FORTY MINUTES L.ATE msmmm F-HOPKINSON -SMITH CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PS 2864.F74 1909a Forty minutes late and other storles.b' 3 1924 022 179 968 FORTY MINUTES LATE AND OTHER STORIES The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022179968 'HOLD HAED, MEN!" HE CRIED. "KEEP STILL — ALL OF YOU ! " FORTY MINUTES LATE AND OTHER STORIES BY F. HOPKINS SMITH ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Published by arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons COPYHIGHT, 1909, BY CHARLES SCRIBNBR's SONS Published September, 1909. Reprinted September, 1909; October, 1909; November, 1909. CONTENTS PAGE FORTY MINUTES LATE .... 3 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN . . 29 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE 51 A LIST TO STARBOARD .... 82 THE LITTLE GRAY LADY . . . .109 THE MAN IN THE HIGH -WATER BOOTS 133 FIDDLES 157 HOMO 181 THE PARTHENON BY WAY OF PAPEN-' DRECHT ....... 202 ILLUSTRATIONS "HOLD HARD, MEN!" HE CRIED. "KEEP STILL— ALL OF YOU !" Frontispiece FACING PAGE "YER AIN'T THE FUST ONE THEY'VE LEFT DOWN HERE TO GIT UP THE BEST WAY THEY COULD" .... 12 SHE PUT THEM ON WITH HER OWN HANDS l6 THE THRASH OF THE SPRAY STILL GLISTENED ON HIS OIL SKINS . . 88 "BACK, ALL OF YOU!" SHOUTED THE ENGINEER. "THE FIRST MAN WHO PASSES THAT DOOR WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, I'LL KILL!" . . . . I06 "STAY WHERE YOU ARE TILL I GET THIS HIGH LIGHT" 142 vm ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE THE OLD GROOTE KIRK, DORDRECHT . 214 SAN iWARCO FROM THE MERCERIA, VENICE 220 FORTY MINUTES LATE AND OTHER STORIES FORTY MINUTES LATE IT began to snow half an hour after the train started — a fine-grained, slanting, determined snow that forced its way between the bellows of the vestibules, and deposited itself in mounds of powdered salt all over the platforms and steps. Even the porter had caught some puffs on his depot coat with the red cape, and so had the conductor, from the way he thrashed his cap on the back of the seat in front of mine. "Yes, gettin' worse," he said in answer to an inquiring lift of my eyebrows. "Everything will be balled up if this keeps on." " Shall we make the connection at Bondville? " I was to lecture fifty miles from Bondville Junc- tion, and had but half an hour lee-way. If the man with the punch heard, he made no answer. The least said the soonest mended in crises like this. If we arrived on time every passenger would grab his bag and bolt out with- out thanking him or the road, or the engineer who took the full blast of the storm on his chest 3 FORTY MINUTES LATE and cheeks. If we missed the connection, any- former hopeful word would only add another hot coal to everybody's anger, I fell back on the porter, "Yes' sir, she'll be layin' jes' 'cross de plat- form. She knows we're comin'. Sometimes she waits ten minutes — sometimes she don't; more times I seen her pullin' out while we was pullin' in." Not very reassuring this. Only one state- ment was of value — the position of the connect- ing train when we rolled into Bondville. I formulated a plan : The porter would take one bag, I the other — we would both stand on the lower step of the Pullman, then make a dash. If she was pulling out as we pulled in, a goatlike spring on my part might succeed ; the bags being hurled after me to speed the animal's motion. One hour later we took up our position. "Dat's good!— Dar she is jes' movin' out: thank ye, sar. I got de bag— dis way!" There came a jolt, a Saturday-afternoon slide across the ice-covered platform, an outstretched greasy hand held down from the step of the moving train, followed by the chug of a bag that missed my knees by a hand's breadth — and I was hauled on board. 4 FORTY MINUTES LATE The contrast between a warm, velvet-lined Pullman and a cane-seated car with both doors opened every ten minutes was anything but agreeable; but no discomfort should count when a lecturer is trying to make his connection. That is what he is paid for and that he must do at all hazards and at any cost, even to chartering a special train, the price devouring his fee. Once in my seat an account of stock was taken — two bags, an umbrella, overcoat, two gum shoes (one off, one on), manuscript of lec- ture in bag, eye-glasses in outside pocket of waistcoat. This over, I spread myself upon the cane seat and took in the situation. It was four o'clock (the lecture was at eight); Sheffield was two hours away; this would give time to change my dress and get something to eat. The com- mittee, moreover, were to meet me at the depot with a carriage and drive me to where I was "to spend the night and dine" — so the chair- man's letter read. The suppressed smile on the second conductor's face when he punched my ticket and read the name of "Sheffield " sent my hand into my pocket in search of this same letter. Yes — there was no mistake about it, — "Our carriage," it read, "will meet you," etc., etc. The confirmation brought with it a certain 5 FORTY MINUTES LATE thrill ; not a carriage picked up out of the street, or a lumbering omnibus — a mere go-between from station to hotels— but "our carriage!" Nothing like these lecture associations, I thought, — nothing like these committees, for making strangers comfortable. That was why it was often a real pleasure to appear before them. This one would, no doubt, receive me in a big yellow and white Colonial club-house built by the women of the town (I know of a dozen just such structures), with dressing and lunch rooms, spacious lecture hall, and janitor in gray edged with black. This thought called up my own responsibility in the matter; I was glad I had caught the train; it was a bad night to bring people out and then disappoint them, even if most of them did come in their own carriages. Then again, I had kept my word; none of my fault, of course, if I hadn't — but I had! — that was a source of satisfaction. Now that I thought of it, I had, in all my twenty years of lecturing, failed only twice to reach the platform. In one instance a bridge was washed away, and in the other my special train (the price I paid for that train still keeps me hot against the Trusts) ran into a snowdrift and stayed there until after midnight, instead of de- livering me on time, as agreed. I had arrived 6 FORTY MINUTES LATE late, of course, many times, gone without my supper often, and more than once had appeared without the proper habiliments— and I am par- ticular about my dress coat and white waist- coat — but only twice had the gas been turned off and the people turned out. Another time I had— "Sheffield! Shef-fie-1-d ! All out for Shef- f-i-e-1-d ! " yelled the conductor. The two bags once more, the conductor help- ing me on with my overcoat, down the snow- blocked steps and out into the night. "Step lively! — more'n an hour late now." 1 looked about me. I was the only passenger. Not a light of any kind — not a building of any kind, sort, or description, except a box-car of a station set up on end, pitch dark inside and out, and shut tight. No carriage. No omnibus; nothing on runners ; nothing on wheels. Only a dreary waste of white, roofed by a vast ex- panse of black. "Is this Sheffield ? " I gasped. "Yes, — all there is here ; the balance is two miles over the hills." "The town.?" ' ' Town ? — no, the settlement ; — ain't gore's two dozen houses in it." "They were to send a carriage and—" 7 FORTY MINUTES LATE "Yes— that's an old yarn — better foot it for short." Here he swung his lantern to the en- gineer craning his head from the cab of the loco- motive, and sprang aboard. Then this frag- ment came whirling through the steam and smoke: — ^'"There's a farmhouse somewhere's over the hill, — follow the fence and turn to — " the rest was lost in the roar of the on-speeding train. I am no longer young. Furthermore, I hate to carry things — bags especially. One bag might be possible — a very small one; two bags, both big, are an insult. I deposited the two outside the box-car, tried the doors, inserted my fingers under the sash of one window, looked at the chimney with a half- formed Santa Claus idea of scaling the roof and sliding down to some possible fireplace below ; examined the wind-swept snow for carriage tracks, peered into the gloom, and, as a last re- sort, leaned up against the sheltered side of the box to think. There was no question that if a vehicle of any kind had been sent to meet me it had long since departed; the trackless roadway showed that. It was equally evident that if one was coming, I had better meet it on the way than stay where I was and freeze to death. The fence was still 8 FORTY MINUTES LATE visible — the near end — and tliere was a farm- house somewhere — so the conductor had said, and he seemed to be an honest, truthful man. Whether to right or left of the invisible road, the noise of the train and the howl of the wind had prevented my knowing — hut somewhere' s— That was a consolation. The bags were the most serious obstacles. If I carried one in each hand the umbrella would have to be cached, for some future relief expe- dition to find in the spring. There was a way, of course, to carry bags — any number of bags. All that was needed was a leather strap with a buckle at each end ; I had helped to hang half a dozen bags across the shoul- ders of as many porters meeting trains all over Europe. Of course, I didn't wear leather straps. Suspenders were my stronghold. They might! — No, it was too cold to get at them in that wind. And if I did they were of the springy, wabbly kind that would seesaw the load from my hips to my calves. The only thing was to press on. Some one had blundered, of course. " Half a league, half a league — into the jaws," etc. "Theirs not to reason why— " But my duty was plain; the audience were 9 FORTY MINUTES LATE already assembling; the early ones in their seats by this time. Then an inspiration surged through me. Why not slip the umbrella through the handle of one bag, as Pat carries his shillalah and bundle of duds, and grab the other in my free hand! " Our carriage" couldn't be far off. The exer- cise would keep my blood active and my feet from freezing, and as to the road, was there not the fence, its top rail making rabbit jumps above the drifts ? So I trudged on, stumbling into holes, flopping into treacherous ruts, halting in the steeper places to catch my breath, till I reached the top of the hill. There I halted — stopped short, in fact : the fence had given out ! In its place was a treacherous line of bushes that faded into a de- lusive clump of trees. Beyond, and on both sides, stretched a great white silence — still as death. Another council of war. I could retrace my steps, smash in the windows of the station, and camp for the night, taking my chances of stop- ping some east-bound train as it whizzed past, with a match and my necktie — or I could stum^ ble on, perhaps in a circle, and be found in the morning by the eferly milk. On! On onde more— maybe the clump of trees hid something— maybe— 10 FORTY MINUTES LATE Here a light flashed — a mere speck of a light —not to the right, where lay the clump of trees— but to my left; then a faint wave of warm color rose from a chimney and curled over a low roof buried in snow. Again the light flashed — this time through a window with four panes of glass — each one a beacon to a storm» tossed mariner ! On once more — into a low hollow — up a steep slope — slipping, falling, shoving the hand- gripped bag ahead of me to help my footing, until I reached a snow-choked porch and a closed door. Here I knocked. For some seconds there was no sound ; then came a heavy tread, and a man in overalls threw wide the door. "Well, what do you want at this time of night.'"' (Time of night, and it but seven- thirty!) "I'm the lecturer," I panted. "Oh, come! Ain't they sent for ye? Here, I'll take 'em. Walk in and welcome. You look beat out. Well — well — wife and I was won- derin' why nothin' driv past for the six-ten. We knowed you was comin'. Then agin, the station master's sick, and I 'spose ye couldn't warm up none. And they ain't sent for ye ? And they let ye tramp all— Well— well 1 " II FORTY MINUTES LATE I did not answer. I hadn't breath enough left for sustained conversation ; moreover, there was a red-hot stove ahead of me, and a rocking- chair, — comforts I had never expected to see again— and there was a pine table — oh, a lovely pine table, with a most exquisite white oil-cloth cover, holding the most beautiful kerosene lamp with a piece of glorious red flannel floating in its amber fluid ; and in the corner — a wife — a sweet- faced, angelic-looking young wife, with a baby in her arms too beautiful for words — must have been! I dropped into the chair, spread my fingers to the stove and looked around — warmth — rest — peace — comfort — companionship — all in a min- ute! " No, they didn't send anything," I wheezed when my breath came. "The conductor told me I should find the farmhouse over the hill — and—" ",Yes, that's so; it's back a piece, you must have missed it." "Yes — I must have missed it," I continued in a dazed way. " The folks at the farmhouse is goin' to hear ye speak, so they told me. Must be startin' now." "Would you please let them know I am here, and— " 12 'YER ain't the rUST ONE THEY'VE LEFT DOWN HERE TO GIT UP THE BEST WAY THEY COULD." FORTY MINUTES LATE "Sure! Wait till I get on my boots! Hello! — that's him now." Again the door swung wide. This time it let in a fur overcoat, coon-skin cap, two gray yarn mittens, a pair of raw-beefsteak cheeks and a voice like a fog-horn. "Didn't send for ye ? Wall, I'll be gol-durned ! And yer had to fut it ? Well, don' that beat all. And yer ain't the fust one they've left down here to get up the best way they could. Last