DAUGHTER of 
 DAVID KERR y 
 
 HARRY KING TOOTLE
 
 33 5

 
 THE DAUGHTER OF DAVID KERR
 
 r
 
 - 
 
 Gloria Kerr.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF 
 DAVID KERR 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY KING TOOTLE 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 M. LEONE BRACKER 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1912
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1912 
 
 Published September, 1912 
 Second Edition, September 25, 1912 
 
 Copyrighted in Great Britain 
 
 PBESS OF THE VAIL COMPANY 
 COSHOCTON, U. S. A.
 
 TO 
 JUDGE O. M. SPENCER
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Gloria Kerr . . .... . . Frontispiece 
 
 "Gloria, tell me that you love me" .... 184 
 
 "Licked ! Licked ! I Ve just begun to fight" . 198 
 She felt for the beat of his heart .... 286 
 
 "I am begging you to become my wife" . . 322
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF DAVID 
 KERR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE surprise which Gloria knew her 
 unexpected arrival would occasion was 
 even greater than she could imagine. 
 Several things had happened in Belmont re- 
 cently to disturb David Kerr, and he was in 
 no frame of mind for further complications. 
 
 The stock-yards company was beginning to 
 hint at certain favors it wished extended, and 
 with an election coming on, Kerr was in no 
 mood for such concessions. Worse still, the 
 Belmont News had just changed ownership, 
 and the new editor was not displaying that 
 subservient fealty which had characterized all 
 Belmont papers in the past. Already the 
 News was snapping at his heels and asking 
 questions which were extremely pointed. To 
 
 [13]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 have Gloria descend upon him at such a time 
 was too much for even David Ken*. His 
 mastery of the situation caused him to have no 
 great fear for the stock-yard demands and the 
 newspaper outcry, vexing problems though 
 they were, but Gloria Gloria in Belmont 
 was quite another proposition. 
 
 "Father, this is Gloria," explained David 
 
 Kerr's daughter when she had established 
 
 telephone connection with Locust Lawn. 
 
 "Gloria!" he exclaimed. "Where are you?" 
 
 "Here, in Belmont, at the station. I just 
 
 came." 
 
 "How did it happen? I was n't looking for 
 you." 
 
 "Aren't you glad to see me?" 
 
 "Glad to see you! Of course I am, but it 's 
 a surprise. When did you come? How do 
 you happen to be here? Why didn't you let 
 me know?" 
 
 "I wanted to surprise you," she laughed. 
 "Annabel Hitchcock's aunt died, so we 
 could n't go to California. I had nothing else 
 to do, so I came home. Was n't that right ?" 
 
 [14]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Exactly, exactly. But it 's a bad time 'to 
 come to Belmont." 
 
 "I don't care, I *m so glad to be home. 
 How do I get out to Locust Lawn?" 
 
 "You can't well wait there for me to come 
 in for you. Take a carriage and tell' the driver 
 you want to go to the end of the Townsend 
 Park car line. Wait for me in the drug store. 
 I '11 get there almost as soon as you do." 
 
 "Hurry, Father, because I 'm so anxious to 
 see you. It 's been an age since I saw you, 
 and you know I don't know a thing about Bel- 
 mont. I 'm just dying to meet everybody, 
 and then I '11 ask some of the girls out to visit 
 me." 
 
 "We'll talk that over after awhile," was 
 his noncommittal response. "Wait for me 
 at the drug store. Good-by." 
 
 The carriage drive through Belmont and 
 Townsend Park, a suburb, was of educational 
 value. It gave her an increasing respect for 
 Belmont. Although there was no remarkable 
 residence district, there were occasional homes 
 which denoted refinement as well as comfort- 
 
 [15]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 able circumstances. This was not in keeping 
 with what David Kerr's daughter had been 
 taught about her father's town. The number 
 of automobiles also surprised her. By the 
 time she reached the place appointed for her 
 meeting with her father there was not so much 
 of condescension in her attitude toward Bel- 
 mont. 
 
 This changing viewpoint did not mean a 
 diminution of enthusiasm. More than any- 
 thing else it spurred her curiosity. She real- 
 ized that the real Belmont was an advance 
 over what she had been led to expect, just how 
 much only a dip into the social whirl could re- 
 veal. The pleasurable part of it all was that 
 Gloria was still queen by right of inheritance. 
 If the kingdom was more extensive than she 
 had thought, the court life would also be more 
 brilliant. 
 
 Gloria had not long to wait for her father. 
 An old-fashioned carriage covered with mud 
 and drawn by fat bay horses drew up before 
 the drug store. Out of the vehicle a somewhat 
 ponderous individual pulled himself a 
 
 [16]
 
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 smooth-shaven man who appeared to be some- 
 thing over fifty, with heavy jaws and piercing 
 eyes which looked clear through you from 
 under beetling eyebrows. With a cry the 
 girl flung herself upon him and smothered 
 him with kisses. 
 
 "You old dear!" she exclaimed. "You 
 have n't changed a bit. I 'm so glad to be at 
 home with you. Isn't it just dandy to be 
 back in Belmont!" 
 
 The man smiled. Even if he had not 
 changed, as she had sworn, he recognized that 
 she had changed. In the two years since he 
 had seen her, out of the chrysalis had come 
 the butterfly; and this radiant girl was his 
 daughter. For one brief instant he unlocked 
 the neglected chamber of his heart which was 
 the prison of the past, and thought of Gloria's 
 mother. Then the present with its obligations 
 and its stern realities recalled him to the life 
 that was from the days that once had been. 
 
 "Welcome home, daughter," he said, mak- 
 ing a peck in the general direction of her 
 mouth do duty for an answering kiss. With 
 2 [17]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 David Kerr kissing had long ago become an 
 obsolete custom. Then, too, no one had ever 
 accused him of being unduly demonstrative. 
 He had not built up his power in that way. 
 
 Seeing the negro driver bowing and scrap- 
 ing, Gloria left her father to speak to him. 
 She might have forgotten Locust Lawn, but 
 she had not forgotten Locust Lawn's chief 
 factotum. Old Tom, who had been in Kerr's 
 employ for a generation, had been her con- 
 stant companion when she had outgrown the 
 continuous vigilance of her nurse. 
 
 "How d' you do, Tom," she said, extending 
 her hand. "I don't believe you remember me. 
 Now do you?" 
 
 "Bless yo' heart, Miss Glory," grinned the 
 old negro, "I 'd sho'ly know you anywhares. 
 An' it does me a pow'ful sight o' good to see 
 you. Why, chile, when you went away you 
 wuz jes' a little gal. An' now look at you; 
 you 's a reg'lar growed-up woman. Ah reckins 
 you '11 want to git mahried soon. Hey?" 
 
 Gloria laughed; that same fresh, infectious 
 laugh of hers which had warned many a wary 
 
 [18]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 suitor that he had not found the combination 
 to her heart and had brought him to that plane 
 of friendship on which he was always welcome. 
 As well try to describe Patti's singing, in the 
 days when her charm was greatest, as try to 
 describe Gloria's laugh. There be those per- 
 sons so presumptuous that on hearing it would 
 aver she had never loved. Whether David 
 Kerr was one of those his countenance did not 
 betray. As he waited for her answer to the 
 question put her by the old negro, a privileged 
 servitor, his face was as impassive as ever it 
 was on the night of an election. 
 
 "Why, Tom," she explained when she had 
 ceased to laugh at the foolishness of the ques- 
 tion, "I love everybody, of course, but nobody 
 in the wide, wide world like that. I 'm never 
 going to marry any one; do you think so?" 
 
 "Miss Glory, you neveh do know what de 
 Lord '11 pervide. Look at me. Ah done say 
 dat, too, when I wuz young lak you ; but Ah 's 
 had fo' wives already, an' mah time ain't 
 come to die yit." 
 
 "All right, Tom. I don't know what the 
 [19]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Lord will provide, but I 'm not going out of 
 my way to help Providence." 
 
 The words of this colloquy were neither 
 more nor less than David Kerr had anticipated. 
 It was from the spirit rather than from the 
 wording of her reply that the father sought to 
 ascertain the answer. It had been his one hope 
 that somewhere on her travels she would meet 
 a man worthy the love of a woman such as she, 
 that she would marry him and never return to 
 Belmont. Almost unconsciously, with that 
 end vaguely in view, he had been diminishing 
 his activities. He had money enough for 
 Gloria's future, already she had her own in- 
 come, and his age made even power irksome. 
 He would move away from Belmont when 
 Gloria married, and when she came to visit him 
 it would be to some charming rural spot in 
 the East she loved so well. Other men of his 
 type had retired, why not he? One had even 
 raised a horse which had won the greatest 
 classic of the English turf. But for him, he 
 had mused, there would be no such pursuits 
 to bring him into the public eye. That he 
 
 [20]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 wished to avoid for Gloria's sake. And now 
 all his plans seemed to be coming to naught 
 Gloria had come home, free of heart and anx- 
 ious to mingle in Belmont society. 
 
 The drive to Locust Lawn was uneventful. 
 Gloria watched for landmarks along the way, 
 and commented on the changes twelve years 
 had made. Locust Lawn seemed closer to 
 town than in the old days. Most of her re- 
 marks about places they passed were addressed 
 to Tom, because together, when she was a child, 
 they had been over the road many times. 
 David Kerr, never much of a conversationalist, 
 was content to listen, hoping some chance 
 speech might aid in clearing up the situation. 
 Everything Gloria said, however, seemed only 
 a confirmation of her determination to enter 
 at once into Belmont's gayeties. 
 
 "Dar 's de first sight o' Locust Lawn, Miss 
 Glory." 
 
 They had just reached the top of a hill and 
 Tom pointed with his whip to a house on the 
 next eminence. Looking up, Gloria saw, not 
 the estate of her imagination, but a square red 
 
 [21]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 brick house looking rather desolate through 
 the bare branches of many trees. Locust 
 Lawn at the end of winter was no enchanted 
 fairy bower; but she was far too clever a girl, 
 and far too good at heart, to betray any disap- 
 pointment. To her the place was home, and 
 she was anxious to recognize it as such. 
 
 The interior of the house was no more in- 
 viting. As soon as possible Gloria wandered 
 from room to room, her inspection making her 
 give silent thanks that she had not asked any 
 of her friends to join her in her descent on 
 Belmont. The wall paper with big yellow 
 flowers, the carpets with big red flowers, 
 the rocking chairs with the crocheted tidies, 
 and the marble-topped table in the parlor 
 with the inevitable plush album upon it, were 
 no less distressing than the wax flowers under 
 the glass case, the steel engraving of the Scotch 
 Covenanters worshiping in a mountain glen, 
 and the tin bathtub. She even gave thanks 
 that she had not brought a maid. 
 
 "Mistah K." said a negro mammy, putting 
 her head in the door of the living room after 
 
 [22]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Kerr and his daughter had finished going over 
 the house, "Tom wants to know ef you is goin' 
 to town dis mawnin'." 
 
 "No, Lily, I ain't going to town today. 
 Tell Tom to send Yellow Sam with the spring 
 wagon for Gloria's trunks." 
 
 "Dey 's ben telephonin' you from town. 
 Dey say it 's pow'ful impo'tant business. Miss 
 Glory, she done willin* to stay wif me, jes' 
 lak she use' to. Ain't you, honey?" 
 
 To this Gloria gave laughing assent, but 
 her father shook his head. 
 
 "I'm not going to town today. And tell 
 the telephone operator not to connect any one 
 with Locust Lawn all day. I ain't goin' to be 
 disturbed. D' you understand?" 
 
 Aunt Lily, who probably was given that 
 name by some ante-bellum joker because of 
 her ebon hue, nodded her acknowledgment of 
 the order and withdrew. 
 
 The reasons David Kerr had for not wish- 
 ing to get into communication with any one in 
 Belmont were several, but the most potent was 
 his desire to be uninterrupted while engaged in 
 
 [23]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 studying his daughter and evolving some plan 
 whereby she could be taken from Belmont be- 
 fore her slightest suspicion had been aroused. 
 
 One episode in their tour of the house had 
 given him much comfort. Gloria had paused 
 in the old-fashioned parlor and gazed long at 
 his life-sized portrait, done in oils, over the 
 marble mantel. Then she had looked about 
 the room, and not finding what she sought, had 
 asked, 
 
 "Where is one of my mother?" 
 
 "There is none," he confessed, and added 
 quickly, "but I 'm going to have one painted 
 for you. That was given me recently by the 
 First Ward club." 
 
 "What 's the First Ward club?" 
 
 "A political organization." 
 
 "Politics! Do you know anything about 
 politics?" 
 
 David Kerr almost smiled. 
 
 "I don't know whether the President is a 
 democrat or a republican," she added. "What 
 are you?" 
 
 "I 'm a democrat." 
 
 [24]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Then I 'm a democrat, too," she said 
 loyally. "Politics makes my head ache." 
 
 "Don't bother about it." 
 
 "Oh, I 'm not going to. I don't want to 
 be a suffragette and march in a parade and be 
 put in jail on bread and water. I don't even 
 read about it." 
 
 Her absolute ignorance of politics, nothing 
 remarkable in a girl of her years and training, 
 was no small grain of comfort to her father. 
 
 It was not until after luncheon that Gloria 
 disclosed the subject nearest her heart. Her 
 father, like a wise general, permitted her to 
 open the engagement. He had never been a 
 man to exert more strength than was neces- 
 sary for the discomfiture of the enemy. He 
 wanted all her batteries unmasked, all her 
 forces engaged, before he brought his own 
 side into action. 
 
 For some time they sat in silence in the liv- 
 ing room, gazing into the open wood fire. 
 More than once Kerr thought his daughter was 
 about to speak, but each time she seemed to 
 think better of it or else lose her courage. He 
 
 [25]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 knew that something weighed on her mind, for 
 she was much quieter than was her wont. 
 
 "I know I 'm going to like Belmont very 
 much," she ventured at last. "And I want 
 Belmont to like me. My coming home is dif- 
 ferent from that of other girls I know. At 
 Annabel's or Jane Leigh's or any of the girls' 
 homes we haven't been in the house ten min- 
 utes before the telephone begins to ring. In 
 half an hour there are enough engagements to 
 last a week. In Belmont I don't know any 
 one yet." 
 
 This was not said in any tone of complaint. 
 She could not dream of such a thing, because 
 her father's position was such that her lack of 
 friends was only a temporary embarrassment. 
 She knew that well enough. As for David 
 Kerr, he made no comment, desirous of hear- 
 ing her at greater length. 
 
 "If I had known that I was coming home I 
 would have brought some of the girls with 
 me." She did not allow him to know that the 
 house had not come up to her expectations. 
 "I 'm glad I did n't because I don't know any 
 
 [26]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 one here yet, and although we 'd all be received 
 at once I couldn't make it as pleasant for 
 them as I can after I have had an intimate 
 knowledge of things. After you once intro- 
 duce me I think I can begin to plan for the 
 girls. I 'm under obligations to every single 
 girl I know. I don't mean single unmarried. 
 But I might as well, because married girls 
 don't go visiting around the country." 
 
 "I thought you entertained in the East." 
 
 "I did, but girls like to get to a new place. 
 They 're not looking for anybody, but the 
 wider your territory the more certain it is that 
 lightning will strike you." 
 
 "You Ve had a pretty wide territory," was 
 her father's dry rejoinder. 
 
 "But I always ran for cover when I saw a 
 storm coming." 
 
 "I thought you 'd come home engaged to a 
 duke or a count at the least. Did n't you see 
 any men you liked?" 
 
 "I liked them all, Father, but I have n't seen 
 a foreigner I 'd marry. They 're nice enough 
 to talk to and dance with and to bring an ice 
 
 [27]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 at a ball, but no more than that. But noth- 
 ing worries me ; I 'm going to stay here and 
 keep house for you." 
 
 "It ain't much of a house, Gloria. You see, 
 I ain't ever had any women folk around here, 
 and the place 'bout runs itself, 'cept what the 
 niggers do. You won't like it, I 'm afraid." 
 
 "I '11 like it well enough. You don't know 
 how I Ve envied other girls their homes." 
 
 "I tell you what you do. Go on to Cali- 
 fornia now I '11 go with you, if you say so, 
 and stay till you git settled with some of your 
 friends. Then I '11 come back and have the 
 house fixed up so 's when you come again it '11 
 be just what you want." 
 
 Kerr felt that if he could get her away he 
 could see to it that she did not return, even at 
 the cost of his leaving Belmont a year or two 
 sooner than he had planned. To this sugges- 
 tion Gloria did not accede. There was her 
 curiosity about Belmont and her desire, some- 
 thing one who felt there was no depth to her 
 nature could not understand, for a home. 
 
 "What! go away and miss all the fun of fix- 
 
 [28]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 ing up the house!" she exclaimed. "No sir, 
 Daddy. I 'm going to stay right here and 
 make pies in the morning, have teas in the af- 
 ternoons and go to the theaters at night. And 
 you 're going with me." Kerr made a depre- 
 cating gesture but she quickly overruled him. 
 "Don't say a word. You 're going, and 
 tonight 's the night we start. We 're going 
 to the theater tonight." 
 
 Then Gloria told of a girl she had seen on 
 the train who had come to Belmont to a theater 
 party. She explained to her father that no 
 occasion would give her a better opportunity 
 to see the Belmont of which she was to be a 
 part than that offered that evening. In all 
 likelihood she would meet a number of persons 
 between the acts. From her point of view she 
 suggested so many good reasons that her fa- 
 ther was afraid to interpose any objection at 
 the time. 
 
 The arrival of Gloria's trunks put an end 
 to further conversation, as she went to super- 
 intend their unpacking. Long after she had 
 gone, David Kerr sat gazing into the fire. 
 
 [29]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Many a time he had sat in that room and 
 planned each move of a political campaign 
 from its inception to final victory and had seen 
 those plans carried out to the letter. But here 
 was a campaign, if he should undertake it, 
 which would he different. He would not be 
 fighting on his own ground where he was sure 
 of himself; and into it would enter those un- 
 known, unstable factors women. 
 
 Kerr was proud of his daughter. He recog- 
 nized that she deserved to associate with the 
 first families. If she was to remain in Bel- 
 mont he would see to it that she had a social 
 position which would be above cavil. This 
 much decided, there came the question of how 
 it could be brought to pass. The fire had 
 burned low in the grate before he had con- 
 sidered all sides of the question. When he rose 
 from his chair and went to the telephone he 
 had determined upon the only course which 
 would have as its result the launching of 
 Gloria as a debutante in Belmont's exclusive 
 circles. 
 
 Great was the surprise in the box office of the 
 
 [30]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Belmont Opera House when there came from 
 David Kerr a request for a box. He tele- 
 phoned to set it aside for him,, that he did not 
 know whether or not he would use it, but that 
 he would send a check for the amount in the 
 morning. The much flustered treasurer stam- 
 mered that he would be most happy to put the 
 box at Mr. Kerr's disposal and have him as 
 a guest of the theater, but Mr. Kerr inquired 
 the price of the box and closed the conversation 
 by repeating that he would send a check for 
 the amount in the morning. 
 
 And great was the surprise of the servants 
 when at dinner the master of Locust Lawn ap- 
 peared in evening clothes. 
 
 [31]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE English surpass Americans in at 
 least one respect; they have learned as 
 a nation far better than has this newer 
 country the possibilities of a dinner party. 
 Perhaps it is their higher developed social 
 system, more likely it is the general interest 
 which is taken in governmental questions, 
 which gives the dinner table an important, if 
 unofficial, place in political life. A brilliant 
 hostess, with heart and soul wrapped up in her 
 husband's advancement, can do much to aid 
 him as he toils up the ladder of political prefer- 
 ment by gathering at her board the leaders of 
 her husband's party and also prominent men 
 of the opposition. One need have only a su- 
 perficial knowledge of American politics and 
 American leaders to understand why this is 
 not generally possible here. But there be some 
 here, taking a leaf from England's book, who 
 
 [32]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 make the dinner party serve purposes not ap- 
 parent to all the guests. Judge Amos Gil- 
 bert was one of these. 
 
 Fond, ambitious mothers held up to their 
 sons as an example the rise of Amos Gilbert 
 from an humble home in a frontier village to 
 a position as the leading corporation lawyer of 
 Belmont. He represented the electric light 
 company, the street railway company, the wa- 
 ter company, and the stock-yards company. A 
 person with an analytical turn of mind, after 
 studying a list of his clients, might remark 
 that each and every one, individual, partner- 
 ship, or corporation, could be favored by some 
 political turn or damaged by some political 
 machination. They found it better to employ 
 Judge Gilbert than to trust to luck that all 
 would go well. 
 
 All day Judge Gilbert had been trying to 
 get in touch with David Kerr by telephone. 
 Kendall, who represented the Chicago packers, 
 had been called back to that city and was anx- 
 ious to see Kerr before he left that night. Fail- 
 ing in this, Gilbert could make no definite 
 
 3 [33]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 promise as to Mr. Kerr's attitude on certain 
 propositions set forth by the astute Chicago 
 lawyer. On his own authority he did say, 
 however, that the master of Locust Lawn was 
 interested in watching the Belmont News de- 
 velop its new policy under the new owner and 
 editor who had managed to secure control of 
 the sheet without Kerr's knowledge. That 
 Kendall might see for himself and meet on 
 friendly ground the new and disturbing fac- 
 tor in Belmont politics, Judge Gilbert invited 
 Joe Wright, the new owner of the paper, to 
 dinner. It was just by accident, apparently, 
 that Mr. Kendall had been picked up at 
 almost the last minute. 
 
 The only others present were Dr. and Mrs. 
 Hayes. Sam Hayes, a rising young physician 
 and surgeon, was coroner of Belmont County, 
 an office which his society friends joked him 
 about, but one which Hayes recognized and 
 accepted as a political stepping stone. Then, 
 too, it gave him opportunities to repay his po- 
 litical friends. David Kerr liked to have such 
 young men hold office. 
 
 [34]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Dinner over, Gilbert and Kendall withdrew 
 to the library for a final conference over the 
 stock-yards situation. Again they tried to 
 telephone David Kerr, only to receive the in- 
 formation that he was not at home. 
 
 "You really think the Belmont News having 
 been bought by this outsider," queried Ken- 
 dall, "puts a different aspect on the present 
 situation ?" 
 
 "Judge for yourself," answered the Belmont 
 attorney. "I had Mr. Wright to dinner to- 
 night so that you could meet him without 
 arousing his suspicions. I wanted to help you 
 that much." 
 
 What Kendall really thought he evidenced 
 by his indirect reply. 
 
 "I don't blame Dave Kerr for being angry 
 because Wright slipped in and bought the pa- 
 per." 
 
 For a minute or more the two men smoked 
 in silence. Kendall was wondering what he 
 could say to his Chicago principals which 
 would make them understand that Belmont 
 was not now the Belmont of the old days, that 
 
 [35]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 although to all appearances it was the same the 
 practiced eye could detect the vague unrest 
 which pervaded it. 
 
 Judge Gilbert had been too long in the har- 
 ness to wince at a corporation request for the 
 vacation of a principal thoroughfare and a 
 public park, but he was tired of the long fight 
 for grasping masters whose one demand was 
 always for more, more, more. And yet he had 
 no sympathy with such men as Joe Wright. 
 He had made up his mind, however, that he 
 would not aid the company in this new fran- 
 chise grab. He was partly led to this con- 
 clusion, all unconsciously, because he knew 
 David Kerr was not betraying any interest in 
 it. 
 
 "The river eats up our tracks on the west," 
 protested Kendall. "The stock-yards '11 never 
 be safe while we depend on the one line." 
 Then he added with emphasis, "We must come 
 down Maple Avenue on the east and use Ben- 
 ton Park for switching yards." 
 
 "It can't be done." 
 
 "It can be done. Dave Kerr can do any- 
 [36]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 thing he pleases. He 's the absolute boss of 
 Belmont." 
 
 This was said with such a tone of finality 
 that Judge Gilbert saw no need of replying. 
 He knew that Kerr was the absolute boss of 
 Belmont. 
 
 There flashed through the minds of both 
 men the thought that the Belmont News might 
 have something to say. It could n't prevent a 
 franchise being passed, of course, but pub- 
 licity at times was unpleasant. This was some- 
 thing Kerr did not court, Gilbert knew. He 
 was the easy boss, letting every one have a share 
 of the spoils, and thus all were satisfied. Few 
 indeed had been the times when the town had 
 attempted to revolt. 
 
 "You 'd have the whole town up in arms," 
 remonstrated Gilbert. 
 
 "They Ve been up in arms before. Once 
 they brought ropes to hang the council, but 
 Kerr put through the waterworks deal. 
 You 're the attorney for the street railway 
 company; you know what he did there." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," Gilbert admitted has- 
 [37]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 tily. Then with a sigh of relief, "That 's all 
 past." 
 
 He ran his hand through his hair, gray long 
 before the frost of age could come to silver it, 
 and was thankful that such episodes were 
 things of the past. He was weary of it all. 
 Kendall's next remark, delivered with the chill 
 incisiveness of a lawyer cross-examining a bel- 
 ligerent witness, brought him once more to the 
 defense of the man who had made his success 
 possible. 
 
 "Is Dave Kerr keeping out of the deal only 
 through fear of young Wright and the Bel- 
 mont News?" 
 
 "He is n't afraid of anything. Mr. Kerr 
 merely says that it does n't interest him at the 
 present time. As for me, I 'm out of it." 
 
 "You 're still Kerr's right hand adviser." 
 
 "Pardon me, his legal adviser." 
 
 Kendall did not pause to acknowledge the 
 distinction, but went on, this time straight to 
 the heart of the matter. 
 
 "I made what the stock-yards people con- 
 Ess]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 sider a good offer. If that is n't enough, 
 what 's his price?" 
 
 This point-blank question irritated Gilbert. 
 He much preferred to call a spade an agricul- 
 tural implement even when talking with those 
 who stood close to him in his manipulations for 
 the various corporations he represented. He 
 therefore ignored the question, preferring to 
 tell why the matter could not be taken up at 
 present. 
 
 "The election 's coming on in a couple of 
 months, and your franchise would be made an 
 issue. We can't afford it with the News in a 
 position to boost the republican party." 
 
 "I 've got to get it through as soon as pos- 
 sible. There 's nothing raw in this franchise, 
 is there?" 
 
 "That 's the Chicago point of view," an- 
 swered Kendall. "Stripped of legal verbiage, 
 what you want is to lay railroad tracks, on 
 which will run cattle trains, down a pretty resi- 
 dence street and use a park for terminals, all 
 without giving property owners or the city 
 
 [39]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 adequate compensation for ruining or con- 
 fiscating their property. I call that pretty 
 
 raw." 
 
 "Well, it 's our best and certainly our cheap- 
 est way if Kerr will put through a franchise for 
 us," Kendall maintained stubbornly. "I '11 
 come back next week, and take the matter up 
 again. In the meantime you can talk it over 
 thoroughly with Kerr. He may have some- 
 thing to say by that time." 
 
 "It hardly seems likely. He seldom changes 
 his mind." 
 
 "He may this time. I 've got to get away 
 now and go by the hotel before I go to the 
 train. Let 's go back to the drawing-room, 
 where I can have a few more words with 
 Wright. We may be able to win him over." 
 
 "That 's what I 'm going to try to do," re- 
 plied Judge Gilbert as they rose to rejoin Mrs. 
 Gilbert and her guests. 
 
 The attorneys entered the drawing-room to 
 find a discussion regarding newspapers just 
 drawing to a close with victory still uncertain 
 on which standard to perch. 
 
 [40]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "You just missed hearing Dr. Hayes pay 
 his respects to newspapers, Judge Gilbert," 
 said Joe Wright with a smile. The layman's 
 opinions always interest and usually amuse a 
 journalist. 
 
 "What 's the matter? Have you told him 
 you won't publish the box scores of the ball 
 games this year?" 
 
 "I '11 do that for him, and gladly." 
 
 "Then there 's no occasion to kick. That 's 
 the only thing that can trouble a fat man." 
 
 "This time I was speaking generally," ex- 
 plained Hayes. "I don't like some of the 
 ways reporters have." 
 
 "That 's only a small part of the business," 
 laughed Wright. "If you complain only 
 about that I shall have you for a staunch ad- 
 herent." 
 
 Mrs. Hayes saw that Kendall was at a loss 
 to understand the drift of the conversation, and 
 accordingly said, "Dr. Hayes is coroner, Mr. 
 Kendall, and the Banner man calls us up at 
 most unearthlv hours." 
 
 
 
 The Belmont Banner was the morning pa- 
 
 [41]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 per, and its editor, Deacon Jerry Withrow, 
 was always at the beck and call of the boss. 
 Kerr let him think that he had something to 
 do with directing the affairs of the city. This 
 was a harmless delusion, since his pliant atti- 
 tude always made him consider a suggestion 
 let fall by the boss as a scheme which he himself 
 had hatched. 
 
 "I think it is dreadful for nice men to be 
 mixed up in politics," said Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 Perhaps it was no more dreadful than was 
 the lack of knowledge of politics displayed by 
 the nice women of Belmont. This would have 
 been difficult to impress upon Mrs. Gilbert. 
 She knew well enough that her husband was 
 consulted by that odious David Kerr, but that 
 was in a legal way and Kerr paid well for the 
 advice he received. Even the tone in which 
 she spoke showed how thankful she was her 
 husband was not in politics. Mrs. Hayes was 
 quick to say what she thought along the same 
 line by adding: 
 
 "And Dr. Hayes doesn't have to at all, 
 
 [42]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 you know. He says he does it for the good 
 of the party." 
 
 The coroner looked at his pretty young wife 
 and remarked in mock-disgust: 
 
 "What my wife does n't know about politics 
 would elect Bryan President." 
 
 This would have been all very interesting 
 to Kendall if he had had the entire evening 
 to spend in such pleasant company. Time was 
 pressing, however, and in the few minutes still 
 at his disposal he wished to sound Wright at 
 greater length about the Belmont News. 
 
 Kendall looked closely at the young man 
 whom he had already set down as an opponent. 
 Physically Wright seemed no shirker of a 
 combat. His shoulders were broad and his 
 body well developed. Led to believe from 
 his knowledge of the reformer type that he 
 would find Joe Wright a long-haired theorist 
 and Utopian dreamer, the lawyer found in- 
 stead a self-possessed, well-balanced young 
 man. The newspaper owner's manner, even 
 in repose, was judicial. To Kendall's think- 
 
 [43]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ing he had the air of a man who would not be 
 swayed by prejudice or liking. It was his 
 part, however, as a special pleader, to make 
 Wright think himself too much an idealist 
 if he could in opposing the just claims of the 
 stock-yard company. 
 
 "I suppose you found the News somewhat 
 run down when you took hold of it," Kendall 
 remarked casually. 
 
 "Yes, the name was about all I bought." 
 
 "I thought the paper had a pretty good 
 mechanical plant," interjected Gilbert. 
 
 Instinctively Wright felt the concerted ac- 
 tion masked under the innocent question and 
 the remark by Gilbert. Just what Kendall 
 had to gain he did not know, but since he rec- 
 ognized him as a representative of large inter- 
 ests he thought best to let him know what stand 
 the News might be expected to take. It was 
 just as well that Gilbert should have it clearly 
 in mind also. If the clients of these men were 
 playing the game fair and square they would 
 welcome his kind of newspaper. If they 
 weren't, and Wright knew there had been 
 
 [44]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 lapses from grace on the parts of some of 
 them, he hoped they would recognize in the 
 paper the power which would first seek to pre- 
 vent, and, failing in this, then try to cor- 
 rect. Judge Gilbert's allusion to the good 
 mechanical plant he seized upon for a text. 
 
 "That 's true, the News has a good mechan- 
 ical plant." He paused to let that sink in be- 
 fore he continued. "Somehow or other when 
 I think of a newspaper I never think of that 
 side of it. I have in mind only the feeling of 
 confidence with which a newspaper inspirejs its 
 readers." 
 
 "What do you think the ideal newspaper is 
 like?" asked Judge Gilbert. He wanted to 
 know to what kind of star this young man had 
 hitched his wagon. 
 
 "The ideal newspaper is one which has no 
 ax to grind, and no personal animus in the dis- 
 cussion of private affairs or public questions, 
 but only a constant regard for the truth and 
 the lasting welfare of the state." 
 
 Kendall went to what he considered the 
 heart of the matter. 
 
 [45]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Aren't you leaving out of consideration, 
 Mr. Wright, that everything this govern- 
 ment, even -is but a compromise?" 
 
 "No, I recognize that, and I believe in com- 
 promise. Without it we would still be cave 
 dwellers. It is exactly because of this ever- 
 present compromise that an honest newspaper 
 is so valuable. It must see to it that this com- 
 promise is open and above board. It must n't 
 be the give-and-take trade of low politicians 
 in the back room of a saloon or the far more 
 dangerous trades of men higher up and pow- 
 erful interests; not that kind of compromise, 
 which after all is a sale of something one does 
 not legally own to one who cannot or will not 
 secure it honestly. I tell you that the major- 
 ity must rule fairly and with a proper defer- 
 ence for the rights of the minority, that 's 
 where a newspaper can be of service." 
 
 Having decided to deliver a broadside, 
 Wright had gone about it with great enthusi- 
 asm. The sight of Mrs. Hayes gazing won- 
 deringly at him, for she did not understand 
 what he meant, caused the editor to break off 
 
 [46]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 with a laugh. He recognized that Judge Gil- 
 bert's drawing-room was not the proper place 
 for a lengthy exposition of his views. 
 
 "I 'm afraid I 'm preaching," he apologized, 
 "and there 's nothing I hate more than that.*' 
 
 "Not at all," protested Kendall. "Your 
 views interest me greatly, Mr. Wright. 
 When I come again I am going to see how far 
 along you are on the road to the ideal." 
 
 With this Kendall announced that he must 
 be going, and made his adieux. To have a 
 few last words about Wright, Judge Gilbert 
 accompanied the visiting attorney even to the 
 front gate. His very last assertion was that 
 he himself would have nothing to do with the 
 proposed franchise grab and that he was mor- 
 ally certain David Kerr was of the same frame 
 of mind. 
 
 [47]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AS Judge Gilbert was about to enter 
 his front door, having accompanied 
 Mr. Kendall as far as the gate, he saw 
 a carriage stop in front of the house. The 
 man who got out and came up the walk he rec- 
 ognized instantly. None the less he did not 
 walk like the David Kerr of yesterday; he 
 seemed in every motion as he came into the 
 light cast by the porch lamp to be the David 
 Kerr of ten years hence. Realizing that only 
 something unusual could bring the master of 
 Locust Lawn out at night, and to his house, 
 too, the lawyer went down the porch steps to 
 meet his visitor. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Kerr," was Gilbert's 
 greeting. "This is an unexpected pleasure." 
 
 "Evening, Amos. Can I see you alone? I 
 don't want to be interrupted." 
 
 [48]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "We can go into the library. No one will 
 disturb us there." 
 
 To this Kerr made no reply. He toiled 
 heavily up the steps and into the house. Gil- 
 bert's surprise increased on finding, when his 
 visitor removed his overcoat, that he had on 
 evening clothes. It was more an intuitive 
 feeling than observation which made Gilbert 
 understand how uncomfortable the boss found 
 his unaccustomed raiment. 
 
 As Kerr walked through the hall and into 
 the library, his own thoughts did not weigh so 
 heavily upon him as to prevent him from sat- 
 isfying his curiosity by gazing about him. It 
 was the first time in his life that he had ever 
 set foot in Gilbert's house. The invitation 
 had been extended many times, but Kerr knew 
 his social limitations and had always refused. 
 
 The judge pushed forward a big leather 
 chair and into it Kerr dropped without a word. 
 His hands rested listlessly on the arms of his 
 chair, the bosom of his shirt was rumpled and 
 bulged out of his waistcoat, his breath came 
 heavy and fast, and he gazed dully at the fire 
 4 [49]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 in the grate. Gilbert had never seen him in 
 such a condition before. Until now he had al- 
 ways been the man of iron, accepting his many 
 triumphs and his few minor defeats in the 
 same imperturbable manner. 
 
 "I tried to get you by telephone several 
 times today," Gilbert began. 
 
 "I know it, but I was n't in the mood for 
 nothin'." The very tone in which he spoke 
 betrayed that fact. 
 
 "I promised Kendall I 'd call you up in re- 
 gard to the new franchise he 's anxious for you 
 to support." 
 
 "That '11 keep." 
 
 "I told him that personally I could not be 
 interested." 
 
 This drew no answer from the boss. Gil- 
 bert made no further attempt at making con- 
 versation and for a time the two men sat in 
 silence. When Kerr launched his first ques- 
 tion it seemed apropos of nothing. 
 
 "How long you been in Belmont, Amos?" 
 
 Gilbert's brain went through a series of rapid 
 thought transitions in an effort to divine 
 
 [50]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 whither the question led. He was accustomed 
 to Kerr's interrogatory methods, but every- 
 thing was so out of the ordinary this evening 
 that he tried his best to fathom the boss's pur- 
 pose, before, in his usual indirect fashion, he 
 disclosed the object of his visit. The question 
 was one easily answered, albeit with some 
 surprise. 
 
 "Why, a little more than twenty years." 
 
 Kerr continued to gaze into the fire, seem- 
 ingly oblivious to his surroundings. Gilbert 
 could not have sworn that the boss had heard 
 him reply. Then came another question, still 
 seemingly apropos of nothing. 
 
 "Remember your first office after you quit 
 keeping it in the top of your hat?" 
 
 "Yes, very well. I paid you two dollars a 
 week for desk room in a corner of your real 
 estate office in that same old office you still 
 have on Fifth Street." 
 
 "That 's what I charged you but I don't 
 guess you 've got a receipt for every week. 
 Was it you or Bill S toner in them days used 
 to use my big atlas for a ironin' board?" 
 
 [51]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Both of us, I believe." 
 
 Kerr moved restlessly in his chair, then went 
 on. 
 
 "Many 's the time I Ve opened that book 
 to show a man the plat of an addition and out 
 would drop your other handkerchief. I guess 
 the mirror in your room was n't big enough to 
 hold a handkerchief on your wash day." He 
 looked about the library, absorbing its quiet 
 elegance. "Things mighty different now, 
 ain't they?" 
 
 "Then I was struggling to get a start." 
 
 It seemed to be a monologue Kerr was de- 
 livering. His questions were answered, but 
 he made no sign that he heard. His remarks 
 were delivered at random and he never took 
 his gaze from the fire, except the one time he 
 had looked about the room to note the contrast 
 of the present with the time when Gilbert had 
 first come to Belmont. 
 
 * 'Bout that time you wanted to git married 
 to a mighty nice girl." 
 
 "Yes, that was about the time I was elected 
 prosecuting attorney." 
 
