THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 A Novel 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HUDSON, V> 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 (3Ebe fitoer?ibc ifiTtif Cambribge 
 1920 
 
COPYRIGHT, 192O, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
Aki. 
 
 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "Ee-oh, ee-oh!" sang Claire, using a familiar family 
 call and knocking at Jamie's door: "Are you ready?" 
 
 "Half a jiff!" a voice answered, adding at once, 
 "Come in!" 
 
 : Claire opened the door and advanced into Jamie's 
 small hall room. His bed took up the width of it not 
 occupied by the door, making a narrow passage, but be- 
 yond its foot stood the bureau, and by the window, an 
 arm-chair and a small table. A few books lay on the 
 table and Jamie's ash-tray which was always untidily 
 full of cigarette ends. Some framed colored prints of 
 various types of feminine beauty adorned the walls, and 
 a private's khaki army cap hung on one corner of the 
 bed. Jamie was standing before the bureau, in his shirt- 
 sleeves, carefully combing his black hair straight back 
 from his forehead. He took so long about it that Claire 
 sat down on the edge of the bed. She was in her coat 
 and hat, ready for the street. Presently she raised her 
 head and sniffed, saying: 
 
 "What's the stuff you've been using on your hair 
 lately? Do hurry up Jamie!" 
 
 Jamie, not satisfied with the effect he had produced, 
 
 M309293 
 
4 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 had combed it straight down over his eyes, and was 
 beginning again. 
 
 "There's loads of time, Claire! How did you know 
 I was using anything?" 
 
 "I always know! I can smell it, of course! Oh, 
 Jamie, please!" for Jamie had combed his hair down 
 once more. He turned and looked at Claire reproach- 
 fully, his comb suspended above his head. 
 
 "Now don't make me nervous, Claire, or it'll take 
 twice as long!" 
 
 Claire relapsed into silence while Jamie worked in- 
 dustriously, until finally, surveying himself critically in 
 the glass, he exclaimed, "Bing!" emphatically, meaning 
 to convey the information that everything was now to 
 his satisfaction, and immediately began to put on his 
 coat. He turned once more to the glass, took a final tug 
 at his cravat, and asked: 
 
 "Don't you like the smell of it?" 
 
 "Yes, if it is n't too strong," answered Claire, getting 
 up. "Where did you get it, and where 's your hat?" 
 
 "Down on the hat-rack! Come along! Mallette 
 brought it from i England with him. He sold me two 
 bottles of it." 
 
 "Who is Mallette?" asked Claire. "I never heard of 
 him before!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I've mentioned him often!" Jamie an- 
 swered as they descended the stairs. "I met him com- 
 ing back on the boat. Shall I carry a stick?" 
 
 "If you want to, why not?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 5 
 
 "I love to carry one, but hardly anybody does it any 
 more!" And Jamie hesitated. 
 
 Claire laughed joyously. 
 
 "Oh, Jamie ! You silly boy ! Carry it if you want to ! " 
 
 Jamie hesitated again. 
 
 "No, I don't think I shall!" And, seizing the knob 
 of the front door, he turned it. Claire passed through, 
 Jamie followed, and, running down the steps together, 
 they began walking toward Fifth Avenue. 
 
 The world which they had come out into immediately 
 produced in Claire an extraordinary sense of happiness 
 and well-being. The pavement on which they walked 
 lay in a kind of obscurity, but across the way the serried 
 ranks of houses, cut through at intervals by intersecting 
 streets, glowed mildly in a flood of sunshine which 
 cast gray and violet shadows. The sounds of the city, 
 after the last days of winter just past, had lately taken 
 on a different character, more suave, mellow, and in- 
 gratiating. The distant stages on the Avenue, the de- 
 livery wagons, the motors, the butchers' boys, pushing 
 their small carts, the cats, the dogs, the horses, the 
 people coming out of houses and going into them, the 
 maids in print dresses stealing a look aloft from area 
 doorways at the benignant masses of floating clouds, 
 seemed to have become endowed with added and un- 
 expected qualities of friendliness and amity, which 
 aroused in Claire, as she inhaled the soft air, a sweet 
 sense of ineffable joy at the thought that she too lived, 
 was wrapped up in life, was part of it, was alive to its 
 
6 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 enthralling fascinations, its mysteries, its eternal spell. 
 For the war was over and life was becoming beautiful 
 once more. Each day Claire repeated this last sentence 
 to herself although nearly six months had passed since 
 hostilities had ceased. 
 
 All at once Jamie remarked: 
 
 "There's no use walking so fast, Claire!" 
 
 Claire laughed again, suddenly aware that they had 
 been fairly rushing through the street. 
 
 "What time is it, Jamie?" 
 
 "Only half -past twelve! The concert begins at two, 
 so you see we have loads of time! Where shall we 
 lunch? Down here somewhere?" 
 
 "No, Jamie; let's have a real spree to-day and go to 
 Sherry's!" 
 
 "But, I say, I'm hard up!" remonstrated Jamie. 
 
 "Then you shall lunch with me! I feel rich to-day! 
 I got a dividend this morning!" 
 
 "So did I," answered Jamie, "but I owe it all! 
 Sherry's it is, then! There's a stage!" And at once, 
 and in spite of Jamie's protestations at Claire's speed, 
 they started running, madly furiously, as if their lives 
 depended on their catching that particular one. They 
 dodged motors, whistled, signaled, and finally scrambled 
 on board, breathless and laughing. 
 
 "Inside?" asked Jamie. 
 
 "No! Of course not!" Claire sprang up the little 
 stairway, Jamie following, and presently they found 
 themselves seated on a front bench, with the long majes- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 7 
 
 tic panorama of the Avenue moving slowly past them, 
 the far-off point of its converging cliffs receding always 
 as they advanced. Like their own street, it lay half in 
 shadow, half in sunshine. Moving distant objects spar- 
 kled momentarily through the haze lifted from the pave- 
 ments by the turmoil of traffic and the exhalations of 
 motors. An enormous, obscure, and continuous move- 
 ment filled the roadway between the cliffs, from end 
 to end of their vision, until their eyes reached, far 
 away, the immobility of distance. 
 
 "It's beautiful, is n't it, Jamie!" cried Claire, ecstati- 
 cally. 
 
 "Pretty good," answered Jamie; "but it can't com- 
 pare with London from the top of a bus; after they let 
 me out of hospital I spent my whole time on the tops of 
 busses. It never opens out here so that you can see 
 anything. You 're always shut in between these beastly 
 buildings ! " 
 
 "But that's beautiful too! It's like a canyon with 
 precipices on either side!" 
 
 "But I don't like precipices!" 
 
 "You're mad about everything that has to do with 
 London ! Even to the smelly stuff you use on your hair, 
 Jamie ! " 
 
 "You can't get it anywhere but there ! " Jamie jerked 
 off his hat, and inclined his head. "Just take a whiff and 
 see if it does n't smell good ! " 
 
 Claire did so. 
 
 "Yes, it does!" she admitted. 
 
8 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Mallette says they send it to English officers all over 
 the world!" 
 
 "But who is Mr. Mallette, Jamie? You haven't told 
 me!" 
 
 "Oh, he's a star, Claire!" exclaimed Jamie with en- 
 thusiasm. ' * You must meet him ! " 
 
 "A theatrical star?" 
 
 "No, that's just an expression! But he is an actor! 
 He has n't been for very long. He 's been here with one 
 of the British purchasing missions. He was a captain. 
 He got his discharge only a little while ago." 
 
 "He's English, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes — well, laugh if you want to, but he's awfully 
 clever and interesting. I want him to do a musical com- 
 edy with me. I'm working on one of the lyrics now!" 
 
 " That sentimental thing you 've been playing lately? " 
 
 Jamie flushed, and Claire, noticing it, exclaimed con- 
 tritely: "I did n't mean that, Jamie. I've hardly heard 
 it!" 
 
 "That's all right!" Jamie answered. 
 
 "Will you play it to me, Jamie?" 
 
 Jamie smiled his sweet smile and answered, "Yes." 
 
 Claire moved closer to him and murmured, "Oh, 
 Jamie, you're such a dear!" 
 
 "Rot!" answered Jamie. 
 
 "I hurt your feelings!" 
 
 "It probably is sentimental ! I want you to tell me ! " 
 
 Claire moved still closer to him, and putting an arm 
 through his, they sat without speaking. Above the build- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 9 
 
 ings an occasional flag floated translucently, high in the 
 free air. Out of the distant, obscure turmoil ahead, the 
 sun struck each moment, moving flashes of light, and a 
 roar of sound rose, rebounding from wall to wall of the 
 precipices, which here, at the noon hour, confined, on 
 packed pavements between their granite bases, black 
 masses of stunted, sweatshop workers. Their stage, 
 swaying slightly, pushed aside the surrounding torrent 
 and pressed steadily forward. 
 
 "What's it about, Jamie?" Claire asked presently. 
 
 "The plot is laid in Pekin," answered Jamie, "and 
 there's a waltz movement running all through it, like 
 this!" Jamie turned and began to hum a waltz, close to 
 Claire's ear, at the same time spreading his hands above 
 his knees and going through the pantomime of a piano 
 accompaniment. 
 
 "That 's pretty, Jamie. But don't you have to under- 
 stand orchestration?" 
 
 "Oh, no! You hire somebody to do that. The main 
 thing is to get good lyrics. I'll play them for you." 
 
 "I'd love to hear them! You must do something 
 very original, Jamie, so that everybody will go to see it. 
 I'm sure you can. You really are talented!" 
 
 "I don't know about that, Claire, but I'm going to 
 try. And, Claire, there 's no use in thinking about my 
 going to Paris ! " 
 
 Claire turned quickly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I spoke to Uncle Edward about it." 
 
10 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "He did n't approve!" 
 
 "He wouldn't even discuss it! You know how he 
 
 is." 
 
 "I'll speak to him, Jamie! Shall I?" 
 
 "I wish you would, only it won't make any difference, 
 Claire." 
 
 Jamie sat silent for a moment plainly depressed, and 
 then exclaimed: 
 
 "Hello! there's George — with a friend!" And he 
 waved a greeting to one of two men in bowler hats who 
 were seated on the top of a passing stage, bound toward 
 Washington Square. Claire waved, too, as did one of 
 the men, while the other bowed ceremoniously. 
 
 "And by the way," Jamie went on, "What do you 
 think! I hear that George is getting rich! " 
 
 "How, Jamie?" 
 
 "He was in a dozen things during the war." 
 
 "Who told you? George?" 
 
 "No fear," answered Jamie. "He might be afraid I 'd 
 borrow some of it. A friend in the Street told me ! " J 
 
 "Why should he be afraid? You have money enough 
 of your own!" 
 
 "Have I!" exclaimed Jamie derisively. 
 
 " You 've two thousand a year ! What do you do with 
 it?" 
 
 "What don't I do with it! Spend it, of course!" an- 
 swered Jamie with a pleasant sigh. " So many things — ! " 
 
 "Do you really spend it all, Jamie?" 
 
 "Of course I do!" answered Jamie in surprise, as if 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 11 
 
 that was obviously what an income was for. "Don't 
 you spend yours?" 
 
 "About half of it!" 
 
 "Then if I should ever want — " began Jamie with a 
 significant leer. 
 
 "Of course I would, darling! Do you need some 
 now?" 
 
 Claire was conscious of a slight feeling of annoyance, 
 which for a moment shadowed her perfect day. She ac- 
 cepted the rumor of George's success without question, 
 because she had a conviction that what George set his 
 hand to do, he would do. But to be so secretive about 
 it! As if everybody might immediately want some of it. 
 They all had enough of their own, and if her darling 
 Jamie should need any, it would n't be at all necessary 
 for him to go to George ! She almost hoped Jamie would 
 answer that he was sorely in need of money so that she 
 might shower him with it, both for the delight it would 
 give her and as a protest against George's failure to take 
 the family into his confidence. But Jamie answered in 
 his pleasant, rather whimsical voice: 
 
 "That was only in fun! I don't really need any, 
 Claire!" 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Sure, Claire!" 
 
 "Well, don't forget, if you ever should!" Claire 
 pressed the electric button and jumped up. "Here we 
 are! 
 
 They rattled down the stairway, hurried across the 
 
12 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 street, and, passing under a glass and iron marquee, en- 
 tered, after Jamie had left his hat at the door, a spacious 
 room carpeted with Turkish rugs and furnished with lux- 
 urious chairs and sofas, where a throng of men and 
 women were standing and sitting about, looking at one 
 another's clothes, while waiting the arrival of other men 
 and women with whom they had appointments. 
 
 Claire and Jamie, having appointments with no one, 
 made for the door leading to the restaurant, and were 
 about to go in when they were met by a head waiter who 
 advanced with an interrogative air and informed them 
 that it would be necessary to wait for a few moments, as 
 all the tables were taken. Other people were waiting, 
 too, but as Claire and Jamie stepped back, an extremely 
 pretty girl, well-rouged and powdered, accompanied 
 by a young man, entered the restaurant, disappearing 
 quickly among the tables under the guidance of another 
 waiter who was evidently escorting her to a place al- 
 ready engaged. The girl wore a low hat with a broad 
 brim, a wide collar of sable across her shoulders in 
 spite of the warmth of the day, a noticeably short skirt, 
 very thin silk stockings, and very high-heeled patent- 
 leather slippers with glittering buckles. The height of 
 her heels made her look as if she were walking on tiptoe, 
 and the tilt they gave her body, thrusting it forward at 
 the hips, produced a peculiar mincing and exaggerat- 
 edly feminine gait. As she hurried past Claire and Jamie, 
 she gave them an almost imperceptible nod accompanied 
 by a smile of fixed and artificial sweetness. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 13 
 
 A sound indicative of irritation escaped Jamie, and 
 he exclaimed under his breath : 
 
 "Helena looks more like a chorus girl every day!" 
 
 "She's awfully pretty, Jamie!" 
 
 "So are chorus girls! They've got to be! That's 
 their business, but there's no reason why Helena should 
 rouge and show her legs!" 
 
 "Excepting that it's the thing to do!" 
 
 "Is it? Well, if it's the thing to do, trust Helena to 
 doit!" And as Claire had started forward in response 
 to a signal from the head waiter, he followed her to a 
 small table by a window overlooking Fifth Avenue. 
 
 They ordered their luncheon quickly and Claire, lean- 
 ing back in her chair, looked about her at the occupants 
 of the room. The women, irrespective of age, were 
 all dressed in almost precisely the same way, and were 
 almost all good-looking. Of the men the younger could 
 be divided quickly into two classes, one hard-featured, 
 the other inefficient; but the characteristics of the older 
 ones were less marked, age, and habits of opulence 
 having worn them more or less into a general resem- 
 blance. All, both men and women, were eating, drink- 
 ing, or smoking exactly what they wished, with an 
 air of indifference which seemed to say to the waiters 
 and to each other," You see it does n't matter in the least 
 what we eat, drink, or smoke, because we are so well off 
 we do not have to consider such things." Plainly, all 
 these people lived lives of luxury, or wanted to, or tried 
 to, or endeavored to convey the impression that they did. 
 
14 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 With almost all one would say, looking at them, such 
 living was a cult, and on the faces of many was stamped 
 the conscious pride of material possessions. 
 
 It struck Claire that she, Jamie, and all the rest re- 
 sembled members of some very expensive entomologi- 
 cal species shut into a large and beautifully gilded 
 box. 
 
 "Well, here we are eating and drinking just if noth- 
 ing out of the common had been happening in the last 
 four years. What are you smiling at, Claire?" said 
 Jamie. 
 
 "I was thinking how funny we would all look, sitting 
 about in this lordly way, being waited on by other very 
 obsequious people, in black tail coats, to some thor- 
 oughly detached person who was n't used to our cus- 
 toms!" 
 
 "It is rather ludicrous when you come to think of it," 
 responded Jamie with a chuckle. "Do you know, that 
 sounded like Mallette, although I don't believe Mallette 
 would think it was funny!" 
 
 "Why not?" asked Claire. 
 
 "He does n't like most rich people. " 
 
 "Why?" repeated Claire in surprise. 
 
 " He says they 've no right to exist unless they can give 
 good reasons." 
 
 "What nonsense!" 
 
 "Well, you should hear him talk. There's something 
 in what be says! It's the war. It's made him rather 
 savage about some things." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 15 
 
 "You seem thoroughly mad about him, Jamie. And 
 such a name! Mallette! What's his first name?" 
 
 "Felix!" 
 
 Claire laughed joyously, principally because she was 
 happy, and longed to laugh, no matter at what. 
 
 "Felix Mallette! What a combination!" 
 
 "You must meet him, Claire." 
 
 "But when? Where? That's the second time you've 
 said so!" 
 
 Brought face to face with a definite challenge, Jamie 
 hesitated, finally saying: 
 
 "The trouble is he does n't like meeting people!" 
 
 "Ask him to tea, or to dinner. I'm simply dying to 
 know an actor!" 
 
 "I have, but he won't come!" 
 
 "Then I 'm afraid we'll have to give him up, Jamie, if 
 he 's so difficult ! Perhaps he does n't like meeting peo- 
 ple, unless he thinks they're distinctly worth while! If 
 that's the case, introduce him to Helena." 
 
 " Oh, Helena would n't think him worth while; besides 
 they'd hate each other!" answered Jamie. "And he's 
 the last man in the world to care about that kind of 
 thing!" 
 
 He occupied himself with luncheon for a moment, and 
 then remarked : "But I do wish Uncle Edward would sell 
 our house, so that we could move farther uptown!" 
 
 "So that we might be more worth while?" 
 
 " Well, of course that sort of thing is rot really, but 
 if we did live uptown instead of in Ninth Street, and 
 
16 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 went about more, you 'd see how soon Helena and Aunt 
 Adelaide would be coming around. Because, you know 
 after all, we've been making money too." 
 
 "And you expect Aunt Caroline to go to all that 
 trouble just to get into their good graces!" cried Claire 
 indignantly. 
 
 "Of course not ! " answered Jamie. "Who cares about 
 Helena or Aunt Adelaide ! But we are awfully out of it 
 down there ! You are too, Claire, and you 're too pretty 
 to be buried ! Somehow everything seems to be moving 
 faster and faster. Everybody got so used to speeding up 
 during the war that they can't stop. We ought to speed 
 up a bit too." 
 
 "And if we did, you'd be the very last person to 
 change your habits, Jamie! You'd spend your time 
 composing, and playing about with your Bohemian 
 friends, just as you've always done!" 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't expect to be quite the guiding hand," 
 Jamie answered cheerfully. "But if anybody took the 
 lead, I'd follow! It's funny that George has never 
 wanted to break away ! " 
 
 "George has his own ideas about what's worth 
 while!" replied Claire. "And as for expecting poor 
 Aunt Caroline and Uncle Edward to change now! " 
 
 "I didn't really," answered Jamie. "Know who that 
 is, Claire?" And he indicated a tall, slender, pale youth 
 wearing a low English collar, who was engaged in swal- 
 lowing oysters — his Adam's apple gliding quickly up 
 and down — whilst a short blond waiter watched him 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 17 
 
 as if fascinated. "That's Brockbank. They say his 
 income is a million a year!" 
 
 "What does he do with it, Jamie?" 
 
 "Spends it, of course, the way I spend my two thou- 
 sand! Do you think he looks as if he liked music, 
 Claire?" 
 
 "No, do you?" 
 
 "No, his tastes run to more material things. He 
 stands for money, just as Helena does." 
 
 "What else can you expect of Helena? She never 
 hears about anything else! Since the war it's worse 
 than ever." 
 
 " Neither do we, Claire!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, we do, Jamie!" 
 
 " We don't, Claire ! " answered Jamie firmly. "And if 
 it had n't been for mother, we'd be just the same as all 
 the others. She had something different in her. George 
 is a throwback, all Nicholson, and yet there 's something 
 different about George, too!" 
 
 "You mean in his way of doing what he does?" 
 
 "Yes; he has better taste than any of the older ones. 
 That's mother! They never approved of her exactly. 
 She was what Aunt Caroline always calls, sarcastically, 
 'artistic' They despise that sort of thing!" 
 
 "Don't be too critical, Jamie. We owe them so much ! " 
 
 "They owe us things they never pay! Who's going 
 to pay us for winning the war, for instance? We did n't 
 start it. The older generation started it and got us to 
 fight it out for them. I 'in speaking generally mind you. 
 
18 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 I ought to be different from what I am, and Helena 
 ought to be too, and so many of us, but it is n't our 
 fault really !" 
 
 "Why Jamie, you're sweet!" exclaimed Claire. 
 
 "Am I?" responded Jamie ironically with an ex- 
 pression new to Claire. "I'm not, but it's their fault. 
 They say that we — the younger generation — are self- 
 ish. So is the older one — and they 've got the whip 
 hand of us!" 
 
 "You mean that their responsibility is greater than 
 ours?" 
 
 "Yes, and they don't live up to it! Well, I don't 
 care!" Jamie concluded with finality. "It's time we 
 started. We must n't miss this new Frenchman's sym- 
 phony. He's twenty-three — one of us!" 
 
 "You're blue, Jamie!" and Jamie noticed with com- 
 punction Claire's grave face. 
 
 "I'm not! Pve been talking nonsense. I think I'll 
 just have a cognac and then we'll start. Let's take a 
 taxi! My treat!" 
 
 Jamie drank his cognac while Claire paid the bill, 
 and they started out, passing Helena's table and re- 
 ceiving the same fixed and artificial smile accompanied 
 by an almost imperceptible gesture of farewell. 
 
 "Blop!" remarked Jamie in an undertone, which 
 signified derision and disapproval. 
 
 "You are n't really blue, Jamie? " asked Claire when 
 their taxi, after turning into the Avenue, had fairly 
 started uptown. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 19 
 
 "Not a bit ! I 'm sorry I made you think so. But I 'm 
 crazy to hear this new Frenchman's symphony. I say, 
 Claire, if the family ever should break up for any reason, 
 let's you and I live together somewhere! Don't you 
 think it would be nice?" 
 
 "Just lovely, Jamie! I'd like to do it now, but of 
 course Uncle Edward would n't let us ! " 
 
 "There you are! Why should Uncle Edward be able 
 to dictate to us? We're of age!" 
 
 "But we could n't, anyway. It would be like desert- 
 ing them." 
 
 Jamie paid for the taxi and they found themselves 
 presently in the huge interior of Carnegie, where, amid 
 a pervading odor of damp kid gloves, people were fil- 
 ing down the aisles, ushers were violently letting down 
 chair seats, and a cacophony of discordant sounds was 
 rising from the stage. Claire and Jamie, whose seats 
 were about in the center of the house, sidled in and, 
 preparing themselves with luxurious deliberation, finally 
 sank into them. Claire, after a moment of slight hesi- 
 tancy, felt in the pocket of her coat and held a hand 
 out toward Jamie in the palm of which rested a choco- 
 late bon-bon. Jamie smiled and declined. Claire hesi- 
 tated again, and then, unable to resist a school-girl in- 
 clination, thrust it furtively into her mouth. The con- 
 ductor appeared, making his way rapidly between the 
 rows of seated musicians and stepped upon his platform. 
 A vigorous patter of applause sounded. The conductor 
 
20 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 bowed, thereby dislodging certain long locks which fell 
 over his forehead, restored them to their place by a 
 practiced toss of the head, seized his baton and tapped 
 with it the metal frame of his music-stand. He waited 
 a moment, and then identically with the upward sweep 
 of his arms — a gesture which welded into one entity 
 all that diverse swarm — the mellifluous tootling of a 
 flute arose, a breath of spring moved the strings of 
 the violins, and some instrument of percussion, strange 
 to Claire, produced the sound of a sudden rush of small, 
 buoyant, and startled hoofs galloping swiftly, hoofs of 
 deer or centaur. Claire and Jamie, glancing at one an- 
 other, sank back still more luxuriously, their muscles 
 relaxed, and, yielding themselves like floating swimmers, 
 they gave themselves up to the intricate currents of the 
 Frenchman's fantasia. 
 
 Claire closed her eyes and let the flood sweep over 
 her. Emotions soft and intensely sweet caused her to 
 smile — inclined her almost to tears. How sweet life 
 was once more — how sweet the world — how doubly 
 sweet, sitting beside her darling Jamie in this flood of 
 harmonious sound knowing that the war was over, 
 and that spring had come. And before her eyes there 
 rose a picture of the Avenue as she had seen it on that 
 day, six months earlier, when the first mistaken mes- 
 sage had come that hostilities had ceased. She and 
 Jamie had been on it together and had taken part in 
 that extraordinary display of spontaneous happiness 
 when there had seemed to her about the looks and ac- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 21 
 
 tions of all classes an admirable sweetness and exalta- 
 tion which had lifted her up with an immense sense of 
 love and sympathy as if the brotherhood of man had 
 become a living thing. 
 
 The symphony, which, without pauses between its 
 separate movements, flowed on with unfailing resource- 
 fulness, bearing with it, without effort, all those as- 
 sembled identities, began to sink away, dying back into 
 the first faint breath the violins had sounded. The flute 
 tootled solitarily once more — stopped — and the long 
 locks of the conductor — trained to do so — fell once 
 more across his forehead. An immense and prolonged 
 wave of applause filled the auditorium. 
 
 "By Jove! That was fine!" exclaimed Jamie. 
 
 "Heavenly!" assented Claire. 
 
 "But these Frenchmen are so ingenious. Is it a work 
 of inspiration, or just mere diabolical cleverness?" 
 
 "I'm not going to bother to find out!" answered 
 Claire. "It gave me too much pleasure. Jamie, you 
 must go abroad and study!" 
 
 Jamie's face fell. "If I only could Claire — but it's 
 no use, I'm afraid." He was craning his neck to look 
 down a diagonal alley formed by the heads, necks, and 
 shoulders of the people in front. "By Jove!" he ex- 
 claimed, recovering his cheerfulness, "If there isn't 
 — no — yes, it is!" 
 
 "Who?" asked Claire. 
 
 "Mallette!" 
 
 "Really! Where?" 
 
22 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Look straight through here until you see an English 
 profile! See it? What do you think of him?" 
 
 "He's rather nice-looking, Jamie, but I expect that 
 he will be like all the others. The kind which has light 
 brown curling hair, good thin features, and patronizing 
 manners!" 
 
 "Mallette's not like that!" said Jamie. "He's ab- 
 lutely free from side." 
 
 "Then perhaps I shall like him. Oh, a Strauss waltz! 
 How lovely ! " And forgetting Mallette they lapsed into 
 silence again. 
 
 But as they were going out they met Mallette. 
 
 He was standing in the vestibule, looking about him 
 for no reason apparently, beyond that of idle curiosity. 
 Jamie went up to him, exclaiming, "Hello, Mallette! 
 I want you to meet my sister!" And during that mo- 
 ment Claire took stock of him. 
 
 She saw a man of medium height, with curling light 
 brown hair carefully brushed and a courageous mouth 
 which displayed white teeth when he greeted Jamie. He 
 had the fine and yet strong look which very well bred 
 men of all countries often have, but what attracted her 
 particularly were his hazel eyes which demanded and 
 fixed her attention with a steady look of smiling wel- 
 come as if they were forever engaged in searching out, 
 meeting and greeting the facts of life as they ad- 
 vanced toward him, in whatever shape or of whatever 
 promise they might reveal themselves. 
 
 Claire thought that she might like him, but for 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 23 
 
 some reason wondered, she could not have told why, if 
 he were erratic, principally perhaps because he was a 
 friend of Jamie's. Jamie did have some rather queer 
 friends — nothing against them that she knew of — 
 just perhaps unconventional and jolly. There was such 
 a thing as being too jolly it seemed. 
 
 Mallette proved to have an agreeable English voice 
 and pleasant manners when Jamie introduced him, and 
 they stood for a time in the vestibule, but as they were 
 being continually bumped into by the stream of people 
 which was still pouring out of the auditorium, he finally 
 invited them to have a cup of tea with him, and guiding 
 them around the corner, descended into a small dingy 
 basement tea-shop. 
 
 Claire reflected that most of the young men she knew 
 would have apologized for its not being the Ritz, but 
 Mallette said nothing beyond remarking that you could 
 get very good scones there. 
 
 Tea ordered, they discussed the concert. Jamie had 
 come to the conclusion that the symphony was a work 
 of genius, but Mallette disagreed. 
 
 "Mere tricks of harmonics, I think," he said. "It 
 pleased you because it was novel, but it would bore you 
 to tears if you heard it three times running. Don't you 
 think so, Miss Nicholson?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't!" answered Claire. "But then I 
 love music so much, I am not very critical about it!" 
 
 "And the less you love it, the more critical you're 
 inclined to be!" said Jamie. "That's Mallette. He 
 
24 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 says the only modern German composition worth lis- 
 tening to is 'The Rosenkavelier ' ! " 
 
 "I don't gloat over the fact. I regret it," answered 
 Mallette, smiling. 
 
 "And what about Wagner?" 
 
 "He simply makes me most awfully ill! A rank 
 flower whose touch is poison!" 
 
 "What rot!" cried Jamie, and Claire, who was 
 shocked by such heresy and yet who somehow under- 
 stood him, exclaimed: 
 
 "I know what you mean. I can see that it might 
 affect one that way." 
 
 "It does, unless you carry your own antidote for it. 
 Perhaps I don't." 
 
 "And the Russians!" Jamie demanded almost 
 threateningly. 
 
 "I like them, but they're all dead except a few very 
 advanced composers who don't write music at all. The 
 world was changing fast during the last ten years before 
 the war and not for the better!" 
 
 "Ah!" said Claire. "And all during the day I have 
 been thinking how beautiful it is once more!" 
 
 "Nature's world, yes," answered Mallette. "But I 
 was thinking of Man's!" 
 
 "So was I," said Claire. 
 
 Mallette said: "Really! I'm afraid I can't agree 
 with you. It's a very curious thing, but something had 
 been going wrong with the arts before the war. They 
 had grown, if not faltering, confused, as if something 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 25 
 
 terrible was approaching, and as if they were groping 
 blindly to find means for the expression of terrific and 
 unheard-of things. As if even art might not be able to 
 express them. But still they groped, trying new roads, 
 which led nowhere, waiting for that something which 
 tliey felt was coming. It 's rather curious ! Whether it 
 is just an idea of mine or not, I don't know, but there 
 have been times in history, you know, during great 
 crises, when the arts have gone by the board." 
 
 "You mean during wars?" asked Claire. 
 
 "In the past, yes. I think that a kind of unrealized 
 consciousness that something was hanging over us 
 affected our usual modes of expression." 
 
 u But now that it is over things will be as they were," 
 Claire said. "Our dear old-fashioned world?" 
 
 "The old-fashioned part of it is doomed, I'm afraid, 
 unless it changes itself. Do you really find it beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 "Yes," Claire answered. 
 
 "I should like to see what your world is like some- 
 time!" said Mallette, smiling again. 
 
 "It consists of an uncle," Jamie interposed, "two 
 aunts, two brothers, three Irish maids, and an old- 
 fashioned house in Ninth Street! Come down any 
 time and take a look at it!" 
 
 "You don't mind, Claire?" Jamie asked, a little later, 
 when all three stood outside the tea-shop. 
 
 "Please go," answered Claire. "I want to walk and 
 
26 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 if you come with me you'll want to ride. Good-night, 
 Mr. Mallette! Will you be home to dinner, Jamie?" 
 "Not sure," replied Jamie. "I'll telephone." 
 Claire started through the cross-street for the Avenue, 
 thinking for a moment about Mallette. He had n't said 
 very much — excepting the usual small talk — beyond 
 what has been recorded, but it seemed to her that what 
 he had said might have easily led to the pronouncement 
 of advanced ideas. She was not used to abstract dis- 
 cussions of any kind, and Mallette's remarks — which 
 Jamie, she noticed, took as a matter of course — sur- 
 prised and slightly interested her. He talked cleverly 
 and she thought she would like to hear more of it, but 
 about the world in general he must be wrong. It must 
 be that humanity turning, sobered and sick, from all 
 these years of fighting, would seek other paths, paths 
 of peace and amity. That the world of her childhood as 
 it existed before 1914 as she saw it dimly through the 
 turmoil of the past, would grow bright once more, se- 
 rene and buoyant. And turning into the Avenue she 
 forgot Mallette and her cogitations. She was only 
 twenty and Mallette's abstractions, or any one else's, 
 could not hold her attention long. She began wondering 
 what they were going to have for dinner, who Helena's 
 dressmaker was, and whether Particolor, her Pekinese, 
 was beginning to be worried about her. The slight ex- 
 altation which had possessed her during the concert, 
 and for a little while before, had left her, but she was 
 very happy, and as she pressed steadily down the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 27 
 
 Avenue she looked very handsome. She was tall. All 
 the Nicholsons — with the exception of Edward Nichol- 
 son — were good-looking, the women large and the men 
 inclined to be small, and all — with the exception of 
 Edward Nicholson — were well made; and she attracted 
 many an eye as she pressed buoyantly on. 
 
 She let herself in. Particolor was waiting for her on 
 the other side of the door, as she knew he would be, and 
 they ran up the two flights together. The Nicholsons 
 had never had electricity put in, and the gas-jets, one 
 in each hall, were burning dimly. 
 
 Claire went into her room, the large one next Jamie's 
 smaller one, and as she threw open the windows a half 
 forgotten accession of sound attracted her attention. All 
 the windows of all the tenements, whose rear walls faced 
 her across the back yards, and which had been tightly 
 shut for many months, were open, and a sound of voices 
 and of various human activities welled out toward her. 
 
 Claire laughed. During the whole winter, she had 
 seen or heard nothing of them. It was exactly as if the 
 breath of spring had waked them, and as if they had 
 resumed at once the occupations they had been engaged 
 in when the frosts of the previous autumn had put 
 them all to sleep. 
 
CHAPTER n 
 
 Hardly had Claire's door shut, when the telephone in 
 the lower hall sounded, and Jamie — when Maggie, the 
 waitress, had taken down the receiver — announced over 
 it that he was bringing a friend home to dinner. George 
 had telephoned similar information a few minutes before, 
 and was at that moment in the Brevoort, treating his 
 guest to a cocktail — cocktails being unknown in the 
 Nicholson menage. 
 
 Maggie, whose duties embraced those of parlor maid 
 and waitress, hung up the receiver, and as it was seven 
 o'clock, the time at which the gas-jet in the front hall 
 must be increased in volume, she took an instrument 
 from her pantry — -a length of small brass tubing contain- 
 ing a wax taper, which had in addition a piece of cleft 
 metal at one end and a wooden handle at the other, and 
 went into the hall. Lifting the instrument above her 
 head until the cleft end enclosed the key of the gas-jet, 
 she performed the operation commonly known as turn- 
 ing up the gas. As she was so engaged, a latchkey rattled 
 in the lock of the front door, the door opened, and 
 Edward Nicholson entered. 
 
 Edward Nicholson — who was undersized — had a 
 large bald head, heavy white moustaches, very short, 
 thick legs, and a pot belly. He was the unhandsome 
 member of the family. Maggie, a buxom woman of forty, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 29 
 
 with a bosom of excessive development, stood with her 
 arms still extended, but with her eyes fixed stoically 
 on Edward Nicholson. Edward Nicholson glanced at 
 Maggie's bosom, from habit, but coldly, and said in an 
 impersonal tone, as he began to mount the stairs: 
 
 "Good-evening, Maggie !" 
 
 "Good evening, sir!" 
 
 Twenty years before, when Maggie was a fresh young 
 Irish girl of twenty, that same bosom had roused many 
 amorous longings in Edward Nicholson, and although 
 through natural caution he had guarded even his glances, 
 Maggie had been perfectly aware of his prepossession, 
 and so, too, to a degree, had his sisters, but that was 
 twenty years ago, before Caroline and Kate had begun 
 to harbor dark suspicions that their brother was leading 
 what is called a double life. 
 
 Maggie, with her stolid air, went into the parlor carry- 
 ing the instrument for turning up the gas with her. She 
 still hoped, some day, to surprise Edward Nicholson in 
 one more amorous glance. Maggie was a good girl and 
 a good Catholic, and if Edward Nicholson had had the 
 temerity to make advances twenty years before, or 
 even to-day, she would have repulsed him sharply. 
 Nevertheless, those long-past furtive appraisals of his 
 had not been distasteful to her/ 
 
 Maggie lighted two of the burners of the six in the 
 large chandelier in the parlor, a light on each side of the 
 mantelpiece, a light on either side of the doorway lead- 
 ing to the library, and a light in the wall opposite the 
 
30 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 mantelpiece and near one of the front windows. This 
 light seemed to illuminate the music-rack of the grand 
 piano, to the accompaniment of which Aunt Kate in a 
 husky voice occasionally murdered the celebrated con- 
 tralto aria from "Samson and Delilah." All these 
 lights were enclosed in old-fashioned globes of clear 
 glass with designs of rather elegant scrollwork etched 
 on them. They were hard to get now, being considered 
 old-fashioned and out of date, and Caroline could replace, 
 broken ones only by picking one up occasionally, here 
 and there, in second-hand furniture shops, in conser- 
 vative gas-fixture establishments, or in the warerooms 
 of auctioneers. 
 
 After lighting the gas-jets, Maggie lighted two oil 
 lamps, with silk shades, one of which stood on a small 
 table at the left of the fireplace, and one on the small end 
 of the grand piano. 
 
 Under this illumination the Nicholsons' parlor stood 
 revealed. 
 
 It produced a Victorian impression of comfort, not- 
 withstanding the atrocious character of most of its con- 
 tents. A mirror with a rococo gilt frame filled the en- 
 tire space between the front windows, as it did at one 
 time in ten thousand New York houses. The frame of the 
 mirror branched out at the top forming two gilt cornices 
 from which the window curtains were suspended. In 
 the Nicholson parlor these were of old red damask. This 
 damask had been purchased in Paris, forty years be- 
 fore, by Grandfather and Grandmother Nicholson, on 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 31 
 
 the occasion of their only visit there, and had originally 
 covered the parlor furniture as well, but the damask 
 which had been used on the furniture had been replaced 
 many times since, each time with as close a match to 
 the original as could be procured, but each time depart- 
 ing farther and farther from it. Another mirror with a 
 gilt frame of a debased rococo style surmounted the man- 
 telpiece, which was of white marble, also rococo, but 
 of a style even more debased than that of the mirror 
 frames. The doors were of good, handsome mahogany 
 surrounded by heavy mouldings. 
 
 The effect of the doors, the gilt frames, the plain gray- 
 painted walls, and the crimson damask curtains, was not 
 bad, but certain things in the room led one to believe 
 that the harmony of the effect was quite accidental and 
 that the taste of the Nicholsons left much to be desired. 
 
 For one thing, the pictures were distressing. On one 
 wall hung a large flower piece, also the result of the Paris 
 trip, of an extremely mediocre character, which Kate 
 Nicholson was in the habit of showing to visitors with 
 pride, announcing in a final sort of way that it was the 
 work of Neolini. No visitor had ever heard of Neolini 
 before, nor had Kate, nor anybody else; but for the mere 
 reason that he had not been heard of, the mention of 
 his name almost always produced an impression. The 
 other pictures, which, with the flower piece, were all 
 framed in gilt mouldings of excessive depth and orna- 
 mentation, had all unmistakably been purchased by 
 people who should not purchase pictures: a group of 
 
32 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Neapolitan peasants; the Favorite of the Harem — 
 properly clothed, of course; the Little Bootblack; the 
 Broken Pitcher — not Greuze — and a few landscapes 
 of impossible Alpine scenery. 
 
 In one corner, on a pedestal of onyx, stood a bronze 
 bust of a young lady holding two cherries between her 
 lips, the cherries being colored to imitate nature — this 
 had been purchased as a Christmas gift for Caroline by 
 Edward, who had thereby established himself as a con- 
 noisseur of art in the eyes of almost all the Nicholsons 
 — and against one wall an Eastlake etagere of black wood, 
 engraved with lines of gold, displayed various objects of 
 art which the Nicholsons cherished: a mosaic of the 
 Coliseum at Rome, a collection of souvenir spoons, two 
 photograph albums, a set of mother-of-pearl shells on 
 which were painted a series of ideal heads, and a Swiss 
 music-box. 
 
 The furniture consisted of a rosewood "parlor set," 
 with three or four later additions of the saddle-bag 
 variety. 
 
 The room had formerly been carpeted, but this was 
 now abolished, and a hardwood floor had been laid down 
 on which were placed a few expensive but very ugly 
 Eastern rugs. 
 
 Passing through the folding doors, Maggie proceeded 
 next to illuminate what had formerly been the dining- 
 room. Through a strange outburst of extravagance on 
 Edward Nicholson's part, some ten years before, a din- 
 ing-room had been added to the rear of the house, and 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 33 
 
 the former dining-room had been turned into what the 
 family called the library. 
 
 In both of these rooms, the parlor and the library, the 
 not inelegant original character of the rooms themselves 
 had served to mitigate the liberties which the Nicholsons 
 had taken with them, but it was in the dining-room that 
 one could see the Nicholson preferences naively dis- 
 played. The room was panneled up to a height of six 
 feet in oak, finished a particularly vile yellowish color, 
 the walls above being hung with a paper designed to look 
 like tapestry. The ceiling was also of oak, but the six 
 central panels had at first formed a skylight glazed with 
 a design in bright-colored glass. This glass produced a 
 glare at breakfast and luncheon, so violent that it was 
 too much even for Edward, Caroline, and Kate, and 
 after two years the skylight openings had been filled in 
 to match the rest of the ceiling. Claire could remember 
 distinctly seeing the assembled family decorated with 
 a variety of colors as they sat at table. Jamie's face 
 bathed in a ghastly green, a patch of scarlet running 
 about over Aunt Caroline, and Edward's head trans- 
 formed into a purple dome. 
 
 The furniture of light oak, which matched the panel- 
 ing, was heavily carved, and a rug, whose colors rivaled 
 those of the skylight, covered the floor. 
 
 Maggie, after turning up the gas in the library where 
 it needed turning up, and lighting other burners accord- 
 ing to the fixed habits of the house, shut herself into the 
 dining-room. At that moment the front door opened 
 
34 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 once more. This time it admitted George and his guest, 
 both smelling slightly of cloves. They hung their hats on 
 the hat-rack and ascended to George's room. Almost 
 immediately, Aunt Kate came in. She, too, had been to 
 the concert at Carnegie, but, being very greedy, had 
 stopped for a solitary orgy of cakes and chocolate at 
 Maillard's. As Caroline was already at home the entire 
 household was now assembled with the exception of 
 Jamie. 
 
 Kate Nicholson's door had just closed on the third 
 floor, when Edward began to descend the stairs as hur- 
 riedly as his figure permitted, glancing toward the mar- 
 ble top of the hall hat-rack. Observing from halfway up 
 that the evening paper lay on it, he adopted a more lei- 
 surely pace for the remainder of the descent, and, pick- 
 ing up the paper, made his way into the library with it. 
 It was the unwritten rule of the house that neither 
 Edward, Caroline, nor Kate might carry it up to their 
 rooms when they came in, but that the first to descend 
 later was to enjoy it undisturbed. If Caroline secured it 
 first, she seemed to Edward to keep it an unconscionable 
 time, while if Edward had it it sometimes seemed to 
 Caroline that he must be pretending to read it long after 
 he had actually finished. Kate, who through her uncon- 
 querable lethargy was always late everywhere, never got 
 it until after the other two had had it, when her immer- 
 sion in it would last during the remainder of the evening. 
 The result of this arrangement was that two people 
 — Claire, George, and Jamie did n't count — were al- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 35 
 
 ways waiting disconsolately about for a chance to get 
 hold of it. This complication, which arose every eve- 
 ning, could have been immediately done away with if 
 three evening papers had been taken instead of one, but 
 as most people take only one, the taking of three would 
 have required a daring type of mind which did not exist 
 in the Nicholson family. On second thought it is doubt- 
 ful whether this idea would have served any good pur- 
 pose, for it is not likely that the three evening papers 
 would have been the same, and if they had been differ- 
 ent, it is probable that Edward, Caroline, and Kate 
 would each have insisted on reading all of them, thereby 
 simply trebling the difficulties of the situation as it 
 existed already. 
 
 Edward Nicholson seated himself in his favorite chair, 
 which was placed directly underneath the chandelier, 
 glanced at the Wall Street page, and then, searching 
 through the remainder of the paper until he found the 
 announcement of the failure of a large firm of rival but- 
 ton manufacturers, he settled himself solidly and began 
 to read. He read almost furtively, grasping the paper 
 firmly by both hands as if ready to crumple it together, 
 at a moment's notice, but he had just become absorbed 
 in the newspaper's account of the catastrophe, when a 
 preliminary loud bang sounded on the grand piano in 
 the parlor and some one swung into a waltz. Edward 
 rose impatiently and was about to close the doors be- 
 tween the parlor and the library, when he desisted, see- 
 ing that Jamie had a guest, who, seated on a small chair, 
 
36 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 was listening as a guest, to Jamie's performance with a 
 polite attention he might not otherwise have afforded 
 it. They had just come in, but Edward, immersed in 
 the paper, had not heard them. 
 
 Edward returned to his chair, but almost immediately 
 Caroline's loud, brusque tones sounded in the parlor, 
 and at the same moment, glancing diagonally upward 
 through the door leading into the back hall, he saw George 
 and another masculine figure descending the stairs. He 
 looked at his watch. It was later than he thought. In 
 fact it was half-past seven, and as he slipped his watch 
 back into his pocket, the sliding doors leading into the 
 dining-room opened, and Maggie appeared to announce 
 that dinner was served. 
 
 In the meantime Claire, in her room, which she loved, 
 had not lighted the gas, and was sitting by the window 
 in the fading light, with Particolor on her lap, in a low 
 rocking-chair, looking at the windows of the tenement 
 houses. She remembered some play where there had 
 been a scene similar to it, a building showing its various 
 occupants in rows of windows, one above the other, and 
 this was just as fascinating. She heard the voices of 
 women engaged in interminable dialogues, the rough 
 tones of uneducated men, scraps of songs, laughter, the 
 crying of infants, the hoarse conversations of the tenement 
 children darting in and out, wild as hawks. From some 
 place issued the sound of some small wood instrument, 
 piping a few notes which reminded her of the mellifluous 
 flute which had tootled in the Frenchman's symphony. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 37 
 
 She tried to discover whence it came, but could not. 
 The whole place teemed with, swarmed with lif e, and the 
 city swarmed with it, and the whole world. Idly she 
 asked herself what it meant, all these swarming millions. 
 And how little she knew of it and of them. A few people 
 here and there, a place or two, and only really well 
 this house, only intimately her room, a tiny hollow cube 
 lost in the immensity of the city, in the infinity of the 
 world. She felt in her pocket, drew out a tiny box con- 
 taining chocolate bonbons and, biting into one, stretched 
 herself luxuriously, leaning far back in her chair. — Some 
 day she would leave this room. Some day life would call 
 to her and she would go out to meet it, but not yet — 
 she was not ready. 
 
 The rasping of the dumb-waiter far below roused her. 
 She could tell from the quality of the sounds it made 
 that it was descending. This meant that Maggie was 
 ready for the soup, and that she had at the most five 
 minutes in which to dress for dinner. She sprang up, 
 lighted the gas, unlaced and kicked off her shoes, undid 
 her dress, washed, gave her hair a touch here and there, 
 slipped into another dress which she could fasten quickly , 
 drew on a pair of slippers, and ran downstairs. Maggie, 
 in the doorway between the parlor and the library, was 
 announcing dinner. Aunt Kate, for a wonder, had just 
 preceded her, and George and Jamie were there, George 
 with an unknown friend and Jamie with — Mallette. 
 
 Mallette's reappearance struck Claire, Jamie, and 
 Mallette himself in a humorous light, and they exchanged 
 
38 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 smiles. George's friend, brought up for introduction, 
 shook hands with Claire with a grip so muscular that she 
 felt glad that she had forgotten to put on her rings after 
 washing her hands. He, too, was of medium height, but 
 thickly built, with a longish head, a heavy chin, and light 
 blue eyes. He seemed about thirty-eight or nine, much 
 older than George, and his brownish hair was already 
 touched with gray. He spoke with a strong and forceful 
 voice. His name was Dudley Orville. 
 
 Claire was twenty, Jamie twenty-two, and George 
 twenty-four. Jamie looked like no one else in the fam- 
 ily, but between Claire and George, who were unmis- 
 takable Nicholsons, there was a strong resemblance. 
 Claire was tall for a woman, George, for a man, slightly 
 undersized. Claire was handsome, George extremely 
 good-looking. Each had regular features, well-shaped 
 heads, fine complexions, handsome eyes, and symmet- 
 rical bodies, but in George all these things were neat, 
 compact, and small; in Claire they were vigorous and 
 splendid. 
 
 As for Jamie, he had a long nose and a retreating fore- 
 head from which his black hair was always glossily 
 brushed, a musicianly profile, a mouth which displayed 
 his feelings too openly, sloping shoulders, a narrow chest, 
 a thin body, and blue-gray eyes. He possessed undeni- 
 able charm, but not one of the Nicholsons understood 
 him in the least excepting Claire. 
 
 When war broke out in 1914 Jamie disappeared. 
 After a month a letter came from him in England. He 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 39 
 
 had enlisted there in an English regiment. He was sent 
 to France, saw some heavy fighting for a month, con- 
 tracted typhoid, and was discharged from the army 
 after a period of convalescence in London. 
 
 George's army experience had been less extensive. 
 He had gone to an officers' training camp on the United 
 States' declaration of war, but had not been sent 
 abroad. 
 
 There remain only the Nicholson sisters, Caroline and 
 Kate. They also resembled each other and were both 
 Nicholsons, but while Caroline had the bright Nicholson 
 hair and the fresh Nicholson complexion, Kate's hair was 
 dark and her complexion muddy. Their cast of features 
 was similar, and each looked like Claire and George. 
 Caroline was big, brusque, and hearty, a fine figure of 
 energetic middle age. Kate was big, too, but while Car- 
 oline's manner was open, Kate's possessed the furtive 
 characteristics of one who is prepossessed and guided by 
 secret vices, Kate's being laziness and gluttony. Of all 
 the Nicholsons living in this house, Kate's character was 
 the most obscure. She was less frank, more impenetra- 
 ble than the others, and colder even than Edward. 
 
 If the foregoing description of the Nicholson family 
 and' the Nicholson house has given the impression of 
 anything in the least cheap or tawdry, it has failed of its 
 purpose, because they and it were spotless, shining, and 
 expensive. In the house nothing was ever allowed to de- 
 teriorate in the slightest degree. The paint was always 
 fresh, the mahogany beautifully polished, the brasses 
 
40 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 luminous. The taste of the objects which adorned the 
 rooms might be found fault with, but the workmanship 
 never. The Nicholsons always bought the best quality 
 of everything and were willing to pay for it. If they had 
 had a coat of arms, its motto might well have been, " The 
 Best is the Cheapest," they repeated this axiom so often. 
 
 Their persons exemplified it. Caroline and Kate wore 
 dresses not always of the latest fashion, but of the very 
 best materials made in the most careful way, while dia- 
 monds and pearls of good size and of the very first qual- 
 ity flashed or slumbered on the carefully kept fingers of 
 their large strong hands. Edward's clothing was con- 
 servative but solid; and the entire family evidently never 
 dreamed of buying anything which was not of the best, 
 a practice, the outcome, plainly, of a policy founded on 
 traditions of good business logic. 
 
 Maggie, having announced dinner, retreated through 
 the sliding doors between the dining-room and library, 
 and Caroline followed, followed by the others. Edward 
 was just rising from his chair, and a short pause ensued 
 in the progress of the procession while Orville and Mal- 
 lette were introduced to him. This ceremony concluded, 
 everybody entered the dining-room, Edward leading and 
 carrying the evening paper, which he folded up and slid 
 under him as he sat down. This was to prevent its ap- 
 propriation by anybody else before he had finished it. 
 Maggie was waiting to begin operations, and as was al- 
 ways the case when there were guests, Annie, the cham- 
 bermaid, had come upstairs to assist her. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 41 
 
 Guests for dinner, brought in by Claire, George, or 
 Jamie, were not infrequent at the Nicholsons', and with 
 rare exceptions were the only kind who ever appeared 
 there. Relatives were occasionally asked and friends of 
 Caroline or Kate were invited at rare intervals, but the 
 Nicholsons had never given a dinner party. Why the 
 younger guests ever came was something of a mysterv 
 
 — unless it was to escape the tedium of their own houses 
 
 — because the atmosphere of the Nicholson house was 
 not enlivening. Caroline, without knowing much about 
 them, liked to see young people about, but both Kate 
 and Edward were completely indifferent to them, and it 
 was the invariable custom for them, after the ordeal of 
 dinner was over, to escape into the refuge of the bed- 
 room of whoever had invited them. To-night, however, 
 the atmosphere was slightly charged with the stimulat- 
 ing element of novelty. 
 
 This novelty was Mallette. 
 
 Only one foreigner — previous to Mallette's appear- 
 ance — had ever been entertained in Edward Nicholson's 
 house. Kate Nicholson had met a German count, 
 some years before — two years before the war in fact — 
 and had asked him to call. He had called constantly for a 
 short time, had proposed to Kate and had been refused, 
 so it was said, had tried to borrow money of Edward and 
 had again been refused, and had disappeared. Soon after- 
 wards he had been arrested as a swindler, and the news- 
 papers had discovered that he was not a count at all, but 
 the son of a small Berlin tailor. Although the Nicholsons 
 
42 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 had enjoyed the German greatly, listening to his stories 
 very much as they listened to the tales the foreign mis- 
 sionaries told in the lecture-room of their church, this 
 experience strengthened the prejudice which they had 
 always nourished against all foreigners, and it is doubt- 
 ful if Mallette's reception would have been what it was 
 had not the war, with its succession of foreign mis- 
 sions, the variety of strange uniforms seen in the streets, 
 the sudden preponderance of foreign affairs in the news- 
 papers, given a slight temporary cosmopolitan tinge to 
 the conversation and thoughts of many Americans who 
 before had hardly been conscious of Europe at all ex- 
 cept as a place where immigrants came from. As it was, 
 however, the moment Mallette's crisp English accent 
 sounded, the Nicholsons — particularly the older ones — 
 spruced themselves up a bit, so to speak, and prepared 
 to display their company manners for his special benefit. 
 In England, all Americans are probable millionaries, and 
 in America it would not be impossible for an English- 
 man to appear who had aristocratic connections. 
 
 Edward sat at the head of the table, Caroline at the 
 foot, Kate at Edward's right, Claire at his left, and the 
 four young men between them and Caroline, two on 
 each side. Edward always carved, and on asking guests 
 which kind they would have, was always told that it 
 did n't matter, which always irritated him, although he 
 did n't show it; therefore, when Mallette, on being 
 asked, told him exactly what he preferred, a slight sen- 
 sation prevailed at the table for a moment, and it be- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 43 
 
 came plain to the Nicholsons, because of Edward Nich- 
 olson's manner, that he approved of Mallette. 
 
 "Well, I see that Thwaites & Company have failed!" 
 remarked George to Edward Nicholson as soon as they 
 were seated. 
 
 "Well, well!" cut in Caroline. "Thwaites, eh? Such 
 an old concern, too!" 
 
 "What's the trouble there, uncle?" asked George. 
 
 "War contracts," Edward answered briefly. The 
 subject seemed distasteful to him. 
 
 "War contracts!" George repeated incredulously. 
 "Fail over war contracts! — why, w — ahem," and he 
 coughed hurriedly. 
 
 "It's too bad they couldn't have waited a while!" 
 observed Orville. "Munitions are shaky enough as it is ! " 
 
 "They must have been a lot of idiots," George ob- 
 served. "Fancy not being able to make money on a 
 war contract!" He glanced at his uncle and as the lat- 
 ter did not respond, looked complacently at Orville. 
 
 " Some people seemed to think the war was going on 
 forever," he continued, and Orville supplemented this 
 by adding: 
 
 "Yes, there's always a time to get in and a time to get 
 out." 
 
 "In and out of what?" Jamie inquired. He had not 
 been listening. 
 
 "Everything of course, even bed; something you 
 never seem to understand," George answered with broth- 
 erly brusqueness. 
 
44 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 A laugh followed this sally while Jamie, unable to 
 think of any immediate retort, made one of his inimit- 
 able pantomimic gestures indicating that George thought 
 himself unduly clever. All of the Nicholsons had 
 laughed, that is, excepting Edward, who, now slicing 
 the roast beef as if it might have been a Prussian, re- 
 marked with a rancor surprising in one usually so 
 self-contained: "They ended the war too soon." 
 
 "They certainly did," Caroline assented in her loud, 
 positive voice. "They should never have stopped until 
 they were in Berlin." 
 
 " But Aunt Caroline " — and what Claire said sounded 
 almost heretical — "think how many more of our sol- 
 diers would have lost their lives!" 
 
 "I know," Caroline replied obstinately; "but the 
 Germans have got to be made to feel sorry for what 
 they 've done and the only way you can do that is by 
 giving them a thorough beating. You 've got to make 
 them repent!" 
 
 Claire was not sure that you could make people re- 
 pent by beating them, but she was forced to spec- 
 ulate on the peculiar ferocity which had been displayed 
 by the older Nicholsons during the war. Abstractly 
 she could not blame them for feeling ferocious about the 
 Germans because she felt that way herself, but the un- 
 escapable fact about their ferocity, which she could not 
 share, was that the satisfaction the slaughter of Germans 
 caused them was so keen that it made them quite in- 
 different to the fate of those who were slaughtering 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 45 
 
 them, and who, of course, were themselves being slaugh- 
 tered in large numbers. 
 
 At this point, during a momentary pause, the English 
 voice of Mallette rose distinctly. He seemed to have 
 been asking Jamie a question or two in an undertone, 
 and now he articulated clearly, as if repeating a word he 
 had heard, but was not quite sure of — 
 
 "Buttons?" 
 
 Mallette's manner of pronouncing the word was so 
 superior in its staccato clearness to the rather slurring 
 American itf!xhod, that it seemed to the Nicholsons as if 
 his attitude toward the question of buttons in the ab- 
 stract might be superior too. Jamie, who hated to talk 
 about business or to hear it talked about, because he 
 never understood it in the least, flushed, and answered 
 in a low voice, which the table heard plainly: 
 
 "Yes, that's our business!" 
 
 "Our business!" cried George humorously. "Jamie, 
 the button manufacturer!" 
 
 The elder Nicholsons laughed at this sally, and Caro- 
 line cried in her brusque way: "Now don't you make 
 fun of Jamie! He's all right! Are n't you, Jamie?" 
 
 She smiled at Mallette as if inviting him to enjoy the 
 family joke, too, but Mallette had caught Claire's ex- 
 pression of resentment over Jamie's confusion, and he 
 diverted attention from him by remarking to Edward: 
 
 "Might I ask you how you create markets, sir, where 
 there have been none before?" 
 
 "By creating a demand for what you have to sell." 
 
46 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "By teaching a native, for instance, who has always 
 tied his clothing with tapes, to use buttons instead ? " 
 
 "As an illustration, that is as good as any other," 
 answered Edward. 
 
 "Then in these days the supply must regulate the 
 demand, and not the demand the supply." 
 
 Edward smiled tolerantly. " That was the old theory. 
 In these days if you want to make more money, you 
 must increase the volume of your business. You can't 
 increase your profits." 
 
 "So that if you do a million dollars' worth of business 
 a year and you want to double your profits, you must 
 manage to convince enough people that they want but- 
 tons badly enough to make up another million dollars' 
 worth!" 
 
 "Exactly!" 
 
 "That's jolly interesting!" remarked Mallette. 
 
 "You are not in business yourself?" asked Edward. 
 
 "Oh, no; I'm an actor!" 
 
 This announcement was received rather frostily, al- 
 though Mallette seemed quite unconscious of the fact, 
 and Claire saw George cast an equivocal leer at Orville 
 which could not have failed offending Mallette if he 
 had seen it. Kate, who had been eating heavily, and 
 who had not yet spoken, now said : 
 
 "I see that there's an English lord acting in a play 
 here. Do you know him? " 
 
 "Hazlewood?" answered Mallette. "Oh, yes, we 
 were at school together!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 47 
 
 With the exception of Claire and Jamie, Mallette's 
 assertion was received by the table with a silence which 
 seemed to say, "Perhaps you did, and perhaps you did 
 not, but anyway, we know what actors are like, and any- 
 thing they may say must be taken with a grain of salt!" 
 The knowledge that Mallette was an actor had gone far 
 toward neutralizing the favorable impression his accent 
 had produced; in fact, it seemed now as if that same ac- 
 cent might be one of any number of equivocal weapons 
 deliberately assembled for one knew not what dubious 
 purposes, and all became subtly aware that Edward's 
 approval of him, for his prompt declaration as to 
 whether he preferred it rare or well done, had been 
 withdrawn. 
 
 "Do you know what I think, uncle, I think Thwaites 
 & Company would be a good buy!" This from George, 
 who talked and thought about business even more than 
 any of the other Nicholsons, which is saying a good deal, 
 after another meaning glance which, this time, Mallette 
 noticed. Claire thought that George seemed to be try- 
 ing to be deliberately rude to him. 
 
 "Not at all!" answered Edward. " There 's nothing 
 there. Their business has disappeared. You would be 
 buying a number of buildings full of machinery and no 
 customers to speak of!" 
 
 "This is the kind of thing we get every night!" Jamie 
 whispered to Mallette. "It's the original game of 'But- 
 ton ! button ! Who 's got the button? ' and they 're play- 
 ing it all the time! It's fierce!" 
 
48 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Your uncle would n't tell you whether he thought it 
 would be a good speculation or not. You know how he 
 treated me when he got that tip on Steel!" 
 
 Aunt Caroline uttered this in her loud, challenging 
 voice, and the Nicholsons laughed again. It was a stand- 
 ing joke with them. Not long before Edward had bought 
 steel on a reliable tip and was said to have done a good 
 stroke of business. He did not tell any one, because no 
 matter how willing he might be to talk about business in 
 general, he never imparted any information concerning 
 his own, and he did not approve of speculation, for wo- 
 men especially, but Caroline had accidentally learned 
 what Edward was doing, had done likewise, and had 
 never failed since to berate him when opportunity of- 
 fered for not sharing his information with her. 
 f "How's copper, George?" she added. 
 
 "They say it's going up! Don't you want some, 
 Aunt Kate?" And there was another laugh. 
 
 Aunt Kate was even more averse to speculation than 
 Edward. What the Nicholsons called speculation being 
 the purchase of stocks when they were low, locking them 
 away, and selling them when they were high. The idea 
 of buying any stock on margin was supposed to be un- 
 thinkable for any Nicholson excepting George. Kate, 
 who was extremely close-fisted, was more secretive than 
 any of the others, and it was believed that all the money 
 she could save out of her income — which was derived 
 from her shares in the Nicholson Button Company — 
 was regularly invested in Government bonds. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Dinner being over, the party rose and made for the 
 parlor with the exception of Edward, who disappeared 
 down the basement stairs into the front basement room, 
 which he used as a general retreat and sanctum. The 
 only diversion at the command of the Nicholson en- 
 tourage was the game known as "Five Hundred," and 
 Caroline now proposed it for the young people with the 
 passing thought that it would perhaps hardly appeal to 
 so sophisticated a person as an actor, but Claire, Jamie, 
 and George all hated it, and Claire, after a whispered 
 word with Jamie said: 
 
 "I think we would rather have some music, Aunt 
 Caroline; Jamie is going to play a waltz he is com- 
 posing ! " 
 
 "All right, Jamie; let's hear it!" 
 
 Caroline settled herself in an armchair beside the small 
 table which held one of the lamps, and furtively slipping 
 on a pair of spectacles, took up some needlework. Jamie 
 went to the piano and struck into the waltz he had be- 
 gun before dinner. Claire and Mallette took possession 
 of a small sofa. Orville had seated himself politely be- 
 side Kate, and George had joined them. 
 
 Jamie began with the preliminary dashing chords, 
 and then swung into the movement of the waltz, a cred- 
 itable piece of the softly swaying, dreamful kind. He had 
 
50 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 begun reluctantly because the presence of any member 
 of the family, with the exception of Claire, made him 
 diffident. He knew that all the things he cared for, they 
 would either disapprove of or not understand, but as he 
 played, Claire understood well that his spirit was waltz- 
 ing to the time of his waltz. His narrow shoulders leaned 
 forward, and as he pressed the pedals his whole body 
 seemed to lift itself from the piano stool. At times his 
 profile was bent toward the keys and again raised up- 
 ward, while he swayed slightly from side to side. Claire 
 knew that Jamie's soul was, for the moment, full of joy. 
 Dear, dear Jamie! 
 
 Claire said, when he stopped, "That was sweet, 
 Jamie!" 
 
 Caroline had disappeared, having remembered a mo- 
 ment before that she had forgotten to tell the cook that 
 the salt cod she had ordered was for fish-cakes in the 
 morning, and Kate, Orville, and George were absorbed 
 in discussing the future of real estate in the Washington 
 Square district. Jamie noticed this with relief. Claire 
 and Mallette's sofa stood diagonally in front of the tall 
 pier glass between the windows so that they and Jamie 
 seemed quite by themselves. 
 
 "You like it, do you?" said Jamie. "I thought per- 
 haps the last bar might be better if it went like this ! " 
 and he played it again. "You like it better the first 
 way?" He played a scale or two, and then, after a 
 slight pause, began something, a song apparently, 
 which Claire did not know. It had an arresting quality 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 51 
 
 which instantly fixed her attention, and which caused 
 her to sit silent for a moment after he had finished. 
 
 "What was that, Nicholson?" asked Mallette. "It's 
 jolly good!" 
 
 "A little thing of mine!" answered Jamie. "Do you 
 like it? I did n't think much of it!" 
 
 "Why, it's lovely!" cried Claire. "Simply lovely! 
 Is it a song?" 
 
 "You know those poems of Dowson's you lent me." 
 Jamie had turned to Mallette. "I've been trying my 
 hand at setting some of them to music." 
 
 "What was the one you played just now?" Mallette 
 asked. 
 
