THE 
 
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THE GROPER 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY G. AIKMAN *w«*A 
 
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 BONI AND LIVERIGHT 
 New York I9 j 9 
 
Copyright, 19 19, 
 By Boni & Liveright, Inc. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 including the Scandinavian 
 
 Printed in the U.S.A. 
 
TO 
 ADA M. 
 
 WHO HELPS ME KEEP ON GROPING 
 
 H. G. A, 
 
 753658 
 
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 V/MUiJ •♦•*• 
 
 THE GROPER 
 
 PART ONE, 
 
 I 
 
 LEE HILLQUIT never quite lost the vivid impressions 
 of that last Sunday afternoon at Chatham. Later 
 on in life, he had only to close his eyes to visualise 
 the whole familiar scene — and with it, all his delicate, 
 soaring happiness. 
 
 Below them, at the foot of the hill — euphemistically 
 known as Mount Phillis — Lake Chatham stretched off in 
 the form of a casual letter S. Two miles north, at the 
 very head of the lake, they could make out the town itself: 
 its three church spires piercing the surf of green leaves; 
 the cupola of the courthouse dominating the other down- 
 town buildings; and off to the extreme right, the tall, brick 
 smokestack of the Chatham Dairy Company. 
 
 Lee felt, rather than took direct note of, this sunlit pan- 
 orama. All his conscious faculties — his whole being — were 
 focussed upon the very pretty girl who sat at his right, a 
 foot higher up the hill. Lee, half reclining on the grass, 
 supporting himself on his elbow, looked up into her eyes 
 and doubted if so wonderful a person had ever lived before. 
 
 Vera Wakefield did not return Lee's devotional gaze, but 
 instead contemplated the lake below, with a preoccupied 
 expression that seemed faintly wistful. 
 
2 THE GROPER 
 
 How profitless to £et about describing an elusive personal 
 charm 1 Details come easily enough: Vera's features, for 
 example, were 'good, U not distinctive; her abundant, neatly 
 coiffured hair, a light, lustreless brown; her eyes clear blue, 
 yet indefinably nebulous at times. She had a way of looking 
 up at people — the white of her eye showing beneath the 
 iris — with an effect of appealing trustfulness. Her skin re- 
 mained brown with summer tan; and on each cheek were 
 sprinkled a few honest freckles. But such minutice lament- 
 ably fail to capture the real Vera. Very likely her attrac- 
 tiveness was partly compounded of her freshness, her youth, 
 her flaming healthfulness — and partly of that vague air of 
 smartness that most young American girls somehow achieve. 
 Nothing could have been more informal than Vera's cos- 
 tume — low-collared blouse, navy-blue skirt, tan stockings 
 and pumps; yet nothing could have suggested a more 
 alluring trimness. 
 
 To an idealistic youth of twenty-three, however, all such 
 speculation would have seemed worse than futile. Lee 
 Hillquit could not possibly have analysed the emotion that 
 suffused him. He only knew he loved Vera unreservedly-^ 
 with a shy, spiritual sort of love. 
 
 At length, she broke the silence. 
 
 "To-morrow, at this time, you'll be in Detroit." 
 
 "Yes." Lee followed her gaze across Lake Chatham. 
 "And I don't dare think how I'm going to miss you." 
 
 They watched a billowy white cloud — its scalloped edges 
 sharply defined against the blue September sky — come 
 swiftly up over the hills that bordered the west bank of the 
 lake. 
 
 Abruptly, he took her soft, well-formed hand in his 
 
 "Are you going to marry me, Vera?" he asked. 
 
 He felt a quiver go through her hand and arm, and 
 looked up into her face again. 
 
 "Well?" he queried. 
 
THE GROPER 3 
 
 Vera sighed. "You know I love you, dear boy. Isn't 
 that enough for now?" 
 
 Lee sat up quickly. "But if you do love me, why is it 
 you won't promise to marry me?" 
 
 She closed her eyes and made no reply. A faint, uncon- 
 vincing smile came into her face. When she opened her 
 eyes a moment later, Lee fancied a peculiar wetness in 
 them. 
 
 "There are some things I can't explain," she made 
 cryptic response — and all at once Lee felt years younger 
 than she. "You know I love you, and always will. There's 
 nobody else." 
 
 "But " 
 
 She checked him. "Of course, if it will make you any 
 happier for me to promise " 
 
 ""Any happier I" He caught her in his arms. "Why, if 
 you didn't promise, I declare I'd give right up — not even 
 start for Detroit." 
 
 Vera threw him a tenderly appraising glance. She could 
 never help feeling the slightest bit maternal toward this 
 strange rare lover of hers — with his high forehead and straw- 
 colored, wispy hair; his diffident grey eyes; and most 
 noteworthy of all, his sensitive, whimsical, talented mouth. 
 She loved him — that was certain enough; yet he puzzled 
 her. Sometimes he said unintelligible things. Unassertive- 
 ness was almost a weakness in him; he had no faculty for 
 pushing himself forward. A most lovable visionary. 
 
 "You're funny," she said. 
 
 But Lee's high spirits had entirely returned. 
 
 "We won't have to wait long, my dearest. Once I get 
 to the city, there won't be any holding me. In less than 
 a year's time " 
 
 Vera looked skeptical. "I surely hope so, but you 
 mustn't expect too much in the beginning." 
 
4 THE GROPER 
 
 His introspective eyes lighted up, and he leaned forward 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I mean it, Vera — every word of it. There won't be any 
 holding me. There's nothing to success but hard work; and 
 with you to work for — knowing that every minute I waste 
 means waiting for you just that much longer — why, no 
 power on earth can keep me from being successful." 
 
 "It does sound simple," admitted Vera. 
 
 "The simplest thing in the world. Life itself is simple. 
 There's just one rule: Success comes to the man who 
 works for it — the man who deserves it. A man can get 
 anything he wants in life — provided he wants it hard 
 enough." 
 
 "Just what is it you're going to try for?" Vera interposed. 
 "Money?" 
 
 Lee looked a little bewildered by this demand for definite 
 information. "Money? Yes, I want to make money first 
 of all, so that I can marry you. But I want to count for 
 something in the world, besides." 
 
 "I've thought at times," Vera reverted, "that you'd never 
 make much money." 
 
 Lee laughed confidently. "Oh, I'll make enough, I guess." 
 Then his enthusiasm re-possessed him. "I can hardly wait 
 to get to the city. Think of it! — thousands of people on 
 the streets — skyscrapers — every chance in the world to make 
 goodl It's the Big Adventure!" 
 
 Some remnant of Vera's dubiousness flickered. "It 
 doesn't do to be too much of an idealist." 
 
 He was conscious of a great, charitable wisdom. "Ideals, 
 dear, are what make the world go round. If a man trusts 
 people — looks for the very best in them — he won't be 
 disappointed." 
 
 For a time they were silent, both of them again a little 
 depressed at the thought of parting. The sun had set 
 behind the low hills to the left, and already the first pre- 
 
THE GROPER 5 
 
 monition of twilight crept up the eastern sky. From the 
 town two miles north came the sound of church-bells, melan- 
 choly and mellow. There were two bells, one in the 
 Congregational church, the other in the Methodist. They 
 alternated with each other, as if in friendly rivalry. 
 
 Vera smiled. "I begged off from the Young People's 
 Meeting to-night. I told mother this was your last night." 
 
 Presently he moved closer. Answering the appeal in his 
 eyes, she slowly bent down to his lips. They kissed each 
 other softly, tenderly, almost reverently. 
 
 "Keep your arms around me," Vera whispered tensely. 
 "Never let me go I Never — no matter what I say or do I" 
 
 "My wonderful sweetheart!" he said. 
 
 It seemed to him that she held him more tightly than 
 ever before; bound him to her with a fierce urgency, as if 
 she were afraid of losing him, as if she were fighting for 
 him. 
 
n 
 
 IT was after eight o'clock and quite dark when Vera and 
 Lee finally reached the outskirts of the village of Chat- 
 ham. Ever more slowly, they crossed Main Street, with 
 its two blocks of store-fronts and well-gnawed hitching rails; 
 cut "kitty corner" down across the square, past the court- 
 house and the jail, and approached the massive old-fashioned 
 brick house where the Wakefields lived. 
 
 All at once they caught sight of a horse and trim phaeton 
 standing in the road opposite the house. 
 
 Vera gave an impatient exclamation: "Oh bother!" 
 
 Lee recognised the rig as belonging to a youth named 
 Milo Higginson, who had lately developed an obvious inter- 
 est in Vera. Lee knew young Higginson slightly, and con- 
 sidered him a sullen and unprepossessing lout. Milo's father, 
 however, owned the Higginson State Bank in the nearby 
 town of Record, and was the most important financial figure 
 in the county. Milo basked in reflected glory. He wore 
 tailor-made clothes and had more money to spend than any 
 three Chatham swains. 
 
 But Vera looked disconsolate. "I'm terribly sorry," she 
 professed. 
 
 Lee's perfect happiness prompted quick magnanimity. It 
 did not even occur to him to think of Milo Higginson as a 
 rival. 
 
 "That's all right," he hastened. "I understand how it is." 
 
 "You know mother," sighed Vera. 
 
 Lee nodded. Mrs. Wakefield completely dominated her 
 
 6 
 
THE GROPER 7 
 
 daughter — and even her husband, the placid phlegmatic 
 Chatham druggist, Roscoe Wakefield. 
 
 "It's all right, Vera," he repeated. "What's more, don't 
 think I expect you to stay alone every night this winter. I'd 
 much rather have you go out and enjoy yourself." 
 
 By this time, they had reached the Wakefield house. 
 Peering toward the wide front porch, Lee descried the 
 figure of a man and woman. 
 
 "Veral" called out Mrs. Wakefield's voice sharply. 
 
 "Yes, mother." Vera turned impulsively to Lee. "You're 
 the only one I love — the only one I will ever love." 
 
 Lee's ecstasy reached its apogee. "I trust you implicitly, 
 dear," he said, then turned away quickly. 
 
 Three minutes later he was home. 
 
 The Hillquit house was a nondescript one-story frame 
 structure, well set back from the street. Its unpre- 
 tentibusness closely reflected the family's economic status. 
 Lee's father, Joseph Hillquit — now dead for more than five 
 years — had come to Chatham shortly after Lee's birth, to 
 establish the "Chatham Republican," a weekly newspaper. 
 Even at the time of his death, when the town had attained 
 the proud population of twenty-five hundred, the "Repub- 
 lican" was only a half-hearted financial success. Lee's 
 earliest memories concerned his father's money worries. In 
 those first years, Hillquit, Sr., had entertained vast hopes, 
 not only of material prosperity, but also of prominence and 
 political influence. He was a man with a natural pre- 
 disposition toward pessimism, and as it gradually came home 
 to him that his high ambitions were never to be realised — 
 when he found himself doomed to the mediocrity of a village 
 editorship — he became a misanthrope outright. 
 
 A family is a closely-knit unit; the effect of one member's 
 mood is incalculable — especially the mood of the family's 
 dominant head. Joseph Hillquit unwittingly vented his 
 bitterness of soul, his grudge against the world, upon his 
 
8 THE GROPER 
 
 wife and adolescent son. He scoffed and sneered the light- 
 heartedness out of them. It was as if they were all living in 
 an unventilated room of poisonous, over-heated air. Mrs. 
 Hillquit took refuge in silence and apparent acquiescence, 
 and young Lee in time found it less frictional to suppress 
 his youthful exuberance and optimism. 
 
 Had any one accused him of being anything but a model 
 Husband and father, the editor of the " Republican" would 
 have displayed indignant resentment. In all outward forms, 
 indeed, he fulfilled his family obligations. He fed, clothed 
 and housed his dependents at the cost of long, confining 
 hours and extreme fatigue. He was faithful to his wife; 
 he never raised a hand against his boy. For fifteen years, 
 moreover, he somehow kept up the premiums on a life 
 insurance policy, which now paid his widow an annuity of 
 a thousand dollars. 
 
 That was the pathos of his life. He "did his duty" by 
 his family, and never once suspected that he was inflicting a 
 subtle, insidious wrong upon them. When he died, his wife 
 and eighteen-year-old son mourned for him sincerely — and 
 yet they felt, subconsciously, as though a window had been 
 opened in their stifled lives. Mrs. Hillquit, just past forty, 
 never quite escaped her settled attitude of subdued and 
 worried submissiveness. Her eyes seldom lost their expres- 
 sion of slight apprehensiveness. She had become irrevocably 
 negative. But youth is buoyant, resilient; and young Lee, 
 then in his senior year at high school, came to the surface 
 like a drowning animal that has at last freed itself of the 
 stone tied to its neck. He became articulate, self-expressive. 
 Acting from some wise instinct, his mother abetted the 
 transformation. With the proceeds from the sale of the 
 "Republican" she sent him to the University. No Chatham 
 limitations for her son, even though it meant self-denial 
 and four years of loneliness for her! And her reward was 
 that Lee Hillquit, just graduated, his old scars almost van- 
 
THE GROPER 9 
 
 ished, had become as self-confident and idealistic, albeit 
 unsophisticated, a youth as ever restlessly awaited his cue 
 in the wings of Life's big stage. 
 
 Lee found the house deserted and dark, save for the 
 swinging kerosene lamp that burned low in the dining-room. 
 His mother was at the Methddist church, he knew. He 
 proceeded directly to his little room in one of the rear 
 corners of the house, and began to pack his trunk. His 
 train left early the next morning, and he planned to com- 
 plete all preparations that night. 
 
 Presently he came upon an old, cloth-bound book, which 
 bore the title, "Fisk's Encyclopedia." The book opened 
 automatically to a certain well-fingered page. At the top 
 were the words: "The Two Paths." First came the picture 
 of a boy of twenty. Underneath were three other engrav- 
 ings, depicting him at the ages of thirty, forty, and fifty. 
 Each picture revealed him less clear-eyed, less prepossessing, 
 until at fifty he was the embodiment of dissipation, poverty 
 and disgrace. The opposite page represented a second boy, 
 at the same ages, growing clearer-eyed, more virtuous-look- 
 ing and distinguished with each picture — till at fifty he 
 epitomised self-respect, wisdom and at least moderate wealth. 
 Each picture bore a graphic description of the causes of 
 the change in the two characters. The first boy drank, dissi- 
 pated, loafed and neglected his duty. The second boy 
 spurned temptations, worked faithfully and always did his 
 duty. Lee never had forgotten the thrill of good resolution 
 that ran through him when he first came across these pic- 
 tures. There was something convincing in the illustrations 
 and in the inexorableness of the warning words. The moral 
 penetrated deep; the pictures became a symbol to him. This 
 was when he was sixteen. He took the book to college with 
 him, and at times secretly reread the passages. Even now, 
 they represented something fundamental in his life. They 
 simplified things so. Lee felt the same thrill of good 
 
io THE GROPER 
 
 resolution go through him to-night, as he placed the old 
 book in the top of his trunk. 
 
 Just then he heard the side screen-door open, and in a 
 moment his mother appeared in the doorway. 
 
 Sara Hillquit was a woman of forty-five, of medium 
 height, her spare figure clad in an inconspicuous black dress. 
 She was a native Vermonter, and possessed the characteristic 
 New England faculty of defying old age. She looked as 
 if she were under forty, and one had the feeling that at 
 sixty she would look forty-five. Her cheeks bore the rem- 
 nants of frosty redness. There was not a grey hair in her 
 head. She had the New Englander's sharpness of feature, 
 and the New Englander's predilection toward preciseness, 
 too; she minced her words a little; and of course, she 
 clipped her r's and flattened her a's. Of late, she had worn 
 gold-rimmed spectacles, which somehow made her seem a 
 little unfamiliar to her son. About her still hung — and 
 always would — the atmosphere of depressed goodness, the 
 heritage of her late husband's moodiness. 
 
 Lee kissed his mother. He loved her very deeply — 
 especially her occasional revelations of tenderness. At times 
 he appreciated her self-sacrifices for him, too — though he 
 had acquired the prevalent American habit of belittling and 
 discounting all help given him. 
 
 Mrs. Hillquit was not a demonstrative mother. "All 
 packed?" she began, and removed her small black hat. 
 
 "Every last thing," her son replied. 
 
 "D' you s'pose you can find room for one more small 
 parcel?" she queried mysteriously. 
 
 Lee smiled. "What is it?" 
 
 His mother disappeared, and he heard her go into her 
 room, adjoining his. Presently, she reappeared, carrying a 
 bundle, wrapped in newspapers. "There," she said, and gave 
 it to him. 
 
 Lee received the parcel with pretended gravity, and fin- 
 
THE GROPER 11 
 
 gered it curiously. "What on earth " he demanded, then 
 
 started to unwrap the newspaper covering. 
 
 His mother seized his hands. "No, not now!" she en- 
 joined. "Wait till you're in Detroit." 
 
 Lee packed the bundle carefully in one corner of the 
 trunk. "It's so soft," he commented. He took his mother 
 in his arms again, and kissed her. He was greatly sur- 
 prised to feel her body tremble. Then he saw two or three 
 tears slip down her cheek. 
 
 "It's nothing," she said, and smiled. "I ought to be 
 ashamed of myself." 
 
 Lee patted her thin shoulder. 
 
 "I'm so anxious to have my boy go right," she explained 
 as she wiped her eyes. 
 
 "Don't worry about that, mother." Lee almost smiled. 
 "I know the difference between right and wrong, and I know 
 how to succeed. I'm determined I'll make good, and I'm 
 going to work hard. So nothing can possibly keep me back." 
 
 "But you don't even know what you're going to do," 
 insisted Mrs. Hillquit. "You don't understand a thing about 
 earning money, and you have no influence " 
 
 "Don't need it, mother. I'm going to make good on my 
 own merits. Just you wait." 
 
 Mrs. Hillquit shook her head. "I'll visit you, maybe— 
 but I couldn't be contented in Detroit. It wouldn't seem 
 natural — and all my friends are here." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll change your mind later," said Lee. 
 
 His mother's thoughts gravitated back to the practical. 
 "What time do you want to be called in the morning?" 
 She went to bed at nine every evening, and was up at five. 
 
 Mother and son discussed various details a moment. 
 When Mrs. Hillquit kissed him good-night, she was again 
 her natural, suppressed, matter-of-fact, New England self. 
 
 "Be sure you get a room with plenty of heat," were 
 her parting words. 
 
THE Chatham "hack" called for Lee promptly at eight 
 o'clock the next morning; he kissed his mother a 
 final good-bye; Rex, the undersized, shrivelled hack- 
 driver, who had never missed a train, swung his trunk up 
 on the front seat; and he was on his way at last. The 
 air was unexpectedly cold, and he buttoned his light crava- 
 nette tightly about him. 
 
 As he passed the Wakefield house, he looked in vain for 
 some sign of Vera. She had promised to watch for the 
 hack. Just as he had given up hope, she ran out on the 
 porch and waved her handkerchief. A sweep of emotion 
 overcame him; he gulped; his eyes felt queer. He leaned 
 out of the rear seat and waved his hat; and until Rex 
 turned the corner two blocks down, he kept his eye on the 
 fluttering white handkerchief on the porch. 
 
 Then he turned to Rex and simulated an interest in the 
 two mares that drew the hack. But within, he still felt 
 the same surging emotion — a sort of sad nobleness, a deter- 
 mination to be good and achieve an astounding success. 
 
 Rex picked up another passenger — Lee was relieved that 
 it was a stranger — and the hack quickly covered the half- 
 mile to the depot. The train was reported ten minutes 
 late, but presently the diminutive locomotive came coughing 
 and steaming through the frosty air. Lee found a seat in 
 the antiquated chair-car; the train jerked, gathered speed; 
 the drab, wooden Chatham depot slipped from view. Lee 
 saw Rex starting phlegmatically on his return trip; caught 
 a last glimpse of the distant village, looking very neat and 
 self-sufficient in the morning sunshine. 
 
 12 
 
THE GROPER 13 
 
 "At last!" he sighed. 
 
 His heroic, all-conquering mood persisted. It Was quite 
 true, as his mother had said, that he was entirely without 
 definite plans — equally without influence or capital. Had 
 he known it, his ignorance of the practical aspects of life 
 was incredible. He entertained a rather hazy intention of 
 entering some business where energy and brains would yield 
 quick returns. 
 
 "I'm honest and ambitious, and I have a good education/' 
 he told himself once more. "I'll find something. They can't 
 keep me down." 
 
 On second thought, he did have one definite purpose. A 
 former friend of his father, P. H. Taladay, had gone to the 
 city some fifteen years before. His career in Chatham had 
 not been noteworthy; yet within a few years, he owned two 
 vaudeville theatres in Detroit and was reported to be rich. 
 Now he was reckoned a millionaire, and his occasional 
 visits to Chatham were the village's most important events. 
 
 On one of these trips Joseph Hillquit had introduced his 
 son to the great man. 
 
 "Comin' to Detroit, eh?" Taladay had said. "Well, the 
 city's the place for opportunities. Mebbe I might turn 
 something your way, my boy." 
 
 Lee had been greatly impressed by the magnate's breezy, 
 patronising good nature. He had resolved to look Mr. 
 Taladay up, if eventually he did go to Detroit. 
 
 He had two other friends in the city. Both of them 
 had been classmates of his at the University. Bob Hamilton 
 had been the editor of the college newspaper, and had 
 "caught on"— so he wrote Lee— with the Detroit newspaper 
 for which he had been the University correspondent. He 
 and Lee had been close friends. There were certain things 
 about Bob that Lee didn't wholly like— chiefly a certain 
 suggestion of weakness; but he had been very glad to accept 
 his friend's suggestion about sharing rooms in Detroit. 
 
14 THE GROPER 
 
 Fred Badger, the other friend, was of a quite different 
 mould. Secretly, Lee hoped for delightful things from this 
 friendship. Fred had belonged to one of the best fraterni- 
 ties in college, and Lee understood that he was "well con- 
 nected" in Detroit. In fact, Lee had seen Fred's name 
 twice that very summer in the society columns of the 
 "Detroit News." Fred's friendship for Lee had been purely 
 accidental: both of them played the guitar; they had sat 
 next each other on the back row of the Mandolin Club 
 for three years. In their junior year, they had suddenly 
 become excellent friends. Lee did not feel the same inti- 
 macy and congeniality toward Fred that he cherished for 
 Bob Hamilton; but Fred suggested strength where Bob 
 suggested weakness. 
 
 The Lake Shore train arrived in Ypsilanti nearly an hour 
 late, so that Lee missed connection with the East-bound 
 Michigan Central train that was to take him to Detroit. 
 It was nearly three when he caught "The Wolverine." 
 
 The train was scheduled to make the trip from Ypsilanti 
 to Detroit in forty minutes. It seemed to Lee that he had 
 hardly settled himself in the crowded Pullman smoking com- 
 partment when the outskirts of the city began to crowd up 
 about the flying train. 
 
 In September, 1907, the city of Detroit had hardly begun 
 to stir from its long habit of quiet sleepiness, was just 
 becoming conscious of the innate, quickening power of 
 miraculous growth. The city was increasingly prosperous — 
 had hardly felt the hard times of 1907. In seven years the 
 population had jumped from 280,000 to more than 400,000. 
 The older, more conservative element, in fact, opposed this 
 sudden growth. "Detroit has always been such a nice place 
 to live in," they complained. "We'd rather it stayed small, 
 instead of getting big and smoky and dirty." 
 
 Everywhere one encountered this subtle antagonism be- 
 tween the old and conservative faction and the new, hus^ 
 
THE GROPER 15 
 
 tling invasion of commercialism. The automobile industry, 
 still in its swaddling clothes, clamored loudly, and for the 
 most part vainly, at the banks for credit. "It's just a 
 passing fad," asseverated Griswold street. "Remember the 
 bicycle." The stove, the pharmaceutical product, the seed, 
 were still regarded as the city's commercial backbone. The 
 local chauvinists still boasted: "More boats pass by Detroit 
 than any other port in the world;" and never once per- 
 ceived the irony of their words. 
 
 But the newer, younger element, coming in from outside 
 the city, was perceptibly gaining ground. Even in those 
 days, Henry Ford was beginning to be a name to conjure 
 with, to stir the imagination. "The automobile business is 
 here to stay," vaunted these optimists. Any industry that 
 gave employment to ten thousand skilled mechanics, that 
 had an output worth twenty million dollars, was more than 
 a fanatic's dream, more than a fad. "If Detroit doesn't 
 wake up and boost — instead of knocking," they warned, 
 "we'll find some other city." And Detroit capital still 
 wavered between caution and the lure of adventure. 
 
 Into the thick of this sprawling and renascent city, "The 
 Wolverine" threaded its way with slackening momentum. 
 The railroad entrance to any city is depressingly sordid. 
 Lee found no thrill in the shabby rows of sooty cottages, 
 the occasional dingy brick factories, the lofty skeleton-steel 
 electric-light towers. 
 
 "Detroit!" vociferated the brakeman. "This car goes 
 through to St. Thomas, Buffalo and New York." 
 
 The Michigan Central Railroad was still using its Third 
 street depot. Lee walked into the old, ivy-covered building 
 with a sense of mingled elation and awe. He delivered his 
 baggage check to an expressman, resisted the ingratiating 
 attempts of the porter to take his suitcase, and stepped out 
 on the sidewalk. 
 
 So this was Detroit! Lee had been in the city only 
 
16 THE GROPER 
 
 twice in his life, on flying trips with the University musical 
 clubs. He looked about him with lively curiosity. Cer- 
 tainly the immediate vicinity of the station was far from 
 prepossessing. Three saloons and two quick-lunch rooms 
 met his inquiring scrutiny. But Lee instinctively banished 
 all misgivings. His ideals of the city surged into his mind. 
 Here lay opportunity, success— and somewhere, he was sure, 
 even beauty. 
 
 His interested eye paused upon a knot of men gathered 
 compactly about a little niche in the depot wall. No street- 
 car was in sight, and he sauntered toward the group. The 
 men seemed to be looking over each other's shoulders at 
 something on the ground. Lee was above the average 
 height, and by dint of standing on his tip-toes and craning 
 his neck, was presently able to see an unusual spectacle. 
 
 The niche in the depot wall left a little plot of grass, 
 protected by an iron fence. Within the enclosure two spar- 
 rows were fighting. The struggle must have been prolonged; 
 its conclusion was obviously near at hand. Both birds had 
 been blinded. One of them had seized the other by the 
 neck, and was weakly shaking it. The second sparrow 
 broke loose and feebly attacked its assailant. Both made 
 futile attempts to fly. 
 
 Lee felt a sudden hotness at the cruelty of it. He looked 
 at the faces about him. Nearly all of them reflected high 
 gratification. Slack mouths expanded into foolish grins. 
 Dull eyes glistened. The observers gloated over the rare 
 entertainment. One or two of the faces remained soddenly 
 inexpressive. Lee looked at the clothes of these men. Most 
 of them were prosperously dressed. 
 
 The youthful idealist from the country turned away. 
 Cruelty toward animals always sickened him. He had a 
 notion that he ought to do something to terminate this 
 brutal display — charge in among these men, perhaps, dis- 
 perse them with a stinging rebuke, and mercifully kill th* 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 17 
 
 tormented birds. Then the futility of doing anything at 
 all came over him. 
 
 A Woodward avenue street-car backed around the corner, 
 and Lee prepared to board it. A number of people had 
 been waiting for the car, and each of them now seemed 
 imbued with a desire to crowd his way into the car in 
 advance of his neighbors. Those who first achieved the 
 interior of the car apparently felt that theirs was a com- 
 mendable accomplishment. Every one seemed irritated at 
 everybody else. Everybody looked tired. 
 
 At the corner of Jefferson avenue and Griswold street, 
 Lee had his first thrill. The Union Trust and Hammond 
 buildings came into view on the east side of Griswold 
 street — then, on the west side, the snow-white outlines of 
 the new Ford building, nineteen stories high, almost com- 
 pleted, the first of a future series of terra-cotta skyscrapers. 
 
 Lee's spirits rebounded. Here at last was the real city, 
 real opportunity — yes, even real beauty. That ugliness 
 back there — that brutality, that discourtesy — they were in- 
 cidental, unusual. 
 
 At Woodward avenue, the car turned north. Lee noted 
 the buildings, the crowds of people on the street, the width 
 of the avenue itself. He was duly impressed by the magni- 
 tude of the new Hotel Pontchartrain, then in course of 
 construction. At Bagg street, he got off the car, walked 
 two blocks west, and by following Bob Hamilton's explicit 
 directions, readily found the house on Cass avenue where 
 Bob was already occupying rooms. 
 
 A middle-aged woman, with grey hair and curling-iron 
 bangs, answered his ring. 
 
 "You're Mr. Hilton," she assured Lee, before he could 
 introduce himself. "The young man who's going to room 
 with Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 "Hillquit," corrected Lee. 
 
 "Come right in," she invited. 
 
18 THE GROPER 
 
 Lee followed Mrs. Holmes' calico kimono up a flight of 
 dark stairs. 
 
 "Here they are," she announced, and threw open a door. 
 
 Lee found two rooms, one a small living room, the other 
 an alcove bedroom, hidden by a velvet curtain. They were 
 side rooms, not luxuriously furnished; but the living room, 
 at least, was well lighted. Lee noted with a glow of recog- 
 nition that Bob Hamilton had already decorated the walls 
 with various University insignia. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes warned him against using tacks in the walls, 
 assured him that she wanted only respectable men in her 
 rooming house and that no scandal had ever come near 
 the institution; then departed. 
 
 It was already after four o'clock. Lee sat down in one 
 of the rocking chairs and looked about the rooms more 
 particularly. With very little trouble, he decided, they 
 could be made very like college quarters. He was con- 
 scious of steam heat in the room — the day had remained 
 cold — and he reflected that his mother would approve of 
 this feature. 
 
 All at once he bethought himself of the mysterious pack- 
 age his mother had given him the night before. Slowly he 
 unwrapped the newspaper covering. A fruit cake, with 
 heavy chocolate frosting — a particular weakness of Lee's — 
 came into view. 
 
 As he stood looking at the cake, he suddenly felt the 
 qualms of a great homesickness, a devastating loneliness. A 
 picture of his mother, weeping a few silent tears, came 
 poignantly to him. 
 
 "What rubbish!" he said out loud, and resolutely began 
 unpacking. 
 
 At five, Bob Hamilton appeared. 
 
 "Why, hello, Lee!" he grinned. 
 
 Lee returned his roommate's greeting with unrestrained 
 fervor. Bob was a rather short, rotund youth, with a round 
 
THE GROPER 19 
 
 colorless face and slightly protruding blue eyes behind 
 journalistic, steel-rimmed spectacles. His small mouth was 
 indubitably weak. His lower lip had a tendency to quiver. 
 He was thoroughly sincere, both in manner and in speech; 
 but he lacked the solid alloy of self-respect; he seemed to 
 find spiritual gratification in humbleness, in abasing himself. 
 
 "You're thinner," pronounced Lee. "You look fagged." 
 
 Bob threw his overcoat on the bed and sat down. "Been 
 trotting my legs off all summer," he explained. "I'm doing 
 suburban on the paper, you know. What have you been 
 up to?" 
 
 Lee went into details — without mentioning Vera, how- 
 ever. His love for her seemed too sacred, too fine, to 
 retail to any one just yet. And Bob, he knew, had the 
 feminine inability to keep a confidence. 
 
 "And now you're here," said Bob, "what plans have 
 you, anyway?" 
 
 Lee chose to be evasive. "I have two or three things up 
 my sleeve — several people I want to talk with. I'm going 
 to look the field over pretty carefully before I decide. 
 There's a lot more chance for a new man in some lines 
 than in others." 
 
 "I s'pose so," agreed Bob. "I spoke to MacLennan, the 
 city editor, about you yesterday, and he said there was 
 nothing doing at present." 
 
 "Thanks, anyway. Probably just as well. I don't think 
 I'd make much of a reporter, anyway. I'm going to take 
 my time, and pick out a job where hard work'll bring a 
 real success." 
 
 "I guess you'll find what you want sooner or later," Bob 
 concurred, as he looked at his watch. "Six o'clockl Come 
 on — I'll show you our boarding house." 
 
IV 
 
 IN spite of his pose of easy assurance before his room- 
 mate, Lee really felt a great deal of restlessness and 
 some uncertainty about his choice of work. His mother 
 had volunteered to lend him ten dollars a week until he 
 secured suitable employment; but she could ill afford to 
 send him money, and he felt considerable distaste toward 
 accepting her remittances. Besides, he was eager, ambitious, 
 determined to win splendid success in an unprecedentedly 
 short time. He wondered if he would be making enough 
 money in six months to marry Vera. 
 
 Tuesday morning he finished unpacking his trunk, then 
 walked downtown. He first planned to have a long intimate 
 talk with his father's friend, P. H. Taladay. Possibly, if 
 the magnate offered any definitely attractive prospect, Lee 
 might enter the theatrical business. 
 
 He found the desired address in the directory — the Grand 
 Theatre building, in the vicinity of Grand Circus Park. 
 Eventually he made his way to the theatre, took an elevator 
 to the second floor and entered Mr. Taladay 's office. 
 
 A sallow, dyspeptic young Jew condescended to look up 
 from the roll-top desk behind which he was working. 
 
 "Is Mr. Taladay in?" 
 
 The young man on the other side of the desk looked 
 thoroughly disgusted. He resumed his work. 
 
 Lee was completely perplexed — started to be indignant. 
 
 "Never in, mornings — maybe after lunch," the young Jew 
 snapped without looking up. 
 
 "I'll come in again this afternoon," Lee proclaimed. 
 
 No response. 
 
 20 
 
THE GROPER 21 
 
 Lee left the office, feeling angry and somehow humiliated. 
 What had he done to antagonise the man at the desk? 
 
 His boarding house confined its activities to breakfast 
 and dinner; and he bought an egg sandwich and a glass 
 of milk at a downtown serve-self. For some time he saun- 
 tered about the streets, looking in the shop windows, watch- 
 ing the intent, tired-looking faces of the people. How 
 dreary, how disillusioned most of them seemed! It was 
 as if they were all warning him: "Don't you dare impose 
 on me!" Lee walked for an hour without seeing any one 
 really smile. He wished from the bottom of his heart that 
 he could see one familiar face. 
 
 He caught himself up sharply. The unfriendliness, the 
 indifference, the strangeness of it were getting beneath his 
 skin. He shook off his depression. "It's just because I'm 
 lonesome," he explained to himself. 
 
 At half-past two, he re-entered Mr. Taladay's outer office. 
 At his inquiry, the young man behind the desk looked more 
 bored than ever and merely shook his head. 
 
 "What time do you expect him?" 
 
 The young misanthrope shrugged his shoulders — lifted his 
 upper lip superciliously. Suddenly he looked up. 
 
 "What d' y' want t' see him about?" he demanded with 
 obvious suspicion. 
 
 Lee was confused. "Why — personal business." 
 
 The young Jew looked very skeptical, started to say some- 
 thing, changed his mind, looked down at his work again. 
 
 Lee glanced around the room uncertainly, saw a vacant 
 chair near the door and decided to sit down. 
 
 The minutes dragged on. Every time any one came in 
 the office, Lee's heart jumped expectantly. But Mr. Taladay 
 did not appear. Lee felt ill at ease. At intervals, the 
 weary young Jew would throw him a malevolent look. Two 
 jaunty stenographers appeared from the inner offices from 
 time to time, and stared at him curiously. 
 
22 THE GROPER 
 
 At four o'clock, Lee again approached the desk. He was 
 still determined to be polite. 
 
 "I guess Mr. Taladay isn't going to show up," he began. 
 
 The dyspeptic face did not change its expression. "Been 
 gone fifteen minutes." 
 
 "Been gone!" Lee stared. He leaned over the top of 
 the desk. Anger bowled aside his self-restraint. "Why 
 didn't you let him know I was here?" he shouted. 
 
 The young Jew eyed Lee without emotion. He laid his 
 pen down. "Look here I" he suddenly shot out. "I'm paid 
 to keep insurance agents and other pests like you out of 
 Mr. Taladay's office. You can wait here every afternoon 
 for a year, and you'll never lay eyes on him." 
 
 "Pest!" It was hard to keep from sputtering. "I want 
 you to know I'm a friend of Mr. Taladay, and I intend 
 to see him and tell him all about your damned impudence. 
 It's a funny thing if " He had to stop abruptly to gulp. 
 
 The bright shrewd little eyes opposite betrayed a flicker 
 of interest. "Oh, a friend!" he observed with sarcastic 
 respect. He appraised Lee more carefully. After all, the 
 intruder might not be an insurance agent. "Well, if you 
 would have been a friend of Mr. Taladay's, you wouldn't 
 have been so tight about tellin' me your. business with him.' 
 Mr. Taladay's friends ain't afraid t' give me their cards."i 
 
 Lee was perplexed by this counter charge, but he was; 
 also very much aroused. "I'll be back here to-morrow, 
 afternoon, and I'll see Mr. Taladay in spite of you." 
 
 The young Jew unfanged once more in high disdain, and] 
 resumed his work as if to end the colloquy. i 
 
 Lee walked home. He wished he could be righteously 
 indignant without forfeiting his self-possession. It was so 
 ridiculous to have to sputter incoherently and gulp. Well, 
 he would see Mr. Taladay to-morrow — he was determined 
 on that point — and the big man would straighten things 
 out. 
 
THE GROPER 23 
 
 He was disappointed not to find a letter from Vera wait- 
 ing for him at the rooms. She had promised to write him 
 Monday. Not even a letter from his mother. He set to 
 work arranging his things about the rooms. That night, he 
 wrote a long, affectionate letter to Vera, purposely opti- 
 mistic. By the time he had mailed it and gone to bed, 
 he was thoroughly happy once more. 
 
 The next morning was grey and misty, and he left the 
 house late. The indefiniteness of his plans bewildered him. 
 Perhaps it would be just as well to accept some employment 
 with Mr. Taladay for the present, till he had a chance to 
 get his bearings. 
 
 The mist developed into a rain as he walked down 
 Woodward avenue. At the Majestic building he gave a 
 sudden shout of recognition. 
 
 "Oh, Fred!" he called. 
 
 The energetic young man in the grey rain-coat who had 
 been hurrying in the opposite direction, pulled up short. 
 A grin of recognition overspread his sharply-cut features. 
 He grasped Lee's hand warmly. 
 
 "Hello, old topi" he greeted. 
 
 Fred Badger was the embodiment of self-confident, pros- 
 perous efficiency. It was not only the "snap" to his suit, 
 the flamboyancy of his striped four-in-hand tie. He looked 
 you right in the eye. He had a certain kind of force, a 
 certain definiteness. Somehow he persuaded you not only 
 that he knew precisely what he wanted, but also that he 
 would usually get it. His features were regular— except 
 that his nose was a little flat. His dark brown eyes were 
 very alert under full, accented brows. Here was practical 
 ability, one felt— power to achieve, purposefulness— and 
 possibly, selfishness and total lack of sensitiveness. Here 
 was no dreamer, but a doer, the type of youth of whom 
 older men say: "There's a boy who's going to succeed in 
 life." 
 
24! THE GROPER 
 
 Lee felt his loneliness slip from him. "Lordy, it's good 
 to see you!" he jubilated. "I've been here two days al- 
 ready, and you're the first person I've met on the streets 
 that I knew. What are you doing?" 
 
 Fred explained that he had recently become a bond sales- 
 man, "with the best bond house in Detroit," he added. "I 
 get $75.00 a month salary, and a commission, to start with. 
 Believe me, Lee, I'm going to make two thousand dollars 
 my first year at it. How about yourself?" 
 
 Lee set forth his plans as optimistically as he could; but 
 all the time, he was conscious of Fred Badger's keen, 
 appraising eye. "I might try the bond business," he 
 intimated. 
 
 Fred waved a greeting at two other young men. "I doubt 
 if you'd find any good opening," he answered. "I only 
 landed this job because I had a drag — and you don't know 
 anybody. A bond broker's got to have lots of friends, to 
 start with. Why don't you try real estate or insurance?" 
 
 "I don't think I'd like insurance," professed Lee. He 
 was thinking of what the young Jew in Mr. Taladay's office 
 had said: "Insurance agents and other pests." He thought 
 the business must be disagreeable. 
 
 "Well, you'll find something," said Fred, looking critically 
 at Lee. "I must be getting on." 
 
 "But, Fred, I want to talk to you," objected Lee. "Can't 
 we have lunch together?" 
 
 "Hello, Chuck," called Fred to another friendly youth. 
 "Lunch? Sorry, but I'm dated up. Call me up sometime 
 — or better yet, give me your 'phone number." He jotted 
 down the number. "See you soon." He smiled gaily, and 
 hurried away. 
 
 Lee was disappointed. He had wanted to get "pointers" 
 on possible business openings. Somehow, Fred seemed so 
 airy, so casual, about seeing him again. But he swallowed 
 
THE GROPER 25 
 
 his disappointment. Fred and he would surely be just as 
 good friends as ever. 
 
 Lee consumed another egg sandwich, and promptly at 
 two o'clock walked into Mr. Taladay's office for the thirrd 
 time. He produced one of his personal cards, wrote on it, 
 "From Chatham," and handed it to the young Jew. The 
 latter scrutinised the card, then with great dignity dis- 
 iappeared into the inner offices. 
 
 After a long absence, he reappeared, and with a distinctly 
 injured manner, informed Lee he might see Mr. Taladay. 
 
 Mr. P. II. Taladay had changed but little in seven years — 
 in fact, he still looked the guileless country man. He was 
 a large, shapeless individual, with a chubby florid face and 
 a pompadour of white hair. His light blue eyes were de- 
 ceivingly ingenuous; his mouth inclined to pout — in fact, 
 his whole expression inevitably reminded one of a baby's. 
 He talked incessantly about himself and his success, which, 
 indeed, had been remarkable. Twenty years before, when 
 he first came to Detroit, he had been practically penniless. 
 Now he was worth four or five million dollars. He con- 
 trolled a string of vaudeville theatres. He even produced 
 plays. Besides his theatrical holdings, he owned large blocks 
 of stock in the city's most substantial industries. Every- 
 thing he touched "turned to gold," it was whispered. He 
 was a director in two banks; a vice president in one. Under 
 cover of his unsophisticated expression, he had a mind that 
 was like a steel trap, a definite, hard, purposefulness that 
 never wavered, a selfishness that never softened. 
 
 At Lee's entrance into the private office, Taladay promptly 
 pivoted about in his desk chair. 
 
 "Well, young man?" His little blue eyes took in his 
 caller instantly. 
 
 "I don't suppose you remember me," Lee began depre- 
 catingly. "My father introduced " 
 
26 THE GROPER 
 
 "Oh yes!" broke in Taladay. "You're Joe Hillquit's son. 
 Sit down. How's your father?" 
 
 "Why, he's been dead five years," faltered Lee. 
 
 "That's so — I remember hearing about it. And what can 
 I do for you?" 
 
 His embarrassed visitor reminded him of his offer of help. 
 All of the time Taladay was taking Lee's measure and 
 finding him woefully wanting. He had an instinctive aver- 
 sion to college men. He wouldn't hire one on a bet, he told 
 himself. They had too many fool scruples. 
 
 "Well, I don't know of any opening right now," he 
 answered promptly. Then his excellent opinion of himself 
 intervened. "But you ought to find something. Why, 
 when I came here in 1887, they wasn't one-quarter the 
 chance for a boy they is now. I didn't have a cent to start 
 with, an' look at me to-day. Shows what hard work and 
 brains will do for a man." 
 
 "I thought perhaps you might let me work in the box 
 office," Lee timidly interposed. 
 
 It occurred to Taladay that he was wasting time. He 
 stood up. "No vacancy right now. Besides, it's long hours 
 an' only ten dollars a week. You'll find something much 
 better, I'm sure." He moved a step toward the door. 
 
 "But if you hear of something — couldn't you let me 
 know? I'll leave my card." 
 
 "Sure I will," acquiesced the great man. He had no 
 objection to granting favors that required neither time nor 
 money. 
 
 After Lee had gone, Taladay shook his head. THe young 
 cub had more than usual to learn, he thought, as he tore 
 Lee's card in two and threw it into his wastebasket. 
 
 On the street outside, Lee was doing his best to keep his 
 face impassive. He felt a dread of any one suspecting his 
 disappointment. He had hoped to secure news of several 
 
THE GROPER 23 
 
 possible opportunities, had counted on being offered some 
 sort of a position in Mr. Taladay's employment. 
 
 All at once, he stopped short. In spite of himself, he 
 smiled. He had completely forgotten to tell Mr. Taladay 
 about the young Jew's insolence. 
 
 What to do next? Lee walked on irresolutely. He came 
 to a little triangular park and cut through it. Every bench 
 had at least one occupant, ragged, unkempt, huddled shiver- 
 ingly into as small space as possible. 
 
 One bench-warmer descried Lee's philanthropic mien from 
 afar, and drew up to him from the rear. 
 
 "Say, brother, could you help a fellow out wit* the price 
 of a meal? I ain't had " 
 
 Lee stopped and looked around. When his interlocutor 
 had caught one glimpse of his open, trustful expression, he 
 forthwith decided to play for higher stakes. 
 
 "I got a job waitin' f'r me out at the Cadillac, but all 
 my tools 're in hock f'r a dollar. I ain't no bum." This 
 last vehemently. 
 
 "Of course not!" Lee considered the problem conscien- 
 tiously. He couldn't possibly afford a dollar. 
 
 The "bo" divined Lee's mental process instantly. "I 
 got a half dollar already," he explained. "All I need's 
 another half— to git my tools out-a hock. I'm a skilled 
 mechanic, I am." 
 
 Lee took note of the man's large-pupilled, bloodshot eyes 
 —the shred of "fine-cut" clinging to his lower lip— and 
 had an instant's misgivings. 
 
 "I jus' want t' borrow a half dollar," set forth the bench 
 warmer. "You give me your address, and I'll bring the 
 money to you the first pay I draw. I swear I will, so help 
 me God!" 
 
 The man was almost in tears. Lee produced the half 
 dollar, then wrote his address on a card. The man shuffled 
 off with voluble protestations of maudlin gratitude. 
 
28 THE GROPER 
 
 "Thank heaven!" reflected Lee, "I don't have to worry 
 about actual poverty, anyway." 
 
 He walked home. To his great delight, he found a letter 
 from Vera. To Lee that letter was quite the most re- 
 markable document in the world. He reread it a half- 
 dozen times. She made him ashamed for feeling even 
 slightly despondent. All his hopes and ambitions vaulted 
 into the saddle once more. Nothing should stop him! He 
 would overcome every obstacle! These first discourage- 
 ments — every successful man had them at the outset. 
 
 He was evasively optimistic with Bob Hamilton again 
 that night — quite to the latter's envy. 
 
 "There's something unusual about you," Bob insisted. 
 "You're different. You'll do something extraordinary. I'll 
 bet you'll never chase your legs off for twelve dollars a 
 week, the way I'm doing." 
 
 Lee felt mysteriously elated. To-morrow would bring 
 something momentous, he was very sure. 
 
LEE set out at half-past eight Thursday morning; not 
 that he had arrived at any definite plan, but because 
 he imagined that Mrs. Holmes would begin to think 
 peculiar things about him if he continued to spend most of 
 his time in the rooms. On the way downtown, he set 
 himself to the task of facing the dilemma intelligently, 
 logically — the way a college man should. He believed that 
 pure reason could solve any problem in life. 
 
 The day was again inclement. An uneasy southwest wind 
 blew the rain in his face. He continued to tramp the streets 
 aimlessly for two hours. Somehow his mental processes 
 didn't seem to be functioning efficiently. How did one get 
 a job, anyway? It was the first time in his life he had 
 had to face a problem in practical economics. Should he 
 make a round of the downtown stores or offices — or what? 
 What did other college men do? Slowly his elation was 
 oozing away. 
 
 He happened to go past the old, red-brick library. Per- 
 haps there might be some book on the subject. The idea 
 was a pleasant one. He entered the building by the rear 
 door, and walked up the stairs. At the periodical room, 
 he wavered. In the racks, he spied the current number 
 of his favorite magazine. The temptation was too great; 
 Lee took the magazine and settled down in a seat by the 
 window. After all, he couldn't be expected to walk the 
 streets and cudgel his brain all day. 
 
 That afternoon found Lee in the library again, and the 
 next morning, as well. Little by little the building was 
 beginning to represent a refuge from the unpleasantness of 
 
 29 
 
30 THE GROPER 
 
 uncertainty and indecision. To be sure, he did find a 
 number of ponderous volumes dealing with the ' 'problem 
 of employment"; but they all confined themselves to the 
 manual workers, the proletariat. 
 
 But on Friday afternoon, he accidentally stumbled upon 
 a promising clue. He had finished reading his magazine, 
 and was looking about the room rather idly, vaguely con- 
 scious of an uncomfortable feeling of failure. His fellow- 
 readers were mostly an uninspiring lot of seedy derelicts. 
 Some of them frequented the library solely because it was 
 well-heated. 
 
 At Lee's right, a man was reading the daily paper. Lee 
 looked incuriously at the pages. The man seemed to be 
 studying the "liner" advertisements. 
 
 All at once, the idea came to Lee. How simple! How 
 stupid not to have thought of it before! In these columns, 
 he might find exactly the opportunity he had been craving. 
 Excitedly he secured an evening paper from the desk and 
 returned to the chair. 
 
 "A-a-a-a," he read — "wanted, young men to act as in- 
 surance agents. New proposition. Ideal opportunity." 
 
 That sounded promising, Lee reflected; but the prejudice 
 of the young Jew in Taladay's office against insurance agents 
 had corroded deeply into his sensibilities. He didn't want 
 to be classed as a "pest," no matter how much money he 
 made. 
 
 Several advertisements for mechanics followed — then: 
 
 "A — Young man wanted at once to enter real estate 
 business. No previous experience necessary, but only hus- 
 tler need apply. Splendid opening for an ambitious, in- 
 dustrious man. Apply Sales Manager, Security Realty 
 Company, Adamson building." 
 
 Lee read the announcement several times with growing 
 interest. He knew nothing about the real estate business, 
 but he remembered that Fred Badger had suggested it as a 
 
THE GROPER 31 
 
 promising possibility. He liked the wording of the adver- 
 tisement especially. "Only hustler need apply"; "Splendid 
 opening for an ambitious, industrious man": these phrases 
 had the right ring; they brought an instant, enthusiastic re- 
 sponse from deep within him. 
 
 He looked at his watch. It was nearly four. Probably 
 the place would be gone by now. If only he had looked 
 at the newspaper before. Still, it was worth trying for. 
 Hastily he consulted the city directory; the Adamson build- 
 ing proved to be only two blocks north. He started out 
 briskly. It was hard to keep from running. 
 
 He spied a conspicuous sign, just above the second-floor 
 windows of a four-story brick building, bearing in great gilt 
 letters the words: "SECURITY REALTY COMPANY." 
 He sprang up the stairway two steps at a time. 
 
 The Security Realty Company occupied the whole second 
 floor of the Adamson building. The room seemed very 
 pretentious to Lee. On the right hand side, as he faced the 
 rear, were various enclosures marked "Cashier," "Book- 
 keeper," etc. At the front, a private office was partitioned 
 off. The opaque glass on the door bore the name: "Mr. 
 Hauxhurst." At the left, fifteen or twenty roll-top desks 
 were marshalled in two rows. The top of each desk bore 
 a small bronze sign with a name printed on it. Very few 
 of the desks were occupied; the whole room seemed deserted. 
 
 Just to the right, as he entered the room, Lee's attention 
 centred on a desk standing in a wooden-railed inclosure. 
 This desk also bore a sign: "Mr. O'Neill, Sales Manager"; 
 and thither he directed his rapid steps. 
 
 Mr. O'Neill was a thin-faced, smooth-shaven person of 
 thirty, with cautious, filmy eyes, a shrewd, puckered mouth, 
 and a carefully cultivated air of conservatism. He was 
 dictating to a stenographer at the moment. Lee was enor- 
 mously relieved that no other applicants were at hand. 
 
 Mr. O'Neill swung around and surveyed his caller. 
 
32 THE GROPER 
 
 "I noticed your advertisement in the newspaper," broached 
 Lee. 
 
 "Oh yes," recollected the sales manager. "Come in." He 
 swung open the gate. 
 
 Lee sat down hopefully. "Is the place still open?" 
 
 O'Neill nodded. "We haven't rilled it definitely, as yet." 
 He took a printed slip from a pigeon-hole. "Any experi- 
 ence?" 
 
 Lee shook his head. 
 
 "Never mind, I didn't have either when I started." The 
 sales manager proceeded to take down other data. 
 
 Lee felt that he must impress O'Neill with his earnestness. 
 "I realise that I know nothing of the business," he began, 
 "but I'm ambitious, and I'm willing to work." 
 
 O'Neill pursed his lips. His staring grey eyes looked 
 very solemn. "I believe you are, Mr. Hillquit. Let me tell 
 you, there's no such opportunity in the city as you'll get 
 right here." 
 
 The youthful applicant broke in excitedly. "You're go- 
 ing to give me the position?" 
 
 "Yes," said O'Neill. "I think I'll give you a chance at 
 it, and I really believe you'll make good. Let me show 
 you something." 
 
 He extracted a bank book from a drawer. "Understand — 
 I don't show this to everybody. I began with this firm a 
 year ago last spring. I hadn't had any more experience 
 than you. Yet just see what I did." He held the bank 
 book open, and lowered his voice to a reverent whisper: 
 "April 8th, $50.00— that was the day I closed my first deal 
 —April 20th, $42.00; April 30th, $55.00. A hundred and 
 forty-seven dollars my first month. In May, I put two 
 hundred dollars in the bank." 
 
 Lee bent over the book. The figures were there. He 
 raised his eyes to O'Neill's thin, nervous face. 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 33 
 
 "And you can do just as well," he heard the sales manager 
 say. 
 
 Two hundred dollars a month! His imagination danced, 
 reeled. He thought of Vera. Here was his opportunity at 
 last! 
 
 "When can I start?" he importuned. 
 
 "That's the right spirit— I like it," complimented O'Neill 
 unsmilingly.^ "You can start this afternoon — right away." 
 He consulted a book. "I guess I'll assign you to Mr. 
 Eberenz." He stood up and looked toward the rows of 
 desks at the left. "Let's see — yes, he's in." 
 
 He led the way to the fifth desk on the right hand side. 
 "Mr Eberenz — this is Mr. Hillquit, who has just joined 
 our staff. Mr. Eberenz," he told Lee, "is one of our most 
 successful superintendents. He will give you instructions." 
 
 Mr. Oscar Eberenz rose from his chair, and grasped Lee's 
 hand cordially. He was about fifty-five years old, bald- 
 headed, grey-haired, inclined to obesity. His eye-glasses 
 gave him a spurious air of refinement. As he smiled his 
 welcome, Lee observed that his left eye-tooth was missing. 
 But his cheerfulness was indubitable. He had been a candy 
 salesman for twenty years, he told Lee; had started in busi- 
 ness for himself, and promptly failed ; had been in the real 
 estate business but six months. Only five weeks ago, the 
 firm had made him a superintendent. All these desks be- 
 longed to superintendents, Mr. Eberenz said. Each superin- 
 tendent had five or six salesmen under him. Lee was sur- 
 prised to learn the number of salesmen. There were eighty 
 or ninety, altogether. 
 
 Eberenz went on to expound the details of the business. 
 The Security Realty Company specialised in selling sub- 
 division lots. A salesman received five per cent, commission 
 on the price of all lots sold by him. A superintendent, Lee 
 learned afterwards, received a commission of two per cent, 
 on sales made by his men— in addition to the regular five 
 
34 THE GROPER 
 
 per cent, commission on his individual sales. The Security 
 Realty Company was paid a ten per cent, commission by 
 the subdivision owners — three per cent, net, after paying its 
 salesmen and superintendents. 
 
 Large maps of the half-dozen subdivisions which the com- 
 pany was handling hung on the side wall. As soon as a 
 salesman "closed a deal" for a lot, he reported to his 
 superintendent. The superintendent, in turn, reported each 
 new sale to Mr. O'Neill, the sales manager, and also saw 
 to it that the lot which had been sold was promptly painted 
 red on the wall-map of the plat, indicating that it was off 
 the market. The salesmen were required to report at the 
 office each morning to confer with their respective super- 
 intendents, and especially, to check off on their pocket-maps 
 the lots marked sold on the subdivision wall-maps. In this 
 way, each salesman kept an accurate record of just which lots 
 had been sold and which were still on the market. 
 
 Eberenz explained that each salesman had "prospects"; 
 that is, prospective purchasers. If he desired, he could 
 have his prospects entered in a book kept for that purpose, 
 and no other salesman would then have a right to sell that 
 particular prospect for three months thereafter. Few sales- 
 men took the trouble to do this, however. 
 
 Lee blinked perplexedly. "But how do the salesmen get 
 prospects?" 
 
