nf 
 
 HAROLD 
 BELL WRIGHT 
 
 mmmmm^i i^imm^nltatitl^^ 
 
THAT PRINTER 
 OF UDELL'S 
 
 BY 
 
 HAROLD BELL WRIGHT 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS** 
 
 "THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 
 PVz'i^A Illustrations by 
 JOHN CLITHEROE GILBERT 
 
 THE BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO 
 
Copyright, 1902 and 1903 
 By Harold Bell Wright 
 
 Copyright, 1911 
 By Elsbery W. Reynolds 
 
 Published April, 1903 
 
 New Edition 
 Published March, 1911 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO THAT FRIEND WHOSE LIFE HAS TAUGHT ME 
 MANY BEAUTIFUL TRUTHS; WHOSE WQRDS 
 HAVE STRENGTHENED AND ENCOURAGED ME 
 TO LIVE MORE TRUE TO MY GOD. MY FELLOWS 
 AND MYSELF; WHO HOPED FOR ME WHEN 
 OTHERS LOST HOPE; WHO BELIEVED IN ME 
 WHEN OTHERS COULD NOT; WHO SAW GOOD 
 WHEN OTHERS LOOKED FOR EVIL; TO THAT 
 FRIEND, WHOEVER HE IS. WHEREVER HE MAY 
 BE. I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS STORY. 
 
 H. B. W. 
 
 M1S925 
 
**And the King shall answer and say unto 
 them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch 
 as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, 
 even these least, ye did it unto me." 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGE 
 
 I. The Parting of the Ways 11 
 
 IL Move On ! Move On ! 26 
 
 III. After All, Was the Wire 
 
 Down ? 34 
 
 lY. Hitting a Hornet's I^est 44 
 
 y. Working Overtime 58 
 
 VI. Uncle Bobbie's Discovery 65 
 
 VII. Phillippians IV ; 8 77 
 
 VIII. That Printer of Udell's 88 
 
 IX. Selecting a Manager 97 
 
 X. The Pocketbook in the Snow . . 108 
 
 XL Questions and Answers 120 
 
 XII. KiVAL Games AND Their Stakes . 135 
 
 XIII. The Gift of an Infidel 145 
 
 XIV. Dick Takes a Stand 158 
 
 XV. Adam Goodrich Also Takes a 
 
 Stand 168 
 
 XVI. Going in Opposite Directions. . 180 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII. Amy's Sudden Flight 190 
 
 XVIII. What the Pocketbook Ke- 
 
 vealed 198 
 
 XIX. A Revolutionary Movement. . . 206 
 
 XX. The Testing of a Soul 221 
 
 XXI. A Bad Situation and a Cool 
 
 Head 234 
 
 XXII. Whitley Plays a Losing Game . 246 
 
 XXIII. That Printer of Udell's Leads 
 
 THE Way 263 
 
 XXIV. Dick's Search Rewarded 275 
 
 XXV. Forgiving but IJnforgiven 286 
 
 XXVI. Two Converging Streams 302 
 
 XXVII. For Honor's Sake 313 
 
 XXVIII. A Story All Too Common 321 
 
 XXIX. Cameron's Betrayal and Sacri- 
 fice 331 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Drawn by 
 JOHN CLITHEROE GILBERT 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Come oi^, Smoke, weVe gk)tter go now" 
 (Frontispiece) 13 
 
 "Here you are ; come and fill up" 43 
 
 "Tom Wharton, you're a liar and a cheat" 140 
 
 "Too bad; too bad," muttered TJncle Bob- 
 bie 244 
 
7hat 
 Printer of Udell's 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 
 
 GOD, take ker o' Dick! He'll sure have 
 a tough time when I'm gone — an' I'm er 
 goin' — mighty fast I reckon. I know I 
 ain't done much ter brag on — Lord — ^but I ain't had 
 nary show. I alius 'low'd ter do ye better — but hit's 
 jes' kept me scratchin' — ter do fer me an' Dick — an' 
 somehow I ain't had time — ter sarve — ^ye like I 
 ought. An' my man he's most ways — ^no 'count an' 
 triflin' — Lord — 'cepten when he likers up — an' then 
 — you know how he uses me an' Dick. But Dick, 
 he ain't no ways ter blame — fer what his dad an' 
 mammy is — an' I ax ye — fair — O Lord — take ker o' 
 him — fer — Jesus' sake — Amen." 
 
 ^'Dick ! — O Dick — whar are ye honey ?" 
 A hollow-cheeked wisp of a boy arose from the 
 dark corner where he had been crouching like a 
 frightened animal and with cautious steps drew near 
 the bed. Timidly he touched the wasted hand that 
 lay upon the dirty coverlid. 
 
 11 
 
THAT PRI^N^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "What ye want, maw ?" 
 
 The woman hushed her moaning and turned her 
 face, upon which the shadow was already fallen, to- 
 ward the boy. "I'm er goin' — mighty fast — Dicky," 
 she said in a voice that was scarcely audible. 
 "Whar's yer paw ?" 
 
 Bending closer to the face upon the pillow, the lad 
 pointed ^\^ith: trembling finger toward the other end 
 of the cabin ^iid whispered, while his eyes grew big 
 <;7ith foar, ^'^h — '; he's full ergin. Bin down ter th' 
 stillhouse all evenin'. Don't stir him, maw, er we'll 
 git licked some more. Tell me what ye want." 
 
 But his only answer was that broken prayer as the 
 sufferer turned to the wall again. "O Lord, take 
 ker o' " 
 
 A stick of wood in the fire-place burned in two and 
 fell with a soft thud on the ashes; a lean hound 
 crept stealthily to the boy's side and thrust a cold 
 muzzle against his ragged jacket; in the cupboard 
 a mouse rustled over the rude dishes and among the 
 scanty handful of provisions. 
 
 Then, cursing foully in his sleep, the drunkard 
 stirred uneasily and the dog slunk beneath the bed, 
 while the boy stood shaking with fear until all was 
 still again. Reaching out, he touched once more that 
 clammy hand upon the dirty coverlid, ^o move- 
 ment answered to his touch. Reaching farther, he 
 cautiously laid his fingers upon the ashy-colored tem- 
 ple, awkwardly brushing back a thin lock of the 
 tangled hair. The face, like the hand, was cold. 
 With a look of awe and horror in his eyes, the child 
 caught his mother by the shoulder and shook the life- 
 
 12 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 less form while lie tried again and again to make her 
 hear his whispered words. 
 
 '^Maw ! Maw ! Wake up ; hitll be day purty soon 
 an' we can go and git some greens ; an' I'll take the 
 gig an' kill some fish f er you ; the's a big channel cat 
 in the hole jes' above the riffles; 1 seed 'im ter day 
 when I crost in the John boat. Say Maw, I done set 
 a dead fall yester'd', d' reckon I'll ketch anythin' ? 
 Wish't it 'ud be a coon, don't you ? Maw ! O Maw, 
 the meal's most gone. I only made a little pone las' 
 night ; thar's some left f er you. Shan't I fix ye some 
 'fore dad wakes up ?" 
 
 But there was no answer to his pleading, and 
 ceasing his efforts, the lad sank on his knees by the 
 rude bed, not daring even to give open expression 
 to his grief lest he arouse the drunken sleeper by the 
 fireplace. For a long time he knelt there, clasping 
 the cold hand of his lifeless mother, until the lean 
 hound crept again to his side, and thrusting that 
 cold muzzle against his cheek, licked the salt tears 
 that fell so hot. 
 
 At last, just as the first flush of day stained the 
 eastern sky, and the light tipped the old pine tree on 
 the hill with glory, the boy rose to his feet. Placing 
 his hand on the head of his only comforter, he whis- 
 pered, "Come on. Smoke, we've gotter go now." And 
 together boy and dog crept softly across the room and 
 stole out of the cabin door — out of the cabin door, 
 into the beautiful light of the new day. And the 
 drunken brute still slept on the floor by the open 
 fire-place, but the fire was dead upon the hearth. 
 
 "He can't hurt maw any more. Smoke," said the 
 
 13 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 lad, when the two were at a safe distance. "No, he 
 sure can't lick her agin, an' me an' you kin rustle fer 
 ourselves, I reckon." 
 
 Sixteen years later, in the early gray of another 
 morning, a young man crawled from beneath a stack 
 of straw on the outskirts of Boyd City, a busy, bus- 
 tling mining town of some fifteen thousand people, in 
 one of the middle western states, many miles from 
 the rude cabin that stood beneath the hill. 
 
 The night before, he had approached the town from 
 the east along the road that leads past Mount Olive, 
 and hungry, cold and weary, had sought shelter of 
 the friendly stack, much preferring a bed of straw 
 and the companionship of cattle to any lodging place 
 he might find in the city, less clean and among a ruder 
 company. 
 
 It was early March and the smoke from a nearby 
 block of smelters was lost in a chilling mist, while 
 a raw wind made the young man shiver as he stood 
 picking the bits of straw from his clothing. When 
 he had brushed his garments as best he could and 
 had stretched his numb and stiffened limbs, he looked 
 long and thoughtfully at the city lying half hidden in 
 its shroud of gray. 
 
 "I wonder" — he began, talking to himself and 
 thinking grimly of the fifteen cents in his right-hand 
 pants pocket — "I wonder if — " 
 
 "Mornin' pard," said a voice at his elbow. "Ruther 
 late when ye got in las' night, wam't it ?" 
 
 The young man jumped, and turning, faced a genu- 
 ine specimen of the genus hobo. "Did you sleep in 
 this straw-stack last night?" he ejaculated, after 
 
 14 
 
THAT PEIKTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 carefully taking the ragged fellow's measure with a 
 practiced eye. 
 
 '^Sure ; this here's the hotel whar I put up — slept 
 in the room jes' acrost the hall from your'n," he said, 
 as he asked with a hungry look, "Whar ye goin' to 
 eat?" 
 
 "Don't know. Did you have any supper last 
 night?" 
 
 "Nope, supper was done et when I got in." 
 
 "Same here." 
 
 "I didn't have nothin' fer dinner neither," con- 
 tinued the tramp, "an' I'm er gettin' powerful weak." 
 
 The other thought of his fifteen cents. "Where 
 are you going ?" he said shortly. 
 
 The ragged one jerked his thumb toward the city. 
 "Hear'd as how thar's a right smart o' work yonder 
 an' I'm on the hunt fer a job." 
 
 "What do you do ?" 
 
 "Tendin' mason's my strong-holt. I've done most 
 ever'thing though; used ter work on a farm, and 
 puttered round a saw-mill some in the Arkansaw 
 pineries. Aim ter strike a job at somethin' and go 
 back thar where I know folks. I^obody won't give a 
 feller nuthin' in this yer God-fer-saken country; 
 hain't asked me ter set down fer a month. Back home 
 they're alius glad ter have a man eat with 'em. I'll 
 sure be all right thar." 
 
 The fellow's voice dropped to the pitiful, pleading, 
 insinuating whine of the professional tramp. 
 
 The young man stood looking at him. Good-for- 
 nothing was written in every line of the shiftless, 
 shambling figure, and pictured in every rag of the 
 
 15 
 
THAT PKII^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 fluttering raiment, and yet — the fellow really was 
 hungry — and again came the thought of that fifteen 
 cents. The young man was hungry himself; had 
 been hungry many a time in the past, and downright, 
 gnawing, helpless hunger is a great leveler of man- 
 kind; in fact, it is just about the only real bond of 
 fellowship between men. ''Come on," he said at last, 
 "I've got fifteen cents; I reckon we can find some- 
 thing to eat." And the two set out toward the city 
 together. 
 
 Passing a deserted mining shaft and crossing the 
 railroad, they entered the southern portion of the 
 town, and continued west until they reached the main 
 street, where they stopped at a little grocery store on 
 the corner. The one with the fifteen cents invested 
 two-thirds of his capital in crackers and cheese, his 
 companion reminding the grocer meanwhile that he 
 might throw in a little extra, ''seein' as how they were 
 the first customers that mornin'." The merchant 
 good-naturedly did so, and then turned to answer the 
 other's question about work. 
 
 ''What can you do ?" 
 
 "I'm a printer by trade, but will do anything." 
 
 "How does it happen you are out of work ?" 
 
 "I was thrown out by the Kansas City strike and 
 have been unable to find a place since." 
 
 "Is he looking for work too ?" with a glance that 
 made his customer's face flush, and a nod toward 
 the fellow from Arkansas, who sat on a box near the 
 stove rapidly making away with more than his half of 
 the breakfast. 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders, "We woke 
 
 16 
 
THAT PEIISrTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 up in the same straw-stack this morning and he was 
 hungry, that's all." 
 
 "Well," returned the store-keeper, as ho dropped 
 the lid of the cracker box with a bang, "You'll not be 
 bothered with him long if you are really hunting a 
 job." 
 
 "You put me on the track of a job and I'll show 
 you whether I mean business or not," was the quick 
 reply. To which the grocer made answer as he 
 turned to his task of dusting the shelves: "There's 
 lots of work in Boyd City and lots of men to do it." 
 
 The stranger had walked but a little way down the 
 street when a voice close behind him said, "I'm 
 erbliged ter ye fer the feed, pard; reckon I'll shove 
 erlong now." 
 
 He stopped and the other continued : "Don't much 
 like the looks of this yer' place no how, an' a feller 
 w'at jes' come by, he said as how thar war heaps 
 o' work in Jonesville, forty miles below. Reckon 
 I'll shove erlong. Ain't got the price of er drink 
 hev' ye ? Can't ye set 'em up jest fer old times' sake 
 ye know ?" and a cunning gleam crept into the blood- 
 shot eyes of the vagabond. 
 
 The other started as he looked keenly at the bloated 
 features of the creature before him, and there was a 
 note of mingled fear and defiance in his voice as he 
 said, "What do you mean ? What do you know about 
 old times ?" 
 
 The tramp shuffled uneasily, but replied with a 
 knowing leer, "Ain't ye Dicky Falkner what used 
 ter live cross the river from Jimpson's stillhouse ?" 
 
 17 
 
THAT PKINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Well, what of it?'' The note of defiance was 
 stronger. 
 
 "Oh nuthin, only I'm Jake Tompkins, that used 
 ter work fer Jimpson at the still. Me'n yer daddy 
 war pards; I used ter set 'em up ter him a heap o' 
 times." 
 
 "Yes," replied Dick bitterly, "I know you now. 
 You gave my father whiskey and then laughed when 
 he went home drunk and drove my mother from the 
 cabin to spend the night in the brush. You know it 
 kiUed her." 
 
 "Yer maw alius was weakly-like," faltered the 
 other; "she'd no call ter hitch up with Bill Falkner 
 no how ; she ort ter took a man with book larnin' like 
 her daddy, ole Jedge White. It alius made yer paw 
 mad 'cause she knowed more'n him. But Bill 'lowed 
 he'd tame her an' he shor' tried hit on. Too bad she 
 went an' died, but she ort ter knowed a man o' Bill's 
 spirit would a took his licker when he wanted hit. I 
 recollect ye used ter take a right smart lot yerself 
 fer a kid." 
 
 The defiance in the young man's voice gave way to 
 a note of hopeless despair. "Yes," he said, "you and 
 dad made me drink the stuff before I was old enough 
 to know what it would do for me." Then, with a 
 bitter oath, he continued, half to himself, "What dif- 
 ference does it make anyway. Every time I try to 
 break loose something reaches out and pulls me down 
 again. I thought I was free this time sure and here 
 comes this thing. I might as well go to the devil and 
 done with it. Why shouldn't I drink if I want to; 
 
 18 
 
THAT PKII^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 whose business is it but my own ?'' He looked around 
 for tbe familiar sign of a saloon. 
 
 "That's the talk/' exclaimed the other with a swag- 
 ger. "That's how yer paw used ter put it. Your 
 maw wam't much good no how, with her finicky 
 notions 'bout eddicati'n an' sech. A little pone and 
 baken with plenty of good ol' red eye's good 'nough 
 fer us. Yer maw she — " 
 
 But he never finished, for Dick caught him by 
 the throat with his left hand, the other clenched ready 
 to strike. The tramp shrank back in a frightened, 
 cowering heap. 
 
 "You beast," cried the young man with another 
 oath. "If you dare to take my mother's name in your 
 foul mouth again I'll kill you with my bare hands." 
 
 "I didn't go fer to do hit. Tore God I didn't go 
 ter. Lemme go Dicky; me'n yer daddy war pards. 
 Lemme go. Yer paw an' me won't bother ye no more, 
 Dicky ; he can't ; he's dead." 
 
 "Dead!" Dick released his grasp and the other 
 sprang to a safe distance. "Dead!" He gazed in 
 amazement at the quaking wretch before him. 
 
 The tramp nodded sullenly, feeling at his throat. 
 "Yep, dead," he said hoarsely. "Me an' him war 
 bummin' a freight out o' St. Louie, an' he slipped. I 
 know he war killed 'cause I saw 'em pick him up; 
 six cars went over him an' they kept me in hock fer 
 two months." 
 
 Dick sat down on the curbing and buried his face 
 in his hands. "Dead — dead" — he softly repeated to 
 himself. "Dad is dead — ^killed by the cars in St, 
 Louis. Dead — dead — " 
 
 19 
 
THAT PEIN^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 Then all the past life came back to him with a 
 rush : the cabin home across the river from the distil- 
 lery; the still-house itself, with the rough men who 
 gathered there; the neighboring shanties with their 
 sickly, sad-faced women, and dirty, quarreling chil- 
 dren ; the store and blacksmith shop at the crossroads 
 in the pinery seven miles away. He saw the river 
 flowing sluggishly at times between banks of drooping 
 willows and tall marsh grass, as though smitten with 
 the fatal spirit of the place, then breaking into hur- 
 ried movement over pebbly shoals as though trying to 
 escape to some healthier climate; the hill where 
 stood the old pine tree ; the cave beneath the great 
 rock by the spring; and the persimmon grove in the 
 bottoms. Then once more he suffered with his mother 
 from his drunken father's rage, and every detail of 
 that awful night in the brush, with the long days and 
 nights of sickness that followed before her death, 
 came back so vividly that he wept again with his face 
 in his hands as he had cried by the rude bedside in 
 the cabin sixteen years ago. Then came the years 
 when he had wandered from his early home and had 
 learned to know life in the great cities. What a life 
 he had found it! He shuddered as it all came back 
 to him now: the many times when inspired by the 
 memory of his mother, he had tried to break away 
 from the evil, degrading things that were in and 
 about him, and the many times he had been dragged 
 back by the training and memory of his father; the 
 gambling, the fighting, the drinking, the periods of 
 hard work, the struggle to master his trade, and the 
 reckless wasting of wages in times of wild despair. 
 
 20 
 
THAT PRINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 And now his father was dead — dead — he shuddered. 
 There was nothing now to bind him to the past ; he 
 was free. 
 
 "Can't ye give me that drink, Dicky? Jest one 
 little horn. It'll do us both good, an' then I'll shove 
 erlong ; jes fer old times' sake, ye know." 
 
 The voice of the tramp broke in upon his thoughts. 
 For a moment longer he sat there ; then started to his 
 feet, a new light in his eye, a new ring in his voice. 
 
 "No, Jake," he said slowly ; "I wouldn't if I could, 
 now. I'm done with the old times forever." He 
 threw up his head and stood proudly erect while the 
 tramp gazed in awe at something in his face he had 
 never seen before. 
 
 "I have only ^ve cents in the world," continued 
 Dick. "Here, take it. You'll be hungry again soon 
 and — and — ^good-bye, Jake — good-bye — " 
 
 He turned and walked swiftly away while the other 
 stood staring in astonishment and wonder, first at the 
 coin in his hand, then at the retreating figure. Then 
 with an exclamation, the ragged fellow wheeled and 
 started in the opposite direction toward the railroad 
 yards, to catch a south bound freight. 
 
 Dick had walked scarcely a block when a lean 
 hound came trotting across the street. "Dear old 
 Smoke," he said to himself, his mind going back to 
 the companion of his early struggle — "dear old 
 Smoke." Then as the half-starved creature came 
 timidly to his side and looked up at him with plead- 
 ing eyes, he remembered his share of the breakfast, 
 still untouched, in his pocket. "You look like an old 
 friend of mine," he continued, as he stooped to pat 
 
 21 
 
THAT PEI^TER OF UDELUS 
 
 the bony head, "a friend who is never hungry now — 
 but you're hungry aren't you?" A low whine an- 
 swered him. "Yes, you're hungry all right." And 
 the next moment a wagging tail was eloquently giving 
 thanks for the rest of the crackers and cheese. 
 
 The factories and mills of the city gave forth their 
 early greeting, while the sun tried in vain to drive 
 away the chilly mist. Men with dinner buckets on 
 their arms went hurrying along at the call of 
 whistles ; shop-keepers were sweeping, dusting and ar- 
 ranging their goods; a street-car, full of miners, 
 passed with clanging gong; and the fire department 
 horses, out for their morning exercise, clattered down 
 the street. Amid the busy scene walked Dick, with- 
 out work, without money, without friends, but with a 
 new purpose in his heart that was more than meat or 
 drink. A new feeling of freedom and power made 
 him lift his head and move with a firm and steady 
 step. 
 
 All that morning he sought for employment, in- 
 quiring at the stores and shops, but receiving little or 
 no encouragement. Toward noon, while waiting for 
 an opportunity to interview the proprietor of a store, 
 he picked up a daily paper that was lying on the 
 * counter, and turning to the "want" column, read an 
 advertisement for a man to do general work about the 
 barn and yard. When he had received the usual 
 answer to his request for work, he went at once to the 
 address given in the paper. 
 
 "Is Mr. Goodrich in ?" he asked of the young man 
 who came forward with a look of inquiry on his face. 
 
 "What do you want ?" was the curt reply. 
 
 22 
 
THAT PEIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I want to see Mr. Groodrich," came the answer in 
 tones even sharper, and the young man conducted 
 him to the door of the office. 
 
 "Well," said a portly middle-aged gentleman, when 
 he had finished dictating a letter to the young lady 
 seated at the typewriter, "what do you want ?" 
 
 "I came in answer to your ad in this morning's 
 Whistler," answered Dick. 
 
 "Umph — Where did you work last ?" 
 
 "At Kansas City. I'm a printer by trade, but 
 willing to do anything until I get a start." 
 
 "Why aren't you working at your trade ?" 
 
 "I was thrown out by the strike and have been 
 unable to find anything since." 
 
 A look of anger and scorn swept over the mer- 
 chant's face. "So you're one of that lot, are you? 
 Why don't you fellows learn to take what you can 
 get? Look here." He pointed to a pile of pamph- 
 lets lying on the table. "Just came in to-day; they 
 cost me fifty per cent more than I ever paid before, 
 just because you cattle can't be satisfied; and now 
 you want me to give you a place. If I had my way, 
 I'd give you, and such as you, work on the rock pile." 
 And he wheeled his chair toward his desk. 
 
 "But," said Dick, "I'm hungry — I must do some- 
 thing — I'm not a beggar — I'll earn every cent you 
 pay me." 
 
 "I tell you no," shouted the other. "I won't have 
 men about me who look above their position," and he 
 picked up his pen. 
 
 "But, Sir," said Dick again, "what am I to do?" 
 
 23 
 
THAT PEIlSrTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I don't care what you do," returned the other. 
 "There is a stone-yard here for such as you." 
 
 "Sir," answered Dick, standing very straight, his 
 face as pale as death. "Sir, you will yet learn that 
 it does matter very much what such fellows as I do. 
 I am no more worthy to work on the rock pile than 
 yourself. As a man, I am every bit your equal, and 
 will live to prove it. Good morning. Sir." And he 
 marched out of the office like a soldier on parade, 
 leaving the young lady at the typewriter motionless 
 with amazement, and her employer dumb with rage. 
 
 What induced him to utter such words Dick could 
 not say; he only knew that they were true, and 
 they seemed somehow to have been forced from him ; 
 though in spite of his just anger he laughed at the 
 ridiculousness of the situation before he was fairly 
 away from the building. 
 
 The factory whistles blew for dinner, but there was 
 no dinner for Dick ; they blew again for work at one 
 o'clock, but still there was nothing for Dick to do. 
 All that afternoon he continued his search with the 
 same result — "We don't need you." Some, it is true, 
 were kind in their answers. One old gentleman, a 
 real estate man, Dick felt sure was about to help him, 
 but he was called away on business, and the poor fel- 
 low went on his weary search again. 
 
 Then the whistles blew for six o'clock, and the 
 workmen, their faces stained with the marks of toil, 
 hurried along the streets toward home. Through 
 hungry eyes, Dick watched the throng, wondering 
 what each worked at during the day and what they 
 would have for supper. 
 
 24 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 The sun went behind a bank of dull, lead-colored 
 clouds and the wind sprang up again, so sharp and 
 cold that the citizens turned up the collars of their 
 coats and drew their wraps about them, while Dick 
 sought shelter from the chilly blast in an open hall- 
 way. Suddenly a policeman appeared before him. 
 
 "What are you doing here ?" 
 
 "N"othing," answered Dick. 
 
 "Wal, ye'd better be doing something. I've had 
 my eye on you all the afternoon. I'll run ye in if I 
 ketch ye hanging round any more. Get a move on 
 now." And Dick stepped out on the sidewalk once 
 more to face the bitter wind. 
 
 Walking as rapidly as possible, he made his way 
 north on Broadway, past the big hotel, all aglow with 
 light and warmth, past vacant lots and factories, until 
 he reached the ruins of an old smelter just beyond 
 a network of railroad tracks. He had noticed the 
 place earlier in the day as he passed it on his way to 
 the brickyard. Groping about over the fallen walls 
 of the furnace, stumbling over scraps of iron and 
 broken timbers in the dusk, he searched for a corner 
 that would in some measure protect him from the 
 wind. It grew dark very fast, and soon he tripped 
 and fell against an old boiler lying upturned in the 
 ruin. Throwing out his hand to save himself, by 
 chance he caught the door of the firebox, and in a 
 moment more was inside, crouching in the accumu- 
 lated dirt, iron rust and ashes. At least the wind 
 could not get at him here; and leaning his back 
 against the iron wall of his strange bed-room, tired 
 and hungry, he fell asleep. 
 
 25 
 
CHAPTEK II. 
 MOVE ON! MOVE ON! 
 
 I HE next morning, stiff and sore, Dick 
 crawled from his rude lodging place and 
 after making his toilet as best he could, 
 started again on his search for employment. It was 
 nearly noon when he met a man who in answer to his 
 inquiry said : "I'm out of a job myself, stranger, but 
 I've got a little money left ; you look hungry." 
 
 Dick admitted that he had had no breakfast. 
 
 "Tell you what I'll do," said the other. "I ain't 
 got much, but we can go to a joint I know of where 
 they set up a big free lunch. I'll pay for the beer and 
 you can wade into the lunch." 
 
 Poor Dick, weak from hunger, chilled with the 
 March winds, tired and discouraged, forgot his re- 
 solve of the day before and followed his would-be 
 benefactor. It was not far and they soon stood in a 
 well-warmed saloon. The grateful heat, the polished 
 furniture, the rows of bottles and glasses, the clean- 
 looking, white- jacketed and aproned bar-tender, and 
 the merry air of those whom he served, were all won- 
 derfully attractive to the poor shivering wanderer 
 from out in the cold. And then there was the long 
 table well loaded with strong, hot food. The starving 
 fellow started toward it eagerly, with outstretched 
 hand. "Two beers here," cried his companion. 
 
THAT PKIiq^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 Then Dick remembered his purpose. The hand 
 reaching out to grasp the food was withdrawn; his 
 pale face grew more haggard. "My God I" he thought, 
 "what can I do. I must have food." 
 
 He saw the bartender take two large glasses from 
 the shelf. His whole physical being plead with him, 
 demanding food and drink, and shaking like a leaf 
 he gazed about him with the air of a hunted thing. 
 
 He saw one of the glasses in the hand of the man 
 in the white jacket and apron filling with the amber 
 liquid. A moment more and — "Stop!" he cried, 
 rushing toward the one who held the glasses. "Stop ! 
 it's a mistake. I don't drink." 
 
 The man paused and looked around with an evil 
 leer, one glass still unfilled in his hand. Then with a 
 brutal oath, "What are ye in here for then ?" 
 
 Dick trembled. "I — I — ^was cold and hungry — " 
 his eyes sought the food on the table — "and — and — 
 this gentleman asked me to come. He's not to blame ; 
 he thought I wanted a drink." 
 
 His new-found friend looked at him with a puzzled 
 expression. "Oh take a glass, stranger. You need 
 it ; and then help yourself to the lunch." 
 
 Dick shook his head ; he could not speak. 
 
 "Look here !" broke in the bartender, with another 
 string of vile language, as he quickly filled the empty 
 glass and set it on the counter before Dick. "You 
 drink this er git out. That there lunch is fer our 
 customers and we ain't got no room fer temperance 
 cranks er bums. Which'U it be ? Talk quick." 
 
 Dick's eyes went from the food to the liquor ; then 
 to the saloon man's hard face, while a strange hush 
 
 27 
 
THAT PEIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 fell over those who witnessed the scene. Slowly the 
 young man swept the room with a pleading glance, 
 but met only curious indifference on every side. 
 Again he turned to the food and liquor, and put out 
 his hand. A light of triumph flashed in the eyes of 
 the man behind the bar, but the hand was withdrawn 
 and Dick backed slowly toward the door. "I won't,'' 
 he said between his clenched teeth ; then to his would- 
 be friend, "Thank you for your good intention." 
 
 The silence in the room was broken by a shout of 
 harsh laughter as the bartender raised the glass of 
 beer he had drawn for Dick and mockingly drank him 
 good luck as the poor fellow stepped through the 
 doorway leaving warmth and food behind. 
 
 All that day Dick continued his search for work. 
 Night came on again and he found himself wander- 
 ing, half dazed, in the more aristocratic portion of 
 the city. He was too tired to go to the old smelter 
 again. He could not think clearly and muttered and 
 mumbled to himself as he stumbled aimlessly along. 
 
 The door of a cottage opened, letting out a flood of 
 light, and a woman's voice called, "Dick, Oh Dick, 
 come home now; supper is waiting." And a lad of 
 ten, playing in the neighboring yard with his young 
 companion, answered with a shout as he bounded 
 across the lawn. Through the windows our Dick 
 caught a glimpse of the cosy home: father, mother, 
 two sisters, bright pictures, books, and a table set with 
 snowy linen, shining silver and sparkling glass. 
 
 Later, strange voices seemed to call him, and sev- 
 eral times he paused to listen. Then someone in the 
 distance seemed to say, "Move on; move on." The 
 
 28 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 words echoed and re-echoed through his tired brain. 
 "Move on; move on/' the v^eary, monotonous strain 
 continued as he dragged his heavy feet along the pave- 
 ment. "Move on; move on;" the words seemed re- 
 peated just ahead. Who was it? What did they 
 want, and why couldn't they let him rest ? He drew 
 near a large building with beautiful stained glass 
 windows, through which the light streamed bril- 
 liantly. In the center was a picture of the Christ, 
 holding in his arms a lamb, and beneath was the in- 
 scription, "I came to seek and to save that which was 
 lost." 
 
 "Move on; move on;" the words seemed shrieked 
 in his ears now, and looking up he saw a steeple in the 
 form of a giant hand, pointing toward the stormy 
 sky. "Why of course" — he laughed with mirthless 
 lips — "of course — it's a church. What a fool — I 
 ought to have come here long ago. This is Thursday 
 night and that voice is the bell calling people to 
 prayer meeting." 
 
 "I'll be all right now," he continued to himself as 
 he leaned against a tree near the building. "I ought 
 to have remembered the church before. I've set up 
 their notices many a time; they always say ^Every- 
 body welcome.' Christians won't let me starve — 
 they'll help me earn something to eat. I'm not a 
 beggar — ^not me," and he tried to straighten his tired 
 figure. "All I want is a chance." 
 
 By this time, where Dick stood muttering to him- 
 self, well-dressed people were passing and entering 
 the open door of the church. Then the organ began 
 
 29 
 
THx\T PEINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 to play, and arousing himself by a supreme effort of 
 his will, Dick followed them into the building. 
 
 The organ now filled the air with its sweetly 
 solemn tones. The bell with its harsh command to 
 move on was forgotten ; and as Dick sank on a cush- 
 ioned seat near the door, his heart was filled with rest- 
 ful thoughts. He saw visions of a Gracious Being 
 who cared for all mankind, and who had been all this 
 time waiting to help him. Had he not heard his 
 mother pray, years ago in the cabin, "O Lord, take 
 ker o' Dick! — '' How foolish he had been to forget 
 — he ought to have remembered — but he would never 
 forget again — ^never. 
 
 The music and the singing stopped. The pastor 
 arose and read the lesson, calling particular attention 
 to the words recorded in the twenty-fifth chapter of 
 Matthew: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
 of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it 
 unto me.'' Then after a long prayer and another 
 song, the man of God spoke a few words about the 
 Christian's joy and duty in helping the needy; that 
 the least of these, meant those who needed help, no 
 matter what their positions in life; and that whoso- 
 ever gave aid to one in the name of Christ, glorified 
 the Master's name and helped to enthrone Him in the 
 hearts of men. 
 
 "The least of these," whispered Dick to himself, 
 then unconsciously uttering his thoughts in the dia- 
 lect of his childhood — "that's me shor'; I don't 
 reckon I kin be much less'n I am right now." And as 
 one after another of the Christians arose and testified 
 to the joy they found in doing Christ's work, and told 
 
 30 
 
THAT PRIIsrTEK OF UDELL^S 
 
 of experiences where they had been blessed by being 
 permitted to help some poor one, his heart warmed 
 within him, and in his own way, he thanked God that 
 he had been led to such a place and to such people. 
 
 With another song, '^Praise God from whom all 
 blessings flow,'' the congregation was dismissed and 
 began slowly passing from the building, exchanging 
 greetings, with more or less warmth, and remarking 
 what a helpful meeting they had had, and how much 
 it had been enjoyed. 
 
 Hat in hand, Dick stood near the door, patiently 
 waiting. One by one the members passed him; two 
 or three said, "Good evening ;'' one shook him by the 
 hand ; but something in their faces as they looked at 
 his clothing checked the words that rose to his lips, 
 and the poor fellow waited, his story untold. At 
 last the minister came down the aisle, and greeting 
 Dick, was about to pass out with the others ; this was 
 too much, and in a choked voice the young man said, 
 "Sir, may I speak to you a moment ?" 
 
 "If you'll be brief," replied the preacher, glancing 
 at his watch. "I have an engagement soon." 
 
 "Dick told his story in a few words. "I'm not 
 begging. Sir," he added. "I thought some of the 
 church members might have work that I could do or 
 might know where I could find employment." 
 
 The minister seemed a little embarrassed; then 
 beckoning to a few who still remained, "Brother 
 Godfrey, here's a man who wants work ; do you know 
 of anything ?" 
 
 "Um, I'm sorry, but I do not," promptly replied 
 the good deacon. "What can you do?" turning to 
 
 31 
 
THAT PKIN^TEB OF UDELL'S 
 
 Dick. He made the usual answer and the officer of 
 the church said again, "Find it rather hard to strike 
 anything in Boyd City I fear ; so many tramps, you 
 know. Been out of work long ?" 
 
 "Yes sir, and out of food, too." 
 
 "Too bad; too bad," said the deacon. And "Too 
 bad; too bad," echoed the preacher, and the other 
 followers of the meek and lowly Jesus. "If we hear 
 of anything we'll let you know. Where are you 
 stopping ?" 
 
 "On the street," replied Dick, "when I am not 
 moved on by the police." 
 
 "Um — ^well — ^we'll leave word here at the church 
 with the janitor if we learn of anything." 
 
 "Are you a Christian ?" asked one good old mother 
 in Israel. 
 
 "]^o," stammered poor confused Dick; "I guess 
 not." 
 
 "Do you drink ?" 
 
 "m ma'am." 
 
 "Well, don't get discouraged ; look to God ; he can 
 help you ; and we'll all pray for you. Come and hear 
 our Brother French preach ; I am sure you will find 
 the light. He is the best preacher in the city. Every- 
 body says so. Good night." 
 
 The others had already gone. The sexton was 
 turning out the lights, and a moment later Dick 
 found himself once more on the street, looking with a 
 grim smile on his hunger-pinched features, at the 
 figure of the Christ, wrought in the costly stained 
 glass window. "One of the least of these," he mut- 
 tered hoarsely to himself. Then the figure and the in- 
 
 32 
 
THAT PRIJ^TTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 scription slowly faded, as one by one the lights went 
 out, until at last it vanished and he seemed to hear 
 his mother's voice : ''I ax ye fair — O Lord — take ker 
 o' Dick — ^fer Jesus' sake — Amen." 
 
 The door shut with a bang. A key grated in the 
 heavy lock that guarded the treasures of the church ; 
 and the footsteps of the church's humblest servant 
 died away in the distance, as Dick turned to move on 
 again. 
 
 The city rumbled on with its business and its pleas- 
 ure, its merriment and crime. Guardians of the law 
 protected the citizens by seeing to it that no ill- 
 dressed persons sat too long upon the depot benches, 
 sheltered themselves from the bitter wind in the open 
 hall-ways, or looked within too hungrily at the bakery 
 windows. 
 
 On the avenue the homes grew hushed and still, 
 with now and then a gleam of light from some library 
 or living-room window, accompanied by the tones of 
 a piano or guitar — or sound of laughing voices. And 
 the house of God stood silent, dark and cold, with 
 the figure of the Christ upon the window and the 
 spire, like a giant hand, pointing upward. 
 
 33 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 AFTER ALL. WAS THE WIRE DOWN ? 
 
 DECLAKE to goodness, if that ain't the 
 third tramp IVe chased away from this 
 house to-day! I'll have father get a dog if 
 this keeps up. They do pester a body pretty nigh to 
 death." Mrs. Wilson slammed the kitchen door and 
 returned to her dish-washing. ^^The ide' of givin' 
 good victuals to them that's able to work — ^not much 
 I won't — ^let 'em do like I do." And the good lady 
 plied her dish-cloth with such energy that her daugh- 
 ter hastily removed the clean plates and saucers from 
 the table to avoid the necessity of drying them again. 
 
 "But this man wanted work, didn't he mother?" 
 asked Clara, "and I heard you tell father at dinner 
 that you wanted someone to ^x the cowshed and 
 clean up the back yard." 
 
 "There you go again," angrily snapped the older 
 woman, resting her wet hands upon her hips and 
 pausing in her labor, the better to emphasize her 
 words, "Alius a criticisin' and a iindin' fault — since 
 you took up with that plagy church there ain't been 
 nothin' right." 
 
 "Forgive me, I didn't think," said the daughter, 
 looking into the wrathful black eyes of her mother. 
 
 "Didn't think," whined the woman, "You never 
 think of nothin' but your blamed Young Folks' So- 
 
 34 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 ciety or Sunday School. Your mother an' father 
 and home ain't good enough fer your saintship now-a- 
 days. I wish to goodness you'd never heard tell of 
 that preacher; the whole set's a batch of stingy 
 hypocrites." She turned to her dish-washing again 
 with a splash. ''An' there's George Udell, he ain't 
 going to keep hanging around forever, I can tell you ; 
 there's too many that 'ud jump at his offer, fer him to 
 alius be a dancin' after you ; an' when you git through 
 with your foolishness, you'll find him married and 
 settled down with some other girl, an' what me and 
 your father '11 do when we git too old to work, the 
 Lord only knows. If you had half sense you'd take 
 him too quick." 
 
 Clara made no reply, but finishing her work in 
 silence, hung up her apron and left the kitchen. 
 
 Later, when Mrs. Wilson went into the pleasant 
 little sitting-room, where the flowers in the window 
 would bloom, and the pet canary ivould sing in spite 
 of the habitual crossness of the mistress of the house, 
 she found her daughter attired for the street. 
 
 "Where are you going now?" she asked. "Some 
 more foolishness, I'll be bound; you just take them 
 things off and stay to home; this here weather ain't 
 fit fer you to be trapsin round in. You'll catch your 
 death of cold ; then I'll have to take care of you. I 
 do believe, Clara Wilson, you are the most ungrate- 
 fulest girl I ever see." 
 
 "But mother, I just must go to the printing ofiice 
 this afternoon. Our society meets to-morrow night 
 and I must look after the printing of the constitution 
 and by-laws." 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "What office you goin' to?" asked the mother 
 sharply. 
 
 "Why, George's, of course," said Clara. "You 
 know I wouldn't go anywhere else." 
 
 "Oh well, get along then ; I guess the weather won't 
 hurt you ; it's clearin' off a little anyway. I'll fix up 
 a bit and you can bring George home to supper." 
 And the old lady grew quite cheerful as she watched 
 the sturdy figure of her daughter making her way 
 down the board walk and through the front gate. 
 
 George Udell was a thriving job printer in Boyd 
 City, and stood high in the favor of the public gener- 
 ally, and of the Wilson family in particular, as might 
 be gathered from the conversation of Clara's mother. 
 "I tell you," she said, in her high-pitched tones, 
 "George Udell is good enough fer any gal. He don't 
 put on as much style as some, an' ain't much of a 
 church man ; but when it comes to makin' money he's 
 all there, an' that's the main thing now-a-days." 
 
 As for Clara, she was not insensible to the good 
 points in Mr. Udell's character, of which money- 
 making was by no means the most important, for she 
 had known him ever since the time, when as a long, 
 lank, awkward boy, he had brought her picture cards 
 and bits of bright-colored printing. She was a wee 
 bit of a girl then, but somehow, her heart told her 
 that her friend was more honest than most boys, and, 
 as she grew older, in spite of her religious convictions, 
 she had never been forced to change her mind. 
 
 But George Udell was not a Christian ; at least he 
 was not a member of any church. Some said he was 
 an infidel ; and when he was approached on the sub- 
 
 36 
 
THAT PEi:^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 ject of his religious beliefs, he always insisted that he 
 did not know what he believed and that he 
 doubted very much if many church members knew 
 more of their beliefs. Furthermore, he had been 
 heard upon several occasions to make slighting re- 
 marks about the church, contrasting its present stand- 
 ing and work with the law of love and helpfulness as 
 laid down by the Master whom they professed to 
 follow. 
 
 True, no one had ever heard him say that he did 
 not believe in Christ or God. But what of that? 
 Had he not said that he did not believe in the church ? 
 And was not that enough to mark him as an infidel ? 
 
 Clara, in spite of her home training, was a strong 
 church member, a zealous Christian and an earnest- 
 worker for the cause of Christ. Being a practical 
 girl, she admitted that there were many faults in the 
 church of today ; and that Christians did not always 
 live up to their professions. But you could not 
 expect people to be perfect ; and the faults that existed 
 in the church were there because all churches were 
 not the same, which really means — "all churches are 
 not of my denomination.'' And so, in spite of her 
 regard for the printer, she could not bring herself 
 to link her destiny with one whose eternal future 
 was so insecure, and whose life did not chord with 
 that which was to her, the one great keynote of the 
 universe, the church. And then, too, does not the good 
 book say: "Be ye not unequally yoked with unbe- 
 lievers." What could that mean if not, "Do not 
 marry an infidel ?" 
 
 While Clara was thinking of all these things and 
 
 37 
 
THAT PEII^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 making her way through the mud of Boyd City 
 streets, Udell, at the printing office, was having a 
 particularly trying time. To hegin with, his one 
 printer had gone off on a spree the Saturday before 
 and failed to return. Then several rush jobs had 
 come in ; he had tried in vain to get help ; the boy had 
 come late to the office, and altogether it seemed as 
 though everything had happened that could happen 
 to make things uncomfortable. 
 
 Clara arrived on the scene just when the confusion 
 was at its height; the room was littered with scraps 
 of paper and inky cloths ; the famous printer's towel 
 was lying on the desk; the stove, with its hearth 
 piled full of ashes, emitted smoke and coal gas freely ; 
 and the printer was emptying the vials of his wrath 
 upon the public in general, because all wanted their 
 printing done at the same instant; while the boy, 
 with a comical look of fear upon his ink-stained face, 
 was dodging here and there, striving as best he could 
 to avoid the threatening disaster. 
 
 The young girl's coming was like a burst of sun- 
 light. In an instant the storm was past. The boy's 
 face resumed at once its usual expression of lofty in- 
 difference; the fire burned freely in the stove; the 
 towel was whisked into its proper corner; and she 
 was greeted with the first smile that had shown on the 
 printer's face that day. "You're just in time," he 
 cried gaily, as he seated her in the cleanest comer of 
 the office. 
 
 "I should think so," she answered smiling and 
 glancing curiously about the room ; "looks as though 
 you wanted a woman here." 
 
 38 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I do/' declared George. "IVe always wanted a 
 woman ; haven't I told you that often enough ?" 
 
 "Eor shame, George Udell. I came here on busi- 
 ness," Clara answered with glowing cheeks. 
 
 "Well, that's mighty important business for me," 
 Udell answered. "You see — " but Clara interrupted 
 him. 
 
 "What's the matter here anyway ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh — ^nothing; only my man is off on a drunken 
 spree and everybody wants their stuff at the same 
 time. I worked until two o'clock last night; that's 
 why I wasn't at your house ; and I must work tonight, 
 too. I'm — yes, there's another," as the telephone 
 rang. "Hello ! — yes, this is Udell's job office — we have 
 the matter set up and will send you proof as soon as 
 possible — I'm sorry, but we are doing the best we can 
 — yes — all right — I'll get at it right away — three 
 o'clock — can't possibly get it out before — " bang! 
 He hung up the receiver. 
 
 "I tell you this is making me thin. If you had 
 half the influence at headquarters that you profess to 
 have, I wish you'd pray them to send me a printer." 
 
 "Why don't you get help ?" 
 
 "Get help ? Get nothing ! I tell you I've prayed, 
 and threatened, and bribed, and promised, as well as 
 the best prayer-meeting church member you've got, 
 and I can't get the sign of an answer. Reckon the 
 wire must be down," he added, a queer shadow of a 
 smile twitching up the comers of his mouth. "Y-e-s," 
 as the phone rang again. "I wish that wire was 
 down." 
 
 The girl noted the worn look on his rugged face 
 
THAT PRIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 and when he had hung up the receiver again, said, 
 "I wish I could help you, George." 
 
 "You can, Clara, you know you can," he answered 
 quickly. "You can give me more help than the ghost 
 of Franklin himself. I don't mind the hard work 
 and the worry wouldn't amount to anything if only —   
 if only — " he stopped, as Clara shook her head. 
 
 "George, you know I have told you again and 
 again — " 
 
 "But Clara," he broke in, "I wouldn't in any way 
 interfere with your church work. I'd even go with 
 you every Sunday, and you could pay the preacher 
 as much as you liked. Don't you see, dear, it couldn't 
 possibly make any difference ?" 
 
 "You don't understand, George," she answered, 
 "and I can't make you see it ; there's no use talking, 
 I can't, until you change your ideas about — " 
 
 The door opened and a weary, hungry, unshaven 
 face looked in. The door opened wider and a figure 
 came shuffling timidly toward the man and girl. 
 
 "What do you want ?" said Udell, gruffly, a little 
 put out at such an interruption. 
 
 "Are you the foreman of this office ?" said the new- 
 comer. 
 
 "Yes, I'm the boss." 
 
 "Do you need any help ? I'm a printer." 
 
 "You a printer?" exclaimed Udell. "What's the 
 matter ? 'No — " he interrupted himself. "I^ever mind 
 what the matter is. I don't care if you're wanted for 
 horse stealing. Can you go to work now ?" The man 
 nodded. Udell showed him to a case and placed copy 
 
 40 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 before him. "There you are and the faster you work 
 the better I'll pay you." 
 
 Again the other nodded and without a word caught 
 up a stick and reached for the type. 
 
 George turned back to Clara who had risen. "Don't 
 go yet," he said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I must ; I have been here too long now ; 
 you have so much to do; I only wanted to get that 
 society printing." George handed her the package. 
 "Who is he ?" she whispered, with a look toward the 
 newcomer. 
 
 "Don't know; some bum I suppose; looks like he 
 had been on a big spree. I only hope I can keep him 
 sober long enough to help me over this rush." 
 
 "You're wrong there," said the girl, moving to- 
 ward the door. "He asked for work at our house 
 early this morning ; that man is no drunkard, neither 
 is he a common tramp." 
 
 "How do you know ?" 
 
 "Same as I know you, by the looks," laughed 
 Clara. "Go talk to him and find out. You see your 
 prayer was answered, even if you did pray like a 
 church member. Who knows, perhaps the wire is 
 not down after all," and she was gone. 
 
 The printer turned to his work again with a lighter 
 heart for this bit of brightness. Somehow he felt 
 that things would come out all right some day, and he 
 would do the best he could to be patient; and for 
 Clara's sake, while he could not be all she wished, he 
 would make of himself all that he could. 
 
 For a while he was very busy with some work in 
 the rear of the oflSce; then remembering Clara's 
 
 4X 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 strange words about the tramp, lie went over to the 
 case where the new man sat perched upon his high 
 stool. The stranger was working rapidly and doing 
 good work. George noticed though, that the hand 
 which held the stick trembled ; and that sometimes a 
 letter dropped from the nervous fingers. *^What*s 
 the matter ?" he asked, eyeing him keenly. 
 
 The man, without lifting his head, muttered, 
 "Nothing.'' 
 
 "Are you sick ?" 
 
 A shake of the head was the only answer. 
 
 "Been drinking ?" 
 
 "No/' This time the head was lifted and two keen 
 grey eyes, filled with mingled suffering and anger, 
 looked full in the boss's face. "I've been without 
 work for some time and am hungry, that's all." The 
 head bent again over the case and the trembling 
 fingers reached for the type. 
 
 "Himgry! Good God, man!" exclaimed Udell. 
 "Why didn't you say so ?" — and turning quickly to 
 the boy he said, "Here, skip down to that restaurant 
 and bring a big hot lunch. Tell 'em to get a hustle 
 on too." 
 
 The boy fled and George continued talking to him- 
 self; "Hungry — and I thought he had been on a 
 spree. I ought to have known better than that. I've 
 been hungry myself — Clara's right; he is no bum 
 printer. Great shade of the immortal Benjamin F! 
 but he's plucky though — and proud — you could see 
 that by the look in his eye when I asked him if he'd 
 been drunk — ^poor fellow — ^knows his business too — 
 just the man I've been looking for, I'll bet — ^huh — 
 
 42 
 
HERE YOU ARE; COME AND FILL UP' 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 wonder if the wire is down/' And then as the boy 
 returned with the basket of hot eatables, he called 
 cheerily, "Here you are ; come and fill up ; no hungry 
 man in this establishment, rush or no rush." He was 
 answered by a clatter as half a stick full of type 
 dropped from the trembling hand of the stranger. 
 "Thank you," the poor fellow tried to say, as he 
 staggered toward the food provided by his benefactor, 
 and then as he fell, Dick's outstretched fingers just 
 touched IJdeirs feet. 
 

 CHAPTEEIV. 
 HITTING A HORNETS NEST 
 
 |T was a strange coincidence that the Keverend 
 James Cameron should have preached his 
 sermon on "The Church of the Future," the 
 Sunday following the incidents which have been re- 
 lated in the preceding chapters. If the preacher had 
 only known he might have found a splendid illustra- 
 tion, very much to the point, in the story of Dick 
 Falkner's coming to Boyd City and his search for 
 employment. But the minister knew nothing of Dick 
 or his trouble. He had no particular incident in 
 mind; but simply desired to see a more practical 
 working of Christianity. In other words, he wished 
 to see Christians doing the things that Christ did, 
 and using in matters of the church, the same busi- 
 ness sense which they brought to bear upon their own 
 affairs. He thought of the poverty, squalor and 
 wretchedness of some for whom Christ died, and of 
 the costly luxuries of the church into whose hands the 
 care of these unfortunates had been given by the 
 Master. He thought of the doors to places of sin, 
 swinging wide before the young, while the doors of 
 the church were often closed against them. He 
 thought of the secret societies and orders, doing the 
 work that the church was meant to do, and of the 
 honest, moral men, who refused to identify them- 
 
 44 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 selves with the church, though professing belief in 
 Jesus Christ ; and thinking of these things and more 
 like them, he was forced to say that the church must 
 change her methods ; that she must talk less and do 
 more; that she must rest her claims to the love of 
 mankind where Christ rested his; upon the works 
 that He did. 
 
 He saw that the church was proving false to the 
 Christ ; that her service was a service of the lips only ; 
 that her worship was form and ceremony — ^not of 
 the heart — a hollow mockery. He saw that she was 
 not touching the great problems of life; and that 
 while men were dying for want of spiritual bread, she 
 was offering them only the stones of ecclesiastical 
 pride and denominational egotism. He saw all this, 
 and yet — ^because he was a strong man — remained 
 full of love for Christ and taught that those things 
 were not Christianity but the lack of it ; and placed 
 the blame where it justly belonged, upon the teaching 
 and doctrines of men, and not upon the principles of 
 Christ ; upon the shepherds, who fattened themselves, 
 while the starving sheep grew thin and lean; and not 
 upon Him who came to seek and save that which was 
 lost. 
 
 Adam Goodrich walked out of the church with his 
 aristocratic nose elevated even beyond its usual angle. 
 He was so offended by the plebeian tastes of his 
 pastor that he almost failed to notice Banker Lindsley 
 who passed him in the vestibule. 
 
 "Fine discourse — fine discourse, Mr. Goodrich." 
 
 "Uh — " grunted Adam, tossing his head. 
 
 ^* Just the kind of sermon we need,'' went on Mr. 
 
 45 
 
THAT PKIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Lindsley who was not a church member. "Practical 
 and fearless; I'm glad to have heard him. I shall 
 come again ;" and he hurried out of the house. 
 
 It was not often that a sermon was honored by 
 being discussed at the Goodrich table; nor indeed, 
 that any topic of religion was mentioned ; but Adam 
 could not contain himself after the unheard-of things 
 which his pastor had preached that morning. "It's a 
 pity that Cameron hasn't better judgment," he de- 
 clared, in a voice that showed very plainly the state 
 of his mind. "He could easily make his church the 
 first church in the city if he would only let well 
 enough alone and not be all the time stirring things 
 up. He is a good speaker, carries himself like an 
 aristocrat, and comes from a good family; but he is 
 forever saying things that jar the best people. He 
 might be drawing half as much again salary if only 
 he would work to get those people who are worth 
 something into the church, instead of spending all his 
 time with the common herd." 
 
 "Perhaps he thinks the common herd worth saving 
 too," suggested his daughter Amy, a beautiful girl of 
 nineteen, with dark hair and eyes. 
 
 "What do you know about it ?" replied the father. 
 "You're getting your head full of those silly Young 
 People's Society notions, and your friends will drop 
 you if you don't pay more attention to your social 
 duties. The common classes are all right of course, 
 but they can't expect to associate with us. Cameron 
 has his mission schools ; why isn't that enough ? And 
 he makes three times as many calls on South Broad- 
 way and over by the shops, as he does on our street." 
 
 46 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL^S 
 
 "Perhaps he thinks, Hhey that are whole have no 
 need of a physician/ " again suggested the young 
 lady. 
 
 "Amy," said Mrs. Goodrich, "how often have I 
 told you that it's not the thing to be always repeating 
 the Bible. No one does it now. Why will you make 
 yourself so common ?" 
 
 "You agree with Cameron perfectly, mother," put 
 in Frank, the only son; "he said this morning that 
 no one used their Bibles now-a-days." 
 
 "It's not necessary to be always throwing your re- 
 ligion at people's heads," answered the father, "and 
 as for Cameron's new-fangled notion about the church 
 being more helpful to those who need help, he'll find 
 out that it won't work. We are the ones who pay his 
 salary, and if he can't preach the things we want to 
 hear, he'll find himself going hungry, or forced to 
 dig along with those he is so worried about. I don't 
 find anything in the Bible that tells me to associate 
 with every low-down person in the city, and I guess 
 I'm as good a Christian as anyone in the church." 
 
 "Brother Cameron said that helping people and 
 associating with them were two different things," 
 said Amy. 
 
 "Well, it means the same, anyway, in the eyes of 
 the world," retorted the father. 
 
 "Fancy," said Frank, "my going down the street 
 with that tramp who called at the office last week. 
 According to Cameron, you ought to have invited him 
 home and asked him to stay with us until he found 
 a job, I suppose. Amy would have liked to meet him 
 
 47 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 and to make his visit with us pleasant. He was not 
 bad-looking, barring his clothes and a few whiskers." 
 
 "Who was that, Mr. Goodrich ?" inquired the wife. 
 
 "Oh, an impudent fellow that Frank let into the 
 office the other day ; he claimed that he was a printer 
 and wanted work; said that he was thrown out of 
 employment by the Kansas City strike ; anyone could 
 see that he was a fraud through and through, just 
 Cameron's kind. If I had my way I would give him 
 work that he wouldn't want. Such people are getting 
 altogether too numerous, and there will be no room 
 for respectable men if this thing keeps up. I don't 
 know what we'll come to if we have many such ser- 
 mons as that this morning ; they want the earth now." 
 
 "They'd get heaven too if Cameron had his way," 
 put in Frank again. "Won't it be fine when the 
 church becomes a home for every wandering Willie 
 who happens along ?" 
 
 "Did not Christ intend His church to be a home for 
 the homeless ?" asked the sister. 
 
 "Amy," interrupted Mrs. Goodrich, "you are get- 
 ting too many of those fanciful notions; you will 
 learn in time that the church is meant to go to on 
 Sundays, and that people who know what is de- 
 manded of them by the best society, leave socials, 
 aids, missions, and such things to the lower classes." 
 
 "Yes," answered Frank, as he arose to leave the 
 table — "and don't go looking up that bum printer to 
 teach him the way of the Lord." 
 
 In Boyd City the Goodriches were not unworthy 
 members of the church ; their names were all on the 
 roll of membership, and Frank and Amy were also 
 
 48 
 
THAT PKIJSTTER OF UDELUS 
 
 active members of the Young People's Societies. Be- 
 side this, Adam contributed liberally (in his own 
 eyes at least) to the support of the gospel, and gave, 
 now and then, goodly sums set opposite his name on 
 subscription lists, for various charitable purposes; 
 although he was very careful, withal, that his gifts to 
 God never crippled his business interests, and man- 
 aged, in religious matters, to make a little go a long 
 way. 
 
 The pastor of the Jerusalem Church, having been 
 called to attend a funeral, was not present at the 
 meeting of the Boyd City Ministerial Association, 
 following his sermon, and the field was left open for 
 his brethren, who assembled in the lecture room of 
 the Zion Church on Monday morning. After the 
 association had been called to order by the president, 
 the reports of the work given by the various pastors 
 had been heard, and some unfinished business trans- 
 acted, good old Father Season arose, and in his 
 calm, impassioned manner, addressed the Chair. 
 
 "Brethren," he said, "I don't know how you all 
 feel about it, but I would like to know what the asso- 
 ciation thinks about Brother Cameron's sermon yes- 
 terday. Now, I don't want to be misunderstood, 
 brethren; I haven't a particle of fault to find with 
 Brother Cameron. I love him as a man; I admire 
 him as a preacher ; and I believe that whatever he has 
 said he meant for the best. But Brother Cameron 
 is a young man yet, and I have heard a good deal of 
 talk about the things he said Sabbath morning ; and I 
 would just like to know what you brethren think 
 about it. Have any of you heard anything?" Six 
 
 49 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 reverend heads nodded that they had, and the speaker 
 continued: 
 
 "Well, I thought probably you would hear some- 
 thing, and with no harm meant toward our brother, 
 I would like to have you express yourselves. I have 
 been in the ministry nearly forty years now, and I 
 have never heard such things as people say he said. 
 And, brethren, I'm awfully afraid that there is a 
 good deal of truth in it all — a good deal of truth in it 
 all;" and slowly shaking his head the old man took 
 his seat. 
 
 The Eeverend Jeremiah Wilks was on his feet in- 
 stantly, and speaking in a somewhat loud and nervous 
 manner, said: "Mr. Chairman, I was coming down 
 town early this morning, after some thread and rib- 
 bons and things for my wife, and Sister Thurston, 
 who runs that little store on Third Street — ^you know 
 she's a member of my church, you know — and always 
 gives me things lots cheaper than I can get them any- 
 where else, because she's a member of my church, you 
 know — she says to me that Brother Cameron said 
 that the average church of to-day was the biggest 
 fraud on earth. 'Now she was there and heard him. 
 I don't know of course, whether he really said that 
 or not; that is, I mean, you know — I don't know 
 whether he meant it that way or not. But I've heard 
 him say myself, that he didn't think the church was 
 doing all she might along some lines. I don't know 
 whether he means all the churches or only his own. 
 My people gave fifteen dollars for foreign missions 
 last year, and the Ladies' Aid paid fifty dollars on 
 my salary. Besides that, they bought me a new over- 
 
 50 
 
THAT PEmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 coat last winter, and it will last me through next 
 winter too. They paid eighteen dollars for that, I*m 
 told; and of course they got it cheap because it was 
 for me, you know. And we gave a pound social to 
 Sister Grady whose husband died some time ago, you 
 know. It took almost all her money to pay funeral 
 expenses — she's a member of my church you know; 
 so was he, poor man ; he's gone now. I'm sure I don't 
 know about Brother Cameron's church; we're doing 
 all we can; and I don't think it's right for him to 
 talk against the work of the Lord." The reverend 
 gentleman resumed his seat with the satisfied air of 
 a school boy who has just succeeded in hitting a hor- 
 net's nest, and devoutly wishes that someone would 
 come along to share the fun. 
 