 [52]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Exactly,'* then after a pause, "and you 
 got married." 
 
 Gilbert could not understand the drift of 
 the conversation, but he recognized that Kerr 
 was reviewing the past step by step. 
 
 "Then I gave up my desk in your office, and 
 moved to the courthouse." 
 
 "But you still came to see me, Amos." 
 
 This was said as quietly as had been his 
 previous remarks. Taken by itself it was a 
 harmless utterance, but in connection with 
 what had gone before it was of great signifi- 
 cance. Yes, Amos Gilbert, the rising young 
 prosecuting attorney, had gone to see David 
 Kerr after he had moved his office to the court- 
 house. The boss let that remark sink in well 
 before he asked, 
 
 "After that how long was you on the 
 bench?" 
 
 "Six years." 
 
 "Is that so! I hadn't an idee it was that 
 long. What made you give that up?" 
 
 "I had a family on my hands and needed 
 more money. I did n't run again, you remem- 
 
 [53]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 her, because I wanted to be attorney for the 
 new street railway company." 
 
 Kerr seemed to be revolving something in 
 his mind, for it was some time before he re- 
 minded Gilbert of a step in his rise which he 
 had not mentioned. 
 
 "I thought you was lawyer for one of them 
 crowds that was fightin' for a franchise." 
 
 "Well, we got the franchise." 
 
 That was what Kerr wanted to bring out. 
 
 "Exactly. And you 're still their lawyer." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And for the water company," mused Kerr. 
 "And for the 'lectric light company. And you 
 still come to see me, Amos." 
 
 "Why, yes, Mr. Kerr, I 'm not unmindful 
 of" 
 
 Kerr seemed to throw off some of the gloom 
 in which he had appeared to be wrapped as he 
 interrupted the attorney. 
 
 "This time, Amos, I 've come to see you. 
 It 's the first time I Ve ever been in this house." 
 
 "Well Mr. Kerr I," stammered Gil- 
 bert. 
 
 [54]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 The boss pulled himself together in his 
 chair, sat up straight and looked at Gilbert. 
 
 "But you Ve got a telephone." Then he 
 added in a gentler tone: "That's all right, 
 Amos, I Ve always understood." It seemed 
 to be with an effort that he continued, "I 'm go- 
 ing to tell you some things that you know, and 
 some things that you don't know, and some 
 you Ve guessed, and some I Ve thought no- 
 body 'd ever have to know. 'Bout the time 
 you come here I was married, and my wife 
 died on giving birth to a girl." 
 
 "Gloria." 
 
 "Yes, Gloria. I was just gittin' into pol- 
 itics. Things might 'ave been different if my 
 wife had lived. It did n't seem long before 
 there I was with a big girl on my hands me, 
 David Kerr." The old feeling of power 
 surged through him as he added with spirit, 
 "If it had been a boy!" 
 
 This thought held him silent for a minute, 
 and when he took up the thread of his story 
 again it was the old weary tone. 
 
 "Well, it was n't. There I was with a girl 
 
 [55]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 on my hands. Her mother did n't have any 
 relatives. Her father was a minister, same 's 
 my father was. I did n't have anybody, 
 either, I could send her to. I kept her as long 
 as I could, but by that time my house even in 
 the country war n't a fit place for a child 
 specially a girl. So I sent her away to school 
 and she ain't been back since. I reckon Bel- 
 mont 's forgot about her. I gave her plenty 
 of money, but she never knew anything of my 
 transactions. She thinks I made it all in 
 real estate." 
 
 "Then she does n't know " 
 "That 's the hell of it she don't." 
 Kerr could sit still no longer. He pulled 
 himself out of his chair and stood with his back 
 to the fire and directly facing Gilbert. "All 
 these years I 've acted a lie. I Ve made Gloria 
 believe I 'm the leading man in Belmont. I 
 am but not in the way she thinks. It 
 was n't because I loved her ; I can't say I do, 
 'cause I don't know her well. I ain't been 
 East to see her for a couple of years. It was 
 pride made me tell her that ; that 's what it was, 
 
 [56]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 pride. I wanted my girl to have what I 'd 
 missed. I did n't want her to know." 
 
 He lapsed into silence, which he finally broke 
 himself with the explanatory remark: 
 
 "Gloria thinks I 'm the social leader of Bel- 
 mont; that the whole town hangs breathless on 
 what I say shall be the fashion at pink teas." 
 
 "Hasn't she often wanted to come back?" 
 
 Kerr was not to be hurried. He began to 
 pace up and down in front of the fireplace. 
 When he paused, the lawyer, to secure a con- 
 tinuation of the story, said: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "This morning she came home." 
 
 Now Judge Gilbert understood; yet he 
 could scarcely believe it possible. 
 
 "What! Gloria here!" 
 
 "Yes, here," echoed Kerr. "Come home, 
 that 's what she calls it. She 's been visiting 
 school friends since she came back from Japan, 
 and had just started to California when the 
 party fell through when they 'd got to St. 
 Louis. So she jumped on the train and came 
 to Belmont unannounced to surprise me." 
 
 [57]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 So here was Gloria in Belmont. It was 
 more than embarrassing. Gilbert recognized 
 that it was tragic. Kerr never mentioned his 
 daughter, and Belmont had almost forgotten 
 her existence. Much that the boss had told 
 the lawyer was news to him. Gloria Kerr, the 
 little girl, had been allowed to slip out of his 
 mind and he had come to regard the political 
 leader, just as every one else did, as a thing 
 apart, as a power almost as impersonal as the 
 force of gravity or the freezing of water. The 
 easy boss was regarded as just as much a Bel- 
 mont fixture as was the river which flowed past 
 the town, and those good people who laid aside 
 the rose-colored spectacles of Belmont's laissez 
 fair e doctrine felt that it would be just as easy 
 to remove one as the other. 
 
 The lawyer in Gilbert now rose to the sur- 
 face and he began to question Kerr just as he 
 would a client. The girl was here. The only 
 thing now to discuss was what to do with her. 
 
 "She can't help but learn the truth!" Gilbert 
 exclaimed at last. 
 
 He sank back in his chair, overcome by the 
 
 [58]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 weight of the problem. On the wall, where 
 he could see it, hung the picture of his own 
 daughter, Julia, now away at school, and the 
 bitterness of the whole thing was brought home 
 to him all the more poignantly because he, too, 
 was a father. 
 
 The hopelessness of Gilbert's tone when he 
 declared Gloria would learn the truth if she 
 remained roused Kerr to his old self. When 
 he had entered the room he seemed crushed 
 beyond recovery. Now he suddenly developed 
 all the spirit, all the calm resourcefulness, 
 which he had ever displayed when listening to 
 the report of some political revolt which would 
 call forth hitherto latent strength. 
 
 "She must not know," he replied with all 
 his old dominance. "Listen to me, Amos Gil- 
 bert, that girl must be recognized. I know 
 what people say of me, and I 've abided by the 
 verdict. I ain't been no hypocrite. I Ve 
 played a man's game, and I Ve dealt with men. 
 I ain't asked nothin' of your women folk, but 
 now I do. I 'm bringing Belmont a girl any 
 of you could be proud of. She 's got to be 
 
 [59]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 took up by the right people I Ve kept her 
 away all these years, she don't know my story, 
 and I don't intend she shall. She 's the equal 
 of any girl in Belmont and, by God, she '11 
 have an equal chance." 
 
 "What can I do?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 It was for this Kerr had waited. It was 
 for this moment that he had called the past to 
 mind. He had wanted Gilbert to have before 
 him the many obligations under which he 
 rested. It is true that he could have com- 
 manded, but he was too much the easy boss to 
 issue orders where he could hold forth a glitter- 
 ing reward as the price of valuable services. 
 To the ward heeler the word of the boss is a 
 fetish to be blindly worshiped. To his few 
 leading lieutenants the command is coated with 
 sugar which has a negotiable value. Gilbert 
 having asked what he could do brought Kerr 
 at once to the arrangement he had planned 
 whereby the lawyer would profit through the 
 introduction of Miss Kerr to society. 
 
 "I Ve made bargains all my life, Amos, 
 to-night I make one with you. Prosecuting 
 
 [60]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 attorney, judge, corporation counsel, with all 
 the money you Ve made 
 
 At this Gilbert made a disparaging gesture 
 which caused Kerr to add, "in fees with all 
 the money you Ve made, you still fall short of 
 the riches that '11 purchase real freedom. I 
 know how you stand, and things are pretty 
 much in the balance. 
 
 "Think what it means to your daughter, 
 money." As he spoke he pointed to the girl's 
 picture. "It 's leisure, travel, friends abroad, 
 an assured future. I can give them to you, I, 
 David Kerr; and I will on one condition. 
 Gloria Kerr must have the place she thinks is 
 hers in Belmont." 
 
 He paused to let the lawyer grasp the im- 
 portance and the value of such an undertaking, 
 and then disclosed the means by which the 
 fortune was to be secured. If a man should 
 ever pay another out of his own pocket for such 
 a service he would be a philanthropist and not 
 a political leader; Kerr was certainly not the 
 former, and his life training had never caused 
 him to separate a dollar from his own bank 
 
 [61]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 account when he could extract it without pain 
 to him from some one else. 
 
 "For this one thing," he explained, "I give 
 freely into your hands any franchise you may 
 draw for the stock-yards belt line railway. 
 Disguise it as a street railway line to run down 
 Maple Avenue. Make what bargain you like, 
 five hundred thousand, a million dollars, it 's 
 worth it. And always remember, I 'm back 
 of you." 
 
 The possibilities of the scheme overwhelmed 
 Gilbert. What he was to do for Kerr, even 
 the fight for the franchise, did not enter his 
 mind. He was busy thinking of the freedom 
 he could purchase in so short a time. All that 
 he had ever dreamed of could be brought to 
 pass. Kerr, who knew almost to a dollar the 
 financial standing of every man in Belmont, 
 was well aware that Gilbert had been hard hit 
 in several stock exchange transactions, so badly 
 in the last one that he had called upon the boss 
 for assistance. Yet he had just told Kendall 
 that he would have nothing more to do with 
 that kind of work. He had begun to develop 
 
 [62]
 
 a conscience for Julia's sake, perhaps, for his 
 daughter's future and here came Kerr who 
 wanted him to go down once more into the 
 maelstrom of shady politics for the sake of his 
 daughter. 
 
 His gratitude for what Kerr had done for 
 him was great enough to cause him to do anyr 
 thing for Kerr's daughter he could, but since 
 the boss had put it up to him and he had back 
 of him all the boss's power, he began to wonder 
 why he should not accept the opportunity to 
 make a fortune quickly. It had been held out 
 to him as meaning leisure, travel, friends, and 
 a roseate future for his Julia. He longed for 
 those things for himself, no less, and here was 
 the chance of his lifetime. He would know 
 how to make those Chicago schemers pay well 
 for the legal advice he would give them. 
 
 "It won't be easy," said Gilbert finally. 
 
 Kerr had won his first victory. The lawyer 
 had surrendered. 
 
 "That 's why I came to you," was the boss's 
 answer, a reply charged with subtle flattery. 
 Gilbert really did represent in his autocracy 
 
 [63]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the best element ; a smug set, perhaps, but still 
 the best. To other lieutenants were delegated 
 hammer and tong jobs; Gilbert was the instru- 
 ment when finesse was required. 
 
 "There 's a certain element, Mr. Kerr, it will 
 be hard to win over that wholesale clique. 
 You have no direct dealing with the men, and 
 well that is you see, they don't know you 
 and they might not be interested in Gloria. 
 They 're a clannish lot." 
 
 "I Ve fought many a fight, Amos, but never 
 one like this. If it develops into a real fight, 
 I still hold the whip hand." He raised his 
 right arm menacingly, his hand clenched to a 
 pugnacious fist. "Let any silly girl sneer at 
 my daughter, let any ninny of a boy be un- 
 complimentary, and I no sooner hear of it 
 than I '11 put the screws on and then God 
 help 'em. They don't know me! Well, they 
 may yet." 
 
 "When can Mrs. Gilbert meet Gloria?" 
 
 "I brought her with me she 's in the car- 
 riage." 
 
 "She came with you!" 
 
 [64]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Yes, I told her we was going to the theater. 
 Then we stopped here on important business." 
 
 "Bring her in. I '11 call Mrs. Gilbert." 
 
 While Kerr went for his daughter, the law- 
 yer called his wife into the library and ex- 
 plained the situation to her as best he could in 
 so brief a time. He only told of Gloria's be- 
 lief in her father's social importance, nothing 
 of how he had promised to introduce her. Of 
 course his wife would never know his wages 
 for acting as Gloria's sponsor. 
 
 "What a remarkable thing to do!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Gilbert when she finally realized Gloria's 
 position. 
 
 "I think Kerr was crazy, Julia, ever to start 
 it, but here she is in our house and we must help 
 carry out the deception." 
 
 "But Dr. and Mrs. Hayes?" 
 
 "Who made Hayes coroner?" 
 
 "But Mr. Wright? Will he meet David 
 Kerr?" 
 
 "Mr. Wright 's our guest and he 's a gentle- 
 man, dear." 
 
 Here was something Gilbert had not 
 5 [65]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 thought of. Perhaps fate was playing into 
 his hands. He hoped so anyway. David 
 Kerr would meet on neutral ground the man 
 who had already caused him some uneasiness. 
 Since the boss never called on any one, and 
 since Wright surely would not go to see him, 
 this was, when all was said and done, to be an 
 important meeting. 
 
 [66]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 GLORIA could not understand why 
 she was not of most importance, and 
 was not a little piqued at the long wait 
 in the cold while her father was with Judge 
 Gilbert. Her only consolation for being late 
 to the theater was that every one would be 
 there to see her arrive. She knew that when 
 she entered the box every one would turn to 
 look at her. A harmless little thought cer- 
 tainly for so pretty a girl as she. She tried 
 to beguile the time by questioning Tom, but 
 the driver had suddenly lost his tongue, due 
 to Kerr's order issued privately, and talked 
 only indifferently on indifferent topics. He 
 was grossly ignorant concerning matters which 
 to Miss Kerr seemed of vital importance. 
 
 At last came her father with the announce- 
 ment that she was to come in to meet Judge 
 and Mrs. Gilbert. The girl was torn with con- 
 
 [67]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 flicting emotions, being anxious to get to 
 the theater and at the same time desirous of 
 seeing how many years ahead of Locust Lawn 
 was this house which she had been invited to 
 enter. There was no reason why she could not 
 do both, since meeting Judge and Mrs. Gil- 
 bert could mean only a few minutes' more 
 delay. They could then hurry to the theater, 
 and if she was pleased with these new acquaint- 
 ances she would urge them to join her. Loyal 
 though she was, she would welcome any one 
 who would be a diversion. Gloria was quick 
 to notice a faux pas, and certain of her father's 
 slips of grammar and lapses from punctilious 
 etiquette had made her wish some companion- 
 ship less blunt. 
 
 At the door she was met by Judge Gilbert, 
 who welcomed her to Belmont with great cor- 
 diality. Here was a man who understood the 
 niceties of life. Gloria's heart went out to 
 him almost as much for the manner of his wel- 
 come as for its genuine warmth. As David 
 Kerr had done when he had entered the house, 
 the daughter gazed about her as she passed 
 
 [68]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 through the hall, and all that she saw was given 
 the stamp of her approval. It was just an- 
 other step in her growing appreciation of 
 Belmont as it really was. She noted also the 
 familiar terms on which Judge Gilbert and 
 her father were. She had never doubted her 
 father, yet this was a pleasing affirmative note 
 in her theory of Belmont life which had not 
 been without its contradictions that day. 
 
 "I wonder if you remember Mrs. Gilbert?" 
 said the judge as he ushered Gloria into the 
 library. At her entrance, Mrs. Gilbert, a 
 really gracious woman, came forward to greet 
 her. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Gloria?" she said, 
 " it 's a pleasure to find that you Ve come back 
 to Belmont." 
 
 "I 'm charmed to meet you, Mrs. Gilbert. 
 Indeed it is nice to be at home once more and 
 I 'm so glad to have you say so." 
 
 The next bit of conversation puzzled Gloria 
 not a little. She remarked it at the time, and 
 even thought of it once after she had returned 
 to Locust Lawn that night. 
 
 [69]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Judge Gilbert said quietly to his wife, "Mr. 
 Kerr, dear." 
 
 At this Mrs, Gilbert turned, bowed slightly 
 and merely said, "Good evening, Mr. Kerr." 
 
 "How d 'ye do, ma'am," replied Gloria's 
 father, to his daughter's surprise and also 
 somewhat to her disgust. Mrs. Gilbert's 
 greeting had been extremely brief, but her 
 father's had been extremely provincial. Not 
 only was it a slipshod manner of speaking, but 
 it had been accompanied by a bow which 
 Gloria thought uncouth. Her father had 
 written once or twice about Mrs. Gilbert, and 
 Gloria, after the manner of society, was fain 
 to enlarge upon the number. 
 
 "It 's been my one wish to meet you, Mrs. 
 Gilbert," said the girl. , "I went away when I 
 was so young that I can't honestly say that I 
 remember you, but in his letters farther spoke 
 so often of you and of visiting here. Did n't 
 you, Father?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, Kerr was forced to reply. 
 
 "Yes Oh, yes, Gloria, but never mind that 
 
 now." 
 
 [70]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Judge Gilbert was quick to come to the res- 
 cue, and forestalled further embarrassing re- 
 marks by saying : 
 
 "I suppose it will be a novelty for you, Miss 
 Gloria living in the country." 
 
 Gloria laughed, and her answer contained 
 due notice of what she intended to have in the 
 immediate future. 
 
 "Father has n't a motor car yet, and I 
 don't know how I '11 like it." 
 
 "You '11 get used to it," was Mrs. Gilbert's 
 comment. "Locust Lawn is lovely in sum- 
 mer." 
 
 "But it is n't summer yet. And it makes 
 it inconvenient when one wants to go out in 
 the evening. I 've often wondered why fa- 
 ther did n't have a town house. He goes out 
 so much and must be in Belmont so late at 
 night that to my mind a town house would be 
 a necessity. But there he sticks in the coun- 
 try like an old poke." 
 
 Her idea of her father's duty to himself was 
 so strong that she turned to him to tell him 
 just what she thought of him. During her 
 
 [71]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 speech Kerr had been exceedingly uncom' 
 fortable, but there was no way to stop her. 
 
 "That 's just what you are, Father," Gloria 
 asserted stoutly, "for sticking in the country 
 when you go so much in society an old 
 poke." 
 
 Again Judge Gilbert came to the rescue. 
 "You forget he does n't go out as much as 
 when he was younger." 
 
 "Exactly. I don't git out like I did when 
 I was younger," Kerr repeated. 
 
 "I think every one will have to like me very 
 much," Gloria complained with a whimsical 
 air of doubt, "to come 'way out to Locust 
 Lawn to see me." She knew well that they 
 would come, but a town apartment, something 
 modern, loomed large in her mind. These re- 
 marks were only the pioneer work preliminary 
 to a siege. 
 
 "I 'm afraid Belmont will seem mean com- 
 pared to the places you have lived," suggested 
 Mrs. Gilbert. 'In the short time she had been 
 with Gloria she had seen enough to make her 
 certain that there were breakers ahead. 
 
 [72]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Not at all," answered the girl. Judge 
 Gilbert was talking earnestly with her father, 
 and this gave her a chance to confess privately 
 to Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 "It seems good to me because it is home, 
 and I can do as I please without com- 
 ment. I mean to live my life to the full, just 
 as do other girls whom I visit. Except when 
 I Ve been with them, it 's been chaperon and 
 school, school and chaperon for so long that 
 I 'm honestly glad to get into a house where 
 no one rushes in every few minutes to see if 
 I 'm reading a French novel or writing love 
 letters to the chauffeur." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert laughed heartily at the mar- 
 tyrdom Gloria had suffered, and promised that 
 such would not be her lot in Belmont. When 
 Mr. Kerr joined them she went to summon 
 her other guests. 
 
 "Judge Gilbert has been telling me, Glo- 
 ria," Kerr began, "that things was quiet here 
 just at this season. Now California " 
 
 "Telling you!" repeated Gloria. Why did 
 her father need to have any one tell him any- 
 
 [73]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 thing about Belmont? Then wasn't she ex- 
 cuse enough for all the gayety possible ? 
 
 "Ain't got nothin' against California, have 
 you?" Kerr asked, ignoring her exclamation. 
 
 "I don't know." She turned away from 
 him, conscience-stricken at her tone of indeci- 
 sion. "I wanted to come home, yet 
 
 "Don't you like Locust Lawn, girl?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "But 
 everything is so different from what I imag- 
 ined it would be. Give me a little time to 
 think about the California trip." 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Gilbert returned with 
 the guests who for some little time had been 
 entertaining themselves in the drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Hayes and her husband were first in- 
 troduced to Gloria. While they exchanged a 
 few pleasantries, Wright, in charge of Judge 
 Gilbert, was meeting David Kerr. It was not 
 until Mrs. Gilbert called him to her to present 
 him to Miss Kerr that the editor of the Bel- 
 mont News and the daughter of David Kerr 
 came face to face. 
 
 To the surprise of the others present Gloria 
 [74]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 gave a little scream of delight and came for- 
 ward with both hands outstretched to greet the 
 young man. He no less gave evidence of his 
 pleasure at the meeting. His face lighted up 
 with a smile and the way he grasped both her 
 hands betokened his happiness at seeing her 
 again. If the others could not share their 
 gratification, they could at least share their 
 surprise. 
 
 "Joe Wright, of all persons!" exclaimed 
 Gloria, shaking his hands heartily, her face 
 radiant with smiles. 
 
 "Miss Kerr! You here!" It was all he 
 could say, but he put into it a wealth of feel- 
 ing which made it impossible to mistake his 
 meaning. He forgot David Kerr, he forgot 
 every one but this girl whom now he met again 
 after so long a time. 
 
 "You 're the last person I 'd expect to find 
 in Belmont." 
 
 "But you 're not the last person I 'd hope to 
 find here," he replied. 
 
 Whereupon they both laughed and shook 
 hands again. 
 
 [75]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was the first of the others to 
 recover the power of speech. "You know 
 each other!" 
 
 "Indeed we do," replied Gloria. "We trav- 
 eled abroad for a time in the same party. 
 How do you happen to be here?" she asked 
 Wright. "Tell me all about it." 
 
 "There is n't much to tell. I live here 
 now." 
 
 "How funny!" 
 
 "I 'm not apologizing for it," he laughed. 
 
 "I don't mean it that way. Belmont is my 
 home, too. I was born here." 
 
 "Here! In Belmont!" He made no ef- 
 fort to conceal his surprise. 
 
 "Yes," she said proudly; "I am the daugh- 
 ter of David Kerr." 
 
 Had she struck him a blow full in the face 
 she could not more have staggered him. In 
 the joy of meeting her, Wright had forgotten 
 everything but the pleasure of seeing her 
 again and the memories her presence conjured 
 up of what he called their mad old, glad old 
 Paris days when they had been so much to- 
 
 [76]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 gather. He had forgotten the sordid present 
 with the fight to make friends for his kind of 
 newspaper, the effort to meet the payroll, and 
 the continuous struggle against what he knew 
 to be the evil influences of David Kerr. 
 David Kerr, her father! With Gloria's ex- 
 planation, raised by her pride in her father 
 almost to a boast, all this was brought back to 
 him. He still smiled, but his heart went dead 
 within him. The sun which had shone for 
 him so gloriously only a minute ago was now 
 hidden behind the blackest cloud in the heav- 
 ens. 
 
 Selfish as they wished to be, for a time they 
 were forced to join in the general conversation 
 and satisfy the curiosity of the others concern- 
 ing their previous acquaintanceship. 
 
 "When did you and Gloria meet?" Kerr 
 asked the newspaper man. 
 
 "First on a steamer going to Europe." 
 
 "And then accidentally any number of 
 times on the continent," added Gloria. 
 
 "There 's no need now of your fearing you 
 will be lonesome, Miss Gloria," was Mrs. Gil- 
 
 [77]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 bert's comment. "How lucky to find an old 
 friend." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied Gloria, with such 
 spirit that no one could believe she was merely 
 saying the polite thing. "I command you to 
 come to see me at once, Mr. Wright. I know 
 hardly a soul in Belmont. You see I just 
 came home this morning." 
 
 Thus within a quarter of an hour after meet- 
 ing the boss of Belmont, Wright found him- 
 self invited to his home. The circumstances 
 that had brought about the invitation he would 
 have considered out of the range of all reason 
 half an hour before. He knew the game too 
 well not to understand how the easy boss works 
 and all unconsciously Gloria was seeking to 
 further her father's plans. 
 
 Through friendship, loyalty and a sense of 
 obligation which one is not permitted to for- 
 get, the political leader obtains active co-oper- 
 ation where to deny him would appear base 
 ingratitude. To keep from being placed in 
 such a position was Wright's one aim. Con- 
 sequently, to Gloria's invitation he merely 
 
 [78]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 murmured a polite assent, inwardly resolving 
 to find sufficient excuses to make it impossible 
 for him to be a visitor at Locust Lawn. Yet 
 something within him at the same time was 
 telling him that he must see Gloria often. 
 
 As they were now leaving, Dr. and Mrs. 
 Hayes came to say good night to Gloria. Gil- 
 bert and Kerr found this the favorable mo- 
 ment to slip out of the library unobserved. 
 
 "I Ve told Mrs. Gilbert how sorry we are 
 we have to be going, because I so wanted to 
 have a little chat with you," began Mrs. 
 Hayes. "I '11 give you only a day or two to 
 unpack before I come to call." 
 
 "Please don't wait for that to happen," 
 urged Gloria. "I Ve lived in trunks so long 
 that I 'd feel like a motor without gasoline if 
 I should take all my things out and hang them 
 on hooks like civilized people do." 
 
 "I wonder if you could be interested in some 
 settlement work I 'm doing," continued Mrs. 
 Hayes. 
 
 "Don't let her rope you into that, Miss 
 Kerr," protested the doctor. 
 
 [79]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Isn't it fashionable?" inquired Gloria cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 "Not fashionable and highly insanitary," 
 was his verdict. "A germ is no respecter of 
 persons. My wife 's liable to bring home any- 
 thing from measles to socialism." 
 
 "But think of the poor, unfortunate, igno- 
 rant people," pleaded Mrs. Gilbert, who with 
 Mrs. Hayes was interested in a mission estab- 
 lished in a poor quarter of the town by the 
 Presbyterian church. 
 
 "That 's what I tell him," said Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 "It is n't our fault, is it?" asked Gloria. To 
 her, settlement work was a sealed book. Slat- 
 ternly women with troops of dirty, sniveling 
 brats repelled her. Were she ever to develop 
 any philanthropy along these lines, she was 
 sure that the work would be carried on vicari- 
 ously. 
 
 "Of course it is n't our fault," added Dr. 
 Hayes emphatically. "I still say, Rose," 
 turning to his wife, "that I have no sympathy 
 for people who use the bath tub for a coal 
 bin." 
 
 [80]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I '11 tell you about it some other time," said 
 Mrs. Hayes to Gloria, not despairing of mak- 
 ing her a worker. 
 
 "I 'm afraid you '11 find me hard to convert." 
 
 "Then I '11 appeal to Mr. Wright to help 
 me." 
 
 "I have no influence with her," laughed 
 Wright. 
 
 "Not since you ran way from us in Paris," 
 pouted Gloria. 
 
 Dr. Hayes and his wife left the library con- 
 voyed by Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 For the first time that evening Gloria and 
 Wright found no one to interrupt their con- 
 versation. 
 
 He was standing in front of the grate, his 
 admiration for the girl shining honestly forth 
 from his eyes as he watched her say the last 
 good-byes. When the others had gone, she 
 turned to Wright with a smile. Walking 
 across the room to him she held out her hand, 
 and said simply: 
 
 "You don't know how glad I am to find you 
 here." 
 
 [81]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Are you?" he replied, retaining her hand 
 while he spoke. "Since that 's the case I 
 would n't care to be anywhere else in the 
 world." 
 
 Then they sat down to talk of other days. 
 
 [82]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THERE was so much to be said that 
 Wright and the girl were at a loss to 
 know where to begin now that they 
 had an opportunity to talk without interrup- 
 tion. With Gloria there was an undercurrent 
 of unrest caused by the fact that she feared he 
 had carelessly broken the promise made on the 
 Rhine to meet her again in Paris. She had 
 waited and he had not come. 
 
 Wright was no less interested in what they 
 were about to say. In the first place, after a 
 long absence, he was again with the girl whom 
 he had made it a point to meet at various 
 places in Europe. To add confusion to their 
 friendship, which he had highly prized, had 
 just come the astounding revelation that she 
 was David Kerr's daughter. How could he 
 be a friend of the daughter and an enemy of 
 the father? Then, too, what did she know of 
 
 [83]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 her father's methods, and of his own attitude 
 toward the boss of Belmont? And if she 
 knew, what did she think? These things 
 made conversation rather an exhausting men- 
 tal exercise. 
 
 "Well?" Gloria smiled, inviting him to 
 begin the story of all that had happened since 
 they had shaken hands and parted, he to go 
 to London and she back to Paris where she 
 was to see him later but where disappointment 
 awaited her. 
 
 "Well," he answered. He wanted her to 
 begin, and thus give him the cue to her line of 
 thought. 
 
 "This is n't much like Paris." 
 
 "You 're here." 
 
 "Yes," she laughed, "and you 're here, too. 
 That 's why it is n't like Paris when I saw it 
 last." 
 
 "At any rate, I 'm glad we 're both here." 
 He was anxious to have her interpret the 
 present. 
 
 "For me it is the first time in twelve years." 
 
 This came as a glad surprise to Wright. 
 
 [84]
 
 Then she cannot know much, he thought. 
 Her remark emboldened him to say: 
 
 "Did n't you tell me your father was a real 
 estate operator?" 
 
 "Yes. Did n't you know that ?" 
 
 "I had almost forgotten. You see, I am 
 practically a stranger here. You and I are 
 alike in that respect, if you have not been here 
 for a dozen years." 
 
 "Oh, I would n't say that," she replied 
 quickly. "My father knows everybody and 
 everybody knows father. I shall know every 
 one in a week." 
 
 "Yes, that 's true," he said cautiously. 
 
 "How long have you been in Belmont?" 
 asked Gloria, seeking to satisfy her own curi- 
 osity now that she had told him something 
 about herself. 
 
 "Only a month or so." 
 
 "I think it 's the queerest thing in the world 
 that we should meet here of all places. What 
 are you doing here?" 
 
 And then Wright lied. He did not have 
 time to consider what might be the ethics of 
 
 [85]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the case. He listened to his heart, which may 
 have made him a traitor to himself, and an- 
 swered promptly: 
 
 "I 've been doing some magazine writing 
 and an occasional bit of newspaper and similar 
 work." 
 
 Had he been asked he could not have ex- 
 plained why he had not replied just as 
 promptly that he was the owner of the Bel- 
 mont News. What the real reason was he 
 could not even explain to himself. Earlier in 
 the evening he had talked glibly of a newspa- 
 per and its duty, and here an hour later he was 
 denying his own under the fire of a pair of 
 laughing eyes. 
 
 Gloria, whose ideas of business were as 
 vague as her notions of politics or esoteric 
 Buddhism, accepted his explanation as ade- 
 quate; especially since she recalled that when 
 in Europe he had been writing some maga- 
 zine articles about the tariff. Since she never 
 thought about the matter at all she never 
 thought it strange that Belmont should be the 
 place for such labors. 
 
 [86]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Have you ever been to Locust Lawn?" was 
 her next question. 
 
 "I have that pleasure in store for me." 
 
 This pleased her. Even before he came 
 there were many little things she could do to 
 make the house appear to better advantage. 
 Although he had not yet made explanation of 
 his failure to come to Paris, she found herself 
 anxious to have him once more on the old foot- 
 ing of intimate friendship. 
 
 "Are you the same as in the mad old, glad 
 old Paris days?" he asked. 
 
 She parried the question with another. 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 "In some respects only more so." 
 
 "That 's a riddle. I hate riddles." As he 
 made no reply to this, she went on after the 
 pause of which he had not taken advantage. 
 "I hope we meet accidentally as often as you 
 met our party abroad." 
 
 "Was it accident?" he made bold to ask. 
 
 "Wasn't it? You pretended it was." 
 Then the mischievous little sprite that ruled 
 her tongue forced her to say, "I don't blame 
 
 [87]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 you ; I think Annabel Hitchcock is a beautiful 
 girl. We all know you were crazy about 
 her." 
 
 "Was I?" Rising inflection. 
 
 "Weren't you?" Also rising inflection. 
 
 "I '11 admit I followed your party," he con- 
 ceded. 
 
 "Now we 're getting at the truth of the mat- 
 ter," she replied triumphantly. She felt she 
 was teasing him, and she enjoyed it. "But 
 why did n't you come on to Paris as you 
 promised us? I 'd like to know why we sud- 
 denly lost you. Was it another girl even pret- 
 tier than Annabel?" 
 
 He did not join her when she laughed at 
 the picture she had painted. All the light 
 joyousness, the first which had been his since 
 he had come to Belmont, died out of his face 
 as he answered: 
 
 "After the Rhine I had hoped to meet you 
 in Paris again. I looked forward to it as the 
 beginning of another happy time. And then, 
 in London, I received a cable my mother was 
 dying." 
 
 [88]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "No," protested the girl, her eyes wide 
 with pity. 
 
 "I had just time to catch the express for 
 Liverpool that would put me aboard a liner 
 an hour before she sailed. Miss Kerr, I know 
 I thought of Paris, but things all seemed 
 blurred to me, and so the message I had 
 planned to you not to Miss Hitchcock was 
 never sent." 
 
 "My poor friend." 
 
 "I reached America too late." 
 
 "I 'm so sorry," she sighed. 
 
 He had told the whole story. There was 
 nothing more to say. 
 
 Both sat gazing into the open fire, busy with 
 the thoughts of life and death. At last 
 Gloria said quietly, with no more movement 
 than if her thoughts had of themselves be- 
 come vocal: 
 
 "Tell me of your mother. I never knew 
 my mother, and so I envy you. You loved 
 her?" 
 
 "I loved her," he began. Of his own af- 
 fairs he seldom spoke, yet here was one who 
 
 [89]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 by her very presence made him glad to tell 
 his story, and glad that it was a story he could 
 tell with pride. "Son never loved mother 
 more. And never did a son owe a mother 
 more than I owed mine. I never knew my 
 father. He was a good man, but not provi- 
 dent. When he died, mother found she had 
 to support herself and me, an only child. O 
 Miss Kerr, if you knew the bitterness of that 
 struggle as I know it your heart would ache, 
 too, at thought of it." 
 
 He paused, but something clutched at 
 Gloria's throat. She could not speak. 
 
 "If mother could have a fault, it was her 
 pride in me. I suppose when all the things 
 she had planned for herself came to naught 
 at my father's death she centered everything 
 on me. It was n't right, of course, because 
 I was n't worth it, but I tried, always tried to 
 be worthy of that pride. And when she came 
 to die she wrote " 
 
 He could n't go on, and Gloria, respecting 
 his grief, was silent, too. 
 
 "I 'm so glad she lived to see it all come 
 [90]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 true," Gloria said finally in a low tone. "It 
 makes me think of what sacrifices my father 
 has made for me. Just because he loved me 
 and wanted me to have everything, he has 
 given up what joy I might have been to him. 
 Your story has taught me what I owe to him." 
 
 At this a sudden pain shot through the man's 
 heart. It made him pledge himself before 
 Heaven to protect her from the truth. 
 
 "My mother died when I was a baby, just 
 as your father did," she explained wistfully. 
 "And, as I told you, I envy you your mother. 
 I wish you had written me. I could have 
 at least sent my sympathy." 
 
 Now Gloria understood. All that year her 
 thoughts had presented him other than in the 
 true light. 
 
 "I wrote to you," he said gravely, "as soon 
 as I wrote to any one. I did n't know your 
 address, and ventured letters at Brown, Ship- 
 ley's in London, and the American Express 
 Company in Paris. I had heard you speak 
 of both places, I thought. Both letters came 
 back." 
 
 [91]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Give them to me. I want to keep them. 
 We left Paris before you wrote, and hurried 
 to Japan. Qur mail was sent in care of 
 Cook's. What did you do afterward?" 
 
 "I took a long rest. There was not a 
 relative to share my sorrow with me. Now 
 that I Ve come down out of the mountains 
 and taken stock of life I find I have n't a soul 
 in the world " 
 
 "Don't say that, Joe." She felt irresist- 
 ably drawn to him and put forth her hand and 
 laid it on his sympathetically. He turned his 
 own and let hers nestle within it. 
 
 "You 're still the same Gloria." 
 
 "A year is n't so long a time." 
 
 And so they sat, with never a word to say, 
 just that hand clasp of silent sympathy as they 
 gazed into the fire. 
 
 [92]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IN the drawing-room, Kerr and Gilbert 
 were just beginning a conversation which 
 had for its theme the new turn affairs had 
 taken, when Dr. Hayes passed through the 
 hall on his way out with his wife. Sam Hayes 
 was a member of the ring's inner shrine, and 
 when the opportunity arose for what was 
 termed a quick clean-up he was always a mem- 
 ber of the syndicate. Therefore, the die hav- 
 ing been cast, the judge called him in and 
 announced the determination to push the fran- 
 chise, a deal with which the coroner was al- 
 ready familiar. Far more than for any other 
 reason Kerr was always willing to include him 
 because his Belmont connections were so strong 
 that he really lent an air of respectability to 
 any undertaking. 
 
 "We are going to put a line to the stock- 
 [93]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 yards down Maple Avenue, Sam," began the 
 attorney. 
 
 "So it's settled, is it?" 
 
 "Yes. You remember that vacant tract 
 beyond Benton Park? The one that the Bel- 
 den Brothers are thinking of cutting up for 
 a residence addition? Well, you can't build 
 a house in a mile of it when the road 's through 
 there, but it '11 be worth a great deal more for 
 factory sites." 
 
 "You '11 have railroad connections, see?" ex- 
 plained Kerr. 
 
 "What's doing?" asked Sam, always keen 
 for a dollar. 
 
 "Get an option on it," continued Gilbert, 
 "and we '11 cash in big." 
 
 "How long an option?" 
 
 The attorney looked at Kerr. 
 
 "Sixty days," said the latter. 
 
 "In that time we can ram the franchise 
 through the council, and when that 's done any 
 bank '11 lend us the money to take over the 
 property." 
 
 Hayes went out to rejoin his wife, after 
 
 [94]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 promising to take the matter up in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Gilbert was just on the point of beginning 
 a discussion of Gloria's future when a reporter 
 from the Banner was announced. 
 
