was coming to lunch 
 with his consul, and wanted time reserved for a 
 
The Consul 
 
 long talk. The consul agreed gladly. He was in 
 holiday humor. The day promised to repeat the 
 good moments of the night previous. 
 
 At nine o'clock, through the open door of the 
 consulate, Marshall saw Aiken, the wireless oper- 
 ator, signalling from the wharf excitedly to the 
 yacht, and a boat leave the ship and return. Al- 
 most immediately the launch, carrying several 
 passengers, again made the trip shoreward. 
 
 Half an hour later, Senator Hanley, Miss Cairns, 
 and Livingstone came up the water front, and 
 entering the consulate, seated themselves around 
 Marshall's desk. Livingstone was sunk in mel- 
 ancholy. The senator, on the contrary, was smil- 
 ing broadly. His manner was one of distinct relief. 
 He greeted the consul with hearty good-humor. 
 
 "I'm ordered home!" he announced gleefully. 
 Then, remembering the presence of Livingstone, 
 he hastened to add: "I needn't say how sorry I 
 am to give up my yachting trip, but orders are 
 orders. The President," he explained to Marshall, 
 "cables me this morning to come back and take 
 my coat off." 
 
 The prospect, as a change from playing bridge on 
 a pleasure boat, seemed far from depressing him. 
 
 "Those filibusters in the Senate," he continued 
 genially, " are making trouble again. They think 
 
 126 
 
The Consul 
 
 they've got me out of the way for another month, 
 but they'll find they're wrong. When that bill 
 comes up, they'll find me at the old stand and 
 ready for business!" ^ Marshall did not attempt 
 to conceal his personal disappointment^^ 
 
 "I am so sorry you are leaving," he said; "sel- 
 fishly sorry, I mean. I'd hoped you all would 
 be here for several days." 
 
 He looked inquiringly toward Livingstone. 
 
 "I understood the Serapis was disabled," he 
 explained. 
 
 " She is," answered Hanley. " So's the Raleigh. 
 At a pinch, the admiral might have stretched the 
 regulations and carried me to Jamaica, but the 
 Raleigh's engines are knocked about too. I've 
 got to reach Kingston Thursday. The German 
 boat leaves there Thursday for New York. At 
 first it looked as though I couldn't do it, but we 
 find that the Royal Mail is due to-day, and she 
 can get to Kingston Wednesday night. It's a great 
 piece ofTucE I wouldn't bother you with my 
 troubles," the senator explained pleasantly, "but 
 the agent of the Royal Mail here won't sell me a 
 ticket until you've put your seal to this.?/ 
 
 He extended a piece of printed paper. 
 
 As Hanley had been talking, the face of the 
 consul had grown grave. He accepted the paper, 
 
 127 
 
The Consul 
 
 but did not look at it. Instead, he regarded the 
 senator with troubled eyes. When he spoke, his 
 tone was one of genuine concern. 
 
 "It is most unfortunate," he said. "But I am 
 afraid the Royal Mail will not take you on board. 
 Because of Las Bocas," he explained. "If we had 
 only known!" he added remorsefully. "It is most 
 unfortunate." 
 
 "Because of Las Bocas?" echoed Hanley. 
 "You don't mean they'll refuse to take me to 
 Jamaica because I spent half an hour at the end 
 of a wharf listening to a squeaky gramophone ?" 
 
 "The trouble," explained Marshall, "is this: 
 if they carried you, all the other passengers would 
 be held in quarantine for ten days, and there are 
 fines to pay, and there would be difficulties over 
 the mails. But," he added hopefully, *' maybe 
 the regulations have been altered. I will see her 
 captain, and tell him " 
 
 "See her captain!" objected Hanley. "Why 
 see the captain ? He doesn't know I've been to 
 that place. Why tell him ? All I need is a clean 
 bill of health from you. That's all HE wants. 
 You have only to sign that paper." 
 
 Marshall regarded the senator with surprise. 
 
 "But I can't," he said. 
 
 "You can't? Why not?" 
 
 Ml 
 
The Consul 
 
 "Because it certifies to the fact that you have 
 not visited Las Bocas. Unfortunately, you have 
 visited Las Bocas./'/ 
 
 The senator had been walking up and down the 
 room. Now he seated himself, and stared at Mar- 
 shall curiously. 
 
 "It's like this, Mr. Marshall," he began quietly. 
 "The President desires my presence in Washing- 
 ton, thinks I can be of some use to him there in 
 helping carry out certain party measures meas- 
 ures to which he pledged himself before his elec- 
 tion. Down here, a British steamship line has 
 laid down local rules which, in my case anyway, 
 are ridiculous. The question is, are you going to 
 be bound by the red tape of a ha'penny British 
 colony, or by your oath to the President of the 
 United States?" 
 
 The sophistry amused Marshall. He smiled 
 good-naturedly and shook his head. 
 
 "I'm afraid, Senator," he said, "that way of 
 putting it is hardly fair. Unfortunately, the ques- 
 tion is one of fact. I will explain to the captain " 
 
 "You will explain nothing to the captain!" in- 
 terrupted Hanley. "This is a matter which con- 
 cerns no one but our two selves. I am not asking 
 favors of steamboat captains. I am asking an 
 American consul to assist an American citizen in 
 
 129 
 
The Consul 
 
 trouble, and," he added, with heavy sarcasm, "in- 
 cidentally, to carry out the wishes of his President." 
 
 Marshall regarded the senator with an expression 
 of both surprise and disbelief. 
 
 "Are you asking me to put my name to what is 
 not so?" he said. "Are you serious?" 
 
 "That paper, Mr. Marshall," returned Hanley 
 steadily, "is a mere form, a piece of red tape. 
 There's no 'more danger of my carrying the plague 
 to Jamaica than of my carrying a dynamite bomb. 
 You know that."/ 
 
 "I do know that," assented Marshall heartily. 
 "I appreciate your position, and I regret it ex- 
 ceedingly. You are the innocent victim of a regu- 
 lation which is a wise regulation, but which is most 
 unfair to you. My own position," he added, "is 
 not important, but you can believe me, it is not 
 easy. It is certainly no pleasure for me to be 
 unable to help you." 
 
 Hanley was leaning forward, his hands on his 
 knees, his eyes watching Marshall closely. 
 / "Then you refuse ?" he said. "Why ?" | 
 
 Marshall regarded the senator steadily. His 
 manner was untroubled. The look he turned 
 upon Hanley was one of grave disapproval. 
 
 "You know why," he answered quietly. "It is 
 impossible." 
 
 130 
 
The Consul 
 
 In sudden anger Hanley rose. Marshall, who 
 had been seated behind his desk, also rose. For a 
 moment, in silence, the two men confronted each 
 other. Then Hanley spoke; his tone was harsh 
 and threatening. 
 
 "Then I am to understand," he exclaimed, 
 "that you refuse to carry out the wishes of a 
 United States Senator and of the President of the 
 United States?"; 
 
 In front of Marshall, on his desk, was the little 
 iron stamp of the consulate. Protectingly, almost 
 caressingly, he laid his hand upon it. 
 
 "I refuse/' he corrected, "to place the seal of 
 this consulatejon^a ]}e"/l 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Miss Cairns, un- 
 willing to remain, and unable to withdraw, clasped 
 her hands unhappily and stared at the floor. Liv- 
 ingstone exclaimed in indignant' protest. Hanley 
 moved a step nearer and, to emphasize what he 
 said, tapped his knuckles on the desk. With the 
 air of one confident of his advantage, he spoke 
 slowly and softly. 
 
 "Do you appreciate," he asked, "that, while 
 you may be of some importance down here in this 
 fever-swamp, in Washington I am supposed to 
 carry some weight? Do you appreciate that I 
 am a senator from a State that numbers four mill- 
 
The Consul 
 
 ions of people, and that you are preventing me 
 from serving those people ? " 
 
 Marshall inclined his head gravely and politely. 
 
 "And I want you to appreciate/' he said, "that 
 while I have no weight at Washington, in this 
 fever-swamp I have the honor to represent eighty 
 millions of people, and as long as that consular 
 sign is over my door I don't intend to prostitute 
 if for you, or the President of the United States, 
 or any one of those eighty millions." 
 
 Of the two men, the first to lower his eyes was 
 Hanley. He laughed shortly, and walked to the 
 door. There he turned, and indifferently, as 
 though the incident no longer interested him, 
 drew out his watch. 
 
 "Mr. Marshall," he said, "if the cable is work- 
 ing, I'll take your tin sign away from you by sun- 
 
 set." 
 
 For one of Marshall's traditions, to such a speech 
 there was no answer save silence. He bowed, and, 
 apparently serene and undismayed, resumed his 
 seat. From the contest, judging from the manner 
 of each, it was Marshall, not Hanley, who had 
 emerged victorious. 
 
 But Miss Cairns was not deceived. Under the 
 unexpected blow, Marshall had turned older. His 
 clear blue eyes had grown less alert, his broad 
 
 132 
 
'Then I am to understand," he exclaimed, "that you refuse to 
 
 carry out the wishes of a United States Senator and 
 
 of the President of the United States?" 
 
The Consul 
 
 shoulders seemed to stoop. In sympathy, her own 
 eyes filled with sudden tears. 
 
 "What will you do ?" she whispered. 
 
 "I don't know what I shall do/' said Marshall 
 simply. "I should have liked to have resigned. 
 It's a prettier finish. After forty years to be dis- 
 missed by cable is it's a poor way of ending it." 
 
 Miss Cairns rose and walked to the door. There 
 she turned and looked back. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said. And both understood 
 that in saying no more than that she had best 
 shown her sympathy. 
 
 An hour later the sympathy of Admiral Hardy 
 was expressed more directly. 
 
 "If he comes on board my ship," roared that 
 gentleman, "I'll push him down an ammunition 
 hoist and break his damned neck!" 
 
 Marshall laughed delightedly. The loyalty of 
 his old friend was never so welcome. 
 
 "You'll treat him with every courtesy," he said. 
 "The only satisfaction he gets out of this is to 
 see that he has hurt me. We will not give him 
 that satisfaction." 
 
 But Marshall found that to conceal his wound 
 was more difficult than he had anticipated. When, 
 at tea time, on the deck of the war-ship, he again 
 met Senator Hanley and the guests of the Serapis, 
 
 133 
 
The Consul 
 
 he could not forget that his career had come to 
 an end. There was much to remind him that 
 this was so. He was made aware of it by the sad, 
 sympathetic glances of the women; by their tact- 
 ful courtesies; by the fact that Livingstone, anx- 
 ious to propitiate Hanley, treated him rudely; by 
 the sight of the young officers, each just starting 
 upon a career of honor, and possible glory, as his 
 career ended in humiliation; and by the big war- 
 ship herself, that recalled certain crises when he 
 had only to press a button and war-ships had come 
 at his bidding. 
 
 At five o'clock there was an awkward moment. 
 The Royal Mail boat, having taken on her cargo, 
 passed out of the harbor on her way to Jamaica, 
 and dipped her colors. Senator Hanley, aban- 
 doned to his fate, observed her departure in 
 silence. 
 
 Livingstone, hovering at his side, asked sym- 
 pathetically: 
 
 "Have they answered your cable, sir ?" 
 
 "They have," said Hanley gruffly. 
 
 "Was it was it satisfactory?" pursued the 
 diplomat. 
 
 "It was" said the senator, with emphasis. 
 
 Far from discouraged, Livingstone continued his 
 inquiries. 
 
The Consul 
 
 "And when," he asked eagerly, "are you going 
 to tell him?" 
 
 "Now!" said the senator. 
 
 The guests were leaving the ship. When all 
 were seated in the admiral's steam launch, the 
 admiral descended the accommodation ladder and 
 himself picked up the tiller ropes. 
 
 ("Mr. Marshall," he called, "when I bring the 
 launch broadside to the ship and stop her, you 
 will stand ready to receive the consul's salute/*; 
 
 Involuntarily, Marshall uttered an exclamation 
 of protest. He had forgotten that on leaving the 
 war-ship, as consul, he was entitled to seven guns. 
 Had he remembered, he would have insisted that 
 the ceremony be omitted. He knew that the ad- 
 miral wished to show his loyalty, knew that his 
 old friend was now paying him this honor only 
 as a rebuke to Hanley. But the ceremony was 
 no longer an honor. Hanley had made of it a 
 mockery. It served only to emphasize what had 
 been taken from him. But, without a scene, it 
 now was too late to avoid it. The first of the 
 seven guns had roared from the bow, and, as often 
 he had stood before, as never he would so stand 
 again, Marshall took his place at the gangway of the 
 launch. His eyes were fixed on the flag, his gray 
 head was uncovered, his hat was pressed above 
 his heart. 
 
The Consul 
 
 For the first time since Hanley had left the con- 
 sulate, he fell into sudden terror lest he might give 
 way to his emotions. Indignant at the thought, 
 he held himself erect. His face was set like a 
 mask, his eyes were untroubled. He was deter- 
 mined they should not see that he was suffering. 
 
 Another gun spat out a burst of white smoke, 
 a stab of flame. There was an echoing roar. 
 Another and another followed. Marshall counted 
 seven, and then, with a bow to the admiral, backed 
 from the gangway. 
 
 And then another gun shattered the hot, heavy 
 silence. Marshall, confused, embarrassed, assum- 
 ing he had counted wrong, hastily returned to his 
 place. But again before he could leave it, in 
 savage haste a ninth gun roared out its greeting, 
 He could not still be mistaken. He turned ap- 
 pealingly to his friend. The eyes of jhe admiral 
 were fixed upon the war-ship. Again*a gun shat- 
 tered the silence. Was it a jest ? Were they 
 laughing at him ? Marshall flushed miserably. 
 He gave a swift glance toward the others. They 
 were smiling. Then it was a jest. Behind his 
 back, something of which they all were cognizant 
 was going forward. ; 5^he face of Livingstone alone 
 betrayed a like bewilderment to his own. But the 
 others, who knew, were mocking hirn.J 
 
 For the thirteenth time a gun shook the brood- 
 136 
 
The Consul 
 
 ing swamp land of Porto Banos. And then, and 
 not until then, did the flag crawl slowly from the 
 mast-head. ^Mary Cairns broke the tenseness by 
 
 >* "" J ^^^ ^,x ^ % J 
 
 bursting into tears. But, Marshall saw that every 
 oneJeke, save she and Livingstone, were still smil- 
 ing. Even the blue-jackets in charge of the launch 
 were grinning at him. He was beset by smiling 
 faces. And then from the war-ship, unchecked, 
 came, against all regulations, three long, splendid 
 cheers. 
 
 Marshall felt his lips quivering, the warm tears 
 forcing their way to his eyes. He turned beseech- 
 ingly to his friend. His voice trembled. 
 
 "Charles," he begged, "are they laughing at 
 me?" 
 
 Eagerly, before the other would answer, Senator 
 Hanley tossed his cigar into the water and, scram- 
 bling forward, seized Marshall by the hand. 
 
 "Mr. Marshall," he cried, "our President has 
 great faith in Abraham Lincoln's judgment of 
 men. And this salute means that this morning 
 he appointed you our new minister to The Hague( 
 I'm one of those politicians who keeps his word. I 
 told you I'd take your tin sign away from you by 
 sunset. I've done it!" 
 
THE NATURE FAKER 
 
THE NATURE FAKER 
 
 RICHARD HERRICK was a young man with 
 a gentle disposition, much money, and no 
 sense of humor. His object in life was to marry 
 Miss Catherweight. For three years she had tried 
 to persuade him this could not be, and finally, in 
 order to convince him, married some one else. 
 When the woman he loves marries another man, 
 the rejected one is popularly supposed to take to 
 drink or to foreign travel. Statistics show that, 
 instead, he instantly falls in love with the best 
 friend of the girl who refused him. But, as Her- 
 rick truly loved Miss Catherweight, he could not 
 worship any other woman, and so he became a lover 
 of nature. Nature, he assured his men friends, 
 does not disappoint you. The more thought, care, 
 affection you give to nature, the more she gives you 
 in return, and while, so he admitted, in wooing 
 nature there are no great moments, there are no 
 heartaches. Jackson, one of the men friends, and 
 of a frivolous disposition, said that he also could 
 admire a landscape, but he would rather look at 
 the beautiful eyes of a girl he knew than at the 
 
 141 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 Lakes of Killarney, with a full moon, a setting sun, 
 and the aurora borealis for a background. Her- 
 rick suggested that, while the beautiful eyes 
 might seek those of another man, the Lakes of 
 Killarney would always remain where you could 
 find them. 
 
 Herrick pursued his new love in Connecticut 
 on an abandoned farm which he converted into a 
 "model" one. On it he established model dairies 
 and model incubators. He laid out old-fashioned 
 gardens, sunken gardens, Italian gardens, land- 
 scape gardens, and a game preserve. The game 
 preserve was his own especial care and pleasure. 
 It consisted of two hundred acres of dense forest 
 and hills and ridges of rock. It was filled with 
 mysterious caves, deep chasms, tiny gurgling 
 streams, nestling springs, and wild laurel. It was 
 barricaded with fallen tree-trunks and moss-cov- 
 ered rocks that had never felt the foot of man 
 since that foot had worn a moccasin. Around the 
 preserve was a high fence stout enough to keep 
 poachers on the outside and to persuade the wild 
 animals that inhabited it to linger on the inside. 
 These wild animals were squirrels, rabbits, and 
 raccoons. Every day, in sunshine or in rain, en- 
 tering through a private gate, Herrick would 
 explore this holy of holies. For such vermin as 
 
 142 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 would destroy the gentler animals he carried a 
 gun. But it was turned only on those that preyed 
 upon his favorites. For hours he would climb 
 through this wilderness, or, seated on a rock, 
 watch a bluebird building her nest or a squirrel 
 laying in rations against the coming of the snow. 
 In time he grew to think he knew and understood 
 the inhabitants of this wild place of which he was 
 the overlord. He looked upon them not as his 
 tenants but as his guests. And when they fled 
 from him in terror to caves and hollow tree-trunks, 
 he wished he might call them back and explain 
 he was their friend, that it was due to him they 
 lived in peace. He was glad they were happy. 
 He was glad it was through him that, undisturbed, 
 they could live the simple life. 
 
 His fall came through ambition. Herrick him- 
 self attributed it to his too great devotion to nature 
 and nature's children. Jackson, he of the frivo- 
 lous mind, attributed it to the fact that any man 
 is sure to come to grief who turns from the worship 
 of God's noblest handiwork, by which Jackson 
 meant woman, to worship chipmunks and Plym- 
 outh Rock hens. 
 
 One night Jackson lured Herrick into New 
 York to a dinner and a music hall. He invited 
 also one, Kelly, a mutual friend of a cynical and 
 
 H3 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 u 
 
 combative disposition. Jackson liked to hear him 
 and Herrick abuse each other, and always intro- 
 duced subjects he knew would cause each to lose 
 his temper. 
 
 But, on this night, Herrick needed no goading. 
 He was in an ungrateful mood. Accustomed to 
 food fresh from the soil and the farmyard, he 
 sneered at hothouse asparagus, hot-house grapes, 
 and cold-storage quail. At the music hall he was 
 even more difficult. In front of him sat a stout 
 lady who when she shook with laughter shed 
 patchouli and a man who smoked American cigar- 
 ettes. At these and the steam heat, the nostrils of 
 Herrick, trained to the odor of balsam and the 
 smoke of open wood fires, took offence. He re- 
 fused to be amused. The monologue artist, in 
 whom Jackson found delight, caused Herrick only 
 to groan; the knockabout comedians he hoped 
 would break their collar-bones; the lady who 
 danced Salome, and who fascinated Kelly, Her- 
 rick prayed would catch pneumonia and die of 
 it. And when the drop rose upon the Countess 
 Zichy's bears, his dissatisfaction reached a climax. 
 
 There were three bears a large papa bear, a 
 mamma bear, and the baby bear. On the pro- 
 gramme they were described as Bruno, Clara, and 
 Ikey. They were of a dusty brown, with long 
 
 144 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 curling noses tipped with white, and fat, tan-clored 
 bellies. When father Bruno, on his hind legs and 
 bare feet, waddled down the stage, he resembled 
 a Hebrew gentleman in a brown bathing suit who 
 had lost his waist-line. As he tripped doubtfully 
 forward, with mincing steps, he continually and 
 mournfully wagged his head. He seemed to be 
 saying: "This water is much too cold for me." 
 The mamma bear was dressed in a poke bonnet 
 and white apron, and resembled the wolf who 
 frightened little Red Riding-Hood, and I key, the 
 baby bear, wore rakishly over one eye the pointed 
 cap of a clown. To those who knew their vaude- 
 ville, this was indisputable evidence that Ikey 
 would furnish the comic relief. Nor did Ikey dis- 
 appoint them. He was a wayward son. When his 
 parents were laboriously engaged in a boxing- 
 match, or dancing to the " Merry Widow Waltz," 
 or balancing on step-ladders, Ikey, on all fours, 
 would scamper to the foot-lights and, leaning over, 
 make a swift grab at the head of the first trombone. 
 And when the Countess Zichy, apprised by the 
 shouts of the audience of I key's misconduct, waved 
 a toy whip, Ikey would gallop back to his pedestal 
 and howl at her. To every one, except Herrick 
 and the first trombone, this playfulness on the 
 part of Ikey furnished great delight. 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 The performances of the bears ended with 
 Bruno and Clara dancing heavily to the refrain 
 of the "Merry Widow Waltz," while Ikey pre- 
 tended to conduct the music of the orchestra. On 
 the final call, Madame Zichy threw to each of the 
 animals a beer bottle filled with milk; and the 
 gusto with which the savage-looking beasts un- 
 corked the bottles and drank from them greatly 
 amused the audience. Ikey, standing on his hind 
 legs, his head thrown back, with both paws 
 clasping the base of the bottle, shoved the neck 
 far down his throat, and then, hurling it from 
 him, and cocking his clown's hat over his eyes, 
 gave a masterful imitation of a very intoxicated 
 bear. 
 
 "That," exclaimed Herrick hotly, "is a de- 
 grading spectacle. It degrades the bear and de- 
 grades me and you." 
 
 "No, it bores me," said Kelly. 
 
 "If you understood nature," retorted Herrick, 
 "and nature's children, it would infuriate you." 
 
 "I don't go to a music hall to get infuriated," 
 said Kelly. 
 
 "Trained dogs I don't mind," exclaimed Her- 
 rick. "Dogs are not wild animals. The things 
 they're trained to do are of USE. They can guard 
 the house, or herd sheep. But a bear is a wild 
 
 146 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 beast. Always will be a wild beast. You can't 
 train him to be of use. It's degrading to make 
 him ride a bicycle. I hate it! If I'd known there 
 were to be performing bears to-night, I wouldn't 
 have come!" 
 
 "And if I'd known you were to be here to-night, 
 / wouldn't have come!" said Kelly. "Where do 
 we go to next ? " 
 
 They went next to a restaurant in a gayly deco- 
 rated cellar. Into this young men like themselves 
 and beautiful ladies were so anxious to hurl them- 
 selves that to restrain them a rope was swung 
 across the entrance and page boys stood on guard. 
 When a young man became too anxious to spend 
 his money, the page boys pushed in his shirt front. 
 After they had fought their way to a table, Her- 
 rick ungraciously remarked he would prefer to 
 sup in a subway station. The people, he pointed 
 out, would be more human, the decorations were 
 much of the same Turkish-bath school of art, and 
 the air was no worse. 
 
 "Cheer up, Clarence!" begged Jackson, "you'll 
 soon be dead. To-morrow you'll be back among 
 your tree-toads and sunsets. And, let us hope," 
 he sighed, "no one will try to stop you!" 
 