 Jamie answered, "Exchanges," and repeated the 
 first verse: 
 
 " All that I had I brought, 
 Little enough, I know; 
 A poor rhyme roughly wrought, 
 
 A rose to match thy snow: 
 All that I had I brought.'* 
 
 "How lovely!" cried Claire. "Who is Dowson? I 
 never heard of him ! " 
 
 "He is known," answered Mallette, "but not largely. 
 He loved a barmaid, who jilted him, and died of drink in 
 a bricklayers' cottage near London. All this happened 
 in that distant world which existed before the war." 
 
 "It sounds like the story of a real genius!" said 
 Claire. 
 
 "It is," Mallette answered. 
 
52 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 At that moment Kate's voice was heard addressing 
 George's guest. 
 
 "You know, Mr. Orville, our family have been but- 
 ton manufacturers for three generations!" 
 
 Claire burst into an irrepressible peal of almost hys- 
 terical laughter, causing Kate, George, and Orville to 
 turn quickly for a moment and then resume their con- 
 versation. A sudden and new sense of the complicated 
 absurdities and tragedies of life had seized Claire. And 
 this night it seemed about to begin to open out for her; 
 about to begin, like some mysterious night-blooming 
 flower, to tremble, its petals to quiver, as if on the 
 verge of revealing itself, of disclosing things to her, 
 grotesque, beautiful, and strange. She wished to say to 
 Mallette, "How do you like my world?" but could not. 
 Still, looking at him, she saw his lips curve with a slight 
 quizzical turn which seemed to say, "You need n't ask 
 because I understand." Jamie screened by the piano 
 was making one of his inimitable grimaces, and sud- 
 denly, with a feeling of disloyalty in admitting Mallette 
 even tacitly into too personal a partnership, her face 
 grew grave again. Something about his foreign air and 
 crisp speech had caused the background of her own life to 
 assume a different aspect, blurred, old, and a little dull, 
 and for this she was sorry and even a little resentful. 
 Presently Mallette said something which made her 
 doubt the construction she had placed on that quizzical 
 look of his. 
 
 "I like your world!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 53 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it reminds me of home, and the sort of 
 thing I have n't had much of of late years. Have you 
 been in England?" 
 
 "Never. Does this remind you of England?" 
 
 "Not so much in the way it looks as in the impression 
 it gives one of something very settled. I did n't know 
 that families like yours existed over here!" 
 
 "Don't you know people here?" asked Claire. 
 
 "A few. One house I have been to is a palace only 
 lately finished. Every effort has been made to conceal 
 this fact with old furniture and with surfaces stained 
 to simulate age, but still there's something so brand- 
 new about it, the house, the servants, and the people 
 themselves, that one doubts if it can be permanent. I 
 should n't be surprised at any time, on going there, to 
 find that the furniture had disappeared and that the 
 family had returned to the obscurity of Harlem or some 
 such place. Do you know the type? But I suppose you 
 don't!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do. They are everywhere!" 
 
 Mallette seemed to hesitate for a moment and then 
 said: 
 
 "I've met Mr. Orville there and your brother. They 
 don't remember me." 
 
 "Do tell me who they are!" 
 
 "A Mrs. Hampton and her daughter." 
 
 "On Sixty-Eighth Street?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
54 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "My aunt and cousin," said Claire. 
 
 Mallette flushed. "Oh, I say, Miss Nicholson, I'm 
 sorry! They are n't really like that! I simply hit upon 
 them to illustrate what we were talking about and ex- 
 aggerated frightfully!" 
 
 "I know you did. They really are n't like that, but 
 any one might think so. They're very fashionable. 
 Jamie! Mr. Mallette knows Helena!" 
 
 "I know it," answered Jamie. "I heard you. And 
 you met George there? Funny he did n't mention it!" 
 
 Kate had said good-night, and as the stairs had 
 creaked under the weight of Edward and Caroline, on 
 their way to their rooms, George and Orville now lighted 
 cigars. George produced them. He offered one, not 
 very cordially, to Mallette, who declined, and returned 
 the case to his pocket. Jamie grimaced again, and 
 Said: 
 
 "Much obliged, but I don't think I will!" 
 
 "I don't either!" retorted George. "You've got 
 cigars of your own!" » 
 
 "Indeed, I have!" 
 
 Jamie drew two enormous ones from his pocket, 
 offered one to Mallette, who declined again, got up and 
 lighted the other ostentatiously, shut the door to the 
 hall, and, returning to the piano, puffing out clouds of 
 smoke, began to play noisily. 
 
 "Don't do that!" said George. "You'll have uncle 
 down here in a minute!" 
 
 Jamie swung into his waltz, again, swaying to and 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 55 
 
 fro, exaggerating the time and playing softly for the 
 most part, but changing every now and then unex- 
 pectedly to the loud pedal with irritating emphasis, as, 
 holding his cigar in the corner of his mouth, he looked 
 steadily at George. 
 
 "Don't, Jamie!" cried Claire, but Jamie would not 
 heed her. She and Mallette had got up at her sugges- 
 tion and joined George and Orville. They tried to talk, 
 but Jamie's provocative manner of playing made it im- 
 possible, and presently George said coldly, he never 
 outwardly lost his temper, "If you don't stop that, I'll 
 make you!" 
 
 Mallette exclaimed, "For Heaven's sake, Nicholson, 
 you're getting on our nerves!" and Claire cried again, 
 "Don't, Jamie, please!" 
 
 Jamie took his cigar from his mouth and began a 
 kind of droning recitative, drumming an accompani- 
 ment with two fingers. 
 
 "Button, button, who's got the button? Who talks 
 buttons, thinks buttons, dreams buttons, would eat 
 buttons if he could? "Who does n't know anything ex- 
 cept buttons? Whose head is a but — " 
 
 He ducked to avoid a book which George, with per- 
 fect calmness, had launched at him. The book having 
 missed its mark, George followed it, but was stopped 
 by Orville, who, deftly seizing his wrist, jerked him 
 into a chair. Jamie was about to resume his recitative, 
 when Claire threw her arms around him. 
 
 "All right, I'll stop, Claire!" And as she released 
 
56 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN! 
 
 him he got up, threw his cigar into the fireplace, and 
 faced George. 
 
 "Do your know what you are? You're a cad, and 
 so is your friend. You 've met Mallette before, at Aunt 
 Adelaide's, and you did n't have manners enough to 
 say so!" 
 
 "Wait a moment!" exclaimed Mallette sharply. 
 "We'll drop that, if you please!" 
 
 "No, we won't!" cried Jamie obstinately. 
 
 "It's no concern of yours!" said George. 
 
 "Do you deny it?" 
 
 "I say it does n't concern you!" 
 
 "Do you deny it?" George did not answer, and 
 Jamie turned to Orville. "Do you?" 
 
 Orville was plainly far from comfortable, but Mallette 
 relieved the situation by saying, "Really, Nicholson, 
 you're making an ass of yourself! Good-night, Miss 
 Nicholson!" and he held out his hand. 
 
 Claire saw that he had flushed again. She took it, 
 saying deliberately, "Good-night, Mr. Mallette! Won't 
 you come in some afternoon when these quarrelsome 
 boys are n't here?" 
 
 "Wait a minute!" Jamie cried. "I'm coming too!" 
 and he followed Mallette, who, after bowing to George 
 and Orville, had gone into the hall. The front door 
 closed with a slam, plainly Jamie's doing. 
 
 "What on earth did you ask him to call for, Claire?" 
 said George at once. "I did my best to make it plain 
 that he was n't wanted!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 57 
 
 " What do you mean ? Do you know anything against 
 him?" Claire demanded resentfully. 
 
 "Well, dammit, he's an actor! That's enough, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Helena knows him!" 
 
 "Does she! Lord Hazel wood happened to take him to 
 call. That 's how he got there ! She '11 probably drop him 
 as soon as she decently can ! Besides, we 've had enough 
 of the English for a while. They got us over there to 
 help them out and then thought it the clever thing to 
 guy us, so everybody says." 
 
 "How could you! How could you treat any one like 
 that ! In your own house ! " 
 
 Claire, without even a glance at Orville, left the 
 parlor abruptly, ran upstairs and locked her door. 
 Particolor, who slept in the lower regions, had been 
 taken down by Katie. The gas was burning dimly 
 and she seated herself once more by the window. 
 
 Poor Jamie ! Something like that was always happen- 
 ing ! Something would irritate him and he would become, 
 suddenly, obstinate, unreasonable, and angry. Things 
 upset him so! George's rudeness to Mallette was of 
 course unpardonable, but it was unpardonable of Jamie 
 to call attention to it in Mallette's presence. Jamie, of 
 course, had resented George's making fun of him at the 
 dinner table, and had, without considering Mallette, 
 seized the first opportunity to quarrel with him. Why 
 could n't George let him alone ! He was always rubbing 
 him the wrong way, as indeed were the others, although 
 
58 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Edward, Caroline, and Kate often seemed to do so 
 without realizing it. Poor Jamie ! He did n't belong to 
 them! His restless, fitful spirit, hopelessly restless since 
 his life in the army, fluttering and fitful as the flight of 
 a swallow, chafed behind the rigid bars of their hum- 
 drum existence. Jamie loved so much to be happy and 
 was often wretched because he could not be happy 
 enough. And George apparently was in the habit of 
 going to Aunt Adelaide's ! He had never mentioned it. 
 How annoying that kind of unnecessary secretiveness 
 or lack of frankness! 
 
 Claire's head had hardly touched the pillow when 
 she slept, but very late — during those hours in the 
 night when the city has moments of complete stillness 
 — she found herself wide awake, listening. The house 
 was silent, but she was vividly certain that she had been 
 awakened by some sound, and, raising herself on one 
 elbow, she still listened, hardly breathing. 
 
 Yes! There it was; a stealthy step on the stairs and 
 the creak of the banisters ! Presently some one brushed 
 past her door, she heard a deep breath or two, and 
 Jamie's door was softly closed. This was followed by a 
 thick, muttered exclamation, and the sound of a weight 
 of some sort, dropping heavily on Jamie's bed. Was he 
 ill? She started up and, getting out onto the floor, 
 stood by the door which opened between her room and 
 his. This door was not used. In fact Jamie's chest of 
 drawers stood against it on the other side, but through 
 it she could hear more plainly, and presently a kind of 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 59 
 
 thick, strange sob startled her. She hastily lighted the 
 gas, thrust her feet into her bedroom slippers, drew on 
 one of those filmy, fanciful things which women have 
 christened "negligees," and, stepping quickly but cau- 
 tiously into the hall, she opened his door. 
 
 Mallette stood by the bed with his hat on, looking 
 down at Jamie, who was lying on it apparently uncon- 
 scious. He turned as she opened the door, started, and 
 hastily removed his hat. Claire was staring at Jamie 
 in terror. 
 
 "What — !" she began, but was warned by a hurried 
 gesture from Mallette, who, stepping quickly past her, 
 closed the door. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Mallette! Has he been hurt?" 
 
 Mallette looked at her closely and answered in a 
 whisper, "He is ill! He will be all right presently ! " 
 
 "But he is unconscious! I'll wake Aunt Caroline and 
 telephone for the doctor!" 
 
 "No, no, please. He will be all right in the morning; 
 he's asleep." 
 
 "Has he been drinking?" she demanded suddenly, 
 and immediately she noticed that the room was full of 
 the fumes of alcohol. "Has he been drinking — with 
 you? And you let him?" 
 
 Mallette looked at her with those smiling eyes which 
 seemed always to be saying of life, "Whatever you 
 bring, I welcome it, what does it matter!" and an- 
 swered, "I will go now; he will be himself in the 
 morning!" 
 
60 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire, disdaining to notice him further, bent over 
 Jamie and attempted to move him into a more com- 
 fortable position. 
 
 "Jamie!" she said gently, "Jamie!" and was be- 
 ginning to untie his cravat when George's voice sounded 
 in the room. He had opened the door just as Mallette 
 had put out a hand for the knob. He was enveloped in 
 a bathrobe of Turkish toweling and looked smaller 
 than usual. 
 
 "What the devil — !" he began, looked suspiciously 
 about him, and saw Jamie, whose condition instantly 
 explained the situation to him. 
 
 "Oh, George!" cried Claire. "He's — he 's drunk!" 
 
 "That's evident and his friend here brought him 
 home. That's what you get for having anything to do 
 with actors!" 
 
 "Hush, George, you'll wake Aunt Kate!" 
 
 "I might have left him in a gutter!" answered Mal- 
 lette coolly. He seemed to be in less haste to go. 
 
 "It's a wonder you did n't." 
 
 Kate's door down the hall opened and her head done 
 up in curl-papers appeared in it. 
 
 "Claire! Claire!" she called in a startled voice. 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "What's the matter!" answered George, with no 
 attempt to moderate his voice. "The matter is that 
 our dear Jamie has been brought home dead drunk by 
 his actor friend." 
 
 "You're making the most of a splendid chance to 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 61 
 
 give your brother away," remarked Mallette. "He'll 
 have your entire family out of bed in a moment, Miss 
 Nicholson." 
 
 Claire, still ignoring Mallette, exclaimed: "Please, 
 George, do be quiet ! Please go back to bed, Aunt Kate ! " 
 
 George said to Mallette, "Will you please go?" 
 
 "Presently," Mallette answered. "I want to see if 
 you intend to wake your uncle and your other aunt. 
 Such a sporting thing to do ! " 
 
 "Will you telephone for a policeman, Claire?" 
 George for once seemed about to lose his temper. 
 
 And Claire said, "Please go, Mr. Mallette"; and while 
 she said it, she hated him with her whole nature, for 
 Jamie's condition, for being compelled to show herself 
 half-dressed, for Kate's curl-papers, for George's Turk- 
 ish toweling bathrobe, and for the whole outrageous and 
 impossible situation. 
 
 "Please go, Mr. Mallette!" she repeated, and at that 
 moment the voice of Edward rose from the floor below 
 — not deep, but rather querulous and fretful. "What is 
 the matter up there?" 
 
 Claire looked over the balusters to answer and saw him 
 standing just inside his door. How frightfully old he 
 looked, as he stood there in his suit of striped pajamas ! 
 She noticed his old neck, his abdomen, which seemed 
 more enormous now than she could have thought pos- 
 sible for any abdomen to be, and his pudgy bare feet. 
 
 "It's all right, Uncle Edward. Jamie isn't feeling 
 well. It's nothing." 
 
62 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 " If you want to know the truth," George added, "he 's 
 so drunk his friend had to bring him home ! " 
 
 "George!" exclaimed Claire under her breath; "how 
 contemptible of you ! " 
 
 A door closed vigorously below and as Claire looking 
 down saw that her uncle had disappeared, his key turned 
 sharply in the lock. The slight immediate complications 
 he proposed to have nothing to do with evidently. His 
 dignity would be better served by waiting and sitting in 
 judgment in the morning. 
 
 Kate's door now reopened and she called out: "You 
 had better tell Caroline. He may need a doctor ! " 
 
 Caroline herself spoke now. 
 
 "Who needs a doctor — Jamie? What's the matter 
 with him?" She, too, in a Turkish toweling bathrobe 
 was halfway up the stairs, when, perceiving Mallette, she 
 turned and quickly went down again, never stopping 
 until just inside her door, when she repeated : 
 
 "What's the matter? Who needs a doctor?" And as 
 her loud tones resounded on the stairs the Irish brogue 
 of the awakened maids could be heard from above. 
 Mallette advanced to the top of the stairs. Claire was 
 sitting on the bed beside the insensible Jamie, George 
 was standing near Mallette eyeing him threateningly, 
 Kate could be seen peering through the crack of her 
 door, Caroline was dimly discernible just inside hers, 
 and the tousled heads of the three maids, almost invis- 
 ible in the obscurity of the fourth floor, projected over 
 the balusters. ^' 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 63 
 
 "Miss Nicholson," said Mallette, with his clear enun- 
 ciation, "your nephew, it is true, got drunk in my com- 
 pany. I tried to prevent it and stayed with him for fear 
 some harm might come to him. I attempted to get him 
 to his room without disturbing you, and would have 
 succeeded had not his brother, who heard us, insisted on 
 arousing your entire household. What his purpose was 
 in doing so you may be able to judge better than I. I 
 apologize for the part I have unwittingly played in this 
 unpleasant incident and say good-night." 
 
 Mallette went downstairs and out of the front door 
 without another word. Claire, in spite of the fact that 
 she hated him because of Jamie's condition, thought 
 that he had not come out of the affair so badly after 
 all, and George looked for a moment rather foolish, but 
 with his departure Caroline immediately ascended the 
 stairs, sent Claire to her room, and with the assistance 
 of Maggie proceeded to undress Jamie and get him into 
 bed. 
 
 Claire lay and listened to them. 
 
 It was not necessary to be in Jamie's room to see Aunt 
 Caroline; Claire knew her every motion too well, her 
 brisk, unsympathetic, businesslike movements. George 
 had stayed long enough to convince Caroline that a 
 doctor was unnecessary and had retired. Soon Caroline 
 and Maggie left the room and the house was still. 
 
 Claire got up once more and stood listening as she 
 had done before. She stood until her body ached, listen- 
 ing for some possible sound which might indicate that 
 
64 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 all was not well in Jamie's room, but gradually she be- 
 came reassured, she heard him turn once or twice, once 
 or twice a deep exhalation like a sigh almost of physical 
 contentment became audible to her, and at last she got 
 into bed. 
 
 Although she was very tired she did so reluctantly 
 because she wished to go into Jamie's room and sit be- 
 side him, and she would have gone had she not begun 
 to resent the brutal exposure of his condition to the fam- 
 ily and to feel that she had taken part in it. Mallette 
 had been right, and if George had betrayed him deliber- 
 ately she would feel like never speaking to him again. , 
 One by one they had been summoned to inspect the 
 spectacle of Jamie dead drunk, the whole household ! His 
 right of privacy, of reserve, torn away, and some one, who 
 was not after all the real Jamie in the least, held up to 
 infamy. No, that was not her Jamie ; therefore she would* 
 not go in again. Jamie would not have had it so, and she 
 would wait until he was himself once more. But still there 
 was no evading the unescapable fact of his drunkenness. 
 She had heard once or twice of young men getting drunk, 
 but she did not live in circles where such things are 
 taken as a matter of course, and the realization of what 
 Jamie had done made her feel that a crisis had arisen in 
 her life and his of fearful portent. Of portent for her as 
 well as for him, because whatever happened she must 
 stand by him. Somehow it had been a family habit to 
 find fault with Jamie; it never seemed to matter whether 
 there was anything really worth finding fault about nor 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 65 
 
 was the fault-finding of a particularly vicious nature; 
 still it was always recurring, had become the usual thing, 
 and now that there would be a real excuse for it she could 
 well imagine the avidity with which it would be made 
 use of. 
 
 All this does not mean that Claire was consciously 
 condemning her immediate family . People often become 
 so used to friction as to be unconscious of it, and while 
 their custom of harrying Jamie hurt and annoyed her, 
 it did not lessen feelings of regard which had become 
 second nature. Now, however, it might take on a char- 
 acter which would call for an active defense on her part, 
 and which would in consequence put a strain on old hab- 
 its of obedience and respect. And she and Jamie would 
 be alone together. Everybody would know about it im- 
 mediately, and nowhere in the Nicholson family would 
 Jamie be able to find refuge except with her. 
 
 Yes, they would be alone, and as she settled slowly 
 into sleep she saw Mallette looking at her out of those 
 strange, smiling eyes with their look of expectant and 
 unquestioning welcome. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Claire had pictured to herself that night the ordeal of 
 breakfast the next morning when she would be obliged 
 to listen to a family castigation of the miserable Jamie, 
 but she was spared this in part because both Edward 
 and George had left the house by the time she reached 
 the breakfast table. She had slept so late that Caroline 
 had sent Annie to knock on her door, and only Aunt 
 Kate was there, Caroline having finished. She noticed 
 a breakfast tray standing on a small wall-table outside 
 Jamie's door as she went down, indicating at least that 
 Jamie was still in the land of the living and able to take 
 nourishment. 
 
 Aunt Kate was always even less talkative in the morn- 
 ing than at other times. One of the crosses of her exist- 
 ence was that she had to get up for breakfast. During 
 her whole life she had dreamed of taking it in bed, but 
 such a custom would have been so at variance with every 
 precept of the Nicholson family that she had never had 
 the courage to suggest it. 
 
 She said "good-morning" to Claire now and went on 
 reading the morning paper which was propped up against 
 a silver jug used for hot water. Maggie brought in some 
 porridge, and went out again. Claire helped herself to 
 cream and sugar and said to Kate: 
 
 "How is he, Aunt Kate?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 67 
 
 "Who, Jamie?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He's all right, I think" — and then to Claire's in- 
 tense surprise she added, "Such a fuss about nothing!" 
 
 "But Aunt Kate you did n't see him!" Kate's unex- 
 pected note of defense almost introduced one of cen- 
 soriousness in her answer. Kate looked at her almost 
 somberly. She was handsome, too, in her dark, heavy 
 way, and, glancing through the library toward the parlor 
 where Caroline and Annie could be seen, she answered : 
 
 "Anybody would think that no young man ever got 
 drunk before!" 
 
 Maggie appeared again, this time with a pot of fresh 
 coffee. Caroline came bustling in, saying "Phew! Phew! 
 such a smell in the parlor ! Can' t find out where it comes 
 from. Maggie, if you 've finished waiting on Miss Claire, 
 come and help Annie!" Caroline and Maggie joined 
 Annie. There seemed to be a great moving of furniture 
 and lifting of rugs going on in the parlor and library. 
 Claire sniffed, but noticed nothing and went on with her 
 breakfast. 
 
 "I can't smell anything," Kate called. " It 's probably 
 sewer gas!" 
 
 "I know what sewer gas smells like!" Caroline called 
 back. "Phew! Phew!" 
 
 Claire finished her breakfast and going out into the 
 hall saw a letter lying on the hat-rack. It was addressed 
 to her, and she recognized the handwriting of her cousin, 
 Helena Hampton. To Claire's surprise Helena asked her 
 
68 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 to take lunch with her that day and to let her know by 
 telephone. Claire telephoned, found that Helena was 
 out, left word that she would be there at one, and went 
 into the hall again. She did n't want to see Jamie until 
 he was quite himself and Helena's invitation was as op- 
 portune as it was unexpected. She would go out at once 
 and with the aid of it manage to be away most of the day. 
 
 As she passed the parlor door she saw Caroline and 
 Maggie standing before Annie, who held some object 
 gingerly between a pair of fire-tongs. Claire went in to 
 look at it and immediately saw that it was the remains 
 of the large cigar Jamie had lighted the evening before. 
 This it was which Caroline had smelt. George, before 
 going to bed, had disposed of what was left of his own 
 cigar and Orville's and had aired the rooms, but he had 
 forgotten that Jamie had thrown his into the fireplace 
 where it had lain concealed behind the cast-iron fire- 
 logs until its stale odor had proclaimed the fact that 
 something was poisoning the air and had aroused Caro- 
 line to begin a search for it. All three women were now 
 regarding it hostilely, and Caroline, on seeing Claire, 
 demanded, "Were they smoking in here last night?" 
 
 " I went up almost as soon as you did, Aunt Caroline ! " 
 Claire answered, and ran upstairs before Caroline could 
 question her further. She put on her hat, and, waiting 
 until she heard Caroline descend the basement stairs 
 for her daily interview with the cook, quickly left the 
 house, stopping to tell Maggie that she would not be 
 home for luncheon. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 69 
 
 Having the entire morning before her she began a slow 
 progress uptown, stopping in various shops. By noon 
 she had reached the park, and glad of a chance to sit 
 down chose a bench near the Sherman statue. 
 
 If the exigencies of this story required her meeting 
 Mallette at this point, it might be thought that the limit 
 of probability was being stretched, but as such is not 
 the case it must be accepted as fact when it is stated 
 that she did, at this point, meet Mallette. 
 
 Mallette was passing without seeing her when, quite 
 by the merest chance and much to Claire's annoyance, 
 their eyes happened to meet. It was evident from Mal- 
 lette's manner that his thoughts, far away, were brought 
 sharply back to immediate speculation as to whether 
 she intended to recognize him or not. Claire bowed in- 
 stinctively, and he immediately stopped and came over 
 to her. 
 
 "Miss Nicholson," he said at once, "I was just on 
 my way home to write you a note. I would much rather 
 tell you verbally what I have to say, so that I consider 
 our meeting a fortunate one. May I sit down for a mo- 
 ment? It is about your brother." 
 
 Claire could not refuse. 
 
 "I have been thinking," he went on, sitting down on 
 the bench, "about the incidents of last night. From your 
 evident alarm at seeing your brother under the influence 
 of drink, it seemed probable that it was the first time. " 
 
 "Of course it was the first time!" answered Claire, 
 almost sharply. "I'm sure it was the first time." 
 
70 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I did not mean that it was the first time your brother 
 had been under the influence of drink, but the first time 
 you had seen him under it. Was it?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Claire. 
 
 "And have you never suspected that he is in the habit 
 sometimes of drinking too much?" 
 
 Claire was about to return indignantly that it was 
 unthinkable when she saw on Mallette's face a look of 
 commiseration so sincere that a horrible fear clutched 
 at her throat and prevented her from answering. 
 
 "Because," went on Mallette, softening his voice, as 
 if by doing so he might lessen the shock of the announce- 
 ment, "because it is true!" 
 
 Claire for a moment could n't speak — her Jamie ! 
 
 "Do you mean that he does it often?" 
 
 "I'm sorry to say I'm afraid he does. I took it for 
 granted that his people must know until last night. 
 Something ought to be done for him, Miss Nicholson! 
 He's such a dear chap!" 
 
 Not the most adroit calculation could have discovered 
 a sentence more fitted to reestablish Mallette in Claire's 
 esteem than that last unpremeditated one. "A dear 
 chap!" Yes, that was Jamie, so dear, so dear! 
 
 "I am sure he would stop for me, Mr. Mallette!" 
 
 "I am sure he might want to, but I am not sure that 
 he would be able to." 
 
 Mallette's words opened a dark vista before her, and 
 her eyes winced. 
 
 "Do you mean — ?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 71 
 
 "That he has been going on for a good while. It does 
 seem strange that none of your family had discovered 
 it!" 
 
 "I don't think they were really interested enough in 
 him, in what he was doing, to make finding out possible. 
 / was the only one and I — well, I never dreamed — !" 
 
 "I know," said Mallette, "of course you did n't." 
 
 Claire turned her violet eyes on him full of entreaty. 
 
 "What must I do, Mr. Mallette?" 
 
 "Why don't you send him abroad? There's no real 
 life for a man of his tastes here under ordinary circum- 
 stances, and then the war has upset so many." 
 
 "Away from home, Mr. Mallette!" 
 
 Mallette looked at her so curiously that Claire knew 
 instantly that he was thinking that a surcease from home 
 might be what Jamie most needed. 
 
 "I don't mean England; in some ways it's too much 
 like New York; but the Continent, Paris preferably. 
 The air is so different; there are serious workers there 
 at what your brother loves. Here they play at work, 
 and then — they don't get drunk there. He would n't 
 either." 
 
 "Do you mean to study music?" 
 
 "Yes; he loves it so. He will never do anything here. 
 There he would be thrown with people who have come 
 from everywhere and who are in dead earnest." 
 
 "But the war ended all that." 
 
 "Not altogether. Life must go on you know, and it is 
 what he needs." 
 
72 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Yes, but to make my uncle and my aunt think so!" 
 
 "But as I understand it he is n't dependent on them. 
 You may think that I have n't any right to say so, but 
 I believe that he should go away!" 
 
 "That means that you think it's really serious!" 
 
 "Believe me, Miss Nicholson, it is!" 
 
 Claire sat without speaking for a moment, depressed 
 and miserable. Mallette with his elbows on his knees, 
 leaning forward and drawing lines in the gravel with 
 his stick, was silent too until he made a movement which 
 seemed to indicate that he was about to go — when 
 Claire spoke quickly as if to detain him. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Mallette — and — I want to apol- 
 ogize for being rude to you last night. I blamed you for 
 it then." 
 
 "I know! You see, I did n't realize when I first met 
 your brother that I should become fond of him. After 
 that I did my best to stop him." He got up and, look- 
 ing at her with his smiling eyes, said, "Good-bye, Miss 
 Nicholson!" 
 
 Claire got up too and put out her hand, saying 
 warmly: "Good-bye. Thank you very, very much." 
 
 Each hesitated as if inclined to say something more, 
 decided not to, and separated with a farewell murmur 
 of departure. Claire walked out into Fifth Avenue and 
 up to Sixty-Eighth Street to her aunt's house. Aunt 
 Adelaide's brougham, with its two glossy bays, stood 
 before the door. Horses were more chic for town use 
 now than motors; therefore Aunt Adelaide had them, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 73 
 
 although she was afraid of them and thought them 
 much too slow. On ringing the bell the footman in- 
 formed Claire that she was to go immediately to Miss 
 Helena's sitting-room. She mounted the broad staircase 
 noiselessly on the thick carpet and knocked at the door 
 on the third floor. Helena's voice called, "Come in!" 
 and Claire opened the door. Helena, with a liberal dis- 
 play of silk stocking which she immediately covered, 
 was sitting by a window with a book in her hand. Al- 
 though there was no reason why she should assume any 
 special attitude for Claire's sake, Claire knew at once 
 that her pose and the quick withdrawal of her legs 
 under her skirt were both deliberately executed simply 
 because posing was a habit. On seeing Claire, she got 
 up and with her fixed and artificial smile advanced and 
 kissed Claire's cheek, saying: 
 
 "How sweet of you to come! Mamma told me to say 
 that she is terribly sorry, but that she is lunching out. 
 We will stop and see her, going down, because she wants 
 to say how do you do. How are Uncle Edward and Aunt 
 Caroline and Aunt Kate, and George! She's such a 
 dear!" 
 
 Claire could not tell which "she" Helena was refer- 
 ring to, so she asked, "And Aunt Adelaide?" 
 
 "Very well, only simply dreadfully tired! Shall we 
 go down? I'm afraid there isn't very much for lunch- 
 eon! How is Jamie? We never see him! Is he as crazy 
 about music as ever?" 
 
 They descended to the second floor, where Helena, 
 
74 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 after knocking, opened a door into a large room with 
 three windows on Sixty-Eighth Street. A tall, emaci- 
 ated woman, in a white shirt-waist and an unbecoming 
 toque, was seated at a large mahogany desk writing 
 letters with a worried expression. Aunt Adelaide was 
 putting on a hat standing before a large mirror above 
 the fireplace. She was plump, pretty, and youthful- 
 looking. Helena said, "Here is Claire, mamma," and 
 she turned quickly, thrust a final hatpin through her hair, 
 and coming toward Claire kissed her cheek lightly, say- 
 ing, "How do you do, my dear. How well you look! 
 Miss Smith " — this was to the worried secretary — 
 "you need n't mind the letter to Mrs. Gordon-Phelps. 
 I had better attend to it myself. — What is it?" A 
 maid had knocked at the door and now spoke in a low 
 voice so that the others could not hear. "Why do you 
 come to me? Go to the housekeeper," Aunt Adelaide 
 cried sharply, and the maid went out again wearing a 
 disagreeable expression. Miss Smith now said, "Will 
 you look at these, Mrs. Hampton? " and Aunt Adelaide 
 began looking hurriedly over a number of letters. 
 Presently she exclaimed impatiently : " This is precisely 
 what I told you not to say. You are sending all the re- 
 grets to the right people and the acceptances to the 
 wrong ones. Really, Miss Smith — " 
 
 "But here is your list, the one marked 'accept' and 
 the one ' decline,' " answered Miss Smith, so timidly that 
 one could not help inferring that even if she were in the 
 right she doubted whether she had the right to say so. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 75 
 
 Aunt Adelaide looked at the list and saw that the 
 muddle was hers. "Suppose I did! Have n't you been 
 my secretary long enough to know what invitations 
 I'm likely to accept and what I'm likely to decline? 
 I'm afraid you'll have to write them all over again." 
 
 "Won't to-morrow do, Mrs. Hampton?" asked Miss 
 Smith uneasily. 
 
 "I'm afraid, Miss Smith, that I shall be obliged to 
 get some one else if you cannot find time to do my work. 
 Why can't you do it now?" 
 
 "Because I have an appointment at Mrs. Slade's at 
 two, Mrs. Hampton." 
 
 "What Mrs. Slade?" cried Aunt Adelaide sharply. 
 
 "Mrs. Arthur Slade." 
 
 "How long have you been going to Mrs. Slade's?" 
 Aunt Adelaide's tone was no longer sharp, Mrs. Slade 
 being a live social wire with an immense fortune. 
 
 "For a year, Mrs. Hampton, but always in the morn- 
 ing until lately." 
 
 Aunt Adelaide's face, on hearing that Miss Smith 
 had been for a year in Mrs. Slade's employ, took on an 
 expression of involuntary respect and she replied: 
 "Very well, then; I have no objection to your doing 
 them to-morrow. Au revoir, Claire; au revoir, Helena. 
 You know I am lunching at the Bagnalls'." And she 
 vanished into the gloom of the outer hall. 
 
 Claire and Helena went down another flight and 
 seated themselves at a corner of the large, gloomy 
 dining-room, which seemed to have been built only to 
 
76 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 be used when artificially illuminated. Claire discovered 
 almost at once that there was n't very much for lunch- 
 eon, measured by the standards of a healthy young ap- 
 petite. A silver dish was passed her containing a small 
 quantity of creamed chicken, preceding a scanty salad 
 made up of a variety of cold vegetables. There was so 
 little that Claire was still ravenous when, on her plate 
 being removed, another one took its place on which 
 rested a saucer. The saucer was for the purpose of de- 
 positing in it the preserved peaches which were now 
 passed, and after the peaches had disappeared the sub- 
 stitution of finger-bowls indicated that luncheon was 
 at an end. 
 
 Helena, to compensate for its flagrant stinginess, 
 exerted herself to be agreeable and ordering coffee, 
 offered Claire a cigarette. Claire had eaten so little that 
 she was obliged to refuse, not being much of a smoker. 
 Helena led the way into a small sitting-room and, set- 
 tling herself snugly far back on a cushioned sofa, said, 
 as soon as coffee had been brought in, "Now for a cosy 
 chat! What a sweet dress, Claire!" 
 
 "Do you like it?" said Claire. "I don't, very much. 
 I was wondering only yesterday where you got your 
 clothes. You have such pretty ones ! " 
 
 "Oh, my dear, I'm simply heartbroken! I'm afraid 
 I shall have to give my dressmaker up " — information 
 about Helena's dressmaker was evidently not forth- 
 coming. "But tell me about Jamie. What is he doing 
 now? I saw you with him again yesterday at Carnegie, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 77 
 
 talking with a man I know. I did n't know that you 
 knew him ! " 
 
 "I didn't until yesterday!" Claire, who had been 
 wondering why Helena had asked her to luncheon, was 
 wondering now if this might be the reason. 
 
 "But how did you meet him?" 
 
 "Jamie knew him!" 
 
 "Jamie!" 
 
 "Yes, Jamie knows him quite well. Mr. Mallette 
 said he knew you." 
 
 "I adore Englishmen!" Helena cried. "They are so 
 much more chic than our men. Of course, as for marry- 
 ing them, that 's another matter unless you can well af- 
 ford it; they 're all so poor. Did you like Mr. Mallette? " 
 
 Something impelled Claire to answer, "Yes, but 
 George did n't!" — prepared to tell why. Helena said, 
 "What do you mean?" and Claire answered: 
 
 "Jamie brought him home to dinner last night and 
 George brought a Mr. Orville. Both George and Mr. 
 Orville had met Mr. Mallette here, but both pretended 
 that they had never seen him before. Jamie quarreled 
 with George about it." 
 
 The effect of this statement on Helena was very 
 marked. She sat perfectly still as if unable to move 
 while an expression of deep confusion appeared on her 
 face. Claire, who was accustomed to Helena's pre- 
 possessions, accepted this display without other com- 
 ment than the thought, "Another of Helena's affairs," 
 and began to tell in detail that part of the evening's 
 
78 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ■ 
 
 incidents, asking finally: "Who is Mr. Mallette, Helena? 
 Is he really nice? I've never met an actor before and 
 the family are awfully prejudiced against them." 
 
 Helena, who was herself once more, answered: "He's 
 only just become one. He was in the army before that. 
 He is a friend of Lord Hazelwood's. It 's rather funny, 
 is n't it, for George and Mr. Orville to look down on 
 him ! But the English are n't as popular with our men 
 as they were." 
 
 "And who is Mr. Orville?" 
 
 "I believe nobody ever heard of him until lately. 
 He comes from New Jersey somewhere. He was just a , 
 clerk in a broker's office in Wall Street, but now every- 
 body wants to know him. They say he is one of the 
 coming financial giants. I must say, he has given us 
 some very good tips!" 
 
 "On what?" asked Claire. 
 
 "Stocks, of course!" 
 
 For some reason this caused Claire to say, "I think 
 Mr. Mallette is something of a socialist!" 
 
 "He 's quite different from any one I 've known. Per- 
 haps that accounts for it! I'm sure he's not that, 
 though!" 
 
 "Do you know what socialists are, Helena?" 
 
 "Heavens, no; laborers, aren't they? What made 
 you think Mr. Mallette is one?" 
 
 "Jamie said so." 
 
 "I don't believe it!" cried Helena. "Please don't let 
 mother know; if she knew he was an actor, she would 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 79 
 
 be furious with Lord Hazelwood for bringing him here ! 
 And don't tell any one, Claire, he — Lord Hazelwood, 
 I mean — has asked me to marry him. I have n't told 
 mamma because I have n't decided, and I 'm sure she 
 would want me to. What do you think?" 
 
 "I don't know him," answered Claire. 
 
 "Oh, I wish you did! Then you could tell me what 
 you think of him!" 
 
 Claire, who would have liked to meet an English 
 lord, reflected that it would have been easy enough for 
 Helena to arrange it if she had wanted to. Such, how- 
 ever, was plainly not her intention. 
 
 "Of course," Helena went on, "the trouble is that 
 he has n't a penny. I suppose I shall have to tell 
 mamma." 
 
 "But you have enough, have n't you?" 
 
 "For love in a cottage, perhaps — but I'm sure we'd 
 both tire of that. One must have money or life is n't 
 worth living, Claire." 
 
 "Do you think it makes much difference whether 
 you live in a house like ours or one like yours?" 
 
 "Why, Claire, it makes all the difference! One must 
 simply have everything one wants — much more than 
 we have — if one is to be absolutely happy!" Helena, 
 leaning back, smiled as if welcoming a vision of complete 
 bliss, and Claire realized for the first time what she had 
 always been partly aware of before, the physical appeal, 
 invitation almost, which Helena seemed deliberately 
 to radiate. In her short and scanty skirts, under which 
 
80 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 her youthful body swelled buoyantly, her stockings of 
 thin silk, her fragile, high-heeled, pointed slippers, her 
 bodice cut to display her rounded neck, she seemed to 
 say, "Behold! I am smooth and beautiful! Would you 
 not like me? If you are rich enough, take me?" 
 
 "But, Helena, I don't agree with you at all; in fact 
 it's so well known that money doesn't make people 
 happy that it's become a truism." 
 
 "Which everybody accepts and nobody believes," 
 answered Helena. 
 
 "I'm sure many people believe it." 
 
 "Who? Just tell me! Every one we know who is n't 
 rich is trying to be, not for money for its own sake, but 
 for what it will bring them. Everybody may not want 
 to buy the same things with it, but whatever they want 
 they can't get it without money." 
 
 "You are talking of material things." 
 
 Helena fixed Claire with her pretty glance of wary 
 worldliness and asked, "Everything is material, isn't 
 it — what other things are there? " Claire would like to 
 have answered, "Things of the spirit!" A sudden real- 
 ization that she was not worthy to, prevented, but she 
 said, "What of the war? What was it fought for if not 
 to make a better world?" 
 
 "It's all very well to think about ideals," Helena 
 answered, "but it does n't get you anywhere! The war 
 was political and nothing else. Now that it's over, 
 things will go on as they were. It 's human nature. Why, 
 everybody is trying harder than ever to make money, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 81 
 
 and really it is the only thing that man exists for — it 
 is life — there's no good saying it is n't, because it is. 
 Look at Uncle Edward, and George, and Mr. Orville, 
 and every single man who comes to this house. Do you 
 suppose they bother about the war now it's over? They 
 are all trying to get rich; most of them who come here 
 are rich, mamma sees to that; and the richer they are 
 the more the world gives them ! " 
 
 "And you think that they are happy because they're 
 just rich?" 
 
 "I think if they are not it's their own fault." 
 
 "Precisely!" exclaimed Claire; "it's their own fault 
 and money has very little to do with it. I don't mean 
 that it would be pleasant to be poor, but if what you 
 believe is true, the richer you are the happier you must 
 be, and that is n't and can't be true. Especially now 
 when we are starting over again with an opportunity to 
 make things better." 
 
 Helena smiled her artificial smile, which seemed to re- 
 veal the fact that the topic no longer interested her: 
 
 "It's very sweet of you to have such ideas, Claire!" 
 And then, glancing at a little clock which stood on a 
 writing-table close at hand, she jumped up — "Good 
 gracious ! Half -past three ! I 'm terribly sorry, but I 've 
 an engagement at four! You won't mind if I go and 
 put on my hat — Perhaps we might — Which way are 
 you going?" 
 
 "I shall probably go home straight down Fifth 
 Avenue," Claire answered. 
 
82 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "And I am going uptown," said Helena; "well, good- 
 bye! It's been sweet to see you!" She kissed Claire, 
 enveloping her in a cloud of some delicate and unknown 
 fragrance, adding casually, "If you should see Mr. Mal- 
 lette, tell him that I am quite annoyed with him for not 
 coming to see me!" 
 
 Claire found herself once more upon the only prome- 
 nade New York can boast. At this point and for some 
 distance south the park spread its verdure on one side. 
 The street whirred with the machines of passing motors. 
 A sight-seeing bus overtook her rilled with wounded 
 soldiers. She saw bandages, pallid and listless faces, 
 crutches, and here and there an empty sleeve or trouser 
 leg. A raucous voice issued from a megaphone, calling 
 out: "Residence of Phineas Smalley, the chewing-gum 
 millionaire! Magnificent mansion of C. Davison Pitt, 
 the dry-goods king! Palace of Adophus Seidenberg, the 
 copper magnate ! Mansion of Mrs. Jacobson, widow of 
 the California multimillionaire brewer whose daughter 
 recently married an Italian dook! Magnificent — !" 
 The pallid and listless faces hardly turned, the raucous 
 voice faded away into the distant turmoil of the street. 
 An occasional note reached her, but it seemed to her — 
 whimsically — as if she could almost hear — "Magnifi- 
 cent residence of Edward Nicholson, the millionaire but- 
 ton manufacturer! Palace of Dudley Orville, the Wall 
 Street giant! Mansion of Mr. George Nicholson, the — 
 the — " What was George? A financier, too, she sup- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 83 
 
 posed, or intended to be. "To make the world safe for 
 democracy ! " That trumpet call ! Did it mean nothing? 
 It must be that out of those four bloody years something 
 must come. She had wanted to say, "Things of thespirit," 
 to Helena, but had been ashamed? Why? Because she 
 knew that she was a stranger to them, and if she, why 
 not others ? Where must she and others search for them ? 
 Not in the Nicholson church could she find them, she 
 knew that. And things of the mind ! Things of the in- 
 tellect and of the spirit! Where were they? What 
 Helena said seemed after all to be true, that everybody 
 wanted and cared only for material things. Everything 
 else seemed unimportant, not worth bothering about, so 
 long as you could be doing what everybody else did no 
 matter how expensive it might be. 
 
 Claire, walking at a good pace through the mellow 
 glow of the afternoon, had reached Forty-Sixth Street, 
 when she saw a leg encased in a very thin silk stocking 
 descending from a bus which had stopped a little ahead 
 of her. Claire recognized it at once. It was one of 
 Helena's. The other followed it immediately and Helena 
 crossed the Avenue. Remembering that Helena had 
 said that her appointment was uptown and that Forty- 
 Sixth Street was distinctly the other way, Claire could 
 not forbear waiting on the corner. Helena hurried down 
 Forty-Sixth Street and vanished through the doorway 
 of the Ritz. 
 
 Claire smiled again, this time half from exasperation. 
 What earthly difference could it have made if Helena 
 
84 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 had told her that she had an engagement at the Ritz 
 and they had come down together? Any one would 
 think that Helena was afraid that Claire would not 
 only display undue curiosity about it, but even force 
 her way into the Ritz to find out who it was with. That 
 kind of secretiveness was really exasperating; George 
 had it, too. She wondered if it was a Nicholson trait. 
 
 Claire, a little tired and out of sorts after her long 
 day away from home, and the rather sordid cogitations 
 set in motion by her conversation with Helena, was 
 annoyed by this trivial incident and involuntarily 
 looked about for relief. She found it in the proud 
 fagade of a picture dealer whose spacious doorway 
 invited her entrance to an exhibition, which a poster 
 announced was being held free of charge within. 
 
 Claire went in, crossed a wide and lofty hall and 
 entered a gallery where a score of people, moving and 
 speaking as cautiously as if they were in dangerous 
 proximity to some ill-tempered deity, were looking at 
 another score of paintings winch hung, with dignified 
 spaces between, on the wide walls of the gallery, and 
 ignoring the politely welcoming glances of two elegant 
 young salesmen, who plainly intimated that they would 
 be delighted to do the honors for so handsome a girl, 
 she sank into the yielding embraces of a deep sofa up- 
 holstered with an expensive covering of cut velvet. 
 
 She surrendered herself at first to the agreeable sen- 
 sations produced by the soft cushions on which she sat, 
 the beautiful room, and the sudden quiet after the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 85 
 
 roar of the Avenue, but presently she began to interest 
 herself directly in her immediate surroundings. The 
 pictures emerged first through the veil of her idle pre- 
 occupations and demanded her attention. They were 
 simple, vigorous, bold, and poetical, and painted with 
 a palette and a technique of, to Claire, a fascinating 
 strangeness. They were of the sea and shore. An old 
 foreign town and the sea. Mountains and the sea. A 
 forest through which one saw the sea. A terrace and the 
 sea. The foliage was semi-tropical. Clearly they had 
 been painted in some land she did not know — Spain 
 or the south of France. Claire got up, made the tour of 
 the room, and returned to her seat. The picture which 
 faced her showed the dark aisles of a forest out of which 
 one's eye swept, far into the distance, a blue sea bril- 
 liant with sunshine, and as she looked Claire's spirit 
 with a sweet sense of exultation began to rise, to soar 
 aloft. What was this strange sweet feeling her soul re- 
 sponded to so readily when brought close to beauty? 
 Plainly something to be treasured, something one must 
 not lose. Did other people have it? Jamie had. But 
 commonplace people like the people in this room: did 
 their souls take wing as hers did? Claire began watching 
 them, trying without much success to find out, when 
 she noticed for the first time a little man standing near 
 her. He had a broad forehead with pale, sparse hair, 
 light, gentle blue eyes, a small chin, and a mouth of 
 melancholy and whimsical helplessness. He wore gold- 
 rimmcd spectacles, and seemed to be conscious of cer- 
 
86 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 tain naive efforts he had evidently been making to 
 smarten himself up. A very large stiff collar with a 
 badly tied tie. A pair of new trousers, rather large, too, 
 at the ends of which appeared brown boots which he 
 seemed to have forgotten to polish. As he stood near 
 her one of the elegant young men approached and, ad- 
 dressing him as Mr. Humphries, asked him some ques- 
 tion. Mr. Humphries replied to it and the young man 
 went away. Claire thought that she remembered the 
 name, and, looking at the small catalogue she held, 
 verified her suspicions. The little man, Mr. Humphries, 
 was also the painter of the pictures on exhibition. 
 
 She began to watch him. He would stand about 
 rather wretchedly for a time, as if wishing himself al- 
 most anywhere else, and then presently would begin 
 to look at one of his pictures, when he would change, 
 soften, become rapt, almost exultant as Claire herself 
 had been, until, remembering that he was in an inimical 
 place, he would start slightly and begin furtively to 
 search the faces of the visitors. He would search ques- 
 tioningly, anxiously, presently to turn away with an 
 expression of whimsical depression, and go back to 
 renewed absorption of one of his canvases. "How he 
 loves them!" thought Claire; "and how he watches, 
 trying to find, as I tried to find, some one who is really 
 touched by them! But that is expecting too much, per- 
 haps; they do not wear their hearts on their sleeve any 
 more than I, poor little man ! " 
 
 Claire got up to go and glanced at him once more. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 87 
 
 But was he poor? He was standing before the painting 
 which had faced Claire, looking through the dark forest 
 aisles out to sea with a look of bland pleasure and of 
 reminiscent love. "He is painting his picture over 
 again," said Claire to herself. "He does not care for 
 material things." And yet in him, too, she was aware of 
 an element of egoistic preoccupation. Ah, money ! Per- 
 haps, as Mallette had said, all the old prepossessions 
 must be cast aside and the solutions of the future be 
 found only in efforts wholly altruistic. 
 s "A very remarkable exhibition!" 
 
 One of the elegant young men stood smiling defer- 
 entially before her. 
 
 "Very," Claire assented. "Have any of them been 
 sold?" 
 
 "Not yet," answered the young man, "but we are 
 almost sure to sell some of them. They are to be here 
 all next week. Mr. Phineas Smalley, the chew — ahem ! 
 manufacturer — perhaps you know his new palace on 
 the Avenue — who is collecting modern American pic- 
 tures, has made an offer for one of them. Are you 
 especially interested in American paintings?" 
 
 "Yes, in all paintings," answered Claire with a smile, 
 and, eluding the young salesman's effort to open a con- 
 versation, she found herself once more on the Avenue. 
 She turned south intending to go directly home, but 
 almost at once she realized that she was very hungry. 
 Helena's meager luncheon must be supplemented, or 
 she could not possibly wait for dinner, and as she was 
 
88 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 passing Sherry's she turned down toward its entrance. 
 Mounting the steps she was about to enter, when, 
 glancing in, it seemed to her as if since the day before 
 nothing had changed. The same fashionably dressed 
 women and the same young and old men seemed to 
 be waiting about in the same attitudes, and a sudden 
 distaste which it might have been difficult for her to 
 analyze caused her to turn toward the Avenue once 
 more and seek a small tea-room she remembered having 
 seen in one of the side streets lower down. She sat here 
 for half an hour and then continued her journey. Dusk 
 had come when she reached home. As she let herself 
 into the house the sound of the piano met her. Some 
 one was playing softly in the parlor, and looking in she 
 saw Jamie. By that intuitive knowledge one has about 
 a dwelling-place long lived in under unchanging con- 
 ditions, Claire knew that no one — with the exception 
 of the maids — was at home. Jamie had come down 
 secure in his loneliness and had not heard her come in. 
 In the dusk of the room, illuminated by the fading 
 light which came from the tall windows, he looked, she 
 thought, pale and rather ill, but his face wore the same 
 look of rapt absorption she had seen on the little 
 painter's earlier in the afternoon, an expression of 
 pensive and simple joy. 
 
 He was playing something, trying certain bars over 
 and over, and Claire was sure that it was a composition 
 of his own. How sweet it was, how searching! Dear, 
 dear Jamie, and she went into the room, almost for- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 89 
 
 getting the distressing circumstances of the night be- 
 fore, but Jamie recalled them to her, for, as if confused 
 and startled by her sudden entrance, he stopped and 
 rose, looking at her with an expression of ashamed ap- 
 peal which touched Claire inexpressibly, and going 
 up to him she put her arms around him and, without 
 speaking, pressed him to her. She felt Jamie's arms 
 enfold her, too, and in the dusk they stood there long, 
 in silence, strained in an ineffable embrace. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The front door opened and closed again, a hat was 
 hung on the hat-rack, and they heard some one going 
 upstairs. From the sound of the hat, it was plain that 
 either Edward or George had entered, and each knew, 
 intuitively, or by some slight sign, the character of the 
 step on the hall floor, the nature of the slight creak 
 emitted by the stairway, that of these two it must be 
 Edward. 
 
 A door closed immediately overhead confirming their 
 deductions. 
 
 "Come, darling" — Claire spoke almost in a whisper 
 — "we must go up; it is almost dinner-time." 
 
 Jamie, she could tell, was hesitating, and presently he 
 said, whispering too in the darkness which now filled 
 the room: 
 
 "I — I say, Claire. I don't want to have dinner here. 
 Can't we go out somewhere — to the Brevoort?" 
 
 Claire perceived in a flash that this suggestion was a 
 good one. It would be much better for Jamie to rejoin 
 the family current the next morning at breakfast than 
 that night. In that way, appearing at an informal and 
 rather desultory meal, with Edward and George in a 
 hurry to get away, the regular routine could be resumed 
 more gradually. Then, too, if she left word that she 
 and Jamie were dining out together, it would serve as a 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 91 
 
 hint that she had taken Jamie under her protection, 
 and that in dealing with him they must consider her. 
 
 "Of course we can! I'll tell Maggie!" And she 
 started toward the dining-room just as Maggie, with the 
 punctuality of an automaton, appeared with her brass 
 instrument for the purpose of lighting up the parlor. 
 
 "Mr. Jamie and I are dining out, Maggie." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Claire." 
 
 They went into the hall, and as Jamie took his hat 
 from the rack both saw that one side of it was dented 
 in and covered with dust. Jamie, with a movement 
 half furtive, half apologetic, straightened and brushed it 
 hastily, and they went out, but this slight incident had 
 changed Claire's mood. She had thought to walk hand 
 in hand with him in the darkening street until they 
 reached Fifth Avenue, but the sight of his soiled and 
 dented hat, silent testimony of his degradation — tem- 
 porary at least — had depressed her horribly and 
 brought back suddenly Mallette's fears for his future 
 unless something were done. They walked side by side 
 in silence until Jamie said: 
 
 "Mallette may be there. He almost always dines 
 there. He lives in the Square, you know." 
 
 "But, Jamie, why does n't he do something better 
 than being an actor? Not that being an actor is n't all 
 right, but I don't suppose he is prominent or I should 
 have heard of him." 
 
 "He is n't. He's a good light actor. But he's got 
 to live. Thousands and thousands are being thrown 
 
92 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 into civil life now the war is over. We'll go to see him 
 sometime." 
 
 "But what is he, Jamie? I mean what was he before 
 the war?" 
 
 "I don't know much about him." 
 
 Jamie went on rather desperately after a moment: 
 
 "But what I like about Mallette is that if he had n't 
 a cent to his name or a shirt to his back, he'd be just the 
 same; it would n't change his spirit. I mean that some- 
 body 's got to see to it that something has got to come 
 of all those four years of suffering which are just over. 
 Do you suppose that people like our family and like 
 that rotten Orville care a damn about it?" 
 
 "Oh, Jamie," breathed Claire in remonstrance, "you 
 mustn't!" 
 
 "Well, I'm sick of it, Claire, and if they're going to 
 jump on me, as I know they will, I '11 tell them what I 
 think. I behave badly at times, I '11 admit, but there are 
 reasons, and I'm going to tell them that they have n't 
 any more conception of what the war was really like 
 than they have of what is going on in Mars. That if 
 they had, they 'd kick over their household gods and try 
 to change things. Ten million lives were lost. Do you 
 think it has made the slightest impression on them? 
 Made them feel that with such things possible something 
 is wrong which ought to be set right?" 
 
 "I know it, Jamie; but nobody could be kinder than 
 Aunt Caroline." 
 
 "I know; but I want them to understand that there 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 93 
 
 are people in the world who can't be happy living as 
 they do. I want them to understand there are such 
 things as ideals, and I want them to have a few them- 
 selves. I don't care anything about their being kind ! " 
 
 "But must n't idealists be kind?" 
 
 "Certainly not! That's the trouble with them. 
 They're usually so damned kind that nobody has any 
 opinion of them. That's what I like about Mallette. 
 He's an idealist if you like, but he is n't kind! And, be- 
 sides, I don't call Aunt Caroline and the rest of them 
 kind. They 're all right if you 're like them, but if they 
 don't understand you, you're simply beyond the pale!" 
 
 Jamie paused, and glancing quickly at Claire re- 
 sumed in a different tone: "And, Claire, don't — don't 
 think I'm trying to excuse myself for anything I've 
 done — because I 'm not ! " 
 
 "I know. But try not to do it again, Jamie. It hurt 
 me so!" 
 
 "Yes, Claire!" he answered simply; and they were 
 back again in their old relationship, that of simply lov- 
 ing one another. 
 
 "And, Jamie, I'm going to see if I can't get Uncle 
 Edward to let you go abroad. You really ought to go." 
 
 "If he only would," replied Jamie. "Is n't it silly, 
 Claire? Here I am wasting my time at the office where 
 I'm no earthly use, when I might be developing what 
 talent I have got to some good purpose. I try to work, 
 but it plays the devil with me, I hate it so; and some- 
 times I feel that I must do something devilish or simply 
 
94 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 explode. If I were to explain that to them, do you think 
 they would understand me in the least, or try to? No; 
 they would think either that I was n't telling the truth 
 or that I could be like them, if it was n't that I was in- 
 corrigible and would n't try. That's what you'll find 
 yourself up against when you tackle Uncle Edward." 
 
 "I know it, Jamie, but I'm going to do my best." 
 
 "I know you will, but that's what you'll be up 
 against! Prejudice — blind prejudice! You and I, and 
 the new generations or forces coming up in the world, 
 try to do things and prejudice is always trying to block 
 us and them. It makes your blood boil to think of it." 
 
 They found an empty table in the lower floor by a 
 window which gave them, by looking out slantingly, a 
 view of a corner of the Arch and behind it the leafage of 
 Washington Squa»e. The pavement from this basement 
 room ran past them almost level with their eyes, and 
 under the trees there was a continuous scurry of taxi- 
 cabs and buses, and through the open windows a faint 
 mild breath of spring came occasionally and touched 
 their faces. 
 
 "Do you mind if I see whether Mallette is here?" 
 
 "Not at all," answered Claire; "ask him to dine with 
 us if you want to." 
 
 Jamie returned presently to say that he had not found 
 Mallette, but had left word for him to join them in case 
 he did come in, and before their dinner arrived he was 
 seen approaching. 
 
 When they had ordered dinner, Claire and Jamie had 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 95 
 
 avoided any question of beverage, but Mallette im- 
 mediately ordered a Scotch and soda, saying to Jamie, 
 "You won't have any, I suppose!" with an unstudied 
 frankness which surprised Claire not a little. But this 
 transparent frankness, which displayed itself as one of 
 Mallette's unmistakable traits, seemed to place them at 
 their ease, seemed to proclaim that if there was any- 
 thing necessary to be said about Jamie's behavior he 
 would have said it at once, and as he did not they might 
 both, Jamie and Claire, forget their doubts and appre- 
 hensions for the moment with a clear conscience and 
 enjoy the hour as they might. It seemed to Claire as if 
 things, temporarily at least, had been taken out of her 
 hands; that she had been bidden not to worry, and 
 her spirits rose. Jamie, too, began to revive perceptibly 
 and his whimsical expression began to show itself once 
 more. 
 
 Presently Claire gave Mallette Helena's message. 
 Mallette acknowledged the invitation politely and 
 made no further comment, but Jamie indulged in one of 
 his grimaces and supplemented it by saying, "Why on 
 earth should Helena want to see you? " 
 
 "Why, Jamie!" Claire exclaimed. 
 
 "Mallette does n't mind," answered Jamie reassur- 
 ingly. "We're very frank with each other — Mallette 
 and I — and he knows the queerest people!" 
 
 "And don't you?" challenged Mallette. 
 
 "I mean so diverse — Helena at one end, and street- 
 cleaners and people like that at the other!" 
 
96 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "That was at first," explained Mallette somewhat 
 enigmatically. 
 
 "At first?" asked Claire. 
 
 " I mean when I first came here. I was so keen to find 
 out what America was like, I made friends with every- 
 body." 
 
 "I expect you found it like any other place," Jamie 
 observed. 
 
 "Very like," answered Mallette. 
 
 "Did you expect to find it different?" asked Claire. 
 
 "I did, rather. In one way it is different. You're 
 kinder here than people are in old countries. But that 
 is not a virtue." 
 
 " We were talking about kindness — Jamie and I — 
 just a little while ago. Jamie does n't believe in it 
 either." 
 
 "I believe in it, but people should be just first — 
 kind afterwards." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" Claire answered. "I would never 
 agree with you there. What a place the world would 
 be if justice ruled instead of kindness ! " 
 
 "And what a place it is, with neither ruling!" 
 
 "Are you forever finding fault with it?" 
 
 "Not for myself," he answered; "hardly anybody 
 gets more out of it than I do; but when I look at it as 
 I would like to be able to look at everything if I chose, 
 from a point of view absolutely impersonal and de- 
 tached. Have you ever tried to do that?" 
 
 "But why should I?" asked Claire, looking at him 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 97 
 
 out of her fresh young eyes so challengingly that he 
 smiled, answering: "Why should you, indeed!" 
 
 "Not that I would not like to know and understand 
 many things I don't know now," Claire resumed; "but 
 sometimes I feel afraid that a good many of them might 
 make me unhappy ! " 
 
 " But the time is coming when people will no longer 
 avoid things which might make them unhappy. In 
 each generation more and more men and women are 
 being born into the world supplied with a sense which 
 our forefathers lacked, a sense which makes injustice 
 intolerable to them; and when there are enough of 
 them, things will change, and the curse of the world 
 will disappear." 
 
 "What curse?" asked Claire. 
 
 "Exploitation! Did n't you know?" Mallette re- 
 plied almost solemnly. 
 
 Claire blushed but she answered bravely : 
 
 "No, I did not. What is exploitation?" 
 
 "The economic and political enslavement of the great 
 mass of humanity." 
 
 "Slaves!" cried Claire; "how can they be slaves?" 
 
 "Has not this war shown us the political slavery of 
 man? As to his economic slavery, do you know how 
 poor people live?" 
 
 "Some of them live in tenement houses just behind 
 our house." 
 
 "Watch them sometimes and see if you think they 
 live as they do from choice or from necessity?" 
 
98 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "If they do not like living as they do, can't they 
 change?" 
 
 "Can they? Ask them." 
 
 "But surely men who are born poor, but who have 
 ability, make places for themselves in the world?" 
 
 "And the others?" 
 
 "They are incompetent, I suppose, or lazy." 
 
 "And can we let it go at that? I'm afraid not. How 
 many of the rich are incompetent and lazy, too? Do 
 they suffer for it, as the poor suffer? No, there is not 
 only a sense of social responsibility, but an impatience, 
 a rebellion against old conditions growing up in the 
 world which we can't escape, and if our present social 
 machinery will not remedy things for us, we must disre- 
 gard it altogether or scrap it completely." 
 
 As Mallette spoke, Claire saw that his eyes still 
 smiled, but that a blaze pierced through the smile. 
 
 "Something may happen, something vast and unset- 
 tling has happened, which I believe will bring these 
 changes quickly — but quickly or slowly, they will 
 come." 
 
 As Mallette was speaking, Claire's eyes had rested on 
 a small jar which, standing on that end of the table 
 which touched the wall, held a bouquet. The jar, wide- 
 mouthed, simple in outline, and finished with a rough 
 soft glaze of warm and yet pale gray, seemed familiar 
 to her, and looking at it more intently she saw that a 
 series of letters widely spaced encircled it marked in the 
 glaze near its lower edge. Taking the vase in her hand 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 99 
 
 to examine them more closely, and beginning with the 
 letter "M" which a larger space preceding it seemed to 
 indicate as the initial letter, she spelled out, turning the 
 vase slowly, "M-a-1-l-e-t-t-e." 
 
 "Why, how funny!" Claire exclaimed, looking up at 
 him. "Here is your name written in the glaze of this 
 jar!" 
 
 Mallette smiled. 
 
 "Have you never seen that jar before?" 
 
 "Let me see; yes, it's — it's — " 
 
 "A jampot!" 
 
 "Of course! I've seen them ever since I was a child, 
 but without its label I did n't recognize it at first. And 
 that's where I've seen your name. I thought I had 
 heard it before." 
 
 "Yes, 'Mallette's Jams' and 'Mallette's Marma- 
 lades ' are household phrases. We have been making 
 them for three generations now." 
 
 "Are you related — ?" began Claire. 
 
 "The present Mallette is my father." 
 
 "But, jam, Mallette! It's worse even than but- 
 tons!" Jamie exclaimed. 
 
 "The making of jam is an honorable occupation," 
 answered Mallette; "just as the making of buttons is an 
 honorable occupation if it is conducted honorably." 
 
 The table had been cleared, and the waiter, put- 
 ting down the coffee, disappeared. Mallette and Jamie 
 lighted cigarettes. 
 
 "There are two great jam concerns in England," 
 
100 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Mallette began — "Mallette's and Small's; and for 
 three generations the Mallettes, as I have said, and the 
 Smalls, too, have been drawing riches from their fac- 
 tories. The fact that the making of jam is an honorable 
 occupation is attested in the case of the Mallettes and 
 the Smalls by the general esteem in which they are 
 held, although this may be accounted for rather by the 
 amount of money they have made out of their business 
 than by the nature of the business itself. In our family 
 life one would hardly know that we manufactured jam 
 at all. Mallette's jam is not even served at our table — 
 it was always Small's; and it is said that at the Smalls' 
 table it was always Mallette's, a custom which has 
 become traditional: each house in this way shirking a 
 disagreeable actuality and at the same time paying 
 a graceful compliment to the other. As I grew up and 
 began to read, I saw, of course, the lavish advertise- 
 ments of Mallette's jams; but I never connected them 
 with my family until I was ten, when I was enlightened 
 by a schoolmate who taunted me with the fact; but his 
 statement had no disagreeable consequences as far as 
 I was concerned, because my wealth made me so much 
 of a personage with the masters that the offending boy 
 was reprimanded severely!" 
 
 Mallette paused. 
 