 Little Hugh Cockrell arose, and crossing his hands, 
 meekly spoke: "N^ow, brethren, I don't think we 
 ought to be hasty in regard to this matter. I would 
 advise caution. We must give the subject due and 
 careful consideration. We all respect and love 
 Brother Cameron. Let us not be hasty in condemning 
 him. You know the scriptures say, *^ Judge not,' and I 
 believe we ought to be careful. We don't know what 
 Cameron meant exactly. Brethren, let us try to find 
 out. I know I have heard a great many things, and 
 some of my members say that he spoke rather slight- 
 ingly of the ministry as a whole, and seemed to think 
 that the church was not practical enough, and my 
 wife is a good deal hurt about some things that he 
 said about the clergy. But let's be careful. I don't 
 want to believe that our brother would cast a slur 
 in any way upon us or the church. Let's be cautious 
 
 51 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 and work in a Christianlike manner; find out by 
 talking with people on the street and in their homes, 
 what he said, and above all, don^t let Cameron know 
 how we feel. We ought not to be hasty, brethren, 
 about judging our brother." 
 
 There were nods of approval as the minister took 
 his seat, for he was much admired in the association 
 because of his piety, and much respected for his judg- 
 ment. All knew that nothing could possibly harm 
 them if they followed the Reverend CockrelFs advice. 
 
 Then the Reverend Doctor Frederick Hartzel 
 reared his stoop-shouldered, narrow-chested but com- 
 manding figure, and in a most impressive and schol- 
 arly manner addressed the association. 
 
 "Of course I don't know anything about this mat- 
 ter, brethren ; it's all news to me. I am so confined 
 by my studies that I go on the street very little, and 
 when I do go out, my mind is so full of the deep 
 things of the scriptures, that I find it hard to retain 
 anything that has to do with the commonplace in 
 life ; and in-as-much as the reverend gentleman failed 
 to consult me as to his sermon, which I understand he 
 calls ^The Church of the Future,' I am unable to say 
 at present whether his position is orthodox or not. 
 But brethren, of one thing I am sure, and I don't 
 care what Cameron or any other man thinks ; the or- 
 thodox church of to-day is the power of God unto 
 salvation. God intended that we ministers should be 
 His representatives on earth, and as such we ought to 
 have a keen appreciation of the grandeur and nobility 
 of our calling. After years of study on the part of 
 myself, and after much consultation with other emi- 
 
 62 
 
THAT PRIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 nent men, I give it as my opinion that the church of 
 the future will be the same as the church of the past. 
 All denominations — that is, all evangelical denomi- 
 nations, are built upon a rock. Upon this rock I 
 will build my church, Matthew 16-18. Brethren, we 
 are secure; even the gates of Hades cannot prevail 
 against us ; and it is proven by the scholarship of the 
 world, that we shall be the same in the future as we 
 have been in the past. Reverend Cameron, whatever 
 may be his opinions, cannot harm so glorious an insti- 
 tution. Why, brethren, we represent the brains and 
 culture of the world. Look at our schools and semi- 
 naries; we must be right. IsTo change can possibly 
 come; no change is needed. As to the gentleman's 
 remarks about the ministry ; if he made any, I don't 
 think his opinion matters much anyhow. I under- 
 stand that he is not a graduate of any regular theo- 
 logical institution ; and I'm sure that he cannot harm 
 my reputation in the least." 
 
 Secure in the impregnable position of his own 
 learning and in the scholarship of his church, amid 
 a hush of profound awe and admiration, the learned 
 gentleman took his seat. 
 
 Reverend Hartzel's speech practically finished the 
 discussion of the sermon by the association. Indeed, 
 the Reverend Frederick nearly always finished what- 
 ever discussion he took part in. One or two of the re- 
 maining preachers tried to speak, but subsided as soon 
 as they caught the eye of the scholar fixed upon them, 
 and the association was adjourned, with a prayer by 
 the president that they might always be able to con- 
 duct the Master's business in a manner well pleasing 
 
 53 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 in his sight; and that they might have strength to 
 always grapple boldly with questions concerning the 
 church, ever proving true to the principles of the 
 Christ, and following in His footsteps. 
 
 While the members of the Ministerial Association 
 were engaged in discussing the absent minister's 
 much-abused sermon, the printer, George Udell, 
 dropped in at the office of Mr. Wicks, to make the 
 final payment on a piece of property which he had 
 purchased some months before. Mr. Wicks, or as he 
 was more often called. Uncle Bobbie, was an old resi- 
 dent of the county, an elder in the Jerusalem Church, 
 and Reverend Cameron's right-hand man. 
 
 "Well," he said, as he handed George the proper 
 papers, "that place is your'n, young man, what are 
 ye goin' to do with it ?" 
 
 "Oh I don't know," replied Udell, "it's handy to 
 have 'round ; good building spot, isn't it ?" 
 
 "You bet it is," returned the other. "There ain't 
 no better in Boyd City, an' I reckon I know. Ye 
 must be goin' to get a wife, talking about buildin' ?" 
 
 Udell shook his head. *Well, ye ought to. Let's 
 see — this is the third piece of property I've sold ye, 
 ain't it? — all of 'em good investments too — ^you're 
 gettin' a mighty good start fer a young man. Don't 
 it make ye think of the Being what's back of all these 
 blessin's ? Strikes me ye'r too blame good a man to 
 be livin' without any religion. George, why don't you 
 go to church anyway ? Don't ye know you ought to ?" 
 
 "Why don't I go to church," said Udell thought- 
 fully. "Well, Mr. Wicks, I'll tell you why I don't go 
 to church. Just because I've got too much to do. I 
 
 54 
 
THAT PRIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 make my own way in the world and it takes all the 
 business sense I have to do it. Tlie dreamy, vision- 
 ary, speculative sort of things I hear at meeting may 
 be all right for a fellow's soul, but they don't help 
 him much in taking care of his body, and I can^t 
 afford to fill my mind with such stuff. I am living 
 this side of the grave. Of course I like to hear a 
 good talker, and I enjoy the music, but their ever- 
 lasting pretending to be what they are not, is what 
 gets me. You take this town right here now," he con- 
 tinued, pushing his hat back from his forehead; 
 "we've got ten or twelve churches and as many 
 preachers ; they all say that they are following Christ, 
 and profess to exist for the good of men and the glory 
 of God. And what are they actually doing to make 
 this place better ? There's not a spot in this city, out- 
 side a saloon, where a man can spend an hour when 
 he's not at work ; and not a sign of a place where a 
 fellow down on his luck can stay all night. Only last 
 week, a clean, honest young printer, who was out of 
 money through no fault of his own, struck me for a 
 job and before night fainted from hunger; and yet, 
 the preachers say that Christ told us to feed the 
 hungry, and that if we didn't it counted against us as 
 though we had let Him starve. According to their 
 own teaching, what show have these churches in Boyd 
 City when they spend every cent they can rake and 
 scrape to keep their old machines running and can't 
 feed even one hungry man? Your church members 
 are all right on the believe, trust, hope, pray and 
 preach, but they're not so much on the do. And I've 
 noticed it's the do that coimts in this life. Why, their 
 
 55 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 very idea of heaven is that it's a loafing place, where 
 you get more than you ask for or have any right to 
 expect." 
 
 "Gettin' a little excited, ain't ye?" smiled Uncle 
 Bobbie, though there was a tear twinkling in his 
 sharp old eyes. 
 
 "Yes I am," retorted the other. "It's enough to ex- 
 cite anyone who has a heart to feel and eyes to see 
 the misery in this old world, and then to be asked 
 eternally, ^Why don't you go to church V Why look 
 at 'em ; they even let their own preachers starve when 
 they get too old to work. Societies and lodges don't 
 do that. I don't mean to step on your toes though," 
 he added hastily. "You know that. Uncle Bobbie. 
 You've proven yourself a Christian to me in ways 
 I'll never forget. My old mother was a member of 
 the church and they let her go hungry, when I was too 
 little to take care of her; and if it hadn't been for 
 you she would have died then. But you fed her, and 
 if there's a heaven, she's there, and you'll be there 
 too. But what makes me mad is, that these fellows 
 who never do anything, are just as sure of it as you 
 who do so much." 
 
 "Ah, George," said Wicks ; "that help I give your 
 maw wam't nothin'. Do you think I'd see her suffer ? 
 Why, I knowed her when she was a girl." 
 
 "I know. Uncle Bobbie, but that isn't the question. 
 Why, don't the church do some of the things they are 
 always talking about ?" 
 
 "Do infidels do any more ?" asked Mr. Wicks. 
 
 "No, they don't," answered George, "but they don't 
 
 56 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 thank God that Jesus Christ was crucified, so that 
 they might get to heaven, either." 
 
 ^'Thar's one fellow that I didn't feed," said the 
 old man, after a long pause. "That same printer 
 called here and I didn't give him nothin' to do. IVe 
 thought of it many a time since though and asked 
 the Lord to forgive me for sech carelessness. And 
 so he's got a job with you, has he ? Well, I'm mighty 
 glad. But say, George, were you at our church yes- 
 terday ?" 
 
 '^ISTo," answered Udell. "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin' ; only I thought from the way youVe 
 been preachin' Cameron's sermon, that you'd heard 
 him give it, that's all." 
 
 sr 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 WORKING OVERTIME 
 
 |HEEE'S only one girl in this world for 
 me," whistled Dick, as he made a form ready 
 for the press. But in his own mind he 
 rendered it, ^'There's not one girl in this world for 
 me ;" and from Dick's point of view his version was 
 the better one. Thus far in his life there had come 
 no woman's influence; no loving touch of a girlish 
 hand to help in moulding his character, no sweet 
 voice bidding him do right ; no soft eyes to look praise 
 or blame. He had only the memory of his mother. 
 
 It was less than a week ago that the poor outcast 
 had fainted from lack of food, but he had already 
 become a fixture in the office. George Udell con- 
 fided to Miss Wilson that he did not know how he 
 could get along without him, and that he was, by long 
 odds, the best hand he had ever had. He was quick 
 and sure in his work, and as George put it, "You 
 don't have to furnish him a map when you tell him to 
 do anything." With three good meals a day and a 
 comfortable cot in the office for the night, with the 
 privilege of spending his evenings by the fire, and the 
 assurance that there was work for him for many 
 weeks ahead, it was no wonder that Dick whistled as 
 he bent over the stone. Locking up the form, he car- 
 ried it to the press and was fixing the guide pins, 
 when the door opened and a young lady came in. 
 
 58 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Dick's whistle stopped instantly and his face 
 flushed like a school girl as he gave her a chair and 
 went to call Udell, who was in the other room trying 
 to convince the boy that the stove needed a bucket 
 of coal. 
 
 "Faith," said Dick to himself, as he went back to 
 the press, "if there is one girl in this world for me I 
 hope she looks like that one. What a lovely voice," he 
 added, as he carefully examined the first impression 
 from the press; "and a heavenly smile," as he fin- 
 ished his work and went back to the composing case ; 
 "and what eyes" — ^he turned sideways to empty his 
 stick. "And what hair," trying to read his copy ; "a 
 perfect form," reaching for the type again. "I 
 wonder who — " 
 
 "Dick !" shouted Udell. With confusion the young 
 man went to the floor with a crash, with the over- 
 turned stool. "Yes sir," he answered with a very red 
 face, as he struggled to his feet. 
 
 A merry light danced in the brown eyes, though 
 the girlish countenance was serious enough. 
 
 Udell looked at his assistant in mingled wonder 
 and amusement. "What's the matter, Dick?" he 
 asked, as the latter came toward him. 
 
 "]N"othing, sir — I only — I was — " he said hesitat- 
 ingly as he looked around at the overturned stool and 
 the type on the floor. 
 
 "Yes, I see you were," said his employer with a 
 chuckle. "Miss Goodrich, this is Mr. Falkner; per- 
 haps he can help us out of our difficulty. Mr. Falk- 
 ner is just from Kansas City," he added, "and is up 
 in all the latest things in printing." 
 
 59 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Ob yes," and Amy's eyes showed their interest. 
 "You see, Mr. Falkner, we are trying to select a cover 
 design for this little book. Mr. Udell has suggested 
 several, but we cannot come to any decision as to just 
 the proper one. Which would you choose ?" 
 
 Dick's embarrassment left him at once when a 
 matter of work was to be considered. "This would 
 be my choice," he said, selecting a design. 
 
 "I like that too," said the young lady; "but you 
 see it is not just what I want ;" and she looked not a 
 little worried, for above all things, Amy Goodrich 
 liked things just as she liked them ; and besides, this 
 was such an important matter. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Dick. "If you'll let me, 
 and Mr. Udell does not object, I'll set up a cover for 
 you to-night after supper." 
 
 "Oh, indeed, you must not think of it," said Amy. 
 
 "But I would enjoy it," he answered. 
 
 "You need to rest after your day's work," she re- 
 plied ; "and besides, it would be so much trouble for 
 you to come way down here in the night. 'No, you 
 need not mind ; this will do very well." 
 
 "But we often work after hours, and I — I — do not 
 live far from here," said Dick. 
 
 "What do you think, Mr. Udell ?" 
 
 "I am sure, Miss Goodrich, that Mr. Falkner 
 would enjoy the work, for we printers have a good 
 bit of pride in that kind of thing you know, and as he 
 says, we often work after supper. I think you might 
 let him do it without too great a feeling of obliga- 
 tion." 
 
 After some further talk, the matter was finally set- 
 
 60 
 
THAT PEI:N^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 tied as lie had suggested, and Dick went back to his 
 work; as he picked up his stool, he heard the door 
 close and then Udell stood beside him, with a broad 
 grin on his face. 
 
 ^'Well, I'll be shot," ejaculated Udell, "IVe 
 seen fellows take a tumble before, but hang me if I 
 ever saw a man so completely kerflummuxed. Great 
 shade of the immortal Benjamin F — ! But you were 
 a sight — must be you're not used to the ladies. 
 Seemed all right though when you got your legs 
 under you and your mouth agoing. What in time 
 ailed you anyway ?" 
 
 "Who is she?" asked Dick, ignoring the other's 
 laughter and dodging his question. 
 
 "Who is she ? Why I introduced you to her, man ; 
 her name is Amy Goodrich. Her daddy is that old 
 duffer who keeps the hardware store, and is so emi- 
 nently respectable that you can't get near him unless 
 you have a pedigree and a bank account. Amy is the 
 only daughter, but she has a brother though who takes 
 after the old .man. The girl takes after herself I 
 reckon." Dick made no reply and Udell continued: 
 "The whole family are members of the swellest 
 church in the city, but the girl is the only one who 
 works at it much. She teaches in the Mission Sunday 
 School; leads in the Young People's Society and all 
 that. I don't imagine the old folks like it though; 
 too common you know." And he went off to look 
 after the boy again, who was slowly but painfully 
 running off the bill-heads that Dick had made ready 
 on the press. 
 
 "What's the matter with him, George ?" asked that 
 
 61 
 
THAT PKi:NrTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 individual, leaning wearily against the machine; 
 "Did he faint agin, or was he havin' a fit ?" 
 
 ^^You shut up and get that job off sometime this 
 week," answered Udell, as he jerked the lever of the 
 electric motor four notches to the right. 
 
 Just before the whistles blew for dinner, he again 
 went back to Dick and stood looking over his shoul- 
 der at a bad bit of copy the latter was trying to de- 
 cipher. "Well, what do you think about it?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "She's divine," answered Dick absently, as he care- 
 fully placed a capital A upside down. 
 
 George threw back his head and roared, "Well, 
 you've got it sure," he said, when he could speak. 
 
 "Got what ?" asked Dick in wonder. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," replied the other, going off with 
 another shout. "But look here," he said, after a mo- 
 ment, very serious this time; "let me give you a 
 piece of good advice, my friend; don't you go to 
 thinking about that girl too much." 
 
 "What girl ? Whose thinking about her ? You 
 need have no fears on that score," said Dick, a little 
 sharply. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't get mad about it, a fellow can't 
 help but think a chap is hit when he falls down, can 
 he?" And with another laugh, George removed his 
 apron and left for dinner. 
 
 "Yes, it did look bad," said Dick to himself, as he 
 dried his hands on the office towel ; "but I never saw 
 such eyes; and she's as good as she looks too; but 
 Adam Goodrich's daughter, whew " And he 
 
 62 
 
THAT PKi:t^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 whistled softly to himself as he thought of his first 
 meeting with the wealthy hardware merchant. 
 
 That evening while Miss Goodrich was entertain- 
 ing a few of her friends at her beautiful home on the 
 avenue, and while Udell, with Clara Wilson, was 
 calling on old Mother Gray, whose husband had been 
 injured in the mines, Dick worked alone in the print- 
 ing office. The little book, as Amy called it, was a 
 pamphlet issued by the literary club of which she 
 was the secretary, and never since the time when he 
 set his first line of type, had Dick been so bothered 
 over a bit of printing. The sweet brovm eyes and 
 smiling lips of the young woman were constantly com- 
 ing between him and his work, and he paused often to 
 carry on an imaginary conversation with her. Some- 
 times he told her funny incidents from his adventur- 
 ous past and heard her laugh in keen appreciation. 
 Then they talked of more earnest things and her face 
 grew grave and thoughtful. Again he told her all 
 his plans and ambitions, and saw her eyes light with 
 sympathy as she gladly promised her helpful friend- 
 ship. Then, inspired by her interest, he grew bolder, 
 and forgetting the task before him altogether, fought 
 life's battles in the light of her smiles, conquering 
 every difficulty, and winning for himself a place and 
 name among men. And then, as he laid his trophies 
 at her feet, her father, the wealthy merchant, ap- 
 peared, and Dick walked the floor in a blind rage. 
 
 But he managed to finish his work at last, and 
 about three o'clock, tumbled on to his cot in the stock 
 room, where he spent the rest of the night trying to 
 rescue Amy from her father, who assumed the shape 
 
 63 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 of a hardware dragon, with gold eyes, and had im- 
 prisoned the young lady in a log cabin near the river, 
 beneath a hill upon which grew a pine tree tipped 
 with iire, while a lean hound sat at the water's edge 
 and howled. 
 
 64 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 UNCLE BOBBIE'S DISCOVERY 
 
 |:^rCLE BOBBIE WICKS pulled down the 
 top of his desk and heard the lock click with 
 a long sigh of satisfaction, for a glance at 
 his large, old-fashioned hunting-case watch told him 
 that it was nearly eleven o'clock. It was a dismal, 
 dreary, rainy night; just the sort of a night to make 
 a man thank God that he had a home ; and those who 
 had homes to go to were already there, except a few 
 business men, who like Mr, Wicks, were obliged to be 
 out on work of especial importance. 
 
 Locking the rear door of the office and getting 
 hastily into his rain coat, the old gentleman took his 
 hat and umbrella from the rack and stepped out into 
 the storm. As he was trudging along through the 
 wet, his mind still on business, a gleam of light from 
 the window of Udell's printing office caught his eye. 
 ''Hello!" he said to himself; ''George is working late 
 tonight ; guess I'll run in and see if he's got that last 
 batch of bill-heads fixed yet; we'll need 'em tomor- 
 row morning. Howdy, George," he said, a few sec- 
 onds later, and then stopped, for it was not Udell, but 
 Dick, who was bending over the stone; and in place 
 of working with the type, he was playing a game of 
 solitaire, while he pulled away at an old corn-cob 
 pipe. 
 
 65 
 
THAT PE^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Good evening/' said the joung man, pausing in 
 his amusement. "What can I do for you ?" 
 
 "I see ye got a job/' said Uncle Bobbie. 
 
 "Yes/' Dick replied, as he shuffled the cards ; "and 
 a very good one too." 
 
 "Huh ! looks like ye weren't overworked just now." 
 
 "Oh, this is out of hours; we quit at six, you 
 know." 
 
 "Strikes me ye might find somethin' better to do 
 than foolin' with them dirty pasteboards, if 'tis out 
 of hours," said Mr. Wicks, pointedly. 
 
 "They are rather soiled," remarked Dick, critically 
 examining the queen of hearts; and then he con- 
 tinued, in a matter-of-fact tone, "you see I found 
 them back of the coal box; some fellow had thrown 
 them away, I guess. Lucky for me that he did." 
 
 "Lucky for you ? Is that the best you can do with 
 your time ?" 
 
 "Perhaps you would suggest some more elevating 
 amusement," smiled Dick. 
 
 "Well, why don't you read somethin' ?" 
 
 The young man waved his pipe toward a lot of 
 month-old papers and printers journals as he said, 
 "My dear sir, I have gone through that pile three 
 times and have exhausted every almanac in this es- 
 tablishment." 
 
 "Visit some of your friends." 
 
 "^NTot one in the city except Udell," Dick answered, 
 "and if I had — " he glanced down at his worn 
 clothing. 
 
 Mr. Wicks tried again, "Well, go somewhere." 
 
 "Where ?" asked Dick. "There is only one place 
 
 66 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 open to me — the saloon — I haven't money enough 
 for that, and if I had, I wouldn't spend it there now. 
 I might go to some respectable gambling den, I sup- 
 pose, but there's the money question again, and my 
 foolish pride, so I play solitaire. I know I am in 
 good company at least, if the sport isn't quite so 
 exc'ting." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie was silent. The rain swished against 
 the windows and roared on the tin roof of the build- 
 ing ; the last car of the evening, with one lone passen- 
 ger, scurried along Broadway, its lights brightly re- 
 flected on the wet pavement; a cab rumbled toward 
 the hotel, the sound of the horses' feet dull and muf- 
 fled in the mist ; and a solitary policeman, wrapped in 
 his rubber coat, made his way along the almost de- 
 serted street. As Uncle Bobbie stood listening to the 
 lonely sounds and looking at the young man, with his 
 corn-cob pipe and pack of dirty cards, he thought of 
 his own cheery fireside and of his waiting wife. "To- 
 be-sure," he said at last, carefully placing his um- 
 brella in a corner near the door, and as carefully re- 
 moving his coat and hat. "To-be-sure, I quit smokin' 
 sometime ago — 'bout a month, I reckon — used to 
 smoke pretty nigh all the time, but wife she wanted 
 me to quit — I don't know as there is any use in it." 
 A long pause followed, as he drew a chair to the stove 
 and seated himself. "To-be-sure, I don't know as 
 there's any great harm in it either." There was an- 
 other pause, while Dick also placed his chair near the 
 stove — "and I git so plaguey fat every time I quit." 
 
 Dick tilted back and lazily blew a soft cloud into 
 the air. Uncle Bobbie arose and placed the coal 
 
 67 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELLS 
 
 bucket between them. "Told mother last night I was 
 gettin' too fat again — ^but it made me sick last time 
 I tried it — I wonder if it would make me sick now." 
 A longer pause than usual followed. Then Uncle 
 Bobbie continued, "It's really dangerous for me to 
 get so fat, and smokin's the only thing that keeps it 
 down. D'ye reckon it would make me sick again ?" 
 He drew a cigar from his pocket, almost as big as a 
 cannon fire-cracker and fully as dangerous. "I got 
 this t'day. Looks like a pretty good one. It didn't 
 use to make me sick 'fore I quit the last time." Dick 
 banded him a match and two minutes later the big 
 cigar was burning as freely as its nature would per- 
 mit. 
 
 "What an awful wasteful habit it is to-be-sure, 
 ain't it?" went on the old gentleman between vig- 
 orous puffs. "Just think, there's school books, and 
 Bibles and baby clothes and medicine for the sick, 
 and food for the hungry, and houses and stores, 
 and farms, and cattle, all a' goin' up in that 
 smoke;" he pointed with his cigar to the blue cloud 
 that hung between them. "If I had half the money 
 church members burn, I could take care of every old 
 worn-out preacher in the world, and have a good bit 
 left over for the poor children. I wisht I was as 
 young as you be; I'd quit it fer good; but it sure 
 does take a hold on an old feller like me." 
 
 Dick's face grew thoughtful. "I never looked at 
 it in that way before," he said, as he took his pipe 
 from his mouth. "It's a big comfort to a chap who is 
 all alone, though I suppose it does get a strong hold 
 on a man who has used it most of his life ; and a fel- 
 
 68 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 low could do a lot of good with the money it costs 
 him." He arose to his feet and went to the window, 
 where he stood for a moment looking out into the 
 rain. Presently he came back to his chair again, 
 ^'Look out," cried Uncle Bobbie, as Dick took his 
 seat, "youVe dropped your pipe into the coal bucket." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right; its worn-out anyway, and I 
 have another." But he smoked no more that even- 
 ing. 
 
 "Where are you from?" asked Uncle Bobbie 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Everywhere," answered Dick, shortly, for he did 
 not relish the thought of being questioned about his 
 past. 
 
 "Where you goin' ?" came next from his compan- 
 ion. 
 
 "N^o where," just as short. 
 
 "Folks livin' ?" 
 
 "m." 
 
 "How long been dead ?" 
 
 "Since I was a little fellow." 
 
 "Ain't you got no relations ?" 
 
 "Don't want any if they're like an aunt of mine." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie nodded in sympathy. 
 
 "How'd you happen to strike this place ?" 
 
 Dick answered him in three words, "Lookin' for 
 work." 
 
 "Udell's a mighty fine fellow." 
 
 "You're right he is." 
 
 "N^ot much of a Christian though." And the old 
 man watched Dick keenly through the cloud of 
 smoke. 
 
 69 
 
THAT PEIN^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "!N"o, good thing for me he isn't," the young man 
 answered bitterly, his face and voice betraying his 
 feelings. 
 
 "I know ; yes, I know," nodded LTncle Bobbie. "To- 
 be-sure, I used to look at things just like you, and 
 then I got more sense and learned a heap better, and 
 I tell you right now that you'll do the same way. I 
 know there is church members that are meaner'n a 
 mule with shoulder galls. They won't pull nothin' 
 and would kick a man's head off quicker'n greased 
 lightin'. But they ain't goin' to heaven, be they? 
 ;N'ot much they ain't ; no more'n my dog's go in' to the 
 legislature. And there's them outside the church 
 that's a whole lot worse. 'Tain't Christianity that 
 makes folks mean, but they're mean in spite of it, 
 though you can't get such fellers as you to see it that 
 way, no more'n you can foUer a mosquito through a 
 mile o' fog. To-be-sure, I ain't blamin' you much 
 though." 
 
 Dick's face changed. This was not just what he 
 expected. "I'll tell you," he said, when he saw that 
 the old gentleman expected him to reply. "Ever since 
 I can remember, I've been kicked and cuffed and 
 cursed by saint and sinner alike, until I can't see 
 much difference between the church members and 
 those whom they say are in the world." 
 
 "Except that the members of the church do the 
 kickin' and cuffin' and let the sinners do the cussin'," 
 broke in Uncle Bobbie. "To-be-sure, ye can't tell 
 me nothin' about that either." 
 
 "I'm not saying anything about the teaching of 
 Christ," continued Dick; "that's all right so far as 
 
 TO 
 
THAT PEII^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 it goes, but it don't seem to go very far. I have not 
 made much of a success of life, but IVe worked 
 mighty hard to earn a living and learn my trade, and 
 I don't know but that I am willing to take my 
 chances with some of the church members I have 
 seen." 
 
 '^To-be-sure," said Uncle Bobbie; "and I reckon 
 your chance is just as good as their'n. But it strikes 
 me that I want to stand a little better show than them 
 fellers. How about the folks that be Christians? 
 You know there is them that do follow the Master's 
 teachin' ; what about their chances, heh ?" 
 
 "You see it's just this way," continued Uncle Bob- 
 bie, settling himself more comfortably in his chair; 
 "I had a whole lot of brothers and sisters at home, 
 back in Ohio ; an' they was all members of the church 
 but me. To-be-sure, I went to Sunday School and 
 meetin' with the rest — I jing! I had to! Huh! My 
 old dad would just naturally a took th' hide off me if 
 I hadn't. Yes sir-ee, you bet I went to church. But 
 all the same I didn't want to. An' they sorter found- 
 ered me on religi'n, I reckon, Jim and Bill and Tom 
 and Dave. They'd all take their girls and go home 
 with them after meetin', an' I'd have to put out the 
 team and feed the stock all alone ; an' Sunday evenin' 
 every one of 'em would be off to singin' and I'd have 
 to milk and feed again. An' then after meetin' of 
 course the boys had to take their girls home, and 
 other fellows would come home with our girls, and 
 I'd have to put up the team and take care of the boys' 
 horses that come sparkin'. An' somehow I didn't 
 
 71 
 
THAT PKIJ^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 take to Christianity. To-be-sure, 'twas a good thing 
 fer the stock I didn't." 
 
 He carefully knocked the ashes from his cigar and 
 continued, "To-be-sure, I know now that wasn't no 
 excuse, but it looked that way then. After a while 
 the boys married off and I staid to home and took 
 care of the old folks ; and purty soon the girls they got 
 married too ; and then pa and ma got too old to go out, 
 and I couldn't leave 'em much, and so I didn't get to 
 meetin' very often. Things went on that way a spell 
 'til Bill got to thinkin' he'd better come and live on 
 the home farm and look after things, as I didn't have 
 no woman; to-be-sure, it did need a good bit of 
 tendin'. Six hundred acres all in fine shape and well 
 stocked — so I told pa that I'd come west an' let 'em 
 run things at home. I got a job punchin' steers out 
 here in James County, and they're all back there yet. 
 The old folks died a little bit after I came west, and 
 Bill — ^well — Bill, he keeps the home place 'cause he 
 took care of 'em ye know — well, I homesteaded a 
 hundred and sixty, and after a spell, the railroad 
 come through and I got to buyin' grain and hogs, and 
 tradin' in castor-oil beans and managed to get hold of 
 some land here when the town was small. To-be-sure, 
 I ain't rich yet, though I've got enough to keep me I 
 reckon. I handle a little real estate, get some rent 
 from my buildin's, and loan a little money now and 
 then. But you bet I've worked for every cent I've got, 
 and I didn't fool none of it away either, 'cept what 
 went up in smoke." ^ 
 
 The old gentleman's voice sank lower and lower 
 as he recalled the years that had flown. And as Dick 
 
 72 
 
THAT PRIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 looked at the kindly face, seamed and furrowed by 
 the cares of life, and the hair just whitened by the 
 frost of time, now half hidden in a halo of smoke, he 
 felt his heart warm with sympathy, which he knew 
 was returned full measure by him who had left 
 his Ohio home to battle with life alone in that strange 
 western country. 
 
 "But what I wanted to tell ye," said Uncle Bobbie, 
 coming suddenly back to the present and speaking in 
 his usual abrupt manner, "you'll find out, same as I 
 have, that it don't much matter how the other feller 
 dabbles in the dirt, you've got to keep your hands 
 clean anyhow. An' 'tain't the question whether the 
 other feller's mean or not, but am I livin' square ? I 
 know that Christ is the Saviour of men, but he can't 
 save 'em 'less they want him to, no more'n I can 
 catch a jack-rabbit a-foot. Christianity 's all right, 
 but it ain't a goin' to do no good 'less people live it, 
 and there's a heap more living it too than we think. 
 What such fellers as you want to do is to listen to 
 what Christ says and not look at what some little two 
 by four church member does. They ain't worth that," 
 and he tossed his cigar stub to keep company with 
 Dick's pipe. 
 
 Dick said nothing, because he could find no words 
 to express himself, and the older man, seeing how it 
 was, rose to his feet. 
 
 "Well, I must be goin'. Wife'U think I've clean 
 gone back on her. Come up to the house and see me 
 sometime. I reckon you know you're welcome after 
 what I've been sayin'." And then as the young man 
 gave him a lift with his coat he continued, "Keep a 
 
 73 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL'S ! 
 
 stiff upper lip ; you'll strike pay dirt after a while ; 
 just keep a hangin' on, like a puppy to a root. Good- 
 night," and Dick was alone again. 
 
 "Wife," said Uncle Bobbie next morning, just be- 
 fore getting up to build the fire ; "wife, I made a dis- 
 covery last night." 
 
 "You were out late enough to discover something," 
 returned Mrs. Wicks, with a laugh ; "what is it ?" 
 
 And Uncle Bobbie replied slowly as he arose and 
 began dressing, "There's some fellers go to the devil 
 just because they ain't got nowheres else to go." 
 
 Later, the old gentleman sat at his desk in his 
 office, tilted back in his revolving chair, his feet 
 among the papers where his hands should have been. 
 1^0 one came in to disturb his reverie for it was still 
 early in the morning, and the only sound was the 
 clicking of a typewriter in the next room. Suddenly 
 the feet came down to their proper place with a bang, 
 and leaning forward, he wrote rapidly for a few 
 moments, then called, "Charlie." The noise of the 
 typewriter stopped and a young man entered the 
 room. "Charlie, I've been gettin' out a little adver- 
 tisin' stuff here, and I wish you'd take it over to 
 George Udell's an' wait until they &x it up, so you 
 can bring me back the proof. You can let them letters 
 rest a spell." 
 
 The young man took his hat and umbrella, for it 
 was still raining, and started on his errand, but his 
 employer stopped him. "Wait a bit, Charlie. Do you 
 remember that young feller what called here for a job 
 week before last, the time I sold that Johnson prop- 
 erty, you know ?" 
 
 74 
 
THAT PKi:^TER OF UDELUS 
 
 "Said lie was a printer from Kansas City ?" asked 
 Charlie. 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I remember him." 
 
 "Well, he's got a job with Udell. I was there last 
 night and had a talk with him. He ain't got no 
 friends and stays in the office nights alone. I just 
 thought I'd tell you. He's shy of Christians though, 
 and proud as an old turkey gobbler in the spring. But 
 he needs somebody to talk to more'n anything else, 
 that's all." And the old man turned back to his 
 papers. 
 
 This was the beginning. The end is easily fore- 
 seen ; for, given a young man of Dick's temperament, 
 longing for companionship, and another young man 
 of Charlie's make-up, with a legitimate business to 
 bring the two together, and only a friendship of the 
 David and Jonathan order could result. 
 
 Dick was distant at first, but Charlie was too wise 
 to force himself upon him, and as Uncle Bobbie 
 found many excuses for sending his young assistant 
 to the printing office frequently, the two slowly grew 
 better acquainted. Then came a time when Charlie 
 dared to ask Dick what he did evenings, and Dick 
 answered in his proud way, "Smoke and play soli- 
 taire." 
 
 Charlie continued, "I can't play cards and I don't 
 care to smoke, but I do like to talk." 
 
 "Come up if you choose," said Dick, "but you will 
 find this a dull place to spend an evening." 
 
 Dick was puffing away at his corn-cob pipe the first 
 time Charlie came, but moved to hide it from sight 
 
 .75 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 as the latter entered the room. Then thinking better 
 of it, with a proud lifting of his chin, he stuck the 
 pipe in his mouth again. However, Charlie noticed 
 that the smoke soon ceased to come from his com- 
 panion's lips, and guessed that the tobacco was not 
 burning well. This was the last time that he ever saw 
 Dick smoking. Indeed, it was the last time that Dick 
 ever used tobacco in any form. "For," said he to 
 himself, "I can't afford to do anything that robs 
 babies and mothers, and makes me disagreeable to my 
 friends." 
 
 The ice once broken, Charlie's calls grew more and 
 more frequent, until the two met and talked like old 
 friends, and often left the office to walk about the 
 city arm in arm, after dark. 
 
 "Mr. Udell," said Dick, one Saturday night, as the 
 latter handed him his wages for the week, "where's 
 the best place to go for clothing ?" 
 
 And George, with a pleased look on his face, which 
 Dick could not help but notice, directed him to a 
 clothing store on the corner of Fourth and Broad- 
 way. 
 
 76 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 PHILLIPPIANS, IV; 8 
 
 HE quiet of a Sunday morning in early May 
 was over the city. Stores and business 
 houses were closed, save here and there a 
 meat market, which opened for careless citizens who 
 had neglected to lay in their supply the night before. 
 A group of negro loafers sat on the stone steps of the 
 City l^ational Bank, and lounged about the entrance 
 of the Opera House. A little farther up the street a 
 company of idle whites sat in front of a restaurant ; 
 and farther on, in the doorway of a saloon, a drunk- 
 ard was sleeping in the sun. Old Dr. Watkins, in his 
 buggy, came clattering down the street and stopped 
 in front of the Boyd City Drug Store, and a man 
 with his arm in a sling followed him into the build- 
 ing. Then the church bells rang out their cheery in- 
 vitation, and the children, neat and clean in their 
 Sunday clothes, trooped along the street to the Sun- 
 day schools. An hour later the voices of the bells 
 again floated over the silent city, and men and women 
 were seen making their way to the various places of 
 worship. 
 
 In the throng which passed through the door of 
 the Jerusalem Church was a gentleman dressed in 
 gray. It was not difficult to guess from his man- 
 ner, as he stood in the vestibule as though waiting for 
 someone, that he was a stranger in the place. His fig- 
 
 11 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ure was tall, nearly, if not quite six feet, well formed, 
 but lithe rather than heavy, giving one the impree- 
 sion not only of strength, but of grace as well; the 
 well-set head and clear-cut features; the dark hair 
 and brows, overshadowing deep-set, keen grey eyes; 
 the mouth and chin, clean-shaven and finely turned; 
 all combined to carry still farther the impression of 
 power. Even the most careless observer would know 
 that he would be both swift and sure in action, while 
 a closer student would say, ^^Here is one who rules 
 himself, as he leads others ; who is strong in spirit as 
 well as body ; who is as kind as he is powerful ; as lov- 
 ing as he is ambitious ; this is indeed a man whom one 
 would love as a friend and be forced to respect as an 
 enemy." 
 
 Charlie Bowen, one of the ushers, came hurrying 
 up and caught the stranger by the hand. ^'Good," he 
 whispered, looking him over admiringly; ^^glad to 
 see you, old man. Whew, but you do look swell. Folks 
 will think you're a congressman sure, in that outfit." 
 
 ^'Do I take my hat off when I go in ?" whispered 
 Dick, who already held his hat in his hand, "Or do I 
 wait till after prayers ?" 
 
 "You come along and do as the Romans do, of 
 course," replied Charlie. 
 
 "Didn't know I was getting into a Catholic 
 church," retorted the other. "Say, don't rush me way 
 up in front, will you ?" 
 
 "E'ever you mind that. Come on." And before 
 Dick could say more the usher was half way up the 
 aisle. 
 
 "Who is that stranger Charlie Bowen is seating ?" 
 
 78 
 
THAT PKIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 said old Mrs. Gadsby in a low voice, to her neighbor. 
 The neighbor shook her head. "Isn't he handsome ?" 
 whispered a young school teacher to her chum. "Some 
 distinguished strangers here to-day," thought the pas- 
 tor as he glanced over his congregation. And Adam 
 Goodrich turned his head just in time to look into the 
 face of the tramp printer, who was being seated in the 
 pew behind him. Miss Goodrich was with her father 
 and Dick heard nothing of the opening part of the 
 service, only coming to himself when Cameron was 
 well started in his discourse. The preacher's theme 
 was, "The Sermon on the Mount," and the first words 
 that caught the young man's ear were, "Blessed are 
 the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of 
 heaven." He glanced around at the congregation. 
 Mrs. Gadsby was inspecting the diamonds in the ears 
 of the lady by her side, who was resting her powdered 
 and painted face on the back of the pew in front, as 
 though in devotion. 
 
 "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be 
 comforted," read the minister. Dick thought of the 
 widows and orphans in the city, and of the luxurious 
 homes of the people he saw about him. "Blessed are 
 the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." Dick 
 looked straight at Adam Goodrich, the very back of 
 whose head showed haughty arrogance and pride. 
 "Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst after 
 righteousness, for they shall be filled." Dick lifted 
 up his eyes and looked at four members of the choir 
 who were whispering and giggling behind their books, 
 and noted the beautiful frescoed ceiling, the costly 
 stained-glass windows, the soft carpets and carved f ur- 
 
 79 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 niture on the rostrum, and the comfortable, well- 
 cushioned pews. "Is all this righteousness ?" he asked 
 himself. And he thought of the boys and girls on the 
 street, of the hungry, shivering, starving, sin-stained 
 creatures he had seen and known, who would not dare 
 present themselves at the outer door of this temple, 
 consecrated to the service of Him who said, "Come 
 unto me and I will give you rest." And then, lest 
 men might be mistaken, added, "Whosoever will may 
 come." 
 
 "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
 God." Dick's eyes rested on the girl in the next seat. 
 Yes, Amy was pure in heart. There was no shadow 
 of evil on that beautiful brow. Innocence, purity and 
 truth were written in every line of the girlish feat- 
 ures, and Dick's heart ached as he thought of his own 
 life and the awful barrier between them ; not the bar- 
 rier of social position or wealth ; that, he knew, could 
 be overcome ; but the barrier he had builded himself, 
 in the reckless, wasted years. And then and there the 
 strong young man fought a battle in the secret cham- 
 ber of his own soul ; fought a battle and won, putting 
 from himself forever, as he believed, the dreams he 
 had dared to dream in the lonely evening hours in the 
 printing office. 
 
 His struggle with himself seemed to make Dick 
 feel more keenly the awful mockery of the worship- 
 pers; and to him, who all his life had been used to 
 looking at things as they really were, without the 
 glasses of conventionalism or early training, the very 
 atmosphere of the place was stifling. 
 
 When the services were over, he rushed from the 
 
 80 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 building without even returning Charlie's salutation, 
 only drawing a long breath when he was safe on the 
 street again. He rejoiced in his heart when at din- 
 ner, the restaurant keeper cursed his wife in the 
 kitchen, and a drunken boarder fell from his chair. 
 "This, at least, is real," he said to himself ; "but what 
 a world this would be if only the Sermon on the 
 Mount were lived, not simply talked about." 
 
 The Monday night following Dick's visit to the 
 church, Charlie Bowen, went back to the office as he 
 often did when business was brisk, forgetting that it 
 was the first Monday in the month, and that the offi- 
 cial board of the Jerusalem Church would hold their 
 regular business meeting there. 
 
 The matter was only brought to his mind when 
 Elder Wicks, with Reverend Cameron, entered, fol- 
 lowed soon after by two or three others. Charlie's 
 first impulse was to leave the office, but it was neces- 
 sary that his work be done. His employer knew that 
 he was there and could easily give him a hint if it 
 would be better for him to retire. Shrewd old Uncle 
 Bobbie, however, had his own plans in regard to this 
 particular meeting, and it was not a part of them to 
 have his young assistant leave the office. So nothing 
 was said, and the meeting opened in the regulation 
 way, with a prayer by Elder Gardner, the chairman 
 of the board. The pastor and the different standing 
 committees, with the treasurer, made their reports; 
 some general matters were passed upon, and then the 
 much-talked-of, long-deferred subject of building an 
 addition to their place of worship was introduced. 
 
 "You know, brethren," said the pastor, "our house 
 
 81 
 
THAT PKIKTEE OF UDELL^S 
 
 does not begin to hold the people at the regular 
 services, and we must have more Sunday School 
 room. It seems to me that there will be no better 
 time than the present. The church is in a prosperous 
 condition ; we are out of debt ; and if we ever expect 
 to enlarge our work we must begin." 
 
 "I know, Brother Cameron," said Deacon Godfrey, 
 stating the standard objection, just as it had been 
 stated for the past two years, "but whereas the money 
 to come from ? The members are paying all they can 
 now to keep out of debt, and I don't believe they will 
 do any more." 
 
 "We do need more room," said Elder Chambers; 
 "that's a fact. The Sunday School is too crowded, 
 and lots of people can't get to hear the preaching. But 
 I'm like Brother Godfrey, I don't see how it's to be 
 done. I'm giving every cent I can now, and I know 
 lots of the brethren who are doing the same." 
 
 "The Lord will provide," said Deacon Wickham, 
 with a pious uplifting of his eyes, and a sanctimon- 
 ious whine in his voice. "The Lord will provide. 
 Brethren, I'm ashamed for you to talk in this doubt- 
 ing manner. What would the congregation think if 
 they should hear you? Can't you trust the Lord? 
 Don't, oh, don't doubt His precious promises. He 
 will provide. If we need an addition to the church 
 let us ask Him. He will provide." 
 
 "Yes, the Lord will provide, but we've got to do the 
 hustlin'," said Uncle Bobbie. "He'll provide com- 
 mon sense and expect us to use it." 
 
 "Couldn't the women folks do something ?" timidly 
 suggested another. 
 
 82 
 
 M. 
 
THAT PESTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Of course they could/' said Deacon Sharpe. 
 "They could get up a social, or fair, or an entertain- 
 ment of some kind. They used to do a lot that way 
 before Brother Cameron came." 
 
 "Yes, and spend twenty-seven cents to make seven- 
 teen, while their boys run the streets and their hus- 
 bands darn their own britches,'' broke in Uncle Bob- 
 bie again. "I tell you, I don't believe that so much 
 of this Ladies' Aid business is business. Christ 
 wouldn't run a peanut stand to support the church, 
 ner pave a sinner's way to heaven with pop-corn balls 
 and molasses candy — " A half smothered cough 
 came from the next room and everybody started. "Oh, 
 it's only Charlie. He's got some work to do to-night," 
 said the old man, reassuringly. 
 
 "Everybody does it though," said Deacon Sharpe, 
 encouraged by the nods of Chambers and Godfrey. 
 "All the churches depend upon the women, with their 
 fairs and such, to pay their way. I don't see what's 
 the harm. It gives the women something to do, and 
 keeps us from paying out so much cash." 
 
 "Yes, an' that's what ails the churches," retorted 
 Elder Wicks again. "There's too many of 'em run 
 on the lemonade and ice cream basis ; and as fer givin' 
 the women somethin' to do, my wife's got her hands 
 full takin' care o' me and her home. That's what I 
 got her for, ain't it ? She didn't marry the church — 
 to-be-sure, though, it does look like it sometimes." 
 
 "We must all work in the Master's vineyard. ISTone 
 shall lose his reward," said Deacon Wickham again ; 
 "we all have our talents and God will hold us respon- 
 
 83 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 sible for the use we make of them. We all have our 
 work to do." 
 
 To which sentiment Uncle Bobbie's reply was, 
 "Yes ; that means all the women have our work to do, 
 and that we'll get our reward by makin' 'em do it. I 
 ain't got no use fer a man who lets a woman do his 
 work, even in church. There's enough for 'em to do 
 that we can't, without their spoilin' their eyes and 
 breakin' their backs makin' sofa pillows, carpet rags, 
 and mince meat, to pay the runnin' expenses of the 
 church, and the debt besides." 
 
 "I know of only one way," said the pastor, anxious 
 to prevent these too frequent clashes between the 
 pious deacon and the sharp old elder. 
 
 "What's that ?" asked Chairman Gardner. 
 
 "The Young People's Society." 
 
 There was a slight rustle and the sound as of a 
 book falling to the floor in the other room. 
 
 "Umph," said Godfrey, "what can they do ?" 
 
 "Have you ever attended their meetings ?" asked 
 Cameron. "They have done more practical. Chris- 
 tian work this past year than all the rest of the church 
 put together. And if the truth must be told, are more 
 to be depended upon at regular services, and prayer 
 meeting, than some members of the official board." 
 
 "Better turn the church into a Young Folks' So- 
 ciety then," said Wickham, angrily; "and throw 
 away the Bible altogether. Christ didn't say, ^Upon 
 this rock I'll build my Young People's Society.' For 
 my part, I won't have nothing to do with it. There 
 is not a single passage of scripture that says we shall 
 
 84 
 
 
THAT PRmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 have such things ; and until you can show me, book, 
 chapter and verse, I'll fight it." 
 
 "I'll give ye book, chapter and verse," said Uncle 
 Bobbie; "Phillippians, iv:8." 
 
 There was a painful silence and then one of the 
 deacons asked, "But would the young folks help ?" 
 
 "I think so," said the pastor. 
 
 "We might ask Charlie Bowen 'bout that," sug- 
 gested Elder Wicks. "Charlie," he called, "are you 
 most through with them books ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the young man. 
 
 "Well, lock 'em up and come in here." 
 
 When they had laid the matter before Charlie, he 
 said, "Yes, I am sure the society would take the mat- 
 ter up but for one thing; ever since Brother Cam- 
 eron's sermon, on the Church of the Future, we have 
 been planning to furnish a reading room somewhere, 
 and it may be that they wouldn't want to give up the 
 idea. If it was arranged so that we could have a 
 room in the church when the addition was built, I am 
 sure the society would be glad to take hold." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie's eyes twinkled as he watched his 
 young helper. He had not misjudged his man. This 
 was just what he had expected. But Deacon Wick- 
 ham was on his feet almost before Charlie finished 
 speaking. 
 
 "Brethren, this is entirely out of order. We have 
 no right to listen to the counsel of this boy. He has 
 not a single qualification, for either a deacon or an 
 elder. I believe we ought to go according to the scrip- 
 tures or not at all ; and as for this new-fangled idea of 
 a reading room in the church, it's all wrong. The 
 
 85 
 
THAT PKI:N^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Bible don't say a thing about reading rooms and there 
 is no authority for it whatever. If the inspired apos- 
 tles had wanted reading rooms in the church they 
 would have said so. Paul didn't have them. Let us 
 stand for the religion of our fathers and let the young 
 people read at home if they want to. Brethren, I am 
 opposed to the whole thing. This boy has no right to 
 speak here." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie whispered to Charlie, "Never you 
 mind him. He's got just so much sputtering to do 
 anyway. I'll fix him in a minute, and then he'll wash 
 his hands of the whole matter." 
 
 "I think it's a fine plan," he said aloud. 
 
 "So do I," agreed Deacon Sharpe. "Why not let 
 the young folks have the room ? We could charge ten 
 cents admission and make a good thing for the 
 church. I believe we ought to watch these comers 
 and make a little now and then. Paul worked to sup- 
 port himself." 
 
 "Make not my Father's house an house of merchan- 
 dise," said Cameron, but faintly concealing his dis- 
 gust. "I tell you, brethren, this thing must be free. 
 I am sure that is the plan of the young folks. The 
 Young People's Society is not in the business to make 
 money. Am I right, Charlie ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the young Christian eagerly. 
 "We wanted to fix some place where the young men 
 of the town could spend their evenings, without going 
 to the bad. There are lots of them who don't have 
 homes, but live in boarding houses and have no place 
 to go." 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "And a pretty crowd you'll have too/' said Wick- 
 ham. 
 
 "Yes, and if you had to pay the preacher you'd 
 want to rent the room," said Sharpe. 
 
 Cameron's face flushed at the hard words. 
 
 "Come, come, brethren, what shall we do about 
 this?" said the chairman. 
 
 "I move," said Elder Wicks, "that we ask the 
 Young People's Society to assist us in building the 
 addition to the church, and that we give them one of 
 the rooms." 
 
 "I second the motion," said Cameron; and it was 
 carried. Then the meeting adjourned with the usual 
 prayer. 
 
 "Well," said Wickham, "I wash my hands of the 
 whole matter." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie nudged Charlie in the side as he 
 started for his hat ; and later, as he walked down the 
 street, arm in arm with his pastor and his bookkeeper, 
 he said: "Poor old Wickham; his heart's all right, 
 but he's got so much scripture in his head that his 
 think machine won't work." 
 
 "Friends," said Cameron, as they paused in front 
 of the parsonage ; "this is the day I have looked for- 
 ward to for a long time. This step will revolutionize 
 our methods. It's hard to get out of old ruts, but the 
 world needs applied Christianity. Thank God for the 
 young people." 
 
 And Uncle Bobbie said, "Amen." 
 
 87 
 
CHAPTEE VIII. 
 THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 HAELIE B0WE:N" ran into the printing 
 office one day on his way home to dinner. 
 ^'Dick," he said, "it's time you got out of 
 this. I want you to put on your best bib and tucker 
 to-night and go with me to meet some young people." 
 
 Dick carefully spread a pile of letterheads on the 
 drying rack; then shutting off the power, he stood 
 watching the machine as its movements grew slower 
 and slower. "Young people," he thought; "the 
 Young People's Society of the Jerusalem Church. I 
 saw the announcement in to-day's Independent. 
 Church members — shell be there, and I'll have the 
 joy of seeing how near I can come to the candle with- 
 out getting my wings singed." 
 
 "Well, I suppose a fellow can't stay in the dark all 
 the time," he said aloud, as he turned from the now 
 motionless press. 
 
 "Of course not," cried Charlie. "You've hidden 
 yourself long enough. It will do you a world of good 
 to get out ; and besides, I always do feel like a sneak 
 when I'm having a good time and you're moping up 
 here in this dirty old place." 
 
 Dick looked around. "I've moped in worse places," 
 he said. "But I'll go with you to-night and be as 
 giddy as you please. I'll whisper pretty nothings to 
 the female lambkins and exchange commonplace lies 
 
 88 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 with the young gentlemen, and then — why then — 
 we'll come away again and straightway forget what 
 manner of things we said and did, and they won't 
 count when we meet again on the street." 
 
 "That's all right," returned Charlie. "You just 
 come anyway and see how badly you're mistaken. I'll 
 call for you at seven-thirty sharp." And he left him 
 cleaning up for his mid-day lunch. 
 
 When Charlie returned to the office that evening he 
 found Dick dressed ready to go, and a strange con- 
 trast the latter presented to the poorly-clad, half- 
 starved tramp who had walked into Boyd City only a 
 few weeks before. Some thought of this flashed 
 through Dick's mind as he read the admiration in his 
 friend's face, and his own eyes glowed with pleasure. 
 Then a shadow swiftly came, but only for a moment. 
 He was determined to forget, for one evening at least. 
 "Come on," he cried gaily, squaring his shoulders as 
 though looking forward to a battle, "my soul seem- 
 eth anxious for the fray." 
 
 Charlie laughed as he answered, "I only hope that 
 you'll come off whole. There will be some mighty 
 nice girls there to-night. Look out you don't get your 
 everlasting." 
 
 When the two young men reached the home of 
 Helen May field, where the social was to be held, they 
 were met at the door by Clara Wilson, who was chair- 
 man of the reception committee. 
 
 "Glory," whispered that young lady to herself. 
 "Here comes Charlie Bowen with that tramp printer 
 of George's. Wish George could see him now." But 
 not a hint of her thought found expression in her 
 
 89 
 
THAT PKIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 face, and the cordial, whole-hearted way in which she 
 offered her hand in greeting, carried the conviction 
 that no matter what might be his reception from 
 others, her reception, at least, was genuine. 
 
 The guests gathered quickly, and soon there was a 
 house full of laughing, chattering, joking young peo- 
 ple ; and Dick, true to his promise, laughed and chat- 
 tered with the rest. 
 
 "Who is that tall, handsome man with the dark 
 hair, talking to those girls with Nellie Graham and 
 Will Clifton?" whispered Amy Goodrich to Clara, 
 who had been asking her why Frank was not at the 
 gathering. 
 
 "Haven't you met him yet?" answered Clara, 
 secretly amused, for George had told her of the inci- 
 dent at the office. "That's Mr. Falkner, from Kan- 
 sas City. Come, you must meet him. Mr. Falkner," 
 she said, skillfully breaking up the group ; "I wish to 
 present you to a very dear friend. Miss Goodrich, 
 Mr. Falkner." Poor Dick felt the room spinning 
 round and everybody looking at him, as he mumbled 
 over some nonsense about the great honor and happi- 
 ness of having met Miss Goodrich before. 
 
 Amy looked at him in astonishment. "I think you 
 are mistaken, Mr. Falkner," she said. "I do not re- 
 member having met you. Where was it; here in 
 town?" 
 
 With a mighty effort, Dick caught hold of himself, 
 as it were, and gazed around with an air of defiance. 
 To his amazement, no one was paying the least atten- 
 tion to him. Only his fair partner was looking up 
 
 90 
 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 into his face with mingled amusement, wonder and 
 admiration written on her features. 
 
 "In California; I think it was year before last," 
 he said glibly. 
 
 Amy laughed, "But I never was in California in 
 my life, so you must be mistaken." Then, as Dick 
 swept the room with another anxious glance, "What 
 is the matter, Mr. Falkner ; are you looking for some- 
 
 one 
 
 iC 
 
 I was wondering where Charlie Bowen went to," 
 he answered desperately. "I didn't know but what 
 he would want me to turn the ice-cream freezer or 
 something." 
 
 Miss Goodrich laughed again. "You're the fun- 
 niest man," she said, and something in her voice or 
 manner brought Dick to his senses with a jar. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a smile, "if I am mistaken 
 I am very sorry, I assure you." 
 
 "About the ice cream ?" 
 
 "^o, about having met you before." 
 
 "Oh, sorry that you thought you had met me?" 
 
 Dick protested to some length with much unneces- 
 sary earnestness, and at last suggested that they find 
 seats. Miss Goodrich agreed, and leading the way 
 to an adjoining room, discovered a cushioned corner 
 near the window. "Do you know," she said, when 
 they were seated, "I, too, feel as you do f " 
 
 "About the ice-cream ?" retorted Dick. 
 
 "]N'o," she laughed, "about having met you before." 
 
 "Indeed, I am glad." 
 
 "Glad?" 
 
 "Yes, that you feel as I do." 
 
 91 
 
THAT PEIISTTEE OF UDELUS 
 
 "Truly," she said, ignoring his reply, "you do re- 
 mind me of someone I have seen somewhere. Oh, I 
 know; it^s that tramp printer of Mr. UdelFs, I — 
 why, what is the matter, Mr. Falkner? Are you 
 sick ? Let me call someone." 
 
 "No, no," gasped Dick. "I'll be all right in a mo- 
 ment. It's my heart. Please don't worry." He 
 caught up a basket of pictures. "Here, let's look at 
 these. I find nothing that has a more quieting effect 
 than the things one finds on the center tables of our 
 American homes." 
 
 Amy looked uneasy but began turning over the pic- 
 tures in the basket. There were some commonplace 
 photos of commonplace people, a number of home- 
 made kodaks, one or two stray views of Yellowstone 
 Park, the big trees of California, ISTiagara Falls, and 
 several groups that were supposed to be amusing. 
 "Oh, here's a picture of that printer," she cried, pick- 
 ing up one which showed the interior of an old- 
 fashioned printing office, with a Washington hand- 
 press and a shock-headed printer's devil sitting on a 
 high stool, his face and shirt-front bespattered with 
 ink. "That looks just like him. Why — why, Mr. 
 Falkner, you've torn that picture ! What will Helen 
 Mayfield say ?" 
 
 "Awfully sorry," said Dick, "I'll find her another. 
 It was very awkward of me, I am sure." Then in 
 desperation, "But tell me more about this printer of 
 whom I remind you ; what was his name ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know that," replied Amy, "but he was 
 very kind to me and offered to work at night to design 
 
 92 
 
THAT PKIJSTTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 a cover for a little booklet I was having printed. I 
 never saw him to thank him though, for he was out 
 when I called the next day. I heard that Mr. Udell 
 had a tramp working for him and I suppose it was he, 
 for he acted very strangely — he may have been drink- 
 ing. It is too bad for he must have been a splendid 
 workman. There ought to be one of those books 
 here," and she began turning over the things on the 
 table. "Yes, here it is." And she handed Dick the 
 pamphlet that had caused him so much trouble that 
 night in the office. 
 
 It is hard to say where the matter would have 
 ended had not Miss Jameson, another member of the 
 social committee, appeared just then, and ordered 
 them to the parlor, where Amy was wanted to play 
 the piano. 
 
 After the company had listened to several instru- 
 mental pieces and one or two solos by different girls, 
 one of the young men asked, "Don't you sing, Mr. 
 Falkner?" 
 
 "Of course he does," said Charlie, and all began 
 calling for a song. 
 
 A sudden thought struck Dick, and stepping 
 quickly to the piano, he played his own accompani- 
 ment and sang, in a rich baritone voice, a street song; 
 "They tell me go work for a living, 
 And not round the country to stamp ; 
 And then when I ask for employment, 
 They say there's no work for a tramp." 
 
 The song was by no means a classic one, but the 
 manner in which Dick rendered it made it seem so, 
 as he sang : 
 
 93 
 
THAT PRIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "There's many a true heart beating, 
 Beneath the old coat of a tramp.'' 
 
 A strange hush fell over the little audience, and 
 when the song was finished a subdued murmur of ap- 
 plause filled the room, while eager voices called for 
 more. Dick responded with another selection and 
 then declaring that he had done his share, left the in- 
 strument and seated himself by Charlie's side. 
 
