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Cornell University Library 
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 3 1924 021 712 074 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021712074 
 
THE TASKMASTERS 
 
"/ am of the opinion, upon the whole, that the 
 manufacturing aristocracy, which is growing up 
 under our eyes, is one of the harshest which ever 
 existed in the world. * * * 7-^^ friends of 
 democracy should keep their eyes anxiously fixed in 
 this direction; for if ever a permanent inequality 
 of conditions and aristocracy again penetrate into 
 the world, it may be predicted that this is the gate 
 by which they will enter T 
 
 De Tocqueville, 1835. 
 
The Taskmasters 
 
 By 
 
 George Kibbe Turner 
 
 Ftr«t !N oval 
 
 Series 
 
 % 
 
 New York 
 
 McClure, Phillips & O. 
 Mcmij 
 
Copyright, 1901, by 
 McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 
 
 Published, October, 1902 
 
CONTENTS 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Heir Apparent i 
 
 II. The Monster 12 
 
 III.- The Gods in the Machine . . . .31 
 
 IV. In Circe's Garden 43 
 
 V. Shaun Dhu 56 
 
 VI. A Call to Duty 70 
 
 VII. Memories 83 
 
 VIII. The Pestilence 92 
 
 IX. An Ultimatum 104 
 
 X. An Exploring Expedition . . . .117 
 XI. In the Halls of Legislation . . .132 
 XII. The Den of the Ogre 147 
 
 XIII. The Town Guard 163 
 
 XIV. An Understanding 173 
 
 XV. Practical Politics i86 
 
 XVI. The Dead Mill 202 
 
 XVII. Thirty Days for Vagrancy . . -215 
 
 XVIII. The Defense of the Faith . . .225 
 
 XIX. Political Bankruptcy . . . .235 
 
 XX. The Richard Plimsoll . . . .250 
 
 XXI. Thrown Down 269 
 
 XXII. Two Men in a Room 283 
 
 XXIII. The Hunt 295 
 
 XXIV. Good-night 308 
 
THE TASKMASTERS 
 
chapter I 
 
 THE HEIR APPARENT 
 
 rHERE are giants among these hills of ours, 
 if you will but stop and consider them ; co- 
 lossal figures striding up and down; such 
 stuff, it seems to me, as mankind made their demi- 
 gods of three thousand years ago. You know those 
 feudal barons of the medieval days — ^how the cliffs of 
 Europe bristled with their turrets and their battlements. 
 Great, fierce, unforgotten forms, we see them yet, each 
 in his stronghold on his crag, glowering down those an- 
 
 . cient valleys. How different was that old hill country 
 then from ours? Times have changed, indeed, but 
 men have not; and to some of us, at least, strange 
 resemblances seem ta arise. 
 
 First there were the iron hills of New England, 
 which stand about us now, unconquered to this day. 
 A century and a half, the poor hill farmer, his life 
 hideous in its dreariness and sterility, scratched pain- 
 fully at this meagre soil, indifferent to the last to his 
 feeble persuasion. It was not for him the Almighty 
 
 /^Carver of the Universe had hollowed out these val- 
 
1 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 leys and sent their little rivers roaring down their 
 rocks and falls, but for a vastly different type of men. 
 A century and a half of little things! Then in the 
 great marching purposes of God, the predestined time 
 of preparation had been fulfilled, and the first manu- 
 facturer came into his own. 
 
 And now for over half a century this race has 
 ruled here — father, son, and grandson; just and un- 
 just, wise and foolish, virtuous and profligate. They 
 have called together the strange and uncouth peoples 
 from the ends of the earth; they have cried afar, and 
 the hungry generations of the old world have come 
 tramping to the new; they have established and laid 
 out towns and cities; they have led up railroads 
 through an empty land; they have made this barren 
 place the workshop of the world. 
 
 Here to this day they sit and frown, each in his 
 corner of the valley, each in his slate-roofed house, 
 upon its little eminence, staring across to his many- 
 windowed mill, with the unknown creatures of his 
 making huddled down beneath him. And the reek of 
 their chimneys rises like the smoke of far volcanoes, 
 and the roar and chatter and jargon of their machinery 
 mounts up to high heaven between the stiff' and ragged 
 hill tops like the hoarse songs of the Titans, busy 
 building a new world. Is it nothing to have turned 
 the lives of a hundred thousand men ; to have changed 
 the tracing of the map? Is it nothing to control the 
 government of a state; to compel the policies of a 
 nation? These men are great, I say; some day their 
 lives will be declared as they really are, and there will 
 
THE HEIR APPARENT 3 
 
 be need of a great, strong, clear and steady voice to 
 call through their deeds and their misdeeds. 
 
 Of all these one hundred thousand people in our 
 valley, in all these fifty years, there are not more all 
 told than threescore names; all the rest are creatures 
 of the great black herd, hardly entitled to an individ- 
 uality of their own. But everyone, down to the last 
 dim-minded Pole, knows of these half hundred names 
 of ours. John Case and Joel Belcher and Seth May- 
 hew — these are gone, and their huge, barbaric granite 
 monuments stand forth in the forefront of our grave- 
 yards to tell what manner of men they were. Then 
 there were Elisha Dibble, h^ too is dead, and Adoniram 
 Pitkin, poor old snuffer that he has become, — once 
 he was clothed with his brief authority as a god, be- 
 fore he fell, dragging down his hundreds with him. 
 And of to-day there are John Carnochan of Chichester 
 and William Henry Harrison Thorndike, master of 
 these great mills of Ellington. And back of all, sel- 
 dom seen and never heard, sits Morgan Black, silent 
 in his dark house at Grimdale — the unseen power, the 
 destiny behind the clouds. Above him, at the head 
 of the bare valley, rises the strangely-fashioned bulk 
 of Mt. Totec, a huge altar on the horizon line. Over it 
 the vague wisps of smoke from his thick chimneys un- 
 derneath hang like perpetual grey incense upon the 
 northern sky. 
 
 The valley of Stark county, like nearly all the others 
 of the state, goes north and south, a great gutter in 
 the rocks, pent up on either side by its long procession 
 of rough and formless hills, and through it runs the 
 
4 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 little river Totec, from which it has its name — ^fifty 
 years ago as clear and green as when the Indians first 
 found it; but now full from brink to brink with the 
 floating abominations of our mills. Generally it runs 
 smooth and full and dimpling along the narrow 
 meadows, but here and there it breaks into quick, little 
 fretful falls, and in these spots the towns have been 
 laid out. 
 
 This little sordid principality here, the small city, 
 Ellington, is William Thorndike's. Above, his great 
 house sits upon the hill, the houses of the small com- 
 pany of his own race behind it; below, the working 
 people herd upon the fiat, the dingy main street drawn 
 before them at the bottom of the hill ; and on the other 
 side, along the little river front, the Mayhew cotton 
 mills stretch their forbidding length, an ugly barrier 
 of raw, red brick, encircling half the place. This one 
 institution dominates us all; three-quarters of the 
 population have their living from it directly. Its 
 hoarse calls first wake in the dim early day the heavy 
 workers from their sodden sleep; the last light of the 
 sun glares red upon the shining broadside of its thou- 
 sand windows; and beyond the natural boundaries of 
 day, in the early evenings of winter and late fall, the 
 farmer going home upon the hills sees its long blaze of 
 white electric glory like a giant jewel in the night, 
 eclipsing all the other lights of the dark valley. It 
 seems sometimes, with its towers and its chimneys, 
 and its great outstretched length, like some unnatural 
 monster, crouched along beside the town; some huge 
 malevolent being, possessing instead of being pos- 
 
THE HEIR APPARENT 5 
 
 sessed, its swarms of weary slaves crawling back day 
 after day, year after year, to its service, until they are 
 disgorged at last, to die, while others, born and reared 
 meantime, crowd in to take their place. 
 
 The Mayhews built this great, square house upon 
 the hill ; John Avery Mayhew was born here. He sees 
 the place as if it were yesterday — the heavy fence with 
 its massive wooden urns, the stiff, unlighted gas lamps 
 by the walks, the Roman soldier in the fountain, the 
 snow-white line of stones, which marches up the drive- 
 way. He stands upon the edges of the solitary yard 
 and sees, with a child's fear in his eyes, the dark figures 
 in the yellow alleys of The Patch, that place of crooked 
 shanties, the home of that strange, new, chattering 
 folk, the Irish. Pigs trot grotesquely in the paths and 
 at one end a black goat is tethered. At evening the 
 men come slouching home, he hears the strident sound 
 of fiddle and accordion, and sometimes in the summer 
 nights when it is still — so still that you hear across 
 the silent town the distant pounding of the water un- 
 derneath the dam — ^the dreaded sound cyf keening 
 comes through the open window to his lonely room — 
 the awful calling for the dead, shrill heathen eldritch, 
 wild with the fear of unimagined things. Never, 
 while he lives, will they die from his memory — those 
 horrid piteous outbursts of barbaric grief, come down 
 who knows what long-forgotten centuries from name- 
 less Druid graves. 
 
 .How sad his whole childhood seems. He sees his 
 white and stern-faced mother by her window-side, 
 looking, always looking, as it seemed to him, for some- 
 
6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 thing or someone that was to come. Then she was 
 gone forever. He sees his silent father, with his set, 
 strained face, haggard and preoccupied. In the yard 
 old Pat, the man, that strange, unsocial, unfathomable 
 being, with his chin upon his chest, goes shuffling and 
 mumbling about his work. Occasionally there is an- 
 other figure, a visitor a little younger than himself, an 
 odd, small animal named Ruth, with a mane of dark 
 curls upon her back, great dark, sober eyes, and awk- 
 ward, little foolish skirts bobbing stifHy about the upper 
 edges of her knees. 
 
 But more than all else beside there comes back 
 to him the sense of the gloom and depression of the 
 big, dark silent house. Everything is dark, it seems 
 to him, hopelessly dark, with a certain settled, dreary 
 atmosphere of its own. The woodwork is black, the 
 furniture is black, the carpets dark and soft, the painted 
 ceilings vastly high. He hesitates upon the threshold 
 of the big front parlour ! Two beams of moated sun- 
 shine pouring through chinks in the closed inside 
 blinds, glower in little spots on the floor; all else is 
 dim. There is the coloured marble mantel-piece, the 
 green carpet with wreaths of great pink flowers; 
 (Query: where do such monstrous roses grow?) the 
 marble-topped centre table, the black walnut what-not, 
 the fringed canopies on the high windows, the ghostly 
 chairs with their linen shrouds standing in mute, stiff, 
 awful congress about the rooms, the paintings of a 
 ruin in some unnatural foreign land, black, and green 
 and deep angry red; and last of all, the lofty mirrors 
 
THE HEIR APPARENT 7 
 
 in their black and gilt frames facing each other on 
 either side of the dark room. A small face peering 
 in at one corner, sees reflected back and forth, a thou- 
 sand twilight rooms with high ground-glass chande- 
 liers; a thousand childish figures in endless procession 
 down these dim, glassy corridors that fade away and 
 disappear into the dusk. 
 
 Come, let us leave this unearthly place, and go up- 
 stairs. But upstairs is the great, west bedroom, that 
 terrible chamber with its big, black bedstead, with 
 the purple canopy, and the immense oil portraits of 
 his grandparents — the one with his long black beard, 
 the other with her curls, staring in weird and grave 
 significance at one another across the silence. Cer- 
 tainly this is the house of mysteries. Upstairs again 
 is the vacant attic, and above that still the odd and 
 eerie glass room of the cupola; the cupola, blue and 
 yellow and white, from its many coloured windows. 
 High above the mills and the railroad and the valley 
 and the serpent river, windin'g down and away and 
 out of sight — ^here is the one place for the establish- 
 ment of a far, solitary eminent domain. The only 
 practical difficulty offered is the attic — ^that great, 
 dim, wooden cave, with its strange, dry smells, full of 
 grey chaos and furtive, rustling, crouching sounds and 
 uncaused creakings that no human intellect could ex- 
 plain, turning three times about the edge of the house 
 and ending suddenly in a horrible blind corner, by the 
 rough brick wall of a chimney. Many a time the boy 
 and girl, forming an offensive and defensive alliance, 
 
8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 scamper by the entrance of this den to the attractive 
 cupola; occasionally, with creeping flesh, he ventures 
 to steal up here alone. 
 
 He mounts again in memory to the place. This 
 one, it seems, is fair Rosamond, the enchantress; and 
 this is Sindbad, the bold sailor, vastly, most desperately 
 temerarious. And there below is the hideous den 
 of the Forty Thieves, which but to mention is to 
 shudder. 
 
 But there is another myth, a mystery of their own, 
 which he remembers best of all — a man's odd name, 
 caught from chance snatches of low household con- 
 versation, someone who comes and goes unseen and 
 never must be spoken of. Here in the cupola the 
 children sit and exchange dire confidences on him 
 unheard. 
 
 How vividly those scenes come back — one in par- 
 ticular. It is a melancholy early summer day; the 
 gusty east wind spits the grey rain spitefully against 
 the window panes to wriggle down in tortuous chan- 
 nels to the sash. The conversation naturally turns 
 to dark and grewsome things, dread childish specula- 
 tions, uncanny creatures come forth from Arabian 
 folk-lore or dim Celtic superstitions, whispered to the 
 children of New England by the peasantry of Ireland ; 
 and then it comes again to that vague and awful per- 
 son, Richard Plimsoll. 
 
 " He's gone away again," the small girl says. 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I heard my father say so." 
 
 A little silence intervenes. 
 
THE HEIR APPARENT 9 
 
 " And you didn't see him this time either," the boy 
 says accusingly. 
 
 "No, I couldn't; I tried to, all the time." 
 
 " I'd a seen him. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I'd lie awake nights and listen." 
 
 " I do," the girl says earnestly. 
 
 " And didn't you ever hear him at all ? " 
 
 " Once I thought I did— a little." 
 
 Another thoughtful silence. 
 
 " It scares me," she says, " to have him come and go 
 like that — just like a ghost." 
 
 " Maybe he is a ghost," says the boy. " Maybe he's 
 a ghost," he continues, elaborating his comfortable 
 theory," that lives in your house sometimes and that's 
 why they always talk so low about him — they're afraid, 
 because they know he's comin' or he's there." 
 
 " Please don't," says the small girl shuddering. 
 
 " Did you ever think," the boy goes on, " you heard 
 anybody in your house ? " 
 
 "No^ did you?" 
 
 " Sometimes I do — queer noises — down there, as if 
 something lived there." 
 
 " O, don't," the girl says sharply, the quick tears 
 springing to her eyes. 
 
 A lone wasp buzzes up the window pane, the east 
 wind rattles the loose sash, the rain drums wearily on 
 the flat roof. From below of a sudden comes a strange 
 sound, distinctly, unmistakably from the attic. 
 
 "Did you hear it?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
lo THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Maybe something is there and it's heard you." 
 
 '' Who's afraid of it," the boy says, advancing to the 
 open stairway and half calHng down ; " I'm not." 
 
 " Neither am I," says the second small being, brist- 
 ling with nervous courage. 
 
 Nevertheless it seems better to withdraw. They 
 go down together, eyes fixed on the yellow attic door ; 
 together they turn down the second stairs, stiff, erect, 
 with that awful feeling of suspense in the rigid back 
 and neck: — 
 
 " Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread. 
 And having once turned round walks on 
 And no more turns his head; 
 Because he knows, a frightful fiend 
 Doth close behind him tread." 
 
 Strange, he thinks sometimes, how this one fiction 
 of a child's imagination has persisted in his mind; 
 and yet, of course, it was not so singular, after all. 
 Certainly it is not surprising that he sees that other 
 picture with such crystal clearness of detail. 
 
 It happens just before he has come down to break- 
 fast. Strangers are in the house; he hears the shuffle 
 of men's feet bearing something heavy up the front 
 stairs, and, passing down the other stairway, he sees 
 the empty dining room. A newspaper sprawls out 
 upon the floor, a coffee cup is overturned upon the 
 fresh white t^ble cloth and the smell of stale coffee 
 fills the room. The solitary boy, thrust aside by the 
 feverish activity of the moment, stands staring out of 
 
THE HEIR APPARENT ii 
 
 the window into the stiff yard, caught by a terror that 
 he cannot understand. His father has been stricken 
 with paralysis at his early breakfast time ; he will never 
 speak to him again. 
 
 Then comes the closing of it all — ^the crowds in the 
 high rooms, the melancholy voices that come up the 
 stairs to where he sits upon the second floor, the line of 
 black and shining carriages upon the drive. And then 
 a little later he has left the old dark house himself and 
 is with his aunt, and someway the small girl is living 
 where he used to live. Something besides his father's 
 death has happened for the boy. The great property 
 of Seth Mayhew has been found dwindled down to 
 nothing at his death and his partner, William Thorn- 
 dike rules in his stead over the Mayhew cotton mills. 
 
chapter II 
 
 THE MONSTER 
 
 11 T'OW here was John Avery Mayhew, A. B., in 
 / 1 / the year of our Lord i88 — , a man, — or shall 
 ,J^ V I say a boy ? — with straight-forward eyes a 
 determined New England face, and a strong im- 
 pression that a great deal must be done in a very 
 short time, and that he himself must be engaged in do- 
 ing it. First of all, according to the formula of the pro- 
 vincial newspaper, he was " the product of our local 
 schools " — the great democratic American schools, the 
 motley, turbulent, fighting schools of Ellington; and 
 there, in the dingy, chalky school room, in the bare, 
 gravelled recess yard, in the packs of infant savages 
 howling home along the streets late afternoons, — the 
 sense of common justice and the recognition that every 
 human thing that God stands up and sets moving 
 across this world is an individual, with rights and pos- 
 sibilities and feelings of its own, was ground and 
 pounded into his childish soul. 
 
 Then there were the years of college. If he brought 
 nothing home from them which he could exactly in- 
 ventory, as he acknowledged to himself with some re- 
 gret, you could see the changes in him very clearly 
 
 12 
 
THE MONSTER 13 
 
 — a little in his face, something in the muscles laid 
 upon his thighs and back by his baseball and boxing; 
 in his clothes, and manner and speech, and that quality 
 of moral enthusiasm, which every honest boy whether 
 he admits it or not, takes with him from his educa- 
 tion — a belief that here, at this moment of time, great 
 social movements have begun, in which he is in a 
 manner pledged to take his part. 
 
 After these three years home again, he was little 
 changed — still slender and elastic and rather tall, still 
 with something of a flush about his cheek bones ; still, 
 I am inclined to think, a little too enthusiastic — 
 flighty, you might almost call it from the more noble 
 vantage ground of middle age ; ready to waste entirely 
 too much fire in the discussion and pursuit of a moral 
 conviction. 
 
 Yet there was a somewhat soberer look in his face 
 for these last years, these three years spent in grind- 
 ing at the law in the soiled and dingy chambers of 
 the late Spencer Pratt — spent grudgingly, for econ- 
 omy's sake and the sake of his own independence, 
 though other men were away at law school, and others 
 still had made their start in life, while he stayed here, 
 shut in behind these dusty windows, marking time. 
 
 And now in this mid- July afternoon, John Avery 
 Mayhew had been admitted to the Bar. He sat with 
 his notification in his hand, at the old, ink-stained 
 green-topped walnut desk. There was something of 
 pleasure in his thoughts; something of foreboding. 
 He had come at last to the critical time, he stood alone 
 on the awful threshold of the world. Many may prate 
 
14 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 of birth and death and the pursuit of the love of 
 woman. Yet this one stony-eyed Crisis is looked at 
 once at least by every man and overshadows all the 
 rest. Once at least he feels it — the horror of the 
 great hostile city, the fear of this hungry generation 
 of men, with whom he was brought struggling into 
 the world; the wonder where he can find his place, 
 alone, unaided, unknown; where he can shoulder his 
 way, with untried strength into this jostling crowd 
 and establish himself — if indeed he can expect to do 
 so at all. Upon the hazard of this awful fight hangs 
 every plan and hope and purpose; every moral asset 
 you possess, down to the last shred of self respect. 
 Or so it seems, at least, to a boy. I sometimes think 
 the menace of this thing affects our men more than 
 most; we are so near the bare, clanking machinery 
 of life. You see it in their eyes and faces — in the 
 hard-visaged superintendents and overseers and the 
 sharp-faced young men learning the mill business — 
 a mirthlessness and a sort of silent terror lest by some 
 misstep they be thrust back and be trampled down in 
 the black crowd underneath. 
 
 For half an hour perhaps, he sat there thinking of 
 it all. Then suddenly he raised his chin from his 
 hands, threw back his thick hair from his forehead, 
 and started to get up. A new thought had strtick 
 him. There was something else happening on that 
 night — ^the dedication of the new mill; and Ruth 
 Thorndike would be there, back again from school 
 and a long vacation time in Europe. He had seen 
 her very little these last few years. 
 
THE MONSTER 15 
 
 We mark our time in a way by the dates of the 
 opening of our new mills. " That happened," a resi- 
 dent will tell you, " the year No. 2 was built." In 
 the iron reign of William Henry Harrison Thorn- 
 dike, that genius in mill operation, there were many 
 milestones. But none of all he built were greater 
 than the No. 8 — ^that huge thing of brick, whose floors 
 contain the surface of a farm — acres, almost square 
 miles — and never before or since has come such a 
 celebration as at its opening. 
 
 There it stood, the future temple of Noise and Toil 
 and Hurry, still spotless, still silent, with the last 
 sound of the workmen's hammer echoing through its 
 emptiness. The week had been dedicated to prepara- 
 tion for the event; a regiment of men, running in and 
 out, dragged small groves of hemlock trees, literal 
 miles of bunting to make the decorations, huge piles 
 of timbers to build the platforms for the great band. 
 And now, nearly closing time in the mills, there was a 
 sense of expectancy in the place; the farmers' teams 
 had begun to gather on the streets ; the band had come 
 from the city, the speaker had arrived, the guests had 
 been driven up from the station, and already, although 
 it was still broad day, early lights had begun to ap- 
 pear in the dark house on the hill, and the pale white 
 gleam of electricity showed from the windows of the 
 new factory. 
 
 Mayhew walked down the steep, narrow, dirty- 
 plastered stairway of the old block and stood in the 
 street door. As he did so, he recognised two young 
 men in a dog-cart drawn up before Connifif's new 
 
i6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 store. They were J. Chippendale Merriman of Grim- 
 dale and Talcott Lynde — ^two acquaintances — fellows 
 who had been in his own class at college. He saw 
 them without much enthusiasm. Merriman he liked, 
 as everybody did, as happy friendly, chirruping a 
 little chap as ever lived. Lynde he detested.. He was 
 an extreme type of the college aristocracy — those 
 figures in tan top hats you see sauntering through the 
 college campus trailed by their bull terriers, a peculiar 
 class, set apart — who do absolutely nothing, either in 
 athletics or scholarship, but who nevertheless establish 
 an esoteric standard, known and severely insisted upon 
 by themselves, which apparently graduates the value 
 of human life according to the size of one's tailor and 
 livery bills; those men, in short, who are introducing 
 into the free democracy of our American colleges year 
 after year, the spirit of Caste, the taint of pseudo Eng- 
 lish views and manners and the cheap insolence of the 
 family check book. 
 
 It was too late now, however, to escape recognition, 
 if he had wanted to. Little Merriman had already 
 seen him and was calling his tall companion's attention 
 to him. 
 
 " Hello," he said, in his high childish voice, " here's 
 Jockie Mayhew. 
 
 " How de do, how de do," he said effusively, reach- 
 ing over the high dog-cart to shake hands. 
 
 " How de do," said Lynde gruffly, with a short nod. 
 
 The two exchanged stiff handshakes. 
 
 " Well, where are you now — still here ? " said Lynde, 
 the gracious conversationalist. 
 
THE MONSTER 17 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Studying law, aren't you, Mayhew?" interjected 
 Chippy Merriman. 
 
 " Yes, I was just admitted to the Bar to-day." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," said Chippy. 
 
 " Were you ? that's good," vouchsafed Lynde. 
 
 " Well, see you later," said Merriman. " We've got 
 to get up to the Thorndikes now. You'll be down at 
 the mill to-night, of course ? " 
 
 Lynde, having lighted his cigarette, nodded a silent 
 good-bye, and the two drove off. 
 
 It was somewhat late when Mayhew arrived at the 
 festival ; the concert was just closing and the last blare 
 of the band was sounding through the whitewashed 
 hall. As he pushed his way to the platform of the 
 guests, he heard the silvery-voiced orator, an imported 
 notability from another state, begihning his solemn- 
 faced congratulatory speech. 
 
 The noted speaker was proud of his country — ^he 
 did not deny it — proud of " her rocks and rills, her 
 woods and templed hills," proud of her past, of her 
 future destiny among the nations. And you of New 
 England, he could not help thinking of it as he sat 
 here to-night, what a proud heritage is yours; New 
 England, home of the Pilgrim and Puritan, cradle of 
 liberty, mother of states and men, who would not be 
 proud of her lofty traditions, her high intelligence and 
 purpose, her great forward strides in industry. It 
 was the present wonder among nations, and he de- 
 voutly thanked his God for it, this great industrial 
 progress of New England under the wise policies of 
 
1 8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 our great government. And he hoped it would not be 
 amiss, here among friends, to speak what his heart 
 prompted him, to point out how much of this pros- 
 perity — these comfortable homes, and higher wages — 
 development morally and intellectually — was due to 
 the beneficent guidance of our grand republic during 
 the past twenty years, to the careful forethought of 
 our fellow citizens, who represent us at Wash- 
 ington; due as many of us must think, to the great 
 American policy of safeguarding the American work- 
 man. 
 
 His eye passed proudly as he said it over the foreign 
 faces beneath — the Horde, densely crowded, at the 
 edges of the hall, half incapable of consecutive Eng- 
 lish speech, embarrassed, agape, only dimly conscious, 
 seemingly, of the meaning of this occasion they had 
 their part in. 
 
 On the platform behind him sat the rulers of the 
 herd, raised over them. Directly back, in the first 
 row, was William Henry Harrison Thorndike, the 
 master of the mill, his long arms folded on his breast 
 — tall, dark, silent, iron-grey, with the deep straight 
 marks slanting down beneath his nose at either side 
 of his hard mouth, and stubby black moustache; a 
 morose, sleepless intelligence, whose melancholy eyes 
 ranged slowly back and forth across the scene beneath 
 him. Beside and behind him were the rest, John 
 Carnochan, and Adoniram Pitkin, and all the others, 
 and their children and their children's families; and, 
 half obscured in the background, as always — the grey 
 bushy beard and rugged figure of Morgan Black, 
 
THE MONSTER 19 
 
 motionless in his hard, uncomfortable seat. Besides 
 there sat the figures of the magnificent Mrs. Miranda 
 Dibble — in purple and diamonds, and fine raiment; 
 and her daughter Pomona, in green silk, directly 
 in front of him — the eye did not pass these lightly 
 by. 
 
 The last smooth tones of the speaker's voice died 
 out in the hall ; a quick patter of applause came from 
 the platform; a few of those nearest on the floor, 
 clerks and overseers and their families, followed; out 
 of the crowd at the edges of the hall came a confused 
 and stupid clamour, in awkward imitation. Then the 
 noise of the band burst forth again. 
 
 John Mayhew had come up beneath the platform 
 several moments before, and stood there looking up. 
 Ruth Thorndike had come back — there were few In 
 the hall who had not noticed that. She sat in the 
 front row, beside her father. She was dressed — ^let 
 him think, does he still remember? Yes, and always 
 will— in Something White — a pretty woman surely 
 would not require a man's remembering more than 
 that; in Something White, rather close fitting, a little 
 open at the neck, with a white knit head-covering 
 slipped back upon her shoulders. Her face was 
 flushed with youth and the excitement of the time. 
 Glints of pleasure shone in her bright, dark eyes. No 
 man could doubt that one at least was enjoying this 
 occasion. 
 
 The company on the platform was preparing for 
 the grand march. Suddenly the glance of Miss 
 Thorndike fell on Mayhew's face below her. She gave 
 
20 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 a little imperious motion for him to come up. When 
 he had done so, she met him with a most severe ex- 
 pression on her face. 
 
 " What do you mean, John Mayhew," she ex- 
 claimed, "by coming here so late? I've been looking 
 everywhere for you." 
 
 He went through his excuses. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I suppose I'll have to forgive 
 you, but I don't Uke it." 
 
 " That's a nice way to meet a fellow," he com- 
 plained, " after all this time you might at least shake 
 hands." 
 
 The corners of her mouth went up; she laughed 
 and extended her hand to him. 
 
 " Now I want you to come with me and meet my 
 guest, Miss Gildersleeve." 
 
 The tall striking young woman in the elaborate dress 
 to whom she led him, bowed and murmured her ac- 
 knowledgment of the introduction. It seemed she 
 did not care to enter the grand march, but had a 
 languid desire to see it from the platform. 
 
 " You've never been in Ellington before ? " asked 
 Mayhew, when they had reached their seats. 
 
 " Yes, once, when I was a small child, but I've al- 
 most forgotten it now. I feel that I know it awfully 
 well, though, because my father and Mr. Thorndike 
 are such old friends." 
 
 The line had already begun to form, with William 
 Thorndike and the wife of one of the overseers at 
 the head. Behind them a little way, Ruth Thorndike 
 and Lynde took their places. Back along the hall, 
 
THE MONSTER 21 
 
 stiff, awkward, embarrassed, — the mill people edged, 
 into the long line. 
 
 "Isn't it interesting ! " said the imported beauty 
 looking about with supercilious loftiness, " I think it's 
 so wonderful — all these people." 
 
 The grand march, pompously piloted by the fat 
 prompter with the small and delicately curled mous- 
 tache, had begun to move. Gradually the step was' 
 taken up along the line and one by one of the couples 
 went slowly by the stand — soipe robust and stolid; 
 some heavy-footed, stooped and tired; some with a 
 strange, swaggering assumption of indifference and 
 ease. There came to Mayhew, looking down the hall, 
 a memory of a thing he had read in college — a saying 
 of an old aristocratic social philosopher of another 
 time — " The people ; it is a beast." There it was be- 
 fore him in the flesh — ^the beast, the monster, sullen, 
 inarticulate, dimly conscious — writhing its great length 
 in and out around the hall. 
 
 " It looks like a big snake, doesn't it ? " he said 
 phrasing his thought most awkwardly. 
 
 " Perhaps it does," said the young woman, " I had 
 not thought of it. 
 
 " Aren't their faces awful? " she continued, " so 
 hard, so revolting, don't you think? You know I 
 can't stand having them even look at me; and yet it 
 is so fascinating — all this place here, you know. I 
 think it's wonderful what Mr. Thorndike has done 
 here." 
 
 Gradually the spectacle lost its engrossing interest 
 for her. 
 
22 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Let me see," she said, " you were in college with 
 some of my friends, I think. You knew Courtney 
 Matthews, didn't you?" 
 
 " O yes, he was in my class," he said and stopped. 
 Matthews was another of the Lynde class whom he 
 especially avoided. 
 
 " He's such a clever fellow, and he's doing so well. 
 He's in with his father, you know." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it." 
 
 " And of course you knew Talcott Lynde ? " 
 
 " O yes, I knew him quite well. Did you meet him 
 first to-night ? " 
 
 " O no, I met him last summer. We were on a 
 yachting cruise together — a whole lot of young people. 
 We had a perfectly charming time. They all thought 
 Mr. Lynde was splendid. He was awfully popular 
 in college, wasn't he ? " 
 
 Lynde popular ! He thought. " Why yes," he said, 
 with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. " I 
 think they liked him." 
 
 " And you knew the BigeloweSj of course," she said, 
 mentioning one of the rich resident families of the 
 college town. 
 
 " No, I never happened to meet them," he said. 
 
 " Why, how queer, I supposed everybody knew 
 them." 
 
 The Lofty One became a trifle less communicative. 
 John Mayhew did his best to entertain her, with less 
 and less success. 
 
 "Did you, indeed, I should think it would have been 
 
THE MONSTER 23 
 
 very interesting," she said every now and then abstrac- 
 tedly. There were larger pauses in the talk ; try as he 
 would he might not penetrate that little charmed circle 
 of prejudice, of gowns and girls and men and horses 
 in which her mind revolved. 
 
 " Isn't that Lynde and Ruth across the hall ? " she 
 asked, leaning over, " They seem to be having such a 
 good time," she remarked unconsciously. " He's such 
 a jolly fellow. They say he has no end of money." 
 She became more and more abstracted. It was with 
 the greatest pleasure in life he saw the grand march 
 come to a close, and Talcott Lynde arriving to relieve 
 him. 
 
 " Miss Thorndike asked me to say that she would 
 like to see you below the platform," he said to May- 
 hew. 
 
 He escaped with the greatest haste compatible with 
 decency. 
 
 As he came down to her, Ruth Thomdike's clear, 
 frank eyes were on his face, scrutinising it. She 
 smiled when he caught her. There was something 
 about this girl's smile — so candid, and straightforward, 
 and friendly — that no man could feel ill at ease with 
 her. The blundering swain, thoroughly chagrined by 
 his unsuccessful court to the Impossible One, became 
 a man again. 
 
 " I'm awfully glad to see you, John," she said, slid- 
 ing along with a little quick motion on the bare yellow 
 bench on which she sat. " It doesn't seem as if I'd 
 seen you for ages." 
 
24 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " You haven't, have you ? " he said, standing up 
 before her. " It's longer than that. So this is fair 
 Rosamond ? " 
 
 " And this is Sindbad, the terrible sailor. If we 
 could only hear Richard PlimsoU approaching some- 
 where, the gathering would be complete." 
 
 They laughed together at the memory of the childish 
 terror. 
 
 " But see here, young man," Ruth cried, " aren't 
 you going to ask me to dance ? " 
 
 " Why certainly I am — that is, if it's the right thing 
 for you to do; out there in the crowd, you know," he 
 said doubtfully. 
 
 " Of course it is, why shouldn't it be? Besides, I'm 
 just dying to dance." 
 
 Suddenly the huge voices of the band broke into a 
 great, exultant waltz; and in a moment these two had 
 swung out on to the floor — two glad, young creatures, 
 full of health and hope and the joy of living — ^filled 
 with the deep inherited delight of the dance. Whence 
 has it come to us, this fierce desire of the dance ; from 
 what far distant springs of our blood? Your grand- 
 father's grandfather sent it down to you, and was 
 scarce nearer to its source than you. 
 
 He was tall and elastic and slender then; and she 
 light, not with the uncanny, eerie lightness of the 
 flufify woman, but more like some wild, free thing of 
 the woods, dancing with every muscle in her happy 
 young body. At last, after a long circuit of the hall, 
 he led her flushed but still protesting that she was not 
 tired, to a corner by the platform. 
 
THE MONSTER 25 
 
 " So you are back again in Ellington for good," 
 she said when they were seated. 
 
 " For good or bad." 
 
 " And what are you doing ? " 
 
 " That's it ; that's what you women always ask us 
 poor slaves the first thing: what are you doing?" 
 
 " But really, John, what are you ? " 
 
 He told her of his admission to the bar. 
 
 " That's splendid," she exclaimed, with her usual 
 vivid enthusiasm. " And you start practicing right 
 away — here, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. My connections are all here, of 
 course, and I'm going to try it, anyway." 
 
 " Yes," she said energetically ; " more than that 
 you're going to succeed. That's what a man's for, isn't 
 it? Look at all this to-night — it's my father's success, 
 or that's the way it seems to me. You don't know how 
 proud I am of him and all he's done, John. Some- 
 time we'll see you do something like it — only in your 
 own way." 
 
 " Your father is a remarkable man," said Mayhew 
 soberly, " we can't all be like him ; and we can't all 
 have the opportunity. Look at those people, for in- 
 stance. What can they ever hope to become ? " 
 
 She looked thoughtfully around the hall. Two girls 
 came up out of the crowd and passed by them whis- 
 pering. 
 
 " Ain't she lovely," said one. The other one 
 shrugged her shoulders defiantly. She was a rather 
 tall, pale girl with red hair, dressed in plain black. 
 
 " Who wouldn't be ? " she answered. 
 
26 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Ruth Thorndike heard them and flushed; she 
 glanced pityingly at their poor little finery, as they 
 moved away. " Poor girls," she said, half to herself. 
 
 " But it's different with you," she said, " you'll have 
 your chance." 
 
 Suddenly she smote the arm of the settee with her 
 small fist. 
 
 " O, how I wish I were a man," she said, " to plan 
 and fight and accomplish." 
 
 Suddenly there appeared, bearing around the corner 
 of the platform, an element of danger — the god-like 
 form of Reginald de Courtney Pitkin — the flower of 
 our young manhood, only son of Adoniram Pitkin's 
 old age. Colonel, by the grace of Morgan Black, on 
 our governor's staff — all effulgent in gold lace and 
 buttons. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike gave a little start backward. 
 
 " Sit forward and let me get behind you, John, 
 quick. How I hate that man," she commented viciously. 
 
 It was too late; Colonel Pitkin, already suspicious, 
 advanced with his customary swaggering nonchalance 
 straight toward them. 
 
 " Hello," he said to Mayhew, nodding curtly. 
 
 " Now that's a nice way. Miss Ruth," he blustered. 
 
 " What ? " she asked innocently. 
 
 " Running off here and hiding. I tell you, it looks 
 kind of peculiar for the hostess of the evening, if you 
 don't mind my saying so." 
 
 " They couldn't hide you that way, could they, 
 Reggie ? " she asked maliciously. " My, but aren't we 
 grand?" 
 
THE MONSTER 27 
 
 , The shot had no effect upon this warlike breast. 
 
 " Well," he said seriously, " I started first to put on 
 my ordinary togs. But then I said, no sir, I'll wear 
 just what I would anywhere, and I think I was right. 
 I tell you, Miss Ruth, you can laugh if you want to, 
 but we owe something to these people at times like 
 this just as much as you would to anyone else. , That's 
 the way I look at it," said the Grand Duke of Pitkin, 
 gazing proudly at the multitude. 
 
 " O come," said Ruth Thorndike, " don't try to make 
 us believe it's all duty that made you put on that lovely 
 new uniform." 
 
 " That's all right," said the imperturbable young 
 hero. 
 
 " But that ain't what I came up here for. I came 
 to claim that quadrille you owe me." 
 
 " It's too late now, they've formed their sets." 
 
 " No, I've got a place waiting for you." 
 
 " But I'm awfully comfortable here," she said, im- 
 pudently leaning back and gazing at him. 
 
 " Come now," said Colonel Pitkin. " You've 
 bothered me enough. Miss Ruth, and you're keeping 
 the others waiting." 
 
 " O, all right," sighed Miss Ruth, getting up and 
 placing her hand on his arm. 
 
 " Can't I have another dance to-night ? " said John 
 Mayhew, breaking in. 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Ruth, " we're going home 
 very soon now. But you must come over and see me 
 soon." She turned and smiled and nodded as she went 
 away. 
 
28 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 He watched them disappear into the crowd. 
 
 All at once, from the other direction Chippy Merri- 
 man, the very pocket image of evening perfection, 
 came hurrying along. 
 
 "Hello, Jockie," he said. "Seen Talcott Lynde 
 anywhere? I want to see him awfully." 
 
 Just then his eye fell upon him dancing across the 
 hall. 
 
 " O there he is," he said, " I'll have to wait till this 
 dance is over." 
 
 " He's a great dancer, Jockie. I like to see him on 
 the floor. He's a bully fellow, isn't he? I say, who's 
 that tall girl dancing with him? O, that Miss Gilder- 
 sleeve ; ain't she a beaut, though ? Well, see you later," 
 said Chippy, pattering off again into the crowd. 
 
 Two other figures were coming toward him now — 
 Thorndike and Adoniram Pitkin — seriously discussing 
 the speaker of the evening. 
 
 " Good speech," commented Thorndike, laconically. 
 
 " He gave it to them straight," said Adoniram, en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 " How'd you like it, young man ? " said Thorndike 
 to Mayhew? 
 
 " He's a good speaker, but I don't beUeve everything 
 in his speech," said Mayhew. 
 
 " What's the matter with it? " 
 
 " O, I don't know." 
 
 " The tariff, I suppose. They taught you different 
 from that in college, didn't they ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mayhew frankly, "they did." 
 
 " Well, that's all right ; wait till you've been out a 
 
THE MONSTER 29 
 
 while. You'll see the practical side of it, as the rest 
 of us do. Come up and see us, sometime," he added 
 as he walked away. " I'd like to talk it over with you." 
 
 " All right, Mr. Thorndike," laughed Mayhew, " I 
 will." 
 
 The quadrille was well under way. The round 
 prompter, heated to the yawning verge of apoplexy, 
 stood on the platform, tearing his fat voice into shreds, 
 bawling into the great room. The couples shuffled 
 back and forth, or stood awkwardly waiting their 
 turns; the green Irish boys, with their cuffs wander- 
 ing down over the knuckles of their big swinging 
 hands, the dapper Frenchmen, in grand toilet, posing, 
 strutting, using their handkerchiefs and eyes; the 
 merry Irish girls; the pale, pretty French girls; the 
 awkward Poles, silent and downcast, or showing their 
 red gums in great sudden laughs. The thing was 
 growing tiresome; Mayhew made up his mind he 
 would go home. 
 
 As he went down to the head of the bricklined stair- 
 way, he stopped. The couples passed and repassed 
 him, going down to the huge feudal feast for the com- 
 mon herd, set in great mounds of food upon the second 
 floor. There it was — the beast — the monster, the 
 coarse, common people. There under his eyes, beneath 
 the hiss of the electric lights, the great stupid multi- 
 tude turned and twisted and gorged itself. A certain 
 feeling of repugnance came into his mind, alongside 
 of his deep, and cherished democratic ideals. He 
 passed down the stairway — down by the soiled and 
 dishevelled banquet hall, out into the damp night air. 
 
30 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 As he walked away he turned and looked back at the 
 white gleams of the great building. The shrill voices 
 of a few small boys piped about the entrance; as he 
 went along he heard the grunts and groanings of the 
 big band across the soft stillness of the night. 
 
Chapter III 
 
 THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 
 
 ^^N the first Tuesday after the fii'st Monday in 
 ■ m November we go through every year the 
 V-^ sacred, inherited right of citizenship through- 
 out our ancient state. Half a million of high-browed 
 voters, more or less, reading their newspapers be- 
 neath the family lamp the long evenings of the long 
 year, stalk, solemnly to the polls, and solemnly they 
 stalk away again under the fond impression they have 
 elected another governor. For two months the Holy 
 Self-Satisfaction of the New England voter has been 
 enshrined and revered; and the tumult of the appeals 
 has come up to it, the noise of the shouting of the 
 orators, and the shrieks of all the press, from the 
 great blatant Morning Announcer at the capital to the 
 last faintly whimpering country weekly in the south- 
 east corner of the state ; square miles of logic and ex- 
 clamation points. And now the Intelligent Voter ap- 
 proaches the fatal ballot box, stooped with the awful 
 responsibility of American citizenship, and votes. 
 
 And yet, do you think that any one madly supposes 
 that the matter is really settled at this time? There 
 being but one party truly good. Reason necessarily 
 
 31 
 
32 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 makes but one choice. This grand old state stands 
 firmly with both feet on the platform of the repub- 
 lican party. And when the last orator has proudly 
 pointed to the past and gazed with no slight con- 
 fidence into the future, and the last sleepy ballot has 
 been cast and the last bald-headed delegate has filed 
 out of the republican state convention, the choice of 
 every little officer of the state is already sure as the 
 judgments of Jehovah. 
 
 So much is fixed and determined by the state con- 
 vention. Then who, asks one peering still further 
 back into the nature of things, has fixed the state 
 convention? Who, it may be asked in return, would 
 naturally fix it; who owns the newspapers, and hires 
 the lawyers and pays the ministers' salaries, and doles 
 out their daily bread to the great body of the people? 
 There is only one — the manufacturer. The American 
 game of politics is played by great and small. These 
 men play it grandly; all the year they sit there sur- 
 rounded by their little private courts, brooding these 
 things out in their own domains ; nodding their solemn 
 heads together in conferences and parceling out the 
 larger things equitably to themselves and their friends 
 and their wives, relatives and their lawyers. And 
 when at last the manufacturers march down from their 
 valleys to the state convention they already know by 
 heart all that is ordained to be accomplished, and al- 
 ready the supplicants for another year are lined up 
 before them with their dishes in their hands. 
 
 I suppose it is no secret that William Henry Harri- 
 son Thorndike wanted to be governor in i88- ; indeed 
 
THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 33 
 
 the newspapers mentioned him early in the year. He 
 could have been congressman a half a dozen times, 
 but he passed it on to younger men. The state legis- 
 lature was not for such as he. For some years now 
 he had been the national committeeman — the one 
 natural ambition of a great manufacturer. No one 
 could appreciate more than William Thorndike the 
 wielding of this vast silent power of the god of the 
 machine. But beyond this he wanted to be governor; 
 a personal ambition he had had for years. 
 
 Morton, the present governor, had had his two 
 years ; and when they had got him his second term his 
 friends had thanked them, with tears in their eyes, 
 for giving him this one -last year of public life. The 
 lieutenant governor, Perkins, who might naturally be 
 advanced, was impossible — an oily, artful politician of 
 the middle class, who had already been allowed to go 
 too far. It certainly looked like Thorndike's year. 
 
 But toward the last of July Thorndike began to 
 have suspicions of what was going to occur. He 
 drove up at night to the house of Morgan Black and 
 asked him what these new things meant. Morgan 
 Black heard him grimly, sitting in his black walnut 
 library, with the orange light from his heavily shaded 
 reading lamp upon his beard and mouth, and his eyes 
 up in the shadow. 
 
 " It looks as if he was getting kind of willing for 
 a third .term," he said. " That wouldn't surprise any- 
 body much; he always did want all he could grab. 
 Then the newspapers are hinting at it down that way 
 too; that looks as if they might try to do something. 
 
34 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 I can get hold of it in two or three days. When I do 
 I'll let you know." 
 
 Thorndike went back into his own court and waited. 
 There was no doubt there as to what would happen. 
 The editor of the little evening paper that he owned", 
 the young congressman he had made, the police court 
 judge he had chosen, the sharp- faced young technol- 
 ogy graduate who was his chief reliance at the mill, all 
 saw but one handwriting on the wall. But Thorn- 
 dike was still restless. 
 
 On that night the three people sat in the library to- 
 gether, as they had been the past two weeks — William 
 Thorndike studying the newspaper, Miss Elizabeth 
 Gildersleeve reading the latest novel. Miss Ruth 
 Thorndike playing her piano. 
 
 " Ahem," said a loud voice at the door. 
 
 " O dear," said Miss Ruth Thorndike, sharply 
 wheeling around on the stool, and leaning her elbow 
 upon the piano, " there's that tiresome old Mr. Pitkin." 
 
 No one in Ellington, nor in Stark county for that 
 matter, can mistake that loud, portentous clearing of 
 the throat, which announces the entrance of Adoniram 
 Pitkin like the solemn blare of trumpets at the play. 
 There he came by the maid, slowly, gravely turning 
 his toes far out, like a duck, holding his old, square- 
 crowned brown derby in his hand, with his stolidj 
 pufify face, his glasses, his round, close, thin, grey 
 beard, his old-fashioned collar full of hairy fatness, 
 his flat, ready-made, black satin tie with the big horse- 
 shoe pin, his limp, old, black coat and his dark, figured 
 vest, stretched tent-like from the top of his chest to 
 
THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 35 
 
 the summit of his mound-like stomach. A fat, short, 
 shabby man followed him, with a dingy overcoat, and 
 a slight fringe on his trousers bottom; defects which 
 were only partially obscured by the shining new silk 
 hat held conspicuously in his right hand.' 
 
 " O how do you do, Mr. Pitkin, glad to see you," 
 said Miss Hypocrite, rustling forward; thus fulfilling 
 her well-known vow that "no-body should be stupid 
 in her house, not if she could help it" 
 
 " This is the Rev. Mr. Simpson," said Mr. Pitkin 
 pompously, introducing the man with the thick black 
 moustache. The visitor extended a moist and flabby 
 hand. 
 
 " And this is Miss Gildersleeve," said the hostess. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Gildersleeve murmured. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Pitkin, " I want to introduce you 
 to the next governor of our state, William Thorn- 
 dike." 
 
 " I'm sure we all hope so down our way," said the 
 visitor, heartily. 
 
 " Mr. Pitkin is a little premature," said Thorndike, 
 in a cold voice. " Won't you sit down ? " 
 
 " Now I know you want to talk politics," said Ruth, 
 " so we girls will leave you and give you a chance." 
 
 " No indeed, I protest, we can't allow that at all, 
 young ladies," said the visitor with a pronounced 
 clerical ogle. His whole figure went with his mous- 
 tache — coarse features, a thick meaty trunk and a 
 fleshly lower lip. His gallantry was ill timed. In 
 reality they did want to be alone. Mr. Pitkin shuffled 
 his feet. 
 
36 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " O may we stay ? We'll be awfully good, won't 
 we?" said Miss Ruth, turning with mischievous en- 
 thusiasm to her friend. 
 
 " Yes indeed," said the latter, languidly. Scenting 
 social contamination in the air, she had clambered up 
 on her pedestal again, and sat looking down with half 
 closed eyes from that giddy height. 
 
 " This is the Mr. Simpson who preached the famous 
 tariff sermon," announced Adoniram Pitkin. "He 
 was in college with me." 
 
 " Is that so ? " said Miss Ruth. " The sermon we've 
 heard so much about ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Pitkin. 
 
 " Isn't that interesting. You ought to tell us how 
 you came to preach it." 
 
 The attention was most grateful to Mr. Simpson. 
 
 " There isn't much to say, young ladies," he re- 
 marked, thrusting forward his chest. " I just had my 
 beliefs on that vital subject in American development 
 and I gave them, that's all." Satisfaction exuded from 
 every pore of his thick carcass; one could almost hear 
 his purr. His self confidence became superb. 
 
 " I suppose you are still with the same church ? " 
 asked Miss Ruth. 
 
 " No, I left them last fall. We'd been bumping 
 along together for six years, and we both needed a 
 change. So one Sunday morning last Jail I just got 
 up in my pulpit and told; 'em, I guessed we'd better 
 agree to disagree, and I'd, get out. I believe in saying- 
 what you think, young ladies." 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Gildersleeve's dissatisfied upper lip 
 
THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 37 
 
 wrinkled more than ever; Miss Ruth Thorndike was 
 apparently eating hers. 
 
 "Last fall," he continued, "I did some stumping 
 for the party." 
 
 " Mr. Simpson is now a candidate for one of our 
 consulships," announced Mr. Pitkin. 
 
 Then the doorbell rang again. 
 
 " We seem to be popular to-night," said Miss Ruth, 
 getting up. 
 
 Adoniram Pitkin, taking advantage of the little dis- 
 turbance, nudged his chair a little toward William 
 Thorndike. 
 
 " As regards to Mr. Simpson's appointment," he said 
 anxiously, " I suppose there's no new developments ? " 
 
 " No," said the manufacturer's colourless voice. 
 
 " Well, I told Mr. Simpson as long as he was here, 
 it wouldn't do him any harm to come up and see 
 you." 
 
 Not a muscle relaxed in Thorndike's rigid face. 
 
 " He's made a sort of general application," con- 
 tinued Mr. Pitkin, in a low and hurried voice. 
 
 " I haven't asked for much ; some inconspicuous 
 place in the service," said Mr. Simpson humbly. 
 
 " And I told him I thought you might perhaps ad- 
 vise him — " 
 
 " Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Thorndike, rising 
 to greet the coming guest. 
 
 It was Roland Hyde, the politician; a glance of in- 
 telligence flashed between the two men as they shook 
 hands. Thorndike knew immediately that he had been 
 sent down by Morgan Black. The caller advanced 
 
38 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 across the room, a smiling jest upon his hps, his long, 
 white-fingered hand before him — Roland Hyde, 
 smoothest of all republican politicians, the ultimate 
 ideal of the hotel cafe handsome man, pink-fleshed 
 face, dark moustache, cleft chin, grey temples, immac- 
 ulate, after the blonde school of dressing — of light 
 fine checked suits, white vests barred with gold chains, 
 and white Ascot ties, the whole bounded at either ex- 
 tremity by the sleek blackness of silk hat and patent 
 leather shoes. You always saw him thus, with his 
 ready smile, full of white teeth, the devoted handshake 
 from that wonderful, soft, long hand with its diamond 
 ring, a timely, laughing compliment and a story, when 
 one or two men were gathered together, that would 
 make your hair curl. It was known by some that he 
 had sleepless purposes of his own, that he wanted to be 
 congressman, and that, back of it all, those shrewd, hu- 
 morous eyes lay always in wait, watching, judging, 
 storing up information for another day. 
 