 "What worries me is this," explained Herrick. 
 "I can't help thinking that, if one night of this 
 
 147 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 artificial life is so hard upon me, what must it 
 be to those bears!" 
 
 Kelly exclaimed, with exasperation: "Confound 
 the bears!" he cried. "If you must spoil my 
 supper weeping over animals, weep over cart- 
 horses. They work. Those bears are loafers. 
 They're as well fed as pet canaries. They're 
 
 aristocrats." 
 
 "But it's not a free life!" protested Herrick. 
 "It's not the life they love," 
 
 "It's a darned sight better," declared Kelly, 
 "than sleeping in a damp wood, eating raw black- 
 berries " 
 
 "The more you say," retorted Herrick, "the 
 more you show you know nothing whatsoever of 
 nature's children and their habits." 
 
 "And all you know of them," returned Kelly, 
 "is that a cat has nine lives, and a barking dog 
 won't bite. You're a nature faker." 
 
 Herrick refused to be diverted. 
 
 "It hurt me," he said. "They were so big, 
 and good-natured, and helpless. I'll bet that 
 woman beats them! I kept thinking of them as 
 they were in the woods, tramping over the clean pine 
 needles, eating nuts, and and honey, and " 
 
 "Buns!" suggested Jackson. 
 
 "I can't forget them," said Herrick. "It's go- 
 148 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 ing to haunt me, to-morrow, when I'm back in the 
 woods; I'll think of those poor beasts capering 
 in a hot theatre, when they ought to be out in the 
 open as God meant they " 
 
 "Well, then," protested Kelly, "take 'em to the 
 open. And turn 'em loose! And I hope they 
 bite you!" 
 
 At this Herrick frowned so deeply that Kelly 
 feared he had gone too far. Inwardly, he re- 
 proved himself for not remembering that his friend 
 lacked a sense of humor. But Herrick undeceived 
 him. 
 
 "You are right!" he exclaimed. "To-morrow 
 I will buy those bears, take them to the farm, and 
 turn them loose!" 
 
 No objections his friends could offer could divert 
 him from his purpose. When they urged that to 
 spend so much money in such a manner was 
 criminally wasteful, he pointed out that he was 
 sufficiently rich to indulge any extravagant fancy, 
 whether in polo ponies or bears; when they warned 
 him that if he did not look out the bears would 
 catch him alone in the woods, and eat him, he re- 
 torted that the bears were now educated to a 
 different diet; when they said he should consider 
 the peace of mind of his neighbors, he assured 
 them the fence around his game preserve would 
 restrain an elephant. 
 
 149 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 "Besides," protested Kelly, "what you propose 
 to do is not only impracticable, but it's cruelty 
 to animals. A domesticated animal can't return 
 to a state of nature, and live." 
 
 "Can't it?" jeered Herrick. "Did you ever 
 read 'The Call of the Wild'?" 
 
 "Did you ever read," retorted Kelly, "what 
 happened at the siege of Ladysmith when the oats 
 ran low and they drove the artillery horses out to 
 grass ? They starved, that's all. And if you 
 don't feed your bears on milk out of a bottle they'll 
 
 starve too." 
 
 "That's what will happen," cried Jackson; 
 "those bears have forgotten what a pine forest 
 smells like. Maybe it's a pity, but it's the fact. 
 I'll bet if you could ask 'em whether they'd rather 
 sleep in a cave on your farm or be head-liners 
 in vaudeville, they'd tell you they were 'devoted 
 to their art.'" 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Kelly, "they're so far from 
 nature that if they didn't have that colored boy 
 to comb and brush them twice a day they'd be 
 ashamed to look each other in the eyes." 
 
 "And another thing," continued Jackson, 
 "trained animals love to 'show off.' They're like 
 children. Those bears enjoy doing those tricks. 
 They enjoy the applause. They enjoy dancing to 
 the 'Merry Widow Waltz.' And if you lock them 
 
 150 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 up in your jungle, they'll get so homesick that 
 they'll give a performance twice a day to the squir- 
 rels and woodpeckers." 
 
 " It's just as hard to unlearn a thing as to learn 
 it," said Kelly sententiously. "You can't make 
 a man who has learned to wear shoes enjoy going 
 around in his bare feet." 
 
 "Rot!" cried Herrick. "Look at me. Didn't 
 I love New York ? I loved it so I never went to 
 bed for fear I'd miss something. But when I 
 went 'Back to the Land,' did it take me long to 
 fall in love with the forests and the green fields ? 
 It took me a week. I go to bed now the same 
 day I get up, and I've passed on my high hat 
 and frock coat to a scarecrow. And I'll bet you 
 when those bears once scent the wild woods they'll 
 stampede for them like Croker going to a third 
 alarm." 
 
 "And I repeat," cried Kelly, "you are a nature 
 faker. And I'll leave it to the bears to prove it." 
 
 "We have done our best," sighed Jackson. 
 "We have tried to save him money and trouble. 
 And now all he can do for us in return is to give 
 us seats for the opening performance." 
 
 What the bears cost Herrick he never told. 
 But it was a very large sum. As the Countess 
 Zichy pointed out, bears as bears, in a state of 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 nature, are cheap. If it were just a bear he wanted, 
 he himself could go to Pike County, Pennsylvania, 
 and trap one. What he was paying for, she ex- 
 plained, was the time she had spent in educating 
 the Bruno family, and added to that the time dur- 
 ing which she must now remain idle while she 
 educated another family. 
 
 Herrick knew for what he was paying. It was 
 the pleasure of rescuing unwilling slaves from 
 bondage. As to their expensive education, if they 
 returned to a state of ignorance as rapidly as 
 did most college graduates he knew, he would be 
 satisfied. Two days later, when her engagement 
 at the music hall closed, Madame Zichy reluctantly 
 turned over her pets to their new manager. With 
 Ikey she was especially loath to part. 
 
 "I'll never get one like him," she wailed. 
 "Ikey is the funniest four-legged clown in America. 
 He's a natural born comedian. Folks think I learn 
 him those tricks, but it's all his own stuff. Only 
 last week we was playing Paoli's in Bridgeport, 
 and when I was putting Bruno through the hoops, 
 Ikey runs to the stage-box and grabs a pound of 
 caramels out of a girl's lap and swallows the box. 
 And in St. Paul, if the trombone hadn't worn a 
 wig, Ikey would have scalped him. Say, it was a 
 scream! When the audience see the trombone 
 
 152 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 snatched bald-headed, and him trying to get back 
 his wig, and I key chewing it, they went crazy. 
 You can't learn a bear tricks like that. It's just 
 genius. Some folks think I taught him to act 
 like he was intoxicated, but he picked that up, 
 too, all by himself, through watching my husband. 
 And I key's very fond of beer on his own account. 
 If I don't stop 'em the stage hands would be always 
 slipping him drinks. I hope you won't give him 
 
 none." 
 
 "I will not!" said Herrick. 
 
 The bears, I key in one cage and Bruno and 
 Clara in another, travelled bv express to the sta- 
 tion nearest the Herrick estate. There they were 
 transferred to a farm wagon, and grumbling and 
 growling, and with Ikey howling like an unspanked 
 child, they were conveyed to the game preserve. 
 At the only gate that entered it, Kelly and Jackson 
 and a specially invited house party of youths and 
 maidens were gathered to receive them. At a 
 greater distance stood all of the servants and farm 
 hands, and as the wagon backed against the gate, 
 with the door of I key's cage opening against it, 
 the entire audience, with one accord, moved solidly 
 to the rear. Herrick, with a pleased but some- 
 what nervous smile, mounted the wagon. But 
 before he could unlock the cage Kelly demanded to 
 
 '53 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 be heard. He insisted that, following the custom 
 of all great artists, the bears should give a "posi- 
 tively farewell performance." 
 
 He begged that Bruno and Clara might be per- 
 mitted to dance together. He pointed out that 
 this would be the last time they could listen to the 
 strains of the " Merry Widow Waltz." He called 
 upon everybody present to whistle it. 
 
 The suggestion of an open air performance was 
 received coldly. At the moment no one seemed 
 able to pucker his lips into a whistle, and some 
 even explained that with that famous waltz they 
 were unfamiliar. 
 
 One girl attained an instant popularity by point- 
 ing out that the bears could waltz just as well on 
 one side of the fence as the other. Kelly, cheated 
 of his free performance, then begged that before 
 Herrick condemned the bears to starve on acorns, 
 he should give them a farewell drink, and Herrick, 
 who was slightly rattled, replied excitedly that he 
 had not ransomed the animals only to degrade 
 them. The argument was interrupted by the 
 French chef falling out of a tree. He had climbed 
 it, he explained, in order to obtain a better view. 
 
 When, in turn, it was explained to him that a 
 bear also could climb a tree, he remembered he 
 had left his oven door open. His departure re- 
 
 154 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 minded other servants of duties they had neglected, 
 and one of the guests, also, on remembering he 
 had put in a long-distance call, hastened to the 
 house. Jackson suggested that perhaps they had 
 better all return with him, as the presence of so 
 many people might frighten the bears. At the 
 moment he spoke, Ikey emitted a hideous howl, 
 whether of joy or rage no one knew, and few re- 
 mained to find out. It was not until Herrick had 
 investigated and reported that Ikey was still behind 
 the bars that the house party cautiously returned. 
 The house party then filed a vigorous protest. Its 
 members, with Jackson as spokesman, complained 
 that Herrick was relying entirely too much on his 
 supposition that the bears would be anxious to 
 enter the forest. Jackson pointed out that, should 
 they not care to do so, there was nothing to pre- 
 vent them from doubling back under the wagon; 
 in which case the house party and all of the United 
 States lay before them. It was not until a lawn- 
 tennis net and much chicken wire was stretched 
 in intricate thicknesses across the lower half of the 
 gate that Herrick was allowed to proceed. Un- 
 assisted, he slid back the cage door, and without a 
 moment's hesitation Ikey leaped from the wagon 
 through the gate and into the preserve. For an 
 instant, dazed by the sudden sunlight, he remained 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 motionless, and then, after sniffing delightedly at 
 the air, stuck his nose deep into the autumn leaves. 
 Turning on his back, he luxuriously and joyfully 
 kicked his legs, and rolled from side to side. 
 
 Herrick gave a shout of joy and triumph. 
 "What did I tell you!" he called. "See how he 
 loves it! See how happy he is." 
 
 "Not at all," protested Kelly. "He thought 
 you gave him the sign to 'roll over/ Tell him 
 to 'play dead/ and he'll do that." 
 
 "Tell ALL the bears to 'play dead,'" begged 
 Jackson, "until I'm back in the billiard-room." 
 
 Flushed with happiness, Herrick tossed I key's 
 cage out of the wagon, and opened the door of the 
 one that held Bruno and Clara. On their part, 
 there was a moment of doubt. As though sus- 
 pecting a trap, they moved to the edge of the 
 cage, and gazed critically at the screen of trees 
 and tangled vines that rose before them. 
 
 "They think it's a new backdrop," explained 
 Kelly. 
 
 But the delight with which I key was enjoying his 
 bath in the autumn leaves was not lost upon his 
 parents. Slowly and clumsily they dropped to the 
 ground. As though they expected to be recalled, 
 each turned to look at the group of people who 
 had now run to peer through the wire meshes of 
 
 156 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 the fence. But, as no one spoke and no one sig- 
 nalled, the three bears, in single file, started tow- 
 ard the edge of the forest. They had of cleared 
 space to cover only a little distance, and at each 
 step, as though fearful they would be stopped and 
 punished, one or the other turned his head. But 
 no one halted them. With quickening footsteps 
 the bears, now almost at a gallop, plunged forward. 
 The next instant they were lost to sight, and only 
 the crackling of the underbrush told that they had 
 come into their own. 
 
 Herrick dropped to the ground and locked him- 
 self inside the preserve. 
 
 "I'm going after them," he called, "to see what 
 they'll do." 
 
 There was a frantic chorus of cries and en- 
 treaties. 
 
 "Don't be an ass!" begged Jackson. "They'll 
 eat you." 
 
 Herrick waved his hand reassuringly. 
 
 "They won't even see me," he explained. "I 
 can find my way about this place better than they 
 can. And I'll keep to windward of them, and 
 watch them. Go to the house," he commanded. 
 " I'll be with you in an hour, and report." 
 
 It was with real relief that, on assembling for 
 dinner, the house party found Herrick, in high 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 spirits, with the usual number of limbs, and 
 awaiting them. The experiment had proved a 
 great success. He told how, unheeded by the 
 bears, he had, without difficulty, followed in their 
 tracks. For an hour he had watched them. No 
 happy school-children, let loose at recess, could 
 have embraced their freedom with more obvious 
 delight. They drank from the running streams, 
 for honey they explored the hollow tree-trunks, 
 they sharpened their claws on moss-grown rocks, 
 and among the fallen oak leaves scratched violently 
 for acorns. 
 
 So satisfied was Herrick with what he had seen, 
 with the success of his experiment, and so genuine 
 and unselfish was he in the thought of the happi- 
 ness he had brought to the beasts of the forests, 
 that for him no dinner ever passed more pleasantly. 
 Miss Waring, who sat next to her host, thought 
 she had seldom met a man with so kind and sim- 
 ple a nature. She rather resented the fact, and 
 she was inwardly indignant that so much right 
 feeling and affection should be wasted on farm- 
 yard fowls, and four-footed animals. She felt 
 sure that some nice girl, seated at the other end 
 of the table, smiling through the light of the wax 
 candles upon Herrick, would soon make him forget 
 his love of "Nature and Nature's children." She 
 
 158 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 even saw herself there, and this may have made 
 her exhibit more interest in Herrick's experiment 
 than she really felt. In any event, Herrick found 
 her most sympathetic, and when dinner was over 
 carried her off to a corner of the terrace. It was 
 a warm night in early October, and the great 
 woods of the game preserve that stretched below 
 them were lit with a full moon. On his way to 
 the lake for a moonlight row with one of the house 
 party who belonged to that sex that does not row, 
 but looks well in the moonlight, Kelly halted, and 
 jeered mockingly. 
 
 "How can you sit there," he demanded, "while 
 those poor beasts are freezing in a cave, with not 
 even a silk coverlet or a pillow-sham. You and 
 your valet ought to be down there now carrying 
 them pajamas." 
 
 " Kelly," declared Herrick, unruffled in his mo- 
 ment of triumph, "I hate to say 'I told you so/ 
 but you force me. Go away." he commanded. 
 "You have neither imagination or soul." 
 
 "And that's true," he assured Miss Waring, as 
 Kelly and his companion left them. "Now, I 
 see nothing in what I accomplished that is ridicu- 
 lous. Had you watched those bears as I did, 
 you would have felt that sympathy that exists 
 between all who love the out-of-door life. A dog 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 loves to see his master pick up his stick and his 
 hat to take him for a walk, and the man enjoys 
 seeing the dog leaping and quartering the fields 
 before him. They are both the happier. At least 
 I am happier to-night, knowing those bears are 
 at peace and at home, than I would be if I thought 
 of them being whipped through their tricks in a 
 dirty theatre." Herrick pointed to the great for- 
 est trees of the preserve, their tops showing dimly 
 in the mist of moonlight. " Somewhere, down in 
 that valley," he murmured, " are three happy ani- 
 mals. They are no longer slaves and puppets. 
 they are their own masters. For the rest of 
 their lives they can sleep on pine needles and dine 
 on nuts and honey. No one shall molest them, 
 no one shall force them through degrading tricks. 
 Hereafter they can choose their life, and their own 
 home among the rocks, and the " 
 
 o * 
 
 Herrick's words were frozen on his tongue. 
 
 From the other end of the terrace came a scream 
 so fierce, so long, so full of human suffering, that 
 at the sound the blood of all that heard it turned 
 to water. It was so appalling that for an instant 
 no one moved, and then from every part of the 
 house, along the garden walks, from the servants' 
 quarters, came the sound of pounding feet. Her- 
 rick, with Miss Waring clutching at his sleeve, 
 
 160 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 raced toward the other end of the terrace. They 
 had not far to go. Directly in front of them they 
 saw what had dragged from the very soul of the 
 woman the scream of terror. 
 
 The drawing-room opened upon the terrace, 
 and, seated at the piano, Jackson had been play- 
 ing for those in the room to dance. The windows 
 to the terrace were open. The terrace itself was 
 flooded with moonlight. Seeking the fresh ajr, 
 one of the dancers stepped from the drawing-room 
 to the flags outside. She had then raised the cry 
 of terror and fallen in a faint. What she had 
 seen, Herrick a moment later also saw. On the 
 terrace in the moonlight, Bruno and Clara, on their 
 hind legs, were solemnly waltzing. Neither the 
 scream nor the cessation of the music disturbed 
 them. Contentedly, proudly, they continued to 
 revolve in hops and leaps. From their happy 
 expression, it was evident they not only were 
 enjoying themselves, but that they felt they 
 were greatly affording immeasurable delight to 
 others. 
 
 Sick at heart, furious, bitterly hurt, with roars of 
 mocking laughter in his ears, Herrick ran toward 
 the stables for help. At the farther end of the 
 terrace the butler had placed a tray of liqueurs, 
 whiskies and soda bottles. His back had been 
 
 161 
 
The Nature Faker 
 
 turned for only a few moments, but the time had 
 sufficed. 
 
 Lolling with his legs out, stretched in a wicker 
 chair, Herrick beheld the form of Ikey. Between 
 his uplifted paws he held aloof the base of a de- 
 canter; between his teeth, and well jammed down 
 his throat, was the long neck of the bottle. From 
 it issued the sound of gentle gurgling. Herrick 
 seized the decanter and hurled it crashing upon 
 the terrace. With difficulty Ikey rose. Swaying 
 and shaking his head reproachfully, he gave Herrick 
 a perfectly accurate imitation of an intoxicated 
 bear. 
 
 162 
 
THE LOST HOUSE 
 
THE LOST HOUSE 
 
 NORTH 
 
 Devonshire Street 
 
 1 
 
 WmpcteSt 
 
 | 
 
 *i 
 
 ? 
 
 1 
 ith. 
 
 
 j 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 \ 
 
 vstti 
 
 
 
 Weymoi* 
 
 Street 
 
 r~ 
 
 on 
 
 The biz 
 
 ck square marte the f. 
 of the lost house 
 
 IT was a dull day at the chancellerie. His 
 Excellency the American Ambassador was 
 absent in Scotland, unveiling a bust to Bobby 
 Burns, paid for by the numerous lovers of that 
 poet in Pittsburg; the First Secretary was absent 
 at Aldershot, observing a sham battle; the Mili- 
 tary Attache was absent at the Crystal Palace, 
 watching a foot-ball match; the Naval Attache was 
 absent at the Duke of Deptford's, shooting pheas- 
 
 165 
 
The Lost House 
 
 ants; and at the Embassy, the Second Secretary, 
 having lunched leisurely at the Ritz, was now 
 alone, but prepared with his life to protect Ameri- 
 can interests. Accordingly, on the condition that 
 the story should not be traced back to him, he 
 had just confided a State secret to his young friend, 
 Austin Ford, the London correspondent of the 
 New York Republic. 
 
 "I will cable it," Ford reassured him, "as com- 
 ing from a Hungarian diplomat, temporarily resid- 
 ing in Bloomsbury, while en route to his post in 
 Patagonia. In that shape, not even your astute 
 chief will suspect its real source. And further 
 from the truth than that I refuse to go. 
 
 "What I dropped in to ask," he continued, "is 
 whether the English are going to send over a 
 polo team next summer to try to bring back the 
 cup?" 
 
 "I've several other items of interest," suggested 
 the Secretary. 
 
 "The week-end parties to which you have been 
 invited," Ford objected, "can wait. Tell me first 
 what chance there is for an international polo 
 match." 
 
 "Polo," sententiously began the Second Secre- 
 tary, who himself was a crackerjack at the game, 
 "is a proposition of ponies! Men can be trained 
 
 166 
 
The Lost House 
 
 for polo. But polo ponies must be born. With- 
 out good ponies " 
 
 James, the page who guarded the outer walls 
 of the chancellerie, appeared in the doorway. 
 
 "Please, sir, a person," he announced, "with 
 a note for the Ambassador. 'E says it's im- 
 portant." 
 
 "Tell him to leave it," said the Secretary. 
 "Polo ponies " 
 
 "Yes, sir," interrupted the page. "But J e 
 wont leave it, not unless he keeps the 'arf-crown." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake!" protested the Second Sec- 
 retary, "then let him keep the half-crown. When 
 I say polo ponies, I don't mean " 
 
 James, although alarmed at his own temerity, 
 refused to accept dismissal. 
 
 "But, please, sir," he begged; "I think the 
 'arf-crown is for the Ambassador." 
 
 The astonished diplomat gazed with open eyes. 
 
 "You think what!" he exclaimed. 
 
 James, upon the defensive, explained breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Because, sir," he stammered, "it was inside 
 the note when it was thrown out of the window." 
 
 Ford had been sprawling in a soft leather chair 
 in front of the open fire. With the privilege of 
 an old school-fellow and college classmate, he had 
 
 167 
 
The Lost House 
 
 been jabbing the soft coal with his walking-stick, 
 causing it to burst into tiny flames. His cigarette 
 drooped from his lips, his hat was cocked over one 
 eye; he was a picture of indifference, merging 
 upon boredom. But at the words of the boy his 
 attitude both of mind and body underwent an 
 instant change. It was as though he were an 
 actor, and the words "thrown from the window" 
 were his cue. It was as though he were a dozing 
 fox-terrier, and the voice of his master had whis- 
 pered in his ear: "Sick 'em!" 
 
 For a moment, with benign reproach, the Sec- 
 ond Secretary regarded the unhappy page, and 
 then addressed him with laborious sarcasm. 
 
 "James," he said, "people do not communicate 
 with ambassadors in notes wrapped around half- 
 crowns and hurled from windows. That is the 
 way one corresponds with an organ-grinder." 
 
 Ford sprang to his feet. 
 
 "And meanwhile," he exclaimed angrily, "the 
 man will get away." 
 
 Without seeking permission, he ran past James, 
 and through the empty outer offices. In two 
 minutes he returned, herding before him an indi- 
 vidual, seedy and soiled. In appearance the man 
 suggested that in life his place was to support 
 a sandwich-board. Ford reluctantly relinquished 
 
 168 
 
The Lost House 
 
 his hold upon a folded paper which he laid in 
 front of the Secretary. 
 
 "This man," he explained, "picked that out 
 of the gutter in Sowell Street. It's not addressed 
 to any one, so you read it!" 
 
 "I thought it was for the Ambassador!" said 
 the Secretary. 
 
 The soiled person coughed deprecatingly, and 
 pointed a dirty digit at the paper. "On the 
 inside," he suggested. The paper was wrapped 
 around a half-crown and folded in at each end. 
 The diplomat opened it hesitatingly, but having 
 read what was written, laughed. 
 
 " There's nothing in that," he exclaimed. He 
 passed the note to Ford. The reporter fell upon 
 it eagerly. 
 
 The note was written in pencil on an unruled 
 piece of white paper. The handwriting was that 
 of a woman. What Ford read was: 
 
 "I am a prisoner in the street on which this 
 paper is found. The house faces east. I think 
 I am on the top story. I was brought here three 
 weeks ago. They are trying to kill me. My 
 uncle, Charles Ralph Pearsall, is doing this to get 
 my money. He is at Gerridge's Hotel in Craven 
 Street, Strand. He will tell you I am insane. My 
 
 169 
 
The Lost House 
 
 name is Dosia Pearsall Dale. My home is at 
 Dalesville, Kentucky, U. S. A. Everybody knows 
 me there, and knows I am not insane. If you 
 would save a life take this at once to the American 
 Embassy, or to Scotland Yard. For God's sake, 
 help me." 
 
