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 J^LWER COLLECTION 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/hauntsofmenOOcham 
 
THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
" How shall we seem, each to the other, when, 
 On that glad day, immortal, we shall meet — 
 Thou who, long since, didst pass with hastening feet — 
 /, who stHl wait here, in the haunts of men f " 
 
THE HAUNTS OF MEN 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 
 
 Author of "The King in Yellow," " The Red Republic," "A King 
 and a Few Dukes," "Lorraine," etc., etc. 
 
 » 
 
 NEW YORK 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1895, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller. 
 
 Copyright, 1896, by S. S. McClure Company. 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
 Copyright, 1898, by Peter Fenelon Collier. 
 
 Copyright, 1898, by Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Copyright, 1898, by Frederick A. Stokes Company. 
 
As a Black Veil of Lace, 
 
 Parted in sombre grace, 
 
 Shadows a pallid face, 
 So shall the Veil of Night, 
 
 Dimly withdrawn, 
 Shadow the coming Dawn. 
 
 Changed are the ashen skies, — 
 
 The clearer blue 
 Deep mirrored in thine eyes 
 
 Is changing too. 
 
 If the dim Dawn be fair, 
 Can its pale flames compare 
 In glory to thy hair ? 
 
 What, in the jewelled skies, 
 
 Matches the dyes 
 In thine uplifted eyes I 
 
 Out from the splendid night 
 
 Bright as a spirit's flight 
 
 Thou com'st with the Light. 
 
 And in the East the World spins, grey and old, 
 
 And in the West wait Life and Death; behold 1 
 
 Bend down with me ; behold 1 
 
 This is the World, — 
 This tattered scroll unrolled, — 
 
 This chart unfurled. 
 
 Here at thy feet, 
 The Seven Oceans part and meet. 
 
 Trace with thy finger tips 
 
 The round World round, 
 
 Free as a shadow slips 
 Over the ground. 
 The World sleeps there 
 
 Steeped in the shadow of thy hair. 
 
 602762 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TAGE 
 
 The God of Battles i 
 
 Pickets 19 
 
 An International Affair 33 
 
 Smith's Battery 51 
 
 Ambassador Extraordinary 83 
 
 Yo Espero 117 
 
 Collector of the Port 155 
 
 The Whisper 179 
 
 The Little Misery 195 
 
 Enter the Queen — 221 
 
 Another Good Man 261 
 
 Envoi - 301 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES 
 
Ah, who could couple thoughts of war and crime 
 With such a blessed time f 
 Who in the West wind's aromatic breath, 
 Could hear the call of Death f 
 
 Timrod. 
 
THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 THE GOD OF BATTLES. 
 
 Sovereign of the world. . . . these sabres hold another lan- 
 guage to-day from that they held yesterday. — Vathek. 
 
 It happened so unexpectedly, so abruptly, that 
 she forgot to scream. A moment before, she had 
 glanced out of the pantry windows, dusting the 
 flour from her faded pink apron, and she saw the 
 tall oats motionless in the field and the sunlight 
 sifting through the corn. In the heated stillness a 
 wasp, creeping up and down the window pane, filled 
 the dim house with its buzzing. She remembered 
 that, — then she remembered hearing the clock tick- 
 ing in the darkened dining-room. It was scarcely a 
 moment ; she bent again over her flour pan, wistful, 
 saddened by the summer silence, thinking of her 
 brother ; then again she raised her eyes to the win- 
 dow. 
 
 It was too sudden ; she did not scream. Had 
 they dropped from the sky, these men in blue, — 
 these toiling, tramping, crowding creatures ? The 
 corn was full of them, the pasture, the road ; they 
 were in the garden, they crushed the cucumbers and 
 
 3 
 
4 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 the sweet-peas, their muddy trousers tore tender 
 tendrils from the melon vines, their great shoes, 
 plodding across the potato hills, harrowed the 
 bronzed earth and levelled it to a waste of beaten 
 mould and green-stuff. They passed, hundreds, 
 thousands, — she could not tell, — and at first they 
 neither spoke nor turned aside, but she heard a har- 
 mony, subtile, vast as winds at sea, — a nameless 
 murmur that sweeps through brains of marching 
 men, — the voiceless prophecy of battle. 
 
 Breathless, spellbound, she moved on tiptoe to 
 the porch, one hand pressed trembling across her 
 lips. The field of oats shimmered a moment before 
 her eyes, then a blue mass swung into it and it 
 melted away, sheered to the earth in glimmering 
 swathes as gilded grain falls at the sickle's sparkle. 
 And the men in blue covered the earth, the world, 
 her world, which stretched from the orchard to 
 Benson's Hill. 
 
 There was something on Benson's Hill that she 
 had never before seen. It looked like a brook in the 
 sunshine ; it was a column of infantry, rifles slant- 
 ing in the sun. 
 
 Somebody had been speaking to her for a minute 
 or two, somebody below her on the porch steps, and 
 now she looked down and saw a boy, slim, sun- 
 burnt, wearing gauntlets and spurs. His dusty uni- 
 form glittered with gilt and yellow braid ; he 
 touched the vizor of his cap and fingered his sword 
 hilt. She looked at him listlessly, her hand still 
 pressed to her lips. 3 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 5 
 
 " Is there a well near the house ? " he asked. 
 After a moment he repeated the question. 
 
 Men with red crosses on their sleeves came across 
 the grass, trailing poles and rolls of dirty canvas. 
 She saw horses too, dusty and patient, tied to the 
 front gate. A soldier, with a yellow ornament on 
 his sleeve, stood at their heads, holding a red flag 
 in one hand. 
 
 Something tugged gently at her apron, and, " show 
 me the well, please," repeated the boy beside 
 her. 
 
 She turned mechanically into the house ; he fol- 
 lowed, caking the rag-carpet with his boots' dry mud. 
 In the woodshed she started and turned trembling 
 to him but he gravely motioned her on, and she 
 went, passing more swiftly under the trees of the 
 orchard to the vine-covered well-curb. 
 
 He thanked her ; she pointed at the dipper and 
 rope ; but already blue-clad, red-faced soldiers were 
 lowering the bucket and the orchard hummed with 
 the buzz of the wheel. 
 
 She went back to the porch, not through the 
 house but around it. Across the little lawn lay 
 crushed stalks and dying flowers ; the potato patch 
 was a slough of muddy green. 
 
 Soldiers passed in the sunshine. She began to 
 remember that her brother, too, was a soldier, some- 
 where out in the world ; he had been a soldier for 
 nearly a week, ever since Jim Bemis had taken him 
 to Willow Corners to enlist. She remembered 
 she had cried and gone into the pantry to make 
 
6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 bread and cry again. She remembered that first 
 night, how she had been afraid to sleep in the house, 
 how at dusk she had gone into the parlour to be near 
 her mother. Her mother was dead, but her picture 
 hung in the parlour. 
 
 Soldiers were passing, clutching their rifle butts 
 with dirty hands, turning toward her countless sun- 
 dazzled eyes. The shimmer of gun-barrels, the danc- 
 ing light on turning bayonets, the flicker and sparkle 
 on belt and button dazed and wearied her. 
 
 Somebody said, " We're the boys for the purty 
 girls ! Have ye no eyes for us, lass ? " 
 
 Another said, " Shut up, Mike, she's not from 
 the Bowery ; " and, " G'wan ye dead rabbit ! " re- 
 torted the first. 
 
 A flag passed, and on it she read " New York," 
 and another flag passed, dipped to her in grim 
 salute, while the folds shook out a faded " Maine." 
 
 She began to watch the flags ; she saw a regiment 
 plunge into the trampled corn, but she knew it was 
 not her brother's because the trousers of the men 
 were scarlet and the caps hung to the shoulders, 
 tasselled and crimson. 
 
 " Maryland, Maryland, Maryland, 6oth Maryland," 
 she repeated, but she did not know she spoke aloud 
 until somebody said : " It's yonder," and a blue 
 sleeve swept towards the west. 
 
 "Yonder," she repeated, looking at the ridge, cool 
 in the beechwoods' shadow. 
 
 " Is it the 6oth Maryland you want, Miss? " asked 
 another. 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 7 
 
 " Silence," said an officer, wheeling a sweating 
 horse past the porch. 
 
 She shrank back, but turned her head toward the 
 beechwoods. As she looked a belt of flame encircled 
 the forest, once, twice, again and yet again, and 
 through the outrushing smoke, the crash ! crash ! 
 crash ! of rifles echoed and re-echoed across the 
 valley. 
 
 All around her thousands of men burst into cheers ; 
 a deeper harmony grew on the idle breeze — the sol- 
 emn tolling of cannon. The flags, the bright flags 
 spread rainbow wings to the rising breeze ; they were 
 breasting the hills everywhere. The din of the rifles, 
 the shouting, the sudden swift human wave, sweep- 
 ing by on every side, thrilled her little heart until it 
 beat out the long roll with the rolling drums. 
 
 In the orchard the rattle of the bucket, the creak 
 and whirr of the well-wheel, never ceased. A very 
 young officer sat on his horse, eating an unripe apple 
 and watching the men around the well. The horse 
 stretched a glossy neck toward the currant bushes, 
 mumbling twigs and sun-curled leaves. A hen wan- 
 dered near, peering fearlessly at the soldiers. 
 
 The girl went into the kitchen, reached up for her 
 sun-bonnet, dangling on a peg, tied it under her chin, 
 and walked gravely into the orchard. The men 
 about the well looked up as she passed. They ad- 
 mired respectfully. So did the very young officer, 
 pausing, apple half-eaten ; so perhaps did the horse, 
 turning his large, gentle eyes as she came up. 
 
 The officer wheeled in his saddle and leaned toward 
 
8 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 her deferentially, anticipating perhaps complaint or 
 insult. 
 
 In Maryland " Dixie " was sung as often as " The 
 Red, White, and Blue." 
 
 Before she spoke she saw that it was the same 
 officer who had asked her about the well ; she had 
 not noticed he was so young. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, — and, as he spoke, he re- 
 moved his cap — " I am very sorry that we have 
 trampled your garden. If you are loyal, the Gov. 
 ernment will indemnify you — " 
 
 The sudden crash of a cannon somewhere among 
 the trees drowned his voice. Stunned, she saw him, 
 undisturbed, gather his bridle with a deprecatory 
 gesture. His voice came back to her through the 
 ringing in her ears : " We do not mean to be care- 
 less, but we could not turn aside, and your farm is 
 in the line of advance." 
 
 Her ears still rang, and she spoke, scarcely hear- 
 ing her own voice : " It is not that — I am loyal — it 
 is only I wish to ask you where my brother's regi- 
 ment — where the 6oth Maryland is." 
 
 " The 6oth Maryland — oh — why it's in King's 
 Brigade, Wolcott's Division ; I think it's yonder." 
 He pointed toward the beechwoods. 
 
 " Yonder ? Where they are firing ? " 
 
 Again the cannon thundered and the ground shook 
 under her. She saw him nod, smiling faintly. Other 
 mounted officers rode up ; some looked at her curious- 
 ly, others glanced carelessly ; the attitudes of all were 
 respectful. She heard them arguing about the water 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 9 
 
 in the well and the length of the road to Willow Cor- 
 ners. They spoke of a turning movement, of driving 
 somebody to Whitehall Station. The musketry on the 
 hill had ceased ; the cannon, too, were silent. Across 
 the trampled corn a regiment moved listlessly to the 
 tap, tap of a drum. On the road that circled Ben- 
 son's Hill, mounted soldiers were riding fast in the 
 dust ; several little flags bobbed among them ; metal 
 on shoulder and stirrup flashed through the dust, 
 burnished by the mid-day sun. 
 
 She heard an officer say that there would be no 
 fighting, and she wondered, because the musketry 
 began again, little spattering shots among the 
 beeches on the ridge, and behind the house drums 
 rolled and a sudden flurry of bugle music filled the 
 air. Other officers rode up, some escorted by troop- 
 ers who bounced in their saddles and grasped long- 
 staffed flags, the butts resting in their stirrups. 
 
 She reached up and bent down an apple bough, 
 studded with clustered green fruit. Through the 
 leaves she looked at the officers. 
 
 The sunshine fell in brilliant spots, dappling flag 
 and cap and the broad backs of horses ; there was a 
 jingle of spurs everywhere. The hum of voices and 
 the movement were grateful to her, for her loneliness 
 was not of her own seeking. In the pleasant sum- 
 mer air the distant gunshots grew softer and softer ; 
 the twitter of a robin came from the ash-tree by the 
 gate. 
 
 Out on the road by Benson's Hill, the cavalry 
 were still passing, the little flags sped along, rising 
 
IO THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 and falling with the column, and the short clear note 
 of a trumpet echoed the robin's call. 
 
 But around the house the last of the troops had 
 passed ; she could see them, not yet far away, mov- 
 ing up among the fields toward the ridges where 
 the sun burned on the bronzing scrub-oak thickets. 
 The officers, too, were leaving the orchard, spurring 
 on, singly or in groups, after the disappearing col- 
 umns. From the main road came a loud thudding 
 and pounding and clanking ; a battery of artillery, 
 the long guns slanted, the drivers swinging their 
 thongs — passed at a trot. After it rode soldiers in 
 blue and yellow, then waggons passed, ponderous 
 grey wains covered with canvas, and on either side 
 clattered more mounted troopers, their drawn sabres 
 glittering through the heated haze. 
 
 She stood a moment, holding the apple bough, 
 watching the yellow dust hanging motionless in the 
 rear of the disappearing column. When the last 
 wain had creaked out of sight and the last trooper 
 had loped after it, she turned and looked at the 
 silent garden, trodden, withered, desolate. She 
 drew a long breath, the apple bough flew back, the 
 little green apples dancing. A bee buzzed over a 
 trampled geranium, a robin ran through the longer 
 grass and stopped short, head raised. Beyond Ben- 
 son's Hill a bugle blew faintly ; distant rifle shots 
 sounded along the ridge ; then silence crept through 
 the sunlit meadows, across the levelled corn, across 
 dead stalks and stems, a silence that spread like a 
 shadow, nearer, nearer, over the lawn, through the 
 
THE GOD O'F BATTLES. 1 II 
 
 orchard to the house, and then from corner to 
 corner, dulling the ticking of the clock, stifling the 
 wasp on the window, driving her before it from room 
 to room. 
 
 On the musty hair-cloth sofa in the parlour she 
 lay, flung face down, hands pressed to her ears. But 
 silence entered with her, stifling the sob in her 
 throat. 
 
 When she raised her head it was dusk. She heard 
 the murmur of wind in the trees and the chirr of 
 crickets from the fields. She sat up, peering fear- 
 fully into the darkness, and she heard the clock tick- 
 ing in the kitchen and rustle of vines on the porch. 
 After a moment she rose, treading softly, and felt 
 along the wall until her hands rested on her mother's 
 picture. Then, no longer afraid, she slipped silently 
 across the room, and through the hallway to the 
 pantry. 
 
 It was nearly moonrise before she had cooked 
 supper ; when she sat down alone at the long table, 
 the moon, yellow, enormous, stared at her through 
 the window. 
 
 She sipped her tea, turned the lamp-wick a trifle 
 lower, and ate slowly. The little grey dusk moths 
 came humming in the open window and circled 
 around her. The porch dripped with dew ; there 
 was a scent of night in the air. 
 
 When she had sat silent a little while dreaming 
 over the sins of a blameless life, there came to her, 
 peace, so sudden so perfect, that she could not un- 
 derstand. How should she know peace? What 
 
12 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 thought of the past might bring comfort ? She 
 could just remember her mother, — that was all. 
 She loved her picture in the parlour. As for her 
 father, he had died as he had lived, a snarling 
 drunkard. And her brother? A lank, blue-eyed 
 boy, dissipated, unwholesome, already cursed with 
 his father's sin — what comfort could he be to her ? 
 He had gone away to enlist ; he was drunk when he 
 did it. 
 
 She thought of all these things, her finger tips 
 resting on the edge of the table. She thought too 
 — of the soldiers passing, of the rippling crash of 
 rifles, the drums, the cheering, the sunlight flecking 
 the backs of the horses in the orchard. 
 
 There was a creak at the gate, a click of a latch, 
 and the fall of a foot on the moonlit porch. She 
 half rose ; she was not frightened. How she knew 
 who it was, God alone knows, but she looked up, 
 timidly, understanding who was coming, knowing 
 who would knock, who would enter, who would 
 speak. And yet she had never seen him but once 
 in her life. 
 
 All this she knew, — this child made wise in the 
 space of time marked by the tick of the kitchen 
 clock ; but she did not know that the memory of 
 his smile had given her the peace she could not 
 understand, she did not know this until he entered, 
 dusty, slim, sunburnt, his yellow gauntlets folded 
 in his belt, his cap and sabre in his hand. Then 
 she knew it. When she understood this she stood 
 up, pale, uncertain. He bowed silently and stepped 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 1 3 
 
 forward, fumbling with his sabre hilt. She motioned 
 toward a chair. 
 
 He said he had a message for the master of the 
 house, and glanced about vaguely, noting the single 
 place at table and the single plate. She said he 
 might give the message to her. 
 
 " It is only that — if I do not inconvenience you 
 too much — " he smiled faintly, — " if you would 
 allow me, — well, the truth is I am billeted here for 
 the night." 
 
 She did not know what that meant and he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " The master of the house is absent," she said, 
 thinking of her brother. 
 
 " Will he return to-night ? " he asked. 
 
 She shook her head ; she was thinking that she 
 did not want him to go away. Suddenly the thought 
 of being alone laid hold of her with fresh horror. 
 
 " You may stay," she said faintly. He bowed 
 again. She asked him if he cared for supper, with 
 a gesture toward the table, and when he thanked 
 her she took courage and told him where to hang 
 his cap and sabre. 
 
 There was a small room between the parlour and 
 the dining-room. She offered it to him, and he ac- 
 cepted gratefully. While she was in the kitchen, 
 toasting more bread, she heard him go to the front 
 door and call. There came a clatter of hoofs, a 
 quick word or two, and, as she re-entered the din- 
 ing-room, he met her. " My orderly," he explained, 
 — " he may sleep in the stable, may he not ? " 
 
14 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " My own bed-room is all I have here," she said. 
 
 " Not — not the one you gave me ! " he asked. 
 
 She nodded. " You may have it, — I often sleep 
 in the parlour, — I did when my brother was home." 
 
 " If I had had any idea — " he burst out. She 
 stopped him with a gesture ; but he insisted and at 
 last he had his own way. " If I may sleep in the 
 parlour, I will stay," he said, and she nodded and 
 seated herself at the table. 
 
 He ate a great deal ; she wondered a little, but 
 nodded again at his excuses, and insisted that he 
 must have more tea. She watched him ; the lamp- 
 light fell softly on his boyish head, on his faint 
 moustache, and bronzed hands. He ate much bread 
 and butter and many eggs ; he spoke about his 
 orderly and the horses, and presently asked for a 
 lantern. She brought him one ; he lighted it. 
 
 When he had gone away with his lantern, she 
 rested her white face in her hands and looked at his 
 empty chair. She thought of her brother, she 
 thought of the village people who leered askance 
 when she was obliged to go to the store at Willow 
 Corners. The mention of her father's name, of her 
 brother's name in the village aroused sneers or 
 laughter. As long as she could remember the one 
 great longing of her life had been to be respected. 
 She had seen her father fall at night in the village 
 street, drunk as a hog; she had seen her brother 
 reel across the fields at noonday. She knew that 
 all the world knew — her world — that she was merely 
 one of a drunkard's family. She never spoke to a 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 1 5 
 
 neighbour, nor did she answer when spoken to. She 
 carried her curse, — and her longing, — supposing 
 that she was a thing apart. In the orchard at mid- 
 day a man, a young boy, a soldier, had spoken to 
 her and looked at her in a way she had never known. 
 All at once she realised, dreaming there in the lamp- 
 light, that she was a woman to him, like other 
 women ; a woman to be spoken to with deference, 
 a woman to be approached with courtesy. She had 
 read it in his eyes, she had heard it in his voice. It 
 was this that brought to her a peace as gracious, 
 as sweet, as the eyes that had met her own in the 
 orchard. 
 
 He was coming back from the stable now, — she 
 heard his spurs click across the grass by the orchard. 
 And now he had entered, now he was there, sitting 
 opposite, smiling vaguely across the table. A rush 
 of tears blinded her and she looked out into the 
 night where the yellow moon stared and stared. 
 
 She found herself in the parlour after a while, 
 silent, listening to his voice ; and all about her was 
 peace, born of the peace within her breast. 
 
 He told her of the war. She had never before 
 cared, but now she cared. He spoke of long marches, 
 of hunger and of thirst, with a boyish laugh, and 
 she laughed too, not knowing how else to show her 
 pity. He spoke of the Land, and now, for the first 
 time, she loved it ; she knew it was also her Land. 
 He spoke of the flag and what it meant. In her 
 home she had no symbol of her country, and she 
 told him so. He drew a penknife from his pocket, 
 
l6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 cut a button from his collar, and handed it to her. 
 On the button was an eagle and stars, and she pinned 
 it over her heart, looking at him with innocent eyes. 
 
 She told him of her mother, — she could not tell 
 much but she told him all she remembered. Then, 
 involuntarily, she told him more, — about her life, her 
 hopes long dead, her brother bearing his father's 
 name and curse. She had not meant to do this at 
 first ; but as she spoke she had a dim idea that he 
 ought to know who it was that he treated with 
 gentleness and deference. She knew it would not 
 change anything in him, that he would be the same. 
 Perhaps it was a vague hope that he might advise 
 her, — perhaps be sorry, she could not analyse it, but 
 she felt the necessity of speaking. 
 
 There is a time for all things except confession. 
 But, to the lonely soul, long stifled, time is chosen 
 for confession when God sends the opportunity. 
 
 She spoke of honour as she understood it ; she 
 spoke of dishonour as she had known it. 
 
 When she was silent, he began to speak, and 
 she listened breathlessly. Ah, but she was right ! 
 The God of Battles had sent to her a messenger of 
 peace. Out of the smoke and flame he had come 
 to find her and pity her. Through him she knew 
 she was worthy of respect, through him she learned 
 her womanhood, from his lips she heard the truths 
 of youth, which are truer than the truths of age. 
 
 He sat there in the lamplight, his gilt straps 
 gleaming, his glittering spurs ringing true with 
 every movement, his bronzed young face bent to 
 
THE GOD OF BATTLES. 1 7 
 
 hers. She knew he knew everything that man could 
 know ; she drank in what he said, humbly. When 
 he ceased speaking, she still looked into his eyes. 
 Their brilliancy dazzled her ; the lamp spun a halo 
 behind his head. Wondering at his knowledge, she 
 wondered what those things might be that he knew 
 and had not told. He was smiling now. She felt 
 the power and mystery of his eyes. 
 
 It is true that he had not told her all he knew, — 
 although what a boy of eighteen knows is soon told. 
 He had not told her that her brother lay buried in 
 a trench in the beech-grove on the ridge, shot by 
 court-martial for desertion in the face of the enemy. 
 Yet that was the very thing he had come to tell her. 
 
 About midnight, when they had been whispering 
 long together, he told her that her brother was dead. 
 He told her that death with honour wiped out every 
 stain, and she cried a little and blessed God, — the 
 God of Battles, who had purified her brother in the 
 flames of war. 
 
 And that night, when he lay asleep on the musty 
 hair-cloth sofa, she crept in, white, silent, and kissed 
 his hair. 
 
 He never knew it. In the morning he rode away. 
 2 
 
PICKETS. 
 
PICKETS. 
 
 " Hi, Yank ! " 
 
 " Shut up ! " replied Alden, wriggling to the edge 
 of the rifle-pit. Connor also crawled a little higher 
 and squinted through the chinks of the pine 
 logs. 
 
 " Hey, Johnny ! " he called across the river, " are 
 you that clay-eatin' Cracker with green lamps on 
 your pilot ? " 
 
 " Oh, Yank ! Are yew the U. S. mewl with a 
 C. S. A. brand on yewr head-stall? " 
 
 " Go to hell ! " replied Connor sullenly. 
 
 A jeering laugh answered him from across the 
 river. 
 
 " He had you there, Connor," observed Alden 
 with faint interest. 
 
 Connor took off his blue cap and examined the 
 bullet hole in the crown. 
 
 " C. S. A. brand on my head-stall, eh ! " he re- 
 peated savagely, twirling the cap between his dirty 
 fingers. 
 
 " You called him a clay-eating Cracker," observed 
 
 Alden ; " and you referred to his .spectacles as green 
 
 lanterns on his pilot." 
 
 " I '11 show him whose head-stall is branded," mut- 
 21 
 
22 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 tered Connor, shoving his smoky rifle through the 
 log crack. 
 
 Alden slid down to the bottom of the shallow pit 
 and watched him apathetically. 
 
 The silence was intense ; the muddy river, smooth 
 as oil, swirled noiselessly between its fringe of 
 sycamores ; not a breath of air stirred the leaves 
 around them. From the sun-baked bottom of the 
 rifle-pit came the stale smell of charred logs and 
 smoke-soaked clothing. There was a stench of 
 sweat in the air and the heavy odour of balsam and 
 pine seemed to intensify it. Alden gasped once or 
 twice, threw open his jacket at the throat, and stuffed 
 a filthy handkerchief into the crown of his cap, 
 arranging the ends as a shelter for his neck. 
 
 Connor lay silent, his right eye fastened upon the 
 rifle-sight, his dusty army shoes crossed behind 
 him. One yellow sock had slipped down over the 
 worn shoe heel and laid bare a dust-begrimed ankle. 
 
 In the heated stillness Alden heard the boring of 
 weevils in the logs overhead. A tiny twig snapped 
 somewhere in the forest ; a fly buzzed about his 
 knees. Suddenly Connor's rifle cracked ; the echoes 
 rattled and clattered away through the woods ; a 
 thin cloud of pungent vapour slowly drifted straight 
 upward, shredding into filmy streamers among the 
 tangled branches overhead. 
 
 " Get him?" asked Alden, after a silence. 
 
 " Nope," replied Connor. Then he addressed 
 himself to his late target across the river : 
 
 " Hello, Johnny ! " 
 
PICKETS. 23 
 
 " Hi, Yank ! " 
 
 " How close? " 
 
 " Hey?" 
 
 " How close? " 
 
 " What, sonny?" 
 
 " My shot, you fool ! " 
 
 " Why, sonny!" called back the Confederate in 
 affected surprise, "was yew a shootin' at me?" 
 
 Bang ! went Connor's rifle again. A derisive cat- 
 call answered him, and he turned furiously to Alden. 
 
 " Oh, let up," said the young fellow ; "it 's too 
 hot for that." 
 
 Connor was speechless with rage, and he hastily 
 jammed another cartridge into his long, hot rifle, 
 while Alden roused himself, brushed away a per- 
 sistent fly, and crept up to the edge of the pit 
 again. 
 
 " Hello, Johnny ! " he shouted. 
 
 " That you, sonny ? " replied the Confederate. 
 
 " Yes. Say, Johnny, shall we call it square until 
 four o'clock ? " 
 
 " What time is it ? " replied the cautious Con- 
 federate ; " all our expensive gold watches is bein' 
 repaired at Chickamauga." 
 
 At this taunt, Connor showed his teeth, but 
 Alden laid one hand on his arm and sang out : 
 " It 's two o'clock, Richmond time ; Sherman has 
 just telegraphed us from your State-house." 
 
 " Wa-al, in that case this crool war is over," re- 
 plied the Confederate sharpshooter ; " we '11 be 
 easy on old Sherman." 
 
24 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " See here ! " cried Alden ; " is it a truce until 
 four o'clock?" 
 
 " All right ! Your word, Yank ! " 
 
 " You have it ! " 
 
 " Done ! " said the Confederate, coolly rising to 
 his feet and strolling down to the river bank, both 
 hands in his pockets. 
 
 Alden and Connor crawled out of their ill-smelling 
 dust wallow, leaving their rifles behind them. 
 
 " Whew ! It 's hot, Johnny," said Alden pleas- 
 antly. He pulled out a stained pipe, blew into the 
 stem, polished the bowl with his sleeve, and sucked 
 wistfully at the end. Then he went and sat down 
 beside Connor who had improvised a fishing pole 
 from his ramrod, a bit of string, and a rusty 
 hook. 
 
 The Confederate rifleman also sat down on his 
 side of the stream, puffing luxuriously on a fragrant 
 corn-cob pipe. 
 
 Presently the Confederate soldier raised his head 
 and looked across at Alden. 
 
 " What's yewr name, sonny?" he asked. 
 
 " Alden," replied the young fellow briefly. 
 
 " Mine's Craig," observed the Confederate ; 
 " what's yewr regiment ? " 
 
 " Two hundred sixtieth New York ; what's yours, 
 Mr. Craig ? " 
 
 " Ninety-third Maryland, Mister Alden." 
 
 " Quit that throwin' sticks in the water ! " growled 
 Connor ; " how do you s'pose I'm goin' to catch 
 anythin' ?" 
 
PICKETS. 25 
 
 Alden tossed his stick back into the brush-heap 
 and laughed. 
 
 " How's your tobacco, Craig ? " he called out. 
 
 " Bully ! How's yewr coffee 'n 'tack, Alden ? " 
 
 " First-rate ! " replied the youth. 
 
 After a silence he said: " Is it a go ? " 
 
 " You bet," said Craig, fumbling in his pockets. 
 He produced a heavy twist of Virginia tobacco, laid 
 it on a log, hacked off about three inches with his 
 sheath knife, and folded it up in a big green syca- 
 more leaf. This again he rolled into a corn-husk, 
 weighted with a pebble, then stepping back, he hurled 
 it into the air, saying: "Deal squar, Yank! " 
 
 The tobacco fell at Alden's feet. He picked it 
 up, measured it carefully with his clasp-knife, and 
 called out : " Three and three-quarters, Craig. What 
 do you want, hard-tack or coffee ? " 
 
 " 'Tack," replied Craig : " don't stint ! " 
 
 Alden laid out two biscuits. As he was about to 
 hack a quarter from the third he happened to glance 
 over the creek at his enemy. There was no mis- 
 taking the expression in his face. Starvation was 
 stamped on every feature. 
 
 When Craig caught Alden's eye, he spat with 
 elaborate care, whistled a bar of the " Bonny Blue 
 Flag," and pretended to yawn. 
 
 Alden hesitated, glanced at Connor, then placed 
 three whole biscuits in the corn husk, added a pinch 
 of coffee, and tossed the parcel over to Craig. 
 
 That Craig longed to fling himself upon the food 
 and devour it was plain to Alden, who was watch- 
 
26 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 ing his face. But he didn't ; he strolled leisurely- 
 down the bank, picked up the parcel, weighed it 
 critically before opening it, and finally sat down to 
 examine the contents. When he saw that the third 
 cracker was whole, and that a pinch of coffee had 
 been added, he paused in his examination and re- 
 mained motionless on the bank, head bent. Pres- 
 ently he looked up and asked Alden if he had made 
 a mistake. The young fellow shook his head and 
 drew a long puff of smoke from his pipe, watching 
 it curl out of his nose with interest. 
 
 "Then I'm obliged to yew, Alden," said Craig; 
 " 'low, I'll eat a snack to see it ain't pizened." 
 
 He filled his lean jaws with the dry biscuit, then 
 scooped up a tin-cup full of water from the muddy 
 river and set the rest of the cracker to soak. 
 
 "Good?" queried Alden. 
 
 " Fair," drawled Craig, bolting an unchewed seg- 
 ment and choking a little. " How's the twist ? " 
 
 " Fine," said Alden ; " tastes like stable-sweep- 
 ings." 
 
 They smiled at each other across the stream. 
 
 " Sa-a-y," drawled Craig with his mouth full, 
 " when yew're out of twist, jest yew sing out, 
 sonny." 
 
 " All right," replied Alden. He stretched back 
 in the shadow of a sycamore and watched Craig with 
 pleasant eyes. 
 
 Presently Connor had a bite and jerked his line 
 into the air. 
 
 " Look yere," said Craig, ' that ain't no way foh 
 
PICKETS. 27 
 
 to ketch ' red-horse.' Yew want a ca'tridge on foh 
 a sinker, sonny." 
 
 " What's that? " inquired Connor suspiciously. 
 
 " Put on a sinker." 
 
 " Go on, Connor," said Alden. 
 
 Connor saw him smoking and sniffed anxiously. 
 Alden tossed him the twist, telling him to fill his pipe. 
 
 Presently Connor found a small pebble and im- 
 provised a sinker. He swung his line again into the 
 muddy current with a mechanical sidelong glance 
 to see what Craig was doing, and settled down again 
 on his haunches, smoking and grunting. 
 
 " Enny news, Alden ? " queried Craig after a 
 silence. 
 
 " Nothing much — except that Richmond has 
 fallen," grinned Alden. 
 
 "Quit foolin'," urged the Southerner; " ain't thar 
 no news ? " 
 
 " No. Some of our men down at Long Pond got 
 sick eating catfish. They caught them in the pond. 
 It appears you Johnnys used the pond as a cem- 
 etery, and our men got sick eating the fish." 
 
 "That so?" grinned Craig; "too bad. Lots of 
 yewr men was in Long Pond, too, I reckon." 
 
 In the silence that followed, two rifle-shots sounded 
 faint and dull from the distant forest. 
 
 " 'Nother great Union victory," drawled Craig. 
 " Extry ! extry ! Richmond is took ! " 
 
 Alden laughed and puffed at his pipe. 
 
 " We licked the boots off of the 30th Texas last 
 Monday," he said. 
 
28 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Sho ! " exclaimed Craig. " What did you go a 
 lickin' their boots for? — blackin' ? " 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! " said Connor from the bank, " I 
 can't ketch no fish if you two fools don't quit 
 jawin'." 
 
 The sun was dipping below the pine-clad ridge, 
 flooding river and wood with a fierce radiance. The 
 spruce needles glittered, edged with gold ; every 
 broad green leaf wore a heart of gilded splendour, 
 and the muddy waters of the river rolled onward 
 like a flood of precious metal, heavy, burnished, 
 noiseless. 
 
 From a balsam bough a thrush uttered three timid 
 notes ; a great gauzy-winged grasshopper drifted 
 blindly into a clump of sun-scorched weeds, click ! 
 click ! cr-r-r-r ! 
 
 " Purty, ain't it," said Craig, looking at the 
 thrush. Then he swallowed the last morsel of muddy 
 hard-tack, wiped his beard on his cuff, hitched up 
 his trousers, took off his green glasses, and rubbed 
 his eyes. 
 
 "A he-cat-bird sings purtier though," he said with 
 a yawn. 
 
 Alden drew out his watch, puffed once or twice, 
 and stood up, stretching his arms in the air. 
 
 " It's four o'clock," he began, but was cut short 
 by a shout from Connor. 
 
 " Gee-whiz ! " he yelled, " what have I got on 
 this here pole ! " 
 
 The ramrod was bending, the line swaying 
 heavily in the current. 
 
PICKETS. 29 
 
 " It's four o'clock, Connor," said Alden, keeping 
 a wary eye on Craig. 
 
 "That's all right!" called Craig; "the time's 
 extended till yewr friend lands that there fish ! " 
 
 " Pulls like a porpoise," grunted Connor, " damn 
 it ! I bet it busts my ramrod ! " 
 
 "Does it pull?" grinned Craig. 
 
 " Yes, — a dead weight ! " 
 
 " Don't it jerk kinder this way an' that," asked 
 Craig, much interested. 
 
 " Naw," said Connor, " the bloody thing jest pulls 
 steady." 
 
 " Then it ain't no ' red-horse, ' it's a catfish ! " 
 
 " Huh ! " sneered Connor, — " don't I know a cat- 
 fish? This ain't no catfish, lemme tell yer ! " 
 
 " Then it's a log," laughed Alden. 
 
 " By gum ! here it comes," panted Connor ; " here, 
 Alden, jest you ketch it with my knife, — hook the 
 blade, blame ye ! " 
 
 Alden cautiously descended the red bank of 
 mud, holding on to roots and branches, and bent 
 over the water. He hooked the big-bladed clasp 
 knife like a scythe, set the spring, and leaned out 
 over the water. 
 
 " Now ! " muttered Connor. 
 
 An oily circle appeared upon the surface of the 
 turbid water, — another and another. A few bubbles 
 rose and floated upon the tide. 
 
 Then something black appeared just beneath the 
 bubbles and Alden hooked it with his knife and 
 dragged it shoreward. 
 
30 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 It was the sleeve of a man's coat. 
 
 Connor dropped his ramrod and gaped at the 
 thing: Alden would have loosed it, but the knife- 
 blade was tangled in the sleeve. 
 
 He turned a sick face up to Connor. 
 
 "Pull it in," said the older man, — "here, give it 
 to me, lad — " 
 
 When at last the silent visitor lay upon the bank, 
 they saw it was the body of a Union cavalryman. 
 Alden stared at the dead face, fascinated ; Connor 
 mechanically counted the yellow chevrons upon the 
 blue sleeve, now soaked black. The muddy water 
 ran over the baked soil, spreading out in dust-cov- 
 ered pools ; the spurred boots trickled slime. After 
 a while both men turned their heads and looked at 
 Craig. The Southerner stood silent and grave, his 
 battered cap in his hand. They eyed each other 
 quietly for a moment, then, with a vague gesture, 
 the Southerner walked back into his pit and pres- 
 ently reappeared, trailing his rifle. 
 
 Connor had already begun to dig with his bayonet, 
 but he glanced up at the rifle in Craig's hands. 
 Then he looked suspiciously into the eyes of the 
 Southerner. Presently he bent his head again and 
 continued digging. 
 
 It was sunset before he and Alden finished the 
 shallow grave, Craig watching them in silence, his 
 rifle between his knees. When they were ready they 
 rolled the body into the hole and stood up. 
 
 Craig also rose, raising his rifle to a " present." 
 He held it there while the two Union soldiers 
 
PICKETS. 31 
 
 shovelled the earth into the grave. Alden went 
 back and lifted the two rifles from the pit, handed 
 Connor his, and waited. 
 
 " Ready ! " growled Connor, " aim ! " 
 
 Alden's rifle came to his shoulder. Craig also 
 raised his rifle. 
 
 " Fire ! " 
 
 Three times the three shots rang out in the wilder- 
 ness, over the unknown grave. After a moment or 
 two Alden nodded good night to Craig across the 
 river and walked slowly toward his rifle-pit. Con- 
 nor shambled after him. As he turned to lower 
 himself into the pit he called across the river; 
 " Good night, Craig ! " 
 
 " Good night, Connor," said Craig. 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 
 
 "... Brown-bear clam' de ole fence rail, 
 Rabbit holler; " Whar yoh tail ? . . . " 
 
 Banjo Song. 
 I. 
 
 WHEN the gunboats entered Sandy River, Cle- 
 land's regiment was ordered to garrison and recon- 
 struct the forts at the Landing, evacuated by the 
 Confederate troops as soon as the gunboats crossed 
 the bar. 
 
 The gunboats tossed a few shells after the lei- 
 surely retreating Confederates, then dropped anchor 
 below the Landing, and waited for something to 
 turn up. A week later they steamed out of the 
 river, promptly stuck on the bar, churned and 
 thrashed and whistled and signalled, and finally slid 
 out into blue water where a blockade runner tempted 
 them into a chase that contributed to the amuse- 
 ment of the Southern Confederacy. 
 
 By Thanksgiving time, Cleland's regiment had 
 finished the forts at Sandy Landing. Cleland did 
 it because he was told to, not because either forts 
 or town were of the slightest military value to any- 
 body. The Landing itself was a skunk-haunted 
 village, utterly unimportant as supply depot, strat- 
 egical pivot, or a menace to navigation. It was a 
 
 35 
 
$6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 key to nothing ; its single railway led nowhere, its 
 whisky was illegal, illimitable, and atrocious. 
 
 Cleland's report embodied all of this. He was 
 ordered to hold his ground, establish semaphores, 
 and plant torpedoes. So he built his semaphores as 
 directed, planted torpedoes, and reported. Twenty- 
 four hours later orders came to go into winter- 
 quarters. Then he was notified that he was to be 
 reinforced, so he built barracks for two more regi- 
 ments, as directed, and wondered what on earth was 
 coming. Nothing came except the two regiments ; 
 one arrived on the first of December, by rail, — an 
 Irish regiment ; — the other turned up a week later 
 in two cattle trains, band playing madly from the 
 caboose. It was a German regiment full of strange 
 oaths — and aromas. 
 
 Now Cleland was enlightened ; he understood 
 that the Landing was to be used as a species of 
 cage for these two foreign regiments, raised, Heaven 
 knows where, and destined to prove a nuisance to 
 any army that harboured them. The Irish possessed 
 an appalling record of pillage, bravery, and insubor- 
 dination. The German regiment, raised " to march 
 mit Siegel," had an unbroken record of flight to its 
 discredit. It had run at Grey's Ford, at Crystal 
 Hill, at Yellow Bank, and at Cypress-Court-House. 
 It fled cheerfully, morning, noon and night ; its band 
 stampeded naively and naturally ; it always followed 
 its band, adored by all ; and the regiment bore no 
 rancour when scourged in general orders. Fallbach 
 was its colonel, — known to the sarcastic and unin- 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 37 
 
 structed as Fallback, — a rosy, short-winded, peaceful 
 Teuton, who ran with his regiment every time, and 
 always accepted censure with jocular resignation. 
 
 " Poys will pe poys, ain't it ? " he would say with 
 a shrug; " Der band iss a fine band alretty. Dot 
 trombone iss timid, und der poys dey follow der 
 trombone." 
 
 When Cleland understood that the authorities had 
 rid themselves of the two regiments by interring 
 them at Sandy Landing, he wrote a respectful pro- 
 test, was snubbed and ordered to begin housekeep- 
 ing for the winter, which meant that his regiment 
 was now on police duty, stationed at the Landing 
 to keep the peace between the Germans and their 
 Irish neighbours. 
 
 Trouble began promptly ; Bannon, colonel of the 
 1st Irish, met Fallbach of the 1st Jagers, and mispro- 
 nounced his name with an emphasis unmistakable. 
 An hour later the two regiments knew the war was 
 on and made preparations accordingly. Hogan of 
 the 10th company, crossing the street, hustled Franz 
 Bummel of the Jagers and called him a " dootch 
 puddy-fud ! " 
 
 Quinn, listening to the Jagers' band concert that 
 afternoon, whistled " Doolan's Wake," and imitated 
 Fritz Klein's piccolo, aided and abetted by Phelan 
 and McCue. That night there were three scuffles 
 and a fight, and the provost-marshal had his work 
 cut out for him. 
 
 Little by little the two regiments were installed 
 in distant sections of the town. Cleland dealt jus- 
 
38 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 tice untempered with mercy, and the rival regi- 
 ments understood that their warfare would have to 
 be carried on by stealth. 
 
 When Phelan, Quinn, Hogan, and McCue were 
 released from the guard-house, they rejoiced with 
 their comrades of the ioth company, and prepared 
 future calamity for the Jagers. But Fate was 
 against them. Their regimental fetish, a strong 
 young goat, disappeared, and that night the Jagers 
 were reported to have revelled in a strangely sug- 
 gestive stew. 
 
 A day or two later, Quinn, fishing for suckers in 
 the Sandy River, was assaulted by three Jagers, his 
 fishpole and three fish confiscated, and he himself 
 ducked amid grunts of universal satisfaction. 
 
 The fury of the ioth company passed all bounds 
 when Quinn was relegated to the guard-house for 
 conduct unbecoming a soldier; but the Teutons 
 never strayed from their barracks except in force, 
 and, as night leave was forbidden both regiments, 
 the ioth company hesitated to inaugurate riot by 
 daylight. 
 
 Quinn, squatting in the guard-house found plenty 
 of leisure to hatch revenge. He did not waste 
 thought on mere individual schemes for assault and 
 battery ; he meditated a master stroke, a blow at the 
 entire regiment calculated to tear every Teuton 
 bosom. The two objects most cherished by the 
 Jagers were their cat and a disreputable negro who 
 cooked for the colonel. How to combine damage 
 to these centres of Teutonic affection occupied 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 39 
 
 Quinn's waking hours. To kidnap the cat ; that 
 was not enough, — the Teutons must be beguiled 
 into eating their cat — and liking it too. How ? 
 Quinn sucked at an empty pipe and brooded. Bribe 
 the negro Cassius, first to kidnap the cat, then 
 to cook it ? Quinn writhed maliciously at the 
 prospect ; he hated Tom, the black and white cat 
 who sang every night on the Jagers' barrack roof — 
 sang to each individual star in the firmament to the 
 indignation of every Irishman in Sandy Landing. 
 
 When Quinn emerged from the guard-house he 
 took council with Phelan and McCue ; and that 
 evening Hogan was despatched to tempt Cassius 
 with promises and a little cash. 
 
 The affair was easier than Hogan had dared hope ; 
 Cassius took the cash and promised to betray, and 
 Hogan, lips compressed, to stifle all outward mirth- 
 ful symptoms, went back to the barracks where 
 Quinn, Phelan, and McCue sat waiting in pessimistic 
 silence. 
 
 " He'll not kill the cat," said Hogan, " he'll fetch 
 ut in a bag to the shanty foreninst the hill, — d'ye 
 mind the hut, McCue? " 
 
 " I do," said McCue impressively. 
 
 "Thin be aisy," continued Hogan; "we'll skin ut 
 an' co-ook ut an' the naygur can take the stew to 
 thot Dootch runaway sodger, Fallback, bad cess to 
 him an' his! Pass th' potheen, McCue." 
 
 " Sure there's not stew in wan cat for all ! " ob- 
 jected Phelan. 
 
 "There is ! There is," said Quinn : " there's cats 
 
40 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 in town to be had for the askin', an' nary a Dootch- 
 man will starve! Usha ! but they'll be crazy, th' 
 omadhouns! " 
 
 " 'Twill choke them," said Phelan. 
 
 " Did they choke wid the goat they shtole ? " 
 demanded McCue angrily. 
 
 "I met Bummel an' Klein," continued Quinn : 
 " Sure, 'I sez, ' 'tis dhirty thricks ye play on the 
 Irish.' ' Phwat's that?' sez Klein. 'Ye ate our 
 goat,' sez I. Wid that they grinned an' me phist 
 hurrt wid the timptayshun of Bummel's nose." 
 
 " ' Sure,' sez I, ' 'tis frinds we should be ! ' ' Sorra 
 th' day ! ' sez Klein. ' Phwy not ? ' sez I. ' Ye hate 
 us an' bate us,' sez Klein ; ' I'll not thrust ye, Mike 
 Quinn.' ' Take me hand,' sez I, extindin' me fingers ; 
 wan touch of nature, me lad ! 'Tis a crool war 
 entirely, an' it's frinds we'll be, an' no favor ! ' ' Prove 
 ut,' sez he. ' I wull,' sez I, ' an' be th* same token 
 'tis huntin' we go this day week, so look fur a 
 Christmas dinner to shame the Pope's cook.' ' A 
 dinner,' sez he, ' wid th' town betchune us ! ' ' Ye'll 
 dine wid us, yet,' sez I. ' An' how,' sez he, a lickin' 
 the chops av him. ' Whin ye dine wid the Irish ye 
 should have a long spoon,' sez I, laughin' friendly 
 like. ' We'll sind ye a shtew, me b'y, if God sinds 
 us the rabbits.' Thin,' continued Quinn, " we 
 parrted genteel ; an' they'll hear we have lave to 
 hunt on Christmas day — musha, bad luck to th' 
 Dootch scuts ! — 'tis cats they'll be eatin' this blessed 
 hour come Christmas, an' may the howly saints sind 
 them the black cramp of Drumgoole ! " 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 41 
 
 II. 
 