 "I '11 come out to see him," said the lawyer, 
 rising. 
 
 "No," objected Kerr, "have him in. I want 
 to see him, too." 
 
 So Mr. James Winthrow, the young po- 
 litical reporter for the Belmont Banner, was 
 admitted. 
 
 Winthrow, like the usual run of star report- 
 ers in a town the size of Belmont, was not 
 only a shrewd young American, but he was 
 also well aware of his great shrewdness. He 
 had made as many political prognostications 
 as any young man in the country, and they 
 were quite as misleading in the main as were 
 any of the others. Being on the machine pa- 
 per and a loyal reporter, it followed as of 
 course that he was a loyal machine man. Old 
 Jerry Winthrow, the editor, was a distant 
 relative, but friendly enough and interested 
 
 [95]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 
 
 enough in the youth to explain to him some 
 of the turnings of the political wheels. 
 
 When Winthrow saw Kerr closeted with his 
 legal adviser he could not suppress a whistle 
 of surprise. 
 
 "Evening, Judge. Good evening, Mr. 
 Kerr." 
 
 "How are you, Jim?" said Gilbert. The 
 boss merely nodded an acknowledgment of the 
 greeting. "What can I do for you?" 
 
 "Some stock-yard terminal rumors in the 
 air, Judge; just rumors, and I can't find out 
 a thing." 
 
 "I have n't heard a thing about it," the law- 
 yer assured him. Then to Kerr, "Have 
 you?" 
 
 "Not a word," answered the boss. 
 
 "Where did you get it?" queried Gilbert. 
 
 "Floating 'round town. I met Mr. Ken- 
 dall just now going to the station, but he 
 would n't talk. I know that the surveyors 
 have been out. When Mr. Kendall said he 'd 
 been here to dinner, Bilby, he 's our city editor, 
 told me to see you." 
 
 [96]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Gilbert turned to Kerr. The leader was a 
 man of few words. He disposed of the mat- 
 ter under discussion with one sentence. 
 
 "Tell Bilby, Dave Kerr said not to print 
 a line; he '11 understand." 
 
 That was all. It was an order, and the 
 reporter accepted it as such. Things in Bel- 
 mont were so well regulated that there was 
 no danger from any source which would cause 
 Kerr to think twice before sending his order 
 to the city editor of the Banner by the reporter 
 of that paper. 
 
 As Winthrow rose to depart, Kerr asked, 
 "You have anything to do with the society 
 columns?" 
 
 "Occasionally stumble on a story." 
 
 "To-morrow put in that Miss Gloria Kerr 
 has returned from a trip around the world." 
 
 Winthrow put it down, and then asked with 
 pencil poised, "Is she at Locust Lawn?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kerr. 
 
 "Don't write the item until I telephone you 
 later in the evening," interrupted Gilbert. He 
 had been plotting and planning along social 
 7 [97]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 lines ever since Kerr had told him of Gloria's 
 return. Several things he had already 
 thought of flashed through his mind. The im- 
 possibility of Locust Lawn as a social center 
 was one of these, and Gilbert had something to 
 suggest before having the Banner write the 
 story which would herald her return. "You 
 can add this, though. Say that Judge and 
 Mrs. Gilbert will issue invitations next week 
 for a dance to introduce Miss Kerr." 
 
 No sooner had the reporter gone than Kerr 
 turned to Gilbert and said with what was for 
 him unaccustomed warmth: 
 
 "That 's mighty good of you, Amos." 
 
 "Not at all." Then the lawyer went on in 
 an injured tone, "I 'm only sorry that you put 
 the franchise up to me as a trade. I 'm not 
 doing it for that." 
 
 "I knew you 'd do it for the girl's sake, but 
 I want you to get what you can out of it, Amos. 
 I owe you that much." 
 
 Gilbert was glad that his wife entered at 
 this minute, for a discussion of Gloria's social 
 future probably would not bring out all sides 
 
 [98]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 to the question without a woman being a party 
 to the conversation. 
 
 "I just have to talk to some one," Mrs. Gil- 
 bert confessed immediately, "and I did n't have 
 the heart to go into the library. I peeped in 
 just now and they were sitting in front of 
 the fire laughing and talking and appearing 
 to be having the best time in the world. I 
 don't know why, but it made me think of the 
 times when you used to come to see me, Amos." 
 
 Husband and wife smiled at each other, and 
 he said : 
 
 "You were a beautiful girl, Julia." 
 
 "I '11 tell you what," Mrs. Gilbert went on, 
 conscious of the compliment but not desirous 
 of herself making a comparison. "Gloria is 
 a beautiful girl, and what is more, I can see 
 that she has a beautiful character. I 'm so 
 sorry she has been away so long." 
 
 "What could I do, ma'am?" asked Kerr. 
 "I couldn't take care of her at Locust 
 Lawn." 
 
 Locust Lawn had been in Gilbert's mind 
 all the time, and he had waited only to sound 
 
 [99]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 his wife before speaking. Her enthusiasm 
 was such, as evidenced in what she had just 
 said, that he thought now was the proper 
 time to broach the subject. 
 
 "There 's only one thing to do, Mr. Kerr," 
 he said. "Gloria must come in and stay with 
 us. Locust Lawn is all right as a home for 
 you, but as it stands it is no place for a young 
 lady in society; especially, since you want me 
 to be plain spoken, no place for a young lady 
 who has had such advantages as your daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 "Exactly, exactly," assented Kerr. He 
 had seen that, and it had been one of the 
 thorns in his flesh all day. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was quick to see that it was 
 the only thing to be done. She had become 
 as much interested in Gloria as had her hus- 
 band, and now she added her own invitation 
 to his. 
 
 "The Judge has expressed my own ideas 
 exactly," she said. "Mr. Kerr, you must let 
 her come to us. We have fallen in love with 
 her already." 
 
 [100]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Have you, ma'am?" Kerr asked. "Then 
 I 'm awfully glad." 
 
 "Make the invitation for a month," Gilbert 
 directed, "and then we can ask her to stay on." 
 
 "I '11 do nothing of the kind," said his wife 
 airily, as she started on what was to her a pleas- 
 ant errand ; "I '11 ask her for the rest of her 
 natural life, and if she wants to stay that long 
 she 's welcome." 
 
 [101]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 GLORIA plunged into the work of mak- 
 ing over Locust Lawn according to 
 her own ideas with her usual enthu- 
 siasm. Accompanied by Mrs. Gilbert, she 
 haunted the architect's office, carrying with her 
 magazines containing pictures and descriptions 
 of beautiful homes. When the plans for the 
 alterations were finally approved, David Kerr 
 learned with a sigh of relief that the changes 
 could be made without driving him from the 
 shelter of his own roof. 
 
 At the same time that Gloria was planning 
 for the changes in the country place she and 
 Mrs. Gilbert were also busy preparing for the 
 ball which would serve as her formal introduc- 
 tion to Belmont society. Her time was so en- 
 gaged that she thought the suggestion of her 
 hostess an excellent one when Mrs. Gilbert 
 said that it might be better not to become 
 
 [102]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 tangled up with too many social engagements 
 at a time when it was more vital to see that 
 the Locust Lawn alterations were properly 
 under way. The girl was aware, from what 
 she had heard her father and others say, that 
 things were dull at present, and she did not 
 wish to spur them into a premature activity. 
 When the ball was given for her it would be 
 time enough to begin. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was not letting things drift, al- 
 though the daughter of David Kerr was not 
 aware of it. Every one in Belmont knew 
 what Gloria did not: That she was about to 
 make a great effort to secure recognition. Bel- 
 mont was not in a receptive mood. Its first 
 thought was that she was the child of a shrewd 
 political trickster who had fattened at the 
 expense of the town. The offspring of the 
 leopard should not hope to be without spots. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was clever enough to have girls 
 to luncheon whom she thought might become 
 interested in Gloria. They came, and in the 
 majority of cases surprised Gloria by their 
 charming manners and their beautiful clothes. 
 
 [103]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Her court was to be even more brilliant than 
 she had dreamed. The girls were invited one 
 at a time, to give both Gloria and the visitor 
 the opportunity of becoming well acquainted. 
 
 The luncheon guests came to call afterward, 
 but by a strange mischance it was always when 
 Gloria was not at home. She would go to 
 the architect's office with Mrs. Gilbert, and 
 would find on her return that several cards had 
 been left for her. The ball was so near that 
 she made no attempt to pay any calls herself. 
 She was too busy. 
 
 Although railing at the fate which took him 
 away most of the time, the first three weeks 
 after Gloria's removal to town were spent by 
 Judge Gilbert in Chicago. Occasionally he 
 ran over for a day, but even then his wife and 
 their guest saw little of him. This would 
 have made their evenings hang heavy on their 
 hands had it not been for Joe Wright. He 
 got into the habit of dropping in after dinner 
 every evening and several times a week Mrs. 
 Gilbert had him to dine with them. Late in 
 the afternoons he and Gloria often drove to- 
 
 [104]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 gather, the season of the year keeping them 
 most of the time on the city streets. Once he 
 drove with her to Locust Lawn, but as it was 
 late when they reached there he did not get 
 out, sitting in the runabout while Gloria ran 
 into the house for a few minutes. 
 
 Neither Wright nor Gloria ever made an 
 effort to direct the conversation into the inti- 
 mate channel it had taken the night they first 
 had met in Belmont. One might almost have 
 thought they had agreed to consider them- 
 selves merely good friends, so impersonal were 
 they in what they said. For this there was a 
 reason; rather, there were two reasons, his 
 and hers. 
 
 Wright was keeping a firm grip on himself 
 because he knew the truth . and was afraid. 
 Gloria was self-possessed and would not have 
 permitted him to pass the border of friendship, 
 had he dared, because she wished to know Bel- 
 mont well. Even a hint of an entangling al- 
 liance would prove a hindrance. Thus it 
 was that each was happy in the other's com- 
 pany. And if perchance they looked the 
 
 [105]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 sentiment that each had inwardly resolved not 
 to breathe, they were happier still in the 
 thought that some day their dreams would 
 come true. 
 
 The paper was occasioning Wright no 
 great anxiety. Somewhat to his surprise the 
 advertising revenue was showing most grati- 
 fying gains caused by the increase of local 
 business. The Banner had more advertising, 
 but the new owner of the afternoon paper 
 had no cause to complain. Even his adver- 
 tising manager could not explain it. Main 
 Street merchants who had been out of the pa- 
 per for years began to send in copy without 
 solicitation. This made the head of the ad- 
 vertising department think that the millennium 
 was about due. The real reason, unknown to 
 every one except the merchants receiving the 
 message, was that Dave Kerr had sent out the 
 tip for them to throw some of their patronage 
 to the News. 
 
 This was a shrewd move on the part of Kerr. 
 He wanted Wright to have such a volume of 
 business that if he should order all the adver- 
 
 [106]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 tising he could influence cut off, the paper 
 would be instantly crippled. If the News had 
 not much business, then anything Kerr might 
 cause to be dropped out would only show that 
 his power was slight. If he had to strike a 
 blow he wanted it to be with a sledge hammer. 
 
 Another important consideration which led 
 him to take this step was that the merchants 
 might believe, and he tipped it off in a manner 
 which would be most apt to make them jump 
 to that conclusion, that he was himself in- 
 terested in the News. This would tend to 
 minimize Wright's influence if he should at- 
 tempt a crusade, since the public would wink 
 and say, "It 's all a bluff, old man Kerr him- 
 self is interested in the paper." The boss even 
 calculated that this would be strengthened by 
 the frequency with which Wright was seen in 
 his daughter's company. He was not looking 
 for trouble, he never welcomed it, but he 
 sought always to be prepared when it came. 
 
 During her first weeks at Mrs. Gilbert's 
 Gloria saw little of her father. She had at 
 first frequently dropped in at his office, but he 
 
 [107]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 had intimated that it was no place for her. 
 Sometimes she would be at Locust Lawn when 
 Tom brought him home in the afternoon. 
 When Judge Gilbert was home from Chicago 
 once he dined with them. Every day, how- 
 ever, she talked to him for some time over the 
 telephone. He always seemed interested, 
 apologized for not seeing her more, and let her 
 rattle on until she had quite exhausted the 
 news of the day. Occasionally he complained 
 to her of his rheumatism no one had ever 
 heard him speak of it before and she would 
 beg him to take good care of himself, since 
 it was with him that she wished to dance first 
 at her ball. 
 
 There was one girl whom Mrs. Gilbert 
 sought as a friend for Gloria. She mentio'ned 
 it to her husband the first day their guest ar- 
 rived, and he suggested that she be invited to 
 lunch the next day. Accordingly Mrs. Gil- 
 bert telephoned Miss Laura Piper and asked 
 her. For the following day, however, Miss 
 Piper had an engagement. When several 
 other days were mentioned she had engage- 
 
 [108]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 ments for those also. Could she have been 
 made to accept Gloria, the task of conquering 
 Belmont would instantly become less arduous. 
 Her father was head of the great Piper Min- 
 ing Company, and her family was looked upon 
 as one of the most exclusive in the whole state. 
 If Laura Piper would, she could make it ex- 
 tremely pleasant for Gloria. But Laura 
 Piper had her own and her family's ideas 
 about the Kerr breed, and no matter how 
 nice Gloria might be, she was still her father's 
 daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert reported her lack of success 
 to her husband on his return from his first 
 trip to Chicago, and he mentioned it, almost 
 casually, to David Kerr when they met the 
 next day. The boss inquired the particulars, 
 but made no comment. That he was not un- 
 mindful of the episode developed two days 
 later when the Piper Coal Company received a 
 complaint from the secretary of the school 
 board that there was an undue quantity of 
 slate in the last coal furnished the public 
 schools. While worrying with this, the com- 
 
 [109]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 pany's legal department sent word to the presi- 
 dent that the city solicitor had just notified 
 the company that one of the important spurs 
 into an uptown coal yard crossed a street with- 
 out authority of law. 
 
 Old man Piper swore by all the gods in 
 mythology that it was the worst outrage ever 
 perpetrated upon him in all his business life. 
 He had but a day or two to catch his breath 
 before Mrs. Gilbert telephoned at the dinner 
 hour asking Laura to luncheon the next day. 
 The whole thing dawned on him when Laura 
 flounced back from the telephone and an- 
 nounced petulantly that she would not meet 
 that odious Gloria Kerr. He said nothing un- 
 til after dinner, then calling Laura aside he 
 ordered her to telephone Mrs. Gilbert and 
 withdraw her refusal. His pocketbook hav- 
 ing been hit, Piper was willing to make some 
 sacrifice to determine the reason and what he 
 was to expect in the way of further attack. 
 He kept his mouth closed, and waited. 
 
 Laura returned from the luncheon with a 
 favorable opinion of Gloria, but she could not 
 
 [no]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 forget her parentage. Upon being questioned 
 she told her father she did not care to put 
 Gloria on her visiting list. 
 
 "Suppose I have some one to visit me who 
 asks: 'Who is that girl you introduced me 
 to?' complained Laura. 'And I '11 have to 
 say, 'That 's Gloria Kerr, the boss's daughter.' 
 Then what will the visiting girl think of Bel- 
 mont society, and what will she think of me? 
 I 'm sure I would be surprised if I went to 
 visit any one and they introduced me to the son 
 or daughter of a man like Kerr." 
 
 "Laura," answered her father, "I think 
 you 'd better go down to New York for a cou- 
 ple of months." 
 
 And two days later Laura went, after hav- 
 ing called when Gloria was not at home. She 
 never knew why her father urged her to go. 
 
 Piper felt it would be cheaper to pay the 
 expense of a New York trip than to have his 
 company stand the continuous annoyances by 
 which it could be worried, if what he suspected 
 was true. When he inquired about coal 
 for the school board the complaint department 
 
 [in]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 reported that the secretary had been mollified 
 but hoped it would not happen again. As for 
 the city solicitor, the legal department re- 
 frained from asking anything about the track 
 across the street and that official never wrote 
 again. 
 
 Old man Piper kept his mouth shut, but 
 he knew he had been taught a lesson. 
 
 Kerr was keeping a sharp eye on things, 
 but his hand was suspected rather than seen 
 in any move that was made. As the time for 
 the ball approached, his rheumatism troubled 
 him more and more, and upon the advice of 
 Dr. Hayes he decided to go to Esmeralda 
 Springs to drink the water. Sam Hayes took 
 him down and came back with the comforting 
 report that he was already better. He was 
 not well enough, however, to return for the 
 ball. 
 
 The ball given in honor of Miss Gloria Kerr 
 at the Belmont Club by Judge and Mrs. Gil- 
 bert was a memorable affair. The ballroom 
 was crowded, and Gloria deserved the praise 
 she received from every quarter on her beauty, 
 
 [112]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 her cleverness, and her light-hearted tempera- 
 ment. She did not hear the expressions of 
 regret that she was the daughter of David 
 Kerr. The next morning the Belmont Ban- 
 ner had a two-column head over the story, and 
 gave a long list of names preceded by "among 
 those invited were," instead of by the usual 
 "among those present were." There were a 
 number notable by their absence, but there be- 
 ing a large crowd present and she being a 
 stranger, Gloria did not know this. She was 
 too busy with the men to think of what girls 
 were present. 
 
 Truth to tell, it was a fairly representative 
 assemblage, drawn together out of regard for 
 Judge and Mrs. Gilbert and also by curiosity 
 to see what kind of girl Gloria Kerr was. If 
 the president of the Piper Coal Company had 
 stopped the poker game at the Belmont Club 
 the night before to tell his experience there 
 would have been several young ladies among 
 those at the ball who did not lend the charm 
 of their presence to that occasion. 
 
 When Gloria danced with Wright, she 
 
 8 [113]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 searched the line to find a Belmont man to 
 compare with him, and to her thinking there 
 was not one in the same class. As for Wright, 
 his search was over the night they had met 
 again in Belmont. 
 
 In their first dance, holding her close as if 
 to shield her from all the world, he called to 
 mind the day at Versailles when together they 
 had wandered through the gardens. Then he 
 had repeated some verses from the book he had 
 given her on her birthday. Now as they 
 danced he whispered : 
 
 "Do you remember 
 
 Spring in the hills, Beloved, 
 
 On the side of a meadowed slope; 
 
 And love in our hearts, Beloved, 
 Love and Spring and Hope." 
 
 "I remember. We were going out there 
 again, but you never came back ; and so I went 
 alone." 
 
 "I wish you had taken our book," he said. 
 He always referred to the book of verses as 
 being their joint property. "It would have 
 told you what I was not there to say." 
 
 [114]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Gloria smiled. Never a word had been 
 said, but each understood. 
 
 "I knew one thing the book said," she con- 
 fessed. "It was what I said and said more 
 times than one: 
 
 Come over the sea to me, to me, 
 
 Come over the sea to me. 
 The little ships go sailing by 
 
 But never a ship brings thee !" 
 
 They danced, forgetful of everything but 
 that they were together. A man had cried in 
 the wilderness of the world for his mate and 
 she had answered. 
 
 Wright would have gone farther, have made 
 a formal declaration, but first he wanted sev- 
 eral things settled. He felt that he could not 
 stay in Belmont if he married Gloria. How 
 to get rid of the paper was a question. He 
 hoped through a newspaper broker to trade 
 it for one in some other place. Then he and 
 Gloria could begin life there together. The 
 News was beginning to make money, paying 
 its way and leaving something for future pay- 
 ments on the property. Best of all, there was 
 
 [115]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 no fight on his hands which would hold him in 
 Belmont. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert came into Gloria's room to kiss 
 her good night after the ball. When they had 
 talked over the affair for an hour the girl cried 
 in the ecstasy of her joy. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Gilbert, tonight I am the hap- 
 piest girl in the whole wide world." 
 
 On that very night Alderman Grunewald 
 introduced an ordinance giving the Belmont 
 Interurban Railway, a new corporation, right 
 of way down Maple Avenue and making pro- 
 vision that a small depot should be provided 
 for the convenience of patrons at Benton 
 Park. 
 
 [116]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN Wright reached his office the 
 morning after the ball, he found 
 his attorney, Arthur Morrison, 
 waiting for him. He had been drawn to Mor- 
 rison the first time he had met him and had 
 asked him to take care of the paper's legal 
 business. In this his judgment had not been 
 warped by a sudden friendship, for the young 
 lawyer was worthy of his confidence. Like 
 Judge Gilbert, he had risen from an humble 
 home, but unlike the adviser of Belmont 
 corporations he had make his way inde- 
 pendently of the malign influences which con- 
 stantly seem to seek to attract young men of 
 talent who follow the law as a profession. To 
 him both as his legal adviser and his friend, 
 Wright had talked freely and had rejoiced to 
 learn that Morrison's ideals and hopes for Bel- 
 mont were the same as his own. 
 
 [117]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Even if you hadn't asked me to watch 
 things with you while you are still a stranger 
 to Belmont," Morrison began, "I think I would 
 have come to you. Last night while we were 
 enjoying ourselves a bill was introduced in 
 the council for a car line down Maple Avenue." 
 
 "I saw an account of it in the Banner, and 
 thought it strange nothing had been made pub- 
 lic before it was introduced. Who wants the 
 franchise?" 
 
 "They 're under cover. It J s the Belmont 
 Interurban Company, a New Jersey corpora- 
 tion, and the men named as incorporates are 
 only dummies." 
 
 "That is n't usual, is it, with honest men?" 
 
 "I don't know anything more about it than 
 you do, but you 'd better investigate." 
 
 "When does the bill have its next reading?" 
 asked Wright, after considering what was the 
 paper's best move. 
 
 "Not until Tuesday night." 
 
 "That gives us five days. If we make a 
 noise won't they call a special meeting and 
 push it through?" 
 
 [118]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Kerr is n't likely to do that. He 's inter- 
 ested, I suppose, but how?" 
 
 "We '11 get busy to-day," Wright said de- 
 cisively. "A few pointed questions on the 
 front page may bring them out from under 
 cover." 
 
 In the conference which ensued the two men 
 discussed every possible phase of the question, 
 yet they never dreamed that it was part of the 
 stock-yards scheme. What aroused suspicion 
 as much as anything else was that there was 
 nothing they could find on which to base sus- 
 picion. When Morrison left it was with the 
 intention of scrutinizing a copy of the proposed 
 ordinance carefully. 
 
 Wright sent a reporter to interview Alder- 
 man Grunewald, and all other reporters were 
 instructed to find out what the public thought 
 of it and any definite facts that could be 
 brought to light. The city editor himself took 
 an hour off to go to the office of Rosenbaum 
 & Rosenbaum, who it was learned had given 
 Grunewald the bill to present for them. 
 
 The drag net which the News spread did 
 [119]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 not seem productive of results calculated to 
 bring anything to light. Alderman Grune- 
 wald had introduced it at the request of his 
 good friends Rosenbaum & Rosenbaum and 
 knew nothing about it. 
 
 Rosenbaum & Rosenbaum said that the 
 proposed franchise spoke for itself, and that 
 the road would prove of inestimable benefit to 
 Belmont, since in the near future it would be 
 extended to Corona, and all the people of that 
 little town and the villages along the line would 
 do their shopping in Belmont. The incorpora- 
 tes were Chicago men with plenty of capital 
 back of them. 
 
 Wright telegraphed a Chicago news agency 
 to find out who the incorporators were. At 
 his suggestion the city editor tried to get Kerr 
 at Esmeralda Springs by telephone, but was 
 unsuccessful. 
 
 Only one clue was found which of itself 
 was suspicious, and it was not one which could 
 be used that afternoon. The courthouse re- 
 porter had dropped into the county surveyor's 
 office, and talked about surveying in general 
 
 [120]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 and the work in Belmont County in particular. 
 Was anything going on just then? This 
 elicited the reply that the spring was not far 
 enough advanced for the usual work, but that 
 the stock-yards company had had men out. 
 What were they doing? They were seeing 
 how they could save their tracks along the river 
 and rearranging the quarantine tracks for 
 Texas cattle which were by themselves to the 
 east of the main yards. This was all the court- 
 house man brought back to the office, but it 
 was duly presented to Wright by the city 
 editor. 
 
 That afternoon Belmont rubbed its eyes as 
 it looked at the front page of the News. In 
 the last column under an extended head was 
 a story about the proposed car line down 
 Maple Avenue. It was not replete with facts 
 and figures, but it asked a great many ques- 
 tions and contained several interviews which 
 said nothing. Even the property owners along 
 Maple Avenue who had consented to the line 
 and then been pledged to secrecy until the mat- 
 ter was made public by the introduction of the 
 
 [121]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 bill in the council, knew nothing more than that 
 Rosenbaum & Rosenbaum had secured their 
 consent. 
 
 The Chicago News agency did not send 
 what information it gathered until too late for 
 use on that day. 
 
 Sam Hayes bought a paper on the street, 
 read the story, and rushed for a telephone. 
 He paid two dollars and thirty cents for the 
 privilege, one could not call it pleasure, of talk- 
 ing with Kerr at Esmeralda Springs. He 
 read the paper to the boss, the front page story 
 and the trenchant short editorial of inquiry. 
 Kerr asked that he be connected with Gilbert, 
 but already the judge was trying to get 
 Esmeralda Springs, having seen the News 
 just a few minutes after Hayes. Their con- 
 versation was short, Kerr knew the facts, and 
 it was mainly a discussion of how the Banner 
 should treat the matter in the morning. The 
 boss decided his paper should insist that the 
 News was trying to knock the town. The at- 
 tack was to be upon the News, thus diverting 
 attention from the real issue. This command, 
 
 [122]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 properly phrased, was dropped into the eager 
 ear of Deacon Winthrow, and he proceeded to 
 write a scathing editorial holding up to scorn 
 the paper which would try to barricade the 
 path of the car of progress. The deacon felt 
 proud of his editorial when he read it in the 
 proof, and was warmed with a self-satisfied 
 glow to think that he had thought of it. He 
 still lived in the age of personal journalism and 
 to lambast the other fellow personally was part 
 of his editorial creed. 
 
 Before the paper came out, Wright tele- 
 phoned Gloria that he would be unable to drive 
 with her but that he would call in the evening. 
 They had reached the point in their fast friend- 
 ship where she was not unwilling to pout and 
 let him know how disappointed she was. 
 
 It was four o'clock when Morrison arrived 
 at the News office with a copy of the proposed 
 franchise. As he threw it on the table in 
 Wright's private office he exclaimed: 
 
 "If that goes through, the company can do 
 anything according to its provision except 
 commit murder." 
 
 [123]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "I suspected as much," replied Wright. 
 "What right of way have they?" 
 
 Morrison went to the map of Belmont on 
 the wall and located the city terminus of the 
 proposed line. 
 
 "Here 's where they start on their own 
 tracks," he explained. "You see, there 's a 
 provision in the charter of the Belmont Trac- 
 tion Company whereby any interurban line can 
 use its tracks into the heart of the city upon 
 payment of a fair rental. Here 's the Town- 
 send Park Line coming down Bluff Street, 
 and right here where Bluff Street crosses 
 Maple Avenue the Interurban's own tracks 
 will start." 
 
 "Then how does it run?" 
 
 "South on Maple Avenue and Maple road, 
 to a private right of way which begins east of 
 the stock-yards and parallels the county road 
 to Corona." 
 
 Wright studied the map earnestly. 
 
 "You see, I 'm too new to know that neigh- 
 borhood," he said. "Why did they pick 
 Maple Avenue?" 
 
 [124]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "It 's the only street they can use in that 
 part of town. It 's the natural artery for that 
 new district out there, since there are hills on 
 both sides of it." 
 
 Wright still puzzled over the map. 
 
 "What are those red lines crossing Maple 
 Avenue about two blocks south of Bluff 
 Street?" was his next question. 
 
 "Those? They are the railway tracks of all 
 the lines entering Belmont except those that 
 come down the river from the north." 
 
 "Are they going to build a viaduct there ?" 
 
 "Nothing is said about it." 
 
 The new venture would be a good thing for 
 Belmont if the company would confine itself 
 to good works. The most objectionable thing 
 was the lack of frankness on the part of the 
 men back of the enterprise. Here was a 
 corporation seeking to serve the public and not 
 taking the public into its confidence. 
 
 While Morrison and the publisher of the 
 News were canvassing the situation, a telegram 
 from the Chicago News Agency was delivered 
 to Wright. It read: 
 
 [125]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Hammersley is the private secretary of 
 Adolphus Koerner, Koerner & Co., packers. 
 Others are clerks in law office of Kendall, 
 Strang & Kendall." 
 
 "By George!" exclaimed Wright. "The 
 stock-yards company!" 
 
 Then he remembered what the county sur- 
 veyor had innocently told. There could be no 
 doubt of it. The stock-yards company was 
 making some move which it did not dare make 
 openly. 
 
 "It looks like it," assented Morrison. 
 "Have you any idea what they want?" 
 
 "Not the slightest. They 're not fighting 
 the traction company, I know." 
 
 This, thought Wright, explained Gilbert's 
 many visits to Chicago recently. The stock- 
 yards attorney had apparently no connection 
 with the new company, but Wright and Mor- 
 rison, too, when it was explained to him, were 
 both of the opinion that he was directing every 
 move. If he was in it, David Kerr was in it; 
 
 [126]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 and if David Kerr was in it, he was not in it 
 for his health. 
 
 In seeking to unravel the tangled skein they 
 now had a loose end to work with. They could 
 not imagine, however, why the stock-yards 
 company was entering the street car field in 
 such a peculiar manner. 
 
 Wright sat with his chair tilted back against 
 the wall, his hands behind his head, gazing at 
 the map on the wall opposite. 
 
 "Morrison, a newspaper man has to trust in 
 many cases to his sixth sense ; that 's his nose 
 for news, for the big story. Often he misses 
 fire, but when he does hit the bull's-eye every- 
 body knows it." Such was Wright's preamble 
 as he brought his chair down on the floor and 
 prepared to tell the lawyer what his sixth sense 
 had made him feel was the real object of the 
 game. "The stock -yards company is prepar- 
 ing to steal a street." 
 
 "What!" gasped Morrison. "What makes 
 you think so?" 
 
 "Everything. See how the river is eating 
 [127]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 up the only tracks to the stock -yard. They Ve 
 got to get to the yards farther east. Maple 
 Avenue is the easiest way. The franchise says 
 nothing about what kind of cars are to run, 
 how they are to be propelled, or what they are 
 to carry. I '11 bet they are going to run cat- 
 tle cars filled with hogs and sheep and cattle 
 down Maple Avenue, and pull them with 
 steam engines, too." 
 
 "I won't believe it," protested the lawyer. 
 "Maple Avenue is a residence street!" 
 
 "The stock-yards company is a foreign cor- 
 poration interested only in dividends." 
 
 "Look at Benton Park!" 
 
 "Yes, take a good look; you won't want to 
 in a year from now." 
 
 "I don't believe it." 
 
 "Any way, that 's the theory I 'm going on. 
 If it is correct, I Ve struck the nail on the 
 head with my first guess. If it is wrong, I '11 
 keep hammering away until the public de- 
 mands and is given the truth. If I 'm wrong, 
 then they '11 soon be smoked out. They can't 
 stand being so misinterpreted when asking the 
 
 [128]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 public for a favor. But I 'm right, I tell you. 
 They 're going to connect with the railway 
 tracks where they cross Maple Avenue two 
 blocks below Bluff Street. Such a belt line 
 railway will be extremely valuable." 
 
 It was after six o'clock before they decided 
 to leave the office. As every pro and con of 
 the situation had not been exhausted, they ad- 
 journed to the Belmont Club for dinner and 
 there continued puzzling over the franchise 
 and its meaning. 
 
 Shortly before eight o'clock Wright drained 
 his coffee cup and looked across the table at his 
 companion. 
 
 "Doing anything tonight?" he inquired. 
 
 "No. Nothing on hand that I know of." 
 
 "I 'm calling on Miss Kerr to-night. I 
 want you to go with me; I can't go alone." 
 
 "I shall be very glad to," replied the young 
 lawyer, successfully concealing his surprise. 
 
 Wright realized the fight was on. He also 
 
 knew what Gloria had come to mean to him, 
 
 and after what they had said last night he was 
 
 afraid to see her alone. Now his first duty 
 
 9 [129]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 was to the public, that public which so often 
 accepts benefits and sacrifices all unconscious 
 of its own gain and what the cost has been. 
 For the general good, for an ideal, for his be- 
 lief in what a paper should be, he was putting 
 aside just for the time, his heart told him 
 the one woman who could make him supremely 
 happy. 
 
 The deferring of hope was heavy upon 
 Wright's heart as with Morrison he walked in 
 silence to Gilbert's house. To himself he 
 kept repeating some verses from their "birth- 
 day book" : 
 
 In the twilight we parted, 
 In the night broken-hearted 
 We dreamed a sweet dream. 
 Then we met and we parted 
 Again broken-hearted, 
 But dreams come again. 
 
 [130]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE story Wright had printed the first 
 day and the reply it drew from the 
 Banner the next morning caused the 
 News to be awaited with undisguised eager- 
 ness on the second afternoon. This was 
 heightened on the part of the men in the syn- 
 dicate interested in the franchise by the perti- 
 nent questions put to them in the morning by 
 News reporters. David Kerr was called on 
 the telephone half a dozen times by his lieuten- 
 ants, and arrangements were made to have a 
 line open to Esmeralda Springs at three- 
 thirty, the hour when the News was issued. 
 
 Although they were prepared to discount 
 some of the story because of the questions 
 asked them, yet none of the ring men was pre- 
 pared for a revelation of the scheme such as 
 the News made. Black headlines ran across 
 four columns and the story also took up most 
 
 [131]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 of the second page. There was a map of the 
 proposed inter-urban route, and pictures of 
 pretty homes on Maple Avenue. But from 
 one end of the story to the other there was no 
 mention of David Kerr or of the local backing 
 being given the bill before the council. It was 
 expressly stated that the incorporates of the 
 new company were merely dummies and 
 that they were acting in the interest of the 
 stock-yards company. 
 
 Amos Gilbert in an interview denied any 
 knowledge of the transaction, saying that his 
 connection with the stock-yards company was 
 merely nominal and that he did not even know 
 if the company was interested in the line 
 proposed. He did not see how, as a company, 
 it could be. 
 
 Gilbert sat in his office as soon as he secured 
 a paper and read the story word for word over 
 the telephone to Kerr. The latter promptly 
 announced that he would be home the next 
 day, and ordered that Gloria be taken from 
 Belmont on any pretext whatever for a few 
 days until the fight had been allowed to die 
 
 [132]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 down. The next day was Sunday, on which 
 Wright published no paper, and Kerr would 
 be home before another issue appeared. He 
 agreed with Gilbert that the Banner ought to 
 ridicule the alleged expose. 
 
 Sunday night, much to her surprise but not 
 much against her will, Gloria went to St. Louis 
 with Mrs. Gilbert to pick out furniture for 
 Locust Lawn. She did not know that her fa- 
 ther had returned from Esmeralda Springs 
 that morning and had been closeted all after- 
 noon with Gilbert and John Kendall, who had 
 hurried to Belmont in response to a tele- 
 gram. The girl had not seen Wright all day, 
 nor had she seen him Saturday, but there came 
 from him a box of roses at noon. Little witch 
 that she was, she meant to surprise him by 
 sending him a note of thanks from St. Louis. 
 She knew he would join her and Mrs. Gilbert 
 there on her hint that they would be glad to 
 see him. 
 
 Wright received her note and perceived the 
 slightly veiled invitation, but he was too busy 
 even to answer. It was a week that contained 
 
 [133]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 more excitement than Belmont had seen 
 since, a frontier village, it had struggled with 
 the question of whether the state should se- 
 cede or remain in the Union. David Kerr 
 found himself confronted by a formidable line 
 of battle. The Banner kept pounding away 
 at the News, but the afternoon paper was not 
 to be diverted from its purpose. The citizens 
 on Maple Avenue formed the Maple League, 
 and wore buttons on which were a maple leaf 
 and the legend, "Help us save our homes." 
 The car line was to run through the seventh 
 and eighth wards, and the aldermen in those 
 wards were deluged with letters, post cards, 
 telephone calls and personal visits. Finally 
 they went to David Kerr and begged him that 
 if he had enough votes without them to let 
 them oppose the franchise as they were in the 
 midst of their canvass for re-election. The 
 boss held them in line. 
 
 The bill had its second reading at the coun- 
 cil meeting Tuesday, but under orders from 
 Kerr nothing further was done with it at that 
 time. He began to worry about the approach- 
 
 [134]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 ing election. What to him was the passing 
 of the bill at that time compared to the control 
 of the city for the next two years? If he let 
 it sleep now and the election went his way 
 then it could be passed soon after. By the 
 time another election rolled around, Belmont 
 would have forgotten. 
 
 So it came about that the democrats tried 
 to forget the franchise. When the bill dis- 
 appeared they were loud in their denunciation 
 of the republican thieves who had stolen it. 
 With this outburst they were willing to subside 
 and forget the matter, but this the News 
 would not permit. Wright kept it to the 
 front and the democrats were forced to ac- 
 cept it as an issue. The continuous attitude 
 of apology necessitated by this was weakening 
 them every day. The independent wave 
 which had been sweeping over the country 
 had been late in striking Belmont, there hav- 
 ing been no newspaper to marshal the forces, 
 but now it was increasing to the volume of a 
 tidal wave which Kerr would have hard work 
 pouring oil upon. 
 
 [135]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 The editor of the News recognized that it 
 was only a Phyrric victory he had won by 
 securing the shelving of the franchise for the 
 present. He was not blind to the fact that 
 the franchise would bob up serenely after elec- 
 tion. Now that he had aroused the town and 
 had committed himself to a fight against the 
 ring, he determined to carry it on. It had 
 not been his purpose, before the franchise bill 
 had drawn his fire, to enter with great heat 
 into the coming election campaign, but he saw 
 that the impetus given the opponents of the 
 machine would carry them well on toward vic- 
 tory at the polls. Carrying the election 
 would be a great advertisement for the paper. 
 If it lost, the News could not be any worse 
 off than it was now. 
 
 Kerr forgot none of the precautions he had 
 taken in being prepared to embarrass Wright 
 in his work if the occasion should arise. The 
 merchants who, through Kerr's influence, had 
 patronized the News, suddenly withdrew their 
 advertising. Many who had been in before 
 the paper had changed hands now ceased to 
 
 [136)
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 use its columns. If a grocery store was using 
 the News and furnishing supplies to the work- 
 house or the jail, it faced the alternative of 
 losing a fat account or confining its advertising 
 to the Banner. The proprietor, being part of 
 the machine, else nothing would ever have 
 been purchased from him for the city's use, 
 promptly gave up the News. It was the same 
 with meat markets. Other lines of business 
 were approached in other ways, but the result 
 was always the same, a loss of advertising 
 revenue to the News. Even the railroads 
 were derelict in delivering his white paper, 
 and Wright spent many an anxious hour trac- 
 ing cars from the mill to find them lost in the 
 Belmont yards. 
 
