Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 February 1907 — THE CONQUEST of CANAAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CONQUEST of CANAAN

By BOOTH TARKINGTON,

Author of "Cherry,” "Monsieur B«»ucalre,” Etc. ’

,?► CHAPTER I.' A DRY snow had fallen steadily throughout the still night, so that when a cold, upper wind • cleared the sky gloriously in the morning the incongruous Indiana town shone in a white harmony—roof, ledge and earth as evenly covered as by moonlight. There was no thaw. Only where the line of factories followed the big bend of the frozen river, their distant chimneys like exclamation points on a blank page, was there a first threat* against the supreme whiteness. The wind passed quickly and on high, the shouting of the school children had ceased at 0 o'clock with pitiful suddenness, no sleigh bells laughed out on the air, and the muffling of the thoroughfares wrought an unaccustomed peace like that of Sunflay. This was the phenomenon which Afforded the opening of the morning flebate of the sages In the ,wide windows of the National House. 1 Only such unfortunates as have so Car failed to visit Canaan do not know Chat the National House is on the •lain street side of the Courthouse square and has the advantage of being avlthln two minutes' walk of the railroad station, which is in plain sight of the windows, an inestimable benefit to the conversation of the aged men who 'Occupied these windows on this white morning even as they were wont in •ummer to hold against all comers the icane seated chairs on the pavement outside. I Mall time had come to mean that t>rlght hour when they all got their feet on the brass rod which protected the sills of the two big windows, with the steam radiators sizzling like kettles against the side wall. Mr. JtSias Tabor, Who had sold his hardware business magnificently (not magnificently for tils nephew, the purchaser) some ten years before, was usually, in spite of the fact that he remained a bachelor at Beventy-nlne, the last to settle down iwith the others, though often the first to reach the hotel, which he always en tered by a side door, because he did not believe In the treating system. And Itwas Mr.Eskew Arp,only seventy-five, but already a thoroughly capable cynic, who almost invariably “opened the argument,’’ and it was he who discovered the sinister intention behind the Weather of this particular morning. The malevolence of his voice and manner when he shook his finger at the town beyond the windows and exclaimed. with a bitter laugh, “Look at it!” was no surprise to his companions. "Jest look at it! I tell you the devil Is mighty smart! Ha, ha! Mighty ■mart!” Through custom it was the duty of Squire Buckalew (justice of the peace tn 1859) to be the first to take up Mr. Arp. The others looked to him for it. Therefore he asked sharply: •‘What’s the devil got to do with ■now?” “Everything to do with it, sir,” Mr. Arp retorted. “It’s plain as day to anybody with eyes and sense.” “Then I wish you’d p’fnt it out,” ■aid Buckalew, “if you’ve got either.” “By the Almighty, squire”—Mr. Arp turned m his ehair with sudden heat—“if I'd lived as long as you”— “You have,” interrupted the other, atung. “Twelve years ago.” “If I’d lived as long as you,” Mr. Arp repented unwineingiy in a louder voice, "and had follered Satan's trail ns long as you have and yet couldn’t recognize it when I see it I'd git converted nnd vote Prohibitionist.” •‘I don’t see it,” Interjected Uncle Joe Davey in bis querulous voice. (He was the patriarch of them all.) “I can’t find no cloven hoof prints in the ■now.” “All over it, sir!” cried the cynic. "All over it! Ol<l Satan loves tricks like this. Here’s a town that’s jest one squirmin’ mass of lies and envy and vice and wickedness and corruption”— “Hold'•on!” exclaimed Colonel Flitcroft. “That's a slander upon our hearths and our government. Why, when I was in the council”— “It wasn’t a bit worse then,”, Mr. Arp returned unreasonably. “Jest you look how the devil fools us. He drops down this here virgin mantle on Canaan and makes it look as good as you pretend yon think it is—as good as the Sunday school room of a country church, though that”—he went off on a tangent venomously “is generally only another whited sepulcher, and the superintendent’s mighty apt to have a bottle of whisky hid behind the organ and”— “Look here, Eskew,” said Jonas Tabor, “that’s got nothin’ to do with”— “Why ain’t it? Answer mo!” cried Mr. Arp, continuing without pause: “Why ain’t it? Can’t you wait till I git through? You listen to me; and when I’m ready I’ll listen to”— •‘See here,” began the colonel, making himself heard over three others, “I want to ask you”— “No. sir!” Mr. Arp pounded the floor irascibly with his hickory stick. “Don’t you ask me anything. How can you tell that I’m not going to answer your question without your asking it till I ’ve got through? You listen first. I say, here’s a town of nearly 30,000 Inhabitants, every last one of ’em—men, women and children—selfish and