 Christmas eve, while Hogan and Phelan lay slum- 
 bering, and Quinn and McCue walked their rounds, 
 gloating over revenge, Cassius the disreputable sat 
 in the kitchen of the Jager barracks counting the 
 advanced payment of cash received from Hogan, 
 and leering at the black and white tom-cat who 
 dozed peacefully by the dying fire. 
 
 " Pore ole Tom," muttered Cassius guiltily, " hit's 
 gwinter 'sprise dishyere kitty. 'Spec ole Tom gwin- 
 ter git riled." 
 
 The cat opened its yellow eyes. 
 
 '■ Gwinter 'sprise ole Tom," repeated Cassius, com- 
 passionately pursing up his lips. 
 
 The cat began to purr. 
 
 " Pore ole Tom," sighed the darkey, tremulous 
 with remorse. 
 
 The cat rose and began to march around, purring 
 and hoisting an interrogative tail. 
 
 Cassius continued to bemoan Tom's fate and re- 
 count the money until he had hardened his heart 
 sufficiently. Finally he pocketed the coins, wiped 
 his eyes, and approached the cat with seductive cau- 
 tion. Tom permitted caresses, courted further en- 
 dearments, and suffered himself to be seized and 
 dropped into a potato sack. But, once imprisoned, 
 
42 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 he scrambled and squalled and clawed until Cassius, 
 unable to bear the sight and sound of Thomas's dis- 
 tress, deposited the sack in the pantry and fled from 
 the barracks to the street. 
 
 Guilt weighed heavily on the darkey's soul; he 
 shuffled along, battling with conscience, trying 
 to think of some compromise to save the cat and 
 his money at the same time. Moonlight flooded 
 hill and valley ; he heard the sentries calling from 
 post to post, the stir of the horses in the artillery 
 stables across the square, the creaking of leafless 
 branches overhead. He went around to the chicken 
 coop ; he often went there to enjoy the thrill 
 of a temptation that he dared not succumb to, also 
 to keep stray cats from doing murder on their own 
 account. For, though he dared not steal a single 
 chicken, he could at least have the bitter pleasure of 
 foiling the feline marauders of Sandy Landing. 
 This he was accustomed to do with a tin box, placed 
 on its side, a trip-stick, a string, and a bit of bone 
 for bait. Cat after cat he had trapped and com- 
 mitted to the depths of Sandy River, highly com- 
 mended by his colonel and the rank and file of the 
 Jagers. Now, as he stepped softly around the corner, 
 his eyes fell on a black and white object, stealing 
 toward the window where the long tin box stood 
 temptingly baited. The next instant the trip-stick 
 clicked, the weighted box-lid fell and snapped, 
 and Cassius seized the box with a chuckle of 
 triumph. 
 
 " Cat ! Cat! " he repeated, addressing the frantic 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR.' 43 
 
 inmate of the box, "doan' yoh count yoh chickens 
 fore dey's hatched ! — " 
 
 Cassius stopped short, pulsating with a new idea. 
 Why sacrifice Tom when here was a victim ready 
 at hand, doubtless provided by Providence in the 
 nick of time to save a poor darkey from treachery? 
 And it was a kind of treachery that even Cassius 
 found uncongenial. 
 
 " Pit-a-pat ! Pit-a-pat ! " mocked Cassius derisively 
 listening to the manoeuvres of the imprisoned victim; 
 "Stop dat scratchin' on de box! He! He! He I 
 I'se gwineter let ole Tom outen de bag, — pore ole 
 Tom ! Dishyere nigger ain't no Judas ! Lan's 
 sakes ! — dat ole cat smell kinder funny ! " 
 
 He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, turned a pair of 
 startled eyes on the big box under his arm, then a 
 sickly smile of intelligence spread over his face and 
 he placed the box gently on the ground. 
 
 " Had mah s'picions 'bout dat black an' white 
 kitty-cat," he muttered. 
 
 The animal inside scratched and writhed and 
 scrambled. 
 
 " Lan's sake ! " chuckled Cassius, grinning from 
 ear to ear, " 'spec dat ole pole-cat gwine twiss he tail 
 off'n 'bout two-free minutes ! Yah ! yah ! — he ! he ! 
 yiah— ho ! " 
 
 And, as he entered the servant's quarters he smote 
 his knees and shook his head, and laughed and 
 laughed and laughed. 
 
 About midnight he took his banjo from the nail, 
 thumbed it, and began to croon to himself : 
 
44 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Bob-cat he caynt wag he tail— 
 Ain got no tail foh to wag 1 
 Brown-bear clam' de ole fence rail, 
 Rabbit holler ; " Whar yoh tail ? " 
 Bob-cat larf like he gwinter bus' ; 
 Pole-cat stop for to see de fuss, 
 De bob-cat scoot, de bear turn pale, 
 An' de rabbit he skip froo de ole fence rail. 
 
 " Ef yoh wanter see a tail, " sez de pole-cat ; " see I 
 " Mah tail's long 'nuff foh mah folks an' me I " 
 
 III. 
 
 About three o'clock on Christmas afternoon, 
 Hogan's rifle exploded prematurely and killed a rab- 
 bit. The intense astonishment of McCue, Quinn 
 and Phelan nerved Hogan for more glory, and he 
 fired at every tuft of hill-weed until his cartridges 
 were gone, and his temper too. 
 
 " Bad cess to me goon ! " he shouted, " 'tis twisted 
 it do be, an' I'll thank ye for th' loan av yere piece, 
 McCue." 
 
 " G'wan," said McCue, " 'till I show ye a thrick ! " 
 — and he blazed away at a rapidly vanishing cotton- 
 tail and missed. Occasionally, firing by volleys, they 
 scored a rabbit to four rifles, and, at sunset, McCue 
 spread out a dozen or so cotton-tails on the newly 
 fallen snow before the door of the hill shanty. 
 Phelan wiped his brow with the back of his 
 fist. 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 45 
 
 " Phwere's th' naygur?" he demanded. 
 
 Hogan looked at his watch and began to swear, 
 just as Cassius appeared over the hilltop, a tin box 
 under his arm, and on his face a smile of confidence. 
 
 " Have ye th* ould Tom ! " demanded Quinn, as 
 Cassius shuffled up and, depositing the tin box on 
 the doorstep, looked cheerfully around. 
 
 " Evenin', gemmen, evenin','' said Cassius, lick- 
 ing his lips and leaning down to pinch the fat rab- 
 bits lying in a row ; " Kinder cold dishyere Chris'- 
 mus, gemmen. 'Spec we gwinter 'sperience moh 
 snow " 
 
 " Have ye the cat?" repeated Quinn sternly. 
 
 " 'Cose I has" said Cassius indignantly, "an' I'se 
 come foh de cash " 
 
 " Phwat's that ! " snarled Hogan. 
 
 " Hould a bit ! " interposed Quinn ; " is the torn 
 in the box now ? " 
 
 " 'Cose he is," repeated Cassius ; " yaas, sah, dasser 
 mighty fine kitty, dat is! Hit ain't no or'nary cat, 
 hit ain't, — no sah. Dasser pole-cat, sah, dat is!" 
 
 " 'Tis a Dootch cat ! " said Phelan. 
 
 " Sure Poles is Dootch, too," observed McCue ; 
 " Phwat are ye waitin' for I dunno ? " he added, 
 scowling at the darkey. 
 
 " I'se lingerin' foh mah cash," said Cassius. 
 
 " G'wan ! " said Phelan briefly. 
 
 Cassius turned an injured face from one to the 
 other. There was a hostile silence. Phelan pro- 
 duced a flour sack and threw the rabbits into it, 
 one by one. 
 
46 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " 'Scuse me, gemmen," began Cassius, — when an 
 exclamation from Quinn silenced him and drew the 
 attention of all to a black-and-white object advanc- 
 ing across the snow toward the shanty. 
 
 " Lan's sake ! " muttered Cassius, " pole-cat in 
 de box gwineter draw all de pole-cats in dishyere 
 county ! " 
 
 " 'Tis a rabbit ! " said McCue, seizing his gun. 
 
 " It's a cat ! " said Hogan, " d'yez mind th' tail 
 of ut ! " 
 
 " Dat ain't no cat," said Cassius contemptuously, 
 " dasser skunk." 
 
 " Skoonk is it ? An phwat's a skoonk, ye black 
 mutt ? " demanded McCue. At the same instant 
 Phelan fired and missed ; Quinn, paralysed with 
 buck-fever, clutched his rifle, mouth agape, while 
 Hogan, in an access of excitement, began shouting 
 and kicking the darkey from snowdrift to snow- 
 drift. 
 
 " Now will ye grin ! " he yelled ; " G'wan home 
 ye omadhoun ! — " 
 
 " Leggo mah wool ! " retorted the darkey, and 
 rose from the snow with sullen alacrity : " Wha' 
 foh yoh yank mah kinks ? " 
 
 " Faith then, fur luck an' bad-luck," said Hogan 
 and followed McCue into the deserted shanty. 
 
 A moment later, Quinn and Phelan came back 
 after an eager but fortunately fruitless quest for 
 the game, and McCue and Hogan issued from the 
 shanty, bearing the tin box, ready to return to the 
 barracks. 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 47 
 
 " Me heavy hand on th' naygur ! " growled Mc- 
 Cue : " he's gone, where ? — I dunno, but he'll carry 
 the bag o' rabbits or me name's not McCue ! Call 
 him, Hogan." 
 
 " Come out, ye bat-o'-th'-bog, ye ! Where are 
 ye now ! — tne Red Witch o' Drumgoole follow ye ! " 
 shouted Hogan, tramping around the shanty and 
 poking under the steps. 
 
 " Lave th' black scut," said McCue with dignity, 
 " I'll carry the sack. Have ye th' sack ? " he added, 
 turning to Phelan. 
 
 " I have not," said Phelan, " 'twas there foreninst 
 the shanty." 
 
 " Now the red itch o' Drumgoole on him ! " 
 shouted McCue. " Usha, musha, he's gone wid the 
 sack, an' divil a bit or a sup av a shtew ye'll eat 
 the night ! Sorra the rabbit he's left ! — me heavy 
 hand on him an' his ! — may the saints sind him sor- 
 row this blessed night ! " 
 
 " We have th' ould torn in th' box," said Quinn, 
 with a significant flourish of his rifle. 
 
 " There's no luck in it — Care killed a cat, an' 
 worrit the kittens. Begorra ! — I'll kill no cat at all, 
 at all!" replied McCue superstitiously. 
 
 " May the Dootch robbers choke whin they sup 
 this night ! " shouted Phelan ; " Wirra the day I set 
 eye on the naygur an' his Dootch whippets ! " 
 
 "They'll have no luck, mark that! — McCue!" 
 said Hogan : " We've their Tom in a box an' they'll 
 have no luck ! " 
 
 They gathered up their rifles in silence ; McCue 
 
48 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 carried the box ; one by one they filed down the 
 darkening hillside toward the village where already 
 a lantern or two glimmered along the stockade and 
 the bugles were sounding the evening call. 
 
 When the sportsmen reached the barracks, and it 
 became known that the Jagers' tom-cat had been 
 captured, the regiment went wild with enthusiasm. 
 It was decided not to open the box at once, be- 
 cause the cat might hastily migrate toward the 
 familiar barracks of the Jagers ; but Quinn, the 
 prime mover in the capture of Thomas, was selected 
 a delegate of one to present the box to Colonel Ban- 
 non as a surprise and a Christmas gift from the 
 whole regiment. 
 
 So, that night, the regiment ate their Christmas 
 dinner in eager anticipation, and their hilarity was 
 scarcely marred by Hogan's report that the Jagers' 
 barracks resounded with a joyous din of feasting and 
 song. 
 
 "May th' banshee worrit thim ! Let them be 
 wid their futther — an' — mutther ! May the red 
 banshee sup with them in hell ! " said Quinn as he 
 rose in obedience to the orderly who said the Colonel 
 would receive him. 
 
 He took the tin box gingerly, for the animal in- 
 side was very lively, and he followed the orderly to 
 the door of the messroom in the officer's quarters. 
 
 Here the orderly left him a moment but returned 
 directly and whispered : 
 
 " The colonel knows it's the Dootch cat ye have, 
 — but ye'll say ye bought it. Sure he's a dacent 
 
AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR. 49 
 
 man, is Colonel Bannon, an' no love lost betwixt 
 him an' Fallback. Are ye ready now?" 
 
 " Yis," said Quinn firmly, forage cap in one hand, 
 box in the other : " is the rigiment outside on the 
 parade ? " 
 
 " It is, an' ready to cheer." 
 
 " Then in I go," said Quinn. 
 
 The colonel sat at the head of the table, flanked 
 by his staff and line officers. His face, a little red 
 with Christmas cheer, was gravely composed for the 
 occasion. His officers, to a man, beamed with 
 anticipation. 
 
 " Quinn," said the Colonel. 
 
 " Sorr," said Quinn, standing at attention. 
 
 " This is a very pleasant occasion," said the Colo- 
 nel, " and I am gratified that my men have re- 
 membered their colonel upon this blessed day. I 
 am told you have a surprise for me, Quinn." 
 
 " Yis sorr, — a cat, sorr." 
 
 ." A cat ! " said the Colonel in affected surprise. 
 
 "We've lost our goat, sorr, but we'll conshole our 
 sorrow wid a cat, sorr — Colonel Bannon's cat if you 
 plaze, sorr." 
 
 The Colonel's eyes twinkled. 
 
 "'Tis a dacent kitty, sorr," said Quinn, undoing 
 the rope that held the lid ; " a Dootch Kitty they 
 do say from Poland, sorr, where we sint for a dozen 
 an' this is the pick o' them." 
 
 The Colonel suppressed a smile ; the officers 
 gurgled. 
 
 " I have the spachless honor, sorr," said Quinn, 
 4 
 
50 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 placing the box on the table before the Colonel, — 
 " I have the unmintionable deloight inpresinting to 
 our beloved Colonel in the name av his beloved 
 rigiment, this illegant kitty ! " 
 
 And he took off the lid. 
 
 There was a silence. Suddenly a long slender 
 black and white creature sprang from the box to 
 the table, flourishing a beautiful bushy tail ; there 
 came a yell, a frightful stampede, a crash of glass, 
 a piteous shriek from the Colonel under the sofa : 
 "Quinn! Quinn ! Ye murtherin' scut! Tis a 
 skoonk ! Usha, but I'll have yer life fur this night's 
 work ! " 
 
 And Quinn, taking his nose firmly in both hands, 
 
 pranced away like one demented — fled for his life 
 
 through the falling snow of that blessed Christmas 
 
 night. 
 
 ***** 
 
 In the barracks of the Jagers was song and jest 
 and Christmas cheer : — shouting and feasting and 
 heart-friendships, and the intermittent din of trom- 
 bones. 
 
 Cassius, feeding to repletion in the kitchen with a 
 bowl of rabbit stew between his knees, paused to 
 hold his aching sides because it hurt him to laugh 
 when he ate. Beside him on the floor, Thomas 
 licked his whiskers, and yawned and stared into the 
 dying fire. 
 
SMITH'S BATTERY 
 
A new warre e're while arose — 
 Lovelace. 
 
SMITH'S BATTERY. 
 
 Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays 
 Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days ; 
 Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, 
 And one by one back in the Closet lays. 
 
 Fitzgerald. 
 
 On the evening of the 15th the cavalry left by 
 moonlight, riding along the railroad toward Slow- 
 River-Junction. The bulk of the infantry followed 
 two days later, leaving behind them " The Dead 
 Rabbits," — a New York regiment, — a squad of 
 cavalry, and Smith's four-gun battery, to garrison a 
 hamlet inhabited principally by mosquitoes. 
 
 The hamlet of Slow-River contained a red brick 
 church, some houses, a water-tank, and a race-track. 
 The " Dead Rabbits " established their warren in the 
 race-track sheds, the cavalry guarded the railway 
 and water-tank, and Smith's battery decorated the 
 graveyard around the red brick church. 
 
 The inhabitants of Slow-River, barring the mos- 
 quitoes, had mostly disappeared toward Dixie be- 
 fore the arrival of Wilson's division. When Wilson 
 moved on toward the Junction, leaving behind him 
 the " Dead Rabbits," — and Smith's Battery to take 
 
 53 
 
54 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 care of them — the non-combatant population of 
 Slow-River numbered two, — not including an 
 Ethiopian of no account. 
 
 Smith, of Smith's Battery, had constituted him- 
 self an inquisition of one. The Reverend Laomi 
 Smull, pastor of the brick church took the oath of 
 allegiance and smacked the Book with moist thick 
 lips. Mrs. Ashley, the remaining inhabitant of 
 Slow-River, widow of a Union officer killed in the 
 early days of the war, took the oath earnestly, then 
 told Smith who she was and received his apologies 
 with sensitive reserve. 
 
 " I wished to take the oath," she said : " I have 
 not had my country brought so near for many 
 months." 
 
 The Reverend Laomi Smull, clasped his soft 
 fingers together and surveyed the firmament while 
 Mrs. Ashley brushed the tears from her blue eyes. 
 When she thanked Smith for the privilege of pub- 
 licly acknowledging her country, the Reverend 
 Laomi nodded and closed his small eyes as though 
 in ecstatic contemplation of a soul regenerated. 
 
 " Where's the nigger ? " inquired Smith when Mrs. 
 Ashley had gone back to her cottage below the 
 church. 
 
 " Do you refer to our unfortunate coloured 
 brother?" suggested the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Oh yes — of course," said Smith, fidgeting with 
 his sabre. 
 
 " Abiatha is angling from the bridge," said Smull 
 wagging his double chin till his collar creaked. 
 
smith's battery. 55 
 
 " What is he fishing for," inquired Smith, who 
 was an angler. 
 
 " Fish," said the Reverend Laomi, and entered 
 his church with more agility than his fat bulk ap- 
 peared to warrant. 
 
 At the door he turned to cast one last sly glance 
 at the firmament. 
 
 Smith, distrustful, and of the earth earthy, walked 
 back to the graveyard, lifting his sabre to prevent 
 the clanking of the scabbard on fallen grave-stones. 
 
 "Look out for that pastor," he said to Steele: 
 " if I know a copperhead from a copper kettle he's 
 one with double fangs." 
 
 " You think he may play tricks? " asked Steele, 
 toasting a rasher of bacon on the coals before his 
 feet. 
 
 "Yes, I do. He'll get no passes from me, I can 
 tell you. I'm going up into the church tower. Is 
 there a bell there ? " 
 
 " A cracked one," said Steele. 
 
 " I'll take the clapper out," observed Smith. He 
 accepted a bit of bacon from Steele, laid it on a morsel 
 of hardtack, munched silently for a few minutes, then 
 washed his breakfast down with a tin of coffee, 
 returned Steele's salute, and entered the church 
 through the vestry. Climbing the belfry ladder on 
 tiptoe, cap in hand, he could not prevent the ladder 
 from creaking. So, when he stepped out on the 
 loosely laid planks beside the bell, he found the 
 Reverend Laomi Smull leaning on the belfry-ledge, 
 preoccupied with the sky. 
 
56 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Oh," said the reverend gentleman with a start, 
 " is it my young friend, Captain Smythe ?" 
 
 "Smith," said the officer dryly, and felt in the 
 bell for the iron clapper. 
 
 "Where is the clapper?" he added turning on 
 Smull. 
 
 The Reverend Laomi regarded him calmly. 
 
 " I do not know," he said. 
 
 To search the person of the minister was Smith's 
 first impulse ; Smull divined it and smiled sadly. 
 
 " He's thrown it from the tower where he can 
 find it," thought Smith. Then he drew a jackknife 
 from his blouse, cut the two bell-ropes and let them 
 drop to the tiled floor far below. The thwack of 
 the ropes echoed through the silent church ; Smith 
 apologised for the military precaution and stepped 
 to the tower parapet. There he could look out 
 over the ravaged country toward the Junction where 
 rumour reported an ominous concentration of Union 
 troops. He could see the water-tower and the 
 railroad and cavalry patroling the embankment in 
 the morning sunshine. He could see the weather- 
 stained sheds of the race-track where the " Dead 
 Rabbits " prowled, a nuisance and sometimes a 
 terror to everybody except the enemy. Behind 
 him he heard the Reverend Laomi pattering about 
 over the loose planks that formed the belfry floor- 
 ing. 
 
 " I shall station a signal officer here," he said 
 without turning. 
 
 " Sir," stammered the minister. 
 
SMITH S BATTERY. 57 
 
 " I am sorry," said Smith impatiently : " we need 
 the church more than you do." 
 
 " I agree with you," said Smull in a peculiarly 
 soft voice. 
 
 " I am sorry to exclude you — " began Smith turn- 
 ing, — and those words had wellnigh been his last, 
 for one leg slipped through an unexpected fissure 
 between the planks, and he clutched a beam beside 
 him and drew himself up, deadly pale. 
 
 He looked at Smull ; the clergyman overwhelmed 
 him with congratulations on his escape from pitch- 
 ing headlong to the tiled floor below. He spoke of 
 the mercy of Providence, of the miracles of the 
 Most High ; he deplored the condition of the belfry 
 floor; he reproached himself for not noticing the 
 fissure. 
 
 " I did not notice it either — when I came up," 
 said Smith. 
 
 He followed Smull down the ladder and out of 
 the church, returning the reverend gentleman's 
 salute gravely. Then he ordered Steele to use the 
 church for barracks and march his men in without 
 delay. 
 
 " Into the church ? " repeated Steele. 
 
 " I guess Union soldiers won't desecrate this 
 church or any other church," said Smith savagely, 
 and turned on his heel. 
 
 On his way to the river he passed Mrs. Ashley's 
 cottage ; she was hanging a home-made flag over 
 the porch ; the stars and stripes were not symmet- 
 rical, but they were stars and stripes. 
 
58 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 She stood on the top of a ladder, hammering 
 tacks and holding the red, white, and blue folds in 
 her pretty mouth. Occasionally she hammered one 
 pink-tipped ringer instead of a tack; at such mo- 
 ments she repeated, " Oh dear ! " 
 
 Smith, cap in hand, offered to hold the ladder ; 
 Mrs. Ashley thanked him and continued to hammer 
 serenely, until she remembered her ankles and de- 
 scended precipitately. Then Smith climbed the 
 ladder, drew out all the tacks Mrs. Ashley had 
 hammered in, rehung the " symbol of light and 
 law," draped and nailed it with military rigidity, 
 and descended, covered with perspiration and mos- 
 quito bites. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley, cool and sweet in a white gown and 
 black sash, thanked him and offered him a cup of 
 tea under the magnolias. He accepted and sat 
 down, sabre between his knees, to mop his face and 
 evade mosquitoes until she returned with two cups 
 of cold tea, creamless and sugarless. 
 
 " I have some limes — if you wish, — Captain 
 Smith," she ventured, holding out the golden-green 
 fruit in her smooth palm. 
 
 He thanked her and squeezed a lime into his tea. 
 
 Overhead, among the magnolia blossoms, the sum- 
 mer harmony had already begun with the deep sym- 
 phony of bees ; butterflies hovered under the per- 
 fumed branches ; a grasshopper clicked incessantly 
 among the myrtle vines. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley rested her chin on her wrist and 
 looked at nothing. A breeze began to stir the folds 
 
smith's battery. 59 
 
 of the draped flag over the porch ; the crimson 
 stripes undulated, the stars rose and fell. 
 
 " We hear nothing in Slow River," said Mrs. 
 Ashley : " has anything important happened, Captain 
 Smith?" Her voice was almost inaudible. 
 
 " Nothing important. The last battle went 
 against us." 
 
 " Will there be a battle here ? " 
 
 " No — I don't know — I have no reason to suppose 
 so," he said with conscientious precision. " If by 
 any possible chance the rebel cavalry should ride 
 around our army we might be visited here, but," 
 he added, " the contingency is too remote for specu- 
 lation." 
 
 "Too remote for speculation?" repeated Mrs. 
 Ashley under her breath. 
 
 Smith looked up at her — he had been watching a 
 file of ants bearing off minute crumbs from the bis- 
 cuit he was nibbling. Smith's shoulder-straps were 
 too recent to admit of trifling, and he had an instinct 
 that Mrs. Ashley considered him young. 
 
 " Too remote for speculation," he repeated, and 
 touched the down on his upper lip with decision. 
 The faintest flicker of amusement stirred Mrs. 
 Ashley's blue eyes. 
 
 They spoke of the war, of battles on land and sea, 
 of sieges and blockades, of prisons and of death. 
 Listening to her passionless voice he forgot his 
 shoulder-straps for a while. She noticed it. She 
 spoke now as a very young hostess to a distinguished 
 guest, and he appreciated it. Little by little they 
 
60 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 dropped into the half frank, half guarded repertoire 
 peculiar to conventional civilisation ; he recognised 
 her beauty ; she conceded his gallantry ; the bees 
 buzzed among the magnolias ; the warm breeze 
 stirred the flag. 
 
 Sitting there with white fingers interlaced, and 
 blue eyes demurely fixed on his, she wondered at 
 the pains she took to wind him around the least of 
 those white fingers of hers. Yet there was reason 
 enough for her ; her reason, in concrete form, 
 skulked up-stairs under a mound of bedclothes, — 
 a sallow faced, furtive young man, reported killed 
 at Bull Run, — a deserter from the Union army, a 
 Rebel at heart, too cowardly to back his convictions, 
 — the blight and sorrow and curse of her young life 
 — her husband. 
 
 From the day of their marriage, she had found 
 him out and loathed him, yet, when he marched 
 with a loyal regiment, she had bade him God-speed. 
 
 When the news came from Bull Run she had wept 
 and forgiven him the past, because he had been good 
 to her in death, — he had left her the widow of a 
 Union soldier. His apparition in Slow River almost 
 killed her. The Reverend Laomi Smull sarcas- 
 tically bade her rejoice and put off her widow's 
 weeds. She did neither. 
 
 Suddenly Wilson's advance was signalled from the 
 hills beyond the river ; the population of Slow 
 River fled Dixie-ward, — all except young Ashley, 
 who lay sleeping off a debauch in his own gutter. 
 The Reverend Laomi preferred to remain for 
 
smith's battery. 6i 
 
 several reasons. Hours after the Union cavalry 
 dashed into the village, Ashley awoke to conscious- 
 ness. When he comprehended what had happened 
 he crawled into bed and cursed his wife and his luck 
 and the Union Army impartially. 
 
 With what loathing did she aid in concealing 
 him ! With what desperation did she evade ques- 
 tions and intrusive patrols and the quiet questions 
 of officers, courteous young fellows in blue, who 
 accepted her word of honour with a bow and went 
 away, deceived by a loyal woman — the wife of a 
 coward and traitor — for that traitor's sake. 
 
 But she must play the frightful comedy to the 
 end ; she was doing it now, smiling back at Smith 
 with eyes that caressed ; with death in her heart. 
 
 When he rose to go she dropped him the quaintest 
 and stateliest courtesy that can be dropped by a girl 
 of twenty. His cap swept the tall grass-blades; 
 Southern chivalry is infectious. So he passed on 
 his way to the river. 
 
 Five minutes later the Reverend Laomi Smull 
 appeared at the gate, smirked at the young wife, 
 entered the cottage, and ascended the stairs with a 
 parodoxical nimbleness that displayed two white 
 cotton socks and inadequate attention to personal 
 ensemble. 
 
 Smith pursued his way to the river through a 
 weed-tangled path choked with rank marshy stalks, 
 mint, elder, and wild lady-slipper. The little brown 
 honey-bees hummed from bud to bud ; dragon-flies, 
 balanced in mid-air on quivering wings, selected 
 
62 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 plump mosquitoes from the cloud that wavered 
 above Smith's head, and darted so close to his ears 
 that he dodged like anew recruit at a bullet. When 
 he came to the narrow sluggish river, where a foot- 
 bridge swayed in the amber eddies, he took his 
 cigar from his mouth and his Bible from his pocket. 
 
 A dilapidated individual of African descent, legs 
 dangling over the water, fishpole clasped in both 
 black fists, glanced up at the young officer and said : 
 " Mohnin' suh !" Smith nodded, looked hard at the 
 darkey, shrugged his shoulders, and restored the 
 cigar to his lips and the Bible to his pocket. 
 
 " What are you fishing for, Uncle? " he asked. 
 
 " Fishin' foh bass, suh," replied the dilapidated 
 one. 
 
 " Catch any ? " 
 
 " I done cotch free bass an' a tarrypin turkle, 
 suh." 
 
 " Want to sell them ? " 
 
 "No, suh," 
 
 " Going to eat them all yourself, Uncle ? " 
 
 " I's gotter right ter," said the angler combatively. 
 
 Smith glanced down on the river sand where, 
 anchored to a string, three plump bass floated out 
 in the current. 
 
 " Are you going to eat the terrapin, too, Uncle ? " 
 
 " Co's I is," sniffed the darkey ; " I's gotter right 
 ter." 
 
 "Let's see it," said Smith. 
 
 The angler climbed down to the strip of sand, 
 picked up the terrapin, and held it out to Smith. 
 
smith's battery. 63 
 
 "How much?" asked Smith. 
 
 " Two dollahs, suh." 
 
 Smith paid the money grimly, picked up the ter- 
 rapin, and stood a moment watching the darkey 
 climb back to his perch on the footbridge. 
 
 "You'll leave your footprints on the sand of 
 time," said Smith ; "you'll be in Wall Street in a 
 month — or in Sing-Sing." 
 
 " Wha's dat yoh's a-sayin' 'bout leabin' shoe- 
 prints on de san's ob time, suh ? " asked the sable 
 one, much interested. 
 
 "Nothing. If you get anymore terrapin, bring 
 them to the artillery camp. What's your name, 
 Uncle?" 
 
 " Nuffin', suh?" 
 
 "No name?" 
 
 " No suh, jess 'Biah, suh." 
 
 " Oh— Alcibiades ? No? Then Abiatha? " 
 
 "Yaas, suh." 
 
 " Whose darkey are you ? " 
 
 " Mis' Ashley's niggah, suh." 
 
 " Oh ! And the fish are for Mrs. Ashley ? " 
 
 " Yaas, suh. Gwineter tote 'em back foh dinner, 
 suh." 
 
 " Then," said Smith, " take back your terrapin 
 too, you rascal ! How dare you sell your mistress's 
 property ! " 
 
 'Biah watched the terrapin fall on the sands again, 
 then he ruefully fished out the two dollars from 
 some rent in his ragged coat. For a moment he strug- 
 gled to tell the truth,— that Mrs. Ashley, in the 
 
64 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 present state of her finances, would rather have 
 twenty-five cents than a dozen terrapins. Perhaps 
 he feared Mrs. Ashley's wrath, perhaps a spark of 
 Mrs. Ashley's pride had lodged beneath his own 
 shirtless bosom. He said nothing, but rose, holding 
 his fishpole in one hand, and sidled along the foot- 
 bridge toward Smith, money clutched in one out- 
 stretched fist. 
 
 Smith glanced at the four silver half-dollars. 
 
 " Keep them and buy a coat, 'Biah," he said, re- 
 lighting his cigar. At the same instant a big bass 
 seized 'Biah's hook and made off with it, and 'Biah, 
 losing his balance, dropped the silver coins into the 
 river. Then the tattered African lost his head, too ; 
 for a minute, bass, darkey, pole, and line became a 
 blurr on the bridge, on the sands below, and finally 
 in the water. 
 
 When 'Biah emerged, he had the bass by the 
 gills ; later he fished out pole and line, while Smith, 
 wading through the shallows in his cavalry-boots, 
 poked about for the lost coins with the butt of his 
 sabre-scabbard. 
 
 Ten minutes later 'Biah had recovered three of 
 the half dollars. Smith had found something else, 
 — a bundle of soaked clothes bearing United States 
 army buttons and a second lieutenant's shoulder 
 straps. 
 
 Instinctively he tossed the soaked packet into the 
 alders and walked carelessly back to the footbridge 
 where 'Biah, absorbed in disentangling his tackle, 
 breathed hard and deep and muttered maledic- 
 
smith's battery, 65 
 
 tions on " dat ole bull-bass what fink he know a 
 heap moh'n ole 'Biah." 
 
 " Done drap mah hook in de hole," he puffed ; 
 " gwine ter gitter hook an' tote mah fish, suh. 
 Mohnin', suh, mohnin', " ; and 'Biah scrambled to 
 his feet and shuffled back along the weed-grown 
 footpath that led to Mrs. Ashley's cottage. 
 
 When the negro had disappeared, Smith leaped 
 lightly to the sand below, parted the alders, found 
 the bundle of clothes, and cut the cord with his 
 sabre. 
 
 " New clothes," he muttered : " not a patch, not 
 a rag — hello — what's this?" 
 
 He drew a soaked bit of paper from the breast- 
 pocket of the jacket, and, standing in the alders, 
 read the pencilled memorandum. 
 
 It was a receipt signed by the Reverend Laomi 
 Smull for pew-rent received from Anderson Ashley. 
 But what troubled Smith was the date, for, if Mrs. 
 Ashley's husband had been killed at Bull Run, how 
 could he be renting pews from the Reverend Laomi 
 in Slow-River? Smith examined the paper closely ; 
 it read : 
 
 " Received from Anderson Ashley, Esquire, $3.75, 
 pew-rent for Mr. and Mrs. Anderson Ashley." 
 
 The date, two months back, startled him. As he 
 stood, holding the paper, staring vacantly at the 
 motionless leaves on the alders, far away he heard 
 the noon call from the artillery bugles, taken up by 
 the cavalry trumpets at the water-tank, and passed 
 on to the infantry around the race-track. He shoved 
 5 
 
66 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 the wet clothes under a fallen log, opened the Bible 
 in his pocket, placed the folded receipt between 
 the leaves, and, carrying the Bible in one hand, 
 sword in the other, went back along the tangled 
 footpath toward Mrs. Ashley's cottage. 
 
 III. 
 
 When the Reverend Laomi Smull displayed un- 
 expected agility on Mrs. Ashley's staircase, Ashley 
 himself, hearing the ascending footsteps, cowered 
 under the bed quilts and turned cold to the marrow 
 of every bone. 
 
 " It's me," said the reverend gentleman, enter- 
 ing the bed-room and waving his fat hands at the 
 pile of quilts under which Ashley squirmed in fear : 
 " it's me, Ashley," he repeated, disregarding the 
 finer points of grammatical construction : " Moseby's 
 men is in the hills and I don't know what to do." 
 
 Ashley's dissipated face emerged from the bed- 
 covers. Fear stamped every feature with a grimace 
 that amused Smull. 
 
 "What did you say about Moseby's men?" 
 stammered Ashley. 
 
 " They're in the hills across the river," repeated 
 Smull: " I seen smoke on Painted Rock." 
 
 " It's a blockade still," suggested Ashley. 
 
 " No it ain't," retorted Smull ; " it's green wood 
 burnin ' — don't I know a still, hey ? It's Confede- 
 rate cavalry, an' they've ridden around the Yankee 
 army, that's what they've done." 
 
smith's battery. 67 
 
 Ashley protruded his long pallid neck, looked 
 around like an alarmed turkey, in a weed patch, and 
 finally stared at Smull. 
 
 "What are you going to do ? " he asked. 
 
 The fat cunning on Smull's face was indescrib- 
 able. 
 
 " Do ? " repeated Smull. 
 
 " Yes, do ! Didn't Moseby tell you to ring the 
 church bell on Sunday as many times as there was 
 Yankee companies in Slow-River ? Didn't he tell 
 you to hang out your washing according to code, — a 
 shirt, ' come,' two shirts ' run,' a red undershirt, 
 ' run like the devil ' — say, didn't he and you fix up 
 the code ? " 
 
 Smull's small eyes rested on the door, then on 
 Ashley. 
 
 " The Yankee Battery Captain came to look at 
 the bell. I threw the clapper out into the bushes," 
 he said. 
 
 After a moment he added : " He came near fall- 
 ing through the plank floor. Frightened me to 
 death — most." 
 
 Ashley's eyes met his ; Smull raised a fat white 
 hand to conceal the expression of his mouth. 
 
 " That's all very well," said Ashley petulantly, 
 "but I reckon you'd better go. If I'm caught I'm 
 toted out to a shootin' match — and I'll be the tar- 
 get too." 
 
 This observation appeared to start a new train of 
 thought in Smull's mind. And, as he cogitated, his 
 expression changed from sly malice to complacence, 
 
6$ THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 and then to that sanctimonious smirk with which, 
 in the garden below, he had greeted Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " Ashley," he said gravely, " I can't give no sig- 
 nals to Moseby, nohow. I regret," he continued 
 piously, " I regret and see the error that the South 
 has made in this here unchristian war." 
 
 Ashley started and fixed his bloodshot eyes on 
 Smull, who immediately raised his own to the ceiling 
 and addressed it unctuously : " This here unchris- 
 tian war to disrupt the sacred union of the States is 
 a offence against God and man, my young friend, 
 and I now am brought to see, by God's grace, the 
 sin of secession an' slavery, an' Jefferson Davis an' 
 his wicked ways. Surely the wicked shall perish 
 and be cut down like the grass ; in the morning it 
 flourisheth and groweth up, in the evenin' it is cut 
 down an' withereth, my young fren'." 
 
 Ashley had grown paler and paler ; his fingers 
 clutched at the bedclothes, and he watched Smull's 
 increasing exaltation with a horror that pinched 
 every feature in his face. 
 
 " No ! " bawled Smull : "no ! no ! I have took 
 the oath of allegiance to these here United States ! 
 Blessed is the merciful, for they shall obtain 
 mercy ! " 
 
 " Shut up ! " gasped Ashley, " do you want to 
 have the Yankee provost here ? " 
 
 Smull raised his hands and wept on ; " Behold I 
 am utterly enlightened ! Blessed are the meek for 
 they"— 
 
 " Stop ! " shrieked Ashley, starting up in bed. 
 
smith's battery. 69 
 
 Smull glanced sharply at him, then sat down with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Are you going to give me up to the provost- 
 marshal because you took the oath ? " quavered 
 Ashley, beside himself with fright and fury. 
 
 " No," said Smull wagging his double chin and 
 meeting Ashley's glance squarely ; "no, I will not 
 bring the centurions for fear they utterly destroy 
 thee with the sword." 
 
 Ashley, sweating with terror, looked at the rev- 
 erend gentleman and wondered whether he could 
 kill him without undue disturbance. That fat neck 
 could not be strangled with Ashley's slender fingers ; 
 the revolver under the pillow was surer — and surer 
 still to bring the Yankee soldiers pell-mell into the 
 house. He had been jealous of Smull when that 
 gentleman made his weekly call on Mrs. Ashley. 
 He, besotted as he was, noticed the expression of 
 Smull's small eyes when Mrs. Ashley entered the 
 room, her innocent heart filled with plans for char- 
 ities suggested by the minister. Would the Rev- 
 erend Laomi like to see Mrs. Ashley a real widow ? 
 Would he even aid fate toward the accomplishment 
 of her widowhood? 
 
 " What the hell made you holler like that ! " stam- 
 mered Ashley fiercely. " Damn you," he added? 
 "< if the Yankees had come into this room, you 
 would have left it feet first an' fit for a hole in the 
 ground ? " 
 
 The Reverend Laomi Smull looked sadly at the 
 young man. There were tears on his fat cheeks. 
 
yO THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Yes, I tote a gun," sneered Ashley, tapping the 
 pillow under his head. " Don't be a fool. Hang 
 out your shirt and let Moseby come and clean out 
 these Yankees, for God's sake, before they shoot me 
 and hang you on my evidence." 
 
 " Moseby's men can't face cannon," observed 
 Smull with sudden alacrity. 
 
 " Then lock the cannoniers in the church when 
 Moseby signals. You can do it ; you've got the 
 keys, haven't you ? " 
 
 Smull nodded. 
 
 " They'll come at night, of course ; you can go 
 and whine hymns in the church by special permit, 
 and lock the door when the first carbine goes off." 
 
 "And the bell on Sunday?" inquired Smull: 
 " the clapper's gone, the ropes are cut, and the 
 Yankee Battery Captain wouldn't let me ring it no- 
 how." 
 
 " Never mind the bell. If Moseby sees the shirt 
 he'll attack by night, unless he's in force. If the 
 whole Confederate cavalry has ridden around Wilson, 
 then he'll come by day and send the Yankees pack- 
 ing, battery or no battery. All you've got to do is 
 to hang out that shirt. Now go away, d'you 
 hear?" 
 
 Smull rose and walked softly to the door. 
 
 "And," added Ashley, " if you play tricks on me 
 you'll hang on my evidence." 
 
 Smull opened the door. 
 
 " And you'll not get my wife anyway, damn you ! " 
 finished Ashley triumphantly from the bed. 
 
smith's battery. 71 
 
 Smull turned and looked at him, then went out, 
 quietly closing the door behind him. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs he met Mrs. Ashley, and 
 he smirked and opened his thick moist lips to speak, 
 but the young wife's face startled him and he closed 
 his mouth with a snap of surprise. 
 
 " You intend to betray my husband," she said 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " You have been listening at your husband's door," 
 he retorted savagely. 
 
 She clenched her small hands: "What of it! 
 With cowards and traitors and hypocrites as guests, 
 honest people need be forewarned ! Shame on you ! 
 Shame on your cloth ! Shame on your oath of alle- 
 giance ! You'll sell my husband to steal his wife ! 
 You'll break your oath to bring the rebel cavalry 
 down on us ! " 
 
 She brushed the tears from her eyes with both 
 trembling hands. 
 
 " God knows," she said, " I thought I was right to 
 hide my husband, and I think so now. Yet, if he 
 or you betray these soldiers I shall denounce you 
 both to the first picket ! " 
 
 " Madame," began Smull in thick persuasive tones, 
 "you wrong me — " 
 
 " Leave this house ! " she said, trembling. 
 
 The Reverend Laomi bowed low, raised his eyes 
 to the sky, sighed, and stepped out into the garden. 
 There, before he could rearrange his expressive 
 features, Smith met him face to face and returned 
 the clergyman's disconcerted salute gravely. 
 
72 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " One moment, my dear young friend," stammered 
 Smull. 
 
 Smith wheeled squarely in his tracks and stood 
 rigid. Smull hesitated, passed a fat tongue over his 
 lips, and weighed the chances. The next moment 
 he made up his mind, glanced at the door, saw Mrs. 
 Ashley entering the house, then leaned swiftly to- 
 ward Smith and whispered. 
 
 Smith drew himself up sharply ; the Reverend 
 Laomi Smull turned and left the garden, head bowed 
 on his breast as though in anguish of spirit. A few 
 minutes later he brought a wash basket out of his 
 house and pinned a single shirt to the line with a 
 wooden clothespin. Then he ran to the woods, as 
 fast as he could, and squatted under a rock where a 
 tangle of brambles fell like a curtain to screen him 
 from the eyes of the impious, indiscreet, and impor- 
 tunate. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Smith, holding his sabre very stiffly, raised the 
 bronze knocker on Mrs. Ashley's door and rapped 
 three times. Then he loosened the chin-strap of his 
 forage-cap ; drew off both gauntlets, folded them, 
 and placed them in his belt. 
 
 As he waited for admittance he saw the flag over 
 the porch, motionless in the still air ; he heard the 
 wild bees' harmony overhead, he heard the rustle of 
 a summer gown behind the door. But the door did 
 not open. He waited. A burr stuck to the crim- 
 
smith's battery. 73 
 
 son stripe on his riding breeches ; he flicked it off 
 with his middle finger. Presently he knocked again, 
 once; the door opened, and Mrs. Ashley came out, 
 smiling faintly. 
 
 " I hope you want another cup of tea," she said 
 with the slightest gesture toward the table under 
 the magnolias where the two chairs still stood as 
 they had left them in the morning. 
 
 He attended her, cap in hand, to the table ; when 
 she was seated, he stood beside her. 
 
 " Is it tea, Captain Smith ? " she asked, looking up 
 at him. 
 
 He grew suddenly red, but did not reply. 
 
 "What is it then?" she repeated, smiling: "not 
 the mere honour of my poor presence I am sure. 
 But, as a gallant officer, you must contradict me, 
 Captain Smith." 
 
 Fear whitened her lips that the smile had not 
 left ; she faced him with the coquetry of desper- 
 ation ; and the pathos of it turned him sick at 
 heart. 
 
 " I brought the Bible to you," he said ; " it is the 
 one you swore on — the oath of allegiance. You 
 kissed it." 
 
 She inclined her throbbing head and took it. 
 
 " Open it," he said. 
 
 She obeyed. The wet bit of folded paper caught 
 her eyes and she held it out to Smith, saying : " This 
 is yours." 
 
 " No ! " he said, " it is yours." 
 
 She glanced swiftly up at him, caught her breath ; 
 
74 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 and sat motionless, the paper clutched nervously in 
 her ringers. 
 
 " Read it," he said in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 She opened it ; one glance was enough. Then 
 she dropped it on the grass at her feet. Presently 
 he stooped and recovered it. 
 
 " Yes," she said, obeying his eyes' command, "my 
 husband is not dead. What of it?" 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " A deserter." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " A traitor." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Smith walked to the gate, looked down the road 
 toward the church where the artillery pickets pa- 
 raded, naked sabres drawn. Then he came back. 
 
 " You are under arrest," he said, looking at the 
 ground. 
 
 She turned a bloodless face to his, and raised one 
 slender hand to her forehead. 
 
 " Do you doubt my loyalty?" she stammered. 
 
 He turned his back sharply. 
 
 " My loyalty ? " she repeated as though dazed. 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " But — but you administered the oath — you saw 
 me kiss the Book," she persisted with childlike insist- 
 ence. 
 
 " And your husband ? " he asked, turning abruptly. 
 
 " What of him ! " she cried, revolted ; " I am my- 
 self ! — I have a brain and a body and a soul of my 
 
SMITH S BATTERY. 75 
 
 own ! Do you think I would damn my soul with a 
 kiss on that Book ! Do you think if I were a Rebel 
 I would deny it to save my body ? " 
 
 "You have denied it," he said. He took the 
 Bible from her hand and opened it at a marked 
 page: 
 
 " By their acts ye shall know them," he read 
 steadily, then closed the Book and laid it on the 
 table. Their eyes met ; the anguish in his bore a 
 message to her that pleaded for forgiveness for what 
 he was about to do. 
 
 " Not that ! — " she stammered, half rising from 
 the chair. 
 
 He turned, drew out a handkerchief, and signalled 
 the artillery picket, flag-fashion. Then, before he 
 could prevent it, she was on her knees to him, there 
 on the grass, her white face lifted, speechless with 
 horror. 
 
 " For God's sake don't do that," he said, trying to 
 raise her, but she clung to him and pushed him to- 
 ward the gate murmuring, " Go ! Go ! " 
 
 Furious at the agony he was causing her, tortured 
 by the agony it cost him, he held her firmly and 
 told her to be silent. 
 
 " Your husband is hidden in that house," he said : 
 "he is attempting to add to his treason by com- 
 municating with the Rebel cavalry. He tried to 
 force your own pastor, at the point of a pistol, to 
 hang a red shirt on his clothesline, which means 
 ' attack ! ' The pastor is a good man ; he had 
 taken the oath ; such villainy horrified him. To 
 
y6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 save his life in the room above he consented to hang 
 out a signal, but the signal he hung out is a white 
 shirt which means ' retreat.' There it is ! 
 
 He pointed angrily at the white shirt hanging on 
 the minister's clothes-line down the road. 
 
 " Now," he said, " let me do my duty." 
 
 He took her by the wrists, and looked straight into 
 her eyes, adding : 
 
 " I'd rather be lying dead at your feet than doing 
 what I've got to do." 
 