 One valuable source of information was de- 
 veloped by the News in a former machine 
 hanger-on named Jack Durken. He came to 
 work in the circulation department of the pa- 
 per, and Wright first heard of him through 
 the circulation manager. At Wright's re- 
 quest the man came to his office and from his 
 story the editor gathered that he had not re- 
 
 [137]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ceived fair treatment at the hands of the other 
 gangsters. He had lived in the disreputable 
 first ward, and had had trouble with Mike 
 Noonan, a ward leader. For his work he had 
 been made a street cleaning inspector, but 
 after having incurred the ire of Noonan had 
 lost his job. 
 
 Nothing the enemy did was able to keep 
 Wright from publishing a paper every day. 
 Every issue was a constant reminder to Bel- 
 mont that things were not as they should be 
 and that the way to remedy conditions was to 
 defeat the city machine at the polls. The ed- 
 itor spent all his daylight hours at his office, 
 and often was there until late in the night in 
 conference with various leaders. The repub- 
 licans had some old scores to settle, and this 
 was their chance. The postmaster was usu- 
 ally to be found on Kerr's side, although under 
 cover, but this time he could not afford to use 
 his influence for the democrats in city affairs 
 even for a consideration. The democratic 
 boss knew the game too well to press him. 
 
 In the last days of the campaign the re- 
 
 [138]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 publican leaders learned with surprise that 
 Senator McMinitry, the state republican boss, 
 was coming to Belmont for a day. They had 
 not sent for him, and were at a loss to account 
 for the visit. He had not taken any one into 
 his confidence, merely saying he was coming 
 on business. Why he should journey from 
 Washington to Belmont for so short a stay 
 they could not understand. He gave it out 
 that he was making a flying visit to his home, 
 but he came straight to Belmont. Only two 
 men besides the senator knew his mission, the 
 emissary who carried the message to Wash- 
 ington and the man who sent for him. David 
 Kerr wanted to see him. 
 
 It was only three days before election when 
 Senator McMinitry visited Belmont. He 
 went to the Hotel Belmont and took a suite of 
 rooms, but did not register. After talking to 
 David Kerr over the telephone, he ordered an 
 early luncheon for two served in his pri- 
 vate parlor. Kerr arrived before the table 
 was spread and immediately began to explain 
 the situation. All through the meal the two
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 men talked, McMinitry questioning and Kerr 
 explaining. 
 
 Practical politics was the business of Sen- 
 ator James McMinitry just as it was of Mr. 
 David Kerr. He had grown up in a repub- 
 lican stronghold and had seen that his chance 
 was with that party, just as Kerr had seen that 
 in Belmont. his success lay in corraling the 
 democratic party. Jim McMinitry liked to 
 pose before the public and to make flamboyant 
 speeches. Kerr preferred to sit in his dingy 
 real estate office and pull the strings that made 
 the puppets dance. To him speech making 
 and posing were like the tinsel on a drum ma- 
 jor's uniform. He cared only for power, it 
 was immaterial to him how gaudy glory was 
 apportioned. 
 
 "It looks like he 's got you in bad, Dave," 
 said the senator. "I don't see how I can help 
 you this trip." 
 
 Kerr slowly set down his glass of water and 
 straightened up in his chair, for he knew that 
 the deal was now under way. He had played 
 
 [140]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 fair with Jim McMinitry and told him just 
 the exact situation. 
 
 "Lots o' things can happen, Jim. I Ve de- 
 cided to get his paper, but I need votes. It 's 
 too close to election. You ain't going to let 
 him play you for a sucker. We Ve got to 
 clean him, or he '11 turn on you just as he has 
 on me." 
 
 "I guess I ought to wait till he does," was 
 the cautious response. "I Ve got enough 
 troubles without going out and lassoing a 
 young grizzly bear." 
 
 "He ain't got no party," urged Kerr, "and 
 you know how it happens in them towns where 
 such a paper gits a start. He 's got these 
 fools in Belmont believing he 's George Wash- 
 ington come to life again." 
 
 "I 'm sorry for you, Dave, but honestly I 
 don't see where I can help out any. It would 
 give me too black an eye, because the boys 
 here have set their hearts on winning this 
 time." 
 
 Kerr saw that McMinitry was forcing his 
 
 [141]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 hand, and he decided to approach the situation 
 from another side. 
 
 "The next legislature '11 elect your succes- 
 sor," he suggested. 
 
 "I 'm going to be my own successor," as- 
 serted the senator. 
 
 "It 's going to be a hot fight," continued 
 Kerr, unmindful of McMinitry's remark. 
 "The state will swing back to the democrats, 
 but nobody knows how the legislature '11 be 
 on joint ballot." 
 
 "It 's going to be republican if I can have 
 anything to say about it." 
 
 "Well, you don't seem to be going about it 
 very actively," retorted Kerr with the nearest 
 approach to sarcasm he permitted himself dur- 
 ing the interview. "Even if the legislature 
 is republican, you Ve got a fight on your hands. 
 There 's Congressman Jenkinson and old man 
 Graham down in Washington County. He 's 
 almost as strong with the G. A. R. vote as you 
 are, and his part of the state ain't had no rec- 
 ognition for a long time." 
 
 McMinitry did not answer at once. He 
 
 [142]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 got up from the table and walked to the win- 
 dow. When at last he turned to Kerr the 
 question had been gone over thoroughly in 
 his mind. 
 
 "Well, Dave," he asked with a smile, 
 "what's the answer?" 
 
 "You Ve got to knife your ticket, so 's these 
 fool reformers can't carry Belmont." 
 
 "What 'd I get out of it?" drawled out the 
 senator. 
 
 "Seven votes in the house and two in the sen- 
 ate." 
 
 Again the republican apostle of practical 
 politics sat back and took stock of the situa- 
 tion. Belmont was nothing to him. It mat- 
 tered nothing at all to him whether the town 
 was democratic or republican as far as city 
 affairs were concerned. Nine votes were not 
 to be despised. He was cautious, however, 
 and wanted particulars. 
 
 "How you going to deliver?" he asked. 
 
 "We Ve got that many to run this fall and 
 I '11 let the republicans have it their own way. 
 Name your men now if you want to." 
 
 [143]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "That many 's bound to make the legisla- 
 ture republican on joint ballot." 
 
 Kerr knew this, but he was quite willing to 
 change the political complexion of the legis- 
 lature of a great state, perhaps hamper the 
 governor in wise and necessary legislation and 
 keep the state from having a democratic sen- 
 ator, all to hold Belmont for his own. Mc- 
 Minitry was no less willing to change victory 
 into defeat and hand the city over to the rapac- 
 ity of the Interurban Railway Company, only 
 to retain his senatorial office. 
 
 "All right," he consented, "but you Ve got 
 to do two things : take care of some of the boys 
 and muzzle the News. I can't have that pa- 
 per making trouble for me." 
 
 "I '11 take care of the boys all right, and 
 I Ve told you what I 'm going to do I 'm 
 going to buy the News." 
 
 "Can you?" 
 
 "I 've got to have it, and I don't care how, 
 but it 's got to be mine." 
 
 "Got any idea?" asked the senator. 
 
 "No, but every man 's got his price, Jim, in 
 
 [144]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 some form or other." If he had had time for 
 reflection, David Kerr would have enjoyed 
 this remark, since it was given a humorous 
 turn by the fact that he had just discovered 
 the price of the junior senator from his own 
 state. 
 
 "I '11 go up to the post office and call on 
 some of the boys," said McMinitry as Kerr 
 rose to go. "I '11 have to tell Davidson and 
 Peake. When you get word to them that the 
 News is friendly, they '11 pass the word along. 
 You Ve got three days ; that ought to be plenty 
 of time, but you must have the paper or the 
 deal 's off. Who '11 take it?" 
 
 "I don't know yet who we '11 get to take it:" 
 
 "I '11 take it." 
 
 "Not much," Kerr replied grimly. "I 'm 
 going to put it where it won't be no more trou- 
 ble to me, and it 's going to be run from my 
 office." 
 
 [145]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "W" IT "THEN Gloria Kerr returned from 
 %/%/ St. Louis she found half a hun- 
 dred calling cards awaiting her. 
 The women she was anxious to meet had called 
 while she was out of town. Those who de- 
 layed their visits until her return were people 
 whom she readily recognized as being quite on 
 the outer fringe of society. In them she was 
 not interested. When Gloria went to return 
 the calls of those whom she had come to know 
 were regarded as the first families of Belmont, 
 she found no one at home. 
 
 Somewhat mortified, but making no con- 
 fession of her feelings even to Mrs. Gilbert, 
 Gloria threw herself into the work of remod- 
 eling Locust Lawn with all the vigor she would 
 otherwise have expanded upon social duties. 
 Her active superintendence kept her a good 
 part of the time in the country, although she 
 
 [146]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 still made her home with Mrs. Gilbert. Some- 
 times she would pass the night at Locust Lawn 
 out of a sense of duty to her father. The 
 evenings spent in his company were not ones 
 of unalloyed pleasure. More and more she 
 was coming to acknowledge to herself that her 
 father did not, could not enter into her life, 
 into the activities which gave her pleasure. 
 
 Kerr honestly tried, but it was impossible. 
 For one thing, he was engaged in a heated 
 political campaign, fighting to retain suprem- 
 acy. Gloria, on her side, saw that she had 
 been rebuffed socially, and was not on close 
 enough terms of intimacy with her father to 
 tell him about it. The girl knew that he had 
 been the social leader in Belmont, and she was 
 ashamed that she had not been able to win all 
 hearts as he had done. 
 
 Gloria's admiration of her father's powers 
 did not lessen upon their better acquaintance. 
 Strange as it may seem, her loyalty to him 
 was strengthened by each turn of fortune's 
 wheel which thrust her back upon herself. 
 The frivolous veneer in her nature was being 
 
 [147]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 worn away, and the real Gloria was beginning 
 to appear. Kerr's was indeed a powerful per- 
 sonality, and Gloria was coming to see why he 
 was so successful. A woman's intuition and 
 not an understanding of the facts in the case 
 was the girl's tutor. She hugged to her heart 
 the comparison of Joe Wright and her father. 
 In the younger man she saw some of the traits 
 which made her father a power magnetism, 
 reserve strength, and a logical mind. Wright 
 had that and more: he had all the social 
 graces. To her, however, his greatest appeal 
 was that he was youth, eternal youth, and love. 
 What Gloria could not understand was why 
 Wright was avoiding her. In her ears she 
 could hear him whisper as he had that night : 
 
 Spring on the hills, Beloved, 
 
 On the side of a meadowed slope; 
 
 And Love in our hearts, Beloved, 
 Love and Spring and Hope. 
 
 Now was spring here, and hope and the 
 promise of love, but he did not come. After 
 her return from St. Louis she had waited in 
 vain; Then she had asked to have him invited 
 
 [148]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 to dinner. When Mrs. Gilbert telephoned 
 him he refused owing to press of business, but 
 asked to speak to Gloria. She came to the 
 telephone and they had a pleasant chat. He 
 told her that he was busy finishing some maga- 
 zine articles which the editor was pressing him 
 for, and that he was working night and day. 
 For the time being Gloria accepted this expla- 
 nation. The day of their telephone conversa- 
 tion there came from him a box of red roses at 
 the dinner hour. 
 
 It must not be thought that Gloria was en- 
 tirely cut off from society. It was the society 
 she craved, the intimate association with cer- 
 tain ones, which she was not finding. To all 
 the formal functions Gloria was invited, but 
 she no longer cared for big balls as formerly. 
 Her dances were all taken, but there was some- 
 thing in the atmosphere which dampened her 
 spirits. Although every one was superficially 
 pleasant, there was no cordiality in it all. So 
 she busied herself more and more with remod- 
 eling her country home. 
 
 One day at Locust Lawn a man engaged 
 [149]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 in digging the foundation for the new porch 
 touched his hat and called Mrs. Hayes by 
 name. She stopped to talk to him and be- 
 trayed a knowledge of his family affairs which 
 astonished Gloria. After they had passed, 
 the girl questioned her about the workman 
 and how she came to know him. 
 
 "His wife came to the mission for help last 
 winter when he was sick," Mrs. Hayes ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Gloria looked at the man in the trench, bend- 
 ing his back in pain that she might have a place 
 to serve tea in the afternoon and loll in a 
 swinging seat in the moonlight. He was but 
 a unit out of those teeming millions of units to 
 whose very existence she had always been in- 
 different. Had she been told in other days 
 that this man's family had almost died of want 
 she would have let it stay in her mind no longer 
 than the news that a hundred poor girls had 
 been burned to death in a fire trap a bribed fac- 
 tory inspector had branded as safe. In other 
 words, she would not have considered the mat- 
 ter at all. To have dominion over palm and 
 
 [150]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 pine to Gloria meant only that from these lands 
 should be gathered the best there was for the 
 lords of the earth. And of that order she 
 knew herself to be one. 
 
 Sin and suffering were familiar to her in 
 the abstract, sodden wretches she had seen in- 
 vade even Fifth Avenue, but that back of all 
 were stories of weaknesses, misfortunes, op- 
 pression, inhuman exploitation, and man's in- 
 humanity to man she had not considered. She 
 believed they were born into their caste just as 
 she was born into hers. 
 
 Now as she listened to this workman talk, 
 heard his story from Mrs. Hayes, learned that 
 he had little children dependent upon him just 
 as she had been dependent upon her father be- 
 fore he had made a settlement upon her, mak- 
 ing her independent, Gloria began to realize 
 that there was such a thing as the fellowship 
 of man. She was not uncharitable. When- 
 ever any appeal had been made to her she had 
 always emptied her pocketbook thought- 
 lessly and considered her duty done. Now the 
 thought of personal service came to her. She 
 
 [151]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 was ignorant of what she could do, even of its 
 power to bring her any measure of happiness, 
 but it was worth trying. 
 
 They had driven in silence almost to town 
 before Gloria turned to Mrs. Hayes and said: 
 
 "Mrs. Hayes, the next time you go to the 
 mission I want you to take me." 
 
 Several days later Gloria went with Mrs. 
 Hayes to view at close range the work being 
 done in the poorer quarters of Belmont by the 
 Presbyterian Mission. She met Mrs. Wal- 
 lace, the matron, and from her learned the 
 story of the humble but unfortunate toilers, 
 and the evils to which they were constantly a 
 prey through their ignorance and inability to 
 protect themselves. Gloria then accompanied 
 her on a round of visits, and soon the girl's in- 
 terest was such that on the days Mrs. Hayes 
 went to the mission she was glad to go with 
 her. 
 
 The boss was disturbed at his daughter's 
 trips into the lowest quarters of Belmont. 
 
 "This ain't no kind o' play, girl," he com- 
 plained. "Why don't you stick to society?" 
 
 [152]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Society!" she replied with fine scorn. 
 "Why doesn't society stick to me!" 
 
 "What 's the matter?" 
 
 He had been quick to catch the note of un- 
 happiness. His daughter had not meant to 
 say anything, but the words had slipped out 
 before she could think. She now tried to erase 
 the impression by saying: 
 
 "Matter? Nothing. Why?" 
 
 The boss's suspicions were not to be so 
 lulled. 
 
 "You 're keepin' somethin' back from me, 
 Gloria. What is it?" 
 
 "No, I 'm not," she insisted. 
 
 "Has any one done anythin' or said anythin' 
 to you?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "But somethin 's back o' all this. You ain't 
 happy. Any body can see that. Now what 's 
 it all about?" He waited for her to reply, but 
 she would not speak. "Can't you answer?" 
 
 Forced into a corner, unable to turn the con- 
 versation, Gloria saw no way of escape, and 
 finally stammered: 
 
 [1531
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "It 's it 's well it 's just an atmos- 
 phere." 
 
 "You go every place." 
 
 "To all the big things, yes." 
 
 "People are nice to you." 
 
 She hesitated, but finally said, "Ye-es." 
 
 "Ain't they?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so," she admitted in a life- 
 less manner. "Perhaps I 'm not used to west- 
 ern ways, yet the nice people look just like nice 
 people look back East." 
 
 "What 's different then?" 
 
 "They seem to keep me at arm's length. I 
 don't see why. You 're the biggest man in 
 Belmont, and yet I " She did not finish the 
 sentence. 
 
 "Yet I what?" he urged. 
 
 "I don't understand, that 's all." 
 
 "Who, for instance?" 
 
 Gloria thought for a moment, and resolved 
 only to name persons in a general way. 
 
 "Well, Letty Loomis." 
 
 "Old John Loomis's daughter?" 
 
 "Is he the big wholesale grocer?" 
 
 [154]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "That 's him. What 'd she do?" 
 
 "I tell you she did n't do anything. It 's 
 just an atmosphere." 
 
 "Huh! A beautiful lot o' airs she 's got a 
 right to put on," snorted the boss. "D' you 
 know how old Loomis made his money?" 
 
 "Out of groceries, did n't he?" 
 
 "Groceries, nothin'. That 's just a stall. 
 He 's got a warehouse chuck full of rotten 
 whisky he sells in prohibition Kansas. That 's 
 his real business. He don't sell enough gro- 
 ceries in a year to feed a first class boardin' 
 house. I would n't let him sell anything to the 
 poor farm. Don't let that girl o' his put it 
 over you any. And they say he passes the 
 plate in church! Gad, I hate a hypocrite. 
 I '11 make him sweat for it." 
 
 Her father was so wrought up that Gloria 
 was afraid to speak further, but when he in- 
 sisted she told of several instances of which she 
 had been pleased to term antagonistic atmos- 
 phere, and in each case Kerr related some 
 disgraceful characteristic of the head of the 
 family. Once he did not hesitate to give his 
 
 [155]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 opinion of a society woman whose history he 
 knew well. This intimate knowledge of Bel- 
 mont affairs and his belittling references to 
 leading citizens made Gloria reach the conclu- 
 sion that in some way he was in a class by 
 himself. This caused her to soothe him with 
 the remark: 
 
 "Father, I think they 're jealous because 
 you 're head and shoulders above them all." 
 
 She might not love him, but her pride in him 
 and her loyalty to him were all the greater for 
 the lack of love. She felt that she was at fault 
 for not having that true filial regard which 
 other daughters had for their fathers, and 
 therefore whenever she could she strengthened 
 her faith in him as Belmont's leading citizen. 
 She was proud to be his daughter. 
 
 [156]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ON" the day of his interview with Mc- 
 Minitry Kerr had asked Kendall and 
 Dr. Hayes to meet him at Judge Gil- 
 bert's office directly after luncheon. At this 
 conference he intended to tell them they would 
 have to acquire the News. The transfer of 
 the property need not be made until after the 
 election, but he wanted to know at once that 
 it was his. 
 
 The boss was late, and the three men had to 
 wait some time for him. 
 
 "I would n't want the boys to know it," said 
 Gilbert disconsolately, "but I 'm afraid he 's 
 got us beat." 
 
 Kendall was hopeful still. 
 
 "It 's three days till election," he urged. 
 "Anything can happen in that time." 
 
 "I wish I believed in miracles like you do," 
 was Dr. Hayes's rueful comment. 
 
 [157]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Only a miracle can save us," added Judge 
 Gilbert gloomily. 
 
 "I tell you, gentlemen," insisted Kendall, 
 "I still think Dave Kerr can swing it." 
 
 "All the same," answered the coroner, "when 
 I went out to stick my good money in real es- 
 tate options on factory sites I wish I 'd been 
 riding Balaam's ass." 
 
 The others' laugh at his expense was cut 
 short by the entrance of David Kerr. 
 
 "How 's it look, Mr. Kerr?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 "It might be worse," was the reply. "We 
 count the votes, don't we?" 
 
 Gilbert was not optimistic. 
 
 "I 'm afraid it is n't going to be that close." 
 
 "Have you heard anything from the elev- 
 enth?" queried Kendall. 
 
 "I had a talk with Sweeney this morning, 
 and he said he could put enough stock-yards 
 people in the 'leventh to deliver the ward all 
 right. Bauernschmidt was in my office at the 
 same time. He 's up against it in the sixth." 
 
 "Then we can't count on much outside the 
 river wards," said Kendall. 
 
 [158]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Kerr nodded his head. He could have 
 added that the river ward men would vote early 
 and often, but that there was no occasion for 
 it. It was an open secret that for several 
 weeks floaters had been colonized in the levee 
 district. 
 
 "We can't count on much besides them 
 wards," explained Kerr, "unless the Belmont 
 News goes out of business." 
 
 "What can we do about it?" inquired 
 Hayes. He saw defeat staring them in the 
 face. 
 
 "Sam," replied the boss after a moment's 
 silence, "every man 's got his price in some 
 form or other." 
 
 "News or no News, we Ve got to win," ex- 
 claimed Kendall desperately. "I Ve staked 
 everything on it in Chicago and I must get re- 
 sults and that means a franchise and nothing 
 but a franchise." 
 
 "Then we Ve got to have that paper at any 
 cost." 
 
 "It 's mortgaged for all it 's worth," said 
 Gilbert. 
 
 [159]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "That won't help us in the next three days," 
 snapped Kendall. 
 
 "There ain't no use mincing matters," con- 
 cluded the boss. "We 're up against it. 
 There 's only one thing to do ; see what he '11 
 sell for, and pay him his price." 
 
 Judge Gilbert looked at the matter from 
 the point of view of a business lawyer. 
 
 "It won't be cash down for the whole thing. 
 We merely assume the mortgage, and then pay 
 him whatever he '11 take to clear out." 
 
 Kerr had figured all this out. With him 
 time was the most important consideration. 
 
 "We Ve got to get busy mighty quick," said 
 the boss. 
 
 "When are you going to see him?" asked 
 KendaU. 
 
 "Right away." 
 
 "We can't very well go to his office," said 
 Gilbert. "Even that little move would give 
 him more of an advantage." 
 
 "Get him over here," ordered Kerr. "Tele- 
 phone him. He '11 come. You need n't say 
 who 's here." 
 
 [160]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Judge Gilbert picked up the telephone on 
 the table and asked Williams, his secretary, 
 who sat in the outer office, to get Mr. Wright 
 at the Belmont News on the line for him. 
 
 Judge Gilbert's offices consisted of an outer 
 room where sat his secretary; within, where 
 Kerr and his lieutenants were in conference, 
 was the library, a large room looking out on 
 the main thoroughfare of Belmont; and from 
 this, opposite the outer reception room, there 
 opened two smaller rooms, one of which Gil- 
 bert used as his private office, the other as a 
 room for consultations. 
 
 When Gilbert finished telephoning, he said, 
 "He 's busy going over the proofs of some late 
 stuff for this afternoon's paper, but he '11 be 
 over in half an hour or so." 
 
 11 
 
 [161]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN Gloria found that the Pres- 
 byterian Mission was in need of 
 money in order to extend its work, 
 she suggested to Mrs. Hayes that they go 
 among their friends, explain the situation and 
 ask money for their charity. One of the first 
 upon whom they called was Judge Gilbert. 
 Williams explained that the judge was busy 
 for a few minutes and asked them to be seated. 
 He did not know if the men cared to be both- 
 ered with mere women on such a day. 
 
 When Williams announced that Miss Kerr 
 and Mrs. Hayes wished to see him, Judge Gil- 
 bert asked Kerr if he knew the meaning of the 
 visit. 
 
 "They got some sort o' mission work they 're 
 beggin' for. It 's just a polite shake down." 
 "I did n't know she had taken it up that seri- 
 [162]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ously. I just thought she went down with 
 Mrs. Hayes out of curiosity." 
 
 "Women is queer creatures, Amos. Glo- 
 ria 's spendin' lots of her time with Sam's wife 
 savin' souls. You 're in for it. She got me to 
 subscribe a hundred dollars. Wanted my 
 name to head the list. I told her to put me 
 down as Cheerful Giver. Said I was castin' 
 bread on the water without any hope o' gittin' 
 it back. Them mission things is usually 
 fakes." 
 
 The boss's further opinion concerning settle- 
 ment work was not voiced because, while Kerr 
 was talking, Judge Gilbert had telephoned 
 Williams to usher Mrs. Hayes and Miss Kerr 
 into the library. 
 
 Followed by the other men, Gilbert advanced 
 to meet them, and after the usual greetings 
 had been exchanged, offered them chairs. 
 
 "You must pardon us," began Mrs. Hayes. 
 "We did not expect to find you so busy. To 
 tell the truth, we did n't expect to find two 
 persons here whom we have already visited." 
 She looked at Kerr and her husband. 
 
 [163]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "I 'm the Cheerful Giver," said Kerr with a 
 humorous grimace which pretended to show 
 that the donation was not so cheerfully parted 
 with. 
 
 "I 'm not so cheerful, but I was a giver," 
 added Dr. Hayes. 
 
 "I told Judge Gilbert to lock the safe, that 
 I knew you would be after money," Kerr con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "Highway robbers, I call them," was Dr. 
 Hayes's testimony this time. 
 
 "A bad reputation they Ve given us, Judge 
 Gilbert," laughed Gloria, "and we don't de- 
 serve it, indeed we don't." 
 
 Kerr walked into the private office and Gil- 
 bert, catching his eye, followed him. The boss 
 said something; Gilbert looked at the women 
 and then nodded his .head in assent. Dr. 
 Hayes, also catching the boss's eye, strolled 
 away from the group casually as the judge re- 
 joined it. A word with him was all that Kerr 
 required. The master of Locust Lawn was 
 setting the stage with an eye that overlooked no 
 detail. There was too much at stake for him 
 
 [164]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 to neglect to interpolate anything effective 
 which chance might throw in his way. 
 
 As the two men walked back into the library, 
 Mrs. Hayes was saying: 
 
 "Dr. Hayes and I have had quite an argu- 
 ment, and here are the lawyers, Gloria, who 
 can settle the question for us. Can a woman 
 steal from her husband, Mr. Kendall?" 
 
 Kendall knitted his brows in perplexity. 
 "Really, Mrs. Hayes, that is a question I shall 
 have to take under advisement." 
 
 "But a man can steal from his wife," Gloria 
 put in. There was a general laugh at this 
 which she did not relish. "I 'm talking seri- 
 ously. If it were n't so, we might n't be here 
 begging money." 
 
 "So you are after money," said Judge Gil- 
 bert lightly. "Then you must tell me why I 
 should contribute to keep men from stealing 
 from their wives, you who have no one to steal 
 from you." 
 
 Gloria was not to be diverted from what she 
 had to say. These men to whom she was talk- 
 ing represented to her what was best in Bel- 
 
 [165]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 mont, what was best in manhood. She wished 
 them to see the truth as she saw it. 
 
 "It is n't that kind of stealing," she went on; 
 "it 's worse than that. Till I went with Mrs. 
 Hayes to visit the mission I had no idea of the 
 degradation and misery in a town even like 
 Belmont. When I say men steal from their 
 wives I mean they take the money they should 
 spend on their families and spend it for whisky 
 and gambling. 
 
 "I think it 's a shame that such men as you, 
 Judge Gilbert, and you, Dr. Hayes, and you, 
 Father, of all persons, permit such things to 
 happen here in Belmont. I wish I were a 
 man!" 
 
 "You can't keep people from spending their 
 money," said Kerr, as he looked at his watch. 
 
 Dr. Hayes caught the slight nod the boss 
 gave, and said something to his wife. Then, 
 interrupting the discussion, he said to Gloria: 
 
 "I 'm already on the list of cheerful givers, 
 Miss Kerr, and I 'm going to ask if you '11 let 
 me carry off Mrs. Hayes for half an hour or 
 so." 
 
 [166]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "But I 'm only assisting her," she replied in 
 surprise. 
 
 "You can tell Judge Gilbert about it even 
 better than she can. I know how it is when 
 married ladies come to my office and when un- 
 married ladies come." 
 
 "Yes," laughed his wife, "he keeps me poor, 
 contributing to things that are none of our bus- 
 iness just because pretty girls come in and 
 he can't refuse them. Dr. Hayes says we 
 won't be long, Gloria. You don't mind, do 
 you?" 
 
 "Of course not. Where shall I meet you?" 
 
 "We '11 come back here." 
 
 Gloria turned from saying good-by to Mrs. 
 Hayes to find only her father in the room with 
 her. Kendall and Judge Gilbert had with- 
 drawn to the latter's private office. 
 
 "Where 's Joe Wright been keepin' him- 
 self?" asked Kerr suddenly. 
 
 The girl did not betray the slightest interest 
 in the question. She took her time about an- 
 swering, and when she spoke it was in the most 
 nonchalant manner. 
 
 [167]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Mr. Wright? Oh, he 's in Belmont." 
 
 "You don't go with him like you used to. 
 He ain't been to Locust Lawn once." 
 
 "He says he 's busy when I see him. I meet 
 him occasionally." 
 
 "I thought you and him was good friends." 
 
 "Oh, we are." 
 
 Although she answered his questions in an 
 off-hand manner, her father was not deceived. 
 From what he had been told and also from 
 what he had observed, he felt that his daughter 
 had a genuine regard for the owner of the Bel- 
 mont Neios. Of its depth he could not de- 
 cide. 
 
 "He ain't been near you for a long time." 
 
 "I 'm not bothering about him. I 'm not 
 bothering particularly about any one." 
 
 The girl was glad that at this moment Judge 
 Gilbert came from his private office. Her fa- 
 ther was questioning her about matters she pre- 
 ferred to keep to herself. 
 
 "If Miss Gloria can spare you, Mr. Kerr," 
 said the judge, "Mr. Kendall would like to 
 see you in my office. I 've come back to be 
 
 [168]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 persuaded that I ought to join the cheerful 
 givers." 
 
 "I '11 tell Kendall, Gloria, that he 's got to 
 join the lodge," were Kerr's parting words as 
 he went into the inner office. 
 
 Remembering that Miss Kerr had not been 
 given the chance to explain her visit fully, 
 Judge Gilbert took a chair beside her and 
 said: 
 
 "Now I 'm at your service, prepared to be- 
 lieve the most terrible things about our fair 
 Belmont." 
 
 "When you talk like that, Judge Gilbert, 
 I 'm afraid you 're laughing at me." 
 
 Of late Gloria's seriousness had far out- 
 weighed her old mood of joyousness, and she 
 now insisted on being taken seriously. 
 
 "You 've lectured me so for being shocked 
 at what I 've found that I 'm afraid to say any 
 more." 
 
 Judge Gilbert was seeking in his mind for 
 some plausible reason to advance which would 
 be sufficient to remove Gloria from the work 
 she had undertaken, when Williams entered. 
 
 [169]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," said the secretary, 
 "but Mr. Wright is here." 
 
 "Mr. Wright!" exclaimed Gloria. She al- 
 most rose from her seat, but feeling the eyes 
 of the lawyer upon her, sank back again and 
 tried to appear quite at her ease. 
 
 "Tell him I '11 see him in a minute." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Williams went out, and left Gloria feeling 
 as if she were on the stand, a witness in her 
 own defense. She was provoked because she 
 knew the attorney had heard her exclamation. 
 Something within her made her wish to rush 
 away. But this wish in an instant gave place 
 to one more ardent. She would see him, speak 
 to him, learn the truth from his own lips if he 
 were man enough to speak, and then go away 
 forever. Deep down in her heart, however, she 
 heard a whisper out of the leaves of their "birth- 
 day book," words he had whispered : 
 
 Spring in the hills, Beloved, 
 
 On the side of a meadowed slope; 
 
 And Love in our hearts, Beloved, 
 Love and Spring and Hope. 
 
 [170]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WRIGHT had no means of knowing 
 what it was Judge Gilbert had to 
 propose to him, but he felt certain 
 that it had some connection with his newspaper 
 and with the campaign now ending in a lurid 
 blaze of political pyrotechnics. Gloria Kerr 
 was the last person he would have thought of 
 meeting in Gilbert's office. He had promised 
 himself that after the election, no matter 
 whether it went his way or not, he would see 
 her and make his excuses for not having had 
 the time to be with her as he had wished. He 
 would also begin to look about for a purchaser 
 for the News. He hoped he would have no 
 difficulty in getting Gloria to leave Belmont. 
 Then for the new life with her where they 
 could be ever together, one in heart and hope 
 and happiness. 
 
 When Williams told Wright that Judge Gil- 
 Cm]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 bert was ready to see him, he opened the door 
 and saw the lawyer advancing to meet him with 
 extended hand. The adviser of Belmont cor- 
 porations knew the value of a hand-shake and 
 a cordial greeting. It made a visit to his office 
 take on the air of a social affair. 
 
 "I 'm so glad you came," he said to the ed- 
 itor, shaking hands heartily. 
 
 "I came as soon as I could." Wright was 
 not going to be outdone, and therefore used 
 his most genial tone, although the shaking 
 hands on his side was a perfunctory perform- 
 ance. He knew Judge Gilbert's real attitude, 
 and undue cordiality under the circumstances 
 savored too much of the Greeks bearing gifts. 
 
 "Miss Kerr and I have just been speaking 
 of you." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Wright. Looking past 
 the judge, for the first time he saw Gloria. 
 At mention of her name the girl rose from her 
 chair. She really thought she merely wanted 
 to speak to him, once more look into his eyes, 
 and then take her departure. 
 
 At sight of her, Wright stepped forward 
 [172]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 and said, "How do you do, Miss Kerr? It 's 
 a great pleasure to see you. I certainly did 
 not expect to find you here." 
 
 They shook hands in rather a constrained 
 manner, Gilbert watching them closely the 
 while. 
 
 "Naturally not," she replied. "I came to see 
 Judge Gilbert on a matter of business and am 
 just leaving." Despite herself she could not 
 help adding, "My friends find me most of the 
 time at Locust Lawn." 
 
 Something in her manner brought the lawyer 
 at once into the conversation with a turning of 
 the subject. 
 
 "I could n't tell you very well over the 
 'phone what I wanted," he explained to 
 Wright. "It '11 be a little while before I can 
 talk to you. I need a few minutes more to 
 ascertain fully the wishes of my clients." 
 
 The conversation was so business-like that 
 Gloria forced herself to say: 
 
 "I must be going. Please don't let me keep 
 you from your work." 
 
 But at this Gilbert held up his hand appeal- 
 [173]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ingly and begged, "Please don't go. I want 
 you to do me a favor. Wait for Mrs. Hayes. 
 Until I Ve finished this conference, won't you 
 be so good as to act as hostess here and enter- 
 tain Mr. Wright?" 
 
 "Really, Judge Gilbert, I" 
 
 "I 'm sure Mr. Wright wishes it." He in- 
 terrupted her because he did not know what 
 she might say, and he knew his remark would 
 bring from the newspaper man a request that 
 she remain. 
 
 "I would n't have Miss Kerr make a martyr 
 of herself," Wright said with quiet dignity, 
 "but if she would be so kind " 
 
 "Did n't I tell you," the judge said to the 
 girl. "Not a word. You must take my place 
 until I return. If you '11 pardon me, I '11 be 
 with you again in just a few minutes." 
 
 There was no time for them to protest. He 
 slipped into the office where Kendall and Kerr 
 were closeted, and closed the door quietly after 
 him. 
 
 The situation was not without its embarrass- 
 ment. Taking into consideration everything 
 
 [174]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 which had happened in the last month, 
 there was little wonder that each felt con- 
 strained. In addition to that, Gloria felt as 
 if she had just been figuratively thrown at his 
 head. To a high-spirited girl this in itself 
 was mortifying. They sat without a word un- 
 til the silence became painful. Wright was 
 desperate. Here was the one woman in all 
 the world, and he was afraid to open his mouth. 
 At last he mustered sufficient courage to re- 
 mark: 
 
 "Beautiful spring weather we 're having." 
 
 This remark served only to punctuate the 
 silence. It seemed to him, from the length of 
 time before she replied, that Gloria was men- 
 tally inspecting the records of the weather bu- 
 reau for the last twenty years. 
 
 "Yes," she said, a word that did not appear 
 so ponderous as to require all that time to 
 bringing it forth. 
 
 This did not prove conducive to further con- 
 versation. He felt that the weather had not 
 been exhausted by her voluble reply, however, 
 and used it again. 
 
 [175]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "They tell me it 's liable to be bad for an- 
 other month." 
 
 Again Gloria seemed to make a mental sur- 
 vey of all the weather records of the last twenty 
 years. Wright had almost forgotten what he 
 had said when she at last gave the conversa- 
 tional football a dainty kick by saying: 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 This time he was ready for her. His em- 
 barrassment was wearing off and he began 
 again promptly: 
 
 "Don't the rains make the road pretty bad 
 out your way?" 
 
 "My friends manage to get out to see me." 
 
 This was a chill rejoinder, and Wright felt 
 he had lost several points in their game of 
 indirection. 
 
 "Locust Lawn is quite a distance out," he 
 ventured. 
 
 "Not far enough to discourage my friends." 
 
 This goaded him to an apology. He re- 
 gretted that she was not making it easy for 
 him, but he forgave her because he knew she 
 did not understand. 
 
 [176]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Because I Ve been so busy, please don't 
 think that I 'm discouraged." 
 
 "Why should I think of it at all?" she re- 
 plied with spirit. 
 
 Her remark hurt him, both her words and 
 her manner of speech. It tore away his reserve 
 and made him burst forth in protest. 
 
 "That 's not like you, Gloria. We Ve been 
 such good friends." 
 
 "We have been good friends," she admitted 
 promptly. "Is there any reason, Joe, why we 
 should not be now?" 
 
 His heart beat high within him at her words. 
 They were so direct, so honest, so like the one 
 woman of his dreams. It grieved him that he 
 could not be as direct with her; but that was 
 impossible, for over them was the sinister 
 shadow of David Kerr, her father, the boss of 
 Belmont. 
 
 "There 's no reason why we should n't be 
 good friends, Gloria. What put that idea into 
 your head?" 
 
 "My circle of friends in Belmont seems to 
 
 have grown smaller and smaller." 
 12 [177]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Please don't put me on the outside.'* 
 "You seem to have put yourself there." 
 The conversation lagged. There was so 
 much to think about. Gloria was seeking to 
 reconcile his explanations with her own obser- 
 vations. Looking at him closely she saw that 
 he did not have that fresh, robust look which a 
 month ago had made him seem fit for a gladi- 
 atorial contest. As he sat in the big office 
 chair he seemed to relax with fatigue. His 
 face was thinner, and there were little 
 lines of worry about his eyes. Between his 
 brows and on either side his mouth were to be 
 seen creases which the girl thought proclaimed 
 to the world his strength of character. A 
 month ago she had not noticed them. She had 
 felt he was such a man, but the wrinkles, con- 
 firming her belief, could almost be called a 
 source of joy to her. They had made away 
 with some of the youthfulness, but in his face 
 she now saw something which m .3 than com- 
 pensated. It had greater s : jcngth now, 
 strength such as was written or icr father's 
 countenance. 
 