cowardly and sinful If you could see their innermost natures; a town of the ugliest and worst built houses in the world and governed by a lot of saloon keepers, though I hope It’ll never git down to where the ministers can run it. And the devil comes along and In one night—why, all you got to do is look at it! You’d think we needn’t ever trouble to make it better. That’s what the devil wants us to do—wants us to rest easy about It and paints it up to look like a heaven of peace and purity and sanctified spirits. Snowfall like this would of made Lot turn the angel out of doors and say that the old home was good enough for him. Gomorrah would of looked like a Puritan Village, though I’ll bet my last dollar that there was a lot, and a whole lot, that’s nevev been told about Puritan villages. A lot that”— “What never was?” Interrupted Mr. Peter Bradbury, whose granddaughter had lately announced her discovery that the Bradburys were descended from Miles Standish. “What wasn’t told about Puritan villages?” “Can’t you wait?” Mr. Arp’s accents were those of pain. “Haven’t I got any right to present my side of the case? Ain’J we restrained enough to allow of free speech here? How can we ever git anywhere in an argument like this unless we let one man talk at a time? How”— “Go on with your statement,” said Uncle Joe Davey impatiently. Mr. Arp’s grievance was increased. “Now, listen to you! How many more interruptions are cornin’? I’ll listen to the other side, but I’ve got to state mine first, haven’t I? If I don’t make my point clear, what’s the use of the argument? Argumentation Is only the comparison of two sides of a question, and you have to see what the first side is before you can compare it with the other one, don't you? Are you all agreed to that?” “Yes, yes,” said the colonel. “Go ahead. We won’t interrupt until you’re through.” The “argument” grew heated. Half a dozen tidy quarrels arose. All the sages went at it fiercely except Roger Tabor, who stole quietly away. The aged men were enjoying themselves thoroughly, especially those who quarreled. Naturally the frail bark of the topic which had been launched was whirled about by tyo many side currents to remain long in sight and soon became derelict, while the Intellectual dolphins dove and tumbled In the depths. At the end of twenty minutes Mr. Arp emerged upon the surface, and in his mouth was this: “Tell me, why ain't the church—whjain’t the church and the rest, of the believers in a future life lookin’ Tor Immortality aj the other end of life too? If we’re immortal we always have been. Then why don’t they ever speculate on what we were before we were born? It’s because they’re too blame selfish; don’t care a flapdoodle about what was. All they want is to go on livin’ forever.” Mr. Arp’s voice had risen to an acrid triumphancy, when it suddenly faltered, relapsed to a murmur and then to a stricken silence as a tall, fat man of overpowering aspect threw open the outer door near by and crossed the lobby to the clerk’s desk. Au awe fell upon the sages with this advent. They were hushed and after a movement in their chairs, with a strange effect of huddling, sat disconcerted and attentive, like schoolboys at the entrance of the master. The personage had a big, fat, pink face and a heavily undershot jaw, what whitish beard he wore following his double chin somewhat after the manner displayed in the portraits of Henry VIII. His eyes, very bright under puffed upper lids, were Intolerant insultingly penetrating despite their small size. Their irritability held a kind of hotness, and yet the personage exuded frost, not of the weather, all about him. You could not Imagine man or angel daring to greet this being genially- sooner throw a kiss to Mount Pilatus! “Mr. Brown,” he said, with ponderous hostility, In a bull bass to the clerk—the kind of voice which would have made an express train leave the track and go round the other way—“do you bear me?” “Oh, yes, judge!” the clerk replied swiftly in tones as unlike those which he used for strange transients as a collector’s voice in his ladylove’s ear is unlike that which he propels at delinquents. “Do you see that snow?” asked the personage threateningly. “Yes, judge.” Mr. Brown essayed a placating smile. “Yes, Indeed, Judge Pike.’’ “Has your employer, the manager of this hotel, seen that snow?” pursued the personage, with a gesture of unspeakable solemn menace. “Yes, sir. I think so. Yes, sir.” “Do you think he fully understands that I am the proprietor of this building?” “Certain, judge, cer”— “You will Inform him that I do not intend to be discommoded by bls negligence as I pass to my offices. Tell him from me that unless he keeps the sidewalks in front of this hotel clear

of snow I will cancel his lease. Their present condition Is outrageous. Do you understand me? Outrageous! Do you hear?” “Yes, judge, I do so,” answered the clerk, hoarse with respect. “I’ll see to it this minute, Judge Pike.” “You had better.” The personage turned himself about and began a grim progress toward the door by which be had entered, his eyes fixing themselves angrily upon the conclave at the windows. He> nodded to the only man of substance among them, Jonas Tabor, and shut the door behind him with majestic insult He was Canaan’s millionaire. Naturally Jonas Tabor was the first to speak. “Judge Pike’s lookin’ mighty well,” he said admiringly. “Yes, he is.” ventured Squire Buckalew, with deference; “mighty well.” “There’s a party at the judge’s tonight,” said Mr. Bradbury—“kind of a ball Mamie Pike’s givln’ for the young folks. Quite a doln’s, I hear.” “That’s another thing that’s ruining Canaan,” Mr. Arp declared morosely—“these entertainments they have nowadays. Spend all the money out of town—band from Indianapolis, chicken salad and darky waiters from Chicago!” q A decrepit hack or two, a couple of old fashioned surreys and a few “cutunders” drove by from the 10:45 train, bearing the newly arrived and their valises, the hotel omnibus depositing several commercial travelers at the door. A solitary figure came from the station on foot, and when it appeared within fair range of the window, Uncle Joe Davey, who had but hovered on the flanks of the combat, first removed his spectacles and wiped them, as though distrusting the vision they offered him, then, replacing them, scanned anew the approaching figure and uttered a smothered cry. “My Lord A’mighty,” he gasped, “what’s this? Look there!” They looked. A truce came involuntarily, and they sat in paralytic silence as the figure made Its stately and sensational progress along Main street. It was that of a tall gentleman, cheerfully, though somewhat with ennui, enduring his nineteenth winter. His long and slender face he wore smiling, beneath an accurately cut plaster of dark hair cornicing his forehead, a fashion followed by many youths of that year. This perfect bang was shown under a round black hat whose rim was so small as almost not to be there at all, and the head was supported by a waxy white seawall of collar, rising three inches above the blue billows of a puffed cravat, upon which floated a large, hollow pearl. His ulster, sporting a big cape at the shoulders and a tasseled hood over the cape, was of a rough Scotch cloth, patterned in faint gray and white squares the size of baggage checks, and it was so long that the skirts trailed In the snow. His legs were lost in the accurately creased, voluminous garments that were the tailors’ canny reaction from the tight trousers with which the 80’s had begun—they were in color a palish russet, broadly striped with gray and in size surpassed the milder spirit of fashion so far as they permitted a liberal knee action to take place almost without superficial effort. On his feet glistened long shoes, shaped, save for the heels, like sharp racing shells. These were partially protected by tan colored low gaiters, witli flat, shiny, brown buttons. In one hand the youth swung a bone handled walking stick perhaps an inch and a half in diameter; the other carried a yellow leather banjo case, upon the outside nf which glittered the embossed silver initials “E. B.” He was smoking, but walked with his head up, making use. however, of a gait at that time new to Canaan, a semning superbly irresponsible lounge, engendering much motion