 Eberenz smiled slyly. "That's where us superintendents 
 comes in," he asseverated. "We give you a list of people 
 to call on. The ones that are interested are your prospects. 
 To-morrow, I'll give you a bunch of cards like this." He 
 pointed to a pile of white cards on his desk. "See — they're 
 printed. Here's the name an' address, an' here's places 
 to put down the dates you call on 'em, an' here's 'Re- 
 marks.' " 
 
 Eberenz gave his new salesman a few more details of 
 information, then said: "Too late t' show you much more 
 
THE GROPER 35 
 
 to-day. You be here at nine t'-morrow mornin\ Satur- 
 day mornin's we have our experience meetin's," he laughed. 
 "After the meetin', I'll take you out to the subs, an' give 
 you a line on the prop'ty you're goin' to sell." 
 
 Lee promised to report promptly the next morning and 
 took his leave. As he approached the door, an anxious- 
 looking man with a drooping moustache entered and ap- 
 proached O'Neill's desk uncertainly. Too late! The poor 
 chap would doubtless be deeply chagrined when he learned 
 that the opening had already been filled. 
 
 Lee walked home with a new light in his eyes. Two 
 hundred dollars a month! He wondered what Vera and 
 his mother would say to that. And only two hours ago, 
 he had felt quite beaten. Really, it was almost provi- 
 dential. That night, he wrote Vera all about his good 
 fortune. Bob Hamilton seemed greatly impressed with the 
 possibilities of the real estate business. 
 
 The next morning, Eberenz introduced him to a few of 
 his fellow salesmen, and later took him to the meeting. 
 This was held in a nearby hall. The salesmen sat in rows 
 of folding chairs. Lee couldn't help feeling slightly dis- 
 appointed in their demeanor. Mostly they seemed a sullen, 
 unresponsive lot. They didn't appreciate their splendid op- 
 portunity, apparently. Well, so much the easier for him 
 to shine, by comparison. 
 
 He was considerably perplexed to note, a few seats to 
 the left, the anxious looking man with the drooping mous- 
 tache, who had entered the office yesterday just as he was 
 leaving. There must have been two vacancies— or per- 
 haps, they were taking the other man on trial. 
 
 To Lee, the salesmen's meeting proved a very inspiring 
 occasion; in fact, the Saturday meetings never quite lost 
 their fascination for him. Mr. Hauxhurst, the principal 
 owner and managing head of the business, presided, and 
 almost always harangued the gathering. Mr. Hauxhurst at 
 
36 THE GROPER 
 
 once drew Lee's unadulterated admiration. He was middle- 
 aged; his eyes snapped with energy; when he addressed the 
 meeting, his broad, coarse-skinned face would grow red, 
 and veins would bulge out on both temples. But such 
 eloquence! It always made Lee feel deeply ashamed of his 
 own pusillanimity. Mr. Hauxhurst's speech ordinarily be- 
 gan with a description of how he had closed his first deal 
 with a stubborn customer on a freezing day in mid-winter. 
 "I simply wouldn't let him get away, out of the cold, until 
 I'd sold him." From that beginning, he would proceed to 
 the statement that success in the real estate business was 
 simply a matter of pluck and perseverance. He always 
 concluded by telling his auditors how little of either quality 
 they possessed. "For God's sake, boys, get out and hustle!" 
 was his favorite benediction. Sometimes a superintendent 
 would give a colorless talk; but Hauxhurst's orations were 
 the real feature. Their effect was startling. The salesmen 
 who had slunk crestfallen into the room would walk out 
 determined to sell a whole subdivision next week. Lee, in 
 particular, always felt quite invincible after listening to 
 Hauxhurst. 
 
 That first Saturday morning Hauxhurst's theme made an 
 especial appeal to Lee. 
 
 "Real estate is more'n just a business," he insisted with 
 convincing earnestness. "A good real estate man makes a lot 
 of money; but he does more'n that. When you sell a man a 
 lot, I tell you you're doin' him the grandest service in the 
 world. First, you're makin' him an investor — makin' him 
 save his money. And he's sure to make a good profit on 
 his investment. Second, you're givin' him a chance t' stop 
 payin' rent and own a home of his own — an' that's the 
 best thing on earth for any man." 
 
 What a splendid thought! That was it — the Crusader 
 Spirit. Lee wanted to make money, to be sure; but how 
 fine it was to be serving one's fellow men at the sai&3 time! 
 
THE GROPER 37 
 
 He imagined himself in the middle of a throng of grateful 
 real estate buyers, a glad smile on his face, an invisible 
 aureole about his head. 
 
 The meeting was over at half-past ten, and the eighty 
 salesmen quickly melted away. Eberenz surprised Lee by in- 
 troducing him to the new man with the drooping moustache. 
 "Mr. Hillquit, meet Mr. Poole." It developed that Poole 
 had also been assigned to Eberenz. 
 
 "Now I'll take you two boys out t' see the prop'ty," 
 announced the superintendent, and the three boarded a west- 
 bound Fort street car. On the way out, Lee had some 
 opportunity of getting acquainted with his new fellow- 
 salesman. Poole was nearly forty years old. He was mar- 
 ried, he explained, and had two children. He had worked 
 as a shipping clerk in a stove factory for the last ten years, 
 and had recently lost his job because of the combining of 
 two departments. Lee watched him closely, for in a way, 
 Poole represented competition, rivalry. The two of them 
 were starting in at the same time under the same super- 
 intendent. The heads of the firm would naturally compare 
 their progress. Poole had a slightly undershot jaw and a 
 thick neck. His eyes were expressionless. He suggested a 
 blind, plaintive doggedness. Lee shut his teeth hard, and 
 made a firm resolve to surpass Poole, at all costs. 
 
 He rather liked Eberenz. The superintendent's assump- 
 tion of gentility was ridiculous, of course. The grand air 
 with which he removed and adjusted his nose-glasses was 
 highly amusing. His smutty stories had no point. But he 
 seemed open and honest, and best of all, unfailingly cheer- 
 ful. His good nature warmed Lee like a log-fire. 
 
 Some three miles out from the city hall, they disembarked 
 and struck out to the north. In a few moments they came 
 to an open space. 
 
 Eberenz paused. "Here's 'Westwood,' boys," he pro- 
 
38 THE GROPER 
 
 claimed in an awed voice — much as a guide might upon 
 approaching a sacred shrine. 
 
 Lee caught his spirit and stood looking at the subdivision 
 reverently. Eberenz led the way through the land, explain- 
 ing details about the lots, pavements, sewers. 
 
 "Here's the first lot I sold," he told them at one point. 
 "The people I closed with are goin' to start buildin' next 
 week. They sure are glad they bought from me." 
 
 There it was again — a bit crudely, perchance — the note of 
 splendid service to one's fellow man! Lee looked at Poole — 
 but the new salesman was staring phlegmatically at the 
 vacant lots. 
 
 From "Westwood" subdivision, Eberenz conducted his two 
 new disciples by circuitous street-car rides to "Northwood," 
 "Poplar Grove," and finally to "Eastwood." 
 
 "You boys don't need t' monkey with those other subs," 
 he directed. "They're mostly sold out. But 'Eastwood's* 
 just on the market — and hardly touched. The lots is low- 
 priced, an' you ought to make your big killin's there." 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock when they reached the office 
 again. 
 
 "Now you boys can either rest up over Sunday, an* make 
 the big start Monday mornin' — or if you know any pros- 
 pects, why bring 'em out t' 'Eastwood' to-morrow. I'll be 
 there all day." 
 
 The two new salesmen walked up the street together. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it?" sounded Lee. 
 
 Poole projected his undershot jaw still farther and rolled 
 his blank eyes, so that he resembled some belligerent species 
 of fish. 
 
 "Looks like a fellow could pick up some easy money." 
 He talked slowly and expressed his few ideas with great 
 difficulty. 
 
 Money-making — that was all poor old Poole could see 
 
THE GROPER 39 
 
 in the real estate business. He caught none of its romance, 
 its tremendous possibilities for unselfish service. 
 
 Lee left Poole and repaired to his favorite lunch room. 
 He ate without tasting his sandwich. His eyes flashed. He 
 could hardly keep from button-holing his nearest neighbor 
 at the counter and pouring out the glories of owning a home 
 in "Eastwood" — beautiful "Eastwood." 
 
 Completely under the spell of his soaring enthusiasm, he 
 debouched on the street and approached Woodward avenue. 
 Turning south, he mingled with the dense crowd of people 
 that slowly surged up and down the street in the opulent 
 autumn sunshine. Trolley cars clanged, and ground their 
 brakes stridently. Carriages and wagons clattered on the 
 broad asphalt pavement. Occasionally an automobile horn 
 squawked. On all sides people thronged about him closely, 
 intimately, passing him, jostling him. Every few feet of 
 his slow progress a face would fairly start out at him from 
 the human stream going north — then lose itself in the mass. 
 The roar of the street rose and fell in great rhythms, like 
 pulse-beats of gigantic human energy. 
 
 The City! 
 
 Only yesterday, the loneliness, the sordidness, the ugliness 
 of it had overwhelmed him. The tense, unhappy, thwarted 
 faces on its streets had driven him in on himself. But now, 
 he felt himself its master. He moved in the vast, slow tide 
 of humanity, no longer like jetsam, but with some deep 
 consciousness of power. All these men who had seemed so 
 hostile were his brothers— and he would help them. 
 
 Lee Hillquit— the benefactor of the people! He had 
 found a Great Mission in life. Incidentally, he was going 
 to make a great deal of money. 
 
VI 
 
 HIS fine mood had somewhat abated the next morn- 
 ing, but he spent the day in a haze of anticipation. 
 In the forenoon, he found his way to the Metho- 
 dist church recommended by the minister at Chatham. He 
 had promised his mother that he would go to church once 
 every Sunday. He enjoyed the service; the sermon hap- 
 pened to fall in very inspiringly with his high spiritual 
 purpose. 
 
 In the afternoon he composed long letters to Vera and 
 his mother. Vera had not written him a second time, but 
 he found a half-dozen excuses for her. 
 
 "The first commission I make, I'll hurry back to Chatham 
 and surprise her," he resolved. He imagined her glad cry of 
 welcome; he felt her in his embrace. 
 
 When he arrived at the office of the Security Realty Com- 
 pany Monday morning, the big room was crowded with 
 salesmen. He spoke to Mr. O'Neill and threaded his way 
 down to Eberenz's desk. Poole was there ahead of him — 
 that mustn't happen again! — and before nine o'clock five 
 other salesmen reported to the optimistic superintendent. 
 
 Lee learned with considerable disquietude that Poole had 
 brought a prospect out to "Eastwood" Sunday morning. 
 Eberenz had helped Poole, and seemed to think the prospect 
 might buy. Evidently, Lee had underestimated his rival. 
 
 To both of his new salesmen, the superintendent now 
 turned over packs of cards with names written on them. 
 
 "Call on each one of these people," he directed. "Get as 
 many of 'em interested as you can." 
 
 40 
 
THE GROPER 41 
 
 Lee examined his cards with consuming interest. The first 
 card read as follows: "James Hennessey, 225 Saeger street." 
 The second card bore the address, "226 Saeger street"; the 
 third, "228 Saeger street.' 7 Glancing through the pack, he 
 discovered that all the addresses were on Saeger street, 
 running from No. 225 to 615. It struck him as odd that 
 all these prospects should live on the same street — and so 
 close together. Then the probable explanation flashed 
 through his mind: his employers had seen that he was an 
 especially promising new salesman and had assigned him 
 one of their best routes. 
 
 "Go to it!" encouraged Eberenz with a wink and an 
 expansive grin. He gave his new salesmen a stock of calling 
 cards bearing the Company's name and address. "Leave one 
 of these cards wherever they'll take it. Maybe they'll 
 change their mind after you've left." 
 
 Saeger street proved to be something of a shock. Lee's 
 lithe imagination always visualised everything in advance, 
 and he had instinctively pictured Saeger street as a broad, 
 asphalt avenue, with neat, brightly painted houses, well set 
 back behind trees and green front yards. The reality was 
 quite the reverse: the street was in one of the city's poorest 
 quarters; it was narrow and not paved at all — a mass of 
 wet mud; the houses were old, had long since forgotten the 
 feel of paint, and encroached on the very edge of the side- 
 walks. 
 
 But Lee's cheerfulness was unquenchable that morning. 
 The firm had started him out in an unprepossessing district 
 to test his mettle. Well, he would show them. Besides, 
 what a splendid opportunity for doing good! How much 
 happier every one of these Saeger street people would be, 
 free from the tyranny of grasping landlords, out in the 
 fresh air and sunshine of beautiful "Eastwood." How they 
 would thank him in later years for showing them the light! 
 
 His heart was beating faster than usual as he mounted 
 
42 THE GROPER 
 
 the sagging steps of No. 225 and twisted the rusty bell- 
 handle. His first call! The inception of a notable career I 
 Some day, History might 
 
 The door was pulled open, and a gravid, irascible-eyed 
 Irish woman confronted him. Behind her, clinging to the 
 folds of her calico "wrapper," appeared a four-year-old girl 
 with a sticky smear across her face. From within pro- 
 ceeded the petulant outcries of a baby. 
 
 "Mrs. Hennessey?" Lee raised his fedora and displayed 
 his most ingratiating smile. 
 
 The woman wiped her hands on her apron, and nodded 
 with surly inquiry. A rush of warm, moist, rancid air 
 enveloped Lee — assailed his nostrils. 
 
 "I am Mr. Hillquit, from the Security Realty Company. 
 I understand you and Mr. Hennessey are interested in real 
 estate, and I want to take you both out " 
 
 "What's that?" interpolated Mrs. Hennessey. "Who told 
 you all that?" 
 
 "I was informed that " 
 
 "Well, who informed you, is what I want t' know." 
 
 The baby's cries became louder, more insistent, and Mrs. 
 Hennessey spoke sharply to the little girl: "Go hush him 
 up, Gladys — can't ye?" 
 
 Gladys' viscid face betrayed extreme reluctance, but she 
 disappeared obediently. 
 
 Lee's first instinct had been to loan Gladys his pocket 
 handkerchief; but now a happier inspiration came to him. 
 
 "What a bright little girl," he commented. 
 
 But Mrs. Hennessey's hostile eyes did not soften. She 
 was manifestly above the corrupting influence of flattery. 
 
 "Well," she pursued, "who told you?" 
 
 The new salesman's benevolent smile began to look a 
 thought artificial. "Why, the officers of the Security Realty 
 Company gave me to understand that you and your hus- 
 band were tired of paying rent and were interested " 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 43 
 
 "Never heard of any of 'em," disclaimed Mrs. Hennessey 
 irately. 
 
 The baby's plaints rose yet higher; evidently Gladys' 
 ministrations had proved completely unavailing. Mrs. Hen- 
 nessey moved a step backward and made a tentative move- 
 ment to terminate the interview. 
 
 "But you ought to be interested in real estate. You don't 
 want " 
 
 "Well, we ain't interested — an' we ain't askin' any kids 
 like you f'r advice, neither." Mrs. Hennessey doubtless 
 believed in bringing such skirmishes to an end while the 
 laurels rested with her; for at this juncture, she closed the 
 door smartly. It might be said, indeed, that she slammed 
 it. 
 
 Despite his angry mortification, Lee shook his head a little 
 sadly as he descended the stairs. It was certainly too 
 bad when people acted so unreasonably. They were just 
 working themselves an injury, that was all. 
 
 As he picked his way between mud-puddles across the 
 street, his fear of ridicule made him look back furtively 
 at the windows of the Hennessey home. Mrs. Hennessey 
 had evidently sped back to the baby; she was not visible; 
 but little Gladys, released from nurse-maid duties, parted 
 the front curtains and stuck out her tongue at him with 
 manifest disdain. 
 
 Number 226 Saeger street yielded no response to Lee's 
 vigorous rings. He fancied he detected some movement 
 behind the window curtains. The occupants must have 
 witnessed his rebuff by Mrs. Hennessey. An alarming idea 
 struck Lee. Did he look like an "agent"? Would people 
 refuse to answer door-bells? Once more he recalled the 
 young Jew's sneer at insurance agents. He had been think- 
 ing of himself as a "representative." 
 
 Number 228 was vacant; but Number 232 proved friend- 
 lier. 
 
44 THE GROPER 
 
 "Is Mr. Schemansky in?" he inquired of the old lady who 
 opened the door. 
 
 The old lady shook her head. "Oh no!" she informed him 
 in high quavering tones. "Schemanskys ain't lived here in 
 six months." 
 
 Lee started to go, then turned back quickly. "My name 
 is Hillquit," he began again. "From the Security Realty 
 Company. I wonder if you people would be interested in 
 looking at our subdivisions. You have to make only a small 
 payment down, and the rest in easy monthly installments. 
 When you have your lot paid for, we loan you money to 
 build, and you pay us back just as you would rent. Before 
 long, you own your own home." 
 
 Lee felt better. It was pleasant to be permitted to ex- 
 pound his brief argument without being interrupted. 
 
 But the old lady shook her head once more. "My man, 
 he get hurt on the railroad las' month, an' we must move 
 to a cheaper house. We got no money t' buy lots with." 
 She cackled mirthlessly at the absurdity of the idea. 
 
 At Number 229, a small boy told him that both his 
 parents were "out workin'." Numbers 230, 231 and 233 
 produced decisive refusals. Nobody answered the door bell 
 at 235. 
 
 His tenth call brought the first faint glimmer of success. 
 Mrs. Otto Roehrig, who lived over the saloon at Number 
 240, listened to him with seeming interest. Finally, she 
 had him come into her little parlor and explain the whole 
 thing over again. She was a young, sturdy woman with a 
 blond, Saxon face and a thick neck and arms. When he 
 dilated on the beauty of owning one's own home, he saw her 
 hand tighten. She scrutinised his plat-maps with poorly 
 concealed eagerness. 
 
 She told Lee finally that he had better come some night 
 and talk with her husband, who was a foreman in a shoe 
 factory. 
 
THE GROPER 45 
 
 "I do not think he will buy," she concluded with a trace 
 of regret. "But maybe you can persuade him." 
 
 Greatly encouraged, Lee set out again. At noon he 
 took an hour off for lunch; then worked faithfully until 
 five o'clock. 
 
 Back in his rooms, that night he summed up his first 
 day's labors. He found he had made forty-eight calls. 
 On twenty-seven cards he had scribbled, "N. G."; on 
 ten, "Moved"; nine, "Not home." The remaining two 
 calls had produced what he believed were real prospects: 
 Roehrig and a man named Veenfliets. He knew he had 
 made a favorable impression on the two wives. He planned 
 to make calls on the husbands some night that week. 
 
 One thing puzzled him. He had taken it for granted, 
 from what Eberenz had said, that all these people had pre- 
 viously been interviewed by some representative of the 
 Realty Company. Obviously, this was not the case. Not 
 one person had ever before heard of the Security Realty 
 Company. 
 
 But what surprised him most was the dull inertia of the 
 people — the leaden weight of apathy. He had gone among 
 them with the high spirit of an evangelist, intent on helping 
 them; and they not only rejected his suggestions— they 
 resented them. The common assumption seemed to be 
 that he was trying to "put something over" on them. Their 
 rebuffs wounded him keenly, dulled the fine edge of his 
 self-confidence. Every time he thought of going through 
 the same ordeal to-morrow, and day after to-morrow, and 
 many days thereafter, he winced a little. But then he 
 remembered all his splendid ambitions for himself. He 
 thought of Vera, too. 
 
 In the morning, he seemed to have recovered all his first 
 zest. He decided he must have been very tired the night 
 before. He must get over being sensitive. 
 
46 THE GROPER 
 
 Eberenz congratulated him warmly upon interesting Mrs. 
 Roehrig and Mrs. Veenfliets. 
 
 "That's fine! Get the women folks first. They're the 
 best persuaders in the world." 
 
 Lee began to feel that he had done rather well. 
 
 That day, he worked six blocks farther east on Saeger 
 street. His matutinal enthusiasm faded out perceptibly by 
 noon under the pitiless glare of continuous failure. He lost 
 completely the philanthropic zeal that had thrilled him at 
 first. The work became mere drudgery. Every additional 
 call seemed a more galling ordeal than the last. Yet he 
 stuck to his guns doggedly throughout the long afternoon, 
 forcing himself to do his best. 
 
 At last he turned toward downtown, his face grey with 
 dust, fatigue and discouragement. He had not ensnared one 
 real prospect. Two men had said they might be interested 
 in the spring, and he had left the firm's card with each of 
 them. In fact, he had distributed over twenty cards during 
 the two days, each card with his own name written in the 
 lower left hand corner. 
 
 His woeful lack of success stirred up in Lee a mild frenzy. 
 He determined to call on his two prospects of the day before. 
 
 Otto Roehrig was adamant in refusing even to discuss the 
 matter with Lee. His squat form blocked the doorway; be- 
 hind him, Lee caught sight of Mrs. Roehrig's wistful face. 
 
 John Veenfliets, however, listened willingly enough to his 
 arguments, and Lee had a feeling that here at last he was 
 destined to achieve success. Veenfliets was a cutter in a 
 tailor shop. His impassive Scandinavian face was a perfect 
 mask to his state of mind, but Lee fancied that he was 
 prepossessed by the idea of owning his own home. 
 
 "And as an investment, the purchase of one of our lots 
 would be splendid," pursued Lee, his altruistic fervor ris- 
 ing. "You'll thank us for selling it to you." 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 47 
 
 At this, Veenfliets' broad countenance became obstinate- 
 looking. 
 
 "No, I t'ink not." He explained that he had bought a lot 
 three years before on a monthly payment plan. When he 
 had made payments for a year, he lost his position and was 
 unable to keep up the installments. The owner of the land 
 forfeited the contract and kept Veenfliets' money. 
 
 After that, nothing Lee could say sufficed to alter Veen- 
 fliets' unfavorable verdict. The battle was lost. 
 
 Lee walked the three miles to his rooms. There was no 
 denying that the day had been an absolute failure. But 
 why? He had worked faithfully; he had had the finest of 
 motives — had really tried to help these people. It was very 
 puzzling. Things never eventuated that way in the books 
 he had read. 
 
vn 
 
 THOSE first two discouraging days were fair samples 
 of Lee Hillquit's life in Detroit that first winter. 
 The experience took something away from him that 
 he never quite recovered — something youthful, joyous, hope- 
 ful, idealistic. The ordeal left a scar upon his spirit that never 
 quite healed over. It was part of a process that most ideal- 
 ists undergo — a callousing, hardening process that dis- 
 cards as futile all fine, whimsical fancies and illusions. Men 
 who are born insensitive, "practical," can have no concep- 
 tion of the agonising readjustments of this slow disillusion. 
 
 Every morning, Lee would report at the office punctually, 
 and drink in as much of Eberenz's optimism as possible be- 
 fore starting out on his day's work. He came to depend on 
 that early talk with Eberenz. The superintendent never 
 was pessimistic, never intimated that Lee was anything but 
 an astounding success. Also, it was warm and comfortable 
 in the office, and as winter came on, Lee fairly had to tear 
 himself away to his daily drudgery. 
 
 Saturday was a day he looked forward to all week. The 
 salesmen's meetings never failed to give him an emotional 
 spree, a sort of pleasurable titillation. It reminded him of 
 the time several years back, when he had been "converted." 
 He would go to the salesmen's meetings each week feeling 
 very unworthy, just as in high school days he had felt keen 
 pleasure in attending the Chatham prayer meetings, and 
 joining in the gospel hymn: 
 
 "Would He devote that sacred head, 
 For such a worm as I?" 
 48 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 49 
 
 And indeed, he made a practice of sidling into the sales- 
 men's meetings feeling very like a worm, because the lower 
 his spirits at the beginning of the meeting, the more pro- 
 found the delight of listening to Mr. Hauxhurst's flagellating 
 harangue and feeling the slow stimulus to his ambition. 
 Presently his mood would vault to the heroic once more. He 
 would sense the thrill of invincible determination all over 
 again. He hated to leave the meetings; he got more out of 
 them than he did from the church service that he regularly 
 attended each Sunday evening. 
 
 One of his earliest tragedies occurred when Poole — Poole, 
 the despised, the easily outstripped — took his first prospect 
 out to "Eastwood" on the third Sunday, and actually sold 
 him a lot. The prospect paid down fifty dollars, ten per 
 cent, of the price of the lot ; and the next day Poole showed 
 Lee a check from the firm for twenty-five dollars. 
 
 "An' they's plenty more where he come from," he vaunted, 
 his wide-apart, irregular teeth showing through his droop- 
 ing moustache. 
 
 This was surely a crushing blow. A man without half of 
 Lee's education or personal presence was forging ahead of 
 him in the race. It was but small comfort that the weeks 
 went by without Poole's closing another deal. 
 
 Lee completed his work in Saeger street early in Novem- 
 ber without achieving anything that even threatened to be- 
 come a sale; and started out on a second, equally disrepu- 
 table thoroughfare, designated Adler avenue. 
 
 Certain realisations began to force themselves upon his 
 consciousness. It became clear that he was going through 
 the day's work very mechanically— merely observing out- 
 ward forms as a sop to his conscience. His early persuasion 
 that he was rendering these people a splendid service had 
 almost entirely vanished. They couldn't understand his 
 unselfish attitude. Besides, stories like Veenfliets'— tales of 
 
$o THE GROPER 
 
 the frequent decline in real estate values— shook his faith in 
 the righteousness of his mission. 
 
 During the first week, he had set fifty calls as the 
 standard of a day's work; and now he found himself hurry- 
 ing through this apportionment as rapidly as possible, so 
 that he might conscientiously return to the warmth of his 
 rooms and the solace of a good novel. He was no longer 
 disappointed when people failed to answer the door-bell — 
 he only rang once now — or when they had moved. Some 
 days he made no new calls at all, but contented himself 
 with visiting some of the pseudo-prospects he had called on 
 previously. 
 
 But a more profound and devastating doubt was at work 
 in him. Instinctively he had a very lofty code of personal 
 ethics. He believed implicitly in the most scrupulous fair- 
 ness — "all the cards on the table." It was woven into the 
 very fibre of his being to assume that every man was as 
 honest as himself. 
 
 The first shock to this conception was the universal sus- 
 picion and distrust of his motives. Lee had been quite 
 sincere in his idea that he was helping the people he called 
 on. He was thoroughly convinced that the purchase of real 
 estate would make them save money, would free them from 
 the tentacles of grasping landlords, and give them the satis- 
 factions of owning their own homes. He was conscientious 
 in the extreme. Yet the more honest he tried to be, the 
 more certain he was to see a look of suspicion creep into 
 their faces. 
 
 One night in November, for example, he felt certain for 
 a few moments that he was about to make his first sale. 
 His prospect was a stolid English widow who owned a 
 grocery store. Lee was sure she had money and that the 
 idea appealed to her as an investment. When she agreed 
 to look at a lot in "Eastwood" the next morning, Lee's 
 hungry exhilaration knew no bounds. 
 
THE GROPER 511 
 
 An afterthought struck Mrs. Raymond. "What happens 
 if I can't make a payment?" 
 
 This was not an unusual question; and Lee always en- 
 deavored to be entirely frank in his answer. He explained 
 that the company was very liberal in such matters, but that 
 in extreme cases the contract would probably be forfeited. 
 As he talked he watched the old familiar distrust grow in 
 her bland, inexpressive face. 
 
 "And how much do you say these lots will increase in 
 value?" she demanded. 
 
 Here was another question that he felt under obligation 
 to answer very honestly — particularly in this instance, where 
 he was dealing with a widow. 
 
 "I think the property is sure to go up — just how much, 
 I can't say, of course," he told her. "Very likely it will 
 double in value in ten years. Of course that is only my 
 opinion." 
 
 The widow looked at him heavily. "It might go down," 
 she set forth. 
 
 Lee nodded. "Yes, it might, but I don't think so." 
 
 At that, Mrs. Raymond abruptly decided not to buy an 
 "Eastwood" lot. 
 
 This incident served to bring to a head a number of 
 questions that had been taking shape in his mind. If he 
 had only pooh-poohed the very notion of the owner forfeiting 
 her contract, if he had but assured her that the land would 
 positively reap her an enormous profit, Mrs. Raymond 
 would have bought, he felt sure. His scrupulous honesty 
 had simply killed the sale. 
 
 What was he to do? He wanted to be conscientious; but 
 if being conscientious meant failure— well, he wasn't so sure. 
 
 In the end, he put the problem up to Eberenz. The 
 superintendent had always seemed honest, without being 
 squeamish. 
 
52 THE GROPER 
 
 As Lee told his story, he caught a look of perplexity in 
 Eberenz's eye. 
 
 "You're a funny chap, Hillquit," commented the super- 
 intendent. "I can't make you out in some ways. Here's 
 the point you don't get: sellin' anything is a fight. People 
 won't buy unless they have to. You got t' persuade 'em 
 against their wills, or they'll be persuadin' you you're no 
 good. It's a battle every minute. You got t' get the 
 drop on 'em, or they will on you." 
 
 Lee chewed on this novel theory a moment. "But what 
 if people ask you questions? You can't deceive them." 
 
 "Deceive 'em! No!" Eberenz spat emphatically. "Just 
 soft-pedal the disagreeable stuff! Act as if you didn't 
 think anything sad ever happened in life. Trouble with you 
 is, you tell 'em all the gloomy stuff and act as if you thought 
 it was sure t' happen." 
 
 All this seemed plausible enough — and extraordinarily 
 interesting, in the bargain. "Get the drop on 'em!" Stop 
 arguing, as two reasonable humans might be expected to 
 do. Grab your prospect around the neck, figuratively; 
 throw him down, and if necessary, jump on him with both 
 feet! You might hurt him, but you were really trying to 
 help him. 
 
 Lee made it his business to get acquainted with some of 
 the company's "star" salesmen, and to investigate their 
 ethics toward prospects. All but one of them upheld the 
 policy of open, honest dealing. No one could speak fairer 
 than they. 
 
 The one exception was a tall, lanky, shambling character 
 named Bert Kirschman, familiarly known as "Shorty." He 
 looked fifty, but surprised Lee one day by disclosing that 
 he was only thirty-six. He carried his head a bit forward, 
 and seemed to peer out from beneath the protecting thickets 
 of his eye-brows. His eyes were watery, his teeth dis- 
 colored and irregular. 
 
THE GROPER 53 
 
 Him Lee came gradually to know. He seemed aloof and 
 surly much of the time; but over a cold stein of beer he 
 could be relied on to unbend. 
 
 One day Lee broached the subject of real estate ethics. 
 
 "Say, Shorty, how do you figure out all this talk about 
 a real estate man's duty to his prospects? Most of the 
 fellows claim they're always on the square with people." 
 
 Kirschman regarded Lee with a dubious eye. 
 
 "What d' y' think you're doin'— kiddin' me?" 
 
 Lee almost smiled. "No, I'm perfectly serious. I want 
 the real dope about the game — that's all." 
 
 The successful salesman finished his beer and tapped 
 Lee's chest with a wet forefinger. 
 
 "That Sunday School talk's all bunk, Sonny. Every live 
 wire in the office has pulled some pretty rough stuff. They'll 
 tell a prospect anything in order to sell him. I've done it, 
 and I'll do it again." 
 
 "But good Lord, Shorty, you don't defend downright 
 dishonesty, do you?" 
 
 Kirschman's look was three-quarters contempt, and one- 
 quarter reminiscent approbation. "Look here— you asked 
 me for the real dope, didn't you? Well then, don't drive 
 me into playin' the hypocrite too. Those other lads are 
 jus' kiddin' you, and everybody in the office is snickerin' at 
 the way you eat up the God-Awmighty stuff." He rapped 
 on the bar impatiently. 
 
 Lee felt his face grow red. "Well, I've tried to play the 
 game square, anyway." . 
 
 Kirschman observed his questioner's mortification. 
 "Course you have, Kid. A lot of us start that way— but 
 it can't be done." He took an ample gulp out of his 
 fresh stein, and concluded: "There's only one question 
 people ask about a man nowadays-not what his morals 
 are, nor even whether he's honest or not, but-does he get 
 away with it?" 
 
54 THE GROPER 
 
 Other illuminating aspects of the real estate business 
 came to light at intervals. 
 
 Late one afternoon, Lee stopped in at the office to 
 replenish his supply of calling cards. He found O'Neill 
 and Eberenz in the sales manager's office talking with a 
 middle-aged woman. Presently the woman burst into tears 
 and left the office. 
 
 "What's the row?" Lee asked as Eberenz came back to 
 his desk. 
 
 The superintendent ran his finger around the inside of 
 his collar. "Oh, just a fool woman wantin' her money back. 
 More'n a year overdue in her payments already. Nothin , 
 for us t' do but cancel." 
 
 Toward the middle of December, Lee missed Poole. His 
 rival had made no further sales, and Lee had remarked 
 his increasing gauntness of aspect, the frayed edges of his 
 coat sleeves, the growing slovenliness of his linen. 
 
 "He's quit," vouchsafed Eberenz lightly. "He didn't 
 have no guts. I knowed he couldn't make good." 
 
 Next week, Lee came upon Poole in a Sherman street 
 car. The ex-salesman's lean lower jaw protruded even 
 farther than before; his attenuation of feature was startling. 
 Lee couldn't help feeling sorry for his late rival. Poole's 
 pretence that he had secured some mysterious and superior 
 employment was pathetically palpable. It was only when 
 he finally broke out about the Security Realty Company 
 that he became convincing. 
 
 "Damn 'em!" he swore, looking more than ever like a 
 highly indignant shad. "Pump a man full of hot air, so's 
 he'll starve himself tryin' t' sell their filthy lots. Copy 
 names out of the directory onto cards, and make a man 
 think they're givin' him names of real prospects. Tell him 
 V leave their cards everywhere, so's they'll git plenty of 
 free advertisin'I Let a man start out to learn the game in 
 
THE GROPER $$ 
 
 the fall, when they know dam' well nobody can sell lots 
 except in spring an' summer. They're a bunch of crooks, 
 an' if you got any sense, Hillquit, you'll do jus' what I 
 done — give 'em a good bawlin' out, an' ditch 'em." 
 
vni 
 
 OTHER troubles deepened his slough of despond these 
 bleak December days. 
 He still wrote to his mother and Vera with spe- 
 cious, hazy optimism. Both of them had been urging him 
 all fall to spend a week-end at Chatham; and his excuses 
 had become increasingly lame. He still adhered tenaciously 
 to his first resolution — not to go home until he had made 
 his first sale. 
 
 Vera, in particular, waxed almost insistent. He was 
 conscious of a beseeching note in her recent letters. "I need 
 you, dear," she had written him. "Why don't you come 
 to me?" He had sent her some unconvincing excuse, and 
 thereafter he fancied he could detect a subtle change in 
 the spirit of her letters, something increasingly apathetic. 
 
 But he had no money to waste in railroad fare. He 
 needed every penny of his mother's remittances to defray 
 his actual living expenses. 
 
 Without doubt, his mother would gladly have sent him 
 the necessary additional money. She hinted as much in 
 more than one letter. But it hurt Lee's pride enough to 
 take his regular allowance of ten dollars without asking for 
 more. Twenty-three years old — and living on his mother's 
 bounty! The thought was deeply galling. Besides, he knew 
 she couldn't afford it. It must be a serious problem for 
 her to make ends meet on what she had left of her annuity. 
 Vera inadvertently disclosed the fact that his mother was 
 giving piano lessons. It was all too evident she had been 
 forced to do so to eke out a living. 
 
 To all his other distressing troubles, add a particularly 
 insidious one — loneliness. 
 
 56 
 
THE GROPER 57 
 
 His only familiar was Bob Hamilton; and Bob was ex- 
 actly the wrong sort of companion for a man in Lee's 
 predicament. There was nothing robust about Bob's spirit. 
 Instead, he was tremulously self-abasing, forever deprecating 
 himself, wondering why he wasn't more successful in his 
 newspaper work. 
 
 Lee's one other friend in the city, Fred Badger, had 
 failed to telephone him after their first meeting. It was 
 not until the middle of November — two months after his 
 arrival in Detroit — that Lee again encountered him on the 
 street. Fred was not even apologetic. He seemed friendly 
 enough, but so breezy, so self-sufficient. 
 
 Lee, however, could not help pouring out something of 
 his troubles. 
 
 "That's tough, old top!" There was no real concern 
 in Fred's tone. His eyes were alert, combative; and Lee 
 was once more conscious that he was being appraised — only 
 this time, his friend's verdict seemed more definitely un- 
 favorable. 
 
 Fred turned away. "Well, so-long. Get your shoulders 
 into it! See you soon!" 
 
 A few weeks afterward, Lee's sense of loneliness got the 
 better of his pride. He telephoned Fred, and was over- 
 joyed when his friend accepted his invitation to lunch. 
 
 At first Fred seemed to be exhibiting the same aloof 
 attitude; but over their coffee, he suddenly became expan- 
 sive about himself. Times were really hard for bond sales- 
 men, he confided; but he himself had done very well. He 
 related various encounters— always victorious encounters— 
 with the city's leading bankers. Lee, ever given to taking 
 people at their own estimate, regarded Fred enviously. His 
 very appearance breathed success; there seemed power in 
 his prominent brows. He was not boastful, yet he had an 
 easy self-confidence that readily convinced people of his 
 ability. 
 
58 THE GROPER 
 
 He was "in Society," too. He spoke lightly of dinner 
 dances and theatre parties. 
 
 "By the way, how do you stand on the girl question?" 
 he asked abruptly. 
 
 Lee intimated that his affections were engaged by a "girl 
 back in Chatham." 
 
 "How much money has she?" the young bond salesman 
 inquired. 
 
 Lee, taken aback, became evasive. "I never thought 
 much about that part of it," he set forth. 
 
 "Well, you'd better." Fred leaned forward. "Marriage 
 makes or breaks a man. The chap who marries the right 
 sort of girl is practically made." 
 
 "What do you mean by the 'right sort of girF?" 
 
 "Oh, I guess you know what I mean." Fred showed his 
 even, white teeth. "A girl that can help him. If she has 
 money, so much the better. Anyway, she's got to have 
 position, influence. Between you and me, I think it's a 
 mistake for a young fellow to marry an out-of-town girl." 
 
 This was a novel viewpoint on matrimonial standards. 
 
 "Understand, I'm not saying a word against the girl 
 'back home,' " protested Fred. "I'm only looking at mar- 
 riage from a practical standpoint. Here you are in Detroit, 
 just starting out. Right now, you're sort of unplaced — 
 that is, you have no fixed position, socially or financially. 
 An unattached young man — a college man, especially — can 
 almost pick his own crowd. He can travel middle-class or 
 high-class, just as he wants. It almost all depends on the 
 women he goes with. Maybe you don't realise how much 
 influence women have. You marry some girl without money 
 or position, and everybody'll snub you. But marry a girl 
 in the right set, and the way's paved for you." 
 
 Lee was impressed, but skeptical. "You don't honestly 
 believe in marrying for money?" 
 
 Fred's lower lip protruded judicially. "If you put it 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 59 
 
 that way — no. But I believe it's just as easy to fall in 
 love with a girl who has money as with one who hasn't. 
 It depends on what sort of girls you're training with. As 
 I see this love game, it's all a matter of propinquity." 
 
 Lee couldn't help launching into a spirited defence of 
 disinterested, exalted love; but Fred remained quite un- 
 convinced, and a little disdainful, besides. 
 
 At two o'clock he alleged an important engagement and 
 left his host with disconcerting briskness. ► 
 
 "You must have lunch with me some day soon," he 
 averred, and was off. 
 
 In spite of Fred's apparent lack of interest in everybody 
 but himself, Lee felt that the luncheon had been a success. 
 It was the first oasis after a long stretch of arid days. He 
 hoped Fred would telephone him soon. Not that he agreed 
 with his friend's ideas about marriage. They sounded 
 mercenary, he thought, in spite of Fred's plausible way of 
 putting them. Why, he could no more think of giving up 
 Vera for some rich city girl than he could consider purse- 
 snatching as a profession. 
 
 Still, he was vaguely pleased by Fred Badger's assurance 
 that he might, if he chose, become a "Society man." There 
 was an alluring glamor surrounding that mysterious world 
 of dinner-dances, balls, teas. He observed haughty looking 
 girls in limousines; they must be debutantes. He had 
 noticed pictures of prominent "Society women" in the Sun- 
 day newspapers. He began to read the "Social Columns," 
 and tried to imagine the delights of such an existence. 
 Whenever he came across Fred Badger's name, he felt a 
 glow of pride in their friendship. 
 
 He still went to the Methodist church at least once on 
 Sunday. He had presented a letter of introduction to the 
 Reverend Twiggs, the minister, soon after coming to Detroit, 
 and within a few weeks had transferred his membership 
 from the Chatham church. [The deacons of the city church. 
 
6o THE GROPER 
 
 had taken note of his coming; he was early solicited to 
 take a class in the Sunday School, but compromised by 
 serving as substitute usher Sunday nights. 
 
 His church connection ought to have given him the nec- 
 essary social outlet, but somehow the spirit of that particular 
 church failed to appeal to him. Possibly, his University 
 life had made him skeptical about all religious creeds. And 
 the people themselves he found narrow-minded and decid- 
 edly cold. Three-fourths of the congregation were women; 
 the few men he saw were wishy-washy specimens. 
 
 One blustery Wednesday night in December, when Lee 
 happened to be attending prayer-meeting, an untoward inci- 
 dent happened. The worshippers had just finished singing 
 "Throw Out the Life Line." During the period given over 
 to "Personal Experiences," an unkempt, forlorn looking man 
 rose from the last row of chairs in the chapel. Everybody 
 felt a little twitch of surprise at the appearance of such a 
 person in the meeting. 
 
 "I've been in Detroit a week looking for work," explained 
 the shabby intruder. "I haven't had anything to eat for 
 two days, and I'm desperate. If any of you church people 
 can help me land a job, I beg you to do it. If I can't 
 get work, I'm going down to the foot of Woodward Avenue 
 and jump in the river." 
 
 The man spoke in a low, distinct voice, in educated 
 accents. There was a perceptible flutter of excitement 
 among the worshippers. Meanwhile the stranger stood 
 motionless. 
 
 The Reverend Twiggs coughed nervously; some of the 
 deacons threw disturbed glances at the man; but no one 
 moved. 
 
 The tension lasted a moment longer, then the unkempt 
 man gave a little contemptuous laugh and left the chapel. 
 
 A buzz of whispering rose. Two deacons followed the 
 
THE GROPER 6i! 
 
 man out, and Lee breathed more easily. Surely they would 
 do something. 
 
 Almost immediately the meeting sang "God Be With 
 You Till We Meet Again," and received the Reverend 
 Jwiggs' benediction. 
 
 Then there was a rush into the corridors. The two 
 deacons were there — but not the suppliant for help. They 
 had let the man go out into the storm after all. One of 
 them gave the reason: 
 
 "We smelled liquor on his breath." 
 
 Somehow this failed to satisfy Lee. The man really 
 seemed sincere in wanting work. If he had been drinking, 
 that was additional reason why church members should give 
 him a helping hand. But every one seemed to approve of 
 what the deacons had done. There was a general feeling 
 of indignation that such a man should have been permitted 
 to disturb the prayer-meeting; and Olaf, the janitor, was 
 reprimanded for not having intercepted him. The worship- 
 pers wanted no more raw life to break through into their 
 steam-heated religious atmosphere. 
 
 The following Sunday evening another illuminating ex- 
 perience befell Lee. 
 
 One of the ushers, a poor-complexioned, colorless young 
 fellow named Templeton Beman, approached him shortly 
 before the service, and drew a folded document from an 
 inside pocket. 
 
 "Say, sign this, will you? All the other ushers have." 
 
 Lee observed a printed petition at the top of the paper. 
 
 "What is it for?" he asked, as he reached for his pencil. 
 
 "It's to abolish all Catholic nunneries— tear 'em down to 
 the ground," Beman expounded. 
 
 "But why?" Lee backed away a little to avoid the other 
 usher's bad breath. 
 
 "Why?" demanded Beman incredulously. "Because 
 they're Roman Catholic prisons, that's why. Haven't you 
 
62 THE GROPER 
 
 ever heard how they seal up young girls — Protestant girls, 
 too — inside cells and let 'em starve to death, 'cause they 
 won't turn Catholic?" 
 
 Lee took simultaneous note of Beman's soiled collar and 
 ignorant, fanatical eyes. "Why no, I can't sign this," he 
 decided. "I don't know that what you say is true; and 
 until I have positive proof, I believe in letting everybody 
 worship in his own way." 
 
 Beman's bigoted, bespectacled countenance reflected utter 
 amazement. 
 
 "I didn't know you was a friend of Rome," was his 
 crushing retort. He would hardly speak to Lee thereafter; 
 he whispered the scandal to the other ushers. 
 
 Here was as dangerous and morbid a religious fanatic as 
 any Jesuit priest that ever drew breath. Lee glanced over 
 the faces of the congregation. Obviously, there were many 
 Bemans among them. 
 
 The annual business meeting of the church the week 
 before Christmas helped complete Lee's distaste for the 
 spirit of his church. He had already experienced its un- 
 charitableness and its bigotry. Now he was to witness 
 downright sordidness. When the members began to bid 
 for the choicest pews in the church, the House of God 
 changed instantly into a clamorous market. Lee saw men 
 grow red with anger, as their favorite pews were bought 
 away from them; saw fists raised in the air; heard excited, 
 angry voices. 
 
 A still more arresting phenomenon was destined to pre- 
 sent itself to his scrutiny that night. 
 
 As he walked up the street towards home, a girl spoke 
 to him. She was standing on a corner, under a street light. 
 He lifted his hat politely under the impression that she 
 had asked him a question. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "I didn't understand 
 what you said." 
 
THE GROPER 63 
 
 Then all at once he saw her face. She was young and 
 rather pretty, except for the too-conspicuous nostrils of her 
 upturned nose. Her mouth was defiant, and her high 
 cheek-bones were rouged. 
 
 His heart pounded in his chest. The girl was a prosti- 
 tute! He had heard about such women, of course; he 
 fancied he had seen them in the streets before this. But 
 here was one actually brazen enough to accost him. He 
 stiffened with horror. 
 
 The girl smiled. A gold crown on one of her teeth 
 glistened in the white light from the arc-lamp. 
 
 "Hello, kiddo," she said. 
 
 He glanced apprehensively up the avenue. What if any 
 one should see him I 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked in tones that were calcu- 
 lated to be righteously indignant, but only sounded tremu- 
 lous. 
 
 By way of unequivocal answer, the girl made use of a 
 revolting expression that fairly paralysed him. 
 
 "I guess you've made a mistake," he said stiffly, and 
 walked away. 
 
 He waited for the traditional scornful laugh, but none 
 came. He chanced a quick look back, and found the 
 girl staring soberly after him. Standing there in the cold, 
 she looked forlorn rather than wicked. 
 
 He wondered why the girl on the street corner seemed 
 more real, more vital, than most of his fellow church 
 members. 
 
IX 
 
 LEE spent Christmas and the holidays alone in 
 Detroit. Even Bob Hamilton went home for a 
 couple of days. 
 
 When Lee wrote that he would be unable to leave the 
 city, Mrs. Hillquit suggested that she would like to come 
 to Detroit. But he discouraged the project and promised 
 to go home within a week or two after New Year's. Vera 
 also wrote a discouraged little note asking him if he had 
 really stopped caring for her. 
 
 Late New Year's Eve, he sat in his deserted rooms, for- 
 lornly wondering how much longer he could keep his courage 
 up. 
 
 All at once, a factory whistle opened noisy salute to the 
 New Year. The tumult grew: other whistles, deep and 
 vibrant or high and shrill, some near, some distantly faint, 
 swelled the chorale. Now the sounds of deep-throated 
 church bells came eddying and volleying through the winter 
 air. 
 
 Lee switched off the light, opened the window a little. 
 There was something eerie, supernatural, in the shrieking 
 of the whistles, in the wafted sounds of the bells. Something 
 inspiring, too — an imperious summons to new ambition, 
 new determination. 
 
 He had yielded too easily, too cravenly. He hadn't half 
 tried. His ambition stirred, his hope revived. He took a 
 great resolve. He would make a success of the real estate 
 business. Nothing should keep him back. He would 
 marry Vera in the spring. Poor Vera! No wonder she 
 
 6 4 
 
THE GROPER 65 
 
 was perplexed and discouraged. And his mother, too: how 
 overjoyed she would be at his success. All his doubts about 
 life, all his misgivings about the real estate business, van- 
 ished like mists before the warmth of his new and splendid 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 He pulled the old volume of "Fisk's Encyclopaedia" from 
 his trunk and turned to the pictures of "The Two Paths." 
 He looked at himself in the mirror. Thank Heaven, no 
 marks of dissipation or signs of failure yet revealed them- 
 selves on his face. There was still time for him to choose 
 the right path, to go down through life a respected and 
 successful man. 
 
 The second day of January, accordingly, found Lee start- 
 ing out all over again, with an invincible determination to 
 succeed. Eberenz noted the change, congratulated him, and 
 prophesied an early triumph for him. 
 
 Success, it seemed, remained coy, notwithstanding. Lee 
 fought on stubbornly. Each week-day in January and Feb- 
 ruary, he trudged conscientiously from door to door, spread- 
 ing the gospel of home ownership, battling the ignorance and 
 short-sightedness of landlords' victims, meeting rebuffs and 
 suspicion with a set smile. He shut his mind to the pos- 
 sibility of failure— even though the days went by without 
 bringing the faintest shimmer of hope. Nobody liked the 
 idea of going out to look over windswept subdivisions in 
 the dead of winter. The force of salesmen of the Security 
 Realty Company dwindled to a mere handful. 
 
 The weather grew colder and colder. Some days, Lee 
 suffered intensely from the piercing winter air. The matter 
 of clothing loomed up as a source of worry. He had been 
 able to buy nothing new. His last year's winter suit was 
 beginning to wear ominously thin in spots. His overcoat 
 was really nothing but a raincoat. It seemed to offer only 
 a faint-hearted resistance to the cold. 
 
 One night, he returned to his room to find a disturbing 
 
66 THE GROPER 
 
 letter from his mother. She first recounted the usual details 
 of her daily existence. 
 
 "There's something I feel it my duty to write you about," 
 her last paragraph began. "Something about Vera. I don't 
 think she is doing quite right by you. Milo Higginson comes 
 over from Record pretty near every day to see her, and I 
 hear things about them. You know Mrs. Wakefield is very 
 ambitious for Vera. I am only telling you this so you will 
 be on your guard. 
 
 "Your loving mother." 
 
 Lee stared. Then he laughed. If there was one certainty 
 in the world — one fixed star in the heavens — it was Vera's 
 trustworthiness. He needn't worry about Vera. She loved 
 him, he knew; and she would always love him. A mutual 
 devotion like theirs was eternal. For an instant he had 
 a blind instinct to rush to the station and catch the first 
 train for Chatham. 
 
 True, Vera's letters were increasingly colorless. She 
 was suffering as cruelly as he from their enforced separation, 
 and he saw no reason why she shouldn't let other men call 
 on her. 
 
 "Milo Higginson!" he grinned. "The idea of Vera ever 
 falling in love with a red-faced dough-head like him!" 
 
 When he wrote his mother, he ignored her accusations. 
 But Mrs. Hillquit seemed insistent. 
 
 "I hope you weren't hurt by what I said about Vera," 
 her next letter ran. "I only didn't want you to be fooled 
 by her." 
 
 Lee smiled and read on. 
 
 "You don't write when you are coming home, my dear son, 
 nor how you are getting along. Don't you think you have 
 had about enough of Detroit? I do so wish sometimes that 
 you would see your way clear to coming back to Chatham 
 and settling down here. I know you could get a good posi- 
 tion in the bank." 
 
 During the winter months, he continued to attend church 
 Sunday evenings, in spite of his distaste for certain aspects 
 
THE GROPER 67 
 
 of applied Christianity. Acting as usher was a change and 
 a relief from his hard work during the week. It gave him 
 a pleasant sense of self-importance to show people to their 
 pews, to help take up the collection. He enjoyed the big 
 pipe-organ, and he liked to watch the people and to speculate 
 about the more prominent members. He even contrived to 
 be introduced to some of them. 
 
 He could not help noticing how his fellow-ushers always 
 manoeuvred for the honor of showing a certain distinguished- 
 woman to her accustomed place. 
 
 "Who is she?" he asked the head usher one Sunday night. 
 
 The other expanded with the sense of portentous reve- 
 lation. "Why, that's Mrs. Tom Curran, the richest woman 
 in the church. She owns one-third of the Curran store down 
 on Woodward Avenue." 
 
 After that, Lee observed Mrs. Curran more closely, when- 
 ever she came to church. She was a woman of about forty, 
 a little below average height, with a slender, well-formed 
 figure. Her eyes were markedly black; they dominated her 
 whole face. She always wore simple, but very stylish 
 clothing. Most startling of all, she came to church in a 
 closed automobile, driven by a chauffeur. 
 
 When Lee was introduced a few Sundays later, he was 
 tremendously overawed. 
 
 Mrs. Curran gave him a quick comprehensive look. 
 
 "How long have you been here?" 
 
 "Just a few months," stumbled Lee. "I only graduated 
 from college last spring." 
 
 Mrs. Curran made use of one or two conventionally 
 pleasant expressions, and passed on. 
 
 What a remarkable woman! He made inquiries about 
 her. Her husband had been one of the three founders and 
 partners of the great department store of Curran & Com- 
 pany; and when he died, Mrs. Curran had inherited his 
 stock in the concern. She was worth anywhere from one 
 
68 THE GROPER 
 
 hundred thousand dollars to half a million. She had no 
 children. Her house was on Wells street, a fashionable ave- 
 nue running off Woodward. She was a member of Detroit's 
 oldest and most exclusive social circle. 
 
 Thenceforth Mrs. Curran always spoke pleasantly to him. 
 One Sunday night after the service was over, she stopped 
 a moment by the door where he was standing. 
 
 "Do you ever go to concerts?" she inquired. 
 
 Lee shook his head. "I haven't gone to any here, though 
 I do like music." 
 
 Mrs. Curran held out a ticket. "Wouldn't you like to 
 use this Tuesday night? It's for the New York Symphony 
 concert. I just happen to have this extra ticket on my 
 hands." 
 
 Lee took the ticket and thanked her profusely. 
 
 "It's awfully nice of you," he said. 
 
 The great lady smiled benignantly. "I never like to see 
 a ticket go to waste." 
 
 Tuesday night Lee made his way to the Light Guard 
 Armory in a state of high excitement. Self-consciously he 
 followed an usher down one of the side aisles to a seat in the 
 tenth row. Safely there, he looked furtively about him. It 
 was his first symphony orchestra concert. The seventy 
 musicians were already on the stage, and an utter confusion 
 of sound attended their efforts to tune up. All around, Lee 
 beheld impressive men and women in immaculate evening 
 dress. In contrast with them, he felt obscure and inconse- 
 quential in his worn business suit. 
 
 His awed gaze swept the row of boxes that fringed the 
 balcony. In one box a little to the left, his eye rested on a 
 familiar figure. It was Fred Badger — attired as impeccably 
 as any other member of the gay box-party. Lee stared 
 curiously at the three girls who sat in the first row of the 
 box. Their faces he could not descry, but he pictured them 
 as indubitably beautiful. They must be "Society girls" — 
 
THE GROPER 69 
 
 debutantes, very likely. Fred leaned forward attentively 
 over one of them — a girl with light hair. Perhaps she was 
 the heiress that Fred was looking for. Lucky Fredl 
 
 Scattered hand-clapping announced the conductor of the 
 orchestra. He bowed to the audience gravely, tapped smart- 
 ly on his desk, raised his baton — and the concert began. 
 
 Much of the music made no appeal to Lee. The "Corio- 
 lanus Overture" left him puzzled. He could find little mel- 
 ody in the showy Russian trifles that ended the programme. 
 The Tchaikowsky Symphony — the "Pathetique" — opened 
 inauspiciously, too. Then all at once the violins broke 
 out into a sweeping, stirring theme that held him spell- 
 bound. Throughout the symphony, indeed, his emotions 
 remained tumultuous. 
 
 "That's wonderful!" he thought. 
 
 When the concert was over, he reluctantly joined the 
 slow-moving crowd that choked the aisles. He was sorry 
 the evening had come to an end. It had been an exciting 
 event for him. He wondered why most of the people looked 
 so bored. 
 
 His slow progress brought him at last to the Brush 
 street door. Outside he heard the hoarse shouts of the 
 doorman, calling carriage numbers. All about him were 
 awesome "Society" men and women. Lee stared. What was 
 the badge of their superior breeding? Some of them looked 
 disdainful, some morose. A few— the women mostly- 
 talked volubly, with a great show of teeth. Their laughter 
 seemed shrill, he thought. 
 
 Lee felt forlorn, almost ignominious, decidedly out of all 
 this consciously superior set. He was painfully aware of 
 cutting a poor figure. 
 