 When he had read the note, Ford continued to 
 study it. Until he was quite sure his voice would 
 not betray his interest, he did not raise his eyes. 
 
 "Why," he asked, "did you say that there's 
 nothing in this ? " 
 
 "Because," returned the diplomat conclusively, 
 "we got a note like that, or nearly like it, a week 
 ago, and " 
 
 Ford could not restrain a groan. "And you 
 never told me!" 
 
 "There wasn't anything to tell," protested the 
 diplomat. "We handed it over to the police, and 
 they reported there was nothing in it. They 
 couldn't find the man at that hotel, and, of course, 
 they couldn't find the house with no more to go 
 on than " 
 
 "And so," exclaimed Ford rudely, "they decided 
 there was no man, and no house!" 
 
 "Their theory," continued the Secretary pa- 
 tiently, "is that the girl is confined in one of the 
 
 170 
 
The Lost House 
 
 numerous private sanatoriums in Sowell Street, 
 that she is insane, that because she's under re- 
 straint she imagines the nurses are trying to kill 
 her and that her relatives are after her money. 
 Insane people are always thinking that. It's a 
 very common delusion." 
 
 Ford's eyes were shining with a wicked joy. 
 "So," he asked indifferently, "you don't intend 
 to do anything further ? " 
 
 "What do you want us to do ?" cried his friend. 
 "Ring every door-bell in Sowell Street, and ask 
 the parlor-maid if they're murdering a lady on 
 the top story ? " 
 
 "Can I keep the paper?" demanded Ford. 
 
 "You can keep a copy of it," consented the 
 Secretary. " But if you think you're on the track 
 of a big newspaper sensation, I can tell you now 
 you're not. That's the work of a crazy woman, 
 or it's a hoax. You amateur detectives " 
 
 Ford was already seated at the table, scribbling 
 a copy of the message, and making marginal notes. 
 
 "Who brought the first paper ?" he interrupted. 
 
 "A hansom-cab driver." 
 
 "What became of him?" snapped the amateur 
 detective. 
 
 The Secretary looked inquiringly at James. 
 
 f "E drove away," said James. 
 171 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "He drove away, did he ?" roared Ford. "And 
 that was a week ago ! Ye gods ! What about Dales- 
 ville, Kentucky? Did you cable any one there ?" 
 
 The dignity of the diplomat was becoming 
 ruffled. 
 
 "We did not!" he answered. "If it wasn't true 
 that her uncle was at that hotel, it was probably 
 equally untrue that she had friends in America." 
 
 "But," retorted his friend, "you didn't forget to 
 cable the State Department that you all went in 
 your evening clothes to bow to the new King? 
 You didn't neglect to cable that, did you?" 
 
 "The State Department," returned the Secre- 
 tary, with withering reproof, "does not expect us 
 to crawl over the roofs of houses and spy down 
 chimneys to see if by any chance an American 
 citizen is being murdered." 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Ford, leaping to his feet and 
 placing his notes in his pocket, "fortunately, my 
 paper expects me to do just that, and if it didn't, 
 I'd do it anyway. And that is exactly what I am 
 going to do now! Don't tell the others in the 
 Embassy, and, for Heaven's sake, don't tell the 
 police. Jimmy, get me a taxi. And you," he 
 commanded, pointing at the one who had brought 
 the note, "are coming with me to Sowell Street, 
 to show me where you picked up that paper." 
 
 172 
 
The Lost House 
 
 On the way to Sowell Street Ford stopped at a 
 newspaper agency, and paid for the insertion that 
 afternoon of the same advertisement in three news- 
 papers. It read: "If hansom-cab driver who last 
 week carried note, found in street, to American 
 Embassy will mail his address to X. X. X., care 
 of Globe, he will be rewarded." 
 
 From the nearest post-office he sent to his pa- 
 per the following cable: "Query our local corre- 
 spondent, Dalesville, Kentucky, concerning Dosia 
 Pearsali Dale. Is she of sound mind, is she 
 heiress. Who controls her money, what her busi- 
 ness relations with her uncle, Charles Ralph 
 Pearsali, what her present address. If any ques- 
 tions, say inquiries come from solicitors of 
 Englishman who wants to marry her. Rush 
 
 answer." 
 
 Sowell Street is a dark, dirty little thoroughfare, 
 running for only one block, parallel to Harley 
 Street. Like it, it is decorated with the brass 
 plates of physicians and the red lamps of surgeons, 
 but, just as the medical men in Harley Street, in 
 keeping with that thoroughfare, are broad, open, 
 and with nothing to conceal, so those of Sowell 
 Street, like their hiding-place, shrink from obser- 
 vation, and their lives are as sombre, secret and 
 dark as the street itself. 
 
The Lost House 
 
 Within two turns of it Ford dismissed the taxi- 
 cab. Giving the soiled person a half-smoked 
 cigarette, he told him to walk through So well 
 Street, and when he reached the place where he 
 had picked up the paper, to drop the cigarette 
 as near that spot as possible. He then was to 
 turn into Weymouth Street and wait until Ford 
 joined him. At a distance of fifty feet Ford fol- 
 lowed the man, and saw him, when in the middle 
 of the block, without apparent hesitation, drop the 
 cigarette. The house in front of which it fell 
 was marked, like many others, by the brass plate 
 of a doctor. As Ford passed it he hit the ciga- 
 rette with his walking-stick, and drove it into an 
 area. When he overtook the man, Ford handed 
 him another cigarette. "To make sure," he said, 
 "go back, and drop this in the place you found 
 the paper." 
 
 For a moment the man hesitated. 
 
 "I might as well tell you," Ford continued, "that 
 I knocked that last cigarette so far from where you 
 dropped it that you won't be able to use it as a 
 guide. So, if you don't really know where you 
 found the paper, you'll save my time by saying 
 
 so." 
 
 Instead of being confused by the test, the man 
 was amused by it. He laughed appreciatively. 
 
The Lost House 
 
 " You've caught me out fair, governor," he ad- 
 mitted. "I wanted the 'arf-crown, and I dropped 
 the cigarette as near the place as I could. But I 
 can't do it again. It was this way," he explained. 
 " I wasn't taking notice of the houses. I was walk- 
 ing along looking into the gutter for stumps. I 
 see this paper wrapped about something round. 
 'It's a copper/ I thinks, 'jucked out of a winder 
 to a organ-grinder/ I snatches it, and runs. I 
 didn't take no time to look at the houses. But it 
 wasn't so far from where I showed you; about the 
 middle house in the street and on the left-'and 
 side." 
 
 Ford had never considered the man as a serious 
 element in the problem. He believed him to 
 know as little of the matter as he professed to 
 know. But it was essential he should keep that 
 little to himself. 
 
 "No one will pay you for talking," Ford pointed 
 out, " and I'll pay you to keep quiet. So, if you 
 say nothing concerning that note, at the end of 
 two weeks, I'll leave two pounds for you with 
 James, at the Embassy." 
 
 The man, who believed Ford to be an agent 
 of the police, was only too happy to escape on such 
 easy terms. After Ford had given him a pound 
 on account, they parted. 
 
The Lost House 
 
 From Wimpole Street the amateur detective 
 went to the nearest public telephone and called up 
 Gerridge's Hotel. He considered his first step 
 should be to discover if Mr. Pearsall was at that 
 hotel, or had ever stopped there. When the 
 'phone was answered, he requested that a message 
 be delivered to Mr. Pearsall. 
 
 "Please tell him," he asked, "that the clothes 
 he ordered are ready to try on." 
 
 He was informed that no one by that name was 
 at the hotel. In a voice of concern Ford begged 
 to know when Mr. Pearsall had gone away, and 
 had he left any address. 
 
 "He was with you three weeks ago," Ford in- 
 sisted. "He's an American gentleman, and there 
 was a lady with him. She ordered a riding-habit of 
 us: the same time he was measured for his clothes." 
 
 After a short delay, the voice from the hotel 
 replied that no one of the name of Pearsall had 
 been at the hotel that winter. 
 
 In apparent great disgust Ford rang off, and 
 took a taxicab to his rooms in Jermyn Street. 
 There he packed a suit-case and drove to Ger- 
 ridge's. It was a quiet, respectable, "old-estab- 
 lished" house in Craven Street, a thoroughfare 
 almost entirely given over to small family hotels 
 much frequented by Americans. 
 
 176 
 
The Lost House 
 
 After he had registered and had left his bag in 
 his room, Ford returned to the office, and in an 
 assured manner asked that a card on which he 
 had written "Henry W. Page, Dalesville, Ken- 
 tucky," should be taken to Mr. Pearsall. 
 
 In a tone of obvious annoyance the proprietor 
 returned the card, saying that there was no one 
 of that name in the hotel, and added that no such 
 person had ever stopped there. Ford expressed 
 the liveliest distress. 
 
 "He told me I'd find him here," he protested, 
 "he and his niece." With the garrulousness of 
 the American abroad, he confided his troubles to 
 the entire staff of the hotel. "We're from the 
 same town," he explained. "That's why I must 
 see him. He's the only man in London I know, 
 and I've spent all my money. He said he'd give 
 me some he owes me, as soon as I reached Lon- 
 don. If I can't get it, I'll have to go home by 
 Wednesday's steamer. And," he complained bit- 
 terly, "I haven't seen the Zoo, nor the Tower, nor 
 Westminster Abbey." 
 
 In a moment, Ford's anxiety to meet Mr. Pear- 
 sall was apparently lost in a wave of self-pity. 
 In his disappointment he became an appealing, 
 pathetic figure. 
 
 Real detectives and rival newspaper men, even 
 
The Lost House 
 
 while they admitted Ford obtained facts that were 
 denied them, claimed that they were given him 
 from charity. Where they bullied, browbeat, and 
 administered a third degree, Ford was embar- 
 rassed, deprecatory, an earnest, ingenuous, wide- 
 eyed child. What he called his "working" smile 
 begged of you not to be cross with him. His 
 simplicity was apparently so hopeless, his confi- 
 dence in whomever he addressed so complete, 
 that often even the man he was pursuing felt for 
 him a pitying contempt. Now as he stood uncer- 
 tainly in the hall of the hotel, his helplessness 
 moved the proud lady clerk to shake her cylinders 
 of false hair sympathetically, the German waiters 
 to regard his predicament with respect; even the 
 proprietor, Mr. Gerridge himself, was ill at ease. 
 Ford returned to his room, on the second floor of 
 the hotel, and sat down on the edge of the bed. 
 
 In connecting Pearsall with Gerridge's, both 
 the police and himself had failed. Of this there 
 were three possible explanations: that the girl 
 who wrote the letter was in error, that the letter 
 was a hoax, that the proprietor of the hotel, for 
 some reason, was protecting Pearsall, and had 
 deceived both Ford and Scotland Yard. On the 
 other hand, without knowing why the girl believed 
 Pearsall would be found at Gerridge' s, it was rea- 
 
 178 
 
The Lost House 
 
 sonable to assume that in so thinking she had been 
 purposely misled. The question was, should he 
 or not dismiss Gerridge's as a possible clew, and 
 at once devote himself to finding the house in 
 Sowell Street ? He decided, for the moment at 
 least, to leave Gerridge's out of his calculations, 
 but, as an excuse for returning there, to still retain 
 his room. He at once started toward Sowell 
 Street, and in order to find out if any one from the 
 hotel were following him, he set forth on foot. As 
 soon as he made sure he was not spied upon, he 
 covered the remainder of the distance in a cab. 
 
 He was acting on the supposition that the letter 
 was no practical joke, but a genuine cry for help. 
 Sowell Street was a scene set for such an adventure. 
 It was narrow, mean-looking, the stucco house- 
 fronts soot-stained, cracked, and uncared-for, the 
 steps broken and unwashed. As he entered it a 
 cold rain was falling, and a yellow fog that rolled 
 between the houses added to its dreariness. 
 
 It was now late in the afternoon, and so over- 
 cast the sky that in many rooms the gas was lit 
 and the curtains drawn. 
 
 The girl, apparently from observing the daily 
 progress of the sun, had written she was on the 
 west side of the street and, she believed, in an 
 upper story. The man who picked up the note 
 
 179 
 
The Lost House 
 
 had said he had found it opposite the houses in 
 the middle of the block. Accordingly, Ford pro- 
 ceeded on the supposition that the entire east side 
 of the street, the lower stories of the west side, and 
 the houses at each end were eliminated. The 
 three houses in the centre of the row were out- 
 wardly alike. They were of four stories. Each 
 was the residence of a physician, and in each, in 
 the upper stories, the blinds were drawn. From 
 the front there was nothing to be learned, and in 
 the hope that the rear might furnish some clew, 
 Ford hastened to Wimpole Street, in which the 
 houses to the east backed upon those to the west 
 in Sowell Street. These houses were given over 
 to furnished lodgings, and under the pretext of 
 renting chambers, it was easy for Ford to enter 
 them, and from the apartments in the rear to 
 obtain several hasty glimpses of the backs of the 
 three houses in Sowell Street. But neither from 
 this view-point did he gather any fact of interest. 
 In one of the three houses in Sowell Street iron 
 bars were fastened across the windows of the 
 fourth floor, but in private sanatoriums this was 
 neither unusual not suspicious. The bars might 
 cover the windows of a nursery to prevent children 
 from falling out, or the room of some timid house- 
 holder with a lively fear of burglars. 
 
 180 
 
The Lost House 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Ford was again back in 
 Sowell Street no wiser than when he had entered 
 it. From the outside, at least, the three houses 
 under suspicion gave no sign. In the problem 
 before him there was one point that Ford found 
 difficult to explain. It was the only one that 
 caused him to question if the letter was genuine. 
 What puzzled him was this: Why, if the girl were 
 free to throw two notes from the window, did she 
 not throw them out by the dozen ? If she were 
 able to reach a window, opening on the street, 
 why did she not call for help ? Why did she not, 
 by hurling out every small article the room con- 
 tained, by screams, by breaking the window-panes, 
 attract a crowd, and, through it, the police ? That 
 she had not done so seemed to show that only at 
 rare intervals was she free from restraint, or at 
 liberty to enter the front room that opened on the 
 street. Would it be equally difficult, Ford asked 
 himself, for one in the street to communicate with 
 her ? What signal could he give that would draw 
 an answering signal from the girl ? 
 
 Standing at the corner, hidden by the pillars of 
 a portico, the water dripping from his rain-coat, 
 Ford gazed long and anxiously at the blank win- 
 dows of the three houses. Like blind eyes staring 
 into his, they told no tales, betrayed no secret. 
 
 181 
 
The Lost House 
 
 Around him the commonplace life of the neigh- 
 borhood proceeded undisturbed. Somewhere con- 
 cealed in the single row of houses a girl was 
 imprisoned, her life threatened; perhaps even at 
 that moment she was facing her death. While, on 
 either side, shut from her by the thickness only 
 of a brick wall, people were talking, reading, mak- 
 ing tea, preparing the evening meal, or, in the 
 street below, hurrying by, intent on trivial errands. 
 Hansom cabs, prowling in search of a fare, passed 
 through the street where a woman was being 
 robbed of a fortune, the drivers occupied only 
 with thoughts of a possible shilling; a housemaid 
 with a jug in her hand and a shawl over her bare 
 head, hastened to the near-by public-house; the 
 postman made his rounds, and delivered comic 
 postal-cards; a policeman, shedding water from 
 his shining cape, halted, gazed severely at the sky, 
 and, unconscious of the crime that was going for- 
 ward within the sound of his own footsteps, con- 
 tinued stolidly into Wimpole Street. 
 
 A hundred plans raced through Ford's brain; 
 he would arouse the street with a false alarm of fire 
 and lead the firemen, with the tale of a smoking 
 chimney, to one of the three houses; he would 
 feign illness, and, taking refuge in one of them, 
 at night would explore the premises; he would 
 
 182 
 
The Lost House 
 
 impersonate a detective, and insist upon his right 
 to search for stolen property. As he rejected these 
 and a dozen schemes as fantastic, his brain and 
 eyes were still alert for any chance advantage that 
 the street might offer. But the minutes passed 
 into an hour, and no one had entered any of the 
 three houses, no one had left them. In the lower 
 stories, from behind the edges of the blinds, lights 
 appeared, but of the life within there was no sign. 
 Until he hit upon a plan of action, Ford felt there 
 was no longer anything to be gained by remaining 
 in Sowell Street. 
 
 Already the answer to his cable might have 
 arrived at his rooms; at Gerridge's he might still 
 learn something of Pearsall. He decided to re- 
 visit both these places, and, while so engaged, to 
 send from his office one of his assistants to cover 
 the Sowell Street houses. He cast a last, reluc- 
 tant look at the closed blinds, and moved away. 
 As he did so, two itinerant musicians dragging 
 behind them a small street piano on wheels turned 
 the corner, and, as the rain had now ceased, one 
 of them pulled the oil-cloth covering from the in- 
 strument and, seating himself on a camp-stool at 
 the curb, opened the piano. After a discouraged 
 glance at the darkened windows, the other, in a 
 hoarse, strident tenor, to the accompaniment of 
 the piano, began to sing. The voice of the man 
 
 183 
 
The Lost House 
 
 was raucous, penetrating. It would have reached 
 the recesses of a tomb. 
 
 "She sells sea-shells on the sea-shore," the vocal- 
 ist wailed. "The shells she sells are sea-shells, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 The effect was instantaneous. A window was 
 flung open, and an indignant householder with 
 one hand frantically waved the musicians away, 
 and with the other threw them a copper coin. 
 
 At the same moment Ford walked quickly to the 
 piano and laid a half-crown on top of it. 
 
 "Follow me to Harley Street," he commanded. 
 "Don't hurry. Take your time. I want you to 
 help me in a sort of practical joke. It's worth a 
 sovereign to you." 
 
 He passed on quickly. When he glanced be- 
 hind him, he saw the two men, fearful lest the 
 promised fortune might escape them, pursuing 
 him at a trot. At Harley Street they halted, 
 breathless. 
 
 "How long," Ford demanded of the one who 
 played the piano, "will it take you to learn the 
 accompaniment to a new song ? " 
 
 "While you're whistling it," answered the man 
 eagerly. 
 
 "And I'm as quick at a tune as him," assured 
 the other anxiously. "I can sing " 
 
 "You cannot," interrupted Ford. "I'm going 
 184 
 
The Lost House 
 
 to do the singing myself. Where is there a pub- 
 lic-house near here where we can hire a back 
 room, and rehearse?" 
 
 Half an hour later, Ford and the piano-player 
 entered Sowell Street dragging the piano behind 
 them. The amateur detective still wore his rain- 
 coat, but his hat he had exchanged for a cap, 
 and, instead of a collar, he had knotted around 
 his bare neck a dirty kerchief. At the end of the 
 street they halted, and in some embarrassment 
 Ford raised his voice in the chorus of a song well 
 known in the music-halls. It was a very good 
 voice, much too good for "open-air work/' as his 
 companion had already assured him, but, what 
 was of chief importance to Ford, it carried as far 
 as he wished it to go. Already in Wimpole 
 Street four coins of the realm, flung to him from 
 the highest windows, had testified to its power. 
 From the end of Sowell Street Ford moved slowly 
 from house to house until he was directly opposite 
 the three in one of which he believed the girl to be. 
 
 "We will try the new songs here," he said. 
 
 Night had fallen, and, except for the gas-lamps, 
 the street was empty, and in such darkness that 
 even without his disguise Ford ran no risk of 
 recognition. His plan was not new. It dated 
 from the days of Richard the Lion-hearted. But 
 
 185 
 
The Lost House 
 
 if the prisoner were alert and intelligent, even 
 though she could make no answer, Ford believed 
 through his effort she would gain courage, would 
 grasp that from the outside a friend was working 
 toward her. All he knew of the prisoner was that 
 she came from Kentucky. Ford fixed his eyes on 
 the houses opposite, and cleared his throat. The 
 man struck the opening chords, and in a high bari- 
 tone, and in a cockney accent that made even the 
 accompanist grin, Ford lifted his voice. 
 
 "The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky 
 home," he sang; "'tis summer, and the darkies 
 are gay." 
 
 He finished the song, but there was no sign. 
 For all the impression he had made upon Sowell 
 Street, he might have been singing in his cham- 
 bers. "And now the other," commanded Ford. 
 The house-fronts echoed back the cheering notes 
 of " Dixie." Again Ford was silent, and again the 
 silence answered him. The accompanist glared 
 disgustedly at the darkened windows. 
 
 "They don't know them songs," he explained 
 professionally. "Give 'em 'Mollie Married the 
 Marquis.'" 
 
 "I'll sing the first one again," said Ford. 
 
 Once more he broke into the pathetic cadences 
 of the " Old Kentucky Home." But there was no 
 
 186 
 
With a cockney accent that made even the accompanist grin, 
 Ford lifted his voice 
 
The Lost House 
 
 response. He was beginning to feel angry, ab- 
 surd. He believed he had wasted precious mo- 
 ments, and, even as he sang, his mind was already 
 working upon a new plan. The song ceased, 
 unfinished. 
 
 "It's no use!" he exclaimed. Remembering 
 himself, he added: "We'll try the next street." 
 
 But even as he spoke he leaped forward. Com- 
 ing apparently from nowhere, something white 
 sank through the semi-darkness and fell at his 
 feet. It struck the pavement directly in front of 
 the midle one of the three houses. Ford fell upon 
 it and clutched it in both hands. It was a wom- 
 an's glove. Ford raced back to the piano. 
 
 "Once more," he cried, "play 'Dixie'!" 
 
 He shouted out the chorus exultantly, trium- 
 phantly. Had he spoken it in words, the message 
 could not have carried more clearly. 
 
 Ford now believed he had found the house, 
 found the woman, and was eager only to get rid 
 of his companion and, in his own person, return 
 to Sowell Street. But, lest the man might suspect 
 there was in his actions something more serious 
 than a practical joke, he forced himself to sing 
 the new songs in three different streets. Then, 
 pretending to tire of his prank, he paid the musi- 
 cian and left him. He was happy, exultant, tin- 
 
 187 
 
The Lost House 
 
 gling with excitement. Good-luck had been with 
 him, and, hoping that Gerridge's might yet yield 
 some clew to Pearsall, he returned there. Calling 
 up the London office of the Republic, he directed 
 that one of his assistants, an English lad named 
 Cuthbert, should at once join him at that hotel. 
 Cuthbert was but just out of Oxford. He wished 
 to become a writer of fiction, and, as a means of 
 seeing many kinds of life at first hand, was in 
 training as a "Pressman." His admiration for 
 Ford amounted to almost hero-worship; and he 
 regarded an "assignment" with his chief as a joy 
 and an honor. Full of enthusiasm, and as soon 
 as a taxicab could bring him, he arrived at Ger- 
 ridge's, where, in a corner of the deserted coffee- 
 room, Ford explained the situation. Until he 
 could devise a way to enter the Sowell Street house, 
 Cuthbert was to watch over it. 
 
 "The number of the house is forty," Ford told 
 him; "the name on the door-plate, Dr. Prothero. 
 Find out everything you can about him without 
 letting any one catch you at it. Better begin at 
 the nearest chemist's. Say you are on the verge 
 of a nervous breakdown, and ask the man to 
 mix you a sedative, and recommend a physician. 
 Show him Prothero's name and address on a piece 
 of paper, and say Prothero has been recom- 
 
 188 
 
Something white sank through the semi-darkness. ... It 
 was a woman's glove 
 
The Lost House 
 
 mended to you as a specialist on nervous troubles. 
 Ask what he thinks of him. Get him to talk. 
 Then visit the tradespeople and the public-houses 
 in the neighborhood, and say you are from some 
 West End shop where Prothero wants to open an 
 account. They may talk, especially if his credit 
 is bad. And, if you find out enough about him 
 to give me a working basis, I'll try to get into the 
 house to-night. Meanwhile, I'm going to make 
 another quick search of this hotel for Pearsall. 
 I'm not satisfied he has not been here. For why 
 should Miss Dale, with all the hotels in London 
 to chose from, have named this particular one, 
 unless she had good reason for it ? Now, go, and 
 meet me in an hour in Sowell Street." 
 