 "Would you like to hear a little more about myself, 
 or does it bore you?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, please!" both Claire and Jamie answered, 
 and he went on. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 101 
 
 "We had a house in London, another in Kent, another 
 in Scotland, and were forever going about from one to 
 another as rich people do. We really had more money 
 than we knew what to do with, and had always had, and 
 as I was an only son — I have a sister older than I — it 
 was not stinted on my education. During my last sum- 
 mer holiday at Oxford I went into the East End of Lon- 
 don to stop with a college friend who was spending his 
 vacation there as a settlement worker. A clergyman, 
 a relative of his, had founded the place and my friend 
 had a room there which I shared. The experience was 
 depressing at first, but intensely interesting; it was a 
 change, being lost among these strange swarms — more 
 complete than any I had ever known, and the self-sacri- 
 fice of the people living in that little house was really too 
 fine for any words to express. After I had been there 
 a fortnight he took me to a dance-hall conducted by the 
 settlement for the purpose of keeping the young of both 
 sexes off the streets. I can't tell you how it interested 
 and yet repelled me. It interested me because their en- 
 joyment of the place was so keen, so avid, as if they were 
 drinking in something they were starving for, that it 
 roused an intense feeling of compassion, and they re- 
 pelled me because of their bodies, so pale; their thick 
 hands, their bad teeth, their cheap clothing, and because 
 of a feeling that they could not be clean, and that they 
 lived under conditions which would be for me simply 
 intolerable. 
 
 "On our way home that night I asked my friend 
 
102 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 about them, how they lived and where they were em- 
 ployed, if employed at all. 
 
 " 'Rather! ' he answered; 'they all work, most of them 
 in the jam factories — Mallette's — or Small's.' 
 
 "It may seem incredible, but at that time I did not 
 even know that our factories were in the East End of 
 London. Whether my friend mentioned the name Mal- 
 lette inadvertently, or did not know my connection with 
 it, does n't matter. I went out the next morning to look 
 for our factories. They were not hard to find, and pres- 
 ently I saw them, a huge pile of buildings, irregular in 
 shape, as if they had grown by degrees, so that you had to 
 walk down more than one street before you could really 
 comprehend their extent. At one place a gateway, 
 which was the main entrance, opened into a large, irregu- 
 lar courtyard, and at one side of the courtyard stood a 
 small building with a sign on one side which indicated it 
 as the general office of the works. Down each street 
 along the top story of each building the word * Mallette ' 
 was printed in really gigantic letters. I kept out of any 
 line of vision afforded by the position of the office and 
 wandered about, looking at the buildings from every 
 point of view, listening to the sounds of machinery, until 
 all at once a whistle sounded and the workers began to 
 appear, first by ones and twos, then in large groups, then 
 in a steady stream which poured out of the gateway in 
 a torrent, and as I stood looking at them a feeling of 
 fright, of real terror, took hold of me. All this was mine 
 — my father had often said so — the buildings, the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 103 
 
 trucks, the machinery, the clerks, the bookkeepers, the 
 foreign branches, the whole great business, and — as 
 it suddenly struck me — the workers. They were mine, 
 too — anaemic, ill-nourished, prematurely old, broken 
 down before their time, ignorant, and without hope of 
 any change! They were my slaves, working for me, a 
 man that they had never seen, for wages which made of 
 life a disgraceful thing, so that I might live in luxury; 
 and a cold sweat broke out on me, and I remember grip- 
 ping my hands together and saying to myself through 
 my clenched teeth, 'I will not have them! I will not! 
 I will not!'" 
 
 Mallette stopped and said : "My feelings were exactly 
 as I describe them. I am not exaggerating in the least, 
 and you must remember that my fortnight in the slums 
 had taught me things which enabled me to grasp the 
 situation at once completely and vividly in a way I 
 could not otherwise have done. 
 
 "Yes, that fortnight had made a tremendous impres- 
 sion on me. It seems a strange thing, but many men go 
 through life from childhood to old age without ever com- 
 ing in contact with or really understanding that there 
 exists, and that a few people are trying to deal with, 
 the problem of poverty, but I had been partly awak- 
 ened to it at Oxford by my friend and by a few other 
 men there who were mildly interested in socialism, 
 and I occasionally saw some of the labor periodicals, 
 but what poverty was actually like, I had not the faint- 
 est conception until I made my visit to the East End. 
 
104 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Well, I had it out with my father, and found it 
 was impossible for us to understand each other. There 
 was n't any slavery about it as far as he was concerned. 
 The works paid certain weekly sums, a pound, thirty 
 shillings, two pounds, whatever the sum might be, for 
 certain kinds of work. If you could do that kind of work 
 acceptably, the job was yours; if you did n't want it, 
 that was your affair. Take it or leave it. It was simple 
 enough, and his attitude toward his hands would have 
 been as impersonal as it was toward his machinery, or 
 the shiploads of oranges he got every year from Spain, if 
 it had n't been tinged with hostility. A hostility which 
 was mutual and had always existed,- because from time 
 to time, in the hope of bettering their condition, the 
 workers would strike, arousing irritation and anger and 
 a loss of money on both sides. 
 
 " My father took the trouble to explain to me — and as 
 I look back I am surprised, because his is not a concilia- 
 tory nature — the absurdity of my ideas and the impos- 
 sibility of changing present conditions even if we wanted 
 to, the whole interlocked complicated machinery of cap- 
 ital and labor, the balance of supply and demand, and 
 the disorganization arbitrary fixing of wages would 
 work in the market of labor at large; but when I sug- 
 gested profit-sharing, he lost his temper and called me 
 a fool for thinking for a moment that he would divide 
 the earnings of Mallette capital and Mallette ability 
 with the ungrateful riff-raff of the streets. 
 
 " But on my part I could n't evade the fact that it was 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 105 
 
 by the labor of all those wretches that we were living 
 as we were, and that while, generation after generation, 
 we were accumulating money, generation by generation 
 our workers were disappearing into the grave without 
 having known during their whole lives what comfort 
 meant, bodily ease, real happiness, physical or mental 
 well-being. For I had been to their houses. Between 
 the first day when I had seen our works, and the end 
 of my visit at the Settlement, I had visited exclusively 
 the places where they lived. 
 
 "It was, I must say, a tremendous disappointment 
 for my father," Mallette went on, "because he took such 
 pride in Mallette's. Men take pride in such strange, 
 childish things — one that his watch keeps perfect time, 
 another in the fact that he has been operated on for ap- 
 pendicitis, another, that he can run faster than almost 
 any one else, another that he goes without an overcoat 
 even in the coldest weather; and my father, that we had, 
 by selling at a large profit, great quantities of jam which 
 a lot of poverty-stricken creatures made for us, suc- 
 ceeded in amassing a huge fortune. Each one of these 
 prides seems to me as futile as the other. As the business 
 had been handed down to him so he hoped to hand it 
 down to me; it was a dream of his that Mallette's should 
 be administered even into the distant future by an un- 
 broken line of male Mallettes. 
 
 "'One day/ he said to me, 'Felix, if you were to in- 
 herit Mallette's, what would you do with it — close it 
 down?' 
 
106 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "'Oh, no,' I answered; 'that would be shirking the 
 matter.' 
 
 "'What, then, would you do?' 
 
 "'Change it into some kind of a cooperative con- 
 cern.' 
 
 " 'Suppose you found it did not pay; that under your 
 plan you were running it at a loss?' 
 
 "'I should make up the deficit.' 
 
 "'Even if you had to do so out of your private for- 
 tune?' 
 
 " ' Yes; and I may say now that I would see to it that 
 that fortune was employed for the benefit of those who 
 made it!'" 
 
 Mallette stopped and sighed. 
 
 "It was so difficult — the situation. For centuries the 
 whole world had looked at such mattters as my father 
 looked at them. To him it was right and reasonable, 
 while to me it was all so wrong that I must combat it if 
 I wanted to keep my self-respect. At last he came to me 
 with an ultimatum. If I did not agree to promise not to 
 interfere in the administration of the Mallette works 
 and the conservation of the Mallette fortune, I was to 
 be given a pension, a generous one, and my father was to 
 execute a will whereby the Mallette works and the Mal- 
 lette fortune would revert to my sister's child, a little 
 boy. This arrangement he said was to remain in force 
 only until such time as I should have definitely changed 
 my views. In other words, if I wanted at any time to go 
 back on his terms I was free to do so. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 107 
 
 Mallette paused again. "Well, that was the end ! We 
 had it out together! It was very painful! To my father 
 I am not only an erratic fool, but an ungrateful one, too. 
 I have n't seen him since nor have I had a penny of him 
 — I refused the pension — although you may imagine 
 that to make one's living at first, with the kind of train- 
 ing I had had, was not an easy task. After a year the war 
 came and I went in at once. I hear sometimes from my 
 sister — I have no mother — and my father is still en- 
 gaged in selling jam in still greater quantities and in 
 increasing still more the fortune which one day will go 
 to my nephew!" 
 
 Mallette stopped, smiled, and said, "That is my 
 history!" 
 
 "And did n't you go back to the East End?" asked 
 Claire. 
 
 "That might seem the logical outcome of my con- 
 duct," answered Mallette, "but for that kind of work 
 I decided that one must have gifts which I lacked; 
 the injustice of it made me too angry and impatient of 
 the insensibility which makes it possible. I tried it fop 
 a while, and then I got out — " 
 
 They got up, and going out into the Avenue walked 
 slowly toward the Square. 
 
 "That was a fine thing — acting as you did, Mr. 
 Mallette," Claire said. 
 
 "No, what I did was n't fine," Mallette answered, 
 "but it was a fine thing that my eyes were opened in 
 
108 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 time, and what I did may help. All these poor devils 
 are working at starvation wages, as they have always 
 done, but perhaps the ethical force of my act may help 
 to bring their emancipation a little nearer." 
 
 Mallette walked through Ninth Street with Claire 
 and Jamie and parted from them before the high steps 
 of their house. They let themselves in noiselessly and 
 climbed the stairs together. Outside her door, Claire 
 bade Jamie good-night, and going into her room stood 
 by the window looking across at the tenements. It was 
 still early. In one room an old, old man was breaking 
 a box into kindlings with a hatchet. In another, where 
 a woman cooked, there was a bed; some one lay in it. 
 She could see a dark, emaciated face and the outlines 
 of a body lying motionless. In a lower room a workman 
 was washing his feet in a basin, feet like clods, dirty 
 and thick; and in another, where a man sat with his 
 hat on, smoking his pipe, in his shirtsleeves, while the 
 room seemed full of children, a pale woman lay in bed 
 suckling a baby. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Claire, when estimating the advantage to Jamie of 
 joining the family at breakfast the next morning, had 
 forgotten it would be Sunday breakfast, about the very 
 worst meal which could have been chosen. Edward and 
 George, deprived of the solace of business, were distrait 
 and preoccupied; Caroline was rather irritable at the 
 prospect of having them on her hands for most of the 
 day, and Kate usually came down with a slight Sun- 
 day morning headache. Every Saturday she purchased 
 a pound box of chocolates at Maillard's. Before retir- 
 ing, which was always early on that night, she would 
 produce the box and pass it. Half a dozen pieces would, 
 perhaps, be taken. She would then go upstairs without 
 passing it again, and in the morning Annie, the chamber 
 maid, would invariably find the box empty. Before 
 going to bed she had eaten the entire pound. Conse- 
 quently the headache. 
 
 The fact that the coming day was Sunday, however, 
 had one advantage. Claire would have an opportunity 
 to talk with Uncle Edward about Jamie. 
 
 Edward and Caroline invariably arrived at the 
 breakfast table at eight o'clock impelled by their sense 
 of punctuality. Claire and George usually came next, 
 not from a sense of the inviolability of the breakfast 
 hour, but because they were normal, healthy young 
 
110 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 animals who had had their sleep out and had got up 
 directly it was finished. This was in case George had 
 not been out the night before and disordered his di- 
 gestion by a late supper, a thing he was likely to avoid. 
 Jamie, luxurious and slightly neurotic, would come 
 next, and Aunt Kate, an incorrigible sluggard, last of 
 all. But on this occasion Claire had waited for Jamie, 
 who was longer than usual, and when they finally 
 reached the dining-room even Kate was there drinking 
 a cup of very strong coffee. 
 
 A general good-morning was said, somewhat vague 
 where Jamie was concerned, and a rather forbidding 
 silence followed, to be broken presently by Caroline, 
 who asked, addressing Edward : 
 
 "Was anything ever done about Mr. Weston?" 
 
 Opposite the Nicholsons' house on Ninth Street a 
 row of small houses faced them. They were of red brick 
 with high steps of brown stone. The high steps of these 
 houses, the iron railings, the front doors, the areas, the 
 windows, and the houses themselves were all exactly 
 alike. They belonged to Caroline, and Mr. Weston, a 
 tenant of one of them, had always shown himself 
 strangely reluctant to pay his rent. 
 
 "He broke his promise again this week," Edward 
 replied. "I expect we'll have to serve a dispossess no- 
 tice on him." 
 
 "Why not sue him?" Caroline demanded. "I say 
 sue him and have it over with!" 
 
 "He's a musician or something like that," answered 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 111 
 
 Edward, almost angrily; "they never have any money. 
 I'm surprised that Mrs. Praed should have recom- 
 mended him so well." 
 
 "Such a handsome fellow, too," Kate remarked. 
 
 "Maggie," Caroline commanded, "bring me that 
 small package. The one on the mantelpiece." 
 
 Maggie gave it to her, and unfolding the paper so 
 that it still protected her fingers from the object it 
 contained, Caroline exposed Jamie's cigar. 
 
 "Is that yours?" she demanded of George. 
 
 George, replying easily that it was not, she turned to 
 Jamie. 
 
 "Yes, it's mine," Jamie answered, casting Claire a 
 glance which seemed to say, "Well, here goes!" 
 
 "Phew! Take it away, Maggie! Well, it lay there all 
 night before last smelling up the whole place. It 's a 
 pity you can't take the trouble to do what the family 
 wants you to once in a while. I don't know whether 
 I '11 ever be able to get that smell out of the curtains ! " 
 
 Edward supplemented this by saying: 
 
 "You know your aunt doesn't like smoking in the 
 parlor; what do you do it for?" 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Edward!" Claire interposed. "Other 
 men do it. George and Mr. Orville were smoking night 
 before last just as well as Jamie." 
 
 "If George smokes in the parlor, he puts the cigar 
 in the ash-can afterwards and takes the trouble to air 
 the room." This from Aunt Caroline. 
 
 "I've done that, too," answered Jamie. "I always 
 
112 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 do it, only night before last I forgot. I 've known George 
 to forget it too ! " 
 
 "It was very funny that you should forget! What 
 were you doing to make you forget?" Caroline seemed 
 to be insinuating that Jamie even then was somewhat 
 fuddled. 
 
 "He forgot because he was angry with George for 
 being rude to Mr. Mallette. George had met him at 
 Helena's and pretended he had never seen him before," 
 Claire explained. 
 
 "At Helena's!" answered Caroline with the expres- 
 sion a boxer might wear on receiving an unexpected 
 back-hander. 
 
 "That doesn't mean anything," George interposed. 
 "A friend of his happened to take him there. There's 
 not much danger of his going again. You know Aunt 
 Adelaide does n't cotton to people like that!" 
 
 "I should say not!" answered Caroline. 
 
 "Do you know who Mr. Mallette is?" asked Claire 
 challengingly of George and the table at large. "He's 
 the only son of Mallette, the great English jam manu- 
 facturer!" 
 
 This statement was followed by a dazed silence in 
 which expressions of doubt, regret at the possibility 
 of their having said something which Mallette might 
 treasure against them, and an evidently changed point 
 of view toward him were mingled. 
 
 But George, recovering himself, retorted : 
 
 "That's a likely story!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 113 
 
 "If you doubt it, it's easy enough to find out whether 
 it's so or not!" answered Claire, "Mallette has an 
 agent here; they could probably tell you." 
 
 "What's he doing on the stage?" 
 
 "That's his affair, I suppose." 
 
 In spite of George's sincere or assumed incredulity, 
 Claire's statement seemed heavy with the convincing 
 weight of truth. 
 
 "I must say," Caroline observed, "it was kind of 
 him to — " She had started to say that it was kind of 
 Mallette to fetch Jamie home, but, remembering in 
 time that Jamie was present, she checked herself. "By 
 the way, Edward, our dividends were a week late this 
 quarter. What's the matter?" 
 
 Edward, who was eating bacon and eggs, stopped. 
 His head was bent and he did not raise it, and for a 
 moment his hands, one holding a knife, the other a 
 fork, rested inertly beside his plate. 
 
 "What — what was that? Oh, yes — The clerk who 
 gets out the checks was sick in bed. I did n't hear you 
 at first!" It seemed to be an effort for him to an- 
 swer. 
 
 Caroline looked at him. His skin, always pale under 
 his white mustaches, looked, she thought, whiter than 
 usual, but as he went on at once with his breakfast she 
 thought no more about it. 
 
 Claire's revelation of Mallette's identity proved to 
 be a happy incident, for as getting drunk in the com- 
 pany of Mallette's only son was obviously quite different 
 
114 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 from getting drunk with a common actor, Jamie's of- 
 fense was somewhat mitigated; but only for the present, 
 as Claire well knew; therefore, immediately after break- 
 fast she started to follow Edward to his basement room, 
 but George was already slipping down before her. 
 
 She waited ten minutes, and then, following, knocked 
 on the sanctum door, opening it in response to her 
 uncle's invitation to come in. George was seated, and 
 as he showed no intention of leaving, in spite of her 
 "May I speak to you, Uncle Edward?" she added, 
 after a moment — "about Jamie?" 
 
 During the five years that Claire, George, and Jamie, 
 had lived at Ninth Street, where they had gone after 
 the death of their father, their mother having died two 
 years earlier, her knowledge of her uncle had not in- 
 creased nor had their relationship grown a degree closer. 
 He had always been to her an insoluble enigma. 
 He came and went with the regularity of clockwork. 
 During these five years his voice and manner never 
 varied. Always self-contained, moving and speaking 
 slowly, his expression and visible traits made on Claire 
 only a negative impression. She had tried more than 
 once to get hold of him; find out what he cared for, if 
 he cared for anything at all; whether he had decided 
 preferences for anything or anybody; whether even busi- 
 ness were a passion with him; and she had always felt 
 compelled to give it up as a hopeless task. Sometimes 
 it seemed to her that there must be another, a real 
 entity, hidden within his large white carcass, which 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 115 
 
 emerged in other surroundings — at the office of the 
 factory; if not there, somewhere else — never at Ninth 
 Street; and if that she could see him at such times she 
 would see the real Edward Nicholson. As if somewhere 
 he really lived, but that at Ninth Street he kept up 
 only the semblance of living, and that behind his heavy 
 face with its drooping mustaches he was occupied with 
 constant secret thoughts of that other, that real life of 
 which no one knew. 
 
 Edward was seated before an office desk which stood 
 in a corner of the room by one of the windows, in a 
 desk chair which turned on a screw and tilted back 
 when you wanted it to. George was sprawling in an 
 armchair at one end of the desk. 
 
 "Come in and shut the door," Edward answered; 
 "we've just been talking about him!" 
 
 Claire drew up a chair, and both Edward and George 
 looked at her interrogatively and yet with an expression 
 which seemed to indicate that they were prepared to 
 disagree with her beforehand. 
 
 "Is there any special reason why Jamie should keep 
 on at the office, uncle?" Claire began. 
 
 "He can't live in idleness," Edward answered; "why 
 should n't he keep on there?" 
 
 "He does n't like it." 
 
 "He doesn't like it because he's lazy, but it's the 
 best thing in the world for him, if he would stick to it." 
 
 "He is n't fitted for it, Uncle Edward." 
 
 "He is as fitted for that as for anything. He's the 
 
116 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 kind of boy who is bound to go to the bad, I 'm afraid ! 
 George has just been telling me. I knew he hated to 
 work, but I never dreamed that he was dissipated. You 
 may as well tell her, George." 
 
 And George proceeded to. 
 
 "I've known it for some time — friends have told 
 me who've seen him around in different places. I've 
 spoken to him about it a dozen times, but it has n't 
 done any good. You and Mallette thought I waked 
 everybody up on purpose the other night, and it's true. 
 I had kept it from them as long as I felt that I should, 
 and I thought it would be a good chance to prove what 
 I wanted to say about him. People don't usually face 
 things like this soon enough, and before you know it 
 Jamie will be a first-class souse!" 
 
 "But what can we do?" asked Claire. 
 
 "Make him brace up and behave himself!" George 
 answered. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By telling him if he does n't behave we'll have to 
 take some drastic action." 
 
 "Haven't you told him that already?" Edward 
 asked. 
 
 "Well, yes, I have," replied George. 
 
 "But if you 've already threatened him and it has n't 
 done any good — " said Claire. 
 
 "Well, let Uncle Edward try his hand at it!" 
 
 "I don't believe threats ever have the slightest effect 
 on people," Claire answered.. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 117 
 
 "Then what are you going to do about it?" George 
 demanded. 
 
 Claire took the plunge 
 
 "Uncle Edward," she began, "Jamie has acquired his 
 bad habits because he is unhappy and restless. He is n't 
 fitted for a business life; he says he's tried and tried to 
 understand it and to interest himself in it, but that it's 
 absolutely hopeless; he do£s n't and can't like it; but 
 there's one thing he does like and that's music. He 
 loves it. He's been going to the office for three years 
 now and has never learned anything, and yet in music, 
 although he has never had any real instruction at all, 
 see how nicely he plays, and some of his compositions 
 are really lovely. That's his bent; he loves it; why not 
 let him make it his profession — let him go to Paris — " 
 
 At mention of Paris Edward made a movement as 
 if to interrupt her, but Claire went on: 
 
 "Wait a moment, please! In Paris — " 
 
 "Send a boy with his habits to a place like Paris!" 
 Edward insisted on saying. 
 
 "Paris," Claire began again, "is n't as bad as you 
 think it is." 
 
 "What do you know about it?" retorted George. 
 
 "Everybody knows what Paris is," Edward answered. 
 
 "But there are temptations everywhere, Uncle Ed- 
 ward; and I'm sure that the way to avoid them is by 
 having something to do which you love. And another 
 thing — they don't drink there as we do here, strong 
 drinks — " 
 
118 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "They say that every other Frenchman is an ab- 
 sinthe fiend!" George interrupted. 
 
 "That's absurd, George," answered Claire almost 
 angrily. She felt that she was making not the slightest 
 headway. "Why not let him try it, Uncle Edward? 
 Let him try it for a year. He loves it so, and he has real 
 talent! I'm sure if you let him he would be so grateful 
 that you would never have to worry in the least about 
 him. He can pay his own way, of course, so that there 
 would be no extra expense about it." 
 
 "He can pay his own way if I approve," Edward 
 replied in his deliberate way. "You understand that 
 I am the trustee of all your property which I can do with 
 as I see fit, even to withholding the income from it." 
 
 "I don't mean to say that he would do anything you 
 disapproved of. I am asking you to let him try." 
 
 "What do you think, George?" said Edward, turning 
 to him. 
 
 "I don't care," replied George. "If it was only some- 
 thing else, something useful, it would n't be so bad, but 
 to want to be a musician — it's just like Jamie — the 
 damned little fool! Besides, he'd probably get tired of 
 it inside six months!" 
 
 "He would n't, George!" cried Claire. "I know he 
 would n't!" 
 
 Edward swung around in his chair and fixed Claire 
 with large, expressionless gray eyes. 
 
 "It won't do; he could never make a cent at it!" 
 
 "Perhaps not — that does n't matter." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 119 
 
 "Does n't matter?" asked Edward in surprise. 
 
 "He has enough to live on," said Claire. 
 
 "He has a pittance, two thousand a year. Is he going 
 through life on that — did you ever hear of a musician 
 or an actor or a writer or a painter who ever made any 
 money?" 
 
 "Some of them must make a living," answered Claire. 
 
 "I tell you it's absurd. Money is the standard of 
 everything. It sets the value of everything, and if a man 
 can't make money it shows he 's no good. No artist ever 
 makes money because what he produces is n't worth 
 anything. All these critics and painters and sp outers 
 and writers, what good are they? Can you tell me of 
 one who has ever made a fortune?" 
 
 "They do, uncle," Claire argued, although she knew 
 that they were getting away from the point. "Some of 
 the opera singers make thousands of dollars during a 
 season." 
 
 "Lord! Jamie an opera singer!" exclaimed George in 
 disgust. 
 
 "I didn't say he wanted to be — " began Claire 
 vehemently; but Edward interrupted her. 
 
 "There do seem to be a few who make money, but 
 they 're foreigners who have been brought up to it. No- 
 body has any opinion of them. No, Claire, it isn't 
 practical. If Jamie will attend to business and keep 
 straight I'll do this next year: I'll send him on the 
 road—" 
 
 "Well, if you do that" George interrupted, "good- 
 
120 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 night! You know the reputation commercial travelers 
 have for boozing!" 
 
 "Oh, uncle!" cried Claire. "Jamie of all people as a 
 commercial traveler ! " 
 
 "Well, then, we'll find something else for him to do. 
 And, Claire, try to avoid impracticable ideas; your 
 mother was a little inclined that way, and Jamie is, too, 
 I'm afraid, and there's nothing in it. There's one way 
 to live in this world and that is to work hard, take care of 
 your property, increase it if you possibly can, and let 
 all idealists and spouters and impractical people alone. 
 They're no use to themselves or anybody else! This 
 idea of sending Jamie to France is out of the question. 
 Do you suppose I would consent to his being exposed 
 to the temptations of Paris without any one to look 
 after him? I would n't be willing to have such a step 
 on my conscience." 
 
 Claire stood up. 
 
 "Then there is no chance for him to go?" 
 
 "The whole idea is impracticable," Uncle Edward 
 answered with an air of finality. 
 
 Claire went upstairs and knocked at Caroline's door. 
 Jamie was waiting results in his room, but she was not 
 ready yet to report to him. Uncle Edward's refusal 
 seemed so unfair and unnecessary ! Why was the idea 
 impracticable? It had not been impracticable for all 
 those thousands of students who, coming from the ends 
 of the earth, were already in Paris! Why for Jamie? 
 
 And as soon as she had closed Caroline's door, she 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 121 
 
 asked her, almost challengingly : "Can you see any rea- 
 son why Jamie should n't go to Paris to study music if 
 he wants to?" 
 
 Caroline, wearing her spectacles, was sitting by a 
 window reading the Sunday paper. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Caroline, looking up. "What 
 next! I see every reason why he should n't! He won't 
 work; that's what's the trouble with Jamie." 
 
 "But why should n't he go, Aunt Caroline?" 
 
 "Look at the temptations!" 
 
 "Look at them in New York." 
 
 "He has his home to go to here! Why, I was just 
 reading an article in the supplement of the paper about 
 the gay life of Paris. Now that the war is over they 're 
 beginning it again. Kate just took it, and to think of 
 Jamie's coming home dead drunk! Edward would have 
 rather seen him in his grave, I 'm sure. You know how 
 we've always felt about intemperance and the stand 
 we ' ve always taken in the church about it. You did n't 
 really mean it, did you, about going to Paris?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Claire. "I've just been asking 
 Uncle Edward to let him go." 
 
 "Well, I know what he would say. Nonsense! Non- 
 sense! Tell Kate to show you that article! And, by the 
 way" — Caroline lowered her voice. "Do you really 
 think that Mr. Mallette is the only son of the rich 
 English family of that name?" 
 
 "I'm sure of it," answered Claire. 
 
 "What makes you sure of it?" 
 
122 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "He told me so himself !" 
 
 Caroline's sound sense would ordinarily have ex- 
 cluded such testimony, but something — perhaps the 
 weight of Mallette's own personality — inclined her to 
 accept it. 
 
 "I think I'll drop him a line, thanking him for bring- 
 ing Jamie home, and ask him to call — You like him, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "He seems very nice," Claire answered non-commit- 
 tally. 
 
 "I suppose Jamie knows where he lives?" 
 
 " Yes, he does." 
 
 "Well, get his address and I'll write him. And stop 
 this nonsense about Jamie's going abroad. I 'm surprised 
 at you; besides, you know how strict your uncle is." 
 
 Claire, realizing the uselessness of even another word 
 with Caroline, knocked at Aunt Kate's door, and went 
 in. 
 
 Aunt Kate was sprawling on a lounge in a corset and 
 chemise, absorbed in the supplement in question. She 
 seemed to be reading with avidity, and Claire caught 
 glimpses of a large illustration showing bearded gentle- 
 men in evening clothes and top hats seated at tables, on 
 which stood champagne bottles and glasses, with ladies 
 in decollete, in a place hung with Chinese lanterns, 
 watching a furious frolic of dancing going on in the cen- 
 ter of the floor where numerous masculine and feminine 
 legs were waving in the air. Kate folded the supplement 
 and said: "Jamie seems all right again." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 123 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Kate, I don't know what to do about 
 him ! " answered Claire, forced into a spontaneous out- 
 burst of disappointment. "Uncle Edward and Aunt 
 Caroline can't seem to understand' that Jamie is n't 
 exactly like the rest of us. They say he does n't work 
 hard enough — and what they mean by work is any- 
 thing except what you want to do if that happens to 
 be out of the ordinary. They may be right as far as 
 the average young man is concerned, who has n't any 
 especial preferences, but they can't see that Jamie is 
 fitted for and loves just one thing, and he wants to and 
 will work at it, and that he does n't want to and can't 
 work at keeping books or being a salesman or running 
 errands or the things he does at the office. It seems so 
 hopeless. Jamie wants to go to Paris and study music, 
 and they think the idea is so stupid — although thou- 
 sands of other people do it — that they won't even listen 
 to it." 
 
 "To Paris ! " Kate cried in surprise, but with no note 
 of disapproval. " They '11 never consent, Claire. For one 
 reason because they would think it stupid, and for the 
 other, Edward would refuse in order to punish him for 
 getting drunk. You know how strongly he feels about 
 it." 
 
 "Do you see anything so dreadful about the idea?" 
 Claire asked. 
 
 Kate shot a glance at her out of her dark eyes and 
 answered : 
 
 "They'll never consent, Claire." 
 
124 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I shall try again, though!" Claire responded. And 
 going out she encountered Maggie who had a note for 
 her. Claire took it and recognized Helena's writing. 
 The note, Maggie said, had just arrived and required 
 no answer. 
 
 Kate sat on her sofa for a moment after Claire had 
 gone, absorbed in thought, picked up the supplement 
 once more, gazed at it abstractedly, and then, getting 
 up, crossed the room, turned the key, and unlocking a 
 door in the lower part of her writing-desk exposed a row 
 of French novels bound in yellow paper. Selecting one of 
 these, she picked up a French dictionary, and returning 
 to her sofa began with the aid of her dictionary its 
 laborious . translation. 
 
 Jamie was sitting on the edge of his bed smoking a 
 cigarette. 
 
 "Well?" he asked, as Claire entered. 
 
 "Not much luck, Jamie," she answered as cheerfully 
 as she was able and she sat down beside him. 
 
 "That 'sail right," answered Jamie, although he could 
 not prevent an expression of disappointment from cross- 
 ing his features. "I knew you would n't have." 
 
 "But we must n't give up hope. This is the very first 
 time we've tried. I'm going to ask Aunt Adelaide to 
 help." 
 
 "Aunt Adelaide! You know what Uncle Edward 
 thinks of her!" 
 
 "But if he finds out that it does n't seem unpractical 
 to other people, he may change his mind." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 125 
 
 "And to-morrow that damned treadmill again!" 
 Jamie got up as if in desperation and seized his bedroom 
 clock. "For two cents I 'd shy this through the window ! " 
 He looked fiercely at Claire, then restored the clock to its 
 place, and smiling his sweet smile as if to reassure her, 
 sat down beside her once more. 
 
 Claire threw her arms around him. 
 
 "Oh, Jamie, you're so good! Try to hold out; some- 
 how we'll manage it." 
 
 "If I only had control of my money!" Jamie ex- 
 claimed. "Did Uncle Edward say anything about it?" 
 
 "Yes, he said that he need n't pay the income if he 
 did n't want to. Did you know?" 
 
 "Yes, George told me! What I'ought to do is to cut 
 loose like Mallette ! What do you think of him, Claire? " 
 
 "You mean his story of the works and his quarrel 
 with his father?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' * I don't know yet . It seemed awfully — awfully revo- 
 lutionary — and wild — I don't know. You have to get 
 used to ideas like that, I suppose." 
 
 "It was splendid, I think ! Think of being able to look 
 at a thing absolutely from one angle and to shut out 
 everything else! That's what Mallette did. He did n't 
 allow any side issues to interfere, no ifs and buts! He 
 tackled the thing and settled it once and for all. I admire 
 power of that kind more than any other because I have 
 n't got it myself, Claire. If I had I 'd say good-bye to the 
 whole outfit, and by hook or by crook do what I want to 
 
126 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 do. Do you remember Wagner and how he accepted 
 money and favors from all sorts of people without a 
 second thought, as a matter of course, in order to do 
 what he wanted to do? That's what I ought to do, but 
 I'm not strong enough. I'm a poor sort, Claire — " 
 
 "You're not, Jamie. I won't have you say so." 
 Claire embraced him once more. "You're good and 
 sweet, and just because you are I 'm going to find a way 
 to send you abroad ! Let 's see what Helena has to say ! " 
 And opening her note she glanced through it and 
 handed it to him. Jamie read : 
 
 Dear Claire, — Won't you and Jamie dine with me and 
 Mr. Orville at the Ritz to-night at eight ? Mr. Orville says he has 
 apologies to make to both of you. He owes another one to Mr. 
 Mallette, and I enclose a note from him to Mr. Mallette invit- 
 ing him, too. If you can come, please ask Jamie to deliver it 
 to him, and telephone the- result. Do come. Mr. Orville is really 
 awfully distressed about what happened the other night. 
 
 Lovingly 
 
 Helena 
 
 P.S. Please try to induce Mr. Mallette to come. Mr. Or- 
 ville feels so badly about it. Mamma will chaperon us, which 
 will make six. 
 
 "Do you want to go?" Claire asked when Jamie had 
 
 finished. 
 
 "With that bounder!" answered Jamie. "No, thank 
 
 you!" 
 
 "You never met him until the other night, Jamie!" 
 "Once was enough!" answered Jamie with decision. 
 "What unnecessary dislikes you do take to people!" 
 "Did you like him?" Jamie demanded. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 127 
 
 "I did n't like the way he treated Mr. Mallette," 
 Claire answered, "but that may have been partly 
 George's fault. Except for that I did like him." 
 
 "Do you want to go?" Jamie asked. 
 
 "Yes, let's go. You 'd rather do that than have sup- 
 per here, would n't you?" 
 
 "Lord! I should say so! All right. But about Mal- 
 lette?" 
 
 "Has he a telephone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 . " Then telephone him. Tell him we are going, and say 
 I hope he will come too. You 've just got time before 
 church ! " 
 
 At this reminder Jamie's face fell. 
 
 "Church!" he exclaimed so lugubriously that Claire 
 could not help laughing. 
 
 "You must, Jamie. You've stayed away too often 
 lately. You know Uncle Edward does n't like it — and 
 now especially ! " And she looked at him with an expres- 
 sion of soft meaning. 
 
 Jamie responded to it at once. 
 
 "All right" — and he started for the door — "I'll call 
 up Mallette." * 
 
 "See that the door is shut tight," Claire warned him, 
 referring to that of the telephone closet, "and we'll just 
 say that we're dining with Helena; we need n't mention 
 the Ritz. Uncle Edward would n't approve." 
 
 Jamie descended the two flights to the main floor, 
 Claire watching him over the banisters, and disappeared 
 
128 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 into the closet under the stairs which did duty both as a 
 telephone booth and as a repository for Maggie's tools 
 of trade. She saw that he took the precaution of tightly 
 closing the door. Presently he emerged and came up 
 again. 
 
 As he approached, Claire called, "Is it all right ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Jamie in a slightly guarded voice. 
 "He '11 be there ! " And coming into the room he added, 
 "But, I say, we'll have to dress!" 
 
 Claire's face fell. She knew that the Ritz in evening 
 dress of a Sunday night could only be encompassed by 
 stealth, a thing she shrank from; but seeing Jamie's 
 answering look of disappointment she said : 
 
 "All right, we'll manage it! Bring your overcoat up- 
 stairs and put it on up here. I '11 wear a hat and a jacket. 
 We '11 tell Maggie as we slip out." 
 
 At this moment they became aware of the voices of 
 Kate and Caroline below, and immediately they heard 
 the solid tread of Edward descending the stairs. It was 
 time to start for church. Claire hastily put on her hat, 
 and meeting Jamie at the door they went out together. 
 Edward, Caroline, and Kate, the former in a frock coat 
 and silk hat, worn only on Sundays, were disappearing 
 around the corner into Sixth Avenue. They followed, 
 keeping a certain distance behind their elders, and in a 
 moment George caught up with them and passed them 
 hurriedly with a gesture of greeting and farewell. He 
 acted as usher at their church, but secretly disliked the 
 job and was waiting for an opportunity to get rid of it. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 129 
 
 Claire and Jamie arrived as a last perfunctory note or 
 two sounded from the bell, and passing George, who was 
 standing in the middle aisle near the vestibule wearing 
 a suitable expression of solemn deference, which caused 
 Jamie even in his present state of depression to greet him 
 with a derisive leer, they paused at their pew while 
 Edward, who always sat next the aisle, stepped out to let 
 them enter. 2 The usual service followed during which 
 Jamie's restlessness, as it always did, attracted occa- 
 sional glances from Caroline. 
 
 At a certain interval in the service Edward left the 
 pew and proceeded down the aisle as did two other gen- 
 tlemen in frock coats and kid shoes, and being handed 
 silver plates lined with velvet proceeded to take up a 
 collection while the organist played a dreamy accompa- 
 niment of suitable solemnity. Following this came the 
 sermon, so long that it reduced Jamie to despair, al- 
 though he had heard not a word of it, and following this 
 the entire family returned to Ninth Street just in time 
 for dinner, which on Sunday was served in the middle of 
 the day. 
 
 An afternoon of intense boredom followed. Claire 
 wondered why. The same sun shone, the same blue sky 
 stretched itself above, the same buildings surrounded 
 her, but to-morrow an electric transformation would 
 take place and life would tingle once more with incident 
 and opportunity. 
 
 At seven she and Jamie, issuing from their rooms, de- 
 scended the stairs cautiously, their evening clothes cov- 
 
130 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ered with the customary day garments of the street. 
 They sought Maggie stealthily, informed her that they 
 were going out to supper, and, shutting the front door 
 with absolute noiselessness, started for the Ritz. 
 
CHAPTER Vn 
 
 Claire Nicholson had a sensation that night, which 
 grew as the evening wore on, that these two men, Mal- 
 lette and Orville, who had come simultaneously into her 
 life, were destined to remain in it, to exert powerful and 
 diverse influences on her, to call into play her own abili- 
 ties, and once more that premonition renewed itself that 
 life, strange, beautiful, grotesque, was about to open for 
 her. 
 
 Adelaide, Helena, and Orville were waiting in the 
 palm room when she and Jamie arrived, and almost in- 
 stantly Mallette appeared. Although Orville had inti- 
 mated through Helena that he had three apologies to 
 make, it struck Claire, immediately after reading Hel- 
 ena's note, that she could n't well see how he was to 
 make them without creating an awkward situation, but 
 Orville managed to convey them simply and easily by a 
 frank friendliness of manner, so unaffected and natural 
 that Claire, instantly ready to wield the cudgels for 
 Mallette, was disarmed at once. Mallette himself re- 
 sponded perfectly, and within the orange glow, all their 
 own, of the candles resting on their table a little hour of 
 sensuous happiness followed for Claire. 
 
 But, happy though she was, Claire, prepossessed by 
 that new, strange, and fascinating sensation, watched 
 and compared Mallette and Orville. 
 
132 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Orville looked more prepossessing in his evening 
 clothes, she thought, than he had when he had appeared 
 at Ninth Street as George's guest. His long, strong face 
 showed a clearer, more ruddy complexion, and his rather 
 coarse hair, already tinged with gray, was brushed as 
 carefully back from his temples as was Jamie's own. He 
 looked fresh and fit, and his strong wrists and the con- 
 tour of his shirt-front over his chest gave indications of 
 a powerful frame. 
 
 Indeed, Orville's personality radiated power : his way 
 of sitting, his voice, his manner of speaking, his confident 
 and assured laugh, and his alert and direct gaze; the 
 power of impetus and of strong blows, of action, and 
 of the unremitting application of physical and mental 
 energy. 
 
 Orville's foree of character was a thing of which Or- 
 ville proclaimed himself fully conscious, but Mallette 
 — and one could not help feeling that he too had his 
 share — seemed unaware of his. 
 
 Mallette had one of those English faces which, when 
 compared with the later prevalent American types, give 
 the impression of a more finished and a finer race. Orville 
 seemed stronger ; Mallette more active. Orville was mag- 
 netic with mental power; Mallette attracted by a more 
 subtle charm. Orville put the world to the test of his 
 ambitions; Mallette viewed life from a more impersonal 
 stand. Orville was like the strong glaive of Richard; 
 Mallette the bright steel of Saladin. But it was to Mal- 
 lette Claire felt that she inclined. She found that she 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 133 
 
 liked Orville and his compelling and not unpleasant ego, 
 but sitting beside Mallette she was conscious that there 
 was between her nature and his a harmony similar to 
 that which bound herself and Jamie so strongly to- 
 gether. Similar and yet different. 
 
 " Oh, the dickens!" Jamie exclaimed suddenly, "I for- 
 got to tell Maggie we would n't be home in time for 
 prayer-meeting ! " And he chirruped like a bird so cheer- 
 fully that Orville laughed heartily. Claire, still strong 
 with religious inclinations, gave him a protesting glance. 
 Orville suddenly grew sober. 
 
 "When I was a boy, everybody went to church," he 
 hastened to say, " and the Brooklyn ferry-boats used to 
 be crowded with people going over to hear Beecher! 
 New York was a big provincial city then." 
 
 "It's provincial now, it seems to me," Claire an- 
 swered. 
 
 "But very cosmopolitan, don't you think?" Orville 
 asked. 
 
 "But it does n't seem cosmopolitan, because nobody 
 here mixes together! That seems provincial. There are 
 all kinds of nationalities here, but we never see them! 
 Some of them must be worth while, too ! " 
 
 "Do you suppose Helena would think of asking any- 
 body to call who did n't wear the right kind of collars? 
 Horrible, horrible!" Jamie cried. 
 
 Helena squeezed Jamie's hand; but Adelaide, slightly 
 annoyed, answered, "You love to tease just as much as 
 ever, you naughty boy!" 
 
134 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Adelaide was continually looking about her, some- 
 what ill at ease. Helena had pressed her into service, 
 but she was not happy. If Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Slade, 
 for instance, and others of that set, had been Orville's 
 guests, the table occupying the mathematical center of 
 the room would have been none too good, and she would 
 have expanded harmoniously in the refulgence of great- 
 ness; but as it was she had been relieved to find that 
 their seats were in an inconspicuous corner, and she had 
 unostentatiously followed the others, managing not to 
 see in passing a pair of undesirables who were manifestly 
 waiting for a bow, and even forbearing to attract the 
 attention of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Slade themselves — 
 who were present, as luck would have it — on account 
 of the really questionable appearance of their party. 
 Claire, handsome enough in her way, but without the 
 least vestige of social position and quite unknown to 
 anybody, Jamie ditto, and a strange Englishman. Or- 
 ville was the only one who was at all worth while, and 
 his desirability was still only potential, being so barely 
 on the ragged edge that Adelaide was still not quite sure 
 as to what course she intended to pursue with him. 
 Really Helena's craze for having people spend money on 
 her did sometimes lead her to do foolish things. On one 
 never-to-be-forgotten occasion she had actually taken 
 tea with a fabulously rich Jew. She had told her mother 
 afterwards that the thought of his money had made it 
 absolutely impossible for her to refuse. 
 
 Aunt Adelaide, not to waste the evening entirely, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 135 
 
 tried without much success to catechize Mallette, to 
 Helena's manifest amusement. Indeed, Helena was in 
 a mood she displayed only rarely, when Adelaide knew 
 that she could do nothing with her — an occasional 
 tempest of reckless gayety; and when Helena after 
 dinner proposed a Broadway cabaret, Adelaide, partly 
 because she knew it would be hopeless to protest and 
 partly from a sneaking desire to visit one of those places, 
 consented, provided Helena promised not to stay more 
 than half an hour. Helena gave her promise without 
 the slightest intention of keeping it, when Claire up- 
 set everything by saying she thought it time that she 
 and Jamie were going home. 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried Orville resolutely. 
 
 "Yes, really," said Claire. 
 
 The idea of going to a Broadway cabaret at any other 
 time would have attracted her, but on a Sunday night 
 she felt it would be impossible even at the cost of appar- 
 ent rudeness to the others. 
 
 "But it's so early!" Helena cried, and her mocking 
 glance seemed to make plain the secret of Claire's re- 
 luctance — to Orville, at any rate, for he answered 
 quickly : 
 
 "Let me suggest something else. Won't you come to 
 the Plaza and see my new rooms? The decorators are 
 just out, and I moved in two days ago. We can have 
 coffee there, and Nicholson might give us a little music." 
 
 Helena hesitated only for a moment, and then, reflect- 
 ing that Orville's apartment would give evidence of a 
 
136 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 recent lavish outlay of money and so gratify her con- 
 suming passion, agreed pleasantly, while Claire thought, 
 "How kind of him to act so quickly and so thought- 
 fully!" 
 
 Orville penciled rapidly a note on his card to be tele- 
 phoned to the Plaza, and going out they got into his 
 limousine, Adelaide experiencing a slight attack of dis- 
 comfort in the dressing-room on seeing Claire don a 
 street hat and cover her evening dress with an ordinary 
 jacket. 
 
 This limousine was typical in a way of Orville. 
 
 It was a type of limousine more expensive than any 
 other type in the world. A footman whose livery, match- 
 ing that of Orville's chauffeur, proclaimed that he, too, 
 belonged to Orville, opened the door for them. Adelaide, 
 Helena, Claire, Mallette, Jamie, and, last of all, Orville, 
 got in. They found themselves in a small room, yet so 
 large they were not in the least crowded. The limousine 
 was the last word in elegance, convenience, and comfort; 
 and yet, unless the most expensive thing of any kind is 
 inherently vulgar, it was not ostentatious. Claire had 
 not dreamed that there could be cushions so insolently 
 soft, as if they were soft merely because they chose to 
 be, knowing well how costly they were. There were little 
 receptacles for negligible things, mirrors, lights, and ele- 
 gant utensils, velvet carpets, superb little curtains, and 
 two armchairs, one for Jamie and one for Mallette. As 
 Adelaide, Claire, and Helena had taken and were com- 
 fortably filling the back seat, Orville was left apparently 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 137 
 
 without one. It seemed for a moment as if this paragon 
 of motors was to reveal itself unable to meet even a 
 usual emergency; but no, for on Orville's pressing a 
 button an additional seat detached itself from the up- 
 holstery and obligingly and noiselessly arranged itself 
 for his comfort. He sat down on it, the door closed 
 with a sound from the latch, a kind of rich click, which 
 seemed to say, " You'll never see a lock like me again," 
 the footman took his place beside the chauffeur, and 
 the car began to glide away with a perfection of motion 
 absolutely foreign to Claire's experience. There was 
 something so extraordinary and overpowering about 
 the luxury of this machine that for the moment all, 
 even Adelaide, were abashed by it, but only for a 
 moment, for under its tonic influence Helena's spirits 
 rose still more sharply, and even Claire, nestling into 
 the cushions in her corner, sighed happily to herself, 
 "How good it must be after all, to be so very rich!" 
 
 The car turned majestically up the Avenue, and as 
 if moving on air bore them swiftly and soundlessly to 
 the Plaza, where before its momentum had .completely 
 ceased its door swung open under the hand of the 
 chauffeur's companion. Orville helped the ladies to 
 descend, and preceding them into the corridor led the 
 way to a waiting elevator. The door of the elevator 
 clanged shut, they shot upward, clanged open, they 
 got out, and facing them Orville's door was being held 
 for them by still another of Orville's functionaries. 
 Helena's delight was increasing each moment, and all 
 
138 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 entered with a hush of anticipation. The functionary, 
 with an agreeable smile of welcome, helped to remove 
 their wraps and opening still another door ushered them 
 into a large room. In a huge fireplace, with a flue at 
 least fourteen stories high, blazed a fire, made of freshly 
 kindled cedar logs, and a group of easy-chairs were dis- 
 posed around a table bearing an array of liquors, of 
 very good fragrant fresh coffee, and of cigars and cigar- 
 ettes, so expensive as to be quite unknown to the ordi- 
 nary consumer. 
 
 Helena insisted on being shown Orville's rooms im- 
 mediately and a hurried tour was made of them. She 
 had become quiet suddenly, and her usual cloying, 
 artificially sweet manner had returned. The apartment 
 proved to be what every one instinctively knew it would 
 be, perfect in every detail, as perfect as the machinery 
 of Orville's superlative limousine; but Claire, remem- 
 bering Mallette's description of Aunt Adelaide's, could 
 not help thinking that it would apply more appropri- 
 ately to Orville's abode than to hers. No convenience 
 which human ingenuity could think of to induce people 
 to spend money was absent, down to a dressing-table 
 in one of his bedrooms containing an assortment of 
 cosmetics and ladies' toilet articles, a library full of 
 books, a large table covered with magazines, and a 
 profuse array of flowers, all, however, arranged with 
 cold and rigid precision. It seemed as if they might 
 have a moment before registered below and been shown 
 to one of the hotel's finest suites only just vacated by 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 139 
 
 some one else, so impersonal was its finery. Claire re- 
 membered that Orville had said he had only been living 
 there for two days, but wondered whether after two 
 months it would have changed so very much. Still, it 
 might very well be that this was a characteristic com- 
 mon to the dwellings of all bachelors. 
 
 After coffee, Helena did a little adroit maneuvering 
 which resulted in Adelaide, with singular docility, find- 
 ing herself seated at the library table looking at the 
 colored plates of a book on Oriental rugs, a subject in 
 which she was not in the least interested; in Jamie — 
 with a cigarette between his lips — swaying once more 
 to the sound of his own waltz issuing from Orville's 
 grand piano; in Helena herself occupying a sofa with 
 Mallette in a distant corner of Orville's parlor, and in 
 the said Orville being left to the attractions of Claire, a 
 thing he particularly wanted. Claire saw through all 
 this quite well, but did not object in the least. In fact, 
 she was pleased rather than otherwise, not for being 
 paired with Orville, but because it would give her the 
 opportunity to observe Helena's behavior with Mallette, 
 and perhaps discover the explanation of her embarrass- 
 ment on the afternoon she had lunched with her, but 
 she had about come to the conclusion that it was simply 
 one of those infatuations Helena was always indulging 
 herself in, and her display of confusion a pose by which 
 to give the affair an added dash of piquancy. She 
 doubted if Mallette was taking any part in it. 
 
 As soon as Helena, having completed the disposition 
 
140 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 of her mother and Jamie, had, in the company of 
 Mallette, left them to themselves, in the vicinity of the 
 fireplace, Orville said: 
 
 "And now I want to set myself right about the other 
 night. I really had n't remembered meeting Mallette 
 before. If I had, I hope you don't think that I would be 
 so rude as to ignore the fact." And then, as if this sen- 
 tence might condemn George, he added: "With George 
 it was different. Mallette had been brought into your 
 house without George knowing anything about him and 
 without his having probably much confidence in your 
 younger brother's judgment. I 'm not trying to excuse 
 him; I am simply offering an explanation." 
 
 "I think that is probably the true one," Claire 
 answered. 
 
 "And you will forgive me?" 
 
 It struck Claire that it was Mallette who was most 
 concerned, and she said so. 
 
 "I'll make it all right with him," answered Orville; 
 "but what I am most anxious about is that I should 
 not have done anything which you might disapprove 
 of. I really did not remember him. You will believe 
 me, I hope." 
 
 "Of course I will believe you," Claire answered, 
 thinking that Orville was perhaps making too much of 
 her approval or disapproval, "Why not?" 
 
 "For a special reason," Orville answered; "some- 
 time I will tell you." He hesitated, and then went on: 
 "No, I will tell you now. I am a good judge of charac- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 141 
 
 ter, if I have an opportunity to study a person's face 
 even for a moment, if he is unconscious that I am doing 
 so. This appraisal of mine I find to be almost always cor- 
 rect, and impresses me so convincingly that sometimes 
 I have seen people, total strangers, whom it has made 
 me want to know. Do you know how I happened to dine 
 at your house the other night? " 
 
 Claire, with a sensation of embarrassment, answered, 
 "No." 
 
 "Because the moment I saw you, when you passed 
 us going uptown on the top of the stage, I determined 
 to know you. Imagine how pleased I was when I found 
 that you were George's sister. It made it so easy." 
 
 Claire felt herself flush at first, and hoped that it 
 would be hidden from Orville by the glow of the flames, 
 but in a moment a realizing sense of the complete im- 
 personality of Orville's manner reassured her. 
 
 "Good friends, disinterested friends are rare. When 
 I find such friends I will return their friendship in good 
 measure. You will probably think what I am saying is 
 peculiar, but you will admit that it is honest. I am 
 going to ask you if I may call, and I am making it plain 
 why I want to; I want your friendship. May I come to 
 see you?" 
 
 Claire answered, "Yes," hardly knowing what else 
 to say even if she should wish to. 
 
 "I have other friends," continued Orville, "men and 
 women. I believe in friendship; as a power it is more 
 valuable than almost anything else." 
 
142 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I should never imagine that you would feel the need 
 of it," Claire answered. 
 
 "I don't in the ordinary way, but to be strong and 
 successful you must have strong friendships. Or per- 
 haps I might say that to people with strong natures 
 strong friendships are a necessity." 
 
 "Then you think that they are not necessary to most 
 people?" 
 
 "Most people are not capable of them." 
 
 "George?" 
 
 "To be frank, no, although George is an able fel- 
 low." 
 
 "Aunt Adelaide?" wondering why she should be 
 impelled to discuss her with a stranger. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Helena?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Mr. Mallette?" 
 
 "Mallette!" — with a manner which indicated that 
 Mallette had probably never occupied so much as 
 twenty seconds of his thoughts — "Let me see," and 
 he looked over at him. 
 
 Helena and Mallette were seated partially facing 
 them on a sofa which stood in a corner of the room. 
 Mallette was looking out of the window toward Fifth 
 Avenue and speaking evidently of something they had 
 been looking at, a building, a group of persons, or the 
 general view, and as she spoke Claire saw that Helena's 
 glance, instead of following his, was resting on his face. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 143 
 
 Orville waited for Mallette to turn, and presently he 
 did so, to Helena, who instantly averted her gaze. 
 
 "He would be capable of friendship, I should say," 
 Orville remarked after a moment. " Good-looking fel- 
 low, but you can't tell about actors and people like 
 that. Too light-headed! Peculiar eyes, though! Do 
 you know anything about him?" 
 
 "Not much; he comes of a good English family." 
 She wished to talk of Mallette, but for some reason 
 forbore. 
 
 "They all do, of course," responded Orville with a 
 careless laugh, and instantly dismissing Mallette he 
 went on : " So if I can come to see you I shall be thankful. 
 May I?" 
 
 Claire almost wished not to say "Yes," but in spite 
 of herself she did so once more. Orville seemed so much 
 older, so different, so engaged in things of which she 
 knew nothing; why should he want to call on her? And 
 yet his impersonal, almost brotherly, manner impelled 
 her to accept what he had been saying at its face 
 value. 
 
 Adelaide, noticing Claire and Orville through the 
 library doorway, and deducing that Helena and Mallette 
 must be sitting together somewhere, shut her book and 
 came into the drawing-room. Helena, understanding 
 perfectly from this that Adelaide had definitely re- 
 belled against staying in the library any longer, and 
 that she did n't intend to allow her to flirt with Mallette 
 if she could prevent it, got up presently and, followed 
 
144 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 by Mallette, wearing a slight air of relief, came over 
 to the fireplace, but during the short interval elapsing 
 between Adelaide's appearance and her doing so, a 
 conversation had taken place between Adelaide, Claire, 
 and Orville. 
 
 "What a charming young man Mr. Mallette is," 
 Adelaide had said to Claire. "Helena said you had 
 met him before. Do you know anything about him?" 
 
 "He's an actor, of course you know," Orville an- 
 swered, Claire thought, rather mischievously. 
 
 "An actor!" Adelaide cried sharply. Her face in- 
 stantly took on a hard look, and she glanced at Mallette 
 vindictively as if saying to herself, " Then what earthly 
 right has he to be here?" She half rose as if she had 
 decided to go over to them, when Claire added hastily: 
 \ "Yes, but he is the only son of the head of Mallette's, 
 the great English jam manufacturers." 
 
 Adelaide sat down again, and immediately Claire 
 saw a dreamy look qome into her eyes, a look dreamily 
 speculative, instantly quenched on noticing that she 
 was under observation. 
 
 "A son of Mallette's, eh?" Orville remarked con- 
 templatively, and Adelaide asked in very much the 
 tone of voice George had used : 
 
 "Then what on earth is he doing on the stage?" 
 
 "Perhaps he likes it," answered Claire, "I see in the 
 papers that Sir Joseph Beecham, a son of the great 
 English pill manufacturer, is conducting an opera sea- 
 son in London." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 145 
 
 "But why hasn't he told anybody?" persisted 
 Adelaide. 
 
 "I don't know," Claire replied. 
 
 "I must say," remarked Adelaide, very much as 
 Caroline had, "I do like that in him! The English 
 are n't given to blowing their own trumpets the way we 
 Americans are — " And at that moment Helena and 
 Mallette joined them. 
 
 Adelaide suddenly seemed to have grown younger, 
 and prettier. Her manner toward Mallette which had 
 previously been compounded of an almost hostile curi- 
 osity and indifference, was now so flatteringly friendly 
 that it seemed as if she herself might be willing to 
 flirt with him if he wanted her to. Claire thought that 
 he shot at herself a glance of half -humorous inquiry, as 
 if asking her for an explanation, and Helena was plainly 
 puzzled by her mother's sudden change of front. 
 
 On saying good-night to Orville they found that his 
 limousine was waiting to transport them home, and as 
 Adelaide and Helena lived north of the Plaza and Claire, 
 Mallette, and Jamie south of it, it was decided to drop 
 the fprmer first. Adelaide asked Mallette to call with 
 real cordiality, and Helena, though still puzzled, step- 
 ping out and revealing a length of leg encased in a 
 stocking of thin silk, seemed to say on general principles 
 to the world at large, as she smiled her smile of artificial 
 sweetness, "Behold, I am smooth and beautiful. Would 
 you not like me? If you are rich enough, take me!" 
 The door clicked to richly once more, and Orville's 
 
146 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 car, containing Claire, Mallette, and Jamie, began a 
 stately progress down the Avenue. 
 
 For a time they sat in silence, but presently Jamie 
 exclaimed, "I think we need some exercise." 
 
 The same wish, it seemed, had occupied the others, 
 and after they had stopped the car by blowing through 
 a tube into the chauffeur's ear, they descended at Forty- 
 Second Street. The peculiar ghastliness of a Sunday 
 evening in New York lay around them, something 
 hushed and deadly, as if in all the buildings behind the 
 curtained windows, hidden by the walls, many people, 
 deprived of the occupation of either making money or 
 spending it, lay gasping in the clutches of a horrible 
 ennui, waiting for sleep to bridge the few remaining 
 hours which separated them from their cherished pur- 
 suits. 
 
 Claire had a confession to make to Mallette, so she 
 began: 
 
 "Did you want to keep who you really are — I mean 
 who your family is — secret, Mr. Mallette?" 
 
 "Not especially — one way or the other. Why, may 
 I ask?" 
 
 "Because I told Aunt Adelaide and — " 
 
 "It doesn't matter," Mallette answered; and al- 
 though he betrayed nothing Claire felt that Adelaide's 
 change of attitude was made clear to him. 
 
 "And I told Aunt Caroline, too. I think she has 
 written you and asked you to call — I mean," she cor- 
 rected herself, as if she had associated Caroline's writ- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 147 
 
 ing to him and her knowledge of his family connections 
 too closely, "I mean that they were n't really annoyed 
 about" — Jamie was on the other side and couldn't 
 hear her — "about the other night." 
 
 To her surprise Mallette did not answer at once; he 
 seemed to be weighing something, coming to some de- 
 cision, and Claire, without knowing what it portended, 
 its purpose or its content, waited for him to speak, and 
 as she waited he turned and looked at her suddenly, and 
 said: 
 
 "Then I may come? You would like me to?" And 
 as he spoke she saw a light of eagerness, almost of sup- 
 pliance, in his curious, smiling eyes. Once more Claire 
 said "yes," and as with Orville her answer seemed 
 fraught with an unusual significance. 
 
 "It's rather lonely sometimes in a strange country — 
 one longs for friends," he added after a moment. 
 
 "Yes, do come," Claire repeated. "Did I tell you that 
 Friday is my day? Come in next Friday if you can." 
 And speaking again so that Jamie could not hear, "I 
 would like to talk with you about — " and she made it 
 plain by an added significance of expression that she 
 wished to speak about Jamie, thinking, "How strange 
 that both he and Orville should have used that 
 word!" 
 
 It was quite late when she and Jamie let themselves 
 in. The fact that the outer door was closed indicating 
 that the rest of the family were at home, they climbed 
 the stairs warily, and bade each other good-night; but 
 
148 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 presently Jamie appeared in Claire's room, saying 
 guardedly : 
 
 "Orville isn't so bad. I thought he was a first-class 
 rotter at first. He 's got a splendid piano. Well, here 's 
 for another week of grind," and he yawned ruefully. 
 
 Claire put her arms around him and hugged him 
 tenderly. "Hold out for a little while, Jamie. We'll 
 manage somehow!" 
 
 "All right," answered Jamie, "good-night." He 
 started for the door, stopped, and then returned. 
 "But it was funny, Orville's dining here with George 
 the way he did. What on earth could Orville have 
 wanted of George? And what on earth can he want of 
 such an enormous suite of rooms — one man ! Lonely, 
 I should say, wandering around in them all by himself." 
 
 "Have you ever heard of him before, Jamie?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I've heard of him often, and seen his name 
 in the papers, but I did n't think when he came here 
 with George that it could be the Orville. He's got so 
 much money they say that he does n't know what to 
 do with it, but he won't stop making it on that account. 
 Those people in Wall Street are a funny lot. Their life 
 seems to me like sitting down at a roulette table as soon 
 as you are old enough to begin and staying there — ex- 
 cept for meals — until you die and are carried off. I 
 can't understand it. Of course it would be nice enough 
 to be able to have a car like Orville's and to have a 
 suite of rooms big enough to get lost in if you wanted 
 to, but if that's all you get out of it! Well, I suppose 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 149 
 
 he'll marry and take his wife there — that 's what I'd 
 do. I could n't stand a place like that all by myself — 
 well, good-night, Claire." 
 
 Claire undressed slowly. Jamie's words had set her 
 imagination at work, and she saw Orville wandering in 
 his spacious, brightly lighted rooms or sitting by his 
 fire, even that made more costly with its cedar logs, 
 surrounded by all the cunning snares of luxury, alone 
 in solitary splendor. She turned out her light and raised 
 the shades. The tenements were dark except for the 
 windows of one lighted room. Claire stood in her night- 
 dress, watching. The woman she had seen in bed suck- 
 ling her baby was now walking the floor with it, in a 
 kind of squalid undress. Her place in bed was empty, 
 but on the inner side of it two children lay asleep. These 
 from their long hair she could tell were girls, but cross- 
 wise on a mattress on the floor lay two boys and the 
 man she had noticed the night before smoking at the 
 window; she could see his swarthy face, his tousled 
 hair, and the dark tints of his unshaven jaw. They had 
 not undressed — except that they had removed their 
 shoes, revealing their torn and ragged stockings, and lay 
 in attitudes of discomfort, while the woman, the light 
 striking the sallow surfaces of her skin as she ap- 
 proached it in her walk, paced to and fro with an air of 
 one struggling against weariness and an overpowering 
 desire for sleep. 
 
CHAPTER VIH 
 
 Edward, George, and Jamie had all left for business 
 when Claire reached the dining-room on the following 
 morning. Edward and George always took the Elevated 
 at Eighth Street, which gave them an opportunity to 
 glance through their papers. Jamie, if he got up early 
 enough, walked across Washington Square and down 
 West Broadway, the office being in the wholesale 
 dry-goods district not much more than a mile to the 
 south. 
 
 Kate had not yet come down, and Caroline imme- 
 diately began: 
 
 "Do people have dances on Sunday nights now?" 
 
 "Not that I know of — why?" Claire answered. 
 
 "I don't know why people should wear evening 
 clothes on Sunday unless they were going to a dance. 
 You are n't getting tired of our old-fashioned ways, too, 
 are you, Claire?" And Caroline fixed her with her 
 sharp, handsome eyes. Claire knew at once that her 
 aunt had inspected her wardrobe after they had gone 
 out — Jamie's, too, perhaps — to discover what she 
 had worn. This expedient seemed so simple that Claire 
 wondered that she had n't thought of its possible use; 
 not that it mattered very much now. 
 
 "Mr. Orville, the man who came to dinner with 
 George the other night, was taking Aunt Adelaide and 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 151 
 
 Helena to dinner at the Ritz, and he asked Jamie and 
 me to go, too, and Mr. Mallette. We did n't want any- 
 body to know because we were afraid you might not 
 like it," Claire replied. 
 
 "We shouldn't have; don't let your uncle know. 
 Why did n't George go? He sat around here the whole 
 evening." 
 
 "He was n't asked." 
 
 "Well, I never!" Caroline exclaimed. "And Mr. 
 Orville his friend! Better not tell him. I don't know 
 what we're coming to," she went on, seemingly from 
 some hidden reason for perturbation. "Sometimes I 
 think you can't trust any one these days, even those 
 who are supposed to carry the righteous fear of God in 
 their hearts. As for the others ! well, they seem to think 
 that anything is right as long as they want to do it!" 
 She looked at Claire, and for the first time Claire no- 
 ticed those slight indications of disintegration which 
 begin to appear with advancing years. Her aunt, always 
 so large, firm, and handsome, all at once seemed to 
 show a wrinkle here and there, her flesh suddenly seemed 
 softer, the texture of her skin had deteriorated; Claire 
 saw her hand tremble, and looking at her eyes it seemed 
 to her that they were suffused with tears. These phe- 
 nomena in connection with her aunt were so absolutely 
 novel that Claire stared at her in surprise, asking, 
 
 "Is anything the matter, Aunt Caroline?" 
 