 "Good, old man," said that young gentleman, in a 
 whisper, "but where in the world did you learn all 
 that?" 
 
 "Dance hall and variety," whispered Dick. "Kever 
 thought I'd air that accomplishment at a church so- 
 cial." 
 
 Charlie's reply was lost in a call to the dining room, 
 where light refreshments were served to the hungry 
 young people by waiters from among their number; 
 then turn about, and the waiters were waited upon; 
 and through it all ran the laugh and jest of happy 
 young folks, who thoroughly enjoyed each other's 
 company, and who for one evening met on common 
 ground. After supper, came games and more music, 
 while a few of the more earnest ones, in an out-of-the- 
 way corner, discussed the reading room and planned 
 for its future. Then came a call for everyone to sing, 
 and with Amy at the piano, they sang song after song 
 until it was time to go. Then the bustle of leave- 
 taking good nights — ^lovely time — my house next 
 month — and Dick found himself walking down tovim, 
 arm in arm with his friend. "Well," said the latter, 
 "how about it ?" 
 
 04 
 
THAT PRIKTEK OF UDELUS 
 
 "Thank you for a pleasant evening," replied Dick. 
 "But say, those folks don't know me, do they ?'' 
 
 "Some of them do ; some don't. What does it mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 "Well, tell me, did those who know how I came to 
 town, know that I would be there to-night ?" 
 
 "No, sir/' said Charlie, emphatically. "What do 
 you take me for, Dick." 
 
 "Forgive me," said Dick. "I ought to have known 
 better, only you see my experience with church peo- 
 ple, and — ^well — I'm a bit sore I guess. I couldn't 
 believe there were any like those. I didn't know, 
 that's all," and with a "good night," he turned down 
 the street toward his humble lodging place, while 
 Charlie went on toward home. 
 
 "Yes, that's all," said the latter to himself. "Dick 
 didn't know; and that's what's the matter with hun- 
 dreds of fellows just like him ; they don't know what 
 real Christianity is like; they see so much of the 
 sham; but he'll find out though, or I'm mistaken. 
 My, what a worker he would make, with his experi- 
 ence and talents, if only once he got started right. He 
 just made that old street song burn its way into the 
 heart, and I felt like I wanted to be a brother to every 
 poor, homeless chap in the world." 
 
 Meanwhile, Dick had reached the office, and throw- 
 ing off his coat, laid aside his collar, tie and cuffs. 
 Then seating himself in the rickety old chair, he tilted 
 back as far as possible and fixed his feet as high as he 
 could get them, against the big Prouty press. Five — 
 ten — fifteen minutes went by. Dick sat without mov- 
 ing a muscle. The clanging bell of the eleven-thirty 
 
 95 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 train pulling into the depot, sounded plainly in his 
 ear, but still he sat immovable. A night-hawk cab 
 rattled over the brick pavement, and a drunkard 
 yelled beneath the window ; still Dick held his place. 
 So still was he that a little mouse that lived in one 
 corner of the ofl&ce, crept stealthily out, and glancing 
 curiously with his bead-like eyes, at the motionless 
 figure, ran, with many a pause, to the very legs of 
 Dick's chair. Crash — as Dick's feet struck the floor. 
 The shaky old piece of furniture almost fell in ruins 
 and the poor frightened mouse fled to cover. Kick- 
 ing the chair to one side, the young fellow walked to 
 the window and stood with his hands in his pockets, 
 looking into the night. Then, in sullen tones, he 
 addressed the lamp that twinkled in the bakery across 
 the way : "I'm a fool. I know I'm a fool ; a great 
 big fool. I ought to have told her who I was. I 
 ought to get out a poster and label myself dangerous, 
 BO people would know they were talking to a tramp. 
 Oh, but when she finds out, as she must — and her 
 father—" 
 
 Here Dick's imagination failed him, and he 
 laughed again and again in spite of himself, as he 
 thought of the tramp who had applied to Adam Good- 
 rich for work, chatting with Amy, his beautiful 
 daughter, as an equal. "Whew — but there'll be a hot 
 time in the camp of the enemy when they learn the 
 truth," and he took himself off to bed. 
 
 96 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 SELECTING A MANAGER 
 
 I HE opinions of Reverend Cameron's flock re- 
 garding the proposed reading room, were 
 numerous and varied. Adam Goodrich, in 
 his usual pompous manner, gave it as his judgment 
 that Cameron would be running a free lodging house 
 next, as though that were the greatest depth of in- 
 famy to which a poor preacher could sink. And Mrs. 
 Goodrich declared that Cameron's plans would ruin 
 the social influence of the church forever. Amy was 
 heart and soul with the movement, hut prudently re- 
 frained from discussing the matter in the presence of 
 her parents ; while Frank, though he attended all the 
 meetings of the society and would not openly oppose 
 their efforts for fear of being unpopular, lost no op- 
 portunity to secretly throw a stumbling block in the 
 way, and made all manner of sneering allusions to 
 the work when he thought it would not come to the 
 ears of the young people. 
 
 When at last the room was finished and ready to be 
 occupied, a committee was appointed to select a man- 
 ager. The church, with the usual good judgment 
 shown by churches in such matters, had named as 
 members of this committee Elder Wicks and Deacon 
 Wickham, and the young people had selected Charlie 
 Bowen and two young ladies to represent the society. 
 
 97 
 
THAT PEII^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 They met in the new rooms one evening and Deacon 
 Wickham took the floor at once. 
 
 "I hope our young friends won't take offense at 
 what I am about to say, but you know I am one of the 
 kind who always say just what I think, for I believe 
 that if a man has anything on his mind, it had better 
 come out. This business ought to be in the hands of 
 the church board; you young folks have no scrip- 
 tural rights to speak on the subject at all." The three 
 young Christians looked at Uncle Bobbie, whose left 
 eye remained closed for just the fraction of a second, 
 and the speaker wondered at the confident smile with 
 which his words were received. ^'There's not one of 
 you that has the proper qualifications for an elder or 
 a deacon," he continued. ''You girls have no right 
 to have the oversight of a congregation, anyway, and 
 Charlie Bowen here is not even the husband of one 
 wife." 
 
 "Give him time. Brother Wickham; give the boy 
 time," broke in Uncle Bobbie, with a chuckle, much 
 to the delight of the girls, and the confusion of 
 Charlie. "You just wait; he may surprise you some 
 day in his qualifications." 
 
 But the deacon continued with a frown at the in- 
 terruption, "As far as that goes, the whole thing is 
 unscriptural and I was opposed to it from the first, as 
 Brother Wicks here can tell you." Uncle Bobbie 
 nodded. 
 
 "But you've gone ahead in spite of what I and the 
 scriptures teach, and you've got your reading rooms ; 
 and now I mean to see to it that you have at the head 
 of the concern, a good brother who is eminently quali- 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 fied to teacli ; a good man who is thoroughly grounded 
 in the faith, and who has arrived at years of discre- 
 tion; a workman that needeth not to be ashamed of 
 his handiwork, rightly dividing the word of truth. 
 Such a man could get the young Christians together 
 evenings and lay out their Bible reading for them, 
 spending an hour or two perhaps, each week, in ex- 
 plaining the more difficult passages. If I had time I 
 would be glad to do the work myself, for there's 
 nothing I like better than teaching. I don't know, I 
 might possibly find time if the brethren thought best 
 for me to take the work. I am always ready to do 
 what the Lord wants me to, and I promise you that 
 I'd teach those young people the scriptures, and make 
 them interested, too. Why, when I was in Bear City, 
 down in Oklahoma, I had a — " 
 
 ^'Butj Brother Wickham," interrupted Uncle Bob- 
 bie, who knew from experience that if the good deacon 
 ever got started on his work in Oklahoma they never 
 would get to the business of the evening, "it strikes 
 me you ain't got jist the right ide' of this. 'Tain't to 
 be a Sunday school, ner a place to teach the Bible, as 
 I understand it, though I reckon it's in line with the 
 teachin' of Christ. It is — " 
 
 "ISiot to teach the Bible ?" ejaculated the astonished 
 deacon. "What on earth can you teach in the church 
 except the Bible, and what kind of a reading room 
 can you have in the Lord's house I'd like to know ?" 
 
 "The ide', Brother Wickham," said Uncle Bobbie, 
 as gently as he could, "is to furnish some place where 
 young men of the town can go and spend their time 
 when they ain't working. This room will be stocked 
 
 99 
 
THAT PEmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 with the latest books, magazines and papers; there 
 will be tables with writin' material and sich stuff, if a 
 feller wants to write to his girl, you know, and the 
 room in there will be fixed with easy chairs and sofas 
 for them that wants to talk er play games, er have a 
 good time generally. Seems to me what we want fer 
 a manager is some young man who's got good boss 
 sense, and who could make things pleasant, even if he 
 don't know so much scripture." 
 
 "And it's to be free to every loafer who wants to 
 come in and use the place ?" asked the deacon. 
 
 "Yes, just as free as Christ's invitation to come 
 and be saved," retorted Uncle Bobbie. 
 
 "But you'll fill the church with a lot of trash who 
 don't know anything about the Bible, or the plan of 
 salvation. How can you, when the scriptures say, 
 ^Have no fellowship with such ?' " continued Deacon 
 Wickham. 
 
 To which Uncle Bobbie replied, 
 
 "We'll save a few young men who are startin' fer 
 hell by way of the saloons and bawdy houses." 
 
 "^o you won't. The gospel and the gospel alone, 
 is the power of God unto salvation. God never or- 
 dained that men should be saved by reading rooms 
 and such." 
 
 "I believe I know just the man we want," said 
 Uncle Bobbie, turning to the young people, when the 
 deacon had at last subsided into an attitude of sullen 
 protest. 
 
 "Who?" asked one of the young ladies, with the 
 hint of a laugh in her eyes, as she looked at their 
 stand-by. 
 
 100 
 
THAT PEIN^TEK OF tfl^ffitL'S 
 
 "That printer of UdelFs.' He'o a' jcikaii: 9ti\M\g 
 young feller, and I believe would be glad of some sech 
 place to spend his evenings. Of course he ain't a 
 Christian, but — '' 
 
 "^ot a Christian,'' cried Wickham, starting to his 
 feet again; "not a Christian? And you propose to 
 let an alien take charge of the Lord's work ? I wash 
 my hands of the whole matter." 
 
 "Are you sure he will be all right ?" asked the other 
 girl on the committee. 
 
 "Sure," replied Uncle Bobbie, "if he will take it, 
 and I think we can get Charlie here to see to that." 
 
 Charlie nodded and said, "It will be a splendid 
 thing for him," and then he told them how Dick spent 
 his evenings alone in the office, rather than go to the 
 only places open to him. 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Bobbie, "let's ^x it that way. 
 Brother Wickham, we have decided to ask Richard 
 Falkner to take charge of the rooms." 
 
 "I've got nothing to say about it, sir," answered the 
 good deacon. "I don't know anything about it. I 
 wash my hands of the whole matter." 
 
 And so the work at the Jerusalem Church was es- 
 tablished. It took no little power of persuasion on 
 the part of Charlie Bowen, to bring his friend to the 
 point of accepting the committee's offer, even when it 
 was endorsed by the entire Young People's Society, 
 and a large part of the congregation. But his argu- 
 ments finally prevailed and Dick consented to be at 
 the rooms between the hours of seven and eleven every 
 evening, the time when a strong, tactful man in au- 
 thority would be most needed. 
 
 101 
 
TirAT T^RINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
   ^Che' v(Kym^ htove' inxmshed by friends of the cause 
 and were cheery, comfortable, homelike apartments, 
 where everyone was made welcome. Many a poor 
 fellow, wandering on the streets, tired of his lonely 
 boarding house, and sorely tempted by the air of 
 cheerfulness and comfort of the saloons, was led there, 
 where he found good books and good company; and 
 what was most natural, he at last became a regular 
 attendant at the only church in the city which did not 
 close its doors to him during the week. 
 
 Dick enjoyed the work, and in a short time had 
 many friends among the young men. He treated 
 everybody in the same kindly, courteous manner, and 
 was always ready to recommend a book, to introduce 
 an acquaintance, or to enter into conversation with a 
 stranger. Indeed he soon grew so popular among the 
 young folks that George Udell told Clara it 
 seemed as though he had always lived in Boyd City, 
 he knew so many people, and so many knew him. 
 And of course Clara answered, "I told you so." What 
 woman could resist such an opportunity ? "Didn't I 
 say that he was no common tramp ? You needn't tell 
 me I don't know a man when I see him." 
 
 The two were driving in the evening, on the road 
 that leads south from town, down a hill, across a 
 bridge, and along the bank of a good-sized creek, 
 where the trees bend far over to dip the tips of their 
 branches in the water, and the flowers growing rank 
 and wild along the edges, nod lazily at their own faces 
 reflected in the quiet pools and eddies. 
 
 "You may know a man when you see him," replied 
 George, letting the horse take his own time beneath 
 
 102 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 the overhanging boughs, "but you take precious good 
 care that you don't see too much of one that I could 
 name." 
 
 "Whom do you mean; Mr. Falkner?" replied 
 Clara, with a provoking smile, as she tried in vain to 
 catch one of the tall v^^eeds that grew close to the side 
 of the road. 
 
 "Hang Mr. Falkner," returned Udell impatiently. 
 "You know what I mean, Clara. What's the use of 
 you and me pretending? Haven't I told you ever 
 since I was ten years old that I loved you, and would 
 have no one else to be my wife? And haven't you 
 always understood it that way, and by your manners 
 toward me given assent ?" 
 
 The girl looked straight ahead at the horse's head 
 as she answered slowly, "If my manner has led you 
 to have false hopes it is very easy to change it, and if 
 accepting your company gives assent to all the foolish 
 things you may have said when you were ten years 
 old, you'd better seek less dangerous society." 
 
 "Forgive me dear, I spoke hastily," said George, 
 in a much softer tone. "But it's mighty hard to have 
 you always just within reach and yet always just 
 beyond." 
 
 The sun had gone down behind the ridge. The 
 timbers of an old mining shaft, and the limbs and 
 twigs of a leafless tree showed black against the tinted 
 sky. A faint breath of air rustled the dry leaves of 
 the big sycamores and pawpaw bushes, and the birds 
 called sleepily to each other as they settled themselves 
 for the coming night. A sparrow-hawk darted past 
 on silent wings, a rabbit hopped across the road, while 
 
 103 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 far away, an evening train whistled for a crossing; 
 and nearer, a farm boy called to his cattle. After a 
 long silence, George spoke again, w^ith a note of 
 manly dignity in his voice, which made his fair com- 
 panion's heart beat quicker. ''Clara, look at me; I 
 want to see your eyes," he insisted. She turned her 
 face toward him. "Clara, if you can say that you 
 do not love me as a woman ought to love her husband. 
 I will promise you, on my honor, never to mention 
 the subject to you again. Can you say it?" 
 
 She tried to turn her head and to hide the tell-tale 
 color in her cheeks, but he would not permit it. ''An- 
 swer me," he insisted. "Say you do not love me and 
 I will never bother you again." 
 
 At last the eyes were lifted, and in their light 
 George read his answer. "All right," he said, picking 
 up the whip, "I knew you could not lie ; you do love 
 me, and I'll never stop asking you to be my wife." 
 He turned the horse's head toward the city. 
 
 That same evening, Adam Goodrich, with his fam- 
 ily and two or three neighbors, sat on the veranda of 
 the Goodrich home, enjoying the beauties of the hour, 
 and passing the evening in social chat. In the course 
 of the conversation, someone mentioned the rooms at 
 the Jerusalem Church. x\dam grunted. "What a 
 splendid thing it is for the young men," said one of 
 the lady callers. "I don't see why more of the 
 churches don't adopt the plan. I wish ours would." 
 
 "Yes," chimed in another, "and isn't that Mr. 
 Falkner, who has charge of the rooms in the evening, 
 a splendid fellow? My brother speaks of him so 
 
 104 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 highly, and all the young men seem to think so much 
 of him." 
 
 "Where is he from; St. Louis, is it?" asked the 
 first lady. 
 
 "Kansas City," said Frank. "At least that's what 
 he says. He bummed his way into town last spring 
 and got a job in that infidel Udell's printing office. 
 That's all anybody knows of him." 
 
 "Except that he has never shown himself to be any- 
 thing but a perfect gentleman," added his sister Amy. 
 
 "Amy," said Mrs. Goodrich, a note of warning in 
 her voice. 
 
 "I don't care, mamma, it's the truth. What if he 
 was out of money and hungry and ragged when he 
 came to town? He was willing to work, and Mr. 
 Udell says that he is a splendid workman, and — " 
 
 But her father interrupted her. "Well, what of it ? 
 ]N"o one knows anything about his family or how he 
 lived before he came here. He's only a tramp, and 
 you can't make anything else out of him. Some folks 
 are never satisfied unless they are trying to make 
 gentlemen out of gutter snipes. If we let such fel- 
 lows get a foothold, there won't be any respectable 
 society after a while; it will be all stable boys and 
 boot-blacks." 
 
 Later, when the visitors had said good night and 
 Amy and her mother had entered the house, Frank 
 said, "Father, I'll tell you one thing about that man 
 Falkner, you've got to watch him." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" asked Adam. 
 
 "I mean Amy," replied the other, moving his chair 
 nearer the old gentleman and speaking in a guarded 
 
 105 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 tone. ^'He takes every chance he can get to talk with 
 her, and she is altogether too willing to listen." 
 
 "Pshaw," grunted the older man, ^^she never sees 
 him." 
 
 ^That's where you are mistaken, father. They met 
 first last spring in the printing office ; and afterwards, 
 when he had gotten in with that soft fool, Charlie 
 Bowen, they met again at the Young People's social. 
 He was all dressed up in a new suit of clothes and of 
 course Amy didn't know him. They were together 
 all that evening, and since then, though she has found 
 out who he is, she talks with him at every opportunity. 
 They meet at the society, at church, at picnics and 
 parties, and sometimes in the printing office. I tell 
 you you'd better watch him. He's doing his level best 
 to get in with her, and just look how he's working 
 everybody else. Half the town is crazy over him." 
 
 Low spoken as were Frank's words, Amy heard 
 every one, for she had not retired as her brother sup- 
 posed, but was lying on a couch just inside the door- 
 way of the darkened parlor. With burning cheeks, 
 she rose cautiously and tiptoed silently out of the 
 room. Making her way upstairs and entering her 
 own chamber, she closed and bolted the door, and 
 then, throwing herself on the floor by the low seat of 
 an open window, rested her head on her arm while 
 she looked up at the stars now shining clear and 
 bright. Once she started impatiently and her eyes 
 filled with angry tears. Then she grew calm again, 
 and soon the girlish face was worthy of a master's 
 brush as she gazed reverently into the beautiful 
 heavens, her lips moving in a whispered prayer — a 
 
 lOG 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELUS 
 
 softly whispered prayer for Dick. And as she prayed, 
 unseen by her, a man walked slowly down the street 
 in the shadow of the trees. Reaching the corner, he 
 turned and slowly passed the house again; crossing 
 the street, he passed once more on the opposite side, 
 paused a moment at the corner, and then started 
 hurriedly away toward the business portion of the 
 city. 
 
 107 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE POCKETBOOK IN THE SNOW 
 
 |OVEMBER, with its whispered promises of 
 winter fun, was past, and the Christmas 
 month, with snow and ice, had been ushered 
 Usually in the latitude of Boyd City, the weather 
 remains clear and not very cold until the first of the 
 new year ; but this winter was one of those exceptions 
 which are met with in every climate, and the first of 
 December brought zero weather. Indeed, it had been 
 unusually cold for several weeks. Then, to make 
 matters worse, a genuine western blizzard came howl- 
 ing across the prairie, and whistled and screamed 
 about the streets, from which it had driven everything 
 that could find a place of shelter. The stores on 
 Broadway were deserted save for a few shivering 
 clerks. In the offices, men sat with their feet on the 
 stove and called to mind the biggest storms they had 
 ever known; while street cars stood motionless and 
 railway trains, covered with ice and snow, came 
 puffing into the stations three or four hours behind 
 time. In spite of the awful weather, George Udell 
 spent the evening at the Wilson home on the east 
 side. He had not seen Clara for nearly two weeks 
 and the hour was rather late when he arose to prepare 
 for the long, cold walk to his boarding house. "And 
 must I wait, Clara?" he asked again, as they stood 
 in the hallway, and the girl answered rather sharply, 
 
 108 
 
THAT PEIi^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Yes, you must wait. I do wish you would be sen- 
 sible, George/' He made no reply, but paused for 
 some time with his hand on the door-knob, as though 
 reluctant to leave her in such a mood. Then with an 
 "All right, good night,'' he stepped out into the storm, 
 his mind filled with bitter thoughts. The man did 
 not know how heavy was the heart of the girl who 
 stood watching at the window long after his form 
 had vanished into the night. 
 
 The wind was terrific and the snow cut Udell's 
 face like tiny needles, while he was forced again 
 and again to turn his back to the blast in order to 
 breathe, and in spite of his heavy clothing was 
 chilled to the bone before he had gone three blocks. 
 On Broadway, he passed saloon after saloon, bril- 
 liant with glittering chandeliers and attractive with 
 merry music, inviting all the world to share the good- 
 fellowship and cheer within. He thought of his 
 rooms, how cold and lonely they would be, and had 
 half a mind to stop at the hotel for the night. For 
 an instant he hesitated, then shaking his head in 
 defiance of the storm, "What folly," he said, and 
 pushed on again. As he struggled along, fighting 
 every inch of the way, with head down and body 
 braced to the task, warm lights from the windows of 
 many cozy homes fell across his path, and he seemed 
 to feel the cold more keenly for the contrast. Then 
 through the storm, he saw a church, dark, grim and 
 forbidding, half-hidden in the swirling snow, the 
 steps and entrance barricaded with heavy drifts. A 
 smile of bitter sarcasm curled his lip as he muttered 
 to himself, "How appropriate ; what a fine monument 
 
 109 
 
THAT PRIISTTER OF UDELUS 
 
 to the religious activity of the followers of Christ/' 
 and he almost laughed aloud when he remembered 
 that the sermon delivered there the Sunday before 
 was from the text, "I was a stranger and ye took me 
 not in.'' Suddenly he stopped and stood peering 
 through the storm. In the light of an electric street 
 lamp which sizzled and sputtered on the corner, he 
 saw a dark form half hidden in the snow piled about 
 the doorway of the building. Stepping closer, he 
 reached out and touched it with his foot, then bend- 
 ing down, he discovered to his horror that it was the 
 body of a man. 
 
 George tried to arouse the fallen man and lift him 
 to his feet, but his eiforts only met with failure, and 
 the other sank back again on his bed of snow. He 
 then studied a moment. What should he do ? Then 
 his eyes caught a gleam of light from a house near 
 by. "Of course,'' he thought, "Uncle Bobbie Wicks 
 lives there." Stooping again, he gathered the man 
 in his arms, and with no little effort, slowly and pain- 
 fully made his way across the street and along the 
 sidewalk to Mr. Wicks's home. 
 
 Uncle Bobbie was sitting before the fire, dozing 
 over his Sunday school quarterly, when he was 
 aroused by the sound of heavy feet on the porch and 
 a strange knock, as though someone was kicking at 
 the door. Quickly he threw it open, and Udell, with 
 his heavy burden, staggered into the room. 
 
 "Found him on the church steps," he gasped, out 
 of breath, as he laid the stranger on a couch. "I'll 
 go for a doctor," he said, as he rushed out into the 
 storm again, returning some thirty minutes later with 
 
 110 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Dr. James at his heels. They found Uncle Bobbie, 
 who had done all that was possible, sitting beside the 
 still form on the couch. "You're too late. Doc," he 
 said. "The poor chap was dead before George left 
 the house." 
 
 The physician made his examination. "You're 
 right, Mr. Wicks," he answered, "we can do nothing 
 here. Frozen to death. Must have died early in the 
 evening." 
 
 The doctor returned to his home to get what sleep 
 he could before another call should break his rest, and 
 all that night the Christian and the infidel sat to- 
 gether, keeping watch over the dead body of the un- 
 known man. 
 
 The next morning the coroner was summoned ; the 
 verdict was soon handed in, "Death by exposure." 
 On the body was found a church statement showing 
 that there had been paid to the current expense fund, 
 for the quarter ending August first, the sum of three 
 dollars, but the name written with lead pencil was 
 illegible. Besides this there was a prayer-meeting 
 topic-card, soiled and worn, and a small testament, 
 dog-eared, with much fingering, but no money. A 
 cheap Christian Endeavor pin was fastened to the 
 ragged vest. There was nothing to identify the man 
 or furnish a clew as to where he was from. The face 
 and form was that of a young man, and though his 
 form was thin and his face was careworn, they 
 showed no marks of dissipation. The right hand was 
 marked by a long scar across the back and the loss of 
 the little finger. The clothing was very poor. 
 
 Among those who viewed the body in the under- 
 Ill 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 taking rooms where it lay for identification, was Dick. 
 Udell, who was with him, thought that he seemed 
 strangely moved as he bent over the casket. George 
 called his attention to the disfigured hand, but Dick 
 only nodded. Then, as they drew back to make room 
 for others, he asked in a whisper, "Did they search 
 thoroughly for letters or papers ? Sometimes people 
 hide important documents in their clothing, you 
 know." 
 
 "JSTo, there was nothing," answered George. "We 
 even ripped out the linings." 
 
 When they reached the open air Dick drew a long 
 breath. "I must hurry back to the ofiice," he said. 
 "I suppose you'll not be down to-day." 
 
 "No, I must arrange for the funeral ; you can get 
 along I guess." 
 
 "Oh yes, don't worry about that," was the reply, 
 and the young man started off down the street, but at 
 the corner he turned, and walking rapidly, in a few 
 moments reached the church where the body of the 
 stranger was found. 
 
 The steps and walks had been carefully cleaned and 
 the snow about the place was packed hard by the feet 
 of the curious crowd who had visited the scene earlier 
 in the morning. 
 
 Dick looked up and down the street. There was no 
 one in sight. Stepping swiftly to the pile of snow 
 which the janitor had made with his shovel and 
 broom, he began kicking it about with his feet. Sud- 
 denly, with an exclamation, he stopped and again 
 glanced quickly around. Then stooping, he picked up 
 
 112 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 a long, leather pocketbook, and turning, walked hur- 
 riedly away to the office. 
 
 The body was held for some days, but when noth- 
 ing could be learned as to the poor fellow's identity, 
 he was laid away in a lot purchased by Udell, who 
 also bore the funeral expenses. When Uncle Bobbie 
 would have helped him in this, George, answered, 
 "jN'o, this is my work. I found him. Let me do this 
 for his mother's sake." 
 
 The funeral was held in the undertaking rooms. 
 Dick Falkner, Uncle Bobbie and his wife, and Clara 
 Wilson, with George, followed the hearse to the ceme- 
 tery. 
 
 To-day, the visitor to Mt. Olive, will read with 
 wonder, the inscription on a simple stone, bearing no 
 name, telling the story of the young man's death, 
 concluding with these words, "I was a stranger and 
 ye took me not in." 
 
 The church people protested loudly when it was 
 known how the grave was to be marked, but George 
 Udell answered that he wanted something from the 
 Bible because the young man was evidently a Chris- 
 tian, and that the text he had selected was the only 
 appropriate one he could find. 
 
 The evening after the funeral, Charlie Bowen and 
 Dick sat alone in the reading room, for the hour was 
 late and other frequenters of the room had all gone 
 to their homes. Charlie was speaking of the burial. 
 "I tell you," he said, "it looks mighty hard to see a 
 man laid away by strangers who do not even know 
 his name, and that, too, after dying all alone in the 
 snow like a poor dog; and to think that perhaps a 
 
 113 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 mother is watching for him to come home; and the 
 hardest part is that he is only one of many. In a 
 cold snap like this, the amount of suffering among 
 the poor and outcast is something terrible." 
 
 Dick made no reply, but sat staring moodily into 
 the fire. 
 
 "I've studied about the matter a good bit lately," 
 continued Charlie. "Why is it that people are so 
 indifferent to the suffering about them? Is Udell 
 right when he says that church members, by their own 
 teaching, prove themselves to be the biggest frauds in 
 the world ?" 
 
 "He is, so far as the church goes," replied Dick; 
 "but not as regards Christianity. This awful neglect 
 and indifference comes from a lach of Christ's teach- 
 ing, or rather from a lack of the application of 
 Christ's teaching, and too much teaching of the 
 church. The trouble is that people follow the church 
 and not Christ ; they become church members, but not 
 Christians." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that the church ought to 
 furnish a lodging place for every stranger who comes 
 to town ?" asked Charlie. 
 
 "I mean just this," answered Dick, rising to his 
 feet and walking slowly back and forth across the 
 room, "there is plenty of food in this world to give 
 every man, woman and child enough to eat, and it is 
 contrary to God's law that the helpless should go 
 hungry. There is enough material to clothe every 
 man, woman and child, and God never intended that 
 the needy should go naked. There is enough wealth to 
 house and warm every creature to-night, for God 
 
 114 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 never meant that men should freeze in snch weather 
 as this ; and Christ surely teaches, both by words and 
 example, that the hungry should be fed, the naked 
 clothed, and the homeless housed. Is it not the Chris- 
 tian's duty to carry out Christ's teaching? It is an 
 awful comment on the policy of the church when a 
 young man, bearing on his person the evidence of his 
 Christianity and proof that he supported the institu- 
 tion, dies of cold and hunger at the locked door of the 
 house of God. That, too, in a city where there are 
 ten or twelve denominations, paying at least as many 
 thousand dollars for preachers' salaries alone each 
 year." 
 
 "But we couldn't do all those things," said Charlie. 
 
 "The lodges do," replied Dick. "There is more 
 than enough wealth spent in the churches in this city, 
 for useless, gaudy display, and in trying to get ahead 
 of some other denomination, than would be needed to 
 clothe every naked child in warmth in the city to- 
 night. You claim to be God's stewards, but spend 
 his goods on yourselves, while Christ, in the person 
 of that boy in the cemetery, is crying for food and 
 clothing. And then you wonder why George Udell 
 and myself, who have suffered these things, don't 
 unite with the church. The wonder to me is that 
 such honest men as you and Mr. Wicks can remain 
 connected with such an organization." 
 
 "But," said Charlie, with a troubled look on his 
 face, "would not such work encourage crime and 
 idleness ?" 
 
 "N"ot if it were done according to God's law," an- 
 swered Dick. "The present spasmodic, haphazard, 
 
 115 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 sentimental way of giving does. It takes away a 
 man's self-respect; it encourages him to be shiftless 
 and idle; or it fails to reach the worthy sufferers. 
 Whichever way you fix it, it kills the man." 
 
 "But what is God's law ?" asked the other. 
 
 "That those who do not work should not eat," 
 replied Dick ; "and that applies on the avenue as well 
 as in the mines." 
 
 "How would you do all this, though? That has 
 been the great problem of the church for years." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but it has not been the prob- 
 lem of the church. If the ministry had spent one- 
 half the time in studying this question and in trying 
 to fulfill the teaching of Christ, that they had wasted 
 in quarreling over each other's opinions, or in tickling 
 the ears of their wealthy members, this problem 
 would have been solved long ago. Different localities 
 would require different plans, but the purpose must 
 always be the same : To make it possible for those in 
 want to receive aid without compromising their self- 
 respect, or making beggars of them, and to make it 
 just as impossible for any unworthy person to get 
 along without work." 
 
 For some minutes the silence in the room was only 
 broken by the steady tramp, tramp, as the speaker 
 marched to and fro. 
 
 "Dick," said Charlie, "do you believe that any- 
 thing could be done here ?" 
 
 Dick started and looked sharply at his companion. 
 "Of course it could, if only the church would go about 
 it in a businesslike way." 
 
 Charlie shook his head. "That's hopeless. The 
 
 116 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 church will never move in the matter. Brother Cam- 
 eron has preached again and again on those subjects 
 and they do nothing." 
 
 "But has your pastor presented any definite plan 
 for work?" asked Dick. "It's one thing to preach 
 about it, and another thing to present a plan that will 
 meet the need. That's the great trouble. They're all 
 the time preaching about Christianity and trying to 
 live as they talk, in a sickly, sentimental fashion; 
 when of all things in the world Christianity is the 
 most practical, or it is nothing." 
 
 "The young folks would take it up, I am sure," 
 said Charlie. "Say, will you suggest a plan to the 
 society ?" 
 
 "I'm like the rest," said Dick, with a slight smile. 
 "I'm preaching when I have no remedy," and he 
 began locking up for the night. "But," as they 
 stepped out into the street, he added, "I'll not go 
 back on my statement though. I believe it can be 
 done." 
 
 E'othing more was said on the subject so much on 
 the hearts of the young men, until the Saturday 
 before the regular monthly business meeting of the 
 Young People's Society. Then Charlie broached the 
 matter to Dick as together they walked down the 
 street at the close of their day's work. 
 
 "]^o," said Dipk, "I have not forgotten, and I 
 believe I have a plan that would meet the needs of 
 the case as it is in this city." 
 
 "Will you go before the Young People's Society 
 at their meeting next Tuesday night and explain 
 your scheme ?" 
 
 117 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Dick hesitated. "I fear they would not listen to 
 me, Charlie," he said at last. And then added, as he 
 rested his hand affectionately on the other's shoulder, 
 "You see, old man, people here don't look at me as 
 you do. They can't, or won't forget the way I came 
 to town, and I fear they would not attach much 
 weight to my opinion, even should they consent to 
 hear me." 
 
 "That's where you're wrong, Dick, all wrong. I 
 know there are some who look at things in that light, 
 but they 'Wouldn't do anything if Paul himself were 
 to teach them. But there are many who want only 
 someone to lead the way. Take myself for instance. 
 I realize what's needed, and I honestly want to do 
 something, but I don't know how to go at it; and 
 Dick, if this problem is ever solved, it will be through 
 someone like you, who knows from actual experience, 
 not from occasional slumming expeditions; whose 
 heart is filled with love for men; who is absolutely 
 free from ecclesiastical chains, and who is a follower 
 of no creed but Christ, a believer in no particular 
 denomination." 
 
 Dick smiled at his friend's manner. "You too, 
 have been doing a little thinking," he said quietly. 
 "But had this thought come to you, that the man 
 must also be a Christian ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Charlie, "A Christian so far as 
 he is a believer in the truths that Christ teaches ; but 
 not in the generally accepted use of that word, which 
 is, that a man can't be a Christian without hitching 
 himself up in some denominational harness." 
 
 118 
 
THAT PKI:^^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "If you believe that, why do you wear the badge ?" 
 asked Dick dryly. 
 
 "Because I believe that while the man who takes 
 the initiative must owe allegiance to no particular 
 congregation, the work must be carried on by the 
 church; there are many Christians who are thinking 
 along these lines, and I hope that you will some day 
 see that the church with all its shortcomings and mis- 
 takes, is of divine origin; and that she needs just 
 such men as yourself to lead her back to the sim- 
 plicity of Christ's life and teaching. But that's not 
 the question," Charlie continued, as he saw a slight 
 shadow cross the face of his companion. "The ques- 
 tion is: Will you go before the Young People's 
 Society next Tuesday night and submit your plan as 
 a suggested way to do Christ's work here in this city ? 
 You see, you'll not be going before the church, and 
 I will give you such an introduction that there will 
 be no danger of a mistaken notion as to your 
 presence." 
 
 The two walked on in silence until they reached 
 the door of the restaurant where Dick took his meals. 
 "Won't you come in and eat with me ?" he said. 
 
 "N'ot unless you need more urging," answered 
 Charlie, with a laugh, "for I have other fish to fry 
 just now." 
 
 "Well," said Dick, "I'll go." 
 
 119 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 
 
 jEEDLESS to say, Charlie Bowen, who was 
 the president of the Young People^s Society 
 at this time, took particular pains to notify 
 each member that there would be a matter of unusual 
 importance to discuss at the next meeting. And so, 
 when he called the society to order at eight o^clock 
 Tuesday evening, in the lecture room of the church, 
 almost the entire membership, including Reverend 
 Cameron, was present. Dick remained in the read- 
 ing room, but it was understood between him and 
 Charlie that he was to be called in at the proper time. 
 After the regular routine business had been dis- 
 posed of, the president stated that he wished to intro- 
 duce a matter of great importance, which he felt 
 sure would interest every Christian present. He then 
 called to their minds some of the teachings they had 
 heard from their pastor, along lines of practical 
 Christianity; mentioned briefly the condition of 
 things in Boyd City ; and asked if they would not be 
 glad to remedy such evils. The nodding heads and 
 earnest faces told Charlie of their interest. After 
 recalling the death of the young man found by George 
 Udell, he told of his conversation with Dick. "I am 
 aware that Mr. Ealkner makes no profession of Chris- 
 tianity," he said, "but you know him and need no 
 word from me to tell you of the strength of his char- 
 
 120 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 acter," He then explained how he had asked Dick to 
 speak to them, and after delicately stating the latter^s 
 objections, asked if they would receive him and listen 
 to his ideas of Christian work. 
 
 At the close of Charlie's talk, the society gladly 
 voted to invite Dick in, and three of the boys started 
 to find him, when Reverend Cameron rose to his feet, 
 and in a voice full of emotion, said : "My dear young 
 people, wait just a moment. My heart is moved 
 more than I can say, by the Christian spirit you are 
 showing. And now, before your invitation is carried 
 to Mr. Falkner, let us bow our heads in prayer, that 
 we may be guided by the Holy Spirit in listening to 
 the things he may have to put before us, and in any 
 discussion of this subject that may follow." 
 
 A deep hush fell on the little band of young people 
 as they followed their pastor's example, and it seemed 
 as if a wonderful presence filled the room. The 
 thought flashed through Cameron's mind, "This must 
 be another step in the new era of Christian work in 
 this city." And then, in a few beautiful words, he 
 voiced the prayer in the hearts of the young people, 
 and the committee appointed went to call Dick. They 
 found him nervously pacing up and down the passage- 
 way between the reading room and the church parlor. 
 Making known the wish of the society, they escorted 
 him to the meeting in the other part of the building. 
 He was greeted by smiling faces, nods of encourage- 
 ment, and just a faint ripple of applause, that sprung 
 from a desire on the part of the young people to let 
 him know that they were glad to bid him welcome, 
 and ready to give him their attention. 
 
THAT PKIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 The president stated simply that he had explained 
 to the society the purpose of Mr. Falkner's visit, and 
 that he could assure the latter he was most heartily 
 welcome. At Charlie's words, the ripple of applause 
 became a wave, which in its strength, left no doubt in 
 Dick's mind as to their earnestness and interest. 
 Bowing his thanks, while both Charlie and Cameron 
 wondered at his ease of manner, and the strange 
 power of his simple, but well-chosen words, he said: 
 
 "I have no means of knowing what your president 
 may have said by way of introducing me, or as a 
 preface to my remarks, but judging from your faces, 
 the manner in which you receive me, and my 
 knowledge of him, I feel that I am safe in assum- 
 ing that he has said all that is necessary, and that 
 I may proceed at once with my plan. But let me add 
 simply this : What I have to say to you is in no way 
 new or startling. I claim no originality, for I have 
 simply gathered from the works of better men that 
 which seems to me best fitted for the needs of this 
 particular city. And understand, further, that I speak 
 in no sense as a Christian, but from the standpoint of 
 one to whom has been given opportunities for study 
 along these lines, which I hope may ever be denied 
 you. 
 
 "As I understand it, the problem that we have to 
 consider is, briefly, how to apply Christ's teaching 
 in our own city. Let me suggest first : There are in 
 this city, as in every city, two classes who present 
 their claims for assistance; the deserving and unde- 
 serving. Any plan which does not distinguish between 
 these two classes must prove a failure, because it 
 
 122 
 
THAT PKII^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 would encourage the idle in their idleness, and so 
 prove a curse instead of a blessing. It would make 
 fraud profitable by placing a premium rather than 
 a penalty on crime; and it would make the suffer- 
 ings of the truly unfortunate much keener by com- 
 pelling them to yield their self-respect as the price 
 of their succor. The only test that can possibly suc- 
 ceed in distinguishing between these two classes is the 
 test of work. 
 
 "The first thing necessary would be a suitable 
 building. This building should have sleeping rooms, 
 dining rooms, sitting room, kitchen, store room and a 
 bath room. There should also be a large yard with 
 an open shed in the rear. I would have the sleep- 
 ing rooms small, and a single cot in each, for you 
 know it is sometimes good for a man to be alone. 
 It ought not to be hard to find twenty-five people in 
 the church who would furnish a room each, at a cost 
 of say a few dollars. The reading room supplies 
 could be donated by friends who would be glad to give 
 their papers and magazines when they were through 
 with them, just as your present room is supplied. 
 
 "Now if you stop to think, in this mining city 
 everyone burns coal, and kindling wood ought to find 
 a ready sale. I believe the merchants would be glad to 
 give away their old packing cases, boxes and barrels. 
 These could be collected, hauled to the yard, there 
 worked up into kindling and delivered to the cus- 
 tomer. The whole establishment should be under the 
 supervision of some man who, with his family, could 
 occupy rooms in the building. All the work of the 
 house, kitchen, dining room, care of the sleeping 
 
 123 
 
THAT PKIlSrTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 rooms, and all, must be done by the inmates. When 
 a man applied for help he would be received on these 
 conditions : that his time belonged wholly to the insti- 
 tution, and that he receive for his work only food and 
 bed, with the privilege of bath and reading room of 
 course. If he refused to comply with these condi- 
 tions, or to conform to the rules of the institution, 
 no food would be issued, nor would he be admitted. 
 
 "This briefly is my plan. I would be glad to have 
 you ask questions and make objections or suggestions, 
 for I believe that would be the best way to get a 
 thorough understanding of the matter." 
 
 Dick paused and one of the young people asked, 
 "What would be the cost of the building and its 
 furnishings V 
 
 "That I cannot say," replied Dick. "It would 
 depend of course upon how large an establishment 
 you wished to conduct. I should think a house might 
 be found in some convenient locality, which could be 
 converted for our present needs, for I would not 
 recommend a large institution at the start. It would 
 grow as fast as the people came to believe in it." 
 
 "You spoke of a store room — what for?" 
 
 "Let the people contribute clothing, which could 
 be kept and issued by the superintendent in charge. I 
 said store room, that the material might always be 
 on hand when needed." 
 
 "Would you receive women ?" 
 
 "]N"o; they would require a separate institution 
 with a different kind of employment." 
 
 "Would we not need women to do the housework ?" 
 
 134 
 
THAT PEINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "N^o, everything could be done by the men under 
 the direction of the superintendent's wife." 
 
 "Would the merchants contribute boxes enough?" 
 
 "That," with a bow and a smile, "is a matter for 
 the society to look after. The workers at the institu- 
 tion would gather them up and haul them to the yard. 
 Old side-walks, fences, and tumbledown buildings, 
 could also be used, so the supply need not run short, 
 and the city would be much improved if these things 
 were gathered up and utilized." 
 
 "Would the people buy the kindling-wood ?" 
 
 "That again, is the business of the society. Every 
 member should be a salesman. The kindling would 
 be put up in bundles of uniform size, warranted to 
 be dry and to give satisfaction. It should of course 
 be delivered by the workers. It ought not to be dif- 
 ficult for you to secure a sufficient number of regular 
 customers to insure the success of the business. You 
 see, it is not a church-begging scheme, for it benefits 
 every person connected with it, and everyone pays 
 for what he gets. The citizens would have the pleas- 
 ure of feeling that they were assisting only the worthy 
 sufferers, and the satisfaction of knowing that they 
 were receiving their money's worth." 
 
 "Would the income be sufficient to pay all bills ?" 
 asked Cameron. 
 
 "The food, of course, would be of the plainest, and 
 could be bought in quantities. Twenty cents will 
 feed a man a day. It is possible, of course, to live on 
 less," Dick added, with a whimsical smile, which was 
 met with answering smiles from the company of in- 
 terested young people. "I^ow suppose you had for 
 
 125 
 
THAT PEIJ^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 the start, one hundred regular customers, who would 
 pay, each, ten cents per week for their kindling ! That 
 would bring you ten dollars per week, which would 
 feed seven people. I^ot a large thing I grant you, but 
 a start in the right direction, and much more than 
 the church is doing now. The other expenses would 
 not be large, and I am confident that the institution 
 would be self-supporting. But bear in mind that the 
 society must own the grounds and building, so that 
 there would be no rent. TJiat must be the gift of the 
 people to the poor." 
 
 "How would the superintendent and his wife be 
 paid?" 
 
 "They would receive their house rent, provisions, 
 and a small weekly salary, paid either by the society, 
 the church, or the institution. There are many men 
 and women who would be glad to do such work." 
 
 "Would kindling-wood be the only industry ?" 
 
 "I believe other things would suggest themselves. 
 I am only planning a start you know. I said kindling- 
 wood because that seems to be the most practical 
 thing for this particular city." 
 
 "Would not men impose on the institution by 
 working just enough to get their food and remain idle 
 the rest of the time ?" 
 
 "That," said Dick, "is the greatest danger, but I 
 believe it would be met in this way: You remember 
 I said that the time of the inmates must be given 
 wholly to the institution. The men could be kept 
 busy at the housework, scrubbing and cleaning when 
 not in the yard. Then too, they could be hired out to 
 do odd jobs of rough work for the citizens, the wages 
 
 126 
 
THAT PKmTEE OF UDELUS 
 
 all to go to tlie institution. Thus, if every man was 
 kept busy eight hours each day, and received only his 
 food and a place to sleep, there would be no tempta- 
 tion to remain longer than necessary. The institution 
 would also act as an employment agency, and when 
 a man was offered work of any kind he would no 
 longer be permitted to remain in the home. Much of 
 this would necessarily be left to the discretion of the 
 managers and directors." 
 
 This question seemed to bring the matter to a close 
 as far as Dick was concerned, and after asking if 
 there was anything more, and again calling attention 
 to the fact that the greatest obstacle in the way was 
 a suitable building, he thanked them for their atten- 
 tion and took his seat. 
 
 Then followed a warm discussion. Several spoke 
 enthusiastically in favor of the scheme. One or two 
 thought it very good, but feared it would be impos- 
 sible because of the building needed. A few offered 
 amendments to the plan. Finally a committee was 
 appointed to see if a suitable building could be se- 
 cured, and the meeting was adjourned. 
 
 At once the young people crowded about Dick, 
 shaking his hand, thanking him, asking questions, 
 making suggestions, with now and then a happy laugh 
 or jest. Much to Charlie's delight, Dick, for the 
 time being, forgot himself and talked and laughed 
 and prophesied with the rest about our institution 
 and the things we would do. But in the midst of it 
 all, his manner suddenly changed, and making his 
 way quickly to Charlie's side he whispered, "Good- 
 night, old man, I must go." 
 
 127 
 
THAT PRINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "So soon ?" asked his friend in a tone of surprise. 
 
 "Yes," replied Dick hurriedly, "I must." And 
 Charlie was left wondering at the pain in his face, 
 which a moment before had been so bright, for he 
 did not know that Dick had heard Frank Goodrich 
 saying to his sister, "Come, we must go home. We 
 can't afford to associate with that tramp," and that he 
 had seen Amy leaving the room on her brother's arm, 
 without even acknowledging his presence by so much 
 as a glance. 
 
 The next morning bright and early. Deacon Wick- 
 ham might have been seen knocking at the door of 
 the parsonage. "Why, good morning, brother," cried 
 Cameron, throwing wide the door and extending his 
 hand. "What good fortune brought you out so early ? 
 Come in. Come in." 
 
 "No good fortune, sir," replied the deacon, and 
 seating himself very stiffly on the edge of the straight- 
 est-backed chair in the room, he glared with stem 
 eyes at the pastor, who threw himself carelessly into 
 an easy rocker. "ITo good fortune, sir; I came to 
 inquire if it is true that you are encouraging that 
 unscriptural organization in their foolish and world- 
 wise plans." 
 
 Cameron put on a puzzled look. "What organiza- 
 tion, and what plans ?" he asked. 
 
 "There," said the good deacon, with a sigh of great 
 relief. "I told Sister Jones that there must be some 
 mistake, for though you and I don't always agree, 
 and lock horns sometimes on certain passages of the 
 scriptures, I did not believe that you were so far 
 from the teaching of the Word as that ?" 
 
 128 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL^S 
 
 "As what?'' asked Cameron again, but this time 
 with a faint glimmer of understanding in his voice. 
 "Please explain, Brother Wickham." 
 
 "Why, Sister Jones came over to my house early 
 this morning and told me that at the meeting of the 
 Young People's Society last night, that young upstart 
 Falkner, laid down plans for doing church work, and 
 that you were there and approved of them. That 
 rattle-headed boy of hers is all carried away." 
 
 "Well ?" the preacher nodded. 
 
 "I could not believe it of course, but she said, as 
 near as I could gather, that you were going to have 
 the church buy a house and keep all the tramps who 
 came to Boyd City. A more unscriptural thing I 
 never heard of. Were you at the meeting last night ?" 
 
 "Yes, I was there," said Cameron slowly. 
 
 The official frowned again as he said sharply: 
 "You'll do more good for the cause. Brother Cameron, 
 if you spend your time calling on the members. There 
 is Deacon Godfrey's wife hasn't been out to services 
 for three months because you haven't been to see her ; 
 and you're ruining the church now by your teach- 
 ing. You've got to build on a scriptural foundation 
 if you want your work to last. All these people 
 you've been getting into the church the last two years 
 don't know a thing about first principles." 
 
 The minister tried to explain: "The plan sug- 
 gested last night by Mr. Falkner, who was there at 
 the invitation of the society, was simply for an insti- 
 tution that would permit a man who was homeless, 
 cold and hungry, to pay for food and lodging until he 
 could do better. In short, it is a plan to prevent 
 
 129 
 
THAT PEII^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 deaths like that of the young man found frozen a few 
 weeks ago.'' 
 
 "You don't know anything about that fellow," said 
 the deacon. "If he had followed the teaching of the 
 scriptures he wouldn't have been in that fix. The 
 Word says plainly: ^He that provideth not for his 
 own is worse than an infidel.' You don't know 
 whether he was a Christian or not. He may have 
 never been baptized. Indeed, I am ready to prove 
 that he never was, for the scripture says that the 
 righteous are never forsaken, nor their seed begging 
 for bread. I've lived nearly fifty years now and I 
 never went hungry and never slept out-doors either." 
 
 Cameron sat silently biting his lip; then looking 
 his parishioner straight in the eye, said: "Brother 
 Wickham, I cannot harmonize your teaching with 
 Christ's life and character." 
 
 "My teaching is the scripture, sir; I'll give you 
 book, chapter and verse," snapped the deacon. 
 
 "Christ taught and lived a doctrine of love and 
 helpfulness toward all men, even enemies," continued 
 Cameron. "When I remember how he pointed out 
 the hungry and naked and homeless, and then said: 
 ^Inasmuch as ye did it not unto one of the least of 
 these, ye did it not unto me,' I cannot help but feel 
 sure in my heart that we are right, and I must tell 
 you that Mr. Falkner's plan for doing just that work 
 is the most practical and common-sense one I have 
 ever heard. The only thing I find to wonder at is the 
 stupidity of the church and myself, that we did not 
 adopt it long ago." 
 
 180 
 
THAT PKIIsrTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 ^Then I am to understand that you support and 
 encourage this unscriptural way of doing things V^ 
 
 ''I most certainly have given my support to the 
 young people in this effort, and as far as possible, 
 will encourage and help them in their labor of love." 
 
 "Labor of love, fiddlesticks," said the deacon. 
 "Labor of foolishness. You'll find, sir, that it will 
 be better to take my advice and the advice of the 
 sacred writers instead of going off after the strange 
 teaching of an outcast and begging infidel." 
 
 "Stop!" said Cameron, springing to his feet, and 
 speaking in a tone that few people ever heard him use. 
 "I beg of you be careful that you do not go too far. 
 Whatever his religious convictions may be, Mr. Falk- 
 ner is neither an outcast nor a beggar ; and although 
 I am only your pastor, it might be well for you to 
 remember that I am also a gentleman, and will allow 
 no man to speak of my friends in any such language." 
 
 "Well, well," whined Wickham hastily, holding 
 out his hand, "the scriptures say that there must be 
 love between brethren, and I want you to know that 
 I bear you no ill will whatever, no ill will whatever ; 
 but I warn you, I wash my hands of the whole matter. 
 I don't want to know anything about it." 
 
 Cameron took the proffered hand and replied, 
 "That's the best thing you can do, Brother Wickham. 
 You have discharged your duty faithfully as an offi- 
 cer in the church and are released from all responsi- 
 bility whatever." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the other, as he stood on the 
 porch ; "and don't let them call on me for any money. 
 
 131 
 
THAT PRIl^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Remember I wash my hands of the whole thing. 
 How much did you say it would cost ?" 
 
 "I don't know yet, exactly." 
 
 "Well, you know I can't give anyway. I'm already 
 doing more than my share in a scriptural way, and I 
 must wash my hands of this." 
 
 "Yes," said Cameron to himself, as he shut the 
 door. "A certain Roman governor washed his hands 
 once upon a time." And then the pastor took himself 
 to task for his uncharitable spirit. 
 
 Later in the day. Reverend Cameron had another 
 visitor, old Father Reason, whose hair had grown 
 white in the Master's service. He had been with his 
 congregation over twenty years and they would not 
 give him up; for while his sermons may have lost 
 some of their youthful fire, they were riper for the 
 preacher's long experience, and sweeter for his near- 
 ness to the source of love. 
 
 The old man met Cameron's outstretched hand of 
 welcome with a smile that, in itself, was a benedic- 
 tion. Though identified with a different denomina- 
 tion, he was a close friend to the pastor of the Jerusa- 
 lem Church, and always stood ready to draw from his 
 wealth of experience for the benefit of his younger 
 brother. When they were seated in Cameron's cozy 
 den with a basket of fruit between them. Father 
 Reason began : 
 
 "Brother Jim, what's this about the proposed work 
 of your young people ? Suppose you tell me about it, 
 if you don't mind. I've heard a good many things 
 to-day, and I just thought I'd run over and get the 
 straight of it." 
 
 132 
 
THAT PKII^TEE OF UDELUS 
 
 Cameron laughed as he carefully selected a rosy- 
 cheeked apple. "You're the second caller IVe had 
 to-day who needed straightening out. IVe been wish- 
 ing you would run in, and if you had not, I would 
 have been over to see you this evening. This work 
 is right along lines that you and I have talked over 
 many times." And then he told the whole story. 
 
 When Cameron had finished, the older man asked 
 a few questions, and then slowly nodding his head, 
 repeatedly softly: "Thy kingdom come, thy will be 
 done, on earth as it is in heaven." 
 
 "Brother Cameron, you know that I belong to a 
 church that is noted for its conservative spirit, but I 
 have been preaching more years than you have lived, 
 and have been at it too long to be bound altogether 
 by the particular belief of any particular people, and 
 I want to say to you that if I were a younger man, 
 I would take just your course exactly. There is no 
 use. Brother Jim, of our flinching or dodging the 
 question. The church is not meeting the problems of 
 the day, and it's my candid opinion that ninety-nine 
 out of every hundred preachers know it. But I'm 
 too old to make the fight. I haven't the strength to 
 do it. But my boy, do you go in to win, and may 
 God's richest blessing rest upon you. And you'll stir 
 this city as it never was stirred before. I only wish 
 I were twenty years younger ; I'd stand by you. But 
 this needs young blood and I am an old, worn-out 
 man. It is almost time that I was going home, and I 
 dare not take up any work like this that will need 
 years of patient labor to complete." He arose to his 
 feet, and grasping Cameron's hand, said, "Good 
 
 133 
 
THAT PEIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 night, Brother Jim; we older men must turn our 
 work, all unfinished, over to younger, stronger hands 
 to complete. My boy, see that you keep that which 
 is committed unto you, and don't, oh don't, be side- 
 tracked by the opinions of men. The victory will be 
 yours, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Good night, 
 Jim, I thank God for this day." 
 
 134 
 
CHAPTEK XII 
 RIVAL GAMES AND THEIR STAKES 
 
 I HE sun sank into the prairie and tinted the 
 sky all red and green and gold where it 
 shone through the rents in the ragged clouds 
 of purple black. The glowing colors touching dull, 
 weather-beaten steeples and factory stacks, changed 
 them to objects of interest and beauty. The poison- 
 ous smoke from smelter and engine, that hung always 
 over the town like a heavy veil, shot through with the 
 brilliant rays, became a sea of color that drifted here 
 and there, tumbled and tossed by the wind, while 
 above, the ball of the newly painted flag-staff on the 
 courthouse tower gleamed like a signal lamp from 
 another world. And through it all, the light reflected 
 from a hundred windows flashed and blazed in won- 
 drous glory, until the city seemed a dream of un- 
 earthly splendor and fairy loveliness, in which the 
 people moved in wonder and in awe. Only for a mo- 
 ment it lasted. A heavy cloud curtain was drawn hur- 
 riedly across the west as though the scene in its mar- 
 velous beauty was too sacred for the gaze of men 
 whose souls were dwarfed by baser visions. For an 
 instant a single star gleamed above the curtain in the 
 soft green of the upper sky; then it, too, vanished, 
 blotted out by the flying forerunners of the coming 
 storm. 
 
 135 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 About nine o'clock, when the first wild fury of the 
 gale had passed, a man muffled in a heavy coat and 
 with a soft hat pulled low over his face, made his way 
 along the deserted streets. In front of the Goodrich 
 hardware and implement store, he stopped and looked 
 carefully about as though in fear of some observer. 
 Then taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the 
 door and entered. Walking quickly through the store 
 to the office, as though familiar with the place, he 
 knelt before the big safe, his hand upon the knob 
 that worked the combination. A moment later the 
 heavy door yielded to his hand. Taking a bunch of 
 keys from his pocket, without hesitation, he selected 
 one and upon applying it, the cash box opened, re- 
 vealing a large sum of money. Catching up a package 
 of bills, he placed it in his side coat pocket, and 
 locking the cash box again, was closing the safe, 
 when he paused as though struck with a sudden 
 thought. The storm without seemed to be renew- 
 ing its ptrength. The dashing of sleet and snow 
 against the windows, the howling of the wind, the 
 weird singing of the wires, and the sharp banging 
 of swinging signs and shutters, carried terror to the 
 heart of the man kneeling in the dimly lighted office. 
 Sinking on the floor, he buried his face in his hands 
 and moaned aloud, "My God — what am I doing? 
 What if I should fail ?" 
 
 Again there came a lull in the storm ; everything 
 grew hushed and still, almost as if the very spirit of 
 the night waited breathlessly the result of the battle 
 being fought in the breast of the tempted man. Rising 
 slowly to his knees, he swung back the heavy doors 
 
 136 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 and once more unlocking the cash box reached out to 
 replace the package of bills; but with the money 
 before his eyes he paused again. Then with a sud- 
 den exclamation, "I won't fail this time ; I can't lose 
 always," he quickly closed the safe, and with the 
 money in his pocket, sprang to his feet and hurried 
 out of the building, where the storm met him in all 
 its fury, as though striving to wrest from him that 
 which he had taken from another. But with set face 
 and clenched fists, he pushed into the gale, and a few 
 minutes later knocked at the door of a room on the 
 top floor of a big hotel. He was admitted and greeted 
 cordially by two men who were drinking and smoking. 
 
 "Hello Frank," they exclaimed; "we thought you 
 had crawfished this time sure. What makes you so 
 late ; it is nearly ten ?" 
 
 "Oh, the old man had some work for me, of course. 
 What a beastly night. Where's Whitley ?" He tried 
 to speak carelessly, but his eyes wavered and his 
 hands trembled as he unbuttoned his heavy coat. 
 
 "You're right ; this storm's a ripper. Jim will be 
 back in a minute ; he just stepped down to the corner 
 drug-store to see a man. Here he is now," as another 
 low knock sounded on the door, and the fourth man 
 entered, shaking the snow from his fur-trimmed 
 coat. 
 
 "Pile out of your duds, boys, and have a drink," 
 said one of the men. "Good liquor hits the spot a 
 night like this." 
 
 Whitley grasped the proffered glass eagerly and 
 emptied it without a word, but Frank refused. 
 
 "You know I don't drink," he said, shortly ; "take 
 
 137 
 
THAT PRI^NTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 it yourself if you need it, and let's get to work." He 
 drew a chair to the table in the center of the room. 
 
 The others laughed as they took their places, and 
 oiie said, as he shuffled a deck of cards, "We forgot 
 you were a church member." And the other added, 
 with a sneer, "Maybe you'd like to open the services 
 with a song and prayer." 
 
 "You drop that and mind your own business," re- 
 torted young Goodrich, angrily. "I'll show you to- 
 night that you can't always have your own way. 
 Did you bring my papers with you?" The others 
 nodded and one said, "Whitley here told us you 
 wanted a chance to win them back before we were 
 obliged to collect. It's to be cash to-night though," 
 added the other ; "good cold cash, against the notes we 
 hold." 
 
