THE
of ^i,
140 -Pacfc,
THE HEART LINE
Clvtie
THE HEART LINE
A DRAMA OF SAN FRANCISCO
By
GELETT BURGESS
Author of
The White Cat, Vivette
A Little Sister of Destiny, etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
LESTER RALPH
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1907
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
OCTOBER
ROBERT DRTTMMOND COMPANY. PRINTERS, NEW TORH
3503
TO MAYSIE
WHO KNEW THE PEOPLE
AND
LOVED THE PLACE
IN MEMORY OF
THE CITY THAT WAS
HV3
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PROLOGUE J
I THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY . . .24
II TUITION AND INTUITION . 49
III THE SPIDER'S NEST ...... 63
IV THE PAYSONS 8 9
V THE RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER . 127
VI SIDE LIGHTS ...... > 165
VII THE WEAVING OF THE WEB . . . .217
VIII ILLUMINATION 246
IX COMING ON 270
X A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 293
XI THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT . . . 328
XII THE FIRST TURNING TO THE RIGHT . . -353
XIII THE BLOODSUCKER 379
XIV THE FORE-HONEYMOON 40
XV THE RE-ENTRANT ANGLE 435
XVI TIT FOR TAT 45 1
XVII THE MATERIALIZING SEANCE . . . .467
XVIII A RETURN TO INSTINCT 481
XIX FANCY GRAY ACCEPTS ...... S3
XX MASTERSON'S MANCEUVERS . . .526
XXI THE SUNRISE 55
EPILOGUE ........ 5 8
THE HEART LINE
PROLOGUE
In the year 1877 the Siskiyou House, originally a
third-class hotel patronized chiefly by mining men,
had fallen into such disrepute that it was scarcely
more than a cheap tenement. Its office was now
frankly a bar-room ; beside it, a narrow hallway
plunged into the shabby, shadowy interior; here a
steep stairway rose. Above were disconsolate rooms
known to the police of San Francisco as the occa-
sional resort of counterfeiters, confidence workers
and lesser knaves; to the neighborhood the Siskiyou
Hotel had a local reputation as being the home of
Madam Grant, who occupied two rooms on the second
floor.
Her rooms were slovenly and squalid almost bar-
barous in the extremity of their neglect. Upon the
floor was a matted carpet of dirt and rubbish inches
deep, piled higher at the corners, uneven with lumps
of refuse, bizarre with scraps of paper, cloth and tan-
gled strings.
In the rear room an unclean length of burlap was
stretched across a string, half concealing a disordered,
i
2 THE HEART LINE
ramshackle cot, whose coverings were ragged, soiled
and moth-eaten. A broken chair or two leaned crazily
against the wall. The dusty windows looked point-
blank upon the damp wall of an abutting wooden
house. There had once been paper upon the walls;
it was now torn, scratched and rubbed by grimy
shoulders into a harlequin pattern of dun and greasy
tones.
The front room, through the open rolling doors,
was, if possible, in a still worse state of decay, and
here wooden and paper boxes, tin cans, sacks of
rags (doing service for cushions), a three-legged
table and a smoked, rusty oil-stove, with its comple-
ment of unclean pots and dishes, showed the place,
abominable as was its aspect, to be a human abode.
A print or two, torn from some newspaper or maga-
zine, was pinned to the wall in protest against the
sordidness of the interior. The place gave forth a
fetid and moldy smell. The air was damp, though
the sun struggled in through cracked panes, half
lighting the apartment.
There was, however, one piece of furniture, gloss-
ily, splendidly new, incongruously set amidst the dis-
order an oak bookcase, its shelves well filled with
volumes. Seated upon a cracker box in front of its
open doors, this afternoon, a boy of eight years sat
reading with rapt excitement the story of Gulliver's
Travels.
He, too, seemed strangely set in that environment,
for he was clean and sweet in person and dress. His
hair was black and waving, his eyes deep blue, clear
and shrewd. His cheeks were pink and gently dim-
pled, his mouth ample, firm and well-cut, over a
PROLOGUE 3
square, deeply cleft chin. He was patently a hand-
some child, virile, graceful, determined in his pose.
His natural charm was made more picturesque by a
blue flannel suit, with white collar, cuffs and stockings.
Oblivious to his extraordinary surroundings, he read
on until he had finished the book.
He rose then, yawned and walked to the window in
the front room to look out upon the street. Opposite
was a row of low buildings a stable, a Chinese laun-
dry, two dreary rooming-houses and a saloon. The
roof-line of the block, where the false wooden fronts
met the sky, held his gaze for a few moments. A
horse-car lumbered lazily past, and his eyes fell to
the cobble-paved thoroughfare and its passers-by. To
the left, Market Street roared bustling a block away
and the throngs swept up and down. To the right, a
little passage starting from two saloons, one on each
corner of the street, penetrated the slums. The warm,
mellow California sunlight bathed the whole scene,
picking out, here and there, high lights on window-
glass that shot forth blinding sparks and flashes.
The boy yawned again, his hands in his pockets,
then turned to the sooty oil stove and peered rather
disgustedly amongst the frying-pans, tins and paste-
board boxes. There was nothing in the way of food
to be found. He sniffed fastidiously at the corrupt
odor of cooking, then knelt upon the floor and began
a search, crawling gingerly on hands and knees. The
ends of three matches projected slightly above the
surface of the matted layers of rubbish. Here he
scraped the dirt away with a case-knife and came
upon a little paper-wrapoed parcel, which, oner^d,
disclosed three bright twenty-five-cent pieces. He
4 THE HEART LINE
wrapped them up again, tucked them into the hole in
the dirt and went on with his quest.
His next find, a foot or so from the base-board of
the double doors, was a cache containing a pearl-
handled pen-knife. He put it back. Here and there
in the subsoil he came upon other treasure trove, each
article carefully wrapped in paper or bits of rag a
jet ear-ring, a folded calendar, a silver chain, two
watches, a dozen screw-eyes, several five-dollar gold
pieces, a roll of corset laces. He returned them one
by one as he found them, and smoothed the dirt over
the place.
He had nearly exhausted the field in the front room,
when he came upon a small paper bag containing a
few macaroons. These he sat down to eat, first
brushing off feathery bits of green mold. He dis-
covered another bag containing peanuts. He chewed
them slowly, throwing the shells upon the floor, his
eyes wandering, his air abstracted.
Leading off the front room was a smaller one whose
door was shut. He opened it now, and went in some-
what fearfully. Here was another cot drawn up in
front of the window, and, upon nails driven in the
wall, women's hats and dresses. Upon the inside of
the door was pinned a stained, yellowing newspaper
cut the portrait of a man perhaps thirty years old,
with mustache and side-whiskers and a wide flowing
collar. Beneath it was printed the name, "Oliver
Payson." The boy gazed at it curiously for some
moments.
From this, he turned to a corner where stood an
old trunk covered with cowhide whose hair was
rubbed off in mangy spots. Corroded brass-headed
PROLOGUE 5
nails held a rotting, pinked flap of red leather about
the edge of the cover. On the top of the trunk, also
in brass-headed nails, were the letters "F. G."
He stooped over and tried the lid. The trunk was
locked. He lifted it, testing its weight, and found it
too heavy to be budged. He rubbed the hair with his
hand, played with the handles and fingered the lock
longingly ; then, after a last look, he left the room and
closed the door.
He had gone back to the bookcase and taken down
a volume of Montaigne's Essays, when he heard a
knock on the door of the back room leading into the
hallway. He unlocked the door, opened it a few
inches and stood guarding the entrance.
A woman of middle age in a black bonnet, shawl
and gown attempted to pass him. He stood stiffly in
her way, regarding her harsh, sour visage, thin, cruel
lips and pale, humid, bluish eyes. At his resolute
defense her attitude weakened.
"Ain't Madam Grant to home ?" she said.
"No, she is not. What do you want?"
"Oh, I just wanted to see her; you let me come in
and wait a while she'll be back soon, I s'pose?"
"She doesn't allow me to let anybody in when she's
away," the boy protested.
"Oh, that's all right, Frankie ; I'm a particular friend
of hers. I'll just come in and make myself to home
till she comes in. I'm all winded comin' up them steep
stairs, and I've got to set down."
"I'm sorry," the boy said more politely, "but I
mustn't let you in. I did let a lady in once, and Mamsy
scolded me for it. The next day we missed a watch,
too."
6 THE HEART LINE
"My sakes ! Does she keep her watches in the dirt
on the floor, too?" the woman said, her eyes sparkling
with curiosity. "You needn't worry about me, my
dear ; everybody knows me, and trusts me, too. Besides,
my business is important and I've just got to see the
Madam, sure."
"You may wait on the stairs, if you like, but you
can't come in here. She says that the neighbors are
altogether too curious." The remark was made delib-
erately, as if to aid his defense by its rudeness. But
the woman's skin was tough.
"You're a pert one, you be !" she sniffed. "I'd like
to know what you do here all day, anyway. You
ought to be to school ! We'll have to look after you,
young man; they's societies that makes a business of
seeing to children that's neglected like you, and takes
'em away where they can be taught an education and
live decent."
The boy's face changed to dismay. The tears came
into his eyes. "I don't want to go away, I want to
live here, and I'm going to, too ! Besides, I can read
and write already, and I learn more things than you
can learn at school. I'd just like to see them take
me away!"
"What do you learn, now ?" said the woman insinu-
atingly. "Do you learn how to tell fortunes ? Can you
tell mine, now ? I'll give you a nickel if you will !"
"I don't want a nickel. I've got all the money I
want!"
"Oh, you have, have you? How much have you
got? Say, I hear the Madam's pretty well fixed.
How much do you s'pose she's worth, now?"
"You can't work me that way."
PROLOGUE 7
She put forth a shaky hand to stroke his dark hair,
and he warded her off. "Nor that way either!" he
said, beginning to grow angry.
"Say, sonny, do you ever see the spirits here?" she
began again.
"No, but I can smell 'em now," he replied.
She burst out into a cackle of laughter. "Say, that's
pretty good! You're a likely little feller, you be. I
didn't mean no harm, noways."
"You mean that you didn't mean any harm, don't
you ?" he asked soberly.
"No, I don't mean no harm, sure I don't! What
d'you mean?"
"She says one shouldn't use double negatives."
"What's them, then?"
"I mean you don't use good English," said the
boy.
"I don't talk English? What do I talk then-
Dutch? What's the matter with you?"
"Oh, I'm just studying grammar, that's all. Now
you see I don't need to go to school, the way you said.
Mamsy teaches me every night."
"Oh, she does, does she? Well, well! I hear she
has a fine education; some say she's went to college,
even."
"Yes, she has. She went to a woman's college in
the East, once."
"Then what's she living in this pigsty for, I'd like
to know ! It beats all, this room does. Let me come
in for a moment and just look round a bit, will you?
I won't touch nothing at all, sure."
The boy protested, and it might have come to a
physical struggle had not footsteps been heard coming
8 THE HEART LINE
up the narrow stairway. The visitor peered over the
railing of the balusters.
"That's her!" she whispered hoarsely.
A head, rising, looked between the balusters, like
a wild animal gazing through the bars of its cage.
It was the head of a woman of twenty-seven or eight,
and though her face had a strange, wild expression,
with staring eyes, she was, or had undoubtedly been,
a lady. Her hair, prematurely gray, was parted in
the center and brought down in waves over her ears.
Her eyebrows, in vivid contrast, were black; and
between them a single vertical line cleft her forehead.
What might have been a rare beauty was now dis-
torted into something fantastic and mysterious, though
when at rare intervals she smiled, a veil seemed to
be drawn aside and she became an engaging, familiar,
warm-hearted woman. She was dressed in a brilliant
red gown and dolman of mosaic cloth with a Tyrolean
hat of the period. Such striking color was, thirty
years ago, uncommon upon the streets, but, even had
it been more usual, the severity of her costume with
neither a bustle nor the elaborate ruffles and trimmings
then in vogue, would have made her conspicuous.
She came up, with a white face, gasping for breath
after her climb, one hand to her heart. For a moment
she seemed unable to speak. Then suddenly and
sharply she said:
"Francis, shut the door !"
'The "boy obeyed, coming out into the hall, with a
hand still holding the knob.
"The lady wanted me to let her in, but I wouldn't
do it, Mamsy," he said.
Madam Grant turned her eyes upon the apologetic,
PROLOGUE 9
cringing figure, whose thin, skinny fingers plucked at
her shawl.
"I just called neighborly like, thinkin' maybe you'd
give me a settin', Madam Grant," she said.
Madam Grant had come nearer, now, and stood
gazing at her visitor. The expression of scorn had
faded from her face, her eyes glazed. She spoke
slowly in a deliberate monotone.
"Your name is Margaret Riley."
The woman nodded. Her lips had fallen open, and
her eyes were fixed in awe.
"Who are the three men I see beside you?" de-
manded Madam Grant.
"They was only two ! I swear to God they was only
two!" "
"There is a little child, too."
"For the love of Heaven!" Mrs. Riley moaned.
"Send 'em away, send 'em away, tell 'em to leave
me be!"
Madam Grant's eyes brightened a little, and her
color returned.
"Come in the room and I will see what I can do
for you."
The three entered, Mrs. .Riley, half terrified but
curious, darting her eyes about the apartment, sniff-
ing at the foul odor, her furtive glances returning
ever to the mad woman. Francis went to the book-
case and resumed his reading without manifesting
further interest in the visitor. Madam Grant seated
herself upon a wooden box covered with sacking and
untied the strings of her hat.
"What do you want to know?" she asked sharply.
"I got three tickets in the lottery, and I want to
io THE HEART LINE
know which one to keep," Mrs. Riley ventured, some-
what shamefaced.
Madam Grant gave a fierce gesture, and the line
between her brows grew deeper. "I'll answer such
questions for nobody! That's the devil's work, not
mine. How did your three husbands die, Margaret
Riley?"
The woman held up her hands in protest. "Two,
only two!" she cried; "and they died in their beds
regular enough. God knows I wore my fingers out
for 'em, too!"
"They died suddenly," Madam Grant replied impas-
sively. "Who's the other one with the smooth face
the one who limps?"
Mrs. Riley coughed into her hands nervously. "It
might be my brother."
"It is not your brother. You know who it is, Mrs.
Riley; and he tells me that you must give back the
papers."
"Oh, I'll give 'em back; I was always meanin' to
give 'em back, God knows I was ! I'll do it this week."
"In a week it will be too late."
"I'll do it to-morrow."
"You'll do it to-day, Mrs. Riley."
"I will, oh, I will!"
"Now, if you want a sitting, I'll give you one,"
Madam Grant continued. "That is, if I can get
Weenie. I can't promise anything. She comes and
she goes like the sun in spring."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Riley, rising abruptly. "I
think I'll be going, after all." She started toward
the door.
The clairvoyant's face had set again in a vacant,
PROLOGUE ii
far-away expression and her voice fell to the same
dead tone she had used before. She clutched her
throat suddenly.
"He's in the water he's drowning he's passing
out now he's gone ! You are responsible, you ! you !
You drove him to it with your false tongue and your
crafty hands. But you'll regret it. You'll pay for it
in misery and pain, Margaret Riley. Your old age
will be miserable. You'll escape shame to suffer
torment !"
Mrs. Riley's face, haggard and terrified, was work-
ing convulsively. Without taking her eyes from the
medium, she ran into the front room and shook the
boy's shoulder.
"Wake her up, Frankie, I don't want no more of
this ! Wake her up, dear, and let me go !"
Francis arose lazily and walked over to Madam
Grant. He put his arm tenderly about her and whis-
pered in her ear.
"Come back, Mamsy dear! Come back, Mamsy, I
want you !" He began stroking her hands firmly.
Mrs. Riley, still gazing, fascinated, at the group,
backed out of the room and closed the door. Her
steps were heard stumbling down the stairs. Madam
Grant's eyes quivered and opened slowly. She shud-
dered, then shook the blood back into her thin, white
hands. Finally she looked up at Francis and smiled.
"All right, dear!"
Her smile, however, lasted but for the few moments
during which he caressed her; then the veil fell upon
her countenance, and her eyes grew strange and hard.
She gazed wildly here and there about the room.
"What's that in Boston?" she asked suddenly, the
12 THE HEART LINE
pitch of her voice sharply raised, as she pointed to
the shells upon the rubbish of the floor.
"Only some peanuts I was eating, Mamsy," said the
boy, guiltily watching her.
"Somebody has been in Toledo, somebody has been
in New York! I can see the smoke of the trains!"
Her eyes traveled around an invisible path, from
mound to mound of dirt and scraps, noticing the
slight displacements the boy had made in his quest for
food. He watched her sharply, but without fear.
"Oh, the train didn't stop, Mamsy; they were
express trains, you know."
"Don't tell me/ don't tell me !"
She pointed with her slender forefinger here and
there. "New Orleans is safe; New Orleans is always
a safe, strait-laced old town ; but the place isn't, what
it was! They've left the French quarter now to the
Creoles, but I know a place on Royal Street where
the gallery whispers O God! that gallery with the
magnolia trees and the leper girl across the street
in the end room!" Her voice had sunk to a harsh
whisper; now it rose again. "Chicago all right. I
wouldn't care if it weren't. Baltimore he never was
in Baltimore. But what's the matter with Denver?
Somebody's been to Denver!" She turned her gaze
point-blank upon Francis.
He met it fairly.
"Oh, no, Mamsy, nobody ever goes to Denver,
Mamsy dear!"
She knelt down and groped tentatively, sensitively,
across the layer of dust that sloped toward the corner,
by the bay-window. She turned, still on all-fours, to
shake her finger at him, and say solemnly: "Don't
PROLOGUE 13
K 4
ever go to Denver, Francis! Denver's a bad place,
a very wicked place. They gamble in Denver, they
gamble yellow money away." She arose, apparently
either satisfied or diverted in her quest, to turn her
back to the boy and look inside the bag she had been
holding.
"Go outside, Francis!" she commanded, after fum-
bling with its contents.
He walked to the door and passed into the hall.
Here he waited, listening listlessly, drumming softly
upon the railing. The room was silent for a while;
then he heard a muffled pounding, as of one stamping
down the surface of the matted dirt. At last she
called him and he went in again. Madam Grant's
face was placid and kind.
She proceeded to occupy herself busily at the little
oil stove, putting into the greasy frying-pan some chops
which she had brought home with her. The splutter-
ing and the pungent odor of the frying fat soon filled
the two rooms. She cut a few slices from a loaf of
stale bread, and set the meager repast forth upon the
top of a wooden box.
"Come and have dinner, Francis!" she said, with a
sweet look at him.
That the boy was far older than his years was evi-
dent by the way he watched her and took his cue
from her, humoring her in her madder moments,
restraining her in her moods of mystic exaltation,
pathetically affectionate during her lucid intervals.
She was in this last phase now, and from time to
time, in the course of their meal, his hand stole to
hers. Its pressure was softly returned.
"What have you read to-day?"
I 4 THE HEART LINE
"I finished Gulliver."
"What did you think of it?"
"Why, somehow, it seemed just like it might be
true."
"As if it might be true, Francis what did I tell
you?" Her tone grew severe, almost pedagogic.
"You must be careful of your talk, my boy! Never
forget; it is important. You'll never get on if you're
careless and common. You will often be judged by
your speech. What else did you read?"
"I tried Montaigne's Essays, but I couldn't under-
stand much. It seemed so dull to me. But there's one,
Whether the Governor of a Place Besieged Ought
Himself to go out to Parley. I like that!"
Madam Grant laughed. "I'd like to have known
Montaigne ; he was a kind of old maid, but he was a
modern, after all; common sense will do if you can't
get humor."
"Where did you get all these books, Mamsy?"
Her face grew blank again; her eyes wandered.
She recited in a sort of croon :
"Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never re-
pented his sin.
How do they know it? are they his mother? are you of
his kin?"
A frightened look came on the boy's face and his
hand went to hers again.
"Mamsy, Mamsy !" he cried. "Come back, Mamsy !
I want you!"
She turned to him as if she had never seen him
before. "Oh !" she said, and drew aside. Then : "You
mustn't ask questions, my boy."
With a quick impulse she clasped him to her Page 15
PROLOGUE 15
"I won't, Mamsy."
"You're a good little boy and you came out of the
dark," she pursued.
"Out of the dark?" he repeated, tempting her on.
His curiosity was manifest.
"Don't you remember ?"
"I'm not sure. They was a place "
"There was a place," she corrected.
"There was a place where they beat me, and I ran
away, and I found you, and you were good to me."
"No, it is you who have been good I'm not good ;
I'm bad, Francis."
"I know you're good, Mamsy, because you teach
me to do everything right, and I love you !"
With a quick impulse she clasped him to her, but
even as she did so, her face changed again, this time
with an expresssion of pain. She put her hand to her
heart suddenly and moaned. He watched her in terror.
"Get the bottle !" she commanded huskily, dropping
to the floor, to support herself on her elbow.
He ran to a little bath-room beside the closet,
brought a bottle and spoon, poured out a dose of the
medicine and put it to her lips. Finally she sat up,
listening.
"Somebody's coming. She is coming! Come here,
Francis ! Quickly !"
Taking him by the hand, she led him to the closet
in the back room, pushed him inside, closed the door
and locked it.
It was dark in the closet, but he knew its contents
as well as if he could see them. Upon a row of
shelves were account-books and papers covered with
dust. On nails in the wall his own small stock of
16 THE HEART LINE
clothes hung, and in a wooden box on the floor were
his playthings blocks, a wooden horse, several pre-
cious bits of twine and leather, a collection of spools
and a toy globe. He sat down on this box patiently
and waited.
Presently there came a knock at the hall door.
Madam Grant opened it and some one entered. He
heard his guardian's voice saying:
"Come in, Grace, here I am, such as I am, and here
you are, such as you are." Then her voice changed,
becoming tremulous and excited. "Ah, but she's
beautiful! May I kiss her, Grace? Oh, what eyes!
Her father's eyes, aren't they? Don't be afraid,
Grace, let her come to me."
There was a reply in a soft voice which Francis
could not make out, as they passed into the front
room. He tried to peep through the keyhole, but as
the key had been left in, he could see nothing. He
sat down upon the box again to wait, playing with
his toy globe. After a while he noticed a thin streak
of light admitted by a crack in the panel of the door,
and rose to see if he could see through it. At the
height of his eye it was too narrow to show him
anything in the room, but farther up it widened. He
pulled down several account-books from the shelves
and piled them upon the box. Standing tiptoe upon
these, he found that he could get a clear though lim-
ited view of the bay-window.
Here a little girl sat quietly, vividly illuminated in
the sunshine. She was scarcely more than four years
of age and was dressed in a navy blue silk frock whose
collar and pockets were elaborately trimmed with
ruffles of white satin and bows of ribbon. She wore
PROLOGUE 17
a white muslin cap decorated with ribbon, lace and
rosebuds; white stockings showed above her high
buttoned boots; her hair was a truant mass of fine-
spun threads, curling, tawny yellow. Her face was
round, her eyes extraordinarily wide apart under level,
straight brows. What caught and held his attention,
however, as he watched, was a velvety mole upon her
left cheek, so placed as to be a piquant ornament rather
than a disfigurement to her countenance. She sat
listening, tightly holding a woolly lamb in her plump
little arms. The two women were out of his range
of vision.
The steady low sound of voices came to him, but
he made no attempt to listen his attention was riv-
eted upon the figure of the little girl who was sharply
focused, as in an opera-glass, directly in his field of
view. Occasionally, as she was spoken to, she smiled,
and her cheek dimpled ; but she seemed to be looking
at him, through the door. She scarcely moved her
eyes, but kept them fixed in his direction, as if con-
scious of an invisible presence.
The women talked on. Occasionally Madam Grant's
voice rose to a more excited note, and a few words
came to him, betraying to his knowledge of her that
her mood had been interrupted by her customary
vagaries. At such times the little girl would with-
draw her glance to gaze solemnly in Madam Grant's
direction; she showed, however, no signs of alarm.
It seemed, indeed, as if the little girl understood, even
as he understood, the temporary aberration. Then her
eyes would return to his, as if drawn back by his gaze.
So the scene lasted for a half-hour, during which
time he caught no glimpse of the other visitor. At
18 THE HEART LINE
last a hand was outstretched and the little girl rose.
Francis stepped down for a moment to rest himself
from his strained position; when he had put his eye
again to the crack she had passed out of his line of
sight.
He was to catch a few words more, however, before
the callers left.
"I'm glad you came to-day," Madam Grant said.
"You were just in time."
"Why, are you going to leave here?"
"Yes, I'm going away."
"Felicia," the visitor said earnestly, "why won't you
let us take care of you? This is no place for you
it is dreadful to think of you here ! Now, while you
are able to talk to me, do let me do something for
you !"
"No; it's too late. Besides, there is Francis," said
Madam Grant.
"Let Francis come, too. This is a terrible place
for a child. Look at this room look at the filth and
disorder!"
Madam Grant's voice rose again. "Take her away,
take her away!" she cried raucously. "She'll go to
New York, she'll go to Toledo I don't want her in
Toledo meddling! She'll be in New Orleans the first
thing you know ; there she goes now ! Take her away,
take her away!"
The door closed. Francis heard the key turn in
the lock. Then there was the jarring sound of a fall
and finally all was still. He waited for some moments,
then he called out:
"Mamsy, let me out! let me out!"
There was no reply,
PROLOGUE 19
"Mamsy!" he called out again. "Where are you?
Come and let me out, please let me out !"
There was still no answer to his pleadings. In
terror now, he pounded the panels, shook the handle
of the door, and then began to cry. Climbing upon
the box again, he caught sight of Madam Grant's
skirt. She was lying prone upon the floor. As he
wept on, she moved and began to crawl slowly toward
him. At last her hand groped to the door and the
key was turned in the lock. He burst out into her
arms.
The blood was gone from her tense, anguished face ;
one hand clutched at her heart. She did not speak,
but gasped horribly for breath. There was no need
now for her to direct him. He poured out a dose of
medicine and forced it between her lips. He gave her
another spoonful; the drops trickled from her mouth
and stained the front of her crimson gown. Then,
with his assistance, she crept to his couch, pulled her-
self upon it and lay down, groaning. He sat on the
floor beside her, stroking her hand.
For some time she was too weak to speak. Her
black eyebrows were drawn down, the cleft between
them was deep, like the gash of a knife. Her white
hair fell about her head in disorder. She drew a
ragged coverlid over her chest, as if suffering from
the cold, though the sun shone in upon her as she lay
and mercilessly illumined her desperate face. The
spasm of agony abated, and after some minutes she
breathed more freely. Then, with a sigh, her muscles
relaxed and her voice came clear and calm.
"You must be a good boy, Francis," she began,
"for I am going away. It's all over now with the
20 THE HEART LINE
worry and the puzzle and the pain. What will you
do, I wonder? Oliver might help, perhaps. Oliver
isn't so bad, down in his heart. He was fair enough.
There's money enough. Francis, when I fall asleep,
look in the trunk and hide the money, if you can
don't let them get it away from you! Wait till I'm
asleep, though the key is in my bag. What a fool
I was ! I might have known. There was my grand-
mother, she was mad, too. It may stop with me oh,
she was a dear little thing, though!"
"Who was the little girl, Mamsy ?" Francis inquired,
his curiosity overcoming his fear for her.
"Born with a veil, born with a veil! I was a sev-
enth daughter, too much good it did me ! I could tell
others who could tell me? Bosh! it's all rubbish
we'll never know ! fol-de-rol, Francis, it's all gammon
all but Weenie. Weenie knows. Yellow hair, too ;
it will grow gray soon enough !" Then, as if she had
just heard his question she broke our querulously,
"Where did you see her?"
"I looked through a crack in the door, Mamsy."
She pulled herself up in a frenzy of anger and shook
her finger at him. "Oh, you did, did you? You
snooping, sniping monkey! I'll tell you what you
were looking at, you were watching the train to New
York! You'll go to Toledo, will you? You won't
find anything there. Go to New Orleans; there's
plenty to find out in New Orleans! In Denver, too,
and way stations, but be careful, be careful! I was
born in Toledo." She sank back exhausted.
"Don't be worried, Mamsy," said Francis, attempt-
ing to calm her. "I won't never go to Toledo,
Mamsy!"
PROLOGUE 21
"Won't never'!" She glared at him. "What did
I say about double negatives, boy? Two negatives
make a positive, two pints make a quart, two fools
make a quarrel, two quarrels make a fool. What
language! I was at Vassar, too I was secretary of
my class! Oh, I want to see Victoria! She would
understand, Fm sure! Oh, Francis!" Her voice
dwindled away and her eyes closed.
For a moment she seemed to be asleep. Then a
sudden convulsion frightened him. She spoke again
without raising her lids.
"Why, there's mother! Come and kiss me, mother!
Did Weenie send for you, mother? Oh, Weenie!
Who's the old man? Father? I never saw father on
this side, did I, Weenie? He passed out when I was
very little, didn't he? So many people! Why, the
room is full of them! Yes, I'm coming "
The boy was tugging frantically at her hand, calling
to her without ceasing, sobbing in his fright. He
succeeded at last in bringing her out of her trance and
she opened her eyes to stare at him. Her breath was
coming harder. With a great effort she reached for
the boy's head and pulled it nearer, gazing into his
frightened eyes.
"Poor Francis !" she gasped. "You've been so good,
dear you've been my hope! Felicia Grant's hope!
You have no name, dear; take that one, instead of
mine Francis Granthope oh, this pain!"
"Shan't I get you the medicine ?" he asked, sobbing.
"No, it's no use." She pushed him gently
away. "I'm going to sleep now Don't call
me back, Francis; I want rest. Remember the
trunk good-by !"
22 THE HEART LINE
She closed her eyes and rolled over on her side,
turning her face away from him.
He waited half an hour in silence. Then he put his
hands to her arms softly.
"Mamsy!" he said quietly but insistently. "Are
you asleep, Mamsy?" There was no answer.
He arose and looked for her leather bag. He
found it on the floor where she had fallen. Opening
it, he found inside a heterogeneous collection
strings, hair-pins, peppermints, papers, a lock of hair in
an envelope, a photograph, several gold pieces, and
the key he took it and tiptoed into the little side room
with excited interest. He had never looked inside the
trunk before and his eagerness made his hands tremble
as he unlocked it.
On top was a tray filled with account-books and
papers, letters, folded newspapers and a mahogany
box. It was all he could do to lift it to get at what
was beneath. He struggled with it until he had tilted
it up and slid it down to the floor.
Below was a mass of white satin and lace. He
lifted this piece by piece, disclosing a heavy wedding
gown, silk-lined, wrapped in tissue paper, and many
accessories of an elaborate trousseau a half-dozen
pairs of silk stockings, a pair of exquisite white satin
slippers, a box of long white gloves, another of lace
handkerchiefs, dozens of mysterious articles of lingerie,
embroidered and lace-trimmed. In a lower corner was
a little, white vellum, gold-clasped prayer-book.
Lastly he found a package securely wrapped in
brown paper; opening this, he discovered six crisp,
green packages of bank-notes. These he rewrapped
and slid them inside his full blue blouse. Then he put
PROLOGUE 23
everything back in order, replaced the tray and locked
the trunk.
Finally he stole back to the form upon the couch.
"Mamsy, are you awake ?" he whispered.
There was no answer, and he shook her shoulder
slightly. Then, as she made no reply, he leaned over
and looked at her face. Her eyes were open, fearfully
open, but they did not turn to his. They were set and
glazed with film.
A horror came over him now, and he shook her
with all his strength.
"Mamsy, Mamsy !" he cried. "Look at me, Mamsy !
What's the matter?"
Still she did not look at him, or speak, or move. He
noticed that she was not breathing, and his fear over-
came him. He dropped her cold hand and ran scream-
ing out into the hall.
CHAPTER I
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY
Fancy Gray was the lady's name and the lady's hair
was red. Both were characteristic of her daringly
original character, for, as Fancy's name had once been
Fanny, Fanny's hair had once been brown. Further
indication of Miss Gray's disposition was to be found
in her eyebrows, which were whimsically arched, and
her mouth, which was scarlet-lipped and tightly held.
Another detail of significance was her green silk stock-
ings, rather artfully displayed to lend a harmony to
her dark green cloth tailor-made suit, which fitted like
a kid glove over Miss Gray's cunningly rounded little
body. Her eyes were brown and bright ; they were as
quick as heliograph flashes, but could, when she
willed, burn as softly as glowing coals of fire. Her
face seemed freshly washed, her complexion was trans-
lucently clear, modified only by the violet shadows
under her eyes and an imperceptible tint of fine down
on her upper lip. Her hands, well beringed and well
kept, were fully worth the admiration which, by her
willingness to display them to advantage, she seemed
to expect on their account.