 The greetings made, Adoniram Pitkin started to in- 
 troduce his friend. 
 
 " O, I know Mr. Simpson," said Hyde coolly. The 
 Rev. Mr. Simpson was of small consequence, ap- 
 parently. Roland Hyde knew the value of a man to 
 the fraction of the diameter of an eyelash. If he 
 passed him by, you could kick him on sight with per- 
 fect impunity forever afterwards. 
 
 Roland Hyde immediately began playing the gallant 
 to the young women; even Miss Gildersleeve evinced 
 a human interest under the skillful appeals of this 
 master. Little bursts of laughter started in their part 
 
THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 39 
 
 of the room. Occasionally you could hear under its 
 cover, the discreet appeals of Adoniram Pitkin from 
 the other side — " as regards to that, Mr. Thorndike 
 — ; " Mr. Simpson repeating the modesty of his de- 
 sires for " an inconspicuous place." " Well, I'll see 
 what I can do," said William Thorndike. 
 
 " I saw a friend of yours, Miss Ruth, as I came up," 
 said Mr. Pitkin, entering the general conversation 
 again. 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 " Young Mayhew." 
 
 " They say," continued Mr. Pitkin, devoting his re- 
 marks to Thorndike, " he's turned democrat." 
 
 " Yes," said Thorndike. 
 
 " What makes you think that ? " asked Miss Thorn- 
 dike quickly. 
 
 " He said so himself," said Mr. Pitkin. " He came 
 home from college with a lot of crazy theorising no- 
 tions about the tariff, and he's mugwumped." 
 
 " The democrats are making a big card of fellows 
 like that," observed Hyde. 
 
 " They say he made a speech the other night at the 
 banquet of the Young Men's Democratic Club," said 
 Pitkin. 
 
 " He'll find he's made a mistake if he takes up that 
 sort of thing too much," said Thorndike. 
 
 " Hasn't he the ng\it, if he wants to ? " asked his 
 daughter, rather belligerently. 
 
 " O yes, he has the right," said the manufacturer. 
 
 It seemed that Mr. Pitkin and his friend must be 
 going ; they filed seriously out of the door. 
 
40 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Still after his consulship," said Hyde. " Well, I 
 hope they'll find a place far enough off to put him." 
 
 " I'm sorry about young Mayhew," said Thorndike, 
 reflectively. " I'd intended to help him out a little." 
 
 " If he wants to turn democrat, it's his privilege, I 
 suppose," said Hyde. 
 
 " Yes, but if he hadn't we might have helped him 
 a little; we could have got him that associate judge- 
 ship, I think, for one thing." 
 
 " Can't you get it now ? " spoke up Miss Ruth. 
 
 " Not for a democrat." 
 
 " O yes, that's so," she said quickly. 
 
 The two girls got up to go. 
 
 " We'll leave you two men alone, now," said Miss 
 Ruth, " and you can talk all you want to." They dis- 
 appeared into the hall and upstairs. 
 
 Thorndike offered his box of cigars to the other, 
 and the two men lighted up. 
 
 "Well?" said Thorndike. 
 
 " Morton's been to Black." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He wants it." 
 
 Thorndike sat erect, waiting; he rolled his cigar 
 from one corner of his mouth to the other. 
 
 " It's his wife," said Hyde. " She likes it and she 
 won't give it up. She's bound he shall hang on an- 
 other year, and she's swung him around." 
 
 " He promised to get out after this year." 
 
 " I know he did, but he lied. He's killed himself 
 forever in this state by it. But what are you going 
 to do about it?" 
 
THE GODS IN THE MACHINE 41 
 
 "What does Black think?" 
 
 " He thinks he's got to have it." 
 
 Not a quiver in the dark face to show that the am- 
 bition of a Hfetime had been again deferred; perhaps 
 lost forever. 
 
 " You see it's this way," explained Hyde. " He's 
 in this to stay. If we go to fight him he'll get mad 
 and he'll turn all his strength to Perkins. And you 
 know what Perkins has got — all the Odd Fellows, and 
 the country vote and the Baptists — he's pretty strong 
 in his way — and if Morton throws his delegates to 
 him, we can't beat him. He could make an awful 
 fight this year, just because he's lieutenant governor. 
 But if you drop out, we'll just simply drop him from 
 lieutenant governor this year with the help of Morton 
 and. get him out of the way. And next year you'll 
 get it sure; they can't beat you." 
 
 " I've heard that before," said Thorndike. 
 
 " Yes, but not in any such way as that." 
 
 The two men sat there talking an hour, one grim, 
 erect and silent; the other talking, explaining, explain- 
 ing, explaining, with little deprecatory gestures of the 
 long, white hands. " For the good of the party," he 
 said, " In your own interest," " For the, sake of har- 
 mony." Thorndike did not once oppose him, he sat 
 there simply listening. 
 
 " All right," he said in a dry voice, when he had 
 heard it all. " You can withdraw my name." 
 
 The younger man had gone; Thorndike sat in his 
 silent library, staring with hard, emotionless face 
 across the room. 
 
42 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Aren't you coming up to bed pretty soon, Dad ? " 
 called a voice from upstairs. " You haven't slept very 
 much lately. Now come on, that's a good boy." 
 
 " All right," he called. 
 
 As he came heavily up the stairs he heard her rust- 
 ling quickly back into her room. 
 
 " Good night," said the clear young voice above. 
 
 " Good night," said the hard, dry, disappointed 
 voice from the stairway. 
 
Chapter IV 
 
 IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 
 
 J^OME exuberant youth fresh from college gave 
 
 \ her the name, I fancy. Circe Dibble — no other 
 KJ mind would have formulated such an astound- 
 ing and irreverent combination. You go north from 
 the town a mile and a half ; and you see the house, an 
 ultra-gothic structure of brick, with steep, figured 
 slate roofs, set back on a little knoll; and beyond and 
 below it rise the great belching towers of the Dibble 
 Print Works. 
 
 There she sits the long year through among her 
 monsters — a big woman with a mass of flat frizzles, 
 preternaturally black, heavy eyebrows, black piercing 
 eyes, dark clothes, always, and a thin-lipped mouth, 
 with crooked corners, like a turtle's. 
 
 When you see the place at first, you are appalled. 
 Some iron manufacturer, you say, with a heart of 
 steel and a zinc soul, has done this thing; cast-iron 
 dogs, pointers, and pugs and setters, gentle does, huge 
 branching stags, with their heads screwed around and 
 fixed in perpetual discomfort — all distributed care- 
 lessly about the lawn, staring with uncanny earnest- 
 ness toward the horizon. A spouting swan stands in 
 
 43 
 
44 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 the centre, with a kindly-dispositioned cupid thought- 
 fully distending its neck, while it disgorges itself; 
 here and there are green iron settees, upon which you 
 sit down stiffly, in fear; and get up ornamented with 
 a conventional dado of grape vines about your base. 
 
 Occasionally you run across, in retired corners, some 
 lone Ethiopian Venus, crouching.^ chastely behind a 
 friendly syringa bush. If it had not been for the 
 good offices of friends, they say, the late Elisha Dibble 
 himself in a Roman toga, would have been established 
 on the lawn, gazing regretfully at his former resi- 
 dence. And whatever reasons might be urged against 
 this step by interested parties, there are certainly ex- 
 cellent precedents for it throughout New England. 
 Many dear ones wait upon our lawns; are guarded 
 and painted in the spring by the sweet care of the 
 bereaved and widowed one who still remains — as any 
 manufacturer of iron lawn art treasures will assure 
 you. 
 
 When Elisha Dibble died, he was mourned tremen- 
 dously, as was fitting. The factory was closed a 
 week, and the workmen trooped beside him to his 
 grave; the curtains in the house went down, the serv- 
 ants dressed in black, new carriage horses were se- 
 cured — jet black, and ornamented with crape. The 
 widow was in blackest mourning, and duplicate crayon 
 pictures of the dead husband and master were hung in 
 the house and the mill office; and beneath them, 
 framed in black, copies of the resolutions of the Man- 
 ufacturers' Club, bowing regretfully before an al- 
 mightier power than themselves. 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 45 
 
 Then after the proper season was accomplished, 
 Mirapda Dibble, his widow, ruled in his stead, — as 
 she was abundantly competent to do — a firm, strong 
 woman, suspicious, of course, as such women often 
 are; but, with a competent manager to guide her, a 
 powerful factor in the world of manufacturers. 
 
 You could tell from the sight of the place itself that 
 here lived a strong executive; the lawns and walks 
 and drives rigidly handsome and exact; the trees and 
 shrubs trimmed to the quick, bright, glossy painted 
 surfaces everywhere — fences, and blinds and barns; 
 always the discomforting dread of fresh paint in the 
 air. At first this paint was rather sombre — a dark 
 green generally. Then, as years went on, the widow 
 indulged her ta^te for warmer hues. Her harnesses 
 are now black and white, the horses having gone into 
 half mourning, supposedly. The fences have at times 
 become quite bright. At one period carmine was used 
 freely as a trimming; the swan in the fountain had 
 bright red legs, a warm red sash was painted across 
 the little cold stomach of the cupid; the house, with 
 red blinds, glared across the lawn like some poor un- 
 fortunate stricken creature with sore eyes. 
 
 It was in this place that the only child, Pomona 
 Dibble, grew up alone. The Gargoyle, the young men 
 of her generation called her, with the frank brutality 
 of youth. She was not handsome, certainly; she 
 made a most annoying impression, always, when you 
 met her; but sometimes it seemed to you she was as 
 pitiful as she was grotesque. It was not her fault 
 that she inherited all the ugliness and none of the re- 
 
46 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 deeming virtues of the Dibble face; it was not her 
 fault that all her costly feminine daintiness of gowns 
 and hats sat awry on that hulking figure; it was not 
 of her making — ^that childish sickness that set her 
 back of her generation in body and mind; and so it 
 was not her fault, exactly, that she had become what 
 she was, — a creature apart from her kind. You can 
 imagine her through those long years, gazing dejec- 
 tedly from the piazza on the litter of monsters on the 
 lawn, playing her three little pieces on the piano, 
 rocking her idle hands in those empty rooms, with 
 their glass chandeliers, their fat velvet easy chairs 
 sitting about in moody emptiness, the copses of dried 
 grass and peacock feathers, the hideous travesties of 
 paintings, the china pugs guarding the sacred, un- 
 lighted, family hearth under the black-walnut mantel- 
 piece, and occasionally a silent servant flitting back 
 and forth on the soft carpets, — a tall weedy girl, with 
 listless shoulders, and lustreless eyes, looking off into 
 space. 
 
 The invitations for that afternoon were of course 
 informal ; by word of mouth mostly. " Just for our 
 own young people," said Circe, " that Pomona has 
 always known, and their friends. Just a few; you'll 
 know how to amuse yourselves." 
 
 Would they? They accepted, of course. How 
 could they do otherwise? And they went like chil- 
 dren to a task. You know how you accept your in- 
 vitations of that sort — with a sort of dejection, tem- 
 pered by a humorous imagination of the odd and 
 amusing things you will probably see. 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 47 
 
 John Mayhew walked, as usual. When he arrived, 
 a number had already reached there — a few neigh- 
 bours, some relatives of the Dibbleses ; " Chippy " Mer- 
 riman and Lynde had just driven in. A moment 
 afterward Ruth Thorndike, with Miss Gildersleeve, 
 came ramping up the driveway in Ruth's high dog- 
 cart behind Black Devil, her father's famous road- 
 ster; a sudden vision of a handsome, wide-nostrilled 
 horse, a shining cart, and two young women in light 
 gowns — the smaller in some flowered stuff, and a 
 fluffy white hat; the taller one in grey. 
 
 They amused themselves as God willed. To some 
 the. Gargoyle showed her dogs and rabbits, and the 
 horses. " O ye-as," it must be delightful to have 
 such a lovely place ; " O ye-as," they had a great 
 many horses ; " O no-ah," she didn't drive them her- 
 self. Some played croquet ; some wandered about the 
 menagerie and the iron seats; some played a little 
 double tennis — ^two men standing stiffly at one side, 
 improperly dressed for the game, two fluffy girls rust- 
 ling here and there in their starched skirts, pecking 
 hysterically at the balls with uncertain racquets held 
 in the centre of the handles. And when they had 
 satiated their dear hearts with this sort of thing, the 
 final gathering in came, and refreshments (crude, but 
 always plentiful and good) were served on the 
 ;Porch. 
 
 John Mayhew happened to be alone as he came up 
 the steps. Lynde was mated with Miss Gildersleeve, 
 Merriman stood near by with one of the Dibble rela- 
 tives; Colonel Reginald Pitkin had appropriated Miss 
 
48 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Thorndike. As Mayhew approached, Ruth was 
 laughing. 
 
 " Come over here, John," she called. There was a 
 mischievous twist on her lips. 
 
 " Well, they all say you're mugwumped, May- 
 hew," growled our considerate and tactful miUtary 
 hero. 
 
 " I guess they're right this time," said Mayhew. 
 
 " That's what comes of thinking," observed Colonel 
 Pitkin. 
 
 " Ye-ah. Did you ever try it ? " 
 
 " No thanks, not if it acts that way." Mrs. Dibble, 
 who was passing by, suddenly entered into the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " What's that ? " she said loudly, " you a mug- 
 wump, John Mayhew? Why I never thought that of 
 you." 
 
 " You can't tell what to think, these days, Mrs. 
 Dibble," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Well, you'll get over it," said Circe pityingly. 
 
 "That's right, Mrs. Dibble," said Pitkin. "They 
 all do." 
 
 " Hooray," cried Chippy Merriman, calling off 
 the old college political economy yell. " Bre-k-e-kek- 
 kex-Co-ax-co-ax. The tariff's a tax ; the tariff's a 
 tax." 
 
 " That's what he believes," said the warlike Pitkin, 
 returning to the charge. 
 
 " It isn't what you believe, Reg, ever ; it's what you 
 know," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Well, I know one or two things/' said Pitkin. 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 49 
 
 " Sta-Boy," said Chippy. 
 
 " O, what fun," observed Miss Thorndike. 
 
 The combatants were engaged again before the as- 
 sembled and breathless multitude in the old rotary 
 arguments. You remember those old tariff discussions 
 of the eighties; they seem somewhat peculiar now; 
 but then there was fire there. 
 
 " Well, you will admit that labour is paid less there 
 that here." " Yes, but don't you see that doesn't make 
 the slightest difference." " Well, you hold on." " No, 
 I'm going to say this one thing. Don't you see — " 
 
 Round and round, in and out, back and forth — the 
 same old labyrinth of words, leading nowhere. 
 
 This gladiatorial combat came to a crisis compara- 
 tively early. The temperament of the combatants was 
 not the kind to permit the fight to drag. 
 
 " O well," said Mayhew, " there's no use arguing 
 it, if you aren't going to admit what you know is true." 
 
 " I'd like to have you bring up one statement I know 
 is true first," said Colonel Pitkin with slow and lofty 
 insolence. 
 
 " O come, you fellows," said Chippy the peace- 
 maker, " drop it. What difference will it make a hun- 
 dred years from now ? " 
 
 The debaters stopped — Colonel Pitkin still unmoved 
 in his superior position; John Mayhew pretty thor- 
 oughly ashamed of himself. 
 
 The combat had pleased Miss Thorndike, it seemed. 
 
 " O, I do like to hear two men argue," she said. 
 " It's too funny. What makes you always get so red 
 in the face ? It doesn't do any good, does it ? " 
 
50 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 The feeling of disgust with himself deepened in May- 
 hew into a sort of settled ugliness. From where he 
 stood he could hear the noble Lynde explaining hirn 
 in an aside to Miss Gildersleeve. 
 
 " There were quite a number of fellows like that in 
 college, who were influenced by the professors, and 
 got these ideas in their heads." 
 
 Mayhew thought bitterly of the last time he had 
 seen the oracle at a political economy " Exam," " crib- 
 bing " his paper bodily from the leaves cut out of his 
 textbook, and turned away. 
 
 Already the horses were beginning to come up to 
 take the guests away ; a groom appeared gingerly lead- 
 ing up Black Devil. 
 
 Chippy Merriman was telUng the company about the 
 last time he drove behind him. " He came up all the 
 way on the jump," he asserted, " every corner on the 
 fly, and the last half of the road she had him on his 
 hind legs. I couldn't stand it finally. ' What's this ? ' 
 I said, ' a circus ? If so I'll humbly get out and walk.' " 
 
 " O, that isn't true, Mrs. Dibble," protested Ruth. 
 
 " Well anyway, Miss Gildersleeve is going to drive 
 back with us," announced Merriman. 
 
 " Are you ? " asked Ruth from the cart. 
 
 " You are, aren't you ? " asked Merriman. 
 
 " O, I don't know ; I hadn't decided yet." 
 
 " Yes, she is ; " affirmed Merriman ; " you'll let us 
 take her, just for her own good." 
 
 " All right," said Miss Ruth, cheerily. " I'm glad 
 of it; I wanted to take John Mayhew home anyway." 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 51 
 
 John Mayhew clambered in ; " Good-bye," said Ruth 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mayhew," shouted Merriman. " Any 
 last word for father ? " 
 
 Mayhew did not answer. Black Devil was already 
 down the road, and the cart taking the first corner on 
 one wheel. 
 
 " Her father ought not to let that girl drive that 
 horse," observed Mrs. Dibble. 
 
 " Her father," said Mr. Merriman, " what's he got 
 to do with it? The little devil." 
 
 For a few -moments John Mayhew sulked in his 
 corner of the seat. 
 
 " What makes you so ugly this afternoon, John ? " 
 asked Ruth. " What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " I'm not ugly." 
 
 " Yes you are too. What's the matter ? " 
 
 " O, I don't know. I suppose I made myself ridicu- 
 lous enough for you, arguing with that ass Pitkin." 
 
 Ruth Thorndike laughed gayly. " You were kind of 
 amusing," she admitted. 
 
 " You know you started it up for us." 
 
 Miss Ruth preserved a demure silence. 
 
 " And I suppose you thought he had the best of the 
 argument." 
 
 " Of course I did." 
 
 " You don't think much of my politics, I suppose." 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "O, I don't know." 
 
52 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " I don't know — a democrat — it always seems so 
 common someway." 
 
 " That's no argument." 
 
 " No, I don't suppose it is. It's all right, probably. 
 I couldn't argue with you, if I wanted to ; but it strikes 
 me as funny that a young fellow like you should come 
 home from college with your theories and things and 
 dispute men like my father, who have been in the 
 manufacturing business all their lives." 
 
 " But the manufacturers aren't the only people on 
 earth, are they ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, all I want is to give the other people a 
 show." 
 
 " Don't let's discuss it. I don't want to. I like 
 things to be as they are." 
 
 " O, it's natural, I suppose. You people have got 
 everything now and you propose to keep it." 
 
 " Well, have it that way if you want to. Only don't 
 let's talk about it." 
 
 "What shall we talk about?" 
 
 " O, the afternoon and the people and what we saw." 
 
 " The same old Ruth," said surly John. " The same 
 spoiled child. Let's have everything agreeable, — 
 nothing we don't like." 
 
 " I think that's mean and unfair." 
 
 " Why, you are spoiled, aren't you ? Does anybody 
 deny you anything? You think of just one thing, 
 having a good time." 
 
 "What should I think of?" said Miss Ruth com- 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 53 
 
 batively. " How miserable I am ? If I should, I won't, 
 no sir. 
 
 " I believe in having a good time. Why shouldn't 
 I have a good time ? " she continued, viciously shaking 
 her whip over Black Devil, whereupon that equine 
 fiend shook his head and went up into the air. 
 
 " What do you want me to do? " she said when she 
 had put down the rebellion a trifle. " Go into a con- 
 vent ? " 
 
 " No stay right here where you are, but try to do 
 something worth while occasionally." 
 
 " P, thank you very much," she said with rising 
 colour. 
 
 " If you want to do charity work you can do it 
 right here better than in a convent — among these peo- 
 ple. The Lord knows they need it enough." 
 
 " John, you're enough to make a saint miserable," 
 she complained, " you're positively grewsome." 
 
 " Well, if it comes to that," he persisted, " why 
 shouldn't you take some interest in how these people 
 live?" 
 
 " Because I don't want to," she said hotly. " I don't 
 care ; no, I don't. What are these people to me ? And 
 if I did, it wouldn't make the slightest difference. I 
 couldn't do anything." 
 
 " What do you care how the rest of the world goes, 
 so long as you amuse yourselves, eh ? " said John May- 
 hew, in a theorist's nastiest manner. 
 
 They were in the region of the detached tenements 
 now — great, dirty, wooden houses, that had encroached 
 upon God's fields, with their high, bare wooden steps 
 
54 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 to the doorways, the hard, grassless front yards, 
 against their worn brick underpinning; the ash heaps 
 and refuse in the rear — aHve with dirty-legged chil- 
 dren, industriously engaged about their own affairs. 
 
 Suddenly one adventurous infant in" a single gar- 
 ment of dirty calico darted across the roadway close 
 under the horse's nose. 
 
 " O," said Miss Ruth Thorndike, turning white to 
 her hair and straining back upon the reins with all her 
 might. 
 
 The child, preserved by a patient Providence for an- 
 other time, passed on in safety. 
 
 " O, supposing we had hit him," gasped Miss Ruth 
 Thorndike, the iron-hearted scorner of the people. She 
 was trembling visibly; her lips did not get back their 
 colour for several minutes. They were both silent for 
 a moment. 
 
 " I'll take it all back, Ruth," said John Mayhew at 
 last. " That's the way with you women — you say you 
 don't care; but you do — you can't help it — it's built 
 down into your souls." 
 
 " Did you have to wait till now to find it out ? " 
 asked Miss Thorndike. 
 
 Another little pause ensued. 
 
 " I don't suppose," said Ruth Thorndike medita- 
 tively, " I'm very strong on theories. I don't think 
 women are, anyway. It's people I'm interested in — 
 first. 
 
 " In this thing," she said frankly, " It's you. I wish 
 you hadn't changed your politics. I'm always afraid 
 it's going to hurt you." 
 
IN CIRCE'S GARDEN 55 
 
 " My business, you mean." 
 
 " Yes, there are so many things they might have 
 done for you — the older men ; my father — ^you under- 
 stand—" 
 
 " Yes. But there's certain things a man can't do 
 and keep his self-respeet. That is one of them. I 
 beUeve that way, that's all, and you can't change your 
 beliefs to order, can you ? " 
 
 " No, you can't," she admitted with a little sigh. 
 
 They were now come to the centre of the city. Ruth 
 Thorndike stopped to let John Mayhew out at his 
 office. 
 
 " Well, good-bye, you old bear ; " she said, " try and 
 be a little more agreeable the next time I see you." 
 
 He waited a moment in the doorway and watched 
 her steady little upright figure in the big cart as she 
 drove away. 
 
Chapter V 
 
 SHAUN DHU 
 
 /T was Saturday night again in Ellington ; John 
 Mayhew had come down from his office and 
 stood in the doorway watching. In the third 
 story hall across the street, the weekly Polish dance — a 
 wedding festival probably — was in full swing ; the hide- 
 ous dissonance of the instruments came down into the 
 street, punctuated incessantly with the interminable 
 grunt of the bass viol — that odd heathen music, with its 
 stumbling rythms, a strange, barbaric thing, come 
 pounding down the uncounted centuries from some dim, 
 forgotten, Asian highland. Down the long street, under 
 the electric light, the restless crowds went shuffling to 
 and fro — the chattering girls, arm in arm, the loud- 
 mouthed, sophisticated boys in their best clothes, the 
 swearing, lounging men, the old folk, with deep lines 
 in their grey faces; thin, bent, almost worn out, a 
 generation of agrarian peasants, warped into grotesque 
 shapes by the long strains and wrenchings of this 
 fierce, new, industrial civilisation. Familiar forms 
 went drifting by — ^the French girls, in twin toilets, two 
 lavender gowns exactly the same, two flopping hats, 
 with black plumes, two pairs of greyish gloves, walk- 
 
 36 
 
SHAUN DHU 57 
 
 ing with stiff arms and eyes straight ahead, constrained 
 to silence by the sense of their own magnificence; the 
 " Irish Queen," in her black gown, tall, willowy, 
 clothes-conscious, swinging her hips and arching her 
 neck ; a lone Polish woman in her shawl, — squat, loose- 
 waisted, staring stupidly before her like a bewildered 
 animal ; a poor, shambling Yankee farmer from the 
 hills, with his shabby, bedraggled wife and their tow- 
 headed children ; and across at the mouth of his cheap 
 clothing store, old Echstein, the Jew money-lender, 
 private banker and confidential adviser of the Horde, 
 with his outstanding ears and his hooked beak gleamed 
 down like a grey bird of prey on the crowd whose 
 ignorance furnished him his living. 
 
 Here was the market place of Babel — a half a dozen 
 tongues, a half a hundred minor tribes, with different 
 ideals and superstitions and hopes; a great mongrel 
 American crowd, come together for the building of 
 another nation. 
 
 John Mayhew joined the endless procession down 
 the street. In the doorway, and the corners as he 
 passed, the boys stood smoking and spitting with pre- 
 cocious profusion on the walks, flapping their feet in 
 an occasional clog dance, and commenting on and 
 chaffing the crowd as it went slouching by. " Halloo, 
 Charlie," said one, " you're feelin' well to-night, how 
 are you looking' ? " 
 
 " Hello, girls," said another, in falsetto voice. 
 
 " Hello, Mame, is that you, where're goin' ? " 
 
 " None of your business." 
 
 " My, she's getting sassy, though." 
 
58 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Below, at Bull Halloran's saloon, the big fellows in 
 black cutaway coats stood along the bar, staring 
 stupidly into space above their undrained glasses of 
 beer, like oxen at their mangers, and down the street 
 a little back in an alley, a street corner quartet, with 
 its eternal, shrill tenor — Irish youth with slender bodies 
 and hard faces, stood in a little knot solemnly singing 
 a " mother " song, with desperate pathos. It seemed 
 as if that tenor's heart must break. 
 
 He was in the vicinity of the Patch now, beyond the 
 centre of the town. The stores had been left behind, 
 except here and there a little grocery ; the crowds had 
 begun to thin. Just before him he noticed one of the 
 little old women of the Irish quarter poking feebly along 
 home, with her eyes on the uneven sidewalk — a little 
 black figure; black worsted hood, black shawl across 
 her huddled shoulders, flimsy black skirt, and cloth. 
 Congress 'shoes; a withered face, crisscrossed with 
 wrinkles, bright little furtive eyes, her thin frame torn 
 every now and then with the terrible, racking, skin- 
 and-bones cough of broken old age. It looked to him 
 like John Carney's grandmother, that strange little 
 old miser of the Patch, if it were possible . that she 
 could be still alive. 
 
 John Carney — handsome Shaun Carney, that won- 
 derful body, that fierce, unbroken spirit — that unchal- 
 lenged boyish hero of the days when a place on a big 
 professional ball team formed the accepted pinnacle of 
 man's ambition — where could he be now ? He had not 
 heard of him for months; possibly it was years. He 
 smiled as he looked back to the old time. Never, in 
 
SHAUN DHU S9 
 
 all his life, had any one individual inspired the same 
 feeling of awe as this older boy from The Patch had 
 in his childish soul. 
 
 He turned, as he was thinking, by a loiterer's whim, 
 up on the platform of the railroad station — the old, 
 grimy railroad station, with its wedge-shaped, over- 
 hanging roof, and the sides greasy from the backs of 
 two generations of loafers. To the left, along the 
 tracks, still lay the huddle of The Patch — the houses 
 black masses in the blue darkness of the moonless 
 night. Now and then a voice arose from them or the 
 barking of a dog; here and there a yellow light shone 
 from the low windows. It was not all Irish now ; the 
 children of the old owners had gone up to better 
 things; to neat white houses on the higher ground — 
 the boys mechanics and citizens — and one or two 
 priests perhaps and lawyers; the girls school teachers 
 or in the stores. In their place other foreigners had 
 come, although still there lingered here and there a 
 few old Irish families. 
 
 John Mayhew turned away at last and walked 
 around the station. There were no more passenger 
 trains that night; the agent had closed up and gone. 
 The back was in total darkness; in front a flickering 
 gas lamp cast a shifting spot of yellow light upon the 
 empty platform. As he walked, his footsteps echoed 
 loudly through the silent place. Beyond, along the 
 switch track he saw the dim, melancholy lines of 
 freight cars, looming unnaturally high in the darkness, 
 with the long black aisle of shadow between them — 
 lurking places for all kinds of half imagined evils — for 
 
6o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 the migratory criminal and desperado, the half savage 
 outcasts of civilisation that slink along its great iron 
 highways. 
 
 What a lonely spot it was — this empty railroad 
 station at night. He turned around into the shadow 
 at the further corner of the platform and came face 
 to face with a man. 
 
 " Hello," he said. 
 
 " Hullo," said the other gruffly. They peered 
 through the dark into the white spots that served for 
 faces. 
 
 " Shaun Carney," said Mayhew, with a cry of 
 recognition. 
 
 " Jock Mayhew," said the other. " I thought first 
 you was John Heenan." 
 
 " Well, how are you these days ? " 
 
 " Good, how's yourself ? " 
 
 " O, all right. I'm glad to see you, John. I was just 
 thinking of you. I thought I saw your grandmother 
 as I was coming down here; that is, if she isn't 
 dead?" 
 
 " Dead, no. She'll never die ; she ain't human ; " 
 said Carney, harshly. " Let's get out here where we 
 can see something." He led the way out to the light 
 and set his shoulders against the wall, while Mayhew 
 stood before him. 
 
 " Playing ball much nowadays ? " asked the latter. 
 
 " No, not since I got that," said Carney, showing a 
 right hand with his two middle fingers gone. 
 
 "How'd you do it?" 
 
SHAUN DHU 6i 
 
 " In the machine shop. I got it caught in some 
 gears." 
 
 "That's too bad," said Mayhew. 
 
 " It spoiled me for playing ball all right." 
 
 " You were playing right along before that, weren't 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes ; I was in the state league." 
 
 " I heard you were going into the national one 
 time." 
 
 " Well, I was ; they was goin' to give me a trial be- 
 fore I got this, but I don't believe I was good enough 
 for those fellers. They're pretty fast company for me 
 in that league." 
 
 He stopped abruptly. The same old stolid indif- 
 ference, the same laconic habit of speech, born of years 
 of boyish worship of his powers, sat upon him as in 
 the old days. He stood there slanted a little back 
 against the side of the wall — still a fine figure of a 
 man — though now John Mayhew thought, a little 
 slouchier about the shoulders — coal black hair; clear- 
 cut features; melancholy, deep, blue eyes showing the 
 white of the eyeball underneath, staring straight out 
 into the distance before him; a firm, straight, com- 
 pressed mouth; a bold chin, with thick black stubble 
 on it, and the muscles always twitching at the corners 
 of the jaw. 
 
 " I suppose you're practicing law these days," con- 
 tinued Carney. 
 
 "Yes, I'm trying to; what are you doing?" 
 
 " Nothin'." 
 
62 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I thought you were down in the mill machine 
 shop." 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " What made you get through ? " 
 
 " I got the sack." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 " O, it's that Thorndike," said the man, with a great 
 oath. " He's paid special attention to me ; I licked 
 one of his damned overseers." 
 
 "How'd it happen?" 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you." Here was a cause which 
 loosed the tongue of the silent man. " I was workin' 
 there in the machine shop last spring, as I had been, 
 since I dropped the baseball business, off and on be- 
 fore. Well, they've got a foreman there named Allen 
 — a damned, little shrunk-up Yankee; there ain't a 
 man in the shop wouldn't like to kill him; and he had 
 it in for me; he wanted to get my job for his brother- 
 in-law. He hated me anyway, but that's what he 
 was drivin' at — to get me out and get the other feller 
 in. 
 
 " Well, he was layin' for me ; he had it all fixed up. 
 His idea was to give me some gauges that was off, 
 and then when my work came in he was goin' to fire 
 me. But I wasn't afraid of him ; I had somethin' wait- 
 ing for him. 
 
 " So one day, he come around and looks over my 
 shoulder and he says, ' Your work ain't right.' 
 
 " ' It's just as near right's I can make it,' I says, 
 ' an' don't you forget it.' 
 
 " ' Well, you've got to have it better'n that,' he says. 
 
SHAUN DHU 63 
 
 " ' All right,' I says, ' you give me good gauges and 
 I'll give you good work.' 
 
 " ' I don't want any sass from you,' he says. ' You 
 do your work or you get through.' 
 
 Yaas, I will,' I says, ' I know your game, by 
 God, and I know something else; I know about that 
 last lot of steel you spoiled and had dumped into the 
 river. You go ahead and fire me and get your damned 
 brother-in-law in here; it'll be the worst day's work 
 you ever did in your life and you'll think so too ! ' 
 
 " O, that would have ended that all right ; he jawed 
 some more, but he was ready to quit. Only that min- 
 ute, just by my luck, that damned, black-hearted 
 Thomdike steps in just in time to hear the last of it. 
 You know how the cuss goes pokin' around the fac- 
 tory. 
 
 " ' What's goin' on here ? ' he says. 
 
 " Old Allen looked like a rag baby ; he was scared 
 silly. 
 
 " ' This man didn't do his work right,' he says, 
 ' and when I spoke to him about it he got sassy.' 
 
 " ' Why don't you let him go, then ? ' says Thorn- 
 dike. 
 
 " ' He's a liar,' I said, ' I did as good work as any- 
 body till he gave me those gauges; they're ofif; you 
 can look at 'em yourself.' 
 
 " ' I didn't ask you to talk,' says Thorndike, turn- 
 ing his back to me. 
 
 " ' No,' I says, ' but you heard me talkin'. This, is 
 a free country, I guess. All I want is a fair shake, 
 and not get driven out of a job because your damned 
 
64 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 little bow-legged foreman wants to get it for his wife's 
 brother.' 
 
 " ' You keep your mouth shut,' says Thorndike. 
 ' When I want your advice about my foreman, I'll let 
 you know.' 
 
 '"That's all right/ I says. 'All I ask for is a 
 show, and if I don't get that, there's one thing I can 
 do — I can get out.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' says Thorndike, ' you can do that right off 
 too.' 
 
 " Then Allen begins to smile. That was too much 
 for me. 
 
 " ' But before I go, I'm goin' to hand you a little 
 keepsake,' I says. And I got him one under the jaw 
 he'll wake up nights and remember. 
 
 " And when they were pickin' him up, I turned to 
 Thorndike and I says, ' you're a hell of a man to run 
 a shop, you are, and pretend to run it fair; come 
 pokin' around to see what's goin' on and then hear 
 only one side of a story. For fifteen cents I'd give 
 you one just like it.' 
 
 Carney stopped for a moment, staring in melan- 
 choly reflection out into the dark. 
 
 " What happened then ? " said Mayhew. 
 
 " What happened then ? " said Carney, bitterly. 
 " What do you suppose ? He's been chasin' me ever 
 since — that's what happened. He's been making an 
 example of me. He had me up in court for sluggin' 
 Allen. I expected that. I paid my fine, and was 
 damned glad of it. But my name was Dennis for an- 
 other job around here. They wouldn't look at me." 
 
SHAUN DHU 6s 
 
 " Well, you could get one somewhere else, couldn't 
 you?" 
 
 " Yaas, I could. That's what I thought till I tried 
 it. I ain't got no more chance than a dog. He's got 
 me blacklisted all over this part of the country. What 
 show have I got? More'n that, he's got the police 
 chasin' me. He's given Heenan special instructions to 
 look out for me, I know that. He's caught me once 
 when I was out one night with the boys, and give 
 me a jail record because I didn't have the price of the 
 fine. That's what I jumped for when you come round 
 the corner just now." 
 
 He paused a moment while his late anger gathered 
 strength, and then broke out again in a great fierce 
 mouthful of oaths. His passion possessed him — ^the 
 mad hate of the wronged employee — no blacker sits 
 brooding in the heart of man ; the insane and impotent 
 physical lust to once — only once — ^have your fingers at 
 the throat of that one man in the universe, whom the 
 resistless laws of society set above you to work his 
 will upon you and yours, right or wrong, without ap- 
 peal. 
 
 " What kind of a show do you call that? " he said. 
 " I was gettin' my three dollars and a half a day, and 
 earnin' it, by God, till he stuck his black face in and 
 threw me out on my back. What right's he got to do 
 that, without even hearin' what I had to say? What 
 right's he got to chase me around and keep me from 
 earnin' my livin'? I wish to God, I had him once 
 where I could reach him. I'd show him." 
 
 His outburst died away into silence. 
 
66 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "There's one thing sure. You want to remember 
 it," he went on in a calmer mood. " If you get him 
 down on you, you might as well get out of here. I've 
 found that out. He owns this town, by God; and 
 everybody in it. You don't ever want to let him get 
 after you, I tell you that. I ought to got out months 
 ago." 
 
 " Are you going now ? " said Mayhew finally. 
 
 " Yes, I can't loaf around any longer. I can do it 
 nights all right. But I can't stand it days; I've got 
 to be doin' something." 
 
 " When are you going? " 
 
 "To-night; that's what I'm here for." 
 
 " There aren't any more trains to-night." 
 
 " No, I'm goin' to jump the down freight." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " I'm goin' South — down to Charleston." 
 
 "What's down there?" 
 
 " I got a feller, that I know, lives there. He says 
 he's got something for me. You remember hearing 
 when those Southerners decided to come up here to 
 buy goods. Well, this man's father went down there 
 to work with one of 'em — ^he's a carpenter by trade — 
 a ship carpenter now, down there in Charleston; the 
 young feller's been up here at different times. Mike 
 Garvin, his name is; you may o' seen him — a red- 
 headed feller. He used to come up here and visit his 
 aunts." 
 
 Mayhew shook his head. 
 
 " Well, anyway, he writes me the other day if I'd 
 come down, he had somethin' for me to do. 
 
SHAUN DHU 67 
 
 " Here's the letter now," he said, hauling it out of 
 his hip pocket — a long envelope of cheap bluish paper, 
 with an address scrawled on its centre in small, 
 cramped handwriting. 
 
 John Mayhew read it under the dim gas-light. 
 
 " Dear Jack," it ran. " I write to tell you I want 
 you to come down. I have got something for you to 
 do. There is money in this job, John. The two of us 
 will get more than we ever saw before. But I want 
 to see you first. Jump a frait and come down here. 
 You won't never be sorry. And so Goodby til I see 
 you. Mike." 
 
 "What do you suppose he's got?" said Mayhew, 
 handing back the letter. 
 
 " O, I dunno ; he's got somethin' up his sleeve. He's 
 a shifty lad — Mike Garvin — somethin' he's been work- 
 ing up. I'm goin' to try it anyway. I can't be any 
 worse off than I am now." 
 
 They stopped talking and stared out across the sta- 
 tion platform. 
 
 " Well, I hope you'll have good luck," said Mayhew. 
 
 The other did not stop his moody staring to reply. 
 
 " What time will you get down there ? " 
 
 " About the last of next week." 
 
 The gaslight tossed and flickered above their silence 
 and shifted the dim black corners to and fro; a dog 
 barked across the river. Afar off up the grade came 
 the melancholy, hollow sound ' of a whistle. The 
 freight was coming — the night freight, known to 
 drowsy mankind not so much as a substantial reality, 
 but as a distant sound, heard in the, broken intervals 
 
68 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 of sleeping; a dim, mysterious, ghostly thing that 
 comes calling down the valley through the dark. 
 
 " There she is," said Carney. 
 
 They waited a little longer till they saw the blaze of 
 the headlight at the curve a half a mile away. 
 
 " I'll have to be getting up into the yard a little 
 ways," said Carney. " She slacks up there a little." 
 
 " Well, be good to yourself." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 " Good luck to you," said Mayhew. 
 
 The black figure disappeared into the dark. 
 
 The train approached from the other direction — 
 slowly, laboriously, with the ponderous majesty of great 
 weight — its yellow light blazing its path before it on the 
 black and shining rails. It passed the platform, ring- 
 ing its melancholy bell, the great, round-shouldered 
 labouring engine, the silent figure on the high cab seat, 
 the bent slave of the furnace feeding its red maw, the 
 long funeral procession of dim cars, filing painfully 
 by, clanking, groaning, squealing, along the rails ; then 
 last of all the dull lighted caboose. The red flood 
 from the furnace showed Carney's figure by the road- 
 side ; then the door was shut and blackness came again. 
 The train moved heavily on, the multitude of jarring 
 noises began to die away, the five red lanterns at its 
 rear lessened and lessened in the dim blue darkness, 
 and disappeared around the curve. Once more the 
 far mysterious whistle came across the empty night. 
 
 John Mayhew turned from staring, and started back 
 toward home filled with a rebellious regret — the regret 
 of a youth not yet quite hardened to be a man ; the re- 
 
SHAUN DHU 69 
 
 gret for the freedom that has gone and rebellion at the 
 exacting slavery of the life which lies before. He re- 
 called the Carney that he first knew, small, black, stout- 
 legged, aggressive, the days at Maggie Shea's and 
 their relations to one another, not close friendship per- 
 haps, but a sympathy that was closely akin to it. He 
 saw Black Jack Carney a little older, at the swimming 
 hole, his bare body, that beautiful pillar of white flesh, 
 poised for the high dive in the summer sun — broad 
 chest, thin flanks, clean-cut supple legs, and the fine, 
 moving muscles twisting like ropes upon his shoulders 
 and up-stretched arms. The days of the ball field 
 came back to him, the excitement of the game, the 
 heat, the dryness in your mouth, the freedom of run- 
 ning with the wind in your hair, all this was gone for- 
 ever. Before them stretched the inhospitable world 
 — the sentence of a life at hard labour, or some penalty 
 a thousand times as bad. And here he sat in this dull 
 town, held here against his will by a hostile fortune, 
 and there went Carney, an outcast from his native 
 place, a man with a great anger in his heart, gone out 
 cursing into the night to a new land and a new people 
 and new experiments. No doubt to little good, yes 
 certainly, to little good. 
 
Chapter VI 
 
 A CALL TO DUTY 
 
 OCCASIONALLY, on the sides of the old blocks, 
 your eye is caught by a pathetic little re- 
 minder of the past — ^the forgotten sign of "a 
 dead lawyer. There it has hung, months and years 
 perhaps, greying in the weather, and no one has had 
 concern enough to take it down. Long ago this 
 learned counsel has gone forth to plead his last de- 
 fence before the bar of Almighty Justice ; and still the 
 clients from away, who have not heard, drop in to see 
 him; and still the farmers, clumping up the stairs, 
 stop occasionally to ask when he will be back again. 
 In the fall of i88- the sign of Stephen Pratt still 
 lingered on the second story wall. On either side of it 
 appeared two fresh and virgin signs, one very much 
 like many thousands you have seen; the other, large, 
 striking, impressive, one might almost say portentous 
 in its dignified announcement of that name, which 
 multitudes might yet delight to honour. Behind these, 
 across the second story dingy hall, two young prac- 
 titioners lay in wait, listening with interest to the rare 
 footsteps on the stairs; an interest growing to most 
 acute anxiety when the mysterious stranger passed 
 
 70 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 71 
 
 and made his final, fatal choice at the parting of the 
 ways upon the landing. 
 
 Generally, it must be said, these footsteps did not 
 pause at all, but went blundering on and upward 
 through the dark corridor to the third floor — the re- 
 gion of oil-stove housekeeping, the place from which 
 descended the weird odour at noonday and those 
 more than occasional outbursts of woe, which admitted 
 the tenants of the second floor into the sacred agonies 
 and responsibilities of family life. Here was a land- 
 ing full of mops and brooms and buckets, with a 
 broken and penitent refrigerator, brooding in its dark 
 corner ; here occasionally you might see a bony woman 
 of middle age with a tousled bang, flit back and forth, 
 draped in a melancholy dark calico wrapper, calling 
 metallic-voiced warning to her offspring; and here 
 in modest chambers — ^in one most modest bedroom, to 
 be exact, lived " General " Barrett O'Hara, ex-school- 
 master, and ex-soldier of the War of the Rebellion, 
 ex- Fenian — now restored to the arts of peace as bridge 
 tender of the City of Ellington through the influence 
 of the Democratic party. 
 
 There are those who assert that if the fiery and ora- 
 torical Celt were but given his equal opportunity in the 
 land, every adult member of the race would be found 
 a lawyer — all rising men, or having already arisen 
 through a well lawyered society to a position of per- 
 manent prominence — all close shaven, all with the gold- 
 rimmed eyeglasses, fastened, preferably, at the end of 
 the long gold chains, by which they can be thought- 
 fully twirled about in times of deep public considera- 
 
72 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 tion; all in cutaway suits and black bow ties, and 
 abnormally thin-soled shoes — all of serious, far-away, 
 preoccupied mien, all with their poetic quotations, their 
 bursts of polysyllabic prose and their passionate but 
 ever ornamental gestures. 
 
 Yet why speculate on these purely theoretic matters, 
 when we have before us the great Brian Haitch Two- 
 hig barrister ; for it was none other that sat in awful, 
 brooding silence among his new law books behind the 
 impressive sign upon our block, upholding the ma- 
 jestic traditions of the law bequeathed to him by " a 
 Burke, a Grattan and a Daniel O'Connell," as they say 
 in the St. Patrick's day orations. Brian Haitch Two- 
 hig, two proud Irish names, and an initial " H " — 
 that one unconquered shibboleth of English speech, 
 which marks the Celt to the third and fourth genera- 
 tions across the face of the habitable earth. 
 
 This afternoon this one had emerged from the 
 ground glass door of his sanctuary, stalked across the 
 intervening hall, beariiig seriously in his right hand 
 before his breast that solemn and inscrutable symbol 
 of deep thought, his half smoked, fat, five-cent cigar, 
 and stood with his judicial legs contemplatively apart 
 on the floor of John Mayhew's office. To the out- 
 ward eye he was a snub-nosed young man, with 
 flushed spots on his high cheek bones, and a round 
 brown moustache and small eyes — a good humoured, 
 rather amusing face, you might have said, but for the 
 sombre cloud of responsibility forever lowering be- 
 tween those brows. Already he had his eyeglasses, 
 though not yet gold-rimmed, — his cutaway suit, his 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 73 
 
 immaculate linen and his black bow tie; and there he 
 stood discoursing, his filmy and distant eye fixed upon 
 the upturned end of his cigar. He was outlining the 
 position of Brian Haitch Twohig on the decision, 
 which was soon to be expected of the supreme court; 
 already he had laid down the broad grounds on which 
 he stood; he was now pointing out the necessity and 
 simplicity of the result. 
 
 " It's a legal conciption, that has prevailed from the 
 first of the common law of England, and from there it 
 was adopted into the legislation of this land." There 
 was just the faint touch of brogue upon his scholarly 
 sentences. " From this I hold that it's essintial ac- 
 cordin' to the laws of logic to reach but one conclusion, 
 and that's the one I've been telling you about. And I 
 defy anyone to bring adequate authority to the con- 
 trary." 
 
 He ceased into a deep silence. Slowly he lifted his 
 cigar to his lips and thoughtfully he exhaled the 
 smoke. 
 
 " Am I right ? " he inquired. 
 
 " I guess you are," said his hearer. 
 
 John Mayhew was surly. "That isn't worrying 
 me so much," he continued, " as how I'm goin' to get 
 a livin' on the business. I'm sick of the thing — this 
 collecting bills and sitting around waiting for some- 
 thing else." 
 
 " I know just how you feel ; I've felt that way my- 
 self," said Mr. Twohig in a lofty calm. " But you'll 
 get your practice if you stick to it." (Whifif.) " I 
 was telling one of my clients" (To John Mayhew, 
 
74 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 keeper of records of the footsteps on the stairs, the 
 masterly manner in which his compeer used this phrase 
 always appealed particularly.) " I was telling this 
 client this mornin' that it was remarkable (whiff) 
 the- way a young man's practice grew." (Impressive 
 pause.) " There was a time, as I said to him, when 
 I felt discouraged, but in ways I could not explain 
 myself affairs have changed till I can see the future 
 opening up in a most satisfactory manner." 
 
 His aspect of philosophic calm always got upon the 
 nerves of Mayhew. 
 
 " O, come down," he said brutally. " I know as 
 well as you do what there is in this dead hole. There 
 isn't business enough here to keep an English sparrow 
 cheerful." 
 
 " Speak for yourself," said the sage severely, " I'd 
 like to know what's the matter with O'Harrigan and 
 Griffin?" 
 
 It was the start of the big speculation in tort cases 
 against manufacturing corporations among the lawyers 
 in this corner of New England, and this firm were the 
 local leaders in it. The two men came to Mayhew's 
 mind — O'Harrigan, the mouthpiece, that big, rosy, 
 statuesque Irish Apollo, with his ambrosial curls upon 
 his neck, his blue romantic eye; with his windmill ges- 
 tures before the jury and those poor lovely orphan 
 verbs and nouns and adjectives, left without their 
 predicates; with no visible means of support but an 
 exclamation point ; and back of him Griffin, the worker, 
 the intelligence — ^the little darkfaced man, with the 
 sharp, tense face, and the hard sharp lines which made 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 75 
 
 it seem as if a triangle of flesh had been set back from 
 his cheeks about the nose and mouth ; the restless mind 
 that planned and searched and thought and drummed 
 up the business, and did the " dirty work." 
 
 "Nothing," answered Mayhew, "if you want to 
 dirty your hands with that kind of thing." 
 
 " Well," (pause) " Personally it would be distaste- 
 ful to me, but there are high pecuniary inducemints. 
 Moreover, it must be highly satisfactory to win so 
 large a proportion of cases as they do." 
 
 " Yes," said Mayhew, " and how do they do it? " 
 
 "Well, how do they?" 
 
 " You know as well as I do, by outside work with 
 the jury." 
 
 " I don't entoirely agree with you." 
 
 "How do they do it then?" 
 
 " Understand me," said the thinker, " I don't say 
 they wouldn't see the jury, if they found it nicessary; 
 but it's farther back than that. They get the juries 
 they want from the board of aldermen — that's the way 
 it's done." 
 
 " The kind of men they can swing, you mean." 
 
 " Exactly so — the workin'min and thim that have 
 sympathy for thim — and the Catholics, perhaps." 
 
 " I guess that's right." 
 
 " It is," said Mr. Twohig, with a solemn nod. 
 
 " Well, what are you going to do about it ? " 
 
 " I've given considerable consideration to that point. 
 There's only one way to do. You've got to change 
 your aldermen, and it's the young men, the men that 
 are comin' up, that'll have to be looked to." 
 
76 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I'll tell you something," he continued, " it's in the 
 strictest of confidence. I am now considering running 
 for the aldermen, or possibly for the common council." 
 
 He stepped back to observe the effect. 
 
 " My friends are now workin' for me. They're 
 goin' to approach Mr. Skeane for me." 
 
 " Hello," said Mayhew, from the window, " speak- 
 ing of the devil, there he is now across the street." 
 
 "And who's that with him?" said Mr. Twohig. 
 " O, it's Pat Ash." 
 
 " They're coming across the road ; by gad, they're 
 coming here." 
 
 " Probably it's to see me," said the young candidate. 
 " I was informed once before that he was considerin' 
 holding a conference with me." 
 
 He retired in some haste, to put his house in order. 
 
 The heavy footsteps and the light ones proceeded 
 up the stairs. At the head they stopped a moment; 
 then, unexpectedly they turned to the left instead of 
 to the right and John Mayhew's office door swung 
 open. 
 
 " Is this Mr. Mayhew ? " asked the big man, from 
 the threshold. 
 
 " It is," said Mayhew, rising. 
 
 " My name is Skeane," said the big man, slowly 
 advancing with his fat hand before him. 
 
 " How do you do," said Mayhew. 
 
 " And this is Mr. Ash." 
 
 The small man in a striped worsted suit reached 
 out his hand with the awkward shoulder motion of a 
 pugilist, his face relaxing into a grotesquely sudden 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 77 
 
 smile. " How de do," he said hoarsely, then lapsed 
 again into silence and the background. 
 
 " Won't you sit down, gentlemen ? " said Mayhew. 
 
