Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 106, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1915 — The Ambition of Mark Truitt [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Ambition of Mark Truitt

HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

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CHARTER XXlV—Continued. Together he end Mark dragged Piotr So the cab and forced him within. Piotr, dazed by Mark's appearance, restated but feebly. Before the grim majesty of approaching death even Plotr's madness was abashed. The supreme consciousness received back the atom that, when imprisoned in flesh, had been Roman. It was Kazia who saw. M He I* dead.** The Matka uttered a low moan, then became silent again, resumed her rigid gastag at the not less still body. Plotr's hand passed over his eyes in a bewildered gesture. The woman who kept the door made the sign of the cross and went quietly out Kazia bent over to kiss Roman's forehead. Then Piotr came out of his daze. He caught her roughly and drew her back. "No!" “Piotr!" -You’re not fit to touch him." She turned and went slowly into the kitchen. Piotr followed. He confronted her and Mark. -You can go now, both of you.” “Oh, Piotr, not now!" Kazla began pleadingly. “The Matka needs me -We need nothing from you. We weren’t good enough for you once. You left us to be a fine lady. Now we don’t want you." “But I came back and you wouldn’t lot me stay." “Yes, when you found that Jim Whiting couldn’t give you what you wanted. You thought you could use us then as he did.- He nodded toward Marie. -How, M his teeth bared in an ugly accusing leer, "how did the Hunky girl get to be such a fine lady?" -Be still!- Mark stepped close to him, sternly. "Isn’t there any decency ta that cracked mind of yours? Remember she came to them,” he pointed toward the little bedroom, -when they needed some one. You were out filltag the streets with your blackguardly rant. And whose money do you think had to keep them alive because you wouldn’t do a man’s work?” -A man’s work!" Piotr laughed, a horrible startling cackle. “To a cracked brain that isn’t to betray and gouge and drive —- He broke off. “Do you mean it was her money?" -Who else would have cared?" Plotr went back into the death room, Matched his mother by the shoulder and shook her cruelly. -Tell me," he cried ta her tongue, "have you taken money from her that woman —when I told you what she was?" The Matka shrank back from his vehemence "I had to—to buy things to keep him alive." Piotr, releasing her, stared, his mouth working queerly. "Even you’re against me." He went again slowly into the kitchen, taking up his hat from the

table. He did not atop until he reached tho door. There he turned, facing Koala. “You can have her no*. I'm going.” “He's crasy,” Mark muttered. "Don't mind him” With an effort ahe recalled herself to the situation. "You had better go sow. I must take care of the Matka. Win you please telephone to the hospital that I shan't be back tonight?” "Dpt I can't leave you alone here, while Piotr’a at large. I*m going out to arrange for tomorrow. Then ID come back here.” “It may be best,” ahe agreed. Two hours later he returned and rapped lightly. Recehriag no answer, ho tried the door. It opened and ho entered quietly. Hanks lay on a narrow oot, to the sleep of exhaustion. In a chair by the table, head pfflowed ea one arm, Kaala, too, slept She stirred uneasily as ba entered, then booacne still. He tiptoed to another chair and began his Tho night sssased endless. To sit motionless, looking at the relaxed for-

sible. Ho rose and crept silently Into the room where Roman lay. A single candle was burning low in Its socket By its taint flickering glow the waxen face and folded hands seemed not dead, but only at peace. Mark looked long at him, as though Roman held the answer to his questions. Once ho leaned over, whispering. "What have you found. Roman? Is It simple there? Is there a new birth In which mistakes can be paid for? ... I want to pay.”