 [178]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "You look tired." Her low, sympathetic 
 tones and her solicitous look did what nothing 
 else could do. They melted his stern purpose 
 to bear it all in silence for yet a few days into 
 a desire to take her as much as he dared into 
 his confidence. With a woman's quick per- 
 ception she would understand that he was un- 
 happy. Her sympathy and her confidence in 
 him would nerve him to fight the good fight as 
 nothing else could and his heart was stirred by 
 the possibility. 
 
 "Yes," he admitted, "I 'm tired and sick at 
 heart." 
 
 "Why don't you take a vacation? Go to 
 Europe." 
 
 "I can't pick up and run away like that; but 
 I 'd do it anyway if it would bring back the 
 dear old days." 
 
 "The days I knew?" the girl made bold to 
 ask. 
 
 "The days you made so delightful." 
 
 "Can they be gone forever?" 
 
 "You mean Wright did not dare to put 
 his hope in words. 
 
 [179]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Carried farther than she had intended, Glo- 
 ria beat a retreat by saying : 
 
 "Who knows ? We may meet in Paris again 
 some day." 
 
 "Some time soon, I hope. I 'm sick and 
 tired of it all here, Gloria. Today it has 
 seemed like the game is n't worth the candle. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 "I 'm all in the dark, too," was her confes- 
 sion. Slowly and surely in the shadow of her 
 shattered hopes and his unhappy conflict of 
 duty and desire were they being drawn closer 
 together than ever they had been when they 
 laughed with the spring and dreamed of the 
 days to come in a radiant sunshine of unwhis- 
 pered love. 
 
 "I don't know what to think," Gloria went 
 on in a low tone. "I don't seem to understand 
 Belmont." 
 
 "Why don't you go away? Don't you want 
 to?" 
 
 "What for? I know the life out there." 
 She made a sweeping gesture which seemed to 
 encompass all the world outside the four walls 
 
 [180]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 which shut them in together. "It would n't 
 really satisfy me any more to live as I used 
 to live." 
 
 "Yet your life here" He left the rest to 
 her. 
 
 "No, this does n't satisfy me either." 
 
 "In a word, Gloria, you 're not happy." 
 
 Instead of replying directly, she asked with 
 a dropping of her hands to her sides in a hope- 
 less fashion: 
 
 "Is anybody in the whole world happy? 
 Are you happy?" 
 
 "Don't you think I am?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid not." 
 
 The appealing way she looked at him, her 
 whole soul welling up in her eyes, brought him 
 to his feet and set him to pacing nervously up 
 and down. He looked fatigued, distressed, 
 beside himself with care. She forgave him ev- 
 erything but his studied refusal to let her share 
 whatever weighed upon him. Could he not 
 see, she thought, how she yearned to tell him 
 that whither he went there she would go also, 
 that his joys would be all her joys and that his 
 
 [181]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 burdens would be divided with her, that love 
 divided all sorrow and doubled all joy. 
 
 Wright could stand it no longer. He saw 
 her before him, trembling with that same emo- 
 tion that shook him, aflame with the same fire 
 that burned within him, mutely questioning 
 him with her big, soulful eyes. How could 
 he make amends for that month of neglect ex- 
 cept by telling her what she long ago had 
 guessed, but what more recently she had a 
 right to doubt? He felt weak where he wanted 
 to be strong. To hear from her lips that she 
 loved him was all that he needed to make him 
 invincible. With her acknowledged love in 
 his heart there was nothing he could not do. 
 
 "Oh, Gloria, I can't tell you what a fight I 'm 
 making. You wouldn't understand. Busi- 
 ness is business, outside a woman's realm, but 
 I Ve missed you so much this last month." 
 
 At this declaration she caught her breath. 
 Joy, she found, could sometimes prove the twin 
 of pain. That this man, this strong, fearless 
 man, in his struggles had missed her, had inti- 
 mated a longing for dependence upon her, 
 
 [182]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 made her heart bound. Love, even when his 
 banners have been flung forth to the breeze 
 leagues before the castle wall is reached, never 
 ceases to be a surprise when at last the knock 
 at the gate is heard. 
 
 "You Ve no right to say your work is outside 
 of woman's realm if you Ve if you Ve missed 
 something a woman could supply." 
 
 "Something the one woman could supply," 
 he corrected. 
 
 "I must be going," she said, rising from her 
 chair; "I 'm afraid Mrs. Hayes is n't coming." 
 
 He stepped between her and the door, let- 
 ting her take several steps forward, because 
 they brought her closer to him, before he said : 
 
 "No, Gloria, you must hear me. I did n't 
 mean to speak now, of all times, but it had to 
 be some day, and perhaps it is all for the best 
 now." 
 
 The woman leaned her hand upon the table 
 for support, turning half away from him. 
 
 "Don't Joe, please don't," she murmured. 
 "I must go." 
 
 "No, no, I must tell you. You Ve asked 
 
 [183]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 me if you could help me. I want you to help 
 me; you can help me always. I love you. I 
 want you to be my wife. I have loved you, oh, 
 so long; and, most of all, I Ve felt that you 
 have needed me. Don't tell me that it was 
 just selfishness, dear, that made me feel that 
 my protecting arms should be about you al- 
 ways. Love is love, a law unto itself alone. 
 We must recognize it and bow to it, because it 
 brings us happiness." 
 
 He came a step nearer, but she did not turn 
 to him. She stood half turned away, her eyes 
 downcast, her lips parted into half a smile. 
 Her breath came fast and she could feel her 
 heart beat. Then she heard him say in a lower 
 tone, so gently: 
 
 "Nothing to say, Gloria? Can't you be- 
 lieve in me?" 
 
 She turned to find herself gazing into his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I believe in you as I believe in my 
 father." 
 
 This answer was not enough. He had 
 
 [184]
 
 " Gloria, tell me that you love me "
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 asked her to be his wife. Not yet had she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Say that you care for me, Gloria; tell. me 
 that you love me." 
 
 "I Ve always cared, Joe ; I do love you." 
 
 "For better or worse?" He held out his 
 arms. 
 
 "To the end of the world," she whispered as 
 his arms were folded about her. 
 
 And as their lips met in their first kiss, 
 Wright saw in her eyes the light that never yet 
 
 - 
 
 has shone on land or sea. 
 
 [185]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EVEN as Wright held Gloria in his arms 
 there came back to him her words: 
 "Yes, I believe in you as I believe 
 in my father." 
 
 They were like lead about his heart, and cau- 
 tioned him that he must get her away from 
 Belmont as quickly as possible. Words of 
 love must be postponed, new-found bliss be 
 treated as commonplace, until he had finished 
 his hard task of persuading her to go away. 
 
 "You Ve made me supremely happy, Glo- 
 ria. I want you to believe in me and trust me 
 always." 
 
 She smiled up at him her love and confidence 
 as she answered, "I do, I do." 
 
 "I want you to be happy, and I know you 're 
 not happy in Belmont. You must go away at 
 once. I '11 follow you." 
 
 "But why?" she questioned. The smile was 
 [186]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 still there, but surprise peeped forth from her 
 eyes. "I 'm happy now." 
 
 Wright laughed at her with that delightfully 
 patronizing air of possession that lovers as- 
 sume, caught her in his arms once more and 
 kissed her. 
 
 "I know, dear, but you '11 be happier. I 
 can't explain. You would n't understand. 
 Can't you trust me?" 
 
 "Ye-es, but. father would 
 
 "He won't oppose your going, I know he 
 won't." At thought of David Kerr and the 
 fierce fight they were waging Wright became 
 insistent. "Do this for me, Gloria. You can 
 get a late train for St. Louis tonight. I '11 
 have Mrs. Gilbert go with you. Next week 
 I '11 join you, and we 11 make plans for the 
 wedding." 
 
 "But, Joe, that 's so foolish," she complained. 
 "I like Belmont immensely now." Then she 
 struck a more serious note. "Besides, it 
 would n't be fair to father. He 's put me 
 through, and I 'm not going to disappoint him. 
 To go away well, I feel it would be disloyal." 
 
 [187]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "You can write him we 're engaged," he 
 pleaded. "Then I '11 go to see him." 
 
 Gloria could not altogether understand his 
 insistence. Then, too, to send her away just 
 after they had found each other was something 
 she could not explain to her father. 
 
 Further discussion was put out of the ques- 
 tion by the appearance of Judge Gilbert. 
 
 "Would you object to waiting for Mrs. 
 Hayes in this office?" he asked, pointing to the 
 room next to that in which the men had been 
 conferring. He smiled as he added, "Mr. 
 Wright came on business, you know." 
 
 "I think he transacted it with me, Judge 
 Gilbert," she could not help replying. Then 
 she asked Wright with a smile, "You won't be 
 long?" 
 
 He walked with her to the door, to Gilbert's 
 surprise, crossed the threshold and went into 
 the little office. Somehow or other such 
 things are always mysteries, certainly they are 
 accidents the door seemed to close of its own 
 accord. 
 
 "Wait for me a little while," he said, taking 
 
 [188]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 both her hands in his. "It 's going to be such 
 a glorious world for us. I never knew what 
 happiness meant till now. To be wherever 
 you were has always made life sweet, but 
 now everything takes on a new meaning trans- 
 muted by the glory of being loved by you." 
 
 She loosed one hand from his grasp and put 
 it over his mouth. 
 
 "Naughty boy, you must go back to work. 
 You 're playing truant here. I must n't listen 
 to you. When I listen to you, you make me 
 forget everything but that I love you. And 
 now I want to be alone and think." 
 
 To leave her for an instant was like having 
 his life's sun in eclipse. At last she freed her- 
 self from his arms and bade him go. He had 
 gone as far as the door, his hand upon the knob, 
 when she quickly crossed the small space be- 
 tween them, threw her arms around his neck 
 and whispered: 
 
 "Remember, dear, in whatever you do, I 'm 
 with you. May my love and my confidence 
 support you ever." 
 
 It seemed to him like a benediction. Again 
 [189]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 were his arms around her, again their lips 
 pledged their hearts' lasting love. Gently he 
 released himself from her embrace, and with a 
 parting smile was gone. 
 
 Wright stepped into the library, his eyes 
 upon Gloria until the closed door shut her 
 from his sight. He turned to find himself face 
 to face with David Kerr. 
 
 While Wright had been talking to Gloria, 
 Kerr and Kendall had joined the attorney in 
 the library. As soon as the editor saw with 
 whom he had to deal, he recognized how hard 
 pressed were his friends the enemy, since no 
 go-between was employed. He was being 
 asked to treat with the boss of Belmont him- 
 self. 
 
 "You know Mr. Kendall and Mr. Kerr," 
 Gilbert said, without resorting to his social 
 manner, as was his custom. This he knew to 
 be a case of diamond cut diamond, and there 
 was no occasion for any seeming show of 
 friendliness. 
 
 "I had the pleasure of meeting them at your 
 house." 
 
 [190]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 It was easy to see from the direct opening of 
 the conversation that there was to be little beat- 
 ing around the bush. Gilbert took a chair at 
 the head of the long library table. Wright sat 
 to his left, where he could see the door of the 
 room in which Gloria waited for him. Oppo- 
 site to him were Kerr and Kendall. 
 
 "It 's been a hot campaign," were the boss's 
 first words, "but we can afford to let bygones 
 be bygones." 
 
 Wright was not to be led into any admission 
 which might be used against him later, and 
 therefore would not assent to this. 
 
 "What I can afford has nothing to do with 
 it. The one question is: Can Belmont afford 
 to give itself up to this terminal trust that 
 leaves no stone unturned in its effort to steal 
 the streets and parks of the town? That is 
 only the first step. Where do you propose it 
 shall end?" 
 
 "That 's where you misrepresent our side, 
 Mr. Wright," said Kendall. "The undertak- 
 ing you speak of is perfectly legitimate, for 
 the direct benefit of Belmont. I challenge you 
 
 [191]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 to prove that what you have accused us of be- 
 ing about to do is really the intention of this 
 company. Nothing, sir, is farther from it." 
 
 "That 's all been gone over," Wright said, 
 turning to the lawyer at the head of the table. 
 "There 's nothing new to be said along that 
 line. Was it for this you sent for me, Judge 
 Gilbert?" 
 
 "No. I asked you to come over here to con- 
 sider an offer for your paper. Is the News 
 for sale?" 
 
 "That depends. 'For sale' when applied to 
 a newspaper may sometimes have an ugly 
 meaning." 
 
 "Of course," Gilbert was quick to add, "I 
 mean as a newspaper property." 
 
 "I 'm a poor man, Judge Gilbert," Wright 
 began slowly. "I could n't refuse to consider 
 an offer " 
 
 He got no further, for Kendall exclaimed : 
 
 "That 's what I thought." 
 
 "Wait a minute," Wright asked him, lifting 
 his hand in warning that he had not finished. 
 "You interrupted me before I was through. 
 
 [192]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 What I say is this : I could n't refuse to con- 
 sider an offer from a proper quarter." 
 
 "What does the source matter to you?" Ken- 
 dall inquired. "You 're human. You want 
 money as bad as any of us." 
 
 Before replying, Wright's gaze rested for an 
 instant on the door behind which his heart's 
 happiness waited. Her words came to him, 
 strengthening him to meet the tempter: "Re- 
 member, dear, in whatever you do, I 'm with 
 you. May my love and my confidence support 
 you ever." 
 
 "I may want money need it worse than 
 any of you," he confessed. "But it must come 
 only one way honestly." 
 
 "Nothin' dishonest 'bout sellin' a paper, is 
 there?" growled Kerr. 
 
 "I can't tell in this case until I hear what 
 Judge Gilbert's offer is." 
 
 "It 's simply this : I have some clients who 
 wish to purchase your paper." 
 
 "Mr. Kerr and Mr. Kendall, I suppose." 
 
 "Does it make any difference to you?" 
 
 "It may to Belmont." 
 
 13 [193]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "What 's Belmont got to do with it?" asked 
 Kerr. 
 
 "A newspaper can't change hands like a 
 stock of groceries," Wright retorted impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "You know I want to be open and above 
 board with you, Mr. Wright," soothed Gilbert. 
 "So I '11 tell you that Mr. Kendall and Mr. 
 Kerr are interested in this offer. I know the 
 paper 's mortgaged. What '11 you sell for, the 
 purchasers to assume the mortgage and all 
 other debts, and possession to be given this 
 afternoon?" 
 
 Wright merely looked at him and shook his 
 head. What he thought he almost hated to 
 say. It hurt him to think that they could be- 
 lieve he would even listen to such a proposi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Thn," continued Gilbert, "another basis on 
 which to deal would give you nominal control 
 until after the election, but my clients would 
 not expect the paper to be so vehement in its 
 denunciations in the next few days." 
 
 "Judge Gilbert," the editor replied quietly, 
 [194]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 but with great earnestness, "that 's an offer I 
 don't thank you for. These men haven't 
 enough money to buy my paper." 
 
 "You bought the paper," snarled Kerr in an 
 ugly manner. 
 
 "Yes," came the answer right back at him, 
 "but you want to buy my self-respect." 
 
 The two men glared at each other, but the 
 boss did not deny the assertion. The elder 
 man was beginning to rage inwardly. So ac- 
 customed had he become to the exercise of auto- 
 cratic power in Belmont that he could not 
 reconcile himself to being thwarted, especially 
 when success was so vital to him. 
 
 "There 's a good profit in it for you," was 
 the conciliatory remark of Judge Gilbert. 
 
 "In dollars and cents, perhaps," admitted 
 Wright, "but there are some things that have a 
 greater value than mere money ; peace of mind, 
 for instance, and the deserved respect of the 
 community, and honor. I can't sell out the 
 people who are depending on me, the people 
 of Belmont." 
 
 The men across the table looked at him as if 
 
 [195]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 they thought him crazy. They knew he had 
 foolish ideas, but they had not dreamed he 
 would let such an opportunity slip through his 
 fingers. He was the owner of a newspaper 
 that was losing money every day, and they had 
 as much as asked him to name his own figure 
 for his property. They could not understand 
 how honor was part of the transaction in the 
 sale of a newspaper, even in the last days of a 
 strong fight against the organization. What 
 should he care about the respect of the commu- 
 nity when he had money enough to take him 
 out of that community and keep him comforta- 
 ble until he was ready to get another paper 
 somewhere else to exploit his insane ideas of 
 civic righteousness? 
 
 "You are just a little hasty in your judg- 
 ment, Mr. Wright," Judge Gilbert said, when 
 he saw that the publisher seemed to regard his 
 answer as final. "If you '11 consider the mat- 
 ter carefully I think it '11 appear to you in this 
 light : Here 's a paper that is n't making ex- 
 penses. A good offer is made you which if you 
 are wise enough to accept will permit you to 
 
 [196]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 leave Belmont far richer than when you came. 
 There are other lances to be broken elsewhere. 
 Why tilt here against a stone wall?" 
 
 "If it were a stone wall there 'd have been 
 no offer." Wright was shrewd enough to 
 know that they must be in desperate straits. 
 
 "See here, young man," Kerr blazed, "y u 
 won't be able to make a go of it. If you don't 
 sell now I '11 see to it that some day the sheriff 
 will." 
 
 This direct threat was more than he could 
 bear. Rising from his chair and leaning across 
 the table the publisher shook his fist in Kerr's 
 face and told him just what he thought of the 
 situation. Remembering who was on the other 
 side of the door he was facing, he did not raise 
 his voice, but into his low tones he put all the 
 fire of his honest indignation. 
 
 "You may put me down and out, as you boast 
 you can, but you can't buy me out. You Ve 
 scared advertisers so they 're afraid to use my 
 paper, you Ve had me sued for libel, you Ve 
 raised my taxes, you Ve made the railroads hold 
 up my white paper, you Ve annoyed me in a 
 
 [197]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 thousand petty ways, but I 'm getting out a 
 paper every day, and I 'm telling the truth. 
 That 's what hurts," he hurled across the table. 
 "I 'm telling the truth. You can't stand it. 
 
 "God knows Belmont needs somebody to tell 
 the truth! If you took my paper today, 
 who 'd stand between the people of Belmont 
 and the wolves? The town's being robbed 
 blind. I 'm telling about it, and I believe there 
 are enough honest people to see me through 
 and set the town right. But they need a leader 
 a newspaper and I won't sell 'em out. 
 
 "For what 's coming," he announced sternly, 
 "hold yourself responsible, not me. You 
 forced me to come out with the bald truth of 
 the matter. Maybe you know and maybe you 
 don't know that you of all men are the one I 
 would least care to hold up for the public to see. 
 Today for the first time I printed my name 
 at the head of my editorial page. I want peo- 
 ple to know that back of the paper 's a man 
 a man that won't sell out, and back of the man 
 I 'm going to have the people. Do you hear? 
 Belmont 's going to be a clean city." 
 
 [198]
 
 " Licked! Licked! I've just begun to fight "
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 He leaned across the table and looked the 
 boss straight in the eye, emphasizing his last 
 words by bringing his fist down on the table 
 with each telling point he drove home. It was 
 a duel between him and Kerr ; the others merely 
 looked on. Never in all the days of his po- 
 litical activity had a man talked in this 
 fashion to David Kerr. The audacity and 
 fearlessness of the young man aroused his ad- 
 miration. He did not let that feeling inter- 
 fere, however, with his intention to destroy him 
 utterly. The Belmont News must be muzzled, 
 and the boss could not permit a matter of sen- 
 timent to outweigh a political necessity. 
 
 "You 'd better go slow, young man," cau- 
 tioned Kerr. "I ain't played my hand, you 
 know. You Ve put up a good fight ; that 's 
 why I 'm giving you a good chance to git out 
 without admitting you 've been licked." 
 
 "Licked! Licked!" echoed Wright with fine 
 disdain, "I Ve just begun to fight. You 're 
 nearer a worse defeat at this minute than 
 you ever were before in all your life. You 're 
 going down and the people of Belmont are 
 
 [199]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 going to keep you down if I have anything to 
 do with it. Don't insult me by trying to buy 
 my paper. I 've the dearest reason in the 
 world for wanting money and for leaving Bel- 
 mont but if I go without a dollar I can still 
 hold up my head and look every man in the 
 eye." 
 
 Kerr now looked at him without visible show 
 of anger, in that cold, calculating manner he 
 had taught every one to fear. 
 
 "Then you won't sell?" he said. 
 
 "No," shouted Wright, beside himself with 
 indignation at the offer; "I '11 see you in hell 
 first." 
 
 What further might have been said there is 
 no telling. The words were scarcely out of 
 Wright's mouth when he saw the door opposite 
 him open and Gloria appear. Instantly he 
 relaxed from his tense, strained manner, and, 
 noting his change, the other men turned to find 
 that David Kerr's daughter was the cause. 
 She stood in the doorway hesitatingly, recog- 
 nizing that she was interrupting a business 
 meeting. 
 
 [200]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said, "but from the 
 window I saw Mrs. Hayes on the street, and I 
 thought I 'd go to her." 
 
 "I '11 join you," Wright announced. He 
 left his place at the table and walked over to 
 where Gloria was standing. 
 
 "I suppose the meeting is over," ventured 
 Gilbert. 
 
 "It is, as far as I 'm concerned," said the 
 newspaper man. Then, looking at Kerr, he 
 added, "I think I Ve made my position per- 
 fectly clear." 
 
 [201]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 GLORIA'S announced intention of re- 
 joining Mrs. Hayes was not the only 
 motive that had brought her into the li- 
 brary. The angry hum of voices had been 
 borne to her even through the closed door, and 
 with a woman's impatience and curiosity she 
 was anxious to know what was going on. 
 Greater than all else, however, was her desire 
 to be with Wright. She thought that by ap- 
 pearing she could bring matters to a conclusion 
 and carry off with her the man she loved. Now 
 that she was in the library and Wright had said 
 that he was ready to go whenever she was, 
 David Kerr's daughter forgot about her desire 
 to go to Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 Dr. Hayes and his wife were returning to 
 Judge Gilbert's office when Gloria had seen 
 them, and soon Williams ushered them into the 
 library. The presence of the two women pre- 
 
 [20]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 vented all open discussion of political matters. 
 Even had it not been for Miss Kerr and Mrs. 
 Hayes there could have been no controversy, 
 because after Wright had made his position 
 clear he would not talk farther about it. Now 
 he was merely waiting for Gloria. 
 
 "I thought you said you would n't be long," 
 was the way, in a playful attempt at serious- 
 ness, Gloria upbraided her sovereign lord when 
 they found themselves a little apart from the 
 others. 
 
 "It was n't my fault," was all he could say. 
 
 "You haven't told father, have you?" 
 
 "No. He was n't in the mood for such a 
 pleasing revelation. I hope you Ve thought 
 about leaving for St. Louis to-night. It 's now 
 imperative that you go." 
 
 "I thought about it, dear, but I can't go. 
 What would I say to father?" 
 
 Wright was on the point of again urging her 
 to leave Belmont when he heard the faint cries 
 of newsboys far down the street. Nearer and 
 nearer came the boys. Louder and louder 
 were their cries. Street sales in Belmont were 
 
 [203]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 so small that the little urchins who sold papers 
 to chance customers were never very noisy. 
 An unusual clamor on their part betokened 
 some extraordinary piece of news. Their 
 shouts at last began to attract the attention of 
 others in the room. Kerr, Kendall and Hayes 
 looked at Wright questioningly. Then, as 
 they began to distinguish the cries of one boy 
 in advance of the others, the three men walked 
 hastily to the window and looked out on the 
 street. Every one was rushing for a paper, or 
 else standing with the sheet in his hand staring 
 at the first page with its big black type. 
 
 Recovering himself suddenly, Wright tried 
 to talk to Gloria to drown the noise, but it was 
 too late. 
 
 "What is that noise? What are they shout- 
 ing for?" she asked. "Listen." She put her 
 hand on his arm as a signal to say nothing while 
 she tried to hear what the boys were saying. 
 
 "Extry! Extry! Get a News! All about 
 the grafters! Extry! Read the big steal! 
 Full account o' the railroad grab! Big men 
 and boodlers in combine! Extry! Extry!" 
 
 [204]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 It was now a flood of sound as the boys came 
 under the window. 
 
 "What 's it all about?" the girl asked. 
 
 "That 's nothing, only a crowd of newsboys 
 raising a racket. Gloria, listen to me. We 
 must get away from here. Even if you 're 
 happy in Belmont, I 'm not. Won't you do 
 this for me? Let 's get away from this office 
 and talk it over." 
 
 She shook her head, and refused to move. 
 
 "Gloria, you must do as I say without ques- 
 tion. Just this once, please." 
 
 Both turned at this instant, as did the others, 
 startled by a hubbub in the outer office. Sud- 
 denly the door was burst open violently by 
 young Jim Winthrow, the Banner's political 
 reporter. He rushed breathlessly into the 
 room, flourishing a copy of the Belmont News. 
 Following him came Williams with a look of 
 amazement on his face as he read the headlines 
 of the copy of the paper he had. 
 
 "Judge Gilbert! Judge Gilbert!" gasped 
 the reporter, with eyes for no one else. "Have 
 you seen the News? Big story 'bout the belt 
 
 [205]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 line railway and the 'lection ! Gimme the facts 
 so I can show the News up." 
 
 "Let me see your paper." 
 
 "Here it is with big headlines." 
 
 Wright knew better than any one else in the 
 room what was in the paper. What was writ- 
 ten there was not for Gloria's eyes to see, nor 
 for her ears to hear. 
 
 "You must go, Gloria. Don't stay for 
 this; I '11 drive you to Locust Lawn." 
 
 He was almost out of the room with her 
 when something the reporter said caused her 
 to stop. 
 
 "The News says Dave Kerr is back of it," 
 explained Winthrow, holding up the paper 
 for Judge Gilbert to see, "and that it 's the 
 biggest steal in the history of Belmont." 
 
 "What's that?" Kerr demanded, coming 
 forward. 
 
 "I did n't see you, Mr. Kerr," the reporter 
 apologized, "but here it is on the* front page." 
 
 "Come, Gloria," Wright pleaded with her. 
 
 "I can't go yet." 
 
 Beside her stood Williams still engaged in 
 
 [206]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 reading the flaring headlines of the paper he 
 had brought into the room with him. She 
 seized his paper from him and began to read 
 the startling words. 
 
 "It 's an infamous lie !" shouted Gilbert, 
 crushing in his hands the paper he had been 
 scanning. "Dr. Hayes, will you please escort 
 Miss Gloria and Mrs. Hayes to their car- 
 riage." 
 
 "Stop!" commanded Gloria. The hum of 
 indignation sweeping over the room was 
 stilled. All turned to the daughter of David 
 Kerr. "Is this true?" 
 
 "What?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 "What this paper says?" She held up the 
 paper, her hands trembling. Then she began 
 to read: "If the democrats win, Belmont will 
 surely be sold to the merciless stock-yards 
 terminal trust. The deal, which means mil- 
 lions for the unscrupulous promoters and noth- 
 ing for Belmont, has been engineered by that 
 king of underhand manipulators, one no less 
 unscrupulous than the very men to whom he 
 would sell his town, David Kerr!" 
 
 [207]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 There was horror in her tones and she held 
 the paper from her as a thing unclean. 
 
 "Is this true?" she demanded imperiously. 
 
 "Not a word of it," Judge Gilbert was quick 
 to answer. 
 
 "Not you." She turned to David Kerr. 
 "Father, is it true?" 
 
 The boss of Belmont looked like some 
 wounded wild animal brought to bay. He 
 gazed with speechless rage at Joe Wright, and 
 then looked at his daughter. She stood with 
 arm outstretched to him, a mute but eloquent 
 appeal for a denial. The big man shook him- 
 self, as if calling forth all his strength for a 
 final effort, and straightened himself to his full 
 height. Looking her squarely in the eye he 
 replied firmly: 
 
 "No, Gloria, it ain't true." 
 
 The sigh she gave as her arm dropped to 
 her side seemed to be a prayer of thanksgiving 
 that he had come through the ordeal un- 
 scathed. She knew he would, but she wanted 
 the words of denial from his own lips. Her 
 
 [208]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 next order showed every one that she was the 
 daughter of David Kerr. 
 
 "Then punish the man who published that 
 lie." 
 
 Wright's heart seemed to stop beating as he 
 heard the words that had in them all the final- 
 ity of a funeral bell. 
 
 Kerr had his own reasons for wishing to 
 minimize the matter. Joe Wright he would 
 willingly, gladly have sacrificed, but he did not 
 know how it would react on Gloria. He could 
 find means to make the newspaper man suffer 
 without Gloria being cognizant of the fact. 
 
 "That 's just Western politics." The boss 
 tried to pass it off lightly. "Don't let that 
 bother you." 
 
 "He must be punished, I say." Her in- 
 dignation knew no bounds. "Would you let it 
 go unchallenged that I am the daughter of 
 such a man?" 
 
 Kerr was aroused by her spirited manner. 
 It would be necessary, he saw, for him to carry 
 it through to the end. 
 
 14 [209]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Suppose it was Joe Wright?" he asked. 
 
 The occasion was too serious for a smile, but 
 in her heart she laughed away the suggestion. 
 She wanted to show her contempt for a man 
 who through a newspaper would utter such 
 lies, and she therefore replied: 
 
 "That can't be. He is n't that kind of man. 
 But if he did, I would still say " 
 
 "It is Joe Wright," Kerr roared. 
 
 All leaned forward to hear what the girl 
 would say. 
 
 "Then I would still say, 'Punish Joe 
 Wright.' " 
 
 From Wright's lips there burst forth one 
 word: 
 
 "Gloria!" 
 
 He came a step toward her,, and she turned 
 to him with an assuring smile. 
 
 "I don't believe it, Joe." Again she ad- 
 dressed her father and with fine scorn declared, 
 "It 's a lie. He could n't do it. You don't 
 know him as I do." Turning once more to 
 the man she loved, she said proudly, "Say it 's 
 a lie, Joe." 
 
 [210]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 The two stood gazing at each other, utterly 
 oblivious of everything else in the world. In 
 her eyes there was nothing of doubt. She put 
 into her look all the love and confidence she had 
 promised would always be his. With Wright 
 it was far otherwise. No matter what he said, 
 the fact could not be kept from her. She 
 would investigate. At the top of his editorial 
 page that day were the words, "Owned and 
 edited by Joseph Wright." He had just 
 sworn that he would be the champion of the 
 people of Belmont, and here at his first trial he 
 was quailing under the eyes of the woman he 
 loved. With a wrench he tore himself away 
 from his dear desire to save her from pain and 
 answered huskily: 
 
 "You don't understand." 
 
 "You!" she cried in an agony of despair as 
 she realized he was confessing. 
 
 A single movement of his head showed his 
 assent. 
 
 "Oh, you coward!" Her disgust was over- 
 powering. The withering contempt she put 
 into her words was equaled only by her look of 
 
 [211]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 scorn. He started to speak, but with a gesture 
 of impatience she stopped him. 
 
 "All your words are lies, lies, lies! And to 
 think that I promised within this hour to be 
 your wife! You make me hate myself for 
 ever having looked at you. Now I under- 
 stand why you urged me to leave Belmont." 
 Again he tried to speak. "Not a word. I'll 
 not listen to you. Father, take me home." 
 
 She shrank from Wright as if to look at him 
 were dishonor. 
 
 All the great love he had for her welled 
 forth in one cry: 
 
 "Gloria!" 
 
 The girl could not, would not hear. She had 
 but one refuge for her breaking heart. Turn- 
 ing to her father she flung herself into his arms 
 with only a single word: "Father!" 
 
 With never a word, with never a look to 
 right or left, the man she had promised to love 
 and who had promised to love her, walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 Sobbing as if her heart would break, Gloria 
 rested in her father's arms. 
 
 [212],
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE unexpected and sensational man- 
 ner in which the visit of Joe Wright 
 to Judge Gilbert's office was termi- 
 nated was not without effect upon every one 
 in the room. Pity for Gloria was the dominat- 
 ing emotion, for every one present realized her 
 unhappy position. The dramatic revelation of 
 her love affair, the knowledge that she had been 
 sacrificed, stirred every heart. Mrs. Gilbert 
 and Mrs. Hayes, not well versed in politics, 
 harbored no slight resentment against the pub- 
 lisher of the News, since they regarded the 
 article as too severe. Were not their husbands 
 interested on the same side as David Kerr? 
 And they were honest men. But their hus- 
 bands knew the full measure of the bitter cup 
 that both the boss and his daughter, for the 
 father's misdeeds, were called upon to drain. 
 The first thing to do was to get Gloria away 
 
 [213]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 from the office. For several days she had been 
 staying with Mrs. Hayes, and thither she was 
 now taken. By Dr. Hayes's order she was 
 put at once to bed, and under the influence of 
 an opiate, she was soon asleep. Dr. Hayes 
 came downstairs and announced to Kerr, who 
 was savagely pacing back and forth in the 
 drawing-room, that his daughter was suffer- 
 ing from a great nervous shock. He also said 
 that she would probably sleep for several 
 hours. 
 
 "It ain't no use for me to stay here then," 
 the boss declared. "If you want me you can 
 git me by telephone at my office or Gilbert's 
 or at the Demmycratic club rooms." 
 
 "Even if she asks for you," said the doctor, 
 "I think it best for you to stay away until her 
 nerves are quieter." 
 
 As there was nothing further the two men 
 could do, they walked down-town together, 
 leaving Mrs. Hayes to watch over Gloria. 
 
 It was nine o'clock before the girl opened 
 her eyes. Dr. Hayes had been home to dinner 
 and then gone out again. His wife was sit- 
 
 [214]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 ting in Gloria's room reading by a light which 
 was carefully shaded so as not to annoy the 
 sleeper. She had turned several pages of her 
 book with the feeling that her patient was now 
 fully awake before she looked up to see if her 
 belief was justified. Gloria was gazing va- 
 cantly at the ceiling. 
 
 "Is there anything you want, dear?" she 
 asked, going over to the bed. 
 
 As Mrs. Hayes looked down at the girl, she 
 seemed to her like a lily that had been beaten 
 by the wind and bruised by the rain and left 
 all forlorn to die. In the girl's face she read 
 the story of the last few hours. 
 
 "Is there anything you want, dear?" she re- 
 peated. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 Gloria looked up at her with a pathetic lit- 
 tle smile of appreciation for her kindness. She 
 threw one hand out on top of the cover, and 
 Mrs. Hayes took it in hers. It was some time, 
 however, before Gloria spoke. 
 
 "You heard everything?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 [215]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "And you understand?'* 
 
 "I think I do, Gloria." 
 
 "Then there isn't anything much for me to 
 tell you." 
 
 For a long time she preserved silence, Mrs. 
 Hayes holding her hand but saying nothing. 
 
 "It is n't as if he had died," she began slowly, 
 almost as if just talking aloud to herself. "I 
 think I could have stood that. In time every- 
 thing would have come to be just a beautiful 
 dream, Paris and Belmont and all. In my 
 heart I could always have cherished the mem- 
 ory of a strong, brave man, the man I thought 
 he was. You know, Mrs. Hayes, he seemed 
 to me to be very much like my father." 
 
 For a time she thought it over to herself. 
 Mrs. Hayes did not press her, and continued 
 to show her sympathy by holding her hand. 
 
 "Yes, it would have been a lot better had he 
 died before I ever knew. What would have 
 been a beautiful dream is now only a hideous 
 nightmare. And I believed in him so! You 
 who have seen just a little of him can't know 
 how I loved him. It was n't exactly love when 
 
 [216]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 we were abroad in the same party. Yes, it 
 was ; only I did n't know it. It was n't until 
 he had gone away and no word came from him 
 that I knew how much he was to me. And 
 then I met him here. Heaven seemed to open 
 for me that night." 
 
 She turned her head for a minute, and the 
 tears began to flow. When she began again 
 her eyes were still blurred with tears. 
 
 "I can tell you, and I could tell Mrs. Gil- 
 bert, that it 's going to hurt me a lot. It 's go- 
 ing to hurt to think how I was deceived. I 
 thought I was building my house of life upon a 
 rock, and when the rains came I awoke to find 
 the foundation was only shifting sand." , 
 
 "We all have our troubles, dear," Mrs. 
 Hayes told her. "Yours may seem hard to 
 bear, but you must know that life can't all be 
 painted in rainbow hues. I 've taken you with 
 me into Belmont's unhappiest homes, and what 
 you have seen should teach you to bear your 
 own trials with resignation and fortitude as a 
 Christian should. Perhaps it 's not well to 
 think how much better off we are than other 
 
 [217]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 people, but when we do think of it we see that 
 God has shown us abundant kindness com- 
 pared to that given to others, and then our 
 crosses are lighter." 
 
 "But I loved him so!" cried Gloria, burying 
 her face in the pillow. 
 
 Mrs. Hayes could only clasp the girl's hand. 
 The attempt to comfort her was unprofitable. 
 Her grief was too new, her wounds too fresh 
 for comfort. Longer and longer grew the in- 
 tervals between her sobs. Finally Mrs. Hayes 
 thought she had fallen asleep, but Gloria was 
 only thinking. It came to her that she was 
 still young. Love would never be hers, she 
 was sure of that ; but long years stretched out 
 before her. She couldn't be a coward and 
 shirk those years. Once she had built her 
 house of love and life upon the quaking sands, 
 now she would build her house of life upon the 
 firm rock of service. In ministering to the un- 
 fortunate, she might find surcease for her own 
 sorrow. 
 
 "Mrs. Hayes?" 
 
 "What, Gloria?" 
 
 [218]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I 'm not going to let anything that hap- 
 pened today spoil my life." 
 
 "Of course not, dear. Rain today means 
 sunshine tomorrow for us." 
 
 "I don't know about the sunshine, but I do 
 know that I want to go along just as if noth- 
 ing had happened. Tomorrow let 's do just 
 what we planned to do, and the next day and 
 the next. I want to keep busy. Can't you 
 understand?" 
 
 Mrs. Hayes did understand, and admired 
 the girl for her bravery. 
 
 "All right, Gloria. I think that is best. 
 We were n't put into this world to have only 
 the good things of life and shirk the bad things. 
 We must take them as they come, the bad with 
 the good. You are doing just what Mr. 
 Wright would have you do if he were the man 
 you thought him and he had died before your 
 wedding day. Perhaps all will come out as 
 you once had planned." 
 
 The daughter of David Kerr shook her 
 head. 
 
 "That can never be." 
 
 [219]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 She said no more, and after a time seemed to 
 fall asleep. Mrs. Hayes unclasped her hand, 
 turned out the light, and left the room. 
 