of the shoulders, producing an effect of carelessness combined with independence, an effect which the Innocent have been known to hall as an unconscious one. With everything in sight he deigned to be amused, especially with the old faces in the National House windows. To these he waved his stick with airy graciousness. “My soul,” said Mr. Davey, “it seems to know some of us!’’ “Yes,” agreed Mr. Arp, his voice recovered, “and I know it. It’s Fanny boy Gene, come home for his holidays.” “By George, you’re right!” cried Flitcroft. “I recognize him now.” “But what’s the matter with him?” asked Mr. Bradbury eagerly. “Has he joined some patent medicine troupe?”

“Not a bit," replied Eskew. “He went east to college last fall.” “Do they make the boys wear them clothes?” persisted Bradbury. “Is It some kind of uniform?” “I don’t care what it is,” said Jonas Tabor, “if I was Henry Louden I wouldn't let him wear ’em around here.” “Ob, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you, Jonas?” Mr. Arp employed the accents of sarcasm. “I’d like to see Henry Louden try to interfere with Gene Bantry. Fanny’d lock the old fool up in the cellar.” The lofty vision lurched out of view. “I reckon,” said the colonel, leaning forward to see the last of it—“l reckon

Henry Louden’s about the saddest case of abused stepfather I ever saw.” “It’s his own fault,” said Mr. Arp—“twice not havin’ sense enough not to marry. Him with a son of his own too!” ‘Yes,” assented the colonel, “marryin’ a widow with a son of her own, and that widow Fanny!” “Wasn’t it just the same with her first husband, Bantry?” Mr. Davey asked, not for information, as he immediately answered himself. “You bet it was! Didn’t she always rule the roost? Yes, she did. She made a god of Gene from the day he was born. Bantry’s house was run for him, like Louden’s is now.” “And look,” exclaimed Mr. Arp, with satisfaction, “at the way he’s turned out!” “He ain’t turned out at all yet. He’s too young,” said Buckalew. “Besides, clothes don’t make the man.” “Wasn’t fie smokin’ a clgareet!” cried Eskew triumphantly. This was final. “It’s a pity Henry Louden can’t do something for his own son,” said Mr. Bradbury. “Why don’t he send him away to college?” “Fanny won’t let him,” chuckled Mr. Arp malevolently. “Takes all their spare change to keep Gene there in style. I don’t blame her. Gene certainly acts the fool, but that Joe Louden is the orneriest boy I ever saw in an ornery world full.” “He always was kind of mischeevous,” admitted ’Buckalew. “I don’t think he’s mean, though, and it does seem kind of not just right that Joe’s father’s money—Bantry didn’t leave anything to speak of—has to go to keepin’ on the fat of the land, with Joe gittin’ up at Half past 4 to carry papers,’ and him goin’ on nineteen years old.” “It’s all he’s fit for!” exclaimed Eskew. “He’s low down, I tell ye. Ain’t it only last week Judge Pike caught him shootin’ craps with Pike’s nigger 4rivA aqd some other nigger hired men in the alley back of Pike’s barn.” “You ever hear that boy Joe talk politics?” asked Uncle Joe Davey, crossing a cough with a chuckle. “His head’s so full of schemes fer running this town, and state, too, it’s a wonder it don’t bust. Henry Louden told me he’s see Joe set around and study by the hour how to save $.3,000,000 for the state In two years.” “And the best he can do for himself,” added Eskew, “is deliverin’ the Daily Tocsin on a second hand Star bicycle and gamblin’ with niggers and riffraff! None of the nice young folks invite him to their doin’s any more.” “That’s because he’s got so shabby he’s quit goin’ with ’em,” said Buckalew. “No, it ain’t,” snapped Mr. Arp. “It’s because he’s so low down. He's no more ’n a town outcast. There ain’t ary one of the girls ’ll have a thing to do with him, except that rlp-rarin’ tomboy next door to Louden’s, and the others don’t have much to do with her neither, I can tell ye. That Arie Tabor”— Colonel Flitcroft caught him surreptitiously by the arm. “Sh, Eskew!” he whispered. “Look out what you’re sayin’.” “You needn’t mind me,” Jonas Tabor spoke up crisply. "I washed my hands of all responsibility for Roger’s branch of the family long ago. Never was one of ’em had the energy or brains to make a decent livin’, beginning with Roger—not one worth his salt. I set Roger’s son up in business, and all the return he ever made me was to go into bankruptcy and take to drink, till he died a sot, like his wife did of shame. I Sone all I could when I handed him over my store, and I never expect to lift a finger for ’em again. Ariel Tabor’s my grandniece, but she didn’t act like it, and you can say anything you like about her for what I care. Tbe last time I spoke to her was a year and a half ago, and I don’t reckon I’ll ever trouble to again.” .“How was that, Jonas?” quickly In-