 "The matter! Of course there are things the matter! 
 Is n't Jamie worry enough, and now your running about 
 
152 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 the way you do? I'm sure I don't know why you can't 
 understand the responsibility you are and try to help 
 us!" And she got up, pushed her chair under the table, 
 and disappeared into the back hall. Claire saw her 
 presently ascending the stairs, an unprecedented thing, 
 as at this hour she always went down to interview the 
 cook, and decided that she had gone up to bathe her 
 eyes; but she somehow doubted Caroline's statement 
 that she and Jamie were the cause of her agitation. 
 
 Maggie came in bearing an egg-cup on a plate. This 
 egg-cup, which was of plain white china and which 
 was shaped something like an hour-glass except that 
 one end was larger than the other, consisted of two re- 
 ceptacles of different sizes joined together. The smaller 
 was for holding a single egg upright in its shell, the 
 larger for having eggs broken into it. Into the larger 
 receptacle Maggie had emptied two soft-boiled eggs, 
 American fashion, and this, with its supporting plate, 
 she now placed before Claire with a bump. Because of 
 some congenital inability to gauge properly the dis- 
 tance between the table and the approaching dish, 
 Maggie had a trick of bumping things down. 
 
 After putting down the egg-cup, she proceeded to 
 pour Claire a cup of coffee, bumping that down, too, at 
 the right of her plate. Claire consigned two lumps of 
 sugar to its depths, added a dash of cream, helped her- 
 self to a piece of hot cornbread from a plate which 
 Maggie, reappearing, had just bumped down, and then, 
 noticing that the morning paper was lying dormant be- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 153 
 
 side Caroline's place, she reached over for it and began 
 reading it luxuriously while she slowly consumed her 
 breakfast. After the strenuous experiences of the past 
 three days, and still influenced by the relaxation of 
 sleep, she viewed with fortitude the prospect of the 
 empty week which faced her, the more so as she was 
 unaccustomed, by training, habit, or education rather 
 than by any inherent predisposition, to fixed habits 
 of industry, and was completely dependent on the 
 small duties she herself created to escape from that 
 sense of aimless boredom with which so many women 
 are afflicted. 
 
 Claire finished her breakfast, and, carrying the paper 
 with her, passed through the library into the parlor, 
 and seated herself in an armchair which stood in the 
 embrasure of one of the windows. The window was 
 open, and that first balmy hint of spring still warmed 
 the air. After the listless despair of Sunday the street 
 basked in the hopeful contentment of a Monday morn- 
 ing. A slight clatter of dishes came from the rear of the 
 house, but presently the rolling to of the sliding doors 
 which led to the dining-room shut these sounds out and 
 a period of quiet followed. The house was still, and in 
 the street only an occasional pedestrian passed with an 
 air of leisurely enjoyment. 
 
 Presently, diagonally across the way the door of Mr. 
 Weston's house opened, and Mr. Weston himself came 
 down the steps — a thick blond young man with a 
 small blond mustache and a head of thick blond hair 
 
154 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 on which was perched a smallish Hombourg hat. Mr. 
 Weston was the individual mentioned the morning be- 
 fore at the breakfast table who annoyed Edward by 
 not paying his rent. He taught vocal culture and gave 
 lessons on the piano, and at times Claire and Jamie had 
 stopped to listen to the sound of a robustious voice issu- 
 ing from his house to the accompaniment of a piano 
 which had plainly seen better days. 
 
 Mr. Weston, as he passed the Nicholson house on the 
 opposite side of the street, gazed so persistently up at 
 its windows that Claire, screened by the dark green 
 cast-iron railing of the balcony which crossed the house 
 on a level with the parlor floor, watched him, wondering 
 if anything of an unusual nature was attracting his at- 
 tention; but almost at once Mr. Weston's face ex- 
 panded into a gallant smile, and, still looking up, he 
 removed his hat with an elegant gesture. Claire was 
 surprised, but applying herself instantly to the solution 
 of the mystery she perceived that the angle of his up- 
 ward glance indicated that he was looking at Aunt 
 Kate's windows, and as she had not yet come down, it 
 must be with Kate herself that he was exchanging 
 greetings, greetings, moreover, of a startling character 
 of friendliness. 
 
 Mr. Weston passed out of sight, and immediately a 
 door closed above and some one began to descend the 
 stairs. Claire raised the paper and became absorbed. 
 The steps reached the first floor and were passing the 
 parlor door when they stopped abruptly. Claire, behind 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 155 
 
 her paper, could almost see that Kate, discovering that 
 she might have been a witness of Weston's salute, had 
 paused for a moment in consternation. Claire did not 
 move, and Kate continued her journey to the dining- 
 room without speaking and without claiming her right 
 to the newspaper which Claire was holding. To Claire 
 this was the most convincing proof that Kate had been 
 seriously disturbed by finding her in the parlor. 
 
 This incident, although of passing interest, made no 
 great impression on Claire and by the time she had 
 finished the paper, had receded into an oblivion, whence 
 it was to be called only by later events. Leaving the 
 paper in the chair she had been occupying, she now 
 ascended to her room, and getting out various articles 
 of apparel she sat down by a little workstand and began 
 mending them, assuming immediately that peculiar atti- 
 tude of domestic absorption characteristic of all women 
 when engaged in similar occupations. At such times 
 women rarely think, nor did Claire, but occasionally, 
 when her hands holding her sewing rested for a time on 
 her lap and her eyes lifted themselves contemplatively, 
 one could have seen that her mind was once more at 
 work. She was thinking carelessly of a variety of things, 
 of certain purchases she intended to make, a hat or two, 
 some summer gowns; of the wretched family she had 
 seen the night before; but most of all of Jamie and the 
 problem he presented. She was not very much troubled 
 by it, because, although she knew well enough that care 
 and patience would be needed, she hoped that her in- 
 
156 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 fluence now that she was forewarned would easily save 
 him; but what harrowed her conscience was the fact 
 that she should have never noticed things which must 
 have been there for the noticing had she not been too 
 dull or too preoccupied with her own affairs or too 
 naive to understand them; and during all that period 
 of easy blindness on her part Jamie had been getting in 
 deeper and deeper. 
 
 From the family no help could be expected. Their 
 attitude toward Jamie would be one of dour watching, 
 which would arouse resentment on Jamie's part and 
 make her task more difficult — it was n't going to be 
 easy; and she was glad that Mallette was coming in on 
 Friday so that she would have some one to discuss it 
 with, and after all, with the optimism with which people 
 regard almost all such cases, no doubt it would all 
 come right in the end. 
 
 Half an hour before luncheon-time she put on her 
 things and went for a brisk walk, leaving the house 
 again immediately after luncheon for an afternoon of 
 shopping. At five she took a bus to its terminus at 
 Washington Square, and from there walked down to 
 meet Jamie — this had been agreed on the night before 
 — under the metallic clatter of the Elevated and 
 through the odors and noises of the untidy street. 
 Presently she saw his trim figure advancing with its 
 cheerful, lively step. He was swinging his stick gayly, 
 and on perceiving Claire he waved a welcome with 
 one of his inimitable waggish gestures which always 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 157 
 
 made Claire laugh. They locked arms and started north 
 together. 
 
 "Did everything go all right to-day, darling?" 
 Claire asked. 
 
 "Tip-top ! George did n't turn up " — George was in 
 a broker's office in the "Street" — "and I always get 
 along better the days I don't see him — Whew, what a 
 racket ! Let 's hurry out of this ! " And quickening their 
 pace they reached the Square and began crossing toward 
 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 "I say, Claire," Jamie began suddenly, "what do you 
 suppose?" 
 
 "Well, what?" replied Claire. 
 
 "You must keep this absolutely to yourself," he 
 added impressively. 
 
 "All right; what is it?" 
 
 "Uncle Edward had a call from a lady to-day!" he 
 announced with a significant air. 
 
 "What of it, Jamie?" 
 
 "You ought to have seen her!" Jamie whistled. 
 "Pretty as a picture, but — well, you know!" 
 
 "But, Jamie, she might have — " 
 
 "I know," Jamie interrupted; "she might have been 
 a buyer for an uptown dry-goods shop, or a drummer, or 
 she might have been soliciting subscriptions for woman's 
 suffrage — only she was n't — I'm no fool, Claire. I'll 
 tell you just what happened. You know our offices 
 take up the whole first floor and the entrance to them 
 is in the center of the building at the front. You've 
 
158 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 been there, have n't you? Well, at the side there's an- 
 other entrance which you take when you want to get to 
 the stairway leading to the upper floors. Nobody ever 
 uses this entrance because the upper floors are vacant, 
 and there's no way of getting to it from our place ex- 
 cept that Uncle Edward's office has a door leading into 
 it — although until to-day I did n't know that he ever 
 used it. Well, I'd been out to lunch, and as smoking 
 is n't allowed in the office, and as I had n't finished my 
 cigarette, I went in to the side entrance and sat down 
 on the bottom step to finish it — " Jamie interrupted 
 himself to say ruefully, "I'm a prize, Claire, for get- 
 ting myself into trouble with the family! — I had n't 
 been there two minutes when the door leading to Un- 
 cle Edward's office opened part way and the lady 
 slipped out. I was sitting right opposite, and as I 
 looked up I saw Uncle Edward inside and he saw me, 
 but he did n't say a word, but jerked his head back 
 and shut and locked the door as quick as anything. 
 The lady gave me a look as if she kind of knew who 
 I was, and out she went — and, Claire, she was awfully 
 pretty and awfully well dressed, but — well, you know. 
 You could have knocked me over with a feather! Of 
 course, Edward will be more down on me than ever 
 now!" 
 
 Although Jamie told his story in his usual casual, not 
 to say flippant, manner, Claire saw that he had re- 
 ceived a shock as if some element of faith, which even 
 if unformulated, all men cherish, had been upset for 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 159 
 
 him. Jamie's experience had plainly proved, he be- 
 lieved, that Edward was not what he pretended to be. 
 Claire wondered whether he had been given a glimpse 
 of the real Edward which she had thought at times 
 must exist somewhere, but whom she had never been 
 able to find, and a sinking sensation, as if something 
 were giving way beneath her feet, as if she had received 
 a dizzying blow, caused her to walk in silence, and sud- 
 denly she remembered Caroline's expression at break- 
 fast, her perturbation, her swimming eyes, and won- 
 dered if the real reason for them lay in what Jamie had 
 been telling her. 
 
 Claire, without knowing why, believed what Jamie 
 believed — to her horror — and an awful realization 
 confronted her that in the future there would be hidden 
 in the house in Ninth Street, away from the world, a 
 disgraceful and terrible secret, to which she would be 
 a party. Edward's secret! And Jamie's secret! Poor 
 Jamie had one, too. The simple machinery of life 
 seemed to be becoming complicated and sinister, and 
 recalling suddenly Mr. Weston's thick smile and the 
 knowing quality of the flourish with which he had 
 bowed toward Kate's windows, she wondered if Kate, 
 too, had hers. 
 
 During these cogitations Jamie had walked quietly 
 beside her, and as they had reached their door they 
 went up, still in silence, each preoccupied and rather 
 hushed, as if since morning the house had become 
 permeated with a strange and subtly disturbing atmos- 
 
160 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 phere. But as they were separating on the landing 
 Jamie whispered: 
 
 "Let's dine out somewhere, Claire!" 
 
 "Oh, no, Jamie! We can't again, so soon! The only 
 thing is not to take anything for granted and act as if 
 nothing unusual had happened. After all, we don't 
 really know. And we have n't any right to assume 
 things, have we?" 
 
 About seven, therefore, the doors of Claire's and 
 Jamie's rooms opened, as did Caroline's, Kate's, and 
 George's, and the Nicholson family went down to 
 dinner, to find Edward seated as usual reading the 
 paper under the library chandelier. Strange as it 
 seemed to Claire, Edward was precisely the same 
 Edward he always had been; no more quiet nor talk- 
 ative, nor preoccupied nor taciturn, nor facetious nor 
 solemn, than he was wont to be. He betrayed no con- 
 sciousness of having been discovered in any dubious 
 situation, and his attitude toward Jamie showed no 
 modification of any kind, bestowing on him a degree of 
 favor not a shade more or less than usual; in fact, per- 
 haps, rather less, owing to Jamie's recent escapade. 
 
 And yet to Claire the house was not the same. 
 
 Caroline had recovered from her agitation of the 
 morning and conversation flowed as usual. 
 
 "And so Mr. Orville is Dudley Orville, the financier! " 
 began Caroline. "Well! Well! You want to keep on 
 the right side of him, George!" George had exploded a 
 bomb the day before, no less potent than Claire's reve- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 161 
 
 lation of the origin of Mallette. "Why did n't you tell 
 us?" 
 
 "I thought, of course, you'd know," George answered. 
 
 "I wondered what he dined with George for?" Jamie 
 hazarded. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he?" Edward demanded; and 
 George retorted, "Because I asked him to!" 
 
 Jamie decided not to pursue the subject, but Kate 
 went on with it by saying: "There isn't any reason 
 why he should n't, but why did he? George is only a 
 clerk in a broker's office, while Mr. Orville is a well- 
 known capitalist." 
 
 "Say financier," suggested George. "I'm not sure 
 whether he's in the capitalist class yet or not. There's 
 quite a difference. And as for his coming here, I'll tell 
 you the exact reason!" George seemed in splendid 
 spirits, so evidently so that Jamie could n't help asking, 
 "What's the matter with you? Made some money on 
 the Street to-day?" thereby directing to himself, from 
 Edward and Caroline, certain disapproving glances 
 which seemed to say, "Since disgracing yourself the 
 other night, it would be more seemly if you did n't have 
 so much to say for yourself!" And Jamie subsided once 
 more. 
 
 "He came," George went on, "because he thinks I 
 may be useful to him ! " Which was n't the exact reason 
 at all — partly, perhaps; but George knew that Orville 
 had liked Claire's looks, and while quite content that 
 it should be so, did not intend to let it lessen his own 
 
162 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 importance, with Orville, the financier, in the public 
 eye. 
 
 "I must say," Caroline observed, "he seemed very 
 democratic for such a wealthy man!" 
 
 "He's got a splendid piano!" Jamie's voice was 
 heard once more. He stopped abruptly and was seen to 
 be tremendously absorbed in his dinner. But the acute 
 George, after a moment's silence, demanded, "How do 
 you know? " 
 
 Jamie cast a despairing glance at Claire. 
 
 "Well, Jamie, you are a fool!" This from Caroline; 
 and Claire, realizing that there was no help for it, in- 
 formed the table of their engagement of the night be- 
 fore. The news plainly flabbergasted George and re- 
 duced him to a wondering silence, with which the heavy 
 disapproval of Edward's manner seemed to mingle. 
 
 This was broken presently by Edward himself, who, 
 turning his light grayish-green eyes on Jamie, asked 
 him, "Did you drink anything there?" referring to 
 their dinner at the Ritz. 
 
 "Of course I did n't, uncle. Ask Claire!" 
 
 "Do you think that is the way to help your brother 
 to avoid temptation?" Edward demanded of Claire; 
 and, without waiting for an answer, he asked Caroline 
 whether she had known where they were going. 
 
 "No; Claire told me this morning. There's no use 
 crying over spilt milk, so I was n't going to say any- 
 thing about it!" Caroline explained. 
 
 "Very well, then," Edward answered; "I did n't ex- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 163 
 
 pect much of Jamie, but if Claire has n't any better 
 judgment than to go to places like the Ritz with him — 
 on Sunday night, too — I shall have to forbid your go- 
 ing anywhere of an evening without my permission." 
 
 This ultimatum caused Claire to flush, and Jamie to 
 turn sulky. 
 
 Edward presently finished and descended to his base- 
 ment room as usual, Caroline and Kate disappeared, 
 Kate upstairs and Caroline into the lower regions, and 
 Claire, George, and Jamie found themselves alone in 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 "It's funny he did n't ask me!" George at length re- 
 marked gloomily. 
 
 "He'll probably ask you next time," Jamie observed 
 generously. "Besides, you could n't have gone, anyway. 
 You're an usher on Sunday nights." 
 
 "Oh, shut up!" answered George. "Did he say any- 
 thing about me, Claire?" 
 
 "Yes, he did," replied Claire. "He said you were 
 very able." 
 
 "Did he?" exclaimed George, highly mollified. 
 
 "I told you he wanted something of you. Next time 
 I'll try to find out what it is for you," said Jamie. 
 
 "There won't be any next time for you" George re- 
 torted with ominous significance. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Did n't you hear what Uncle Edward said?" 
 
 "I'll go if I want to," Jamie answered resentfully. 
 
 "You'll be a fool if you do!" 
 
164 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "No, Jamie, you mustn %'* said Claire. "Promise!" 
 But, Jamie wearing his stubborn expression, sat 
 down at the piano and began to play. 
 
 This was Monday. On Tuesday nothing of special 
 note occurred, nor on Wednesday; but on Thursday 
 night Jamie did not come home to dinner. This fla- 
 grant inattention to Edward's definite command cast a 
 shadow over the meal and destroyed Claire's appetite. 
 Caroline wondered fretfully and audibly what had be- 
 come of him, and Edward maintained a silence loaded 
 with significance. Claire went to her room immediately 
 after dinner, but descended almost at once and rang 
 up Mallette. To her relief, and a little to her surprise, 
 his voice presently answered her. He had seen nothing 
 of Jamie. Claire had feared that Jamie might be repeat- 
 ing his performance of a previous night in Mallette's 
 company. 
 
 Claire again ascended the stairs. 
 
 At quarter-past ten Caroline and Kate came up to 
 their rooms; at half -past, George's door closed; and a 
 little after eleven Claire heard Edward's heavy tread. 
 Claire took up a book and sat down prepared to wait 
 for Jamie's arrival, but almost at once she heard Ed- 
 ward's voice below, and an instant later recognized 
 Jamie's. He must have closed the front door, when he 
 came in, too softly for her to hear. Claire stepped into 
 the hall and listened. Jamie, on one of the lower steps 
 of the stairs leading to their floor, was explaining his 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 165 
 
 absence to Edward, who was standing in his doorway, 
 Jamie, in an apparently sober voice, so far as Claire 
 could tell, was recounting how he had met a friend who 
 had tickets for the opera — a performance of "The 
 Secret of Suzanne," which he particularly wanted to 
 hear — and who had invited him to go provided he 
 dined with him first. Jamie explained that he had not 
 thought that there was any harm in just dining on short 
 notice that way, and he had accepted, intending to 
 telephone after dinner and ask if he, Uncle Edward, 
 objected to his attending the opera. In fact he had 
 telephoned, but had been told that the Nicholson num- 
 ber was busy — had tried twice, in fact, with the same 
 result, and could not do so again without being late for 
 the opera. Upon Edward's asking him why he had n't 
 taken the trouble to telephone between the acts, he re- 
 plied that it had n't occurred to him. 
 
 Edward listened to this explanation with an air indi- 
 cating that he would have to think it over before de- 
 ciding whether to accept it or not, and, turning, dis- 
 appeared into his room. 
 
 Claire waited by her door, and as Jamie came up, 
 beckoned to him, but Jamie, with a shake of the head, 
 put a finger to his lips, pointed downward, and with a 
 smile which seemed not exactly like Jamie, went into 
 his room and closed the door. Claire stepped into the 
 hall, and looking down saw the possible reason for 
 Jamie's gesture — Edward's door stood slightly ajar. 
 And yet — never before, during all their lives, even from 
 
166 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 their earliest days, had Jamie rebuffed her. A sadness, 
 an overwhelming depression seized her, and as she 
 stood there it seemed to her that there came to her 
 nostrils, but very faintly, a trace of that smell, that odor 
 of drink, which had first — that night when she had 
 found him with Mallette — revealed his condition to 
 her. 
 
 Claire undressed and got into bed. There was nothing 
 to be done — perhaps, even, everything had happened 
 precisely as he had said, and she realized that palpably 
 to doubt him, when he was really telling the truth, 
 would, where Jamie was concerned, be the gravest of 
 mistakes. She, at all events, must not. Certainly, his 
 story was in itself not at all improbable. He said that he 
 had tried twice to get the house — the first time might 
 easily have been the moment when she was talking to 
 Mallette, and although she could not remember that 
 the telephone had been used again, everybody knew 
 how often Central made mistakes. As for forgetting to 
 try again between the acts, that was so like Jamie, when 
 under the spell of music, that it seemed to stamp with 
 indubitable verity the whole tale. 
 
 And yet, Claire doubted — tried not to doubt, yet 
 doubted — and doubting fell into an uneasy sleep. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Mallette called on Friday afternoon and for a num- 
 ber of following Fridays. Orville, too, began to call, al- 
 ways in the evenings. As Mallette's evenings were 
 occupied with the exception of Sundays — when he 
 occasionally dropped in — and as Orville never called 
 on Sunday evenings, they did not meet. 
 
 It was seen at the Nicholsons' that Claire had two 
 assiduants of a character quite different from the neigh- 
 boring boy friends of her adolescence, and they derived 
 a certain pride from the fact, to which they gave ex- 
 pression by occasional jokes at table at Claire's expense. 
 Claire did not mind; on the contrary, the fact that two 
 mature admirers had become obvious enough to arouse 
 their comment rather pleased her, and if it had not 
 been for her concern over Jamie's future and certain 
 other things, she would have been quite happy. 
 
 The manner and the circumstances of Claire's inter- 
 course with each were quite characteristic. Claire's days 
 never produced more than a caller or two, and as the 
 season advanced, even these failed her. Friday after- 
 noon, therefore, usually found her in the drawing-room 
 alone with Mallette. They would sit quietly, each 
 drinking a number of cups of tea, discussing, amicably 
 and in a perfectly impersonal way, the things which 
 interested them and then Mallette would go away. 
 
168 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire knew instinctively that there was an element of 
 daring in Mallette's character, and the contrast between 
 this known quality and his quiet, almost controlled, 
 manner when with her aroused in her speculation and a 
 little amusement. But with Orville, how different ! Once 
 or twice a week the bell would ring, Orville's strong 
 voice would be heard in the hall, and looking out one 
 would see Orville's superlative motor, with its aspect of 
 noiseless and quiescent power, standing motionless by 
 the curb. Orville would come into the parlor with his 
 assured laugh, chaff Aunt Caroline a little if she hap- 
 pened to be there, filling the room with the radiations 
 of his strong and vital personality. But he was always 
 restless, and presently jumping up he would bundle 
 Claire into the motor with Jamie, or George if he hap- 
 pened to be at home; or even Aunt Caroline, as 
 chaperon for a ride through the Park or up Riverside, 
 always insisting on a stop somewhere, at some restau- 
 rant, where they would sit listening to the music long 
 enough to eat an ice, but not longer, when Orville would 
 be ready to be off again. But he was always gay, with a 
 chaffing, impersonal, paternal air which Claire liked. 
 
 The Nicholsons belonged to that old generation of 
 New Yorkers, of which many still exist here and there, 
 who have never owned country places, who prefer 
 New York at all seasons, and who, if they leave it at all, 
 do so by going sometimes during the dog-days for a week 
 or two to a hotel — at the seashore or in the mountains. 
 
 July, therefore, still found them at Ninth Street. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 169 
 
 Caroline was talking about taking Claire to the White 
 Mountains sometime in August, but the others seemed 
 indisposed to leave. Indeed, Edward and Kate had not 
 spent a night away from home for ten years, except 
 that Edward absented himself at regular intervals to 
 visit the button factory. George and Jamie took what 
 change of air they wanted in occasional visits to near-by 
 beaches, and George, in addition belonged to a subur- 
 ban golf club with some pretensions to smartness. 
 
 On the fifteenth of May painters appeared in re- 
 sponse to orders from Caroline, the window shutters 
 were brought up from the cellar, and, supported on 
 empty barrels in the back yard, were given their annual 
 application of dark green paint. On the twenty-second 
 they were hung at all the windows in the house, to be 
 ready for use in case the hot wave which often arrived 
 during the end of May should make its appearance. As 
 soon as it was seen that the warm weather was indubit- 
 ably at hand, the shutters began to be manipulated 
 with classic regularity. All must be closed throughout 
 the house upon rising and must remain so during the 
 day. A certain latitude as to the adjustment of slats 
 to admit light was permitted, but the shutters them- 
 selves must be kept closed as if they belonged to the 
 carapace of some large animal to which the blaze of 
 summer was inimical. During the hottest hours of the 
 day, the windows too were shut, and under these rigid 
 regulations, on the observance of which Caroline in- 
 sisted, the interior of the house resembled a cool, dark 
 
170 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 cavern withdrawn from the arid blaze of the summer 
 sun. 
 
 But as evening approached, and as the glare of day 
 began to wane, the raising of windows could be heard, 
 the sound of shutters being thrown open and catching 
 in their hooks as they collided with the brick walls of 
 the house. The front door would stand ajar, secured by 
 its chain bolt, and the casement windows of the draw- 
 ing-room would be pushed back by Maggie during her 
 post-dinner progress of the lower rooms. The sound of 
 water running into or out of tubs would be heard, and 
 presently the Nicholsons, bathed and freshly clothed, 
 would gather in the dining-room to assemble around a 
 table less brightly lighted than in winter. In the library 
 one gas-jet only burned in the chandelier, and in that 
 of the drawing-room none. The lamps, too, were dis- 
 pensed with, as giving out too much heat, and only 
 the lights in the side brackets were maintained. After 
 dinner Edward would descend to his sanctum, where 
 in the dusk, periodically illumined by the glow of his 
 cigar, he might be dimly distinguished seated in his 
 shirt-sleeves, motionless, as if lost in the depths of some 
 secret preoccupation. So it had always been. 
 
 So, too, was it the habit of Caroline and Kate to re- 
 tire, at an earlier hour than in winter, to their rooms, 
 where, removing their corsets, they would sit by their 
 windows languidly waving palm-leaf fans, and so, too, 
 did the habits of the younger generation, fortified by 
 the vitality of youth, remain unchanged. Jamie would 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 171 
 
 sit at the piano, Claire by one of the drawing-room win- 
 dows, while George was likely to be off somewhere in 
 pursuit of one of the many purposes with which he had 
 already begun to fill his life. 
 
 So the routine of the Nicholson family went on as 
 formerly, but to Claire it was no longer the same. Under 
 the glazed surfaces of its smoothly flowing current, she 
 had begun to fear that elements of danger existed whose 
 nature she could comprehend only in part, and she 
 had begun to realize, too, under the influence of her 
 confused forebodings, the complicated nature of man. 
 These entities around her — Edward, Caroline, Kate, 
 George, even her darling Jamie — were resolving them- 
 selves, under the stress of circumstances and of Claire's 
 maturing eye, into complicated personalities charged 
 with all manner of undreamed-of potentialities, and 
 were demanding more thought of her, as if they had 
 suddenly revealed themselves as difficult riddles re- 
 quiring solution. 
 
 Before dinner one evening, as she sat alone in the 
 drawing-room, she heard Jamie come in and go up to 
 his room. She saw him through the partly open draw- 
 ing-room door as he ascended, and something about 
 his movements and the sound of his footsteps, which 
 lacked their usual elasticity, caused her to go up after 
 him. She knocked and called to him, and with a voice 
 muffled by the sound of water splashing in his wash- 
 basin, he had answered her, but had not opened his 
 door. Claire went into her room to wait for him, but 
 
172 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 presently, as her clock struck seven, she went down to 
 dinner. 
 
 "Where's Jamie?" Caroline asked, as Edward fin- 
 ished carving. "Has n't he come in yet?" Continuing, 
 as Claire answered in the affirmative, "Maggie, go up 
 and see why he does n't come down!" 
 
 Maggie went up, and her voice could be heard faintly 
 from above, calling "Misther Jamie! Misther Jamie!" 
 interspersed evidently with rappings. After a longish 
 wait, during which her absence disorganized the usual 
 procedure of dinner, she returned, saying that he would 
 be down presently. There was another wait, and at last, 
 when dessert had been almost reached, Jamie came 
 into the room. Claire knew, before she had even looked 
 at him, by some process of intuition, that something 
 was wrong, and only hoped that the others would not 
 notice it. He sat down, glancing quickly and, Claire 
 thought, half defiantly, around the table. 
 
 "Will ye have some soup, Misther Jamie?" This 
 from Maggie. 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 The voice was abrupt and slighty muffled, not 
 Jamie's voice, and Claire saw that George was looking 
 at him intently. No one else, however, seemed to be 
 aware of anything unusual. 
 
 "Did n't you hear the gong?" Caroline asked. 
 
 Jamie's answer was not quite intelligible. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I say I was reading!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 173 
 
 "Oh! Well, your dinner will be spoiled. Don't you 
 want some soup? Maggie will have it heated for you?" 
 
 Again a response which could not be distinguished. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I said, no, thank you!" 
 
 Claire dared not look at him directly, but she was 
 aware that he was leaning back in his chair, in an ex- 
 aggeratedly easy pose, and that his fingers, twisting 
 the stem of his goblet of water, were turning it round 
 and round as it stood on the table. Kate made some 
 observation which aroused a general conversation for 
 a moment, but presently, during a period of quiet, 
 Jamie's voice rose, saying, 
 
 "Say, Claire! Did you know that Mallette's a great 
 admirer of yours? He says — " 
 
 "Never mind, Jamie," Claire answered as casually 
 as she could, and yet flushing in spite of herself. 
 
 "Wait a minute!" returned Jamie, with an air of 
 obstinacy, "I want to — " 
 
 There was evident in his speech a slight thickness 
 which began to attract attention. 
 
 "Oh, shut up!" George cried. "Nobody cares 
 what — " 
 
 "Wait a minute!" Jamie repeated with irritation. 
 "He says — " 
 
 "Oh!" A sharp exclamation interrupted him, and 
 Caroline jumped up from her chair shaking her skirt. 
 Jamie had upset his goblet and the water was running 
 into her lap. George emitted an exclamation of annoy- 
 
174 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ance and disgust, and looked about him at the others 
 with an expression which seemed to say, "Well, what 
 did I tell you!" Jamie's color had heightened, and in a 
 voice whose articulation was now unmistakably thick, 
 he began to apologize. Everybody looked at Edward, 
 who was looking at Jamie fixedly. 
 
 "You'd better go upstairs!" he commanded at last 
 with an air of finality. 
 
 "All right!" answered Jamie, more thickly than ever. 
 He got up, looked defiantly around the room once more, 
 and went out. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed George with exasperation. " There 
 you are! What are you going to do about it?" 
 
 But nobody seemed to know. 
 
 A cure was suggested, but while each member of the 
 family shrank from recommending it to Jamie, and 
 thereby branding him to his face as a drunkard, all 
 from Edward down felt it necessary to scold him se- 
 verely, even Claire. 
 
 Claire's encounter with him took place the following 
 morning. She had had breakfast and for an hour had 
 been sitting in the drawing-room with the newspaper, 
 Kate for some unknown reason having risen early and 
 gone out immediately after breakfast. 
 
 He had descended the stairs and gone into the dining- 
 room, whence issued for a time the sound of desultory 
 exchanges with Maggie and the occasional clatter of a 
 dish, but presently, having evidently completed his 
 breakfast, he came quickly down the hall and into the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 175 
 
 drawing-room plainly under the impression that it was 
 empty, for on seeing Claire he stopped with a faint ex- 
 clamation of surprise and a sudden accession of con- 
 fusion in his manner. Claire sprang to her feet, avoided 
 him by a wide detour, and without a word made for the 
 door, but as she reached it he cried "Claire!" with an 
 accent so despairing that her heart seemed in that in- 
 stant to turn fluid. Controlling herself, she stopped 
 and faced him. 
 
 "What do you want?" she demanded, flushed and 
 scornful. 
 
 "Claire," he repeated, looking at her miserably, and 
 sinking on to the piano-stool he folded his arms on the 
 piano and dropped his head upon them, saying pres- 
 ently, his voice muffled in the sleeve of his coat, "I'm 
 so unhappy!" 
 
 "Why should you be unhappy? You do what you 
 like. You make us unhappy, but why you should be, 
 I don't understand!" 
 
 "I don't do what I like!" Jamie cried almost hysteri- 
 cally, jumping up and clenching his hands fiercely. "I 
 tell you I don't!" 
 
 "Why do you do it, then?" 
 
 "How do I know? Do you suppose it's because I 
 want to?" 
 
 "Then, when you stop, I'll begin to believe once 
 more that you care a little about me, Jamie!" 
 
 Jamie began pacing excitedly up and down, saying 
 over and over, "I wish I were dead ! I wish I were dead," 
 
176 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 when suddenly with that emotional calculation which is 
 woman's second nature, Claire began to cry. Sinking 
 into Caroline's chair which stood by the small table she 
 began to cry, pressing her handkerchief tremblingly 
 against her eyes. And at the spectacle of her abandon- 
 ment Jamie stopped abruptly. From an access of sub- 
 jective commiseration she had drawn him quickly to 
 think only of herself, and almost at once she felt his 
 arms encircle her shoulders. 
 
 "Claire, please, please! I love you so!" 
 
 "You don't!" she answered between her sobs. 
 
 "I do, I do, Claire!" he repeated imploringly. 
 
 "You don't! You only think about yourself ! If you 
 did n't you would have seen how unhappy you 've been 
 making me!" 
 
 "Don't cry, Claire! Please, please don't cry! I 
 swear I '11 never do it again ! Please, please ! " And under 
 the stress of his entreaties Claire gradually grew calmer. 
 Jamie would have taken her in his arms, remembering 
 that first strong embrace here in this room after Claire's 
 first discovery, but now she would not yield herself. 
 She was forgiving him, as she must let him know, only 
 in so much as he might deserve that forgiveness in the 
 future, and Jamie understood. 
 
 Claire had not relaxed her efforts to induce Edward 
 to allow Jamie to go to Paris, but she had been quite 
 unsuccessful. She had attempted to carry out a vigor- 
 ous campaign in Jamie's behalf, but had been unable 
 to arouse the slightest interest in any one. Aunt Ade- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 177 
 
 laide had promised to speak to Edward about it, but 
 had never done so, and when Claire had mentioned it 
 to him again, going down into his sanctum one summer's 
 night, he had sat silent while she had marshaled her 
 arguments only to ask a question at the end so irrele- 
 vant as to convince her that he had hardly heard her. 
 
 "But, uncle, you have n't listened!" 
 
 He let himself down heavily, having been tilted back 
 in his office chair, his cigar glowing and paling alter- 
 nately. 
 
 "Yes, I have. It was about Jamie, was n't it?" 
 
 "Yes, about his going to Paris." 
 
 "No, no! Nonsense! Out of the question!" As if 
 from the recesses of her immature brain she had pro- 
 pounded something too futile to be worthy of a serious 
 answer. 
 
 Only one offer of help materialized and of that she 
 could not avail herself. Kate had said to her: 
 
 "Mr. Weston — you know — the young singing 
 teacher who lives across the street — says that Jamie 
 ought to go by all means. He feels so strongly about it 
 that he said he would speak to Edward himself if I 
 wanted him to." 
 
 "Do you know him, Aunt Kate?" Claire asked. 
 
 "Slightly! He's very talented. Do you think he 
 could help?" 
 
 "I don't think uncle likes him," Claire answered. 
 "He does n't pay his rent or something, does he?" 
 
 Kate made an impatient gesture. 
 
178 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Your uncle never will understand some things!" 
 she answered. 
 
 "Well, yes — " replied Claire doubtfully; "but if he 
 ought to pay it and does n't — " 
 
 "He does n't think of such things! He's so preoccu- 
 pied. You should hear his exposition of Wagner. It's 
 simply wonderful. He's going to be a great man some 
 day. Wouldn't you like to hear him?" And Claire 
 answered, politely, that she would. 
 
 This conversation took place in Claire's room late one 
 afternoon. From across the way the ceaseless racket of 
 the tenements came to her borne on occasional languid 
 waves of an atmosphere impregnated with the odor of 
 warm soapsuds and of sour rags. ■ Claire suddenly 
 drooped under a feeling of exhaustion. In two days 
 August would be there, and she had not yet had one 
 breath of country air. From behind the screen of tene- 
 ments from the street beyond, soaring above the dull 
 roar of traffic, rose the long-drawn cries of itinerant 
 vendors. She looked at her clock. It was half -past five. 
 That passive hour of late afternoon had arrived, which 
 must somehow be occupied. The evening paper would 
 be lying on the hat-rack, and if she went down at once 
 she would have time to look at it, as she often did, 
 folding it again neatly and returning it to its place after 
 she had finished with it. As she began to descend the 
 stairs she looked down and saw Kate — who had just 
 left her — in the lower hall making for the telephone 
 closet, and, as she lifted the paper from the hat-rack, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 179 
 
 Kate's muffled voice could be faintly heard in conver- 
 sation with some one. 
 
 Claire went into the drawing-room and seated herself 
 in a chair which stood by one of the windows and which 
 was hidden behind the keyboard of the grand piano. As 
 she read, the front door opened, and at the same mo- 
 ment Caroline came swiftly through from the library, 
 slid the double doors to sharply after her, and going to 
 the doorway leading to the hall called imperatively: 
 
 "Edward!" 
 
 Edward's heavy step had just begun to mount the 
 stairs, but he turned without a word and entered the 
 parlor, and as he did so Caroline pushed the door shut 
 with a crash behind him, and cried, in a voice trembling 
 with a kind of accusative violence, 
 
 "Edward Nicholson, I want to know what you are 
 doing with my money and the money of the Nicholson 
 family!" 
 
 Claire realized immediately that she should let them 
 know that she was there, but for the moment the vio- 
 lence of Caroline's manner completely paralyzed her, 
 and as she sat, momentarily helpless, Caroline, as 
 Edward had not answered, spoke again, still more 
 aggressively, and yet — too — poised on the verge of 
 tears. 
 
 "I mean to know! What are you doing? Are you 
 ruining us?" 
 
 Edward, white and heavy as usual, had at first stood 
 motionless as if dazed by the fury of her unexpected 
 
180 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 attack, but now he answered in his customary manner 
 to which were added tones of a quality either of fear or 
 ingratiation, 
 
 " Why, Caroline, what do you mean?" 
 
 Claire, by this time having herself in hand, jumped 
 up, made her presence known with a word of apology, 
 and started for the door, but after a moment's startled 
 realization on the part of her uncle and aunt, Caroline 
 cried: 
 
 "Stay where you are, Claire. This concerns you as 
 much as anybody. Edward Nicholson, you know what 
 I mean! What are you doing with our money ?" 
 
 "But, Caroline, I don't know what you mean!" 
 
 Edward stood heavy, stolid, and expressionless, but 
 Claire thought whiter than she had ever seen him. 
 
 "You don't? Listen. Why is the interest on the 
 mortgage on my houses across the street more than six 
 months overdue?" 
 
 Edward hesitated for the fraction of a second, and 
 then answered, "I — I don't know — I — Roscoe 
 attends to that ! " Roscoe being an old up-state employe 
 at the factory. 
 
 " Roscoe! He never used to." 
 
 "Well, I know, but we've been so short-handed 
 downtown." 
 
 Caroline was plainly unconvinced. 
 
 "If he made out the check, you'd have to sign it, 
 would n't you? You have n't given him a power of 
 attorney?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 181 
 
 " No, but I have to sign so many, I would n't remem- 
 ber." 
 
 " Have n't you had any notice that it was overdue?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 For a moment they looked at each other eye to eye, 
 and then Caroline cried once more: "Edward Nichol- 
 son, I've got these children to protect, and myself, and 
 I am going to telephone Robinson Elder that I want to 
 see him at once!" Robinson Elder being the family 
 lawyer. 
 
 "But that's nonsense, Caroline. I tell you it's all 
 right. Look here, I 'm going to the factory to-night by 
 the night train and I'll telephone you the first thing 
 in the morning after I've seen Roscoe. If he has n't 
 attended to it, I'll see to it at once. There's nothing on 
 earth to worry about." 
 
 " What time will you telephone?" 
 
 "At eleven o'clock." 
 
 "When will you be back?" 
 
 "The following morning." 
 
 " Very well ; I '11 wait until eleven to-morrow. But, let 
 me tell you, when you get back I intend to have the 
 whole condition of the Nicholson estate explained to 
 me." 
 
 "Very well," answered Edward. And he turned 
 slowly and carefully as if the retention of his equilibrium 
 was a question of the nicest adjustment, groped for a 
 moment for the doorknob, turned it, and went out. He 
 headed for the basement stairs, but before he was fairly 
 
182 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 through the doorway, Caroline cried after him, as a 
 parting shot, "And, Edward Nicholson, I know more 
 about you and your private life than you think I 
 do!" 
 
 To this he did not answer, and they heard the stairs 
 creaking under his heavy carcass as he descended. 
 
 "What is it, Aunt Caroline?" asked Claire under her 
 breath. "Are you afraid he has lost money?" 
 
 "I don't know, but I'm afraid," Caroline answered, 
 "terribly afraid. When George comes in, tell him I must 
 see him. Don't let him go out again without telling him." 
 
 "Very well," answered Claire; "I'll wait here for 
 him." 
 
 Caroline, whose agitation was now becoming tearful, 
 went upstairs, and Claire returned to her chair by the 
 window to wait for George's return. She tried to read, 
 but could not. 
 
 The iron gate of the basement shut cautiously below, 
 and Edward Nicholson emerged from the area and 
 through the fading light disappeared in the direction of 
 Sixth Avenue. This seemed strange to Claire, because in 
 looking at her watch she saw that it was nearly seven, 
 the hour for dinner. Maggie's gong sounded and still 
 Claire sat waiting, but George did not come, Jamie 
 hustled in, Kate returned a little later, and presently, 
 Caroline, Jamie, and Kate descending, she joined them 
 at table. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Nicholson, Maggie?" Caroline asked. 
 
 "Oh, he said you were n't to wait. He had some busi- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 183 
 
 ness to attend to and might n't be back. He's going to 
 the factory to-night." 
 
 "I did n't hear him packing his bag," remarked Caro- 
 line in some surprise. 
 
 "He went without his bag," Claire said. 
 
 This mysterious behavior on Edward's part seemed 
 to Caroline and Claire fraught with an inexplicable and 
 yet disturbing significance, the idea of Edward's going 
 to the factory without his bag seemed so utterly beyond 
 the bounds of possibility; and timid and uncertain, with 
 that sheltered, feminine timidity most women are bur- 
 dened with, they waited anxiously for the arrival of the 
 shrewd and capable George. But George did not come. 
 Orville was to have called and taken Claire and Jamie 
 to a roof -garden, but soon after Claire had gone upstairs 
 Maggie came up with a message. Orville had with many 
 apologies asked to be excused. Certain business emer- 
 gencies which could not be evaded would keep him oc- 
 cupied until very late. 
 
 Claire heard Jamie at the piano below trying some- 
 thing over and over, probably a new composition of his 
 own, and went down to tell him that Orville would be 
 unable to keep his engagement. Jamie said he did n't 
 care; nor did Claire. That exhaustion, which had made 
 itself felt before dinner, weighed on her more heavily 
 than ever, and returning to her room she undressed at 
 once and got into bed. 
 
 It was not yet half -past eight. Through her open win- 
 dows from beyond the rampart of tenements came the 
 
184 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 roar of traffic, and with it the lights and sounds of the 
 tenements themselves. And yet, rested by the softness 
 of her bed and the sense of secure withdrawal her room 
 afforded her, a feeling of tranquillity and safety began 
 gradually to steal through her, hidden away in the soft 
 darkness of her room, with the tenements beyond the 
 yards, beyond them the city, and beyond the city the 
 seething world; and yet she could not sleep. 
 
 The strange, unaccustomed notes of the little reedy 
 instrument which she had heard once before, floated out 
 from some window of the tenements, steering its way 
 lightly among the discordant sounds surrounding it like 
 some small buoyant boat floating among the rocks and 
 currents of a turbulent stream. How like it sounded to 
 the piccolo of the Frenchman's symphony heard so long 
 ago! How happy she had been that day ! Ah, how sweet 
 life had looked to her that afternoon, how sweet! As she 
 began to sink gradually to sleep, she was aware that 
 Jamie had come up and had entered his room. Presently 
 she heard him leave it, close his door, and go downstairs. 
 She waited for him to come up again, fighting against 
 her drowsiness, but he did not come, and by degrees the 
 thin, halting strains of the pipe and the clamor of the 
 city died away. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 On coming down to breakfast the next morning Claire 
 found Kate already there. Caroline had just finished 
 and was getting up. Jamie, it seemed, had gone out the 
 night before, returned very late, and had gone out 
 again in the morning long before breakfast without 
 saying a word to anybody. As for George, he had not 
 been home at all, nor had anything been heard of 
 him. Owing to George's orderly nature it was con- 
 jectured that he would not stay away without good 
 reason, although his failure to return at a time when 
 his presence was wanted caused Caroline no little con- 
 cern; but Jamie's action in going out before breakfast 
 gave rise to immediate criticism, it being suggested by 
 both Kate and Caroline that he was taking advantage 
 of Edward's absence to indulge his reprehensible pro- 
 clivities. But to this Claire would not agree, arguing 
 that the very fact that he had returned at all should 
 reassure them. 
 
 Caroline, looking as if she might have passed a sleep- 
 less night, got up and went into the drawing-room carry- 
 ing the newspaper with her, saying that she must see 
 George and would telephone his office a little later. 
 
 As she went, Kate, in a rather louder voice than usual, 
 said to Claire, "Are you doing anything this morning?" 
 
 Claire replied in the negative. 
 
186 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Because if you're not, I'd like you to help me pick 
 out some materials for a dress at Arnold's." 
 
 "Very well," Claire answered, glad of any suggestion 
 which might serve to occupy her; "what time?" 
 
 "At ten," Kate answered, very loudly and distinctly. 
 
 At ten, therefore, they started toward Fifth Avenue, 
 and, as Claire took for granted, a bus, but when they 
 reached it, Kate, to her surprise, proceeded up the 
 Avenue to Tenth Street, and, turning into Tenth Street, 
 began walking hurriedly toward the west. 
 
 "But, Aunt Kate — " Claire began. 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h," Kate answered, a prey evidently to the 
 furtive excitement of some secret adventure. "We're 
 going to Mr. Weston's! Don't you tell!" 
 
 Claire, astonished and annoyed, and yet piqued, too, 
 by the sudden novelty of the situation, followed Kate, 
 who was walking ahead so rapidly that she could with 
 difficulty prevent the distance between them from wid- 
 ening still further. Kate's intention was plainly to con- 
 tinue to Sixth Avenue, return down it to Ninth Street, 
 and approach Mr. Weston's house — which stood to the 
 west of the Nicholson's — from that side, as offering 
 a securer means of reaching it without being seen. She 
 rounded the corner into Sixth Avenue hurriedly, Claire 
 following, when with a start, she turned back so pre- 
 cipitately that a collision followed. Kate immediately 
 sought refuge in a doorway, where Claire joined her, 
 exclaiming, "What's the matter?" 
 
 Kate made a gesture toward the middle of the street 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 187 
 
 and Claire observed Caroline crossing in the direction of 
 Jefferson Market. 
 
 "If she'd gone to the butcher's first instead of over 
 there, she'd have caught us!" cried Claire resentfully, 
 her curiosity turning to annoyance at being forced into 
 a situation so undignified. 
 
 "Never mind," answered Kate reassuringly; "it will 
 be all right as soon as she gets in." 
 
 "But if she is going to the vegetable man, he's on this 
 side!" 
 
 "She never goes to him anymore. She's going to 
 the butter-and-eggs man, on the other side." 
 
 "I don't think it's safe." 
 
 "All right, then we'll go back the way we came. 
 We've certainly time for that!" And Kate, leading the 
 way, they turned the corner again and began hurrying 
 back through Tenth Street toward the Avenue. At 
 this point Claire's sense of humor came to her assistance, 
 and she purposely walked slightly in the rear in order to 
 give way to an irresistible impulse to laugh, which she 
 did guardedly enough to prevent Kate's hearing her. 
 
 On reaching Ninth Street and the Avenue, Kate 
 peered cautiously around the corner and finally hurried 
 on again, passed their own house, across the way, with 
 averted face, and ran up the steps to Mr. Weston's 
 door. It was immediately opened for them and they 
 were greeted by Mr. Weston himself. Kate entered 
 hurriedly, followed by Claire, and the door was shut 
 after them. Kate, out of breath and rather flustered, 
 
188 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 presented Claire, saying, "This is my niece," where- 
 upon Weston, seizing Claire's hand, made a low obeis- 
 ance, said, "Won't you come in?" and led the way into 
 the parlor, a long, narrow room sparsely furnished with 
 a parlor "set" consisting of a sofa, two armchairs, and 
 two small chairs all covered with red plush, a small, 
 marble-topped table, an upright piano, and two pic- 
 tures, one a crayon portrait of Mr. Weston in evening 
 dress and the other a framed photograph of a group 
 of pupils standing around a foreign-looking gentleman 
 with a long beard who was seated at a piano. A black 
 volume, marked "Scrap Book" in white letters, rested 
 on the marble-topped table. 
 
 Mr. Weston looked as Claire's casual glimpses of him 
 had led her to expect he would. He was rather short, 
 rather plump, had a pale, colorless skin, a thick blond 
 mustache, prominent, light blue eyes, thick blond hair, 
 and shoulders liberally sprinkled with dandruff. 
 
 "Now, let me see!" Mr. Weston began immediately. 
 "Perhaps you'd like to know a little about myself. 
 This is a photograph of Professor Eysen, of St. Louis, 
 the great vocal instructor, with his pupils, taken at the 
 time I was one of them. That young man on the right 
 hand is me. This is my portrait, taken at the time of 
 my first public appearance*, and these are some of my 
 press notices, very flattering too, printed in the news- 
 papers of various towns where I taught in the West. 
 You see, I always had it in mind to come East finally, 
 just as your brother has it in mind to go to Paris, as 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 189 
 
 Miss Nicholson has told me. Ah ! — " At this moment 
 a smallish brown dog of obscure species came bustling 
 in with an air which seemed to say, "Very sorry to be 
 so late, but here I am at last!" placed his fore-paws on 
 Mr. Weston's knee, and immediately received a cuff 
 which caused him to disappear rapidly under the sofa 
 on which Claire and her aunt were sitting. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Claire involuntarily. 
 
 "That's all right," remarked Mr. Weston with non- 
 chalance. "He's used to it! Now, let me see! Perhaps 
 you 'd like to read some of these press notices, they are 
 very — " 
 
 "My niece is so anxious to hear your method of in- 
 terpreting Wagner, Mr. Weston," Kate interrupted. 
 "She's so fond of music!" 
 
 "Well, you see," Mr. Weston went on immediately 
 as if he had simply been shifted from one track to an- 
 other without losing his momentum, "my idea is to 
 bring an intimate understanding of Wagner home to 
 everybody. People can't be expected to understand 
 Wagner unless he is explained to them — because why? 
 Because he's way over their heads! Take yourself," 
 continued Mr. Weston, looking at Claire. "What do 
 you know about Wagner?" 
 
 "Well, not very much," answered Claire with a 
 mental reservation that she probably knew more about 
 him than Mr. Weston thought she did. 
 
 "Exactly! And nobody can really understand him 
 without an immense amount of study and a sound 
 
190 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 musical education, unless they place themselves under 
 the guidance of some one who has already pierced the 
 veil!" 
 
 "But might they not like and appreciate him even 
 without understanding him to the utmost?" Claire 
 asked. 
 
 Mr. Weston's lips were parted to go on with his thesis, 
 and a slight expression of annoyance revealed itself at 
 this interruption; but Kate immediately answered: 
 
 "That is obvious, but what Mr. Weston is talking 
 about is the appreciation which comes with knowledge, 
 not the indiscriminate and faulty tastes of ignorance!" 
 
 "Exactly!" exclaimed Mr. Weston. "And in ex- 
 actly—" 
 
 "Your own words," added Kate with a rather .co- 
 quettish smile. "You see, my memory is a good one!" 
 
 "Exactly!" said Mr. Weston again. "My idea is to 
 spread the appreciation of Wagner through knowledge. 
 There you have it. Appreciation through knowledge!" 
 
 He stopped and looked at Kate. "Do you know, 
 those three words ought to be the motto of our — of my 
 — life. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "They embrace everything," Kate answered. 
 
 "Exactly! And now I will give you an idea of my 
 method!" 
 
 Mr. Weston laid the cigarette which he had been 
 smoking on the edge of the piano, where numerous other 
 cigarettes had scorched it, and lifted his hands above 
 the keyboard. He poised them as if about to pounce 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 191 
 
 upon the keys, then lowered them and looked at Kate 
 and Claire, who were still sitting on the sofa, with a 
 glance which was meant to be quick and searching. 
 Kate and Claire remaining motionless under this 
 scrutiny, he raised his hands once more. 
 
 "Act one. Siegfried. Vorspiel!" and he began to 
 play, accompanying himself with a running comment of 
 explanation and with an occasional outburst of song. 
 "Motives sixteen and eighteen! The double basses, 
 louder and louder!" Crash! "The cave! Mime the 
 dwarf. Motives eighty-six, seven, and five. Enter 
 Siegfried! The horn!" Mr. Weston here began to 
 sing. "Motives six and three. 'Cellos and horns, six- 
 eight rhythm. Wotan the wanderer. Note chro- 
 matics!" Bang, "Tremolos. Motives eight and eight- 
 een. Siegfried forges sword. Sword and fire motive. 
 Da de da de dah ! Forge motive. Ding dang ding dang ! " 
 Mr. Weston was singing again. " The sword is finished ! " 
 Crash! "He cleaves the anvil!" Prestissimo, Fortis- 
 simo, Crash, Bang, Bang! 
 
 Mr. Weston stopped. 
 
 "You see," he explained, "I am only giving you a 
 sketchy outline of my method. I intend to familiarize 
 my pupils with all the Wagnerian motives, each of 
 which will have a number, so that when I call it out, 
 no matter what it is, they will be on the lookout for it 
 and be able to identify it the moment it appears. When 
 they become familiar with them and understand their 
 significance, no matter how deep they may be, the 
 
192 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 music will interpret itself as it goes along. How do you 
 like it?" 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful!" Kate looked at Claire, her 
 eyes suffused with emotion. "Mr. Weston has taught 
 me more about Wagner in the few times I have talked 
 with him than I had learned in my whole life before!" 
 
 But Claire did n't like it at all. There was nothing in 
 the least new about what he had been doing, and what 
 he did was not well done. He was, Claire thought, ex- 
 tremely noisy and extremely amateurish. How strange 
 it was that Aunt Kate could n't see it too. Her cogita- 
 tions were interrupted by another loud chord from the 
 piano. 
 
 "Act two," began Mr. Weston. "Mysterious Vors- 
 piel, gathering in increasing crescendos!" Crash! 
 Crash! Crash! " Curtain rises. A cave in forest. Mo- 
 tives nine and twelve. Siegfried enters. First bar of 
 love motive. Tremulous vibrations of the strings. 
 He lies down. Violins take up the theme. De da 
 de da de dah. Bird flutters above. Thirds and sixths. 
 Song of bird — " 
 
 At this moment a thin, quavering howl issued from 
 beneath the sofa. The smallish dog bad begun to be 
 affected by the music. Mr. Weston paid no attention 
 at first, and encouraged probably by this fact the dog 
 proceeded to execute a creditable series of vocal gym- 
 nastics increasing in range and energy so rapidly that 
 Mr. Weston at last stopped abruptly, to Claire's relief, 
 with irritation written plainly on his features, and dis- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 193 
 
 lodged the dog, which ran out of the room. Claire 
 thought the incident rather ludicrous, but it seemed to 
 produce in Kate and Mr. Weston no emotion other than 
 that of annoyance. "Clearly," she thought, "neither of 
 them has the least sense of humor." 
 
 Weston now resumed his expository harangue, in- 
 creasing its noise and energy until the culmination was 
 reached in the love scene between Siegfried and Brunn- 
 hilde, which Claire thought he delivered too pointedly 
 at Kate. Claire watched her painfully. As Weston's 
 dramatic delivery increased toward the finale, her som- 
 ber eyes seemed to blaze with emotion. "She is in love 
 with him! How strange!" thought Claire. It seemed 
 impossible that a Nicholson could become enamoured 
 of such a type as that which the fat charlatan who sat 
 on the piano-stool before her represented, and yet 
 Claire was sure of it. "Yes, she is in love with him!" 
 she repeated. What could her aunt see in him? He 
 had no social attributes whatever; none of the jovial 
 charm which might be reasonably expected of such an 
 adventurer, and no attractions either of manner or per- 
 son, and yet Aunt Kate was, without doubt, infatuated. 
 
 When the time came for them to go, Claire did so 
 with relief. Kate insisted on going west to Sixth Avenue, 
 north to Tenth Street, through Tenth Street to the 
 Avenue, and so home, but this precaution availed them 
 nothing, for when they let themselves in, Caroline was 
 standing in the drawing-room doorway, large and erect, 
 with an angry flash in her sharp eyes. 
 
194 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Well!" she demanded ominously, "did you have a 
 pleasant call?" 
 
 Kate went gray. 
 
 "I saw you!" Caroline went on. "I saw you before 
 you saw me, on Sixth Avenue. I knew you were up to 
 something, so I watched you from the vegetable man's. 
 Claire ! Go upstairs ! " 
 
 Claire went slowly upstairs, while at a gesture Kate 
 followed Caroline into the drawing-room. Caroline shut 
 the door, but Claire could hear her loud, angry voice 
 lashing Kate, whose responses were at first too low to 
 be distinguished, but presently, under Caroline's taunts, 
 they grew louder, and even to Claire's room there as- 
 cended the clash of furious retorts and accusations. 
 After a time the drawing-room door opened and some 
 one ascended the stairs. It was Kate. As she came up, 
 with one hand holding a handkerchief to her eyes, she 
 was sobbing restrainedly, with an effort at concealment, 
 in tones the quality of which indicated half wretched- 
 ness and half anger. When she wished it to, Caroline's 
 tongue could scarify. As Kate went into her room, her 
 door slammed viciously, and then all was silent; but 
 soon other steps were heard ascending, and presently 
 Caroline, reaching Claire's door, came in, closing it 
 after her, and as she turned so that the light from the 
 windows fell on her, Claire saw again that look of 
 age, those indications of disintegration which she had 
 noticed once before, and in addition an air of fatigue, 
 of worry, of weakness almost foreign to Caroline's 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 195 
 
 character. But still abrupt, still purposeful, Caroline 
 demanded: 
 
 "What were you doing there?" 
 
 "Aunt Kate took me to call on Mr. Weston." 
 
 "Had you been there before?" 
 
 "No, of course not, Aunt Caroline!" 
 
 "Why 'of course'? You seem to be full of tricks 
 lately!" 
 
 "It wasn't a trick! I didn't know we were going 
 there until after we'd started!" 
 
 "Well, Kate did say that for you! What's he 
 like?" 
 
 Claire hesitated, and then, deeming that reservations 
 under the circumstances could serve no good purpose, 
 answered, "Oh, aunt, he's awful!" 
 
 "Is he?" asked Caroline with a startled look. 
 
 * * Awful ! So common ! Is Aunt Kate really in love with 
 him?" 
 
 "How do I know! The silly fool! She's almost old 
 enough to be his mother!" And suddenly Caroline 
 sank down on the bed and began wringing her hands in 
 a startling agony of abandonment, crying, "What are 
 we coming to? That's what I'd like to know! What is 
 the matter with us? What's wrong with us? All going 
 to the devil!" 
 
 "Did Uncle Edward telephone?" 
 
 "No. He was lying — I felt it — just as everybody 
 else seems to be!" 
 
 "And George?" 
 
196 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I telephoned him, but he was out. I left word for 
 him to come up as soon as he got my message." 
 
 A knock sounded, and in response to Claire's answer, 
 George himself entered, looking preoccupied. 
 
 "What were you doing last night?" Caroline de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Doing! Working, of course!" 
 
 "Working! All night?" 
 
 "Pretty nearly. I was with Orville and stayed all 
 night there. Things have been panicky on the Exchange 
 for a week. A lot of people have got smashed. Where's 
 uncle? I've been trying to get hold of him." 
 
 "He went to the factory last night." 
 
 "Went to the factory last night?" cried George in 
 amazement. " What on earth did he do that for? Is he 
 crazy?" 
 
 " Why should n't he go? " returned Caroline shrewdly. 
 "How does it affect him? He does n't speculate!" 
 
 "Of course he speculates!" replied George. "Every- 
 body speculates!" 
 
 "With whose money, then?" 
 
 "With his own, I suppose!" 
 
 "George," said Caroline solemnly, "I have tele- 
 phoned for Robinson Elder!" 
 
 "Why? What's the matter?" 
 
 "George, the lawyers for the people who hold the 
 mortgage on my houses — and, mind you, I put the 
 mortgage on at Edward's advice only two years ago »*- 
 telephoned me yesterday to know why the interest had 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 197 
 
 not been paid. It is nearly six months overdue. They 
 said that they had written me about it on three separate 
 
 occasions 
 
 "Did n't you do anything when you got the letters?" 
 asked George. 
 
 "I never got them!" 
 
 "Never got them ! That 's funny ! " exclaimed George 
 reflectively. 
 
 "Yes, it's very funny! Especially as your uncle always 
 sees the morning mail first!" 
 
 "Good Lord, Aunt Caroline!" said George, starting. 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Why was he so late with the last factory divi- 
 dend?" Caroline asked. "I asked him, and thought 
 then that he looked very queer. George, we've got 
 to do something or we may all find ourselves facing 
 
 rum 
 
 "Of course we've got to do something — although as 
 far as I'm concerned I'm out of it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, I sold my interest in the factory nearly a year 
 ago," replied George, not without a note of satisfaction 
 in his voice. "I wanted the money." 
 
 "George Nicholson, did you suspect anything?" 
 
 "Now, look here, Aunt Caroline!" cried George in- 
 dignantly. "That's a little too much, if — " 
 
 "I'm sorry, George," Caroline acknowledged hastily, 
 "I did n't mean that. But you must help us!" 
 
 "Of course I'll help! " He paced to and fro for a mo- 
 
198 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ment or two. " Did uncle know that you had heard that 
 the interest had n't been paid? " 
 
 "Yes, I told him." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said that Roscoe should have attended to it." 
 
 "Roscoe!" cried George. "A likely story!" 
 
 "He promised to speak to Roscoe about it this morn- 
 ing and call me up from the factory at eleven, and when 
 he did n't, I telephoned Robinson Elder." 
 
 "You did just right, too! When will he be here?" 
 
 "He could n't tell exactly. Sometime during the 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Everybody's rushed to death," answered George. 
 "The main thing is to get hold of Uncle Edward and 
 have Elder put the screws on him. He won't tell you 
 anything." 
 
 The gong sounded and they went down to luncheon. 
 
 "You don't know where Jamie is, of course," Caroline 
 observed as they were rising from the table. 
 
 "No," answered George. "Why?" 
 
 "He went out before breakfast and we have n't seen 
 him since." 
 
 George disappeared into the telephone closet, imme- 
 diately after luncheon, joining Caroline and Claire in the 
 drawing-room a moment later. Kate had not left her 
 room since her interview with Caroline earlier in the day. 
 
 "I just telephoned the office," George announced. 
 "Jamie hasn't been there at all to-day. On the ram- 
 page most likely. The damned little jackass!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 199 
 
 " But where does he get it, George? " Caroline asked, 
 " now that prohibition 's in force." 
 
 "That's easy," George answered. 
 
 "We ought to find him!" put in Claire. 
 
 "Findhiml How are you going to find him? He may 
 be anywhere between the Battery and Harlem. Don't 
 worry, though. He won't get lost, worse luck," George 
 went on vindictively. "He'll come home all right, and 
 when he does, I'm going to thrash him!" 
 
 "You shall not, George!" Claire cried. "We've tried 
 scolding, and you see how much good it does. If that's 
 the only thing We can think of, we 'd better do nothing. 
 Threats and upbraidings only make him worse. If any- 
 body must speak to him, let me, and in the meantime 
 let's try being kind to him so that he'll know that we're 
 sorry for him." 
 
 George went into the hall, took his hat from the rack, 
 and came back again, saying: "All right! I know what 
 will happen. We jump on Jamie and it does n't do any 
 good; Claire's perfectly right; but Claire will try per- 
 suasion and that won't do any good either. The only 
 thing that would help him would be to put him in a sani- 
 tarium where he can't get it or send him to a cure. 
 Well, we won't do either, until it's too late. Nobody 
 ever does!" 
 
 George turned toward the door and came back once 
 more. 
 
 "But the main thing just now is Uncle Edward! 
 Jamie can wait. When Elder gets here, telephone me 
 
200 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 and I'll come right up if I possibly can. You've got to 
 do something and not lose any time about it. When is 
 uncle coming back?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning, he said." 
 
 "Well, we've got to have things ready, and as soon 
 as he gets here, have it out with him!" And George, 
 looking at his watch, darted out of the house. 
 
 The front door had just banged to after the departing 
 George, when Annie, the chambermaid, hurried down- 
 stairs and stopped at the drawing-room, saying, "He's 
 in his room, Miss Nicholson!" 
 
 "Who?" Caroline demanded. 
 
 "Mr. Jamie, ma'am. He's lying on his bed." 
 
 "On his bed!" cried Caroline. "How long has he 
 been in? Tell him to come down and get his luncheon." 
 
 "He 's sick, ma'am, I think," Annie answered uneasily. 
 
 Caroline rose quickly and, followed by Claire, went 
 upstairs. Jamie was lying on his bed, fully dressed, the 
 counterpane dirtied and blackened by his shoes, either 
 asleep or insensible. Caroline, seizing his coat-sleeve, 
 shook him sturdily without rousing him out of his deep 
 lethargy. "Jamie! Jamie!" she called again and again 
 without result. Claire, too, tried, unsuccessfully, to 
 rouse him. He lay apparently in a condition of coma so 
 profound that it frightened them. 
 
 "You'd better telephone the doctor, Claire," Caroline 
 said at last. "Send Annie up and I '11 get him into bed." 
 
 Claire ran downstairs with a beating heart, and tele- 
 phoned the family doctor, luckily finding him in. He 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 201 
 
 lived close at hand, and she waited for him, opening the 
 door when he appeared at the bottom of the steps. As 
 he entered, an oldish man, strong-shouldered and ruddy, 
 with grayish curling beard and mustache, he brought 
 with him an odor of tweed clothing and tobacco, and 
 that invulnerable air which makes one say of some doc- 
 tors, "Surely, this man is immortal." 
 