 Through the windows streamed the moon- 
 light. The girl, assured that she was alone, 
 turned on her side and watched the beams 
 creep slowly across the room. 
 
 What a flood of memories the moonlight 
 brought ! 
 
 Those first nights on shipboard had been 
 under a silver moon that shed its rays upon a 
 silver sea. Those nights in France a month 
 later had been under a moon no less gorgeous. 
 Then had come the Rhine and there, too, had 
 been moonlight. 
 
 She tried to think of him as he had been and 
 not as he was. In him she had found every 
 good trait a man should have. She was cha- 
 grined to think how easily it now appeared she 
 had been won. How much she would have 
 been spared, she pondered, had she not been so 
 eager for his love as to show him so soon that 
 she cared for him. 
 
 Every familiar gesture which was at all a 
 [220]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 part of him she knew would call him to mind 
 when another man might make it. The way 
 he held his cigar when he smoked, the odd man- 
 ner in which he would lock his hands together 
 whenever a knotty problem bothered him, these 
 little things and a host of others would come 
 back to plague her. 
 
 All the dear, dead past crowded into her 
 mind. It was not of the man whom that after- 
 noon she had spurned that she thought, but of 
 the man whom in her heart she cherished her 
 ideal. 
 
 With a mighty sob she began again to weep. 
 There had come to her the realization that love 
 was done. Far across the room the moon- 
 beams crept before Gloria fell into a fitful 
 slumber. 
 
 [221]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ' ' "W" ' VE forgotten what we 'd planned for 
 this afternoon," Gloria remarked to 
 Mrs. Hayes the morning after the 
 stormy scene in Judge Gilbert's office. Yes- 
 terday was carefully ignored by both as they 
 talked. 
 
 "This was the day Mrs. Wallace asked us to 
 help her at the mission," Mrs. Hayes ex- 
 plained. 
 
 She did not say further that she had tele- 
 phoned earlier in the morning and had Mrs, 
 Wallace, the matron, make plans whereby the 
 whole afternoon would be taken up. She be- 
 lieved Gloria's peace of mind would be all the 
 greater were she engaged in some work which 
 would make her feel that through her the pain 
 of the sufferer was alleviated and the bruised 
 heart of the unhappy bound up. 
 
 It was just two o'clock when they reached 
 
 [222]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the mission. They had not been there long 
 before Mrs. Wallace suggested that they call 
 on a poor girl who was ill in a room over Mike 
 Noonan's saloon. The sick woman was known 
 to her, but she told nothing of her story. It 
 was n't much different from any one of half a 
 hundred she might have told. 
 
 The two women felt not the slightest fear in 
 walking through such a tough quarter of the 
 town. Mrs. Hayes was an experienced settle- 
 ment worker, and knew many of the persons 
 whom they passed. They for their part knew 
 her and respected her for the kindly charity she 
 dispensed so unostentatiously. As for Gloria, 
 she could fear nothing since she was almost in 
 total ignorance of what dangers might beset 
 their path. Then, too, she was busy with her 
 own thoughts. 
 
 Mrs. Hayes had been told in what room the 
 sick woman lay, and without a word to any one, 
 in fact they saw no one, they went in the door 
 on the side street and climbed the dark, uncar- 
 peted stairs to the third floor. At a door just 
 at the foot of the flight of steps which led to 
 
 [223]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the fourth story, Mrs. Hayes knocked gently. 
 There was no answer. She decided that if 
 there was no response to the next knock she 
 would open the door to se'e if the girl were 
 asleep. A second and louder knock, however, 
 aroused her and she called to them to enter. 
 
 Gloria and Mrs. Hayes walked into the 
 room, and as the latter went to the bedside to 
 explain how they happened to call, the daugh- 
 ter of David Kerr stood stock still and gazed 
 about her with undisguised curiosity. 
 
 The occupant of the room, a frail little crea- 
 ture with uncertain, golden hair, was known to 
 her companions as Little Ella. Upon the blot- 
 ter at the police station she was always booked 
 as Luella Windermere. She had found the 
 name in a novel and, liking it, had taken it for 
 her own. In the unkindly daylight, without 
 the paint that mocked the cheek that once had 
 bloomed a healthier hue, the pallor of her face 
 was heightened by the dark circles under her 
 eyes. Yet the ravages of a life too harsh for 
 one so weak had not been so great as to blot 
 
 [224]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 entirely from her face the traces of a simpering 
 sweetness. 
 
 If Little Ella's room could be summed up 
 in one word, that word would be sham. It 
 was not a poverty that honestly confessed it- 
 self to be such, that room. Instead it was a 
 poverty that slunk away into corners and hid 
 behind the rankest imitations of better things. 
 Everything seemed to have been purchased at 
 the cheapest booths at Vanity Fair. There 
 were few things of substance, but many things 
 of vain and empty show. Had Gloria been 
 more skilled in reading the world aright, every 
 bauble, every useless ornament would have 
 preached a sermon. As it was, there was for 
 her in large part only the interest of novelty. 
 
 To the right of Gloria were two windows 
 looking out over the roofs of neighboring 
 houses. Between them was a scarred maple 
 dresser. It was littered among other things 
 with post-card photographs, business cards, a 
 calendar with a picture in many colors and a 
 bottle of Florida water. Directly in front of 
 
 16 [225]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 her was the sick girl's bed, a cheap iron affair 
 with massive tarnished brass trimmings. Be- 
 yond it was a frail-looking trunk painted in 
 imitation of leather. The only things which 
 boldly confessed themselves to be just as rep- 
 resented were two wooden kitchen chairs. 
 
 Looking close beside her, Gloria saw a 
 battered maple washstand and beyond it a 
 door which led into a closet under the stairs. 
 She glanced curiously at the walls, which 
 boasted some cheap prints, most of them show- 
 ing by the advertising matter upon them from 
 which whisky house they had emanated. 
 Some of the girl's waists and skirts hung upon 
 nails, but the clothes which she had taken off 
 the night before on retiring were upon a chair 
 beside her trunk. 
 
 "I heard you were sick," Mrs. Hayes said 
 sympathetically, "and I want to know if I can 
 do anything to help you." 
 
 Little Ella viewed them with cold antago- 
 nism. They were not of her world and she 
 both feared and hated them. 
 
 "Naw," she growled. Then against her 
 [226]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 real wishes something out of her old life made 
 her add grudgingly, "Much obliged." 
 
 Mrs. Hayes had worked too long among 
 such people not to understand, and she ignored 
 the girl's unfriendly manner by asking, "How 
 do you feel to-day?" 
 
 "Rotten." 
 
 "No wonder; it 's so close in here. I think 
 it would be better for you if you 'd let me open 
 a window. It 's mild out. May I ?" 
 
 "Go as fer as yuh like; I don't feel like 
 fightin'." 
 
 A nod from Mrs. Hayes sent Gloria to open 
 a window. 
 
 "There now," exclaimed the younger visitor. 
 "You '11 feel better." 
 
 "Gloria," Mrs. Hayes asked, so the sick 
 woman could not hear, "do you mind staying 
 with her while I go to the mission for a few 
 minutes? I want Mrs. Wallace to come over 
 if she can ; and the doctor, too, as soon as I can 
 find him." 
 
 "Certainly, I '11 stay," was the prompt re- 
 sponse. "What 's the matter with her?" 
 
 [227]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "I can't say until I see the doctor, because 
 I 'm not sure. I want Dr. Hayes to see her. 
 If I can't get him I '11 get Dr. Norton. 
 You 're not afraid to stay?" 
 
 Gloria smiled. What was there to fear? 
 The girl surely could not become so ill in the 
 short space of time Mrs. Hayes should be away 
 as to render her inexperienced nurse abso- 
 lutely helpless. 
 
 "Of course I 'm not afraid," she replied. 
 Then impulsively, "Besides, I want to do some 
 good in the world. I Ve been too selfish." 
 
 "No, dear, not that," her companion gently 
 remonstrated. "Thoughtless, perhaps, be- 
 cause you did n't know, but not selfish." Then 
 she turned to Little Ella and said in the same 
 quiet tone, "I think you 'd be happier where 
 there 'd be some one to take care of you." 
 
 "I 'm not sick, I 'm just tired." 
 
 The ignorant fear sickness and disguise it as 
 long as they can, shirking the fight and thereby 
 making it all the harder. Understanding 
 this, Mrs. Hayes answered lightly: 
 
 "If that 's the case, I hope you '11 entertain 
 
 [228]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 my friend for me until I return. She 's inter- 
 ested in the work at the mission." 
 
 "You 're on," Little Ella replied with an air 
 of resignation as Mrs. Hayes left the room. 
 She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. 
 Already she began to feel bored. 
 
 Although Gloria had professed that she had 
 no fear about being left with the sick woman, 
 when she said it she had in mind only a fear 
 of being alone in such a dismal lodging house 
 and fear that she might be called upon to act 
 as doctor and trained nurse both were her 
 patient to take a turn for the worse. Now, 
 however, a new thought came to her. How 
 was she to act? What was she to do to amuse 
 her? She felt instinctively the antipathy she 
 had aroused. She cowered like a lamb before 
 this young she-wolf of the city. She was 
 alone, defenseless, with this creature that had 
 so far reverted to type that she might rend 
 and tear. Even in a battle of wits, and that 
 was all there would be if the girl did not ig- 
 nore her entirely, Gloria felt herself no match 
 for this brazen child of misfortune. Her com- 
 
 [229]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 parisons were physical, but it was not a phys- 
 ical fear she felt. Sheltered inexperience was 
 pitted against the most cruel experience so- 
 ciety could ever devise or tolerate. 
 
 Gloria was mistaken in thinking that Little 
 Ella slept. After Mrs. Hayes had left her she 
 walked quietly back to a chair by the bedside. 
 On it lay a cheap novel with which the sick 
 woman had been beguiling the time. She 
 picked it up and was turning the pages casu- 
 ally when a feeling stole over her that she was 
 being observed. Putting aside the book, she 
 found Little Ella gazing at her stonily. 
 
 "Say, what 'd you come here for?" 
 
 "Why," she answered in surprise, "I wanted 
 to help you." 
 
 A sneer curled the sick woman's lip, a cyn- 
 ical sneer of disbelief. 
 
 "Help me ! To what ? I ain't ever saw you 
 down here before. Come on, what brought 
 
 you?" 
 
 "I came with Mrs. Hayes," was all that 
 Gloria could find to answer. 
 
 "The woman what just went out?" 
 
 [230]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Feeling that she must do something to end 
 this catechism, Gloria happened to glance at 
 the book she held in her hand, and this led her 
 to ask, "Would n't you like me to read to you?" 
 
 "Naw. I can read fer myself." 
 
 "Perhaps there is something else I might 
 do. What do you say, I might write a letter 
 for you?" 
 
 "A letter? Who to?" 
 
 "Isn't there some one who ought to know 
 you are sick?" 
 
 "Who'd want to hear from me?" the 
 woman replied sullenly. "I ain't the belle o' 
 the village any more." 
 
 "Haven't you a mother?" 
 
 "She 's dead." 
 
 "A father, then? Isn't there some one 
 watching for you, hoping to see you come down 
 the quiet little street?" 
 
 Here was an attempt to awaken a sentiment 
 for the past which met with no success. Little 
 Ella replied roughly: 
 
 "They 're watching at his house all right 
 
 [231]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 all right him and that pasty-face wife of his 
 so they can run out and unchain the dog. 
 Then they 'd gather in the parlor an' say 
 prayers fer the dead that 's me." 
 
 "What could you have done to have your 
 family treat you so?" Gloria asked. "What 
 could you do to be estranged from your father, 
 of all persons?" 
 
 This was something Gloria could not under- 
 stand. Once she would not have understood a 
 lack of love where two had lived together con- 
 tinuously. Now she could waive that point, 
 but the estrangement was beyond her. 
 
 Little Ella considered the question gravely. 
 What was she to tell this inquisitive girl who 
 evidently was not asking questions just for the 
 fun of prying into some one else's life? Some- 
 how or other Gloria began to appeal to her. 
 She had decided that the visitor's ignorance 
 was real, not feigned. In reply to the question 
 as to why she was not received at home, she 
 turned her big dark eyes, lusterless now, upon 
 Gloria, and said quietly: 
 
 "I loved." 
 
 [232]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Gloria, and a sudden pain 
 shot through her. 
 
 "Oh, what?" 
 
 "Was it really love?" 
 
 The question came forth without a thought 
 of how it might affect her hearer. It did, in- 
 deed, provoke Little Ella, taking away that 
 kindly feeling which had begun to kindle in 
 her heart because of Gloria's ignorance. 
 
 "Didn't I say I loved?" she demanded 
 harshly. "What do you know of love? You 
 can't come down here and teach me anything. 
 Pooh! I don't believe you know what real 
 love is. Was you ever in love ?" 
 
 Ordinarily to a girl reared as Gloria had been 
 no more serious affront could have been 
 offered her. It was a meddling with her pri- 
 vate affairs which was unpardonable. 
 
 "Was you?" 
 
 Little Ella asked the question again with the 
 sharpness gained from listening to the city at- 
 torney cross-examine witnesses in police court. 
 Seeing that she was almost compelled to say 
 "yes" or "no," Gloria replied defiantly: 
 
 [233]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Yes, I was." 
 
 "An* yer not married?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Goin' to be?" 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Say, yer overlookin' a bet. What 's the 
 matter?" 
 
 Gloria felt herself fascinated by this slight 
 little woman who in her excitement had 
 propped herself up in bed on a thin, trembling 
 arm. The light had come back into her eyes 
 as she pursued her inquiries and they shone 
 like two burning coals. 
 
 "He did n't really love me," Gloria said more 
 to herself than to the girl. 
 
 "Did he tell you so? How do you know?" 
 There was no answer. "Huh! You asked 
 me questions so I thought I 'd ask you some. 
 Did he know you loved 'im?" 
 
 "He did, but my father discovered that he 
 was unworthy." 
 
 This information seemed to Little Ella to 
 
 [234]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 be a bond of fellowship. She fell back on the 
 bed to rest, and remarked philosophically, 
 
 "Humph! My ol' man thought the feller I 
 loved was no good, too. Guess we Ve had 
 pretty hard times, eh?" No reply, "What 
 d' you think?" 
 
 "I I he was unworthy." 
 
 It was now Gloria who spoke listlessly. 
 
 "So you had to choose between 'im an' yer 
 father?" 
 
 "Was there any choice? I gave him up." 
 
 "I left home. So, you see, I Ve loved 
 more 'n you Ve ever loved," she cried. "You 
 did n't really love." There was scorn in her 
 voice as she spoke. "I Ve gone through fire 
 an' storm fer the man I loved, because I loved 
 a real man. You must 'a' loved some kid at 
 the ribbon counter. A real man would n't 'a' 
 let you give him up." 
 
 This was a tribute to the animal perfection 
 of the graceful young creature before her. 
 The sight of Gloria as something to be desired, 
 to be possessed, made Little Ella feel that no 
 
 [235]
 
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 man with red blood in his veins would give her 
 up without a fight. She hated her for her 
 masses of beautiful hair, her deep, soulful eyes, 
 her complexion of apple blossoms, and her del- 
 icate white hands. She hated her for her 
 svelte, girlish figure and her beautiful clothes 
 which brought out her best lines. A woman 
 may be down in the world, but she has eyes to 
 see. 
 
 "Look at me," she cried, beating her flat 
 breasts with her red, bony hands. "A man 
 died fer me an' he thought I was worth it. 
 Did you love a man well enough for him to do 
 that fer you?" 
 
 Gloria could only avoid the question by tact- 
 lessly referring to Little Ella's present state. 
 
 "You don't know what you 're saying. 
 Can't you see what he 's brought you to?" 
 
 "Don't you say a word against him," 
 snapped the sick woman. "All men ain't alike, 
 neither. It was n't his fault I 'm here. It 's 
 the system." 
 
 "The system! What 's that?" 
 
 Here was the introduction of a new element. 
 
 [236]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Gloria's curiosity was aroused. There was 
 something inexorable about it, to judge from 
 Little Ella's manner of speaking. 
 
 "Well, call it society, if you want to," con- 
 ceded society's victim. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Say, are you stringin' me, or was you born 
 yestiddy?" 
 
 She laughed harshly at the humor of such a 
 question. 
 
 "I don't understand," was all Gloria could 
 reply. 
 
 [237]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 GLORIA had not been reared without 
 an understanding of the various lay- 
 ers of society. Of those close to her 
 own station in life she had an intimate and in- 
 telligent knowledge, but as she went down the 
 scale her acquaintanceship grew slighter and 
 her understanding more vague. The poor 
 creatures whom as a class Little Ella now rep- 
 resented to her were almost as foreign and as 
 misunderstood as would be a lama of Thibet. 
 Having no knowledge, she could have no real 
 
 Pity- 
 Gloria had never dreamed, even when she 
 
 tried to put the worst possible construction on 
 what few things she knew, that the world could 
 be so cruel. Never for an instant had she 
 thought that it was possible for men whom she 
 regarded as upright and honorable to be en- 
 gaged directly or indirectly in exploiting vice 
 
 [238]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 and ignorance. It had never occurred to her 
 that men whom she might know, some of them, 
 owned dreary blocks of hovels and tenements 
 from which high rents were secured only be- 
 cause the people who lived in them were not 
 respectable. Poor and honest tenants could 
 have paid but poor and precarious rents. 
 
 As Little Ella told her story of the "system" 
 at Gloria's request, her voice grew shriller and 
 shriller as the indictment grew graver. She 
 talked rapidly, sometimes turning aside from 
 the direct channel of her revelation, to explore 
 some little eddy of a specific instance which 
 made her account a reality. Gloria could have 
 credited something to exaggeration had it not 
 been that just at the moment she thought the 
 girl was beginning to draw on her imagination 
 some incident would be introduced suddenly to 
 make the whole thing ghastly real. 
 
 For the first time the daughter of David 
 Kerr learned of the peddlers of showy dresses, 
 the venders of cheap perfumery, the stealthy 
 disseminators of cocaine, and the many other 
 leeches that fatten on the unfortunate of the 
 
 [2391
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 underworld. She learned that all the misery 
 was but a monument to human greed. Noth- 
 ing was exploited in which there was not a 
 profit of three or four hundred percent. 
 Nothing was exploited which did not tend to 
 kill the finer feelings, reducing the poor vic- 
 tims in time to the level of brutes. 
 
 "And the men down here," Little Ella cried, 
 the memory of the good, wholesome men whom 
 she had known in her earlier life coming back to 
 smite her, "poor ignorant excuses fer men, most 
 of 'em all they 're good fer is to steal an' lie 
 an' live off us women, an' vote the way the boss 
 tells 'em on 'lection day. An' who 's responsi- 
 ble fer that? Say?" Gloria could make no 
 reply, and Ella, whose pause had been rhetori- 
 cal, uncouth as she was, made answer herself. 
 "I know. The fine gentlemen what buys the 
 votes. An' when they needs more money fer 
 more votes they send the p'lice 'round, an' us 
 poor girls has to pay, always pay." 
 "I never dreamed of such a thing." 
 "I tol* you you did n't know. Why, oncet 
 I was good like you, too. An' now," she began 
 
 [240]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 to sob "now I 'm down an' I can't git up, 
 I can't git up. It 's too late." 
 
 Suddenly Gloria remembered the power to 
 which she would appeal. Where a minute be- 
 fore had been darkness and uncertainty was 
 now the clearness of a summer day. 
 
 "It 's never too late," she insisted. "Re- 
 member, I 'm not alone. My father will help 
 me. He 's brave and good and strong, with a 
 heart of gold. I can't change the world's 
 ways, maybe, but I can do something to make 
 Belmont better with my father's help and 
 yours." 
 
 Gloria was a doughty Crusader, and was 
 eager to plunge at once into the work of re- 
 form. She was going to permit her father 
 to be a ways and means committee, but she in- 
 tended to have a thorough grasp of the whole 
 situation herself. 
 
 "Why do you pay this this blackmail?" 
 Gloria demanded. 
 
 "I Ve got to live. What else can I do 
 now? I 'm down, an' in debt." 
 
 "But they can't keep you from living." 
 
 1 [241]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "They can send me to the workhouse." 
 And at the thought Little Ella shuddered. 
 
 "Whom does this money go to? I want to 
 get that part of it absolutely straight so I can 
 teU father." 
 
 "It goes to the boss, of course." 
 
 Little Ella made this statement in a matter- 
 of-fact manner. The methods of the "system" 
 were so notorious that she did not have to think 
 a moment before giving her answer. 
 
 The boss. Here was a factor in the game 
 of which Gloria as yet had had no inkling. 
 The boss. What does he do? Now she de- 
 sired to know about this boss. 
 
 "The boss?" Both the tone of her ques- 
 tion and the look on her face denoted her 
 interrogation. 
 
 "Yes, the boss gits the money." Little Ella 
 saw that it would be necessary for her to ex- 
 plain. "I thought everybody in Belmont 
 knowed that. I gives it to Noonan mostly, 
 but sometimes the round-sergeant collects, an* 
 sometimes they both do." 
 
 This double collection was n't on the square, 
 
 [242]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 but what was she to do? If she complained, 
 she knew too well what would happen to her. 
 
 "Who's Noonan?" 
 
 "Mike Noonan? He runs the saloon down 
 stairs, an' rents me this room. He gits a rake- 
 off from 'most everybody down here." 
 
 "He must be a rich man." 
 
 "Oh, some but he 's got to pass a lot of it 
 on." 
 
 "And you say the police know about this?" 
 
 Little Ella looked at her in amazement. To 
 Gloria a policeman was a stalwart individual 
 with white gloves who halted traffic while she 
 crossed the avenue. To the other a policeman 
 was an enemy, a grafter who never overlooked 
 an opportunity to feather his own nest or line 
 his own pocketbook. The best that she ever 
 could say for any one of them was that he was 
 an autocratic rowdy. Gloria's simplicity in 
 asking if the police knew of this tribute caused 
 her to reply: 
 
 "They ought to they git some of it. Then 
 the man higher up gits his." 
 
 "I can't believe it. When you get well I 
 
 [243]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 want you to come and tell my father all this. 
 He is he 's an influential man. I 'm sure 
 he '11 help you. He shall help you," she ad- 
 ded decisively, "and every poor, unhappy 
 person down here, because I shall tell him to." 
 
 Little Ella looked at her, all admiration for 
 such power. 
 
 "Gee! I wisht I had a pa like yourn," was 
 all that she could say. 
 
 "He can't know that such things are hap- 
 pening here every day in Belmont." 
 
 "If he did, I reckon he would n't tell you." 
 Little Ella was more conversant with the ways 
 of the world. 
 
 "And what did you say finally becomes of 
 this money you have to pay?" 
 
 "The boss gits it." 
 
 "Oh, yes. This boss who is he? What 
 does he do to earn this money?" 
 
 "That 's what he gits fer pertectin' us. He 
 keeps the bulls from juggin' us." 
 
 "And if you don't pay?" 
 
 "He gives 'em the tip an' we 're hauled in, 
 and sent up for thirty days." 
 
 [244]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 This did n't accord with Gloria's idea of law 
 and justice. Here was a man who, without 
 authority and as his whim dictated, arrested 
 people because they would not do something 
 unlawful. And the police, instead of being 
 instruments of the law, were under the direc- 
 tion of this boss. 
 
 "Can't the law touch him?" she asked. 
 
 "Huh! He 's the law in this town." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me there is a man so 
 base," demanded the daughter of David Kerr 
 indignantly, "this boss, that spends his time 
 collecting this money?" 
 
 Little Ella had come to realize soon after 
 they had met that she was dealing with a fledg- 
 ling. Hence she bore with her and answered 
 her questions patiently. 
 
 "Gosh! Little time he spends collecting 
 money down here." Her tone indicated clearly 
 that he spent no time at all. "What 's the cops 
 fer? What 's Mike Noonan fer? He 's got 
 other things to do himself. I oncet knowed a 
 young lawyer, an' he tol' me the boss got his 
 from the big gamblin' houses, an' the street car 
 
 [245]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 comp'ny, an' the 'lectric light comp'ny, an' big 
 things like that." 
 
 "Then you 're just a drop in the bucket." 
 The magnitude of the "system" was just be- 
 ginning to dawn on Gloria. She now saw that 
 its ramifications were many, that there must be 
 much that even this woman, for all her knowl- 
 edge, could know little of. While she could 
 not learn all from Little Ella, she could learn 
 enough to make her father investigate. 
 
 "There 's enough of us drops in Belmont to 
 fill a pretty big bucket," the girl admitted. 
 " Gimme a drink o' water, will you? I never 
 was so dry at a Dutch picnic." 
 
 Gloria poured a glass of water for her. 
 Then, feeling that she had not been consider- 
 ate in asking the girl to tax her little strength 
 by the recital of a story that sadly wasted her 
 vital energy, she begged her to rest. 
 
 "You 're still a bit feverish. Lie down now 
 and rest. Try to go to sleep, and I '11 sit here 
 and read." 
 
 Soon her patient seemed to sleep, and Gloria 
 picked up a book and tried to read. The rev- 
 
 [246]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 elations to which she had listened made all pos- 
 sibility of concentration upon the printed page 
 out of the question. Suddenly it occurred to 
 her that she did not know the boss's name. 
 Just as this came into her mind, the girl turned 
 restlessly and opened her eyes. Finding that 
 she was awake, Gloria asked: 
 
 "Tell me, what 's the name of the boss?" 
 
 "Eh? What?" Little Ella was not thor- 
 oughly awake. 
 
 "What 's the name of the boss? I want to 
 tell father." 
 
 "His name? Oh! it's Kerr. He's ol' 
 Dave Kerr. Ever hear of him?" 
 
 Having roused herself sufficiently to answer 
 the question, Little Ella sank again into a 
 doze. 
 
 As for Gloria, it almost seemed that the 
 words meant nothing to her at all. So slowly 
 did her mind accept this intelligence that the 
 fall of the book unnoticed to the floor did not 
 seem related in point of time. Yet in fact it 
 told that her mind was intent upon one ques- 
 tion: Who was the boss of Belmont? 
 
 [247]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Keir! Kerr! Old Dave Kerr," still rang 
 in her ears. "The boss? David Kerr? I 
 wonder what relation ." The very ignominy 
 of the thought restrained her. "No, no, no. 
 It 's all a mistake. It can't be I could n't 
 believe it. There can't be any relation of my 
 father's my fa It 's absurd. It would be 
 maddening, the suspicion of such a thing. 
 Why, my father 's the soul of honor." 
 
 Without warning, Joe Wright came into her 
 mind; Joe Wright, her evil genius. 
 
 "What did the paper say? 'The king of 
 underhand manipulators, David Kerr!' The 
 king!" she muttered aloud, and clapped her 
 hand over her mouth at the word. The 
 thought of such a thing widened her eyes with 
 terror and set her heart to beating high with 
 sudden fear. "But not this, O God! Not 
 this." 
 
 She repeated the pathetic words of Little 
 Ella. 
 
 'There 's enough of us drops in Belmont to 
 fill a pretty big bucket' oh, it can't be my 
 
 [48]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 father! It can't be my father! He has a 
 daughter It 's all a horrid mistake. There 
 must be another David Kerr, I 'm sure." 
 
 Gloria sprang from her chair and seized the 
 sleeping woman roughly by the arm. 
 
 "Listen to me. Tell me something more of 
 David Kerr." 
 
 She shook Little Ella into a conscious state 
 and repeated the question. 
 
 "Which David Kerr is it?" 
 
 "There 's only one I know of," answered 
 Ella. "He 's got a real estate office on Fifth 
 Street." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 The net of circumstance was being drawn 
 tighter and tighter about one man, and that 
 man her father. 
 
 "Are you sure he's the man, girl?" 
 
 Gloria asked the question in as subdued a 
 manner as possible. Suddenly she had become 
 afraid. She did not wish to arouse suspicion. 
 
 "Sure, he 's the man." It tried one's pa- 
 tience to be roused from sleep, and then to meet 
 
 [249]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 with contradiction was enough to make one 
 petulant. To settle the question so that she 
 could go back to sleep, Little Ella added: 
 
 "Look on my bureau and you '11 see a pro- 
 gramme of the Dave Kerr Demmycratic Club 
 Ball." 
 
 Gloria walked over to the bureau with its 
 jumble of odds and ends, and began to turn 
 over the things mechanically. 
 
 "No, not that. Look behind that photy- 
 graft. That 's it. That 's his picture on the 
 front." 
 
 Gloria gave one look. The picture was that 
 of her father. 
 
 For a time Little Ella chattered drowsily, 
 but Gloria did not hear. She was prostrated 
 by a grief that numbed her every faculty. 
 The foundation of her faith had been swept 
 away. 
 
 What she beheld seemed to burn itself into 
 her brain. On the cover of the programme 
 were the words: "Annual Ball. David Kerr 
 Democratic Club," and the picture of her 
 father. It was the truth; her father was the 
 
 [250]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 boss of Belmont. So different was her posi- 
 tion from that pinnacle on which she had 
 thought herself to be that the whole world 
 would have to go through a revolutionary ori- 
 entation. There was nothing in her life which 
 would not have to be adjusted anew because of 
 this revelation. 
 
 As she turned the pages of the programme, 
 pages filled with liquor and saloon advertise- 
 ments, her thoughts were all of herself. Re- 
 sentment and anger there were, directed 
 toward her father, but now in the first mo- 
 ments when she saw herself as Belmont saw 
 her, humiliation conquered all other emotions. 
 Her first thought of Joe Wright was that he 
 had kept the truth from her. She could not 
 grow more sick at heart, comparative feeling 
 was out of the question because she was com- 
 pletely crushed, but she saw as in a book that 
 had been written and laid away as finished, the 
 sacrifice he had made for her, the supreme re- 
 nunciation he had made because he would not 
 denounce her father before her. 
 
 The thought of how different her home-com- 
 
 [251]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ing had been from what she had planned made 
 her laugh hysterically. Then when she re- 
 called the few staunch friends she had made 
 she clutched wildly at the hope that after all 
 it was untrue. 
 
 "It 's a lie, every word of it, a lie his enemies 
 invent. What big man but has about him en- 
 vious wasps that prick and sting? Judge Gil- 
 bert, Mr. Kendall, Dr. Hayes, they '11 all say 
 that he Joe Wright! What of him? What 
 will he say?" 
 
 She put this man that had loved her in one 
 balance and the other men in the other. He 
 outweighed them all, and the momentary hope 
 was gone. She could see it all now. As the 
 baffling attitude of Belmont revealed itself to 
 her bit by bit she buried her face in her arms 
 and sobbed. 
 
 "And I was so proud, oh, so proud !" moaned 
 the daughter of David Kerr. "Joe! Joe! 
 You did love me! I sent him away, and I 
 never understood. Now I can see it all. The 
 social slights the cold disdain I could not un- 
 derstand the whispers that died away before 
 
 [252]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 they reached my ears all, all, all because I 
 was David Kerr's daughter, David Kerr, the 
 boss of Belmont." 
 
 Her father's name exercised a fascination 
 over her. Again and again she repeated it, 
 her lips curling with scorn. 
 
 "David Kerr, the boss of Belmont!" she 
 cried with a contempt that wrung her heart. 
 "David Kerr, the king of underhand manipu- 
 lators! David Kerr, the man these wretched 
 women look to for protection and pay him 
 for it!" 
 
 This new thought was a poisoned arrow that 
 sank into her heart. As she dwelt upon it her 
 eyes fell upon her handsome tailored coat and 
 her beautiful hat she had laid aside. 
 
 "And with the money these unhappy crea- 
 tures pay, he he God in Heaven! Where 
 did the money come from for these clothes I 
 wear ? What shall I do ? All these years, and 
 I never knew!" 
 
 Where the money came from to pay for her 
 handsome clothes wracked her as poignantly 
 as would a great physical pain. Her thoughts 
 
 [253]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 were incoherent, skipping from one horrid 
 phase of the situation to another. Though 
 they were disconnected, they were not vague. 
 Each was a ruthless view of her deplorable 
 position. 
 
 "Why did he let me come home? How 
 can I bear to have any one look at me on the 
 street? I can hear them now saying, 'That 's 
 she, the boss's daughter. See her fine clothes. 
 We know where the money came from to buy 
 them.' And I, like a leper, must ever cry, 
 'Unclean, unclean,' and see those whom I 
 would love flee ever on before me." 
 
 This made her think again of Joe Wright. 
 Surely he had loved her beyond all reason to 
 have wished to marry her, the daughter of such 
 a man. 
 
 "Joe, poor old Joe, how he has suffered be- 
 cause of me." She had chosen in her blind- 
 ness not to listen to him and now he was gone 
 forever. She had obeyed the dictation of 
 pride and stifled the prompting of love, and 
 now her punishment seemed greater than she 
 could bear. "He did love me. He knew, and 
 
 [254]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 still loved me. And I drove him away. 
 Well, it was better so; but he did love me 
 once. It 's better so for him," 
 
 It was now a far more grievous prospect 
 than that of the long years which had con- 
 fronted her when she had realized the previous 
 day how solitary was to be her way. Then 
 she had had position, power, and pride; now 
 these had been stripped from her, and nothing 
 had been given in their stead. In a passion- 
 ate flood of tears she sank to the floor and cried 
 as if her heart would break. 
 
 Through it all Little Ella slept, not know- 
 ing that in her room was being enacted a trag- 
 edy of the heart more profound than any she 
 with all her shallowness could live in a century 
 of heartaches. 
 
 [255]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 GRIEF made Gloria insensible to the 
 flight of time, and how long she had 
 been prostrate on the floor before 
 sounds on the stairs aroused her she did not 
 know. Thinking that it must be Mrs. Hayes 
 returning with a physician, she rose hastily and 
 tried to remove all traces of her tears. She 
 wished above all to avoid explanations, and if 
 none was asked she did not wish to have her 
 grief misconstrued. But it was not Mrs. 
 Hayes, for Gloria could hear the heavy tread 
 ascending to the floor above. 
 
 Little Ella was restless and rolled and tossed 
 in her sleep. The daughter of David Kerr 
 looked with pity upon her. Her discipline 
 was too new, her spirit was still too untamed 
 for her to understand fully the kinship of the 
 human race. Although she recognized that 
 she was herself without the caste she thought 
 
 [256]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 was hers, she had not come to know that on the 
 last great day there would be only the judg- 
 ment of the just and the unjust, not of the 
 high and the low, of the rich and the poor, of 
 the wise and the ignorant, of the master and 
 the servant. 
 
 "Poor girl," murmured Gloria, "y u shall 
 see that I do understand." 
 
 There was also much which she could learn 
 from this bit of flotsam cast up by an unkind 
 sea upon a cheerless shore. Seeing that Lit- 
 tle Ella was not sleeping soundly, her desire 
 to know more got the better of her duty as a 
 nurse. She shook her gently, and soon was 
 rewarded by seeing her eyes open. 
 
 "What you want?" asked the patient. 
 
 "Time to take your medicine," Gloria an- 
 swered unblushingly. This was only a sub- 
 terfuge, and it hurt her to receive the profuse 
 thanks which it evoked. 
 
 "How are we going to begin to make things 
 right down here?" Gloria asked when Little 
 Ella had sunk back upon her pillow. 
 
 "Begin?" The girl did not understand. 
 
 17 [257]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Yes, you and I. Things can't go on as 
 they are." 
 
 "Why, begin with the boss, of course." 
 
 Gloria could not have been stabbed by a 
 more cruel reply. 
 
 "Ah, yes," she sighed, "but how?" 
 
 "That 's up to you and yer pa." 
 
 Little Ella recognized that the boss was out 
 of her sphere of influence. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know. Tell me does David 
 Kerr," she spoke the name with an effort, 
 "ever come down here?" 
 
 "Him? Naw. We never see nothin' o' 
 him." His daughter gave a sigh of relief. 
 "We don' know nothin' 'bout him much. We 
 don't see him, but we feel him. He lives alone, 
 out in the country." 
 
 "Then can he really know?" 
 
 "He's a man, ain't he?" demanded the 
 woman of the streets fiercely. "He knows, 
 but what does he care? I wisht he had a 
 daughter." 
 
 "What 's that?" Gloria asked. The manner 
 in which Little Ella had spoken made her 
 
 [258]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 catch her breath with a feeling that was akin 
 to dread. 
 
 "I wisht he had a daughter, an' that she 'd 
 have to suffer what we down here suffer." 
 
 Gloria held up her hand, bidding her cease 
 from even thinking such a thing. 
 
 "No, no, no, not that." 
 
 "Why not?" the other went on doggedly. 
 "Could she be any better 'n I was oncet? I 
 tell you, I 'd like to have a daughter of his 
 here, and watch her struggle to keep the breath 
 in her body." 
 
 "Have you no mercy?" begged Gloria. 
 
 "What mercy hev I had shown me by 
 Noonan 'cept fer his own profit? What 
 mercy from David Kerr? Wouldn't he 
 laugh to see a daughter o' his in this hell-hole?" 
 Gloria convulsively covered her eyes with her 
 hands as if to shut out even the thought of 
 such a sight. Little Ella went on harshly, 
 "What a joke it would be! But I 'd laugh. 
 I 'd watch her, the little darling, to see that 
 she paid the price as I Ve done." 
 
 Gloria could stand it no longer. 
 
 [259]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Stop, you senseless girl. You make a 
 mockery of pity and compassion. It *s ab- 
 surd to vent your rage upon something that 
 does n't exist. David Kerr has no daughter." 
 
 Little Ella accepted this answer without 
 question, unmindful that a short while before 
 her visitor had denied all knowledge of the 
 man. 
 
 "I wisht he had," she said regretfully. 
 
 A door slammed suddenly overhead. 
 
 "Aren't you afraid here alone?" Gloria 
 asked. 
 
 "Naw. I ain't scared in the daytime, an' 
 at night I 'm out most o' the time." 
 
 The sound of a scuffle on the floor above 
 brought both women to attention. There 
 came a sudden, smothered cry for help which 
 made Gloria's blood run cold. Then there 
 was a heavy thud as if some one had been felled 
 by a blow. 
 
 "What's it all about?" she cried, springing 
 to her feet in terror. 
 
 "Nothin'. Stay where you are. We 're 
 safe as long as we don' open that door." 
 
 [260]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 The sounds of the affray grew louder. 
 Again came the cry for help. 
 
 "What 's going on ? I must know. Some 
 one 's in trouble. Did n't you hear some one 
 
 call?" 
 
 . 
 
 "They 're maybe just foolin.' ' Ella was 
 listening intently. "Don't you butt in." 
 
 "But I can't stand here doing nothing. I 
 must see what 's the matter." 
 