 " But," she cried, struggling to free herself, " but 
 the signal ! Can't you understand ? The man 
 lied ! He lied ! He lied ! The white rag means 
 ' attack ! ' " 
 
 Stupefied, he dropped her wrists and stepped 
 back. 
 
 " Run to your battery ! " she wailed, " run ! run ! 
 Can't you understand ! They're coming ! They'll 
 kill you ! " 
 
 Scarcely had she spoken when a rifle-shot rang 
 out from the race-track, another, another, then a 
 scattered volley. 
 
 An artillery guard approached the garden, halted, 
 turned, then scattered pell mell toward the church. 
 The next moment Smith was running for his battery 
 and shouting to Steele, who, mounted, cantered 
 among the grave-stones, and hurried the panic- 
 stricken cannoniers to their stations. 
 
 A frightful tumult arose from the race-track, where 
 the " Dead Rabbits," taken utterly unprepared by 
 a cloud of Confederate cavalry, ran like rabbits very 
 
SMITH S BATTERY. TJ 
 
 much alive. Through them galloped the Confeder- 
 ate riders, heavy sabres dripping to the hilt. The 
 Union cavalry at the water-tank was overwhelmed ; 
 the gray-jacketed troopers, shouting their " Hi ! yi ! 
 yi ! yi ! " wheeled into the village, shaking a thou- 
 sand glittering sabres ; but here they met a blast of 
 cannister from the churchyard that sent them reel- 
 ing and tumbling back to the race-track, now swarm- 
 ing with the entire Confederate division. 
 
 Smith's battery, limbered up, filed out of the 
 churchyard, while Smith, looking annihilation in 
 the face, saw the last of the " Dead-Rabbits " leg- 
 ging it for the woods. He turned with a groan 
 to Steele, and Steele said, " Ride for it, if we're 
 to save the guns ! The whole rebel cavalry is 
 here ! " 
 
 Bullets began to sing into the bewildered column ; 
 the cannoniers struggled with the horses and swore. 
 Suddenly a shell fell squarely on the church tower 
 and burst. 
 
 " They've got artillery ; we're goners ! " shouted 
 a teamster. 
 
 Smith drew his sabre and raised it high above his 
 head : " Battery forward ! " he cried : " by the left 
 flank ! Gallop ! " 
 
 " God help us," gasped Steele. 
 
 Team after team dashed into position, dropped 
 their guns, and wheeled into station behind. Smith 
 dismounted and, standing by gun No. I, began to 
 make calculations, pad and pencil in hand. Pres- 
 ently he gave his orders ; a shrapnel shell was 
 
78 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 rammed home, the screw twisted to the elevation, 
 then : 
 
 "Fire!" 
 
 A lance of flame pierced the white cloud, the 
 shell soared away toward the race-track and burst 
 beyond it. 
 
 Before gun No. 2 could be fired, a roar broke 
 from the wooded heights close to the left, and 
 a flight of shells struck Smith's battery amid- 
 ships. For a moment it was horrible ; teams were 
 butchered, guns dismounted, cannoniers torn to 
 shreds. 
 
 " Steele, bring that limber up! " shouted Smith; 
 " they shan't have every gun ! " 
 
 Steele seized the bridle ; the terrified animals 
 lashed out right and left, threatening to kick the 
 traces to bits. A cannonier tried to hook up the 
 gun but fell dead under the limber. A caisson blew 
 up, hurling a dozen men into the air and stunning 
 as many more. With blackened face and jacket, 
 Steele reeled toward the gun again but fell on his 
 face in the long grass. 
 
 " Bring off that gun!" shouted Smith, standing 
 straight up in his stirrups. Crack ! went the wheel, 
 and the gun sank to its axle. Then Smith sprang 
 from his horse and helped the gunners take the 
 spare wheel from the caisson, roll it up over the 
 grass, and mount it on the broken pieces. Smith 
 hammered it on the axle, then drove home the 
 linchpin, brushed the sweat from his half-blinded 
 eyes, and looked around. 
 
smith's battery. 79 
 
 What he saw was the wreck of three guns and 
 caissons, the blackened fragments of gunners and 
 horses, and a mess of trampled grass ; and beyond, 
 between his single gun and the race-track, a long 
 gray line, glittering with naked steel, sweeping 
 straight upon him. 
 
 Of his battery there remained three men with 
 him ; the others were lying dead around Steele or 
 stunned and mangled somewhere in the rank grass. 
 
 Scarcely conscious of what he did, he helped his 
 three gunners hook the gun to the limber, then 
 mounted and followed the gun back into the village 
 through a constantly increasing rain of bullets. One 
 of his men fell to the earth. 
 
 " I guess the whole Rebel army's here," he said, 
 as though speaking to himself : " I guess I'd better 
 get this gun to the Junction damn quick." 
 
 In front of Mrs. Ashley's cottage, as the cannon 
 passed, Ashley, in his shirt-sleeves, fired from the 
 window point-blank at a cannonier and shot him 
 out of his saddle. The dead man's clutch on the 
 team's bridle brought the gun to a halt, and the re- 
 maining gunner sprang from his saddle with an oath 
 and dashed into the house, sabre unsheathed. 
 
 " Come back ! " shouted Smith, reining in ; " man ! 
 man ! we've got to save the gun ! Come back ! " 
 He climbed from his own saddle into the saddle of 
 the nigh battery horse and seized the heavy raw- 
 hide. A bullet broke his wrist as he lifted it. 
 
 There was a struggle going on in the room from 
 which Ashley had fired, but Smith did not see it; 
 
SO THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 his head swam and he looked at his gun with sick 
 eyes. For a second all round grew black, then he 
 found himself rising from his horse's neck, and, in 
 the road beside him, he saw Mrs. Ashley and 'Biah, 
 holding the bridles he had dropped. 
 
 " They've hit me, I can't guide the team," he said 
 vacantly. " I've got to save the gun, you know." 
 
 His eyes fell on the dead body of her husband, 
 lying where it had been flung from the window 
 among the flowers below. 
 
 " He's dead," said Mrs. Ashley ; " I can't stay. 
 Don't leave me ! I can sit a horse if you will let me. 
 I'll go with you. Don't refuse me ! " 
 
 She sprang into the limber seat and clutched the 
 railing with both hands ; 'Biah followed with a howl 
 of terror. There was a whip there ; she swung the 
 heavy rawhide and, seizing a horse by the mane, 
 drew herself forward to the saddle, calling ; " here 
 they come ! Gallop ! gallop ! " 
 
 With a plunge the six horses leaped forward, and 
 tore down the road, Smith swaying in his saddle 
 with a broken arm, the young girl, enveloped in a tor- 
 rent of dust, riding the nigh horse of the wheel-team, 
 limber and gun swaying and crashing on behind, 
 'Biah bouncing, jouncing, and howling intermittently. 
 
 " Guide ! " called Smith faintly : " I can't." 
 
 She seized the bridles and lashed the horses. 
 'Biah shrieked. 
 
 " There are soldiers ahead ! " she cried to him, — 
 " Rebel infantry ! They're going to fire ! " 
 
 " Drive over them ! " he gasped. 
 
SMITH S BATTERY. 8l 
 
 With a rumble, a roar, and a tearing crash, the 
 train broke into the shouting mass of men, the scurry- 
 ing wheels crunched on something, there came a 
 flash of rifles, and Smith staggered. Before his eyes 
 all was a blurr ; he still heard the hoofs clink, the 
 chains clash, the wheels thump and pound. Gun 
 and limber struck an opposing body and leaped into 
 the air ; Smith's glazing eyes opened ; he clung to 
 his mount and attempted to turn. 
 
 He tried to say : " Is the wheel broken ? " 
 
 She could not reply, nor did she dare turn her 
 head to that heap in the road already far behind. 
 Terror sealed her lips — had sealed her lips when, 
 through the dust ahead, she saw Smull, almost under 
 the head team's hoofs, start to run, then go down to 
 death beneath her very eyes. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Six wild horses, a runaway limber and gun, two 
 half-dead creatures hanging to the saddles, and a fran- 
 tic darkey on the limber, — that was all of Smith's 
 battery that tore into the Junction to the horror of 
 Wilson and the scandal of the rank and file. 
 
 It all happened years ago ; too long ago to fix the 
 year or the date. Perhaps the incident is recorded 
 in the archives of the Nation. Perhaps not. At 
 all events when they had picked some stray bullets 
 out of Smith and set his wrist in splints, he went 
 North on furlough. 
 
 I think Mrs. Ashley went with him ; and 'Biah 
 being of no account, toted their luggage and breathed 
 hard. 
 6 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
Alas ! he's gone before, 
 Gone to return no more, 
 
 Whose well-spent life did last 
 Full ninety year and past, 
 
 Crowned with Eternal bliss 
 We wish our souls with his. 
 
 Ancient Epitaph 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 Sing again the song you sung 
 When we were together young — 
 When there were but you and I 
 Underneath the summer sky. 
 
 George William Curtis. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was the season when our beloved motherland 
 undergoes a quadrennial Caesarian operation and 
 presents a new president to a pardonably hysterical 
 people. 
 
 Installed in the several departments of the na- 
 tional incubator, newly hatched cabinet officers, des- 
 titute of the Roman Augur's sense of humour, met 
 around the " Oracle," and parted, without the 
 shadow of a smile ; brand-new heads of departments 
 gazed solemnly at each other, government clerks 
 cast owlish eyes on brand-new chiefs, gloomily alert 
 for new cues. 
 
 The Ambassador to England was named, and sent 
 forth ; at parting the President intimated to him 
 that he was a statesman ; they shook hands and 
 looked into each other's eyes ; neither relaxed a 
 muscle. The Ambassador to Germany departed ; 
 the Ambassador to Russia followed. Other states- 
 men-patriots expatriated themselves with serious 
 
 85 
 
86 AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 alacrity ; a Minister descended on Brazil, another 
 on Spain, another on Belgium ; no guilty land 
 escaped. 
 
 When His Excellency the United States Am- 
 bassador to France presented his credentials to the 
 President of the French Republic, the guard at the 
 Elysee presented arms, a nurse-maid wheeling a 
 baby-carriage stopped to look, and there was a par- 
 agraph in the Figaro several days later. 
 
 In the Latin Quarter the American students dis- 
 cussed the new Ambassador. 
 
 Selby said to Severn : " There's a new Ambassa- 
 dor, you know ; I hear he's red-headed." 
 
 Severn said to Rowden : " There's a new Am- 
 bassador, you know. I understand his family have 
 red hair." 
 
 Rowden observed to Lambert : " I am told that 
 the new Ambassador's daughter has red hair." 
 
 That morning the pale April sunshine, slanting 
 through the glass-roofed studio in the rue Notre 
 Dame, awoke Richard Osborne Elliott from refresh- 
 ing slumbers. That young man, in turn, aroused 
 Foxhall Clifford from a lethargy incident on a nuit 
 blanche and a green table. 
 
 " Black can't turn up every time ; red is bound 
 to assist the lowly," muttered Clifford on his pillow. 
 
 At that moment Elliott, reading the Figaro, en- 
 countered the paragraph concerning the new Am- 
 bassador. 
 
 " Red is going to assist us," he remarked ; " they 
 say he has red hair." 
 
 "Who?" yawned Clifford. 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 8? 
 
 An hour later Elliott, swathed in a blue crash 
 bath-robe, sat in the studio sipping his morning 
 coffee and perusing the feuilleton in the Figaro. 
 
 His comrade entered a moment later carrying a 
 pair of shoes, and sat down on the floor. 
 
 " New Ambassador," repeated Clifford, lacing his 
 patent leathers ; " what do I care for Ambassadors ! " 
 
 "They're good to know," observed Elliott, " they 
 give receptions." 
 
 "Yes," sneered Clifford, "fourth of July recep- 
 tions, where everybody waves little flags at every 
 body else. I've seen trained birds do that." 
 
 "Ambassadors," insisted Elliott, "can get you 
 out of scrapes. If you're broke they can send you 
 home. You're not much of a patriot anyway." 
 
 " Yes, I am," snapped Clifford, " I'm loyal to the 
 spinal marrow, but I draw the line at our diplomats." 
 
 He laced the other shoe, tied it, straightened up 
 and rose, kicking out gently first with one leg then 
 with the other until his trousers fell over each instep 
 with satisfying symmetry. 
 
 " Patriot ? " he went on, " I am too patriotic to 
 countenance the status quo at our consulate, where 
 the United States Consul sits in his shirt-sleeves 
 and practises at a cuspidor, and where you can't get 
 a consular certificate without being bullied by an 
 insolent roustabout ! So your new Ambassador," 
 he continued reflectively, " can go to the devil ! " 
 
 " Now you're too hasty," said Elliott ; " Ambas- 
 sadors are not consuls." He added dreamily, " His 
 Excellency has a daughter — I understand." 
 
88 AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 Clifford, loitering before the mirror, unconsciously 
 gave a smarter twist to his tie, and buttoned the 
 snowy waistcoat in silence. When he was ready, 
 gloved, hatted, and faultlessly groomed, he selected 
 a blossom from a pot of fragrant pinks on the 
 window and drew it through the lapel of his morn- 
 ing coat. 
 
 " Going to see Jacquette ? " asked Elliott, pouring 
 out more coffee. 
 
 " No," replied Clifford. He hummed a bar of a 
 wedding march, strolled to the great glass window, 
 mused a moment, sighed, whistled softly, and sighed 
 again. There was a cock-sparrow out in the garden, 
 hopping around, chirping and trailing his dusty 
 wings through the gravel. A lady sparrow pecked 
 him at intervals. The innocent courtship of the 
 little things stirred Clifford with amorous wistful- 
 ness. He flattened his nose against the window 
 glass and watched them, gently humming : 
 
 " The fox and the bear, 
 The squirrel and the hare, 
 
 The dickey-bird up in the tree, 
 The roly-poly rabbits, 
 So amazing in their habits, 
 
 They all have a mate but me, 
 But me ! 
 They all — 
 They a — a — a — 11 — 
 
 Oh, they all have a mate but me ! " 
 
 Elliott listened scornfully. 
 
 " Why," said Clifford, twisting suddenly around, 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 89 
 
 " should I go to school and paint Italian models — 
 on a day like this? " 
 
 "You haven't been to the atelier in a week," said 
 Elliott morosely. " Oh, I know what you're going 
 to say ! " 
 
 " No, I'm not," retorted Clifford. 
 
 " You are ! You're going to tell me that you've 
 seen the most wonderful girl in the Luxembourg, 
 who must be some foreign countess! Don't I 
 know ! Haven't I heard it a thousand times ? 
 And hasn't the countess always turned up with you 
 at some cheap restaurant?" 
 
 Clifford sat down on a camp-stool and pointed his 
 cane toward the floor. Squinting along it at a spot 
 of sunlight on the velvety Eastern rug, he listened 
 in silence to Elliott's reproaches. 
 
 " Have you finished ? " he asked. 
 
 Elliott girded up his bath-robe and moved off. 
 
 " Because," continued Clifford, " I have a propo- 
 sition to make." 
 
 " Make it then," said Elliott, scowling. 
 
 " Well, sit down." 
 
 Elliott squatted Turk fashion on a divan, saying 
 bitterly, " Last week you moaned and protested 
 that you had been wasting your time. Now go on 
 with your proposition, — but I'll not be a party to 
 any new infatuation, let me tell you — " 
 
 Clifford began to walk up and down the studio, 
 gloved hands clasped behind his back, head thought- 
 fully bent as far as his collar permitted. As he 
 walked he twiddled his cane. 
 
90 AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 " Well?" inquired Elliott sarcastically. 
 
 Clifford came up to him and stood a moment in 
 silence. Then he said : " Elliott, suppose we get 
 married to twins?" 
 
 " Married ! " bawled Elliott in angry astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Irretrievably," continued Clifford gently, " sup- 
 pose we go into the thing thoroughly. Suppose we 
 become respectable ! " 
 
 " I am," broke out Elliott, but the other held up 
 five expostulating gloved fingers. 
 
 " In a way — yes, in a way. But do you know 
 what I think? I think no man is absolutely and 
 hopelessly respectable unless he has a wife! — 
 Elliott, a wife — a little wifey — " 
 
 " Rubbish ! " replied Elliott, rising from the divan. 
 "And let me inform you I don't want a wife. I'm 
 well enough as I am — if anybody should ask you. 
 Let go of my bath-robe; I'm going to paint." 
 
 " Think," urged Clifford, — " think of being really 
 and legally married — think of the joyful anguish — 
 no more suppers, no more Bullier, no more tzing ! 
 la! la!—" 
 
 He removed his silk hat, skipped playfully, and 
 pretended to kick it. 
 
 " But," he continued, with sudden soberness, " a 
 wife — a little wifey^ -is recompense for all pleas- 
 ure — " 
 
 " Antidote, you mean — " 
 
 " No, I don't ! Joy is born from the nuptial 
 blessing;. I desire to wed — " 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 91 
 
 " Who ? What ? " 
 
 "A lovely, spirituelle, delicate vision — unworldly 
 and — er — passably provided for — " 
 
 " By you ?" 
 
 " Partly by me — partly by an adoring father, — a 
 fine silvery-haired old patrician, borne down by the 
 weighty cares of his millions — do you know any of 
 that kind, Elliott ? " 
 
 " I know some silvery-haired patricians." 
 
 " Tottering under the weight of millions ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " With daughters?" 
 
 " Never asked 'em." 
 
 " What about the new Ambassador ? You said 
 his daughter — " 
 
 Elliott laughed : 
 
 " Oh, he's tottering under millions, but his hair is 
 red and I think that hers — " 
 
 " You annoy me," said Clifford, and left the studio. 
 He paused in the garden, sniffed at the lilacs, eyes 
 raised in contemplation of the firmament. 
 
 " Nevertheless," he said to himself, " red hair or 
 silver hair — I'm not bigoted on the silver question. 
 And," he added with sprightly humour, " it's 16 to I 
 I call on his Excellency before the week is out." 
 
 II. 
 
 His Excellency the United States Ambassador 
 was a sheep-faced old gentleman who became hope- 
 lessly mixed up in some railroads and escaped with 
 
9 2 
 
 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 impaired health and most of the stock. Wheat hit 
 him hard a year later, and oil nearly ended him, but 
 he became entangled in trolley wires and put them 
 underground to save future annoyance to his legs. 
 This naturally set him on his feet again ; and he 
 went to Washington where there is honour among — 
 financiers, and where they practise statesmanship as 
 she is taught. When his wife died and his daughter 
 Amyce began to go to school, his future Excellency 
 bobbed up and down in Congress with the caprice 
 and abruptness of a bottled imp. The see-saw con- 
 tinued year after year ; sometimes he had a bill 
 passed, sometimes he blocked a bill ; now and then 
 he got other people's money, now and then other 
 people got his money; but it evened up in the end 
 like dominoes — if you play long enough. 
 
 Then came the new administration, the stampede 
 for office. Before his future Excellency made up his 
 own mind, fate shoved him into the front rank, and 
 he asked for the French mission and the odds were 
 against him. The President weighed him — the 
 scales of the mint are exquisitely adjusted — and, 
 separating the dross from the pure metal, the mind 
 from the material, the President found him avail- 
 able for the diplomatic mission and told him he 
 might have it. So he took it and went. 
 
 His Excellency's income permitted him to keep 
 up his establishment in" the rue de Sfax. Two neat 
 attaches, military and naval, played croquet with 
 him ; his first secretary read Ollendorf to him, his 
 daughter played hostess on national holidays, and 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 93 
 
 Massenet every morning from ten to twelve. From 
 three to four she swung in a hammock in the garden, 
 and read Henry James. 
 
 It was at that hour and under those circumstances 
 that Clifford first met Amyce. He was permitting 
 his Excellency to beat him at croquet on the lawn ; 
 he loathed the game with a loathing untranslatable. 
 He sat on the butt-end of his mallet, watching his 
 Excellency pattering about from stake to stake, 
 adjusting the balls with a chuckle, stooping to peer 
 through wickets, calculating angles and split-shots. 
 
 His Excellency's heavy, sheep-like face with its 
 silvery tuft of side-whiskers was ruddy and minutely 
 shaved. Always scrupulously dressed, he had the 
 air of having been neatly attired by a doll's cos- 
 turner, then varnished. There was something about 
 the old gentleman that recalled the irresponsible 
 inertia of a manikin, — something, when he moved 
 that resembled the automatic trot of a marionnette. 
 He left an impression of not being responsible for 
 either his clothes or his movements, but mutely re- 
 ferred you to his maker for guarantees that both 
 were O. K. His hair was the glossy white that red 
 hair frequently changes to ; his eyes were pale hazel, 
 lambent and vitreous as the eyes of a middle-aged 
 sheep. His upper lip, also, seemed as though it 
 were intended for cropping short grass. 
 
 He had taken to Clifford at once ; he introduced 
 him to the naval attache" and to the military attache^ 
 to the first, second, and third secretaries of the Em- 
 bassy. He did this partly because Clifford came 
 
94 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 armed with three good letters of introduction, 
 partly because the United Service began to fight 
 shy of the croquet-ground, and a substitute was 
 necessary. 
 
 He did not, however, present him to his daughter; 
 in fact Clifford had never even caught a glimpse of 
 her, although on two occasions he had been bidden 
 to dine at the Embassy. Stanley of the cavalry, the 
 military attache, had been pumped by Clifford with- 
 out result. All he learned was that the young lady 
 sometimes dined by herself. 
 
 However, that afternoon in early May, as Clifford 
 sat glum and impatient on his mallet, and the Am- 
 bassador trotted about mauling the lawn, a young 
 lady suddenly appeared under the trees by the ham- 
 mock, glanced nonchalantly at his Excellency, lan- 
 guidly surveyed Clifford, and then, placing a ham- 
 mock-pillow where it would do the most good, sat 
 down in the hammock. It was gracefully done ; she 
 appeared to dissolve among a cloud of delicate 
 draperies ; her head indented the feather cushion ; 
 one small patent-leather toe glistened in the sun- 
 light. 
 
 " She is red-haired," was Clifford's first thought ; 
 the next was : " She is a beauty, — oh, my conscience ! " 
 
 She was. Her eyes were those great tender grey 
 eyes that must have been forgotten when Saint 
 Anthony was tortured ; her skin was snow and 
 roses. But her hair, her splendid, glistening hair, 
 heavy and red gold ! — dazzling as sunlight on floss- 
 silk ! 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 95 
 
 " It's your shot," said his Excellency for the 
 third time. 
 
 The Ambassador won the game ; he proposed 
 another and Clifford assented with a sickly smile. 
 Inwardly he swore that he would be presented, 
 willy-nilly, even though he had to drag his Excel- 
 lency to the hammock. 
 
 " Confound him," he thought ; " have rumours of 
 my reputation in the Quarter penetrated my 
 country's Embassy?" 
 
 They had not ; yet, it was exactly because Clifford 
 was an artist and inhabited the Latin Quarter that 
 the Ambassador avoided taking him to the bosom 
 of his family. Vague and dreadful stories had been 
 afloat in the Embassy concerning the Quarter. 
 His Excellency had read Trilby too. This may 
 have weighed with him ; he had that distrust of art 
 and artists prevalent among Anglo-Saxons. He also 
 had the Anglo-Saxon desire to explore the Quarter 
 for him self, one day, — if all was true as rumour had 
 it. Therefore Clifford was doubly welcome, for his 
 croquet, and for what the future promised when his 
 Excellency needed a companion to the veiled mys- 
 teries of the Rive Gauche. So, on the whole, Clif- 
 ford was a good man to amuse him, but not at all 
 the kind of man to amuse Amyce. 
 
 But Fate, busy, as usual, with other people's 
 business, began to meddle with the hammock cords 
 where Amyce swung serenely reading Henry 
 James. 
 
 Amyce rose just in time ; there came a rapid un> 
 
9 6 
 
 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 ravelling of cords, and the collapsed hammock fell 
 with a flop. 
 
 Flushed at the nearness of undignified disaster, 
 Amyce shook out her fluffy skirts, Henry James 
 tightly clasped in one hand, and looked appealingly 
 at his Excellency. 
 
 The Ambassador started to rehang the hammock ; 
 Clifford said : " Permit me — " 
 
 " Not at all," returned the Ambassador, — but that 
 was where he collided with Fate. 
 
 Amyce smiled and looked relieved ; Clifford re- 
 hung the hammock ; Amyce thanked him. Then 
 there was a pause during which both looked ex- 
 pectantly at his Excellency. 
 
 The Ambassador sullenly did his duty and took 
 Clifford back to the lawn and beat him five games 
 of croquet. But even this triumph was wet-blank- 
 eted, for Amyce, holding Henry James to her chin, 
 came out to the lawn to " watch papa " and encour- 
 age " papa," and condole with Clifford for his bad 
 fortune. Only he knew how good that fortune had 
 been — and, perhaps, she suspected it. 
 
 Amyce suggested tea on the lawn ; his Excellency 
 began to object, but Fate was there and took another 
 fall out of his Excellency, for Amyce had already 
 ordered it, and a servant appeared with tables and 
 trays on the porch. 
 
 The Ambassador cropped thin slices of bread-and- 
 butter; Amyce poured tea; Clifford, in a daze of 
 love, saw everything through pink haze. From this 
 dream he was abruptly roused by the advent of 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 97 
 
 Captain Stanley of the cavalry. He saw Amyce 
 feed the brute with tea ; he heard her laugh softly 
 when the Captain told some imbecile story or imi- 
 tated Count Fantozzi. He measured the Captain, 
 he accorded him six feet two, a pair of superb legs, 
 and a cavalry moustache. 
 
 " Granted him cards and spades," thought Clifford, 
 "I'll beat him yet. I know I can." 
 
 He was an honest youth with no more vanity 
 than you or I. 
 
 III. 
 
 In the Quarter, Clifford's attitude became unbear- 
 able. Rumours were afloat that he had outgrown 
 the Quarter and its simple lurid pleasures ; that he 
 had put away childish things ; that he consorted ex- 
 clusively with the ostentatious great. When garden 
 parties were given at the English Embassy, Clifford's 
 name figured among the guests, — and the Quarter 
 read it in the Figaro and chafed. 
 
 Elliott, incredulous at first, observed the absence 
 of Clifford from all Quarter rites with astonishment 
 and grief. The studio grew lonelier and lonelier. 
 Elliott drank cocktails and brooded. 
 
 "See here," he blurted out, one day, "how long 
 are you going to keep this up ? " 
 
 " What ? " replied Clifford, placing violets in his 
 buttonhole. 
 
 " This confounded pose of yours — this tolerating 
 the Quarter — this Embassy nonsense ! " 
 
98 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " I prefer it to Bullier," said Clifford — " or," he 
 added maliciously, " to the « Bal a l'H6tel-de-Ville.' " 
 Then he put on his gloves, humming: 
 
 " Des chapeaux melon et des chapeaux rond! " 
 Dame ! c'est pas d'la petite biere ! — eu 1 
 Tous ces gueux la 
 lis ont pige 9a 
 'A la Belle Jardiniere ! — eu I " 
 
 Elliott arose in fury. 
 
 " Very well," he said, " go and eat thin bread-and- 
 butter and talk to fat princesses ! — go and learn 
 baccarat from that yellow mummy Fantozzi ! — 
 go and play imbecile croquet games with his Ex- 
 cellency and marry his daughter and live in the Pare 
 Monceaux. But you'll regret it ! oh yes, you'll be 
 sorry. And you'll think of the Luxembourg and 
 of Jacquette and the old studio, and you'll hear a 
 nursery full of babies squawling and you'll see Fan- 
 tozzi leering at your wife and — " 
 
 Clifford looked around with gently raised eye- 
 brows. 
 
 " I won't be back to dinner," he said amiably. 
 
 " Where are you going — dressed like that ! " burst 
 out Elliott with new violence. 
 
 " Going to shoot pigeons in the Bois." 
 
 They stood for a while in silence. Presently 
 Elliott arose, went over to his manikin, and began 
 to dress it ; the manikin at present was doing duty 
 as a French fireman for Elliott's great picture, 
 " Saved ! " 
 
 He mechanically placed the brass pot-helmet on 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 99 
 
 the manikin's papier-mache head, twisted the neck 
 viciously, straightened out a sawdust stuffed arm, 
 placed a rope in the hand, and closed the jointed 
 fingers. Then he hauled out his easel, opened his 
 colour box, and clattered the brushes. 
 
 Clifford watched him. 
 
 Elliott set his palette rainbow fashion, touched 
 the canvas with the tip of his third finger, rolled a 
 badger brush in rose-doree, and began to glaze. 
 
 " Don't glaze yet," said Clifford. 
 
 "Why? " snapped Elliott without turning. 
 
 " Because you make the flames too pink." 
 
 "What do you know about flames or pictures 
 or glazing? " said Elliott bitterly. "Go and shoot 
 pigeons and get married." 
 
 Clifford went out haughtily ; yet there was an un- 
 accustomed pang in his breast. He suddenly realised 
 how utterly out of it he was ; he began to com- 
 prehend that he was afloat on the Rubicon in a very 
 leaky boat. There was nothing to warrant his hopes 
 of Amyce except a superb self-confidence. He saw 
 he was alienating the Quarter ; — he noticed it now, 
 as he walked, when Selby passed with a constrained 
 smile, when Lambert bowed to him with unaccus- 
 tomed rigidity, when, as he crossed the Luxembourg, 
 Jacquette, passing with Marianne Dupoix, averted 
 her pretty eyes. 
 
 He knew that an announcement of his engage- 
 ment would be followed by excommunication from 
 the Quarter. He had intended, in the event of be- 
 trothal, to confine his Quarter visits to Elliott and 
 
100 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Selby and Rovvden, but the prospect of involun- 
 tary exclusion had small attraction for him. He 
 thought of Jacquette ; the odour of violets from a 
 street flower-stand recalled her. 
 
 He was in a bad humour when he reached the Tir 
 aux Pigeons. Before he entered he saw Captain 
 Stanley laughing on the lawn with Amyce. That, 
 and the apparition of Fantozzi, completed his irri- 
 tation and his score at the traps was ridiculous. 
 
 "You play croquet better," observed his Excel- 
 lency, at his elbow. 
 
 That was the last straw, and Clifford forced a 
 smile and went across the lawn. 
 
 " What was your score ? " asked Amyce, looking 
 up at him from the shade of her white parasol. 
 
 He was compelled to confess it. 
 
 Fantozzi, interrupted in the recountal of recent 
 personal experience with an electric tram-car, raised 
 his eyebrows superciliously. 
 
 " Pooh," said Captain Stanley, " everybody gets 
 out of form at times." 
 
 Clifford looked gratefully at his generous rival ; 
 Amyce also raised her eyes to the well-knit military 
 figure. Generosity is sometimes its own reward — 
 sometimes it even receives perquisites. 
 
 Fantozzi continued his dramatic recital of the dis- 
 courteous tram-car. 
 
 " I would come in a tram electrique— Mademoi- 
 selle — behold me on the corner street ! — the tram 
 approach ! — I nod my head ! — he do not hear 
 me — " 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. IOI 
 
 " Couldn't hear you nod your head ? " inquired 
 Stanley sympathetically. 
 
 " Wonder his brains didn't rattle," muttered Clif- 
 ford to himself. 
 
 " I nod ! I nod ! " repeated Fantozzi with mer- 
 curial passion ; " I permit myself to make observa- 
 tion to stop ! Cease ! arrest ze tram ! He regard 
 me insolent ! the tram vanishes itself ! I am left 
 on the corner street ! The miserable laugh ! " 
 
 " Are you sure you called to the motor-man to 
 stop? " asked Stanley gravely. 
 
 " Parbleu ! I did say stop ! I said it ! I did 
 hear myself say it ! " 
 
 "Mr. Clifford," said Amyce, "who is shooting?" 
 She raised her lorgnettes : " Oh, Count Routier ! 
 Do you know I am not pleased to see little birds 
 shot. Captain Stanley, it is your turn next. Have 
 you no pity for those poor pigeons?" 
 
 " Monsieur Clifford had," said Count Fantozzi. 
 
 Amyce frowned a little ; Fantozzi, prepared to 
 laugh at his own wit, winced at the silence. 
 
 "Well," said Stanley, "I must go and perform. 
 Shall I miss every bird — is it your pleasure?" he 
 added, looking at Amyce. 
 
 Amyce smiled, her face was an enigma. 
 
 " Do as you please, I wish you good fortune in 
 any event," she said. 
 
 Fantozzi pretended to shudder for the pigeon 
 victims; Stanley walked thoughtfully across the 
 lawn ; Clifford, on fire with mixed emotions of 
 jealousy and love, pretended to be absorbed in the 
 
102 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 shooting. He glanced indifferently at the gaily- 
 dressed groups on the green, recognised some people 
 and bowed, returned the salutes of other people 
 who recognised him, and finally sat down on a camp- 
 stool near Amyce. 
 
 Others were joining the group; a lieutenant of 
 hussars, in sky-blue and silver, a brilliant-eyed 
 diplomatic group from Brazil, one or two tall Eng- 
 lishmen, scrubbed pink, and finally his Excellency 
 the United States Ambassador. 
 
 Clifford loathed them all ; yet, Amyce was very 
 kind to him. While Captain Stanley stood shoot- 
 ing, she scarcely glanced at the traps, and when that 
 sober-faced young cavalryman sauntered back and 
 confessed he had killed every bird, she scarcely 
 raised her eyebrows. Was it displeasure ? 
 
 " It is but a sport brutal," whispered Fantozzi 
 close behind her. 
 
 " Like your bull-fights," said Clifford, seriously. 
 He and Stanley were quits. It was war with Fan- 
 tozzi. 
 
 The Spanish attache with the Italian name glared 
 blankly at Clifford who returned his glance wick- 
 edly. 
 
 " Croquet is better sport," bleated his Excellency, 
 accepting a glass of champagne and a thin slice of 
 bread-and-butter. 
 
 Clifford's turn came again at the traps ; he missed 
 right and left. He heard Fantozzi laugh. When 
 he came back Amyce had gone away with his 
 Excellency and Captain Stanley. However, Fan- 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. IO3 
 
 tozzi was there and Clifford succeeded in picking a 
 quarrel with him and followed it with a smile and 
 the slightest touch on the Count's shirt front. 
 
 Fantozzi turned a delicate green, then crimson. 
 Then he went away to the club-house and called 
 for a cab, and drove to his Embassy at a speed that 
 interested pedestrians along the Champs Elysee. 
 
 Clifford withdrew a little later to the Cafe Anglais 
 where he sullenly brooded and dined too freely. 
 About nine o'clock, he went to see Stanley ; at half- 
 past ten a handsome young Spaniard called to pay 
 his respects and bring courteous greetings from 
 Fantozzi. 
 
 Clifford left the Spaniard and Stanley deeply in- 
 terested in each other's society, and took a cab to 
 the United States Embassy, where, as an artist, he 
 was to oversee the decorative preparations for next 
 evening's garden-party. His Excellency had re- 
 quested it ; Amyce appeared pleasantly cordial ; so 
 Clifford went to direct the hanging of lanterns and 
 gaily-coloured scarfs, and, incidentally to propose 
 marriage to his Excellency's only daughter. 
 
 His Excellency was smoking a cigar on the lawn 
 as Clifford entered, mentally thanking all the saints 
 that it was too late to play croquet. Servants 
 moved through the shrubbery ; a few lanterns threw 
 an orange light among the chestnut branches. 
 
 His Excellency was in good humour; he pattered 
 about, as though driven by improved mechanism ; 
 he chuckled at times that irritating chuckle incident 
 to victory at croquet. 
 
104 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 "We'll have electric lights next week," he said; 
 "ever play croquet by moonlight? " 
 
 "There is no moon to-night," said Clifford, trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 " I know it," sighed his Excellency. 
 
 Presently the Ambassador exhibited a desire to 
 interfere with Clifford's directions to the servants ; 
 he insisted on mounting a ladder and fussing with 
 a string of crimson lanterns. The first, second, and 
 third Secretaries of the Embassy were summoned to 
 steady the ladder ; Clifford saw an opportunity and 
 seized it. 
 
 Amyce, who had been standing on the porch, ob- 
 served Clifford's advance with mixed sentiments. 
 
 "Are all the lanterns hung?" she asked. 
 
 " No," said Clifford, "his Excellency has proposed 
 modifications." 
 
 " Man proposes — " began Amyce, gaily, then 
 stopped. 
 
 The silence was startling. 
 
 Presently Amyce picked a rose from the vine at 
 her elbow. 
 
 " Is it mine ? " asked Clifford. 
 
 "Yours? I— I don't know." 
 
 She held it a moment, then he took it 
 
 "And the giver?" he whispered. 
 
 " I — I don't know," said Amyce. 
 
 " Then," said Clifford, " I shall take her— as I 
 took the rose ; " and he moved toward her up the 
 steps. 
 
 At that moment Fate, who had been listening as 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 105 
 
 usual, somewhere among the shadows, took a hand 
 in the proceedings ; there was a crunch of footsteps 
 on the gravel walk, the dim glimmer of a cigar, and 
 Captain Stanley entered the house, bowing pleasantly 
 to Amyce and casting a look at Clifford that meant, 
 " Follow me." 
 
 Before Clifford could move, Amyce passed him 
 with a pale smile and crossed the lawn toward the 
 lantern-hangers. 
 
 His emotions were indescribable ; he damned 
 Stanley, then, buoyed with the intoxicating thought 
 that Amyce had not refused him, he went into the 
 house and found Stanley waiting in the smoking- 
 room. 
 
 " Well," said Clifford ungraciously. 
 
 Stanley appeared a trifle surprised but said : " I'm 
 sorry you are in this mess, old fellow. Fantozzi 
 naturally wants a shot at you." 
 
 An unpleasant sensation passed through Clifford ; 
 Fantozzi and his shot were repulsive at the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "When?" asked Clifford. 
 
 "To-morrow at sunrise. I've notified Bull." 
 
 Clifford grew angry : " Then he can have his 
 shot," he said savagely, and sat down for a conference, 
 interrupted about eleven o'clock by his Excellency. 
 
 The Ambassador was in no mood for bed. Per- 
 haps something in the lighted lanterns had roused 
 the long smouldering spark of revelry, dormant in 
 every masculine bosom. Being an Anglo-Saxon he 
 knew of no lighter gaiety than heavy drinking. He 
 
106 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 began to tell stories — quite pointless tales — and he 
 would not let Clifford go, and he spoke vaguely of 
 wonderful brands of whisky past and whisky to 
 come. He sat there, his limpid hazel eyes meeker 
 than any lambkin's, a carefully dressed lay-figure, 
 irresponsible to God and man, and for whom no- 
 body was responsible except his Constructor. 
 
 About midnight he became entirely automatic ; his 
 eyes seemed to plead for somebody to wind him up 
 and set him going again. 
 
 " When he gets this way he has a tendency to 
 wander," whispered Stanley ; " I usually lock him in 
 his room ; if I didn't he'd be all over town — like an 
 escaped toy." 
 
 Clifford went out on the porch ; Stanley followed. 
 
 " At sunrise," said Clifford soberly. " Will you 
 call for me in a carriage? " 
 
 " At sunrise," replied Stanley offering his hand. 
 
 Then Clifford went away, and Stanley, lingering 
 to watch him to the gate, walked slowly back to the 
 smoking-room. 
 
 To his horror his Excellency had disappeared. 
 The west porch door swung wide open. 
 
 " He'll be all over Paris!" groaned Stanley smit- 
 ing his head with both hands. 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. I07 
 
 IV. 
 
 Clifford did not go back to the studio ; he took 
 a long drive in a cab to steady his nerves. He 
 alternately thought of Amyce, of Fantozzi, of his 
 Excellency's incoherent stories, of Elliott and the 
 studio, — and, perhaps, of Jacquette. Two hours be- 
 fore dawn he found himself standing in front of 
 Sylvain's ; and, wondering why he had wandered 
 there, he went in and upstairs. The long glittering 
 room reeked with cigar smoke ; voices rose harshly 
 from the disordered tables ; a piano tinkled faintly 
 on the floor above. He looked at his watch ; it 
 lacked an hour of the appointed time when he was 
 to meet Stanley with the carriage at the studio. 
 He turned toward the portal impatiently ; somebody 
 entered as he opened the leather doors ; he glanced 
 up and met his Excellency face to face. 
 
 His Excellency began a mechanical trot into the 
 room ; Clifford involuntarily detained him and the 
 Ambassador stopped obediently as though somebody 
 had arrested his running-gear. He examined Clif- 
 ford with mild vitreous eyes as though he had never 
 before seen him. He was perfectly docile, perfectly 
 contented to be started again in any new direction. 
 He needed a few repairs ; Clifford saw that at once. 
 It would never do to send his Excellency home 
 
108 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 with such a hat and collar and tie ; the personnel at 
 the Embassy must never see his Excellency in such 
 disorder. 
 
 " Come," said Clifford gently. There was a cab 
 at the door ; he stowed his Excellency away in one 
 corner and followed, ordering the cabby to hasten 
 to the studio in the rue Notre Dame. There was 
 not much time to lose when they reached the studio. 
 Clifford attempted to adorn his Excellency with 
 clean linen, but found that it might take some hours 
 as the machinery had run down and the Ambassador 
 evinced an unmistakable inclination to slumber. He 
 seated his Excellency in an arm-chair, and hur- 
 riedly changed his own evening dress for morning 
 clothes. Then he went up to Elliott's bedroom, but 
 that young man's bed was untenanted and undis- 
 turbed. The Ambassador slept peacefully in the 
 studio; after a moment's thought Clifford scribbled 
 a note : 
 
 " Dear Elliott :— 
 
 When you come in please give this gentleman 
 clean linen and a new hat and brush his clothes and 
 send him to the United States Embassy p. d. q. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " Clifford." 
 
 As he finished he heard carriage-wheels in the 
 street outside and he thrust the note into his Excel- 
 lency's hat-band, jammed the hat on the slumbering 
 diplomat's head, and hurried out to the street where 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. IO9 
 
 Stanley and Bull were waiting in the dim grey of 
 the coming dawn. 
 
 " Not had coffee ! " exclaimed Bull ; " nonsense, 
 it's traditional ! " 
 
 " We'll take it at St. Cloud," said Stanley. " Are 
 you ready, old fellow ? " 
 
 The carriage door slammed, the wheels rattled 
 faster and faster. 
 
 " By the way," said Clifford, " his Excellency 
 paid me a visit this morning. I'll see he gets home 
 in good shape." 
 
 " Thank heaven ! " cried Stanley ; " I've been 
 hunting him all night ! " 
 
 A moment later he looked earnestly at Clifford : 
 " Is your hand steady ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Clifford pleasantly. 
 
 "You'd better shoot closer than you did at the 
 pigeons," suggested Bull. 
 
 " Why ? Is Fantozzi a good shot ? " 
 
 " Rotten," said Stanley. 
 
 " He's the more to be feared then," observed 
 Bull cynically. 
 
 " Why, you know," confessed Clifford with a 
 frank smile, " I feel certain that I'm not going to be 
 hit. I was nervous last night, but not on that ac- 
 count." 
 
 And he smiled confidently, thinking of Amyce. 
 
 " But," insisted Bull, " are you going to hit your 
 man ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. What bosh it all is, anyway," laughed 
 Clifford. 
 
IIO THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 V. 
 
 It was not yet sunrise when Elliott, entering the 
 studio with Selby, lighted the gas and started to 
 prepare for bed. As Elliott turned up the gas 
 Selby encountered the owl-like eyes of his Excel- 
 lency, blinking, limpid, vacant. 
 
 "What's that?" he said nervously. But when 
 he saw the evening dress, the disordered tie, the 
 hat, he approached the Ambassador curiously. Pres- 
 ently he reached up, slipped the note from his Ex- 
 cellency's hat-band, opened it, read it in silence, 
 then passed it to Elliott without a word. 
 
 " May I ask who you are?" said Elliott. His 
 Excellency bleated and waited for somebody to set 
 him in motion, with placid confidence. Elliott 
 frowned. This then was one of those who had 
 lured Clifford from the fold ! — this wicked old crea- 
 ture, apparently paralysed by depravity, planted in 
 an arm-chair! His ruffled hat accused him! His 
 crumpled tie, coyly peeping from behind one ear, 
 convicted him ! 
 
 " Call a cab," said Elliott thickly. 
 
 His Excellency betrayed no emotion ; his round 
 eyes followed Elliott's movements with trustful 
 tranquillity. When Selby returned, saying the cab 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. Ill 
 
 was there, Elliott assisted the Ambassador to his 
 feet ; but, what was his surprise and indignation to 
 see that his Excellency was entirely capable of 
 movement. For, once set in motion, the Ambassa- 
 dor began trotting all about the room with perfect 
 solemnity and, apparently with keen satisfaction. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Elliott coldly, " your 
 cab is waiting." He might as well have talked to 
 the statues in the Louvre. Then he lost his self- 
 control and, taking his Excellency by one sleeve he 
 led him to the arm-chair and seated him. 
 
 "Aged man," he said, "are you not mortified? 
 You have dragged my comrade into your depraved 
 society ! You've taken him away from the Latin 
 Quarter, you've stuffed his head full of marriage 
 nonsense, of ambition, of desire for wealth and posi- 
 tion. How dare you come here and ask for a hat 
 and a collar ! " 
 
 "Do you intend to ruin Clifford at baccarat?" 
 demanded Selby. 
 
 "Or marry him to anybody?" added Elliott 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Who are you ? " cried Selby ; " are you a cor- 
 rupt diplomat ? Or are you merely a wicked old 
 man on a spree ? " 
 
 " He can't wear that hat ; it won't stay on," ob- 
 served Elliott. Selby took a woman's bonnet from 
 the manikin, placed it on his Excellency's head and 
 tied the strings under his chin. Elliott threw Clif- 
 ford's covert-coat over his Excellency's shoulders. 
 
 " That bonnet will keep him from catching cold," 
 
112 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 he said," it may teach him a lesson, too, when his wife 
 sees it." 
 
 His Excellency unmoved, serene, surveyed Elliott 
 from under his bonnet. 
 
 " Come," said Selby, and they set the Ambas- 
 sador in motion again, out the door, along the gar- 
 den to the street where the cab stood. The cabby 
 stared a little, but Elliott said grimly : " Take 
 him to the United States Embassy with Mr. Clif- 
 ford's compliments. And leave word that he can 
 keep the bonnet for future use." 
 
 About that time, several miles away in the forest 
 of St. Cloud, Clifford was taking careful aim at Fan- 
 tozzi's anatomy, and Fantozzi was returning the at- 
 tention. A moment later two insignificant reports 
 broke the silence ; both men, very pale, stood mo- 
 tionless ; two tiny shreds of smoke floated upward 
 through the tender foliage above. 
 
 Captain Stanley turned to Fantozzi's second, they 
 conferred for a moment, then Stanley turned away 
 to avoid a smile and went hastily up to Clifford. 
 
 " He says he doesn't want another shot ; he says 
 honour is satisfied ; look out, I believe he's prepar- 
 ing to embrace you ! " 
 
 In vain Clifford attempted to shun the fervid recon- 
 ciliation, in vain he dodged Fantozzi's tears and 
 hugs. Fantozzi would not leave him, not he! Clif- 
 ford dexterously escaped a kiss aimed at his cheek. 
 
 There were compliments from seconds, from the 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. II3 
 
 surgeon, from the principals. Undismayed, Stanley 
 tackled the process-verbal. Bull locked up his instru- 
 ments, the carriages were summoned by handker- 
 chief signal ; the duel was at an end. Gaily they 
 drove back to breakfast — a red-hot Spanish break- 
 fast at Fantozzi's apartments. They toasted each 
 other, they toasted the two nations, Spain and the 
 United States. 
 