winter— Jan'ry, warn't it. Bill?" Bill nodded — "there come a woman from New York and they dumped her out jes' same as you. I happened to come along in time, as luck would have it — I was haulin' a load of timber on my bob-sled — and there warn't nothin' else, so I took her up to the village. She got in late, of course, but they was a-waitin' for her. I really wasn't goin' to hear you speak to-night — we git so much of that sort of thing since the old man who left the money to pay you fellers for talkin' died — been goin' on ten years now — but I'll take yer 'long with me, and glad to. But yer oughter have somethin' warmer'n what yer got on. Wind's kinder nippy down here, but it ain't nothin' to the way it bites up on the ridge." This same thought had passed through my 13 FORTY MINUTES LATE own mind. The unusual exertion had started every pore in my body; the red-hot stove had put on the finishing touches and I was in a Rus- sian bath. To face that wind meant all sorts of calamities. The Madonna-like wife with the cherub in her arms rose to her feet. "Would you mind wearing my fur tippet? " she said in her soft voice; " 'tain't much, but it 'ud keep out the cold from yer neck and maybe this shawl'd help some, if I tied it round your shoulders. Father got his death ridin' to the village when he was overhet." She put them on with her own hands, bless her kind heart ! her husband holding the baby ; then she followed me out into the cold and helped draw the horse-blanket over my knees ; the man in the coon-skin cap lugging the bags and the umbrella. I looked at my watch. After eight o'clock, and two miles to drive ! "Oh, I'll git yer there," came a voice from inside the fur overcoat. " Darter wanted to go, but I said 'twarn't no night to go nowhars. Got to see a man who owes me some money, oi I'd stay home myself. Git up, Joe." It was marvellous, the intelligence of this man. More than marvellous when my again blinded 14 FORTY MINUTES LATE eyes— the red flannel in the lamp helped — began to take in the landscape. Fences were evidently of no use to him; clumps of trees didn't count. If he had a compass anywhere about his clothes, he never once consulted it. Drove right on — across trackless Siberian steppes; by the side of endless glaciers, and through primeval forests, his voice keeping up its volume of sound, as he laid bare for me the scandals of the village— particularly the fight going on between the two churches— one hard and one soft — this lecture course being one of the bones of contention. I saved my voice and kept quiet. If a run- ner did not give out or " Joe " break a leg, we would reach the hall in time ; half an hour late, perhaps — but in time; the man beside me had said so — and the man beside me knew. With a turn of the fence — a new one had thrust its hands out of a drift — a big building — big in the white waste — loomed up. My com- panion flapped the reins the whole length of Joe's back. "Git up! No, by gosh! — they ain't tired yet; — they're still a-waitin'. See them lights —that's the hall." I gave a sigh of relief. The ambitious young man with one ear open for stellar voices, and the 15 FORTY MINUTES LATE overburdened John Bunyan, and any number of other short-winded pedestrians, could no longer monopolize the upward and onward literature of our own or former times. I too had arrived. Another jerk to the right— a trot up an in- cline, and we stopped at a steep flight of steps — a regular Jacob's-ladder flight— leading to a cor- ridor dimly lighted by the flare of a single gas jet. Up this 1 stumbled, lugging the bags once more, my whole mind bent on reaching the platform at the earliest possible moment — a curious mental attitude, I am aware, for a man who had eaten nothing since noon, was still wet and shivering inside, and half frozen outside — nose, cheeks, and fingers— from a wind that cut like a circular saw. As I landed the last bag on the top step — the fog-horn couldn't leave his horse — I became conscious of the movements of a short, rotund, shad-shaped gentleman in immaculate white waistcoat, stiff choker and wide expanse of shirt front. He was approaching me from the door of the lecture hall in which sat the audience ; then a clammy hand was thrust out— and a thin voice trickled this sentence : "You're considerable late sir— our people have been in their — " "I am what!" I cried, straightening up. i6 / hi ; i^. j.---^,>, J, 1 ..■■'.! 1. /ll 1,1/ .V'.i !:')!' SHE PUT THEM ON WITH HER OWN HANDS. FORTY MINUTES LATE "I said you were forty minutes late, sir. We expect our lecturers to be on — " That was the fulminate that exploded the bomb. Up to now 1 had held myself in hand. I was carrying, I knew, 194 pounds of steam, and I also knew that one shovel more of coal would send the entire boiler into space, but through it all I had kept my hand on the safety-valve. It might have been the white waistcoat or the way the curved white collar cupped his billiard-ball of a chin, or it might have been the slight frown about his eyebrows, or the patronizing smile that drifted over his freshly laundered face; or it might have been the deprecating gesture with which he consulted his watch : whatever it was, out went the boiler. "Late! Are you the man that's running this lecture course? " "Well, sir, I have the management of it." "You have, have you.? Then permit me to tell you right here, my friend, that you ought to sublet the contract to a five-year-old boy. You let me get out in the cold — send no convey- ance as you agreed — " "We sent our wagon, sir, to the station. You could have gone in and warmed yourself, and if it had not arrived you could have tele- phoned—the station is always warm." 17 FORTY MINUTES LATE "You have the impudence to tell me that 1 don't know whether a station is dosed or not, and that I can't see a wagon when it is hauled up alongside a depot ? " The clammy hands went up in protest: "If you will listen, sir, I will — " "No, sir, I will listen to nothing," and I forged ahead into a small room where five or six belated people were hanging up their coats and hats. But the Immaculate still persisted : "This is not where — Will you come into the dressing-room, sir ? We nave a nice warm room for the lecturers on the other side of the — ' ' "No — sir; I won't go another step, except on to that platform, and I'm not very anxious now to get there — not until I put something in- side of me — " (here I unstrapped my bag) "to save me from an attack of pneumonia." (I had my flask out now and the cup filled to the brim.) "When I think of how hard I worked to get here and how little you — " (and down it went at one gulp). The expression of disgust that wrinkled the placid face of the Immaculate as the half-empty flask went back to its place, was pathetic— but I wouldn't have given him a drop to have saved his life. i8 FORTY MINUTES LATE I turned on him again. "Do you think it would be possible to get a vehicle of any kind to take me where I am to sleep? " "I think so, sir." His self-control was ad- mirable. " Well, will you please do it? " "A sleigh has already been ordered, sir." This came through tightly closed lips. " All right. Now down which aisle is the en- trance to the platform ? " "This way, sir." The highest glacier on Mont Blanc couldn't have been colder or more impassive. Just here a calming thought wedged itself into my brain-storm. These patient, long-suf- fering people were not to blame ; many of them had come several miles through the storm to hear me speak and were entitled to the best that was in me. To vent upon them my spent steam because — No, that was im- possible. "Hold on, my friend," I said, "stop where you are, let me pull myself together. This isn't their fault — " We were passing behind the screen hiding the little stage. But he didn't hold on; he marched straight ahead; so did I, past the pitcher of ice water 19 FORTY MINUTES LATE and the two last winter's palms, where he motioned me to a chair. His introduction was not long, nor was it dis- cursive. There was nothing eulogistic of my various acquirements, occupations, talents'; no remark about the optimistic trend of my litera- ture, the affection in which my characters were held ; nothing of this at all. Nor did I expect it. What interested me more was the man himself. The steam of my wrath had blurred his out- line and make-up before ; now I got a closer, although a side, view of his person. He was a short man, much thicker at the middle than he was at either end — a defect all the more appar- ent by reason of a long-tailed, high-waisted, unbuttonable black coat which, while it covered his back and sides, would have left his front exposed, but for his snowy white waistcoat, which burst like a ball of cotton from its pod. His only gesture was the putting together of his ten fingers, opening and touching them again to accentuate his sentences. What passed through my mind as I sat and watched him, was not the audience, nor what I was going to say to them, but the Christianlike self-control of this gentleman— a control which seemed to carry with it a studied reproof. Under its in- 20 FORTY MINUTES LATE fluence I unconsciously closed both furnace doors and opened my forced draft. Even then I should have reached for the safety-valve, but for an oily, martyr-like smile which flickered across his face, accompanied by a deprecating movement of his elbows, both indicating his patience under prolonged suffering, and his instant readiness to turn the other cheek if further smiting on my part was in store for him. I strode to the edge of the platform : "I know, good people," I exploded, "that you are not responsible for what has happened, but I want to tell you before I begin, that I have been boiling mad for ten minutes and am still at white heat, and that it is going to take me some time to get cool enough to be of the slightest service to you. You notice that I appear before you without a proper suit of clothes — a mark of respect which every lecturer should pay his au- dience. You are also aware that I am nearly an hour late. What I regret is, first, the cause of my frame of mind, second, that you should have been kept waiting. Now, let me tell you exactly what I have gone through, and I do it simply because this is not the first time that this has happened to your lecturers, and it ought to be your last. It certainly will be the last for me." Then followed the whole incident, including 21 FORTY MINUTES LATE the Immaculate's protest about my being late, my explosion, etc., etc., even to the incident of my flask. There was a dead silence— so dead and life- less that I could not tell whether they were of- fended or not ; but I made my bow as usual, and began my discourse. The lecture over, the Immaculate paid me my fee with punctilious courtesy, waiving the cus- tomary receipt ; followed me to the cloak-room, helped me on with my coat, picked up one of the bags, — an auditor the other, and the two followed me down Jacob's ladder into the night. Outside stood a sleigh shaped like the shell of Dr. Holmes's Nautilus, its body hardly large enough to hold a four-months-old baby. This was surrounded by half the audience, anxious, I afterward learned, for a closer view of the man who had "sassed " the Manager. Some of them expected it to continue. I squeezed in beside the bags and was about to draw up the horse blanket, when a voice rang out: "Mis' Plimsole's goin' in that sleigh, too." It was at Mrs, Plimsole's that I was to spend the night. Then a faint voice answered back : "No, I can just as well walk." She evidently 22 FORTY MINUTES LATE knew the danger of sitting next to an over- charged boiler. Mrs. Plimsole! — a'woman — walk — on anight like this — I was out of the sleigh before she had ceased to speak. " No, madam, you are going to do nothing of the kind ; if anybody is to walk it will be 1 ; I'm getting used to it." She allowed me to tuck her in. It was too dark for me to see what she was like— she was so swathed and tied up. Being still mad— fires drawn but still dangerous, I concluded that my companion was sour, and skinny, with a parrot nose and one tooth gone. That I was to pass the night at her house did not improve the esti- mate; there would be mottoes on the walls — "What is home without a mother," and the like; tidies on the chairs, and a red-hot stove smelling of drying socks. There would also be a basin and pitcher the size of a cup and saucer, and a bed that sagged in the middle and was covered with a cotton quilt. The Nautilus stopped at a gate, beyond which was a smaller Jacob's ladder leading to, a white cottage. Was there nothing built on a level in Sheffield.' I asked myself. The bags which had been hung on the shafts came first, then I, then the muffled head and cloak. Upward and 23 FORTY MINUTES LATE onward again, through a door, past a pretty girl who stood with her hand on the knob in welcome, and into a hall. Here the girl helped unmummy her mother, and then turned up the hall-lamp. Oh, such a dear, sweet gray-haired old lady ! The kind of an old lady you would have wanted to stay — not a night with— but a year. An old lady with plump fresh cheeks and soft brown eyes and a smile that warmed you through and through. And such an all-embracing restful room with its open wood fire, andirons and pol- ished fender — and the plants and books and easy-chairs ! And the cheer of it all ! "Now you just sit there and get comfortable, ' ' she said, patting my shoulder— (the second time in one night that a woman's hand had been that of an angel). " Maggie'll get you some supper. We had it all ready, expecting you on the six- ten. Hungry, aren't you.' " Hungry ! I could have gnawed a hole in a sofa to get at the straw stuffing. She drew up a chair, waited till her daughter had left the room, and said with a twinkle in her eyes : " Oh, I was glad you gave it to 'em the way you did, and when you sailed into that snivelling old Hard-shell deacon, 1 just put my hands down 24 FORTY MINUTES LATE under my petticoats and clapped them for joy. There isn't anybody running anything up here. They don't have to pay for this lecture course. It was given to them by a man who is dead. All they think they've got to do is to dress them- selves up. They're all officers ; there's a record- ing secretary and a corresponding secretary and an executive committee and a president and two vice-presidents, and a lot more that I can't re- member. Everyone of them is leaving everything to somebody else to attend to. 1 know, because I take care of all the lecturers that come. Only last winter a lady lecturer arrived here on a load of wood; she didn't lose her temper and get mad like you did. Maybe you know her; she told us all about the Indians and her husband, the great general, who was surrounded and massacred by them." "Know her. Madam, not only do I know and love her, but the whole country loves her. She is a saint. Madam, that the good Lord only allows to live in this world because if she was trans- ferred there would be no standard left." " Yes, but then you had considerable cause. The hired girl next door— she sat next to my daughter— said she didn't blame you a mite." (Somebody was on my side, anyhow.) "Now come into supper." 