 "Oh, I think Damrosch is simply adorable! a girl s voice 
 confided, almost behind him. • 
 
 Lee looked around, and suddenly felt an elated thrill. 
 
70 THE GROPER 
 
 For the girl was speaking to none other than Fred Badger, 
 resplendent in a top hat and evening dress. 
 
 Lee's pride came to life. He knew some one in this gay 
 company, after all. 
 
 "Hello, Fred!" he said, and raised his soft hat gaily. 
 
 Fred Badger's eyes rested on him — seemed to be apprais- 
 ing every detail of his drab appearance. 
 
 Yes, Fred was looking directly at him — or was it through 
 him? Slowly it came to Lee that his friend was deliberately 
 cutting him. His mouth opened, his cheeks grew warm. 
 
 The girl was staring at him, too — haughtily. 
 
 "Thirty-seven!" shouted the door-man. 
 
 Fred's unrecognising eyes at last left Lee's erubescent 
 countenance. "That's our number," he vouchsafed to the 
 girl. They hastened down the remaining steps and hurried 
 outside. 
 
 Lee stood there numbly a moment more, then dragged 
 himself home. Of all his tribulations since he had come to 
 Detroit, none had hurt him quite so grievously as this. 
 He felt very much like a friendly puppy that has just 
 received its first kick. 
 
 Fred was ashamed of him, thought friendship with him 
 a handicap to his own success. 
 
 So passed for Lee the illusion about the eternal integrity 
 of college friendships. 
 
BUT the very next day, Fortune seemed to relent, 
 ever so slightly. 
 Trudging hopelessly but methodically through the 
 snow, from door to door— stifling the deep hurt of the night 
 before— Lee at length rang the door-bell of Number 228 
 Wrisley street, occupied by Adrian Soomer. 
 
 Mrs. Soomer, a middle-aged Dutch Hausfrau, with hair 
 plastered back into a little knot, betrayed sufficient interest 
 to say that he might return some evening that week to 
 confer with her "man." 
 
 Friday night, therefore, Lee called again at the Soomer 
 abode. Adrian Soomer was a saloon-keeper, about forty- 
 five years old. His face was broad, flat and pock-marked; 
 his moustache formidable; his hair bristly; the back of his 
 head stubbornly straight. 
 
 For all that, he suffered Lee to explain his mission to 
 the end. 
 
 "What I'd like to do would be to take you out to 
 'Eastwood' next Sunday," said Lee mechanically. 
 
 Soomer pulled on his cigar stub. "Veil— maybe ve go— 
 huh, mamma?" he interrogated his wife. 
 
 "Sure," she assented. 
 
 Lee began to brighten. They were the best prospects 
 he had come across in many a day. He made an appoint- 
 ment for ten o'clock the next Sunday morning, then hurried 
 away before they could change their minds. He told 
 Eberenz nothing about the Soomers. He had turned in too 
 many false alarms already. 
 
 Sunday morning was bitterly cold and Soomer demurred 
 
 7i 
 
(72 THE GROPER 
 
 strongly to forsaking the glow of his sitting-room coal-stove. 
 It was like pulling teeth to get the pair started. 
 
 Little wonder Lee was excited when they finally arrived 
 at the desolate reaches of "Eastwood." In all his five- 
 months as a real estate salesman, he had not succeeded in 
 taking a single prospect out to the subdivisions until to-day. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Soomer looked over the subdivision phleg- 
 matically and without enthusiasm. Soomer walked back and 
 forth along the sidewalk to keep from freezing. He turned 
 in his toes as he walked; his gloveless hands he plunged 
 into his side pockets. 
 
 "Now's the time to buy," Lee extemporised. "In another 
 month everybody'll be wanting lots, and you won't be able 
 to have such a choice. Besides, the price may go up." 
 
 The Soomers wouldn't commit themselves Sunday, but 
 Monday night he was after them again, like a terrier after 
 a rat. At the outset, the saloon-keeper's disposition was 
 unfavorable. It seemed to Lee he talked to Soomer at 
 least six hours that night. For the first time, he felt within 
 himself a real ingenuity in argument, a real persuasiveness. 
 There was something almost frenzied in his determined 
 earnestness. 
 
 "Veil, I tell you," yielded Soomer at eleven o'clock. "I 
 gif you fife dollars to-night as a deposit to holdt lot number 
 fifty-seex." He indicated the lot in question with a stubby, 
 unmanicured index finger. 
 
 Outwardly dignified, Lee wrote out a receipt for the 
 money. "This will give you an option for forty-eight 
 hours," he explained. "Within that time, you must pay 
 the balance of ten per cent, of the price of the lot, five 
 hundred and fifty dollars, and after that, five dollars and 
 fifty cents or more each month." 
 
 He folded the worn five-dollar bill and put it in his 
 vest pocket; then took his leave. Outside in the cold Feb- 
 ruary night, his ecstasy broke all bounds. He leaped and 
 
THE GROPER 73 
 
 ran; he even shouted; he wanted to climb the walls of the 
 buildings he passed. 
 
 The unutterable sweetness of Success! After the long 
 procession of numb, despairing days, after the intolerable 
 nightmare of failure, his victory had descended upon him 
 with incredible swiftness. Every fibre of his being tingled 
 with transcendent happiness. All his doubts about the essen- 
 tial Rightness of Things dissolved. It was a good world 
 at that. It paid to be honest, industrious, ambitious. 
 Shorty Kirschman was wrong: you didn't have to hoodwink 
 people in order to sell them lots. He had won — he was 
 going to be a splendid success after all. 
 
 And Vera! Now he could go back to Chatham in tri- 
 umph. Dear, faithful Vera! How hard it had been for 
 them to be separated — but how wonderful to feel her in his 
 arms once more. Vera and he wouldn't. be sorry in later 
 years that they had gone through this ordeal. It had been 
 a test. 
 
 He wrote her a hasty note that night, full of his success. 
 "I'll get to Chatham Saturday afternoon," he promised. "I 
 don't see how I've been able to live so long without seeing 
 you." His letter would reach her Wednesday morning. 
 He visualised her sudden, radiant happiness. 
 
 Bob Hamilton, too, had to be told something of the 
 astounding news— not in great detail, for he had vaguely 
 supposed that Lee was selling lots right along. 
 
 "That's great, Lee," he said. He himself was discouraged, 
 as usual. "I don't see why I can't be a success too. Lord 
 knows I try hard enough. Guess I simply haven't it in me." 
 He wagged his large head dolefully from side to side; his 
 eyes were troubled behind his thick-lensed spectacles; his 
 sensitive lower lip trembled. 
 
 Next morning Lee jubilantly reported his sale to Eberenz, 
 and turned over the deposit money. 
 
 The roguish old superintendent fairly beamed. "I knowed 
 
74 THE GROPER 
 
 you had it in you, my boy ! " he acclaimed, as he clapped Lee 
 boisterously on the back. With impressive ostentation, he 
 dipped a small brush in red ink and marked Lot No. 56 off 
 the big wall-map of "Eastwood." "Now you're started. 
 The first deal's always the hardest one. I bet you sell six 
 more lots in the next month!" 
 
 Six more! His commission on the Soomer deal would be 
 $27.50; on six lots more, $165.00. Why, at that pace, he 
 could marry Vera right away. 
 
 It was all too good to be true! What a difference it 
 made in his day's work! He went from house to house 
 with real courage, with new persuasiveness. There was no 
 stopping him now; by Tuesday night, he had secured two 
 more good prospects. 
 
 Wednesday morning, as he walked downtown, he re- 
 flected that Vera would just be receiving his letter. All at 
 once he remembered with a guilty feeling that he had neg- 
 lected to write his mother. He decided that he would send 
 her a special delivery letter at once. 
 
 The sun shone down from a sky of deep, brilliant azure. 
 The air bore the first hint of warmth, the first tremulous 
 promise of spring. On all sides people were hurrying down 
 to work. To-day he saw many faces that seemed optimistic, 
 alert, purposeful. He revelled in the increasing roar of the 
 city, rising and falling in pulsating waves; the noises of 
 grating, creaking trolley-cars, of hoofbeats on the hard 
 asphalt, of squawking motor horns; more than all this — 
 filling in the interstices of these definable noises — a vast 
 inchoate background of sound, proceeding from the mere 
 proximity of thousands of people, elemental, diapasonic, in- 
 distinguishable^ — the overtones of the city. 
 
 At the office, Lee dashed off a note to his mother. As 
 he was leaving, Eberenz called him back. 
 
 "By the way, Hillquit," he said, "I forgot to tell you. 
 Soomer was in yesterday afternoon. He got cold feet on 
 
THE GROPER 75 
 
 that deal, and we finally had t' give him his five dollars 
 back." 
 
 Lee took hold of the ledge of the superintendent's desk, 
 and stared blankly. " What's that?" 
 
 Eberenz repeated the news, quite as if it were the most 
 ordinary occurrence in the world. 
 
 Lee experienced an utter sickness of heart; it seemed for 
 a moment as if the world were tumbling down; but he 
 strove to conceal his bitter disappointment from the super- 
 intendent. 
 
 "Too bad," quoth Eberenz lightly, "but you're started, 
 anyway. The next one'll come easier." 
 
 "I'll go and see Soomer," volunteered Lee. "Perhaps I 
 can persuade him to change his mind." 
 
 The superintendent removed his impressive eye-glasses 
 and rubbed the irritated indentations they left on the sides 
 of his nose. "Don't believe I'd bother with him. I spent 
 an hour workin' on him, an' I couldn't budge him. You 
 know how stubborn a Dutchman is." He tapped his desk 
 meditatively. "Tell you what: Wrisley street ain't much 
 good, an' now you've showed you got the stuff, I'm goin' t' 
 give you a better territory." He reached for a pile of 
 cards. "Here's McAfee street— take a whirl at that." 
 
 Slowly Lee tore up the letter to his mother. He won- 
 dered inconsequentially how he had best break the news to 
 Vera. Fight as he would, the fine bold flavor of his courage 
 ran itself out drop by drop. Success had escaped him after 
 all. He must begin the slow, uninspired grind all over 
 again. 
 
 He forced himself out to McAfee street. For the life 
 of him, he couldn't see why Eberenz considered it superior 
 territory. He covered two blocks of it in apathetic fashion. 
 
 On the next corner appeared a saloon and he glanced 
 inadvertently at the sign that hung over the doorway-- 
 then stopped short. The sign read: "Adrian Soomer, Cafe." 
 
76 THE GROPER 
 
 He opened the door and walked in. There could be no 
 harm, he decided, in talking to Soomer, and there was a 
 slight chance of inducing him to reconsider. 
 
 The proprietor, in shirt sleeves and apron, was busily 
 serving three patrons. He nodded to Lee and presently 
 gave him audience. 
 
 The real estate salesman bought a round of beer for 
 Soomer and himself. 
 
 "I tell you, Mr. Soomer," he began earnestly, "I think 
 you're making a big mistake in giving up that lot." 
 
 The saloon-keeper surveyed him with apparent bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "But — but I haf not give oop dat lot," he asserted. 
 
 Lee, in turn, stared. 
 
 "I go down to your office yesterday — yes," affirmed 
 Soomer. "I see Mr. — Mr. " 
 
 "Mr. Eberenz?" 
 
 "Ja, I tell him I don't want dat lot, und he gif me my 
 money back." 
 
 "Yes — that's what he told me," Lee interpolated. 
 
 "Veil, when I get half way to door, he call me back, and 
 talk to me some more, und finally he persuade me to take 
 dat lot. I gif him dat fife dollars back, und feefty dollars 
 more to make first payment. I sign contract." He exhibited 
 a land contract covering Lot 56, "Eastwood Subdivision." 
 
 "Why, Eberenz didn't tell me that!" Lee ejaculated in 
 high excitement. "He just said you'd given up the lot." 
 
 Soomer shook his close-cropped, bristly head perplexedly. 
 "I buy dat lot." 3, 
 
 Lee caught the first street-car back to the office. There 
 must be some mistake, he decided. His spirits began 
 another rapid ascent. He leaped up the stairs and broke 
 in on Eberenz. 
 
 "See here!" he exclaimed. "I just saw Soomer and he 
 cays he bought that lot after all." 
 
THE GROPER 77 
 
 A flicker of indecision came and went on the superin- 
 tendent's face. 
 
 "Well, that's true, all right," he admitted. 
 
 "But you didn't tell me anything about that " 
 
 Eberenz swung around sharply. "I told you Soomer gave 
 up the lot, and he did. That was all that concerned you. 
 Your part of the transaction was over. Your deal had 
 fallen through. Then I stepped in, on my own hook, and 
 sold him. That's my deal — see?" 
 
 Lee was non-plussed for a moment. "No, I don't see. 
 Soomer was my customer. You were supposed to help me 
 with him. That's your job." By now, he was aroused. He 
 extended a determined forefinger toward the superintendent. 
 
 Eberenz looked disappointed. "Oh, well, if you're goin' to 
 be unreasonable about it, I won't waste no breath on you. 
 It's my commission and I'm goin' t' keep it." 
 
 Lee's forefinger merged into a fist — held close to the 
 impressive eye-glasses. "We'll see about that!" was all 
 he could say. His egregious wrath stifled him, made him 
 ineffective. 
 
 "Go as far as you like," invited Eberenz imperturbably. 
 
 Lee spied O'Neill, the sales manager, sitting alone in his 
 enclosure near the door. He marched indignantly forward. 
 
 "Mr. O'Neill!" he exploded. "I just made a sale, and 
 now Eberenz is trying to steal my commission." 
 
 The sales manager's cold, peering eyes took stock of his 
 visitor's angry nostrils and quivering mouth. 
 
 "That's a serious charge," he said with judicial impress- 
 iveness; then called: "Mr. Eberenz." 
 
 The conference that ensued was tantalizing. O'Neill led 
 the two disputants into the private office of Mr. Hauxhurst, 
 the eloquent general manager; adjured them to speak quiet- 
 ly and not to interrupt one another; then told Lee to tell 
 his side of the affair. 
 
 Lee's anger still crippled his powers of speech, whereas 
 
78 THE GROPER 
 
 Eberenz had all the advantage of the man who never loses 
 his temper. His story was effective, plausible. 
 
 O'Neill attended gravely. He maintained an air of con- 
 scientious impartiality. 
 
 "What do you think, Mr. Hauxhurst?" he asked. 
 
 The general manager had been listening to the stories 
 with obvious boredom. He turned to Lee. "You registered 
 Soomer in the book of prospects?" 
 
 Lee experienced once more the empty, caved-in feeling 
 that was becoming so familiar to him these days. 
 
 "Why, no," he said. "No one uses that book to any 
 extent, as far as " 
 
 "That don't cut any ice," Hauxhurst decided curtly. 
 "You knew there was such a book, and you knew what 
 it was there for. Eberenz gets the commission." 
 
 O'Neill and Eberenz stood up and prepared to leave the 
 office. Lee also arose, more slowly. He was conscious of 
 a tingling, prickly sensation throughout his body, as if he 
 had hold of a weak electric battery. 
 
 Suddenly all his grievous disappointment and indignation 
 coagulated somewhere in his brain, and he found his speech. 
 
 "Why, that's a damned outrage!" he blurted. "Here I've 
 worked for you all winter and almost frozen to death, and 
 now you steal my first commission from me. What's more— 
 you steal commissions right along — every time you get a 
 chance. You get us suckers to slave for you, you keep 
 us pumped full of hot air, then when we do make good, 
 you rob us!" 
 
 The effect of this tirade was three-fold: Eberenz looked 
 sullen; O'Neill's amphibious eyes opened wider than ever 
 in positive alarm; but Hauxhurst turned pale with virulence. 
 
 The sales manager's whole notion was to hush up the 
 noisy young salesman. "If you make a row, we'll call the 
 police," he warned. "Perhaps we can split the commission 
 some way " 
 
THE GROPER 79 
 
 "Split nothing! " Hauxhurst took a step toward Lee. "You 
 shut your mouth, and get out of here!" 
 
 Lee did not give way. Instead, he was wondering whether 
 the conventionalities of such a situation demanded that he 
 punch some one's face. He wanted above all to observe 
 "good form" — to do what the code of masculine honor de- 
 manded. 
 
 But he contented himself with words: "You're a bunch 
 of crooks!" he shot out. "And I'll get back at you for this 
 if it takes ten years to do it!" 
 
 "Get out!" repeated Hauxhurst, but not quite so con- 
 vincingly. 
 
 Lee gave his three antagonists a final defiant look and 
 retreated from the room in good order. He ignored the 
 curious stares of the few salesmen in the outer enclosure, 
 picked up his hat and overcoat, and left the Security Realty 
 Company's office forever. 
 
 He felt the elation of having conducted himself with 
 esprit, of having behaved splendidly— "as a gentleman 
 should." But presently the thrill of conflict seeped away, 
 and in its place grew the despondent awareness that he 
 was back just where he had been six months ago— without 
 work, without definite plans. 
 
 His despondent progress home terminated in a joyful 
 rebound when he discovered a letter from Vera. He glanced 
 at the post-mark. The letter had been mailed Tuesday 
 morning— before she could have received his letter he re- 
 flected. In his eagerness he hardly noticed the weekly copy 
 of the "Chatham Republican," addressed to him in nis 
 mother's handwriting. He sat down in the deserted room, 
 and surrendered himself to the delight of Veras mes- 
 
 ^ "My dear Lee," she began. That sounded oddly formal 
 His eyes skimmed down the page. His right hand, which 
 
8o THE GROPER 
 
 was reflexively brushing his hair back from his forehead, 
 stopped still. 
 
 "I hardly know how to write this letter. I hate to hurt 
 your feelings. But I think you ought to know the truth. 
 I don't love you. I think I must have been mistaken about 
 it from the beginning. 
 
 "That's all.^ Please don't write me for any details, because 
 there really isn't any use. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Vera Wakefield." 
 
 Presently he remembered to bring his right hand down 
 from his forehead. 
 
 A throng of recollections rushed into his mind: Vera on 
 Mount Phillis, that last Sunday afternoon; Vera's upturned 
 face, infinitely tender in the darkness of innumerable sum- 
 mer nights; Vera's swimming eyes; Vera's smile with its 
 shadowy suspicion of a dimple; Vera of a thousand appeal- 
 ing, heart-rending memories. 
 
 Automatically, he opened the "Chatham Republican." On 
 the first page, his mother had blue-pencilled the following 
 item: 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe Wakefield announced the engage- 
 ment of their lovely daughter, Vera, to Milo Higginson, of 
 Record, at a five-course supper last Saturday evening, given 
 by Mrs. Wakefield to sixteen girl friends of her daughter." 
 
 There followed a vivid description of the ingenious method 
 utilized to acquaint the guests with the great secret. Lee 
 read on through the details of the "lavish refreshments" 
 which featured the party. 
 
 "Miss Vera is popular, highly accomplished and beautiful, 
 as a number of jilted Chatham swains will testify. More 
 than once, Dame Rumor has whispered of the entanglement 
 of her affections, but nothing ever come of it. Milo Higgin- 
 son is the son of Jay Higginson, the well-known Record 
 banker, and is a promising and rising young business man 
 
THE GROPER 61 
 
 on his own hook. The happy couple will be married early 
 in April and will reside in Record. What is Chatham's loss 
 is Record's gain ! 
 "Congratulations, Milo!" ****** 
 
 "Al. Butler has gone back to work at the cheese fac- 
 tory " 
 
 Lee dropped the paper to the floor and covered his eyes 
 with his hands. Milo Higginson's inept, flabby face and 
 gross, inert body rose in his memory. That was the per- 
 plexing climax to his agony. It was unbearable enough that 
 Vera should stop loving him; but it was the thought of 
 Milo Higginson's possessing her that nearly drove him in- 
 sane. That lout, Vera's husband? Why, she couldn't love 
 him — that was preposterous. She had made fun of him 
 dozens of times. The obvious explanation slowly pieced 
 itself together: Milo's money and Mrs. Wakefield's ambi- 
 tion had combined to do the trick. But Vera was a grown- 
 up woman. She wasn't being forced into any marriage she 
 didn't want. Besides, she no longer loved Lee. He guessed 
 that she too had turned covetous eyes on his rival's pros- 
 perity. 
 
 Something of the blind, brutal power of money— the help- 
 lessness of poverty — seared itself into Lee's soul during those 
 black moments. 
 
 He turned his head wearily, and stared unseeingly out of 
 the window at the brick wall next door. What was wrong, 
 he wondered. What sort of a world was it, anyway? He 
 couldn't see the way clearly at all. 
 
XI 
 
 THE first fortnight of March, 1908, brought little 
 promise of spring. To Lee Hillquit, the weather 
 seemed each day more piercingly cold, more malig- 
 nantly inclement. There was a positive ferocity in the way 
 the wind bit through his cravanette, as he pursued his 
 mechanical course about the streets, vaguely looking for 
 work. 
 
 Nothing paralyses the energies so irrevocably as uncer- 
 tainty. Lee's intentions were as pathetically indefinite as 
 they had been six months before. He had made no friends 
 who could help him. He had acquired no expertness in 
 the real estate business. 
 
 He began where he had left off: reading "want ads" in 
 the comfortable stuffiness of the public library. Many 
 vacancies clamored for the skilled workman. A few em- 
 ployers wanted sales managers, auditors, and the like, but 
 always with the disheartening finale: "None but experienced 
 men need apply." He noted the same old demand for men 
 to become insurance solicitors, sales agents for "novelties," 
 etc.; and there, in precisely the same old place, lay in 
 wait the strenuous-sounding, mysteriously exhilarating ad- 
 vertisement of the Security Realty Company. "Only hustler 
 need apply. Splendid opening for an ambitious, industrious 
 man." It was a shrewdly framed appeal. Lee felt all over 
 again his first quickened thrill. 
 
 At times he broke away from the enervating warmth of 
 the library and wandered aimlessly about the downtown 
 streets, as if he expected Opportunity, in some miraculous 
 way, to swoop down upon him from the skies. And with 
 
 82 
 
THE GROPER 83 
 
 every day he was becoming moodier, more resentful toward 
 life, more distrustful of people. 
 
 Early one sombre afternoon, he was picking his way 
 through the slush on Washington boulevard when he heard 
 some one shout his name. 
 
 He turned around in surprise. A small runabout wheezed 
 up to the curb, and a young man with a trim black mous- 
 tache and a dazzling grin peered out from the side curtains. 
 
 "Hello there, Lee!" he greeted warmly, and held out a 
 wet gauntlet. 
 
 Lee couldn't help a smiling response. "Why, hello!" he 
 returned. He racked his memory for identification of the 
 cheerful youth. 
 
 "Which way you going?" 
 
 Lee parried the question. "I'm just out for exercise." 
 
 "Well, come on in— I'll give you a spin." 
 
 Lee wriggled in under the side curtains, and the runabout 
 started up with considerable vibration and a vociferous 
 coughing; then abruptly stopped. 
 
 "Stalled!" the grinning driver announced— without seem- 
 ing to be in the least dampened by the circumstance. Nimbly 
 he clambered out, spun the motor, and hurried back into 
 the car. This time, they succeeded in getting under way. 
 
 Lee had never been in an automobile before; the experi- 
 ence was a fascinating novelty. 
 
 "Maybe you don't remember me," suddenly began his 
 companion. "My name's James— Ellwood James. You 
 used to know me at the University when we were freshmen. 
 I was a medic, and I finished my course here in Detroit. 
 Dr. James— don't that sound funny?" 
 
 At that he threw back his head and laughed— an extra- 
 ordinary, falsetto, frantic sort of laugh. Lee stared: it was 
 the first real laugh he had heard in Detroit. He remembered 
 Ellwood now. They had gone to the same boarding house. 
 In those days, Ellwood had had the same white teeth, the 
 
84 THE GROPER 
 
 same "loud" cravats, the same suggestion of nervous energy 
 — and most noticeable of all, the same odd eyebrows coming 
 together over his nose in a little tuft that somehow lent 
 him the aspect of a unicorn. The moustache alone was new. 
 
 He told Lee that he had been practising medicine foi 
 nine months and was associated with the city's most eminent 
 surgeon. In addition, he was doing some sort of post- 
 graduate work at one of the hospitals. 
 
 "You must have quite a practice already," Lee ventured, 
 "to afford an automobile." 
 
 This seemed to tickle Ellwood's sensibilities enormously. 
 "Hah — hah — hah!" exploded another of his strangulated 
 laughs. "Why, my practice doesn't pay for my cravats — 
 iet alone gasoline. My old man bought me this when I 
 graduated. He was awful proud of his little son, awful 
 proud. I call her Lizzie, and she's some car!" 
 
 After his painful weeks of depressing struggle, Lee found 
 Ellwood's gaiety irresistibly appealing. 
 
 "But say!" recollected Ellwood. "What are you doing in 
 Detroit? And what's happened to you? You look awful 
 seedy." 
 
 Lee pleaded hard work, but remained vague as to details. 
 He was conscious, however, that his companion was genuine- 
 ly interested in him. There was an indescribable warmth 
 about Ellwood's attitude, a certain sympathy that was none 
 the less grateful because it refused to be doleful. 
 
 He finally deposited his passenger at a downtown cross- 
 ing. "I'll look you up sometime soon," he promised. 
 
 Lee remembered Fred Badger's promises, and was skep- 
 tical. 
 
 But Ellwood smoothed his close-cut moustache thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "What are you doing to-night?" he inquired. 
 
 "Not a thing," admitted Lee. 
 
 "Well, s'pose I pick you up about eight," suggested the 
 
THE GROPER 85 
 
 youthful physician. "Maybe we can stir up some excite- 
 ment." 
 
 Ellwood and his runabout materialised promptly at the 
 stipulated hour. 
 
 "I tried to frame up a date with a couple of girls," he 
 set forth, "but there was nothing doing." 
 
 Lee was silent. After his experience with Vera, he was 
 not anxious to meet any new girls. He fancied a certain 
 dramatic satisfaction in becoming a woman-hater. 
 
 Meanwhile, under Ellwood's ministrations, "Lizzie" 
 throbbed her way swiftly down Woodward avenue. 
 
 "I tell you," her owner suggested. "We might go to a 
 burlesque show. They're awful frosts, but sort of fun at 
 that." 
 
 Ellwood bought the tickets, and they found themselves in 
 the tenth row of the theatre, listening to a "Grand Over- 
 ture" by the brassy little orchestra. Nearly every seat was 
 occupied. Already the air was heavily laden with the smoke 
 from hundreds of cigars and cigarets. 
 
 "Big audience," commented Lee. 
 
 "Same every night," said his host. "Almost as many 
 here every afternoon." 
 
 Lee glanced curiously at the faces about him. Every 
 type of physiognomy had its representation. There were a 
 great many workmen, he thought. 
 
 "I don't even know the name of the show," admitted 
 Ellwood, fingering his programme. " 'Dave Rose's Paris 
 Queens,' " he read. 
 
 Lee's emotions were divided between pleasurable excite- 
 ment and a conviction that he was doing something dis- 
 reputable. He was relieved when the lights went down and 
 the curtain rose on the opening chorus. 
 
 The show proved to be decidedly cheap entertainment. 
 Those who had expected to behold something starthngly 
 wicked must have been grievously disappointed. There was 
 
86 THE GROPER 
 
 the same old pair of Jewish comedians — the sine qua non 
 of burlesque; the same peppery, polemic Irishman; the same 
 old slap-stick. Even to a novice like Lee, the jokes seemed 
 flat; he was astonished to note the hilarious mirth of the 
 audience. 
 
 There were just two "acts" that promised anything sensa- 
 tional. The first was "La Zara, the Oriental Dancer." But 
 La Zara proved fat and clumsy — anything but seductive. 
 The second act was billed as "Living Statuary, by Members 
 of the Chorus." The curtains parted on some twelve girls, 
 attired in flesh-colored tights, each holding some "artistic" 
 pose till the folds of the curtain fell again. There were some 
 six scenes. Meanwhile the Jew comedians stood in the 
 wings and "made cracks" about the girls. 
 
 It was the show's nearest approach to alluring wickedness. 
 The audience sat absolutely quiet. Each man seemed 
 abashed, almost timid, at the spectacle. Even the come- 
 dians' crass jokes brought no response. 
 
 Lee tried to revel in the scene, but he soon found himself 
 feeling sorry for the girls. They looked uncomfortable. One, 
 especially, seemed to find no pleasure in her work. She was 
 a large girl with a nice expression; her place was at the* 
 rear in the centre. She seemed a little ungainly in her 
 postures, Lee remarked. 
 
 At last the performance dragged its banal way to a 
 conclusion. 
 
 "We might buy ourselves some chop suey," suggested 
 Ellwood, as they paused irresolutely outside the theatre. 
 Forthwith, he led the way up a narrow flight of stairs to 
 Yen Lo's "Chinese Gardens." 
 
 A few minutes afterward, Lee saw two girls come up the 
 stairway and sit down at a nearby table. 
 
 "By George!" he suddenly recognised. "There are two 
 chorus girls from the show." One of them, he felt sure, 
 was the nice-looking tall girl. 
 
THE GROPER 87 
 
 Ellwood cast an expert eye over the two "Paris Queens." 
 "Shall we pick 'em up?" he asked. 
 
 Lee's eyes opened wide. "You don't know them, do you?" 
 
 "Know them?" Ellwood almost choked. "Don't have 
 to know them. This isn't Jefferson avenue. Watch me." 
 
 He walked over to the table, and without the slightest 
 hesitation began talking to the two girls quite as if he had 
 always known them. In a moment he motioned to Lee to 
 join him. 
 
 "This is Miss Diamond," he introduced, indicating a 
 small, light-haired girl. "And Miss Kohler." He nodded 
 in the direction of the tall girl. 
 
 With no little uneasiness, Lee sat down. He wondered 
 how one conducted one's self with women of this type. But 
 under Ellwood's lead, the conversation proceeded with amaz- 
 ing ease. Lee found opportunity to check up his first im- 
 pressions of Miss Bernice Kohler. She really was nice- 
 looking. Her hazel eyes were fine; the delicious quality of 
 her voice made him forget her outrageous grammar. In her 
 neat blue tailored suit, she revealed none of her stage 
 awkwardness. Her hands were too large, admittedly; but 
 even this defect somehow suggested honesty. 
 
 Ellwood soon indicated a preference for Miss June Dia- 
 mond's piquant blondness, and Lee was free to investigate 
 this startling social phenomenon in the shape of an appar- 
 ently "nice" burlesque girl. To his surprise, she actually 
 liked her life. She professed no especial repugnance even 
 toward the "Living Statuary" act. 
 
 "It's just a part of the business," she explained. "It 
 don't mean nothing to me." 
 
 She had been on the burlesque circuit for two years, she 
 told him, and showed him a telegram. 
 
 "See this," she said, and Lee read a meaningless message 
 from New York City. "That means I'll be on Broadway 
 next season." 
 
88 THE GROPER 
 
 She was very curious to know what Lee thought of the 
 "Paris Queens," and asked him if he intended to see the 
 performance on Friday night. 
 
 "That's Chorus Girl Night," she set forth. "Each one 
 of us girls does some stunt, and the one the audience likes 
 best wins a prize of ten dollars. I won it last week in 
 Cleveland." 
 
 Lee was by now completely reassured. "That's fine! 
 We'll try to be there." 
 
 It was after midnight when the four of them left the 
 "Chinese Gardens." 
 
 Ellwood took Lee aside. "My 'bus only holds two," he 
 explained. "Would you mind if Fluffy-fluff and I ditched 
 you two here?" 
 
 "Not a bit," said Lee; and presently, he found himself 
 alone with Bernice. 
 
 "Where do you live?" he asked her. She gave him the 
 name of a cheap downtown hotel, and they started walking. 
 
 Bernice seemed troubled. "I'm awfully worried about 
 June," she suddenly announced. "I tried to keep her from 
 going off alone with your friend." 
 
 "Oh, she's perfectly safe with Ellwood," Lee hastened to 
 say. He couldn't help patting her arm a little. 
 
 But Bernice remained skeptical. "I know men," she as- 
 serted with great conviction. ''There ain't many I'd trust." 
 
 They reached her hotel. "Well, good-bye," she said, and 
 smiled once more. "I'm awful glad I met you." 
 
 "But won't I see you Friday after the show?" 
 
 She looked wistful. "If you really want to. You can 
 wait for me in the alley outside the stage door." 
 
 The next night, Ellwood reappeared at Lee's rooms. "Say, 
 you aren't sore, are you?" he asked. "I didn't mean to 
 invite you out to a party and then let you walk home 
 alone." 
 
 Lee reassured him. 
 
THE GROPER 89 
 
 'It's the women that always make a fool of me," Ellwood 
 set forth with rueful glee. "How'd you make out?" 
 
 "I think Bernice is a wonder," said Lee with conviction. 
 "One of the decentest girls I've ever met." 
 
 Ellwood looked as if he wanted to laugh. "Don't let 'em 
 kid you that way. I s'pose you believed her even when she 
 said she sent all her money home to mother? June's a cute 
 kid, though," he went on. "Are you going again Friday?" 
 
 He proposed that they secure seats in the first row, so 
 that they could "boost for the girls." "We don't have to 
 get there till late," he explained. "I don't want to listen to 
 all that rot again." 
 
 They arrived Friday night in time for the last act of the 
 show. Lee felt a definite glow of pride when Bernice threw 
 him a cautious smile of welcome. It seemed to give him a 
 certain superiority over the rest of the spectators. 
 
 In due time the final curtain descended, and the stage 
 manager appeared, looking pale and flabby in the glare of 
 the footlights. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began nervously, "the management takes 
 great pleasure in announcing a Chorus Girls' Contest this 
 evening. This contest is open to any girl in our company. 
 Each contestant will do an act. When they are through the 
 audience will choose the winner. First prize is ten dollars, 
 second prize, five dollars." He withdrew deprecatingly. 
 
 The orchestra struck up, and a chorus girl in natty white 
 coat and trousers advanced to the centre of the stage. Hers 
 was a "song-and-dance act." She sang in a weak, color- 
 less voice, but her dancing possessed an attractive pertness 
 and she won considerable applause. 
 
 There followed six other chorus girls, whose acts covered a 
 wide range of endeavor. Two "clogged"; and one unfor- 
 tunate girl who essayed to give "imitashuns" of leading 
 Stage celebrities, was booed from the stage before she had 
 
go THE GROPER 
 
 gotten fairly started. Each act drew frank comments from 
 the audience. 
 
 "Work hard, kid!" "Some shape!" "Get the hook!" 
 
 Lee found himself in a state of nervous tension. He 
 wondered what sort of a reception Bernice Kohler would 
 get. He hated to think of her being insulted by these 
 rowdies. 
 
 The orchestra attacked still another tune, and this time 
 it was Bernice who tripped lightly out from the wings. Lee 
 took a sharp inhalation of breath. She was wearing her 
 dark blue street suit. Save for a light make-up, she looked 
 precisely as she had three nights before. But her grace 
 and her perfect self-assurance! 
 
 Bernice's song proved to be "Does Your Mother Know 
 You're Out, Little Girl?" She attempted no dancing — : 
 simply sang, with an occasional gesture or movement of 
 her head. Her voice was thoroughly pleasant, and her 
 facial expressions eloquent. At intervals she smiled down 
 at Lee. 
 
 The audience seemed very quiet, it occurred to him. He 
 hadn't heard a single audible comment. What was the 
 difference between the other girls and Bernice? Could it 
 possibly be that everybody else in the theatre sensed the 
 appeal of her shining goodness? 
 
 She finished the song, gave a quick curtsy, and dis- 
 appeared in the wings. 
 
 The whole house applauded wildly. Bernice had to re- 
 peat the chorus twice before the demonstration died away. 
 
 The Stage Manager announced that the contest was over. 
 
 "Wonder what's happened to June," said Ellwood. 
 
 Each one of the performers now walked out on the stage, 
 and the audience indicated her popularity by the amount 
 of its applause. When Bernice reappeared, a second demon- 
 stration ensued. None of the other contestants elicited 
 half the tumult of her welcome. Thereupon the stage 
 
THE GROPER 
 
 91 
 
 manager proclaimed her the winner, and with elaborate 
 ceremony presented her with a ten-dollar gold piece. Lee's 
 pride in his acquaintance with her waxed enormous. 
 
 "She's all right," granted Ellwood, as they filed out of 
 the theatre. "I didn't think she had it in her." 
 
 Outside a cold rain had set in. They turned up their 
 overcoat collars — Lee's cravanette at last justified its 
 existence — and repaired to the alley outside the stage door. 
 
 Presently June Diamond emerged from the mysterious 
 domain beyond the door. She ran eagerly up to Ellwood, 
 
 "Were you s'prised I didn't come on for the contest?" 
 she importuned. "Well, I would've, only my costoom didn't 
 get back from the cleaners. You ought-a see it — it's swell!" 
 
 "That's a fine stall!" laughed Ellwood. "I'll bet you had 
 cold feet." 
 
 For the first time she became aware of Lee. "Oh say!" 
 she told him, "Bernice has a date with Dave Rosenberger 
 to-night." 
 
 Lee's spirits sank dismally. "Dave who?" he contrived 
 to ask. 
 
 "Rosenberger. The owner of the show. Calls himself 
 Dave Rose, for short. Bernice tried to duck it, and 
 couldn't. But she says to me, 'Tell Mr. Hillquit to meet 
 me at the hotel an hour from now. I'll break away from 
 Rose as soon's I can.' " 
 
 Ellwood suggested that the three of them go to the Chop 
 Suey Gardens in the meantime. But it was readily apparent 
 that June wanted Ellwood all to herself, and Lee hadn't 
 the heart to accept the invitation. 
 
 "I'll bring Bernice there as soon as I meet her," he said. 
 
 He watched them start gaily forth in Ellwood's run- 
 about, then began a long walk through the rain. He won- 
 dered if Bernice would really meet him. Perhaps she had 
 sent him that message merely to get him out of the way. 
 He had heard tales of how chorus girls delighted to "string 
 
92 THE GROPER 
 
 stage-door mashers." What did Rosenberger want with 
 her, anyway? 
 
 By half-past eleven, he was pacing anxiously up and 
 down in the vicinity of the cheap hotel. During his six 
 months in Detroit, he had smoked hardly at all, but to- 
 night he lighted cigaret after cigaret. 
 
 After fifteen minutes he saw Bernice and her short, obese 
 escort approaching. Hurriedly he crossed the street. He 
 thought Bernice observed him clandestinely as they passed 
 by. She left the owner of the "Paris Queens" at the door. 
 
 "Mr. Rose, for short," was maddeningly deliberate about 
 taking himself off. He paused on the street corner, lighted 
 a cigar, and ever and anon looked back into the hotel. 
 
 But at last he boarded a street car. And then — at last — 
 Bernice appeared again from the elevator and walked quick- 
 ly out into the street. She seemed all aglow with excite- 
 ment. Her eyes shone. 
 
 "Has he gone?" she asked breathlessly. "I thought I 
 never could get rid of him." 
 
 They set out briskly for the chop suey emporium. Lee's 
 blood tingled. Here was adventure, excitement, a persistent 
 sense of delicious wickedness. 
 
 "What did Mr. Rose want?" he inquired. 
 
 Bernice tossed her head lightly. "Oh, about once a 
 week he thinks he's got to make love to me. Always starts 
 out tellin' me how much he's goin' to do for me on the 
 stage, an' ends up by gettin' silly about my eyes. But 
 he's the least of "my worries." 
 
 There was no sign of June Diamond and Ellwood in the 
 garishly decorated "Gardens," and Bernice collapsed into 
 a chair despondently. 
 
 "She never intended to be here, and I oughn't to have 
 left her out of my sight a minute." Real anxiety came into 
 her candid eyes. "She's such a crazy little thing. I have 
 to keep my eyes on her all the time. That's my job." 
 
THE GROPER 93 
 
 He endeavored to reassure her once more about Ellwood. 
 
 "No, you're wrong," disagreed Bernice. "I said the other 
 night I didn't trust your friend; and from what June told 
 me about him, I know I got him sized up right. The only 
 thing in life that interests him is havin' a good time — excite- 
 ment. Any girl's fair game to him." 
 
 "Ellwood's not as bad as all that," remonstrated Lee. 
 "He's mighty kind-hearted and generous. He may be 
 thoughtless, but " 
 
 "What difference does that make," she interrupted almost 
 fiercely, "as long as he does such rotten things?" She 
 softened a little. "Course I know he's your friend, but all 
 the same, fellows like that always get my goat. They don't 
 see our side of it at all." Suddenly she smiled and her 
 voice regained its charming quality. "Anyhow, you're not 
 that way." 
 
 They both ordered beer, and a moment later, Lee asked 
 her the old, old question that every youth propounds to his 
 first chorus-girl acquaintance. 
 
 "Aren't there a lot of temptations on the stage? Can a 
 girl stay good?" 
 
 Bernice laughed. "Why, sure she can. Being in the 
 chorus ain't much different than being anywhere else. The 
 only thing is— you're away from home." She took a sip 
 of beer, and Lee noticed again the patent honesty of those 
 large, rough hands of hers. "That old idea about chorus 
 girls is all wrong— take it from me. They're just as good 
 as any other girls, an' they have a lot more ambition. 
 They're more interestin'. You see, they're the ones who 
 ain't satisfied t' stay home an' wash dishes. Something in 
 'em makes 'em want t' get out in the world an' make their 
 own livin'. They're more self-reliant. They've got more 
 personality." She was silent an instant. "Of course, its 
 different with the stars. I bet there ain't more'n one star 
 actress in a dozen that don't have t' pay the price. 
 
94 THE GROPER 
 
 One bottle of beer sufficed for Bernice; all too soon, she 
 announced that they must go. Both of them were sorry 
 when the half-extinguished lights of the hotel loomed up 
 through the cold drizzle. By common consent, they walked 
 past the entrance, and finally came to an irresolute pause 
 in a darkened doorway. The wet streets were entirely de- 
 serted; the asphalt pavement glistened coldly. 
 
 "Am I going to see you again?" said Lee. 
 
 "I wish you could, but to-morrow night, we all have V 
 rush right down to the train for Chicago, an' I don't s'pose 
 we'd have any chance t' talk." 
 
 "Well, I guess it's good-bye, then." He started to tell 
 her how good she was and how glad he was to know her. "I 
 wish you lots of good luck, and I expect you'll be on 
 Broadway sure next year." 
 
 The light from the arc lamp fell on her face. There was 
 something in her eyes that made him breathe faster — some- 
 thing tender, Madonna-like. 
 
 All at once, as if by common desire, they kissed each 
 other. 
 
 "Good-bye," she whispered. "You're an awful decent 
 fellow." 
 
XII 
 
 LEE found it difficult to take Ellwood James to task. 
 The irrepressible young physician opened alluring 
 avenues of novel entertainment. He was "good 
 company"; he offered an escape from the corrosion of lone- 
 liness. He afforded exactly the proper antidote for Lee's 
 growing pessimism. More than that, Lee really liked him. 
 There was an undercurrent of sincerity, of warmth, of 
 human kindliness, about him. It was evident that he had 
 detected Lee's despondency and wanted to cheer him up. 
 Lee hesitated to risk the loss of such an attractive friendship. 
 
 Nevertheless, so moved had he been by Bernice Kohler's 
 unhappiness over June Diamond, that he resolutely ap- 
 proached what he considered his duty. 
 
 Ellwood listened to his homily on the single standard 
 of morality with poorly concealed amusement. 
 
 "You know almost as much about women as the man 
 in the moon," he finally retorted. "The funny part of it 
 is, you're really sincere." 
 
 This hardly sounded repentant. "Of course I'm sincere, 
 and I'm right, too," Lee affirmed. 
 
 Ellwood's cheerful features actually became grave as he 
 shook his head. 
 
 "No, you're wrong— and it's hard to believe you're as 
 innocent as you seem. And yet every fellow starts out that 
 wa y_ reS pecting women, putting them up on a pedestal. 
 That's what we were taught at home. It's only when we've 
 lived out in the world awhile that we find out all our dope 
 about women was wrong — just a myth." 
 
 95 
 
96 THE GROPER 
 
 Ellwood stopped his runabout to roll a cigaret. Instead 
 of starting again, he shut off the motor. Lee was startled by 
 a sudden look of pain in his eyes. 
 
 "I used to feel the same as you. I don't mind telling 
 you I was awfully in love about two years ago — with a nice 
 girl, I mean. I did the pedestal stuff myself. Why, hon- 
 estly, Lee, I wouldn't have any more thought of even 
 touching that girl than I would of — say, of hitting my 
 mother with my fist. I wanted to marry her. She made me 
 feel I was terribly unworthy of her, and that she didn't 
 think any too much of me. Well, one night, a beastly 
 little roughneck goes up to call on her. His first call. None 
 of the pedestal stuff for him. Before the evening's half 
 gone, he up and kisses her — loves her up. I got it all 
 straight from him afterwards — the damned cad! Was the 
 girl insulted? Did she call her father or brother, and have 
 the roughneck kicked out? I should say not. She fell 
 for him hard. Thought he was the finest man she'd ever 
 seen. He said she used to pester him to death calling him 
 on the 'phone. 
 
 "And that's another queer thing: when a man turns a 
 girl down, all the women call him a brute; but when a 
 girl jilts a man, everybody thinks it kind of a joke." 
 
 Ellwood's cigaret glowed with the vehemence of his 
 puffing. "I've talked with a good many fellows about it, 
 and nearly every one has had the same experience. Well, 
 that little affair taught me something, Lee. First of all, 
 never to take any woman seriously. The man who's in 
 love is always at a disadvantage. Sex is just a warfare; 
 if you don't get the upper hand, the woman will — and the 
 minute she has it, she doesn't give a snap of her finger for 
 you any more. Respect, adoration — bosh! They just bore 
 a woman to tears. What she wants above all things is a 
 man who won't knuckle down to her. Every girl I've ever 
 been really nice to — highminded, considerate, you know — 
 
THE GROPER 97 
 
 has handed me a dirty deal in the end; but the girls I'm 
 rotten to seem to think I'm some boy! It's funny, I know, 
 but it's the truth and you'll find it out." 
 
 Lee was silent. He was thinking of his experience with 
 Vera. It was startlingly like Ellwood's affair. 
 
 "Still, that doesn't excuse a man for really harming a 
 girl," he insisted. 
 
 Ellwood laughed, and cranked the motor into action. 
 "Well, you're right, I s'pose. I doubt if I've ever harmed 
 any of 'em very much, and yet I'm what you'd call an 
 immoral youth. Most girls are a lot wiser than you think; 
 they know what they're doing even/- minute. All this sob- 
 stuff about 'ruining girls' is largely imaginary. But I make 
 it a point to play pretty fair with them. I have just two 
 rules: I never tell a girl I love her; and I never break a 
 girl in." 
 
 "You may not actually say you love them," Lee distin- 
 guished, "but you certainly make them think you do. June 
 Diamond thought you were crazy about her." 
 
 "Well, I can't help acting the way I feel," protested the 
 amorous doctor. "I'm able to love almost any girl till I've 
 landed her. After that, they're all alike." His pause had 
 a reminiscent flavor. "You don't understand, Lee. It isn't 
 the physical part that appeals to me. It's the excitement, 
 the suspense — and a lot of vanity, too, I s'pose." 
 
 Lee had a sudden feeling of antipathy. "I can't see 
 the sport in it. I believe a man should stay clean." 
 
 "That's a nasty way of putting it," said Ellwood after a 
 moment. "I used to think of everything as good or bad; 
 but now I classify them as interesting or boresome. And 
 almost everything bores me— after about so long— except 
 women. They're inconsistent, deceitful, spiteful; and yet 
 every new girl is an absolute novelty to me. Of course, I 
 know way down in my heart that she's just like all the 
 rest, and I'll be awfully sick of her later on; but when I 
 
98 THE GROPER 
 
 first meet her, she seems different from any other girl IVe 
 ever seen." 
 
 Lee persisted in his disapprobation, so emphatically, in- 
 deed, that he saw no more of Ellwood for several weeks. 
 Meanwhile he had been continuing his despondent half- 
 hearted search for work. Every day he found some excuse 
 for spending several hours in the unventilated warmth of 
 the library reading room. He left his name with three 
 employment agents, but they shook their heads pessimisti- 
 cally over his admission that he had no profession or trade. 
 
 His mother's letters now became more insistent upon his 
 return to Chatham. "I've been feeling poorly the last few 
 weeks," she wrote, "and I simply can't seem to make ends 
 meet." This meant but one thing: he must either find 
 employment at once or go back to Chatham, an acknowl- 
 edged failure. 
 
 March went out like a lion; and Lee, walking day by 
 day through the slush, finally succumbed to a bad attack 
 of influenza. He was confined to his bed for an entire 
 week, with no medical attendance save the inexpert minis- 
 trations of Mrs. Holmes. Bob Hamilton wanted to tele- 
 phone Ellwood James, but Lee petulantly forbade it. 
 
 During these long days of acute physical discomfort, his 
 small residuum of courage completed evaporated. 
 
 Late one windy afternoon, he emerged shakily upon the 
 street. The loneliness of the rooms was unbearable. The 
 air might do him good, he thought. 
 
 He looked dismally up and down Cass avenue. Within a 
 day or two, he would be saying good-bye to the city for 
 good. He had given up all hope of getting work. He must 
 face the mediocrity, the knowing grins, the whispered gos- 
 sip of Chatham. He started slowly up the street. Never 
 before had he felt so desolate, so forlorn, so poverty-stricken. 
 Presently he turned a corner and walked aimlessly west- 
 Ward. 
 
THE GROPER 99 
 
 All at once he visualised Mrs. Wakefield, a triumphant 
 look on her face, saying to Vera, "Didn't I tell you so?" 
 
 A splendid limousine sped swiftly past. How wonderful 
 it must be, he reflected, never to have to worry about 
 money, to possess everything one wanted in life. It must 
 give one a sense of absolute freedom. Poverty was stifling, 
 suffocating. 
 
 He hardly observed that the limousine had slackened and 
 stopped a few rods down the street. As he came abreast of 
 it, he heard his name pronounced. He turned in great sur- 
 prise, and saw that a woman in the limousine had opened 
 the door and was nodding to him in evident recognition. 
 He lifted his hat uncertainly, and had taken a couple of 
 steps toward the curb before he recognised Mrs. Curran. 
 
 "I thought it was you, so I stopped — just on impulse." 
 She smiled at him in friendly fashion, and his forlorn spirit 
 warmed gratefully toward her. "Where are you going? 
 Can't I give you a lift?" 
 
 The interior of the limousine looked marvellously invit- 
 ing. Lee explained that he had been ill and was walking 
 aimlessly. 
 
 "You poor boy!" Mrs Curran sympathised. "I wish I 
 had known. But come in anyway. A ride will do you good." 
 
 Lee temporized no further and entered the limousine with 
 a feeling of pleasant anticipation. The cushioned seat re- 
 ceived his body with a soft luxuriousness. The limousine 
 gathered headway smoothly, glided along with swift ease. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Curran, with occasional swift glances, was taking in 
 his whole appearance: his attenuated, pale face with its 
 lines of distinction; his shy, sensitive eyes; his seedy-looking 
 cravanette and trousers, noticeably frayed at the edges. An 
 idea, half kindly, half capricious, came to her. 
 
 "You must come home and have dinner with me," she an- 
 nounced quite as if the matter were thereby settled. "Ill 
 send you back to your house afterwards in the car." 
 
ioo THE GROPER 
 
 Frankly the prospect seemed Elysian to Lee. His pres- 
 ent taste of luxury was like an intoxicant to him. But he 
 thought it good manners to hesitate. 
 
 "Won't it inconvenience you at all?" he asked. 
 
 "Not a bit," she assured him. "I had expected to go 
 out for dinner, but at the last moment, my hostess post- 
 poned." 
 
 Mrs. Curran professed two short business errands before 
 dinner, and they drove downtown. While she was absent, 
 Lee sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. It all 
 seemed indescribably blissful. Hundreds of people hurried 
 by on their way home. The cold April wind still blew fero- 
 ciously, and women's dresses and men's overcoats flapped 
 in wild abandon. Many of these wayfarers cast envious 
 glances at Lee, seated snugly in the limousine's shelter. 
 Doubtless they believed that he owned this resplendent 
 car, that he was a wealthy "Society man." Lee was never 
 beyond posing just a little; and he now assumed a convinc- 
 ing attitude of haughty boredom. 
 
 At length the limousine drew up in front of a large house 
 of stone and brick, designed after the grand manner of the 
 late 'eighties. Wells street boasted two solid blocks of just 
 such mansions, set far back from the sidewalk behind ex- 
 pansive lawns. But for all its impressiveness, the street had 
 begun to lose its brisk spick-and-spanness. The first touches 
 of senility seemed to have settled down like mildew over the 
 old houses. 
 
 To Lee, however, Mrs. Curran's home appeared entirely 
 majestic. Inside, the staircase ran up from the left side 
 of the hallway; and on either side opened out spacious 
 rooms with lofty ceilings. Mrs. Curran had dispensed with 
 most of the earlier decorations and fixtures. The gaudy old 
 chandeliers had long since given way to modern electric 
 light wall-brackets — though she still favored a few inviting- 
 looking kerosene table-lamps. The highly ornate walls and 
 
THE GROPER 101 
 
 dingy, gingerbread frescoes had yielded to severely plain 
 wallpaper and calcimine, relieved by a few very good pic- 
 tures. The dining room and drawing room were richly 
 sombre in mahogany panelling. 
 
 Mrs. Curran led him into the drawing room, where a 
 crackling log fire filled an enormous grate. 
 
 "This hearth is the one thing I really love about the 
 place," she explained. 
 
 Lee expressed admiration for the whole house. 
 
 "Perhaps you wouldn't feel so, if you had lived here 
 twenty years. No, it's getting pretty old and inconvenient, 
 and the neighborhood is beginning to break up. The Jews 
 and rooming houses are starting to come in, and that always 
 means the finish of a good residence district. I suppose in 
 another year, I'll have to build, out on the East Side some- 
 where." 
 
 Mrs. Curran excused herself, and Lee sat down on the 
 great red davenport in front of the fire. He found himself 
 admiring Mrs. Curran intensely. He couldn't help remark- 
 ing her delightful enunciation, her poise, her ease of manner, 
 her apparent freedom from affectation. He had expected 
 that a "Society woman," such as she, would maintain an 
 air of aloof formality. But Mrs. Curran talked and acted 
 like any other human being; and yet he sensed an indefin- 
 able superiority — a polish, a savoir faire, perhaps— that 
 compelled his unstinted worship. There was a certain charm 
 about her, too— in spite of her utter lack of beauty. Even 
 in the freshness of her youth, she couldn't have been at 
 all pretty. Her mouth was too large, and her dominating 
 black eyes slanted slightly upwards toward her temples, 
 in a sensuous sort of way. Her prominent cheek-bones, 
 taken in connection with her eyes, gave her face a distinctly 
 Mongolian suggestion. Nevertheless, she did possess a cer- 
 tain attractiveness, a certain distinct magnetism. 
 
 To Lee, it seemed akin to a miracle that he should be 
 
io2 : :<*..::• THE GROPER 
 
 sitting in this beautiful house, the dinner-guest of a charm- 
 ing and distinguished woman. Two hours ago, he had 
 been wandering wretchedly about the streets. There was 
 such a thing as human kindness after all. He felt that he 
 would do anything in the world for Mrs. Curran to show 
 his deep appreciation. 
 
 His evening proved wholly delightful. Mrs. Curran was 
 more wonderful than ever in an evening gown. The dinner 
 itself seemed an undreamt-of feast, especially after the 
 meager mediocrity of the boarding house. The radiantly 
 white napery, the scintillating glass-ware, the deft, defer- 
 ential maid, the pervading atmosphere of wealth and refine- 
 ment: all made their sharp impression on his imagination. 
 To be sure, he felt ashamed of his clothing — he had partic- 
 ular trouble with a shirt cuff that was positively ragged; 
 and he was under the constant dread of using the wrong 
 knife and fork. 
 
 Gradually his self-consciousness melted away under the 
 unmistakable kindliness of his hostess. Mrs. Curran talked 
 along easily — about superficial things for the most part, but 
 always in a way that commanded his interest. Her manner 
 indicated that she found his opinions of considerable weight. 
 Then subtly she began to draw him out. Lee, of course, 
 failed to realise the manipulation. He only knew that a 
 desire for self-expression came over him. Before long he 
 had told her about Vera, about his bitter experiences in 
 the real estate business; how discouraged he was. 
 
 "All the same, I still feel sometimes that I'm going to 
 accomplish fine things in life," he said. "I feel that way 
 to-night." 
 
 Then Mrs. Curran made an odd remark. They were 
 back in the drawing room, in front of the fire. 
 
 "How your eyes shine!" 
 
 It seemed to Lee that his ardent flow of thought was 
 somewhat checked. 
 