 Stanley, obliged to report at his Embassy, excused 
 himself and promised to return. The breakfast con- 
 tinued ; Fantozzi played exquisite Spanish airs on 
 the guitar between courses ; his handsome attach^ 
 accompanied him on the piano. 
 
 Bull, tactless to the back-bone, sang " Cuba 
 Libre," but nobody cared and everybody laughed. 
 Afternoon came ; they still breakfasted. Fantozzi 
 insisted on a bout with the foils ; Clifford accepted ; 
 they broke a handsome vase and some saucers. 
 
 About four o'clock, while Bull was singing 
 " Cuba Libre " for the eleventh time by special re- 
 quest, Stanley entered, glanced gravely around, and 
 motioned Clifford to come outside. Clifford went, 
 closing the door behind him, troubled by the stony 
 solemnity of Stanley's visage. 
 
 " What's up ? " he inquired. 
 
 " This," said Stanley with inscrutable eyes. " His 
 Excellency was sent home in a cab this morning, 
 wearing a woman's bonnet and your covert-coat ! " 
 
 " What ! " gasped Clifford. 
 
 " Also with your compliments and a request that 
 his Excellency keep the bonnet for future use." 
 
114 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Cold sweat broke out on Clifford's brow. 
 
 " It's Elliott ! " he moaned. " It's Elliott's work ! 
 Oh, Heaven, he didn't know what he was doing ! " 
 
 Stanley was silent. 
 
 " I'll go to the Embassy," cried Clifford, " I'll go 
 now." 
 
 " Better not," said Stanley kindly. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Does — does she know? " faltered Clifford. 
 
 " Yes," said Stanley. 
 
 " And — and she — she believed I did it ! " 
 
 " No — I told her you were incapable of such a 
 thing. But she is perhaps a little prejudiced — that 
 is — I mean — you understand, I found her much 
 distressed." 
 
 Clifford raised his eyes, searching the handsome 
 young face before him. Something in that face 
 made his heart turn to water. 
 
 " Stanley ! " he blurted out, " it isn't you, is it, 
 she has promised to marry — " 
 
 " Yes," said Stanley slowly. 
 
 Clifford went and leaned over the banisters. 
 After a long time he straightened up, mopped his 
 brow with his handkerchief, smiled, and came up to 
 Stanley holding out his hand. 
 
 " Before I take it I want to say that this incident 
 had nothing to do with it," said Stanley ; " I pro- 
 posed and was accepted at the pigeon match." 
 
 Clifford was staggered for a moment ; then he 
 recovered and held out his hand again. 
 
 " She is one in a million," he said cordially, 
 
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY. 115 
 
 thinking to himself, " and the rest of the millions 
 are just like her, oh, Lord ! just like her ! " 
 
 Stanley grasped his hand ; they stood looking at 
 each other with kindly eyes. Fantozzi's voice came 
 through the closed door : 
 
 " Espagne I Espagne I 
 Bravo 1 Toro I " 
 
 Somewhere in there Bull still chanted " Cuba 
 Libre ! " Presently they bowed to each other, shook 
 hands again, and parted. 
 
 " My compliments to His Excellency and to Miss 
 Amyce," said Clifford. Then he went in and took 
 leave of Fantozzi and the others despite their 
 united protests. An hour later he entered the studio, 
 fell upon Elliott and beat him madly. They fought 
 like schoolboys until tired ; perspiring and breath- 
 less, they retreated to separate sofas and panted. 
 
 " Confound you ! " gasped Elliott, "what do you 
 mean by it ? " 
 
 " I mean that I forgive you," said Clifford grimly ; 
 " go to the devil ! " 
 
 They smiled at each other across the studio. 
 
 " Was that the Ambassador, then ? " asked El- 
 liott. 
 
 " It was, — Ambassador Extraordinary and Min- 
 ister Plenipotentiary." 
 
 " He isn't red-headed," suggested Elliott, " your 
 Ambassador Extraordinary." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Clifford " he is a most ex- 
 traordinary Ambassador. Where shall we dine ? " 
 
Il6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " In the Quarter?" 
 
 " In the Quarter." 
 
 " With me?" 
 
 " With you." 
 
 " And Colette and Jacquette ? " 
 
 " And Colette and Jacquette." 
 
 Elliott, choking with emotion, nodded, and picked 
 up a ruffled silk hat from the floor. 
 
 " His Excellency's," said Clifford softly, and hung 
 it over an easel. 
 
YO ESPERO 
 

YO ESPERO. 
 
 God be merciful to me, a sinner. Thou hast already been 
 merciful to the virtuous by making them so. — Arabian Prayer. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Good morning," said the young fellow, lifting 
 his cap. 
 
 " Good morning," said the girl. 
 
 It was the third time they had met ; they had 
 never before spoken. The young fellow buttoned 
 his tweed jacket to the throat, glanced over the 
 wooden railing of the foot-bridge, and then looked 
 up at the sky. The sky was pale blue, fleckless and 
 untroubled save for a shred of filmy vapour floating 
 all alone in the zenith ; — that was all, except the 
 gilt incandescent disc of the sun ; — all, except a 
 speck, high in the scintillating vault, that circled 
 slowly, slowly southwards, and vanished in mid-air. 
 
 The speck was a buzzard. 
 
 The young fellow turned from the glimmering 
 water and looked diffidently at the girl. She bent 
 her grey eyes upon the stream. 
 
 " Would you mind telling me whether there are 
 trout in this river?" he asked, moving a step to- 
 ward her. 
 
 She raised her head instantly, smiling. 
 119 
 
120 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Gay Brook was a famous trout stream — once," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Then I suppose there are a few still left in it," 
 he asked, also smiling. 
 
 " But," continued the girl, " that was very, very 
 long ago." She was looking again at the water, 
 pensively. 
 
 " How long ago ? " he persisted, drawing a little 
 nearer. 
 
 M About seventy-five years ago," she replied with- 
 out raising her head ; " Buck Gordon says so. Do 
 you know Buck Gordon ? His boys are the tele- 
 graph agents at the station above. I don't know 
 the Gordon boys ; I have spoken twice with old man 
 Gordon. I do not suppose," she continued re- 
 flectively, " that there has been a trout in Gay 
 Brook for fifty years. Do you know why ? " 
 
 " No," he said, " but I should be glad to know." 
 
 He had drawn a little nearer and now leaned on 
 the wooden railing of the bridge, his back to the 
 water, his hands in his pockets. A leather rod-case 
 was slung over one shoulder. The southern sun 
 crisped the edges of his short hair and shorter 
 moustache. 
 
 " The reason," said the girl, gazing dreamily into 
 the stream again, — " the reason is because they cut 
 off so much timber in the mountain notch yonder 
 that now the freshets come every spring, and for 
 weeks the water is nothing but yellow mud. 
 Trout can't live in mud, — can they?" 
 
 After a silence he said : " And so there are no more 
 
YO ESPERO. 121 
 
 trout." She shook her head. The sun burnished 
 her dark hair and tinged the delicate contour of 
 cheek and throat with a warmer flush. Her white 
 cambric sunbonnet swung from her waist by both 
 strings. Presently she put it on and turned toward 
 him, holding the tips of the strings between the 
 forefinger and thumb of her left hand. Her right 
 hand lay indolently along the grey railing of the 
 bridge. It was dimpled and tanned to a creamy tint. 
 
 " I have seen you three times here at the bridge," 
 she observed. 
 
 " And I have seen you," he said ; " I wish I had 
 spoken before." 
 
 She tore a tiny splinter from the sun-bleached 
 railing and dropped it into the water. It danced 
 away through the trembling sunbeams. 
 
 " I wondered why you came to fish in Gay Brook," 
 she went on ; " I might have told you that there are 
 nothing but minnows here ; — I nearly did tell you — " 
 
 " I wish I had asked the first time we — I saw 
 you," he said ; " it would have saved me no end of 
 disappointment. Why did you not tell me ? " 
 
 "Because — you didn't ask me. I might have told 
 you anyway if I had not seen that you were from 
 the North." 
 
 " You dislike Northern people ? " 
 
 "I? Oh, no, — I don't know any." 
 
 " But you say that if — " 
 
 " I mean that I do not understand Northern 
 strangers." 
 
 The young fellow looked at her curiously. 
 
122 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Why, I thought you also were from the North," 
 he said; "you do not speak with a Southern ac- 
 cent — " 
 
 " I am from Maryland, but I have lived here in 
 North Carolina nearly all of my life. The reason 
 that I do not speak with a Southern accent is be- 
 cause my uncle is from the North and I have lived 
 alone with him, — ever since I can remember." 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 "Yes. I am very glad you spoke to me. When 
 do you go away to the North again?" 
 
 The young fellow touched his short moustache 
 and gave her a sharp glance. His sunburned cheeks 
 were tinged with a faint colour. 
 
 " I am very glad too," he said ; " I find it a bit 
 lonely at the hotel." 
 
 " The hotel," she repeated ; " there are two hun- 
 dred people there." 
 
 " And I am lonely," he said again. 
 
 " You can't be, — how can you be ? " she persisted, 
 raising her grey eyes to his. 
 
 " Because," he replied ; " I haven't anything in 
 common with any of them, — except Tom O'Hara." 
 
 "I don't understand," she insisted. " It seems to 
 me that if I had the happiness of being with a great 
 many people I should have all in the world that I 
 long for. I have nobody, — except my uncle." 
 
 " You have your friends," he said. 
 
 " No, nobody except my uncle. I do not count 
 Zeke, and the boys." 
 
 "Zeke?" 
 
YO ESPERO. 123 
 
 " Zeke Chace." 
 
 " Oh," he said ; " I've heard of him. He runs 
 the blockade, doesn't he ? " 
 
 " Does he?" she asked demurely. 
 
 He laughed and rested his head on his wrist, look- 
 ing into her face. Her face was half hidden in the 
 shadow of her sunbonnet, so she met his gaze 
 placidly. 
 
 "Doesn't Zeke Chace run the blockade?" he re- 
 peated. 
 
 "What blockade?" she asked. Her grey eyes 
 were very round and innocent. 
 
 " Have you never heard of blockade whisky ? " he 
 insisted. 
 
 She had to laugh. 
 
 " I might have heard something about it," she 
 admitted. 
 
 His pleasant serious face questioned hers and her 
 lips parted in the merriest laugh again. 
 
 " How silly ! " she cried ; " everybody has heard 
 of blockade whisky." 
 
 "Oh," he said, " I have often asked, but the peo- 
 ple around here won't talk about it ! " 
 
 " Perhaps they take you for a Revenue Officer," 
 she ventured gravely. 
 
 " Very probably," he answered. 
 
 At this she laughed outright. It occurred to 
 him that she was making fun of him and he glanced 
 at her again sharply. 
 
 " How do you know that I am not a Revenue 
 Officer?" he asked. 
 
124 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Her laughing eyes met his. 
 
 " Can you tell a coon from a possum ? " she asked 
 in return. 
 
 " I ? Of course." 
 
 " So can I," she said, trying hard to look serious. 
 After a moment they both laughed outright. 
 
 "You have teased me unmercifully," he said; 
 " don't you think you ought to tell me where I can 
 catch a trout or two ? " 
 
 "Then I will," she answered impulsively, moving 
 a step nearer; "butZeke won't like it. There are 
 trout in the Buzzard Run." 
 
 " The Buzzard Run ? " 
 
 " It's yonder, behind Mist Mountain. Zeke won't 
 like it," she repeated. 
 
 " Why ? Does Zeke fish too ? " 
 
 "Zeke? Hm ! Not exactly. Never mind, — I 
 shall tell Zeke about you and nobody will bother 
 you. But you must be a little careful ; there are 
 snakes on Mist Mountain." 
 
 •' Not dangerous snakes, — are there ? " 
 
 " I don't know what kind you are used to," she 
 said ; " there are rattlers in the rocks on Mist Moun- 
 tain." 
 
 After a pause he asked her if there were many 
 rattlesnakes there. 
 
 " Sometimes one sees two or three, sometimes 
 none at all," she answered. " They give you warn- 
 ing; they run if you let them. It might be better 
 if you kept to the path. There is a path all the 
 way." 
 
YO ESPERO. 125 
 
 "Then I'll stick to it," he said lightly ;" I sup- 
 pose it's too late to go to-day." He looked at his 
 watch and raised his eyebrows. " Why, it's twelve 
 o'clock ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She refused to believe it and bent her dainty head 
 over his shoulder to see. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she cried, " uncle will question 
 me!" 
 
 They stood looking at each other with new-born 
 awkwardness. She took one short step backward. 
 
 " Are you going ? " he asked, scarcely conscious of 
 what he said. 
 
 " Why, yes, — I must." 
 
 He leaned over the bridge railing and looked at 
 the crinkling ripples. After a while she also bent 
 over, resting her elbows on the railing. A brilliant 
 green beetle ran across the bleached board, halted, 
 spread its burnished wings, and buzzed away across 
 the stream. A small fluffy honey-wasp alighted 
 between her elbows and crept quickly into a hole in 
 the splintering plank. 
 
 " Yes," she repeated, I must go." 
 
 He raised his head and looked her frankly in the 
 eyes : 
 
 '- I should like to see you again," he said. 
 
 " Really ? Oh, I suppose I shall pass the bridge 
 again before you go." 
 
 " How do you know? Suppose I should go to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " You said you were going fishing to-morrow, — 
 didn't you ? " 
 
126 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Why no, — I didn't say so," he said eagerly ; " I 
 would rather talk with you." 
 
 " Why don't you go fishing ? " 
 
 " I would rather talk to you," he repeated. 
 
 " What shall we talk about — blockade whisky ? " 
 
 They both laughed. He had moved up beside 
 her again. 
 
 " I want to see you again," she said, " I think you 
 can see that I do. I could come to the bridge to- 
 morrow. I would rather the people at the hotel 
 did not know. My uncle has forbidden me to speak 
 to anybody except Zeke and the boys. When I 
 was a child I did not feel very lonely ; now I have 
 the greatest longing to know people — girls of my own 
 age. I dare not." 
 
 " Have you no girl friend at all?" 
 
 " No. I should like to know older women too. 
 At night in bed I often cry and cry — there ! — I 
 should not tell you such things — " 
 
 " Tell me," he said soberly. 
 
 But she only smiled and shook her head saying; 
 " It is lonely at Yo Espero." 
 
 He looked into her grey eyes; they troubled him. 
 
 " I dare not wait any longer," she said, — " good- 
 bye, — will you come to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Here ? Yes. Shall I come early? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " At seven ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He offered her his hand but she did not take 
 it. 
 
YO ESPERO. 127 
 
 " Wait," she said, " I do not know your name, — 
 no, — don't tell me now, — let me think a little of what 
 I have done. If I come to-morrow — then you may 
 tell me." 
 
 He watched her hurry away up the woodland path 
 that leads to Yo Espero. When she was gone he 
 stood still, idly tearing dried splinters from the 
 bridge railing. 
 
 II. 
 
 The piazzas of the Diamond Spring Hotel were 
 empty ; the guests came trooping through the great 
 square hall and into the big dining-room to be fed. 
 
 Young Edgeworth arrived late and silently took 
 his seat, bowing civilly to his neighbours. 
 
 There were fifteen people at his table, including 
 the Reverend Dr. Beezeley, who presided, flanked 
 by his wife, his progeny, and a bottle of Diamond 
 Spring water. Near to the Reverend Orlando 
 Beezeley sat another minister, a little pink gentleman 
 with bulging eyes. His name was Meeke and he 
 looked it. But he wasn't. 
 
 Now the Reverend Orlando Beezeley and Dr. 
 Samuel Meeke were both of a stripe, differing on 
 one or two obscure questions. One reverend gen- 
 tleman was a pillar of the " Pure People's League ; " 
 the other wore the badge of the " Charity Band." 
 And they squabbled. 
 
 For their leagues, their bands, and their squab- 
 bles, Edgeworth cared nothing. He believed that 
 
128 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 all people should be allowed to worship God in their 
 own fashion, — even by squabbling if they chose. He 
 was disposed to be courteous to the two ministers 
 and their wives and young. It was difficult, how- 
 ever, partly because they were inquisitive, partly on 
 account of the Reverend Orlando's personal habits, 
 which were maddening. He put his fingers into 
 everything, including his mouth ; they were always 
 sticky, and this, combined with cuffs that came too 
 far over his knuckles, oppressed Edgeworth. The 
 Reverend Orlando's fingers were obtrusive. When 
 he walked they spread out, perhaps to stem the 
 downward avalanche of cuff. He also twiddled 
 them when he had no other use for them, and 
 Heaven knows he put them to uses for which they 
 were never intended. 
 
 All this interfered with Edgeworth's appetite and 
 he shunned the Reverend Orlando Beezeley. Once, 
 at the table, the minister asked him why he didn't 
 go to the Sunday services which he, Dr. Beezeley, 
 held in the hotel parlours, and when Edgeworth 
 said it was because he didn't want to, the Reverend 
 Orlando sniffed offensively. For a week the atmos- 
 phere was surcharged with unpleasantness ; but one 
 day Dr. Beezeley asked Edgeworth what he did 
 for a living, and Edgeworth pleasantly told him that 
 it was none of his business. The atmosphere at 
 once cleared up and the Reverend Orlando became 
 irksomely affable. This was because he was afraid 
 of Edgeworth and disliked him. 
 
 Therefore, when Edgeworth entered the dining- 
 
YO ESPERO. 129 
 
 room and slipped quietly into his chair, Dr. Beezeley 
 said: " Hey ! been a-fishin?" 
 
 " No," said Edgeworth. 
 
 " Where've you been then? " urged Mrs. Beezeley, 
 devoured by curiosity. She had contracted this 
 disease in the little Boston suburb where she lived, 
 and she had infected her whole family. 
 
 " I have been out," said Edgeworth pleasantly. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Meeke, who had pricked up his ears, 
 relapsed into a dull contemplation of Mrs. Dill 
 again. 
 
 But Mrs. Beezeley was not defeated. She turned 
 to the pallid lady beside her, Mrs. Dill, and said in 
 a thin high voice : " Pass the trout to Mr. Edge- 
 worth ; he can't seem to catch any — even off the 
 old foot-bridge." 
 
 Edgeworth was intensely annoyed, for it was 
 plain that some of the Beezeley brood had been 
 spying. He looked at Master Ballington Beezeley 
 who grinned at him impertinently. 
 
 His father was busy feeding himself with mashed 
 potato, but he observed his heir's impudence and 
 was not displeased. 
 
 " I seen you," cried the youthful Beezeley, 
 writhing with the pressure of untold secrets, — " you 
 was mashin' a country-girl, Mister Edgeworth, — I 
 seen you ! " 
 
 "Te-he!" tittered Mrs. Dill. 
 
 " ' I saw you,' would perhaps be more correct," 
 said Edgeworth; " unless perhaps your parents have 
 instructed you to the contrary — " 
 
[30 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Ballington ! " cried Mrs. Beezeley, turning red, 
 " how dare yo,u use such grammar ? " 
 
 Edgeworth surveyed the defeat of the Beezeleys 
 without any particular emotion. 
 
 Mrs. Dill attempted to save the day but choked 
 on an olive and was assisted from the room by Dr. 
 Samuel Meeke. Then the Beezeleys made Mrs. 
 Meeke wretched with significant looks and smiles 
 and half-suppressed coughs, until she rose to find 
 out why Mrs. Dill and her husband did not return. 
 Poor little woman ! her bosom friend, Mrs. Beezeley, 
 had long ago quenched for her what little comfort 
 in life she ever knew. 
 
 When the Reverend Orlando Beezeley had fed to 
 repletion, he removed the napkin from his chin, 
 cleared his throat, picked his teeth, and finally took 
 himself off to the piazza. 
 
 " I can't stand this table full much longer," mut- 
 tered Edgeworth to himself, and he called to the 
 head waiter, a majestic personage of colour, and also 
 a Baptist deacon. 
 
 " Deacon," said he, " give me a place at another 
 table to-night, can you ? " 
 
 " Sho'ly, Sho'ly, Mistuh Edgewurf," said the ma- 
 jestic one ; " might you prefer to be seated at Mis' 
 Weldon's table, Mistuh Edgewurf? " 
 
 Edgeworth looked across at Mrs. Weldon and 
 then at her pretty daughter, Claire. 
 
 " Go over and ask Mrs. Weldon whether she ob- 
 jects," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Weldon did not object and neither did 
 
YO ESPERO. 131 
 
 Claire, so Edgeworth walked over and said some 
 polite things which he forgot a minute afterward. 
 So did Mrs. Weldon. I am not sure about Claire. 
 
 When Edgeworth went out on the veranda to 
 smoke his pipe, a young fellow in tweeds and scarlet 
 golf-jacket, who was sitting astride the railing said : 
 " Hello, Jim, it's all over the hotel that you're 
 sweet on some country girl." 
 
 "Tommy," said Edgeworth, in a low pleasant 
 voice, " go to the devil ! " 
 
 O'Hara smiled serenely. 
 
 " I suppose it's that Beezeley whelp, eh, Jim ? " 
 
 " I fancy it is. A fellow can't brush his hair but 
 it's reported in Diamond Springs." 
 
 " Oh, there's truth in it then," laughed O'Hara. 
 
 "That," said Edgeworth, "is none of your con- 
 founded business ; " and they strolled off together, 
 arm in arm, smoking placidly. 
 
 " These Beezeleys," said O'Hara, " are blights on 
 the landscape. They ought to be exterminated 
 with Paris-green." 
 
 " Or drowned in tubs," said Edgeworth. 
 
 " Like unpleasant kittens," added O'Hara. 
 
 " Come," said Jim Edgeworth, " what was that 
 yarn you wanted to spin for me this morning ? " 
 
 "Yarn? 'Tis no yarn," said O'Hara; "it's the 
 truth and it troubles me. Sit down here on the 
 grass till I tell you. Look at the veranda, Jim ; 
 it's like a circus with the band playing." 
 
 " The girls' frocks are very pretty ; I like lots of 
 colour," said Edgeworth. 
 
132 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " There's plenty in Claire Weldon's cheeks," ob- 
 served O'Hara, gloomily. 
 
 " It's natural," said Jim. 
 
 " It was before you came. Now she puts more on 
 in your honour ; — confound it, man, can't you see 
 the lass is forever making eyes at you ? — and, Jim, 
 it's death to me ! " 
 
 Edgeworth stared at him. 
 
 " Oh, you're blinder than the white bat of Drum- 
 gilt ! " said O'Hara; " you've eyes in your head, but 
 they're only there for ornament. Didn't you know 
 I am in love with Claire Weldon now?" 
 
 " Why no," said Edgeworth, " are you really, 
 Tommy? " 
 
 " Am I really, Tommy ? Faith, I thought even 
 the fish in Gay Brook knew it." 
 
 " Well," laughed Edgeworth, " go in and win, 
 then ! " 
 
 " Do you mean it? " said Tommy gravely. 
 
 " Mean it ? My dear fellow, why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 O'Hara beamed upon him and grasped his hand. 
 
 " There ! " he cried, " I knew it ! I've told her ye 
 didn't care tuppence for any lass, and if she didn't 
 take me she'd be doin' herself but ill service." 
 
 Edgeworth burst into fits of laughter. " Is that 
 the way you woo a girl, Tom O'Hara ? " 
 
 "There are ways and ways," said O'Hara dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 " How about Sir Brian ? " asked Jim, checking 
 his mirth. 
 
 Sir Brian was Tommy's father. The several 
 
YO ESPERO. 133 
 
 thousand miles that separated father and son did 
 not lessen Tommy's uneasiness concerning his 
 father's approval. 
 
 " I can't help it," said Tom ; " if he disowns me 
 I'll go to work, that I will ! and Claire knows it." 
 
 " They say," said Edgeworth, " that the O'Haras 
 always get what they want." 
 
 " They do. My grandfather loved a lass who 
 died, so he blew out his brains and caught her in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Hm ! " coughed Edgeworth. 
 
 "Do you know to the contrary?" demanded 
 O'Hara. 
 
 " No," said Jim, " I'll have to wait a bit to verify 
 this story. Have you any tobacco ? Thanks, my 
 pipe's out. Look at the sky, Tom ; it's pretty, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 They sprawled on their backs and kicked up their 
 heels ; two bronzed young athletes, — as trim a pair 
 as one might see anywhere betwixt the poles of 
 this planet. 
 
 "Hark," said Edgeworth, "hear Beezeley and 
 Meeke squabbling over their Maker. Do you sup- 
 pose He hears them ? He is so very faraway. Hark 
 how they wrangle over their future blessedness. I 
 should think they would be ashamed to have God 
 hear them." 
 
 " Beezeley says he believes in hell, but doesn't 
 want to go there," said O'Hara, lazily. 
 
 " There's no hell," said Edgeworth. He hadn't 
 lived long enough to know ; he was nineteen. 
 
134 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 O'Hara raised himself on one elbow and looked 
 at him. 
 
 " No hell?" he asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 If he had seen the lines in O'Hara's young face, — 
 the faint marks about the eyes and mouth, he 
 might have answered differently. 
 
 The afternoon sunlight lay warm across the level 
 meadow. The locust trees were in full bloom, deep 
 laden with heavy, drooping clusters of white blossoms. 
 Every wandering breeze bore the penetrating sweet- 
 ness of the locusts and the delicate odour of hemlock 
 and pine. Great scarlet trumpet-flowers swayed in 
 the May wind ; from the nearer forest came the 
 scent of dogwood and azalea. Over the greensward 
 butterflies fluttered, little white ones, chasing each 
 other among the dandelions, great swallow-tailed 
 butterflies, yellow and black, flopping around the 
 phlox, or pursuing a capricious course along the 
 river bank. There were others too, gay comma- 
 butterflies, delicate violet or blue swallow-tailed 
 butterflies, and now and then a rare shy comrade of 
 theirs, pale sulphur and grey, striped like a zebra, 
 that darted across the flower-beds and flitted away 
 to its dusky haunts among the shrub-oak and holly 
 of the mountain sides. An oriole, gorgeous in orange 
 and black, uttered a sweet call from the lower 
 branches of an oak. A bluebird dropped into the 
 lower grass under the bushes. Then a catbird began 
 to sing and trill and warble until the whole air 
 rippled with melody. 
 
YO ESPERO. 135 
 
 " 'Tis a nightingale or I'm in Drumgilt ! " said 
 O'Hara, sitting up. 
 
 " It's a male catbird," said Edgeworth, rising ; 
 " come on, Tom ! " 
 
 O'Hara picked himself up from the grass, scraped 
 out his pipe, ran a grass-stem through it, and looked 
 at the sun. 
 
 " We have loafed the whole afternoon away," he 
 said. 
 
 " I was anxious to kill time," said Edgeworth. 
 He was thinking of the girl at the bridge. 
 
 " Kill time ! kill time ! " said O'Hara impatiently, 
 — " why, man, 'tis time that kills us ! I'm going to 
 find Miss Weldon, and I'd be obliged to ye to stay 
 away." 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Edgeworth, "you're worth twenty 
 like me." 
 
 "That I am!" said Tom, "but I'll be saying 
 good night, lad ! And for the love of me, stay away 
 from Claire Weldon. You don't want my curse ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," laughed Edgeworth; "but I'm going 
 to dine at their table. I asked the Deacon to fix 
 it. I can't stand the holy alliance any longer." 
 
 " All right," said O'Hara, "when a girl has to see 
 a man eat three times a day, she loses her illusions 
 concerning him." 
 
 "What's that?" demanded Edgeworth. 
 
 But O'Hara swung off across the clover, whistling 
 " Terry Bowen " and buttoning his scarlet golf-jacket 
 with an irritating air of self-satisfaction. 
 
 " The mischief take Tom and his girls ! " said 
 
136 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Edgeworth to himself, but he looked after Tom and 
 smiled, for he thought the world revolved about 
 O'Hara. Still he began to be lonely again, now that 
 O'Hara was gone. 
 
 " Why the deuce can't he spend a half hour now 
 and then with me? " he muttered to himself ; "what 
 can he find to talk about all day to that one girl ? " 
 
 III. 
 
 That night after dinner he found himself joining 
 the procession upon the veranda, walking with a 
 pretty girl whom he did not remember meeting, but, 
 from whose conversation, he knew he must have 
 danced attendance on somewhere or other. 
 
 In the half light of the mellow Japanese lanterns, 
 he caught glimpses of familiar faces in the throng; 
 Dr. Beezeley, unctuous and sticky-fingered, the faded 
 Mrs. Dill with Dr. Samuel Meeke, poor little Mrs. 
 Meeke, anxiously smiling when she caught the pro- 
 truding eyes of her husband, Mrs. Weldon, gracious 
 and serene, walking with some tall, heavy-whiskered 
 Southerner, Tommy O'Hara conducting Miss Claire 
 Weldon, with something of the determination that 
 one notices in troopers who convoy treasure-trains. 
 In and out of the lights they passed him, vague im- 
 pressions of filmy draperies and lantern-Ht faces, 
 with now and then a shadowy gesture or a sparkle 
 of eyes in the twilight. Beyond, the dark foliage of 
 sycamore and maple loomed motionless, with never 
 
YO ESPERO. 137 
 
 a wind to stir the tender leaves, but the locust-trees, 
 where the grape-like bunches of white blossoms hung, 
 were all hazy with the quivering wings of dusk- 
 moths. Slender sphinx-moths darted and turned 
 and hovered over the phlox, grey wraiths of dead 
 humming-birds, poised above phantom flowers. Be- 
 low the fountain spray, drifting fine as a veil of mist 
 across the shadowy blossoms of white iris, a hidden 
 tree-frog quavered a sweet-treble, and on every 
 twig-tip gauzy-winged creatures scraped resonant 
 accompaniment. 
 
 "Of what are you thinking, Mr. Edgeworth?" 
 asked the girl beside him. 
 
 He started slightly ; he had quite forgotten her. 
 He had been thinking of the girl at the bridge and 
 the tryst next morning, but he said : " I was listen- 
 ing to the tree-frog. It means rain to morrow." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said the girl, " I was going to 
 Painted Mountain on horseback. Shall we sit here 
 a moment ? " She shook out her skirts and seated 
 herself, and he found a place on the veranda railing 
 beside her. 
 
 " Painted Mountain ? " he asked ; " that is beyond 
 Yo Espero, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yo Espero is on the southern slope. I heard 
 such an interesting story about Yo Espero to-day ; 
 shall I tell you ? " 
 
 He looked at her sharply, then nodded, saying: 
 " Tell me first what Yo Espero means. It's Spanish, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " I don't know, — I suppose so. I believe it 
 
I38 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 means ' / hope.' The village, — there's only one 
 house you know, — was named Yo Espero by the 
 only inhabitant. They say he took the name from 
 the label on the lid of an old cigar-box that he found 
 among the rocks." 
 
 " Very unromantic and intensely American," said 
 Edgeworth laughing. 
 
 " Ah, but wait, — there's more to come. The man 
 who lives at Yo Espero has a niece, a beauty they 
 say, and would you believe it, the man, her uncle, 
 named her also Yo Espero ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Edgeworth musingly. 
 
 " Poor girl, — named from a cigar brand ! It is 
 wicked — don't you think so, Mr. Edgeworth?" 
 
 " Yo Espero," he repeated softly, — " I don't know, 
 — Yo Espero." 
 
 " Her uncle calls her Io for short when he does 
 not call her Yo Espero. He must be a brute. They 
 say he knows things about the blockade too." 
 
 Edgeworth became interested. 
 
 " I have never seen the girl," she continued, " but 
 Mrs. Weldon has, and she says the girl is simply a 
 raving beauty. Dr. Beezeley tried to call on the 
 uncle but was shown the door without ceremony. 
 They say the man is well educated and from the 
 North, but he won't allow anybody to enter his 
 house or speak to his niece." 
 
 " Do you know his name ? " asked Edgeworth. 
 
 " Mrs. Beezeley says it is Clyde. He is some 
 broken-down Northern man of good family who has 
 sunk low enough to mix himself up with the block- 
 
YO ESPERO. 139 
 
 ade. People say the Revenue Officers are after him 
 and will get him sooner or later. I wonder what 
 the girl will do then ? " 
 
 " I wonder," repeated Edgeworth under his 
 breath; "hello! here's Tommy O'Hara, the pride 
 of Drumgilt ! " 
 
 "And the Pride has had a fall," said O'Hara sen- 
 timentally ; — " did — did you notice if Miss Weldon 
 was passing this way, Jim? Ah, did you see her 
 pass, Miss Marwood ? With Colonel Scarborough ? 
 Oh, the mischief ! " 
 
 " Come," laughed Miss Marwood, " we'll go and 
 find them ; Mr. Edgeworth doesn't care ; he likes 
 solitude — " 
 
 Edgeworth attempted to protest, but was bidden 
 to go with them or stay, as he pleased. And he 
 stayed, — to smoke and muse and ponder on the long 
 dim porch while the dew dripped from the perfumed 
 vines, and the great stars spangled the sky, and the 
 million voices of the night sang of summers past 
 and summers to come. And the burden of the song 
 was always the same, Yo Espero, Yo Espero. 
 
 At seven o'clock next morning, Edgeworth stood 
 on the little foot-bridge, leaning both elbows upon 
 the wooden railing. Between his elbows was a fresh 
 white cut in the weather-stained plank, from which 
 a shaving of wood had recently been planed, and on 
 this white space was printed in pencil : 
 
 " I shall not see you again." 
 
 He never doubted that the message was for him 
 He leaned idly upon the rail, reading and re-reading 
 
I40 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 it. A fine warm rain, scarcely more than a mist, 
 was falling through the calm air. The tiny globules 
 powdered his cap and coat, shining like frost-dust. 
 
 Presently he fumbled in his pocket, found a jack- 
 knife, opened it, and deliberately shaved the writing 
 from the plank. Then, in his turn he wrote : 
 
 " If you will not see me I shall go to-morrow." 
 
 " Let the Beezeley whelp read that and make the 
 most of it," he muttered, turning away with an 
 unaccustomed feeling of wistfulness. 
 
 What he longed for he did not know ; perhaps 
 for a little of O'Hara's society, so he lighted his 
 pipe and started toward the hotel, his hands deep 
 in his pockets, his tanned cheeks glistening with the 
 fine rain. 
 
 After a few moments it occurred to him that he 
 had put it rather strongly ; — in fact it was an un- 
 warranted and idiotic thing to write. Why in the 
 world should he leave Diamond Springs because a 
 girl whom he had met three times and spoken to 
 once, refused to meet him again? He hesitated, 
 mused a little, and finally resumed his course. Let 
 it stay as it was ; it mattered nothing to him any- 
 way. He would leave the hotel, — he would leave 
 the state too, for that matter, for he was sick and 
 weary of the Carolinas, and of the big hotels, filled 
 with invalids who sat in hot baths or drank bottles 
 of nasty "waters." Would O'Hara go with him? 
 He thought of Claire Weldon and frowned. 
 
 " She's spoiled O'Hara, that's what she's done!" 
 he pondered bitterly. 
 
YO ESPERO. 141 
 
 When he came in sight of the hotel he saw Dr. 
 Beezeley pottering about the croquet ground. 
 When the reverend gentleman walked, his flat feet 
 scraped the gravel and lapped over each other in 
 front, like the toes of a Shanghai rooster. 
 
 " Hey ! " said Dr. Beezeley, " been a walkin' ? " 
 
 Edgeworth nodded. 
 
 " Want to play croquet ? " asked Beezeley, look- 
 ing at him over his glasses ; " it ain't goin' to rain 
 much more." 
 
 Edgeworth said he never played croquet. 
 
 Beezeley straightened a wicket, hammered a 
 painted stake, and sniffed. 
 
 His face, with the bunchy chop-whiskers cut 
 a little close, reminded Edgeworth of the counte- 
 nance of some big buck rabbit. The reverend gen- 
 tleman also had other rabbit peculiarities, such as a 
 perpetual appetite, a prehensile lip, and an enor- 
 mous progeny. 
 
 O'Hara hailed him from the tennis courts and he 
 went over, puffing his pipe moodily. But when he 
 found that Tommy intended to invite two girls to 
 make up doubles, Edgeworth flatly refused to play. 
 
 "Confound it, Tommy," he said, "you are good 
 enough company for me, and I ought to be for you. 
 What's the use of lugging in strangers every 
 minute? " 
 
 " Ladies are never strangers," said Tom airily ; 
 " one of them is Miss Weldon." 
 
 " That's all right," said Edgeworth savagely, " but 
 she can't play tennis. Is it a kindergarten you're 
 
142 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 setting up, Tom O'Hara? Call your caddy and 
 come on to the links." 
 
 " Listen to the lad ! " said O'Hara ; " why, man, 
 I'll go with you where you like and I'll do what you 
 like, — only," he added, " I have an appointment to 
 ride at ten — with Miss Weldon." 
 
 " Ride then," said Edgeworth with a scowl, and 
 turned on his heel, leaving O'Hara a sadly puzzled 
 man. 
 
 " What the mischief is the matter with me, any- 
 how ? " muttered Edgeworth, striding wrathfully 
 away across the meadow ; " why can't I let Tommy 
 alone with his girl. I'm making a nuisance of my- 
 self I fancy." 
 
 The restlessness which possessed him he did not 
 even attempt to analyse. That it was caused by 
 something or somebody outside of himself he was 
 convinced. 
 
 " These people here," he thought, " are empty- 
 headed and common — when they're not sanctimo- 
 nious and vulgar. I'll be hanged if I'm going to 
 spend the time talking platitudes to girls in golf 
 gowns." 
 
 Of course it was their fault that he felt irritable 
 and bored. He thought of his book, "The Origin 
 of the Cherokee Indian," but the prospect of shut- 
 ting himself in his room to drive a pen over reams 
 of foolscap had small attraction for him. The 
 rain had ceased, the heavy perfumed air, vague with 
 vapour, oppressed him, and he looked up at the 
 mountains, half veiled in mist. But climbing was 
 
YO ESPERO. 143 
 
 out of the question, — he didn't know exactly why, 
 — but it was clearly out of the question. He would 
 not go fishing either ; neither would he read. What 
 was there left to do? Nothing, except to go back 
 to the foot-bridge. 
 
 So when at last, by the highways and byways of 
 cogitation, he had completed the circle, and had ar- 
 rived at the point from which he started, he found 
 that his legs had secured the precedence of his 
 brain, for already they were landing him at the foot- 
 bridge. 
 
 He was really a little surprised when he found 
 himself there. He stepped to the railing to find his 
 inscription. Somebody had shaved it off with a 
 knife, and, in its place was written : 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 It was then that Edgeworth experienced a most 
 amazing, not to say painful, sensation. It started in 
 the region of the heart, and, before he was aware, it 
 began to affect his throat. 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 He looked stupidly at the word, repeating it aloud 
 once or twice. Presently he pulled out his knife 
 and hacked away the writing with a misty idea that 
 it might bother him less when it was obliterated. 
 On the contrary it bothered him more than ever. 
 A desire possessed him to go away, but, when he 
 pictured himself in a train, rushing northward, the 
 prospect was not as alluring as he felt it should be. 
 Perhaps it was because he knew O'Hara would not 
 go with him. 
 
144 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " The devil take Tom O'Hara! " he blurted out. 
 
 The effect of this outburst did not soothe him ; 
 it did, however, frighten a small hedge-sparrow nearly 
 to death. 
 
 He looked up at the sun-warped sign-post on the 
 end of the bridge. It bore the following valuable 
 information. 
 
 ***** • 
 
 Hog Mountain 6 miles. 
 
 Buzzard Run 10 miles. 
 
 Red Rock i mile. 
 
 Yo Espero 3 miles. 
 
 "Yo Espero," he repeated aloud. 
 
 There was a step on the creaking planks behind 
 him, — a light step, — but he heard it. 
 
 They faced each other for a moment in silence. 
 The sun shone out of the mist above and tinged the 
 edges of her hair with a mellow radiance. 
 
 " Come," she said, " we can't stay here." 
 
 " Where— then ? " 
 
 Their eyes met. Her lips were slightly parted ; 
 perhaps she had walked fast, for her breast rose and 
 fell irregularly. In that silent exchange of glances, 
 each read, for one brief second, a line in the book of 
 fate ; — each read, — but whether they understood or 
 not, God knows, for they smiled at each other and 
 turned away, side by side into the forest. 
 
YO ESPERO. I45 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Yo Espero ! Yo Espero ! " Asleep, awake, the 
 words haunted him, night and day they rang in his 
 ears, " Yo Espero, Yo Espero." The brooks sang 
 it ; in the hot mid-day the cadence of the meadow 
 creatures took it up ; the orioles repeated it across 
 the fields, the thrushes' hymn was for her alone : 
 " Yo Espero, Yo Espero." 
 
 Days dawned and vanished, brief as the flash of 
 a fire-fly wing. The locust-trees powdered the 
 greensward with white blossoms, the laurel, dainty 
 and conventional, spread its flowered cambric out to 
 dry, and the dogwood leaves drifted through the 
 forest like snowflakes. 
 
 O'Hara, the triumphant affianced of Claire, pro- 
 voked the wrath of all unaffianced gods and men. 
 He simply mooned. Guests arrived and guests left 
 the Diamond Spring Hotel, but the Beezeleys stayed 
 on for ever. There were captains and colonels and 
 generals from the South ; the names of Fairfax and 
 Marmaduke and Carter and Stuart were heard in 
 corridor and card-room. There were Rittenhouses 
 and Appletons, and Van Burens, too, and the flat 
 bleat of Philadelphia echoed the colourless jargon 
 of Boston and the semi-civilized accent of New 
 York. 
 
I46 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 It was the middle of May. The catbirds had 
 ceased their music and now haunted the garden, 
 mewing from every thicket. A crested blue jay, 
 ominous prophet of distant autumn, screamed 
 viciously at the great belted kingfishers, but wisely 
 avoided these dagger-billed birds, and also the oc- 
 casional cock-of-the-woods that flew into the oak- 
 grove, and tapped all day on the loose bark. 
 
 Edgeworth loved all these creatures. A few 
 weeks previous he hadn't cared tuppence for them. 
 But now it was different ; he felt at home with all 
 the world ; he smiled knowingly at the thrushes, he 
 nodded gaily to the great blue heron, and laughed 
 when that dignified but snobbish biped cut him 
 dead. Flowers too he was on good terms with ; he 
 haunted the woods, now all ablaze with azaleas, he 
 sat among blue and violet larkspurs and felt that he 
 was among friends. The little wood-violets peeped 
 up at him fearlessly ; they knew he would never 
 pick them ; the big orange lady-slippers arranged 
 themselves neatly, two by two, as he passed, but he 
 laughingly disregarded their offers. True, the girl 
 at his side, — for he never rambled alone, — was 
 worthy of such self-sacrifice on the part of any lady- 
 slipper, orange or maroon. 
 
 " Io," he said, as they lay in the forest on the 
 heights above Diamond Springs, " can you realise 
 it all? I scarcely can. Was it yesterday, was it 
 last week, — was it years ago that I said good morn- 
 ing to you there on our bridge? " 
 
 " Jim, I don't know." 
 
YO ESPERO. I47 
 
 Her hair had fallen down and she flung it like a 
 glistening veil from her face. She lay full length 
 across the soft pine needles, her scarlet lips parted, 
 tearing bits of flame-colored azalia blossoms from a 
 cluster at her belt. 
 
 " See the lizards," said Edgeworth sitting up 
 beside her, " see them race over the dry leaves ! 
 There ! They've run up a tree ! Look, Io." 
 
 " I see," she said. But she was looking up at 
 him. 
 
 He bent over her and kissed her, both hands 
 clasped in hers. 
 
 " You didn't look at all," he said. 
 
 " Didn't I?" whispered Yo Espero. 
 
 It was true that she had not looked. When her 
 eyes were not fastened upon his face, they were 
 closed. 
 
 So he sat smiling down at her with her slim fin- 
 gers twisted in his ; and that shadow of wistfulness 
 that ever hovers close to happiness, fell over his 
 eyes. And he said : "Do. you ever regret — any- 
 thing — Io ? " 
 
 She smiled faintly. 
 
 " No — nothing, dear." 
 
 " Nothing?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Then you are happy." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 What had she to regret? She loved him. To 
 him she came, sick at heart for the companionship 
 which she had never known. He had delivered her 
 
I48 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 from her loneliness. First she listened to him with 
 the fierce happiness of the lonely ; then she idolized 
 him ; then she loved him. Love was all she had to 
 give ; and she gave it, even before he asked, — gave 
 it without thought or regret. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " that you have the 
 prettiest hands in the world?" 
 
 "Have I?" 
 
 " Don't you know that your whole figure is ex- 
 quisite? " 
 
 She raised one hand indolently and placed the 
 fingers across his lips. 
 
 " What do I care, — if you love me? " she said. 
 
 " But I care," he said ; " to think that you, — all, 
 all of you, — with your beautiful eyes and your neck 
 and your lips and these two little hands, are mine — 
 all mine! — " 
 
 "And that brown hair above me — is mine, — isn't 
 it ? " murmured the girl ; " I never asked you before, 
 but don't — don't I own some of you too ? I have 
 given you all of myself." 
 
 It was little to ask ; — the question was a new one 
 though, and he suddenly began to wonder how much 
 of him she did own. He looked at her half curi- 
 ously as she lay there, her innocent face upturned, 
 her young figure flung across the pine-needle mat- 
 ting of the forest. Her eyes told him she loved 
 him; every line and curve of her sweet body solem- 
 nized the vow. 
 
 " Io," he said, "all of me that is worth owning 
 you own." 
 
YO ESPERO. 149 
 
 " This hand ? " she asked, locking her fingers in his. 
 
 "Both," he said. 
 
 "Everything? All— all ? " 
 
 "All, Yo Espero." 
 
 " You never said so — before." 
 
 " I say it now ; all ! all ! all ! " 
 
 " We will go to Silver Mine Creek," said Yo 
 Espero, " and we will fish there for a little fish. 
 There are bass in the French Broad, and you shall 
 catch them from the rifts below Deepwater Bridge. 
 We will gallop on horseback to Sunset Sands and 
 we will go to Bubbling Spring. All this will take 
 time, you know, but you are never going away, are 
 you ? Hush ! I could not live until sunrise. Then, 
 in the fall, we will go across to the little Hurricane 
 where there are deer. You shall shoot a great wild- 
 turkey also! Dear me! What more can a man 
 ask for? And then there are teal and mallard on 
 the French Broad before the ice has bridged the 
 Little Red Horse. You will love the South." 
 
 " Yes, dear," he answered, soberly ; but his eyes 
 were turned to the North. 
 
 " I know lots of springs in the forest," she said, 
 watching his face. 
 
 "And blockade stills?" he smiled. 
 
 She laughed outright and sat up, gathering her 
 heavy hair into a twist. 
 
 " There is one within a few steps of where we sit ; 
 you could never find it," she said, tauntingly. 
 
150 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Oho ! " he exclaimed, " whose ? " 
 
 "Zeke's," said the girl, " I could go to it in two 
 minutes, — hark ! — was that a gunshot from the 
 valley ? " 
 
 " I think it was," he said, " it came from that 
 way," and he pointed to the west. 
 
 " From Painted Mountain ! Did it sound like a 
 rifle, Jim? " 
 
 Her eyes were very bright. Two red spots glowed 
 on either cheek. 
 
 "I don't know, dear," he said, "why?" 
 
 As he spoke he rose and stepped back two paces. 
 And as he took the second step there came a whirr, 
 a girl's scream, and a rattlesnake struck him twice 
 above the ankle. 
 