 "For God's sake, shut up and play," growled 
 Frank in reply. "I guess there's cash enough," and 
 he laid the package of bills on the table. Four eyes 
 gleamed in triumph. Whitley looked at the young 
 man keenly and paused with the cards in his hands. 
 Then he dealt and the game began. 
 
 Meanwhile Adam Goodrich and his wife were en- 
 tertaining at its regular weekly meeting, the whist 
 club of which they were enthusiastic members; and 
 though the weather was so very rough not a few of 
 the devoted lovers of the game were present. 
 
 In the conversation that preceded the play, the 
 Young People's Society and Dick Falkner's plan of 
 work was mentioned. N^early all of the guests being 
 members of different churches, expressed themselves 
 quite freely, with a variety of opinions, until the 
 
 138 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 host, with annoyance plainly expressed on his proud 
 face, said in his hard cold voice: "You must not 
 think, ladies and gentlemen, that because I and my 
 family are members of the Jerusalem Church, that 
 we agree with Reverend Cameron in his outlandish 
 ideas. We have never been accustomed to associating 
 with such low characters as he delights in forcing us 
 to meet in the congregation ; and if he does not change 
 his line of work some, he will drive all the best people 
 to other churches." 
 
 The guests all nodded emphatic approval and each 
 silently resolved to send his pastor to interview the 
 Goodrich's without delay. 
 
 Adam continued: "As for that tramp printer and 
 his fool plan, I say that it's just such stuff that causes 
 all the discontent among the lower classes and makes 
 them unfit to serve their betters, and that my chil- 
 dren shall have nothing to do with it. I have not 
 brought them up to follow the lead of a vagabond and 
 a nobody." 
 
 Amy's face flushed painfully and she lifted her 
 head as though to speak, when Mrs. Goodrich silenced 
 her with a look, and skilfully changed the subject by 
 saying: "It's too bad Frank won't be here to-night. 
 He enjoys these evenings so much and plays so well. 
 But he and Mr. Whitley are spending the evening 
 with a sick friend. The dear boy is so thoughtful of 
 others and is always ready to give up his own pleas- 
 ures. And Mr. Whitley, too ; he will miss the game 
 so much, and Amy loses a strong partner." The 
 company took the hint and talked of other things 
 until the all-absorbing game began. 
 
 139 
 
THAT PKIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 And so, while the son played with his friend Whit- 
 ley and the two professional gamblers at the hotel, 
 played with fear in his face and a curse in his heart, 
 to save himself from sure disgrace, his fond parents 
 and beautiful sister at home, forgot his absence in 
 their eager efforts to win with the cards the petty 
 prize of the evening, a silver-mounted loving cup. 
 
 One, two, three hours passed. The storm had spent 
 its strength ; Mr. Goodrich had won the coveted prize, 
 and the guests of the evening had returned to their 
 homes. The last of the pile of bills before Frank 
 was placed in the center of the table. The silence 
 was unbroken save for the sound of the shuffling of 
 the cards and the click of a whisky glass as one of the 
 men helped himself to a drink. 
 
 Suddenly young Goodrich leaped to his feet with 
 a wild exclamation: "Tom Wharton, you're a liar 
 and a cheat!" As he spoke, a heavy chair whirled 
 above his head and fell with a crashing blow upon 
 the man who sat at his right. Instantly all was con- 
 fusion; the table was overturned; the cards, money 
 and glasses scattered over the room. Whitley and the 
 other man stood in blank astonishment at the sudden 
 outburst. Frank leaped at his prostrate victim, with 
 a chair again raised to strike, and had the second blow 
 fallen, he would have been a murderer, for the intent 
 to kill shone from his glittering eyes. But Whitley, 
 just in time, caught his arm, while the other drew a 
 knife and stepped between the crazed man and his 
 victim. 
 
 "Stop, you fool !" said Whitley. "And you, Jack, 
 put up that knife and look after Tom. This is a 
 
 140 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 nice mess for us to be caught in." The gambler did 
 as he was told, but Frank struggled in his friend's 
 grasp. "Let me go, Jim. Let me at him. I'm 
 ruined anyway and I'll finish the man that did it 
 before I go myself." But Whitley was the stronger 
 and forced him backward, while the other man was 
 busy with his fallen partner. 
 
 "Euined, nothing!" said Whitley in Frank's ear. 
 "I'll stand by you. You get out of this quick and go 
 to my room. I'll come when I've settled with them." 
 He unlocked the door and pushed Frank into the hall, 
 just as the man on the floor struggled to his feet. 
 
 The two gamblers turned on Whitley in a rage 
 when they saw Frank had escaped. Standing with 
 his back to the door, he let them curse a few minutes 
 and then said calmly, "N^ow if you feel better let's 
 take a drink and talk it over." 
 
 When he had them quiet again he continued, in a 
 matter-of-fact tone, "Suppose you fellows raise a row 
 about this, what will you gain ?" 
 
 "We'll teach that young fool a lesson he won't 
 forget soon," snarled the one who had fallen. 
 
 "Yes, and you'll pay big for the lesson," replied 
 Whitley quietly. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" asked Wharton. 
 
 "I mean that if this gets out," said Whitley, 
 "young Goodrich is ruined and you won't get a cent 
 on the paper you hold." 
 
 Wharton's friend nodded, "That's straight, Tom," 
 he said. 
 
 "Well, what of it," growled the other; "the old 
 man won't pay it anyway." 
 
 141 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Yes he would," returned Jim quickly, "if you 
 didn't make it public; but I don't happen to want 
 him to know about this little deal." 
 
 "What's it to you ?" said Wharton. 
 
 "I^ever mind what it is to me. I know what I'm 
 doing, and I don't want this to get out," replied 
 Whitley. 
 
 "How'U you help it ?" Tom retorted. 
 
 "This way." Whitley took a check-book from his 
 pocket. "Make the notes over to me and I'll add 
 two hundred to the amount. Go after Frank and you 
 get nothing. Go to the old man and you get what 
 the paper calls for. Keep your mouth shut and sell 
 me the notes and you get an extra hundred apiece. 
 What do you say ?" 
 
 "I say yes," exclaimed Jack, with an oath; "I'm 
 no fool." And the other grumbled a surly "All 
 right. But I'd like to get one crack at that kid's 
 head." 
 
 "You'll have to pass that little pleasure this time," 
 said the other with a laugh. "Write your check, 
 Whitley, and let's get out of this. I'm sleepy." 
 
 When Whitley reached his room after settling with 
 the two gamblers, he found Frank pacing the floor, 
 his face white and haggard. 
 
 "Sit down. Sit down, old man," said Whitley; 
 "and take things easy. You're all right. Look here." 
 And he drew the notes from his pocket. 
 
 Frank sank into a chair. "What have you done ?" 
 he gasped. "How did you get those ?" 
 
 Whitley laughed. "Just invested a little of my 
 spare cash, that's all," he said. 
 
 142 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "But I tell you, I'm ruined. I can't pay a third of 
 that in six years," said Frank. 
 
 "Well, perhaps you won't have to," replied Whit- 
 ley. Frank started. "What do you mean ?" he said. 
 
 "I mean Amy," the other replied coolly. "You 
 poor idiot, can't you see ? I can't afford to have you 
 disgraced before the world under the circumstances. 
 If I wasn't in it, I'd let you go to thunder and serve 
 you right. But a fine chance I'd have to marry your 
 sister if she knew about this business to-night. If 
 it wasn't for her I'd let you hang your fool self too 
 quick, before I'd spend a dollar on your worthless 
 carcass; but I've said that I would marry that girl 
 and I will, if it costs every cent I've got, and you'll 
 help me, too." 
 
 Frank was silent for a time, completely cowed by 
 the contempt in the other's voice, too frightened to 
 protest. But at last he managed to say, "There's 
 more than those notes." 
 
 "I know that too," quickly returned Whitley, with 
 an oath. "How much did you steal from the old 
 man's safe tonight ?" 
 
 "What — how — how do you know ?" stammered the 
 other. 
 
 "Saw you," returned Whitley, shortly, and then he 
 added, as Frank rose to his feet and began walking 
 the floor again: "Oh, for heaven's sake quit your 
 tragedy and sit down. You make me tired. You're 
 not cut out for either a gambler or a robber. You 
 haven't the nerve." 
 
 Frank was silent, while the other went to a small 
 
 143 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 cupboard and leisurely helped himself to a glass of 
 whisky and then lit a fresh cigar. 
 
 "What can I do?" ventured Frank at last, in a 
 voice but little above a whisper. 
 
 Jim crossed the room, and unlocking a drawer in 
 his desk, returned with a handful of bills, and said, 
 "You can put that money back in the safe before 
 morning and keep your mouth shut." And then when 
 Frank attempted to grasp his hand while stammering 
 words of gratitude, Whitley said, "ITo thanks," 
 and put his own hands behind his back in a gesture 
 that there was no mistaking. "Be a good boy, 
 Frankie. Listen with more care to your pastor's ser- 
 mons; keep your Young People's Society pledge; 
 read your Bible and pray every day, and take part in 
 all the meetings, and when I marry your sister I'll 
 make you a present of these papers. But oh Lord," 
 he added, with a groan, "you'll make a healthy 
 brother-in-law, you will." 
 
 Then he questioned, in disgust, "How much did 
 you say?" 
 
 Frank muttered the amount he had stolen. 
 
 Jim quickly counted it out and threw the bills on 
 the table. "There you are. And now you better go 
 quickly before you slop over again and I kick you." 
 And turning his back he poured himself another glass 
 of liquor while Frank, with the money in his hand, 
 sneaked from the room like a well-whipped cur. And 
 over his head, as he crept stealthily down the street 
 toward his father's store, the stars shone clear and 
 cold in their pure, calm beauty, while the last of the 
 storm-cloud was passing from view on the far horizon. 
 
 144 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE GIFT OF AN INFIDEL 
 
 I HE committee appointed by the society 
 called on Uncle Bobbie at his office, and 
 found him deep in a letter to an old lady 
 whose small business affairs he was trying to 
 straighten out. He dropped the matter at once when 
 they entered, and after shaking hands as though he 
 had not seen them for years, said, "ITow tell me all 
 about it. To-be-sure, Charlie here has had some talk 
 with me, but I want to get your ide's.'^ 
 
 "Our brightest idea, I think,'' said the leader, 
 with a smile, "is to get your help." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie laughed heartily. "I reckoned you'd 
 be around," he said. "I'm generally kept posted by 
 the young folks when there's anything to do. To-be- 
 sure, I ain't got much education, 'cept in money mat- 
 ters an' real estate, but I don't know — I reckon edu- 
 cation is only the trimmins anyhow. It's the boss 
 sense what counts. I've seen some college fellers that 
 was just like the pies a stingy old landlady of mine 
 used t' make ; they was all outside. To-be-sure, they 
 looked mighty nice though. 'Now tell me what ye 
 want." 
 
 When the young people had detailed to him Dick's 
 plan, and he had questioned them on some points, the 
 old gentleman leaned back in his chair and thought- 
 fully stroked his face. Then he said, "^NTow I tell 
 
 145 
 
THAT PEi:srTER OF FDELL'S 
 
 ye what ye do. Mebbe I can handle the property end 
 of this a little the best. To-be-sure, folks would talk 
 with me when they might not listen to you; 'cause 
 they'd be watchin' fer a chance to get me into a deal, 
 you see; fer business is a sort of ketch-as-ketch-can 
 anyhow you ^x it. So jes' let me work that end an' 
 ye get Charlie here and some more to help, and drum 
 up the store-keepers to find out if they'll let ye have 
 their barrels and boxes. An' then go fer the citizens 
 and see how many will buy kindlin'-wood. Tell 'em 
 about what it will cost — say ten cents a week fer one 
 stove. To-be-sure, some will use more'n others, but 
 give 'em an ide'. Then we'll all come together again 
 and swap reports, an' see what we've got." 
 
 For the next few days, the young people went from 
 store to store, and house to house, telling their plan, 
 and asking the citizens to support it by their patron- 
 age. Some turned them away with rudeness; some 
 listened and smiled at their childish folly ; some said 
 they couldn't afford it; and some gave them encour- 
 agement by entering heartily into the scheme. With 
 but few exceptions, the merchants promised the 
 greater part of their boxes and barrels, and one man 
 even gave them the ruins of an old cow shed, which 
 he said he would be glad to have cleared away. 
 
 Meanwhile, Uncle Bobbie interviewed the business 
 men, both members of the church, and those who were 
 not. He argued, threatened and pleaded, studied 
 plans, consulted architects and contractors, figured 
 and schemed, and when besieged by the young people 
 for results, only shook his head. "Jes' hold your 
 bosses and wait till the meetin'. It don't pay to fire a 
 
 146 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 gun before ye load it." And none but Charlie Bowen 
 noticed that the old gentleman's face grew grim when- 
 ever the subject was introduced, and the young man 
 guessed that the outlook was not so promising as 
 Uncle Bobbie would like. Then one Wednesday 
 night, the society met again in the church. The 
 weather was cold and stormy, but, as at the previous 
 meeting, nearly every member was present. When 
 the committee had made their report and it was 
 known that the merchants and citizens would support 
 the movement by their patronage and contributions, 
 a wave of enthusiasm swept over the room while the 
 call for Mr. Wicks was enforced by loud applause. 
 
 Uncle Bobbie, who had been sitting by Reverend 
 Cameron's side, arose and came slowly forward. 
 Turning, he faced the little company and his honest 
 old eyes were wet as he said in a trembling voice : "I 
 didn't want to come here to-night, young folks ; I jes' 
 tell ye I was ashamed to come ; but I knew I ought to ; 
 and now I am ashamed that I didn't want to. I 
 might have known better. Per I can see right now 
 as I look into your faces, that Brother Cameron is 
 right, and that what I have to tell won't make no 
 difference." An ominous hush fell upon the com- 
 pany. "To-be-sure, we may have to wait a bit, but 
 God will show a way, and we'll conquer this old devil 
 of indifference yet." He paused and drew a long 
 breath. "Well, I found a big house that is for sale ; 
 jes' the thing we need; and it could be bought and 
 fixed up in first-class shape fer about nine hundred 
 dollars. I sold the property myself to Mr. Udell, fer 
 fifteen hundred, 'bout a year ago ; an' I want to tell 
 
 147 
 
THAT PEIISTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 jou young folks, right now, that whether he's a Chris- 
 tian or not, George Udell is the whitest man in this 
 city, and the fellow what says anythin' again him 
 's got me to whip." The old gentleman paused and 
 glared about him, without a thought of how his words 
 sounded ; but the young people, who knew him well, 
 only answered with a clapping of hands, which was a 
 tribute to Uncle Bobbie's heart and character, rather 
 than to his unconscious recklessness of speech or to 
 his love for the man whom he championed. But when 
 he went on to say that of all the men he had inter- 
 viewed, church members and all, only Udell had met 
 him half way, and had agreed to give the lot if they 
 would raise the money to pay for the house, they 
 applauded with a vim, the generosity of the man. 
 
 ^'Just think," continued Uncle Bobbie, "that 
 among all the church members in this city, I couldn't 
 raise two hundred dollars fer such a cause. One of 
 'em said no, because he'd jes' bought a new span of 
 carriage bosses. Huh! I told him he might ride to 
 hell behind fine bosses but he'd not feel any better 
 when he got there. 'IN'other said he'd jes' put five 
 hundred dollars into the new lodge temple, and that 
 he couldn't spend any more. I asked him if Jesus 
 was a member of his lodge, and he said he reckoned 
 not. I said, well, we want to build a home for Christ, 
 and you say you can't. Seems to me if I was you I 
 wouldn't call Christ my redeemer in prayer meeting 
 so much. 'J^other had just fixed his home. 'lN"other 
 had just put in a new stock of goods ; and so with 'em 
 all. They all had some excuse handy, and I don't 
 know what to do. I'm up a stump this time fer sure. 
 
 148 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 We've got the material to work up; we've got the 
 people to buy the goods ; we've got the lot ; and there 
 we're stuck, fer we can't get the house. / can't any- 
 way. We're jes' like the feller that went fishin' ; had 
 a big basket to carry home his fish ; a nice new jointed 
 pole with a reel and fixin's, a good strong linen line, 
 an' a nice bait box full of big fat worms, an' when 
 he got to the river he didn't have no hook, and the 
 fish just swum 'round under his nose an' laughed at 
 him 'cause he couldn't touch 'em. And still I believe 
 that God will show us the way yet, 'though mebbe not. 
 Perhaps 'tain't fer the best fer us to do this ; to-be-sure 
 though I thought it was, and so did Brother Cam- 
 eron ; and so did you. But I don't know — " And the 
 old man took his seat. 
 
 After a long silence, one or two offered suggestions 
 but could not help matters. Reverend Cameron was 
 called for and tried to speak encouragingly, but it was 
 hard work, and it seemed that the plans were coming 
 to an inglorious end, when Clara Wilson sprang to 
 her feet. 
 
 "I'm not a bit surprised at this," she said, while 
 the young people, forgetting the praise they had just 
 bestowed upon George Udell, thought that her rosy 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes were caused by her excite- 
 ment. "I don't wonder that the business men won't 
 go into such a scheme. They haven't any faith in it. 
 It isn't so much that they've not got the money or 
 don't want to help, but it's because they don't trust 
 the church. They have seen so many things started, 
 and have supported so many, and still no real good 
 comes of it, that they're all afraid. They put money 
 
 149 
 
THAT PEIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 into their lodges because they see the results there. 
 I believe there has been more wealth put into the 
 churches than has ever been put into lodges; but all 
 weVe got to show for it is fine organs, fine windows, 
 and fine talk, while the lodges do practical work. We 
 can't expect folks to take hold of our plan until we 
 show what we are going to do. We are starting at the 
 wrong end. We haven't done anything ourselves yet. 
 I wish I was a man, I'd show you," she said, with a 
 snap of her black eyes. 
 
 "You're a pretty good feller if you ain't a man," 
 chuckled Uncle Bobbie. This raised a laugh and 
 made them all feel better. 
 
 "That's all right; you can laugh if you want to," 
 said Clara, "but I tell you we can do it if we have 
 a mind to. Why, there is enough jewelry here to- 
 night to raise more than half the amount. Let's not 
 give up now that we've gone so far. Let's have a big 
 meeting of the society, and have speeches, and tell 
 what has been done, and see what we can raise. Just 
 make the people believe we are going to have this 
 thing anyway. Mr. President, I move you that we 
 have an open meeting of the society one week from 
 next Sunday, and that a special committee be ap- 
 pointed to work up a good program." 
 
 Cameron jumped to his feet. "With all my heart, 
 I second that motion." And before the president 
 could speak, a chorus of ayes was followed by pro- 
 longed applause. Clara was promptly named chair- 
 man of the committee, and in a few minutes they 
 were trooping from the building, out into the storm, 
 but with warm hearts and merry voices. 
 
 150 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 George Udell had not been to call on Clara Wilson 
 since the night he found the man frozen in the streets. 
 Indeed, he had not even spoken to her since the 
 funeral. He had seen her though, once when she had 
 met him on the street with several friends, and at 
 other times when he had glanced up from his work by 
 the window as she had passed the office. All this was 
 strange to Clara. "What could be the matter ?" she 
 thought, as she walked along with her friends after 
 the meeting. "George had never acted so before.'' 
 She wanted to talk to him about the incident of that 
 stormy night when they had parted so abruptly. She 
 wanted him to know how proud she was that he had 
 proven so kind in the matter of the funeral. "What 
 a warm heart he has beneath all his harsh speeches," 
 she thought ; and she could not help but contrast him, 
 much to his credit, with many professed Christians 
 she knew. And then, Mr. Wicks had spoken, in the 
 business meeting, of his generosity, and had talked so 
 strongly of his goodness; no wonder her cheeks 
 burned with pride, while her heart whispered strange 
 things. 
 
 When the young woman had said good night to her 
 companions, on reaching her home, and had shut her- 
 self in her room, she asked herself again and again, 
 was she right in always saying, "E'o." Was she not 
 unnecessarily cruel to the friend who had shown, and 
 was showing himself, so worthy of her love ? Oh why 
 was he not a Christian ? And when Mrs. Wilson crept 
 into her daughter's room that night, to get an extra 
 comfort from the closet, to put over the crib of Clara's 
 small brother, she was much surprised to see a big 
 
 151 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 tear that glistened in the light of the lamp, roll from 
 beneath the dark lashes, as her eldest child lay sob- 
 bing in her sleep. 
 
 The next morning the girl was strangely silent and 
 went about her work without the usual cheery whis- 
 tle — for Clara would whistle ; it was her only musical 
 accomplishment. But toward noon, after arousing 
 herself from a prolonged spell of silent staring into 
 the fire, during which her mother tried in vain to 
 draw her into conversation, she suddenly became her 
 ovm bright self again, and went about getting dinner 
 in her usual manner. Then when the dishes were 
 washed, she appeared in her street dress and hat. 
 
 "Land sakes alive, child, you ain't going out to-day, 
 be you?" said Mrs. Wilson, her hands on her hips, 
 in her usual attitude of amazement or wrath. 
 
 "Yes mother, I've got a little business down-town 
 that I can't put off. I won't be gone long. Is there 
 anything that I can do for you ?" 
 
 "But look how it's snowing ; you'll be wet through 
 and catch your death sure. I wish to goodness you'd 
 have more sense and try to take some care of your- 
 self," replied her mother. 
 
 "l!Tot the first time I've been wet. The walk will 
 do me good." And soon the determined young lady 
 was pushing her way through the snow and wind 
 toward the business part of the city. 
 
 The boy in the printing office had gone out on an 
 errand and George and Dick were both at the com- 
 posing case, setting up a local politician's speech, 
 which was to be issued in the form of a circular, when 
 Clara walked in, stamping her feet and shaking the 
 
 |52 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 snow from her umbrella and skirt. Udell started 
 forward. 
 
 ^^Great shade of the immortal Benjamin FI" he 
 shouted. "What in the name of all that's decent are 
 you doing here?" And he placed a chair near the 
 stove with one hand as he captured the umbrella with 
 the other. 
 
 "I'm going to get warm just now." Clara replied, 
 with an odd little laugh, and Dick noticed that the 
 wind, or cold, or something, had made her face very 
 red. "Come here and sit down," she commanded. 
 "I want to talk business to you. Don't stand there as 
 though you had never seen me before." 
 
 "Well, it has been ages since I saw you," he de- 
 clared, seating himself on the edge of the waste-box. 
 
 "Yes, all of twenty-four hours. I passed you yes- 
 terday and you looked me right in the face, and never 
 even said ^Howdy.' If you were anyone else, George 
 Udell, I'd make you wait awhile before you got an- 
 other chance to do me that way." 
 
 George drummed on the edge of the box and whis- 
 tled softly. Then looking anxiously toward Dick, 
 said, "How are you getting along with that stu£F, old 
 man ?" 
 
 "Almost through," answered Dick, with a never- 
 to-be-forgotten wink. "But I" believe I'll run off those 
 dodgers on the big press, and let you finish the poli- 
 tics." 
 
 "All right, I reckon that'll be better," answered 
 Udell; and soon the whir of the motor, and the stamp 
 of the press filled the room. 
 
 153 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "We are awfully busy now," said Udell, turning 
 to Clara again. "I ought to be at work this minute." 
 
 "Why haven't you been to see me, George?" per- 
 sisted the girl, a strange light coming into her eyes. 
 "There are so many things I want to talk to you 
 about." 
 
 "Thought I'd let you come and see me awhile ; turn 
 about is fair play. Besides, I don't think it would 
 be safe in this cold weather. It's chilly enough busi- 
 ness even in the summer time." 
 
 Clara held out persistently, "George Udell ; you 
 knew very well that I would come here if you staid 
 away from my home ; and it's real mean of you, when 
 you knew how bad I wanted to see you, to make me 
 come out in all this snow." 
 
 George looked troubled. "I'll take my death of 
 cold, and then how'U you feel ?" George looked still 
 more worried; "I've not felt very well lately any- 
 way — " George looked frightened ; "and I — came all 
 the way — down here — ^just to see what was the mat- 
 ter." Udell looked happy. "And now you don't want 
 me to stay, and I'll go home again." She reached for 
 her umbrella but Udell grasped it at the same time. 
 Whir — ^whir — ^went the motor, and clank — clank — 
 clank — sounded the press. Dick was feeding the 
 machine and must necessarily keep his eyes on his 
 work, while the noise prevented any stray bits of the 
 conversation from reaching his ears. Besides this, 
 Dick was just now full of sympathy. Clara let go her 
 end of the umbrella, and George, with an exaggerated 
 expression of rapture on his face, kissed the place 
 where her hand had held it. The young lady tried to 
 
 154 
 
THAT PKIJSTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 frown and look disgusted. Then for several moments 
 neither spoke. At last Clara said, "I wanted to tell 
 you how proud and glad I am of the things you have 
 been doing. You are a good man, George, to take 
 care of that poor dead boy the way you did." 
 
 ^'Why, you see I had a sort of fellow-feeling for 
 him," muttered Udell. ^'I had just been frosted my- 
 self." 
 
 "And that Young People's Society business; it is 
 just grand," went on Clara. "Only think, you have 
 given even more than all the church members com- 
 bined." 
 
 Udell grunted, "^o danger of me losing on that 
 offer. They'll never raise enough for the house." 
 
 "Oh yes we will. I'm chairman of the committee." 
 And then she told him of the meeting, and how Uncle 
 Bobbie had praised him. 
 
 Udell felt his heart thaw rapidly, and the two 
 chatted away as though no chilly blast had ever come 
 between them. 
 
 "And yet, Clara, with all your professed love for 
 me, you won't allow me a single privilege of a lover, 
 and I can have no hope of the future. It had better 
 stop now." 
 
 "Very well, George ; it can stop now if you like ; 
 but I never could have lived without talking it out 
 with you and telling you how glad I am for your gift 
 to the society." 
 
 "Look here, don't you go and make any mistakes on 
 that line. I'm giving nothing to the society or the 
 church. That bit of land goes to the poor, cold, 
 hungry fellows, who are down on their luck, like Dick 
 
 155 
 
THAT PKI:N'TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 here was. I tell you what though, Clara, if you'll say 
 yes, I'll add the house and enough to furnish it be- 
 sides.'* 
 
 The girl hesitated for just a moment. Here was 
 temptation added to temptation. Then she pulled on 
 her rubbers and rose to go. "!N'o, George, no, I can- 
 not. You know you would not need to buy me if I 
 felt it right to say yes." 
 
 "But I'm going to keep on asking you just the 
 same," said George. "You won't get angry if I keep 
 it up, will you ?" 
 
 "I — ^guess — ^not. I feel rather badly when you 
 don't. I don't like to say no ; but I would feel awful 
 if you didn't give me a chance to say it. Good-bye 
 George." 
 
 "Good-bye dearest. You can't forbid me loving 
 you anyway, and some day you'll take me for what I 
 am." 
 
 Clara shook her head. "You know," she said. 
 
 As the door closed, Dick wheeled around from the 
 press, holding out his ink-stained hand to George. 
 
 "What's the matter ?" said the other wonderingly, 
 but grasping the outstretched hand of his helper. 
 
 "I want to shake hands with a man, that's all," 
 said Dick. "Why don't you join the church and win 
 her?" 
 
 "Because if I did that I wouldn't be worthy of 
 her," said George. 
 
 "You have strange ideas for this day and age," re- 
 plied Dick. 
 
 "Yes, I know; but I can't help it; wish I could," 
 continued Udell. 
 
 15S 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "You're a better man than half the church mem- 
 bers,'' Dick said in answer. 
 
 George shook his head. "It won't do, Dickie, and 
 you know it as well as I. That's too big a thing to 
 go into for anything but itself. What is it mother 
 used to say ? l^o other Gods before me, or something 
 like that." 
 
 And Dick said to himself as he turned back to 
 the press, "I have indeed, shaken hands with a man." 
 
 isr 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 DICK TAKES A STAND 
 
 I HE night was at hand when the young peo- 
 ple were to hold their special meeting in the 
 interest of the new movement. Clara Wilson 
 had worked incessantly, and when at last the evening 
 arrived, was calm and well satisfied. Whether the 
 effort proved a success or not, she would he content, 
 for she had done her best. 
 
 The incident, still so fresh in the minds of the citi- 
 zens, of the man found frozen to death on the steps of 
 the church, the flying rumors about Dick's visit to 
 the society, and the plans of the young people, all 
 served to arouse public curiosity to such a pitch that 
 the place of meeting was crowded, many even stand- 
 ing in the rear of the room. After the opening serv- 
 ices, which were impressive but short, and after the 
 purpose of the society and the proposed plan of work 
 had been fully explained, Uncle Bobbie told, in his 
 simple way, of the work that had been done ; how the 
 young people had called on him ; how they had gone 
 from house to house, through the cold and snow; 
 and how he had interviewed the business men, many 
 of whom he saw in the audience. "To-be-sure," he 
 said, "I don't suppose you understand the matter 
 fully or you would have been glad to help ; but we'll 
 give ye another chance in a minute." Then he told of 
 
 15S 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 the last business meeting ; how they were encouraged 
 when the reports came in that the citizens had re- 
 sponded so liberally ; and how he had been forced to 
 tell them that he had met with nothing but failure in 
 his attempt to secure a house. "I just tell you, it 
 made my old heart ache to see them young folks tryin' 
 to do some practical work for Christ, come up agin 
 a stump like that. I wish you church members could 
 have seen 'em and heard 'em pray. I tell you it was 
 like heaven; that's what it was; with the angels 
 weepin' over us poor sinners 'cause we won't do our 
 duty." 
 
 The old gentleman finished, amid a silence that was 
 almost painful, while many were leaning eagerly 
 forward in their seats. The great audience was im- 
 pressed by the scheme and by the work so practical 
 and Christ-like. This was no theory, no doctrine of 
 men, no dogma of a denomination. 
 
 The pastor of the Jerusalem Church stepped to the 
 front of the rostrum and raised his hand. Without 
 a word the people reverently bowed their heads. 
 After a moment of silent prayer, the minister voiced 
 the unuttered words of all, in a few short sentences, 
 "God help us to help others," and then in clear, ear- 
 nest tones began to speak. He recalled to their minds 
 the Saviour of men, as He walked and talked in Gali- 
 lee. He pictured the Christ feeding the hungry and 
 healing the sick. He made them hear again the voice 
 that spake as never man spake before, giving forth 
 that wonderful sermon on the mount, and pronounc- 
 ing His blessing on the poor and merciful. Again 
 the audience stood with the Master when He wept at 
 
 159 
 
THAT PKIKTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 the grave of Lazarus, and with Him sat at the last 
 supper, when He introduced the simple memorial of 
 His death and love. Then walking with Him across 
 the brook Kedron, they entered the shadows of the 
 Olive trees and heard the Saviour pray while His dis- 
 ciples slept. "If it be possible, let this cup pass from 
 me. N'evertheless, not my will, but thine be done." 
 And then they stood with the Jewish mob, clamoring 
 for His blood; and later with the Roman soldiery, 
 grouped at the foot of the cross, where hung the 
 brother of men, and heard that wonderful testimony 
 of His undying love. "Father forgive them, they 
 know not what they do." Then under the spell of 
 Cameron's speech, they looked into the empty tomb 
 and felt their hearts throb in ecstasy, as the full mean- 
 ing of that silent vault burst upon them. Looking up 
 they saw their risen Lord seated at the right hand of 
 the Father, glorified with the glory that was His in 
 the beginning ; and then, then, they looked where the 
 Master pointed, to the starving, shivering, naked ones 
 of earth, and heard with new understanding, those oft 
 repeated words, "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of 
 the least of these, ye did it unto me." "Men and 
 brethren," cried the pastor, stretching out his arms 
 in the earnestness of his appeal, "what shall we do ? 
 Shall there be no place in all this city where the least 
 of these may find help in the name of our common 
 Master? Must our brothers perish with cold and 
 hunger because we close the doors of the Saviour's 
 church against them ? These young people, led by a 
 deep desire to do God's will, have gone as far as they 
 can alone. Their plan has been carefully studied by 
 
 160 
 
THAT PEi:^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 good business men and pronounced practical in every 
 way. They have the promised support of the 
 merchants in supplying material. They have the 
 promised patronage of the citizens ; and a man, not a 
 professed Christian, but with a heart that feels for 
 suffering humanity has given the land. In the name 
 of Jesus, to help the least of these, won't you buy the 
 house?" 
 
 The deacons, with the baskets and paper and pen- 
 cils, started through the congregation. In a moment 
 Mr. Godfrey went back to Cameron and placed some- 
 thing in his hand. The pastor, after listening a mo- 
 ment to the whispered words of his officer, turned to 
 the audience and said: *^At our last meeting, one of 
 the young people made the remark that there were 
 jewels enough on the persons of those present to pay 
 half the amount needed. Brother Godfrey has just 
 handed me this diamond ring, worth I should say, 
 between forty and fifty dollars. It was dropped into 
 the basket by a member of the Young People's So- 
 ciety. Friends, do you need any more proof that 
 these young folks are in earnest ?'' 
 
 At last the offering was taken, and the deacons 
 reported one thousand dollars in cash, and pledges, 
 payable at once. "And perhaps," said the leader, "I 
 ought to say, in jewelry also." And he held up to 
 the gaze of the audience a handful of finger rings, 
 scarf-pins, ear-rings and ornaments, and a gold watch, 
 in the case of which was set a tiny diamond. 
 
 Again for a moment a deep hush fell over the vast 
 congregation as they sat awed by this evidence of 
 earnestness. Then the minister raised his voice in 
 
 161 
 
THAT PKI:N'TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 prayer that God would bless the offering and use it in 
 His service, and the audience was dismissed. 
 
 Dick did not sleep well that night. Something 
 Cameron had said in his talk, together with the re- 
 markable gifts of the young people, had impressed 
 him. He had gone to the church more from curiosity 
 than anything, and had come away with a feeling of 
 respect for Christians, that was new to him. As he 
 thought of the jewelry, given without the display of 
 name or show of hands, he said to himself, "Surely 
 these people are in earnest." Then, too, under the 
 spell of Cameron's talk, he saw always before him 
 the figure of the Christ as He lived His life of sacri- 
 fice and love, and heard Him command, "Follow 
 thou me." In the meantime at the church he had 
 seen people doing just that thing: following Him; 
 doing as He did ; and the whole thing impressed him 
 as nothing had ever done before. So, when he went to 
 the office next morning and found Udell strangely 
 silent and apparently in a brown study, he was not at 
 all surprised, and asked, "What's the matter, George ? 
 Didn't you sleep well last night either ? Or did the 
 thoughts of having been so generous with your prop- 
 erty keep you awake ?" 
 
 "The property hasn't anything to do with it," an- 
 swered Udell. "It's what that preacher said ; and not 
 so much that either, I guess, as what those young 
 folks did. I've been thinking about that handful of 
 jewelry ; if I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed 
 it. Say, do you know that a few sermons like those 
 gold trinkets would do more to convert the world 
 
 162 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 than all the theological seminaries that ever bewil- 
 dered the brains of poor preachers ?" 
 
 ^^Right you are, George, but is it true ?" questioned 
 Dick. 
 
 "Is what true ?" asked the other. 
 
 "Why, what Cameron said about Christ being the 
 Saviour of men, and all that,'^ Dick replied. 
 
 Udell paused in his work. "What do you say ?" he 
 asked at last, without answering Dick's question. 
 
 "Well," answered Dick slowly, "I've tried hard 
 for several years, to make an infidel of myself, be- 
 cause I couldn't stand the professions of the church, 
 and their way of doing things. But that meeting last 
 night was different, and I was forced to the conclu- 
 sion, in spite of myself, that Cameron spoke the 
 truth, and that Christ is what He claimed to be, the 
 Saviour of mankind, in the truest, fullest sense of the 
 word. I'm sure of this. I have always wished that 
 it were true, and have always believed that the Chris- 
 tian life, as Christ taught it, would be the happiest 
 life on earth. But there's the rub. Where can a fel- 
 low go to live the life, and why are you and I not liv- 
 ing it as well as the people who have their names on 
 the church books ? Must I join a company of canting 
 hypocrites in order to get to heaven ?" 
 
 "Seems to me that word is a little strong for those 
 who put up their rings and stuff last night," said 
 Udell; "and anyway, I know one in the crowd who 
 was in earnest." 
 
 "You are right, George," returned Dick. "I spoke 
 harshly. I know there are earnest ones in the church, 
 but I don't see how they stand it. But you're dodg- 
 
 163 
 
THAT PKIKTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 ing my question. Do you believe in Christ as the 
 Saviour of men ?'' 
 
 "Folks say that I'm an infidel," answered George. 
 
 "I don't care what folks say," said Dick. "I want 
 to know what you think about it." 
 
 "I don't know," said George. "Sometimes, when I 
 listen to the preachers, I get so befuddled and mixed 
 up that there's nothing but a big pile of chaif, with 
 now and then a few stray grains of truth, and the par- 
 son keeps the air so full of the dust and dirt that 
 you'd rather he wouldn't hunt for the grain of truth 
 at all. Then I'm an infidel. And again I see some- 
 thing like that last night, and I believe it must be 
 true. And then I think of Clara, and am afraid to 
 believe because I fear it's the girl and not the truth 
 I'm after. You see, I want to believe so bad that I'm 
 afraid I'll make myself believe what I don't believe. 
 There, now you can untangle that while you run off 
 that batch of cards. It's half-past eight now and we 
 have not done a blessed thing this morning." He 
 turned resolutely to his task of setting up another 
 speech for the local politician. 
 
 "George, what in the world does this mean ?" asked 
 Dick, about two hours later, holding up a proof sheet 
 that he had just taken from the form which George 
 had placed on the stone, and reading, "When Patrick 
 Henry said, ^Give me liberty or give me Clara,' he 
 voiced a sentiment of every American church mem- 
 ber." 
 
 George flushed. "Guess you'd better set up the rest 
 of this matter," he said gruffly. "I'll run the press 
 awhile." He laid down his stick and put the com- 
 
 164 
 
THAT PEINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 posing case between himself and Dick as soon as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 "That bloomin' politician must be crazy," said the 
 boy, as he scrubbed wearily at an inky roller, with a 
 dirty rag. "Old Pat. Henry never said no such stuff 
 as that, did he George ?'' 
 
 "You dry up,'' was all the answer he received. 
 
 All that week and the week following, Dick's mind 
 fastened itself upon the proposition : Jesus Christ 
 is the Son of God, and the Saviour of men. At in- 
 tervals during working hours at the office, he argued 
 the question with Udell, who after his strange ren- 
 dering of the great statesman's famous speech, had 
 relapsed into infidelity, and with all the strength of 
 his mind, opposed Dick in his growing belief. Dick 
 spent his evenings with Charlie Bowen, in discussing 
 the same question. And here it was Charlie who 
 assumed the affirmative and Dick as stoutly cham- 
 pioned Udell's position. At last, one day when Dick 
 had driven his employer into a corner, the latter 
 ended the debate forever, by saying rather sharply, 
 "Well, if I believed as you do, I'd stand before men 
 and say so. ^o matter what other folks believed, did 
 or said, if a man was so good as to give me all the 
 things that you say Christ has given to the world, I 
 would stand by him, dead or alive. And I don't see 
 why you can't be as honest with Him as you are with 
 men." And Charlie clinched the matter that evening 
 by saying, "Dick, if I thought you really believed 
 your own arguments, I wouldn't talk with you five 
 minutes, for the doctrine you are teaching is the most 
 hopeless thing on earth. But I can't help feeling that 
 
 165 
 
THAT PKIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 if you would be as honest with yourself as you are 
 with others, you wouldn't take that side of the ques- 
 tion. Suppose you preach awhile from your favorite 
 Shakespeare, taking for your text, 
 *This above all : 
 To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man.' " 
 There were no more arguments after that, but Dick 
 went over in his mind the experience of the past ; how 
 he had seen, again and again, professed Christians 
 proving untrue to their Christ. He looked at the 
 church, proud, haughty, cold, standing in the very 
 midst of sin and suffering, and saying only, "I am 
 holier than thou." He remembered his first evening 
 in Boyd City, and his reception after prayer-meeting, 
 at the church on the avenue, and his whole nature 
 revolted at the thought of becoming one of them. 
 Then he remembered that meeting of the young peo- 
 ple and the unmistakable evidence of their love, and 
 the words of Uncle Bobbie in the printing office that 
 rainy night : "You'll find out, same as I have, that it 
 don't matter how much the other fellow dabbles in the 
 dirt, you've got to keep your hands clean anyway. 
 And it ain't the question whether the other fellow is 
 mean or not, but am I living square ?" 
 
 And so it was, that when he went to church the 
 next Sunday evening, his heart was torn with conflict- 
 ing emotions, and he slipped into a seat in the rear of 
 the building, when the ushers were all busy, so that 
 even Charlie did not know he was there. Cameron's 
 sermon was from the text, "What is that to thee? 
 
 166 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Follow thou me.'' And as he went on with his ser- 
 mon, pointing out the evils of the church, saying the 
 very things that Dick had said to himself again and 
 again, but always calling the mind of his hearers back 
 to the words of Jesus, ^^What is that to thee ? Follow 
 thou me," Dick felt his objections vanish, one by one, 
 and the great truth alone remain. The minister 
 brought his talk to a close, with an earnest appeal for 
 those who recognized the evils that existed in the 
 church because it was not following Christ as closely 
 as it ought, to come and help right the wrongs. Dick 
 arose, went forward, and in a firm voice answered the 
 question put by the minister, thus declaring before 
 men his belief in Christ as the Son of God, and ac- 
 cepting Him as his personal Saviour. 
 
 As he stood there, the audience was forgotten. The 
 past, with all its mistakes and suffering, its doubt 
 and sin, came before him for an instant, then van- 
 ished, and his heart leaped for joy, because he knew 
 that it was gone forever. And the future, made 
 beautiful by the presence of Christ and the convic- 
 tion that he was right with God, stretched away as 
 a path leading ever upward, until it was lost in the 
 glories of the life to come, while he heard, as in a 
 dream, the words of his confessed Master, "Follow 
 thou me." 
 
 ler 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 ADAM GOODRICH ALSO TAKES A STAND 
 
 EORGE was busy in the stock room getting 
 out some paper for a lot of circulars that 
 Dick had just finished setting up, when the 
 door opened and Amy Goodrich entered. "Good 
 morning, Mr. Falkner," she said as Dick left his work 
 and, went forward to greet her. "I must have some 
 new calling cards. Can you get them ready for me 
 by two o'clock this afternoon? Mamma and I had 
 planned to make some calls and I discovered only 
 last night that I was out of cards. You have the plate 
 here in the office, I believe." 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, "the plate is here. I guess we 
 can have them ready for you by that time." 
 
 "And Mr. Falkner," said the girl, "I want to tell 
 you how glad I was when you took the stand you did 
 Sunday night." 
 
 Dick's face flushed and he looked at her keenly, as 
 she continued, "I have thought for a long time, that 
 you would become a Christian, and have often 
 wondered why you waited. The church needs young 
 men and you can do so much good." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Dick, politely. "I am 
 sure that your interest will be a great inspiration to 
 me, and I shall need all the help I can get. In fact, 
 we all do, I guess." 
 
 168 
 
 ^l^M. 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 A shadow crossed her beautiful face, and a mist 
 dimmed the brightness of the brown eyes for a mo- 
 ment before she replied. "Yes, we do need help ; all 
 of us ; and I am sure you will aid many. Will you 
 enter the ministry V' 
 
 "Enter the ministry ?" replied Dick forgetting his 
 studied coolness of manner. "What in the world 
 suggested that ? Do I look like a preacher ?" 
 
 They both laughed heartily. 
 
 "Well no, I can't say that you do. At least I 
 wouldn't advise you to go into the pulpit with that 
 apron and that cap on; and the spot of ink on the 
 end of your nose is not very dignified," said Amy. 
 
 Dick hastily applied his handkerchief to the spot, 
 while Amy, like a true woman, stood laughing at his 
 confusion. "But seriously," she added, after a mo- 
 ment, "I was not joking. I do think you could do 
 grand work if you were to enter the field. Somehow, 
 I have always felt that you exerted a powerful influ- 
 ence over all with whom you came in touch. Let me 
 make a prophecy; you will yet be a preacher of the 
 gospel." 
 
 "I'm sure," said Dick, "that if I truly came to be- 
 lieve it to be my work, I would not refuse. But that 
 is a question which time alone can answer. Do you 
 remember the first time we met ?" 
 
 "Indeed I do," the girl replied, laughing again. 
 "It was right here, and you met with an accident at 
 the same time." 
 
 Dick's face grew red as he muttered, "I should say 
 I did ; I acted like a frightened fool." 
 
 "Oh, but you redeemed yourself beautifully 
 
 169 
 
THAT PKIISTTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 though," Amy replied, "I have one of those little 
 books yet. I shall always keep it ; and when you get 
 to be a famous preacher, I'll exhibit my treasure, and 
 tell how the Rev. Mr. Kichard Falkner sat up late one 
 night to design the cover for me, when he was only a 
 poor printer." 
 
 "Yes," retorted Dick, "and I'll tell the world how 
 I went to my first church social, and what a charming 
 young lady I met, who told me how much I reminded 
 her of someone she knew." 
 
 It was Amy's turn to blush now, and she did so 
 very prettily as she hurriedly said, "Let's change the 
 subject. I ought not to be keeping you from your 
 work. Mr. Udell will be asking me to stay away from 
 the office." 
 
 "Oh, we're not rushed to-day," said Dick, hastily, 
 "and I'll make up all lost time." 
 
 "So you consider this lost time, do you?" with a 
 quick little bow. "Thank you, then it's surely time 
 for me to go," and she turned to leave the room, but 
 Dick checked her. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Goodrich, you know I did not mean 
 that." Something in his voice made her eyes drop 
 as he added, "You don't know how much I enjoy 
 talking with you; not that I have had many such 
 pleasures though, but just a word helps me more than 
 I can say." He stopped, because he dare not go 
 farther, and wondered at himself that he had said 
 even so much. 
 
 "Do you really mean, Mr. Falkner, that you care 
 at all for my friendship ?" she asked. 
 
 170 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "More than for the friendship of any one in the 
 world," he replied, earnestly. 
 
 "WhyT she said. 
 
 Dick was startled and turned away his head lest 
 his eyes reveal too much. "Because," he said slowly, 
 ''your friendship is good for me and makes me want 
 to do great things." 
 
 "And yet, if I were not a member of the church 
 you would not think that way," Amy replied. 
 
 "I would think that way, no matter what you 
 were," said Dick. 
 
 "You would still value my friendship if I should 
 do some awful wicked thing ?" she asked. "Suppose 
 I should leave the church, or run away, or steal, or 
 kill somebody, or do something real terrible ?" 
 
 Dick smiled and shook his head. "Nothing you 
 could ever do would make me change. But tell me," 
 he added; "you're not thinking of giving up your 
 church work, are you ?" 
 
 "Why do you ask ?" she said quickly. 
 
 "You'll pardon me won't you, if I tell you," said 
 Dick. "I can't help noticing that you are not so much 
 at the meetings of the society as you were ; and that — 
 well — ^you don't seem — somehow — to take the interest 
 you did. And you have given up your class at the 
 South Broadway Mission." 
 
 "How do you know that ?" asked Amy. 
 
 "I asked Brother Cameron if there was any place 
 for me out there, and he said, *Yes', that your class 
 was without a teacher now," Dick replied. 
 
 "So you are to have my boys at the Mission. Oh, 
 
 171 
 
THAT PKI:^^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 I am so glad." And her eyes filled. "Don't let them 
 forget me altogether, Mr. Falkner." 
 
 "But won't you come back and teach them your- 
 self ?" he pleaded. 
 
 "N"o, no; you do not understand; I must give it 
 up," said Amy regretfully. "But you'll do better 
 than I anyway, because you can get closer to them. 
 You understand that life so well." 
 
 "Yes," he said, very soberly. "I do understand 
 that life very well indeed." 
 
 "Oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to pain you." She 
 laid her hand timidly on his arm. "I admire you so 
 much for what you have overcome, and that's what 
 makes me say that you can do a great deal, now that 
 you are through with it. You must forget those 
 things that are behind, you know." 
 
 "Yes," murmured Dick, "those things are behind, 
 and I can do all things through Him ; but may I also 
 have the help of thinking of you as my friend ?" 
 
 Amy blushed again. "Please notice," said Dick, 
 quietly, "I said of thinking of you as my friend." 
 
 The girl put out her hand. "Mr. Falkner, just as 
 long as you wish, you may think of me as your friend. 
 But I want you to pray for me, that I may be worthy 
 of your friendship, for I, too, have my battles to 
 fight." And she smiled. "Good-bye. You were so 
 funny when you fell off the stool that day, but I like 
 you better as you are now." Then suddenly the room 
 grew dark and close, and as Dick turned again to his 
 work, he heard a voice within whispering, "Only in 
 your thoughts can she be your friend." 
 
 Adam Goodrich was just coming out of the express 
 
 172 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 office, which was in the same block as the printing 
 establishment, when he saw his daughter leave the 
 building and cross the street. All that day the inci- 
 dent persisted in forcing itself upon his mind, and 
 that night, after the younger members of the family 
 had retired, and he and Mrs. Goodrich were alone, 
 he laid aside his evening paper and asked, "What 
 was Amy doing at Udell's place today ?" 
 
 "She went to have some calling cards printed," 
 said Mrs. Goodrich. "Why, what made you ask ?" 
 
 "Oh nothing. I saw her coming from the build- 
 ing, and I wondered what she was doing there, that's 
 all." He picked up his paper again, but in a mo- 
 ment laid it down once more. "That fellow Falkner 
 joined the church last Sunday night." 
 
 "So Frank told me," answered Mrs. Goodrich. "I 
 do wish Reverend Cameron would be more careful. 
 He gets so many such characters into the church. 
 Why can't he keep them out at the mission where 
 they belong, and not force us to associate with them ?" 
 
 Mr. Goodrich spoke again. "I suppose he will be 
 active in the Young People's Society now. Does Amy 
 still take as much interest there as she did ?" 
 
 "Oh no, not nearly as much as she used to," replied 
 Mrs. Goodrich. "I have tried to show her that it 
 was not her place to mix in that kind of work, and 
 she's beginning to understand her position, and to see 
 that she can't afford to lower herself and us, by run- 
 ning after such people. I don't understand where she 
 gets such low tastes." 
 
 "She don't get them from the Goodrich's, I'm 
 sure," answered Adam. "You know our family was 
 
 173 
 
THAT PKIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 never guilty of anything that could compromise their 
 standing in society." 
 
 ^'Well, she will outgrow it all in time, I am sure. I 
 have been as careful in her training as I could, Mr. 
 Goodrich," said his wife. "It is a hard task to raise 
 girls, and make them understand their position when 
 they're Amy's age; but she's taking up her social 
 duties again now. We are to make some calls tomor- 
 row, and Thursday night, she has accepted an invita- 
 tion to the card party at Mrs. Lansdown's; and Mr, 
 Whitley has called frequently of late. I have great 
 hopes, for she seems to be quite interested in him," 
 
 "Yes," agreed Adam. "Whitley is worth while; 
 he is of a good family, and without doubt, the rich- 
 est man in Boyd City. It would be a great thing for 
 us. It's time he was thinking about a wife too. He 
 must be well on toward forty," 
 
 "Oh dear no; he can't be more than thirty-five," 
 continued Mrs. Goodrich. "He was quite young 
 when he went abroad, and you remember that was 
 only five years ago." 
 
 "Well, well, it's no matter; he's young enough. 
 But does she see much of that printer of Udell's?" 
 Adam asked. 
 
 "Why, of course not ; what a question. She would 
 have nothing to do with him," replied Mrs. Goodrich 
 indignantly. 
 
 "But," Adam argued, "she has met him at the so- 
 cials and in the society. He would naturally pose as 
 a sort of hero, for he was the one who suggested that 
 fool plan that Cameron is working on ; and now that 
 he has joined the church, she must see more or less of 
 
 174 
 
THAT PRII^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 him. I tell you, he's a sharp fellow. Look how he 
 has been quietly worming himself into decent society 
 since he got hold of that reading room. There is no 
 knowing what such a man will do, and Amy naturally 
 would be a good mark for him." 
 
 "I'm sure I am doing the best I can," faltered Mrs. 
 Goodrich; "But you'd better talk to her yourself; 
 with Mr. Whitley so interested, we must be careful. 
 I do wish she would be more like Frank. He has 
 never given us a moment's trouble." 
 
 "Yes," said the father, with no little pride mani- 
 fest in his voice and manner. "Frank is a Goodrich 
 through and through. Amy seems to take more after 
 your people." 
 
 Mrs. Goodrich sighed. "I'm sorry, but I don't 
 see how I can help it." 
 
 The next day, after dinner, Mr. Goodrich found 
 his daughter alone in the library, where she had 
 gone with a bit of fancy work, which girls manage to 
 have always about them. "Frank tells me that Mr. 
 Falkner has united with the church," he remarked, 
 carelessly. 
 
 "Yes," said Amy, "I am so glad. The church 
 needs such young men, I think." 
 
 "He is quite a shrewd fellow, isn't he ?" continued 
 her father. 
 
 "He's very intelligent, I'm sure," said Amy. "You 
 know it was he who proposed the plan for our new in- 
 stitution, and Mr. Wicks and Brother Cameron think 
 it is very fine." 
 
 "Yes," continued her father cunningly. "Does he 
 use good language in his conversation ?" 
 
 175 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Oh yes sir, indeed," said Amy. "He is a very in- 
 teresting talker. He has traveled so much, and has 
 read almost everything. I tell him I think he ought 
 to preach." 
 
 "Hum. And will he, do you think ?" asked Adam. 
 
 And Amy replied, "He said he would if he were 
 convinced it was his work." 
 
 "Where did he live before he came here ?" persisted 
 Adam. 
 
 "Oh, he has lived in nearly all the big cities. He 
 was in Kansas City last," she said. 
 
 Then Adam queried, "And what did his father 
 do?" 
 
 Amy, with frank innocence, replied: "His mother 
 died when he was a little boy, and his father drank 
 himself to death, or something. He won't talk about 
 his family much. He did say though, that his father 
 was a mechanic. I believe that he tells Mr. IJdell 
 more about his past than anyone." 
 
 "And did Udell tell you all this ?" asked her father 
 in seeming surprise. 
 
 "No," answered Amy, who suddenly saw what was 
 coming. 
 
 "How do you know so much about him then ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 And she answered, "He told me." 
 
 "Indeed," he said. "You seem to be on very good 
 terms with this hero. How long were you at the 
 printing office yesterday ? I saw you leaving the build- 
 ing." 
 
 Amy was silent, but her burning cheeks convinced 
 her father that he had cause to be alarmed. 
 
 176 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Did you talk with him when you were there ?" he 
 continued. 
 
 "Yes sir," said Amy; "He waited on me." 
 
 "And do you think it is a credit to your family to 
 be so intimate with a tramp who was kicked out of 
 my place of business ?" asked Adam harshly. 
 
 "Oh father, that is not true — I mean, sir, that you 
 do not understand — Mr. Falkner is not a tramp. He 
 was out of work and applied to you for a place. 
 Surely that is not dishonest. And that he wanted to 
 work for you ought not to be used against him." She 
 spoke rapidly in her excitement, and continued, "He 
 has never in any way shown himself anything but a 
 gentleman, and is much more modest and intelligent 
 than many of the young men in Boyd City who have 
 fine homes. I am sure we ought not to blame him be- 
 cause he has to fight his own way in the world, 
 instead of always having things brought to him. If 
 you knew him better, you wouldn't talk so." 
 
 "You seem to know him very well when you cham- 
 pion him so strongly that you call your own father 
 a liar," replied Adam, angrily. 
 
 "Oh papa," said Amy, now in tears. "I did not 
 mean to say that. I only meant that you were mis- 
 taken because you did not know. I cannot help talk- 
 ing to Mr. Falkner when I meet him in the Young 
 People's Society. I have not been anywhere in his 
 company, and only just speak a few words when we 
 do meet. You wouldn't have me refuse to recognize 
 him in the church, would you ? Surely, father, Christ 
 wants us to be helpful, doesn't He ?" 
 
 177 
 
THAT PRII^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Christ has nothing to do with this case," said 
 Adam. "I simply will not have my daughter asso- 
 ciating with such characters ; and another thing, you 
 must give up that mission business. I believe that's 
 where you get these strange ideas." 
 
 "I have already given up my work there," said 
 Amy, sadly. "Mr. Falkner has taken my class." 
 
 "Which is just the place for him," continued her 
 father wrathfuUy. "But don't you go there again. 
 And if you have any printing that must be done at 
 UdelFs, send it by Frank, or someone. You under- 
 stand, I forbid you to have any conversation whatever 
 with that man. I'll see if such fellows are going to 
 work themselves into my family." 
 
 Amy's face grew crimson again. "You must 
 learn," went on the angry parent, "that the church 
 is a place for you to listen to a sermon, and that it's 
 the preacher's business to look after all these other 
 details; that's what we hire him for. Let him get 
 people from the lower classes to do his dirty work; 
 he sha'n't have my daughter. Christianity is all 
 right, and I trust I'm as good a Christian as anyone ; 
 but a man need not make a fool of himself to get to 
 heaven, and I'm only looking out for my own fam- 
 ily's interest. If you wish to please me you will drop 
 this Young People's foolishness altogether, and go 
 more into society. I wish you would follow Frank's 
 example. He is a good church member but he don't 
 let it interfere with his best interests. He has plenty 
 of friends and chooses his associates among the first 
 families in the city. He doesn't think it necessary to 
 take up with every vagabond Cameron chooses to drag 
 
 178 
 
THAT PKmTEK OF UDELL^S 
 
 into the church. Remember, it must stop." And the 
 careful father took his hat and left for the place on 
 Broadway, where on the shelves and behind the coun- 
 ters of his hardware store he kept the God he really 
 worshipped. 
 
 179 
 
B; 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 GOING IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS 
 
 I HE year following Dick's stand for Chris- 
 tianity, in the park on West Fourth Street, 
 near the outskirts of the city, there was es- 
 tablished an open air theater, which was advertised 
 by its enterprising manager as a very respectable 
 place, well looked after by the police. It is true that 
 the shows were but cheap variety and vulgar bur- 
 lesque, and of course liquor, as well as more harmless 
 drinks, was sold freely; and equally of course, the 
 lowest of the criminal classes were regular attendants. 
 But with all that, there was something wonderfully 
 fascinating in the freedom of the place. And all too 
 often, on a Sunday evening, while the pure, fragrant 
 air of summer was polluted by the fumes of tobacco 
 and beer, while low plays were enacted on the stage, 
 and the sound of drunken laugh or shout went out, 
 young men and women mingled, half frightened, in 
 the careless throng. 
 
 Among a certain set of Boyd City's gay young so- 
 ciety people, to spend an evening at the park was 
 just the thing to do; and often they might be seen 
 grouped about the tables, sipping their refreshments, 
 while laughing at the actors on the stage, or chatting 
 and joking among themselves. 
 
 On a certain evening in August, one such party 
 was even gayer than usual, and attracted no little at- 
 
 180 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 tention from the frequenters of the place, as well as 
 from the employes. Waiters winked at each other 
 and made remarks, as they hurried to and fro attend- 
 ing to the wants of their guests, while people with 
 less wealth looked on in envy at the glittering show. 
 The gentlemen were in evening dress, the ladies 
 gowned in the latest fashion, jewels and trinkets 
 flashed, eyes sparkled, cheeks glowed, as story and 
 jest went round, while the ladies sipped their refresh- 
 ing sodas and the men drank their wine. 
 
 One of the younger girls seemed a little frightened 
 for a moment as she caught the eye of a waiter fas- 
 tened upon her in anything but a respectful glance, 
 and gave the fellow such a look in return that he 
 dropped a napkin in his confusion. "I tell you, BilF' 
 he said to his companion at the bar, where he had 
 gone to get more drinks for the company, "that's a 
 fast lot all right, but there's one in the bunch that 
 can't go the pace." 
 
 But the waiter was evidently mistaken, for that 
 same girl, after a glance around which revealed to 
 her that she and her companions were the center of 
 all eyes, tossed her head as though getting rid of some 
 unpleasant thoughts, and turning to her escort, with 
 a reckless laugh, asked him why he kept the best for 
 himself. "I don't think it fair, girls," she declared in 
 a loud voice. "We have as good a right to that nice 
 wine as the boys have. I move that we make them 
 treat us as well as they treat themselves." 
 
 "Done," cried one of the men before the others 
 could object, even had they so desired ; and in a mo- 
 ment another bottle, with more glasses, was set be- 
 
 181 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 fore them. The girl who had proposed the thing 
 drank only a little. Something seemed to choke her 
 when she lifted the glass to her lips, and she set it 
 down again almost untasted. "Ugh," she said, "I 
 don't like it," and a laugh went around at her ex- 
 pense. 
 