 Now and then you see Irishmen with the oblique 
 eyebrows like Skeane's, an almost Chinese type of 
 face, — successful men, they are apt to be, lawyers and 
 priests and perhaps saloon keepers. " King " Skeane 
 — everyone with us knew him by that name — was a 
 marked figure — a large man, in dark clothes, black 
 cutaway coat and black string tie, all worn rather 
 carelessly; a large face, with a strong jaw set upon 
 the close smoked butt of a cigar in the corner of his 
 mouth; a grizzled moustache, hair white at the tem- 
 ples, bright, intelligent, rather humorous eyes, and 
 above those, the flaring eyebrows in the wrinkled fore- 
 head, marking the whole face with their strange touch 
 of craft. Here was force and cunning together in 
 one face. When Matt Skeane wanted something in 
 politics, you had better get out of the way. 
 
 As for Ash, he was merely, to say it in one word, a 
 sharp street gamin grown to be a man, with a thin 
 face, already wreathed with hard lines, a reddish 
 stubble at the jaw, and a greenish glassy eye. 
 
 King Skeane settled his big body immovably in the 
 chair. 
 
 " We was goin' by," he said, " and we thought we'd 
 drop in and have a talk with you." 
 
 " Have* a cigar," he continued distributing them. 
 All three solemnly lighted up. 
 
 " Well, how's the practice comin' in ? " asked 
 Skeane. 
 
78 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I guess I could stand more," said Mayhew. " But 
 then I suppose I've got to take what comes." 
 
 "You just hang on; don't let 'em bluff you; it'll 
 come," said the King. 
 
 " They tell me," continued Skeane, " you're a good 
 democrat now." 
 
 " I don't know but I'm as much that as anything," 
 said Mayhew. " My people were all republicans, but 
 I couldn't stand that tariff business, so I got out." 
 
 " I guess that's near enough, as old Maggie Sul- 
 livan said to the Jew peddler that gave her a dollar 
 too much in change. You voted the ticket this fall, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's what they told me." 
 
 " I guess he's the man we want," said Skeane to 
 Ash. 
 
 " Guess he is," said the hoarse voice. 
 
 " Now here," said the King to Mayhew. " Here's 
 the truth of it. Our people are makin' out the slate 
 for city election and we're lookin' for an alderman in 
 your ward." 
 
 He stopped and stared at Mayhew. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Mayhew, interrogatively. 
 
 " And we're here to see if you'll take it ? " 
 
 "What, I?" said Mayhew. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " O, I couldn't do it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I don't believe it would be advisable for me just 
 now." 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 79 
 
 " Why not ? Are you afraid of your practice ? " 
 
 " No, it isn't that." 
 
 " Well, then, you haven't got any reason, have 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes " said Mayhew, hesitantly. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Well, in the first place," assured Mayhew feebly, 
 " I don't think I'm the man yoU' want." 
 
 "Yes; well, we'll risk that; what else?" 
 
 " And in the second place," he said, choosing his 
 words as carefully as he could, " there's been a gen- 
 eral idea that the board of aldermen here weren't any 
 too good, — that there's been a good deal of crooked- 
 ness there, if you want the truth." 
 
 " Well, that's a hot reason, I must say. It won't 
 make 'em any better, will it, if all the good men re- 
 fuse to come in? Besides, you don't want to believe 
 all you hear. You know John Chester ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ain't he a good fellow? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 "Well, what's the matter with Charlie Newell?" 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 " Well, they were aldermen, weren't they ? " 
 
 " Yes they were." 
 
 " I hope you ain't one of those fellers that sit and 
 hollers all the time how virtuous all the rest has got 
 to be, and then don't turn out to the caucuses, for 
 fear they'll smell tobacco smoke. I don't beUeve you 
 are either, and when we come to you and say we need 
 you in that ward, and we've got to have you, if the 
 
8o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 party's goin' to win, I don't believe you're goin' to 
 give us any old women's talk. 
 
 " There's just two kinds of men in politics in this 
 town," continued Skeane, " or any other. There's 
 the fellers with gloves that sit around and holler 
 'Purity' and let the others do the workj and there's 
 the fellers that get out and do something. Only 
 there's one difference in this town. There's just one 
 man that's responsible for the kind of people that get 
 into the city government ; and that's Thorndike. He's 
 got all the rest of 'em scared. They don't dare come 
 out, for fear of their business. All but the Irish; 
 they'd come out anyhow, just for the fight." 
 
 Mayhew laughed. 
 
 " That's right," growled Skeane. " Now look 
 here," he continued, " has Thorndike got any hold on 
 you?" 
 
 " No, he hasn't," answered Mayhew quickly. 
 
 " Are you afraid of him ; for your business, I 
 mean ! " 
 
 " No, I'm not ; what do you take me for ? " 
 
 " Then why don't you come out ? No, don't give 
 me any rot about bein' busy and all that. Why don't 
 you? Ain't it just as much your duty and more to 
 get out and help do a thing, as to sit around and say it 
 ought to be done ? " 
 
 " I don't know but it is." 
 
 "Well, you'll stand then, won't you?" 
 
 " I'll think it over and let you know," pleaded May- 
 hew. 
 
 " Aw now, come, there's no use of waitin'. You're 
 
A CALL TO DUTY 8i 
 
 goin' to take it now. You might as well make up 
 your mind now as later." 
 
 " O, all right, I'll take it, if you think you want 
 me," said Mayhew finally. 
 
 " Well, be God, that's right, me boy," said " King " 
 Skeane, heartily, pressing his heavy hand on May- 
 hew's knee. " That's the kind of men we're lookin' 
 for." 
 
 The cigars were out; the interview was done; the 
 visitors got up and left. 
 
 " Well, good day to you," said King Skeane, wav- 
 ing his hand with heavy dignity. " You'll hear from 
 me later." 
 
 The heavy steps and the light ones passed down 
 the stairway and clicked again on the brick pavement. 
 
 After a short time, John Mayhew rose and fol- 
 lowed them. As he left the building, the form of 
 Brian Haitch Twohig appeared at his office door, un- 
 conquerable curiosity having so far overcome his nat- 
 ural high reserve as to make him pop out quite sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Are they gone ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Mayhew moving on. 
 
 "Just a minute," said Mr. Twohig, hastily. 
 " Would it be demandin' too much if I asked you if 
 they were talkin' politics to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, they were." 
 
 " Did they allude to me? " 
 
 " No," said Mayhew. '.' They wanted me to run 
 for alderman, — ^though I don't suppose that was to 
 come out just yet." 
 
82 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " O, no," said Mr. Twohig in a sad voice, " cer- 
 tainly not. I'll never spake of it." 
 
 " Are you sure they made no mistake ? " he went on. 
 
 " There's no possibility, — I mane," he hurried to 
 explain, " that they might have mixed me up — bein' 
 so close together, as we are." 
 
 " No," said Mayhew, impatiently. " They seemed 
 to know my name." 
 
 " O, well, you'll excuse me for askin' ? " 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 " And Will you run ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mayhew. " I guess I'll have to now, 
 from all I see." 
 
 As Mayhew passed homeward along the street he 
 noticed there was no light in Mr. Twohig's office; 
 neither had he come out. Brian Haitch Twohig evi- 
 dently was sitting there alone, wrapped in gloomy con- 
 templation. 
 
Chapter VII 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 y y ERE, on the lonely upper road across the Hill, 
 m m set back into the vacant fields, lies the first 
 JL JL graveyard of the Irish. Below it, down 
 the road, rises the present cemetery, where the 
 long black line stops now, — a decent, sanctimonious 
 place, with its fat stones ranged in pompous regularity 
 in front, masking the rank and file behind. Affection 
 still lingers there and fleshy widows waddle in and out. 
 But here beyond lie the first immigrants, neglected; 
 two little acres of huddled dead; small white head- 
 stones awry and broken on the uneven ground, the 
 row of arbor-vitae trees, a black-robed, priestly pro- 
 cession, in the rear; the falling fence, which leans for- 
 ward into the road, and lets between its broken rails 
 an occasional solitary child to wander silently in about 
 its graves. You will not find a more pathetic thing in 
 a long day's journey through a story book. There are 
 many grotesque sights here; and humorous and un- 
 couth — ^the odd illiterate inscriptions, the strange and 
 wonderful laments in verse, the common names of 
 common men, oft-times mis-spelled, the weird heathen 
 names of the birthplaces of the dead — Skibbereen, and 
 
 83 
 
84 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Ballinamara and Inchigeelagh and Kiltallagh. But 
 here they lie, the dark-haired, blue-eyed people, come 
 down into their alien graves, lonely men and women, 
 or whole great generous families laid away, after the 
 fashion of the old country — where men are cheap and 
 land is dear — one above another in a common grave. 
 Above them rises everywhere the Irish cross, on every 
 headstone the same formula — 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of 
 
 Jeremiah O'Keefe 
 
 A native of Dingle parish. County Kerry, Ireland, 
 
 who died March 21, 1867. 
 
 May his soul rest in peace. Amen." 
 
 It is as, if almost you could hear them where they 
 lie, a poor little congregation of strange souls in a for- 
 eign ground, calling with one voice back to the green 
 memories of youth, the fields of the old country, the 
 churchyards over the far seas; those well-remembered 
 places, where all their folk lie buried, father, son, and 
 grandson, for centuries, within the parish bounds 
 where they were born; sometimes, it seems, you al- 
 most hear the sighs exhaled from the dark corners 
 underneath the arbor-vitae trees. 
 
 Homesickness, weary, bitter homesickness, lies 
 heavily upon the whole neglected place — the falling 
 and the fallen stones, the obliterated walks. No 
 doubt the others felt it, too, who left no gravestones 
 to express it; those underneath the wooden crosses 
 
MEMORIES 85 
 
 washed clear of every vestige of a name by twenty 
 summers' rains; those others in the further corner of 
 the yard, where the dead of the cholera epidemic and 
 the typhus fever year lie buried in their two great 
 graves, no longer distinguishable, even by a mound. 
 
 Occasionally they bring here even now one come 
 late to the little gathering, some worn out, withered 
 body to be laid beside the crumbled relics of youth 
 and middle age left here more than a quarter of a 
 century ago. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike, driving up the road alone in the 
 autumn afternoon, came across the closing of a hasty 
 ceremony of this kind, just as the grave was being 
 shovelled up, and the hacks turned scampering home 
 again. It made her think of those early recollections 
 of her childhood, of standing back behind the house 
 and hearing the wailing she feared and could not un- 
 derstand, the last of the keening in the old cemetery, 
 come in across the trees of the deep garden. And this 
 reminded her of all those early days and Maggie. She 
 had not seen Maggie for weeks and months. Why 
 not go and see her now? She would. Tom, the 
 pony, obediently turned him down the hill once more. 
 
 There was the place again, the neat white house on 
 the side street upon the hill above the Patch, with its 
 twin fir trees before the entrance, and its grape arbour 
 in the garden. And there in the doorway stood 
 Maggie, shining, radiant, wiping her mouth with her 
 immaculate gingham apron preparatory to a great 
 warm Irish kiss. 
 
 " Well ! How air ye, my darlin' ; how air ye," she 
 
86 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 said, drawing her into the state front parlour. " God 
 bliss ye, how foine ye're lookin'. 
 
 " There's somebody out here," she said, pointing to 
 the sitting room. " Just wait here a minute, till I 
 go out an' spake to her." 
 
 There was a whispering of two voices in the other 
 room, one urging and the other refusing. 
 
 " No, thank you," said the strange voice, " I'd be 
 too much honoured." 
 
 It seemed to Ruth as if there were a note of bitter- 
 ness in her speech. A tall, pale girl, with reddish hair, 
 moody, blue eyes, and rigid, compressed mouth went 
 silently through the little front hall out into the street. 
 
 " Now, I'll come out in the sitting room, if I may," 
 said Ruth. 
 
 " Sure and ye'll do as ye please." 
 
 Ruth walked out into the neat room, with the rag 
 carpet and seated herself in one of the plain, com- 
 fortable rocking chairs. Maggie established her strong, 
 round, little person in the one opposite it, beaming and 
 sparkling. 
 
 " Who was that girl who was here when I came 
 in ? " asked Miss Thorndike, seizing the first oppor- 
 tunity of hasty exit from the present line of thought. 
 
 " O that gurrl, her name's Katie Desmond ; she's a 
 dressmaker here. Ye remember that John Carney that 
 used to play on the ball team — ^the pitcher, they called 
 him?" 
 
 " The dark fellow — rather handsome ? " 
 
 " That's the one. Will, she was goin' to marry him 
 — though she'd never say so. But now he's lost his 
 
MEMORIES 87 
 
 job and gone away, and I don't know what'll become 
 of her. Poor gurrl, I'm sorry for her; she's niver 
 been the same since — always hard an' bitther Ibike. 
 
 " She's a good gurrl too ; I hate to see it. I knew 
 'em both whin they was babies. They was Patch 
 people, both of 'em." 
 
 " What's the Patch like, now, Maggie ? It's changed 
 a lot since the old days, hasn't it? " 
 
 "Will, thin, it's changed a good deal. There's. 
 Oitalions there now, a good many of 'em and the only 
 Irish that's lift are the old-timers." 
 
 " And very poor, I suppose." 
 
 " No, not all of 'em. There's old Mrs. Carney — the 
 grandmother of the bye I was tellin' ye of ; ' the Kerry 
 miser,' they call her — she's rich; she's got money in 
 all the savin's banks that she's savin — tin thousand 
 dollars, they say, and some says more. The house will 
 be filled with bank books, they say, and some thinks 
 she's got money there beside — stored up, after the old- 
 fashioned way — in the toe of a stockin' — and hid away 
 somewheres in a hole under the flur. She's been savin' 
 that money for fifty years, workin' in the mill ever 
 since it started — and livin' on tea and potatoes and 
 storin' it away. Much good it'll do her. If she'd spint 
 more of it, her own grandson wouldn't have been wan- 
 derin' around the face of the country as he is to-day." 
 
 " Where did you say he was, Maggie ? " 
 
 ".He's gone south, they say; that's all I knows." 
 
 The industrious Maggie had returned to her work 
 as she was talking and sat sewing busily. 
 
 "Do ye remimber the toime yer father was in the 
 
88 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 South?" she asked. "Of course ye don't; that was 
 before ye was born — way back in the war toime. Let 
 me see — 'twas in 1864. I remember it because it was 
 the same year my father died. Yer mother, poor 
 woman, she'd be half crazy for fear somethin' would 
 happen to him. 
 
 " Ivery day I'd foind her oflE by herself, where she'd 
 think I wouldn't see her, weepin'." 
 
 " ' Ah, Maggie ' she'd say. ' Do ye think he'll ever 
 come back ? ' 
 
 " ' There, there,' I'd say to her, ' don't ye be worryin' 
 yer pretty head ; there'll be no danger where he's gone 
 — just fer business.' Then she'd fall to cryin' fit to 
 break her heart. 
 
 " ' Ah, Maggie, Maggie,' she'd say. ' God bliss ye — 
 ye're a good gurrl to me. But he'll niver come back — 
 niver — niver.' " 
 
 Maggie laid down her work, with far-off memories 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Ah, there was the pretty gurrl for ye — yer mother. 
 Sometimes I'd say to mesilf. ' Ye're the perfect image 
 of her, — only darker, — but sure I mustn't be tellin' you 
 this, it'll make you vain. I remimber the first day I 
 saw her. I thought she must be an angel — honest I 
 did. — I was a green young gurrl — just over. Oh, she 
 was the loveliest thing you ever saw, with her pretty, 
 pink face and her yellow hair, in a big white dress with 
 big flowers on it — ^them's the days they was wearin' 
 hoops. O, but she was a lovely gurrl. 
 
 " My, an' to think she's did these twenty years, and 
 me livin' still. Will, will, it's the will of God." 
 
MEMORIES 89 
 
 She wiped a silent tear from her cheek ; the eyes of 
 the girl grew moist watching her. Dear old Maggie — 
 that strong loving loyal soul, always the satae — at 
 birth, and life and death, — ^the nurse and comforter of 
 her dead mother, the refuge and indulgent confederate 
 of her childhood fears and enterprises, the sturdy 
 friend of to-day — the one place where she could turn 
 with absolute certainty for sympathy and aid — a sort of 
 practical, workaday guardian angel, to whom she had 
 gone ever since she was bom. 
 
 The girl crept over and seated herself on the low 
 stool beside her knees, as in the old days ; a pretty pic- 
 ture in the first of the twilight, the strong rounded 
 figure of the old woman with her firm, large hands in 
 her lap, her seamed, vigorous face, with its smooth 
 greyish hair parted straight through the centre, and 
 the wrinkles pursing in at her eyes and mouth; and 
 below her the brown-haired, slender, fresh-faced girl 
 listening and musing, with her hands clasped about 
 her knees. Around them lay the familiar setting of 
 the darkening room, the geraniums in the win- 
 dow, the coal stove, the strong, bare chairs — a 
 wholesome place, where wholesome people lived their 
 daily lives. 
 
 They sat there longer than they thought, — ^the one 
 loving to recall — the other always anxious to hear — 
 that half familiar tale — the story of her father and her 
 mother and their early life together; that romance 
 which stirs your heart as will no other but your own; 
 that strange, far-oflf time just before the dawning of 
 your own existence, those imaginings of figures espe- 
 
90 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 daily dear to you, in the happiest period of their lives — 
 touched unconsciously with the colour of first childish 
 memories, those little, mystical, uncertain pictures of 
 the mind, which appear now, as they return to you, 
 like glimpses of some pre-existence, entirely separate 
 and apart from your own. 
 
 Suddenly Maggie's narration broke off. 
 
 " God bless ye," she said. " The mills are out and 
 here's Barry come home, and me still talkin'." 
 
 Outside, Ruth saw the long black straggling lines 
 from the mill ; and nearer at hand, the little, silent man 
 known to her solely as the husband of Maggie, was 
 coming in at the gate. 
 
 "O, I'm awfully sorry," said Ruth. "I've kept 
 you from getting his supper." 
 
 " O, that's all right, me darlin', he'll forgive ye. If 
 he won't he'll have to ; sure, I'll make him." 
 
 The girl had put her hat on and was hurrying to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 " Don't drive the way ye come down," said Maggie. 
 " Go round the other way. They say they've got the 
 smallpox in thp Hoodie." 
 
 " Have they ? " cried Ruth. " Why, I hadn't heard 
 of that. Are there many sick ? " 
 
 " No, only one or two." 
 
 "Aren't you afraid you'll catch it here?" 
 
 " God bliss ye, no. We've had it before now over 
 here." 
 
 " But you'll be careful, won't you ? " 
 
 " Sure we will. Good-bye to ye. Miss Ruth." 
 
MEMORIES 91 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 The dog-cart hurried away home through the dusk 
 and Barry Shea saw, with unconcealed impatience, his 
 wife start vigorously to work at the foundation of his 
 belated supper. 
 
Chapter VIII 
 
 THE PESTILENCE 
 
 rOWARD the dingy end of Main Street, you 
 see the sign of Cornelius J. Murphy above 
 his grocery store, a most unpretentious place, 
 with small and dusty show windows, a black door, 
 with a clanking latch, and two dejected brownstone 
 steps, worn deep with the long stream of shuffling feet 
 that has passed over them. Along the edge of the side- 
 walk in front, the giant telegraph poles march solemnly 
 down the street, and out and away from the little city 
 into the great world — their wires tangled full of kites, 
 horse-chestnuts on strings, and other joys of youth 
 lost beyond the far bounds of wistfulness to their fond 
 desires. 
 
 Across the littered road one sees the names of com- 
 petitors — N. Phaneur and Pierre Malbeouf and F. X. 
 Desroches ; and now even that of J. Jaboweski, whose 
 windows are cluttered full of garlands of garlic, and 
 black sausage, and cheap oil, and mustard, and strings 
 of little beadlike confections — various abominations 
 pleasing to the heart of the unregenerate Pole. Here 
 is the centre of the confusion of tongues, a place as 
 crazy with strange peoples as the map of Europe ; be- 
 
 92 
 
THE PESTILENCE 93 
 
 hind is the Huddle, full of Poles and poor Irish; 
 across, the Irish and Italians of the Patch; above, on 
 the side hill, the French of Little Canada, with a few 
 English and Scotchmen scattered here and there in 
 various places. 
 
 In and out of Murphy's door passes the procession 
 of shawled girls and women, of tottering men, reduced 
 by age to the second childhood of family errand boy, 
 bringing in their copper and silver and bearing off 
 their little bundles along the silent, scornful line of 
 young loafers fixed to the shining wall, between the 
 store and Canty's saloon. Inside the dark little shop 
 you may or may not see its proprietor — the silent 
 Murphy — he is often gone, sometimes on politics, some- 
 times on business — ^but your eye will soon make out the 
 grotesque figure of Jimmy Dineen, the clerk, behind his 
 counter. 
 
 Now it may be that our factory towns produce no 
 more human monstrosities than any others; yet at 
 least, we notice them more, the rest of the population 
 being in the mills or off the streets, while these pass 
 continually beneath our eyes. They are in their way 
 a feature of the town, as familiar as the jesters in an 
 old time court — Billy, the dwarf, that square-bodied, 
 doll-legged, bushy-headed, waddling three feet noth- 
 ing; Tom, the dummy; Patsy, the scrofulous paraly- 
 tic, with the lopping hand and the bent leg, and Jimmy, 
 the spider. Everybody knows these by ' their first 
 names. 
 
 If you watched the Spider hunching along beside the 
 shelves into the dark recesses of the store, and swing- 
 
94 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 ing his trailing legs across the counters on his sturdy 
 arms, you would understand the justice of his naming. 
 The boys appreciate it keenly. You can hear the packs 
 about the corner almost any evening, tapping at the 
 window, shrilling in ecstatic voice : — 
 
 "Jimmy the Spider, 
 He sat down beside her." 
 
 Then out comes the Spider on his crutches to the 
 door — " Cheese it ; here he comes," — a six-limbed, half- 
 human thing, glaring in impotent rage up and down 
 the empty street. The loafers shift their backs along 
 the wall and jeer him. 
 
 The fear of the pestilence was in the air — not a panic, 
 in any way, but a general sense of apprehension. 
 Four cases in the Huddle and two suspects in Little 
 Canada. Such things had got loose before ; there was 
 always the chance again, especially with the way they 
 were jamming those " Polanders " into the Huddle — 
 especially with old man Childs, that whiskered old 
 dodderer, as agent of the Board of Health. There 
 were distinct mutterings of dissatisfaction through the 
 town. But then, he was Thorndike's man; what were 
 you going to do about it? It occurred to John May- 
 hew, in the enthusiasm of youth, that he would find 
 out. He took his hat and started to make a call on 
 Con. Murphy. 
 
 Here was the centre of the thing, certainly; as he 
 passed the corner of the block, he saw, in a white 
 patch of electric light on the side street, the red flag 
 before one of the infected houses in the Huddle. 
 
 Incidentally, as he went by the loafers at the door, 
 
THE PESTILENCE 95 
 
 he noticed that they seemed unusually alert and in- 
 terested. One of them stood close in front of the line 
 talking. 
 
 " They say the red-head's comin' up with Carney," 
 he announced. 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 " Well I heard it." 
 
 " I tell ye, by God, they've got somethin' on," he 
 said, spitting vigorously to one side. 
 
 " Aw, me foot," said the scornful one lounging be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Well, then, what's he comin' up here agin for, if 
 they ain't? You bet your life he's workin' somethin' 
 that's worth it." 
 
 Mayhew opened the door and stepped into the 
 atmosphere of the grocery, with its miscellany of dry 
 and sticky smells. 
 
 At the end of the counter, to the right, Con. Mur- 
 phy — ^tall, gaunt, dark, with perpendicular lines in his 
 smooth-shaven face; toothpick in his mouth, red- 
 brown Fedora hat on the back of his head, lounged 
 back against the shelving. Beyond him sat the Spider, 
 on his high stool, his arms on the table, his bright 
 eyes on the centre of the room. It was a dull time ; no 
 customers were in the store. In the chairs beside the 
 empty stove, sat two " old timers " — Mike Finnegan, 
 fat and rosy and round-headed, of suave and magnifi- 
 cent courtesy; old Bat Foley, the Methuselah of the 
 Patch, — weazened, drooping, thin-legged, the dry pod 
 of a man — grasping his black clay pipe between his 
 denuded gums. 
 
96 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Con. Murphy pointed a silent finger toward them. 
 They were talking old and ghastly things — ^the his- 
 tories of the pestilences of earlier days. 
 
 " I was just tellin' thim," said Mr. Finnegan, recog- 
 nising the new comer, " Here's a mon," — pointing 
 gracefully with his pipe — " that remimbers the toime 
 of the plague ; don't ye, Bat ? " 
 
 " Oi do," said the pod, wagging its head. 
 
 " Sure he does." 
 
 " Yis." 
 
 " 'Twas this way," said Mike Finnegan, the enter- 
 tainer, " I'll till it to ye. The regular plague it was, 
 the cholera, as some calls it. They got it workin' in 
 the first canal — ^the young min that come, here first. 
 Bould, boisterous divils, they was, with niver a heed 
 for God or mon. They had their shanties along the 
 canal, in a long strate, with few women and no praste, 
 and one mornin' they woke and the plague was on 'em. 
 Some says that some of the new ones brought it with 
 them from the old country. Some says 'twas the judg- 
 mint of God on 'em. But wheriver it come from, it 
 was there, and it niver left till it took the half of thim 
 with it. O, it was terrible. 
 
 " How many was there died, now ? " he said, bend- 
 ing toward old Foley. 
 
 "I dunno." 
 
 "A hundred?" 
 
 "A hundred, yis, and more; yis, tin, twenty, fifty 
 hundred," said the old man wildly. " 'Yis more, 'ye 
 couldn't count 'em. Tin thousand. Aw, how do I 
 know? I don't just remember, rightly. I saw 'em 
 
THE PESTILENCE 97 
 
 with me own eyes setting there — like this — on the 
 ground — " He trailed off into drowsy, indistinguish- 
 able brogue. 
 
 " He don't remimber will, these days," explained 
 Mr. Finnegan. " But 'twas tirrible bad. They sat 
 there in the strate, young boys, not mooch more, waitin' 
 and drinkin' and drinkin' and waitin'. They wouldn't 
 lit thim out. Ivry day they Uft their food for thim 
 outside, and ivery mornin' they'd be standin' outside 
 the dure a dozen of 'em in boxes of old boards, put 
 out by the rist, waitin' for the cart; and all the strate 
 would be white with the loime they'd thrown on it." 
 
 " Loike winther oop and down," ejaculated Bat 
 Foley. 
 
 "Thin they'd take 'em up to the old cimetiryand 
 bury in one grave — you'll see it there now, if ye'll hoont 
 fer it — 'twas always opin thin. And one day a man'd 
 be as will an' hilthy as ye are this day, an' the nixt 
 he'd be in there with the rist." 
 
 " You remimber about Hooligan ? " he demanded of 
 the pod. 
 
 "Dan Hooligan? Yis." 
 
 " Was he a strong mon ? " 
 
 " He was — a grand big mon — and niver a spot or 
 scale on him. I see him the day before he died." 
 
 "Wan day he see him drivin' by carryin' the did, 
 and the nixt he was in the cart himself, and another 
 mon drivin' him." 
 
 " Yis, and whin oi asked him where was Hooligan, 
 he says to me, ' he's ridin' to-day.' Yis, that's what he 
 s'id : ' He's ridin' this day,' he says." 
 
98 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 He wagged his head and went off into a low, chuck- 
 ling, rambling, senile laughter, showing the two re- 
 maining yellow teeth upon his lower jaw. 
 
 " Thin, after that," said Mike Finnegan, " there 
 come the ship faver in The Patch. Do you remember 
 that, Bat?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The toime of the faver ? " 
 
 " The faver — do I' remember it ? Do I remember 
 it?" quavered the other. "Could I forgit it? The 
 did and the dyin' and the keenin' for the did. And 
 ivery man they carried out black, ivry wan of them — 
 loike a naygur. O Mother of God — loike a naygur — 
 ivery day more — and we sittin! there and waitin' and 
 the women cryin'. Ah, Holy Virgin — " 
 
 The memory of this horror had stirred this old phan- 
 tom to the bottom of his dry soul ; he lapsed again into 
 incoherent mumblings. 
 
 " Thin there was the toime of the smallpox. Oi 
 remimber that meself," said Finnegan. " It was tuk 
 by some of the women in the old paper mill. Did ye 
 niver hear of that? No? 
 
 " Will, one day as the women were workin' in the 
 rag-room they found some foine underclothin' there — 
 lovely things they was, — I saw thim meself, — all lace 
 and gathers and all sooch stoof — fit for the quane. So 
 the women kept 'em out and smoogled 'em home and 
 wore thim. Shure they couldn't be thinkin' what'd 
 anybody throw sooch lovely things away for. Before 
 long they found out. They'd had the sores of dith in 
 
THE PESTILENCE 99 
 
 'em, they'd been taken off some corpse — some foine 
 lady did with the smallpox, no doubt. 
 
 " 'Twas a long toime before they found out what 
 they had; and thin it was iverywhere and iveryone 
 was dyin'. 
 
 "Ah, they had it all over. There was wan Kerry 
 woman, Harrigan her name was, who had a choild 
 that toime, and whin it was born, it come into the 
 world with the smallpox on it, havin' taken it from 
 its mother ; and the both of 'em did togither and they 
 buried 'em at one toime. 
 
 " Ah, yis," he went on reminiscently, " and they had 
 great toimes buryin' thim days, specially thim wild 
 Kerries — The constables yvould try to kape 'em from 
 havin' a public funeral, for fear they'd sprid the dis- 
 ease, ye see, and the Kerries 'd foight for it — ^Do you 
 remimber that, Bat ? " 
 
 "Oi do." 
 
 " Sure, 'twas great toimes." 
 
 " It was. They wouldn't let us give 'em a dacint 
 burial. But we showed 'em, be God." 
 
 " They did, with bricks and stones — ^min and women 
 aloike." 
 
 " Yis, hurroo," piped the warlike ghost, " we did 
 thot." 
 
 " And the women with stockin's, with stones in the 
 toe of 'em." 
 
 " Yis, they all had 'em." 
 
 "And mad Mag was there, with the rist, ye say?" 
 
 " She was." 
 
loo THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " She killed a policeman once in the old country — 
 with stone in her stocking," explained old Finnegan. 
 
 " In the Dooblin riots, she did," quavered Methuselah 
 — " a cop. Two min hild him while she strook him, 
 and she fought here joost the same." 
 
 " But finally," continued Finnegan, " the constables 
 would get the hearse and drive it off." 
 
 " Yis," said Bat Foley, " but we had our wakes 
 joost the same ; they'd niver dare coome down into the 
 Patch in the noight toime." 
 
 The historian stopped a moment. 
 
 " Tell me," Mr. Finnegan went on, " will it sprid 
 again, so, do ye think? No?" 
 
 " Yit it moight, ye can't till." 
 
 " It moight," conceded Con. Murphy. 
 
 " The Hoodie's a disgrace to the town with thim 
 Polanders — the dirty divils," interpolated Bat Foley. 
 
 " All togither in one pin, ye moight say. Stoock 
 around in there loike clothespins in a basket, in thim 
 little filthy houses." 
 
 " 'Tis ould Soolivan's to blame," piped up Methuse- 
 lah, " He owns the most of thim." 
 
 " No, 'tis Thorndike. He's the mon to blame for 
 what happens in this town. Sure he could stop it if 
 he wanted to, couldn't he ? " 
 
 " He could." 
 
 "Will thin?" 
 
 " He's a hard mon, Thorndike," said Foley, nodding 
 his head solemnly. 
 
 " What's it to him if a hundred of us dies ? " in- 
 quired Finnegan. 
 
THE PESTILENCE loi 
 
 " Will," he went on. " God help us if it gits started ; 
 there's moore of us than there was in the old toimes." 
 
 He got up. " It's toime we should be startin'," he 
 said to old Foley. 
 
 Methuselah scuffled slowly to the door behind him. 
 
 " Good noight, min," he said, passing out. 
 
 " Good avenin' to ye," said the suave and finished 
 Finnegan, waving his hand. 
 
 The noisy door shut after them. 
 
 " Well," said Mayhew turning to Murphy, after 
 they had gone. " What do you really think ? Will 
 is spread ? " 
 
 " It might." 
 
 " Is it as bad down there as they say ? " 
 
 " I've been here twenty years and I never saw its 
 equal." 
 
 " Well, how about this man Sullivan, that owns so 
 many of the houses ; can't you get at him ? " 
 
 " No, you can't. I don't blame old man Sullivan so 
 much, though he's a bad one. He's just gettin' the 
 best he can out of his tenements. So he rents 'em to 
 the Polanders — ^they're good pay, they always have the 
 cash. I don't know but I'd do it myself." 
 
 " Who is to blame, then? " 
 
 " Well, in the first place, we haven't got any health 
 ordinances that amount to anything ; and in the second 
 place, they don't live up to what they have got." 
 
 "That's what I thought," commented Mayhew. 
 
 " You'll never get that place cleaned out the way 
 it should be until you get old Childs out of bein' agent 
 of the Board of Health." 
 
I02 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " What's the matter with our having a new agent — 
 and some ordinances — clean the whole thing out ? " 
 said Mayhew enthusiastically. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Childs comes up for re-election week after next." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Why can't we turn him out, and get somebody 
 that's fit for it?" 
 
 Con. Murphy changed the position of his back on the 
 shelves. 
 
 " You're a very young man," he said. 
 
 " That isn't what I asked you. Murphy. Why not ? " 
 
 " Why not ? Well, in the first place, you can't beat 
 him. He's Thorndike's man ; he'd get all the republi- 
 can votes. In the second place, he'd have all the 
 friends of Sullivan and men like him in the democrats. 
 You couldn't get him out." 
 
 " I could try," said the young legislator. 
 
 " Yes, you could try," said Murphy, imperturbably. 
 
 " But I thought now when people were excited over 
 this smallpox business, it might make a difference." 
 
 " You can't beat him," said Murphy, with the con- 
 viction of years of ward politics behind him. He 
 passed on to a word of caution. 
 
 " I wouldn't mix into it if I was you," he said. 
 " You're a young man and you're just gettin' your 
 start. There's no use of gettin' 'em down on you — 
 especially Thorndike." 
 
 " Thorndike doesn't own me," said Mayhew bitterly. 
 
 " Don't be a fool," said Murphy. " You don't want 
 to run against him till you have to. Nobody does. 
 
THE PESTILENCE 103 
 
 Now I give you warnin' before you start. There's no 
 use in battin' your head against a stone wall." 
 
 The sage advice of Con. Murphy fell on a rebellious 
 ear. Youth is not the season of compromises. John 
 Mayhew, walking home alone, pounded out the eternal 
 logic of the thing. Here was this office, vital beyond 
 exaggeration in this swarming, half-civilised popula- 
 tion — drawn from a thousand open farms to the un- 
 suspected dangers of congested tenements; and in it 
 this old snuffling, incompetent, careless, lazy, truckling 
 to the influential, the very exploiters of the population 
 he should protect ; a great spot of rust on a most criti- 
 cal part of the machinery of government. A mur- 
 derer would do less positive evil in his life than this 
 official of the city might easily accomplish in his nega- 
 tive way within a week or month. And as for Thorn- 
 dike — what if he did not like it ? He was sick of hear- 
 ing of him; of the intimations he had that this town 
 Colossus looked down with disfavour on him and his 
 political paths. He owed Thorndike nothing. If he 
 were responsible for the continuance of this thing — 
 this mediaeval, tyrannical, dead condition of affairs; if 
 he sacrificed, even by oversight, the health and lives 
 of these people, so much the more shame to him. 
 
 " I'll do it," said John Mayhew, political reformer, 
 smiting the palm of his hand with his clenched fist. 
 " This is a free country, William Henry Harrison 
 Thorndike, and don't you forget it." 
 
Chapter IX 
 
 AN ULTIMATUM 
 
 JOHN MAYHEW sat at his office window, star- 
 ing disconsolately out. It was Sunday morn- 
 ing, — a raw, chilly, midwinter Sunday — black 
 street with white borders, sloppy sidewalks, 
 slaty skies. The foul and bedraggled spirit of depression 
 brooded over the town, and settled in the staring vacancy 
 of the streets. But now he looked up and saw the long 
 line with their prayer books winding down the street 
 from mass — the Irish in their prim and decent Sunday 
 clothes; the French women with their elaborate velvet 
 capes, and last of all the variegated procession of the 
 newest people, the Poles — purple and orange and 
 ghastly greens; flat pan-cake hats with roses that 
 never were on land or sea, and hyacinths and little 
 forests of ostrich plumes, stuck straight up from the 
 crown. Here, in these squat, stolid Asiatic folk, with 
 their slit eyes, high cheek bones and yellow, pasty 
 skin, and their savages' lust for colour, the foreign in- 
 vasion had reached its height. 
 
 John Mayhew at the window was aware of steps 
 upon the stairway and the two serious eyes which fixed 
 themselves upon the nape of his neck. He turned 
 
 104 
 
AN ULTIMATUM 105 
 
 about. General Barrett O'Hara, fresh home from 
 mass, stood transfigured in the doorway. 
 
 " Come in, General," said Mayhew ; " take a chair." 
 
 His invitation was accepted. 
 
 One must undertake a recapitulation of General 
 Barrett O'Hara, man and clothing, as seen on Sunday, 
 with much diffidence. There is a certain I-know-not- 
 what-ness about this notable public figure on that 
 sacred day which eludes and baffles. His clothing is 
 exactly the same — the same soft brown hat and pale 
 brown overcoat, the same ample trousers with their 
 extraordinary, wide-meshed plaid, wrinkling about his 
 short legs — all a little more scrupulously brushed per- 
 haps, a little more dandy in their arrangement, but 
 still identical. His long white hair is more smoothly 
 combed, his face fresh shaven, his yellow-white irh- 
 perial more severely military, his eyebrows bushier, his 
 warlike five feet six inches more threatening in aspect 
 than at any other time. He attends the half-past ten 
 o'clock mass as regularly as Father Flynn himself; 
 he is one of its chief features, bearing with him his 
 gold-headed cane, testimonial of Division 6, A. O. H., 
 walking with the grand air to and from the church — 
 an Irish king in exile, distributing slow and gracious 
 courtesies among the people. 
 
 He sat now leaning on his cane', gazing at Mayhew. 
 
 " Cheerful weather," ventured Mayhew. 
 
 " Most foul and disagrayable," the General affirmed. 
 
 The conversation halted. 
 
 " Have you seen the Boston paper to-day ? " asked 
 General O'Hara. 
 
io6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "No, what's in it?" 
 
 " They say it's got an article on the Fenians. If it 
 has, I'm goin' to buy one after dinner, and I'll lave it 
 here for you. You'll find it very interestin' redin'. 
 
 " Much obliged." 
 
 " I hope they've trated it with respict," observed the 
 General, belligerently. " If they have not, I'll be 
 obliged to communicate with the iditor; and it'll not 
 be the first toime. 
 
 " They laugh to-day," he went on. " But there was 
 one of the greatest and most unfortunate movements 
 of modern toimes. Did ye ever hear 'em spake of the 
 grand demonstraytion we had here ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " 'Twas the most tremendous rain in years, that 
 noight. The grand parayde was overwhilmed in it; 
 two hundred min in loine in the ilimintal fury, marchin' 
 up and down, with the water drippin' from their de- 
 voted forms and niver a man flinched. There was pa- 
 triotism for ye. Gineral Sweeney was there in a car- 
 riage drawn by two snow-white horses, with grane 
 ribbons flowin' from their broidles, a foine figure of a 
 man, with the grand manner. 
 
 " ' Ye'd be could, me foine byes,' he said, ' if ye'd 
 had not yer brave Irish hearts to warm ye.' 
 
 " They cheered to the icho, where they stood, with 
 the rain runnin' down their nicks, and the water from 
 their ribbons paintin' their faces grane; and some of 
 thim, who had thim chape hats, with the paysteboard 
 meltin' and runnin' down the side of the hids. 
 
 "Ah, but inside the hall the meetin' was a grand 
 
AN ULTIMATUM 107 
 
 succiss, with the spakin' by Gineral Sweeney and his 
 staff, and the presintaytion of the beautiful silk insign 
 to the company, by the Fenian sisterhood. Two thou- 
 sand people sat enchanted by the impassioned oratory, 
 and three thousand dollars was subscribed thin and 
 there for the bonds of the Irish Republic." 
 
 General O'Hara was well launched upon his favour- 
 ite theme. 
 
 " Ah, the year of 1866 was a dark and fatal toime 
 for Ireland," he said reflectively^ " Rain and misfor- 
 tune followed it to the ind. A grand uprising — forty 
 thousand brave byes in their shamrocks and grane rib- 
 bons riddy to cross the Canaydian frontier at the wink 
 of the eye. And ginerals, ye ask? Gineral Sweeney 
 was a foine man and a grand lader, but there was 
 others there, great figures of the Confideracy, their 
 names would startle ye, come up muffled to the eyes, 
 to lade the noble foight for Ireland. And thin all 
 ruined by trichery, bloody trichery, and min we trusted 
 loike brothers." 
 
 " Are you sure it was treachery ? " 
 
 " I am. The power and infloonce of British goold. 
 The brave fellows that stole away at the did of noight, 
 leavin' their comfortable and lovin' homes, what did 
 they discover waitin' for thim at St. Albans — ' confu- 
 sion worse confounded,' a^ the pote says, — no food, 
 and two cases of old roosty muskets for firearms that 
 the Fiji savages would despise to use, — ^not even a uni- 
 form, iviry one in linen dusters, men and officers, 
 flittin' and flyin' here and there. 'Twas a disgrace the 
 most stupendous in history. You may not appreciate, 
 
io8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 niver havin' been to war, how mooch the martial spirit 
 depinds upon the uniform. 'Tis recognised by the 
 greatest military gayniouses in ivry age. Be God, me 
 boy, I vinture to say, the ancient Greek thimsilves 
 would have hisitated on the sacred grounds of Mara- 
 thon and Thermopylae, if they'd been compilled by 
 fate to foight in linen doosters." 
 
 He marched on through his history of wrong — ^the 
 confusion, the downfall, the gigantic quarrels at head- 
 quarters, the retreat — " Min offerin' one hundred dol- 
 lars in Irish bonds for a meal, and gittin' nothin' but 
 laughter thin." Ever since that disgraceful night at 
 St. Albans, suspicions had never ceased to stalk abroad 
 with General O'Hara. Cabals, conspiracies, yawning 
 traps, foul and underground things, constantly sur- 
 rounded this terrible little man, unseen to all but his 
 own practiced eye. 
 
 " Trichery most foul and deliberate," he re-affirmed. 
 " There was six of thim in it. They was discovered — 
 Are they livin' now ? Did they die a natural dith, any 
 wan of thim? Aha, they did not. By accident and 
 failure of the heart they wint — sudden and quick with- 
 out the holy comforts of the dyin'. What made thim 
 go so? 'Tis harrd to understand, unliss — unliss you 
 know — " 
 
 Bloody mystery lay thick within his voice. 
 
 " Well, it's over now," said Mayhew, " anyhow." 
 
 " Over ? Niver. Not while one drop of sparklin' 
 Irish blood coorses in the veins of the countrjTnen of 
 Wolf Tone and Robert Emmit. Over, did ye say? 
 If 'twas over, would I have the positive engagement 
 
AN ULTIMATUM 109 
 
 I do ivry Saturday night. Ye'd heard yerself of the 
 Clan-na-gael. Will, you remain still and listen. 
 There's another day comin' and the flag of the Fenian 
 sisterhood is waitin' — I have it in me own room above 
 — some day its foolds may be unfoorled again — some 
 day—" 
 
 He stopped. Strange steps were on the stairway, 
 an unexpected visitor had come upon the scene. The 
 straight, stiff figure of William Henry Harrison Thorn- 
 dike stood upon the threshold. 
 
 " Good morning," he said to Mayhew, with a 
 scarcely perceptible nod. 
 
 " O, good morning, Mr. Thorndike," said Mayhew 
 self-consciously, knocking over his chair as he got up. 
 " Won't you come in ? " 
 
 The manufacturer advanced slowly into the room. 
 
 " How're you ? " he said curtly to General O'Hara. 
 This time there was no nod at all, and not the slightest 
 change of expression in the hard, dark face. The in- 
 solent coldness of the ruler showed in every movement. 
 He sat down slowly by the desk and for an instant 
 looked under lowered eyelids at the general. 
 
 " I'll have to excuse meself, gintlemin," said that 
 polished man of the world. 
 
 There was an awkward pause as he went. 
 
 " I came here," said Thorndike at last, " to speak 
 to you about this Board of Health business." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " How far are you going, with it ? " 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Thorndike?" The faint 
 resonance of a challenge sounded in Mayhew's voice. 
 
no THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Are you going to try to throw out Childs ? " 
 
 " Yes, we are." 
 
 " I understand you are going to bring in some new 
 health ordinances too." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was a striking difference between the two 
 men and their position — the older, cold, deliberate, con- 
 fident; the younger with an odd combination in his 
 face of diffidence and determination; a distrust of his 
 own strength and an inbred respect for the power of 
 the other, mingled with anger and native independence 
 and resolution of character. 
 
 Thorndike slowly slid a paper knife on the desk be- 
 tween his thumb and forefinger. 
 
 " Well," he said, in his dry, hard voice. " I advise 
 you to drop it." 
 
 "Why?" asked Mayhew stiffly. 
 
 " Why, because it's the best thing you can do. You 
 can't beat Childs, in the first place." 
 
 " We can try." 
 
 " Yes, you can try ; that's all you can do." 
 
 " Then what did you come up here for ? " 
 
 " To stop this infernal agitation of the thing. All 
 this talk about the dangerous condition of the tene- 
 ments does not amount to anything, because it isn't 
 true, in the first place; but it tends to keep these peo- 
 ple stirred up and excited by giving them the idea 
 that somebody's abusing them. Now all I want you 
 to do is to stop agitating the thing, and it will die a 
 natural death. That's all. Will you do it?" 
 
AN ULTIMATUM iii 
 
 " I don't believe I can, Mr. Thorndike." 
 
 " Now here," said the manufacturer, still more 
 coldly, " you don't want to make any mistake. This 
 is no theory ; this is straight fact. I came up here with 
 a simple business proposition, and it concerns you a 
 good deal more than it does me. You can't beat 
 Childs, anyway. I can promise you that, now. But 
 if you keep up this agitation much longer you can just 
 about ruin yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " I mean what I say. A young lawyer in a small 
 town like this can't afford to make enemies. I'm just 
 giving you a little warning. If you don't drop this 
 thing, you're liable to get dropped yourself." 
 
 " In other words," said Mayhew hotly, " if I don't 
 do the way you want me to in politics, you'll boycott 
 my business." 
 
 " You can call it what you want to. The fact is 
 that men don't give law business to their enemies ; you 
 know that as well as I do ; and if you come in to this 
 place and antagonise all the decent people here, for 
 the sake of a little cheap notoriety among a lot of 
 damned ignorant Irishmen, you'll either leave the 
 town or you'll starve to death. That's what'U happen." 
 
 At this crisis, affairs took a strange and unexpected 
 turn. The office door opened suddenly and General 
 Barrett O'Hara projected himself vehemently into the 
 conversation. 
 
 " I'll stand here no longer, be God, and hear my 
 young frind insoolted," he exclaimed. 
 
112 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " What were you standing there for at all ? " de- 
 manded Thorndike. 
 
 Naturally, certainly, some suspicion seemed to direct 
 itself against General O'Hara. He repudiated it at 
 once. 
 
 "Stand where?" he said loftily, "I don't under- 
 stand ye. As I was passin' the dure of my young frind 
 here I heard yer vilent and tyrannical language to him 
 and I come in. 
 
 " Don't you pay any attention to him," he went on 
 to Mayhew. " Let him do what he wants to. Be God, 
 the ignorant Irish'U stand by ye. They get into police 
 court occasionally, anyhow, if nothin' else. Ah, ye 
 can't terrify me, nor any of yer minions of plutocracy. 
 Be God, there's wan man in this town that ye don't 
 own or control." 
 
 The mill owner arose and turned his back to the 
 speaker. 
 
 " It isn't necessary," he said addressing Mayhew, 
 " for me to say anything further. Yoi; understand the 
 matter perfectly now." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I advise you to think it over and let me hear from 
 you." 
 
 The face opposite the manufacturer's was fixed and 
 rigid now ; its eyes met his firmly and angrily. 
 
 " You needn't wait ; you won't hear from me. I'm 
 not going to change my mind." 
 
 " Very well then, that ends it. Good day." 
 
 " Good day to ye," said General Barrett O'Hara 
 sarcastically as the door closed after him. 
 
AN ULTIMATUM 113 
 
 The two occupants of the room listened in silence 
 to his firm and deliberate steps upon the stairs. 
 
 " 'Tis a foul and damnable outrage," exclaimed Gen- 
 eral O'Hara, when they had died away. " He threat- 
 ened you with the entire destruction of your business if 
 ye didn't detract your misure. Be God, I'll expose him." 
 
 " Expose nothing. What would you expose ? " 
 
 " I'd expose him for illegal inflooence on an alder- 
 man, for the improper inflooence of legislation — for 
 usin' threats and vilence." 
 
 " He'd say he didn't threaten, he only came up and 
 warned me for my own good. That's what he did 
 do really." 
 
 " Will, I'll expose him." 
 
 " No, you won't." 
 
 " There's a conspiracee here," hissed General 
 O'Hara. 
 
 " O, no, I guess not. General," said Mayhew in- 
 dulgently. 
 
 " Ye mark me words ; there's conspiracee in prog- 
 ress." 
 
 " I'm afraid you can't prove it. General." 
 
 " Will* anyway, be God, me bye, don't ye be dis- 
 couraged. Ye'll have nothin' to regrit. The Irish'U 
 stand by ye. With the inflooence of meself and me 
 frinds you won't want for practice." 
 
 " Much obliged to you. General," said Mayhew. He 
 was a little anxious to be rid of the demonstrative 
 friend. He wanted to be alone. All of a sudden it 
 occurred to him he must already be overdue for dinner 
 at home. 
 
114 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " You'll have to excuse me, General," he said, " but 
 I'll have to go home to dinner now." 
 
 They parted on the stairway, the General still in- 
 veighing against the tremendous wrong which was 
 threatening his young friend. 
 
 Mayhew went across the street with his head down, 
 angrily canvassing the matter. He recalled all he had 
 heard of Thorndike's iron rule — the intimations of 
 Skeane and Carney, the shrewd warnings of Murphy. 
 William Thorndike was master absolute of Ellington. 
 And now he himself had crossed the purposes of the 
 ruler and defied him and was marked for sacrifice or 
 banishment. 
 
 There was one question which never even presented 
 itself to the mind of the young man — the possibility of 
 retreat. If Thorndike wanted to force a fight he should 
 have it. The whole character of his opponent assured 
 this ; the whole training of American youth to give and 
 take in silence; that cardinal point of honour in every 
 boy's chief education — the education by his peers in 
 the stern social organisation of boyhood and youth, — 
 never to seek a fight, but never, without exception, to 
 shirk it when forced upon you. 
 
 Yet there was something more than this mere in- 
 stinct of resistance, which presented itself to Mayhew's 
 mind, with more or less definiteness — he was fighting 
 for a perfectly reasonable, and almost necessary social 
 improvement; against him was an entirely selfish, ar- 
 bitrary, and irresponsible force, which needed — if there 
 was ever need of discipline in the world — to be beaten 
 and called to account. The other men, who had been 
 
AN ULTIMATUM 115 
 
 swept aside by it, rose before his mind. Possibly he, 
 with his better education and family and opportunity, 
 with the force of public opinion in this matter, might 
 have success where they had failed; might justify the 
 right of the individual against the great god of the 
 commercial machine. At any rate, it was a thing well 
 worth while trying for; and a thing to awake some 
 enthusiasm in the trying. 
 
 The situation at best was scarcely cheerful for the 
 young man, yet there was a certain element of grim 
 humour in it for him, as he thought it over. The stilted 
 wording of a boyish lesson in political economy rose 
 unbidden into his mind : " A republic is a form of gov- 
 ernment, where the sovereign power resides with the 
 people, each individual being guaranteed the right to 
 act politically as he chooses." 
 