THE GROPER 103 
 
 "Pardon me — I didn't mean to sound personal," said 
 his hostess quickly. "It was such a curious reflection of the 
 light that I couldn't help noticing it." 
 
 "I understand perfectly," assured Lee. 
 
 Mrs. Curran looked into the fire thoughtfully. "I can't 
 see why you should be discouraged. You're well educated; 
 you have a good personality. You've just had bad luck." 
 
 Lee suffered a reaction. "All the same, I'm afraid 111 
 have to go back home. I can't find anything to do in 
 Detroit." 
 
 "Would you like to go into our department store?" she 
 inquired casually. "I think I could arrange an opening 
 for you very readily. I'm convinced you could make good." 
 
 He must have looked his eager assent, for she continued: 
 "I'll call up Mr. Jameson, the employment manager, to- 
 morrow morning. Suppose you telephone me at noon. I 
 can tell you something definite by that time." 
 
 Lee found it difficult to express his gratitude. 
 
 "That's perfectly all right," Mrs. Curran said. "Nothing 
 gives me more pleasure than helping young men of the 
 right sort." 
 
 A little later, when he rose to go, Mrs. Curran insisted 
 on summoning the limousine. 
 
 "I want you to watch that cold of yours," she enjoined 
 him. "You musn't think of starting to work for another 
 week or two." 
 
 "I've never felt so well in my life," Lee protested. "And 
 it's all due to your kindness." 
 
 Mrs. Curran extended her hand graciously. "It's been an 
 unexpectedly pleasant evening for me, too. Won't you 
 come again soon?" 
 
 She seemed almost diffident about inviting him— much as 
 though she expected him to refuse. 
 
 "Do you really mean you want me to?" asked Lee in- 
 genuously. 
 
104 THE GROPER 
 
 She smiled and nodded. 
 
 "Then I certainly shall come again — soon," he announced 
 with gravity. 
 
 Good fortune, it seemed, had at last begun to veer in 
 his direction. The next day after an interminably long 
 morning, he telephoned Mrs. Curran. 
 
 "I had a talk with Mr. Jameson this morning," she 
 announced. 
 
 "Oh, yes — the employment manager," he said in a very 
 small, matter-of-fact voice. 
 
 "He thinks he can start you either as a floor-walker or 
 window-dresser. Of course, that may not sound very 
 attractive, but it's a part of the Curran policy never to take 
 a man into the office until he's spent some time in the 
 store." She seemed half-apologetic. 
 
 Lee's exultation made him almost inarticulate. "It sounds 
 splendid to me! " he managed to say. "I can't tell you how 
 I appreciate it." 
 
 "I told Mr. Jameson you'd drop in and talk over details 
 with him as soon as you were feeling well enough," went 
 on Mrs. Curran. "Also, that you weren't to be allowed to 
 do any work until Monday at least. Good luck to youl 
 Come and tell me how you like it." 
 
 He thanked her fervently, said good-bye and hung up the 
 receiver. Inside his room, he clenched his fists, shut his 
 teeth hard. Tears came into his eyes. Shock after shock 
 of happiness passed through his body. Yet six months 
 before he would have scoffed contemptuously at an oppor- 
 tunity to work in a department store. 
 
 He determined to call upon Mr. Jameson at once. He 
 was already familiar with the imposing Woodward avenue 
 facade of the Curran establishment. 
 
 Mr. Jameson proved to be a crisp, efficient individual of 
 forty with a wide, close-clipped moustache and gleaming 
 eye-glasses. 
 
THE GROPER 105 
 
 "I am Mr. Hillquit," announced Lee in his usual respect- 
 ful way. 
 
 "Who?" The employment manager continued to eye his 
 visitor implacably. 
 
 "Mr. Hillquit. Didn't Mrs. Curran " 
 
 It seemed a magic name. Mr. Jameson softened percepti- 
 bly. It might be said that a certain faint humorousness 
 crept into his manner. 
 
 "Oh!" he recollected. "You're Mrs. Curran's protege." 
 
 The description hardly seemed accurate, but Lee nodded. 
 
 Mr. Jameson made a number of memoranda regarding his 
 visitor's lack of qualifications. 
 
 "I think there are only two openings that would interest 
 a man of your stamp," concluded the employment manager. 
 Lee had a more definite impression of sly playfulness in 
 Mr. Jameson's words. "Which would you prefer being— a 
 floor- walker or a window-dresser?" 
 
 Lee had an impulse to ask which work offered the more 
 salary, but he thought another line of inquiry might impress 
 Mr. Jameson more favorably. 
 
 "Which job gives me the better opportunity to show what 
 I can do?" 
 
 The employment manager's eyes opened in astonishment. 
 "Either one's all right to start on, and they pay the same." 
 
 Lee reflected. If there was really no choice between the 
 two positions, he instinctively preferred the less conspicuous. 
 
 "I think I'd like to try window-dressing." 
 
 "All right, sir. You can report Monday morning at a 
 quarter before eight. Your salary will start at twenty-five 
 dollars." 
 
 Lee couldn't see the humor of the situation, as Mr. Jame- 
 son evidently did; but he thanked the employment manager 
 and took his leave. 
 
 Twenty-five dollars a weekl He walked elatedly out into 
 the street. Once more he felt like a god among the nun- 
 
106 THE GROPER 
 
 dreds of pedestrians that surrounded him. Twenty-four 
 hours ago, he had been in the deepest morasses of despair, 
 had planned to give up the fight and go home. How proud 
 his mother would be when she read his next letter. He 
 felt his self-respect come surging back as he reflected that 
 his days of dependence on her were at an end. 
 
 Twenty-five dollars a week! From long habit, he began 
 to consider the possibility of marrying Vera on that salary. 
 Then he closed his jaws together angrily. "I'll show 'em 
 yet," he promised himself. 
 
 All at once, he found himself thinking once more of Mrs. 
 Curran — deeply moved by her kindness to him and her 
 evident appreciation of his potentialities — paying tribute 
 more unreservedly than ever to her perfect poise, her 
 delicious accent, her subtle, magnetic, personal charm. 
 
XIII 
 
 THE department store of Curran $ Company, in which 
 Lee Hillquit began work the following Monday 
 morning, was in the year 1908 the second largest 
 institution of the kind in Detroit. It occupied a massive 
 six-story brick building on a prominent downtown Wood* 
 ward avenue corner; within its spacious confines you could 
 purchase anything from shoe laces to a five hundred dollar 
 gown, from a twenty-five cent stool to a thousand dollai 
 grand piano, from cotton to silk — anything, in fact, except 
 groceries. 
 
 Such imposing proportions, as Lee learned later, had 
 grown gradually from the humblest beginnings. Joe Curran, 
 an Irish immigrant, had come to Detroit in the early 'seven- 
 ties, and found employment as a general handy man and 
 porter in a clothing store on lower Woodward avenue. 
 Ambitious, ingenious, he had painfully acquired a business 
 education. Presently he was a salesman, then chief buyer, 
 then general manager. In the 'eighties, the clothing store 
 had failed, and from its ruins rose a new establishment under 
 the name of Curran & Company. 
 
 Long before this, Joe Curran had brought over, first Tom 
 Curran, then Michael Curran; and he now made his younger 
 brothers equal partners in the profitable and growing estab- 
 lishment. The three brothers, red-faced, rough-spoken, gen- 
 erous, were familiar characters on the streets of the city 
 in those earlier days. Their increasing prosperity changed 
 them not one whit. They remained real Irishmen— relent- 
 lessly hostile to their enemies, loyal to their friends and to 
 each other. 
 
 107 
 
io8 THE GROPER 
 
 Yet the three, so alike in many things, possessed widely 
 divergent characteristics. Joe Curran, always fond of his 
 glass of whisky, became moodier and drank harder as he 
 grew older; Michael Curran, who had the best head for 
 business of the three, developed into that rarity, an acquisi- 
 tive Irishman; Tom Curran, the youngest brother, was the 
 dreamer of the trio — gentle, visionary, in spite of his ruddy, 
 bluff exterior. Joe and Tom both married; Michael re- 
 mained a bachelor. 
 
 In 1890, the brothers took over a bankrupt dry goods 
 stock. That was the haphazard beginning of the department 
 store idea. Soon they had joined the two businesses under 
 one roof, and had added a small department for women's 
 shirt-waists and ready-made dresses. The panic of 1893 
 caught them unaware in the midst of this expansion, and 
 after a long struggle, they succumbed to a receivership. The 
 creditors were ultimately paid fifty cents on the dollar. 
 
 But the Curran boys were not so easily disposed of. 
 Within six months, they had started up again in a small 
 way. The wholesalers liked them, had faith in their integ- 
 rity. By 1898, the business was more prosperous than ever, 
 and the brothers had paid back every penny of their receiver* 
 ship debts. 
 
 But the anxieties of business and his growing intimacy 
 with Irish whisky had undermined Joe Curran's health, and 
 he died very suddenly, just after the store had moved into 
 its present quarters. Within the year, Tom Curran, never 
 so rugged as his brothers, had followed his older brother 
 to the grave. Joe Curran was survived by a son and daugh- 
 ter; Tom Curran, whose marriage had been childless, left 
 Lee's benefactress as his only heir. 
 
 The business, nevertheless, kept on growing under Michael 
 Curran's sole dictatorship. In 1901, two more stories were 
 added to the building; and at the time that Lee began work, 
 the most pressing problem was lack of room. The three 
 
THE GROPER 109 
 
 acres of floor space were so crowded with merchandise that 
 no department could expand without seriously cramping its 
 neighbor. Over a thousand employes swarmed the six floors 
 and basement. Twenty-five thousand people came into the 
 store each day. The gross sales for the year 1907 had been 
 in excess of four million dollars. 
 
 Lee reported to Mr. Jameson promptly at a quarter before 
 eight on Monday morning. 
 
 "Ill introduce you to Mr. Doman, the advertising mana- 
 ger," said Mr. Jameson. "You'll be under his supervision." 
 
 Howard Doman, Curran & Company's advertising mana- 
 ger, impressed and attracted Lee at one and the same time. 
 He was a tremendous figure of a man, six feet tall, and 
 easily over two hundred pounds in weight. His face was 
 round, and he was partly bald. Physical vitality cropped 
 out all over him. But what rescued his expression from a 
 near-grossness — what really arrested Lee and imbued in him 
 an instant loyalty— was the advertising manager's eyes. 
 They were not the usual cock-sure, combative, cynical eyes 
 that Lee had grown so accustomed to. They were imagi- 
 native, perceptive, inquiring eyes— above all, inquiring. Do- 
 man looked at Lee as if he had never before beheld a human 
 being. In the years of close association between the two, 
 Lee never saw the advertising man lose that perpetual look 
 of captivated interest, of fine curiosity. 
 
 Jameson left the advertising office, and Lee, at his su- 
 perior's suggestion, sat down. For another moment, Doman 
 seemed to be studying his new employe. 
 
 "Mrs. Curran seems to think you have the sort of qual- 
 ities that fit you for work in my department," he began. 
 "Do you think you'd like it?" n 
 
 "I don't know very much about any of the departments, 
 
 confessed Lee. , 
 
 "Well, you look as though you had brains, pronounced 
 
 Doman, then abruptly smiled. 
 
no THE GROPER 
 
 Lee warmed to the smile. He liked Doman's white r 
 evenly spaced teeth. More than that, he felt the attraction 
 of the manager's radiating ability. 
 
 "I'd be awfully glad to have you give me a try-out," he 
 said. 
 
 Doman gave him a concise statement of the modern 
 theory of merchandising. As he talked he made cryptic 
 diagrams on a pad of blank paper on his desk. 
 
 "Fifteen years ago, there was no such thing as a fixed 
 price for anything. The salesman sized up his customer 
 and got as high a price as he could. The department store 
 has changed all that. Every article on sale in this institution 
 has a tag on it, with the price printed in plain figures. 
 
 "The big idea of the modern store is not the amount of 
 profit on each article, but the volume of business. The 
 goal toward which every single man and woman is working 
 is to keep the stock moving every minute. We used to 
 order enough stock to keep us going six months. To-day 
 the idea is to keep as little stock as possible, to order every 
 week, to make as many ' turn-overs' as we can during the 
 year. If a certain line doesn't go as fast as it should, we 
 have a bargain day, and sell it at a loss. Anything to get 
 rid of it. D' you see — big sales, low profits." 
 
 Lee nodded. 
 
 Each department, Doman went on, was a separate unit, 
 yet interdependent on every other department. Each de- 
 partment had its separate buyer — who was its exclusive 
 manager, within certain limits — its assistant buyer, its stock 
 clerk and its salesmen or saleswomen. At the beginning of 
 the year, each department was allowed so much capital for 
 its purchases, and charged with its fair proportion of rent, 
 lighting, heating, delivery service and other expenses. Its 
 sales had to make a showing of a certain definite profit of 
 about seven per cent. Every department fixed its prices 
 to ensure this same percentage. The piano department, for 
 
THE GROPER III 
 
 example, had to secure a much higher gross profit on each 
 sale than the notions department, because the piano stock 
 couldn't be "turned over" one-twentieth as rapidly as the 
 stock of notions. There was an elaborate checking system 
 that enabled the heads of the business to ascertain the 
 exact amount of the sales and the condition of the stock 
 every day. 
 
 The organisation of the business was somewhat complex, 
 yet every man knew definitely what was expected of him. 
 Michael Curran was the active head of the business. Hia 
 was the final decision in all matters of importance. He 
 supervised the buying and selling — indeed, he still did some 
 of the buying of men's clothes. He fixed the prices. He 
 moulded the store's general policy, gave it its distinctive 
 individuality. Thus the Curran department store had come 
 to stand in the public's mind for medium-priced merchan- 
 dise. One could purchase expensive things and cheap things 
 over its counters; but, generally speaking, its customers 
 were from the great middle class of the city. 
 
 Directly responsible to Mr. Curran were all of the buyers 
 of the various departments, and certain other administrative 
 heads — among them the advertising manager. 
 
 Doman tore off the top sheet of his desk-pad, and started 
 making fantastic diagrams anew. 
 
 "Of all the departments, I think ours is by far the most 
 interesting. I said a little while ago that our whole problem 
 was to keep the goods moving fast, to build up the volume 
 of sales. How's that to be accomplished? In several ways, 
 of course — giving good value, dealing honestly with people, 
 having good salesmen and an attractive stock of goods. But 
 most important of all— the motor that pumps life through 
 the whole organisation — is the advertising department. Ad- 
 vertising is essential enough in every business; in depart- 
 ment stores, it's the Big Noise. It's what makes the wheels 
 go round. Mr. Curran pays more for advertising than for 
 
112 THE GROPER 
 
 anything else in the store — except of course his stock of 
 goods and his pay-roll. What d' you suppose we paid the 
 Detroit newspapers in 1907?" 
 
 Lee confessed complete nescience. 
 
 "Over one hundred thousand dollars. Think of it! Be- 
 tween two and three per cent, of the gross sales. Some 
 stores pay more, some less. Do you get the significance of 
 it? One hundred thousand dollars to appeal to people's 
 imaginations, to arouse in their minds a craving to buy 
 something. Think of the psychology of it! And if I could 
 give you only one piece of advice, it would be this: never 
 lose sight of the tremendous romance, the curious thrill, of 
 advertising. It's the most absorbing artistic endeavor that 
 a man may pursue." 
 
 Lee was leaning forward eagerly. "Yes, I get just an 
 inkling of what it means. I'd never thought of business that 
 way." 
 
 "Window-displays are in my department — they're a form 
 of advertising," continued Doman. "A mighty important 
 form, too. Thousands of people pass the store every day. 
 Lots of them never read newspaper advertisements. A good- 
 looking window display will make a favorable impression 
 on people. Sooner or later, they're sure to see something 
 that arouses the buying desire, which is the purpose of all 
 advertising. Window-display is as much an art as paint- 
 ing — and twice as fascinating, in my judgment. Think of 
 the questions of color combination, of composition, of sug- 
 gestive surfaces, involved in arranging a window. Think 
 of the difference in emotional effect between a good black 
 and white window, and a window in scarlet." 
 
 The idea seemed to arrest his attention for a moment. 
 "Well, I guess I've told you all you need to know, Hillquit. 
 I always like to give a new man a bird's-eye-view of the 
 business — get his imagination working — before he starts in. 
 Now I want you to try your hand at window-displays for 
 
THE GROPER 113 
 
 awhile. It'll be great fun for you, if you keep the right 
 mental attitude. If it ever gets to be a grind, it's because 
 your thinking is wrong somewhere. At such times, I find 
 the best tonic is either a vacation or a Turkish bath." 
 
 Doman's exposition made a strong appeal to Lee. He 
 glimpsed the real heart of business for the first time. He 
 saw it, not as the grim, distasteful duty he had always 
 fancied it, but as something alluring, absorbing, captivating. 
 
 The advertising manager conducted him into the outer 
 office and introduced him to Harry Freytag, the chief win- 
 dow decorator. 
 
 Somehow, after Doman's sweeping breadth and visualising 
 power, Freytag seemed a distinct let-down. He was small 
 and unprepossessing; his thin face and etiolated skin, his 
 general air of dejection, gave him an expression of pinched 
 servility. 
 
 Servility, that is, as long as Doman remained within 
 fear-shot. But when the advertising manager's huge bulk 
 had disappeared, Freytag waxed openly acidulous. 
 
 "Why in God's world do they want to give me another 
 assistant?" he implored. "Every new greenhorn that shows 
 up they drop on my shoulders." 
 
 Offhand Lee could think of no very convincing excuse for 
 the imposition. 
 
 "Never had no experience? No, of course not," Freytag 
 descanted peevishly. "Well, the first thing you want to do 
 is forget all that hot air Doman's been pumpin' into you. 
 Window-dressin' ain't an art— it's an instinct. You either 
 got it — or you ain't; and if you ain't, no amount of teachin' 
 will ever do any good." 
 
 Lee's silence seemed to mollify Freytag perceptibly. "Put 
 on your coat, and we'll have a look at the windows," he di- 
 rected. 
 
 The Curran store, located as it was on a corner, had 
 sixteen show-windows, built out from the store in an old- 
 
114 THE GROPER 
 
 fashioned way; and it was the work of Freytag and his 
 three assistants to keep each window attractively arranged, 
 and to change the displays at least once a week. 
 
 "Each important department has one or two windows," 
 Freytag expatiated. "It's always the same window, so that 
 people will know just where to look for the display they 
 want. Men's clothing has had this big double corner win- 
 dow ever since we moved up here. Now we'll take a look 
 at each window," he announced, "and I want you to tell 
 me just what you think of it, and why." 
 
 Lee surveyed the display of men's suits and spring over- 
 coats judicially. 
 
 "I should say it was very effective, as a whole," he ob- 
 served after a moment. "The chief trouble is that there's 
 too much in the window. Fewer suits would be better." 
 The day was cloudy and the window was lighted by clus- 
 ters of lights in the ceiling. "And I think those lights dis- 
 tract one's attention. It would be better if they could be 
 out of sight somewhere." 
 
 Freytag looked at Lee, then back at the window. "You're 
 right about the lights, anyway, and maybe about the rest," 
 he agreed. 
 
 They passed on to displays of bathrobes and cravats, 
 women's suits and cloaks — this display occupied three win- 
 dows on Woodward avenue — waists, evening gowns, furs, 
 leather novelties, furniture, rugs, pianos and phonographs, 
 curtains and draperies, kitchen cabinets, linens, silks. Small 
 show cases at the entrance to the store contained silver- 
 ware, books, pictures and other articles. 
 
 Lee found one or two color combinations that repelled 
 him; and he criticised the Japanese screen that formed the 
 background of the furniture exhibit, on the theory that its 
 grotesque figures would draw attention from the furniture 
 itself. 
 
 Freytag combated some of his suggestions, but his atti- 
 
THE GROPER 115 
 
 tude became more and more approving. He paused in front 
 of the linen exhibit. 
 
 "The first two weeks in April we always feature a spring 
 linen sale," he said. "You'll find it played up in all the 
 advertising. Well, we work hand-and-glove with the sales 
 end. Our displays must feature the stuff they're pushin' on 
 the inside. You'll remember there ain't been a single price- 
 card in any window up to now; but there are at least fifty 
 in this window." 
 
 One large placard stood in the centre of the display. 
 "Curran's Great Spring Linen Sale," it read. Each article in 
 the window had its small yellow price-card — "29c, as ad- 
 vertised," "59c, as advertised," etc. 
 
 "It's against the store's policy to put price-tags in the 
 window, except on sales like this," pointed out the chief 
 window-decorator. "And we never say: 'formerly one dol- 
 lar, now sixty-two cents' — either in our displays or our ad- 
 vertisin'. That's the Curran policy. We leave that kind of 
 stuff to the cheap stores." 
 
 Conscious of having made a good impression on Freytag, 
 Lee began to grow enthusiastic once more. "It looks like 
 mighty interesting work," he said. "A man ought to have 
 plenty of chance to show his originality." 
 
 "There you go on Doman's stuff again." Freytag's ema- 
 ciated face reflected high disgust. "No, there ain't any 
 poetry about the window-display game, take it from me. 
 Nothin' but hard work — most of it nights and Sundays. 
 I s'pose Doman handed you a lot of bull about promotion, 
 too. Well, you want to forget that stuff. They give the 
 same line of talk to every new guy, so's he'll work himself 
 to death for them. 
 
 "Look at me!" He struck his narrow chest with his fist. 
 "I been with Curran's for fifteen years — chief window- 
 dresser for the last ten. Two raises since they made me 
 chief. Promotion! Rewardin' merit 1 Pooh! They know 
 
n6 THE GROPER 
 
 I'm the best window man in the city, so they keep me doin* 
 that. They wouldn't give me a chance at something bet- 
 ter — no, you can bet your sweet life they wouldn't. So 
 take my tip, young fellow — and don't let 'em kid you." 
 
 This was disheartening news, especially after Doman's 
 ruddy optimism; yet it had the ring of truth. Lee remem- 
 bered the "hot air" dispensed so copiously at the Security 
 Realty Company's Saturday meetings. It must be the same 
 in every business. All employers "kidded" their workers 
 into frantic endeavor by promising speedy promotion. 
 
 "But how do the big fellows land their jobs?" he be- 
 thought himself to ask. 
 
 "Pull," vouchsafed Freytag briefly. "That's all— pull. 
 Every one of 'em is either a relative of old man Curran, or 
 else has some other drag with him. Look at young Pete 
 Curran, Joe Curran's son. He's secretary and treasurer. 
 D' you think anybody else has got a look-in to take his 
 job away from him?" 
 
 Lee came down to cases. "How about Mr. Doman?" 
 
 "I don't know just what his pull is," admitted Freytag. 
 "Some one told me once he had something on the old man, 
 and the old man had to give him a good job to keep his 
 mouth shut." 
 
 They returned to Freytag's desk, and the chief window- 
 decorator looked speculatively through a card index. 
 
 "I was just figurin' where to start you. I want to keep 
 you away from the departments that are goin' to features 
 sales this next few weeks." He withdrew a card. "I guess 
 men's clothing is as good as anything," he decided. "That's 
 a good straight line. No fancy stuff." 
 
 He made a memorandum on the card and replaced it. 
 "First you go to Lorimer, the buyer of the men's clothing 
 department; or if he's out of town, to Mr. Ladue, the as- 
 sistant buyer. Talk the thing over with them; see what 
 particular stuff they want to feature; help 'em select maybe 
 
THE GROPER 117 
 
 a dozen suits and overcoats with colors that don't kill 
 each other. Pick up a few gloves and hats — maybe some 
 shoes and canes, if you think best. All this small stuff fills 
 in pretty good, I find. Wednesday morning, you can give 
 me an idea of what you're plannin', and Wednesday night 
 we'll put it in. See if you can't think up something pretty 
 snappy." 
 
 Lee left the store at half-past five that night in the same 
 excited frame of mind that had been his constant companion 
 since Mrs. Curran's limousine had stopped in the street 
 ahead of him. His work was going to be really interesting, 
 and he felt a quiet confidence in his ability to do it success- 
 fully. Most pleasant of all, he was enjoying to the utmost 
 his new feeling of self-reliance — the grateful sensation of 
 being self-supporting. 
 
 True, Harry Freytag's pessimism had left its mark. He 
 was prepared to discount Mr. Doman's hints of better 
 things. But it was quite enough for his happiness to be 
 earning twenty-five dollars a week — to be spared the humili- 
 ation of returning to Chatham. 
 
 Bob Hamilton appeared at the boarding house looking 
 woebegone. 
 
 "What's up?" asked Lee. 
 
 Bob's tell-tale lower lip started to quiver. "Lost my job," 
 he announced. "Managing editor told me they were going 
 to cut out suburban and he wouldn't need me after this 
 week." 
 
 "Tough luck!" condoled Lee with genuine sympathy. 
 "Something's sure to turn up for you, though. Maybe you'll 
 land a better job." 
 
 Bob wagged his head dolefully. "I don't know. None of 
 the other papers need anybody. Maybe I'm just destined 
 to be a failure. I don't see why I'm not a success. I work 
 hard enough." 
 
;n8 THE GROPER 
 
 At the rooms, Lee found two letters. One was from his 
 mother. 
 
 "My Darling Boy" [she wrote] — "I can't tell you how 
 overjoyed I am by your success. I knew it would come if 
 I kept on praying to the Lord. Mrs. Curran must be a 
 splendid woman, from what you say. 
 
 "Can't you come home next Saturday? It seems years 
 since you went away, and I feel lonesome for a sight of you." 
 
 He felt the tears coming into his eyes. What a brick his 
 mother had been! He vowed that he would make her old 
 age supremely happy. He wondered if he could visit her 
 this next week-end. At the thought of Chatham, his heart 
 sank a little — then he remembered that Vera no longer lived 
 there; that this very day she had become Mrs. Milo Hig- 
 ginson. 
 
T 
 
 XIV 
 
 HE other letter was from Mrs. Curran. 
 
 "I am enclosing an extra ticket for the orchestral 
 concert next week" [she wrote], "in the hope that you 
 may be able to use it. 
 
 "Please do not postpone your dinner call too long. I 
 shall be very much interested in hearing your impressions 
 of the new work. 
 
 "Cordially your friend, 
 
 "Laura L. Curran." 
 
 Lee was conscious of a subtle, intense pleasure as he 
 read this note. Reflexively, his self-esteem mounted high. 
 She had signed the note, "Cordially your friend." His 
 friend! This splendid woman, this leader of "Society/' this 
 person of wealth and influence, had found him socially at- 
 tractive. There was no predicting what such a friendship 
 might do for him. It opened out alluring possibilities in the 
 store — even in "Society," perhaps. 
 
 The next noon, he telephoned her from the store. 
 
 "I have been wanting to call you up ever since Thurs- 
 day," he confessed. "But I thought perhaps I'd better wait 
 until I had something definite to say." 
 
 "I was only worried that you might think me a little in- 
 delicate," said Mrs. Curran. "I don't usually have to urge 
 people to come and see me." 
 
 Again the tone of timidity, which had so surprised Lee 
 before. 
 
 "How are you getting on?" she asked. "And when are 
 you coming up to tell me all about it?" 
 
 "I'll be delighted to come any night," said Lee. 
 
 "Let me see," she reflected. "I'm terribly afraid I'm 
 
 119 
 
120 THE GROPER 
 
 filled up for the week — that is, unless you happen to have 
 to-night free." 
 
 "That would be splendid," acquiesced Lee eagerly. 
 
 The evening was again an unalloyed delight. Mrs. Cur- 
 ran seemed more wonderful, more perfect, to him than ever; 
 and, filtering through the conventionalities on which she re- 
 lied mostly for conversation, he saw irrefragable evidences 
 that she really liked him. 
 
 It was a curious combination of causes that produced in 
 Lee this emotion of near-worship of Mrs. Curran. He was 
 far from being mercenary in his motives. The fact that her 
 favor could work wonders for him at the store had sur- 
 prisingly little to do with his feeling toward her. 
 
 He really liked her immensely. They seemed to agree 
 so remarkably on most subjects. A genuine mental telep- 
 athy developed between them; they could catch each other's 
 most elusive meanings. Lee often knew what Mrs. Curran 
 was about to say before she spoke. 
 
 Add to this his sincere gratefulness. She had rescued 
 him from the mire of despair. She had been kind to him 
 — disinterestedly kind. 
 
 But these creditable appreciations of his hardly sufficed 
 to account for the nebulous aureole in which she stood 
 transfigured for him. There were certain subtle subconscious 
 forces at work in him, which he did not completely identify 
 till long afterwards. For one thing, he had an undefined 
 obsession that she was a person infinitely superior to him- 
 self. Her wealth, her culture, her lofty social standing: 
 all contrived to set her apart from other people of his ken, 
 to limn her in outlines almost supernal. But with this recog- 
 nition came another, equally vague instinct — the desire to be 
 on intimate terms with such a one. Familiarity with a 
 superior person is a feather in one's cap. Thus, the fresh- 
 man glows when the senior calls him by his first name, the 
 negro porter when his "boss" throws him an easy nod of 
 
THE GROPER 121 
 
 recognition on the street. Lee craved Mrs. Curran's ap- 
 proval, because that approval made him a more worthy per- 
 son in his own eyes. And so her obvious liking for him, 
 her deference to his opinions, her sympathy with his hard- 
 ships, served as an intense and subtle flattery to him — 
 the more so, because he identified his whole feeling toward 
 her as gratitude and admiration. 
 
 "I can't see why you should ever have thought poorly of 
 yourself," said the great lady. "You don't appreciate your 
 abilities. I don't want to be personal, but it's very evident 
 to me that you're an unusual man. You're very attractive 
 — no, I don't mean it as flattery at all — and you possess that 
 rare quality, intelligence — or better, flair." 
 
 Lee vibrated with an ecstasy that was almost painful. 
 And somehow, her appreciation of him made him worship 
 her the more ardently. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," recollected Mrs. Curran, as he was 
 preparing to go. "Where were you when you telephoned 
 me this noon?" 
 
 Lee looked his mild bewilderment at the question. "Why 
 — at the store — in the office." 
 
 "It's nothing," she reassured him. "But perhaps, if you 
 should call me again, you'd better go to a 'phone outside 
 the store. Some of the people in the office might get the 
 idea that I was using my influence to promote you, and 
 that might antagonise them against you. We don't like to 
 
 have the employes suspect any favoritism. Besides " 
 
 Mrs. Curran hesitated, her black, compelling eyes fixed 
 thoughtfully on him. 
 
 "Yes?" encouraged Lee after an instant's silence. 
 
 Mrs. Curran's instinct toward frankness seemed to van- 
 quish her sense of discretion. "I think I can afford to be 
 perfectly candid with you. Our friendship — at least, I look 
 on it as a friendship— is a little unusual. To me, it has the 
 possibilities of becoming a fine and spiritual thing, but 
 
122 THE GROPER 
 
 when an older woman and a younger man see a great deal 
 of each other — you know, I am quite a lot older than you — 
 well, some people are always ready to say nasty things." 
 She threw out her hands with a gesture that seemed pa- 
 thetic to Lee. 
 
 His cheeks grew hot at the monstrous idea. "I don't see 
 how anybody would dare!" 
 
 A look, almost triumphant, appeared in her vivid, slightly 
 oblique eyes. "I knew you were that sort of a man." She 
 held out her hand impulsively. "We'll be good friends in 
 spite of them, won't we? At the same time, let's not take 
 any chances of having our friendship traduced by vulgar- 
 minded people." 
 
 Lee's mood was heroic, protective. "I'd be proud to have 
 the whole world know of it." 
 
 "That's splendid!" said Mrs. Curran — a little absent- 
 mindedly, it seemed. "But let's not fly against convention 
 as long as we don't have to. It's uncomfortable." 
 
 Lee caught the note of finality in her voice. "All right," 
 he agreed a trifle lamely. But he could not long remain 
 undramatic. "Good night, friend," he said with preten- 
 tious gravity. 
 
 Mrs. Curran regarded him searchingly, as if to reassure 
 herself as to his worth, then closed her eyes. 
 
 "Good night, friend," she whispered. She opened her eyes 
 and smiled half-apologetically. "Come soon!" 
 
 Lee's friendship with Mrs. Curran grew apace; became 
 the important thing in his life — more absorbing even than 
 his work at the store. Throughout the spring and into the 
 early summer, he called as often as three or four times a 
 week. Sunday dinner was the one fixed occasion; and ordi- 
 narily, he would remain throughout the afternoon and eve- 
 ning. 
 
 Neither of them seemed to tire of the other's talk. Occa- 
 sionally they read aloud. They became well enough ac- 
 
THE GROPER 123 
 
 quainted so that even silences passed unnoticed. At rare 
 intervals, usually at night, when they were in front of the 
 fireplace, Mrs. Curran gave him brief intimations about 
 herself. He gathered that there had been an unhappy love 
 affair just before her wedding; that she had married Tom 
 Curran in a mood of defiance; and that their life together 
 had never reached noteworthy heights. 
 
 Once, Lee reached over and patted her hand. It was a 
 daring thing to do, he thought; yet it was in keeping with 
 the finest spirit of their friendship. Mrs. Curran's fingers 
 closed over his for a moment. 4 
 
 His attitude toward her remained consistently high- 
 minded. Their friendship seemed wholly spiritual to him — 
 the wonderful congeniality and sympathy of two souls. He 
 never thought of her as a woman, particularly— nor of her 
 age. 
 
 To him one of her greatest charms was the occasional 
 flavor of worldly wisdom that crept into her conversation. 
 One night, for example, they were talking about his work at 
 the store. 
 
 "If trying hard — doing my level best every day — counts 
 for anything, I'm surely going to succeed," he said. "I don't 
 believe there's a man in the store who's working more faith- 
 fully than I am." 
 
 Mrs. Curran regarded him quizzi|ally. "Curran & Com- 
 pany is overcrowded with men who are faithful workers—; 
 and nothing more." 
 Lee turned toward her in his half-affronted way. "Yes— - 
 
 but " 
 
 "Oh, I'm not saying that faithfulness isn't a good qual- 
 ity," she took him up. "But you'll never lift yourself out 
 of the ruck simply by being faithful. The thing that gives 
 you a better chance than all the plodders is your person- 
 ality." 
 
124 THE GROPER 
 
 This doctrine seemed near-heresy, and Lee's expressive 
 face revealed the fact. 
 
 Mrs. Curran smiled. "That's the fallacy so many fine 
 men like you handicap themselves with. Particularly young 
 college men. You all seem to think that life is logical, 
 foreseeable. Like mathematics, for example, or good ma- 
 chinery. A matter of a few simple rules. A mental prob- 
 lem. It puzzles you when you put the coin of conscientious 
 effort in the slot marked 'Success' — and lo and behold! Fail- 
 ure drops out." 
 
 She lighted the one after-dinner cigaret she permitted 
 herself — this had been a real shock to Lee at first — and 
 gazed into the fire, a look of puzzled captivation in her face, 
 the half-smile still on her lips. 
 
 "You never can understand that life is haphazard, blind, 
 accidental — a crawling, sprawling mass, full of weird, un- 
 analysable forces. Take personality, for example. A lazy 
 man with real personality will far outstrip the conscientious 
 plodder. It's because people like you that they do things 
 for you — not because they admire your character. Mere 
 brains will only take you part way. The really big men 
 in the world aren't usually the brainy men. They're the 
 men with that mysterious thing we call force. They get 
 what they want in some uncanny way. Most of them have 
 luck, too." 
 
 Another puff. "You have personality, and you ought to 
 appreciate it and use it. The faithful bookkeepers and ribbon 
 Salesmen down at the store might struggle for your person- 
 ality all their lives and never acquire it. One must be born 
 with it. So take my advice, and cultivate your personality. 
 It'll open every door for you. Remember, a man makes 
 more money by his nerve than by his brains nowadays." 
 
 Lee's idealisation of Mrs. Curran waxed more and more 
 Intense as summer approached. By this time, it is true, 
 his earlier, self-conscious awe of her had entirely disap- 
 
THE GROPER 125 
 
 peared. He had not forgotten that her influence was suffi- 
 cient to make or break him at the store; that her position 
 in the world was enormously out of his reach. But with 
 Mrs. Curran, personally, he no longer felt constraint. Their 
 friendship was entirely beyond any differences in their tem- 
 poral circumstances. His unsuspected vanity, his determi- 
 nation to protect her from any vicious insinuations about 
 their friendship, his admiration for her refinement, and their 
 remarkable mental affinity, all served to attract him more 
 and more. Besides, he really liked her — felt strongly drawn 
 to her. 
 
 One noon, while he was scanning a collection of French 
 Impressionistic paintings at the Art Museum, he suddenly 
 came upon Mrs. Curran. She was disputing earnestly over 
 some picture with a young man in a morning coat, who 
 looked as though he might be an artist or musician. Lee 
 was appalled at the pang of dismay that ran through him. 
 Mrs. Curran spoke graciously to him; even made as if to 
 shake hands. But he feigned not to notice and hurried 
 into another gallery. 
 
 The incident served to heighten his feelings toward her. 
 He realised vaguely that he had come to care a great deal 
 for her — not in any silly, banal way, of course, but as he 
 might care for a man, for example. He was conscious of 
 a great, consuming devotion such as one intimate friend 
 might feel for another. 
 
 Early in June, Mrs. Curran began to make plans for 
 leaving town. She always summered, she said, in Maine. 
 The prospect of not seeing her for three months was thor- 
 oughly depressing to him. 
 
 The last Sunday evening before her departure, they were 
 sitting out-of-doors, on a screened side porch that opened 
 out from the drawing room through a window. 
 
 The minutes sped by. Lee became more and more suf- 
 fused with exalted emotion. 
 
126 THE GROPER 
 
 "Isn't it odd that this friendship should have sprung up 
 between us?" Mrs. Curran remarked. "It's so unusual, so 
 unconventional. Yet it's perfectly vital, and entirely sin- 
 cere." 
 
 "I don't think it's so odd," he demurred. "To me it seems 
 the most natural thing in the world — and the most beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "Anyway, I want you to know how much it has meant 
 to me, Lee." 
 
 All at once the night seemed to become very still. 
 
 Lee gulped hard. "Well," he faltered, "I can't describe 
 how I feel toward you. I'd do anything in the world for 
 you." He determined upon a frank revelation. "It seems 
 to me I might say I love you — not in any cheap way, of 
 course — not in the way base-minded people might think. 
 You can understand. A fine spiritual love, such as any two 
 intimate friends might feel." 
 
 His heart choked his throat. He was in torturous sus- 
 pense lest he should have overstepped the bounds. 
 
 Mrs. Curran remained silent. After a moment, she rose. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry " he began. 
 
 She held up a restraining hand. "I understand you, dear 
 boy," she whispered. 
 
 She held her hand out, and he seized it. Then he realised 
 that she was trembling. 
 
 "It's all right," she said, and smiled up at him. "I think 
 we must be going in. I have a great deal to do to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Through the darkness, she looked vaguely youthful. 
 
 She took a step toward the open window, the sill of which 
 was set awkwardly some fifteen inches above the floor of the 
 porch. 
 
 Lee smiled back at her in a sudden exuberant relief that 
 she had not misunderstood. 
 
 She extended her hand again, so that he might steady 
 
THE GROPER 127 
 
 her as she stepped up on the sill. An inexplicable impulse 
 possessed him; he swung her up in his arms and carried 
 her through the window into the half-light of the drawing 
 room inside. 
 
 He heard her give a little gasp. 
 
 "Put me down!" she whispered. 
 
 The sense of his strength, the exhilaration of his daring 
 bade him defy her command an instant longer. He laughed. 
 Suddenly, Mrs. Curran put her head down on his shoulder 
 much as a tired child might. 
 
 He set her down after a moment. He was conscious of 
 pride, of successful achievement. But Mrs. Curran clung 
 to his arm tightly, with upturned face and closed eyes. 
 
 Lee became instinctively aware that something more was 
 expected of him. He had cast himself in a certain role; now 
 he must live up to it, or prove disappointing. He put his 
 arm around her and kissed her. But he no longer had the 
 sense of daring initiative. 
 
 "My darling! " she whispered tensely in his ear. Her out- 
 stretched fingers caressed his back. 
 
 The intimations of the situation continued to filtrate 
 through his swirling brain, and he reached over to the near- 
 by standing lamp and switched it off. 
 
 Later on, there came to him the fine, hair-line perception 
 that somehow things had not turned out at all as he ex- 
 pected. 
 
XV 
 
 THROUGHOUT the spring, Lee had been devoting 
 himself conscientiously to his work at Curran & 
 Company's department store. 
 
 His first window-display of men's clothing was undeniably 
 crude. It lacked atmosphere. 
 
 "It's the composition," Freytag decided briefly. He 
 shifted an overcoat farther to one side, and behold! the 
 effect for which Lee had been striving stood accomplished. 
 
 Freytag insisted, too, on putting in more suits and over- 
 coats. 
 
 "Loads too empty," he explained. 
 
 On this point, Lee silently disagreed. And as long as 
 he remained under Freytag, there persisted this tacit con- 
 test between them as to the number of articles that win- 
 dow-displays should include. The chief decorator preferred 
 ornate displays, moreover; while Lee from the first instinc- 
 tively chose simplicity. 
 
 But Lee's taste, his sense of color values, his ability to 
 devise effective backgrounds, developed fast. He studied 
 the show-windows of other stores; he visited his former 
 haunt, the public library, and read avidly the few books 
 that dealt with window-trimming. Freytag soon gave him 
 charge of the men's furnishings, boy's clothing, and toilet 
 articles departments — and under supervision, women's suits 
 and coats. When he had any spare time, he tried his hand, 
 not very successfully, at card-writing. 
 
 As Lee's consciousness of ability grew, he began suggest- 
 ing alterations. His chief complaint concerned itself with 
 the system of illuminating the displays. It seemed to him 
 
 128 
 
THE GROPER 125 
 
 that the electric lights should be concealed in some wa$ 
 irom the eyes of pedestrians. 
 
 "A window is just like a stage," he contended. "You 
 never see the footlights an a theatre." 
 
 Freytag was lethargic. It would require expensive ancj 
 troublesome repairs to change the lights. 
 
 "We'll have to come to it sooner or later," argued Lee k 
 "Look at Fordyce, Miller & Company's indirect lighting 
 system. It's much more effective and restful than ours." 
 
 Lee also proposed discontinuing the use of manikins foi 
 displaying men's suits. 
 
 "What I want is a plain prmel background of oak 01 
 imitation mahogany — and display racks to match. Suiti 
 and overcoats look much better, dressed on a rack, than 
 they do on a dummy. It's the same with women's coats, 
 and perhaps suits, too. You can get a certain richness of 
 effect." 
 
 But Freytag held out for manikins. He believed the new 
 vogue of discarding them would not last permanently. 
 
 Lee's suggestions were becoming very irritating to the 
 chief window-trimmer, it seemed. 
 
 "I'm the boss in this department," he would say. "Don't 
 go round thinkin' up a lot of unnecessary changes. Just 
 do things my way." 
 
 As best he could, nevertheless, Lee continued to study the 
 problem of getting the maximum of novel and artistic effect 
 out of his windows. His displays began to attract some 
 slight attention. Once or twice, Mr. Doman took pains to 
 congratulate him. 
 
 With Lee's increasing success, Freytag became openly 
 jealous. The chief trimmer announced that thereafter all 
 displays must be inspected by him before they were ex- 
 hibited. This plan gave -him opportunity for considerable 
 petty bullying. He never failed to destroy the carefully con- 
 trived effectiveness of Lee's work. If a display revealed 
 
[130 THE GROPER 
 
 any genuine originality, he would usually keep his assistant 
 until midnight, insisting on a reconstruction of the exhibit 
 along conservative lines. 
 
 Despite these annoyances, Lee found the work of con- 
 suming interest. He never quite lost the viewpoint that 
 Howard Doman had given him in the beginning: the per- 
 ception of the romance of the thing. He saturated his 
 mind with the idea that it was all great fun — an imaginative, 
 aesthetic pleasure of the finest sort. 
 
 Often he would wander aimlessly through the store, keep- 
 ing himself sensitive to the confusion, the noise, the un- 
 quenchable activity. More frequently, he would take his 
 stand on the mezzanine balcony that hedged two sides of 
 the ground floor, preferably about four o'clock in the after- - 
 noon, the busiest time of the day. From this vantage point, 
 he could bring almost the entire first floor under his vision. 
 His eye would pick up the familiar details: the aisles 
 choked with hundreds of people; the show cases and count- 
 ers disorderly with mussed-up merchandise; scores of clerks, 
 men and women, some energetic, some languidly indiffer- 
 ent; numerous stunted-looking children — cash-boys and 
 cash-girls. Everywhere an insatiable, restless flux of hu- 
 manity. A thousand waves of sound, combining into one 
 vast sea of noise; the shrill cries of saleswomen calling 
 "Cash Girl!" rising intermittently like wave-crests. 
 
 He liked to fancy the significance of all this babel and 
 bustle. There was subtle method even in the arrangement 
 of the various departments. Near the doors were the lux- 
 uries: jewelry, toilet goods, leather novelties, cameras, and 
 the more expensive haberdashery. Everybody must pass 
 these inviting displays in order to reach the "notions" and 
 such staples as handkerchiefs, hosiery, men's shirts and un- 
 derwear. The elevators were as far from the entrances as 
 possible. On the upper floors were men's and women's 
 
THE GROPER 131 
 
 clothing of all sorts, furniture, carpets, dry goods and count- 
 less other necessaries. 
 
 Lee felt a consummate interest merely in watching the 
 sluggish flow of humanity through the narrow aisles. Down 
 on the floor, most of the people were sordid-looking; but 
 from the balcony, he could revel in an Olympian viewpoint. 
 He searched his mind for a descriptive phrase. 
 
 The Romance of Barter! That was it. 
 
 One afternoon in May, he stood looking down on the 
 black throngs below. A hosiery sale was being featured, and 
 women besieged the counters four-deep. It amused Lee to 
 pick out the two women detectives who loitered casually in 
 the vicinity. 
 
 He felt a hand on his shoulder, and discovered Howard 
 Doman at his side. 
 
 "Listening to the Overtones?" the advertising manager 
 asked with his characteristic smile. 
 
 Lee made some affirmative answer. For a moment, they 
 watched the crowds in silence. 
 
 Abruptly, Doman's mood became practical. He turned 
 his keen alive eyes upon Lee. 
 
 "If you were general manager of this store, what changes 
 would you make?" 
 
 Lee meditated. "Well, in the first place, I'd certainly try 
 to get more floor-space some way. It's not only dangerous 
 to pack people together like that, it's poor business. A lot 
 of them will give up in despair. Secondly, I'd insist on 
 order. The merchandise always looks mussy, it seems to 
 me. Of course that's largely due to the lack of space." 
 
 Doman nodded his acquiescence. "How about the store 
 organisation? Would you change that?" 
 
 "I don't know much about the organisation," Lee set forth 
 somewhat uncertainly. "But I do know this: your sales- 
 people are only about 50 per cent, efficient. A lot of them 
 are lazy, and a lot half-sick. Some with tuberculosis, I 
 
132 THE GROPER 
 
 should say. And the whole force is honeycombed with 
 dissatisfaction, jealousy, irritation. Their general idea is 
 that they're underpaid and imposed on, and that the proper 
 come-back on the firm is to do as little as possible. Talk 
 about having fun with one's job! I don't believe a single 
 salesman in the store gets any pleasure out of his work." 
 
 "Very true," said Doman with unusual seriousness. "It's 
 in the very atmosphere, and I'm surprised it isn't fatal to 
 the business. Well," — he turned away — "perhaps we'll have 
 the chance of changing it some day." 
 
 Lee had been conscious for a long time of this sullen, 
 inimical spirit among the employees. Freytag never missed 
 an opportunity of sneering at the idea that merit was re- 
 warded in the Curran store. Preferment came solely 
 through "pull" or even less creditable causes, he insisted over 
 and over again. 
 
 In the case of Freytag, Lee wasn't at all certain that 
 justice had not been done. The chief window-trimmer 
 was a faithful worker and he had been with the Company 
 for fifteen years — ten years without promotion. On the 
 other hand, Freytag was a "knocker"; he was uniformly 
 petulant; and it was more than doubtful if he had the edu- 
 cation to make good in a better position. But Lee had 
 gradually become acquainted with a number of the em- 
 ployes, and every one of them cherished this same obses- 
 sion against the firm. 
 
 "They pay us just as little as they can," was the way 
 complaints ran. "So why should we break our backs for 
 them? Promotion? Wait till you've been here a few years 
 and seen what chance merit has against pull. Wait till 
 you've seen new men boosted over your head a few times 
 just because they're relatives of old Curran or have some 
 drag with him. Then you'll see it isn't any use, and you'll 
 do just like we do — soldier on the job all you can." 
 
 All this was very demoralising to Lee. In the face of 
 
THE GROPER 133 
 
 these seemingly justified grievances, Howard Doman's fine 
 theories melted away like thin vapor. He began to look 
 about him more closely. The three real powers in the store 
 were Michael Curran, the president and general manager; 
 his nephew, Peter Curran, who was secretary and treasurer, 
 in spite of his apparent incompetence; and Harrison Esta- 
 brook, a young society man who had married Michael Cur- 
 ran's niece, and who now held the position of store super- 
 intendent. And so on down the line. There was some such 
 explanation for every man who had a good job; they were 
 either relatives or intimate friends of the Curran family. 
 Howard Doman was the one puzzling exception. Every one 
 admitted his transcendent ability as an advertising manager; 
 Lee even heard occasional assertions that Doman really de- 
 served to be at the head of the business: but none of the 
 employes would admit that Doman had won his place 
 through sheer merit. Various vague rumors were current 
 that he had some mysterious hold on old Michael Curran. 
 
 The most startling explanation proceeded from a rheumy- 
 eyed, affected young man named Barker, who was stock 
 clerk in the men's clothing department. Lee's work threw 
 him into frequent contact with Barker, and they became 
 fairly well acquainted. The stock clerk had an air of being 
 "wise" to every smallest detail in the store; and from time 
 to time he gave Lee, "in strictest confidence, you know," 
 various salacious details about the heads of the business, 
 and more frequently, about the morals of certain salesgirls. 
 Barker had worked his way up from a cash-boy's job; but 
 he was virulent in his belief that merit counted for nothing. 
 
 Lee mentioned Doman. 
 
 "Howard Doman?" Barker laughed derisively. v "He's a 
 good man, all right, but no better than lots of others." He 
 looked around in his usual cautious manner. "I'll tell you 
 about Howard Doman. He was just an ordinary salesman, 
 till Tom Curran's widow happened to fall for him. Doman 
 
134 THE GROPER 
 
 used to be a dam , sight more handsome than he is now. I 
 don't know Mrs. Curran — no such luck for mine! — but they 
 say she gobbles men alive! " He winked suggestively. 
 "Anyway from that time on, Doman began to shoot ahead. 
 He's got brains; but it wasn't brains that landed him his 
 five-thousand-a-year job." 
 
 This was before the episode of the side porch. Lee turned 
 pale with wrath. 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded Barker. 
 
 Lee had a blind desire to seize this vile slanderer by the 
 throat, and choke out an apology. But that might only 
 spread the story. Instead he walked away without answer- 
 ing. He wondered whether he ought to say anything to 
 Mrs. Curran or Doman about it. In the end, he kept silent; 
 but the incident served to heighten his feeling of protector- 
 ship over his good friend. 
 
 It served also to persuade him for a time that the com- 
 plainings of the employes were largely without foundation. 
 It was just an unfounded obsession with every underling 
 in the store that ambition, effort, brains were futile. No one 
 would believe that Doman, for example, had won his way 
 up on his own abilities. 
 
 Yet the disconcerting fact remained that Doman was the 
 only important figure in the business who could be account- 
 ed for solely on the basis of merit. All of the others owed 
 their preferment to nepotism or mere personal "pull." Even 
 Doman was not on the board of directors — not a member of 
 the inmost circle that really directed the business. 
 
 Late one afternoon in the early part of June, Lee had 
 gone up to the cashier's office to get his semi-monthly sal- 
 ary. The Curran pay-envelope had heretofore been a small 
 affair with nothing but the employe's name written on it. 
 But to-day the envelope was much larger; and underneath 
 his name, Lee read the following in bold type: 
 
THE GROPER 135 
 
 ARE YOU SATISFIED WITH YOUR PAY? 
 
 IF YOU ARE, WE DON'T WANT YOU. 
 
 IF YOU AREN'T, WE'LL HELP YOU INCREASE IT. 
 
 "What's all this, Mac?" he inquired of the meek, grey- 
 haired assistant-cashier. 
 
 McPherson winked. "Just some of Mr. Doman's foolish- 
 ness." It was after hours, and the offices were nearly de- 
 serted. "Come on in, an' I'll show you something." 
 
 Lee entered the cashier's office curiously. 
 
 The old assistant cashier pulled out a long drawer. 
 "Here's the pay envelopes for the next ten weeks." He 
 picked out several samples. "Each week, the printing is dif- 
 ferent, you see." 
 
 Lee glanced over the envelopes. The first one read: 
 
 YOU INCREASE YOUR SALES— 
 WE'LL INCREASE YOUR PAY. 
 
 Another announced: 
 
 CURRAN'S DEPENDS ON ITS SALESMEN- 
 ITS SALESMEN CAN DEPEND ON CURRAN'S. 
 
 A third— 
 
 WE ARE WATCHING DAY AND NIGHT FOR THE 
 
 EXCEPTIONAL SALESMAN. 
 
 HE CAN NAME HIS OWN FIGURE. 
 
 CAN YOU BECOME THE EXCEPTIONAL SALES- 
 MAN? 
 
 Still another: 
 
 WE NEED MEN AT THE TOP. 
 
 WE SHALL PICK THEM FROM OUR EMPLOYES. 
 
 ARE YOU GOING TO BE ONE OF THEM— 
 
 OR ARE YOU CONTENT WITH MEDIOCRITY? 
 
 The last one — 
 
 WE WANT TO MAKE CURRAN'S THE BIGGEST 
 DEPARTMENT STORE IN DETROIT- 
 ARE YOU WITH US OR AGAINST US? 
 
*$6 THE GROPER 
 
 Old McPherson chuckled. "Rich, ain't it? Doman's 
 pretty slick. I'll bet a lot of new folks in the store will take 
 it serious. An' this is just the first. Doman's goin' to fire 
 this sort of stuff at 'em right along now, I hear. He calls 
 it his 'Success Slogan Series.' " 
 
 Lee looked absentmindedly at the envelopes. Oddly their 
 message sent a little thrill of ambition through him. A 
 faintly reminiscent thrill. Yes, they sounded very much 
 like the story of "The Two Paths," in Fisk's Encyclopaedia; 
 or the Security Realty Company's advertisement: "Only 
 hustler need apply. Splendid opening for an ambitious 
 industrious man." 
 
 "You don't take much stock in it, Mac?" he suggested. 
 
 McPherson laughed again — this time gratingly. "I'm no 
 fool. I've been with Curran's since 1892. I've given 'em 
 the best years of my life. I've worked hard. I ain't missed 
 more than four or five days since I started. An' what's it 
 all got me? Pay? Dam' little. Promotion? No. They 
 know I can't get a better job anywheres else, so why should 
 they care?" He took off his spectacles, and extended his 
 trembling forefinger by way of emphasis. "No, sir, this stuff 
 ain't sincere, Lee. They don't mean a word of it. They've 
 said it before. The only purpose of it is to kid us into 
 workin' harder." 
 
 Lee found McPherson's argument almost convincing. 
 "Mac" was a faithful worker and intelligent, too. Every- 
 body liked him. And there were other faithful old em- 
 ployes who were doing exactly the same work to-day as 
 when they started. 
 
 It was only two days after his astonishing experience in 
 Mrs. Curran's drawing room that Howard Doman sent for 
 him. 
 
 "Freytag's been complaining about your work lately." 
 The advertising manager's incisive eyes searched his visi- 
 tor's face. 
 
THE GROPER 137 
 
 "Why that's the limit, Mr. Doman! " Lee burst out. 
 
 Doman listened to his subordinate's recital of grievances 
 with an increasing smile of comprehension. 
 
 "I'm not surprised," he remarked. "Anyway, I've had 
 my eye on you from the beginning. I think you're about 
 ripe for some copy-writing. Perhaps we can work out some 
 interesting advertising ideas together. You can notify 
 Freytag at once. And by the way — your salary'll be forty 
 dollars." 
 
 Lee was so overwhelmed with happiness that he became 
 inarticulate. The best part of it all was that it revived 
 his faith in the Tightness of things. He had tried hard, he 
 had kept the right viewpoint on his work — in short, he had 
 done his best; and now he had his recompense. All those 
 grumbling employes were wrong, after all. The fault must 
 be their own. Curran's certainly did reward merit; and 
 life was a simple proposition — much as Fisk's Encyclo- 
 paedia painted it. 
 
 At first, Freytag seemed stunned by the news of Lee's 
 promotion; then an angry flush crept into his pasty skin. 
 