quired Mr. Davey, v.-lio, being the eldest of the party, was the most curious. “What happened?” “She was out in the street, up on that high bicycle of Joe Louden’s. He was teachin’ her to ride, an’ she was slttln’ on it like a man does. I stopped and told her she wasn’t respectable. Sixteen years old, goln’ on seventeen!” “What did she say?” “Laughed!” said Jonas, his voice becoming louder as the recital of his wrongs renewed their sting in his soul. “Laughed!” “What did you do?” “I went up to her and told her she wasn’t a decent girl and shook the wheel.” Mr. Tabor illustrated by seizing the lapels of Joe Davey and shaking him. “I told her if her grandfather had any spunk she’d git an old fashioned hidin’ for behavin’ that way. And I shook the wheel again.” Here Mr. Tabor, forgetting in the wrath incited by the recollection that he had not to do with an Inanimate object, swung the gasping and helpless Mr. Davey rapidly back and forth in his chair. “I shook it good and hard!” “What did she do then?” asked Peter Bradbury. “Fell off on me,” replied Jonas violently. “On purpose!” “I wisht she’d killed ye,” said Mr. Davey in a choking voice as, released, he sank back in his chair. “On purpose!” repeated Jonas. “And smashed a straw hat I hadn’t had three months! All to pieces! So it couldn’t be fixed!” “And what then?” pursued Bradbury. “She ran,” replied Jonas bitterly—“ran! And Joe Louden—Joe Louden”— He paused and gulped. “What did he do?” Peter leaned forward in his chair eagerly. The narrator of the outrage gulped again and opened and shut his mouth before responding. “He said if I didn't pay for a broken spoke on his wheel he’d have to sue me!” CHAPTER 11. MAIN street, already muffled by the snow, added to its quietude a frozen hush where the wonder bearing youth pursued his course along its white, ■ straight way. None was there in whom Impertinence overmastered astonishment or who recovered from the sight in time to jeer with effect. No “Trab’s boy” gathered courage to enact in the thoroughfare a scene of mockery and of joy. And now that expression he wore—the indulgent amusement of a man of the world—began to disintegrate and show signs of change. It became finely grave, as of a high conventionality, lofty, assured and mannered, as he approached the Pike “mansion.” It was a big, smooth stone faced house, product of the seventies, frowning under an outrageously insistent mansard, capped by a cupola and staring out of long windows overtopped with ornamental slabs. Two cast iron deer, painted death gray, twins of the same mold, stood on opposite sides of the' front walk, their backs toward it and each other, their bodies in profile to the street, their necks bent, however, so that they gazed upon the passerby, yet gazed without emotion. Two large calm dogs guarded the top of the steps leading to the front door. They also were twins and of the same interesting metal, though honored beyond the deer* by coats of black paint and shellac. It was to be remarked that these dogs were of no distinguishable species or breed, yet they were unmistakably dogs. The dullest must have recognized them as such at a glance, w’hich was perhaps enough. It was a hideous house, important looking, cold, yet harshly aggressive, and 1t sat in the middle of Its flat acre of snowy lawn like a rich, fat man enraged and sitting straight up in bed to swear. And yet there was one charming thing about this ugly house. Some workmen were inclosing a large side porch with heavy canvas, evidently for festal purposes. Looking out from between two strips of the canvas was the rosy and delicate face of a pretty girl, smiling upon Eugene Bantry as he passed. It was an obviously pretty face, all the youth and prettiness there for your very first glance, elaborately pretty, like the splendid profusion of hair about and above it, amber colored hair, upon which so much time had been spent that a* eirele of large, round curls rose above the mass of It like golden bubbles tipping a coronet. The girl’s fingers were pressed thoughtfully against her chin as Eugene strode into view. Immediately • her eyes widened and brightened. He swung along the fence with the handsomest appearance of unconsciousness until he reached a point nearly opposite her. Then he turned his head as if haphazardly and met her eyes. At once she threw out her hand toward him, waving him a greeting, a gesture which as her fingers had been near her lips was a little like throwing a kiss. He crooked an elbow and with a one, two, three military movement removed his small brimmed hat, extending it to full arm’s length at the shoulder level, returned it to his head with life guard precision. This was also new to Canaan. He was letting Mamie Pike have it all at once. The Impression was as large as he could have desired. She remained at the opening in the canvas and watched him until he wagged his shoulders round the next corner and disappeared into a cross street. As for Eugene, he was calm with a great calm and very red. He had not covered a great distance, however, before his gravity was replaced, by his former smiling look of the landed gentleman amused by the Innocent pastimes of the peasants, though there was no one in sight ex-