CHAPTER XXV. Payment It was two days after the funeral. Mark had seen Kasla but for a few minutes, merely long enough to learn her new plans, and then Hanka had been present Kasla proposed to take care of her, and that they might not have to be apart, to give up her fine position at the hospital; she thought she could obtain a new one that would take up only her days. She had, of course, to find a new apartment All day Hanka had been alone in the dismantled flat thinking not of him who had gone but of the woman who had assumed her protection. Often her head shook in troubled gesture. Hanka had not lost the habit of seeing and understanding many things from her shadowy corner. Not out of grief for the dead, she knew, had the look that haunted her come into Kaxia’s eyes. The dinner was over, the dishes washed and put away; this being part of Hanka’s share In the new division of labor. She went into the little bedroom whither Kazia had gone to dress. But at the door she stopped, unnoticed, looking at the figure that lay motionless and face downward on the bed. She started to steal away, then turned again and went timidly to the bedside. She laid a gentle hand on Kaxia’s hair. “Little Kazla,” she murmured, half frightened at her boldness, “what ta troubling you?” "Nothing, Matka," came the muffled answer. “Is it because of me? I don’t want to be a burden. I can go.” “No, no! You musn’t leave me. I’m just tired." “Heart tired. Is it because of him — your lover?” “I have no lover." Kazia rose wearily, and going to the mirror, began to take down her hair. The thick soft tresses fell tumbling around her. Hanka, in troubled wonder, watched the round arm that wielded the comb, the smooth firm shoulders. At Kaxia’s age Hanka had already begun to wither into an uncomeliness that men passed by undesiring. She went over to the dressing woman and touched timidly the firm, still youthful flesh. “You are like your mother." -What was she like?” “She was like you.” Kasla did not smile. “Men saw her and wanted her." The comb became stilt "Did she—did she love my father?" “Such a love I have never seen." It had been dark almost an hour when the bell rang. Hanka heard Kazia going to the door and a startled exclamation answered by a mellifluous voice Hanka did not know. The visitor was admitted and taken into the sitting room. To the kitchen came the murmur of Kaxia’s voice and his, chiefly his. He had been there but a few minutes when his voice changed. It became eager, with an undertone that perturbed Hanka strangely. Once Kazla uttered a low hurt cry. Hanka rose and crept along the little hall. She crouched in the darkness near the sitting room door, listening intently and wishing she had not been so stupid about English. "Am I an ogre?" the mellifluous voice was saying. “I do not love yon.” “It is not a question of love. lam not old, but I have lived long enough to prick that illusion. We scientists know what love is."

“I don't care tor yon in any way,” Kazia answered coldly. “Mr. Quinby, you oughtn't to be here. A man in your position—” “My dear lady, let me remind you that the interest of a man in my position is not to be rejected lightly. With a word I gave you the best position your profession offers a woman. With a word I can take it away. I can relieve you of the necessity of working at all. I can make it Impossible for you to find work In this city.” “Threats —*• “My dear lady!” the stranger's voice protested. “I would not do that. I would harm no one. I am a tenderhearted mam. I. too, suffer, if by chance others suffer through me.” The voice, vibrant with emotion, would have wrung tears of sympathy from a stone. But Hanka, as we have seen, could not weep. “I am only trying to show Chat those who enlist my Interest do not lose by it.” “So you think I am for sale?” “Forgive me, my dear,” said Quinby, “but that is gross. Say rather that, since you have strack a responsive chord in my breast, it will be my pleasure to be guardian of your welfare, to Utt you out of the sordid struggle tor existence. And have I not proved