25 FORTY MINUTES LATE The next morning I was up at dawn : I had to get up at dawn because the omnibus made only- one trip to the station, to catch the seven-o'clock train. I went by the eight-ten, but a little thing like that never makes any difference in Shef- field, When the omnibus arrived it came on runners. Closer examination from the window of the cosey room — the bedroom was even more de- lightful— revealed a square furniture van covered on the outside with white canvas, the door being in the middle, like a box-car. I bade the dear old lady and her daughter good-by, opened the hall door and stood on the top step. The driver, a stout, fat-faced fellow, looked up with an inquiring glance. "Nice morning," I cried in my customary cheerful tone — the dear woman had wrought the change. " You bet ! Got over your mad ? " The explosion had evidently been heard all over the village. "Yes," I laughed, as I crawled in beside two other passengers. "You was considerable het up last night, so Si was tellin' me," remarked the passenger, helping me with one bag. I nodded. Who Si might be was not of spe- 26 FORTY MINUTES LATE dal interest, and then again the subject had now lost its inflammatory feature. The woman made no remark; she was evi- dently one of the secretaries. " Well, by gum, if they had left me where they left you last night, and you a plumb stran- ger, I'd rared and pitched a little myself," con- tinued the man. "When you come again — " "Come again! Not by a—" "Oh, yes, you will. You did them Hard- shells a lot of good ! You just bet your bottom dollar they'll look out for the next one of you fellows that comes up here ! " The woman continued silent. She would have something to say about any return visit of mine, and she intended to say it out loud if the time ever came ! The station now loomed into sight. I sprang out and tried the knob. I knew all about that knob— every twist and turn of it. "Locked again ! " I shouted, "and I've got to wait here an hour in this — " "Hold on— hold on—" shouted back the driver. " Don't break loose again. I got the key." My mail a week later brought me a county paper containing this statement: "The last lect- 27 FORTY MINUTES LATE urer, owing to some error on the part of the committee, was not met at the train and was considerably vexed. He said so to the audience and to the committee. Everybody was satisfied with his talk until they heard what they had to pay for it. He also said that he had left his dress suit in his trunk. If what we hear is true, he left his manners with it." On reflection, the editor was tight— I had. 28 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN I I HAD left Sandy MacWhirter crooning over his smouldering wood fire the day Boggs blew in with news of the sale of Mac's two pictures at the Academy, and his reply to my inquiry regarding his future plans (vaguely con- nected with a certain girl in a steamer, chair), "By the next steamer, my boy," still rang in my ears, but my surprise was none the less genuine when I looked up from my easel, two months later, at Sonning-on-the-Thames and caught sight of the dear fellow, with Lonnegan by his side, striding down the tow-path in search of me. " By the Great Horn Spoon 1 " came the cry. And the next minute his big arms were about my shoulders, his cheery laugh filling the summer air. Lonnegan's greeting was equally hearty and spontaneous, but it came with less noise. " He's been roaring that way ever since we left London," said the architect. "Ever since we landed, really," and he nodded at Mac. " Awfully glad to see you, old man ! " 29 A GK^TLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN The next moment the three of us were flat on the grass telling our experiences, the silver sheen of the river flashing between the low-branched trees lining the banks. Lonnegan's story ran thus : Mac had disappeared the morning after their arrival ; had remained away two weeks, reap- pearing again with a grin on his face that had frozen stiff and had never relaxed its grip. ' ' You can still see it; turn your head, Mac, and let the gentleman see your smile," Since that time he had spent his nights writing letters, and his days poring over the morning's mail. "Got his pocket full of them now, and is so happy he's no sort of use to anybody." Mac now got his innings : Lonnegan's airs had been insufferable and his ignorance colossal. What time he could spare from his English tailor — "and you just ought to see his clothes, and especially his checker- board waistcoats" — had been spent in abusing everything in English art that wasn't three hun- dred years old, and going into raptures over Lincoln Cathedral. The more he saw of Lon- negan the more he was convinced that he had missed his calling. He might succeed as a floor- walker in a department store, where his airs and his tailor-made upholstery would impress the 30 A GENTLEiVUN'S GENTLEMAN hayseeds from the country, but, as for trying to be — The rest was lost in a gurgle of smoth- ered laughter, Lonnegan's thin, white fingers having by this time closed over the painter's windpipe. My turn came now : I had been at work a month ; had my present quarters at the White Hart Inn, within a stone's throw of where we lay sprawled with our faces to the sun — the loveliest inn, by the way, on the Thames, and that was saying a lot — with hand-polished tables, sleeve and trouser- polished arm-chairs, Chippendale furniture, bar- maids, pewter mugs, old and new ale, tough bread, tender mutton, tarts — gooseberry and otherwise; strawberries — two would fill a tea- cup — and roses! Millions of roses ! "Well, you fellows just step up and look at 'em." "And not a place to put your head," said Mac. " How do you know ? " ' ' Been there, ' ' replied Lonnegan. ' ' The only decent rooms are reserved for a bloated Ameri- can millionaire who arrives to-day — everything else chock-a-block except two bunks under the roof, full of spiders." Mac drew up one of his fat legs, stretched his arms, pushed his slouch hat from his fore- 31 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN head— he was still on his back drinking in the sunshine — and with a yawn cried: "They ought to be exterminated." "The spiders ? " grumbled Lonnegan. " No, millionaires. They throw their money away like water ; they crowd the hotels. Noth- ing good enough for them. Prices all doubled, everything slimed up by the trail of their dirty dollars. And the saddest thing in it all to me is that you generally find one or two able-bodied American citizens kotowing to them like wooden Chinese mandarins when the great men take the air." " Who, for instance ? " I asked. No million- aires with any such outfit had thus far come my way. "Lonnegan, for one," answered Mac. The architect raised his head and shot a long, horizontal glance at the prostrate form of the painter. "Yes, Lonnegan, I am sorry to say," contin- ued Mac, his eyes fixed on the yellow greens in the swaying tree-tops. "I was only polite," protested the architect. "Lambert is a client of mine ; building a stable for him. Very level-headed man is Mr. Samuel Lambert; no frills and no swelled head. It was Tommy Wing who was doing the mandarin act 32 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN the other day at the Carlton — not me. Got dead intimate with him on the voyage over and has stuck to him like a plaster ever since. Calls him 'Sam' already — did to me." "Behind his back or to his face.' " spluttered Mac, tugging at his pipe. "Give it up," said Lonnegan, pulling his hat over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. Mac raised himself to a sitting posture, as if to reply, fumbled in his watch-pocket for a match, instead; shook the ashes from his brier- wood, filled the bowl with some tobacco from his rub- ber pouch, drew the lucifer across his shoe, waited until the blue smoke mounted skyward and resumed his former position. He was too happy mentally — the girl in the steamer chair was responsible — and too lazy physically to argue with anybody. Lonnegan rolled over on his elbows, and feasted his eyes on the sweep of the sleepy river, dotted with punts and wher- ries, its background of foliage in silhouette against the morning sky. The Thames was very lovely that June, and the trained eye of the distinguished architect missed none of its beauty and charm. I picked up my brushes and con- tinued work. The spirit of perfect camaraderie makes such silences not only possible but en- joyable. It is the restless chatterer that tires. 33 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN Lonnegan's outbreak had set me to thinking. Lambert I knew only by reputation — as half the world knew him — a man of the people : lumber boss, mill owner, proprietor of countless acres of virgin forest; many times a millionaire. Then came New York and the ice-cream palace with the rock-candy columns on the Avenue, and "The Samuel Lamberts" in the society journals. This was all the wife's doings. Poor Maria! She had forgotten the day when she washed his red flannel shirts and hung them on a line stretched from the door of their log cabin to a giant white pine — one of the founders of their fortune. If Tommy Wing called him "Sam" it was because old "Saw Logs," as he was often called, was lonely, and Tommy amused him. Tommy Wing — Thomas Bowditch Wing, his card ran — I had known for years. He was basking on the topmost branches now, stretched out in the sunshine of social success, swaying to every movement made by his padrones. He was a little country squirrel when I first came across him, frisking about the root of the tree and glad enough to scamper close to the ground. He had climbed a long way since then. All the blossoms and tender little buds were at the top, and Tommy was fond of buds, especially when 34 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN they bloomed out into yachts and four-in-hands, country houses, winters in Egypt (Tommy an invited guest), house parties on Long Island or at Tuxedo, or gala nights at the opera with seats in a first tier. In the ascent he had forgotten his beginnings — not an unnatural thing with Tommies : Son of a wine merchant — a most respectable man, too; then "Importer" (Tommy altered the sign); elected member of an athletic club; always well dressed, always polite; — invited to a mem- ber's house to dine ; was unobtrusive and care- ful not to make a break. Asked again to fill a place at the table at the last moment — > accepted gracefully, not offended — never of- fended at anything. Was willing to see that the young son caught the train, or would meet the daughter at the ferry and escort her safely to school . "So obliging, so trustworthy, ' ' the mother said. Soon got to be "among those present" at the Sherry and Delmonico balls. Then came little squibs in the society columns regarding the movements of Thomas Bowditch Wing, Esquire. He knew the squibber, and often gave her half a column. Was invited to a seat in the coaching parade, saw his photograph the next morning in the papers, he sitting next to the beautiful Miss Carnevelt. He was pretty near to 35 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN the top now; only a little farther to where the choicest buds were bursting into flower ; too far up, though, ever to recognize the little fellows he had left frisking below. There was no time now to escort school-girls or fill unexpectedly empty seats unless they were exclusive ones. His excuse was that he had accepted an invita- tion to the branch above him. The mother of the school-girl now, strange to say, instead of being miffed, liked him the better, and, for the first time, began to wonder whether she hadn't made too free with so important a personage. As a silent apology she begged an invitation for a friend to the Bachelor Ball, Tommy being a subscriber and entitled to the distribution of a certain number of tickets. Being single and available, few outings were given without him — not only week-ends (Weak Odds-and-Ends, Mac always called them) , but trips to Washing- ton, even to Montreal in the winter. Then came the excursions abroad — Capri, Tangier, Cairo. It was on one of these jaunts that he met "Saw Logs," who, after sizing him up for a day, promptly called him "Tommy," an abbreviation instanly adopted by Maria — so fine, you know, to call a fellow "Tommy" who knew