cept a woman sweeping some snow' from the front steps of a cottage, and' she, not perceiving him, retired indoors without knowing her loss. He had come to a thinly built part of the town, the perfect quiet of which made the sound he heard as he opened the picket gate of his own home all the more startling. It was a scream, loud, frantic and terror stricken. Eugene stopped, with the gate half open. Ont of the winter skeleton of a grape arbor at one side of the four square brick house a brown faced girl of seventeen precipitated herself through the air in the midst of a shower of torn cardboard which she threw before her as s|»e leaped. She lit upon her toes and neaded for the gate at top speed, pursued by a pale young man xyhose thin arjns strove spasmodically to reach her. Scattering snow behind them, hair flying, the pair sped on like two tattered branches before a high wind, for, as they came nearer Eugene, of whom, in the tensity of their flight, they took no note, it was to be seen that both were so shabbily dressed as to be almost ragged. The girl ran beautifully, but a fleeter foot was behind her and, though she dodged and evaded like a creature of the woods, the reaching hand fell upon the loose sleeve of her red blouse, nor fell lightly. She gave a wrench of frenzy. The antique fabric refused the strain, parted at the shoulder seam so thoroughly that the whole sleeve came away, but not to its owner’s release, for she had been brought round by the jerk, so that, agile as she had shown herself, the pursuer threw an arm about her neck before she could twist away and held her. There was a sharp struggle as short as it was fierce. Neither of these extraordinary wrestlers spoke. They fought. Victory hung in the balance for perhaps four seconds. Then the girl was thrown heavily upon her back in such a turmoil of snow that she seemed to be the mere nucleus of a white comet. She struggled to get up, plying knee and elbow with a very anguish of determination, but her opponent held her, pinioned both her wrists with one hand and with the other rubbed great handfuls of snow Into her face, sparing neither mouth nor eyes. “You will!” he cried. “You will tear up my pictures! A dirty trick, and you get washed for it!” Half suffocated, choking, gasping, she still fought on, squirming and kicking with such spirit that the pair of them appeared to the beholder like figures of mist writhing in a fountain of snow. More violence was to mar the peace of morning. Unexpectedly attacked from the rear, the conqueror was seized by the nape of the neck and one wrist and jerked to his feet, simultaneously receiving a succession of kicks from his assailant. Prompted by an entirely natural curiosity, he essayed to turn his head to see who this might be, but a twist of his forearm and the pressure of strong fingers under his ear constrained him to remain as he was, therefore, abandoning resistance and, oddly enough, accepting without comment the indication that his Raptor desired to remain for the moment incognito, he resorted calmly to explanations. “She tore up a picture of mine,” he said, receiving the punishment without apparent emotion. “She seemed to think because she’d drawn it herself she had a right to.” There was a slight whimsical droop at the corner of his mouth as he spoke, w’hich might have been thought characteristic of him. He w r as an odd looking boy, not ill made, though very thin and not tall. His pallor was clear and even, as though constitutional; the features were delicate, almost childlike, but they were very slightly distorted, through nervous habit, to an expression at once W’lstful and humorous; one eyebrow was a shade higher than the other, one side of the mouth slightly drawn down; the eyelids twitched a little, habitually; the fine, blue eyes themselves were almost comically reproachful—the look of a puppy who thinks you would not have beaten him if you had known what was in his heart. All of this was In the quality of his voice, too, as he said to his invisible captor, with an air of detachment from any personal feeling: “What peculiar shoes you wear! I don’t think I ever felt any so pointed before.” The rescuing knight took no thought of offering to help the persecuted damsel to arise; instead he tightened his grip upon the prisoner’s neck until, perforce, water—not tears—started from the latter’s eyes. “You miserable little muff!” said the conqueror. “What the devil do yot mean making this scene on our front lawn?” “Why, It’s Eugene!” exclaimed the helpless one. “They didn’t expect you till tonight. When did you get in?” “Just In time to give you a lesson, my buck,” replied Bantry grimly. “In good time for that, my playfqj. stepbrother.” He began to twist the other’s wrist, a treatment of bone and ligament In the application of which schoolboys and even freshmen are often adept. Eugene made the torture acute and was apparently enjoying tbe work when suddenly, without any manner of warning, he received an astounding blow upon the left ear, which half stunned him for the moment and sent his hat flying and himself reeling, so great was the surprise and shock of it. It was not a slap, not an open handed push—nothing like It—but a fierce, well delivered blow from a clinched fist with the shoulder behind it, and it was the girl who had given it. “Don’t you dare to touch Joe!” she* cried passionately. “Don’t you lay a finger on him!”