_ ... . - ' that? You lay In the hollow of my hand. With a breath I could have destroyed your reputation. But I kept silence, I advanced your interests, I held you tenderly ta my heart. Woman, you have bewitched me. I want you.” Hanka understood at least his last words and she understood his tone. She crept closer and through the crack of the sitting room door saw Kazia elude Quinby’s outstretched arms. At the same moment she heard a halting step on the stairway. She opened the outer door and went out to meet Mark Truitt, whispering ex cltedly to him in Polish. When he, astonished by her'•'appearance and emotion, would have spoken, she clapped a band over his mouth, and clutching him by a sleeve, drew him into the hall. She pointed through the crack. Again Quinby reached toward Kazla and again she recoiled. -Don’t —don’t touch me." ( "Why do you rebuff me? You’re not an ignorant child. You must have known what my Interest in the hospital and tn you this year has meant. You wouldn't have taken my help unless you were willing to give me what I want.” "What is it—what is it you want?" "I want you to be to me what you have been to Truitt” “And if—if I refuse?” *T have never yet told that I caught Truitt and a sun-browned woman alone in an Ottawa hotel under circumstances—l have no reason to love him. I have refrained from telling only for your sake. I —Why do you force me to say this? I have no wish to be brutal to you. Seeing you has turned my head. But you will nob-eurely you can not refuse.” She dropped back into a chair, covering her face with her hands. When she looked up, she wore again the strange rapt expression. “You said,” she whispered chokingly, “you said —you would pay.” “Yes, yes!” he cried eagerly. “You are trying to rob Mark Truitt —to force him out of the company. Will you—give that up?” Still in the same broken whisper. “Even that You are worth everything." “And will you give me time —to send him away—and never let him know?” “It is for you to make conditions. Ah! my deai>—” In triumph Quinby stepped toward her and bent over to take her hand. "Don’t do that!” said a voice behind him.

Quinby whirled. For a long silent minute the trio faced one another. .Then Mark, white of face, hands working convulsively, went elowly to the stupefied Quinby, who seemed turned to stone. He did not resist even when Mark's hand leaped up and caught him cruelly by the throat He was pressed back until his back met the wall. The grip tightened. Quinby's face grew purple. He squirmed and tried to cry out but only a hoarse gurgle resulted. Kazia came to herself. She sprang to her feet and caught Mark’s arm, breaking his grip. “Don’t hurt him. He’s not worth it”

Gently, without taking his eyes from Quinby, Mark freed his arm from her clasp. But he did not touch Quinby again. The first murderous impulse died. He turned contemptuously away from him. Quinby, released from the cruel hand and eyes, started across the room. Mark whirled upon him once more. “Stop!" Quinby stopped. "This," he said weakly, "is a trap." “Set by yourself.” Mark turned to Kazia with a helpless mirthless laugh. “What is my cue? Shall I kick him down stairs—or spring his dirty trap?” “Let him go," she answered listlessly. Mark shook his bead. “Not without paying. He said,” grimly, “he was' willing to pay.” “I’m not afraid of you,” Quinby muttered a feeble defiance. “What can you say of me that Isn’t true of you?” "Ah!” Mark drew a sharp whistling breath. Quinby shrang back, his hands going protectively to his aching throat. "Now you shall pay. You —" He broke off with a gesture of disgust "I find I've no stomach for blackmail just now. ID telephone Henley to come over. He’ll know how to handle this situation.” Then Quinby was Indeed fear-struck. He clutched Mark's arm tightly. "Don't tell him!” he quavered. “We can settle this ourselves. I didn't really intend to force you out of the company, only to—to frighten you a little.” Mark jerked his arm free. “So you're, a coward as well as a fraud! But I knew that before. This is too sickening. You’d better go.” Quinby started again to go. “Wait!”

Quinby waited. “You seem to be afraid of Henley. You have reason. Tomorrow at tenthirty you have an engagement to meet him at his office —I have just made it for both of you. At eleven I will meet him You know best what Henley in his present mood will do if he gets wind of your latest adventure In philanthropy. Now go.” Quinby went. The next morning, prompt on the hour, he kept his engagement with Henley. A weakness for epigrams has defeated more than one fair project After a discreet interval—long enough, as he thought, tor the interment of the dead past—Jeremiah Quinby sought to revive the paleontological propaganda. He found that for once the public memory was long and laid more stress on tho fateful twins of production than on ichthyosauri and kindrad monsters. The air was darkened with poisoned barbs of satire and derision. Thera fen a great pkb-