 "Take it. Take it. You must. You started it 
 you know," said one of the company banteringly. 
 
 "I can't," she protested. "Here Jim," to her com- 
 panion, who had already taken more than was good 
 for him. "You must help me out." And she handed 
 him the glass. 
 
 "Glad to help a lady always," he declared. 
 "N^otisch please, gen'lemen, I set y' good example. 
 Alwaysh come to the rescue of fair ones in trouble — " 
 He drained the glass. "Anybody else in trouble ?" he 
 said, looking around the table with a half tipsy grin. 
 But the other girls had no scruples and drank their 
 wine without a protest. 
 
 At last the party discovered that it was time to go 
 home, and indeed the garden was almost deserted. 
 One of the girls proposed that they walk, it was such 
 a beautiful night; and accordingly they set out, two 
 and two; the men reckless with wine; the young 
 ladies flushed and excited; all singing and laughing. 
 Not far from the park entrance, the girl who had pro- 
 posed the wine, and her Companion, who was by this 
 time more than half intoxicated, dropped a little be- 
 hind the others and soon turned down a side street. 
 
 "This is not the way, Jim," she said, in a tone of 
 laughing protest. 
 
 "Oh yesh 'tis. I know where'm goin'. Come 
 
 182 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 long." And he caught her by the arm. "IN'icesh 
 place down here where we can stop and resht," and 
 he staggered against her. 
 
 *^But I want to go home, Jim," said the girl, her 
 tone of laughing protest changing to one of earnest- 
 ness. "Father will be looking for me." 
 
 "Hang father," said the other. "Old man don't 
 know. Come on I tell you." And he tried to put his 
 arm about her waist. 
 
 The girl was now thoroughly frightened. "Stop 
 sir," she said. 
 
 "Why ? Whash ze matter m' dear ?" stammered the 
 other. "Whash ze harm — ^zash all — I'll take care you 
 all right — ol' man never know." And again he 
 clutched her arm. 
 
 This was too much, and giving the drunken wretch 
 a push, which sent him tumbling into the gutter, 
 where cursing fiercely he struggled to regain his feet, 
 the frightened girl, without pausing to see his condi- 
 tion, or listening to his calls and threats, fled down 
 the street. When her companion had at last man- 
 aged to stagger to the sidewalk and could look around 
 by clinging to the fence, she was out of sight. He 
 called two or three times, and then swearing vilely, 
 started in pursuit, reeling from side to side. The 
 terrified girl ran on and on, paying no heed to her 
 course, as she turned corner after corner her only 
 thought being to escape from her drunken and en- 
 raged companion. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dick Falkner was making his way 
 home after a delightful evening at the parsonage, 
 where he had talked with Cameron on the veranda 
 
 X83 
 
THAT PRIA^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 until a late hour. As he was walking leisurely along 
 through the quiet streets, past the dark houses, enjoy- 
 ing the coolness of the evening and thinking of the 
 things that he and Cameron had been discussing, his 
 ear caught a strange sound, that seemed to come from 
 within a half finished house on North Catalpa Street, 
 near the railroad. He paused a moment and listened. 
 Surely he was not mistaken. There it was again. The 
 sound of someone sobbing. Stepping closer and peer- 
 ing into the shadow, he saw a figure crouching behind 
 a pile of lumber. It was that of a woman. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madam, but can I be of any 
 help to you ?" he asked. 
 
 She started to her feet with a little cry. "Don't be 
 frightened," said Dick, in a calm voice. "I am a 
 gentleman. Come, let me help you." And stepping 
 into the shadow, he gently led her to the light, where 
 she stood trembling before him. "Tell me what — 
 My God! Amy — I beg your pardon — ^Miss Good- 
 rich." 
 
 "Oh Mr. Falkner," sobbed the poor girl, almost be- 
 side herself with fear. "Don't let than man come near 
 me. I want to go home. Oh, please take me home ?" 
 
 "There, there," said Dick, controlling himself and 
 speaking in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. "Of course 
 I'll see you home. Take my arm, please. You need 
 have no fear. You know I'll protect you." 
 
 Calmed by his voice and manner, the girl ceased 
 her sobbing and walked quietly down the street by his 
 side. 
 
 Dick's mind was in a whirl. Was he dreaming? 
 How came she here at such an hour. Who was she 
 
 184 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 afraid of? By her dress, she had been to a social 
 party of some kind ; what did it all mean ? But he 
 spoke no word as they walked on together. 
 
 "Oh look," exclaimed Amy, a few moments later, 
 as they turned east on Sixth Street; "there he is 
 again. Oh Mr. Falkner, what shall I do? Let me 
 go." And she turned to run once more. 
 
 Dick laid his hand on her arm. "Miss Goodrich, 
 don't you know that you are safe with me ? Be calm 
 and tell me what you fear." Something in his touch 
 brought Amy to herself again and she whispered, 
 "Don't you see that man standing there by the light ?" 
 She pointed to a figure leaning against a telephone 
 pole. 
 
 "Well, what of it ?" said Dick. "He won't hurt 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, but you don't understand. I ran away from 
 him. He is drunk and threatened me," answered 
 Amy excitedly. 
 
 Dick's form straightened and his face grew hard 
 and cold. "Ran away from him. Do you mean that 
 that fellow insulted you. Miss Goodrich?" 
 
 "I — I — ^was with him — and — he frightened me — " 
 gasped Amy. "Let's go the other way." 
 
 But they were too late. Amy's former escort had 
 seen them, and with uncertain steps approached. "Oh, 
 here you are," he said. "Thought I'd find you, my 
 beauty." 
 
 Dick whispered to Amy in a tone that compelled 
 obedience. "Stand right where you are. Don't move. 
 And you might watch that star over there. Isn't it a 
 beautiful one ?" He deftly turned her so that she 
 
 185 
 
THAT PKII^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 faced away from the drunkard. Then with three long 
 steps, he placed himself in the way of the half-crazed 
 man. 
 
 "Who are you ?" asked the fellow, with an oath. 
 
 "I^one of your business,'* replied Dick, curtly. 
 "I'm that girl's friend. Go to the other side of the 
 street." 
 
 "Ho, I know you now," cried the other. "You're 
 that bum printer of Udell's. Get out of my way. 
 That girl's a lady and I'm a gentleman. She don't go 
 with tramps. I'll see her home myself." 
 
 Dick spoke again. "You may be a gentleman, but 
 you are in no condition to see anybody home. I'll 
 tell you just once more ; cross to the other side of the 
 street." 
 
 The fellow's only answer was another string of vile 
 oaths, which however was never finished. 
 
 In spite of herself, Amy turned just in time to see 
 a revolver glisten in the light of the electric lamp ; 
 then the owner of the revolver rolled senseless into the 
 gutter. 
 
 "Miss Goodrich, I told you to watch that star. 
 Don't you find it beautiful ?" Dick's voice was calm, 
 with just a suggestion of mild reproach. 
 
 "Oh Mr. Ealkner, have you killed him ?" 
 
 "Killed nothing. Come." And he led her quickly 
 past the place where the self-styled gentleman lay. 
 "Just a moment," he said ; and turning back, he ex- 
 amined the fallen man. "Only stunned," he reported 
 cheerfully. "He'll have a sore head for a few days ; 
 that's all. I'll send a cab to pick him up when we 
 get down town." 
 
 186 
 
THAT PRIJSTTEK OF UDELI^S 
 
 "Mr. Falkner," said Amy, when they had walked 
 some distance in silence. "I don't know what you 
 think of finding me here at this hour, but I don't 
 want you to think me worse than I am." And then 
 she told him the whole story; how she had gone to 
 the park with her friends to spend the evening ; and 
 how they had a few refreshments. Dick ground his 
 teeth ; he knew what those refreshments were. Then 
 she told how her companion had frightened her 
 and how she had run until she was exhausted and had 
 stopped to hide in the unfinished house. "Oh, what 
 must you think of me ?" she said, at the point of 
 breaking down again. 
 
 "I think just as I always have," said Dick simply. 
 "Please calm yourself, you're safe now." Then 
 to occupy her mind, he told her of the work the 
 Young People's Society was doing, and how they 
 missed her there and at the mission. 
 
 "But don't you find such things rather tiresome, 
 you know?" she asked. "There's not much life in 
 those meetings seems to me ; I wonder now how I ever 
 stood them." 
 
 "You are very busy then ?" asked Dick, hiding the 
 pain her words caused him. 
 
 "Oh yes ; with our whist club, box parties, dances 
 and dinners, I'm so tired out when Sunday comes I 
 just want to sleep all day," replied Amy. "But one 
 must look after one's social duties, you know, or be a 
 nobody ; and our set is such a jolly crowd that there's 
 always something going on." 
 
 "And you have forgotten your class at the mission 
 altogether?" Dick asked. 
 
 187 
 
THAT PKII^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Oh no, I saw one of the little beggars on the street 
 this summer. It was down near the mission build- 
 ing, and don't you know, we were out driving, a whole 
 party of us, and the little rascal shouted: ^Howdy, 
 Miss Goodrich.' I thought I would faint. Just 
 fancy. And the folks did guy me good. The gentle- 
 men wanted to know if he was one of my flames, and 
 the girls all begged to be introduced; and don't you 
 know, I got out of it by telling them that it was the 
 child of a woman who scrubs for us." 
 
 Dick said nothing. "Could it be possible," he 
 asked himself, "that this was the girl who had been 
 such a worker in the church ?" And then he thought 
 of the change in his own life in the same period of 
 time; a change fully as great, though in another 
 direction. "It doesn't take long to go either way if 
 one only has help enough," he said, half aloud. 
 
 "What are you saying, Mr. Falkner ?" asked Amy. 
 
 "It's not far home now," answered Dick, and they 
 fell into silence again. 
 
 As they neared the Goodrich mansion, Amy 
 clasped Dick's arm with both her hands. "Mr. Falk- 
 ner," she said, "promise me that you will never speak 
 to a living soul about this evening." 
 
 Dick looked her straight in the eyes. "I am a gen- 
 tleman. Miss Goodrich," was all he said. 
 
 Then as they reached the steps of the house, she 
 held out her hand. "I thank you for your kindness 
 — and please don't think of me too harshly. I know 
 I am not just the girl I was a year ago, but I — do 
 you remember our talk at the printing oflSce ?" 
 
 "Every word," said Dick. 
 
THAT PEmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Well, has mj prophecy come true?'' asked Amy. 
 
 "About my preaching ?" said Dick. "I^o ; not yet." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean that," with a shrug of her shoul- 
 ders. "I mean about the other. Do you still value 
 my friendship ?" 
 
 Dick hesitated. "The truth, please," she said. "I 
 want to know." 
 
 "Miss Goodrich, I cannot make you understand; 
 you know my whole life has changed the last year." 
 
 "Yes," she volunteered. 
 
 "But my feelings toward you can never change. 
 I do value your friendship, for I know that your pres- 
 ent life does not satisfy you, and that you are untrue 
 to your best self in living it," continued Dick. 
 
 The girl drew herself up haughtily. "Indeed, you 
 are fast becoming a very proficient preacher," she 
 said, coldly. 
 
 "Wait a moment, please," interrupted Dick. "You 
 urged me to tell the truth. I desire your friendship, 
 because I know the beautiful life you could live, and 
 because you — ^you — could help me to live it," his 
 voice broke. 
 
 Amy held out her hand again. "Forgive me 
 please," she said. "You are a true friend, and I 
 shall never, never, forget you. Oh, Mr. Falkner, if 
 you are a Christian pray for me before it is too late. 
 Good night." And she was gone, just as her brother 
 Frank came up the walk. 
 
 Young Goodrich stopped short when he saw Dick 
 and then sprang up the steps and into the house, just 
 in time to see his sister going up the stairway to her 
 room. 
 
 189 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 AMY'S SUDDEN FLIGHT 
 
 I HE day following Amy's adventure with her 
 drunken escort, and her rescue by Dick 
 Falkner, Frank Goodrich had a long inter- 
 view with his father, which resulted in Adam calling 
 his daughter into his library that evening. Without 
 any preface whatever, he began in an angry tone : "I 
 understand. Miss, that you have disobeyed my express 
 commands in regard to that tramp printer, and that 
 you have been with him again ; and that, too, late at 
 night. Now I have simply to tell you that you must 
 choose between him and your home. I will not have 
 a child of mine keeping such company. You must 
 either give him up or go." 
 
 "But father, you do not know the circumstances or 
 you would not talk so," said Amy. 
 
 "1^0 circumstances can excuse your conduct; I 
 know you were with him and that is enough," replied 
 her father. 
 
 "Indeed I have not disobeyed you, father; you do 
 not understand; I was in Mr. Falkner's company 
 only by accident, and — " 
 
 "Stop. Don't add a falsehood to your conduct. I 
 understand quite enough," continued Adam, quite 
 beside himself. "Your own brother saw you bidding 
 him an affectionate good night at one o'clock, on my 
 doorstep. Such things do not happen by accident. I 
 wonder that you dare look me in the face after roam- 
 
 190 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 ing the streets at that time of night with such a dis- 
 reputable character." 
 
 "Father, I tell you you are mistaken. Won't you 
 please let me explain ?" said Amy, almost in tears. 
 
 But the angry man only replied, "^o explanation 
 can be made. Frank saw you himself and that's 
 enough ; no excuse can justify such conduct. I have 
 only to repeat that I will not own you as my daughter 
 if you persist in keeping such company." 
 
 Amy tried again to speak, but he interrupted her. 
 "Silence, I don't want to hear a word from you. Go 
 to your room." 
 
 Then the woman asserted herself and there were 
 no tears this time, as she said respectfully, but firmly, 
 "Father, you shall hear me. I am not guilty of that 
 of which you accuse me. I was in other company — 
 company of your own choosing, and to save myself 
 from insult I was forced to appeal to Mr. Falkner, 
 who brought me safely home. He is far more a 
 gentleman than the men I was with, even though they 
 are welcome at this home and he is not. I — " 
 
 Adam turned fairly green with rage. "You un- 
 grateful, disobedient girl. How dare you say that 
 this miserable vagabond is a fit associate for you, and 
 more worthy than the guests of my house ! You must 
 not think you can deceive me and clear yourself by 
 any trumped-up lie of his teaching. You may have 
 your tramp, but don't call me father. You are no 
 daughter of mine." And he left the room. 
 
 It is astonishing how little the proud man knew of 
 the real nature of his child ; a nature which rightfully 
 understood and influenced, was capable of any sacri- 
 
 191 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 fice, any hardship, for the one she loved ; but misun- 
 derstood or falsely condemned, was just as capable 
 of reckless folly or despair. A nature that would 
 never prove false to a trust, but if unjustly sus- 
 pected, would turn to the very thing of which it 
 stood accused. 
 
 The next morning Amy did not appear at break- 
 fast and the mother went to her room, while Mr. 
 Goodrich, impatient at the delay, stood with angry 
 eyes awaiting their appearance. 
 
 Frank came in. "Good morning, father," he said, 
 glancing about with an assumed expression of sur- 
 prise. "Where are Amy and mother? I thought I 
 heard the bell." 
 
 Adam grunted some reply and the son picked up 
 a week-old daily and pretended to be deeply inter- 
 ested. Suddenly a piercing scream reached their ears, 
 and a sound as of someone falling. With an exclama- 
 tion of alarm, Mr. Goodrich, followed by his son, hur- 
 ried from the dining-room and ran upstairs. The 
 door of Amy's apartment was open, and just inside, 
 prone upon the floor, lay Mrs. Goodrich, holding in 
 her hand a piece of paper. Adam, with the help of 
 his son, lifted his wife and laid her upon the bed, 
 which they noticed had not been occupied. For an 
 instant the two stood looking into each other's face 
 without a word, and then the older man said, "We 
 must take care of mother first. Call Dr. Gleason." 
 
 Under the advice of the physician, who soon came 
 in answer to Frank's telephone call, Mrs. Goodrich 
 was removed to her own room, and in a short time re- 
 gained consciousness, but fell to moaning and sob- 
 
 192 
 
THAT PKI:N^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 bing, "Oh, Amy — Amy — my poor child — my baby 
 girl — what have you done ? I never thought that you 
 would do a thing like this. Oh, my beautiful girl — 
 come back — come back — " And then when she be- 
 came calmer, she told them what they already knew ; 
 that she had found her daughter's room undisturbed, 
 with a note addressed to herself on the toilet table, 
 containing only a simple farewell message. 
 
 "There, there, wife, she's gone," said Adam, 
 clumsily trying to soothe the mother's anguish, but 
 finding that a tongue long accustomed to expressions 
 of haughty pride and bigotry, could but poorly lend 
 itself to softer words of comfort. "There, there, don't 
 cry, let her go. That scoundrel printer is at the bot- 
 tom of it all. Somehow the girl does not seem to take 
 after the Goodriches. Madam, please try to control 
 your feelings. You must not make yourself ill over 
 this matter." 
 
 Mrs. Goodrich, accustomed to obey, with a great 
 effort ceased the open expression of her grief. 
 
 "There can be no doubt but that she has gone with 
 that tramp," continued Adam. "I shall do what I 
 can to find her and give her one more chance. If she 
 acknowledges her fault and promises to do better she 
 may come home. If not, she shall never darken these 
 doors again." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Goodrich, don't say that," cried the 
 mother. "Think of that poor child on the streets all 
 alone. Perhaps you are mistaken." 
 
 ''Wliatf shouted Adam. "Am I to understand 
 that you take her part against me ?" 
 
 "INTo, no," murmured the frightened woman. 
 
 193 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I tell you, there can be no mistake," he said. 
 "You saw them, Frank, did you not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir,'' answered the son. 
 
 "You hear that, Mrs. Goodrich ? You will oblige 
 me by not mentioning this matter again." And hur- 
 riedly leaving the room, Adam went to his own 
 private apartment, where, after he had turned the key 
 in the door, he paced to and fro, the tears streaming 
 down his cheeks. But in a few moments, while he 
 made his preparations for going down the street, 
 thoughts of the curious faces he must meet aroused 
 the old pride and hardened his heart again. So that 
 when he left his home, not a trace of his worthier 
 feelings showed on his cold, proper countenance, ex- 
 cept that to the keen observer, he looked a little older 
 perhaps, and a trifle less self-satisfied. 
 
 His first visit was to the store, where he spent an 
 hour or two going over his correspondence, interview- 
 ing the head clerk and issuing his orders for the day. 
 Then taking his hat and cane, he left for Udell's 
 printing office. 
 
 The boy was away on an errand, and George had 
 stepped out for a few moments, so that Dick was 
 alone when Mr. Goodrich entered. Thinking that it 
 was Udell who had returned, he did not look up from 
 his work until he was startled by the angry voice of 
 his visitor. 
 
 "Well, sir, I suppose you are satisfied at last. 
 Where is my daughter ?" demanded Adam. 
 
 "Your daughter," said Dick, who had not heard of 
 Amy's sudden flight. "I'm sure, sir, that I do not 
 know." 
 
 194 
 
 ..,,AlS^,. 
 
THAT PKINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Don't lie to me, you scoundrel/' shouted Adam, 
 losing all control of himself. "You werre with her 
 last. You have been trying ever since you came here 
 to worm yourself into the society of your betters. Tell 
 me what you have done with her." 
 
 "Mr. Goodrich," said Dick, forcing himself to be 
 calm, "you must explain. It is true that I was with 
 your daughter night before last, but — " he hesitated ; 
 should he explain how he had found Amy ? — "I left 
 her safely at your door and have not seen her since." 
 Then he concluded. "Is she not at home ?" 
 
 Adam only glared at him. "She did not sleep at 
 home last night," he growled. 
 
 Dick's voice failed him for a moment. "Then she 
 must be stopping with some friend ; surely there is no 
 need for alarm." 
 
 "I tell you she's gone," said the other furiously. 
 "She left a letter. You are to blame for this. You 
 I say; and you shall suffer for it." He shook his 
 clenched fist at the young man. "If you have hidden 
 her anywhere I'll have your life, you miserable, low- 
 down vagabond. You have schemed and schemed un- 
 til you have succeeded in stealing her heart from her 
 home, and in disgracing me." 
 
 "Adam Goodrich, you lie," said Dick, pale with 
 mingled anxiety for the girl, and angry that her 
 father should thus accuse him. "Do you understand 
 me ? I say that you lie — that you are the most con- 
 temptible liar that I have ever known. Your whole 
 life is a lie." He spoke in a low tone, but there was 
 something underlying the quiet of his voice and man- 
 ner that contrasted strangely with the loud bluster 
 
 195 
 
THAT PEI:N^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 of the older man, and made the latter tremble. This 
 was a new experience for Adam, and something in the 
 manly face of the one who uttered these hard words 
 startled and frightened him. 
 
 ^' You have forced your daughter to drop her church 
 work,'' continued Dick. ^^You have goaded her into 
 the society of people whose only claim to respecta- 
 bility is their wealth. You value your position in the 
 world more than your daughter's character, and you 
 yourself are to blame for this. I tell you again, sir, 
 that you are a liar. I do not know where your daugh- 
 ter is, but if she is on earth I will find her and bring 
 her back to your home; not for your sake, but for 
 hers. 'Now go. Get out. The very atmosphere is 
 foul with your rotten hypocrisy." 
 
 "Whew!" whistled George a moment later, as he 
 stepped into the room, having passed Adam on the 
 stairway. "What's the matter with his Eoyal High- 
 ness, Dickie ? He looks like he had been in a boiler 
 explosion." But his expression changed when Dick 
 told him of the interview and apologized for driving 
 a good customer from the office. "Good customer!" 
 he shouted ; "good customer ! A mighty bad customer. 
 I say you'd better apologize for not throwing him into 
 the street. I'll never set up another line for him un- 
 less it's an invitation to his funeral." 
 
 For many days Dick searched for the missing girl, 
 bringing to bear all his painfully acquired knowledge 
 of life, and the crooked ways of the world. Though 
 unknown to Mr. Goodrich, the detective whom Dick 
 employed, was an old companion, and to the officer 
 only, he confided the full story of Amy's visit to the 
 
 196 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 park. But they only learned that she had boarded the 
 twelve-forty Kansas City Southern, for Jonesville, 
 and that a woman answering to her description had 
 stopped there until nearly noon the next day, when 
 she was seen in conversation with a man whose face 
 was badly bruised on the under left side of the chin. 
 The two had taken the same train east on the 
 "Frisco." They found also that her companion of 
 that night at the park, Jim Whitley, had hurriedly 
 left Boyd City on the morning train, over the 
 "Frisco," to Jonesville, and had not returned, nor 
 could his whereabouts be discovered. It was given 
 out to the public, among the society items of the 
 Whistler, that Whitley had been called suddenly to 
 the bedside of a sick friend ; but Dick and the detec- 
 tive knew better. 
 
 Gradually the interest on the part of the citizens 
 subsided, and the detective returned to other mys- 
 teries demanding his attention. Adam Goodrich re- 
 fused to talk of the matter, and gave no sign of his 
 sorrow, save an added sternness in his manner. But 
 the mother's health was broken ; and Frank, declaring 
 that he could not stand the disgrace, went for a long 
 visit to a friend in a neighboring city. Finally Dick 
 himself was forced to give up the search ; but though 
 baffled for a time, he declared to Udell and his pastor, 
 that he would yet bring Amy home as he had 
 promised her father. And while he went about his 
 work as usual, it was with a heavy heart, and a look 
 on his face that caused his friends who knew him best 
 to pity. 
 
 197 
 
CHAPTEB XVIIL 
 WHAT THE POCKETBOOK REVEALED 
 
 I HE summer passed and again the catalpa 
 trees shed their broad leaves, while the 
 prairie grass took on the reddish brown of 
 early fall. Jim Whitley suddenly returned to Boyd 
 City and Dick met him in the post-office. Not a word 
 passed between them, but an hour later a note was 
 put into Jim's hand by a ragged boot-black. 
 
 ^^George," said Dick, that afternoon as they were 
 locking up, "if you don't mind I believe I'll sleep in 
 my old bed in the office to-night." 
 
 Udell looked at his helper in astonishment. "What 
 in the world ?" he began ; then he stopped. 
 
 "I can't explain now," said Dick, "but please let 
 me have my way and say nothing about it to anyone ; 
 not even to Clara." 
 
 "Why sure, old man," said the other heartily; 
 "only I don't know why." He paused again ; then in 
 an anxious tone, "Dickie, I know it's hard, and 
 you've been putting up a great fight, but you're not 
 going to let go now ?" 
 
 "No, no, it's not that, old man. I'll explain some 
 day." And something in his face assured his friend 
 that whatever it was that prompted his strange re- 
 quest, Dick was still master of himself. 
 
 Late that night as Udell passed the office on his 
 way home, after spending the evening with Clara 
 
 198 
 
THAT PKi:NrTER OF IJDELL'S 
 
 Wilson, he was astonished to see Jim Whitley enter- 
 ing the building. He stood watching for a moment ; 
 then fearing possible danger to Dick, he ran lightly 
 up the stairs. But as he reached out to lay his hand 
 on the door latch, he heard a key turn in the lock and 
 his friend's voice saying, "I thought you would 
 come." George paused, and then with a shrug of his 
 shoulder, and a queer smile on his rugged face, he 
 turned and went softly down to the street again. 
 
 Dick and his visitor faced each other in the dimly 
 lighted office. 
 
 "Well," said Whitley, with an oath, "what do you 
 want?" 
 
 "I want you to take your hand out of your pocket 
 first," flashed Dick; "that gun won't help you any 
 to-night," and a heavy revolver in his own hand cov- 
 ered Whitley's heart. 
 
 His request was granted instantly. 
 
 "E'ow walk into the other room," commanded Dick. 
 
 They passed into the stock room, which was well 
 lighted. The windows were covered with heavy 
 paper ; the long table was cleared and moved out from 
 its place near the wall. 
 
 Dick closed the door and pointed to the table. "Lay 
 your gun there. Be careful," as Whitley drew his 
 revolver. Jim glanced once at the determined eyes 
 and steady hand of his master and sullenly obeyed. 
 "JSTow sit down." 
 
 Crossing the room, Whitley seated himself in the 
 chair indicated, which placed him in the full glare of 
 the light. Dick took the other chair facing him, with 
 the long table between them. Placing his weapon be- 
 
 199 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 side that of Whitley, within easy reach of his hand, 
 he rested his elbows on the table and looked long and 
 steadily at the man before him. 
 
 Jim was uneasy. ^'Well," he said at last, when 
 he could bear the silence no longer. ^^I hope you like 
 my looks." 
 
 "Your figure is somewhat heavier, but shaving off 
 your beard has made you look some years younger," 
 replied Dick, dryly. 
 
 The other started to his feet. 
 
 "Don't be uneasy," said Dick, softly resting his 
 hand on one of the revolvers ; "keep your seat please." 
 
 "I never wore a beard," said the other, as he 
 dropped back in his chair. "You are mistaken." 
 
 "Then how did you know the meaning of my note, 
 and why did you answer it in person ?" asked Dick. 
 "You should have sent the right man." 
 
 Whitley saw that he had betrayed himself but 
 made one more effort. 
 
 "I came out of curiosity," he muttered. 
 
 Dick laughed — a laugh that was not good to hear. 
 "I can easily satisfy you," he said ; "permit me to tell 
 you a little story." 
 
 Dick began : "The story commences in a little man- 
 ufacturing town a few miles from Liverpool, Eng- 
 land, just three years ago today." Beneath the un- 
 wavering eyes of the man leaning on the table Whit- 
 ley's face grew ghastly and he writhed in his chair. 
 "An old man and his wife, with their two orphaned 
 grand-sons, lived in a little cottage on the outskirts of 
 the town. The older of the boys was a strong man of 
 twenty; the other a sickly lad of eight. The old 
 
 200 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 people earned a slender income by cultivating small 
 fruits. This was helped out by the wages of the 
 older brother, who was a machinist in one of the big 
 factories. They were a quiet and unpretentious lit- 
 tle family, devout Christians, and very much at- 
 tached to each other. 
 
 "One afternoon a wealthy American, who was stop- 
 ping at a large resort a few miles from the village, 
 went for a drive along the road leading past their 
 home. As his carriage was passing, the little boy, who 
 was playing just outside the yard, unintentionally 
 frightened the horses and they shied quickly. At 
 the same moment, the American's silk hat fell in the 
 dust. The driver stopped the team and the frightened 
 lad picked up the hat and ran with it toward the car- 
 riage, stammering an apology for what he had done. 
 
 "Instead of accepting the boy's excuse, the man, be- 
 side himself with anger, and slightly under the influ- 
 ence of wine, sprang from the carriage, and seizing 
 the lad, kicked him brutally. 
 
 "The grandfather, who was working in his garden, 
 saw the incident, and hurried as fast as he could to 
 the rescue of the small boy. At the same time, the 
 driver jumped from his seat to protect the child, but 
 before they could reach the spot, the boy was lying 
 bruised and senseless in the dust. 
 
 "The old man rushed at the American in impotent 
 rage, and the driver, fearing for the grandparent's 
 safety, caught him by the arm and tried to separate 
 them, saying, ^You look after the boy. Let me settle 
 with him.' But the old man, who was deaf and could 
 not understand, thought that the driver, also an 
 
 201 
 
THAT PEIISTTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 American, was assisting his employer. In the 
 struggle, the American suddenly drew a knife, and in 
 spite of the driver's efforts to prevent it, struck twice 
 at his feeble opponent, who fell back into the arms of 
 his would-be protector, just as the older brother 
 rushed upon the scene. The American leaped into 
 the carriage and snatched up the lines. The mechanic 
 sprang after him, and as he caught hold of the seat 
 in his attempt to climb in, the knife flashed again, 
 cutting a long gash in his arm and hand and severing 
 the little finger. With the other hand, he caught the 
 wrist of the American, but a heavy blow in the face 
 knocked the mechanic beneath the wheels, and the 
 horses dashed away down the road. 
 
 "The driver was bending over the old man trying 
 to staunch the flow of blood, when several workmen, 
 attracted by the cries of the helpless grandmother, 
 who had witnessed the scene from the porch, came 
 running up. ^ 'E's one on 'em — 'e's one on 'em,' cried 
 the old lady. ' 'E 'eld my man while 'tother 'it 'im.' 
 
 "The driver instantly saw the mistake she was 
 making and realizing his danger, he ran down the 
 street and escaped as the workmen carried the body 
 of the old man into the house. Two days later, he 
 read in a Liverpool paper that the grandfather and 
 boy were both dead, and that the dying statement of 
 the old man, the testimony of the grandmother and 
 the brother, was that both the strangers were guilty. 
 
 "How the wealthy American made his escape you 
 know best. The driver shipped aboard a vessel bound 
 for Australia, and later, made his way home." 
 
 When Dick had finished his story, Whitley's face 
 
 202 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 was drawn and haggard. He leaped to his feet, but 
 Dick's revolver motioned him back. "What fiend told 
 you all this ?" he gasped hoarsely. "Who are you ?" 
 
 "I am the driver," replied Dick coolly. 
 
 Whitley sank back in his chair ; then suddenly he 
 broke into a harsh laugh. "You are a crazy fool. 
 Who would believe you ? You have no proof." 
 
 "Wait a bit," replied Dick, calmly. "There is an- 
 other chapter to my story. Less than a year after the 
 tragedy, the invalid grandmother died and the young 
 machinist was free to enter upon the great work of 
 his life, the bringing to justice of his brother's mur- 
 derer, or SiS he believed, murderers. He could find no 
 clue as to the identity of the obscure driver of the car- 
 riage, but with the wealthy American it was different, 
 and he succeeded at last in tracing him to his home in 
 this city. Unfortunately though, the long search had 
 left the young mechanic without means, and he ar- 
 rived in Boyd City in a penniless and starving condi- 
 tion, the night of the great storm winter before last. 
 You are familiar with the finding of his body." 
 
 Again Whitley sprang to his feet, and with an 
 awful oath exclaimed, "How do you know this ?" 
 
 Dick drew forth a long leather pocketbook, and 
 opening it, took out a package of papers, which he 
 laid on the table between the two revolvers. "There 
 is the story, written by his own hand, together with 
 the testimony of his grandfather and grandmother, 
 his own sworn statement, and all the evidence he had 
 so carefully gathered." 
 
 Whitley sprang forward ; but before he could cross 
 the room, both revolvers covered his breast. 
 
 203 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Stop!" cried Dick. The voice was calm and 
 steady, but full of deadly menace. 
 
 Whitley crouched like an animal at bay. The 
 hands that held the weapons never trembled ; the grey 
 eyes that looked along the shining barrels never wav- 
 ered. Slowly he drew back. "Kame your price," he 
 said sullenly ; "I am a wealthy man." 
 
 "You have not money enough to buy," said Dick in 
 a firm voice. 
 
 Whitley slunk back in his seat. "For God's sake, 
 put down those guns and tell me what you want." 
 
 "I want to know where you left Miss Goodrich," 
 Dick replied. 
 
 "What if I refuse to tell ?" said Whitley. 
 
 Dick laid a pair of handcuffs upon the table. 
 
 A cunning gleam crept into Whitley's eyes. "You'll 
 put them on yourself at the same time. The evidence 
 is just as strong against you." 
 
 "If it were not, I would have turned you over to 
 the law long ago," retorted Dick. 
 
 ''But you fool," said Whitley; "they'll hang you." 
 
 "That won't save you, and you'll answer to God 
 for another murder," said Dick threateningly. 
 
 Whitley, answered defiantly, "You would not 
 dare." 
 
 "I am innocent; you are the coward," accused 
 Dick. 
 
 Then Whitley gave up and told how he had met 
 Amy in Jonesville, and had taken her east to Buffalo, 
 where he had left her just before returning to Boyd 
 City. 
 
 "Did you marry her ?" asked Dick. 
 
 204 
 
 ifiik 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 Whitley shrugged his shoulders. "I am not look- 
 ing for a wife," he said. 
 
 "But was there no ceremony of any form?" per- 
 sisted Dick. 
 
 Again Jim shrugged his shoulders. "It was not 
 necessary." 
 
 It was Dick's turn to be agitated now; his hand 
 played nervously on the handle of his revolver. But 
 the other did not notice this. "Why did you leave her 
 so soon ?" 
 
 "I had business of importance at home," said 
 Whitley with a sneer. 
 
 Slowly the man behind the table rose to his feet, 
 his form trembling violently, his strong hands clinch- 
 ing and unclinching in his agitation. Slowly he 
 reached out and lifted the weapons of death from the 
 table; slowly he raised them. The criminal sat as 
 though fascinated; his face livid with fear. For a 
 full minute the revolvers covered the cowering vic- 
 tim ; then suddenly Dick's hands fell. 
 
 "Jim Whitley," he said, in a voice that was 
 strangely quiet. "If I were not a Christian, you 
 could not live a moment. !N'ow go!" He followed 
 him from the room and watched him dovm the stairs ; 
 then returning, he locked the door again, and throw- 
 ing himself on his bed, he wept as only a strong man 
 can, with great shuddering sobs, until utterly ex- 
 hausted, he fell into a stupor, where George Udell 
 found him the next morning. 
 
 Dick told his employer the whole story, and took 
 the first train east. That same day, Whitley left the 
 city. 
 
 206 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 A REVOLUTIONARY MOVEMENT 
 
 HITLEY'S sudden return to Boyd City, and 
 his departure so soon after, revived some 
 whispering gossip about Amy's strange dis- 
 appearance. And of course the matter was mentioned 
 at the Ministerial Association, which still held its 
 regular Monday morning meetings. Then, as was 
 natural, the talk drifted to the much discussed topic, 
 the low standard of morality in Boyd City. Old 
 Father Beason said, "Brethren, I tell you the condi- 
 tion of things in this town is just awful. I walked 
 down Broadway last Saturday night, and I declare I 
 could hardly get along. I actually had to walk out in 
 the street, there was such a crowd, and nearly all of 
 them young men and young women. I never saw any- 
 thing like it ; and there are all of these dives always 
 open, and always full. Candidly, brethren, what are 
 we doing ? I just tell you we are not doing one thing. 
 We are not beginning to touch the problem. It costs 
 just all we can scrape and dig to keep the churches 
 running, and so far as I know, only Brother Cameron 
 here has even attempted any aggressive work. Breth- 
 ren, I wish we could put our heads together and for- 
 mulate some plan that would stir this town and save 
 our boys and girls, who are growing up in utter dis- 
 respect for Christianity and the teaching of Christ." 
 "What we want here is a Young Men's Christian 
 
 206 
 
THAT PKi:^rTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Association/' exclaimed Reverend Hugh Cockrell. 
 "An association is the very thing for a town like this. 
 You all know how it operates. It doesn't conflict 
 with the work of the churches in the least. It fur- 
 nishes parlor, sitting room, libraries, gymnasium, 
 bath rooms, and all such things, at a very nominal 
 cost to young men. As I have said in our meetings 
 before, I think we ought to write to the state secre- 
 tary and get him to come here and look over the sit- 
 uation." 
 
 "That's all right. Brother Cockrell," said big 
 Brother Howell, rising to his feet and pushing his 
 hands deep into his pockets ; for the big minister was 
 lots more of a man than he was a preacher, and put 
 his hands into his pockets when he chose, without any 
 closely buttoned, clerical cut coat to prevent him. 
 "That's all right about the Young Men's Christian 
 Association. It's a good thing ; a splendid thing ; and 
 I'd like to see one started here in Boyd City; but a 
 dozen associations won't meet the needs of this place. 
 Those who could afford to pay the fee would enjoy 
 the parlors and baths ; those who could read might en- 
 joy the books ; and those who had worked in the mines 
 digging coal all day, might exercise in the gym- 
 nasium, but what about the hundreds of young men 
 who can't afford the fees, and don't want a parlor so 
 much as they want a bite to eat, or a gymnasium so 
 much as a bed, or a reading room so much as a job of 
 work? We need something in this town that will 
 reach out for the ignorant, fallen, hard-up, de- 
 bauched, degraded men and women." 
 
 Father Beason nodded emphatic approval. 
 
 207 
 
THAT PRIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," said the Reverend Jere- 
 miah Wilks, ^^what you brethren are going to do. If 
 you hit on any plan to raise the money for all this, I'd 
 like to know what it is. I'm going night and day 
 now, trying to raise the debt on our new organ, and 
 I've got to raise our benevolences yet; and besides 
 this, my own salary is behind. I'm doing more work 
 than any three preachers in the city. I tell you, the 
 men who have got the money are going to hang on to 
 it. There's Mr. Richman; I met him on the street 
 yesterday; he was talking with a friend; and I 
 stopped and said : ^Good morning, Brother Richman' 
 — ^he's not a member of any church you know. I only 
 called him brother to make him feel good you know. 
 He said: 'Good morning, reverend'; kind of short; 
 and then deliberately turned his back on me and went 
 on talking with his friend. I didn't like to leave him 
 like that, you know, for he's got a lot of money, I'm 
 told. And you know we preachers never would get 
 anything if we always quit like that; so I said, 
 'Brother Richman, I don't like to interrupt you, but 
 can't you give me a little something this morning? 
 I'm behind on our new organ, and on our benevo- 
 lences and some other things, and my own salary is 
 not all paid yet. I thought maybe you would help me 
 a little.' 
 
 "He looked at me a minute, then said with a sneer : 
 'I always like to know what returns I may expect for 
 the money I invest. I'm no church member and I 
 have no money to throw away. What do I get for it 
 if I give you kve dollars ?' 'Why,' I said, 'you might 
 be a Christian some day. Brother Richman, I'd like 
 
 208 
 
THAT PEIJSTTER OF UDELUS 
 
 mighty well to have you join my church. We'll all 
 pray for you if you'd like to have us.' And do you 
 believe it, he just stood there and laughed and 
 laughed ; and the other f ellov^r, he laughed too. Yes, 
 he did. Well, I didn't know what to do you know, 
 but I wanted that five dollars,, so I said : ^But won't 
 you help us a little. Brother Richman? It will be 
 very acceptable.' 
 
 ^' ^1 tell you, Mr. Wilks,' he said ; Vhen you can 
 show me that my money is doing some actual good 
 among the poor people in this city, or that it's saving 
 the young folks from the degrading influences here, 
 I'll invest; and until then, I'll keep my money, and 
 you can keep your prayers.' And do you know, he 
 wouldn't give me a cent." The Reverend Jeremiah 
 sat down with an air of mingled triumph and suffer- 
 ing, as much as to say, "See how gladly I bear perse- 
 cution for the Lord." 
 
 "I understand that Mr. Richman gave to Cam- 
 eron's institution though," big Brother Howell re- 
 marked. "How is it Brother Cameron ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Cameron, "he gave one hundred 
 dollars unsolicited, and promised more if it were 
 needed." 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; then the president 
 said, "Brother Cameron, would you mind telling the 
 association just how your work is conducted? I for 
 one, would like to know more about it, and perhaps 
 we could all adopt a similar plan. What would you 
 suggest as a remedy for the existing conditions in this 
 city?" 
 
 "As far as our work goes, we have hardly touched 
 
 209 
 
THAT FKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 the matter yet," replied Cameron. "There is room 
 for every church in the place; but what we need, I 
 feel sure, is a united effort, and — " 
 
 "Brethren," interrupted the Rev. Dr. Frederick 
 Hartzel, "I must beg that this useless discussion be 
 stopped. So far as I can see, all of this is of no profit 
 whatever. My time is altogether too valuable to waste 
 in such foolish talk as this. I endeavor to put some 
 thought into my sermons, and I cannot take this val- 
 uable time from my studies. If the association per- 
 sists in taking up the time of the meetings with such 
 subjects, instead of discussing some of the recent theo- 
 logical themes that are attracting the attention of the 
 clergy everywhere, I must beg that I be given 
 optional attendance. These new-fangled notions of 
 uneducated young men may be all right for some, but 
 you can't expect such men as myself to listen to them. 
 I move that we adjourn." 
 
 "Brother Cameron has the floor and I think the 
 brethren would like to hear him," suggested the presi- 
 dent. 
 
 "Brother President," said Cameron, calmly, before 
 others could speak, for he saw the light of righteous 
 indignation creeping into the eyes of big Brother 
 Howell ; "if the brethren wish to talk with me about 
 our work, they know that they are always welcome at 
 my home ; and I will be glad to discuss any plan for 
 reaching those for whom our Saviour died. I second 
 Eev. Dr. HartzePs motion to adjourn." And the 
 meeting was dismissed with prayer as usual, that God 
 would fill their hearts with love, and help them to do 
 
 210 
 
THAT PKIISrTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 their Master's work, as He would have it done, and 
 that many souls might be added to their number. 
 
 That evening, lost in troubled thought, the young 
 pastor of the Jerusalem Church sat alone before the 
 fire, in his little study. Once his wife knocked tim- 
 idly and opening the door, said, "James, dear, it's 
 time you're going to bed." 
 
 "]^ot now, Fanny," he answered ; and she, knowing 
 well what that tone of voice meant, retired to her 
 room, after seeing everything snug for the night. 
 
 The cocks were crowing midnight ; the fire burned 
 lower and lower. Once he impatiently hitched his 
 chair a little closer, but made no other move, until, 
 just as the clock chimed three, he arose stiffly to his 
 feet and stood shivering with cold, looking at the 
 blackened embers. Then he made his way to his 
 chamber, where he fell asleep as a man tired out with 
 a hard day's work. 
 
 All the next day he was silent and moody, saying 
 but little, and the following night sat once more alone 
 in his study, thinking, thinking, thinking, until again 
 the fire went out and he was cold. 
 
 "Fanny," he said, the next afternoon, as he entered 
 the kitchen and put his arm about his wife, where she 
 stood at the table busy with her baking. "Fanny, 
 what can we do for the young people of Boyd City ? 
 Amy is only one of many. The existing condition is 
 all the result of the do-nothing policy of the church, 
 and of the Goodrich type of Christian, who think 
 more of their social position than they do of the souls 
 of their children, or the purity of their characters." 
 
 "Oh, James, you oughtn't to say that. Mr. Good- 
 
 211 
 
THAT PRmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 rich may not look at these things as you do perhaps, 
 and we ought to remember his early training." 
 
 ^'Early training, bosh," answered the minister, los- 
 ing his patience. "You'd better say his lack of early 
 training. I tell you, Eanny, the true gentleman, 
 whether he be Christian or not, values character more 
 than position, while the sham aristocrat is a sham in 
 everything, and doesn't even laiow the real article 
 when he sees it." 
 
 "Oh, here, here," cried Mrs. Cameron, "that's not 
 the way for a preacher to talk." 
 
 "Preacher or no preacher, it's the truth," he re- 
 plied excitedly. "Let me forget that I belong to the 
 class that has produced such a thing as this kind of 
 religion, and remember that I am only a man. If the 
 ministers in this city cared half as much for the sal- 
 vation of souls and the teaching of Christ, as 
 they do for their own little theories and doctrines, the 
 world could not hold such a churchiiied hypocrite as 
 Adam Goodrich, and girls would not go wrong as his 
 poor child has done. The Rev. Ilartzel, D. D., is the 
 cause ; and if you go down on Fourth Street, or East 
 Third you can see the effect; egotism, bigotry, self- 
 ishness, man-made doctrines and creeds in the pulpit ; 
 saloons and brothels on the street ; church doors closed 
 over a mawkish sentimentality, and men and women 
 dying without shelter and without God. Truly we 
 need a preacher, with a wilderness training like John 
 the Baptist who will show us the way of the Lord, 
 rather than a thousand theological, hot-house posies, 
 who will show us only the opinions of the author- 
 ities." And the Reverend James tramped up and 
 
 212 
 
THAT PKINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 down the kitchen, speaking with all the vehemence of 
 a political spellbinder, until his wife caught him by 
 the coat and insisted that she wanted to be kissed. 
 When that operation was successfully performed, she 
 said, "]^ow run away to your study, dear, and don't 
 bother about this just now. You're excited." And 
 the preacher went, of course. 
 
 Though expressing themselves as very much 
 alarmed over the situation, and the condition of the 
 churches, the members of the Ministerial Associa- 
 tion went no farther in the matter than the discus- 
 sions at their regular meetings and private talks 
 from time to time. It would be hard to give a reason 
 why this was so if Cameron's criticisms were not 
 true ; but true they were and hence nothing was done. 
 Cameron, however, was much wrought up. He did 
 not in the least mind the Rev. Dr. Hartzel's opinion 
 of himself or his work, and cared not one whit that he 
 had been prevented from expressing himself to his 
 brethren. He did care, however, for the work itself, 
 regardless of the preachers, and the train of thought 
 which he had so often followed was stirred afresh in 
 his mind by the incident. With his heart so full of 
 the matter it was not at all strange that he should 
 preach another of his characteristic sermons on what 
 he called "Applied Christianity." 
 
 His church was crowded, as it always was on Sun- 
 day evenings, largely with young men and women, 
 though many business men were in attendance. 
 
 He introduced his subject by showing the purpose 
 and duty of the church : that it was not a social club, 
 not simply a place to see and be seen, not a musical 
 
 213 
 
THAT PRII^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 organization, and not an intellectual battlefield; but 
 that it was a place to build Christ-like characters, and 
 that the church had no excuse for existing, save as it 
 preached Christ's gospel and did His work. Then 
 he asked, ^'Is the church doing this ?" and called at- 
 tention to the magnificent buildings, expensive 
 organs, paid choirs, large-salaried preachers, while in 
 the same city hundreds and thousands of men and 
 women were going to eternal ruin. "Did Christ 
 make a mistake when he said, ^And I, if I be lifted 
 up, will draw all men unto myself ?' Or was it that 
 men were lifting up themselves instead of the 
 Master ?" 
 
 He showed that the reason why more laborers and 
 business men were not Christians was because Chris- 
 tianity had become, not a work, but a belief; that it 
 had grown to be, not a life, but a sentiment ; and that 
 laborers and business men had not much place for be- 
 liefs and sentiments. "The church," said Cameron, 
 "must prove herself by her works as did Christ, and 
 her work must be the same as Christ's." 
 
 His sermon caused a great deal of talk, of course. 
 'No preacher can branch out from the old, well-beaten 
 paths, without creating talk. He was roundly scored 
 by his brethren in the ministry, and accused of all 
 sorts of sensationalism, but bore it all without a word, 
 except to say, "I am glad if I can even stir you up 
 enough so that you will condemn me ; though I cannot 
 help but think that if you would spend the same 
 energy in trying to remedy the evils you well know 
 exist, you would do more for Christ and your fellow 
 
 men." 
 
 214 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 But to his wife he said, "I am convinced that if we 
 ever have a practical working plan for helping the 
 poor and needy, and for the protection of the boys 
 and girls in this city, on a scale sufficient to meet the 
 needs, even in a small way, it will come from the 
 citizens and not from the preachers. The world 
 really believes in Christ, but has lost confidence in the 
 church. And if some plan could be started, inde- 
 pendent of the churches, but on a Christian basis, I 
 believe it would succeed." 
 
 "Well," said his wife, with a smile, "I think I 
 know one preacher who will have a hand in it any- 
 way, and I know you do not include the Young Peo- 
 ple's Society with the church." 
 
 Cameron jumped to his feet and walked rapidly to 
 and fro in the room. "Fanny," he said at last, facing 
 his wife. And as he stood, with both hands in the side 
 pockets of his short coat, and his feet braced wide 
 apart, he looked so much a boy that she laughed as she 
 answered, "Yes sir, please, what have I done ?" 
 
 "Do you know that I am to speak at the regular 
 union meeting of the Young Peoples' Societies next 
 Sunday night ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes sir," she replied meekly. 
 
 "And you know," he said, that the subject of the 
 evening is, "Reaching the Masses." 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "And do you know what I am going to do ?" he 
 asked again. 
 
 "1^0 sir," answered his wife with an inquiring look. 
 
 "Well, just wait and see," and planting a kiss on 
 
 215 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 the upturned lips, he ran off to shut himself in his 
 study. 
 
 The practical Christian work of the home estab- 
 lished by the young people of the Jerusalem Church 
 and the remarkable success of the reading rooms, was 
 proving a great educational factor in the life of Boyd 
 City. The people were beginning to realize the value 
 of such work. And now the time was ripe for larger 
 things. As has been said, Cameron's sermon caused 
 no little talk, while the preachers did not hesitate to 
 help the matter along, and to keep the pot boiling by 
 the fire of their criticism. 
 
 It was a custom of the Young Peoples' Societies in 
 the city, to meet for union services once each month, 
 at which time one of the pastors would speak on some 
 topic of particular interest to young Christians, deal- 
 ing with social, civil, or political questions, from the 
 standpoint of Christianity, and this happened to be 
 Cameron's turn to deliver the address. The young 
 pastor was a favorite generally, in spite of his some- 
 what questionable standing with the theologians; so 
 when it was announced that he would speak, and that 
 the subject was one upon which he was known to have 
 strong ideas, the public looked forward to the meet- 
 ing with more than usual interest. When the time 
 came, Zion Church, which was the largest in the city, 
 was crowded to its utmost capacity. 
 
 Cameron began by reading from the twenty-fifth 
 chapter of Matthew, "Inasmuch as ye have done it 
 unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have 
 done it unto me." 
 
 Then he said that as his talk was in no way to be 
 
 216 
 
 ^m. 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 a sermon, he felt free to give himself more liberty 
 perhaps, than he would if delivering a pulpit dis- 
 course; and that he would discuss the question not 
 simply from the standpoint of Christianity, but from 
 that of good citizenship, and of the best interests of 
 the people as well. 
 
 The audience settled itself at these words and 
 waited breathlessly. 
 
 The speaker then laid down the proposition, that 
 the question of reaching the masses, did not have to 
 do simply with those who called themselves Chris- 
 tians, but with all society, all business, all govern- 
 ment; in fact, with all that touched mankind. He 
 showed how the conditions of the least of these gave 
 rise to bad conditions everywhere, and bred crime, 
 anarchy and animalism; and how that the physical, 
 moral and intellectual life of all men is concerned. 
 Then he took his hearers from street to street in their 
 own city, bidding them to look at the young men and 
 women on the corners, in the saloons and wine rooms, 
 and asked, without any reference to Christianity in 
 any way, "What will be the legitimate fruit of such 
 sowing ? What influence are we throwing about our 
 boys and girls, and upon what foundation are we 
 building our social, business and municipal life ?" 
 
 Then turning to Christians, he reviewed the grand 
 work that the church had done in the past, in mould- 
 ing the lives of men and nations ; and pleaded that she 
 prove true to the past by rising to the present and 
 meeting the problems of to-day. He called upon them 
 in the name of their common Master, to put their 
 minds to this question and to rest not from their study 
 
 217 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 until a practical solution had been found. He urged, 
 too, that those standing outside the church with idle 
 hands, content to criticize and condemn, were not do- 
 ing even so much as the institution with which they 
 refused to stand identified. ''I can see no difference," 
 he said, "and before God, I believe there is none, be- 
 tween an idle church member and a do-nothing man 
 of the world. They both stand on the same plane, 
 and that plane is the plane of death." 
 
 Then, after an earnest appeal that the teaching of 
 Jesus be applied, that the worth of souls be judged by 
 the price paid on Calvary, and that all men, within 
 and without the church, unite for the common cause, 
 humanity, he turned suddenly to the chairman and 
 said : "Mr. President, because of these things regard- 
 ing the church, which all men know to be true; be- 
 cause of these things regarding our city, which all 
 men know to be true ; for the sake of Christ and His 
 gospel, for the sake of our country and our laws, for 
 the love of our boys and girls, I suggest that each 
 society in this union appoint a committee of three 
 from their membership, each of these committees to 
 add to itself one good business man who believes in 
 the teaching of Christ, but who is not connected with 
 any church; the joint committee to meet in council 
 for the purpose of formulating some plan to meet the 
 needs of this city along the lines of our subject this 
 evening." 
 
 At this strange and unexpected ending of Cam- 
 eron's address, the audience sat astonished. Then, 
 from all over the house, voices were heard murmuring 
 approval of the plan. 
 
 218 
 
THAT PEIISTTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 Eeverend JeremiaJi Wilks was the first to speak. 
 "I'm heartily in favor of the suggestion," he said. "I 
 think it's a good thing. It will get some of our 
 moneyed men interested in the church and it will do 
 them good. I've often told our people that something 
 like this ought to be done, and I know the preachers 
 of the city will be glad to take hold of the matter and 
 help to push it along. I'll bring it before our Minis- 
 terial Association. You can count on me every time." 
 
 "But, Mr. President," said a strange gentleman, 
 when Jeremiah had resumed his seat, "is it the idea 
 of the gentleman who suggests this plan, that the 
 movement be under the control of or managed by the 
 ministers ?" 
 
 A painful hush fell over the audience. The presi- 
 dent turned to Cameron, who answered, "It is cer- 
 tainly not my idea that this matter be placed in the 
 hands of the ministers; whatever part they have in 
 the movement must be simply as Christian citizens of 
 this community, without regard to their calling." 
 
 The audience smiled. Rev. Dr. Frederick Hartzel 
 was on his feet instantly: "Ladies and gentleman, I 
 must protest. I do not doubt but that your young 
 brother here means well, but perhaps some of us, with 
 more experience, and with more mature thought, are 
 better able to handle this great question. Such a plan 
 as he has proposed is preposterous. A committee 
 without an ordained minister on it, thinking to start 
 any movement in harmony with the teaching of 
 Christ is utter folly. It is a direct insult to the clergy, 
 who, as you know, compose the finest body of men, 
 intellectually and morally, in the country. I must 
 
 219 
 
THAT PRmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 insist that the regularly ordained ministers of the city 
 be recognized on this committee." 
 
 Reverend Hugh Cockrell agreed with Hartzel, in a 
 short speech, and then Uncle Bobbie Wicks obtained 
 a hearing. 
 
 ^^I don't reckon that there's much danger of 
 Brother HartzeFs amendment goin' through, but I 
 just want a word anyhow. To-be-sure, you all know 
 me, and that I'm a pretty good friend to preachers." 
 The audience laughed. ^'I ain't got a thing in the 
 world agin 'em. To-be-sure, I reckon a preacher is 
 as good as any other feller, so long as he behaves 
 himself; but seein' as they've been tryin' fer 'bout 
 two thousand years to Rx this business, an' ain't done 
 nothin' yet, I think it's a mighty good ide' to give the 
 poor fellers a rest, and let the Christians try it fer a 
 speU." 
 
 "You've got to recognize the church, sir," cried 
 Hartzel; and Uncle Bobbie retorted: "Well, if we 
 recognize Christ, the church will come in all right, I 
 reckon." Which sentiment so pleased the people that 
 Cameron's suggestion was adopted. 
 
 And thus began the movement that revolutionized 
 Boyd City and made it an example to all the world, 
 for honest manhood, civic pride and municipal virtue. 
 
 330 
 
CHAPTEK XX. 
 THE TESTING OF A SOUL 
 
 HEN" Amy Goodrich went to her room after 
 the scene with her bigoted father, wounded 
 pride, anger at his injustice, and reckless 
 defiance filled her heart. Mrs. Goodrich had heard 
 the harsh words and quickly followed her daughter, 
 but Amy's door was locked. When she called softly 
 for admittance. Amy only answered between her sobs, 
 "]N^o, no, mamma; please go away. I want to be 
 alone." But the girl did not spend much time in 
 weeping. With a look of determination upon her 
 tear-stained face, she caught up a daily paper that 
 was lying where she had dropped it that morning, and 
 carefully studied the railway time-cards. Then re- 
 moving as far as possible the evidence of her grief, 
 she changed her dress for a more simple and service- 
 able gown, and gathering together a few necessary 
 articles, packed them, with her jewelry, in a small 
 satchel. She had finished her simple preparations^ 
 and was just writing the last word of her brief fare- 
 well message, when Mrs. Goodrich came quietly to the 
 door again. 
 
 Amy started to her feet in alarm when she heard 
 the low knock, and then as she listened to her mother's 
 voice softly calling her name, the hot tears filled her 
 eyes once more, and she moved as though to destroy 
 the note in her hand. But as she hesitated, her 
 
 221 
 
THAT PEIKTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 father's words came back: "You may have your 
 tramp, but don't call me father. You are no daughter 
 of mine," and a cruel something seemed to arrest her 
 better impulse and force her to remain silent. 
 
 Mrs. Goodrich, when she received no answer to her 
 call, thought that her daughter was sleeping, and with 
 a sigh of relief, went to her own room. A little 
 later, the father came upstairs and retired. Then 
 Frank returned home, and the trembling listener 
 heard the servants locking up the house. When all 
 was still, and her watch told her that it was a few 
 minutes past midnight, she carefully opened the door, 
 and with her satchel in hand, stole cautiously down 
 the stairs and out of the house. Hurrying as fast as 
 she could to Broadway, she found a cab, and was 
 driven to the depot on the east side. 
 
 As Amy stepped from the vehicle beneath the elec- 
 tric light and paused a moment to give the driver his 
 fare, a man came out of a saloon on the corner near 
 by. It was Jim Whitley. He recognized the girl 
 instantly, and springing to one side, drew back into 
 the shadow of the building, where he waited until she 
 went to the ticket office. Then going quickly to the 
 open window of the waiting room, he heard her ask 
 for a ticket to Jonesville. After the train had pulled 
 in and he had watched her aboard, he entered the cab 
 that had brought her to the station, and was driven 
 to his hotel. 
 
 The next morning Whitley was the first to learn 
 from Frank Goodrich, of Amy's quarrel with her 
 father, and the reason. Without a word of what he 
 
 222 
 
THAT PRIXTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 had seen, he made hurried preparation and followed 
 her on the next train. 
 
 At Jonesville, with little delay, he made the rounds 
 of the hotels and carefully examined the registers, but 
 Amy's name was on none of them. Concluding that 
 she must be at the home of some friend, he had placed 
 his own name on the last book he examined, and had 
 seated himself to think over the situation, when he 
 heard a bell-boy say, ^That girl in number sixteen 
 wants a Trisco' time-table." 
 
 Whitley lounged carelessly up to the counter and 
 again glanced over the register. Number sixteen was 
 occupied by a Miss Anderson. Catching the eye of 
 the clerk, he placed his finger on the name and 
 winked. "When did she get in ?" he asked, in a low 
 tone, at the same time slipping a coin beneath the 
 open page. 
 
 "On the one-thirty from the west, last night," the 
 clerk replied, in the same cautious manner, as he 
 whirled the book toward himself and deftly trans- 
 ferred the coin to his own pocket, without attracting 
 the attention of the landlord who stood near by. 
 
 "I believe I'll go to my room and clean up," said 
 Whitley, a moment later. 
 
 "Show this gentleman to number fifteen," 
 promptly called the clerk, and Whitley mounted the 
 stairs, following the boy who had answered Miss 
 Anderson's call. 
 
 When the boy had placed the heavy grip on the 
 floor, he turned to see Whitley holding out a dollar 
 bill. 
 
 "Did you get a look at the lady in number sixteen, 
 
 223 
 
THAT PEIN^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 when you went up with that time-card ?" asked Whit- 
 ley. 
 