 For one second the forest swam before his eyes ; 
 then a cold sweat started from the roots of his 
 hair and he bent and picked up a stick, shaking 
 in every limb. It was over in a moment ; the 
 snake lay dead, shuddering and twisting among the 
 rocks, but it was Yo Espero who had crushed it, and 
 now she turned to him a face as bloodless as his own v 
 
 " Wait ! " she panted, " there's whisky at Zeke's ! " 
 and she sprang across the mountain-side and van- 
 ished among the thickets. 
 
 He bent over and tore down his stocking ; then 
 his head whirled and he sank trembling upon the 
 ground. 
 
 As he lay there great throbs of pain swept 
 through him in waves, succeeded by momentary 
 numbness, but through the mist of faintness and the 
 
YO ESPERO. 151 
 
 delirium of pain he heard the dead snake thumping 
 among the leaves. Then all was one great thrill of 
 agony, but, as his senses reeled again, a touch fell 
 upon his arm and he heard her voice : 
 
 " Drink, — quickly — all — all you can ! " 
 
 And he did, blindly, guided by her arm. She 
 held the demijohn until his head fell back. 
 
 Then she knelt, ripped her own sleeve from wrist 
 to shoulder and stared at her round white arm. 
 Two blue marks, close together, capped the sum- 
 mit of a terrible swelling, and she cried out once 
 for help. With all the strength that remained, 
 she dragged the demijohn to her mouth and 
 stretched out on the ground, the crystal clear liquor 
 running between her teeth. She tried hard to 
 swallow. Once she murmured, " I knew there was 
 not enough for both, — I guess there isn't much left ; 
 I guess — it's — too late — " 
 
 After a minute or two she wandered in her de- 
 lirium, but still she swallowed desperately until the 
 demijohn rolled away from her nerveless grasp, and 
 she seemed to lose consciousness. With the last 
 spark of understanding left in her numbed brain, she 
 turned over and stretched out, her lips crushed 
 against his face. 
 
 Zeke found them. Whether it was the smell of 
 blockade whisky, coupled with the absence of his 
 demijohn, or whether it was Providence, cannot be 
 successfully argued here. But he found them, and 
 he carried them into his ramshackle cabin and laid 
 them side by side across his mattress. 
 
152 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 After he had looked at them for half an hour's 
 absolute silence, he spat the remains of a hard- 
 chewed quid into a corner, picked up his gun, and 
 wended his way down the mountain-side to the 
 Diamond Springs Hotel. 
 
 Here he was promptly arrested by two pale-faced 
 Revenue Officers, and here, for the first time, he 
 learned that Clyde, the tenant of Yo Espero on 
 Painted Mountain, had been shot dead, two hours 
 before, for resisting arrest at the hands of United 
 States officers. 
 
 The hotel was in commotion, but when Zeke 
 drawled out his story, panic reigned supreme, and 
 the Beezeleys started in a body for Zeke's hut. ' How 
 they got lost on the mountain and were frightened 
 by snakes, and how Dr. Samuel Meeke headed a 
 rescue party in their behalf, has no place in this 
 story, — nor, I imagine, in any story. O'Hara went 
 on Zeke's bond, and Zeke, followed by O'Hara and 
 the proprietor of the Diamond Springs Hotel, 
 started for the blockader's burrow. The proprietor's 
 name was Eph Doom, but, unlike his namesake, 
 nothing about him was sealed, not even his lips, and 
 he chattered continually until Zeke drawled out : 
 " O shet up, yew mewl o' misery ! " 
 
 Once O'Hara spoke: 
 
 " You left them both lying across your bed, 
 Zeke?" 
 
 '" 'Bout a foot apart," drawled Zeke. 
 
 But when O'Hara burst into the cabin, he cried : 
 
YO ESPERO. 153 
 
 " Thank God ! " For they were in each other's 
 arms. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And that is all there is to say. 
 
 Eph Doom recounts a great deal more; he tells 
 how those two striplings, dazed by alcohol and 
 numbed with poison, clung together blindly; he 
 tells how he, personally, drove a shoal of Beezeleys 
 and Meekes and Dills from the door of the cabin, 
 and he relates with fire how young Edgeworth sat 
 up, pale, trembling, and demanded that he, Ephraim 
 Doom, should, as a Justice of the Peace, then and 
 there instantly unite in holy wedlock James Edge- 
 worth and Yo Espero Clyde : which he did not do, 
 because O'Hara whispered : " Wait till he's sober." 
 
 How Zeke escaped the clutches of the law needs 
 a story by itself. 
 
 How Dr. Samuel Meeke and Mrs. Dill— but that 
 is scandal. 
 
 How Yo Espero and Edgeworth loved is all that 
 concerns this story. 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT 
 
' Why do you limp ?' asked the maid. 
 
 'I always stumble when the path is smooth,' said Love." 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 
 
 I will grow round him in his place, 
 Grow, live, die looking on his face, 
 Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 In winter the Port is closed, the population 
 migrates, the Collector of the Port sails southward. 
 There is nothing left but black rocks sheathed in ice 
 where icy seas clash and splinter and white squalls 
 howl across the headland. When the wind slackens 
 and the inlet freezes, spotted seals swim up and 
 down the ragged edges of the ice, sleek restless heads 
 raised, mild eyes fixed on the turbid shallows. 
 
 In January, blizzard-driven, snowy owls whirl 
 into the pines and sit all day in the demi-twilight, 
 the white ptarmigan covers the softer snow with 
 winding tracks, and the white hare, huddled in his 
 whiter " form," plays hide and seek with his own 
 shadow. 
 
 In February the Port-of-Waves is still untenanted. 
 A few marauders appear, now and then a steel grey 
 panther from the north frisking over the snow after 
 the white hares, now and then a stub-tailed lynx, 
 mean-faced, famished, snarling up at the white owls 
 who look down and snap their beaks and hiss. 
 
 The first bud on the Indian-willow brings the first 
 x 57 
 
158 COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 
 
 inhabitant back to the Port-of-Waves, Francis Lee, 
 superintendent of the mica quarry. The quarry- 
 men follow in batches ; the willow-tassels see them 
 all there ; the wind-flowers witness the defile of the 
 first shift through the pines. 
 
 On the last day of May the company's flag was 
 hoisted on the tool-house, the French-Canadians 
 came down to repair the rusty narrow-gauge rail- 
 road, and Lee, pipe lighted, sea-jacket buttoned to 
 the throat, tramped up and down the track with the 
 lumber detail, chalking and condemning sleepers, 
 blazing spruce and pine, sounding fish-plate and rail, 
 and shouting at intervals until the washouts were 
 shored up, windfalls hacked through, and landslide 
 and boulder no longer blocked the progress of the 
 company's sole locomotive. 
 
 The first of June brought sunshine and black 
 flies, but not the Collector of the Port. The Cana- 
 dians went back to Sainte Isole across the line, the 
 white-throated sparrows' long dreary melody broke 
 out in the clearing's edge, but the Collector of the 
 Port did not return. 
 
 That evening, Lee, smoking his pipe on the head- 
 land, looked out across the sunset-tinted ocean and 
 saw the white gulls settling on the shoals and the 
 fish-hawks soaring overhead with the red sunglint 
 on their wings. The smoke of a moss smudge kept 
 the flies away, his own tobacco smoke drove away 
 care. Incidentally both drove Williams away, — a 
 mere lad in baggy blue-jeans, smooth-faced, clear- 
 eyed, with sea-tan on wrist and cheek. 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 1 59 
 
 " How did you cut your hand ? " asked Lee, turn- 
 ing his head as Williams moved away. 
 
 " Mica," replied Williams briefly. After a moment 
 Williams started on again. 
 
 " Come back," said Lee ; " that wasn't what I had 
 to tell you." 
 
 He sat down on the headland, opened a jack-knife, 
 and scraped the ashes out of his pipe. Williams 
 came slowly up and stood a few paces behind his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Sit down," said Lee. 
 
 Williams did not stir. Lee waited a moment, 
 head slightly turned, but not far enough for 
 him to see the figure motionless behind his shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " It's none of my business," began Lee, " but per- 
 haps you had better know that you have deceived 
 nobody. Finn came and spoke to me to-day. Dyce 
 knows it, Carrots and Lefty Sawyer know it, — I 
 should have known it myself had I looked at you 
 twice." 
 
 The June wind blowing across the grass,carried two 
 white butterflies over the cliff. Lee watched them 
 struggle back to land again. Williams watched 
 Lee. 
 
 " I don't know what to do," said Lee, after a 
 silence ; " it is not forbidden for women to work in 
 the quarry — that I am aware of. If you need 
 work and prefer that sort, and if you perform your 
 work properly, I shall not interfere with you. And 
 I'll see that the men do not." 
 
l6o THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Williams stood motionless ; the smoke from the 
 smudge shifted west, then south. 
 
 " But," continued Lee, " I must enter you properly 
 on the pay-roll ; I cannot approve of this mas- 
 querade. Finn will see you in the morning; it is 
 unnecessary for me to repeat that you will not be 
 disturbed." 
 
 There was no answer. After a silence Lee 
 turned, then rose to his feet. Williams was weep- 
 ing. 
 
 Lee had never noticed her face ; both sun-tanned 
 hands hid it now ; her felt hat was pulled down over 
 the forehead. 
 
 " Why did you come to the quarry ?" he asked 
 soberly. She did not reply. 
 
 " It is men's work," he said ; " look at your hands ! 
 You cannot do it." 
 
 She tightened her hands over her eyes ; tears 
 stole between her fingers and dropped, one by one, 
 on the young grass. 
 
 " If you need work — if you can find nothing else 
 — I — I think perhaps I may manage something 
 better," he said. " You must not stand there cry- 
 ing — listen ! Here come Finn and Dyce, and I 
 don't want them to talk all over the camp." Finn 
 and Dyce came toiling up the headland with news 
 that the west drain was choked. They glanced as- 
 kance at Williams, who turned her back. The sea- 
 wind dried her eyes ; it stung her torn hands too. 
 She unconsciously placed one aching finger in her 
 mouth and looked out to sea. 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. l6l 
 
 " The dreen's bust by the second windfall," said 
 Dyce, with a jerk of his stunted thumb toward the 
 forest. " If them sluice-props caves in, the timber's 
 wasted." 
 
 Finn proposed new sluice gates ; Lee objected, 
 and swore roundly that if the damage was not re- 
 paired by next evening he'd hold Finn responsible. 
 He told them he was there to save the company's 
 money, not to experiment with it ; he spoke sharply 
 to Finn of last year's extravagance, and warned him 
 not to trifle with orders. 
 
 " I pay you to follow my directions," he said. 
 " Do so and I'll be responsible to the company ; dis- 
 obey, and I'll hold you to the chalk-mark every 
 time." 
 
 Finn sullenly shifted his quid and nodded ; Dyce 
 looked rebellious. 
 
 " You might as well know," continued Lee, " that 
 I mean what I say. You'll find it out. Do your 
 work and we'll get on without trouble. You'll find 
 I'm just." 
 
 When Dyce and Finn had shuffled away toward 
 the coast, Lee looked at the figure outlined on the 
 cliffs against the sunset sky, — a desolate, lonely 
 little figure in truth. 
 
 " Come," said Lee ; " if you must have work I will 
 give you enough to keep you busy ; not in the 
 quarry either, — do you want to cripple yourself in 
 that pit ? It 's no place for children anyway. Can 
 you write properly?" 
 
 The girl nodded, back turned toward him. 
 
l62 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Then you can keep the rolls, duplicates, and all. 
 You'll have a room to yourself in my shanty. I'll 
 pay quarry wages." 
 
 He did not add that those wages must come out 
 of his own pocket. The company allowed him no 
 secretary, and he was too sensitive to suggest one. 
 
 " I don't ask you where you came from or why 
 you are here," he said a little roughly. " If there 
 is gossip I cannot help it." He walked to the 
 smudge and stood in the smoke, for the wind had 
 died out and the black flies were active. 
 
 " Perhaps," he hazarded, " you would like to go 
 back to — to where you came from ? I'll send you 
 back." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " There may be gossip in camp." 
 
 The slightest movement of her shoulders indi- 
 cated her indifference. Lee re-lighted his pipe, 
 poked the smudge, and piled damp moss on it. 
 
 " All right," he said, " don't be unhappy ; I'll do 
 what I can to make you comfortable. You had 
 better come into the smudge, to begin with." 
 
 She came, touching her eyes with her hands, awk- 
 ward, hesitating. He looked gravely at her clumsy 
 boots, at the loose, toil-stained overalls. 
 
 " What is your name? " he said, without embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 " My name is Helen Pine." She looked up at 
 him steadily ; after a moment she repeated her 
 name as though expecting him to recognise it. He 
 did not ; he had never before heard it, as far as he 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 163 
 
 knew. Neither did he find in her eager, wistful 
 face anything familiar. How should he remember 
 her? Why should he remember? It was nearly 
 six months ago that, snow-bound in the little village 
 on the Mohawk, he and the directors of his company 
 left their private Pullman car to amuse themselves 
 at a country dance. How should he recollect the 
 dark-eyed girl who had danced the " fireman's quad- 
 rille " with him, who had romped through a reel or 
 two with him, who had amused him through a 
 snowy evening ? How should he recall the careless 
 country incident, — the corn popping, the apple race, 
 the flirtation on the dark, windy stairway ? Who 
 could expect him to remember the laughing kiss, the 
 meaningless promise to write, the promises to return 
 some day for another dance, and kiss ? A week later 
 he had forgotten the village, forgotten the dance, 
 the pop-corn, the stairway, and the kiss. She never 
 forgot. Had he told her he loved her? He forgot 
 it before she replied. Had he amused himself? 
 Passably. But he was glad that the snow-plows 
 cleared the track next morning, for there was trouble 
 in Albany and lobbying to do, and a rival company 
 was moving wheels within wheels to lubricate the 
 machinery of honest legislation. 
 
 So it meant nothing to him, this episode of a snow 
 blockade ; it meant all the world to her. For months 
 she awaited the letter that never came. An Albany 
 journal mentioned his name and profession. She 
 wrote to the company and learned where the quarry 
 lay. She was young and foolish and nearly broken- 
 
164 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 hearted, so she ran away. Her first sentimental 
 idea was to work herself to death, disguised, under 
 his very eyes. When she lay dying she would reveal 
 herself to him, and he should know too late the 
 value of such a love. To this end she purchased 
 some shears to cut her hair with ; but the mental 
 picture she conjured was not improved by such a 
 sacrifice. She re-coiled her hair tightly and bought 
 a slouched hat, too big. 
 
 When, arrived at the quarry, she saw him again, 
 she nearly fainted from fright. He met her twice, 
 face to face, and she was astounded that he did 
 not recognise her. Reflection, however, assured 
 her that her disguise must be perfect, and she 
 awaited the dramatic moment when she should 
 reveal herself— not dying from quarry-toil — for 
 she did not wish to die now that she had seen 
 him. No — she would live — live to prove to him 
 how a woman can love — live to confound him with 
 her constancy. She had read many romances. 
 Now, when he had bade her follow him to the head- 
 land, she knew she had been discovered ; she was 
 weak with terror and shame and hope. She 
 thought he knew her ; when he spoke so coolly she 
 stood dumb with amazement ; when he spoke of 
 Finn and Sawyer and Dyce she understood he had 
 not penetrated her disguise, except from hearsay, 
 and a terror of loneliness and desolation rushed over 
 her. 
 
 Then the impulse came to hide her identity 
 from him, — why, she did not know. Again that 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 16$ 
 
 vanished when he called her to come into the smoke. 
 As she looked up at him her heart almost stopped ; 
 yet he did not recognise her. Then the courage of 
 despair seized her and she told her name. When at 
 length she comprehended that he had entirely for- 
 gotten her — forgotten her very name — fright sealed 
 her lips. All the hopelessness and horror of her posi- 
 tion dawned upon her, — all she had believed, ex- 
 pected, prayed for, came down with a crash. 
 
 As they stood together in the smoke of the 
 smudge, she mechanically laid her hand on his sleeve, 
 for her knees scarcely supported her. 
 
 " What is it ; does the smoke make you dizzy ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 She nodded ; he aided her to the cliff's edge and 
 seated heron a boulder. Under the cliff the sunset 
 light reddened the sea. A quarryman, standing on 
 a rock, looked up at Lee and pointed seaward. 
 
 " Hello ! " answered Lee, " what is it ? The Col- 
 lector of the Port ? " 
 
 Other quarrymen, grouped on the coast, took up 
 the cry ; the lumbermen, returning from the forest 
 along the inlet, paused, axe on shoulder, to stare at 
 the sea. Presently, out in the calm ocean, a black 
 triangle cut the surface, dipped, glided landward, 
 dipped, glided, disappeared. Again the dark point 
 came into view, now close under the cliff where 
 thirty feet of limpid water bathed its base. 
 
 " The Collector of the Port ! " shouted Finn from 
 the rocks. 
 
 Lee bent over the cliff's brink. Far down into the 
 
l66 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 clear water he followed the outline of the cliff. 
 Under it a shadowy shape floated, a monstrous 
 shark, rubbing the rock softly as if in greeting for 
 old acquaintance* sake. 
 
 The Collector of the Port had returned from the 
 south. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Collector of the Port and the company were 
 rivals ; both killed their men, one at sea, the other 
 in the quarry. The company objected to pelagic 
 slaughter and sent some men with harpoons, bombs, 
 and shark-hooks to the Port ; but the Collector 
 sheered off to sea and waited for them to go away. 
 
 The company could not keep the quarrymen 
 from bathing ; Lee could not keep the Collector 
 from Port-of-Waves. Every year two or three 
 quarrymen fell to his share ; the company killed 
 the even half-dozen. Years before, the quarrymen 
 had named the shark ; the name fascinated every- 
 body with its sinister conventionality. In truth he 
 was Collector of the Port, — an official who took toll 
 of all who ventured from this Port where nothing 
 entered from the sea save the sea itself, wave on 
 wave, wave after wave. 
 
 In the superintendent's office there were two 
 rolls of victims, — victims of the quarry and victims 
 of the Collector of the Port. Pensions were not 
 allowed to families of the latter class, so, as Dyce 
 said to Dyce's dying brother : " Thank God you 
 was blowed up, an* say no more about it, Hank." 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 1 67 
 
 There was, curiously enough, little animosity 
 against the Collector of the Port among the quarry- 
 men. When June brought the great shark back to 
 the Port they welcomed him with sticks of dyna- 
 mite, but nevertheless a sense of proprietorship, of 
 exclusive right to the biggest shark on the coast, 
 aroused in the quarrymen a sentiment akin to pride. 
 Between the shark and the men existed an uncanny 
 comradeship, curiously in evidence when the com- 
 pany's imported shark-destroyers appeared at the 
 Port. 
 
 " G'wan now," observed Farrely, "an' divil a 
 shark ye'll get in the wather, me bucks ! Is it 
 sharks ye'll harpoon ? Sure th' company's full o* 
 thim." 
 
 The shark-catchers, harpoons, bombs, and hooks, 
 retired after a month's useless worrying, and the 
 men jeered them as they embarked on the gravel 
 train. 
 
 " Drhop a dynamite shtick on the nob av his 
 nibs!" shouted Farrely after them — meaning the 
 president of the company. The next day, little 
 Csesar l'Hommedieu, indulging in his semi-annual 
 bath, was appreciated and accepted by the Collector 
 of the Port, and his name was added to the un- 
 pensioned roll in the office of the company's super- 
 intendent, Francis Lee. 
 
 Helen Pine, sitting alone in her room, copied the 
 roll, erased little Caesar's name from the pay-roll, 
 computed the total back pay due him, and made 
 out an order on the company for $20.39. Then 
 
1 68 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 she rose, stepped quietly into Lee's office which ad- 
 joined her own room, and silently handed him the 
 order. 
 
 Lee was busy and motioned her to be seated. 
 Dyce and Finn, hats in hand, looked obliquely at 
 her as she leaned on the window-ledge, face turned 
 toward the sea. She heard Lee say, " Go on, Finn ; " 
 and Finn began again in his smooth plausible voice : 
 
 " I opened the safe on a flat-car, an' God knows 
 who uncoupled the flat. Then Dyce signalled go 
 ahead, but Henderson he sez Dyce signalled to back 
 her up, an' the first I see was that flat hangin' over 
 the dump-dock. Then she tipped up like a seesaw 
 an' slid the safe into the water — fifty-eight feet 
 sheer at low tide." 
 
 Lee said quietly : " Rig a derrick on the dump- 
 dock, and tell Kinny to get his diving kit ready by 
 three o'clock." 
 
 Finn and Dyce exchanged glances. 
 
 " Kinny he went to Bangor last night to see 
 about them new drills," said Finn defiantly. 
 
 " Who sent him ? " asked Lee angrily. " Oh, you 
 did, eh ? " 
 
 " I thought you wanted them drills," repeated 
 Finn. 
 
 Lee's eyes turned from Finn to Dyce. There 
 was, in the sullen faces before him, something that 
 he had never before seen, something worse than 
 sinister. The next moment he said pleasantly : 
 " Well then, tell Lefty Sawyer to take his diving 
 kit and be ready by three. If you need a new lad- 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 169 
 
 der at the dump-dock send one there by noon. 
 That is all, men." 
 
 When Finn and Dyce had gone, Lee sprang to 
 his feet and began to pace the office. Once he 
 stopped to light his pipe ; once he jerked open the top 
 drawer of his table and glanced at a pair of heavy 
 Colt's revolvers lying there, cocked and loaded. 
 He sat down at his desk after a while and spoke, 
 perhaps half unconsciously, to Helen, as though he 
 had been speaking to her since Finn and Dyce 
 left: 
 
 " They're a hard crowd — a tough lot — and I knew 
 it would come to a crisis sooner or later. Last 
 year they drove the other superintendent to resign, 
 and I was warned to look out for myself. Now 
 they see that they can't use me, and they mean to 
 get rid of me." 
 
 She turned from the window as he finished ; he 
 looked at her without seeing the oval face, the dark 
 questioning eyes, the young rounded figure invol- 
 untarily bending toward him. 
 
 "They tipped that safe off the dock on purpose," 
 he said ; " they sent Kinny to Bangor on a fool's 
 errand. Now Sawyer's got to go down and see 
 what can be done. I know what he'll say ! — 
 He'll report the safe broken and one or two cash 
 boxes missing, and he'll bring up the rest and wait 
 for a chance to divide with his gang." 
 
 He started to his feet and began to pace the floor 
 again, talking all the while : 
 
 " It's come to a crisis now, and I'm not going 
 
170 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 under ! I'll face them down ; I'll break that gang 
 as they break stone ! If I only knew how to use a 
 diving kit — and if I dared — with Dyce at the life- 
 line—" 
 
 Half an hour later Lee, seated at his desk, raised 
 his pale face from his hands and, for the first time, 
 became conscious that Helen sat watching him 
 beside the window. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " he asked pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 She held the order out to him ; he took it, ex- 
 amined it, and, picking up a pen, signed his name. 
 
 " Forward it to the company," he said ; " Caesar's 
 family will collect it quicker than the shark col- 
 lected Caesar." 
 
 He did not mean to shock the girl with cynicism ; 
 indeed it was only such artificial indifference that 
 enabled him to endure the misery of the Port-of- 
 Waves, — misery that came under his eyes from sea 
 and land, — interminable hopeless human woe. 
 
 What could he do for the lacerated creatures at 
 the quarry? He had only his salary. What could 
 he do for families made destitute? The mica 
 crushed and cut and blinded ; the Collector of the 
 Port exacted bloody toll in spite of him. He could 
 not drive the dust-choked, half-maddened quarry- 
 men from their one solace and balm, the cool, heal- 
 ing ocean ; he could not drive the Collector from 
 the Port-of- Waves. 
 
 "I didn't mean to speak unfeelingly," he said. 
 " I feel such things very deeply." 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 171 
 
 To his surprise and displeasure she replied: "I 
 did not know you felt anything." 
 
 She grew red after she said it ; he stared at her. 
 
 " Do you regard me as brutal? " he asked sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 " No," she said, steadying her voice : " you are 
 not brutal; one must be human to be brutal." 
 
 He looked at her half angrily, half inclined to 
 laugh. 
 
 "You mean I am devoid of human feeling?" 
 
 " I am not here to criticise my employer," she 
 answered faintly. 
 
 11 Oh — but you have." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " You said you were not aware that I felt any- 
 thing." 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 He thought to himself: "I took her from the 
 quarry, and this is what I get." She divined his 
 thought. She could have answered : " And you 
 sent me to the quarry — for the memory of a kiss." 
 But she did not speak. 
 
 Watching her curiously, he noticed the gray 
 woollen gown, the spotless collar and cuffs, the light 
 on her hair, like light on watered silk. Her young 
 face was turned toward the window. For the first 
 time it occurred to him that she might be lonely. 
 He wondered where she came from, why she had 
 sought Port-of-Waves among all places on earth, 
 what tragedy could have driven her from kin and 
 kind to the haunts of men. She seemed so utterly 
 
I72 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 alone, so hopelessly dependent, so young that his 
 conscience smote him, and he resolved to be a little 
 companionable toward her, as far as his position of 
 superintendent permitted. True, he could not do 
 much ; and whatever he might do would perhaps 
 be misinterpreted by her, certainly by the quarry- 
 men. 
 
 " A safe fell off the dock, to-day," he said pleas- 
 antly, forgetting she had been present at the an- 
 nouncement of the disaster by Finn and Dyce. 
 " Would you like to see the diver go down?" 
 
 She turned toward him and smiled. 
 
 "It might interest you," he went on, surprised at 
 the beauty of her eyes ; " we're going to try to hoist 
 the safe out of fifty odd feet of water — unless it is 
 smashed on the rocks. Come down when I go at 
 three o'clock." 
 
 As he spoke his face grew grave, and he glanced 
 at the open drawer by his elbow, where two blue 
 revolver barrels lay shining in the morning light. 
 
 At noon she went into her little room, locked the 
 door, and sat down on the bed. She cried steadily 
 till two o'clock ; from two until three she spent the 
 time in obliterating all traces of tears; at three he 
 knocked at her door, and she opened the door, fresh, 
 dainty, smiling, and joined him, tying the strings of 
 a pink sun-bonnet under her oval chin. 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 173 
 
 III. 
 
 The afternoon sun beat down on the dump-dock 
 where the derrick swung like a stumpy gallows 
 against the sky. A dozen hard-faced, silent quarry- 
 men sat around in groups on the string-pieces ; Far- 
 rely raked out the fire in the rusty little engine ; Finn 
 and Dyce whispered together, glowering at Lefty 
 Sawyer, who stood dripping in his diving suit while 
 Lee unscrewed the helmet and disentangled the lines. 
 
 Behind Lee, Helen Pine sat on a pile of con- 
 demned sleepers, nervously twisting and untwisting 
 the strings of her sun-bonnet. 
 
 When Sawyer was able to hear and be heard, Lee 
 listened, tight-lipped and hard eyed, to a report that 
 brought a malicious sneer to Finn's face and a twin- 
 kle of triumph into Dyce's dissipated eyes. 
 
 " The safe is smashed an' the door open. Them 
 there eight cash-boxes is all that I see." He pointed 
 to the pile of steel boxes, still glistening with 
 salt water, and already streaked and blotched with 
 orange colored rust. 
 
 " There are ten boxes," said Lee coldly ; " go down 
 again." 
 
 Unwillingly, sullenly, Lefty Sawyer suffered him- 
 self to be invested with the heavy helmet ; the lines 
 and tubes were adjusted, Dyce superintended the 
 descent and Finn seized the signal cord. After a 
 
174 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 minute it twitched ; Lee grew white with anger ; 
 Dyce turned away to conceal a grin. 
 
 When again Sawyer stood on the dock and re- 
 ported that the two cash-boxes were hopelessly 
 engulfed in the mud, Lee sternly bade him divest 
 himself of the diving suit. 
 
 " What you goin' to do ? " said Finn, coming up. 
 
 "Is it your place to ask questions?" said Lee 
 sharply. " Obey orders or you'll regret it ! " 
 
 " He's going down himself," whispered Dyce to 
 Sawyer. The diver cast a savage glance at Lee and 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Take off that suit," repeated Lee. 
 
 Finn, scowling with anger, attempted to speak, 
 but Lee turned on him and bade him be silent. 
 
 Slowly Sawyer divested himself of the clumsy 
 diving suit ; one after the other he pushed the leaden 
 soled shoes from him. 
 
 Lee watched him with mixed emotions. He had 
 gone too far to go back now — he understood that. 
 Flinching at such a moment meant chaos in the 
 quarry, and he knew that the last shred of his 
 authority and control would go if he hesitated. 
 Yet, with all his heart and soul he shrank from going 
 down into the sea. What might not such men do? 
 Dyce held the life-line. A moment or two suffoca- 
 tion — would such men hesitate? Accidents are so 
 easy to prove and signals may be easily misunder- 
 stood. He laid a brace of heavy revolvers on the 
 dock. 
 
 As Dyce lifted the helmet upon his shoulders, he 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 1 75 
 
 caught a last glimpse of sunlight and blue sky and 
 green leaves — a brief vision of dark, brutal faces — of 
 Helen Pine's frightened eyes. Then he felt him- 
 self on the dock ladder, then a thousand tons seemed 
 to fall from his feet and the dusky ocean enveloped 
 him. 
 
 On the dump-dock silence reigned. After a mo- 
 ment or two Finn whispered to Sawyer ; Dyce joined 
 the group ; Farrely whitened a bit under his brick- 
 red sunburn and pretended to fuss at his engine. 
 
 Helen Pine, heart beating furiously, watched them. 
 She did not know what they were going to do — 
 what they were doing now with the air tubes. She 
 did not understand such things, but she saw a line 
 suddenly twitch in Dyce's fingers, and she saw mur- 
 der in Finn's eyes. 
 
 Before she knew what she was doing she found 
 herself clutching both of Lee's revolvers. 
 
 Finn saw her and stood petrified ; Dyce gaped at 
 the level muzzles. Nobody moved. 
 
 After a little while Dyce's right hand twitched 
 violently. Finn started and swore ; Sawyer said 
 distinctly ; " Cut that line! " 
 
 The next instant she fired at him point-blank, and 
 he dropped to the bleached boards with a howl of 
 dismay. The crack of the revolver echoed and 
 echoed among the rocks. Presently, behind his 
 engine, Farrely began to laugh ; two quarrymen 
 near him got up and shambled hastily away. 
 
 " Draw him up ! " gasped the girl with a desperate 
 glance at the water. 
 
176 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Finn, the foreman, cursed and flung down his lines 
 and walked away, cursing. 
 
 " Take the lines, Noonan," she cried breathlessly ; 
 ' Dyce, pull him up ! " 
 
 The great blank-eyed helmet appeared ; she 
 watched it as though hypnotised. When, dragging 
 his leaden feet, Lee stumbled to the dock and flung 
 one of the two missing cash-boxes at Dyce's feet, 
 she grew dizzy and her little hands ached with their 
 grip on the heavy weapons. 
 
 Sawyer, stupid, clutching his shattered fore-arm, 
 never removed his eyes from her face ; Dyce un- 
 screwed the helmet, shaking with fright. 
 
 " There, you lying blackguard ! " panted Lee, 
 pointing to the recovered cash-box, " take them all 
 to my office where I'll settle with you once and for 
 all! " 
 
 Nobody replied. Lee, flushed with excitement 
 and triumph, stripped off his diving-dress before he 
 became aware that something beside his own episode 
 had occurred. Then he saw Lefty Sawyer, bedab- 
 bled with blood, staring with sick, surprised eyes at 
 somebody — a woman, — who sat huddled on a heap 
 of sun-dried sleepers, sun-bonnet fallen back, cocked 
 revolver in either hand, and, in her dark eyes, tears 
 that flowed silently over colourless cheeks. 
 
 Lee glared at Dyce. 
 
 "Ask her" muttered Dyce doggedly. 
 
 He turned toward Helen, but Farrely, behind his 
 engine, shouted: " Faith, she stood off th' gang or 
 the breathin' below wud ha* choked ye ! Thank 
 
COLLECTOR OF THE PORT. 177 
 
 the lass, lad, an' mind she's a gun whin ye go wor- 
 ritin' the fishes for the coompany's cash-box ! " 
 
 That night Lee made a speech at the quarry. 
 The men listened placidly. Dyce, amazed that he 
 was not discharged, went back to nurse Sawyer, a 
 thoroughly cowed man. Noonan, Farrely, and 
 Phelan, retired to their shanty and got fighting 
 drunk to the health of the " colleen wid the gun ; " 
 the rest of the men went away with wholesome con- 
 victions concerning their superintendent that prom- 
 ised better things. 
 
 " Didn't shanghai Dyce, — no he didn't," was the 
 whispered comment. 
 
 Lee's policy had done its work. 
 
 As for the murderous mover of the plot, the plausi- 
 ble foreman, Finn, he had shown the white feather 
 under fire and he knew the men might kill him on 
 sight. It's an Irish characteristic under such cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Lee walked back from the quarry, realising his 
 triumph, recognising that he owed it neither to his 
 foolhardy impulse, nor yet to his mercy to Dyce 
 and Sawyer. He went to the house and knocked 
 at Helen's door. She was not there. He sat alone 
 in his office, absently playing with pen and ruler 
 until the June moon rose over the ocean and yellow 
 sparkles flashed among the waves. An hour later 
 he went to the dock and found her sitting there 
 alone in the moonlight. 
 
 She did not repulse him. Her hour had come 
 23 
 
178 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 and she knew it, for she had read such things in 
 romances. It came. But she was too much in 
 love, too sincere to use a setting so dramatic. She 
 told him she loved him ; she told him why she had 
 come to the Port-of-Waves, why she had remem- 
 bered the kiss and the promise. She rested her head 
 on his shoulder and looked out at the moon, smaller 
 and more silvery now. She was contented. 
 
 Under the dock the dark waves lapped musically. 
 Under the dock Finn, stripped to the skin, plunged 
 silently downward for the one missing cash-box, 
 trusting to his sense of touch to find the safe. 
 
 But what he found was too horrible for words. 
 
 " Hark," whispered Helen ; " did you hear some- 
 thing splash? " 
 
 Lee looked out into the moonlight ; a shadow, a 
 black triangular point cut the silvery surface, steered 
 hither and thither, — circled, sheered seaward, and 
 was lost. Then came another splash, far out among 
 the waves. 
 
 " The Collector of the Port," said Lee ; " is 
 making merry in the moonlight." 
 
THE WHISPER 
 
/' bruinait. . . . V temps itait gris, 
 On rivoyait pas Fael . . . V atmosphere 
 Semblant sner au-d'ssus d^la ville, 
 Tombait en bui su 1 la terre. 
 
 "Fantaisie Triste." 
 
THE WHISPER. 
 
 As I entered the alley the bells of the dim city 
 tolled for the passing night. Far in the black maze 
 of filthy lanes and mist-choked streets a policeman 
 whistled ; I heard the distant din of an Elevated 
 train, rushing through the fog, nearer, nearer, duller 
 now, now smothered in the vapour which rolled from 
 river to river, thick, heavy, stifling. 
 
 In the gloom of the alley a shadowy form loomed 
 up and passed, leaving no sound of footsteps in my 
 ears, but all around me the vapour became faintly 
 tainted with opium and a flare of yellow light 
 streamed out across the fog from an opening door. 
 There was a momentary murmur of voices, the soft 
 shuffle of felt-shod feet, the rustle of silken sleeves. 
 A painted paper lantern swung from the doorway, 
 dipped, and disappeared. I heard the deadened 
 slam of the door and the black night veiled my eyes 
 again. 
 
 An empty truck, with broken shafts buried in the 
 mud of the gutter, blocked the sidewalk, and I crossed 
 the greasy pavement to avoid it. 
 
 Around the pale flame of a gas lamp the fog spun 
 an iridescent oval ; the wet sidewalk glimmered un- 
 
 181 
 
1 82 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 derneath. Far down the reeking throat of the alley 
 an arc-light shone like a grey star. 
 
 I raised my eyes to the dark house before me 
 where from a rusting balcony a sign hung low above 
 the doorway. 
 
 " This was her house," I said aloud to myself ; 
 but I passed on to the next house. Here I paused 
 a moment, looking back at the bamboo sign drip- 
 ping with fog, then turned and descended some 
 wooden steps to an iron door. Before I could find 
 the handle, wrought in bronze like a dragon's claw, 
 the door flew open and I heard McManus' angry 
 bellow ; " Git t' hell outer here, yer dope suckin' 
 yap!" and a Chinaman was hustled into the area 
 beside me. 
 
 " Chin chin thlough hattee ! " snarled the China- 
 man, " walkee where dlam please ! " 
 
 " I'll walkee you on yer neck ! " growled McManus, 
 and kicked the Chinaman half way up the steps. 
 
 " Dlam ! Dlam ! Dlam ! " screamed the China- 
 man, dancing with rage, but Charley, the bouncer, 
 burst out of the door, and the Chinaman fled chat- 
 tering like an infuriated ape. 
 
 I stepped into the low-ceilinged room and took a 
 chair at a cherry-wood table beside the wall. Two 
 young men sitting there said, " Hello, Jim ! " 
 
 " Good evenin'," said McManus, leaning over the 
 bar, " did you see me givin' de bounce to Wah-Wo ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, " when did he come back ? " 
 
 " He jest come in. I told him to git an' he give 
 me de ha-ha, so Charley trun him down. What 
 
THE WHISPER. 1 83 
 
 t'hell, sez I, an' he gives me back talk ! Say, I won't 
 do a t'ing to him ! " 
 
 One of the young men at the table beside me 
 looked up from the Welsh-rabbit he was eating and 
 called for ale. McManus brought it himself, a brim- 
 ming pewter mug, and wiped his hands on his blue 
 apron. Then he bawled for Charley to take my 
 order. 
 
 " Sure," said Charley coming in from the street 
 where he had been patiently waiting for a scrap, 
 and he leaned with both fists on the table and 
 winked pleasantly at the company. Lynde, of the 
 " Herald," advised me to try a rabbit, and Penlow, 
 of the " Tribune," spoke well of the chops, so I left 
 it to Charley and he retired to the grill, whistling, 
 "Oh I don't know!" 
 
 " It's a wonder to me," I said, hanging my wet 
 mackintosh on a peg and kicking off my overshoes, 
 " it's a wonder to me that Wah-Wo was dis- 
 charged." 
 
 " There was no evidence to hold him," observed 
 Lynde after a moment's silence. 
 
 Penlow lighted his pipe and rattled his mug on 
 the table. 
 
 " No evidence," I repeated ; " do you fellows 
 doubt that Wah-Wo did it ? " 
 
 " I suppose he did," said Penlow, " it was my 
 scoop too." 
 
 "We may scoop yet," said Lynde, "the man's 
 bound to be caught. What did they do with that 
 young tough from Hell's Kitchen ? " 
 
184 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Sheehan? Oh, his alibi is good," said Penlow. 
 " Mac, fill her up will you?" 
 
 McManus replenished the pewter and stood for a 
 moment beside us as if undecided. 
 
 " Gents," began McManus, " youse is dead off — 
 excuse me." He shifted his toothpick and rubbed 
 his thumb on the polished bar. 
 
 " Wah-Wo ain't in it," he said contemptuously : 
 " I give him de t'row-down, — fur why ? — fur because 
 I don't give de glad hand to no dope suckin' come-on 
 — an* he's dopy. But he didn't do no dirt to the gal 
 whut youse gents was stuck on — he ain't that kind ' 
 He give me the laugh an' I t'rowed him down, 
 see ? An' I won't do a t'ing but push his face in. 
 See ? " 
 
 " But," said Penlow, " her dog flew at him when 
 he went to the house. Kerrigan, you know — ' Happy 
 Days Mike' — said that Wah-Wo tried to cut a girl 
 in Doyers Street." 
 
 " Nit ! I don't think," said McManus scornfully : 
 " Kerrigan's a stuff — " 
 
 "Well, Mac," said Lynde, "what's your theory? 
 You know as much about it as anybody. The girl 
 came in here every night, didn't she? People say 
 that she lived alone, but of course she had company 
 when she wanted it. What's your idea, Mac ? " 
 
 McManus looked out of the window and drummed 
 on the bar with the blade of his oyster knife. 
 Charley, clad in a blue checked jumper, arrived with 
 some chops and ale. I unfolded my napkin and be- 
 gan my supper. 
 
THE WHISPER. 185 
 
 For a while I ate in silence, thinking of Wah-Wo 
 and the dead girl. 
 
 Caithness of the Consolidated Press came in look- 
 ing cold and ill, and we hastily made room for him 
 at our table. 
 
 " You're sick," said Lynde sharply, " you ought 
 to be in bed." 
 
 " I'm all right," said Caithness, glancing at us 
 with his large dark eyes : " Mac, get me something 
 hot." 
 
 I swallowed my ale and turned again to the 
 chops, scarcely listening to the hum of voices 
 beside me, for I was thinking again of the dead 
 girl. 
 
 I had no doubt that Wah-Wo had killed her. 
 Again and again I had seen his eyes fastened upon 
 her as she sat chatting with us, here at this very 
 table. The motive was clear to me. I had spoken 
 of this to the others but they laughed at me. The 
 District Attorney took no stock in it, either ; the 
 result was the discharge of Wah-Wo. 
 
 How could anybody but a Chinaman, crazed with 
 jealousy and opium, harm the child ? For she was 
 a mere child, this pallid victim whose soul had 
 mounted to the Judgment seat from the filth of 
 Chinatown. 
 
 Pale, slim, childish, depraved, she had never 
 haunted Chinese resorts nor, to my knowledge, had 
 she ever touched needle to flame. She had shunned 
 the women of the quarter. I seldom saw her speak 
 to any man except the reporters and newspaper 
 
1 86 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 artists who came to McManus's for a midnight chop 
 or rarebit. 
 
 Her acquaintance with us had been open and 
 guileless. She chatted with us about our business, 
 discussed the latest police shake-up or the newest 
 Tammany scandal, gave us her views on politics and 
 the City Hall, and glided away into the street 
 again followed by her dog. Her dog ! A great 
 hulking brute, black as night, with sombre eyes and 
 low hanging jowl, — a creature silent, unmoved ex- 
 cept when she bent her pale face to his ear and whis- 
 pered. Then and then only he would rise, shuffling 
 from the sawdust floor under the bar, and stalk after 
 her into the night. 
 
 He never paid the slightest attention to us. 
 Calls, caresses, threats, left him unmoved. 
 
 " What is it you whisper into his ear, Lil ? " we 
 often asked, but she would only smile and answer: 
 " His name." 
 
 And so, as none of us knew his name, we called 
 him simply, " her dog." 
 
 It had been two months now since Lil was found 
 on her bed with a bullet in her heart and the dog 
 lying stolidly across her bare little feet. And after 
 we had clubbed together and buried her, we were 
 kinder to her dog. 
 
 Every night he came gravely into McManus' to 
 lie down under the bar just as he had done when 
 Lil sat there chatting with us. 
 
 At first McManus was afraid that the dog would 
 "hoodoo the place," but he left the silent brute un- 
 
THE WHISPER. 1 87 
 
 disturbed, and, after a while, began to grow fond 
 of it. 
 
 "That dog ain't no mutt," McManus would say 
 as he stood behind the bar opening oysters ; " no 
 an' he ain't no rube ! Say ! he's in it all the time 
 when Charley trims the steaks." 
 
 As I sat thinking of all these things and sipping 
 my ale meditatively, I heard the iron door creak on 
 its hinges and the knocker fall once. Then some- 
 thing heavy and hairy rubbed its body against the 
 door outside. McManus stood up saying: ''Here 
 he comes, gents ! " 
 
 Her dog entered. 
 
 Lynde held out his hand as the brute passed, and 
 Penlow flung a bone on the floor. The dog noticed 
 neither the caress nor the bone, but lay down under 
 the bar and stretched his great limbs across the 
 floor, sighing heavily. 
 
 " There is one thing certain," said Lynde, looking 
 at the dog : " the man who killed the girl was in the 
 habit of visiting her, — and that dog knew him." 
 
 " I also believe the murderer was known to the 
 dog," said Penlow." 
 
 " The murderer," said Caithness, " washer lover." 
 
 " It is strange," said I, " that none of us suspects 
 anybody except Wah-Wo." 
 
 "Why strange?" asked Caithness, then he added 
 impatiently, "yes, it is strange ! Do you think she 
 would have looked at a Chinaman ? " 
 
 "The Chinaman looked at her; I saw him," I 
 replied. 
 
1 88 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " After all, she was a common girl of the street," 
 said Penlow unaffectedly, " and I guess pride cut 
 no figure with her." 
 
 " That is where you lie," said Caithness in a low 
 voice. 
 
 There was a dead silence. Then Penlow said : 
 " Did I understand you, Caithness ? " 
 
 I rose and laid my hand on Penlow's arm, which 
 was twitching though his face was calm. 
 
 "Are you crazy?" I said to Caithness. 
 
 " I think I am," said Caithness slowly, " I beg 
 your pardon, Penlow." 
 
 Lynde turned his puzzled eyes from Penlow to 
 Caithness and lifted his mug mechanically. Pen- 
 low straightened in his chair but said nothing, and 
 I leaned back motioning McManus to remove the 
 covers. 
 
 After a few moments the constraint became irk- 
 some. " Red," the tortoise-shell cat, mascotte of 
 McManus and exterminator of mice by special ap- 
 pointment, had cornered a vicious rat in the back- 
 yard, and now came marching in to display the game 
 for our benefit. 
 
 " Git ! " said McManus with pardonable pride, 
 " the gents here don't give a damn fur to see 
 rats." 
 
 Charley hustled the cat out again and McManus 
 assured us for the hundredth time that " Red " was 
 the only cross-eyed cat in New York. 
 
 None of us had ever before seen a cross-eyed cat^ 
 so we did not deny it, although I remonstrated 
 
THE WHISPER. 1 89 
 
 with McManus concerning his pride in " Red's " 
 ocular misfortune. 
 
 " What's that ? " demanded McManus. 
 
 " I don't see why," said I, "a cat should be the 
 more valuable because it happens to be afflicted 
 with strabismus." 
 
 " Sure ! " said McManus doggedly. 
 
 " No, I don't," I repeated. 
 
 " It's a mascot," said McManus. 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 " Did youse gents ever see another cross-eyed 
 cat?" demanded McManus hotly. 
 
 We all said no. 
 
 " Then what t'hell do youse gents know about 
 mascots?" he exclaimed triumphantly. 
 
 The constraint still weighed upon us, however, for 
 Caithness had neither spoken nor smiled, and Pen- 
 low, it was easy to see, had not forgotten. 
 
 Lynde picked up a paper and ran it through, un- 
 affectedly searching for his own matter ; after a 
 while Penlow did the same. 
 
 I looked at Caithness, and he felt my eyes, for 
 presently he moved a little and passed his hand 
 over his sunken cheeks. 
 
 "What's up?" I asked, dropping my voice and 
 bending toward him. 
 
 " Nothing — why ? " 
 
 " You look like the last rose of summer, — you've 
 got a beastly cough." 
 
 He smiled faintly. " It's consumption," he said, 
 " I found out to-day." 
 
I90 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 I stared at him stupidly. 
 
 " I don't mind," he said ; " I'm dead sick of the 
 whole business." 
 
 " How do you know it's consumption ? " I asked 
 at length. 
 
 " I went to three doctors to make sure ; I tell you 
 I don't care." 
 
 Little Penlow was listening now ; before I could 
 speak again he leaned over and took Caithness's 
 hand affectionately. 
 
 " Brace up, old boy," he said, " go to California 
 and get well." 
 