lanthropist pierced to the heart. That is to say, Quinby retired from the realm of beneficence and hta rival reigned absolute once more. A heavy troubled silence was in the little room. Kazla stood passively by the table, waiting for Mark to speak. After a long while he raised his eyes to hers. “Kazia, you poor romantic fool! Did you think any amount of money was worth that —even if he had kept hta word? When I think what—oh, how could you think of it!” -I wanted,” she answered in a queer lifeless voice, as if benumbed by this crisis into which they had stumbled, “I wanted to do one thing for you—and your happy city.” “My happy city! What happiness could it have had, built on that? And I —hadn’t you given me enough T* “I gave you only love.” “Only—!” -It was all I had to give. It wasn’t enough.” “I wish I could have given as much as you.” The wistful words slipped out. He stepped closer to her. “Kazia, this has got to end." -Yes.” “You must marry me tomorrow." Life, and with it pain, flickered once more. “You are trying to give something now. But I’m glad you said that” "I’m asking you to give something more. You will?” “Why do you ask it?” "Because I’ve hurt you enough. I did hurt you when I let you—led you to sin, even though we kept it a secret from the world. I want to make you happy—you said yourself we’ve broken a law. I want happiness—and I can’t have it, knowing that for all I’ve taken from you I’ve given nothing.” She tried to smile; the sight of it cut to his heart. "Every reason but the one. But I'm glad you wouldn’t lie to me now.” The smile faded. “You see. I can’t.” “Kazia, dear,” he pleaded, "we started wrong—let’s begin over again. Let’s give love a new birth.” His voice rang with a longing she could not understand, but he could not touch her. She shook her head spiritlessly. “There can be no new birth so long as there is memory. You could never forget that I —that I am not clean.” "Do you think me so small as to hold my own fault against you? It is my sin, too.” He stepped closer, reaching out his arms to take her. “Come, dear, your poor little reasons aren’t enough.” She shrank away from his clasp, trembling. Into the tired white face came a look of fear and despair. She glanced this way and that, as though she sought an escape. Her hands went to her face. Then she forced them down and her eyes to his. "I thought—l thought you understood. . . . I—l wasn’t clean —before we sinned. The doctor who helped me, I —” She could say no more. Suspicion had not prepared him for this. He stared foolishly at her, showing how he recoiled from the fact her broken words had revealed. He did not then think it strange that the shame of a woman he did not love should stab so deeply. “Kazia, how could you—how could you!” After a while he forgot his own pain a little in pity for the silent stricken woman. Again his arms reached out for her and would not be denied. “It must make no difference.” His sternness was all for himself. “What am I to blame you? You sold your body to live. I gave my soul to feel others squirming under my feet. You hurt only yourself. I’ve hurt every one I touched. I hurt you. If I hadn’t been a coward years ago when we first loved, you would never have been tempted. Your sin is only a part of mine. It is you who have most to forgive." Slowly she raised her head to look at him. “And you," came a broken incredulous whisper, “and you would marry me—even now?” “All the more now!”

For an instant a faint pitiable hope, defying knowledge, shone in her eyes. “Have I been mistaken? Only love could Ignore—ah! don’t lie to me now. It wouldn’t be kindness. Is it just pay —or love?”

He tried to look away from her and could not Her eyes held his, seeking through them to hunt out the last truth hidden In his soul. With a rough convulsive movement he drew her head down on hie shoulder. “How can I know what it Is? It must be love, since I need you and want to make you happy. If It Isn’t now, surely love will come when we start right Kazla, don’t refuse me this chance to make up to you a little of the harm I’ve done you." Her answer was a stifled sob. He felt her body relax; her head rested heavily on hie shoulder. She released herself. He did not try to hold her. They faced each other in a heavy throbbing silence. His soul quivered with the cruelty of It; it would have heen infinitely easier for him if she had been the unfaithful one. His words echoed mockingly in his ears, torturing him with their hopeless futility. “You will not?" “You couldn’t say ft—and I don’t want pay." The sight of her had become more than he could endure. He turned away and dropped into a chair, letting his head fall to the table. After a little he felt her hand gently smoothing Ids hair. And soon she began to speak in a voice unsteady at first but gathering strength as she went on. “You mustn’t reproach yourself. I know you’d love me if you could. And you mustn’t think I refuse just for your sake. Fd do what you want—shoe you want ft no much only it

would be misery for me always. You wouldn’t want that . . . And this —it seems I’ve always known it would come. It was a chance I took for a few months' happiness. I’ve had my happiness. ... You haven’t harmed me—l beg you to believe you haven’t harmed me." "Kazia —”