In New York, a good guesser would have put her
age at twenty-three; but, taking into account the
precocious effect of the California climate, nineteen
might be nearer the mark. She was, at all events, a
finished product ; there 'was no evidence of diffidence
or gaucherie about Fancy Gray. She appeared to be
24
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 25
very well satisfied with herself. If, as she evidently
did, she considered herself beautiful, her claim would
undoubtedly be acknowledged by most men who met
her for the first time. On those more fastidious, she
had but to smile and her mouth grew still more gener-
ous, showing a double line of white teeth, those in the
lower jaw being set slightly zigzag, as if they were
so pretty that it had been wished to put in as many as
possible her cheeks dimpled, her eyes half closed
and she triumphed over her critic. For there was
something more dangerous than beauty in that smile;
there was an elfin humor that captured and bewil-
dered there was warmth and welcome in it. It made
one feel happy.
As she sat at her desk in the waiting-room she could
look across the corner of Geary and Powell Streets to
catch the errant eye of passing cable-car conductors,
or gaze, in abstraction, at pedestrians crossing Union
Square, or at the oriental towers of the Synagogue
beyond. With the bait of a promising smile, she
caught many an upward glance. Fancy Gray was not
in the habit of hiding her charms, and she levied
tribute, to her beauty on all mankind. She gazed upon
women, however, far less indulgently than upon men ;
never was there a more captious observer of her sex.
A glance up and a glance down she gave; and the
specimen was classified, appraised, appreciated, con-
demned, condoned or complimented. Not a pin missed
her scrutiny, not a variation of the mode escaped her
quest for revealing evidence. A woman could hardly
pass from contact with Fancy's swift glance without
being robbed, mentally, of everything worth while that
she possessed in the matter of novelty in fashion or
26 ^THE HEART LINE
deportment. Fancy appropriated the ideas thus gained,
and made use of them at the earliest opportunity.
The waiting-room bore, upon the outside, the legend :
FRANCIS GRANTHOPE, PALMIST
Inside, where Fancy sat daily from ten to four, the
apartment was walled and carpeted in red. Upon
the walls, painted wooden Chinese grotesque masks,
grinning or scowling against the fire-cracker paper,
hung, at intervals, from black stained woodwork.
Between the two windows was a plaster column bear-
ing the winged head of Hypnos ; at the other end of
the room was a row of casts of hands hanging on
hooks against a black panel. The desk in the corner
was Fancy's station, and here she murmured into the
telephone, scribbled appointments in a blank-book, read
The Second Wife, gazed out into the green square,
or manicured her nails according as the waiting-
room chairs were empty, or occupied with men or with
women. Whatever company she had, she was never
careless of the light upon her or the condition of
her tinted hair.
It was a cool, blustering afternoon in August.
San Francisco was at its worst phase. The wind
was high and harsh, harassing the city with its
burden of dust. Over the mountains, on the
Marin shore, a high fog hung, its advance guard
scudding in through the Golden Gate, piling over
the hills by the Twin Peaks and preparing its
line of battle for a general assault upon the pe-
ninsula at nightfall. In the streets men and women
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 27
clung to their hats savagely as they passed gusty
corners, and coat collars were turned up against the
raw air. Summer had, so far, spent its effort in four
violently hot days, when the humid atmosphere made
the temperature unbearable. Now the weather had
flung back to an extreme as unpleasant; open fires
were in order. There was one now burning in
Granthope's reception-room, to which Fancy Gray
made frequent excursions. She was there, making a
picture of herself beside the hearth, having resolutely
held her pose for some time in anticipation of his
coming, when Francis Granthope arrived.
Tall, erect and able-bodied, with the physique of an
athlete, and a strong, leonine head covered with crisp,
waving, black hair, Francis Granthope had the comple-
ment of the actor's type of looks ; but his alertness of
carriage and his swift, searching glance distinguished
him from the professional male beauty. Fine eyes of
deep, rich blue, fine teeth often exposed in compelling
smiles, a resolute mouth and a firm, deeply cleft chin
he had; and all these attractions were set off by his
precise dress gloves, bell-tailed overcoat, sharply
creased trousers, varnished boots and silk hat. A
short mustache, curling upward slightly at the ends,
and a small, triangular tuft of hair on his lower lip
gave him a somewhat foreign aspect. He had an air, a
manner, that kept up the illusion. Men would perhaps
have distrusted him as too obviously handsome ; women
would talk about him as soon as he had left the room.
Stage managers would have complimented his "pres-
ence" ; children would have watched him, fascinated,
reserving their judgment. He seemed to fill the room
with electricity.
28 THE HEART LINE
He sent a smile to Fancy, half of welcome, half of
amusement at her picturesque posture, and, with cor-
dial "Good morning !" in a mellow barytone, removed
his overcoat and hat, putting them into a closet near
the hall door. He reappeared in morning coat, white
waistcoat and pin-checked trousers, with a red car-
nation in his buttonhole. He held his hands for a
moment before the fire, then looked indulgently at his
blithe assistant.
Now, one of Fancy's charms was a slender, pointed
tongue. This she was wont to exhibit, on occasion,
by sticking it out of her mouth coquettishly, and
shaking it saucily in the direction of her nostrils a
joyous exploit which was vouchsafed only upon rare
and intimate occasions. This, now, she did, tilting her
head backward to give piquancy to the performance.
Granthope laughed, and went over to where she sat.
"You're a saucy bird, Fancy," he commented, lean-
ing over her, both hands upon the desk. "Do you
know I rather like you !"
Her face grew drolly sober; her whimsical eyebrows
lifted.
"I don't know as I blame you," she replied. "You
always did have good taste, though."
"I believe that I might go so far as to imprint a
salute upon your chaste brow !"
"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.
He stooped over and kissed her. She was graciously
resigned.
"Thank you, Frank," she said demurely. "Small
contributions gratefully received." She tucked her
head into the corner of his arm, and he looked down
upon her kindly.
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 29
"Poor little Fancy!" he said softly.
"Have you missed me, Frank?"
"Horribly!"
"Don't laugh at me !"
"How can I help it, O toy queen?"
"Am I so awfully young?"
"You're pretty juvenile, Fancy, but you'll grow up,
I think."
She was quite sober now. "Oh, there's an awful
lot of time wasted in growing up," she said. Then
she squirmed her head so that she could look upward
at him. "You've been awfully good to me, Frank!"
Her tone was wistful.
"You deserve more than you will ever get, I'm
afraid," was his answer as he patted her hair.
"I think you do like me a little."
He shook his finger at her. "No fair falling in
love!"
She laughed. "I believe you're afraid, Frank!"
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Fancy.
We've been through a good deal together, first and
last, haven't we?"
"Yes, we've had a good time. I'd like to do it all
over again."
"Heavens, no !" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't ! There's
enough ahead. From what I've seen of life, things
don't really begin to happen till you're thirty, at least.
All this will seem like a dream."
"Sometimes I hope it will." Fancy was looking
away, now. Her gaze returned to him after a moment
of silence. "Don't you ever think of getting out of
this, Frank? You're too good for these fakirs, really
you are ! Why, you could mix with millionaires, easy !
30 THE HEART LINE
And you've got a good start, now. They like you.
You've got the style and the education and the 'know'
for it."
He went back to the fireplace, standing there with
his hands behind his back.
"Oh, this is amusing enough. What does it matter,
anyway? There are as big fools and shams in society
as there are in my business. Look at the women that
come down here, and the things they tell me ! Why,
I know them a good deal better now than I should if
I were on their calling-lists and took tea with them!
But you are right, in a way. I suppose some day I
must quit this and take to honest theft."
"Don't say that, Frank! I hate you when you're
cynical."
"What else can I be, in my profession?"
"Oh, I do want you to quit, Frank, really I do, and
yet, I hate to think of it. What should I do ? I'd lose
you sure ! I could never make good with the swells.
I'm only a drifter."
"Oh, you can't lose me, Fan; we've pulled together
too long. You could make good all right. You've got
a pose and a poise that some ladies would give their
teeth for. I don't believe you've ever really been sur-
prised in your life, have you ?"
"I guess not." Fancy shook her head thoughtfully.
"When I am surprised, it'll be a woman who'll do it.
No man can, that's sure."
"No. I fancy you know all there is to know about
men. I wish I did. You'll do, Fancy Gray!" He
approached her and playfully chucked her under the
chin. Then he looked at her gravely. "I wonder why
you're willing to drudge along here with me, anyway.
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 31
You could get a much better position easily with
your face and brains."
"And figure. Don't forget that!" Fancy shook
her finger at him.
"Yes." He looked her over approvingly.
"No woman ought to be blue with a figure like mine,
ought she?"
He laughed. "I can't imagine your ever being blue.
Fancy !"
Fancy opened her eyes very wide.
"There's a whole lot you don't know about women
yet," she said sagely.
"That's likely."
"Am I to understand that I'm fired, then?" She
tried to appear demure.
"Not yet. I'm only too afraid you'll resign. It's
queer you don't get married. You must have had lots
of chances. Why don't you, Fancy?"
"I never explain," said Fancy. "It only wastes
time."
He went over to her again and very affectionately
boxed her ears.
She freed herself, and turned her face up to him.
"Frank," she said, "do you think I'm pretty?"
"You're too pretty that's the trouble !" he answered,
smiling, as at a familiar trait.
"No, but really do you honestly think so?" Her
face had again grown plaintive.
"Yes, Fancy. Far be it from me to flatter or cajole
with the compliments of a five-dollar reading, but as
between friends, and with my hand on my heart, I
assert that you are beautiful."
"I don't mean that at all," said Fancy. "I want to be
32 THE HEART LINE
pretty. That's what men- like pretty girls. Beautiful
women never get anywhere except into the divorce
courts. Do say I'm pretty !"
"Fancy, you know I'm a connoisseur of women.
You are actually and absolutely pretty."
"Well, that's a great relief, if I can only believe you.
I have to hear it once a day, at least, to keep up my
courage. Now that's settled, let's go to work."
He went back to the fireplace and yawned. "All
right. What's doing to-day ?"
"Full up, except from eleven to twelve."
"Who are they?"
Fancy jauntily nipped open the appointment book
and ran her forefinger down the page.
"Ten o'clock, stranger, Fleurette Heller. Telephone
appointment. Girl with a nice voice."
"Be sure and look at her," Granthope remarked ; "I
may want a tip."
"Ten-thirty, Mrs. Page."
Granthope smiled and Fancy smiled.
"Do you remember what I told her?"
Fancy looked puzzled. "What do you mean ? About
her husband?"
"No, not that. The last time she came I tried a
psychological experiment with her. I told her that
normally she was a quiet, restrained, modest, discreet
woman, but that at times her emotional nature would
get the better of her; that she couldn't help breaking
out and would suddenly let go. I thought she was
about due this week. There's been something doing
and she wants to tell me about it to appease her con-
science. Give them what they want, and anything
goes !"
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 33
Fancy listened, frowning, the point of her pencil
between her lips. "You don't need any of my tips on
Mrs. Page/' she said with sarcasm. "At eleven, Mr.
Summer, whoever he is."
"I don't care, if he's got the price."
"It bores you to read for men, doesn't it, Frank? J
wish you'd let me do it."
As she spoke, the telephone bell on the desk rang,
and she took up the receiver, drooping her head
coquettishly.
"Yes?" she said dreamily, her eyes on Granthope,
who had lighted a cigarette.
"Yes, half-past eleven o'clock, if that would be con-
venient. What name, please? . . . No, any name will
do Miss Smith? All right good-by."
She entered the appointment in her book, and then
remarked decidedly, "She's pretty !"
"No objections ; they're my specialty," Granthope
replied ; "only I doubt it."
"Never failed yet," said Fancy.
Granthope looked at his watch, then passed through
a red anteroom to his studio beyond. Fancy began to
draw little squares and circles and fuzzy heads of men
with mustaches upon a sheet of paper. In a few
moments the palmist returned, his morning coat
replaced by a black velvet jacket tight-fitting and but-
toned close.
"Oh, Fancy, take a few notes, please ; you didn't get
that last one yesterday, I believe."
She reached for a lacquered tin box, containing a
card catalogue, withdrew a blank slip and dipped her
pen in the ink. Then, as he stopped to think, she
remarked :
34 THE HEART LINE
"I don't see why you go to all this trouble, Frank,
Nobody else does. You've a good enough memory,
and I think it's silly. I feel as if I were a bookkeeper
in a business house."
"One might as well be systematic," he returned.
"There's no knowing when all this will come in handy.
I don't intend to give five-dollar readings all my life.
I'm going to develop this thing till it's a fine art.
I've got to do something to dignify the trade. This
doesn't use nearly all that's in me. I wish I had some-
thing to do that would take all my intellect it's all
too easy!- I don't half try. But it's a living. God
knows I don't care for the money nor for fame either,
for that matter. Fame's a gold brick ; you always pay
more for it than it's worth. I suppose it's the sheer
love of the game. I have a scientific delight in doing
my stunt better than it has ever been done before.
Some play on fiddles, I play on women and make
'em dance, too ! Some love machinery, some study
electricity but the wireless, wheel-less mechanics of
psychology for mine. Practical psychology with a
human laboratory. Pour the acid of flattery, and
human litmus turns red with delight. Try the
alkali of disapproval, and it grows blue with disap-
pointment. I give them a run for their money, too.
I make life wonderful for poor fools who haven't the
wit to do it for themselves. I peddle imagination,
Fancy."
"You get good prices," Fancy said, smiling a bit
sadly. "There are perquisites. There aren't many men
who have the chances you do, Frank. Women are cer-
tainly crazy about you, and now that you're taken up
by the smart set, I expect you will be spoiled pretty
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 35
quick." She shook her head coquettishly and dropped
her eyes.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I should think you
would be almost ashamed of being a woman, Fan,
sometimes," he said. "They are all alike, I believe."
Fancy bridled. Then she bit her lip. "You'll meet
your match some day !"
"God, I hope so! It'll make things interesting.
Nothing matters now. I haven't really wanted any-
thing for years; and when you don't want anything,
Fancy, the garlands are hung for you in every house."
"Did you ever have a conscience, Frank?"
"Not I. I shouldn't know what to do with it, if I
had one. I don't see much difference between right
and wrong. We give them what they want, as clergy-
men do. It may be true and it may be false. So may
religion. There are a hundred different kinds some
of them teach that you ought to kill your grandmother
when she gets to be fifty years old. Some teach
clothing and some teach nakedness. Some preach
chastity and some the other thing. Who's going to
tell what's right ? My readings are scientific ; my pre-
dictions may be true, for all I know. Some I help and
some I harm, no doubt. But from all I can see, God
Himself does that. Take that Bennett affair ! He lost
his money, but didn't he have a good taste of life?
We'll never know the truth, anyway. Why not fool
fools who think there's an answer to everything, and
make 'em happy? Do you remember that first time
we played for Harry Wing? I was new at it then.
When I crawled through the panel and put on the robe,
the tears were streaming down my face to think I was
going to fool an old man into believing I was his dead
36 THE HEART LINE
son. What was the result ? He was so happy that he
gave me his gold watch to be dematerialized for
identification. He got more solid satisfaction and
comfort out of that trick than he had out of a year of
sermons. I only wish I could fool myself as easily as
I can fool others then I could be happy myself."
"Why, aren't you happy, Frank?" Fancy asked, her
eyes full of him. "I wish I could do something to
make you happy I'd do anything !"
"Oh, I'm not unhappy," he said lightly, neglecting
her appeal. "I can't seem to suffer any more than I
can really enjoy. I suppose I haven't any soul. I need
ambition inspiration. But we must get to work.
Are you ready?"
Fancy nodded.
"August 5th," he dictated. "Mrs. Riley. Age sixty-
five. Spatulate, extreme type. Wrist, B. Fingers,
B, X, 5. Life 27. Head 18. Heart 4. Fate 12. 3
girdles. Venus B. Mars A. Thumb phalange over-
developed. Right, ditto. Now : married three times,
arm broken in '94, one daughter, takes cocaine, inter-
ested in mines. Last husband knew General Custer
and Lew Wallace. Accidentally drowned, 1877.
Accused of murder and acquitted in 1878. Very poor.
"Don't forget to look up Lew Wallace, Fancy ! Go
down to the library to-night, will you ?" he said, laying
down his note-book.
"Where did you ever get that old dame?"
"Madam Spoil sent her here. She's easy, but no
money in her. Still, I like to be thorough, even with
charity cases; you never know what may come of
them."
The telephone bell prevented Fancy's reply. She
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 37
took up the receiver and said "Yes" in a languishing
drawl.
"Yes. Number 15? .... Payson? Spell it ....
Hold the line a minute." She turned to Granthope,
her ear still to the receiver, her hand muffling the
mouth-piece.
"Funny. Speak of angels here's Madam Spoil
now ! She wants to know if you've got anything about
Oliver Payson?"
"Payson?" he repeated. "Oliver Payson? No, I
don't think so, have we?"
"I don't remember the name, but I'll -run over
the cards. Talk about method! I wish Madam
Spoil had some! P., Packard, Page no; no Payson
here." She returned to the telephone. "No, we have
nothing at all. Good-by." Then she hung up the
receiver.
Granthope, meanwhile, had been walking up and
down the room, frowning.
"It's queer that name is somehow familiar; I've
heard of it somewhere. Oliver Payson Oliver Pay-
son."
"Funny how you never can think of a thing when
you want to," said Fancy, sharpening her pencil.
"I know something about Oliver Payson," Granthope
insisted. "But it's no use, I can't get it. Perhaps it
will come to me."
"You never know what you can do till you stop try-
ing," Fancy offered sagely.
Granthope spoke abstractedly, gazing at the ceiling.
"It's something about a picture, it seems to me."
He walked into his studio, still puzzling with blurred
memories. Fancy took up The Second Wife.
3 8 THE HEART LINE
At ten o'clock the door opened, and Fancy's hand
flew to her back hair. A girl of perhaps twenty years
with intense eyes entered timidly. Her hair was dis-
tracted by the wind and her color was high, increasing
the charm of her pretty, earnest, finely freckled face.
She wore a jacket a little too small for her, with frayed
cuffs. Her shoes were badly worn ; her hat was cheap,
but effective.
"I called to see Mr. Granthope; I think I have an
appointment at ten," she said.
"Miss Heller?" Fancy asked. The girl nodded.
Fancy took inventory of the girl's points, looking her
up and down before she replied, "All right; just be
seated for a moment, please."
She walked to the studio and met Granthope coming
out. They spoke in whispers.
"Let her down easy," Fancy suggested. "It's a love
affair. She has a letter in her coat pocket, all folded
up; you can see the wrinkles where it bulges out.
Hat pin made of an army button, and she doesn't
know enough to paint. Make her take off her coat
and see if her right sleeve isn't soiled above where she
usually wears a paper cuff to protect it. She is half
frightened to death and she has been crying."
"All right," said Granthope. "I'll give her five dol-
lars' worth of optimism."
Fancy put her hand in his softly. "Say, Frank, just
charge this to me and be good to her, will you ?"
"All right. If you like her, I'll do my best. She'll
be smiling when she comes out, you see if she isn't."
As the girl went in for her reading, Mrs. Page walked
into the reception-room, and nodded condescendingly.
She was a dashing woman of thirty-five, full of the
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 39
exuberance and flamboyant color of California. Her
hair was jet black and glossy, massively coiled upon her
head; her features were large, but regular and well
formed ; her figure somewhat voluptuous in its tightly
fitting tailor suit of black. She was a vivid creature,
with impellent animal life and temperament linked,
apparently, to a rather silly, feminine brain. Her
mouth was large, and in it white teeth shone. She was
all shadows and flashes, high lights and depths of
velvety black. From her ears, two spots of diamond
radiance twinkled as she shook her head. When she
drew off her gloves, with a manner, more twinkles
illuminated her hands. Still others shone from the
cut steel buckles of her shoes. She was somewhat
overgrown, flavorless and gaudy, like California fruit,
and her ways were kittenish. Her movements were
all intense. When she looked at anything, she opened
her eyes very wide ; when she spoke she pursed her lips
a bit too much. Altogether she seemed to have a
superfluous ounce of blood in her veins that infused
her with useless energy.
Fancy eyed her pragmatically, added her up,
extracted her square root and greatest common divisor.
The result she reached was evident only by the
imperious way in which she invited her to be seated
and the nonchalant manner in which, after that, she
gazed out upon Geary Street.
Mrs. Page, however, would be loquacious.
"Shall I have to wait long?" she asked. "I have
an engagement at eleven and I simply must see Mr.
Granthope first ! It's very important."
"I don't know," said Fancy coolly. "It depends
upon whether he has an .interesting sitter or not.
40 THE HEART LINE
Sometimes he's an hour, and sometimes he's only
fifteen minutes." She spoke with a slightly stinging
emphasis, examining, meanwhile, the spots on her own
finger-nails.
"Oh," said Mrs Page, and it was evident that the
remark gave her an idea as to her own personal powers
of attraction. "I thought Mr. Granthope treated all
his patrons alike."
"Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't," was
Fancy's cryptic retort. She watched the effect under
drooped lashes.
The effect was to make Mrs. Page squirm uneasily,
as if she didn't know whether she had been hit or not.
She took refuge in the remark: "Well, I hope he will
give me a good reading this time."
"It all depends on what's in your hand," Fancy
followed her up, smiling amiably.
Mrs. Page minced and simpered : "Do you know,
somehow I hate to have him look at my hand, after
what he said before. He told me such dreadful things,
I'm afraid he'll discover more."
"Why do you give him a chance, then ?" said Fancy
coldly.
"Oh, I hope he'll find something better, this time !"
"Weren't you satisfied with what he gave you?"
Fancy asked. "I have found Mr. Granthope usually
strikes it about right."
"Oh, of course, I'm satisfied," Mrs. Page admitted.
"In fact, I trust him so implicitly that I have acted
on his advice. But it's rather dreadful- to know the
truth, don't you think?"
Fancy nodded her head soberly. "Sometimes it is,"
She accented the adverb mischievously.
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 41
"Oh, I don't mean what you mean at all !"
"I know. You mean it's dreadful to have other
people know the truth?"
"No ; but I can't help my character, can I ? It's not
my fault if I have faults. It's all written in my palm
and I can't alter it. Only, I mean it's awful to know
exactly what's going to happen and not be able to
prevent it."
"It's worse not to want to." Fancy waved her hand
to some one in the street.
Mrs. Page withdrew from the conversation, routed,
and devoted herself to a study of the Chinese masks,
casting an occasional impatient glance into the ante-
room. Fancy polished her rings with her handker-
chief.
Granthope's voice was now heard, talking pleas-
antly with Fleurette, who was smiling, as he had
promised. As she left, flushed and happy, Granthope
greeted Mrs. Page, and escorted her, bubbling with
talk, into the studio. The door closed upon a per-
vading odor of sandalwood, Mrs. Page's legacy to
Fancy, who sniffed at it scornfully.
Many cable-cars had passed without Fancy's having
recognized any one worth bowing to, before the next
client appeared ; but, at that visitor's entry, she became
a different creature. Her eyes never really left him,
although she seemed, as he waited, to be busy about
many things.
He was a smart young man, a sort of a bank-clerk
person, dressed neatly, with evidence of considerable
premeditation. His hair was parted in the middle,
his face was cleanly shaven. His sparkling, laughing
eyes, devilishly audacious, his pink cheeks and his cool
42 THE HEART LINE
self-assured manner gave him an appearance of
juvenile, immaculate freshness, which rendered an
acquaintance with such a San Francisco girl as Fancy
Gray, easy and agreeable. He laid his hat and stick
against his hip jauntily, and asked:
"Could I get a reading from Mr. Granthope with-
out waiting all day for it?" As he spoke he loosed a
frivolous, engaging glance at her.
"He'll be out in just a moment," Fancy replied with
more interest than she had heretofore shown. "Won't
you sit down and wait, please ?"
He withdrew his eyes long enough to gallop round
the room with them, but they returned to her like
horses making for a stable. He took a seat, pulled
up his trousers over his knees, drew down his cuffs,
felt the knot in his tie and smoothed his hair, all with
the quick, accurate motion due to long habit. "Horri-
ble weather," he volunteered debonairly.
"It's something fierce, isn't it ?" said Fancy, opening
and shutting drawers, searching for nothing. "It
gets on my nerves. I wish we'd have one good warm
day for a change."
"Been out to the beach lately?" he asked, eying her
with undisguised approval. He breathed on the crown
: of his derby hat and then smelt of it.
"No," she replied. "I don't have much time to
myself. I hate to go alone, anyway." Fancy looked
aimlessly into the top drawer of her desk.
"That's too bad! But I shouldn't think you'd ever
have to go alone. You don't look it."
"Really?" Fancy's tone was arch.
"That's right! I know some one who'd be willing
.to chase out there with you at .the drop of the hat."
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 43
Fancy, appearing to feel that the acquaintance was
making too rapid progress, said, "I don't care much
for the beach ; it's too crowded."
"That depends upon when you go. I've got a car out
there where we could get lost easy enough. Then you
can have a quiet little dinner at the Cliff House almost
any night."
"Can you? I never tried it."
"It's time you did. Suppose you try it with me?"
Fancy opened her eyes very wide at him and let him
have the full benefit of her stare. "Isn't this rather
sudden? You're rushing it a little too fast, seems
to me."
"Not for- me. I'm sorry you can't keep up. You
don't look slow."
Fancy turned to her engagement book.
"You must have known some pretty easy-ones," she
said sarcastically.
The snub did not silence him for long. He recrossed
his legs, drummed on the brim of his hat, aik! began :
"Say, did you ever go to Carminetti's ?"
"No, where is it?"
"Down on Davis Street. They have a pretty lively
time there on Sunday nights. Everybody goes, you
know gay old crowd. They sing and everything.
It's the only really Bohemian place in town now."
"I'm never hungry on Sundays," Fancy said coolly.
"Nor thirsty, either?"
"Sir?" she said in mock reproof, and then burst
into a laugh.
"Say, you scared me all right, that time!"
"You don't look like you would be scared easy,
I guess it's kind of hard to call you down."
44 THE HEART LINE
He folded his arms and squared his shoulders. "I
don't know," he said. "I don't seem to make much of
a hit with you !"
"Oh, you may improve!"
"Upon acquaintance ?"
"Perhaps. You're not in a hurry, are you?"
"That's what I am !" He went at her now with more
vigor. "I say, would you mind telling me your name ?
Here's my card."
He rose, and, walking over to the desk, laid down a
card upon which was printed, "Mr. Gay P. Summer.' 1
Fancy examined it deliberately. Then she looked up
and said :
"My name is Miss Gray, if you must know. What
are you going to do about it ?"
"I'll show you!" he laughed, drawing nearer.
What might possibly have happened (for things do
happen in San Francisco) was interrupted by sounds
predicting Mrs. Page's return.
"Say, Miss Gray, I'll ring you up later and make a
date," he said under his breath. Then he turned to
Mrs. Page and stared her out of the room with undis-
guised curiosity.
"You can see Mr. Granthope now," said Fancy,
unruffled by the competition.
He made an airy gesture and followed the palmist
into the anteroom.
Fancy grew listless and abstracted. After a while
she went to the closet, examined herself in the glass
on the door, adjusted the back of her belt, fluffed her
hair over her ears and reseated herself. Then she took
her book languidly and began to read.
There came a knock on the door.
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 45
"Come in," Fancy called out, arousing herself again.
The new-comer was one who, though at least twenty-
seven, was still graciously modeled with the lines of
youth. Her head was poised with spirit on her neck,
but, like a flower on its stem, ready to move with her
varying moods, from languor to vivacity. Her hair
was a light, tawny grayish-brown, almost yellow,
undulant and fine as gossamer. In the pure oval of her
face, under level, golden brows, her eyes were now
questioning, now peremptory, but usually smoldering
with dreams, hiding their color. Their customary
quiescence, however, was contradicted by the respon-
siveness of her perfectly drawn mouth a springing
bow, like those of Du Maurier's most beautiful women.
The upper lip, narrow, scarlet, so short that it seldom
touched the lower, showed, beneath its lively curve,
a row of well-cut teeth. With such charm and delicacy
of person her small, flat ears and her proud, sensitive
nostrils fell into lovely accord. She wore a veil, and
was dressed in a concord of cool grays, modishly
accented with black. Her movements were slow and
graceful, as if she had never to hurry.
"I believe I have an appointment with Mr.
Granthope for half-past eleven," she said in a smooth,
low, rather monotonous voice.
"Miss Smith ?" Fancy asked briskly, but with a more
respectful manner than she had shown Mrs t Page.
The lady blushed an unnecessary pink, and blushed
again to find herself blushing. She admitted the
pseudonym with a nod.
"Take a seat, please," Fancy said. "Mr. Granthope
will be ready for you in a few minutes." Then her
eyes fluttered over the visitor's costume, rested for a.
46 THE HEART LINE
second upon her long black gloves, darted to her little,
patent-leather shoes, mounted to her black, picturesque
hat, and sought here and there, but without success,
for jewelry.
The lady took a seat in silence. She repaired the
mischief the wind had done to her hair, raising her
hand abstractedly, as she looked about the room. The
Chinese masks did not entertain her long, but the head
of Hypnos she appeared to recognize with interest.
From that to Fancy, and from Fancy to the row of
casts, her glance went, slowly, deliberately. Then she
took a large bunch of violets from her corsage, and
smelled them thoughtfully.
Fancy began to play with one of her bracelets,
clasping and unclasping it. The lock caught in a
bangle-chain, and, frowning, she bent to unfasten it.
In an instant the lady noticed her dilemma, smiled
frankly, and walked over to the desk, drawing off
her long glove as she did so.
"Let me do it for you!" she said, and, taking
Fancy's hand, she busied herself with the clasp.
Fancy watched her amusedly. The lady was so
close that she could enjoy the odor of the violets and a
fainter, more exquisite perfume that came from the
diaphanous embroidered linen blouse, whose cost
Fancy might have reckoned in terms of her week's
salary. With careful, skilful movements the chain was
unfastened, but the lady still held Fancy's hand in
her own.
"Oh, what beautiful hands you have!" she ex-
claimed. "I never saw anything so lovely in my life !
Let me see them both! I wonder if you know how
pretty they are !"
THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY 47
She looked questioningly into Fancy's face and the
twinkle in Fancy's eyes answered her.
"Oh, of course you do ! Mr. Granthope must have
told you! He has never seen a prettier pair, I'm
sure!" She laid them carefully down, palms to the
table, and smiled at Fancy.
"I see you've got the right idea about hands," said
Fancy Gray archly. "That second finger's pretty
good ; did you notice it ?"
Both laughed.
"I hope you don't think I'm rude," said the lady.
"You don't worry me a bit, so long as you can keep
it up. I'm only afraid you're going to stop! But it
seems to me you've got a pretty small pair of hands
yourself! No wonder you noticed mine!" Fancy
gazed at them, as if she were surprised to find any
one who could compete with her own specialty.
For answer, Miss Smith, as she had called herself,
drew her violets from her coat, kissed them and handed
them to Fancy. Fancy played up; kissed them too,
nodded, as if drinking a health, and tucked them
safely away on her own breast. Then she treated
Miss Smith to the by-play of her delicious dimples,
as she said, "Come in as often as you like, especially
when you have flowers !"
"Miss Smith's" face had become wonderfully
alive, and she gazed at Fancy so frankly admiring
that now Fancy had to drop her own eyes in em-
barrassment. At this moment Granthope's voice was
heard as he came out of his studio with Gay P.
Summer. A kind of shyness seemed to envelop the
visitor and she drew back, her color mounting, her
lids drooping.
48 THE HEART LINE
"I'm all ready for you, Miss Smith," said Grant-
hope, coming into the room and bowing suavely.
"Come in, please."
Leaving Mr. Summer in conversational dalliance
with Fancy Gray, the lady followed the palmist into
his studio. As she walked, her graceful, long-limbed
tread, with its easy swing, seemed almost leopard-like
in its unconscious freedom, her head was carried some-
what forward, questing, her arms were slightly ex-
tended tentatively from her side, as if she almost
expected to touch something she could not see.
CHAPTER II
TUITION AND INTUITION
It was a large room, unfurnished except for a
couch in a recess of the wall and a table with two
chairs drawn up under an electric-light bulb which
hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered from
floor to cornice by an arras of black velvet, falling
in full, vertical folds, sequestering the apartment in
soft gloom. Over the couch, this drapery was em-
broidered with the signs of the zodiac in a circle
all else was shadowy and mysterious.
The young woman walked into the place with her
leisurely stride her chin a little up-tilted, her eyes
curious. In the center of the room she stopped and
looked slowly and deliberately about her. The cor-
ners of her mouth lifted slightly with amusement,
evidently at the obvious picturesqueness of the studio.
Granthope watched her keenly. With his eyes and
ears full of Fancy Gray's ardent, dramatic youth,
sparkling with the sophistication of the city, slangy,
audacious, gay, this girl seemed almost unreal in her
delicacy and exquisite virginity, a creature of dreams
and faery, the personification of an ideal too fine and
fragile for every-day. Her face showed caste in every
line. He was a little afraid of her. Her bearing
compelled not only respect, but, in a way, reverence
a tribute he seldom had felt inclined to pay to the
mondaines who visited him.