 "Oh, so that's how the land lays, eh?" he sneered. "An- 
 other case of family drag." He spat contemptuously. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Lee stopped short. 
 
 "Don't worry. Everybody's wise to a certain lady bein' 
 very much interested in you — but no one knew till now just 
 how much interested." 
 
 He turned, as if to leave; but Lee caught him by the 
 collar and swung him around. 
 
 "You damned little weasel! " he shouted. "How dare you 
 insinuate such things!" He drew back his fist, but Frey- 
 tag broke away and ran out of the room. 
 
 An hour later, the window-trimmer sidled into Lee's new 
 office with a servile air and an abject apology. But it was 
 clear that his motive was solely economic: he was afraid 
 of losing his job. 
 
138 THE GROPER 
 
 The contretemps, though, sufficed to shock Lee into see- 
 ing the real truth about his status at the Curran store. Frey- 
 tag was quite right. Lee had been promoted, not because 
 he deserved it, but because Mrs. Curran was in love with 
 him. 
 
 The melancholy procession of his lost illusions began to 
 troop through his mind. Vera, Fred Badger, Eberenz, 
 O'Neill, Hauxhurst. Less certainly, Mrs. Curran. Busi- 
 nesses weren't honest. Neither were men. Merit and hard 
 work were futile. Friendships were hollow shams. To 
 idealise a woman was the superlative folly. 
 
 He had tried to be fine, high-minded — and for his pains 
 he had known heartsickening failure. But when he had 
 been a little less fine — as with Mrs. Curran — swift success 
 had attended him. 
 
 Well, the lesson seemed plain. 
 
 That night, it is on record, Lee burned Fisk's Encyclo- 
 paedia in Mrs. Holmes' furnace. He had been a fool, a 
 ninny — but now he was through with fatuous ideals about 
 the world for all time. 
 
PART TWO 
 
 ONE'S mental viewpoint is hardly to be readjusted in 
 a day, however. Lee found it difficult, for example, 
 to dislodge his ideals of Mrs. Curran. She had mis- 
 understood him, of course. She had preached the gospel of 
 impersonal friendship and then translated his spiritual de- 
 votion for her into the most personal and passionate of 
 loves. 
 
 At the time, Lee had been conscious of a bemused sur- 
 prise at the turn things were taking. He cherished a defi- 
 nite persuasion that it was Mrs. Curran's subtle clinging 
 insistence, and not any impetuosity on his own part, that 
 had brought about such an unforeseen denouement. As he 
 stole out of the side door of Mrs. Curran's house that event- 
 ful June evening, he assuredly felt very like a sheep, and.not 
 at all like an irresistible Don Juan. 
 
 But that of course was caddish, he reflected the next day. 
 It had been his fault entirely — his fault that he had given 
 Mrs. Curran any opportunity to misunderstand him; his 
 fault that he had not called a halt at once. He Was a 
 full-grown man, and it was ridiculous to suppose that he 
 had been forced to do anything he hadn't wanted to do. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Curran and he cared a great deal for one 
 another. There had been a real tenderness of feeling be- 
 tween them. He was deeply grateful to her for her benefi- 
 cences. And she was a magnetic, attractive woman. 
 
 139 
 
140 THE GROPER 
 
 And yet she was so incomparably more attractive as a 
 friend than as a lover. . . . 
 
 He wished that he could deracinate that low-down, ac- 
 cursed feeling of his that he had been led! 
 
 For the first time, he thought of Mrs. Curran in terms 
 of her age. 
 
 But the thing was done. It was too bad; still it couldn't 
 be helped now. Certainly it could never happen again; they 
 had both learned the danger. He was glad she was going 
 away that afternoon. The summer would give them both 
 time for a mental readjustment. 
 
 It occurred to him all at once that she might be terribly 
 angry with him — might have him discharged at the store. 
 It was quite clear that she had felt no animosity toward 
 him when he left the night before. But women were sub- 
 ject to violent revulsions of feeling, he fancied. 
 
 He kept his promise to telephone her at noon; and to his 
 indescribable relief, she talked quite as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "I've just had a telegram from the East," she said al- 
 most at once. "I'll have to postpone going for another 
 week." 
 
 "I'm awfully glad," Lee said, in perfect sincerity. Yet 
 he was conscious of definite misgivings. He was aware, also, 
 of putting a slightly spurious enthusiasm into his tone as 
 he asked: "I want to see you again, just as soon as I can." 
 
 Mrs. Curran evinced some uncertainty. "Day after to- 
 morrow?" she finally suggested. 
 
 It seemed incumbent on him to protest. 
 
 "To-night," he insisted. 
 
 "I can't possibly — well — yes, I will," she yielded. 
 
 He thought she seemed gayer, more youthful-looking than 
 ever that night. Perhaps it was the novelty of her coiffure, 
 or the unfamiliar, salmon-colored scarf she wore about her 
 shoulders. No, her very expression was different. Yet — 
 
THE GROPER 141 
 
 and this Lee realised with a pang — one didn't take note of 
 youthfulness in a girl. 
 
 She was being awfully plucky, he decided, about the 
 unhappy culmination of the night before. 
 
 Not until they were again outside, on the sheltered little 
 side porch, did they drift toward actualities. 
 
 "Can you forgive me?" Lee implored. 
 
 Mrs. Curran felt for his hand, by way of answer. "It's 
 all so wonderful," she said, almost in a whisper. "I can't 
 believe that you love me as you do." 
 
 He sensed that her mood was by no means penitential, 
 but he went on. "What shall we do? Are you going to 
 marry me?" 
 
 Mrs. Curran made no immediate reply. "Thank you 
 for that," she said at last. "It shows me again how splen- 
 did you are. But it can't be. It wouldn't be right." Then 
 with perfect candor: "My only fear is that I'm taking 
 something that doesn't belong to me, dear. I ought not to 
 keep you from falling in love with some young girl." 
 
 Her seeming magnanimity moved Lee deeply. "Not at 
 all," he insisted. 
 
 She sighed. "I couldn't have believed it possible that 
 I should have a love such as yours." 
 
 Somehow Lee found it quite impossible to elucidate his 
 theory that the affair had been a regrettable accident, to 
 be perpetually guarded against in the future. 
 
 Besides, he exculpated himself, he really did love Mrs. 
 Curran — in a way. 
 
 He realised that his failure to speak out now meant com- 
 mitting himself irrevocably to a relationship he had not 
 sought and did not want, yet he remained silent. 
 
 In the end, the delay of a week in Mrs. Curran's depar- 
 ture broadened into an indefinite postponement. Instead of 
 going to Maine for the summer, she finally took a cottage 
 at a northern Michigan resort for four weeks in August. 
 
TO his everlasting credit, it must be set down that Lee's 
 failure to break off relations with Mrs. Curran at 
 the very outset was due not at all to mercenary 
 fears for his job. 
 
 His advancement at the store had already been remark- 
 ably rapid; and during the next two years, his success was 
 destined to continue unabated. He no longer harbored the 
 faintest delusion regarding his preferment; it was not due 
 to his conspicuous ability, or his capacity for hard work, 
 though he did reveal both of these commendable qualities; 
 it was due solely to Mrs. Curran's "pull." The moment 
 her favor ceased, his upward progress would stop instantly. 
 Indeed, he doubted not that Mrs. Curran had but to frown 
 upon him, and he would be discharged forthwith. 
 
 Yet it cannot be repeated with too much emphasis that 
 Lee's complaisance — in the beginning, at least — was founded 
 neither on hopes of promotion nor fears of discharge. Weak 
 and indecisive he doubtless showed himself; base and sor- 
 did, not at all. 
 
 Any lingering uncertainties as to the real reason for his 
 rapid promotion vanished when he tried to help Bob 
 Hamilton. 
 
 Bob's misfortunes had begun when his newspaper "let him 
 out," the very day of Lee's employment by Curran & Com- 
 pany. As Lee's star rose, his roommate's descended. 
 
 At first, Bob had been obsessed with the idea of writing 
 short stories. 
 
 "The magazines are beginning to hand out big checks for 
 stories," he told Lee. "I read the other day of some chap 
 
 142 
 
THE GROPER 143 
 
 getting five hundred dollars for five thousand words. Not 
 very much of a story, either. I can write just as good 
 stuff." 
 
 For two weeks, he went about with an aloof, portentous 
 air. Lee, full of his own new visions of success, understood 
 in a general way that Bob had thought out a " corking 
 good plot," and was working on the first draft of his story. 
 Presently, a typewriter appeared in their rooms. Bob be- 
 came more preoccupied than ever. Through his thick-lensed 
 spectacles, he looked positively owlish. His manner revealed 
 that he considered his newly discovered genius in the light 
 of a solemn trust for the benefit of humanity. 
 
 At last, with the mien of one conferring immortality, 
 he turned the manuscript over to Lee. 
 
 "See if you think it's any good," he said with specious 
 modesty, and hurried from the house. 
 
 Considerably impressed, Lee looked at the title. "Two 
 Women," it read. The story, he found, dealt with an im- 
 pressionable young man, and the profound influence on his 
 life of two women, both beautiful: the one, unscrupulous, 
 designing — a vampire; the other, ingenuous, devoted to good 
 works, thoroughly virtuous. At the last, the "good girl" 
 saved the young man from the fell clutches of the vampire 
 lady. 
 
 The characters seemed none too convincing to Lee; but 
 the story was well-written, and the moral was impeccable. 
 
 "Fine! " he encouraged Bob. "It's loads better than most 
 of the stuff in magazines." 
 
 Bob rolled his head gravely. "I don't think people will 
 get the full significance of the story's message the first time 
 through. That's my only fear: it'll go way over their heads." 
 
 He spent a day deciding which magazine was the most 
 worthy medium for the dissemination of a great moral 
 truth. Ultimately, he chose a popular monthly, and mailed 
 the story. 
 
144 THE GROPER 
 
 While he was waiting for the magazine's gratified accept- 
 ance — enclosing check, of course — he set to work on a sec- 
 ond story — one that would rival de Maupassant at his best, 
 would set people asking who "that new man Hamilton" was, 
 anyway. It seemed that his fund of plot-germs was inex- 
 haustible. Not so, however, his meager bank account, on 
 which he was now forced to draw. 
 
 Then transpired ah amazing thing: "Two Women" came 
 back! To be certain, a printed slip explained that the re- 
 jection did not "imply a lack of merit." But Bob was 
 righteously indignant. 
 
 "Fools!" he cried. "Well, it serves 'em right. I'll let 
 McWhortefs have it!" 
 
 By an odd coincidence, McWhorter's discovered that 
 u Two Women" was not suited to its "present needs." Bob, 
 a little nonplussed, sent the manuscript to a third maga- 
 zine. Meanwhile, his second story finally reached comple- 
 tion and was laboriously typewritten. Bob entitled it "The 
 Red Rose." 
 
 "It has more adventure, more action than 'Two Women,' " 
 he confided to Lee. "That's what the low-brows want these 
 days." 
 
 But New York editors remained unconscionably dense. 
 Both manuscripts came back promptly, and Bob's third 
 story lagged. He drew his last dollar from the savings 
 bank, and began to remember the materialistic details of 
 life once more. 
 
 "I guess most authors have the dickens of a time at 
 first," sympathised Lee. 
 
 But Bob, by this time, seemed thoroughly deflated. His 
 eyes were tired and moist, and his tell-tale lower lip trem- 
 bled. 
 
 "I don't know," he doubted. "Seems as though I try 
 hard enough to succeed. Guess it simply isn't in me." 
 
 He made the round of the newspapers again, but there 
 
THE GROPER 145 
 
 were no openings. He left his name with two employment 
 agencies that specialised in "genteel positions" and inciden- 
 tally took two dollars apiece away from him as a "registra- 
 tion fee." He inserted a liner in the "Wanted-Situations- 
 Male" columns. He even contemplated seeking the "splen- 
 did opening for an ambitious, industrious man," still offered 
 by the Security Realty Company; but Lee, no longer con- 
 strained by pride to glorify the real estate business, gave 
 him timely warning. 
 
 By the first of July, Bob had borrowed thirty dollars 
 from Lee, and was still looking for work, in a vague, hope- 
 less sort of way. It was apparent that he was about at the 
 end of his rope. 
 
 His unhappy situation involved Lee in a problem which 
 he felt he could not postpone solving much longer. He must 
 either keep on loaning Bob money, or he must "ditch" him. 
 The former alternative seemed highly distasteful. Many of 
 his instincts prescribed getting rid of his roommate. He 
 could no longer conceal from himself that he despised Bob's 
 pusillanimity. He began to think of his roommate as a 
 drag, an incubus, upon his own upward career. Besides, 
 with his new prosperity came the desire to move to better 
 rooms, to ameliorate his whole mode of living. Every time 
 he came home from Mrs. Curran's beautifully appointed 
 house, his own quarters seemed bleaker, more barren. 
 
 Yet he could not withhold a very genuine sympathy for 
 Bob's plight. It reminded him so vividly of his own situ- 
 ation less than four months before. Bob was a nuisance, 
 of course; but he had been Lee's only friend in Detroit 
 for six long months. 
 
 At this juncture, a ridiculously simple solution occurred 
 to Lee. Why not get Bob a job at the Curran store? Bob 
 had no nerve, but he was clever enough in his way. 
 
 He took the matter up with Howard Doman, who re- 
 ferred him noncommittally to Mr. Jameson. Lee was by 
 
146 THE GROPER 
 
 now on familiar terms with the employment manager, and 
 he broached the hiring of Bob with easy confidence. 
 
 But Jameson, his faintly humorous air still in evidence, 
 interposed unexpected difficulties. 
 
 "I don't doubt what you say about your friend, Hillquit," 
 he averred. "But we're full up — letting people go instead 
 of taking 'em on. Of course, I'll be glad to put his name 
 on the list, and give him the first chance." 
 
 It came home to Lee very sharply that his influence at 
 the store was precisely nil. 
 
 His next thought involved enlisting Mrs. Curran's good 
 offices on Bob's behalf — much as he disliked placing himself 
 under further obligation to her. 
 
 His benefactress, too, remained surprisingly unmoved by 
 his recital of Bob's unfortunate situation. 
 
 "Of course, my dear, you must understand," she told him, 
 "I can't make a practice of interfering in the management 
 of the store. That would demoralise discipline. You were 
 the exception to my rule." 
 
 It hurt Lee's pride to point out that he was asking her 
 influence for Bob as a personal favor to himself. 
 
 To this plea, Mrs. Curran yielded. "I'll see what I can 
 do," she promised. "But he mustn't expect anything better 
 than a clerkship or something like that." 
 
 He thanked her, but the incident depressed him. It 
 seemed to him he was now more inescapably under bond 
 to her than ever. 
 
 Two days afterward, Jameson told him, with a significant 
 smile, that there was an opening for a salesman in the men's 
 furnishing department. 
 
 "I'll be glad, as a favor to you, to put your friend in," 
 he concluded. 
 
 It was worth all his personal humiliation to see Bob's 
 face light up at the news. 
 
 "Just see how they've boosted you, Lee!" he vociferated. 
 
THE GROPER 147 
 
 "If you only knew how I've been envying your success! 
 And now I'll have a chance to climb up just behind you." 
 
 Lee repressed a cynical smile. Poor Bob would find the 
 reality very disappointing. He wondered if all such envy 
 arose from similar ignorance of the real facts — if every suc- 
 cessful man or woman was paying the price for success in 
 loss of self-respect. 
 
m 
 
 IN spite of his occasional vague unhappiness of spirit, 
 Lee found his new work absorbingly interesting. Then, 
 too, there was the elation of financial success. Forty 
 dollars a week seemed like inexhaustible wealth to him. 
 
 Howard Doman took time off one day for another of his 
 "bird's-eye-view" talks. 
 
 "The whole Curran store," he expounded, "exists for just 
 one purpose — to sell goods. Everything else centres around 
 that big purpose. Advertising is only good insofar as it 
 helps to sell goods. Never forget that point. Every inch 
 of newspaper space we pay for must produce results in in- 
 creased sales." 
 
 He went on to describe the mechanism of the Curran ad- 
 vertising. Each morning at nine o'clock, Michael Curran 
 presided over a meeting of the more important department 
 buyers. Young Peter Curran, secretary and treasurer of 
 the Company, Harrison Estabrook, the store superintendent, 
 and Doman were also members of this board of strategy. 
 The principal business of the meeting was the decision as 
 to which department's wares were to be exploited one week 
 from the day in question. Ordinarily, it was the custom 
 to adhere closely to the schedule of the preceding year. If 
 on June 28th, 1907, the chief emphasis had been placed 
 on a special sale of boys' suits, it was more than likely 
 that June 28th, 1908, would again discover boys' suits in 
 the foreground. Frequently there were hot disputes between 
 various departments: the linen buyer, for instance, might 
 find his stock clogged with a certain line that had not 
 
 148 
 
THE GROPER 149 
 
 moved as rapidly as expected; and he would clamor for a 
 special sale to relieve the congestion, irrespective of the 
 rights of other departments. 
 
 Of all such disputes, Michael Curran was the final ar- 
 biter. His board of strategy was solely advisory; it pos- 
 sessed no real power. Michael Curran had his finger on 
 the pulse of the entire business. He knew early each day 
 just what the preceding day's sales had aggregated. He 
 knew pretty accurately how much stock remained on the 
 shelves each night. There was a board of directors, to be 
 sure, of which Mrs. Curran and Estabrook were the other 
 members; but Michael Curran was the real dictator of the 
 business nevertheless. 
 
 The campaign for the following week having been deter- 
 mined, Doman's work began. One of his assistants im- 
 mediately went into a long conference with the buyer of the 
 department to be featured, and emerged with complete data 
 of the goods comprising the sale, their qualities, their sell- 
 ing points and their prices. Doman and his assistant would 
 go over these details with painstaking care, and Doman 
 would decide in a general way how much space was to be 
 allotted to each class of goods. The assistant would then 
 write out the "copy" for the advertisement, while Doman 
 devoted himself to planning the "layout," or general diagram 
 of the advertisement. The "layout" indicated the location 
 of the headings, illustrations, and the spaces for each class 
 of goods. Doman wrote most of the headings himself. He 
 was considered an exceptional craftsman in matters of ar- 
 rangement and type — in making his salient ideas stand out. 
 
 Doman next revised the "copy" prepared by his assistant. 
 The descriptive matter of each class of goods was usually 
 written on a separate sheet of paper, numbered to corre- 
 spond with a similarly numbered space on the "layout." 
 
 The advertisement was by this time in shape for final 
 approval. Michael Curran reserved the nominal right to 
 
150 THE GROPER 
 
 alter all advertising matter, but of late he had seldom exer- 
 cised this privilege. 
 
 Four copies of the "layout" and "copy" were made, one 
 for each newspaper. Advertising matter, Doman explained, 
 must ordinarily reach the papers two days in advance to in- 
 sure ample time for proofreading. Extra proofs were usu- 
 ally struck off, and distributed throughout the department 
 to be exploited by the sale, so that each salesman could 
 familiarise himself with every detail of the featured goods. 
 
 Curran & Company used a full page advertisement every 
 day in three Detroit newspapers, sometimes in four. "A 
 whole page is five times more effective than a half-page," 
 Doman explained. The store made yearly contracts for 
 "preferred space"; every Curran "ad" appeared either on 
 the third or the fifth page. Every newspaper reader in the 
 city subconsciously expected that advertisement on its cus- 
 tomary page. At times, the advertising occupied more than 
 a page; the men's clothing and furnishings departments 
 would announce their wares from the sporting page, per- 
 haps. 
 
 The Curran advertising harmonised with the general 
 policy of the store. It was neither ultra-conservative nor 
 garishly spectacular. "When we want to designate the 
 male of the species, we don't say 'gents,' and we don't say 
 'gentlemen,' " epitomised Doman. "We say 'men.' " Each 
 advertisement was cast in the same general form — a fairly 
 heavy heading, and the rest of the "copy" set up in narrow 
 columns. Doman didn't believe in "stock cuts," but he 
 liked original, slightly humorous illustrations to put life into 
 his displays. "We don't scream at people," he commented. 
 "We just button-hole them in neighborly fashion. Most 
 important of all, we're honest. We always understate, 
 rather than overstate. 
 
 "It's a great game, Lee," the advertising manager mused, 
 his alive grey eyes half-closed. "There's as much poetry 
 
THE GROPER 151 
 
 and classic symmetry of form in a good ad, as there is in the 
 Odyssey — and look how many more people read your stuff 
 when you're a publicity man. But you've got a good deal 
 harder job than the average word-artist. All he's trying to 
 do is to stir you so much that you'll either laugh or cry. 
 But the ad-man must stir people so much that they feel 
 an irresistible craving to come to his store and buy. 
 
 "There's your whole problem. Stir people's imaginations. 
 See to it that your words reach out and grip them. Use 
 suggestive phrases. Make men feel the warm snugness of 
 Curran overcoats. Make women revel in the pictured sheen 
 of Curran silks. Always try to leave that vivid picture in 
 their minds. Always make your words caress some pleas- 
 ant sense of sight or touch or smell. Always be genuinely 
 enthusiastic yourself, in the first place, before you try to 
 make your readers enthusiastic. And always keep the prac- 
 tical viewpoint — never, for God's sake, let your stuff get 
 art-y!" 
 
 Lee's first work was to familiarise himself in a general 
 way with the entire store's stock of goods. He spent a 
 whole month going from department to department. He 
 was already well versed in the stock of the various men's 
 departments, and the toilet articles and women's suit-and- 
 cloak departments. His window-dressing experience had 
 done that much for him. But he knew almost nothing about 
 furniture and rugs. He hadn't the faintest conception of 
 the difference between crepe and cretonne, crinoline and taf- 
 feta. His ignorance of millinery and embroideries, of rib- 
 bons and patterns, was abysmal. 
 
 After that, Doman put him to work on a small advertising 
 booklet for the kodak department, then on a series of letters 
 to a special list of customers, announcing the first of the fall 
 openings. Little by little, he began writing copy for news- 
 paper advertisements. 
 
 There were three other assistants directly under Doman's 
 
152 THE GROPER 
 
 supervision. Holman Hart did nothing but write copy. 
 Whitehead specialised in the various women's departments 
 and dry goods. Ben Reuter devoted himself exclusively to 
 catalog advertising. Lee found it easy to get along with 
 all three. He did not especially fear competition with them. 
 They were all technically clever ; but they lacked his educa- 
 tion; their ideas had no breadth. 
 
 Lee could not help noticing Hart's disquietude about his 
 own future. Hart had been in the advertising department 
 for ten years. He considered himself Doman's "right 
 hand bower," as he expressed it; and it was obvious that 
 he viewed the advertising manager's open favor of Lee with 
 anxiety. 
 
 "How long have you known Doman?" he would ask. Then 
 he would try to discourage Lee. "Hell! There's no future 
 in the advertisin' department, Hillquit. All we do is spend 
 money. Curran keeps down advertisin' salaries as low as 
 possible. The men who are sellin' the goods are the ones who 
 draw down the big money. Some of the buyers make eight 
 or ten thousand a year. Take it from me, there's nothin* 
 for you here. Get Doman to make you assistant buyer 
 in some good live department." 
 
 Hart was forty-five, bald and sandy-moustached. He had 
 a family. Lee felt sorry for him, but he had by now de- 
 termined to suppress his softer inclinations. If he could 
 get ahead of Hart, he purposed doing so, no matter how 
 much his rival's feelings were hurt, no matter how much 
 longer Hart had been working in the department. 
 
 And it was daily becoming clearer that Lee was destined 
 to become Doman's chief assistant. Doman liked him per- 
 sonally and respected his ability; the other three assistants 
 were nothing but mechanical incidents to him. 
 
 Gradually it was noised abroad, too, that Lee had a "pull" 
 — was a man with a big future in the Curran store. He 
 noticed with astonishment the increasing deference of the 
 
THE GROPER 153 
 
 salesmen. "Mr. Hillquit" succeeded plain "Hillquit" and 
 "Lee." It was laughable to discern the anxiety of Freytag, 
 Barker, McPherson and others who had "knocked" the 
 store to him. 
 
 Lee had no illusions about this deference. It was en- 
 tirely superficial, he knew. Below the surface were rancid 
 jealousy and malevolence. He was familiar enough with 
 the psychology of the employes to imagine the gusto with 
 which they must be seizing upon the real explanation for 
 his success. He could picture them licking their lips over 
 the thought of Mrs. Curran and himself. They would cite 
 his rapid promotion as a corroboration of their cynical 
 attitude toward the store. 
 
 "Shows what 'pull' does," he could hear them saying. 
 "Hillquit gets boosted because he makes love to Mrs. Cur- 
 ran. Pretty soon, he'll probably be preaching to us about 
 how hard work and merit are the things that bring a better 
 job and more pay." 
 
 All this had the effect at first of overwhelming Lee with 
 self-consciousness and a sense of guilt. It also heightened 
 his feeling of loyalty toward Mrs. Curran. What they were 
 saying was outrageous, of course. His relationship with 
 Mrs. Curran was not sordid. He had had no thought of 
 promotion at any time during their acquaintance. What- 
 ever else might be said of their affair, it was free from venal 
 motives on his part. Nevertheless, it was perfectly true, 
 he realised, that he owed this first employment and his 
 subsequent promotion solely to Mrs. Curran. 
 
 What helped him, as much as anything else, to steel 
 himself was the gradual incredible perception that nobody 
 thought there was anything at all shameful about his ethics. 
 All the clerks were secretly bitter about his promotion over 
 their .heads. But that was mere envy. Every one seemed 
 to feel that he had done a very clever thing in pretending 
 to fall in love with Mrs. Curran. Most of them wouldn't 
 
154 THE GROPER 
 
 have hesitated an instant in doing the same thing. It wasn't 
 his morals they sneered at. It was the fact that "pull" 
 counted for everything, and mere faithfulness, nothing. 
 
 The gossip reached the office force in due time, but no 
 one seemed to think the less of him for it. Many, in fact, 
 went out of their way to be friendly to him. He was con- 
 stantly engaged for lunch. He detected the first signs of 
 toadyism. These people cared nothing for him, he realised. 
 They simply figured that his friendship would soon become 
 a valuable business asset. 
 
 He had a well-founded suspicion that even the heads of 
 the business identified him as "Mrs. Curran's young man." 
 Now he understood Jameson's faintly humorous manner 
 with him. The employment manager had divined the situ- 
 ation from the first. Young Peter Curran was likewise dis- 
 posed to take an amused view of the situation; but Harri- 
 son Estabrook, who was reputed to have married Pansy 
 Curran solely for her money, apparently took a more serious 
 view of Lee's moral obliquity, for he remained aloof and 
 indefinably contemptuous. 
 
 Even old Michael Curran Was in on the secret, it ap- 
 peared. He was away during most of the summer, but once 
 or twice, as he passed through the offices, Lee was aware 
 of his sharp scrutiny. 
 
 On his part, Lee was even more curious regarding the head 
 of the business. By this time he had heard a great many 
 stories about "Mike," as Curran was known throughout the 
 store; stories of his consuming wrath and his good-natured 
 generosity; stories of his business acumen; many a hint of 
 his bachelor "parties." 
 
 "There's one thing about Mike," advised Howard Doman. 
 "He may try to scare you out of your wits; but what he 
 really admires is a man who isn't afraid of him, and if he 
 once likes you, he'll give you every -cent he has in the 
 world." 
 
THE GROPER 155 
 
 One stifling August afternoon, Lee received a peremptory 
 message that Curran wanted to see him. Doman was out 
 of the city, and there was no one else to whom he could 
 go for counsel. He entered the president's office with in- 
 ward quaking. 
 
 Michael Curran at this time was a man of nearly sixty 
 years. His broad face was still ruddy with flamboyant 
 health — though it was common opinion that he had aged 
 considerably in the last two years. His big, round head 
 and his belligerent, powerful neck betokened inexhaustible 
 reservoirs of animal vigor. This intimation of crude physi- 
 cal force was carried out in his features: his small, gnarled 
 nose and large nostrils; his broad, shrewd mouth; his power- 
 ful jaw. 
 
 It was only too apparent to Lee that Curran was in a 
 truculent mood. His small, faded-blue eyes glinted dan- 
 gerously. 
 
 " You're Laura Curran's protege?" he began. 
 
 Lee endeavored to profit by Doman's hint. "Mrs. Cur- 
 ran is a very good friend of mine," he said quietly. 
 
 "Ye-ah." "Mike" snarled the word, rather than spoke 
 it. He picked up a newspaper advertisement. "Did you 
 write the copy for this clearance sale of summer suits?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 Lee looked at the indicated portion of the advertisement. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he announced cheerfully. "Why?" 
 
 "Why?" Curran exploded. "It's rotten, that's why. D' 
 you s'pose I pay good money for stuff like that?" 
 
 Lee contrived an optimistic smile. "I don't know. What's 
 the matter with it?" 
 
 »^'Why, you poor idiot, you write as if you thought nobody 
 but college professors read our ads. 'Monochrome,' 'prodi- 
 gious,' 'attrition-proof,' 'velutinous,' 'lanate,' 'flocculent.' " 
 Curran lingered over each word with increasing disgust. 
 
156 THE GROPER 
 
 He mispronounced all but one. "What sort of stuff 6? you 
 call that? What do them words mean?" 
 
 Lee grinned still more. "Search me." 
 
 Curran's lower jaw dropped in sheer surprise at Lee's 
 effrontery. "Well, see you don't do it again," he finally said 
 in tones that were almost meek, "or you'll lose your job — 
 no matter who you got for friends. Write your ads so's I 
 can understand every word. Hear me?" 
 
 Lee became very polite. "Yes, sir," he acquiesced. 
 
 When Doman returned, a day or two later, Lee sought 
 the first opportunity for giving his chief a full account of 
 the Curran interview. 
 
 "Well, that's certainly a good one," Doman chuckled. 
 "And the best part of it is that you really got away with it. 
 The first thing Mike said to me when I came back was: 
 'Say! That young Hillquit's either a fool or a hero. , He 
 actually laughed about it. But at that, he was right about 
 the ad being poor. Better lay off that Thesaurus stuff — 
 big words only make people think you're trying to be 
 smart." 
 
 Doman looked reminiscent. "Michael Curran would 
 never have stood for any fresh talk like yours until a couple 
 of years ago. I'm afraid he's beginning to slip back fast." 
 
 Lee listened eagerly whenever Doman flattered him with 
 such confidential opinions. 
 
 "He's certainly had a remarkable career," he suggested. 
 
 The advertising manager seemed to be wondering how 
 far he might trust his assistant. 
 
 "Yes," he finally agreed. "Mike Curran has one of the 
 best natural business heads in the country. If he'd only 
 had some sort of a chance when he was a kid, there'd have 
 been no stopping him. As it is, he's just like a whole lot 
 of other successful Americans. There are only two things 
 in life that interest him: money and women. And I guess 
 he's had more than his fair share of both." 
 
THE GROPER 157 
 
 Doman looked out of the window a moment. "But he's 
 been losing his grip for quite a while now. Just between* 
 you and me, the store is retrogressing, too. Compared with 
 some of the Chicago stores, it's a back number. The or- 
 ganisation is antiquated and the machinery is beginning 
 to creak badly. There'll have to be a change before long, 
 or it'll be too late." 
 
 Lee stared. He had always thought of Curran & Com- 
 pany as a Gibraltar of permanency. 
 
 "And there will be a change, Lee," Doman went on. "Mr. 
 Curran can't last much longer — as the active head of the 
 business, I mean. When he steps down, there's going to 
 be a fight for his place — and that fight will be between 
 Estabrook and me. Each of us will be backed by a third 
 of the company's capital stock. Pete Curran and Mrs. Esta- 
 brook own one-sixth apiece/ and they'll both be for Esta- 
 brook. I don't mind telling you that Mrs. Tom Curran 
 will vote her one-third for me. The balance of power is 
 Michael Curran's third — and just where he'll stand, nobody 
 knows." 
 
 "Estabrook!" Lee broke out. "Why, he can't run the 
 business. Every one knows that!" 
 
 "Estabrook doesn't know it." Doman smiled. "But as 
 between him and me, I'm conceited enough to think I can 
 do the better job. It's going to be a real fight, though, for 
 Mike Curran's support. One thing's sure." Doman pounded 
 the desk with his fist. "If I become the next head of this 
 store, I'll do some housecleaning, by God. I'll make a 
 clean sweep of most of these parasites that hold the fat jobs. 
 I'll promote only the men who deserve promotion — and I'll 
 have a loyal, hustling force of employes." 
 
 Doman stood up and paced up and down the office. 
 "That may sound like strange doctrine, Lee. I'm willing 
 to admit I've manipulated every wire I could lay my hands 
 on in order to get where I am in the business to-day. You, 
 
158 THE GROPER 
 
 yourself, can't be entirely ignorant of the fact that you've 
 had certain influences in your favor, too. But both of us 
 really hate 'pull/ I guess. We'd much rather climb up on 
 our own merits, if everybody else would do the same. I de- 
 test 'pull,' not only as a matter of principle, but because it's 
 bad business. See how it clogs this store — hampers the 
 business. Why, Detroit's beginning to grow like a house 
 a-fire; yet Curran & Company is making less profit to-day 
 than it did five years ago." 
 
 Presently the big advertising manager approached and 
 laid his hand on Lee's shoulder. 
 
 "I'll be needing a few good men to help me," he said. 
 "Can I count on you?" 
 
 Lee nodded. 
 
 "That's bully 1 " Doman let his hand rest on Lee's shoulder 
 a second longer, then quickly reverted to routine matters. 
 
 This talk of Doman's opened Lee's eyes not a little. It 
 gave him a real insight into the innermost workings of the 
 store organisation. It explained Michael Curran, Estabrook, 
 Doman himself. It made the whole situation intensely, 
 humanly dramatic. It gave him definite stakes in the 
 struggle that seemed imminent. 
 
 He thought of Doman a good deal in those days. There 
 was something almost paternal in the older man's way of 
 looking at him — something faintly sympathetic. 
 
 Lee wondered just how much truth there was in Barker's 
 insinuation about Doman's friendship with Mrs. Curran. 
 
IV 
 
 LEE devoted himself to his work throughout the 
 summer and fall with such good results that in 
 October Howard Doman officially appointed him as- 
 sistant advertising manager and raised his salary to fifty 
 dollars a week. 
 
 Altogether, it was a happy period in his life. His relations 
 with Mrs. Curran troubled his mind to a certain extent, 
 and he still felt a poignant heart-sickness over the loss of 
 his first fine ideals. Not even his liking for Doman and 
 his sympathy for his chief's ambitions could overcome his 
 growing cynicism and suspicion of people's motives. He 
 even caught himself involuntarily searching for selfish in- 
 centives in the advertising manager. 
 
 "Doman isn't different from anybody else," some small 
 voice whispered. "He wants to be the head of this business, 
 and he's friendly to you only because he thinks he can use 
 you." 
 
 But such blemishes could not alter the fact that he was 
 getting a keen pleasure out of his work. The psychology 
 of advertising fascinated him. He was forever dramatising 
 the significance of publicity. He liked to speculate on the 
 effect of his "copy" upon various sorts of people. He came 
 to know a rare joy in words — their athletic trimness, their 
 suppleness, their slender symmetry, their power of sugges- 
 tion. It was pure delight to have precisely the one and only 
 word come leaping out from the back of his mind to greet 
 his visualised idea. 
 
 He was conscious of a new buoyancy, too, in the feeling 
 that he was now an assured success. If Howard Doman 
 became the head of the store, Lee might hope to succeed 
 
 159 
 
i6o THE GROPER 
 
 him as advertising manager. Even if Doman failed, Lee felt 
 small anxiety about being able to keep his present position, 
 at least. 
 
 It was good fun just to draw a check for one hundred 
 dollars every fortnight, to have a checking account at the 
 bank, to know for the first time in his life the caressing 
 reassurance of expensive, tailor-made clothing, of distinctive 
 haberdashery. He forsook his cheap boarding house and 
 began to patronise the downtown cafes. He would gladly 
 have moved to more luxurious rooms save for Bob Ham- 
 ilton. 
 
 The bonds between his roommate and himself had become 
 more and more irksome throughout the summer. Bob's 
 early enthusiasm over his clerkship in the men's furnishings 
 department had visibly waned after the first month. Grad- 
 ually he became infected with the demoralising pessimism 
 of the other salesmen. He came to see that Lee was an 
 exception to the rule. 
 
 On his part, Lee constantly endeavored to help his room- 
 mate. He even arranged a conference between Bob and 
 Howard Doman, but the advertising manager did not seem 
 greatly impressed. 
 
 "Your friend hasn't any ideas," he told Lee. 
 
 Meanwhile, Bob's salary remained at twelve dollars a 
 week. It was out of the question for him to pay a higher 
 room-rent. 
 
 In his dissatisfaction with their quarters, Lee even sug- 
 gested that he pay two-thirds of the rent of better rooms. 
 
 "No." Bob shook his head. "That's one thing I won't 
 do, Lee." His voice became tremulous. "I wonder why it 
 is I'm such a failure. It's an awful feeling. Sometimes I'm 
 tempted to give up." 
 
 Lee would certainly have dissolved partnership, but for 
 some residue of real sympathy for Bob. Selling socks from 
 morning to night must be enough to depress any one. He 
 
THE GROPER i6r 
 
 remembered also how deeply he himself had been hurt by 
 Fred Badger's rebuff. 
 
 His work had kept Lee in the city throughout the summer. 
 He had been home only three times — in April, over the 
 Fourth of July, and one week-end in September. 
 
 These visits to Chatham brought him more pain than 
 pleasure. He was deeply thankful that Vera lived in Record 
 instead of Chatham. His mother could give him no news 
 of her, except the common report that she seemed to "like 
 being married real well." But every street in the village, 
 every bend in the outlying country roads, each flickering 
 kerosene street-lamp brought back unhappy memories. 
 
 Yet it was pleasant to renew acquaintances, to show the 
 people of Chatham how famously he was getting on in the 
 city. His mother took an enormous pride in his success. 
 She wanted to know all about Mrs. Curran. It was evident 
 that she expected him to become a second P. H. Taladay 
 within another year or two. After his last visit, she mailed 
 him a copy of the "Republican" containing a front-page 
 eulogy of himself under the caption: "Chatham Boy Makes 
 Good in Detroit." 
 
 One of his keenest pleasures had been to start paying 
 back the sum his mother had loaned him. With his latest 
 increase of salary, he calculated that he could speedily com- 
 plete this repayment. He planned to do a great deal more. 
 The old Hillquit house looked forbiddingly bleak and un- 
 comfortable, especially in comparison with Mrs. Curran's 
 home. His mother's health had been none too good lately, 
 and he disliked the thought of her spending another winter 
 in Chatham alone. He had about decided to insist on her 
 coming to Detroit, at least until spring. It occurred to 
 him that this plan would give him a good excuse for parting 
 company with Bob. 
 
 But toward the end of October came an alarming letter 
 from old "Doc" Thurber— the family physician, who had 
 
162 THE GROPER 
 
 assisted Lee into the world — stating that Mrs. Hillquit was 
 seriously ill. "Looks like pneumonia," ventured Dr. Thur- 
 ber with true professional cautiousness. 
 
 Lee telephoned Mrs. Curran and Howard Doman that 
 night, and caught the early morning train for Chatham. 
 
 His mother was already very weak. 
 
 He stooped to kiss her — then, at the sight of her lying all 
 alone in the bare, chilly bedroom, he suddenly started crying. 
 
 His mother looked up at him in perplexity. "Why-^ 
 what's the matter? Nothing much wrong with me. I'll 
 be up and around inside of two days." 
 
 Dr. Thurber came soon afterwards. Lee detected a 
 specious gaiety in the physician's manner, and followed him 
 out to his rig in the street. 
 
 "What about it, Doc?" he importuned, "I want the real 
 facts." 
 
 The old physician's face showed grey with fatigue. He 
 had been out in the country all night on a confinement case. 
 
 "Well, I dunno, boy," he hesitated, as he unhitched his 
 horse. "Looks pretty bad. Trouble is, your mother wa'n't 
 in very good shape to start with." 
 
 "But see here, Doc!" Lee exclaimed. "I want everything 
 in the world done for her. If there are any other good 
 doctors around here, get them in to consult with you. And 
 I want a nurse. My mother shouldn't be lying there all 
 alone that way." 
 
 "Nurse?" said Dr. Thurber. "There ain't a good one 
 this side of Jackson. Maybe I can get hold of Mrs. Peters. 
 She knows something 'baout nursin'." He climbed into his 
 mud-spattered buggy. "I'll look 'raound again to-night, 
 boy." 
 
 Late that afternoon, Lee was summoned to the hotel for 
 a long distance telephone call. 
 
 It proved to be Mrs. Curran, in search of the latest news. 
 
 He told her, brokenly, what the situation was. 
 
THE GROPER 163 
 
 "Just what I thought," she said in the decided way he 
 knew so well. "I know all about pneumonia, and nine-tenths 
 of the battle is the proper sort of care. I'm going to send 
 over Dr. Polk and the best nurse in Detroit on the morning 
 train." 
 
 Lee walked back to his mother's house feeling more cheer- 
 ful than he had all day. He was ashamed for any vague 
 stirrings of resentment that had crept into his attitude 
 toward Mrs. Curran. She was a splendid woman. He 
 admired her decisiveness. And it was apparent that she 
 cared a great deal for him. 
 
 Lee explained the new development to Dr. Thurber as 
 diplomatically as possible, fearing to hurt the old physician's 
 feelings. 
 
 "Glad to hear it," said the doctor. "Those city chaps 
 have a chance to keep more brushed up on things than us 
 country fellows. Besides, it sort of takes the responsibility 
 off my shoulders." 
 
 Dr. Polk arrived the next noon, a brusque, important- 
 looking specialist in diseases of the lungs. 
 
 "Open all these windows," was his first sharp command 
 as he entered Mrs. Hillquit's bedroom. 
 
 Lee was very much relieved when the two physicians 
 decided to be friendly. Dr. Polk left explicit directions, and 
 took the afternoon train back to Detroit. The nurse, who 
 had come with him, remained in the sick room. 
 
 "About a twenty-five per cent, chance," was the special- 
 ist's curt verdict to Lee, just before Dr. Thurber drove him 
 to the station. "In the hospital, she'd have almost an even 
 show." 
 
 His mother seemed alternately amused and troubled by 
 all this attention. 
 
 "You're awfully good to me," she told him, "but it ain't 
 a bit necessary to go to all this expense. I'll be on my 
 feet before the end of the week." 
 
ii64 THE GROPER 
 
 This was on Wednesday. On Thursday, she became un- 
 conscious. Shortly before daybreak Saturday morning, the 
 nurse woke him up with the news that his mother was dying. 
 
 The little bedroom seemed more forlorn than ever in the 
 dim light from the shaded oil-lamp. 
 
 "There's nothing more I can do for the present," explained 
 the tired nurse. "She may live several hours. When there's 
 any change, call me." 
 
 Lee sat down by the bedside and waited. 
 
 His mother looked so natural that he could hardly believe 
 the nurse's pronouncement. Her cheeks were very pale, but 
 otherwise she seemed the same age-defying, undemonstra- 
 tive New Englander. Thoughts of her tremendous self- 
 sacrifices rushed over him — her love for him, her rare 
 revelations of tenderness, her determination that he should 
 go through college. And now she was dying — before ho 
 had achieved a real start toward making her old age com- 
 fortable — toward repaying in some measure the devotion of 
 all those years. Bitter remorse for his countless sins of 
 inconsiderateness, of neglect, sought out his heart. 
 
 The infinite pathos of it! A hot tear struck the back of 
 his hand. It seemed to him his mother had never had a 
 fair chance in life. Self-repression had been her enforced 
 lot during most of her days. He wondered dimly — if a little 
 more opportunity for joyousness, for radiant self-expression 
 had come into her young womanhood — just how different 
 an individual she would have been in the later years. 
 
 The Scheme of Things was malignantly, cruelly unjust. 
 
 A rooster crowed arrogantly in the distance, and the first 
 faint prophecy of dawn challenged the lamp-light. 
 
 His mother gave a little complaining cry — as if an un- 
 pleasant dream were troubling her. 
 
 Lee smoothed her forehead with his hand. 
 
 At his touch, a smile trembled on the corners of het 
 mouth. A smile that was girlish, whimsical, almost mis- 
 
THE GROPER 165 
 
 chievous — as if she were in the possession of some deeply 
 humorous secret, which he could never hope to know. 
 
 Soon afterwards she died. 
 
 When Lee arrived in Detroit five nights later, Mrs. 
 Holmes told him that Bob Hamilton had mysteriously dis- 
 appeared several days before, taking his trunk with him. 
 
 "He left a letter upstairs for you," she said. "Course, 
 you know, Mr. Hilton, I'll have to hold you responsible for 
 all the rent from now on," she added apprehensively. 
 
 Lee climbed the stairway, closed the door of his room, 
 lighted the gas table-lamp and slowly read Bob's note, writ- 
 ten in the bold, uncompromising chirography his room-mate 
 took such pride in: 
 
 "Dear old Lee: 
 
 "I can't hold out any longer. The realisation that I'm a 
 failure is too hard to stand. So I'm quitting. Dropping 
 out of sight. Don't waste any time worrying about me. 
 
 "Please make up some yarn for the store people. I didn't 
 tell them I was leaving. I suppose everybody will wonder. 
 I've written the folks at home, so they won't bother you. 
 
 "You've been a true friend, Lee, and I want you to know 
 I'll never forget it 
 
 "Bob." 
 
LEE had been greatly surprised, in going through his 
 mother's few effects, to come upon a life insurance 
 policy for five thousand dollars, in which his mother 
 had nominated him as sole beneficiary. He could not help 
 marvelling at the thrift that had enabled her to keep up the 
 premiums during the last few years. 
 
 A month later, he sold the house for a thousand dollars. 
 This gave him a princely capital of six thousand dollars. Its 
 effect upon his mental viewpoint was remarkable. The mere 
 knowledge that he had so much money in the bank afforded 
 him a certain elation, a new feeling of self-assurance. In- 
 voluntarily, he threw out his chest a little farther. It 
 seemed incredible that he had been so poor eight short 
 months ago. 
 
 As an investor, however, he was the veriest amateur. He 
 would doubtless have contented himself with the three-and-a- 
 half per cent, that the savings bank paid him, save for 
 the fact that he inadvertently mentioned his new wealth 
 to Mrs. Curran. 
 
 "I shouldn't leave it in the bank another day," she 
 advised with her characteristic incisiveness. 
 
 "But I don't know what to do with it," he confessed. 
 
 Mrs. Curran considered the problem for a moment. 
 "Well, you can always get six per cent, on your money, 
 either from bonds or mortgages. That's what the bank is 
 doing with your money. But you're a young man — with no 
 one dependent on you. You can afford to take a chance, 
 with a part of your money at least." 
 
 "But just where am I to invest it?" pursued Lee. 
 
 166 
 
THE GROPER 167 
 
 "Why, there are dozens of splendid chances lying around," 
 she retorted. "You're like nearly everybody else. You're 
 blind to Detroit's tremendous future. This city is just 
 beginning to wake up. Automobiles aren't a fad. They've 
 come to stay. And Detroit is the hub of the whole auto- 
 mobile business. Yet the average Detroiter goes droning 
 along, satisfied with things as they are — absolutely dead to 
 what's in the very air. But to the few people with vision 
 and a little nerve, all this preliminary bustle means an 
 enormous growth. I tell you, Lee, Detroit is going to 
 double in size within the next ten years; and that means 
 wealth to every wise investor." 
 
 She tapped the arm of the davenport with her small, 
 black fan. "Now in your case — why not invest, say half 
 of your money, in real estate. Downtown real estate. Of 
 course, you can't touch any Woodward avenue frontage, 
 but some of the side streets, like Broadway or Bagley, or 
 even Woodward avenue three or four blocks above the Park 
 — they're quite possible. Buy on time — ten or fifteen per 
 cent, down — just as much frontage as you can get for your 
 three thousand dollars. You can save enough from your 
 salary to keep up the payments. You can't go wrong. I 
 shouldn't be surprised if all downtown property tripled in 
 value in three years. That would mean over a thousand 
 per cent, profit to you. At any rate, you can't lose. It's 
 a perfectly safe investment." 
 
 Lee listened spell-bound as Mrs. Curran unrolled this 
 alluring vista before his eyes. 
 
 "With your other three thousand, you can afford to take 
 a chance," she went on. "Personally, I think there's still 
 time to get in on the automobile business. I own stock 
 in two companies already, and I'm planning on a third." 
 
 This third company, she explained, was just in process 
 of organisation. A young Detroit automobile worker, Alfred 
 Durham, had evolved a new design for a car, and was strug- 
 
468 THE GROPER 
 
 gling to finance a company. After more than a year's dis- 
 couraging effort, he had secured stock subscriptions of forty 
 thousand dollars — part of them to be paid in automobile 
 parts. Durham needed twenty thousand dollars more. Mrs. 
 Curran planned to put in ten thousand. 
 
 "Of course it's a gamble," she admitted. "Durham has 
 what looks like an original design. Two of his ideas I like 
 very much: the low price of the car; and the fact that there 
 will be just one model. He's counting on a large output, 
 with a small profit on each car — which is certainly good 
 sense. But whether he has any business head, I don't know. 
 I suspect some of us will have to watch him pretty closely." 
 
 Lee was by nature somewhat timorous about money mat- 
 ters, and his first six months in Detroit had accentuated this 
 conservatism. It cost him an unmistakable pang to draw 
 his six thousand dollars from the bank. 
 
 Yet he could not fail to be impressed with Mrs. Curran's 
 sound business judgment. She possessed vision, without 
 seeming visionary. He persuaded himself that the city was 
 on the threshhold of an amazing growth, an extraordinary 
 boom. 
 
 In the end, he took thirty one-hundred-dollar shares of 
 stock in the Durham Motor Car Company, with an option 
 on an additional twenty shares. After some investigation, 
 he paid three thousand dollars down on a thirty-foot Broad' 
 way frontage, occupied by a ramshackle frame dwelling, 
 payment of the balance of twenty-seven thousand dollars 
 to be completed within five years. 
 
 At times, he would become almost panic-stricken at the 
 thought of his new obligations. To save his life, he could 
 not see where the necessary money was coming from. Short- 
 ly after Bob Hamilton's disappearance, he had taken two 
 small rooms in a Jefferson avenue apartment-hotel. His 
 meals and his clothing were both costing him more. His 
 whole scale of living had assumed a higher plane. He gave 
 
THE GROPER 169 
 
 every outward evidence of being a prosperous and successful 
 young business man. 
 
 That winter also marked Lee's first timid approach to 
 the outer fringes of that sacred preserve labelled "Society." 
 And oddly enough, it was Mrs. Curran who stood sponsor 
 for him. 
 
 "I think you ought to know some nice people," was her 
 abrupt introduction of the subject. "Some nice girls, for 
 example." 
 
 Lee was taken wholly unawares. The prospect roused 
 vague, pleasurable curiosities in him. 
 
 "But why?" he thought it behooved him to inquire. 
 
 "Because it's natural that you should want to know some 
 younger people. No, I shan't be jealous," she smiled, at 
 his gestured protest. "Also, it will stop any silly talk about 
 you and me." 
 
 "Let them talk!" Lee defied with meretricious boldness. 
 
 "So you still believe in running your head against stone 
 walls?" She became more serious. "No, my dear, my way 
 is much better — really. You'll learn to make compromises, 
 too, some day. And our love is so fine, so secure, that I 
 shan't worry at all about losing you." 
 
 It occurred to him that he was still in mourning. 
 
 "I know," she agreed. "It would hardly be good form for 
 you to go to dances, for example. But there are other 
 things, not quite so gay." 
 
 Lee made his debut at Mrs. Curran's reception on New 
 Year's afternoon. He felt very gauche most of the time. 
 The big, old-fashioned house was jammed with people he 
 had never seen before, and he fancied that every one was 
 looking askance at him. Most of the men wore frock coats. 
 Lee's business suit was manifestly in bad taste. The women 
 impressed him as being splendid, but explosive. 
 
 The excuse for the reception was Mrs. Curran's niece, 
 Miss Barbara Mayo. Lee took his place in the line feeling 
 
170 THE GROPER 
 
 more out of place than ever. He discovered that he had 
 no gloves on his hands. 
 
 Finally he reached the reception line. A tall, bald-headed 
 major-domo next to Mrs. Curran asked him his name. But 
 before he could answer, Mrs. Curran saw him. 
 
 "How do you do?" she greeted him warmly. "Barbara, 
 let me present Mr. Hillquit." 
 
 Miss Mayo, resplendent in pink, retained her consciously 
 arch smile. ^ 
 
 "Not the Mr. Hillquit?" she importuned. 
 
 Before Lee could investigate this interesting inquiry, he 
 was shunted on past the receiving line. 
 
 He hovered about miserably for a time, dashing to and 
 from the punch-bowl with an air of just having left some 
 one. 
 
 At last the reception line dissolved, and he sought out 
 Mrs. Curran. 
 
 "There are some people I want you to meet," she said 
 presently. 
 
 He was introduced to a stout, voluble woman and her 
 two daughters. 
 
 "Do you dance, Mr. Hillquit?" asked Mrs. Jack Reynolds. 
 
 Lee explained. 
 
 "Too bad." Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. "Renee is 
 giving a party on the sixteenth." 
 
 He was quite overwhelmed with both girls; but Renee 
 Reynolds was much more striking than her sister. Betty 
 Reynolds' neck was obviously long, he detected. Renee had 
 a sparkling, vivacious quality. Her eyes were provocative, 
 her teeth a flash of white. He suspected that the high 
 color of her cheeks was partly artificial, but somehow the 
 rouge went well with the rest of her, enhanced the vivid 
 contrast between her skin and the white furs about her 
 throat. 
 
 Unmistakably, she was everything a "Society girl" should 
 
THE GROPER 171 
 
 be. It seemed unbelievable that they should be talking 
 together in this easy way. More than that, Miss Renee's 
 manner evinced that she found him interesting. She stood 
 quite close, and chatted gaily up at him. Lee's manner 
 became more ingratiating. He even essayed a clever epi- 
 gram or two, and found her prompt mirth both gratifying 
 and adorable. 
 
 At length he had a sudden inexplicable instinct to look 
 around. His quick glance caught Mrs. Curran regarding 
 him intently from across the room. But before he could 
 decipher her expression, she returned her attention to the 
 small knot of people about her. 
 
 Simultaneously two impeccable youths swooped down on 
 Renee Reynolds. Their playful manner revealed that they 
 knew her very well. 
 
 "What time did you break away last night, Freddie?" 
 
 "Who is the girl over there with Jim Studdiford?" 
 
 "How perfectly screaming!" 
 
 Such bits of intelligence made Lee realise that he was 
 by no means a certified member as yet of that fascinating 
 and superior world to which he aspired. 
 
 It formed no part of the three's code of manners to talk 
 about general topics, so that he might join in. In fact, the 
 two young men may be said to have ignored him. 
 
 Presently he excused himself. 
 
 "I'm terribly glad to have met you," said Renee. "I 
 hope I'll see you again soon." 
 
 When he said good-bye to Mrs. Curran, she looked at him 
 with what appeared to be casual interest. "How did you 
 like the Reynolds girls?" 
 
 Lee hesitated between enthusiasm and lukewarmth. "They 
 seemed very nice," he compromised. 
 
 "They are nice," she corroborated. "Not very much 
 money, I guess, but nice. Betty came out three years ago, 
 and Renee two." She shook her head in mock alarm. 
 
172 THE GROPER 
 
 "Better watch out! Brilliant young business men like you 
 aren't any too safe." 
 
 In spite of his protests, Lee was pleased. 
 
 A week later, he received an invitation to Renee Reynolds' 
 house-dance. 
 
 "But I told her mother I wasn't dancing this winter," he 
 objected to Mrs. Curran. 
 
 His patroness smiled enigmatically. "I said the same 
 thing to Mrs. Reynolds when she 'phoned me for your 
 address. But an invitation, whether accepted or declined, 
 presupposes a party call. I'm really afraid you'll have to 
 go and see Miss Renee." 
 
 This impressed Lee as a pleasant necessity, though he 
 did not say so. 
 
 In due time, he made his first call at the Reynolds' home. 
 He tingled with self-consciousness; it seemed an event of 
 vast portent. 
 
 The inexplicable part of the evening was Renee's obvious 
 good opinion of him. She was too simple-minded — or too 
 gracious — to comprehend the vast gulf that yawned between 
 herself, a "Society girl," and her caller, a mere outsider. 
 
 Her chief conversational purpose related to the discovery 
 of mutual friends. Lee was ashamed to admit his woeful 
 lack of acquaintance with people whom impliedly he should 
 have known. It cost him a pang, also, to confess that he 
 had not been a fraternity man at the University. 
 
 In an attempt to rehabilitate his standing, he swallowed 
 his pride and mentioned Fred Badger. 
 