every- body and went everywhere. Sometimes she 36 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN shrieked his name the length of the deck. On reaching London it was either the Carlton or the Ritz for Lambert. Tommy, however, made a faint demur. " Oh, hang the expense, Tommy, you are my guest for the summer," broke out Lambert. What a prime minister you would have made, Tommy, in some kitchen cabinet ! There were no blossoms now out of his reach. Our little squirrel had gained the top ! To dazzle the wife and daughter with the priceless value of his social position and then compel plain, honest, good-natured Samuel Lambert to pay his bills, and to pay those bills, too, in such a way, "by Heavens, sir, as not to wound a gentleman's pride": that, indeed, was an ac- complishment. Had any other bushy tail of his acquaintance ever climbed so high or accom- plished so much ? A movement on my right cut short my revery. MacWhirter had lifted his big arms above his head, and was now twisting his broad back as if for a better fulcrum. "Lonny — " he cried, bringing his body once more to a. sitting posture. "Yes, Mac." "In that humiliating and servile interview which you had a short time ago with your other 37 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN genuflector, the landlord of the White Hart Inn, did you in any way gain the impression that every ounce of grub in his shebang was reserved for the special use of his highness, Count Kerosene, or the Earl of Asphalt, or the Duke of Sausage, or whatever the brute calls himself? — or do you think he can be induced to — " "Yes, I think so." "Think what, you obtuse duffer? " " That he can be induced." "Well, then, grab that easel and let us go to luncheon." II 1 had not exaggerated the charm of the White Hart Inn — nobody can. I know most of the hostelries up and down this part of the river — the "Ferry" at Cookham, the " French Horn" across the Backwater, one or two at Henley, and a lovely old bungalow of a tavern at Maiden- head; but this garden of roses at Sonning has never lost its fascination for me. For the White Hart is like none of these. It fronts the river, of course, as they all do — you can almost fish out of the coffee-room window of the "Ferry" at Cookham — and all the life of the boat-houses, the punts and wherries, with 38 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN their sprawling cushions and bunches of jack- straw oars, and tows, back and forth, of empty- boats, goes on just as it does at the other boat- landings, up and down the river ; but, at the White Hart, it is the rose garden that counts ! Planted in rows, like corn, their stalks straight as walking-sticks and as big ; then a flare of smaller stalks like umbrella ribs, the circle cov- ered with Prince Alberts, Cloth-of-Golds, Teas, Saffrons, Red Ramblers (the old gardener knows their names; I don't). And the perfume that sweeps toward you and the way it sinks into your soul ! Bury your face in a bunch of them, if you don't believe it. Then the bridge ! That mouldy old mass of red brick that makes three clumsy jumps before it clears the river, the green rushes growing about its feet. And the glory of the bend below, with the fluff of elm, birch and maple melting into the morning haze ! Inside it is none the less delightful. Awnings, fronting the garden, stretch over the flower- beds ; vines twist their necks, the blossoms peep- ing curiously as you take your coffee. There is a coffee-room, of course, with stags' heads and hunting prints, and small tables with old-fashioned flowers in tiny vases, as well as a long serving board the width of the room, where 39 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN everything that can be boiled, baked or stewed and then served cold awaits the hungry. It was at this long board that we three brought up, and it was not long before Lonnegan and Mac were filling their plates, and with their own hands, too, with thin cuts of cold roast beef, chicken and slivers of ham, picking out the par- ticular bread or toast or muffin they liked best, bringing the whole out under the low awning with its screen of roses, the swinging blossoms brushing their cheeks — some of them almost in their plates. From where we sat over our boiled and baked — principally boiled— we could see not only the suite of rooms reserved for the great man and his party — one end of the inn, really, with a separate entrance — but we could see, too, part of the tap-room, with its rows of bottles, and could hear the laughter and raillery of the barmaid as she served the droppers-in and loungers-about. We caught, as well, the small square hall, flanked by the black-oak counter, behind which were banked bottles of various shapes and sizes, rows of pewter tankards and the like, the whole made comfortable with chairs cushioned in Turkey red, and never empty— the chairs, I mean; the tankards alwaj^ were, or about to be. This tap-room, I must tell you, is not a bar in 40 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN the American sense, nor is the girl a barkeeper in any sense. It is the open club of the village, where everybody is welcome who is decent and agree- able. Even the curatedrops in— notfor his toddy, perhaps (although "You can't generally some- times almost always tell," as Mac said), but for a word with anybody who happens to be about. And so does the big man of the village who owns the mill, and the gardener from Lord So-and-So's estate, and the lord himself, for that matter, the groom taking his "bitter" from the side win- dow, with one eye on his high stepper polished to a piano finish. All have a word or a good- morning or a joke with the barmaid. She isn't at all the kind of a girl you think she is. Try it some day and you'll discover your mistake. It's Miss Nance, or Miss Ellen, or whatever else her parents fancied ; or Miss Figgins, or Connors, or Pugby — but it is never Nance or Nell. Our luncheon over, we joined the circle, the curate making room for Lonnegan, Mac stretch- ing his big frame half over a settle. "From the States, gentlemen, I should judge," said the curate in a cheery tone — an athletic and Oxford-looking curate, his high white collar and high black waistcoat gripping a throat and chest that showed oars and cricket bats in every muscle. Young, too — not over forty. 41 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN I returned the courtesy by pleading guilty, and in extenuation, presented my comrades to the entire room, Lonnegan's graceful body straightening to a present-arms posture as he grasped the outstretched hand of a brother ath- lete, and Mac's heartiness capturing every one present, including the barmaid. Then some compounded extracts were passed over the counter and the talk drifted as usual (1 have never known it otherwise) into comparisons between the two "Hands Across the Sea" peo- ple. That an Englishman will ever really warm to a Frenchman or a German nobody who knows his race will believe, but he can be entirely comfortable (and the well-bred Englishman is the shyest man living) with the well-bred American. Lonnegan as chief spokesman, in answer to an inquiry, and with an assurance born of mastery of his subject instantly recognized by the listen- ers, enlarged on the last architectural horror, the skyscraper, its cost, and on the occupations of the myriads of human bees who were hived between its floors, all so different from the more modest office structures around the Bank of England: adding that he had the plans of two on his draw- ing table at home, a statement which confirmed the good opinions they had formed of his famili- arity with the subject. 42 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN I floated in with some comparisons touching upon the technic of the two schools of water- color painting, and, finding that the curate had a brother who was an R.A., backed out again and rested on my oars. Mac, more or less concerned over the ex- pected arrival, and anxious that his listeners should not consider the magnate as a fair ex- ample of his countrymen, launched out upon the absence of all class distinctions at home — one man as good as another — making Presidents out of farmers, Senators out of cellar diggers, every man a king — that sort of thing. When Mac had finished — and these English- men let you finish — the mill-owner, a heavy, red-faced man (out-of-doors exercise, not Bur- gundy), with a gray whisker dabbed high up on each cheek, and a pair of keen, merry eyes, threw back the lapels of his velveteen coat (riding-trousers to match), and answered slowly: "You'll excuse me, sir, but I stopped a while in the States, and I can't agree with you. We take off our caps here to a lord because he is part of our national system, but we never bow down to the shillings he keeps in his strong box. You do." The lists were "open" now. Mac fought valiantly, the curate helping him once in a 43 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN while; Lonnegan putting in a word for the sev- eral professions as being always exempt — brains, not money, counting in their case — Mac winning the first round with : "Not all of us, my dear sir; not by a long shot. When any of our people turn sycophants, it is you English who have coached them. A lord with you is a man who doesn't have to work. So, when any of us come over here to play— and that's what we generally come for — everybody, to our surprise, kotows to us, and we acknowledge the attention by giving a shil- ling to whoever holds out his hand. Now, no- body ever kotows to us at home. We'd get suspicious right away if they did and shift our wallets to the other pocket; not that we are not generous, but we don't like that sort of thing. We do here — that is, some of us do, because it marks the difference in rank, and we all, being kings, are tickled to death that your flunkies recognize that fact the moment they clap eyes on us." Lonnegan looked at Mac curiously. The dear fellow must be talking through his hat. " Now, I got a sudden shock on the steamer on my way home last fall, and from an American gentleman, too — one of the best, if he was in tarpaulins— and I didn't get over it for a week. 44 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN No kotow about him, I tell you. I wanted a newspaper the worst way, and was the first man to strike the Sandy Hook pilot as he threw his sea-drenched leg over the rail. 'Got a morning paper?' I asked. 'Yes, in my bag.' And he dumped the contents on the deck and handed me a paper. I had been away from home a year, mostly in England, and hadn't seen anybody, from a curator in a museum to the manager of an estate, who wouldn't take ashilling when it was offered him, and so from sheer force of habit I dropped a trade dollar into his hand. You ought to have seen his face. ' What's this for ? ' he asked. 'No use to me.' And he handed it back. I wanted to go out and kick myself full of holes, I was so ashamed. And, after all, it wasn't my fault. I learned that from you Englishmen." The toot-toot of an automobile cut short the discussion. The American millionaire had arrived ! Everybody now started on the run : landlord, two maids in blue dresses with white cap strings flying, three hostlers, two garage men, four dogs, all bowing and scraping — all except the dogs. "What did 1 tell you ? " laughed Mac, tapping the curate's broad chest with the end of his plump finger. "That's the way you all do. With us a porter would help him out, a 45 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN hotel clerk assign him a room, and that would end it. The next morning the only man to do him reverence would be the waiter behind his chair figuring for the extra tip. Look at them. Same old kotow. No wonder he thinks himself a duke." The party had disembarked now and were nearing the door of the private entrance, the two women in Mother Hubbard veils, the two men in steamer-caps and goggles — the valet and maid carrying the coats and parasols. The larger of the two men shed his goggles, changed his steamer-cap for a slouch hat which his valet handed him, and disappeared inside, followed by the landlord. The smaller man, his hands and arms laden with shawls and wraps, gesticulated for an instant as if giving orders to the two chauffeurs, waited until both machines had backed away, and entered the open door. "Who do you think the big man is, Mac?" Lonnegan asked. "Don't know, and don't want to know." "Lambert." "What! Saw Logs?" "The same, and — yes — by Jove! That little fellow with the wraps is Tommy." A moment later Tommy reappeared and made straight for the barmaid. 