His confidence, however, soon asserted itself. He
49
50 THE HEART LINE
had found that all women were alike there were, as
in chess, several openings to his game, but, once
started, the strategy was simple.
"Well, how do you like my studio?"
"It's like dreams I've had," she said. "I like it.
It's so simple."
"Most people think it too somber."
"It is somber; but that purple-black is wonderful
in the way it takes the light. And it's all so differ-
ent!"
"Yes, I flatter myself it is that. But I'm 'different'
myself."
"Are you?" She turned her eyes steadfastly upon
him for the first time, as if mentally appraising him,
as he stood, six feet of virility, handsome, vivid and
nonchalant. The color which had risen to her cheeks
still remained.
"You are, too," he went on, examining her as
deliberately.
She smiled faintly and took a seat by the table and
removed her veil. Her face was now clearly il-
luminated, and Granthope's eyes, traveling from
feature to feature in quest of significant details, fell
upon her left cheek. His look was arrested at the
sight of a brown velvety mole, a veritable beauty-
spot, heightening the color of her skin. It was charm-
ing, making her face piquant and human. His hand
went to his forehead thoughtfully.
At the sight of this mark upon her cheek, something
troubled him. His mind, always alert to suggestive
influences, registered the faintest impression of a
thought at first too elusive to be called an idea. It
was like the ultimate, dying ripple from some far-off
TUITION AND INTUITION 51
shock to his consciousness. The impact died almost
as it reached him a flash, vaguely stimulating to his
imagination, and then it was gone, its mysterious
message uncomprehended.
She watched him a little impatiently, seeming to
resent his scrutiny. Noticing this, he summoned his
distracted attention and seated himself at the table.
But, from time to time, now, his glance darted to
her cheek surreptitiously, searching for the lost clue.
He had learned the value of such subtle intuitions and
would not give up his efforts to take advantage of
this one.
She laid her bare hand upon the black velvet
cushion beneath the light, saying, "I'm sorry that
something has disturbed you." She looked at him,
and then away.
"Why, nothing has disturbed me/' he said. "Why
should you think so?" Even as he pulled 'himself to-
gether for this denial her quick perception gave him
another cause for wonder.
"I'm rather sensitive to other people's moods some-
times. That's one reason why I came. I didn't
know but you might tell me something about it how
far to trust it, perhaps though I came, I confess,
more from curiosity."
Her air was still so detached that her conversational
approaches seemed almost experimental. She spoke
with pauses between her phrases, while her eyes, now
showing full and clear gray, lit upon him only to rove
off, returned and departed again, but never rapidly, as
if she sought for her words here and there in the
room, and brought them calmly back to him. She
did not shun a direct gaze, but her look wandered as
52 THE HEART LINE
her thought wandered in its logical course, for the
time seeming to forget his presence.
He took her hand and felt of it, testing its quality
and texture, preparing himself for his speech. Her
hand was long and slim, with scarcely a fiber more
flesh upon the bones than was necessary to cover
them admirably. He had no thought at first except
to give his ordinary routine of reading, but his study
of her showed her to be an exceptional character.
She was beautiful, with the loveliness of an aristocratic
and slightly bewildering spiritual type. Her hand in
his was magnetic, delicious of contact, subtly alive
even though not consciously responsive. Other women
with more obvious charm had left him cold. She,
aided by no suggestion of coquetry or complaisance,
allured him. She awakened in him a desire not wholly
physical, although he could not fail to regard her
primarily in the sex relation that, so far, had been
his chief interest in women. She, as a woman, an-
swered, in some secret way, him, as a man. This
was his first wave of feeling. Her hint amused him,
true as her intuition had been ; she had stumbled upon
his embarrassment, no doubt, and had claimed pre-
science, a common enough form of feminine conceit.
There he had a valuable suggestion as to the direction
of her line of least resistance to his wiles.
Following upon this, as the first feeling of her un-
reality faded, upon contact, came the thought of her
as a wealthy and credulous girl, who might minister to
his ambitions. He was without real social aspira-
tions, except in so far as his success in the fashionable
world favored the game he was playing. Years of
contact with credulity and hypocrisy had carried him,
He took her hand, testing its quality and texture Page 52
TUITION AND INTUITION 53
mentally, too far to value the lionizing and the hero-
worship he had tasted from his smarter clients. But
the patronage of such a fair and finished creature as
this girl, especially if he could establish a more
intimate relation, might secure the permanence of his
position and his opportunities. He saw vistas of
delight and satisfaction in such an acquaintance. He
had had his fill of silly women whose favors were
paid for in ministrations to their vanity. Such trib-
ute, easy as it was for him with his facility, irked him.
Here, perhaps, was one who might hold his interest
by her fineness and her mentality, and by the very
difficulty he might find in impressing her. There
would be zest to the pursuit.
Beneath these waves of feeling, however, and be-
neath his active intelligence, there was an inchoate
disturbance in some subconscious stratum of his mind.
He felt it only as the slight mental perplexity the
mole upon her cheek had caused; he had no time,
now, to pursue that incipient idea. His impression
of her as a desirable, pleasurable quarry incited him
to devise the psychological method necessary for her
capture. He knew to a hair, usually, what he could
do with women; but now he was forced to gain time
by a preamble in the conventional patter of the
palmist's cult.
Her hand, it appeared, was of a mixed type, neither
square nor conic, with long fingers, inclined to be
psychic. He remarked the extraordinary sensitiveness
denoted by their cushioned tips. Nails, healthy and
oval ; knuckles indicating a good sense of order in
mental and physical life. She was, in short, of strong,
vigorous mentality, well-balanced, artistic, generous,
54 THE HEART LINE
liberal; but (he referred to the Mount of Jupiter)
with a tendency to be a looker-on rather than a
sharer in the ordinary social pleasures of life.
Saturn, developed more toward the finger, gave her
a slightly melancholy temperament; Apollo showed a
great appreciation of the beautiful in nature, with
no little critical knowledge of art; Mercury was less
developed, and implied a lack of humor; Venus
betrayed a well-controlled but warm feeling; it was
soft she was, consequently, easily moved. Her
thumb was wilful rather than logical, her fingers sug-
gested respectively, pride, perception, self-respect, mor-
bidity, love of the beautiful as distinguished from the
ornamental, tact.
He had thrown himself into a pose so habitual as
to become almost unconscious, though it was keyed to
the theatrical pitch of his picturesque appearance and
surroundings. The girl's expression showed, to his
alert eye, a slight disappointment at the convention-
ality of his remarks. This spurred him to more
originality and definiteness. He tossed his hair back
with one hand in a quick gesture and turned to
the lines in her palm, examining them first with a
magnifying glass and then tracing them with an
ivory stylus. Her eyes were fixed upon his, as if she
were more interested in the manner than the matter
of his task.
"You are the sort of person," he said, "who is, in
a certain sense, egoistic. That is, after a criticism of
any one, you would immediately ask yourself, 'Would
I not have done the same thing, under the same cir-
cumstances?' You're stupendously frank you'd own
up to anything, any faults you thought you possessed ;
TUITION AND INTUITION 55
you'd even exaggerate a jestingly ignoble confession
of motives because you hate hypocrisy so much in
others. You are eminently fair and just, as you are
generous. You have none of the ordinary feminine
arts of coquetry. If you liked a man you would say
so frankly."
It was typical of Granthope's enthusiasm for his
game that he dared thus play it so boldly with his
cards face up upon the table. His visitor began to show
more interest; it was evident that she appreciated the
ingeniousness of his phrasing. Her lip curved into a
dainty smile. Her eyes gleamed slyly, then withdrew
their fire.
He continued: "You are slow in action, but when
the time comes, you can act swiftly without regard of
the consequences. You are not prudish. You are
willing to look upon anything that can be regarded as
evidence as to the facts of life, even though you may 4
not care to go into things purely for the sake of ex-
perience. You are faithful and loyal, but you are not
of the type that believes 'the king can do no wrong'
you see your friends' faults and love them in spite
of those faults, yet you are absolutely indifferent to
most persons who make no special appeal. You are
lazy, but physically, not mentally there is no effort
you will spare yourself to think things out and get
to the final solution of a psychological or moral prob-
lem. You love modernness, complexity of living, the
wonderful adjustments that money and culture effect,
but not enough to endure the conventionality that
sort of life demands. You are not particularly eco-
nomical you'd never go all over your town for a
bargain or to 'pick up' antiques you would prefer
56 THE HEART LINE
to go to a good shop and pay a fair price. You are
fond of children not of all children, however, only
bright and interesting ones. You are fond of dress
in a sensuous sort of way ; that is, you like silk stock-
ings, because they feel cool and smooth; silk skirts,
because they fall gracefully and make a pleasant
swish against your heels ; furs, on account of the color
and softness, but none of these merely because of
their richness or splendor."
His face was intent, almost scowling, two vertical
lines persisting between his brows; his mouth was
fixed. His concentration seemed to hold no personal
element; there was nothing to resent in the contact of
his fingers or the absorption of his gaze. Suddenly,
however, he looked up and smiled he knew how to
smile, did Granthope and the relation between them
became so personal and intimate that she involuntarily
drew away her hand. He was instantly sensitive to
this and by his attitude reassured her. Not, however,
before she had blushed furiously, in spite of evident
efforts to control herself.
His eyes glanced again at the mole on her cheek.
Then, as if electrified by the sudden kindling and
intensification of her personality, his subconscious
mind finished its work without the aid of reason.
As a bubble might separate itself from the bottom of
the sea and ascend, quivering, to the surface, his
memory unloosed its secret, and it rose, to break in
his mind. The mole he had seen it before where?
Like a tiny explosion the answer came upon the
cheek of the little girl who visited them that day,
twenty-three years ago, at Madam Grant's the day
she died. It reached him with the certainty of truth.
TUITION AND INTUITION 57
It did not even occur to him to doubt its verity.
In a flash, he saw what sensational use he could make
of the intelligence. Another idea followed it an old
trick perhaps it would work again.
"Would you mind taking off that ring?" he asked.
She drew off a simple gold band set with three
turquoises. He laid it upon the cushion, turning it
between his fingers as he did so. In a single glance he
had read the inscription engraved inside. His ruse
was undetected; her eyes had roved about the room.
He turned to her again.
"You are twenty-seven years old. You have a lover,
or, rather, a man is making love to you. I do not
advise you to marry him. You have traveled a good
deal and will take another journey within a year.
Something is happening in connection with a male
relative that worries you. It will not be settled for
some time. Are there any questions you would like
to ask?"
"I think you have answered them already," she
replied.
He leaned back, to shake his hands and pass them
across his forehead, theatrically. Another bubble had
broken in his consciousness. "Oliver Payson!" the
name came sharply to his inner ear like a voice in a
telephone. Oliver Payson he recalled now where he
had seen the name upon the newspaper cut pinned
to the door of Madam Grant's bedroom. Like two
drops of quicksilver combining, this thought fused
with that suggested by the mole on the girl's cheek.
"Clytie Payson" this name came to him, springing
unconjured to his mind. He determined to hazard a
test of the inspiration. He simulated the typical
58 THE HEART LINE
symptoms of obsession, trembled, shuddered and
writhed in the professional manner. Then he said :
"Would you like a clairvoyant reading? I think I
might get something interesting, for I feel your
magnetism very strongly."
She assented with an alacrity she had not shown
before. Her eyes opened wider, she threw off her
lassitude, awakening to a mild excitement.
"Let me take * your hands again both of them.
This is something I don't often do, but I'll see what I
can get."
He shut his eyes and spoke monotonously :
"I see a name C, 1, y "
The girl's hands gave an involuntary convulsion.
"__t, i, e . Is that it? Clytie! Wait I get the
name "
Beneath slightly trembling lids, a fine, sharp glance
shot out at her and was withdrawn again. It was as
if he had stolen something from her.
"Payson!"
The girl withdrew her hands suddenly; she drew
in her breath swiftly, paling a little.
"That's my name, Clytie Payson! It's wonderful!
Go on, please!"
She gave him her gracilent, dewy hands again, and
he thrilled to their provocative spell. He took advan-
tage of her distraction to enjoy them lightly. When
he spoke there was no hesitation in his voice.
"I don't understand this ! I don't know who these
people are, or where they are, and it seems ridiculous
to tell it. But there is a fearfully disordered room
with the sun coming in through dirty, broken windows.
The floor is covered with rubbish, there's no furniture
TUITION AND INTUITION 59
but a few old boxes. I see two women and a little
girl. They are in old-fashioned costumes."
Clytie's face was pale, now, and she watched him
breathlessly.
"One of the women has white hair and vivid black
eyebrows. She talks wildly sometimes; sometimes
she's quite calm. The other woman is middle-aged
and has a soft voice. The little girl is dressed in
blue; she is sitting on a box listening. The crazy
woman is kissing her."
He shook himself, shuddered and opened his eyes,
to find Miss Payson gazing upon him, her hand to
her heart.
"It's strange !" she said.
"It sounds nonsensical, I suppose," he said, "but
that's just what I get. Can you make anything of it?"
"It's all true !" said Clytie. "That very thing hap-
pened to me when I was a little girl so long ago, that
I had almost forgotten it."
"You remember it, then?"
"Yes, it all comes back to me though I have
wondered vaguely about it often enough. It was when
I was four years old and I went with my mother to
call on this strange, crazy woman if she were crazy!
I never knew. I never dared speak to father about it.
He never knew that we went, I think. I had an
idea that he wouldn't have liked it, had he known."
"And your mother?"
"She died the same year, I think. We left San
Francisco, father and I, soon after, and we lived
abroad for several years. I didn't even remember the
scene until long afterward, when something brought
it up. Then it was like a dream or a vision."
60 THE HEART LINE
"Do you know, Miss Payson, I feel that you have
very strong mediumistic powers ; I can feel your mag-
netism. 1 think that you might develop yourself so as
to be able to use your psychic force."
She took it seriously.
"Yes, I think I do have a certain amount of capacity
that way. I can never depend upon it, though, but my
intuitions are very strong and occasionally rather
strange 'things have happened to me."
It amused him to see how quickly she had fallen
into the trap he had set for her. Experience had
taught him it was a common enough assertion for
women to make, and he was cynically incredulous.
He was a little disappointed, too; as, in his opinion,
it discounted her intelligence. Nevertheless, he found
in it a way to manipulate her.
"Perhaps I might help you to develop it," he sug-
gested, "although I'm not much of a clairvoyant
myself; I claim only to be a scientific palmist."
"I think you are wonderful," Clyde asserted, giving
him a glance of frank admiration. "This test alone
would prove it. You see, having some slight power
myself, I'm more ready to believe that others have it."
He waived her compliment with apparent modesty.
"Women are more apt to be gifted that way it isn't
often I attempt a psychic reading. What is written
in the palm I can read; as a physician diagnoses a
case from symptoms in the pulse and tongue and
temperature, so I read a person's character from
what I see in the hand. I have been particularly in-
terested in yours, Miss Payson, and perhaps I have
been able to give you more than usual. I hope I may
have the opportunity of seeing you again; I'm quite
TUITION AND INTUITION 61
sure I can help you, or put you in the way of assist-
ance."
She arose and slowly drew on her gloves, her mind
full of the revelation. He watched every motion with
delight. Her brief mood of irradiation had given
place to her customary languor, and her fragile love-
liness, emphasizing the opposite to every one of his
virile, ardent traits, allured him with the appeal of
one extreme to another. Most of all, her mouth,
wayward with its ravishing smile, enchanted him.
It was controlled by no coquetry, he knew, and it
moved him the more for that reason. Yet she seemed
loath to go and moved slowly about the room. She
stopped to point with a sweeping gesture at one side
of the velvet-hung wall.
"It's rather too bad to hide the windows, isn't it?"
He smiled at her divination, doubtful of its origin.
"You have a very good sense of direction, haven't
you?"
She appeared to notice his incredulity, but not to
resent it.
"Indeed, I have very little," she said; then, giving
him her hand with a quick impulse of cordiality, she
smiled, nodded and turned to the anteroom.
He glanced at the table, saw her ring, and made a
motion toward it. Then it occurred to him that it
might be used as an excuse for seeing her again and
he followed her out.
In the reception-room, Fancy was yawning; seeing
them, she brought her hand quickly to her mouth and
raised her eyebrows at Granthope. He made no sign
in reply. Clytie walked up to her impulsively and
held out her hand.
62 THE HEART LINE
"I do hope I'll see you again, sometime," she said.
Fancy laughed. "I do, too. You're the only one
who's ever really appreciated me. You make me
almost wish I was a lady." By her tone, there was
some old wound that bled.
"You're that, and better, I'm sure," Clyde an-
swered softly ; "you're yourself !"
She turned to leave. Granthope, who had watched
the two women, amused, opened the door for her, re-
ceived her long, steady glance, her quiet, low "Good
morning," and bowed her out.
As soon as she had fairly left, he turned quickly to
Fancy. "Where's Philip?"
"In the back room, I suppose." Fancy looked
surprised.
"Go and get him, please ; tell him to find out where
this girl lives, and all he can about her."
"Say, Frank " Fancy began, rising.
"Hurry, please! I don't want him to- miss her.
She's a good thing!"
"She's too good, Frank, that's just it!"
"That's why I want her. I don't catch one like that
every day. Why, she's worth all the rest put to-
gether." He looked impatiently at her.
Fancy shrugged her shoulders and sailed airily out
of the room.
Granthope stood for some time, his hands thrust into
the pockets of his velvet coat, gazing abstractedly at
the red wall of his reception-room. Then he took up
the telephone and called for Madam Spoil's number.
He made himself known and then said, "I'll be
round to-night before your seance. I want to talk
something: over."
CHAPTER III
THE SPIDER'S NEST
The architecture of San Francisco was, in early
days, simple and unpretentious, befitting the modest
aspirations of a trading and mining town. Builders
accepted their constructive limitations and did their
honest best. False fronts, indeed, there were, making
one-story houses appear to be two stories high, but
redwood made no attempts in those days to mas-
querade as marble or granite.
During the sixties, a few French architects im-
ported a taste for classic art, and for a time, within
demure limits, their exotic taste prevailed. The sim-
ple, flat, front wall of houses, now grown to three
honest stories high, they embellished with dentil cor-
nice, egg-and-dart moldings and chaste consoles ; they
added to the second story a little Greek portico with
Corinthian columns accurately designed, led up to by a
flight of wooden steps; the fagade was broken by a
single bay-window, ornamented with conventional
severity. Block after block of such dwelling-houses
were built. They had a sort of restful regularity, they
broke no artistic hearts.
In later days, when San Francisco had begun to take
its place in the world, a greater degree of sophistica-
tion ensued. Capitals of columns became more fanci-
ful, ornament more grotesquely original, till ambitious
turners and wood-carvers gave full play to their
morbific imagination. Then was the day of scrolls
63
64 THE HEART LINE
and finials, bosses, rosettes, brackets, grille-work
and comic balusters. Conical towers became the rage,
wild windows, odd porches and decorations nailed on,
regardless of design, made San Francisco's nightmare
architecture the jest of tourists. Lastly, after an
interregnum of Queen Anne vagaries, came the
Renaissance and the Age of Stone, heralded by con-
crete imitations and plaster walls of bogus granite.
Madam Spoil's house was of that commonplace,
anemically classic style which, after all, was then the
least offensive type of residence. It was painted ap-
propriately in lead color for the house, with the rest
of the block, seemed to have been cast in a mold a
tone which did its best to make Eddy Street prosaic.
It had been long abandoned by fashion and was now
hardly on speaking terms with respectability. It
occupied a place in a row of boarding-houses, cheap
millinery establishments and unpretentious domiciles.
There was a dreary little unkempt yard in front,
with a passage leading to an entrance under the front
steps ; above, the sign "Madam Spoil, Clairvoyant and
Medium," was displayed on ground glass, and below,
hanging on a nail against the wall, was a transparency.
When the lamp was lighted inside this, one read the
words: "Circle To-night Admittance ten cents."
This Thursday the lamp was lighted. It was half-
past seven o'clock.
Devotees had begun to arrive, and, entering by the
lower door, they paid their dimes to Mr. Spoil, who
stood beside the little table at the entrance, left their
"tests" envelopes, flowers, jewelry or what not and
passed into the audience-room.
This had once been a dining-room and its walls
THE SPIDER'S NEST 65
were covered with a figured paper, above which was a
bright red border decorated with Japanese fans and
parasols. A few gaudy paper lanterns hung from
the ceiling, and here and there were hung framed
mottoes: "There Is No Death" "We Shall Meet
Again" "There Is a Land that is Fairer than
Day." This room was filled with chairs set in rows,
and would hold some forty or fifty persons. It was
separated by an arch from a smaller room beyond,
where, upon a platform, stood a table with an open
Bible, an organ, two chairs and a folding screen.
Only the front seats were at present occupied, these
by habitues of the place, all firm believers, a pic-
turesque group showing at a glance the stigmata of
eccentricity or mental aberration. For the most part
they were women in black ; they bowed to one another
as they sat down, then waited in stolid patience for
the seance to open. The others were pale, blue-eyed
men with drooping mustaches and carefully parted
hair, and a whiskered, bald-headed old gentleman or
two who sat in silence. The room was dimly illu-
minated by side lights.
Farther down the hallway, opposite the foot of a
flight of stairs leading upward to her living-rooms,
was Madam Spoil's "study," and here she was, this
evening, preparing for business.
This room was small and crowded with furniture.
The marble mantel held an assortment of bisque bric-
a-brac, sea-shells, paper knives and cheap curiosities.
The walls were covered with photographs, a placque
or two, fans and picture cards. A huge folding
bed, foolishly imitating a mirrored sideboard, occu-
pied one corner of the room. A couch covered with
66 THE HEART LINE
fancy cushions and tidies ran beside it. A table,
heavily draped, a three-legged tea-stand, an easel with
a satin sash bearing the portrait, photographically en-
larged in crayon, of a bold, smirking, overdressed
little girl, a ragged trunk and several plush-covered
chairs were huddled, higgledy-piggledy, along the
other side of the room.
Upon the couch Madam Spoil sat, spraying en-
velopes with alcohol from an atomizer on a small
bamboo stand before her.
She was an enormous woman of masculine type,
with short, briskly curling, iron-gray hair and a triple
chin. Heavy eyebrows, heavy lips, heavy ears and
cheeks had Madam Spoil, but her forehead was unlined
with wrinkles ; her expression was serene, and, when
she smiled, engaging and conciliating. She was
dressed in black satin with wingf-like sleeves, the front
of her waist being covered with a triangular decoration
of bead-work.
Watching her with roving, black eyes was Pro-
fessor Vixley, smoking a vile cigar. His face was
sallow, of a predatory mold with a pointed, mangy
beard, and sharp, yellow teeth. He wore a soft,
striped flannel shirt with a flowing pink tie. From
the sleeves of his shiny, cutaway coat, faded to a pur-
plish hue, his thin, tanned, muscular hands showed
like the claws of a vulture.
"You seem to be doin' a pretty good business," he
remarked, dropping his ashes carelessly upon the floor.
"So-so," Madam Spoil answered. "If things go
well we hope to get a new hall up on Post Street, but
there ain't nothing in tests. Straight clairvoyance is
the future of this business. Of course, we have to
THE SPIDER'S NEST 67
give cheap circles to draw the crowd, but it's a lot
of bother and expense and it does tire me all out.
Then there's always the trouble from the newspapers
likely to come up."
"Pshaw! I wouldn't mind gettin' into the news-
papers occasionally, it's good advertisin'. The more
you're exposed the' better you get along, I believe."
" 'Lay low and set on your eggs' is my motto," said
the Madam. "I don't like too much talk. I prefer to
work in the dark there's more money in it in the
long run. I don't care if I only have a few cus-
tomers; if they're good and easy I can make all I
want."
"What do you bother with sealed messages for,
Gert?" Professor Vixley asked.
"Oh, I got to fix a lot of skeptics to-night. I can
usually open the ballots right on the table easy
enough behind the flowers, but I want to read a few
sealed messages besides. It may help along with
Payson, too." She took up an envelope numbered
"275." It was saturated with alcohol. She held it
to the light, and squinting at the transparent paper,
she read : " 'When is Susie coming home ?' Now,
ain't that a fool question? I'll take a rise out of her,
see if I don't! That's that woman who got into
trouble in that poisoning case."
"Say, the alcohol trick's a pretty good stunt when
you get a chance to use it ! But I don't have time for
it in my business."
"Yes, it's easy enough if you use good, grain
alcohol, but I wish I had an egg-tester. They save
a lot of time, and you can read through four or
five thicknesses of paper with 'em. Spoil, he has plenty
68 THE HEART LINE
of chance to hold out the ballots and bring 'em in to
me; his coming and going ain't noticed, because he
has to fetch 'em up to the table, anyway. By the time
I go on, all the smell's faded out. If it ain't, my hand-
kerchief is so full of perfumery that you can't notice
anything else. I'm going to fit up my table with one
o' them glass plates with an electric flash-light under-
neath that I can turn on with a switch. You can read
right through the envelope then. But I don't often
consent to tests like that. It deteriorates your powers.
And my regular customers are usually contented to
send their ballots up open and glad of the chance to
get an answer. They don't want to give the spirits
no trouble ! Lord, I wish I had the power I had when
I begun." She smiled pleasantly at her companion.
"I see old Mrs. Purinton on the front row as I
come in," Vixley observed, shifting his cigar labially
from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"Say, there's a grafter for fair!" she exclaimed.
"She's been coming here to the publics for two years
and never once has she gave me a private setting.
That's what I call close. She's as near as matches!
And always the same old song little Willie's croup or
when's Henry going to write, and woozly rubbish
like that. I got a good mind to hand her a dig.
I could make a laughing-stock out of her, and scare
her away easy. Folks do like a laugh at a public
seance; you know that, Professor."
"Sure! It don't do no harm as long as you hit
the right one."
"Oh, I ain't out for nothing but paper-sports and
grafters. I know a good thing when I see it. I
hope there'll be something doing worth while in this
THE SPIDER'S NEST 69
Payson business. He may show up to-night. Lulu
claims she conned him good."
"I hope I'll have a slice off him," said Professor
Vixley, his beady, black eyes shining. "We got to get
up a new game for him before we pass him down the
line."
"Oh, if anybody can I guess we can ; there's more'n
one way to kill a cat, besides a-kissing of it to death."
"Yes, smotherin' it in hot air, for instance !" Vixley
grinned.
"They's one thing I wish," said Madam Spoil, "and
that is that we had a regular blue-book like they have
in the East. Why, they tell me there's six thousand
names printed for Boston alone. If we had some way
of getting a lead with this Payson it would be lots
easier. But I expect the San Francisco mediums will
get better organized some day and cooperate more
shipshape."
Here Mr. Spoil entered, a tall, thin, bony, wild-eyed
individual with a rolling pompadour of red hair, his
face spattered with freckles. He walked on tiptoe, as
if at a funeral, bowed to the Professor, coughed into
his hand, and took up the letters Madam Spoil had
been investigating, putting down some new ones.
"Oh, here's that 'S. F. B.' that Ringa told me about,"
she said, glancing at an envelope. "Is Ringa come
in yet?"
"I ain't seen him ; but it's early," said Spoil. "He'll
show up all right. I'll send him right in."
"Is Mr. Perry in front?"
"You bet !" Spoil was still tiptoeing about the room
on some mysterious errand. "Perry ain't likely to
lose a chance to make a dollar, not him !"
70 THE HEART LINE
"He's a good one!" Madam Spoil smiled at the
Professor. "I don't hardly know what I'd do without
him. I can always depend upon him to make good.
He ain't too willing, and sometimes, I declare, he
almost fools me, even. I've known him to stand up
and denounce me something fierce, especially when
there was newspaper men in the audience, and then
just gradually calm down and admit everything I
wanted him to. He looks the part, too. Why, I
sent him round to Mrs. Stepson's circle one night,
when she first come to town, and she was fooled good.
I've seen him cry at a materializing seance so hard
it would almost break your heart."
"Does he play spook?"
"No, he's best in the audience. He's a good capper,
but I don't believe he could play spook besides, he's
getting too fleshy."
"Who else have you got regular?" asked Professor
Vixley.
"Only two or three. I don't need so many touts as
most. I pride myself on doing my own work without
much help. Of course, you got to give a name some-
times when a fishing test won't work, and a friend in
the audience helps. Miss French, she's pretty good,
but she's tricky. I'm afraid of her. I was gave away
once to the Chronicle and I lost a whole lot of business.
Men are safer. Harry Debert is straight enough, but
he's stupid. He's the too-willing kind, and you don't
have a chance to get any effect.
"Say, Spoil," she added to her husband, "be sure
and don't take no combs nor gloves ! I ain't going to
do no diagnosing in public not for ten cents. Them
that want it can pay for it and take a private setting."
''1 told her they was trouble coming to her" Page
THE SPIDER'S NEST 71
"They're mostly flowers to-night," said Spoil as he
crept out of the room.
"Lord, I do hate a flower test!" she groaned. "It's
too hard work. Of course, they're apt to bring roses
if their name's Rose, or lilies and daisies the same way,
but you can't never be sure, and you have to fish.
Lockets is what I like, lockets and ballots."
At this moment Mr. Ringa entered. He was a
bleached, tow-headed youth, long and lanky, with
mild gray eyes and a stubbly, straw-colored mustache.
Two front teeth were missing from his upper jaw.
His clothes seemed to have shrunk and tightened upon
his frame. He bowed respectfully to Madam Spoil
and Professor Vixley, who represented to him the
top of the profession.
"Did you get that 'S. F. B.' letter, all right?" he
asked.
"Yes, what about it?"
"She's easy!"
Vixley grinned. "If she's easy for you she must
be a cinch for us!"
Ringa persevered. "Well, I got the dope, anyway.
She's a Mrs. Brindon and she's worried about her
husband he's gone dotty on some fluzie up North.
I read her hand last week. I told her they was
trouble coming to her along of a dark woman she's
one of these beer-haired blondes what I call a Wtirz-
burger blonde then I showed it to her in the heart-
streak. 'Go ahead and tell me how it will come out,'
she says. I says: 'There's a peculiar condition in
your hand that I ain't quite on to,' I says. She says:
'Why, can't you read it ?' Says I : 'Madam, if I could
read that well, I wouldn't be doing palms for no two
72 THE HEART LINE
bits a shot ; I'd be where Granthope is, with a fly-away
studio and crowding it at five plunks, per.' Then I
says: 'Say, I hear Madam Spoil has great gifts in
predicting at all affairs of the heart. I ain't never
been to any of her circles, but why don't you shoot
around next Thursday night and try her out?'
'What'll I do?' she says. Then I told her to write
on a paper, 'Does he care more for Mae Phillips than
he does for me, and how will it come out?' She done
it and sealed it up into an envelope I give her."
"Good work !" said Madam Spoil. "I'll give you a
rake-off if I land her. I've got her ballot right here.
I won't need to open it."
"Ain't that job worth a dollar to you as it stands?"
Ringa asked nervously. "I'll call it square and take
my chances on the percentage."
"All right. It's a good sporting chance! Only I
wish it was a man. Women are too close." Madam
Spoil opened her purse and paid him.
As Ringa left, Vixley asked: "By the way, how
about this fellow Payson? Do you think Lulu roped
him?"
"I guess so. Lulu's done pretty well lately, and
she's brought me considerable business. She ought
to be here by this time."
"I should think she'd be able to handle him alone."
"Don't you go and tell her so! The thing for her
to do is to get a manager, but I don't intend to queer
my own game."
"What line is she workin' now? She's failed at
about everything ever since she begun with cards."
"Oh, she's doing the 'Egyptian egg' reading.
Wouldn't that freeze you? Lord, that was out of
THE SPIDER'S NEST 73
date twenty years go; but everything goes in San
Francisco."
"Say, ain't this town the penultimate limit !" Vixley
ejaculated, grinning. "Why, the dopes will stand in
line all night for a chance to be trimmed, and send
their money by express, prepaid, if you let 'em.
Gert, sometimes I'm ashamed of myself for keepin'
'em waitin' so long! Talk about takin' a gumdrop
away from a sick baby; that's hard labor to what
we did for Bennett. What I want to know is, how do
these damn fools ever get all the money we take away
from 'em? It don't look like they had sense enough
to cash a check."
"If I had one or two more decoys as good as Ringa
and Lulu Ellis, I'd be fixed all right. I could stake
out all the dopes in town. Say, Granthope could cut
up a lot of easy cash if he'd agree to stand in. I tried
to tap him about this here Payson, and he wouldn't
give me a tip."
"Perhaps he didn't know anything. You can't
loosen up when you're wide open, can you?"