 Cuthbert was at the door when he remembered 
 he had brought with him from the office Ford's 
 mail and cablegrams. Among the latter was the 
 one for which Ford had asked. 
 
 "Wait," he commanded. "This is about the 
 girl. You had better know what it says." 
 
 The cable read: 
 
 "Girl orphan, Dalesville named after her 
 family, for three generations mill-owners, father 
 died four years ago, Pearsall brother-in-law made 
 executor and guardian of niece until she is twenty- 
 one, which will be in three months. Girl well 
 
 189 
 
The Lost House 
 
 known, extremely popular, lived Dalesville until 
 last year, when went abroad with uncle, since then 
 reports of melancholia and nervous prostration, 
 before that health excellent no signs insanity 
 none in family. Be careful how handle Pearsall, 
 was doctor, gave up practice to look after estate, 
 is prominent in local business and church circles, 
 best reputation, beware libel." 
 
 For the benefit of Cuthbert, Ford had been read- 
 ing the cable aloud. The last paragraph seemed 
 especially to interest him, and he read it twice, 
 the second time slowly, and emphasizing the word 
 "doctor." 
 
 "A doctor!" he repeated. "Do you see where 
 that leads us ? It may explain several things. 
 The girl was in good health until she went abroad 
 with her uncle, and he is a medical man." 
 
 The eyes of Cuthbert grew wide with excitement. 
 
 "You mean poison!" he whispered. "Slow 
 poison ! " 
 
 "Beware libel," laughed Ford nervously, his 
 own eyes lit with excitement. "Suppose," he ex- 
 claimed, "he has been using arsenic? He would 
 have many opportunities, and it's colorless, taste- 
 less; and arsenic would account for her depres- 
 sion and melancholia. The time when he must 
 turn over her money is very near, and, suppose he 
 
 190 
 
The Lost House 
 
 has spent the money, speculated with it, and lost 
 it, or that he still has it and wants to keep it ? In 
 three months she will be of age, and he must make 
 an accounting. The arsenic does not work fast 
 enough. So what does he do ? To save himself 
 from exposure, or to keep the money, he throws 
 her into this private sanatorium, to make away 
 with her." 
 
 Ford had been talking in an eager whisper. 
 While he spoke his cigar had ceased to burn, and, 
 to light it, from a vase on the mantel he took a 
 spill, one of those spirals of paper that in English 
 hotels, where the proprietor is of a frugal mind, 
 are still used to prevent extravagance in matches. 
 Ford lit the spill at the coal fire, and with his cigar 
 puffed at the flame. As he did so the paper un- 
 rolled. To the astonishment of Cuthbert, Ford 
 clasped it in both hands, blotted out the tiny flame, 
 and, turning quickly to a table, spread out the 
 charred paper flat. After one quick glance, Ford 
 ran to the fireplace, and, seizing a handful of the 
 spills, began rapidly to unroll them. Then he 
 turned to Cuthbert and, without speaking, showed 
 him the charred spill. It was a scrap torn from 
 the front page of a newspaper. The half-obliter- 
 ated words at which Ford pointed were Dalesville 
 
 Cour 
 
 191 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "His torn paper!" said Ford. The Dalesville 
 Courier. Pearsall has been in this hotel!" 
 
 He handed another spill to Cuthbert. 
 
 "From that one," said Ford, "we get the date, 
 December 3. Allowing three weeks for the news- 
 paper to reach London, Pearsall must have seen it 
 just three weeks ago, just when Miss Dale says he 
 was in the hotel. The landlord has lied to me." 
 
 Ford rang for a waiter, and told him to ask Mr. 
 Gerridge to come to the smoking-room. 
 
 As Cuthbert was leaving it, Gerridge was enter- 
 ing it, and Ford was saying: 
 
 " It seems you've been lying to the police and to 
 me. Unless you desire to be an accessory to a 
 murder, you had better talk, and talk quick!" 
 
 An hour later Ford passed slowly through So- 
 well Street in a taxicab, and, finding Cuthbert 
 on guard, signalled him to follow. In Wimpole 
 Street the cab drew up to the curb, and Cuthbert 
 entered it. 
 
 "I have found Pearsall/' said Ford. "He is in 
 No. 40 with Prothero." 
 
 He then related to Cuthbert what had happened. 
 Gerridge had explained that when the police called, 
 his first thought was to protect the good name 
 of his hotel. He had denied any knowledge of 
 Pearsall only because he no longer was a guest, 
 
 192 
 
The Lost House 
 
 and, as he supposed Pearsall had passed out of 
 his life, he saw no reason, why, through an arrest 
 and a scandal, his hotel should be involved. Be- 
 lieving Ford to be in the secret service of the 
 police, he was now only too anxious to clear him- 
 self of suspicion by telling all he knew. It was 
 but little. Pearsall and his niece had been at the 
 hotel for three days. During that time the niece, 
 who appeared to be an invalid, remained in her 
 room. On the evening of the third day, while 
 Pearsall was absent, a call from him had come 
 fcr her by telephone, on receiving which Miss 
 Dale had at once left the hotel, apparently in 
 great agitation. That night she did not return, 
 but in the morning Pearsall came to collect his 
 and her luggage and to settle his account. He 
 explained that a woman relative living at the Lang- 
 ham Hotel had been taken suddenly ill, and had 
 sent for him and his niece. Her condition had 
 been so serious that they had remained with her 
 all night, and his niece still was at her bedside. 
 The driver of a four-wheeler, who for years had 
 stood on the cab-rank in front of Gerridge's, had 
 driven Pearsall to the Langham. This man was 
 at the moment on the rank, and from him Ford 
 learned what he most wished to know. 
 
 The cabman remembered Pearsall, and having 
 
The Lost House 
 
 driven him to the Langham, for the reason that 
 immediately after setting him down there, and 
 while "crawling" for a fare in Portland Place, a 
 whistle from the Langham had recalled him, and 
 the same luggage that had just been taken from the 
 top of his cab was put back on it, and he was 
 directed by the porter, of the hotel to take it to a 
 house in Sowell Street. There a man-servant had 
 helped him unload the trunks and had paid him 
 his fare. The cabman did not remember the num- 
 ber of the house, but knew it was on the west side 
 of the street and in the middle of the block. 
 
 Having finished with Gerridge and the cabman, 
 Ford had at once gone to the Langham Hotel, 
 where, as he anticipated, nothing was known of 
 Pearsall or his niece, or of any invalid lady. But 
 the hall-porter remembered the American gentle- 
 man who had driven up with many pieces of lug- 
 gage, and who, although it was out of season, and 
 many suites in the hotel were vacant, had found 
 none to suit him. He had then set forth on foot, 
 having left word that his trunks be sent after him. 
 The address he gave was a house in Sowell Street. 
 
 The porter recalled the incident because he and 
 the cabman had grumbled over the fact that in 
 five minutes they had twice to handle the same 
 boxes. 
 
 194 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "It is pretty evident/' said Ford, "what Pearsall 
 had in mind, but chance was against him. He 
 thought when he had unloaded his trunks at the 
 Langham and dismissed the cabman he had de- 
 stroyed the link connecting him with Gerridge's. 
 He could not foresee that the same cabman would 
 be loitering in the neighborhood. He should have 
 known that four-wheelers are not as plentiful as 
 they once were; and he should have given that 
 particular one more time to get away. His idea 
 in walking to the Sowell Street house was obviously 
 to prevent the new cabman from seeing him enter 
 it. But, just where he thought he was clever, was 
 just where he tripped. If he had remained with 
 his trunks he would have seen that the cabman was 
 the same one who had brought them and him from 
 Craven Street, and he would have given any other 
 address in London than the one he did. 
 
 "And now," said Ford, "that we have Pearsall 
 where we want him, tell me what you have learned 
 about Prothero ? " 
 
 Cuthbert smiled importantly, and produced a 
 piece of paper scribbled over with notes. 
 
 "Prothero," he said, "seems to be this sort of 
 man. If he made your coffee for you, before you 
 tasted it, you'd like him to drink a cup of it first." 
 
The Lost House 
 
 II 
 
 " PROTHERO," said Cuthbert, "is a man of 
 mystery. As soon as I began asking his neigh- 
 bors questions, I saw he was of interest and 
 that I was of interest. I saw they did not believe 
 I was an agent of a West End shop, but a de- 
 tective. So they wouldn't talk at all, or else they 
 talked freely. And from one of them, a chemist 
 named Needham, I got all I wanted. He's had 
 a lawsuit against Prothero, and hates him. Pro- 
 thero got him to invest in a medicine to cure the 
 cocaine habit. Needham found the cure was no 
 cure, but cocaine disguised. He sued for his 
 money, and during the trial the police brought in 
 Prothero's record. Needham let me copy it, and 
 it seems to embrace every crime except treason. 
 The man is a Russian Jew. He was arrested and 
 prosecuted in Warsaw, Vienna, Berlin, Belgrade; 
 all over Europe, until finally the police drove him 
 to America. There he was an editor of an anar- 
 chist paper, a blackmailer, a 'doctor' of hypnotism, 
 a clairvoyant, and a professional bigamist. His 
 game was to open rooms as a clairvoyant, and ad- 
 vise silly women how to invest their money. When 
 he found out which of them had the most money, 
 
 196 
 
The Lost House 
 
 he would marry her, take over her fortune, and 
 skip. In Chicago, he was tried for poisoning one 
 wife, and the trial brought out the fact that two 
 others had died under suspicious circumstances, 
 and that there were three more unpoisoned but 
 anxious to get back their money. He was sen- 
 tenced to ten years for bigamy, but pardoned be- 
 cause he was supposed to be insane, and dying. 
 Instead of dying, he opened a sanatorium in New 
 York to cure victims of the drug habit. In reality, 
 it was a sort of high-priced opium-den. The place 
 was raided, and he jumped his bail and came to 
 this country. Now he is running this private hos- 
 pital in Sowell Street. Needham says it's a secret 
 rendezvous for dope fiends. But they are very 
 high-class dope fiends, who are willing to pay for 
 seclusion, and the police can't get at him. I 
 may add that he's tall and muscular, with a big 
 black beard, and hands that could strangle a bull. 
 In Chicago, during the poison trial, the newspapers 
 called him 'the Modern Bluebeard."' 
 
 For a short time Ford was silent. But, in the 
 dark corner of the cab, Cuthbert could see that his 
 cigar was burning briskly. 
 
 "Your friend seems a nice chap," said Ford at 
 last. "Calling on him will be a real pleasure. I 
 especially like what you say about his hands." 
 
 197 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "I have a plan," began the assistant timidly, "a 
 plan to get you into the house if you don't mind 
 my making suggestions?" 
 
 "Not at all!" exclaimed his chief heartily. 
 "Get me into the house by all means; that's what 
 we're here for. The fact that I'm to be poisoned 
 or strangled after I get there mustn't discourage 
 
 us." 
 
 "I thought," said Cuthbert, "I might stand 
 guard outside, while you got in as a dope fiend." 
 
 Ford snorted indignantly. 
 
 "Do I look like a dope fiend ?" he protested. 
 
 The voice of the assistant was one of discour- 
 agement. 
 
 "You certainly do not," he exclaimed regret- 
 fully. " But it's the only plan I could think of." 
 
 "It seems to me," said his chief testily, "that 
 you are not so very healthy-looking yourself. 
 What's the matter with your getting inside as a 
 dope fiend and my standing guard ? " 
 
 "But I wouldn't know what to do after I got 
 inside," complained the assistant, " and you would. 
 You are so clever." 
 
 The expression of confidence seemed to flatter 
 Ford. 
 
 "I might do this," he said. "I might pretend I 
 was recovering from a heavy spree, and ask to be 
 
The Lost House 
 
 taken care of until I am sober. Or I could be a 
 very good imitation of a man on the edge of a ner- 
 vous breakdown. I haven't been five years in the 
 newspaper business without knowing all there is 
 to know about nerves. That's it!" he cried. "I 
 will do that! And if Mr. Bluebeard Svengali, the 
 Strangler of Paris person, won't take me in as a 
 patient, we'll come back with a couple of axes 
 and break in. But we'll try the nervous break- 
 down first, and we'll try it now. I will be a naval 
 officer," declared Ford. "I made the round-the- 
 world cruise with our fleet as a correspondent, and 
 I know enough sea slang to fool a medical man. 
 I am a naval officer whose nerves have gone wrong. 
 I have heard of his sanatorium through How," 
 asked Ford sharply, "have I heard of his sanato- 
 rium?" 
 
 " You saw his advertisement in the Daily World" 
 prompted Cuthbert. "Home of convalescents; 
 mental and nervous troubles cured." ! 
 
 "And," continued Ford, "I have come to him 
 for rest and treatment. My name is Lieutenant 
 Henry Grant. I arrived in London two weeks 
 ago on the Mauretania. But my name was not 
 on the passenger-list, because I did not want the 
 Navy Department to know I was taking my leave 
 abroad. I have been stopping at my own address 
 
 199 
 
The Lost House 
 
 in Jermyn Street, and my references are yourself, 
 the Embassy, and my landlord. You will tele- 
 phone him at once that, if any one asks after Henry 
 Grant, he is to say what you tell him to say. And 
 if any one sends for Henry Grant's clothes, he is to 
 send my clothes." 
 
 " But you don't expect to be in there as long as 
 that?" exclaimed Cuthbert. 
 
 "I do not," said Ford. "But, if he takes me 
 in, I must make a bluff of sending for my things. 
 No; either I will be turned out in five minutes, 
 or if he accepts me as a patient I will be there 
 until midnight. If I cannot get the girl out of the 
 house by midnight, it will mean that I can't get 
 out myself, and you had better bring the police 
 and the coroner." 
 
 " Do you mean it ? " asked Cuthbert. 
 
 "I most certainly do!" exclaimed Ford. "Until 
 twelve I want a chance to get this story exclusively 
 for our paper. If she is not free by then it means 
 I have fallen down on it, and you and the police 
 are to begin to batter in the doors." 
 
 The two young men left the cab, and at some 
 distance from each other walked to Sowell Street. 
 At the house of Dr. Prothero, Ford stopped and 
 rang the bell. From across the street Cuthbert 
 saw the door open and the figure of a man of 
 
 200 
 
The Lost House 
 
 almost gigantic stature block the doorway. For a 
 moment he stood there, and then Cuthbert saw 
 him step to one side, saw Ford enter the house 
 and the door close upon him. Cuthbert at once 
 ran to a telephone, and, having instructed Ford's 
 landlord as to the part he was to play, returned 
 to Sowell Street. There, in a state nearly ap- 
 proaching a genuine nervous breakdown, he con- 
 tinued his vigil. 
 
 Even without his criminal record to cast a 
 glamour over him, Ford would have found Dr. 
 Prothero a disturbing person. His size was enor- 
 mous, his eyes piercing, sinister, unblinking, and 
 the hands that could strangle a bull, and with 
 which, as though to control himself, he continu- 
 ally pulled at his black beard, were gigantic, of a 
 deadly white, with fingers long and prehensile. 
 In his manner he had all the suave insolence of 
 the Oriental and the suspicious alertness of one 
 constantly on guard, but also, as Ford at once 
 noted, of one wholly without fear. He had not 
 been over a moment in his presence before the re- 
 porter felt that to successfully lie to such a man 
 might be counted as a triumph. 
 
 Prothero opened the door into a little office lead- 
 ing off the hall, and switched on the electric lights. 
 For some short time, without any effort to conceal 
 his suspicion, he stared at Ford in silence. 
 
 301 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "Well ?" he said, at last. His tone was a chal- 
 lenge. 
 
 Ford had already given his assumed name and 
 profession, and he now ran glibly into the story 
 he had planned. He opened his card-case and 
 looked into it doubtfully. 
 
 "I find I have no card with me," he said; "but 
 I am, as I told you, Lieutenant Grant, of the United 
 States Navy. I am all right physically, except for 
 my nerves. They've played me a queer trick. If 
 the facts get out at home, it might cost me my 
 commission. So I've come over here for treat- 
 
 ment." 
 
 "Why to me?" asked Prothero. 
 
 " I saw by your advertisement/' said the reporter, 
 "that you treated for nervous mental troubles. 
 Mine is an illusion/' he went on. "I see things, 
 or, rather, always one thing a battle-ship coming 
 at us head on. For the last year I've been execu- 
 tive officer of the Rears arge, and the responsi- 
 bility has been too much for me." 
 
 "You see a battle-ship?" inquired the Jew. 
 
 "A phantom battle-ship," Ford explained, "a 
 sort of Flying Dutchman. The time I saw it I 
 was on the bridge, and I yelled and telegraphed 
 the engine-room. I brought the ship to a full 
 stop, and backed her. But it was dirty weather, 
 and the error was passed over. After that, when 
 
 302 
 
The Lost House 
 
 I saw the thing coming I did nothing. But each 
 time I think it is real." Ford shivered slightly 
 and glanced about him. "Some day/' he added 
 fatefully, "it will be real, and I will not signal, and 
 the ship will sink!" 
 
 In silence, Prothero observed his visitor closely. 
 The young man seemed sincere, genuine. His 
 manner was direct and frank. He looked the 
 part he had assumed, and he spoke as one used 
 to authority. 
 
 "My fees are large," said the Russian. 
 
 At this point, had Ford, regardless of terms, 
 exhibited a hopeful eagerness to at once close with 
 him, the Jew would have shown him the door. 
 But Ford was on guard, and well aware that a 
 lieutenant in the navy had but few guineas to 
 throw away on medicines. He made a movement 
 as though to withdraw. 
 
 "Then I am afraid," he said, "I must go some- 
 where else." 
 
 His reluctance apparently only partially satis- 
 fied the Jew. 
 
 Ford adopted opposite tactics. He was never 
 without ready money. His paper saw to it that 
 in its interests he was always able at any moment 
 to pay for a special train across Europe, or to 
 bribe the entire working staff of a cable office. 
 
 203 
 
The Lost House 
 
 From his breast-pocket he took a blue linen enve- 
 lope, and allowed the Jew to see that it was filled 
 with twenty-pound notes. 
 
 "I have means outside my pay," said Ford. 
 "I would give almost any price to the man who 
 
 can cure me." 
 
 The eyes of the Russian flashed avariciously. 
 
 "I will arrange the terms to suit you," he ex- 
 claimed. "Your case interests me. Do you see 
 this mirage only at sea ? " 
 
 "In any open place," Ford assured him. "In 
 a park or public square, but of course most fre- 
 quently at sea." 
 
 The quack waved his great hands as though 
 brushing aside a curtain. 
 
 "I will remove the illusion," he said, "and give 
 you others more pretty." He smiled meaningly 
 an evil, leering smile. "When will you come ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Ford glanced about him nervously. 
 
 "I shall stay now," he said. "I confess, in the 
 streets and in my lodgings I am frightened. You 
 give me confidence. I want to stay near you. I 
 feel safe with you. If you will give me writing- 
 paper, I will send for my things." 
 
 For a moment the Jew hesitated, and then 
 motioned to a desk. As Ford wrote, Prothero 
 
 204 
 
The Lost House 
 
 stood near him, and the reporter knew that over 
 his shoulder the Jew was reading what he wrote. 
 Ford gave him the note, unsealed, and asked that 
 it be forwarded at once to his lodgings. 
 
 "To-morrow," he said, "I will call up our Em- 
 bassy, and give my address to our Naval Attache." 
 
 " I will attend to that," said Prothero. " From 
 now you are in my hands, and you can communi- 
 cate with the outside only through me. You are 
 to have absolute rest no books, no letters, no 
 papers. And you will be fed from a spoon. I 
 will explain my treatment later. You will now 
 go to your room, and you will remain there until 
 you are a well man." 
 
 Ford had no wish to be at once shut off from 
 the rest of the house. The odor of cooking came 
 through the hall, and seemed to offer an excuse 
 for delay. 
 
 "I smell food," he laughed. "And I'm ter- 
 rifically hungry. Can't I have a farewell dinner 
 before you begin feeding me from a spoon ?" 
 
 The Jew was about to refuse, but, with his 
 guilty knowledge of what was going forward in 
 the house, he could not be too sure of those he 
 allowed to enter it. He wanted more time to spend 
 in studying this new patient, and the dinner-table 
 seemed to offer a place where he could do so 
 
 205 
 
The Lost House 
 
 without the other suspecting he was under ob- 
 servation. 
 
 "My associate and I were just about to dine," 
 he said. "You will wait here until I have another 
 place laid, and you can join us." 
 
 He departed, walking heavily down the hall, 
 but almost at once Ford, whose ears were alert 
 for any sound, heard him returning, approaching 
 stealthily on tiptoe. If by this manoeuvre the 
 Jew had hoped to discover his patient in some 
 indiscretion, he was unsuccessful, for he found 
 Ford standing just where he had left him, with 
 his back turned to the door, and gazing with ap- 
 parent interest at a picture on the wall. The 
 significance of the incident was not lost upon the 
 intruder. It taught him he was still under sur- 
 veillance, and that he must bear himself warily. 
 Murmuring some excuse for having returned, the 
 Jew again departed, and in a few minutes Ford 
 heard his voice, and that of another man, engaged 
 in low tones in what was apparently an eager 
 argument. 
 
 Only once was the voice of the other man raised 
 sufficiently for Ford to distinguish his words. 
 "He is an American," protested the voice; "thaf 
 makes it worse." 
 
 Ford guessed that the speaker was Pearsall, 
 
 806 
 
The Lost House 
 
 and that against his admittance to the house he 
 was making earnest protest. A door, closing with 
 a bang, shut off the argument, but within a few 
 minutes it was evident the Jew had carried his 
 point, for he reappeared to announce that dinner 
 was waiting. It was served in a room at the 
 farther end of the hall, and at the table, which 
 was laid for three, Ford found a man already 
 seated. Prothero introduced him as "my asso- 
 ciate," but from his presence in the house, and 
 from the fact that he was an American, Ford 
 knew that he was Pearsall. 
 
 Pearsall was a man of fifty. He was tall, spare, 
 with closely shaven face and gray hair, worn 
 rather long. He spoke with the accent of a 
 Southerner, and although to Ford he was stu- 
 diously polite, he was obviously greatly ill at ease. 
 He had the abrupt, inattentive manners, the 
 trembling fingers and quivering lips, of one who 
 had long been a slave to the drug habit, and 
 who now, with difficulty, was holding himself in 
 hand. 
 
 Throughout the dinner, speaking to him as 
 though interested only as his medical advisers, 
 the Jew, and occasionally the American, sharply 
 examined and cross-examined their visitor. But 
 they were unable to trip him in his story, or 
 
 207 
 
The Lost House 
 
 to suggest that he was not just what he claimed 
 to be. 
 
 When the dinner was finished, the three men, 
 for different reasons, were each more at his ease. 
 Both Pearsall and Prothero believed from the new 
 patient they had nothing to fear, and Ford was 
 congratulating himself that his presence at the 
 house was firmly secure. 
 