But the hoarse cry died away. There was nothing to say. His humiliation was complete. Magdalen that she was.

he looked up to her from depths of self-abasement she could never know. The voice was growing unsteady again. "When I think how it might have ended —if you hadn’t come tonight—l I’m glad you came —to save me from —that .. . And now—l think you had better —go. . .

CHAPTER XXVI. The Penitent. It was a red sunrise, that Sabbath morning, and the ruddy glow lingered in the eastern sky long after the sun had swung clear above the hills. A slanting shaft found his window and fell upon him as he dreamed. He stirred restively. He awoke slowly, reluctantly, drifting toward consciousness through a golden haze that vibrated with faraway dwindling harmonies. "Where have I heard that before?” After a little he remembered —a youth, full of dreams and credulous, joyously facing his great adventure. "And tomorrow I set out on a new adventure. It was a long way from there to here. ... I wonder, would any man, given the choice, travel his road a second time?” He rose and went to the window. ' Two years had passed, crowded with effort, crowned witlj achievement.’ From the window where he stood, still seeking to recover the lost harmonies, he could see the beginning of bls bappy city, all ready for the great experiment. He bathed and dressed —in the new bathroom that was his one concession to the luxuriousness of the old life—and descended to the kitchen. The pleasant odor of frying ham met his nostrils;, there was a hotel in Bethel now at which the Truitts generally had their meals, but sometimes, of a leisurely Sabbath morning, Simon still served as cook. But the bent old man at the south window had forgotten breakfast For a little Mark watched him without salutation. “Good morning, father,” he said at last "Good morning, Mark.” Simon turned reluctantly from the window. "I was jest thinkin’ it’ll be 20 years tomorrow ye went away—an’ now there’s that” "Yes. Your dream has come true. If you live until tomorrow night you’ll have seen It all-steel made in Bethel.” Breakfast ready, they sat down and began the meal in silence. Mark ate lightly, absently. Ever since Mark had returned, Simon had been vaguely sensible of a suffering to which some solacing word might be said. But the word would not come to his unschooled lips. “I wish,” Simon thought, "I could give him something.” It was a real suffering Simon sensed, no day without its hour of payment, no hour so heavy as on that Sabbath morning.

From across the town came a mellow clamor, the voice of the new church bell calling the faithful. The clamor ceased and after an interval resumed for a few last taps before he rose and went into the house for his hat and cane. When he emerged again he found Simon sitting on the front stoop. “Goin’ to church?” “I guess I’d better." "Yes. Courtney likes ye to. Do ye,” Simon asked suddenly, "still believe what he preaches?" Mark hesitated a moment. “I suppose I never did. I’d like to, but I can’t. It takes a certain quality of mind, I suppose—or early habit I can't quite see—" There was that in Mark's tone which made Simon 'look up quickly. “I can’t see the logic of letting another’s suffering pay for our sins." ...... “Ye’ll be late,” Simon suggested. Doctor Hedges, driving along the valley road, drew up at the station until the eleven o’clock train, having discharged its Bethel passengers, sped onward. The passengers were two, a man and a woman, strangers to the doctor and therefore alien to Bethel. The woman stood on the otherwise deserted platform, looking uncertainly