"He generally knows all there is to know. The
trouble is he's getting too high-toned. Since he fitted
up his new studio and butted into society you can't
get near him with nothing like a business proposition.
I believe he thinks he's too good for this place and
will go East. He's a nice boy, though. I ain't got
nothing against him, only I wish he'd help us out.
Hello, here's Lulu. Good evening, Lulu, how's Egyp-
tian eggs to-day?"
Lulu Ellis was a dumpy, roly-poly, soft-eyed, soft-
haired, pink-cheeked young woman, as innocent ap-
pearing a person as ever lived on her wits. Not that
74 THE HEART LINE
she had many of them, but a limited sagacity is
enough to dupe victims as willing to be cajoled as those
who appeal to the Egyptian egg for a sign of the
future. Lulu's large, brown eyes were enough to
distract one's attention from her rule-of-thumb meth-
ods. Her fat little hand was soft and white, her
plump little body full of extravagant curves.
"Say, Mr. Payson has come!" she exclaimed im-
mediately, with considerable excitement. "He's on
the third row at the far end."
Madam Spoil became alert. "Did you see his test?"
"No, he was here when I come/' Lulu replied.
"Go (out and get Spoil." Madam Spoil spoke
sharply. "We've got to fix this thing up right now."
Lulu returned to say : "There's such a crowd coming
in he can't leave, but he says it was a gold watch with
a seal fob."
"All right, so far," said the Madam. "Now, Lulu,
are you sure of what you told me ?"
Lulu's reply was interrupted by the entrance of
Francis Granthope, in opera hat and Inverness cape,
making a vivid contrast to the disreputable aspect of
Professor Vixley. He greeted the three conspirators
with his customary elegance.
"I'm sorry I had nothing about Payson when you
rang me up, Madam Spoil, but just afterward his
daughter came in for a reading. Queer, wasn't it ?"
"God, that's a stroke of luck !" said Vixley eagerly.
"I say, Frank, you can work her while we handle the
old man, and we'll clean up a fortune. They say
he's a millionaire." Vixley's little eyes gleamed.
"Let's hear what Lulu has to say, first," said Madam
Spoil.
THE SPIDER'S NEST 75
"Why, I didn't get much," Lulu confessed. "He
said he dropped in by accident as he was passing by,
to see what Egyptian egg astrology was. I got his
name off of some letters he had in his overcoat pocket.
I made him hang it on the hall hat-rack. I did all
I could for him "
"Did he get gay with you?" Professor Vixley inter-
rupted. He had been overtly enjoying Lulu's plump
charms with his rapacious eyes.
Granthope smiled; Lulu Ellis colored slightly.
"No, he didn't! I don't do none of that kind of
work !"
"The more fool you !" Madam Spoil retorted. "He's
an old man, ain't he?"
"Sixty," said Vixley, "I looked him up."
"Then he ought to be easy as chewing gum," said
Madam Spoil.
Granthope lighted a cigarette and listened with a
mildly cynical expression.
"He ain't that kind, though," Lulu insisted. "I
ain't altogether a fool, after all. Why, he don't even
go to church !"
Her three auditors laughed aloud, the Professor
raucously, Madam Spoil with a bubbling chuckle,
Granthope with scarcely more than an audible smile.
"That settles it, then. You're coming on, Lulu !
What else do you know?" said Madam Spoil.
"Well, he has a daughter "
"Yes, Granthope knows all about that," from the
Madam.
"Her name is Clytie," said Granthope. "Twenty-
seven."
"Is she a looker?" asked Vixley.
76 THE HEART LINE
Granthope turned to him and gave him a patronizing
glance. "You wouldn't think so, Professor. She's
hardly your style. But she's good enough for me!"
He languidly flipped the ash from his cigarette and
took his pose again.
Lulu went on: "I think he had a love affair before
he was married, but I couldn't quite get it. I didn't
dare to fish very much. And that's about all I got."
"That's plenty, Lulu. You can go now. Here's a
dollar for you and much obliged for passing him up."
"Oh, thank you," said Lulu. "I'm afraid it ain't
worth that much. He gave me a dollar himself,
though I don't charge but four bits, usually."
"Lord, what a fool!" said Vixley, watching her
go out. "That girl won't ever get nowhere, she's too
innocent. She knows no more about real life than a
boiled egg."
"She's all right for me, though," Madam Spoil
replied. "That's just the kind I need in my business.
She fools 'em every time. They ain't nothing like a
good blusher for a stool-pigeon, you take my v/ord
for it. Lulu's all right in her place." She turned to
wash her hands at a bowl in the corner.
"Well," said Vixley, crossing his legs, "are you
coming in with us, Frank?"
"It looks pretty good to me, so far. But it depends.
What have you got about Payson, anyway?" Grant-
hope's tone was languid.
Madam Spoil winked at Vixley, as she wiped her
hands behind the palmist's back.
"Why," Vixley replied, "Payson's in wool and is
director of a bank, besides. He's a square-head with
a high forehead, and them are easy. Gertie, here,
THE SPIDER'S NEST 77
can get him into a private sittin', and when she does,
you leave him to her she'll find a way all right. She
don't do no lumpy work, Gertie don't, you know that,
all right! When she passes him along to me, I'll
manage him like the way we worked Bennett with
the real estate. I'd like another chance as good as
him."
"You just wait," said Madam Spoil. "I got a
hunch that this Payson is going to be pretty good pie ;
and we got a good strong combination, Frank, if you
want to do your share."
"It's a pity Spoil ain't got some of Gertie's gump-
tion," said Vixley, smiling with approval at his partner.
"Don't you make no mistake about Spoil he's done
some good work on Payson already." The Madam
was adjusting her waist before the glass and co-
quetting with her hair. "The trouble with you, Vix-
ley, is that you ain't got no executive ability I'm
going to organize this game myself. I can see a way
to use Spoil and Ringa, and Flora, too. We want to
go into this thing big. Payson's a keener bird than
Bennett was, but they's more in him."
"So Spoil has begun, has he?" Granthope asked.
"Yes. He located the Paysons over on North
Beach."
"I know that much already. The mother's dead.
Mr. and Miss Payson have traveled abroad. What
else do you know about her?"
"Why, it seems she's the sole heir. Good news
for you, eh? High society, too Flower Mission,
Kitchen Garden, Friday Cotillions, Burlingame, every-
thing. She could help you, Frank, if you got on the
right side of her."
78 THE HEART LINE
Here Mr. Spoil tiptoed in, bowed to Granthope,
and said:
"Eight o'clock, Gertie."
Madam Spoil arose cumbrously, took a last peep in
the mirror of the folding bed and turned into the hall,
saying, "You take my advice, Frank. We depend
upon you. See what you can do with the girl." She
paused to bend a keen glance upon him. "What did
you do with her, anyway?"
"Why, I did happen on something/' he answered.
"Do you remember Madam Grant, who used to live
down on Fifth Street, twenty-odd years ago?"
Madam Spoil came back into the room eagerly.
"The crazy woman who lived so queer and yet
had lots of money? Yes! She did clairvoyance,
didn't she? I remember. She had a kid with her,
too. Let's see he ran away with the money, didn't he ?
And nobody ever knew what become of him. What
about her?"
There was a duel of astute glances between them.
Granthope had his own reasons for not wanting to say
too much. He guarded his secret carefully, as he
had guarded it from her for years.
"Miss Payson used to go down to see Madam Grant
with her mother, when she was a little girl."
"No! did she, though? With her mother? That's
queer! Hold on, Vixley. What did Lulu say about
a love affair before Payson was married? Do you
get that? Here's his wife visiting Madam Grant;
you remember her, don't you? There's something in
that. I believe we got a good starter already."
Spoil appeared again, anxiously beckoning, and she
went with him down the hall.
THE SPIDER'S NEST 79
Vixley took up the scent. "Say, Frank," he asked,
"how did you happen to get on to that, anyway?
That was slick work."
Granthope turned to him and replied patronizingly,
"Oh, I ought to know something about women by this
time. I got her to talking."
Vixley frowned, intent in thought, stroking his
scant, pointed beard and biting his mustache ; then
he slapped his knee with his claw-like hand. "Say,
you got a grand chance there," he exclaimed. "See
here, you can get in with the swells and be in a
position to help out lots. It's the chance of a lifetime,
and we'll make it worth your while."
"How?" Granthope inquired contemptuously.
"By a fair exchange of information. You put us
wise, and we'll put you wise. I'll trust you to find
ways of using what help we give you." He cackled.
"Yes you can trust me. I think I might have some
fun out of it. I don't mind helping you out, but
all I need myself is a little imagination, some common-
sense and a frock coat."
Vixley looked at him admiringly. "I wish't I had
your chance, Frank; that's what I do. Say, you just
light 'em and throw 'em away, don't you ! I s'pose
if I had your looks I could do it myself."
Granthope looked him over calmly. "There's no
knowing what a bath and a manicure and a suit of
clothes would do for you, Professor."
"You can't make brains out o' soap," retorted the
medium.
"And you can't make money out of dirt."
"We'll see who has the money six months from
now."
8o THE HEART LINE
"It's a fair enough bargain. I take the girl, you
take the money. I'm satisfied." Granthope arose and
yawned. "Oh," he added, "did you know Payson
had a partner named Riley? He was drowned in
seventy-seven."
"That's funny. Queer how things come our way !
Mrs. Riley is here in the front room with a test. She
was tried for the murder of one of her husbands.
Gert's goin' to shoot her up with it to-night. You
better go in and see the fun. She'll give it to her
good."
"I think I will," said the palmist.
He left Vixley plunged in thought, and walked out.
Turning into the audience-room he sat down on a
chair in the rear. The place was almost filled. His
eyes scanned the assembly carefully, roving from one
spectator to another. On a side seat near him, a party
of four, young girls and men, sat giggling and chew-
ing gum. The rest of the company showed a placid
vacancy of expression or lukewarm expectancy.
Madam Spoil at the organ and her husband with
his violin, had, meanwhile, been playing a dreary
piece of music, "to induce the proper conditions," as
she had announced from the platform. They stopped,
retarding a minor chord, and the medium went to the
table and began to handle the tests, rearranging them,
putting some aside, bringing others forward, in an
abstracted manner. Then, looking up with a self-
satisfied smile, she spoke:
"I want to say something to the new-comers and
skeptics here to-night in explanation of these tests.
Them who have thoroughly investigated the subject
and are familiar with every phase of mediumship,
THE SPIDER'S NEST 81
understand, of course, that these objects are placed
here merely to attract magnetism to the sitter and in-
duce the proper conditions, so that your spirit friends
will be able to communicate with you. This phase of
mediumship is called psychometry, but if I'd stop to
explain just what that means, I wouldn't have time to
give any readings. Now, it won't be possible to get
any messages unless you come here in the proper
mood to receive them. You must send out your best
thought and do all you can to assist, or else my
guides won't be able to establish communication on the
spirit plane. If you merely come here only to laugh
and to make a scoff of the proceedings, I'll have to
ask you to leave before I begin, for they's many here
to-night who are honestly in search of the truth,
seeking to communicate with the dear, loved ones be-
yond on the other side."
She passed her hand across her eyes, sighed, and
fingered her chin nervously. She poked the articles
on the table again.
"As I come on to this platform, I see an old man
over there, in that direction, what you might call a
middle-aged man, perhaps, of a medium height, and
whiskers, like. I feel a condition of going on a
journey, you might say, somewhere east of here,
though maybe not very far, and I get the name John.
The light goes over in your direction, lady, that one
with the red hat. Yes, you. Would that be your
father, possibly?"
The lady, straightening herself upon being thus
addressed, said timidly, "I think perhaps you mean my
uncle. His name was John."
"Maybe it is an uncle, though I get the influence
82 THE HEART LINE
of a father very strong, too. Has your father passed
out?"
The lady in the red hat nodded.
"Then it is your father, do you see ? Yes, I get an
uncle, too, who wishes to communicate, only his in-
fluence ain't strong enough. That shows it ain't mind
reading, as the newspaper folks say, don't it?" She
smiled, as if she had made a point, and the audience
appeared to be impressed.
"About this journey, now : maybe you ain't had no
idea of traveling, but John says you will. I don't
think it's liable to be very far, though. It'll be before
the last of September or the first of October and John
says it'll be successful. Do you understand what I
mean ?"
The lady, frightened at the terrible import of this
question, did not speak.
"Did you send up an article?"
"It's that purse with the chain."
Madam Spoil fingered it and weighed it reflectively.
"I get a condition of what you might call inharmony.
Seems to me like in your home something is worrying
you and you ain't satisfied, you understand, with
the way things are going and sometimes you feel as if,
well, you just couldn't stand it!" Her smile, now,
bathed her dupe with sympathy.
The lady nodded vigorously, with tightly shut lips.
"You kind of wonder if it does any good for you
to go to all the trouble you do to sacrifice yourself and
try to do your duty, when it ain't what you might call
appreciated. And you're worried about money, too.
Ain't that so?"
She received a ready assent. The woman's eyes
THE SPIDER'S NEST 83
were fixed upon her. Every one in the room watched
the stripping naked of a soul.
"Well, John says that your father and him are help-
ing you all they can on the spirit plane, and he thinks
conditions will be more favorable and will take a
turn for the better by the first of the year."
A question fluttered on the woman's lips, but before
it had time to escape, Madam Spoil suddenly turned
in the other direction.
"While I was talking to that lady," she said, "I felt
an influence leading me to that corner over there by
the clock, and I get the initials 'S. F. B.' Is there
anybody of that name over there?"
A flashily dressed woman, with tinted yellow hair
and rhinestone ear-rings, raised her hand.
"Those are my initials," she announced.
Madam Spoil grew impressive. "Your name is
Brindon, ain't it?"
The woman gasped out a "Yes."
"Did I ever see you before?"
"No," said the blonde, "not to my knowledge, you
didn't"
Madam Spoil made a comprehensive gesture with
both hands, calling attention to the miracle. "You
sent up a sealed ballot, didn't you ?"
The woman nodded. She was obviously excited,
looking as if she feared her skeleton was to be
dragged forth from its closet; as indeed it was.
Madam Spoil took up the envelope with her delicate
thumb and forefinger and displayed it to the audience.
"You see, it's still sealed," she announced, then,
shutting her eyes, she continued: "My guides tell
me that he's what you might call infatuated, but he'll
84 THE HEART LINE
come back to you and say he's sorry. Do you under-
stand that?"
The woman was now painfully embarrassed and
shrank into her seat. The medium, however, did not
spare her. It was too good a chance for a dramatic
sensation. She tore the envelope open and read its
contents boldly: "Does he care more for Mae Phillips
than he does for me ?" It was a psychological moment.
The old women stared at Mrs. Brindon with morbid
delight. There was a little buzzing of whispers
through the room. Then the audience prepared itself
for the next sensation.
The medium picked up another envelope. "This is
marked '275,' " she said, then she clutched her throat.
"Oh," she cried, "I'm strangling! They's somebody
here who passed out very sudden, like they was
poisoned. It's terrible. I can't answer the question
the party has written because there's an evil influence
here, a wicked woman. She had three husbands and
two of 'em died suspicious. Her name is Riley.
Would that be you?" She pointed forcefully at a
dried-up, old woman in a shawl, with bleared eyes and
a veined nose.
There was no response.
"Was this question something about your daughter ?"
Madam Spoil asked.
The woman coughed and bowed, shrinking into
herself.
"I guess you better go somewhere else for your
readings," Madam Spoil declared cruelly. "Your aura
don't seem to me to be very harmonious. I don't
know what's the matter to-night," she went on, pass-
ing her hand across her forehead in apparent distress.
THE SPIDER'S NEST 85
"The conditions around me are something horrid."
Her voice rose. "There's somebody in this very room
here who has committed murder. I can't do a thing
until I get that off my mind. My guides tell me who
it is, and that they'll be satisfied if he'll acknowledge
it and say he's sorry. Otherwise, this seance can't
go on."
She stopped and glared about the hall. By this
time she had worked her audience up to an intense
excitement. Every one looked at his neighbor, won-
dering what was to come, but no one offered to
confess to a crime. Madam Spoil raged up and down
the platform in a frenzy. Then she stopped like an
elephant at bay.
"I know who this person is. It's a man, and if he
don't rise and acknowledge it, I shall point him out !"
No one stirred. On the fourth seat, a clean-shaven
man of thirty-five, with sharp, aquiline features and
wide-spread ears, sat, transfixed with horror, his
two hands clenched. It was Mr. Perry, the cleverest
actor in the medium's support.
She advanced toward him as if drawn by a secret
power, stared into his eyes, and putting her hand upon
his shoulder, said:
"Thou art the man !"
Mr. Perry wriggled out of her grasp. "See here,"
he cried, "you mind your own business, will you?
You're a fake ! You got no right to make a fool of
me." His voice trembled, his face was a convincing
mask of guilt arraigned.
The medium shook a warning finger at him. "You
either acknowledge what I say is true, or you leave
the hall! I can't go on with you here."
86 THE HEART LINE
Mr. Spoil came in to stand beside her valiantly;
spectators stood up to watch the drama. Mr. Perry's
eyes were wild, his face distorted; suddenly he arose
and rushed out of the room. Madam Spoil snapped
her fingers two or three times, shook herself and
went back to the platform. The murmurs died down
and the seance was resumed.
Madam Spoil waited a while in silence, then she
picked up a gold watch with a seal fob from the table.
"I'm glad to feel a more peaceful influence," she said.
"I'm directed toward this watch. I don't know who
brought it up, for I was out of the room at the time,
but I get the name "Oliver." 1 She looked up ex-
pectantly.
A gentleman arose from an end seat in the third
row. He had a high domed head, partly bald, and a
gray chin-beard with a shaven upper lip ; under shaggy
overhanging eyebrows, cold gray eyes looked through
a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. His air was benev-
olently judicial and bespoke culture and ease. He
had, moreover, a well-marked presence, as of one
used to being considered influential and prominent.
A row of false teeth glittered when he opened his
mouth.
"That's my name," he acknowledged in a deep,
fluent voice that was heard all over the room, "and
that is my watch."
Madam Spoil fixed him in the eye. "I'd like to
know if I can't get your other name. My guides are
very strong to-night." After a few moments of
self-absorption, she smiled sweetly upon him. "I
think I can get it clairaudiently. Would it be Pear-
son?"
THE SPIDER'S NEST 87
"No. but that's pretty near it, though."
"it sounds like Pearson to me, Pearson. Payson,
oh, yes, it's Payson, isn't it?"
"That's right," he said, and sat down.
"Did I ever see you before?"
"Not to my knowledge, Madam."
She looked triumphantly at her audience and smiled.
"If they's any skeptics here to-night, I hope they'll
go away satisfied." A number of old ladies nodded
emphatically. "Of course, newspaper men never come
on a night like this, when my guides are strong.
Funny what you see when you ain't got a gun, ain't
it? The next time I'm half sick and tired out, they'll
be plenty of them here to say I'm a fake, like our
friend here who left so sudden, white as a sheet.
Now, when I was directed to that watch, I was con-
scious of a spirit standing beside this gentleman," she
pointed at him benevolently, "influencing me to take
it up. It's a woman, and she must have been about
thirty when she passed out, and remarkably handsome,
too. She was sort of fair-complected, between dark
and light. I get a feeling here in my throat and down
here," she touched her breast, lightly, curving her arm
gracefully inward, "as if she went out sudden, like,
with heart disease. Do you know what I mean?"
Mr. Payson had bent forward now. "Yes," he
said, "I think I do. Has she any message for me ?"
"Yes, she has; but well, you see, it ain't one I'd
exactly care to give in public, and I don't think you'd
want me to, either. If you come up after the
seance is over, I'll see if I can get it for you. Or
you might do still better to have a private setting and
then I'll have time to tell you more. She brings
88 THE HEART LINE
me a condition of what you might call worry or
anxiety, as if you had something on your mind."
She turned to a bunch of flowers, and, taking them
up, smelled them thoughtfully, for a while. Mr. Pay-
son settled back in his seat.
As the medium commenced again, Granthope arose
with his faint, cynical smile and walked quietly out.
He found Mr. Spoil at the table by the door.
"Well, I guess he's on the hook." The palmist but-
toned his cape and lighted a cigarette.
"Trust Gertie for that," said Spoil; "she'll land him
all right, see if she don't. Good night!"
Granthope turned up his collar and walked out into
the street.
CHAPTER IV
THE PAYSONS
Mr. Oliver Payson lived on a half-deserted street
on the northerly slope of Russian Hill, in a quarter
of the town which, at one time, promised to become a
favored, if not an aristocratic residential district.
But the whim of fashion had fancied in succession
Stockton Street, Rincon Hill, Van Ness Avenue, Nob
Hill, and had now settled upon the Western Addition
and the Presidio Heights. The old North Beach, with
its wonderful water and mountain view, nearer the
harbor and nearer the business part of the city, had
long been neglected. The few old families, who in
early days settled on this site, still remained; and,
with the opening of new cable-car lines, found them-
selves, not only within a short distance of down-town,
but at the same time almost as isolated as if they
had dwelt in the country, for this part of the city is
upon none of the main routes few frequent the
locality except upon some special errand.
One side of the street was still unbuilt upon; on
the southern side stood three houses, each upon its
fifty-vara lot, comfortably filling the short block. That
occupied by the Paysons was an old frame structure
of two stories, without attempt at ornamentation, ex-
cept for its quaint, Tudoresque pointed windows and
a machicolated wooden battlement round the flat roof.
It stood on a gentle slope, surrounded by an old-
fashioned garden, which was hedged in, on either side,
90 THE HEART LINE
by rows of cypress and eucalyptus trees, protecting it
from the trade winds, which here blow unhampered
across the water.
In front, a scene ever-changing in color as the at-
mospheric conditions changed, was ranged in a semi-
circular pageant, the wild panorama of San Francisco
Bay, from Point Bonita and Golden Gate in the west,
past the Marin County shore with Sausalito twinkling,
under the long, beautiful profile of Mount Tamalpais,
past Belvedere with its white villas, Alcatraz and
Goat Island floating in the harbor, to the foot-hills
behind Oakland and Berkeley, where, in the east,
Mount Diablo's pointed peak shimmered in the blue
distance.
In the second story of this house Clytie had a
bookbinding room, where she spent most of her spare
time. It was large, bare, sunny, impregnated with
the odor of leather skins, clean and orderly. A
sewing frame and a heavy press stood behind her
bench and upon a table were neatly arranged the pages
of a book upon which she was working. Carefully
placed in workmanlike precision were her knives,
shears, glue pot and gas heater and a case of stamping
irons in pigeonholes.
She was, this afternoon, in a brown gingham pina-
fore, with her sleeves rolled up, seated before the
table, her sensitive hands moving deftly at the most
delicate operation connected with her craft. Upon a
square of heavy plate glass, she laid a torn, ragged
page, and, from several old fly leaves, selected one that
matched it in color. She cut a piece of paper slightly
larger than the missing portion, skived the edges, and
pasted it over the hole or along the frayed margin.
THE PAYSONS 91
The work was absorbing and exacting to her eyes;
to rest them, she went, from time to time, to the win-
dow and looked out upon the bay.
The water was gray-green streaked with a deeper
blue. In the "north harbor" two barks lay at anchor
in the stream and ferry-boats plied the fairway. In
and out of the Gate there passed, at intervals, tugs
with sailing ships bound out with lumber or in with
nitrates, steamers to coast ports, or liners from over-
seas, rusty, weather-beaten tramps, strings of heavy-
going barges, lusty little tugs, lumber schooners
wallowing through the tide rip, Italian fishing smacks,
lateen-rigged with russet sails, saucy launches, and,
at last, the magnificent bulk of a white battleship slid-
ing imperiously into the roadstead along the water-
front.
At four o'clock Clytie's mind seemed to wander from
her occupation, and now, when she ceased and looked
out of the window, her abstracted gaze was evidently
not directed at what she saw. Her mental vision,
rather, seemed alert. Her slender golden eyebrows drew
closer together, her narrow, sharp nostrils dilated;
her lips, half open, inhaled deep, unconscious breaths.
The pupils of her eyes contracted like a cat's in the
light. Then she shook herself, passed her hand over
her forehead, shrugged her shoulders and resumed
her work.
A little later this performance was repeated; this
time, after her momentary preoccupation, she rose
more briskly, put her tools away, laid her book care-
fully aside and took off her pinafore. After washing
her hands she went into her own room on the same
floor. She went down-stairs ten minutes after, in a
92 THE HEART LINE
fresh frock, her hair nicely arranged, radiating a faint
perfume of violet water. She opened the front door
and walked slowly down the path to the gate where
the wall, though but waist-high on the garden side,
stood high above the sidewalk. Here she waited,
touching the balustrade delicately with her out-
stretched fingers, as if playing upon a piano. The
breeze loosened the severity of her coiffure, which
relaxed into slight touches of curling frivolity about
her ears and neck. Her pink frock billowed out into
flowing, statuesque folds as she stood, like a figurehead,
gazing off at the mountains. Her mouth was set into
a shape not quite a smile, a queer, tremulously subtle
expression of suspense. She kept her eyes in the direc-
tion of Hyde Street.
It was not long before a man turned the corner
and walked briskly toward her. He looked up at the
first house on the block, searching for the number;
then, as his eyes traveled along to the next gate, he
caught sight of her. Instantly his soft felt hat swung
off with a quick flourish and he sent her a pleased
smile.
"Here I am, Mr. Granthope !" Clytie called down to
him, and on the instant her face was suffused with
pink. She had evidently expected him, but now she
appeared as agitated as if his coming had surprised
her.
He ran up the flight of wooden steps, his eyes hold-
ing hers all the way. His dark, handsome face
glowed; he abounded with life and spirit as he stood
before her, hand outstretched. In the other, he held a
small leather-bound book.
"Good afternoon, Miss Payson !" he said heartily.
THE PAYSONS 93
He shook hands eagerly, his touch, even in that con-
ventional greeting, consciously managed; the grasp
was sensitive and he delayed its withdrawal a suggest-
ive second, his dark eyes already at work upon hers.
"How lucky I was to catch you out here!" he added,
as he dropped her hand.
"Oh, I've been expecting you for some time," Clytie
replied, retreating imperceptibly, as from an emotional
attack, and turning away her eyes.
He noticed her susceptibility, and modified his man-
ner slightly.
"Why! You couldn't possibly have known I was
coming?"
"But I did ! Does that surprise you ? I told you
I had intuitions, you know. You came to bring my
ring, didn't you ?"
"Yes, of course. You really have second-sight,
then?" He looked at her as one might look at a fairy,
in amusement mingled with admiration.
"Yes haven't you?" She put it to him soberly.
"Haven't I already proved it?" His eyes, well-
schooled, kept to hers boldly, seeking for the first
sign of her incredulity. Into his manner he had tried
to infuse a temperamental sympathy, establishing a
personal relation.
She did not answer for a moment, gazing at him
disconcertingly; then her eyes wandered, as she
remarked: "You certainly proved something, I don't
quite know what."
He laughed it off, saying: "Well, I've proved at
least that I wanted to see you again, and made the most
of this excuse."
"Yes, I'm glad I forgot the ring. I'm really very
94 THE HEART LINE
glad to see you, too I half hoped I might. Won't you
come up to my summer-house? It's not so windy
there, and we can talk better."
He accepted, pleased at the invitation and the im-
plied promise it held, and followed her up the path
and off toward the line of trees. The place was now
visited by belated sunshine which compensated for the
sharp afternoon breeze. In the' shelter of the cypress
hedge the air was warm and fragrant. Here was an
arbor built of withe crockery crates overgrown with
climbing nasturtiums; it contained a seat looking
eastward, towards Telegraph Hill. In front stood a
sun-dial mounted on a terra cotta column, beneath
a clump of small Lombardy poplars.
As she seated herself she pointed to it. "Did you
know that this is a sort of cemetery? That sun-dial
is really a gravestone. When I was a little girl I
buried my doll underneath it. She had broken open,
letting the sawdust all out, and I thought she must be
dead. It may be there now, for all I know; I never
dug her up."
He looked over at the shaft, saying, "A very pretty
piece of symbolism. I suppose I have buried illusions,
myself, somewhere."
She thought it over for a moment, and apparently
was pleased. "I'd like to dig some of them up," she
said at last, turning to him, with the slow movement
of her head that was characteristic of her.
"Haven't you enough left?"
She started to reply, but evidently decided not to
say what she had intended, and let it drop there, her
thought passing in a puzzling smile as she looked away
again
THE PAYSONS 95
He had laid his book beside him upon the bench,
and, when her eyes came back, she took it up and
looked at it. A glance inside showed it to be an old
edition of Montaigne. She smiled, her eyes drifted
to him with a hint of approval for his taste, then she
turned her interest to the binding. As she fingered
the leather, touching the tooled surfaces sensitively,
her curiosity did not escape his sharp eyes, watching
for anything that should be revelatory.
She explained : "I have a technical interest in bind-
ings. I do some of that work myself. It's curious that
I happened to be at work to-day on an old copy of
Montaigne. I'm rebinding it for my father's birth-
day. You'd never think my hands were of any prac-
tical use, would you?"
He laughed. "Inconsistencies like that are what
baffles one most, especially when one knows that most
characters are inconsistent. But we professionals have
to go by general rules. I should expect you to be an
exception to all of them, though."
He watched her surreptitiously, noting her diminish-
ing color, the evasion of her glance, and the air of
self-consciousness with which she spoke, as they talked
for a while of obvious things the weather, the view,
and the picturesque, old-fashioned garden. She had
taken the ring and had put it upon her finger, keeping
her eyes on its turquoises. Her whole demeanor min-
istered to his vanity, already pleased by her frank wel-
come. He was used enough to women's interest and
admiration for him to expect it and play upon it, but
this was of a shyer and more elusive sort ; it seemed to
hold something more seriously considered, it baffled
him, even as he enjoyed its unction. Besides all this,
96 THE HEART LINE
too, there was a secret romantic charm in the fact that
they had shared together that vivid experience of the
past. He came back for another draught of flattery.
"It was odd that you expected me, wasn't it?" he
said. "I can't help wondering about it."
She had her eyes upon the Sausalito boat, which
was weaving a trailing web of foam past Alcatraz
Island. At his words, she turned to him with the
same slow seriousness as before and replied :
"I shouldn't think it would seem so remarkable to
you, your own power is so much more wonderful."
"Perhaps so in that one case, but you know I don't,
ordinarily, claim clairvoyance. It's only occasionally,
as the other day with you, that I attempt it."
Her eyes awakened ; she said earnestly, "Was I
really able to bring that out in you?"
He caught at the hint. "Why, what else could it
be but your magnetism? It was the more strange
because I had never seen you before."
The glow faded, and she relaxed her nervous energy.
"Ah, hadn't you? I wonder!"
"Why, had you ever seen me before that day?"
"I think so. At least you seem, somehow, familiar."
"When was it, and where, then?"
She seemed too puzzled to answer, or fatigued with
following an intangible thread of thought. As she
spoke, slowly, intensely, her hands made large, vague
gestures, often pausing in mid air, as her voice paused,
waiting for the proper word to come. "I don't know.
It only seems as if I had been with you or near
you, or something I don't know what. It's like a
dream or a story I can't quite recall, only " she
did not finish the sentence.
THE PAYSONS 97
He wondered what her game could be. Funda-
mentally cynical, though he never permitted it to show
in his manner, he distrusted her claims to prevision.
There was, after all, nothing in Miss Payson's words
that might not be accounted for by what he knew of
the wiles of feminine psychology. His training had
taught him how much a baseless hint, injected at the
proper moment, could accomplish in the masquerade
of emotions and the crafty warfare of the sexes. That
he and she had been actors together in a past uncom-
prehended scene, he regarded as a mere coincidence
of which he had already made good use ; he refused
to connect it with her suggestive remark, for he was
sure that she must have been unaware of his presence
in Madam Grant's room that day, so long ago. It
seemed to him more likely that, woman-fashion, she
had shot into the air and had brought down an unsus-
pected quarry. And yet, even as a coincidence, he
could not quite dismiss the strangeness of it from his
mind.
He was preparing to turn it to a sentimental advan-
tage, when Clytie, who had relapsed into silence, sud-
denly aroused herself with one of those impulsive
outbursts which were characteristic of her.
"There is something about it all that is stranger
still, I think!"
Her golden brows had drawn together, separated
by two vertical lines, as she gazed at him. Then with
a little jet of fervor, she added :
"I'm afraid I know too much about you, Mr. Grant-
hope ! It's somewhat embarrassing, really. It doesn't
seem quite fair, you know."
"I'm not quite sure that I understand."
98 THE HEART LINE
"Oh, you know ! You must know !"
He laughed. "Really, Miss Payson, it's very flat-
tering, of course "
"Oh, no, it's not in the least flattering."
"I wish you'd explain, then." He leaned bacl^
folded his arms and waited indulgently. So long as
he could keep the conversation personal, he was sure
of being able to manage her, and further his own
ends. It amused him.