 "Course I did," replied the bell-boy. 
 
 "Can you describe her ?" Whitley continued. 
 
 "You bet, mister; she's a daisy too." And as he 
 folded the bill and carefully placed it in his vest 
 pocket, he gave an accurate description of Amy. 
 
 Whitley dismissed the boy and seated himself to 
 watch, through the half-closed door, the room across 
 the hall. He had not long to wait. Amy stepped 
 out into the corridor and started toward the stairway. 
 In an instant Whitley was by her side. The girl 
 gave a start of surprise and uttered a frightened ex- 
 clamation, as he said, "Don't be frightened. Miss 
 Goodrich ; I have very important news for you from 
 home. Step into the parlor please." 
 
 Too bewildered to do otherwise than obey, she fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 "I have been searching for you all day," he said, 
 as he conducted her to a seat in the far corner of the 
 empty room. 
 
 Amy tried to look indignant and started to reply 
 when he interrupted her. 
 
 "Wait a moment, please. Miss Goodrich, and hear 
 me, before you condemn. When your father dis- 
 covered this morning, that you had left home, he came 
 at once to me and told me the whole story. I tried 
 to explain to him that it was I, and not Falkner, who 
 had been with you, but he would not listen; and in 
 spite of my pleading, he declared that you should 
 never enter his home again. I am sorry, but he is 
 very angry and I fear will keep his word, for a time 
 
 224 
 
THAT PRINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 at least. He even accused me of telling falsehoods to 
 shield you, and insisted that I should forget you for- 
 ever and never mention your name in his hearing 
 again. I learned at the depot that you had purchased 
 a ticket to this city, and took the first train, hoping to 
 find and offer you any assistance that might be in my 
 power to give. A girl in your position needs a friend, 
 for you cannot go home just now." 
 
 In spite of herself, Amy was touched by the words 
 spoken with such seeming truth and earnestness, but 
 her heart was filled with anger at her father, and her 
 face was hard and set as she replied coldly : "I thank 
 you, but you might have saved yourself the trouble. 
 I have no wish to go home.'' 
 
 "Indeed, I do not see how you can feel differently 
 under the circumstances," admitted Whitley with 
 apparent reluctance; "but have you thought of the 
 future? What can you do? You have never been 
 dependent upon yourself. You know nothing of the 
 world." 
 
 Amy's face grew white. Seeing his advantage, 
 Whitley continued, drawing a dark picture of a young 
 woman without friends or means of support. At 
 last, as he talked. Amy began to cry. Then his voice 
 grew tender. "Miss Goodrich — Amy — come to me. 
 Be my wife. I have long loved you. I will teach 
 you to love me. Let me comfort and protect you." 
 
 The girl lifted her head. "You dare ask that after 
 what happened the other night ?" 
 
 "God knows how I regret that awful mistake," he 
 replied earnestly. "But you know I was not myself. 
 I am no worse than other men, and — " he hesitated 
 
 225 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 — "you must remember that it was through you that 
 I drank too much. I could not refuse when you gave 
 me the glass. I never was intoxicated before. Won't 
 you forgive me this once and let me devote my life 
 to righting the wrong ?" 
 
 Amy's eyes fell. The seeming justice and truth 
 of his words impressed her. 
 
 Again the man saw his advantage and talked to 
 her of the life his wealth would help her to live. She 
 would be free from every care. They would travel 
 abroad until her father had forgotten his wrath, and 
 there could be no doubt that all would be well when 
 she returned as his wife. 
 
 Amy hesitated, and again he pointed out the awful 
 danger of her trying to live alone. As he talked, the 
 girl's utter helplessness overcame her, and rising to 
 her feet she faltered, "Give me time to think ; I will 
 come to you here in an hour." 
 
 When she returned she said, "Mr. Whitley, I will 
 marry you; but my people must not know until 
 later." 
 
 Whitley started toward her eagerly, but she stepped 
 back. "I^ot now. Wait. We will go east on the 
 evening train and will take every precaution to hide 
 our course. We will travel in separate cars as strang- 
 ers, and while stopping at hotels will register under 
 assumed names, and will not even recognize each 
 other. When we reach 'New York, I will become your 
 wife." 
 
 Whitley could scarcely conceal his triumph; that 
 she should so fully play into his hand was to him the 
 greatest good luck. With many expressions of love 
 
 226 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 he agreed to everything; but when he would em- 
 brace her she put him away — "I^ot until we are mar- 
 ried ;" and he was compelled to be satisfied. 
 
 For a while longer they talked, completing their 
 plans. Then drawing out his pocket-book he said, 
 "By-the-way, you will need money." But she shook 
 her head, ''Not until I have the right. Here are 
 my jewels; sell them for me." 
 
 He protested and laughed at her scruples. But 
 she insisted. And at last, he took the valuables and 
 left the hotel. Going to a bank where he was known, 
 he drew a large sum of money, and returning, placed 
 a roll of bills in her hand. Thinking that it was the 
 price of her rings, she accepted it without the slight- 
 est question. 
 
 That night, he bought a ticket for Chicago, over the 
 "Frisco" via the Wabash from St. Louis, taking a 
 chair car, while she purchased one and traveled in a 
 sleeper. But at St. Louis they remained two days 
 stopping at a hotel agreed upon, but as strangers. On 
 reaching Chicago they again took tickets for different 
 stations, over another road, but stopped at Detroit. It 
 was here that Amy's suspicions were first aroused. 
 
 She was sitting at dinner, when Whitley entered 
 the dining room with two traveling men who seemed 
 to be well acquainted with him. The trio, laughing 
 and talking boisterously, seated themselves at a table 
 behind her. Recognizing Whitley's voice, she lifted 
 her eyes to a mirror opposite, and to her horror, dis- 
 tinctly saw him point her out to his friends. 
 
 Amy's dinner remained untouched, and hiding her 
 confusion as best she could, she rose to leave the room. 
 
 227 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 As she passed the table where Whitley and the men 
 were eating, Whitley's companions looked at her in 
 such a way that the color rushed to her pale cheeks in 
 a crimson flame. Later, at the depot, she saw them 
 again, and was sure, from Whitley's manner, that he 
 had been drinking. 
 
 Once more aboard the train, the girl gave herself 
 up to troubled thought. Worn out by the long joui- 
 ney under such trying circumstances, and the lonely 
 hours among strangers at the hotels, and now thor- 
 oughly frightened at the possible outcome when they 
 reached 'New York, the poor child worried herself 
 into such a state that when they left the cars at Buf- 
 falo, Whitley became frightened, and in spite of her 
 protests, registered at the hotel as her brother and 
 called in a physician. 
 
 The doctor at once insisted that she be removed to 
 a boarding place, Avhere she could have perfect rest 
 and quiet, and with his help, such a place was found, 
 Whitley, as her brother, making all arrangements. 
 
 For three weeks Amy hovered between life and 
 death, and strangely enough, in her delirium, called 
 not once for father or mother or brother, but always 
 for Dick, and always begged him to save her from 
 some great danger. Whitley was at the house every 
 day, and procured her every attention that money 
 could buy. But when at last she began to mend, 
 something in her eyes as she looked at him, made 
 him curse beneath his breath. 
 
 Day after day she put him off when he urged mar- 
 riage, saying, "When we get to New York." But at 
 last the time came when she could offer no excuse 
 
 228 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 for longer delay, and in a few firm words she told 
 him that she could not keep her promise, telling him 
 why and begging his forgiveness if she had wronged 
 him. 
 
 Then the man's true nature showed itself and he 
 cursed her for being a fool, taunted her with using 
 his money, and swore that he would force her to 
 come to him. 
 
 That afternoon, the landlady came to her room, 
 and placing a letter in her hand, asked, "Will you 
 please be kind enough to explain that ?" 
 
 Amy read the note, which informed the lady of 
 the house that her boarder was a woman of ques- 
 tionable character, and that the man who was paying 
 her bills was not her brother. With a sinking heart. 
 Amy saw that the writing was Jim Whitley's. Her 
 face flushed painfully. "I did not know that he was 
 paying my bills," she said slowly. 
 
 "Then it is true," exclaimed the woman. "He is 
 not your brother ?" 
 
 Amy was silent. She could find no words to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 "You must leave this house instantly," said the 
 landlady. "If it were not for the publicity I would 
 hand you over to the police." 
 
 Amy went to a cheap, but respectable hotel, and the 
 next morning, Whitley, who had not lost sight of her, 
 managed to force an interview. 
 
 "Will you come to me now ?" he asked. "You see 
 what you may expect from the world." 
 
 Her only reply was, "I would take my own life 
 before I would trust it in your hands." And he, 
 
 229 
 
THAT PEI:N^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 knowing that she spoke the truth, left her to return to 
 Boyd City. 
 
 A few days later, when Dick Falkner stepped 
 from the cars at Buffalo, and hurried through the 
 depot toward the hack that bore the name of the 
 hotel where Whitley had left Amy, he did not notice 
 that the girl he had come so far to find, was stand- 
 ing at the window of the ticket office, and while the 
 proprietor of the hotel was explaining to Dick why 
 Miss Wheeler had left his house, the west-bound 
 train was carrying Amy toward Cleveland. 
 
 Whitley had written a letter to the landlord, ex- 
 plaining the character of the woman calling herself 
 Miss Wheeler, and had just dropped it in the box, 
 when Dick met him in the postoffice on the day of 
 Jim's arrival home. 
 
 With the aid of the Buffalo police, Dick searched 
 long and carefully for the missing girl, but with no 
 results, and at last, his small savings nearly ex- 
 hausted, he was forced to return to Boyd City, where 
 he arrived just in time to take an active part in the 
 new movement inaugurated by Reverend Cameron 
 and the Young Peoples' Union. 
 
 In Cleveland, Amy sought out a cheap lodging 
 house, for she realized that her means were limited, 
 and began a weary search for employment. 
 
 Day after day she went from place to place answer- 
 ing advertisements for positions which she thought 
 she could fill. Walking all she could she took a car 
 only when her strength failed, but always met with 
 the same result; a cold dismissal because she could 
 give no references ; not a kind look ; not an encourag- 
 
 220 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ing word ; not a helpful smile. As the days went by, 
 her face grew hard and her eyes had a hopeless, de- 
 fiant look, that still lessened her chances of success, 
 and gave some cause for the suspicious glances she 
 encountered on every hand, though her features 
 showed that under better circumstances she would be 
 beautiful. 
 
 One evening as she stood on the street comer, 
 tired out, shivering in the sharp wind, confused by 
 the rush and roar of the city, and in doubt as to the 
 car she should take, a tall, beautifully dressed woman 
 stopped by her side, waiting also for a car. 
 
 Amy, trembling, asked if she would direct her. 
 The lady looked at her keenly as she gave the needed 
 information, and then added kindly, "You are evi- 
 dently not acquainted in Cleveland." 
 
 Amy admitted that she was a stranger. 
 
 "And where is your home ?'' 
 
 "I have none," was the sad reply. 
 
 "You are stopping with friends, I suppose ?" 
 
 Amy shook her head and faltered, "ITo, I know no 
 one in the city." 
 
 The woman grew very kind. "You poor child," 
 she said, "you look as though you were in distress. 
 Can't I help you ?" 
 
 Tears filled the brown eyes that were lifted plead- 
 ingly to the face of the questioner, and a dry sob 
 was the only answer. 
 
 "Come with me, dear," said the woman, taking 
 her kindly by the arm. "This is my car. Come and 
 let me help you." 
 
 They boarded the car, and after a long ride, entered 
 
 231 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 a finely furnished house in a part of the city far from 
 Amy's boarding place. The woman took Amy to her 
 own apartments, and after giving her a bath and a 
 warm supper, she sat with her before the fire, while 
 Amy poured out her story to the only sympathetic 
 listener she had met. 
 
 When she had finished, the woman said, "You 
 have not told me your name." 
 
 "You may call me Amy. I have no other name." 
 
 Again the woman spoke slowly: "You cannot find 
 work, ^o one will receive you. But why should you 
 care ? You are beautiful." 
 
 Amy looked at her in wonder, and the woman ex- 
 plained how she had many girls in her home, who 
 with fine dresses and jewels, lived a life of ease and 
 luxury. 
 
 At last the girl understood and with a shudder, 
 rose to her feet. "Madam, I thank you for your kind- 
 ness ; for you have been kind ; but I cannot stop here." 
 She started toward the door, but the woman stopped 
 her. 
 
 "My dear child, you cannot go out at this time of 
 night again, and you could never find your way back 
 to your lodging place. Stay here. You need not 
 leave this room, and you may bolt the door on this 
 side. Tomorrow you may go if you will." 
 
 Amy could do nothing but stay. As she laid 
 her tired head on the clean pillow that night, and 
 nestling in the warm blankets watched the firelight 
 as the flames leaped and played, she heard the sound 
 of music and merry voices, and thought of the cold, 
 poorly-furnished bed-room, with coarse sheets and 
 
 232 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 soiled pillows, at her lodging place, and of the weary 
 tramp about the streets, and the unkind faces that 
 refused her a chance for life. What would the end 
 be when her money was gone, she wondered; and 
 after all, why not this ? 
 
 The next morning, when she awoke, she could not 
 for a moment, remember where she was; then it all 
 came back, just as a knock sounded on the door. 
 
 "Who is it?" she called. 
 
 "Your coffee, miss,'' came the answer, and she un- 
 locked the door, admitting an old negro servant with 
 a neat tray, on which was set a dainty breakfast. 
 
 Later, when she was dressed. Madam came. "And 
 do you still feel that you must go ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I must. Don't tempt me." 
 
 The woman handed her a card with her name and 
 address. "Well, go, my dear; and when you are 
 driven to the street because you have no money and 
 are cold and hungry, come to me if you will, and earn 
 food and clothing, warmth and ease, by the only 
 means open to you." Then she went with Amy to the 
 street and saw that she took the right car. 
 
 As Amy said good-bye, the tears filled her eyes 
 again, and oh, how lonely and desolate the poor 
 girl felt, as she shivered in the sharp air, and how 
 hopelessly she again took up her fight against the 
 awful odds. 
 
 But the end came at last as Madam had said it 
 would. Without money. Amy was turned from her 
 boarding place. One awful night she spent on the 
 street, and the next day she found her way, half 
 frozen, and weak from hunger, to Madam's place. 
 
 233 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 A BAD SITUATION AND A COOL HEAD 
 
 I HAT Frank Goodrich had managed to keep 
 himself free from all appearance of evil 
 since the night he so nearly became a thief, 
 was not because of any real change in his character. 
 He gambled no more, not from a matter of principle, 
 but because he feared the results, and he accepted 
 Whitley's sarcastic advice about religious services, 
 not because there was any desire in his heart for a 
 right life, but because he felt it was good policy. 
 Like many others, he was as bad as he dared to be; 
 and while using the church as a cloak to hide his real 
 nature, was satisfied if he could keep the appearance 
 of respectability. In short, he was a splendid ex- 
 ample of what that old Satanic copy-book proverb, 
 ^'Honesty is the best policy" will do for a life if it 
 be lived up to in earnest. 
 
 He was not a little alarmed over his sister's con- 
 duct, because he feared that Whitley, in a spirit of 
 revenge, would demand payment of the notes ; which 
 could only mean his open disgrace and ruin. And 
 his feelings reached a climax two weeks after Dick's 
 return when he received a curt note from Jim say- 
 ing: "You will remember that I promised to sur- 
 render those notes of yours upon certain conditions. 
 Those conditions now can never be met, and it be- 
 comes necessary for us to make other arrangements. 
 
 234 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 You will meet me with a horse and buggy at Freeman 
 Station tomorow night, ten-thirty. Wait for me at 
 the cross-roads south of the depot. If anyone learns 
 of our meeting it will be all up with you." 
 
 Freeman Station was a little cluster of houses 
 near the great hay farms twelve miles from Boyd 
 City, and the drive was not one to be made with 
 pleasure ; but there was no help for it, and about dusk 
 Frank set out. It had been raining steadily for 
 several days and the mud was hub deep, while in 
 many places the road was under water. Once he was 
 obliged to get out, and by the flickering light of his 
 lantern, to pick his way around a dangerous wash- 
 out. Several times he was on the point of giving 
 up and turning back, but thoughts of Whitley's anger 
 drove him on, and he at last reached the place, several 
 minutes after the train had passed on its way across 
 the dark prairie. As he stopped at the corner, Whit- 
 ley appeared by the side of the buggy, and clambered 
 it without a word. Taking the lines from Frank he 
 lashed the tired horse with the whip and they plunged 
 forward into the night. 
 
 Once or twice Frank tried to open a conversation 
 with his companion, but received such short replies 
 that he gave up and shrank back in the corner of the 
 seat in miserable silence. 
 
 After nearly an hour, Whitley brought the horse 
 to a halt, and jumping out of the buggy, began to un- 
 hitch. Against the dark sky, Frank could see the 
 shadowy outlines of a house and barn. 
 
 'Where are we?" he asked. 
 
 2U 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELUS 
 
 "At my place, nine miles south of town," Whitley 
 answered. "Help me put up the horse, can't you ?" 
 
 Frank obeyed. 
 
 "!N"o, don't take the harness off," said Jim again ; 
 "you'll want him before long." And then he led the 
 way to the house. 
 
 Taking a key from its hiding place beneath one 
 corner of the step, he unlocked the door and entered ; 
 and while Frank stood shivering with the cold and 
 wet, Whitley found a lamp and made a light. The 
 room where they stood was well carpeted and fur- 
 nished, and upon the table were the remains of a 
 meal, together with empty bottles and glasses, and 
 lying on the chair was a woman's glove. 
 
 Frank looked around curiously. He had heard 
 rumors of Whitley's place in the country, but this 
 was his first visit. 
 
 "Well," said Jim shortly, "sit down while I build 
 a fire and get something to drink ; things are not very 
 gay here to-night, but we'll do the best we can." 
 
 When the room was warm and they had removed 
 their wraps and outer clothing, and Jim had partaken 
 freely from a supply of liquor on the sideboard, he 
 stretched himself in an easy chair and spoke more 
 pleasantly. "Well, I suppose you are ready to pay 
 those notes, with the interest." 
 
 Frank moved uneasily. "You know I can't," he 
 muttered. "I thought from your letter, that we 
 might make other arrangements. Amy, you know, 
 might come — " 
 
 "Oh, cut that out," interrupted Whitley, with an 
 oath; "your esteemed sister is out of this deal for 
 
 236 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 good." Then, as he lit his cigar, "We might fix things 
 in another way though, if you only had the nerve." 
 
 "How ?" asked Frank, eagerly. 
 
 "That printer of UdelFs has some papers in his 
 possession that I want. Get them for me and I'll 
 turn over your notes and call it square." 
 
 Frank looked at his companion in wonder. "What 
 do you mean ?" he said at last. 
 
 "Just what I say. Can't you hear ?" said Whitley 
 impatiently. 
 
 "But how does that tramp happen to have any 
 papers of value to you ?" asked Frank. 
 
 "That is, most emphatically, none of your business, 
 my friend. All you have to do is to get them, or — " 
 he paused significantly. 
 
 "But will he give them up ?" Frank inquired. 
 
 Whitley looked at him a few minutes in amused 
 contempt, then said, mockingly, "Oh yes ; of course 
 he will be glad to favor us. All you need to do is 
 to put on your best Sunday school manners and say 
 sweetly: 'Mr. Falkner, Mr. Whitley would like 
 those papers that you have in the long leather pocket- 
 book tied with a shoe-string.' He'll hand them 
 over instantly. The only reason I have taken all 
 this trouble to meet you out here to-night is because 
 I am naturally easily embarrassed and don't like to 
 ask him for them myself." 
 
 Frank was confused and made no reply, until 
 Whitley asked, "Where does the fellow live now ?" 
 
 "I don't know, but he's in old man Wicks's office 
 every evening; has a desk there, and works on some 
 fool association work," Frank answered. 
 
 237 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 Whitley nodded. "Then you will find the papers 
 in Uncle Bobbie's safe." 
 
 "But how am I to get them?" asked Frank, per- 
 plexed. 
 
 "I don't know; you can't buy them. You can't 
 bluff him. And he won't scare. There's only one 
 other way I know," suggested Whitley. 
 
 "You mean that I must steal them?" gasped 
 Frank. 
 
 Whitley looked at him with an evil smile. "That's 
 rather a hard word for a good Christian, isn't it? 
 Let's say, obtain possession of the documents without 
 Mr. Falkner's knowledge. It sounds better." 
 
 "I'm no thief," snapped Frank. 
 
 Jim lifted his eyebrows as he skillfully flipped 
 the ashes from his cigar. "Oh, I see; you did not 
 rob the old gentleman's safe that night. I saved you 
 from committing murder. You only negotiated a 
 trifling loan with your loving parent. You'll be tell- 
 ing me next that you didn't gamble, but only whiled 
 away a leisure hour or two in a social game of cards. 
 But, joking aside, I honestly believe, Frank Good- 
 rich, that you are more kinds of a fool than any man 
 I have ever had the pleasure to know. The case in 
 a nutshell is this : I must have those papers. I can't 
 go after them myself. You've got to get them for 
 me." 
 
 "I won't," said Frank, sullenly. "I can't." 
 
 "You can, and you will," retorted the other, 
 firmly ; "or I'll turn those notes over to my lawyer for 
 collection, inside of twenty-four hours, and the little 
 story of your life will be told to all the world. My 
 
 238 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 young Christian friend, you can't afford to tell me 
 that you won't." 
 
 For another hour they sat before the fire, talking 
 and planning, and then Frank drove alone, through 
 the mud and rain, back to the city, reaching his home 
 just before day. 
 
 A few nights later, as Dick sat at his work in Uncle 
 Bobbie's office, a rubber-tired buggy drove slowly past 
 close to the curbing. Through the big front window, 
 Dick could be seen plainly as he bent over his desk, 
 just inside an inner room, his back toward the door, 
 which stood open. A burly negro leaped to the side- 
 walk without stopping the vehicle. So absorbed was 
 Dick with the task before him, that he did not hear 
 the outer door of the office open and close again ; and 
 so quickly did the negro move that he stood within the 
 room where Dick sat before the latter was aware of 
 his presence. 
 
 When Dick did raise his head, he looked straight 
 into the muzzle of a big revolver. 
 
 "Don't move er ye'r a goner," growled the black 
 giant ; and reaching out with his free hand he swung 
 shut the door between the rooms, thus cutting off the 
 view from the street. 
 
 Dick smiled pleasantly as though his visitor had 
 called in the ordinary way. "What can I do for 
 you ?" he asked, politely. 
 
 "Yo jest move 'way from dat 'ar desk fust ; den we 
 kin talk," said the negro. "I don' 'spect you's got a 
 gun handy, an' we don' want no foolin'." 
 
 Dick laughed aloud as though the other had made 
 a good joke. "All right, boss ; just as you say." And 
 
 239 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 leaving his chair he seated himself on the edge of a 
 table in the center of the room. But the negro did 
 not notice that he had placed himself so that a heavy 
 glass paper-weight was just hidden by his right leg. 
 
 ^^Better take a seat yourself," continued Dick cor- 
 dially. "Might as well be comfortable. How are 
 the wife and babies ?" 
 
 The negro showed his teeth in a broad grin as he 
 dropped into the revolving chair Dick had just va- 
 cated. "Dey's well, tank yo' kindly sah." Then as 
 he looked at the young man's careless attitude and 
 smiling face, he burst forth, admiringly: "Dey 
 done tole me as how yo' wor' a cool cuss an' mighty 
 bad to han'le ; but f o' God I nebber seed nothin' like 
 hit. Ain't yo' skeered ?" 
 
 Dick threw up his head and laughed heartily. 
 "Sure I'm scared," he said. "Don't you see how I'm 
 shaking ? I expect I'll faint in a minute if you don't 
 put up that gun." 
 
 The negro scowled fiercely. "No yo' don't. Yo' 
 kan't come dat on dis chile. Dat gun stay pinted 
 jus' lak she is; an' hit goes off too ef yo' don' do 
 what I says, mighty sudden." 
 
 "Just as you say," replied Dick, cheerfully. "But 
 what do you want me to do ?" 
 
 "I wants yo' to unlock dat air safe," answered the 
 negro. 
 
 "Can't do it," said Dick. "I don't know the combi- 
 nation." 
 
 "Huh," the negro grunted. "Yo' kan't gib me no 
 such guff es dat. Move sudden now." 
 
 "You're making a mistake," said Dick, earnestly. 
 
 240 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "I have only desk room here. I don't work for Mr. 
 Wicks, and have no business with the safe. Besides, 
 they don't keep money there anyway." 
 
 " 'Tain't money I'm after dis trip, mistah; hit's 
 papers. Dey 's in a big leather pocket-book, tied 
 with er sho' string." 
 
 Like a flash, Dick understood. The papers were 
 in the safe, but as he said, he did not know the com- 
 bination. "Papers?" he said, in a tone of surprise, 
 in order to gain time. 
 
 '^Yes sah, papers ; dat yo' keeps in dar." He nod- 
 ded toward the safe. "I wants em quick." The 
 hand that held the revolver came slowly to a level 
 with the dark face. 
 
 "Shoot if you want to," said Dick, easily, "but 
 I'm telling you the truth. I don't know how to open 
 the safe." 
 
 The negro looked puzzled, and Dick, seeing his 
 advantage instantly, let his hand fall easily on his 
 leg, close to the paper weight. "Besides," he said 
 carelessly, "if it's my papers you want, that's my desk 
 
 behind ' He checked himself suddenly as 
 
 though he had said more than he intended. 
 
 The negro's face lighted at what he thought was 
 Dick's mistake, and forgetting himself, half turned 
 in the revolving chair, while the muzzle of the re- 
 volver was shifted for just the fraction of a second. 
 It was enough. With the quickness of a serpent, 
 Dick's hand shot out, and the heavy weight caught 
 the negro above the right ear, and with a groan he 
 slid from the chair to the floor. 
 
 When the black ruffian regained consciousness, 
 
 241 
 
THAT PEmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Dick was still sitting on the edge of the table, calmly 
 swinging his feet, but in his hand was his visitor's 
 weapon. 
 
 "Well," he said, quietly, "you've had quite a nap. 
 Do you feel better? Or do you think one of these 
 pills would help you ?" He slowly cocked and raised 
 the revolver. 
 
 "Don't shoot. Don't shoot, sah," exclaimed the 
 frightened negro. 
 
 "Why not ?" said Dick, coldly, but with the smile 
 still on his face. 
 
 That smile did the business. Oaths and threats 
 the black man could understand; but a man who 
 looked deliberately along a cocked revolver, with a 
 smile on his face, was too much for him. He begged 
 and pleaded for his life. 
 
 "Tell me who sent you here ?" demanded Dick. 
 
 "Mistah Goodrich," the ruffian replied. 
 
 Dick was startled, though his face showed no sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "The old gentleman?" questioned Dick. 
 
 "!N"o sah, Mistah Frank," said the negro. 
 
 Dick, showing no surprise in his manner, said, 
 "How did he know that I had any papers ?" 
 
 "I don't know sah," the negro replied; "he only 
 said as how he wanted dem ; an' he's er waitin' 'round 
 de cornah in de kerrige." 
 
 This was a new phase of the situation. Dick 
 v/as puzzled. At last he stepped to the phone and, 
 still covering the negro with the revolver, he rang 
 up central and called for Mr. Wicks's residence. 
 When the answer came, he said easily, "Excuse me 
 
 242 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 for disturbing you, Mr. Wicks, but I have a man here 
 in the office who wants to get into your safe, and I 
 need you badly. You had better come in the back 
 way." 
 
 "I'll be with you in a shake," was the reply ; "hold 
 him down till I get there." And a few minutes later 
 the old gentleman knocked at the door. Dick ad- 
 mitted him and then burst into a hearty laugh at 
 his strange appearance ; for in his haste. Uncle Bobbie 
 had simply pulled on a pair of rubber boots and don- 
 ned an overcoat. With the exception of these articles, 
 he was in his nightshirt and slouch hat. In his hand, 
 he carried a pistol half as long as his arm ; but he was 
 as calm as Dick himself, though breathing hard. "To- 
 be-sure," he puffed, "I'm — so — plaguey — fat — can't 
 hurry — ^worth cent — ^wind's no good — have to take 
 — to smokin' agin — sure." 
 
 Dick explained the situation in a few words, "I 
 wouldn't have called you sir, if young Goodrich were 
 not in it. But — ^but — ^you see — I don't know what 
 to do," he finished, lamely. 
 
 "To-be-sure," said Uncle Bobbie, "I know. To- 
 be-sure. Sometimes a bad feller like him gets tangled 
 up with good people in such a way you jist got ter 
 let 'em alone; tares an' wheat you know; tares an' 
 wheat. To-be-sure Christianity ain't 'rithmetic, and 
 you can't save souls like you'd do problems in long 
 division, ner count results like you'd figger interest. 
 What'd ye say ? Suppose you skip down to the cor- 
 ner and fetch him up here." 
 
 Dick glanced at the negro. "!N'ever you mind 
 him," said the old gentleman, with a fierce scowl. 
 
 243 
 
THAT PKIJSTTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Your uncle '11 shoot the blamed head off him if he 
 so much as bats an eye; he knows it, too." And ha 
 trained the long gun on the trembling black. 
 
 Dick slipped out of the back door and soon re- 
 turned holding Frank firmly by the collar. As they 
 entered, Uncle Bobbie said to the negro, "I^ow's yer 
 chance, Bill; git out quick 'fore we change our 
 minds." And the astonished darky bolted. 
 
 "I^ow Frank," said the old gentleman kindly, when 
 Dick had placed his prisoner in a chair, "tell us all 
 about it." And young Goodrich, almost too fright- 
 ened to speak above a whisper, told the whole mis- 
 erable story. 
 
 "Too bad ; too bad," muttered Uncle Bobbie, when 
 Frank had finished. "To-be-sure, 'tain't no more'n I 
 expected ; gamblin' church members ain't got no call 
 to kick if their children play cards fer money. What 
 '11 we do, Dick?" 
 
 Dick was silent, but unseen by Frank, he metioned 
 toward the door. 
 
 Uncle Bobbie understood. "I reckon yer right," 
 he said, slowly, "tares an' wheat — tares an' wheat. 
 But what about them notes ?" 
 
 "I'll fix Whitley," replied Dick. 
 
 Frank looked at him in wonder. 
 * "Air you sure you can do it?" asked Uncle Bob- 
 bie ; " 'cause if you can't — " 
 
 "Sure," replied Dick; "I'll write him a line to- 
 night." Then to Frank : "You can go now, sir, and 
 don't worry about Jim Whitley ; he will never trouble 
 you by collecting the notes." 
 
 244 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Frank, stammering some unintelligible reply, rose 
 to his feet. 
 
 "Wait a bit young man,'' said Uncle Bobbie, "I 
 want to tell ye somethin' before ye go. To-be-sure, I 
 don't think ye'll ever be a very had citizen, but you've 
 shown pretty clearly that ye can be a mighty mean 
 one. An' I'm afraid ye'll never be much credit to the 
 church, 'cause a feller's got to be a man before he 
 can be much of a Christian. Pieces of men like you 
 don't count much on either side; they just sort o' 
 fill in. But what ye want to do is to be decent, and to 
 quit tryin' so blamed hard to be respectable. Now 
 run on home to yer maw and don't tell nobody where 
 ye've been to-night. Mr. Falkner, he will look after 
 yer friend Whitley." 
 
 2U 
 
CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 WHITLEY PLAYS A LOSING GAME 
 
 I HE sun was nearly three hours high above 
 the western hilltops in the mountain dis- 
 trict of Arkansas, as a solitary horseman 
 stopped in the shadow of the timber that fringed the 
 edge of a deep ravine. It was evident from the 
 man's dress, that he was not a native of that region ; 
 and from the puzzled expression on his face, as he 
 looked anxiously about, it was clear that he had lost 
 his way. Standing in the stirrups he turned and 
 glanced back over the bridle path along which he had 
 come, and then peered carefully through the trees 
 to the right and left; then with an impatient oath, 
 he dropped to the saddle and sat staring straight 
 ahead at a lone pine upon the top of a high hill a few 
 miles away. 
 
 ^There's the hill with the signal tree beyond Simp- 
 son's all right," he said, "but how in thunder am I 
 to get there; this path don't go any farther, that's 
 sure," and from the distant mountain he turned his 
 gaze to the deep gulch that lay at his feet. 
 
 Suddenly he leaned forward with another exclama- 
 tion. He had caught sight of a log cabin in the 
 bottom of the ravine, half hidden by the bushes and 
 low trees that grew upon the steep banks. Turning 
 his horse, he rode slowly up and down for some dis- 
 tance, searching for an easy place to descend, com- 
 
 246 
 
THAT PKII!^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ing back at last to the spot where he had first halted. 
 "It's no go, Salem," he said ; "weVe got to slide for 
 it," and dismounting, he took the bridle rein in, his 
 hand and began to pick his way as best he could, 
 down the steep incline, while his four-footed compan- 
 ion reluctantly followed. After some twenty min- 
 utes of stumbling and swearing on the part of the 
 man, and slipping and groaning on the part of the 
 horse, they stood panting at the bottom. After a 
 short rest, the man clambered into the saddle again, 
 and fording a little mountain brook that laughed and 
 sang and roared among the boulders, rode up to the 
 clearing in which the cabin stood. 
 
 "Hello!" he shouted. 
 
 There was no answer, and but for the thread of 
 smoke that curled lazily from the mud and stick 
 chimney, the place seemed deserted. 
 
 "Hello !" he called again. 
 
 A gaunt hound came rushing from the underbrush 
 beyond the house, and with hair bristling in anger, 
 howled his defiance and threats. 
 
 Again the horseman shouted, and this time the 
 cabin door opened cautiously and a dirty-faced urchin 
 thrust forth a tousled head. 
 
 "Where's your father ?" said the horseman. 
 
 The head was withdrawn, and a moment later put 
 forth again. "He's done gone ter th' corners." 
 
 "Well, can you tell me the way to Simpson's ? I 
 don't know how to get out of this infernal hole." 
 
 Again the head disappeared for a few seconds, and 
 then the door was thrown wide open and a slovenly 
 woman, with a snuff stick in one corner of her mouth, 
 
 247 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 came out, followed by four children. The youngest 
 three clung to her skirts and stared, with fearful eyes, 
 at the man on the horse, while he of the tousled head 
 threw stones at the dog and commanded him, in a 
 shrill voice, to ^^shet up, dad burn ye Kinney, shet 
 up. He's all right." 
 
 "Wanter go ter Simpson's at the corners, do ye ?" 
 said the woman. "Wal, yer right smart offen yer 
 road.'' 
 
 "I know that," replied the stranger, impatiently; 
 "I've been hunting turkeys and lost my way. But 
 can't I get to the comers from here ?" 
 
 "Sure ye kin. Jes' foller on down the branch 
 'bout three mile till ye come out on the big road; 
 hit'U take ye straight ter th' ford below ol' Ball whar' 
 the lone tree is. Simpson's is 'bout half a quarter 
 on yon side the creek." 
 
 The man thanked her gruffly, and turning his horse, 
 started away. 
 
 "Be you'ns the feller what's stoppin' at Sim's ter 
 hunt ?" she called after him. 
 
 "Yes, I'm the man," he answered, "good evening." 
 And he rode into the bushes. 
 
 Catching the oldest urchin by the arm, the woman 
 gave him a vigorous cuff on the side of the head and 
 then whispered a few words in his attentive ear. The 
 lad started off down the opposite side of the ravine 
 at a run, bending low and dodging here and there, 
 unseen by the stranger. 
 
 The hunter pushed on his way down the narrow 
 valley as fast as he could go, for he had no time to 
 spare if he would reach his stopping-place before 
 
 248 
 
THAT PEIISrTER OF UDELUS 
 
 night, and he knew that there was small chance of 
 finding the way back after dark ; but his course was 
 80 rough and obstructed by heavy undergrowth, fallen 
 trees and boulders, that his progress was slow and the 
 shadow of the mountain was over the trail while he 
 was still a mile from the road at the end of the ravine. 
 As he looked anxiously ahead, hoping every moment 
 to see the broader valley where the road lay, he caught 
 a glimpse of two men coming toward him, one behind 
 the other, winding in and out through the low timber. 
 While still some distance away, they turned sharply 
 to the left, and as it seemed to him, rode straight into 
 the side of the mountain and were lost to sight. 
 
 Checking his horse, he watched for them to come 
 into view again, and while he waited, wondering at 
 their strange disappearance, the men urged their 
 mules up a narrow gulley that was so hidden by the 
 undergrowth and fallen timber as to escape an eye 
 untrained to the woods and hills. After riding a 
 short distance, they dismounted, and leaving the ani- 
 mals, quickly scaled the steep sides of the little cut 
 and came out in an open space about two hundred 
 yards above the trail along which the solitary horse- 
 man must pass. Dropping behind the trunk of a big 
 tree that lay on the mountain side, uprooted by some 
 gale and blackened by forest fires, they searched the 
 valley below with the keen glance of those whose eyes 
 are never dimmed by printed page or city lights. 
 Dressed in the rude garb of those to whom clothes are 
 a necessity, not a means of display, tall and lean 
 with hard muscles, tough sinews and cruel, stony 
 faces, they seemed a part of the wild life about them ; 
 
 249 
 
THAT PKIIsTTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 and yet withal, there was a touch of the mountain 
 grandeur in their manner, and in their unconscious 
 air of freedom and self-reliance, as there always is 
 about everything that remains untouched by the 
 conventionality of the weaker world of men. 
 
 " 'Bout time he showed up, ain't it, Jake ?" said 
 one as he carefully rested his rifle against the log 
 and bit off a big piece of long green twist tobacco. 
 
 "Hit's a right smart piece ter ol' Josh's shack an' 
 th' kid done come in a whoop," returned the other, 
 following his companion's example. "He can't make 
 much time down that branch on boss back an' with 
 them fine clothes of his, but he orten ter be fur off." 
 
 "D'ye reckon he's a durned revenoo sure, Jake ?" 
 
 "Dunno, best be safe," with an ugly scowl. "Simp- 
 son 'lows he's jes' layin' low hisself, but ye can't tell." 
 
 "What'd Sim say his name war ?" asked the other. 
 
 "Jim Whitley," returned Jake, taking a long, care- 
 ful look up the valley. 
 
 "An' whar' from ?" said Jake's companion. 
 
 "Sim say St. Louie, or some place like that. Sh — 
 thar' he comes." 
 
 They half rose and crouching behind the log, 
 pushed the cocked rifles through the leaves of a little 
 bush, covering the horseman below. 
 
 "If he's a revenoo he'll sure see th' path ter th' 
 still," whispered the one called Jake; "an' if he 
 turns ter foller hit into th' cut drap him. If he goes 
 on down th' branch, all right." 
 
 All unconscious of the rifles that wanted only the 
 touch of an outlaw's finger to speak his death, the 
 
 250 
 
THAT PEINTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 stranger pushed on his way past the unseen danger 
 point toward the end of the valley where lay the road. 
 
 The lean mountaineers looked at each other. 
 "Never seed hit," said one, showing his yellow teeth 
 in a mirthless grin ; "an' I done tole Cap las' night, 
 hit was es plain es er main traveled road an' orter be 
 kivered." 
 
 "Mebbe so," replied the other; "an' then agin he 
 mighter ketched on an' 'lows ter fool us." 
 
 The other sprang up with an oath. "We uns ain't 
 got no call ter take chances," he growled ; "best make 
 sure." And with his rifle half raised, he looked 
 anxiously along the trail, but the stranger had passed 
 from view. 
 
 A few minutes longer they waited and watched, 
 discussing the situation ; then returning to the mules, 
 they rode out of the little gully and on down the 
 branch in the direction the object of their suspicion 
 had taken. 
 
 Just across the road from the mouth of the ravine 
 down which the hunter had come, was a little log 
 cabin, and in the low doorway an old woman sat 
 smoking a cob pipe. "Howdy Liz," said one of the 
 men, "seed any thin' ?" 
 
 "Yep," returned the woman. "He done ast th' 
 way ter Simpson's. 'Low'd he'd been huntin' turkey 
 an' lost hisself. I done tole him he orter git some- 
 one ter tromp 'roun' with him er he might git killed." 
 
 She laughed shrilly and the two men joined in with 
 low guffaws. "Reckon yer right, Liz," said one. 
 "Jake, why don't ye hire out ter him." 
 
 Jake slapped his leg. "By gum," he exclaimed, 
 
 251 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "that thar's a good ide'. I shor' do hit. An' I'll see 
 that he don't find nothin' bigger'n turkey too ; less'n 
 
 he's too dumed inquisitive; then I'll be " He 
 
 finished with an evil grin. "Yon all tell Cap I've 
 done gone ter hunt with Mistah Whitley ef I don't 
 show up." And beating his mule's ribs vigorously 
 with his heels, he jogged away down the road, while 
 his companion turned and rode back up the little 
 valley. 
 
 Jim Whitley, eiiraged at Frank's failure to rescue 
 the papers held by Dick, and alarmed by the latter's 
 letter telling him of young Goodrich's confession, had 
 come into the wild backwoods district to await de- 
 velopments. He was more determined now than 
 ever, to gain possession of the evidence of his crime, 
 and in his heart was a fast-growing desire to silence, 
 once for all, the man whose steady purpose and in- 
 tegrity was such an obstacle in his life. But he 
 could see no way to accomplish his purpose without 
 great danger to himself; and with the memory of 
 the grey eyes that had looked so calmly along the 
 shining revolvers that night in the printing office, 
 was a wholesome respect for the determined char- 
 acter of the man who had coolly proposed to die with 
 him if he did not grant his demands. He feared that 
 should Dick find Amy and learn the truth, he would 
 risk his own life rather than permit him to go un- 
 punished, and so he resolved to bury himself in the 
 mountains until chance should reveal a safe way out 
 of the difficulty, or time change the situation. 
 
 The afternoon of the day following his adventure 
 in the little valley, Whitley sat on the porch of the 
 
 9S2 
 
THAT PKUSTTEil OF UDELL'S 
 
 postoffice and store kept by his host, telling his ex- 
 perience to a group of loafers, when the long moun- 
 taineer called Jake, rode up to the blacksmith shop 
 across the street. Leaving his mule to be shod, the 
 native joined the circle just in time to hear the latter 
 part of Whitley's story. 
 
 ^'Lookin' fer turkey, war ye Mister V' asked Jake, 
 with a wink at the bystanders. 
 
 "Yes, have you seen any ?" replied Jim. 
 
 "Sure, the bresh's full of 'em ef ye know whar' ter 
 hunt," Jake answered. 
 
 The company grinned and he continued : "I seed 
 signs this mo'nin' in th' holler on yon side ol' Ball, 
 when I war' huntin' my mule. An' thar's a big 
 roost down by th' spring back of my place in th' 
 bottoms." 
 
 Whitley was interested. "Will you show me where 
 they are ?" he asked. 
 
 "Might ef I could spar' th' time," replied Jake 
 slowly ; "but I've got my craps ter tend." 
 
 Another grin went the rounds. "Jake's sure pushed 
 with his craps," remarked one; "raises mo' corn, 
 'n 'ary three men in Arkansaw," remarked another, 
 and with this they all fired a volley of tobacco juice 
 at a tumble bug rolling his ball in the dust near by. 
 
 heedless to say, the conversation resulted in Whit- 
 ley's engaging the moonshiner for seventy-five cents 
 a day, to hunt with him ; and for the next two weeks 
 they were always together. 
 
 All day long the native led the way over the hills 
 and through the deep ravines and valleys, taking a 
 different course each day, but always the chase led 
 
 253 
 
THAT PKi:^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 them away from the little ravine that opened on the 
 big road. When Whitley suggested that they try the 
 country where he had lost his way, his guide only 
 laughed contemptuously, "Ain't ye killin' turkey 
 every trip. Ye jist f oiler me an' I'll sure find 'em 
 fer ye. Ain't nothin' over in that holler. I done 
 tromped all over thar' huntin' that dad burned ol' 
 mule o' mine, an' didn't see nary sign. Thay's usen' 
 'round th' south side th' ridge. Ye jist lemme take ye 
 'round." And Jim was forced to admit that he was 
 having good luck and no cause to complain of lack of 
 sport. But he was growing tired of the hills and im- 
 patient to return to the city, while his hatred of the 
 man whom he feared, grew hourly. 
 
 Jake, seeing that his employer was fast growing 
 tired of the hunt, and guessing shrewdly, from his 
 preoccupied manner, that hunting was not the real 
 object of his stay in the mountains, became more and 
 more suspicious. His careless, good-natured ways and 
 talk changed to a sullen silence and he watched Whit- 
 ley constantly. 
 
 One morning, just at daybreak, as they were walk- 
 ing briskly along the big road on their way to a 
 place where the guide said the game was to be found, 
 Jake stopped suddenly, and motioning Jim to be 
 silent, stood in a listening attitude. 
 
 Whitley followed his companion's example, but 
 for a minute could hear nothing but the faint rustle 
 of the dead leaves as a gray lizard darted to his hid- 
 ing place, and the shrill scream of a blue-jay calling 
 his sleepy mates to breakfast. Then the faint thud, 
 thud, thud, of a galloping horse came louder and 
 
 254 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 louder through the morning mist. Evidently some- 
 one was riding rapidly toward them. 
 
 Whitley was about to speak, when the other, with a 
 fierce oath and a threatening gesture, stopped him. 
 
 "Git inter th' bresh thar' quick an' do 's I tell ye. 
 Don't stop t' plaver. Git ! An' gimme yer gun." 
 
 Too astonished to do anything else, Jim obeyed, 
 and the moonshiner, hastily thrusting the rifle under 
 a pile of leaves by a log near by, forced his companion 
 before him through the underbrush to a big rock 
 some distance from the road. The sound of the gal- 
 loping horse came louder and louder. 
 
 ''Stand thar' behin' that rock 'n if ye stir I'll kill 
 ye," whispered Jake ; and taking a position behind a 
 tree where he could watch Jim as well as the road, 
 he waited with rifle cocked and murder written in 
 every line of his hard face. 
 
 JSTearer and nearer came the galloping horse. Whit- 
 ley was fascinated and moved slightly so that he 
 could peep over the rock. A low hiss from Jake fell 
 upon his ear like the warning hiss of a serpent, and 
 half turning, he saw the rifle pointing full at him. 
 Whitley nodded his head, and placing his finger upon 
 his lips to indicate that he understood, turned his face 
 toward the road again, just as the horse and his rider 
 came into view. 
 
 The animal, though going freely, was covered with 
 dust and dripping with sweat, which showed a creamy 
 lather on his flanks, and where the bridle reins 
 touched his neck. The rider wore a blue flannel shirt, 
 open at the throat, corduroy trousers, tucked in long 
 boots, and a black slouch hat, with the brim turned up 
 
 255 
 
THAT PKIN^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 in front. At his belt hung two heavy revolvers, and 
 across the saddle he held a Winchester ready for 
 instant use. He sat his horse easily as one accus- 
 tomed to much riding, but like the animal, he showed 
 the strain of a hard race. 
 
 Whitley was so wrought up that all these details 
 impressed themselves upon his mind in an instant, 
 and it seemed hours from the moment the horseman 
 came into view until he was opposite the rock, though 
 it could have been but a few seconds. 
 
 The watcher caught one glimpse of the rider's face, 
 square- jawed, keen-eyed, determined, alert, stained by 
 wind and weather. 
 
 "Crack !'' went the rifle behind Whitley. 
 
 Like a flash the weapon of the rider flew to his 
 shoulder. "Crack !'' and the bark flew from the tree 
 within an inch of Jake's face. 
 
 Whitley saw the spurs strike and the rider lean 
 forward in his saddle to meet the spring of his horse. 
 "Crack !" Jake's rifle spoke again. A mocking laugh 
 came back from the road as the flying horseman 
 passed from sight. "Then, "I'll see you later," came 
 in ringing tones, and the thud, thud, thud, of the 
 galloping horse died away in the distance. 
 
 The mountaineer delivered himself of a volley of 
 oaths, while Whitley stood quietly looking at him, 
 his mind filled with strange thoughts. The man who 
 could deliberately fire from ambush with intent to kill 
 was the man for his purpose. 
 
 "Who is he?" Jim asked at last, when the other 
 stopped swearing long enough to fill his mouth with 
 fresh tobacco. 
 
 256 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "A revenoo, an' I done missed him clean." He 
 began to curse again. 
 
 "He came near getting you though," said Jim, 
 pointing to the mark of the horseman's bullet. 
 
 "Yas, hit war' Bill Davis. Ain't nary other man 
 in. the hull dad burned outfit could er done hit." He 
 looked with admiration at the fresh scar on the tree. 
 
 "But what is he doing ?" asked Whitley. 
 
 Jake looked at him with that ugly, mirthless grin. 
 "Mebbe he's huntin' turkey, too." 
 
 Whitley laughed, "I guess he was goin' too fast 
 for that," he said ; but his companion's reply changed 
 his laughter to fear. 
 
 "Thar's them that better be a follerin' of him 
 mighty sudden." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Whitley. 
 
 "I mean you, mister," Jake replied. "The boys 
 has had ther' eye on ye fer sometime. We know yer 
 huntin's all a blind, an' now Bill Davis he's come in. 
 I ain't right shor' myself er I'd kep' mum an' he'pped 
 'em take ye." 
 
 Whitley turned pale. "Do you mean that the 
 people here think I'm a revenue agent looking for 
 moonshiners ?" 
 
 "That's about hit. Mister, an' they'll be fer takin' 
 ye out ter night shor'," said the backwoodsman. 
 
 The fellow's meaning was too clear to be mistaken, 
 and for some time Whitley remained silent. He was 
 thinking hard. At last he said : "Jake, I'll tell you 
 something. The boys are mistaken. I'm not here 
 to get anybody into trouble, but because I'm in a 
 hole myself." 
 
 267 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "As how?" asked Jake, moving nearer and speak- 
 ing in a lower tone. 
 
 "I won't tell you how unless you'll help me," said 
 Whitley cunningly, "and if you will, I'll pay you 
 more money than you can make in this business in a 
 thousand years." 
 
 The moonshiner's eyes gleamed. "Bill Davis is 
 sure after us an' that thar' means trouble every time," 
 he said slowly. "Ye heard him say as how he'd see 
 me agin, an' I never knowed him ter miss befo'." He 
 looked at the bullet mark on the tree again. "Tell 
 ye what. Mister Whitley, I'll chance her; but we 
 ain't got no time ter talk now. We gotter git away 
 from here, fer some er the boys '11 be along purty 
 quick. We'll just mosey 'round fer a spell an' then 
 go back ter th' corners. I'll send th' boys off on er hot 
 chase en' fix Sim so 's ye kin git erway t'night, an' 
 ye come ter my shack; hit's on th' river below that 
 hill with the lone tree on top, jes' seven mile from th' 
 comers. Ye can't miss hit. I'll be thar an' have 
 things fixed so's we kin light out befo' th' boys git 
 back." 
 
 They reached Simpson's in time for dinner and 
 Jake held a long whispered conversation with that 
 worthy, while Jim sat on the porch after the meal. 
 
 As Jake passed him on his way to the mule that 
 stood hitched in front of the blacksmith shop as usual, 
 he said, in the hearing of those near: "Hit's all 
 right fer tomorrow, is hit, Mister Whitley? An' 
 we'll go over tother side Sandy Ridge ?" 
 
 The words "all right" were accompanied by a wink 
 that Whitley understood. 
 
 258 
 
THAT PRIiNFTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ^'Yes," he answered carelessly, "I'll be ready. I 
 want to rest this afternoon and get a good sleep to- 
 night. I'll be with you in the morning." 
 
 Jake rode off, and all the rest of the day Whitley 
 felt that he was the mark for many scowling glances, 
 while many whispered words were passed between 
 the gaunt natives as they slouched in and out of the 
 postoffice. Later, when the loafers had seemingly 
 disappeared, Simpson came, and leaning carelessly 
 against the door post within a few feet of Whitley, 
 said, in a low voice: "They's a watchin' ye from th' 
 shop yonder ; be keerf ul an' don't let on. Yer hoss is 
 tied in th' bresh down th' road a piece. Eide easy 
 fer th' first mile." 
 
 Jim rose slowly to his feet, and stretching his arms 
 above his head, yawned noisily. "Guess I'll turn in," 
 he said. And then as he passed Simpson, he put a 
 roll of bills into his hand. The landlord stepped out 
 on the porch and took the chair Whitley had just left, 
 while that gentleman slipped quietly out by the back 
 door and crept away to his horse. 
 
 An hour later, Whitley knocked at the door of the 
 cabin on the river bank and was admitted by Jake. 
 
 "Did ye make hit all right?" the mountaineer 
 asked, as Jim entered. 
 
 The other nodded. "Simpson is sitting on the 
 front porch and I'm supposed to be in bed." 
 
 Jake chuckled. "Cap an' th' boys air way up th' 
 holler after Bill Davis, an' I'm in the bresh er 
 watchin' you. ]^ow let's git down ter biz right 
 sharp." 
 
 Whitley soon told enough of his story, omitting 
 
 359 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 names and places, to let his companion understand 
 the situation. 
 
 When he had finished, Jake took a long pull from 
 a bottle, and then said slowly, "An' ye want me ter 
 put that feller what holds th' papers out o' yer' way ?" 
 Whitley nodded. "It'll pay you a lot better than 
 shooting government agents, and not half the risk." 
 
 "What'U ye give me ?" asked Jake. 
 
 "You can name your own price," replied Whitley. 
 
 The outlaw's eyes glittered and he answered in a 
 hoarse whisper, "I'll do hit. What's his name, an' 
 whar'lllfindhim?" 
 
 "Richard Falkner. He lives in Boyd City — " 
 
 Slowly the man who had just agreed to commit 
 a murder for money rose to his feet and stepped 
 backward until half the width of the room was be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The other, alarmed at the expression in his com- 
 panion's face, rose also, and for several minutes the 
 silence was broken only by the crackling of the burn- 
 ing wood in the fireplace, the shrill chirp of a cricket 
 and the plaintive call of a whip-poor-will from with- 
 out. Then with a look of superstitious awe and ter- 
 ror upon his thin face, the moonshiner gasped, in a 
 choking voice, "Boyd City — Richard Falkner — 
 mister, ain't yo' mistaken ? Say, ar' ye right shor' ?" 
 
 Whitley replied, with an oath, "What's the matter 
 with you ? You look as though you had seen a ghost." 
 
 The ignorant villi an started and glanced over his 
 shoulder to the dark corner of the cabin. "Thar' 
 might be a ha'nt here, shor' 'nough," he whispered 
 hoarsely. "Do yo' know whar' ye air, mister ?" 
 
 260 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Then as Whitley remained silent, he continued: 
 *^This here's th' house whar' Dickie Falkner war' 
 homed; an' whar' his mammy died; an' — an' I'm 
 Jake Tompkins ; me 'n his daddy war' pards." 
 
 Whitley was dazed. He looked around the room 
 as though in a dream; then slowly he realized his 
 situation and a desperate resolve crept into his heart. 
 Carefully his hand moved beneath his coat until he 
 felt the handle of a long knife, while he edged closer 
 to his companion. 
 
 The other seemed not to notice, and continued, as 
 though talking to himself: ^'Little Dickie Falkner. 
 Him what fed me when I war' starvin', an' gimme 
 his last nickel when he war' hungry hisself ; an' yo' 
 want me ter kill him." He drew a long shuddering 
 breath. "Mister, yo' shor' made 'er bad mistake this 
 time." 
 
 "I'll ^x it though," cried Whitley; and with an 
 awful oath he leaped forward, the knife uplifted. 
 
 But the keen eye of the man used to danger, had 
 seen his stealthy preparation, and his wrist was 
 caught in a grasp of iron. 
 
 The city-bred villain was no match for his moun- 
 tain-trained companion and the struggle was short. 
 
 Keeping his hold upon Whitley's wrist, Jake threw 
 his long right arm around his antagonist and drew 
 him close, in a crushing embrace. Then, while he 
 looked straight into his victim's fear-lighted eyes, he 
 slowly forced the uplifted hand down and back. 
 
 Whitley struggled desperately, but his left arm 
 was pinned to his side and he was held as in a circle 
 of gt«el. In vain he writhed and twisted; he was 
 
 261 
 
THAT PKIN^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 helpless in the powerful grasp of the mountaineer. 
 Slowly the hand that held the knife was forced be- 
 hind him. He screamed in pain. The glittering eyes 
 that looked into his never wavered. Jake's right 
 hand behind his back, touched the knife, and Whitley 
 saw that evil, mirthless grin come on the cruel face, 
 so close to his own. Jake's grip on his wrist tight- 
 ened. Slowly his arm was twisted until his fingers 
 loosened the hold of the weapon, and the handle of the 
 knife was transferred to the grasp of the man who 
 held him. Then there were two quick, strong thrusts, 
 a shuddering, choking cry, and the arms were loosed 
 as the stricken man fell in a heap on the cabin floor, 
 on the very spot where years before, the dying mother 
 had prayed : "Oh Lord, take ker o' Dick." 
 
 "You — have — killed — me — " Whitley gasped. 
 
 "I reckon that's about hit, mister." 
 
 * ^ Tell — Falkner — I — lied — ^Amy — is — innocent — 
 and tell — " But the sentence was never finished. 
 
 262 
 
CHAPTEK XXIII. 
 THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S LEADS THE WAY 
 
 FTEE several weeks of careful investigation 
 and study of the conditions and needs of 
 Boyd City, along the lines suggested by Kev- 
 erend Cameron in his address before the Young Peo- 
 ples' Union, a plan to meet these conditions v^as at 
 last fixed upon, the main points of which were as fol- 
 lows : That a society or company be organized and in- 
 corporated to furnish places of recreation and educa- 
 tion for young men and women ; that a place be fitted 
 with gymnasium, library, reading rooms, social par- 
 lors, a large auditorium and smaller class-rooms, for 
 work along special lines ; that there should also be a 
 department where men out of employment might earn 
 something to eat and a place to sleep, by working 
 in wood-yards, coal mines, factories, or farms con- 
 nected with the institution, and a similar place for 
 women. It also provided for a medical dispensary 
 and hospital for the care of the sick. The whole in- 
 stitution was to be under the charge of some Chris- 
 tian man who should deliver an address on the teach- 
 ings of Christ every Sunday afternoon in the large 
 auditorium. 
 
 Besides this, bible classes could be organized by 
 different workers as they chose, with this restriction, 
 that no teaching of any particular sect or denomina- 
 tion should be allowed, and only the life and laws of 
 
 263 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Jesus Christ should be studied. Classes in other 
 studies, such as pertain to the welfare or the govern- 
 ment of the people, could be organized for those who 
 wished, all educational work being under the super- 
 vision of directors elected by the society. 
 
 Every department of the institution was to be free 
 to the public at all hours. To make this possible, the 
 funds of the society would be raised from the sale of 
 shares, for which the holder was to pay annually 
 twenty-five dollars. Members of the association 
 were entitled to one vote in the society for every four 
 shares. It was expected that the department for the 
 needy would be self-supporting. 
 
 The purpose and plans of the society were to be 
 fully set forth in a little pamphlet, and placed in the 
 hands of every citizen. The people were to be urged 
 to co-operate with the institution by refusing abso- 
 lutely to give any man, able to work, either food, 
 clothing or lodging, on the ground that he could ob- 
 tain the needed help by paying for it in labor at the 
 institution ; and that they further assist the work by 
 contributing clothing, by employing laborers, and 
 using the products of the institution as far as possible. 
 
 The office of the superintendent was to be in direct 
 communication with the police station, and anyone 
 applying for help and refusing to work, when it was 
 offered, would be turned over to the authorities to be 
 dealt with for vagrancy. The hope was expressed 
 that the city would co-operate with the institution by 
 contributing liberally for the building fund, and by 
 using the workers in their street-cleaning department. 
 
 When the time came to hear the committee's report, 
 
 364 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 the opera house was crowded as it seldom was for any 
 political speech or theatrical display. The young 
 people from the various societies occupied the front 
 seats on the floor of the house ; and back of them, in 
 the dress circles and galleries, were the general pub- 
 lic, while on the stage were the leading business men, 
 bankers, merchants, and the city officials, together 
 with the committee. 
 
 "Look there. Bill,'' said a saloon-keeper, who had 
 come to watch his interest, "look at that. Blast me 
 if there ain't Banker Lindsley ; and see them report- 
 ers. And there's the editor of the Whistler. Say, 
 this ain't no bloody church meeting; there ain't a 
 preacher on the stage. Them fellers mean business. 
 We've got to watch out if they keep on this tack. And 
 would you look at the people ?" 
 
 "Come on out of here," growled his companion, a 
 gambler ; "we don't want any truck with this outfit." 
 
 "I'm going to stay and see what they propose 
 doing," said the other. "Get a grip on yourself and 
 wait." 
 