 "I think," said Pearsall, "we should warn Mr. 
 Grant that there are in the house other patients 
 who, like himself, are suffering from nervous dis- 
 orders. At times some silly neurotic woman be- 
 comes hysterical, and may make an outcry or 
 scream. He must not think " 
 
 "Oh, that's all right!" Ford reassured him 
 cheerfully. "I expect that. In a sanatorium it 
 must be unavoidable." 
 
 As he spoke, as though by a signal prearranged, 
 there came from the upper portion of the house 
 a scream, long, insistent. 
 
 It was the voice of a woman, raised in appeal, 
 in protest, shaken with fear. Without for an 
 instant regarding it, the two men fastened their 
 eyes upon the visitor. The hand of the Jew 
 dropped quickly from his beard, and slid to the 
 inside pocket of his coat. With eyes apparently 
 unseeing, Ford noted the movement. 
 
 208 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "He carries a gun," was his mental comment, 
 "and he seems perfectly willing to use it." Aloud, 
 he said: "That, I suppose, is one of them ?" 
 
 Prothero nodded gravely, and turned to Pearsall. 
 
 "Will you attend her ?" he asked. 
 
 As Pearsall rose and left the room, Prothero rose 
 also. 
 
 "You will come with me," he directed, "and I 
 will see you settled in your apartment. Your bag 
 has arrived and is already there." 
 
 The room to which the Jew led him was the 
 front one on the second story. It was in no way 
 in keeping with a sanatorium, or a rest-cure. The 
 walls were hidden by dark blue hangings, in which 
 sparkled tiny mirrors, the floor was covered with 
 Turkish rugs, the lights concealed inside lamps of 
 dull brass bedecked with crimson tassels. In the 
 air were the odors of stale tobacco-smoke, of cheap 
 incense, and the sickly, sweet smell of opium. To 
 Ford the place suggested a cigar-divan rather 
 than a bedroom, and he guessed, correctly, that 
 when Prothero had played at palmistry and clair- 
 voyance this had been the place where he received 
 his dupes. But the American expressed himself 
 pleased with his surroundings, and while Prothero 
 remained in the room, busied himself with unpack- 
 ing his bag. 
 
 909 
 
The Lost House 
 
 On leaving him the Jew halted in the door and 
 delivered himself of a little speech. His voice was 
 stern, sharp, menacing. 
 
 "Until you are cured," he said, "you will not 
 put your foot outside this room. In this house 
 are other inmates who, as you have already 
 learned, are in a highly nervous state. The brains 
 of some are unbalanced. With my associate and 
 myself they are familiar, but the sight of a stranger 
 roaming through the halls might upset them. They 
 might attack you, might do you bodily injury. If 
 you wish for anything, ring the electric bell beside 
 your bed and an attendant will come. But you 
 yourself must not leave the room." 
 
 He closed the door, and Ford, seating himself 
 in front of the coal fire, hastily considered his posi- 
 tion. He could not persuade himself that, stra- 
 tegically, it was a satisfactory one. The girl he 
 sought was on the top or fourth floor, he on the 
 second. To reach her he would have to pass 
 through well-lighted halls, up two flights of stairs, 
 and try to enter a door that would undoubtedly be 
 locked. On the other hand, instead of wandering 
 about in the rain outside the house, he was now 
 established on the inside, and as an inmate. Had 
 there been time for a siege, he would have been 
 confident of success. But there was no time. The 
 
 210 
 
The Lost House 
 
 written call for help had been urgent. Also, the 
 scream he had heard, while the manner of the two 
 men had shown that to them it was a commonplace, 
 was to him a spur to instant action. In haste he 
 knew there was the risk of failure, but he must 
 take that risk. 
 
 He wished first to assure himself that Cuthbert 
 was within call, and to that end put out the lights 
 and drew aside the curtains that covered the win- 
 dow. Outside, the fog was rolling between the 
 house-fronts, both rain and snow were falling 
 heavily, and a solitary gas-lamp showed only a 
 deserted and dripping street. Cautiously Ford lit 
 a match and for an instant let the flame flare. 
 He was almost at once rewarded by the sight of an 
 answering flame that flickered from a dark door- 
 way. Ford closed the window, satisfied that his 
 line of communication with the outside world was 
 still intact. The faithful Cuthbert was on guard. 
 
 Ford rapidly reviewed each possible course of 
 action. These were several, but to lead any one 
 of them to success, he saw that he must possess a 
 better acquaintance with the interior of the house. 
 Especially was it important that he should obtain 
 a line of escape other than the one down the stairs 
 to the front door. The knowledge that in the rear 
 of the house there was a means of retreat by a ser- 
 
 211 
 
The Lost House 
 
 vants' stairway, or over the roof of an adjoining 
 building, or by a friendly fire-escape, would at 
 least, lend him confidence in his adventure. Ac- 
 cordingly, in spite of Prothero's threat, he deter- 
 mined at once to reconnoitre. In case of his being 
 discovered outside his room, he would explain 
 his electric bell was out of order, that when he 
 rang no servant had answered, and that he had 
 sallied forth in search of one. To make this plaus- 
 ible, he unscrewed the cap of the electric button in 
 the wall, and with his knife cut ofF enough of the 
 wire to prevent a proper connection. He then 
 replaced the cap and, opening the door, stepped 
 into the hall. 
 
 The upper part of the house was sunk in silence, 
 but rising from the dining-room below, through 
 the opening made by the stairs, came the voices 
 of Prothero and Pearsall. And mixed with their 
 voices came also the sharp hiss of water issuing 
 from a siphon. The sound was reassuring. Ap- 
 parently, over their whiskey-and-soda the two men 
 were still lingering at the dinner-table. For the 
 moment, then so far, at least, as they were con- 
 cerned the coast was clear. 
 
 Stepping cautiously, and keeping close to the 
 wall, Ford ran lightly up the stairs to the hall of 
 
 212 
 
The Lost House 
 
 the third floor. It was lit brightly by a gas-jet, 
 but no one was in sight, and the three doors open- 
 ing upon it were shut. At the rear of the hall was 
 a window; the blind was raised, and through the 
 panes, dripping in the rain, Ford caught a glimpse 
 of the rigid iron rods of a fire-escape. His spirits 
 leaped exultantly. If necessary, by means of this 
 scaling ladder, he could work entirely from the 
 outside. Greatly elated, he tiptoed past the closed 
 doors and mounted to the fourth floor. This 
 also was lit by a gas-jet that showed at one end of 
 the hall a table on which were medicine-bottles 
 and a tray covered by a napkin; and at the other 
 end, piled upon each other and blocking the hall- 
 window, were three steamer-trunks. Painted on 
 each were the initials, "D. D." Ford breathed 
 an exclamation. "Dosia Dale," he muttered, "I 
 have found you!" 
 
 He was again confronted by three closed doors, 
 one leading to a room that faced the street, another 
 opening upon a room in the rear of the house, and 
 opposite, across the hallway, still another door. 
 He observed that the first two doors were each 
 fastened from the outside by bolts and a spring 
 lock, and that the key to each lock was in place. 
 The fact moved him with indecision. If he took 
 possession of the keys, he could enter the rooms at 
 
 213 
 
The Lost House 
 
 his pleasure. On the other hand, should their loss 
 be discovered, an alarm would be raised and he 
 would inevitably come under suspicion. The very 
 purpose he had in view might be frustrated. He 
 decided that where they were the keys would serve 
 him as well as in his pocket, and turned his atten- 
 tion to the third door. This was not locked, and, 
 from its position, Ford guessed it must be an en- 
 trance to a servants' stairway. 
 
 Confident of this, he opened it, and found a dark, 
 narrow landing, a flight of steps mounting from 
 the kitchen below, and, to his delight, an iron 
 ladder leading to a trap-door. He could hardly 
 forego a cheer. If the trap-door were not locked, he 
 had found a third line of retreat, a means of escape 
 by way of the roof, far superior to any he might 
 attempt by the main staircase and the street-door. 
 
 Ford stepped to the landing, closing the door 
 behind him; and though this left him in complete 
 darkness, he climbed the ladder, and with eager 
 fingers felt for the fastenings of the trap. He had 
 feared to find a padlock, but, to his infinite relief, 
 his fingers closed upon two bolts. Noiselessly, 
 and smoothly, they drew back from their sockets. 
 Under the pressure of his hand the trap-door lifted, 
 and through the opening swept a breath of chill 
 night air. 
 
 214 
 
The Lost House 
 
 Ford hooked one leg over a round of the ladder 
 and, with hands free, moved the trap to one side. 
 An instant later he had scrambled to the roof, and, 
 after carefully replacing the trap, rose and looked 
 about him. To his satisfaction, he found that 
 the roof upon which he stood ran level with the 
 roofs adjoining it, to as far as Devonshire Street, 
 where they encountered the wall of an apartment 
 house. This was of seven stories. On the fifth 
 story a row of windows, brilliantly lighted, opened 
 upon the roofs over which he planned to make 
 his retreat. Ford chuckled with nervous excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Before long," he assured himself, "I will be 
 visiting the man who owns that flat. He will 
 think I am a burglar. He will send for the police. 
 There is no one in the world I shall be so glad to 
 see!" 
 
 Ford considered that running over roofs, even 
 when their pitfalls were not concealed by a yellow 
 fog, was an awkward exercise, and decided that 
 before he made his dash for freedom, the part of 
 a careful jockey would be to take a preliminary 
 canter over the course. Accordingly, among party 
 walls of brick, rain-pipes, chimney-pipes, and tele- 
 phone wires, he felt his way to the wall of the apart- 
 ment house; and then, with a clearer idea of the 
 
 215 
 
The Lost House 
 
 obstacles to be avoided, raced back to the point 
 whence he had started. 
 
 Next, to discover the exact position of the fire- 
 escape, he dropped to his knees and crawled to 
 the rear edge of the roof. The light from the back 
 windows of the fourth floor showed him an iron 
 ladder from the edge of the roof to the platform of 
 the fire-escape, and the platform itself, stretching 
 below the windows the width of the building. He 
 gave a sigh of satisfaction, but the same instant 
 exclaimed with dismay. The windows opening 
 upon the fire-escape were closely barred. 
 
 For a moment he was unable to grasp why a fire- 
 escape should be placed where escape was impos- 
 sible, until he recognized that the ladder must have 
 been erected first and the iron bars later; probably 
 only since Miss Dale had been made a prisoner. 
 
 But he now appreciated that in spite of the iron 
 bars he was nearer that prisoner than he had ever 
 been. Should he return to the hall below, even 
 while he could unlock the doors, he was in danger 
 of discovery by those inside the house. But from 
 the fire-escape only a window-pane would separate 
 him from the prisoner, and though the bars would 
 keep him at arm's-length, he might at least speak 
 with her, and assure her that her call for help had 
 carried. He grasped the sides of the ladder and 
 
 216 
 
The Lost House 
 
 dropped to the platform. As he had already seen 
 that the window farthest to the left was barricaded 
 with trunks, he disregarded it, and passed quickly 
 to the two others. Behind both of these, linen 
 shades were lowered, but, to his relief, he found 
 that in the middle window the lower sash, as 
 though for ventilation, was slightly raised, leaving 
 an opening of a few inches. 
 
 Kneeling on the gridiron platform of the fire- 
 escape, and pressing his face against the bars, he 
 brought his eyes level with this opening. Owing 
 to the lowered window-blind, he could see nothing 
 in the room, nor could he distinguish any sound 
 until above the drip and patter of the rain there 
 came to him the peaceful ticking of a clock and 
 the rattle of coal falling to the fender. But of 
 any sound that was human there was none. That 
 the room was empty, and that the girl was in the 
 front of the house was possible, and the tempta- 
 tion to stretch his hand through the bars and lift 
 the blind was almost compelling. If he did so, 
 and the girl were inside, she might make an outcry, 
 or, guarding her, there might be an attendant, who 
 at once would sound the alarm. The risk was evi- 
 dent, but, encouraged by the silence, Ford deter- 
 mined to take the chance. Slipping one hand be- 
 tween the bars he caught the end of the blind, and, 
 
 217 
 
The Lost House 
 
 pulling it gently down, let the spring draw it up- 
 ward. Through an opening of six inches the room 
 lay open before him. He saw a door leading to 
 another room, at one side an iron cot, and in front 
 of the coal fire, facing him, a girl seated in a deep 
 arm-chair. A book lay on her knees, and she was 
 intently reading. 
 
 The girl was young, and her face, in spite of an 
 unnatural pallor and an expression of deep mel- 
 ancholy, was one of extreme beauty. She wore 
 over a night-dress a long loose wrapper corded at 
 the waist, and, as though in readiness for the night, 
 her black hair had been drawn back into smooth 
 heavy braids. She made so sweet and sad a pict- 
 ure that Ford forgot his errand, forgot his damp 
 and chilled body, and for a moment in sheer delight 
 knelt, with his face pressed close to the bars, and 
 gazed at her. 
 
 A movement on the part of the girl brought him 
 to his senses. She closed the book, and, leaning 
 forward, rested her chin upon the hollow of her 
 hand and stared into the fire. Her look was one 
 of complete and hopeless misery. Ford did not 
 hesitate. The girl was alone, but that at any mo- 
 ment an attendant might join her was probable, 
 and the rare chance that now offered would be lost. 
 He did not dare to speak, or by any sound attract 
 
 218 
 
The Lost House 
 
 her attention, but from his breast-pocket he took 
 the glove thrown to him from the window, and, 
 with a jerk, tossed it through the narrow opening. 
 It fell directly at her feet. She had not seen the 
 glove approach, but the slight sound it made in 
 falling caused her to start and turn her eyes 
 toward it. Through the window, breathless, 
 and with every nerve drawn taut, Ford watched 
 her. 
 
 For a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilder- 
 ment, she sat motionless, regarding the glove with 
 eyes fixed and staring. Then she lifted them to the 
 ceiling, in quick succession to each of the closed 
 doors, and then to the window. In his race across 
 the roofs Ford had lacked the protection of a hat, 
 and his hair was plastered across his forehead; 
 his face was streaked with soot and snow, his eyes 
 shone with excitement. But at sight of this strange 
 apparition the girl made no sign. Her alert mind 
 had in an instant taken in the significance of the 
 glove, and for her what followed could have but 
 one meaning. She knew that no matter in what 
 guise he came the man whose face was now pressed 
 against the bars was a friend. 
 
 With a swift, graceful movement she rose to her 
 feet, crossed quickly to the window, and sank upon 
 her knees. 
 
 219 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "Speak in a whisper," she said) "and speak 
 quickly. You are in great danger!'* 
 
 That her first thought was of his safety gave 
 Ford a thrill of shame and pleasure. 
 
 Until now Miss Dosia Dale had been only the 
 chief feature in a newspaper story; the unknown 
 quantity in a problem. She had meant no more to 
 him than had the initials on her steamer-trunk. 
 Now, through her beauty, through the distress in 
 her eyes, through her warm and generous nature 
 that had disclosed itself with her first words, she 
 became a living, breathing, lovely, and lovable 
 woman. All of the young man's chivalry leaped 
 to the call. He had gone back several centuries. 
 In feeling, he was a knight-errant rescuing beauty 
 in distress from a dungeon cell. 
 
 To the girl, he was a reckless young person 
 with a dirty face and eyes that gave confidence. 
 
 But, though a knight-errant, Ford was a modern 
 knight-errant. He wasted no time in explana- 
 tions or pretty speeches. 
 
 " In two minutes," he whispered, " I'll unlock 
 your door. There's a ladder outside your room 
 to the roof. Once we get to the roof the rest's 
 easy. Should anything go wrong, I'll come back 
 by this fire-escape. Wait at the window until you 
 see your door open. Do you understand ?" 
 
 220 
 
The Lost House 
 
 The girl answered with an eager nod. The 
 color had flown to her cheek. Her eyes flashed in 
 excitement. A sudden doubt assailed Ford. 
 
 "You've no time to put on any more clothes," 
 he commanded. 
 
 "I haven't got any!" said the girl. 
 
 The knight-errant ran up the fire-escape, pulled 
 himself over the edge of the roof, and, crossing it, 
 dropped through the trap to the landing of the 
 kitchen stairs. Here he expended the greater part 
 of the two minutes he had allowed himself in cau- 
 tiously opening the door into the hall. He accom- 
 plished this without a sound, and in one step 
 crossed the hall to the door that held Miss Dale 
 a prisoner. 
 
 Slowly he drew back the bolts. Only the spring 
 lock now barred him from her. With thumb and 
 forefinger he turned the key, pushed the door 
 gently open, and ran into the room. 
 
 At the same instant from behind him, within 
 six feet of him, he heard the staircase creak. A 
 bomb bursting could not have shaken him more 
 rudely. He swung on his heel and found, block- 
 ing the door, the giant bulk of Prothero regarding 
 him over the barrel of his pistol. 
 
 "Don't move!" said the Jew. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the girl gave a cry of 
 warning, and sprang forward. 
 
 321 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "Go back!" commanded Prothero. His voice 
 was low and soft, and apparently calm, but his 
 face showed white with rage. 
 
 Ford had recovered from the shock of the sur- 
 prise He, also, was in a rage a rage of mortifi- 
 cation and bitter disappointment. 
 
 "Don't point that gun at me!" he blustered. 
 
 The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice 
 of Pearsall echoed from the floor below. 
 
 "Have you got him ?" he called. 
 
 Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his 
 pistol. When Pearsall was at his side, without 
 turning his head, he asked in the same steady tone: 
 
 "What shall we do with him ?" 
 
 The face of Pearsall was white, and furious with 
 fear. 
 
 "I told you " he stormed. 
 
 "Never mind what you told me," said the Jew. 
 "What shall we do with him ? He knows !" 
 
 Ford's mind was working swiftly. He had no 
 real fear of personal danger for the girl or himself. 
 The Jew, he argued, was no fool. He would not 
 risk his neck by open murder. And, as he saw it, 
 escape with the girl might still be possible. He 
 had only to conceal from Prothero his knowledge 
 of the line of retreat over the house-tops, ex- 
 plain his rain-soaked condition, and wait a better 
 chance. 
 
The Lost House 
 
 To this end he proceeded to lie, briskly and 
 smoothly. 
 
 "Of course I know," he taunted. He pointed 
 to his dripping garments. "Do you know where 
 I've been ? In the street, placing my men. I have 
 this house surrounded. I am going to walk down 
 those stairs with this young lady. If you try to 
 stop me I have only to blow my police-whistle " 
 
 "And I will blow your brains out!" interrupted 
 the Jew. 
 
 It was a most unsatisfactory climax. 
 
 "You have not been in the street," said Pro- 
 thero. "You are wet because you hung out of 
 your window signalling to your friend. Do you 
 know why he did not answer your second signal ? 
 Because he is lying in an area, with a knife in 
 him!" 
 
 "You lie!" cried Ford. 
 
 "You lie," retorted the Jew quietly, "when you 
 say your men surround this house. You are alone. 
 You are not in the police service, you are a busy- 
 body meddling with men who think as little of 
 killing you as they did of killing your friend. My 
 servant was placed to watch your window, saw 
 your signal, reported to me. And I found your 
 assistant and threw him into an area, with a knife 
 in him!" 
 
 223 
 
The Lost House 
 
 Ford felt the story was untrue. Prothero was 
 trying to frighten him. Out of pure bravado no 
 sane man would boast of murder. But and at 
 the thought Ford felt a touch of real fear was 
 the man sane ? It was a most unpleasant contin- 
 gency. Between a fight with an angry man and 
 an insane man the difference was appreciable. 
 From this new view-point Ford regarded his ad- 
 versary with increased wariness; he watched him 
 as he would a mad dog. He regretted extremely he 
 had not brought his revolver. 
 
 With his automatic pistol still covering Ford, 
 Prothero spoke to Pearsall. 
 
 " I found him," he recited, as though testing the 
 story he would tell later, "prowling through my 
 house at night. Mistaking him for a burglar, I 
 killed him. The kitchen window will be found 
 open, with the lock broken, showing how he gained 
 an entrance. Why not? "he demanded. 
 
 "Because," protested Pearsall, in terror, "the 
 man outside will tell " 
 
 Ford shouted with genuine relief. 
 
 "Exactly!" he cried. "The man outside, who 
 is not down an area with a knife in him, but who at 
 this moment is bringing the police he will tell!" 
 
 As though he had not been interrupted, Pro- 
 thero continued thoughtfully: 
 
 224 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "What they may say he expected to find here, 
 I can explain away later. The point is that I 
 found a strange man, hatless, dishevelled, prowling 
 in my house. I called on him to halt; he ran, I 
 fired, and unfortunately killed him. An English- 
 man's home is his castle; an English jury " 
 
 "An English jury," said Ford briskly, "is the 
 last thing you want to meet It isn't a Chicago 
 jury." 
 
 The Jew flung back his head as though Ford 
 had struck him in the face. 
 
 "Ah!" he purred, "you know that, too, do 
 you?" The purr increased to a snarl. "You 
 know too much!" 
 
 For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarm- 
 ing meaning. He sprang toward Prothero, and 
 laid both hands upon his disengaged arm. 
 
 "For God's sake," he pleaded, "come away! 
 He can't hurt you not alive; but dead, he'll hang 
 you hang us both. We must go, now, this mo- 
 ment." He dragged impotently at the left arm 
 of the giant. "Come!" he begged. 
 
 Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some 
 thought of his own, Prothero nodded in assent. 
 He addressed himself to Ford. 
 
 " I don't know what to do with you," he said, 
 "so I will consult with my friend outside this door. 
 
 225 
 
The Lost House 
 
 While we talk, we will lock you in. We can hear 
 any move you make. If you raise the window or 
 call I will open the door and kill you you and 
 that woman!" 
 
 With a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and 
 the spring lock snapped. An instant later the 
 bolts were noisily driven home. 
 
 When the second bolt shot into place, Ford 
 turned and looked at Miss Dale. 
 
 "This is a hell of a note!" he said. 
 
 Ill 
 
 OUTSIDE the locked door the voices of the two 
 men rose in fierce whispers. But Ford regarded 
 them not at all. With the swiftness of a squirrel 
 caught in a cage, he darted on tiptoe from side 
 to side searching the confines of his prison. He 
 halted close to Miss Dale and pointed at the win- 
 dows. 
 
 "Have you ever tried to loosen those bars ?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 The girl nodded and, in pantomime that spoke 
 of failure, shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "What did you use?" demanded Ford hope- 
 fully. 
 
 226 
 
The Lost House 
 
 The girl destroyed his hope with a shake of 
 her head and a swift smile. 
 
 "Scissors," she said; "but they found them and 
 took them away." 
 
 Ford pointed at the open grate. 
 
 "Where's the poker?" he demanded. 
 
 "They took that, too. I bent it trying to pry 
 the bars. So they knew." 
 
 The man gave her a quick, pleased glance, then 
 turned his eyes to the door that led into the room 
 that looked upon the street. 
 
 "Is that door locked?" 
 
 "No," the girl told him. "But the door from 
 it into the hall is fastened, like the other, with a 
 spring lock and two bolts." 
 
 Ford cautiously opened the door into the room 
 adjoining, and, except for a bed and wash-stand, 
 found it empty. On tiptoe he ran to the win- 
 dows. Sowell Street was deserted. He returned 
 to Miss Dale, again closing the door between the 
 two rooms. 
 
 "The nurse," Miss Dale whispered, "when she 
 is on duty, leaves that door open so that she can 
 watch me; when she goes downstairs, she locks 
 and bolts the door from that room to the hall. 
 It's locked now." 
 
 "What's the nurse like?" 
 227 
 
The Lost House 
 
 The girl gave a shudder that seemed to Ford 
 sufficiently descriptive. Her lips tightened in a 
 hard, straight line. 
 
 "She's not human," she said. "I begged her 
 to help me, appealed to her in every way; then I 
 tried a dozen times to get past her to the stairs." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 The girl frowned, and with a gesture signified 
 her surroundings. 
 