She busied herself with a lace handkerchief as she
continued, in a low voice, as if she were ridding her-
self of a disagreeable task, and always with the slow,
monotonous turning of her questing eyes toward him,
and away. "Of course I've heard many things about
you you're a good deal talked about, you know;
but it's not that at all it's an instinctive knowledge
I have about you. I can't explain it. It's a queer
special feeling almost as if, in some way, I had the
right to know. That's why I wanted to see you again
I hoped you'd come. I wanted to tell you."
"But all that certainly is flattering," he said. "I
wouldn't be human if I weren't pleased to hear that
you're interested, even if "
She could not help breaking into smiles again, as
she interrupted him.
"Oh, but I haven't told you yet."
"Please do, then!"
"It sounds so foolish when I say it so priggish!
But it's this : I don't at all approve of you. Why in
the world should I care? I don't know. It isn't my
business to reform you, if you need it." Now she had
brought it out, she could not look at him.
Curiously enough, though he had been amused at
THE PAYSONS 99
her assumption of a circumstantial knowledge of him,
this hinted comprehension of his character, of the
duplicity of his life, if it were that, impressed him
with the existence in her mind of some quality as
rare and mysterious as electricity, a real psychic gift,
perhaps. It gave him an instant's pause. Instinctively
he feared a more definite arraignment. He began a
little more seriously, now, to match his cleverness
against her intuition; and, for the first defense, he
employed a move of masculine coquetry.
"You have been thinking of me, then?"
"Yes," she replied simply, "I have thought about
you a good deal since I was in your studio. But I
suppose you're used to hearing things like that from
women." She was apologetic, rather than sarcastic.
He shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be able
to make no way against her directness. "I've thought
not a little of you, too, Miss Payson. You are won-
derfully psychic and sensitive. I think you should
develop your power you might be able to do extra-
ordinary things with it. I wish you'd let me help you.
That is," he added humorously, "if I'm not too far
gone in your disapproval." .
"Oh, the disapproval I call it that for want of a bet-
ter word isn't so important as the fact that I should
feel it at all, don't you see? You remember that you
told me I was the kind of a woman who, if she liked
a man, would tell him so, freely. That is true. I
would scorn to stoop to the immemorial feminine
tricks. I do like you, and in spite of what I can't quite
explain, too. I don't know why, either. It seems
as if it's a part of that other feeling I've mentioned
that I've been with you, or near you, before."
ioo THE HEART LINE
He leaned forward to extort more of this delicious
confession from her. "Do you mean spiritually, or
merely physically near?"
"Oh, I don't mean an 'elective affinity' or anything so
occult as that," she laughed. "Indeed, I don't quite
know what I do mean it's all so vague. I can't form-
ulate it. It escapes me when I try. But I did know,
for instance, quite definitely, that I'd see you again. I
tell you about it only because I think that you,
with your power in that way, may be able to under-
stand it and explain it to me."
He thought he saw his chance, now, and instinctively
he began to pose, letting his eyes deepen and burn on
her. He nodded his head and said impressively :
"Yes. I have felt it, too, Miss Payson. It's won-
derful to think that you should have recognized me and
understood me so well. No one ever has before. We
are related by some tie I'm sure we've met before,
somewhere, somehow "
She jumped up and stood before him, her hands
tightly held, her lips pressed together. For a moment,
so, she looked hard at him; then what there had
been of anger in her gaze softened to something like
sadness or pity.
"That's what I meant!"
He misunderstood her remark and her attitude and
went still farther astray from her meaning.
"You are not like any other woman I have ever
known," he said, in the same soulful way.
"Why can't you be honest with me !" she broke out.
She was astonishingly alive now; there was no trace
of her former languor. He winced at realizing, sud-
denly, and too late, that he had made a false step.
THE PAYSONS 101
"Why do you make me regret having been frank?"
she went on, with a despairing throb in her voice.
"You have almost succeeded in making me ashamed of
myself, already. That is just what I disapprove of in
you. Don't imagine that you can ever deceive me
with such sentimentality. I shall always know when
you're straightforward and simple. That's what I've
been trying to make you understand that I do know !"
She turned slowly away from him., almost hope-
lessly. For a moment she remained immobile, then
before he had recovered his wits, she had modified the
situation for him. Her eyes drifted back to his as
she remarked thoughtfully:
"I am sure, too, that you could help me, if you
would."
"How?" He tried to pull himself together.
"Merely by being honest with me."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, I know that's a good deal to ask," she laughed.
"Of me?"
"Of any one."
"I'll try, Miss Payson," he said, not too seriously.
"But you've frightened me. I don't dare think too
hard about anything, you're such a witch."
She released him graciously and keyed down to
an easier tone.
"You must forgive me if I've been too frank, Mr.
Granthope, but this interview is almost like a first
meeting, and you know how much one is apt to say
in such a situation. Let's not continue the discussion
I'm embarrassed enough already. I know I shall regret
what I've said. We'll talk of something pleasanter.
Tell me about that pretty girl in your office."
102 THE HEART LINE
"Oh!" he exclaimed, and his tone was as if he had
said, "Aha!" He wondered if it were possible that,
after all, it was only this which had moved her to
speak.
Clytie frowned, but if she read his thought, she
let it go unchallenged.
"She's an original little thing; I like her," she added.
"You do?" he said mischievously exaggerating his
surprise.
"Yes, I do. Don't think I'm trying to patronize her,
but she's a dear and she's very pretty."
"Do you think so? I shall have to tell her that.
She's pretty enough, at least, to have been on the stage.
She was in vaudeville for a couple of years. I first
got acquainted with her at the Orpheum. I've known
her a long time. She's a great help and a great com-
fort to me, and a very clever girl."
"How long has she been your assistant?"
"Two years."
"And you haven't fallen in love with her yet ?"
Granthope was relieved. He was sure now that she
was, if not jealous, suspicious of his relations with
Fancy. It was not the first time he had encountered
such insinuations.
"Oh, not in the least," he said. "I can give you
my word as to that. I don't think it ever occurred to
me though I'd do anything in the world for her."
"And I suppose you're as sure of her immunity?"
"Why, of course," said Granthope, and in his tone
there was the ring of masculine assurance.
Clytie smiled and shook her head. "There are some
things men never can know, no matter how clairvoyant
they are," she said, looking away.
THE PAYSONS 103
He did not follow this up, but arose to leave. "I'm
afraid you have a very poor opinion of me, Miss Pay-
son," he said, "but I do feel complimented by your
frankness. Perhaps I shall merit it who knows?"
It was his turn to address the distance, and, in spite of
his consciousness of an histrionic effect, his own words
sounded curiously in his ears; they seemed premoni-
tory. He shook himself free from her influence again.
She had controlled the situation from the first word;
he had only made a series of mistakes. It all confirmed
his first estimate of her : that she was very well worth
his while, but that her capture would be difficult.
Clytie, too, had arisen. Her mood had lightened,
and her sense of humor had returned. "I hope I
haven't been either tragic or absurd," she said, smil-
ing. "I'm not always so serious, Mr. Granthope. The
next time I meet you I'll probably be more conven-
tional."
"Then I may see you again?"
"I doubt if you can help it."
"I shall certainly not try to!" Then he paused.
"You mean?"
"Yes!"
There was something delightful to him in this rapid
transfer of wordless thought. It again established
an intimacy between them. That she acknowledged
such a relation by anticipating another meeting, an
inevitable one, charmed him the more. He might win,
after all, with such assistance from her. Her power
of intuition aroused his curiosity he longed to experi-
ment with it. She was a new plaything which he had
yet to learn to handle. Before, he had dominated her
easily enough ; he might do so again.
104 THE HEART LINE
"Miss Payson," he said, "won't you come down to
my studio again sometime? I'd like to make a more
careful examination of your hand, and perhaps I can
help you in developing your psychic sense."
"Oh, no, thank you. Really, I can't come again
I shall be pretty busy for a while I have to go to the
Mercantile Library every afternoon, looking up ma-
terial for my father's book and, after all, I got what
I wanted."
"What did you want?"
"Partly to see you."
He bowed. "Curiosity?"
"Let's call it interest."
"You had no faith, then, in my palmistry?"
"Very little."
"Yet you acknowledge that I told you some things
that were true?"
"Haven't I told you several things about yourself,
too?"
"I'd like to hear more."
"Oh, I've said too much, already."
"Let's see. That I am more or less of a villian "
"But a most interesting one!"
"That I have met you before"
"Not perhaps 'met'"
"That Fancy Gray is in love with me "
"Oh, I didn't say that!"
"But you suspect it?"
"If I did, it was impertinent of me. It's none of my
business."
"Well, you won't come again you've quite satis-
fied your curiosity by seeing me?"
"Quite* I've confirmed all my suspicions."
THE PAYSONS 105
"What were they?"
Clytie laughed. "Really, you're pushing me a little
too hard, Mr. Granthope. I'd be glad to have you call
here, sometime, if you care to. But my psychic powers
are quite keen enough already. They rather frighten
me. I want them only explained. As I say, it's
embarrassing, sometimes. I hate to speak of what
I feel it's all so groundless and it sounds silly."
"You know more, then, than you mention?"
"Oh, much!"
"About me, for instance?"
"Yes. But it's vague and indefinite. It needn't
worry you."
"Even though you disapprove?"
She laughed again. "You may take that as a com-
pliment, if you like."
He nodded. "It is something that you care."
"I'm mainly curious to see what you'll do "
"Oh, you're expecting something, then?"
"I'm watching to see. I confess I shall watch you.
I said that you interested me that's what I mean.
You're going to well, change."
As she stood between him and the light her soft
hair showed as fine and crisp as spun glass. Her
lips were sensitively curved with a flitting smile, her
eyes were dreamy again. Everything about her
bespoke a high spiritual caste, but, to Granthope, this
only accented the desirability of her bodily self it
would make her the greater prize, unlike anything
he had, so far, been able to win. He had an epicure's
delight in feminine beauty, and he knew how its flavor
should be finely tinctured by mind and soul ; even-
beauty was not exciting without that, and of mere
io6 THE HEART LINE
beauty he had his fill. Besides, she had unexpected
reserves of emotion that he was continually tempted
to arouse. But so far he had hopelessly mis-
played his part, and he longed to prove his customary
skill with women.
"Well," he said finally, offering his hand, "I hope
I'll be able to satisfy you, sooner or later. I'll come,
soon, for a report!"
"Oh, my mood may have changed, by that time."
He gave her the farewell amenities and went down
the path to the gate. There he turned and saw her
still watching him. He waved his hat and went down
the steps, his mind restless with thoughts of her.
Clytie remained a while in the arbor. The fog had
begun to come in now with a vanguard of light fleecy
clouds riding high in the air, closing the bay in from
all sides. The massive bank behind followed slowly,
tinted with opal and rose from the setting sun. It
settled down, shutting out her sight of the water, and
its cohorts were soon scurrying past her on their
charge overland from ocean to harbor. The siren at
Point Bonita sighed dismally across the channel. It
soon grew too cold to remain longer in the garden,
and she went into the house shivering, lighted an
open fire in the library and sat down.
For half an hour she sat there in silence, inert, list-
less, lost in thought, her eyes on the blurred landscape
mystic with driving fog. The room grew darker,
illuminated only by the fitful flashes of the fire. Her
still, relaxed figure, fragile and delicate as an ivory
carving, was alternately captured and hidden by the
shadow and rescued and restored by the sudden gleam
from the hearth. She had not moved when her
THE PAYSONS 10;
father's step was heard in the hall. He came in,
benignly sedate. His deep voice vibrated through the
room.
"Well, Cly, dreaming again?"
She started at the sound and came out of her reverie
to rise and greet him affectionately. He put down
some books and a package of papers and lighted the
chandelier, exchanging commonplaces with her of her
bookbinding work, which she confessed to have
shirked; of the weather, with a little of old age's
querulous complaint of rheumatic touches ; of the black
cat, which was their domestic fetish and (an immor-
tally interesting topic to him) of the vileness and
poisonous quality of San Francisco illuminating gas.
His voice flowed on melliflously with unctuous authori-
ty, as he seated himself in his arm-chair beneath the
lamp, shook out his evening paper and rattled its
flapping sheets.
Clytie evinced a mild interest in his remarks, smiled
gently at his familiar vagaries, answering when replies
should be forthcoming, in her low, even, monotonously
pitched tones. She questioned him perfunctorily about
the book he was writing, an absorbing avocation with
him, warding off his usual disappointment at her
lack of sympathy by involving herself in a conver-
sational web of explanation regarding Foreign Trade
Expansion, Reciprocal Profits and The Open Door in
the Orient.
"There's not much use working on it at the office,"
he concluded. "I'm too liable to interruptions."
"Who interrupted you to-day?" she asked.
"Oh, there was a queer chap in this afternoon, an
insurance solicitor; Wooley, his name was. I told
io8 THE HEART LINE
him I didn't want an accident policy, but I happened
to tell him about that time on the Oakland Mole, when
I got caught between two trains in the Fourth of July
crush you remember? and he told me about all the
narrow escapes he ever heard of, trying to get me to
go into his company. Funny dog he was. He kept
me laughing and talking with him for an hour. Then
Blanchard came in. He says he's coming around
to-night." He hesitated and scanned her intently
through his gold-bowed glasses, under his bushy
brows. "I hope you will treat him well, Cly."
Her face grew serious and her sensitive lips quiv-
ered, as she said:
"Why do you like Mr. Cayley so much, father?"
"Why, he's a very intelligent fellow, Cly; I don't
know of another young man of his age who is really
worth talking to. He knows things. He has a broad
outlook and a serious mind. He's the kind of young
man we need to take hold of political and commercial
reform. I tell you, the country is going to the dogs
for lack of men who are interested in anything
outside of their own petty concerns. Why, he's the only
one I know who really seems interested in oriental
trade and all its development means to the Pacific slope.
That's remarkable, considering he isn't himself con-
nected with any commercial enterprise. I don't know
what I'd do if I didn't have him to discuss my subject
with. He seems to be genuinely interested in it. I
wish you were as much so, Cly!"
Clytie turned away, smiling somewhat ironically, an
uncommon expression for her engaging features.
"You know/' she said slowly, "that I don't quite
trust him,"
THE PAYSONS 109
"Why, you two have been friends long enough, you
should know him better by this time. You're intimate
enough with him."
"Oh, it's only a feeling I have. You know I have
my intuitions but what friendship there is has been
of his seeking."
"He's all right, Cly," her father said dictatorial ly.
"I haven't lived in the West for fifty years without
knowing something of men. I do want you to learn
to appreciate him. He's got a future before him and he
is certainly fond of you. You know, if anything did
come of it, I would "
Clytie arose abruptly. "I think dinner's almost
ready, father, and I'm hungry. Are you ready?"
She was imperious, holding her tawny head erect,
her chin high, her hands clasped behind her back,
the willowy suppleness of her body now grown rigid.
Mr. Payson sighed resignedly, and allowed a moment's
silence to speak for him ; then, finding that his daugh-
ter's attitude continued to dominate the situation, he,
too, arose, patted her cheek and shook his head. This
pantomime coaxed- forth a gracious smile from her.
He took his manuscripts and left to go up to his room.
Clytie remained at the window till he returned.
They had nearly finished their dinner, when, after
a casual dialogue, she remarked, without looking at
him:
"Father, do you remember anything about an old
crazy woman who lived down south of Market Street
somewhere, years ago in a cheap hotel, I think it
was ?"
He started at her question and his voice, ordinarily
so calm and so mellow, quavered slightly.
no * THE HEART LINE
"What do you mean? Who was she?" he asked
earnestly.
"That's what I want to know," Clytie said, stirring
her coffee.
"What do you know about her?"
"Why I went to see her once."
"You went to see her? When?"
"Then you did know her !"
Mr. Payson spoke cautiously, watching his daughter.
"I have heard about her, yes., but I never knew you had
been there. How in the world did that happen? It
must have been a long time ago." He stared as if
he could scarcely believe her assertion.
"Mother took me there once or twice. It's almost
the first thing I remember."
"She did? She never told me! It's strange you
have never mentioned it before."
"Perhaps I oughtn't to mention it now. I thought,
somehow, that she wouldn't want me to tell you about
it."
His tone now was disturbed, anxious, pitched in a
higher key.
"Why shouldn't you speak of it? What difference
could it possibly make ? I remember that woman, yes.
She was not old, though. Do you recall her well?
You were very young then."
"I can almost see her now. She had white hair
and black eyebrows, with a vertical line between them ;
she was pale, but with bright red lips. She wore a
strange red gown. I think she must have been very
beautiful at one time. Who was she, father?" Clytie
sent a calm, level glance at him.
"Oh, she was a friend of your mother's. Your
THE PAYSONS in
mother and I used to keep track of her and help her,
that's all."
"Was she poor, then?"
"No, she wasn't. That was the queer part of it.
She had considerable ability and actually carried
on a real estate business, though she was pretty mad.
She had lucid intervals, though, when she was as rea-
sonable as any one."
"What became of her?"
"She died, I think, of heart disease. It must have
been the same year your mother died, if I remember
rightly."
"What was her name?"
Mr. Payson grew more nervous at this questioning,
but he replied, "They called her Madam Grant, I
believe. How did you happen to bring up the subject
after all these years, Cly?"
It was her turn to be embarrassed. "Well I've
recalled that scene occasionally, and wondered about
it it has always been a mystery I couldn't explain,
and I never dared talk about it. Of course, it's only
one of those vivid early pictures of childhood, but it
has always seemed very romantic."
"It was a strange situation," Mr. Payson replied.
"She was a very unfortunate woman and I was sorry
for her. I never would have permitted you to go, if
I had known, of course, but perhaps your mother knew
best." He dropped his chin upon his hand. "Yes,
I'm glad you went, now. What impression did she
make on you?"
"I only remember thinking how beautiful she must
have been."
"Yes," Mr. Payson's voice was almost inaudible.
ii2 THE HEART LINE
He pushed his chair back, rose and went into the
library. Clytie followed him.
"Are you going out to-night, father?"
"Yes, I've got some business to attend to.*'
"In the evening?" she raised her brows.
"Oh, I'm only looking up something for my book."
He turned away to avoid her gaze.
"Oh!" She sat down and took up a book without
questioning him further. Soon after, the front door-
bell rang and Mr. Cayley was shown in by the Chinese
servant.
Blanchard Cayley was well known about town,
for he had" a place in many different coteries. By his
birth he inherited a position in a select Southern set
that had long monopolized social standing and
looked scornfully down upon the upstart railroad aris-
tocracy and that nouveau riche element which was
prominent chiefly through the notoriety conferred by
the newspapers. Blanchard Cayley's parts gained him
the entree, besides, to less conventional circles, where
his wit and affability made him a favorite. He belonged
to two of the best clubs, but his inclinations led him
to dine usually at French or Italian restaurants, where
good-fellowship and ability distinguished the com-
pany. He wrote a little and knew the best news-
paper men and all the minor poets in town. He drew
a little, and was familiar with all the artists. He
accounted himself a musical critic and cultivated com-
posers. He knew San Francisco like a rat, knew it
as he knew the intricacies of French forms of verse,
as well as he knew the architecture of music and the
history of painting. He had long ceased his nocturnal
meanderings "down the line" from the Hoffman Bar
THE PAYSONS 113
to Dunn's saloon, but he occasionally took a post-
graduate course, of sorts, to see whether, for the
nonce, the city was wide open or shut. He had dis-
covered the Latin Quarter, now well established as a
show-place for jaded pleasure-seekers, and had played
bocce with the Italians in the cellars of saloons, before
the game was heard of by Americans. He had found
the marionette theater in its first week, traced every
one of Stevenson's haunts before the Tusitala had died
in Samoa, knew the writings of "Phoenix" almost
by heart, and had devoured half the Mercantile Libra-
ry. Tar Flat and the Barbary Coast he knew as well
as the Mission and North Beach, and as for Chinatown,
he had ransacked it for queer jars, jade and hand-made
jewelry, exhausting its possibilities long before San
Franciscans had realized the presence, in that quarter,
of anything but an ill-smelling purlieu of tourists'
bazaars.
He had "discovered" women as well women, for
the most part, whose attractions few other persons
seemed to appreciate. His last find was Clytie Pay-
son a much more valuable tribute to his taste than
any heretofore. He had devoted himself assiduously
to her, and it was his boast that he could remember
the hat she wore when he first saw her, ten years
before. His pursuit of her had been eccentric. Cayley
was mathematical and his methods were built upon a
system. During the first years of their acquaintance
he alternated months of neglect with picturesque arriv-
als on nights so tempestuous and foul that his presence
would be sure to be counted as a flattering tribute,
and would outweigh, with his obvious devotion, the
previous languor of his pursuit. This was a fair
ii 4 THE HEART LINE
sample of the subtlety of his psychological amours, for
Blanchard Caylcy was not of the temperament to run
across the room and kiss a girl with verve and ardor.
He led, however, an intense mental life; there he
was a creature of enthusiasms and contempts, capable
of no intermediate emotion.
What else was true of his character it would be
necessary to determine from the several ladies of his
choice whom he kept carefully apart, recipients of his
subdivided confidence. Blanchard Cayley did not
introduce female contemporaries.
He wore a carefully trimmed, reddish, Vandyke
beard, with a drooping mustache; his hair curled a
bit effeminately. Large blue eyes, the well-developed
nose of the hobbyist, hands of a sixteenth-century
gentleman, aristocratic, well-kept, soft. To-night he
was in half-dress dinner jacket and gold studs, an
inch wide stripe upon his trousers this under a yellow
mackintosh and cricket cap, in strict accordance with
his own ideas of form.
Mr. Pay son was in the library still busy with his
manuscript when he entered. The two shook hands.
Blanchard's manner had in it something of a survival
of the old school. He was never awkward, yet never
bombastic. Suave, rather, with a semi-humorous touch
that relieved his courtesy of anything solemn. He
smiled, showing his teeth, saying, with an appearance
of great interest,
"Well, Mr. Payson, I see you're still at it. How's
The Open Door in the Orient?"
"Oh, getting on," said Mr. Payson. "I want to
read you my last chapter when I get a chance. I
think you'll like it."
Mr. Pay son was in the library Page 114.
THE PAYSONS us
Cayley had been successful in appearing to listen,
and at the same time pay his respects to Clytie, whose
hand he did not let go without a personal pressure
in addition to the visible greeting. He kept it an
unpleasant half-second longer than had Granthope.
She freed herself with a slight gesture of discomfort.
"Perhaps I'd better go up-stairs and leave you men
alone to talk it over," she suggested.
"Certainly not," said her father. "I'll wait until
some other time, only I thought Blanchard would
be interested."
"Indeed, I am," Cayley protested. "I'm very
anxious to hear your opinion about gold, too. I have
something to suggest, myself. Oh !" He delved into
his breast pocket. "Here are some notes on the his-
tory of the trade dollar, Mr. Payson. You know I
was speaking of it. I've been looking up the subject
at the mint and at the library for you; I think it
might give you some ideas."
Mr. Payson took the paper eagerly and pushed up
his spectacles to examine it. "Thank you ; thank you
very much. I'll be glad to look it over. It's a
pleasure to find any one nowadays who's so interested
in what is going to be a very vital question. You'll
find my cigars here, somewhere. Cly, you go and find
the box, won't you?"
As Clytie disappeared in the direction of the dining-
room, he added, "You must humor her, Blanchard,
she's a bit skittish. Don't force her hand and I think
you'll bring her around."
"Thanks for the tip, but I have my idea," was the
reply. "It's only a question of time when I shall
be able to produce the psychological condition I want."
Ii6 THE HEART LINE
Mr. Payson shook his head dubiously. "I don't
know. That isn't the way we went about it when I
was young. We didn't bother much with psychology
then. We had emotions to attend to."
"Oh, love-making is just as much a science as any-
thing else, and there is no reason why it shouldn't
progress. There are modern methods, you know;
it's only a form of hypnotism." He smiled blandly.
When he and Clytie were alone a situation she
seemed to delay as much as possible Cayley sat down
opposite her with an ingratiating, disarming smile.
He was neither eager nor impressive. He was sure
of himself. It did not, as he had said, seem to matter
a great deal about her emotions; he scarcely consid-
ered her otherwise than as a mind whose defenses he
was to overthrow in an intellectual contest. He began
with elaborate circumlocution.
"Well, I've discovered something."
Her delicate eyebrows rose.
"It is a curious botanical fact that there are four
thousand lamp-posts in the city of San Francisco."
"Why botanical?"
"That is just what I expected you to ask."
"Then I'll not ask it." She was already on the
defense.
"But you did!"
"Well?" She appeared to resent his tone.
"Now, see here!" He laid his right forefinger to
his left palm. "Suppose a Martian were visiting the
earth. He wouldn't at first be able to distinguish the
properties of things. So, seeing these four thousand
lamp-posts, he might consider them as a part of the
Terrene flora queer trees."
THE PAYSONS 117
It was like a game of chess, and it was evident that
she could not foresee his next move. The detour was
too complicated. She seemed, by her attitude, to be
on her guard, but allowed him, with a nod of assent,
to proceed.
"Now, suppose you have the Martian, or let us call
it the uncorrelative point of view. Suppose you use
brain-cells that have hitherto been quiescent or unde-
veloped."
"I don't exactly follow." Her attention wandered.
He probed it. "Suppose I should get up and kiss
you."
She awoke suddenly.
"You see what I mean now?" he continued. "You
exploded a new cell then. You gained a new point
of view with regard to me. Don't be afraid. I'm not
going to kiss you."
"Indeed, you're not!" Her alarm subsided; her
resentment, rising to an equal level, was drawn off in a
smile at the absurdity of the discussion.
He went on: "But you must acknowledge that I
have, at least, produced a psychological condition. I'm
going to use 'that new cell again." He waited for her
answer.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed at last. "We're getting
very far away from the lamp-posts. I'm quite in
the'dark."
He proceeded: "My character is lighted by four
thousand lamp-posts also."
"Ah, I see ! You want me to regard them as botani-
cal facts. I, as a supposititious Martian, with this won-
derful new cell, am to perceive in you something that
is not true?"
n8 THE HEART LINE
"No, for in Mars, the lamp-posts, we will suppose,
are vegetables not mechanical objects."
"A little more light from the lamp-posts, please."
"They are emotions, alive and growing. They have
heat as well as light, in spite of their subtleties. I want
you to perceive the fact that my methodical nature
shows that I have a determined, potent stimulus
that I have energy that I am in earnest."
She seemed to sniff the danger now and stood at
gaze." He went on:
"I shall keep at the attempt until you do look at me
in this way till I've educated these dormant cells."
"If you are leading up to another proposal," Clytie
said, "I must say I admire your devotion to method,
but it is time thrown away."
He took this calmly enough. He took everything
calmly; but he did not abate his persistence. "I'm
not leading up to a proposal so much as I am to an
acceptance."
Clytie shrugged her shoulders. "You'll be telling
me you're in love with me next."
"Do you doubt it?"
"A half-dozen proposals have not convinced me."
"Seven," he corrected. "This is the eighth."
"How long do you intend to keep it up?"
"Until I produce in your mind a psychological con-
dition which will convince you that I'm in earnest,
that I am sincere, that I am the man for you. Then
I shall produce an emotional reflex it's sure to follow.
It may come to-night and it may come next year.
Sooner or later circumstances will bring about this
crystallization. Some shock may help; it may be a
simple growth. I am sure to win you in the long run.
THE PAYSONS 119
I'm bound to have you, and I will, if I have to make
a hundred attempts. You can't dismiss me, for I'm
an old friend and you need me. I have educated you,
I have broadened your horizon. You see, I am play-
ing with my cards on the table."
"But without trumps." Clytie stifled a yawn.
"Meaning, I suppose, that I have no heart? Clubs
may do. I rely upon your atavism."
"I suppose you have as much heart as can be made
out of brain."
"What if I say that I'm jealous? Will that prove
that I have a heart?"
"Oh, you're too conceited ever to be jealous."
"But I am ! I'll prove it. I happen to know that
that palmist person, Granthope, was here this after-
noon and you spent half an hour with him. How's
that?"
"How do you know?" She awoke to a greater
interest.
"You don't seem to realize that I make it my busi-
ness to know all about you. This came by accident,
though. I was on the Hyde Street car and I saw
him get off and come in here. I waited at the end of
the road till he went back. Now, what if I should
tell your father that you have been entertaining a
faking palmist here, on the sly ?" He leaned back and
folded his hands.
Clytie rose swiftly and walked to the door without
a look at him.
"Father," she called, "Mr. Cayley has something
to say to you."
"Never mind," Cayley protested. "That was merely
an experiment."
120 THE HEART LINE
Mr. Payson, in overcoat and silk hat, thrust a mildly
expectant head in the room.
"It was only about the trade dollar business," said
Cayley. "I'll tell you some other time."
Mr. Payson withdrew, scenting no mischief, and
Clytie sat down without a word.
"Thought you'd call my bluff, did you?" said Cay-
ley, unruffled. "I like spirit!"
"If you don't look out you'll succeed in boring
me." Clytie's manner had shown an amused scorn
rather than resentment. She was evidently not afraid
of him.
"You're fighting too hard to be bored/' he remarked
coolly. He added, "Then you are interested in him,
are you?"
"I am." Clytie looked him frankly in the face.
"Why?" he asked.
"I've heard a lot about him and he appeals to my
imagination. I scarcely think I need to apologize for
it. Have you any objection to my knowing him?"
"I'd rather you wouldn't get mixed up with him;
since he's been taken up the women are simply crazy
about him, as they always are about any charlatan.
They're all running after him and calling on him and
ringing him up at all hours. Why, Cly, they actually
lie in wait for him at his place; trying to get a
chance to talk to him alone. I don't exactly see you in
that class, that's all. You can scarcely blame me."
"Oh, I haven't rung him up yet," said Clytie, "but
there's no knowing what I may do, of course, with all
my unexploded brain-cells."
"How did he happen to come here, then?"
"He came to see me, I suppose."
THE PAYSONS 121
Cayley accepted the rebuff gracefully. "Well, in
another month, when some one else comes along, peo-
ple will drop him with a thud. He's a nine days'
wonder now, but he's too spectacular to last. This is
a great old town! We need another new fakir now
that the old gentleman in the Miller house has stopped
his Occult Brotherhood in the drawing-room and his
antique furniture repository in the cellar. I haven't
heard of anything so picturesque since that Orpheum
chap caught the turnips on a fork in his teeth, that
were tossed from the roof of the Palace Hotel. I sup-
pose I'll have a good scandal about Granthope, pretty
soon, to add to my collection."
Clytie accepted the diversion, evidently only too glad
to change the subject. "What collection?" she asked.
"My San Francisco Improbabilities. I've got a
note-book full of them things no sane Easterner
would believe possible, and no novelist dare to use
in fiction."
"Oh, yes, I remember your telling me. What are
they? One was that house made entirely of doors,
wasn't it?"
"Yes, the 'house of one hundred and eighty doors'
at the foot of Ninth Street. Then, there is the hulk
of the Orizaba over by the Union Iron Works, where
'Frank the Frenchman' lives like a hermit, eats swill
and bathes in the sewage of the harbor. Then there's
'Munson's Mystery* on the North beach nobody has
ever found out who Munson is. And Dailey, the star
eater of the Palace Hotel he used to have four can-
vas-back ducks cooked, selected one and used only the
juice from the others; he ordered soup at a dollar a
plate; and he had a happy way of buying a case of
122 THE HEART LINE
champagne with each meal, drinking only the top glass
from each bottle."
Clytie laughed now, for Cayley was in one of his
most amusing and enthusiastic moods. "Do you
remember that tramp who lived all summer in the
Hensler vault in Calvary Cemetery?"
"Yes, but that isn't so impossible as Kruger's castle
out in the sand-hills by Tenth Avenue. It's a perfect
jumble of job-lot buildings from the Mid-winter Fair,
like a nightmare palace. I went out there once and
saw old Mother Kruger, so tortured with rheumatism
that she had to crawl round on her hands and knees.
She had only one tooth left. The old man is one of
the last of the wood-engravers and calls himself the
Emperor of the Nations. He has resurrected Hannibal
and an army of two hundred thousand men; also he
revived Pompeii for three days. He wanted to bring
Mayor Sutro back to life for me, but I wouldn't
stand for it."
Cayley swept on with his anecdotes. "Who would
believe the story of 'Big Bertha,' who buncoed all the
swellest Hebrews in town, and ended by playing
Mazeppa in tights at the Bella Union Theater? Who
has written the true story of Dennis Kearney, the
hack-driver, who had his speeches written for him by
reporters, and went East with a big head, uncon-
sciously to plagiarize Wendell Phillips in Fanueil Hall ?
Or of 'Mammy' Pleasant, the old negress who had
such mysterious influence over so many millionaires
who couldn't be bribed who died at last, with all her
secrets untold? There's Romance in purple letters!