Furious and red, he staggered round to look* at her. “You wretched little. wildcat, what do you mean by that?" he broke out. “Don’t you touch Joe!" she panted. “Don’t you”— Her breath caught and there was a break In her voice as she faced him. She could not finish the repetition of that cry, “Don’t you touch Joe!” But there was no break in the spirit, that passion of protection which had dealt the blow. Both boys looked at her, somewhat aghast Eugene recovered himself. He swung round upon his heel, restored his hat to his head with precision, picked up his stick and touched his banjo case with it “Carry that into the house,” he said Indifferently to his stepbrother. "Don’t you do it!’’ said the girl hotly between her chattering teeth. Eugene turned toward her, wearing the sharp edge of a smile. Not removing his eyes from her face, he produced with deliberation a flat sliver box from a pocket, took therefrom a cigarette, replaced the box, extracted a smaller silver box from another pocket’, shook out of it a fusee, slowly lit the cigarette—this in a splendid silence, which he finally broke to say languidly, but with particular distinctness: “AHel Tabor, go home!” The girl’s teeth stopped chattering, her lips remaining parted; she shook the hair out of her eyes and stared at him as if she did not understand, but Joe Louden, who had picked up the ■banjo case obediently, burst into cheerful laughter. “That’s it. Gene,” he cried gayly. “That’s the way to talk to her!” “Stow it, you young cub,” replied Eugene, not turning to him. “Do you think I’m trying to be amusing?” “I don’t know what you mean by •stow it,’ " Joe began, “but if’— “I mean,” interrupted the other, not relaxing his faiutly smiling stare at the girl—“l mean that Ariel Tabor is to go home. Really we can’t have this kind of thing occurring upon our front lawn!” The flush upon her wet cheeks deepened and became dark. Even her arm grew redder as she gazed back at him. In his eyes was patent his complete realization of the figure she cut, of this bare arm, of the strewn hair, of the fallen stocking, of the ragged shoulder of her blouse, of her patched short skirt, of the whole disheveled little figure. He was the master of the house, and he was sending her home as ill behaved children are sent home by neighbors. The immobile, amused superiority of this proprietor of silver boxes, this wearer of strange and brilliant garments, became slightly intensified as he pointed to the fallen sleeve, a rag of red and snow, lying near her feet “You might take that with you?” he said interrogatively. Her gaze bad not wavered in meeting his, but at this her eyelashes began to wink uncontrollably, her chin to tremble. She bent over the sleeve and picked It up before Joe Louden, who had started toward her, could do It for her. Then turning, her head still bent so that her face was hidden from both of them, she ran out of the gate. Ariel ran along the fence until she came to the next gate, which opened upon a walk leading to a shabby, meandering old house of one story, with a very long, low porch, once painted white, running the full length of the front Ariel sprang upon the porch and disappeared within the house. Joe stood looking after her, his eyelashes winking as had hers. “You oughtn’t to have treated her that way," he said huskily. “Pick up that banjo case again and come on,” commanded Mr. Bantry tartly. “Where’s the mater?” Joe stared at him. “Where’s what?” “The mater!” was the frowning reply. “Oh, yes, I know!” said Joe, looking at his stepbrother curiously. “I’ve seen

It In ■torles. She’s upstairs. You’ll be a surprise. You’re wearing lots of clothes. Gene.” "I suppose It will seem so to Canaan,” returned the other wearledly. “Governor feeling fit?” “I never saw him,” Joe replied, then caught himself. "Oh, I see what you mean! Yes, he’s all right” , They had come Into the hall, and Eugene was removing the long coat, while his stepbrother looked at him thoughtfully. "Gene,” asked the latter in a softened voice, “have you seen Mamie Pike yet?” “You will find, my young friend,” responded Mr. Bantry, “if' you ever go about much outside of Canaan, that la*