 " Of course," I cried, " you're a fool to stay in 
 this cursed climate, Caithness! " 
 
 I spoke harshly for I was more affected than I 
 cared to show. 
 
 " Chuck up your job ! Let the Consolidated 
 Press go to the devil ! " urged Lynde. 
 
 " I have resigned," said Caithness quietly. A fit 
 of coughing shook him, and he raised his napkin to 
 his lips. He continued, " I thought I'd come around 
 to-night and say good-bye." 
 
 The dog shifted his position under the bar and 
 sighed again. One of the gas jets behind the bar 
 blazed up suddenly ; McManus turned it lower, 
 cursing the gas company. 
 
 "Do you fellows know that I have scooped?" 
 said Caithness abruptly. 
 
 " Not — not the fellow who shot Lil," faltered Pen- 
 low, who had thrown his whole soul into solving the 
 mystery. 
 
THE WHISPER. 191 
 
 "Yes — the murderer of Lily White," said Caith- 
 ness. In the silence I could hear McManus grinding 
 his toothpick in his yellow teeth. 
 
 " I'm out of the Consolidated now," continued 
 Caithness calmly, — " the scoop is yours if you want 
 it, Penlow." 
 
 " But — but you " — began Penlow. 
 
 "I?" said Caithness fiercely, " what do I care for 
 newspapers ? What do I care who knows it now, — 
 what paper prints it first ? " 
 
 Lynde leaned over the table, his head in his 
 hand ; Penlow's pipe went out ; he did not relight 
 it. 
 
 " Did you never know," said Caithness with a 
 touch of scorn in his voice, " that I also loved the 
 girl? Do you think I am ashamed to confess it? 
 Do you know what I have been through since she 
 died ? Hell ? Oh, yes, that's what they say in 
 books. It doesn't matter ; — Penlow, when you are 
 ready — " 
 
 Penlow started, then groped in his pocket for 
 pencil and pad. 
 
 " I am ready, Jack," he said. 
 
 " This is the story," said Caithness, almost 
 eagerly. " On the 13th of last November, Lily 
 White, a girl living next door, was shot through the 
 heart by a man who was jealous of her. He knew 
 that she came into McManus 's and gossiped 
 with the newspaper men, and he knew that Wall- 
 Wo had offered her all his money, which was a 
 great deal. When she was chatting with us here, 
 
I92 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 this man was not jealous, — have you got that, 
 Penlow? " 
 
 "Yes," said Penlow, scratching away on his 
 pad. 
 
 " He was not jealous when Lily chatted with us, 
 but when he saw Wah-Wo talking to her one night 
 under the electric light by the Joss-house, he 
 watched the girl night and day. She said that she 
 loved him — she laughed at him when he offered her 
 marriage, — so he watched her. Have you got that, 
 Penlow ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then a day came when Lily was to go to the 
 country to see her sister, — that is what she said, — to 
 see her sister, and this man went with her to the 
 train and saw her off on her journey. But some- 
 thing told him to watch the next in-coming train, 
 and he did. And Lily was on it. 
 
 " He followed her. She came straight to Doyers 
 Street, heavily veiled, and entered a house that you 
 all know, — the house with the paper lanterns and 
 red signs. Wah-Wo lives there. A week later she 
 returned to the man who had followed her. He 
 was waiting for her, — have you written that ? " 
 
 " Yes, Jack." 
 
 " He was waiting in her room, — alone with that 
 dog there. He accused her, and she denied it. She 
 called Heaven to witness her innocence. He of- 
 fered her marriage again ; she laughed at him. 
 Then he shot her through the heart." 
 
 Penlow ceased writing and looked up expectantly. 
 
THE WHISPER. I93 
 
 "The murderer's name? Have patience," said 
 Caithness grimly smiling. " The man called to the 
 dog, — her dog there, and, because he was the only- 
 living soul who knew the brute's name, the dog an- 
 swered and followed him out into the street. 
 
 " All day long he wandered about the city, and at 
 night he went back to look upon the dead. He did 
 not care who saw him, — he courted discovery, but 
 no one paid him any attention, and, as it now ap- 
 pears, nobody even saw him. About midnight he 
 went away, leaving the dog crouched at the dead 
 girl's feet, and since then he has moved like a liv- 
 ing death among the people of the city, unsuspected, 
 unnoticed by any, — except me." He paused and 
 looked at us. Tears had quenched the pale flame 
 in his eyes, and the hair clung to his damp fore- 
 head. 
 
 " That man killed the woman I loved," he said, 
 " and now I am going to give him up ! " Then he 
 rose trembling. The sleeping dog sighed heavily; 
 his hind legs quivered. 
 
 Caithness bent and touched the massive head, 
 muttering, " Come ! " 
 
 At his touch the dog raised its head and looked 
 at him with grave eyes. 
 
 Then, moving toward the door, he whispered 
 again, calling the dog by name ; and the great brute 
 rose stiffly, yawned, and slowly followed him out 
 into the night. 
 
 The iron door slammed behind them ; the damp 
 odour of fog came from the black street. Lynde 
 l 3 
 
194 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 buried his head in his hands; McManus leaned 
 heavily on the bar, pale as a corpse. Presently I 
 heard the sound of rustling paper. 
 It was Penlow, tearing up his pad. 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 
 
 If you be dead also and are come hither to join us, I pity your 
 lot, for you will be stunned with the noise of the dwarfs and the 
 storks. 
 
 Vathek. 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE was a river-driver beyond the Northwest 
 Carry who respected neither moose nor man. Be- 
 cause he was the best river-driver on the West 
 Branch they let him alone until he struck an Indian 
 with a pick-pole. 
 
 The Indian's head was damaged and while he 
 waited for it to heal, he selected his revenge. His 
 revenge was simple and effective. He hunted up 
 the moose-warden and told many lies. Deftly 
 concealed among these lies, however, was a truth 
 that infuriated the warden. 
 
 The river-driver, whose name was Skeene, sat on 
 
 his haunches and sneered when the moose-warden 
 
 glided into camp. But when he dug out a head and 
 
 antlers behind a shanty, Skeene picked up his rifle, 
 
 looked obliquely at the moose-warden, tied his 
 
 blanket and fry-pan, hoisted his canoe onto his head, 
 
 and walked away to the southward, still sneering. 
 
 I don't know what they said about it in Foxcroft, 
 
 but Hale, who owned the timber, and who thought 
 
 197 
 
198 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 he owned Skeene, hunted him up and sent him to 
 work on the new cut-off, hoping the affair might 
 blow over in time for Skeene to drive logs again. 
 But Skeene turned lazy and lined the dead water 
 with traps and set-lines, and when Hale remon- 
 strated, Skeene laughed. Then Hale threatened 
 him and hinted about moose-wardens, and $500 
 fines, but Skeene thrashed Hale before the whole 
 camp, packed his kit and canoe, and paddled 
 serenely away down the West Branch. 
 
 That really began the trouble, for Hale never 
 forgave him. When Skeene started to guide for 
 Henderson on the upper Portage, Hale heard of it 
 and ran him out. That, of course, marked him 
 among the guides in the lake-country, and Skeene 
 perhaps felt the ostracism, for he quietly went to 
 work for Colby on the new sluice that ran from the 
 carry-pond to the lake. Possibly, if they had let 
 him alone, he might have turned out as tame as a 
 moose-bird, — he was only twenty-three, — but Hale 
 remembered, and the Indian remembered, and one 
 day a man came in to the Carry Camp with a 44 
 bullet in his wrist and an unserved warrant in his 
 pocket. The man was a moose-warden, and the 
 warrant was for Skeene. 
 
 When the news spread that Skeene had shot a 
 warden, the guides from Portage to Lily-Bay con- 
 demned him. Down at Greenville a sheriff and 
 posse boarded the " Katahdin," and spent several 
 weeks cruising about at public expense. The lake 
 steamboat was comfortable, the food good, and the 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 199 
 
 sheriff and posse were in no hurry to quit. Pos* 
 sibly they expected Skeene to come down to the 
 shore and sit on the rocks; perhaps they fancied he 
 might paddle across their bows in his sleep. Nat- 
 urally he did neither. When at length somebody 
 suggested that the sheriff and posse take to their 
 canoes, that official steamed back to the foot of the 
 lake in a huff, and presently the rumours of Skeene's 
 misdoings became scarcely more definite than camp- 
 fire gossip. 
 
 Perhaps even then, if they had given him a 
 chance, he might have surrendered and taken his 
 punishment, but they didn't give him the chance. 
 A warden saw him building a lean-to, on the island 
 that divides the West Branch. The warden waited 
 until dark, crawled in outside the fire, and caught 
 Skeene asleep. That is all the warden recollects, 
 merely that he caught Skeene asleep. What Skeene 
 did to the warden when he awoke, the official can- 
 not remember distinctly. 
 
 Three weeks after that, Skeene walked into Kineo 
 store, handling his rifle in a most alarming fashion. 
 He suggested that they place certain provisions and 
 ammunition in his canoe, which lay on the beach 
 below. The three clerks complied with an enthu- 
 siasm borne of fright. Twenty minutes later Skeene, 
 in his canoe, was seen making for Moose River. 
 Two guides, just from Lily Bay, refused to fire at 
 him, arguing it was not right to drown a man for 
 stealing pork and powder. The hotel had not yet 
 opened, and the people at the annex objected to a 
 
200 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 man-hunting trip, so they only notified the sheriff 
 again and secretly wished Skeene in hell. 
 
 Of course, at the hotels they denied the very ex- 
 istence of Skeene; but the Bangor " News" printed 
 the story, and people fought shy of Moose River 
 and the lake beyond which is called Red Lake. In 
 vain the guides declared the region safe. It was 
 safe as far as they were concerned. It is not the 
 nature of a guide — that is, a white guide — to inform 
 on or interfere with any man. Skeene let them 
 alone. The Indians, too, paddled about Red Lake 
 when they wanted to. The Indian log-driver, 
 however, stayed away after Skeene had shot a hole 
 in his canoe. The canoe being bark, it was through 
 Providence and a patch of gum that the log-driving 
 half-breed ever paddled out of the mouth of Moose 
 River. 
 
 Now if they had not started to hunt Skeene from 
 the Lakes, he would never have troubled anybody, 
 except possibly Hale and the half-breed. He went 
 to Canada for a year, worked at anything that came 
 along, and sent money to Kineo store to pay for 
 his pork and powder. That, of course, won him the 
 guides again. So when home-sickness drove him 
 back to Red Lake, he expected to be let alone. 
 Hale, sluicing at the Northwest Carry, heard he had 
 returned, and started for Red Lake with the log- 
 driving half-breed and six men. Two days later 
 they returned ; Hale had a bullet in his leg above 
 the knee and the half-breed carried a similar gift in 
 his forearm. 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 201 
 
 This incident, while relieving the conversational 
 monotony at camp and landing, bothered the sheriff 
 cruelly. He went to Foxcroft where they said un- 
 pleasant things to him ; he went back to the Land- 
 ing and they made fun of him. 
 
 There was a captain on the lake named Snow,— a 
 white-bearded, mild-eyed giant. When the local 
 paper wanted an item it filled in with, " Extraordi- 
 nary weather on the Lake in July! Steamboat 
 ' Red-Deer ' in port with six feet two inches of Snow 
 in her pilot house ! " 
 
 The sheriff went to see Snow, and, after a long 
 confab, summoned his posse, boarded the Red-Deer, 
 and left Greenville, as the local paper expressed it, 
 " under sealed orders, bound for Moose River." 
 Naturally, half a dozen canoes were aboard, some 
 lying bottom upward on the superstructure, some 
 lashed to the rail. The posse carried Winchesters, 
 although no game was in season. 
 
 Off the Grey Gull, an island, the little steamboat 
 slowed down and stopped, the canoes were hoisted 
 over the rail and dropped ; the posse embarked. 
 The sheriff said good-bye in a voice made loud by 
 nervousness, and the Red-Deer swung about and 
 steamed back to the foot of the lake with six feet 
 two inches of Snow in her pilot-house. 
 
 At the mouth of Moose River two more canoes 
 were waiting; Hale sat in one, paddle glistening in 
 the pale spring sunshine ; in the other sat the In- 
 dian log-driver, nursing the hammer of a rifle. 
 
 Below the long ridge the water is nearly dead, 
 
202 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 although a canoe might drift to the point in 
 twenty-four hours. It was paddling for a mile to 
 the first wing-dam, and there, the sheriff, who led, 
 flung his stern-paddle into the bottom of the canoe, 
 flourished the setting-pole, and stood up. At the 
 same moment a jet of flame leaped from the edge of 
 the wing-dam and a bullet passed through the sher- 
 iff's hat. The amazed official promptly fell over- 
 board, sank, rose, grasped the edge of the canoe, 
 and swamped it, turning the bow-paddler into the 
 river. The swift current landed them on a shoal 
 before the sheriff could shriek more than twice, and 
 they crawled up on a rock, sleek and wet as half 
 drowned flies in a sap-pan. 
 
 The other canoes had halted ; some of the posse 
 waved their rifles, but nobody fired at the wing-dam 
 except Hale. He banged away as fast as he could 
 pump the breach-lever, and Billy Sebato, the Indian, 
 took to the bushes and lay patiently waiting for a 
 mark, purring with eagerness. 
 
 " Jim Skeene, you darned thief ! " shouted Hale, 
 " come out from them stones ! Jest you come out 
 on to that there wing-dam once ! " 
 
 Above the rush and gurgle of the river they heard 
 Skeene's voice: " You let me be or I'll shoot to 
 kill!" 
 
 "Thief! Thief!" yelled Hale, dancing in his 
 seat with anger, until the canoe heeled and almost 
 swamped. 
 
 " I ain't no more thief than you be, Josh Hale ! " 
 bawled Skeene, " I paid for them rations and 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 203 
 
 ca'tridges and you know damn well I did ! " Before 
 he could add anything, the Indian, Sebato, fired 
 twice. 
 
 " If that nigger Sebato don't quit shootin' I'll let 
 loose on all o' ye ! " called Skeene, shaking his rifle 
 above the wing-dam edge. " Git back to your 
 dreen, Josh Hale, I tell you." 
 
 Hale had reloaded his magazine, and now, swing- 
 ing his setting-pole with one hand, started to push 
 his canoe among the rocks where he could hold it 
 and fire under cover. Skeene evidently saw him for 
 he slid suddenly to the corner of the wing-dam and 
 fired three shots through the canoe, cutting a swale 
 lengthwise at the water's edge. 
 
 " Oh, you sneaky bob-cat ! " yelled Hale, white 
 with rage. In another moment he was working cup 
 and sponge to bail his canoe, which swung away on 
 the current and drifted broadside across the sand- 
 bar below, where it settled in two feet of limpid 
 water. 
 
 " Now '11 you let me be ? " called Skeene. " I 
 hain't done nothin' to you. If that there moose- 
 warden wants me let him come and get me. Ain't 
 you ashamed to go huntin' a man like a Lucivee ? 
 I tell ye I'll shoot to kill, b' God I will, at the next 
 mfn that fires ! " 
 
 " You dasn't," shouted the sheriff from behind his 
 rock; "you ain't half a man, Jim Skeene! " 
 
 " I be," said Skeene calmly," but I don't want no 
 fuss. You keep off'n this river, and you keep off'n 
 this here wing-dam. And you stop sneakin' along 
 
204 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 the woods there, Billy Sebato ! Git back there ! 
 Git back, or I'll shoot to kill ! " 
 
 " You'll hang if you do ! " bawled the sheriff. 
 
 "Then tell that nigger Indian to git back ! Tell 
 him quick ! I see him — I — " 
 
 Sebato's rifle cracked, and the shot was repeated 
 by Hale, wading out on the shoal. Then a forked 
 flame flashed from the wing-dam, there came a crash 
 and crackle of dry twigs, and the Indian pitched 
 heavily over the bank into the swirling river. 
 
 The echoes of the shots died out among the trees ; 
 for a minute the gurgle of the river ripple alone 
 troubled the stillness. A kingfisher wheeled up 
 stream, the sun flashing on his blue wings; a fish 
 soused in a calm pool below the dam. Presently 
 the changed voice of the sheriff broke the silence : 
 
 " Jim Skeene, God help you, you'll swing for this." 
 
 Skeene's pale face appeared above the dam, but 
 nobody shot at him. 
 
 " You drove me to it," said Skeene. He spoke 
 huskily. " I told him to git back, — I warned him 
 to quit sneakin' up on me." 
 
 " Come down off'n that wing-dam," commanded 
 Hale. 
 
 " Not for you, Josh Hale," replied Skeene, "nor 
 not for any man o' ye ! An' I won't be took 
 neither. I'm goin' away to live quiet if they let 
 me." 
 
 He crouched and watched them as they pushed 
 their canoes out into the main channel. The sheriff 
 and Hale advanced to the pool where Sebato lay. 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 205 
 
 A slender fillet of blood, a mere thread hung in the 
 water just below the surface, and stretched out, 
 following the current, floating like a red string. 
 
 " Bring them settin'-poles," said the sheriff soberly, 
 " paddles won't stand the heft, an' he's hefty." 
 Hale suddenly turned, snarling at the wing-dam ; 
 " Jim Skeene, you sneakin' muskrat ! — " he said ; 
 but Skeene was gone when Hale's bullet stung the 
 rock above. 
 
 II. 
 
 They gave Skeene little peace for two months. 
 Week after week a string of canoes passed the swift 
 water under the first and second wing-dams, poled 
 to the point-trail, and, disembarking a file of rifle- 
 men, poled on again to the discharge at Red Lake. 
 Week after week the distant flash of a paddle 
 startled the deer at sunrise among the lily-pads. 
 At evening, too, silent canoes stealing through the 
 sedge-grass, roused the great blue herons from their 
 heavenward contemplation and sent the sheldrake 
 scuttling and splashing across shoal water with a 
 noise like a churning twinscrew. 
 
 But they did not catch Skeene. 
 
 Once they saw him for a moment standing in the 
 stern of his canoe. The canoe lay at the mouth of 
 the Little Misery, that dead stretch of water and 
 dead-fall, winding through the bog to the southward. 
 They gave chase, trailing Skeene's canoe by the wake 
 bubbles until they ran plump into quick water. 
 
2o6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 But the Little Misery is a strange stream draining 
 a strange land, and there, in that maze of cuts and 
 channels, of "logans" and quick water, of swamp, 
 shoal, sedge, and spectral ranks of dead trees, tow- 
 ering above swale and deadwood, they stood no 
 more chance of flushing Skeene than a caribou has 
 of raising three fawns in a season. 
 
 What he did with his canoe nobody might know. 
 Certainly he left the main channel. Did he himself 
 hide in the bog or dead-falls ? Where do young sand- 
 pipers vanish on a shingle beach ? ' Oh there were 
 sounds in the swamp as the sheriff's posse steered 
 through the even with silent paddle, — sounds that 
 stir only in lonely places, faint splashes, a sound of 
 a swirl in still water, the breeze in the swale-grass. 
 
 And so they hunted Skeene at twilight, at dusk 
 of morning, at high noon, from the Northeast Carry 
 to the Northwest Carry, from the West-Branch to 
 Seboomook, from Portage to Lily Bay, and through 
 a hundred miles of lake and stream, up and down, 
 up and down. But Moose River bore no tales on 
 its placid breast, and the wing-dams towered silent 
 as twin Sphinxes, and the sounds that startled the 
 silence where the Little Misery coils through the 
 strange country, are mysteries even to those who 
 interpret them. 
 
 It was in May that the ice went out, in company 
 with Skeene ; it was in July that they felt the bite 
 of his bullets below the wing-dam ; it was in Au- 
 gust that they gave up the chase. 
 
 That evening, Skeene stood on a wind-fall in the 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 2C>7 
 
 depths of the Little Misery and watched three 
 canoes file out of the discharge and glide into the 
 swift water of Moose River. The next morning he 
 started a lean-to on the ridge back of the Little 
 Misery, and the sharp crack and thwack of his 
 axe rang out over Red Lake. At sunrise a moose- 
 cow heard it and ploughed hastily shoreward 
 through the lily-pads with an ouf ! woof! ouf! as 
 she struck the pebbles on the beach. One by one 
 the great blue herons flapped up from the dead 
 pines, circled, sailed, and turned over to pitch head 
 downwards into the sedge with dull cries. 
 
 At noon the echoes of axe-strokes died away and 
 the hut was thatched with balsam, blue side sky- 
 ward. ' By three o'clock a spike buck, a yearling, 
 lay across a log on the ridge, and at four o'clock 
 Skeene had satisfied his hunger. 
 
 He sat on the shore under the ridge, pensively 
 picking his white teeth with the enjoyment of the 
 abandoned. Across the lake the mountains turned 
 to sapphire and ashes ; a pale sky deepened into 
 flame colour ; the sun hung a globe of crimson in 
 gilded mist. 
 
 One by one the last sunbeams reddened the 
 trunks of the trees to the eastward, the foliage 
 burned, the shore line glimmered. Like changing 
 hues on a bubble, the colours deepened, and played 
 over the placid lake. A single snowy bank of cloud, 
 piled up in the east, glowed where the sun stained 
 its edges. The midges danced above the sedge; the 
 lake-wash rocked the swales, to and fro, to and fro. 
 
2o8 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 A trout broke in shallow water, flapped up and 
 splashed again, and the red sky crimsoned the 
 widening rings, spreading slowly shoreward. 
 
 In the days that followed, Skeene learned to talk 
 to himself. When he did this he forgot that he had 
 killed Sebato ; after a while he forgot it altogether. 
 
 When the August afternoons were ablaze with 
 brazen sunlight and the lake glistened like a sheet of 
 steel, Skeene sprawled on a log in the shade and 
 watched the great blue herons. When they " drove 
 stakes " he mocked them with the same note until 
 they answered " Ke-whack ! Ke-whack ! Ke-whack ! " 
 The red squirrel's thin treble he imitated ; he called 
 the chipmunks with a tsip ! tsip ! and laughed until 
 his white teeth glistened when a carrion-jay alighted 
 on his knee for a shin-joint half hacked. The great 
 belted-kingfishers knew him, the sheldrake, string- 
 ing along the creek at evening, turned their bright 
 eyes to his, the osprey who lived above the ledge, 
 wheeled above him for hours, knowing that he also 
 was a savage thing and hunted when hungry. 
 
 He was hungry several times between sunrise and 
 sunset. The swift water of the Little Misery gave 
 him a trout to every set-line ; the deeper pools by 
 the sedge gave him pleasure. 
 
 On the Little Misery deer swarm at evening, and 
 he had meat for the price of a cartridge. 
 
 The white nights of August brought that vague 
 unrest that all forest creatures feel. The deer 
 girdled the roots of the ash-trees and the spike 
 bucks grew bolder ; the great blue herons danced 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 209 
 
 their contre-dance, evening after evening, at first 
 solemnly, advancing, retreating in stately quadrilles, 
 lifting their slim shins high in the sedge ; but, as the 
 month ended, the contre-dance lost dignity and 
 gained in abandon, until the lone loon out on the 
 lake shook the silence with his demon's laughter. 
 As the moon waned, the forest world stirred ; its 
 attitude was expectant ; it waited. The cow-moose 
 began to cast evil oblique glances on her calves, now 
 turned darker; and the little bull moose-calf, frisked 
 until his tiny bell swung like the wattle on a 
 turkey. 
 
 An impatience, almost a sadness fell upon Skeene. 
 And with sadness came fear. He covered his 
 lean-to and built a smoke-hole through which blue 
 haze rose in the calm morning air. But, like wild 
 things in winter, he was wary, and the steam -hole 
 of a beaver's house might be more easily located 
 than the chimney of Skeene's hut. 
 
 When September came a hush fell over the forest ; 
 and and water were silent ; the trout no longer broke 
 vater or leaped full length in the after glow ; the 
 deer picked a silent path along the shore ; the herons 
 stood all day, heads stretched heavenward ; the 
 loon's maniac laughter was stilled. Silent and more 
 silent the woods grew as the new moon, a faint 
 tracery above the hills, rose in the evening sky. At 
 its first quarter the silence deepened, at its half, the 
 stillness was intense. Then one black night the Full 
 Moon of September flashed in the sky, and before 
 the last shore ripple had caught its glitter, a gigantic 
 14 
 
2IO THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 black shadow waded out into the lake and a roar 
 shook the hills. 
 
 The first bull-moose had bellowed, and the rut- 
 ting season had begun. 
 
 Instantly the forest, the lake, the shore, the stream 
 were alive ; the meat-birds cried from every cedar; 
 the deer barked from the sedge ; a lynx howled and 
 miauled in the second growth. Everywhere plu- 
 mage and fur were growing glossy and gay. Even 
 Skeene sewed porcupine quills into his boot-mocca- 
 sins, and sang fragments of a song he had heard in 
 Quebec. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now there is a season for all things ; in the fall 
 the black moose grows blacker and sleeker ; in the 
 fall the red buck rubs the tattered velvet from every 
 prong; in the spring the mewing cat-bird whistles 
 dreamily as a spotted thrush ; in the spring the snow- 
 bird changes its feathers, chameleon like, as the snow 
 drifts or melts ; and the dry chirring of the red 
 squirrel grows sweeter. 
 
 " Each after its kind," says the quaint Book, and 
 so the spruce-grouse drums in the long summer days, 
 and the crested wood-duck ruffles its rainbow plumes, 
 and the painted trout hang over the gravel beds in 
 September, and the antlered moose barks at the 
 September moon. 
 
 As for Skeene, he sewed porcupine quills in a 
 semicircle over the instep of his moccasins, laced a 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 211 
 
 string of scarlet trout-flies across his slouch hat, and 
 listened to the bull-moose, bellowing out on the 
 moonlit ridge. 
 
 At times he sang his Quebec song, at times he 
 sighed. Twice he spared a yearling buck, — he could 
 not tell why. He caught a big red sable, bigger 
 than the coon-cat at the Carry House. It scratched 
 and bit him, but he was very good to it. A lazy 
 beaver, driven from the colony by his industrious 
 relatives, bored a hole in the bank under Skeene's 
 shanty. Beaver-tail and hindquarters are good, cold 
 boiled, but Skeene let him live in peace and even 
 piled enough poplar saplings at his door to last 
 any lazy beaver a year. And all this time he was 
 sorry he killed Sebato at the wing-dam ; he wished 
 he had shot him a year before in the bog-country, — 
 it was a good chance and nobody would have been 
 the wiser. 
 
 When the September moon waxed full and the 
 water lapped softly along the lake ledge, Skeene's 
 heart grew full, and the blood in his neck and cheeks 
 ebbed and surged like moon-tides. So, on the 
 second night, he took his rifle and dragged the canoe 
 to the beach. But his heart failed him and he feared 
 the Carry House, and he went back to his camp and 
 rolled and grunted through a sleepless night. On 
 the third evening he started on foot, but he hesitated 
 when the lamp in the Carry House broke out, a red 
 beam in the night. He stood, wretched, wistful, un- 
 decided, fingering his rifle butt, and his heart beat 
 to suffocation. Something near him stirred and 
 
212 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 moaned among the rocks, — a miserable gluttonous 
 fisher-cat, its head bristling with porcupine quills. 
 And Skeene, sick with self-compassion, trailed the 
 wounded creature to the water's edge and killed it, — 
 pitying it as he pitied himself. Then, worn out with 
 the fever in his veins, he slept openly where he lay, 
 wondering if he should wake on Red Lake shore or 
 on the shores of a redder lake. 
 
 On the fourth night of the full of the moon, he went 
 swiftly across the ridge, unarmed, and the miles of 
 woodland and shore sped away like mist, so eagerly 
 he ran. On that night he heard the moose-cows call- 
 ing the barking bull, and the whoof ! of the dun doe 
 in the sedge. Far on the shore the red beam of the 
 Carry lamp signalled him and his blood flamed the 
 answer in his face. And, as he strode up to the house, 
 he saw a woman on the shore looking out into the 
 night across the spectral lake. It was Lois, servant 
 at South Carry. He had danced with her two years 
 ago at Foxcroft Landing, he had sent her six otter 
 pelts a month before he shot Sebato. 
 
 She was the girl he had come for. 
 
 Is it possible she expected him ? The restless- 
 ness of September had drawn her to the lake and 
 something had led him to her. 
 
 The moon, a silver lamp, traced a shining trail across 
 the shadowy waters ; his canoe grated softly on the 
 shoal, a string of bubbles followed the paddle sweep, 
 the foam whispered secrets to the clustered sedge- 
 grass. 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 213 
 
 And so, together, they glided away on a trail of 
 silver water to the strange country, drained by 
 strange streams, stirred by strange winds. The red 
 spark of the Carry lamp died out in the night, the 
 little grey stars twinkled over the dead waters, pale 
 sparks from phantom nuptial torches flaring in the 
 north. 
 
 At dawn the sky crimsoned the Little Misery. 
 They slept. At sunrise a moose roared a salute to 
 the coming day. 
 
 They awoke and kissed each other. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When the public-spirited citizens of Foxcroft 
 offered $500 reward for the capture of Skeene, Pla- 
 cide L'Hommedieu scratched his greasy chin, licked 
 his lips, and went out to buy cartridges. Placide had 
 trapped in the Province and thought he could trap 
 as well in Maine. 
 
 " Monsieur L'Hommedieu what will you do with 
 $500? " asked the Mayor of Foxcroft. 
 
 " Le Hommydoo won't need it," observed a 
 grizzled portage guide who had once shot a match 
 with Skeene. And he was right for they found 
 L'Hommedieu a week later peacefully floating down 
 Moose River in his canoe, with a bullet in his brain. 
 
 When Skeene paddled away with Lois, there was 
 trouble in Foxcroft. Hale left sluice, drain, and 
 chain, and wired the Sheriff at the Landing to meet 
 
214 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 him at Moosehead Inn. The Mayor went also, and 
 next morning the reward was doubled for " James 
 Skeene, Murderer, dead or alive." 
 
 Hale had never forgiven the blow at the cut-off, 
 but a busy man would scarcely have left his sluice to 
 hunt another man to death for that alone. No, Hale 
 had other reasons, and they concerned neither Billy 
 Sebato nor Placide L'Hommedieu. They concerned 
 Lois, servant at South Carry ; for when she left with 
 Jim Skeene she took Hale's betrothal ring with her. 
 
 After Skeene had set Placide L'Hommedieu afloat, 
 with mud on his face and a bullet in his skull, he 
 shoved the canoe into swift water at Moose River, 
 broke both paddles, splintered the setting-pole, and 
 solemnly watched the canoe out of sight. 
 
 Lois, waiting for him when he poled into the Little 
 Misery, looked at his knife in the scolloped leather 
 sheath, then at his rifle, and finally into his sombre 
 eyes. 
 
 " I heard, — only one shot. Was it a deer ? " 
 
 He nodded muttering that he had missed ; but 
 that night she caressed him, taking his curly head 
 into her arms, and wept over him till daybreak 
 crimsoned the world. 
 
 After that they were almost gay. He notched 
 logs and built a hut and rammed moss into the 
 cracks. Lois brought clay from the sweet water, 
 and cut balsam until her little hands were stained 
 to the palm. Twice he passed the three carrys to 
 the C. P. R. and hung to a freight as far as Sainte 
 Croix. They knew nothing and cared less in the 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 21 5 
 
 Dominion, and he bought salt and pork and flour 
 and cartridges with the proceeds of Hale's ring. 
 The third trip he walked on the C. P. fearing the 
 train, and he got his price for ten pelts, including 
 musk-rat. 
 
 They knew that happiness that is bred in haunt- 
 ing fear, that fierce, that intense love whose roots 
 are imbedded in terror. Lois had been to school and 
 these were the things she knew ; — that two and two 
 make four, that Moose calves are born in May, that 
 bark peels best in June, that Moose-calves are weaned 
 in September. She knew also how to use Skeene's 
 knife, and when he found beaver above swift water 
 and told her so in the evening, she cut saplings and 
 whittled trip-sticks and notched chokers while he 
 hewed out the bed-pieces for the traps, and sharpened 
 enough young ash to build the fences for winter 
 traps. Mink traps, too, were no mystery to Lois, 
 and they talked long and wisely concerning stand- 
 ards and cubbies and spindles while the embers died 
 under the simmering tins and the deer whistled on 
 the windy ridge. 
 
 Snow came, a phantom flurry through the pale 
 sunshine, and Skeene lugged more deer hides into 
 his hut. A hot week followed, sending the trout to 
 the bottom-sands and the deer to the shallows ; 
 then came the ice; at first a brittle, glittering skin, 
 encasing stem and reed, and wrinkling hidden stag- 
 nant pools. The wind in the grasses grew harsher, 
 the reeds rattled at evening ; vast flocks of little 
 birds circled high in the sky for the winds of the 
 
2l6 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 South called them, and the geese were drifting over- 
 head. 
 
 One day the snow came again, and at evening it 
 had not ceased falling. A week later the lake froze 
 and Skeene dragged his canoe into the hut and 
 daubed it with white-lead, while Lois crept close to 
 his side and strung snowshoes. At times she sang. 
 He listened, lying beside the canoe. When she had 
 sung the same song until evening he taught her 
 the song he had learned in Quebec ; 
 
 " Mossieu Meenoose 
 Mossieu Meenoose 
 Mon dieu que tu as 
 Un villain chat la." 
 
 And she sang it and sewed scarlet braid across her 
 moccasins. 
 
 During these weeks Hale was busy in Foxcroft 
 When the smaller lakes froze he leered sideways at 
 the Sheriff and ordered a dozen pairs of snowshoes. 
 Once or twice he went back to his sluice and cursed, 
 but the River Drivers regarded him with evil eyes, 
 and the sluicers drove their props sullenly until he 
 went away leaving a string of oaths in his wake. 
 There were men of the stamp he wanted on the 
 Province side of the C. P. R. ; there was Achille 
 Verdier, one-eyed and idle ; there was greasy little 
 Armand Fleury, dirtier for his fox-skin cap, dingier 
 for the red braid on the tail. There also resided 
 Wyombo, pigeon-toed, furtive, aboriginal. Much 
 could be done with these gentlemen and $1000. 
 
The little misery. 217 
 
 The value of Hale's ring was $150, therefore the 
 people of Foxcroft gossiped. 
 
 Snow fell on the frozen lake ; the Little Misery 
 was mantled, the carrys choked. All day long the 
 meat-birds whined in the fir-trees and at night the 
 sleet pelted the frozen snow. The deer yarded on 
 the ridge, the moose on the slope above ; the black 
 bear buried his feeble nose in his stomach and 
 dreamed, and the otters frisked over their slide. 
 As for Lois, she was learning things ; she learned 
 that the fur on the belly of a young panther is wavy, 
 she learned that men are brutes, and that Skeene 
 was all the world to her ; she learned that she also 
 had her value, for she saw him swim the swift water 
 of the Little Misery when she screamed affrighted 
 by an impudent lynx. She learned that he some- 
 times preferred solitude to company, that he some- 
 times preferred sleep to caresses. She learned that 
 he went hungry that she might eat, that he shivered 
 while she slept under skin and blanket. 
 
 Sometimes they played together, Skeene and this 
 slender girl, like young foxes in the snow. She 
 would often hide, too, in the hollow of a great swamp- 
 oak, and when he came home she would call : " Jim ! 
 Jim ! find me !" 
 
 But God lives, and the world spins, and the hare 
 turns white in winter, and the routine of the begin- 
 ning and the end never varies. 
 
 And so it came about that Skeene, laughing up at 
 Lois in the hollow swamp-oak, glanced over his 
 shoulder and saw six black dots clustered upon the 
 
218 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 frozen lake to the southward. He said nothing but 
 looked into the north. There were more dots there, 
 more also on the ice in the west. For a moment he 
 thought the east was still open ; after a while he 
 heard the scrape of a snow-shoe very near. Lois 
 also heard and her face was like death as she reached 
 down and took the rifle from Skeene's hand. 
 
 When he had climbed up into the hollow tree be- 
 side her and looked out from the hole above the 
 great branch, he saw Hale peering at him from a 
 dead-fall. 
 
 " Come down," said Hale. 
 
 Skeene clapped his rifle to his cheek and fired. 
 
 " Come down," repeated Hale from behind his 
 dead-fall. Lois, trembling at Skeene's feet, shrank 
 at the sombre voice from the woods. Skeene bent 
 and kissed her and caressed her, muttering things 
 she could not understand, but she caught his hand 
 in hers and tore off the fur mitten and pressed it to 
 her hot lips, moaning and sobbing. 
 
 " Come down for the last time, Jim Skeene," said 
 Hale slowly. Suddenly a rifle shot rang through 
 the frozen forest. The hand that Lois held tight- 
 ened against her lips, quivered, relaxed. Some- 
 thing outside fell clinking and clattering to the 
 ground at the foot of the tree. It was Skeene's 
 rifle ; and Skeene sank forward, hanging half out of 
 the hole in the tree, head downward, like a dead 
 squirrel. 
 
 And beside him, the other wild thing sobbed and 
 whimpered and moaned among the branches while 
 
THE LITTLE MISERY. 2IO, 
 
 below the swift axes bit into the tree from which the 
 dead game hung, head downward. 
 
 " Look in the hut for the woman ! " bawled Hale. 
 
 The tree swayed and crackled and fell crashing 
 into the snow. 
 
 ''Where's that woman?" shouted Hale from the 
 hut ;— " G— d d— n her ! "— 
 
 But when at last he found her he changed his mind 
 and let her stay with Skeene there in the snow. 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN 
 
"Votre amour me ferait dieu. 
 M'aimez-vous, mademoiselle ? 
 Soupirez un mois, dit-elle. 
 Un mois I C'est la mort ! Adieu 1 " 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 
 
 Souvenir cher a mes pensees ! 
 Grace a la fraicheur qu 'il leur rend, 
 Js souris aux heures passees, 
 Je m' arrange du jour mourant. 
 
 Beranger. 
 
 I 
 
 The middle of the studio was occupied by a rug. 
 The middle of the rug was occupied by Clifford. 
 He sat on the floor playing a dirge on a brass cornet. 
 Around him lay bureau drawers, empty trunks and 
 satchels, flanked by cabinets and chests littered with 
 palettes, underclothes, colour-tubes, pipes, and paint- 
 rags. 
 
 When Elliott came in, an hour later, he found 
 Clifford still performing on the cornet. He played 
 "Hark! from the Tomb," and "Death and The 
 Maiden " ; and while he played he winked ominously 
 at Elliott. 
 
 Now, when Clifford played on his cornet, some- 
 thing was amiss. Elliott knew this and watched him 
 sideways, sullenly removing overcoat and gloves. 
 Every dismal bleat of the brass prophesied calamity. 
 The hollow studio echoed with forebodings of dis- 
 aster. 
 
 "Stop that," said Elliott, flinging his hat on a 
 chair ; " what's the matter with you ? " 
 
 223 
 
224 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " O Commander of the Faithful," said Clifford, 
 " behold the end of the world ! J'ai beau cherchai — 
 je n'en trouve point — " 
 
 "Money?" asked Elliott, sitting down; "stop 
 blowing into that cornet." 
 
 " I know of no other way to raise the wind," said 
 Clifford, — "get your cornet and we'll play duets." 
 
 " You mean we are actually without means ? " 
 
 Clifford threaded his way through an abatis of 
 easels, canvasses, books, and bird-cages to the Japan- 
 ese tea-table. 
 
 "Have some tea?" he inquired. 
 
 " No, I won't," snapped Elliott, " and you can tell 
 me where our funds have gone." 
 
 Clifford poured himself a cup of tea, raised his 
 eyes piously, sipped it, and looked at Elliott over 
 the edge of the cup. 
 
 "Where's our money?" repeated Elliott; "you 
 had charge of the common account for the last three 
 months — " 
 
 Clifford sighed, unrolled a sheet of paper, shoved 
 it toward his confrere, and offered himself more tea. 
 Elliott examined the figures anxiously. 
 
 "You hopeless ass!" he blurted out. "Why 
 didn't you draw the purse strings?" 
 
 " I can deny you nothing, my son," protested 
 Clifford, casting furtive glances toward his cornet 
 again. 
 
 " But we're ruined ! " bawled Elliott in sudden 
 fright. 
 
 " Utterly," admitted Clifford pleasantly. 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 225 
 
 Through the broad glass roof the pale winter sun- 
 light fell over piles of rugs and weapons on the floor ; 
 in the garden the sparrows chirped unceasingly 
 around the frozen fountain. Elliott sat motionless, 
 hypnotised by the column of figures before him. 
 Clifford regarded his canary birds with vague re- 
 proach. 
 
 At last Elliott broke the silence : 
 
 " We had enough, — more than enough to live on 
 decently ; we threw our money away ! Ass that I 
 am, I didn't realise I was such an ass." 
 
 " I didn't either," said Clifford. 
 
 " Oh, you didn't ? " sneered Elliott ; " who was it 
 that spent five hundred francs on those idiot birds ? " 
 
 They frowned at the two dozen canaries. The 
 birds hopped aimlessly from pole to perch and from 
 perch to pole. 
 
 " I didn't buy a coupe for a lady," retorted Clifford. 
 
 " No, but you gave garden parties with fireworks 
 and Chinese lanterns, and the company broke win- 
 dows and set the curtains ablaze, and the police fined 
 us for shooting rockets without a permit — " 
 
 " Accidents," observed Clifford ; " our social 
 position in the Latin Quarter required us to en- 
 tertain." 
 
 " Our social position on this planet will also re- 
 quire us to eat, — occasionally." 
 
 " There's the furniture." 
 
 " I won't ! I won't ! You hear me, Clifford ! 
 I'll not sell a chair. Isn't there any money in any 
 of those bureau drawers? " 
 
226 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " No, — look for yourself," replied Clifford cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " Now I'll not mortgage our furniture," said 
 Elliott ; " so you needn't finger my carved chairs. 
 We must pull through, — I don't know how, — but 
 we must pull through. I shall cut down my to- 
 bacco, I shall drink cheap wine, I shall see Colette 
 at once — " 
 
 " Do you think she can stand the blow ? " inquired 
 Clifford. 
 
 " Your wit is unseasonable," said Elliott 
 haughtily ; " how much can you get for your cana- 
 nes? 
 
 Clifford flatly refused to sell the birds and played 
 a dirge on his cornet. Then the horror of pov- 
 erty laid hold of Elliott and drove him out into 
 the Luxembourg where he sat in the fading sun- 
 shine until the drums boomed from the southern 
 terrace and the challenge of the sentinels, droning, 
 monotonous, sounded and resounded across the 
 windy park. 
 
 There was a hint of snow in the air as he passed 
 out into the Place de Medici. He clinked the few 
 gold pieces in his pocket as he walked. This ap- 
 palled him, and he stepped more quickly. 
 
 On the Boulevard, a slim white-browed girl, ex- 
 quisitely gowned, called to him from a coup£. 
 When he motioned the coachman to stop and 
 stepped to the curb, she buried her nose in a bunch 
 of violets and laughed. 
 
 "Colette," said Elliott gloomily, "Mr. Clifford 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 227 
 
 and I are compelled to retire for the space of three 
 months. Therefore, most charming and most wise 
 Colette, — therefore — " 
 
 He raised one hand and opened his fingers as 
 though releasing a butterfly. 
 
 II. 
 
 All that week Clifford roamed about the studio 
 blowing melancholy blasts from his cornet. Elliott 
 sold a picture to Solomon Moritz for twenty francs, 
 regretted it, tried to get it back, beat Mr. Moritz 
 with a mahl-stick and resisted an officer. To his 
 horror the French Government insisted on enter- 
 taining him for a week at Mazas, whither Clifford 
 visited his comrade daily until Saturday and free- 
 dom arrived. 
 
 "This is a hell of a country," observed Elliott 
 as he shook the dust of Mazas from his heels in 
 company with Clifford. " It's no place for the 
 breadwinner ; the Jews have the country by the 
 throat." 
 
 " They said," observed Clifford, " that you had 
 Moritz by the throat." 
 
 " I did ; the ruffian refused me thirty francs for 
 my ' Judgment of Solomon.' " 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Clifford with an impudent 
 gesture, " wasn't it worth it ? " 
 
 " You will refrain," said Elliott furiously, " from 
 poking me in the ribs, — now and hereafter." 
 
228 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Half an hour later they entered the studio and 
 sat down opposite each other in silence. The cana- 
 ries filled the room with their imbecile twittering, 
 and hopped and hopped until Elliott jumped up 
 and seized his hat. 
 
 " Is this studio a bird-cage?" he demanded bit- 
 terly. 
 
 Clifford said something about jail-birds and picked 
 up his cornet. For an hour he played " 'Tite 
 Femme " and " Place aux Gosses." But when he 
 attacked " The Emperor's Funeral March," Elliott 
 seized him. 
 
 " Let go," said Clifford sullenly. 
 
 " No. See here, Clifford, let's be friends and 
 let's try to be practical. We've got to make our 
 living for the next three months. Let's stop squab- 
 bling and hold a conference. Will you?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Clifford amiably. 
 
 " Then where do we dine ? " 
 
 " We haven't lunched yet." 
 
 " This is awful," muttered Elliott, staring at the 
 canaries ; " do you suppose we could eat those 
 birds?" 
 
 In the silence that ensued a piano began in the 
 studio above, and a voice sang: 
 
 " Et qu'elle est folle dans sa joie, 
 Lorsq'elle chante le matin, — 
 Lorsqu'en tirant son bas de soie, 
 Elle fait; sur son fianc qui ploie, 
 Craquer son corset de satin ! " 
 
 The piano ceased ; there came a laugh, a double 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 2^9 
 
 roll on a Tambour-Basque, and the clicking of cas- 
 tanets. 
 
 " Who's that ? " said Elliott morosely. Then with 
 a sneer he paraphrased the last line of the song. 
 
 Clifford pricked up his ears but shook his head. 
 
 " Hear her laugh ! I suppose she's dined," con- 
 tinued Elliott with a vicious eye on the birds. 
 " Well, are we going to eat those cursed canaries?" 
 
 " I never heard you swear like that," protested 
 Clifford. " Has poverty weakened your intellect ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Elliott savagely. 
 
 " If we eat 'em our meal will cost five hundred 
 francs." 
 
 " Then you've got to sell them. They are no 
 good, — yellow birds are always feeble-minded. 
 Canaries are ridiculous." 
 
 The castanets began again, and the voice took up 
 the Spanish measure : 
 
 " My Picador ! My Picador I 
 Thy Spanish customs I adore, 
 Thou garlic loving, 
 Cattle shoving, 
 Spick-and-spangled Picador 1 
 
 I hear the mottled heifer roar, 
 
 My Picador! 
 The people pounding on the floor, 
 My Picador ! 
 The ring is clear ! 
 The cow is here f 
 
 They've had to haul her by the ear; 
 The Banderillos linger near ! 
 Oh, Picador! My Picador! " 
 
23O THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " She's very gay," observed Clifford, after another 
 silence broken only by the distant click ! click ! 
 click! of the castanets." Hm ! I — er — I suppose 
 we ought to call — " 
 
 " Call," repeated Elliott ; " when I'm hollow ! " 
 
 "If we call," said Clifford briskly, "we maybe 
 invited to dinner." He smiled, whistled a bar or 
 two, and poked the fire." 
 
 " Don't," said the other, "you waste fuel." 
 
 The wind showered the sleet across the great win- 
 dows ; in the twilight a chill crept in over the rugs ; 
 a distant shutter banged, rattled, and banged again. 
 
 Elliott jumped up and paced the floor. 
 
 " We've got to do something," he said, " and do 
 it now. Where's your watch ? " 
 
 "You ought to know," said Clifford reproachfully. 
 " Yours is there too." 
 