 He was half way up the Hill now; a sleety snow 
 had begun to fall from the dirty, grey sky. He 
 stopped a moment to look back over the town. At the 
 right rose the dull, brick ramparts of the mill, at the 
 left the Hill; between them in a semicircle rose the 
 slate roofs of the old, brick tenements, with their stiff 
 rows of dormer windows ; the little houses of the Patch 
 and the dirty wooden mass of the Huddle down below. 
 There in that silent, crowded place, were the working 
 people — thousands of them, — recruiting in one day of 
 sodden rest, the strength for the coming six days' 
 crude and brutal labour; the peasantry of this later 
 time, ranged in the plain — ^working, sweating, marry- 
 ing, dying, unnoticed and unknown. And here above 
 them watched the big house of the owner of the mill. 
 
ii6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 It came to him suddenly as he stood looking — there 
 it was all over again — master and churl, the lord and 
 his retainers, feudalism returned — the hard, industrial 
 feudalism of New England. We prate of freedom, 
 and fellow citizenship and the rights of man, but 
 there the real relation stands typified, where all who 
 have eyes may see. A pretty atmosphere truly for 
 the growth of political freedom! He turned and 
 walked along muttering the old formula. 
 
 " A republic is a form of government in which the 
 sovereign power resides in the people, each individual 
 being guaranteed the right to act politically as he 
 chooses." 
 
 The quotation made him smile. His first few les- 
 sons in practical politics were teaching him a number 
 of things, which did not appear in textbooks. 
 
chapter X 
 
 AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 
 
 /N the sombre east chamber of the Thomdike 
 house, a certain dainty apparition stood before 
 the great melancholy glass in the blackwalnut 
 bureau, engaged in ,the white mysteries of changing 
 her dress for the afternoon. 
 
 " The way he has been acting about this thing is 
 perfectly disgraceful," she affirmed, stabbing her hair 
 viciously with her hairpins. " Perfectly disgraceful. 
 The idea of his trying to throw out that poor old 
 Mr. Childs from his position — all on account of a 
 theory." 
 
 She turned her slender neck with a quick, free naiad 
 grace, to observe her handiwork. Apparently she was 
 satisfied with the effect. Indeed she had exceptionally 
 good reason to be. 
 
 " He's grown to be a crank," she continued. She 
 talked like a person heroically determined to convince 
 herself by brute force, of something she could never 
 really hope to believe in any event. " For that matter, 
 look at the way he talked to me that afternoon — com- 
 ming — ^home — from — ^the — Dibbles." 
 
 The remembrance of this made her suddenly 
 117 
 
ii8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 thoughtful. She turned all at once and established 
 herself, elbows on knees, on an old ottoman beside her, 
 with that pretty flexibility which allows a young 
 woman to adapt herself gracefully to the most im- 
 possibly low seats. 
 
 " I wonder if he really knows what he is talking 
 about," she asked, and lapsed into the depths of thought 
 again. 
 
 " I believe I'll go and see for myself," she exclaimed 
 all at once. 
 
 The idea seemed eminently practical. 
 
 " I will," she said decidedly, springing up. 
 
 "Now what dress shall I wear? Let — me — see. 
 My felt sailor and blue serge — " 
 
 Fifteen minutes later the explorer appeared, ac- 
 coutred according to the most exact ideals in ex- 
 plorers' costume, and the tour had begun. She had 
 added a thick blue veil as a final precaution. 
 
 " There," she said securely, " no one will recognise 
 me in that." 
 
 There was really little danger to have been expected 
 from Miss Ruth Thorndike's visit to the Huddle. The 
 epidemic had already burned itself out; and the Hud- 
 dle, while not the most agreeable place in the world, is 
 not to be considered dangerous, like a city slum. 
 However, if it had been, there is reason to suspect that 
 it would not have interfered greatly with the enter- 
 prise now under way. 
 
 If William Thorndike, who was in New York that 
 afternoon, had heard of the project, he would not have 
 been entirely enthusiastic. His absence added ma- 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 119 
 
 terially to the ease of carrying it through. Miss Ruth 
 Thorndike started out independent and alone to con- 
 duct her investigations. 
 
 Her ideas of what she was going to investigate were 
 perhaps not exactly definite; she merely wanted to 
 learn in general as much as possible of this much re- 
 viled section. All her early life, of course, before her 
 years at school, she had lived in the town, and travelled 
 no end of times through the main streets of the tene- 
 ment district. But all this time she had seen only the 
 most superficial side; and even that, with a woman's 
 instinct to escape the sight of misery and pain, she 
 had avoided as much as possible. Now she would see 
 everything she could. Being a young woman of re- 
 sources, she had her excuses for penetrating the dis- 
 trict carefully worked out. 
 
 In some ways you may hate to think of her visit 
 there that afternoon — in many ways you must be glad 
 ■ — for herself, and, somewhat at least, for the people 
 whom she visited. When she went there, she was 
 merely a girl, with all her instincts and beliefs and 
 thinking hedged carefully within the small circum- 
 ference of her own little class. When she came out, 
 one need not say she was a woman; changes so great 
 do not take place in one afternoon ; but she took away 
 a woman's insight; a woman's deep, painful, sincere 
 sympathy in the life of the people. 
 
 You can imagine the explorer — a slight, elastic, 
 youthful figure, with something still of the abandon of 
 the young girl in its movements, passing down by the 
 brick tenements, down O'Connell street, by Emmet 
 
lao THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Park, and the Row to the place of smeared doorways, 
 of the swarms of sticky-faced children and the sound 
 of the nasal voices of women calling and cursing in 
 the windows. It was a blue-skyed day on the thresh- 
 old of early spring; occasional enterprising boys were 
 already playing marbles on the feasible places in the 
 drying sidewalks. The old men sat sunning on the 
 benches in Emmet Park — small-featured, soft-man- 
 nered little persons with pink cheeks, and side whiskers 
 and mild blue eyes; the fat, apoplectic, bullet-headed 
 hulks of men, whom you see in summer time lolling in 
 the windows of the tenements, in their black shirts 
 and white suspenders, gasping for air — the broken 
 labourers of the mills, put out like old horses to the 
 idleness of their last pasturage. Across from them, 
 along empty lots, marched the procession of the bill- 
 boards — the filthy billboards, with their thick-thighed, 
 leering women from the burlesque shows ; alluring dis- 
 plays of the fat wares in the meat markets of the devil ; 
 the dirty dangers of a melodramatic opium den; a 
 black-bearded villain, strangling a loose-haired woman 
 in the dim blue atmosphere of early morning hissing 
 a disgusting phrase. These billboards, I say, are ad- 
 vertisements of something more than they are meant 
 to be. After all we are getting what we want in the 
 long run. There they stand, calling out the char- 
 acter of our desires to all men — screaming them aloud, 
 you might say, here in Ellington. 
 
 Miss Ruth Thorndike, marching by these allure- 
 ments, turned at last into the meagre dirty side 
 street, where the Huddle faces. You can imagine 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 121 
 
 what a woman saw first there — the children, the un- 
 steady mites, wrapped in old coats, with trailing tails 
 and sleeves, the little girls on their errands, small thin 
 legs parading under a dingy shawl, from which 
 emerged a pail of beer; the small boys in old clothes 
 and broken shoes, forever haunted by the terrible con- 
 sciousness that they wore in the sight of all men, their 
 mother's cast off striped stockings. Then there were 
 the women, the fat old figures in aprons, with their 
 skirts tilted up by their monstrous and unnatural gross- 
 ness; the thin ones, with one bony hand gripping the 
 shawl at their lean necks; grotesque figures all of 
 them, no doubt, and picturesque to the vision of a man, 
 but to the eyes of a sensitive and sympathetic woman, 
 painful, first and always — painful, and shocking, sad- 
 dening — sights she cannot drive from her memory. 
 
 The investigator passed slowly by several of the 
 yellow wooden buildings, slackening occasionally to 
 look into the cold and sordid tenement stairways, with 
 their dirty and uneven floors, the broken places in the 
 plastering like great unhealed sores on the walls, the 
 long, dirty lines above the stairs, where the children 
 go and the men come groping unsteadily up late Sat- 
 urday nights in the darkness. She turned at last and 
 stepped briskly into a doorway. 
 
 The deep voice of a woman answered her knock. 
 " Come in." 
 
 She stepped into the damp, close atmosphere of the 
 room, redolent with the odour of past meals and of 
 human bodies. It was a front room, half filled with 
 the bed in one corner, and darkened by lowered shades, 
 
122 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 a place reserved by night for sleeping and by day for 
 the more formal social functions. 
 
 " Does Mary Macey live here ? " she asked, the big 
 woman standing in the doorway of the back room. 
 
 " No, she don't," said the woman. 
 
 " That's funny," said her caller innocently. " Could 
 you tell me where she does live ? " 
 
 " Mary Macey ? I niver heard of her ; I don't be- 
 lieve there's anybody named that around here." 
 
 " I'm very sorry to have troubled you." 
 
 " O, niver moind." 
 
 " I suppose you were all pretty badly scared by the 
 smallpox last month," Miss Thorndike lingered to say 
 in her most engaging manner. 
 
 " Will yis, I suppose we were," said the woman, 
 uncompromisingly. 
 
 " You're all so close together here." 
 
 " Yis." 
 
 " An they said then, didn't they, that there were a 
 good many complained that the tenements weren't very 
 good here ? " 
 
 " Will, thin, they're bad enough, if you want to 
 know that. Old Soolivan would never fix them unliss 
 he had to — and there's nobody that'll make him. 
 There was some talk of somebody's doin' that a while 
 ago, but they say that's over now." 
 
 "What's the worst fauh with them?" 
 
 " Everything — the sinks are bad for one thing, and 
 the cillars — they're so wit you can't use 'em. Thin 
 there's the dirty Polanders in back ; it's a disgrace the 
 way they live — a dozen in a room, min and women to- 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 123 
 
 gither, loike rats in a nist. It's a wonder we ain't all 
 did long ago. 
 
 " Will, thin, what were you lookin' for — a gurrl ? " 
 said the woman questioning in her turn. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Will, I guess you won't foind any Mary Macey 
 here." The woman turned, with an air of dismissal, 
 toward the back room. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike found herself again in the hallway, 
 with her desire for information still unquenched. 
 
 She decided at once to continue the campaign and 
 pushed boldly upstairs, where she soon engaged a thin 
 and faded younger woman in a similar conversation 
 about the imaginary Mary Macey. This time she was 
 in the back room with its stove and black wooden 
 chairs and oilcloth covered table, — comfortless, pic- 
 tureless, utterly without ornament, except for the lux- 
 uriant row of geraniums in their tin cans at the win- 
 dows. This woman seemed more communicative. 
 
 The investigator was securing a somewhat detailed 
 inventory of her troubles when the door suddenly 
 opened and there appeared on the threshold the large 
 body from below. 
 
 " Don't ye talk to her, Mrs. Harrigan," she said. 
 
 " What is it ye want ? " she asked suspiciously. 
 " Didn't I tell ye there was no Mary Macey livin' in 
 this house ? Who are ye ? " 
 
 Miss Thorndike did not reply. 
 
 " Are ye ould Soolivan's daughter ? If ye are ye 
 can git out; we pays our rint." 
 
 The huniour of the situation struck Miss Thorndike. 
 
124 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " No, I'm not," she said, " I came here myself, be- 
 cause I wanted to see if the tenements were as bad as 
 they said. I thought may be if they were I could help 
 get them fixed up." 
 
 " Thin why didn't ye say so at first?" said the fat 
 woman scornfully, " instid of comin' here wid yer lies, 
 and Mary Maceys to get into honest people's houses 
 without bein' asked. You help ! We'll git along wid- 
 out the help of such as you. Ye'd better git out any- 
 way." 
 
 Miss Thomdike proceeded to the street with as 
 much dignity as was allowed, feeling half angry and 
 wholly foolish. What was she there for, anyway? 
 What right had she to invade the premises of other 
 people on a pretext of this sort? Her expedition be- 
 gan to appear in a somewhat peculiar light. But she 
 would not retreat yet; that wasn't her habit. She 
 passed along the street looking back into the yards, 
 with their jumble of still other dingy yellow houses 
 facing the backs of the first tenements. In these were 
 the Poles, and most of the places were tenanted now 
 only by the keepers of the boarding houses, all the 
 rest of their population being crowded into the mills 
 at work. She did not invade the courtyard; instead 
 she continued down along the first row of houses. At 
 the blind end of the street, where a high, unpainted 
 fence protected the back of a lumber yard, she came 
 across one building more bedraggled than the rest, 
 older and more infirm and entirely dejected. 
 
 For a moment she hesitated before it, and then went 
 in. This time she would begin upstairs to avoid re- 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 125 
 
 peating the complications at the other place. In fact, 
 she saw no sign of occupancy below. The halls, she 
 noticed as she stepped inside, were more hideous here 
 than any she had seen; there was plaster off the ceil- 
 ing; the steps of the stairway tipped to one side, and 
 an accumulation of old dirt formed a soiled dado on 
 all the walls. She knocked in the upper hall, first on 
 one side and then on the other. There was no re- 
 sponse. Evidently there was nobody there. She gave 
 a little shudder of disgust as she looked at her sur- 
 roundings. It was an evil, little, dirty pocket, with a 
 blank wall at one end, and a prison-like window at the 
 other, looking out into the empty Polish courtyards. 
 She decided to go down. 
 
 As she started there was a noise below — clump — 
 came a heavy body up against the lower stair. One of 
 the beasts was coming up into his burrow, a lurch- 
 ing bundle of old clothes on the steps. She could not 
 pass him there ; she waited anxiously at the landing for 
 him to go by her. The drunken man did not see her 
 until he had nearly reached the top. 
 
 "Hello," he said stupidly, "Who are you? What 
 do you want?" 
 
 Miss Ruth repeated her foolish little lie for the last 
 time, " I'm looking for a Miss Mary Macey," she said 
 faintly. 
 
 " She don't live here, said the man with the dirty 
 moustache. 
 
 " No, I know she doesn't, so I'm going home now." 
 
 She started downstairs. 
 
 " Hoi' on," said the beast. 
 
126 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 The girl's slight body stiffened. " Let me pass," 
 she said in a clear high voice, starting to go by him 
 again. 
 
 " No, yer don't," said the other, lurching before her. 
 
 " Let me pass," she repeated. 
 
 " Lemme pass," he mocked her. " I'll let you pass 
 all right when I'm ready to." 
 
 He bent and looked furtively down the stairs; evi- 
 dently there was no one in sight. Then he advanced 
 to the head of the pocket in the wall, the girl retreat- 
 ing before him. There they stood, met by an untow- 
 ard chance in this dirty corner — Beauty and the Beast 
 in the lair of the Beast. A shudder of physical re- 
 pulsion passed over the dainty body of the girl, from 
 the soles of her small feet to the nape of her white 
 neck — as she looked into the face of this foul thirig 
 with the red veins in his eyes and the tobacco-stained 
 stubble on his chin. 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Are you going to let me pass ? " she repeated. 
 
 " No, I ain't, not till I git ready. What you want ? " 
 
 In response the girl began drumming noisily on the 
 panels of the side door. 
 
 " That's right ; bang away," said the Beast. " There 
 ain't nobody there." The girl stopped pounding. 
 
 " I tell you what I'll do," proposed the Brute play- 
 fully. " You kiss me and we'll call it square." He 
 lurched against the side wall, evidently growing 
 drowsy with his drink. 
 
 " Well," he said, " are you comin' ? " 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 127 
 
 The girl, passing the situation rapidly over in her 
 mind, determined upon immediate action. 
 
 " I'll come," she said in a low voice, advancing 
 slowly toward him. Then of a sudden she sprang 
 toward him, struck both palms with all her might in 
 his face, and swerved to one side, calling for help. 
 
 The blow pushed him backward and against the 
 wall and nearly threw him down, but before she had 
 entirely passed him, he had caught her by the sleeve 
 of her coat. 
 
 A tall thin man, with a brown hat, came up the stairs 
 in three bounds, and had the Beast by the arm. 
 
 " What are you tryin' to do here, John Haggerty," 
 said the tall man angrily. 
 
 " Thas all right — what I'm tryin' to do," said the 
 man with confused dignity. 
 
 " Drop her sleeve and go on." 
 
 " Thas all right," said the Brute. " I was jus havin' 
 some fun. She's like the rest of 'em; she likes it, 
 what she up here for if she duzn't ? " 
 
 " Shut up, Haggerty, and go on." 
 
 ." Be God, who'll make me shut up ? " said the Beast 
 bristling. " You won't, Con. Murphy." 
 
 The tall man wasted no more words. The Beast 
 went down in a wrinkled heap under his first blow, and 
 rolled over, without attempting to rise. 
 
 " Come on. Miss," said the tall man, leading the 
 way down stairs. 
 
 " You don't feel faint, do you ? " he asked solici- 
 tously. 
 
128 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "Not a bit," said Miss Ruth Thorndike pluckily. 
 The statement might not have been exactly in accord- 
 ance with fact, but she did her best to Hve up to it. 
 
 An aproned audience, attracted by the noise of the 
 fracas, beheld them depart from the neighbouring 
 doorways, and windows, with audible and sarcastic 
 comments. Ruth Thorndike realised that she was not 
 a very heroic figure. Her grand tour of exploration 
 had ended in this soiled and sordid adventure, and here 
 she was being led back home again, like a small child 
 discovered wandering and solemnly escorted back to 
 safety by some benevolent adult. 
 
 " My name is Murphy," said the rescuer. " I keep 
 a grocery store down here a little ways." 
 
 " Mine is Thorndike— Ruth Thorndike." 
 
 " Yes, I know. I saw you when you first came 
 down into the street." 
 
 " O, yes," said Ruth faintly. 
 
 " I'll just take you over to the store and send for 
 your team," said Murphy. 
 
 " Thank you very much. 
 
 " I came down here," Ruth explained after a little 
 pause, " because I wanted to see what the Huddle was 
 like." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I suppose I ought not to have done it." 
 
 " You might have better asked somebody who knew 
 about it," said the grocer cautiously. 
 
 " I suppose you've been here a long time ? " ven- 
 tured Ruth. 
 
 " For twenty years." 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 129 
 
 " I wish you'd tell me about it," said Ruth in her 
 frank manner. 
 
 All the way to his store, the taciturn grocer, sud- 
 denly moved to playing the gallant, rehearsed the his- 
 tory of the Huddle — the daily life of twenty years seen 
 by going in and out among the people — things which 
 could not be learned in a thousand exploring expe- 
 ditions. 
 
 " And do you think that they ought to pass those 
 new health ordinances ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " It would help some, anyway. There'll never be 
 any changes made there till somebody compels 'em to 
 ,be made. 
 
 " And Mr. Childs — do you think he ought to have 
 been beaten ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, honestly speakin', I do." 
 
 "O, I'm sorry," said Ruth. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you. Miss, if they passed the ordi- 
 nances and somebody went to him and told him he'd 
 have to see they were enforced — like your father, for 
 instance, I think he'd be all right, maybe," said the 
 shrewd grocer. 
 
 His remark remained fixed in the memory of the 
 girl, as he intended. 
 
 They arrived soon at the dark, little grocery store. 
 A boy was dispatched to the Thomdike house and 
 Ruth was ensconced on the stool behind the high desk 
 at the rear end of the counter. Here she watched, 
 half concealed, the poor little traffic of the place, — 
 the shawled women and the children and the old men, 
 straggling in and out. 
 
I30 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 For a short time the grocer stood beside her, his in- 
 evitable brown hat removed and held in his hand, as a 
 one last testimonal of respect, answering her ques- 
 tions. He was eventually called away by the duties 
 of the store. Jimmy Dineen constantly referred to 
 him on the subject of credits. 
 
 " Do you lose much by trusting them ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " No, not much — not from the Irish. The French 
 are a little different. You've got to watch them 
 some." 
 
 A small, white-faced woman in a black shawl came 
 up and whispered earnestly to him, apparently on the 
 verge of tears. 
 
 " Let her have what she wants, Jimmy," said the 
 grocer, in his dry voice. 
 
 " God bliss ye. Con. Murphy," said the woman, 
 going out with her parcels, " May ye niver know what 
 trouble is." 
 
 " He's givin' it to her, ye might say. She ain't got 
 a cent," whispered the Spider, to Ruth in explanation. 
 
 " Does he do that much ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " Does he ? O no, he don't — never." 
 
 " He's a good man, isn't he ? " said Ruth softly. 
 
 " You're right he is ; there ain't many like him. 
 They don't say anything against Con. Murphy, not 
 whin I'm around," said the hunchback ferociously, 
 " If it wasn't f er him, where'd I be ? I'd been starved 
 long ago." 
 
 " Your horse is come. Miss," said Con. Murphy from 
 the door. Ten minutes later she was back again in 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION 131 
 
 her room, seated in the same old place, as if all that 
 afternoon's adventures had never been. 
 
 " He said I didn't care," she said to herself, musing. 
 " But I do. I'll show him ! " she continued, getting 
 up energetically. '' 
 
 . "You look tired, Ruth," said William Thorndike 
 after dinner. 
 
 " Do I ? " asked Ruth, innocently. 
 
 " Where have you been ? What have you been do- 
 ing this afternoon ? " 
 
 " I've been down to the Huddle," said Ruth, rather 
 incoherently. " And O, Dad, the poor little children. 
 You will have them pass the ordinances, won't you ? " 
 
 She broke down a little then; the strain of the 
 afternoon had been pretty severe .on her feelings. 
 
 " I'm a little fool," she cried, recovering herself 
 abruptly. Then she went on describing her experi- 
 ences and outlining her political designs. 
 
 " You're quite a politician," said William Thorn- 
 dike, with his sombre smile. 
 
 " Am I ? " asked Ruth, vivaciously. 
 
 " But you'll do it, won't you ? " she persisted. 
 
 " I'll do what I can," he promised. 
 
 " Thank you, Dad," she said simply. 
 
 "They say family influence and favoritism cause 
 more corruption than any one thing in American poli- 
 tics," said Thorndike, pinching her cheek. 
 
 "Don't be foolish. Dad," said the successful lob- 
 byist. 
 
chapter XI 
 
 IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 
 
 rHE fight was on — ^John Mayhew, openly strain- 
 ing to defeat William Thomdike's protege in 
 the Board of Aldermen ; Thorndike, in secret, 
 hunting , down Mayhew financially through his busi- 
 ness. The cold-blooded promptness of the counter 
 attack took the young man's breath away. He felt the 
 change immediately after that first warning. The 
 practice of the national bank — perhaps the best in the 
 city outside the mill itself — a business which he 
 coveted, and bits of which he had already had from 
 time to time, he learned was to be taken entirely by 
 an older man in Grimdale; two or three of the larger 
 stores, whose collections he had had, now gave this 
 work to a collection agency ; the occasional calls he had 
 had from the office of the stocking factory ceased en- 
 tirely. Behind it all he dimly discerned the silent 
 form of Thorndike, manipulating his puppets; the 
 creatures of his making who stood before the public 
 as the heads of the various local enterprises. Thorn- 
 dike was the managing influence at the bank, the 
 backer, of the merchants, a large owner in the smaller 
 factory; yet everything happened most naturally and 
 
 132 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 133 
 
 artistically. Not the slightest intimation of his in- 
 fluence appeared upon the surface. But all at once 
 Mayhew realised that the greater and better part of 
 his practice had been cut away ; that the cold gripe of 
 the commercial machine clutched him and held him 
 helpless. He was amazed at the power of his antag- 
 onist, and somewhat disheartened; but he was still 
 more angry at the cool brutality of the thing, and his 
 first resentment extended not only to Thorndike, but 
 to his daughter. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike was in New York again absorbed 
 to the full extent of her senses with the excitements 
 of the metropolis. A week before the collarless young 
 rnen along the wall, who guard our dingy gateway into 
 the world, had stolidly observed her embark — with her 
 big trunk, and her new travelling suit and hat and her 
 spirited and joyous gestures of farewell to her father, 
 and pass out of the dull confines of the town in a per- 
 fect rose coloured cloud of vacation expectancy. 
 
 She had known something of her father's dispute 
 with Mayhew before she started ; indeed her father, in 
 his first anger over the matter, had even intimated 
 that it would be well for her not to see Mayhew any 
 more than was necessary. " I shall see whom I 
 please," said his unnatural child, with an unusually 
 brilliant flash of her quick temper. Whereupon, re- 
 flecting upon the enormity of her sin in private, she 
 had become deeply conscience-stricken and had snubbed 
 Mayhew viciously, as a crowning bit of feminine con- 
 sistency, whenever and wherever she met him. At 
 first of course she had no doubt that her father had 
 
134 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 been right in the matter, as in all other things political 
 and financial ; and now when she was inclined to waver, 
 she held to her attitude toward May hew for mere 
 pride's sake. She was glad to escape from the problem 
 to New York. 
 
 Mayhew, of course, was in no position to understand 
 the path of her reasoning or the promptings of femi- 
 nine remorse. He merely knew that she was cold and 
 distant, and had apparently taken up her father's cause 
 against him. He was angry and disappointed with 
 her. She was like the rest of them, then — a product 
 of her class. 
 
 He went over the subject in his mind again — with 
 the zeal of his new political heresy and the heat of his 
 personal resentment. The manufacturers — perfectly 
 irresponsible forces; above the laws, making and un- 
 making and overriding them as they liked — gather- 
 ing where they chose, from the uplift of the craftily 
 devised tariff on the one side; and the brutal forcing 
 down of wages with cheap imported labour on the 
 other; scattering where they would, — ;a few libraries 
 and cast-iron soldiers' monuments, memorial tablets — 
 all for their own glory and honour. No more arbi- 
 trary or medieval power held an ancient province in 
 its grip than these petty princes of industrialism their 
 little towns. 
 
 They made their women, of course what they 
 wanted them to be — attractive, careless, unsympathetic, 
 ignorant, sheltered from every inclement human ex- 
 perience; every vital everyday human knowledge. 
 They trained them in their fashionable "finishing 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 13^ 
 
 schools " like the children of a provincial nobility, in 
 graceful uselessness — dancing, manners, and the tink- 
 ling piano — and called that education. They gave 
 them their little institutional charities, old human pets 
 to nibble favours from their fingers, the tame and do- 
 mesticated poverty of an old women's home, and called 
 that benevolence. These women knew as little of the 
 real dirty, savage, poverty of the people around them, 
 as of the tribes of the South Seas. 
 
 Ruth, then, was a representative of this class ! There 
 are some apparently logical propositions, John May- 
 hew, which no amount of bitterness will allow us to 
 quite believe ! 
 
 In the . meantime, Mayhew's campaign against 
 Thorndike's official had met with ignominous defeat. 
 The public spirit to which he looked for support, if it 
 had ever existed, promptly melted away with the dis- 
 appearance of the smallpox — returned to that lirhbo 
 of insufficient and still-born things, where the public 
 spirit of American cities inhabits. Old Childs had 
 been elected with an ease which more than justified 
 William Thorndike's confidence. The aldermen, with 
 that bovine dignity which was their chief charm-, had 
 heard Mayhew's plea to the end, and voted calmly 
 against it. An old official in a small city is entrenched 
 in something more than political influence — ^the indi- 
 vidual sympathy of his electors. As the portly alder- 
 man from Ward One said, after hours, with crushing 
 logic, " You'll be old yourself, sometime, young man." 
 
 Now there were real influences against the new ordi- 
 nances — ^the owners of the private tenement district, 
 
136 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 working steadily and secretly against a direct drain in 
 their individual pockets for improvements. But this 
 measure went through, and with a vote to spare. May- 
 hew did not quite understand it. 
 
 Yet there were a great many things about the mem- 
 bers of the city government which Mayhew did not un- 
 derstand and probably never will — about their plans, 
 and ambitions, and prejudices, race and personal and 
 class; and the motives that appealed to them. The 
 aldermen in particular — there alone was a two-semes- 
 ters' feast for an ethnologist; all sorts, of course, in 
 different years, but mostly at that time two factions 
 — the stiff old stubborn Yankee stock, and the heavy 
 men of the Irish; both belligerent, obstinate, crafty — 
 glaring at each other across each innocent paper that 
 was committed to the keeping of the city clerk. In- 
 dividually considered it was always amusing; gro- 
 tesque and humourous, and in a way pathetic. There 
 they sat, with their odd, provincial clothes, and their 
 odder grammar and brogue and patois, and their queer, 
 crooked outlook on things, warped by their uncouth 
 inheritance of race and their hard and narrow life ; the 
 representatives of the average choice of the people, 
 teetering back and forth in their spring chairs, under 
 the halo of electric lights ; wearing with a decent and 
 sober complacency the crowning glory of a little life, 
 worked for with who knows what petty desperation. 
 
 Above them, on his ingrain carpeted dais, sat the 
 mayor — ^the retired coal dealer, elected, contrary to all 
 hope, by the republicans in the fall — a heavy, grey old 
 New Englander — with a white Mosaic beard, some- 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 137 
 
 what obstinate, always confused, always craning over 
 his desk in some appeal for instruction from the city 
 clerk. Around him, in a semicircle, the aldermen rode 
 their leather-seated chairs — ^the enormous butcher from 
 Ward One, with the intolerable faint smell of meat on 
 his fat fingers; side whiskers, most wantonly false 
 teeth, immaculate Sunday clothes, wagging his head 
 contemplatively up and down during the debate, like a 
 child's mechanical ox; the heavy-weight Irish contrac- 
 tor, with a bullet head, who always made the motion 
 to adjourn, after an evening's silent fingering of his 
 pen; the milkman from the suburban ward, with dyed 
 side whiskers, worthy patron of the local grange; a 
 thin and hard-faced Scotch foreman in the mill, a 
 French doctor, with a beard and hair black as a New- 
 foundland dog's; Mayhew himself; and last of all 
 Skeane — crafty, subtle, jeering, always making for 
 some unseen end, always befuddling and confusing and 
 overreaching the chairman and the fat opposition in 
 the board. 
 
 Dr. N. Archambault, that solemnly vivacious French 
 statesman, is his particular dupe. How often he falls 
 into some fatal trap in this treacherous English lan- 
 guage; some indirectly-worded motion, which obtains 
 through Skeane's gross and unnatural fraud, his ballot 
 for the side that he most strenuously loathes and de- 
 tests. The vote is taken; his friends have lost, and 
 here stands the French orator again, amazed, aghast, 
 awry. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he gasps, " thees is a shame ; thees 
 is not raight. Gentlemen, it is too bad. I have al- 
 
138 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 ways intend other-wise. I have not understand. I 
 must move the reconsideration. I have great shame. 
 I beg your pardon, gentlemen, — a thousand taimes." 
 
 He glares at the unconscious Skeane and sits down 
 again. 
 
 It is scarcely surprising that Mayhew should begin 
 to shine in such company, and be mentioned in the city 
 affairs second only to " King " Skeane himself. What 
 he said was at least dictated by logic and not by 
 prejudice; he could talk clearly and grammatically, if 
 not with much eloquence. He had some grasp of the 
 general business, and his measures had all attracted 
 some attention, in spite of the defeat of the chief one. 
 Moreover, he was the son of an old family, a name 
 that everybody knew, and a democrat — a combination 
 which was unusual. Whatever might be his difficul- 
 ties in his private affairs, John Mayhew was becoming 
 a very eligible person from a political standpoint. 
 
 But if Mayhew secured some standing in the upper 
 board, what shall we say of our rising young fellow 
 citizen, Brian Haitch Twohig, in the lower? Ever 
 and again, as the messenger passed to and fro be- 
 tween the chambers, gusts of his oratory and invective 
 came through the open door. His perorations, his 
 defence of all that was best and most rigid in parlia- 
 mentary practice, his tremendous massing of Black- 
 stone, and Shakespeare and Tom Moore in debate were 
 at once the wonder and despair of the board. Never 
 once did it adjourn before the aldermen; generally it 
 was half an hour behind, a half hour, as conceded by 
 Mr. Twohig's worst enemies, full of graceful waving 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 139 
 
 of the legal eyeglass, of slow but keen questioning, of 
 elucidation and exposition, of fiery Celtic oratory. 
 
 At the head of the board sat Henry Allen — the fore- 
 man of the machine shop — that acid little old Yankee, 
 with a white brush-broom whisker, a personage, as 
 Mr. Twohig himself so justly remarked, impervious to 
 the highest flights of the imagination; anxious, after 
 the manner of crabbed old age, for an early bed and 
 a good night's sleep. The antagonism between these 
 opposing forces became awful. From the beginning, 
 the sessions were continually punctuated with the 
 solemn rising of Mr. Twohig and his measured calls 
 to " Mr. Prisidint." He found increasing difficulty in 
 securing the attention of the chair. 
 
 " Mr. Prisidint," he said, and started on his speak- 
 ing, " Mr. Prisidint, I—" 
 
 " You ain't got the floor," said the high and angry 
 voice of the chairman. " There's somebody back of 
 you talkin'." Apparently there was collusion in this. 
 Yet Mr. Twohig gracefully retired. Not once did this 
 happen, but many times. In the midst of plucking the 
 choicest fruits from the gardens of his fancy, he was 
 rudely interrupted. 
 
 " You ain't in order." 
 
 " In what particular, sor ? " 
 
 ''You ain't talkin' on the subject." 
 
 " Question," growled the members of the opposition. 
 
 " I object, sor," said Mr. Twohig. 
 
 "Question," cried the chorus. 
 
 The chairman put the question. 
 
 " Mr. Prisidint, Mr. Prisidint," shouted the outraged 
 
HO THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 young orator, frantically waving his treasured eye- 
 glasses in the air; " I rise to a question of privilege. 
 I appeal from the decision of this chair." 
 
 Hostile murmurs from the opposition. 
 
 " I insist, sor ! " 
 
 He was relentlessly voted down. Here was con- 
 spiracy ; the most measured and thoughtful must rebel. 
 
 " I move ye, sor/' he exclaimed in one great crisis, 
 " that we elict a chairman with some knowledge of 
 parliamentary law." 
 
 " Order ! " shrieked the chairman, glaring at him 
 over his spectacles. " Order." His very chin whiskers 
 seemed to bristle toward the foe. This duel was be- 
 coming terrible beyond belief. 
 
 The reelection of Childs had been acciomplished, the 
 health ordinance passed, and considerable work had 
 been done upon the budget, and now History paused, 
 finger on lip, on the verge of that great issue, the re- 
 election of General Barrett O'Hara as bridge-tender. 
 
 There are those, my fellow citizens, who have traced 
 this significant incident in American politics to its very 
 inception. General Barrett O'Hara, it appears, in con- 
 nection v?ith his official duties as bridge-tender of the 
 city, had been delegated as one of the special police- 
 men, and aside from the mere routine performance of 
 his duty, had been a most eificient and important fac- 
 tor in the preservation of the order of the place. On 
 the 1 8th of January, i88- this indomitable small man 
 had arrested and led a subject to the lockup, a large 
 and drowsy Frenchman, overwhelmed with drink. 
 Immediately afterwards, two friends of the lately ar- 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 141 
 
 rested, with the craft of their detested race, approached 
 the efficient officer, and most courteously and suavely, 
 under false and specious pretences of regard, rendered 
 him exceedingly drunk, and abandoned him on the 
 main street, in a thousand times more alarming a state 
 than the person he had himself so recently taken 
 charge of. When discovered by the multitude he was 
 standing on the main corner of the town, roaring de- 
 fiance to the universe in the name of the Republic of 
 Ireland; and had not this astonishing little man been 
 appropriated soon after by two ablebodied policemen, 
 undoubtedly he would have taken the city single- 
 handed and alone and established then and there the 
 headquarters of the resurrected Fenian movement 
 against the Hated Tyrant. As it was, he was de- 
 posited beside the dull carcass he had arrested, for the 
 night and in the morning he, an official of the city, 
 was released on probation with his former charge to 
 the great appreciation of the two conspirators who 
 were taking a day off from the mill to occupy the 
 front bench in the audience room of the police court. 
 The entire significance of this event had not dawned 
 even upon General Barrett O'Hara at first. But on 
 the appointment of the special police, his name had 
 been omitted; and only lately the aldermen, in the 
 absence of his former friend John Mayhew, had de- 
 feated him for return to the position of bridge-tender, 
 with its honours and emoluments. Now the whole 
 disgraceful conspiracy, with all its ramifications, be- 
 came clear, from the mayor — always his enemy, and 
 now accomplishing his downfall — ^to the two French 
 
142 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 hirelings ; and back of all, the dim figure of the Tyrant, 
 Thorndike, wreaking a terrible and crafty revenge on 
 his fearless foe, through his pliant instruments. 
 
 He saw it all now, and called heaven to witness. 
 He had not been drunk. He had been drugged, he 
 had been cast into prison, he had been disgraced. 
 
 " Conspiracee," cried General Barrett O'Hara, at the 
 top of his voice. 
 
 And now Brian Haitch Twohig, in the Common 
 Council, that forum of the people, had arisen to make 
 a final stand. 
 
 " Mr. Prisidint," he said, with a solemn pause, " I 
 rise, sor, to spake, as the illustrious pladers of old, for 
 thim that can't spake for thimselves. 
 
 " Ahem," slowly expanding his chest, " Now, sor, 
 in looking over history, what do we see." — 
 
 Brian Haitch Twohig's strong-winded muse had 
 gone careering through past time. One minute, two 
 minutes, five minutes. " Question," growled one of 
 the opposition. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," cried another bobbing up, " make 
 him stick to what he's talkin' about." 
 
 " Order ! " says Foreman Allen. " You'll have to 
 get a little closer to your subject," he continues in a 
 sour voice to the young orator. 
 
 " I'll talk as I please," states the aroused son of 
 Irish Kings. 
 
 " You'll talk on what you ought to, or you'll set 
 down." 
 
 " That's right," says a voice. 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 143 
 
 " I defy you," exclaims Brian Haitch Twohig in a 
 loud voice. 
 
 " Set down," said the chairman firmly. 
 
 " I defy you," repeats our hero. 
 
 " Question," cries the opposition. 
 
 The question was put; General Barrett O'Hara was 
 defeated, once and for all, by his hated opponent. 
 Brian Haitch Twohig had not yielded his position; 
 silent, menacing, ominous, he stared at the chairman 
 from the floor. 
 
 " I move we adjourn," said someone else. 
 
 The meeting had adjourned. O, outrage! And 
 there stood Brian Haitch Twohig, still rooted to the 
 floor, with indignant spots of colour on his high cheek 
 bones. When the bulk of the council had filed out, 
 he unrooted himself and followed. 
 
 "I'll have justice; I'll expose him; I'll have my 
 rights, if I devote me loife to the pursuit of thim," he 
 exclaimed to his group of friends in the corridor. 
 
 " O, for God's sake, Irish, give us a rest," howled a 
 voice from a group of the opposition. 
 
 " Damn Irishman," muttered a black and dignified 
 figure, none other than the betrayed Dr. Archambault, 
 stalking majestically from the aldermanic chamber on 
 the other side of the corridor. 
 
 The fierce little old figure, that had heard the de- 
 bate from behind the Common Council rail, stamped 
 intrepidly out with another group. 
 
 " Be God, 'twas the hand of the tyrant that struck 
 us down. 'Twas force and oppression," he affirmed. 
 
144 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " 'Tis not the position I care for, the snap of me 
 fingers," he exclaimed ; " 'tis the principle of it." 
 
 The complaining voices passed out of the corridors 
 into the night. 
 
 John Mayhew, who had loitered about the door of 
 the Common Council for the amusement of the thing, 
 stopped now a moment on the steps, as the crowd 
 walked on, and then followed slowly to the edge of the 
 walk. 
 
 Somebody hailed him from a passing dog-cart. 
 " HellOj Alderman, how de do." The cart came up to 
 the curb. Chippy Merriman's arm was outstretched 
 for his inevitable handshake. 
 
 " Well, how's it seem as far's you've got ? " 
 
 " O,. all right." 
 
 " What'd they do about old O'Hara, beat him? " 
 
 " Yes, both boards have turned him down." 
 
 " Say, that was funnier'n a goat, wasn't it — those 
 Frenchmen takin' the old >cock out and gettin' him 
 drunk " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Say, did you hear about Lynde and his accident 
 with the Gargoyle the other day? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He was takin' her out driving the other after- 
 noon, and the horse got started comin' down Stony 
 Hill and the rein broke. There they were, tearing 
 down there on the dead larrup without anything to 
 say about it. I tell you there's where your nerve 
 comes in. Old Tal just gets up and makes a jump 
 for it — onto the horse's back, you know." 
 
IN THE HALLS OF LEGISLATION 145 
 
 "Did he make it?" 
 
 " No, he didn't quite make connections, and he went 
 on to the ground. I guess he isn't used to riding 
 much. But what I like about it was his nerve trying 
 it." 
 
 " What became of the Gargoyle ? " 
 
 " O, she wasn't damaged; the horse just raced down 
 the hill and up the next one and she stopped him some- 
 how without turning a hair. The next hill was a 
 back-breaker — where it comes out of the ravine there, 
 you know. The Gargoyle's all right; you can't kill 
 her with an axe." 
 
 "How about Lynde?" 
 
 " O, it bruised him up some, but not much. He was 
 out the next day. They were both playing in luck. 
 
 " You heard about him and Ruth Thorndike, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 "No, what's that?" , 
 
 " O, nothing, except I guess they're engaged all 
 right. He don't say much about it, but he might as 
 well. In fact, between you and me I know it's so. I 
 get it perfectly straight. Only they're waiting before 
 giving it out. She's in New York now, you know, and 
 when she gets back probably they'll announce it then. 
 Well, ta-ta, I'll have to be toddling along." 
 
 Mayhew gazed dully after the dog-cart as it drove 
 away muttering to himself the bit of careless gossip 
 he had heard. A sudden wave of feeling took pos- 
 session of him — of regret and protest and anger; re- 
 gret for the days that had been — the child in the fool- 
 ish bobbing frocks, the girl he fought for in the gram- 
 
146 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 mar school; the girl in the grandstand at the college 
 ball game; of anger and protest to the conditions of 
 to-day. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike engaged to Lynde — to that insuf- 
 ferable cad Talcott Lynde? He would not believe it. 
 And yet, why not ? he asked himself bitterly ; he could 
 at least support her. That was it after all. En- 
 tirely aside from his disgust at Lynde; whether Ruth 
 Thorndike was engaged to him or not, she was in- 
 accessible to himself in any case. He had never seen 
 it before so plainly; so practically — the power of 
 economic forces working in society; the widening of 
 the gap between two people in all their habits and as- 
 sociations and demands on life. He had canvassed it 
 before many times, and yet he had never thought how 
 unsettling the full realisation of the thing would be. 
 A sudden crisis had waked and risen at a chatterer's 
 idle word and almost borne him down. 
 
 There was but one thing for him to do, of course ; he 
 must regain control of himself at once. Late into the 
 night, a young man with compressed lips and resent- 
 ful eyes went pacing out the silent streets, into the 
 aspirate silence of the country woods, learning a new, 
 hard lesson from life. 
 
Chapter XII 
 
 THE DEN OF THE OGRE 
 
 y^LONG the squalid railroad front, as you come 
 /J into any average American city you see, 
 ^ J. established somewhere beside the net work 
 of side tracks, its brewery. They do not number 
 this among the institutions of the place, with its library, 
 its parks, and its new city hall ; many of the leaders of 
 our best provincialism do not even know of it ; but 
 here, to break for once into the language of the Ethi- 
 cally Thoughtful, is a Real Influence — ^more real, per- 
 haps, than any other, the six sordid working days of 
 the week. 
 
 There are still those, I am told, earnest persons in 
 elderly bonnets, who meet each week in the vestry and 
 push forward the grand old warfare against " Rum." 
 You would gather from these excellent people that 
 every unfortunate who steps to the outer fringe of a 
 bar, gazes at the bartender with a bloodshot eye and 
 hoarsely bellows : " Rum ; " and then and there the 
 horrid bargain is consummated. On the contrary I 
 am told from most reliable sources that the great 
 American Danger to-day is not so much Rum as Beer 
 — cheap, handy, satisfying, and that the hoarse, thrill- 
 
 147 
 
148 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 ing cry for rum is now almost extinct. For a moment 
 then, kind, talkative friends, let us. lead the Demon 
 Rum back to his lair; let us even drop the considera- 
 tion of the saloon-keeper — the poor, fat, harassed, 
 mortgaged saloon-keeper and get back to first prin- 
 ciples, to the Thing that owns him. 
 
 I never see the big brewery at Grimdale, without 
 a half awe of it. There it stands, mother of sin and 
 foolishness and foul , politics, its great shoulders above 
 the huddle of little tenements around it, in the steamy, 
 smoky, city air, with its high, blank, barren walls, and 
 its ugly, heathen-hooded cupola, the never-failing little 
 flag of steam from its roof, and the huge sarcasm of 
 its great wire screen sign staring across the railroad 
 tracks to announce, " The Purity Brewery." From 
 here, day by day, the fat drivers, with their loads of 
 black and sodden kegs go out everywhere ; to the dingy 
 hotels and the dark saloons and the little slattern res- 
 taurants. And wherever they may go, they stop at 
 another part of the same great machine. Each pro- 
 prietor is bound back to the great corporation at the 
 centre, some only by political bonds, but most by the 
 bonds of sharp necessity, for money loaned to buy the 
 license, to fit out the place, to run in times of extrava- 
 gance and loss — poor, silly, mortgaged saloon-keepers, 
 in time of plenty pouring out in gaudy extravagance, 
 in time of adversity creeping back again to the same 
 old source — ^bound round and round, owned body and 
 soul, now and hereafter, by the brewery. 
 
 All through the section the network extends — a web, 
 you may call it, thrown down across the whole valley. 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 149 
 
 all lines converging at the brewery. And there at the 
 corner of the thing, for all the world like a great puffy 
 spider, sits Hermann Pfaff in his private office. Upon 
 the walls of the oilcloth-floored little room, is a diploma 
 obtained somewhere or other by the excellence of Pur- 
 ity Beer! A portrait of a substantial German lady, 
 with a glass of the amber beverage in her hand, and 
 an abnormally pink leg protruding carelessly into the 
 cold outer world through the side seam of an ex- 
 tremely blue tunic, serves to appeal to the poetic and 
 imaginative mind in behalf of same product. On a 
 little tray by the desk side sit some glasses and an 
 emptied, froth-filled bottle. 
 
 And there before the desk sits Hermann Pfaff, like 
 a great jelly, in an office chair — his legs apart, the 
 great red collops of flesh on his low collar, above the 
 pure white light of a diamond; the red-veined eyes, 
 the purple-mottled cheeks, the great nose, the wet 
 thick lips, in the midst of a German whisker. The 
 others do the work in the outer office; he sits there 
 alone and waits and ruminates and receives his visi- 
 tors. He leers like an ogre, when they come in — a 
 wide, moist, glistening smile, which shows his great 
 yellow teeth. 
 
 " Gome in, gentlemen ; gome in — " with your orders, 
 and your political deals, and your mortgages and your 
 notes and your last angry despairing appeals for re- 
 newal. Always the same old ogre greets you, leering 
 and mumbling in guttural obsequiousness, from the 
 time he takes the raw, uncouth Irish bartender in his 
 moist and pudgy hand and turns him out — an Amer- 
 
I50 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 ican miracle, a full-blown saloon-keeper; to that last 
 day, that awful day, when the mortgages are due and 
 overdue past all hoping, and he turns to and gobbles 
 him up. 
 
 It would make you laugh to see how easily the 
 brewery runs a town like Ellington. On the one side 
 is King Skeane, cigar agent, with his voters; on the 
 other side, the Purity Brewery with its beer. If you 
 sell your beer to my voters, why I sell my cigars to 
 your saloons. It's as old and simple as the laws of 
 demand and supply. The reason why Ellington drinks 
 Purity Beer, is exactly the same as why it smokes 
 such poor cigars. 
 
 There are three members on our license board, 
 chosen one each year for periods of three years; each 
 mayor has a choice. Each and every Fdll the free- 
 men of Ellington come together to choose this precious 
 instrument; to exercise the great American privilege 
 of voting for a license commissioner once removed. 
 Other elections — state and national — give a certain 
 play to imagination and theory and personal choice; 
 possess certain possibilities of amusement. The fair- 
 weather politicians with their reforms can come into 
 these. But this is no game for the thin-legged gen- 
 tlemen, with soprano voices and rimless eyeglasses, 
 chirping their little watchwords of reform. This is no 
 ethical pastime; this is business — a part of the fierce, 
 grey, old struggle for existence. Here are the peren- 
 nial politicians, the saloon-keepers, at work, day in 
 and day out; and here is the brewery pouring out its 
 money, and here is King Skeane, plotting and planning 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 151 
 
 and shifting and turning — knowing the dark soul of 
 the average voter like the light of day — every nook 
 and cranny — Yankee, French, and Irish, — with its 
 sentiments and its superstitions; its hatreds and its af- 
 fections and its prejudices; playing on it like a cun- 
 ning musician at his instrument, till it thrills and wails 
 and shrieks as his facile fingers will. The Saloon- 
 keeper, the Brewery, the King Skeane — there's where 
 you get conservatism in politics, triply moored to 
 the bedrock of democracy and the present state of 
 things. 
 
 In the fall of 188-, as everybody knows, the demo- 
 cratic mayor was defeated. It was a combination of 
 circumstances — too much assurance among the demo- 
 crats, a touching appeal to the conscience of the voters 
 by the republicans, coupled with a clever manipulation 
 of the French-Canadian vote. " King " Skeane had 
 feared its coming for years, but had not expected it 
 so soon. 
 
 There was the day of remorse. One license com- 
 missioner gone to start with. Then gradually the 
 growing rumour of an investigation of the old board 
 — for laxness and worse than laxness in their dealings 
 with the saloons. It is the most elementary trick in 
 politics to clear out a license board on technicalities. 
 No one knew that better than Skeane. But a new 
 license board, then a new lot of' licenses, yes, and even 
 a new brewery, it was said. It was a time of trem- 
 bling. Never had such an awful sense of the sanctity 
 of the liquor law brooded over the town since its foun- 
 dation. You could not break into a saloon after hours, 
 
152 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 with an axe. But someway, somehow — perhaps the 
 story of the rival brewery trying to get in was at first 
 untrue — the affair drifted by the danger line, and the 
 old board, with its one new member, had granted the 
 list of licenses again. 
 
 The campaign for another year now began in ear- 
 nest. Day after day, night after night. King Skeane 
 worked unceasingly to make the administration ridicu- 
 lous. From his position in the aldermen, he forced 
 the old mayor to continued foolishness and improprie- 
 ties, through simple stimulation of his Yankee obsti- 
 nacy; the flustered speeches of the tormented, French 
 alderman became bywords of the town; he nearly 
 strangled the fat butcher from Ward One with sheer 
 helpless anger. He kept the entire republican forces 
 in a continuous sickly grin of apology. All this was 
 merely negative. But continually. King Skeane was 
 revolving positive plans in his dark mind, especially 
 concerning the great subject of the next candidate for 
 mayor. And now he sat in the holy of holies, the 
 private office of the Purity Brewery, pushed back 
 against the wall, below the bare-legged goddess of 
 beer — a grey cigar stub beneath one corner of his 
 grizzled moustache. Opposite him, suspended on his 
 office chair, sat Hermann Pfaff, the great bright dia- 
 mond ring upon one of his fat hands folded across 
 his abdomen, flashing and glistening as it went heav- 
 ing up and down with the labour of his breathing. 
 These two were discussing politics; not with any 
 maudlin sentimentality, or buncombe or false and bla- 
 tant appeals to the emotions. They were talking busi- 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 153 
 
 ness in a business way, — motionless, gestureless, with- 
 out unnecessary elocution. 
 
 " We neet a goot man ; we neet him bat," gasped 
 Hermann Pfaff. 
 
 " That's your man," said the laconic Skeane. 
 
 "You thing so?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '" Aind he preddy young ? " 
 
 " That won't hurt him. They've got the old-timers 
 now. We'll give 'em enough of 'em before we get 
 through with 'em." 
 
 The ogre chuckled. " You're a goot one," he said. 
 
 King Skeane moved for the first time in his chair. 
 
 " Young men are all right to-day ; they're using 
 'em. Look at Farrell here in Grimdale; he wasn't any 
 older than this boy when he first run. They catch 
 the young vote." 
 
 " Thad's true." 
 
 " He's smart, this boy." 
 
 " Goot," grunted the ogre, nodding his head. 
 
 " They can't say anything against him." 
 
 " Goot." 
 
 " They all know him ; that's another thing. There's 
 lots of those Yankees will vote for him on his name." 
 
 " Goot." 
 
 " And there's lots more will vote for him on this 
 new tariff business ; he's one of the young fellers that 
 come over to the democrats on that. That's quite a 
 card nowadays. 
 
 The ogre considered seriously. 
 