 "I'm still here," she said. 
 
 She bent suddenly forward and, with her hand 
 on his shoulder, turned the man so that he faced 
 the cot. 
 
 "The mattress on that bed," she whispered, 
 "rests on two iron rods. They are loose and can 
 be lifted. I planned to smash the lock, but the 
 noise would have brought Prothero. But you 
 could defend yourself with one of them." 
 
 Ford had already run to the cot and dropped to 
 his knees. He found the mattress supported on 
 strips of iron resting loosely in sockets at the head 
 and foot. He raised the one nearer him, and then, 
 after a moment of hesitation, let it drop into place. 
 
 "That's fine!" he whispered. "Good as a crow- 
 bar." He shook his head in sudden indecision. 
 " But I don't just know how to use it. His auto- 
 matic could shoot six times before I could swing 
 
 228 
 
The Lost House 
 
 that thing on him once. And if I have it in my 
 hands when he opens the door, he'll shoot, and 
 he may hit you. But if I leave it where it is, he 
 won't know I know it's there, and it may come in 
 very handy later." 
 
 In complete disapproval the girl shook her head. 
 Her eyes filled with concern. 
 
 "You must not fight him," she ordered. "I 
 mean, not for me. You don't know the danger. 
 The man's not sane. He won't give you a chance. 
 He's mad. You have no right to risk your life 
 for a stranger. I'll not permit it " 
 
 Ford held up his hand for silence. With a jerk 
 of his head he signified the door. 
 
 "They've stopped talking," he whispered. 
 
 Straining to hear, the two leaned forward, but 
 from the hall there came no sound. The girl 
 raised her eyebrows questioningly. 
 
 "Have they gone?" she breathed. 
 
 "If I knew that," protested Ford, "we wouldn't 
 be here!" 
 
 In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though 
 from the butt of a revolver, fell upon the door. 
 The voice of Prothero spoke sharply: 
 
 "You, who call yourself Grant!" he shouted. 
 
 Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and 
 himself away from the line of the door, and so 
 
 229 
 
The Lost House 
 
 placed the girl with her back to the wall that if 
 the door opened she would be behind it. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 "Pearsall and I," called Prothero, "have decided 
 how to dispose of you of both of you. He has 
 gone below to make preparations. I am on guard. 
 If you try to break out or call for help, I'll shoot 
 you as I warned you!" 
 
 "And I warn you," shouted Ford, "if this lady 
 and I do not instantly leave this house, or if any 
 harm comes to her, you will hang for it!" 
 
 Prothero laughed jeeringly. 
 
 "Who will hang me ?" he mocked. 
 
 "My friends," retorted Ford. "They know I 
 am in this house. They know why I am here. 
 Unless they see Miss Dale and myself walk out of 
 it in safety, they will never let you leave it. Don't 
 be a fool, Prothero!" he shouted. "You know I 
 am telling the truth. You know your only chance 
 for mercy is to open that door and let us go free." 
 
 For over a minute Ford waited, but from the hall 
 there was no answer. 
 
 After another minute of silence, Ford turned 
 and gazed inquiringly at Miss Dale. 
 
 "Prothero!" he called. 
 
 Again for a full minute he waited and again 
 called, and then, as there still was no reply, he 
 
 230 
 
The Lost House 
 
 struck the door sharply with his knuckles. On 
 the instant the voice of the Jew rang forth in an 
 angry bellow. 
 
 "Keep away from that door!" he commanded. 
 
 Ford turned to Miss Dale and bent his head 
 close to hers. 
 
 "Now, why the devil didn't he answer?" he 
 whispered. "Was it because he wasn't there; or 
 is he planning to steal away and wants us to think 
 that even if he does not answer, he's still outside ?" 
 
 The girl nodded eagerly. 
 
 "This is it," she whispered. "My uncle is a 
 coward, or rather he is very wise, and has left 
 the house. And Prothero means to follow, but 
 he wants us to think he's still on guard. If we 
 only knew!" she exclaimed. 
 
 As though in answer to her thought, the voice 
 of Prothero called to them. 
 
 "Don't speak to me again," he warned. "If 
 you do, I'll not answer, or I'll shoot!" 
 
 Flattened against the wall, close to the hinges of 
 the door, Ford replied flippantly and defiantly: 
 
 "That makes conversation difficult, doesn't it ?" 
 he called. 
 
 There was a bursting report, and a bullet splint- 
 ered the panel of the door, flattened itself against 
 the fireplace, and fell tinkling into the grate. 
 
 231 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "I hope I hit you!" roared the Jew. 
 
 Ford pressed his lips tightly together. What- 
 ever happy retort may have risen to them was for- 
 ever lost. For an exchange of repartee, the mo- 
 ment did not seem propitious. 
 
 "Perhaps now," jeered Prothero, "you'll be- 
 lieve I'm in earnest!" 
 
 Ford still resisted any temptation to reply. He 
 grinned apologetically at the girl and shrugged his 
 shoulders. Her face was white, but it was white 
 from excitement, not from fear. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" she whispered. "He 
 is mad quite mad!" 
 
 Ford glanced at the bullet-hole in the panel of 
 the door. It was on a line with his heart. He 
 looked at Miss Dale; her shoulder was on a 
 level with his own, and her eyes were following 
 his. 
 
 "In case he does that again," said Ford, "we 
 would be more comfortable sitting down." 
 
 With their shoulders against the wall, the two 
 young people sank to the floor. The position 
 seemed to appeal to them as humorous, and, when 
 their eyes met, they smiled. 
 
 "To a spectator," whispered Ford encoura- 
 gingly, "we might appear to be getting the worst 
 of this. But, as a matter of fact, every minute 
 
 232 
 
The Lost House 
 
 Cuthbert does not come means that the next min- 
 ute may bring him." 
 
 "You don't believe he was hurt ?" asked the girl. 
 
 "No," said Ford. "I believe Prothero found 
 him, and I believe there may have been a fight. 
 But you heard what Pearsall said: 'The man 
 outside will tell.' // Cuthbert's in a position 
 to tell, he is not down an area with a knife in 
 him." 
 
 He was interrupted by a faint report from the 
 lowest floor, as though the door to the street had 
 been sharply slammed. Miss Dale showed that 
 she also had heard it. 
 
 "My uncle," she said, "making his escape!" 
 
 "It may be," Ford answered. 
 
 The report did not suggest to him the slamming 
 of a door, but he saw no reason for saying so to 
 the girl. 
 
 With his fingers locked across his knees, Ford 
 was leaning forward, his eyes frowning, his lips 
 tightly shut. At his side the girl regarded him 
 covertly. His broad shoulders, almost touching 
 hers, his strong jaw projecting aggressively, and the 
 alert, observant eyes gave her confidence. For 
 three weeks she had been making a fight single- 
 handed. But she was now willing to cease strug- 
 gling and relax. Quite happily she placed herself 
 
 233 
 
The Lost House 
 
 and her safety in the keeping of a stranger. Half 
 to herself, half to the man, she murmured : 
 
 "It is like 'The Sieur de Maletroit's Door/" 
 
 Without looking at her, Ford shook his head and 
 smiled. 
 
 "No such luck," he corrected grimly. "That 
 young man was given a choice. The moment he 
 was willing to marry the girl he could have walked 
 out of the room free. I do not recall Prothero's 
 saying I can escape death by any such charming 
 alternative." 
 
 The girl interrupted quickly. 
 
 "No," she said; "you are not at all like that 
 young man. He stumbled in by chance. You 
 came on purpose to help me. It was fine, un- 
 selfish." 
 
 "It was not," returned Ford. "My motive was 
 absolutely selfish. It was not to help you I came, 
 but to be able to tell about it later. It is my 
 business to do that. And before I saw you, it was 
 all in the day's work. But after I saw you it was 
 no longer a part of the day's work; it became a 
 matter of a lifetime." 
 
 The girl at his side laughed softly and lightly. 
 "A lifetime is not long," she said, "when you are 
 locked in a room and a madman is shooting at 
 you. It may last only an hour." 
 
 234 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "Whether it lasts an hour or many years," said 
 Ford, "it can mean to me now only one thing " 
 He turned quickly and looked in her face boldly 
 and steadily: "You" he said. 
 
 The girl did not avoid his eyes, but returned his 
 glance with one as steady as his own. "You are 
 an amusing person/' she said. "Do you feel it 
 is necessary to keep up my courage with pretty 
 speeches ?" 
 
 "I made no pretty speech," said Ford. "I pro- 
 claimed a fact. You are the most charming per- 
 son that ever came into my life, and whether Pro- 
 thero shoots us up, or whether we live to get back 
 to God's country, you will never leave it." 
 
 The girl pretended to consider his speech criti- 
 cally. "It would be almost a compliment," she 
 said, "if it were intelligent, but when you know 
 nothing of me it is merely impertinent." 
 
 "I know this much of you," returned Ford, 
 calmly; "I know you are fine and generous, for 
 your first speech to me, in spite of your own danger, 
 was for my safety. I know you are brave, for I 
 see you now facing death without dismay." 
 
 He was again suddenly halted by two sharp re- 
 ports. They came from the room directly below 
 them. It was no longer possible to pretend to 
 misinterpret their significance. 
 
 235 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "Prothero!" exclaimed Ford, "and his pistol!" 
 
 They waited breathlessly for what might follow: 
 an outcry, the sound of a body falling, a third 
 pistol-shot. But throughout the house there was 
 silence. 
 
 "If you really think we are in such danger," 
 declared Miss Dale, "we are wasting time!" 
 
 "We are not wasting time," protested Ford; "we 
 are really gaining time, for each minute Cuthbert 
 and the police are drawing nearer, and to move 
 about only invites a bullet. And, what is of more 
 importance," he went on quickly, as though to turn 
 her mind from the mysterious pistol-shots, "should 
 we get out of this alive, I shall already have said 
 what under ordinary conditions I might not have 
 found the courage to tell you in many months." 
 He waited as though hopeful of a reply, but Miss 
 Dale remained silent. "They say," continued 
 Ford, "when a man is drowning his whole life 
 passes ill review. We are drowning, and yet I 
 find I can see into the past no further than the 
 last half-hour. I find life began only then, when 
 I looked through the bars of that window and 
 found you/ 99 
 
 With the palm of her hand the girl struck the 
 floor sharply. "This is neither the time," she 
 
 exclaimed, "nor the place to " 
 
 236 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "I did not choose the place," Ford pointed out 
 "It was forced upon me with a gun. But the 
 tint/ is excellent. At such a time one speaks only 
 what is true." 
 
 "You certainly have a strange sense of humor," 
 she said, "but when you are risking your life to 
 help me, how can I be angry ?" 
 
 "Of course you can't," Ford agreed heartily; 
 "you could not be so conventional." 
 
 "But I am conventional!" protested Miss Dale. 
 "And I am not used to having young men tell me 
 they have 'come into my life to stay 'certainly 
 not young men who come into my life by way of a 
 trap-door, and without an introduction, without a 
 name, without even a hat! It's absurd! It's not 
 real! It's a nightmare!" 
 
 "The whole situation is absurd!" Ford de- 
 clared. "Here we are in the heart of London, 
 surrounded by telephones, taxicabs, police at 
 least, hope we are surrounded by police and 
 yet we are crawling around the floor on our hands 
 and knees dodging bullets. I wish it wtrt a night- 
 mare. But, as it's not" he rose to his feet "I 
 think I'll try- 
 He was interrupted by a sharp blow upon the 
 door and the voice of Prothero. 
 
 "You, navy officer!" he panted. "Come to 
 
The Lost House 
 
 the door! Stand close to it so that I needn't shout. 
 Come, quick!" 
 
 Ford made no answer. Motioning to Miss 
 Dale to remain where she was, he ran noiselessly 
 to the bed, and from beneath the mattress lifted 
 one of the iron bars upon which it rested. Grasp- 
 ing it at one end, he swung the bar swiftly as a man 
 tests the weight of a base-ball bat. As a weapon 
 it seemed to satisfy him, for he smiled. Then once 
 more he placed himself with his back to the wall. 
 
 "Do you hear me ?" roared Prothero. 
 
 "I hear you!" returned Ford. "If you want 
 to talk to me, open the door and come inside." 
 
 "Listen to me," called Prothero. "If I open 
 the door you may act the fool, and I will have to 
 shoot you, and I have made up my mind to let 
 you live. You will soon have this house to your- 
 selves. In a few moments I will leave it, but where 
 I am going I'll need money, and I want the bank- 
 notes in that blue envelope." 
 
 Ford swung the iron club in short half-circles. 
 
 "Come in and get them!" he called. 
 
 "Don't trifle with me!" roared the Jew, "or I 
 may change my mind. Shove the money through 
 the crack under the door." 
 
 "And get shot!" returned Ford. "Not a bit 
 like it!" 
 
 238 
 
The Lost House 
 
 "If, in one minute," shouted Prothero, "I don't 
 see the money coming through that crack, I'll 
 begin shooting through this door, and neither of 
 you will live!" 
 
 Resting the bar in the crook of his elbow, Ford 
 snatched the bank-notes from the envelope, and, 
 sticking them in his pocket, placed the empty 
 envelope on the floor. Still keeping out of range, 
 and using his iron bar as a croupier uses his rake, 
 he pushed the envelope across the carpet and under 
 the door. When half of it had disappeared from 
 the other side of the door, it was snatched from 
 view. 
 
 An instant later there was a scream of anger 
 and on a line where Ford would have been, had 
 he knelt to shove the envelope under the door, 
 three bullets splintered through the panel. 
 
 At the same moment the girl caught him by the 
 wrist. Unheeding the attack upon the door, her 
 eyes were fixed upon the windows. With her free 
 hand she pointed at the one at which Ford had 
 first appeared. The blind was still raised a few 
 inches, and they saw that the night was lit with a 
 strange and brilliant radiance. The storm had 
 passed, and from all the houses that backed upon 
 the one in which they were prisoners lights blazed 
 from every window, and in each were crowded 
 
 239 
 
The Lost House 
 
 many people, and upon the roof-tops in silhouette 
 from the glare of the street lamps below, and in 
 the yards and clinging to the walls that separated 
 them, were hundreds of other dark, shadowy groups 
 changing and swaying. And from them rose the 
 confused, inarticulate, terrifying murmur of a 
 mob. It was as though they were on a race-track 
 at night facing a great grandstand peopled with 
 an army of ghosts. With the girl at his side, Ford 
 sprang to the window and threw up the blind, and 
 as they clung to the bars, peering into the night, the 
 light in the r oom fell full upon them. And in an 
 instant from the windows opposite, from the yards 
 below, and from the house-tops came a savage, 
 exultant yell of welcome, a confusion of cries, or- 
 ders, entreaties, a great roar of warning. At the 
 sound, Ford could feel the girl at his side tremble. 
 
 "What does it mean ?" she cried. 
 
 "Cuthbert has raised the neighborhood !" shout- 
 ed Ford jubilantly. "Or else" he cried in sud- 
 den enlightenment "those shots we heard " 
 
 The girl stopped him with a low cry of fear. She 
 thrust her arms between the bars and pointed. In 
 the yard below them was the sloping roof of the 
 kitchen. It stretched from the house to the wall 
 of the back yard. Above the wall from the yard 
 beyond rose a ladder, and, face down upon the roof, 
 
 240 
 
The Lost House 
 
 awry and sprawling, were the motionless forms of 
 two men. Their shining capes and heavy helmets 
 proclaimed their calling. 
 
 "The police !" exclaimed Ford. "And the shots 
 we thought were for those in the house were for 
 them! This is what has happened," he whispered 
 eagerly: "Prothero attacked Cuthbert. Cuthbert 
 gets away and goes to the police. He tells them 
 you are here a prisoner, that I am here probably 
 a prisoner, and of the attack upon himself. The 
 police try to make an entrance from the street 
 that was the first shot we heard and are driven 
 back; then they try to creep in from the yard, and 
 those poor devils were killed." 
 
 As he spoke a sudden silence had fallen, a 
 silence as startling as had been the shout of warn- 
 ing. Some fresh attack upon the house which 
 the prisoners could not see, but which must be 
 visible to those in the houses opposite, was going 
 forward. 
 
 " Perhaps they are on the roof," whispered Ford 
 joyfully. "They'll be through the trap in a min- 
 ute, and you'll be free!" 
 
 "No!" said the girl. 
 
 She also spoke in a whisper, as though she feared 
 Prothero might hear her. And with her hand she 
 again pointed. Cautiously above the top of the 
 
 241 
 
The Lost House 
 
 ladder appeared the head and shoulders of a man. 
 He wore a policeman's helmet, but, warned by the 
 fate of his comrades, he came armed. Balancing 
 himself with his left hand on the rung of the ladder, 
 he raised the other and pointed a revolver. It was 
 apparently at the two prisoners, and Miss Dale 
 sprang to one side. 
 
 "Stand still!" commanded Ford. "He knows 
 who you are! You heard that yell when they saw 
 you ? They know you are the prisoner, and they 
 are glad you're still alive. That officer is aiming 
 at the window below us. He's after the men who 
 murdered his mates." 
 
 From the window directly beneath them came 
 the crash of a rifle, and from the top of the ladder 
 the revolver of the police officer blazed in the dark- 
 ness. Again the rifle crashed, and the man on the 
 ladder jerked his hands above his head and pitched 
 backward. Ford looked into the face of the girl 
 and found her eyes filled with horror. 
 
 "Where is my uncle, Pearsall?" she faltered. 
 "He has two rifles for shooting in Scotland. Was 
 that a rifle that " Her lips refused to finish the 
 question. 
 
 "It was a rifle," Ford stammered, "but prob- 
 ably Prothero " 
 
 Even as he spoke the voice of the Jew rose 
 242 
 
The Lost House 
 
 in a shriek from the floor below them, but not 
 from the window below them. The sound was 
 from the front room opening on Sowell Street. In 
 the awed silence that had suddenly fallen his 
 shrieks carried sharply. They were more like the 
 snarls and ravings of an animal than the outcries 
 of a man. 
 
 "Take that! 9 ' he shouted, with a flood of oaths, 
 "and that, and that!" 
 
 Each word was punctuated by the report of his 
 automatic, and, to the amazement of Ford, was 
 instantly answered from Sowell Street by a scat- 
 tered volley of rifle and pistol shots. 
 
 "This isn't a fight," he cried, "it's a battle!" 
 
 With Miss Dale at his side, he ran into the front 
 room, and, raising the blind, appeared at the win- 
 dow. And instantly, as at the other end of the 
 house, there was, at sight of the woman's figure, a 
 tumult of cries, a shout of warning, and a great 
 roar of welcome. From beneath them a man ran 
 into the deserted street, and in the glare of the 
 gas-lamp Ford saw his white, upturned face. He 
 was without a hat and his head was circled by a 
 bandage. But Ford recognized Cuthbert. 
 
 "That's Ford!" he cried, pointing. "And the 
 girl's with him!" He turned to a group of men 
 crouching in the doorway of the next house to the 
 
 243 
 
The Lost House 
 
 one in which Ford was imprisoned. "The girl's 
 alive!" he shouted. 
 
 "The girl's alive!" The words were caught up 
 and flung from window to window, from house-top 
 to house-top, with savage, jubilant cheers. 
 
 Ford pushed Miss Dale forward. 
 
 "Let them see you," he said, "and you will never 
 see a stranger sight." 
 
 Below them, Sowell Street, glistening with rain 
 and snow, lay empty, but at either end of it, held 
 back by an army of police, were black masses of 
 men, and beyond them more men packed upon 
 the tops of taxicabs and hansoms, stretching as 
 far as the street lamps showed, and on the roofs 
 shadowy forms crept cautiously from chimney to 
 chimney; and in the windows of darkened rooms 
 opposite, from behind barricades of mattresses and 
 upturned tables, rifles appeared stealthily, to be 
 lost in a sudden flash of flame. And with these 
 flashes were others that came from windows and 
 roofs with the report of a bursting bomb, and that, 
 on the instant, turned night into day, and then left 
 the darkness more dark. 
 
 Ford gave a cry of delight. 
 
 "They're taking flash-light photographs!" he 
 cried jubilantly. "Well done, you Pressmen!" 
 The instinct of the reporter became compelling. 
 
 244 
 
The Lost House 
 
 " If they're alive to develop those photographs to- 
 night," he exclaimed eagerly, "Cuthbert will send 
 them by special messenger, in time to catch the 
 Mauretania and the Republic will have them 
 by Sunday. I mayn't be alive to see them," he 
 added regretfully, "but what a feature for the 
 Sunday supplement!" 
 
 As the eyes of the two prisoners became accus- 
 tomed to the darkness, they saw that the street was 
 not, as at first they had supposed, entirely empty. 
 Directly below them in the gutter, where to ap- 
 proach it was to invite instant death from Pro- 
 thero's pistol, lay the dead body of a policeman, 
 and at the nearer end of the street, not fifty yards 
 from them, were three other prostrate forms. But 
 these forms were animate, and alive to good pur- 
 pose. From a public-house on the corner a row 
 of yellow lamps showed them clearly. Stretched 
 on pieces of board, and mats commandeered from 
 hallways and cabs, each of the three men lay at 
 full length, nursing a rifle. Their belted gray over- 
 coats, flat, visored caps, and the set of their 
 shoulders marked them for soldiers. 
 
 "For the love of Heaven!" exclaimed Ford in- 
 credulously, "they've called out the Guards!" 
 
 As unconcernedly as though facing the butts at 
 a rifle-range, the three sharp-shooters were firing 
 
 2 45 
 
The Lost House 
 
 point-blank at the windows from which Prothero 
 and Pearsall were waging their war to the death 
 upon the instruments of law and order. Beside 
 them, on his knees in the snow, a young man with 
 the silver hilt of an officrer's sword showing through 
 the slit in his great-coat, was giving commands; 
 and at the other end of the street, a brother officer 
 in evening-dress was directing other sharp-shooters, 
 bending over them like the coach of a tug-of-war 
 team, pointing with white-gloved fingers. On 
 the side of the street from which Prothero was 
 firing, huddled in a doorway, were a group of 
 officials, inspectors of police, fire chiefs in brass 
 helmets, more officers of the Guards in bear-skins, 
 and, wrapped in a fur coat, the youthful Home 
 Secretary. Ford saw him wave his arm, and at his 
 bidding the cordon of police broke, and slowly 
 forcing its way through the mass of people came 
 a huge touring car, its two blazing eyes sending 
 before it great shafts of light. 
 
 The driver of the car wasted no time in taking 
 up his position. Dashing half-way down the 
 street, he as swiftly backed the automobile over 
 the gutter and up on the sidewalk, so that the 
 lights in front fell full on the door of No. 40. 
 Then, covered by the fire from the roofs, he sprang 
 to the lamps and tilted them until they threw their 
 
 246 
 
The Lost House 
 
 shafts into the windows of the third story. Pro- 
 thero's hiding-place was now as clearly exposed as 
 though it were held in the circle of a spot-light, and 
 at the success of the manoeuvre the great mob 
 raised an applauding cheer. But the triumph was 
 brief. In a minute the blazing lamps had been 
 shattered by bullets, and once more, save for the 
 fierce flashes from rifles and pistols, Sowell Street 
 lay in darkness. 
 
 Ford drew Miss Dale back into the room. 
 
 " Those men below," he said, "are mad. Pro- 
 thero's always been mad, and your Pearsall is 
 mad with drugs. And the sight of blood has 
 made them maniacs. They know they now have 
 no chance to live. There's no fear or hope to 
 hold them, and one life more or less means noth- 
 ing. If they should return here " 
 
 He hesitated, but the girl nodded quickly. "I 
 understand," she said. 
 