 Just then the assembly was called to order, and 
 the two men dropped into seats near the rear entrance. 
 
 The president, after stating the object of the meet- 
 ing and reviewing the action of the previous one at 
 Zion Church, where Cameron had spoken, strongly 
 emphasized the fact that this was not a meeting of the 
 young peoples' societies only, but that every one pres- 
 ent was to have a share in it, and all should feel free 
 to express themselves either by voice or ballot. "Mr. 
 Richard Falkner, the chairman of the committee, will 
 
THAT PEmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 make the report, and at their request, will speak for a 
 few moments on the subject." 
 
 As Dick arose from his place in the rear of the 
 stage and stepped forward, the saloon-keeper turned 
 to his companion, and in a loud whisper said, "Say, 
 ain't he that bum printer of Udell's ?" 
 
 The other nodded and then replied, as his compan- 
 ion began to speak again, "Shut up, let's hear what Ke 
 is going to say." 
 
 As Dick came slowly forward to the front of the 
 stage and stood for a moment as though collecting 
 himself, the audience, almost to a man, echoed the 
 thought that the saloon-keeper had so roughly ex- 
 pressed. "Could it be possible that this was the poor 
 tramp who had once gone from door to door seeking 
 a chance to earn a crust of bread?" And then as 
 they looked at the calm, clear-cut, determined feat- 
 ures, and the tall, well-built figure, neatly clothed in 
 a business suit of brown, they burst into involuntary 
 applause. A smile crept over Dick's face as he bowed 
 his handsome head in grateful acknowledgement. And 
 then he held up his hand for silence. 
 
 Instantly a hush fell over the audience, and in a 
 moment they were listening, with intense interest, 
 to the voice of the once tramp printer. 
 
 "Our president has already detailed to you an ac- 
 count of the meeting preceding this. You understand 
 that I am but the mouthpiece of the council appointed 
 at that time, and that I do but speak their will, their 
 thoughts, their aims, as they have voiced them in our 
 meetings." 
 
 He then told of the methods adopted by the com- 
 
 266 
 
THAT PKINTEB OF UJJELL'S 
 
 mittee, of the help they had received, and how they 
 had at last decided upon the report which he was 
 about to submit ; then he carefully detailed the plan, 
 enlarging upon the outlines as he proceeded. Draw- 
 ing upon the mass of information gathered in the 
 few weeks, he painted the city in its true colors, as 
 shown in the light of their investigation ; and then he 
 held out the wonderful promises of the plan for the 
 future. 
 
 As he talked, Dick forgot himself, and forgot his 
 audience. He saw only the figure of the Christ, and 
 heard Him say, "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of 
 the least of these, my brethren, ye did it unto me ;" 
 while his hearers sat lost to their surroundings under 
 the magic spell of his eloquence — an eloquence that 
 even his most intimate friends never dreamed that 
 he possessed. 
 
 Charlie Bowen was enraptured. Clara Wilson 
 wept and laughed and wept again. Uncle Bobbie 
 could only say, "I jing," and "To-be-sure," while 
 George Udell sat in wonder. Could this splendid 
 man who, with his flashing eye and glowing face, with 
 burning words and graceful gestures, was holding 
 that immense audience subject to his will, could this 
 be the wretched creature who once fell at his feet 
 fainting with hunger? "Truly," he thought, "the 
 possibilities of life are infinite. The power of the 
 human soul cannot be measured, and no man guesses 
 the real strength of his closest friend." 
 
 As Dick finished and turned to resume his seat 
 by the side of Uncle Bobbie, a perfect furor of ap- 
 plause came from the people. In vain the chairman 
 
 267 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 rapped for order ; they would not stop ; while on the 
 stage men were crowding about the young orator 
 standing on chairs and reaching over each other^s 
 shoulders to grasp his hand. At last, the president 
 turned to Dick. "Mr. Falkner, can you stop them V 
 
 Dick, with face now as pale as death, and lips 
 trembling with emotion, came back to the front of 
 the stage. "I thank you again and again, for your 
 kindness and the honor you show me, but may I 
 further trespass upon that kindness by reminding 
 you that this matter will never be met by clapping 
 hands or applauding voices. Too long in the past 
 have we applauded when our hearts were touched, 
 and allowed the sentiment to die away with the echo 
 of our enthusiasm. Shall it be so this time? Men 
 and women, in the name of Jesus of l^azareth, the 
 Christ who died on Calvary, what will you do for the 
 least of these. His brethren V 
 
 As he again took his seat, the gambler, who with 
 his friend had been sitting drinking in every word 
 of Dick's speech, sprang to his feet and cried, in a 
 loud, clear voice, "Mr. President." 
 
 Upon being recognized by the chair, who knew him 
 and called him by name, every head turned, for all 
 knew of Chris Chambers, the most notorious gambler 
 in the city. 
 
 Said Chambers, "I came here to-night out of curi- 
 osity, to see if this movement in any way threatened 
 my business as a professional gambler. I have, as 
 most of you know, for the last five years, been con- 
 ducting my place in your city, in open violation of 
 your laws. To-night, for the first time, I see myself 
 
 268 
 
THAT PKIJSTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 in the true light, and as a testimony of my good faith, 
 and as evidence of the truth of my statement, when I 
 say that I will never again take money from my fel- 
 low men but in honest business, I wish to make the 
 motion that the report of this committee be accepted, 
 that the plan be approved, and that the committee be 
 discharged with the hearty thanks of the citizens of 
 Boyd City.'' 
 
 The motion was seconded and carried. Then 
 came the critical moment. For a full minute there 
 was a pause. "What is the will of the meeting?" 
 said the chairman, calmly, but with a silent prayer. 
 There was a buzz of conversation all over the house. 
 Every man was asking his neighbor, "What next?" 
 
 For a short time it looked as if things were at a 
 standstill, but upon the stage men were putting their 
 heads together, and soon Banker Lindsley shouted, 
 "Mr. Chairman." 
 
 Instantly the people became quiet and all turned to- 
 ward Boyd City's leading financier. 
 
 "I am requested to ask all those who wish to be- 
 come charter members of an association as suggested 
 in the report of the council, to meet here on the stage 
 at once, and I move that we adjourn." 
 
 The president, after calling the attention of the 
 audience to the importance of answering Mr. Linds- 
 ley's request, immediately put the question, and the 
 assembly was dismissed. 
 
 Among the first to push his way to the front was 
 the stalwart form of the gambler, Chris Chambers, 
 and the stage was soon crowded with business men 
 and not a few women. Mr. Lindsley looked around. 
 
 269 
 
THAT PKIJSTTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Where's Falkner?" he said. 'No one knew. And 
 when Dick could not be found, Mr. Lindsley called 
 the company to order. 
 
 The editor of the Whistler was chosen to preside, 
 with Mr. Conklin the express agent, for secretary. 
 Then a committee on constitution and by-laws was 
 appointed, and the company adjourned to meet in the 
 Commercial Club rooms the next Wednesday night. 
 
 But where was Dick ? Unnoticed by the audience 
 while their attention was diverted toward Mr. Linds- 
 ley, he had slipped from the rear of the stage and 
 had made his way by the back stairs to the street. 
 A half hour later, some of the people, on their way 
 home from the meeting, noticed a tall figure, dressed 
 in a business suit of brown, standing in the shadow 
 of the catalpa trees on the avenue, looking upward 
 at a church spire, built in the form of a giant hand, 
 and at the darkened stained-glass window, in which 
 was wrought the figure of the Christ holding a lamb 
 in his arms. Later, they might have seen the same 
 figure walking slowly past a beautiful residence a few 
 blocks farther up the street, and when opposite a 
 corner window, pausing a moment to stand with bared 
 head, while the lips moved softly as though whisper- 
 ing a benediction upon one whose memory filled the 
 place with pleasure and with pain. 
 
 About one o'clock on the following Wednesday, 
 Uncle Bobbie Wicks dropped into the printing office. 
 Udell had not returned from dinner. "Good after- 
 noon, Mr. Wicks," said Dick, looking up from his 
 work, "take a seat. You want to see a proof of those 
 
 270 
 
THAT PEINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 letter-heads, I suppose. Jack, take a proof of that 
 stuff of Mr. Wicks's." 
 
 Uncle Bobbie sank, puffing, into a chair. "I jing. 
 Wish't I didn't get so fat. Quit smokin' about a 
 month ago. Wife, she wanted me to. To-be-sure, 
 I don't care nothin' fer it nohow. Mighty mean 
 habit, too. Where's your pipe ?" 
 
 Dick smiled. '^Oh, I haven't any now." 
 
 ''Uh ! took to smokin' segars, I reckon," said Uncle 
 Bobbie. 
 
 '"JNTo," said Dick, "I don't smoke at all." 
 
 "Oh." Uncle Bobbie looked long and thoughtfully 
 at his young friend. "To-be-sure, I don't — much. 
 But I told wife this mornin' I'd have to begin agin 
 if I don't quit gettin' so plaguey fat. D' ye reckon 
 it'd make me sick ?" 
 
 Dick laughed. "You look rather fleshy," he said, 
 encouragingly. 
 
 "Well, you're a good deal fatter yourself, than you 
 were when I first seen you," said Uncle Bobbie, look- 
 ing him over with a critical eye. 
 
 "Yes," admitted Dick, "I guess I am ; these are my 
 fat years you know. I'm getting to look at those lean 
 ones as a very bad dream." 
 
 Dick's young helper handed them a proof-sheet, 
 and after looking over the work for a few moments, 
 Uncle Bobbie said : "That new association meets 
 t'night, don't it ?" Dick nodded ; and the old gentle- 
 man continued carelessly, as he arose to go, "Stop 
 fer me when you go by, will you ? An' we'll go down 
 t'gether." 
 
 "But I'm not going," said Dick, quickly. Uncle 
 
 271 
 
THAT PKIN^TER OF TJDELUS 
 
 Bobbie dropped back in his seat with a jar and 
 grasped the arms of his chair, as though about to be 
 thrown bodily to the ceiling. "]N"ot goin'," he gasped. 
 "Why, what's the matter with you ?" And he glared 
 wildly at the young man. 
 
 "IN'othing particularly new is the matter," said 
 Dick, smiling at the old gentleman's astonishment. 
 "My reason is that I cannot become a member of the 
 association when it is organized, and so I have no 
 right to attend the meeting to-night. I may go in 
 after a time, but I cannot now." 
 
 "Why not ?" said Mr. Wicks, still glaring. 
 
 "Because I haven't the money," Dick replied. 
 
 Uncle Bobbie settled back in his chair with a sigh 
 of relief. "Oh, is that all? To-be-sure, I thought 
 mebbe you'd got your back up 'bout somthin'." 
 
 "Yes, that's all," said Dick quietly, and did not 
 explain how he had spent everything he had saved, in 
 his search for the wealthy hardware merchant's 
 daughter. But perhaps Uncle Bobbie needed no ex- 
 planation. 
 
 "Well, let me tell you, you're goin' anyhow; and 
 you're goin' t' have votin' power, too," said Uncle 
 Bobbie. "Be a pretty kettle o' iish if after that speech 
 of your'n, you weren't in the company. Be like tryin' 
 to make a cheese 'thout any milk." 
 
 "But I haven't the money and that's all there is 
 about it. I will go in as soon as I can," insisted Dick. 
 
 "Well," returned Uncle Bobbie, "ye can borrow it, 
 can't you ?" 
 
 "Borrow," said Dick. "What security can I 
 give?" 
 
 373 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Ain't ye'r Christianity security enough?" said 
 Uncle Bobbie, with a smile. 
 
 Dick laughed at him. "Is that the way men do 
 business in Boyd City ?" 
 
 "Well, ye kin laugh if you want to, but that's 
 'bout th' best security a feller can have in th' long 
 run. Anyhow, it's good 'nough fer me. I'll lend you 
 a hundred fer a year. To-be-sure," he added hastily, 
 as he saw Dick's face, "you'll have to pay me th' 
 same interest I can git from the other fellers. I've 
 got th' money to loan, an' it's all th' same to me 
 whether I loan it to you or some other man." 
 
 "Suppose I die, then what ?" asked Dick. 
 
 "Well, if Christ goes on yer note I reckon it'll be 
 good sometime," muttered Uncle Bobbie, half to 
 himself, as he took a check-book from his pocket and 
 filled it out. "I'll fix up th' papers this afternoon. 
 Don't forget t' stop fer me." 
 
 When Dick and Uncle Bobbie reached the rooms 
 of the Commercial Club that evening, they found 
 them filled with a large company of interested citi- 
 zens, and when the opportunity was given, over two 
 hundred enrolled as members of the association. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley, the banker, was elected president, 
 with Mr. Wallace, a merchant, for vice president. 
 Then, with great enthusiasm, the unanimous bal- 
 lot of the association was cast for Mr. Kichard Falk- 
 ner as secretary, while to Dick's great delight, Uncle 
 Bobbie was given the place of treasurer. 
 
 The papers of the city gave a full and enthusiastic 
 account of the new movement, and when the citizens 
 saw that the association was really a fact, with men 
 
 273 
 
THAT PEmXEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 at its head who were so well qualified to fill their 
 respective positions, they had confidence in the plan, 
 and began straightway to express that confidence by 
 becoming members. 
 
 A prospectus setting forth the object of the associa- 
 tion, together with its plans and constitution, was 
 gotten out by the secretary, and sent to the citizens. 
 The papers continued to speak well of the plan, and 
 finally, through the influence of the strong business 
 men interested, the Commercial Club endorsed the 
 movement, and through the influence of that body, the 
 city appropriated ^ve thousand dollars to the build- 
 ing fund, and one thousand a year, for five years. 
 
 With such backing as it now had, the associa- 
 tion began preparation for active work. A fine build- 
 ing site was purchased and Dick was sent to study 
 different plans and institutions that were in operation 
 for similar work in several of the large cities. 
 
 "Well, good-bye old man," said Udell, when Dick 
 ran into the office on his way to the depot. "I can 
 see right now that I'll lose a mighty good printer one 
 of these days." 
 
 Dick shook his head as he grasped his employer's 
 hand, and with hope shining in his eyes, replied, 
 "You know why I am glad for this chance to go east 
 again, George." 
 
 And his friend answered, "Eight as usual, Dickie ; 
 God bless you. If Clara was somewhere way out 
 there in the big world without a friend, I — I reckon 
 I'd go, too." 
 
 274 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 DICK'S SEARCH REWARDED 
 
 MY was kindly received by Madam when 
 she reached her house after that terrible 
 night on the streets of Cleveland. Under 
 the woman^s skillful treatment, she rapidly regained 
 her strength and beauty. Never doubting that Whit- 
 ley had made it impossible for her ever to return to 
 Boyd City, she felt that she was dead to the kindly 
 world she had once knovTn, and looked upon the life 
 she was entering as her only refuge from the 
 cruel world she had now learned to know. Several of 
 the girls proved to be very kind and sympathetic com- 
 panions. Little by little she grew accustomed to 
 her surroundings and in a measure learned to look 
 upon the life they led from their point of view ; and 
 when the time came for her to join the company in 
 the parlor she accepted her lot as inevitable and with 
 hopeless resignation. 
 
 When she had carefully dressed herself in a silken 
 evening gown provided by Madam, she made her way 
 alone down to the wine rooms. The scene that met 
 her eyes was beautiful and fascinating. The apart- 
 ment was large and brilliantly lighted ; the furniture, 
 appointments and pictures were of the finest, with 
 rare bits of statuary half-hidden in banks of choicest 
 flowers. Upon the floor were carpets and rugs, in 
 which the foot sank as in beds of moss ; and luxurious 
 
 275 
 
THAT PKIl^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 chairs and couches invited the visitor to ease and in- 
 dolence. From behind silken curtains came soft 
 strains of music, and deft waiters glided here and 
 there, bearing trays of expensive wines and liquors. 
 
 Seated at the card tables, drinking, laughing and 
 playing, were the wealthy patrons of the place, and 
 mingling with them, were the girls, all of exceptional 
 grace and beauty, dressed in glittering evening cos- 
 tume. But not one of them eclipsed the radiant 
 creature who stood with flushed cheeks and shining 
 eyes hesitating on the threshold. 
 
 Madam, moving here and there among her guests, 
 saw Amy as she stood in the doorway, and went to her 
 at once. Leading the girl to a little alcove at one end 
 of the room, she presented her to a middle-aged man 
 who was seated by himself and who seemed to be 
 waiting for someone. Amy did not know that he was 
 waiting for her. As the three stood there chatting, a 
 servant came quietly to Madam's side and whispered 
 in her jeweled ear. 
 
 "Certainly," she answered, "tell them to come in." 
 Then turning, she stepped to a table and rapping 
 with her fan to attract attention, cried, "The Salva- 
 tion Army people want to hold a prayer meeting 
 here. What do you say ?" 
 
 There was a babble of voices, shrieks of feminine 
 laughter, and an oath or two from the men. Some 
 shouted, "Let them come." Others protested until 
 Madam stopped the clamor by saying sharply: 
 "Of course they shall come in. You know it is 
 my custom never to refuse these people. I respect 
 and admire them. They believe in their own teaching 
 
 376 
 
THAT PRIN^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 and live what they preach ; and I want it understood 
 that they shall not be insulted in this house. Jerry — " 
 A huge ex-prize fighter stepped into the room from a 
 side door. "You all know Jerry, gentleman," con- 
 tinued Madam, with a smile; "and if you are not 
 acquainted with him you can easily obtain an intro- 
 duction by making some slighting remark, or offering 
 an insult to these Salvation Soldiers." 
 
 As the little band of men and women filed slowly 
 in, everybody rose at a signal from Madam, and gath- 
 ered about the soldiers, who took their position in 
 the center of the room; all except the girl in the 
 alcove, who turned her back to the group and stood 
 partly screened by the lace draperies of the archway. 
 
 The visitors opened their service with a song, 
 chosen with good taste and rendered with much feel- 
 ing — ^not loud and martial as on the street, but soft, 
 low and pleading. Many eyes glistened and many lips 
 trembled when the song came to a close ; and as the 
 singers dropped to their knees, not a few heads invol- 
 untarily bowed. 
 
 One after another, the little band prayed, pleading 
 with God to be kind and merciful to the erring ; ask- 
 ing the Father, in the name of Jesus, to pity and 
 forgive. Truly it was a picture of great contrasts — 
 of brightest lights and deepest shadows — almost as 
 when the Son of God prayed for his enemies, and 
 wept because they were his enemies. 
 
 Three of the six had offered their prayers and then 
 the fourth began : "Our Father and our God." At 
 the first word, uttered in a clear, manly, but subdued 
 tone, the girl behind the curtain started violently; 
 
 277 
 
THAT PKIKTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 and as the prayer continiTed slowly, in that voice so 
 full of manly truth and vigor, she raised her head 
 and the rich blood colored her neck and cheek. Little 
 by little the hard look in her eyes gave way to one of 
 mingled wonder, doubt and awe ; then the blood fled 
 back to the trembling heart again, leaving her face as 
 white as the marble figure near which she stood ; and 
 then, as though compelled by a power superior to her 
 own will, she turned slowly, and stepped from her 
 hiding place into full view. As if stricken dumb, she 
 stood until the prayer was finished. The captain gave 
 the signal and the little company rose to their feet. 
 
 "Oh God !" cried the young soldier who had prayed 
 last, as he sprang forward; but he was not quick 
 enough, for before he could cross the room, the girl, 
 with a moan of unutterable anguish, sank to the floor. 
 
 "God help us, she's dead," cried Dick. And drop- 
 ping on one knee, he supported the senseless girl in 
 his arms. 
 
 All was confusion in an instant. Men and women 
 crowded about their companion, and the Salvation- 
 ists looked at one another in pity, surprise and won- 
 der. Then Madam spoke: "Girls be quiet. Gen- 
 tlemen make way. Amy is not dead. Bring her in 
 here." The stalwart prize-fighter touched Dick on 
 the shoulder and the latter, with the lovely form still 
 in his arms, followed as in a dream, to Madam's own 
 private apartments. A doctor came, in answer to a 
 hurried call, and after no little effort the color slowly 
 returned to the cheeks and the long, dark lashes began 
 to tremble. 
 
 2Y8 
 
THAT PKUSTTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 The physician turned to Dick. '^Leave us now; 
 she must not see you at first." 
 
 Dick looked at Madam. "May I have a few words 
 privately with you ?" 
 
 The woman nodded; and with the army captain, 
 they retired to another room, leaving Amy in charge 
 of the doctor and one of the salvation lassies. 
 
 Then Dick told Madam and the captain the whole 
 story of Amy's life and home ; how she had gone away 
 because of her father's mistake, how Whitley had 
 deceived her, and how they had searched for her in 
 vain. Then as he told of the mother's broken health, 
 and of the sorrowing friends, though he made no men- 
 tion of himself, they could not but read as he spoke 
 of others, something of his own trouble. 
 
 Tears gathered in Madam's eyes, and when the tale 
 was finished, she said: "Somehow I have always 
 felt that Amy would never remain with us." And 
 then she told of the poor girl's bitter experience alone 
 in the great city, and how as a last resort, she had 
 accepted her present situation. "She is more refined 
 and gentle than the others," continued Madam, "and 
 in my heart, I have always hoped that she would leave 
 here. But what could she do ? She had no friends ; 
 and in this wretched business we can scarcely afford 
 to have any feelings. Oh sir, this life is a very hell on 
 earth, and bad as I am, I would never lay a straw 
 in any girl's way who wanted to get out of it. I am 
 glad, glad, that you came in time. You know, cap- 
 tain, that I have never opposed your work ; and with- 
 out protest I have seen you take several girls from my 
 
 279 
 
THAT PRINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 place. But I can't be expected to look after thein 
 myself." 
 
 They discussed the situation for some time, and 
 finally Madam said again, "Mr. — ; I don't know 
 your name, and I don't want to ; you wear that uni- 
 form and that's enough for me — ^just let Amy re- 
 main here for a day or two. One of the salvation 
 girls will stay with her, and can do more for her than 
 you. She shall have my own room and no one shall 
 see her. Then when she is strong enough, you may 
 come and take her if she will go ; and I am sure she 
 will. She will be as safe here as in her father's 
 home." 
 
 The captain nodded. "Madam has passed her 
 word, sir," he said. "You come with me and arrange 
 for the future while your friend is getting strong 
 again. Our Sarah will remain with her and keep 
 us posted." 
 
 Dick yielded; and after hearing from the doctor 
 that Amy was resting easier, they bade Madam good- 
 night and passed out into the room where again the 
 music played, jewels sparkled, wine flowed, and the 
 careless laugh and jest were heard. 
 
 With a shudder of horror Dick muttered, "My God, 
 Amy in such a place." And yet — another thought 
 flashed through his mind, that brought a flush of 
 shame to his cheek. "But Amy — " And again the 
 strong man trembled, weeping like a child. 
 
 Never, though he lived to be an old man, could 
 Dick look back upon that night and the days follow- 
 ing, without turning pale. How he lived through it 
 he never knew. Perhaps it was because he had suf- 
 
 280 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 fered so much in his checkered career that he was 
 enabled to bear that which otherwise would have been 
 impossible. And the consciousness of the great change 
 in his own life led him to hope for Amy, when others 
 would have given up in despair. 
 
 On his tour of study and investigation for the as- 
 sociation, he had presented his letters to the Salvation 
 Army people, and had been warmly welcomed by 
 them, as is everyone who manifests a desire to help 
 humanity. Every kindness and courtesy was shown 
 him, and at the invitation of the captain, he had gone 
 with them on one of their regular rescue trips. He 
 had donned the uniform of the army, for greater con- 
 venience and safety; for the blue and red of these 
 soldiers of the cross is received and honored in places 
 where no ordinary church member, whatever be his 
 professed purpose, would be admitted. 
 
 While Dick and his friends planned for Amy's 
 future, Sarah, the salvation girl, remained by her 
 bedside caring for her as a sister. 'Not one hint of 
 reproach or censure fell from her lips — only words 
 of loving kindness, of hope and courage. At first 
 the poor girl refused to listen, but sobbing convul- 
 sively, cried that her life was ruined, that she could 
 only go on as she had started, and begged that they 
 leave her alone in her disgrace and sin. 
 
 But Sarah herself could say, "I know sister, I have 
 been through it all; and if Jesus could save me he 
 can save you, too." So at last love and hope con- 
 quered; and as soon as she was strong enough, she 
 left the place and went with Sarah to the latter's 
 humble home. There Dick called to see her. 
 
 281 
 
THAT PKi:^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Mr. Falkner," x\my said, sadly, after the pain 
 and embarrassment of the first meeting had some- 
 what passed off; "I do not understand; what makes 
 you do these things ?" 
 
 And Dick answered, "Did I not tell you once that 
 nothing could make me change; that nothing you 
 could do would make me less your friend? You 
 did, for the time being, make it impossible for me 
 to help you, but the desire, the wish, was there just 
 the same, and sought only an opportunity to express 
 itself. And besides this,'' he added gently, "you know 
 I'm a Christian now." 
 
 Amy hung her head. "Yes," she said slowly, "you 
 are a Christian. These salvation soldiers are Chris- 
 tians too ; and I — I — am- — oh, Mr. Falkner, help me 
 now. Be indeed my friend. Tell me what to do. I 
 cannot go back home like this. I do believe in Christ 
 and that He sent you to me. I'm so tired of this 
 world, for I know the awf ulness of it now ; and these 
 good people have taught me that one can live close to 
 Christ, even in the most unfavorable circumstances." 
 
 Dick told her of their plan; how his friend, the 
 captain, had arranged for her to live on a farm in 
 northern Missouri with the family of the captain's 
 brother, and that they only wanted her consent to 
 start at once. Would she go? 
 
 "But how can I ?" asked Amy. "I have no money, 
 and I have never been taught to work." 
 
 "Miss Goodrich," answered Dick, "can you not 
 trust me ?" 
 
 Amy was silent. 
 
 "You must let me help you in this," Dick contin^ 
 
 282 
 
THAT PEIN^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 ued. "Thank God, I can do it now. Prove to me that 
 you are still my friend, by letting me make this in- 
 vestment for Christ. Will you ?" 
 
 The next day they bade good-bye to the sturdy 
 soldiers of the cross who had been so true to them, 
 and started on their westward journey. 
 
 Dick saw Amy safe in her new home, and then 
 with a promise that she would write to him regularly, 
 and with an agreement that he would send letters and 
 papers to her, addressed to the people with whom she 
 lived, he left her ; for he was satisfied that she was in 
 kind hands, and that a new life was open before her. 
 
 But when Dick was once more aboard the train, 
 alone with his thoughts, without the anxiety for 
 Amy's immediate welfare upon his mind, the struggle 
 of his life began. He loved Amy dearly; had loved 
 her almost from the moment she came into George 
 Udell's printing office three years before ; loved her in 
 spite of the difference in their social position, when he 
 was only a tramp and she was the favored daughter of 
 wealth; when he was an unbeliever and she was a 
 worker in the church; loved her when he saw her 
 losing her hold on the higher life and drifting with 
 the current ; loved her when she left home, and as he 
 thought, honor behind. And he was forced to confess, 
 in his own heart, that he loved her yet, in spite of the 
 fact that their positions were reversed; that he was 
 now an honored gentleman, respected and trusted by 
 all, while she, in the eyes of the world, was a way- 
 ward girl with no friend but himself. 
 
 But what of the future ? Dick's dream had always 
 been that he would win such a position in the world 
 
 283 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 as would enable him, with confidence, to ask her to 
 share his life. But always there had been the feeling 
 that he never could be worthy. And with the dark 
 picture of his own past before him, he knew he had 
 no right to think of her as his wife. But now there 
 was no question as to his position. But what of hers ? 
 Could he think of taking her for a wife ? On the one 
 hand, his love pleaded for her ; while on the other, the 
 change in her life argued against it. Again his sense 
 of justice pleaded, as his own life came before him 
 like a horrid vision just as it had done that morning 
 when he learned of his father's death. He saw his 
 childhood home, smelled the odor of the fragrant 
 pines upon the hills, and heard the murmur of the 
 river running past the cabin. Again he heard his 
 drunken father cursing in his sleep, and caught the 
 whisper of his mother's dying prayer; and again he 
 crept stealthily out of the cabin into the glory of the 
 morning, with a lean hound his only companion. 
 
 Slowly and painfully he traced his way along the 
 road of memory, recalling every place where he had 
 advanced; every place where he had fallen; going 
 step by step from the innocence of boyhood to the 
 awful knowledge of the man of the world. He had 
 fought, had fallen, had conquered and risen again; 
 always advancing toward the light, but always bear- 
 ing on his garment the smell of the fire, and upon his 
 hands the stain of the pitch. And now, because he 
 was safe at last and could look back upon those things, 
 should he condemn another? Would not Amy also 
 conquer, and when she had conquered, by what right 
 could he demand in her that which he had not in him- 
 
 284 
 
THAT PKII^TER OF UDELUS 
 
 self ? Christ would as freely welcome her as He had 
 welcomed him. Christianity held out as many 
 glorious hopes for her as for him. Her past might 
 be past as well as his. Why should he not shut the 
 door upon it forever, and live only in the present 
 and the future ? And then his mind fell to picturing 
 what that future, with Amy by his side, might be. 
 They were equals now, before God and their own 
 consciences. What should he care for the world ? 
 
 And so the fight went on in the battle-ground of his 
 inner life, until the whistle blew a long blast for the 
 station, and looking from the window of the car, he 
 saw the smelter smoke and dust of Boyd City. 
 
 286 
 
CHAPTEE XXV. 
 FORGIVING BUT UNFORGIVEN 
 
 OKN BAETON and his wife, Anna, with 
 whom Amy was to make her home for a 
 while, could fully sympathize with the girl 
 in her sad position, though one would never dream 
 that the quiet, reserved John knew as much of life as 
 he did of his pigs and cattle, or that his jolly-faced, 
 motherly companion had ever been beyond the quiet 
 fields that surrounded her simple dwelling. Years be- 
 fore, they had been rescued from the world in which 
 Amy had so nearly perished, by the same kind hand 
 that had been stretched out to her, the Salvation 
 Army; and now well on in middle life, happy and 
 prosperous, they showed scarce a trace of the trouble 
 that had driven them to labor on a farm. As hired 
 help, they had gained their experience, and by cease- 
 less industry and careful economy, had at last come 
 to own the place where they now lived. With no child 
 of her own, Mrs. Barton took a mother's place in 
 Amy's life from the first, and was very patient with 
 the girl who had never been taught to do the simplest 
 household task. Amy returned the loving kindness 
 full measure, and determined to be a help to those 
 who so much helped her, she advanced rapidly in the 
 knowledge of her homely duties. Dressed in the 
 plain working garb of a farm girl, with arms bare and 
 face flushed by the heat of the kitchen, one would 
 
 286 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 scarcely have recognized in her the beautiful young 
 woman who moved with Boyd City's society leaders, 
 or the brilliant novice who stood hesitating at the en- 
 trance to a life of sin in Madam's wine-rooms; and 
 certainly, one would never have classed the bright 
 eyes, plump cheeks, and well-rounded figure, with the 
 frightened starving, haggard girl that roamed the 
 streets of Cleveland a few short months before. 
 
 But great as was the change in Amy's outward ap- 
 pearance, the change within was even greater. She 
 was no longer the thoughtless, proud, pleasure-loving 
 belle that her parents had trained; nor was she the 
 hard, reckless, hopeless creature that the world had 
 made. But she was a woman now, with a true 
 woman's interest and purpose in life. The shallow 
 brilliance of the society girl had given place to 
 thoughtful earnestness, and the dreary sadness of the 
 outcast had changed to bright hopefulness. 
 
 One warm day in June, Mrs. Barton laid the last 
 neatly ironed garment on the big pile of clothes near- 
 by, and noisily pushing her irons to the back of the 
 stove, cried, "Thank goodness, that's the last of that 
 for this week." And "Thank goodness, that's the last 
 of that," exclaimed Amy, mimicking the voice of her 
 friend as she threw out the dishwater and hung the 
 empty pan in its place. 
 
 Mrs. Barton wiped the perspiration from her 
 steaming face. "Come on; let's get out of this In- 
 ferno for a while and do our patching in the shade. I 
 shall melt if I stay here a minute longer." And the 
 two were soon seated in their low chairs on the cool 
 porch, with a big basket of mending between them. 
 
 287 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Hello, there's our man back from town already," 
 suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Barton a few minutes later, 
 as her husband drove into the barnyard ; then with a 
 mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, she called, 
 "Hurry up, John, Amy wants her letter." John 
 smiled in his quiet way as he came up to the porch 
 and handed the girl an envelope with the Boyd City 
 postmark. Then the old people both laughed at 
 Amy's confusion when Mrs. Barton, rising, said in 
 her teasing voice, "Come on hubby, I'll fix your din- 
 ner. We've kept it warm. Can't you see she wants 
 to be left alone with her treasure ?" 
 
 But when Mrs. Barton returned to her mending, 
 after a long talk with her husband, her jolly face 
 wore an expression of seriousness that was unusual, 
 and she failed to notice that Amy's hands were idle 
 and her work was lying untouched in her lap as she 
 sat looking wistfully far away across the sunlit 
 meadows and pastures. 
 
 Both took up their tasks in silence and plied their 
 needles with energy, while their thoughts were far 
 away ; but one thought of a great city in the far-away 
 east; the other of a bustling mining town in the 
 nearer west. 
 
 At last Mrs. Barton spoke with a little sigh, "Amy 
 dear, I suppose you will be leaving us one of these 
 days before long." 
 
 The girl answered with a smile, "Are you so tired 
 of me that you are going to send me out into the 
 world again ?" 
 
 "JSTo, no, dear. You have a home with John and 
 me as long as you live. Surely you know that, don't 
 
 288 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 you, Amy dear?" There was a wistful note in the 
 kind voice, and dropping the stocking she was darn- 
 ing, the older woman leaned forward and placed her 
 hand on the arm of Amy's chair. 
 
 A rush of tears was her answer, as the girl caught 
 the toil-stained hand and carried it passionately to 
 her lips. "Of course I know. Mother, forgive me ; 
 I was only ^funnin' as little Jimmie Clark says." 
 
 "But I am not ^funnin,' " replied the other. "I'm 
 awfully in earnest." 
 
 There seemed to be a hidden meaning in her words 
 and Amy looked at her anxiously. "I do not under- 
 stand why you think that I should leave you," she 
 said earnestly. 
 
 "Because — because — I — this life must be so de- 
 grading to you. You could live so differently at 
 home. You must feel this keenly," said Mrs. Barton. 
 
 Amy looked at her steadily. "That is not your 
 reason, mother," she said gently. "You know that 
 a woman degrades herself when she does nothing 
 useful, and that I count my present place and work, 
 far above my old life at home. Why just think" — 
 with a quiet smile — "John said last night that he 
 couldn't tell my biscuits from yours. And wasn't 
 the dinner all right to-day? And isn't that a beauti- 
 ful patch ?" She held up her work for inspection. 
 
 The other shook her head, while she smiled in 
 answer. "I know, dear girl, you do beautifully; 
 but that's not it. There is your father and mother 
 and brother; you know you can't stay away from 
 them always." 
 
 Amy's face grew troubled, while her hand ner- 
 
 289 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 vously sought the letter hidden in her bosom. "You 
 do not understand, mother," she replied slowly ; "my 
 people do not want me to come home. My father 
 said I should not, until — until — " she hesitated. 
 
 "But your father has surely forgotten his anger 
 by this time," replied Mrs. Barton, "and when he sees 
 you he will be glad to forgive and take you back." 
 
 The brown eyes looked at her in startled surprise. 
 "When he sees me?" But the other continued hur- 
 riedly, "And there are the letters you know." 
 
 Amy's face grew red. "Why the letters?" she 
 murmured in a low voice. 
 
 "Because he loves you, dear, don't you see ?" 
 
 "He has never told me so," Amy replied. 
 
 "^N'ot in words perhaps," said Mrs. Barton. 
 
 And Amy was silent, as her companion continued, 
 "He will come for you one of these days and then you 
 will go with him." 
 
 The girl sadly shook her head, and turning her 
 face, looked away across the fields again, where silent, 
 patient John sturdily followed his team. 
 
 The shadow of the big sycamore was stretching 
 across the bam lot almost to the gate, where the cows 
 stood watching for the boy to come and let them in ; 
 a troop of droning bees were paying their last visit 
 for the day to the peach-tree, that flung its wealth 
 of passionate blossoms almost within reach of the 
 porch, and over the blue distant woods the last of the 
 feathery banks of mist hung lazily, as though tangled 
 in the budding branches, reluctant to say good night. 
 
 Suddenly leaving her chair, Amy threw herself 
 on the floor and burst into tears as she buried her face 
 
 290 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 in the lap of the older woman whose own eyes were 
 wet as she softly smoothed the brown hair of the girl 
 she had taken to her mother's hea,rt. "You do love 
 him, don't you dear ?" 
 
 And Amy answered, between her sobs, "Because 
 I love him so, I must never see him again. He — 
 he — is so strong and good and true — he must not 
 care for one who would only bring reproach upon his 
 name." 
 
 "I know, dear girl, and that is why you must go 
 home. Take your own place in the world again and 
 then the way is clear." 
 
 Amy lifted her head. "Oh, if I only could — ^but 
 you do not know — my going home would only widen 
 the distance between us. My father — " She paused 
 again, her quivering lips could not form the words. 
 
 "Amy, I am sure you are mistaken ; you must be. 
 When you meet your father it will all come right, I 
 know." 
 
 Again there seemed to be a hidden meaning in 
 her words. "When I meet my father ?" Amy repeated 
 slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Barton grew confused. "Yes — I — ^we — ^you 
 know John has been trying to sell for a long time ; we 
 want to go back to Cleveland ; and to-day he learned 
 that a buyer was coming from Boyd City to " 
 
 Amy's face grew white as she rose, trembling, to 
 her feet. "My father," she gasped — "coming here ?" 
 
 The motherly woman took the frightened girl in 
 her arms. "There, there, dear, don't be afraid. All 
 will be for the best, I am sure. John and I will stand 
 hy you and you shall go with us if you wish. But I 
 
 291 
 
THAT PKII^TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 am sure your father will be glad to take you home 
 with him ; and you ought to go ; you know you ought ; 
 not for your family's sake alone, but for his, you 
 know." 
 
 And so they talked as the shadows grew, until in 
 the twilight John came from the field with his tired 
 team. Then they went into the house to prepare the 
 evening meal. 
 
 Adam Goodrich had by no means forgiven his 
 beautiful daughter for the blow dealt his pride, 
 though one would not easily detect from his manner 
 that there was anything but supreme self-satisfaction 
 in the life of this worthy member of the Jerusalem 
 Church. Mrs. Goodrich's health was broken, but 
 she still remained the same society-loving, fashion- 
 worshipping woman, who by her influence and teach- 
 ing had made the way of her child so hard. It never 
 occurred to the mother that Amy's conduct was the 
 legitimate outcome of her training or associates, but 
 she looked at it always as a weakness in the girl ; and 
 Frank, true son of his father, never mentioned his 
 sister but with a curl of his lip, and lived his life as 
 though she had never existed. The family still at- 
 tended church once each week, still contributed the 
 same amount to the cause, and still found fault with 
 Cameron for his low tastes and new-fangled methods ; 
 while they laughed at the new association as a dream 
 of fools and misguided enthusiasts. 
 
 Adam had long wanted to add a good farm to his 
 possessions, and after some correspondence with the 
 agent who had advertised the Barton property, he 
 boarded the train one bright day, to pay a visit of 
 
 292 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 inspection to his contemplated purchase. Keaching 
 the little city of Zanesville in the evening, he spent 
 the night at a hotel. In the morning he called upon 
 the agent, and the two were soon whirling along the 
 road behind a pair of wiry little ponies. 
 
 The drive of eight or ten miles passed very pleas- 
 antly between the real estate man and his prospective 
 customer in such conversation as gentlemen whose 
 lives are spent in the whirl of the money world in- 
 dulge in between moments of activity. 
 
 At last they neared the farm, and bringing the 
 ponies to a walk, the agent began pointing out the 
 most desirable features of the property : the big barn, 
 the fine timber land in the distance, the rich soil of 
 a field near by, the magnificent crop of corn, the 
 stream of water where cattle stood knee-deep lazily 
 fighting the flies, and the fine young orchard just 
 across the road from the house. 
 
 "Yes, the building is old" — as they drove up in 
 front of the big gate; "but it is good yet, and with 
 just a little expense, can be converted into a model of 
 modem convenience and beauty." 
 
 As they drove into the yard and got out to hitch 
 the ponies, Mrs. Barton came to the door. "Just come 
 right in, Mr. Richards, John is over in the north 
 field; ril go for him." 
 
 "Oh no, Mrs. Barton, I'll go. This is Mr. Good- 
 rich, who wishes to look at the farm. Mr. Goodrich, 
 just wait here in the shade and I'll go after Mr. 
 Barton," said the agent. 
 
 "I believe," said Adam, "if you don't mind, I'll 
 walk through the orchard until you return." 
 
 293 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "Certainly, certainly/' said both the agent and 
 the farmer's wife ; and the woman added, nervously, 
 "just make yourself at home, Mr. Goodrich; you'll 
 find the girl out there somewhere. Dinner will be 
 ready in about an hour." 
 
 Leisurely crossing the road, Adam paused at the 
 orchard gate, to watch some fine young shoats that 
 were running about with their mother. From the 
 pigs, his gaze wandered about the farm buildings, the 
 fields, and the garden. Turning at last to enter the 
 orchard, he saw a young woman, clad in the homely 
 every-day dress of a country girl; her face hidden 
 beneath a large sun-bonnet of blue gingham. She was 
 gathering apple blossoms. Something in her manner 
 or figure struck him as being familiar, and with his 
 hand on the gate, he paused again. As he stood watch- 
 ing her all unconscious of his presence, she sprang 
 lightly from the ground in an effort to reach a tempt- 
 ing spray of blossoms, and at her violent movement 
 the sun-bonnet dropped from her head, while a wealth 
 of brown hair fell in a rippling mass to her waist. 
 Then as she half turned, he saw her face distinctly, 
 and with a start of surprise and astonishment, he rec- 
 ognized her as his daughter. 
 
 Under the first impulse of a father's love at seeing 
 his child again, Adam stepped forward; but with 
 the gate half open, he checked himself and then drew 
 back, while the old haughty pride, that dominant key 
 in his character, hardened his heart again ; and when 
 he at last pushed open the gate once more, his love 
 was fairly hidden. 
 
 When Amy first caught sight of her father advano- 
 
 294 
 
THAT PKIJ^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ing slowly toward ber beneath tbe blossom-laden 
 trees she forgot everything and started quickly to- 
 ward him, her face lighted with eager welcome, ready 
 to throw herself in his arms and there pour out her 
 whole tearful story and beg his love and forgiveness. 
 But when she saw his face, she dared not, and stood 
 with downcast eyes, trembling and afraid. 
 
 *^So this is where you hide yourself, while your 
 family faces your shame at home," began Adam, 
 coldly. "Tell me who brought you here and who 
 pays these people to keep you." 
 
 The girl lifted her head proudly. "!N"o one pays 
 them, sir; I am supporting myself." 
 
 The man looked at her in amazement. "Do you 
 mean that your position here is that of a common 
 servant ?" 
 
 "There are worse positions," she replied sadly. 
 "The people here are very kind to me." 
 
 "But think of your family ; you are a disgrace to 
 us all. What can I tell them when I go back and 
 say that I have seen you ?" said Adam. 
 
 "Tell them that I am well, and as happy as I ever 
 expect to be." She pressed her hand to her bosom 
 where a letter was hidden. 
 
 "But what will people say when they know that 
 my daughter is working on a farm for a living?" 
 asked the angry father. 
 
 "They need never know unless you tell them," said 
 Amy. 
 
 Then Adam lost all control of himself; that this 
 girl who had always yielded to his every wish, without 
 so much as daring to have a thought of her own, 
 
 296 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 should so calmly, but firmly, face him in this man- 
 ner, enraged him beyond measure. He could not 
 understand. He knew nothing of her life since that 
 night he had refused to listen to her explanation, and 
 now in his anger he taunted her with being unduly 
 familiar with Dick Falkner, and then, because her 
 face flushed, he thought that he had hit on the truth 
 and grew almost abusive in his language. 
 
 But Amy only answered, "Sir, you are mistaken 
 now, as you were when you drove me from home ; Mr. 
 Falkner had nothing to do with my leaving Boyd 
 City." 
 
 "You are my daughter still," stormed Adam, "and 
 I will force you to leave this low position and come 
 home to us. You cannot deceive me with your clever 
 lie about supporting yourself. What do you know 
 about a servant's work ? That cursed tramp printer 
 is at the bottom of all this, and I'll make him suffer 
 for it as I live. I will force you to come home." 
 
 Amy's face grew pale, but she replied quietly, 
 "Oh, no, father, you will not do that, because that 
 would make public my position you know. I have no 
 fear of your proclaiming from the housetops that 
 your daughter is a hired girl on a farm." 
 
 "But father," she said, in softer voice, as Adam 
 stood speechless with rage; "father, forgive me for 
 this, for I know that I am right. Let me stay here 
 and prove that I am not useless to the world, and 
 then perhaps I will go to you. In the meantime 
 keep my secret and no one shall know that your claim 
 on society has been lessened because your daughter is 
 learning to do a woman's work." 
 
 296 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL^S 
 
 Just a shade of bitter sarcasm crept into her voice, 
 but Adam did not notice it, for he saw the agent and 
 the farmer coming. "Very well," he said hurriedly, 
 "you have chosen your path and must walk in it. 
 But you cannot expect me to acknowledge a servant 
 as my daughter." And turning his back, he went 
 to meet the men, while Amy slipped off to the house 
 with her blossoms. 
 
 Mrs. Barton needed no word to tell her of the result 
 of the interview from which she had expected so 
 much, and with a kiss and a loving word, permitted 
 the girl to go upstairs, where she remained until Mr. 
 Goodrich had left the place. 
 
 After completing the purchase of the farm, Adam 
 wrote his daughter from the office of the agent in 
 Zanesville : "The place where you are living now be- 
 longs to me, and the Bartons must give possession 
 at once. If you will promise never to speak to that 
 man Falkner again, you may come home and be re- 
 ceived into your old place, but on no other terms will 
 I acknowledge you as my daughter. Refuse and you 
 are thrown on the charity of the world, for you can- 
 not remain where you are." 
 
 Amy carried the letter to her friends, together with 
 her reply, and they, by every argument of love, tried 
 to induce her to go with them back to Cleveland ; but 
 she refused in tears. And when she would not be 
 persuaded, they were compelled to leave her. With 
 many expressions of love, they said good-bye, and 
 departed for their old home in the eastern city; but 
 before going, they arranged with a kind neighbor to 
 
 297 
 
THAT PKIKTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 give her a place in their already crowded home until 
 she could find means of support. 
 
 Upon Dick's return from his Cleveland trip, he 
 had thrown himself into his work with feverish en- 
 ergy, while in his heart the struggle between love and 
 prejudice continued. But as the weeks went by and 
 Amy's letters had come, telling of her life on the 
 farm, and how she was learning to be of use in the 
 world; and as he had read between the lines, of her 
 new ideas and changed views of life, his love had 
 grown stronger and had almost won the fight. Then 
 a letter came, bidding him good-bye, and telling him 
 that she was going away again, and that for her sake, 
 he must not try to find her ; that she was deeply grate- 
 ful for all that he had done, but it was best that he 
 forget that he had ever known her. 
 
 Dick was hurt and dismayed. It seemed to him 
 that she had given up, and the devil, Doubt, ever 
 ready to place a wrong construction upon the words 
 and deeds of mortals, sent him into the black depths 
 of despair again. 
 
 "I never saw such a man," declared George Udell 
 to Clara Wilson, one evening, as they caught a 
 glimpse of him bending over a desk in Uncle Bobbie's 
 office, "he works like a fiend." 
 
 "Like an angel, you'd better say," replied Clara. 
 "Didn't I tell you that he was no common tramp ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, of course ; and you never made a mis- 
 take in your life; that is, never but once," said 
 George. 
 
 "When was that ?" asked Clara curiously. 
 
 298 
 
THAT PRmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "When you said ^No' to me night before last. 
 Won't you reconsider it, and — " 
 
 "Where do you suppose Amy Goodrich is now?" 
 interrupted the young lady. "Do you know, I have 
 fancied at times, that Mr. Falkner learned something 
 on his trip last fall, that he has not told us ?" 
 
 George opened his eyes. "What makes you think 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, because ; somehow he seems so different since 
 he returned," answered Clara. 
 
 But George shook his head. "I thought so, too, 
 for a while," he replied ; "but I talked with him just 
 the other day, and I'm afraid he's given up all hope. 
 He works to hide the hurt. But I'll tell you one 
 thing, if anything could make a Christian of me, it 
 would be Dick's life. There's something more than 
 human in the way he stands up against this thing." 
 
 Then Dick received another letter, from a post- 
 office in Texas. 
 
 "Dere Dikkie: I take my pen in hand to let u 
 no that Ime wel an hoape u ar the same. Jim Whitly 
 is ded he don tried to nife me an i fixed him. he 
 wanted to hire me to kil u fer some papers an we was 
 in you ol caben kross the river from the still. He 
 said ter tel u thet he lied to u an that Amy is inosent. 
 I don't no what he means but thot u ort ter no. I 
 skipped — ^burn this. Your daddy s pard. 
 
 "Jake Tompkins." 
 
 299 
 
THAT PKIISTTEK OF UDELL^S 
 
 The association building was finished at last, and 
 the pastor of the Jerusalem Church sat in his study 
 looking over the morning mail. There was the usual 
 number of magazines, papers, and sample copies of 
 religious periodicals, with catalogues and circulars 
 from publishing houses; an appeal to help a poor 
 church in IsTebraska whose place of worship had been 
 struck by lightning ; a letter from a sister in Missouri, 
 asking for advice about a divorce case; one from a 
 tinware man in Arkansas, who inquired about the 
 town with a view of locating; and one that bore the 
 mark of the association, which informed him over the 
 signature of the secretary, that he had been unani- 
 mously called to take charge of the new work. Cam- 
 eron carried the letter, in triumph, to the kitchen. 
 
 "Well," said the little woman ; "didn't I tell you 
 that one preacher would have a hand in whatever 
 work was started here? Of course you'll accept?" 
 
 "I don't know," Cameron answered. "We must 
 think about it." 
 
 A day later he called for a consultation with Elder 
 Wicks, and Uncle Bobbie said: "To-be-sure, it's 
 mighty hard for me to advise you in a thing like this ; 
 for as a member of the church I'm bound to say stay ; 
 and as a member of the association, I say, accept. I 
 jing ! I don't know what to do." And for a few mo- 
 ments, the old gentleman thoughtfully stroked his 
 face; then suddenly grasping the arms of the chair 
 fiercely, he shouted, "As a Christian, I say, accept, 
 an' I reckon that settles it." 
 
 And so Cameron became the manager of the new 
 work; and his first recommendation to the directors 
 
 300 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 was that they send their secretary away for a vaca- 
 tion. And indeed Dick, poor fellow, needed it, 
 though at first he flatly refused to go. But Dr. Jor- 
 dan imparted to him the cheerful information that 
 he would die if he didn't, and Uncle Bobbie finished 
 matters by declaring that he had no more right to 
 kill himself by over work, than he had to take rough 
 on rats, or blow his head off with a gun; "and be- 
 sides," added the old gentleman, "you ain't paid me 
 that hundred dollars yet. To-be-sure, the note ain't 
 due for sometime; but a fellow has got to look after 
 his own interest, ain't he ?" 
 
 The first address delivered by Cameron in the audi- 
 torium of the association building, was from the text, 
 "Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make 
 you free." The audience room was crowded, and the 
 young minister had never appeared to better advan- 
 tage, or declared the teaching of his Master with 
 greater freedom, earnestness and vigor; and to the 
 astonishment of the people, who should come forward 
 at the close of the service, to declare his belief in, and 
 acceptance of Christ as the Son of God, but George 
 Udell, the so-called infidel. 
 
 801 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 TWO CONVERGING STREAMS 
 
 I'N Southwestern Missouri, in the White Oak 
 district, there are many beautiful glens and 
 sheltered valleys, where a sturdy people 
 have tamed the wildness of nature and made it obedi- 
 ent to their will. The fields lie fertile and fruitful 
 on either bank of murmuring streams, clear to the 
 foot of the hills where the timber grows. Always a 
 road winds down the valley, generally skirting the 
 forest, and the farmhouses are nearly all built of 
 logs, though more modem and finished dwellings are 
 fast taking the place of these primitive homes. 
 Every few miles, one may see little school-houses, 
 most often made of good lumber and painted white, 
 with heavy shutters and a high platform in front. For 
 the Ozark settler takes great pride in his school-house, 
 which is also a church and a political rallying point, 
 and meeting-place for the backwoods "Literary ;" and 
 though he may live in a rude log hovel himself, his 
 hall of education must be made of boards and care- 
 fully painted. 
 
 To this romantic region Dick Falkner went to 
 spend his vacation, during the latter part of October, 
 the loveliest season of the year in that section of the 
 country. Mr. Cushman, who was a successful farmer 
 living in the White Oak district, and an old friend 
 of Unde Bobbie, gladly welcomed the young man, 
 
 302 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 of whom his old partner, Wicks, had written so 
 highly. When Dick left the train at Armourdale, a 
 little village in the lead and zinc field, he was greeted 
 at once by his host, a bluff, pleasant-faced, elderly 
 gentleman, whom he liked at first sight, and who in 
 turn was completely captivated by his guest before 
 they had been together half an hour. 
 
 Oak Springs Farm, which was to be Dick's home 
 for the next month, took in the whole of a beautiful 
 little glen, and many acres of timber-land on either 
 side. Crane Creek had its source, or rather one of 
 its sources, within a hundred feet of the house, where 
 a big spring bubbled from beneath the roots of a giant 
 oak, and the water went chattering and laughing 
 away to the south and east. 
 
 Three-quarters of a mile from Oak Springs, just 
 over the ridge in another hollow, another stream 
 gushed bright and clear, from beneath another an- 
 cient oak and went rushing away to join its fellow 
 brook a mile distant, where the little glens broadened 
 into a. large valley, through which the creek hurried 
 onward to the great river, miles away in the heart of 
 the wilderness. 
 
 It was all very beautiful and restful to Dick, 
 wearied and worn by the rush and whirl of the city, 
 and stifled with the dust and smoke from factory and 
 furnace. The low hills, clothed with foliage, richly 
 stained by October's brush; the little valley lying 
 warm in the sunlight, was a welcome change to the 
 dead monotony of the prairie, where the sky shut 
 down close to the dull brown earth, with no support of 
 leafy pillars. And the mother quail, with her full- 
 
 303 
 
THAT PRIISrTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 grown family scurrying to cover in the corner of the 
 fence, the squirrel scolding to his mate in the tree- 
 tops, or leaping over the rustling leaves, and all the 
 rest of the forest life, was full of interest when com- 
 pared to the life of busy men or chattering sparrows 
 in the bustling mining tovm. 
 
 Though Mr. Cushman and his wife had raised a 
 large family of boys and girls, only one, a daughter, 
 remained with them on the farm. The others had, 
 one by one, taken their flight from the home nest, to 
 build home nests of their own in different parts of the 
 great world wilderness. 
 
 Kate was a hearty, robust, rosy-cheeked country 
 lass of eighteen, the youngest of the flock, her father's 
 chum, with all his frank, open ways, and her mother's 
 companion, with all her loving thoughtfulness. And, 
 best of all, she possessed the charming freshness, in- 
 nocence and purity of one who had never come in 
 touch with those who, taught by the world she had 
 never knovni, were content to sham her virtues as 
 they tried to imitate the color of her cheek. 
 
 After meeting the mother and daughter and enjoy- 
 ing such a supper as one finds only on a prosperous 
 farm, Dick sank to rest that night with a long sigh 
 of relief. And strangely enough, the last picture on 
 his mind before he fell asleep, was of a little school- 
 house which he had seen just at sunset, scarcely a 
 quarter of a mile up the valley; and he drowsily 
 wondered who taught the children there; while a 
 great owl, perched in an old apple-tree back of the 
 chicken house, echoed his sleepy thoughts with its 
 "Whoo! Whoo!" 
 
 304 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL^S 
 
 On the following afternoon, with a whoop and 
 halloo and whistle, the noisy troop of boys and girls 
 came tumbling out of the doorway of the White Oak 
 school, their dinner pails and baskets on their arms, 
 homeward bound from the irksome duties of the day. 
 The young teacher, after standing a few moments in 
 the doorway, watching her charges down the road and 
 out of sight in the timber across the valley, turned 
 wearily back, and seating herself at a rude desk in the 
 rear of the room, began her task of looking over the 
 copy-books left by the rollicking youngsters. Had 
 she remained a moment longer in the doorway she 
 would have seen a tall, well-dressed gentleman coming 
 leisurely up the hill. Dick had been roaming all the 
 afternoon over the fields and through the brown 
 woods. 
 
 He came slowly up the road, and crossing the yard, 
 stood hesitating at the threshold of the building. 
 The teacher, bending low, did not see him for a 
 moment; but when she raised her head, she looked 
 straight into his eyes. 
 
 Dick would have been dull indeed had he failed to 
 interpret that look ; and Amy would have been more 
 than dull had she failed to see the love that shone in 
 his glance of astonishment and pleasure. 
 
 For an instant, neither spoke ; then, "I have found 
 you again," said Dick, simply. "I hope you will 
 forgive me. Miss Goodrich ; I assure you the meeting 
 is entirely by accident. I stopped for a drink of 
 water." 
 
 "Please help yourself, Mr. Falkner," said the girl, 
 with a little choke in her voice. "There it is." And 
 
 305 
 
THAT PKIXTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 she pointed to a wooden pail and tin dipper near the 
 door. 
 
 "I am spending my vacation in the Ozarks; or 
 rather, I came here to rest." He paused awkwardly. 
 "I — I did not dream of your being here, or of course 
 I should not have come, after having received your 
 letter. Forgive me and I will go away again." 
 
 He turned to leave the room, but with his foot on 
 the threshold, paused, and then walked back to the 
 desk where the girl sat, leaning forward with her face 
 buried in her arms. 
 
 "There's just one thing though, that I must say 
 before I go," said Dick. "Are you in need of any 
 help ? If so, let me be of use to you ; I am still your 
 friend." 
 
 The brown head was raised and two glistening eyes 
 proudly pleading looked at Dick. 
 
 Through a mist in his own eyes he saw two hands 
 outstretched and heard a voice say, "I do need your 
 help. Don't go. That is — I mean — ^leave me here 
 now and tomorrow call, and I will tell you all. Only 
 trust me this once." 
 
 Dick took the outstretched hands in his and stood 
 for a moment with bowed head; then he whispered 
 softly, "Of course I will stay. Shall I come at this 
 hour tomorrow?" Amy nodded, and he passed out 
 of the building. 
 
 Had Dick looked back as he strode swiftly toward 
 the timber, he would have seen a girlish form in the 
 door holding out her hands ; and had he listened as he 
 climbed the fence, he might have heard a sweet voice 
 say falteringly, "Oh Dick, I love you. I love you." 
 
 306 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 And just as he vanished at the edge of the woods, the 
 girl who was more than all the world to him, fell for 
 the second time in her life, fainting on the floor. 
 
 All the forenoon of the next day, Dick wandered 
 aimlessly about the farm, but somehow he never got 
 beyond sight of the little white school-house. He 
 spent an hour watching the colts that frolicked in the 
 upper pasture, beyond which lay the children's play- 
 ground ; then going through the field, he climbed the 
 little hill beyond and saw the white building through 
 the screen of leaves and branches. Once Amy came 
 to the door, but only for a moment, when she called 
 the shouting youngsters from their short recess. Then 
 recrossing the valley half a mile above, he walked 
 slowly home to dinner along the road leading past 
 the building. How he envied the boys and girls 
 whose droning voices reached his ears through the 
 open windows. 
 
 While Dick was chatting with his kind host after 
 dinner, as they sat on the porch facing the great oak, 
 the latter talked about the spring and the history of 
 the place; how it used to be a favorite camping 
 ground for the Indians in winter ; and pointed out the 
 field below the bam, where they had found arrow- 
 heads by the hundreds. Then he told of the other 
 spring just over the ridge, and how the two streams 
 came together and flowed on, larger and larger, to the 
 river. And then with a farmer's fondness for a harm- 
 less jest, he suggested that Dick might find it worth 
 his while to visit the other spring; "for," said he 
 "the school-marm lives there ; and she's a right pretty 
 
 307 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 girl. Sensible too, I reckon, though she ain't been 
 here only since the first of September." 
 
 When the farmer had gone to his work, Dick 
 walked down to the spring-house, and sitting on the 
 twisted roots of the old oak, looked into the crystal 
 water. 
 
 "And so Amy lives by a spring just like this," he 
 thought, "and often sits beneath that other oak, per- 
 haps, looking into the water as I am looking now." 
 