 " Veil, veil, ve arrangche it vit him." 
 
154 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Figs it up, you know." 
 
 " No, you can't do it, not that way. He ain't that 
 kind." 
 
 " Why not. He's in politigs aind he ? " asked the 
 naive ogre. 
 
 " Because he ain't." 
 
 " O veil, bring him down, we'll gif him a goot time 
 anyway." 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " Why not ? They don't any of 'em obchect to a 
 goot time. They ain't no harm in that." 
 
 " No, you got to handle this one different. You 
 let me take care of him." 
 
 " Vhat'll you do." ' 
 
 " O, I'll give him some business first. He needs it 
 bad enough. Thorndike's been after him — freezin' 
 him out for what he did about that health bill." 
 
 " So I heert." 
 
 " I guess he ain't got any too much left." 
 
 " Well, gif him our business right away," said Pfaff 
 energetically. " And the saloons, they can gif him 
 theirs also. 
 
 " You wait. Not all at once," said the crafty Skeane. 
 " We'll give it to him, but we'll give him some other 
 work first. I'll see some of my people in Ellington. 
 You just leave him to me." 
 
 " O, all right," said the brewer." 
 
 A pause followed, in which " King " Skeane started 
 up to leave. 
 
 " Vait a minute," said Pfaff, searching with great 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 155 
 
 distress of body for his electric bell, " Led's haf some- 
 thing to dring before you go." 
 
 They sat there when the tray had come in, and they 
 were left alone again, each with his damp amber glass 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Veil," said the ogre playfully, with a deep thick 
 laugh. " Here goes to the negst mayor of Ellington." 
 
 In the meantime if John Mayhew was going to be 
 mayor of Ellington, he certainly didn't know it. Brian 
 Haitch Twohig, indeed, had intimated that the honour 
 might fall at any time to one of these two. 
 
 " I bet you one of us could get the nomination this 
 Fall, if we tried," said Mr. Twohig convincingly. 
 
 " O, come off," said John Mayhew. 
 
 "Well, who've they got?" asked Mr. Twohig. 
 
 Considerable attention was certainly beginning, to 
 centre in Mayhew, politically. He had cut loose now 
 entirely from the reigning influence of the town, and 
 stood free, independent, and resentful — to a certain 
 degree a recognised centre for the opposition to the 
 administration, and the Thorndike interests behind it. 
 This dark young man with the easily excited glint in 
 his eyes, was a fighter; he talked with an embarrass- 
 ing directness in debate no matter what degree of 
 local sacredness attached to the subject ; his sharp and 
 business-like questions broke into the maundering 
 commonplace of formerly routine measures in a most 
 unpleasant and distracting way. The clumsy adminis- 
 tration forces fairly palpitated with bovine alarm, 
 when he opened his attacks. 
 
 One person took recognition of this new force in 
 
156 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 local affairs immediately. King Skeane saw possible 
 future developments; and came artfully forward to 
 Mayhew's support — standing in the background, 
 counselling and guiding the new man; manipulating 
 and confusing the opposition. The two men were 
 thrown much together, and had ample opportunity to 
 measure one another. Skeane found the younger man 
 a good instrument — with certain very clearly defined 
 limits; he was too direct to obtain the best results 
 politically; and, when he chose, thoroughly obstinate; 
 beyond a certain point, into certain well-established 
 commonplaces of political practice, he refused to 
 move. From Skeane Mayhew himself learned much; 
 the measure of patience and astuteness which every 
 politician who accomplishes must know; the justifiable 
 concessions which are necessitated by every cause. But 
 beyond that the difference of race-inheritance and 
 training opposed itself. The Calvinisl jarred with the 
 Jesuit; the New Englander refused to accept the sub- 
 serviency of the means to the end, which seemed justi- 
 fiable to the Irishman ; and Mayhew saw with distaste 
 the devious ways of King Skeane's mind wandering far 
 away into the outer darkness of practical politics, and 
 held aloof. 
 
 Meanwhile Mayhew's independence in politics cer- 
 tainly had not helped his business interests. Two lean 
 months had intervened. A man less angry and deter- 
 mined might have been utterly discouraged. As it was 
 there were sharp changes evident in his face. The 
 straight lines of middle age, drawn through long times 
 of rebellious reflection in the silent office, were replac- 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 157 
 
 ing the youthfulness of his mouth; his high cheek 
 bones showed more clearly ; he was thinning under the 
 first nervous strain that civilisation puts upon the in- 
 dividual — as men of value and good stock are apt to do. 
 
 His first business practice — from the banks and 
 stores and stocking factory — was gone, all of it. For 
 all these weeks there had been practically nothing. 
 But now of a sudden an entirely new class of work 
 appeared — probate business for poor widows, a few 
 small tort cases ; calls from Irishmen in business, from 
 contractors, and now and then, very occasionally, from 
 a saloonkeeper. Mayhew could not explain this sud- 
 den growth to himself — except that he seemed to see 
 dimly it was in some way due to his political connec- 
 tion. The business was democratic, largely Irish ; and 
 the saloon-keepers talked frankly and easily on thp 
 bond of democracy between them. The young man 
 was gratified by what he imagined he saw ; there was, 
 then, such a thing as a genuine fellow-being awakened 
 by politics; a spontaneous appreciation of services; 
 otherwise whence these practical demonstrations of it ? 
 
 Then one day he was sent one small piece of work by 
 the brewery. The step was arranged with Skeane's 
 most consummate cunning; Mayhew had not the 
 slightest thought of the moving force or the object. 
 They could not want anything from him, he assured 
 himself; he had nothing whatever to give. This kind 
 of business was not anything he desired; but he cer- 
 tainly could not refuse it without evidencing a ridicu- 
 lous squeamishness. It was simply, he told himself, a 
 part of the new class of practice which was coming to 
 
158 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 him. The growth of the average law practice is at 
 best a strange and wonderful series of tricks of Des- 
 tiny; and his it seemed was to be no exception. 
 
 Yet across the hall he watched one gigantic figure 
 defying all the carefully laid purposes of the legal fates 
 — the form of the young Irish-American statesman, 
 Brian Haitch Twohig. Day by day this one added a 
 cubit to his stature by his own unaided thinking; day 
 after day he seriously followed his thoughtful cigar to 
 the police-court; to the Father Matthew Society; in 
 among the affairs of men. His ponderous movements, 
 his Websterian front, and his solemn, sonorous quota- 
 tions, won him the respect of that audience on the rear 
 benches of the police court room, which is most in- 
 terested in its happenings. 
 
 " Mike Twohig's bye," said the men in jean over- 
 alls, wagging their heads. " Be God, he's smart. If 
 oi waanted any law worrk done, bi'd have him." 
 
 In the Father Matthew Society he was assiduous in 
 oratory and debate. It was at this period of his life, 
 in standing for the negative on the question : " Re- 
 solved : That drink has caused more misery to mankind 
 than the tyranny of England," that he delivered that 
 grand Philippic which begins, " Erin, whose . proud 
 eastern shores still spurn back the hated waters of the 
 Tyrant, calls upon us, her children." 
 
 Any Father Matthew member would tell you this : 
 " Rosy Twohig ; he's a queer little devil ; stuck on him- 
 self to beat the cars, but he's the boy can talk for yeh." 
 He had already won a sort of oratorical championship 
 for the society. 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE 159 
 
 But still above and beyond the younger men, O'Har- 
 rigan and Griffin, plied their lucrative wiles — the beau- 
 tiful O'Harrigan, rosy, perfumed, fresh-shaven, cast- 
 ing his floral bonds about the souls and affections of 
 the jury; and in the background, the little black Grif- 
 fin, coaching their witnesses, arranging for jurors 
 clear back to the source of their choice in the alder- 
 men, marshalling their spies — the undertakers, the 
 cheap doctors, special agents in the mills, continually 
 on the lookout for accident and death. Month after 
 month these men made their ghoulish living from the 
 arms and legs and fingers lopped off by the wheels of 
 industry; a living greater than any other lawyers of 
 the vicinity could boast — ^not bounded by the small 
 lines of the town of Ellington. In fact they threatened 
 already to take their offices to Grimdale to be near the 
 courts. 
 
 John Mayhew was in his office working on some de- 
 tail in the early evening, when he was surprised by 
 the unusual sight of a client. A slender man, with 
 slouchy shoulders and a turned-up coat collar appeared 
 all at once in the doorway. 
 
 " 'S your name Mayhew ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, all right then," he said. " You're a lawyer, 
 ain't you ? " 
 
 He advanced with a slow, loafing, devil-may-care 
 gait, and sat down opposite Mayhew at the desk. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He was a red-haired, thin-faced fellow, with dirty 
 teeth, and an eye that cocked in toward his nose. He 
 
i6o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 had been drinking ; there was no doubt about that from 
 where Mayhew sat across the desk. 
 
 " There ain't anybody else here, is there ? " he said, 
 looking around. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, say, boss, I got somethin' I want to ask you 
 about." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " Well, then, I'm a cabinet-maker up here in Grim- 
 field." 
 
 "Grimdale?" 
 
 " I meant Grimdale. I ain't been there long ; and I 
 keep gettin' it mixed up with another place I used to 
 work." 
 
 The man lied. His whole manner showed it. He 
 had the nonchalant effrontery of the fellow who strikes 
 you for a quarter on the street, without the slightest 
 trace of the rough embarrassment of the mechanic. 
 His hands lay on the desk before him, palpably inno- 
 cent of honest labour, — soft and long and dirty, with 
 the big red freckles on their backs, and black finger 
 nails. On the thin wrists, underneath the cufHess 
 sleeves, showed the light blue edge of a tattoo. 
 
 " There's a fellow I run across down here in Elling- 
 ton's got a scheme he wants me to go into, and he 
 wants me to give him an answer right off. So I told 
 him I wanted to talk with somebody and I'd let him 
 know to-morrow. 
 
 " Now say," said the man, leaning over the desk. 
 " Supposin' you was at work and I come along and I 
 
THE DEN OF THE OGRE i6i 
 
 says. ' I got a game that's worth ten of that, if you 
 want to come into it. I got somethin' here that's 
 worth money to a certain man in this town ! ' " 
 
 The man tapped with his middle finger on what 
 seemed to be a bunch of paper in the breast of his 
 dingy coat, and continued his imaginary conversation. 
 
 " ' This fellow I mean 's got his million put away all 
 right, and there's a thousand or two of it comin' our 
 way, yes and more, if we work it right. This stuff I 
 got here's worth it to him. He got a little frisky, like 
 the rest of 'em, when he was young, and now he's just 
 about willin' to give us what we ask to keep it quiet.' 
 
 " Well, what would you do if a man come at you 
 with a game like that ? " 
 
 The fellow looked up sharply at Mayhew, as he 
 asked the question. 
 
 "I wouldn't touch it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It's blackmail." 
 
 " What is it if you get caught? " 
 
 " State's prison." 
 
 " That's all right ; but supposin' it was perfectly 
 safe — sure — and you knew it. Supposin' we got him 
 so he don't dare say a word. What then? And then 
 supposin' we got some young lawyer that wouldn't 
 mind makin' a dollar to go in with us and kind of steer 
 us," said the man leaning his face over the desk. 
 
 " Say, boss," he continued in a lower voice, fixing 
 his cunning eyes on Mayhew's. " Say, I can get you 
 into this thing, if you'll say the word. There's money 
 
1 62 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 in it for all of us — ten times as much as setting around 
 here waitin' and hopin' for something to show up. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 " I say that I've heard all I want of that kind of 
 stuff," said Mayhew, getting up. 
 
 " But supposin' there's a good reason why you 
 should; supposin' you've got a damn good right — " 
 
 " Suppose nothing," said Mayhew. " You drop it 
 where you are and get out." 
 
 The man shambled defiantly toward the entrance. 
 
 " Go home," said Mayhew, " and get sobered off," 
 opening the door for him. 
 
 " Then you won't touch it — even if I showed you — " 
 
 " No," snapped Mayhew, " Get out." 
 
 " You'll be damn sorry for this," said the late client, 
 passing out into the dark corridor. 
 
 The door slammed after him. 
 
Chapter XIII 
 
 THE TOWN GUARD 
 
 /LIKE to think there is still in the world a man 
 like — John Heenan — ^the marshal — of such cold, 
 absolute, deadly courage ; it takes you back, in 
 a way, to the early, hand-to-hand days of the world, 
 when men fought with their eyes in each other's faces 
 — ^to Thermopylae and the white-shouldered Greeks. 
 For forty years, freckled-faced boy and grim-featured 
 man, he has seen and known every danger of street and 
 alley; has met and cowed every kind of brute, which 
 the insetting tides of the world have swept into the 
 town. He has never fought like the fellow in the old 
 song, with his legs hacked off, upon his stumps; but 
 he has held a lonely tenement house for an hour with 
 a broken leg, against two families, and after half of 
 them were disabled and the remainder brought to 
 terms, hobbled off on an old broom as a crutch, to get 
 assistance to take his unconscious prisoner to the lock- 
 up. He has gone into all sorts of back tenements — 
 alone, unflinching, without the quiver of an eyelid, and 
 dragged out all conditions of strange things from all 
 kinds of strange holes. He is like a tamer, you may 
 say, in his den of beasts; he knows each one of them 
 
 163 
 
1 64 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 by name ; and everyone of them knows him and fears 
 him. 
 
 Day after day you see him, a commonplace sight in 
 the commonplace old lock-up under the city hall — with 
 his bare high forehead, heightened now by baldness, 
 his thin, heavily-muscled jaw, his face broad across the 
 cheek bones, his stubby moustache, his thin-lipped 
 mouth with the little upward twist in the left corner, 
 the long scar on his left cheek, where the big French- 
 man slashed him, and his grey-blue eyes — indifferent 
 usually or roving, but on excitement or anger filled at 
 once with a cold light ; two grey globes of steel fastened 
 upon the offender. He sat that late spring night with 
 Mayhew, under the gaslight behind the rail of the little 
 office, smoking the pipe of idleness. Down the corridor 
 to the right, a simple " drunk," " a song-bird," to be 
 technical, was raising the underground echoes in the 
 low rooms with a musical selection. It seemed the song 
 of the simple drunk was one entitled " My Father's 
 Sword," which he considered the best song ever writ- 
 ten, and he called upon all men to witness. 
 
 " Say, d'you hear that, John Heenan," he called. 
 " That's the bes' song ever written." John Heenan 
 stepped into the corridor. 
 
 " O, shut up there, Jim Flynn," he called. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " If you don't, I'll come in and see you." , 
 
 The singer babbled complainingly down to silence; 
 and then to sleep. 
 
 The chief resumed his talk with Mayhew on the 
 Polish murderer, who had escaped from Grimdale and 
 
THE TOWN GUARD 165 
 
 was in hiding, heaven knew where. It was an axe- 
 murder, of the peculiarly vigorous and thorough kind 
 characteristic of the race. The chief gave the simple 
 explanation. 
 
 " He wanted the woman and the other fellow got 
 her, and when he found he was left he just chopped 
 the other one open; that's all." 
 
 He went on with a few expositions on courtship and 
 affection in the Polish quarter, as chaste and holy as 
 love in a menagerie. They discussed the chance of the 
 murderer lurking now in the tenements. 
 
 "We're lookin' for him," said the chief. "But 
 how'U we get him unless we see him? They'll never 
 say anything, if he stays there and keeps still all his 
 lifetime. These Poles are better than the Italians, 
 though. They're more talkative." 
 
 A man with a racking cough shuffled up to the rail, — 
 a tramp. 
 
 " Hello, Cap'n ; say, can I get a night's lodgin' in 
 here?" 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? What're you in here 
 this time of year for ? " 
 
 " I got this cough on me, and I don't like to sleep 
 out while it's goin'. I'm in bad shape," wheezed the 
 man. 
 
 " God, you look it," said the chief, with brutal sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 The fellow was duly prepared and ushered into the 
 tramp room, that little cave, in the fall and early win- 
 ter nights jammed full like the black hole of Calcutta, 
 with its motley crowd of lodgers in contorted attitudes 
 
1 66 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 of sleep ; now empty but for the man with a resound-r 
 ing cough. 
 
 " He's got a bad one," said Heenan. " We had one 
 of 'em die on us last year." 
 
 " Did you hear old Bat Foley was dead ? " he con- 
 tinued after a pause. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " They found him in an alley last night. He started 
 home, but he never got there." 
 
 " He was an old-timer, wasn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes, and there's another one gone down there in 
 the Patch— old Mrs. Carney." 
 
 " John Carney's grandmother ? " 
 
 " Yes — the old one. ' The Kerry miser,' they called 
 her^— they're havin' her wake to-night." 
 
 " How old was she ? " 
 
 " O, I don't know ; she always looked the same since 
 I can remember. I guess she was an old-timer ' the 
 night of the big wind,' " said Heenan laughing. 
 
 " How much money do you suppose she had ? " 
 
 " They say about nine thousand dollars." 
 
 "All made in the mill?" 
 
 " Yes, and livin' on tea and potatoes, and a dollar 
 a month ground-rent for her house in the Patch." 
 
 " Does John Carney get any of it ? " 
 
 " No, the house goes to his mother and some of the 
 bank books, and the rest of them go to some cousins. 
 The old woman got down on John the last few years." 
 
 " What's Carney back here again for ? " asked the 
 chief, after a little silence. 
 
THE TOWN GUARD 167 
 
 " I didn't know he was back." 
 
 " O, he's been back a week or ten days, and another 
 feller with him, from the South." 
 
 " What's his name ? " asked Mayhew. 
 
 " Mike Garvin — a red-headed feller, with a cock-eye ; 
 he's got relations here." 
 
 " O," said Mayhew, remembering. 
 
 " Carney's in pretty hot company this time," com- 
 mented Heenan. "This red-head's a bad one; he's 
 had his number. They acted a little queer around here 
 and I had him looked up." 
 
 "What was he?" 
 
 " He's been a ship carpenter some and a deck hand 
 on board the coastin' steamers, when he had to work; 
 but most of the time he's one of the gang you see 
 around the wharves picking up a dollar and goin' and 
 blowin' it for booze. One time he knocked down a 
 feller in New York and went through him, and they 
 caught him at it and gave him a year. O, he's a bad 
 one all right. 
 
 " What I'd like to know is what they're up to. They 
 haven't got any money now, but they had some when 
 they come here and they were around in the saloons 
 with it throwin' it out and talkin' pretty loud. ' Never 
 mind, they knew where they could get some more when 
 that was gone ! ' That's the kind of stuff they were 
 giving out." 
 
 Mayhew made no comment. He had a feeling the 
 other man was pumping him. 
 
 " And now," continued the chief, " they're hard up 
 
1 68 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 again. And I've been lookin' for them to do some- 
 thing. But they haven't. I wonder what their game 
 is anyhow. It looks to me, someways, as if they'd got 
 hold of something that was so big, they didn't exactly 
 dare to tackle it." 
 
 " They have," said Mayhew. 
 
 " What is it? " said Heenan looking up sharply. 
 
 " Blackmail." 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 " The red-headed one," Mayhew rehearsed his in- 
 terview. The marshal listened with concentrated at- 
 tention. 
 
 " Well, then, so long as you know that, who do you 
 think it is ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Make a guess then." 
 
 " Well, I naturally thought at first it might be Thorn- 
 dike." 
 
 " Why don't you think so now ? " 
 
 "What's he done?" 
 
 " Well," said the man, the wrinkles gathering around 
 his shrewd eyes, " we ain't any of us perfect." 
 
 " I know that, but what could he have done ? " 
 
 " Well, if you don't know, I don't," said the chief 
 suggestively. 
 
 " Well, I don't." 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment. 
 
 " Of course, Carney's got it in for Thomdike," said 
 Mayhew, " for firing him. You know that." 
 
 " Yes, I know it." 
 
THE TOWN GUARD 169 
 
 " And he claims Thorndike's been chasin' him ever 
 since. He says he's had you after him especially. How 
 is that?" continued Mayhew, looking up. 
 
 John Heenan laughed. " You don't want to ask me 
 questions like that," he said. 
 
 " I've got a good deal of sympathy for Carney," 
 volunteered Mayhew. 
 
 " I ain't," said the marshal, with the professional 
 pessimism of a policeman. " He used to be all right, 
 but he's turned out a drunken bum. He's got a girl 
 down here — as good a girl's there is in this town, just 
 killin' herself for him, and he battin' around the coun- 
 try, doin' nothing." 
 
 "Could he get a job if he wanted one?" asked 
 Mayhew. 
 
 "'l dunno." 
 
 " Around here I mean." 
 
 " O, I don't know. I guess he could if he tried very 
 hard. He'd rather lie around the saloons and drink. 
 He's a bad one when he's got the drink in," said the 
 chief, " he don't know what he's doin'." 
 
 " Did you ever run against him ? " 
 
 " I had one tussle with him. Generally that's 
 enough," said Heenan significantly. " They're all 
 right when you know how to handle em. Don't force 
 'em; take your time, that's all. Let 'em come at you, 
 if they want to. Then you've got 'em ; they're always 
 wild. You can do what you want to with 'em." 
 
 Footsteps were heard on the stone steps outside. 
 
 " But this is all on the side about Carney and the 
 
1 70 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 red-head," said Heenan, straightening up. " As long 
 as they don't do anything and nobody says a word, we 
 can't mix into it. You've got just as good a right to 
 guess as anybody. Only don't say anything — not from 
 me anyway." 
 
 The fat policeman stood before the black walnut bar 
 of the office; his great loose jowl purple with haste. 
 
 " There's been some kind of row down at the Patch," 
 he growled. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Down at old Mrs. Carney's wake." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " I guess they've had some money stolen." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " Well, that's the way I hear it." 
 
 " You been down there ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, can't you find out anything? " 
 
 " No, there's nobody knows really but the family and 
 they won't talk. But I got hold of a feller that told it 
 to me as it was, I guess." 
 
 "How was it?" 
 
 " Well, they was holdin' one of these old-time wakes 
 down there — out of doors, in front of the house. And 
 while that was goin' on, Mrs. Carney, the daughter- 
 in-law of th' old woman went in, and found somebody 
 inside and there was a scuffle. But whoever it was 
 got away." 
 
 " Well, who do you think it was ? " 
 
 " Well, I guess probly it was Shawn Carney and the 
 red-head, all right. They've been drinkin' and ain't 
 
THE TOWN GUARD 171 
 
 been near the house, and I hear there's been a row 
 anyway, and they wouldn't let 'em come there." 
 
 "Well, what would they be after?" 
 
 " Some of ' the stuff ' the old woman had in there." 
 
 " She had most of it in the savings banks, didn't 
 she?" 
 
 " Yes, but they say she always had some of it around 
 the house in different places, — up in the loft, and down 
 under floorin', done up in a stockin', like they used to 
 have it. They say some of it she always kept in there 
 to bury her with." 
 
 " So you think they were after that, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Did you see Carney's mother ? " 
 
 " Yes, and she said there was nothin' the matter, 
 and for me to go on and mind my own busmess. She 
 had a bad welt over her eye she got fallin' on the 
 floor." 
 
 "That's all you got, was it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " You didn't see an3rthing of Carney or the red- 
 head?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Well, you go back and send in Quinn to stay here. 
 I guess I'll go down there myself." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the big policeman trudging off like 
 a fat school-boy who has recited his lesson. 
 
 John Heenan had risen and begun putting on his 
 street uniform. 
 
 " I won't get anything out of him," he said, " but 
 I'm going down just the same." 
 
172 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 He lifted up his coat tails and slid his hand-cuffs 
 into his hip pocket. 
 
 " I wonder if that was what they was up here for, 
 after all," he said, thoughtfully. 
 
Chapter XIV 
 
 AN UNDERSTANDING 
 
 /T was sheer, blundering good luck that urged 
 John Mayhew that day — that long, lazy, early 
 summer Sunday afternoon — ^to go down and 
 call on Maggie. As he came along he saw Barry lean- 
 ing out under the toy maple tree at the side gate, smok- 
 ing his clay pipe with philosophic calm. 
 
 "Hello, Barry," said Mayhew. 
 
 Barry bobbed his head silently. 
 
 " Is Maggie at home ? " 
 
 " You'll find her inside," said Barry, at last remov- 
 ing the pipe from his teeth. 
 
 " 'Tis a foine day," he commented, desiring to do 
 the utmost courtesies of the season, now that he had 
 once given up his meditations and his smoking. 
 
 " You bet," said John Mayhew. 
 
 He had scarcely knocked when Maggie appeared at 
 the doorway in her decent, black Sunday dress, neat 
 to an almost painful severity. 
 
 " John Mayhew! " she cried, laughing outright with 
 pleasure. "Why, how air ye, John? My goodness, 
 but I'm glad to see ye." 
 
 The door closed after" them. The figure at the fence 
 173 
 
174 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 readjusted its arms upon the pickets and returned to 
 its meditations. 
 
 " Sure, ye ain't lookin' natch'ral, John," said Maggie, 
 studying him. 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 " O, ye're lookin' older; ye' re thinner, ain't ye? Is 
 it bein' an alderman ? Are they workin' ye too hard ? " 
 
 " O, I guess not, Maggie," laughed John ; " I guess 
 I'm none too old yet." 
 
 " I'll bet ye can't guess who's in there," continued 
 Maggie, waving her hand toward the little parlour. 
 " Go on in ; go in and see for yerself." 
 
 It was Ruth Thomdike ; he hadn't seen her since the 
 disagreement. John Mayhew looked with desperation 
 for some feasible avenue of escape. There was none. 
 Maggie was herding him into the room from behind 
 with amiable determination. 
 
 " O, how do you do. Miss Ruth?" he said, with 
 decent surprise. 
 
 " Listen to that, ' Miss Ruth,' " said the incorrigible 
 Maggie, mocking his stiffness. " What's the matter 
 with you two now ; have ye been fightin' again." 
 
 " Well, then, how do you do, John," said Ruth. The 
 comers of her mouth went up again. She was laugh- 
 ing with her old, happy carelessness. 
 
 " I'm awfully glad to see you again," she said. 
 " Where have you been all these years ? " 
 
 " Where have you been, you mean," he said. 
 " When did you get back from New York? " 
 
 " Only last week. I stayed a month longer than I 
 should have. Wasn't it disgraceful? But I was hav- 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING 175 
 
 ing such fun. I'd be there now if it hadn't been for 
 Papa. He hasn't been feeling very well." 
 
 "What's the matter with your father?" 
 
 A shadow had come over her face. 
 
 " O, I don't know — overwork, the doctor says. 
 We're a little worried about him. It's nothing much, 
 I hope." 
 
 " Sure, ye'U be wanting to talk to each other ! " 
 Maggie broke in, "and I'll just slip out into the 
 kitchen." 
 
 Apparently her diagnosis of their desires was not 
 correct. Miss Thorndike sat silently, following with 
 her gay little parasol the outline of a patch of summer 
 sunlight on the floor, John Mayhew staring at her 
 with entirely unnecessary vehemence. There they were 
 again — those two — in Maggie's best room — ^that mys- 
 terious little place, with its shades thriftily half- 
 lowered to keep out the sun; its carpet with the 
 familiar big cabbage rose bouquets; its black-walnut 
 table with the marble top; its cabinet organ, perpetu- 
 ally closed; its whatnot, and its row of popes and 
 saints and martyrs, gloomy witnesses, staring from the 
 dim walls — ^the same old popes, with their look of 
 sarcastic hunger, the supernaturally gentle Virgin, the 
 wonderful flaming lithograph of the Sacred Heart; 
 and underneath the mildest of the saints, sat this most 
 unsaintlike and modern young person — just returned 
 from the pillage of the metropolitan stores — in all the 
 glory of the latest style. You remember those foolish 
 fashions of that period — drawn here, and puffed there, 
 and padded all out of the semblance of a human form, 
 
176 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 its fabric — with idiotic names — elephant's breath, I 
 think they call the colour she was wearing; and yet, 
 there she was, all that was longed for and admired and 
 envied- in dress — and charming — entirely charming; 
 you would say so even now — in spite of the absurdities 
 of her costume. 
 
 " I suppose," John Mayhew blurted out, " I'll have 
 to give you my best wishes." 
 
 " Best wishes, for what ? " 
 
 " For your engagement." 
 
 "My engagement — to whom?" 
 
 " To Talcott Lynde — that is, I understood so." 
 
 "Who told you that?" said Ruth. 
 
 An angry red came into her cheeks. " Who told 
 you that ? " she insisted. 
 
 " Why I don't know," stammered Mayhew. " I 
 guess it was Chippy Merriman first. I supposed it 
 was generally understood." 
 
 " It's a lie," said Miss Thorndike savagely. " En- 
 gaged to Talcott Lynde ! Oh I'd like to find the person 
 who started that first. I wouldn't be engaged to him 
 if I were a mummy." 
 
 " True for you," said Maggie, standing in the door- 
 way. She was beaming with good Irish hospi- 
 tality, a bit of refreshment for her guests — cake 
 and lemonade on little coloured napkins on an im- 
 maculate tray. 
 
 " Take both koinds," she urged. " Ye'll have some 
 of my loaf cake, John, ye used to loike it, both of ye. 
 
 " Many's the toime I've stole it and given it to ye, 
 when yer fathers would have been crazy if they'd 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING 177 
 
 known it, but I don't believe it did ye any harm, aither 
 of ye. 
 
 " Ah, will, will, will, thim was great days," she said 
 sighing hugely. " They seem a long whoile ago, don't 
 they?" 
 
 Her guests smiled across their cake and lemonade. 
 
 " But I'm glad to hear ye say what ye did about that 
 Lynde feller," she continued, returning to the present ; 
 "any man that'll be the coward he was with that 
 Dibble girl, don't deserve to be noticed by dacint 
 folks." 
 
 " Don't tell that story, Maggie," said Ruth. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because you aren't sure of it." 
 
 " Why not, ain't I ? Didn't I get it from the gurrl 
 that the hired man at the Dibble's is payin' attention 
 to?" 
 
 " What was it, Maggie ? " said John, " you might as 
 well tell me now." 
 
 " 'Twas nothin' ; only the horse ran away with them 
 down Stony Hill, and that black-hearted coward 
 jumped out and left her alone in the wagon." 
 
 " But he says," said Ruth, " that the bridle parted 
 and he tried to jump out on the horse and stop him." 
 
 " He says that, does he," said Maggie, " will, thin, 
 he lies; the man at Dibbles says the harness was as 
 whole as whin it left the shop, only a small strap in the 
 bridle that broke when the horse stumbled, just before 
 he stopped. You don't tell me; he's a bad lot ; I know 
 'em when I see 'em." 
 
 " Maybe it came unbuckled some way," said Ruth. 
 
178 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Will, thin, if it did, he unbuckled it, when he got 
 to the team again. Sure, that poor little noodle-hided 
 Dibble choild'd niver know the difference.'' 
 
 " You shouldn't talk that way, Maggie," said Ruth. 
 
 " Are ye defindin' him," said Maggie, with much 
 sarcasm. " O, go on, ye' re only doin' it because ye 
 think it's polite. 
 
 " Ye'll excuse me again," she said, " while I take 
 these things out." She retreated once more to the 
 back of the house with the remains of her little feast, 
 lamenting because her callers had not eaten everything 
 she displayed. 
 
 A light summer wind Hsped in the leaves of the 
 grapevine on the little front porch, and sent in through 
 the window warm, faint odours of its leaves and blos- 
 soms. The whole atmosphere of the world seemed to 
 have changed in the last quarter hour. The spot of 
 sunshine on the floor had grown, it seemed, lighting 
 the whole dark room, and glorifying the dark-haired 
 girl in the grey gown, against the background of 
 saints, with an especial glad beauty of her own. 
 
 "Well, how are politics, John?" asked this very 
 flesh-and-blood young picture. 
 
 " O, well enough. How are they with you ? " 
 
 " Fine, I read nothing now but leading editorials." 
 
 " Tremendous ! The fashion page is entirely de- 
 serted, I suppose." 
 
 " Entirely." 
 
 " The blue-stocking's progress, or from fashion page 
 to editorials, by Miss Ruth Thorndike," he commented 
 sarcastically. 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING 179 
 
 "That's all right," she answered, combatively. 
 " You're a great politician, John Mayhew, but I'll tell 
 you one thing, you'd never have got that health ordi- 
 nance through if it hadn't been for me." 
 
 " You ! " cried Mayhew. 
 
 " Yes, me," she repeated, with a pretty, decided little 
 gesture. 
 
 She told him about her visit to the tenements, then — 
 or that part of it she cared to, leaving out the adven- 
 ture with the Brute. He watched with delight the 
 change that was wrought in her; the growth of her 
 feeling as she told the thing; the deep serious soul of 
 the woman, set alight by the sad sympathy for what 
 she had seen, irradiating the pretty, careless face of the 
 girl. 
 
 " It was dreadful," she said, " awful, the way they 
 lived. I couldn't bear to think of it. I made papa 
 promise me he would help to have it changed." 
 
 " By Jove, Ruth," said John, " you're a brick." 
 
 The girl flushed. 
 
 " So you were the influence that changed the vote ? " 
 he went on, laughing. " Great Heavens, what a terri- 
 ble person you are. I wish I'd had you with us when 
 we took the first vote." 
 
 " On Mr. Childs, you mean ? Never sir. I'd never 
 voted against him, and I don't think you ought to have 
 either ; that poor old man, with his sick wife and noth- 
 ing but that little salary to depend on. I don't see how 
 you could do it." 
 
 " Well, we can't all think alike in politics," remarked 
 Mayhew. 
 
i8o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " No. we can't, you vile democrat you," she said, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Well, I don't care much," she continued, " I don't 
 take my politics so hard as some people — except when 
 there's a campaign on — and then I'm bitter, I warn 
 you now. 
 
 " There's only one thing really I do want, I sup- 
 pose," she went on musingly. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " No, that's one of my political secrets." 
 
 " O, go ahead and tell me." 
 
 " Well, then — I want my father to be governor of 
 the state. I don't believe I care so much for myself — 
 really. But he does want it so much. I know that, 
 though he never said one word to me about it." 
 
 John Mayhew's face darkened. 
 
 " I don't suppose I ought to have talked to you about 
 that," said Ruth quickly. " I know you two have had 
 some quarrel over something in politics." 
 
 " It isn't that," said Mayhew. " Personally, I'd like 
 to see him governor. I was thinking of something 
 else." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " O, nothing much." 
 
 " Go on, John, please. I want you to tell me just 
 what you think." 
 
 " Well, I don't know much about it, but can he get 
 it — I mean the nomination? There's just one thing 
 that's going to trouble him — ^that is, if there's dissatis- 
 faction in the mills." 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING i8i 
 
 "But there isn't going to be, is there? I mean 
 nothing serious." 
 
 " Yes, I think there is, if that next cut goes into 
 effect. And if there is, it will be hard on your father 
 politically. It won't be the year to run a man with a 
 labour fight on his hands, especially now with all this 
 talk on the tariff, and a man in the position that your 
 father is, as a kind of leader of this cut movement 
 among the other manufacturers." 
 
 " But my father says there won't be any trouble ; 
 that the sensible men will see it's for their own interests 
 to take what he can give them. I don't understand 
 it exactly, but it's the idea that they'd better take 
 something than nothing at all. It's always been that 
 way. They've always been reasonable, I mean." 
 
 " But I think this is different," said Mayhew, 
 " they're all worked up over this, especially the mule- 
 spinners, and they say they'll go out, sure. Maggie'll 
 know about it ; you call her." 
 
 " Maggie," called Ruth. " Oh Maggie." 
 
 The form of Maggie appeared from the next room. 
 " We want you to settle a dispute," said Ruth. " Is 
 there going to be a strike in the mill if they put on 
 the new cut in wages, do you think? " 
 
 " Sure, and there is, I believe. Savin' your prisince. 
 Miss Ruth, it's too mooch. Some of thim says they 
 can't live on what they'll get." 
 
 "And will they strike?" 
 
 "They say they will. The mule-spinners had a 
 meeting this afternoon to see about it. 
 
1 82 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " There's Barry in the other room ; he'll know ; I'll 
 ask him. 
 
 " Did ye see any of the mule-spinners since the 
 meetin', Barry ? " 
 
 " I did," came the voice from the other room. 
 
 " And did they vote to strike ? " 
 
 " They did ; the minute they make the cut, they 
 voted to get out — all of 'em. They voted solid for 
 it — ivry wan. They're fightin' mad, but they won't 
 say nothin' till it comes." 
 
 " You see," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Yer father knows best, no doubt," said Maggie ; 
 " but sure 'twould be a great thing, if ye could get 
 him to give up makin' a cut just now; there'll be 
 thousands of people it'll throw out of work, they say, 
 all over." 
 
 " I'm afraid I couldn't do much toward getting 
 my father to change his business plans," said Ruth, 
 becoming, nevertheless, very thoughtful. 
 
 " It's too bad," said Mayhew, in mock seriousness. 
 " All this would never have happened if we'd had a 
 democratic administration, would it, Maggie ? " 
 
 " No," retorted the fierce republican in the grey 
 gown, " we wouldn't have had any mills at all." 
 
 " Not unless they were natural things and able to 
 support themselves without hiding behind a tariff," 
 argued Mayhew, the political economist. 
 
 " Oh I don't care about your theories," said the op- 
 position ; " facts are good enough for me." 
 
 "It's too bad she can't reform and be a democrat, 
 isn't it, Maggie ? " 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING 183 
 
 " Sure, and it is ; I'm sorry for the poor gurrl. But 
 they say after a toime they get hardened to bein' 
 republicans, and they don't moind it." 
 
 " That's all right," said Miss Thorndike. " I don't 
 mind the company I associate with, if you don't. I'd 
 rather trust my father to be honest than your Mr. 
 Skeane." 
 
 " There's one thing, Maggie," said Mayhew, recoil- 
 ing from the attack on this desperately defended 
 citadel, " I've meant to ask you for a long time, and 
 that is if you remember anybody named Richard 
 Plimsoll that the folks used to talk about when we were 
 children — way back in the war times." 
 ' "Oh, yes," said Ruth, "who was he, Maggie?" 
 
 " Was it a man ? " asked Maggie, with a queer look 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Why, I suppose so," said Mayhew, with surprise. 
 
 " Did ye ever see him ? " 
 
 " No, that's it ; he was our pet mystery." 
 
 Ruth nodded. 
 
 " No, I guess ye didn't," said Maggie. " There 
 wasn't any man by that name I iver heard of. But 
 there was a boat though." 
 
 "A boat?" said the two. 
 
 " Yis, a ship. She was lost at sea or sUnk or some- 
 thin', I niver knew exactly what ; they was very private 
 about it. Sure all I iver knew was one toime I over- 
 heard Miss Ruth's father sayin' somethin' about it to 
 her mother. The company was interested in it some 
 way, and there was a tirrible commotion over it one 
 toime in the house. But don't ye iver tell yer father, 
 
1 84 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 I said so, Miss Ruth. I ain't got no business 
 tillin' you things I just overheard. Ye won't now, 
 will ye?" 
 
 " Of course not," said Ruth. 
 
 " A ship," she added, " how queer ! " 
 
 " Isn't it though ? " said Mayhew abstractedly. 
 
 The driver had arrived at the door with Ruth 
 Thorndike's dogcart. John Mayhew left the house 
 with her, and walked with her to the curbing. 
 
 " Good-bye, you terrible republican," he said. 
 
 " Good-bye, you poor mugwump," she replied. " I 
 give you fair warning to look out for me next fall. 
 We're going to annihilate you, and the rest of your 
 old party." 
 
 " We're sworn enemies, then ? " 
 
 " To the death," she said, laughing. " Let's shake 
 hands on it." 
 
 She stretched out her hand and said good-bye again, 
 and away went the silent driver and the laughing girl 
 to the house upon the hill. 
 
 Her father was gone when she arrived, on a drive 
 to Grimdale with a friend — business or politics, one 
 or the other; what are the claims of the American 
 Sunday against these? He would not be back till 
 supper time. Ruth debated how she should kill time 
 in the silent house, with the idle afternoon sun on 
 the floors by the western windows, or out in the empty 
 and tiresome garden. Sunday afternoons certainly 
 were a bore. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, there was a man here to 
 see your father and left this," said the immaculate 
 
AN UNDERSTANDING 185 
 
 second girl, gingerly handing her a most discouraged 
 looking envelope. 
 
 " When was he here ? " 
 
 " Just after your father went out. When you were ' 
 both gone." 
 
 " Who was it — do you know ? " 
 
 " No — a hard looking man that came to the side 
 door — red-headed, with a bad eye." 
 
 " All right, Nellie, tharik you." 
 
 The envelope was unsealed, with the flap lying open. 
 As she started to place it on her father's desk, it slid 
 off, and the small dingy slip of paper it contained, 
 fluttered out upon the floor; and as she picked it up 
 and replaced it in the envelope, she could riot help 
 reading the scrawl upon it. 
 
 " How about the Richard Plimsoll ? " it ran. " What 
 are you going to do for us ? " 
 
 Miss Ruth puzzled seriously over this missive; the 
 Richard Plimsoll — what could it mean? 
 
 When her father arrived, he read it slowly and 
 promptly threw it into the waste basket. 
 
 Ruth asked him, " Whom was it from ? " 
 
 " O, some crank, I suppose," he said. " My mail 
 is full of stuff like that." 
 
 On the whole it was a most unsatisfactory answer. 
 But the questioner was scarcely, under the circum- 
 stances, in a position to ask more. Evidently it was 
 of small account, anyhow. 
 
 He seemed rather gloomy through the evening, she 
 thought; but then he seemed always depressed these 
 days since she had returned home. 
 
Chapter XV 
 
 PRACTICAL POLITICS 
 
 Ji^^^^ RUTH THORNDIKE sat on the arm 
 
 / m/t of her father's chair, at the close of the 
 -A wJL summer evening meal — all fluffs and 
 tucks and bows and muslin, preventing his threatened 
 attack on his newspapers. 
 
 " Look here, young man," she said, taking his chin 
 in her slim, white fingers and holding up his eyes to 
 hers. " You've had something on your mind lately, 
 and I want to know what it is. What's the matter 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Yes, there is too." 
 
 " There's nothing whatever," he repeated, reaching 
 up and putting away her hand, preparatory, to starting 
 on his reading. 
 
 " Look here. Dad," she cried, " I won't have it. 
 You've got to tell me. You're so foolish, you men. 
 You don't think you can hide it from me when you're 
 blue, do you ? IDon't you suppose a woman can see. I 
 knew it just the minute I came home. Now what's 
 the matter; tell me, please." 
 
 i86 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 187 
 
 " Where do you get such notions into your head, 
 Ruth ? " asked her father, giving a relenting smile. 
 
 Miss Ruth Thorndike's shrewd eyes told her she 
 had made her first gain. She was down on the floor 
 now, a graceful little heap of colour by her father's 
 knees. 
 
 " Is it politics ? " she persevered. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " It is," she cried. " I might have known it from 
 last year. You were so vicious last fall there was 
 no living with you." 
 
 " I'm awfully glad," she said with a little sigh of 
 relief. " I was afraid it might be something else ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " O, I don't know; I couldn't imagine." 
 
 Her father moved a little in his chair. 
 
 " But now all we've got to do is to make you gov- 
 ernor," she said, with her accustomed vigour. 
 
 William Thorndike was silent. 
 
 " What are the chances ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know, Ruth." 
 
 " O, come, Dad," she pleaded, " Give me a chance, 
 please. Why can't you make a confidante of me ? I've 
 got sense enough to understand it. Perhaps I could 
 help you — you don't know. Are the -Perkins people 
 working for it ? " 
 
 "O, yes." 
 
 "Well, can they get it?" 
 
 " That's the question." 
 
 "How's Mr. Black? What does he think? Have 
 you seen him ? " 
 
1 88 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Yes, once or twice. He thinks I have a good 
 chance. But they're making a great canvass for it 
 — already." 
 
 " Well, they can't beat us, Dad," she cried, straight- 
 ening up. You trust to me, William, I'll make you 
 governor," she went on with mock dignity. " That is 
 if you don't worry. You won't worry, will you, Dad ? " 
 she pleaded, patting his hand. " You wouldn't if you 
 knew how miserable it made me to see you. 
 
 " Well, now you may read," she said getting up 
 quickly, having obtained the principal information that 
 she wanted. Another enterprise had been determined 
 upon by this crazy young conspirator. 
 
 " I'm going driving a little while," she said. " I'm 
 half stifled indoors." 
 
 " All right," murmured the preoccupied man of the 
 house, buried at last up to his ears in his newspaper. 
 " Only get back before it gets too dark." 
 
 " O, of course." 
 
 Ten minutes later she was on her way to Grim- 
 dale. The sun was not yet set ; the whole long summer 
 twilight stretched before her. Quiet lay on the dusty 
 country roads; the farmers' rattling wagons were al- 
 ready in the barn ; the slow and heavy workaday travel 
 between the towns was done. She fared alone through 
 the cool and happy silence; up the long grey road, 
 through the deepening wayside green. Now and then 
 she heard some woman calling from her farmhouse; 
 now and then, with shrill distinctness, the cries of dis- 
 tant children at their play ; and now and then, by some 
 damp corner of a wood, the thrice-delicious fragrance 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 189 
 
 of the wild grape blossoms hung, where she passed, 
 across the shadowy road, faint as the memory of some 
 old song. 
 
 She was not on the main travelled highway by the 
 river but the side road parallel upon the hill. As she 
 drove out from a passage through the trees, the sun 
 was set, the sombre western mountains stood out in 
 huge relief against the sky, and the lighting of the 
 long valley for another night had begun again. Far 
 up and down she watched it through the grey evening 
 — the magic of the coming of the lights — ^yellow and 
 white and blue, dotted here and there upon the dark- 
 ening mountain side, lonely mysterious yellow spots 
 amid the woods; trailing up the main highway along 
 the serpent river, flashing to the north in a great 
 
 cluster of white and blue, within the black cavern of 
 
 » 
 
 shadow underneath Mt. Totec, on the streets of Grim- 
 dale; the dawn of the toy daylight of those strange 
 little creatures of the valley, the lighting of the tiny 
 homes of men, upon who knew what hopes and weari- 
 ness and misery. 
 
 The great horse strode steadily forward; the slight 
 girl in the high dog-cart, but half observant of the 
 beauty of the coming night, sat talking busily to her- 
 self, framing her campaigti. And so they came down 
 toward Grimdale, rattled in across the railroad tracks, 
 passed through the main street of the city, with its 
 dark store windows, to the place of residences and 
 up the driveway to the big, black, towered house upon 
 the hill. 
 
 A few moments more and she was waiting in the 
 
I90 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 high parlour of Morgan Black, by the dim light of one 
 gas jet in the high, bronze chandelier. The form of the 
 great manufacturer, emerging from the recesses of his 
 study in the rear, came heavily and deliberately to- 
 ward her. 
 
 " Good evening. Miss Ruth," he said. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Black." 
 
 " Have you left your father outside ? " 
 
 " No, I drove up alone." 
 
 A sharp look of surprise shone a moment beneath 
 the thick grey eyebrows and was gone. 
 
 " I came up to talk politics with you," she went on. 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " And I think as long as that's what I want," she 
 said, laughing, " you ought to take me out into your 
 study. That's the place you always go for politics, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " Come in," he said gravely. 
 
 They passed from the stiff barren parlour, into the 
 more comfortable room behind — the man grey, and 
 slow and unmoved, the girl flushed with anxiety and 
 the excitement of the thing. 
 
 " There's something that's worrying me to death," 
 she said, seating herself across the table from him. 
 ' I got perfectly desperate, and finally I made up my 
 mind I'd come up here and see you, as the men do." 
 
 " So that's the way the men do ? " asked Black, with 
 grim amusement. 
 
 " Why, of course they do. I don't know much 
 politics, but I know that. When they want some- 
 thing very much they come to you." 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 191 
 
 " What is it you want." 
 
 " I want my father to be governor." 
 
 "O, I see! that's a//, is it?" 
 
 " Yes, and I want you to help me. That is, I don't 
 want you to do anything you don't care to, you know, 
 but I want you to help me, to tell me things — ^just how 
 everything stands." 
 
 The grey master of Grimdale sat silent watching her, 
 as she talked. 
 
 " They say you men always trade in politics," she 
 went on vivaciously. "" So I've got something to 
 swap." 
 
 Morgan Black laughed outright. 
 
 " What is it ? Are you going to appoint me briga- 
 dier-general of the militia," he asked, " when you're 
 elected ? " 
 
 They laughed together; Ruth saw with delight that 
 the ice was broken. 
 
 " No, really, I'm serious," she said. " It's some- 
 thing I heard — that I thought you might like to know, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Well, it's about the cotton mills. There're a lot 
 of those mills you're interested in, aren't there ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " Well, it's about that cut, you know." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You knew there was likely to be trouble over it." 
 
 " I heard so." 
 
 " And you knew the mule-spinners' union had voted 
 to go out, as soon as it is made." 
 
192 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " They say so." 
 
 "O, dear, I'm awfully disappointed. I'm not going 
 to have anything to tell you after all. And you know 
 all about the mule-spinners — and their meeting last 
 Sunday and how th^ voted unanimously to strike." 
 
 " Unanimously?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You're sure of that?" 
 
 " Yes, I got it through just one man. And they 
 say they're unanimous everywhere — all through the 
 other mills." 
 
 " Is that so ? " said Black musingly. 
 
 " Then I did tell you something," said Ruth de- 
 lightedly. 
 
 " Yes," said Black, " just what I wanted to know — 
 how they stood in their unions. It may make a big 
 difference in our plans. Everybody's thought they 
 would not make much of a fight; that they'd disagree 
 among themselves and we'd break 'em up. They've 
 kept their meetings pretty close. 
 
 " So they were unanimous ; — they'll make a fight," 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Ruth, though really he was 
 talking more to himself than to her. 
 
 " Now, what can I do for youf " asked Black. 
 
 " I want you to give me your advice first," said 
 the girl, " and perhaps your help some time, if you 
 will." 
 
 " What do you want to know ? " 
 
 " Well, in the first place, do you think if he's going 
 to run for governor, he ought to have this cut in 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 193 
 
 wages. I don't. But he won't pay any attention to 
 me, and the rest of them think just as he does." 
 
 " You're right. You're the best poHtician of them 
 all." 
 
 " Then you think as I do?" 
 
 " Certainly. Your father can't get the nomination 
 against that Perkins crowd, with a labour fight on his 
 hands." 
 
 " No, I don't think he can either." 
 
 " The party can't afiford to have the fight now either. 
 They've got to drop this cut business until after this 
 campaign. Let it rest a few months, it won't do any 
 of them any harm. I guess I'll see some of them 
 myself. I think perhaps it might have some influ- 
 ence." 
 
 Ruth listened with excited pleasure to this mild 
 statement of Morgan Black. 
 
 " O, I hope you will see them," she said. 
 
 " I've kept out of this so far," said Black. " But I 
 guess I will." He shook his head thoughtfully. 
 
 " Now Mr. Black," said Ruth, " I wish you'd tell 
 me just what you think my father's chances are — 
 honestly ? " 
 
 " They're good. I think he ought to get it, if he 
 keeps out of this thing. Those other fellows are 
 hustling, but — " 
 
 " Yes," broke in Ruth excitedly, " but we can hustle 
 too." 
 
 " Yes," commented Black, " so it seems." 
 
 "And then?" asked Ruth. 
 
 " It's Stark County's turn," said the manufacturer, 
 
194 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " and your father's got a good deal of strength. Yes, 
 I should say he had a first-class chance." 
 
 " You think so, do you ? " said Ruth. " I'm so glad." 
 She sat silent with pleasure for a few moments after. 
 It was Morgan Black who broke the silence. 
 
 " Aren't you the girl who went down into the 
 Huddle alone, and passed that new health ordinance 
 in Ellington ? " 
 
 " Well — I went down there." 
 
 " They say that young Mayhew didn't know how 
 that passed." 
 
 " No, he didn't— that is, not till just lately." 
 
 " You know him well ? " asked the manufacturer, 
 with his keen eyes on her face. 
 
 " Yes," said Ruth blushing slightly, " we were 
 brought up together." 
 
 " Of course," said Black. " Well, I remember the 
 time when the Mayhews were about all there was in 
 your town, and it wasn't so long ago either. I used 
 to work with your grandmother in the Mayhew cotton 
 mills, when she was a young lady. I suppose you 
 knew that?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Are you ashamed of it ? " he asked, eyeing her 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "No sir, why should I be?" 
 