■ - around her. The man made directly for the doctor. "Do you," he demanded, "know where Mark Trult lives?’ "Why, yes.” The doctor bestowed a friendly smile on the stranger. "I guess I do." "Can you show me how to find it?" "Yes.” Hedges glanced toward the woman; she was entering the station. "I can do better. I can take you there." "If you will.” And the stranger promptly entered the buggy. The doctor clucked to his hone and turned hospitably, with conversational intent, to his guest. But the latter forestalled him. “Live here?" "Between whiles.” "Ha!” The stranger smiled, a brief wintry smile. "Doctor, I see. Do you know Truitt?” “Well,” Hedges spat ruminatlvely, “that’s a pretty risky thing to say of any man, but I guess—” “What do they think of him here?” “They think he’s a great man —and It’s his own —’’ "He’s a great mechanic," said the guest shortly. "I," drawled the doctor, “know more about men than mechanics, but —” “What do you think of him?” the guest interrupted again. The doctor, hoping to complete at least one sentence, quickened his drawl. “He’s a man who’s either losing himself or finding himself, I’m not sure—” "Meaning?" "You wouldn’t,” chuckled the dootor, "have time for the explanation.” He drew up before the little cottage. “He lives here.” "Hardly!" the visitor retorted. "1 take the three o’clock train. Much obliged." He sprang, more briskly than his rotundity promised, out of the buggy. The doctor drove away still chuckling. The chuckle would not have died even had he known his passenger to be none other than that Henley whose star, flashing with comet-like swiftness and brilliancy above the horizon of speculation, had in two years achieved full planetary dignity and importance. But the doctor was not a student of Wall street astronomy. “Humph!” The luminary surveyed the weather-beaten little cottage with its unkempt yard and near-by smithy. "So he lives here. Affectation, of course!” He strode up the path and saluted the old man on the stopp. “Mr. Truitt lives here, I believe?” “I’m Simon Truitt But I reckon ye want Mark, Mr. Henley." "Ha! You know me. His father, I suppose?” “Yes. I saw ye once, years ago, when he was in the hospital.” “I remember," said Henley, who had forgotten that incident completely. "la Truitt about?” “He’s at church." "Church! Surely not a habit?" "He goes gener’ly, since he come back.” “Hmm! Something new for Truitt." Henley frowned. "And my time’s short I suppose I may as well save some of it by going over the plant now. There’s no objection, I suppose?” “No; I,” Simon ventured uncertainly, "I was jest about to go over myself." “I’ll be glad of your company," Henley graciously replied. “Shall we etart?” An hour later Henley emerged from the shadowy finishing mill, blinking hard in the midday's sunshine and trying to revise his estimate of the situation. He followed Simon out on a tiny cape that jutted into the river, whence they could see other evidences of Truitt’s lucidity—the hospital, the bank, the store, the cluster of homes gleaming white on the hillside. And Henley saw—not as the experts had seen, happy if they perceived all that had been reduced to sact —but with the eyes of one whose greatness was to see what might be, what could be. And as he looked part, at least, of Truitt’s dream was unfolded, before him. The valley a teeming, throbbing citadel of industry. The city clambering over the slopes, capturing the heights, reclaiming other slopes from the forest, until in length and breadth, in numbers and importance, it rivaled that other fastness where he, the master, had been known only as a lieutenant. The creator in him, not yet killed, but only obscured by the madness of exploitation, thrilled at the sight “He sees big,” he muttered. "Ho sees big. I didn’t think it was in him." He stood on the point, scanning thoughtfully the noble valley, forgetting his silent companion. “He’s picked out a great site. . . ." And then to Henley came a vision of his own. That city and citadel his, creature of his genius and might, doing his bidding, yielding him homage and tribute, carrying forth his fame to the paling of lesser men’s reputations, capital of an empire—his empire, "By God!” he breathed aloud. "By God! • . And it’s possible—how did the builders of cities overlook |hls place? : . . It would be better .than doing taker’s tricks with stocks and bonds.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“What Hava You Found, Roman? Is It Simple, Thera?"

He Felt Her Body Relax —Her Head Rested Heavily on His Shoulder.