 "Hello!" he said. "Anybody sick?" 
 
 He was puffing a little, and Claire felt one of her 
 hands enveloped in a large, warm pressure as he looked 
 at her with his cheerful, twinkling eyes. 
 
 "Yes, it 's Jamie," Claire answered. She had not gone 
 into details over the telephone and did not wish to do so 
 now. "Aunt Caroline said that you were please to go 
 right up." 
 
 "All right! Let's see — two flights, is n't it?" 
 
 The doctor looked hesitatingly at the ascent before 
 him, and then, with sudden resolution, grasped the ban- 
 isters, and, puffing more heavily than before, began to 
 mount the stairs. Claire went into the drawing-room 
 and waited, and as she stood by the window, looking out 
 into the street, she thought of something Mallette had 
 said to her during one of his calls. They had been talk- 
 ing of Jamie, and he had said, " The main thing is, don't 
 let life bear down on you too heavily. It will if you give 
 it the chance!" 
 
 That sadness, that atmosphere of melancholy, of res- 
 ignation, which comes sometimes with the approach of 
 evening, seemed to fill the street, as if the city, inert, 
 
202 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 nerveless, had surrendered itself to the contemplation 
 of the complicated mysteries and miseries of life, and 
 for a moment Claire's vigorous youthf ulness sank a little 
 under the spell of its vague depression. 
 
 She heard the doctor coming down the stairs, causing 
 them to groan under his weight, and going into the hall 
 she led him into the drawing-room. 
 
 "How is he, doctor?" 
 
 "He's all right, or will be by to-morrow." 
 
 "What are we to do with him?" 
 
 "Eh? Tell him to behave himself!" 
 
 "As if we had n't done that already!" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," he answered. He began twirling 
 his mustache and then said suddenly, "Why don't you 
 shut him up?" 
 
 "Oh, doctor!" 
 
 "Well, there you are! The trouble with cases like 
 Jamie's is that people will insist on treating them as 
 free agents when they're not. How long has he been 
 doing it?" 
 
 "We don't know." 
 
 "Much longer than you imagine, probably!" And 
 looking at her he seemed to be arrested by something he 
 saw in her. All at once he had realized that this child, 
 whom he had known so long, was a child no longer. 
 That she had already bloomed, under his accustomed 
 eye, into the full, unblemished splendor of perfect 
 youth, and that already she was beginning to feel the 
 inescapable contact of the eroding surfaces of life. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 203 
 
 The doctor put his hand to his mustache once more, 
 this time almost in confusion, finally saying, "I'll tell 
 you what I '11 do. I'll try to think of something!" And 
 buttoning his coat he hastily went out. 
 
 Claire took a book and went up to her room, Particolor 
 following her. She undid her dress, put on a thin negli- 
 gee, and sat down. It was very warm, but the room was 
 pleasantly darkened by the tilted slats of the jalousies. 
 She glanced down. Particolor was looking at her with his 
 limpid eyes, asking, with soft, suppliant undulations of 
 his silky draperies, to be taken up. She lifted him into 
 her lap and began to read, attempting to throw off, for 
 the moment, the pressing problems which harassed her. 
 She sat restless but resolute, until the lengthening shad- 
 ows without warned her that the afternoon was nearing 
 its end, and getting up she began to dress. She had for- 
 gotten that it was Friday and her afternoon at home, 
 and, intending to go for a walk before dinner, was stand- 
 ing in front of her mirror about to adjust her hat, when 
 Maggie knocked at the door announcing that Mr. Mal- 
 lette was in the drawing-room. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Maggie, with the bib of her white apron pinned tightly 
 over her excessive bosom, and with a white cap, worn 
 only on Claire's afternoons at home, fastened too far 
 forward on her rather untidy reddish hair, had set the 
 tea-tray down on the small table with a bump, and 
 Claire was pouring tea for Mallette while he watched 
 her fine, well-shaped hands and her white wrists. 
 
 The house was quiet. The room was filled with the 
 soft, waning light of late afternoon. Claire was glad 
 that Mallette had come, and while she had no intention 
 of making a confidant of him — even of Jamie's latest 
 dereliction, although she had previously talked with him 
 of others — she felt grateful to him for his timely ar- 
 rival which might help her for the moment to forget the 
 questions which vexed her. Mallette, on his part, was 
 tasting once more the flavor of things he had known so 
 well at home; the tea things, the furniture, solid and 
 old-fashioned, the sensation of sitting in a private house 
 once again — of , in a measure, the kind he had known 
 before — with this young girl. It seemed delicious to 
 him, and drew back, crowding into his mind, old mem- 
 ories which now he did not try to banish, and which 
 brought into his face an expression which caused Claire 
 to say: 
 
 "You look as if you were thinking of things which are 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 205 
 
 far, far away ! " And Mallette, unconscious of the irony 
 of his answer, replied: 
 
 "Yes, I was thinking of home." 
 
 "Home?" repeated Claire with a purpose. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mallette. "And England." 
 
 "Since you told us about yourself, Jamie and I have 
 talked so much about it," said Claire. "We don't agree, 
 Mr. Mallette. Jamie thinks your way was the only one, 
 but I am not so sure." 
 
 She found that she could say this without fear that 
 he might think her intrusive. 
 
 "I could see no other," Mallette answered. 
 
 "But the whole of life was before you! It was as if 
 you had two roads to choose from, one you knew well 
 which was smooth and perfect, the other obscure and 
 narrow." 
 
 "The same parallel occurred to me!" Mallette re- 
 plied, "and it seemed to me that that smooth and per- 
 fect road was built for me by the toil and sweat of all 
 those who have been ground under the pressure of our 
 industrial system." He hesitated, as if reluctant to go 
 on with the subject, and then added: "You see, my 
 father put the choice squarely before me. Suppose, 
 for instance, that my eyes had not been opened until 
 after I had become the head of Mallette's. I would 
 have gone on then carrying out my plans for the welfare 
 of my workers and I should not have hesitated to live 
 myself as I had been used to living, not perhaps as my 
 father had lived, but well enough for any one, but that 
 
206 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 chance was not allowed me. He said, 'Take your 
 choice. Go on with Mallette's as we have in the past, 
 or give it up!' There was no alternative! Wouldn't 
 you have done as I did?" 
 
 "Perhaps. so — in fact I suppose I — no, I should n't 
 have been strong enough!" Claire finally decided. 
 
 "You mustn't think I don't think it was splendid of 
 you. Only nobody seems to bother much about such 
 things; I mean about people being poor and unhappy! 
 I never have. But if the result of the war is to bring 
 these questions up for solution, as it has so many others, 
 perhaps your father will begin to think about solving 
 them too, and send for you to help him. You would go, 
 of course." 
 
 "Yes, I would go," Mallette answered. "These ques- 
 tions are coming up for solution everywhere and in 
 England are receiving earnest attention, but we have 
 certain pretty stubborn types in England and my 
 father is one of them." 
 
 "But let me see," said Claire. "If you had stayed, 
 even under your father's conditions, could n't you have 
 done something? Is n't it as if you, who might have done 
 something, even if ever so little, had left your workers in 
 the hands of people who will never do anything at all?" 
 
 Mallette made a gesture half explanatory and half of 
 protest. 
 
 "My father thought of all that — that I might try to 
 help them indirectly. The previsions he suggested were 
 written out. He took pains to guard against anything 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 207 
 
 of that sort — help outside the works I suppose you 
 mean — because he did n't believe in it — thought that 
 the more you gave them the more they'd want, and that 
 philanthropic work of any kind would increase strikes 
 and dissatisfaction generally. But what difference can 
 it make, after all, so far as I am concerned? I will be 
 the same. I am sure no worse. I shall not be able to 
 afford limousines like Mr. Orville or perhaps do some 
 of the things I used to do, but there is only one way 
 by which lack of money may prove a drawback, and 
 that is if it affects human relations detrimentally, and 
 it has always seemed to me that money serves to dis- 
 locate them more often than the lack of it. I mean, of 
 course, a moderate lack of it. Not poverty!" 
 
 Claire hesitated and then determined to ask him a 
 question she had often asked herself. 
 
 "But being an actor? Will you always be one?" 
 Mallette laughed. "Certainly not. But you have no 
 idea how ^difficult it is for people brought up as you 
 and I to keep body and soul together if they find them- 
 selves all at once thrown on their own resources with- 
 out help from any one. I hope you will never know 
 what it means. I was at the end of my tether when 
 I was offered a small part in London. That was just 
 before the war. When war came I volunteered at 
 once, but my slight experience on the stage gave me 
 my chance here when I received my discharge. But as 
 for spending my life as an actor!" He made a gesture 
 of distaste. "Well, hardly!" He paused and got up. 
 
208 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "And now I must say good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye?" repeated Claire in astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, my company is going on tour. We leave to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Oh ! " she exclaimed, " I 'm sorry ! When will you be 
 back?" 
 
 "Not until winter, I think. We go to the Pacific coast." 
 
 Claire did not speak for a moment, and then noticing 
 that her hand still lay in his, she flushed and withdrew 
 it. Mallette too stood silent, seemed about to speak, 
 checked himself, and again held out his hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Nicholson!" 
 
 "Good-bye!" Claire answered, giving him her hand 
 once more, and he was gone. 
 
 She went to the window and watched him until he 
 had disappeared beyond the range of her vision. She 
 had seen a good deal of him since she had first asked 
 him to call, and had grown to look forward to his visits, 
 but there had always remained in their relationship, for 
 her at least, an element of uncertainty as to her judg- 
 ment of him. 
 
 As he passed out of sight while she stood looking after 
 him, some slight essence seemed to pass from her, but 
 what its nature was she could not tell. He attracted 
 her and yet puzzled her; pleased her and yet aroused in 
 her, at times, feelings almost of distrust, so alien, so 
 baffling was he in his philosophy of life. 
 
 "How strange he is!" she thought. "How strange 
 and different!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 209 
 
 George called up about dinner-time, and finding that 
 Elder the lawyer had telephoned that it would be im- 
 possible for him to reach Ninth Street until some time 
 during the evening, probably about nine, decided to 
 dine down-town, finish some pressing work, and reach 
 home at that hour too. Jamie was still in bed. Kate had 
 left the house late in the afternoon, leaving word that 
 she would be dining out, and Caroline was lying down, 
 having instructed Annie that she would have some tea 
 and toast in her room and rest there until Mr. Elder's 
 arrival. Not one word had been received from Edward. 
 
 Claire, left alone, therefore, became a prey to a rest- 
 lessness so acute that she welcomed with quick relief 
 the news which Maggie brought her, a little before 
 eight, that Helena wished to speak to her, and ran down 
 quickly to the closet under the stairs. 
 
 "Yes, Helena!" she called, and Helena's voice came 
 sweet and thin over the wire: 
 
 "Oh, Claire, did you know that there were only two 
 more nights of 'The Rainbow'?" 
 
 This was the comedy in which Mallette was playing. 
 
 "Yes, he called here this afternoon." 
 
 There was a slight pause, and Helena asked, "Have 
 you seen him in it?" 
 
 "No," Claire answered, "I have n't." 
 
 "Would you like to go to-night?" 
 
 This time Claire hesitated. She was not sure whether 
 she wanted to or not, much as she would have liked to 
 go somewhere. 
 
210 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Because," Helena went on, "I have tickets for two. 
 You need n't be afraid that your illusions will be 
 shattered because he's really quite good!" 
 
 Claire decided that she would go, and said so. 
 
 "Very well," Helena answered. "Mamma is ill and 
 says I may use the brougham, so I will call for you at 
 eight." 
 
 Helena, however, did not arrive until quarter past, 
 because her coachman, instead of going straight down 
 the Avenue, took another route. 
 
 The aspect of the Avenue changes with each hour of 
 the day. In the morning the vacant spaces of its long 
 perspective fill slowly. Ladies appear on foot, in mo- 
 tors, and in occasional carriages. Children are seen with 
 nurses and maids. Occasional processions of hobblede- 
 hoys, inmates of young ladies' boarding-schools in 
 charge of a teacher or two, march perfunctorily around 
 corners and disappear. There are decent intervals be- 
 tween the vehicles in the roadway, and between the 
 pedestrians on the pavements, but as the day advances 
 the congestion increases. The volume of vehicular traf- 
 fic swells steadily. Into this single great, unobstructed 
 artery, from all the cross-streets pour the trucks and 
 wagons of commerce. On the sidewalks the complexion 
 of the crowd changes, a brisk multitude, active and 
 businesslike, swarms, swallowing up the ladies and the 
 children, and in turn being swallowed up at the noon 
 hour by the multitudes of foreign workers who pour out 
 into the street from the colossal buildings close at hand. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 211 
 
 At one, these latter swarms melt away, but others are 
 already pouring in to take their places, of still another 
 character; shoppers, idlers, prostitutes, and loafers, and 
 already the motor-trucks and wagons of the morning 
 are being crowded out by vehicles of pleasure and for 
 human transportation; taxi-cabs, private cars of every 
 pattern, and a constantly increasing procession of the 
 green omnibuses of the Avenue. The roadway between 
 the curbs, as the afternoon advances, becomes a mass 
 of moving or stopping motors, while from the east and 
 west processions of people, thousands and still thou- 
 sands, pour into the channel of the street until, at its 
 daily culmination at six o'clock, one is jammed in a 
 torrent of every imaginable type, condition, and degree; 
 deafening noises clash against one's ear-drums, the air 
 is loaded with dust, the odors of motor exhausts, and 
 the exhalations of people, and jostled in the currents of 
 this limitless mob, one gives way resentfully to reflec- 
 tions on the senseless prolificacy of the human species. 
 But by six-thirty the flood has receded perceptibly, at 
 seven it has diminished by half, at seven-thirty it has 
 vanished, the shops are closed, and but for a sprinkling 
 of individuals moving on here and there to evening 
 engagements, the Avenue is empty. 
 
 Helena's coachman, therefore, had a broad and un- 
 obstructed route to traverse, and yet, no sooner had 
 Helena slammed the brougham's door, than he turned 
 into Madison Avenue, dodging trolley cars until he 
 reached Forty-Second, where he became entangled in 
 
212 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 a web of traffic, swerved over to Park, thence to Fourth, 
 which in many places was being repaired, always with 
 his knees bent at a proper angle and properly apart, 
 with his back hollowed slightly and his smart hat tilted 
 to exactly the right degree over his aquiline and yet 
 vacant features, as if his task was being accomplished 
 with the greatest possible skill, knowledge, foresight, 
 and 6clat. Finally he turned west and, crossing the 
 Avenue, stopped at the number Helena had given him 
 — but in Tenth Street instead of Ninth. Helena, in- 
 dolent and yet irritated, sent him on again, and they 
 arrived at the Nicholsons' fifteen minutes late to find 
 Claire on the sidewalk waiting to open the door. As she 
 did so, Helena's voice, sweet but petulant, issued from 
 the interior of the brougham. 
 
 "Tell the fool to go up the Avenue, will you, dear — 
 to Forty-Eighth Street — and then west? The theater 
 is the Halcyon. I told him fifteen minutes ago, but he 
 has probably forgotten." 
 
 Claire delivered the message. The coachman touched 
 his hat smartly while his vacant features seemed to say,' 
 "Don't worry. I am equal to anything!" started to 
 turn toward Sixth Avenue, was corrected by Claire from 
 the window, finally reached Fifth Avenue, and, passing 
 straight uptown between two rows of illuminated globes, 
 over an expanse of dark and shining asphalt, succeeded 
 in turning west, at Forty-Eighth Street. Here, after a 
 short distance, they found themselves in the evening 
 tides of humanity which seemed by a concerted plan to 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 213 
 
 have deserted the Avenue in order to jostle one another 
 on Broadway. 
 
 The brougham stopped and they entered the theater. 
 Stepping within from the glare and noisy activities of 
 that quarter, they found themselves in an interior small, 
 luxurious, and well-padded. A few people here and 
 there were settling themselves on the noiseless up- 
 holstery, but the majority of the audience was already 
 seated. Helena's chairs were in the center of the house 
 near the front, and they had hardly arranged them- 
 selves in them when, without preliminary notice, the 
 curtain ascended noiselessly, exposing the brightly 
 lighted picture of the first act. 
 
 The play, written by a celebrated English play- 
 wright, and performed by a company of English players, 
 dealt with the problem of human happiness, and in it 
 the author proved the impossibility of its attainment 
 with such wistful humor, such moving half-poignant 
 gayety, and with such deep draughts of perfumed senti- 
 mentality that the audience each night left the theater 
 with the conviction that not only had he proved his con- 
 tention that there was no such thing as happiness, but 
 that, after all, it was not such a bad thing for humanity 
 that there was not, especially while there was an author 
 living who could offer such supplies of tender sadness in 
 place of it. 
 
 Claire's eyes during the evening were often wet, al- 
 though she was aware that the play contained certain 
 sophistries which would not bear analysis in the morn- 
 
214 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ing, but she was surprised to notice that Helena wept 
 copiously. 
 
 Mallette played his part surprisingly well, and what 
 Claire liked best about his performance was his resolute 
 effort to minimize as much as possible the author's tend- 
 ency toward a rather cloying sentimentality. Many of 
 his lines were loaded with it, but while certain members 
 of the cast did not hesitate to overemphasize them, 
 Mallette, when they fell to him, did his best to counter- 
 act them by a studied practicality of delivery. The part 
 which fell to his portrayal, that of a manly, honest, and 
 resolute young man, seemed by his rendition of it to im- 
 prove on the author's conception of what was manly, 
 honest, and resolute. Claire was glad that she had 
 come. 
 
 On emerging from the theater, Helena, who had seen 
 the brougham waiting on the other side of the street, 
 crossed over to it, and as they reached it and were open- 
 ing the door, the coachman, touching his hat with un- 
 diminished smartness, asked briskly: 
 
 "Shall I wait here the same as usual, Miss?" 
 
 Helena got in hastily without answering, but as 
 Claire seated herself beside her, she exclaimed as if the 
 idea had all at once presented itself to her, "Let's wait 
 and see him come out!" 
 
 "Who?" asked Claire, not comprehending. 
 
 "Mr. Mallette. The stage entrance is just opposite ! " 
 
 "Indeed, I shall not!" cried Claire indignantly. "It 
 would be too silly!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 215 
 
 "But he is going away to-morrow, Claire, please!" 
 And as Helena grasped Claire's hand with one of hers 
 Claire felt that it was cold as ice. 
 
 "No, I shall not, Helena." And she looked at her 
 closely. She had been forced to play a role of this kind 
 earlier in the day with Aunt Kate and did not intend to 
 do so again. "You've waited here before, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 Helena produced her handkerchief. "Yes," she an- 
 swered in a low voice, putting it to her eyes. 
 
 "Does he know?" Claire demanded. 
 
 "Of course not!" Helena answered in a muffled voice, 
 and then from the movement of her shoulders Claire 
 saw that she was crying silently, but convulsively. 
 
 "I'm going home!" cried Claire angrily, and putting 
 her head out of the window she called, "Ninth Street, 
 please!" to the coachman. The coachman touched his 
 hat smartly, with an air which seemed to say, "Don't 
 worry, I'm very competent," turned the horse, which 
 was facing the Avenue, around the other way, started 
 off, and immediately became entangled in the traffic of 
 Broadway. The incapacity of Helena's coachman has 
 a bearing on later events. Helena, with a little shriek of 
 nervous laughter, cried, "He's going the wrong way 
 again!" — and proceeded immediately to give way to 
 a mild attack of hysterics, laughing and crying together. 
 Claire seized her by the shoulders and began to shake her 
 so vigorously that Helena cried presently, "Oh, Claire, 
 please, you're hurting me!" 
 
216 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Then stop it!" answered Claire grimly. "Will you 
 stop?" 
 
 "Please, please, Claire!" 
 
 "Will you stop!" 
 
 Helena's laughter was getting the better of her tears, 
 and presently with a final shake Claire released her, 
 sank back into her own corner, and neither spoke until 
 Helena said, in what had become now her natural 
 voice: 
 
 "Are you angry with me?" 
 
 "Suppose he had seen you waiting there for him!" 
 
 "He could n't have, Claire — he could n't — I was 
 very careful." 
 
 "What did you do it for? Are you in love with him? " 
 Claire asked almost brutally, and at this question 
 Helena shrank into her corner and raised her handker- 
 chief once more to her eyes. 
 
 "Helena, will you stop!" Claire cried, more incensed 
 then ever. " You 're just playing with your emotions the 
 way you and a lot of other girls like you love to do and 
 are doing all the time!" 
 
 "I — I can't help it!" sobbed Helena. 
 
 "Then don't ask me to go out with you again!" re- 
 turned Claire, and she sank back in silence into her cor- 
 ner of the brougham which, rocking over the car tracks, 
 the inequalities of the wretched pavements, and the 
 temporary boardings which covered the subway excava- 
 tions, moved precariously southward, through a pande- 
 monium of metropolitan noises. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 217 
 
 The coachman turned into Sixth Avenue at the inter- 
 section of that street with Broadway, and gradually 
 leaving behind the boisterous night life of the city, the 
 brougham, lurching now and then on the tracks of the 
 trolley cars, passed on under the iron structure of the 
 Elevated road, the well-trained, high-stepping hackney, 
 pounding on unmindful of the roar of the trains which 
 passed at intervals above them. Claire and Helena sat 
 in silence, Claire, at least, occupied with her thoughts, 
 until the swaying of the brougham as it left the tracks 
 told her that they were turning into Ninth Street. 
 
 While they were yet some distance from the Nichol- 
 son house, Claire, glancing idly ahead, saw the heavy 
 bulk of Edward Nicholson pass under the radiance of 
 a street-lamp and melt into the surrounding gloom. 
 She leaned forward and looked again, and as they ap- 
 proached the house she dimly saw him disappear into 
 the cavernous opening of the basement doorway, and 
 heard the faint clangor of the iron door. 
 
 The brougham stopped, and, exchanging good-nights 
 with Helena, civil on both sides, but not excessively so, 
 she got out and the brougham moved off. She turned at 
 once to mount the steps leading to the front door, and 
 as she did so, the down-drawn buff shades of the win- 
 dows of Edward Nicholson's basement sanctum became 
 luminous by the sudden kindling of a light within. 
 
 Claire let herself in at the front door. Gas-jets, turned 
 low, burned in the hall and in the drawing-room. She 
 went up to her room, but before going into it she softly 
 
218 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 opened Jamie's door. The light from the hall illuminated 
 his room sufficiently for her to see that he was still in 
 bed, and, stooping over, it seemed to her that he was 
 sleeping deeply and naturally. She went into her own 
 room, closed her door and turned up the gas. Particolor, 
 who was lying curled up on the sofa, greeted her with 
 a welcoming wave of his plumed tail, but did no more, 
 and standing before her glass, she began to remove her 
 wrap, thinking of Helena's hysteria with a strange feel- 
 ing of dissatisfaction and unrest. Presently she turned 
 the gas down again, and going to one of the open win- 
 dows, stood looking out. The tenements, except for an 
 occasional distant window, were dark, but from below 
 voices rose up to her, and leaning out, she could tell, 
 from the beams of liglit streaming out on to the flagging 
 and the grass-plot of the yard, that the dining-room was 
 brightly illuminated. At the same time the sound of 
 voices rose again, and among them she could hear dis- 
 tinctly those of Caroline and George. She hesitated for 
 a moment, and then, opening her door, descended to the 
 first floor. The lights in the hall and in the drawing- 
 room burned at half strength, as they had before. Be- 
 yond, a gas-jet in the library chandelier was also lighted. 
 And yet, although the rooms were sufficiently illumi- 
 nated to reveal each familiar interior plainly, and al- 
 though she could now hear, through the closed doors 
 leading to the dining-room, the muffled sound of voices, 
 a nameless dread suddenly clutched her, the chill of an 
 unformulated and yet terrifying apprehension, and with 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 219 
 
 a sudden inexplicable accession of panic she almost ran 
 through the drawing-room and library and pushed open 
 one of the sliding doors leading into the dining-room. 
 Four people were seated at the dining-room table. Caro- 
 line, George, a man with a shock of untidy gray hair, 
 dark eyes, and a white mustache, whom she knew to be 
 Robinson Elder, and a small, thin-faced, middle-aged 
 creature named Blake, with a bald head and a promi- 
 nent nose. She knew him, too; he was a kind of head 
 clerk and assistant manager at the New York office of 
 the button works, an employee of twenty years' stand- 
 ing. On hearing of Edward's continued absence, George 
 had got hold of him and brought him along hoping to 
 get some information from him regarding Edward's 
 affairs. An ink-well and a piece of blotting-paper stood 
 and lay before Robinson Elder, who held a pen. He had 
 been writing, and a number of sheets of paper scrawled 
 with memoranda littered the table. At the sound made 
 by the opening door all looked up quickly with expres- 
 sions indicating that each was sustaining a common 
 sensation of suspense, but on seeing Claire these expres- 
 sions changed, each showing in a particular way that 
 each had expected to behold some one else. The two 
 men bowed. Claire said "Good-evening," generally, 
 closed the door and advanced toward the table, and 
 at the same moment Robinson Elder, who had risen, 
 looked at his watch. 
 
 "Half -past eleven," he said. "I don't think anything 
 further can be done to-night." 
 
220 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "But how long must we wait for my brother?" Caro- 
 line asked. 
 
 "I should not wait at all. You should take action at 
 once." 
 
 "Have you been waiting for Uncle Edward?" Claire 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 "We have been doing everything we could possibly 
 think of to find him," answered Caroline. " George tele- 
 phoned to the factory and they said that he had n't been 
 there at all." 
 
 "But he's downstairs — now — at this moment," 
 said Claire. "I saw him go in the basement way not 
 more than ten or fifteen minutes ago, as Helena and 
 I were driving up, and a moment later I saw that he had 
 lit the gas!" 
 
 Why there should have been something of sinister 
 portent about this statement no one could have told, but 
 so it was: George cried, "What!" with a startled look, 
 Caroline caught her breath quickly, Robinson Elder 
 squared his shoulders as if poising himself to meet the 
 shock of an antagonist, and the little clerk, plainly 
 frightened, exclaimed in a trembling voice: 
 
 "Mr. Nicholson will never forgive me for what I 've told 
 you to-night, sir ! It will mean the loss of my position ! " 
 
 "Both legally and morally you were bound to do what 
 you have done," answered Elder. "And as for your posi- 
 tion, after to-morrow I doubt whether Mr. Nicholson 
 will have anything to say about it!" 
 
 All sat for a moment in attitudes of silent suspense, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 221 
 
 when George said, fingering a pencil nervously, "Well, 
 I suppose we may as well have it out with him ! " 
 
 "Shall I go down," said Elder almost solemnly, "and 
 ask him to come up?" 
 
 Caroline jumped up. 
 
 "No, no! I will go!" And she drew her breath deeply 
 once more. "Let me speak to him first." And pushing 
 one of the sliding doors back into its pocket, she went 
 out. The remaining four waited rigid and listening. They 
 heard her steps descend the stairs, heard the turn of a 
 knob, and the slight creak of a rusty hinge as a door 
 swung open, and then there rose, in the silence of the 
 night, a cry which froze the listeners with horror. A cry 
 which seemed by sheer force of terror to rend its way 
 through organs already paralyzed by the sight of some 
 blasting spectacle. There was an instant's silence, and 
 then something fell below, causing a slight tremor to 
 shake the floor. George and Elder, after a moment 
 of impotent consternation, sprang up and made hur- 
 riedly for the basement stairs. Claire rose and followed. 
 As they went down, George turned and called to her in 
 a hushed but imperative voice, "Where's Blake? Tell 
 him to come!" 
 
 Claire darted back, delivered this message to Blake, 
 who was still sitting at the table, a picture of nervous 
 indecision, and, returning, ran down the basement 
 stairs. As the interior of Edward's sanctum came within 
 her view she saw first that the steady radiance of Ed- 
 ward's green-shaded argand lamp illuminated distinctly, 
 
222 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 standing on Edward's desk, a glass half-full of water, 
 and a small, round pill-box the size of a half-dollar, and 
 instantly that small box grew big with prognostications 
 of evil. It explained to her what she was to see, and did 
 see. It told her that that huddled bulk, lying distortedly 
 in the shadow of the desk, was the body of Edward 
 Nicholson, dead by his own hand, and as it told her, 
 so had it told her aunt, who, unconscious, as if struck 
 by some terrific blow, breathing with what seemed like 
 appalling difficulty, was being lifted from the floor by 
 George and by Robinson Elder. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Had Helena's coachman taken the obvious and easy 
 route to Ninth Street after the theater — that is, down 
 the Avenue — Claire would have reached the house 
 some minutes before Edward Nicholson, and it is prob- 
 able that the discovery of his body would have fallen to 
 the lot of one of the maids on the following morning. It 
 is not likely that any of them would have been seriously 
 affected by it, and the list of Edward Nicholson's of- 
 fenses might have been considerably lightened, but it 
 was not to be. Fate had written that Caroline was to 
 find him and the cerebral hemorrhage resulting from the 
 shock killed her before morning. 
 
 The week that followed seemed afterwards, as Claire 
 looked back on it, a phantasmagoria of horrors — super- 
 imposed upon the natural grief which the death of her 
 aunt and in a lesser degree of her uncle gave rise to — 
 made up of the presence of those obnoxious creatures 
 who live on the necessities of death and burial, of the 
 sound of the shuffling of feet slowly carrying heavy, 
 inert burdens, of an awful hush throughout the house, 
 of the presence of flowers whose perfumes had suddenly 
 become insupportable to her; of hearses, funereal car- 
 riages, funeral ceremonies, open graves, tears, the black 
 habiliments of mourning, and the whole, to her, hideous 
 
224 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 and shocking pageantry and paraphernalia of death, 
 with added to it the scandal of Edward's dishonesty 
 and suicide. 
 
 Neither Claire nor George during that first night went 
 to bed at all. Jamie slept through it, and woke to find 
 that during his drunken sleep both Edward and Caro- 
 line had vanished into the unknown. Kate, who had 
 left word the afternoon before that she was dining out, 
 had not returned, and this fact, which under ordinary 
 circumstances would have caused intense alarm, had 
 been unheeded among the tragic circumstances of the 
 night; but a telegram was handed in addressed to Caro- 
 line an hour after Caroline's death. George opened it. 
 It was from Kate, dated at Boston, saying that she and 
 Mr. Weston had been married there the evening before. 
 George immediately reached her by telephone, and the 
 new bridegroom was introduced to George and Jamie 
 late that afternoon. 
 
 At this meeting Weston played an unimportant part. 
 The stage was held by Kate. The secret smouldering 
 fires of her nature kindled into a blaze of resentment 
 and wrath against the delinquencies of the departed 
 Edward; but while Weston was eclipsed by Kate's anger, 
 Claire felt that resentment and indignation were seeth- 
 ing in him, too, which would at the first opportunity 
 reveal themselves. And if a rude awakening had come 
 to him twelve hours after his wedding — if he had mar- 
 ried a woman much older than himself in the belief that 
 he was, by doing so, firmly allying himself with a family 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 225 
 
 of substance and position, only to find himself horribly 
 mistaken — one need not wonder. 
 
 For in the track of death, ruin followed. 
 
 Edward had killed himself, by means of a capsule 
 containing cyanide of potassium, simply because he was 
 at the end of his rope. Robinson Elder began an in- 
 vestigation into the affairs of the Nicholson family the 
 morning after Edward's death, and on the morning 
 after the funeral a meeting was held in the dining-room 
 at Ninth Street at which Mr. and Mrs. Weston, Claire, 
 George, Jamie, and Robinson Elder were present. Elder 
 had made the appointment just as Claire, George, and 
 Jamie were finishing breakfast, and had asked that the 
 Westons be notified — that he would be stopping at 
 Ninth Street in a quarter of an hour on his way down- 
 town. The Westons were at Mr. Weston's rented house 
 across the way. Claire called her aunt up, gave her the 
 message, and joined George and Jamie who were loung- 
 ing listlessly' about in the drawing-room. 
 
 "Has he got to be here, too!" Jamie asked gloomily, 
 referring to Weston. 
 
 "Of course he has, Jamie," Claire answered. "He's 
 Aunt Kate's husband!" 
 
 "Well, for God's sake, tell him to brush the dandruff off 
 his coat collar," said George, addressing Jamie irritably. 
 
 "Tell him yourself!" Jamie retorted. Jamie was be- 
 ginning to recover from a condition of acute contrition 
 arising from the fact that during all that night of stress 
 and tragedy he had been sunk in a drunken sleep. 
 
226 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Will Weston!" continued George 
 scornfully. It had transpired that on both Mr. Weston's 
 card and Mrs. Weston's card the name "Will" pre- 
 ceded that of Weston. "Mr. and Mrs. Will Weston. 
 Of course he wasn't christened 'Will.' He was chris- 
 tened 'William,' but he calls himself 'Will' for the same 
 reason he does n't keep his hair cut properly. Cheap 
 fakir!" 
 
 To Claire's relief Mr. and Mrs. Will Weston and 
 Robinson Elder arrived at identically the same moment. 
 She had had the dining-room table cleared, and led the 
 way to it at once, as being the most private room on the 
 first floor. 
 
 George carefully closed the doors and they seated 
 themselves in silence, while through the opened win- 
 dows of the rear the occasional sounds from the tene- 
 ments floated in to them. Claire, wearied and depressed, 
 shivered even in the warmth of the summer morning. 
 Opposite her sat Kate, still angry and sullen; at Kate's 
 left, Robinson Elder; at Kate's right, Jamie, quiet and 
 bewildered, as if certain that the whole affair would be 
 quite incomprehensible to him. At Claire's left, George, 
 alert and capable, and at her right, Weston, obviously 
 nursing his resentment. 
 
 It is probable that Robinson Elder, through a wider 
 experience, greater age, and the training of a lifetime 
 had acquired a more intense veneration for property 
 than even that developed by the acquisitive instincts of 
 Kate and George; therefore he undertook the task be- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 227 
 
 fore him of announcing the catastrophe with sincere 
 reluctance; ruffling his shock of gray hair more hope- 
 lessly than ever he began, and as he talked he talked to 
 Claire. It could not be otherwise: Claire, drooping but 
 beautiful, like a tired rose amidst the duller physiog- 
 nomies around her. 
 
 "I am sorry to say," said Elder with an air of real, 
 apologetic regret, "that your uncle has left the affairs 
 of your family in very bad shape!" 
 
 "There's no use beating about the bush, Mr. Elder," 
 Kate interrupted explosively. "Does that mean that 
 he has ruined us completely?" 
 
 "It looks," Elder went on, still addressing Claire, "as 
 if there would be little or nothing left. Your uncle had 
 the unquestioned control of the property of all the 
 members of your family. There is nothing unusual in 
 this because you will find numbers of families in New 
 York in which one member takes entire financial charge. 
 In your uncle's case I am sorry to say he proved un- 
 worthy — " Elder hesitated and took the plunge. "In 
 fact, I have never seen a case of more ruthless wreckage. 
 Your mother left a small fortune in first-class negotiable 
 securities — they have disappeared; your father left 
 stocks and bonds in addition to his interest in the works 
 — they have disappeared. Miss Caroline invested por- 
 tions of her income from time to time. These invest- 
 ments have disappeared. Your uncle converted every- 
 thing he could lay his hands on into cash, which he paid 
 into his private account, but what he paid it out for — 
 
228 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 except a small percentage of it — we cannot tell, be- 
 cause, although he continually drew large sums from 
 his bank, it was in most cases done by means of checks 
 drawn to himself. Who got these thousands — these 
 hundreds of thousands, we do not know. It may have 
 been speculation, but he left nothing — not even an 
 accumulation of worthless securities — to show for it. 
 If he speculated he probably did so through some one 
 else. Latterly he resorted to forgery. As for the works, 
 he cleaned them out completely. How he managed to 
 keep going as long as he did without arousing suspicion 
 is a wonder. I repeat, I have never in my entire ex- 
 perience met with a case of such reckless criminality — • 
 especially in the class to which your uncle belonged!" 
 
 Claire listened to this recital with a sense of 6hame 
 and of dishonor, and yet without conceiving what it 
 actually might mean to her. Her apprehensions previ- 
 ous to the final catastrophe, aroused by a conviction 
 that all was not going well, dealt with the possible dis- 
 ruption of family ties, but she did not realize that Elder's 
 words might mean the actual loss of every material re- 
 source. Such a possibility — that she might not always 
 be sheltered, clothed, and fed, without a thought and 
 without an effort — was beyond her present grasp. 
 
 "I understand there is a woman in the case." This 
 was from Weston, who seemed to think his opportu- 
 nity had come, but George immediately returned sharply 
 — he had been waiting a chance to show his disapproval 
 of Kate's husband — 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 229 
 
 "You do! Well, my sister is present, and I'd be 
 obliged to you if you'd keep your mouth shut!" 
 
 At this rudeness Weston cast an appealing glance at 
 Kate, while Elder looked at Claire interrogatively. 
 Claire, who really scorned that kind of brotherly solici- 
 tude as being out of date, answered by saying: 
 
 "Is that true, Mr. Elder?" 
 
 "It is," replied Elder, "and I have already inter- 
 viewed the lady. You will not find the solution of your 
 uncle's ruin there!" 
 
 "Get her under oath and — " began Weston. 
 
 "She's perfectly willing to swear to anything she 
 says," answered Elder. 
 
 "She says so — " began Will Weston again. 
 
 "I can only tell you what she told me," returned 
 Elder. 
 
 "I would strongly advise a suit against her," insisted 
 
 wm. 
 
 "And a public scandal!" remarked George. "You 
 won't get any of the Nicholsons to agree to that!" 
 
 "I consider that I've got something to say about it," 
 Will retorted. "I thought when I married that the 
 Nicholson family amounted to something — but they 
 turn out to be a lot of bankrupts." 
 
 "Much obliged for your frankness," George laughed 
 disagreeably, "only it was n't necessary. We knew 
 exactly what you thought, and it serves you right for 
 marrying a woman twenty years older than you are!" 
 
 "George!" cried Claire. 
 
230 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 And Kate exclaimed angrily. "This is outrageous!" 
 — and half rose from her chair as if about to leave the 
 room. 
 
 "All right," said George. "He's been asking for it, 
 and he got it!" 
 
 After this explosion a moment of silence ensued, 
 broken presently by Claire. 
 
 "And this house, Mr. Elder, did my uncle sell that 
 too!" she asked and this question conveyed the fact 
 that to Claire the house stood as a symbol of the 
 Nicholson fortunes — that if it had gone all was lost. 
 
 "My dear young lady, he did not dispose of it — 
 probably because he could n't. It was part of the trust 
 established by your grandfather, but if it becomes neces- 
 sary to sell it in order to pay the debts of the estate, 
 then it must be sold." 
 
 "And you can't find out who he paid out all our 
 money to, Mr. Elder ? " asked Claire. 
 
 "For the great bulk of it we cannot. He was in- 
 terested in Thwaite & Co., who failed the other day. 
 That was probably the last straw. The rest is mystery. 
 The largest amount that we have found any trace of to 
 any one individual is the sum of one hundred thousand 
 dollars paid to your brother George nine months ago." 
 
 The effect of this announcement was electrical. Kate 
 stiffened rigidly and bent an accusative glance at 
 George. Will Weston looked about him triumphantly 
 as if to say, "Now we're getting on the track of some- 
 thing!" rubbing his hands gleefully. Claire, who had 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 231 
 
 forgotten that George had announced this fact both to 
 herself and Caroline, regarded him wonderingly, and 
 even Jamie, who had preserved a deferential silence 
 throughout, seemed to think that here was something 
 needing explanation. 
 
 As for George, he thrust his hands in his pockets, leaned 
 back in his chair, and with unruffled calm said nothing. 
 
 Although no word had been spoken, Robinson Elder, 
 by the dramatic possibilites of his revelation, had 
 actually interrupted himself; now he went on: 
 
 "Your uncle was the sole executor of the property 
 left you and your brothers by your mother and of your 
 interest in the works left by your father, but the prin- 
 cipal of all this property should have been turned over 
 to you when your older brother reached the age of 
 twenty-four. * Were you acquainted with the provisions 
 of your father's and mother's wills, Miss Nicholson?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Elder," Claire answered. " I never 
 thought of them." 
 
 \ "And you?" and Robinson Elder turned to Jamie. 
 This question seemed quite unnecessary because every- 
 body knew instinctively that Jamie, too, would answer 
 in the negative — which he did. 
 
 " But you," Robinson Elder went on, addressing him- 
 self to George, — "y° u knew the provisions of these 
 wills. How?" 
 
 "I looked them up," George answered promptly. 
 
 "How did you induce your uncle to give you your 
 share?" 
 
232 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I did n't induce him. I told him I knew of the wills 
 and he offered to." 
 
 "Did he say anything about giving your sister and 
 your younger brother their shares?" 
 
 "No. Neither did I, because I thought it better to 
 leave their shares for uncle to look after. Neither of 
 them knew anything about business. I wanted mine 
 because I knew I could double it and treble it in the 
 Street. He did n't say a word to me about Claire's or 
 Jamie's share!" 
 
 "He did to me," Kate interrupted, "and to my sister. 
 He called our attention to the fact that the settlement 
 was due, but said it would be more advantageous to wait 
 a year or so. He asked our advice. We told him to con- 
 sult the children's interests." 
 
 "Did he say that he had given or intended to give 
 George his share? 
 
 "He did not." 
 
 Robinson Elder turned again to George. "According 
 to your uncle's books, he gave you the hundred thousand 
 dollars in two payments, one of sixty thousand and one 
 of forty thousand. Is that correct?" 
 
 "It is," George answered. 
 
 "The first payment he seems to have raised by en- 
 dorsing over to himself various checks, made payable 
 to the Nicholson Company, and by forging the name of 
 one of the Nicholson Company's largest customers to a 
 note for the balance. That is, I assume this from the 
 coincidence of dates. The second payment of forty 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 233 
 
 thousand dollars he secured through a mortgage. Did 
 your sister ever mention that she had placed a second 
 mortgage on her houses across the street, Mrs. 
 Weston?" 
 
 "She certainly did not, Mr. Elder. Some one told me 
 some months ago that they had noticed the record of 
 a second mortgage on her houses, and when I spoke to 
 her about it she said it was n't so. I was sure they had 
 been mistaken and said no more about it." 
 
 "Nevertheless, there is a second mortgage." 
 
 "Then he got her signature by some chicanery — if 
 she really signed it at all." 
 
 "The mortgage is genuine, but the forty thousand 
 dollars was paid by check by the mortgagors to the order 
 of Miss Caroline Nicholson. Your brother endorsed the 
 check over to himself by means of forgery, and deposited 
 it in his bank. This was on the 27th of last November — 
 on the 28th he made his second and last payment 
 (amounting to forty thousand dollars) to George here." 
 
 "So that my nephew was paid his inheritance out of 
 moneys belonging to the Nicholson Company and my 
 sister — is that it?" Kate demanded. 
 
 "George's inheritance was due, and when his uncle 
 offered it to him he took it." 
 
 "And to pay George he robbed the rest of us," Kate 
 retorted. "Well, iGeorge can easily return it to us." 
 
 "And have it gobbled up by the creditors!" George 
 cried. "No, thank you." 
 
 "It hasn't anything to do with the creditors!" re- 
 
234 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 torted Kate angrily. "Legally the money may be yours, 
 but morally it belongs to all of us." 
 
 "If it does n't belong to me morally, it does n't be- 
 long to you morally," answered George. 
 
 "Very well; if you intend to rob us, say so." 
 
 "Look here, Aunt Kate, you want me to turn my in- 
 heritance over to be divided among the Nicholson heirs 
 — that is, yourself, myself, Claire, and Jamie. If I do 
 that, will you turn your property in, too? You've been 
 investing dividends Uncle Edward paid you for years in 
 outside securities. How do you know he was n't selling 
 my mother's securities to do it?" 
 
 "That's a quibble!" answered Kate. 
 
 "I thought you'd think so," George retorted. 
 
 Here Claire spoke again. 
 
 "But it seems to me that if the Nicholson family owes 
 money through Uncle Edward's acts, we must all give 
 what we have to pay it, must n't we, Mr. Elder? Are 
 n't we in a way responsible for him?" 
 
 "Responsible for his dishonesty!" Kate cried before 
 Elder had an opportunity to answer. "Did n't he rob 
 us as well as others? They '11 never get a cent from me ! " 
 
 "Do you agree with your wife there?" asked George 
 of Weston. 
 
 "I do, most certainly." 
 
 "I thought you would," remarked George ironically. 
 
 Kate turned sullenly to Elder. "Is there anything 
 more?" 
 
 "Nothing; except the thing that I really came for — 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 235 
 
 and that is to suggest that an application for a receiver 
 for the Nicholson Company be made immediately — 
 there is really nothing else to be done. If you say so, 
 I will have the papers made out." 
 
 Kate got up, Weston following her example. "Very 
 well," she answered. "You know best. But, George 
 Nicholson, I'm really surprised and shocked at what 
 I 've just heard. I consider that you 've taken a hundred 
 thousand dollars that doesn't belong to you, and — 
 well, you'll hear from me about it later!" 
 
 "All right," returned George as Kate, with Weston, 
 disappeared into the library. "Sue, if you want to — 
 it won't do any good." 
 
 Elder had risen and, shaking hands with Claire, was 
 following the Westons toward the front door. 
 
 "Going downtown, Mr. Elder?" George called. "All 
 right, I'll go with you." And he was about to follow 
 him when Claire called him back. 
 
 In this tangled skein of death, dishonor, insolvency, 
 and selfish interests, she sought vaguely for some thread 
 which might unravel it, and grasping a sleeve of 
 George's coat she said in a low tone, trying to find words 
 for matters she so little understood: 
 
 "Does it mean, George, that our failure and uncle's 
 wrongful use of money that was n't his, will cause others 
 to fail, too?" 
 
 "It will cause them to lose money — I don't know 
 whether they'll fail or not. We can't help that. 
 Why?" 
 
236 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "But we must make good, if we can, George. We 
 must!" 
 
 "That's nonsense. You don't understand. People 
 have to look out for themselves. Anyway, I can't go 
 into it now. Elder's waiting for me." 
 
 George and Robinson Elder had gone away together, 
 following the departure of the Westons. Maggie en- 
 tered the dining-room to discuss some matter of domes- 
 tic necessity. Claire had taken up the reins of govern- 
 ment almost without a thought amid the preoccupation 
 of more important things, but now a sudden distaste 
 assailed her, and answering her as briefly as she could, 
 she rose from the table. As she passed into the hall she 
 saw that Jamie was seating himself at the piano, and 
 she thought, "If Jamie begins to play his waltz now, 
 I shall go mad." She ran upstairs past the rooms of 
 Caroline and Edward, where it seemed to her that potent 
 but invisible entities still dwelt, into her own, slamming 
 the door after her. A future of blank emptiness seemed 
 to spread itself before her. Her old life was at an end — 
 and beaten down, discouraged by Elder's revelations 
 and by the sordid quarrels of George and Kate, she 
 thought that she did not much care — she would not 
 mind if it were swept away competely; but when she 
 tried to imagine what might take its place, she could not 
 do so. 
 
 She went to one of her windows and looked out. Out 
 of all the buildings that hemmed her in and from the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 237 
 
 streets beyond, the odors and sounds of the city rose 
 into the palpitating haze of an August day. She glanced 
 across at the opposite tenement and was arrested by the 
 blank look of the windows of one of the small flats. The 
 rooms, where late one night she had seen the tired wo- 
 man walking with her child, were bare and empty — 
 the sash was raised and she could look past the torn and 
 dirty shades into its interior. The flat consisted of two 
 rooms, a very small one containing a diminutive gas 
 cooking-stove and a larger one in which the family had 
 lived — both were empty. Torn scraps of paper lay on 
 the floor, a few rags, a broken dish, a twisted shoe. 
 Its occupants, leaving their litter behind them, had 
 moved away taking their pitiful possessions with them. 
 But where, what possible object could such wretches 
 have in moving? For something told her that the 
 condition of the poor does not change, that life with 
 them is always at a dead level of dirt, crowded quar- 
 ters, and destitution, and that if they had gone it was 
 because they were forced to do so, and she pictured 
 to herself the somber pilgrimage of this family — 
 typical of thousands — dragging their tattered pro- 
 perty, a bed or two, a dirty mattress, broken chairs, 
 a grimy and revolting array of decaying domestic 
 utensils, a few tattered rags of clothing, a battered 
 trunk, things that were worthless except that they 
 had not the means to replace them, from tenement to 
 tenement, in an endless hegira without purpose and 
 without hope. 
 
238 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 And as she looked into those empty rooms she thought 
 of her own, and imagined it, too, empty and desolate. 
 It would not look so very different with the carpet up, 
 with the pictures gone, leaving slight stains on the plain 
 surface of the painted walls, and with the absence of 
 curtains revealing the evidences of slight disintegration 
 progressing in the mouldings of the doors and windows. 
 Denuded of everything, the bed, the rugs, the chairs, 
 every evidence of occupancy, it, too, would present a 
 picture not unlike that of the sordid tenement across the 
 way. And soon it would be like that, and the whole 
 house. In the drawing-room, the red damask curtains, 
 the painting by Neolini, the cabinet with its familiar 
 objects, the bronze maiden holding two cherries be- 
 tween her lips, the piano, the engraved glass globes 
 which shaded the gas-jets, the fender, and the tea-table 
 on which Maggie had for years bumped down the heavy 
 tea-tray of Georgian silver. In the dining-room the 
 carved, staring yellow oak furniture upholstered with 
 dark green leather, the dinner service, the goblets, the 
 Turkish rug. In every room a multiplicity of objects, 
 which had communed with her in silent friendship since 
 she was a child, would pass away — and with them would 
 pass the very essence of home, would pass those individ- 
 ual and delicious smells peculiar to this house in all the 
 world — of the house itself as you entered it; of Jamie's 
 rooms lightly pungent with the smoke of vanished cigar- 
 ettes; of the familiar perfumes of her own — the scent of 
 the down pillows of her sofa, the aroma rising from the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 239 
 
 drawers of her bureau as she opened them. Would pass 
 the intimate and familiar daily sensations, the feel of the 
 polished handrail of the stairway whose every curve 
 and conformation her hand knew so well, the softness of 
 the stair carpets, of her rocking-chair by the window 
 where with Particolor she was wont to sit so often, the 
 delicious softness of her bed, the sofa by the window in 
 the drawing-room. Would pass the sounds, the distant 
 roll of the dumb-waiter, the closing of the front door, 
 the click of her shoes on the black-and-white marble of 
 the hall, the faint roar of running water, voices here and 
 there rising from above and below, and strained of all 
 except a plaintive and minor quality the notes of the 
 piano rising under Jamie's touch from the drawing-room 
 stealing through the panels of her closed door. Would 
 pass that delicious, intimate, and solitary life she led at 
 intervals behind that door shut away with her secret 
 thoughts, with her rosy dreams of what life might hold 
 for her, and which another room would never know. 
 Would pass the intimate machinery of existence, would 
 pass the servants, would pass herself, Jamie, George, 
 the lingering shades of the departed, would pass all the 
 concrete expressions, the accumulated, the stored-up 
 evidences of that sentient record called life. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Some one knocked at the door. Claire had seated herself 
 at the window under the weight of a sudden exhaustion 
 which had weakened her limbs. She knew it was Jamie, 
 and while she did not want to see him — did not at that 
 moment, drooping under the lassitude of the torrid after- 
 noon, want to see any one — she did not move or speak. 
 The door opened and Jamie came in, subdued and list- 
 less, his hands in his pockets, and without removing 
 them sat down on the edge of a chair, looking vaguely 
 about as if for something, some subject wherewith to 
 break the spell of the oppressive quiet of the house and 
 of the sultry summer afternoon. Finally he said: 
 
 "Perhaps before long now I shall be able to go." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Claire faintly. 
 
 "To Paris ! Now that — that — " 
 
 "But we have n't any money, Jamie!" 
 
 "Have n't any money ! " Jamie replied, incredulously. 
 
 "We shan't have any. Everything will have to go to 
 pay our debts!" 
 
 "But we'll have something" Jamie insisted. 
 
 "Nothing — Mr. Elder said so. You heard him." 
 
 Jamie seemed struck dumb; but presently he said, 
 "George has a hundred thousand dollars, and Aunt 
 Kate has some." 
 
 "But it is n't ours, Jamie." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 241 
 
 "I always thought there was something queer about 
 him," Jamie said reflectively — "always. Didn't 
 you?" 
 
 "Not until you told me about that woman, and after 
 that when I thought Aunt Caroline was worried about 
 something." 
 
 "Well, here we are left in the lurch by our forebears. I 
 told you the liabilities were n't all on our side. What 
 are we going to do?" 
 
 "I'm going to ask you that," Claire answered. She 
 felt simultaneously irritated and exhausted. "I can 
 think for myself, but I can't for you. What are you 
 going to do? You've always had a place to come to 
 where people would shield you, but you won't any 
 longer, because I'm the only one now, and I can't, 
 I'm tired." 
 
 Jamie sat quite still looking straight in front of him, 
 miserably. 
 
 "You see! You don't answer!" 
 
 "I don't answer," replied Jamie, "because I've 
 broken my promise to you so often. Don't bother about 
 me, Claire. I'm not worth it, I'm afraid." 
 
 Would pass, herself, George, Jamie, the lingering 
 shades of the departed, the accumulated expressions of 
 her life, and of them all she and Jamie would cling to- 
 gether — it must be so — she would not wish it other- 
 wise, and yet the weight of his weakness seemed press- 
 ing down on her with unbearable inertia. 
 
242 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "It's too hard," she heard herself say, "you make it 
 too — " And she slipped away into unconsciousness. 
 
 The torrid light of afternoon had changed to a purple 
 dusk. One of the gas-jets, the one with the green shade, 
 was lighted, but turned low. A smell of tweeds and to- 
 bacco, faint but pleasant, welcomed her back. A large 
 hand was holding her wrist, and she saw the doctor with 
 his crisp, curly gray beard and mustache looking at her 
 with his kind and quizzical expression, reassuring and 
 tonic. 
 
 "Waking up, are you?" he said, finally, after what 
 seemed like a long time. 
 
 "Have I been ill?" Claire asked. 
 
 "Not exactly. Heat and fatigue. That's all. Too 
 much town air. You and Jamie are going away." 
 
 "We can't, doctor," Claire answered tremulously, 
 and her lips began to quiver. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because — because we have n't any money." And 
 she was on the verge of a torrent of tears when the doc- 
 tor's tremendous and hearty laugh boomed through the 
 room and through the house, attacking her like the as- 
 sault of an invigorating douche. 
 
 "No money, eh? What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mr. Elder said so." 
 
 "He did, did he? Hang lawyers! They always make 
 things out ten times worse than they really are to get 
 credit for putting them right again. Don't you worry. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 243 
 
 Crying because you thought you had n't any money, 
 eh?" 
 
 And the doctor's explosive laugh boomed again 
 through the house, making the air tremble, and these 
 vibrations seemed to drive before them the accumulat- 
 ing shadows of the immediate past; seemed to charge 
 the lifeless air which hung heavily throughout the house 
 with something encouraging and vital; seemed potent 
 even to banish the shades of the departed lingering in 
 the rooms below. And to Claire, tired even as she was, 
 with nerves stretched far beyond normal, there was in 
 the tones of those strong, hearty, boisterous, human ex- 
 plosions something indescribably welcome and sustain- 
 ing. The strong buoyancy of youth rose to their sum- 
 mons, and although she was too nerveless to dry the 
 tears which had damped her cheeks, with a smile she 
 turned upon her side and slept. 
 
 When she awoke it was night. Through the open 
 windows the silhouettes of the tenements, as flat as if 
 cut from black paper, sprinkled with occasional lights, 
 displayed their outlines against a faint dusty glow rising 
 from the street beyond. The accustomed noises of the 
 evening came to her, the gongs of the electric cars, the 
 rumbling of the distant Elevated, rattle of wheels, cries 
 of urchins, and the thin notes of the reedy instrument 
 she had heard before. Across the corner of her bed lay a 
 sheet of light projected by the gas-jet in the hall, which 
 threw the illuminated oblong of the doorway against 
 the opposite wall. Jamie was moving about in his room 
 
244 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 whistling, softly and half apologetically, something of 
 his own. 
 
 "Jamie," she called faintly. 
 
 Jamie instantly appeared. 
 
 "Yes, Claire." 
 
 "I'm hungry." 
 
 "All right. How are you feeling?" 
 
 "Well enough. A little weak, though." 
 
 "What would you like?" 
 
 "I think a poached egg 9 Jamie, and some toast and 
 tea. Has the doctor gone?" 
 
 "Long ago," answered Jamie; "but he told us to give 
 you something when you woke up." 
 
 "What time is it?" 
 
 "It's only nine. I'll tell Maggie." 
 
 Claire for some minutes lay quite still. She felt fa- 
 tigued, more so than at any time during the last days, 
 and not inclined to move, but her taut nerves had re- 
 laxed themselves, and she was aware that her apprehen- 
 sions for the future had become less imminent and 
 menacing. 
 
 George came in, saying, "Hello," cheerfully, turned 
 up the gas-jet under the green shade, and sat down, 
 adding, with an air of super-brotherly affability, "How 
 are you feeling?" But before Claire could answer a 
 slight clatter sounded in the hall and Maggie, carrying a 
 bed-tray, entered, followed by Jamie, each moving in an 
 aroma of buttered toast, and it struck Claire with a 
 sense of unmistakable relief that Maggie's cheeks were 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 245 
 
 as red, her stays as tight, her shoes as creaky as they al- 
 ways had been, that George and Jamie, too, were un- 
 changed, and that without, the world was going on pre- 
 cisely as it had before the appalling Nicholson tragedy 
 had for a time blotted it out of appreciable existence. 
 
 Jamie placed another pillow at her back. George 
 lighted another gas-jet, and Maggie adjusted the short 
 legs of the bed-tray on either side of Claire's half-re- 
 cumbent form. Claire poured herself a cup of tea and 
 attacked the poached egg with relish, while George and 
 Jamie lounged about, displaying an obvious determina- 
 tion to be cheerful and fraternally amiable — and this 
 transparent determination arising so clearly out of con- 
 sideration for herself also helped to raise Claire's spirits. 
 By a tacit understanding family matters were avoided. 
 
 "Had an answer from Rockcroft yet?" she heard 
 Jamie ask casually of George. 
 
 "Yes, they can give you rooms any time after day 
 after to-morrow, so I wired we'd take them from the 
 tenth for a month." 
 
 "Who is that for, George?" Claire asked. 
 
 "You and Jamie," George answered. 
 
 "Well, I certainly am not going to Rockcroft," Claire 
 replied. 
 
 "Why not?" George asked in surprise. 
 
 Rockcroft was a small colony in the White Moun- 
 tains, of almost conventual dullness, where Claire had 
 suffered the martyrdom of boredom many times in the 
 company of Aunt Caroline. It was a favorite resort for 
 
246 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 members of the Nicholson church and a numerous band 
 with like proclivities from Brooklyn. 
 
 "Because it's the stupidest place that ever existed! I 
 won't go there! I'd rather stay in town." 
 
 "All right! All right!" George answered hastily. 
 "You don't have to go if you don't want to. We 
 thought you'd like it. Any place you'd like better?" 
 
 "Yes. Atlantic City." 
 
 At the mention of this city of sin, as it had been the 
 habit of the elder Nicholsons to regard it, the brothers 
 exchanged involuntary glances of startled admiration, 
 and George, concealing a prideful grin, answered: 
 
 "It's awfully crowded and noisy at this time of 
 year — " 
 
 "I don't care," Claire answered. "That's what I 
 want. Could n't you telephone down there to some of 
 the hotels and see if they have any rooms?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I suppose I could — " George began. 
 
 "Then do it now. Please, George!" 
 
 "All right!" George acquiesced, rising. 
 
 "And no little cheap one on back streets. I want to 
 go to one of the big ones facing the ocean. Do you know 
 their names?" 
 
 "I know their names all right. When do you think 
 you would feel well enough to go?" 
 
 "Any time, to-morrow or next day. The very thought 
 of it makes me feel better already." 
 
 "Well, don't bank on it," cautioned the cautious 
 George. "This is the season down there, you know." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 247 
 
 George departed. Almost at once Claire called him 
 back. 
 
 "And, George, besides our bedrooms I shall want a 
 sitting-room communicating with them — for not less 
 than a month. I've got money to pay for everything." 
 
 "Don't worry about that." 
 
 Her sacrificial mood had for the moment, and under 
 the encouragement of the doctor's optimism, been lost 
 sight of. At least for a month she would forget if she 
 could her responsibilities, her duties; the past and the 
 future. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Claire and Jamie, in wheeled chairs, were being pushed 
 by two menials along the Board Walk. The sun setting 
 behind the vast bulks of the hotels cast their translucent 
 shadows across the crowded beach below, out into the 
 tumbling waves, except where occasional gaps in their 
 continuity permitted bands of amber light to illuminate 
 the moving multitudes and the white foam of the 
 breakers. 
 
 They had been at Atlantic City for a week, and this 
 week had been one of delightful dolcefar niente. George 
 had been lucky enough to get really charming rooms for 
 .them. The sitting-room on a corner had windows on 
 two sides. Claire's room faced the ocean, and each 
 night, as the salt air, entering suavely through her 
 opened windows, swept her cheeks and hair, she was 
 lulled to sleep by the lazy beat of the surf. Immediately 
 on their arrival they had inaugurated a regime so indo- 
 lent that it ultimately began to make Claire secretly 
 ashamed. Breakfast, very late, invariably in their sit- 
 ting-room, extravagant patronage of the wheeled chairs, 
 and hours of perfect idleness, dawdling over a book or 
 lying on the sand. At first Claire was too tired to think 
 much about it one way or the other, and as Jamie was 
 not incapable of doing nothing gracefully, one day fol- 
 lowed another in a smooth, lethargic procession; but as 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 249 
 
 under the stimulus of the change her vigorous vitality 
 revived once more, her indolence became a little irk- 
 some, and both she and Jamie began to look about 
 rather wistfully for something wherewith to engage 
 themselves. 
 
 They had had one letter from George indicating that 
 the doctor's optimism was not likely to survive the hard 
 facts of Elder's pessimistic forecast, but that there was 
 one eventuality which would help the situation tre- 
 mendously, and that was the possible purchase of the 
 plant of the Nicholson Company by a prosperous manu- 
 facturing company whose works were in the neighbor- 
 hood. There was nothing definite to be said about it yet, 
 but the syndicate was considering the matter. In the 
 meantime, he was afraid the Ninth Street house would 
 have to go. And also, in the meantime, he admonished 
 Claire not to worry. Claire had already made up her 
 mind not to if she could avoid it, but George's letter 
 brought back relentlessly the fact that things were 
 changed, that her former safeness and security, fictitious 
 though it had shown itself to be, was a thing of the past, 
 and that after the respite Atlantic City afforded her, the 
 indubitable future would await her. 
 
 Claire and Jamie submitted themselves to the em- 
 braces of the wheeled chairs, and to the propulsive pow- 
 ers of the menials, each with a superb, slightly self-con- 
 scious air of luxurious lassitude, and yet their eyes at 
 times moved restlessly, already searching for something 
 wherewith to mitigate the growing tedium of a too per- 
 
250 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 feet existence. Jamie looked longingly at the cavernous 
 entrance of a moving-picture palace, at the frivolous 
 fagade of a cabaret, at a mosque-like structure conceal- 
 ing within mysterious occult enchantments, and 
 glanced appealingly at Claire; but Claire would not 
 respond. It was only two weeks since — since — and 
 although it seemed much, much longer, it was not to be 
 thought of. She had come to Atlantic City because it 
 was gay, because she knew that she needed an environ- 
 ment of that kind; but to take part in it, even if they 
 were feeling a little bored, would be too unseemly — 
 
 "Hello!" cried Jamie suddenly, with an unmistakable 
 note of pleasure in his voice. "There's Orville!'' And 
 Claire, glancing up quickly and following his gaze, saw 
 Orville approaching, also in a wheeled chair. There was 
 something so absurd, to Claire, about the spectacle of 
 the vital and energetic Orville submitting himself to the 
 passive impotence of a wheeled chair, that she laughed 
 aloud. Orville saw them, waved a hand, lifted his hat, 
 and all three joined forces eagerly. 
 
 "George told me you were here! I was going to look 
 you up. I'm down for a little vacation." 
 
 Orville, the moment he had heard from George that 
 Claire had gone to Atlantic City, had determined to fol- 
 low her there, but he had purposely waited a week, 
 shrewdly calculating that if he did so his appearance 
 would be doubly welcome. His restraint was rewarded 
 by both Claire's and Jamie's real pleasure at seeing 
 him. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 251 
 
 "New York is like a furnace. We're lucky to be out 
 of it. Come and lunch with me at my hotel. It's one 
 o'clock and you're nearly a mile from yours!" 
 
 Jamie glanced at Claire, who hesitated. 
 
 "Come on, Claire, it can't do any harm!" he urged. 
 
 "We'll be as quiet as you like," added Orville. 
 
 "Very well," Claire decided. And getting out of their 
 chairs they strolled toward the huge pile where Orville 
 was stopping. 
 
 "Are you all right again?" To his tone of friendly 
 solicitude was added something more which was not un- 
 pleasant to Claire. Something warmer, more personal, 
 more protecting than he had shown before. His chaffing, 
 bantering manner had disappeared completely. He had 
 become pleasantly serious, sympathetic and simple, but 
 his assured and reliant laugh was still the same, and his 
 careless air of understanding confidence. He met some 
 one at every step, it seemed, with whom he exchanged 
 greetings. The head waiter rushed to meet him as they 
 entered the dining-room, and Claire and Jamie sank 
 into their chairs pleasantly aware of the fact that in- 
 stead of being rather isolated and lonely outsiders, they 
 had suddenly become significant entities in the cosmog- 
 raphy of the town. 
 
 Jamie chirruped through his teeth, a trick of his 
 which usually made Orville laugh, and exclaimed. 
 "This is something like!" 
 