 "Oh, do you know Fred?" Renee dimpled. "And have 
 you met Helene Rutgers, the girl he's engaged to?" 
 
 Lee was compelled to divulge his ignorance of Fred's 
 engagement, but he was aware that the mere mention of 
 his former friend's name had helped his case. 
 
 When he took his leave, he felt that he had made con- 
 siderable progress. 
 
THE GROPER [173 
 
 "Do you play bridge?" Renee asked. 
 
 He professed a slovenly game. 
 
 "I doubt that." She held out her hand. "Anyway, I'm 
 going to call you up some time when I want an extra man." 
 
 Later on, at Mrs. Curran's suggestion, he took Renee to 
 the theatre and a concert. It amazed him that she should 
 be willing to risk her social standing by appearing with 
 him. Not only that — she actually seemed delighted to 
 accept his invitations. Somehow it added to his stature. 
 Perhaps he had been underestimating himself socially — just 
 as he had formerly belittled his business ability. Perhaps— 
 miraculously enough — he had the makings of a "Society 
 man" within himself. 
 
 From then on, he called once or twice a month at the 
 Reynolds' house. And one unforgettable evening, Renee 
 and he began calling each other by their first names. 
 
 But these calls by no means completed the cycle of Lee's 
 social activities. 
 
 "If I were you," advised Mrs. Curran, "I shouldn't 
 devote myself exclusively to Renee Reynolds. In Detroit, 
 it requires ridiculously little to start engagement rumors.* 
 
 So Lee made a few dutiful calls on Miss Barbara Mayo, 
 whose interest in him never passed the languid stage. Nev- 
 ertheless, she did invite him to a very small and select 
 dinner-and- theatre party; and Lee, for the first time in his 
 life, had the indescribable thrill of seeing his name in the 
 sacred column labelled "Society." Every newspaper in the 
 city displayed the news. A dozen of his acquaintances at 
 the store— with new respect in their eyes— told him they 
 had read of the important event. And Lee, remembering 
 the eagerness with which he had scanned the self-same col- 
 umn only a year ago, could well understand their awe. 
 
VI 
 
 THE printed announcement of Miss Barbara Mayo's 
 theatre party had at least one other distinct after- 
 math. At least Lee always connected the two hap- 
 penings. 
 
 It was but two days later when he recognised Fred 
 Badger's cordial accents on the telephone. 
 
 "Where in the world have you been keeping yourself? " 
 he demanded. "It's a wonder you wouldn't let your friends 
 see you once in a while." 
 
 "I guess you know why I haven't looked you up," Lee 
 recovered himself sufficiently to retort. 
 
 Fred expressed complete perplexity, and when Lee con- 
 tinued evasive, he came up to the office. 
 
 Finally, Lee reminded him of the painful incident at the 
 symphony concert. 
 
 Fred's aggressive face indicated pained incredulity. "Do 
 you mean to say you thought I intentionally cut you?" 
 
 It did seem rather preposterous. "But I spoke to you, 
 and you looked right at me," justified Lee. 
 
 "So that was why you dropped me." Fred seemed very 
 much cut up over Lee's poor opinion of him. "Well, I 
 give you my word of honor I didn't hear you and didn't 
 see you." 
 
 Some considerable fraction of Lee's faculties remained 
 unconvinced. A new, calculating instinct, however, bade 
 him accept the olive branch. Fred's friendship would be 
 of intrinsic value; he could help Lee both socially and in 
 business. 
 
 174 
 
THE GROPER 175 
 
 Lee held out his hand. "It's all over now anyway, Fred," 
 he announced. "I understand you're to be congratulated — 
 on your engagement, I mean." 
 
 Fred seemed pleased. "Can't you come to lunch with 
 me?" he inquired. "I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 He took Lee to the University Club, and dilated upon 
 his plans with his old frankness. From his description, Lee 
 identified Helene Rutgers as the resplendent young woman 
 he had seen at the symphony concert. 
 
 "She belongs to one of the five best families in Detroit," 
 Fred asserted. "There were at least ten other men after 
 her. You must meet her sometime." 
 
 "The last time I saw you," Lee ventured, "you were in 
 favor of picking out a girl with money." 
 
 "Money, or social position," corrected Fred. "Helene 
 hasn't any money, but she has relatives who are in the 
 millionaire class." He knocked off his cigar ash. "By the 
 way, I'm glad you followed my advice and broke off things 
 with that girl in your home town." 
 
 Lee flushed. "Who told you that?" 
 
 "Nobody told me." Fred laughed. "If you were still 
 engaged, I guess you wouldn't be travelling around with 
 Barbara Mayo and Cutie Reynolds." 
 
 Lee's flush became one of pleasure. Evidently his suc- 
 cesses were matters of common knowledge. He hoped Fred 
 didn't know about Mrs. Curran. And he wondered why he 
 referred to Renee as "Cutie." 
 
 Fred talked incessantly about his forthcoming marriage. 
 Lee could not help noticing that his friend did not once 
 speak of Helene in terms of real affection. The investment 
 aspect of the matter seemed uppermost in his mind; how 
 enormously Helene's relatives could help him in business. 
 This, and the impressiveness of his achievement in out- 
 distancing all other competitors for her hand. 
 
 After that, Fred talked still more of himself; about the 
 
176 THE GROPER 
 
 remarkable bond sales he was "putting over"; how shrewd 
 a "trader" he had become. Older bond salesmen might 
 strive in vain to "cut in" on him. 
 
 "I'm just like a rubber ball," Fred illustrated. "The 
 minute they think they have me down, up I bounce again." 
 
 Lee discounted Fred's estimate of himself very little. It 
 seemed to him that his friend must be well-nigh irresistible; 
 and Fred's handsome, forceful appearance and his notice- 
 ably modish clothes corroborated his claims to prosperity. 
 In comparison, Lee's own success appeared hardly worth 
 mentioning. 
 
 "And by the way," Fred mentioned casually, "if you or 
 any of your friends ever have any money that isn't working, 
 I can probably get you in on the ground floor of some good 
 proposition." 
 
 Lee thanked him. He was almost sorry he had invested 
 in real estate and automobile stocks, so alluring did his 
 friend's account of the financial world sound to him. 
 
 Fred's flattering display of friendship did not cease with 
 the lunch at the University Club. A few Sundays later, he 
 took Lee to tea at his fiance's house. 
 
 Helene Rutgers lived in a brick house on Jefferson 
 avenue. The house itself was far from being prepossessing; 
 but by this time Lee had absorbed the idea that people 
 could live in any sort of a structure they wanted to, as long 
 as they possessed that elusive something called "social posi- 
 tion." He was prepared to be impressed with the house 
 and all of its appurtenances. The very fact that it was 
 occupied by such exclusive people lent it an air of majesty. 
 
 Helene Rutgers herself was by no means beautiful, some- 
 what to his surprise. Her face was thin, and her features 
 unmistakably sharp. Her small mouth sagged a little at 
 the corners. Her eyes had a tendency to stare. Yet Lee 
 vaguely realised at once that she had "style." Her coiffure, 
 
THE GROPER 177 
 
 for example, was simple, but indefinably effective. Her 
 gown had "lines." 
 
 Her manner toward Lee — in fact, toward every one — ■ 
 was indolent, slightly bored. She permitted herself no 
 enthusiasms. She endured the naivete, the ingenuousness, 
 of younger or less perfectly cultured persons with languid 
 tolerance. 
 
 This must be the mark of good breeding, Lee concluded. 
 It occurred to him that Renee Reynolds' vivacity might 
 conceivably be bad taste. 
 
 It became apparent that the Rutgers' house was a meeting 
 place for fashionables. At least a dozen people dropped in 
 for tea. Lee found it almost impossible to manipulate his 
 cup, saucer and plate with any degree of deftness, and he 
 committed the embarrassing mistake of rising when the maid 
 offered him cake. Otherwise, he acquitted himself with 
 passable credit. 
 
 Every time a newcomer arrived, there was a re-grouping 
 of the tea-drinkers. After a time, Lee found himself sitting 
 next to a girl whom he could not recall having met. 
 
 "Never mind trying to remember my name," she sur- 
 prised him by saying. "Fred completely forgot to introduce 
 you — the darling boy!" 
 
 There was so much venom in her last words that Lee, for 
 the first time that afternoon, was shocked clear out of his 
 self-consciousness. 
 
 He stared at the girl. As far as externals went, it was 
 obvious that she "belonged." She was nice-looking, he 
 decided. Her blue eyes did not impress him as beautiful, 
 but they were at least clear and unequivocal. He liked her 
 nose: it was perfectly straight and it came out from her 
 forehead at precisely the proper angle. She had a good, 
 firm mouth — perhaps a little too wide. 
 
 But her expression was decidedly cynical, and she was 
 evidently a rather disagreeable person. 
 
178 THE GROPER 
 
 "What do you do for a living — make automobiles?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 Lee determined to maintain the social amenities at all 
 costs. 
 
 "No, I'm only an advertising man," he said. 
 
 Genuine interest lighted up her face for an instant. 
 "That's a relief! Every new man one meets nowadays is 
 in the automobile business. What's more, he knows nothing 
 but automobiles — can talk nothing but automobiles. I get 
 so sick of it." 
 
 What was the matter with the girl? Lee looked at her 
 uneasily, and wished that some one might come to relieve 
 him. He perceived Fred Badger watching him out of the 
 corner of his eye. 
 
 "Awfully attractive tea-party," he remarked inanely. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it?" She laughed contemptuously. "Such 
 original and intelligent conversation! Such brainy people! 
 It's all so sincere — so free from hypocrisy — so free from 
 banality!" 
 
 At the first opportunity, Lee made inquiries of Fred 
 Badger. 
 
 "Oh, that's my sister, Eleanor," said Fred in a manner 
 that was manifestly apologetic. "Don't pay any attention 
 to what she says. She's been having queer streaks lately." 
 
 Clearly enough, she was not popular. Lee watched her 
 standing a little apart from the others — an unhappy, brood- 
 ing and openly rebellious spirit. 
 
vn 
 
 IN the midst of such social achievements and business 
 successes, Lee realised all at once how repulsive his 
 relations with Mrs. Curran had become. 
 
 Yet it seemed to him that he was bound to her by a 
 hundred indissoluble ties. There were certain material 
 obligations, such as her influence in his behalf at the store 
 and her sponsorship for him socially. But more than this, 
 she had been kind to him in countless intangible ways — 
 dispatching the specialist and nurse to his mother's bed- 
 side, for example. Such favors could neither be repaid nor 
 forgotten. 
 
 He had known Mrs. Curran just a year. Nine months 
 had passed since the surprising denouement on the little 
 side porch. At first, his gratitude, his real tenderness 
 toward her, his feeling that he must protect her from ma- 
 licious gossip, had combined to cloak the purely physical. 
 Mrs. Curran herself laid the accent on the spiritual, to start 
 with; and if she had persisted in this strain, Lee's feelings 
 might never have suffered their present painful revulsion. 
 But by fall, she talked little of the fineness of exalted love. 
 She seemed to take their relationship as an established fact. 
 Lee began to suspect, in a horrified way, that her plea of 
 spirituality had been a pretence from the beginning. Even 
 her voice took on a new physical flavor; her touch subtly 
 gave the lie to her diminishing professions of highminded- 
 ness; her manner became slightly proprietorial. 
 
 His sense of obligation to her accentuated the odium of 
 the situation. She still held his fortunes in the hollow of 
 
 179 
 
180 THE GROPER 
 
 her hand. He began to think of their relations as the price 
 of his success. A profound sense of physical degradation 
 tormented him — tainted the pleasure he felt in his work, 
 clouded his elation over his social achievements. 
 
 A dozen times, perhaps, he brought himself to the point 
 of breaking things off, but each time his resolutions wilted 
 miserably. Mrs. Curran's enmity might prove a serious 
 thing. Suppose, for example, she brought about his dis- 
 charge at the store. That would mean he could make no 
 more payments on his real estate, would forfeit the money 
 he had already invested. His stock in the Durham Motor 
 Car Company had no value as yet. With his position gone 
 and his capital wiped out, he would be compelled to begin 
 the disheartening fight with poverty all over again. 
 
 But to his credit, this fear played but small part in his 
 irresolution. He still felt sincerely grateful to Mrs. Curran, 
 and at times he liked her immensely. Her affectations of 
 girlishness sickened him, yet he could sense the pathos of 
 her situation. Like most men, he was naturally timid in 
 such a pass. Somehow he could not bring himself to hurting 
 her feelings. He was largely to blame; he had let her 
 think he loved her in that way. 
 
 It came over him that no matter how he loathed his role, 
 he must keep on indefinitely, smiling and playing the ardent, 
 insatiable lover. And he forced himself to do so. But the 
 process seemed to squeeze his very soul dry, to leave it 
 arid and desolate. 
 
 It was at this stage that Ellwood James once more bobbed 
 serenely into his life. 
 
 Lee, dining in lonesome fashion in a hotel cafe one night, 
 suddenly felt some one's hands over his eyes. 
 
 "Give it up," he finally said. Then he recognised Ell- 
 wood's laugh. 
 
 "Having dinner all alone? What luck!" exclaimed the 
 effervescent young physician. "D' you mind if I join you?" 
 
THE GROPER 181 
 
 Lee roused himself from his mordid thoughts. Ellwood's 
 spontaneity, his gaiety, seemed unspeakably grateful. 
 
 "My word! What's the matter with you, old top?" the 
 irrepressible youth demanded. "You look all in." 
 
 Lee blamed over-work. 
 
 "Go on! " derided Ellwood. "You've been crossed in love. 
 Take it from me, Lee: she isn't worth it. The only way 
 to forget one girl is to take up with another." He winked 
 joyously. "Or are you still as sanctimonious about women 
 as ever?" 
 
 Lee made no reply, but his companion's philosophy sank 
 in. He looked at Ellwood more closely. The young doctor 
 seemed as carefree and happy-go-lucky as ever. Lee 
 searched vainly for signs of dissipation. Ellwood's eyes, 
 perhaps, appeared a little tired, and there was a gossamer 
 line or two underneath. Otherwise he was more radiantly 
 youthful than ever. 
 
 They had one or two cocktails, and Lee's spirits rose. 
 After all, Ellwood was a likable chap, and he seemed to 
 admire Lee for some obscure reason. He was warm-hearted 
 too, and generous. He took Lee out of himself. 
 
 Presently he glanced at his watch. 
 
 "I have a date," he announced. "What about it? Shall 
 we make it a foursome?" 
 
 Lee was chiefly conscious of a dread of being left alone. 
 He nodded. "Can you fix it without much trouble?" 
 
 "Easiest thing I do," the young doctor asserted, and 
 Vanished into a telephone booth. 
 
 Ellwood had a new touring car, it developed, in place of 
 the late, lamented "Lizzie." "I call this one Gertrude," he 
 puffed as he spun the motor. 
 
 "Gertrude" proved herself far speedier than her pred- 
 ecessor — and considerably more commodious. Ellwood and 
 his girl sat on the front seat ; and Lee and his fair companion 
 had the tonneau to themselves. 
 
i82 THE GROPER 
 
 He did not particularly like the "extra girl" who had been 
 secured for him, but Ellwood's inamorata made an immedi- 
 ate impression on him. She was very young looking and her 
 eyes — what he had seen of them — were genuinely attractive. 
 Her name was Dolores McGovern. 
 
 They rode around in desultory fashion for an hour or 
 two. Ellwood and Dolores kissed each other frequently, and 
 when the traffic was light, Ellwood put one arm around her. 
 Jheir displays of affection were open and quite unembar- 
 rassed. Lee became restive. He rather envied Ellwood. At 
 the same time, he was not quite sure what advances he 
 ought to make toward his own girl. He hated not coming 
 up to expectations. 
 
 "What makes you two so quiet?" Ellwood demanded and 
 peered around. "Well, would you look at them!" he ex- 
 claimed. "Why don't you get a little clubby?" 
 
 Lee ventured to put his arm around Miss Pearl Hoover. 
 She let her head fall on his shoulder with apparent content- 
 ment. 
 
 "I thought you didn't like me," she said. 
 
 The implication of her upturned face was sufficiently 
 clear, and he kissed her. But his eyes were all for Dolores 
 McGovern. 
 
 Towards ten o'clock, Ellwood pointed "Gertrude" down- 
 town. » 
 
 "Where'll we go?" he asked them. 
 
 Dolores promptly designated the hotel cafe where Lee 
 and Ellwood had dined. 
 
 Ellwood appeared hesitant. "Oh, I don't like that place. 
 It's so dead. You can't have any fun there. Let's go to 
 '.The Royal'." 
 
 " 'The Royal'! " Dolores received the suggestion with open 
 contempt. "Say, listen! What do you take me for?" 
 
 Ellwood laughed. "It's always suited you up to now." 
 
 In spite of her repeated refusals, he drove the machine to 
 
THE GROPER I183 
 
 "The Royal," and Dolores finally yielded. But she seemed 
 sullen over the affair, and Ellwood himself developed some 
 asperity. This put a damper on the party. 
 
 "The Royal" was noisy and crowded. Ellwood ordered 
 two rounds of cocktails, and Lee was inexplicably relieved 
 when the girls refused his third invitation. His ad- 
 miration for Dolores continued to grow. She was rather 
 small and very youthful — not more than eighteen. She had 
 finely cut features. His first intimation about her eyes 
 proved well justified; they were really beautiful — a soft 
 grey. And she had personality. She was not negative, like 
 Lee's girl. After her first sulkiness, she talked a great deal, 
 expressed positive opinions about everything under the sun, 
 and displayed a lively sense of humor. 
 
 She looked at Lee in an impressed way that sent a thrill 
 through him. "I've seen you somewhere before," she 
 declared. 
 
 When they came out on the street, Dolores darted into 
 the tonneau seat. 
 
 "Here! Come out of there!" commanded Ellwood. 
 
 "Nothing doing!" asserted Dolores. "I'm through with 
 you." 
 
 "Don't be silly!" interposed Lee's girl. 
 
 Lee was silent with astonishment, but his heart was beat- 
 ing hard. 
 
 Ellwood hesitated. "Oh, very well — suit yourself!" he 
 said. "You'll ride with me, won't you, Pearl?" 
 
 Lee's girl seemed not unwilling to change men. She 
 promptly kissed Ellwood, and they all started off. 
 
 Dolores sat close to Lee. "I'm off Ellwood James for 
 life," she confided. 
 
 "Why?" asked Lee. 
 
 "Oh, he makes me sick, taking me to cheap places. The 
 last time I asked him to take me to the hotel, he said it 
 might hurt my reputation to be seen there — and to-night, 
 
184 THE GROPER 
 
 he says it's too dead. I'm wise to him bigger'n a house. 
 He's afraid some of his swell girls will see him there with 
 me. He's a nice fellow in some ways — only he thinks he 
 can kiss his way through life, I guess." 
 
 She had an afterthought. "Besides, I like you better." 
 
 "I wonder where I've seen you," she went on. "Do you 
 go to the Fellowship Club dances?" 
 
 Lee decided it was her extreme youthfulness that appealed 
 to him so irresistibly. 
 
 Ellwood kissed Pearl good-night, but Lee merely shook 
 hands with Dolores. She was too nice, too unusual, for 
 casual familiarities. 
 
 She seemed a little puzzled. "Call me up soon," she 
 whispered. 
 
 Ellwood drove away silently. 
 
 "Sorry about your row with Dolores," Lee propitiated. 
 
 The youthful physician smiled. "Oh, that's all right. It 
 wasn't your fault. She's an attractive kid, but too damned 
 stubborn. Go as far as you like. I'm done with her." 
 
 "What sort of a girl is she?" asked Lee. 
 
 "Oh, all girls of that class are alike," Ellwood set forth. 
 "Some of them take longer than others, that's all. As far 
 as Dolores is concerned — well, you can't prove anything by 
 me. But don't you go getting serious about her. She's 
 just an ordinary little Mick — darned good looking, and full 
 of the devil — but not to be taken hard." 
 
 The next morning, on his way through the fur department 
 in search of the buyer, Lee ran full tilt into Dolores. 
 
 "For the love of Mike!" she exclaimed. "Do you work 
 here too?" 
 
 Lee nodded, and instinctively looked around. There was 
 no one in the immediate vicinity. 
 
 Dolores made no secret of her disappointment. "What 
 department you in?" 
 
 "Advertising." 
 
THE GROPER 185 
 
 "Oh!" Her relief was apparent. "I thought maybe you 
 were a ribbon clerk." 
 
 Their acquaintance developed rapidly. For a time Lee 
 believed he was in love with her. Her youth, her real 
 attractiveness drew him to her mightily. Their love-making 
 never went beyond certain fairly innocent bounds. 
 
 Dolores had a shrewd code of ethics all her own. "I have 
 to go out nights," she insisted. "If I stay home, I just get 
 morbid. A girl in my position has got to do some things, 
 in order to be popular with fellows at all. That's one 
 reason I like to go out with you — it's such a relief to be 
 let alone — not to be pawed over every minute." 
 
 The men in Detroit were "awful," she thought. "A girl 
 can't walk a block on Woodward avenue without three or 
 four fish-faces trying to pick her up. And they all want 
 the same thing. Sometimes I'm disgusted with myself — 
 there must be something wrong about me to put such ideas 
 in men. But all the other girls have the same trouble. 
 Fellows get fresh with them the first night they meet them." 
 
 "Innocence!" she burst out one time. "Say, listen! I 
 guess you won't find any of that around this burg." Yet 
 she maintained infrangible rules governing men's conduct 
 toward her. They might go so far — in fact, she rather 
 expected every man to go that far. But beyond a certain 
 line, they trespassed at their peril. "I slapped his face 
 for him," she said of one young insurance agent. She cher- 
 ished no resentment against a man for "getting fresh" once. 
 "They all want to go as far as they can," she explained, 
 "and you can't blame 'em." But if a man persisted, she 
 told him to "beat it." 
 
 Lee learned unsuspected aspects of life at the Curran 
 store. "Mike" Curran, according to Dolores, was a "bad 
 one." He had made unmistakable advances to many of the 
 girls, and if they proved stubborn, it was "good-bye to their 
 jobs." Dolores had been in the store only two years, and 
 
186 THE GROPER 
 
 "Mike's" conduct was no longer so intolerable. "He's get* 
 ting too old," was her cynical explanation of the improve- 
 ment. But for a month or two, when she first came to 
 work, he had made life miserable for her. One day, he 
 had sent her up to the deserted stock room on some pretext, 
 then followed her and tried to kiss her. 
 
 "I told him I'd scream if he didn't stop. * Remember 
 this,' he says, Tm paying you twelve dollars a week, and 
 you're only worth six.' I told him I didn't care a damn for 
 his dirty money, and to let me out of that room, or I'd 
 tell the police. He said I was a little fool, but he finally 
 let me go. Next week he cut my pay to eight dollars, and 
 I've never had a raise since." 
 
 Other men around the store were "soft" — among them 
 Harrison Estabrook. But they were all easily managed. 
 "Stick a pin into a man's vanity, and you've got him where 
 you want him," she said. 
 
 Toward men in general, indeed, her attitude was one of 
 slightly contemptuous amusement. They had the distribu- 
 tion of most of the good things of life; they were to be 
 placated, petted, "kidded," into doing nice things. "With 
 three drinks and a liftle sympathy, any man will think he's 
 in love," she declared. Dolores' real hatred was reserved 
 for her own sex — especially the women customers at the 
 store. "Nine out of ten of 'em act as if they knew you 
 weren't straight — the patronisin' frumps. I could tell some 
 of 'em a few nice stories about the men in their own 
 families." 
 
 Lee marvelled at Dolores' sturdy powers of resistance; 
 but he was in no mood for moral uplift these days. What 
 he craved was some escape from the thought of his own 
 unbearable situation with Mrs. Curran. Ellwood James 
 supplied precisely this self-forgetfulness. He was never de- 
 spondent. He was forever suggesting new and interesting 
 exploits. He was unfailingly entertaining. He never 
 
THE GROPER 187 
 
 dragged in such depressing subjects as moral conscience or 
 duty. To him, Life was a never-ending pursuit of fresh 
 sensations. 
 
 Lee slowly absorbed the hedonistic viewpoint. His caf6 
 life with Ellwood was developing into a definite and ever- 
 growing habit. His experiments with women commenced — 1 
 and not all of his affairs were as innocent as that witK 
 Dolores McGovern. 
 
vni 
 
 EIGHTEEN full months dragged wearily by before 
 he could bring himself to face the issue with Mrs. 
 Curran. 
 
 Meanwhile, life took on a nightmarish quality for him. 
 He did his work at the store in a perfunctory, uninspired 
 way, and by the fall of 1910, he was drawing four thousand 
 dollars a year. He continued his social activities in des- 
 ultory fashion. Fred Badger honored him by appointing 
 him an usher for his wedding. 
 
 But the hypocrisy of his position, his sense of stultifica- 
 tion and physical uncleanness, galled him cruelly. The only 
 surcease came from the self-forgetfulness that Ellwood 
 James dispensed. Novelty of sensation — a new girl, a new 
 game of the sexes — that was the prescription! 
 
 The wonder of it was that Mrs. Curran did not detect 
 his soreness of spirit long before the end. Sometimes he 
 was almost openly crabbed. But she refused to quarrel 
 with him on any pretext, always offered him sympathy for 
 his troubles instead of indignation. If he lost his temper, 
 she put him in the wrong by remaining silent. But under- 
 neath her soft-voiced extenuations, he sensed the steely 
 quality of her insistence. 
 
 Toward the finish, he slighted her openly once or twice. 
 She palliated his offences, as usual; but the last Sunday 
 before his summer vacation, he found ensconced in her 
 drawing room the self-same aesthetic-looking person with 
 whom he had seen her at the art gallery. Heretofore, she 
 had closed the doors on Sunday to every one but Lee. 
 
 This crude attempt to arouse his jealousy filled him 
 188 
 
THE GROPER 189 
 
 with an even greater antipathy toward his enforced intimacy 
 with her. 
 
 A morning or two later, Howard Doman summoned him 
 to his office. 
 
 "I want to have a serious talk with you," he began. His 
 friendly smile did not wholly conceal the gravity of his 
 expression. 
 
 "Your work for the last six months has been very medi- 
 ocre, Lee," he went on. "There's no life in it — no sponta- 
 neity — no imagination. It's mechanical. You aren't having 
 any fun doing it. Now I want to know what the trouble 
 is." 
 
 Lee remained silent. 
 
 Doman's interrogative eyes searched his assistant's face. 
 "It isn't business," he puzzled. "You're evidently dissipat- 
 ing a good deal, but a chap of your type only dissipates to 
 escape something else." 
 
 Lee shook his head despairingly. "Yes, you're quite right, 
 Mr. Doman. But I can't tell you anything about it." 
 
 "It's really none of my affair," said Doman kindly. "But 
 I fancy I can guess what the situation is." 
 
 Lee looked up quickly. 
 
 "You're leaving to-morrow for your vacation," said his 
 chief. "I want you to stay away a month and just rest. 
 And when you come back, I want you to cut yourself loose. 
 You understand, I think. Remember this: It's splendid to 
 be considerate of people's feelings, but a man owes some 
 duty to himself. Anything that throttles his finest possi- 
 bilities, he must destroy at all costs." 
 
 During his vacation, Lee meditated constantly on Do- 
 man's advice. Did his friend really fathom the situation? 
 Was it within the bounds of possibility that he had under- 
 gone the very same experience with Mrs. Curran? 
 
 At all events, Lee came back to the city with the fixed 
 resolve of terminating the odious relationship; and the first 
 
il9 o THE GROPER 
 
 night of Mrs. Curran's return from Maine, early in Octo- 
 ber, he told her that he no longer loved her. 
 
 They were sitting on the big red davenport in front of 
 the fire. As he checked the gladness of her homecoming 
 mood and began his broken recital, his eyes involuntarily 
 took note of Mrs. Curran's left hand lying on the end of 
 the familiar salmon-colored scarf that draped itself across 
 the edge of the davenport. Her slim fingers, incarnadined 
 by the fire-light, tapped the cloth reflexively. Then, all at 
 once, as his meaning became clear, the tapping of her fin- 
 gers was arrested; her whole hand seemed to shrink and 
 collapse, like a suddenly deflated toy balloon. 
 
 Somehow he finished and sat waiting. It was over at last. 
 And now for the painful scene! 
 
 He looked up from that pathetic left hand. Mrs. Cur- 
 ran's eyes were closed, and a rather set smile just touched 
 her lips. 
 
 "I rather expected this," she said at last. "It's all per- 
 fectly obvious to me — I forgot to make a game out of it. 
 I forgot to conceal." Her bitter smile returned. 
 
 Genuine compunction was fast overtaking Lee. "I'm 
 awfully sorry," he said. "You have meant a great deal to 
 me. You have been so generous " 
 
 Then he — he who had dreaded her tears — abruptly broke 
 (down himself. 
 
 Presently her hand rested on his. 
 
 "I know," she said. "It's hard, but it's so destined. It 
 has been so destined from the beginning." 
 
 He experienced a wild impulse to tell her that he had been 
 mistaken, that he wanted things to go on between them. 
 
 "There is some one else?" she asked. 
 
 He lied outright. "Yes." 
 
 "Of course I knew such happiness couldn't go on for- 
 ever," she said. She talked slowly, as if it hurt her. "Some- 
 how it isn't so hard to lose you because you've fallen in 
 
THE GROPER jgv 
 
 love with some young girl. That's natural. I'm grateful 
 for having had you as long as I have. If you had simply 
 grown sick of me, I don't think I could have endured it." 
 
 Lee gradually recovered his poise. "Can you forgive me?" 
 he importuned. 
 
 She even smiled — happily, not bitterly — as if at pleasant 
 recollections. 
 
 "Dear boy," she answered, "you're the finest man I've 
 ever known. If there's any forgiveness to be asked, I am 
 the one to seek it. I don't suppose I had any right to take 
 what you've given me. Probably you'll think hard things 
 of me — if you haven't already. I hope I haven't harmed 
 you very much. Do try to think kindly of me. I was very; 
 lonely." 
 
 A log crashed down between the brass andirons amidst 
 a shower of sparks. 
 
 "Very lonely," she repeated slowly. "You see — I've never 
 had any children. The one thing in life I wanted most, I 
 couldn't have. Do you understand?" 
 
 He was conscious that all his smouldering resentment had 
 vanished utterly. For the first time in his life, he caught 
 the view of a human being inescapably caught in the web 
 of circumstance. The exigencies, the thwarted instincts, 
 the infelicities of her life had fashioned her as she was. 
 And never after that could he quite return to his former 
 conception of personal blame. People were puppets, at the 
 mercy of Fate. Only fools prated of moulding Destiny. 
 
 He felt poignant regrets for some of the ugly thoughts 
 he had cherished toward her. Her real fineness, her almost 
 maternal tenderness put him to the blush. 
 
 "Come and see me often — after a while," she whispered, 
 as they said good-night. "And don't forget — there's noth- 
 ing in the world I wouldn't do for you." 
 
 As Lee reached the sidewalk, he turned for a last look. 
 
 Mrs. Curran still stood silhouetted in the open doorway 
 
Ii 9 2 THE GROPER 
 
 j— a lonely, ineffably forlorn figure — gazing out after him. 
 But he might have spared himself all his pity for her 
 loneliness. A fortnight later, he spied his successor lolling 
 in the Curran limousine — a dreamy-eyed, sensitive young 
 fellow; by all signs an idealist, even as Lee himself had 
 keen, years ago it seemed. 
 
IX 
 
 LEE had imagined that his unhappy situation witK' 
 Mrs. Curran was the sole cause of his desire for the 
 commodities that Ellwood James supplied. For a 
 month or two, he led a quiet, normal existence. 
 
 Jhen a strange phenomenon brought itself to his attend 
 tion. 
 
 He began to realise that his intrigue carried an after- 
 math — a desolating restlessness that was almost physical, 
 a certain indefinable craving. Little by little, he perceived 
 how the experience had warped and twisted him. He had 
 the feeling of being emotionally gutted. 
 
 [Then Ellwood reappeared, offering the anodyne of bright 
 •eyes, bright lights and cocktails. 
 
 During that winter and spring, "Gertrude's" snub nose 
 poked its way into devious paths; "Gertrude's" red tail- 
 light gleamed almost nightly on the down-town streets and 
 in dubious alleys. 
 
 Life seemed a fairly simple equation to Ellwood. Hap- 
 piness, he claimed, was solely a question of bodily well- 
 being. "If you're feeling fit, you're happy. If you're tired 
 out, you're blue. Whenever I feel low, I know I need a 
 good rest, and I simply take a week off — stay in bed twelve 
 hours a day. Then I'm like a fighting cock again. Of 
 course, I'm not talking about real happiness. I can count 
 the times I've been really happy on the fingers of one hand. 
 The happiness I mean is escape from boredom. That kind 
 of happiness I can get any time with a few drinks and my 
 newest girl sitting across the table. How many of your, 
 wise men have so simple and sure a recipe ?" 
 
 193 
 
194 THE GROPER 
 
 "How did you happen to get started as a woman- 
 hunter?" Lee once asked him. 
 
 "Well, it's rather curious." Ellwood looked around the 
 noisy cafe reflectively. "Being a doctor was what did it. 
 I don't believe a man really knows women unless he's in 
 the medical game. An office full of ailing females every 
 day. That's not the point, though. A good many women 
 demand personal familiarity from a doctor. Sounds caddish, 
 doesn't it — but it's true. Just as one of 'em once said 
 to me: 'We like to be petted!' And if you don't pet 
 them, they up and go to some doctor who will. It used to 
 make me sick, but after a while, I got to be pretty good 
 at it. I got the habit of doing it." 
 
 He laughed a little shame-facedly. "Naturally, it's no 
 fun fussing over women who're paying you to do it. But 
 when you've left the business behind, and can do your love- 
 making where you want — well, Lee, it's the one thing in 
 life that never grows stale. You can get bored to tears 
 with everything else — friends, tobacco, food, even drink — 
 but each new pair of good-looking eyes is a fresh challenge. 
 A little silk, a little scent— I know it's all a fake, but I'm 
 not so fossilised I can resist the lure of it. And the game 
 is fun for the girl, too. Most women want to be mastered. 
 And every once in so often, you find some girl you can 
 never quite catch — and you go through life worshipping 
 her memory. Funny, isn't it?" 
 
 Lee felt immensely drawn to the young physician at 
 times. There was a warmth, an appealing generosity, about 
 him. His sense of humor was unflaggingly entertaining; 
 his ingenuity in searching out novelty was incredible; his 
 supply of new girls inexhaustible. 
 
 He had his more serious aspects, too. He would drop 
 all frivolity on the instant, if a professional case obtruded. 
 
 Late one night in a cafe, a Greek 'bus-boy bearing a heavy 
 
THE GROPER 195 
 
 tray stumbled over a table-leg and gashed his temple on the 
 tile floor. 
 
 "Dirty little pig!" vituperated the "captain," and nudged 
 the 'bus-boy with his shoe. 
 
 Lee never beheld hotter rage than Ellwood's. He threw 
 the surprised head-waiter aside, and for a moment it was 
 pitch-and-toss whether there would be a free-for-all fight. 
 Then Ellwood picked the 'bus-boy up in his arms and car- 
 ried him to the hospital. He had completely forgotten about 
 Lee and the two girls. 
 
 Ellwood's hands were long-fingered, deft-looking — ideal 
 hands for a surgeon. His very appearance in a sick room 
 must have worked wonders with his few patients. 
 
 Another quality that endeared him to Lee was his fierce 
 hatred of sham. Of Fred Badger, for example, he said: 
 "There are three kinds of city liars: the man who lies about 
 his conquests with women; the man who lies about his vic- 
 torious fist-fights with other men; and the man who lies 
 about how much money he's making. Fred Badger is the 
 third variety. He may be worlds better than I am. I'm 
 a bad egg, all right, and I live off my father. But at any 
 rate, I'm not a hypocrite. Swank and bunk — those are two 
 things I can't stand in any man or woman. And for real 
 generosity and sincerity, give me the sinner every time." 
 
 Lee recognised the ingredient of truth in Ellwood's jus- 
 tifications of their mode of life; but for his part, he could 
 never quite escape the feeling that his own conduct was 
 wrong. He could never achieve Ellwood's buoyancy in 
 dissipation. He sowed his own wild oats in a gloomy, sad- 
 dened way. Even in the highest revelry, he could not quite 
 shake off his moodiness. 
 
 There were few of the girls he had dealings with these 
 days who had any of the personality that distinguished 
 Dolores McGovern. Dolores continued to be a source of 
 wonderment to him. Her mental quality — her perceptive- 
 
190 
 
 THE GROPER 
 
 neS s — was uncommon. She said: "You were," instead of the 
 all-prevalent, "You was," of her class. Her occasional 
 revelations of fineness fairly bowled him over. Even her 
 vulgarity had an honest, sane quality — suggested a certain 
 hardiness of spirit. 
 
 But it became evident to Lee that she did not propose 
 to waste her youth upon a young man who merely admired 
 her. She had a definite goal in life: she wanted to get 
 married — not to the first man who proposed — but to some 
 "live wire" who could make money for her. She ac- 
 quiesced in Lee's affectionate demonstrations until it seemed 
 clear he had no intention of marrying her. Then — though 
 she really liked him — she cut him off without a tremor of 
 emotion. "I can't spend any time on triflers," she averred. 
 Lee was shocked at first by her apparent cold-bloodedness, 
 but he soon came to admire more than ever the business- 
 like way in which she set about to lift her life out of the 
 ruck of poverty — the sureness of aim with which she planned 
 to accomplish her life purpose. She used her slim body, 
 her provocative beauty, her sex, as baits; but he did not 
 blame her. 
 
 The only other girl who left a lasting impression on him 
 was a pseudo-prostitute named Inga Brandt. Lee encoun- 
 tered her at an assignation house whither he and Ellwood 
 had repaired, quite drunk, an hour or two after midnight. 
 He noticed her because of her silence. She drank her glass 
 of beer slowly, and listened to the others. Her hair was 
 very light, and her broad forehead looked unaccountably 
 serene. 
 
 She was a widow, she told him, and had two small chil- 
 dren. She worked in a candy store every day from noon 
 until ten at night. But her wages — six dollars a week — 
 barely paid half the family's expenses. So she came down 
 to "No. 203," at the landlady's telephone call, once or twice 
 a week. 
 
THE GROPER 197 
 
 She spoke in a matter-of-fact way, and he paid little 
 attention. Such stories were common, and in his experience, 
 were usually maudlin bids for sympathy. But he could not 
 help catching the beauty of her luminous, accusing blue 
 eyes. 
 
 Within the week, he came upon her on Woodward ave- 
 nue. One child toddled at her side, the other she carried 
 in her arms. Her face was placidly happy. Instinctively, 
 Lee dodged past her, lest the sight of him should mar the 
 serenity of her thoughts. 
 
 The cruelty of her fate revolted him. Here, nineteen 
 centuries after the birth of Christ, in a community that 
 called itself highly civilised, a woman must still sell her body 
 to feed and clothe her children. 
 
 As time went by, the conviction grew in Lee that his 
 excesses were merely in the nature of a drug. It required 
 increasingly large doses to put his unhappiness to sleep. 
 He rarely missed a night downtown with Ellwood. He 
 drank heavily; he came to recognise the uncanny sense of 
 perspective that comes with drunkenness. He had already 
 begun to experience periods of boredom and profound men- 
 tal despondency. A duller mind than his could not have 
 helped discerning the bleak alliance between poverty and 
 drunkenness and immorality. 
 
 He was in such a mood late one night, when Ellwood and 
 he emerged from the familiar brick house with the storm- 
 shed — "No. 203" — and embarked in the taxicab that was 
 to take them home. 
 
 Ellwood lay back on the seat limply. The light from 
 street lamps occasionally flitted across his colorless face. 
 The pace was telling, even on him. His skin had a drawn, 
 worn look, and his eyes often appeared puffy. Lee found 
 himself thinking of the tragic futility of the young doctor's 
 life — of the prodigal waste of the natural talent that might 
 have made him a great surgeon. 
 
198 THE GROPER 
 
 Ellwood seemed asleep, but all at once he gave a sigh 
 that was almost a groan. 
 
 "Oh, God, Leel" he said with infinite weariness. "I'm so 
 tired of it all I" 
 
IT Had been quite apparent, at the time of Lee's break 
 with her, that Mrs. Curran had not the slightest inten- 
 tion of withdrawing the influence she had exerted for 
 him at the department store. 
 
 With this worry off his mind, Lee took notice of Howard 
 Doman's friendly warning and set to work to remedy the 
 deficiencies in his advertising copy. He was careful not to 
 permit his dissipations with Ellwood James to interfere too 
 seriously with his duties at the store. He was tired a great 
 deal of the time, it is true; he never quite retrieved his 
 earlier spontaneity. But he did work faithfully and with 
 an undeniable mental pleasure in his efforts. 
 
 He could not help seeing the big opportunity ahead of 
 him. He was dimly aware of the preliminary skirmishes 
 that were taking place day by day between Doman and 
 Howard Estabrook. There could be no mistaking that 
 Michael Curran was fast failing in health and capability. 
 His retirement wasj only a matter of months. 
 
 The crisis came earlier than he had expected. 
 
 "Mike is going to resign at the next directors' meeting," 
 Doman said one day early in May. "Two weeks more wiD 
 tell the tale." 
 
 In some way, the news crept through the store. An at- 
 mosphere of suspense pervaded the whole establishment. 
 Few of the clerks liked Estabrook. They had little hope 
 that Doman would do anything for them, but the sentiment 
 was overwhelmingly in his favor. 
 
 Lee was more excited than the big advertising manager 
 
 199 
 
200 THE GROPER 
 
 himself. He constantly urged Doman on to greater efforts 
 in his own behalf. 
 
 "I don't know — Mike's a pretty shrewd chap," Doman 
 would say. "He'll make his decision in his own way." 
 
 He had gone to Curran at once and asked him outright 
 for his support, as against Estabrook. "I put it on the 
 straight basis of the store's future development. I didn't 
 knuckle to him a bit, nor ask anything as a personal 
 favor." 
 
 Estabrook, on the other hand, was pulling every wire at 
 his disposal. "I don't think Mike likes Estabrook or Pete 
 Curran, or any of their crowd too well," divulged Do- 
 man. "Their chief hold on him is the Estabrook baby. The 
 old man's simply crazy about kids, and if I get licked, it'll 
 be that infant's doing." 
 
 The day before the directors' meeting, Doman was frown- 
 ing. "Have you heard their latest stunt?" he demanded. 
 "They're even dragging religion into it. Mrs. Estabrook 
 and Pete Curran have told the old man that I ought not 
 to have the job because my folks were from North Ireland, 
 and the Currans of course are South Irish. Wouldn't that 
 get you?" 
 
 The important meeting was to be held at noon; but 
 shortly before eleven, Howard Doman sent for Lee. 
 
 "By Golly, I win!" he beamed. "Mike just came in and 
 told me he was going to swing my way." 
 
 "There are just three strings attached to my job," he 
 added, with pretended ruefulness. "I had to promise to 
 keep Estabrook and Pete Curran on the payroll for life, 
 and — what do you think? — I'm to give the Estabrook baby 
 a job if I'm still in the saddle when he's grown up. Poor 
 old Mikel I'm afraid he isn't going to last much longer." 
 
 Presently, he turned to Lee. "Now, about yourself. I 
 want to be perfectly frank with you. You have the ability 
 to be a cracking good advertising manager. You aren't 
 
THE GROPER 2oij 
 
 doing your best, though. Too much night life, maybe. But 
 I'm going to give you the job temporarily. It's up to you, 
 Lee." 
 
 The new organisation went into effect June first. Michael 
 Curran retained office as president and kept an advisory 
 control over the finances of the store. Howard Doman's 
 new title, at his own suggestion, was merchandise manager. 
 His authority was absolute in all departments, but his spe- 
 cial care was the supervision of the buying and selling. 
 Directly under him worked the buyers of all departments. 
 Under his general control, also, were Estabrook, as store 
 superintendent, and Lee, as advertising manager. Doman 
 promptly combined all of the bookkeeping activities into a 
 separate department, created the office of records manager, 
 and promoted the former chief credit man to the new place. 
 
 Before fall, he had set in motion most of the reforms he 
 had been preaching. His first important move was the 
 leasing of a new store with twice as much floor space, a 
 block further north on Woodward avenue. This alone ef- 
 fected an immediate improvement. The new store had 
 broad aisles, and, for the most part, glass show-cases. The 
 old crowding, the former messiness of the merchandise, auto- 
 matically disappeared. The salespeople had more room; 
 the air they breathed was immeasurably better. Doman 
 installed a pneumatic tube system that converged at the 
 cashier's office, and then emancipated most of the under- 
 sized cash-boys and girls. The few wrapping-girls that re- 
 mained were all over sixteen. 
 
 Even more important, Doman struck at the root of the 
 spirit of discontent that stifled the store's growth. One by 
 one, he weeded out the Curran relatives and friends who 
 held soft jobs. He even deposed Estabrook and Peter Cur- 
 ran from their high offices and created sinecures so that they 
 might still draw their salaries, yet do no harm to the store 
 organisation. All these vacancies, Doman filled strictly on 
 
202 THE GROPER 
 
 the principle of merit — not long service alone, but general 
 ability. More than that, he let it be noised abroad that 
 henceforth all salaries would be adjusted largely on the basis 
 of the amount of sales. Other things being equal, a sales- 
 man would receive about three per cent, of his total average 
 sales. This plan raised the salaries of the more competent 
 salesmen, and ejected the incurable malcontents. 
 
 Doman's whole aim was to dissipate the demoralising 
 bacillus of "pull" from the atmosphere of the great store, 
 to make each employe feel that he was on a clean, self- 
 respecting basis — that his interests and the store's were 
 identical. Doman wanted a salesman to talk about "our" 
 goods, "our" policy. He himself remained approachable 
 and scrupulously considerate, and he insisted on perfect 
 courtesy to each customer that entered the store. 
 
 Little by little, the idea gained ground that at last a 
 new regime had come into being, that the new boss wasn't 
 "kidding" them, that real ability would certainly achieve 
 its reward. It was a difficult thing for the employes to be- 
 lieve, but there seemed no escape from the actual facts. 
 
XI 
 
 SLOWLY the conclusion was being forced on Lee that 
 his present philosophy of life was utterly unsatisfying. 
 And, according to Howard Doman, he must either 
 change his habits or fail to make good in his new position. 
 
 The spectacle of Michael Curran took on especial signifi* 
 cance for him these days. The old Irishman still visited 
 the offices regularly. He looked very ill; there was some- 
 thing pathetic in his restlessness. Lee recalled Doman's 
 diagnosis of Curran's life-motives: "Money and women." 
 But now the fun of making money was a thing of the past; 
 and according to Dolores McGovern, he was "too old for 
 women." He no longer had any interests in life. 
 
 Lee wondered if at sixty, he would be the same pitiful 
 victim of his physical cravings. The old age of a hedonist 
 was not exactly an inspiring picture. 
 
 Shortly after his new appointment, he received a telephone 
 call from a woman whose voice he could not identify. 
 
 The woman seemed either timid or stubborn about giving 
 her name. 
 
 Then— "It's Vera." 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed unbelievingly. "Not Vera Wake- 
 field!" 
 
 Her laugh was unmistakable. "Yes, that is, Vera Hig- 
 ginson." 
 
 Still it seemed incredible. 
 
 "Well," he pursued, "can't I see you?" 
 
 She gave him an address in a rooming house district, and 
 he made an engagement for that evening. 
 
 During the rest of the day, the prospect of seeing her 
 
 203 
 
204 THE GROPER 
 
 monopolised his mind. Vera Wakefield! The name un- 
 loosed a freshet of memories. He had not seen her for four 
 years. Recollections of his anguish over her infidelity 
 throbbed in his brain. 
 
 Then for the first time he thought about Vera's husband. 
 Was he in the city? He had not even remembered to ask. 
 Or was she in the city alone? Perhaps her husband didn't 
 know. Straightway his mind veered off to the glamorous 
 possibility of a new intrigue. 
 
 Lee now owned an automobile of his own — a trim little 
 Durham runabout. Shortly after eight o'clock that night, 
 he drove up to the address Vera had given him. 
 
 A moth-eaten man in shirt sleeves answered the door-bell. 
 
 "Mrs. Higginson!" he called up the narrow staircase. 
 
 Presently Vera appeared at the head of the stairs. His 
 first impression of her in the flickering gas-light was that 
 she had not changed in the slightest detail during the years 
 that had elapsed. She was the same soft-eyed, irresistibly 
 appealing girl to whom he had once plighted everlasting 
 devotion. 
 
 They shook hands and stood looking at each other a 
 moment. 
 
 "I have my car outside," recollected Lee, with a faint 
 consciousness of pride. He was rather anxious to show her 
 how successful he had been. 
 
 It was not until they were seated on opposite sides of a 
 cafe table in the hostile glare of a hundred ceiling lights, 
 that it came home to him with a painful shock that Vera 
 had changed after all. She had lost the virginal slender- 
 ness of youth. She was not exactly buxom, but she had 
 "filled out." Gone irrevocably was the girl he had wor- 
 shipped on Mount Phillis. 
 
 Vera likewise was regarding him searchingly. 
 
 "Why, Lee," she said, "you're stouter— a whole lot 
 stouter 1" 
 
THE GROPER 205 
 
 After that, he found it difficult to keep the thrill of the 
 situation intact, to imagine into the mature woman opposite 
 him the warm, elusive Vera he had been dreaming of all 
 day. 
 
 They sat there for a space, finding themselves strangely 
 inarticulate. His lavish proffers of food and drink seemed 
 to fall short of their mark. 
 
 "Can't we ride some more?" Vera asked. "There's so 
 much noise in here." 
 
 It was as if they both welcomed the illusions of the dark- 
 ness outside. 
 
 "By the way, Vera," he bethought himself to ask, after 
 a time, "you haven't told me about yourself — how you hap- 
 pen to be here." 
 
 Vera waited a moment before she answered. "I thought 
 you might guess," she said. 
 
 They crossed the bridge to Belle Isle, and at length he 
 brought the runabout to a stop at the head of the island. 
 The river was alive with the red and green lights of motor- 
 boats. Up in Lake St. Clair, they caught the flashing signals 
 of lighthouses. Occasionally the phantom of a sail-boat 
 crept across the path of the moonlight. Somehow the water 
 seemed very black. 
 
 Vera's story began to unfold. She had come to Detroit 
 because she felt she could not endure living with her hus- 
 band another day. 
 
 Her family were urging her to marry Milo Higginson, 
 she said, even before Lee left Chatham. Her mother was 
 sure Lee was not "practical" — would never be a money- 
 maker. 
 
 "And, you know — I'm sort of surprised myself at the 
 way you've succeeded," she added naively. "I really felt 
 just as mother did — that you'd never make money. Many 
 a time I've gone over that last talk of ours on Mount 
 Phillis. When you said you believed in ideals and that 
 
206 THE GROPER 
 
 success always came to the man who deserved it — to tell the 
 honest truth, I doubted it. I thought you were really too 
 high-minded to succeed." She turned to him radiantly. 
 "But you have made good — and stayed fine, too. It's just 
 splendid." 
 
 Lee was silent. 
 
 "Oh, I know you think I was weak to give in to them," 
 Vera began again. "But you have no idea what pressure 
 your own family can bring to bear on you. Then month 
 after month went by — and you didn't come back. They 
 finally just plain cowed me into it, I guess. The night be- 
 fore my wedding — well, I cried till morning." 
 
 Her face was tragic in the reflected moonlight. "Oh, Lee, 
 why did you pay any attention to my letter? Why didn't 
 you come and run off with me?" 
 
 "How could I know?" he answered impatiently. Over 
 him slowly crept the despairing realisation that a greater 
 courage than his — a willingness to fight for her — might have 
 saved Vera for himself. In the supreme crisis he had failed 
 her. 
 
 "You couldn't know," she reflected. "I don't mean I think 
 you were at all to blame. You were always too good to 
 me — that was the only trouble with you. Yes, I mean it 
 — too good to me." 
 
 Her married life had been like a prison to her from the 
 very beginning. She had kept on loving Lee, and one day 
 her cloddish husband had found her reading some of Lee's 
 Detroit letters. 
 
 "If he'd dragged me 'round by the hair, I might have 
 stood it. But he'd only laugh— and then get sullen. He's 
 just plain animal, Lee." 
 
 She had repeatedly suggested a divorce, but Higginson 
 wouldn't have it so. "He said he'd got me, and he was 
 going to prevent you from ever having me, anyway." 
 
THE GROPER 207 
 
 Intimacy with a man she hated finally became unbearable, 
 and she had come to Detroit. 
 
 "I've been here a month already," she astonished Lee by 
 saying. "And what do you think I'm doing for a living?" 
 
 He confessed his complete bewilderment. 
 
 "Playing the piano in a movie!" She really laughed, for 
 the first time. "Not much of a job — I make just about 
 enough to pay my way. But it'll do for a beginning, and 
 any thing's better than — than that!" She gave a signifi- 
 cant gesture, then looked up at him earnestly. "You don't 
 believe one bad mistake ought to do for a person, do you?" 
 
 Lee returned a somewhat preoccupied negative. He was 
 not finding Vera's mood at all provocative. 
 
 "I don't either," she went on decisively. "One night, two 
 or three months ago, I suddenly made up my mind to clear 
 out — forget all my miserable mistakes — and somehow make 
 a fresh start. Even if I starved for it. I simply won't ad- 
 mit that my whole life's spoiled. There must be some way 
 out." 
 
 "How about your father and mother?" he interposed. 
 
 "Cut loose from them — from everybody and everything." 
 
 They sat in silence looking at the lights on the water. 
 At last they turned toward each other. Vera yielded to him 
 eagerly. 
 
 As they half-reclined in the automobile, holding each other 
 close, a sense of tragic futility came over Lee. He remem- 
 bered their last hour on Mount Phillis. But now all the 
 ecstasy, all the wonder of their former love had somehow 
 stolen away. 
 
 And as he kept on, making the only kind of love he was 
 capable of these days, Vera abruptly laughed — a sad laugh 
 of self-derision. 
 
 "You're like all the rest, Lee," she said in tones of in- 
 finite disillusion, and fairly pushed him away. "You never 
 
208 THE GROPER 
 
 would have acted like this, in the old days. You're differ- 
 ent, too." 
 
 They drove back to Vera's cheerless rooming house in 
 profound depression. 
 
 "I can only say I'm sorry," he said. "I guess we're both 
 pretty unhappy people nowadays." 
 
 "Let's forget to-night," urged Vera. "Let's just remem- 
 ber things as they used to be. I'm sorry I said what I did 
 to you, because really I have implicit faith in you. Never 
 forget that, Lee: I have implicit faith in you. I can't help 
 it somehow." 
 
 It was not so much the realisation of his brutality to her 
 that overwhelmed him with despair as he left her — though 
 that realisation was bad enough. Vera's life had been a dis- 
 mal tragedy. Fate had cut and bruised her cruelly. True, 
 she had changed. She was more mature, less alluringly 
 youthful. But they had loved each other deeply, purely. 
 She had come to him, believing in him, idealising him, need- 
 ing his help terribly; and he might better have struck her 
 in the face. 
 
 More intolerable still, though, was his deep conviction 
 of the irreparable loss of something fine within himself. 
 He had clasped Vera in his arms, and found himself clutch- 
 ing a body — any woman's body. Love inevitably meant 
 bodies to him nowadays. It was no longer a spiritual thing. 
 He had dragged it through the mire, and it had become 
 befouled — a gross and hideous thing. 
 
PART, THREE 
 
 THERE ensued a brief period during which Lee Hill- 
 quit merely went through the motions of living. 
 Whenever he permitted himself to think at all, he 
 came to a dead stop almost at once. The events of his four 
 years in Detroit seemed wholly upsetting. He could not 
 recall one of his youthful assumptions about life that had 
 stood the test of actual experience. Everything was topsy- 
 turvy. To idealise was sheer folly: that had been his first 
 painful discovery. He had been mistaken about success, 
 too. As long as he relied on mere hard work, on his own 
 merit, he had tasted bitter failure; then all at once, by the 
 grace of sheer luck, success had fallen from the skies. If 
 he had chosen a slightly different route for his melancholy 
 walk three years ago last April — if he had not turned that 
 particular corner off Cass avenue — Mrs. Curran's limousine 
 would never have opened its doors for him and swiftly car- 
 ried him off to fortune. He would be receiving ten dollars 
 a week as teller in a Chatham bank, instead of six thousand 
 a year as advertising manager of the great city department 
 store of Curran & Company. Life was wholly haphazard. 
 The wisest seer could not predict what to-morrow would 
 bring forth. What did it avail a man to labor and plan 
 when Fate might be just around the corner waiting to undo 
 the efforts of a lifetime, like a ruthless boy stepping on an 
 ant-hill? It was better to trust to luck. 
 No, idealism was far beside the mark; yet, when one 
 
 209 
 
210 THE GROPER 
 
 swung to the opposite extreme and made gods out of one's 
 senses, life became even more desolate. Hedonism tricked 
 one with tinsel that turned to dross in one's hands, left 
 one's soul utterly arid and forlorn. 
 