 A blue-jay perched on a bough above, screamed 
 in mocking laughter at the dreamer beneath ; an old 
 drake, leading his family in a waddling row to the 
 open stream below the little house, solemnly quacked 
 his protest against such a willful waste of time ; and 
 a spotted calf thrust its head through the barn-yard 
 fence to gaze at him in mild reproach. 
 
 In his revery, Dick compared the little stream of 
 water to his life, running fretted and troubled, from 
 the very edge of its birthplace; and he followed it 
 with his eye down through the pasture lot, until it 
 was lost in the distance; then looking into the blue 
 vista of the hills, he followed on, in his mind, where 
 the stream grew deeper and broader. Suddenly, he 
 sprang to his feet and walked hastily away along the 
 bank of the creek. In a little while, he stood at the 
 point of land where the two valleys became one, and 
 the two streams were united, and with a long breath 
 of relief, found that the course of the larger stream, 
 as far as he could see, was smooth and untroubled, 
 while the valley through which it flowed was broad 
 and beautiful. 
 
 At tne appointed time, Dick went to the school- 
 SOS 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 house, and meeting Amy, walked with her through 
 the woods toward the farm where she lived, while she 
 told him of her life since last they met; of her 
 father's visit and his threats, and of her fear that he 
 would force her to go home; of how the farm had 
 been sold, and how through her friends, she had ob- 
 tained her present position in the school. She told of 
 her pride and desire to wipe out alone, her disgrace, 
 as alone she had brought it upon herself. She longed 
 to be of use in the world. 
 
 As she talked, Dick's face grew bright. "This is 
 good news indeed," he said. "I'm so glad for your 
 sake." Then, with a smile, "I see you do not need 
 my help, now that you can be of so much help to 
 others." 
 
 "But won't you help me plan for the future ?" said 
 Amy, trying to hide the slight tremble in her voice. 
 "Won't you tell me what is best to do? I have 
 thought and thought, but can get no farther than I 
 am now." 
 
 "Let us say nothing about that for a time," replied 
 Dick. "We will talk that over later." 
 
 And so it came about that the farmer's advice, 
 spoken in jest, was received in earnest ; and for four 
 happy weeks the two lived, unrestrained by false 
 pride or foolish prejudice, walking home together 
 through the woods, or wandering beside the little 
 brooks, talking of the beauties they saw on every 
 hand, or silently listening to the voices of nature. 
 But at last the time came when they must part, and 
 Dick gave his answer to her question, "Won't you tell 
 me what is best to do ?" 
 
 309 
 
THAT PKIN^TEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "You must go home," he said. 
 
 "But you know what that means," answered Amy. 
 "I will be forced to give up my church work and be a 
 useless butterfly again; and besides, the conditions 
 father insists upon — " She blushed and hesitated. 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, "I know what your going home 
 means for me. But you need not again be a useless 
 butterfly as you say. Write your father and tell 
 him of your desire; that you cannot be content as a 
 useless woman of society. He will ask you to come 
 home, I am sure. And when your present term of 
 school is finished, you can take your old place in the 
 world again. You will find many ways to be of use 
 to others, and I know that your father will learn to 
 give you more liberty." 
 
 "And the past ?" asked Amy, with a blush. 
 
 "Is past," said Dick, emphatically. "E'o one in 
 Boyd City knows your story, nor need they ever 
 know." 
 
 "One man there can tell them," answered the girl, 
 with averted face. 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Dick, quietly. And 
 then, as gently as he could, he told her of Whitley's 
 death. But of his own relations with him and the 
 real cause of the fight in the cabin, he said nothing. 
 
 It was hard for Dick to advise Amy to go home, 
 for in her present life, they were equals. If she went 
 back to Boyd City, all would be changed. But he 
 had fought over the question in his own mind and 
 the right had conquered. 
 
 Amy agreed with him that it was best, and added, 
 "I have felt all along that I ought to do this after a 
 
 310 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 while, and had you not happened to find me, I should 
 have written to you later." 
 
 And 80 it was settled. No word of love was spoken 
 between them. Dick would not permit himself to 
 speak then, because he felt that she ought not to be 
 influenced by her present surroundings; and even 
 had he spoken, Amy would not have listened, be- 
 cause she felt her work could only be complete when 
 she had returned to her old position and had proven 
 herself by her life there. 
 
 And so they parted, with only a silent clasping of 
 hands, as they stood beside the brook that chattered on 
 its way to join the other, though there was a world 
 of love in both the grey eyes and the brovm — a love 
 none the less strong because unspoken. 
 
 Upon Dick's return to the city, he took up his work 
 again with so light a heart that his many friends 
 declared that he had entirely recovered his health, 
 and their congratulations were numerous and hearty. 
 
 During the holidays, there was some gossip among 
 the citizens when it was announced in the Whistler, 
 that Miss Goodrich would soon return to her home. 
 The article stated that she had been living with some 
 friends in the -east, finishing her education, and the 
 public, feeling morally certain that Adam himself 
 had written the article, accepted the polite lie with a 
 nod and a wink. 
 
 Mrs. Goodrich, though her mother heart was glad 
 at the return of her child, received the girl with many 
 tearful reproaches; and while Amy was hungering 
 for a parent's loving sympathy and encouragement, 
 she could not open her heart to the woman who 
 
 311 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 mourned only because of the blow dealt her family 
 pride and social ambition. 
 
 Adam was formal, cold and uncompromising, while 
 Frank paid no more attention to his sister than if 
 she were a hired servant in the house. Only the 
 girPs firm determination, awakened womanhood, 
 patience and Christian fortitude enabled her to accept 
 her lot. But in spite of the daily reproaches, stern 
 coldness and studied contempt, she went steadily for- 
 ward in her purpose to regain the place she had lost ; 
 and somehow, as the weeks went by, all noticed a 
 change in her. Amy's father dared not check her in 
 her work, for something in the clear eyes, that looked 
 at him so sadly, but withal so fearlessly, made him 
 hesitate. It was as though she had spoken, "I have 
 been through the fire and have come out pure gold. 
 It is not for you to question me." And though she 
 attended to her social duties, her influence was always 
 for the good, and no one dared to speak slightingly of 
 religious things in her presence ; while the poor people 
 at the mission learned to love the beautiful young 
 woman who visited their homes and talked to them of 
 a better life, and never failed to greet them with a 
 kindly word when they met her on the street. 
 
 Of course Dick could not call at her home. He 
 knew well that it would only provoke a storm; nor 
 did Amy ask him to do so. They met only at church 
 or at the mission ; and nothing but the common greet- 
 ings passed between them. But they each felt that 
 the other understood, and so were happy; content to 
 wait until God, in his own way, should unite the 
 streams of their lives. 
 
 312 
 
W^i\ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 FOR HONOR'S SAKE 
 
 |T was about nine o'clock in the evening, and 
 Dick was in his office at the association 
 building, writing some letters pertaining to 
 the work, when the door opened, and to his great as- 
 tonishment, Amy entered hurriedly, out of breath 
 and very much excited. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Mr. Falk- 
 ner," she began, as soon as she could speak; "but I 
 must tell you." And then she broke down, sinking 
 into a chair and crying bitterly. 
 
 Dick's face was very grave, and stepping to the 
 window he drew the curtain, then turned the key in 
 the lock. 
 
 "ISTow what is it. Miss Goodrich ? Please be calm. 
 You know you have nothing to fear from me." 
 
 Amy brushed away her tears, and looking up into 
 his face, she said, "I'm not afraid of you. But — ^but 
 — our secret is out." 
 
 Dick nodded that he understood, and she con- 
 tinued, "You know that Frank has been at Armour- 
 dale the last few weeks, looking after papa's interests 
 in the mines there, and — and he came home this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Dick calmly. 
 
 "I was in the living-room and he and father were 
 in the library. I — I did not mean to listen, but the 
 
 313 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 door was open and I heard them speak your narae/' 
 said Amy. 
 
 ^^es/' said Dick again. 
 
 Amy continued: "Frank met Mr. Cushman and 
 spent several days at the farm where they are pros- 
 pecting, and — and of course learned that we were to- 
 gether there. Father believes the awfullest things and 
 threatens to kill you ; he is so angry. I — I'm afraid 
 for you — and — and I slipped away because I — I 
 thought you ought to know." The poor girl finished 
 with a sob and buried her face in her hands. 
 
 Dick thought rapidly for a few moments. He re- 
 membered that he had never told Amy how, at the 
 time of her flight, her father had accused him of tak- 
 ing her away, and he saw now how that belief would 
 be strengthened by her brother's story. Then as his 
 heart bitterly rebelled at the thought of such a mis- 
 understanding, and of the danger to Amy, he made up 
 his mind without hesitation. 
 
 ^^Miss Goodrich," he said ; "can you let me talk to 
 you plainly?" 
 
 She nodded and grew quiet. 
 
 "I have known all along that these things would 
 come out sooner or later. I have foreseen that the 
 whole story must be told, and have prayed that the 
 time might be put off until your life could give the 
 lie to the thought that the past was not passed for- 
 ever, and now I thank God that my prayers have 
 been answered. "No harm can come to you now for 
 your Christianity is no vain trifle, but a living power 
 that will help you to bear the reproach that must 
 come. Had this happened before you were strong, it 
 
 314 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 would have driven you back again. But now you can 
 bear it. But Miss Goodrich — ^Amy — I don't want 
 you to bear this alone. Won't you let me help you ? 
 You know that I love you. I have told you so a 
 thousand times, though no . word has been spoken. 
 And I know that you return my love. I have seen 
 it in your eyes, and I have waited and waited until 
 the time should come for me to speak. That time is 
 here now. Amy, dearest, tell me that you love me 
 and will be my wife. Give me the right to protect 
 you. Let us go to your father together and tell him 
 all. He dare not refuse us then." 
 
 The beautiful girl trembled with emotion. "You 
 must not. Oh, you must not," she said. "Don't, don't 
 tempt me." She buried her face in her hands again. 
 "You — ^you cannot take for your wife one who has 
 made such mistakes as I have made." 
 
 "Amy dear, listen," said Dick. "You and I are 
 Christians. We have both made mistakes ; but Christ 
 has forgiven and accepted both. God has only one 
 love for each, one Saviour for each, one forgiveness 
 for each. There is only one promise, one help, one 
 heaven for us both. Amy, dear, don't you see that we 
 are equal? Because of my past, I cannot reproach 
 you for yours. You, in your heart of hearts, must 
 recognize this great truth. Won't you forget it all 
 with me ?" 
 
 The girl lifted her face and looked into his eyes 
 long and searchingly, as though reading his very soul. 
 
 Had there been anything but love in Dick Falk- 
 ner's heart, he would have argued in vain. But 
 he returned the look unflinchingly, then — 
 
 315 
 
THAT PKIN^TER OF UDELUS 
 
 "Amy listen. On the soul that has been pardoned 
 in the name of Jesus Christ, there is no stain. Won't 
 you put your past beneath your feet as I have put 
 mine, and come to me upon the common ground of 
 Christ's love and forgiveness? Come, because we 
 love each other, and for the good we can do." 
 
 Amy's lips trembled, as holding out her hands she 
 replied, "Oh Dick, I do love you. Help me to be 
 strong and true and worthy of your love. I — I — 
 have no one in all the world but you." 
 
 A few minutes later, Dick said, "I must take you 
 home now." 
 
 "1^0, no," she answered, hurriedly ; "the folks will 
 think that I am calling on some of the neighbors, 
 even if they miss me at all. I often run out of an 
 evening that way. It is not late and I'm not afraid." 
 
 "Listen to me, dearest," he answered. "You must 
 not see your father alone until I have told him every- 
 thing. I will go up to the house with you now, and 
 we will settle this matter once for — " A loud knock 
 at the door interrupted him. Amy trembled in alarm. 
 "Don't be frightened, dear. 'No harm can come to 
 you from this visit now. Thank God you have given 
 me the right to speak for you." 
 
 The knock was repeated. "Step in here," he said, 
 leading her to a chair in the next room, "and be a 
 brave girl now. It's just some fellow on business. 
 He'll be gone in a moment." And leaving her with 
 the door partly closed, he stepped across the room 
 just as the knock came the third time. 
 
 Dick threw open the door, and without waiting 
 for an invitation, Adam Goodrich stepped across the 
 
 316 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 threshold. Dick was astonished beyond measure, 
 though not a muscle of his face quivered, as he said, 
 "Good evening, sir, v^hat can I do for you ?" "You 
 can do a good deal," said Adam. "But first lock 
 that door ; we want no visitors here to-night." 
 
 Without a word, Dick turned the key again. 
 
 "I^ow sir, I want to know first, is it true that you 
 were with my daughter in the Ozark Mountains this 
 summer ? Don't try to lie to me this time. I'll have 
 the truth or I'll kill you," Adam said excitedly. 
 
 "I have never lied to you, sir," answered Dick; 
 "and have no desire to do so now. It is perfectly true 
 I did meet your daughter last summer while on my 
 vacation." 
 
 "I knew I was right," raved Adam. "I knew you 
 led her away from home. Oh, why did you ever 
 come to this city ? Why did I ever see you ? Here," 
 he said as he frantically tore a blank check from his 
 check-book. "Fill this out for any amount you choose 
 and go away again. Oh, I could kill you if I dared. 
 You have ruined me forever — ^you — ^" 
 
 "Stop sir," said Dick; and when Adam looked 
 into his face, he saw again that nameless something 
 which compelled him to obey. 
 
 "You have said quite enough," continued Dick, 
 calmly, "and you are going to listen to me now. But 
 first, I want to beg your pardon for the language I 
 used when you called on me before" — he heard a 
 slight rustle in the next room — "when you accused me 
 of taking your daughter from her home ; I told you 
 that you were a liar. I beg your pardon now. I was 
 excited. I know that you were only mistaken. You 
 
 317 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 would not have listened to me then, nor believed me, 
 had I told you what I knew. But the time has come 
 when jou shall listen, and be forced to know that I 
 speak the truth." 
 
 Adam sat as though fascinated. Once he attempted 
 to answer, but a quick "Silence, sir, you shall hear 
 me," kept him still, while Dick detailed the whole 
 story, omitting nothing from the evening when he 
 had rescued Amy from her drunken escort, to the 
 day he had said good-bye in the Ozark Mountains. 
 When he had finished, Adam sat silent for a moment. 
 
 "Can it be possible," thought Dick, "that I have 
 misjudged this man, and that he is grateful for the 
 help that I have given Amy ?" 
 
 But no; Dick had not misjudged him. There was 
 not a thought of gratitude in Adam Goodrich's heart. 
 Thankfulness for his daughter's salvation from a 
 life of sin had no part in his feelings; only blind 
 rage, that his pride should be so humbled. Leap- 
 ing to his feet, he shouted, "The proof, you miserable 
 scoundrel ; the proof, or I'll have your life for this." 
 
 Dick remained perfectly calm. "You shall have 
 the proof," he said, quietly, and turning, stepped to 
 the next room, coming back an instant later with his 
 arm encircling Amy's waist. 
 
 Adam sprang forward. "You here at this hour 
 alone? Gro home at once. Drop her, you ruffian," 
 turning to Dick. 
 
 The latter stood without moving a muscle, and 
 Goodrich started toward him. 
 
 "Stop," said Dick, still without moving ; and again 
 the older man was forced to obey that stronger will. 
 
 318 
 
THAT PEI:N'TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 *Tather,'* said Amy. "I am going to marry Mr. 
 Falkner. I heard you and Frank talking in the 
 library, and when you said that you would kill him I 
 came to warn him, and — and — his story is every 
 word true. Oh papa, don't you see what a friend he 
 has been to me ? You forced me into the society that 
 might have ruined me, and he has helped me to a bet- 
 ter life. I love him and will be his wife. Won't you 
 forgive us papa ?" 
 
 Never in his life had it been Dick's lot to see a face 
 express so much, or so many conflicting emotions, 
 love, hate, pride, passion, remorse, gratitude, all fol- 
 lowed each other in quick succession. But finally 
 pride and anger triumphed and the answer came ; but 
 in the expression of the man's face rather than in his 
 words, Dick found the clue to his own course. 
 
 "You are no longer a daughter of mine," said 
 Adam. "I disown you. If you marry that man who 
 came to this town a common tramp, I will never rec- 
 ognize you again. You have disgraced me. You 
 have dragged my honor in the dust." He turned to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 But again Dick's voice, clear and cold, forced him 
 to stop. "Sir," he said; "before God, you and not 
 your daughter, are to blame. By your teaching, you 
 crippled her character and made it too weak to with- 
 stand temptation, and then by your brutal unbelief, 
 you drove her from home." 
 
 Adam hung his head for a moment, then raised it 
 haughtily. "Are you through ?" he said with a sneer. 
 
 "]^ot quite," answered Dick. "Listen; you value 
 most of all in this world, pride and your family posi- 
 
 319 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 tion. Can't you see that by the course you are tak- 
 ing, you yourself proclaim your disgrace, and forfeit 
 your place in society. "No one now but we three, 
 knows the story I have just related to you ; but if you 
 persist in this course the whole world will know it." 
 
 He paused, and Adam's face changed; for while 
 his nature could not forgive, pity, or feel gratitude, 
 such reasoning as this forced its way upon his mind — 
 a mind ever ready to cheat the opinions of men. 
 "What would you suggest ?" he asked coldly. 
 
 "Simply this," answered Dick. "Do you and Amy 
 go home together. No one shall ever know of this 
 incident. Live your life as usual, except that you 
 shall permit me to call at the house occasionally. 
 Gradually the people will become accustomed to my 
 visits, and when the time comes, the marriage will not 
 be thought so strange. But remember, this woman is 
 to be my wife, and you shall answer to me if you 
 make her life hard." 
 
 "Very well," answered Adam, after a moment's 
 pause ; "I can only submit. I will do anything rather 
 than have this awful disgrace made public. But un- 
 derstand me sir; while you may come to the house 
 occasionally, and while you force me to consent to this 
 marriage by the story of my daughter's disgrace, I 
 do not accept you as my son, or receive the girl as my 
 daughter; for my honor's sake, I will appear to do 
 both, but I shall not forget." Then turning to Amy, 
 he said, "Now, come home." 
 
 "Good night, dearest, be brave," whispered Dick. 
 And then as he opened the door, he smiled at Adam 
 wishing him, too, a pleasant good night. 
 
 320 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 A STORY ALL TOO COMMON 
 
 OTHER GRAY and her husband were sit- 
 ^^j ting drowsily before a cheery fire in their 
 little parlor at the Institution for Helping the 
 Unemployed. The cold November rain without came 
 beating against the window panes in heavy gusts, and 
 the wind sighed and moaned about the corners of the 
 building and down the chimney. 
 
 "Winter's coming, wife," said Mr. Gray, as he 
 aroused himself and stirred the fire. "We'll not be 
 having such an easy time as we did this summer. 
 When cold weather gets here in earnest the poor will 
 begin calling on us." 
 
 "Yes, but that's the time people need kindling 
 wood the worst, so there will be enough to feed them," 
 answered the good wife brightly, as she, too, aroused 
 and began knitting with great vigor. 
 
 "I fear we are going to have a hard winter this 
 year, mother ; my old bones begin to complain a little 
 now; but thank God, we're sure of a comfortable 
 home and enough to eat. What we'd a done without 
 this place is more than I know, with Joe away and me 
 not able to do heavy work in the mines. If Maggie 
 were only with us." And the old man wiped a tear 
 from his eyes. 
 
 "Yes, father, but Maggie is better off than we. 
 It's Joe that hurts my heart. To think that he may 
 
 321 
 
THAT PRi:NrTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 be hungry and cold like some of the poor fellows we 
 fed here last spring. Hark! Isn't that someone 
 knocking at the door ?" She dropped her knitting to 
 listen. 
 
 The old man arose and stepped into the next apart- 
 ment, which was used as a kind of reception hall and 
 office. A faint rapping sounded more clearly from 
 there ; and crossing the room, he opened the door, and 
 in the light streaming out, saw a woman. "Come in," 
 he cried, reaching forth and taking her by the arm. 
 "Come in out of the rain. Why, you're soaked 
 through." 
 
 "Oh please sir, can I stay here all night ?" said the 
 bedraggled woman. "They told me this was a place 
 for people to stop. I'm so hungry and tired." 
 
 And indeed she looked it. Her dress, though of 
 good material and nicely made, was soiled with mud 
 and rain. Beneath the sailor hat, from which the 
 water ran in sparkling drops, her hair hung wet and 
 dishevelled; her eyes were wild and pleading; her 
 cheeks sunken and ashy pale; while the delicately 
 turned nostrils and finely curved, trembling lips, 
 were blue with cold. Beyond all doubt, she had once 
 been beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Gray, old in experience, noted more than all 
 this, as he said, "We are not allowed to keep women 
 here, but it's a little different in your case, and I'll 
 see my wife. Sit down and wait a minute." 
 
 He gave her a chair and went back to the sitting- 
 room, returning a moment later with Mother Gray 
 at his heels. 
 
 "My poor dear," said the good woman, "of course 
 
 322 
 
THAT PKUSFTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 you must stay here. I know, I know," as the girl 
 looked at her in a questioning manner. "Anyone 
 can see your condition ; but bless your heart, our Mas- 
 ter befriended a poor woman, and why should not 
 we?" 
 
 And soon the girl was led into the other room and 
 Mrs. Gray removed her hat and loosened her clothing. 
 
 "Father," whispered the old lady, "I think you 
 had better go for Dr. Jordan. He'll be needed here 
 before morning." 
 
 When Mr. Gray returned with the doctor, the 
 patient, dry and clean, was wrapped in the soft 
 blankets of Mother Gray's own bed, with one of Mag- 
 gie's old night-dresses on, and with hot bricks at her 
 tired feet. But warmth and kindness had come too 
 late. The long, weary tramp about the streets of the 
 city, in the rain ; the friendless shutting of doors in 
 her face ; the consciousness that she was a mark for all 
 eyes; and the horror of what was to come, with the 
 cold and hunger, had done their work. When the 
 morning sun, which had chased away the storm 
 clouds, peeped in at the little chamber window. Dr. 
 Jordan straightened up with a long breath, "She will 
 suffer no more pain now. Mother, until the end." 
 
 "And when will that be. Doctor ?" 
 
 "In a few hours, at most; I cannot tell exactly," 
 the doctor replied. 
 
 "And there is no hope ?" asked Mrs. Gray, smooth- 
 ing the marble brow on the pillow, as she would have 
 touched her Maggie. 
 
 "Absolutely no hope. Mother," said the physician. 
 
 "Ah well, 'tis better so," murmured the old lady. 
 
 323 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "This world is not the place for such as she. Christ 
 may forgive, but men won't. The man alone goes 
 free. And the little one, too — surely God is good to 
 take them both together. Will she come to, do you 
 think, Doctor, before she goes ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is probable that she will rally for a little 
 while, and you may find out her name perhaps. 
 There was no mark on her clothing, you say ?" asked 
 Dr. Jordan. 
 
 "^N'ot the sign of a mark, and she would tell me 
 nothing; and see, there is no wedding ring," Mrs; 
 Gray replied. 
 
 They were silent for some time, and then, "She is 
 awakening," said the doctor. 
 
 The blue eyes opened slowly and looked wonder- 
 ingly about the room. "Mother," the girl said, in a 
 weak voice, "Mother — who are you? — " looking at 
 the doctor and Mrs. Gray. "Where am I ?" and she 
 tried to raise her head. 
 
 "There, there, dear; lie still now and rest. You 
 have been sick you know. We are your friends and 
 this is the doctor. Your mother shall come when you 
 tell us where to send for her." 
 
 The poor creature looked for a full minute into 
 the kind old face above her, and then slowly the look 
 of wonder in her eyes gave place to one of firmness, 
 pain and sorrow, and the lips closed tightly, as 
 though in fear that her secret would out. 
 
 "Oh honey, don't look like that, don't," said Mrs. 
 Gray. "Tell us who you are. Have you no mother ? 
 I know you have. Let us send for her at once, that 
 she may come to you." 
 
 324 
 
THAT PEIKTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 The lips parted in a sweet, sad smile. "I'm going 
 to die then? You would not look so if I were not. 
 Oh, I am so glad, so glad." And in a moment she 
 was sleeping like a child. 
 
 "Poor girl,'' muttered Dr. Jordan, wiping his eyes 
 — very sharp professional eyes they were, too. Then 
 turning to Mrs. Gray, he said, "I fear you will have 
 to take her mother's place. I must go now, but I will 
 look in again during the day. Don't have any false 
 hopes ; there is nothing to be done, save to make the 
 end easy." 
 
 For an hour the stranger slept, with a smile on her 
 lips ; and then opened her eyes again. But there was 
 no pain, no fear in them now; only a shadow of 
 trouble, as she asked in a whisper, "Where is it?" 
 
 The woman, with one hand smoothed back the hair 
 from the forehead of her patient, and with the other 
 pointed upward; the troubled shadow passed from 
 the eyes of the young mother, and she slept again. 
 Later in the day, the doctor called, and once more 
 she awoke. 
 
 "I thank you. Doctor," she said, in a weak voice ; 
 but shook her head when he offered her medicine. 
 
 "But, dear child, it is only to relieve you from 
 pain." 
 
 She answered, "You said I must go ; let me go as 
 I am. Oh, this world is cold and harsh. God knows 
 that I do not fear to die. Christ, who welcomed little 
 children, has my babe, and he knows that in my heart 
 I am innocent." 
 
 "But won't you tell us of your friends?" asked 
 Mother Gray. 
 
 325 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 "!N"o, no,'' she whispered. ^'I have no friends but 
 you and God ; and I have doubted even his love until 
 you told me that he would take me." 
 
 !N"or could any argument prevail upon her to 
 change her mind ; her only answer was a shake of the 
 head. 
 
 That evening, just after dusk, she whispered to 
 her kind nurse, who sat by the bedside, "Won't you 
 tell me your name, please ?" 
 
 "They call me Mother Gray." 
 
 "And may I call you that too?" said the stricken 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes honey, of course you may," answered the old 
 woman. "Of course you may." 
 
 "And why do you cry, Mother ?" as the tears rolled 
 down the wrinkled face. "Are you not glad that God 
 is good to me ? Oh, I forgot, you are afraid for me. 
 You don't understand." And she turned her face 
 away. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you, dear ? Brother 
 Cameron is coming to see you just as soon as he gets 
 home. Would you like to talk to him ?" 
 
 "Brother Cameron — Brother Cameron — I have no 
 brother," she answered, turning to Mother Gray 
 again. "Who is he?" 
 
 "Brother Cameron is our pastor; a minister you 
 know," Mrs. Gray replied. 
 
 The lips parted in a scornful smile, and the eyes 
 flashed with a spark of the old fire that must have 
 once been in them. "Oh, a church member ; no, I beg 
 of you, don't let him come here ; I want nothing to do 
 with him." 
 
 326 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ^^But, my dear, lie is a good man," pleaded Mrs. 
 Gray. 
 
 ^'Yes I know," said the girl. "I have met these 
 good church people before." 
 
 "But honey, I^m a church member." 
 
 "You are a Christian, Mother; I love Christ and 
 his people ; but a man can't prove himself a Christian 
 simply by being a church member. But I am tired. 
 Forgive me if I pain you, Mother, but I cannot see 
 the minister. He is a good man, a Christian perhaps, 
 but he can do me no good now ; and I would rather 
 die alone with you. The church has driven me from 
 its doors so many, many times. It was always so cold 
 and unfeeling. They bestow their pity on the dead 
 bodies of people, and by their manner, freeze the 
 souls of men." 
 
 Exhausted with the effort of so long a speech, she 
 dropped into a stupor again. 
 
 Later, after Reverend Cameron had come and gone 
 without seeing her, she suddenly opened her eyes and 
 whispered, "Mother, I have been thinking ; would you 
 be happier in knowing that I'm not afraid to die ?" 
 
 The good old woman tightened her grasp on the 
 white hand she held, and made no other answer but 
 to bow her grey head and press her lips to the fore- 
 head of the girl. 
 
 "I know you would ; and I'll tell you. I lived — " 
 She was interrupted by a low knock at the door and a 
 sweet voice calling gently, "May I come in. Mother 
 Gray?" 
 
 It was Amy, who had come at Cameron's request. 
 
 327 
 
THAT PEINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 The sufferer half rose in her bed. 'Who is it?" 
 she gasped. ''I — I — know that voice." 
 
 "There, there, dearie," returned the nurse, gently 
 pushing her back on the pillows. "There, there, lie 
 down again ; it's only Miss Amy." 
 
 "Yes, come in," Mrs. Gray called ; and Amy softly 
 pushed open the door and entered. 
 
 "I thought perhaps I could help you. Mother 
 Gray," she said, as she removed her hat and arranged 
 a beautiful bunch of flowers on a little stand in the 
 center of the room. Then turning to the sufferer, 
 she was about to speak again when she paused and 
 her face grew as white as the colorless face upon the 
 pillow. 
 
 The wide eyes of the dying girl stared back at her 
 in doubting wonder, while the trembling lips tried to 
 whisper her name. 
 
 The next instant. Amy threw herself on her knees, 
 her arms about the wasted form upon the bed. "Oh 
 Kate; Kate;" she cried. "How did this happen? 
 How came you here?" 
 
 It was Kate Cushman, from Oak Springs Farm. 
 
 Mother Gray quickly recovered from her surprise, 
 and with the instinct of a true nurse, calmed Amy 
 and soothed the patient. 
 
 "There, there, my dears," she said. "God is good 
 — God is good. Let us thank Him that He has 
 brought you together. You must be brave and strong. 
 Miss Amy. This poor dear needs our help. Yes, yes, 
 dear, be brave and strong." 
 
 Amy controlled herself with an effort, and rising 
 from her knees, sat down on the edge of the bed, still 
 
 328 
 
THAT PKI^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 holding Kate's hand, while she assisted Mother Gray 
 in soothing her. 
 
 When she grew more quiet, Amy said, "We must 
 send for your father and mother at once ; they can — " 
 
 "1^0, no, you must not — ^you shall not — they do 
 not know — in. mercy, don't tell them — it would kill 
 them. Promise; oh promise me you will never tell 
 them how I died. In pity for them, promise me," 
 pleaded Kate. 
 
 Mother Gray bowed her head, while the tears 
 streamed down her wrinkled cheeks. "Yes, yes, 
 dearie, we'll promise. It's better that they do not 
 know until it's all over; and they need never know 
 all." And whispering to Amy, she added, "The poor 
 child can't last but a little longer." 
 
 Reassured, the sufferer sank back again with a long 
 sigh, and closed her eyes wearily, but a moment later, 
 opened them once more to look at Amy. 
 
 "I'm so glad you're here," she said feebly ; ^^but I 
 can't bear to have you think that I am all bad." And 
 then in whispered, halting words, with many a break 
 and pause, she told her story — a story all too common. 
 And Amy, listening with white horror-stricken face, 
 guessed that which Mother Gray could not know, 
 and which the sufferer tried to conceal, the name of 
 her betrayer. 
 
 "And so we were married in secret, or I thought 
 we were," she concluded. "I know now that it was 
 only a farce. He came to visit me twice after the 
 sham ceremony, and I never saw him again until last 
 night. Oh God, forgive him ; forgive him, I — I loved 
 him so." 
 
 329 
 
THAT PKINTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 The poor wronged creature burst into a fit of pas- 
 sionate sobbing that could not be controlled. In vain 
 did Mother Gray try to soothe her. It was of no use. 
 Exhausted, she sank again into a stupor, from which 
 she roused only once near morning, and then she 
 whispered simply, "Good-bye Mother ; Good-bye Miss 
 Amy. Don't let father know." And just as the day 
 dawned in all its glory, her soul, pure and unstained 
 as that of her babe, took its flight, and the smile of in- 
 nocent girlhood was upon her lips. 
 
 When Amy reached home early in the forenoon, 
 she met her brother in the hallway, just going out. 
 
 "You look like you'd been making a night of it," 
 he said, with a contemptuous sneer. "Been consoling 
 some wanderer I suppose." 
 
 The young woman made no reply, but stood with 
 her back to the door, her eyes fixed on his face. 
 
 "Well, get out of my way," he said roughly ; "can't 
 you see I want to go out ?" 
 
 Amy spoke — "I have been at the institution all 
 night. Kate Cushman and the baby are both dead. 
 Go look at your work." 
 
 Frank started as though she had struck him; and 
 then as she stepped aside, he fairly ran from the 
 house as though in fear of his life. 
 
 330 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 CAMERON'S BETRAYAL AND SACRIFICE 
 
 N the little country village of Anderson, 
 where the southern branch of the "Mem- 
 phis" joins the main line, a group of excited 
 citizens were standing in front of the doctor's office. 
 "You're right sure it's small-pox, are you, Doc ?" 
 
 "There's no doubt of it," answered the physician. 
 
 "Who is he ?" said one of the group. 
 
 "He won't tell his name, but Jack Lane says it's 
 Frank Goodrich," replied the physician. "He came 
 in day before yesterday on the ^Memphis,' from 
 Boyd City, where they have just lost a case or two of 
 the worst form." 
 
 An angry murmur arose from the little group of 
 men. "What you goin' to do. Doc ?" asked the spokes- 
 man. 
 
 "I've sent to Pleasantville," the doctor answered, 
 "for that nigger who has had the disease, and he'll be 
 in as soon as he can get here. We must find some 
 place out of town for the fellow to stay, and let old 
 Jake take care of him." 
 
 Jim Boles spoke up. "Thar's a cabin on my west 
 forty, that's in purty good shape. A couple of us 
 could fix her up in an hour or two ; it's way back from 
 the road, a good bit over a mile I reckon — in heavy 
 timber too." 
 
 "I know the place," said another. "We run a fox 
 
 331 
 
THAT PEmTEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 past there last winter, and found him denned in that 
 ledge of rocks 'bout half a quarter on yon side." 
 
 "That's it," said another. "It's sure out of the 
 way all right." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, "three or four of you go 
 over there and ^x up the cabin as comfortable as pos- 
 sible, and I'll have the nigger take him out as soon 
 as he comes." 
 
 The cabin, which was built by some early settler, 
 had long ago been abandoned, and was partly fallen 
 into decay. Tall weeds grew up through the ruins 
 where the pole stable had stood; the roof and one 
 side of the smoke-house had fallen in ; and the chink- 
 ing had crumbled from between the logs of the house ; 
 while the yard was overgrown with brush and a tangle 
 of last season's dead grass and leaves, now wet and 
 sodden with the late heavy rain. Deep timber hid the 
 place from view, and a hundred yards in front of the 
 hovel a spring bubbled from beneath a ledge of rock, 
 sending a tiny stream trickling away through the 
 forest. 
 
 Jim Boles and his helpers had just finished patch- 
 ing up the cabin roof and floor, after first building 
 a huge fire in the long unused fireplace, when they 
 heard the rattle of a wagon, and between the trees 
 caught a glimpse of a scrawny old horse, harnessed 
 with bits of strap and string, to a rickety wagon, that 
 seemed about to fall to pieces at every turn of the 
 wheel. Upon the board, used for a seat, sat an old 
 negro, urging his steed through the patches of light 
 and shadow with many a jerk of the rope lines, ac- 
 companied by an occasional whack from the long 
 
 332 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 slender pole. Behind the negro was a long object 
 wrapped in blankets and comforters. 
 
 "Hullo!" shouted the colored man, catching sight 
 of the cabin and the men. "Am dis yar de horspital 
 f er de small-pox diseases ? Dey dun tol' me ter f oiler 
 de road ; but fo' Gawd, all de's yar roads look erlike 
 ter me in dis yer place. N^evah seed sich er lonsom oV 
 hole in all ma' bo'n days. Reckon dars any hants in 
 dat air ol' shack ?" 
 
 "No, this cabin is all right," shouted one of the 
 men ; "but you stay where you are till we get away." 
 And they began gathering up their tools and gar- 
 ments. 
 
 "All right, sah ; all right, sah," grinned the negro. 
 "You'uns jes clar out ob de way fer de ambiance am 
 er comin'. We dun got de right ob way dis trip, 
 shor'." 
 
 And so Frank Goodrich was established in the old 
 log house, with the colored man to nurse him. A 
 place was fixed upon where the doctor and citizens 
 would leave such things as were needed, and Jake 
 could go and get them. 
 
 Three days passed, and then by bribes and threats 
 and prayers, Frank persuaded the negro to walk to 
 Pleasantville in the night and post a letter to Rever- 
 end Cameron, begging the minister to come to him, 
 telling him only that he was in trouble and warning 
 him to keep his journey secret. 
 
 What fiend prompted young Goodrich to take such 
 a course cannot be imagined. But let us, in charity, 
 try to think that he was driven to it by the fright and 
 horrors of his condition. 
 
 333 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 Mrs. Cameron was away in the far east visiting 
 her parents, and when the minister received the letter, 
 he made hurried preparations, and telling Dick that 
 he might be gone several days, left the city that even- 
 ing. At a little way-station named in the letter, he 
 found the negro, with his poor old horse and rickety 
 wagon waiting him. 
 
 "Is you de parson ?" asked the colored man. 
 
 "Yes, I am a minister," Cameron answered, won- 
 dering much at the appearance of the negro and his 
 strange turn-out. And as he climbed up to the board 
 seat, he questioned his guide rather sharply, but the 
 only answer he could get was: "Mistah Goodrich 
 dun toF me ter hoi' ma tongue er he'd hant me, an' 
 I'm shor goin' t' do hit. Golly, dis yere chile don't 
 want no ghostes chasin' ob him roun'. E'o sah. I'se 
 done fotch yo' t' Mistah Goodrich en he kin tell yo' 
 what he's er mind ter." 
 
 ^Needless to say, all this did not add to Cameron's 
 peace of mind, and the moments seemed hours as the 
 poor old horse stumbled on through the darkness of 
 the night. At last they entered the timber, and how 
 the negro ever guided his crippled steed past the trees 
 and fallen logs and rocks was a mystery to Cameron ; 
 but he did ; and at last they saw the light of the cabin. 
 
 "Dar's de place, sah. Dis yere's de horspital. We 
 dun got yere at las'." And the colored driver brought 
 the horse to a standstill near the tumbled down smoke- 
 house. 
 
 "Go right in, sah; go right in. E'obody dar but 
 Mistah Goodrich. I put eway ol' Mose." And he be- 
 
 334 
 
THAT PEI:N^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 gan fumbling at the ropes and strings that made the 
 harness. 
 
 Cameron, burning with impatience and curiosity, 
 stepped to the door of the cabin and pushed it open. 
 By the dim light of a dirty kerosene lantern, he 
 could see nothing at first ; but a moaning voice from 
 one end of the room, drew his attention in the right 
 direction. "Is that you. Brother Cameron V^ 
 
 He stepped to the side of the cot. "Why Frank, 
 what are you doing here; and what is the matter?" 
 
 "I'm sick," answered the young man, in a feeble 
 voice. "I wanted to see you so bad. I'm awful glad 
 you came." 
 
 "But why are you here in this miserable place ? I 
 do not understand," said Cameron. 
 
 "Small-pox," muttered the sick man. "Folks in 
 town are afraid. The nigger takes care of me. He 
 has had it." 
 
 The minister involuntarily started back. 
 
 "Oh Brother Cameron, don't leave me here alone," 
 cried Frank. "I can't die like this." 
 
 For one brief moment Cameron trembled. He saw 
 his danger and the trap into which he had fallen. 
 He thought of his work and of his wife, and took one 
 step toward the door; then stopped. 
 
 "Oh, I can't die alone," said Frank again. 
 
 Then with a prayer to his God for help, the min- 
 ister made up his mind. 
 
 "Why of course I'll not leave you, Frank," he said 
 cheerily, resuming his seat. "You know that surely." 
 
 And so this man of God wrote his friends in the 
 city that he would be detained a few days, and stayed 
 
 335 
 
THAT PKI:N'TEE OF UDELL'S 
 
 by the side of the wretched sufferer in the old cabin 
 in the lonely woods. 
 
 The disease was not slow in its work, and before 
 many hours had passed, it was clear to Cameron that 
 the end was approaching. Frank also realized that 
 death was not far distant, and his awful fear was 
 pitiful. 
 
 "Brother Cameron,'' he whispered hoarsely, as he 
 held his pastor's hand, while the old negro crouched 
 by the fireplace smoking his cob pipe. "I must tell 
 you — I've lived an awful life — people think that I'm 
 a Christian — but I've lived a lie — " Then with a 
 look that made Cameron shudder, and in a voice 
 strong with terror, he screamed, "Oh God, I shall go 
 to hell. I shall go to hell. Save me Brother Cam- 
 eron, save me. I always said that you were a good 
 fellow. Why do you let me die here like a dog? 
 Don't you know that I want to live? Here you 
 cursed nigger, go fetch a doctor. I'll haunt you if 
 you don't. Do as I say." 
 
 The colored man chattering in fright, dropped his 
 pipe in the ashes, and half rose as though to leave the 
 room, but sank back again with his eyes fixed on 
 Cameron, who was bending forward, his hand on the 
 forehead of the dying man. 
 
 "God knows all, Frank," said the minister. 
 
 "Yes," muttered the other, "God knows all — all — 
 all." Then in a scream of anguish again, "Lie has 
 been watching me all the time. He has seen me 
 everywhere I went. He is here now. Look! don't 
 you see his eyes? Look! Brother Cameron; look 
 you nigger! Look there — " He pointed to one cor- 
 
 336 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 ner of the cabin. "Oh, see those awful eyes, watch- 
 ing — ^watching — I have fooled men but I couldn't 
 fool God. Dont! Dont! Oh Christ, I want to live. 
 Save me — save me — " And he prayed and pleaded 
 for Jesus to heal him. "You know you could if you 
 wanted to," he shouted, profanely; as though the 
 Saviour of men was present in the flesh. Then to 
 Cameron he said, "I must get out of here. Don't you 
 hear them coming ? Let me go I say," as the minister 
 held him back on the bed. "Let me go. Don't you 
 know that I can't look God in the face ? I tell you, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 For a moment he struggled feebly and then sank 
 back exhausted ; but soon began to talk again ; and the 
 minister heard with horror the dark secrets of his 
 life. 
 
 Suddenly he ceased muttering, and with wide-open 
 eyes, stared into the darkness. "Look there. Brother 
 Cameron," he cried, hoarse with emotion. "Amy; 
 don't you see her? She disgraced the family you 
 know; ran away with that low-down printer. But 
 see! Look! Who is that with her? Oh God, it's 
 Kate — Kate — Yes, Kate, I'll marry you. It can't 
 be wrong, you know, for you love me. Only we must 
 not marry now for father would — Look Cam- 
 eron — " His voice rose in a scream of fear. "She's 
 got small-pox. Drive her out, you nigger; take her 
 away to that cabin in the woods where you kept me. 
 Sh' — Don't tell anyone, Cameron, but she wants me 
 to go with her. She's come to get me. And there's — 
 there's — my God, look — ^yes — yes — Kate, I'm com- 
 ing — " And he sank back on the bed again. 
 
 337 
 
THAT PEI^TER OF UDELL'S 
 
 The negro was on his knees trying to mumble a 
 prayer, while the minister sat with bowed head. The 
 lantern cast flickering shadows in the corner of the 
 room, and the firelight danced and fell. A water 
 bug crawled over the floor; a spider dropped from 
 the rude rafters; and from without came the sound 
 of the wind among the bare branches of the trees, and 
 the old horse feeding on the dead grass and mouldy 
 leaves about the cabin. 
 
 Suddenly the sick man spoke once more. "'Ro sir, 
 I will never disgrace you. I am as proud of our 
 family as yourself. I am — home — day — " The 
 sentence trailed off into a few unintelligible words 
 in which only "Mother" and "Amy" could be distin- 
 guished. And then, with a last look about the cabin, 
 from eyes in which anguish and awful fear was pic- 
 tured, he gasped and was gone. 
 
 The next day, the old negro dug a grave not far 
 from the house, and at evening, when the sun was 
 casting the last long shadows through the trees, the 
 colored man and the minister lowered the body of the 
 rich man's son, with the help of the rope lines from 
 the old harness, to its last resting place. 
 
 A few moments later, the negro came around to the 
 front of the house. "Ready to go, sah ?" 
 
 "Go where ?" asked Cameron. 
 
 "Why, go home ob course," said the negro. "I 
 reckoned you'd be mighty glad ter get away from dis 
 yer place." 
 
 "I'm not going anywhere," the minister answered. 
 "You may unhitch the horse again." 
 
 The old man did as he was told ; then scratching his 
 
 338 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 woolly head, said to himself, "I golly. Neber thought 
 ob dat. I'll sure hab ter take care ob him next." 
 
 In the days which followed, Cameron wrote long 
 letters to his wife, preparing her, with many loving- 
 words, for what was, in all probability, sure to come 
 before she could reach home again. He also prepared 
 an article for the Whistler, telling of Frank's death, 
 but omitting all that would tend to injure the young 
 man's character. To Adam Goodrich only, he wrote 
 the awful truth. Other letters containing requests in 
 regard to his business affairs, he addressed to Dick 
 Falkner and Uncle Bobbie Wicks, and one to the 
 president of the association, in which he made sev- 
 eral recommendations in regard to the work. All of 
 these, except the one to his wife, he placed in the 
 hands of the negro to be mailed after his death, if 
 such should be the end. 
 
 Then when the symptoms of the dread disease ap- 
 peared, he calmly and coolly began his fight for life. 
 But his efforts were of no avail ; and one night, just 
 before the break of day, he called the old colored man 
 to his bedside and whispered, with a smile, "It's al- 
 most over. Uncle Jake ; my Master bids me come up 
 higher. Good-bye; you have been very kind to me, 
 and the good Father will not forget you." And so 
 talking calmly of the Master's goodness and love, he 
 fell asleep, and the old negro sat with a look of awe 
 and reverence on his dusky face, as the glorious sun- 
 light filled the cabin and the chorus of the birds 
 greeted the coming of the day. 
 
 Much that passed in the weeks following, cannot be 
 written here. Mrs. Cameron's grief and anguish were 
 
 339 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 too keen, too sacred, to be recounted in unsympathetic 
 print. But sustained by that power which had en- 
 nobled the life of her husband, and kept by the prom- 
 ises of the faith that had strengthened him, she went 
 on doing her part in the Master's work, waiting in 
 loving patience the call that would unite them again. 
 
 A month after the news of Cameron's death 
 reached Boyd City, the president of the association 
 called on Dick and spent an hour with him talking of 
 the work. Before leaving, he said : "Mr. Falkner, in 
 Reverend Cameron's letter to me, he strongly recom- 
 mended that you be called to take the place left vacant 
 as director of the association. With your consent, I 
 will announce that recommendation at our next meet- 
 ing. But first, I should like to know what answer 
 you will give." 
 
 Dick asked for a week to think over the matter, 
 which was granted. And during that time he con- 
 sulted Elder Wicks. 
 
 Uncle Bobbie only said, as he grasped his young 
 friend by the hand, "Behold, I have set before you 
 an open door." And Dick bowed his head in silent 
 assent. 
 
 The same day, late in the afternoon, George Udell 
 was bending over some work that he was obliged to 
 finish before going home. His helper had gone to 
 supper, and the boy, a new one in the office, was 
 cleaning up preparatory to closing for the night. 
 "Don't clean that press, Jim," said Udell, suddenly. 
 
 "What's the matter ; don't you know that it's time 
 to quit ?" asked the tired youngster, a note of anxiety 
 in his voice. 
 
 340 
 
THAT PEmTEK OF UDELL'S 
 
 "You can quit," replied George, "but I am going to 
 run off some of this stuff before I go." And he pro- 
 ceeded to lock up the form. 
 
 With a look of supreme disgust on his ink-stained 
 countenance, the boy removed his apron and van- 
 ished, as though fearing his employer might change 
 his mind. At the foot of the stairs, the apprentice 
 met Clara Wilson. "He's up there," he said with a 
 grin, and hurried on out of the building, while the 
 young lady passed slowly to the upper floor. The 
 stamping of the press filled the room, and Udell, his 
 eyes on his work, did not hear the door close behind 
 the girl ; and only when she stood at his elbow did he 
 look up. The machine made three impressions on one 
 sheet before he came to his senses ; then he turned to 
 the young daly inquiringly. 
 
 "I — I — thought I'd stop and ask you to come over 
 to the house this evening ; mother wants to see you," 
 said Clara. 
 
 "Hum — m — m, anything important?" asked 
 George, leaning against the press. "You see I'm 
 pretty busy now." He shut off the power and stepped 
 across the room as the phone rang. "Hello — ^yes, this 
 is Udell's — I'm sorry, but it will be impossible — 
 we close at six you know. Come over first thing in 
 the morning — can't do it; it's past six now, and I 
 have an important engagement to-night. All right. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 "Oh, if you have an engagement I will go," said 
 Clara, moving toward the door. 
 
 "You needn't be in a hurry," said George, with 
 one of his queer smiles. "My engagement has been 
 
 341 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 put off so many times it won^t hurt to delay it a few 
 minutes longer. And besides/' he added, ^'the other 
 party has done all the putting off so far, and I rather 
 enjoy the novelty." 
 
 The young lady blushed and hung her head, and 
 then — ^but there — ^what right have we to look? It 
 is enough for us to know that Udeirs engagement was 
 put off no longer, and that he spent the evening at 
 the Wilson home, where the heart of Clara's mother 
 was made glad by the announcement she had long 
 wished to hear. 
 
 "Law sakes," snapped the old lady; "I do hope 
 you'll be happy. Goodness knows you ought to be; 
 you've waited long enough." And for just that once, 
 all parties interested were agreed. 
 
 Charlie Bowen is in an eastern college fitting him- 
 self for the ministry. His expenses are paid by Mr. 
 Wicks. "To-be-sure," said Uncle Bobbie, "I reckon 
 a feller might as well invest in young men as any 
 other kind o' stock, an' the church needs preachers 
 who know a little about the business of this world, 
 as well as the world what's comin'. I don't know 
 how my business will get along without the boy 
 though, but I reckon if we look after Christ's inter- 
 ests he won't let us go broke. To-be-sure, college only 
 puts the trimmins on, but if you've got a Christian 
 business man, what's all man to begin with, they sure 
 do put him in shape ; an' I reckon the best ain't none 
 too good for God. But after all, it's mighty com- 
 fortin' for such old, uneducated sticks as me to know 
 that 'tain't the trimmins the good Father looks at. 
 Ye can't tell a preacher by the long words in his ser- 
 
 342 
 
THAT PKINTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 mon, no more 'n yoii can tell a church by the length of 
 its steeple." 
 
 Five years later, two traveling men, aboard an in- 
 coming passenger train, were discussing the business 
 outlook, when one pointed out of the window to the 
 smoke-shrouded city. "That town is a wonder to 
 me," he said. 
 
 "Why ?" asked his fellow drummer, who was mak- 
 ing his first trip through that part of the country. 
 "What's the matter with it ? Isn't it a good business 
 town?" 
 
 "Good business town," ejaculated the other, "I 
 should say it was. There's not a better in this section. 
 But it's the change in the character of the place that 
 gets me. Five years ago, there wasn't a tougher city 
 in the whole west. Every other door on Broadway 
 was a joint, and now — " 
 
 "Oh yes, I've heard that," interrupted the other, 
 with a half sneer ; "struck by a church revival or 
 something, wasn't they? And built some sort of a 
 Salvation Army Kescuing Home or Mission ?" 
 
 "I'm not sure about the church revival," returned 
 the other slowly, "though they do say there are more 
 church members there now than in any other city of 
 its size in the country. But I'm sure of one thing; 
 they were struck by good, common-sense business 
 Christianity. As for the Rescue Home, I suppose you 
 can call it that if you want to; but it's the finest 
 block in the business portion of the city ; and almost 
 every man you meet owns a share in it. But here 
 we are ; you can see for yourself ; only take my advice, 
 and if you want to do business in Boyd City, don't 
 
 343 
 
THAT PRINTER OF UDELUS 
 
 try to sneer at the churches, or laugh at their asso- 
 ciation.'^ 
 
 And indeed the traveling man might well wonder 
 at the change a few years had brought to this city in 
 the great coal fields of the middle west. In place of 
 saloons that once lined the east side of Broadway and 
 the principal streets leading to it, there were sub- 
 stantial buildings and respectable business firms. The 
 gambling dens and brothels had been forced to close 
 their doors, and their occupants driven to seek other 
 fields for their degrading profession. Cheap variety 
 and vulgar burlesque troops had the city listed as "no 
 good," and passed it by, while the best of musicians 
 and lecturers were always sure of crowded houses. 
 The churches, of all denominations, had been forced 
 to increase their seating capacity ; and the attendance 
 at high school and business college had enlarged four- 
 fold ; the city streets and public buildings, the lawns 
 and fences even, by their clean and well-kept appear- 
 ance, showed an honest pride, and a purpose above 
 mere existence. But a stranger would notice, first of 
 all, the absence of loafers on the street corners, and 
 the bright, interested expressions and manners of the 
 young men whom he chanced to meet. 
 
 And does this all seem strange to you, reader, as 
 t^ our friend, the traveling man ? Believe me, there 
 is no mystery about it. It is just the change that 
 comes to the individual who applies Christ's teach- 
 ing to his daily life. High purpose, noble activity, 
 virtue, honesty and cleanliness. God has but one law 
 for the corporation and the individual, and the teach- 
 
 344 
 
THAT PRIISTTEE OF UDELUS 
 
 ing that will transform the life of a citizen will 
 change the life of a city if only it be applied. 
 
 The reading-room and institution established by 
 the young people of the Jerusalem Church had ac- 
 complished its mission, and was absorbed into the 
 larger one established by the citizens, where boys and 
 girls, men and women, could hear good music, uplift- 
 ing talk, and helpful entertainment ; where good citi- 
 zenship, good health, good morals, were all taught in 
 the name of Jesus. The institution was free in every 
 department; visitors were restricted only by whole- 
 some rules that in themselves were educational. Co- 
 operating with the city officials, it separated the 
 vicious from the unfortunate, and removed not only 
 the influence of evil, but the last excuse for it, by 
 making virtue a pleasure, and tempting the public to 
 live wholesomely. And as the traveling man testified, 
 it paid from a business standpoint ; or as Uncle Bob- 
 bie Wicks tells his customers from other towns, 
 "Folks come to Boyd City to live 'cause they ain't 
 'fraid to have their boys 'n girls walk down the street 
 alone." And after all, that's about the best recom- 
 mendation a city can have. And perhaps the hap- 
 piest couple in all that happy, prosperous city, as well 
 as the best-loved of her citizens, is the young man- 
 ager of the association, Mr. Richard Falkner, and his 
 beautiful wife, Amy. 
 
 But Dick will soon leave his present position to 
 enter a field of wider usefulness at the national Capi- 
 tol. For the people declared, at the last election, that 
 their choice for representative was "That Printer of 
 Udell's." But before they leave for their Washington 
 
 345 
 
THAT PKmTER OF UDELL'S 
 
 home, Dick and Amy will pay still another visit to a 
 lonely spot near the little village of Anderson. There, 
 where the oaks and hickories cast their flickering 
 shadows on the fallen leaves and bushes, and the 
 striped ground-squirrel has his home in the rocks; 
 where the redbird whistles to his mate, and at night, 
 the sly fox creeps forth to roam at will ; where nature, 
 with vine of the wild grape, has builded a fantastic 
 arbor, and the atmosphere is sweet with woodland 
 flowers and blossoms, not far from the ruins of an old 
 cabin, they will kneel before two rough mounds of 
 earth, each marked with a simple head-stone, one 
 bearing no inscription save the name and date; the 
 other this: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
 of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it 
 unto Me." 
 
 THE El!TD. 
 
 346 
 
Over One Million Copies 
 Have Been Sold 
 
 Ozark "Life Stories" 
 
 By HAROLD BELL WRIGHT 
 
 r^ 
 
 \ 
 
 That Printer of Udell's 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 JOHN CLITHEROE GILBERT 
 
 12mo. Cloth 
 
 The Shepherd of the Hills 
 
 tFith Illustrations by 
 F. GRAHAM COOTES 
 
 12mo. Cloth 
 
 The Calling of Dan Matthews 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 ARTHUR I. KELLER 
 
 12mo. Cloth 
 
That Printer of Udeirs 
 
 ^ the Author of 
 
 "THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS" 
 
 "THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 From Some of the Reviews 
 
 "Ahogether an estimable story." — New York Sun. 
 "Done to the life." — Chicago Tribune. 
 "Well written and decidedly interesting." 
 
 — New York Times. 
 "A thoroughly good novel." — Boston Globe. 
 "Wrings tears and laughter." — Record-Herald, Chicago. 
 "Absorbing, thoughtful novel." — Kansas City Journal. 
 "Full of movement and passion." — Standard, Chicago. 
 "It is human to the very core." — Nashville American. 
 "Excellent character creation." — 5"^. Louis Republic. 
 "Wholesome and strengthening." — Albany Press. 
 "Rich in humor and good sense." 
 
 — Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 "Full of thrilling interest and moral heroism." 
 
 — Pittsburg Dispatch. 
 "Many well drawn characters." — Washington Post. 
 "Has not a peer in English fiction." 
 
 — Providence Telegram. 
 "It is strong and wholesome." — Chicago Post. 
 "Not a chapter that is not interesting." — St. Paul News. 
 "Is a fascinating story." — Portland Telegram. 
 "It should be read to be understood." 
 
 — Grand Rapids Herald. 
 "The reader's interest is stirred to its very depths." 
 
 — Omaha World-Herald. 
 "Many strong situations and some delicate ones." 
 
 — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 "The Ralph Connor of Kansas." — Brooklyn Eagle. 
 "Most clever, stirring and original." 
 
 — Birmingham News. 
 "A tale of exalted ideals." — Denver Times. 
 
The Shepherd of the Hills 
 
 By the Author of 
 
 "THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS" 
 
 *'THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 From Some of the Reviews 
 
 "There are many bits of excellent description in the 
 course of the story, and an atmosphere as fresh and 
 sweet and free from modern grime as one would 
 breathe on the Ozark trails themselves." — New York 
 Times. 
 
 "Amidst all the ordinary literature of the day, it is 
 as a pure, white stone set up along a dreary road of 
 unending monotony." — Buffalo Courier. 
 
 "It is filled with laughs and tears, this beautiful 
 story, and no one can help laughing or crying in turn, 
 if his heart is right." — Pueblo Chieftain. 
 
 "It is a heart-stirring story. A tale to bring laughter 
 and tears; a story to be read and read again." — Grand 
 Rapids Herald. 
 
 "The people who move within it are so human that 
 the reader of their story will pick them out for like 
 and dislike, as if he had really known them in the flesh, 
 rather than in the pages of a book." — Chicago Journal. 
 
 "One of the best novels written in the English lan- 
 guage for over a decade. * * * Good luck to the 
 man who can put upon paper so fine a novel of Ameri- 
 can life." — Pittsburg Press. 
 
 "One of the really good books of the year. * * * 
 A powerful and analytical study of character." — Clei>e- 
 land Plain Dealer. 
 
THE CALLING OF 
 DAN MATTHEWS 
 
 By the Author of 
 
 "THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS" 
 
 "THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 From Some of the Reviews 
 
 "Mr. Wright has written other novels, but this one is so 
 strong and wholesome, so attractive as literature, so inter- 
 esting as a story, so artistic in preparation, that it wins 
 increasing favor as one gets into it." — Buffalo Evening Neios. 
 
 "Mr. Wright has the gift of knowing people well and of 
 being able to set out their characteristics so clearly that his 
 reader also knows them well." — Chicago Journal. 
 
 "It is a privilege to meet the people whom the author 
 allows you to know. They are worth while ; and to cry and 
 feel with them, get into the fresh, sweet atmosphere with 
 which the writer surrounds them — and above all, to under- 
 stand Dan Matthews and to go with him in his unfoldment 
 — these will repay you." — Portland Spectator. 
 
 "Harold Bell Wright has done a fine big piece of work. 
 * *   One might quote at length from the old doctor's 
 homely philosophy. The book can not be read without the 
 keenest enjoyment and at the end of the story one feels that 
 the people are old friends, real flesh and blood characters, 
 so human are they all." — San Francisco Call. 
 
 "A skillfully mapped battle-field of human souls, relieved, 
 it is true, by humor, but, for the most part, pathetic and, 
 at times brooded over by the mystery of spirit-strength, life's 
 close, never-ending tragedy." — Chicago Examiner. 
 
 "Mr. Wright's books are wholesome in the best sense. 
 They express a faith which lies in practical deeds. This 
 latest of them should materially extend the author's favor 
 in a field which he has made his own." — New York World. 
 
Oregon Journal. — ** Harold Bell Wright has given to the 
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 because he wears a Crown/' 
 
 — From *^The Uncroijoned King.'''' 
 
 I |>^ y~^ I Mr. Wright's Allegory of Life I 
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 Uncrowned King 
 
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