Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 87, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1915 — The Ambition of Mark Truitt [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Ambition of Mark Truitt

By HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

Amtkor of -THE MAN HIGHER UP * -HIS RISE TO POWER.” E»»

CWrisht. IMA hr Tbs Dobbs Mwrifl CoapHy)

SYNOPSIS. Mark Truitt ObcMm to leav« his native •town of Bethel to seek his fortune. His sweetheart Unity Martin, encourages him to his project. Simon Truitt tells his son that It lons has been his dream to see a steel plant at Bethel and asks him to return and build It if he ever sets rich. Mark arrives to the city and applies to Thomas Henley, head of the Qulnby Iron 'works, for a Job and Is sent to the construction sans- He makes a bis success to that work and Henley promisee him a ’better Job. " CHAPTER V. Crossroads. It had been an unusually stubborn "hard-tap,” requiring quick and heavy sledging to break out the hardened tflre-day and eiag in the tap-hole. The islag that had floated on the metal was laow dripping into the cinder pit, sendilng np a shower of golden sparks. Bnmsn Andzrejsski, melter in charge of the furnace, was watching the tsoerehed, haggard face of his "second !helper.” That young man. leaning 'with an air of exhaustion and discouragement on his inverted sledge, was •coughing violently. He had been'just three months In the heat and toil the •open-hearth furnacemen must endure land an unnerving fear was upon him: khat his steadily waning strength would not hold out. “Vat iss it? Zlckr Roman spoke tin the slow, careful fashion that was this habit when he used English. Mark shook his head. “Tuckered tout." “Tuckeredt out?" Roman looked tat him gravely. “You drink too much?” *T don’t drink at all.” “That iss goot Mineself,” Roman lexplained naively, "I drink too much. tUnt that iss not goot But always I has been very strung. It iss the douple I tarn." he added. "It Iss very hardt ton the young. Later it gets not bo i hardt —sometimes. Vare do you lif?” "With a Frenchman in Rose alley. Rose alley—it stinks! It’s too near the mills. I can’t sleep for the noise. Fm tired and my head aches all the time." "For two, three days then you must loot work but sleep.” Mark’s red eyes darted angry suspicion at his chief. "I suppose you want my job for somebody else,” he i sneered. "No. You are a goot vorker. Unt II like you." "All the same," Mark answered doggedly, "I quit when I have to—not before." "You do not belief me." Roman i shrugged his big shoulders. "Vat do you eat?" "Oh, soup and brown bread and potatoes mostly. That’s the trouble, I guess. “Hundert t’ousandt defils! Zo little unt you vork here! You are American, you must eat. Vy you not lif smother place?” “The Frenchies sort o’ think they’re friends. They wouldn’t understand." “Zo? But here,” Roman shrugged his shoulders again, "It iss a man must be for himself.—Ve vork now.” They returned to their task. Even double turns have an end. The night shift came on at last At the trough for cooling tools Mark washed away the grimy sweat that streamed down his face. Then he donned a dry shirt and a heavy overcoat Despite this covering his overheated body shivered when the raw, early April wind struck him.

"Vait! ” And Roman was beside Mm. “I has decitedt Tou come 111 by my house." “I guess not," Mark answered wearily, “I guess you don’t want me." "I has decitedt,” Roman repeated. "You has been goot frlendts to your friendta —you rill be to us also. I has a big house. It iss still there; you shall sleep unt not hear the mills. Unt my she iss goot cook. Unt meppy you make friends vit my Piotr. He bass no American friendti.” "You might get tired of me.” "Zo? Then rill I tell you." said Roman simply. "Also, you Till tell ns. Ten you get tiredt of us. Unt you Till not be chargedt too much. You Till come?" Mark hesitated, then laughed grim* ly. "Will I come!" "Goot!” Roman laid a kindly hand on Mark’s shoulder. "Now Till you belief me unt not vork till the coldt iss toIL You Till come tomorrow?" And. the matter arranged, they part* ed for Hie night Roman's house, big only by comparison with three-room tenements, was on a quiet street on one of the city's seven hills. Mark was tucked away in a third-story room. Not even Ms fancy, less lively than in months agpiMt Bttt still fertile, could conceive the cheap bed and rocker, rag carpet and unpainted table as the trappings of luxury.' But it was dean and comfortable, through Its windows swept dw air tor which his countrybred lungs were starring and the mills were heard only as a subdued, not unmusical rumble. Also, immeasurable boon! there was in that house a bathtub; his attendance upon it astonished even who esteemed bathing more highly than did the rest of Ro-