 He had essayed both virtue and wickedness, and neither 
 brought him happiness. 
 
 It was while he was in this quandary that a stray remark 
 of Fred Badger's lodged itself in his mind. 
 
 Fred and he had been seeing a great deal of each other 
 ever since their reconciliation three years before. Fred's 
 success seemed to continue undiminished, and Lee always 
 felt his own achievements completely outdone. 
 
 Fred had gone out of his way to show favors. He had 
 introduced Lee everywhere; he had insisted that Lee act as 
 usher at his fashionable church wedding; and since his mar- 
 riage, he had made a point of inviting his class-mate to his 
 expensive apartment for dinner, at least once a month. 
 
 The remark that struck home to Lee occurred during one 
 of these dinners. There were only four of them there: 
 Fred and Helene, his wife, Lee and — to fill a last minute 
 vacancy — Eleanor Badger. 
 
 They were talking about a multi-millionaire automobile 
 manufacturer who had just announced an unprecedented in- 
 crease of wages at his plant. 
 
 "He says he's doing it just as a matter of social justice — 
 whatever that means," Helene Badger set forth. 
 
 Fred laughed scornfully. "That's good! Why, his only 
 motive is to get free advertising. ' Social justice! ' That's all 
 bosh!" 
 
 Eleanor cut in sharply. "You always refuse to believe 
 in anything but selfish motives." 
 
 "Well, why should I kid myself, the way you do?" de- 
 manded Fred. "This fellow's after money — just like all the 
 rest of us. I don't blame him a particle." 
 
 The subject seemed to fascinate him. 
 
THE GROPER 211 
 
 "Yes, money," he repeated. "People may fool themselves 
 about ideals and such things. But it never gets them any- 
 where." 
 
 His voice rose. "No, sir, people don't ask about a man's 
 ideals. All they want to know is — how much money has 
 he? They don't even inquire how he got it, so long as he 
 has it. And they're right. Money is the one thing in life 
 you can be sure of; and if you have money, you can get 
 anything else you want — power, position, even beauty. It 
 never disappoints you. It's the one sure bet." 
 
 This appealed to Lee as the most sensible viewpoint he 
 had encountered for a long time. A year or two ago, he 
 would have thought it crude, sordid. But now it rang true. 
 
 He was almost as contemptuous as the others toward 
 Eleanor when she continued to disagree with Fred. 
 
 "All money can do is buy things" she insisted, "and 
 things, by themselves, never made anybody happy for long. 
 How many rich people do you know who are happy?" 
 
 It was rank foolishness. What was the matter with this 
 girl, anyway? Lee had seen her only once or twice since 
 his first disagreeable experience with her at the Rutgers' 
 house. He had gathered from Fred's chance statements that 
 she was something of a disappointment to her family. She 
 had made a promising debut, and during her first year out 
 she had been extremely popular. "She had a chance to 
 marry Burritt Johnson," Fred complained. Burritt Johnson, 
 he went on to explain, was a much sought-after Chicago 
 millionaire. "But she had some finicky idea that she didn't 
 love him enough, and I'll be hanged if she didn't turn him 
 down cold!" 
 
 Fred's family resented her "finicky ideas," and in return, 
 Eleanor became sarcastic. She seemed to delight in saying 
 nasty things to people, and naturally, her popularity speed- 
 ily dropped to nothing at all. 
 
 It was obvious that she was a perplexing problem to Fred. 
 
212 THE GROPER 
 
 "She might have been a great help to all of us," ho 
 moaned. "Instead of that, she's a handicap." 
 
 That same night, as Lee drove her home, she revealed a 
 new phase of herself. 
 
 "I suppose you dislike me as much as everybody else, ,, 
 she said abruptly. 
 
 Lee had an instinct to have things out with her then and 
 there. 
 
 "Well, no, I can't say I dislike you," he answered. "But 
 I do think you go out of your way to say a good many 
 disagreeable things." 
 
 She regarded him moodily. "I suppose I do — and it 
 doesn't do any one any good, myself least of all. You see, 
 I've been forced to lead a life I simply detest, and that's 
 made me rather unhappy." 
 
 Lee remained unmoved. "It seems to me you've had a 
 very fortunate kind of life. You have social position " 
 
 "Social position!" she broke in with withering scorn. 
 "Can't you see the fraud of all this so-called 'Society'? I 
 think it's hopelessly inane, yet I'm supposed to do the same 
 old conventional things. Dress and flirt, flirt and dress — 
 till I catch a man. It's an intelligent life for a human 
 being, isn't it? Don't you see how it smothers some of us? 
 But as for me — I'm through with it. I'm going to be a per- 
 son — I'm going to do things — I'm going to use my brains, 
 to express myself somehow — no matter what my mother 
 and Fred and all the rest say!" 
 
 Lee did not find her ideas congenial. "What do you in- 
 tend doing?" he asked. 
 
 She smiled almost happily. "You sound as though you 
 believed that good old adage: 'a woman's place is in the 
 home.' But you're due for a real surprise in the next few 
 years. I'm not the only girl that's bored to tears with 
 doing nothing — except fascinating men. There are a whole 
 army of us already. We want to be people, not pets. What 
 
THE GROPER 213 
 
 am I going to do? I don't know exactly, but I'm going 
 to accomplish something — or try to, anyway. Everybody 
 has the right to some form of self-expression — even females. 
 Honestly, I'd rather be a successful professional woman than 
 anything else in the world." 
 
 It all sounded somewhat hysterical to Lee — perhaps path- 
 ological. He was secretly supercilious. But he did sense 
 her unhappiness — her stifled quality; and straightway he 
 lost his feeling of irritation. 
 
 "I'm afraid I've been ranting," she said as they reached 
 her home. "But I couldn't help it. It isn't often I take 
 the trouble to explain myself." 
 
 Lee shook hands with her. "Good luck to you, anyway! " 
 he said. 
 
 But it was significant that as soon as he left her, his mind 
 promptly leaped back over her words to what Fred had 
 said about money. 
 
n 
 
 IT was pure coincidence that at the very time Lee came 
 under the influence of Fred Badger's simple recipe for 
 happiness, his own personal fortunes began to rise by 
 leaps and bounds. 
 
 In the autumn of the year 1911 — when Fred made his 
 portentous remarks about the omnipotency of money — Lee 
 could hardly be said to have made much financial progress. 
 Three years had elapsed since his investments in Broadway 
 real estate and Durham motor stock; and his head was by 
 no means above water even now. He had paid for his five 
 thousand dollars worth of stock in the automobile concern, 
 but most of this stock was hypothecated at the bank for 
 the loan of sufficient money to assist him in keeping up the 
 payments on his Broadway lot. On this lot, he had man- 
 aged to pay but four thousand dollars in addition to his 
 first three thousand. 
 
 Whenever he gave the situation much thought, it seemed 
 to him that he ought to be much farther ahead. During 
 the three last years, he had drawn twelve thousand dollars 
 in salary at the Curran store; his mother's insurance and 
 the sale of the Chatham house had brought him six thou- 
 sand: a total of eighteen thousand dollars. His investments 
 amounted to about nine thousand dollars net. In other 
 words, he had spent nine thousand dollars — three-fourths of 
 his salary — for his personal living expenses and his dissipa- 
 tions with Elwood James. 
 
 There was even a mortgage on his Durham runabout. 
 
 Lee's dissatisfaction with himself extended to his invest- 
 ments. He had paid little attention either to his real estate 
 
 214 
 
THE GROPER 215 
 
 or his automobile stock. The Durham Company had paid 
 a one hundred per cent, stock dividend, but that meant 
 nothing to Lee. He would have preferred a ten per cent, 
 cash dividend. The future payments on his Broadway 
 frontage worried him. He figured that he could negotiate 
 a fifteen thousand dollar mortgage, if necessary, but even 
 at that, he remained under obligation to pay more than 
 eight thousand dollars within the next two years or lose the 
 property. 
 
 To tell the truth, neither investment appeared at all prom- 
 ising to him. He often permitted himself irritated thoughts 
 about Mrs. Curran's poor judgment in urging him to invest 
 his money as he had. Nor did Fred Badger's incessant sug- 
 gestions alleviate his frame of mind. Fred was forever dis- 
 paraging Lee's investments, and proposing attractive deals 
 in stocks and bonds. "Automobile companies are just gam- 
 bles," he insisted, "and real estate in Detroit isn't even a 
 gamble. Most of the people I know dropped all they had 
 in the panic of 1893." 
 
 Indeed, if Lee could have disposed of his holdings without 
 any considerable sacrifice, he would doubtless have done 
 so, and placed the proceeds at Fred's disposal. 
 
 But even before the end of 1911, a decided change be- 
 came perceptible. 
 
 Lee found a young stock broker waiting for him one 
 afternoon shortly before Christmas. 
 
 "What do you hold your Durham stock at, Mr. Hill- 
 quit?" he asked. 
 
 Lee eyed his visitor in perplexed surprise. "I don't know," 
 he finally said. "What will you offer me?" 
 
 "You hold one hundred shares," said the broker. "We 
 will pay you two hundred a share, minus our commis- 
 sion." 
 
 The import of the figures sank slowly into Lee's con- 
 sciousness. Then he really stared. They were offering 
 
216 THE GROPER 
 
 him twenty thousand dollars for his five thousand dollar 
 investment. 
 
 "I haven't paid much attention to my Durham stock," 
 he said easily. "What's the cause of this sudden activity?" 
 
 The youthful broker showed a disposition to candor. 
 "Rumors of a dividend," he diagnosed. "It's a question 
 whether or not it's advisable to sell. There may be a whop- 
 ping big dividend, and again there may be none at all. 
 But you know how much the Ford Company's paying. 
 That's what's gotten people excited about motor stocks." 
 
 Lee reserved decision. When the stock salesman had 
 gone, he telephoned the treasurer of the Durham Com- 
 pany, with whom he had a slight acquaintance. 
 
 "What would you advise me to do?" he asked. 
 
 The treasurer seemed somewhat hesitant. "Of course, 
 the matter of a dividend is up to the board of directors. 
 We've been making money out here, but they may decide 
 to stick it all back into the business." He paused. "Every- 
 thing considered, you'd better hang on." 
 
 Lee's inclination had been to sell the stock, but he finally 
 took the treasurer's advice. 
 
 The second week in January, 1912, he glanced negligently 
 at the financial page of his morning paper. 
 
 "DURHAM DECLARES 100% DIVIDEND." 
 
 Lee gave a scarcely perceptible start and re-read the 
 headline. The article beneath stated tersely that the di- 
 rectors, at their annual meeting held the day before, had 
 not only declared this astonishing dividend, but, in addition, 
 had put a large sum back into the business. 
 
 "This prosperous member of the motors group has had 
 a phenomenal year," the article continued. "Contracts have 
 already been let for its new factory on the belt line at 
 Kingston street, and officials predict a banner growth for 
 
THE GROPER 217 
 
 the concern. Production for 1912 is estimated at twenty 
 thousand cars." 
 
 The whole thing seemed unreal. Even the check for ten 
 thousand dollars that arrived a few days later could not 
 quite put the breath of actuality into the miracle. 
 
 Yet this was but the first of a series of similar happenings. 
 
 Hardly had the month passed when a real estate man 
 offered Lee forty thousand dollars for his Broadway lot. 
 [Two weeks later, the same dealer suggested fifty thousand. 
 
 Then Lee came slowly to realise what was beginning to 
 transpire all about him. 
 
 He had been aware in a sleepy sort of way that Detroit 
 had grown during his four years' residence. The crowds 
 on the downtown sidewalks had become thicker. There 
 were ten times as many automobiles on the streets. Busi- 
 ness had increased fifty per cent, at the Curran store. 
 
 He had lived in the midst of these facts, yet he had 
 hardly sensed their significance. He had been so preoccu- 
 pied with his own round of life that he had not once paused 
 to lift his head and catch the cadence of things about him. 
 He had heard vague stories about the city's growth and its 
 future possibilities, but he was naturally of a conservative, 
 even pessimistic frame of mind, and he discounted most 
 of these tales. 
 
 But now he sought to attune his ear more sensitively to 
 the march of events. Automobiles and real estate — they 
 were the magic symbols! Automobiles were a necessity; 
 the market for them had hardly been touched; Detroit was 
 the centre of the big new industry, and it must inevitably 
 grow as the business grew. That meant a bigger city — 
 and a boom in real estate. 
 
 His stimulated imagination discerned the spirit of ex- 
 pansion, of prosperity, in the very air. He began to won- 
 der why everybody could not catch the vision. Most of the 
 people still came and went, without the faintest intimation 
 
218 THE GROPER 
 
 of the incredible opportunities that invited them from 
 every side. 
 
 A great many timorous souls, indeed, seemed to believe 
 that the boom was just ending, instead of beginning. They 
 spoke with reluctance of the opportunities they had missed. 
 
 "Henry Ford came to me and begged me to put in a 
 thousand dollars. Yes, I know him well." 
 
 "That property on Adams avenue just sold for fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. I could have bought it ten years ago for 
 five thousand." 
 
 Lee heard such plaints everywhere. The could-have-put- 
 money-in-the-Ford-Company individuals waxed as prevalent 
 as Mayflower ancestors. 
 
 But the optimists who believed that the city's prosperity 
 had hardly started were still few. 
 
 Lee decided to hold his Broadway property for a still 
 higher price — in fact, he used his ten thousand dollar divi- 
 dend as a first payment on the fifty feet next to his lot. 
 
 That same spring, he refused an offer of fifty thousand 
 dollars for his Durham Motor holdings. 
 
Ill 
 
 IN the wake of his new and astounding prosperity, cer- 
 tain effects inevitably followed. 
 He suddenly became very much sought after socially, 
 for example. 
 
 For the last two years, his appearance in "Society" had 
 been sporadic. Through Fred Badger, he continued to meet 
 habitual occupants of the "Social Column." But all the 
 currents of his existence had seemed adverse to his becom- 
 ing a "Society man." First, there had been Mrs. Curran; 
 the shame of that situation had taken away some of his 
 self-confidence. Then his life with Ellwood had absorbed 
 all his energies. He found that unlike many of his ac- 
 quaintances, he was not morally facile enough to frequent 
 assignation houses and exclusive drawing rooms simultane- 
 ously. 
 
 But strangely enough, he who had by now lost his faith 
 in everything except money, still retained somewhat the 
 illusion about "Society." True, the words "Four Hundred" 
 no longer produced quite the same thrill of Humility in 
 him. Ellwood James' fierce tirades against "swank," and 
 Eleanor's occasional outbursts on the subject of social 
 hypocrisy could not fail to have opened his eyes a little. 
 He saw through the cracks. Yet he still cherished most 
 of his old awe, still genuflected reverently before the mystic 
 shrine of what he called Aristocracy. 
 
 Fred's friends had been conventionally polite to him. 
 He knew he was regarded as an unusually successful young 
 business man, but he detected a certain undercurrent of 
 levity in people's attitudes, as if they were saying: "You 
 
 219 
 
220 THE GROPER 
 
 don't fool us for a minute. We know how you bought 
 success." He realised, too, that he was a man of no "fam- 
 ily." He hadn't the faintest notion about his ancestors. 
 It had never seemed to matter heretofore. And nearly 
 every girl he met wanted to know what fraternity he had 
 belonged to at the University. 
 
 He noticed another peculiar social phenomenon. When- 
 ever he appeared in public with Fred and his wife, or 
 under some equally distinguished patronage, nearly every- 
 body seemed to speak to him. But let him appear at the 
 theatre alone or in company with some socially obscure 
 person, and not one of his elite acquaintances could seem 
 to remember him. Not that they were crude enough to cut 
 him outright. But in some odd way, their eyes failed to 
 meet his. 
 
 All in all, Lee had been made very much aware of his 
 social deficiencies. 
 
 But now, with the same suddenness as his new affluence, 
 social popularity descended upon his astonished head. 
 Prominent women, who had seemed doubtful about know- 
 ing him, nodded clear across the theatre at him, no matter 
 who his companion. He figured at a few very exclusive 
 dinners that spring; and in the fall, he knew every debu- 
 tante a month before the season opened. It came to his 
 ears that he was at last on the exclusive list maintained 
 by the leading social entrepreneur of the city. 
 
 He had always felt a little awkward, a little diffident 
 about expressing his opinions. But now his every remark 
 was received with a deference subtly flattering. It was 
 evident that his word bore weight. "I heard you said such- 
 and-such to So-and-so": phrases like this greeted him every- 
 where he went. 
 
 Nowhere was this strange change in his social fortunes 
 more noticeable than with Fred and Helene Badger. Fred 
 had been his social sponsor from the start; yet Lee had 
 
THE GROPER 221 
 
 never discerned any glow of pride in Fred's demeanor. As 
 for Helene, it had been only too evident at times that she 
 chafed at her husband's patronage of Lee. 
 
 She was an avowed advocate of keeping social lines dis- 
 tinct. 
 
 "One has to be so careful whom one meets," Lee heard 
 her say on one occasion. "Once you've been introduced 
 to undesirable people, there's almost no getting rid of them." 
 
 Enforced association with, inferiors caused her acute 
 discomfort. The most trying events in her life were the 
 annual visits of Fred's wealthy old aunt, Miss Jane Badger. 
 Miss Badger lived on a farm one hundred miles from the 
 city. She was a shrewd old lady, and Lee rather liked her 
 genuineness. But she dressed eccentrically, and she had 
 protruding front teeth. Her table manners were rather irri- 
 tating, too. She had an unfortunate habit of opening her 
 mouth when she chewed, and she was not to be deprived 
 of the solid enjoyment of a post-prandial tooth-pick. 
 
 During such visits Lee could see that Helene was slowly 
 perishing of mortification. Yet she did not dare offend 
 the old lady. Miss Badger was rich, and Fred and Eleanor 
 were the only relatives she liked. Besides, she was quite 
 feeble, and could not possibly live much longer. 
 
 So Helene must smile upon the unwelcome visitor even 
 though she was inwardly frozen with indignation. It made 
 an amusing picture. 
 
 But now Fred's wife, too, beamed on Lee. The personnel 
 of her dinner parties improved. Instead of social negli- 
 gibles, she began producing marriageable young women. Her 
 particular boon-companion she contrived to throw in Lee's 
 company so frequently that their engagement was rumored. 
 
 Lee was no more than human. He was as susceptible to 
 flattery — even obvious flattery — as the next man. He could 
 not help feeling enormously more important than before. 
 
222 THE GROPER 
 
 On every side, charming people took his every pronounce- 
 ment as well-nigh infallible. 
 
 The only thing that saved him from following the lines 
 of least resistance and entering into some convenient mar- 
 riage was the circumstance that all this homage was so 
 grossly overdone. It was positively banal. He became 
 blase in the nick of time. His sense of humor at the battle 
 of the dowagers over him intervened providentially. 
 
 His narrowest escape really was with Renee Reynolds. 
 She was the one girl among the fashionables with whom 
 he had kept up some semblance of friendship from the 
 beginning. She had been "nice" to him — that is, she had 
 let him call frequently and take her to the theatre. He even 
 prided himself that she numbered him among the list of 
 remotely eligible suitors. Still, he was aware of being but 
 one among many. Renee required numbers of attentive 
 men; an evening alone at home she counted a failure. 
 
 Now, however, Lee was promptly taken into the inner 
 circle. She assumed a softer attitude with him. In a score 
 of unanalysable ways, she made him see that she had come 
 to care for him. Her mother urged him to come frequently 
 for dinner; her father told him pseudo-humorous stories. 
 
 At this juncture, Lee came to perceive that there were 
 "sets within sets." Helene Badger took occasion to con- 
 vey to him that Renee didn't really "belong." She was "in 
 Society," but not a member of the inmost group. 
 
 Lee's impressions were just plastic enough at this stage 
 to take the warning seriously. He became critical of Renee; 
 she no longer dazzled him. He began to resent the vague 
 intimations of proprietorship which up to now had been 
 subtly gratifying to him. 
 
 The next time he called on Renee he kept his eyes open. 
 Cold-bloodedly, he noted the appeal of her decollete gown, 
 her neck and arms; the artificial brightness of her color; 
 
THE GROPER 223 
 
 the way she looked at him. He even distinguished the faint* 
 ly sensuous redolence of sachet powder. 
 
 Many a time he had been tempted to take her in his 
 arms; and now he perceived that this was precisely the 
 emotion that Renee's whole appearance was calculated to 
 beget in men. 
 
 He knew if he yielded to this temptation, he would be 
 inescapably enmeshed in silken nets. He could almost hear 
 her first prompt question: "What makes you want to kiss 
 me?" — and his own somehow-forced response. 
 
 The bait of sex! Vague reminiscences stirred in him. 
 
 But what was this Renee was saying? 
 
 "The man I marry must be able to make a lot of money." 
 
 She said it with a kind of charming daring. Somehow 
 it was obviously a tribute to his own abilities. 
 
 All at once he remembered. 
 
 Dolores McGovern! 
 
 Renee Reynolds had used almost the same words as the 
 self-reliant little fur-sales-girl. She employed almost the 
 same sex-appeal. The only differences between them were 
 all in Dolores' favor. She was indisputably better look- 
 ing than Renee, and she earned her own living. She per- 
 formed a definite economic service to the world; whereas 
 Renee's only apparent function in life was to be an alluring 
 parasite. 
 
 That episode marked another turning point in Lee's social 
 progress. He began to see sham everywhere. It dawned 
 on him as just possible that his sudden prosperity might 
 have had something to do with his social triumphs. Evi- 
 dently, a single man with money could get anywhere he 
 wanted. He came to regard his new friendships with dis- 
 trust: the girls who wanted him for his money; the sleek- 
 looking "Society men" — many of them cock-sure little per- 
 sons, living, Lee knew, on allowances from their wives or 
 mothers — who spoke about "comfort" as if it were the high- 
 
224 THE GROPER 
 
 est quest of any man, and who besieged Lee for "tips" about 
 motor stocks and real estate. Many of them — men and 
 women both — were charming, many of them amusing; they 
 all had their flashes of sincerity: but, one and all, they 
 failed of reality. They were not vital. "Public Futilities," 
 Ellwood James called them. Lee sometimes felt that what 
 they most lacked, by way of saving grace, was a touch of 
 vulgarity. 
 
 Yet these people, by their profound conviction of their 
 own superiority, somehow persuaded the rest of mankind — ■ 
 most of it, anyway — that they were in very surety a higher 
 race of beings; that being "in Society" mysteriously en- 
 dowed men and women with virtues of a higher order; that 
 a "Society man" or a "Society woman" was indefinably 
 different and better than other human beings. It was "a 
 splendid example, Lee reflected, of the power of sheer self- 
 conceit. Thus, outsiders continued to look longingly up 
 at "Society's" sacred precincts, and newly rich women kept 
 up the determined struggle to batter their way somehow 
 through its thick walls. 
 
IV 
 
 THERE seemed no stopping Lee's phenomenal finan- 
 cial rise. It began to be said of him, as it had been 
 of P. H. Taladay, that everything he touched turned 
 to gold. 
 
 His operations remained comparatively simple. He still 
 retained his Durham Motor Company holdings, which by 
 dint of stock dividends, had increased to a par value of 
 fifty thousand dollars. Lee's dividends in the years 1912 
 and 1913 amounted to forty-five thousand dollars. He 
 valued his stock at more than one hundred thousand. 
 
 In the spring of 1913, he sold his Broadway lots for one 
 hundred and sixty thousand dollars — just twice what he 
 had paid for them. This sum, together with a part of his 
 Durham dividends, he at once re-invested in Woodward 
 avenue frontage, a few blocks above Grand Circus Park. 
 
 Roughly speaking, he was now worth at least three hun- 
 dred thousand dollars. 
 
 At this time, he resigned his position as advertising mana- 
 ger of Curran & Co. 
 
 He had been contemplating the move for nearly a year. 
 His outside interests did not require very much of his time, 
 but he found his work at the store increasingly confining. 
 When one has become accustomed to thinking in terms of 
 tens — yes, hundreds — of thousands of dollars, it seems irk- 
 some to spend one's energies describing the alluring qualities 
 of women's waists and children's underwear. Even his sal- 
 ary — now seven thousand five hundred dollars — appeared 
 petty. 
 
 All in all, Lee could not escape the conviction that he was 
 destined for bigger things. 
 
 225 
 
226 THE GROPER 
 
 Howard Doman received his decision with his character- 
 istic expression of captivated gravity. 
 
 "I don't suppose an increase of salary would tempt you," 
 he reconnoitred. "I'd planned to raise you gradually to 
 ten thousand a year. The job isn't really worth any more 
 than that." 
 
 "It isn't a question of money," confirmed Lee. 
 
 "I see," answered Doman. "Well, what are you going 
 to do with yourself, anyway?" 
 
 Lee admitted that his plans were vague. "My invest- 
 ments will take quite a good deal of time." 
 
 "Investments!" exclaimed the rotund merchandise mana- 
 ger. "Investments are all very well as a side issue, but a 
 man of your calibre wants some work to put his heart and 
 brains into." He paused abruptly, and clapped Lee on the 
 shoulder half-apologetically. "There, there! I didn't mean 
 to climb into the pulpit. If you've made up your mind to 
 leave us, there'll be no keeping you, I suspect. But I'm 
 sorry to see you go. You have advertising brains, and be- 
 sides, I'll miss you." 
 
 Doman no longer assumed his former heroic proportions 
 in his assistant's mind; yet Lee had never lost his whole- 
 hearted respect and liking for the big man. Doman had 
 been his loyal friend from the beginning. 
 
 They said good-bye a little sadly. Lee remarked anew 
 the startling contradiction between Doman's impassive, 
 flabby face and his alive, ever-questioning eyes. 
 
 "Come up once in a while and see how we're getting 
 along," said the merchandise manager. 
 
 Lee left the elevator at the mezzanine balcony and stood 
 for a few moments looking out over the busy main floor — 
 just as he had been in the habit' of doing in the old building. 
 There was no doubting the tremendous organic change 
 that Doman had wrought in the big store. It was not only 
 the more obvious improvements: the broader aisles, the 
 
THE GROPER 227 
 
 neater displays, the better light and air. It was something 
 that Lee felt, rather than saw — a new spirit, a new atmos- 
 phere. Doman had achieved the miracle of transforming 
 the army of disgruntled, discouraged employes into a 
 force of eager, courteous helpers. The old "knocking" had 
 disappeared forever. Curran salaries were fifty per cent, 
 higher than in any other department store in Detroit — but 
 that was not all. Every salesman in the establishment knew 
 he was getting a square deal. His pay depended on his 
 sales. If he deserved promotion, he was sure to get it even- 
 tually. He no longer had to toady or pull wires. 
 
 Doman had even introduced a system of limited profit- 
 sharing. The preceding Christmas he had distributed a total 
 of more than one hundred thousand dollars, in the form of 
 bonuses, to his employes. He paid salaries to salesmen even 
 when they were on sick-leave, and he employed competent 
 doctors and nurses to attend them. 
 
 The most surprising feature of Doman's reforms was 
 that the Curran store was making more money than ever 
 before. Gross sales were forty per cent, higher, and the 
 stockholders received twenty per cent, dividends, instead of 
 eighteen. 
 
BY the spring of 1914, when he became thirty years 
 old, Lee Hillquit was worth half a million dollars. 
 People said he was a millionaire; and indeed, his 
 available capital, increased by bank loans, did not far lag 
 behind seven figures. 
 
 He lived luxuriously in an Indian Village house which he 
 had bought the preceding fall, and already he was looking 
 around for an adequate country estate. He owned a limou- 
 sine and a six-cylinder touring car. Six perfectly fitting 
 suits, a dozen pair of shoes, a half-hundred fresh cravats 
 awaited his critical choice each morning. He belonged to 
 three city clubs and two country clubs; and he played golf 
 three afternoons a week. 
 
 He had been elected a director in one of the three strong- 
 est Detroit banks. One of his fellow-directors, by an odd 
 chance, was P. H. Taladay, with whom he was now on 
 very friendly terms. He contributed to the Republican 
 party's campaign fund, and it was rumored that he had in- 
 fluence with the city administration. 
 
 All Detroit knew him and the story of his remarkable 
 rise to power. He found himself in demand as a speaker 
 in the public schools and before various young people's 
 organisations. His topic was usually: "How to Succeed"; 
 and his unvarying recipes to the younger generation were 
 Hard Work and the Virtuous Life. 
 
 Small wonder that Lee's ideas about himself had under- 
 gone considerable change. 
 
 In the beginning, his new prosperity had taken the sem- 
 blance of a mirage. When he thought of his abject poverty 
 
 228 
 
THE GROPER 229 
 
 of a few years ago, the new order of things was simply 
 incredible. He had no illusions about himself at first. He 
 had achieved his start because an older woman conceived a 
 hardly laudable passion for him. The rest had been pure 
 luck. He himself would never have thought of investing 
 in real estate or Durham Motors. That was Mrs. Cur- 
 ran's doing, too. He hadn't turned a hand. He knew 
 practically nothing about the Durham factory. He was 
 not responsible in the remotest way for Detroit's growth 
 and its consequent real estate boom. He had produced 
 only a negligible fraction of his wealth by his own efforts. 
 It was sheer accident that he was a rich man. 
 
 But as time went by, Lee began to ascribe higher virtues 
 to himself. The whole city was calling him a Captain of 
 Finance. Perhaps people were right. It was almost in- 
 evitable that he should gradually come to think of himself 
 as a man of rare judgment, of uncanny intuition, in all that 
 pertained to investments. 
 
 It was inevitable, also, that he should instinctively begin 
 casting about for some adequate opportunity of exercising 
 his newly appreciated abilities. His withdrawal from the 
 Curran store left him with more leisure than he wanted. 
 He discovered that he was becoming restless. 
 
 Early one morning in May, 1914, Fred Badger telephoned 
 Lee at his house. 
 
 "Can you take lunch with Will Eaton and me this noon?" 
 Fred interrogated. "We're working on a new deal I think 
 you might be interested in." 
 
 Lee acquiesced, without any great animation. Fred was 
 always suggesting "deals," but Lee found few of them 
 attractive. He had invested a few thousand dollars in 
 Fred's schemes, and on the whole he had lost money. He 
 had never quite succeeded in getting over his first awe of 
 Fred ; yet by now he did entertain some slight misgivings as 
 to his friend's infallibility as a financial expert. 
 
230 THE GROPER 
 
 They met that noon at a downtown club. Will Eaton 
 proved to be a stranger of about Lee's own age. His home 
 was in Boston, he explained; but he had been associated 
 with a Cleveland automobile factory until recently. He 
 was of medium stature, pale and chastely ascetic of coun- 
 tenance, aristocratic of feature, and slightly disapproving 
 of demeanor. His eye-glasses added to his look of austere 
 aloofness, and his thin lips curved down judicially at the 
 corners. He spoke in measured fashion, as if weighing his 
 words — with an accent that seemed authentically Bostonese. 
 
 "He comes from one of the best families in Massachu- 
 setts," confided Fred at an opportune moment. "He has 
 splendid letters of introduction." 
 
 But Mr. Eaton, of Boston, was something more than the 
 scion of a splendid Massachusetts family, it soon developed. 
 He admitted at once that he had few peers as an automobile 
 engineer. He had just completed his sixth year in the busi- 
 ness, and he pined for larger fields. 
 
 "There was no future for me in Cleveland," he told them. 
 "The people I was associated with have a conservative, 
 old-fashioned design, and no power under Heaven could 
 open their eyes to anything new. That's why I severed con- 
 nections with them." 
 
 What he wanted, Mr. Eaton explained over his demi- 
 tasse, was to find out whether or not Detroit was enough 
 of a "live" town to finance a new automobile company. 
 
 "Of course, if this city can't do it, I'll go back East," 
 he said with an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. "I have 
 assurances from Boston capitalists that they will back me. 
 But I feel that Detroit is the hub of the industry, and as 
 such, deserves first consideration." 
 
 "I told Will that Lee Hillquit was the man to swing the 
 deal, if any one could," put in Fred Badger. 
 
 Eaton's frosty eye surveyed Lee with what purported to 
 be admiration. 
 
THE GROPER 231 
 
 "Yes," he echoed, "I heard a great deal of you down in 
 Cleveland." 
 
 He expatiated fluently. The design for the new car was 
 quite novel. He had been planning it for the last two years. 
 The estimated price was twelve hundred dollars. 
 
 He produced a few blue prints. 
 
 "Just look at the lines of it!" he exclaimed with undis- 
 guised pride. "It is at least two years ahead of any car 
 made in America, and I venture to say you'll find nothing 
 prettier even in France." 
 
 "Very snappy," commented Lee. To tell the truth, the 
 design did not impress him as especially original; but he 
 bowed to more expert knowledge. 
 
 "Six cylinder, high-speed motor," continued Eaton. 
 "That's an innovation in a low-priced car. Self-starter and 
 everything else that the more expensive cars have." 
 
 So far as the design went, he explained, the car was an 
 assured success. The only requirements that remained were 
 a first-class organisation and enough capital to keep things 
 going for six months. 
 
 "How much money will you need?" asked Lee. The 
 proposition interested him keenly. 
 
 The man from Boston drew from his pocket a notebook 
 filled with figures. 
 
 "Frankly, I see no necessity of beginning in a small way," 
 he argued. "I know enough of factory organisation to avoid 
 the usual mistakes. Therefore, I propose to start on a rea- 
 sonably large scale. I should like to begin manufacturing 
 before fall, and I want an output of at least ten thousand 
 cars the first year." 
 
 He consulted his figures. "We should have at least five 
 hundred thousand dollars available capital," he estimated. 
 "Suppose our capital stock is three hundred thousand; we 
 ought to be able to secure most of the balance from the 
 local banks." 
 
232 THE GROPER 
 
 He went into greater detail: so much for parts, so much 
 for advertising, for labor, for overhead expense. Lee lis- 
 tened with an expression appropriate to a financial expert. 
 He would not admit to himself that he understood very little 
 of what the aristocratic Mr. Eaton was setting forth. 
 
 "What are you planning to name the concern?" he asked. 
 
 Eaton removed his glasses and polished them reflectively. 
 "The usual practice, I believe, is to name the car after the 
 designer," he vouchsafed. "I am of the opinion that it 
 should be known as the 'Eaton.' " 
 
 Lee was conscious of a slight waning of his enthusiasm. 
 
 "I'll think it over," he said at the conclusion of their con- 
 ference. "I'm not sure that the automobile industry isn't 
 already overdone in Detroit. It's harder than it was to get 
 lines of credit at the banks." 
 
 Eaton seemed not one whit anxious. "Very likely," he 
 acquiesced. "At any rate, I must know the situation with- 
 in the next few days. I don't feel that I can hold the 
 matter open much longer." 
 
 Lee took a few of the blue prints, and jotted down soma 
 of the designer's estimates. 
 
 "I'll see what I can do," he promised. 
 
 His first impression of the project had been distinctly 
 favorable. It seemed to present exactly the right opportU" 
 nity for his abilities. He visualised a great new concrete* 
 and-glass automobile factory, thousands of mechanics with* 
 in its walls, a phenomenal production and sale of cars, a 
 record-breaking prosperity. Then he pictured the mahog- 
 any furniture and panelling of the president's office. He 
 saw himself sitting at the president's desk, scores of subordi- 
 nates hurrying to him for his quick decisions, his hand on 
 the throttle of the mighty industry. Lee Hillquit, the new 
 Automobile King! His fame would encompass the globe. 
 
 An unpleasant thought obtruded. Eaton wanted the new 
 automobile and the new company named after himself. It 
 
THE GROPER 233 
 
 would be the name of Eaton, not Hillquit, that would be- 
 come known to the Hottentot and the Esquimau. Perhaps 
 the Bostoner might lay claim to the presidency, too. If a 
 man was unreasonable in one thing, he might very well prove 
 the same in all things. 
 
 Lee went over the ground with some care, nevertheless. 
 Alfred Durham, who was still chief designer emeritus of 
 the Durham Company, was in Europe on a vacation; but 
 Lee submitted the Eaton design to Hal Conrad, Durham's 
 first assistant, and to a few other automobile men of his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Opinions differed widely. Conrad declared that Eaton's 
 plans were quite unoriginal. "There's nothing new here," 
 he adjudged. "As to the opportunity in Detroit for a new 
 medium-priced car, I really don't know." 
 
 Other experts were more encouraging. The sales manager 
 of one of the largest automobile companies in the city en- 
 thused over the blue-prints. 
 
 "I've never seen such beautiful lines," he announced. "I 
 think the car would create a sensation." 
 
 Still others, while not so enamored of Eaton's design, 
 pronounced it perfectly sound, and assured Lee that there 
 was plenty of room for a new car in the twelve hundred dol- 
 lar class. 
 
 The cashier of Lee's bank rather threw cold water on 
 the project. 
 
 "I'd stay out," he said. "You'll make more money in 
 real estate. Besides, we're loaded up to the gills on motor 
 credits already. We couldn't help you much." 
 
 The third day after his talk with Eaton, Lee told Fred 
 Badger he had made up his mind not to go in on the propo- 
 sition. 
 
 Fred betrayed keen chagrin. "That's too bad," he 
 brooded. "Eaton will be disappointed. You made a big 
 
234 THE PROPER 
 
 hit with him. He said you had all the earmarks of a finan- 
 cial genius." 
 
 "Well, I liked him, too," hastened Lee. "I judge that 
 he's a brilliant designer. But for one thing, I believe he's 
 putting too high a price on his plans." 
 
 Fred looked puzzled. 
 
 "He wants the company and the car named after him- 
 self," Lee went on, "and I suspect he'll want too big a 
 percentage of the stock. No capitalist is going to put money 
 into the concern on those terms." 
 
 "Well, I don't think Eaton is so set on having the car 
 named after himself," said Fred slowly. "Personally, I 
 think it should be named after you, or whoever finances 
 the company. As to how much stock Eaton wants, of 
 course I can't say, but I think he might listen to reason." 
 
 At Lee's suggestion, Fred had another talk with Eaton; 
 and a day or two later, the three met for lunch again. 
 
 "I've given further consideration to the question of the 
 name of the new corporation," announced Eaton almost at 
 once. "My present thought is that it would be better to 
 employ the name of some prominent Detroiter, such as your- 
 self. If you, for example, should decide to back the com- 
 pany, I should be in favor of calling it the Hillquit Motor 
 Company, and naming the car the 'Hillquit,' instead of the 
 'Eaton.' " 
 
 "Well, I don't know," Lee debated, though inwardly he 
 was intensely gratified. "As far as I am concerned, I care 
 nothing about the honor; but possibly the company might 
 gain some prestige by having my name at the head." 
 
 "Precisely," said Eaton, and a look of understanding 
 passed between them. 
 
 Then — in one of those flashes of perfect insight that come 
 only to Masters of Finance — Lee decided that he would go 
 in on the proposition. 
 
 Before they left the table, they had agreed on the rough 
 
THE GROPER 235 
 
 outlines of organisation. The Hillquit Motor Company was 
 to be capitalised at one million dollars. Lee agreed to put 
 in three hundred and fifty thousand dollars within sixty 
 days, and he was given a year's option on an additional 
 hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of stock. Will 
 Eaton wanted one hundred thousand dollars in stock, out* 
 right, for his designs, and a contract whereby he might pur- 
 chase a second hundred thousand dollar block on easy 
 terms. Lee felt that these demands were rather unreason* 
 able; but Eaton had been so magnanimous about the name 
 of the concern that he hesitated to quibble with him. The 
 remaining three hundred thousand dollars of stock was to 
 be sold to outsiders by Fred Badger at a profitable com- 
 mission. Fred was also to receive a goodly block of stock 
 from Eaton in return for his efforts in promoting the cor- 
 poration. Lee was slated to become president, Eaton vice- 
 president and chief designer, and Fred Badger secretary and 
 treasurer. 
 
 The formal incorporation occurred within a week, and 
 then Lee sent for the reporters. The afternoon papers ran 
 first page stories on the new company. For a day or two, 
 Lee had his fill of publicity. He could not open a news- 
 paper without coming upon a photograph of himself. The 
 press referred to him as a "Thirty-year-old Napoleon," 
 "Detroit's Youngest Motor Marvel"; and while he adopted 
 a deprecating attitude in public, his secret enjoyment of his 
 fame was enormous. 
 
 But it cost him a severe pang to dispose of enough of his 
 property to raise the stipulated three hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. After some reflection, he sold two-thirds of 
 his Durham Motor stock for one hundred and ten thousand 
 dollars, and over half of his Woodward Avenue frontage for 
 one hundred and eighty thousand. The remaining sixty 
 thousand dollars he secured by mortgaging the balance of 
 his real estate. 
 
236 THE GROPER 
 
 The Hillquit Company's preparations went on apace. 
 
 Before hot weather set in, Fred Badger had placed most 
 of the three hundred thousand dollar block of stock. By 
 August 1st, 1914, the corporation had purchased and 
 equipped a west-side factory. Automobile parts began 
 pouring in — the "Hillquit" was to be largely an assembled 
 car, at first; and at exactly twenty-seven minutes after 
 three o'clock on the afternoon of October the fifth, the first 
 Hillquit touring car, resplendent in glossy paint and gleam- 
 ing nickel and brass, was trundled out of the shipping room 
 door, and to the accompaniment of the hoarse factory whis- 
 tle, turned over to President Hillquit, for a triumphal drive 
 through the downtown streets. 
 
 It was purely incidental that Lee could not, for the life 
 of him, make the car budge. The newspapers were induced 
 to make no mention of the fact; and the moving picture 
 photographers obligingly "killed" their films from the point 
 where Lee, at the conclusion of the preliminary ceremonies, 
 resumed his top hat and clambered into the refractory auto- 
 mobile. 
 
VI 
 
 BEING president of a large motor corporation, Lee 
 speedily discovered, was quite different than he had 
 imagined. The picture that had taken form in his 
 mind was thoroughly alluring: he had been captivated at the 
 prospect of vast power, countless deferential assistants, enor- 
 mous prestige. The spectacular aspect of high office had 
 appealed to him. He had visualised himself in a hundred 
 impressive poses. But the actuality was far from titillating. 
 The responsibility of making portentous decisions gave him 
 no fine thrill at all; it was just hard work, monotonous, fatig- 
 uing, prosaic. Opportunities for showing off were few and 
 far between. He was wholly lacking in administrative ex- 
 perience, and he had no first-hand knowledge of the auto- 
 mobile business whatever. Accordingly, he found himself 
 referring more and more decisions to Will Eaton. 
 
 But though Lee knew nothing of shop management and 
 the various processes of manufacturing, he really could qual- 
 ify as an advertising expert. Incidentally, he had picked 
 up some understanding of salesmanship. Therefore, he 
 gravitated slowly toward the publicity and sales depart- 
 ments. Some of the advertising copy that he turned out 
 during the winter was extraordinarily good. Howard Do- 
 man and a number of other well-known "ad-men" wrote 
 him letters of appreciation. The sales department, also, 
 felt his energising touch. Within six months he had organ- 
 ised a first-rate selling force throughout the country. 
 
 All in all, in spite of his frustrated posings and his grow- 
 ing sense of ineptitude, Lee's new career thoroughly ab- 
 sorbed him during those first months of the Hillquit Motor 
 
 237 
 
238 THE GROPER 
 
 Company's existence. It was incredible to him that he had 
 not always known the feeling of affluence and power. The 
 past took on a dream-like quality. 
 
 Then abruptly, this self-same past reached out from the 
 limbo of forgotten things and laid its hands violently upon 
 him. Within a few days of each other, two incidents fur- 
 rowed their way across his life — incidents quite dissimilar, 
 yet curiously alike. 
 
 One evening Lee left the factory very late. Usually, he 
 carried one or more passengers in his limousine, but to- 
 night, he was alone. 
 
 He noted that it was seven o'clock, and an idea came 
 to him. He told the chauffeur to drive down Woodward 
 avenue, instead of directly home. 
 
 It was snowing heavily, and he glanced at the people hur- 
 rying along through the storm. 
 
 At Grand Circus Park, he left the limousine. 
 
 "Tell the housekeeper I'm dining downtown," he directed 
 the surprised driver. 
 
 He was in an impressionable mood — for the first time in 
 months. The large soft flakes of snow sifting down thickly, 
 the multitudes of people all mantled heavily in white, the 
 hundreds of lights shining mystically through the trees from 
 the windows of the new skyscrapers about the Park: these 
 and countless other sights and sounds impinged suggestively 
 upon his consciousness. 
 
 All at once he became aware that he had paused, as if 
 from force of habit, opposite the door of a certain cafe 
 which had served as the favorite rendezvous of Ellwood 
 James and himself three or four years ago. The spectacle 
 of the familiar electric sign aroused a definite curiosity in 
 him. He wondered what kind of an appeal this cafe and 
 the things it represented could make to him now. 
 
 His old crony, the head-captain, had disappeared. Even 
 the girl who checked his coat and hat was a stranger. The 
 
THE GROPER 239 
 
 whole place seemed unfamiliar. The habitues looked very- 
 much the same, and the same old sort of an orchestra 
 was wrenching out plangent dance music. But everything 
 was different, nevertheless. The old gilded pilasters, the 
 colored lights, the illuminated fountain seemed garish. The 
 air he breathed was stuffy. The people he watched were 
 noisily vulgar, the laughter of the bedizened women irritat- 
 ingly strident. 
 
 Then it dawned upon him that the change was in himself. 
 He marvelled that he could have found his life with Ellwood 
 so inescapable. Perhaps it was the necromancy of alcohol 
 that had made this stupid place seem alluring — a haven of 
 refuge from the despair that racked him in those days. 
 
 His dinner was poorly cooked and poorly served. He paid 
 the check and started out, with a taste of complete disillu- 
 sionment. 
 
 Near the door he passed a table where sat Ellwood James. 
 Their eyes met at the same instant, and Lee stopped. 
 
 He had not encountered the light-hearted young philan- 
 derer for two years, and he was struck with the change in 
 his old friend's appearance. Ellwood looked indescribably 
 world-worn. It was as if some gigantic wheel had caught 
 him, twisted and broken him. His face was thin and 
 weary. One eye seemed to sag a little in its socket; both 
 eyes were luminous and large-pupilled, like those of a con- 
 firmed alcoholic. Furrows of exhaustion quivered in his 
 cheeks. Tiny vertical veins stood out over his temples. 
 His quondam effervescence had wholly deserted him; his 
 expression was lifeless, dead. 
 
 They stood for a moment taking stock of each other: 
 Ellwood endeavoring to re-capture some of his old buoy- 
 ancy; Lee, with his new self-important briskness, restrain- 
 ing his disapproval as best he could. 
 
 "Sit down a moment, won't you?" Ellwood suggested. 
 
240 THE GROPER 
 
 For the first time, Lee took note of the woman at the 
 table. 
 
 "May I present Mr. Hillquit," introduced Ellwood. "Mrs. 
 Baynes." 
 
 Lee bowed rather stiffly. His impression of Mrs. Baynes 
 was distinctly unfavorable. She was a thin woman of 
 about twenty-five or thirty. She wore a black veil that 
 partly concealed the upper part of her face; but he could 
 see that her eyes were flecked with the marks of dissipation. 
 The flesh of her face appeared flabby underneath its coat- 
 ing of rouge. She suggested ill-health, disease. 
 
 He pleaded another engagement, but added: "I'd like 
 to have a talk with you sometime soon, Ellwood." 
 
 Lee purposely appointed his own house as the place for 
 the meeting that took place two nights later. He wanted to 
 get Ellwood out of the cafe atmosphere, and then put forth 
 a final effort to awaken him to the folly of his ways. 
 
 His motives were purely altruistic, and he worked him- 
 self up to a genuine eloquence. 
 
 "The only thing for you to do," he expounded, "is to cut 
 clear of Mrs. What's-her-name and all creatures like her. 
 They're simply dragging you down." 
 
 For the first time that evening, Ellwood exhibited a flicker 
 of interest. 
 
 "Mrs. Baynes?" he asked. "That reminds me — I was go- 
 ing to get your advice about her." 
 
 Annette Baynes, he recounted, was a divorced woman 
 he had met a few months back. In some way, she chal- 
 lenged Ellwood's prowess as a woman-hunter. Her conquest, 
 however, had not proved especially difficult for him, and he 
 confessed that he was beginning to be bored. In fact, he 
 had planned breaking off with her the very night that Lee 
 encountered them. 
 
 "Just before you came along," went on Ellwood casually, 
 
THE GROPER 241] 
 
 "Annette told me the cheerful news that I was soon to be- 
 come a father." 
 
 "An absolute lie, probably!" broke in Lee. 
 
 Ellwood shook his head. "That was my first hunch, of 
 course. But there's no doubt about it — I made sure of that. 
 Understand — she didn't threaten me. She wasn't nasty 
 about it. She just told me. That's why I feel it's up to 
 me." 
 
 "There are ways " began Lee. 
 
 "No," said the young physician. "In the first place, she 
 wouldn't consent to any funny business, and in the second 
 place, I wouldn't ask her to." He was silent a moment. 
 "The more I think about it," he added, "the more I be- 
 lieve I'll kick through." 
 
 "What do you mean — marry her?" Lee exclaimed in a 
 horrified voice. 
 
 Ellwood nodded. 
 
 "Marry a woman like thatl Why, it's simply f rightful I" 
 Lee started to pace the room in high excitement. "How 
 do you know you're the one who's responsible, anyway?" 
 
 "I don't," said Ellwood with an odd smile. "She says 
 there's no one else, and I'm inclined to believe her. Any- 
 way, it's up to me, and I'm not going to be a poor sport." 
 
 "I don't see it that way for a minute!" disagreed Lee. 
 "You weren't any more to blame than she, were you? She 
 isn't any young girl, you know. Don't be Quixotic. Just 
 think of what it will mean to be tied up to a woman like 
 that for the rest of your life. Marriage is enough of a 
 gamble, God knows, even with a good woman; but a mar- 
 riage like this will be sure Hell, that's all. You'll be ruined 
 professionally and socially. Your neighbors won't call." 
 
 But Ellwood continued shaking his head, unconvinced. 
 
 "I'm not so sure. Women are all about the same, once you 
 
 get rid of your illusions. They may wear different clothes and 
 
 .different manners, but you don't marry clothes and man- 
 
242 THE GROPER 
 
 ners. No, Lee, I haven't any foolish notions about An- 
 nette's being a spotless lamb; but I really think I have as 
 good a chance of working out a decent relationship with her 
 as with any of your so-called society girls. I don't kid 
 myself that Annette and I will spend much time riding 
 through purple clouds, but anyway we won't suffer from dis- 
 illusionment about each other." Again his odd smile. "Be- 
 sides, you know, I really do want some children." 
 
 An unmistakable dignity had come into Ellwood's voice 
 and manner. Lee abruptly fell silent 
 
 Only a day or so later he heard from Vera. She tele- 
 phoned him at the factory and asked him if he could come 
 to see her. He promised to stop on his way home that 
 night. 
 
 He had not seen her since their one tragic meeting three 
 years before. He had often found himself wondering about 
 her. Memories of her seemed to spring into his mind on 
 the smallest provocation — a voice, a mannerism, a face that 
 even remotely resembled hers. Such recollections he had 
 always put aside sternly. He still cherished the grievance 
 of her disloyalty to him. Yet her memory had persisted, 
 subtly, impalpably. 
 
 He found her in a cheaper neighborhood than before. 
 A shiver of aversion came over him as he mounted the dark 
 and stuffy stairs and made his way back to the last door 
 in the hall-way. Nor did his aversion lessen when he caught 
 Bight of Vera. She proved to be considerably stouter, and 
 there was a look of dumb misery in her eyes. Almost at 
 once she told him that she was pregnant. 
 
 Lee sat down in a rocking chair, hat in hand, and lis- 
 tened to the details of the sordid pitiful story she unfolded. 
 A year after she came to the city, her husband had learned 
 her address and thenceforth had allowed her no respite. 
 He made it clear that he intended to force her to return 
 to Record and live with him. Vera had received abusive, 
 
THE GROPER 243 
 
 threatening letters from him each week. Milo's lawyer — ■ 
 and even the prosecuting attorney of the county, a political 
 crony of the elder Higginson — had joined in trying to 
 frighten her into submission. 
 
 "But I didn't think there was any law that could make 
 me live with him," Vera said, "and I never paid any at- 
 tention to their letters." She spoke quietly, with a dull 
 impassivity. 
 
 When letters failed of their mark, Milo at length began 
 coming to Detroit. "I caught sight of him once or twice, 
 slinking along behind me on my way home from the the- 
 atre at night. My landlady said some man was calling 
 up the house while I was away and making vague threats. 
 Several times I could have sworn he was in the theatre." 
 
 Lee's aloof distaste began to melt away. "Why didn't you 
 let me know?" he asked. "I could have scared the life out 
 of him." 
 
 "I didn't want to drag you into the mess," she said. 
 "Besides I've never been afraid of men — Milo, least of all. 
 He hasn't any real courage." 
 
 Then came the unexpected disaster. One night, about 
 six months before, she had found him waiting for her in 
 her room. "Even then I wasn't at all frightened, until he 
 came close to me and I smelled the whisky he'd bolstered 
 himself up with. He locked the door and told me it was 
 my last chance to go back to Record with him. Then he 
 pulled out a revolver and asked me what my answer was. 
 I told him no." 
 
 It seemed incredible to Lee that he was sitting in this 
 almost squalid back bedroom, listening with outward calm 
 to Vera's listless recital. He gave a slight start, as if to 
 assure himself of the reality of the thing. 
 
 Vera went on. "He said I still belonged to him and he 
 intended to have his legal rights, either in Record or in 
 
244 THE GROPER 
 
 Detroit, he didn't care so much which. Even then I didn't 
 realise what he meant — till he took me by the throat." 
 
 She had fought back hard, but Milo had finally over- 
 powered her — crushed her into insensibility. "When I 
 finally came to, he'd gone — and the landlady was standing 
 by the bed, telling me to get out of the house quick — she 
 didn't want any such women around her place." 
 
 When she learned the truth about her condition, she had 
 been terror-stricken for a time. "I felt almost like giving 
 up," she said. Until a week ago, she had been able to 
 support herself by playing at the "movie"; but now her 
 plight was becoming obvious. She hated to appear on the 
 street. Her new landlady was openly suspicious. 
 
 Lee suddenly stood up. It seemed more than he could 
 bear. 
 
 "Does any one know?" he asked. "Your family?" 
 
 "Not a soul — except the doctor. As for my father and 
 mother — well, I'm as good as dead to them." 
 
 Subsequent messages from Milo had threatened further 
 treatment of the same sort unless she returned to him. She 
 showed Lee a letter she had just received, bearing the ulti- 
 matum that he would call on her the following day, and if 
 she had not changed her mind, would swear out a warrant 
 for her arrest. "I'll break your damn back for you yet, 
 old gurl," the letter concluded. 
 
 "You see," said Vera with a pathetic gesture of weakness. 
 "I realise I can't stand alone much longer, and you're the 
 only one I can turn to. I have almost no money left, and 
 I won't be able to earn any more from now on." 
 
 Lee turned toward the door with set jaws. "You need 
 have no further worry," he assured her, "either about Milo 
 or about money." 
 
 "Thank you," she said — and for a moment he thought she 
 was going to cry. But she suddenly recovered herself. 
 "Understand, Lee — I won't take a cent from you. But he's 
 
THE GROPER 245 
 
 responsible for my not being able to work — he's the one who 
 must do something." 
 
 Lee took his leave, oscillating between intense irritation 
 at the disagreeable duty he had undertaken, and an odd, 
 vague sense of affectionate comradeship with Vera. Strange, 
 the force of this obscure tie between them, woven out of 
 their old love for one another — as if the close and precious 
 communion of Chatham days still survived the disintegrat- 
 ing and disillusioning years that had intervened. He could 
 not but be conscious of a trust neglected. He ought to have 
 looked after Vera — helped her. Profound pity and sympa- 
 thy for her suffused him. 
 
 Instead of going home, he drove to one of his downtown 
 clubs. There he was fortunate enough to find his very good 
 friend, the Police Commissioner, alone at dinner — with the 
 result that Milo Higginson, arriving at the Michigan Cen- 
 tral station that night, was promptly picked up by two 
 very intelligent and discreet detectives and made to lan- 
 guish till morning in a cell at headquarters. 
 
 There was very little pride or fight left in the son of 
 Record's chief banker the next day when he was brought 
 into the Commissioner's office and left alone with Lee. Their 
 conference was neither long nor inconclusive. Milo promptly 
 secured three hundred dollars by telegraph and deposited 
 it with Lee, as a partial payment of Vera's medical and 
 hospital expenses. Verbally he agreed, under pain of a 
 criminal prosecution for his assault, to send her twenty 
 dollars a week after the baby's birth, and to interpose no 
 objection to her suit for divorce. 
 