46 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN "Get me some crushed ice and vermouth," he said. "We carry our Hollands with us. Why, Mr. MacWhirter! and Mr. Lonnegan! and—" (I was the "and " — but he seemed to have for- gotten my name.) "Well, this is a surprise ! " Neither the mill-owner nor the curate came within range of his eyes. "Where have I been? Well, I'll have to think. We did London for a week— Savoy for supper— Prince's for luncheon — theatre every night— that sort of thing. Picked up a couple of Gainsboroughs at Agnew's and some tapes- tries belonging to Lord —forget his name— had a letter." (Here Tommy fumbled in his pocket.) "No, I remember now, I gave it to Sam. Then we motored to Ravenstock — looked over the Duke's stables — spent the night with a very decent chap Sam met in the Rockies last year — son of Lord Wingfall, and — " The ice was ready now (it was hived in a keg and hidden in the cellar, and took time to get at), and so was the vermouth and the glasses, all on a tray. " No, I'll carry it." This to the barmaid, who wanted to call a waiter. "I never let anybody attend to this for Sam but myself" — this to us. "I'll be back in a minute." In a few moments he returned, picking up the 47 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN thread of his discourse with: "Where was I? Oh, yes, at Lord Wingfall's son's. Well, that's about all. We are on our way now to spend a few days with — " Here he glanced at the cu- rate and the mill-owner, who were absorbing every word that fell from his lips. "Some of the gentry in the next county — can't think of their names — friends of Sam." It became evi- dent now that neither Mac nor Lonnegan in- tended introducing him to either of the English- men. The barmaid pushed a second tray over the counter, and Tommy drew up a chair and waved us into three others. " Sam is so helpless, you know," he chatted on. "I can't leave him, really, for an hour. Depends on me for every- thing. Funny, isn't it, that a man worth — well, anywhere from forty to fifty millions of dollars, and made it all himself— should be that way ? But it's a fact. Very simple man, too, in his tastes, when you know him. Mrs, Lam- bert and Rosie" (Mac stole a look at Lonnegan at the familiar use of the last name, but Tommy flowed on) "got tired of the Cynthia. — she's a hundred and ninety feet over all, sixteen knots, and cost a quarter of a million — and wanted Sam to get something bigger. But the old man held out ; wanted to know what I thought of it, 48 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN and, of course, I had to say she was all right, and that settled it. Just the same way with that new house on the Avenue — you know it, Mr. Lonnegan— after he'd spent one hundred and fifty thousand dollars decorating the music-room — that's the one facing the Avenue — she thought she'd change it to Louis-Seize. Of course Sam didn't care for the money, but it was the dirt and plaster and discomfort of it all. By the way, after dinner, suppose you and Mr. Lonnegan, and you, too " — this to me — " come in and have a cigar with Sam. We've got some good Reina Victorias especially made for him — glad to have you know him." Mac gazed out of the open door and shut his teeth tight. Lonnegan looked down into the custard-pie face of the speaker, but made no reply. Tommy laid a coin on the counter, shot out his cuffs, said : " See you later," and saun- tered out. No! There were no buds or blossoms— noth- ing of any kind, for that matter — out of Tom- my's reach ! The mill-owner rose to his feet, straightened his square shoulders, made a movement as if to speak, altered his mind, shook Mac's hand warmly, and with a bow to the tap-room, and a special nod to the barmaid, mounted his horse 49 A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN and rode off. The curate looked up and smiled, his gaze riveted on Mac. "One of your American gentlemen, sir?" he asked. The tone was most respectful — not a trace of sarcasm, not a line visible about the corners of his mouth ; only the gray eyes twin- kled. " No," answered Mac grimly ; "a gentleman's gentleman." The next morning at sunrise Mac burst into our room roaring with laughter, slapping his pajama-incased knee with his fat hand, the tears streaming from his eyes. "They've gone!" he cried. "Scooted! Saw Logs, Mrs. Saw, the piece of kindling and her maid in the first car, and—" He was doubled up like a jack-knife. "And left Tommy behind ! " we both cried. "Behind!" Mac was -verging on apoplexy now. "Behind! Not much. He was tucked away in the other car with the valet! " 50 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE EZEKIEL TODD, her dry, tight-fisted, lear; father, had named her, bawling it out so loud that the more suitable, certainly the more euphonious, "Evangeline," proffered in a timid whisper by her faded and somewhat romantic mother, was completely smothered. "1 baptize thee, Evang— " began the minis- ter, when Ezekiel's voice rose clear : "Abijah, I tell ye. Parson — A-b-i-j-a-h— Abijah ! " And Abijah it was. The women were furious. "Jes' like Zeke Todd. He's too ornery to live. I come mighty near speakin' right out, and hadn't been that Martha held on to me I would. Call her Abbie, for short, Mrs. Todd," exclaimed Deacon Libby's wife, "and shame him." Abbie never minded it. She was too little to remember, she always said, and there were few people in the village of Taylorsville present at the christening who did. Old Si Spavey, however, never forgot. " You kin call yourself Abbie if you choose," he 51 ABUAH'S BUBBLE used to say, "and 'tain't none o' my business, but I was in the meetin' -house and heard Zeke let drive, and b'gosh it sounded just like a buzz- saw strikin' the butt-end of a log. ' Abijah ! Abijahl' he hollered. Shet Parson Simmons up same's a steel trap. Gosh, but it was funny!" Only twice since the christening had she to face the consequences of her father's ill temper. This was after his death, when the needs of the poor mother made a small mortgage imperative and she must sign as a witness. It came with a certain shock, but there was no help for it, and she went through the ordeal bravely, dotting the "i" and giving a little flourish to the tail of the"h." The second time was when she signed her ap- plication for the position of postmistress of the village. The big mill-owner, Hiram Taylor, brought her the paper. "Got to put it all in, Miss Abbie," he said with a laugh. "Shut your eyes and sign it and then forget it. Awful, ain't it ? —but that's the law, and there ain't no way of getting round it, I guess." Hiram Taylor had left the village years before, rather suddenly, some had thought, when he was a strapping young fellow of twenty-two or 52 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE three, and had moved West and stayed West until he came back the year before with a wife and a houseful of children. Then the lawyers in the village got busy, and pretty soon some builders came down from Boston, only fifty miles away, and then a lot of brick- layers; and some cars were switched off on the siding, loaded with lumber and lath and brick, and next a train-load of machinery, and so the mills were running again with Hiram sole owner and in full charge. One of the first things he did after his arrival— the following morning, really — was to look up Abbie's mother. He gave a little start when he saw how shabby the cottage looked ; no paint for years — steps rot- ting — window-blinds broken, with a hinge loose. He gave a big one when a thin, hollow-chested woman, gray and spare, opened the door at his knock. " Hiram ! " she gasped, and the two went in- side, and the door was shut. All she said when Abbie came home from school — she was teaching that year — was: "The new mill-owner came to see me. His name's Taylor." That same day a heavy-set man with gray hair and beard, and jet-black eyebrows shading two kindly eyes, got out of his wagon, hitched 53 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE his horse to a post in front of the school-house and stepped to Abbie's desk. "I'm Hiram Taylor, up to the mills. Going to send one of my girls to you to-morrow and thought I'd drop in." Then he looked around and said : "Want another coat of whitewash on these walls, don't you, and — and a new stove ? This don't seem to be drawin' like it ought to. If them trustees won't get ugly about it, I got a new stove up to the mill 1 don't want, and I'll send it down." And he did. The trustees shrugged their shoulders, but made no objections. If Hiram Taylor wanted to throw his money away it was none of their business. Abbie Todd never said she was cold — not as they had ' ' heard on." When the new school building was finished —a brick structure with stone trimmings, steam- heated, and varnished desks and seats — the craze for the new and up-to-date so dominated the board that they paid Abbie a month's salary in advance and then replaced her with a man graduate from Concord. Abbie took her dis- missal as a matter of course. Nothing good ever lasted long. When she went up one step she always slid back two. It had been that way all her life. Hiram heard of it and came rattling into the 54 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE village, where he expressed himself at a town meeting in language distinguished for its clear- ness and force. The result was Abbie's appli- cation for the position of postmistress. This time he didn't consult the trustees or anybody else. He wrote a private note to the Postmaster-General, who was his friend, and the appointment came by return mail. Mr. Taylor would often chat with her through the little window with which she held converse with the public — he often came himself for his mail — but she made no mention of her state of mind. She was earning her living, and she was for the time content. He had helped her and she was grateful — more than this it was not her habit to dwell upon. One thing she was con- vinced of: she wouldn't keep the position long. Her mother knew her misgivings, and so did a small open wood fire in the sitting-room. Many a night the two would croon together. The mother shrivelled and faded ; Abbie herself being over thirty — not so fresh-looking as she had been — not so pretty— never had been very pretty. Her mother knew, too, how hard she had always struggled to do something better ; how she had studied drawing at the nor- mal school when she was preparing to be a teacher ; and how she had spent weeks in the elaboration 55 ABUAH'S BUBBLE of wall-paper patterns, which she had sent to the Decorative Art Society in Boston, only to have them returned to her in the same wrapper in which they had been mailed, with the indorse- ment "not suitable." That's why she didn't think she was going to be postmistress long. Far into the night these talks would continue — long after the other neighbors had gone to bed — nine o'clock maybe — sometimes as late as ten — an unheard-of thing in Taylorsville, where everybody was up at daylight. Then one day an extraordinary thing hap- pened — extraordinary so far as her modest post- office was concerned. A poster appeared on the wall of her office — a huge card, big as the top of a school desk, bearing in large type this le- gend: "Rock Creek Copper Company. Keep & Co., Agents," and at the bottom, in small type, directions as to the best way of securing the stock before the lists were closed. She had noticed the name of the company emblazoned on many of the communications addressed to people in the village — the richer ones — but here it wa.s in cold type— "hot type," for that matter, for it was in flaming red — on the wall, in front of her window. Abbie lifted her head in surprise when she saw what had been done without even "By your 56 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE leave." She had found auction sales, sheriff's notices and tax warnings opposite her window, but never copper mines. The longer she looked at it the better she liked it. There was a cheery bit of color in its blazing letters, and she was partial to bits of color. That's why she kept plants all winter in the little sitting-room at home, and nursed one cactus that gave out a scarlet bloom once in so many months. It was Miss Maria Furgusson, of Boston— sum- mer boarder at the next cottage ; second floor, six dollars a week, including washing — thatrevived, kept alive, in fact, fanned to fever heat, Abbie's first impression of the poster. Maria called for her mail, and the intimacy had gone so far that before the week was out " Miss Todd" had been replaced by "Abbie" and then "Ab," and Miss Furgusson by "Maria"— the postmis- tress being too dignified for further abbreviation. "Oh, there's our lovely copper mine — where did you get itj? Who put it up ? " Maria was a shirt-waisted young woman with a bang and a penetrating voice. She had charge of the hosiery counter in a department store and could call "Cash" in tones that brought instant service. This, with her promptness, had en- deared her to many impatient customers— espe- cially those from out of town who wanted to 57 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE catch trains. It was through one of these "hayseeds" that she secured board at so rea- sonable a price in Taylorsville during her vaca- tion. "What do you know about it.?" inquired Abbie. Such things were Greelt to her. "Know.? I've got twenty shares, and I'm going to have money to burn before long." Abbie bent her head, and took in as much of Miss Furgusson as she could see through the square hole in her window. "Who gave it to you ? " The idea of a girl like Maria ever having money enough to buy anything of that kind never occurred to her. "Nobody; I bought it; paid two dollars a share for it and now it's up to three, and Mr. Slathers, our floor-walker, says it's going to twenty-five. I've got a profit of twenty dollars on mine now." Abbie made a mental calculation ; twenty dol- lars was a considerable part of her month's sal- ary. "And everybody in our store has got some. Mr. Slathers has made eight hundred dollars, and I know for sure that Miss Henders is going to leave the cIoaK department and set up a type- writing place, because she told me so ; she's got a brother in the feed business who staked her." 58 ABUAH'S BUBBLE "Staked her? What's that? " "Loaned her the money," answered Maria, a certain pity in her voice for one so green and countrified. "How do you get it?" Abbie's eyes were shining like the disks of a brass letter scale and almost as large — they were still upon Maria. "The money? " "No, the stock." "Why, send Mr. Keep the money and he buys the stock and sends you back the certifi- cate. Want to see mine ? I've got it pinned in — Here it is." Abbie opened the door of the glass partition and beckoned to the shopgirl. She rarely allowed visitors inside, but this one seemed to hold the key to a new world. The girl slipped her fingers