For three days, hearkening to Roman's counsel, he did nothing but sleep and eat His cold disappeared. His flagging strength revived. Then he gave himself anew to the endless, narrow grind—toll, oat, sleep and toil again. Roman’s house, it is true, contained more than comfortable beds and a bathtub, a tact to which Mark gave at first but scant attention. There was Roman himself, in the mills a precise, patient, unflurried workman, outside a good-natured. Impulsive giant, with a child’s ungoverned appetite. There was Hanks, his wife, always called Matka —mother—a drab, shriveled little woman who aTter twelve years In America had learned hardly a word of English. Plotr was a greedy, usually sullen boy of eighteen, still In high school, always bent over his troublesome books. He had a‘ club foot and the heavy labor of the mills was not for him. "Plotr iss a goot boy,” Roman confided to Mark, "hut he iss ashamedt that he iss Hunky. I am not ashamedt. He beliefs ven he iss smart with his hooks he vlll he American. But,” the father sighed, "Plotr iss not smart." Also, there was Kazia. At first Mark gave but passing notice to the girl who moved so quietly

around the house, waiting on the table, sweeping and sewing. Having certain standards of beauty, he carelessly decided that she had none of it What hopes Roman may have cherished from the presence of a young American In Ms home were not at once realized. Even when Mark had regained much of his strength, the fear of physical collapse always hung over him. There was no night or morning when he did not return ready, after bathing and eating, to seek his bed. Even with all the rest he could get his former bodily freshness and eagerness never returned. He did not mean to be selfish. Sometimes at the end of a meal he caught Roman’s wistful glance and felt uncomfortably that he was failing in an obligation. But always he went straightway to his room and his precious sleep, adhering rigidly to his routine —toil, eat, sleep and toil again, hoarding Ms strength as a miser hoards his gold. Had not Roman said, "A m»n must be for himself?*’ And always there floated before Mm a picture so sweetly pathetic as almost to invoke tears: Unity, the faithful Penelope, trustingly awaiting her adventuring lord’s return. Thus the life fashioned him. It was no longer self-denial that he might earn gratification at another time, but self-control lest he go dowu in the melee. But one night he discovered Kaxla — the real Kazia.

CHAPTER VI. Melting Ore. A gentleman, who mast mss down in history as Mr. A, led to the discovery. Mr. A. an oarsman who could propel his boat five miles am hour in still water, undertook to row twentythree miles up a,river whose current ran two and one-half miles an hour, and back. The problem was: In how long did Mr. A accomplish this feat? Auk upon Piotr fell the duty of finding the solution. Piotr felt painfully incompetent. **Na miloec Boga!" When Piotr dropped back into Polish, deep emotion was stirring. It was at the end of sapper on a Saturday night when the other shift worked and Mask's rested for twentyfour hours. That day Henley, passing the furnaces, had spoken to Mm by name, leaving; a glow that had not subsided. v the matter, Piotr?" *T can't work this problem." "Let me see It” If we could but measure our impulses! Piotr looked up astounded. "Do you Jnt&w y^6brET** : ;4- ,■ .-3,.,'/’ 1

He sat down and quickly worked out the problem. Then he led Plotr slowly through the equations thrice, after which he let the boy begin unaided a stumbling hut finally successful pursuit of the elusive x. While Plotr was floundering, his new mentor felt some one behind him. He glanced around and caught Kazia, her arms full of unwashed dishes, looking at him. The wonted indifference had fled before a look of surprised Interest. Mark stared, incredulous; it seemed not the same face. But the new look vanished instantly. He had a sense, of bafflement, as if he had come upon a rare picture just aa a curtain was drawn. "Fine!” he exclaimed, clapping Plotr on the shoulder; he had not heard the last few equations. ’’We’ll make a scholar out of you yet, Pete.” "Pete!” The boy’s homely face lighted up. “Kazia, did you hear? He called me Pete.” “I like Piotr better,’’ she said, with a shrug that imperiled her burden. "Do you,” Piotr turned again to Mark, "do you know Latin, too?" “Oh, a little!” Mark sought Kazia’s face as this announcement of his erudition felL But Kazia was looking away. “And will you help me with that sometimes?” “Sure. Sometimes,” Mark assented recklessly. But Piotr was insatiable. “Every night?”

“Well, no," said Mark, recovering caution. “Not every night. I can’t —" “Of course not, Piotr,” Kazia cut in. “He can't wasce time on a stupid little Hunky." “I’m not a Hunky,” Piotr resented passionately, addressing Kazia hut for Mark’s benefit, "any more’n you are. We are—we were —Poles. But we're Americans now. Why, I’ve almost forgotten how to talk Polish — except to the Matka,” he added conscientiously. “Will you help me tonight?*’ he returned to Mark, with less assurance. “It’s Caesar. And I am stupid,” he sighed. Mark, though repenting his rashness, could not well refuse. For an hour they listened while Caesar unctuously told how he had taught the conquered Vercingetorix his place. But Kazia was not at any time present during the lesson. At laßt, yawning mightily, Mark arose. He went up to his room, bearing Piotr’s awkward gratitude and followed by a look of humble admiration it is probably well he did not perceive. But the Incident had its sequel. He found a light burning dimly In the narrow hallway before his door, and coming out of his room —Kazia. “I was fixing things,” she exclaimed, indifferent as ever. “Thank you, Kazia.” The room, as he remembered it, had been in perfect order. He Btood aside to let her pass. She took one step and then stopped abruptly, looking up at him with suddenly hostile eyes. “What,” she demanded, “did you come here for?” He smiled —the smile of age for a naughty but amusing child. “Because your father asked me, I guess.” 41 “But you know Latin and algebra and things.” “Why, what’s that got to do with it, Kazia?” “We don’t. We’re just mill-workers —and Hunkies.” He was not schooled in the reading of voices, but he caught bitterness there. He looked at her more intently —and more kindly. “What,” she repeated resentfully, “did you come here for? You don’t like ns. You won’t have anything to do with us. You eat, then go up to your room and stay there. We thought you were coming to be friends with Piotr” —an almost imperceptible pause —“and me.’’

"I come up to sleep, Kazia. You see, I was pretty near on my last legs when I came here and I need all the rest I can get. I’m not used to work in the mills and I guess I’m not so strong as I look. If I'm going to get ahead, I’ve got to do it while I can stand the work. Besides I didn't think you cared whether I liked you or not" "I don't” she declared, with a-little uptilting of her chin; it was a beautifully molded feature. The movement called his eyes to the slender yet strong and rounded throat. He wondered that these beauties had escaped his notice. *T don’t But Piotr and Uncle Roman do.” "Uncle Roman?" It was the first time he had heard the phrase. “I thought he was your father, Kazia." "No. I—l have no father." "Oh!" He assumed a bereavement On a sudden pitying impulse he put out his hand and laid it on her bare forearm; the flesh was smooth and firm. “That’s too bad, Kazia.” And then, most unexpectedly, the curtain was drawn aside for Mm. «*I won’t be pitied!” With the cry fell away the Kaxla he had known, as did Cinderella’s tatters. In her place stood a girl who seemed taller, whose head was held In a fashion peculiar, in Ma to very proud and fine ladies. Her eyes blazed defiance. She

all ashamed. But 1 ain't ashamed. I won’t have you pity me.” This was mystery. But he did not press her for an explanation. He was more Interested in another phenomenon. “Do yon know you’re mighty goodlooking, Kazia?” The angry crimson deepened. “You’re laughing at me. You’re —” •"But I'm not laughing.” He canght her arm again, gently. To only surprised. I didn’t think you were. But you are —when you’re interested or mad. Only please don’t be mad, because—” What was this unconsidered thing he was saying? The words ran on—" Because I want to be friends with you. Don’t you want me to stay?” —: For a silent moment she looked at him strangely. “Yes.” She turned abruptly and left him, descending the stairs without so much as a glance backward. For a full minute he stood looking at the place where she had been. Then he drew a long sighing breath. “She’s a queer one,” he muttered. When he awoke, the late morning sunshine filled his room. But the eager expectancy pervading him, as if some long planned holiday had dawned, was more than a reflection of this outer radiance. He bathed and dressed carefully. And for the first time he perceived that his clothes, relic of Bethel dayß, lacked something when judged by city standards. He frowned at the image in the cheap mirror. “I must buy a new suit,” he muttered. When he went downstairs he found Kazia bending over a window box in the dining room, where three scarlet geraniums flamed. She heard his approach and turned slowly. . . . No deceptive half-light, but the full glory of spring sunshine, was upon her. She was Indifferent as ever. But the transformation held. “Oh! Hullo!” “Hello!" she said quietly, and moved away toward the kitchen. “Kazia—” She paused inquiringly. “Er —” he floundered. "It’s a fine morning.” “Yes,” she said. His remark, he felt, hardly justified her detention. He groped about for a more fertile topic. “Fine geraniums you’ve got there, Kazia.” “Yes.” “My goodness!” he laughed. “Is ‘yes’ all you can say? Don’t you remember we agreed to be friends?” “I said I wanted you to stay,” she corrected without enthusiasm. “I’ll get your breakfast.” This time she accomplished her escape. He sat at the table, loftily amused. Probably—thus he considered her unresponsiveness—the poor thing still doubted his sincerity. And she had reason, beyond question; on the whole he had been selfish In his rigid seclusion. He must repair that. Kazia, bearing his breakfast, • interrupted his musings. He surveyed ap-

proringly the dishes she set before' him. "You're a fine cook, Kaxia. Now don’t,” he protested humorously, “say ‘yea/ ” Unsmilingly she ignored both the compliment and the jest. "Will that be alir* "Well, no.” “What else?” •*You might," he smiled, “sit down and be —friendly.” - /j “Tve got to work.” “It seems,” he complained, “you’re always working.” She shrugged her shoulders, “That’s what I*m for.” And she left him. • fie frowned. It might hare been raining on his holiday. He was able, nevertheless, to make a substantial breakfast. Back in his room, which she had set in order while ,he ate, he formally and finally dismissed Kaxia from his mind his weakly letter to Unity.

At the end ot an near “My darling" stared at him from an otherwise empty pace, and he was (flowering out Into the —«nHt streeta and wondering why |f—«a wanted him to etay. why her Indifference of the morning and why his disappointment, A youth mm! his sweetheart strolled by below him. The sight, the music of their laughter, aggravated hla restlessness and gave him an idea. "That's it, exactly. I will go down and get Kaxia and take a walk in the park. Poor girt! I expect she needs company, too.” He found her in the dining room — and already attired for holiday sauntering. A ladles' seminary graduate might hare been stirred to criticism of the cheap white dress and coarse straw hat with Its single blue ribbon; he was not. We may doubt that he saw them at all, for her eyes were dancing and per lips smiling mischievously at Piotr, who sat in one corner, nursing his club foot and glaring fiercely at her. She could be gay, then. But the smile disappeared upon his entrance. Nevertheless, “Karla,” he announced boldly, "we’re going walking in the park.” “Are we?” “Well, aren’t we?” He modified his Bultaneeque air a little. “I’d like you to come.” “No.” “She’s going with Jim Whiting,” Piotr explained grumpily. “He’s her fellow.’’ “Oh!” Mark blinked stupidly. Evidently other ' youths had discovered her. It was strangely disturbing. He recovered himself, grinning wryly. “Serves me right. I took too much for granted, didn’t I? I’m sorry.” Til go with you,” Piotr volunteered promptly. “Oh, all right. Come along, Piotr.” "Pete,” corrected Piotr, “In a minute.” So, though not as he had planned, Mark sallied forth into the golden afternoon. Piotr, anxious to impress this wonderful boarder whose learning made light of the difficulties of Messrs. A, B and C and defied the intricacies of the subjunctive, talked, at first shyly, thqn more freely, mostly of himself, this being one of the two subjects in which he was deeply Interested. Mark let him ramble, on and listened to his own thoughts, which chiefly concern Kaxia. He ruefully wished that he had not been so ready to assume her assent. Piotr’s ambition, the monologue developed, soared high; It included notable achievements as a labor leader, although his notions of the historic conflict were a little vague. As they parsed the mouth of a little dell they were halted by this tableau: Kazia leaning against a tree and Jim .Whiting at her feet tying the shoe-lace that had come loose. He was unconscionably long about it, Mark thought. He mußt have said something, for she laughed, a clear ringing note. The kneeling gallant arose. Mark saw a man two or three years his senior, not ill-looking despite his too heavy lips and loose jaw and “sporty” clothes. Mark disliked him at once. Whiting took Kaxia’s arm and led her slowly along the delL “Psiakrew!” muttered Piotr, In the Pole’s deadly insult The homely face waa pale, convulsed wjth hate and a real suffering. Even Mark, self-absorbed, could see that. He patted the boy on the shoulder. “Never mind. Pete She can’t think much, of him.” “He’s not fit for her,” Piotr cried. “Right!” Mark agreed firmly. Piotr went further. “Nobody’s fit for her.” "Kazia’s a mighty nice girl,” Mark declared, less sweepingly. “Yes, she’s nice. And she’s smart too, smarter’n me. She’s smart as you.” Piotr looked up fiercely, as if expecting contradiction. “Sure, she is! But I’m afraid,” very casually, this, “she doesn't like me very well.” Piotr jumped at the bait “She thinks you’re stuck-up and selfish,” he explained. “And she’s always afraid everybody, 'cept Jim Whiting, ’ll look down on her because her mother” — Piotr flushed —“wasn’t married.” So that was the reason for her outburst of the night before. Poor Kazia! Mark had not needed to go out of virtuous Bethel to learn the lot of Hagar's children. “Do you look down on her?” Piotr demanded aggressively. “Of course not! And you needn’t be ashamed of her, either —it isn’t her fault, is it? I don’t like,” Mark said slowly, "to see her with that Whiting. I wish —I wish she liked me a little better.” He did not see the startled questioning look Piotr gave him. “Kaxia,” asserted the hoy, "never changes. I’m going home.” They strolled homeward, each moodily silent Despite the comfortable quarters and nourishing food, now his strength lagged painfully; his scorched face became haggard. And each morning he dragged himself wearily homeward, blind to the day's beauty. But he did not.forget Kaxia. Always a leech-like Piotr awaited his return, with problems to be solved and paragraphs to be construed. Nor did he wait In vain. Every morning Mark patiently sacrificed an hour of the needed sleep on the altar of the boy’s rare stupidity. He did not look to Piotr's gratitude for his reward. The direct charge into the mouth of the enemy’s cannon is spectacular and heroic, but the great strategists have relied upon the movement in flank. On Friday Mark came within sight of the coveted position. - . “There’s throe problems and a whole page at Indirect discourse" the scholar T-"- ■ ** * v t V J V, .. -■ * -*•s* c - 1 '~—.Tvf

announced. He added the conp&EC “You’re late.** “All right,” Mark sighed- “Bring ’em out.” ' • ~ Then Kaxia spoke her protest. -Piotr. can’t you see he’s tired T” “But I cant do ’em.” sulky at once. “And I haven’t failed once this week.” “Piotr, you’re a greedy Hunky pig. Don’t you do it,” she turned to Mara. “Sunday's the double turn.” Was this the olive branch? Nothing then could have persuaded him to give up the hour with Piotr. But he saw an opening; he unlimbered a big gun and sent one shell screaming toward her camp. "You,” he said with crushing dignity, “will be walking in the park and won’t care. Piotr, we’re losing time.” . She turned away so quickly that he could not Judge his marksmanship. The lesson began and lasted until Piotr rushed off to school. The double turn came and waa duly endured, as are most of life’s dreaded trials when they actually present themselves. But even Roman showed the effects of the long-strain. When he reached home he began at once to drown his fatigue in huge potations. Mark went to his room. There a surprise awaited him: dean clothes, neatly laid out —also Kaxia, whp had Just completed this kindly service. “I thought you’d like to clean up before supper,” she explained with a new diffidence. “Thank you, Kaxia You always think of the right things.” “No, not always.” She moved toward the door —anxious to avoid him, as usual, he thought. But he had no spirit for the siege just then. He dropped into the chair, burying hiß throbbing head in his handa He supposed that she had gone. But she had not gone. She stood uncertain in the doorway, watching the tired dejected figure he made. “Not always," she repeated. The ready color mounted. “Sometimes I’m —cranky when I don’t want to be.” He glanced up, bewildered by this sudden striking of colors. “You look awful tired,” she went on hurriedly. He nodded stupidly, trying to grasp the fact that for once she was neither hostile nor indifferent “It’s the heat" “It’ll be worse In summer. It hurts even Uncle Roman then. You can’t stand It” He roused himself. “Yes, I can stand It—because I will.” Richard Courtney would have detected a new firmness in the line of the grimly shut mouth. “Several thousand men stand it” “I hope so,”- she answered gravely. "When you say it that way, you rqghe me think you can.” "I say It to make myself think so, I guess." He laughed shortly. Then he observed that she was wearing her white dress; the reason, of course, was obvious. “Was it a nice walk today?” “I didn’t go.” “Oh!” He leaned forward, very eagerly for an exhausted man. “Kaxia, do you still think I’m stuck-up and selfish r . she shook her head slowly. “You’ve been so nice to Piotr this week, when you’ve been so tired.” “Kazia —” Before that honest gaze he, too, had to be honest. “Kaxia, I did it to make you think that. Bat it was to help hint you wanted me to stay,-wasn’t it?*' “No, it wasn't.” “Then„why?” Her eyes looked unwaveringly into his. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. "Because you’re different, I guess. You know things. You —” A queer little frown of puzzlement furrowed the pretty brow as she groped for the words. She sighed impatiently, for the groping was fruitless. “You’re just —different. I thought I could learn something from you—mebby.” “Will you go walking with me next Sunday, Kazia?” “Yes," she said very gravely. “Kazia,” he pleaded whimsically, “you even laugh for others —sometimes. Don’t you think you might smile for me this once, anyhow?" A smile quivered on her lips and was gone. But for a breath she lingered, her questioning eyes still upon him.

CHAPTER VII. Soldier and Maid. He sat a little apart from her, that he might see her the better. It had been a delicious game, spinning non* sense to lure her forth from the grave reticent mood upon her that Sabbath afternoon and then letting.her lapae into gravity and silence once more. fie had found a surprising skill for it; he could play upon her and elicit just the note he desired. It had been so, ever since she had so unexpectedly laid down ho* hostility. But he was not quite sure which of the two finales he liked the better —her of the deer ringing laugh with its hint of daring;' or the subdued pensive maid whose eyes wistfully sought the horizon. The softer mood was upon her then. She sat, chin cupped In both handa, gazing out over the undulating scree of close-cropped greensward. “Yon like itr* he queried.* She nodded. “Huh!” he boasted. “You aught to see the hills up in BetheL They don’t look like they’d just been to the barber's. And yon can always smell flowers somewhere,” He sniffed reminiscently. “And the woods! You’d llko them. The trees are real trees, bigi fellows that have been there merutoj a hundred years. You can get lost there.” “You could leave that! Why?” “To make money," he crassly. ' V “I wouldn’t tears it for money.* i

Also, There Was Kazla.

“Karla,” He Announced Boldy, "We’re Going Walking in the Park.”