 This done, Milo — a very peculiar discoloration begin- 
 ning to manifest itself around his left eye — was escorted 
 back to the railway station and placed aboard an outgoing 
 train by the same two detectives. 
 
 Vera surprised Lee by refusing absolutely to take the 
 agreed alimony. 
 
246 THE GROPER 
 
 "How can I when I loathe him so?" she demanded. "All 
 I want from him is what I'm justly entitled to: enough 
 money to see me through the baby's birth. I'll take his 
 three hundred dollars. After that I'll ask favors of no 
 one. I can support both the baby and myself." She repaid 
 Lee for all his trouble with her smile of new courage. "I'm 
 going to make something of myself yet, Lee — and I'm going 
 to make something of that baby, too." 
 
 He looked slightly troubled. "But — are you sure it's 
 wise for you to keep it?" he asked. 
 
 Vera had been strangely apathetic about the whole 
 wretched business; but now she surveyed Lee fiercely. 
 • "The baby? Why, of course I'm going to keep it I I'd 
 like to see anybody take it away from me!" 
 
vn 
 
 THE first season of the Hillquit Motor Company was 
 not an undiluted success. 
 The trouble lay in the manufacturing end. In- 
 stead of turning out ten thousand cars, Eaton completed 
 a scant five thousand. Persistent trouble developed in the 
 car's rear axle, and it became necessary to take a great 
 many machines back and make costly adjustments on 
 others. Eaton, however, pronounced these difficulties a part 
 of the first year's experience of every automobile company, 
 and he predicted a phenomenal success for the second sea- 
 son beginning August 1st, 1915. 
 
 Indeed, prospects were highly promising. Lee's distinc- 
 tive advertising campaign had created a real demand for 
 the "Hillquit." The sales agents eagerly contracted for 
 twenty thousand of the new cars. Eaton announced that 
 he had entirely remedied the rear axle trouble and improved 
 the design materially. 
 
 The corporation had lost very little money up to date; 
 but as spring came on and additional capital was required, 
 Lee found it necessary to apply to the bank for an extension 
 of credit from one hundred thousand dollars to two hundred 
 and fifty thousand. 
 
 The bank directors proved unenthusiastic. "We're load- 
 ed up on motor loans," the vice-president reported to Lee. 
 "So are all the other banks in town." 
 
 The final outcome was that the bank agreed to allow the 
 new credit only upon Lee's personal endorsement of the 
 notes. 
 
 Lee called a meeting of the board of directors of the 
 Hillquit Company, and laid the situation before them. 
 
 247 
 
248 THE GROPER 
 
 "We might increase the capitalisation and sell more 
 stock," suggested Will Eaton. "But that means splitting 
 future profits with more people. I really don't think you'd 
 be running any risk at all in endorsing the notes. By the! 
 time they fall due, we'll have more money than we know 
 how to use. If my endorsement were worth anything to 
 the bank, I'd be glad to give it." 
 
 "How about you?" Lee asked Fred Badger. "Are you 
 willing to go on this paper with me?" 
 
 "I'd be glad to, if my endorsement had any value," Fred 
 assured him. "Unfortunately, I'm sewed up in several 
 things right now that take every penny I can earn." 
 
 "I don't feel like taking the risk all alone," protested 
 Lee. "I suppose the bank would really look to me if the 
 notes weren't paid, but all the same, I'd like to have you 
 fellows sign too." 
 
 Eaton and Fred finally agreed to this; but on April first, 
 the day appointed for negotiating the loan, Fred Badger 
 telegraphed from Chicago that he had been unexpectedly 
 called out of town, but would return the next day. Lee 
 and Eaton endorsed the new notes; and upon Fred's re- 
 appearance, Lee insisted that he also sign. After many 
 delays, Fred added his name as an endorser. 
 
 Lee felt some uneasiness about the situation. In addition 
 to his initial investment of three hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand, he was now liable on the corporation's notes, due 
 October first, in the amount of one hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. If anything happened to the company, Lee's 
 entire fortune would be wip?d out. 
 
 Although his misgivings were slight, he began to retrench 
 in his personal expenditures. A year before, he had pur- 
 chased eighty acres of land in the Bloomfield Hills section, 
 twenty miles north of the city; and he had already secured 
 architect's plans for a country house that would cost him 
 about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He deter- 
 
THE GROPER 249 
 
 mined to delay the actual construction of the house for the 
 immediate present. 
 
 One June morning Lee found in his personal mail an 
 engraved announcement that Eleanor B. Badger had opened 
 a landscape architect's office on the tenth floor of a down- 
 town building. 
 
 He sat staring at the card a moment, slightly inquisitive; 
 then had his secretary telephone Eleanor. 
 
 "Yes," came a woman's voice. 
 
 "This is Lee Hillquit, and I've just gotten your announce- 
 ment. Do you mean to say you're designing gardens and 
 all that sort of thing professionally?" 
 
 "Goodness, yes!" confirmed Eleanor. "I've been at the 
 game almost two years now. By the way, I understand 
 you are going to build a country house soon." 
 
 He explained that his plans were indefinite. "I may be- 
 gin this summer, and I may not. Perhaps I shall want to 
 get your advice." 
 
 "Very glad to give it," said Eleanor and rang off. 
 
 Lee considered it odd that Fred had not spoken of his 
 sister's new vocation. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't 
 heard Fred mention Eleanor's name for many months. 
 
 The next time he happened to be in that particular 
 building, he made a point of going to Eleanor's office. 
 
 He found that she occupied an impressive suite, in com- 
 pany with a well-known architect. He gave his name to the 
 stenographer, and presently was ushered into Eleanor's pri- 
 vate office. She was sitting at a flat-top desk, littered with 
 papers and blue-prints; but as he entered, she stood up and 
 held out her hand. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Hillquit," she greeted. "I'm very 
 glad to see you again." 
 
 Her expression — that was what had so altered since he 
 had last seen her. Her actual features, under their coat of 
 early tan, were much the same — the same direct blue eyes 
 
250 
 
 THE GROPER 
 
 with the clear whites; the same straight nose, coming out 
 from her forehead at precisely the proper angle; the same 
 sane mouth, a little too wide, perhaps. Her tailored suit 
 was smart and fitted her beautifully. But it was the change 
 in her expression that held his attention. The old cynical, 
 stifled look had vanished. Here manifestly was a very in- 
 dependent young woman, entirely free from morbid self- 
 consciousness — with an immense interest in the work she 
 was doing. Her self-confidence made him think of Fred. 
 
 She began talking business at once. She had taken a 
 number of art courses in college, she explained; and shortly 
 after her last talk with Lee, she had become fired with an 
 ambition to become a landscape architect. She had taken 
 a two years 7 course in an eastern university and served an 
 apprenticeship in a Detroit architect's office. She showed 
 him photographs of the work she had done for her clients, 
 and elicited the plans for his country estate. He asked 
 her one or two personal questions about herself, but she re- 
 turned to professional matters so tactfully that he did not 
 realise, till he stood up to go, that he had not at all suc- 
 ceeded in satisfying the faint prick of curiosity that had 
 brought him to her office. 
 
 "It's odd I've heard your brother say nothing about your 
 professional work," he hazarded. 
 
 "Fred?" She raised her shoulders indifferently. "That's 
 not so surprising. He's not very proud of my professional 
 career — keeps asking me to give it up, stay home and be a 
 'nice girl' again. But now that I've started to make a little 
 money, he's beginning to soften a bit, I can see." 
 
 "And do you really enjoy being a working girl as much 
 as you expected?" pursued Lee quizzically. 
 
 She smiled back at him triumphantly. "More. I'd sell 
 my soul any day for real professional success. The only 
 trouble is that most Detroit people won't take a woman's 
 professional work seriously. You've no idea the prejudice 
 
THE GROPER 25U 
 
 I've had to go up against." She recovered her impersonal 
 attitude abruptly. "But this isn't paying office rent, is it?" 
 She glanced at her wrist-watch. "You'll excuse me now," 
 she said briskly. "I have a planting job at Grosse Pointe 
 that simply must be finished to-day. But I'm awfully in- 
 terested in your plans, and I think something stunning 
 could be worked out." 
 
 Lee walked with her to the elevator. "Can't I give you 
 a lift out to the Pointe?" he heard himself asking. 
 
 "No, thanks. I have a little Durham runabout," she 
 explained. "I did drive a Hillquit," she added with a laugh, 
 "but I had so much trouble with it, I finally had to trade 
 it in for a car I could depend on." 
 
 He made some light reply, and they parted at the en- 
 trance to the building. He saw her step lithely into her car, 
 start the motor and drive off. It was a new experience for 
 him to be handled in such cavalier fashion, and he sought 
 out his own limousine, at once puzzled and interested by 
 her off-hand manner with him. 
 
vm 
 
 PERHAPS it was the humid warmth of the June days — 
 or possibly, his worry over the affairs of the Hillquit 
 Motor Company. Again, the serene and self-assured 
 spirit that he had encountered in Eleanor Badger may have 
 had something to do with it. 
 
 At any rate, Lee found himself in the grip of a new rest- 
 lessness. His work at the factory seemed mere drudgery, 
 shot through with multiplying anxieties. He felt tired, de- 
 pressed. He could get no lift from the sense of his pros- 
 perity and power. Even his advertising work palled. 
 
 But these vague stirrings did not focus until he picked up 
 his newspaper one morning and read of the death of Michael 
 Curran. 
 
 The old department-store magnate had last been seen 
 three evenings before on a Belle Isle ferry boat. His fail- 
 ure to reappear at his residence within the next thirty-six 
 hours found its way into the newspapers. Then a deck- 
 hand on the ferry boat remembered having heard a slight 
 splash in the water, just after the boat left the island dock 
 on its last trip. That afternoon, the harbor master began 
 to drag the river bottom, and late at night, brought up 
 Michael Curran's body a few rods below the spot identified 
 by the deck-hand. 
 
 The morning paper printed a picture and a long obituary. 
 The last paragraphs read: 
 
 Mr. Curran's death was presumably accidental. He wa9 
 in the best of health, and had no financial worries. How 
 he could have fallen overboard without being seen by some 
 one is a mystery. 
 
 252 
 
THE GROPER 253 
 
 Mr. Curran's estate is variously estimated at from one to 
 five millions. 
 
 Coroner Phillips said there would be no inquest. 
 
 As Lee read the details, there arose in his mind a picture 
 of the old Irishman as he last remembered him — wandering 
 like a lost wraith about the store where he had once held 
 undisputed sway. He dropped in to see Howard Doman. 
 
 "Poor old Mike!" said the merchandise manager. "I've 
 felt mighty sorry for him lately. He just didn't have any 
 more function in life. He couldn't run the business and he 
 was too old for women. I've foreseen his suicide for the last 
 month." 
 
 "Suicide!" Lee interjected. 
 
 Doman nodded. "Not the faintest doubt. A boy on the 
 boat saw him climbing over the railing on the lower deck. 
 Mike's eyes were staring, and the kid was so scared he didn't 
 say anything about it till to-day. Of course, we kept it out 
 of the papers." 
 
 Lee went away, more depressed than ever. 
 
 "Money and women." He recalled Doman's apt charac- 
 terisation. That epitomised Curran's whole life — and his 
 desolate end. Lee thought of the man, with all his ability, 
 his flashes of insight, his constructive imagination, his force 
 and power, his sense of humor. 
 
 Money and women — nothing else. No fine purpose, no 
 gleam of unselfishness, no flow of spirituality. 
 
 Money and women. Lee wondered if the phrase did not 
 sum up his own life thus far. True, he was through with 
 women, but he lived and breathed for money and its by- 
 products. 
 
 He took a searching look into the big mirror in his office. 
 It was the first time he had really taken stock of himself 
 in years. His eye skipped negligently over the details of 
 his appearance: the trim lines of his suit, artfully conceal- 
 ing the incipient stoutness of his waist-line; the expensive 
 
254 
 
 THE GROPER 
 
 shirt and cravat; the lines of his face, the furrows in his 
 forehead, the few grey hairs on his temples. His eyes were 
 tired, but not dissipated looking. Business cares and anxie- 
 ties accounted for that woeful sagging in the corners of his 
 mouth. But the crying unhappiness of his whole expression 
 — that was what caught him up short. 
 
 What did it all mean? He had no apparent reason to be 
 unhappy. He was living a virtuous, industrious life; he was 
 successful, influential — highly regarded by the whole city. 
 
 That afternoon, he left his limousine at Grand Circus 
 Park a second time, and started down Woodward avenue. 
 
 Nearly every man and woman he passed bore his own 
 jaded, thwarted expresbion. A sea of sad faces. Only a 
 few of the children looked happy. 
 
 He took note of the people in limousines — people of 
 wealth and position, many of whom he knew. Their faces 
 had never before seemed so common, so unimaginative — 
 most of all, so sombre. Stupid, over-fed people, most of 
 them, with greedy bodies but ungreedy minds: they pos- 
 sessed everything in life that money could buy; they flung 
 their wealth in the faces of the envious, gaping pedestrians; 
 yet their dull visages showed no glimmer of joyousness. 
 Money and women, those were the false illusions that had 
 spread the mark of chagrin over all these faces. Money, 
 anyway. How they all schemed and laid traps for it! 
 Money! That was the only standard of success. Money! 
 That was the magic talisman that would bring perfect hap- 
 piness! Money! The hundreds who failed in its pursuit 
 were wholly wretched; yet the few who achieved its quest 
 looked even more cheated than those who failed. 
 
 Lee took a street car home, and sat down in his lux- 
 uriously furnished library. A dull despair pervaded him. 
 
 Perhaps those morbid German philosophers were right 
 after all ; and the only real art of living consisted of learning 
 to exist without happiness. 
 
PART FOUR 
 
 AUGUST first, 1915— the beginning of the 1916 auto- 
 mobile season — arrived in due time. Will Eaton had 
 announced a daily output of one hundred cars for 
 the new season, but when the five o'clock whistle blew, not 
 a single automobile was ready for shipment. A week, then 
 a full month went by before Lee woke up to the fact that 
 something was seriously wrong. 
 
 It was not alone the fact that the entire proposed output 
 — twenty thousand cars — had been contracted for, and that 
 the efficient sales representatives he had so carefully picked 
 were sending in sharp telegrams of inquiry every day. 
 Rather, it was the uncertainty as to when production would 
 actually begin that brought new lines of worry to his face. 
 
 The chief trouble, Eaton explained, was delay in the re- 
 ceipt of certain parts. The Hillquit was still an assembled 
 car — that is, the company contracted for most of the parts 
 of the automobile, and merely put them together in the 
 Detroit factory. The gasoline engine, the steering wheel, 
 the axles and certain other parts came from Detroit con- 
 cerns; the remaining parts from other cities. 
 
 When Lee really started investigating, he soon found that 
 only one-half of the necessary parts had arrived at the plant. 
 Eaton excused his failure to inform Lee earlier by saying 
 that he had been expecting all the lacking parts to appear 
 every day. 
 
 "But damn it, Eaton!" Lee burst out. "WeVe got to 
 
 255 
 
256 THE GROPER 
 
 get started right away — don't you see? Here it is Septem- 
 ber already! Every day we're receiving bills for the parts 
 that are here, and we won't have a cent to pay them with, 
 till we begin shipping cars." 
 
 Eaton shrugged his shoulders in an offended way. "I'm 
 sure I've done everything possible to get action," he said. 
 "Anyway, that end of the business is up to you and Fred 
 Badger. My part of the car, the design, is beyond criti- 
 cism." 
 
 Fred Badger had not been at the plant for two days, 
 Lee discovered. 
 
 He sent hurriedly for the contracts that covered the miss- 
 ing automobile parts. Without exception, they provided 
 that deliveries to the Hillquit Company should begin prior 
 to August first. 
 
 He telephoned to the two Detroit concerns that were on 
 the delinquent list. 
 
 "We're sorry, Mr. Hillquit," they both professed. "But 
 we've been delayed by the people who furnish us material. 
 Your order is going through now all right. It's only a mat- 
 ter of a few days more." 
 
 "I notice you didn't seem to have any difficulty filling the 
 Durham order on time," Lee told the vice-president of the 
 company that supplied self-starters. 
 
 "Well, that's a little different proposition, Mr. Hillquit," 
 reasoned the vice-president. "We took on the Durham peo- 
 ple long before we did you." 
 
 "That doesn't make the slightest difference!" Lee vocif- 
 erated. "Now I want that stuff out right away, or we'll can- 
 cel our contract with you." 
 
 The vice-president refused to be ruffled. "All right. Sup- 
 pose we do cancel. It would relieve a lot of the congestion 
 out here." 
 
 It occurred to Lee that this particular starter had been 
 especially designed to fit into the type of engine used in 
 
THE GROPER 257 
 
 the Hillquit car, and that no other starter would prove 
 adaptable to Eaton's design. 
 
 "You think you have us where you want us," he accused 
 the vice-president. "You may change your mind if we 
 find it necessary to start suit against you." 
 
 But Malcomson, the Hillquit Company's attorney, gave 
 him small satisfaction. 
 
 "Of course, you can sue," he vouchsafed, "but it will be 
 a year before the case is tried. And naturally, the self- 
 starter people will throw up their contract with you, the 
 minute you serve them with process." 
 
 "Do you mean to say there's no way of compelling those 
 rough-necks to live up to their agreement?" 
 
 The lawyer pursed his lips quizzically. "No very efficient 
 way, I'm afraid. If you had come to me before you signed 
 these contracts, I might have put in a good stiff damages 
 clause or something else that would have done the trick. 
 As it is, your best chance is to kid them along into sending 
 you the stuff." 
 
 Lee was at his wit's ends. He could evolve no solution 
 of the grave straits that confronted the company. Worst 
 of all, he could get no help at all from his associates. Fred 
 Badger could never be located when he was most wanted, 
 and the Scion of "one of Boston's best families, you know," 
 withdrew more and more into his shell as problems multi- 
 plied. Lee saw financial ruin staring him in the face. 
 
 Then, quite inexplicably, things unknotted themselves. 
 The starters arrived and other parts began rolling in. By 
 the second week in September, every missing constituent 
 was on hand, except the specially designed carburetors — 
 and they were reported en route from Chicago. 
 
 Lee breathed more easily, and Eaton thawed out percep- 
 tibly. A considerable portion of the season's profits had 
 been irretrievably lost; but the danger of downright failure, 
 seemed happily averted. 
 
A WEEK or two after his visit to Eleanor's office, Lee 
 had one day surprised himself by inviting her to 
 lunch. She puzzled and piqued him, this young 
 professional woman, with her measureless self-sufficiency and 
 her novel "hands-off" air. Throughout the trying summer 
 months, he contrived to see her with increasing frequency. 
 When she went away in August for a short vacation, he was 
 taken aback to discover how definitely he missed her com- 
 panionship. 
 
 Just why he had come to depend on her, ever so slightly, 
 was something of a mystery. He was not at all attracted 
 to her in the usual ways. Eleanor possessed not the faint- 
 est vestige of what is called feminine alluringness. Certain 
 things about her, indeed, he positively disliked: her indif- 
 ference, for example, and her pains to make him realise 
 that their friendship must always remain impersonal. An- 
 other somewhat nettling circumstance was Eleanor's prone- 
 ness to spend half of their time together in a discussion of 
 landscape plans for his country estate. Hardly a luncheon 
 passed without the unostentatious production of blue-print 
 designs and photographs of Italian, English or Japanese 
 gardens. 
 
 Lee, to tell the truth, was very lonely these days — almost 
 equally restless. He was thoroughly disillusioned with 
 women, he felt — with none more so than the third-year-out 
 "Society girls" who flattered and coquetted with him. Thus 
 it came to pass that after a wry face or two over Eleanor's 
 impersonal quality, Lee began to find this very trait the 
 rarest and most appealing thing about her. It was very 
 
 258 
 
THE GROPER 259 
 
 restful, and a great relief, to discover a young woman to 
 prove the exception to his firm conclusion that all be-skirted 
 persons were innately personal; to encounter a charming 
 companion with whom he could forget the crushing perplex- 
 ities of business, without the fear of Sex, lurking somewhere 
 about, ready to pounce out and spoil everything. 
 
 For Eleanor could be a charming companion. Hers was 
 a mental sparkle that proved unfailingly diverting. She 
 possessed brains without being at all ponderous. Giving her 
 mind a novel, interesting idea to play with was like drop- 
 ping a lighted match into tinder. She could become as 
 excited over a Whistler Nocturne or a piece of irridescent 
 pottery as could most girls of Lee's acquaintance over the 
 most thrilling of love affairs or the newest of gowns. At 
 times, Lee was not above starting arguments with her for 
 no other purpose than to watch her blue eyes enkindle. 
 
 She was a new type of woman to him; and that of course 
 served to heighten her attractiveness. He could not place 
 her. When he thought of professional women, the picture 
 of a mannish, ungraceful species rose before his eyes. He 
 had come upon a few such, and he remembered with aver- 
 sion their slouchy suits, their "sensible" shoes and dowdy 
 hats. Eleanor was every whit as impersonal as these others; 
 she yielded an exclusive devotion to her work. But she had 
 retained her pride of dress and body. Evidently she did 
 not hold it necessary to sacrifice personal charm to her 
 strict professional attitude. 
 
 Yes, she was a fine frank spirit who somehow pulled him 
 up a little out of the depths. Yet it was perfectly clear to 
 him that he was not in the least in love with her — nor she 
 with him, thank Heaven. All possibility of real love was 
 over for him. His first fine affection for Vera could never 
 be duplicated, he felt. More than once he caught himself 
 repressing an inward groan as he thought of his earlier 
 innocence of soul, now irrevocably lost. 
 
260 THE GROPER 
 
 To help deaden this half-realised need of his for a great 
 love, Eleanor and her friendship seemed to serve admirably. 
 They saw each other with increasing frequency after her 
 return to the city. A year ago, he would have pronounced 
 such a relationship between a man and woman impossible. 
 Never did either of them trespass in spirit beyond the pre- 
 cincts of mere friendship. Never for an instant did Lee 
 confuse his high admiration for Eleanor and his dependence 
 on her comradeship for any other emotion — nor did Eleanor. 
 
 So secure did he feel on this score that he could not 
 refrain from an occasional humorous comment on their 
 relationship. 
 
 "I really believe the only reason you lunch with me is to 
 sell me an expensive garden," he complained. "That's all 
 you're really interested in — now isn't it?" 
 
 To his amused surprise, she flushed a little, then managed 
 a really charming smile. "Do you honestly think there are 
 so many congenial men in Detroit?" 
 
 A week or two later, Lee learned with some disquietude 
 that his friendship with Eleanor had become the subject of 
 considerable gossip. One or two of his fellow club-members 
 chaffed him goodnaturedly on the forthcoming announce- 
 ment of his engagement. It was thoroughly understood 
 that he was open to congratulations. Other similar inti- 
 mations reached him in round-about ways. 
 
 Lee received this raillery with light denials, outwardly. 
 Inwardly he was dismayed. He possessed to the utmost the 
 usual masculine aversion to being talked about, to placing 
 any woman in an equivocal situation. Yet it seemed to him 
 the height of absurdity to think of sacrificing his precious 
 friendship with Eleanor. He felt he needed it now more 
 than ever. As his business affairs grew more desperate, 
 he counted more and more heavily on the solace of her 
 companionship. 
 
 The fairest solution was to submit the problem to Eleanor, 
 
THE GROPER 261 
 
 he concluded. "If she knows about it, and doesn't mind," he 
 reasoned, "things can go on as they are. We're both adults, 
 and it's our own business." 
 
 Three nights later, at their favorite corner table in the 
 city's most conservative cafe, matters came to a swift and 
 surprising decision. 
 
 Hardly had the waiter made off with the finger-bowls and 
 his tip when Eleanor contrived to bring the conversation 
 to the subject of his new country estate. 
 
 "Now see here!" protested Lee in mock indignation. "I 
 don't want to see a blue-print to-night. You're as bad 
 as Brother Fred. There's something else I want to talk 
 to you about." 
 
 A conscientious 'bus-boy intervened just then with a 
 match-stand. Lee glanced out of the cafe window at the 
 gloom-enshrouded figures of hurrying passers-by, the daz- 
 zling headlights of automobiles, the slowly moving street 
 cars — all the teeming life of the city. He was painfully 
 agitated and somewhat depressed. Never before had he 
 needed Eleanor's reassurance so acutely. His day at the 
 factory had been nerve-racking — the trouble over the self- 
 starters had reached a climax; and this, together with his 
 unpleasant task of relating the gossip about them, had 
 brought him close to the breaking-point. 
 
 He met Eleanor's appraising eye. "As a matter of fact, 
 I doubt very much if I'll ever have that country house. 
 Things at the factory seem to be going to smash about as 
 fast as they can. I shouldn't wonder if I'd be glad tq 
 have any sort of a shack to hang my hat and coat in — 
 let alone a country estate. But I know that can make no 
 difference " 
 
 "No country estate I" 
 
 Eleanor spoke so tensely that Lee stared. She bit her lips. 
 
 "What is it?" he importuned. 
 
Olbi THE GROPER 
 
 "Nothing." She recovered her poise abruptly. "Except 
 that I have something disagreeable to say to you." 
 
 Lee's stare widened. 
 
 "You and I have been seeing a lot of each other lately, 
 and — well, we're both old enough to know what propinquity 
 usually does to a man and woman. I see you understand. 
 Now I have no intention of falling in love with any one, 
 and so I think it's wiser for us to stop seeing each other." 
 Lee was nonplussed for an instant, then intensely humili- 
 ated. "You needn't have worried on my account," he an- 
 swered curtly. "I wanted nothing but your friendship. 
 Naturally, now that I have no Italian garden to plan " 
 
 Eleanor stood up. "You can think that, of course." 
 
 They left the cafe and started for her house. Lee's anger 
 oozed rapidly away, and a sense of abysmal loneliness over- 
 spread him. All his poignant unhappiness of soul, all his 
 business anxieties seemed to culminate. He was filled with 
 remorse over his ill-bred insinuation against Eleanor. Life 
 had been endurable of late solely because of her, and now 
 she too was forsaking him. 
 
 Against the background of his desolation, moreover, stood 
 out sharply his utter perplexity. Why had Eleanor cut him 
 off thus without warning and without compassion? It was 
 not what she had said but her manner in saying it. 
 
 "I'm sorry — and I'm puzzled, Eleanor," he said as they 
 reached her door. 
 
 "I shouldn't be." She rang the bell, then turned impas- 
 sively toward him. "What you said about me wasn't wholly 
 untrue. Some abnormal streak in me. The Badger strain, 
 I guess. Perhaps I'm not so different from my dear brother, 
 after all." She laughed enigmatically. "All he wants in 
 life is money; all I care about is success. So, you see, I'm 
 hardly worth being either sorry or puzzled about." 
 
 The maid opened the door, and Eleanor disappeared with- 
 out saying good-night. 
 
m 
 
 THE arrival of the missing automobile parts was so 
 great a relief to Lee that he permitted two full weeks 
 to elapse before he emerged from his sense of se- 
 curity to the realisation that the carburetors, in the design 
 of which Eaton took such enormous pride, had not yet put 
 in an appearance. 
 
 By now it was the latter part of September, and the situ- 
 ation had become much more serious than ever. Every 
 day's delay was costing the company thousands of dollars. 
 Several of the largest creditors had grown tired of writing 
 urgent letters, and had placed their accounts with Detroit 
 law firms. What with staving off lawyers, frantic sales rep- 
 resentatives, and Dun and Bradstreet reporters, Lee led a 
 hounded existence. 
 
 The bank's attitude troubled him especially. The notes 
 for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars which he had 
 endorsed were to mature October first, only a few days 
 away. When he sounded the president and cashier about 
 renewals, they were unexpectedly pessimistic. 
 
 "Of course, we'd like to accommodate you, Mr. Hillquit," 
 they said, "but we feel we really ought to insist on pay- 
 ment of these notes." 
 
 "But it's practically impossible!" exclaimed Lee. 
 
 They surveyed his anxious face with apparent concern. 
 "Suppose you pay half the face of notes," they compro- 
 mised. 
 
 "That's also out of the question," he insisted. 
 
 After considerable debate, they agreed to renew the notes 
 for sixty days. Lee and Will Eaton endorsed the new notes 
 
 263 
 
264 THE GROPER 
 
 October first, but Fred Badger was again absent from the 
 city on that date, and did not affix his name until more 
 than a week later. 
 
 Meanwhile, a thousand Hillquit cars — all there was room 
 for — stood completely assembled in the factory, waiting only 
 the final small constituent that would transform them from 
 inanimate junk into something alive. 
 
 Lee kept the wires hot for a few days, then caught a 
 sleeper to Chicago. 
 
 The president of the carburetor concern was a large 
 aggressive individual with a tumid neck and a heavy bass 
 voice. He resented Lee's belligerent tone, and they wrangled 
 all day. 
 
 "Go as far as you like, Hillquit," said the carburetor 
 manufacturer. "We have more profitable business on our 
 books than we can possibly fill. We're doing the best we 
 can with your order, and no amount of your bulldozing 
 will help matters a particle." 
 
 "But just think, man!" Lee expostulated. "Your con- 
 tract specifies July IS as the date of our first shipment. 
 You're almost three months late now. You've lost us a for- 
 tune already. It means bankruptcy if we don't get car- 
 buretors right away." 
 
 The president raised his eyebrows. "I've heard some 
 talk about your being in hard shape." A crafty grin over- 
 spread his face. "Well, Hillquit, I don't see how you can 
 expect us to break our necks getting out stuff for a doubt- 
 ful concern like yours." 
 
 "Oh, we'll be all right, provided we can get carbure- 
 tors," Lee asserted. 
 
 In the end, the aggressive president agreed to make a 
 shipment by the middle of the following week, without 
 fail. Lee returned to Detroit, hoping for the best. There 
 was really very little more he could do. No ordinary car- 
 buretors — even if he could have bought them — would work 
 
THE GROPER 265 
 
 well with the Hillquit motor. Legal proceedings would 
 only complicate matters, without procuring results. 
 
 The following Monday brought a disturbing letter from 
 Chicago. It concluded as follows: 
 
 The investigation of your financial condition confirms our 
 belief that we should be running too much of a risk if we 
 made shipments to you on the usual terms of credit. We 
 have therefore decided that we must ask for cash payments 
 in advance of each shipment. 
 
 Lee's exasperation knew no bounds. It was the rawest 
 kind of a hold-up, he felt. Besides, the Hillquit Company's 
 bank balance was running uncomfortably low; there re- 
 mained barely enough for two or three more pay-rolls. 
 
 Yet there seemed no solution save to comply; and Tues- 
 day night, he mailed a New York draft for twelve thousand 
 dollars covering a first shipment of two thousand carbure- 
 tors. His accompanying letter implored immediate ship- 
 ment. 
 
 An agonising fortnight dragged by without a sign of the 
 carburetors. 
 
 On October 20th, Lee received a letter from a local attor- 
 ney who represented the concern that had supplied rear 
 axles. The account amounted to fifty thousand dollars, 
 and the lawyer stated that unless he received payment in 
 full on or before the twenty-fifth of the month, he would 
 file a petition in bankruptcy against the Hillquit Com- 
 pany. 
 
 As Lee sat staring at the letter, a telegram was brought 
 to his desk. 
 
 Chicago, Oct. 20, 1915. 
 
 HAVE SHIPPED ONE THOUSAND CARBURETORS 
 TO-DAY VIA MICHIGAN CENTRAL. ONE THOU- 
 SAND MORE SATURDAY. 
 
 SODERBERG CARBURETOR CO. 
 
266 THE GROPER 
 
 Lee rushed downtown to consult Alpheus Malcomson, the 
 corporation's attorney. 
 
 "If they ever file that bankruptcy petition, it's all over 
 with you people," commented the lawyer. "You see, you're 
 really insolvent this minute. The only chance is to hold a 
 meeting of all the creditors, and try to get them to agree 
 to hold off another two months until you've had a chance 
 to sell a few thousand cars." 
 
 He telephoned the lawyer who had threatened bank- 
 ruptcy proceedings. 
 
 "Holderman says he'll wait until the creditors' meeting 
 before he does anything," he announced, hanging Up the 
 receiver. "Now let's get busy." 
 
 Malcomson and Lee drew up a brief statement of the 
 company's condition and mailed it to all the creditors, to- 
 gether with notice of a meeting to be held a week later 
 in the directors' room of the Hillquit Company's bank. 
 
 Forty-two creditors — all but four of the entire list — 
 were represented at the meeting. Alpheus Malcomson made 
 a short opening statement setting forth the objects of the 
 meeting. Then Lee related in detail the financial situation 
 of the corporation. 
 
 "If you force us into bankruptcy," he concluded, "our 
 stock will only bring junk prices, and you'll be lucky if 
 you get ten cents on the dollar. But if you'll all take ninety- 
 day notes for your claims, and give us a chance to finish 
 and sell six or seven thousand cars, you'll get every cent 
 that's coming to you." 
 
 One or two of the attorneys were disposed to ask em- 
 barrassing questions about the whys and wherefores of the 
 corporation's insolvency, but the majority seemed to accede 
 to Lee's views. When the final vote came, every creditor 
 at the meeting agreed to an extension of three months, with 
 the stipulation that the business was to be conducted under 
 the advisory supervision of a committee of creditors. 
 
THE GROPER 267 
 
 Lee returned to the plant next morning, almost jubilant. 
 He was confident that the worst was over. The first con- 
 signment of carburetors had come in a week ago, and al- 
 ready a thousand Hillquit cars had been shipped to vora- 
 cious agents all over the country. The second thousand 
 carburetors had arrived that very morning, he found. From 
 now on, it seemed certain that the factory's output would 
 be over one hundred cars a day. 
 
 At the end of November, prospects were even more hope- 
 ful. Thirty-six hundred machines had been assembled and 
 shipped. Money was beginning to pour in from the sales 
 agencies. Lee and Will Eaton were talking about adding 
 another eight-hour shift and doubling the output. 
 
 On the thirteenth of November, shortly before noon, a 
 telegram arrived from the Indianapolis agent: 
 
 MOTOR TROUBLE HAS DEVELOPED IN EVERY 
 CAR SOLD. THINK CARBURETOR IS FAULTY. 
 PLEASE SEND FACTORY EXPERT TO-NIGHT SURE 
 
 Lee scowled and handed the telegram to Eaton. 
 
 "Probably a very simple adjustment," commented the 
 Bostoner. "Some of those agents can't fix even a punctured 
 tire. I'll run down to Indianapolis myself, if necessary." 
 
 During the afternoon, three more telegrams came in from 
 other cities announcing motor trouble. In the morning, five 
 similar wires followed one another at brief intervals. 
 
 "What does it mean?" gasped Lee. 
 
 Eaton resorted to his injured expression. "How should 
 I know? The carburetors are all right and the motors are 
 equally so. Whatever the difficulty, you may rest assured 
 it's not my fault." 
 
 Lee repressed an angry retort. "Better shoot down to 
 Indianapolis to-night," he counselled. "It's probably some 
 very simple matter, just as you suggest." 
 
 The next day, after Eaton's departure, his chief assistant 
 entered Lee's office with a worried look. 
 
268 THE GROPER 
 
 "Riker, the Detroit sales agent, is on the wire," he set 
 forth. "Says he's overrun with complaints about the mo- 
 tor. Do you think I'd better run down and have a look?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Lee grimly. "I also think I'd better 
 go with you." 
 
 Riker was a tall, good-looking young man with the auto- 
 mobile salesman's characteristic optimism and "pep." But 
 when he greeted Lee and the assistant designer, his expres- 
 sion was noticeably despondent. 
 
 "I've sold fifty cars so far this month, and every single 
 owner is on my neck. It's getting my goat." 
 
 "What's the matter?" Lee demanded. 
 
 "The damned cars just won't run," vituperated Riker. 
 "At least they won't run right. The motor seems to choke, 
 and you can't get more than six miles out of a gallon of 
 gas. No man can sell cars like that in 1915, believe me." 
 
 He led the way to the repair shop in the rear of the 
 spacious sales-room, and paused at the side of a new 
 touring car. 
 
 "Hop in," he directed, and drove them around the block. 
 
 Riker's description proved no exaggeration. The motor 
 coughed, spat, jerked spasmodically. 
 
 Lee took the salesman aside. 
 
 "Just between you and me, Riker," he said, "what's the 
 real trouble with these cars?" 
 
 Riker met his eye. "If you ask me — it's that fool car- 
 buretor. I don't know who's responsible for sticking a con- 
 traption like that on the engine — maybe you're the goat — 
 but it's a cinch that the man who did it don't know any- 
 thing about automobiles. The car's going to be a flat 
 failure until you get a new carburetor. And that's the 
 straight dope, Mr. Hillquit." 
 
 Lee found two more querulous telegrams waiting for him 
 at his office. 
 
 It seemed to him that this new development was the 
 
THE GROPER 269 
 
 last straw. He felt like giving up. The company could 
 weather no new storm, however slight. 
 
 Then he shut his jaws hard. Lee Hillquit, the "Motor 
 Monarch," the "Boy Napoleon of Finance," beaten and 
 discredited? No, it couldn't be. His remarkable abilities 
 would pull the company through to success, even now. 
 
 For two more days, this obsession that somehow he was 
 invincible, kept him fighting, planning. 
 
 On the third day, a deputy United States Marshal served 
 him with notice that one of the four creditors not repre- 
 sented at the meeting had that morning filed a petition in 
 bankruptcy against the Hillquit Motor Company. 
 
IV 
 
 WITHIN the week, Lee was almost penniless again. 
 Upon the advice of Alpheus Malcomson, the 
 Hillquit Motor Company did not contest the 
 bankruptcy proceedings. 
 
 "You're insolvent, all right," said the attorney, "and 
 you'll only be wasting time and money if you put up a 
 fight." 
 
 The company's failure automatically wiped out Lee's hold- 
 ings of stock amounting to three hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. In addition, the bank made claim against him 
 on his endorsement of the company's note for one hundred 
 and fifty thousand. For a day or so he made frantic efforts to 
 force Fred Badger to contribute his share of this amount. 
 Then Fred's attorney wrote to Lee setting forth that his 
 client's endorsement was invalid because it had not been 
 given until after the negotiation of the note, and that Fred 
 therefore refused absolutely to make any settlement. 
 
 Will Eaton was uncollectible, and the whole burden de- 
 volved on Lee. The bank was already a heavy loser on 
 the company's unendorsed notes, and Lee felt obligated to 
 make prompt settlement of his personal indebtedness. He 
 turned over everything he possessed in the world — real 
 estate, Durham motor stock, and a few miscellaneous stocks 
 and bonds. The bank was to realize on these assets as 
 rapidly as possible, and account to him for any balance. 
 Lee's collateral was worth at least two hundred thousand 
 dollars; but on forced sale, it was dubious whether it would 
 bring enough to pay the endorsed notes. 
 
 270 
 
THE GROPER 271 
 
 He was furious at Fred Badger, and consulted Malcomson 
 about the legal aspects of the controversy. 
 
 "Ordinarily, that's a good technical defence — trust your 
 friend Badger for that." The lawyer waxed profane. "But 
 in this case, where you three all agreed in advance to endorse 
 these notes, I think we have a chance of sticking him. At 
 that, I'll bet he's got his property tucked away in his wife's 
 name, so that he'll be judgment-proof. We'll give him a 
 run for his money, anyhow." 
 
 His financial downfall was hard enough for Lee to endure; 
 but the hurt to his pride was ineffably worse. The news- 
 papers were irritating. After the first shock of surprise, 
 their attitude toward him became more and more con- 
 temptuous. They were calling him the "Would-be Auto- 
 mobile Magnate," "Soap-bubble Hillquit," and other names. 
 One consciously righteous sheet ran a long editorial on the 
 folly of "this much-heralded and much over-rated young 
 man. May his pitiful collapse be a lesson in conservatism 
 to the youth of Detroit!" 
 
 This attitude was reflected, for the most part covertly, 
 throughout the whole city. Lee noticed that many of his 
 friends — particularly those in "Society" — failed to recognise 
 him on the streets. A more serious manifestation of the 
 public's hostility crytallised in the bankruptcy proceedings. 
 At the first meeting of creditors, a certain combative lawyer 
 representing several claimants announced that he expected 
 to prove that the officers of the Hillquit Company had been 
 guilty of such gross mismanagement and negligence that 
 they could be held individually liable for the corporation's 
 debts. 
 
 For three days, Lee, on the witness stand, was hectored 
 and browbeaten by this quarrelsome attorney — his weak- 
 nesses and ignorance as an administrative officer laid bare 
 to the public, his errors of commission and omission sneered 
 at. In reality, there was no evidence of the sort of mis- 
 
272 THE GROPER 
 
 management that was being charged against him, but th« 
 combative lawyer, working hand-and-glove with the news- 
 paper reporters, succeeded in securing the publicity that 
 he coveted for himself. 
 
 As usual, Lee had to take the entire load. Fred Badger 
 was asked only a few perfunctory questions on the stand; 
 and from the attorney's possession of certain "inside" facts 
 about the company's history, Lee suspected that Fred had 
 furnished the information and thereby purchased immunity 
 for himself. Will Eaton had left the city shortly after the 
 first crash, and betaken himself back to Boston, strewing in 
 his wake certain uncomplimentary references to "gauche, 
 loud-mouthed Westerners," 
 
a 
 
 IT happened to be the afternoon of the day before 
 Christmas when Lee was finally excused from the wit- 
 ness stand in the Referee in Bankruptcy's office. Sick 
 at heart, sore of spirit — smarting from a hundred wounds to 
 his pride — he debouched irresolutely upon the street. 
 
 He paused to light his pipe, then bethought himself of 
 a note that had been handed him just before he began 
 his concluding testimony. The message proved to be from 
 Howard Doman. 
 
 "Dear Ijee:^ 
 
 Can you stop in for a moment this afternoon? I wan* 
 to see you. 
 
 Doman." 
 
 Lee returned the letter to his pocket and began walking 
 slowly toward Woodward avenue. On every street-corner, 
 he heard newsboys crying — saw black head-lines: 
 
 HILLQUIT IS SHOWN UP, 
 
 He sighed wearily. 
 
 All at once, he espied a familiar figure half a block away. 
 Swift recognition came to him. It was Bob Hamilton— 
 in some sort of uniform, it appeared. 
 
 Bob had seen him, too; and they hurried up to each 
 other. Presently Lee made out the words on Bob's visored 
 cap: "Salvation Army." 
 
 Seven years had worked recognisable changes in both of 
 them, and in the midst of their fervent hand-shaking, they 
 
 273 
 
274 THE GROPER 
 
 were unconsciously studying one another's faces. Bob 
 looked older. There were new lines about his eyes and 
 mouth. His face was thinner. Somehow the new lines 
 and the thinness combined into an expression of strength, 
 of assurance. His old self-distrust was gone. His lower 
 lip had ceased to tremble. His voice was steady. From 
 the eyes that used to grow moist with the sense of failure 
 now emanated a look of radiant tranquillity. 
 
 He told Lee that after his sudden disappearance he had 
 just drifted for a time. 
 
 "One day the Lord spoke to me," he said. "I think He'd 
 been speaking to me ail my life — only I hadn't listened. 
 And He'd caused all my seeming failures. He'd been direct- 
 ing my whole life, but I didn't realise it. On this particular 
 day, the Vision came to me at last — just as it did to Saul — 
 and I understood. And now I feel He's close to me every 
 hour of the day." 
 
 Bob's conversion had occurred at a Salvation Army meet- 
 ing four years back, and he had promptly joined the 
 organisation. 
 
 "You look happy," Lee observed. 
 
 "I am very happy," said Bob. "I'm doing His work and 
 I'm under His guidance. Perhaps you don't know what a 
 sense of peace that can give a man Duties that might seem 
 disagreeable to you are my life's greatest joy — helping the 
 wretched, the poor, the sinful." 
 
 Lee felt controversial. "But do you think they're worth 
 it?" 
 
 "Worth it?" Bob seemed vastly surprised. "Of course 
 they're worth it! Every one of them is a child of God." 
 
 The two friends said good-bye at length; and Lee con- 
 tinued his walk, consumed with wonder at their odd meeting 
 and his old roommate's curious destiny. Bob, it was evi- 
 dent, was tingling with happiness. His transcendent faith 
 seemed to have solved his problem of life. His ecstasy of 
 
THE GROPER 275 
 
 spirit was unmistakable. Yet Lee remained far from con- 
 vinced. Bob's talk about "Him" impressed Lee as over- 
 emotional, almost maudlin. 
 
 "It's just a kind of self-hypnosis," he reasoned. "Bob's 
 just kidding himself. As for me — I want the truth. I'll 
 take life with eyes wide open and without any mental 
 drugs — no matter how much it hurts." 
 
 He continued on thus, till he came to the great store 
 of Curran & Company. He had hardly set foot inside it 
 since the death of Michael Curran, but he was familiar 
 with its wonderful growth and prosperity. Howard Doman 
 had taken over all of the upper floors of the adjacent build- 
 ings, and thus doubled the original floor-space. 
 
 Just outside the big entrance-ways that were sucking in 
 and spewing out the thousands of Christmas shoppers, Lee 
 hesitated. A sense of overpowering confusion rushed over 
 him. The ordeal of returning to the scrutiny of all the 
 employes, a deeply disgraced and toppled idol, transfixed 
 him with aversion. 
 
 Once inside, though, he found himself greeted warmly 
 by an aisle-manager, saluted with the same old friendly 
 deference by an elevator boy, and recognised without overt 
 disdain by a dozen others. Somehow the atmosphere of the 
 place was unmistakably cordial — almost homelike. Even 
 the familiar pervasive smell of drygoods enveloped him 
 pleasantly. 
 
 Howard Doman broke up an important conference of 
 department buyers to give him immediate audience. "Lee, 
 my boy, it's a treat to set eyes on you." He stood for a 
 moment surveying his former assistant with affectionate 
 regard. 
 
 Almost at once he came to the point. "I want you back 
 here with us, Lee," he said. "I've been wanting you back 
 ever since you left. Will you come?" 
 
 Profoundly deep gratitude made speech difficult for Lee. 
 
276 THE GROPER 
 
 He gripped the arms of his chair hard for a moment. "I 
 don't know," he finally managed. "I don't seem to have 
 much ambition for anything right now. I've thought some 
 of opening an advertising office of my own — as a free 
 lance." 
 
 Doman sat studying his face. "Better wait a year or two 
 for that," he counselled, "till the wolves stop yelping at 
 your heels. Besides, there's so much more need for you 
 right here at Curran's. I'm trying to do big new things. 
 It'll be a man's size job for you — and a lot more vital than 
 writing ads. Then, too, the human contact will help you a 
 lot." 
 
 Lee stood up suddenly. He was afraid of bursting into 
 tears. "I'll let you know before New Year's," he decided. 
 "My answer will probably be 'yes' — though I'm not at all 
 fooled by all this talk about Curran's needing me. Anyway, 
 
 I can't tell you " His fatal habit of gulping abruptly 
 
 strangled his speech. 
 
 "None of that!" Howard Doman clapped him on the 
 shoulder. "I'm purely selfish about it. I'm looking for a 
 first class man to take my place five or ten years from 
 now." His alive perceptive eyes softened with understand- 
 ing. "You know, Lee — you've grown up since I last saw 
 you. You've had the one thing you needed — a big, sobering 
 smash-up — every good man must have it before he can 
 come into his own — and now at last you've really begun to 
 live." 
 
VI 
 
 A LITTLE later Lee ate at a serve-self restaurant, and 
 then set out in the general direction of the inex- 
 pensive rooms he had rented — not far, it happened, 
 from Mrs. Holmes' house, his first Detroit residence. 
 
 Darkness had come on and it was beginning to snow — a 
 soft powdery snow that settled down swiftly and silently 
 over the city. The downtown streets were packed with a 
 jostling, slow-moving mass of late Christmas shoppers — a 
 colorful, absorbing, kaleidoscopic flux of humanity. He 
 looked at the people's faces, finding an inexhaustible inter- 
 est in capturing some fugitive hint of the riddle of a 
 thousand different personalities They were all so different 
 from one another, these people. Each one of them had 
 some precious, elusive essence that distinguished him from 
 his fellows. 
 
 It struck him that the crowds were better-natured than 
 usual. He saw few sombre faces. Every one was laughing 
 and talking vociferously. Lee was bewildered until he re- 
 membered the season. Christmas — that was the solution. 
 Next week, perhaps, all these faces would resume the mask 
 of infelicity; but to-night the spirit of love beguiled them 
 into happiness. 
 
 It was a queer puzzle, he reflected. 
 
 He left the downtown section and continued on rather 
 aimlessly, his intellect grappling with the occurrences of the 
 day— his trying hours on the witness stand, his curious 
 encounter with Bob Hamilton, his reinvigorating talk with 
 Howard Doman — attempting, as was his mental habit, to 
 find the logical sequence of things. 
 
 277 
 
278 THE GROPER 
 
 His truant mind began straying back over the events of 
 his eight years in the city — his first high hopes and striv- 
 ings, his thwarted pettinesses and vanities, his struttings and 
 posings, his blindnesses and stupidities, his profound and 
 bitter disillusions. 
 
 "A groper," he whispered to himself, "now and always — i 
 stumbling, floundering, following false lights, at intervals 
 catching a real gleam of truth. And I am all men — blind 
 and stupid and only half awake — creeping forward and 
 upward an inch or two each hundred years. Gropers all." 
 
 Vera, his dead mother, Oscar Eberenz, Hauxhurst, O'Neill, 
 Mrs. Curran — how the portraits began trailing across the 
 screen of his memory, as he trudged vaguely on through the 
 snow. Dolores, Howard Doman, Fred Badger and Helene, 
 Inga Brandt, Mike Curran, Ellwood James — how they 
 tumbled over one another, without reason or consecutive- 
 ness, into one strange phantasmagoria. Still they came: 
 Bob Hamilton, Bernice Kohler, Will Eaton, Renee Reynolds, 
 Eleanor Badger — most inscrutable and inexplicable of all. 
 Puppet-like they had come and gone on the stage of his 
 life, each with his little bow, her little mental gesture. Each 
 had left his little impress on Lee's soul, then vanished. 
 Were they real — or were they dreams of his? 
 
 He speculated, with a detached interest, along what paths 
 his future lay predestined — whether he could ever break 
 through and shake off the encompassing chrysalis that stifled 
 him, and come at least partially to himself. "You've grown 
 up," Doman had said. He questioned the truth of this. 
 He knew he felt older, less mercurial, a little more patient 
 and reconciled with life, perhaps; but he could as yet find 
 within himself no tranquillity, no self-sufficiency or cer- 
 tainty, no spiritual poise. 
 
 He continued his tramp, unconscious of time and distance, 
 a solitary figure holding the film of life up to what light 
 he had, striving passionately to decipher some inkling of 
 
THE GROPER 279 
 
 its meaning. The material aspects of existence fell away 
 from him. He became a disembodied mind. 
 
 All at once the sound of music brought him out of himself. 
 
 Across the street a group of people carrying lanterns were 
 singing a Christmas carol: 
 
 Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! 
 Born is the King of Israel! 
 
 He stopped and listened. The softly falling snow, the 
 simple loveliness of the old carol, the spirit of the thing, 
 all gripped him indescribably. 
 
 The sight or sound of real beauty in any form always 
 seemed to carry him back momentarily to his last days at 
 Chatham, to those few final hours when Vera and he had 
 felt the ecstasy of first love. He wondered where she was 
 this magical Christmas Eve. He had not seen her since 
 he had helped her get her divorce. 
 
 Quite unaccountably her words flashed into his mind: "I 
 have implicit faith in you." He wished fervently that she 
 might be with him now, listening to the Christmas waits. 
 They had turned a corner, but he still caught their faint 
 carol: 
 
 Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! 
 Born is the King of Israel! 
 
 He took note of his whereabouts for the first time, cut 
 across to Woodward avenue and began walking toward his 
 rooms. It had grown late. Quite inadvertently he observed 
 the glaring lights of a small moving-picture theatre just 
 ahead of him. 
 
 As he passed the theatre, a woman hurried out of the 
 exit-door, half slipped on the icy entrance-way, and col- 
 lided violently with him. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said. 
 
 It was Vera. 
 
280 THE GROPER 
 
 They walked down the avenue together. The last time 
 he had seen her, she had appeared half-dazed, crushed, 
 somewhat slatternly in her dress. But now her mood was 
 almost volatile, and her tailored suit trim and attractive. 
 All traces of her incipient grossness of body had vanished. 
 
 She had read of Lee's financial troubles. "I'm awfully 
 aorry," she said. "I didn't believe a word they printed 
 about you." 
 
 A few corners farther on, she paused. "This is my 
 6treet." An idea reflected itself in her face. "Don't you 
 want to come up to the room a minute and see him?" 
 
 "Who?" asked Lee. 
 
 "Why— the baby!" she laughed. 
 
 The slight tension between them broke down. As they 
 took to the cross-street, Vera explained that she looked after 
 the baby mornings, but in the afternoons and evenings, when 
 she had to play at the "movie," the landlady's daughter 
 assumed control. "He sleeps most of the afternoon and 
 night anyway," she added. "It's not ideal, of course, but 
 it'll have to do for the present." 
 
 They came to a dingy brick rooming house and climbed 
 two flights of dark stairs to Vera's shabby little bedroom. 
 
 The baby was crying, it happened; and Lee noted the 
 eager swift movement with which Vera took him away 
 from the loose- jointed, untidy landlady's daughter. 
 
 "He's a-been carryin' on this way ever since you left," 
 reported the girl, and disappeared. 
 
 Almost at once, the baby began smiling through his tears. 
 
 Lee stood by, with a sense of being wholly superfluous. 
 He glanced about him. The room looked very bare in the 
 gas-light. For furniture it contained a cheap bureau and 
 wash-stand, a cheaper iron bedstead and a couple of chairs. 
 Yet he could not help observing the scrupulous neatness of 
 the place. 
 
 "What's his name?" he thought to ask. 
 
THE GROPER 281 
 
 "I hope you won't mind," she said, and her face became 
 a trifle worried. "I called him Lee." 
 
 He was aware of an instant's extreme repugnance, but he 
 came up to the mark nobly. "I'm very proud to have a 
 baby of yours named after me," he asserted. 
 
 The baby kicked and gurgled violently just then, and 
 Vera completely forgot her guest once more. He watched 
 her with deeper and deeper admiration. Life had done its 
 cruellest to this woman, yet somehow the fire had refined 
 and seasoned her, made her strong of heart and pure of 
 soul. The perception of her courage and stalwart self- 
 reliance, her inexhaustible wealth of tenderness, left him 
 unspeakably moved. 
 
 She turned to him. 
 
 "Isn't he the most wonderful baby in the world?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 Lee took one of his namesake's tiny fingers in his hand. 
 "Poor little fatherless tike," he said to himself; but to Vera, 
 he agreed, with impeccable gravity: "The most wonderful, 
 by far." 
 
 After a moment, he took up his hat. "Do you know, 
 Vera," he said, "I've never seen any one look happier than 
 you do this instant — with that baby in your arms." 
 
 "Happy?" She laughed, then held the baby aloft in her 
 arms and gazed up at him adoringly. "I've never known 
 what real happiness was till now, Lee. Why, I've just 
 begun to live." 
 
 "Just begun to live?" He looked at her intently. "That's 
 exactly what a man told me about myself a few hours 
 ago." 
 
 An even greater light came into her eyes. "I believe 
 it's true," she said, as she held out her hand to him in 
 farewell. 
 
 Suddenly and quite unaccountably, a vivid picture leaped 
 into his mind — the image of Vera and himself on Mount 
 
282 THE GROPER 
 
 Phillis that last Sunday afternoon. And now, eight long 
 and painful years afterwards, they faced each other in this 
 dreary little room, standing beside Vera's cheap iron bed- 
 stead. 
 
 "I've always had implicit faith we would both really begin 
 to live some day," Vera added, and looked up at him 
 proudly. 
 
 At her look, Lee became conscious of something new 
 and inexplicable taking form within him — the germ of a 
 regenerating faith in himself, the first faint intimations of 
 the fundamental integrity of his own lonely soul. Then a 
 tremendous wave of feeling welled up in him, quenched a 
 last lingering whisper of skepticism, of self-abasement, and 
 rushed out tumultuously to meet the pride and the tender- 
 ness — and the unspoken need of his help — in her eyes. 
 
 "Vera," he said, and took her hand. 
 
 He watched her expression slowly change, as she stood 
 there — her face illumined in the yellow gas-light, her left 
 arm clasping the baby tightly, her right hand beginning to 
 tremble a little in his — the bewilderment in her eyes grad- 
 ually giving place to a look of certitude, of joyous self- 
 surrender. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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