 " That's the kind of talk I like to hear, young 
 woman. That's it, why should you be? The best 
 stock of New England worked in those old cotton 
 mills ; the people who were willing to do something." 
 
 " Yes," he mused, " I used to work there beside 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 195 
 
 your grandmother — and a mighty pretty girl she was 
 too, and smart. I guess you take some of your spirit 
 from her," he said in shrewd compliment. 
 
 " That Mayhew boy," he went on — " they tell me 
 he's a good deal of a theorist. He's one of those 
 fellows who's going to smash the tariff, isn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I guess we'll have a tariff some little time 
 yet," commented the manufacturer dryly. " It never 
 seemed to do any great damage to this section of the 
 country ; do you think ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I don't." 
 
 " That's the way it seems to me, anyway. He won't 
 feel so bad about it when he gets a little older. 
 
 " So you went down through the Huddle, your- 
 self ? " he continued. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's right. See things for yourself. Then you'll 
 know. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " It was terrible. I didn't know there were such 
 places in the world." 
 
 " You never saw where those people came from, 
 did you?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, I have. Mud huts with turf roofs and pigs 
 and chickens in and out the doorways. You wouldn't 
 feel so much excited if you'd seen those places. The 
 tenements in the Huddle are marble palaces beside 
 them. You don't want to worry too much," he went 
 on, " about how the world's going to get on, Miss Ruth. 
 That's the trouble with these reformers ; they take too 
 
196 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 much personal responsibility on their minds. But you 
 watch and see ; the world will be going on, these cotton 
 mills will be running, somehow, a number of years, 
 after those fellows get brand new theories. Things are 
 getting along and they're getting better and not worse, 
 all the time." 
 
 " I wish you'd tell me just how you look at that," 
 said Ruth earnestly. " I've thought about it so much 
 since I went through the Huddle." 
 
 " Well, in the first place, those fellows who come 
 over here aren't much worse off than they were across, 
 are they ? " 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said Ruth. 
 
 " No, I guess not ! " he repeated dryly. " They get 
 five times as much and they don't have to live any 
 better unless they want to. They're rich! Every 
 bureau in the Polish tenements has got a roll of bills 
 in it as big as your fist. You can see that from the 
 papers. They're all the time losing it, and stealing 
 it and fighting over it. They've got so much they 
 don't know what to do with it. 
 
 " You see 'em coming from the train in their cow- 
 hide boots, walking in the middle of the road, at first ; 
 the women in their shawls. That shows it, in one 
 thing — ^those shawls. You're a woman. You see how 
 these women dress. It's the same way with all of 'em 
 — shawls first, and cotton skirts and bare feet; then 
 these capes and crazy hats ; and then coats and dresses 
 like the rest of you. And by and by, when they have 
 children, they grow up and live like human beings. 
 You've seen how the Irish have done." 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 197 
 
 " Yes," said Ruth. 
 
 " It depends, how you take hold of a thing like 
 this, whether you're looking around for sentimental 
 trouble, or whether you want facts." 
 
 Ruth approved his sentiments. 
 
 " I'm inclined to think that Congress ought to give 
 the cotton mills an appropriation," said Black slowly. 
 " We run a kind of training school for them. We 
 take the cheapest kind of poor labour, and we turn 
 out good mechanics and civilised people. I can re- 
 member the first Irishman that came into this section. 
 He was a curiosity, something like an Indian would be 
 now. They used to drive in to see him ; yes, and scare 
 their children with him — sayin' he'd catch 'em, if they 
 were bad." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Yes, I can remember it distinctly. And now we're 
 niore than a third Irish; and good citizens, most of 
 them, too. First the Irish, then the French, and then 
 the Poles. You'll hear a good deal about cheap labour 
 coming in and driving out the old — those hungry fel- 
 lows, from Europe, swarming in here. Well, they 
 don't drive 'em to anything worse, do they? they push 
 'em up all the time — into better things. You watch 
 them. The young Irish and the French. They've got 
 better work than in the cotton mills, now, haven't they ? 
 They're carpenters and machinists and priests and law- 
 yers. Now and then some of 'em have hard luck, of 
 course— the old ones, and children. But it's the same 
 everywhere, isn't it? The same with the people you 
 know. They can't all succeed. But what does that 
 
198 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 amount to ? You've got to see things as they are — as a 
 whole." 
 
 The girl sat listening with excited interest as he 
 talked — that grey old fatalist, who saw and thought 
 in multitudes and races; indifferent to the individual 
 as the great universal forces of nature and society, 
 forever trying their ten thousand to improve their 
 one. 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Ruth when he had 
 finished. " I don't believe I ever thought of it that 
 way. 
 
 " And now I think I ought to be going," she said, 
 getting up. " I hope I haven't done anything I ought 
 not to in asking you to help me about my father. If 
 I have, you'll forgive me, won't you ? " 
 
 " O , you aren't the first one to come up and 
 see me for your father," said Black. " There's 
 plenty of them. Adoniram Pitkin is up here giv- 
 ing me advice nearly every day. ' As regards to that,' 
 you know." 
 
 Ruth laughed. 
 
 " Advice is a specialty with Adoniram," he added. 
 
 " So I've noticed."' 
 
 " Adoniram is like the Irishman's ghost — he doesn't 
 know when he's dead. Well, you tell your father to 
 drop this cut business." 
 
 " I'd rather not, Mr. Black," said Ruth hesitatingly. 
 " I'd rather not have him know I was here at all." 
 
 " O, very well. I'll see him myself." 
 
 " Thank you. And you think he has a good chance, 
 don't yoq ? " 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 199 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't wonder if his chances would be 
 pretty good," said Black slowly. 
 
 They passed out through the cave-like parlour to 
 the hall, and he handed her into the dog-cart. 
 
 " I wouldn't worry much about it," he said, " if I 
 was you." He held out his big hand to her. " When 
 you want to talk politics again," he said, " come up 
 and see me." 
 
 " I will," said the girl laughing. 
 
 When she had gone down the driveway, when the 
 broad door was closed and the light from the wide 
 hall blotted out, she turned in a changed mood and 
 looked back again to where the great black dwelling 
 loomed up against the purple eastern sky. A sombre 
 sense of the significance of what she saw came over 
 her. There he sat in his silent house — the Power, 
 maker of men and corporations, dictator of city and 
 county and state — Morgan Black, builder of history, 
 last product of the industrial feudalism of New Eng- 
 land. Huge noisy mills had grown and flourished and 
 come down to silence at his word, railroads had fol- 
 lowed the drawing of his pencil across the map, high 
 figures of trade and state had come to him at his ap- 
 pointed time and place, and many anxious great ones, 
 of whom she could not dream, had driven up the way 
 she travelled now, sitting far back in the dusk of 
 the old hacks, from the Grimdale station to the house 
 upon the hill to be created or destroyed by his prom- 
 ises. And still, through his own electric wires to the 
 great cities; along the railroads, where the express 
 trains stopped by night against scheduled time at tl^e 
 
20O THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 little manufacturing towns, while he went in or out of 
 their dim-lighted sleepers, he worked across this wide, 
 thick-settled country his unswerving will; always ac- 
 complishing and building and remoulding — through 
 those long, leisure days of hers, by the soft, quiet 
 nights when she was sleeping. The thought of it 
 sobered and oppressed her. 
 
 The dog-cart passed on across the dusk, the big 
 horse anxious to be back. They hurried homeward 
 through the jewelled valley, through the dampness of 
 the riverside, in the shadow of the huge, dumb moun- 
 tains, standing black against the pale and faded after- 
 light. They had scarcely started out, it seemed, be- 
 fore the wheels were rasping in the gravel of the drive- 
 way beside the big house in Ellington. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike entered her father's study with her 
 usual vivacity. He was reading something on his 
 table. 
 
 " What made you stay out so late ? " he asked, 
 putting the paper quickly into his pocket. 
 
 " O, Dad, it was so lovely ! " pleaded Ruth in de- 
 fence. 
 
 " I don't like to have you out so late. Something 
 might happen to you." 
 
 "O, pshaw," she said kissing him. "What could 
 happen, you old goose ? " 
 
 All that evening she kept wondering about that 
 paper he was reading when she came in. It seemed 
 to her — she could not argue herself out of the idea 
 — it was that odd note she had given him on Sunday, 
 and he had throvvn away. 
 
PRACTICAL POLITICS 201 
 
 " How about the Richard PlimsoU ? What are you 
 going to do for us ? " The feeling of uneasiness and 
 of fear grew upon her as she remembered. The 
 Richard PlimsoU — the Richard Plimsoll — what did 
 this mean, this revival of forgotten things ; what could 
 it mean, if not a threat? 
 
Chapter XVI 
 
 THE DEAD MILL 
 
 rHERE was a faint knock on the ground glass 
 in John Mayhew's office door. 
 " Come in," said Mayhew, rising from 
 his desk. 
 
 A young woman entered — a tall Irish girl, with a 
 sad and bitter face — pale, thin-cheeked, with deep, 
 revengeful eyes, and a tight-set mouth, drawn like a 
 straight pale gash across her face. 
 
 " Is this Mr. Mayhew?" she asked with a faint Irish 
 accent. 
 
 " It is," he answered. " Won't you sit down ? " 
 
 The casual visitor in the room said good-bye and 
 went out. The eyes of the silent woman follov^ed his 
 figure until the door closed after it. 
 
 " I've come here to ask you to do me a favour, if 
 you please, sir," she said at last. " I want you to go 
 and see a man and advise him." There was a curious 
 mixture of timidity and defiance in her manner. 
 
 " Why can't he come here himself ? " 
 
 " Well, you see," she answered in a low voice, " he 
 don't dare to." 
 
 " Why not ? Is there any reason he can't come ? " 
 
 303 
 
THE DEAD MILL 203 
 
 " That's what I want you to tell him." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 " The police are after him, and he wants to know 
 if they've any right to be." 
 
 " Who is he? What's his name? " 
 
 The woman's eyes went carefully about the room 
 again. 
 
 " John Carney, sir," she whispered. 
 
 " Then Carney's back ? " said Mayhew. 
 ■ " Yes, he didn't dare to show up here before." 
 
 " And now what does he intend to do ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir. I think he wants to find out 
 what he can do." 
 
 John Mayhew hesitated. " I ought not to do it," he 
 said at last. 
 
 " Why not ? " she demanded. " Why can't you 
 see him? You might straighten the whole thing 
 out." 
 
 " Possibly," said' Mayhew, " but I'm afraid " 
 
 "Tha)t's right," she broke out fiercely. "That's 
 right. You're all alike. When a boy's down you won't 
 one of you give him a chance. It's a shame — it's a 
 dirty shame. O , my God, what shall I do ; what shall 
 I do?" 
 
 She leaned forward, with her arms on the edge of 
 the old desk and broke into a paroxysm of crying. 
 Great, deep, coughing sobs racked her slender body and 
 shook her bowed head as it lay crushing her hat brim 
 down against her hands. 
 
 Mayhew looked at her helplessly for a moment. 
 
 " Stop. Don't do that," he said. " I'll go," 
 
204 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 She remained with her head down for several mo- 
 ments, endeavouring to regain her self control. 
 
 " Thank you," she said brokenly at last. " I hope 
 you'll excuse me for the way I acted," she went on 
 proudly, straightening up again. 
 
 " O, that's all right," Mayhew answered awkwardly. 
 "Where shall I meet him?" 
 
 " At Starkwater." 
 
 " At Starkwater ; whom's he stopping with there ? " 
 
 " Nobody ; he's in the old mill — the lower one 
 — sleeping just for a few days, keeping out of 
 sight." 
 
 " And I've got to see him there ? " 
 
 " He could come in here, somewhere, I suppose." 
 
 " No, I'll see him there. What time ? " 
 
 " To-morrow afternoon, about five, if you could, 
 sir." 
 
 The woman got up to go. " How much do I owe 
 you, sir," she said with embarrassment, fumbling at 
 her old purse. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing whatever, unless I do something 
 more than I have yet." 
 
 "Not anything?" 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 " Well then, good night, sir. And I'm very grateful 
 to you, sir." 
 
 " That's all right; good night." 
 
 He returned to his desk when she was gone and 
 made a memorandum — an entirely unnecessary one — 
 of this trip to Starkwater the next afternoon. Then 
 be sat down and thought it over. 
 
THE DEAD MILL 205 
 
 John Mayhew could remember, in his childhood, the 
 latter days of the glory of Starkwater. There was 
 noisy prosperity in its little valley then, and lights and 
 feasting in the grim house of the master; shed was 
 joined to shed and storehouse to storehouse ; Adoniram 
 Pitkin's frantic enterprise projected itself into a hun- 
 dred untried schemes. Then came the crash. Adoni- 
 ram Pitkin had gone down magnificently into pompous 
 bankruptcy, and become as he was to-day — ^the byword 
 and source of inextinguishable laughter in the great 
 houses on the hills. 
 
 The abomination of desolation is on Starkwater 
 now this score of years. Back from the railroad, not 
 even on the main travelled highway, it sits brooding 
 down to utter ruin and decay; a cluster of empty 
 factory cottages, a little line of stone and wooden 
 mills, with their grey, staring images in the sleek, 
 dark mill pools — clapboards falling, sash and windows 
 gone. The old and ragged weeds grow within the 
 mill yards; the phoebes build their nests in the de- 
 serted sheds by the pond. And through a mid-day 
 silence you hear the drizzle of the water through 
 the leaking dam; the rattle of a kingfisher springing 
 from a white, dead branch across the pool, and the 
 insistent clamour of the crows that haunt the neigh- 
 bouring hill. Occasionally old Adoniram Pitkin him- 
 self, in his straw hat and old unbuttoned frock coat 
 flits in and out the ofifice, at the old upper mill. He 
 has an invention here, they say, a contrivance of his 
 own, a sort of monstrous mechanical pet. From time 
 to time he fusses at it with his trembling harids ; " per- 
 
ao6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 fecting it," he says. When he is done the Starkwater 
 mills will start again — and not before. 
 
 In the meanwhile they live there alone in the old 
 house — ^the father and the faded wife and their idle 
 son. The house is theirs, held back from the creditors 
 in some way I don't exactly understand by being owned 
 by both the man and his wife. There was a little 
 property, too, remaining in the wife's name; they say 
 the manufacturers up and down the valley even gave 
 them a contribution to live upon. But there they are, 
 at any rate, in the old house — one serv^mt now, one 
 old family horse in the great barn, though the carriage 
 house is still full of their old carriages, dusty, moth- 
 eaten ghosts of former grandeur. 
 
 I often wonder if the old man ever looks down 
 upon the vacant street — the rotting factories, the little 
 blindfolded houses, with the boards across their win- 
 dows, and thinks of their bitter arraignment of him. 
 Where are they now — ^those families that have drifted 
 in and out of there from Ireland and Canada; those 
 little noisy households underneath the hill? Broken, 
 dissipated, gone, the empty buildings say. to him, by 
 your utter incompetence and foolishness. If there had 
 been another master instead of you — a stronger, firmer, 
 wiser man — Poor old Adoniram Pitkin ! Is there any 
 heavier responsibility in the world, or more terrible 
 failure, than in this standing guardian of a factory, 
 playing God to a thousand men and parcelling out 
 to them their daily bread? Is there anything more 
 desolate and pathetic than these deserted factory vil- 
 lages, poor little mistakes of civilisation, grey, foolish 
 
THE DEAD MILL 207 
 
 ruins, of a thing which, after all this toil and sacrifice 
 and pain, had better never have been. 
 
 But if everyone else treated the broken family with a 
 certain touch of scorn, Ruth Thorndike did not. The 
 men she did not like and said so — the son she thought 
 ridiculous; the father an old bore. But she never 
 made distinction in her conduct toward them. I think 
 perhaps she prided herself a little on the fact. Cer- 
 tainly it was appreciated by at least one person. A 
 wan smile came to the disappointed old face of the 
 mother, whenever the girl drove up to visit her. 
 " You're such good company, Ruth," she said fol- 
 lowing her wistfully to the door that next afternoon, 
 " I hate to have you go." 
 
 " I must," said Ruth decidedly. " Don't you see 
 what time it is? I ought to be home this minute. 
 You'll see me often enough before the Ball is over." 
 
 She stopped and kissed the older woman warmly 
 on the cheek (I wonder how many others kiss the poor 
 old lonely woman now). 
 
 " Good-bye," said the buoyant voice of the girl. 
 
 " Good-bye," the thin old voice of the woman 
 replied, as she turned back into the dim old house. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike thought as she drove away of what 
 she had seen, a smile at the comer of her mouth, a 
 sad little look deep down in her dark eyes. 
 
 It was an early autumn afternoon turning evening, 
 a day all blue and gold; a deep, soft, flawless sky — 
 the lovely, tender dreamy blue of dear October — 
 arched down to the white misty line of the horizon; 
 the plaided mountain sides ; the dim edge of the golden 
 
2o8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 earth, green, and umber and red gold, touched irregu- 
 larly by the rich hand of Fall. Along the dusty road- 
 side where she drove, the hoarse old grasshoppers 
 were droning through their Fall death song. 
 
 As she turned the jut in the hillside by the old 
 hulk of the lower mill, still engrossed in her thoughts, 
 suddenly Tom, the pony, stopped short. Two men 
 stood in the road — one already at the horse's bridle, 
 a dark man, in slouchy clothes, a derby hat, and a 
 collarless shirt, with the neckband frayed up against 
 his strong, red neck. The other, a small man, with 
 red stubble on his face and furtive eyes, remained in 
 the background. 
 
 " What do you want ? Drop that rein ! " rang out 
 the clear resolute voice of the girl. 
 
 She struck viciously at him with her whip. The 
 dark man reached out a mutilated right hand, and 
 caught the whip lash deftly without the slightest ex- 
 hibition of concern. 
 
 He fixed his cool blue eyes on her face. " Your 
 name's Thomdike," he said in a hoarse voice, as if 
 making a statement of fact. 
 
 "Isn't it?" he added. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, we want you to take a message for us — ^to 
 your father." 
 
 Silence from the stiff little figure in the cart. 
 
 " You tell him we're back. He'll know who. And 
 we're sick of waiting. And we give him just two 
 days more. If he ain't ready then, we'll fix him an- 
 other way. Two days — and that's all — understand?" 
 
THE DEAD MILL 209 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " You'll take that message to him, will you ? " 
 
 " I'll do as I please," said the high-spirited girl. 
 
 " O, you will, will you? " 
 
 The girl by a quick motion snatched the whip from 
 his hands and cut him with it across the face. 
 
 " Drop that rein," she cried. 
 
 " You little devil, you," said the man, still holding 
 to the bridle. 
 
 " Drop it," said the red-haired man. " Here's some- 
 body comin'." 
 
 The two men turned, ran back of the carriage, and 
 up toward the woods beyond the fields across from the 
 mill. 
 
 " Remember ! " said the dark one as he went by her. 
 " You want to tell him ; if you don't, both of you'll 
 be sorry." 
 
 The girl whipped the pony down the road toward 
 home. 
 
 The figure on the top of the hill came swinging 
 rapidly down toward her. It was John Mayhew. 
 
 "What was it, Ruth?" he said. "Didn't some- 
 body stop you down there ? " 
 
 " O, nothing," she answered quickly. " Two men, 
 that's all — tramps, I suppose." 
 
 " What'd they say to you ? " he asked angrily. 
 
 " O, nothing much. One of them just wanted to 
 know the time of day, that's all. He was drunk, I 
 think." 
 
 She lied with the quick facility of a woman defend- 
 ing a dear cause. Her manner was perfect, but her 
 
aio THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 face was still pale from her encounter. John Mayhew 
 looking up understood at once something of what 
 had happened ; saw with regret the false 'position he 
 had driven her to. 
 
 " You must quit this driving alone," he said. 
 " You'll get into trouble one of these days." 
 
 " Nonsense," she said, " I've never had any trouble." 
 
 " No, but you can't tell what those fellows — " He 
 stopped, realising again that he should not seem to 
 know who the men were, or " fellows like them, I mean, 
 might do. 
 
 " At any rate," he went on, " you might ask me 
 to get in and protect you on the way home." 
 
 " I will," she said, " provided you won't preach." 
 
 " All right," he answered, laughing. 
 
 She had carried the conversation her way, and kept 
 it going as she chose, talking principally herself — 
 whimsical, lively, grotesque, little comments and de- 
 scriptions, of people and things she had recently seen. 
 He listened as she rattled on, thinking how well she 
 was carrying out her little deception. He understood 
 that he could not help her in her trouble now, even 
 if he had the power to. 
 
 He had no right to do or say anything, of course, 
 but as it was he could not resist a word — a sudden out- 
 burst in a short pause in her talking. 
 
 " I want to ask you a favour, Ruth," he said, look- 
 ing steadily away from her. " If anything ever came 
 up that I could help you in, you'd let me know, 
 wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the girl flushing. 
 
THE DEAD MILL 211 
 
 " You promise me that? " 
 
 " All right, I promise you," said the girl hurrying 
 away from the subject. " Isn't Mr. Pitkin the funniest 
 old creature? — " she rattled on. 
 
 They had reached the top of the big hill now — 
 the last before the descent into the valley. Below them 
 lay the jumble of buildings in Ellington, the tene- 
 ments, the red of the mills. To the north the great, 
 smoky banners of Grimdale went trailing eastward 
 down the slow wind. 
 
 " Isn't it lovely," she said softly. 
 
 The hoarse chorus of whistles from below called 
 out the closing of another day. 
 
 Suddenly, with a little impetuous gesture, she put 
 her gloved hand over upon his. 
 
 " You don't think I'm ungrateful — or stupid," she 
 asked — " only you understand — " 
 
 With the touch of her hand all his stern resolutions 
 had left him. 
 
 " I don't understand — I don't think anything — only 
 — I love you Ruth ; I love you, always, forever." 
 
 The thing was said; the flood gates of silence had 
 gone down, bearing with them all his prudence and 
 his pride. He was in a strange new land, where the 
 very senses acted strangely. His voice was faint, and 
 dim and far away; the pale face of the girl seemed 
 like a vision in a dream; he knew with an odd feel- 
 ing of half surprise that he had seized her hand and 
 was clasping it in both his own. 
 
 " You remember," he hurried on, " those first days 
 — ^the cupola — fair Rosamond and all that; the first 
 
212 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 day that they sent you trudging off to school. Ever 
 since — at school and college — always, ever since my 
 first childhood, it was you Ruth — always and forever." 
 
 Never, till he dies, will the sense of that time leave 
 him — the long, dim valley underneath; the failing 
 smoke of Grimdale to the north, a tardy whistle trail- 
 ing its long call; the silence of the mountain road; 
 the fragrance of her glove. 
 
 The small hand in his own made a sadly feeble ef- 
 fort to escape. He stooped and kissed it. 
 
 " Do you love me, Ruth," he said ; " can't you say 
 you do ? " 
 
 It was all gone — with the same strange swiftness 
 that it came. 
 
 She had drawn her hand away. 
 
 " Don't ; please don't," she said sharply. " We 
 mustn't even think about such things." 
 
 " Why not? " he pleaded. " Can't you answer? " 
 
 She had regained something of her self control now. 
 
 " No," she said. " I cannot even answer — why, we 
 must forget this." 
 
 Reality had returned again — the old grim logic of 
 every day. 
 
 " I suppose so," he replied despondently. " I ought 
 not to have asked it. I should have had more sense. 
 But I simply couldn't help it, Ruth. Forgive me." 
 
 " No, don't say that," she said quickly. " Don't 
 say that." 
 
 " Why not ? " he returned eagerly. 
 
 "Because — perhaps, if things were different — " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
THE DEAD MILL 213 
 
 " No, no — not now — it's no use now." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 She did not answer, 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He hates me. O, what has he got against me," 
 John Mayhew went on passionately. " What have I 
 ever done to him ? For a mere difference in politics — 
 first he has tried to drive me out of my business ; and 
 now this. Is it fair, Ruth? Do you think you ought 
 to be governed by it ? " 
 
 " It isn't that, John, really." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I'll tell you, John," she said in her old frank way. 
 " My father is ill — we're afraid he may have some 
 dreadful disease, if he isn't careful. It's not dangerous 
 now, you know, and it may never be — not for years 
 and years. Only he must not worry — that is, any 
 more than can be helped." 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 " And you feel ? " he suggested. 
 
 " I've got to stand by him, haven't I ? " said the girl. 
 " There's just us two, you know. 
 
 " So you see ? " she asked with a faint little smile. 
 " No matter what I thought now I couldn't be en- 
 gaged — ^to you or to anybody else." 
 
 " To me especially," he said sadly. 
 
 " Well, you know how he would feel about it. He 
 doesn't like you — you know that. It wouldn't do for 
 me to bring more anxiety on him than he has." 
 
 " But can't you promise — " 
 
214 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " No, no, no, nothing — ^nothing," said the girl. 
 
 She had started up the pony as they were talking, 
 and that amiable and most sagacious beast had al- 
 ready gone a fair share of the short distance which 
 remained down into the town. Soon they were down 
 in the old street, in the vicinity of John Mayhew's 
 home. He got out to leave her, but paused a moment 
 by the cart. 
 
 " There's one thing you have promised," he said. 
 " If you are ever in trouble, you will send for me." 
 
 " If I am ever in trouble — " she said and stretched 
 out her hand. 
 
 For a moment he stood there, grasping the firm/ 
 small hand. Then he turned quickly and walked away 
 home. 
 
Chapter XVII 
 
 THIRTY DAYS FOR VAGRANCY 
 
 JOHN MAYHEW had given his consent to go 
 to Starkwater, partly from his pity for the Des- 
 mond girl, partly from his boyish friendship 
 for John Carney — in the hope that possibly he 
 could induce the man to drop the affair and go away. 
 Now that he had this little glimpse into Ruth Thorn- 
 dike's relation to the matter, her untold fear and worry 
 at this unknown thing which threatened her, he was 
 more anxious than before to go. He left the house 
 immediately after supper and walked out into the still 
 street. He was on fire with the events and emotions of 
 the day. He must do something. The thought came to 
 him that it was not yet too late to go to Starkwater. 
 
 The full moon was mounting to the sky; he knew 
 the country like the back of his own hand; it was 
 only two miles and a half. Why not go and have the 
 whole thing done with ? With a sudden resolve, he set 
 his hat more firmly on his head and started down the 
 road. 
 
 Such nights come only in October. Below him 
 stretched the valley, saturated, filled like a mighty cup 
 with thick moonlight. Surely it had a substance of 
 its own, this light, lying dim and rich and mystical 
 
 ai5 
 
2i6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 on the western slopes, with the black, solid shadows 
 along the edges of the woods to the east — pale green 
 on the oaks, deep gold upon the golden hickories and 
 elms; fallen in molten streams upon the pale white 
 roadway, with its laced shadows before him. The 
 sound of his footsteps on the roadway, the sudden 
 noise of some little animal in the thicket, the deep, 
 persistent silence of the woods — and he was come at 
 last to the edge of the village of Starkwater, to the 
 vicinity of the old lower mill. 
 
 A path stretched off here from the roadside to below 
 the mill; he knew it well. Here most likely the two 
 men would come and go. He stopped a moment ; and 
 then plunged into the half darkness of the leaves. Be- 
 low the mill, below the dam, was a little concavity 
 of the hill leading down to the bed of the old stream, 
 a regular tramps' kitchen, easy of access, protected by 
 the woods. Suddenly he saw the angry embers of a 
 fire between the leaves. They were there, two black 
 figures, silent, motionless, silhouetted against the fire- 
 light. 
 
 " Hello," called Mayhew. 
 
 The figures sprung to their feet — the large one 
 slowly and defiantly; the small one whipped suddenly 
 behind a tree with the agility of a wild animal. 
 
 " Hello," said Mayhew again. " Is John Carney 
 there?" 
 
 " Who are you ? " said Carney's voice. 
 
 " Mayhew." 
 
 " O, come on over. How're you ? " said Carney tak- 
 
THIRTY DAYS FOR VAGRANCY 217 
 
 ing his hand. " Sit down," he continued, indicating a 
 place beside him on a log. 
 
 Carney was not a figure you would care to meet at 
 night — his hoarse voice, his broken derby cocked down 
 upon his forehead, his wild eyes, staring out from un- 
 derneath the brim, bloodshot with drink. It seemed 
 scarcely possible a man could gallop down the hill so 
 fast. 
 
 The small figure returned. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " asked Carney jeer- 
 ing. " You act as if you was afraid of something — ■> 
 you're like an old woman." 
 
 " That's all right," said the red-headed man, in a 
 surly voice. " You don't know who it might be." 
 
 They were a precious pair — shoulders down, collars 
 up, trousers wrinkled at the ankles, frayed and nasty 
 at the bottom — the typical American tramp at home. 
 
 There was an awkward little pause at first. 
 
 " You wanted to see me about something, didn't 
 you ? " said Mayhew, breaking it. 
 
 " We did want to see you," said Carney, " to find 
 out where we stood." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, in the first place they can't arrest us for 
 what we did at the house, can they ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether they could or not." 
 
 " How could they ? They wouldn't any of 'em 
 testify against us." 
 
 "Are the police after you?" 
 
 "After us, yes! They've been chasin' us all over 
 
21 8 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 New England the past two months. There was a 
 week there they pawed over every freight that went 
 out of here." 
 
 " But you got out all right." 
 
 " O, there's ways," said the man suggestively. 
 
 " Well," said the lawyer. " They must have some- 
 thing against you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Well, what's the matter with blackmail," said May- 
 hew boldly. 
 
 "Blackmail?" repeated Carney angrily. 
 
 " Yes; that's what they'd call it, isn't it?" 
 
 " You can call it what you please. But they won't 
 chase me on that. Thorndike'll see to that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because he don't dare to. He's just been nomi- 
 nated for governor of the state, ain't he ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, he won't bring that up. He don't want that 
 aired in court. Don't you worry. Thorndike won't ap- 
 pear in this thing," said Carney with an oath, " though 
 he's back of the whole job. That ain't the game. 
 There's something else." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, if he gets us in court on something else, 
 he's got us ; that puts us out of the way. We've just 
 got to shut out mouths and take it." 
 
 " Well, then, you'll find he's got something." 
 
 " Vagrancy," suggested the side-partner. 
 
 " Yes, or something worse. 'I tell you one thing. 
 You don't want to run up against Thorndike." 
 
THIRTY DAYS FOR VAGRANCY 219 
 
 "That's all right," said Carney, glowering at the 
 speaker. " He don't scare me any. 
 
 " Where we fell down," he went on, " was in that 
 thing at the house. We was all right till that. ,We 
 could have just stayed still and they couldn't have 
 touched us. And if you'd come into it — " 
 
 " I don't come into that kind of a game," interrupts 
 Mayhew angrily. 
 
 " Blackmail, I suppose you call it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose it's blackmail when a man steals money 
 from you and you try and get it back again." 
 
 " I don't know what you're talking about." 
 
 " I know that ; and you ain't likely to. You had 
 your chance once; it's too late for you to come in 
 now." 
 
 " I know this," Mayhew went on disregarding him, 
 " If I had a claim against a man that was legal, I'd 
 take it to law; if it isn't good enough for that, it isn't 
 worth much." 
 
 " That's all right ; these big fellers, when they do a 
 thing, they ain't generally where the law can get at 
 'em. They know how to do it. Thorndike — damn 
 him, he's a good thing; his game makes ours look 
 sick ; there's plenty of honester men than he is up here 
 in the county jail to-day, and they like him so well 
 they make him governor." 
 
 " Why shouldn't they ? He's one of the leading re- 
 publicans of the state." 
 
 " Yaas," jeered the man, " he's been a hot republi- 
 can, especially the times they needed him most. They'd 
 
220 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 like to make him governor, if they knew what we 
 do. 
 
 " Say," he went on, " you're in with the democrats. 
 What'd the democrats give for something rich about 
 the other fellow's candidate for governor, something 
 sure — couldn't help beatin' him ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Mayhew, " not much I guess. 
 I don't know anybody who'd give you anything." 
 
 " They'd use it if they had it." 
 
 " Maybe they would, if they got it out of you, but 
 you wouldn't get anything out of it." 
 
 " How about the newspapers ? " 
 
 " That's worse ! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " What newspapers dare to print any such stuff as 
 that? I've got just one thing to say to you people," 
 said Mayhew, firing his final bolt, " you haven't got 
 a show in the world — my advice to you is to get out 
 of here — " 
 
 " No," shouted Carney, with an oath, " not till we're 
 damned good and ready. I'll tell you one thing 
 though," he went on. " It won't be much longer. 
 We've given him two days; he can take it or leave it. 
 I'm sick of this thing; he's chased me long enough; 
 now I'm about ready to do some of the chasin' myself. 
 We'll throw the thing wide open, if he wants to, and 
 have it out." 
 
 The furtive side-partner, who sat silently watching 
 the two men as they talked, broke in. 
 
 " Yes, and lose everything you're after." 
 
THIRTY DAYS FOR VAGRANCY 221 
 
 " Ah, shut up," said Carney. 
 
 The blood mounted into his face and eyes; for the 
 moment he was an insane man, carried beside himself 
 — a monomaniac of hatred. 
 
 "It ain't the money I'm after;" he said, "God 
 damn him, it's him; he's had me all my life; he's 
 ground me and driven me and hounded me ! I want my 
 turn at him — just once." 
 
 " What do I get out of this ? " asked the other man. 
 
 " You can get what you can." 
 
 " All right then, I will." 
 
 Therfe was a queer undertone in the man's voice, 
 that made Mayhew look up. He was a strange little 
 beast, this man ; nervous, watchful, apparently on edge 
 all the evening. He got up now and stretched. 
 
 " Well, I'm not going to sit here all night," he said. 
 
 " Well, go on then," said Carney angrily. 
 
 The man moved up the path in the direction of the 
 old mill. 
 
 " Walk along with me a ways, Shawn," said May- 
 hew starting up the pathway in the direction of the 
 road. 
 
 "All right," said Carney. 
 
 " I'm a nice thing, ain't I ? " he said, hoarsely break- 
 ing a little silence. 
 
 Mayhew did not answer. 
 
 " Well, if you don't like me," he went on, the thick 
 anger rising in his voice again, " You can thank 
 Thorndike; he made me what I am. I was all right 
 till he chucked me out and began chasin' me. Yes, 
 
222 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 and I ain't the only one. There's plenty of fellers 
 he's sent on the road, damn him. I wish I had him 
 between my knees just once — just once." 
 
 His strong hands clinched in the air before him. 
 
 "All I want out of this thing," he went on, when 
 the outburst had spent itself, " is for him to give me 
 a chance to start over again; where I was when he 
 threw me down; and if he don't, God help him." 
 
 " Look here, Shawn," said Mayhew, stopping in the 
 path. " I came up here to see if I couldn't help you 
 out and I want to do it. Now let's talk horse sense. 
 You're in bad business and bad company. What's 
 more, you can't make anything out of this thing, what- 
 ever it, is. I'll tell you that now. You can't buck 
 Thorndike, and you'll find it out sooner or later. Now 
 what you want to do is drop it and get away. Go West 
 and start over again. There's people who'd be glad 
 to help you — and I'm one of them." 
 
 " Much obliged to you," said the man, obstinately, 
 " but I'm goin' to see this through." 
 
 They walked a few steps in silence. 
 
 " Who was it sent you out ? " asked Carney at last. 
 
 " You know as well as I do." 
 
 "She did?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She's stood by me through the whole thing," said 
 Carney in a softer voice. " She's never give me up 
 — not once. 
 
 " By God," he went on bitterly. " She deserved 
 something better'n me. Look at me. What am I now ? 
 I'm no better'n a damned beast." 
 
THIRTY DAYS FOR VAGRANCY 223 
 
 " What makes you keep it up then ? " s^id May- 
 hew. " You owe her something better than this and 
 you know it. If you won't do it for your own sake, 
 you might at least think of her." 
 
 They came to where the path ended in the road. 
 
 " Come, now Shaun," said Mayhew in a last appeal ; 
 " drop it ; break away. You can do it if you want to." 
 
 " No," said the man, his old bravado returning; 
 " he'll drop it before I do ; and don't you forget it." 
 
 " Well, that settles it, I suppose," said Mayhew, 
 turning to go. " I've warned you. Now I'm through. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " So long," said the man. 
 
 He stood a few moments coolly watching Mayhew 
 as he walked away; then turned and disappeared into 
 the path again. When Mayhew looked back at the 
 first comer of the road he was gone. 
 
 John Mayhew thought the whole thing over as he 
 strode toward home. What a strange affair it was, 
 if Carney told the truth, this modern duel with the 
 intangible, but deadly weapons of Civilisation — ^be- 
 tween these two — ^the great man and the small, the 
 employer and the discharged employe — the hidden 
 shafts of the great shot into the darkness, where his 
 tormentor lay hid; the fierce, animal hatred of the 
 man below, ready for God knew what revenge. He 
 was curious, of course, to know the secret of the 
 blackmail, — it must be of some consequence, or why 
 should Thorndike trouble with it. And it concerned 
 himself. Well, what of it ? It was of no value legally ; 
 Carney would know his ground on that; some hidden 
 
224 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 fraud in those old days a score of years ago — well, 
 men were the same those days as now; the same old 
 trickery of gaining a livelihood was going on. It was 
 nothing for him to take up now. 
 
 He had gone half a mile perhaps when he heard the 
 rattle of wheels coming toward him. A heavy open 
 wagon drew up, with two large men upon the front 
 seat. They were driving rather slowly and stared 
 down curiously as he passed. 
 
 " Good evening," said one voice tentatively. 
 
 " Good evening," he replied. 
 
 The man whipped up his horse and drove along. 
 Mayhew turned and watched them as they went. It 
 was John Heenan and a patrolman. He walked along 
 wondering. When he had almost reached the town, 
 the wagon passed again, going to the town; in the 
 vehicle there was a third man. On the back seat, 
 handcuffed to the big policeman, sat John Carney. 
 
 It was the routine thing — the most routine, with 
 one exception, of all the sentences in the old police 
 record book — thirty days for vagrancy. And yet that 
 thirty days would take the prisoner safely by the whole 
 campaign, beyond election day. It certainly, whether 
 instigated by Thorndike or not, could not have been 
 calculated better in his interests. But then Garvin 
 was still at large. The question came to Mayhew more 
 than once, how did that man escape? 
 
Chapter XVIII 
 
 THE DEFENCE OF THE FAITH 
 
 ^^EING founded on the republican rock of the 
 #-^ tariff, you can imagine how the campaign of 
 JL^ i88- came upon us. What, strangle industry 
 in its cradle ; what, snatch the food from the mouth of 
 the American workingman; what, extinguish forever 
 the smoke of our chimneys from the ■ landscape ! The 
 thought brought down more than one fat prophet of 
 prosperity to his final stroke of apoplexy. Men with 
 silk hats and kid gloves and long frock coats wasted 
 away with their piteous concern for the American 
 workingman — ^not weeks during the campaign, but 
 months before, stalking sadly and indignantly from 
 one public platform to another; a despondent press 
 pointed out a gloomy future; an occasional pulpit 
 flamed forth in awful jeremiads. O, the unspeakable 
 desolation, the bare cinders of the world which would 
 remain after the cessation of the tariff and the re- 
 publican party ! 
 
 Those were fervent days — ^you remember yourself. 
 In the past the activity of our party had consisted 
 simply in- the general scornful, sleepy defence of its 
 sacred covenant with the Most High to govern New 
 England. Now all at once the great basic principle 
 
 225 
 
226 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 was assailed, this monster was grubbing at the very 
 roots of industry; the arch enemy had something to 
 fight about. The democratic convention that year was 
 a howling menagerie of enthusiasm — not as usual over 
 the gladiatorial combats between its own leaders, but 
 for the blood of a foreign foe. 
 
 This terrible roar of the black proletariat rolled up 
 to wake the drowsy echoes in the republican conven- 
 tion hall. Never had there been such grim determina- 
 tion on the faces of the bald delegates — the fat busi- 
 ness men, the lean, whiskered, weather-beaten farmers ; 
 never had the political harangue to the Almighty by 
 the celebrated divine at the season's opening been 
 painted in such vivid colours; never had the orators 
 thanked God so deeply and acrimoniously for the past 
 and principles and purposes of their grand old party, 
 as contrasted with those of the enemy's. 
 
 The nomination of Thorndike was carried out with 
 the elaborate and ceremonial impressiveness of a state 
 funeral ; he was named by the senior congressman, the 
 bitterest partisan champion in the ranks, as a great 
 exponent of the policy they defended. And when the 
 figure of the nominee appeared, tall, grim, black, 
 steady, the convention broke into a great roar. There 
 was the thing they were fighting for — the very in- 
 carnation of the spirit of manufacturing. And so the 
 delegates went home, ' convinced, and the republican 
 campaign of i88- had begun. 
 
 And now we approach the solemn covered things, 
 the terrible arcana of the great, pure political party 
 in action. Who am I that I should reveal them, 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE FAITH 227 
 
 even if I could? And who would dare profane with 
 vile criticism and analysis, movements so smooth, so 
 grand, so noble, in the sight of all men? And yet 
 political action does receive a certain impetus of forces 
 from within. It is common knowledge, too, that the 
 Thorndike campaign had a manager — and that man- 
 ager was Roland Hyde ; that Thorndike had the sym- 
 pathy and counsel of the friends and neighbours of 
 his home — this last was often alluded to with strong 
 marks of approval on the platform all the fall. The 
 Thorndike house had, in fact, become a sort of political 
 headquarters. All sorts and conditions of men came 
 up there — ^manufacturers, politicians, reporters, curi- 
 osity seekers. But mostly there appeared the little 
 council of his local friends — Adoniram Pitkin, drawing 
 without reserve on his deep wells of experience — ever 
 and anon you heard his bass voice throughout the 
 house — " As regards to that now let me tell you. I re- 
 member in 1869, when I was candidate — ;" John 
 Carnochan sometimes; occasionally for a mouthful of 
 gruff speech, Morgan Black; Colonel Reginald deC. 
 Pitkin, always ready to serve; and the dapper young 
 congressman, the work of Thorndike's own hands, 
 anxious, watchful, faithful, obedient to every call to 
 the duty of his dear patron. 
 
 But more active than all these, in and out, all over 
 the state went Roland Hyde, the manager, weaving the 
 fabric of the campaign. Night after night in the cities, 
 superintending the driving of the political herd, stimu- 
 lating or repressing the newspapers, making the ten 
 thousand little necessary adjustments of private in- 
 
228 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 terests and quarrels; always smiling, always compli- 
 menting, always smoothing with those wonderful, 
 supple, white hands, with their diamond ring. 
 
 By day he was out among the manufacturers. 
 " How's the business ? " asks Hyde, when the proper 
 moment has arrived. " Pretty good ? " " That's 
 good. Is there anything," says Hyde hitching up his 
 chair, " you ought to have changed in the tariff ? " 
 " Well," says the manufacturer, looking over his 
 shoulder, " I don't know but what, etc." " We'll re- 
 member you," says Hyde, " when they make the re- 
 vision." " Got all the money you want for the cam- 
 paign ? " asks the manufacturer. " We've got to down 
 these fellers ! " There is plenty of it, but more always 
 can be used — legitimately, of course, always. Roland 
 Hyde, commercial traveller of the tariff, you might 
 say. Only that would be too bald for work so beau- 
 tiful and delicate and subtle. There is a certain 
 parallel, of course ; and the result, after WilUam Henry 
 Harrison Thorndike's years on the republican national 
 committee, is not seriously in doubt. 
 
 But there was one incident in that campaign, which 
 has never figured in the public history of it. Several 
 times, late at night, when the small council had broken 
 up and the servants were in bed, an odd figure — a 
 certain man, with a cast in his eye and red stubble 
 on his chin, entered the house of the Thorndike's, let 
 in by the master himself, and went out again after 
 a long conference in the study. At the close of the 
 last meeting he disappeared into the South, and was 
 never heard from in the town again. 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE FAITH 229 
 
 Two people knew this incident beside William 
 Thorndike himself. Roland Hyde had seen something 
 and suspected more. But Roland Hyde was not serv- 
 ing his apprenticeship in politics; he had seen dirty 
 family linen washed before. Where should it be 
 washed if not in private? Here was nothing that 
 should concern him, unless he were invited to take 
 part. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike did not have this philosophic un- 
 concern. The first night that the man had come, rest- 
 less from the nervousness of the time, anxious that 
 her father should be in bed, she heard the light steps 
 upon the front piazza. And as she had started down 
 stairs to warn her father, she came upon the stairway 
 just in time to see, without being seen herself, Will- 
 iam Thorndike himself let in this man — ^the slinking 
 figure she had seen that afternoon in Starkwater — 
 and take him into his study. She saw the figure once 
 again ; and when he came he had, it seemed, a package 
 with him; and when he left again he carried it no 
 longer. That was the last visit she knew of; prob- 
 ably it was the last made. The girl had been stunned 
 and disheartened by what she saw. The zest of the 
 great game they were playing, which had excited her 
 young enthusiasm so keenly, suddenly was gone. Then 
 all her father's denials and assurances, the prompt 
 arrest of Carney at his threat — all these were mere 
 bravado! There was something back — ^that he must 
 conceal from everyone — even her. What could it be? 
 She racked her memory to piece out an idea. Some- 
 thing disgraceful it must be. The proud spirit of the 
 
230 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 girl was filled with the apprehension of it. Yet day 
 by day, by mere effort of her will, she kept her face 
 bright and carried out the lively part in life that was 
 cast for her by nature. Now was no time to approach 
 her father on this thing — if he chose to keep it from 
 her — his cares would bear no adding to at present. 
 When it was all over — when he had been chosen gov- 
 ernor; it would be time enough for an understanding 
 then. 
 
 And so the campaign pushed on, Ruth Thorndike 
 taking whatever part she could in the activities at the 
 house, but being driven out more often, riding down 
 her favourite roads, or going to her room upon the 
 second floor. 
 
 She was sitting there now, waiting. Lynde and 
 Merriman had driven up a few minutes before — to 
 talk politics with the men, she hoped. 
 
 " Thank Heaven," said Miss Thorndike to herself 
 at last " they don't want me," and just at that moment 
 the maid came up to call her. 
 
 She was in a vicious temper that afternoon; this 
 campaign and its hopes and fears were ruining her 
 nerves. She went downstairs with an ill-grace, which 
 was less than usually concealed. 
 
 " Politics, I suppose," she said as she came into 
 the living room. Chippy Merriman was there and 
 Lynde and Col. Pitkin. " If it is," she said, " I'm 
 not going to be dragged into it. I'm going right 
 back." 
 
 " Listen to her," said Merriman. " She's really the 
 fiercest politician in the state." 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE FAITH 231 
 
 " Ruth Thorndike, author of the Ellington health 
 ordinance and other public measures," said Lynde. 
 
 " Speech, speech," growled Col. Pitkin. 
 
 The talk went on as it had begun. Col. Pitkin start- 
 ing a discourse on the philosophy of tenement owning. 
 
 " You'll excuse me. Miss Ruth," he went on from 
 his great height, " but that ordinance went too far. 
 It was clever in you and all that, but the trouble with 
 a woman is, she's too sentimental. Those people are 
 going to live that way, and you can't change them. 
 They don't know any better." 
 
 " They know enough to die when they have the 
 smallpox or the typhoid fever, don't they," said Miss 
 Ruth sharply. 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " Well, that was what the, ordinance was made for 
 — to give them a chance to live." 
 
 "That's all right. But they'll live just as they 
 always did. I know all about it — your model tene- 
 ments and all that. I had a friend, who built some 
 of them and they cost> him a lot of money too — with 
 bath-tubs and all that, and the next month when he 
 went around, they were using the bath-tubs all right. 
 Most of 'em had coal in 'em, and one of 'em had a 
 small pig in his and one of 'em was keeping hens. 
 Fact, by Gad! and he had to have them all pulled 
 out. I know one thing," said Col. Pitkin, strutting. 
 " You wouldn't enforce all those rules on me, if I was 
 a tenement owner." 
 
 " Well, I tell you one thing, we'd put you in jail 
 if you didn't," said the promoter of the measure. 
 
232 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " All right ! " said the military hero, imperturbably, 
 " but I tell you again, if they'd been my tene- 
 ments — " 
 
 " But they aren't, you know," said Ruth Thorn- 
 dike, shutting him off with unnecessary brutality. " So 
 don't let's talk about it any longer." 
 
 " They say," chimed in Merriman, " that the next 
 mayor of Ellington didn't know just what powerful 
 influence he had back of him when he put through 
 that bill." 
 
 " Who's the next mayor of Ellington ? " 
 
 " Why John Mayhew, of course." 
 
 " O , is he going to run, really, do you think ? " 
 
 " The democrats will nominate him all right, I 
 guess." 
 
 " When he fixes it up with the saloon keepers and 
 Skeane," said, the Colonel with deep pessimism. 
 
 " The city politics in these factory towns are cer- 
 tainly amusing," said Lynde. 
 
 " Are they any different from any other democratic 
 politics ? " inquired Col. Pitkin. 
 
 " John Mayhew, mayor ! " went on the sarcastic 
 Lynde. 
 
 Miss Ruth Thomdike's colour rose; she was grow- 
 ing belligerent. 
 
 " Why not ? " said Merriman, anticipating her, 
 " John Mayhew's all right ; he'd make a mighty good 
 mayor in my opinion. He's young; but there've been 
 others just as young, and he's got a whole lot of sand 
 and common sense." 
 
 " O, by the way," said Lynde, turning aside, " teU 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE FAITH 233 
 
 us of your terrible adventure at Starkwater, Miss 
 Thomdike." 
 
 " There's nothing to tell," said Ruth, " excepting 
 I was stopped by a drunken tramp, who didn't know 
 the time of day." 
 
 " I suppose the next thing would have been to ask 
 you to lend him your watch," said Merriman. 
 
 " O, I don't know." 
 
 " And then," said Col. Pitkin, " our friend Mayhew 
 appeared ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What do you suppose Mayhew was doing over 
 in there ? " asked Lynde. 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," said Miss Ruth coldly. 
 " I suppose he was taking a walk. He's a great 
 walker." 
 
 " O, I didn't know. I thought perhaps he might 
 be up there on some business." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " O, I wondered whom he might be going over to 
 see, that's all." 
 
 " He doesn't call on us, that's sure," said Pitkin. 
 
 " He might have been up to see his old friend 
 Carney and solicit his vote for the city election," said 
 Lynde. 
 
 " Or maybe to get a little democratic law business," 
 said Col. Pitkin. 
 
 The two were getting on rather dangerous ground, 
 judging from Miss Thorndike's cheeks and eyes. 
 
 " At any rate," said Lynde, superciliously, " It was 
 very fortunate that he was there." 
 
234 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " It was," said Ruth Thorndike, her calm eyes on 
 his face. " I could at least trust him to drive me home, 
 without thinking he would jump out and run away 
 at the top of every particularly steep hill." 
 
 A great calm succeeded this statement of her satis- 
 faction, which Chippy Merriman worked with most 
 serious industry to break. The conversation stumbled 
 on a little further, and at last the young men found 
 it necessary to depart. 
 
 Ruth Thorndike took her trouble to her room again. 
 Why was John Mayhew there that day ? Could it 
 be that he had some connection with those people — 
 for political reasons, say, or some other reason ? These 
 men knew nothing, of course, but they had awakened 
 an old and distressing train of thought in her. O, 
 no, no, no! Nothing but that he could own with 
 the strictest honesty, she knew that, from every word 
 he had spoken, and from every gesture, conscious or 
 unconscious, he had made. But did he know and 
 understand it all, this secret, whatever it might be, 
 disgraceful, criminal perhaps, which was hanging over 
 her father? The anxiety and apprehension of this 
 thing was growing more than this proud happy little 
 spirit could endure. 
 
Chapter XIX 
 
 POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 
 
 rHE suspense of election night was in the air — 
 vast changes threatening, great stakes of life 
 and fortune at the last agonising point of 
 play, crowds of candidates, like uncertain spirits, wait- 
 ing to be born — to be created in a flash real characters 
 of history, or relegated again, back to the formless 
 void of a forgotten political campaign. The swarms 
 were gathering beneath the electric lights of the great 
 cities ; across the dark face of the country the farmers' 
 wagons went rattling to the village store. But here 
 at Ellington, with its strange tribes within its gates, 
 the spirit of the time, it seemed, was felt more faintly 
 than it could be elsewhere — excepting of course in the 
 house of the candidate for governor, where his friends 
 were come together to receive the news. 
 