dies’ names are not supposed to be mentioned indiscriminately.” “It’s only,” said Joe, “that I wanted to say that there's a dance at their house tonight. I suppose you’ll be going?” > “Certainly. Are you?” Both knew that the question was needless, but Joe answered gently: “Oh, no, of course not.’ He leaned over and fumbled with one foot as if to fasten a loose shoestring. “She wouldn’t be very likely to ask me.” “Weil, what about it?” “Only that—that Arie Tabor’s going.” “Indeed!” Eugene paused on the stairs, which he had begun to ascend. “Very interesting.” “I thought,” continued Joe hopefully, straightening up to look at him, “that maybe you’d dance with her. I don’t believe many will ask her—l’m afraid they won't—and if you would, even only once, it would kind of make up for”—he faltered—“for out there,” he finished, nodding his head in the direction of the gate. If Eugene vouchsafed any reply it was lost in a loud, shrill cry from above, as a small, intensely nervous looking woman in blue silk ran halfway down the stairs to meet him and caught him tearfully in her arms. “Dear old mater!” said Eugene. Joe went out of the front door quickly. CHAPTER 111. THE door which Ariel had entered opened upon a narrow hall, and down this she ran to her own room, passing, with face averted, the entrance to the broad, low ceilinged chamber that had served Roger Tabor’as a studio for alrhost fifty years. He was sitting there now, in a hopeless and disconsolate attitude, with his back toward the double doors, which were open, and had been open since their hinges had begun to give way, when Ariel was a child. Hearing her step, he called her name, but did not turn, and, receiving no answer, sighed faintly as he heard her own doOT close upon her. Then as his eyes wandered about the many canvases which leaned against the dingy walls he sighed again. Usually they showed their brown backs, but today he had turned them all to face outward. Twilight, sunset, moonlight (the courthouse in moonlight), dawn, morning, noon (Main street at noon), high summer, first spring, red autumn, midwinter, all were there, lllimltably detailed, worked to a smoothness l|ke a glaze and all lovingly done with unthinkable labor. After a time the old man got up, went to his easel near a window aud, sighing again, began patiently to work upon one of these failures—a portrait In oil of a savage old lady, which he was doing from a photograph. The expression of the mouth and the shape of the nose had not pleased her descendants and the beneficiaries under the will, and it was upon the images of these features that Roger labored. He leaned far forward, with his face close to the canvas, holding his brushes after the Spencerian fashion, working steadily through the afternoon and when the light grew dimmer, leaning closer to his canvas to see. When it had become almost dark in the room he lit a student lamp with a green glass shade and, placing it upon a table beside him. continued to paint. Ariel’s voice interrupted him at last. “It’s quitting time, grandfather," she called gently from the doorway behind him. He sank back in his chair, conscious for the first time of how tired he had grown. “I suppose so,” he said, “though it seemed to me I was just getting my band in.” His eyes brightened for a moment. “I declare, I believe I've caught it a great deal better. Come and look, Ariel. Doesn’t it seem to you that I’m getting it? Those pearly shadows in the flesh”— “I’m sure of it. Those people ought to be Very proud to have it.” She came to him quietly, took the palette and brushes from his hands and began to clean them, standing in the shadow behind him. “It’s too good for them.” “No,” he murmured in return. ’"You can do much better yourself. Your sketches show it* “No, no!” she protested quickly. “Yes, they do, and I wondered if it was only because you were young. But those I did when I was young are almost the same as the ones I paint now. I hwen’t learned much. There hasn’t been any one to show me. And you can’t learn from print, never! Yet I’ve grown in what I see—grown so that the world is full of beauty to me that I never dreamed of seeing when I began. But I can’t paint it. I can’t get it on the canvas. Ah, I think I might have known how to if I hadn’t had to teacii myself, if I could only have seen how some of the other fellows djd their work. If I’d ever saved money to get away from Canaan—ls I could have gone away from it and come back knowing how to paint it—if I could have got to Paris for just one month! Paris for just month!'.’ “Perhaps we will, .ou can’t tell what may happen.” It was always her reply to this cry of his. “You’re young, you’re young.” He smiled Indulgently. “What were you doing all this afternoon, child?" “In my, room, trying to make over mammal wedding dress for tonight” “Tonight?” “Mamie Pike Invited me to a dance at their house.” “Very well. I’m glad you’re going to be gay,” he said, not seeing the faintly bitter smile that came to her face. “I don’t think I’ll be very gay,” she answered. “I don’t know why I go. Nobody ever asks me to dance.” “Why not?” he asked, with an old man’s astonishment. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I don’t dress very well.” Then, as he made a sorrowful gesture, She cut him

off before he could speak. “Oh, it isn’t altogether because we’re poor. It’s more I don’t know how to wear what I’ve got, the way some girls do. I never cared much and—well, I’m not worrying, Roger. And I think I’ve done a good deal with mamma’s dress. It’s a very grand dress. I wonder I never thought of wearing It until today. I may be”—she laughed and blushed—“l may be the belle of the ball—who knows!” “You’ll want me to walk over with you and come for you afterward, I expect.” “Only to take me. It may be late when I come away—if a good many should ask me to dance for once. Of course I could come home alone. But Joe Louden Is going to sort of hang around outside, and he’ll meet me at the gate and see me safe home.” “Oh!” he exclaimed blankly. “Isn’t it all right?” “I think I’d better come for you,” he answered gently. “The truth is, I—l think you’d better not be with Joe Louden a great deal.” “Why?” “Well, he doesn’t seem a vicious boy to me, but I’m afraid he’s getting rather a bad name, my dear.” “He’s not getting one.” she said gravely. -“He’s already got one. He’s

had a bad name in Canaan for a long while. It grew in the first place out of shabbiness and mischief, but it did glow, and if people keep on giving him a bad name the time will come when he'll live up to it. He’s not any worse than I am, and I guess my own name isn’t too good—for a girl. And yet, so far, there's nothing against him except his bad name.” “I’m afraid there is,” said Roger. “It doesn’t look very well for a young man of bis age to be doing no better than delivering papers.” “It gives him time to study law,” she answered quickly. “If he clerked all day in a store be couldn't.” “I didn’t know he was studying now. I thought I’d heard that he was in a lawyer’s office for a few weeks last year and was turned out for setting fire to it with a pipe”— "It was an accident,” she interposed. “But some pretty Important papers were burned, and after that none of the other lawyers would have him.” “He’s not in an office,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean that. But he studies a great deal. He goes to the courts all the time they’re in session, and he’s bought some books of his own.” “Well, perhaps,” he assented, “but they say he gambles and drinks and that last week Ju«|ge Pike threatened to have him arrested for throwing dice with some negroes behind the judge’s stable.” “What of it? I’m about the only nice person in town that will have anything to do with him—and nobody except you thinks I’m very nice!” “Ariel! Ariel!” “I know all about his gambling with darkies,”’she continued excitedly, her voice rising, “and I know that he goes to saloons and that he’s an intimate friend of half the riffraff in town. And I know the reason for it, too, because he’s told me. He wants to know them, to understand them, and he says some day they’ll make him a power, and then he can help them!” The old man laughed helplessly. “But I can’t let him bring you home, my dear.” She came to him slowlj- and laid her hands upon his shoulders. Grandfather and granddaughter were nearly of the same height, and she looked squarely Into his eyes. “Then you must say it is because you want to come for me, not because I mustn’t come with Joe.” “But I think it is a little because you mustn't come with Joe,” he answered f “especially from the Pikes’. Don’t you see that it mightn’t be well for Joe himself if the judge should happen to see him? I understand he warned the boy to keep away from the neighborhood entirely or he would have him locked up for dice throwing. The judge is a very influential man, you know, and as determined In matters like this as he is irritable.” “Oh, if you put It on that ground,” the girl replied, her eyes softening, “I think you’d better come for me yourself.” “Very well, I put it on that ground,” he returned, smiling upon her. “Then I’ll send Joe word and get supper,” she said, kissing him. It was the supper hour not only for them, but every where in Canaan, and the cold air of the streets bore up and down and around corners the smell of things frying. The dining room win-