"What do you think of a first folio Shakespeare,
the rent-roll of Stratford parish, and a collection of
THE PAYSONS 123
Incunabula worth thirty thousand dollars, kept in the
deserted library on Montgomery Street in a case, by
Jove, without a lock! What's the matter with Little
Pete, the Chinaman, jobbing all the race-tracks in
California? Who'd believe that there are streets here,
within a mile of Lotta's fountain, so steep that they
pasture cows on the grass?"
"Then there's Emperor Norton, and the Vigilance
Committee, and all the secrets of the Chinatown slave
trade," Clytie contributed, with aroused interest.
"Oh, I'm not speaking of that sort of thing. That' s
been done, and the East and England think that
Romance departed from here with the red-shirted
miner. Everybody knows about the Bret Harte type of
adventure. It's the things that are Agoing on now
or have happened within a few years like finding
that Chinese woman's skeleton upside down, built into
the wall of the house on the corner of Powell and
Sutter; like Bill Dockery, the food inspector, who
terrorized the San Bruno road, like a new Claude
Duval, holding up the milkmen with a revolver and
a lactometer, and went here, there and everywhere,
into restaurants and hotels all over the peninsula,
dumping watered milk into the streets till San Fran-
cisco ran white with it."
"Then there's Carminetti's," Clytie recalled, now.
"That's modern enough, and typical of San Francisco,
isn't it? I mean not so much what's done there, as
the way they do it. I've always wanted to go down
there some Saturday night and see just what it's like."
"I wouldn't want you to be seen there, Cly, it
wouldn't do." Cayley shook his head decidedly.
"Why wouldn't it do?"
124 THE HEART LINE
"It's a little too lively a crowd. You'd be dis-
gusted, if they happened to hit things up a bit, as they
often do."
"I don't see why I shouldn't be privileged to see
what is going on. It's a part of my education, isn't
it ? It's all innocent enough, from what you say ; it's
at worst nothing but vulgar. I think I am proof
against that."
"People would get an altogether wrong opinion of
you. They'd think you were fast."
"I fast?" Clytie smiled. "I think I can risk that.
I shouldn't probably want to go more than once, it's
true. You don't know me, that's all. You don't
believe that I can go from one world of convention
to another and accept the new rules of life when it's
necessary. It's just for that reason that I do wish
to go as, when I went to London, I wanted to see if
1 could accept all their slow, poky methods of business
and transportation and everything and find out the
reason of it all for myself, before I thought of criti-
cizing it. I want to understand Carminetti's, if I can,
and if you won't take me, I'll find some one who will."
"Granthope, perhaps ?" Cayley suggested with irony.
"I have no doubt he'd understand my motives better
than you do !"
"Well, it might be an interesting experiment. Miss
Payson at Carminetti's there's a San Francisco con-
trast for you !"
"You may add it to your list of Improbabilities.
Study me, if you like, and put me in your list. You
may find that I have a surprise or two left for you."
She smiled to herself and threw back her head proudly.
"You do tempt me to try it," he said, coolly watch-
THE PAYSONS 125
ing her, "You'd look as inconsistent there as those old
French family portraits in that saloon out on the Beach
Lords of Les Baux, they were, I believe, administra-
tors of the high justice, the middle and the low!
"And, oh !" he added, " that reminds me of another
thing I found to-day while I was looking over a file
of the Chronicle, digging up this trade dollar busi-
ness. It was way back in 1877; a queer story, but I
suppose it's true."
"What was it?" Clytie asked. The rays of the
lamp shot her hair with gold sparks as she sat in a
low chair, listening.
"Why, there was an old woman who was half
crazy; she lived down south of Market Street some-
where in the most fearful squalor."
Clytie suddenly moved back into the shadow.
"Yes, yes, what else?" She followed his words
with absorbed attention.
"There was no furniture except a lot of boxes and
a bookcase. And here's the remarkable thing: there
was about two inches of rubbish and dirt matted down
all over the floor, where she used to hide money and
food and any old thing, wrapped in little packages.
When she died, her stuff was auctioned off, and they
found a trunk with a whole new wedding outfit in it.
How's that?"
"What was her name ?" Clytie asked breathlessly.
"I don't remember it. She was a sort of clairvoyant,
I believe. There was a little boy lived with her, too.
It seems he disappeared after she died. Ran away."
Clytie leaned forward again, her eyes wide open and
staring. Her hands were tightly clasped together.
"A little boy?" she repeated.
126 THE HEART LINE
"Why, that's what it said in the paper. Great story,
isn't it?"
Clyde's breath came and went rapidly, as if she were
trying to breathe in a storm, amidst the dashing of
waves. The color went from her cheeks, her thin
nostrils dilated. Then, retreating into the shade again,
she managed to say:
"It certainly is romantic."
"No one would believe a thing like that could be
true," he followed.
"No, I can scarcely believe it's possible, myself," she
replied, controlling her agitation.
Blanchard Cayley ran on and on with his talk.
Clytie gave him scant attention, answering in mono-
syllables.
CHAPTER V
THE RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER
Two hours after leaving Granthope's studio, Mr.
Gay P. Summer had "dated" Fancy Gray. Mr. Sum-
mer was a "Native Son of the Golden West" ; he had.
indeed, risen to the honorable station of Vice Presi-
dent of the Fort Point Parlor of that ecstatic organi-
zation. He was, in his modest way, a leader of men,
and aspired to a corresponding mastery over women.
In all matters pertaining to the pursuit and conquest of
the fair sex, Mr. Summer was prompt, ingenious and
determined. Before two weeks were over he was
able to boast, to his room-mate, of Fancy's subjection.
Fancy herself might equally well have boasted of his.
At the end of this time he was, at least, in possession
of her photograph, six notes written in a backward,
slanting penmanship, twelve words to the damask
page, with the date spelled out, a lock of hair (though
this was arrant rape), and one gray suede, left-hand
glove. These he displayed, as trophies of the chase,
upon the bureau of his bedroom and defended them,
forbye, from the asteistic comments of his room-mate,
an unwilling and unconfessed admirer of Gay P. Sum-
mer's power to charm and subdue.
In those two weeks much had been done that it is
not possible to do elsewhere than in the favored city
by the Golden Gate. A Sunday excursion to the beach
was the fruit of his first telephonic conversation.
There are beaches in other places, indeed, but there
127
128 THE HEART LINE
is no other Carville-by-the-Sea. This capricious sub-
urb, founded upon the shifting sands of "The Great
Highway," as San Francisco's ocean boulevard is
named, is a little, freakish hamlet, whose dwellings
one could not seriously call them houses are built, for
the most part, of old street-cars. The architecture is
of a new order, frivolously inconsequent. According
to the owner's fancy, the cars are placed side by side
or one atop the other, arranged every way, in fact,
except actually standing on end. From single cars,
more or less adapted for temporary occupancy, to
whimsical residences, in which the car appears only in
rudimentary fragments, a suppressed motif suggested
by rows of windows or by sliding doors, the owners'
taste and originality have had wanton range. Bal-
conies jut from roofs, piazzas inclose sides and fronts,
cars are welded together, dovetailed, mortised, added
as ells at right angles or used terminally as kitchens
to otherwise normal habitations.
Gay P. Summer was, with his room-mate, the pro-
prietor of a car of the more modest breed. It was a
weather-worn, blistered, orange-colored affair that had
once done service on Mission Street. The cash-box
was still affixed to the interior, the platform, shaky
as it was, still held ; the gong above, though cracked,
still rang. There was a partition dividing what they
called their living-room, where the seats did service
for bunks, from the kitchen, where they were bridged
for a table and perforated for cupboards. There was
a shaky canvas arrangement over a plank platform ;
and beneath, in the sand, was buried a treasure of
beer bottles, iron knives, forks and spoons and wood-
en plates.
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 129
Here, unchaperoned and unmolested, save by the
wind and sun, Gay P. Summer and Fancy Gray pro-
ceeded to get acquainted. They made short work of
it.
Fancy's velvet cheeks were painted with a fine rose
color that day. Her hair looked well in disorder ; how
much better it would have looked, had it kept its nat-
ural tone, she did not realize. Her firm, white line
of zigzag teeth made her smile irresistible, even
though she chewed gum. Her eyes were lambent, flick-
ering from brown to green ; her lower lids, shaded with
violet, made them seem just wearied enough to give
them softness. None of this was lost on Gay.
He, too, was well-developed, masculine, agile, with
a juvenile glow and freshness of complexion that
rivaled hers. His dress was jimp and artful, with tie
and socks of the latest and most vivid mode. Upon
his short, pearl, covert coat, he wore a mourning band,
probably for decoration rather than as a badge of
affliction. His eyes were still bright and clear without
symptoms of dissipation. His laughter was good to
hear, but, as to his talk, little would bear repetition
slangy badinage, the braggadocio of youth, a gay run-
ning fire of obvious retort and innuendo, frolic and flir-
tations. That Fancy appeared to enjoy it should go
without saying. She was not for criticism of her host
and entertainer that fine day. She let herself go in
the way of gaiety he led and slanged him jest for jest,
for Fancy herself had a pert and lively tongue.
Upon one point only did she fail to meet him. Not
a word in regard to her employer could he get from
her. Again and again, Gay came back to the subject
of the palmist and his business secrets ; Fancy parried
130 THE HEART LINE
his queries every time. He tried her with flattery she
laughed in his face. He attempted to lead her on by
disclosing vivacious secrets of his own life ; his ammu-
nition was only wasted upon her. He coaxed; he
threatened jocosely (she defended herself ably from
his punitive kiss), but her discretion was impregnable.
She made merry at his expense when he sulked. She
tantalized him when he pleaded. Her wit was too
nimble for him and he gave up the attempt.
The stimulation of this first meeting went to Fancy's
head. She laughed like a child. She sang snatches
from her vaudeville days and mimicked celebrities.
Gay dropped his pose of worldly wisdom and made
shrieking puns. They played like Babes in the Wood.
At seven o'clock, hungry and sun-burned, they
walked along the beach to the Cliff House and dined
upon the glazed veranda, watching the surf break on
Seal Rocks. As they sat there in the dusk, haunted
by an elusive waiter, Gay waxed eloquent about him-
self, told of his high office in the Native Sons, revealed
the amount of his salary at the bank, touched lightly
upon his previous amours, bragged loftily of his indis-
cretions at exuberant inebriated festivals, puffing mag-
nificently the while at a "two-bit" cigar.
Fancy paid for her meal by listening to him con-
scientiously, ejaculating "No!" and "Yes?" or "Say,
Gay, that's a josh, isn't it?" If her mind wandered
(Fancy was nobody's fool), he did not perceive it.
To their cocktails and California claret they now
added a Benedictine, and Gay grew still more confi-
dential. The night fell, and the crowd began to leave.
They walked entirely round the hotel corridor, bought
an abalone shell split into layers of opalescent hues,
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 131
then with a last look at the sea-lions, barking in the
surge, they walked for the train, found a place in
an open car and sat down, wedged into a hilarious
crowd, reveling in song and peanuts.
Disregarded was the superb view they passed. The
train, skirting the precipitous cliffs along the Golden
Gate, commanded a splendor of darkling water and
tumultuous mountain distances, theatrical in beau-
ty. The sea splashed at the foot of the precipice
beneath them. The hills rose above their heads, the
intermittent twinkle of lighthouses punctuated the pur-
ple gloom. It was all lost upon them. Fancy's head
drooped to Gay's shoulder. He put his arm about
her, cocking his hat to one side that it might not
strike hers as he leaned nearer. No one observed
them, no one cared, for every Jack had his Jill, and
a simple, primitive comradeship had settled upon the
wearied throng. A baby whined occasionally as the
train lurched round the sharp curves of the track. A
riotous yell or two came from the misogynists of the
smoking compartment. Fancy did not talk. Gay's
loquacity oozed away. He was content to feel her
breathing against his side.
There were telephone conversations often after that,
then occasional lunches down-town, when Fancy, al-
ways modishly dressed, drew many an eye to her well-
rounded, well-filled Eton jacket, her smart red hat,
her fresh white gloves and her high-heeled shoes. Gay
was proud of her, and he showed her off to his friends
without caution. Fancy was nothing loath. Occa-
sionally they went to the theater, dining previously
in style at some popular restaurant, where Gay hoped
1 32 THE HEART LINE
that he might be seen with her. To such as discovered
them, he would bow with proud proprietorship; or
perhaps saunter over, on some flimsy pretext, to hear
his friends say, with winks and smiles:
"By Jove, that girl's all right, old man! She's a
stunner. Say, introduce me, will you?"
To which Gay would answer:
"Not on your folding bed ! This is a close corpora-
tion, old man. I've got that claim staked out, see?
So long!" and walk away pleased.
At the theater, he always made a point of going
out between the acts, in order that his reentry might
point more conspicuously at his conquest. Afterward,
at Zinkand's, having engaged a table beside which all
the world must pass, he would pose, apparently obliv-
ious to the crowd, talking to her with absorbed interest
Fancy suffered the exhibition without displeasure.
She had no objection to being looked at To make
a picture of herself, to play the arch and coquettish
before a room of well-dressed folk was one of the
things she did best.
She was recognized occasionally and pointed out by
one or another of Granthope's patrons. "There she is ;
over behind you, in the white lace hat, with a chate-
laine watch don't look just yet, though," was the
almost audible formula which Gay P. Summer learned
to wait for. At such times his chest swelled with
pride. To walk into a restaurant with her late at night
and leave a wake of excited whispers behind him, was
all he knew of fame.
It did not escape Gay's notice, however, that Fan-
cy's eyes were not always for him. In the middle of
his longest and most elaborate story, she would often
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 133
throw a surreptitious glance about the room, letting
it rest for an instant a butterfly's caress upon some
admiring stalwart stranger. Once or twice he detected
the flicker of Fancy's smile, a smile not meant for him.
He found that, although his attention was all for Fan-
cy, Fancy's errant glances allowed nothing and nobody
to escape her observation. If he mentioned any one
whom he had seen in the room, Fancy had seen him,
or more often her, first. Fancy always knew what
she wore, what it cost, what she was doing, how much
she liked him and what her little game was.
This sort of thing would have been an education
for Gay, had he been amenable to such teaching; but
what women see and know without a tutor he would
and could never know. Wherefore, such dialogues as
this were common:
Fancy: "The brute! He's actually made her cry,
now. She's a little fool, though; it's good enough
for her !"
From Gay: "Where? who do you mean?"
"Over there in the corner don't stare so, please!
See those two fellows and two girls? The girl in the
white waist is tied up in a heart-to-heart talk with that
bald-headed chap, but she's dead in love with the other
fellow, see ? Yes, that fellow with the mustache. My !
but she's jealous of the other girl."
"How can you tell? Oh, that's all a pipe-dream,
Fancy!"
"Why, any fool would know it any woman would,
I mean. She had a few words with him the fellow
she's stuck on, just now! He must have said some-
thing pretty raw. Look at her eyes! You can tell
from here there are tears in them. Look! See? I
134 THE HEART LINE
thought so. She's going to try and make him jeal-
ous! What do you think of that?"
"Why, she's changed places with him; what's that
for?" To Gay, the drama was as mysterious as a
Chinese play.
"Just to get him crazy, of course ! That other
fellow thinks she's really after him, too. The other
girl sees through the whole game, of course. My, but
men are easy! Those two fellows are certainly being
worked good and plenty. Just look at the way she's
freezing up to that bald-headed chap now. Well, I
never! If that other girl isn't trying to get you on
the string. Smile at her, Gay, and see what she'll do,"
"Never mind about her !" said Gay, secretly pleased
at the tribute. "You girls can always see a whole
lot more than what really happens. She's just changed
places on account of the draught, probably. She is
lamping me, though, isn't she? Say, she's a peach,
all right!"
"Yes, she's sure pretty. Say, Gay "
"What?" His eye returned fondly to her.
"Do you think I'm as pretty as she is?"
"Oh, you make me tired, Fancy. Gee! YouVe got
her sewed up in a sack for looks!"
So Fancy played her game cleverly, keeping Gay,
but keeping him off at arm's length. But as time went
on, his ardor grew and she was often at her wits' end
to handle him. Though free from any conventional
restraints, she did not yet consider her lips Mr. Sum-
mer's property, though she permitted him a cool and
lifeless hand upon occasion. In time, the excitable
youth began to understand her reserve; but instead
of dampening his enthusiasm, it aroused his zest for the
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 135
chase. She was not so easy game as he had thought.
He waxed sentimental, therefore, and plied her with
equivocal monologues, hinting, in the attempt to make
sure of his way. At this, her sense of humor broke
forth, effervescing in lively ridicule. This brought Mr.
Summer, at last, to the point of an out-and-out pro-
posal. Fancy, experienced in such situations, warned
in time by his preludes, did not take it too seriously.
"I am sorry to say you draw a blank, Gay," shr
informed him lightly. "I'm not in the market yet
.Many a man has expected me to become domesticated
at sight, and settle down in content over the cook-
stove. But I haven't even a past yet nothing but a
rather tame present and hope for a future. I don't
seem to see you in it, Gay. In fact, there's nobody
visible to the naked eye at present."
"Well," he said, "I'll cut it out for now, as long
as I can't make good, but sometime you'll come to me
and beg me to marry you, see if you don't. Whenever
you get ready, I'll be right there with the goods."
Fancy laughed and the episode was closed.
"Say, Fancy, there's a gang of artist chaps and
literary guys I'd like to put you up against," Gay said
one afternoon. "I think you'd make a hit with the
bunch, if you can stand a little jollying."
"You watch me !" Fancy became enthusiastically
interested. "Where do they hang out?"
"They eat at a joint down on Montgomery Street.
They're heavy joshers, though. They're too clever
for me, mostly. It's the real-thing Bohemia down
there, though."
"Why didn't you tell me about it before?" she
136 THE HEART LINE
pouted. "I'm game ! Let's float in there to-night and
see the animals feed."
So they went down to the Latin Quarter together.
Bohemia has been variously described. Since Henri
Murger's time, the definition has changed retrogres-
sively, until now, what is commonly called Bohemia
is a place where one is told, "This is Liberty Hall !"
and one is forced to drink beer whether one likes it
or not, where not to like spaghetti is a crime. Not
such was the little coterie of artists, writers and
amateurs, who dined together every night at Fulda's
restaurant.
In San Francisco is recruited a perennial crop of
such petty soldiers of fortune. Here art receives
scant recompense, and as soon as one gets one's head
above water and begins to be recognized, existence is
unendurable in a place where genius has no field for
action. The artist, the writer or the musician must fly
East to the great market-place, New York, or to the
great forcing-bed, Paris, to bloom or fade, to live
or die in competition with others in his field.
So the little artistic colonies shrink with defections
or increase with the accession of hitherto unknown
aspirants. Many go and never return. A few come
back to breathe again the stimulating air of California,
to see with new eyes its fresh, vivid color, its poetry,
its romance. To have gone East and to have returned
without abject failure is here, in the eyes of the
vulgar, Art's patent of nobility. Of those who have
been content to linger peaceably in the land of the
lotus, some are earls without coronets, but one and
all share a fierce, hot, passionate love of the soil.
San Francisco has become a fetish, a cult. Under
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 137
its blue skies and driving fogs is bred the most
ardent loyalty in these United States. San Francisco
is most magnificently herself of any American city,
and San Franciscans, in consequence, are themselves
with an abounding perfervid sincerity. Faults they
have, lurid, pungent, staccato, but hypocrisy is not
of them. That vice is never necessary.
The party that gathered nightly at Fulda's was as
remote from the world as if it had been ensconced on a
desert island. It was unconscious, unaffected, suffi-
cient to itself. Men and girls had come and gone
since it had formed, but the nucleal circle was always
complete. Death and desertions were unacknowledged
else the gloom would have shut down and the
wine, the red wine of the country, would have
tasted salt with tears. There had been tragedies and
comedies played out in that group, there were names
spoken in whispers sometimes, there were silent toasts
drunk; but if sentiment was there, it was disguised
as folly. Life still thrilled in song. Youth was not
yet dead. Art was long and exigent.
It was their custom, after dinner, to adjourn to
Champoreau's for cafe noir, served in the French
style. In this large, bare saloon, with sanded floor,
with its bar and billiard table, foreign as France, al-
most always deserted at this hour save by their com-
pany, the genial patron smiled at their gaiety, as he
prepared the long glasses of coffee. To-night, there
were six at the round table.
Maxim, an artist unhailed as yet from the East, was,
of all, the most obviously picturesque, with a fierce
mustached face and a shock of black hair springing
in a wild mass from his head to draggle in stringy
138 THE HEART LINE
locks below his eyes, or, with a sudden leonine shake,
to be thrown back when he bellowed forth in song.
He had been in Paris and knew the airs and argot of
the most desperate studies. His laughter was like the
roar of a convivial lion.
Dougal, with a dog-like face and tow hair, so
ugly as to be refreshing, full of common sense and
kindness, with a huge mouth full of little cramped
teeth and a smile that drew and compelled and cap-
tured like a charm he sat next. Good nature and
loyalty dwelt in his narrow blue eyes. His slow,
labored speech was seldom smothered, even in the wit
that enveloped it.
Most masculine and imperative of all, was Benton,
with his blur of blue-black hair, fine tangled threads,
his melting, deep blue eyes, shadowy with fatigue,
lighted with vagrant dreams or shot with brisk fires
of passion. His hands were strong and he had an air
of suppressed power.
The fourth man was Philip Starr, a poet not long
for San Francisco, seeing that the Athanaeum had al-
ready placed the laurels upon his brow he was as far
from the conventional type of poet as is possible.
He had a lean, eager, sharply cut face, shrewd, quick
eye and sinewy, long fingers. His hair was close
cropped, his mouth was tight and narrow. Electricity
seemed to dart from him as from a dynamo. Just now
he was teaching the company a new song an old
one, rather, for it was an ancient Anglo-Saxon drink-
ing-song, whose uproarious refrain was well fitted
to the temper of the assembly.
At one end of the table sat a young woman, petite,
elf-like as a little girl, a brown, cunning, soft-haired
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 139
creature, smiling, smiling, smiling, with eyes half
closed, wrinkled in quiet mirth. This was Elsie
Dougal.
Opposite her was a girl of twenty-seven, with
a handsome, clear-cut, classic face, lighted with gray
eyes, limpid and straightforward, making her seem
the most ingenuous of all. Mabel's hair curled unman-
ageably, springy and dark. Her face was serious and
intent till her smile broke and a little self-conscious
laugh escaped.
Starr pounded with one fist upon the table, his
thumb held stiffly upright:
"Dance, Thumbakin, dance!"
he sang, and the chorus was repeated. Then with the
heel of his palm and his fingers outstretched, pounding
merrily in time:
"Oh, dance ye merrymen, every one,"
then with his fist as before :
"For Thumbakin, he can dance alone!"
and, raising his fists high over his head, coming down
with a bang:
"For
"Thumbakin he can dance alone!"
They went through the song together, dancing
Foreman, Middleman, and Littleman, ending in a
pianissimo. Then over and over they sang that queer,
ancient tune, till all knew it by heart.
140 THE HEART LINE
Benton pulled his manuscript from his pocket and
read it confidentially to Elsie, who smiled and smiled.
Starr recited his last poem while Dougal made humor-
ous comments. Maxim broke out into a French
student's chanson, so wildly improper that it took two
men to suppress him. Mabel giggled hysterically and
began a long, dull story which, despite interruptions,
ended so brilliantly and so unexpectedly, that every
one wished he had listened.
Then Dougal called out :
"The cavalry charge ! Ready ! One finger !"
They tapped in unison, not too fast, each with a
forefinger upon the table.
"Two fingers!"
The sound increased in volume.
"Three fingers, four fingers, five !"
The crescendo rose.
"Two hands ! One foot ! BOTH FEET !"
There was a hurricane of galloping fists and soles.
Then, in diminuendo:
"One foot! One hand! Four fingers, three, two,
one ! Halt I"
The clatter grew softer and softer till at last all
was still.
As Gay opened the door, Fancy heard a. roar that
increased steadily until it became a wild hullabaloo.
Looking in, she saw the six seated about the table,
the coffee glasses jumping madly with the percussion.
The noise was like the multitudinous charge of troop-
ers. Then the tumult died slowly away, the patter
grew softer and softer, ending in a sudden hush as
seven faces looked up at her. Gay P. Summer's
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 141
advent was greeted with frowns, but Fancy gathered
an instant acclaim from twelve critical eyes.
She stepped boldly into the room and shed the ra-
diance of her smile upon the company.
"I guess this is where I live, all right!" she an-
nounced. "I've been gone a long time, haven't I?
Never mind the introductions. I'm Fancy Gray,
drifter; welcome to our fair city!"
They let loose a cry of welcome, and Dougal, rising,
opened a place for her between his chair and Maxim's.
"I'm for her!" He hailed her with a good-natured
grin. "She's the right shape. Come and have coffee !"
"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.
Gay's reception was by no means as cordial as hers,
which had been immediate and spontaneous at the
sound of her caressing, jovial voice and the sight of
her genial smile, which seemed to embrace each
separate member of the party. They made grudging
room for him beside Elsie, who gave him a cold little
hand. Mabel bowed politely.
"Where'd you get her, Gay?" said Starr. "You're
improving. She looks like a pretty good imitation of
the real thing."
"Oh, I'll wash, all right," said Fancy.
Gay P. proudly introduced her to the company.
He played her as he might play a trump to win the
seventh trick. Indeed, without Fancy's aid, he would
have received scant welcome at that exclusive board.
Many and loud were the jests at Summer's expense
while he was away. Many and soft were the jests
he had not wit enough to understand when he was
present. Philip Starr had, at first sight of him, dubbed
him "The Scroyle," and this sobriquet stuck. Gay P.
142 THE HEART LINE
Summer was ill versed in Elizabethan lore, but, had his
wit been greater, his conceit would still have protected
him.
He had already unloaded Fancy, though he was as
yet unaware of it. She was taken up with enthusiasm
by the men, whom she drew like a magnet. Mabel
and Elsie watched her with the keenness of women
who are jealous of any new element in their group. It
was, perhaps, not so much rivalry they feared, for
their place was too well established, as the admittance
into that circle of one who would betray a tendency
toward those petty feline amenities that only women
can perceive and resent.
But Fancy Gray showed no such symptoms. She
did not bid for the men's attention. She made a
point of talking to Elsie, and she managed clev-
erly to include Mabel in the attention she received.
Fancy, in her turn, scrutinized the two girls artfully
and made her own instantaneous deductions. All of
this by-play was, of course, quite lost upon the men.
The talk sprang into new life and Fancy's eye ran
from one to another member of the group, dwelling
longest upon Dougal. His ugliness seemed to fas-
cinate her; and, as is often the case with ugly men,
he inspired her instant confidence. She made up to
him without embarrassment or concealment, taking his
hairy hand and caressing it openly. At this, Elsie's
eyelids half closed, but there was no sign of jealousy.
Mabel noticed the act, too, and her manner suddenly
became warmer toward the girl. By these two fem-
inine reactions, Fancy saw that she had done well.
They sang, they pounded the table; and, as an
initiation, every man saluted Fancy's cheek. She
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 143
took it like an empress. Then, suddenly, Dougal held
up two fingers. Every one's eyes were turned upon
him.
"Piedra Pinta?" he cried, with a side glance at
Fancy.
Every one voted. Mabel held up both her hands
gleefully.
So was Fancy Gray, though she was not aware of
the honor till afterward, admitted to the full comrade-
ship of the Pintos. It was a victory. Many had, with
the same ignorance as to what was happening, suf-
fered an ignominious defeat. Fancy's election was
unanimous.
And for this once, in gratitude for his discovery,
Mr. Gay P. Summer, The Scroyle, was suffered to
inflict himself upon the coterie of the Pintos.
There were other honors in store for Fancy Gray.
Piedra Pinta is two hours' journey from San Fran-
cisco to the north, in Marin County a land of
mountains, virgin redwood forests and trout-filled
streams. One takes the ferry to Sausalito, crossing
the northern bay, and rides for an hour or so up a
little narrow-gage squirming railroad into the canyon
of Paper Mill Creek; and, if one has discovered and
appropriated the place, it is a mile walk up the track
and a drop from the embankment down a gravelly,
overgrown slope, into the camp-ground. Here a great
crag rears its vertically split face, hidden in beeches
and bay trees. At its foot a flattened fragment has
fallen forward to do service as a fireplace. Beyond,
there are more boulders in the stream, which here
widens and deepens, overhung by clustering trees.
-
144 THE HEART LINE
Save when an occasional train rushes past overhead,
or a fisherman comes by, wading up-stream, the place
is secret and silent. Opposite, across the brook, an
oat-field slopes upward to the country road and the
smooth drumlins beyond. A not too noisy crowd can
here lie hugger-mugger, hidden from the world.
To Piedra Pinta that next Saturday they came,
bringing Fancy Gray, a smiling captive, with them.
The men bore blankets and books; the women food
and dishes enough for a picnic meal. They came
singing, romping up the track, big Benton first with
the heaviest load. In corduroys and jeans, in boots and
flannel shirts they came. Little Elsie, like a girl
scout, wore a rakish slouch hat trimmed with live
carnations, a short skirt, leggings, a sheath knife
swinging from her belt. Mabel had her own pearl-
handled revolver. The rest looked like gipsies.
They slid down the bank and debouched with a shout
into the little glade. Fancy entered with vim into
the celebration. Not that she did any useful work,
that was not her field ; she was there chiefly as a decora-
tion and an inspiration. She had dressed herself in
khaki. Her boots were laced high, her sombrero
permitted a shower of tinted tendrils to escape and
wanton about her forehead. She found fragrant
sprays of yerba buena and wreathed them about her
neck.
It was all new and strange to her, all delightful.
She had seen the artificial side of the town and knew
the best and worst of its gaiety; but here, in the
open for almost the first time, she breathed deeply of
the primal joys of nature and was refreshed. , Her
curiosity was unlimited; she played with earth and
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 145
water, fire and air. She unbuttoned the collar of her
shirt-waist and turned it in, disclosing a delicious pink
hollow at her throat. She rolled up her sleeves, dis-
playing the dimples in her elbows. At the prepara-
tions for the dinner she was an eager spectator, and
when the meal was served, smoked and sandy, and the
bottles were opened, all traces of the fairy in her dis-
appeared ; she was simple girl. She ate like a cannibal
and ate with glee.
The shadows fell. The nook became dusky, odorous,
moist; the rivulet rippled pleasantly, the ferns moved
lazily in the night airs. The moon arose and gave
a mysterious argent illumination. The going and
coming ceased, the shouting and lusty singing grew
still. The blankets were opened and spread at the
foot of the rock. Dougal and Elsie took their places
in the center and, the men on one side and the girls
on the other, they lay upon the ground and wrapped
themselves against the cooling air. The fire was re-
plenished and its glare lighted up the trees in planes
of foliage, like painted sheets of scenery.
They lay down, but not to sleep. Dougal's coffee,
black and strong, stimulated their brains. The talk
ran on with an accompaniment of song and jest. One
after another sprang up to sing some old-time tune
or to recite a familiar, well-beloved poem; the
dialogue jumped from one to the other. Some dozed
and woke again at a chorus of laughter; some sat
wide-eyed, staring into the fire, into the darkness, or
into one another's eyes.
Maxim was prodigious. He blared forth rollicking
airs, he did scenes from La Boheme, posturing pic-
turesquely against the flame, his long black locks
ia6 THE HEART LINE
sweeping his face. Starr improvised while they
listened, rapt. Benton climbed high into a beech tree
and there, invisible, he recited Cynara and quoted
The Song of the Sword, while Dougal jeered and
fed the blaze. 'Mabel listened entranced and appre-
ciative, and ventured occasionally on one more long,
dull 'story her tale always growing melodramatically
exciting, as the attention of her listeners wandered.
Elsie sat and smiled and smiled, wide awake till three.
Forgotten tales, snatches of song, jokes and verses
surged into Fancy's head and one after another she
shot them into the night. She, too, arose and sang,
dancing. Not since her vaudeville days had she at-
tempted it, but mounting to the spirit of the occasion,
she thrilled and fascinated them with her drollery.
She and Dougal were the last ones awake. They
spoke now in undertones. Maxim was snoring hid-
eously, so was Benton. Starr lay with his mouth
open, Mabel was curled into a cocoon of blankets,
flushed Elsie was still smiling in her sleep.
At four the dawn appeared. They watched it
spellbound, and as it turned from a glowing rose to
straw color, the birds began to twitter in the boughs.
Fancy shook off her lassitude.
"I'm going in swimming," she exclaimed, starting
up. "Stay here, Dougal I trust to your honor !"
'Til not promise," he replied. "One doesn't often
have a chance to see a nymph bathing in a fountain
nowadays, but I have the artist's eye; it will only be
for beauty's sake go ahead !" He kept his place,
nevertheless; the pool was invisible from the level of
the camp-ground.