 Dingy night had fallen on the town below; the 
 gleams of the saloons were extinguished, leaving the 
 main street in the cold barrenness of Sunday evening. 
 Labourers with pipes in their unshaven mouths, spelled 
 out in mental pain the bulletins before the little news- 
 paper office ; late tellers in the election booths muttered 
 over their unaccustomed work; occasional cries told 
 
 235 
 
226 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 the news from one group to another on the street, the 
 boys stood on the street corners later than usual, 
 whistling, stamping, chaffing, waiting hopefully for 
 something to turn up. But the great bulk of the 
 population, the uninterested French, the older Irish, 
 and the Poles — the stolid Poles — alien as strange 
 slaves in a foreign market place — had gone indiffer- 
 ently home to an early bed. Yet still the great house 
 on the hill blazed like a festival far into the night. 
 Only one place in town was still awake, when its 
 lights began to disappear — the democratic conference 
 in the " state house." 
 
 No one can tell what humble genius gave the place 
 its name; yet it had become an institution of the city 
 as familiar as its city hall. It was simply the execu- 
 tive chamber, where King -Skeane and his councils 
 met to plan the city's politics. You went about the 
 corner by Bull Halloran's saloon, and turned into an 
 old doorway. A blank-sided stairway went up on the 
 right hand to a tenement; behind and at the left a 
 low doorway, generally locked, passed through into 
 the " state house " — a little, low, unpapered room, with 
 two old black round tables, surrounded by cheap, cane- 
 seated chairs. The place could be approached through 
 the saloon itself, and sometimes when not occupied 
 for more tremendous purposes, was used for the occa- 
 sional patron, who preferred to take his liquor at a 
 table. 
 
 There was serious business on to-night; only the 
 inner council was expected. Griffin the lawyer ar- 
 rived first. Bull Halloran, hearing him, came thump- 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 237 
 
 ing down the empty barroom from his office at the 
 front, and let him in. 
 
 " How's it goin' ? " he growled. 
 
 " All one way, as usual," said the black lawyer. 
 
 A sparse and moody conversation filled the time 
 they waited for King Skeane. 
 
 Before many minutes he came, his powerful figure 
 filling the small doorway as he stooped and entered. 
 
 " How much have they beaten Thorndike ? " asked 
 Griffin ironically. ^ 
 
 " They say he's got the biggest majority in years," 
 said Skeane. 
 
 " It seems as if it got worse every year," said Griffin. 
 
 " The democrats had better go out of business," 
 Bull Halloran blurted out with an oath. He turned 
 and went back to his office. 
 
 " He'd ought to be here pretty soon," said Skeane, 
 pulling out his watch. They were waiting for Ash to 
 return from a visit to old Pfaff at the brewery. 
 
 He had scarcely spoken before there was a sound of 
 confused knocking and pushing at the door. 
 
 " That's not him," said Griffin. 
 
 Bull Halloran had come down and stuck his bullet 
 head out of the doorway. 
 
 " What do you want ? " he growled. 
 
 " Is Mat Skeane in there ? " asked a thick but dig- 
 nified voice. 
 
 "Well, what of it if he is?" 
 
 " I've got important business with him," said the 
 voice, " I've got to see him." 
 
 " You can't come in. He ain't here." 
 
238 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I saw him come in.'' 
 
 "Well, I tell you he ain't here," said the saloon- 
 keeper, crowding the door shut. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Skeane from the inside. 
 
 "It's old man O'Hara," said Halloran. "He's 
 drunk." 
 
 " Let him in," said Skeane. " That's all right." 
 
 General Barrett O'Hara stalked majestically by, 
 hurling one basilisk glance at the saloonkeeper, and 
 stood before the council table, bombastically drunk. 
 
 " Good avening, gintlemin," he said with the bow 
 of a cavalier. 
 
 "How're you, Barret?" grunted Skeane. "What's 
 up?" 
 
 General Barrett O'Hara remained dramatically si- 
 lent, awaiting the psychological moment. 
 
 " Gintlemin," he said at length, " you are assimbled 
 here for the consideraytion of important quistions, no 
 doubt. I'll not detain ye. I'm merely come to give 
 you warnin', like a good scout to his gineril." 
 
 " What's goin' on," said the imperturbable-faced 
 Skeane, kicking Griffin under the table. 
 
 " Conspiracee," hissed the Irish warrior, wrapping 
 his martial cloak around him. " That's what's goin' 
 on." 
 
 " What, another one ? " asked Skeane. 
 
 " It's true this toime," responded O'Hara with dig- 
 nity. He peered mysteriously about the room. 
 
 " Are ye considerin' that young Mayhew for 
 mayor ? " he asked. 
 
 " I've heard his name mentioned," said Skeane. 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 239 
 
 " You want to look out for him. He's a traitor," 
 exclaimed General O'Hara. 
 
 " What's he done now ? " said Skeane. 
 
 " He's payin' attintion to Thomdike's daughter." 
 
 "Is he?" 
 
 " He is. He'd like to marry her." 
 
 " Be God, Barrett, so would I," said Skeane, the 
 quizzical wrinkles gathering about his eyes. " And 
 so would you, you old divil, you." 
 
 " That's all right, Mat Skeane, but there's more 
 behind this." 
 
 "There is?" 
 
 " There is. It's treacheree. Ah-ha," said the mean- 
 ingful O'Hara, " I've watched, I've followed 'em. You 
 know what I told you the other time." 
 
 " It's suspicious," said Skeane. 
 
 " It is. It's more ; it's outrageous. 'Tis a plan of 
 thim two, this Mayhew and the great divil Thorn- 
 dike. They'll elect him mayor, and he'll break up 
 the dimicratic party. Thin he'll marry the girl and 
 old Thorndike'll take him into partnership. That's 
 what they're planning to do." 
 
 " It sounds like a fairy tale," said Mat Skeane. 
 " It's too good to be true." 
 
 " It's facts," said Barrett O'Hara. 
 
 " How do you know it ? " asked Skeane. 
 
 " I've stoodied thim," said General O'Hara pomp- 
 ously, " Ye want to look into that. Mat Skeane." 
 
 King Skeane was losing his interest. " I will," he 
 said shortly. 
 
 "You will?" 
 
240 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Yes," grunted Skeane, turning to talk to Griffin. 
 
 The old man was just rising to the statement of his 
 discoveries. He steadied himself by the edge of the 
 table, as he launched into superheated invective. 
 
 " Let there be no ambigooty on my manin'. Mat 
 Skeane," he cried. " Look out for him, watch him 
 ivry minute. He's a deep one for his years; he's a 
 black-hearted traitor. He'll be the roonation of the 
 dimicratic party in this town. Has he been workin' 
 shoulder to shoulder with the rist of us, durin' the 
 campaign just arrivin' at its disasterous ind? He 
 has not; he's been coortin' this girl — When my own 
 case was before the aldermen, where was he? He 
 was late; he deserted me, be God, at the crisis of 
 evints; he stayed out with a purpose, and me usin' 
 me inflooence ivrywhere loike for me own son to 
 build up his practice, to its present prosperitee." 
 
 He was reaching the real gist of the matter now, 
 and his emotions and eloquence increased as the square 
 of the distance. The two other men had their backs 
 to him talking. 
 
 " I tell ye," he went on. 
 
 A knock came at the door and the expected man ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " All right, Barrett," said Skeane, interrupting ; 
 " we'll look him up." 
 
 The hoary relic of old war continued his invective. 
 " I've warned ye. Mat Skeane ; I warn ye agin," he 
 cried. " You want — " 
 
 Skeane gave a little nod to Bull Halloran. 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 241 
 
 " Ye'll have to be goin', Barrett," said the big saloon- 
 keeper, pushing him to the door. 
 
 " I warn ye," cried the receding voice. " I warn 
 ye." The door closed after him with a crash, and 
 here was General Barrett O'Hara, hero of two wars, 
 pitched head and crop into outer darkness, preening 
 his ruffled dignity on the curbing. 
 
 Inside he of the green eyes advanced to the table, 
 his hands deep in the pockets of his striped worsted 
 coat, and sat down. 
 
 " What'll you have, gents — ^beer ? " asked Halloran, 
 lingering by the table. 
 
 " Yeh," said Skeane indifferently — answering for 
 the party. 
 
 Halloran brought it and left the room. 
 
 "Well?" said Skeane. 
 
 " Well," said Ash, " he's got to have it." 
 
 " That settles it," said Skeane. 
 
 The black lawyer nodded, and was silent. 
 
 The three men sat for a moment without speaking 
 ■ — Griffin slouched down in his chair, looking out under 
 his black hat brim; Ash tipped back, with his hat 
 raked to one side; the big figure of King Skeane, 
 elbows out, hands on his thighs, erect as a Chinese 
 god on its pedestal, with his unlighted cigar stub 
 gripped in the corner of his mouth, staring at the op- 
 posite wall. 
 
 "Just how'd he leave it?" asked Skeane. 
 
 "He's got to have a promise — cast iron — ^before- 
 hand that he'll put Rafferty on the license board." 
 
242 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " The old fat-head," said Skeane, and went silent 
 again. 
 
 " I found out something else down there," said 
 Ash, leaning forward. He motioned backward with 
 his head. " Bull Halloran — they're goin' to put a 
 keeper on him to-morrow." 
 
 The other two men looked stolidly out through the 
 small door behind the bar, in the melancholy cavern 
 of the empty saloon. Stale silence filled that haunt 
 of laughter and coarse noise. The great mirror gazed 
 moodily into empty darkness, the immodest young 
 women on the walls, forever hesitating at the brink 
 of the bath leered out into unappreciative vacancy. 
 
 In his glass office, at the front end of the place, 
 sat Bull Halloran, in a little island of light, fumbling 
 anxiously over the leaves of his account books, with 
 thick fingers. 
 
 " He's had a tip," said Ash. 
 
 Griffin nodded. 
 
 " Poor Bull," said Ash. " I'm sorry for him. He 
 don't know where he stands." 
 
 " Never mind about Bull Halloran," said " King " 
 Skeane, " We've got something else to think about." 
 
 " That's right," murmured Griffin. 
 
 " Look here," said Skeane ; " You don't know what 
 you're up against." 
 
 He paused a monient. 
 
 " The vote went against us to-day — right here in 
 town," he said. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " They carried it by 200 for Thorndike." 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 243 
 
 " Sufferin' God ! " 
 
 The sound of the groups shuffling by on the side- 
 walks came down the empty saloon through their 
 silence. 
 
 " How'd they do it? " asked Ash. 
 
 " You know what I told you last winter ? " said 
 Skeane. " They're workin' that same game." 
 
 "What, the French vote?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And reform," suggested Grififin. 
 
 " Yes, all hoUerin' for reform, especially the French- 
 men." 
 
 " That's a sweet reform," said Ash scornfully. 
 
 " It works," said Skeane. 
 
 " That's what they're in politics for, — to reform the 
 Irish," said Griffin. 
 
 " You remember what old Tim Muldoon told the 
 big Frenchman was the meanin' of the motto on the 
 St. Jean the Baptist flag," said Skeane ; " when he 
 asked him to read it ? 'To hill with the Irish,' he 
 says, ' that's what it rades.' " 
 
 " That's it," said Griffin. 
 
 " Now, look here," said Skeane. " They've got 
 nine hundred — yes, and a thousand French votes in 
 this town if they can get 'em out once. Well, then, 
 they've got seven hundred Yankees, say, and some 
 English. But there ain't more'n one thousand three 
 hundred Irish votes, not to save your life; no, and 
 not more'n one thousand five hundred democrats all 
 told — If they get out all those Frenchmen, it's all up 
 with us." 
 
244 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " What do they give 'em ? " asked Ash, " anything 
 but aldermen ? " 
 
 " City physician," said Skeane, " so's one of those 
 fat Canuck doctors can strut around City Hall with 
 his plug hat and long coat and yellar shoes — ^that sat- 
 isfies 'em." 
 
 " One of those Montreal dog-killers, with his little 
 cane. I'd like to see him go down into the Patch some 
 night," said Ash suggestively. 
 
 " Well," said Skeane, " that's the way they're doin' 
 it; they're playin' 'em against the Irish. We've got 
 to get out and hustle, if we want to live. They claim 
 the democrats have lost Mill River for good. The first 
 thing we know there won't be any democrats in the 
 state; it'll be solid like the old days when they used 
 to march 'em in from the mills to the polls and back 
 again before they had the Australian ballot." 
 
 " I wasn't here then," said Ash. " Did they do what 
 they say they did ? " 
 
 " Do it, yes ! They'd do it now, if they could ; whole 
 rooms of them in line like pay-day — with the over- 
 seers ahead." 
 
 " And did they tell 'em how to vote? " 
 
 "Tell 'em? What would they tell 'em for? They' 
 knew, didn't they? Talk about your Solid South — 
 that was a common thing." 
 
 " Hell, yes," observed Griffin, " they did it every- 
 where." 
 
 " One way or another." 
 
 " Blue tickets," said Griffin, reminiscently. " Where 
 I came from when I was a boy, the Company's tickets 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 245 
 
 were blue; you could tell 'em a mile off. If a man 
 didn't vote a blue ticket, God help him." 
 
 " No intimidation, mind you ; nothing wrong. He'd 
 just lose his job," said Skeane. " You know how it 
 is now, if a man gets too gay in local politics. The 
 work runs short all of a sudden — that's a way it has." 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 " O, they don't need any guardian," said Skeane. 
 
 " Not when Thorndike's around," added Ash. 
 
 The conversation had run down into silence. 
 " King " Skeane led it back again to the vital point. 
 
 '' Now here," he said, " this is business. We want 
 to understand just where we are. We got beaten last 
 year; we got beaten to-day. We've got the fight of 
 our lives on, if we're goin' to beat next month." 
 
 The two other men gave serious assent. 
 
 " There's just one man we can win with," said 
 Skeane, thumping the table with his thick forefinger 
 until it buckled backward at the first joint. 
 
 "Mayhew?" 
 
 " That's the man — ^young Mayhew." 
 
 His voice seemed almost angry in its seriousness. 
 
 " What about Fenton ; the old man thought may be 
 you could take him." 
 
 " Fenton ; he'd be a pretty thing ! " 
 
 " With the other fellows cryin' reform ! " said 
 Griffin. 
 
 "What'd be the first thing they'd say about him?" 
 
 The question went unanswered. 
 
 " No," said Skeane, " you can't elect one side of 
 him. 
 
246 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " You don't want an Irishman anyway," he con- 
 tinued. " You want a Yankee — a good, clean, young 
 Yanlc, that'll take their own votes from 'em." 
 
 " You've got it," said Ash. 
 
 " What did that old fat-head mix into it for ? " said 
 Skeane angrily. " We had it goin' all right. And 
 now he comes and's got to have his iron bound prom- 
 ise in advance and knock it all over." 
 
 " He's always had it," suggested Ash. 
 
 " Yes, but this man's different. He'll balk." 
 
 " The old man can't see it." 
 
 " No," said Skeane, with an oath, " he thinks they're 
 all the same price. I could have worked this feller 
 after he was elected — for Rafferty, or somebody else, 
 all right. But he ^yon't stand for promises in ad- 
 vance." 
 
 " Well, it's done now," suggests GrifHn. 
 
 " Did you tell Pfaff what I said ? " asked Skeane. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " About the People's brewery gettin' in here ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What's that?" asked Griffin. 
 
 " About their agents bein' around here already 
 spendin' money right and left. One more vote in the 
 board lets 'em in. It would give 'em the whole list 
 of licenses." 
 
 " Every, one of them," assented Griffin. 
 
 " They'd bust half the saloon men in town." 
 
 " That's right." 
 
 They went over the threatening situation in detail. 
 This was no pretty parlour experiment in politics of 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 247 
 
 the little leisure league for raising the masses; this 
 was a real political power — three crafty men, sitting 
 far into the night in the back room of a saloon with 
 political bankruptcy staring them in the face — devising 
 and plotting, considering every possible method of es- 
 cape. 
 
 " Well," said Griffin at last. " What are you goin' 
 to do about it?" 
 
 " I'm goin' to see Pfaff again — ^first." 
 
 " You can't do anything with him," said Ash. " X 
 tell you that, now." 
 
 " I don't believe I can myself, but I can try." 
 
 "Well, if you don't— what?" asked Griffin. 
 
 " We'll have to get the promise." 
 
 "He won't give it." 
 
 " By God," said Skeane, " he's got to." 
 
 " Who made his practice for him ? " asked Ash. 
 
 " There's something in that," said Griffin. 
 
 " If he don't come around," said Ash, " we'll make 
 him sick." 
 
 " We'll break him in two," said Skeane. 
 
 The conference was over. 
 
 " Well, I'll see you here to-morrow night," said 
 Skeane, getting up. The three men called to Halloran 
 and started for the door. 
 
 The saloonkeeper hurried down to the entrance into 
 the barroom. 
 
 " Say, Pat," he called to Ash, " Look here. I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 The other two men passed along and the door closed 
 after them. 
 
248 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " You was down to the brewery to-.day wasn't you ? " 
 said the saloonkeeper. 
 
 " Yeh." 
 
 " Say, are they goin' to put a keeper on me ? " he 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 " I don't know," lied Ash. " He didn't say any- 
 thing to me about it." 
 
 " They'd tell you about it, wouldn't they ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, I heard they was," persisted the saloon- 
 keeper. 
 
 " If they did," said Ash, " it would be only to take 
 care of themselves against the other feller." 
 
 " That's a damned nice way to treat a man," com- 
 plained Halloran. 
 
 No answer from Ash. 
 
 " I wouldn't care," said the big man, staring back 
 into the dark. " It's the wife and the children, I'm 
 thinkin' of." 
 
 " Ah, drop it Bull," said Ash, with rough sympathy. 
 " The company'U take care of you." 
 
 " Say," said the saloonkeeper, suddenly. " Is Skeane 
 goin' to carry the town this fall ? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " He'd better." 
 
 "If he, don't," said Ash confidentially, "it'll bust 
 him." 
 
 " Yes," said the saloonkeeper, with an oath, " and 
 all the rest of us." 
 
 " Well, good night. Bull." 
 
 " Good night, Pat." 
 
POLITICAL BANKRUPTCY 249 
 
 The last guest was gone. The big saloonkeeper 
 turned slowly back to his office; and began heavily 
 thumbing over his old books again, in stupid bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
Chapter XX 
 
 THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 
 
 i^^^»*HE front door had closed for the last time, 
 
 m and William Thorndike had returned to his 
 
 ^_ study with his half finished cigar. A yellow 
 
 heap of telegrams on the dark centre-desk — news and 
 congratulations from a hundred men — spilled over 
 upon the floor. A velvet silence filled the high rooms, 
 against which the faintest sound stood out in bold 
 relief, the voices of the house, unheeded in the day- 
 light — the cry of the wind at a corner, the clatter of 
 a window blind, the creaking of a floor board in the 
 unceasing fight against the old relentless drag of time 
 and gravitation. The pulse of the black marble clock 
 searched every corner of the place with its melancholy 
 regularity. The Master of Ellington sat alone with 
 the fulfillment of his life's ambition, considering it. 
 
 He had been there but a few moments when he 
 straightened up. There was the fall of light feet on 
 the stairway, the rustle of skirts in the silence and his 
 daughter was standing in the doorway. 
 
 " I thought you were in bed, Ruth, long ago," said 
 Thorndike. 
 
 " No." 
 
 250 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 251 
 
 The girl moved forward and sat down across the 
 desk from him. 
 
 " I want to talk with you," she said. 
 
 " It must be important," said Thorndike frowning. 
 
 " It is. 
 
 " I haven't troubled you during the election," she 
 said, " you had enough. But now I must know." 
 
 "Know what?" 
 
 " That thing you've been keeping from me." 
 
 Thorndike looked up sharply. 
 
 " About that man who came here nights." 
 
 " Don't worry about that, Ruth," he answered. 
 " That's all settled now." 
 
 " But I want to know myself. What had it to da 
 with the Richard Plimsoll?" 
 
 " What do you know about the Richard Plimsoll? " 
 he said quickly. 
 
 " Not very much," she said quietly, " but you are 
 going to tell me." 
 
 " I'm not very good at telling stories," he said dryly. 
 
 " I'm no longer a child. Dad," she persisted. " I'm 
 a woman. You owe it to me to tell me. O, if you 
 only knew how many nights I have been kept awake 
 by it," she cried, " you wouldn't refuse me." 
 
 " All right," said Thorndike, " I'll tell you." 
 
 " Everything," she stipulated. 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 She settled down to listen to him — her bright eyes 
 on his face; her chin in her palms, her elbows deep 
 in the piles of telegrams on the desk.' A sad little 
 memory came to him as he saw her, a regretful sense 
 
252 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 of the lapse of time. How often he had watched her 
 there, buried in her school books — his merry, earnest 
 little high-spirited girl — the one human tie of his life. 
 
 " There isn't much to tell," began Thorndike slowly. 
 " It was about the company during the Civil War — 
 principally, and about a business fight of mine with 
 old Mayhew. He tried to ruin me." 
 
 " Yes ? " prompted the girl. 
 
 "He didn't do it." 
 
 "And Mayhew?" 
 
 " He started it," said Thorndike laconically. 
 
 " I've told you before how I began business," he 
 went on. " There was $10,000 which your grand- 
 father left me. Old Mayhew got me to put it in the 
 company. It was a small mill then — capitalised at 
 $25,000. Mayhew held the other $15,000 himself. 
 So he had the mill, the management of it, just as he 
 did before, and my $10,000 thrown in. I was pretty 
 young then ! 
 
 " We had a good business, though, for a small mill. 
 We seemed to be doing well. Then the Civil War 
 came on. 
 
 " The trouble with us was," he continued, reflec- 
 tively, " we were all too hungry, those days. They 
 were all the same — the manufacturers, I mean. They 
 wanted to do it all at once. Fifty per cent, wasn't 
 enough; they'd got to have one hundred — especially 
 old Mayhew. You don't remember him ? " 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " No, he died when you were a baby. The dry- 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 253 
 
 faced, old devil. He was a monomaniac on money ; he 
 wasn't flesh; he was brown leather — ^body and soul — 
 to the core. 
 
 " We had a good business before the war in the 
 South ; for some reason they got trading with us ; some- 
 times they'd come up here for goods. After it started, 
 that trade kept right on. ' I didn't make this war,' 
 old Mayhew used to say. 
 
 " It was no great trouble shipping goods at first — 
 even after the blockade. When the war broke out, 
 the United States navy was falling to pieces. The 
 English built those fast steamers and ran them into 
 Charleston. Those old tubs of the government had 
 no more chance with them than a wheelbarrow with 
 a locomotive. We used to ship goods to England (for 
 the looks of the thing) ; then they went into the 
 Bahamas, and then to Charleston. We sold to the 
 United States government, too, army contracts. We 
 were playing on both sides. These are the plain facts 
 in the case ; Seth Mayhew saw to that, mostly." 
 
 He looked up. The girl's face was flaming. 
 
 " And you ? " she asked. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " What did you do about it? " 
 
 " I went with the one hundred per cent.," said he, 
 dryly. 
 
 " So that was what those men knew," she said, 
 steadying her voice, " that — " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " That we ran the blockade? " 
 
254 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It would not have sounded very pretty in a cam- 
 paign." 
 
 "Pretty!" said the girl. 
 
 " Was that all they knew ? " she persisted coldly. 
 
 " No, there was scanething else." 
 
 " What was it? " 
 
 " Mayhew married the business. I was down around 
 Washington and the armies looking out for contracts. 
 We made a good deal of money ; we should have made 
 a good deal more if Mayhew hadn't been so greedy 
 and had so many goods thrown out for being under 
 specifications. 
 
 " In the winter of 1864 Mayhew sent for me at 
 Washington, to come home on important business. I 
 was anxious to come. I had been getting some, notions 
 one way or other about the company I didn't like. 
 Fifteen minutes afterwards I was coming north. 
 
 " I got here the day before he expected me — on 
 the evening train. It was cold and late and there 
 was nobody I knew at the station. Instead of going 
 home, I pulled up the collar of my ulster, went to the 
 office of the mill, let myself in with my private key, 
 a!nd looked over the company's books. 
 
 " I had had some suspicions, but nothing like that. 
 That company didn't own the office sign, and I myself 
 wasn't worth so much as a girl in the weave room. 
 He'd sucked the thing dry as an old lemon." 
 
 The manufacturer gave a little laugh of grim 
 reminiscence. 
 
 " What an old devil he was," he went on. " He'd 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 255 
 
 been in contracts for himself, and he had the whole 
 fianciering of the mill. He had everything in his 
 own hands and he'd mixed things up so nobody could 
 straighten them out, — only the profits always seemed 
 to come to him personally, and the losses on the com- 
 pany. 
 
 " I didn't go home at all that night, I stayed with 
 those books. I'd come back thinkin' I was a rich man, 
 as things were then; instead of that I was bankrupt. 
 The more I saw the worse it was. The old spider had 
 me wound round and round, till I. couldn't see any 
 possible way out of it. I could sue him, of course, 
 but ten to one I couldn't get anything if I did, and 
 besides I wouldn't have any "money to sue with; I 
 was ruined. 
 
 " In the morning I closed up and went over to the 
 hotel and got a cup of coffee. I'd make up my mind 
 to one thing. There'd got to be a crisis pretty quick. 
 He was going to do something; he'd got to. All I 
 could do was to lie still and wait and see what the 
 game was. 
 
 " After the morning train came in I went over from 
 the hotel to the office. He was waiting for me. I 
 never saw him so unctuous ; he was butter from head 
 to foot. 
 
 " ' My dear young man,' he said, ' you came at 
 once ; with your usual enterprise.' 
 
 " We went into the side office. For half an hour 
 he sat, and squinted and grinned at me, and talked 
 round and round and -lied about the business. It had 
 been unusually good — according to him. 
 
256 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " ' I want to congratulate you, Thorndike,' he said, 
 ' you are going to be a rich man.' 
 
 " Finally he sidled up to it. ' I sent for you, Thorn- 
 dike,' he said, putting his hand on my knee, ' on some- 
 thing very important. 
 
 " ' We've made another shipment to Charleston.' 
 
 " I nodded. 
 
 " ' A very important one. There's something,' he 
 said looking around, ' besides cotton cloth.' 
 
 "'Guns?' I said." 
 
 " Guns ! For the rebels ? " echoed the girl, her face 
 stone white. 
 
 The manufacturer looked at her a moment in pro- 
 test of the interruption and went on, as if she had not 
 spoken. 
 
 " ' Some,' he said, ' and there are some cartridges 
 and percussion caps. They're very high down there,' 
 he said clutching at my knee again. ' They'll pay 
 $250,000 for what there is there. Half of it's 
 profit.' 
 
 ■ Who'll pay,' I said. 
 
 The Confederate government ! ' he said, talking 
 into my face, ' In gold.' 
 
 " I turned away from him ; his breath wasn't exactly 
 pleasant. 
 
 " ' Well,' I said. He made me sick all over. ' What 
 do you want of me ? ' 
 
 " ' You've got to go down there,' he said catching 
 at my clothes again. 
 
 " ' It's pretty dangerous business,' I said. 
 
 " ' That's it,' he said, ' exactly.' 
 
 {( ( ■ 
 it t I 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 257 
 
 " ' Why not have the steamer people do it tiiem- 
 selves ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' I can't trust 'em,' He wailed, ' I can't tryst 'ejn.' 
 That was true ; he couldn't trust anybody. 
 
 " ' You must go, Thdrndike,' he said fawning ; ' with 
 your courage and enterprise you'll put it through.' 
 
 " ' And what if I'm caught ! ' I said, half to try him. 
 
 " You won't be,' he said- 
 
 " ' No, I won't,' I answered. 
 
 " ' You'll go ? ' he said, quivering all over." 
 
 " You didn't go ! " the girl broke in. 
 
 The man stopped. " Are you going to let me go 
 on?" he said coolly. The girl was silent. He con- 
 tinued where he had left off : 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, ' I'll go.' 
 
 " He thanked me for ten minutes. 
 
 " Then he outlined the scheme to me. The goodS' 
 were already shipped. All I had to do was to see that 
 the sale was made right, put the money in the ship 
 again, and come back — not on the steamer, that would 
 be taking too much risk, he said, but the way I weijt. 
 
 " ' You've got to hurry,' he said. 
 
 " ' I'll go this afternoon,' I told him. ' And now 
 I'm going over to see my wife.' 
 
 " I never shook hands with him with so much pleas- 
 ure in my life. I saw a way out of the thing. If I 
 only laid my hands on that money once — ^it would be 
 his time to worry. 
 
 " I went over to the house and saw your mother — 
 two hours. She never forgave me the length of that 
 visit, I think. In the afternoon I went South again. 
 
258 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I got through the Hnes all right. We had our 
 ways. It wasn't so hard when you knew how. And 
 I'd done it before. But it took time. A week after 
 I reached Charleston, the goods came in all right. I 
 sold them and took the money. The captain of the 
 boat came to see me about taking it out again accord- 
 ing to his orders. 
 
 " ' No,' I said, ' we've changed our minds.' 
 
 " I took the money that night and started North 
 with it. I reached New York with it finally and put 
 it all in a bank. Then I started through to Ellington 
 on the next train. 
 
 " Everything was in my hands, you see. Whoever 
 had that money, had it, if he wanted to keep it. The 
 other one wouldn't make any outcry about money made 
 in that way; he couldn't. I didn't know just what the 
 old man's game was, but it was on that principle, I 
 knew. But I'd made up my mind to one thing, long 
 ago. He'd nearly driven me crazy with the thing the 
 past month; he'd have ruined me and your mother 
 with a smirk — he'd been at it for months. I said to 
 myself I'd give him one more chance. If he played the 
 game through, I would — without a quiver. 
 
 " I reached Ellington on the evening train, and came 
 right up here. He didn't expect me so soon, I knew ; 
 but someway he'd got word I was coming. The train 
 was late; it was well through the evening. No one 
 else was downstairs in the house, when the girl let 
 me in the front door. I came right intp this room 
 here. He sat there at his desk, where you are now — 
 a little back," said the manufacturer, pointing: 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 259 
 
 The girl turned her head impulsively. It seemed as 
 if another presence could be felt in the room. 
 
 " The very first time he opened his mouth was to 
 lie," the man went on. 
 
 Have you heard the news ? ' he said, coming to- 
 ward me, and catching my coat by the lapel. His 
 face was flushed, his necktie at one side, his vest half 
 unbuttoned. He was acting the thing down to the 
 ground. 
 
 " ' The Richard Plimsoll has gone down ; they've 
 destroyed her.' 
 
 So that was his game. 
 " ' I know it,' I said. 
 
 " That was all ; I had him in his own trap. 
 " He had an old desk chair where he always sat ; a 
 high-backed thing — with red velvet upholstering. He 
 sort of fell back into it; his face was green, all of a 
 sudden. I could hear his fingers crunching into a 
 paper he had in the right hand — some forgery or other 
 he was going to read his news from. Then he dropped 
 it on the floor. 
 
 ' You — ^you heard it ? ' he said. 
 ' Yes.' 
 'Where?' 
 ' On the way up.' 
 ' How'd it happen ? ' he stammered. 
 ' They caught them going out, somewhere outside 
 the harbour. And sunk them — all hands, they say. 
 She took them with her, like blind kittens in a basket.' 
 I told him the story in detail; you don't know what 
 you can do at lying till you have to. 
 
26o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " He sat perfectly still, only for his eyes, and his 
 right hand. He had a little hand, with a little stem 
 of a wrist, all hairy, in one of these big, old-fashioned 
 white cuffs. It ran in and out and in and out that cuff 
 for all the world like a rat at the mouth of a hole, mov- 
 ing here and there on the table in front of him, nibbling 
 at the edges of papers, anything that happened to be 
 lying there loose. He made me nervous. I hadn't 
 slept for a week; I must have looked like a lunatic 
 myself. 
 
 " ' What — what are we going to do? ' he said. He'd 
 begun foolin' then with that old seal there in front of 
 you ; that first steal of the Mayhew mills. It's always 
 been kept here for some reason. 
 
 " ' Do ? ' I said. ' We'll take our loss and go on 
 just as usual, I suppose.' 
 
 " ' We can't go on.' 
 
 " ' Can'tr ' I said. ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 " ' We can't meet our notes,' he said. 
 
 " ' Notes ! ' I said. ' What notes ? ' 
 
 " ' To send out this shipment.' 
 
 "'Look here,' I said, 'you told me we were safe' 
 either way no matter what happened ! ' 
 
 " He didn't answer ; he kept sliding down into the 
 big chair. 
 
 " ' Do you mean to say you've ruined us on this 
 thing?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' he whispered. 
 
 " ' Then,' I said, ' I'll get my share of it out of you 
 some way ! ' 
 
 " ' You can't,' he said, 'I'm ruined.' 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 261 
 
 " That was about the first time he had told the truth 
 that night. 
 
 " ' We'll see about that,' I said. 
 
 " When I went out he still sat there in that stiff 
 backed chair — a little man in a heap, with his head 
 forward, looking straight out at the wall, and his 
 right hand still going, likt a rat, nibbling away at the 
 edges of the papers." 
 
 Thomdike stopped a moment. 
 
 " He got hold of the wrong man that time," he said 
 in a hard voice, and stopped again. 
 
 " Then what happened ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "He died, didn't he?" 
 
 " Yes, three months later." 
 
 " Did he ever understand ? " 
 
 " He did at last, of course — when he had that stroke. 
 He may have suspected me before, I don't know. I 
 don't believe so, quite. He was looking for a letter 
 from his agents, I know that. But things went slowly 
 those days. Besides, there was nothing for them to 
 write; they had delivered their goods. There wasn't 
 any more writing about such things than necessary. 
 And then—" 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 " And then—? " said the girl. 
 
 " Then one day the Richard PlimsoU was caught. 
 There was a little paragraph in the New York Herald 
 about it, 'way down in one comer. We got our papers 
 late those days; very often we didn't read them till 
 the next morning. He got up one morning and sat 
 
i6i THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 reading the paper when his eye fell on that thing, I 
 suppose. He jumped up out of his chair, called out 
 ' Richard Plimsoll,' and fell back, paralyzed. He never 
 spoke again." 
 
 " O," cried Ruth Thorndike, in a voice of pain. 
 
 The clock pulsed on through their silence. 
 
 " He understood," she went on at last. 
 
 " Yes, she was captured a month later than I said 
 — going into the harbour." 
 
 " And these men," asked the girl, " how did they 
 know it ? " 
 
 " I had to have help Ijringing that money North," 
 said Thorndike. " The man who helped me was the 
 father of that red-haired scoundrel. He didn't know 
 anything; but he could guess. Those two got their 
 start from him. Then they went to work themselves. 
 They worked up that case like lawyers." 
 
 " Did they have actual proof? " 
 
 " O, they had proof enough," said Thorndike. 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " O, it's all right now. I've got their proof, and 
 one of them, the only one that's dangerous, I've bought 
 off." 
 
 "And the other one?" 
 
 " I've got him where I want him. I could send him 
 to state's prison to-morrow. And I will, too, very 
 likely. 
 
 " O, don't worry about that, Ruth," he said smiling 
 at her, " at the worst there was no legal action that 
 would stand against me. That was outlawed years 
 ago. And now the whole thing is done." 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 263 
 
 Her eyes repelled him. "And the money?" she 
 asked relentlessly, " the $250,000 ? " 
 
 " No one could touch that either," he said misunder- 
 standing her. " The government would have confis- 
 cated those goods if they'd captured them, but there's 
 no law by which they could reach that money now. 
 They haven't the ghost of a claim on it; I doubt if I 
 could give it to them ! " 
 
 "What did you do with it?" she persisted. 
 
 " What would I do with it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure." 
 
 " I kept it ; it was mine, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " I don't see how it was." 
 
 " Whose was it then ? It certainly wasn't Mayhew's. 
 That was the game, wasn't it? His game, not mine; 
 but when he forced it, I went through it, to the end. 
 What did you think we were playing for, exercise ? " 
 
 " I didn't know." 
 
 " It's perfectly simple. It was dog eat dog. He 
 tried to freeze me out; I froze him. And when he 
 was out, he was out. That's business. You don't 
 understand it, that's all." 
 
 "I'm glad I don't," said the girl scornfully, "if 
 that's business." 
 
 She hid her face in her hands a moment ; then threw 
 back her head with a quick rebellious movement. 
 
 " O, the humiliation of it," she said bitterly. " To 
 think you got your money like that." 
 
 " You would have preferred to have Seth Mayhew 
 ruin me, I suppose," said the manufacturer. 
 
 "Seth Mayhew," said the girl, "I hadn't even 
 
264 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 thought of him ! " The conscience of the womaii went 
 directly to the mark; past the sordid quarrel for the 
 plunder to the dishonour of the main deed itself. " It 
 was bad enough — what you did to him. But what was 
 that compared to the thing you both were doing; to 
 that — that selling of the guns." 
 
 " You certainly have reason to complain ; undef the 
 circumstances," said the manufacturer. 
 
 " I certainly have," said the girl. 
 
 " Where would you have been, if things hadn't hap- 
 pened exactly as they did; selling ribbons very likely 
 in some store." 
 
 " I'd rather be," she said defiantly. 
 
 " Don't be hysterical," said Thorndike. 
 
 " What does a woman know of the way men's 
 business is conducted? Take any of the successful 
 mills about here — Cafnochan's or Black's — do you 
 suppose their histories would read very well at a five 
 o'clock tea? They wouldn't, I can tell you that. I 
 know them from start to finish. They'd shock the 
 young ladies' ideals. And it's lucky they would. They 
 are run by grown men, with the power to meet the 
 force of circumstances, instead of sitting down to let 
 it jam them to the wall." 
 
 " There must be some difference in degree, at least," 
 the girl said, bitterly. " They couldn't all of them have 
 put a price on their country in the time of a great war." 
 
 Both sat silent for a moment, till her grief and shjune 
 flashed forth again. 
 
 " O, what must he think of us and our money ? " she 
 cried, involuntarily. 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 265 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "John Mayhew." 
 
 " What does he know about it ? " 
 
 " A good deal. I know that now from things he has 
 said." 
 
 " Then what has kept him still? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I." 
 
 " Is he in love with you ? " 
 
 The girl was silent. 
 
 " Has he asked you to marry him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You refused him, of course." 
 
 " Of course ; why of course ? Why should I refuse 
 him? His family has been as much or more than 
 ours has. He is educated, isn't he, intelligent, honest 
 and brave? He's come back here atid started life over 
 again; hasn't he done well considering his changes? 
 Hasn't he the respect of everyone in town? What 
 have you against him ? " 
 
 " He needs a little common sense," said Thomdike, 
 " for one thing." 
 
 " You mean he doesn't agree with you in politics," 
 said the girl. " I want to ask you— did you do what 
 they say; did you threaten to drive him from 
 town?" 
 
 " I told him some facts," said Thorndike. 
 
 " Then you did do that," said the girl angrily; " you 
 did threaten him? 
 
 "Wasn't it enough," she cried bitterly (O, how 
 
^66 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 many times she has regretted that speech since), 
 " Wasn't it enough to kill one man, and take his money, 
 without keeping his family from earning an honest 
 living?" 
 
 " You've gone about far enough," said Thomdike. 
 
 " No, I have not," she said. " There's one question 
 more I'm going to ask. What are you going to do 
 about it ? " 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " About that money." 
 
 " What would you suggest ? " asked the manufac- 
 turer sarcastically. " We might get the vile stuff in 
 ten dollar bills and take it out in the road and burn 
 it; or we might found an orphan asylum with it, one 
 or the other. Either would be practical from a woman's 
 standpoint." 
 
 " I can suggest something more practical than that," 
 retorted the girl. " Half of that money doesn't belong 
 to you — even to burn or give away to salve your con- 
 science. You stole it; it belonged to Seth Mayhew 
 and it belongs now to his son." 
 
 " Give it to him — that dirty money to that immacu- 
 late youth," sneered the man ; " what would he do with 
 it?" 
 
 " That's not your responsibility," said the girl. 
 
 Thomdike preserved an angry silence. 
 
 " Will you give him his share of that money ? " 
 
 " No," said the man roundly, " I will not." 
 
 " You mean that you refuse to do even that?" 
 
 " Yes, absolutely." 
 
THE RICHARD PLIMSOLL 267 
 
 " A noble end to a great enterprise," she said scorn- 
 fully. " I'm proud of you." 
 
 " I advise you to drop this thing, Ruth," said Thorn- 
 dike," now!" 
 
 " Never, never, not until it is made right, as far as 
 it can be." 
 
 " You'll get over this," said the man. She did not 
 answer. 
 
 " I want to ask you something," he said. " Did you 
 refuse John Mayhew ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " For your sake — ^because I would not leave you." 
 
 "Was that all?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ruth," he said, " are you in love with him ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, defiantly, rising from her chair. 
 
 1 am. 
 
 She started to leave the room. 
 
 " This is enough," she said, " for one night." 
 
 Never before in the history of her life had she left 
 him without kissing him good night. 
 
 She stopped a moment as she came to the outer 
 door. 
 
 " O, Dad," she said, and went sobbing up the stairs. 
 He understood from that one heartbroken little cry, 
 how utterly her ideals of himself, enshrined her life- 
 time in her girlish heart, had been destroyed. 
 
 The man looked up heavily at the clock. It was 
 nearly two. He threw his dead cigar into the grate. 
 
a68 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 and got up. As his eye fell upon the pile of telegrams 
 upon the desk he smiled grimly. Such a delightful 
 day this had been — this day of his victory. Then he 
 reached forward and turned out the light. The old 
 room had been through the second act of its drama. 
 
Chapter XXI 
 
 THROWN DOWN 
 
 • Jt BUGGY drew up in the dark side street, and 
 ZJ Herman Pfaff , the brewer, slowly and pain- 
 ^ JL fully descended to the curbing. The tortured 
 buggy springs rocked back again, the driver drove 
 along, and Hermann Pfaff, stepping sideways up the 
 little threshold, came wheezing and puffing in through 
 the small door of the state house." 
 
 " Goot efening, gentlemen," he gasped. 
 
 " Good evening," said Skeane and Halloran. 
 
 The monstrous form lowered itself carefully and 
 sat quivering and leering in vast discomfort on a little 
 chair. 
 
 " Fine veather ve're havin'," it remarked. 
 
 " Great," said Halloran. 
 
 " Ven is he gomin' ? " asked the brewer of Skeane. 
 
 " I ain't been able to get him yet," answered Skeane, 
 '.'he's been out all day." 
 
 "Ah," said Pfaff. 
 
 " I'm goin' out now to find him," said Skeane. " I 
 thought I'd wait and see you first." 
 
 "Very goot." 
 
 " I'll be back before a great while." 
 269 
 
270 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 "All raight. Ve'll find amusement for ourselves, 
 von't ve, Mr. Halloran ? " 
 
 " Sure," said Halloran, with evident embarrassment. 
 He was thinking of the little man in the front room 
 occupying his desk in his glass office — the keeper. 
 There was something strange, almost pathetic, in the 
 fear and deference of this great burly man for the 
 object in the chair. 
 
 •Skeane straightened up his hat and went out on the 
 street. The two were alone in the sordid room; the 
 man and his owner, the ogre and the slave. 
 
 They heard for a moment through the partitions 
 the hoarse jests and the shuffle of heavy shoes in the 
 barroom beyond. 
 
 "Veil, how goes it?" said the Ogre conversation- 
 ally. 
 
 " O, all right ; only that," said the saloonkeeper, 
 motioning with his head to the front room. 
 
 " Say," he went on awkwardly, " I wanted to talk 
 with you about that. What are you goin' to do with 
 me?" 
 
 " Do? Vhy, ve von't do nothin', Mr. Halloran." 
 
 " You've got to do somethin'." 
 
 " O, now don't you vorry about that, my good Mr. 
 Halloran," said the Ogre soothingly ; " that's all right. 
 Joost a mee-er formalitee, that's all — for the benefit of 
 my directors." 
 
 Bull Halloran was silent. 
 
 " They vas gettin' anxious aboud the elegtion — some 
 of them, that's all. So I had to do it. After that it 
 vill be all raight. Ve'll tage up your notes as usual." 
 
THROWN DOWN 271 
 
 " But supposin' the election goes against us ? " 
 
 " Ah, that vould be bad. But it von't. Don't vorry ; 
 it von't. Ve're here to-night to figs it all up." 
 
 King Skeane walking up the street from the " state 
 house," had found John Mayhew in his ofifice. 
 
 " Where were yeh all day," he asked gruffly. 
 
 " Out of town," said Mayhew. 
 
 " I was lookin' for you," explained Skeane. 
 
 "Were you?" 
 
 " I want you to come over a little while and talk 
 politics. I got a man here I want you to meet." 
 
 Mayhew had been approached of course about 
 standing for the mayoralty. He had never been 
 asked before, however, to a set conference in the 
 " state house." He. had often wondered whether he 
 should accept such an invitation. But to-night he did 
 not hesitate. 
 
 " All right," he said promptly. 
 
 There was a crisis in his affairs. He did not know, 
 but he had a keen suspicion of what the invitation 
 meant. His future rested in these men's hands. With- 
 out them in all human probability he could never be 
 nominated; certainly never elected. Yet if they ex- 
 pected pledges from him which he could not give, the 
 earlier and clearer his understanding with them the 
 better. He accepted with secret qualms the fat domes- 
 tic cigar Skeane offered him and the two started back 
 together. 
 
 Two minutes later they were in the " state house." 
 
 Hermann Pfaff, having heard them outside, stood 
 waiting for them with an expectant smile, like a great 
 
27a THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 trained bear on his hind legs, Skeane went through 
 the tremendous solemnity of an introduction. 
 
 " I want you to meet my friend Mr. Mayhew, Mr. 
 PfafF." 
 
 John Mayhew was disconcerted; he had expected 
 to meet the politicians here, but not this man. Mr. 
 Pfaff's warmth, however, gave small time for reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 " 'Appy to meet yeh, Mr. Mayhew," gasped the 
 Ogre, leering most ingratiatingly, and extending a 
 damp, warm, doughlike hand, 
 
 " Zit raight down and mage yourself at home. 
 
 " What are you goin' to haf ? " he went on. 
 
 " O, I don't believe I care for anything," said May- 
 hew, with some embarrassment. 
 
 " Ah, but you moost — ^something," said the brewer. 
 
 " Purity Beer," suggested Skeane. 
 
 " Very goot. Vould you laike that ? " asked Pfaff of 
 Mayhew, with great concern. 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Gif us Burity Beer," said the brewer to Halloran. 
 " And draw it raight. 
 
 " You raoost haf it drawn raight, half the time they 
 spoils it," he continued, with the assurance of the final 
 authority on the subject. 
 
 " V«ry goot," he said critically, as the beer was 
 brought in. 
 
 " Veil, here's luck." He poured a great draught into 
 his huge carcass. 
 
 " Veil, how's Ellington? " said PisM, finishing. 
 
 " O, all right." 
 
THROWN DOWN 273 
 
 " And how's business ? " 
 
 " O, pretty fair." 
 
 " You aind been practicing very long, haf you ? " 
 
 " About a year and a half." 
 
 "So? Is that all. I thought it moost be more. 
 
 " I vant to gongratulate you, Mr. Mayhew," he went 
 on, with heavy solemnity. " You have done remarg- 
 able for such a young man." 
 
 " O, I don't know," said Mayhew awkwardly. 
 
 " Veil, I know. I've heert all aboud it," said the 
 Ogre, parting his deep, shiny lips in a smile. " Ven 
 a young man lige you is the von candidate for mayor 
 in the democratic party in a town lige this, he ■ is 
 preddy remargable." 
 
 " I'm not a candidate yet," said Mayhew. 
 
 " O, yes you are. 
 
 " And the best of it is — it's thru your merid — you 
 haf been always glean. 
 
 " Glean politigs — that's vat ve need ih this country," 
 said the Ogre with deep conviction. 
 
 He paused a moment after these high sentiments. 
 Suddenly a terrible and unsettling yell — the blast of 
 the French Canadian band — grunting, squealing, mut- 
 tering, pounding, on fourteen warring tones and half 
 tones, came through a partly opened window, as though 
 some one had all at once set ajar the portal to the 
 regions of damned torments. They were practicing 
 " The Star Spangled Banner " in their rooms across 
 the side street for the festival of to-morrow night — 
 the celebration by the people of the town of Thorn- 
 dike's victory. You could see from the window the 
 
274 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 bandmaster in his shirt sleeves leading in sweet, ob- 
 livious self-complacency the ragged procession of sound 
 to its awful end. 
 
 Skeane rose and shut the window with an oath. 
 
 " Now," said the brewer, advancing with great cau- 
 tion. " Ve've got a little madder ve'd lige to talg 
 over with you, and get your opinion on." 
 
 " I see," said Mayhew uncompromisingly. 
 
 " I hope you von't thing oflfence at vat I say," pro- 
 ceeded Pfaff. It's bedder to talg these, things open 
 — aind it ; to gome to some understanding ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think it is." 
 
 " Eggsactly," said Pfaflf, touching bottom again. 
 " Vat I vanted to speeg aboud was joost this liddle 
 madder of the license board." 
 
 Mayhew looked uncomfortable. 
 
 " Ve vanted to gonsult you aboud it, you under- 
 stand ? " said Pfaff hurriedly. " You see how it is vith 
 us. Ve vant to do the best thing for the beoble — 
 joost as you do; and at the same time, ve moost loog 
 out for ourselfes and our friends. You see? That's 
 business." 
 
 Skeane nodded. 
 
 " All ve say is this : Here's all those men in the 
 saloon business in Ellington. They've gone and put 
 their money in it — joost lige any business. It ain't no 
 different. Now, vhy aind they got joost as good a 
 raight to keep their business as any man — joost as long 
 as they do raight, I mean." 
 
 " They have," growled Skeane. 
 
 " Very veil. You know what a changche would mean 
 
THROWN DOWN 275 
 
 for all these men; if they got a new license board 
 that threw them all out, without mercy — heartless. It 
 vould ruin them — you know that — most all of these 
 men, and ve vould suffer, too, of course. For ve 
 stand back of them — a goot many of them." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Mayhew, waiting. 
 
 " Now, vhat ve vould lige to ask you, Mr. Mayhew," 
 said Pfaff with the deepest deference ; " is, if you did 
 not think ve could agree upon some man for that place 
 — an honest man, who vould do the raight thing — for 
 the city — everybody; and at the same time vould be 
 able to consider the things — joost as they are, and be 
 villing to do joostice to the men who haf licenses now." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Ve've got a man," Pfaff pressed on, " who ve 
 thing is joost the one. He'd mage a goot man — for 
 everybody." 
 
 " The best man in this town," burst out Skeane. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked Mayhew. 
 
 "His name is Thomas J. Rafferty," said Pfaff, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Rafferty—' Tommy ' Rafferty ! " So it was to this 
 that all this solemn farce had been tending. 
 
 " You don't lige him ? " asked the brewer anxiously. 
 
 " No, not particularly," said Mayhew coldly. 
 
 " Why not," demanded Skeane. 
 
 " O, I don't know." 
 
 " You ain't thinkin' of the ward seven ballot busi- 
 ness, are you? They proved that wasn't so." 
 
 " No, I wasn't especially. I don't want to pledge 
 myself to any body." 
 
276 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " Veil, ve'll gif you plendy of time to thing it over," 
 said Pfaff. 
 
 " O, I don't want any more time," said Mayhew 
 coldly. 
 
 " I 'spose you want to be nominated," said Skeane 
 suggestively. 
 
 " Yes. But not so bad as that." 
 
 " So bad as what ? I don't see anything particularly 
 bad in giving one pledge to your friends." 
 
 " Well, I do," said Mayhew, " and you know I do — 
 especially in this matter." 
 
 " You're pretty nice, ain't you ? It's a pity about 
 you." Bull Halloran, incapable of further restraint, 
 had projected himself into the conversation from the 
 barroom. 
 
 " You shut up," said Skeane angrily. 
 
 " O, gome, gome, gentlemen," said Pfaff, anxiously 
 alert on the outside border of the discussion, " let us 
 haf harmony. Ve are here in a perfectly simble madder 
 — ^to agree on somebody that vill suit both pardies. Ve 
 haf named one man — Mr. Mayhew does not lige him. 
 He has his perfect raight. Very veil then, maybe he 
 has anodder gandidate. If you haf let us hear bis 
 name — please." 
 
 " I haven't," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Very veil then, why not taige our man ? " pleaded 
 Mr. Pfaff logically. 
 
 " Because I don't want to take anybody." 
 