dows of all the houses threw, bright patches on the snow of the side yards. The windows of other rooms, except those of the kitchens, were dark, for the rule of the place was Puritanical in thrift, as in all things, and the good housekeepers disputed every record of the meters with unhappy gas collectors. There was no better housekeeper In town than Mrs. Louden, nor a thriftier, but hers was one of the few houses in Canaan that evening which showed bright lights in the front rooms while the family were at Supper. It was proof of the agitation caused by the arrival of Eugene that she forgot to turn out the gas in her parlor and in the chamber she called a library on her way to the evening meal. Joe escaped as soon as he could, thongWnot before the count of bis later sins had been set before Eugene in d . il, in mass and in all of their depth, breadth ami thickness. His father spoke l>at once after nodding heavily to confirm all points of Mrs. Louden’s re“You better use any Influence you’ve got with your brother," he said to Eugen ■. "to make him come to time. I can’t do anything with him. If he gets in trouble, he needn’t come to me! I’ll never help him again. I’m tired of it!” Joe’s movements throughout the earlier part of that evening are of uncertain report. It is known that he made a partial payment of 45 cents at a secondhand book store for a number of volumes,. “Grindstaff on Torts” and some others, which he had negotiated on the installment system. It is also believed that he won 28 cents playing seven-up in the little room behind Louie Farbach’s bar, but these things are of little Import compared to the established fact that at 11 o’clock he was one of the ball guests at the Pike mansion. He took no active part In the festivities, nor was he one of the dancers. His was, on the contrary, the role of a quiet observer. .He lay stretched at fqll length upon the floor of the inclosed porch—one of the strips of canvas was later found to have been loosened—wedged between the outer railing and a row of palms in green tubs. It was not to play eavesdropper that the uninvited Joe had come. He was not there to listen, and it is possible that had the curtains of other windows afforded him the chance to behold the dance he might not have risked the dangers of his present position. He had not the slightest interest in the whispered coquetries that he heard. He watched onlj’ to catch now and then over the shoulders of the dancers a fitful glimpse of a pretty head that flitted across the window—the amber hair of Mamie Pike. He shivered in the drafts, and the floor of the porch was cement, painful »to elbow and knee, the space where he fay cramped and narrow, but the golden bubbles of her hair, the shimmer of her dainty pink dress and the fluffy wave of her lace scarf as she crossed and recrossed fn a waltz left him apparently in no discontent. He watched with parted lips, his pale cheeks reddening whenever those fair glimpses were his. At last she came out to the veranda with Eugene and sat upon a little divan, so close to Joe that, daring wildly in the shadow, he reached out a trembling hand and let his fingers rest upon the end of her scarf, which had fallen from her shoulders and touched the floor. She sat with her back to him, as did Eugene. “You have changed, I think, since last summer,” he heard her say reflectively. “For the worse, ma cherie?” Joe’s expression might have been worth seeing when Eugene said “ma cherie," for it was known in the Louden household that Mr. Bantry had failed to pass his examination in the French language. “No,” she answered. “But you have seen so much and accomplished so much since then. You have become so polished and so”— She paused and then continued: “But perhaps I’d better not say ft. You might be offended.” “No. I want you to say it,” he returned confidently, and his confidence was fully justified, for she said: “Well, then, I mean that you have become so thoroughly a man of the world. Now I’ve said It! You are offended, aren’t you?” "Not at all; not at all,” replied Mr. Bantry, preventing by a masterful effort his pleasure from showing in his face. “Then I’m—glad.” she whispered, and Joe saw his stepbrother touch her hand, but she rose quickly. “There" s the music,” she cried happily. “It's a waltz, and it’s yours.” Joe heard her little high heels tapping gayly toward the window, followed by the heavier tread of Eugene, but he did not watch them go. > He lay on his back, with the hand that had touched Mamie’s scarf pressed across his closed eyes. The music of the waltz was of the old fashioned swingingly sorrowful sort, and it would be hard to say how long it was after that before he could hear the air played without a recurrence of the bitterness of that moment. The rhythmical pathos of the violins was in such accord with a faint sound of weeping which he beard near him presently that for a little while he believed this sound to be part of the music and part of himself. Then it became more distinct, and he raised himself on one elbow to look about. Very close to him, sitting upon the divan In the shadow, was a girl wearing a dress of beautiful silk. She was crying softly, her face In her hands. [TO BB CONTINUED.I

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“My Lord A’mighty, ’he gasped, "what's this?”

It was that of a tall gentleman enduring his nineteenth winter.

"Don’t you dare to touch Joe!" she cried.

"If I could have got to Paris for just one month!"