 "I'm going to try to break down the door and 
 get to the roof," explained Ford. "My hope is 
 that this attack will keep them from hearing, 
 and " 
 
 "No," protested the girl. "They will hear you, 
 and they will kill you." 
 
 "They may take it into their crazy heads to 
 do that, anyway," protested Ford, "so the sooner 
 
 247 
 
The Lost House 
 
 I get you away, the better. I've only to smash the 
 panels close to the bolts, put my arm through the 
 hole, and draw the bolts back. Then, another blow 
 on the spring lock when the firing is loudest, and 
 we are in the hall. Should anything happen to me, 
 you must know how to make your escape alone. 
 Across the hall is a door leading to an iron ladder. 
 That ladder leads to a trap-door. The trap-door 
 is open. When you reach the roof, run westward 
 toward a lighted building." 
 
 "I am not going without you," said Miss Dale 
 quietly; "not after what you have done for me." 
 
 " I haven't done anything for you yet," objected 
 Ford. " But in case I get caught I mean to make 
 sure there will be others on hand who will." 
 
 He pulled his pencil and a letter from his pocket, 
 and on the back of the envelope wrote rapidly: "I 
 will try to get Miss Dale up through the trap in the 
 roof. You can reach the roof by means of the 
 apartment house in Devonshire Street. Send men 
 to meet her." 
 
 In the groups of officials half hidden in the door- 
 way farther down the street, he could make out the 
 bandaged head of Cuthbert. "CuthbertP'he called. 
 Weighting the envelope with a coin, he threw it 
 into the air. It fell in the gutter, under a lamp- 
 post, and full in view, and at once the two madmen 
 
 248 
 
The Lost House 
 
 below splashed the street around it with bullets. 
 But, indifferent to the bullets, a policeman sprang 
 from a dark areaway and flung himself upon it. 
 The next moment he staggered. Then limping, but 
 holding himself erect, he ran heavily toward the 
 group of officials. The Home Secretary snatched 
 the envelope from him, and held it toward the 
 light. 
 
 In his desire to learn if his message had reached 
 those on the outside, Ford leaned far over the sill 
 of the window. His irrtprudence was all but fatal. 
 From the roof opposite there came a sudden yell 
 of warning, from directly below him a flash, and a 
 bullet grazed his forehead and shattered the win- 
 dow-pane above him. He was deluged with a 
 shower of broken glass. Stunned and bleeding, he 
 sprang back. 
 
 With a cry of concern, Miss Dale ran toward 
 him. 
 
 "It's nothing!" stammered Ford. "It only 
 means I must waste no more time." He balanced 
 his iron rod as he would a pikestaff, and aimed it 
 at the upper half of the door to the hall. 
 
 "When the next volley comes," he said, "I'll 
 smash the panel." 
 
 With the bar raised high, his muscles on a strain, 
 he stood alert and poised, waiting for a shot from 
 
 249 
 
The Lost House 
 
 the room below to call forth an answering volley 
 from the house-tops. But no sound came from 
 below. And the sharp-shooters, waiting for the 
 madmen to expose themselves, held their fire. 
 
 Ford's muscles relaxed, and he lowered his 
 weapon. He turned his eyes inquiringly to the 
 girl. "What's this mean!" he demanded. Un- 
 consciously his voice had again dropped to a 
 whisper. 
 
 "They're short of ammunition," said the girl, in 
 a tone as low as his own; "or they are coming 
 here: 9 
 
 With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her 
 toward the room adjoining and then ran to the 
 window. 
 
 The girl was leaning forward with her face close 
 to the door. She held the finger of one hand to 
 her lips. With the other hand she beckoned. 
 Ford ran to her side. 
 
 "Some one is moving in the hall," she whispered. 
 "Perhaps they are escaping by the roof? No," 
 she corrected herself. "They seem to be running 
 down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. 
 Do you hear ?" she asked. "It sounds like some 
 one running up and down the stairs. What can it 
 mean ?" 
 
 From the direction of the staircase Ford heard 
 250 
 
The Lost House 
 
 a curious creaking sound as of many light foot- 
 steps. He gave a cry of relief. 
 
 "The police !" he shouted jubilantly. "They've 
 entered through the roof, and they're going to at- 
 tack in the rear. You're safe!" he cried. 
 
 He sprang away from the door and, with two 
 swinging blows, smashed the broad panel. And 
 then, with a cry, he staggered backward. Full in 
 his face, through the break he had made, swept a 
 hot wave of burning cinders. Through the broken 
 panel he saw the hall choked with smoke, the 
 steps of the staircase and the stair-rails wrapped 
 in flame. 
 
 "The house is on fire!" he cried. "They've 
 taken to the roof and set fire to the stairs behind 
 them!" With the full strength of his arms and 
 shoulders he struck and smashed the iron bar 
 against the door. But the bolts held, and through 
 each fresh opening he made in the panels the 
 burning cinders, drawn by the draught from the 
 windows, swept into the room. From the street a 
 mighty yell of consternation told them, the fire had 
 been discovered. Miss Dale ran to the window, 
 and the yell turned to a great cry of warning. The 
 air was rent with frantic voices. "Jump!" cried 
 some. "Go back!" entreated others. The fire 
 chief ran into the street directly below her and 
 
 251 
 
The Lost House 
 
 shouted at her through his hands. "Wait for the 
 life-net !" he commanded. "Wait for the lad- 
 ders!" 
 
 "Ladders!" panted Ford. "Before they can 
 get their engines through that mob " 
 
 Through the jagged opening in the door he 
 thrust his arm and jerked free the upper bolt. 
 An instant later he had kicked the lower panel 
 into splinters and withdrawn the second bolt, and 
 at last, under the savage onslaught of his iron bar, 
 the spring lock flew apart. The hall lay open before 
 him. On one side of it the burning staircase was a 
 well of flame; at his feet, the matting on the floor 
 was burning fiercely. He raced into the bedroom 
 and returned instantly, carrying a blanket and a 
 towel dripping with water. He pressed the towel 
 across the girl's mouth and nostrils. "Hold it 
 there!" he commanded. Blinded by the bandage, 
 Miss Dale could see nothing, but she felt herself 
 suddenly wrapped in the blanket and then lifted 
 high in* Ford's arms. She gave a cry of protest, 
 but the next instant he was running with her swiftly 
 while the flames from the stair-well scorched her 
 hair. She was suddenly tumbled to her feet, the 
 towel and blanket snatched away, and she saw 
 Ford hanging from an iron ladder holding out his 
 hand. She clasped it, and he drew her after him, 
 
 252 
 
The Lost House 
 
 the flames and cinders pursuing and snatching 
 hungrily. 
 
 But an instant later the cold night air smote 
 her in the face, from hundreds of hoarse throats a 
 yell of welcome greeted her, and she found herself 
 on the roof, dazed and breathless, and free. 
 
 At the same moment the lifting fire-ladder 
 reached the sill of the third-story window, and a 
 fireman, shielding his face from the flames, peered 
 into the blazing room. What he saw showed him 
 there were no lives to rescue. Stretched on the 
 floor, with their clothing in cinders and the flames 
 licking at the flesh, were the bodies of the two 
 murderers. 
 
 A bullet-hole in the forehead of each showed 
 that self-destruction and cremation had seemed a 
 better choice than the gallows and a grave of 
 quick-lime. 
 
 On the roof above, two young people stood 
 breathing heavily and happily, staring incredu- 
 lously into each other's eyes. Running toward 
 them across the roofs, stumbling and falling, were 
 many blue-coated, helmeted angels of peace and 
 law and order. 
 
 "How can I tell you?" whispered the girl 
 quickly. " How can I ever thank you ? And I 
 was angry," she exclaimed, with self-reproach. " I 
 
 253 
 
The Lost House 
 
 did not understand you." She gave a little sigh 
 of content. "Now I think I do." 
 
 He took her hand, and she did not seem to 
 know that he held it. 
 
 "And," she cried, in wonder, "/ don't even know 
 your name!" 
 
 The young man seemed to have lost his confi- 
 dence. For a moment he was silent. "The 
 name's all right!" he said finally. His voice was 
 still a little shaken, a little tremulous. "I only 
 hope you'll like it. It's got to last you a long 
 time!" 
 
 254 
 
A SELECTION FROM 
 DUCKWORTH 6f CO.'S 
 LIST OF PUBLICATIONS 
 
 ARRANGED UNDER AUTHORS' NAMES 
 OR TITLES OF SERIES 
 
 3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
 LONDON, W.C. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S 
 PUBLICATIONS 
 
 AMELUNG, WALTHER, AND HOLTZINGER, HEINRICH. The 
 Museums and Ruins of Rome. A Guide Book. Edited 
 by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. With 264 illustrations 
 and map and plans. 2 vols. New and cheaper re-issue. 
 Fcap. 8v0. $s. net. 
 
 ANIMAL LIFE AND WILD NATURE 
 (STORIES OF). 
 
 Uniform binding, large cr. &vo. 6s. net. 
 
 UNDER THE ROOF OF THE JUNGLE. A Book of Animal Life 
 in the Guiana Wilds. Written and illustrated by Charles 
 Livingston Bull. With 60 full-page plates drawn from 
 Life by the Author. 
 
 EARTH'S ENIGMAS. Stories of Animal Life. By Charles 
 G. D. Roberts, Professor of Literature, Toronto Univer- 
 sity, late Deputy-Keeper of Woods and Forests, Canada. 
 Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. (Cr. &vo. 
 55. net.) 
 
 THE KINDRED OF THE WILD. A Book of Animal Life. By 
 Charles G. D. Roberts. With many illustrations by 
 Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS. A Book of Animal Life. 
 By Charles G. D. Roberts. With 48 illustrations by 
 Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 THE STORY OF RED Fox. A Biography. By Charles G. D. 
 Roberts. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 THE HAUNTERS OF THE SILENCES. A Book of Wild Nature. 
 By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by Charles 
 Livingston Bull. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 3 
 
 BOOKS ON ART. 
 
 ART THE LIBRARY OF, embracing Painting, Sculpture, Archi- 
 tecture, etc. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. 
 Extra cloth, with lettering and design in gold. Large 
 cr. &vo (yj in. x 5! in.), gilt top, headband. $s. net a 
 volume. Inland postage, $d. 
 
 LIST OF VOLUMES 
 
 DONATELLO. By Lord Balcarres, M.P. With 58 plates. 
 GREAT MASTERS OF DUTCH AND FLEMISH PAINTING. By Dr 
 
 W. Bode. With 48 plates. 
 REMBRANDT. By G. Baldwin Brown, of the University of Edinburgh. 
 
 With 45 plates. 
 
 ANTONIO POLLAIUOLO. By Maud Cruttwell. With 50 plates. 
 VERROCCHIO. By Maud Cruttwell. With 48 plates. 
 THE LIVES OF THE BRITISH ARCHITECTS. By E. Beresford 
 
 Chancellor. With 45 plates. 
 THE SCHOOL OF MADRID. By A. de Beruete y Moret. With 48 
 
 plates. 
 
 WILLIAM BLAKE. By Basil de Selincourt. With 40 plates. 
 GIOTTO. By Basil de Selincourt. With 44 plates. 
 FRENCH PAINTING IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. By L. Dimier. 
 
 With 50 plates. 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF FERRARA. By Edmund G. Gardner. With 50 plates. 
 Six GREEK SCULPTORS. (Myron, Pheidias, Polykleitos, Skopas, 
 
 Praxiteles, and Lysippos.) By Ernest Gardner. With 8l plates. 
 TITIAN. By Dr Georg Gronau. With 54 plates. 
 CONSTABLE. By M. Sturge Henderson. With 48 plates. 
 PISANELLO. By G. F. Hill. With 50 plates. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO. By Sir Charles Holroyd. With 52 plates. 
 MEDIAEVAL ART. By W. R. Lethaby. With 66 plates and 120 
 
 drawings in the text. 
 THE SCOTTISH SCHOOL OF PAINTING. By William D. McKay, 
 
 R.S.A. With 46 plates. 
 CHRISTOPHER WREN. By Lena Milman. With upwards of 60 
 
 plates. 
 
 CORREGGIO. By T. Sturge Moore. With 55 plates. 
 ALBERT DURER. By T. Sturge Moore. With 4 copperplates and 50 
 
 half-tone engravings. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM BKECHEY, R.A. By W. Roberts. With 49 plates. 
 THE SCHOOL OF SEVILLE. By N. Sentenach. With 50 plates. 
 ROMAN SCULPTURE FROM AUGUSTUS TO CONSTANTINE. By Mrs 
 S. Arthur Strong, LL.D., Editor of the Series. 2 vols. With 
 1 30 plates. 
 
4 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 ART, THE POPULAR LIBRARY OF. Pocket volumes of biogra- 
 phical and critical value on the great painters, with very 
 many reproductions of the artists' works. Each volume 
 averages 200 pages, i6mo, with from 40 to 50 illustrations. 
 To be had in different styles of binding: Boards gilt, is. 
 net ; green canvas and red doth gilt, 2s. net ; limp lamb- 
 skin, red and green, 2S. 6d. net. Several titles can also 
 be had in the popular Persian yapp binding, in box. 
 2s. 6d. net each. 
 
 LIST OF VOLUMES. 
 
 BOTTICELLI. By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp 
 
 binding. 
 RAPHAEL. By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp 
 
 binding. 
 
 FREDERICK WALKER. By Clementina Black. 
 REMBRANDT. By Auguste Bre"al. 
 VELAZQUEZ. By Auguste Breal. 
 GAINSBOROUGH. By Arthur B. Chamberlain. 
 CRUIKSHANK. By W. H. Chesson. 
 BLAKE. By G. K. Chesterton. 
 
 G. F. WATTS. By G. K. Chesterton. Also in Persian yapp binding. 
 ALBRECHT DURER. By Lina Eckenstein. 
 THE ENGLISH WATER-COLOUR PAINTERS. By A. J. Finberg. Also 
 
 in Persian yapp binding. 
 HOGARTH. By Edward Garnett. 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI. By Dr Georg Gronau. 
 HOLBEIN. By Ford Madox Hueffer. 
 
 ROSSETTI. By Ford Madox Hueffer. Also in Persian yapp binding. 
 THE PRE-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD. By Ford Madox Hueffer. 
 PERUGINO. By Edward Hutton. 
 MILLET. By Remain Rolland. 
 WATTKAU. By Camille Mauclair. 
 THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS. By Camille Mauclair. 
 WHISTLER. By Bernhard Sickert. Also in Persian yapp binding. 
 
 BURNS, REV. J. Sermons in Art by the Great Masters. 
 Cloth gilt, photogravure frontispiece and many illustra- 
 tions. Cr. $>vo. 6s. Or bound in parchment, 55. net. 
 
 The Christ Face in Art. With 60 illustrations in tint. 
 
 Cr. %vv, cloth gilt. 6s. Or bound in parchment, $s. net. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 5 
 
 BUSSY, DOROTHY. Eugene Delacroix. A Critical Apprecia- 
 tion. With 26 illustrations. New and cheaper re-issue. 
 Cr. Svo. 25. 6d. net. 
 
 GAROTTI, GIULIO. A History of Art. English edition, 
 edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. In four 
 volumes, with very numerous illustrations in each volume. 
 Small cr. Svo. $s. net each volume. 
 
 Vol. I. ANCIENT ART. 500 illustrations. 
 
 Vol. II. MIDDLE AGES DOWN TO THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 Vol. III. THE GOLDEN AGE. [In preparation. 
 
 Vol. IV. MODERN TIMES. 
 
 LOWY, EMANUEL. The Rendering of Nature in Early Greek 
 Art. With 30 illustrations. Cr. Svo. $s. net. 
 
 MAUCLAIR, CAMILLE. Auguste Rodin. With very many 
 illustrations and photogravure frontispiece. Small 4/0. 
 New and cheaper re-issue. 75. 6d. net. 
 Set also Popular Library of Art for other books by Camille Maudair. 
 
 ASPINALL, ALGERNON E. The Pocket Guide to the West 
 Indies. A New and Revised Edition, with maps, very 
 fully illustrated. Fcap. Svo. 55. net. 
 
 AUSTIN, SARAH. The Story without an End. From the 
 German of Carove. With illustrations by Paul Henry. 
 Sq. fcap. Svo. is. 6d. net. 
 
 BELLOC, HILAIRE. Verses. Large cr. Svo. 2nd edition. 
 $s. net. 
 
 and B. T. B. The Bad Child's Book of Beasts. New 
 edition. 25th thousand. Sq. 4/0. is. net. 
 
 - and B. T. B. More Beasts for Worse Children. New 
 
 edition. Sq. 4/0. is. net. 
 See also headers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by H. Belloc. 
 
 BIRON, H. C. "Sir," Said Dr Johnson. Selections from 
 Boswell's " Life of Johnson," arranged under compre- 
 hensive headings. Demy Svo. 6s. net. 
 
6 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 BOURNE, GEORGE. Change in the Village : A study of the 
 country village of to-day. Cr. %vo. 6s. 
 See the Readers' Library for other books by George Bourne. 
 
 BROOKE, STOPFORD A. The Onward Cry : Essays and 
 Sermons. Large cr. Svo, with photogravure frontispiece. 
 6s. net. 
 
 See also the Readers' Library and Roadmender Series for other 
 books by Stopford Brooke. 
 
 CHAPMAN, HUGH B., Chaplain of the Savoy. At the Back 
 of Things : Essays and Addresses. Cr. %vo. $s. net. 
 
 COLLIER, PRICE. England and the English, from an Ameri- 
 can point of view. Demy Svo. js. 6d. net. Also a 
 popular edition, with Foreword by Lord Rosebery. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 - The West in the East : A study of British Rule in India. 
 Demy Svo. js. 6d. net. 
 
 COULTON, G. G. From St Francis to Dante. A Historical 
 Sketch. Second edition. Demy Svo. i2s. 6d. net. 
 
 DUCKWORTH'S " CROWN " LIBRARY. Demy 8v0, cloth gilt, 
 gilt top. 55. net a volume. 
 
 THE RUBA'IYAT OF 'UMAR KHAYYAM (Fitzgerald's Edition). Edited, 
 with an Introduction and Notes, by Edward Heron Allen. 
 
 SCIENCE AND RELIGION IN CONTEMPORARY PHILOSOPHY. By 
 Emile Boutroux. 
 
 FOLK-LORE OF THE HOLY LAND : Moslem, Christian, and Jewish. 
 By J. E. Hanauer. Edited by Marmaduke Pickthall. 
 
 THE NOTE-BOOKS OF LEONARDO DA VINCI. Edited by Edward 
 McCurdy. With 14 illustrations. 
 
 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF LESLIE STEPHEN. By F. W. Maitland. 
 With a photogravure portrait. 
 
 THE COUNTRY MONTH BY MONTH. By J. A. Owen and G. S. 
 
 Boulger. With 20 illustrations. 
 
 SPINOZA : His Life and Philosophy. By Sir Frederick Pollock. 
 THE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS. By Sir Leslie Stephen. 3 vols. 
 CRITICAL STUDIES. By S. Arthur Strong. With Memoir by Lord 
 
 Balcarres, M.P. Illustrated. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 7 
 
 DARWIN, BERNARD, AND ROUNTREE, HARRY. The Golf 
 Courses of the British Isles. 48 illustrations in colour 
 and 1 6 in sepia. S<?. royal Svo. 2is. net. 
 
 DE LA MARE, WALTER. The Three Mulla Mulgars. A 
 Romance of the Great Forests. With illustrations in 
 colour. Cr. Svo. $s. net. 
 
 DOUGHTY, CHAS. M. Adam Cast Forth. A Poem founded 
 on a Judaeo- Arabian Legend of Adam and Eve. Cr. Svo. 
 4*. 6d. net. 
 
 - The Cliffs. A Poetic Drama of the Invasion of Britain 
 in 19 . Cr. Svo. $s. net. 
 
 The Dawn in Britain. An Epic Poem of the Beginnings 
 
 of Britain. In six vols. Vols. i and 2, QS. net ; Vols. 3 
 and 4, gs. net; Vols. 5 and 6, ys. net. The Set, 2js. net. 
 
 Wanderings in Arabia. An abridged edition of " Travels 
 
 in Arabia Deserta." New and cheaper re-issue. With 
 portrait and map. In i vol. Royal Svo. 75. 6d. net. 
 
 FALCONER, REV. HUGH. The Unfinished Symphony. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 FLAUBERT, GUSTAVE. The First Temptation of St Anthony. 
 A new translation by R. Francis. A fine edition on 
 imit. hd.-made paper. Large cr. Svo. JS. 6d. net. 
 
 GRAHAM, R. B. CUNNINGHAMS. Charity. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 - Faith. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 Hope. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 - His People. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 See also Readers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by 
 Cnnninghame Graham. 
 
 HAMILTON, ALLAN McLANE. The Intimate Life of Alex 
 ander Hamilton. Illustrated. Demy Svo. i6s. net. 
 
 HASELFOOT, F. K. H. The Divina Commedia of Dante 
 Alighieri. Translated line for line in the terza rima of 
 the original, with Introduction and Notes. Second 
 edition, revised, corrected, and further annotated. Demy 
 Svo. i2S. net. 
 
8 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 HEADLAM, CECIL. Walter Headlam : Letters and Poems. 
 With Memoir by Cecil Headlam. With photogravure 
 portrait. Demy 8vo. ?s. 6d. net. 
 
 HENDERSON, ARCHIBALD. Mark Twain. A Biography. 
 With 8 photographs by Alvin Langdon Coburn. Large 
 cr. Sv0. 5-r. net. 
 
 Interpreters of Life and the Modern Spirit : Critical 
 
 Essays. With a photogravure portrait of Meredith. Cr. 
 &ve. $s. net. 
 
 HILL, M. D., AND WEBB, WILFRED MARK. Eton Nature- 
 Study and Observational Lessons. With numerous 
 illustrations. In two parts. 35. 6d. net each. Also the 
 two parts in one volume, 6s. ?iet. 
 
 HAMMOND, REV. JOSEPH. Six Necessary Things for Chris- 
 tians to Know. A Theology for the Plain Man. Cr. 
 Svo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 HUDSON, W. H. A Little Boy Lost. With 30 illustrations 
 by A. D. McCormick. Sq. cr. %vo. $s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Readers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by 
 W. H. Hudson. 
 
 HUEFFER, FORD MADOX. The Critical Attitude. Literary 
 Essays. Sq. cr. Svv. Buckram. $s. net. 
 
 See also Readers' 1 Library and The Popular Library of Art for other 
 books by Ford Madox Hueffer. 
 
 HUGHES, REV. G. Conscience and Criticism. With Fore- 
 word by the Bishop of Winchester. Cr. Sv0. $s. net. 
 
 HUTCHINSON, T. Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth 
 and S. T. Coleridge, 1798. With certain poems of 1798, 
 Introduction and Notes. Fcap. 8v0. New and Revised 
 Edition. With 2 photogravures. 35". 6d. net. 
 
 JOUBERT, JOSEPH. Joubert : A Selection from His Thoughts. 
 Translated by Katharine Lyttleton, with a Preface by 
 Mrs Humphry Ward. Cr. %vo. $s. net. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 9 
 
 KROPOTKIN, PRINCE. Ideals and Realities in Russian 
 Literature. Critical Essays. By Prince Kropotkin. 
 Demy Svo. js. 6</. net. 
 
 LANGLOIS, CH. V., AND SEIGNOBOS, CH. An Introduction to 
 the Study of History. Large cr. Svo. "js. 6d. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD. Odes from the Divan of Hafiz. 
 Freely rendered from Literal Translations. Large so. Svo. 
 In slip case. TS. 6d. net. 
 