Fancy darted down the path to the wash of pebbles
RISE AND FALL OP GAY P. SUMMER 147
below. Dougal shook Elsie into a dazed wakefulness.
Mabel's eyes opened sleepily.
"Fancy's gone in swimming," he whispered. "Don't
wake up the boys."
Like shadows the two girls slid after her. Dougal
lay down to sleep.
In half an hour he was awakened by their return,
fresh, rosy, dewy and jubilant. Elsie crawled to his
side under the blankets ; Fancy and Mabel scrambled
up the bank to greet the sun, chattering like sparrows.
Maxim rolled over in his sleep. Benton and Starr,
back to back, dreamed on. The sun rose higher and
smote the languid group with a shaft of light. The
men rose at last, and, dismissing Elsie from the camp,
took their turns in the pool. At seven Dougal an-
nounced breakfast.
At high noon, after a climb up the hill and an hour
of poetry, Fancy was crowned queen of Piedra Pinta,
with pomp and circumstance. She was invested with
a crown of bay leaves and, for a scepter, the camp
poker was placed in her hand. Dougal, as her prime
minister, waxed merry, while her loyal lieges passed
before her to do her homage. She greeted them one by
one: The Duke of Russian Hill, with his tribute of
three square meals per week; Lord of the Barbary
Coast; Elsie, Lady of Lime Point, Mistress of the
Robes; Sir Maxim the Monster, Court Painter; Sir
Starr of Tar Flat, Laureate; and Mabel the Fair,
Marchioness of Mount Tamalpais, First Lady of the
Bedchamber, to keep her warm.
She issued many titles after that, as her domain in-
creased, and as "Fancy I," she always styled herself
148 THE HEART LINE
in signing her letters. Her royal edicts were not often
slighted.
For she was gay and young, and she was bold and
free. Life had scarcely touched her yet with care.
This was her apotheosis. The scene went down in the
annals of the Pintos and the tradition spread. Her
reign was famous. Her accolade was a smile. Her
homage was paid in kisses and in tears.
Yet Fancy Gray was not a girl to commit herself
to any one particular set. Her tastes were eclectic.
She was essentially adventurous. It was her boast
that she never made a promise and never broke one
that she never explained that she liked everybody,
and nobody. She guarded her independence jealously,
restless at every restraint. With the friend of the
moment she was everything. When he passed out of
sight, she devoted an equal attention to the next comer,
and she was faithful to both.
She was often seen with Granthope dining or at
the theater. Mabel and Elsie whispered together,
adding glances to smiles, and frowns to blushes, sum-
ming them up according to the feminine rules of
psychological arithmetic. The men did not even won-
der it was none of their business, and was she not
Fancy Gray? When they were seen together, they
were conspicuously picturesque. Granthope had an
air, Fancy had a manner, the two harmonized per-
fectly.
Mr. Gay P. Summer, meanwhile, had by no means
given up the chase. He was not one to be easily
snubbed, and the only effect of the slight put upon
him by the Pintos was to make him seek after Fancy
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 149
still more energetically, and while he paid court to her,
to keep her away from the attractions of that engaging
set. Fancy accepted his attentions with condescension.
After all, a dinner was a dinner her own way of
putting it was that she always hated to refuse "free
eggs."
He still tried his best to draw her out, but when
he asked her about Granthope, she gave a passionate,
indignant refutation of his innuendoes.
"I owe that man everything, everything!" she ex-
claimed. "He took me when I was walking the
streets, hungry, without a cent, and he has been good
to me ever since ! He's all right ! And any one who
says anything against him is crossed off my list !"
This was at Zinkand's. The slur had been occa-
sioned by the sight of Granthope at table with a lady
whom Gay knew rather too much about. It happened
that there was another group in the room that drew
Fancy's roving eye and nimble comment. She asked
about the man with the pointed beard.
"Oh, that's Blanchard Cayley everybody knows
him," Gay explained. "He's a rounder. I see him
everywhere. No, I don't know him to speak to, but
they say he's a clever chap. I wonder who that is with
him, though? I've seen her before, somewhere."
"I know," said Fancy; "that's Mrs. Page."
"H'm! Funny, every time I see her she's with a
different man. She's pretty gay, that woman."
"Is she? You're a cad to tell of it."
"Why? Do you know her?"
She scorned to answer.
On a Sunday .night soon after, Gay invited her to
dinner at Carminetti's. She accepted, never having
150 THE HEART LINE
gone to the place, which was then in the height of
its prestige, a resort for the most uproarious spirits
of the town.
It was down near the harbor front, a region of
warehouses, factories, freight tracks and desecrated,
melancholy buildings, disheveled and squalid, that
Mr. Summer took her. He pushed open the door to
let upon her a wave of light frivolity and the mingled
odor of Italian oil and wine permeated by an under-
current of fried food. The tables were all filled, some
with six or eight diners at one board, and by the coun-
ter or bar, which ran all along one side of the room,
there were at least a dozen persons waiting for seats.
Gay walked up to bald-headed "Dave," the patron,
who in his shirt-sleeves was superintending the con-
fusion, keeping an eye ready for rising disorder.
After a quick colloquy, he beckoned to Fancy, who
followed him down between the gay groups to a
table in a corner. It was just being deserted by a
short young hoodlum, with a pink and green striped
sweater, accompanied by a girl several inches too tall
for him, dressed in a soiled buff raglan and a triumphal
hat.
"Here we are," said Gay; "we're in luck to get a
table at all, to-night. But I gave Dave a four-bit piece
and that fixed it."
Fancy sat down and looked about. "It is pretty
gay, isn't it? It looks as if it were going to be fun."
"Oh, you wait till nine o'clock," Gay boasted wisely.
"They're not warmed up to it yet. The 'Dago Red'
hasn't got in its work. There'll be something doing,
after a while."
The walls were decorated with beer- and wine-signs
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 151
in frames, and on either side of the huge mirror hung
lithographic portraits of Humberto and the Queen of
Italy. Opposite, a row of windows looking on the
street was hung with half-curtains of a harsh, dis-
agreeable blue; over them peeped, now and again,
wayfarers or others who had dined too well, rapping
on the glass and gesticulating to those inside. All
about the sides of the room and upon every column,
hats, coats and cloaks were hung, making the place
seem like an old-clothes shop. The floor was covered
with sawdust and the tables were huddled closely
together.
For the most part the diners were all young
mechanics, clerks, factory girls and the like
though here and there, watching the sport, were
up-town parties, reveling -in an unconventional
air. The groups, now well on in their dinner, had
begun to fraternize. Here a young man raised his
wine-glass to a pretty girl across the room and the
two drank together, smiling, or calling out some easy
witticism. In one corner, a party of eight was singing
jovially something about: "One day to him a letter
there did come," and anon, encouraged by the applause
and the freedom, a lad of nineteen, devdid of collar,
closed his eyes, leaned back and sang a long song
through in a vibrant, harsh voice. He was greeted
with applause, hands clapped, feet pounded and
knives clattered on bottles till the patron hurried from
table to table quelling the pandemonium. Waiters
came and went in bustling fervor, dodging between one
table and another, jostling and spilling soup ; at inter-
vals a great clanging bell rang and the apparition of a
soiled white cook appeared at the kitchen door ordering
152 THE HEART LINE
the waiters to : "Take it away !" The kitchen was an
arcade into which from time to time guests wandered,
to joke with the cook and beat upon the huge im-
maculate copper kettles on the wall.
The conversation at times became almost general,
the party of songsters in the corner leading in the
exchange of persiflage. Two girls dining alone, with
hard, tired-looking eyes and cheap jewelry, began a
duet; instantly, from a company of young men, two
detached themselves, plates and glasses in hand, and
went over to join them. A roar went up; glasses
rang again and Dave fluttered about in protest at the
noise.
Fancy talked little. The crowd, the lights, the
camaraderie hypnotized her. She watched first one
and then another group, picking out, for Gay's edifica-
tion, the prettiest girl and the handsomest man in the
room. She waved her hand slyly at the collarless
soloist and applauded two darkies who came in from
outside to make a hideous clamor with banjos. As
she waited to be served, she nibbled at the dry French
bread and drank of the sour claret, watching over
the top of her glass, losing nothing.
In the middle of the room, Blanchard Cayley sat
with three ladies. One of them Fancy recognized as
Miss Payson. Fancy's eyebrows rose slightly at
seeing her, and a smile and a nod were cordially ex-
changed. The others Fancy did not know. They
were both pretty women, well-dressed, with evident
signs of breeding, and, as the fun waxed freer, ap-
parently not a little embarrassed at being seen in
such a place. Miss Payson showed no such feeling in
her demeanor, however much she may have been
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 153
amused or surprised at the spirit of the place. Blanch-
ard Cayley divided his attentions equitably amongst
them, till, looking across the room, he caught Fancy's
errant glance. He smiled at her openly as if challeng-
ing her roguery.
She boldly returned the greeting. Gay caught the
glance that was exchanged.
"See here, Fancy," he protested, "none of that now !
He's got all he can do to attend to his own table.
I'll attend to this one, myself."
Now, this was scarcely the way to treat a girl like
Fancy Gray. At her first opportunity, she sent an-
other smile in Cayley's direction. It was divided, this
time, by members of his own party and the women
began to buzz together. Gay was annoyed.
"There's something I like about that man," Fancy
remarked presently. "What'd you say his name was?
That's the one we saw at Zinkand's, wasn't it?"
"There's something I don't like about him. He'd
better mind his own business," Gay growled, now
thoroughly provoked.
"You can't blame any one for noticing me, caff
you, Gay?" Her tone was honey-sweet.
"I can blame you for flirting across the room when
you're here with me !" he replied fiercely.
Fancy opened her eyes very wide. "Indeed?" she
said with a sarcastic emphasis.
"That's right," he affirmed.
In answer, she cast another languishing glance to-
ward Cayley. Cayley, despite Clytie's entreating hand
upon his arm, sent back an unequivocal reply.
"Well," said Gay, rising sullenly, "I guess it's up
to me to leave !" He reached for his hat.
154 THE HEART LINE
"Oh, Gay!'* she protested in alarm, "you're not
going to throw me down before this whole crowd, are
you ?" Already their colloquy had attracted the atten-
tion of the near-by tables.
He hesitated a moment. "Unless you behave your-
self," he said finally. His tone of ownership decided
her.
"Run along, then !" She gave him a smile of limpid
simplicity, but her jaws were set determinedly. "I
expect I can get some one to take care of me. Don't
mind me!"
Their discussion had not been unnoticed at Mr.
Cayley's table. Clytie was watching the pair inter-
estedly, as if reading the motions of their lips. Fancy
caught her eye and flushed a little.
Gay's brows gathered together in a sullen look as
he crowded his hat upon his head savagely. He
turned with a last retort:
"You'll be sorry you threw me down, Fancy Gray!
You want too many men on the string at once !"
He turned and left her, passing sulkily along the
passages between the tables with his hat on his head,
till he came to the cashier, where he paid the bill for
two dinners with lordly chivalry. Then, without look-
ing back, he opened the door of the restaurant and
went out.
An instant after, Fancy was on her feet. Gay's
going had already made her conspicuous and her flush
grew deeper. Cayley watched her without smiling,
now, waiting to see what she would do. Beside him,
Clytie Payson sat watching, her lips slightly parted,
her nostrils dilated, absorbed, seeming to understand
the situation perfectly, her eyes gazing at Fancy as if
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 155
to convey her sympathy. Fancy looked and saw her
there, and the sight steadied her. With all her cus-
tomary nonchalance, with all that jovial, compelling
air of optimism which she usually radiated, as if she
were quite sure of her reception and came as an ex-
pected guest, she sauntered carelessly over to the
central table.
Her smile was dazzling as it swept about the board,
meeting the eyes of each of the women in turn. One
by one it subjugated them. They even returned it
with trepidation, not too embarrassed to be keenly ex-
pectant, waiting for the outcome. But it was for Clytie
that Fancy Gray reserved her warmest, deepest look.
In that glance she threw herself upon Miss Payson's
mercy, and appealed to the innate chivalry of woman
to woman, to the bond of sex a sentiment in finer
women more potent than jealousy.
Even before she spoke Glytie had arisen and
stretched out her hand. In a flash she had accepted
what had run counter to all her experience, and played
up to Fancy's audacity with a spirit that ignored the
crowd, the eyes, the whispers.
Who, indeed, could resist Fancy Gray in such a
fantastic, tiptoe mood? Her act, audacious, even im-
pertinent, was so delicately achieved, she was so sure
of herself and her own charm that it was dramatic,
poetic in its confidence, picturesque. But no one could
have equalled Clytie as she arose to meet such bravado,
when she shook off her reserves and took her hand
at such a psychological game. Not even Fancy Gray,
with all her superb poise. On Fancy's cheek the color
deepened it was she who blushed so furiously, now,
not Clytie. In that flush she confessed herself beaten
at her own game.
156 THE HEART LINE
"How do you do ?" Clytie was saying. "We've been
wishing all the evening that we could have you with
us. Do sit down, here, beside me we'll make room
for you. I want you to meet Miss Gray, Mrs. Max-
well."
Something in the graciousness of her manner drew
the other women up to her chivalrous -level. Mrs.
Maxwell bowed, smiled, too, with a word of welcome,
so did Miss Dean as she was introduced. Fancy
beamed. Meanwhile Cayley had arisen. He was
the most perturbed of all. He offered his chair.
"You see what you've done, Mr. Cayley," said
Fancy. "I've just been jilted for the first time in my
life, and it was all your fault. I'm afraid I shall have
to butt in and ask you to protect me !"
It was not Fancy but Clytie who had, apparently,
most surprised him. He gave a questioning look at
her as he replied, not a little confused :
"Won't you sit down here in my place? There's
plenty of room. I'll get another chair or," he stole
another glance at Clytie, "I'll let you have half of
mine !"
"I accept !" said Fancy Gray.
Clytie smiled encouragingly. "I'll divide mine with
you, too, if you like."
"You're a gentleman ! I'd much rather sit with you,
Miss Payson ; thank you !" Then she looked at Clytie
fondly. "I thought I was right about you! You are
a thoroughbred, aren't you?"
"We're educating Mr. Cayley, my dear." Clytie
gave him a bright smile. "He has a few things yet
to learn about women."
"I plead guilty," said Cayley, watching the two
with curiosity.
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 157
"Miss Gray and I are disciples of the same school.
She gave me the password." Clytie was fairly superb
she even outshone Fancy she was regal.
Fancy laughed. "You're the only one who knows it,
that / ever met, though."
"Ah," said Clytie, "then that's the only way I can
beat you I believe many women are initiated."
Fancy clapped her hands softly in pantomime. Then
she turned to Mrs. Maxwell and the others. "I hope
I'm not out of the frying-pan into the fire," she said.
"Please let me down easy, ladies. If you don't make
me feel at home pretty quick, I'll be up against it!
You don't really have to know me, you know. Only
it looked to me like when he had three such pretty
women to take care of one more ought to be easy
enough."
"We were .three pretty women before, perhaps, my
dear, but now I'm afraid we're only one !" said Clytie.
She herself, kindled with the spirit of adventure, and
so adequately welcoming it, was irresistible.
Fancy blew a pretty kiss at her. "No man would
know enough to say anything as nice as that, would
he? But I'm afraid I can't trot in your class, Miss
Payson. Why, every man in the room has been
watching you all the evening. I really ought to sit
beside Mrs. Maxwell, though, to show her off. It
takes these brunettes to make me look outclassed,
doesn't it? I used to be a brunette myself, but I
reformed. Mr. Cayley, you may hold me on, if you
like. And remember, when I kick you under the table
it's a hint for you to say something about my hands."
She laid them on the table-cloth ingenuously.
Clytie took one up and showed it to Mrs. Maxwell.
158 THE HEART LINE
"Did you ever see a prettier wrist than that?** she
said.
"It's charming! I'm afraid she'd never be able to
wear my gloves."
Fancy smiled good-temperedly. "That second fin-
ger is supposed to be perfect," she said, looking at it
reflectively.
"It's queer that the fourth one hasn't a diamond
on it," Mrs. Maxwell suggested amiably.
"It's only because I hate to fry my own eggs. I
never could learn to play on the cook-stove."
"My dear, you'll never have to do that," said Clytie.
"No man would be brute enough to endanger such a
complexion as you have !"
Fancy rubbed her cheek. "Good enough to raise a
blush on. Has it worn off yet? I wish you could
make me do it again; I'd rather wear a good No. 5
blush than a silk-lined skirt."
The third lady at the table was thin and dark, a
piquante, sharp-featured girl, with a dancing devil in
her eyes. She had been watching Fancy with an
amused smile. "I thought I'd seen you before," she
said. "Now I remember. You're the young lady at
Granthope's, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's my tag. I suppose I am entered for a
regular blue-ribbon freak. But I've seen you, too,
Miss Dean, once or twice, haven't I ?"
Miss Dean hastened to say, "Mr. Granthope's a
wonderful palmist, isn't he? He has told me some ex-
traordinary things about myself." She held out her
hand. "Do tell me what you think about my palm,
please!"
But Fancy refused. "Oh, I don't want to make
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 159
enemies, just as we've begun to break the ice. Every
one would be jealous of the other, if I told you what
I saw. Besides, I ought to be drumming up more
trade for Mr. Granthope."
"How long have you been with him ?" Cayley asked.
"Oh, about five years."
Clytie bit her lip. Granthope himself had said two.
"He has been fortunate to have such an able as-
sistant as you," she said.
"Oh, Frank's been mighty good to me. I owe him
everything." Fancy said it almost aggressively.
Cayley caught Clyde's eye, and he smiled.
"Well, Blanchard," she said, disregarding his hint,
"am I in your list of Improbabilities now?"
"You're easily first! You certainly have surprised
me."
Heretofore Mrs. Maxwell, as chaperon of the party,
had been the star, but now Clytie, with her intuitive
grip on this human complication, established Fancy
as the guest of honor. She drank Fancy's health, and
Fancy's smile became more opulent and irresistible.
She kept Fancy's quick retorts going like fire-crackers,
she manipulated the conversation so that it came back
to Fancy at each digression. She put Fancy Gray in
the center of the stage and kept her there in the
calcium till her buoyant spirits soared.
"Drink with Fancy!" cried Fancy Gray, and the
company, Mrs. Maxwell included, did her honor.
"Drink with Fancy," she pleaded again, with a pretty,
infantile pout, and Clytie knocked glasses with her
every time. "Drink with Fancy," she repeated, and
Cayley drew closer. It did not, apparently, daunt
Clytie. She had accepted Fancy Gray as Fancy Gray
160 THE HEART LINE
had accepted her, and she did not withdraw an inch
from her position. The talk ran on, with Fancy always
the center of interest. Her sallies were original, brisk,
and often witty. Fancy's brain grew more agile and
more bold. Also, her glances played more softly
upon Blanchard Cayley. He made the most of them,
with an eye on Clyde, awaiting her look of protest.
But it did not come.
About them the revelry still continued amidst the
clattering of knives and forks and dishes. Course
after course had been brought on and removed by the
hurrying, overworked waiters. Once, a madcap couple
arose to dance a cake-walk up and down between the
tables. Of the group of eight singers in the corner,
three had fallen into a mild stupor, three were af-
fectionately maudlin; two, still mirthful, sang noisily,
pounding upon the table.
By twos and threes, now, parties began to leave.
There was a popular song swinging through the
room, accented by tinkling glasses, when Fancy
reached out her left hand, and took Clyde's.
"I must be going, now ; good night."
Clyde held the hand. "Oh, must you? Wait and
let us put you on your car, anyway !"
"No, I'll drift along. I can take care of myself, all
right."
She stopped, and, with her head slightly tilted to one
side, looked Clytie in the eyes.
"What did you go to Granthope's for?" she asked.
Clytie began to color, faintly. She seemed, at first,
at a loss to know how to reply.
Fancy prompted her, "For a reading, of course
but what else?"
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 161
"I don't know," said Clyde seriously. "Really I
don't."
"That's what I thought!" said Fancy. Then her
troubled brow cleared, and she turned to Cayley.
''I must say 'fare-thee-well, my Clementine,' " she
said. "You certainly came to the scratch nobly. I
hope it wasn't all Miss Payson's prompting, though !"
"Next time I hope I'll be able to bring you," he
answered. "I'm sorry I can't take you home now."
"Who said I was going home?" she smiled. Then
she looked at him, too, and spoke to him with a varia-
tion of the quizzical tone she had used toward Clytie.
"I don't know what there is about you that makes
such a hit with me what is it?"
"The dagoes say I have the evil eye," he replied.
She laughed. "That's it! I thought it was some-
thing nice !"
Then she rose and bowed debonairly to Mrs. Max-
well and Miss Dean. "Good night, ladies, this is where
I disappear. I'm afraid you've impregnated me with
social aspirations. Watch for me at the Fortnightly !"
The collarless youth stretched a glass toward her
in salutation and sang: "Good-by, Dolly Gray!"
There was a burst of laughter that drew all eyes to
Fancy Gray.
Cayley held her coat for her, and as she turned to
him with thanks, a sudden mad impulse stirred her;
she audaciously put up her lips to be kissed. He did
not fail her. The ladies at the table looked on, catch-
ing breath, stopping their talk. A waiter, passing,
stood transfixed. Every one watched. Then a cheer
broke out and a clapping of hands all over the restau-
rant.
162 THE HEART LINE
Fancy Gray bowed to her audience with dignity, as
if she were on the stage. Then, with a comprehensive
nod to her entertainers, she passed demurely down
the aisle between the tables. Every eye followed her.
At the counter she turned her head to see Blanchard
Cayley still standing by his place. She came hur-
riedly back as if drawn by some magic spell, blushing
hotly, with a strange look in her eyes. She looked
up at him as a little girl might look up at her father.
The room was hushed. It was too much for that
audience to comprehend. The act had almost lost its
effrontery ; the audacity had become, somehow, pathos.
Fancy walked like a somnambulist, her eyes wide
open, staring at Blanchard. He had turned paler,
but stood still, with his gaze fastened upon her, revel-
ing, characteristically, in a new sensation. The ladies
in his party did not speak. Nobody spoke. The room
was like a well-governed school at study hour, every
eye fixed upon Fancy Gray. Whatever secret emotion
it was that drew her back, it was for its moment
compelling, casting out every trace of self-conscious-
ness. She seemed to show her naked soul. She
reached him, and again he put his arms about her
and kissed her full on the lips. Again the tumult
broke forth.
In that din and confusion she slipped back to the
door. There was another hush. Then the crowd
gasped audibly and tongues were loosened in a babel
of exclamations. With a cry, some one pointed to
the window. There stood Fancy Gray, pressing
through the glass, histrionically, one last kiss to
Cayley and disappeared into the night. Half a
dozen men jumped up to follow her, and turned back
RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER 163
to account for a new silence that had abruptly fallen
on the room.
Blanchard Cayley was still standing. He had
snatched a wine-glass from the table, and now, with
a silencing gesture, he held it above his head. He was
perfectly calm, he had lost nothing of his usual ele-
gance of manner.
"I don't know who she is, but here's to her!" he
called out to the roomful of listeners. "Bottoms-up,
everybody !"
He drank off his toast. Glasses were raised all
over the room. Men sprang upon their chairs, put
one foot on the table and drank Fancy Gray's health.
Then the crowd yelled again.
In the confusion Mrs. Maxwell leaned to Clytie.
"I don't know, my dear, whether I'll dare to chaperon
you here again!" She herself was as excited as any
one there.
Frankie Dean's thin lips curled in a sneer. "Oh,
they call this Bohemia, don't they ! Did you ever see
anything so cheap and vulgar in your life? I feel
positively dirty!"
Cayley watched for Clytie's answer. It came with
a jet of fervor. "Why," she exclaimed, "don't you
see it's real? It's real! It isn't the way we care to do
things, but they're all alive and human every one of
them !"
"Bah! It's all a pose. They're pretending they're
devilish."
"I don't care !" Clytie's eyes fired. "Even so, there's
a live person in each of them they're just as real as
we are. I never understood it before. Look under
the surface of it there's blood there !"
164 THE HEART LINE
"It's San Francisco!" said Cayley, "that explains
everything. Oh, this town!" He sat down shaking
his head.
The old patron bustled excitedly through the room.
"Take-a de foot off de table! Take-a de foot off
de table !" he protested. "You spoil the table clot'
you break-a de dishes! I don't like dat! Get down,
you! Get down!"
CHAPTER VI
SIDE LIGHTS
"Mrs. Chenoweth Maxwell would be very glad to
see Mr. Francis Granthope next Friday evening at
nine o'clock for an informal Chinese costume sup-
per. Kindly arrive masked."
This invitation marked a climacteric in Granthope's
social career. It was supplemented by an explanation
over the telephone that left no doubt in the mind of
the palmist as to the genuineness and friendliness of
its cordiality. He had appeared already at several
assemblies of the smarter set and had, by this time, a
considerable acquaintance with the fashionable side
of town. Of the information thus acquired he had
made good use in his business. He had always gone,
however, in his professional capacity as a paid enter-
tainer; and no matter how considerately he had been
treated, the fact that he was not present as a guest had
always been obvious. He was in a class with the oper-
atic star who consents to sing in private and maintains
hei* delicate position of unstable social equilibrium with
sensitive self-consciousness. In his rise from obscurity,
at first, he had been pleased with such invitations, seeing
that they brought him money and an increasing fame.
He was now sought after as a picturesque and person-
able character. Women evinced a fearful delight in
his presence ; they treated him sometimes as if he were
a handsome highwayman, tamed to drawing-room
amenities, sometimes as they treated those mysterious
165
166 THE HEART LINE
Hindus in robes and turbans who occasionally ap-
peared to prate of esoteric faiths in the salons of the
Illuminati.
Granthope's sense of humor and his cynical view
of life, had, so far, been sufficient to preserve his
equanimity at the threshold of fashionable society.
His equivocal position was tolerable, for he knew well
enough what a sham the whole game was, and how
artificial was the social position which permitted a
woman to snub him or patronize him in public, and
did not prevent her following him up in private.
He had seen ladies raise their eyebrows at his appear-
ance in the Western Addition, who had visited him
for a chance to talk to him with astonishing egotism.
There was a strain in him, however, the heritage
of some unknown ancestry, that, since meeting Miss
Payson, began to give him more and more discomfort
in the presence of such company. He had risen above
the level of the mere professional entertainer, and had
become fastidious. Clytie had met him upon terms of
equality. Her frankness had flattered him, and her
implied promise .of friendship was like the opening of
a door which had, hitherto, always been shut to him.
.Mrs. Maxwell's bid, therefore, was a distinct ad-
vance, and he welcomed it, not so much because it un-
locked for him a new sort of recognition, as that it
furthered the game he had in hand. He could scarce
have defined that game to himself. He was playing
neither for position nor money nor power his sport
was perhaps as purely intellectual as that of chess, a
delight in the pitting of his mind against others.
Mrs. Maxwell, with the tact of a woman of sensi-
bility, had made it plain to him that he was invited
SIDE LIGHTS 167
for his own sake, upon terms of hospitality. As a
lion, yes, she could not deny that. She confessed that
she wished to tell people that he was coming but
he would not be annoyed by requests for entertainment.
With another, he might have suspected that this was
only a subterfuge to avoid the necessity of paying him
his price, but Mrs. Maxwell's character was too well
known to him for that possibility to be entertained.
He set himself, therefore, to obtain a costume for
the affair at the "House of Increasing Prosperity,"
known to Americans as the shop of Chew Hing Lung
and Company. With the assistance of the affable and
discerning Li Go Ball, the only Chinese in the quarter
who seemed to know what he required, Granthope
selected his outfit, a costume of the character worn by
the more prosperous merchant class of Celestials.
Granthope had fitted up the room next beyond his
studio for a bed-chamber and sitting-room, access to
it being had through the heavy velvet arras concealing
the door between the two apartments. The place was
severely masculine in its appointments and order, but
bespoke the tasteful employment of considerable
money. Here he had his library also, for since his
earliest youth he had been a great reader. Prominent
on its shelves were many volumes of medical books,
and, to offset this sobriety, the lives and memoirs of
the famous adventurers of history Casanova, Cagli-
ostro, Fenestre, Abbe Faublas, Benvenuto Cellini, Sal-
vator Rosa, Chevalier d'Eon.
A massive Jewish seven-branch candlestick illum-
inated the place this evening, splashing with yellow
lights the carved gilded frame of a huge oval mirror,
glowing on the belly of a bronze vase, enriching the
i68 THE HEART LINE
depths of color in the dull green walls, smoldering in
the warm tones of the great Persian rug on the floor,
twinkling upon the polished surface of the heavy ma-
hogany table in the center of the room. But it was
concentrated chiefly upon the gorgeous oriental hues
where his Chinese costume was flung, flaming upon
the couch. There the colors were commingled as on
an artist's palette, cold steel blue, pale lemon yellow,
olive green that was nearly old gold, lavender that
was almost pink in the candle-light, a circle of red
inside the cap, and flashes of pale cream-colored bam-
boo paper here and there.
He had already put on the silken undersuit, a cos-
tume in itself, with its straight-falling lines and com-
plementary colors. Fancy Gray was helping him with
the other garments, enjoying it as much as a little girl
dressing a doll, trying on each article herself first and
posing in it before the mirror.
First, she wrapped the bottom of his lavender
trousers about his ankles, over white cotton socks, tying
them close with the silk bands, carefully concealing the
knot and ends as Go Ball had instructed him. She
held the black boat-shaped satin shoes for him to put
on. Next she tied about his waist the pale yellow
sash so that both ends met at the side and hung
together in two striped party-colored ends. Then the
short, padded jacket, and over all this the long, steel-
blue, brocaded silk robe, caught in at the waist with a
corded belt. Lastly the olive-green coat patterned
with brocaded mons containing the swastika, and with
long sleeves almost hiding the tips of his fingers/
Upon its gold bullet-shaped buttons she hung the
tasseled spectacle-case and his ivory snuff-box.
SIDE LIGHTS 169
"Oh, Frank, I forgot!" said Fancy, as she paused
with his wig of horse-hair eked out with braided silk
threads, in her hand. "Lucie was here to-day."
Granthope was at the mirror, disguising himself
with a long, drooping mustache and thin goatee. He
put down his bottle of liquid gum and turned to her.
"What did she say?"
"Why, she said she didn't have time to wait, and
didn't want to tell me anything."
"Why didn't she write ?"
"Said she was afraid to." You're to manage some
way to see her to-night, if you can, and she has a
tip for you."
"H'm !" Granthope, with Fancy's assistance, drew
on the wig, and clapped over his black satin skull-
cap with its red coral button atop. Then he paused
again reflectively.
"It must be something important. If I can only get
hold of some good scandal in this 'four hundred'
crowd I can have some fun with 'em."
"I should be afraid to trust these ladies' maids ; they
might give you away any time, and then where'd you
be? That would be a pretty good scandal, itself."
Fancy shook her head.
"Aren't they all in love with me?" he said, smiling
grimly.
Fancy looked dubious. "That's just the trouble.
'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned/ "
Granthope now laughed outright. "Fancy, when
you get literary you're too funny for words."
She bridled, stuck out her little pointed tongue at
him, and walked into the front office, where she sat
down to attend to some details of her own work. At
170 THE HEART LINE
last she finished her writing and went to the closet to
put on her hat and jacket.
"Oh, Frank!" she called out.
"Yes, Fancy!"
"You don't think I'm jealous, do you?"
"Yes !" he laughed.
She appeared at the doorway and called again:
"Mr. Granthope!" He was busy, and did not an-
swer.
"Mr. Granthope!"
He looked up, now, to see her put her thumb to her
nose with a playfully derisive gesture, such as gamins
use.
He put his head back and laughed.
Then she looked at him seriously, saying, "When
I am, you'll never know it. I'm not afraid of ladies'
maids. When you really get into your own class it
will be time enough for me to worry. But I wish you
wouldn't use those girls. They're all cats, and they'll
scratch !"
She was standing before the mirror inside the
closet door, with her hat pin between her lips, adjust-
ing her toque to the masses of her russet hair, when
there came a knock at the hall door. She looked round
and raised her eyebrows, then, after closing the door
to the anteroom of the studio, she called "Come in !"
Madam Spoil, in a black silk gown covered with a
raglan, entered. She wore a man's small, low-crowned,
Derby hat trimmed with a yellow bird's wing.
"How d'you do?" said Fancy, not too cordially.
"Good evening," Madam Spoil panted; then, as
her breath was spent with climbing the stairs, she
dropped into a chair and gasped heavily. Fancy went
SIDE LIGHTS 171
on with her preparations without further attention to
her visitor.
"Frank in?" was Madam Spoil's query as soon as
she could breathe.
"Meaning Mr. Granthope ?" said Fancy airily.