 "Why, Jamie, we've been having a lovely time!" 
 Claire remonstrated. 
 
252 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I know it, but it's good to see some one you know 
 once more." 
 
 "Some one, or any one," said Orville. 
 
 " Some much more than others, as you must know, my 
 beamish boy. How's George?" 
 
 "Jamie," said Claire reprovingly, "don't be imperti- 
 nent!" 
 
 And Jamie replied, "All right, I won't!" 
 
 "That's all right," said Orville, "I don't mind." 
 
 "It doesn't matter," replied Jamie. "Claire has 
 asked me not to be impertinent, and I'm not going to 
 be." 
 
 " What nonsense you 're talking, Jamie. You have n't 
 told Mr. Orville what you'd like for luncheon." 
 
 "Something rare and expensive," Jamie answered. 
 "I'm not particular." 
 
 Claire laughed at Jamie's nonsense which he delivered 
 in his inimitable way, and exchanged amused glances 
 with Orville. She was really delighted to see him, and 
 asked him presently how long he intended to stay. 
 
 "Two weeks, perhaps. Perhaps longer," Orville 
 answered. "I find that if I am to keep my efficiency at 
 top-notch I must get away from town pretty often." 
 
 She had had a note from him after the tragedy, writ- 
 ten with surprising tact and sympathy, and she had 
 noticed that he was in the church on the morning of the 
 funeral, but she had not spoken to him for nearly a 
 month. There was really something warm and pleasant 
 in this renewal of their intercourse. He seemed to sym- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 253 
 
 bolize the safety of established things now that her own 
 safety was threatened, and in his company she felt a 
 renewal of her old sense of security. 
 
 They sat for a time in a discreet corner of the lounge 
 after luncheon — where Claire allowed herself to smoke 
 a cigarette — listening to the performance of an excel- 
 lent orchestra, and then Orville walked back with them 
 to their hotel, leaving them at the door. 
 
 An east wind which had sprung up during the night 
 had overcast the sky, and they had barely reached their 
 rooms when it began to rain. A dull afternoon was 
 plainly before them. Claire sought solace in a book, and 
 Jamie disappeared somewhere into the recesses of the 
 hotel, reappearing occasionally as he wandered about 
 aimlessly. The moment for dinner arrived with a wel- 
 come sense of relief from the monotony of the afternoon, 
 and the concert of the hotel orchestra served to pass an 
 hour afterwards, but on returning to their rooms they 
 found that the storm of wind and rain had increased, 
 beating fiercely against the windows of Claire's room 
 and of their parlor which faced the water, sweeping 
 across the dull expanse of the ocean, and over the de- 
 serted beach and promenade. All night the rain beat 
 fiercely, and in the morning Claire woke to find it still 
 driving in from the ocean under a flying canopy of slaty 
 clouds. The aspect of their surroundings had changed 
 completely. The disappearance of the multitudes which 
 swarmed along the front caused the resort to take on an 
 appearance of dejected weariness, of stolid boredom 
 
254 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 which communicated itself in turn to the inmates of the 
 hotels. Breakfasting in private suddenly lost its attrac- 
 tions to Claire and Jamie, and they sought the com- 
 panionship of the public dining-room, but after finishing, 
 the prospect of a morning indoors was found to be in- 
 supportable, and getting into mackintoshes, they braved 
 the strong pressure of the Atlantic gale, stepping out 
 briskly along the Board Walk whose saturated surface 
 gleamed grayly with dull reflections. Occasional pedes- 
 trians could be seen on its interminable vista, diminish- 
 ing in the distance to slowly moving specks. The hotels, 
 out of which something vital seemed to have passed, 
 stood inert and lifeless, their blank windows and closed 
 doors giving no hint of activity within. To seaward two 
 coasting vessels were dimly visible through the driving 
 rain, rolling in the gray sea, but moving steadily north, 
 the smoke from their funnels being caught instantly by 
 the wind and swept swiftly toward the shore. 
 
 The scene was not an enlivening one, but the move- 
 ment and rush of the wind, and the whip of the rain on 
 their faces produced in them a sense of strong exhilara- 
 tion, and presently they found themselves in a gale of 
 laughter racing like children. 
 
 "Why, you can run quite well ! " Jamie remarked with 
 intentional patronage. 
 
 "As well as you!" Claire retorted. 
 
 "Can you? All right; I'll race you to that little blue 
 kiosk, eh?" 
 
 Claire darted off without replying. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN Z5b 
 
 u That's a low trick!" cried Jamie from the rear, and 
 she heard the patter of his feet as he began to exert him- 
 self to overtake her. On they flew. Claire was almost 
 a match for him, but not quite. She made every effort, 
 but gradually he drew abreast of her, ahead of her, 
 slowly he passed her, and catching a glimpse of his bent 
 head and downright expression, at the rapid alternation 
 of hands and feet, she began to laugh hysterically, strain- 
 ing to keep up with him, but Jamie momentarily now 
 drew farther and farther ahead. All at once she thought, 
 "I must not laugh like this! It is only two weeks since 
 — since — - *' But youth would have its way, and it was 
 only when noticing that in their mad rush they were 
 passing Orville's hotel that she became sober and 
 stopped while Jamie still sped on. She had become sud- 
 denly self-conscious. What must she look like, giggling 
 hysterically and racing like an overgrown school-girl in 
 that ridiculous manner? She felt certain that bad luck 
 would see to it that Orville would be sitting at one of 
 the windows, and she scanned them furtively. 
 
 Jamie, who had discovered her defection, was return- 
 ing to her teasingly victorious, and they started back 
 toward their hotel. The rain had again increased and 
 they were glad to reach shelter; but two hours had still 
 to be disposed of before luncheon. A general air of wear- 
 iness and lassitude pervaded the hotel. Claire and Jamie 
 tested its resources without success. Shuffleboard and 
 billiards seemed to have become insupportably inane, 
 and Claire finally went upstairs to her book which was 
 
256 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 proving to be hardly absorbing enough to cope with the 
 situation. From time to time she thought of Orville, and 
 that if he had looked them up as she had thought likely, 
 he might have helped her to pass a stolid hour or two. It 
 was now twenty-four since she and Jamie had met him, 
 and they had not heard from him. 
 
 After luncheon Jamie disappeared, and on returning 
 about five explained that he had been to Orville's hotel 
 thinking he might meet him. Jamie, too, apparently 
 had been thinking of him. He had not seen Orville, and 
 finally on inquiring at the desk was told that he was not 
 in. 
 
 " Let's telephone and ask him to dine with us," Jamie 
 suggested. "We can't stand this much longer." 
 
 "No," answered Claire. She was a little piqued at 
 Orville's silence, adding, although she understood per- 
 fectly well, "Can't stand what?" 
 
 "This mad, exhausting whirl, of course!" responded 
 Jamie. "Come on, let's ask him, Claire!" 
 
 "No, Jamie, I shall not!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Jamie, as if you did n't know!" 
 
 "You mean — ?" 
 
 " Of course ! " And yet Claire knew that their mourn- 
 ing was not the real reason. 
 
 "There can't be any harm in it, Claire," he persisted. 
 "Orville has got to dine, and so have we. I don't see 
 why we can't do it together." 
 
 "Don't let's argue about it, Jamie!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 257 
 
 Jamie turned sulky — he did n't often — and started 
 toward the door. Just as he reached it the telephone 
 rang close to him. He lifted the receiver, and Claire 
 heard the following monologue: 
 
 "Yes. Who is it — Yes, this is Mr. James Nicholson 
 — oh, shut up Central, if you please! — would we? 
 I should n't wonder. What time? On the minute. Oh, 
 she's all right, only nearly dead with ennui — so am I. 
 Eight o'clock, then. Right-o!" Jamie chirruped into 
 the receiver, hung it up, and looked at Claire with a min- 
 gled glance of triumph and defiance. "Orville wants us 
 to dine with him at eight. He's sending his car for us." 
 
 "Why did you say I was bored?" Claire demanded. 
 "I am not bored at all! I wish you would n't say such 
 things, Jamie!" 
 
 "But you are!" 
 
 "I'm not!" Claire declared so downrightly that 
 Jamie answered: 
 
 "All right!" quite bewildered; adding, "But you 
 don't mind going, do you?" 
 
 "No, I suppose not," Claire replied with unexpected 
 acquiescence, and both were aware that a certain cheer 
 which had been absent before had come into the room. 
 Jamie started once more for the door, and in response 
 to a question from Claire said : 
 
 "I'm going to make my toilet." 
 
 "But we are n't going for over two hours, Jamie." 
 
 "I know it, but I've got to kill the time somehow. 
 Do you know I like Orville much better than I ever 
 
258 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 thought I should — do you know why? Because he's 
 such an understanding kind of person." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean he's got as much intellectual curiosity as any 
 Jew. For instance, I 'm certain he does n't give a red for 
 music, and yet he knows it's one of the great solvents of 
 life — Jamie stopped and looked at Claire. "Solvents 
 of life! Not bad, eh, Claire? Well — he recognizes it as 
 one of the great solvents of life and he respects it and its 
 devotees, even if he does n't appreciate it himself. 
 That's only one instance. He's that way about every- 
 thing. He's the most open-minded person, barring 
 Mallette, I ever knew." 
 
 "Have you heard from Mr. Mallette, Jamie, since he 
 went away? " 
 
 "Did n't I tell you? I got a letter from Chicago. 
 Such a corking letter. He'd seen it in the papers. He 
 sent an awfully nice message to you — I must have left 
 it at home — " And as the subject of Mallette's letter 
 was leading them to the catastrophe, he abandoned it, 
 saying, "But about Orville. He's interested in every- 
 thing — and he listens to what you have to say ! " 
 
 "Well, of course you'd like that, Jamie, being some- 
 thing of a talker." 
 
 "No, it is n't that, Claire, but I'll bet you that most 
 really big men are good listeners." 
 
 "Do you think Mr. Orville is a big man?" 
 
 "Yes, I do — I think he is." 
 
 "Do you think he is kind?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 259 
 
 "I think he's kind in this way — because he under- 
 stands things so well — but I don't think he would ever 
 allow his sympathies to govern his conduct." 
 
 " That 's exactly what I think. I don't think he would 
 even be weakly indulgent with a person because he liked 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, I mean more than that," answered Jamie. "I 
 meant that even if he liked and felt sorry for a person, it 
 would n't prevent his smashing him if he stood between 
 him and something he wanted." 
 
 "Oh, Jamie, I don't think he's a bad man." 
 
 "I didn't say he was, but these men of affairs have a 
 queer code sometimes. In the Street, you know, it's 
 yourself always — yourself only — " 
 
 "Do you mean to say they are n't honest?" 
 
 "No; but they're pretty ruthless. I've heard George 
 talk — and other people. It's a case of the devil take 
 the hindmost." Jamie turned toward the door once 
 more. "I say, I must be getting ready." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 The car that Orville sent proved to be not the superla- 
 tive limousine they had become familiar with in town, 
 but a formidable open machine equipped for travel. 
 The weather curtains had been put on over the seats, 
 and crawling into the low enclosure which they made, 
 they found Orville's chauffeur at the wheel. 
 
 Orville himself met them at the door of the hotel, gay 
 and vigorous. His face glowed with the ruddy tones of 
 health, and his eyes shone clear and sparkling. Claire 
 thought he looked, if not handsome, almost distin- 
 guished; and his first words disposed her to forgive his 
 apparent neglect of herself and Jamie. 
 
 "You '11 never guess how I 've been spending the day," 
 he said at once, and he pressed Claire's hand in his 
 powerful grasp. 
 
 "Not the way we have, I hope," Jamie answered. 
 
 "I would have if I had n't gone to the Country Club 
 and played golf since early morning, in the rain, all by 
 myself." 
 
 "What did you do that for?" Claire asked. "You 
 seem to know lots of people here." 
 
 "But I did n't come here to see lots of people! I came 
 here to be alone." And to correct the impression that 
 this statement might have made, he added, "I wanted 
 to ask you and Jamie to come out there for tea, but I 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 261 
 
 was afraid it would n't appeal to you — the journey, 
 I mean — in such weather." 
 
 As he spoke, they moved toward the restaurant, and 
 on to Orville's table, where a discreet nosegay smiled a 
 welcome to Claire. The courses of the dinner, which had 
 already been ordered, and which began their procession 
 without delay, were well chosen, cooked, and served. 
 Orville seemed, in fact, to be always well served. He 
 seemed to expect, and to receive, from every situation, 
 the best it had to offer. Orville's progress seemed al- 
 ways to take on the character of an unostentatious 
 triumphal procession — of the concealed but evident 
 prestige of royalty traveling incognito, all of which he 
 accepted, not with any evidence of vulgar satisfaction, 
 but as a matter of course. 
 
 The management and atmosphere of Orville's hotel, 
 a smart affair which made Claire's seem quite humdrum 
 in comparison, was very welcome after her long con- 
 finement. They sat in the lounge for an hour after 
 dinner, when Jamie went to look at the weather, and 
 reporting that it was clearing, Claire decided to return 
 by the Board Walk. Orville accompanied them. As 
 they stepped out of the brilliant interior of the hotel, 
 the solemn majesty of night and the sea spoke to Claire 
 augustly, as it had done more than once, commanding 
 her to silence. The wind was shifting toward the north. 
 An occasional star shone, but there was no moon, and 
 across the ocean her glance was lost in the darkness of 
 an illimitable void. Nearer to the secret sense of things 
 
262 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 she seemed than at any other time or place, nearer the 
 key to the mysteries of birth, life, death, the meaning 
 of the material universe, nearer thus, facing Nature in 
 its most majestic aspect, than among the prying swarms 
 of insatiable humanity, or among all the books written 
 by man to explain the baffling silence which surrounds 
 him. Something vague and beautiful seemed to lift 
 Claire's senses for a moment, up and up, until she be- 
 came conscious again of the cheerful banter of Orville 
 and Jamie beside her. 
 
 "So you are a Jerseyite," Jamie was saying quizzi- 
 cally. 
 
 "Yes," Orville answered. "Born among the sand- 
 dunes, the scrub-pines, and the mosquitoes." And 
 presently he added, turning to Claire, "Do you know 
 the country about here? " 
 
 Claire answered that she did not. 
 
 "Then will you and Jamie come with me to-morrow 
 morning? I will show you some of it — and perhaps we 
 can find a place for luncheon." 
 
 "I should like to," Claire answered, hardly hearing; 
 and almost with a sigh, she murmured, "How beautiful 
 it is!" 
 
 Orville looked at her as if wishing to search quickly 
 for her meaning, and Claire, noticing, continued, "The 
 night, I mean. The clouds and the stars, after the rain!" 
 
 Orville looked above him for an instant — Claire 
 could not tell whether he understood or not — and 
 turning toward her again he said, "Then I shall call for 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWNj 263 
 
 you at ten." He seemed to reveal in his eye the gleam 
 of a sudden resolve. 
 
 Orville, who was always scrupulously punctual unless 
 it served his purpose not to be, was announced pre- 
 cisely at ten. After the storm, Nature had relapsed into 
 a phase of complete quiescence. The air, moist and per- 
 fectly still, while yet cool, gave promise of increasing 
 warmth during the day. Orville had brought his open 
 car, driving it himself, with a hamper in case they 
 should be unable to find luncheon anywhere, and they 
 started toward the north, gradually leaving the coast 
 behind, over narrow, level roads still dotted with shal- 
 low pools of rain-water, which Orville's car dashed reso- 
 lutely aside in showers of muddy drops. 
 
 Suddenly Claire became aware that they were wind- 
 ing in gradual curves through a dense growth of scrub- 
 pine. They went on, mile after mile. Occasionally an 
 open road would be met, and rough clearings would 
 open out, revealing a dilapidated house or two, built of 
 unpainted clapboards. But immediately on passing 
 them, the forest would close in upon them again, almost 
 brushing the wheels of the car. 
 
 They went on for miles, threading an interminable 
 wilderness of trees. The day grew momentarily more 
 oppressive. An immense blanket of humid air enveloped 
 them, and from the horizon the occasional rumblings of 
 thunder warned them of approaching storms. Orville, 
 whose assured confidence had been giving place for 
 
264 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 some time past to a perplexed uncertainty, suddenly 
 uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, and turned 
 sharply to the right into a wide, rough road crossing 
 that on which he had been driving. He followed this 
 road for a hundred yards, perhaps, swerved from it 
 again into a narrow lane through other serried ranks of 
 scrub-pines, and emerging close to a deserted, dilapi- 
 dated railway station which stood beside a line of rusty 
 rails, drew up opposite a small, unpainted house that 
 stood across the way, the front portion of whose first 
 story was fitted with shop windows, where behind dirty 
 panes a meager assortment of the miscellaneous objects 
 of a country store could be seen. Three men, wearing 
 wide-brimmed, ragged straw hats and soiled and faded 
 overalls, lounged on the steps of the store, smoking 
 corn-cob pipes and languidly spitting into the dusty 
 road. 
 
 A clearing of perhaps a hundred acres surrounded 
 them, bearing evidence of wretched and desultory cul- 
 tivation, and here and there upon this expanse a few 
 small shanties stood dejectedly, as if their builders had 
 erected them with a minimum of interest or effort. 
 
 In the doorway of one of them a woman wearing a 
 gingham sun-bonnet stood bending over a washtub. 
 Two children were driving a cow, with apparent aim- 
 lessness of purpose, across a field. The air quivered in 
 the insufferable heat, made more apparent by their 
 cessation of motion. Orville, without speaking, sat with 
 Claire beside him, observing this scene with an ex- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 265 
 
 pression which seemed compounded of distaste, interest, 
 almost amazement. 
 
 Claire looked at him questioningly, not understand- 
 ing why they should stop in this depressing place. 
 Orville, seeming to understand, indicated a boy who 
 had come out of the country shop. He wore a ragged 
 shirt and trousers, but no hat, nor shoes, nor stockings. 
 His skin was burned brown, and his hair was bleached 
 almost white by the sun. He edged his way between 
 two of the loungers and seated himself on the bottom 
 step. 
 
 "Thirty years ago, I was that boy," said Orville. 
 
 Claire, resting listlessly in the languor of the torrid 
 day, stirred with a little movement of interest, and 
 gave him again a questioning glance. 
 
 "Forty years ago I was born in that house," con- 
 tinued Orville. 
 
 "Born there," repeated Claire, almost in stupefaction 
 — the mere thought seemed so preposterous. "But 
 how — how did you get away? " 
 
 "I ran away," answered Orville, "when I was about 
 as old as that very boy; in shirt and trousers — without 
 a cent in my pocket, without a hat, without shoes. My 
 father kept the store. He was so like them that he 
 might have been any one of the three men you see sit- 
 ting on the steps, without ambition, energy, or intellect. 
 My mother I do not remember." 
 
 "Was your father cruel to you?" Claire asked. 
 
 "He was neither cruel nor kind; he was a complete 
 
266 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 nonentity; but I had realized, when I was still very 
 young, that if I wanted anything I must not depend on 
 him for it. I had intended for a long time to go." Or- 
 ville went on after a moment: "But it was curious, the 
 way it finally happened. It was a day very much like 
 this, in the summer. I was sitting on the steps, as that 
 boy is doing, looking down the road; and suddenly some 
 impulse told me that the hour had come. I thought of 
 my hat and of my shoes, and of a fifty-cent piece I had 
 hidden in a corner of the rough framing of my room 
 upstairs, — the house was n't plastered, — but some- 
 thing said to me, 'Don't wait!' It seemed to me that 
 something beckoned to me, and that if I went then, the 
 way would be open. I got up. My father, who was sit- 
 ting on the steps with a group of loafers, engaged, as 
 they always were, in their inane and childish chaffing 
 and argument, said, 'Where you goin', son?' And I 
 answered, 'Just along the road.'" 
 
 Orville paused again and repeated almost as if to 
 himself, that short sentence: 
 
 "Along the road." 
 
 "How much those three words meant! I was going 
 along the road, out into the world, into the future, into 
 the realms of achievement and adventure — into life. 
 A journey along the road." 
 
 Claire looked at Orville in surprise. She had never 
 seen in him anything to indicate that he might respond 
 to the beckonings of imagination; but now, under its 
 stimulus, his eyes glowed, and he displayed a fluency, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 267 
 
 even a grace of expression, quite different from the 
 usual matter-of-fact vernacular of his vocabulary. 
 • Jamie, who had been lolling back in the tonneau, 
 enjoying a cigarette, sat up to listen; and they presented 
 the curious spectacle, of a powerful, modern, shining, 
 car, standing in the middle of a desolate "New Jersey 
 clearing, while one of its occupants, a resolute and pros- 
 perous-looking person of forty, discoursed to a hand- 
 some girl who sat beside him and a young man leaning 
 forward from the back seat. 
 
 "Along the road," repeated Orville once more — "a 
 simile of life." 
 
 "And you went away without even anything to eat?" 
 Claire asked. 
 
 "Into the world, with a ragged shirt and a pair of 
 ragged trousers," Orville answered. 
 
 "But tell me about it — just what you did." 
 
 Orville smiled. 
 
 "I have kept you here long enough." 
 
 "Please!" Claire insisted. 
 
 "Luncheon first," said Orville, smiling but firm. 
 "Now that I have my bearings once more, I can take 
 you to a very good restaurant not ten miles away. I '11 
 tell you a little then if you care to hear." And starting 
 his engine, he engaged the clutch, moved fifty yards, 
 and they were once more immersed in the low, impene- 
 trable forest. 
 
 During luncheon Orville talked of his career. It 
 seemed to Claire — this story of a boy, starting out al- 
 
268 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 most as God had brought him into the world, and 
 achieving while still young the power and influence of 
 wealth — a strange and fascinating tale, under the in- 
 fluence, as she still was, of that recent realization of her 
 own defenselessness. 
 
 He revealed himself as she had not fully understood 
 him before, a powerful and determined personality, and 
 as she listened she thought of Mallette's history, and the 
 story of his renunciation seemed drab and unreal com- 
 pared to the color and daring of Orville's achievements. 
 Mallette, having all, had thrown that all away. Orville's 
 struggles gave point to the real value of what Mallette 
 had so lightly cast aside; and it seemed to Claire that 
 while one may value material things too much, Mallette, 
 through some defect of character, had valued them too 
 little. And in Orville's story there was pathos too — to 
 Claire — Orville himself was plainly unaware of it, al- 
 though from the first he possessed those indomitable 
 traits which seemed to clothe him in armor. 
 
 When at last they came out from the shaded restau- 
 rant into the torrid glare of the summer afternoon, it was 
 four o'clock, and they were thirty miles from Atlantic 
 City. Occasional rumblings of thunder still sounded, 
 and dark clouds had begun to gather on the horizon. 
 The car darted forward toward the coast under Orville's 
 skillful driving. Claire settled herself in the low seat 
 beside him. The rush of the wind cooled her face, and the 
 subdued, rhythmic murmur of the engine soothed her 
 senses. Orville's story still seethed in her imagination. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 269 
 
 They reached the coast and turned south. A curtain 
 of black clouds, shot momentarily with tortuous threads 
 of lightning, hung to the west, against which the sea- 
 gulls whirled like bits of paper, dazzling white. The 
 curtain of cloud swept nearer. The reverberations of 
 thunder grew more ominous. Orville increased his 
 speed. Claire could feel at times the muscular tension 
 of his strong arm as he held the wheel. The wind dashed 
 against her face, and a strong exhilaration seized her. 
 Great and wild forces seemed to surround her; the 
 storm, the whirling seagulls, the wind, the powerful 
 surge of the car, and that strong, purposeful, and yet 
 mysterious man who sat beside her. 
 
 Orville, quickly withdrawing his gaze for a moment 
 from the road, turned it to her, and said, "Did my story 
 interest you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," Claire answered, "so much!" 
 
 "You don't think any the less of me?" Claire looked 
 at him in astonishment : 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Some women would," he said. 
 
 They had reached the city, and as he turned into the 
 road leading to Claire's hotel, drops of rain began to 
 fall, the thunder-clouds had darkened the sky, and the 
 preliminary gusts of wind, indicating that the storm was 
 on them, blew through the streets. 
 
 "I have never told it before to man or woman, 
 barring an anecdote or two here and there," said 
 Orville. "I told you because I knew it would make no 
 
270 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 difference in your opinion of me, whatever that might 
 be." 
 
 "It was wonderfully interesting," Claire answered. 
 
 The car stopped before the door of the hotel. 
 
 "May I come and see you to-morrow afternoon?" 
 
 Orville had sat motionless in the car for a moment be- 
 fore making this request; and this slight action seemed 
 to invest it with a peculiar significance. 
 
 Claire suddenly felt herself in the clutches of a strange 
 embarrassment; she bent her head to hide a flush which 
 she knew had risen to her cheeks, and, vexed at herself 
 for it, answered stumblingly : 
 
 "Yes — please — do come!" 
 
 At the desk she found a letter from George. 
 
 The syndicate he had already mentioned, which had 
 been considering the purchase of the works, had decided 
 to take them. The terms were not what he would have 
 liked, but it was a timely chance, and properties of that 
 kind are always hard to sell. In addition a purchaser 
 had been found for the Ninth Street house, who would 
 take it as it stood, except, of course, their personal ef- 
 fects. It was an opportunity which might not occur 
 again. With the money raised from these two transac- 
 tions, and from the other assets, he thought that the 
 creditors would be paid, barring, of course, members of 
 the family. Aunt Caroline's estate had a very large claim 
 against both Uncle Edward and the company, as had 
 she and Jamie. The purchaser of the house was in no 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 271 
 
 especial hurry for it, and he (George) would make ar- 
 rangements to keep the servants on, so that Claire could 
 stay away as long as she chose and take as much time as 
 she might want to pack in a leisurely manner. Claire 
 stopped. 
 
 "Oh, Jamie!" she cried. 
 
 They had gone to their rooms, and she could see 
 Jamie, who was dressing for dinner, standing before his 
 mirror, tying a cravat. 
 
 The storm had begun, and the sound of the torrents 
 of rain beating against their windows was broken mo- 
 mentarily by sharp peals of thunder. 
 
 "What is it?" answered Jamie, turning at the pain in 
 her voice, and coming into their sitting-room. 
 
 "They have sold the house." 
 
 "Then haven't we any place to go?" he cried 
 quickly. 
 
 "We may have it for a few weeks, to pack — but after 
 that—!" 
 
 After that, what? Her absolute inability to answer 
 the question appalled her. Her very good sense enabled 
 her to realize the difficulties which another woman — in 
 fact, most women — would be inclined to minimize. 
 She did not for a moment imagine that George, or even 
 her Aunt Adelaide, or other relatives more distant, 
 would allow either herself or Jamie to starve. Her ques- 
 tionings did not descend to such ultimate foundations, 
 but the sale of the Ninth Street house showed that the 
 image and nucleus of her old life were to be swept away, 
 
272 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 and that something must be faced, so new, strange, and 
 difficult, that she shrank from it with instinctive dread. 
 
 "But, Claire, what is to become of us?" 
 
 "We shall get along somehow. Other people have. I 
 have two thousand dollars." 
 
 "Surely not much, Claire!" 
 
 "No, not much. We must n't stay here now, Jamie, 
 it's so expensive; we must go back at once." 
 
 "If my opera was only finished!" 
 
 "Yes, but they say it takes so long — such things." 
 
 "And the clever George, of course, has taken care of 
 George!" 
 
 "Hush, Jamie!" 
 
 "He might divide that hundred thousand with us, 
 but of course he won't." 
 
 "I won't hear you say such things, Jamie. It is 
 his." 
 
 "Very well," Jamie answered gloomily, "but it's ours 
 too. Well, let's go down to dinner. When had we better 
 go back to town?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning. I will tell them to-night that 
 we are going." 
 
 "But Orville is coming to-morrow afternoon!" 
 
 "I'll telephone that I shall not be here. Will you 
 look up the trains after dinner, Jamie?" 
 
 Dinner passed almost in silence. During it the storm 
 passed, and Claire, going up to her room, saw from her 
 window a drenched world below, and above a stretch of 
 calm evening sky, with the thinnest, thread-like cres- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 273 
 
 cent of a new moon hung in its blue depths — a symbol 
 whose meaning she could not read. 
 
 Jamie had gone in search of time-tables, and putting 
 on her hat she went quickly out, eager to stand in the 
 benignant quietude of the evening. The promenade was 
 still deserted. The sea moved lazily and the strings of 
 electric lights shone like pale pearls, robbed as they 
 were of their brilliance by the flush of the afterglow, 
 which seemed reluctant to withdraw its magic radiance 
 from the world. 
 
 Claire walked slowly, stopping at times to look out 
 over the ocean. Something in the unearthly beauty of 
 the afterglow, tinting the distances of sky and sea, which 
 spread their immensities above and beyond her, woke 
 in her a sudden sense of the pathos of human endeavor, 
 and again she searched for its meaning. 
 
 Far into the future this panorama of beauty would 
 recur for the coming ages. New generations would live, 
 new races develop, new cities rise, destined in time to 
 give way to still other cities, other generations, other 
 races, an endless succession, while the panorama of the 
 master-builder moved eternally in its slow procession 
 — but why? — for what purpose? — and as youth is 
 wont, Claire, with troubled eyes, asked herself these 
 unanswerable questions. 
 
 She moved on, too absorbed to notice Orville's figure, 
 leaning against the balustrade of the promenade, until he 
 spoke to her. He had been looking out, as Claire had 
 been, over the sea. Claire joined him. 
 
274 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "I was going to telephone you, when I got back to the 
 hotel, that I would not be here to-morrow afternoon," 
 she said. "We are going back to town in the morning." 
 
 "Going back!" Orville exclaimed, in a tone of unmis- 
 takable surprise. 
 
 "We really should n't stay any longer, Mr. Orville," 
 Claire answered. "In town there are so many things to 
 be done." 
 
 "I had hoped that you might have begun to look on 
 me as an old and good friend," began Orville. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do," Claire returned quickly. 
 
 "And that perhaps I might sometime be of use to 
 
 you." 
 
 Claire was silent. She felt perhaps for the first time 
 the need of guidance, of support. She longed to confide 
 in him, but held back by her natural reserve, was still 
 reluctant to. 
 
 "Tell me, Claire," he said; but before she could speak, 
 he added: 
 
 "No, don't tell me until I have told you something 
 first. Claire, let me take care of you. Have n't you seen 
 that I love you? Do you remember the day I first dined 
 at your house? When your brother waved to you from 
 our bus, and I saw you for the first time, I told myself 
 that somehow I must get to know you. Even if you had 
 been a total stranger to both of us, and I had had only 
 that passing glimpse of you, somehow I would have 
 found you. You may think what I have said extrava- 
 gant, but I am like that. I do not want tilings through 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 275 
 
 any passing whim, but because I know instinctively 
 what my nature needs, and what it is fitted for. Let me 
 take care of you, Claire!" 
 
 Orville paused. Claire lifted her eyes to his for a 
 moment, those violet eyes whose glance always enrap- 
 tured him with an Aesthetic rapture — and dropped 
 them again. 
 
 "Do you really love me?" she murmured. 
 
 They were still standing alone against the balustrade, 
 half facing the sea. The afterglow had faded at last, 
 leaving them enveloped in the first blue curtain of the 
 night. Orville took one of her hands in his; but at this 
 action she seemed to move from him a step, withdrew her 
 hand, and exclaimed, almost with a kind of soft terror — - 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Forgive me," Orville answered quickly. "Have I 
 offended you?" 
 
 And again Claire answered, "No." 
 
 "You don't know how many times I have wanted to 
 tell you. You asked me a moment ago whether I really 
 loved you. What can I say — except 'y es / and what 
 does that *y es ' amount to, unless I can prove it to you 
 by deeds? Don't go back, Claire! Surely you know, 
 after what I have told you, that I came here because I 
 knew that you were here. Come, let me tell you frankly, 
 I know what is worrying you. Let me sweep all that 
 away — because I can — with one sweep of my hand, 
 brush it all away forever. I have thought so much about 
 it — and Jamie ! I can, and would want to do, so much 
 
276 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 for him. I must n't boast, but I have a good deal of in- 
 fluence. I would help him, anyway, of course, but doing 
 it together would be such pleasure — there are so many 
 things we could do together. And I would keep you so 
 safe — not restricted — don't misunderstand me — be- 
 cause in that way you would be free as air — but so safe 
 against all the rough and difficult places; and let me tell 
 you that I know how rough and difficult life can be. It 
 would make me so happy, keeping you safe from harm. 
 You would be so safe, and yet so free." 
 
 "I know," Claire answered at last; "you would give 
 me so much, and I have nothing!" 
 
 "You would give me something worth more than all 
 that I could possibly give you." 
 
 "And Jamie, too!" 
 
 "Do you know what my life is like?" Orville asked. 
 "It is the loneliest possible. Come, you and Jamie, and 
 drive my loneliness away. Give me your hand." 
 
 Claire, without an impulse of opposition, extended her 
 hand, and, taking it, he kissed it, seized her shoulders 
 with a strong and yet careful grasp, and drawing her 
 slightly toward him, said — 
 
 "Look at me." 
 
 In the fading light he saw her eyes again looking at 
 him, a little defiant, a little frightened; and releasing 
 her, he closed his hands, as if in supplication. 
 
 "Will you come, Claire, you and Jamie? " And stoop- 
 ing to listen he heard her "Yes," almost inaudible, 
 mingled as it was with the lazy tumbling of the breakers. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "The cook wants to know if you will be home to lunch, 
 
 ma'am." 
 
 This from Maggie, who, clothed in an extremely tight 
 black dress, with strikingly smart apron and wrist- 
 bands, had knocked at Claire's door. 
 
 "No, I shall not. I thought I had told her," Claire 
 answered. 
 
 She was standing before her mirror, adjusting a hat, 
 but she turned to give Maggie an appraising look. 
 Maggie, whose bosom, while larger than ever, looked 
 almost genteel in its black, buttoned rigidity, and whose 
 reddish hair was done up with a neatness unknown in the 
 past, retreated from the door and collided with a smart, 
 slim Swedish parlor-maid. The parlor-maid caromed 
 from Maggie's solid form and they exchanged supercili- 
 ous glances. The parlor-maid knocked at the door. 
 
 "Yes!" Claire answered. 
 
 "Mr. Matsuki would like to know if you will be home 
 to lunch, ma'am," she asked; Matsuki being the Japan- 
 ese butler. 
 
 "No, I shall not. I am going out now and shall prob- 
 ably not be back until seven." 
 
 The parlor-maid closed the door and withdrew. Claire, 
 not liking the hat, took it off with a slight exclama- 
 tion of dissatisfaction and elaborate precautions against 
 
278 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 disarranging her hair, returned it to the box from which 
 she had taken it, and after a glance at a tiny wrist- 
 watch, sat down in a padded chair which stood by one 
 of the windows. It was early, and she need not hurry. 
 A winter had passed since she and Jamie had gone to 
 Atlantic City, and the forces of spring would soon be 
 stirring once more in the trees of the adjacent square. 
 She was in the Ninth Street house, but it had been 
 changed beyond recognition. Orville had been its pur- 
 chaser. Claire had been touched and very grateful 
 when he told her, but his additional statement that he 
 had already let contracts for its entire renovation had 
 dismayed her. Hardly anything but the walls was to be 
 retained. The old home was to pass away and yet Or- 
 ville's evident belief that Claire would enjoy this trans- 
 formation, prevented her from protesting. The bed- 
 room in which she sat was on the floor below the one she 
 had originally occupied — one flight up instead of two 
 
 — and until the previous summer had not existed at all. 
 It had been added to the house immediately over the 
 library, adjoining what had been the large rear bedroom 
 
 — Caroline's, in fact. Claire therefore had a complete 
 suite. Caroline's former bedroom was now her sitting- 
 room, her new bedroom opened from it, and opening 
 from one side of the new bedroom a superb bathroom 
 had been built. These changes had seemed absolutely 
 necessary to Orville, who wished to see Claire's beauty 
 installed in a commensurate setting. 
 
 In stating that Claire's bedroom was now one flight 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 279 
 
 up instead of two, a slight error has been committed. 
 While it had been moved down one flight, the entrance 
 to the house had also been moved down, so that she was 
 still two flights from the entrance door. 
 
 The shifting of the entrance door had been accom- 
 plished by removing the old high stoop, building a win- 
 dow where the former front door had been, and making 
 the main entrance to the house in the basement floor. 
 Edward's den had been transformed into an entrance 
 hall, and the drawing-room above now occupied the 
 whole front of the house. A passage had been built so 
 that the dining-room could be reached without the 
 necessity of going through the library, as formerly, and 
 this had become Orville's study. Orville's private suite 
 was on the same floor as Claire's : the small front room, 
 his bedroom, the large front room, his sitting- and 
 dressing-room from which his bathroom, old, but trans- 
 mogrified, opened, lighted by a shaft from above. 
 
 Jamie still occupied his old quarters. He had been 
 offered Claire's former room, but had declined it. He 
 liked his own best. 
 
 Claire watched these operations — while acceding to 
 them because Orville so obviously wanted them and was 
 so obviously certain that Claire wanted them too — 
 with a double misgiving. First, because every vestige 
 of the old house — the home she loved — was disap- 
 pearing, and second, because, brought up in the careful 
 Nicholson tradition, it seemed unwise to spend so much 
 in a district which was clearly declining in value as a 
 
280 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 residential quarter; but to Orville money was plainly 
 not a thing to be conserved with care or expended cau- 
 tiously. Orville, as if possessed of some secret magic by 
 which money could be instantly and without effort 
 created out of nothing, seemed to regard the most ex- 
 travagant expenditure, even at the inflated prices of the 
 moment, with unconcern. Finally an electric lift had 
 been installed, and a new story built at the top of the 
 house for the accommodation of the additional servants 
 required under the new regime. 
 
 Claire sat in her low chair and looked out. The tene- 
 ments were still there, unchanged, except that they 
 seemed older, shabbier, and more dejected. This may 
 have been because her new room was twenty feet nearer 
 than the old. Although it was March the day was so 
 unusually mild that their windows were open once more, 
 and once more their varied sounds assaulted her ears. 
 
 Claire, who was beginning to know life as she had not 
 known it before, sitting with her chair pushed back a 
 little, so that she would not easily attract attention, 
 watched curiously. 
 
 In the rooms from which the crowded family had dis- 
 appeared so suddenly the summer before, a stout old 
 woman with a sardonic countenance was leaning idly 
 out of the windows, smoking a clay pipe, and resting on 
 a pillow which she had placed on the sill. Lolling in this 
 way, on pillows, was a common tenement practice, 
 Claire had observed. Behind her, Claire could see a 
 young woman who continually interrupted her opera- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 281 
 
 tions on a cooking-stove to cuff and push a number of 
 children who were moving about in the two dirty 
 rooms. 
 
 Directly opposite, and on the same level, a little 
 swarthy creature with dense, blue-black Latin hair was 
 rocking a baby who cried persistently as Claire looked. 
 This little dark creature caught sight of her and with a 
 quick movement darted beyond the range of her vision. 
 The cries of babies and the voices of children generally, 
 crying and shouting, rose from many places. The houses 
 seemed full of them. So nature worked, demanding 
 greater fecundity where the process of living was more 
 difficult. 
 
 Claire had matured, grown handsomer, and a little 
 heavier. She had developed in fact into a superb and 
 formidable beauty. 
 
 She got up presently, looked again at her watch, pro- 
 duced another hat, put it on, and descended the stairs. 
 The stairway, instead of running straight down as be- 
 fore, descended in a graceful curve — the old solid wal- 
 nut banisters had given way to a light Louis XVI railing 
 in iron — and came to an end in a square central hall. 
 Claire crossed this room and descended to the entrance 
 hall by another graceful curve. The Japanese butler, 
 with a smiling and harmonious manner, opened the front 
 door, and as he did so a footman opened the door of a lit- 
 tle jewel of a motor which stood waiting for her. This 
 motor, in fact, shining with polished brass and lacquer, 
 resembled not a jewel so much as a casket for one. 
 
282 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire, the jewel, entered, sank into its cushions, the 
 footman mounted beside the chauffeur, and the jewel 
 casket glided away. 
 
 This procedure was witnessed secretly every day by 
 most of the ladies of the block if they happened to be 
 at home, and each had subconsciously admitted that if 
 they had not known Claire so well, such lavish magnifi- 
 cence in such a retired part of town would have led 
 them to conjecture that Orville had installed among 
 them one of those ladies who under all circumstances 
 delight in showing that they are being well paid for their 
 services. Claire, too, was beginning to have thoughts of 
 this nature, and as the chauffeur, obeying instructions 
 communicated to him by the footman who had received 
 them from Claire, guided the motor suavely up the 
 Avenue, she began to review the past eighteen months 
 since that blessed demonstration on the Avenue when 
 it was thought the war was over and which seemed so 
 fraught with promise for the future. And what had 
 that future brought! Increasing unrest and turbulence. 
 Vast social upheavals, the old tyrannies renewed, re- 
 bellions, strikes, wars still progressing in many places, 
 hunger, starvation, plagues, cynical indifference, and 
 people like herself immersed in a kind of fabulous lux- 
 ury out of all harmony with the essence of the time. 
 
 The motor stopped before a large building in the 
 neighborhood of Forty-Second Street which Claire en- 
 tered. At sight of her, the liveried creature whose intel- 
 lectual duty it was to see that the elevators observed 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 283 
 
 some kind of periodic intervals between arrival and 
 departure, approached with an agitated, slavish defer- 
 ence, bowed obsequiously, hurriedly led the way to 
 a waiting elevator, ushered Claire into it, banged the 
 door in the faces of a number of people hurrying for 
 it, and signaled the operator to ascend. The starter's 
 agitation having communicated itself to the operator, 
 he obeyed nervously, started the car so suddenly that 
 Claire's knees almost gave way beneath her, shot to the 
 third floor, and, fumbling with the lock, finally suc- 
 ceeded in sliding back the door, which opened immedi- 
 ately into a classic but spacious vestibule lined with 
 marble, in which a robust young lady with blondined 
 hair sat before a telephone switchboard. 
 
 This switchboard was not of the usual commercial 
 type produced by an unimaginative telephone company, 
 but of a special, elegant, classic design, as was the chair 
 in which the operator sat. 
 
 A classic bench with a deep-blue velvet cushion sup- 
 ported the forms of three weary youths, and a number of 
 men of the super-prosperous business type paced rest- 
 lessly about while waiting evidently a summons to enter 
 one of the three doors which gave access from Orville's 
 vestibule to Orville's offices. Two of these three doors 
 were momentarily opening and closing to give egress or 
 ingress to hurrying employees or other super-prosper- 
 ous business men. 
 
 Above the classic bench a large panel, let into the 
 marble wall and framed in a carved border, displayed 
 
284 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 in elegant gilt lettering the names of a long list of 
 corporations : 
 
 The Alodine Utilities Co. 
 
 The Alaska Navigation and Developing Co. 
 
 The North Star Light and Power Co. 
 
 The Labrador and Northwestern Railway Co. 
 
 The Fantail Copper Co. 
 
 — and a dozen others. These were Orville's companies. 
 
 Claire stepped into this scene of business vigor with 
 some confusion. She had never previously taken either 
 of the three elevators which opened into Orville's ves- 
 tibule, but a fourth, which gave access to a passage 
 beyond one of the three doors already mentioned, which 
 led immediately to Orville's private room. The starter 
 had evidently made a mistake scarcely excusable even 
 for his limited intelligence. At her appearance the 
 weary youths, still of an age which kindled only to cer- 
 tain flapper ideals, remained as weary and impassive as 
 ever; but each super-prosperous business man straight- 
 ened himself slightly, congratulated himself that his 
 clothes were faultless, his hair properly trimmed, and 
 his finger-nails brightly polished, and with an energetic 
 gesture removed his hat, although all had been wearing 
 them in the presence of the switchboard operator, who 
 was really quite handsome, too, although, of course, 
 not obviously super-prosperous, as was Claire. 
 
 Although Claire had never — that she could remem- 
 ber — seen the telephone operator before, the latter 
 rose smilingly, saying, "I guess you must have taken 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 285 
 
 the wrong elevator, Mrs. Orville"; and opened the door 
 which led to Orville's private room. 
 
 Orville really had two private rooms; one in which he 
 carried on all the meetings, conferences, and discussions 
 of his multifarious schemes; directed, dictated, tele- 
 phoned, and held general sway; and another inner room 
 which he allowed few to enter, and of which indeed few 
 knew the existence. It was this latter room which was 
 reached by the fourth elevator and the private passage. 
 Orville came and went in this way, and Claire, too, on 
 her occasional visits, but no one else. If she found the 
 room empty, she pressed a button which rang a little 
 bell in his outer office. If he did not respond, by going 
 into the outer office and pressing another bell, she could 
 summon a good-looking female secretary who could tell 
 her whether Orville had gone out or was in some other 
 part of the office. On this occasion Claire touched the 
 little button, and as Orville did not answer she pushed 
 open the door of the inner office and was about to enter, 
 when the door leading to the outer offices burst open 
 and Orville darted in, hurried to his desk, and called a 
 number into the mouthpiece of the telephone — "Hello! 
 Just a moment, Claire. Come in!" And he began to 
 give unintelligible, rapid instructions to some unknown 
 being, listening presumably, in some unknown cubicle 
 of the ten million which house the dwellers of the city. 
 He finished presently, sprang up, and came around to 
 Claire, beckoning her into the inner room. 
 
 "How pretty you look." 
 
286 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 He drew her to him with a strong pressure, and kissed 
 her, first her cheek, then her lips. 
 
 "Don't, Dudley, some one might come in." 
 
 "No one comes here," Orville answered; and he 
 kissed her again. 
 
 "But, Dudley, they might — " 
 
 "Do you suppose I have n't seen to it that I may kiss 
 my wife without being found out!" And seating him- 
 self he drew her irresistibly to his knee. 
 
 Claire blushed and attempted to release herself. 
 
 "Please, Dudley, I shall be angry!" 
 
 Orville released her and sprang up. 
 
 "Why? Stay and lunch with me. I can't go out, but 
 I '11 have something sent in. Come, we '11 be very cozy." 
 
 "No, Dudley; Helena is lunching with me at Del- 
 monico's and we're going to the matinee. I came for 
 some money. It's Saturday; the bank is closed and I 
 find I have n't any." 
 
 "Have you anything there to draw, even if it were 
 open? Come now!" 
 
 "Oh, plenty," answered Claire. "I don't spend my 
 allowance, nearly." 
 
 Orville took a note from his pocket-book and handed 
 it to her. 
 
 "Good gracious, how reckless you are! How can I 
 spend a hundred dollars on luncheon? Give me ten. 
 Are you made of money?" 
 
 "It's simply been rolling in, Claire. Do you know, 
 sometimes I say to myself, 'Why don't you try some- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 287 
 
 thing that's really difficult? This game has got to be 
 too easy for you!' But it's the only one worth while." 
 
 "The only one" — began Claire — "In times like 
 this—!" 
 
 "There's only one other — politics — and the poli- 
 ticians have to come to us." 
 
 "But, now, Dudley, with the world so hurt, so mad- 
 dened with suffering, we don't want politics. We 
 want just brotherly kindness and help." 
 
 "Look here, Claire, there's too much sentimental 
 nonsense of that sort nowadays. The war gave us an 
 advantage and gave us money. Let's keep them. 
 They'll be trying to get them away from us soon 
 enough." 
 
 "Oh, as if that were everything, Dudley," began 
 Claire, alive to the inadequacy of Orville's pronounce- 
 ment. 
 
 Orville thought — "What a beauty!" and said to 
 himself, "Why are n't you satisfied? What more do 
 you want!" 
 
 Her little brown, pointed slippers, her gown, her 
 gloves, her hat, her figure, her complexion, her eyes, 
 her hair, were all perfect. 
 
 "Don't bother your head about such things," he said 
 — "kiss me." And he sought her lips, once more press- 
 ing her to him, and perhaps detecting a concealed re- 
 luctance in Claire's submission, he asked, "Are you 
 displeased with me for making money?" 
 
 "When you give me such lovely things! Why, Dud- 
 
288 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ley! Besides, you started it!" And she moved away 
 from him. "I must go now." 
 
 "One more kiss," Orville demanded; and as Claire 
 hesitated almost imperceptibly, he grasped her once 
 more and drew her to him. 
 
 Claire found Helena sitting in the lounge when she 
 reached Delmonico's and apologized for being late, 
 saying that Orville had kept her. 
 
 "If I were Dudley I would keep you too," Helena 
 answered with a laugh which annoyed Claire. "You 
 are growing so handsome, Claire. If I were a man I 
 should love you!" And Helena made eyes at her. "Oh, 
 Claire, how does it seem, being loved by such a strong 
 creature as Dudley? What would make it more fasci- 
 nating about Dudley is that one could never be sure of 
 him." 
 
 They seated themselves and Helena rattled on: 
 
 "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. But what I 
 meant was that any man like Dudley, so strong and 
 self-reliant, is more or less a law unto himself. I was n't 
 thinking of Dudley especially, and, oh, Claire, I have 
 met such a fascinating man — a Polish officer — a per- 
 fect warrior type — such a chest, and such biceps ! He 
 let me touch them — they felt like iron under his coat- 
 sleeves." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" thought Claire. "If she is going 
 to talk about men I shall be bored to death." 
 
 "Claire! There he is now! Don't look until I tell you! 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 289 
 
 I don't want him to see me to-day, I'm sure I'm not 
 looking well. Now, Claire, straight across between 
 those two tables — the small dark one sitting with the 
 tall blond." 
 
 Claire looked, and could not help laughing. She saw 
 a short, thick-set, powerful-looking man, with a bullet- 
 shaped skull, a heavy, blue-black jowl, incredibly fierce 
 mustaches, and a very low forehead. 
 , "Helena, you don't really like him!" 
 ; "I do; he's quite fascinating, and such a flirt. Some- 
 times he quite frightens me." 
 i "What does Aunt Adelaide think of him?" 
 
 "You don't suppose I'd let mamma see him, do you? 
 She does n't even know he exists. She is like everybody 
 else. She doesn't approve of most foreigners. She 
 thinks the only people worth talking about are the 
 English. You cannot blame her. A woman I know had 
 an affair with an Italian who turned out to be nothing 
 but a Milanese photographer. I knew him; he was so 
 distinguished-looking and had such good manners that 
 any one would have thought he belonged to the nobility." 
 
 "I don't suppose you know anything about your Pole, 
 do you?" 
 
 "But this woman almost married her Italian! You 
 don't suppose I'm going to marry him, Claire? But 
 they do know how to make love — ah-h ! The trouble 
 is that none of them have any money. All they can 
 manage is to take you to tea sometimes, and you always 
 have a feeling that even that is more than they can 
 
290 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 afford. You may be sure that he wouldn 't be here now 
 if he had n't been invited. The tall blond he is with is 
 rather fascinating, don't you think?" 
 
 Helena accompanied all this with mannerisms which 
 were characteristic of her; sinuous movements of her 
 body which displayed its soft and rounded contours 
 under the close draperies of her fragile gown, while from 
 the shadow cast by her wide hat, her eyes, with slightly 
 darkened lashes, showed humid, soft, and universally 
 inviting. 
 
 "Why, there's Jamie!" Claire exclaimed. She had 
 seen a pair of sloping shoulders across the room, and a 
 musicianly profile surmounted by a cap of glossy hair 
 brushed sleekly backwards. 
 
 "With a woman?" asked Helena. 
 
 Claire leaned forward — "No, it's — why, yes, it's 
 Mr. Mallette." Jamie had seen her, and was waving a 
 greeting. "Shall we ask them to join us? They're just 
 beginning their coffee." 
 
 "All right," Helena answered, non-committally, and 
 Claire signaled Jamie. 
 
 [ She had not seen Felix Mallette since bidding him 
 good-bye on that tragic day, but through Jamie she 
 bad heard of him from time to time. His company 
 had been unsuccessful and had been disbanded some- 
 where in the West and he had stayed on there. Jamie 
 thought that he had been having what Jamie said he, 
 Mallette, would have called a "thin" time. Her re- 
 lationship with him had never been, objectively, other 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 291 
 
 than impersonal, and yet she had been conscious from 
 the first that he occupied a special place in her inner 
 thoughts. She had hardly analyzed this feeling, but it 
 had always remained with her, faintly enduring. At 
 first after her marriage she had not thought or allowed 
 herself to think of him, but since her relations with 
 Dudley had begun to cause increasing weariness and 
 discontent, those special feelings had begun to return. 
 Mallette greeted them with evident pleasure and 
 flushed slightly, a thing Claire knew intuitively he did 
 rarely, and some subconscious interchange of feeling, 
 faint, disturbing and yet not unpleasant, seemed to pass 
 between them. 
 
 "What do you suppose Mallette has done with the 
 'Willow of Wei-hai-wei , ? , ' Jamie began immediately 
 when greetings had been exchanged and they had seated 
 themselves at Claire's table. This was Jamie's opera. 
 
 "Is some one going to put it on for you? " Claire cried 
 delightedly. 
 
 "Not quite as good as that," Mallette answered, 
 "only some one to publish the waltz." 
 
 " Every orchestra in town will be playing it by next 
 autumn — perhaps!" added Jamie and hummed a bar 
 or two, accompanying himself with one hand on the 
 tablecloth. 
 
 "Oh, Jamie dear, that's lovely! You must be very 
 grateful to Mr. Mallette." 
 
 "Well, rather — I feel like celebrating the happy 
 event." 
 
292 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Jamie always felt like that, but since Claire's mar- 
 riage his celebrations had been really quite innocent, as 
 far as Claire knew. Except once. Once he had come 
 home quite drunk, and had in this condition met Dud- 
 ley. There had been no half-measures about Dudley's 
 treatment of the situation. If it happened again Jamie 
 would go into the street, to shift for himself without one 
 penny to help him from either Claire or Dudley — and 
 both Claire and Jamie knew that he would do precisely 
 that, and that promises and appeals would be quite use- 
 less. Since then he had behaved so well that the idea of 
 sending him to Paris had been almost forgotten, and he 
 was studying harmony and thoroughbass at a local con- 
 servatory. 
 
 "What are you doing this afternoon, Claire?" 
 
 "Helena and I are going to a matinee." 
 
 "Let's go, too, Mallette — I know we have n't been 
 asked, but the theater's surely large enough for four. 
 What are your seat numbers, Claire?" 
 
 "Yes, do come; you might be able to get seats near 
 us." And Claire gave him the numbers. 
 
 A page appeared at Claire's side, saying that Mr. 
 Orville wanted her on the telephone. Dudley had four 
 seats for the theater that evening, and suggested that 
 Claire bring Helena back for dinner. If Jamie could n't 
 make a fourth, they would get some one else — 
 
 "But Helena will want to dress. Men never seem to 
 understand such things." 
 
 "Then we '11 call for her, and dine uptown somewhere." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 293 
 
 "Very well; and we just happened to meet Jamie. He 
 was lunching here. If he can't go, I'll let you know." 
 
 Jamie proposed that they walk to the theater, which 
 was close at hand, and as the traffic had just been 
 halted as they came out, he darted across the Avenue 
 with Helena. Claire and Mallette adopted a more dig- 
 nified pace. Claire knew that if Dudley had seen them 
 he would not have approved. When Jamie had made 
 his suggestion she had noticed, too, that Helena had re- 
 ceived it coolly. Her first infatuation for Mallette had 
 passed completely. Claire, knowing that Helena was 
 always absorbed in some flirtation, which seemed al- 
 ways to burn itself out with the heatless brilliance of 
 phosphorescence, leaving her unscarred, was not sur- 
 prised at her indifference. To Helena as well as Dudley, 
 Mallette was now only a member of a rather dubious 
 profession, and although Claire resented this attitude, 
 it made her uncomfortable, and she felt slightly annoyed 
 at Jamie for being responsible for placing her at 
 Mallette's side, and yet, as she glanced at him, this 
 annoyance melted away and was replaced by something 
 sweet — a sweetness vague but faintly terrifying which 
 seemed to seal her lips. 
 
 At the theater Claire and Helena went immediately 
 to their seats. Jamie was to try to get others near them, 
 but was unsuccessful, for Claire did not see them again 
 until they were coming out. 
 
 The play was "Justice," Galsworthy's exposition of 
 a human institution which the accretions of genera- 
 
294 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 tions have distorted out of human shape. Helena asked 
 why on earth Claire had got seats for anything so 
 lugubrious, but Claire did not even hear her. From the 
 first line she was impervious to any sensation outside 
 those conveyed to her by the actors on the stage, car- 
 ried on by the sad and inexorable current of the play 
 to its tragic conclusion; and in the person of Falder, 
 she for some reason saw Mallette. The actor who took 
 this part, an Englishman in build and complexion, re- 
 sembled him, and this, together with Mallette's history, 
 caused her, partly involuntarily and partly of her own 
 volition, to lend herself to the impression that it was to 
 Mallette she was listening. Something about Mallette's 
 revolt and sacrifice impressed her with the idea — per- 
 haps he was the stuff of which martyrs are made, chosen 
 by fate to point the way to others, by the tragic lessons 
 of their own lives; and this illusion made even more 
 vivid the pathos of the play, and caused the tears, 
 which she could not forbear to shed, to seem like the 
 expression of some intimate grief. Something strange 
 and poignant had touched her, in the restaurant, when, 
 without warning, she had seen Mallette once more. 
 
 Helena, who had wept, too, was herself again, and 
 again reproached Claire lightly for taking her to such a 
 horrid play; but Claire could not speak, and it was only 
 with a determined effort that she controlled herself by 
 the time they reached the brighter light of the street. 
 
 Jamie and Mallette joined them as they stood waiting 
 for Claire's motor, which was to meet them there. They 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 295 
 
 stood at one side, on the pavement, under the glass 
 canopy of the theater, in a delicious atmosphere balmy 
 and translucent, and in this soft effluence the material 
 world, even life itself, seemed to Claire, for the moment, 
 transmuted into something more suave, more benign, 
 than she had begun to believe it to be, and as the motor 
 drew in before them, she gave her hand to Mallette, 
 saying: 
 
 "We are in Ninth Street still — I still have my day" 
 — an invitation which Helena, she noticed, did not re- 
 peat, and as she turned toward the motor again, she 
 saw that the door had opened and that Dudley was 
 stepping out. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Mallette bowed, and was lost to sight in the crowded 
 thoroughfare. Claire offered to drop Helena at her 
 house, but she preferred to walk. It was agreed that she 
 was to be called for at seven. Claire, Orville, and Jamie 
 got in, and as they started on their way to Ninth Street 
 Orville said: 
 
 "Who was the gentleman?" 
 
 "Who! Oh, that was Mallette," Jamie answered. 
 
 "Mallette!" Claire could not tell whether Orville had 
 really forgotten or not. 
 
 "Yes, my friend the English actor — don't you re- 
 member?" 
 
 "The actor! Oh, yes; he claimed to be some relation 
 of Mallette's of London — yes, I remember him. And 
 there is a dead-line between actors, and people of that 
 kind, and my house." 
 
 "People of that kind!" Jamie repeated indignantly. 
 "He's a gentleman! Besides, he was n't in your house." 
 
 "And I don't intend he shall be." 
 
 "But, brother, I don't cotton to ideas like that" — 
 Jamie was beginning to be waggish, but the look in 
 Orville's eye checked him, as it sometimes did. 
 
 The car stopped, and, going to her room, Claire 
 seated herself by the window and began to review the 
 scenes of the play. The impression it had made was so 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 297 
 
 vivid that by closing her eyes she could see its pictures 
 once more, framed by the brilliant oblong of the prosce- 
 nium. The temptation and the first lapse from honesty. 
 The prison, that machine in which not only the prison- 
 ers, but the administration itself, were enmeshed in the 
 web which in time entangles all human institutions — ■ 
 the way which finally stood plainly open, but which 
 blind justice closed again — and the final tragedy. 
 
 Undreamed-of human vistas opened before her — 
 dark, pitiful, and tragic — and as her glance rested on 
 the tenements she saw them suddenly with different 
 eyes. Through all those years they had been presenting 
 their pictures to her, and without understanding she had 
 looked at them, coldly, without interest, giving them a 
 half glance, to turn away presently to some trivial duty, 
 as if they had been, not living creatures like herself, but 
 tableaux thrown on a screen for her inspection. She re- 
 membered now two words which Mallette had used, 
 some time in the past, and she understood now what 
 they meant. "Social consciousness." That was what 
 Galsworthy and others were working for, trying to de- 
 velop in people a social consciousness, so that this cold 
 indifference to human privation, which she now knew 
 was characteristic of herself and of most people, might 
 be done away with. Because it was indifference. She 
 knew that if a story of hunger, of misfortune, came to 
 her knowledge, it would make her, for the moment, sad. 
 She would sincerely pity the unfortunate protagonist of 
 the tale of misery — - and forget; so would others. That 
 
298 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 was what Galsworthy was writing for, hoping to arouse 
 the social conscience, so that people would n't forget, 
 and until, instead of being content with passive sym- 
 pathy, an active and persistent determination would 
 grow up to right the wrongs of people too weak, or 
 too handicapped, to right them for themselves. Mal- 
 lette had said that the war might develop this con- 
 sciousness, but at moments like this it seemed as if all 
 the fearful lessons of the immediate past had taught 
 people less than nothing. 
 
 I She looked at her watch. In twenty minutes Dudley 
 would be knocking at her door, asking if she were ready. 
 He was always disconcertingly punctual. Dudley 
 chaffed her continually about her lack of promptness. 
 The very watch which she wore on her wrist, and which 
 she forgot to look at so often, he had given her so that he 
 might not be kept waiting. She did not in the least want 
 to go. She had been up late so often lately. She knew 
 that it meant supper somewhere after the theater, and 
 getting to bed very late again, but she began to dress 
 hurriedly, making such haste that when Orville 
 knocked, she was ready for him — that is, she called, 
 "Come in, I'm ready." 
 
 Orville entered perfectly fresh, cool, and unfatigued. 
 Claire was dressed, but had not yet put on her hat, and 
 as he knew that this would take ten minutes, he sat 
 down and lighted a cigarette, observing: 
 
 "Did you lunch at Delmonico's?" 
 
 Claire felt that Dudley's not very deft method of 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 299 
 
 opening the conversation — he knew quite well that she 
 was to lunch at Delmonico's — was for the purpose of 
 having Mallette's appearance at the theater explained 
 to him. 
 
 "Yes, we lunched there," Claire answered. "Jamie 
 was there with Mr. Mallette, but they were almost fin- 
 ished when we got there. Jamie wanted to go to the 
 theater with us, but he could n't get seats near us, so we 
 only saw them again, afterwards!" 
 
 The story of the play flashed again across her vision. 
 She paused, and was about to add, "Oh, Dudley, must I 
 go with you to-night? " when she looked at him, and the 
 assured poise of his careless attitude, his look of fresh- 
 ness and strength, the determined forcefulness of his 
 vivid egoism, determined her not to say it. He might 
 not understand, but if he did it would displease him not 
 the less. 
 
 Orville, however, had noticed something in her face or 
 manner, and he said: 
 
 "What's the matter, Claire — anything wrong?" 
 
 "No, except that I saw such a terrible play this after- 
 noon.' It rather tired me." 
 
 "What on earth do you go to such things for?" 
 
 "It was very absorbing — too absorbing. I think 
 perhaps I won't go out to-night, Dudley." 
 
 "Oh, come — a little gayety will do you good!" He 
 jumped up, and grasping her by either shoulder, he 
 drew her to him. 
 
 "But, Dudley, really I'd rather not." 
 
300 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Are n't you well?" 
 
 "Yes, but— " 
 
 "Nonsense, it'll do you good." 
 
 Jamie called from below, "It's nearly seven"; and 
 overpowering her disinclination by the force of his de- 
 termined personality, they descended to the motor, and 
 speeding through the purple dusk which night was pour- 
 ing into the Avenue between its tall buildings, stopped 
 for Helena. 
 
 Claire had spent so many of these evenings since her 
 marriage that she knew exactly the programme which 
 would follow, knew so exactly that she had not even 
 asked Orville where he had got tickets. It was sure to 
 be one of those musical comedies which draw the kind 
 of audience which laughs whether things are funny or 
 not. Claire had at first laughed, too, but it was an effort 
 for her to do so any longer, and she often wondered how 
 Orville could still be attracted by them. 
 
 Helena was waiting for them, and presently they 
 found themselves passing through the gilt and marble 
 passages of a neighboring hotel, under a blaze of crystal 
 chandeliers, into a large and sumptuous dining-room, 
 filled with prosperous-looking people in evening dress. 
 A party of eight, four men and four women, seated at a 
 round table, greeted them. They were friends of Or- 
 ville's — Claire knew them, too. The table was pro- 
 fusely decorated with flowers. The men, gray-haired 
 and hard-featured, with immensely stiff and correct 
 shirt-fronts, collars, and evening clothes, alternated 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 301 
 
 with the women, who displayed necks and arms be- 
 decked with jewelry. 
 
 "Claire, look at Mrs. Pomeroy's pearls," Helena re- 
 marked in an undertone. 
 
 Dudley heard her, and turned too. 
 
 "How much are they worth, Helena?" he asked. 
 
 "A hundred thousand, probably." 
 
 "Well, Claire, you'd better leave yours off if you ex- 
 pect to be anywhere where Mrs. Pomeroy is. I paid 
 twenty thousand, but compared with hers, they don't 
 look like much." 
 
 Dudley really seemed slightly humiliated. 
 
 "A hundred thousand!" Jamie exclaimed — "what a 
 waste of money — what could n't I do with a hundred 
 thousand!" And he clasped his hands and looked at the 
 ceiling with an expression of rapture. 
 
 "We're dining with them next week," Claire an- 
 swered; "do you really want me not to wear them?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered Dudley. "If Pomeroy's wife 
 can afford necklaces worth a hundred thousand, I 'm not 
 going to let my wife be seen with one worth a fifth of 
 it." 
 
 Jamie's eyelids fluttered at the vulgarity of this 
 speech, but Helena exclaimed : 
 
 "I'd sell my soul for a necklace worth a hundred 
 thousand dollars, and so would any woman" — she 
 drew a luxurious breath — "especially if it were of 
 pearls. I love them beyond everything." 
 
 "How extravagant you are!" Claire cried. 
 