 One could never accuse Gloria of lack of 
 courage. She had never seen the horse she 
 was afraid of, and a sailboat in a heavy sea 
 made her laugh the more, the louder the wind 
 whistled through the rigging. Her feeling of 
 personal power, inherited from her father, had 
 been strongly developed. She had by this 
 time overcome her first fear, and now she in- 
 tended to know what the trouble was all about. 
 Some one was in distress and to do what she 
 could was her one thought as she started to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 "Better not open that door," Little Ella 
 pleaded. 
 
 Even as she spoke, they heard a door slam 
 
 [261]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 at the head of the stairs above. Some one 
 lurched heavily to the stairway, and then to 
 their horror they knew it by the sound just 
 as well as if the scene had been enacted before 
 their eyes the man tripped and plunged down 
 the narrow stairs. 
 
 "I must know what 's going on," Gloria 
 cried. 
 
 She rushed across the room and wrenched 
 open the door. At the foot of the stairway 
 just before her was the body of a man, limp 
 and motionless. 
 
 "It 's a man. He 's hurt," she called back 
 to the sick woman as she knelt to examine 
 him. 
 
 He had fallen so that she could not get a 
 good look at him in the dark hallway, and she 
 rolled him toward the door to get him on his 
 back and see his face. As she gazed upon 
 his countenance the fingers of death itself 
 seemed to seize her by the throat. Her heart 
 gave one great leap and then stood still. On 
 the floor before her lay the body of the man 
 she loved. 
 
 '[262]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Joe!" she screamed. "What are you do- 
 ing here? Joe, Joe, speak to me!" 
 
 But there was no answer. His eyes were 
 closed, and the pallor of death seemed to be 
 upon his face. 
 
 With strength beyond what she had ever 
 known herself to possess, Gloria seized the mo- 
 tionless form and dragged and rolled the man 
 into Little Ella's room. Before she turned 
 to him again she closed and bolted the door. 
 Then she bent over him and begged him to 
 speak to her, to open his eyes and know that 
 she was with him. 
 
 "Joe, don't you know me?" she pleaded. 
 Then to Little Ella, "He 's dead, he 's dead. 
 See, he does n't move." 
 
 "Yes, he does," answered the other woman. 
 She had been sitting up in bed, an excited spec- 
 tator of all that had transpired. "He 's 
 breathin'. Tear open his shirt and feel his 
 heart beat." 
 
 Wright was a pitiable object as he lay on 
 the floor like one dead. His coat and waist- 
 coat were gone, and his collar and cravat had 
 
 [263]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 been torn away. On his white shirt were 
 bloody stains. Gloria felt for his heart and 
 was rewarded by its feeble beat. She next 
 dashed water from the pitcher over his face, 
 but without avail. He showed no signs of re- 
 turning consciousness. From a wound just 
 above his temple on the right side of his head 
 the blood began to trickle down over his face, 
 making its pallor all the more ghastly. She 
 had no means of knowing how serious this was, 
 and naturally came to the conclusion that it 
 was a death-wound. There was only one thing 
 to do: get a physician. 
 
 As she started to her feet she heard two men 
 running down the stairs and making a search 
 from room to room on her floor. These must 
 be the men who had attacked him. She could 
 not let him fall into their hands, and there- 
 fore she could not leave him to go for aid. The 
 impotence of her position made her feel like 
 screaming to relieve the nervous strain. 
 
 "What do you know about this? How did 
 he come here? What has happened to him?" 
 
 [264]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I dunno," answered the woman. "There 's 
 somethin' doin' all the time in this dump." 
 
 A sudden knock at the bolted door chilled 
 Gloria with terror. 
 
 "What's that?" she whispered 
 
 "Somebody 's at the door," replied Little 
 Ella, in the same low tone. This fact was 
 obvious. 
 
 "They can't come in," Gloria continued. 
 
 Again came the knocking, louder and more 
 insistent. 
 
 "I can't let anything happen to him," mur- 
 mured the unhappy girl in agony, remember- 
 ing how the day before she had demanded 
 that he be punished. "Joe, Joe, what does it 
 all mean?" 
 
 But Wright made no answer. He lay like 
 a log as the girl he had loved bent over him, 
 wiped the blood from his face, and brushed 
 back his disheveled hair. 
 
 With the next knock came the voice of a 
 man demanding entrance. 
 
 "Ella, Ella, open this door." 
 
 [265]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Gloria rushed over to the bed. 
 
 "Tell him you can't get out of bed/' she im- 
 plored in a whisper. "Tell him there 's nobody 
 here." 
 
 "I can't git out o' bed. There 's nobody 
 here," Little Ella called. 
 
 This answer did not pacify the man. 
 
 "That 's a lie," he shouted. "There 's some- 
 body in there or the door would n't be locked. 
 Open this door, do you hear me, or I '11 bust 
 it down." 
 
 The tone of his voice made Gloria feel that 
 he would make good his threat. There in the 
 center of the room in full view lay the man 
 whom they were seeking. Once they burst 
 the single barrier they would be upon him, to 
 do what further harm she knew not. It might 
 be that he was now already beyond all human 
 aid. He still breathed, however, and Gloria 
 was willing to fight if there was even only one 
 chance in his favor. Hence .it would not do 
 for them to find him the minute they broke 
 down the door. She must hide him somewhere 
 to give her time to parley with his assailants. 
 
 [266]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 She looked vainly about for some place to put 
 him. 
 
 "For God's pity, help me hide him," she be- 
 seeched. "I can't give him up. Where does 
 that door lead to?" She pointed to the door 
 close by the one which led into the hall. 
 
 "That 's only a closet under the stairway," 
 was Little Ella's whispered explanation. 
 "They 'd find him there in a minute." 
 
 "You would n't let them kill him, would 
 
 you?" 
 
 "I can't help you. I 'm so weak I can 
 hardly turn over in bed." 
 
 "Open this door, I say," came from the man 
 without as he pounded on the door ominously, 
 "or I '11 crack you over the head." 
 
 Gloria understood that there was no time to 
 temporize. She must do something and that 
 quickly. Close by where she stood next the 
 bed, and on the side away from the door, was 
 Little Ella's trunk. Behind it on hooks hung 
 a number of garments, and on a chair were 
 more clothes. It was the only chance, and 
 Gloria took it. 
 
 [267]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 How she ever managed to get him, a dead 
 weight, across the intervening space and safely 
 stowed behind the trunk she never knew. She 
 dragged, she hauled, she pulled, she rolled, and 
 the forlorn hope that she would save him yet 
 gave her strength. As she snatched skirts 
 from the hooks and all the clothing from the 
 chair to pile upon him, the pounding upon the 
 door became more and more vindictive. The 
 girl was out of breath, but as she bent over the 
 prostrate form of the man she loved, she man- 
 aged to gasp: 
 
 "Joe, listen, listen to me. If you can hear 
 me, dear, listen. Don't you stir, don't you 
 make a sound until I come to you. Can you 
 hear me, Joe?" But he was deaf to all en- 
 treaties. Seeing this was so, she turned to 
 Little Ella. "Get him to go away. Offer 
 him anything, promise him anything. I '11 do 
 it ; only keep that man on the other side of that 
 door." 
 
 "There 's at least two of 'em." 
 
 "That does n't matter a thousand it 's all 
 the same. Get them to go away." 
 
 [268]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 This was easier said than done, but Little 
 Ella was willing to make the effort. 
 
 "You git away from that door, an' leave me 
 alone." 
 
 "Open this door, you she-devil," threatened 
 the besieger, "or I '11 
 
 And then interrupted another voice with a 
 suggestion that made Gloria grow faint. 
 
 "Aw! Let 's bust it in. He 's in there all 
 right." 
 
 "Let 'er go," answered the first one. 
 
 Then came the heavy thuds as the men threw 
 themselves against the door. The knocking 
 at the gate in "Macbeth" had no more porten- 
 tious sound in the play than had this attack 
 upon her stronghold to Gloria. She felt all 
 the nervousness of troops under fire that must 
 remain inactive awaiting orders. There was 
 nothing she could do but wait until the door 
 was battered down. 
 
 This was not long in happening. As she 
 stood in front of the trunk nervously twisting 
 her handkerchief in her hands, at one last 
 mighty effort the bolt yielded, the door flew 
 
 [269]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 open and two men stumbled into the room. 
 Little Ella recognized them both instantly. 
 They were Buck Kelly and Turkey Ryan, no- 
 torious denizens of the underworld. If ever 
 there were two vicious-looking cutthroats, these 
 men answered their descriptions. To make 
 their ruffianly appearance worse they bore 
 the marks of their recent encounter. Kelly's 
 left eye had swelled almost closed, and Ryan 
 had a long cut across his cheek where Wright's 
 ring had left its mark with a slashing blow. 
 He had done even more damage than this, but 
 these showed the plainest. Needless to say, 
 their tempers had not been sweetened by the 
 episode. 
 
 "Now, damn you " Ryan began savagely. 
 
 "Stop!" Gloria commanded. "What are 
 you doing here?" 
 
 Until she spoke they had not seen her, and 
 both men were taken much aback. To find a 
 lady there was something they had not ex- 
 pected. 
 
 * 
 
 "What the " Ryan gasped, but checked 
 himself and then continued in a slightly more 
 
 [270]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 respectful tone. "I begs yer pardon, miss, 
 but what are you doin' here?" 
 
 "That 's none of your business. You clear 
 out, both of you." 
 
 This encouraged Little Ella to take her part 
 in the discussion, which she did with her most 
 strident tones. 
 
 "What do youse mean, buttin' into here? 
 Beat it, you two. I 'm a lady, an' when I has 
 a lady frien' avisitin' me they ain't no place 
 for bums. On yer way." 
 
 It was not this tirade which had the most 
 effect upon them. Both quailed before Glo- 
 ria, who stood eyeing them sternly. Then 
 they looked at each other, and without a word 
 of apology shambled out into the hall. 
 
 [271]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 IF Gloria believed that she had put to 
 flight for all time such gentlemanly as- 
 sassins as Mr. Kelly and Mr. Ryan, her 
 feeling of triumph did not last long. As the 
 door into the hall was still open she did not dare 
 make a move in Wright's direction. She de- 
 termined to close the door and pull the wash- 
 stand in front of it, wedging it under the knob, 
 before trying further to succor the injured 
 man. When she walked toward the door, it 
 again framed the forms of Ryan and Kelly. 
 As a result of a short conference just out of 
 earshot, they had decided to return and get 
 their man. 
 
 "What do you want?" Her heart sank. 
 
 "We 're lookin' fer a man," Kelly snarled. 
 
 "An* he come into this room, too," Ryan 
 added doggedly. "We don't want to make 
 
 [272]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 you uncomf'table, lady, but we gotta git that 
 man." 
 
 The way he said it made Gloria feel that he 
 meant business. All she could do was play 
 for time and pray for Mrs. Hayes to return. 
 
 "There 's no man here," she explained in her 
 most winning manner. "You can see that 
 plainly for yourself. I came over from the 
 mission to take care of this sick woman. You 
 are only making her worse by bursting into 
 her room in such a rude fashion. Please go 
 out gently; she must have it perfectly quiet." 
 
 Turkey Ryan so far forgot himself in the 
 presence of his betters as to grin at this expla- 
 nation. 
 
 "We don't want to have to make you give 
 'im up." 
 
 This threat had an unpleasant sound. 
 Hitherto the girl had not feared for her own 
 safety, but his surly remark frightened her. 
 The one thing that kept her steadfast was the 
 thought that she was protecting the man she 
 had loved; yes, the man she now loved more 
 than she ever had. She did not know how he 
 is [273]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 happened to be there; she did not know how 
 he regarded her; she only knew that she loved 
 him, that she would give her life a sacrifice to 
 save him. 
 
 Ryan next appealed to Little Ella. 
 
 "Ella, that guy come in here. Where is he? 
 We ain't goin' to be scared by any fool girl. 
 She don't know who wants him. Now give 
 'im up." 
 
 "Don't say a word," Gloria told her. 
 
 "You gotta stick by us, Ella. This ain't no 
 ordinary job." 
 
 At Ryan's injunction to stick by him, Little 
 Ella seemed to waver. 
 
 "Don* you fergit who yer friends are. Who 
 keeps you from bein' jugged? Mike Noonan. 
 Who lets you stay here when you can't pay, an' 
 feeds you? Mike Noonan." 
 
 "That 's so. He has been good to me." 
 
 Gloria was quick to catch the note of inde- 
 cision. "But now I 'm going to take care of 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, goin' to, goin' to," sneered Kelly. 
 "You know what church promises is. Don' 
 
 [274]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 you fergit we gotta stan' together down here, 
 all of us." 
 
 It was the old, old appeal of class to serve a 
 selfish end. 
 
 "Yes, that 's true. I don' want to say any- 
 thing, but" 
 
 Ryan immediately pressed the advantage he 
 thought he had gained. 
 
 "This is yer chanct, Ella. You know what 
 she 'd say to you if you was in her house. Are 
 you with us? I '11 see you git yours." 
 
 It was a moment when a man's life was at 
 stake. Gloria believed that if the woman told 
 and they tore Wright from her she might never 
 see him alive again. She had prayed silently 
 for help to come, but she was still alone. Al- 
 ready she was giving up hope from that quar- 
 ter and was conscious that upon her own efforts 
 in all probability the very life of the man 
 she loved would depend. To add to her an- 
 guish was the fear that he might regain con- 
 sciousness and betray himself by a moan. 
 
 Now it all depended upon Little Ella. It 
 had been a clever stroke, that of Ryan's, asking 
 
 [275]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 her how she would be treated in this woman's 
 home. Against this appeal to class prejudice 
 Gloria had not scored. 
 
 "I '11 tell," said the woman. 
 
 The two men looked at each other and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Gloria, looking not at the men, 
 but at the girl who lay pale and trembling upon 
 the bed. "Do you remember what you said a 
 while ago? What you accused me of? You 
 swore I had n't loved. Even to my sorrow 
 you shall have proof of it now that I do. The 
 very man whom I 'm defending from these 
 bullies is the one man on earth I love." Ryan 
 and Kelly looked at each other in amazement. 
 "You shall see if you loved more than I. 
 You Ve gone through fire and storm for a man ? 
 I '11 do no less. If need be, I '11 die for this 
 man here and now because I love him." 
 The fire died out of her eyes. She stretched 
 out her hands to Ella pathetically and begged 
 humbly, "My whole heart's happiness is here. 
 Are you going to help them try to take him 
 from me?" 
 
 [276]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 The woman, a creature of impulse, was 
 moved. 
 
 "You 'd better give it up, Turkey. I ain't 
 goin' to let you touch that man." 
 
 "Ah, you 're a woman," sighed Gloria. 
 "You know a woman's heart." 
 
 "Nix on that love spiel, Ella," commanded 
 Ryan. "This ain't no valentine party, lady. 
 You can't fool us with that soft-soap talk. 
 We gotta carry out the boss's orders. Buck, 
 look in that closet." 
 
 Ryan recognized that the time for action had 
 come. On his side he had the overwhelming 
 brute force which would enable him to do as he 
 pleased. Kelly had turned to look into the 
 closet when he was stopped by Gloria's out- 
 burst. What Ryan had said had reminded 
 her of her own power. 
 
 "Stand where you are, you infamous thugs! 
 Must I tell you the truth to be obeyed? If 
 you are above the law, I am higher still. Mike 
 Noonan could have told you who I am. You 
 speak of your boss, then learn the truth." 
 
 "What yer givin' us?" jeered Ryan as he 
 [277]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 advanced toward the place where Wright lay 
 hidden. 
 
 "Stand back," she cried. "I am Gloria 
 Kerr." 
 
 The two men looked at each other in aston- 
 ishment, and Little Ella sat bolt upright in 
 bed. 
 
 "The boss's" 
 
 "Daughter," Gloria finished Ryan's excla- 
 mation. "I am the daughter of David Kerr. 
 Now go." 
 
 Something in her bearing made them feel 
 that she was telling the truth. Kelly, timid 
 now and apologetic, was the first to speak. 
 
 "Well, we did n't know you was why 
 did n't you say " 
 
 "I guess we '11 go see Noonan," was Ryan's 
 method of beating a retreat. 
 
 "He can't git away, anyway," Kelly whis- 
 pered to him. 
 
 Gloria breathed a sigh of relief as they 
 turned to go, but in an instant the shrill scream 
 from Ella which brought the men back to the 
 center of the room froze her blood. 
 
 [278]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "The boss's daughter!" It was a witch's 
 screech ending in a peal of unearthly laughter. 
 
 Gloria sank into a chair gasping, "What 
 have I said?" 
 
 She felt the curse upon her. 
 
 "Come back, Turkey, come back," shrilled 
 Little Ella, laughing wildly. "The boss's 
 daughter! The boss's daughter!" 
 
 Her thin hands plucked at the coverlid, and 
 her blazing eyes were fixed upon Gloria, who 
 had shrunk into a weak lump in her chair. 
 Only a few moments had passed since all had 
 admitted that Little Ella dominated the situa- 
 tion. That fact she recognized as readily as 
 did the others. Now she determined to make 
 use of her power. Gloria herself had aroused 
 the savagery of the woman by having inflamed 
 her against the boss, not knowing that the crea- 
 ture's rage was directed against her own fa- 
 ther. 
 
 Feverishly stimulated to an unaccustomed 
 mental acuteness by the thoughts of her wrongs 
 as Gloria had laid them bare, all the cru- 
 elty of the woman's nature asserted itself. Re- 
 
 [279]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 venge with her was sweetness long drawn out. 
 It was the dainty morsel over which the 
 gourmet lingers. It was the tantalizing antics 
 of the cat that gloats over the mouse beneath 
 its paw, and even lets it run a little way to 
 arouse the wild hope that it may yet escape. 
 Having decided upon the ultimate disclosure 
 of Wright's hiding place, Little Ella was now 
 bent most of all on making the daughter of the 
 boss suffer to the limit. 
 
 "What 's the matter, Ella?" Ryan asked. 
 
 "Let them go, I say. Please let them go," 
 Gloria implored. 
 
 "You want them to go, do you? Ha! Ha! 
 The boss's daughter! The boss's daughter!" 
 
 The last words she uttered in piercing 
 tones horrible to hear as she swayed back and 
 forth, keeping time with her body to the ca- 
 dence of her cry. 
 
 Gloria tried to gather herself together to 
 meet this new attack, but without much suc- 
 cess. She felt so weak from the shock that 
 she was only able to rise from her chair with 
 difficulty. 
 
 [280]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "You 're out of your head. You 're mad. 
 Keep still, I tell you." The men still stand- 
 ing irresolute, she turned upon them. "Why 
 are you standing there? Leave this room." 
 
 Little Ella was enjoying herself hugely. 
 Gloria's every pleading tone was music in 
 her ears. Her eyes burned with excitement. 
 Yet the cruel cat delayed to crush the mouse. 
 Its quivering was too soul-satisfying. Realiz- 
 ing that if she admitted Gloria was the daugh- 
 ter of David Kerr the men would forego their 
 pursuit of Wright, Little Ella knew her best 
 course was to deny the relationship. 
 
 "Don't you go, Turkey," she yelled. "I '11 
 tell you the truth." She turned to Gloria. 
 "I wisht the boss had a daughter, did I ? It 's 
 a lie, Turkey. She 's not Dave Kerr's girl. 
 He 'd laugh to see a daughter o' his in such a 
 hell-hole. I 'd watch her to see that she paid 
 the price," she glanced at Gloria malevolently, 
 "if if he had a daughter. An' yer pertectin' 
 the man you love !" she mocked. "We '11 see 
 how the boss's daughter loves." 
 
 Her laughter was terrible. The men could 
 
 [281]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 not think her the . same woman they knew. 
 Gloria started in alarm. She felt the woman 
 was mad, and did not know what she might do. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she asked. 
 
 Now Ella was sneering at her. She knew 
 how to choose knife-hlades for words. In ev- 
 erything she said was the cunning and the 
 cruelty of a lost woman. Gloria was suffer- 
 ing, she could see, but there was still another 
 chord which would vibrate to misery. Since 
 time began jealousy has been a flaming sword 
 in the hands of an unscrupulous antagonist 
 who knows how to use it. To make Gloria 
 think that she was defending a man untrue to 
 her, was something. To make her believe that 
 she had been defeated by the greater charm of 
 Little Ella herself, was far more. 
 
 "Do you think I 'd 'a' let vou hid that 
 
 * V 
 
 man if he 'd loved you? Never. You don' 
 know why he come here, but I do. He come 
 to see me. He loves me," 
 
 She beat her breasts as she spoke to empha- 
 size her words and her eyes sparkled with the 
 challenge she had just hurled at the daughter 
 
 [282]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 of the boss. Gradually, bit by bit, the veneer 
 of civilization had been chipped away. Gloria 
 no longer saw the gulf that separated them. 
 She knew only that by cozening words this 
 other woman was trying to make her think 
 she had been robbed of her own. Her weak- 
 ness left her. Now when she summoned all 
 her strength, she joyed to find it did not fail. 
 As Little Ella proclaimed that the man they 
 were hiding had come to see her, Gloria sprang 
 to the side of the bed, and cried with all the in- 
 dignation of an overwrought soul: 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 "That 's what you say, but down in your 
 heart you know it 's the truth. It ain't the 
 first time he 's been here. Oh, he 's told me 
 about you, the boss's daughter ; but it 's me he 
 loves." 
 
 The men were forgotten in this duel so ele- 
 mental that it could have had the stone age 
 for its setting. On one side, hate bitter as the 
 grave; on the other, love and faith stronger 
 than death itself. 
 
 "Every word you utter is a lie," Gloria 
 
 [283]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 blazed. "If you loved him you would n't have 
 called these cutthroats." 
 
 "Why don* you tell 'em yer the boss's daugh- 
 ter now?" taunted the other. 
 
 "Look here, Ella," Ryan broke in, "we 're 
 tired o' standin' here like fools. Quit yer 
 gassin' an' make good." 
 
 "You '11 git yours all right. She 's not 
 David Kerr's daughter. Don' you let her 
 bluff you. I know where she hid 'im. I '11 
 tell you where he is." 
 
 Gloria turned upon the men. 
 
 "I Ve told you the truth, and I Ve warned 
 you. Don't you come a step closer." Then 
 she threatened the woman, "If you dare to 
 speak a " 
 
 Little Ella was not to be intimidated. 
 
 "When she dragged him in," she began, "she 
 locked the door, an' then she " 
 
 Gloria was standing at no great distance 
 from the bed when Little Ella began her be- 
 trayal of Wright's hiding place. As she real- 
 ized that in an instant the secret would be out, 
 her eyes dilated with her look of hate. Then 
 
 [284]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 they narrowed to cruel slits, while a tremor 
 ran through her body. One who knew the girl 
 would scarcely have recognized her. Like 
 some lithe creature of the jungle waiting for 
 the kill, she seemed to crouch for the spring. 
 Just as the woman was about to utter the 
 words which would reveal where the news- 
 paper man was concealed, Gloria was upon her. 
 She seemed with one bound to have leapt the 
 space that separated them. 
 
 "You Jezebel!" she raged, and struck her 
 fair upon the mouth. 
 
 Ryan and Kelly did not stir. The unex- 
 pected had happened, and they were held spell- 
 bound. 
 
 Gloria's breath rushed through her teeth 
 with a horrid, hissing sound, her face was 
 flushed, her hair touseled, and her waist in 
 disarray. Yet she heeded nothing but the 
 wild impulse to defend her own. 
 
 Little Ella, her scant strength all spent, 
 gasped out that she would tell nothing. 
 Gloria was beside herself and the promise 
 meant nothing to her. With a man's strength 
 
 [285]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 she lifted the woman up, held her there an in- 
 stant, and then hurled her back upon the bed. 
 Her head fell over the side, and she lay as one 
 dead. 
 
 Her rage was still hot upon her as she turned 
 to confront the two men. 
 
 "As for you, get out." 
 
 Ryan made one last half-hearted stand. 
 
 "Say, the boss hates that man. Are you 
 realty Dave Kerr's daughter?" 
 
 "And you need to ask such a question !" she 
 stormed. "Ask Mike Noonan if you will, but 
 beware of David Kerr ! If ever you have cause 
 to fear him, you have it now. My anger is his 
 anger, and don't you dare defy the daughter 
 of David Kerr!" 
 
 She took a step forward menacingly, as if 
 she had strength to inflict the same chastise- 
 ment they had seen administered to the woman. 
 They did not stay to argue with her. Leaving 
 Little Ella to her fate, they made a hasty re- 
 treat. 
 
 No sooner were they out of the room than 
 Gloria put into execution what she had de- 
 
 [286]
 
 She felt for the beat of his heart
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 signed when they departed the first time. 
 Rushing to the door she closed it hastily and 
 pushed the washstand in front of it, wedging 
 it under the knob. This done, she ran back 
 and dragged Wright from his hiding place. 
 There was no thought of the woman whose 
 head hung over the side of the bed in such 
 ghastly fashion. 
 
 Gloria lifted his head and dashed water upon 
 his face. She watched him closely, and as she 
 saw that it had no effect upon him, a sudden 
 fear seized her and her cheeks were blanched. 
 With trembling fingers she tore at his shirt and 
 felt for the beat of his heart. She could feel 
 its faint pulsation. He lived. 
 
 With a wild cry she flung herself forward 
 in a deep swoon upon the body of the uncon- 
 scious man. 
 
 [287]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE one person who could have told how 
 Joe Wright had come to visit Mike 
 Noonan's lodging house was David 
 Kerr. He had sprung the trap himself, never 
 dreaming that his own daughter would be 
 caught in it. When the fight on the Interur- 
 ban Railway had first started, at command of 
 the boss, Jack Durken, a ward heeler, appar- 
 ently had gone over to the enemy. 
 
 The man had found employment in the cir- 
 culation department of the News, and soon 
 afterward the information reached Wright 
 that one of his own employes was a former 
 henchman of the notorious first ward leader, 
 Mike Noonan. Durken was loud in his de- 
 nunciations of David Kerr and his followers, 
 and appeared willing to betray whatever he 
 knew of the methods of the gang. 
 
 The editor found him a fountain of infor- 
 
 [288]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 mation regarding the shady politics of Bel- 
 mont. In reality Durken told only what 
 David Kerr ordered him to tell. Wishing to 
 establish Wright's confidence in the man, Kerr 
 had him disclose many things of slight im- 
 portance that were absolutely authentic. 
 
 One of the charges continuously brought 
 against the machine was that it was colo- 
 nizing floaters in lodging houses in the low, 
 thickly-populated river wards. Durken even 
 admitted it when Wright asked about it, and 
 several days later suggested a tour of inspec- 
 tion. The blood of the star reporter warmed 
 in the editor's veins. The idea was tantaliz- 
 ing. It was one of those stories a good man 
 would sacrifice half a year's salary to handle. 
 
 Without saying any thing to any one, the 
 owner of the News thought of the expedition 
 for several days. The more he thought of it, 
 the more it appealed to him. The more it ap- 
 pealed to him the less was the likelihood of 
 his considering the axiom that in a battle it is 
 a general's duty not to get hurt. In fact, the 
 thought of physical injury did not occur to 
 
 19 [289]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 him. He was a stranger to Belmont, no one 
 knew him, and in the daytime there was no 
 danger. 
 
 When Wright finally decided to investigate 
 personally it was only a few days before the 
 election. He determined that he would wan- 
 der down into the first ward two days before 
 the votes were cast to gather material for his 
 story. The next afternoon, just on the eve of 
 the election, his final attack on the machine 
 would be an expose of ring methods of han- 
 dling vagabond voters imported for the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 This programme was being carried out as 
 originally planned, notwithstanding the break 
 with Gloria the previous day, when Wright 
 was induced to go through Noonan's "hotel." 
 Here, deserted by Durken, who had been his 
 guide, he had fallen into the hands of Turkey 
 Ryan and Buck Kelly. 
 
 Although dazed by the unexpectedness of 
 
 the attack, he had nevertheless managed to 
 
 give a good account of himself. The cramped 
 
 attic quarters in which they had fought had 
 
 [290]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 been in his favor. The two bruisers had been 
 surprised by what a scientific boxer could do 
 in a rough-and-tumble fight. To the momen- 
 tary indecision resulting from his good defense 
 Wright owed his escape from the room in which 
 he had been trapped. 
 
 A stihging blow having taken all the fight 
 out of Kelly, he lurched and fell forward 
 against the door just as the newspaper man 
 had managed to elude his assailants for the in- 
 stant and slip out of the room. Forced to 
 minister to his companion, Turkey Ryan had 
 lost many valuable seconds before he could 
 take up the pursuit. It was during this respite 
 that Wright, groping blindly for the stair, 
 had tripped and fallen, to be found unconscious 
 by Gloria in front of Little Ella's door. 
 
 No one ever knew exactly what had taken 
 place in Noonan's lodging house that afternoon 
 in early spring. Returning from the mission 
 with Dr. Xorton, Mrs. Hayes was surprised to 
 find the door of the Windermere woman's room 
 fastened from within. When no response 
 greeted her knock, surprise gave way to alarm, 
 
 [291]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 and she called upon Dr. Norton to aid her in 
 opening the door. Gloria had not fastened it 
 as securely as she had thought, and it required 
 no great strength on the part of the physician 
 to force it open. 
 
 Gloria was removed to Mrs. Hayes's home 
 in a carriage as soon as she was revived. Lit- 
 tle Ella, in a semi-conscious, delirious state, was 
 hurried to the city hospital in a police ambu- 
 lance. An examination having shown that 
 Wright had sustained no serious injury, as soon 
 as he had regained consciousness he was taken 
 to his own apartment. 
 
 David Kerr was not allowed to see his daugh- 
 ter. Although the exact nature of the shock to 
 which she had been subjected was not known, 
 since both Kelly and Ryan had disappeared, 
 yet the physicians did not think it best in her 
 nervous condition for her to see even her father. 
 The following day she remained in bed, speak- 
 ing never a word, busy with her own thoughts. 
 The next day, that of the election, she dressed, 
 but did not leave her room. 
 
 When it was seen that Gloria was under the 
 
 [292]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 cloud of a settled melancholy, there was dehate 
 how best to minister to her. Her very silence 
 made the problem more perplexing. She ut- 
 tered never a word by which they might pluck 
 out the heart of the mystery. Strange as it 
 may seem, she did not even ask about Joe 
 Wright. She did, however, read the morning 
 and the afternoon papers carefully. In neither 
 was there any reference to an attack on the edi- 
 tor. As her mind beat upon the bars of its 
 new iron cage, it sufficed her to know that all 
 must be well with him. 
 
 Joe Wright's injuries were not of a serious 
 nature, yet it was thought best that he remain 
 at home for several days. By means of the 
 telephone and through the men who came to 
 the house he edited the News the day previous 
 to election. Over the same telephone line 
 came the cheering news the next night that the 
 democrats had been defeated. David Kerr's 
 rule had been broken. 
 
 Nothing of a personal nature had been al- 
 lowed to help contribute to this success. No 
 mention had been made in the News of the 
 [293]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 assault on its editor in Mike Noonan's lodging 
 house, because to Wright it had appeared as 
 a personal matter. The day previous Gloria 
 had denounced him and cried aloud for venge- 
 ance. He recognized that had Gloria not been 
 mixed up in the affair the result might have 
 been the same, but the personal element was 
 what made him hold his peace. 
 
 The news that the day had been carried for 
 good government was only a temporary intox- 
 icant. There were a few moments of exhilara- 
 tion when his real feelings were submerged in 
 the general rejoicing that David Kerr had 
 been given a more severe set-back than he had 
 ever before received. Then came the ebb of 
 the tide, leaving him on the desolate shore of 
 disheartening uncertainty. The past was a 
 nightmare and the future a blank. 
 
 The tumult and the cheers had died away, 
 the brass bands at last were stilled, his sitting- 
 room with two windows on the street and its 
 own private entrance had been cleared of to- 
 bacco smoke, and the reception he had held 
 when it was learned the election had gone his 
 [294]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 way was at an end, when Joe Wright sat him- 
 self down alone in the quiet of the first hours 
 of the morning to take stock of his future. 
 
 Gloria? What of her? 
 
 It was always Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, run- 
 ning through his mind, knocking at the door of 
 his heart. 
 
 Always of the Gloria who had spurned him, 
 he thought, for he knew nothing of the part she 
 had played in the lodging house. It was not a 
 situation to contemplate with equanimity 
 this living in the same town with the woman he 
 loved madly. Were Belmont of some size, a 
 city like St. Louis or Pittsburg, there would 
 be the probability that their paths would sel- 
 dom cross. Yet in Belmont every one knew 
 every one else and never a week passed but 
 what they all met at least in passing. 
 
 It would be impossible for him to avoid 
 Gloria altogether. He was frank enough to 
 acknowledge to himself that he would undoubt- 
 edly seek those places where there would be 
 some certainty of his meeting her. To 
 the same town with her meant that he could not 
 [295]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 give her up. Yet he knew that any overtures 
 he might make would be worse than useless. 
 He felt that her prejudice was such that there 
 could never be established that bond without 
 which matrimony is unholy. The ruffed pool 
 may again be calm, the misted mirror may 
 again be clear, yet he believed in her ignorance 
 she would feel that when two hearts but once 
 have broken troth there is no alchemy that love 
 distills can make the past to live again and the 
 dead present as though it had not been. 
 
 The harder he tried to fight against his con- 
 viction of what he should do, the more Wright 
 was convinced that there was but one course for 
 him to pursue: it would be best for him to leave 
 Belmont. This would be not for a week or a 
 month, but for all time. It would be neces- 
 sary for him to dispose of the paper, but this 
 he could do through a broker. He was quite 
 willing to let it go at a sacrifice, to lose what he 
 had himself put into it, so anxious was he to 
 escape from Belmont in search of that magical 
 flower, heart's-ease. 
 
 Having made up his mind, Wright went to 
 1>96]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 bed, but not to sleep. The few remaining 
 hours of darkness he rolled and tossed. It was 
 not the bruises he had received in the fight at 
 Nbonan's that kept him awake, annoying as 
 they were. It was always the one thought 
 Gloria, Gloria, Gloria. 
 
 Morning brought diversions which slightly 
 relieved the tension. There were two edito- 
 rials to be written upon the political situation. 
 This was followed by conferences with men on 
 the paper, and then came the letter to the news- 
 paper broker announcing that the News was 
 for sale. He did not dictate this to his secre- 
 tary, but wrote it out laboriously in long-hand. 
 
 The morning was more than half over when 
 he began to pack. It was Wright's intention 
 to leave Belmont that night, ostensibly on a 
 vacation for the purpose of recuperation after 
 the hard campaign. The owner of the News 
 felt, however, that he would never return. 
 
 The many steps necessitated in packing 
 taught him how weak he was, and after lunch 
 he called in Patty, the little daughter of his 
 landlady, to help him. They had always been 
 
 [297]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the best of friends, and her sorrow when she 
 learned he was going away on a long vacation 
 was genuine. The child was of much assist- 
 ance, bringing all the smaller things from the 
 living room into the bedroom where the real 
 work of packing was being done. 
 
 When the packing was about completed the 
 little girl remembered that she had brought a 
 doll with her. In searching for it in a pile of 
 clothing beside Wright's trunk she felt some- 
 thing hard. To satisfy her curiosity she drew 
 it forth, to discover, instead of her doll, that it 
 was a framed picture of a young woman. It 
 was a picture of Gloria which had appeared in 
 a weekly society paper. 
 
 Patty had helped wrap the framed pictures 
 in old newspapers, and as she brought Gloria's 
 picture, she exclaimed triumphantly, "Here 's 
 another picture, Mr. Joey." 
 
 Wright had put it aside surreptitiously when 
 packing the things he had planned to take with 
 him for immediate use. For the fraction of a 
 minute there had been a debate in his mind as 
 to whether or not he would be weak enough to 
 [298]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 carry her picture with him. He had finally 
 placed it under a pile of clothing beside his 
 steamer trunk. 
 
 "It 's extremely good of you to find that pic- 
 ture," the man remarked with the gravity he 
 sometimes assumed in treating Patty as one of 
 equal years and understanding; "I doubt if I 
 should have found it." 
 
 "I was hunting for my dolly, and looked un- 
 der a pile of things and found the pretty pic- 
 ture lady." She gazed at the picture of Gloria 
 admiringly. 
 
 "Really, Patty, you astonish me! Your per- 
 spicacity is exceeded only by your persever- 
 ance. I don't think I should ever have found 
 that picture. Just leave it on the table there, 
 and don't if you love me lose your dolly any 
 more, please; at least not until all my things 
 are securely packed." 
 
 Patty was just on the point of asking the 
 name of the young woman who had so taken her 
 fancy, when the doorbell rang. With the an- 
 nouncement that no one was at home and she 
 had to answer the bell, she scampered off. 
 [299]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Wright picked up the picture and gazed at 
 it intently. He was sacrificing all for her. 
 Was the sacrifice worth while? The question 
 would have been an idle one. He loved her, 
 had never loved any one else and never would 
 love any one else. No sacrifice was too great 
 which would mean any increased happiness for 
 her. The sound of some one being brought to 
 his rooms by Patty caused him to put the pic- 
 ture hastily face downward on the table. The 
 door opened to admit Dr. Hayes. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Wright," he ex- 
 claimed cordially as he came forward with hand 
 outstretched. "I hope you '11 let a democrat 
 drop in to congratulate you on winning the 
 election." 
 
 The editor's face lit up with pleasure as they 
 clasped hands. 
 
 "Thank you, old man. It 's awfully good 
 of you to stop by before I started on a little va- 
 cation. The News won its fight ; but of course 
 we can't expect this to be the end of the contest, 
 can we?" 
 
 The coroner shook his head dolefully. 
 
 [300]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Don't ask me. I Ve ceased to be a political 
 prophet. 'Do you think it '11 be a boy, doc?' 
 they ask. 'I don't know,' says I, shaking my 
 head solemn-like. I 'm going to get that wise 
 about politics. I don't prophesy anything now 
 until after it happens. But I never thought 
 I 'd live to see the day that Belmont would go 
 republican. I 'm out of politics." 
 
 Wright smiled. "Is n't that what they all 
 say the day after?" 
 
 "It 's the truth this time. My wife has 
 done nothing but read the riot act to me for 
 the last two days." 
 
 "I imagine Mrs. Hayes is a purist in poli- 
 tics." 
 
 "Well, I can't blame her," the doctor ad- 
 mitted. "She 's been poking around down in 
 the river wards, and that surely was a raw 
 frame-up they handed you. She got onto it, 
 and she 's dead sore." 
 
 Wright had discussed the affair with Dr. 
 Norton and had also told Arthur Morrison 
 what little he knew. This was the first intima- 
 tion coming from the ring that they even knew 
 
 [301]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 of the occurrence. The newspaper man was 
 curious to know the ring version of it. Dr. 
 Hayes's remark afforded him the opportunity 
 to approach the matter cautiously. 
 