 " Look here," said Skeane. " Don't let's get ex- 
 cited. Let's look at this thing like grown men. Now 
 you're the natural candidate for mayor— that's all right. 
 
THROWN DOWN 277 
 
 You're our man for the place; we want to see you 
 elected. But you aren't the only party interested. 
 There's our friends — and your friends, for that matter, 
 when it comes to countin' the votes — that's got their 
 money in this thing; that's got more to lose than any- 
 body. Well, all we ask is that they get protection. 
 We want you to keep on their licenses, that's all, and 
 only when they deserve them. If they break over, 
 that's their own lookout. What we want is just one 
 member of the license board. We don't want to in- 
 terfere with anything else. You can make the law 
 just as stiff as you want to. And I tell you one thing, 
 if you want to be stiff and you just say so, this town 
 will see a stricter liquor law than it ever dreamed of 
 before. We can promise you that." 
 
 He stopped; the wail of the French band again oc- 
 cupied the silence. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Can't you bromise us something, please ? " begged 
 Pfaif. 
 
 " No, gentlemen," said Mayhew, " I cannot." 
 
 Skeane began again in another strain — crisp and 
 clear and to the point. 
 
 " Now here," he said, " this is business. There's 
 two of us wants something. You want to be mayor 
 — and it's quite an honour for a young feller like 
 you, at that. We want our man on the board. Say 
 you're elected. We can't get him without you. But 
 you can't get elected — nor nominated, not without us." 
 
 " Very likely I can't," said Mayhew. 
 
 "AH right, then. Use your own common sense 
 
278 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 about it. We ain't askin' you to commit any state's 
 prison offence. 
 
 " Besides," he said after a slight pause, " You owe 
 us something." 
 
 " I don't owe you anything," said Mayhew angrily. 
 " I don't propose to." 
 
 " Don't owe us anything ! " burst out Bull Halloran. 
 " Damn you, we made you." 
 
 " You half tagen our business," said the Ogre. 
 
 " Two little attachment cases." 
 
 " Of us and our friends," prompted Skeane. 
 
 " I don't see it." 
 
 " Well, I do. I built up half your practice for you, 
 whether you knew it or not. 
 
 " And when it comes down to that," Skeane went 
 on with a rising voice, " I can take it away." 
 
 " You can try," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Yes, and I will, if you don't come into this thing," 
 said Skeane. " I'll bust you wide open." 
 
 " You go ahead and bust," said Mayhew. 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen," said the distressed brewer. 
 " Vait, vait, galm yourselfs. Ve moost haf an under- 
 standing ; ve moost arrangche this thing." 
 
 " No, we won't. I'm through," said Mayhew getting 
 up. 
 
 The rest all sprang up with him. 
 
 " Yes," said Skeane, with an angry understanding 
 of the futility of carrying the thing further. "He's 
 through. He's like the rest of 'em. They're all the 
 same style — sit around and talk high, while somebody 
 else does the work. And then when the time comes. 
 
THROWN DOWN 279 
 
 step in and take all there is in it. They call that 
 reform." 
 
 Mayhew started to go out. 
 
 " The kind of democrats that do their work out 
 riding with the daughter of the republican candidate 
 for governor during the state campaign — tryin' to mix 
 up with something real stylish." 
 
 Mayhew came back to the speaker, a deep flush on 
 his cheeks. 
 
 "Drop that," he said, staring him in the eyes.. 
 
 The three men stood in a half circle silent about 
 this angry, self-reliant young man, with the steady 
 eyes and the straight drawn mouth. Skeane did not 
 go on with the line of speech he had begun. A quiet 
 ugliness of purpose in the face opposite dissuaded 
 him. Mayhew broke the silence first himself. 
 
 " Now," he went on, " I'm out. I'm through with 
 the whole filthy business. You can nominate whom 
 you please. You've ' busted ' me, all right. How about 
 yourselves ? " 
 
 Three faces craned forward toward him, full of 
 bestial hate — ^the wolf, the great swine, the bull-dog — 
 glaring at him. Could anything in the world be more 
 clearly animal than those three ? 
 
 " Good night," he said, and went out forever from 
 the atmosphere of stale smoke and beer and small 
 political intrigue, into the clear air of outdoors. 
 
 As he passed up the main street he heard the Father 
 Matthew drum corps marching, practicing for to- 
 morrow night, squealing its own tune, " Old Dan 
 Tucker," over and over again — up and down the street, 
 
28o THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 the drum major, conscious of his own rectitude, 
 proudly leading the familiar strain about, until it 
 permeated every nook and corner of the place. The 
 town was alive with preparation for the coming festi- 
 val. 
 
 He walked hastily on toward his office. At the en- 
 trance to the block he paused. A solitary human voice 
 cried out through the empty, silent stairway, black as 
 the doorway of the tomb. 
 
 " From the rolling waters of the Caasco," it re- 
 "sounded " to the sunset portals of the Golden Gayte, 
 where the' god of day in gorgeous state descinding, 
 begins anew his circumambyint orbit of the earth — 
 your name, sor, is in the mouths of min to-day." 
 
 It was Brian Haitch Twohig, spokesman of the 
 Father Matthew society, rehearsing in the dark his 
 speech of congratulation to Mr. Thorndike. 
 
 John Mayhew stood for a moment, listening, then 
 crept up the stairs into his office — as the orator sent 
 forth again the roaring periods of his speech. 
 
 Thorndike, Thorndike, Thorndike — could he never 
 be out of hearing of that name? He went over the 
 whole thing again; his disappointments; the state of 
 society as he found it, seeing with the passionate re- 
 bellion of youth the wrongs and inconsistencies, to the 
 disregard of the real accomplishments of civilisation, 
 which lay all about him. 
 
 Politics, disgusting ; freedom, a lie ! One man ruled 
 all this — calling, choosing, sending forth by hundreds 
 and thousands ; changing and making new commercial 
 
THROWN DOWN 281 
 
 laws— ruled it through the new power of industrialism 
 — an absolutism as iron as a Babylonian king's ! 
 
 " And now," commented the speaker across the hall, 
 "the voice of the free people of this great state in 
 eliction assembled, have called you to the high office 
 of governor. They have given added luster to your 
 already illustrious name." 
 
 " Beaten, beaten, beaten," John Mayhew's rebellious 
 spirit cried to him. His plans for himself; his en- 
 thusiasm for the termination of crying injustices 
 against the people, so plain, and staring and elemen- 
 tary, a fool could not dispute them. Yet here he was 
 caught and held — helpless; on the one side the cold 
 immobility of Thorndike; on the other the dirty self 
 interests of Skeane and his rabble ; each exploiting the 
 population in his own way; with a diflference of de- 
 gree, of magnificence in the operation; but not of 
 kind or purpose. Yet it was Thorndike against whom 
 most his anger rose. At the bottom of it all; he was 
 the one first responsible. 
 
 Why had he selected him ior banishment? Why 
 had the shadow of this great figure fallen across his 
 little path, — warning him back, preventing him from 
 the honest pursuit of his career in business and poli- 
 tics; barring him forever from the woman he loved. 
 All for what cause? The mere exercise of his liberty 
 of conscience. 
 
 If he had only been docile and reasonable. (He fell 
 a-dreaming) had followed the natural path! First a 
 little of the company's business, perhaps ; an associate- 
 
282 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 justiceship of the district court, a seat in the Legisla- 
 ture (that young republican lawyer's prerogative), a 
 district attorneyship, maybe; then Congress perhaps. 
 And then — perhaps — Ruth. 
 
 He turned bitterly away from the thought of it. 
 That was over now; he saw more clearly now. For 
 the first time the hand of the master of the place fell 
 upon his shoulder to show him, an unwelcome guest, 
 the door ; sooner or later this thing was certain. Very 
 well then, the sooner the better; he would go — leave 
 it all — yes, even Ruth. This was the break in his life. 
 
 He started up to go home. 
 
 " In the hour of your triurnph," called the voice 
 across the hall, " we bring our garlands, with pride 
 'as becomes your fellow citizens — to lay before you." 
 
 John Mayhew stumbled down the dark stairs. 
 
 " In the hour of your triumph — " the voice repeated. 
 
 He passed out into the street and heard it no longer. 
 
Chapter XXII 
 
 TWO MEN IN A ROOM 
 
 MT seven-thirty o'clock on the evening of the 
 /J town celebration, William Henry Harrison 
 ^ JL Thorndike, sitting alone in his study, looked 
 up and saw a strange thing. The French window 
 opening on the porch was lifted a little from the bottom 
 for ventilation. A maimed hand — two fingers and a 
 thumb — was thrust in out of the darkness and clasped 
 about the lower sash. The big window slid suddenly 
 up and Shawn Carney stood inside the room. 
 
 " You're pretty damned particular who you have to 
 see you," he said. 
 
 He reached back, with his eyes still on Thorndike, 
 and pushed down the window again. 
 
 " There's more ways than one of getting into a 
 house," he continued. 
 
 " So I see," said Thorndike coolly. 
 
 " Oh, you see, do you," jeered the man. " Well 
 now, you see, what are you going to do about it ? " 
 
 " I'm going to hand you over to the police," said 
 the manufacturer's emotionless voice. 
 
 " You'll wait a little while yet," said Carney. 
 
 " I don't think so," said Thorndike, starting to get 
 
 up. 
 
 283 
 
284 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " You sit down," said Carney. The master of 
 Ellington looked up. Here was a new tone of voice 
 to him, a new look in the eyes he met, a new situation. 
 Two men were alone in a room — shorn of every ves- 
 tige of distinction, of every artificial power with which 
 society clothes the individual — back again to first prin- 
 ciples, to the even plane of pure brute strength; em- 
 ployer and broken ex-employe, face to face, alone, 
 without fear or favour. The quick mind of the manu- 
 facturer understood at once. 
 
 " Sit down," repeated the hoarse voice of the man, 
 across the desk. 
 
 The other obeyed, deliberately, without excitement; 
 not for a moment was the spirit in his less vigorous 
 body shaken or disturbed by fear. 
 
 " I didn't come here on any damned foolishness," 
 said Carney . " I came here to talk business." 
 
 " You'd better hurry then," said Thomdike. 
 " There'll be someone coming in here before 
 long." 
 
 " No, there won't," said the other, " that door's 
 locked." 
 
 " What makes you think so? " 
 
 " I saw you lock it." 
 
 Far below, like noises in a dream, they heard the 
 first dim sounds of the triumphal procession, forming 
 on the main street underneath the hill. Against a 
 background of faint confusion, rose the shrill voice 
 of the Father Matthew drum corps — leaving the hall, 
 no dpul?t, opening with its only tune, 
 
TWO MEN IN A ROOM 285 
 
 " Turn, turn, old Dan Tuckef ; 
 
 " Turn, turn, old Dan Tuckef, 
 
 " Turn, turn, old Dan Tucker, 
 
 , Turn, turn, turn, turn, tuto." 
 
 A gleam came into the manufacturer's eyes. 
 
 " Sit down yourself," he said, " while you're here, 
 you might as well take a chair." 
 
 " No, I'm going to stand up," said the man warily. 
 
 "Just as you please." 
 
 " I got out of jail yesterday," said Carney, fixing 
 his cool blue eyes on him. " You're damned cunnin', 
 but you can't keep me there forever — ^nbt on a charge 
 of vagrancy." 
 
 Thomdike said nothing. 
 
 " I got out and I came right up here. I stopped an 
 hour or so in Ellington lookin' for Garvin, but he 
 wasn't there, so I came up alone/' 
 
 " So you couldn't find Garvin ? " said Thorndike. 
 
 " I didn't care a hoot whether I could or n6t< It 
 wasn't him I was lookin' for ; it was you. 
 
 " I'd a seen you last night," he went on suggestively, 
 "if you hadn't had quite so much company, and I'd 
 seen you to-day anyway, if your servant girls weren't 
 so well posted. 
 
 "But I'm satisfied," he said insolently; "this suits 
 me all right." 
 
 Down below the volume of faint sound increased. 
 The shrill voice of the drum corps, broken at intervals 
 Befdfe, now began an incessant strain. 
 
286 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " O clear the way for old Dan Tucker, 
 Turn, turn, old Dan Tucker." 
 
 The procession had started on its march. 
 
 The man seated himself lightly on the arm of a 
 big chair. " I got you where I want you," he said, 
 " man to man, once in your life. 
 
 " Now," he went on, " I've come up here to talk this 
 thing over — without any funny business. We've got 
 something you want — and you've got to have, and 
 you've got to pay for it sooner or later. You got by 
 the election all right. O, you're slick ! But that won't 
 make any difference. We've got some few things 
 that'll make you sick — yet. Some things a governor 
 of the state won't care to have brought out — not if he 
 can help it. Now that's what we've got. What are 
 you going to pay for it ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said the manufacturer quietly. 
 
 " Look here, my friend," said Carney, leaning for- 
 ward ; " this is no time for bluffs." 
 
 " There's no bluff about this. You didn't see Gar- 
 vin down street, did you ? " 
 
 " Well, 'sposin' I didn't," said Carney suspiciously. 
 
 " Well, you won't," said the other. 
 
 The brown eyes met the blue and held them. 
 
 " There's been a number of things happened in the 
 last month you don't seem to know about." 
 
 "Well— for instance?" 
 
 " Well, for instance, I've had a little conference with 
 Garvin. It seems that he has forgotten about these 
 things you are trying to talk about just now. So he 
 
TWO MEN IN A ROOM 287 
 
 told me when he left. He said as far as he was con- 
 cerned he should never remember them again. We 
 had a very agreeable talk about it." 
 
 " You lie," said the man, with fear and anger in 
 his voice. 
 
 " O, all right," said the manufacturer, reaching for- 
 ward. " Did you ever see this," he asked, taking 
 up a tin box from underneath a pile of papers. 
 
 " Give me that box," said Carney threateningly, ris- 
 ing to his feet. 
 
 " Certainly," said the manufacturer, tossing it to tlie 
 other side of the desk. 
 
 It was perfectly empty. 
 
 " You didn't suppose I would keep those papers for 
 anything ? " he said. 
 
 The man laid the box back on the desk, muttering 
 a black oath against his treacherous confederate. 
 
 " That's all right," he went on defiantly. " He may 
 have sold out; but I ain't. I know a few things, my- 
 self." 
 
 " No, you don't," said Thorndike staring him in the 
 eyes. " Not that are any use to me. If I wanted you, 
 I'd have bought you, long ago. He was sharp, the 
 other fellow. But you're no use whatever — you're a 
 great awkward drunken brute without a spoonful of 
 brains in your body. You've made a botch of this 
 every time you touched it. I knew from the first time 
 I got into this thing I didn't want /yow." 
 
 " That's a good game," said the man, with the mus- 
 cles of his jaws working. " But it won't go. I don't 
 want to talk to you much longer," he went on, " I'm 
 
288 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 goin' to ask you once more — and that's all. What are 
 you goin' to do about it ? " 
 
 The manufacturer's confidence was carrying him 
 too far. 
 
 " I'm going to put you in state's prison," he said, 
 simply. " I was a little in doubt at first what on. That 
 case of your stealing in the Patch was pretty clear. I 
 might have used that. Or I might have used the 
 blackmail — if necessary." 
 
 "Blackmail?" 
 
 " Yes, blackmail." 
 
 " You don't dare." 
 
 " Don't I ? I don't know why not. I've got a good 
 witness who's willing to turn state's evidence any time. 
 What have you got ? " 
 
 The man was dangerously silent. 
 
 " You've got nothing ; not a paper. Not a witness ; 
 not a voice but your own. What would you amount to 
 — a common criminal with a jail record — coming out 
 with a cock and bull story twenty-five years old ? " 
 
 He paused again. 
 
 " We could show up that scheme in good^ shape. 
 That would mean quite a number of years. But that 
 isn't necessary now." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 " Now that I've caught you here," said Thorndike. 
 
 " You haven't caught me yet," said the man. 
 
 Thorndike looked up ; a new tone was in that voice ; 
 a fierce hate burned in those deep, blue eyes. A suspi- 
 cion of the real situation flashed across him. 
 
 Nearer, perceptibly nearer, came the piping of the 
 
TWO MEN IN A ROOM 289 
 
 drum corps — ^irregular waves of sound, rising and fall- 
 ing on the stillness of the night, stopping at a corner 
 for the column to reform ; coming on again — the same 
 old exultant refrain. 
 
 " Clear the road for old Dan Tucker, 
 Clear the road for old Dan Tucker." 
 
 " That's all you've got to say, is it? " asked the man, 
 in a quiet voice. 
 
 Thomdike nodded. 
 
 " Well now, I've got something to tell you." 
 
 Thorndike looked up at the clock ; it was seven min- 
 utes of eight; by the hour they should be there. 
 
 " You want to hurry," he said, " they'll be here in 
 a minute or two." 
 
 " Don't you fret about me," sneered Carney. 
 
 " What I was goin' to tell you," he went on, " was 
 about myself, and I want you to pay attention to it. 
 I began here as a boy in your mill ; I wasn't the best 
 boy that ever lived; and I wasn't the worst. I got a 
 job early as helper in the machine shop — four dollars 
 a week ; then I learned the machinist's trade. I could 
 play ball some, so that I got a job now and then in 
 the summer at that; winters I kept workin' in the 
 machine shop. 
 
 " Then I got this," extending his mutilated hand ; 
 " and I had to quit the ball playin', and get into the 
 shop regular. I was a good workman — ^you can ask 
 any of them — except that old wooden Indian, Allen. I 
 was gettin' my three dollars and a half a day, and I 
 earned it. I got promised to a girl — ^there ain't no 
 
290 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 better or whiter girl in the country to-day. I'd like to 
 meet the man who said there was." He paused. 
 
 " And then one day you came along — and you caught 
 me doin' somethin' you didn't know the least damn 
 thing about — and you fired me — on the say-so of a liar, 
 without giving me the chance to say a word for myself. 
 Now, if you'd let me alone, it would have been bad 
 enough — these days, when they're all out of a job — 
 the best of them. But that wasn't enough for you. 
 You'd got to chase me; you'd got to blacklist me all 
 over the section. What chance did I have to get work 
 around here ? Ypu know damn well I didn't have any. 
 
 " I didn't ask you for any favours ; I only asked 
 you for a show. And you'd a give it to me? You 
 chased me up and down the country like a mad-dog — 
 for a bad character. You knew a lot about it, you did ! 
 But you sit there now and think you proved it be- 
 cause I got to drinkin'. That's a hell of a proof, that 
 is, against a man fixed like me — ^thrown out, busted 
 — by yourself." 
 
 " How about blackmail ? " suggested the manufac- 
 turer. 
 
 " Yaas," snarled the man, " it was a wonder I took 
 that up, wasn't it ? after all you've done for me ? You 
 ruined me, by God, and the girl I was goin' to be 
 married to; you broke my people's heart; and then 
 you set there and holler about blackmail, you ! " 
 
 He broke off in a great, black mouthful of curses. 
 
 Thorndike scarcely heard him. His mind was intent 
 upon something else. Slowly, warily, under the cover 
 of the desk, his hand was creeping, sliding toward a 
 
TWO MEN IN A ROOM 291 
 
 certain drawer beside him. The quick eye of the 
 man caught the movement at once. He stood up and 
 grasped in his right hand, the old first stamp of the 
 Mayhew mill — a heavy, awkward, old-fashioned thing 
 — with a jagged base — a formidable weapon in hands 
 like his. 
 
 " Never mind about that," he sneered. 
 
 The manufacturer stopped. 
 
 " Put your hand down," he said sharply. 
 
 The manufacturer obeyed. 
 
 " I hope you listened, to what I was tellin' you," 
 said the fellow, fixing his desperate eyes on the dark 
 face across the table. 
 
 "I did; what of it?" 
 
 " Is there anything you want to say now ? " 
 
 " Nothing whatever," said Thomdike. 
 
 " You've got no proposition to make me ? " 
 
 " No, nothing," cried the manufacturer. 
 
 He sprang to his feet. Both men stood facing each 
 other. The man's eyes had focussed themselves on one 
 point in his master's neck, a small white spot in the 
 dark flesh, a little childhood scar. There, right there 
 — how he had hungered to close his fingers on that 
 spot — all these years. And NOW ! 
 
 " Well, there's something I've got to say," he cried 
 hoarsely. " You were right — I was a damn fool — 
 to think you would give me anything ; that I could beat 
 you at that kind of a game. 
 
 " But there is something I can do." 
 
 He broke out with another great blasphemy ; his deep 
 eyes dilated like a wild beast's. 
 
292 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I can get something yet ! I can pay you what I 
 owe you — now ! " 
 
 His hand closed on the old Mayhew stamp. 
 
 Thorndike understood. His long-fingered hand shot 
 out for the drawer in the desk. The wood was swollen 
 — a little catch somewhere. A scratching of fingers on 
 the wood, — a fumbling — a clutching at the knob. — 
 
 CRASH ! 
 
 The old stamp, hurled with all the power and ac- 
 curacy of the trained athlete, shot through the few 
 feet of intervening space, and buried one jagged corner 
 in the skull of the manufacturer. In a moment, before 
 the tall figure could pitch sideways to the floor — the 
 murderer was upon him; his fingers in his throat — 
 there, buried beside that little scar on the dark neck, 
 over the finger nails in the warm flesh. Down they 
 came, limp muscles and tense knees, in one confused 
 jar upon the floor! 
 
 The minute that they struck, the murderer was up 
 again realising already what had happened from the 
 feeling of the flesh in his hands. 
 
 He knew at once what the hoarse breathing meant. 
 He had seen them before — workmen in the factory, 
 tramps on the railroad — those fellows with the crushed 
 skulls; that monotonous sobbing out of life; tha:t last 
 slow, heavy running down of the machinery of the 
 body, already vacant of a soul. 
 
 His whole training had prepared him for such a 
 crisis — the old hard school of the nonchalant fatalism 
 of the streets. Not an expression of fear or regret 
 came into his face. Only the twitching of the mus- 
 
TWO MEN IN A ROOM 293 
 
 cles of the jaws and the deep revengeful stare of the 
 eyes — ^fixed on the prostrate form. 
 
 " Clear the way for old Dan Tucker, 
 He's too late to get his supper, 
 Clear the road for old Dan Tucker, 
 He's too late; too late, late, late." 
 
 The fifes of the drum corps were almost up the hill ; 
 it was a matter of seconds before they would be here. 
 He moved quickly to the drawer in the desk. Yes, 
 it was there, — the revolver, as he expected. There 
 was a box of cartridges beneath it. He took both; 
 ■ the big window slid silently up again ; and he was gone 
 — back through the deep garden, out into the vacant 
 lot behind ; away into the black silence of the fields. 
 
 Over the crest of the driveway came the music, clear 
 and shrill and open now; the smoking yellow torches 
 of the parade — the Home Market Defenders in their 
 white oilcloth suits, — the Republican Stalwarts, in their 
 gorgeous flannel uniforms — the Father Matthew 
 Society, with their canes — the Hibernians — all classes 
 and political conditions of men, come together to the 
 honour of the master of the mill — the lord of Elling- 
 ton, the next governor of the state. The hour of tri- 
 umph had come ! 
 
 The French band has wailed solemnly through its 
 grotesque travesty of " The Star Spangled Banner." 
 The murmur and hush of expectancy has fallen on the 
 incongruous assembly, outside the porch — waiting, 
 waiting, waiting, for the appearance of the tall figiu-e 
 at the window. 
 
294 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 Inside the sound of hurried rapping beats upon the 
 panels of the locked door; a girl's surprised calling 
 cofnes into the' high room. 
 
 " Dad, Dad ; " it says, " they've come ; they've come. 
 Where are you ; where are you ? " 
 
Chapter XXIII 
 
 THE HUNT 
 
 /t WOMAN'S voice, vibrant with fear, rang 
 ZM sharply through the house. 
 -ZJ[ ' "Dad, Dad," it cried, "what is it? Why 
 don't you let me in ? " 
 
 Maggie Shea, always present at the household 
 crises — of joy and sorrow ; of festival and death, came 
 hurrying in from her work in the dining-room, backed 
 by a frightened huddle of waitresses. 
 
 The girl was shaking frantically at the knob of the 
 study door. 
 
 " Let me in. Dad ; let me in — please, please. O, why 
 don't you answer ? " 
 
 " What is it. Miss Ruth ? " the woman asked. 
 
 " There's something wrong in here," she answered 
 wildly. " The door's locked. He won't answer." 
 
 " Let me see," said Maggie, pushing before her. 
 
 " No," said the girl. " There's something else. 
 Listen. 
 
 " Can't you hear it ? It's like — like breathing; 
 somebody breathing." 
 
 White terror stared from her face. 
 
 " Wait," said Maggie Shea. " I'll run around on 
 the porch and see." 
 
 In an instant she was back again. 
 
 «95 
 
296 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 " I must go," said the girl, seeing her expression. 
 
 " No, no ; God bliss ye darlin'," the woman said — 
 a great pity in her voice, " You can't go in there now." 
 
 She took her in her strong arms, and forced her 
 away. " You'll come with me now, dear," she said. 
 
 Outside a disquieting rumour had started; the 
 torches nodded to and fro, a restless movement stirred 
 the stiff oilcloth uniforms of the Home Market De- 
 fenders like the wind in the leaves of a late summer 
 cornfield. William Thorndike was sick; William 
 Thorndike had been injured; William Thorndike had 
 been murdered — in his own house, almost before their 
 very eyes. 
 
 Some one had stepped to the open window, and seen 
 the horror on the floor. He beckoned speechless to 
 another. 
 
 " Some of you men come in here," cried the second, 
 in a hoarse voice. 
 
 A group sprang forward. 
 
 " Is there a doctor here ? " called the speaker, 
 emerging from the window again. 
 
 A young Irish medical student hurried out from 
 the ranks of the parade, and disappeared into the 
 room. The stiff procession broke up in confusion — 
 the flaring torches waved wildly here and there over 
 the black crowd; the men pushed up on the piazza; 
 huddled about the openings to the room. A small 
 boy sat staring in big-eyed terror through the front 
 window, his nose flattened against the pane, with the 
 craning crowd behind him! Then the inside blinds 
 were closed. 
 
THE HUNT 297 
 
 The group in the room fell back through the open 
 window, the family physician/had arrived. The medi- 
 cal student came out with the rest. 
 
 " Is he alive yet ? " asked a voice. 
 
 " No, he just died," said the student in a professional 
 tone; " just about two minutes ago. 
 
 " His head was crushed," he said again, " with a 
 kind of a stamp. It must have been done within ten 
 minutes." 
 
 William Thorndike was certainly dead then — mur- 
 dered. But why ? The window was found open ; that 
 showed how the man had gone. But they said, so far 
 as anyone could see nothing had been taken. Then 
 why was it done ? Who did it ? 
 
 A small boy stood, tense with excitement, in the 
 middle of a group on the edge of the crowd, pointing 
 back through the yard and talking loud and shrilly. 
 " I know who done it," he stammered, " It was Black 
 Jack Carney, I saw him; I saw him, when I come up 
 ahead of the parade. He ran out just before you 
 got here — ^like this. And then he went out through 
 — right here — " 
 
 " Look here," called somebody, " this boy saw him." 
 
 The child crouched down and pointed with exact 
 precision to the place where the man had disappeared. 
 Later under the stare of the gathering crowd, he be- 
 came a little confused. But he still held to his main 
 story. 
 
 The insanity of the mob seized the crowd. John 
 Carney, that worthless vagabond, that thief — ^that 
 murderer! Men swore revenge in thick oaths. Sev- 
 
298 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 eral young fellows ran forward on the way he had 
 taken. 
 
 " Look out for him," cried a voice, " He's got a 
 revolver." 
 
 " That's all right, by God," one answered, " he won't 
 shoot me." 
 
 Some sane person in the mass interposed. 
 
 " Come back here," he shouted, " half the town 
 will be blowin' each other's heads off in the dark, if 
 you go oflf that way. Let's organise." 
 
 " That's it ; let's organise." 
 
 " At the town hall at nine o'clock." 
 
 The formless crowd went cursing back the way 
 they came. By nine they were at the hall — a fantastic, 
 motley line; a festival gone mad. Men still in their 
 uniforms — the white oilcloth of the Home Market 
 Defenders, the gorgeous red and blue and white of 
 the Stalwarts; the astounding green-plumed hats of 
 the Hibernians, the stiff black Sunday suits and derby 
 hats and thin soled shoes of, the various French and 
 Irish societies; armed with what God willed — muzzle 
 loading shot guns, rusty muskets, rickety revolvers; 
 and clubs and axes and even pitchforks. They lined 
 up under the electric lights, with lanterns and the 
 torches of the parade — waiting for the organising and 
 the start. 
 
 The railroad had been warned; every freight and 
 passenger train was watched and guarded ; that avenue 
 was safe. There was nothing in the Patch; nothing 
 at the man's house; no one but the figure of a silent, 
 
THE HUNT 299 
 
 elderly woman, with a meagre shawl about her neck, 
 sitting in the fireless kitchen by the cold light of a 
 small kerosene lamp, her grey head upon her arms, 
 outstretched upon the white, scoured, wood table, and 
 a tall slender girl, with reddish hair, and rigid face, 
 standing over her, taunting them with' cruel bitterness 
 for their profitless intrusion on two helpless women. 
 
 Then the man-hunt began ; a long fall night's work ; 
 a night such as the town shall never see again — men 
 abroad, women in their wrappers waiting by the win- 
 dows; children whimpering in their sleep at the un- 
 accustomed lights. The line went east and south — 
 confusion spreading forward from the town; beating 
 the whole face of the country, woods and fields and 
 swamps and travelled ways. Guards were set upon 
 the roads, messengers on horseback waked the farmers 
 from their stupid sleep; the counti-yside for miles 
 was alive with armed men; ignorant of firearms, 
 nervous, angry, irresponsible. That no one was killed 
 outright was marvellous; that no one more seriously 
 injured a miracle. One man in the early morning shot 
 himself in the calf with a toy revolver; a tiny flesh 
 wound; one had the clothing on his abdomen wiped 
 away with a great smutty blast of a shotgun, dragged 
 carelessly through the underbush; a half dozen came 
 home with twisted knees and ankles. But still no news 
 of Carney. 
 
 John Mayhew was at the police office — a member of 
 the council of war, which was supposed to govern 
 operations. The house officer and he were alone. 
 
300 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 The others, elderly men most of them, were either 
 out or had gone to bed. At three o'clock John Heenan* 
 came in, preoccupied and silent. 
 
 " Any news ? " asked Mayhew. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How far are they now ? " 
 
 " Nearly to Starkwater. 
 
 " Do you suppose," continued Heenan reflectively, 
 " he could be where we got him that other time — ^in 
 that old mill?" 
 
 " He wouldn't go there again, would he ? " com- 
 mented Mayhew. 
 
 " I don't know, he might. He's got to be some- 
 where. He can't have got away. Those fellows on 
 horseback must have got beyond him. And he isn't 
 here, I know that. 
 
 " I believe," concluded Heenan at last, " it's worth 
 trying." 
 
 He stepped to the wall and telephoned to a livery. 
 
 " Who's going with you ? " asked Mayhew. 
 
 " I'll go," said the fat house officer. 
 
 " You can't," said Heenan. 
 
 The little provincial police force, gone frantic with 
 the unusual strain, were running wild through the 
 tenement district — ^burrowing through the familiar 
 lurking places of the small local criminal — the railroad 
 tracks, the lumber yards, the old sheds. They were all 
 totally inaccessible. 
 
 "What's the matter with your coming?" said Hee- 
 nan, turning to Mayhew. 
 
THE HUNT 301 
 
 " Nothing, I suppose," said Mayhew, " that is, if 
 you want me." 
 
 " Come on, then," said Heenan. " Take this," he 
 added. 
 
 Mayhew slid the big revolver into his pocket, and 
 they went out. Their rig stood waiting — an open 
 buggy; a big, hungry, livery-stable horse, with bare- 
 boned haunches; a great moose-like creature, a devil 
 for the road. They folded the strong smelling robes 
 about them and were off. 
 
 The tall horse, with the two silent men behind him, 
 went pounding out on the road; beyond the zone of 
 empty streets, with their alternating bars of darkness 
 and cold electric lights, to the black country beyond. 
 They passed a picket well out on the way to Stark- 
 water — a dark figure, appearing from the side of the 
 road, who held them up with a shotgun. 
 
 He knew nothing new about Carney. Somebody 
 had thought, they saw him, but he guessed not, he 
 guessed it was only one of the other fellows. They 
 passed the beating line — torches and lanterns moving 
 up and down among the trees; an occasional shout 
 from one to another. Then they headed through the 
 darkness to the mill. Up above, lights in the big old 
 house showed that Adoniram Pitkin was awake. Be- 
 low it was all dark— the little huddle of vacant houses, 
 the bare hulk of the factories against the sky. They 
 hitched the horse by the opening of the wood-path 
 and walked in, Heenan leading. 
 
 There was the entrance to the basement; the 
 
302 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 rambling cavern underneath the deserted mill ; he 
 would be there if anywhere. They groped their way 
 to the rickety door ; John Heenan had not even brought 
 a lantern. An intolerable atmosphere of apprehension 
 enveloped them — the ghoulish desolation of a great, 
 looming, deserted building, with who knows what evil 
 in its echoing vacancies; the eternal suspense of the 
 night woods for the city born. They heard the hiss 
 of the water from the leaking dam; across the pond 
 they saw the black hemlocks on the back of the dark 
 hill stand out against the sky. 
 
 John Heenan silently opened the old door; the 
 warmer, damper air met them from inside; they 
 stepped into the silent cellar. From a farther corner, 
 near the old wheel pit, came the sound of water 
 dropping on damp earth; beyond it, a lonely cricket 
 crept in here from the fall cold to die, shrieked like 
 a maenad across the close darkness ; filling the black 
 silence from wall to dripping wall with painful sound. 
 
 They stood a moment on the threshold, the song 
 of the cricket wavered and went on. 
 
 They groped a few feet farther on the wall and 
 paused again. 
 
 Suddenly the frenzied cricket stopped. Something 
 certainly moved in there! John Heenan deliberately 
 reached out and struck a match. The rosy light grew 
 in his fingers, illuminating the flooring overhead and 
 the ground beneath, a little island in the darkness; 
 throwing long dim shadows from the wooden floor 
 supports against the faintly glistening walls. There 
 
THE HUNT 303 
 
 was something, a black bunch in the comer. Some- 
 thing! Suddenly the mass stood up. 
 
 "Drop that, Shaun Carney," cried John Heenan 
 sharply. 
 
 " Don't you come in here, John Heenan," snarled the 
 man. 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Shaun," said Heenan. " One's 
 enough for to-night." 
 
 He touched another match in the flame of the first ; 
 with a hiss the dying light revived. Not a muscle in 
 face or body stirred, except that little twitching of his 
 cheek, which always came in times of nervous strain. 
 
 " Come now, Shaun," he said in a level voice, " I 
 want you." 
 
 The man hesitated; the spot of metal in his hand, 
 shining in the dim light, wavered a moment. 
 
 " Come along ; come out of there," said Heenan, 
 walking coolly toward him ; " it's no use ; you couldn't 
 get away now, anyway, if you filled me full of holes." 
 
 The desperate man, recognising the futility of the 
 thing; coming again under the old spell of that cold, 
 fearless voice, dropped his arm entirely. 
 
 " All right," he said. " Let it go at that." 
 
 " Light another match," said Heenan, calling to 
 Mayhew. He did so. The sharp click of the hand- 
 cuffs came across the cellar. 
 
 " Shaun," said Heenan, " you ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself." 
 
 It was not the captor who spoke; but the intimate 
 acquaintance of a lifetime; the older man, placed for 
 
304 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 years in the peculiar position of chief of police in 
 a small town; knowing everybody, interested in their 
 lives — a sort of. moral godfather to the place. 
 
 " Is he dead? " asked Carney. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The three men walked in silence to the wagon and 
 drove in silence homeward. 
 
 The news of the capture spread quickly. As they 
 reached the lockup, a crowd of men returning from 
 the hunt arranged itself in double line between the 
 street and the doorway — ^pale, ragged, weary, dirty, 
 from their night's exposure. The great horse pounded 
 up and stopped suddenly at the curbing. The mur- 
 derer marched out defiantly with John Heenan — the 
 quarry of the hunt, muddy, flushed, dry-mouthed, red- 
 eyed — dragged at last like an animal from a hole. 
 
 " Kill him, kill him," yelled a half-drunken man, 
 from the rear of the gathering. 
 
 John Heenan stopped short. 
 
 " You shut up, Martin Heffernan," he said point- 
 edly. The small man slunk away. 
 
 " Don't let me hear any more of that," he said, 
 running his cold, grey eyes across the crowd. 
 
 Their feet shuffled down the stone steps into the 
 police office. 
 
 " Well," said Carney looking around, " You've got 
 me. 
 
 " I don't give a damn what you do to me." He 
 went on with a fierce exultation. " I've spoiled him, 
 by God ! " 
 
THE HUNT 305 
 
 " You'd better go to bed," said John Heenan to 
 Mayhew. 
 
 " I guess you're right," he said. 
 
 He laid the revolver on the desk and went out into 
 the pale and watery light of the November sunrise. 
 Now he was gone, that night might well have never 
 been, for all the colour of reality that remained with 
 him, all its occurrences, grotesque, fantastic, horrible, 
 passed before him again, unrealised. It was one of 
 those great crushing blows of fate, which leave us 
 stunned and wondering. Thorndike murdered, Car- 
 ney better dead ; the falling of the tragic crisis of two 
 antagonistic lives — on them and theirs — Ruth Thorn- 
 dike ; the silent girl Kate Desmond ! 
 
 One figure only stayed with him from all that crowd 
 about the station — the tall young woman in black upon 
 the fringe of the crowd, the white face beneath the 
 reddish hair, the cruel pain upon her lips — standing 
 motionless, clutching at her neck the little shawl that 
 was thrown about her head. If Carney saw her he 
 had not given a sign of it; never once had he turned 
 to one side or the other. As the door closed after him, 
 she had turned with a quick gesture of despair, and 
 walked away, the idle crowd opening silently before 
 her. 
 
 Mayhew passed into the silent house. He found a 
 meagre luncheon in the cold and empty kitchen and 
 climbed wearily upstairs to bed and sleep; plunged 
 fathoms deep in the dull, heavy unseasonable sleep of 
 morning. 
 
3o6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 When he awoke again it was well past noon. His 
 aunt met him as he was coming down the stairs, and 
 handed him a little envelope, addressed to him in a 
 woman's hand. He tore it open. Across the front 
 page of the notepaper four words were written. 
 
 " Come to me. Ruth." 
 
 John Mayhew was going to the old house again; 
 up the straight gravelled walk, to the front door. So 
 many memories came to him, so many childish fancies 
 struggling to be reborn; so many faint, accustomed 
 voices clamouring to be heard; so many dim-re- 
 membered faces, that rose and faded from his mind 
 again — ^the white-cheeked mother by her window side; 
 his father, with his haggard face; that figure of the 
 small girl, with the dark unruly hair, and straightfor- 
 ward eyes, and the little foolish skirts that bobbed 
 about the edges of her knees! 
 
 And now, most unreal of all ! He looked up. There 
 in the second story, in that room with the closed blinds, 
 and lowered shades lay William Thorndike, mur- 
 dered. He saw it all as if he stood there — ^the tall 
 dark figure outstretched on the black walnut bed, in 
 the high, melancholy dusk of the great west chamber ; 
 the inflexible will, the subtle intelligence, blotted out 
 forever at the height of power; the ruler, the maker 
 and orderer of men's lives, the shaper of new destinies 
 of civilisation — ^gone down like the most stupid of his 
 workmen into the vast, contemptuous indifference of 
 death. And there below in the long room must be 
 Ruth. 
 
THE HUNT 307 
 
 He rang the bell ; the servant let him into the familiar 
 hall. O, dearest of all the world to him, there she 
 stood at the centre of the old room, waiting — in des- 
 perate grief, in loneliness, in intolerable agony of soul 
 ■ — that brave, straight, slender little figure — already 
 with the sombre garments of her mourning upon her. 
 
 She was turned away from him; she had not rec- 
 ognised his whisperings at the door. 
 
 He stopped upon the threshold. " Ruth," he said. 
 
 She turned like a flash and stared at him. 
 
 " You promised me, you know," she said, a little 
 wildly. " If I needed you — you said — " 
 
 He went a few steps toward her; their eyes had 
 met again — clearly, fairly, with no faint possibility of 
 misunderstanding. She came to him — hurrying, 
 staggering, her arms outstretched. Her face was on 
 his shoulder ; her dear hair against his cheek. 
 
 " I needed you so," she sobbed brokenly. " I needed 
 you so ; I needed you so." 
 
Chapter XXIV 
 
 GOOD NIGHT 
 
 ^LL this is old to-day — the hope and passion of 
 ZJ ten years ago — still strong enough to wake a 
 ^ J. wistful sigh, perhaps, or passed forever into 
 the pale, level commonplace of memory. The murder 
 of William Thomdike of Ellington — that ten days' 
 horror and shrieking of the newspapers — who shudders 
 now at the old tale? New souls have come whimper- 
 ing into the world, who knows how many myriad of 
 them; children have grown and loved and married; 
 great men and small have died. A, thousand yester- 
 days, with new emotions of their own, have come and 
 passed; superseding, effacing, obliterating that which 
 went before. 
 
 New rulers have arisen here in the valley. An- 
 other John Carnochan has come into the iron mills 
 that bear his name. Morgan Black has died — a year 
 and a half ago — died as he should have died — un- 
 touched by the least faint suspicion of dotage; in the 
 midst of his vast schemes and enterprises — found 
 dead one morning among the papers in his library ; his 
 great fortune remains as his monument, towering and 
 awful in itself, no doubt, but after all, a dull, heavy, 
 inanimate thing, without the great man's soul that 
 vitalised it. A half dozen petty lawyers, dazed with 
 
 308 
 
GOOD NIGHT 309 
 
 detail, slave to keep running in the old grooves, the 
 interests he moved hither and thither as he chose. 
 
 Another May hew rules from the old house on the 
 Hill, the great Mayhew Manufacturing Company. It 
 is an entirely different regime from that which pre- 
 ceded it; a master of entirely different temperament. 
 There are no shadowy recesses in this man's soul from 
 which come forth great, unsuspected, conscienceless 
 purposes and achievements. He is frank, direct, 
 energetic, approachable, intense; still too intense, per- 
 haps. Yet he thinks he has learned his lesson some- 
 what. To the impatient, excessive, nervous activity of 
 youth, has succeeded something of the philosophy 
 of living of the older man; some understanding 
 — some acquiescence in the painful patience of the 
 slow world forces, which govern us. He has made 
 his working compromises with society; the enthusiasm 
 of the boy has been replaced to some extent by the level 
 determination, the watchful, sober intelligence of the 
 man — less attractive, less self-evident, less spectacular 
 — but not less valuable, or effective, he hopes, but more. 
 Time is already stamping his face with the stamp of 
 the men who accomplish. The rigid lines of care and 
 work are gathering about his nose and mouth; his 
 cheek is thin; his eyes are oftentimes the tired eyes of 
 middle age and business. Yet it would be ridiculous 
 to affect that he does not enjoy it — the responsibility, 
 the sense of successful and useful action, the feeling 
 of accomplishment — that passion of virile manhood, 
 that rough tyrant, giant desire, which overtowers all 
 the gentler emotions that have preceded it. 
 
3IO THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 But there is something beside mere personal ambi- 
 tion which fashions his Hfe — a cause for action that 
 the public does not know. This great industrial for- 
 tune, whose management has come to him, has brought 
 its great obligation — greater even than others of its 
 kind. He never considers it without a dull sense of 
 regret and repugnance for the squalor in which this 
 towering growth first found its root ; the great, sordid 
 crime at its beginning. He feels that he owes society 
 restitution for this, and more or less consciously he 
 has tried to make it — not by any direct, public act of 
 restoration; it would be difficult, he has found, if not 
 impossible, to make this; the lapse of time, the death 
 of the offenders, the very nature of the offence, a 
 breach of the military regulations of a war passed a 
 generation into history would render the attempt im- 
 practical, grotesque, quixotic; as useless as it would 
 be distressing. But in his actual every day relations 
 to society — the problems which lie nearest to him — 
 in the honest conduct of public affairs, in charity and 
 most of all in that inestimably important social rela- 
 tion of a great employer of labour to his employes he 
 has made what reparation he could. He has a debt 
 to pay and he is paying it; and it is a matter of 
 common knowledge with us that he bears himself with 
 less arrogance than his fellows; than is generally ex- 
 pected of a man in his position. 
 
 The position he has reached is not by conquest — • 
 he realises that. He himself neither pushed to solu- 
 tion the problems society offered him nor forced a 
 personal success from its opposition. Circumstances, 
 
GOOD NIGHT 311 
 
 family inheritance; the powerful hand of the dead 
 reaching out of the past — as with most of us, directly 
 or indirectly; by education, by social connection or 
 mere brute material inheritance — has given him the 
 greater share of all he has possessed. Do you imagine 
 that any one man, with his own strength, can overcome 
 the great commercial forces, of which these manufac- 
 turers are the embodiment? He does not. He has 
 lived here all his life and watched it, and never yet has 
 he seen a man entirely successful in the unequal fight 
 against such an opponent as his was. 
 
 The great figure of William Thorndike has already 
 dimned and dwindled in the perspective of ten years. 
 But John Mayhew himself does not forget it or under- 
 estimate it. He often thinks — as he does to-night — 
 of this man who came before him. If he has had his 
 own small successes; if, as he has been told, he has 
 managed the big property with unusual intelligence ; if 
 the business has even grown considerably beneath his 
 hand; still he understands himself, as no one else can 
 do, that he cannot be all that his predecessor was — a 
 bom ruler of industry, a builder of great enterprises, 
 a compeller of men and forces — coldly and unscrupu- 
 lously great. He understands him better now, his cir- 
 cumstances, his mental attitude, his difficulties, his 
 angers, all his ways. He still can hear his high and 
 scornful impatience of his enemies — ^his old character- 
 istic remarks. 
 
 " When you make an employe, you make an enemy," 
 he says in his dry hard voice. 
 
 And again: "Any theorist can run a mill;" of 
 
312 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 course anyone can manage a great business ; can under- 
 stand the vast world movements that bring dull or 
 active trade; can plan the course of a community dec- 
 ades ahead, can predict long months in advance the 
 alternate feasts and famines, through which our crude 
 and semi-barbarous civilisation still gluts or starves 
 itself. Any little bleating theorist can do this — in 
 retrospect. 
 
 All these things William Thorndike did — with his 
 great mistakes, of course, like other men, his great 
 cruelties, perhaps, but with his undoubted success, 
 whose proofs stood all about him, gross and material, 
 to the senses of the most animal — these great piles of 
 brick and stone, this very community itself. He 
 realises that he himself can never hope for so great 
 accomplishment. 
 
 Yet — he says in his heart sometimes — ^there is one 
 thing where he excels the greater figure who has gone 
 — the appreciation of the whole situation, a greater 
 understanding of both sides. There are certainly two 
 sides to this eternal controversy between the employer 
 and the employe — even in that brutal murder in his 
 room — (how often he has seen his young wife flinch 
 on entering here, when she did not know his eyes 
 were on her) — even in that. That criminal who paid 
 the price ten long years ago, stolid and alone, amid the 
 curses and cat-calls of a state — there was little enough 
 to plead for him before the law; yet in the great hu- 
 man equities he had his own strong, moving plea. 
 
 " All I ask for is a show — " he hears him say it 
 now, his sullen blue eyes fixed upon the distance. It 
 
GOOD NIGHT 313 
 
 seems to him a crude but valid expression of the key- 
 note of the situation. These shabby, silent fellows, 
 with their heads down, who pour out of the mills at 
 night — a sluggish, weary stream; these dark figures 
 slanting unprotected out against the rain; these girls 
 with their poor, tawdry ornaments ; these tired women 
 with their hoods and little shawls — grey, sexless be- 
 ings, sunk by the last bounds of femininity, beyond 
 the last pathetic, wistful, foolish appeal of millinery 
 to the woman's heart. Do you think these people get 
 their share of the production of dvilisation? You 
 know they do not. They might have ten times as 
 much, and you have none the less — but more ! Around 
 you on every hand lie the proofs of the crudity and 
 semi-barbarousness of our civilisation. We have not 
 come so very far yet, on our road — in spite of all our 
 boasts — the cheap shouting of our orators, the bland 
 and solemn self-appreciation of the fat leaders of our 
 inherited ethical and spiritual belief. 
 
 " We haven't asked for alms, nor favours," those 
 weary figures say. " All we ask for is our show. And 
 we are going to have it. Sometime, some way, sooner 
 or later, we shall have our privileges and our honest 
 rights; and all your tricking and cheating and class 
 legislation and juggling will not avail you. We are 
 the strongest in the end; the great tendency of men's 
 affairs swings toward us. If you do not play this little 
 game of life with fairness; if you -do not pay us 
 honestly what we have won; we ourselves will come 
 and take it — and so much the worse for your children 
 and your grandchildren ! " 
 
J 14 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 All this was true — and more — but yet the other side ! 
 Say these things had never been; say these little prin- 
 cipalities and towns had never been built up ; say these 
 baron manufacturers had not set their walls within 
 our valleys or flung their smoky banners wide across 
 our fields; say this ragged pageant never shuffled 
 down our evening streets — that the Irish had remained 
 in their poor little farms, the Frenchmen in the fierce 
 and empty northern woods, the Poles in their black 
 European hovels — starving agrarian peasants, sunken 
 in poverty and old servitude — would they or all man- 
 kind be better ofif than now ? Man's whole advance has 
 been but trifling, indeed; but no mere foolish senti- 
 mental pessimism should underestimate the accomplish- 
 ment of this last half century. 
 
 A new sound has come into the land these last few 
 years — the voice of the little a priori thinker, with his 
 tinsel, ready-made universe, formed in a night from 
 the discarded timber of a hundred familiar systems 
 of the working philosophers of a century; the cry of 
 the bearded apostle of the future, a strange new hybrid 
 of a prophet and a walking delegate; an inventor of 
 another new Utopia, wailing in the market place be- 
 cause mankind refuses all at once to step aboard his 
 new flying machine, and be whisked away across the 
 yawning precipices of the unknown to regions of in- 
 effable bliss. All these things have their places in 
 the great economy of nature, no doubt, — a bare-headed 
 socialist calling beneath the electric light across the 
 half deserted street; a religious sentimentalist ha- 
 
GOOD NIGHT 315 
 
 ranguing his weekly parcel of old maids in the re- 
 sounding vestry of a church ; a pismire shouting from 
 his blade of grass for a fixed star to change its course. 
 Meanwhile society moves on in its great orbit. Com- 
 promise succeeds compromise, one little gain another — 
 new conditions, new privileges, new generations, 
 better, more intelligent than the old; new inventions, 
 changing the whole face of continents; society work- 
 ing out its vast experiments — ^in the great cities, in 
 these hundred towns and villages of ours — the tre- 
 mendous laboratories of the experience of mankind, 
 forming slowly, painfully, but magnificently, the new 
 order of things under our very eyes. Do we raise 
 up prophets who can foresee through this vast com- 
 plexity of forces a certain future? You know we do 
 not. 
 
 For a century and a half, especially here in New 
 England, we have been damned with clammy senti- 
 mentality; all our thinking reeking with sentimental 
 rot — political, social, religious. Come out for once, 
 into the open and meet this thing like men. Great 
 social wrongs exist, you know it. But classes do exist 
 also — distinctions in men — of brain capacity, of race 
 inheritance, of individual power — and always will 
 under any system conceivable, so long as man is man. 
 You know that, too. But there surely is no difficulty 
 from that standpoint. This is the day of work and 
 experiment. There are a hundred and a thousand 
 things for you to do and change to-day — ^not fanciful 
 experiments ; real injustices to be righted, real dangers 
 
3i6 THE TASKMASTERS 
 
 to be met — honestly and fairly. The world to-day 
 makes but one demand on every man, no matter who 
 he is — fairness and work. Fairness and work. — 
 
 A slender hand has fallen upon John Mayhew's hair. 
 
 " What are you dreaming about now ? " a voice asks, 
 and does not wait an answer. 
 
 " It's getting late, dear," it says to him. " You'll 
 have to be up early in the morning, you know, to take 
 that first train to New York." 
 
 One day is gone; across the night the work of one 
 to come commands him ! 
 
 He turns — and looks again into the kind eyes of the 
 woman he loves. 
 
 THE END 
 
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