inside her shirt- waist and drew out a square piece of paper bear- ing the inscription of the poster in big letters. At the bottom of the paper a section of cement drain-pipe poured forth a steady stream of water, and the whole was underlined by a motto meaning "Peace and Plenty" — of water, no doubt. Abbie looked at the beautifully engraved doc- ument and a warm glow suffused her face. Was it as easy as this ? Did this little scrap of paper 59 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE mean rest and the spreading of wings, and free- dom for her mother? Then she caught her breath. She hadn't any brother in the feed business — nor anywhere else, for that matter. How would she get the money ? She had only her salary ; her mother earned little or nothing — the interest on the mortgage would be due in a day or so ; thank God it was nearly paid off. Then her heart rose in her throat. Mr. Taylor ! Why he was so kind she never knew — but he was. But if he insisted as he had with the store and the position in the post-office! No — he had done too much already. Besides, she could never repay him if anything went wrong. No ^ this was not her chance for freedom. Abbie handed the certificate back. "Queer way of making money," was all she said as she reached for her hat and shawl, and went home to dinner. That evening after supper, the two crooning over the fire, Abbie talked it over with her mother — not the stock — not a word of that — but of how Maria had made a lot of money, and how she wished she had a little of her own so she could make some, too. This the mother retailed, the next morning, to her neighbor, who met the expressman, who thereupon sent it roll- ing through the village. In both its diluted and 60 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE enriched form the neighbor had helped. The story was as follows : "That Boston girl who was boardin' up to Skitson's had a thousand dollars in the bank — made it all in a month — so Abbie Todd, who knew her, said. It was a dead secret how she made it, but Abbie said if she had a few hundred dollars she could get rich, too. Beats all how smart some girls is gettin' to be nowadays." The next morning Mr. Taylor called for his mail. He generally sent a boy down from the mill, but this time he came himself. "If you see anything lying around loose, Miss Abbie, where you can pick up a few dollars — and you must now and then — so many peo- ple going in and out from Boston and other places — and want a couple of hundred to help out, let me know. I'll stake you, and glad to." In answer, Abbie passed his mail through the square window. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor," was all she said. " I won't forget." Hiram fingered his mail and hung around for a minute. Then with the remark : " Guess that expressman was lying — I'll find out, anyway," he got into his buggy and drove away. " He'll stake me, will he ? "said Abbie thought- fully. "That's what the feed man did for Maria's friend." With the stake she could get the stock, 6i ABIJAH'S BUBBLE and with the stock the clouds would lift! Per- haps her turn was coming, after all. Then she resumed her work pigeon-holing the morning's mail. One was from Keep & Co., judging from the address in the corner, and was directed to Maria Furgusson, care Miss Skitson — a thick, heavy letter. This she laid aside. "Yes, a big one," she called from the window as she passed it out to that young woman five minutes later. "About the stock, isn't it! " The girl tore open the envelope and gave a little scream. "Oh ! Gone up to ten dollars a share ! Oh, cracky!— how much does that make? Here, Ab — do you figure— twenty shares at — Ten! Why, that's two hundred dollars! What?— it can't be! Yes, it is. Oh, that's splendid! I'm going right back to answer his letter " — and she was gone. When the supper things were washed up that night, and the towels hung before the stove to dry, and the faded old mother was resting in her chair by the fire, Abbie told her the facts as they existed. She had seen the certificate with her own eyes— had had it in her hand and she had read the letter from the broker, Mr. Keep. It was all true — every word of it. Maria had bor- rowed forty dollars and now she could pay it 62 ABUAH'S BUBBLE back and have one hundred and sixty dollars left — more than she herself could earn in three months, "If I could get somebody to lend me a little money, Mother," she continued, "I might — " The girl stopped and stole a look at her mother sitting hunched up in her chair, her elbows on her knees, the chin resting on the palms of her hands, the angle of her thin shoulders outlined through the coarse, worsted shawl — always a pathetic attitude to the daughter: — this old mother broken with hard work and dulled by a life of continued disappointment. "I was saying, Mother, perhaps I might get somebody to lend me a little money, and then—" The figure straightened up. "Don't do it, child!" There was a note almost of terror in her voice. " Don't you ever do it ! That was what ruined my father. Abbie — promise me — promise me, I say! You won't — you can't." The girl laid her hand tenderly on her mother's shoulder. " Why, Mother, dear— why, what's the mat- ter ? You look as if you had seen a ghost." Mrs. Todd drew her shawl closer about her shoulders and leaned nearer to the girl, her voice trembling : 63 ABUAH'S BUBBLE "It's worse than a ghost, child— it's a debtf Debt along of money you never worked for; money somebody gives you sorto' friendly-like, and when you can't pay it back, they bite you, like dogs. No— let's sit here and starve first, child. We can shut the door and nobody 'Ik know we're hungry." She straightened up and threw the shawl from her shoulders. Terror had taken the place of an undefined dread. "You ain't gettin' discouraged, Abbie, be you ? " she continued in a calmer tone. "Don't get discouraged, child. I got discouraged when I was younger than you, and I ain't never been happy since. You never knew why, and I ain't goin' to tell you now, but it's been black night all these years— all 'cept you. You've been the only thing made me live. If you get discouraged, child, I can't stand it. Say you ain't, Abbie — let me hear you say it— please Abbie ! " The girl rose from her chair and stood looking down at her mother. The sudden outburst, so unusual in one so self-restrained, the unmis- takable suffering in the tones of her voice, thrilled and alarmed her. Her first impulse was to throw her arms about her mother's neck and weep with her. This had been her usual cus- tom when the Ibad seemed too heavy for her mother to bear. Then the more practical side 64 ABUAH'S BUBBLE of her nature asserted itself. It was strength, not sympathy, she wanted. Slipping her hand under her mother's arm, she raised her to her feet, and in a firm, decided voice, quite as a hos- pital nurse would speak to a restless patient, she said : "You'd better not sit up any longer. Mother dear. Come, I'll help put you to bed." There was no resistance. Whatever suddenly aroused memory had stirred the outburst, the paroxysm was over now. " Well, maybe I am tired, child," was all she said, and the two left the room. "Poor, dear old Mother! Poor, tired old Mother ! " the girl remarked to herself when she had resumed her place by the dying fire. "Won- der if I'll get that way when I'm as old as she is!" Then the hopelessness of the struggle she was making rose before her. How much longer would this go on ? Up at six o'clock ; a cup of coffee and a piece of bread ; then the monotonous sorting of letters and papers — the ceaseless an- swering of stupid questions ; then half an hour for dinner ; then the routine again till train time, and home to the mother and the two chairs by the fire, only to begin the dreary tread-mill again the next morning. And with this the daily growing 65 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE older— older ; her face thinner and more pinched, the shoulders sharp ; her hair gray, head bent, just as her poor mother's was, and, with all that, hardly money enough to buy herself a pair of shoes — never enough to give her dear mother the slightest luxury. Discouraged ! Hadn't she reason to be ? The next morning Hiram walked into the post-office and called to Abbie, through the square window, to open the door. Once inside he loosened his fur driving-coat, took out a long, black wallet, picked out a thin slip of paper and laid it on Abbie's desk. "I have been thinking over what I told you yesterday. There's a check drawn to your order for two hundred dollars. All you got to do is to put your name on the back of it and it's money. It's good— never knew one that warn't." The girl started back. " I didn't ask you for it. I don't—" "I know you didn't, and when you did it would be too late maybe — got to catch things sometimes when they're flying past, I don't know whether it's those town lots they're booming over to Haddam's Corners, and 1 don't care, but if that ain't enough there's more where that came from. Good-day ! " and he slammed the glass door behind him. 66 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE Abbie picked up the thin slip of paper and studied every line on its face, from the red num- ber in the upper corner to " Hiram Taylor " in a bold, round hand. Then her eyes lighted on "Abijah Todd or order." Yes, it was hers — all of it. Not to spend, but to make money out of. Then her mother's words of warning rang clear: "Worse than a ghost, my child!" Should she— could she take it? She turned to lay it in a drawer until she could hand it back to him and her eyes fell upon the poster framed in by the square of her window. She stopped and shut the drawer. Was she never to have her chance ? Would the tread- mill never end ? Would the dear mother's head never be lifted .' Folding the check carefully, she loosened the top button of her dress and pushed it inside. There il burned like a hot coal. That night, after putting her mother to bed, she pinned a shawl over her head, threw her mother's cloak about her shoulders, sneaked into Maria's house, and crept up into her friend's room like a burglar. What was to be done must be done quickly, but intelligently. "I've got some money," she exclaimed to the astonished girl who, half undressed, sat writing 67 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE at her table. (It was after nine o'clock — an unheard-of hour for visiting.) "How much stock can I buy for two hundred dollars.? " and she shook out the check, keeping her finger over the signature. "Twenty shares," answered Maria. "How do I get it?" "Send the money to Keep & Co. Oh, you got a check! Well, put 'Keep & Co.' on — here, I'll do it, and you sign your name under- neath. And I'll write 'em a letter and tell 'em I helped sell it to you. Oh, ain't I glad, Ab. You must be getting awful big pay to have saved all that. Wish I—" "How long before I know?" She had not much time to talk— her mother might wake and call her. "They'll telephone you. You got a long- distance, ain't you, in the ofifice? Yes, I seen it." Abbie took the name of the senior partner, re- placed the check, and was by her own fire again. The mother hadn't stirred. All the next day she waited for the rattle of the bell. At three o'clock she sprang to the 'phone. "This Miss Todd— postmistress ? " "Yes." 68 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE "Got your check— bought you twenty Rock Creek at ten — mail you certificate to-morrow." The following morning the certificate took the place of the check — pinned tight. She could feel it crinkle when she walked. All that day she moved about her office like one dazed. There was no exaltation — no thrill of triumph. A dull, undefined terror took possession of her. What if the stock went down in price and she couldn't pay back the money ? Of whom, then, could she borrow? Repay Hiram she must and would. Again her mother's warning words rang in her ears. Then came the resolve never to tell her. If it went right she would add to the dear woman's comforts in silence. If it went wrong — but it couldn't go wrong : Maria had said so: the papers had said so: the posters said so — everybody and everything said so. As the day wore on she became so nervous that she mixed the letters in their pigeon-holes. "That ain't for me. Miss Todd," was called out half a dozen times when B or F or S letters had gone into the wrong box. "Guess you must a-got it in the B's by mistake. Wool- gatherin', ain't ye? " Maria was her only confidante and her only comfort. The Boston girl laughed when she listened to her fears, and braced her up with 69 ABUAH'S BUBBLE fairy stories of the winnings of Miss Henders and Slathers and the money they were making ; but the relief was only temporary. Soon the strain began to show itself in her face. " You ain't sick, Abbie, be you ? " asked the mother. "No? Well, you look kind o' peaked. Don't work too hard, child. Maybe something's worryin' you— something you ain't told me. No man I don't know about, is there.'" and the mother's sad eyes searched the daugh- ter's. To all these inquiries the girl only shook her head, adding that the down mail was late and a big one and she had hurried to sort it. When the Boston mail arrived the next morn- ing and was dumped from its bag upon her sort- ing-table, her own name flamed out on one of Keep & Co.'s envelopes. Abbie broke the .seal and devoured its con- tents with bated breath, her fingers trembling : We are happy to inform you that the last sales of Rock Creek ranged from 13 to 14^ — 15 bid at close. We confidently expect the stock will sell at 20 before the week is out. We shall be glad to receive your further orders as well as those of any of your friends. Abbie's heart gave a bound; the blood mounted to