 "What was Mrs. Hayes's connection with 
 that ah little episode?" he asked. "I gath- 
 ered from Dr. Norton that in some way or 
 other she knew something about it." 
 
 Dr. Haves stared at him in amazement. 
 
 w 
 
 Miss Kerr had never uttered a word, yet he 
 readily believed, as did the others, that both 
 Wright and she were the only ones who could 
 tell the story. The woman in whose room they 
 had been found was still in a delirious condition 
 at the city hospital and nothing could be 
 learned from her. Although Kerr had or- 
 dered the police to bring in Ryan and Kelly, 
 the search had been unsuccessful. 
 
 "What!" gasped Dr. Hayes, "don't you 
 know how you got out of that mess and why 
 the thugs did n't finish you?" 
 
 Wright shook his head. His visitor's man- 
 ner puzzled him.* 
 
 "I don't know a thing. I think some one 
 
 [302]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 helped me in some way or other, but Dr. Nor- 
 ton claimed he knew nothing." 
 
 "Well, I '11 be damned!" 
 
 "Don't; there's no occasion for it now 
 you 're out of politics. The first thing I knew 
 was when I heard Dr. Norton say, 'He 's 
 coming to, all right.' ' 
 
 Soon Hayes picked up his hat to go. He 
 stood for an instant, as if inviting Wright to 
 speak. As he did not do so, the visitor asked, 
 thinking of Gloria the while: 
 
 "Is there anything you want to know, now 
 that you 're going on a vacation, or would you 
 like me to deliver any messages?" 
 
 "No, none." Then after a pause, "It is bet- 
 ter so." 
 
 "Well, I 'm off," remarked the doctor. He 
 spoke carelessly, to hide his regret, for at heart 
 he keenly sympathized with the man who was 
 making so strong a fight for a principle that 
 love itself had to give way before it. Then he 
 added, apparently as an afterthought, "By the 
 way, I believe that offer for your paper still 
 holds good." 
 
 [303]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Wright laughed, the little world-weary laugh 
 he had sometimes permitted himself since he 
 and Gloria had parted in Judge Gilbert's of- 
 fice. 
 
 "My vacation has started," he answered, 
 "and I 'm not talking business. But you can 
 tell Judge Gilbert for me that the Belmont 
 News is not on the market for his clients." 
 
 "All right, I '11 tell him," Hayes replied as 
 they shook hands. "Here 's good luck to you 
 on your vacation." 
 
 Wright smiled grimly, the thought that good 
 luck would perch upon his standard was a sorry 
 hope. He refused to blind himself to the truth 
 with any fleeting consolation such as that. 
 
 [304]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE morning after the election, Gloria 
 called for the Banner as soon as she 
 wakened. The headlines told her at 
 once that her father had been defeated. She 
 searched carefully through the paper for some 
 reference to Joe Wright, but no mention was 
 made of him. Naturally enough, the Banner 
 was not in a jubilant mood. It predicted dire 
 things in store for Belmont, but Gloria, re- 
 membering what she had learned at so bitter a 
 cost, felt that any change must be for the bet- 
 ter. 
 
 The girl had now recovered from the first 
 severity of the shock, and was anxious to know 
 for a certainty what had become of Wright. 
 She knew that he lived and was not seriously in- 
 jured, else there would have been some men- 
 tion of him in the paper. The day previous 
 ao [305]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 she had thought much of him, but there had 
 been much else for her to think of. Now with 
 a return to what was to be for her the normal, 
 she wanted to know how he fared. 
 
 All the morning Gloria spent in revolving 
 in her mind just what she ought to do. She 
 knew that her father meant Wright harm. 
 Pride and maidenly reserve wrestled with what 
 she considered her duty. Her conscience told 
 her that before she left Belmont forever she 
 should warn this man who once had loved her. 
 He must be placed on his guard against her 
 own father. It cut her like a knife to think 
 that the attack on the editor had really been 
 made at her command. Now she could do no 
 less than tell him how affairs stood. 
 
 Dr. Hayes could scarcely conceal his surprise 
 when Gloria followed him into the hall after 
 luncheon and asked about Mr. Wright's condi- 
 tion. He told her that he still kept to his room, 
 but was reported as improving. Before he 
 could frame a question, Gloria thanked him 
 and fled up the stairs. About three o'clock she 
 emerged from her room, dressed for the street, 
 [306]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 and announced to Mrs. Hayes that she was go- 
 ing for a short walk alone. 
 
 What the daughter of David Kerr told her 
 hostess was the truth. She did go for a short 
 walk, a walk that took her in the most direct 
 way to the house where Joe Wright resided. 
 The door was opened for her by a little girl who 
 invited her to enter. 
 
 "I wish to see Mr. Wright," Gloria ex- 
 plained to the child. 
 
 "I '11 take you to his sitting-room. He told 
 me to bring anybody in that came to see him, 
 and to tell 'em he 'd be back in a minute." 
 
 All was silence in the room when the little 
 girl threw wide the door and bade her enter. 
 
 "Then he 's not in the house, you say?" 
 
 "No, he 's gone to get a baggageman, but he 
 said to wait," Patty insisted. 
 
 "Whom did he wish to wait?" 
 
 "Oh, anybody. He said somebody 's com- 
 ing to pack his books. He hurt himself and 
 can't bend over the box." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Gloria, with a little gasp of 
 pain. She remembered all too well the hurt 
 
 [307]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 of which he complained. Then at the same 
 time came a new thought, why was he packing 
 his books? A more critical look showed her 
 many evidences that he was giving up his 
 apartment. She could not understand. 
 
 "Is Mr. Wright moving everything?" she 
 ventured. 
 
 "Yes, he 's going away." 
 
 Gloria gazed at the child in surprise, not 
 quite grasping what she said. A smothered 
 exclamation caused her to look up quickly. 
 There, staring at her from the doorway in hon- 
 est amazement, stood Joe Wright. She felt 
 her cheeks crimson. 
 
 "Miss Kerr! You here!" he gasped, before 
 he could master his surprise. Then in an in- 
 stant he went on in an even, conventional tone, 
 "I beg your pardon, I scarcely expected to find 
 you here." 
 
 "No, I I I scarcely expected to find my- 
 self here, but here I am." As she said this she 
 extended her hands, then dropped them, a ges- 
 ture which seemed to typify the simplicity with 
 which the visit had been accomplished. 
 
 [308]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 Wright readily recognized that there was 
 some motive in the call, and dismissed Patty 
 with instructions to let him know if any one 
 asked for him. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" he begged, remem- 
 bering his duty as host. 
 
 "Thank you, I have n't a moment to stay." 
 
 Wright looked about for a chair, to find them 
 filled with odds and ends of things intended to 
 be packed. The girl insisted that she preferred 
 to stand, and listened to his apology for the ap- 
 pearance of the room and the explanation that 
 he was moving. 
 
 "I learned at luncheon you were going 
 away," she acknowledged. "Since you would 
 not come to see me, I had to come to see you." 
 
 Again his amazement equaled that the sight 
 of her in his living room had occasioned. He 
 permitted it to betray itself by exclaiming: 
 
 "Since I would n't come to see you! Surely, 
 Miss Kerr, you didn't expect that? There 
 was nothing whatever equivocal about my 
 dismissal." 
 
 This was something she had not planned, a 
 
 [309]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 reference to the past. She wished merely to 
 warn him and then take leave of him forever. 
 
 "I didn't come with a desire to refer to 
 that," she answered. "You must realize that 
 what I have to say seems to me of the utmost 
 importance, else I oh, you can't know the 
 effort it has cost me to come here." 
 
 "I 'm sorry if your dislike is so intense." 
 
 She shook her head, with a smile that was 
 only a sad lighting up of her countenance, like 
 the last flare of an expiring flame. 
 
 "Let us not speak of like or dislike. All 
 that is past. It is true I promised myself 
 never to see you again, but since that day in 
 Judge Gilbert's office events have shed such a 
 new light on Belmont and on me that I feel 
 some explanations are due you before you go 
 away." 
 
 Quick as a flash he saw that she had learned 
 the truth, or at least some part of it. With his 
 characteristic generosity he wished to relieve 
 her of the necessity of making explanations. 
 They would lead nowhere and only cause her 
 pain. 
 
 [310]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I appreciate your coming, Miss Kerr, from 
 the bottom of my heart I do, but if if any- 
 thing you think you have to tell causes you 
 pain, I 'd rather far that what you wish to say 
 should remain unspoken." 
 
 "That 's generous of you, but I should find 
 it harder to maintain silence because I want 
 to be just." 
 
 "Miss Kerr! There is no occasion for you 
 to" 
 
 "Please, please, don't interrupt me. It 's 
 hard enough as it is." A chair he had brought 
 for Gloria she had refused, and now he sank 
 into it himself, his head resting in his hands as 
 he listened. "I have lived away from Bel- 
 mont," she went on in an even, repressed mono- 
 tone that cut him to the heart, "since I was a 
 little girl, too young to understand, and I was 
 brought up to believe that my father was 
 well, just the opposite of what he is. It was 
 all a mistake, of course. It was no fault of 
 mine, but I must suffer for it just the same. I 
 had everything money could buy; and then you 
 came and and I had love." 
 
 [311]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Her voice trembled for the instant. Wright 
 could not stand it. 
 
 "Gloria!" he cried, seeking to stop her, but 
 she went on again in the same impersonal man- 
 ner, apparently unheeding his gesture for her 
 to desist as much as she did the cry of pain that 
 burst from his lips. 
 
 "But no one was really kind to me. I lived 
 in a fool's Paradise. I did not know the 
 truth." Then vehemently, losing control of 
 herself. "Oh, why did you ever speak to me 
 of love! You, of all men, to make my humi- 
 liation doubly great." 
 
 Her manner of speaking showed how much 
 she had suffered since she had learned the truth, 
 how intense her unhappiness would continue to 
 be. 
 
 "Don't speak so, I beg of you," Wright com- 
 manded. "Can you believe that I have not 
 suffered?" 
 
 She choose to ignore his question. 
 
 "Oh, if I had never come home! If I had 
 even not gone to Judge Gilbert's office that 
 day! It was fate, Joe, it was fate. I can see 
 
 [312]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 it all now. We boast that we dominate cir- 
 cumstances, the gods laugh and are our masters 
 still. Looking back the way we Ve come from 
 that first night I met you here I can see that 
 every step, relentless as death, was leading to 
 that day when I learned the truth about my 
 father." 
 
 "And you know?" 
 
 "Everything. That's why I'm here. It 
 was really such a little time ago that I came 
 back to Belmont, yet it seems ages. Oh, why 
 did n't you go away ! You must have seen how 
 it had to end. Since I came home and first 
 met you, I Ve lived and suffered and grown 
 old. And I had dreamed such dreams!" 
 Here she paused, as if to fight back the painful 
 memories of those rainbow dreams. Then she 
 admitted them. "And they became rosier and 
 rosier because of you. Even the disappoint- 
 ments my father's lack of polish caused me 
 were nothing because of you. Then you 
 ceased to see me, and I did n't understand. 
 
 "I wanted you so very much then and 
 you did not come. I know now what it was; 
 
 [313]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 the election was coming on, you had begun to 
 fight my father. You knew I didn't realize 
 his position in Belmont. I 'm sincere. I want 
 you to know I understand how hard it was for 
 you, my friend because I believe you loved 
 me sincerely." 
 
 "Sincerely, Gloria." His reply was almost 
 a sob. "You know I begged you to go 
 away. I would have followed you, and you 
 would never have known." 
 
 His last sentence was full of bitterness, an 
 acknowledgment of the Never-Never Land 
 whither all happiness had flown. A wan smile 
 was her acknowledgment of this. 
 
 "That 's true, but the gods laugh and are our 
 masters still. I felt that I owed it to my 
 father to remain with him in Belmont. Then 
 came the day in Judge Gilbert's office. Did 
 ever a girl have a courtship crowded into half 
 an hour? So short a time there was between 
 those few words of love and the rude awaken- 
 ing which followed that there remains to me 
 now not even a sweet memory of that avowal 
 which all girls cherish so. And then well, 
 
 [fli]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 that 's why I Ve come to-day. I could n't let 
 you go away without asking you to forgive me 
 for what I said in Judge Gilbert's office." 
 
 "There 's no need of speaking of forgive- 
 ness. Please do not say any more." 
 
 She was not to be deterred from her set pur- 
 pose, and therefore affected not to hear, going 
 straight on with her narrative. 
 
 "You see, I was proud of my father. All 
 my life he 'd been an ideal, not a reality, and I 
 thought him incapable of anything base. It 
 turned out I was wrong what I said about 
 
 you." 
 
 "No, Gloria, you just didn't understand." 
 "But, just the same, I was wrong, and 
 
 wanted to tell you so before I went away. I 
 
 knew I should not be here when you return, and 
 
 so I came to-day." 
 
 "You 're not going to leave Belmont !' 
 "Yes, I am. Do you think I could stay!" 
 
 Her tone made Wright's heart sink. "No, I 
 
 lack the courage, Joe, the moral courage. 
 
 There 's that much of the butterfly left in me. 
 
 I 'm not strong and brave like you are." 
 
 [315]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Gloria could not know how his strength and 
 bravery were slipping from him little by little 
 as they talked. Her very presence was weav- 
 ing its subtle spell about him, snaring him with 
 her wan beauty, maddening him with the 
 thought that he was losing her. So she was 
 going away. He wondered why, speculating 
 on how she had come to learn the truth. This 
 led him to ask: 
 
 "But your father?" 
 
 Had Wright known what a piteous out- 
 burst this would evoke, he never would have 
 spoken. Every anguished word she uttered 
 seemed to burn into his soul. He walked up 
 and down nervously as he listened. 
 
 "My father! What am I to him? I 
 haven't seen him from that day. Since then 
 I Ve been with Mrs. Hayes. When I learned 
 at luncheon that you were going away, I had 
 to come because I can't forgive myself for what 
 I said in Judge Gilbert's office that came near 
 ending so disastrously for you." 
 
 "Please don't think of it," he begged. "I 
 [316]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 don't connect you in any manner with the at- 
 tack on me." 
 
 "But I do," she insisted, "because I know 
 the truth." Here was the whole reason for 
 her coming, she told herself. "Since you 're in 
 this fight to stay even though you 're fighting 
 my own father I want you to have all the 
 protection that knowledge of the truth will 
 afford. I Ve come to warn you." 
 
 Wright saw that he had not made her un- 
 derstand that he was giving up the fight. 
 
 "But I 'm going away." 
 
 "Yes, you Ve told me ; but you 're coming 
 back again, because you know your place is 
 here. There 's work to do." 
 
 He recognized instantly that it was her wish 
 for him to remain. Her belief in him, such as 
 it was, centered about his efforts to make Bel- 
 mont a better place. Not wishing to explain 
 what pain it would constantly give him were 
 he to do so, he avoided the matter by referring 
 to her own future. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 [317]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "I? I'm going abroad in a few days." 
 "What does your father say to that?" 
 Gloria's lip curled with scorn at the ques- 
 tion. Her answer came with the coldness of a 
 woman of the world, whose warm sympathies 
 had been cruelly crushed and turned into sour 
 distrust. It was the answer of a disillusionized 
 woman who must now fend for herself. 
 
 "He can't say anything. What is he to me? 
 I have n't even sent him word yet. He gave 
 me everything in the world, but then at the 
 supremest moment of my life he robbed me of 
 it all. Would a father do that?" she asked 
 fiercely. "What allegiance do I owe to him. 
 The claim of blood ! Bah ! He 's always 
 wished I 'd been a boy. He did n't lie to me 
 because he loved me. He did n't even know 
 me. Do you think it wrenches my heart to 
 leave him now? No; a thousand times, no. 
 We Ve lived too many years apart. What 
 have we in sympathy? We 'd be strangers 
 though we lived under the same roof for years." 
 "But when you go abroad what are you go- 
 ing to do?" He could see no future for her. 
 
 [318]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "Just drift. There is so much that I want 
 to forget." 
 
 "Much, Gloria?" he asked gently. 
 
 "Yes, much." She would not let him trap 
 her into a damaging admission. 
 
 "Everything?" 
 
 "Everything painful." 
 
 Her attitude, he felt it was antagonistic, im- 
 patient even of his kindly questioning, stirred 
 him to a vigorous reply. After all, she was 
 but a child, and like a child wanted to shirk the 
 lesson life was teaching her. 
 
 "Surely I Ve not been mistaken in you," he 
 began. "It 's by suffering that we learn to 
 live. You Ve only come to see life as it is, 
 that 's all. Would you throw away the pre- 
 cious knowledge that is power for an Arcadian 
 ignorance akin to weakness? You Ve just 
 said that you Ve come to warn me of some- 
 thing. Were you true to your theory of life, 
 you would leave me in ignorance, because the 
 truth would give me pain. But you don't be- 
 lieve that." 
 
 From the depth of his world-scarred heart 
 
 [319]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 he pitied her. She was so young, and so re- 
 bellious. He yearned with a great longing to 
 protect her, to shield her from life, but he knew 
 that it could not be. In this world the lesson 
 comes to each one, and by each one must it be 
 learned in all its bitterness. To each it seems 
 that for the faith that is no more there is no 
 compensation. And at the time there is none. 
 
 "It 's easy enough to talk and give advice," 
 Gloria flung back at him. "What has suffer- 
 ing taught you?" 
 
 Here was a question he could answer, and 
 answer decisively. 
 
 "It has taught me to be true to my better 
 self." He spoke sternly. Then he regretted 
 that he had seemed harsh with her, for it did not 
 soften her, and she made no comment. 
 
 "Please sit down," he said. She accepted 
 the proffered chair stiffly and waited. He had 
 listened to her patiently, and she felt it only 
 fair to hear what he had to say before she left 
 him forever. 
 
 Wright came as close to her as he dared. As 
 he spoke, she abandoned the rigid attitude she 
 
 [320]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 had felt constrained to assume and sank back 
 in the big chair. The man stood behind her, 
 almost leaning on her chair. His voice was 
 low and pleading. She closed her eyes with the 
 pain of it all, as she began to comprehend the 
 full meaning of what he was saying. 
 
 "Gloria, I did n't mean to be harsh just now. 
 God knows I would spare you all you have been 
 through could I have done so. Blot out this 
 terrible week. Can't we go back to that head- 
 long courtship crowded into half an hour? Let 
 everything be as it was. Then I begged you 
 to go away. Now, since you are going, let us 
 go together. Listen, don't you remember? 
 
 The sun is the flame of the desert, 
 And you are the flame of my heart. 
 
 Dreary indeed is the desert unsunned, 
 And dreary without you, my heart. 
 
 "You know it 's the truth, Gloria. Let us 
 go together." 
 
 He bent over her, trembling with emotion. 
 The girl leaned away from him and put out 
 her hand to keep him from coming still nearer. 
 
 21 [321]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Don't make it so hard for me, Joe dear," 
 she begged. "When you kissed me I thought 
 I knew my heart, but now nothing in the whole 
 world will ever be the same again. You 
 must n't blame me ; I still like you, more than 
 ever, but in a different way. Can't you un- 
 derstand? You have told me I 'm more than 
 a shallow, frivolous girl. I honor you for the 
 offer, Joe, but I would n't be true to that bet- 
 ter self you talk about if I accepted." 
 
 "I make no offer, Gloria," he pleaded. 
 "I 'm begging you to love me, to become my 
 wife." 
 
 She trembled visibly at his words. Yet her 
 resolution was such that she was not shaken 
 from her purpose. She did not dare look at 
 him, however, as she answered: 
 
 "I 'm afraid the love one must beg 
 for would n't be worth having, Joe. You 
 wouldn't be happy with me. No matter 
 where we went you could n't forget what hap- 
 pened here. Then consider me if you 'd 
 ever be absent-minded for a minute, gazing 
 
 [322]
 
 " I am begging you to become my wife "
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 into space, I 'd know you were thinking of 
 Belmont and the opportunities you 'd thrown 
 away because of me. I couldn't stand it. 
 I 'd always feel that you were recalling the 
 past and regretting the present. It would 
 kill me. No, Joe, I could n't." 
 
 Wright's proposal had been totally unex- 
 pected by Gloria. Up to the time he had be- 
 gun to plead with her to go away with him, 
 she had maintained fair control of herself. 
 His generous offer, as she termed it, had 
 pierced her armor of reserve and laid bare her 
 warm, quivering heart. It was more than she 
 could stand. Her nervous forces had been ex- 
 hausted, and she began to weep. 
 
 "Pride, Gloria, pride," the man whispered. 
 "It's pride that's keeping you from being 
 true to yourself and true to me." 
 
 "Don't speak to me, Joe," she sobbed; "I 
 can't stand it." 
 
 In his heart he yea'rned with all the ardor of 
 youth and love to gather her in his arms and 
 comfort her. Yet he knew her well enough to 
 
 [323]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 know that it could not be. Her humiliation 
 had rendered impregnable the barrier she had 
 erected between them. There was naught he 
 could do but suffer in silence while she wept.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 GLORIA hated herself for the par- 
 oxysm of emotion to which she had 
 given way in the presence of the man 
 whose love she had rejected. There was no 
 interpretation to be put upon it save that her 
 nerves were overwrought, yet she did not know 
 how he would construe her tears. She did 
 not wish him to think her weak. Suddenly 
 the girl remembered that tears were a woman's 
 weapon. The thought so enraged her that in 
 her anger at being so much a mere woman she 
 forgot to weep. She had in her the spirit of 
 her father. Drying her eyes hastily, she 
 turned to say good-by. 
 
 Wright saw her turn and hold out her hand. 
 Could she have changed her mind? His heart 
 prompted this thought, but one glance at her 
 face told him she was still determined to go 
 her own way alone. 
 
 [325]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Good-by," she said. 
 
 "Is it to be good-by, Gloria?" 
 
 "That, and nothing more." 
 
 The man looked at her in a dazed manner. 
 Now that the time of parting had come she had 
 far more self-possession than he. He groped 
 about in his mind for something to say, but 
 words were inadequate. There is no telling 
 how his feelings might have betrayed him had 
 there not come a knock at the door to interrupt 
 their parting. 
 
 At the sound Gloria exclaimed with a start, 
 "Who 's that?" 
 
 Wright walked to the door, saw who asked 
 for entrance, and opened it wide for Patty to 
 enter. 
 
 "Mr. Joey, there 's a man says he must see 
 you at once." 
 
 "Did you tell him I was busy, and to wait ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, just like you told me, but he said 
 to tell you he was David Kerr !" 
 
 "My father!" Gloria took a step forward. 
 Her exclamation told what a surprise this news 
 was to her. 
 
 [326]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "What does this mean?" he asked. 
 
 "You know as much as I. I Ve told you 
 I've not seen my father since that day in 
 Judge Gilbert's office. He 's been busy with 
 politics, but, more than that, I Ve well, I Ve 
 preferred staying with Mrs. Hayes." 
 
 Patty, tired of listening to a conversation 
 she could not understand, and, remembering 
 the visitor, asked, "What shall I tell him?" 
 
 "Wait a minute, Patty." Wright motioned 
 the child to the door. Then he turned to 
 Gloria. "You can leave by this side entrance. 
 No one will be the wiser for this visit. The 
 minute the door closes behind you, Patty 
 and I will have forgotten that you called. 
 But I will not have forgotten your kindness 
 and consideration. Before you leave I want 
 you to know that I can't value too highly the 
 motive that prompted your call. To the end 
 I '11 treasure it as a memory hallowed by the 
 parting from the only woman I Good-by." 
 
 He felt he could not complete what he 
 wished to say without a show of emotion to 
 which it would not do to give way. The only 
 [327]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 thing he could do was to hold out his hand and 
 say, "Good-by." 
 
 Gloria put both hands behind her back, and 
 shook her head. 
 
 "No, I refuse to go." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean just what I say. I intend to stay 
 here and meet my father and hear what he has 
 to say to you." 
 
 Wright gazed at her intently, but she did not 
 quiver under his scrutiny. His effort to 
 read her thoughts, to divine the impulse that 
 had led her to her decision to meet her father 
 in his apartment, met with no success. 
 
 "It shall be as you say," he assented. "Go, 
 Patty, tell him to come in." After Patty 
 closed the door there was an awkward silence 
 which he broke by saying, "I must say that this 
 meeting is ill-advised." 
 
 She sighed and shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, ill-advised or not, my mind is made 
 up. Things cannot go on as they are. If 
 henceforth I am to direct my own affairs, why 
 should n't I begin now?" 
 
 [328]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "But how explain your being here?" 
 
 "If he can't believe what I have to say he 
 is n't worth the slight esteem with which I still 
 regard him." 
 
 "Here he comes." 
 
 "Let him see you first." She retreated to a 
 corner of the room where her father's first 
 glance as he entered would not discover her. 
 Patty opened the door and David Kerr walked 
 into the room. 
 
 The two men looked at each other without 
 any attempt at a feigned cordiality. 
 
 "Mr. Wright," began the boss, and at men- 
 tion of his name the newspaper man bowed 
 slightly in recognition of the greeting, "I met 
 Dr. Hayes this afternoon. He spoke of you, 
 and what he told me has led me to break a 
 custom of years ; I Ve come to see you. In this 
 town it 's always been the other way." He 
 spoke with all his accustomed force, and seemed 
 even more confident than usual as he added, 
 "The old way will continue, sir, but owing to 
 what you might call the relationship that 
 once " 
 
 [329]
 
 "Sir!" thundered Wright in astonishment. 
 Covertly he looked at Gloria, to find his own 
 amazement mirrored on her face. 
 
 "Bound us, I thought I 'd come to see you," 
 the boss continued, not heeding Wright's ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "One minute, sir." Wright was not willing 
 for him to proceed without his knowing that 
 his daughter was in the room with them. "Be- 
 fore you speak further you must know that 
 we 're not alone in this room." 
 
 "We 're not?" He looked about him, and 
 at the sound of a familiar voice turned sharply 
 to confront his daughter. 
 
 "No, Father; I 'm here." She advanced 
 coolly to the center of the room, and waited for 
 him to speak. 
 
 "Gloria! My daughter here!" He man- 
 aged to gasp. Wright, determined not to have 
 his hand forced, waited to see what card the 
 daughter would play. 
 
 "Wait a minute, please," she remarked 
 quietly, the most self-possessed of the three. 
 "Are you so blind you can't see you find me 
 
 [330]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 here because I wish it so? My visit to Mr. 
 Wright surprised him just as much as did 
 yours. When you were announced, I told him 
 I would stay." 
 
 "So that's it, is it?" her father raged. 
 "Have you turned against me, too? Why 
 did n't I raise you like you ought to 'a' been !" 
 It was with an evident effort that he was re- 
 straining himself even as much as he was. 
 
 "Would to heaven you had!" Gloria ex- 
 claimed in a low tone. "You gave me only 
 the roses of life, and now the thorns all that 
 life offers me seem sharper than I can bear." 
 
 Wright had thought his heart had been so 
 wrung that nothing could hurt him worse, but 
 this confession of unhappiness to her father 
 made his own unhappiness greater than he had 
 believed it could be. 
 
 "Gloria, this is distressingly painful. Please 
 don't," he begged. Then he turned to her 
 father. "Why have you come here?" 
 
 "Why is she here?" 
 
 "Father," now she spoke timidly, a maiden 
 telling of a dear, dead love, "for a little while 
 
 [331]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Mr. Wright and I were engaged to be 
 married. I don't think you know what that 
 means to a girl, what it meant to me. But you 
 do know how it ended. Yet we 're still such 
 good friends that I felt I could come this after- 
 noon to " 
 
 As she spoke, a great light began to dawn 
 upon her father. At the words, "good friends" 
 he saw his whole plan successful, although 
 worked out along lines a trifle different than 
 what had been in his mind when he had deter- 
 mined to call upon the editor. Your suc- 
 cessful general is a great opportunist, and 
 David Kerr was quick to seize this opportun- 
 
 ity. 
 
 "Good friends 1" he echoed, interrupting her. 
 "Then I 'm glad I found you here. Just listen 
 to me a minute. I ain't got much to say, Mr. 
 Wright, but we understand each other pretty 
 well. Now then you gave us a pretty hard 
 bump, an' I admire you fer it. Of course, 
 you 're new to Belmont an' it looks all right 
 from yer p'int o' view." His tone was now 
 suave and conciliatory. "But you 're too good 
 
 [332]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 a man to be blockin' the wheels o' progress in 
 this town." 
 
 "Things were running pretty smooth when I 
 came here, weren't they?" Wright was will- 
 ing to admit that much. 
 
 "Exactly, exactly." Kerr took a step for- 
 ward and glanced at Gloria before he went 
 on. "Now then, what do you say to this? 
 You ain't no more republican than you 're 
 democrat, so switch over an' join me. If it 's 
 too strong fer you to go, I '11 cut out that 
 Maple Avenue railway line, an' we '11 go at it 
 some other way." 
 
 Gloria looked at her father in astonishment. 
 Wright did not interrupt him, wishing to hear 
 all that he had to say. "This campaign 's 
 taught me I 'm growin' old. Some day some- 
 body 's got to take my place. There ain't a 
 man in the party with your sense. I need you, 
 an' what 's more you '11 profit by bein' with 
 me." 
 
 "Mr. Kerr, it won't take me many words to 
 give you your answer." 
 
 Reading disapproval in the remark, David 
 
 [333]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 Kerr craftily replied with his kindest manner, 
 "Take yer time, take yer time. The more you 
 think it over, the more you '11 like it. Besides, 
 I 'm thinkin' of Gloria. You two talk it over. 
 She 's " 
 
 "Father!" The girl was perfectly horrified 
 and her sense of the fitness of things outraged 
 by having her name dragged into the discus- 
 sion. "Would you dare connect my name 
 with such an affair !" 
 
 To the coarse nature all things are coarse, 
 and her father seemed surprised that she 
 should resent the manner in which he had con- 
 nected her with the offer. "An' why not?" 
 he asked. "I Ve been thinkin' the matter over, 
 an' you an' him would make a pretty good 
 team." 
 
 "Oh!" Gloria's disgust was unspeakable. 
 Mere rage was useless to express her feelings. 
 She gave her father one withering look and 
 turned away, walking up and down the room 
 like a caged animal. 
 
 Kerr turned to Wright, since Gloria ap- 
 peared to have no inclination to listen. "So 
 
 [334]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 I argues, why not fix it up between us." Then 
 he spoke to his daughter in explanation, "Not 
 knowin' you 'd be here. But it 's just as well. 
 Now, Mr. Wright, what I say is this: This 
 town wants somebody to run it. Belmont 
 can't git along without somebody to keep the 
 wheels greased. I '11 put the paper on its feet 
 fer you, an* gradually as gradually as you 
 like you kin come over to my way of thinkin'. 
 Then what 'd be more natural than fer you to 
 take over the runnin' o' things especially as 
 you 'd be my son-in-law." 
 
 Wright was about to make reply, but Gloria 
 was too quick for him. Stamping her foot 
 with rage, she paused before her father defi- 
 antly. 
 
 "Oh, this is more than I can bear! Am I a 
 dog, a horse, a pig, that I can be traded in a 
 dirty deal with not so much as 'by your leave.' 
 I '11 not stand it for another instant. One hu- 
 miliation after another has been my lot, but 
 this is the last. I 'm through with you. What 
 has passed has taught you nothing; you 're the 
 bargaining, trading, scheming politician still, 
 
 [335]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 so low that you 'd make your own daughter, 
 your own flesh and blood, the bait to lure a 
 good man from his purpose. But you can't 
 do it," she cried, a note of triumph creeping 
 into her denunciation; "he's not your kind. 
 And do you believe that I 'd submit to such a 
 thing? What can you think of me? You 
 put me on a plane with those vile creatures 
 who pay you for protection." 
 
 "Gloria, please stop!" Wright pleaded. 
 Her father could only look at her in wonder 
 as she poured out the pent-up passion of her 
 inmost soul. 
 
 "No, I '11 not stop there 's more to say. 
 Here, within this hour, Mr. Wright asked 
 me again to be his wife, and I refused refused 
 because of you. I came here to warn him 
 against you, to tell him the truth, because once 
 we loved each other. No one can blame me 
 for wishing him well. I came to tell him be- 
 cause I can't be here after this to save him as 
 once I did. Over my body I dared your hire- 
 lings to take him, and not one moved. Now 
 I 'm going away forever and I want him to 
 
 [336]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 have what protection the truth will give. But 
 my warning would be useless ; what you offered 
 to do just now is warning enough in itself. 
 The man who would sell his own daughter is 
 capable of anything!" 
 
 "Please, Gloria, stop," Wright entreated. 
 "I 'm not accustomed to have any one else fight 
 my battles for me. I can take care of my- 
 self." 
 
 "May be you can," sneered the boss, "but 
 ever since you 've been here you Ve been hidin' 
 behind my daughter. It 's because o* her I 
 did n't go after you hot an' heavy long ago. 
 An' then when they did come near gittin' you 
 the other day, she stopped 'em." 
 
 "You, Gloria!" Wright could not under- 
 stand. She only bowed her head. 
 
 "But now, by God! that 's all past." Kerr 
 brought his fist down on the table with a bang. 
 His breath came in apoplectic gasps and his 
 face was livid with rage. "She 's out of it as 
 fer as I 'm concerned. I did everything in the 
 world fer her, an' it wasn't no use." He 
 turned to his daughter as he hurled out his an- 
 
 22 [337]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 ger and disappointment between his gasps for 
 breath. "I was ready to stan' by you to the 
 end, an* what do I git fer all my schemin' an' 
 plannin' fer you? Nothin' but glum looks an' 
 harsh words. If yer goin' away, go. I dis- 
 own you. I cast you off." 
 
 The girl did not quail beneath his bitter 
 words. They only inflamed her to announce 
 the decision she had already made. Her lip 
 curled with scorn, her eyes snapped, as she 
 looked at her father. 
 
 "You disown me! You cast me off!" All 
 the contempt she could muster she threw into 
 her voice. "What right have you, who would 
 barter me away as you would a horse or dog? 
 No, it 's I disown you !" 
 
 Wright walked over to her and sought to 
 take her hand gently in his, but she drew away. 
 She would stand alone. Like a blind old bear 
 David Kerr seemed to grope his way to the 
 door. There he turned to gaze once more upon 
 the wreck of his latest schemes. His rage was 
 still hot upon him. 
 
 [338]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 "I found you in this this adventurer's 
 room. I leave you here. Look to yerself, 
 you are no child o' mine." 
 
 The door banged behind him and Gloria 
 Kerr knew that they had met for the last time. 
 The girl, feeling so miserably alone in the 
 world, turned to find bent upon her the tender 
 gaze of the man whom she had once sworn to 
 follow to the end of the world. For them love 
 was dead, she knew, and now life would be for 
 her only a succession of weary days. 
 
 "I thought all but my body died that day 
 we spoke of love to find it but a dream," she 
 acknowledged sadly, "yet there was one cup 
 still more bitter I had to drain and this was 
 that cup's dregs." 
 
 "Oh, Gloria, believe me, out of unhappiness 
 happiness comes. Your place is with me now. 
 I had n't told you, but I, too, am going away 
 forever. And what is more, I 'm going to take 
 you with me." 
 
 She looked at him in wonder, then slowly 
 shook her head. 
 
 [339]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "No, you can't leave Belmont, Joe. You 're 
 not a coward. I 'm going, but your place is 
 here." 
 
 "Do you think I shall let you go alone? 
 Never. The one reason I am going East is to 
 sell the Belmont News. I 'm through with it. 
 Then I shall follow you over the world until I 
 make you mine because I love you." 
 
 The girl looked at him with the faintest of 
 smiles battling with her settled melancholy. 
 He was bordering on melodrama, and she 
 was regarding him with the same gentle- 
 ness a loving mother exhibits toward an unrea- 
 soning little child. 
 
 "How selfish you are, Joe. All your fine 
 sermons are going for naught. You 've 
 preached of your duty, and yet at the chance 
 to show your devotion to that duty you 're 
 wanting to give up the fight. I 'm not worth 
 it, Joe, really I 'm not. Think of Belmont. 
 A general does n't desert his soldiers after a 
 victory, just because he knows the enemy has 
 sent for reinforcements. That would be cow- 
 ardly, and it is n't like you, Joe. The brave 
 
 [340]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 general doesn't give ground, he advances. 
 Don't follow me; I would hate you. I know 
 how Belmont needs you." 
 
 "But I need you, Gloria. And what Is 
 more, you need me and I can't let you go 
 alone. There is a world elsewhere, even other 
 Belmonts where we can live and labor and love. 
 I didn't know till your father referred to it 
 that you were at Noonan's that day. Can't 
 you see how I need you for my guardian an- 
 gel? How did you happen to be there?" 
 
 Briefly she detailed the visit, minimizing her 
 part in saving him. None the less he was able 
 to see that it was to her he owed perhaps life 
 itself. He listened in silence, letting her tell 
 her story in her own way. After she had 
 ceased to speak he still was silent, going over 
 in his mind the motives which might have 
 prompted her in coming now to see him, to 
 warn him, as she had said. His heart led him 
 to but one conclusion, a conclusion he reached 
 gladly. He believed she still loved him. She 
 was a woman, therefore to be won. There was 
 just one way to win her, he felt. 
 
 [341]
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 "Gloria, I've come to a decision." She 
 looked at him questioningly. "I 'm going 
 to do what you Ve ordered. I 'm going to 
 stay here and fight for Belmont." 
 
 "Joe, you mean it!" Her face lit up with 
 pleasure and she held out both her hands to 
 him. He took them both, and to her surprise, 
 and despite her resistance, drew her to him. 
 
 "But I 'm not going to stay alone. If I 'm 
 to fight the good fight, I 'm not going to fight 
 alone. You called me a coward for wanting 
 to go; won't you reward me for deciding to 
 stay? And out of unhappiness happiness 
 will come. You must stay, Gloria; our place 
 is here." 
 
 "Our place !" she echoed, and then was silent 
 for a little time, her head upon his shoulder. 
 He held her tightly, she could not escape. 
 The feeble efforts she had made to break from 
 him were now abandoned as she thought more 
 and more upon his words. At last she looked 
 up at him and smiled. "Yes, Joe, our place 
 is here, and our happiness. Right in this room 
 all my old pride died. But there has been 
 
 [342]
 
 OF DAVID KERR 
 
 born a new pride, a pride in you and in me, and 
 in what it has been given us to do.'* The tears 
 came into her eyes as she thought of what they 
 were to each other. "You are all I have in the 
 world, dear ; you are my world. Make me al- 
 ways proud that I am your wife." 
 
 Wright drew her closer to his heart and 
 kissed her. And there in the shelter of his 
 arms she rested. Peace had come to her. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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