302 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Ah, but you don't love jewelry as I do. Do you 
 know what Mrs. Pomeroy is? — she's a fool, in every 
 way except one. She does know enough to get all sorts 
 of luxuries out of her husband. She never reads any- 
 thing, she has n't any children, she lives in a hotel, and 
 spends her whole time in dressmakers' shops, jewelers' 
 shops, or milliners' shops, spending money. She leads 
 what I call a perfectly ideal existence. If you knew 
 what even her stockings cost, I am sure you would be 
 staggered." 
 
 "Not easily," Dudley answered — "my wife can 
 afford anything Pomeroy's can." 
 
 "You almost lead that kind of an existence yourself, 
 my dear," Jamie said teasingly. 
 
 "Indeed, I don't! If papa hadn't built that 
 enormous house, and then left us with not enough 
 to keep it going! The worst of it is, that nobody 
 will buy it and take it off our hands. Why don't you, 
 Dudley?" 
 
 " Very well, I '11 take it, for the price of a necklace like 
 Mrs. Pomeroy's!" 
 
 "But it's worth much more than that. Oh, Claire, 
 I 'd hate to be in Dudley's clutches. I 'm sure he drives 
 unmercifully hard bargains." 
 
 Orville laughed, and Jamie observed : 
 
 "They say that it is an economic fact that the more 
 the rich spend on luxuries, the less the poor have to 
 spend on the necessities of life." 
 
 "Is that true, Jamie?" Claire asked, arrested by this 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 303 
 
 statement, and suddenly she saw Falder in his cell, beat- 
 ing against its iron door. 
 
 "I don't know; ask Mallette. He can tell you." 
 "I've told you that there's a dead-line between my 
 
 house and people like your friend Mallette" — this 
 
 from Orville. 
 
 "But I've already asked him to call, Dudley" — 
 
 Claire was glad of the opportunity to tell him — "he 
 
 always used to — " 
 
 "Then you can countermand the invitation." 
 "Why, Dudley, that's absurd!" Helena broke in — 
 
 "Claire can't do that." 
 
 They finished dinner, and went on to the theater, where 
 they were lucky enough to find a play so genuinely 
 amusing that Claire forgot her depression. Orville 
 thereupon insisted on supper at a cabaret. Helena and 
 Jamie were eager to go, Claire acquiesced passively, 
 and getting into the motor they drove a hundred 
 steps and entered the cabaret. A number of Dudley's 
 hard-featured friends greeted them from various parts 
 of the room where crowded parties around over- 
 crowded tables indicated that they were engaged in 
 their usual nightly occupation of spending money. 
 Couples were revolving in an open space in the center of 
 the room which was surrounded by tables, to the ener- 
 getic time of an orchestra. The vivacity of the actors in 
 the play, and the rapid succession of amusing situations, 
 which had acted as a stimulant, now had its reaction. 
 
304 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire danced with Dudley, and as the orchestra 
 stopped, a band of negroes close by started with a crash, 
 with banjos and percussional instruments, a violent, 
 barbaric, syncopated clamor, which served at once to 
 arouse in the dancers a species of excitement of which 
 the orchestra was incapable. Dudley seized Helena's 
 hand, drew her from the table, and they were lost in the 
 whirlpool circling before Claire. 
 
 "Want to dance?" Jamie asked. 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 A leg in a covering of diaphanous silk flashed past 
 her, and Helena whirled by in Dudley's arms. Her face 
 was flushed, and her humid eyes looked at him with an 
 expression which seemed to say — "If you want me, 
 take me!" Some similar thought must have struck 
 Jamie, too, for he remarked, "Funny Helena never 
 married"; and from being his waggish self, he became 
 suddenly quiet. 
 
 The negroes stopped with a crash, and immediately 
 the orchestra at the other end of the room struck up 
 again. Helena and Dudley returned to the table. Per- 
 haps Dudley, too, had seen that look, for the conscious- 
 ness that had previously existed between himself and 
 Helena seemed suddenly to have increased in sensitive- 
 ness and force. They were more vividly aware of each 
 other than they had been before. Claire, all woman, 
 was aware of this too; but she did n't care; she was 
 tired and sleepy, let down, and wished she were 
 in bed. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 305 
 
 "Come, Dudley, let's go," she said. 
 
 Dudley and Helena danced into the outer corridor. 
 They moved toward the entrance, put on their wraps, 
 and going out, stood waiting on the edge of two torrents 
 of humanity, for the motor which was slowly making 
 its way toward them. They went on to Helena's, and 
 retracing their way down the deserted Avenue, turned 
 into Ninth Street. The door of the motor slammed 
 hollowly after them, and they entered the dimly lighted 
 hall. Jamie, preceding them, had disappeared upstairs 
 with a parting "good-night." 
 
 "You look tired, Claire." 
 
 "I am, awfully," Claire ^answered, as she began to 
 mount the stairs slowly; "I think I won't get up for 
 breakfast." 
 
 Dudley, after a moment's hesitation, said : 
 
 "About this man Mallette. You say you asked him 
 to call?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I don't want him here." 
 
 "But, Dudley, I can't do that. I can't write and tell 
 him not to come, after having asked him. He may not 
 come at all — probably he won't." 
 
 "If he does, you can say that you are out." 
 
 "But, Dudley, he knows that I am at home on Fri- 
 days" — Claire's voice was growing tremulous with 
 nervousness and fatigue — "I shall certainly not ask 
 him again." 
 
 Dudley hesitated once more, finally said, "Well, 
 
306 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 good-night"; and as they reached the second floor, 
 turned toward his study. 
 
 "Are n't you going to bed too?" she asked; "it's so 
 late." 
 
 "As soon as I've had a night-cap," he answered, and 
 turned into the passage without speaking further, or 
 looking at her. 
 
 She was aware of that feeling of antagonism which for 
 months past had been rising between them. She knew 
 that each felt it, and that neither could control it, and 
 an intuitive knowledge that this mutual feeling was 
 freighted with ominous significance for the future 
 chilled her, and made her unhappy. Things seemed not 
 going well between them. Something in their natures 
 which they could not control, seemed to be separating 
 them, in sympathy and understanding, slowly, and yet 
 implacably. 
 
 She dragged herself up another flight, closed her door, 
 and sank into the low chair which stood before one of 
 the windows. The room was faintly illuminated by a 
 reading-lamp which stood by her bed. She was very 
 tired. A confused phantasmagoria of recent impressions 
 crowded her brain — sad, sordid, or sinister — the 
 tragic scenes of Galsworthy's play, the violent concus- 
 sions of the barbaric negro music, and Helena's flushed 
 face seeming to say, "If you want me, take me"; and 
 all at once a flood of tears blinded her. She surrendered 
 herself, she could have hardly told why, to an abandon- 
 ment of weeping, bitter and sad tears, turning her body 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 307 
 
 so that she could lay her face in her arms, which rested 
 on the low back of her chair. 
 
 A sound from somewhere beyond the open window 
 caused her to look up, hastily drying her eyes. The city 
 was dark and still under a floating powder of golden 
 stars. The tenements rose with an unbroken, somber 
 surface, except where, close to her, one dimly lighted 
 window framed the figure of the little dark creature she 
 had seen that morning, nursing a child. A shabby and 
 wretched picture, superimposed upon the mixed im- 
 pressions of the extravagant backgrounds, of restau- 
 rant, theater, and cabaret, which the evening had pro- 
 vided. The attitude of her wretched figure gave unmis- 
 takably an impression of dejection and weariness, and 
 yet of surprised and interested observation, and as 
 Claire turned her head, her voice, with an intonation sad 
 and foreign, came clearly to her across the space which 
 separated them. 
 
 "Are you unhappy?" it said, as if this seemed hardly 
 possible. "I, too, ah, yes, I am unhappy, too — I, too, 
 am unhappy." 
 
 A voice sounded gruffly from within; the light was 
 extinguished. Claire stood for a moment, moved by the 
 sad and hopeless accents of that brief confession, and 
 then closing her blinds, prepared at last for the night. 
 She undressed, switched off the light, opened the slats 
 of the blinds, and in the soft gloom which enveloped 
 her surrendered herself, with an immense fatigue, 
 in the soft support of her bed, lying relaxed and 
 
308 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 motionless, to the scented security which wrapped 
 her in. 
 
 Even in the darkness she was aware of the silken 
 draperies at her windows, and the soft folds of point 
 $ esprit which swept from under them over the glass, 
 held back by their satin bows; she was aware of the 
 thick carpet, soft as moss, stretching its velvet surface 
 below her, of the cushions of scented down, on the 
 French armchairs, the gold and silver brushes of her 
 toilet table, the scent bottles of engraved crystal, her 
 jewels hidden in their secret safe. Slumbering in per- 
 fumed folds tissues of silk and lace lay in the sliding 
 trays of the cupboards, and in the spaces beyond, in 
 closets as large as rooms, her gowns of silk, satin, velvet, 
 and lace hung, or were folded in wrappings of tissue 
 paper. And beyond, at a distance no greater than from 
 her room to Dudley's the unimaginable squalor of the 
 tenements, beyond them the city's encircling zones of 
 want, beyond them all the world-wide needs left in the 
 wake of war. 
 
 She lay sunk in her luxurious bed, surrounded by, 
 closed in by, strata of finery, rank upon rank of boots 
 and slippers standing on their narrow shelves, cloth of 
 silver, cloth of gold, kid, satin, polished leather; rows of 
 hats, rows of sunshades, wraps of fur and velvet, boxes 
 of gloves fresh and unopened, a variety of costly ab- 
 surdities bought in mere wantonness; in the midst of all 
 these treasures wrung, it seemed, by the abnormal op- 
 portunities of war from the miseries of others, a sud- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 309 
 
 den terrible distaste arose in her and, oppressed by the 
 stifling canopy of her bed, she sprang up, and leaning on 
 the sill of a window, drew a deep inspiration of the cooler 
 air faintly stirring without. 
 
 But she had wanted this. Brought face to face with 
 a future that lacked any guarantees of security, she had 
 traded herself for this very security which was becoming 
 irksome to her. But was that, after all, true? Had she 
 not loved Orville? Did she not love him now? True, 
 she had been glad that he was so stout a staff to lean on, 
 but she had not questioned her assumption that she 
 loved him. But if that were so, why question it now? 
 Because then she did not know what love was. Did she 
 know now? She only knew that she could tell what love 
 was not. And it was not love she had felt for him! Alas, 
 she knew now that it was not! Poor Dudley! But she 
 had made a bargain, and she would stick to it. 
 
 "I, too, am unhappy." The foreign accent still 
 sounded in her ears. That little wretched creature — 
 yes — but, after all, why should she be unhappy — she 
 herself? Did she ask too much of life? What was there 
 that life did not give her which she had a right to de- 
 mand of it? Had she not everything? But perhaps to 
 have everything was to have too much — or not 
 enough! And had she everything? Most people would 
 have answered that question unhesitatingly in the af- 
 firmative, because the mere process of living under 
 luxurious conditions would have sufficed them. But she 
 had begun to know that all these things did not fill a 
 
310 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 need her heart hungered for. What was this thing? Was 
 it those humanitarian instincts she had begun to awaken 
 to? No, she was not unselfish enough for that. Some- 
 thing seemed to stand before her, amorphous, yet bright, 
 glowing with a delicious promise, and yet fraught per- 
 haps with pain. She longed to look toward it, yet dared 
 not. She felt that with a little effort she would be able 
 to read the secret of her discontent — and yet, she was 
 afraid. She was afraid, and yet her unhappiness had 
 passed. The amorphous and yet bright presence warmed 
 her with a promise which was sweet to her, and yet 
 which she could not or feared to — understand. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Dudley did not refer to Mallette again, nor, of course, 
 did Claire, and the next Friday he called. The night 
 before Claire and Orville had dined with the lady of the 
 necklace. Orville was late in reaching Ninth Street that 
 afternoon, and as Claire was seated before her dressing- 
 table, he knocked, and came into the room. He carried 
 a small, oblong package, which he laid down before her. 
 
 "A little present for you to wear to-night," he said. 
 "I'm awfully behind time. You can tell me how you 
 like it later." 
 
 Claire finished dressing before she opened it. She 
 thought, as she unfastened the cord, that he had picked 
 up some trinket, as he was always doing — a paper-knife, 
 a tiny clock, a cigarette case — always very costly; but 
 now the unmistakable morocco box of a jeweller dis- 
 played itself as she unfolded the paper wrapping, and 
 opening it, she was transfixed by the subtle beauty of a 
 superb pearl necklace, lying upon its silken couch. She 
 lifted it up. Its warm, heavy richness reminded her 
 of some beautiful but inert organism. She raised her 
 bare arms, and, pressing the emerald clasp together 
 behind her neck, let it rest on her bosom. It hung 
 almost to her waist. It seemed to caress her, to press 
 its satiny surfaces against her skin. Ah! How beauti- 
 ful! She turned quickly, opened her door, went to 
 
312 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Dudley's room, knocked, and turned the knob. He 
 had been standing before his mirror, in a white waist- 
 coat, but without his coat, tying his cravat, but he had 
 turned, and as she entered, he was waiting for her, 
 looking at her with a curious attitude of expectancy, 
 the significance of which she did not understand until 
 afterwards. 
 
 She went up to him and kissed him. 
 
 "Ah, Dudley ! It is so beautiful ! But you must n't — 
 you really must n't — give me such beautiful things. 
 See how lovely it is! You're too, too good to me, 
 Dudley." 
 
 "That's all right. Why should n't I be good to you? 
 Do you know how much I made to-day? I closed a deal 
 I've been working on. That's why I was late, and I 
 promised myself, if it went through, I would get you a 
 necklace that would take the shine off Mrs. Pomeroy's. 
 Well, I made a million this afternoon. Besides" — and 
 he stepped back to look at her — "you are such a 
 beauty. Claire, you ought to have such things. There 
 is n't a woman in town who can hold a candle to you." 
 
 At Mrs. Pomeroy's, whose suite in its arid elegance 
 reminded Claire of Dudley's bachelor establishment, 
 the necklace served admirably as a topic by which the 
 party was carried beyond the preliminary shoals of con- 
 versation. Not only the women, but the men, noticed 
 it immediately, and all, Claire knew, had immediately 
 appraised it as expertly as any jeweler. Orville was 
 congratulated, inferentially, for his ability to buy such 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 313 
 
 trinkets, and Claire for having a husband with the dis- 
 position to do so. Mrs. Pomeroy, alone, was rendered 
 slightly distraite, and it struck Claire that it was rather 
 ungracious so to take the wind out of her sails, at her 
 own dinner party. She had thought of this before leav- 
 ing the house, but felt that to raise such a point then 
 would be but a poor return for Dudley's generosity. 
 
 Claire had been to many of these entertainments. 
 Orville and his intimates were American types of a pred- 
 atory, rapacious class found in all countries. Each had 
 risen from nothing by shrewdness and energy into a po- 
 sition where wealth was easily made. They were experts 
 in the manipulation of money, the organization of in- 
 dustrial combinations, the promotion of new enterprises, 
 and the art of making something — a great deal in fact 
 1 — out of nothing. They were gamblers, acquiring 
 wealth through the fictitious fluctuations of securities, 
 the thimble-riggers of a country fair, magnified a thou- 
 sand fold; modern buccaneers sailing the seas of com- 
 merce. The war had meant little to them except addi- 
 tional opportunities of which all had taken full advan- 
 tage. They accumulated little, although they made so 
 much, because they spent so enormously. They gave 
 no heed to the future; they had a hundred irons in a 
 hundred fires. They were the real coiners, and they 
 used this flux of gold for the purchase of all the things 
 the world had to offer. Money was made, not to con- 
 serve, but to spend, and the pleasure they derived from 
 it was not in its accumulation, but in the variety of 
 
314 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 means by which they could get rid of it. They knew 
 how to make money, no small thing, but they knew little 
 else, and that, too, they knew, and that was no small 
 thing. They decked their wives out in Paris gowns, 
 loaded them with jewelry, were without any, beyond a 
 surface knowledge, of the real amenities of life, and 
 while one or two of the more imaginative among them 
 kept mistresses, most of them were fairly well behaved, 
 although they usually began to drink at the close of 
 business, each having forestalled the law by storing up 
 huge quantities of alcoholic beverages, and had become 
 rather tipsy by bedtime. They were plain, hard- 
 featured, and were dull company. Their wives pos- 
 sessed similar characteristics. 
 
 Dinner was served in Mrs. Pomeroy's private dining- 
 room, with a wealth of detail and an extravagance of 
 service money can buy wherever it is to be purchased. 
 Conversation during its progress consisted of a constant 
 cross-fire of good-natured chaff, rather heavy-handed, 
 accompanied by much boisterous laughter. At the con- 
 clusion of dinner the ladies withdrew to an adjoining 
 parlor. The newest types of motors were discussed, 
 clothes, jewelry, and the latest gossip. From the dining- 
 room came fragments of financial discussions, or occa- 
 sional lapses into undertones, followed by loud bursts 
 of laughter, which indicated that a dubious story was 
 being told. These two topics, stocks, and indecent sto- 
 ries, engaged the men for twenty minutes, when they 
 would emerge, and all would seat themselves for an 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 315 
 
 evening of auction, at which husbands and wives were 
 kept carefully apart. 
 
 And in this company of middle-aged and un- 
 cultured people, given over to the pursuit and 
 enjoyment of material things, Claire shone like a 
 standard rose blooming among a brown and withered 
 leafage. 
 
 Claire dreaded these evenings, and came away from 
 them with a sense of mental and spiritual prostration 
 which she smilingly concealed from Orville, even during 
 dissertations on his part, afterward, on the principles of 
 good auction, which she could not understand. For 
 Claire had no card sense, and was a wretched player, 
 while Dudley was a brilliant one. 
 
 It was after a night of this description that Mallette 
 called. Before many months summer would be upon 
 them, and Orville was talking of renting a country 
 house. Adelaide had shut hers very early, and had 
 gone to a distant hotel, and Helena, who did not wish 
 yet to leave town, had come to Ninth Street, on 
 Claire's invitation, to stop a week. 
 
 Claire had wondered whether, if she had the oppor- 
 tunity, it might not be best to send word that she was 
 not at home if Mallette should call, but, as it happened, 
 she was given no choice in the matter, because he was 
 shown into the drawing-room while Claire was there 
 with another visitor. It was quite late, and he was 
 hardly seated when Jamie arrived. Helena, who had 
 been out somewhere, came in soon after, and, before 
 
316 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire realized the time, the clock struck seven, and 
 Dudley himself appeared in the room. 
 
 To Claire's surprise Dudley greeted Mallette with a 
 cordiality he did not always feel himself obliged to show 
 toward guests, and pressed him to dine with them. 
 Jamie, as Orville had led the way, added his persuasions, 
 until Mallette accepted. Jamie took him to his room, 
 and the others separated, to meet in the drawing-room 
 in a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Claire speculated as to Dudley's unexpected friend- 
 liness, and concluded that he was simply making use of 
 an opportunity which had been offered to find out for 
 himself what manner of man Mallette was. During 
 dinner a desultory chatter was kept up, but afterwards, 
 in the drawing-room, Dudley, Claire noticed, led the 
 conversation to subjects he had never shown, so far as 
 she knew, an interest in before. All those questions 
 which after- war conditions had made more vital — so- 
 cialism, labor, wealth and poverty. Claire knew that 
 Mallette's presence accounted for this interest, and that 
 Dudley must have been informed by some one of 
 Mallette's opinions, and for some reason she assumed 
 that Helena had told him. Dudley, with that persistent 
 good-nature of his, which nevertheless seemed always 
 to hide a current of dangerous determination, tried 
 suavely to draw Mallette out; but he was difficult to 
 draw. He knew, of course, that his ideas would be re- 
 ceived with scant sympathy, and seemed, while not 
 afraid to try conclusions, not eager to begin an argument. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 317 
 
 But Dudley was persistent, pressing him with ques- 
 tions asked with an affability which hid in it some- 
 thing of contempt, until Mallette finally took up his 
 challenge. 
 
 When his determination became apparent, a feeling 
 of apprehension seized Claire. She feared that he was 
 about to reveal himself as a vague dreamer, and that 
 under the cross-questioning of Dudley's experienced 
 worldliness, he would expound only a practicable sen- 
 timentalism, impossible of application to social prob- 
 lems, which had and always would exist, as they existed 
 at present. Claire, through tradition, inherited inclina- 
 tions, hearsay, and fragmentary knowledge of the most 
 superficial character, had always visualized, in hearing 
 the words socialist, reformer, a worthless creature, un- 
 healthy-looking and sallow, with long, greasy locks, who, 
 too lazy to work, went about the world with a head 
 stuffed with ridiculous theories, trying to make other 
 people discontented. 
 
 They were sitting in the drawing-room, now wider 
 and more sumptuous than of old. A shaded lamp burned 
 on a table, and one electric light surmounting its make- 
 believe candle, and hidden under a small canopy of silk, 
 shed a mellow light on the keyboard of the piano to- 
 ward which Helena, when it had become evident that a 
 discussion was inevitable, had beckoned Jamie with a 
 slight grimace. 
 
 The shaded table-lamp lit with its steady radiance 
 the fluted outlines of a silver coffee-pot which stood 
 
318 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 upon a silver tray and the porcelain surfaces of little 
 cups. Near these sat Orville and Mallette, Orville with 
 a cigar, and at one side, and a little more in shadow, 
 Claire; and it seemed to her, as she sat relaxed and yet 
 listening, that this conversation would bear within it a 
 momentous significance strangely disproportioned to 
 the surroundings, enveloped as she was in the warm and 
 secure embrace of the luxurious atmosphere of the room, 
 compounded of the golden glow of the lamps, the scent 
 of flowers, and the perfume of Orville's imcomparable 
 cigar. 
 
 Dudley had stirred Mallette into argument by derid- 
 ing socialism as an irresponsible movement which would 
 overthrow the existing structure, without knowing how 
 to build anything to take its place, and to his surprise 
 Mallette agreed with him. To Mallette the capitalistic 
 system was necessary, and had much of good in it. He 
 did not regard the capitalist as an inhuman monster, 
 but as representing a class slow to change, and under- 
 standably so. What he advocated was simply a better 
 relationship between capital and labor, by which pov- 
 erty might be done away with. Even his plea for this 
 was based, not on an appeal to humanitarian motives, 
 but to business logic, and he began to give, with a pre- 
 cision which indicated great familiarity with his subject 
 and a retentive memory, a mass of data, showing how 
 senseless the irreconcilable antagonisms of labor and 
 capital were, as shown by the staggering costs, not only 
 to the community at large, but to themselves, of their 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 319 
 
 endless disputes, strikes, oppressions, and broken agree- 
 ments. 
 
 Dudley caught at the last two words. "How can you 
 deal with labor? It has great power, and no responsi- 
 bility. The history of labor unions is a history of broken 
 promises." 
 
 Again Mallette amazed, and rather annoyed, Dudley 
 by agreeing with him. He, too, did not believe much in 
 trade unions. At the best they were a necessary evil. It 
 was true that they had improved the condition of labor, 
 but only slightly, and they were largely responsible for 
 the present inflation because, if wages were raised, noth- 
 ing could prevent capital from raising prices which would 
 be paid by the consumer, and so in part at least by labor 
 itself. The capitalist himself could not be reached. 
 
 " If you can't reach the capitalist, what are you going 
 to do about it?" Dudley asked. 
 
 "The capitalist cannot be reached under the present 
 system. But let me say again that I do not regard the 
 capitalist, as he is always represented in labor papers, as 
 a malign creature, bent on sucking the blood of the pro- 
 letariat to the last drop." 
 
 Many were rapacious, he went on to say, but many 
 were strong, conservative men, conscientious, but with an 
 abiding and unshakable faith in the sacred rights of pri- 
 vate property, and while they were the driving force 
 behind the industrial machine, and while any system, 
 Mallette believed, would prove a failure which deprived 
 them of their just rewards, still, they had, it must be 
 
320 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 admitted, the defects of their qualities, and their princi- 
 pal defect was their inability to believe that labor had 
 any share in the wealth produced by labor. 
 
 " The immense amount of money lost each year, both 
 to employer and employed, in strikes," Mallette contin- 
 ued, "could be saved by certain general regulations, and 
 by certain concessions, on the part of capital; but capi- 
 tal will not make those concessions because it feels that 
 it would be sacrificing a principle, yielding an inalienable 
 right. So it goes on. Labor says, 'All wealth is the prod- 
 uct of my hands; but as soon as it comes into being it is 
 taken away from me.' The capitalist says, 'Wealth is 
 the product of my brains and industry. Each man has 
 his chance. The meanest hod-carrier, if he has the abil- 
 ity, will accumulate wealth too. Take mine from me if 
 you can! My brains and money, and your labor, are 
 each a commodity having a certain value in the markets 
 of the world, and your commodity is n't worth as much 
 as mine. We are each free men. You sell what you have 
 for what you can get for it. So do I.' 
 
 "But the wage-earner, if he must sell his labor for a 
 price which will not give him some little share in the 
 comforts and pleasures of life, is not a free man. If he 
 must sell his labor at a price which condemns him to an 
 existence, precarious at that, of undernourishment, of 
 scrofulous children, lack of warmth, lack of all the 
 things which a measure of industrial security would give 
 him, he is a slave. And this slavery can be remedied." 
 
 "How?" asked Orville. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 321 
 
 "By cooperation between labor and capital, by 
 which labor is given a share — a very small share would 
 suffice — and by the regulation of production." 
 
 "Production regulates itself." Dudley interrupted. 
 
 Mallette looked at him as if he could not believe that 
 he was serious, and Orville added hastily, "But how is 
 production to be regulated — by the State?" 
 
 "By private bargaining." 
 
 "You'll never get capital to listen to any such ideas." 
 
 "Yes, capital ultimately will listen," Mallette replied, 
 with calm conviction, "because by slow degrees society 
 is reconstructing itself on principles of humanity and 
 altruism. What has caused the development and growth 
 of labor unions? — industrial discontent. What has 
 caused this industrial discontent? Exorbitant dreams 
 and demands on the part of labor? Not at all; simply 
 stark poverty. Labor is easily contented. It is not 
 stirred by restless ambitions. There are industrial com- 
 munities where it has never organized, simply because 
 in those communities its employers have broken down 
 that antagonism which has grown up between capital 
 and labor, by treating their employees like individual 
 human beings. The war has brought home the necessity 
 of this so clearly. It seems so clear to me that the one 
 supreme need of mankind is political and industrial 
 emancipation. But man collectively seems to be unable 
 to progress one step forward without taking from man 
 the utmost toll of sweat and torment. How dull, how 
 senseless, in view of what we have gone through in the 
 
322 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 last six years, from any point of view is the old imperial- 
 ism of governments and the old industrial warfare ! The 
 strike has been compared by one of your writers on 
 economics to two men standing side by side, and settling 
 a dispute by throwing gold pieces into the sea, the long- 
 est purse to win. From a simple computation of relative 
 cost of cooperation or contest based on experience, we 
 would think that satisfactory solutions could be reached; 
 and if more is needed, if you wish to appeal to his human- 
 itarian instincts, take your obdurate employer through 
 this city, beyond the narrow, central strip where he and 
 his class live, into the outer slums which hem him in" 
 — here Mallette began to tell the tale of the poor 
 which is told so often, which so few listen to. He told it 
 without any touch of sentimentality, by cold facts 
 fortified by figures; and as Claire listened, stirred and 
 distressed by his vivid pictures, she longed to take him 
 to her room and, showing him the tenements, say to 
 him, "Is it true that such things need not be? — that 
 there is a cure for all this?" — while at the same time 
 she doubted, conscious of a surge of pity, not for that 
 outcast army whose cause Mallette was pleading, but 
 for Mallette himself, fighting, she believed, a hopeless 
 battle against a giant enemy as strong as humanity 
 itself. 
 
 But Dudley, with his individualistic ego working 
 over-time, without any collective consciousness what- 
 ever, listened to him with impatience, contempt, and 
 almost hostility, partly, perhaps, because he knew that 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 323 
 
 he was no match for him in the subject under discussion. 
 Helena and Jamie, too, had come to listen, and Mallette, 
 absorbed in his topic, far exceeded his intentions, until 
 jumping up in confusion he offered his hand to Claire. 
 
 "It is a curious thing," he said, "that while what I 
 have been telling you are indisputable facts, they are so 
 unpopular with people that when I do speak of them 
 I feel like apologizing for them. I am sure you have been 
 very good to listen to me and, somehow, I have said 
 much more than I intended to." 
 
 "Most people don't understand," Claire said. "Pov- 
 erty seems so remote that it does n't seem real. Then, 
 too, so many people think that it is only comparative, 
 and that the poor don't mind, because they are used to 
 slums and privations. I am glad that when you showed 
 us what it really was, you gave us hope that it might be 
 done away with. It is all wonderfully interesting." 
 
 Orville, who, ignoring the fact that Mallette was say- 
 ing good-bye, had turned his back and was filling his 
 coffee-cup, here faced about. 
 
 "An interesting pipe dream! Social and political re- 
 formers have been at work ever since there 's been such 
 a thing as organized society, and they've never accom- 
 plished that!" And he snapped his fingers. 
 
 "I am not expecting change except where interest 
 dictates it. It seems to me that one may not unreason- 
 ably expect it then. Here is an instance I personally 
 know about, which occurred at home. A certain works 
 there would have made, during a period of five years, as 
 
324 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 nearly as can be calculated, five million dollars, had not 
 disputes with labor during this time reduced their profits 
 by two millions. If half of that sum had been paid to 
 their hands during that five years, they would have been 
 contented, better fed, more efficient, and the concern 
 itself would have saved the other million. Is there any- 
 thing fantastic in the contention that the wise and pru- 
 dent thing would have been, for this concern, to make 
 four millions instead of three, and have their workers 
 contented in the bargain?" 
 
 " Fantastic! If you want to know whether it is fan- 
 tastic or not, come to me and try to tell me how to run 
 my business." 
 
 " I don't see that that is answering my question." 
 Orville's manner was plainly offensive, butMallette 
 seemed determined to hold him to the point. 
 
 "You don't think so? Well, the workers in that case 
 were trying to dictate to their employers.^ I would have 
 done exactly as their employers did." 
 
 "But the head of those works had an opportunity to 
 relieve almost intolerable conditions among his em- 
 ployees, and put a million dollars into his own pockets 
 besides." 
 
 "I tell you it's a matter of principle." 
 
 "A matter of principle to make other people suffer at 
 unnecessary cost to yourself? " 
 
 "Yes," cried Dudley, completely losing his temper; 
 " to hell with them, and to hell with the whole bunch 
 of sentimentalists, loafers, and agitators, who go about 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 325 
 
 the world trying to make trouble, and who are n't worth 
 the powder to blow them to blazes." 
 
 Mallette shrugged his shoulders and turned away from 
 him. "Discussions of this kind are rarely profitable," 
 he said. "Good-night, Mrs. Orville, good-night, Miss 
 Hampton, good-night." This last was addressed to 
 Dudley, who ignored it, and Mallette left the room, 
 followed by Jamie. 
 
 "Dudley!" cried Claire, with a blaze of anger — 
 "how outrageous of you! You deliberately insulted 
 him." 
 
 "That is precisely what I did. That makes the second 
 time in this house. Perhaps now he'll stay away." 
 
 "He shall not stay away if I can persuade him to 
 come here." 
 
 "What's that?" Dudley cried sharply. 
 
 "The least I can do for your sake is to ignore your 
 rudeness." 
 
 "Never mind about my rudeness. When I am rude it 
 is because I want to be, and I give you fair warning that 
 I don't intend that he shall come here again." 
 
 "You shall not be insulting in your own house, to 
 people I have asked here" — Claire stamped her foot 
 — "and I intend to ask whom I please. I am perfectly 
 able to judge about such things." 
 
 "Try it," Dudley cried threateningly. 
 
 "I thought I was to be free — " 
 
 "You are, as long — " 
 
 "As long as I do what you want me to do." 
 
326 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Look here," Dudley cried, turning to Helena, who 
 sat with the non-committal smile of one who is caught 
 unwillingly in the meshes of a family dispute, "am I un- 
 reasonable?" 
 
 "Really, Claire, he is n't worth bothering about." 
 
 "It is n't a question of bothering or not bothering. 
 I won't have Dudley rude to people in my house." 
 
 "If you don't want me to be rude to people I object 
 to, don't ask them here." 
 
 " Being rude to them won't stop me, Dudley." 
 
 " It will stop them from coming." 
 
 "Have I ever asked any one else you did n't approve 
 of?" 
 
 "No; but one is one too many." 
 
 "Very well, Dudley, you shall see whether you can 
 tyrannize over me or not," Claire answered with final- 
 ity, and she went out. 
 
 Claire climbed to her room, and shut and locked her 
 door. This was not the first time that she and Dudley 
 had engaged in open conflict. That they had not done 
 so from the beginning was because Claire had submitted 
 resolutely to him at first, in order to avoid what had just 
 occurred, but she had soon understood that, to retain her 
 self-respect, she must abandon such a course, and she 
 had made an issue of the first incident which would serve 
 her purpose. Dudley expected absolute submission 
 from her so much as a matter of course, that he had 
 taken it for granted from the first, in spite of his assur- 
 ances to the contrary. He delighted in spending money 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 327 
 
 on her, loading her with presents of Paris gowns, jewelry, 
 motors, and furs, as a man may lavish money on a prosti- 
 tute who has enslaved him by the appeal of her physical 
 fascinations, but it had never occurred to him that occa- 
 sions might arise where she might wish, and have the 
 right, to make decisions in opposition to his own. 
 
 Claire knew when she had decided on this course that 
 it would be a difficult one to follow because she had be- 
 come well aware of the absolute inflexibility of Dudley's 
 nature. She doubted if he would ever yield an inch on 
 any point whatever. But she had decided that she 
 would not yield either. She must either submit to be 
 Dudley's slave, or prepare herself for a struggle the end 
 of which she could not see; and in this struggle she had 
 hoped for one thing, that it might be carried on with 
 calmness on both sides, and not degenerate into the un- 
 dignified quarrels she had witnessed occasionally among 
 his married friends. 
 
 Claire thought of these things as she stood by her 
 window. Of Dudley's displeasure at her first assertion 
 of independence, their recurring disagreements, and 
 their periods of harmony which failed to conceal the in- 
 creasing antagonism which was growing up between 
 them ; but to-night to her surprise she was not unhappy. 
 She felt curiously calm and resolute. The conditions of 
 her married life had for months weighed heavily on her 
 spirit, but to-night all that had passed. 
 
 She seated herself in her darkened room, a little to one 
 side, so that she could look diagonally up at the evening 
 
328 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 sky which glowed faintly between the somber profiles of 
 the surrounding roofs; and under that sky the teeming 
 earth, with its incalculable variety of act and incident, 
 of endeavor and accomplishment, was seething around 
 her; and from that world she would not be shut away. 
 She, too, would play her part in it, in that glittering and 
 fascinating fabrication whose changing surfaces were 
 shot through with the flashing colors of genius, romance, 
 heroism, sacrifice, and love. 
 
 And love — that luminous something, pale, amor- 
 phous, which had exalted her spirit once before — had 
 returned again, brighter, warmer, more irresistible. She 
 lifted her face. It seemed to descend from the stars, to 
 rain down on her, a soft and golden flood. Like Danse, 
 she surrendered herself to it, and with this surrender a 
 supreme felicity enveloped her, a supreme gift seemed 
 to have been poured into her soul. 
 
 Love — ah! and she smiled, hiding her face in her 
 hands. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Dinner had been announced, and Claire, a little late, 
 was making haste on the last details of her toilet. Her 
 door stood open. She could hear Jamie's step on the 
 floor of his room, and the air he was whistling resounded 
 through the spaces of the house. His step sounded on 
 the stair, and as he passed her door — he rarely stopped 
 there now — she called to him with their old call. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, and came in. "Where's Dud- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Gone to the country to look at a house, Jamie." 
 
 "Will Helena be in for dinner?" 
 
 "She has gone, too." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "With Dudley." 
 
 "Oh!" And he added presently, "I don't see why 
 Helena should be looking at a country house with Dud- 
 ley. It is n't any affair of hers." 
 
 "But I could n't go, Jamie. Dudley did n't say any- 
 thing about it until the last moment, and I had an en- 
 gagement. You know how he hates to do anything 
 alone." 
 
 "I say, let's dine somewhere. The Brevoort's just 
 around the corner." 
 
 "It's too late, Jamie, dinner is ready now. We might 
 
330 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 go afterward for a little while, and have our coffee 
 there." 
 
 "Right-o," Jamie answered, and they went down- 
 stairs arm in arm. They had not been alone together 
 for so long that Claire could hardly remember. Jamie 
 was thinking the same thing. 
 
 "This is like old times," he said; and added guard- 
 edly, "You know this cook — " 
 
 "Well, what, Jamie?" 
 
 "Puts too much cream in everything." 
 ' Claire laughed. It did seem like old times. "Some 
 chefs always do that." 
 
 "Well, there's nothing like good old-fashioned home 
 cooking. So Dudley 's gone to look for a house ! " 
 
 "Yes, it will soon be getting too warm in town." 
 
 Summer in truth was coming, but Claire had hardly 
 noticed. Something had come into her life at last, which 
 filled it completely. She had not seen Felix since the 
 night Dudley had lost his temper, or pretended to, and 
 while she both longed and feared to, immersed in her 
 secret dreams, she waited. 
 
 Jamie said: "I say, Claire, Helena never used to 
 bother about us, unless she wanted something — what's 
 the explanation? Is it because you've got so much 
 more money than you used to have?" 
 
 "I don't know, Jamie; it's just happened, I suppose." 
 
 "Just happened ! " Jamie repeated scornfully. " Don't 
 you believe that things just happen with Helena — I 
 know better than that!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 331 
 
 "Well, I don't care, Jamie, one way or the other." 
 
 "I don't either," Jamie answered, "only I would just 
 like to let her know that I see through her. It 's awfully 
 convenient to have a house like yours to stop at in New 
 York, when she happens to want to." 
 
 It had become customary for Helena to stop there. 
 Adelaide had gone to her distant hotel to economize, 
 and Helena found Ninth Street a convenient resting- 
 place between various visits. Dudley liked to have her 
 there, and for that reason Claire liked it too. 
 
 "Well, let's go now," Jamie said. They rose from the 
 table, and descending, walked slowly toward the Ave- 
 nue. To Claire the mildness of the day recalled so much 
 of those parts of her life in which Jamie had had a 
 share. Always, it seemed to her, spring and summer 
 had found them closer together, sauntering together 
 under the early leafage, in the warm relaxation of tepid 
 and balmy breezes, under the amber translucence of 
 late afternoon, or the shadowy dusk of evening. She 
 slid an arm through one of his. 
 
 "Ah, how nice it is, Jamie!" But she knew that the 
 exultation which lifted her spirit higher than any influ- 
 ence of past impressions could have done, was because 
 she was about to see Felix. 
 
 They crossed the Avenue. The strains of an orchestra 
 escaped with a blaze of light from the open windows of 
 the upper restaurant. 
 
 "Let's go downstairs, Jamie; it's quieter." 
 
 They went into one of the lower rooms, and as Claire 
 
332 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 had known he would be, Felix was there. He was read- 
 ing a letter. The room was almost empty. Jamie cried, 
 "Hello, there's Mallette," and hurried over to him. 
 Claire followed. Felix was holding a letter in his hand, 
 and as he rose, his eyes caught hers, and it seemed to 
 her that she could not look away from him, and that 
 her own were saying to him, so that he could not fail to 
 understand, "I am here because I love you." 
 
 "We've come in for our coffee," said Jamie; "I see 
 you're having yours. Let's have ours here, too, Claire 
 — that is, unless you want to finish your letter." 
 
 "Please do," Felix answered; "as for my letter, I 
 know it by heart. It's from my father. I'm going 
 home." 
 
 It seemed to Claire that she could not speak. Some- 
 thing which fluttered in her bosom for a moment choked 
 her. All her exultation of spirit dropped away. She 
 heard Jamie say, "On your own terms, I hope," and 
 fought desperately to master herself. 
 
 "Yes, our rivals have been trying some experiments 
 in cooperation with such success that it has become 
 necessary for us to do something too." 
 
 "How glad you must be to go!" Claire murmured; 
 and this time, as he looked at her she strove to return 
 his look, as if by doing so she were saying, "I am brave 
 and indifferent. What I said to you was not true. Go, 
 it does n't matter. I am very strong" — but she was 
 not strong enough, and her eyes fell before his. For a 
 moment Felix paused — 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 333 
 
 "No, I am not glad. At one time I might have been, 
 but I am not now. Still, I must go. It is better that I 
 should/' 
 
 Again Claire's spirit fluttered upwards. Did he 
 know? And did his answer, too, imply a confession? 
 She longed to say, "But if you do not want to go, stay." 
 Jamie would not understand, but she dared not. Indeed 
 she must not, say it. 
 
 "But, Mallette," Jamie exclaimed, "it's so romantic! 
 It's like something out of a book. But the trouble is, we 
 shall never see you again." 
 
 Yes, that was the trouble. She would never see him 
 again. That would be the end. She felt that she must 
 be alone with him, if even for a moment, for five min- 
 utes, really alone together, as they had not been for so 
 long. She must manage this to-night if she could. It 
 might be her last chance. In some way she must think 
 of what to do. 
 
 "But you would be coming to England, no doubt," 
 Felix said. "It would never do for us to let so small a 
 thing as distance destroy an old friendship like ours." 
 
 And while he addressed himself to Jamie, Claire 
 knew that he spoke to her, and she feared that what he 
 meant was, that in distance and time lay their only 
 hope; and in his tone, the expression of his eyes, there 
 was a finality which she rebelled against. She would 
 not have it so. She must think of something, so that 
 fate might not bind and separate them. If she could 
 manage to be with him with no barrier between them, 
 
334 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 something might come of it, some method of solution at 
 present unknown to her. 
 
 "By the way," she heard Jamie say, "my waltz is 
 out. I bought a copy of it at a music store this after- 
 noon. I meant to show it to you, Claire!" 
 
 Claire saw instantly that fate, relenting, was giving 
 her her chance. 
 
 "Why Jamie, how thrilling! Where is it?" 
 
 "At the house." 
 
 "But I must see it — I can't wait. Run and get it, 
 do. It's only a step." 
 
 " Shall I? " Jamie wavered, and then with the light of 
 parental pride shining in his eye, rose and seized his hat. 
 
 "All right; I'll be back in a second." 
 
 But when they were alone, she could not speak. The 
 electric lights burned too intensely. The room was 
 empty except for a waiter, who stood looking at them. 
 She saw a strip of paper lying beside Jamie's plate, and 
 beckoning him, she paid the bill. The blaze of light 
 which filled the room seemed to lay bare her soul. 
 
 "It is stifling!" And she got up, saying to the waiter, 
 "When the gentleman who was here just now comes 
 back, tell him that we are walking to the Square. It is 
 so warm here." 
 
 The Square teemed with life, under the pale trans- 
 parencies of leaves made luminous by the electric 
 lights, but near the outer edge they found an empty 
 bench submerged in the shadows of a denser foliage, and 
 as they sat down, Felix spoke. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 335 
 
 "Ah," he said, "why — why did you?" 
 
 "I did n't know," she answered. "I never knew until 
 — until — And I was so alone, and so afraid — and 
 you were not here. If you had been here I would 
 have known." 
 
 "But to know now, when it is too late — " 
 
 "Ah, Felix, why did n't you tell me before you went 
 away?" 
 
 "How could I? I had nothing — nothing to offer you. 
 And now it is too late." 
 
 "No, no, it is sweet to know, even now." 
 
 "But I must go. I must not stay." 
 
 "Yes, you must go, but now that we know, don't you 
 see that time and distance won't so much matter? I 
 will have my secret, and you yours. But if you had 
 gone without our knowing — !" 
 
 "And can you be content, Claire — what a beautiful 
 name — and how beautiful you are — can you be con- 
 tent with that?" 
 
 "No, I shall not be content, but it will be very sweet, 
 Felix, cherishing my secret love. Because, no matter 
 where I am, I shall be with you. At night, in my dreams, 
 I shall be with you. When I am with other people, doing 
 the daily things of daily life, I shall be with you always." 
 
 "And you will be content with that?" 
 
 "No, I said that I would not be content, but it will 
 keep me from being too unhappy — and, Felix, you 
 must not be unhappy either, because something — 
 since I have been sitting here — something tells me that 
 
336 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 this is not the end for us — that it is only the beginning. 
 Go and work to do what you had hoped to do in Lon- 
 don. And I must work, too — unless somehow I find 
 work to do, I — I — " 
 
 "Ah, my darling, don't, don't — " 
 In the shadow she turned on him the misty starlight 
 of her eyes, and suddenly, oblivious for a moment of the 
 material world, their lips met, and they drew together 
 in a passionate embrace. For a moment she rested in 
 his arms, a delicious burden; she seemed to droop, to 
 relax, her head dropped for a moment to his shoulder, 
 and he smelt the fragrance of her hair. A sigh passed 
 her lips. Her tears stopped. A sudden exhaustion 
 seemed to have weakened her limbs, but she disengaged 
 herself, and lifting her head, said again, almost to her- 
 self — 
 
 "Yes, I must work, too. Ah, Felix, what can I do?" 
 
 The hope born of the realization that they loved each 
 
 other seemed to die down under the growing pressure, 
 
 the unescapable fact. Felix seemed about to speak, 
 
 paused, and began — 
 
 "I was going to say — but no, I will not." 
 Claire put a hand on his — "No, no, Felix — you 
 were going to ask me to come with you, but it would n't 
 do." 
 
 "Yes, I will say it. Come with me, Claire." 
 "It wouldn't get us anywhere, Felix. It wouldn't 
 solve anything. No, we must wait. Oh, Felix, we must 
 think of what it would have been if you had gone with- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 337 
 
 out our knowing. Now, we know. We must n't forget 
 that. And now we must go — Jamie will be looking for 
 us." 
 
 "Claire, I can't," Felix cried — "I can't let you go! 
 I will stay here; sometimes, at least, we will be able to 
 see one another." 
 
 "It would n't do, dear, really it would n't. It would 
 be worse, much worse, for both of us. You must go, 
 Felix. You have your chance now, and you must take 
 it." 
 
 Once more he caught her in his arms. 
 
 "Please, Felix, we must go. Jamie must be wondering 
 where we are." She tried to rise, but he held her. 
 
 "But this is not good-bye, Claire." 
 
 She stooped and touched her lips quickly to his. 
 "No," she breathed softly, "I shall see you again. I 
 shall manage, but we must, we really must go." And 
 under the shadow of the trees, with clasped hands, close 
 together, they moved slowly toward the Avenue. 
 
 Jamie was nowhere to be seen. They turned back to 
 the Square, sought him there without success, and re- 
 turned to the restaurant. The waiter said he had not 
 been there, but as they reached the street again they 
 saw him turn the corner of Ninth Street, and cross 
 hurriedly toward them, and it struck Claire, although 
 she immediately, for the moment, forgot it, that he 
 looked agitated, anxious, and preoccupied. He ap- 
 proached them quickly, and said, "Did you think I 
 was never coming? Dudley was there, and — and de- 
 
338 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 tained me." He held a white roll under his arm, but 
 seemed to have forgotten about it, until, upon Claire's 
 speaking of it, he unrolled it, and all three looked at it 
 as he held it up so that light from a neighboring street 
 lamp would fall upon its surface. He held it thus for a 
 moment, and then thrust it again under his arm. 
 
 Claire said, "How pretty it looks, Jamie" — per- 
 functorily; but Jamie, in his preoccupation, did not 
 notice hers. 
 
 Claire gave her hand to Felix, and as he pressed it 
 she said, "Good-night"; and in spite of Jamie's pres- 
 ence, "I will write you. I will send you word very, very 
 soon." 
 
 At the door Jamie, who had not spoken, said, "I'm 
 not coming in just yet, Claire." He held out the sheet 
 of music, — "Would you mind taking it in?" 
 
 Claire found Dudley in the drawing room. He was 
 smoking a cigar, and a glass, a siphon, and a decanter 
 of whiskey, stood on the table. 
 
 "Where's Helena?" she asked. 
 
 "Gone to bed!" 
 
 "Did you find something pretty?" 
 
 "It was pretty enough, but the house was too small. 
 I don't know whether I shall take one, after all. Do 
 you mind?" 
 
 "Not at all, Dudley." 
 
 "Well, we'll see." He emptied his glass and rose. 
 "I think I'll go to bed. Good-night." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 339 
 
 He picked up the tray containing the decanter and 
 siphon, and, balancing it before him, carried it up- 
 stairs. Claire closed one of the French windows which 
 stood open, turned out the lights, left one burning in 
 the hall, and went to her room. She was filled with 
 mingled feelings of happiness and shame. She wished 
 to be alone, and yet she wished, too, that Dudley might 
 have stayed with her, so that she might, by her kindness 
 to him, by some subtle charm of behavior, make 
 amends to him for the wrong she was doing him. But 
 as she stood in her room, looking straight before her, 
 she was conscious that her happiness was crumbling 
 under the pressure of an accusative discontent which 
 she could not escape. 
 
 She went to her desk, and wrote these lines quickly 
 and without hesitation — 
 
 Now that I have had a moment to think, I know that we must 
 not see each other again. 
 
 She signed it, addressed an envelope to Felix, sealed 
 it, and locked it in her desk. 
 
 That was the least she could do, and as she reviewed 
 the past since her marriage, it seemed to her that a 
 revolting egotism had been absorbing her, making her 
 oblivious to her responsibilities to Dudley. She ac- 
 knowledged to herself, now, that she had married him 
 because she knew that he would make the future safe 
 for her. Besides, for the moment, he had swept her off 
 her feet; but she had never been other than a free agent, 
 
340 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 there had not been anything of duress about it; and yet, 
 in spite of the fact that she had made this bargain with 
 less sincerity than had Dudley, she had not had the 
 pluck, had not been sporting enough, to take her medi- 
 cine without complaining. She had even blamed Dud- 
 ley, and yet at the first opportunity had forgotten her 
 obligations as his wife. Claire flushed now, miserable, 
 and angry with herself. She had been contemptible but 
 that was past now, and in the future — 
 
 Jamie's step sounded stealthily, and yet unsteadily 
 on the stairs, and in a moment he pushed her door open 
 and came in, closing it after him. Claire saw at once, 
 not only that he had been drinking, but that he was 
 suffering from the effects of some shock, or from illness; 
 and yet he seemed to be endeavoring to control a con- 
 dition of strong agitation or excitement. Claire, alarmed, 
 took a step toward him. 
 
 "What is it, Jamie?" — But he interrupted her — 
 
 "Claire," he said, in a whisper, "you must get out of 
 here!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You can't stay in this house another night!" He 
 began walking unsteadily up and down, a prey to an 
 almost uncontrollable excitement. "Pack a bag now. 
 I'll go with you — " 
 
 "But, Jamie, what is it? Tell me!" 
 
 "I can't," he answered. Suddenly he raised a fist, 
 and shook it in the direction of Dudley's room. "Damn 
 his soul!" he cried. "Come Claire, we must go!" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 341 
 
 "Hush! But, Jamie, listen to me! What is it? What 
 has he done to you?" 
 
 "He hasn't done anything to me. He's done it to 
 you. He's made it impossible for you to stay here." 
 
 "But, Jamie, what — " 
 
 "Good God, can't you understand — Helena! When 
 I came for the music — " 
 
 Under the shock of this revelation they fell apart in 
 silence, but Jamie seemed to stagger, and in a moment 
 Claire's arms were about him. 
 
 "Don't bother, dear, it will be all right, and, Jamie, 
 you've been so good lately." 
 
 "I know, Claire — I took one drink — I was so — it 
 made me so — " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know; it's all right." 
 
 "But, Claire, you won't stay, you can't stay now!" 
 
 "I must think what to do." But to herself she said, 
 "I am no better than he." 
 
 "Are you going to let her sleep in this house to- 
 night?" he demanded. 
 
 "Jamie, please be quiet, some one will hear you. You 
 must let me think! We can't do anything to-night. 
 Listen, Jamie, does Dudley know that — that — " 
 
 "I think so. I think he heard me coming downstairs 
 afterwards. He stopped me and asked me where you 
 were and I said I was going to get you at the Brevoort. 
 But if he does n't know now, he will know, because I 
 intend to tell him — the beast — I intend to — " 
 
 "Jamie, please." 
 
342 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 The door opened, and Dudley came in. He was in his 
 pajamas, which revealed the muscular curve of his 
 chest and the sweep of his powerful thighs. His feet 
 were thrust into a pair of evening pumps. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he said, coming in and shut- 
 ting the door. "Drunk again, are you?" 
 
 Jamie swayed again slightly. 
 
 "Not drunk exactly, but I've had a drink. I took it 
 after" — Jamie hesitated, to gather courage — "after 
 seeing something that happened in this house this 
 evening." 
 
 "And you've been telling Claire, have you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Dudley made a quick step toward him, but Claire 
 with one movement stood between them. 
 
 "Dudley," she cried, warningly, "be careful! Jamie, 
 go to bed!" 
 
 "I'm going to break his damned little sneaking neck!" 
 
 "You're not going to touch him! Jamie, go up- 
 stairs." And as Jamie, stubborn and belligerent, hesi- 
 tated, she stamped her foot — "Jamie!" she cried, per- 
 emptorily, "go upstairs, do you hear?" 
 
 Jamie made for the door, and as he passed Dudley, 
 purposely brushing close to him, he glared at him with 
 an expression of concentrated bravado and defiance. 
 The door shut after him, Dudley broke into a short 
 laugh — 
 
 "He's got his nerve with him. The little fool! Well, 
 what are you going to do about it?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 343 
 
 "Nothing, Dudley." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because this evening, in the Square, sitting under 
 the trees, I told a certain man that I loved him. I was 
 in his arms; I kissed him — If it had been here, in this 
 house, who knows what might have happened?" 
 
 Dudley listened as if he could not believe his senses, 
 and noticing his dawning expression of bewilderment, 
 rage, and displeasure, Claire felt a wild desire to laugh, 
 to burst into peal after peal of hysterical laughter at 
 the sordid irony of the situation. 
 
 "So, Dudley, what can I do? Nothing, it seems to 
 me." 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 "I shall not tell you." 
 
 "You need n't — it was your actor friend. If I find 
 him I'll shoot him." 
 
 Jamie must have said something which enabled Dud- 
 ley to make this conjecture. 
 
 "Do you expect me to shoot Helena? "Claire asked. 
 
 "It is n't the same thing." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because all men have more than one woman, and I 
 am like the rest. I supposed, of course, you knew and 
 expected it." 
 
 "That kind of cynicism is pretty dreadful, Dudley; 
 and, besides, what you say is n't true, and you know it 
 is n't. All men are n't like that, and you know that I 
 did n't expect anything of the kind." 
 
344 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN \ 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do?" 
 
 "In the light of what you have just said, I probably 
 shall do something now. Will you ask Helena to leave 
 the house?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I mean in the morning." 
 
 "She was going, anyway. Look here, Claire, we 
 haven't been getting on well together lately. I'm 
 ready to give you everything you want, but I 've got to 
 lead my own life." 
 
 "Will you let me take the man I told you about, as 
 my lover?" 
 
 "Are you crazy? Go ahead, and I'll divorce you. 
 And another thing; don't think you can hoodwink me, 
 because you can't." 
 
 "But I don't understand — you want your freedom, 
 and will not give me mine." 
 
 "No!" Dudley thundered; "and if you try to de- 
 
 ceive me — " 
 
 "I shall not try to deceive you," Claire answered 
 wearily; "let's stop this conversation; it's too beastly. 
 I'm tired; I want to go to bed. I want time to think a 
 little." 
 
 But when she was alone, she could not think. She 
 could dream, but she could not think. And she dreamed 
 that she lay once more in Felix's arms. She tried not to, 
 but she could not help it. She unlocked her desk, took 
 out the note she had written to him, tore it up, and after 
 she had destroyed it, wrote it again, and fearing that 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 345 
 
 her present determination might waver, she put on a 
 hat, and going downstairs she let herself out into the 
 street. It was about eleven o'clock. She went to the 
 corner of Sixth Avenue, and stood struggling with her- 
 self for a moment before committing the note to the 
 irrecoverable depths of the letter-box. As she turned 
 to retrace her steps, she saw people running into Eighth 
 Street, a block way. Curiosity, and a spirit of adven- 
 ture, caused her to follow them. A police wagon and an 
 ambulance stood in front of one of the tenements, and 
 as she joined the crowd three police officers burst out 
 of the doorway, struggling with the swarthy, powerful 
 man who lived with the little foreign creature, oppo- 
 site Claire's window. Blood was running down his face 
 from an abraded scalp, his clothing was torn and di- 
 sheveled, and he struggled so desperately that as they 
 reached the pavement the policeman tripped him. One 
 seized his throat and began choking him; another drew 
 his arms back, while the third handcuffed him, and then, 
 angered by his resistance, they lifted him bodily and 
 hurled him into the wagon. His head struck a corner of 
 the bench which ran along each side of the interior of 
 the wagon, and he collapsed limply on the floor. Claire 
 was thrilled and frightened by the savagery and vio- 
 lence of the scene. 
 
 Two of the policemen had returned to the tenement, 
 and while she still watched they came out again with 
 the ambulance surgeon. They were carrying a stretcher, 
 and Claire caught a glimpse of a small head, covered 
 
346 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 with smooth, blue-black hair. Claire pressed through 
 to the officer who stood beside the police wagon. 
 
 "Has he killed her?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Not this time, ,, the officer answered, "but he's a 
 bad one. We've had trouble with him before. He'll 
 kill her some day, that's certain, if she goes on living 
 with him." 
 
 "But why does she?" Claire asked. "Why doesn't 
 she leave him?" 
 
 "Well, ma'am, the poor can't do much to help them- 
 selves," the policeman answered. He was large, com- 
 fortable, and middle-aged. "What could she do? Sup- 
 pose she took French leave with her baby, where could 
 she go? She could n't hire a flat anywhere, because she 
 has n't the price. If she had, she could n't afford to buy 
 even a bed to sleep on. Everything they 've got in the 
 world is in those two rooms ! " 
 
 "I'll see that she gets the money," Claire exclaimed. 
 "I suppose if I went to the hospital to-morrow, I could 
 see her, if she's well enough?" 
 
 "Yes, you could see her. This would be a good chance 
 if you want to do anything for her. He '11 get sent up for 
 thirty days at least. Still, it won't be easy. When they 
 get out they always seem to find them again." 
 
 Claire, making a mental note of the name of the hos- 
 pital which was painted on the side of the ambulance, 
 returned to the house, and let herself in. The two 
 rooms of the flat opposite hers were brightly illuminated, 
 and occupied by a number of women. One of them held 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 347 
 
 a baby, and was endeavoring to quiet it. Others seemed 
 to be making a desultory attempt to tidy up, while 
 others occupied the few rickety chairs the place afforded. 
 The door into the passage beyond stood open, and 
 Claire could see the figures of men moving about, and 
 through this opening children passed in and out. The 
 entire population of the tenement seemed to have been 
 roused, and to have come down to the scene of the 
 drama. 
 
 The name of the hospital kept recurring to her. It 
 was unknown to her, and opening her telephone book 
 she found that it was in a strange quarter on the East 
 Side. In the morning she would find it, and it occurred 
 to her suddenly that if she could find work to do in such 
 a place, it would be what she wanted. Work in the na- 
 ture of an expiation for the dissatisfaction she felt, the 
 distaste for her past and present lethargy. Hard, diffi- 
 cult, and repulsive work, expiatory, and absorbing, too, 
 so that she might forget. That is what she would do, if 
 she could find a way. Absorb herself in work. Ignore 
 the present; let its problems solve themselves if they 
 would, and by efforts more altruistic than she had 
 known before, forget the past. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Claire, the next morning, heard Dudley descend the 
 stairs, then Helena, and just as she had finished dress- 
 ing, Jamie, who knocked at her door. Jamie was him- 
 self again. 
 
 " They Ve both gone in a taxi," he said. " I saw them 
 out of the front window. They did n't stop for break- 
 fast. Look here, Claire, I can't stay here now; it will be 
 impossible. You can't either. What are you going to 
 do?" 
 
 "I don't know yet, Jamie, what I shall do, but I know 
 what I would do in your place — go to Paris." 
 
 "Really, Claire?" Jamie's face lighted for a moment, 
 and then grew dubious. "But, Claire, how can I?" 
 
 "I have money enough." 
 
 In thinking of the uncertain future, she had felt that 
 she would be less hampered alone, and that Jamie must 
 not be with her, but Paris only recurred to her at the 
 moment. "Would you like to go, Jamie?" 
 
 "Would I ! But, Claire, would n't you need me here? " 
 
 "No, Jamie. I 'd rather feel that you were doing what 
 you've always wanted to. I might even come to join 
 you later, and you could have a place there ready for 
 me. You really would like to go?" 
 
 "I'd love it, Claire, if you're sure it would be all 
 right. When do you suppose — ? " 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 349 
 
 "Why, any time." 
 
 "How about George?" 
 
 "We won't say anything to George, or any one else. 
 We'll just go ahead and do it." 
 
 George was now in Dudley's office and was occupying 
 a very modern bachelor flat farther uptown. 
 
 "Shall we go to Cook's after breakfast, and look up 
 the sailings?" 
 
 At this indication of the concrete nature of Claire's 
 proposition, Jamie's face lighted up once more, and as 
 they went down to breakfast together, his whistle 
 echoed cheerfully through the house. 
 
 "Shall I telephone for the car?" he broke off to ask. 
 
 "No, let's walk, Jamie." And immediately after 
 breakfast they started, but as Claire was about to enter 
 the steamship agency, she drew back. Jamie noticed, 
 and said, "What's the matter?" — and Claire was 
 given no choice. She went in. Felix was standing at the 
 counter. Claire flushed and trembled. All her determi- 
 nation had been called into play to write and post that 
 second letter, and now another drain upon her strength 
 was asked of her. 
 
 "I wonder if he is as tired as I am," Claire asked her- 
 self; and indeed he looked fatigued and sad. 
 
 "When are you going, Felix?" Jamie asked. 
 
 "The day after to-morrow," Felix answered. 
 
 "I am going, too!" Jamie announced triumphantly. 
 
 "When?" Felix said quickly. 
 
 "We don't know yet. Very soon." 
 
350 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Let him come with me, Mrs. Orville" — Felix's 
 look was so imploring, so charged with what she knew 
 him to be feeling at that moment, that Claire herself 
 found it difficult not to betray her own emotion. 
 
 "But he is going to Paris." 
 
 "But he could go by way of England. Let him come 
 with me. If he cared to stop with me a week in London, 
 I promise that I will go with him to Paris for a day or so, 
 and see that he gets properly installed there." 
 
 This had been the flaw in Claire's plan — Jamie's 
 first arrival in Paris, alone — and Felix's proposal could 
 not have been more opportune. Jamie had moved over 
 to speak to one of the clerks, and Felix added in an un- 
 dertone: 
 
 "Your note came this morning. That is why I am 
 here. Oh, Claire, must it be so?" 
 
 "You know it must. Don't make it any harder." 
 
 "Then let him come with me. He will be a tie be- 
 tween us. I won't feel then that I have lost you ut- 
 terly." 
 
 Jamie approached again. 
 
 "Could you be ready by the day after to-morrow, 
 Jamie?" 
 
 "I could be ready this afternoon. I suppose I could 
 get my trousers pressed on board — eh, Felix? All I 
 really need is time to pack, and a traveling-cap. It's too 
 good to be true — but" — and his expression changed 
 suddenly — "you're sure, Claire?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," Claire answered hurriedly. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 351 
 
 "Shall I see you once more?" Felix asked while 
 Jamie was getting his passage. 
 
 "Perhaps — please go now, Felix — perhaps, at the 
 boat — and perhaps sometimes I shall send a message 
 by Jamie." 
 
 "And you love me — tell me once more." 
 
 "Yes, yes, always — please, Felix — good-bye." 
 
 Her eyes were brimming. She turned away quickly. 
 She must be strong. It did n't matter what Dudley had 
 done to her, she would expiate what she had done to 
 him, the whole injustice of her marriage to him, and her 
 subsequent disloyalty in thought and action. 
 
 "I say, Claire," Jamie said later, "do you think I'd 
 better dine at home? I don't." 
 
 "No, don't, Jamie; just keep out of Dudley's way. 
 He and I will settle matters somehow, and a third per- 
 son only makes it more difficult." 
 
 But Orville did not come to Ninth Street to dinner, 
 nor did he return that night. This was on Monday. On 
 Tuesday morning Claire found a short note from him, 
 saying that George would come down and have a talk 
 with her on the following day, but that in the mean- 
 time he, Dudley, thought it best not to go to Ninth 
 Street. There was nothing, therefore, to prevent Jamie's 
 coming and going as he pleased, until Wednesday. 
 
 Jamie was to leave the house immediately after 
 breakfast on Wednesday morning, for the boat. Claire 
 found that there were many things which she could get 
 for him, and she spent most of Tuesday in shopping. 
 
352 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Jamie himself was busy packing. She reached home 
 late Tuesday afternoon, her car filled with boxes con- 
 taining a quantity of small things she had been buying 
 for him. She had them taken to his room, where she 
 found him in his shirt-sleeves. A trunk stood at the foot 
 of his bed, a hat-box and two bags rested on a table and 
 chairs, and as this pretty well filled his room, another 
 trunk had been placed just outside his door. The bed 
 ♦was piled with a variety of things, shirts, trousers, hats, 
 and cravats. 
 
 Claire, in spite of her unhappiness, could not forbear 
 laughing — 
 | "Are you going to take all this?" 
 
 Jamie looked up in surprise — "Why, yes. I'm tak- 
 ing all I've «got. Just as well to be prepared for emer- 
 gencies. Besides, I don't know when I shall be back." 
 
 "Why not get some clothes in London, Jamie? A 
 week will give you plenty of time. And you don't need 
 a hat-box. London is the place for top hats, is n't it?" 
 
 "Ra-fAer," Jamie answered. 
 
 "If I were you I would only take one trunk and your 
 bags, and no hat-box at all. Just take your very best 
 things, and get measured for whatever you need, in Lon- 
 don. When you get your top hat, buy a hat-box for it, 
 too." 
 
 "Oh, Claire, you are a brick!" She could see that he 
 was touched, and putting her arms about him, she said, 
 "And you will be good, Jamie?" 
 
 "I swear it, Claire; and I want to tell you something. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 353 
 
 Each time I've told you that before, I was n't sure of 
 myself. Now I am. I'm on the right track now. But 
 look here, I've got to rearrange all this." And he began 
 turning out the contents of his trunks, an absurd mis- 
 cellaneous collection in addition to his clothing, which 
 made Claire laugh again. 
 
 By seven, however, the trunk and the two bags, with 
 Claire's help, were completely packed, and Claire went 
 to her room to change her dress for dinner. As she came 
 downstairs, Jamie was hanging up the telephone re- 
 ceiver. "I've just had Felix on the 'phone," he an- 
 nounced, "to make sure that everything was all right. 
 I told him we 'd meet him by the gangplank in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, Jamie!" cried Claire, involuntarily. 
 
 "What?" Jamie asked. 
 
 "Nothing — that is, did we put in your new dressing- 
 gown?" 
 
 "Catch me leaving that out! It's a beauty, Claire." 
 
 She had hoped that some chance would enable her to 
 see Felix once more, in the morning, but Jamie had 
 made it impossible. Her sensitiveness caused her to 
 shrink from the possibility of Felix construing Jamie's 
 appointment as a message from her. And yet she still 
 hoped, and after dinner, as they sat in the drawing- 
 room, she struggled to adhere to a resolve she had made, 
 not to go with Jamie to the boat. 
 
 Outside, the waning day was passing in a glow of vio- 
 let, pink, and gold, melting slowly into dusky blue. A 
 
354 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 soft gloom filled the drawing-room lighted only by the 
 single lamp which burned by the piano, where Jamie 
 sat. Claire, sunk in the silken cushions of her chair, 
 rested in silence, in the shadows cast by the faint light 
 which still filled the street. 
 
 "What was that pretty song you played so long ago, 
 Jamie? — the verses of some English poet you set to 
 music — Dowson, I think — 'All that I had, I 
 brought.'" 
 
 "Yes, I know!" And Jamie began to play, and as he 
 played, she heard Mallette repeating, 
 
 " All that I had, I brought, 
 Little enough I know; 
 A poor rhyme roughly wrought, 
 A rose to match thy snow — 
 All that I had, I brought/' 
 
 Ah, love, ah, yearning! The minor of Jamie's melody 
 gave voice to all Claire's unuttered and unutterable 
 thoughts. She remembered well the night, long ago, 
 when Jamie had played it, when life, like some gorgeous, 
 beautiful, and strange flower, seemed about to open for 
 her. Alas, it had bloomed too late! All that she had, she 
 had brought; but now, it could not matter. She did not 
 know that Jamie had stopped, until she saw that he was 
 standing beside her, looking down at her. 
 
 "Claire, what is it? How can I leave you with that 
 brute?" 
 
 "You could n't help, Jamie. George is coming down, 
 to-morrow, and then we can decide. There's nothing to 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 355 
 
 worry about. Come, now, you must go to bed. You 
 must be very tired." 
 
 But they did not go until Claire, getting up, said, late 
 in the evening, that she could not keep awake a moment 
 longer; but when they reached Claire's room, something 
 having occurred to Jamie, he stopped there, and they 
 began to talk once more. Jamie finally said "good- 
 night," and climbed to his room, but he had hardly 
 lighted his pipe and surrendered himself to a rapt con- 
 templation of the future, when his door opened, and 
 Claire entered. She had forgotten something which she 
 wished to mention, or was reluctant to leave him. They 
 began to play with the situation humorously, tenderly, 
 and yet half sadly. 
 
 "Jamie, really I must go now — " 
 
 "All right, but what was it you were going to say 
 about learning French?" 
 
 "I've told you twice. You're inventing excuses to 
 make me stay." 
 
 Jamie, not being able to think of anything for the 
 moment, Claire asked: 
 
 "Do you think you can make your letter of credit 
 last for six months, Jamie?" 
 
 "Two thousand dollars ! I '11 make it last a year; you '11 
 see." And a discussion followed on the best way to 
 live economically in Paris. It was two o'clock before, 
 straining in a final embrace, they said "good-night." 
 
 "How shall we ever be ready, Jamie? We must leave 
 by nine." 
 
356 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 But at nine, when Jamie's taxi arrived, they were 
 quite ready. Jamie's trunk was fastened on, and they 
 got in. On the way they were silent at first, but sud- 
 denly Jamie said: 
 
 "Look here! You should n't have married him." 
 
 "It is n't altogether his fault, Jamie." 
 
 "But you were so much too good for him. I used to 
 say that our family valued certain things too much; but 
 Dudley does n't value anything. I mean, there is noth- 
 ing in the world that Dudley venerates. There is nothing 
 that is capable of lifting him up, of exalting him. Chil- 
 dren might for a time, but that's about all. Another 
 thing, Claire. He's like that — about women — I've 
 been hearing things lately. He's always been like that. 
 You 'd better divorce him, Claire." 
 
 "I'll see, Jamie." 
 
 As they approached the dock, Claire said with an 
 effort: 
 
 "I think I won't go in with you, Jamie." 
 
 Jamie looked at her with quick disappointment. 
 
 "Won't Felix think it's rude?" 
 
 " Tell him — tell him that leave-takings like this are 
 so difficult; I mean the waiting, and all that. He'll un- 
 derstand. And then, it's hard to let you go, Jamie!" 
 
 The taxi had stopped before the entrance to the pier, 
 and Jamie sat for a moment with a very sober face. 
 
 "Come, Jamie, you must go." 
 
 Jamie roused himself, said "Bing!" with an air of 
 bravado, found himself in Claire's embrace, for a mo- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 357 
 
 ment embracing her, and then descended to the street. 
 A porter had already seized his luggage. He thrust his 
 head in at the door — 
 
 "Good-bye, Claire — good-bye." 
 "Good-bye, Jamie, good-bye — good-bye." 
 She watched his slim figure as it receded quickly down 
 the long perspective of the pier, and to Claire, in the 
 stoop of his back as he pushed forward, the set of his 
 shoulders, the eager swing of his legs, the slant of his 
 stick and his elbows, he symbolized youth setting out on 
 one knew not what superb adventures. He faced about 
 and waved to her. Farther and farther he receded into 
 the mingled lights and shadows of the pier, growing 
 smaller and still smaller, until, turning again, he waved 
 once more, and vanished, a pigmy among the crowd of 
 pigmies swarming toward its distant end. 
 
 At the house, Maggie stopped her in the lower hall. 
 
 "Mr. George is here," she said in a whisper, "and 
 when he found that Mr. Jamie had gone away, he had 
 a long talk with Mr. Orville on the telephone. I know, 
 because I heard him call the office number." 
 
 Maggie knew other things, too, evidently. George was 
 waiting for her in the drawing-room. 
 
 "What's this I hear about Jamie's going away? 
 Maggie says — " 
 
 "Yes, he's off to Paris. I've just come from the 
 dock." 
 
 "To Paris — what the — " 
 
358 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "He always wanted to go, and now he's gone." 
 
 George turned, and led the way into Dudley's den, 
 closed the door, and lowering his voice to a portentous 
 whisper, he said, solemnly: 
 
 "Look here, Claire, what's this Dudley's been telling 
 me about you and Mallette?" 
 
 A flush of crimson Claire could not control suffused 
 her face. 
 
 "I should think you would blush; I should think you 
 would! To think that my sister — " 
 
 "Is that the reason Dudley left the house?" 
 
 "Of course it is!" 
 
 "I never thought before that Dudley was a hypo- 
 crite. Did he tell you anything about himself? " 
 
 "Yes, but that's an altogether different thing. To 
 think that you, the sister I've always looked up to, 
 could so far forget — " 
 
 "George if you insist on talking that kind of non- 
 sense, I shall not listen to you. What do you, or what 
 does Dudley want?" 
 
 "Dudley wants a divorce." 
 
 "Do you mean that he would be willing to expose 
 Helena, if I should consent, to such a scandal?" 
 
 "He proposes to divorce you." 
 
 "I never heard anything so absurd in my life!" Claire 
 cried, now thoroughly angry — "especially after what 
 Jamie — " 
 
 "But Jamie is n't here." 
 
 "I see! That altered the situation, did n't it? I sup- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 359 
 
 pose that was the reason you telephoned Dudley, when 
 you found out that he had gone." 
 
 George winced perceptibly. 
 
 "All I've got to do is to cable him, and he'll come 
 back again. I 'm not an utter fool, George.'* 
 
 " Dudley can put you in a very awkward position so 
 far as money goes, Claire; but he really feels terribly 
 about the whole thing." 
 
 "No, he does n't, George. Dudley never feels terribly 
 about anything. I wronged Dudley in marrying him. 
 I know that, and he knows it, too, but I feel much more 
 terribly about it than he does. Dudley is too strong, too 
 impervious, ever to be made really unhappy by any- 
 thing. The only thing about the situation that is of help 
 to me is that I am beginning to realize that I have hurt 
 myself much more than I have hurt him. Wait a mo- 
 ment, I must get you something I want you to give him." 
 
 Claire ran upstairs, opened her secret safe, and took 
 from it her jewel-case of morocco leather. In it was all 
 her jewelry : the superb new necklace Dudley had given 
 her, the older one, her rings, earrings, watches, and 
 bracelets. She looked once at their lambent or sparkling 
 coruscations, closed the lid again, and going downstairs, 
 placed the case in George's hands. 
 
 "Please give this to Dudley, and tell him that I shall 
 not be his mistress any longer, and that he had better 
 give this to his new favorite," indicating the new neck- 
 lace. 
 
 "Do you know what this is worth?" George de- 
 
360 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 manded. "Dudley told me he paid a hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars for it. Do you mean to say you're 
 going to give it back to him?" 
 
 "Yes, I am going to give it back. Do you know why 
 he gave it to me? As a quid pro quo for allowing him to 
 do what he pleased. I did n't understand at the time, 
 but I do now." 
 
 "Look here, Claire, would you be willing to sue 
 Dudley for a divorce, and leave Helena out of it?" 
 
 "How could I?" 
 
 "I mean if he were willing to get you the necessary 
 evidence — with some one else." 
 
 "Is n't that what they call collusion?" 
 
 "That's what they call it, yes, but — " 
 
 "But I can't, George; I don't believe in that sort of 
 thing. You have no right to ask me." 
 
 "You admit that you should n't have married Dudley 
 and yet you refuse to give him his freedom." 
 
 "I don't refuse. He is free, is n't he? He's not living 
 here." 
 
 "But suppose he should want to marry?" 
 
 "I see! So that's what Helena's after. Very well, 
 I have n't the slightest objection to Helena's marrying 
 Dudley, but I shall not take part in any conspiracy to 
 enable her to. Suppose I sue Dudley, and name Helena 
 as co-respondent." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" cried George in consternation. 
 "You would n't do that, would you?" 
 
 "No, I would n't," Claire answered. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 361 
 
 "And you won't consent to do it the other way? " 
 
 "I can't, George." 
 
 "Very well. Then I '11 have to see Dudley again about 
 it." And George, with an injured air, took his departure. 
 
 It was luncheon-time, and Claire went into the din- 
 ing-room, but immediately afterwards she left the house, 
 crossed the Square, walked down under the Elevated, 
 and took one of the little cross-town cars, small and 
 shabby, with wooden benches running along the sides 
 covered with strips of threadbare carpet so begrimed 
 that she could hardly bring herself to sit on them. In 
 this vehicle she began to penetrate wide districts which 
 she had never seen before, teeming with immense swarms 
 of people, mostly foreign, choking the entire roadway, 
 until she reached the street on which the hospital stood. 
 The police officer had told her, the night before, the car 
 to take, and on getting out she found herself within half 
 a block of her destination. It was a small red-brick 
 building about five stories high. She mounted the three 
 steps which led to the front door, opened it, and found 
 herself in a vestibule, where an oldish, dowdy woman, 
 in a nurse's uniform, sat at a table. 
 
 "I came to inquire about a poor woman who was 
 brought here last night," Claire explained. 
 
 "What name?" the nurse demanded perfunctorily. 
 
 "I don't know her name," Claire answered. 
 
 "What address?" 
 
 "I don't know the number; she lived in Eighth 
 Street, in a tenement." 
 
362 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 The problem of identifying the patient seemed to 
 present insuperable difficulties to the nurse, but, luck- 
 ily, at that moment a door close at hand was pushed 
 open, and another woman entered. She was a blonde 
 of a pronounced German type, with a good-natured 
 but inefficient face, and with a throaty quality of voice 
 which Claire found unpleasant. 
 
 "Here's the head nurse," the first woman said, glad 
 of an opportunity to get Claire off her hands. "She 
 may know something about it." And Claire stated her 
 errand. 
 
 "A little dark thing?" the head nurse asked. "She 
 won't be leaving here for a good while." 
 
 "Was she badly hurt?" Claire asked. 
 
 "He beat her pretty badly; but it is n't that. It's 
 wonderful what some of them can stand. She's sick, 
 anyway — acute anaemia." 
 
 Claire could not remember that she had ever heard of 
 acute anaemia, and asked if it were dangerous. The 
 nurse answered, "Yes," and stared at her; adding, 
 "Have you ever been in a hospital before?" 
 
 "No," Claire replied, "but I thought perhaps I 
 might like — I mean, I do want to get work in one. Do 
 you think you could take me?" 
 
 The head nurse threw her head back and laughed 
 shrilly. "Well, you don't know much, do you? You'd 
 better see what one is like first." 
 
 "Is it very dreadful?" 
 
 The head nurse did not understand what Claire 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 363 
 
 meant; she had plainly never put this question to her- 
 self. 
 
 "It's a way to make a living, like anything else. 
 Would you like to see it?" 
 
 "Yes, I would," Claire answered. 
 
 The head nurse rose, and opening the door by which 
 she had come in, entered one of the wards, followed by 
 Claire, who found herself at once in an atmosphere 
 charged with the odor of disinfectants. She had a con- 
 fused impression, afterwards, of a number of rooms con- 
 taining rows of beds, some filled with men, and some 
 with women, some lying still, others reading newspapers, 
 nurses moving about, and each containing an atmos- 
 phere as of something hovering not far away, as of 
 some immanent presence. In a corner of one ward she 
 saw a small head with glossy, smooth, blue-black hair. 
 The covering of the bed indicated a slight, small form, 
 which lay completely motionless, so far as Claire could 
 tell, even without breath. The head nurse hurried Claire 
 through the wards and returned to her office. Claire 
 was repelled, made ill almost, not so much by what she 
 actually saw as at what her imagination told her the 
 real life of such a place would reveal to her, and yet she 
 determined to find work here or in some similar place, 
 if it were possible. She meant to know something of 
 life beyond her narrow orbit, to sound its depths, to 
 learn what it had to offer to that outcast army Mallette 
 and others were trying to help. 
 
 "Do you still think you'd like to come?" the 
 
364 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 head nurse asked, when they had returned to her 
 office. 
 
 Claire replied that her mind was still unchanged. 
 
 "Well, there's one way you can do it. You can take 
 a course uptown as a trained attendant, and you can 
 volunteer for hospital work here if you want to. It is n't 
 obligatory, but if you did, you would be expected to 
 come here three times a week. I don't suppose there 
 would be any objection to your coming oftener if you 
 wanted to." 
 
 "How long does the course last?" Claire asked. 
 
 "Three months." 
 
 "And could I begin at any time?" 
 
 "Yes, any time." 
 
 Claire took the address and rose to go — 
 
 "You're sure you want to try it?" the nurse asked 
 warningly. "You don't look as if you'd ever done 
 much work, and it is n't easy." 
 
 "I am very strong," Claire answered, "and I really 
 want to. If they will take me, you will see me again." 
 
 When she reached home she found George waiting for 
 her once more. He advanced, and said in a low voice, 
 "Have you thought it over?" 
 
 "There was n't anything to think over, George." 
 
 "Then it's going to be war! Is that it?" he asked 
 portentously. 
 
 "Oh, George, don't be so absurd." 
 
 "Well, Dudley's pretty angry, and you know what 
 he's like when he gets started." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 365 
 
 "But what can I do? Dudley wants me to consent 
 to a conspiracy in order that he may get his freedom, 
 and in order that Helena may be protected. I don't 
 object to any part of Dudley's programme — perhaps 
 I ought to call it Helena's — except the conspiracy, 
 and that I do object to." 
 
 "Dudley has made up his mind that you must con- 
 sent." 
 
 "And if I don't?" 
 
 "Then, as I said, it will be war." 
 
 "In that case it will be Dudley who declares war, 
 not I." 
 
 "Look here, Claire, do be reasonable. You don't 
 know how nasty Dudley can be, and he's determined to 
 get his freedom immediately. I must say you made a 
 mistake in sending Jamie away. It weakened your 
 position tremendously." 
 
 "I have n't any position. But, George, if I refuse to 
 live with him, I am deserting him — are n't I? Is n't 
 desertion a ground for divorce? Could n't he get it from 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, but it takes too long." 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 "About a year; but he'd have to establish a residence 
 in the West." 
 
 "I'm sure he could do it if he wanted to. That is the 
 only way, George, even if it does take a little longer. I 
 could n't consent to the other. It's too disgusting and 
 sordid." 
 
366 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 George went away, but in the evening, as Claire sat 
 reading a book, in Dudley's den, the bell rang, and in a 
 moment he appeared for the third time. He closed the 
 door, and held out the jewel-case Claire had given him. 
 
 "Dudley understood why you sent back the large 
 necklace, but the other things, he says, belong to you." 
 
 "That's very nice of him, George, but I'd rather he 
 kept them." 
 
 "He says he won't take them." 
 
 "I don't want him to be kind to me, George, because 
 I can't do what he wants me to. Please, I 'd rather not 
 keep them." 
 
 George received the jewel-case again with a show of 
 reluctance, and said: "But we've got to get this thing 
 settled one way or another. Dudley says he will be 
 very generous if you'll get a divorce as he suggested. 
 He will give you the evidence, and it can be tried before 
 a referee, so that there won't be any publicity." 
 
 " Does he think, when I refused, that I expected to be 
 bribed? I won't take anything, George." 
 
 "You mean you won't do it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why can't you be reasonable? He's determined to 
 get it. You have n't got anything, Claire. The house is 
 his. You have n't any money in the bank, have you?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "And you've got Jamie on your hands. If you do 
 what Dudley wants, you'll be independent for life. If 
 you don't, you '11 have practically nothing." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 367 
 
 "And to be independent I must engage detectives, 
 and be a party to a really sordid conspiracy. I shall 
 not do it. I refuse to live with Dudley, and in some 
 States that is ground for divorce. Let him get it from 
 me." 
 
 "Then, if that is your final decision, I have done all I 
 can, and you must take the consequences," George an- 
 swered soberly; and he got up. 
 
 "It seems to me that you're rather siding with Dud- 
 ley, George." 
 
 "No, I'm not, Claire. Of course, we're in pretty deep 
 together, in various ways; but I really can't see things 
 as you see them; neither can Dudley. Well, good-night, 
 I'll help you all I can, of course." 
 
 "Do you really mean that you can't see that people 
 ought n't to do that kind of thing?" 
 
 "They're doing it all the time," George answered. 
 
 "But that is n't answering my question." 
 
 "I really think you're splitting hairs," was George's 
 final retort. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Claire called the next morning at the address given by 
 the head nurse, paid the necessary fee, and on the follow- 
 ing Monday began her course as a trained attendant 
 She did not apply for hospital work at once, because of 
 her complete lack of experience, and it was not until 
 a month later that she saw the hospital again. During 
 this time she was taught the preliminary course of first 
 aid, the care of the sick in emergency, the care of con- 
 valescents and of infants. Later, how to make beds 
 while occupied, marvelously simple when once demon- 
 strated, various forms of baths, to take the tempera- 
 ture, respiration, and pulse. Later still, the emergency 
 treatment of fractures and hemorrhages, how to ban- 
 dage arms, legs, shoulder blades, ankles, heads, and 
 eyes — the care of all the accidents man is heir to in 
 the turmoil of city life; how to note appearances and 
 symptoms; the significance of paleness, flush, emacia- 
 tion, obesity. She learned that there was a right way 
 and a wrong way to give medicine. She learned the 
 names of bones, and studied the processes of circulation; 
 the emergency care of people when under the influence 
 of drink or narcotics; the diet necessary in different 
 ailments; ventilation, light, rubbings, washings, and 
 feedings. 
 All this Claire found intensely interesting, and yet 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 369 
 
 she dreaded the time when she must put it into prac- 
 tical application. 
 
 One day, on returning to Ninth Street, she found 
 that an agent had placed a sign on the house, announc- 
 ing that it was for sale or for rent. She had determined 
 to close it and send the keys to Dudley, but she had 
 been so occupied with her new work that she had lacked 
 the energy requisite for the necessary packing and the 
 discharge of the servants; and yet these resolves failed 
 to mitigate the shock she received on seeing the sign. 
 It came as a slap in the face. A notice to quit, imper- 
 sonal, and yet implacable. She flushed as she saw it, 
 crossed at once to Aunt Kate's, and rang the bell. 
 
 The door was opened by Weston. His jaws were 
 working in a final effort before swallowing, and he 
 smelt unmistakably of chocolate creams. Claire knew 
 that he was inordinately fond of sweets. She had with 
 an effort, but with the aid of a strong sense of family 
 solidarity, succeeded in learning to call him "Will." 
 
 "How do you do, Will?" The name always sounded 
 extraordinarily banal when she used it in addressing 
 Weston. "Is Aunt Kate at home?" — but before she 
 could answer, the smallish dog bustled into the drawing- 
 room, seeming to say, "Well, I never! Sorry to be late, 
 but I got here as soon as I possibly could"; and imme- 
 diately disappeared under the drawing-room sofa in 
 response to a negligent kick which Will had applied to 
 its hindquarters. 
 
 "Yes, Kate's upstairs — Kate! Kate! Here's Claire. 
 
370 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 (She '11 be right down.) By the way, have you heard my 
 new exposition of 'The Niebelungen'? Well, it's the 
 greatest ever. I did it for Schluch the other day, and 
 what do you suppose he said? " Will had seated himself 
 at the piano. Prestissimo, fortissimo, crash, bang, bang, 
 br-r-r-r-r-r-r — tum-ti-tum-ti-tum. "Curtain rises, re- 
 vealing the Rhine Maidens guarding the Rheingold. 
 Sinuous movement of flutes and violins. Motive num- 
 ber one — " 
 
 "For goodness sake, shut up! Claire hasn't come 
 over to listen to you!" This from' Kate, who had come 
 in, and was unable to make herself heard. " Claire, come 
 upstairs." 
 
 The place smelt of old cigarettes and general staleness. 
 Will stopped, unmistakably offended. 
 
 "He makes so much noise about the place you can't 
 hear yourself think — come on, Claire." And as Claire 
 followed her, thinking of her first call with Kate, and 
 that Will's Wagnerian expositions had plainly lost 
 much of their potency, Kate asked in an undertone, 
 "What have you put a sign on your house for?" 
 
 "Dudley and I have agreed to disagree." 
 
 "I thought that might be it. I suppose you know a 
 little more about men than you did before you got 
 married! So do I." 
 
 "I wanted to know if I could have a room here. I 
 would pay for it, of course." 
 
 "Have you made any kind of an arrangement with 
 Dudley?" 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 371 
 
 "Not yet," Claire answered, not wishing to go into 
 details; "but I intend to close the house, and I want a 
 place to live." 
 
 "But what are you going to do? You must make 
 Dudley give you a big allowance." 
 
 "I will see, Aunt Kate. I can't tell yet; but until I 
 know definitely I would like to come here, if I might." 
 
 Kate, finding that Claire was not inclined to be com- 
 municative, finally got up, and showed her a room which 
 she said she could give her. To Claire's surprise — Kate 
 was notoriously close-fisted — she refused to discuss 
 payment for it, saying that Claire, for the present at 
 least, must stay there as her guest. 
 
 Claire recrossed the street and plunged into the 
 process of terminating her domestic affairs. Dudley 
 had sent no intimation as to the outstanding bills, and 
 Claire paid them herself. She discharged and paid the 
 servants, with the exception of Maggie, who was to be 
 taken by Kate as soon as Claire had finished with her. 
 Innumerable letters and papers must be destroyed. All 
 her finery, trunk upon trunk of hats, shoes, and gowns, 
 were packed for storage in Kate's cellar. She kept out 
 only what she immediately needed. She wished to strip 
 herself, as an athlete strips for the contest, for the battle 
 she was soon to take part in, and as the end of these 
 labors approached, she began to feel free; her shackles 
 were dropping away from her. She would lift her arms, 
 straining the muscles of her shoulders, and look up and 
 forward, as if awaiting some signal. Ah, how she had 
 
372 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 hated that sheltered and stupid past! Life, like some 
 strange flower, was finally about to open. Perhaps not 
 beautiful, perhaps at first even sordid and terrible, but 
 at least a test of courage, a struggle, a straining, deep 
 inhalations, the play of fortitude and hope, and per- 
 haps somehow, at last, in some way she could not 
 understand, Felix coming for her, searching for her, 
 and finding her. The final and stark realization of the 
 impossible nature of her relations with Dudley, and her 
 deliverance from them, made her careless of the future. 
 After paying the servants and the house bills, she had 
 not much left, a thousand dollars or so; but she did not 
 care. She possessed herself. She was free to come and 
 go, to swing on the tides of life, careless of material 
 things. Even Jamie, away and dependent, did not, in 
 her present mood, arouse anxiety, and it was without 
 regret that she turned the key in its lock and left the 
 house for the last time. 
 
 The expressmen had taken her numerous trunks 
 across the street, and had carried the one she had packed 
 for immediate use up to her room. She had followed 
 them, and on their departure had closed her door with 
 the intention of unpacking; but she did not begin. She 
 had seen the room only once before, a casual glance into 
 a darkened apartment, late in the afternoon, and she 
 had not known until now that it contained her old fur- 
 niture. She had told Kate to take what she wanted 
 when Dudley had decided on completely refurnishing 
 and renovating, and even to the rug on the floor, the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 373 
 
 window curtains, and the bed, all her old things were 
 there. They seemed to say to her: "So glad to have you 
 back! Sit down and rest a little." 
 
 When in response to a dowdy maid's announcement 
 of dinner, she descended the stairs, she saw in the sitting- 
 room on the second floor some of the saddle-bag furni- 
 ture, and on one wall the painting by Neolini, and when 
 in the dining-room Maggie began to bump the dishes 
 down, something she had had no opportunity to do since 
 the advent of the harmonious Japanese butler, it seemed 
 almost — almost but not quite — as if her old life had 
 been going on without interruption, and that her mar- 
 riage had been but a glittering and uneasy dream. 
 
 After dinner Kate took her to the sitting-room on 
 the second floor, informing Will that he was to stay 
 downstairs. Will thereupon began, in the drawing-room 
 immediately underneath them, with unnecessary vio- 
 lence, one of his Wagnerian expositions. This caused the 
 smallish dog, who had accompanied them upstairs, to 
 break into vociferous vocalisms, terminating in a sharp 
 yelp when Kate, removing her slipper, succeeded in 
 catching him a smart slap with it, and to disappear 
 immediately under the saddle-bag sofa. 
 
 "We can't hear anything here!" Kate exclaimed with 
 a gesture of vexation. "He is the noisiest man in New 
 York ! Come up to your room." 
 
 Claire went up disinclined to make a confidante of 
 Kate, but the fact that she had had no other woman to 
 speak to resulted finally in a conversation which lasted 
 
374 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 until bedtime. She was glad afterwards that she had 
 done so. The stimulation of Kate's family partisanship 
 invigorated her. She did not mention Helena, but 
 Kate's resentment against George found further excite- 
 ment in her learning that he was acting as Dudley's 
 emissary. 
 
 "Trying to browbeat his own sister! That's just like 
 him! But, Claire, you ought to have consented. Dud- 
 ley would be willing to give you a great deal of money. 
 Have you anything now? " 
 
 "Not much," Claire answered. 
 
 "But what are you going to do? For the rest of your 
 life you can't live on nothing. " 
 
 "I am learning hospital work. Nurses are well paid." 
 
 "Good heavens and earth! As if you'd ever be con- 
 tent with that! You're too young. Settle with Dudley, 
 and enjoy yourself." 
 
 "I'm tired of enjoying myself. I want to work — I 
 hard." 
 
 "And suppose you get tired of working; you're mak- 
 ing a mistake, Claire. Think it over." 
 
 But Claire was too tired to think anything over that 
 night, and hurried to bed and forgetfulness immediately 
 on Kate's leaving her. 
 
 For another month Claire continued her course before 
 she felt sufficiently equipped to begin her work at the 
 hospital. During this time she studied vigorously, fol- 
 lowing alone the ramifications which continually led 
 away from the trained attendant's course, and when she 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 375 
 
 could do so, attending clinics. These at first aroused in 
 her a f aintness which it required all her courage to over- 
 come. The work absorbed her, and yet repelled her, but 
 in her freedom she found an immense solace, troubled 
 only by the problem of her bond with Dudley. After 
 her first rejection of his purpose she asked herself many 
 times if she had done right. She had, as George said, 
 wronged him in marrying him, and yet she would not give 
 him his freedom except in her way. Their marriage was 
 wrong, and to connive at a divorce such as he wanted 
 was wrong, and two wrongs do not make a right; — • 
 but was that, after all, true? Should she not be willing 
 to commit one wrong to right another? But to con- 
 spire to cheat the law was not only inherently immoral, 
 it was illegal, too. The problem was a difficult one, and 
 caused her many anxious hours. 
 
 Although the relations between Kate and Weston 
 proved to be far from harmonious, Claire enjoyed the 
 comfort and isolation of her life there, except that Will's 
 manner toward her began to arouse occasional misgiv- 
 ings. His persistent egoistic preoccupation had given 
 way to elephantine attempts to display a dashing man- 
 ner when Claire was present. She wondered whether 
 Kate noticed it. If she stopped in the drawing-room, or 
 library above, he would be sure to come in. Once or 
 twice when they were alone together, he had by some 
 pretext, a book he wished her to look at, or a musical 
 score he was supposed to be working on, taken a seat be- 
 side her and pressed slightly against her. He was con- 
 
376 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 stantly getting too close to her, and once his hand 
 brushed her cheek. He apologized, but she could not 
 tell whether it was accident or not. After this, unless 
 Kate were at hand, she kept rigorously to her room. 
 One night, a fortnight later, after she had gone there, 
 she heard a stealthy step in the hall, a rustling at her 
 door, and an envelope was pushed quickly under it. 
 She picked it up and opened it: it was a ridiculous love 
 letter, absurd, and almost incoherent. It was evident 
 that she must find some pretext for leaving; but where 
 could she go? She shrank from the thought of it. She 
 would be alone, completely alone. She sighed. Life 
 was becoming difficult. At this time she had been in 
 the hospital for a week, a week of fatigue, disgust, and 
 horror. When she had first gone there the head nurse, 
 who was obviously surprised at seeing her again, showed 
 her first into a small room, where she changed into 
 the nurse's uniform she had brought with her, and 
 then, leading the way to an upper floor, left her with 
 the nurse in charge, saying: 
 
 "You understand, of course, that you are to begin at 
 the beginning." 
 
 Claire's duties lay in all the wards on that floor, both 
 for men and women. These wards were filled with the 
 riffraff of the streets, the dregs of life, or from the name- 
 less millions who work and die. The men were negroes 
 and whites, of all nationalities and trades — Russians, 
 Germans, Jews, Americans, and Scandinavians, sailors, 
 longshoremen, news-vendors, laborers, and outlaws. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 377 
 
 Some had been beaten and robbed while drunk. Others 
 had been injured by elevator accidents, in fights, falling 
 down shafts and holds, the breaking of scaffoldings, run 
 over by taxi-cabs. There were fractured spines, broken 
 bones, ghastly cuts, horrible abrasions; the beds were 
 filled with every type and age, scrawny boys, young 
 men, brawny and powerful middle-aged men, brutal and 
 hairy men, and the old, old derelicts who make the 
 rounds of the hospitals, and who, to simulate fever, 
 rub the clinical thermometers with the tongue. Claire 
 had to count the filthy and blood-stained clothing of 
 all these wretches when they were brought in. Priests 
 came often and administered the last sacrament. 
 Each night, at the end of these first days, Claire thought 
 that she could not go back, but fighting down that sense 
 of approaching f aintness which she had felt at the clinics 
 and which again assailed her often, she persevered. 
 
 Diseases, not accidents, filled the beds of the women's 
 wards, diseases of every kind, determined and undeter- 
 mined, diseases of the heart, the kidneys, pneumonia, 
 jaundice, diabetes, syphilis, typhoid. They were ignor- 
 ant, vulgar and obscene; more so than the men; and all 
 these bodies Claire washed — emaciated, greenish- 
 white bodies, pale, obese bodies, scarred and mutilated 
 bodies, legs with broken, blue veins, swollen feet. 
 
 In a corner of the ward the blue-black head of the 
 little foreign woman lay always quite still. Claire was 
 told that there was no hope for her, but some special 
 appeal drew her constantly to her bedside. She was too 
 
378 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 ill to be bathed, but Claire would sit gently rubbing 
 her back, where the vertebrae of her spine stood out 
 in sharp ridges. At first this seemed to ease her dis- 
 comfort, but soon Claire was forced to stop, because she 
 moaned continually as if it hurt her. She seemed like 
 some little, pathetic animal, accepting, without under- 
 standing or protest, the dictates of a grievous destiny. 
 In this small hospital many duties fell to Claire's lot 
 which in a larger one she would have escaped. The rou- 
 tine began at nine o'clock, when beds must be made 
 according to the formulae learned in the school. This, 
 which was supposed to take an hour, usually took two; 
 therefore it was never finished when at ten the interne, 
 a tall, conceited-looking young Jew with a small black 
 mustache and full red lips, began to make his rounds. 
 Claire was obliged to follow him and watch the inspec- 
 tion of wounds. The remainder of the morning was 
 spent, besides the giving of baths, in taking respiration, 
 pulse, and temperature. Often special breakfasts must 
 be prepared, eggs, toast, and coffee, glasses of milk 
 passed, charts made out, test-tubes prepared. The diet 
 charts for each patient must be studied : restricted diets, 
 liquid diets, salt-free diets. Bread must be cut and 
 spread, and dinner, which was carried in by orderlies, 
 must be distributed: soup poured out, tea made, ice 
 cracked and put in bags, and bathtubs washed with 
 disinfectants. In addition, mouth-washes in sputum 
 jars must be distributed, tables, window-sills, and chairs 
 dusted, and all instruments boiled constantly by elec- 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 379 
 
 tricity, in nickel boxes. In the afternoon the visiting 
 surgeon came. This happened usually when backs were 
 being rubbed with alcohol to prevent bed sores, crumbs 
 brushed out, pillows turned, and sheets tightened. With 
 him went the head nurse, the interne who read the 
 charts, and another nurse who took notes. He visited 
 only the most serious cases, and no talking or whisper- 
 ing was permitted at this time. And all this, on the 
 part of all concerned, with a mechanical and perfunc- 
 tory routine almost inhibiting sympathy or interest on 
 the one side, or appreciation on the other. Twice a 
 week, to the disgust of the frowsy nurses, two thin, 
 pale women dressed in black would appear in the ward, 
 followed by a negro carrying a folding harmonium. He 
 would proceed to set this up, when one of the women 
 would seat herself before it, and to its accompaniment 
 they would begin to sing hymns, in which the patients 
 joined. After half an hour of this they would disappear 
 into another part t)f the building, followed by the 
 grimaces, burlesque gestures, and sarcastic comments 
 of the nurses. 
 
 Sometimes a patient well enough to leave, and almost 
 unrecognizable in street clothing, would appear for a 
 moment to say good-bye, and disappear; but more often 
 not. Often, when Claire reached the hospital in the 
 morning, a bed or two would be empty. These patients 
 Claire knew that she would not see again, but the de- 
 partures caused by death aroused as little general in- 
 erest as those due to recovery. Their places were filled, 
 
380 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 and things went on as before. The telephone would ring, 
 and a new arrival would be announced. Claire would be 
 told to prepare a bed. The age, respiration, and tem- 
 perature would be taken at once. If able to walk, Claire 
 led the new arrivals to the bathroom, and washed them 
 there. If not, she washed them in bed. Their clothes 
 were taken from them, tied in squares of linen, and put 
 away. They looked almost always undernourished, 
 anaemic, or yellow, with strong body odors, and dirty 
 and callous feet. Their heads, too, almost always in- 
 fected with lice, must be washed. And she began to 
 share Felix's feeling of rebellion at existing conditions. 
 She was appalled by the brutishness, filth, and stupidity 
 of all these people. The weight which pressed them 
 down to the level of the animal was undoubtedly the 
 weight of ignorance, and ignorance was the offspring 
 of poverty. 
 
 Each morning a news-vendor would make the rounds, 
 selling his papers. He was waited for eagerly, and after 
 his departure continuous rustling would fill the wards. 
 Salvation Army women called occasionally with gifts 
 of fruit and cocoa, and on visitors' day, twice a week, 
 a husband or brother would appear, awkward and ill 
 at ease. Some of the patients were allowed to propel 
 themselves in wheeled chairs from one place to another. 
 
 The little foreign woman got no better. She was very 
 frail, very .emaciated. There was something inexpres- 
 sibly touching to Claire in her little wide, sunken face 
 with its expression as of dim wonder at the dull riddle of 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 381 
 
 her own existence. Often she talked half deliriously in 
 some strange patois which no one could understand. 
 
 Other types interested, even fascinated her, but with- 
 out arousing the sympathy she felt for this little derelict 
 slowly but surely floating out into the unknown. One, 
 a very beautiful Norwegian with milky skin and red- 
 gold hair. She had had pneumonia, but had recovered. 
 She seemed perfectly able to leave, and yet her temper- 
 ature was extremely variable, and a cough still persisted. 
 The cough seemed well under control, and it was sus- 
 pected that she, too, by some means increased the record 
 of the clinical thermometer, to indicate fever. During 
 the first week an old, melancholy colored woman, dying 
 of cancer, called continually, "Nurse, nurse," in a thin 
 voice plaintive and exhausted. "Nurse, nurse," over 
 and over. At night Claire still heard it over and over. 
 One morning her bed was empty. 
 
 An enormous woman, muscular and vicious-looking, 
 whose feet extended beyond the end of the bed, lay still, 
 day after day, with dead gray eyes, and stupid, heavy, 
 masklike face. Her condition usually was subnormal, 
 but occasionally she had fever. She was very ill, almost 
 in coma, and looked as if intelligence had already de- 
 parted. One morning Claire was ordered to take her to 
 the ground floor to be X-rayed. Her chest was to be 
 photographed. A wheeled stretcher was brought in,, 
 and with the help of others she managed to get her on it. 
 The patient muttered something, over and over, some- 
 thing which sounded like "I can't do it — I can't do it." 
 
382 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 Claire covered her with a blanket, wheeled her to the 
 lift, and went down with her. The X-ray room was at 
 the end of a passage, up an incline. Claire, with an 
 effort, got her up it. The wheels of the stretcher swayed. 
 The operator indicated the position and, disappearing, 
 looked through an aperture. "Now, steady "; a buzzing 
 and flashing ensued, a green and yellow light, and a sul- 
 phurous smell. The woman lay motionless, with her 
 dead gray eyes. Claire wheeled her to the lift, and back 
 once more to the ward. The next morning her bed, too, 
 was empty. 
 
 So it went, amid an odor of food, disinfectants, 
 anaesthetics, and the exhalations of diseased bodies. 
 Claire could not understand how those around her could 
 become accustomed to this daily sight of death, suffer- 
 ing, wounds, blood, and dirt. It seemed to arouse no 
 emotions either in the physicians or the nurses, and 
 while this insensibility shocked her, she saw that without 
 it they could not have gone on with the work they had 
 to do. She herself had begun to grow in a slight degree 
 accustomed to it, but she saw that her present course 
 could lead her nowhere. The thought of choosing the 
 profession of nursing was now so distasteful to her that 
 she could not understand how she had ever seriously 
 thought of it; but she must not, on that account, for the 
 present abandon it. She meant to see it through; she 
 would persevere, trusting and hoping that fate would 
 show her a way out. 
 
 Often at night, her nerves on edge, exhausted by the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 383 
 
 performance of disgusting and menial duties, feeling 
 unable to listen to the jarring exchanges of Kate and 
 Weston, or the latter's attempts at elegant playful- 
 ness, she would dine at some restaurant, and go directly 
 to her room, where she would attempt, without success, 
 to set the stage of her imagination with scenes of beauty 
 and fascination, to drive out the stark realities of her 
 daily life. She strove to make real once more that night, 
 when in the dusk of the Square she lay for a moment in 
 Felix's arms. She tried to lose herself in dreams, where, 
 in an atmosphere of delicate perfumes, the frou-frou of 
 elegant dresses, sunk in soft cushions, walking in gar- 
 dens bright with parterres of flowers, she lived always 
 with Felix an existence of perfect and untroubled ease: 
 but she was unable to banish the present. Her imagina- 
 tive impulses were not strong enough to erase its impres- 
 sions, and her dreams would dissolve, to give place to 
 the pallid wards of the hospital. The odor of disinfect- 
 ants would assail her nostrils, and she would seek her 
 bed only to hear, in her troubled sleep, the plaintive, 
 thin, exhausted cry, "Nurse, nurse," of the dying 
 woman, see before her two dead, gray, unwinking, 
 staring eyes in a brutal, stupid, immobile face, or the 
 pallid features of the little Italian with their expression 
 of dull resignation, of faint and futile wonder. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 One morning the bed of the little Italian was hidden by 
 two screens. The interne came twice and went away, 
 and the nurses kept going in and out. Claire knew that 
 this meant that she was dying. Claire's own duties were 
 especially arduous that day, but in the afternoon, as the 
 hour for leaving approached, the nurse in charge, speak- 
 ing in a whisper, said, "Your little friend is dead; would 
 you like to see her?" 
 
 A strange feeling of apprehension, of fear, seized 
 Claire, but controlling it, she followed the nurse. Be- 
 hind the screen she was lying in her nightgown. The 
 bedclothes were turned down, and Claire could see the 
 outlines of her frail and wasted body. The experience 
 was unpleasant, but Claire had no feeling of repulsion. 
 What struck her was the change of, or rather, lack of 
 expression. Before, she had had a strained look, as if 
 in constant pain. This was gone. Gone, too, was the 
 human, individual look. Her flesh had collapsed, the 
 teeth showed, the eyes were closed, and the skin very 
 waxen. Claire felt that the little person she had known 
 was not there. 
 
 The nurse, who had disappeared, returned with a 
 rubber sheet, and asked Claire to help her move the 
 body to the edge of the bed, so that the sheet might be 
 placed under it. Claire controlled a shudder, and bent 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 385 
 
 forward with a supreme effort. The body felt warm and 
 soft, very soft and non-resistant. When they lifted it 
 slightly its strange, inert limpness seemed to signify that 
 life, not death, had killed her, that life had drained her 
 body to the dregs. The nurse slipped the nightdress 
 down preliminary to the customary sponging, when 
 Claire saw to her horror that the back and shoulders of 
 the body were covered with scars, and at this evidence of 
 the brutality which this frail creature must have suf- 
 fered a sense of exhaustion prevaded her, numbing 
 and deadening all her sensibilities. She stood, support- 
 ing herself by the head of the bed, leaning against the 
 wall while the nurse fastened the body in another sheet, 
 and pinned to it the name and date of death. The 
 stretcher was brought in. Claire with an effort roused 
 herself, and followed it as it was rolled out again 
 bearing its white burden. 
 
 She went down in the elevator and out into the street, 
 thinking of that pale and wasted body. In the face of 
 the terrific and unescapable reality of death, the streets, 
 the people, seemed to assume the vague and uncertain 
 attributes of objects seen in a dream. 
 
 She walked slowly home. That morning she had had 
 her first letter from Jamie in Paris. Mallette had run 
 over with him, and he was now settled. He had stopped 
 longer in London than he had expected. In fact nearly 
 a month. She had had a short note from him there say- 
 ing that he would write again as soon as he had a per- 
 manent address to give her. They had forgotten to 
 
386 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 arrange this before he had sailed, and the delay in hear- 
 ing from him after his first note had caused Claire a cer- 
 tain amount of anxiety. She reached the house and 
 went into the drawing-room. She was too exhausted to 
 immediately climb the stairs to her room, and she sank 
 inertly into a chair. A slight sound aroused her, and 
 as she looked up she saw Weston had come close up 
 to her. He looked about quickly and furtively. His 
 face worked spasmodically under the influence of an 
 extreme agitation. Claire sprang up instinctively, and 
 as she did so he seized her hands and pushed her back 
 into the corner, holding her there by the pressure of his 
 own body. 
 
 "Why do you treat me so — why — why — do you 
 always keep away from me? Don't you know Hove 
 you? Don't you know I love you more — more — " 
 
 "Oh — don't!" cried Claire, almost with a shriek. 
 She wrenched her hands free, and with blazing eyes 
 pushed him away. As she did so she saw Kate standing 
 in the doorway. Weston saw her too. For a moment all 
 stood silent, motionless in the somber light of the dark- 
 ening room. 
 
 "Up to your tricks again, are you? " Kate said at last. 
 "Go up to your room." 
 
 "Aunt Kate!" Claire cried. 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean you. Go up, do you hear?" 
 
 Will went past her, cringing, without a word. For 
 a moment Kate and Claire stood silent again. 
 
 "I did n't mean you," Kate went on presently. 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 387 
 
 "This is n't the first time I've caught him. Oh, men!" 
 She turned and closed the door. The light was waning 
 rapidly- "Do you know why I married him? Because 
 I was getting old, and I wanted to know what — what 
 marriage was like. That 's why, and he was the only one. 
 I knew what you all thought about him, and what you 
 thought, was true. Perhaps you wonder why I don't 
 turn him out. I could. I could divorce him to-morrow; 
 but suppose I did? I should be alone." 
 
 "I never thought you would mind that, Aunt Kate." 
 "I know it. Nobody thought so; but wait until you 
 are as old as I am. You're young now, and it does n't 
 matter, but wait until you are old enough to realize what 
 it means to look forward with the thought that during 
 your whole life you will be condemned to a kind of soli- 
 tary confinement. That's why I don't divorce him" — 
 Kate stopped — "Of course you can't stay here now, 
 Claire." 
 
 "Good Heavens! Do you suppose I want to?" 
 Claire cried. "I would go to-night if I knew where to 
 go." She turned, went out of the house, and walked 
 toward Sixth Avenue. A car stopped at the corner, and 
 in her preoccupation she boarded it and sank into a cor- 
 ner seat, with no definite objective. The cumulative 
 strain of the work at the hospital, that first introduc- 
 tion to death, and Weston's attack, had produced in her 
 a stored-up fund of dread, irritation, and mental strain, 
 which threatened momentarily to fuse and explode, 
 with she knew not what consequences. She realized that 
 
388 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 she must control herself firmly, and she sat in the corner 
 of the car with clasped hands, fighting to do so. She was 
 not conscious of the passage of time until the conductor, 
 with the cry, "All out!" announced that the car would 
 go no farther. They were at Fifty-Ninth Street, the 
 southern boundary of the Park. Claire got out. It was 
 eight o'clock. She suddenly realized that she was hun- 
 gry, and began walking down Sixth Avenue. Finding 
 a restaurant of the "table d'hote" variety, where she 
 and Jamie had dined occasionally in former days, she 
 went in. The soup, one of those peasant concoctions, 
 rich in nourishment, revived her, and she began to 
 consider the future, but at the realization of what 
 lay before her, the problem of finding out how sim- 
 ply to live by herself, panic seized her. To go to a 
 hotel with her limited means was absurd and yet the 
 prospect of a boarding-house filled her with vague 
 terrors. If Jamie were only with her. Perhaps she had 
 better cable him to come back. And if he came back? 
 She had given him two thousand dollars. He might 
 return with a thousand, and she had less than a thous- 
 and herself. After that was spent, what? In a year, 
 or less, she might be earning money as a nurse. She 
 shuddered at the thought. How strong people like 
 Dudley must be, to rise impervious to all the friction, 
 the opposition, the competition, the dead weight of the 
 bare happenings of existence. There seemed something 
 incomprehensible, superhuman, about such achieve- 
 ments. She finished her dinner, got up, and took a 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 389 
 
 south-bound car. Her mind was occupied with the 
 realization of the almost insuperable difficulties of the 
 position she had chosen for herself, and continually, 
 like a symbol of all the weak and helpless entities 
 throughout the world, the sport of circumstance, the 
 prey of the predatory, the blind victims of fate, the 
 vision of an emaciated and scarred body, very frail 
 and waxen, rose continually in her thoughts, and as that 
 ignorant and frail creature had been helpless, it seemed 
 to Claire that she, too, was helpless. 
 
 The lights of Broadway and the tall tower of a great 
 newspaper office attracted her attention, and she got 
 out and turned toward them through one of the cross- 
 streets, only to be caught at once in an immense seething 
 multitude, passing interminably in restless, intricate 
 currents, as if impelled by motives as obscure, as appar- 
 ently aimless, as those which animate a swarm of 
 insects. The insistent sound of the news-vendors crying 
 their extra editions seemed to set a note rising above 
 this immense movement and conglomeration of sound, 
 which gave it a portentous significance of warning, as if 
 the multitude hearing it were hurrying, confusedly, 
 without definite purpose, under a stress of terror before 
 the approach of vast and terrifying events. Before the 
 great newspaper office a mass of people stood looking up 
 at the bulletins. She went nearer to them and began 
 to read, the familiar announcements of strikes, famines, 
 revolutions, and battles which still continued. A dread, 
 formless and yet mighty, suddenly oppressed her. A 
 
390 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 feeling of apprehension, a sense of foreboding, which 
 until lately the objective mentality of her vigorous 
 youthfulness had rarely known, suddenly chilled her. 
 Ah, yes, she was small, weak, and alone. She had only 
 lately begun to realize the significance of the tremendous 
 forces at play everywhere around her. 
 
 She had had enough of her present life. She had had, 
 ten days before, a slight touch of inflammation from one 
 of the pneumonia patients, and had been obliged to stay 
 at home for half a week. This, too, had pulled her down. 
 She felt that she could not possibly endure even one 
 more day at the hospital. She would cable Jamie to 
 return at once, and together they would find some way. 
 But what? In addition she would be admitting defeat. 
 She would be a quitter. But if she could join Jamie in 
 France, and go on with her work there, it would not be 
 so hard. With Jamie she would have the courage her 
 present life bereft her of. That was what she would do. 
 But she needed money. 
 
 Whether she brought Jamie back or joined him in 
 France, she could not see how they could manage 
 without money. 
 
 She must make up her mind. She thought for a mo- 
 ment, and then, her lips tightening, she went into the 
 lobby of a hotel which she was passing and telephoned 
 George's apartment. In a moment George answered. 
 
 "It is Claire," she announced; "are you alone?" 
 
 George replied that he was. 
 
 "Then I shall come over; I want to see you." 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 391 
 
 On her way to George's apartment she half resolved 
 to ask him to lend her money, but immediately saw that 
 it would be useless. Not only was he not inclined to lend 
 money to anybody, but he would see immediately that 
 her need of it could be used as a means to secure for 
 Dudley what he wanted. Therefore, on her arrival she 
 went directly to the point. 
 
 " I have decided to do what Dudley wants me to do." 
 
 George's expression indicated approval. 
 
 "It's the only thing to do, Claire. All right; I'll have 
 the lawyers get busy right away." 
 
 "I shall want ten thousand dollars, George." 
 
 George stared at her as if he could not believe 
 her. 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars! Ten thousand fiddlesticks! 
 You shall get more than that!" 
 
 "I don't want any more, George." 
 
 "Look here, Claire," George cried in sincere exasper- 
 ation, "if you don't let me manage this as I like, I'll 
 have nothing to do with it. I intend to get a good 
 settlement for you from Dudley. If you don't want the 
 money afterward, give it away; but I intend to do my 
 best. Wait a minute; Dudley's stopping at the Plaza. 
 I'll see if he 'sin." 
 
 Dudley was, and George seized his hat. "I'll be 
 back in half an hour. Wait for me." 
 
 In half an hour George returned. He threw his hat on 
 a chair, and with the air of one who expected a flood of 
 thanks, he said abruptly: 
 
392 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "Two hundred thousand." 
 
 "I won't take it, George." 
 
 "Claire, you're impossible; why on earth not?" 
 
 "Because the more I take from him, the more despic- 
 able I shall seem to myself." 
 
 "Two hundred thousand is nothing to Dudley. Look 
 here, suppose you took ten thousand. What would you 
 do when it was gone?" 
 
 "By that time I shall be earning money." 
 
 "You really talk like a child. In a year or so you'd 
 be asking for help again." 
 
 "I can't take it," Claire said. 
 
 George got up. 
 
 "Very well; I wash my hands of you. Go and talk to 
 Dudley yourself." 
 
 "You know I can't do that." 
 
 "Then go to Elder and let him begin negotiations. 
 Do you know what Dudley will do? He'll refer him to 
 me. I've made Dudley promise that if there's any 
 settlement at all to provide for you properly." 
 
 Claire, too, stood up, and moved toward the door. 
 "Very well," she said, but when her hand touched the 
 knob, she turned. She could not go away to face the old 
 uncertainty. 
 
 "I will do it," she said. 
 
 "Now you're talking sense." 
 
 "How long will it take?" 
 
 "A few days; I'll make arrangements at once." 
 
 "And when can I — can I — " 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 393 
 
 "Get the money? The moment you've signed the 
 papers." 
 
 Claire lowered her head to hide the mounting of a 
 flush of shame. 
 
 "And — and — may I go away afterward?" 
 
 "Anywhere you like. The lawyers will do the rest. 
 You need n't bother about anything. Where shall I be 
 able to get hold of you?" 
 
 There was that in Claire's expression which made 
 George uncomfortable. Their relations had always been 
 quite impersonal, without a touch of that reciprocal 
 tenderness which existed between herself and Jamie, but 
 now he came up to her, and rather awkwardly took her 
 hand. 
 
 "Look here," he said. "You've got the wrong idea of 
 things. You and Dudley made a mistake in marrying. 
 You both know it, and you would both be happier if 
 you were free. But how does the law stand? Notwith- 
 standing the fact that you both want it, and it would be 
 better for you to have it, the law won't give it to you, 
 and will block any effort you may make to get it. Well, 
 it's a stupid law, Claire, and no unprejudiced person 
 would blame you for refusing to be bound by the preju- 
 dices of the people who made it, I don't know how many 
 generations ago." 
 
 But that was a matter beyond Claire's power or incli- 
 nation to discuss. 
 
 "Good-night, George. It seems hard to explain." 
 
 In the morning she packed her trunks, bade Kate 
 
394 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 good-bye, and after registering at a neighboring hotel, 
 telephoned to George. All arrangements would be com- 
 plete, and the evidence secured immediately. In four 
 days the papers would be ready for her signature. 
 Claire, on hearing this, went first to her bank, and then 
 once more to Cook's. She secured passage on a boat 
 sailing for France in ten days, and cabled Jamie to 
 meet her at Havre on her arrival there. She went out. 
 The canyon of the Avenue stretched before her, sunk 
 in shadow. High up, the flags floated in the radiance 
 of the western sun. Higher still, soft, serried ranks of 
 small and pinkish clouds. Higher still, calm, pale 
 depths of sky. The beauty of the afternoon moved her, 
 but failed to buoy her up. She was sunk in the depths 
 of a slough of weariness, shame, and humiliation. She 
 essayed to walk, but an unaccountable lassitude 
 weighted her limbs. She hailed a taxi-cab, returned to 
 her hotel, and could hardly summon strength to get to 
 her room. It occurred to her that the slight inflamma- 
 tion which she had contracted at the hospital was re- 
 turning again, and alarmed at the thought that she 
 might be on the verge of illness, she telephoned the 
 doctor. At all hazards she must sail on the steamer to 
 France, and seeking the couch which stood at the foot 
 of her bed, she waited. She had been lucky enough to 
 find him at home, and he was coming at once. 
 
 Some one knocked, and in response to her summons 
 he came in, accompanied by a slight, pleasant odor of 
 tweeds and tobacco. He had not changed. His dress 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 395 
 
 was the same, very baggy and comfortable, his beard 
 and mustache still crisply gray and curling, and the 
 clasp of his large, warm hand as reassuring as ever. He 
 looked at her shyly. The half-paternal feeling he had 
 had for her in the past was gone. She was no longer a 
 little girl. No longer a young lady. She was a woman. 
 He had grown a little afraid of her. Bending over, and 
 breathing heavily, he put his ear to her back, then to 
 her chest, thumped her with his large fingers, drew out 
 his stethoscope, used it, felt her pulse, placed a ther- 
 mometer between her lips, and then looking at her 
 shyly once more, he said : 
 
 "You must go to bed. What have you been doing? 
 You look tired out, and you have a temperature." 
 
 "I was afraid so; I have been nursing in a hospital." 
 
 "You!" cried the doctor. "I knew something had 
 happened, but — well, I'll telephone for a nurse." 
 
 "I must sail for France in ten days." 
 
 "For France!" cried the doctor again. 
 
 "Yes; Jamie's there, and I am going over to help if 
 I can." 
 
 In so far as his mellow temperament would allow, 
 the doctor was piqued. 
 
 "And I did n't know anything about it. Well, that's 
 the way. You bring people into the world, watch them 
 grow up, and see them slip away and forget about you. 
 I'm afraid I'm getting old. When I was younger I 
 did n't mind." 
 
 "You should have married, doctor." 
 
396 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 "And you say that?" 
 
 "The right one, of course." 
 
 "Ah, yes — perhaps. Well — !" He got up, and 
 overcoming with an effort his shyness, he suddenly 
 patted her head — "But don't talk; you're tired." 
 
 "One thing more. I want to find out just the right 
 man at the Red Cross in Paris to give me real work to 
 do." 
 
 "I know him," the doctor answered. "I'll give you 
 a letter to him." 
 
 "And, doctor, I can go in ten days?" 
 
 "Perhaps, if you will do exactly what I tell you to." 
 He went to the telephone, found, after one or two un- 
 successful efforts, a certain nurse, and turned to Claire. 
 
 "I am going out to get a prescription filled. While I 
 am away I want you to go to bed. I shall be back in 
 fifteen — no, twenty minutes; that will give you time 
 enough." 
 
 He went away. Claire tried to undress hurriedly, but 
 found that she could not. She seemed each moment to be 
 growing weaker, but with a determined effort she man- 
 aged to get into bed before he returned. She knew from 
 his quietness, the absence of his usual hearty manner, 
 that her condition was giving him some concern, but 
 for the moment she was oblivious to all except that the 
 bed she had finally sunk into was restful beyond belief, 
 and that she had the doctor's sturdy dependability to 
 rely on. 
 
 He returned presently, gave her a spoonful of the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 397 
 
 contents of a bottle he was carrying, closed the blinds 
 and opened the windows to his satisfaction. A knock 
 sounded, and the nurse came in, already dressed for serv- 
 ice, in her fresh cotton uniform and white cap. 
 
 "This young lady," said the doctor, "is anxious to 
 sail for France in ten days. If she obeys orders I think 
 she may be able to, but no newspapers, no books, no 
 worry, and no exertion." 
 
 He turned to Claire — "Lie still and rest. You've got 
 a good nurse, who will do everything. Don't even think." 
 
 But this order Claire could not obey. The one 
 thought which she could not drive away was that, in 
 assenting to Dudley's wishes, she had lost Felix. Her 
 participation in a sordid intrigue to free herself from 
 Dudley made her love for Felix an impossible thing. 
 Over and over she tried by some means to justify herself, 
 by some swerve of argument to convince herself that her 
 criticism of herself was due to hypersensitiveness, but 
 without success. Over and over she caught up, pursued, 
 and let go various threads of thought, hoping to find one 
 which would lead her out of the somber depths in which 
 she groped, until they began to move, to spin of them- 
 selves, intricate, luminous patterns against a back- 
 ground of darkness, contracting and opening out faster 
 and faster, bursting into rocket-like, starry explosions, 
 to form again into intricate, moving, luminous lines, 
 until at last, growing dimly red and pale, to fade into 
 the obscure depths of unconsciousness or the troubled 
 sleep of fever. 
 
398 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 One morning she awoke to a sense of mental ease, but 
 of great weakness. The fever had left her. When the 
 doctor came she asked, "How much time have I before 
 my boat sails?" 
 
 "Four days," he answered, sitting down beside her. 
 
 "Shall I be able to go?" 
 
 The doctor, who had taken his thermometer from its 
 case, thrust it between her lips and opened his watch. 
 Presently he returned the watch to his pocket, and, 
 taking the thermometer to the light, examined it 
 closely. 
 
 "Your fever is gone. I think that we can manage it, 
 but you must be very careful." 
 
 "Has my brother George been here?" 
 
 "Yes; but I would n't let him see you." 
 
 "It's very important." 
 
 "I know; in fact I know all about it." The doctor said 
 this with evident satisfaction. "I will send for him as 
 soon as I can; perhaps day after to-morrow." 
 
 It was, as a matter of fact, the day before Claire's boat 
 was to sail that George was permitted to see her. He 
 came with a notary. The doctor, too, was there. Claire 
 was sitting up for the first time, and they brought a 
 small table, and placed the papers before her. Although 
 she had been impatient to get it over, now that the mo- 
 ment had come she felt that she could not do it. She 
 felt that she was bartering her love for a little money; 
 that she was signing her own death-warrant. However, 
 she signed, after the doctor had insisted on reading the 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 399 
 
 papers carefully, and taking in his keeping the certified 
 check George had brought with him. 
 
 When George had gone she said: 
 
 "Shall I be able to go to-morrow, doctor?" 
 
 "I think so. You're pretty weak, but the season is 
 favorable and the voyage will do you good. I have just 
 come from the ship. I got a better stateroom for you 
 and saw the doctor. He is a capable man, and promised 
 to look after you. I will see that you are safely on board 
 myself. But, must you go? Why not cable Jamie to 
 come here? 
 
 "I want to get away." 
 
 "I don't blame you. Well, you can do what you please 
 now." 
 
 The doctor took the check George had left from his 
 pocket, looked at it with curiosity, and then placed it on 
 the table before Claire. "Endorse this over to your 
 bank, and I will take it up and deposit it. Two hundred 
 thousand dollars! That will keep the wolf from the 
 door!" 
 
 "Oh, but, doctor," she cried, with a mixture of 
 despair and sorrow. "I have given for it something 
 worth so much more! Something I shall never have 
 again!" 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 The stateroom which the doctor had chosen rather 
 staggered Claire by its luxury and size, and yet she real- 
 ized almost at once his reasons for taking it. The jour- 
 ney to the boat left her far more exhausted than she 
 would have thought possible, and she was very thankful 
 for the real bed it contained, and the private bathroom 
 adjoining it. The room, too, being on the upper deck, had 
 windows instead of the usual port lights, and its door 
 opened into a passage which led immediately to the deck 
 itself. 
 
 For three days Claire did not leave her room, content 
 to lie nervelessly, drinking the strong air of the sea, 
 which came in through the slatted windows, but on the 
 evening of the fourth she felt so much stronger that she 
 dressed and went out. The deck at this point was de- 
 serted, and leaning against the railing of the ship, she 
 stood alone in the immense expanse of sky and ocean 
 which stretched above and around her. The sea was 
 calm. Stars were beginning to show in a pale sky from 
 which day was reluctantly withdrawing. From time 
 to time the ship lifted slowly to an indolent, recurring 
 swell. She looked ahead. Beyond the vast reaches of 
 the ocean the coast of France lay, and Jamie was wait- 
 ing for her. Hour by hour, the ship was bearing her 
 toward a world recovering slowly from a recent mad- 
 ness, a world given over to teeming armies, savagery, 
 
SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 401 
 
 ruin, fire, wounds, and death, and the lurid flash of guns 
 settling things the only way imperial man knows, 
 finally, how to settle them. And in the wake of thunder 
 and darkness, of this storm of war, needs more bitter 
 than America had known would give her her oppor- 
 tunity. Her distaste of what her life had lately been, 
 and of herself, for the course she had taken in order to 
 escape from it, made her, in her sense of humiliation and 
 weakness, long for another chance to prove what she 
 could do. She had been too utterly alone, but in this 
 new test Jamie would be near her, and under the de- 
 mands of the iron necessities of the hour, she would 
 grow strong, careless of self, self-reliant, and able to 
 bear and face the burden she had irrevocably shoul- 
 dered : the burden of having by her action put aside her 
 happiness forever. 
 
 She stood for a time quite motionless. 
 
 Could it be that she had put away her chances for the 
 future beyond recovery? 
 
 Felix would be there waiting for her. Of that she was 
 certain. Would she never feel that she might send for 
 him? Was she imposing upon herself too hard a penalty 
 for yielding to the pressure of what seemed an extreme 
 necessity? She could not tell. The future alone would 
 show. She had made a bargain so repugnant to her 
 sense of self-respect that she could not rid herself of the 
 feeling that she had indelibly stained herself and that 
 it would be impossible for her ever to make use of a 
 freedom secured as she had secured hers. 
 
402 SPENDTHRIFT TOWN 
 
 And yet — beyond, lay Europe ill, wounded, starving. 
 Perhaps through the very efforts she had resolved to 
 make — and she would see to it that they did not spare 
 her — she would find in time that her stains had been 
 worn away. 
 
 Ah, if she could believe that, she could face the future 
 without impatience and without fear. 
 
 At a distance, toward the bow, people lounged on the 
 lower decks. A young officer above her leaned idly 
 against the rail, looking ahead. Smoke poured from 
 the funnels of the ship, and, with the foam of its wake, 
 streamed backward far into the distance. The serenity 
 of the hour and the recuperative agencies at work 
 within her began to pour a balm upon her wounded 
 spirit. Darkness grew. The distance became a soft and 
 formless void. Each moment now myriads of worlds 
 took up their places in the sky. The ship lifted slowly 
 up, up to the mild surge of the sea. 
 
 THE END 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A 
 
2*i' 
 
 VB 33006 
 
 
 SS309293