the roots of her hair. 70 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE " Fifteen— twenty — why —why ! that's two hundred dollars for me after paying Mr. Taylor." The chill of doubt was over now. The fever of hope had set in. "Two hundred! Two hun- dred ! " she kept repeating, as her fingers caressed the certificate snuggling close to her heart. When she swung wide the porch door and threw her arms around her astonished mother's neck, the refrain was still on her lips. It had been years since the hard-working girl had given way to any such joyous outburst. " Oh, I'm so happy! Don't ask me why — but I am!" The mother kissed her in reply and patted the girl's shoulder. "There is somebody," she sighed to herself. "And they've made up again" — and a prayer trembled on her lips. Her joy now became contagious. The ex- pressman noticed it; so did Mrs. Skitson and the storekeeper. So did Mr. Taylor, who stopped his wagon and leaned half out to shake her hand. "You do look wholesome this morning, and no mistake. Miss Abbie" (he always called her so). "Don't forget what I told you — lots more where that come from " — and he drove on mut- tering to himself: "Ain't no finer woman in Taylorsville than Abbie Todd." 71 ABUAH'S BUBBLE Keep & Co. letters arrived now by almost every mail. With these came a daily stock-list printed on tissue-paper, giving the sales on the exchange. Rock Creek was still holding its own between 13 and 15. "From my brokers," she would say with a smile to Maria, falling into the ways of the rich. One of these letters, marked "Private and confidential," she took to Maria. It was in the writer's own hand and signed by the senior mem- ber of the firm. Literally translated into uncom- mercial language by that female financier, it meant that Miss Todd, " on notice from Keep Sr Co." should write her name at the bottom of the transfer blank on the back of the certificate and mail it to them. This done they would buy her another ten shares of stock, using her certificate as additional margin. There was no question that Rock Creek would sell at forty before the month ended, and they did not want her to be "left" when the "melon was cut." Another and a newer and a iBore vibrant song now rose to her lips. Forty for Rock Creek meant four — six — yes, eight hundred dollars — with two hundred to Mr. Taylor 1 Yesl Six hun- dred clear! The scrap of paper in her bosom was no longer a receipt for money paid, but an Aladdin's lamp producing untold wealth. 72 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE That night the music burst from her lips be- fore she had taken off her cloak and hat. "You made six hundred dollars, Abbiel You! " cried the mother, with a note of wonder in her voice. Then the whole story came out ; her mother's arms about her, the pale cheek touching her own, tears of joy streaming from both their eyes. First Maria's luck, then that of her felluw- clerks ; then the letters, one after another, spread out upon her lap, the lamp held close, so the dim eyes could read the easier — down to the stake- money of two hundred dollars. "And who gave you that, child? Miss Fur- gusson ?" The mother's heart was still flutter- ing. After all, the sun was shining. "No; Mr. Taylor." The mother put her hands to her head. "Hiram! You ain't never borrowed any money of Hiram, have you ? " she cried in an agonized voice. "But, Mother dear, he forced it upon me. He came — " " Yes. that's what he did to me. Give it back to him, child, now, 'fore you sleep. Don't wait a minute. Borrowed two hundred dollars of Hiram —and my child, too ! Oh, it can't be ! It can't be! 73 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE The mother dropped into a chair and rocked herself to and fro. The girl started to explain, to protest, to comfort her with promises ; then she crossed to where her mother was sitting, and stood patient until the paroxysm should pass. A sudden fright now possessed her; these attacks were coming on oftener ; was her mother's mind failing? Was there anything serious ? Perhaps it would have been better not to tell her at all. The mother motioned Abbie to a chair. " Sit down, child, and listen to me. I ain't crazy; I ain't out of my head — I'm only skeered." " But, Mother dear, I can get the money any day I want it. All I've got to do is to telephone them and a check comes the next day." "Yes, I know— I know." She was still trembling, her voice hardly audible. "But that ain't what skeers me ; it's Hiram. He done the same thing to me last December. Come in here and laid the bills on that table behind you and begged me to take 'em ; he'd heard about the mortgage ; he wanted to fix the house up, too. I put my hands behind my back and got close to the wall there. I couldn't touch it, and he begged and begged, and then he went away. Next he went to the school-house, and you know 74 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE what he did. That's why you got the post- office." A light broke in upon the girl. "And you've known him before? " "Yes, forty years ago. He loved me and I loved him. We had bad luck, and my father got into trouble. He and Hiram's father were friend's; been boys together, and Hiram's father loaned him money. I don't know how much — I never knew, but considerable money. My father couldn't pay, and then come bad blood. The week before Hiram and I were to be called in church they struck each other, and when Hiram took my father's part his father drove him out of his house, and Hiram hadn't nothing, and went West; and I never heard from him nor saw him till the day he come in here last fall. Don't you see, child, you got to take him back his money .' " Abbie squared her shoulders. The blood of the Puritan was in her eyes. This was a fight for home and freedom. Her flintlock was be- tween the cracks of her log cabin. The old mother, with the other women and children, lay huddled together in the far corners. This was no time for surrender ! "No!" she cried in a firm voice. " I won't give it back, not till I get good and ready. Mr. 75 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE Taylor loaned me that two hundred dollars to make money with, and he won't get it again till I do." She wondered at her courage, but it seemed the only way to save her mother from herself. "What happened forty years ago has nothing to do with what's happening to-day." The look in the girl's eyes ; her courage ; the ring of independence in her voice, the sureness and confidence of her words, began to have their effect. The Genie of the Lamp was at work : the life-giving power of Gold was being pumped from her own into the poor old woman's poverty-shrunken veins. "And you don't think, child, that it will bring you trouble?" "Bring trouble!" No! The cabin was saved ; the enemy was in re- treat. She could sing once more! "It will bring nothing but joy and freedom, you precious old Mother! Do you know what I'm going to do.?" "What, child?" "I'm going to pay off the mortgage, every cent of it." (She said "I" now; it had been "we" all the years before : Keep rubbing, dear old Genie). " Then I'll fix up the house and paint it, aa4 76 ABUAH'S BUBBLE get you some nice clothes, and a new cook stove that isn't all rusted out " "You won't resign, will you, Abbie— and leave me ? " the mother exclaimed . The chill of possible desertion suddenly crept over her, (The Genie is often unmindful of others, especially the poor.) "Leave you! What, now? You darling Mother. As to resigning, I may later. But I'm going to Boston when I get my vacation and stay a week with Maria, and go to the opera if I never do another thing. Oh ! just you wait. Mother, you and I will lead a different life after this." "And you think, Abbie, you'll make more than six hundred dollars ? " Already the moth- er's veins were expanding — wonderful elixir, this Extract of Gold. ' ' Six hundred ! Why, if the stock goes to what they call par— and that's where they all go, so Maria says — I'll have — have — two thousand, less Mr.Taylor's two hundred — I'll have eighteen hundred dollars ! ' ' The little fellow in her bosom was rubbing away now with all his might. She could hear his heart beat against her own. It was nearly midnight when the two went to bed. Stick after stick had been thrown on the fire; the logs had flamed and crackled in sympathy with their own joyous feelings, and 77 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE had then fallen into piled-up coals, each heap a castle of delight, rosy in the glow of freshly en- kindled hopes. And the song in her heart never ceased. Day by day a fresh note was added ; everything she touched; everything she saw was transformed. The old tumble-down house with its propped-up furniture and makeshift carpets seemed to have become already the place she planned it to be. There would be vines over the door and a new summer kitchen at the back; and there would be a porch where her mother could sit, flowers all about her— her dear mother, bent no longer, but fresh and rosy in her new clothes, smiling at her as she came up the garden path. And what delight it was just to breathe the air ! Never had her step been so light, or her daily walk to the dingy office — dingy no longer — so bracing. And the out-of-doors — the sky and drifting clouds ; the low hills, bleak in the win- ter!s gloom — what changes had come over them ? Wasjt the first blush of the coming spring that had softened their lines, or had her eyes been blind to all their beauty ? Oh I Marvellous elixir that makes hope a certainty and gilds each cloud ! One morning a man waiting for a letter from an absent son heard the telephone ring, and 78 ABUAH'S BUBBLE saw Abbie drop her letters and catch up the receiver : "Yes, I'm Miss Todd.— Oh! Mr. Keep? Yes.— Yes — I've got it here." Her face grew deathly white. "What! Sellingattwelve!" The man feared she was about to fall. "I thought you told me ... A big slump ! Well, I don't want to lose if . . . Yes, I'll mail it right away . . . Reach you by the 9. 10 to-morrow." "I hope you ain't got any bad news, have you ?" the man asked in a sympathetic voice. "No," she answered in a choking voice, as she handed him his letter ; then she turned her back and took the certificate from her bosom, "Selling at twelve," she kept saying to her- self; " perhaps at ten ; perhaps at five. Would it go lower ? Suppose it went down to nothing. What could she say to her mother ? How would she pay Mr. Taylor .■' Her breath came short ; a dull sense of some impending calamity took possession of her. Everything seemed slipping from her grasp. An hour passed — two. In the interim she had indorsed the certificate and had dropped it into the open mouth of the night-bag. Again the bell sounded. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice; her shoulder was against the wall now for support. 79 ABIJAH'S BUBBLE She was ready for the blow ; all her life they had come this way. "Sold your twenty at ten. Mail you check for $igo on receipt of certificate." Abbie clutched her bosom as if for relief, but there came no answering throb. The little devil was gone, and the lamp with him. "And is it all over, Abbie?" asked her mother, as she drew her shawl closer about her head. One stick of wood must last them till bedtime now. "Yes— all." The girl lay crouched at her feet sobbing, her head in her mother's lap. "Can you pay Hiram .' " " I have paid him in full. I gave him Mr. Keep's check and ten dollars of my pay — paid him this morning. He wouldn't take any interest." "Oh, that's good— that's good, child!" she crooned. There came a long pause, during which the two women sat motionless, the mother looking into the smouldering coals. She had but few tears left none for disappointments like these. "And we have got to keep on as we have ? " " Yes." The reply was barely audible, 80 ABUAH'S BUBBLE The mother lifted her thin, worn hand, and laid it on Abbie's head. "Well, child," she said slowly, "you can thank God for one thing. You had your dream; ain't many even had that." 8l A LIST TO STARBOARD I A SHORT, square chunk of a man walked into a shipping office on the East Side, and inquired for the Manager of the Line. He had kindly blue eyes, a stub nose, and a mouth that shut to like a rat-trap, and stayed shut. Under his chin hung a pair of half-moon whis- kers which framed his weather-beaten face as a spike collar frames a dog's. "You don't want to send this vessel to sea again," blurted out the chunk. "She ought to go to the dry-dock. Her boats haven't had a brushf ul of paint for a year ; her boilers are caked clear to her top flues, and her pumps won't take care of her bilge water. Charter something else and lay her up." The Manager turned in his revolving chair and faced him. He was the opposite of the Cap- tain in weight, length, and thickness — a slim, well-groomed, puffy-cheeked man of sixty with a pair of uncertain, badly aimed eyes and a voice like the purr of a cat. "Oh, my dear Captain, you surely don't 82 A LIST TO STARBOARD mean what you say. She is perfectly sea- worthy and sound. Just look at her inspec- tion — " and he passed him the certificate, "No — 1 don't want to see it! I know 'em by heart : it's a lie, whatever it says. Give an in- spector twenty dollars and he's stone blind." The Manager laughed softly. He had handled too many rebellious captains in his time; they all had a protest of some kind — it was either the crew, or the grub, or the coal, or the way she was stowed. Then he added softly, more as a joke than anything else : "Not afraid, are you. Captain ? " A crack started from the left-hand corner of the Captain's mouth, crossed a fissure in his face, stopped within half an inch of his stub nose, and died out in a smile of derision. "What I'm afraid of is neither here nor there. There's cattle aboard — that is, there will be by to-morrow night ; and there's a lot of passengers booked, some of 'em women and children. It isn't honest to ship 'em and you know it ! As to her boilers send for the Chief Engineer. He'll tell you. You call it taking risks ; I call it mur- der!" " And so I understand you refuse to obey the orders of the Board ? — and yet she's got to sail on the i6th if she sinks outside." 