 LEIGHTON, GERALD. The Greatest Life. Cr. Svo. $s. net. 
 
 LETHABY, W. R. Westminster Abbey and the King's Crafts- 
 men. With 125 illustrations, photogravure frontispiece, 
 and many drawings and diagrams. Royal ^vo. i2S. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Westminster Abbey as a Coronation Church. Illus- 
 trated. Demy Svo. 25. 6d. net. 
 See also The Library of Art for " Meditrual Art " by W. R. Lethaby. 
 
 LOVELAND, J. D. E. The Romance of Nice. A Descriptive 
 Account of Nice and its History. With illustrations. 
 Demy Svo. 6s. net. 
 
 LYTTON, THK HON. MRS NEVILLE. Toy Dogs and their 
 Ancestors. With 300 illustrations in colour collotype, 
 photogravure, and half-tone. 4/0. 255*. net. 
 
 MAHAFFY, R. P. Francis Joseph the First : His Life and 
 Times. By R. P. Mahaffy. Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 MAHOMMED, MIRZA, AND RICE, C. SPRING. Valeh and 
 Hadijeh. Large sq. Svo. s. net. 
 
 MANTZIUS, KARL. A History of Theatrical Art in Ancient 
 and Modern Times. With Introduction by William 
 Archer. In six volumes. With illustrations from photo- 
 graphs. Royal Svo. i or. net each vol. 
 
 Vol. I. The Earliest Times. Vol. II. Middle Ages and Renais- 
 sance. Vol. III. Shakespeare and the English Drama of his 
 Time. Vol. IV. Moliere and his Time. Vol. V. Great 
 Actors of the i8th Century. Vol. VI. In preparation. 
 
io DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 MARCZALI, HENRY. The Letters and Journal, 1848-49, of 
 Count Charles Leiningen-Westerburg. Demy &vo. 75. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 MARJORAM, JOHN. New Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. net. 
 
 MOORE, T. STURGE. Poems. Square Svo. Sewed, is. net 
 a volume. 
 
 THE CENTAUR'S BOOTY. 
 
 THE ROUT OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 THE GAZELLES, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 PAN'S PROPHECY. 
 
 To LEDA, AND OTHER ODES. 
 
 THESEUS, AND OTHER ODES. 
 
 Or, in one volume, bound w art linen. 6s. net. 
 See also Modern Plays for other books by Sturgc Moore. 
 
 NASSAU, R. H. Fetichism in West Africa : Forty Years' 
 Observations of Native Customs and Superstitions. 1 2 
 illustrations. Demy &vo. js. bd. net. 
 
 NEVILL, RALPH, AND JERNINGHAM, C. E. Piccadilly to 
 Pall Mall. Manners, Morals, and Man. With 2 photo- 
 gravures. Demy %vo. I2S. 6d. net. 
 
 NEVILL, RALPH. Sporting Days and Sporting Ways. With 
 coloured frontispiece. Demy 8v0. 1 25. 6d. net. 
 
 The Merry Past. Reminiscences and Anecdotes. 
 
 With frontispiece in colour collotype. Demy %vo. 
 1 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 PAWLOWSKA, Yoi (Mrs Buckley). A Year of Strangers. 
 Sketches of People and Things in Italy and in the Far 
 East. With copper-plate frontispiece. Demy 8v0. $s. 
 net. 
 
 PEAKE, Prof. A. S. Christianity, its Nature and its Truth. 
 2$th Thousand. Cr. %vo. 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 PHILLIPPS, L. MARCH. The Works of Man. Studies of 
 race characteristics as revealed in the creative art of the 
 world. Cr. %vo. 75. 6d. net. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS n 
 
 PLAYS, MODERN. Cloth. 2s. net a volume. 
 
 THE REVOLT AND THE ESCAPE. By Villiers de L'Isle Adam. 
 
 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. A Drama. By J. Comyns Carr. 
 
 THE SILVER Box. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 Joy. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 STRIFE. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 JUSTICE. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE ELDEST SON. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE LITTLE DREAM. By John Galsworthy, (is. 6d. net.} 
 
 THE PIGEON. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE BREAKING POINT : a Censured Play. By Edward Garnett. 
 
 THE COMING OF PEACE. By Gerhart Hauptmann. 
 
 MARIAMNE. A Drama. By T. Sturge Moore. 
 
 A SICILIAN IDYLL, and JUDITH. By T. Sturge Moore. 
 
 THE STORM. By Ostrovsky. Translated by Constance Garnett. 
 
 THE FATHER. By August Strindberg. 
 
 THE DAWN (Les Aubes). By Emile Verhaeren. 
 
 THE PRINCESS OF HANOVER. By Margaret L. Woods. 
 
 The following may also be had in paper covers. Price 
 is. 6d. net a volume. 
 
 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. By J. Comyns Carr. (Paper boards.} 
 
 THE SILVER Box. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 JOY. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 STRIFE. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 JUSTICE. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE ELDEST SON. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE LITTLE DREAM. By John Galsworthy, (is.net.) 
 
 THE PIGEON. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 PLAYS (Volume One). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays 
 (Joy, Strife, The Silver Box) in one vol. Small sq. post 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 PLAYS (Volume Two). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays 
 (Justice, The Little Dream, The Eldest Son) in one 
 vol. Small sq. post &V0. 6s. 
 
 THREE PLAYS. By Mrs W. K. Clifford. (Hamilton's Second 
 Marriage, Thomas and the Princess, The Modern Way.) 
 In one vol. Sg. post %vo. 6s. 
 
12 
 
 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 READERS' LIBRARY, THE. 
 
 Copyright Works of Individual Merit and Permanent Value 
 by Authors of Repute, 
 
 Library style. Cr. %vo. Blue cloth gilt, round backs. 
 25. 6d. net a volume. 
 
 AVRIL. By Hilaire Belloc. Essays 
 on the Poetry of the French 
 Renaissance. 
 
 ESTO PERPETUA. By Hilaire Bel- 
 loc. Algerian Studies and Im- 
 pressions. 
 
 OBITER DICTA. By Augustine 
 Birrell. First and Second Series 
 in one volume. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A SURREY 
 LABOURER. By George Bourne. 
 
 THE BETTESWORTH BOOK. By 
 George Bourne. 
 
 STUDIES IN POETRY. By Stopford 
 A. Brooke, LL.D. Essays on 
 Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, 
 etc. 
 
 COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN NUR- 
 SERY RHYMES. By Lina Ecken- 
 stein. Essays in a branch of 
 Folk-lore. 
 
 ITALIAN POETS SINCE DANTE. 
 Critical Essays. By W. Everett. 
 
 VILLA RUBEIN, AND OTHER 
 STORIES. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 PROGRESS, AND OTHER SKETCHES. 
 By R. B. Cunninghame Graham. 
 
 GREEN MANSIONS. A Romance 
 of the Tropical Forest. By W. H. 
 Hudson. 
 
 THE PURPLE LAND. By W. H. 
 Hudson. 
 
 THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY. 
 By Ford Madox Hueffer. 
 
 THE SOUL OF LONDON. By Ford 
 
 Madox Hueffer. 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE PEOPLE. By 
 
 Ford Madox Hueffer. 
 AFTER LONDON WILD ENG- 
 LAND. By Richard Jefferies. 
 AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR. By 
 
 Richard Jefferies. 
 BEVIS. The Story of a Boy. By 
 
 Richard Jefferies. 
 THE HILLS AND THE VALE. 
 
 Nature Essays. By Richard 
 
 Jefferies. 
 ST AUGUSTINE AND HIS AGE.. 
 
 An Interpretation. By Joseph 
 
 McCabe. 
 BETWEEN THE ACTS. By H. W. 
 
 Nevinson. 
 ESSAYS IN FREEDOM. By H. W. 
 
 Nevinson. 
 THE STRENUOUS LIFE, ANDOTHER 
 
 ESSAYS. By Theodore Roosevelt. 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND 
 
 SOCIETY IN THE EIGHTEENTH 
 
 CENTURY. By Sir Leslie 
 
 Stephen. 
 STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. First 
 
 Series. Two Volumes. By Sir 
 
 Leslie Stephen. 
 STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. 
 
 Second Series. Two Volumes. 
 
 By Sir Leslie Stephen. Inter- 
 ludes by Sir Geo. Trevelyan. 
 ESSAYS ON DANTE. By Dr Carl 
 
 Witte. 
 
 " Messrs Duckworth's admirable Readers' Library. "Bookman. 
 
 " A series which is well worth following. Excellent reading." Athencrum. 
 
 " That excellent series. The work of some of our most distinguished contemporaries. " 
 Daily News. 
 
 " In a class apart from cheap reprints ... as enjoyable to the most fastidious as first 
 editions." The Manchester Guardian. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 13 
 
 REID, STUART J. Sir Richard Tangye. A Life. With a 
 portrait. New and Cheaper re-issue. Cr. &vo. 25. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 ROADMENDER SERIES, THE. The volumes in the series are 
 works with the same tendency as Michael Fairless's 
 remarkable book, from which the series gets its name : 
 books which express a deep feeling for Nature, and a 
 mystical interpretation of life. Fcap. &vo, with designed 
 end papers. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 THE SEA CHARM OF VENICE. By Stopford A. Brooke. 
 
 MAGIC CASEMENTS. By Arthur S. Cripps. 
 
 THE ROADMENDER. By Michael Fairless. Also in limp lambskin, 
 3-r. 6d. Velvet calf yapp, $s. net. Illustrated Black and White 
 Edition, cr. &vo, $s. net. Also Special Illustrated edition in 
 colour from oil paintings by E. W. Waite, 7s. 6d. net. Edition de 
 Luxe, 15-r. net. 
 
 THE GREY BRETHREN. By Michael Fairless. Limp lambskin, 
 3*. 6d. net. 
 
 A MODERN MYSTIC'S WAY. (Dedicated to Michael Fairless.) 
 
 THOUGHTS OF LEONARDO DA VINCI. Selected by Edward McCurdy. 
 
 LONGINGS. By W. D. McKay. 
 
 FROM THE FOREST. By Wm. Scott Palmer. 
 
 PILGRIM MAN. By Wm. Scott Palmer. 
 
 VAGROM MEN. By A. T. Story. 
 
 LIGHT AND TWILIGHT. By Edward Thomas. 
 
 REST AND UNREST. By Edward Thomas. 
 
 ROSE ACRE PAPERS : including Horse Solitariae. By Edward Thomas- 
 
 ROLLESTON, T. W. Parallel Paths. A Study of Biology, 
 Ethics, and Art. Cr. Svo. $s. net. 
 
 ROSEN, ERWIN. In the Foreign Legion. A record of actual 
 experiences in the French Foreign Legion. Demy 8vo. 
 New and Cheaper Edition. $s. 6d. net. 
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS SERIES. 
 
 MAKERS OF OUR CLOTHES. A Case for Trade Boards. By Miss 
 Clementina Black and Lady Carl Meyer. Demy 8vo. $x. net. 
 
 SWEATED INDUSTRY AND THE MINIMUM WAGE. By Clementina 
 BLACK. With Preface by A. G. Gardiner. Cloth, crown 8vo. 
 2s. net. 
 
 WOMEN IN INDUSTRY : FROM SEVEN POINTS OF VIEW. With 
 Introduction by D. J. Shackleton. Cloth, crown 8v0. 2s. net. 
 
 THE WORKER'S HANDBOOK. By Gertrude M. Tuckwell. A hand- 
 book of legal and general information for the Clergy, for District 
 Visitors, and all Social Workers. Cr. &vo. 2s. net. 
 
i 4 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 SAINTS, THE. An entirely New Series of Lives of the Saints, 
 in separate volumes. Cr. %vo, scarlet art vellum, gilt 
 lettered, gilt top. 2s. 6d. net each volume. 
 
 S. AMBROSE. By the Due de Broglie. 
 
 S. ANTONY OF PADUA. By the Abb6 Albert Lepitre. 
 
 S. AUGUSTINE. By Prof. Ad. Hatzfeld. 
 
 S. CAJETAN. By R. de Maulde la Claviere. 
 
 S. CHRYSOSTOM. By Aime Puech. 
 
 S. CLOTILDA. By Prof. G. Kurth. 
 
 S. DOMINIC. By Jean Guiraud. 
 
 S. FRANCIS OF SALES. By A. D. Margerie. 
 
 S. IGNATIUS OF LOYOLA. By Henri Joly. 
 
 S. JEROME. By the Rev. Father Largent. 
 
 S. JOAN OF ARC. By L. Petit de Julleville. 
 
 S. JOHN VIANNEY : CURE D'ARS. By Joseph Vianney. 
 
 S. Louis. By Marius Sepet. 
 
 S. MARY THE VIRGIN. By Rene Marie de la Broise. 
 
 S. NICHOLAS I. By Jules Roy. 
 
 S. PATRICK. By 1'Abbe Riguet. 
 
 S. PETER FOURIER. By L. Pingaud. 
 
 S. TERESA. By Henri Joly. 
 
 S. THOMAS A BECKET. By Mgr. Demimuid. 
 
 S. THOMAS MORE. By Henri Bremond. 
 
 S. VINCENT DE PAUL. By Prince Emmanuel de Broglie. 
 
 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SAINTS. By Henri Joly. 
 
 DUCKWORTH'S SHILLING NET SERIES. Cloth, cr. &vo. 
 
 CALIBAN'S GUIDE TO LETTERS. By Hilaire Belloc. 
 SOUTH AMERICAN SKETCHES. By W. H. Hudson. 
 STORIES FROM DE MAUPASSANT. 
 SUCCESS. By R. B. Cunninghame Graham. 
 
 SMALLEY, GEORGE W. Anglo-American Memories. With a 
 photogravure frontispiece. Demy 8v0. 1 25. 6d. net. 
 
 Second Series. Demy Sv0. 125. 6d. net. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 15 
 
 SPIELMANN, Mrs M. H., and WILHELM, C. The Child of 
 the Air. A Romantic Fantasy. Illustrated in colour 
 and in line. S$. cr. %vo. $s. net. 
 
 STUDIES IN THEOLOGY. A New Series of Handbooks, being 
 aids to interpretation in Biblical Criticism for the use of 
 the Clergy, Divinity Students, and Laymen. Cr. %vo. 
 2S. 6d. net a volume. 
 
 A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW TESTAMENT. By Arthur 
 Samuel Peake, D.D., Professor of Biblical Exegesis and Dean of 
 the Faculty of Theology, Victoria University, Manchester. 
 
 FAITH AND ITS PSYCHOLOGY. Ity the Rev. William K. Inge, D.D., 
 Dean of St Paul's. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. By the Rev. Hastings Rashdall, 
 D.Litt. (Oxon.), D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A., Fellow and Tutor 
 of New College, Oxford. 
 
 REVELATION AND INSPIRATION. 'By the Rev. James Orr, D.D., 
 Professor of Apologetics in the Theological College of the United 
 Free Church, Glasgow. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND SOCIAL QUESTIONS. By the Rev. William 
 Cunningham, D.D., F.B.A., Archdeacon of Ely. Formerly 
 Lecturer on Economic History to Harvard University. 
 
 PROTESTANT THOUGHT BEFORE KANT. By A. C. McGiffert, Ph.D., 
 D.D., of the Union Theological Seminary, New York. 
 
 CHRISTIAN THOUGHT TO THE REFORMATION. By Herbert B. Work- 
 man, D.Litt., Principal of the Westminster Training College. 
 
 PROTESTANT THOUGHT SINCE KANT. By Edward Caldwell Moore, 
 D.D. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE. By W. Adams Brown, D.D. 
 
 VAUGHAN, HERBERT M. The Last Stuart Queen : Louise 
 Countess of Albany. A Life. With illustrations and 
 portraits. Demy 8vo. i6s. net. 
 
 WAERN, CECILIA. Mediaeval Sicily. Aspects of Life and 
 Art in the Middle Ages. With very many illustrations. 
 Royal Sue. 1 2S. 6d. net. 
 
1 6 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 NOVELS AND STORIES 
 ANONYMOUS. The Diary of an English Girl. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 BONE, DAVID W. The Brassbounder. A tale of seamen's 
 life in a sailing ship. With illustrations by the Author. 
 Cr. Svo. 6s 
 
 BONE, GERTRUDE. Provincial Tales. With frontispiece by 
 Muirhead Bone. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 BONE, MUIRHEAD and GERTRUDE. Children's Children. A 
 Tale. With 60 drawings by Muirhead Bone. Large 
 Cr. Svo. 6s. net. [Vellum Edition, limited to 250 
 copies, signed and numbered. 25^. netJ\ 
 
 BROOKFIELD, CHAS. H. Jack Goldie: the Boy who knew 
 best. Illustrated by A. E. Jackson. Cr. Svo. $s. 
 
 BROWN, VINCENT. A Magdalen's Husband. A Novel. 
 Fourth Impression. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 The Dark Ship. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 - The Disciple's Wife. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 The Sacred Cup. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 CLIFFORD, Mrs W. K. Woodside Farm. A Novel. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 CALTHROP, DION CLAYTON. King Peter. A Novel. With a 
 Frontispiece. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels for another book by 
 Dion Clayton Calthrop. 
 
 DAVIES, W. H. Beggars. Personal Experiences of Tramp 
 Life. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 A Weak Woman. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 The True Traveller. A Tramp's Experiences. Cr. 
 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 17 
 
 . DAVIS, RICHARD HARDING. Once upon a Time. Stories. 
 Illustrated. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 The Man who could not Lose. Stones. Illustrated. 
 
 DODGE, JANET. Tony L T nregenerate. A Novel. Cr. 8v0. 
 6s. 
 
 DRAKE, MAURICE. Wrack. A Tale of the Sea Cr. Svo. 
 6s. 
 
 EAST, H. CLAYTON. The Breath of the Desert. A Novel of 
 Egypt. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 FOGAZZARO, ANTONIO. The Poet's Mystery. A Novel. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 FORBES, LADY HELEN. It's a Way they have in the Army. 
 A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 - The Bounty of the Gods. A Novel. 
 The Polar Star. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 GARSHIN, V. The Signal, and other Stories. Translated 
 from the Russian. 
 
 HAYTER, ADRIAN. The Profitable Imbroglio. A Tale of 
 Mystery. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 HOLMES, ARTHUR H. Twinkle. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 HORLICK, JITTIE. A String of Beads. A Tale. Illustrated 
 in Colour. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 JOHNSON, CECIL Ross. The Trader : A Venture in New 
 Guinea. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 LE SAGE, A. B. In the West Wind. A Cornish Novel. 
 Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 MARTINDALE, ELIZABETH. Margaret Hever. A Novel. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
1 8 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 GLYN, ELINOR. Beyond the Rocks. A Love Story. Cr. 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 See also Duckworth's 7 wo Shilling Net Novels. 
 
 His Hour. A Novel. With a photogravure frontis- 
 piece. Cr. 8v0. 6s. 
 
 The Vicissitudes of Evangeline. With Coloured 
 
 Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo, 6s. Also an edition in paper 
 covers, is. net. 
 
 - Reflections of Ambrosine. With Coloured Frontis- 
 piece. Cr. %vo. 6s. 
 
 - Three Weeks. A Romance. With Coloured Frontis- 
 piece. Cr. %vo. 6s. 
 
 - The Visits of Elizabeth. With Photogravure Frontis- 
 piece. Cr. &vo. 6s. 
 
 Elizabeth Visits America. With a Photogravure 
 
 Frontispiece. Cr. %vo. 6s. 
 
 See also Duck-worth's Two Shilling Net Novels. 
 
 - The Damsel and the Sage : A Woman's Whimsies. 
 Square 8v0. 55. net. 
 
 Sayings of Grandmamma. From the Writings of 
 
 Elinor Glyn. Fcap. %vo. With Photogravure Portrait. 
 Bound in Persian yapp. 2s. 6d. net. Also in parchment. 
 is. net. 
 
 - The Reason Why. With Frontispiece in Colour. 
 Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 GORKY, MAXIM. The Spy. A Tale. By Maxim Gorky. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Twenty-six Men and a Girl. Stories. Cr. 8vo. 
 
 Cloth. 2S. net. 
 
 MAUD, CONSTANCE ELIZABETH. No Surrender. A Novel of 
 the Woman's Movement. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS 19 
 
 MAUPASSANT, GUY DE. Yvette, and other Stories. Trans- 
 lated by A. G. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 See also Shilling Net Library for another volume by Maupassant. 
 
 NAPIER, ROSAMOND. The Faithful Failure. A Novel of the 
 Open Air. Cr. Sv0. 6s. 
 
 The Heart of a Gypsy. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 "SHWAY DINGA." Wholly without Morals. A Novel of 
 Indo-Burman Life. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 TCHEKHOFF, ANTON. The Kiss and other Stories. Cr 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 TRAVERS, JOHN. Sahib Log. A Novel of Regimental Life 
 in India. Cr. &vo. 6s. 
 
 In the World of Bewilderment. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 TYLEE, E. S. The Witch Ladder. A Somerset Story. 
 Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 VAUGHAN, OWEN (Owen Rhoscomyl). A Scout's Story. A 
 Tale of Adventure. Illustrated. Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Isle Raven. A Novel. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Old Fireproof: Being the Chaplain's Story of Certain 
 
 Events in the South African War. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Sweet Rogues. A Romance. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 See also Duckworth's Two Ski/ling Net Novels for another book by 
 Chuen Vanghan. 
 
 DUCKWORTH'S SERIES OF POPULAR NOVELS. 25-. net. 
 THE DANCE OF LOVE. By Dion Clayton Calthrop. 
 THE INFAMOUS JOHN FRIEND. By Mrs R. S. Garnett. 
 ELIZABETH VISITS AMERICA. By Elinor Glyn. 
 THE SECRET KINGDOM. By Frank Richardson. 
 THH: PRODIGAL NEPHEW. Byjudson Bolt. 
 BEYOND THE ROCKS. By Elinor Glyn. 
 VRONINA. By Owen Vaughan. 
 A MOTOR-CAR DIVORCE. By Louise Closser Hale. Illustrated 
 
 by Walter Hale. 
 
 THE BOND. A Novel of Matrimony. By^Neith Boyce. 
 THE CRESTED SEAS. By James B. Conolly. Illustrated. 
 
BOOKS ON APPROVAL 
 
 MESSRS DUCKWORTH & CO.'s Publications may be obtained 
 
 through any good bookseller. Anyone desiring to examine a 
 
 volume should order it subject to approval. The bookseller can 
 
 obtain it from the publishers on this condition. 
 
 The following Special Lists and Catalogues will be sent 
 Post Free on request to any address : 
 
 A GENERAL CATALOGUE OF PUBLICATIONS 
 
 A COLOURED PROSPECTUS OF NEW ILLUSTRATED 
 CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 A DESCRIPJIVE LIST OF "THE READERS' LIBRARY" 
 
 A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE LIBRARY OF ART" 
 AND ''THE POPULAR LIBRARY OF ART" 
 
 A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE CROWN LIBRARY" 
 A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE SAINTS SERIES" 
 A LIST OF THEOLOGICAL WORKS 
 
 AND FULL PROSPECTUSES OF "THE ROADMKNDER 
 SERIES" AND "MODERN PLAYS" 
 
 DUCKWORTH & COMPANY 
 3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON 
 
 T. ft S. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 DEC 5 ?932 
 JAN 11 1934 
 
 DEC IX 1934 
 
 JAN 
 
 1935 
 
 
 
 L 
 
 L 28 '937 
 
 SEP 3 1942 
 
 SEP 13 1943 
 
 LD 21-50m-8,-32 
 
 \. 
 
I V- 
 
 
 9017 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA