Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 April 1915 — The Ambition of Mark Truitt [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Ambition of Mark Truitt

By HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

Author of THE MAN HIGHER UP.” “HIS RISK TO POWER.” Etc.

(Copyright, ml by The Bobbs-Merrfll Company)

BYNOPSI&. Mark Truitt, •ncouracod by hi* sweetheart, Unity Martin, leave* Bethel, hU native town, to seek hla fortune. Simon Truitt telle Mark that it lone haa been hla dream to aee a steel plant at Bethel and aaka the non to return and build one If he ever (eta rich. Mark appllea to Thomas Henley, head of the Qulnby Iron works, for a Job and la aent to the construction gang; Hla aucceaa In that work wins him a place aa helper to Roman Aodtnjxakl, open-hearth furnacetnan. He becomes a boarder In Roman’* home and ■■all* Ptotr. Roman's aon. in hla atudlea. Kaata, an adopted daughter, ahowa her gratitude In auch a manner aa to arouse Mark's Interest in her. Heavy work In the Intense heat of the furnace cause* Mark to collapse and Kazia care* for him. Later Roman also succumbs and Mark gets hla Job. Roman resents this and tails Mark to find another boarding place. Five years elapse during which Mark haa advanced to the foremanshlp. while his labor-saving devices hav* made him invaluable to the company. In the meantime Kaaia has married one Jim ■Whiting. Mark meets with an accident which dooms him to be a cripple for life. He returns to Bethel Intending to stay there. He finds Unity about to marry another man and wins her back. Unity argue him to return to hla work in the city. Mark rises rapidly to wealth and power in the steel business, but the social ambitions of his wife make their married life unhappy. The big steel Interests are secretly anxious to get hold of stock In the Iroquois Iron company, supposed to be worthless. Timothy Woodhouse seeks financial assistance from Mark and the latter buys Woodhouae’s Iroquois stock at a small figure. Henley forces Qulnby to let Mark have stock In the Qulnby company, through a threat that ts he does not he will lose both of them. CHAPTER XV—Continued. It was the less satisfying because he foresaw the end of a chapter. He had ■pent himself: in body—he was no longer capable of long intense application. he had fallen back upon the invalid’s last resort, drugs; to mind — the creative faculty seemed dead, that very morning a young man to the mills had announced an important Invention that was to have been Truitt's magnum opus and upon which his sterile brain had labored in vain; to soul — he oould no longer dream. And for reward he had —the dry fact of a triumph he could not sense and the prospect of an empty, useless, discontented future. He was a critic, you see; but not of himself. The world was out of joint. Passert-by were diverted from their owq cares by the sight of a welldressed man stamping his cane on the pavement and mattering aloud: "An evil fate pursues me. Other men do as I do, desire as I desire and find content. Why can’t I be contented — and happy?" A thousand faces streamed past him, unrecognised and unrecognizing. Then, at a corner where two currents dammed each other, appeared one that seemed oddly familiar. It was of an undistinguished homeliness, pasty pale, morose, matching well the general shabbiness of its owner. At first Mark, confused by the dirty brown beard, did not recognize him.

The ">«« hud no doubts. At sight of Mark an evil glitter sprang into the sullen eyes. -You!" By the hate that had lived through fifteen years Mark placed him. “Piotr Andsrejsskl!” "Peter Anderson,” the man corrected him. "That’s a good American name. I’d forgotten you had a preference." Mark smiled and held out a friendly hand. “How are you, Peter Anderson?" The hand was Ignored. When Peter Anderson sneered, his homeliness became almost grotesque. “Since you're so interested, I manage to keep alive." “How do you manage it?” "I’m a compositor on the Outcry—when there's any money for an Issue.” “The Outcry T* "You’ll hear of It yet. It’s the paper of our Cause.” Mark knew of but one cause that employed the capital. "Socialism. I suppose." He Bmiled Indulgently. *T hope it’s in funds sufficiently often.” “I l<sok it. don’t I?” __ The answer was so obvious that Mark avoided it ’’How,” he asked hastily, “is Roman?” "He breathes and sleeps and eats. But he’s dead.’’ “Is that a Socialist parable? I’m not a Socialist so you’ll have to explain.” “His mfnd’s gone. It began to go soon after you stole his job. But probably you’ve forgotten that too.” "I have no recollection,’' said Mark coldly, “of any such occurrence.” With a curt nod, he passed on. , He gone but a few steps when he halted and looked back. Peter, unmindful of elbowing pedestrians, was still at the comer, glaring at him. Impulsively he turned and retraced his steps. “See here. Piotr,” he said. “Let us not use hard names. There axe a good many things we’d never agree on. But we I ** n agree on this —you're hard up. I’ve been luckier than you. What can I do to help your* Piotr’i lips formed a surly, "Nothing.” But the refusal did not fail. ▲ look of transparent craft displaced (malevolence. “Do you mean that?” he asked suapiciously. . "I'm not in the haMt— ** "I don't care about your habits,” qpiotr interrupted ungraciously. "If

you want to do something, you can lend me a hundred dollars.” “Lend," evidently, was a euphemism. “What will you do—still, that's your business. Of course, 1 will. 1 wish you’d asked me something harder. Come along to the bank." The bank was a few blocks awsy. Mark improved the time by asking the details of Roman’s circumstances. Piotr, sullenness not lifted by the prospect of money, answered shortly. It was a pitiable story of descent—of the gradual dissipation of the savings of Roman's active years and the swift failure, through idleness and too much alcohol, of his mental powers, leaving him and Hanka dependent upon Plotr's scanty and uncertain earnings.:, * "Where," Mark asked, as they entered the bank, “do you live now?" "Rose Alley.” “Rose Alley!" Mark stopped short “My God!" "What does your sort know of It?” "Quite enough. Come along.” A few minutes later they were to the street again, Piotr the richer by the sum he had asked. They stood facing each other —the strong man who had conquered and the inefficient, one of life’s guerrillas, who had Just taken of the strong man’s largess. But the Inefficient was not grateful; a hundred dollars could not conquer his hatred. “I s’pose,” he sneered, “you want me to thank you?*’ “No. If you need more, come to me. And, see here, Piotr, I want you to get Roman and your mother away from Rose Alley." “You want —!” The money in his pocket, Piotr threw craft to the winds. “What have you to do with us? Do you s'pose we’d let you help us?" "But you took —” Piotr chuckled —a chuckle of triumphant malice. “Did you think It was for-.es?” The chuckle grew into a laugh, as though he pondered some mammoth jest. “You —you —have just paid for the next Issue of the Outcry!” He wheeled and went haltingly away. Mark watched him until he 'turned a corner. “Poor devil!" Mark shook his head pityingly. "He’s mad." It was not Mark’s habit to waste precious hours wandering the crowded city streets in introspective meditation. He now went to the appointment with his lawyer to keep which he had left Henley. It was a long and tedious consultation, having to do with a big real estate deal in which Truitt had shown his customary shrewdness. He displayed little interest More than once Shirley, the lawyer, had to recall his straying attention. Shirley was astonished at this; his client was notable for his concentration on the matter In hand. He would have been even more deeply astonished, could he have looked upon the picture that lured away Mark’s thoughts. But then, for

Shirley, the name of Rose Alley would have raised to life no dead memories. Shirley's astonishment, however, reached Its climax at the close of the consultation. "It's a good deal.” he remarked, "for you.” Mark answered with a nod and opened another subject. “I don’t suppose Timothy Woodhouse left much.” “Practically nothing.” “How does our case stand?” “We’ll win it.” “You’re sure of that?" “Absolutely. His estate will never push It to trial.” } “Then settle it.” Shirley whistled his surprise. “Has the philanthropic bee stung the whole Quinby concern?** he grinned. ‘1 wouldn't do that, though- It would be an admission. As a lawyer, I couldn't advise —” “I don't ask advice. Settle it.” Shirley waved a concessive hand. **lt*s your case, of course. For how much? They'll take any figure.” -for whatever yon think felt Met

as a lawyer, however. Think 0 1 It" Mark smiled wryly, “as a gentleman— If the word means anything to you." "It'* your case," Shirley repeated. “But my notion to, people will think you don’t want the publicity—-for eoclal reasons. That sort of talk—*' Mark rose abruptly.. "I can’t help,** he replied, with an impatient frown, “what people think, can I? Fix It up aa soon as you can.” But the day’s adventures were not ended. The ghost of Timothy Woodhouse could not oust Rose Alley from Mark's mtod. The blacks, ordered by telephone, waited him. Swiftly, Mark holding the reins, they were guided across a bridge, along rough-paved, tumbledown streets, Into a quarter such as their aristocratic feet had never trod. Grime and decay were everywhere. It was 16 years since he had seen Rose alley, but he found the way as though he had taken it but yesterday. He drew up at the mouth of a narrow shallow court, and giving the reins to his man, got down from the trap. A few children —dirty, sallow, undersized —had been playing in the court. With difficulty, for they had not his tongue and were afraid of the stranger, he learned from them In which tenement Peter Anderson lived. He groped and stumbled up two flights of stairs that groaned protestlngly under his tread. He found a door and knocked. It opened. . . r For a full minute, speechless, he stared at the woman who stood on the threshold.

CHAPTER XVI. Glowing Embers. The figure silhouetted in the doorway was one to make men dream, full curved, strong with the strength of women whose forbears have always toiled, yet without heaviness; it was the strength that lies in quality, not in bulk. She looked at him steadily, showing no surprise. And by that he read that she had learned to take life, its coincidences and its climaxes as they came, calmly, without loss of poise. She spoke first, in a low even voice that hinted even less than her manner at inner excitement. “I thought it was Piotr. Your step sounds like his.” They might have been daily familiars. “Yes,” he flushed. “I am somewhat in his case.” He almost missed the swift glance she cast toward his cane. But he was grateful that she ljad no comment for his injury. In the presence of her splendid perfections his own physical shortcoming seemed almost cause for shame. “How do you do, Kazia?’’ he said gravely. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” He held out an uncertain hand. She took it, neither hastily nor reluctantly, for a brief meaningless clasp. “I am here sometimes. Will you come in?” She stood aside and he entered, trying to overcome his limp. It was the kitchen, which in Rose alley—as he remembered —had to serve as living room aa well. It waa clean, but bare; pitifully bare. By the stove stood a little faded woman, much stooped, her hair white and thin, her pale lack-luster eyes for the moment brightened by a startled question. He went over to her and took her hand. She shrank away from him. “It Is Mark Truitt, Matka,” said Kazia in Polish. “Don’t you remember?” Hanka said something in the same tongue. “She says,” Kazia interpreted, ’’they have never forgotten.” Their eyes met again. . . . His turned away quickly and went to the other occupant of the room. He sat in the only armchair, a huge mass of inert flesh, head Blouched forward and fingers playing aimlessly with the long unkempt beard that reached half-way to the bulging waist. Mark laid a hand on his Bhoulder. Roman looked up. But Roman saw as the new-born babe sees. The grasp on his shoulder tightened. “Roman, don’t you know me? I’m Mark —Mark Truitt, you remember." The shoulder stirred a little under the tight grasp. Roman’s head slouched forward again and he began once more his aimless twisting of the long beard. “How long," Mark's voice had become sharp, “has he been this way V “Almost three years.” "And here?” “A year longer.” Kazia’s eyes said: “What is that to you?” “Why,” he demanded, “didn’t you let me know about it?”— She smiled —contemptuously, as It seemed to him. “We must get them out of here,” he went on hastily. “We can’t. Piotr won’t let us.” “He must,” Mark declared curtly. “He will not,” she repeated. “I saw Mm today. He’s crazy.” .“He to. He’s a good compositor and could make enough to keep them at least decently. But he prefers to work for the Outcry—for little or nothing. Generally it’s nothing. He s£ys it’s tor the cause.” “But that’s no reason why he shouldn’t let me help them.” She shrdgged her shoulders. “To Piotr It is. I know, because I’ve tried.” "Then.” he said, “well take them away and settle with Piotr afterward.” He said It crisply, with the assured air of fortune’s darlings who, having made their resolve, take its consummation for granted. Her faint smile showed again. “It isn’t so simple as that They won’t go.” They won’t gol" He stared. "Why

"Tor one thing." she returned quietly, "the Matka loves her son. I’ll ask her." She turned to Hanka and for several minutes the two women talked earnestly to their native tongue. Hanka shook her head continuously. "She says,” KAsis returned to Mark. "’My Piotr wouldn’t like it’" Hanka interrupted, laying a hand on Kazia’s arm apd looking anxiously toward the door. Kaxia nodded. “She says also,” she interpreted again, "that we’d better go. It’s most time for Piotr to com© home. She's right.” “I think,” Mark answered, “I’ll stay, since I’m here, and have this out with Piotr.” “You’d better not.” Her swift glance seemed to measure his physical frailty. “Plotr’s temper is uncertain. He found me here once and drove me 1 out. It —” The gloom could not quite hide the color that surged into her cheeks. “It wasn’t nice." “I'm sorry for them, but just the same, since I’ve started, I’ll see this through and wait for Piotr.” "No, you’d better not," she repeated with cold emphasis. “You can prove your inflexibility in some other way. Piotr is apt to have been drinking and if his temper is stirred up, he’ll make them suffer.” She nodded toward Hanka and Roman. “Really, you’re quite helpless in the matter.” “I seem to be.” He laughed shortly, to conceal' a disappointment as undefined as the emotion set stirring by the sight of his old friends. “But, at least, I can leave some money.” But she shut him off from this, too. "No. What baoney they can use without Plotr’s knowing of it, I can furnish.” He limped stiffly toward the door, more hurt than he was willing to admit to himself by the rebuff and the failure of his impulsive mission. He went quickly out into the dark passage, that he might not have to look longer, and there awaited her. When she came, he led the way down the rickety stairs and put into the foul smelling court, lighted .up now by a swaying arc lamp. “One would think,” he blurted out, “you wanted to stay there.”,. “Do you find that so wonderful?” “I’m glad you can’t. It’s no place for such as you.” “Many people have lived here.” “But not from choice. I know. 1 lived here once myself, before —” He hesitated a moment. “I left it to live with Roman.” She made! no reply. He stopped, facing her and blocking her egress. "You’re thinking my going there was to the advantage of no one but myself?” “Why else should you have gone there?” “That’s almost cynical, Isn’t it? I might have had several other reasons —but didn’t At least I did you no harm.” - “Neither harm nor good.” “One doesn’t like to think of one’s self as reduced to even a harmless nonentity. Still, most of the virtues are negative, I believe. Though I’m vain enough to wish I could have been a positive influence in the making of the woman you’ve become. It’s rather remarkable, Kazia.” “It isn’t remarkable —or excuse for vanity.” She had not winced, nor had her steady gaze wandered. But for just an instant a fleeting somber shadow had rested in her eyes. “I must go,” she said. They walked in silence to the mouth of the court. At their approach Mark’s man got down from the trap, touching his hat "Can’t I set you home?" Mark ventured, not at all sure that she would accept But she affected no ireluctance. She glanced at a little watch she wore. “I go to the Todd hospital, and I’ve overstayed here a little.” He helped her up to the seat The horses sprang forward, swung into the car tracks and quickly left the tenement neighborhood behind. For a time Mark gave his attention to guiding their swift course around overtaken cars and the slow lumbering teams that drew the heavy traffic of the street They were on the bridge before either spoke. “You said, to the hospital," he began suggestively. “Do you—” Tm on a case there.” •• You’re a nurse, then? I remember you had a knack for that sort of thing. Your husband —er —I hadn’t heard —” “I haven’t seen him for 12 years.” “Kazia,” he asked gravely, “will you tell me about yourself?” “There is nothing to tell —any more than there is about you.” “That is, you’re not Interested in what haa happened to me. You’re frank.” “Because a chance has thrown us together for an hour is no reason for us to pretend an interest neither of ii»» can feel.” “You may speak for yourself, please. At least, we can oil the wheels of circumstance by going through the polite forms. You could smile very graciously on my man Felix, but to me—" He broke off with a short Taugh. “History has a way of repeating itself. I remember saying something of the sort to you once before. Of course, you've forgotten.” “I forget—nothing." “Ah!” He turned quickly to her Again “Then I did do you harm.” "I can’t see—” “It follows,” he interrupted. "If I vi«h dime you no harm, you would remember charitably, not coldly or worse, and you would be at least as cordial to me as to my groom.” "Now it 1s you.” she answered after a thoughtful pause, “who Win hot let me oil the wheels. Probably what you say is right I haven't thought much about In fineness I haven’t’had time."

Tm sorry. Which seems *ll I can do about it. Too and Piotr and Hank* seem In a conspiracy to teach me that for regrettable things we can pay only with regret. Bnt I promised to save you time.” Darkness bad fallen when they drew nj> before the hospital. -Mark descended painfully to help her down — a rather superfluous courtesy, since she was better able to alight alone than was he. “You’re in good time. I hope?” “Oh, yes. Thank you for the ride." They exchanged a conventional hand clasp. She moved toward the steps leading to the hospital door. He began to climb back into the trap. But the restive horses started too soon, while he was balanced on the little mounting step. His foot was dißlodged. He would have fallen, perhaps been dragged, had Kasia not sprung forward, and catching the reins, brought the horses sharply to a stop. “You are hurt?” “No,” he lied through set teeth, as he pulled himself up to the seat. His

hip, in fact, had received an excruciating wrench. “I’m a little awkward. This is one of the things I can’t get quite used to.” “I supposed it was only temporary.” He shook his head briefly, as though the topic were distasteful. “Another —you probably won’t believe this —is an existence that continually requires little cruelties of one. Big ones, too, sometimes.” “You say—requires?” "At least, encourages. But I,” he smiled unpleasantly, “am subject to regrets. And equally unprofitable impulses. Of qourse,” with obvious irony, “this is very interesting to you.” She was standing between two balustrade lamps. In their bright glow he saw her cool impersonal l regard change, become questioning. And the dark shadow again—as though she had seen and known to the full the cruelties whereof he spoke. Her lips parted. But no words fell. With an odd little gesture of repression she turned and slowly mounted the stairs. At the top she paused for an instant. “Good night,” she repeated. “And thank you again.” He dined alone at his club that night. The events of the day had left him depressed and strangly restless and with a strong distaste for companionship. >

CHAPTER XVII. Fanned into Flame. *Td better quit thinking of her," Mark told himself. A virtuous and a wise resolution, forsooth! And one strangely hard to keep. The thought—of a woman of the people, dwelling in a fine strong body whose splendid perfection the toil of the people could not diminish, whose flame it could not quench — never withdrew entirely, at most retired into ambush whence to spring out upon him at unguarded moments, with ever increasing potency to stir his jaded imagination. Attainment of the partnership had indeed proved to be the climax of his career with the Quinby company. Followed quickly the long imminent collapse. There was do specific ailment, save a heavy stubborn cough and the constant ache in his injured hip, which were really symptoms. It was rather a general failure of his powers. He was no longer able to whip flagging energies to the day’s tasks. The cool, clear, incisive brain that could grasp a multitude of details and yet not lose sight of result and purpose had become cloudy, vacillating and wandering, a poor tool for the direction of a huge, intricately organized plant op- , eratlng under tremendous pressure. He was subject to attacks of profound melancholy. He could not sleep without the aid of drugs. Worst of all, the will to endure, to mock pain and weakness, had broken. “What’s the matter with me?" he demanded of his physician. “Burnt out," was the succinct reply. “What can I do?" "Nothing. And quit taking drugs." “But," habit protested, “I can't do nothing.”. “It’s your life,” Interrupted the doctor.! “But you’ve consulted me and I propose to earn the stiff fee Til charge you. Drop everything, go to the country or to the .end of the earth —personally, I’d advise the end of the earth, because it’s farthest away and newest to you. Forget work, play a while.” Mark asked and received from the directors a six months’ vacation. But, although he formulated no reason, he did not at once leave the city' When the weather permitted he Oiled la the

hours by driving through the parka. They were long tedious hours, as drearily empty as he had forecasted. The nights, when he lay sleepless, fighting an incipient craving, were longer and drearier. Thus it was that he had leisure to think of Kasia Whiting, though at some loss to explsiar why the reappearance of one whom in his receded youth he had treated badly should command so much of bis interest. Nor did he admit a design when his drives took him almost daily past the Todd hospital. Nevertheless the sight of that institution was enough to evoke a faint thrill of excitement not to be laid to its barrack-like architecture, followed by a more emphatic disappointment as the neighborhood was left behind. One afternoon Kazia, in company with another young woman, emerged from the grounds as he was passing and gave him a cool impersonal nod. He guessed that it was her recreation hour and marked the time. The quick leaping interest should have been a warning to him. Perhaps it was, for: "I’m making a fool of myself,” he growled. “What do I know of this woman?” On the third day thereafter, at the same hour, he passed the hospital. This time Kazia appeared alone. She gave him again the cool Impersonal nod and would have passed on. But he drew the horses up sharply and called: “Kazia!” She paused, hesitated a moment, then went over to the curb. s' "Will you drive with me for a while?” “I ought to walk," she answered. “Please, Kazia.” It did not seem absurd to him that he pleaded. She hesitated again, then — “Yes,” she said. He would have alighted to help her to the seat, but she forestalled him. “Don’t get out” And she was beside him. He touched the horses with his whip and they sprang forward. “You aren’t well,” she said abruptly. And he, ascribing to that fact her unexpected compliance, was at the moment almost glad of his disability. “Is it obvious? I believe I’m not In fact, my doctor* has ordered me to get out and play—l find it very hard work. That’s why—that’s one reason why—l asked you. I needed company. The circumstance,” he smiled, “ought to appeal to you professionally.” “Nurses are notoriously hardhearted.” “Yes? Then I can’t work on your sympathies. On the whole, I’d rather have it so. You’ll have to admit it took courage to ask you to play with me, because —you’ll admit again—you weren’t exactly cordial the last time.” “What did you expect?" “But I expected nothing,” he retorted. "I didn’t know you would be at Roman’s. Why, I hadn’t even heard of you so been counting it up—--14 years. That isn't gross flattery, is it? But, of course, you aren’t the Bort of woman that likes flattery. Are you?” “Then you’re not so sure, after all? But I do like it.” “I must remember that.” He chuckled. "Playing becomes distinctly easier. Isn’t it lucky I happened along by the hospital just when I did?” “But I thought—” She almoat smiled. “I thought it was a habit.” “So you’ve seen me? Now you mention it, I may as well confess that this isn’t luck, but the result of a very clever plot. I’ve been driving past the hospital almost every day in the sneaking hope that just this would occur.” “You say, a sneaking hope—?” “You see,” he confided, ‘Tm easily frightened. How could I know that I’d find you so—so beautifully human? — Are you preparing to snub me for that?" “I am considering it.” The smile was unmistakable now. “But I won’t, because today is one of the days when I can’t help being beautifully human. I’m so healthy that sometimes I just have to take a vacation from myself.’* “And I’m so unhealthy that, though I’d like to, I can’t give Truitt the slip for even an hour. He’s a persistent beggar —-as you njay have noticed the last few weeks.” They laughed. It was a clear afternoon, beautiful t with the mellow radiance of autumn sunshine. But the wind that swept sky and air clean was crisp and penetrating. To her, superbly healthy. It gave only a rare tinge of color that enhanced her charm, gave the last heeded softening touch. His wasted body, despite the heavy overcoat he wore, could not resist the chill breath. But, though he knew he would probably pay later for the exposure, h« would not by so much as a minute curtail the hour. “I haven’t had so pleasant—it’s a puny word, but let that go—so plenaant a time in years,” he declared. “I see,” she laughed, “you bav* taken me at my word.’’ “But I mean it,” he protested. “I’d like you to believe that I mean it.” He became grave. "Since that day at Roman’s Pre been thinking a good deal of what we said —about my having harmed yon. If regrets—but there’s nothing so useless. That sort of thing isn’t easilyforgiven, is it?” “Oh, very easily."

“You are thinking that I give too much significance to our little affair. I do not —” “No, I mean I have never blamed you. . Of course, we were too young for it to have any lasting significance. And, if I remember aright, 1 invited it—and bo pat you in what must have seemed a very tragic quandary at the time." The most critical ear could have discerned nothing ungenuine in her rippling laugh. cxo bb ooamanm)

She Looked at Him Steadily, Showing No Surprise.

"Ah!" He Turned Quickly to Her Again. "Then I Did You No Harm."