83 A LIST TO STARBOARD "When I refuse to obey the orders of the Board I'll tell the Board, not you. And when I do tell 'em I'll tell 'em something else, and that is, that this chartering of worn-out tramps, paint- ing 'em up and putting 'em into the Line, has got to stop, or there'll be trouble." " But this will be her last trip. Captain. Then we'll overhaul her." "I've heard that lie for a year. She'll run as long as they can insure her and her cargo. As for the women and children, I suppose they don't count — " and he turned on his heel and left the office. On the way out he met the Chief Engineer . "Do the best you can, Mike," he said; "orders are we sail on the i6th." On the fourth day out this conversation took place in the smoking-room between a group of passengers. "Regular tub, this ship!" growled the Man- Who-Knew-It-All to the Bum Actor. ' ' Screw out of the water every souse she makes ; lot of dirty sailors skating over the decks instead of keeping below where they belong ; Chief Engineer loaf- ing in the Captain's room every chance he gets — there he goes now — and it's the second time since breakfast. And the Captain is no better ! 84 A LIST TO STARBOARD And just look at the accommodations— three stewards and a woman ! What's that to look after thirty-five passengers? Half the time 1 have to wait an hour to get something to eat — such as it is. And my bunk wasn't made up yesterday until plumb night. That bunch in the steerage must be having a hard time." "We get all we pay for," essayed the Trav- elling Man. " She ain't rigged for cabin passen- gers, and the Captain don't want 'em. Didn't want to take me — except our folks had a lot of stuff aboard. Had enough passengers, he said." "Well, he took the widow and her two kids — " continued the Man-Who-Knew-It-AU — "and they were the last to get aboard. Half the time he's playing nurse instead of looking after his ship. Had 'em all on the bridge yesterday." " He had to take 'em," protested the Travelling Man. ' ' She was put under his charge by his own- ers — so one of the stewards told me." "Oh\ — had to, did he! Yes— I've been there before. No use talking— this line's got to be investigated, and I'm going to do the inves- tigating as soon as I get ashore, and don't you forget it ! What's your opinion .' " The Bum Actor made no reply. He had been cold and hungry too many days and nights to find fault with anything. But for the generosity 85 A LIST TO STARBOARD of a few friends he would still be tramping the streets, sleeping where he could. Three meals a day— four, if he wanted them — and a bed in a room all to himself instead of being one in a row of ten, was heaven to him. What the Captain, or the Engineer, or the crew, or anybody else did, was of no moment, so he got back alive. As to the widow's children, he had tried to pick up an acquaintance with them himself — especially the boy — but she had taken them away when she saw how shabby were his clothes. The Texas Cattle Agent now spoke up. He was a tall, raw-boned man, with a red chin- whisker and red, weather-scorched face, whose clothing looked as if it had been pulled out of shape in the effort to accommodate itself to the spread of his shoulders and round of his thighs. His trousers were tucked in his boots, the straps hanging loose. He generally sat by himself in one corner of the cramped smoking-room, and seldom took part in the conversation. The Bum Actor and he had exchanged confidences the night before, and the Texan therefore felt justi- fied in answering in his friend's stead. " You're way off, friend,", he said to the Man- Who-Knew-It-All. "There ain't nothin' the matter with the Line, nor the ship, nor the Cap* 86 A LIST TO STARBOARD tain. This is my sixtli trip aboard of her, and I know ! They had a strike among the steve- dores the day we sailed, and then, too, we've got a scrub lot of stokers below, and the Cap- tain's got to handle 'em just so. That kind gets ugly when anything happens. I had sixty head of cattle aboard here on my last trip over, and some of 'em got loose in a storm, and there was hell to pay with the crew till things got straight- ened out. I ain't much on shootin' irotis, but they came handy that time. I helped and I know. Got a couple in my cabin now. Needn't tell me nothin' about the Captain. He's all there when he's wanted, and it don't take him more'n a minute, either, to get busy." The door of the smoking-room opened and the object of his eulogy strolled in. He was evi- dently just off the bridge, for the thrash of the spray still glistened on his oilskins and on his gray, half-moon whiskers. That his word was law aboard ship, and that he enforced it in the fewest words possible, was evident in every line of his face and every tone of his voice. If he deserved an overhauling it certainly would not come from any one on board — least of all from Carhart— the Man-Who-Knew-It-Ail, Loosening the thong that bound his so'wester to his chin, he slapped it twice across a chair 87 A LIST TO STARBOARD back, the water flying in every direction, and then faced the room. "Mr. Bonner." "Yes, sir," answered the big-shouldered Texan, rising to his feet. "I'd like to see you for a minute," and with- out another word the two men left the room and made their way in silence down the wet deck to where the Chief Engineer stood, "Mike, this is Mr. Bonner; you remember him, don't you ? You can rely on his carrying out any orders you give him. If you need another man let him pick him out — " and he continued on to his cabin. Once there the Captain closed the door behind him, shutting out the pound and swash of the sea ; took from a rack over his bunk a roll of charts, spread one on a table and with his head in his hands studied it carefully. The door opened and the Chief Engineer, again stood beside him. The Captain raised his head. "Will Bonner serve? " he asked. "Yes, glad to, and he thinks he's got another man. He's what he calls out his way a ' ten- derfoot,' he says, but he's game and can be depended on. Have you made up your mind where she'll cross?"— and he bent over the chart. 88 ' :'^^^^^sS^m^' ■ 1 \ ' wn^ mP ^^"^mhhII^I 6f^^»^ w r ! ;^ ? 1' ^^^^^^ R^B^'m. 1 ' V '^'^^^^^B^^M ^1 L 1 Bk~ 1 1 1 1 1 1 i ^^HH ^^^' ' >- ™ "^l "; P L _.. A LIST TO STARBOARD The Captain picked up a pair of compasses, balanced them for a moment in his fingers, and with the precision of a seamstress threading a needle, dropped the points astride a wavy line known as the steamer track. The engineer nodded : "That will give us about twenty-two hours leeway," he said gravely, "if we make twelve knots." "Yes, if you make twelve knots: can you do it.'" "I can't say; depends on that gang of shov- ellers and the way they behave. They're a tough lot— jail-birds and tramps, most of 'em. If they get ugly there ain't but one thing left ; that, I suppose, you won't object to." The Captain paused for a moment in deep thought, glanced at the pin prick in the chart, and said with a certain forceful meaning in his voice : "No— not if there's no other way." The Chief Engineer waited, as if for further reply, replaced his cap, and stepped out into the wind. He had got what he came for, and he had got it straight. With the closing of the door the Captain rolled up the chart, laid it in its place among the others, readjusted the thong of his so'wester, stopped for 89 A LIST TO STARBOARD a moment before a photograph of his wife and child, looked at it long and earnestly, and then mounted the stairs to the bridge. With the ex- ception that the line of his mouth had straight- ened and the knots in his eyebrows tightened, he was, despite the smoking-room critics, the same bluff, determined sea-dog who had defied the Manager the week before. II When Bonner, half an hour later, returned to the smoking-room (he, too, had caught the splash of the sea, the spray drenching the rail), the Bum Actor crossed over and took the seat beside him. The Texan was the only passenger who had spoken to him since he came aboard, and he had already begun to feel lonely. This time he started the conversation by brushing the salt spray from the Agent's coat. " Got wet, didn't you ? Too bad I Wait till I wipe it off," and he dragged a week-old hand- kerchief from his pocket. Then seeing that the Texan took no notice of the attention, he added, "What did the Captain want ? " The Texan did not reply. He was evidently absorbed in something outside his immediate sur- roundings, for he continued to sit with bent back, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the floor. 90 A LIST TO STARBOARD Again the question was repeated : "What did the Captain want ? Nothing the matter, is there?" Fear had always been his master— fear of poverty mostly— and it was poverty in the worst form to others if he failed to get home. This thought had haunted him night and day. "Yes and no. Don't worry— it'll all come out right. You seem nervous." "I am. I've been through a lot and have almost reached the end of my rope. Have you got a wife at home?" The Texan shook his head. "Well, if you had you'd understand better than lean tell you. I have, and a three-year- old boy besides. I'd never have left them if I'd known. I came over under contract for a six months' engagement and we were stranded in Pittsburg and had hard work getting back to New York. Some of them are there yet. All I want now is to get home— nothing else will save them. Here's a letter from her 1 don't mind showing you — you can see for yourself what I'm up against. The boy never was strong." The big Texan read it through carefully, handed it back without a comment or word of sympathy, and then, with a glance around him, as if in fear of being overheard, asked : "Can you keep your nerve in a mix-up ? " 91 A LIST TO STARBOARD "Do you mean a fight? " queried the Actor. "Maybe." " I don't like fights— never did." Anything that would imperil his safe return was to be avoided. "I neither— but sometimes you've got to. Are you handy with a gun ? " "Why.?" " Nothing— I'm only asking." Carhart, the Man-Who-Knew-It-All, here lounged over from his seat by the table and dropped into a chair beside them, cutting short his reply. The Texan gave a significant look at the Actor, enforcing his silence, and then buried his face in a newspaper a month old. Carhart spread his legs, tilted his head back on the chair, slanted his stiff-brim hat until it made a thatch for his nose, and began one of his customary growls : to the room — to the drenched port-holes — to the brim of his hat; as a half- asleep dog sometimes does when things have gone wrong with him — or he dreams they have. " This ship reminds me of another old tramp, the Persia," he drawled. "Same scrub crew and same cut of a Captain. Hadn't been for two of the passengers and me, we'd never got anywhere. Had a fire in the lower hold in a lot of turpentine, and when they put that out we 92 A LIST TO STARBOARD found her cargo had shifted and she was down by the head about six feet. Then the crew made a rush for the boats and left us with only four leaky ones to go a thousand miles. They'd taken 'em all, hadn't been for me and another fellow who stood over them with a gun." The Bum Actor raised his eyes. "What happened then? " he asked in a ner- vous voice. "Oh, we pitched in and righted things and got into port at last. But the Captain was no good ; he'd a-left with the crew if we'd let him." " Is the shifting of a cargo a serious matter ? " continued the Actor. "This is my second cross- ing and I'm not much up on such things." " Depends on the weather," interpolated a passenger. " And on how she's stowed," continued Car- hart. "I've been mistrusting this ship ain't plumb on her keel. You can tell that from the way she falls off after each wave strikes her. I have been out on deck looking things over and she seems to me to be down by the stern more than she ought." " Maybe she'll be lighter when more coal gets out of her," suggested another passenger. "Yes, but she's listed some to starboard. I watched her awhile this morning. She ain't 93 A LIST TO STARBOARD loaded right, or she's loaded wrong, Or-purpose. That occurs sometimes with a gang of striking stevedores." The noon whistle blew and the talk ended with the setting of everybody's watch, except the Bum Actor's, whose timepiece decorated a shop-window in the Bowery. That night one of those uncomfortable rumors, started doubtless by Carhart's talk, shivered through the ship, its vibrations even reaching the widow lying awake in her cabin. This said that some hundreds of barrels of turpentine had broken loose and were smashing everything below. If any one of them rolled into the fur- naces an explosion would follow which would send them all to eternity. That this absurdity was immediately denied by the purser, who as- serted with some vehemence that there was not a gallon of turpentine aboard, did not wholly allay the excitement, nor did it stifle the nervous anxiety which had now taken possession of the passengers. As the day wore on several additional rumors joined those already extant. One was dropped in the ear of the Texan by the Bum Actor as the two stood on the upper deck watching the sea, which was rapidly falling. 94 A LIST TO STARBOARD " I got SO worried I thought I'd go down into the engine room myself," he whispered. "I'm just back. Something's wrong down there, or I'm mistai