 After a moment he continued ; " I've got those 
 cuff-buttons you gave me — " He went into his bed- 
 room and returned with the cuff-buttons. Elliott 
 took them, jerked on his overcoat, nodded, and 
 opened the door. 
 
 " I'll be back in half an hour, — wait for me," he 
 said, and slammed the door behind him. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Now, what the mischief am I to do for half an 
 hour," mused Clifford, staring out of the blank win- 
 dow, both hands in his pockets, an empty pipe be- 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 23 1 
 
 tween his teeth. There was a vacancy in his stomach 
 that bothered him, and the more he thought about 
 it, the more it hurt. The canary birds were revel- 
 ling in bird-seed ; he eyed them enviously for a while, 
 then walked up and down whistling. Every time 
 he passed the big gilded cage he could hear the birds 
 cracking and splitting the seeds, and the noise of 
 the feast irritated him. 
 
 His neighbour on the floor above was singing away 
 with heart and soul about bull-rings and toreadors, 
 banging joyously upon the Basque drum or snap- 
 ping and clicking the castanets. 
 
 "Dear! Dear!" he thought, "my neighbour is 
 really very gay. She must have moved in to-day. 
 I — I wonder what she's like ! " 
 
 He listened, sitting close to his dying fire. After 
 a moment he heard her cross the room and open the 
 piano again. 
 
 "Dear! Dear!" he said to himself, "what a 
 musical young lady ! Probably an embryo actress 
 from the Conservatoire ; — or — or — " 
 
 The piano began ; it was scales this time. For an 
 hour he sat huddled before the cold ashes, listening 
 to the five-fingered acrobatic exercises, alternately 
 yawning with hunger and cursing Elliott. When 
 six o'clock struck from the concierge's lodge he stood 
 up, gazing dismally out into the night. 
 
 Suddenly he heard the scrape of feet outside, and 
 he hurried to his door and opened it. 
 
 Through the lighted hallway a figure shuffled, 
 carrying a large tray covered with a white napkin. 
 
232 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 It was a waiter from the Cafe Rose-Croix and Clif- 
 ford knew him. 
 
 " Bon soir, Monsieur Clifford," he said doubtfully. 
 
 " Good evening, Placide, Placide, — er — is that 
 little banquet for me ? Oh, it's all right ! I suppose 
 Monsieur Elliott paid for it — " 
 
 " But, Monsieur," said the waiter, " this dinner is 
 for a lady." 
 
 " What's that? " said Clifford sharply. Then he 
 buttonholed Placide and hauled him inside the 
 studio. 
 
 " Who is the lady? The one upstairs? " 
 
 " Yes — Mademoiselle Plessis — she awaits her din- 
 ner — let me go, Monsieur Clifford," pleaded Placide. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not going to play tricks on you," said 
 Clifford, "here! hold on! — if you move I'll tip the 
 tray. Now all I want you to do is — is — er — dear 
 
 me 
 
 The odour of a nicely browned fowl disturbed his 
 thoughts ; his mind wandered with his eyes. Placide 
 gaped at him. He knew Clifford and he dreaded 
 him. " Here you ! " said that young gentleman, 
 removing his eyes from the fowl with an effort, " do 
 you think that because I do you the honour of con- 
 versing with you that I wish to rob you ? Do I 
 look like a man to interfere with a lady's dinner? 
 Placide, you know me?" 
 
 " I do, Monsieur," replied the waiter despond- 
 ently. 
 
 " Then listen ! I am going to make you my con- 
 fidant ! Think of that, Placide ! " 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 233 
 
 The waiter looked at him obliquely and did not 
 appear to appreciate the honour in store. 
 
 " Placide!" 
 
 " Monsieur!" 
 
 " I am in love ! " 
 
 " Doubtless — if it is Monsieur's pleasure — " 
 
 " Silence! Idiot ! I am about to bestow gifts; 
 I am about to — " 
 
 " The chicken, Monsieur, is becoming cold — " 
 
 " I am," repeated Clifford majestically, " about to 
 offer two dozen — twenty-four — canary birds to my 
 adored. You may ask ; what is that to you — " 
 
 " I do," began Placide. 
 
 " Silence ! Pig ! These twenty-four canaries are 
 to be carried to her by — think of it, Placide ! — by 
 you ! 
 
 Placide rolled his eyes, big with anguish. The 
 chicken exhaled a delicious aroma. 
 
 Clifford drew in a long breath of the fragrance. 
 Then he lifted the enormous gilt cage, and placed 
 it in Placide's hands. " Go up-stairs and take these 
 cursed birds with the compliments of Foxhall 
 Clifford, artist, American, 70 rue Bara, first floor, 
 door on the right." 
 
 " But — but my tray — " 
 
 " Imbecile ! Do you think I'm going to eat your 
 tray ? Come back for it and — tell me what the 
 lady says." 
 
 Placide shuffled sullenly to the door ; Clifford 
 opened it. 
 
 " My tray — " began the unwilling waiter. 
 
234 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Placide," said Clifford, " I have not dined — er 
 — re — cently and my temper is uncertain. You are 
 discreet. I wish to dine. Do you understand?" 
 
 Placide smirked. 
 
 " Then use your wits — and when I have ten 
 francs — well — hasten, my good Placide." 
 
 When the waiter had gone, Clifford tiptoed over 
 to the tray and sniffed at the napkin. 
 
 " Dear ! Dear ! " he said, " what a wonderful con- 
 gregation of perfumes. Now if she doesn't shut 
 the door on Placide's nose — I — I hope — I delicately 
 hope that I may receive my reward." 
 
 He paced to and fro, whistling, but never taking 
 his eyes from the tray. After a few minutes he 
 heard Placide's slippered tread on the stairs, and 
 hastened to admit him. 
 
 " The young lady says," began Placide, lifting the 
 tray, " — the young lady says that Monsieur is too 
 amiable — " 
 
 Clifford's heart sank. 
 
 " And," pursued Placide with dreary deliberation, 
 edging toward the staircase, " the young lady says 
 that she hopes to see you " — 
 
 " When? " blurted out Clifford. 
 
 " Some day," grinned Placide, and escaped up the 
 stairway, sneering, triumphant. 
 
 The blow staggered Clifford for a moment — but 
 only for a moment. Before Placide had descended 
 again, Clifford was changing his clothes ; before Pla- 
 cide had passed the lodge-gate, Clifford had fastened 
 a white neck-tie under a spotless collar. Then he tied 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 235 
 
 a bit of crimson silk tightly around his forehead, in- 
 serted two feathers from a duster in the fillet where 
 they waved like the plumes of a Sioux War-chief; 
 and ten minutes later, radiant, patent-leathered, 
 but starved, he rang gaily at the door of the studio 
 overhead. 
 
 When Claire Plessis opened the door, Clifford 
 bowed profoundly and skipped in, introducing him- 
 self with joyous abandon. 
 
 " It is the custom," he said, bowing again and 
 again with something of an Oriental salaam, " it is 
 the custom in America — in far distant, sunny 
 America, — to call at once upon distinguished stran- 
 gers who come to lodge in the building. Therefore, 
 Mademoiselle," — and although he spoke French 
 flawlessly he brutalised it now to suit his purpose, 
 — " therefore, Mademoiselle," — He salaamed again, 
 rapidly and said : 
 
 " How ! How ! How ! " 
 
 " Monsieur," faltered the girl, not knowing whether 
 to laugh or call for assistance, — " Monsieur, I am 
 honoured — pray be — be seated." 
 
 " Mademoiselle — it is too much honour ! " 
 
 " Monsieur — " 
 
 They bowed again, and Clifford sank into a chair, 
 his duster plumes nodding on his head. 
 
 The girl regarded him with undisguised amaze- 
 ment. She saw his eyes rolling toward the white- 
 covered table and thought, " Oh dear, what shall I do 
 with this foreign savage who sends me canary birds 
 by the gross and who skips like a dancing dervish? " 
 
236 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Monsieur," she stammered. 
 
 " How ! How ! How ! " grunted Clifford absently, 
 sniffing the tablecloth. 
 
 " Nothing — nothing, Monsieur," she said hastily ; 
 " I wish to thank you for the birds — " 
 
 " We eat them in America," he said, and chattered 
 his teeth. 
 
 " Like — like chickens? " 
 
 " What are chickens ? " 
 
 She laughed and looked at the uncarved fowl on 
 the table. 
 
 " Is that a chicken? " asked Clifford in his most 
 awful French. " Is it good to eat ?" 
 
 " If you would do me the honour to accept my 
 hospitality, Monsieur, you could prove it for your- 
 self," she said laughing, and a little more at ease. 
 " I have not yet dined, — I am quite alone — " 
 
 Clifford accepted, rising with oriental languor, and 
 bowed magnificently. He led her to her place, 
 seated her, drew up a chair opposite, and smiled 
 upon her. His feathers bobbed with every move- 
 ment. 
 
 " Now of course, I must carve," she said, striving 
 hard to repress an hysterical laugh ; for Clifford, 
 desiring to play his part of a foreign savage to per- 
 fection, was doing impossible things with his knife 
 and fork. 
 
 " If she finds me out," he was thinking, " it will 
 not be very gay for me." So he showed his teeth 
 and muttered and salaamed occasionally, while the 
 girl bowed to him over her slender glass of claret 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 237 
 
 and helped him to more and more and more until 
 the suffocating desire to laugh brought tears to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " In America it is etiquette to eat until there is 
 nothing left — at least I have read that in books," 
 she ventured. 
 
 " It is," said Clifford, uncorking another bottle. 
 
 "You seem to like chicken," she said. 
 
 "Ah," he replied, "wait until you try my canary 
 birds ! " 
 
 " But," she cried, " I am not going to eat them ! " 
 
 Their eyes met across the table. He felt that he 
 was going to laugh ; he looked into her big grey 
 eyes. Her dark-fringed lashes were trembling too ; 
 on each cheek a dimple deepened ; between her 
 scarlet lips the white teeth parted ; then she sank 
 back, her hands flung helplessly into her lap, and, 
 looking into each other's eyes, they burst into ring- 
 ing peals of laughter. 
 
 Three times she dried the tears in her eyes, and, 
 leaning forward, attempted to speak, but when her 
 eyes met his again, she threw back her pretty head 
 and laughed until the colour deepened to her throat. 
 And so they sat there, trying to speak, but shrieking 
 with laughter, until the glasses and bottles clinked 
 and vibrated and the window panes sang again. 
 
 At last she murmured, " For shame, Monsieur ! 
 I — I ought to be very angry, — but I laugh — oh 
 dear! oh ! dear ! I laugh and I should be furious ! 
 Fie ! You play the foreigner — the — the untutored 
 one who never saw chicken — oh dear ! oh dear ! — " 
 
238 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 She rose, drying her eyes again on a dainty pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Shame on you ! How dared you come to my 
 
 room and — oh dear — and tell me you eat canary 
 
 birds — and walk like a dancing dervish, and do such 
 
 things with your knife, and — what is your name ? — 
 
 mine is Claire." 
 
 ****** 
 
 When, three hours later, he rose to go, he had 
 told her all, — the whole wretched truth, and she had 
 watched him with curious grey eyes, now brimming 
 with laughter, now exquisite in their sympathy. 
 She forgave him — not easily — but when he removed 
 the feathers from his headdress and said he was 
 sorry, she held out her hand to him with brilliant 
 eyes and grave lips. 
 
 " So — you are forgiven, — not because you de- 
 serve it. Here in the Quarter we are like the leaves 
 in the Luxembourg ; we bud with the promise of 
 summer, — we unfold, we nestle and whisper to- 
 gether, — we grow gorgeous and brilliant, — then we 
 fall. Let us live in friendship while we may, — we 
 of the Latin Quarter. I forgive you, mon ami." 
 
 IV. 
 
 When Clifford reached his own door on the floor 
 below, he heard voices in the studio. A hard world 
 had driven some caution into his head and he lis- 
 tened for a moment to assure himself that the 
 voices were not the voices of creditors. 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 239 
 
 "It's Elliott and Colette," he murmured, knock- 
 ing discreetly. Elliott opened the door ; on the 
 piano-stool sat Colette demurely twisting the fur 
 of her boa. Clifford bent over the extended hand, 
 then looked at Elliott. The latter felt in his pocket, 
 produced the cuff buttons, and tossed them on the 
 table. 
 
 " You can keep your jewellery," he said, " I've got 
 a better scheme ; Colette proposed it — " 
 
 " You wouldn't listen to the other plan," she said 
 shyly, " I don't want that coupe — " 
 
 "You mustn't say such things," interposed Clif- 
 ford gravely ; then, turning to Elliott, "what are we 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " Let me tell," cried Colette, fanning her flushed 
 face with the end of the boa ; " sit down and be 
 very still, — you also, Monsieur Clifford, — there ! 
 Now listen ! I, Colette, have a very beautiful 
 plan." 
 
 " How to become a millionaire in a week, — by 
 Mademoiselle Colette," began Clifford, and was 
 beaten with the fur boa. 
 
 " Very well " she cried ; " then I shall not trouble 
 myself, — oh ! you had better say you are sorry ! 
 Now listen ! It is my plan, — mine, Co-lette ! " 
 
 She settled herself on the piano-stool, whirled 
 around until her pointed shoes rested on the rug, 
 smiled, buried her nose in the point of her boa, and 
 said ; " To begin, you are poor ! — don't interrupt ! 
 It is well to begin at the beginning. Then, you are 
 poor. You have nothing to live on — you improvi- 
 
240 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 dent ones, — for three more months. Comment faire ! 
 Paint and sell pictures ? No. Why? Because you 
 have not yet learned enough at the Ecole des Beaux 
 Arts! But yet you must live. How? Ah, Dick, 
 if you would only let me return you that old coupe' 
 — there ! I didn't mean it ! Now let us begin 
 again ! — You are poor—" 
 
 " We're back where we started," began Clifford 
 but was snubbed. 
 
 " So, — you are poor. You must earn something. 
 How ? Why, with your cornets ! " 
 
 " Eh ? " stammered Clifford. 
 
 "Exactly!" cried Colette; "you shall play 
 every evening in Bobinot's orchestra and gain many 
 many francs, industrious ones ! Voila ! " 
 
 Clifford stared at her. She nodded her head at 
 him and smiled. 
 
 " It's an idea," said Elliott ; " Boissy told Colette 
 that Bobinot's two cornet players had gone, and old 
 Bobinot is looking for two new ones. It's a chance, — 
 we need only play in the evenings — it will keep soul 
 and body together — won't it ? Why don't you say 
 something? " 
 
 " It's an idea, — isn't it ? " repeated Colette sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 "What ! " faltered Clifford, " play a cornet in that 
 cheap Montparnasse Theatre, — Bobinot's ! Suppose 
 they hear of it in New York ? " 
 
 "Suppose we have to go to the American Consul 
 and ask him to ship us home," retorted Elliott. 
 
 Bobinot's, the students' theatre on Montparnasse, 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 241 
 
 was not the Theatre Francais perhaps, but the act- 
 ing was good, — indeed it was better than that seen 
 in most New York theatres. Clifford had spent joy- 
 ous evenings at this " Quarter " theatre ; it was often 
 better than the "Cluny " — even " Antonio, pere et 
 fils," admitted that. 
 
 " Still," he said, " the Quarter will never stop 
 laughing — er — Colette in her coupe and you in the 
 orchestra — " 
 
 " I shall not drive in my coupe until Dick wishes 
 it ! " cried Colette, crimson and white by turns. " For 
 your bad taste I — I pardon you." 
 
 Too utterly snubbed to have a mind of his own, 
 Clifford meekly made his peace with Colette and 
 opened the door for her and Elliott. 
 
 "Are you sure we can get the place?" he asked. 
 " Perhaps Bobinot won't want us." 
 
 " Bobinot must ! " said Colette ; " I shall call upon 
 Claire Plessis who is to sing the premiere roles there. 
 She is sweet ; she is also from Tours. That is my 
 country. And I love her very much." 
 
 " Where does she live?" inquired Clifford with a 
 guilty start. 
 
 " Upstairs. I shall call upon her to-morrow. 
 Dick, are you coming? Then good-night, wicked 
 one ! Come, Dick, dear ! To your evil conscience 
 I leave you, Monsieur Clifford " — and she iaughed 
 and gave him her gloved hand. 
 
 Clifford closed the door gently behind them. For 
 
 a moment he stood staring at the panels, then raised 
 
 his eyes to the ceiling. 
 16 
 
242 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " I wonder," he thought, " I — I wonder whether 
 Claire will tell Colette ? " 
 
 He shivered. The Quarter is pitiless in ridicule. 
 
 Elliott came back late that night, but he was 
 cheerful and he whistled as he shook the snow from 
 hat and coat and stamped around the studio. 
 
 " We'll see Bobinot to-morrow," he said ; " I tell 
 you it's not a bad idea — all Colette's, too ! " 
 
 " I thought you and Colette had agreed to dis- 
 agree," observed Clifford. 
 
 The other reddened a little. " We have," he said 
 — " for three months." 
 
 Before he was ready for bed he missed the canary 
 birds and questioned Clifford, but the latter told 
 him to mind his business. This Elliott cheerfully 
 complied with and went to bed. 
 
 " By the way, did you dine to-night ? " he called 
 out before he closed his door. 
 
 " Yes," snapped Clifford. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thanks to Colette and Claire, through tne medium 
 of Boissy, the little snare-drummer, who lived on the 
 top floor, Monsieur Bobinot consented to give 
 Elliott and Clifford a trial. 
 
 Boissy presented them to Monsieur Bobinot as 
 two eminent American virtuosi, but Bobinot sneered 
 openly. 
 
 " Don't try to stuff me," he said ; " they're two 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 243 
 
 students on their uppers. What do I care as long 
 as they can play ? " 
 
 " They — they are very eminent " — pleaded Boissy 
 — " their — hm ! — technique is so original, Monsieur 
 Bobinot — " 
 
 Bobinot turned a pair of hard bright eyes on Clif- 
 ford. 
 
 " En effet, Monsieur Bobinot, we are students," 
 said Clifford with magnificent condescension ; " but 
 we can blow harmony out of a broken bottle ; — 
 Elliott, kindly play ' The Battle of Buena Vista ' for 
 Monsieur Bobinot." 
 
 Elliott drew his cornet from beneath his overcoat 
 and gravely performed the stirring war march with 
 hideous variations, while Clifford imitated a drum 
 with his knuckles on the window pane. 
 
 " Cannon," said Clifford, banging on a sheet of 
 tin which lay on the floor. 
 
 " Let my properties alone ! " shouted Bobinot. 
 
 " Drums, — the Mexicans retreating," continued 
 Clifford serenely, returning to the window. 
 
 " Humph !" snorted Bobinot. 
 
 " Cries of the wounded ! " observed Clifford, and 
 emitted a series of piercing screams while Elliott 
 continued his variations. 
 
 " Ovv ! Ow ! Ow ! " wailed Clifford, winking at 
 Boissy who had sunk helpless on a chair, weak with 
 laughter. 
 
 " Stop ! " thundered Bobinot. 
 
 Elliott finished his variations and looked expect- 
 antly at the manager of the " Theatre Bobinot." 
 
244 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 "It's d — n fine," said Monsieur Bobinot, "but I 
 could manage to exist and earn an honest living 
 without your artistic collaboration. I say I could 
 dispense with your musical services, but I cannot, 
 Messieurs, afford to lose from my personnel, two such 
 splendid examples of human impudence. Consider 
 yourselves engaged. Boissy, I'll pay you for this ! " 
 
 "Then," said Clifford artlessly, "let's cement the 
 contract with a bottle ! " 
 
 " Bottle of what ? " demanded Elliott ; " we haven't 
 any money ! You mortify me ! " 
 
 Clifford smiled blandly. "Come, Monsieur Bob- 
 inot, no hard feelings you know ! What shall it 
 be?" 
 
 "Whatever you like, Messieurs," said Bobinot 
 grimly ; " I'll take it out of your salary." 
 
 But Monsieur Bobinot was better than his word. 
 He saw at a glance that the young fellows were in 
 earnest, and he not only acted the host very de- 
 cently, but, as Boissy dragged the two young men 
 away, he handed them each a week's salary in ad- 
 vance. 
 
 " It's for your infernal cheek ! " he said ; " come 
 to rehearsal at ten ! " * 
 
 The first week passed without a hitch. Elliott 
 played the orchestrated scores for Clifford, and the 
 latter, being quick and instinctively musical, learned 
 his part by heart, to the utter demoralisation of the 
 tenants on the upper floors. Mademoiselle Plessis 
 stood it as long as she possibly could and then sent 
 for Clifford. 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 245 
 
 " Monsieur Clifford," she said seriously, " this 
 must stop." 
 
 " If it stops /stop," said Clifford ; " I can't live 
 on air." 
 
 " No," she said, " you are neither a chameleon nor 
 an angel." 
 
 " Not an angel yet, but on the floor below," he 
 said humbly. 
 
 Mademoiselle Plessis tapped her foot against the 
 fender and brushed the leaves of her role with the 
 tip of one white finger. 
 
 " Mon ami," she said, " I cannot learn my role if 
 you toot all day on that cornet." 
 
 " What am I to do ? " inquired Clifford miser- 
 ably. 
 
 " You must have certain hours to practise. Mon- 
 sieur Boissy plays on his drum' from two until four ; 
 Monsieur Castro chooses that time for trombone 
 exercise ; why can you not play your cornet dur- 
 ing those hours ? " 
 
 " I will," said Clifford craftily, " but what shall I 
 do from four until six?" He looked at her with 
 eyes that appealed and languished. 
 
 " Do?" 
 
 " Ah, yes ! It will be lonely up there on the floor 
 above — won't it ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Plessis raised her clear eyes to the 
 ceiling. 
 
 " Is it so very lonely down there ? It is not, — up 
 here." 
 
 "Very. I think of you all day." 
 
246 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 "Of me? How foolish ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I wish I were able to aid you to learn 
 your parts." 
 
 " But you can't — " 
 
 " I could if you'd let me read your cues — " 
 — " I don't need that—" 
 — " Don't refuse—" 
 — " I must—" 
 — " Don't—" 
 
 — " But I do ! And you are very silly. — " 
 * * •* * * •* 
 
 So it was arranged that Clifford should bleat on 
 his cornet from two until four, during which time 
 Claire would go out for a walk ; and from four to 
 six, when Claire was at home, he might aid her by 
 his presence and advice and judiciously regulated 
 sympathy. 
 
 " The idea ! " she said, with a pretty gesture of 
 disdain ; "you will only bother me. You had much 
 better write me a little play." 
 
 " A ' lever de rideau ! ' " exclaimed Clifford; " by 
 Jove, I'll do it! " 
 
 " Can you write French well enough, mon pauvre 
 ami?" 
 
 " No, but you can supply all the localisms and 
 wit. Will you?" 
 
 "We might try," she said with a doubtful smile. 
 She was very much interested, however, and when, 
 a few days later, he brought her a rough sketch of the 
 u Queen of Siam," she read it with serious interest. 
 
 "It is a pretty idea," she said, flushing with pleas- 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 247 
 
 ure. Then, resting her chin on her hand, she in- 
 vited him to sit beside her. 
 
 "You know," she said thoughtfully, " if we are 
 really going to collaborate, we must be very grave 
 and serious ior you are not working for pleasure and 
 / am earning my bread — " 
 
 — " And honey, — oh ! you'll have woodcock on 
 toast and champagne too if this play goes ! " 
 
 " Then let us make it go," she exclaimed enthusi- 
 astically. 
 
 " Let's ! " he cried with equal fervour. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " The play won't go if you don't take your pen in 
 hand," she said. 
 
 — " But I will— " 
 
 " Then hadn't you better release my hand ? " 
 
 And so the afternoons wore away while with heads 
 together over the manuscript they chattered about 
 exits and entries, scenarios, cues and " pan coupe's " 
 and Clifford rose to the occasion, displaying a wit 
 which matched her dainty cleverness and struck the 
 quick warm spark of sympathy between them. 
 
 " Delicious ! " she would laugh at some hastily 
 pencilled bit of dialogue, and then, bending over the 
 table : " Don't you think that we might shorten the^ 
 King's lines just here? See, I only strike out these 
 three words — ah ! see how much better it reads ! " 
 
 " Much better ! — very much better ! " 
 
 " Very much ; it flows smoothly now — oh ! oh ! 
 how funny to make the Queen threaten them ! 
 How did you ever think of that ? " 
 
248 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Why, it follows naturally — you see she is all in 
 armour, and the spurs trip up the archbishop — " 
 
 And so the afternoons wore away. 
 
 This was all very pleasant, but it had its draw- 
 backs and one winter evening toward six o'clock 
 Clifford jumped up and stared at the clock horrified : 
 
 " Good heavens ! " he muttered, " they are giving 
 ' Pomme d'Api,' to-night and I haven't practised the 
 music ! What the deuce shall I do ! " 
 
 " And you can't read music at sight ? Oh, what 
 a shame! It is all my fault, mon ami," she cried in 
 contrition. 
 
 " No it isn't — only the afternoon flew, and I never 
 thought. Bobinot will sack me for this ! " 
 
 "You must get a substitute," she said," it's often 
 done." 
 
 " Where can I find one ? " 
 
 " Ask Boissy, he knows lots of people who do that 
 sort of thing, — there's his drum now! go down and 
 see him — hurry — go quickly, mon ami, — Oh ! you 
 mustn't ! — you mustn't ! There ! my gown is all in 
 wrinkles. I do not wish you ever to return, — no, 
 never, — go quickly now or Boissy will be gone ! — 
 hasten ! — ah well — then I will try to forgive you, 
 mon ami." 
 
 As he galloped down the stairs and out into the 
 street he felt as though he were treading on clouds 
 — rosy clouds. 
 
 " Nevertheless," he said to himself, " I must never 
 kiss her again." 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 249 
 
 VI. 
 
 The substitute cornet player was a success but 
 was also very expensive. Clifford paid him thank- 
 fully, but it made a large hole in his meagre weekly 
 salary, and he decided to do without substitutes in 
 future. He explained to Elliott how it was, and the 
 latter young gentleman, who viewed Clifford's infatu- 
 ation for Claire with alarm, shook his head and sighed. 
 
 " You can't afford it, my son. Suppose you 
 hadn't been able to get a cornet player ? Bobinot 
 would have bounced you." 
 
 " Now I am not so sure of that," said Clifford, 
 who had been consulting Claire. " I understand 
 that the leader of the orchestra — what's his name — " 
 
 — " Bock—" 
 
 — " Bock, — I understand that he's generally drunk 
 and can't tell whether one or two cornets are play • 
 ing." 
 
 " But he would see your empty place." 
 
 " I could get any ordinary man to sit there, — 
 Selby would do it for the lark. If he pretended to 
 play, Bock wouldn't know the difference. I had to 
 pay that substitute of mine twenty francs. Kid 
 Selby would do it to oblige me." 
 
 " And he could stuff the cornet with cotton," sug- 
 gested Elliott. 
 
250 THE HAUNTS C/F MEN: 
 
 " Exactly — Bock would never know. So any 
 time we want a vacation we'll call on Selby, stuff 
 his cornet with cotton, and let him blow his cheeks 
 out while the other man does the playing? Where 
 are you going? " 
 
 " I'm going to get Kid Selby — it's my turn for a 
 vacation to-night," replied Elliott laughing, and 
 walked out, slamming the great doors. 
 
 Clifford opened his desk, took out a pile of man- 
 uscript, and, thrusting them into his pocket, hurried 
 up-stairs to begin his daily collaboration with his fair 
 neighbour. Time flew for them, but the " Queen of 
 Siam " was slowly taking the shape of a curtain-raiser 
 whose fate would soon be determined. The lyrics 
 were fortunately few, and of course Claire rhymed 
 them, for poetry in French was beyond Clifford's 
 ken. And she rhymed them charmingly, setting 
 them to the music of quaint old songs that all 
 France knows. Clifford hung breathlessly over the 
 piano, gaping with admiration. 
 
 Monsieur Bobinot had read the piece and had 
 found it suitable, — so suitable in fact, that for a 
 long time he refused to believe that Clifford could 
 be the author. 
 
 " Voyons, confess he hashed it up from some old 
 vaudeville ! " he repeated to Mademoiselle Plessis, 
 until at last he was constrained to accept it as 
 original. Of course he cast Claire for the " Queen " ; 
 she refused to stir a step unless he did ; and the 
 other parts were given to Mesdames Paule Nevers, 
 Bonelly, Mario-Widmer, and to Messieurs Max, 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 25 I 
 
 Bourdielle, Deberg, Bayard, Brunet, and Simon. 
 Naturally Max was cast for the Archbishop of Ept, 
 and Bayard for the King, while Bourdeille's char- 
 acter, " Syleuse," was written entirely with the view 
 that he should create the role. 
 
 Bobinot grumbled. It seemed to him that he had 
 nothing to say about anything in his own theatre, 
 but Mademoiselle Plessishad her way and the prop- 
 erty man and costumer were already at work on 
 the designs that Elliott furnished gratis. Deberg 
 orchestrated the score. 
 
 " It would cost me," shouted Bobinot in a fury, 
 as he blue-pencilled Elliott's voluminous directions 
 on each drawing, — " it would cost me more than 
 my theatre is worth to make these costumes accord- 
 ing to Monsieur Elliott's advice. He can save him- 
 self literary work, and me several sous worth of 
 blue pencil by sticking to his designing and leav- 
 ing the execution to a man who wears a head in the 
 proper place ! " 
 
 The Theatre Bobinot was flourishing. The " Ser- 
 ment d'Amour," " Princess des Canaries," " Migna- 
 pour," " Le Jour et la Nuit," followed successively 
 " Le Panache," and " Pomme d'Api " of Offenbach ; 
 and already in the programme of " Les Domestiques," 
 the comedy by Grange" and Deslandes, appeared 
 the announcement of the preparations for " The 
 Queen of Siam." "A comedy in three acts by 
 M. Foxhall Clifford and Mile. Claire Plessis ; " for, 
 at Bobinot's demand, the " lever de rideau," had 
 been expanded into a three act musical comedy. 
 
252 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Bobinot said very little in praise of it either to 
 Clifford or to Claire, but he bragged about it to 
 everybody else in the Latin Quarter as well as in 
 the Montparnasse Quarter. He refused to pay any 
 cash for it, but signed a contract for a generous 
 royalty, and Clifford and Claire were more than 
 satisfied. The former promised princely sums to 
 Elliott for his costume designs as soon as the money 
 began to pour in. Elliott was grateful and re- 
 doubled his pages of instructions for Bobinot, whose 
 curses rang loud and deep as he slashed through 
 them with his blue pencil. 
 
 Clifford took a good many days off from the 
 orchestra, and, finding that a cotton-stuffed cornet 
 in the hands of the untutored and unmusical Selby 
 was perfectly satisfactory, took more days off. 
 Selby for his part, liked the fun and became the envy 
 of the Quarter. At times, however, Clifford had 
 slight clashes with Elliott when they both wanted 
 the same night off. 
 
 "Come, come," Clifford would urge, "Claire isn't 
 on to-night you know, and I've promised to dine 
 with her at Thirion's." 
 
 "And I've promised Colette to meet her at the 
 Vachette." 
 
 " But you can meet her there to-morrow and I 
 can't meet Claire because she takes Nevers' place 
 in ' Pomme d' Api.' " 
 
 Then Elliott would mutter ; " the deuce take you 
 and Claire ! " But he always gave in and tootled 
 away in the orchestra, while Selby, the delighted 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 253 
 
 substitute beside him, puffed and perspired over 
 a noiseless cotton-stuffed cornet. Bock, the be- 
 sotted, never doubted that both cornets were play- 
 ing. 
 
 " Thank goodness this won't last," thought Elliott ; 
 " our three months' poverty is up on Monday and 
 then ! — then this cursed orchestra can go to the 
 devil ! " 
 
 Rat-tat-tat — ! rattled Bock's baton as he glanced 
 at Elliott. 
 
 " Oh you old ass ! " grumbled Elliott, toot ! toot ! 
 — " go to Guinea ! " — toot — toot — tootle — too-o-ot." 
 
 VII. 
 
 The humiliating part of it was that neither Clifford 
 nor Elliott could attend the rehearsals of " the 
 Queen of Siam " except in the orchestra. Bobinot 
 was omnipresent, and they were obliged to occupy 
 their places. 
 
 Now the orchestra was sunk in a pit so far below 
 the footlights that although the musicians were visi- 
 ble to the audience, nothing on the stage could be 
 seen by the musicians themselves. 
 
 When Clifford was not obliged to blow his cornet, 
 he could hear Claire's sweet voice : 
 
 " Oh, papa dear I much prefer 
 
 My helmet and my steel-ringed shirt, 
 My jewelled hilt, my gilded spur, 
 
 Targe, Casque, Tassett and Bassinet 
 
254 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 So take away my waist and skirt I 
 
 Oh, take away 
 
 Oh, take away 
 Oh-h I take away my maiden's skirt I " 
 
 Then he would stretch and crane his neck to see, 
 but Bock always caught him with the angry rat-tat- 
 tat ! — " he ! la bas ! " and he would clutch his cornet 
 and breathe music and anathemas. " It's a pretty 
 state of affairs if I can't see my own play," he grum- 
 bled to Elliott, " I'll fix that ass, Bock— just wait ! " 
 
 When Claire and Georges Max held the stage, and 
 the repartee made even the prompter chuckle, Clif- 
 ford's curiosity almost crazed him, and he cursed 
 impartially, Bobinot, Bock, the orchestra and him- 
 self. 
 
 Claire was delicious, Max irresistible. Clifford 
 squirmed and listened : 
 
 Claire ; " L'archeveque ! " 
 
 Max ; Mais non, il faut " — 
 
 Claire (excited) ; " Qu'il vienne ! Qu'il vienne ! J'y 
 suis, J'y reste ! — Et quil fait attention a mes 
 eperons ! " 
 
 Max ; "Mais — mais — e'est moi l'Archiveque — " 
 
 Claire (much disturbed) ; " T6 ! je le savais bien, 
 Monseigneur ! " 
 
 " That's going to take like wildfire," whispered 
 Elliott lowering his cornet ; " I wish I could see 
 the expression on Max's face — " 
 
 " And on Claire's ! Hear the prompter laugh ! " 
 
 " Look out — here comes the flourish — ready — 
 now ! Enter the Queen, you know ! " 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 255 
 
 " Tara — ta-ta-tata!" wheezed the cornets for the 
 entry of the Queen, while Boissy's snare drum rat- 
 tled the salute, 
 
 Clifford was sulky and spoke no more that morn- 
 ing, but the next day he went to see Selby. 
 
 " I'm d d if I miss the first night of my own 
 
 opera," he muttered. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Clifford was determined to see the first night's 
 performance but he decided not to tell Elliott, as that 
 youth might also wish to see it. No, he would not 
 mention it to Elliott ; he would quietly arrange it for 
 Selby to play the dummy and blow a cotton-stuffed 
 cornet beside Elliott. True, the flourish of trumpets 
 that was to announce the entrance of the Queen 
 would be, strictly speaking, a flourish of one cornet, 
 but Bock could never know and the audience 
 wouldn't either for that matter. So he spoke to 
 Selby and gave him his stuffed cornet. 
 
 "There's no cornet in the overture, you know — 
 it's that stringed affair of Lalo's. You are to watch 
 Elliott and pretend to toot when he does. The first 
 flourish is when the Queen comes in," he explained 
 to Selby. 
 
 Then he went to bed, chuckling, for he had covertly 
 secured the last seat but one in a prominent box, 
 and he chuckled again as he thought of Elliott's 
 fury'on beholding him among the spectators. 
 
 All the next day he chuckled too, watching Elliott 
 
256 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 furtively. The latter seemed very unsuspicious ; he 
 did not even mention a wish to view the performance. 
 And at last the impatiently expected night arrived. 
 
 The Theatre Bobinot was ablaze ; banners waved 
 from the mansard ; posters flamed under the gas jets 
 outside, — big yellow posters announcing "THE 
 QUEEN OFSIAM!" 
 
 Inside the theatre the orchestra was assembling. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Selby pretended to fuss over the leaves of the 
 score ; he fiddled with his cornet a moment, then he 
 sat down and looked up at the house. 
 
 The audience was not what is termed "brilliant," 
 but the house was jammed with the good people of 
 the Montparnasse Quarter, sandwiched in between 
 hordes of Latin Quarter students, actresses, grisettes 
 and vivacious young persons who preside over the 
 counters of the Bon March6 and Grands Magazines 
 of the Louvre. A first night always filled the little 
 theatre, box, pit, and gallery, and the announcement 
 of the " Queen of Siam," with Mile. Claire Plessis, 
 Mile. Nevers and Max and Bourdeille, had stirred 
 the Quarter profoundly. 
 
 Selby polished the mouthpiece of his cornet and 
 called to Boissy, who left his snare drum and came 
 over. 
 
 "Where is Elliott?" he asked. 
 
 " Hasn't come yet. " Oh, you're here to give 
 Clifford a chance ? It's a good house, isn't it ? " 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 257 
 
 "Great," said Selby pensively, " I bet Clifford 
 makes a lot out of this. Here comes old Bock now." 
 
 The leader of the orchestra, vinous as usual, 
 emerged from below, wiping his moustache, and 
 walked straight to his seat. 
 
 " I wish Elliott would hurry," said Selby nervously. 
 
 " There's no overture, — Bock cut it out because 
 the play's long enough." 
 
 " I know — I know, but there he is taking a last 
 look at the gallery and Elliott isn't here. The thing 
 begins with a flourish of trumpets to the Queen." 
 
 As he spoke, a figure came out of the little door 
 under the stage, holding a cornet. 
 
 " Thank goodness," said Selby, "here he is now, — 
 no, ! by jingo, it's a new cornettist ! " 
 
 The stranger sat down in Elliott's seat, picked 
 pensively at some cotton in his cornet, and smiled 
 at Selby. 
 
 " Where's Elliott ? " said Selby hoarsely. 
 
 "In that box, — see him? He wants to witness 
 the first act. He says " — But Selby sprang to his 
 feet, pallid with fright. 
 
 " Can you play a cornet? " he almost shrieked. 
 
 " No, — can't you ? " stammered the new arrival. 
 
 Before the wretched Selby could reply, Bock 
 rapped for attention ; there came three heavy knocks 
 on the stage floor behind the curtain, and, as the 
 violins began the " Air of the Petticoat," the curtain 
 twitched, trembled, and began to ascend, exposing a 
 brilliant stage and dozens of glittering limbs. 
 
 Clifford in his box, gazed at the chorus in rapture. 
 17 
 
258 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Then, as the chorus began to sing, he felt a violent 
 tug at his coat, and, looking round, beheld Elliott. 
 
 "You!" faltered Clifford, "what are you doing 
 here ? " 
 
 Elliott's face was shrunken with fright. 
 
 " Heavens ! " he gasped, " they'll miss the flourish ! 
 Those fellows can't play ! I — I didn't know you 
 had engaged Selby so I hired a man in the street " 
 — Clifford was rooted to the spot ; his eyes fixed on 
 the miserable substitutes below. Then his hair 
 slowly rose as Max cried joyously : 
 
 " The Queen ! The Queen ! Hark — hark to the 
 trumpets' shrill welcome ! " 
 
 A dismal silence ensued. All eyes were turned 
 on the orchestra where Selby sat frozen stiff with 
 horror, while his companion, scarlet in the face, 
 cheeks puffed out and eyes starting from their 
 sockets, blew madly into his cotton-stuffed cornet 
 from which no sound proceeded. 
 
 " Hark ! The trumpets ring again ! " cried Max, 
 looking anxiously at Bock, who, speechless and furi- 
 ous, waved his wand toward Selby. 
 
 " Idiots ! Play ! " he roared at last. 
 
 " We can't i " gasped Selby. The audience 
 screamed. 
 
 Claire coolly walked to the footlights, but the sight 
 of Selby's face sent her into wild uncontrollable 
 laughter. 
 
 Claire's laughter saved the piece. The 
 house stood by her from that moment, and the 
 " Queen of Siam " went merrily on to the sound 
 
ENTER THE QUEEN. 259 
 
 of a cornetless orchestra. For Clifford and Elliott 
 and Selby had fled ; — fled away into the snowy night, 
 far, far from the haunts of men. 
 
 This is a story of the Quarter, truer than it ought 
 to be. You have, doubtless, heard it before. It is 
 not original with me. I myself have heard it told 
 in London. 
 
 Ah! when shall we be wise, Madame? — When 
 shall we learn wisdom — we of the Quartier Mont- 
 parnasse ? 
 
 I could tell you how Clifford returned and was 
 forgiven by, Claire and Bobinot, — but I won't. I 
 could tell you how Clifford presented his royalty 
 rights to Claire on the occasion of her marriage to 
 Monsieur Bobin — but there! — I nearly told you a 
 stage secret ! So I shall answer no more questions 
 — unless you care to know about Colette and Elliott 
 and Selby. 
 
 Do you ? 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 
 
'Ah ! d'uue ardeur sincere. 
 Le temps ne pent distraire, 
 Et nos plus doux plaisirs 
 Sont dans nos souvenirs. 
 On pense, on pense encore 
 A celle qu'on adore, 
 Et Von revient ton jours 
 A ses premiers amours.'" 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 
 
 Une conscience sans Dieu est un tribunal sans juge. 
 
 Lamartine. 
 
 I. 
 
 When Fradley came to Paris he renounced liter- 
 ature as a means of livelihood, for, although his 
 success as a writer in " Brooklyn Babyhood," had 
 been pecuniarily satisfying, it occurred to him that 
 painting might be less fatiguing than poetry, and 
 he decided to adopt it as his profession. 
 
 His illustrations to his own rhymes had been, up 
 to the present time, of archaic simplicity, and were 
 limited to pen and ink productions representing in- 
 fants afflicted with exaggerated eyes and eyelashes. 
 
 Young mothers hovered over the pages of " Brook- 
 lyn Babyhood " spelling out his rhymes to crowing 
 infancy. In these jingles, children were told that 
 they were " arch " and " cute," they were assured 
 of their importance, their every action was ap- 
 plauded, solid pages of baby-talk were administered, 
 and baby-ridden Brooklyn writhed with delight. 
 
 There were some people, however, who revolted, 
 — some who even declared that Fradley was a pub- 
 lic nuisance and that his rhymes inculcated self- 
 
 263 
 
264 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 consciousness ; but these people were probably un- 
 natural parents. 
 
 When he wrote his immortal poem, " How many- 
 toes has the Baby? " the Brooklyn " Banner" pub- 
 lished the poem in full with a portrait of and a peon 
 to " Brooklyn's Brilliant Son." 
 
 This was all very well but it couldn't last. A 
 rival poet from Flatbush got hold of the Brooklyn 
 " Star " and began a series cf poems, the baby talk 
 of which made Fradley's most earnest efforts fall 
 flat. In vain he demanded to know the exact num- 
 ber of fingers and toes which the baby possessed ; 
 in vain he cooed and gurgled and bleated ! The 
 Flatbush poet was a woman, and she knew her 
 business. When Fradley cooed, she cooed ; when 
 Fradley gurgled and bleated, she gurgled and 
 bleated, backed up by the entire staff of the Brook- 
 lyn " Star." In vain Fradley called for a counting 
 of toes ; she extended her researches into distant 
 sections of baby's anatomy, and Fradley was 
 doomed. The last blow fell when the Flatbush 
 poet produced 
 
 "BABY'S ICKLE TOOFY," 
 
 which, translated freely, means " baby's little tooth." 
 That settled it. Fickle Brooklyn fell down and 
 worshipped the Flatbush lady, and Fradley sullenly 
 packed his bag and sailed for France. 
 
 When Fradley took up his abode in the Latin 
 Quarter, he expected that his arrival would create 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 265 
 
 something of a stir. It did not. He waited a 
 month for appreciation and finally asked Garland 
 what he thought of his illustrations. 
 
 " I haven't seen any," replied Garland. 
 
 " I didn't know you illustrated," added Carring- 
 ton, but noticing the mortification on Fradley's face, 
 said good-naturedly, "You know we don't see much 
 over here except the Paris papers ; what do you 
 illustrate for? " 
 
 Fradley was speechless. 
 
 " What paper are they in ? " asked Garland, yawn- 
 ing innocently. 
 
 " In ' Brooklyn Babyhood,' " snarled Fradley and 
 left the cafe. 
 
 Carrington, a modest young Englishman with a 
 high colour and blond moustache, looked troubled. 
 Garland was irritated. 
 
 " You know," he said to Carrington, " if he shows 
 that sort of temper the older men will be down on 
 him." 
 
 " It's very annoying," said Carrington. 
 
 "Very. We new men have got to keep pretty 
 quiet just now or the old men will make it hot for 
 us. This man Fradley is enough to turn the whole 
 studio against us. Did you make the fire this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. Clifford was very decent to 
 me." 
 
 " He's all right, but there are some of the older 
 men in Julian's who are spoiling to discipline us. 
 Did you notice it to-day ? " 
 
266 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " I fancy I did," replied Carrington, swallowing 
 his beer. 
 
 " This man Fradley," continued Garland, " is 
 enough to queer the whole batch of this year's men. 
 Confound him, he's effeminate." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Carrington pleasantly. 
 
 "Well, I do. His room is opposite mine, you 
 know, and he's trotting in and bothering me all the 
 time about the decorations of his boudoir. Whew ! 
 Why, Carrington, he has tied ribbons all over his 
 furniture, and he has tidies and things about so that 
 you are afraid to sit down. I don't want to mis- 
 judge the man, for we new men must hang together, 
 but I draw the line at embroidered night shirts stuck 
 all over with lace and ribbon." 
 
 " So do I," said Carrington, " does he do that 
 sort of thing? " 
 
 " I suppose so. He brought one in to show me." 
 
 " Maybe it wasn't his," suggested Carrington. 
 
 " Possibly not. It would have been more appro- 
 priate for the Queen of Sheba." 
 
 II. 
 
 Don't," said Clifford, " pat me on the back and 
 tell me to keep my shirt on ! " 
 
 '^Nonsense!" said Elliott, "you are making a 
 mountain out of a mole-hill ! 
 
 " And your language," said Selby, " is not ex- 
 actly—" 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 267 
 
 " Oh, isn't it ! Now you listen to me ; the Cafe 
 des Ecoles is no boudoir, and if a man can't express 
 his views here then I'm a fossil." 
 
 Rowden looked vaguely uneasy and Braith studied 
 Clifford over his pipe. 
 
 " The Quarter," continued Clifford, " is going to 
 the devil ; do you deny it ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Elliott cheerfully. 
 
 " That makes no difference — keep cool, Elliott, I 
 know you only said it for argument, but it isn't 
 so — " 
 
 " Messieurs, you must make less noise," said the 
 proprietor, hurrying over from the desk." 
 
 " Stop pounding on the table and yelling," said 
 Clifford to Carroll. 
 
 " If you don't," observed Elliott, " the sergot 
 will come back and take our names again — " 
 
 "■ For the last time too, and Elliott's already got 
 three, so he'll go to the cooler and devil a sou will I 
 go bail," growled Clifford ; " now listen to me, you 
 fellows, if you want to know why the Quarter is 
 going to the bow-wows. Just look at the crop of this 
 year's men ! Are we going to put up with McCloud. 
 He threw the proprietor of the Cafe des Arts out of 
 doors and ran the Caf6 himself at ruinous rates until 
 the proprietor came back with the police. I paid 
 his fine." 
 
 "Well," said Elliott, " McCloud is certainly cocky 
 for a nouveau ! " 
 
 " Cocky ? Well rather. Because he's a sort of 
 infant Hercules and has played on the Australian 
 
268 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 team is no reason why he should split all the tables 
 with his fist and do cheap feats of strength, and 
 grab a cab by the hind wheels and hold it with the 
 cabby yelling like a demon and everybody laugh- 
 ing at me — " 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " I was in the cab ; it was on the Boulevard Mont- 
 parnasse — " 
 
 " And you were going — " began Elliott. 
 
 " Never mind where I was going," said Clifford 
 with dignity, " the fact remains that I was inside. 
 It was lucky for McCloud that I was, for when a 
 policeman nipped his budding humour my bail came 
 in very handy." 
 
 "And is that," inquired Braith suavely, "the 
 ground for your assertion that the Quarter is 
 doomed ? " 
 
 "Isn't it enough?" demanded Clifford; — "a 
 nouveau taking liberties, — making me ridiculous be- 
 fore the whole Montparnasse Quarter, — who know 
 me — every one of them, — and to crown all, being 
 with a lady — " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Elliott tenderly. Osborne smirked 
 and whistled the devil's quadrille, Elliott and Thax- 
 ton played phantom trombones with enervating 
 effect and Carroll beat madly upon a bottle. 
 
 Clifford became redder and redder. His unre- 
 quited affection for that wonderful little creature, the 
 new Bullierstar, was a topic for mirth and gentle jest 
 throughout the Latin Quarter. They had recently 
 parted, friends, — it being understood that she liked 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 269 
 
 him, but hardly cared to pin her affections to a man 
 who sat helpless in a cab while somebody held the 
 hind wheels and the boulevard laughed. It was put- 
 ting it plainly perhaps, but it did no harm, and Clif- 
 ford was very careful to keep it to himself. 
 
 " You fellows," observed Clifford scornfully, "had 
 better stop those monkey shines. Put down that 
 bottle, Carroll, or I'll take it away. You'll be trying 
 to stuff it in your mouth next. Bite on the cork, it's 
 better for teething." 
 
 This cruel thrust at the very recent advent of 
 Carroll to full-fledged honours in the studio had its 
 effect. 
 
 " I know," continued Clifford, " that you all think 
 I'm blighted, but you're all mistaken. I'm sure you 
 will see that I am right about these new men when 
 I tell you what happened at the studio this morn- 
 ing. I sat down in a front place and waited for the 
 roll call, and, before my name was called, a thing — a 
 nouveau took the place himself." 
 
 " What ! " cried the others incredulously. 
 
 " It's true," continued Clifford, " this baby — this 
 nouveau violated all precedent, and, because his 
 name came before mine on the list, he actually had 
 the impudence to throw me down ! " 
 
 The others looked thoughtful. 
 
 " That is going too far," observed Elliott gravely, 
 "we must discipline these young gentlemen." 
 
 " There are two or three," said Thaxton, " who 
 seem worse than the rest, for instance, young 
 Garland—" 
 
270 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Seems to me that was the creature's name who 
 took my place," interrupted Clifford. 
 
 " It couldn't be — he's a decent fellow and makes 
 the fire when he's told to," said Selby. 
 
 " Perhaps he didn't know you were an old man," 
 suggested Elliott. 
 
 " Probably not," said Carroll, who was still smart- 
 ing from the teething taunt, " Clifford hasn't been 
 twice in the studio since the nouveaux earned" 
 
 Elliott took out a note-book and wrote down 
 Garland's name. 
 
 " I'll keep an eye on him," he said, " but there is 
 another little wretch who ought to have an example 
 made of him at once." 
 
 " Who ? " asked Clifford. 
 
 " I believe his name is Fradley," replied Elliott 
 lighting a cigar. 
 
 " Then we'll fix Fradley," muttered Clifford. 
 " Who cares for a game of billiards ? " 
 
 III. 
 
 The roll call was over at Julian's and every place 
 had been marked in white chalk on the floor. The 
 model in the first studio had profited by the con- 
 fusion attendant on the distribution of bread, colours 
 and canvasses, and, shuffling into his trousers and 
 slippers, strolled into the second studio of Boulan- 
 ger and Lefevre to investigate the cause of the 
 uproar which had arisen and which continued with 
 increasing; violence. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 2 1 /! 
 
 The studio was packed with yelling students, 
 some mounted on tabourets, some on the old dust- 
 chest by the door, others on the stove and model 
 stand. From Doucet's two studios a delegation 
 had arrived, all of the Sculptors and most of Bou- 
 guereau's men were there, and the noise was terrific. 
 A big blond fellow wearing the uniform of a cuiras- 
 sier seemed to be directing things, and his bellows 
 shook the windows and rattled the bones on " Pierre," 
 the battered studio skeleton. 
 
 The clerk came in and remonstrated, but Clifford 
 put him out and locked the glass door, leaving him 
 gesticulating and taking names as fast as he could 
 write. Then Jules peeped in, smiled sadly and beck- 
 oned to Boissy, the cuirassier massier. Boissy 
 opened the door and explained that they were only 
 " organising." That was sufficient, and Jules and 
 the clerk withdrew. 
 
 When the classic halls of Julian's echoed with de- 
 moniac screams, cat-calls, and howls — when voices 
 were uplifted in every language except German, and 
 the thickets of easels were mowed down in rows by 
 some playful boot-heel, it was generally an indica- 
 tion that the students were " organising." They 
 had a passion for organising, and they seldom failed 
 to indulge it. Just now they were organising under 
 the leadership of that strange creature, Sara, also 
 known as " La Rousse," who was generally the root 
 of all mischief in the Quarter. She stood on the 
 model stand beside Boissy, her fiery red hair coiled 
 along her neck, her wonderful white skin glistening, 
 
272 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 her mysterious face bathed in the sunshine which 
 streamed down from the glass roof above. 
 
 With an inscrutable smile she studied the massed 
 faces below her. Occasionally her eyes rested on 
 some new man, who never failed to feel uncomfort- 
 able and look at the floor until the grayish-green 
 eyes swept in another direction. Sara was haughty 
 at best. In her sunniest smiles lurked the lightning 
 of scorn, and in all her brief " affairs," the caprice 
 of passion never disturbed her astounding egotism, 
 never lowered the imperious head, never drove the 
 shadow of irony from her scarlet lips. 
 
 Boissy shouted for silence, and banged on the floor 
 with his spurred heels, but nobody paid attention 
 until the girl took a step forward and held up both 
 pink palms as if to shield her ears from the pande- 
 monium. That was sufficient. 
 
 Then with a nod to Boissy, who straightened his 
 epaulettes and looked fierce, she began very quietly. 
 
 " Messieurs il s'agit — " when an unlucky nouveau 
 fell off a stool and crashed to the floor carrying 
 several easels with him. He was mobbed at once 
 amid cries of " Silence, cochon ! Down with the 
 Nouveau ! Vive Sara ! " 
 
 " C'est epatant," observed Sara with superb 
 scorn, " fiche moi cet nouveau au clou ! " 
 
 No sooner said than the unlucky youth was seized 
 and hustled toward the dust-chest amid cries of " au 
 clou ! au clou ! " 
 
 Elliott opened the lid of the dust-chest and looked 
 at Boissy. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 273 
 
 " What's his name," growled Boissy. 
 
 " Freddie Fradley," replied Elliott, " shall he go 
 in?" 
 
 Fradley screamed and struggled, but at a sign 
 from Sara they shoved him in, and, inserting some 
 mahl-sticks under the lid to give him air, requested 
 " Fatty " Carriere to sit on the top, which he did 
 with alacrity. Sara tossed her glittering hair and 
 continued, undeterred by the faint screams from 
 the chest : 
 
 " Messieurs, you all know that on the night of the 
 Mi-Careme, it is the custom of our studio to go en 
 masse, to the Bullier. Messieurs, the massiers of all 
 the studios have decided to honour me with an es- 
 cort, but — "laughing proudly, "that is the diffi- 
 culty ! All of you wish to go with me, which you 
 know very well is impossible. Are there not other 
 girls in the Quarter ? " 
 
 "No!" shouted the students in a spasm of gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 She opened her arms with a peculiarly graceful 
 motion. " You know that I adore you all, — all the 
 Julian men, and I do not wish to show favouritism — " 
 
 " Vive Sara ! Vive la Rousse ! " came thunder- 
 ing from the students and was echoed by stifled 
 yells from the dust-chest. 
 
 " Fatty " Carriere banged on the lid and uttered 
 awful threats against Fradley 's health unless he 
 ceased. Sara smiled. " No, no favouritism," she 
 said — " mais — mais comment faire ? " 
 
 " Take us all as escorts ! " cried Clifford, and the 
 
274 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Frenchmen understood and took up the cry — " en 
 choisisez pas ! nous voulons aller tons ! " 
 
 The girl's eyes sparkled, and she shook her head 
 at Clifford. " Monsieur the incorrigible ! " 
 
 Clifford waved his hat and cried, — " C'estentendu 
 alors ! Vive Sara ! " 
 
 " Mais non, mon petit Clifford," smiled the girl, 
 " c'est impossible — " 
 
 " Not at all," exclaimed Boissy with a reckless 
 laugh, " Clifford and I — we will arrange that ! " 
 
 " Of course," replied Clifford, " we'll fix the 
 police." 
 
 Then bedlam broke loose, and impromptu quad- 
 rilles began, and " Fatty " Carriere, unwilling to lose 
 his share of the dance, hastily locked the chest, 
 punched some air holes in the lid, oblivious of the 
 danger which Fradley would run if anybody sat 
 down on them, and went lumbering and gyrating 
 about until his elephantine gambols shook the 
 building. 
 
 Shortly afterward, the fatherly Monsieur Julian 
 appeared, softly suggesting that work should begin, 
 and ten minutes later the seats were full, the models 
 posed in the various rooms, and the scrape of char- 
 coal and palette knife alone broke the quiet of the 
 studio. 
 
 Clifford, who had missed the morning roll-call, 
 roamed about looking for a place. There appeared 
 to be none. The lines of easels radiating in circles 
 from the model-stand were all occupied. He glared 
 at the nouveaux. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 275 
 
 " This is disgusting," he observed to Elliott ! 
 " fancy a four-year man hunting a place and those 
 fool nouveaux squatting on the tabourets! " 
 
 " Come in time, — it's the only way now," replied 
 Elliott. 
 
 " Here is a place, Mr. Clifford," said Garland who 
 was sitting in the front row. Clifford threaded his 
 way among the easels to his side. 
 
 " It's very good of you," he said ; " whose name 
 is that on the floor ? " 
 
 " Fradley's," said Garland. Clifford rubbed it out 
 and substituted his own signature. 
 
 "This begins Fradley's discipline," he muttered, 
 and called to Ciceri to bring him his portfolio. 
 Then he looked at Garland and was prepossessed in 
 his favor. 
 
 "You're a nouveau, are you not?" he asked 
 amiably ; "what is your name ?" 
 
 " Garland." 
 
 " Mine is Clifford." 
 
 " Oh, we all know that," laughed Garland. 
 
 "Oh, you do! " said Clifford, " and how the devil 
 do you know it? " 
 
 Garland did not think it prudent to mention the 
 cab incident, and Clifford picked up his charcoal and 
 squinted at the model. 
 
 " I hear," said Garland, " that you older men are 
 going to discipline us." 
 
 " We are," said Clifford calmly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Well, you see, we usually receive a certain 
 
276 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 amount of respect and deference from new men, and 
 before you fellows came nobody ever heard of a 
 nouveau turning an old man out of his seat." 
 
 Carrington looked up from his easel. " I am a 
 nouveau," he said, "and I think, Mr. Clifford, you 
 will find that the nouveaux respect the traditions of 
 the studio." 
 
 " I think so, too," insisted Garland. 
 
 Clifford looked at him coldly. " Didn't you turn 
 me out last week?" he demanded. 
 
 " I," cried Garland, " never ! " 
 
 " Fradley did," said Cary, " and I noticed it at 
 the time and wondered why you didn't spank him, 
 Clifford." 
 
 " Well, by Jove ! " exclaimed Clifford, " I thought 
 it was you, Garland." 
 
 " I know you did," replied Garland indignantly, 
 " and a pretty life I've led with Rowden and Elliott 
 and all the concour men making it hot for me. I 
 respect the traditions and always will." 
 
 " Then I beg your pardon," said Clifford cordially, 
 " come and see me at my studio." 
 
 All the nouveaux knew what that meant. It in- 
 dicated that Garland would soon be released from 
 menial work, and would find himself in the charmed 
 circle of the powers that be. 
 
 " By the way," said Clifford, "there is that fellow 
 Fradley in the dust chest. Hadn't I better let him 
 out?" 
 
 " Has he enough air?" asked Selby. 
 
 " Plenty. I bored some more holes just now and 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 277 
 
 asked him how he felt. He said I was no gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " He says," said Rowden, " that it's a disgrace to 
 his family and a blot on his honour. He's an excit- 
 able customer and screams like a cat when addressed 
 through the air-holes in the lid." 
 
 " Oh, let him out," said Clifford. 
 
 "No, he must be taught decency. He's been 
 here three months, and that's long enough for the 
 studio to size him up." 
 
 " Why did you put him in ? " asked Garland. 
 
 " Because," replied Elliott, " he made a racket 
 trying to go out when Sara was speaking." 
 
 " He couldn't help it, he fell off the stool ; let him 
 out," said Clifford. 
 
 " No, he must understand that this studio won't tol- 
 erate a sneak. Did you know that he went to old Jul- 
 ian with tales of our doings and said that for his part 
 he never met such a rude and vulgar set of men be- 
 fore? He said he had not come to Paris to listen 
 to models make speeches, but had expected to find 
 a refined and elevating art atmosphere. He insisted 
 that he could not draw if the studio was noisy, and 
 he asked old Julian to stop the racket. Fancy the 
 expression on Julian's face ! " 
 
 Clifford's face was a study. " What impudence," 
 he said, " what did Julian do ? " 
 
 " He ? Oh, he told him that he was not obliged 
 to stay ; that there were other schools in Paris." 
 
 Clifford turned to his drawing and shrugged his 
 shoulders. " Let him sit in the box then," he mut- 
 
278 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 tered, steadying his plumb line with the end of his 
 pencil ; " dust-chest discipline won't hurt him ! " 
 
 Clifford was a clever draughtsman. The nouveaux 
 watched him in respectful admiration as he con- 
 structed his study, indicated a shadow here and 
 there, and then, dusting the paper, rapidly sketched 
 in the essential outlines and began to model the 
 head with a vigour and dash which did not at 
 all detract from its value as a serious academic 
 study. 
 
 Mid-day struck, and there was a scramble for hats 
 and a rush for the stairs. Bouguereau's men came 
 trampling out of their atelier with the studio band 
 at their head and the studio mascot, a pale-eyed 
 goat named " Tapage," bringing up the rear. Fol- 
 lowing Bouguereau's atelier came Doucet's two 
 rooms and behind them Chapu's sculptors. The 
 stairs were jammed, and as Clifford was in a hurry 
 to get his luncheon, he persuaded " Tapage " to 
 butt the passage clear, which the goat was only too 
 glad to do, for he smelled the appetising odour of 
 brown paper and cabbage leaves in the court 
 below. 
 
 When Clifford had reached the restaurant on the 
 corner of the boulevard he remembered that Frad- 
 ley was still in the dust-bin. " The deuce ! " he 
 muttered, " I've got to go back and let the beggar 
 out ! " 
 
 Sara, who had been posing in the second studio 
 for the concour men had also forgotten Fradley, and 
 it was only when she had finished dressing and stood 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 279 
 
 alone in the studio twisting up her burnished 
 tresses, that a rustling in the dust-chest behind her 
 recalled Fradley's existence to her mind. 
 
 " B'en vrai ! " she exclaimed, " I forgot you, my 
 friend ! " and she stooped and drawing the bolt 
 lifted the heavy lid. Fradley was squatting in a 
 corner of the chest. 
 
 " Ah ! mais ca — c'est trop fort ! " she cried in 
 self-reproach ; " I am so sorry." 
 
 Fradley snarled. 
 
 The girl looked at him curiously for a moment 
 and then began to laugh. " To think that we all 
 should have forgotten you, my poor friend ! I shall 
 scold Boissy and Clifford — oh — they shall catch it ! 
 Do you know you are very dusty ? " 
 
 Fradley arose and surveyed his cuffs. Then he 
 turned to the mirror and grew giddy with rage. 
 His long, artistically arranged hair was full of straws, 
 and his thin egotistical features bore little resem- 
 blance to Byron's at twenty, which he was confi- 
 dent they did when not smeared with soot. 
 
 " The rude, ungentlemanly creatures ! The horrid 
 brutes?" he cried. "I will complain to Julian, I 
 will have them dismissed — " 
 
 "Comment?" said the girl. 
 
 Then Fradley plunged into the French language. 
 
 " Vooly voo donny moi — er — a — rest, or vooly voo 
 pas! Je swee tray fachy, — er — er — tray, tray 
 fachy ! " 
 
 " You are angry ? Mais mon petit, tu as raison ! " 
 
 Fradley eyed her with animosity. " C'est votre 
 
280 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 faut ! " he said; " Je dirais Musseer Julian toot 
 sweet ! " 
 
 "Comment?" inquired Sara. 
 
 " Wee ! Wee ! " he said with a venomous glance 
 at her, " vooz avvy mis moi dans cette boite ! " She 
 did not understand his accusation, but she laughed 
 wickedly and marched straight up to him. Before 
 he knew what she was about she had deliberately 
 thrown her arms about his neck and kissed him. 
 
 "There," she said calmly, "we must not be ene- 
 mies, mon petit ; now I forgive you for making a 
 racket when I was trying to speak, and you may 
 tell the whole atelier that Sara has kissed you." 
 Then with an imperious nod she marched out of the 
 studio leaving Fradley petrified. 
 
 A few moments later Clifford came in and found 
 him still motionless, gaping vacantly. 
 
 " Oh, you're out, eh ? " said Clifford. Fradley 
 paid no attention to this salute, but stared at the 
 door through which Sara had disappeared. 
 
 Clifford eyed him for a moment and then sat down 
 on the chest. 
 
 "Fradley," he said, " you listen to me and I'll 
 give you a pointer or two concerning this studio. 
 Be manly and you'll get along. Don't kick against 
 tradition. Better men than either of us have con- 
 formed to the customs here and filled the stove and 
 searched for the ' grand reflecteur ' on dark days." 
 
 He looked hard at Fradley. " You had better 
 conform to custom or go somewhere else. We sel- 
 dom haze here, — we never haze a manly man, and if 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 28 1 
 
 you know anything about the Ecole des Beaux Arts 
 you will appreciate what I say." 
 
 Fradley was looking at him, but something in his 
 eyes told Clifford he was not listening. 
 
 Then Clifford rose, disgusted, and swung out 
 through the hall and down the stairs, leaving Fradley 
 in an imbecile trance. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fradley had delicate tastes. His rooms were 
 hung with pale green draperies, tidies lay on every 
 divan, and his initials were embroidered on his 
 pillow shams. He worked very little at the studio. 
 
 " It is not necessary," he told Garland ; " mere 
 painting doesn't make an artist, — it's experience ; 
 an artist must be broad ! " So Fradley began the 
 process of broadening by going to theatres, con- 
 certs, exhibitions and museums. He also presented 
 letters of introduction to families who maintained 
 nourishing tables. There was one thing about him 
 that Garland could not understand. Fradley was 
 thin, very thin, but he ate ravenously, and Garland, 
 eyeing him from his meagre face to his spindle 
 shanks, wondered why he did not grow stouter. 
 
 " It's most extraordinary," he said to Carrington, 
 " the fellow eats like a pig and grows thin on it. 
 It's very disagreeable to me. I wish he'd stop com- 
 ing in here every evening." 
 
 "You're too severe on him," said Carrington. 
 
 " I am ? Well just wait until he begins visiting 
 
282 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 you with a roll of manuscript poems to read. By 
 Jove, he nearly drives me idiotic ! " 
 
 " Oh, he's a very decent fellow," said Carrington ; 
 " he's a man of splendid morals — " 
 
 " — According to himself," said Garland. " Since 
 he arrived in the Quarter he has not missed an even- 
 ing in telling us how he scorns the immoral students 
 of this immoral Quarter, and how innocent and pure 
 he is himself. I take no stock in that sort of thing. 
 You and I are morally decent, but we don't sound 
 trumpets on that account. 
 
 Carrington was silent for a moment, then he said 
 diffidently ; " I'm rather sorry for him ; he isn't 
 popular, you know. I think we ought to be friendly 
 to him." 
 
 "It's his own fault that he is unpopular." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; anyway I might as well tell you 
 that he asked us to come to see him to-night. I ac- 
 cepted." 
 
 "Good heavens," groaned Garland, "he's sure to 
 read us a poem." 
 
 "What of it?" 
 
 " Oh, I can stand it if you can. I'm tired and 
 cross, but if you have accepted that settles it." 
 
 " It's nine o'clock," said Carrington, glancing at 
 his watch, "we might as well go now and get away 
 early. I'm dead tired myself. Come on, old chap, 
 and face the music. We nouveaux should stick to- 
 gether ! " 
 
 " You're d n democratic for an aristocrat," 
 
 laughed Garland, following him across the hallway to 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 283 
 
 Fradley's door. They found Fradley sitting before 
 the piano. He could not play the piano, but he had 
 an enervating habit of striking single notes with 
 one finger which filled Garland with murderous in- 
 clinations. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Fradley in affected surprise, " Gar- 
 land? — and Lord Ronald Carrington — " 
 
 " How are you, Fradley," said Carrington hastily, 
 " trot out your verses, for Garland and I are going to 
 sport our oak directly — we're dead beat from the 
 studio concour." 
 
 Carrington had worked modestly in the Quarter 
 for months, living under his name of Carrington 
 with no prefix, for he hated notoriety and fuss, and 
 was perfectly aware that a fuss would be made over 
 him if people discovered him to be identical with 
 the young Lord Carrington who led his company so 
 gallantly in Burmah, He had resigned from the 
 service to study art, and he worked hard and faith- 
 fully to make up for lack of ability. It took Fradley 
 to discover his title and identity and, much to Car- 
 rington's chagrin, he spread the glad news and fell 
 down and worshipped. 
 
 " Come," said Garland, "let's hear your verses. 
 Got anything to smoke ? " 
 
 "You may smoke," murmured Fradley, in a 
 trance before Carrington, " for Lord Carrington 
 smokes — " 
 
 " For goodness, sake call me Carrington," said 
 Ronald, " and give us some tobacco will you ? " 
 
 Fradley produced his tobacco and then began to 
 
284 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 glide about the room tidying things, arranging 
 knick-knacks, dusting albums, until Garland shud- 
 dered. 
 
 " Come, Fradley," he said, as amiably as he could, 
 " trot out your grog and poetry and let's get to bed. 
 You know we only have to-morrow on the concour 
 and we must get up early." 
 
 Fradley tripped over to the piano, found his 
 manuscript, tripped back again to the fireplace, sat 
 down, throwing one lank leg over the other, and 
 coughed gently. 
 
 " It's only a trifle — a little thing I finished to- 
 night. Let me read it to you." 
 
 Garland, aghast at the bulky manuscript, lighted 
 a cigar and gave himself up to gloom. Carrington 
 settled back in his chair and determined to enjoy it. 
 
 " It is entitled, ' The Kiss of Sin,' " observed 
 Fradley. 
 
 " Oh, fin-de-siecle ? inquired Carrington. 
 
 " I thought you were opposed to immorality," 
 said Garland. 
 
 " This is moral ! " gasped Fradley, " do you think 
 I would — " 
 
 " No — no ! go on, old fellow," said Carrington. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," muttered Garland. 
 
 Then with a smile the poet began : 
 
 " Her burnished hair is red as flame, 
 Her red lips burn like fire, 
 And she has pressed the kiss of shame, 
 Upon my lips. Am I to blame ? 
 Away, bold siren ! Learn to tame 
 Thy culpable desire ! " 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 285 
 
 " Now is that immoral ? " asked Fradley. 
 
 Ronald was dozing, eyes wide open. 
 
 " No," said Garland, " that's harmless ; go on," 
 and he curled himself up in the armchair and thought 
 of Sara La Rousse. The poem was in cantos and 
 they were numerous. Some cantos were tearful, 
 some tempestuous. Many paid beautiful tribute to 
 temperance, such as the verse beginning: 
 
 "Away! away! with the rose-wreathed cup ! " 
 
 A little further along, Fradley's morals tottered, for 
 the lines, 
 
 "Oh, never shall lips of mine be pressed 
 To thy wicked mouth or thy sinful breast ! " 
 
 were almost immediately followed by : 
 
 " Beautiful creature, fly with me ! 
 I'll build thee a house 'neath the hawthorn tree." 
 
 " I thought you said you gave her the shake ! " 
 interrupted Garland querulously. Carrington woke 
 up at the same moment and looked terribly ashamed 
 of himself. 
 
 " Very charming," he murmured, " it's about Sara, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 Fradley blushed. " Oh, no — er — it's only a poetic 
 fancy." 
 
 "Any red-headed girl — eh? " said Garland rising; 
 " well, I am awfully obliged to you, — we'll have the 
 rest of it soon I hope — come along, Ronald." 
 
 Fradley accompanied them to the door. 
 
286 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 " Are you going to that — that orgie at the Bal 
 Bullier on Mi-Careme? " he asked. 
 
 "I am," said Garland. 
 
 "Are you?" he asked of Carrington. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose so ; everybody else is going." 
 
 " And do you think it right ? " 
 
 " No — it's not decent ; you would not enjoy it," 
 said Garland with a malicious smile. " Don't go." 
 
 " I don't know — I don't know," murmured Frad- 
 ley ; "an artist must be broad — " 
 
 " Especially when he's abroad — " 
 
 " Oh, come on ! " grumbled Carrington, — " good 
 night, Fradley, awfully obliged you know." 
 
 The poet entered his boudoir and lighting a wax 
 candle looked at himself in the mirror. He smoothed 
 his love-locks, touched his lips with glycerine, and 
 crawling into an embroidered night-shirt sank lan- 
 guidly upon the bed, pulling the silken coverlet over 
 his ears. Then he began to think of Sara. 
 
 V. 
 
 From the Seine to the Bullier, the Boulevard St. 
 Michel lay glistening under the frosty stars. On 
 the fountain in the Place St. Michel, the iron grif- 
 fins which spat water all summer into the basin below, 
 sat grim and helpless, jaws and claws bound in chains 
 of ice. Above them victorious St. Michel lifted the 
 flat of his sword to spank a prostrate Satan whose 
 nether limbs were now mercifully padded with snow. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 287 
 
 The Boulevard, packed from gutter to gutter, 
 echoed with the fanfare of Carnival. Cabs crowded 
 along five deep ; tram-cars and omnibuses wheezed 
 and tooted and ploughed their way through the con- 
 stantly increasing throngs. 
 
 With mask and horn andmirliton the crowd swept 
 through the boulevard, while from the terraces 
 and windows of every cafe, students sprawled, and 
 shouted and chanted strange anthems to celebrate 
 the Mi-Careme. 
 
 The Cafe Vachette was festooned with gas jets, 
 the Cafe de la Source glowed under clusters of elec- 
 tric globes, the Cafes d'Harcourt and Rouge were 
 ablaze with lanterns and electricity, and the ice- 
 covered fountain in the Place de Medici flashed back 
 from its crystalline basin a million sparkling rays of 
 blue and gold. On top of the hill the Bullier rose 
 terraced with coloured lamps, bathed in a flood of 
 electric light, which traced a trembling network of 
 shadows over the asphalt among the trees of the 
 Avenue de L'Observatoire. And among the shad- 
 ows which the branches flung across the parkway, 
 partly concealed by the terrace of the cafe which 
 forms the angle of the avenue, a figure, enveloped 
 in a sealskin overcoat, shivered and peered across 
 the square to where the frivolous and godless were 
 pouring along the sidewalk to the Bullier. On they 
 swept, with horn and song and the rattle of canes on 
 bench and shutter ; and past them dashed cab after 
 cab, halting for an instant at the entrance, while 
 visions of light draperies and lighter feet sped across 
 
288 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 the foyer to the cloak-room. Now a band of archi- 
 tects arrived, chanting the slogan of Lalou, now 
 a masked company of artists in blouse and beret, 
 locking arms with a dozen of the gentler sex. At 
 times the throng closed about some favourite who 
 immediately mounted a boulevard bench to ha- 
 rangue them on the evil of being serious. 
 
 The figure in the sealskin overcoat appeared to be 
 interested, and ventured a little way along the square, 
 but was almost immediately frightened back by the 
 voice of a compatriot, inebriated but melodious ; 
 
 " He didn't come back no more. 
 N— o!" 
 He didn't come more. 
 
 " N — n she sat by the fire — hie I " 
 
 It was Arizona. 
 
 " N — n she sat by the fire — " 
 
 here memory proved treacherous, and, after several 
 attempts to recall the fate of the abandoned one, 
 Arizona jerked a large felt hat over one eye, 
 squared his shoulders, advanced his lower jaw and 
 began to yell. " Come an' pick up the dead — aw ! 
 Come an' rescue the dyin' ! It's my night to 
 howl, an' a souvenir goes with each an' every 
 corpse ! " 
 
 Across the square somebody in the crowd shouted : 
 " Arizona, shut up ! " 
 
 " Was that ? " demanded Arizona indignantly ; 
 and, encircling a tree with one arm, he started the 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 289 
 
 other in a rapid rotary motion increasing in velocity 
 until it looked like an extinct Catherine-wheel. 
 
 "What's the matter, Arizona ? " asked Garland 
 who came running across the street ; " you know 
 you mustn't yell like that in English." 
 
 "A souvenir goes with each corpse," said Arizona 
 sullenly, " I'm a pitiless wolf — " 
 
 " You're a pitiful ass," said Clifford, coming up, 
 " whom are you scrapping with now ? " 
 
 " If I find him I'll jump on to his neck," said 
 Arizona sulkily. 
 
 " He means Fradley," said Elliott to Clifford, 
 " he's jealous because Sara forbade him to assault 
 Fradley." 
 
 The figure in the sealskin coat shuddered behind 
 his tree. 
 
 " Arizona, my son," said Clifford, " you're a 
 nouveau yet, and you'd better not make yourself too 
 conspicuous. You're drunk too, and if I catch you 
 trying to get into the Bullier I'll settle with you in 
 a way you'll remember. Give me that six-shooter 
 — quick. Now don't try any of your cheap cow- 
 boy humor in the Latin Quarter. Go home." 
 
 " Look yere, Clifford," said Arizona, " I'm a noovo 
 but I ain't no slouch, an' you fellows never have to 
 tell me to be less fresh. Now I — hie ! — I objec' to 
 Fradley chasin' Sara — " 
 
 " You have no claims on Sara," said Elliott laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " All right, then I hain't, but I objec' to that fool- 
 hen Fradley scratchin' alkali in my sage-bush. 
 x 9 
 
29O THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 Mebbe Sara ain't my business ; but I'm doin' dooty 
 about thet there public claim, an' I'm death on 
 jumpers like him ! " 
 
 At that moment the uproar on the boulevard 
 was redoubled. A battalion of singing students, 
 each clad in evening dress over which was draped a 
 white blouse, was advancing from the Boulevard 
 Montparnasse. 
 
 " Come on, Garland, — Arizona, go home ! " said 
 Clifford, and he hurried across the square to join 
 the procession, followed by Elliott and Garland. 
 
 In the middle of the procession, enthroned upon 
 the roof of a cab sat Sara. She was engaged in ex- 
 ploding squibs while Boissy held the terrified horse 
 down to a sideway prance. Behind the cab marched 
 Julian's young hopefuls, singing " Lc Bal h V Hotel 
 de Ville." Sara fired a whole bunch of squibs as 
 the cab came to a halt before the statue of Marshal 
 Ney, then, as it moved on into the flare of light, 
 a mighty shout arose ; " Vive Sara ! " to which 
 that young person politely replied, " Vive l'atelier 
 Julien ! " 
 
 A moment later Sara and her cohorts were en- 
 gulfed in the throng passing through the foyer of 
 the Bal Bullier. 
 
 Half an hour later, Arizona appeared at the box 
 office and charged in with a whoop which raised the 
 hair under the silver helmet of the cavalryman on 
 guard. It was, however, nearly twelve o'clock when 
 Fradley, his eyes bulging with fright, sidled into the 
 lobby, bought his ticket and sought the den of the 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 291 
 
 female harpies who take checks for wraps. He 
 slipped the sealskin overcoat from his meagre frame, 
 and a harpy grabbed it. He hurriedly thrust the 
 zinc check into his pocket, smoothed his love-locks 
 and tripped timidly to the head of the stairs which 
 leads down to the floor of the ballroom. Here a 
 coarse red-necked man relieved him of his ticket, 
 and he stood face to face with the gilded demon — 
 Vice ! For a moment he thought of flight ; then 
 something on the floor below made him blush vio- 
 lently. 
 
 " Get out of the way ! You're blocking the 
 stairs ! " shouted the red-necked man, but Fradley 
 did not hear him in the din. Then a brutal cavalry- 
 man seized Fradley and hustled him down the stairs. 
 
 " Stop ! " screamed the poet, but somebody in the 
 crowd below caught him by the leg. It was a fear- 
 ful struggle. The red-necked man vociferated, the 
 soldier pushed and the masked figure below hauled 
 away at his feet. Fradley felt he was losing con- 
 sciousness ; the scene swam before him. For one 
 awful moment he saw, in the gaudy surging masses 
 below, the glittering pit of hell — his ears were 
 stunned by the crash of demoniac music, — then some- 
 thing gave way, the soldier snickered, and Fradley 
 found himself jerked headlong into the gulf, only to 
 be caught in the arms of a stalwart personage wear- 
 ing a false nose and a tin crown over one ear. 
 
 " Welcome to Pandemonium ! " yelled the 
 crowned personage, as he banged Fradley over the 
 head with a bladder; " and may I ask, Monsieur, if 
 
2Cj2 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 you generally come into a Royal Presence on your 
 head ?" 
 
 Before Fradley could reply, a Nautch Girl caught 
 him around the neck and swung him into the crush 
 of dancers. He struggled violently. 
 
 "What! you won't dance?'' she cried, with a 
 stamp of her bangled sandals. 
 
 " No, I won't ! " cried Fradley, perspiring with 
 terror. 
 
 " You shall ! " she insisted. 
 
 Then a clown with his face all white, came squeal- 
 ing and tumbling along, neatly floored him in an un- 
 expected flip-flap, picked him up, and laying his 
 chalky face on his shoulder, shrieked and sobbed, 
 " oh, mon frere ! mon frere ! " This was the last 
 straw. With a wrench and a twist he freed himself 
 and fled to the gallery, where he found a vacant table 
 and sat down to collect his thoughts. Little by 
 little his fright gave way to anger. A waiter dusted 
 the chalk from his coat and told him that there was 
 a mirror behind the musicians' box. Here he 
 smoothed his hair and rebuttoned his collar, keeping 
 a suspicious eye on two young ladies of the ballet 
 who were practising strange steps before an adjoin- 
 ing mirror. 
 
 " Monsieur," said one of them, "" have the good- 
 ness to tell me whether I do the " grand 6cart," as 
 well as " La Goulu." 
 
 " What is the " grand ecart," asked Fradley stiffly. 
 
 He was instructed, and he withdrew in haste to 
 his table in the gallery. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 293 
 
 A quadrille was in progress below. He stood on 
 his chair to see and then sat down again, not to see. 
 This manoeuvre he repeated at intervals and ended 
 by remaining on his chair, " For," he argued, " it's 
 life, — and an artist must be broad." 
 
 Before the quadrille ended, he was playfully- 
 toppled from his chair by a Spanish dancer, who 
 took his place and offered to reward him with a kiss 
 which he refused. After a while the dancer skipped 
 off with an Arab, and a feeling akin to loneliness 
 took possession of Fradley. 
 
 The dull red and blue woodwork of the Bullier 
 was hung with the banners of all nations. In the 
 musicians' gallery, Conor and his orchestra banged 
 away at the " March into Hell," and the tables 
 trembled with the crash of the brass. The floor was 
 crowded to suffocation. Imbecile shrieking clowns 
 in ruffles and powder, went madly bounding about, 
 Turks footed it with Russian peasant girls, gen- 
 darmes wearing false noses and enormous moustaches 
 locked arms with " ces messieurs " of the Vilette 
 who wore the charming costume of that quarter in- 
 cluding " favoris " and " rouflaquettes." Students in 
 evening-dress galloped about playing circus, and a 
 pretty Cupid, mounted on one young gentleman's 
 shoulders, challenged a shepherdess, mounted on 
 another, to a race, so away they went, crying " Allons ! 
 houp ! houp ! " From a near corner a monotonous 
 chanting arose, where some thirty students were 
 squatting in a ring beating upon drums with their 
 hands. It was the rhythmic air of an Egyptian 
 
294 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 dance which was being executed in the middle by a 
 willowy white-veiled girl who swung two gilded 
 scimitars. Like sheet lightning the broad blades of 
 the swords flashed above the silver-flecked veil, as 
 her slender, supple figure swayed to the music. 
 
 " Brava ! Bis ! Bis ! " they cried, and the girl, with 
 eyes like stars above her veil, whirled the scimitars 
 into circles of flame. Suddenly she stood rigid, there 
 came a clash of steel, the swords lay crossed before 
 her, and, as the minor air swelled out, she whipped 
 off her veil and sent it floating and billowing above 
 her head while her little feet began to move to and 
 fro among the swords, blade upward on the floor. 
 The applause was deafening as she tossed back her 
 head and said with the merriest laugh, " Je veux 
 bien boire un bock ! " 
 
 Clifford jumped up from the floor and picking up 
 the swords presented them on one knee. 
 
 "Tiens! c'est toi, mon ami ?" 
 
 " Yes. Forgive me the cab, Cexile," he murmured, 
 drawing her half resisting arm through his. 
 
 " I can't forgive you. It was too ridiculous to sit 
 there, — and somebody holding the hind wheels." 
 
 " Oh, Cecile—" 
 
 " No— no ! " 
 
 " Ma petite Cecile—" 
 
 " By Jove, she's going to forgive him," said Elliott 
 to Rowden who was dancing attendance on the pretty 
 Cupid. 
 
 " Mr. Rowden, I insist," pouted the Cupid, shaking 
 her curls. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 295 
 
 " But I don't enjoy playing circus," pleaded Row- 
 den, as Boissy pranced proudly by, his epaulettes 
 over his ears, bearing Sara as Diana, who prodded 
 him on with a silver-gilt arrow. 
 
 Then Cupid became petulant and signified her in- 
 tention of seeking another steed, and presently 
 Elliott became the pleased spectator of his friend 
 careering about in company with similarly burdened 
 youths. 
 
 " I'm not in it," sighed Elliott, until he spied Mar- 
 got, who stamped her foot and called for a steed. 
 Shortly afterwards he joined the rest in feats of the 
 haut-£cole. 
 
 To say that Fradley was enjoying himself is not 
 strictly true. Once every ten minutes he subdued 
 some bound of a tortured conscience with the 
 thought; "artists must be broad ; " but except for 
 these encounters with his doubts he found it all 
 secretly thrilling and pleasant. He was lonely, in 
 a way, yet he hardly knew what he would want of 
 company. As for speaking to any of those bright- 
 eyed young persons who now and then slapped his 
 face with a rose or rattled a tambourine over his 
 hat, — that was out of the question. No, indeed ! 
 He would look on, " because an artist must be 
 broad," but he had no desire to contaminate him- 
 self with a word or a smile from such as they. No, 
 indeed ! No ! No ! There seemed to be some need 
 of repeating this frequently to himself, but curiously 
 enough it did not assuage his loneliness. Once a 
 black-eyed Mephistopheles poked her pointed red 
 
296 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 feather into his eyes and then begged pardon with 
 an irresistible smile which, fortunately for history, 
 came several centuries too late for St. Anthony. 
 
 What Fradley might have done had not the girl 
 been carried off by Garland, nobody can tell. He 
 felt a thump in his throat and a murderous feeling 
 toward Garland, and yet he was sure that he had 
 been about to wither temptation with a frown. Car- 
 rington spoke in his ear. 
 
 " Look at Sara ! Magnificent ! " Fradley turned. 
 
 Seated upon a table in the gallery with the air of 
 an Empress, Sara received the homage of the Quar- 
 ter. Behind her C£cile and Clifford waved gaudy 
 fans and imbibed champagne in tall goblets. The 
 curly-headed Cupid and the black-eyed Mephis- 
 topheles were endangering their silken hose by slid- 
 ing down the balustrade, aided and applauded by a 
 Japanese maid and three fairies. 
 
 Fradley had eyes for Sara only. " Vulgar," he 
 said. 
 
 " Yes," said Carrington doubtfully. A great wave 
 of loneliness swept over Fradley. 
 
 " Shameless ! " he gasped. 
 
 Then Sara's strange grey eyes met his across the 
 whirl of the carnival ; he saw her throw up her 
 haughty head and send to him a wonderful smile, — a 
 smile that scorched and yet healed, and in an agony 
 of doubt he opened his lips to cry again to Carring- 
 ton — to the world, "shameless ! " but his lips were 
 dry, and his voice died in his throat with a click. 
 
 The music clashed ; C6cile dropped her glass and 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 297 
 
 clasped Clifford's hand ; Sara sprang into Boissy's 
 arms, — there was a rush, a tempest of cheers, and 
 Fradley, jostled and hustled clung to a pillar, — 
 clung a moment only, then was swept away, into 
 the throng. 
 
 " Dance ! " cried a breathless voice behind him, 
 and, " dance ! " cried another voice beside him. He 
 tried to stem the tide, — he shut his eyes, but soft 
 arms were around his neck and a puff of perfume 
 smote him like a blow in the face, and " dance ! 
 dance ! " cried a voice in his ear. He knew the voice, 
 his eyes flew open and he cried out, but " dance ! 
 dance! dance! " she panted, and her burnished hair 
 flew in his face. He saw the crescent on her brow, 
 he saw the strange grey eyes below it. Each sep- 
 arate hair in the fiery mane flashed like a perfumed 
 flame, and he reeled and steadied himself with a 
 soft hand that sought his own, while the orchestra 
 thundered and the rosy ring of faces floated away, 
 away, into an endless rosy chain. 
 
 When it was that he drank something, he could 
 not remember. He was very thirsty, and iced cham- 
 pagne was but a temporary relief. 
 
 " Good ! " cried Boissy with a stare, " so you're 
 going in for it ! " 
 
 Fradley looked at him, but Sara dropped her hand 
 on his arm saying, " Toi, tu sais bien dans<_r," and 
 turning scornfully to Boissy, " go away. You dance 
 like a gendarme ! " 
 
 The music began again, and with the music 
 bedlam broke loose. There was no pretence of 
 
298 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 sets. After a couple had danced themselves into 
 exhaustion, they climbed over the balcony and 
 watched the others. Cecile tossed her veil into the 
 human whirlpool below, laughing delightedly as the 
 silver stars were rent from it and sent scaling into 
 the air. Rowden howled through the din for Clif- 
 ford to pledge him, and smashed glass after glass in 
 a vain effort to make him hear, while the black-eyed 
 Mephistopheles, perched on Garland's shoulders, 
 poured out goblet after goblet of gold-dust and 
 flung it over the throng until heads and shoulders 
 glittered with the golden scales. Elliott had climbed 
 into the orchestra with a bottle of champagne, and 
 while the grateful musicians were quenching their 
 thirst, he pounded on the spare cymbals until the 
 handles came off and Monsieur Conor ejected him. 
 
 Then in the height of the delirium, Arizona shook 
 the walls with his war-cry. " Aw ! I'm bad ! b-b-a-a-d ! 
 Me teeth is choke-bored an' a hair-trigger works 
 both feet ! " Fradley heard that cry and trembled. 
 It came nearer and nearer. 
 
 " Pick up the dead ! Pick up the dyin', an' git 
 the souvenir! " 
 
 Sara cried : " Arizona, va t 'en ! " but it was too 
 late. With a howl from Arizona and a scream from 
 Fradley, they clinched and fell, Arizona on top. 
 He remembered that he punched Arizona and in 
 turn received a tap on the ear which made him for- 
 get that he was alive. Garland picked him up, and 
 when consciousness returned he saw Sara, furious, 
 withering Arizona with her scorn. 
 
ANOTHER GOOD MAN. 299 
 
 "Go! " she cried, pointing to the door. 
 
 Arizona, humbled and dishevelled, went. 
 
 It needed much cooling liquid to put Fradley 
 back where he had been prior to Arizona's assault, 
 and that condition was far from normal. He prof- 
 fered menaces, he attempted to divest himself of his 
 coat, but Sara, very pale, and paler still after each 
 goblet in which she pledged the exalted Fradley, 
 took possession of him with all the blindness of 
 sudden caprice. 
 
 Fradley felt that his hour, — the hour of the truly 
 great, had struck. Dimly he recalled that other 
 Fradley, the normal one, timid as a rabbit, dreading 
 battle, loathing brute force. Vaguely he remem- 
 bered that other and normal Fradley, moral, tem- 
 perate in all but feeding. And he scorned him ! 
 Buried forever let him be, that other recreant Frad- 
 ley ! And all the while he went on talking with the 
 others, capering when they capered, drinking when 
 they drank, returning gibe for gibe, defending his 
 own, claiming and pushing his claim with threats — 
 warlike threats, and all the time, dimly, dully com- 
 miserating, scorning that other, — that normal Frad- 
 ley. 
 
 Later he revived enough to have a pang of fright 
 as the cold air of the boulevard blew in his face, but 
 the cab was warm and cosey and he sank back to the 
 cushions with a sigh of content. As in a dream he 
 heard the rattle of wheels and the cries of the driver. 
 Other cabs passed — endless lines of them. It seemed 
 centuries before his cab stopped and when it did he 
 
3<D0 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 objected to leaving it, but Sara had her way, alas 
 now as hazy as his own, and the porter who opened 
 the door for them at the Cafe Sylvain, winked sol- 
 emnly at the ancient cabby, who only shook his 
 white head and drove slowly away. 
 
THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 The rock-ribbed Planet drifts across the Sun, 
 Swarming with creatures creeping on the crust, 
 Freighted with fears, and tears, and human dust, 
 
 Speaking the blank star-beacons, one by one. 
 
 Tossed on the ocean of Ten Million Nights, 
 The Moon a battered battle-lantern swings ; 
 A Meteor a battle-pennant flings, 
 
 Lost in the ocean of Ten Million Lights. 
 
 Down to the Sea in Ships ! Who knows ? — Who 
 knows 
 What Unseen Thing shall climb the mist-hung 
 
 shrouds 
 And set the spread of splendid crowding clouds, 
 And light the signals set in starry rows? 
 
 Deep in the Black Crypt of the Universe 
 A feeble thing stood sobbing on a star ; 
 " I live ! I live ! 'Tis mine to make or mar ! " 
 
 And Silence was the Answer and the Curse. 
 
 Bee-haunted blossoms bud and bloom at Noon ; 
 
 Bird-haunted meadows belt the Seven Zones ; 
 301 
 
302 THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 
 
 And under all lie bedded human bones, 
 And over all still swings the tarnished moon. 
 
 On Men and Haunts of Men — if all Light dies, — 
 And, where a million stars hang tenantless 
 Whence the last ray is fled, — yet — none the less 
 
 A Million Lamps are trimmed for other Skies. 
 
 Believe it, O my soul ! Arise and go 
 
 Forth among Men and seek the Haunts of Men ; — 
 Nor shalt thou, O my soul, return again 
 
 To tell thou knowest naught ; We know 1 We know ! 
 
 R. W. C. 
 
 April, 1896. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 202 
 

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