"You know who I mean well enough!" was her
pettish reply.
"Oh, do I ?" and Fancy, her costume now in readi-
ness for the street, walked jauntily into the anteroom
and knocked at the door. "Madam Spoil is here to
see you," she called out.
"Just a moment," he answered.
Fancy, pulling her jacket behind, wriggling, and
smoothing down her skirt over her hips, walked to the
window and cast a glance out. Then she slammed the
drawers of her desk, put a hair-pin between the leaves
of her novel, straightened her pen-holders on the stand,
stoppered a red-ink bottle, and marched out without
looking to the left or to the right.
Madam Spoil glared at her in silence till she had
gone; and then, with an agility extraordinary in so
stout a woman, she sprang to the closet, opened the
door and picked up an envelope lying on the floor.
It had been opened. She took the letter out, gave it
a hurried glance and then returned to her seat, stuffing
the paper up under her basque.
The letter was short enough for her practised eye
to master the contents almost at a glance. It ran :
My dear Mr. Granthope : I hope you didn't take offense
at my frankness the other day if I was too candid don-'t
misinterpret it and my interest in you. Sometime I may ex-
plain it more intelligently, but for the present believe me to
be, Your friend, CLYTIE PAYSON.
172 THE HEART LINE
Granthope came out after she had concealed the
note. He was fully dressed and almost unrecognizable
in his costume. He walked gracefully, with the light-
footed stride of a mandarin, and saluted her with mock
gravity. Madam Spoil stared at him with her mouth
open. For a moment she did not appear to know him.
Then she chuckled.
"For the land's sakes, what are you up to now,
Frank? Doing the Chinese doctor's stunt and selling
powdered sea-horses?"
He laughed at her surprise. "No, I'm doing soci-
ety," he explained.
"Do 'em good, then! Lord, you are a-butting in
this time, ain't you ! I wouldn't know you from a Sam
Yup highbinder on a Chiny New Year in that rig!
What is it, a fancy-dress ball at the Mechanics' Pavil-
ion?"
"Worse than that," he laughed; "this is a private
supper-party in costume and I am a guest."
"Lord, you are getting on, for fair! You ain't
been conning them swell girls for nothing, have you?
And, to be frank with you, I always thought you was
after something very different. I was kind of afraid
they'd spoil you, too. It's a good graft, Frank, and
if I can do anything to give you a lift, just say
the. word."
"Thanks," he said dryly, taking a seat in front of
her and pulling his long sleeves up to his wrist.
She kept her eyes upon him, as if fascinated by the
gorgeousness of his costume, seemingly a little in fear
of his elegant manners as well. Then she broke out,
pettishly :
"Say, Fancy's getting pretty fresh, seems to me.
SIDE LIGHTS 173
She's a very different girl from what she was when she
used to play spook for us. She was glad enough once
to be polite Gutter wouldn't melt in her mouth them
days !"
"Oh, you mustn't mind Fancy ; she's all right when
you get used to her."
"She's pretty, if she is sassy/' the medium acknow-
ledged. "I can hardly blame you, Frank. I s'pose
you find a good use for her. She seems to be pretty
fond of you."
Granthope scowled. "Never mind about her. She's
a great help to me here, and I like her that's enough
for you. You didn't come here to talk about Fancy
Gray."
"I should think your ladies would object, though,"
the medium pursued. "It looks kind of funny, don't
it? She stays here pretty late, it seems to me, if any
one was to notice it. Some ladies don't like that sort
of thing; they get jealous. Fancy's too pretty by
half!"
"That'll be about all about Fancy Gray. Suppose
we change the subject."
"Very good then ; we'll change it to another girl
that's as pretty. How would Miss Payson do to talk
about?"
"What about her?"
. "A whole lot about her. How are you getting along
with her, for the first thing ?"
Granthope smiled with an air of satisfaction, but
contented himself with remarking, "Oh, I'm getting
on all right. I can attend to my own end of the game,
thank you. I've handled women before."
"More ways than one, eh?"
174 THE HEART LINE
"She's not that kind. Don't you believe it !"
"Then what, for the Lord's sake, are you doing
with her!" Madam Spoil gave her words a playful
accent that he resented. Then she added, more seri-
ously: "Frank, d'you know, I believe you could marry
that girl. If you have changed yourself enough to like
that kind, you might go farther and fare worse.
She'd give you a good stand-in with the Western
Addition, too. And we might help you out a bit ; who
knows! I can see all sorts of things in it, just as it
stands."
"I haven't begun to think of anything like that," he
replied carelessly.
"Of course not. I know well enough what you was
thinking of. But you take my advice and don't spoil a
big thing for a little one. Work her easy and you
can land her. That's better a good sight than playing
with her in your usual way."
He rose and walked to the window and looked out,
vaguely annoyed. He . turned, in a moment, to ask,
"Has the old man made a will ?"
"D'you mean to say you ain't found that out yet?
Lord, Frank, you are getting slow. I don't know. I
ain't come to that yet. But if he ain't, I'll see that he
does make one, and that's where I can look out for
your interests."
There was a slight sneer on his face. "Oh, don't
trouble yourself. I've my own system, you know. I
haven't made many breaks yet. It's likely that I can
help you more than you can me. That reminds me ;
you might take these notes. It's about all I have got
from the girl so far. They may come in handy."
He went to his desk, took a couple of cards from 3
SIDE LIGHTS 175
tin box in the top drawer, and handed them to Madam
Spoil. She looked them over interestedly.
"Much obliged. H'm ! So she thinks she's a
psychic, does she ? They might be something in that.
Supposed to be engaged to B. Cayley. Well, you'll
have to fix him, won't you ! Father writing a book
ah! That's just what we want. Say, that's great!
Me and Vixley will work that book, don't you worry !
Wears a ring with 'Clytie' inside. Turquoises. Mole
on left cheek. Goes to Mercantile Library three to
five. Sun-dial with doll buried under it. That's
funny. I wish it was papers, or something important
I don't see what we could do with a doll, do you?
Still, you never can tell. All's generally fish that
comes to my net. I've known stranger things than
dolls. Making a birthday present of a hand-bound
volume of what? Montaigne? What's that? Say,
what's this about Madam Grant, anyway?"
He turned to her and held out his hand for the
card, now distinctly impatient. "I don't know that
is, I forgot I put that on. There's nothing there that
will help you, I guess. You'd better let me have it
back, after all. It's chiefly about Miss Payson, any-
way, and that isn't your business."
Madam Spoil refused to return the card. Instead,
she tucked it into the front of her dress, saying, "Oh,
I don't know. You never know what may be useful.
It's well to be prepared."
"See here ;. you understand that you're to keep your
hands off Miss Payson," said Granthope with empha-
sis. "She's my game. Do what you like with the old
man, but leave me alone, that's all !"
"Don't you fret yourself about that. Ain't we
176 THE HEART LINE
worked together before, for gracious sakes? I guess
I can mind my own business !"
The palmist walked over to the fireplace, ctood lean-
ing against the mantel and kicked the fender medita-
tively, somewhat disturbed by Madam Spoil's presence.
He had seen Miss Payson only twice, yet he had
already come to the point where he was annoyed to
hear her so cold-bloodedly discussed, and his own
heartless notes quoted. Even less could he enjoy think-
ing of so fine and delicate a creature in the toils of
Vixley and Spoil. No, she was for his own plucking.
She was a quarry well worth his chase. To share his
plans with such vulgar plotters seemed to cheapen
the prize, to rub off the bloom of her beauty and
charm. He would play a more exquisite, a more
subtle game. It would not do, however, to break
with the mediums. They were still useful to him, in
spite of his assertion of independence. They knew,
besides, altogther too much about him for him to dare
to kindle their resentment.
If Madam Spoil had noticed his detachment she did
not show it. She herself had, evidently, been thinking
something over, and now she interrupted his medita-
tion.
"Say, Frank, about that old Madam Grant, now
"She wasn't so old, was she?"
"How d'you know she wasn't?"
He covered his mistake as well as he could with:
"Oh, I've heard she was a young woman, not more
than thirty, when she died."
"Well, it's so far back, it seems as though she must
have been old. You know I fished a little with what
you give me about her and Payson; putting that
SIDE LIGHTS 177
together with what Lulu Ellis got, I believe I can work
him. Funny you happened on that bit. Did the Pay-
son girl tell you ?"
"Oh, I got it she let it out in a way. You know."
Madam Spoil chuckled. "Lord, they tell us more'n
we ever tell them, don't they! But I was saying: I
wish I could find out more about that little boy Madam
Grant used to keep. I wonder was he her son, now ?"
"I suppose you might find out something if you
looked up the files of the Chronicle "-
"That's a good idea. I'll do it. D'you know what
year it was?"
"How d'you know?"
He walked away from her carelessly, replying:
"That's the idea I got of it. About that time."
"Frank," she said, "ain't you ever got any clue to
who you are, yet? Never got any hint at all?"
"Never."
"Why don't you go to some real sure-enough
psychie ? They might help. I've known 'em to do won-
derful things."
Granthope gazed at her and laughed loud. "You?"
was all he could say.
She drew herself up. "Yes, me! Sure. Why, you
don't think I consider they ain't no genuine ones, even
if I do fake a little, do you?"
"You actually believe there's a medium alive that
can tell such things?"
"I'm positive of it. Why, when I begun, I give
some remarkable tests myself. I used to get names,
sometimes. But there are straight ones. Not here,
maybe, but in New York. You could send a lock of
your hair."
i;8 THE HEART LINE
He went up to her and clapped his hand on her
shoulder, still laughing. "You're beautiful, my dear;
you're positively beautiful!"
She turned a surprised face to him. "What in the
world d'you mean?"
He shook his head and walked away. "Preserve
your illusions ! It's too wonderful. I'll be believing
in palmistry, next. I'll believe myself in love, after
that. And then I'll believe I'm honest, dignified,
honorable, modest!" His tone grew, word by word,
more hard and cynical. Then he turned to her with a
whimsical expression: "So you believe your doll's
alive!"
"I've no time to talk nonsense any longer!" she
exclaimed, rising ponderously. "I can't make you out
at all, Frank. Sometimes you're practical as insurance
and sometimes you're half bug-house. Maybe it's them
clothes!" She regarded him carefully.
He bowed to her with mock courtesy, spreading his
fan.
"Lord, you do look like a fool in that Chink's rig.
Have a good time with 'em but keep your eyes and
your ears open!"
She went out.
He was about to turn out the electric lights and
leave, when he heard a knock at the door. He opened
it, and saw the little freckled-face girl who had come
to his office the day he had first met Clytie Payson.
He recognized her instantly, but she, seeing him so
extraordinarily disguised, drew back in surprise.
"Did you want Mr. Granthope?" he asked.
"Yes !" She finally made him out, but still gazed
at him, somewhat frightened. Her face was bloodless.
SIDE LIGHTS 179
"Come in," he said kindly. "I'm Granthope. You'll
have to excuse this costume." He set a chair for her,
but she stood, timidly regarding- him.
"I'm awfully afraid I'm bothering you, Mr. Grant-
hope, coming so late I know I ought to have come
in your office hours, but I couldn't possibly get off
and I did want to see you awfully! D'you suppose
you could help me a little, now ? I thought you might
be able to, you said such wonderful things when I
was here before, and I just can't stand it not to know,
and I don't know what to do."
"Do sit down. Tell me what's the matter, my dear."
She crept into a chair, and sat with nervous hands,
staring at him.
"Why, don't you remember?" She gazed at him in
alarm. "Oh, I've depended so on what you said it's
all that kept me going!"
"Just pardon me a moment, please." He went to
his desk drawer and began to fumble over his card
catalogue. "I have a memorandum to make. Then
I'll talk to you." He came to the card, and made a
penciled note and glanced it over. Then he returned
to her and sat down. "Now tell me all about it," he
said gravely. "I remember perfectly, of course. Bill
was in the Philippines, wasn't he? You hadn't heard
from him for some time, and you were expecting him
home on the next transport?"
She sat, limply huddled in her chair, gazing at him
through her sad eyes.
"He did come back. I couldn't meet the boat. I
missed him. And now he's gone !"
"He didn't let you know where he went?"
"Oh, Mr. Granthope, it's too awful! I can't bear
i8o THE HEART LINE
it, but I could stand anything if I could only find him !
You must find him for me."
"I'll do what I can, my dear. Your hand shows
that it will all come out for the best. I wouldn't
worry."
"Oh, but you don't know! You don't know how
bad it is !" she moaned. "I thought you might know.
He was wounded in a battle."
"But he came back?"
"Yes." Then she burst into a hurried torrent of
words. "He didn't want me to know. He was shot
in the face his nose was shot off it's awful some
of the men told me about it. Bill was ashamed to
have me see him he tried to make me think he wasn't
in love with me any more, so I'd go away. But I
knew better. Bill's so proud, Mr. Granthope, you
don't know how proud he is ! He'd rather leave me
than make me suffer. But what do I care for his nose
being gone ? Why, Bill's a hero ! He had more nerve
than Hobson, anyway ! Just because he was the only
man in his company that dared to go through a
swamp, under fire, to save his lieutenant and he
brought him in on his back, Bill did! Why, Bill's
father was killed at Antietam, but Bill's luck was a
heap worse than that ! He has to live without a face
and be despised and sneered at because he did his
duty! Oh, if I can only find him, I'll give him some-
thing that will make him forget. Don't I love him all
the more for it? He's tried to sacrifice his whole life
and happiness only for me just to save me from
suffering when I look at him. D'you know many men
who'd do that for a girl ? I don't !"
She broke down and sobbed convulsively. The story
SIDE LIGHTS 181
seemed to Granthope like a scene from a play, and
his inability to comfort her smote him while she
fought to restrain her tears.
"And you can't find out where he is?"
"No. The company was mustered out, and Bill just
naturally disappeared. Nobody knows where he is.
I've asked all his officers, and all the men I could find."
He took her hand and looked at it soberly for a
moment.
"It will all come out right, my dear. You trust me.
There's your line of fate as clean as a string. I see
trouble in it, but only for a little while. You'll be
married, too. You must have patience and wait, that's
all. Suppose you come back and see me in a week or
so, and tell me if you've heard any . news of him.
Meanwhile, I'll see what I can find out myself. There's
a cross in your hand that's a good sign. Bill still
loves you, and he won't let you suffer long."
He felt the pitiful emptiness of his words, but he
had been too affected by her narrative to give her the
smooth banalities that were always ready to his
tongue. She got up and looked at him through her
tears.
"You have helped me, Mr. Granthope. Somehow
I knew you could. I'll be in again sometime. How
much is it, please ?"
"My dear girl, when you come again, you can thank
the young lady whom you saw here before. Don't
thank me."
She looked at him silently, then she took his hand
and shook it very hard. "You mean that lady with
red hair who sits at the desk?"
"Yes."
i&5 THE HEART LINE
"I liked her when I saw her. She was nice to me
Is is she Mrs. Granthope?''
Granthope shook his head and smiled.
The girl blushed at her indiscretion. "I kind of
thought she seemed to be, well, fond of you. I mean,
the way she looked at you, I didn't know but what
you were married. I hope you'll excuse me." She
was visibly confused, and evidently had said much
more than she had intended.
"My dear," Granthope replied, "she's far too good
for me !"
The girl shook her head slowly, as she rose to go.
A smile struggled to her face as if, for the first time,
she noted the incongruity of the palmist's costume,
then, with a grateful look she went out.
As soon as he had left, Granthope sat down at the
desk and wrote a note upon a memorandum pad. It
read:
Fancy
To-morrow morning please go down to the ticket office at
the Ferry, and see if you can find out where a soldier, with
his nose shot off, bought a ticket to, about ten days ago.
He rose, yawned, stared thoughtfully at the casts
for a few moments, then snapped his fingers and
walked to the window. His cab was waiting. He went
down-stairs, got into the vehicle and drove off.
The Maxwells lived at Presidio Heights, in one of
the newer residences of the aristocratic Western
Addition, a handsome brick house decorated with
Romanesque fantasies in terra cotta, behind a bronze
rail guarded by heraldic griffins. Granthope walked
SIDE LIGHTS 183
up under the lantern-hung awning five minutes before
the hour and was shown to a room up-stairs.
Here there were several men waiting and adjusting
their garments. All but one were in Chinese costume ;
this was a fat, red-faced man, with a white mustache.
He was in evening dress, and kept exclaiming:
"I won't make a damned fool of myself for anybody.
It's all nonsense!" He was obviously embarrassed at
being the only nonconformist.
"Sully" Maxwell, arrayed in a magnificently em-
broidered Chinese officer's summer uniform a long,
flounced robe, with the imperial dragons and their
balls of fire, the rainbow border and the all-over
cloud-pattern was helping the men to dress, chaffing
each of them in turn. He was middle-aged and pros-
perous-looking, typically a "man's man" and "hail-
fellow-well-met," despite his immense fortune. He
greeted Granthope cordially, without hint of patron-
age, and introduced him to the others.
Of two, Keith and Fernigan, Granthope had heard
much. They were the pets of a certain smartish social
circle, in virtue of their cleverness and wit. They
were of the kind who habitually do "stunts" and were
always expected to make the company merry and in-
formal. Keith was a tall, wiry, flap-eared, smiling
fellow, made up as a Chinese stage-comedian, with his
nose painted white. Fernigan, short, stout to rotund-
ity, almost bald, with spectacles, and a round, Irish
face, was dressed in woman's costume, head-dress, ear-
rm g" s > green coat and pink silk trousers. He was
naturally droll, a wag at all times, and his whimsical
way constantly approached a shocking limit but never
quite reached it. He was sneaking a good parody
184 THE HEART LINE
of the Cantonese dialect to his partner, and making
eccentric gestures.
Both he and Keith greeted Granthope with mock
gravity; addressing him in pidgin English. Granthope
answered with what spirit he had, and, taking his
place at the mirror, placed upon his nose an enormous
pair of blue-glass spectacles, horn-rimmed. They dis-
guised him effectually.
As he left the room, a man with a pointed, reddish
beard entered, dressed in long flowing robes of plum-
colored silk.
Granthope caught the greeting : "Hello, Blan !" and
turned with curiosity to see the Mr. Cayley of whom
he had heard so much. He did not, however, wait
to be introduced, but passed on.
The great reception-room down-stairs presented one
of the most beautiful, as well as one of the most
original, of San Francisco interiors. It was entirely
of redwood, panels six feet in width all round the
walls extending up to a narrow shelf supported by
carved brackets. The low-studded ceiling was broken
by a row of finely adzed beams, carved tastefully at the
ends. A feature of the reception-room was a wide
fireplace of terra cotta surmounted^ by a mantel, con-
sisting of at least a dozen combined moldings, each
member of which showed a striking individuality of
detail. The place was illuminated by side brackets
in the form of copper sconces. Granthope entered,
quite at his ease, with a long, swinging, heel-and-toe
stride that comported well with his costume.
There were already some half-dozen persons sitting
about the room, most of whom seemed afraid to talk
for fear of disclosing their identity, or perhaps, a little
SIDE LIGHTS 185
too self-conscious in their garish raiment. The silence,
if it had not been painful, would have been absurd.
Granthope looked in vain for any sign of his hostess'
presence, and then suspecting that she, too, was masked
to enjoy the piquancy of the situation, he saluted one of
the ladies, sat down beside her and began a conversa-
tion. Knowing that few were acquainted with him he
had no need to disguise his voice. He sat on a straight
chair stiffly, as he had seen Chinese actors pose at the
theater, his toes turned out in opposite directions so as
to insure the proper fall of the skirt of his robe, and
disclose, through a narrow gap, the splendor of his
lavender trousers. His partner answered him in whis-
pers.
As he sat talking nonsense gaily, a woman came
into the room with so perfect an imitation of the
"tottering lily" walk affected by high-caste Chinese
women, that he turned his eyes upon her in delight
at her acting.
She was of a good height ; and her white embroid-
ered shoes, whose heels were placed in the center of
the sole, gave her nearly two inches more. Her cos-
tume was a rainbow of subdued contrasting colors. It
was evident at a glance that every garment she wore
was old, valuable and consistent with her character of
bride.
The smoothly coiled rolls of her black wig were
decorated by numerous gold ornaments and artificial
flowers. Across her forehead was a head-dress of gold
filigree-work and kingfisher feathers; its ribbon was
tied in the back of her head and fell in fanciful ends.
She wore two coats the outer was of yellow brocaded
silk, a pastel shade, trimmed with a wide stripe of
186 THE HEART LINE
close blue embroidery and rows of looking-glass but-
tons the inner one, shorter, was of blue and black
appliqued work in bold, virile pattern. Below this
showed her closely-pleated skirt of old rose with a panel
of gold embroidery in the center; this, as she walked,
revealed occasional glimpses of a pair of full straight
green trousers trimmed with horizontal stripes, and
a flash of white silk stockings. Necklaces she had in
profusion, one of jade, one of purple mother-of-pearl,
one of white coral, one of sandalwood; and others in
graded sizes and colors. In her right hand she carried
a narrow gold-paper fan; on her left wrist was a jade
bracelet, and, pulled through it, a green silk handker-
chief with a purple fringe.
Her entry made a sensation, as she courtesied grave-
ly to each one in turn. So, playing her part cleverly,
she came to Granthope, who arose and greeted her with
a dignified salaam. So far they were the only ones who
had at all entered into the spirit of the occasion, and
he did his best to meet her character and play up
to her elaborate salutation. He offered his arm, then,
and escorted her, with considerable manner, to a long
settee.
In all this pantomime she had preserved a serious
expression, the repressed, almost inanely impassive,
set face of a Chinese lady of rank; but when at last
she was seated, she turned full upon him and smiled
under her mask.
The effect upon Granthope was a sudden thrill of
overpowering delight. He was deliciously weakened
by the revelation. His breath came suddenly, with a
swift intake the blood rioted through his veins.
She wore a much wider mask than the others, so that
SIDE LIGHTS 18;
nothing but her mouth and chin was shown. But that
mouth was so tempting, with its ravishing, floating
smile, and that smile so concentrated in its limitation
to a single feature, that it turned his head. The lips
were narrow and bright; the blood seemed about to
ooze through the skin. The upper one was curved in
a tantalizing bow between the drops of soft shadow
at the corners. The cleft above seemed to draw her
lip a little upward to disclose a line of small, perfect,
regular teeth of a delicate, bluish white translucence,
which, parting, showed a narrow rosy tongue. The
lower lip was that delicious fraction of an inch lesser
than the upper one which, in profile, gave her a touch
of youthful, almost boyish,' wistfulness. Her round,
firm chin showed, from the same point of view, a
classic right angle to her throat, where the line swept
down the proud column of her neck, there to swing
tenderly outward toward her breast.
He could not take his eyes from her, but he had not
the will to restrain his staring. The spell was irre-
sistible ; he drank her deep and could not get enough.
For these whirling moments he was at the mercy of
the attraction of sex, impersonal, yet distilled to an
intoxicating essence. Had it not been for her mask
hiding the upper part of her face, had her eyes cor-
rected this almost wanton loveliness with some reserve
or with the effect of a more intellectual character, had
his glance even been given a chance to wander over
equally enchanting components of that expression, he
undoubtedly would not have been so moved by the
sight of her laughing, tempting mouth. But that,
faultlessly formed, exquisitely sexed, whimsically prov-
ocative, had for him, with the rest of her face hidden,
188 THE HEART LINE
an original and freshly flavored delight. In the spec-
trum of her beauty the violets and blues of her spirit,
the greens and orange of her mind were for the nonce
inhibited; only the vibrant red rays of her physical
personality smote him, burning him with their radi-
ance. But there was, he felt, no malice behind that smile,
though it was mischievous ; there was nothing wanton
there, though in this guise her lips seemed abandoned
and inviting. There was, in their flexed contour, in
the engaging mobility of their poise, no consciousness
of anything sensually appealing. It was, rather, as if
he gained some secret aspect of the woman beneath
and behind all conventions of morality, of modesty,
and of discretion. So far, indeed, she seemed, in a
way, without a personality. She was Woman smiling
at him. The vision was too much for him.
She bent toward him and her lips whispered:
"How do you do, Mr. Granthope? Why are you
staring so? I thought of course you knew me but
I really believe you don't."
Even then he did not recognize her, and was pro-
foundly embarrassed. That he should fail to remem-
ber such a mouth as that! He took her hand which
had been concealed in her long sleeve and looked at
it. She had glued long false nails of celluloid to her
little fingers, completing the picture of a Chinese lady
of quality. At the first sight of her palm, at the first
touch of it, even, he knew her, and, with a rush, a dozen
thoughts bewildered him. This was she whom he had
been able so to influence, to cajole. He had, in a way,
a claim to this comeliness. She had favored him, had
confessed her interest in him. They were, besides,
bound by a secret tie. He might hope for more of her,
SIDE LIGHTS 189
perhaps. She was already somewhat in his power;
he had, at least, the capacity to sway her. She,
alluring, delightful, might perhaps be gained, and in
some way, won. She had known him at a glance
there was her prescience again ! She had welcomed
him, in assurance of her favor. What then was pos-
sible ? What dared he not hope for ? A great wave of
desire overcame him.
Meanwhile he answered, distracted and unready :
"You knew me then? I thought I was pretty well
disguised."
"Oh, you've forgotten how hard it is to deceive me.
I should never try it, if I were you. Of course I knew
you! I should know you if you had covered your
head in a sack."
He stammered, and he was not often confused
enough to stammer. "I don't know how to tell you
how beautiful you are, Miss Payson."
She spoke low and slowly, with a wayward inflec-
tion, "Oh, I'm so sorry." Then she added, "I scarce-
ly dared speak to you, you are so magnificent."
"I would need to be, to be worthy of sitting beside
you," he replied, his wits floating, unmanageable.
"Did you get my note ?"
"Yes, I want to thank you for it."
"I hope you've forgiven me."
"Of course, I was only flattered by your frankness."
"It's so easy to be frank with you," she said. "You
see, I'm perfectly myself with you, even en masque.
I doubt if any of my friends would know me as I am
with you."
"But I've seen a new 'y u ' that I haven't known
before."
190 THE HEART LINE
"Then she owes her existence to your presence.
But how am I different? Tell me."
' "You take my breath away. You say such charm-
ing things to me that it deprives me of the power of
answering you anything I could say seems ineffec-
tive and cheap. You get ahead of me so. Really,
you'll have to be positively rude to me before I can
summon presence of mind enough to say anything
gallant."
Again her lips curved daintily. Her voice was
dulcet :
"Then I am afraid I shall never hear any nice
things from you."
He was reduced ; bafHed by her suavity. He sought
in vain for a fitting return. He had the impulse
to take advantage of her courtesy, however, and grat-
ify some portion of his desire to be nearer her. She
wore, suspended from the gold top-button of her
"qua," a red silk tassel with a filigree network of
silver threads, containing a gold heart-shaped scent
bottle. He reached to it and tried to remove it from
its place, covering this slight advance jocosely, with
the remark:
"Is that your heart you have there? It seems to
be pure gold."
She did not resent what might possibly have been
considered a familiarity, but smiled when she saw that
he could not remove the bottle from the meshes.
"I'm afraid you won't be able to get at it, that way."
There was a touch of playful emphasis in her voice.
Their hands met as she assisted him, showing him
how to pull up the sliding ring and open the net.
At that contact he became a little giddy. The blood
SIDE LIGHTS 191
surged to her cheeks. She took out the bottle and
handed it to him. That moment was tense with feel-
ing. Then she said, as he tried in vain to unstopper
the little jar:
"Can you open it, do you think?"
He attempted futilely to open the little heart.
"I'm afraid I can't," he said disconsolately. "Won't
you help me?"
"No, you must do it yourself. There is a way
see!"
She took it from him and, concealing it in her
hand, opened the top and reached it out for him to
smell. He whiffed a penetrating perfume, disturb-
ingly pungent, then she withdrew it from him and
closed the heart.
"May I take it?" he asked.
She returned it now, saying, and her smile was
more serious than before, "Learn to open it. There
is a way."
Granthope took the heart and tried to master its
secret. The room had by this time filled up so that
a further tete-a-tete was impossible. Miss Payson
was now besieged by maskers and held court where
she sat. Fernigan, the stout young man with the
powdered face, dressed as a woman, was particularly
offensive to Granthope, and especially so because it
could not be denied that his antics and sallies were
witty.
Granthope arose therefore, and walked about the
room looking for some one whom he might recognize.
There was little likelihood of his succeeding had not
his professional capacity given him a clue to follow.
He passed from one group to another, bowing, ges-
192 THE HEART LINE
ticulating and joking, as all had now begun to do,
keeping his eyes alertly on the hands of different
members of the assembly. It was not long before he
suspected Mrs. Page, and, after reassuring himself
by closer inspection, he went up to her.
She was as expensively dressed as Clytie, but with-
out Clytie's taste. Mrs. Page's magnificence was
barbaric, untamed to any harmony of color, though
effective in its very violence. She had not left her
diamonds at home. She blazed in them. Tall, dark,
well-formed and deep-breasted, not even the loosely
hanging folds of a Chinese costume could hide the
luxuriance with which Nature had endowed her fig-
ure. She was laughing with abandon, reveling in the
freedom of the moment, when Granthope touched her
on the shoulder and whispered:
"Violet!"
She turned to him and stared, puzzled by his well-
disguised face.
"Who are you?"
"I know more about you than any one here!"
"Good heavens !" she laughed, "what do you know
about me?"
"Shall I tell you?"
"Not here, for mercy's sake! Don't give me away
in respectable society, please. Come out in the hall
where we won't be eavesdropped."
She took his arm energetically and romped him out
to the staircase. The masks and costumes had let
loose all her folly. She effervesced in giggles.
"Let's go up-stairs in the library," she proposed.
"We have the run of the house to-night, and nobody'll
be there. I want to see if I can't guess who you are.
SIDE LIGHTS 193
I haven't the least idea who you are, but I believe
you're going to be nice."
She tapped him on the cheek playfully with her
fan, then picked up her skirts and ran up-stairs, giv-
ing him a glance of red silk hose, as* she went. He was
still quivering with the excitement of Clyde's smile,
still warm from her nearness, still full of her, though
he would not share her wholesale glances to her
throng of admirers. He was still rapt with the exhil-
aration her smile had kindled, he still held her little
perfumed heart. As he followed Mrs. Page up-stairs
he smelt again of the gold bottle. The fragrant odor
fired him anew. He grew perfervid.
Mrs. Page, unmasked, was awaiting him in the
library.
When they came down ten minutes later, he made
way to where Clytie sat, talking to the gentleman
with the reddish pointed beard and plum-colored gar-
ments. Seeing Granthope approach, she turned to her
companion, saying:
"Would you mind getting me a glass of water,
Blanchard? This mask is fearfully warm. I hope
we won't have to keep them on much longer."
Cayley left to obey her and Granthope took his
place by her chair. She looked up at him quickly, and
said, in a low voice:
"I think you had better give me back my scent-
bottle, please."
A pang smote him. He felt the shock of reproach
in her voice, knowing what she meant immediately,
though he rallied to say, faint-heartedly 1 :
"Why, I haven't learned how to open it yet."
194 THE HEART LINE
"I'm afraid you'll never learn." She did not look
at him.
"What do you mean ?" he asked, summoning all his
courage. "I thought you had given it to me."
She kept her eyes away from him. "If I did, I must
ask it back, now."
Perturbed as he was by this new proof of her
intuition, he refused to admit it. After all, it might
have been merely her quick observation. At any
rate, he would make another attempt to pit his clever-
ness against her sapience.
"Oh, we only went up to see Mr. Maxwell's books.
He has a first edition of Montaigne there." He was
for a moment sure that she was only jealous.
She bent her calm eyes upon him. There was no
weakness in her mouth, though it seemed more lovely
in its tremulous distress. The upper lip quivered
uncontrolled ; the lower one fell grieving, as she said :
"I asked nothing. I want only honesty in what you
do tell me."
This time he was fairly amazedo The hit was dead-
ly. He dared not suspect that she had taken a chance
shot. He was too humbled to attempt any denial,
knowing how useless it would be in the face of her
discernment. Yet she had showed nothing more than
disapproval or distress. Her reproof could scarcely
be called an accusation, and her chivalry touched him.
"I don't know what you will think of me," he said.
"Oh, I've heard so much worse of you than that,"
she said, "and it hasn't prevented my wanting to be
friends with you. I hope only that you will never
misinterpret that friendliness. You don't think me
bold, do you?"
SIDE LIGHTS 195
"I wish you were bolder."
"Oh, you don't know my capacity yet. But, really,
do you understand? It's that feeling, you know, that
in some way we're connected, that's all. It's unex-
plainable, and I know it's silly of me. I'm not trying
to impress you."
"But you are !"
In answer, she smiled again, and again that flood
of delight came over him rendering him unable, for
a moment, to do anything but gaze at her. Luckily
just then Cayley returned with a glass of water; at
the same time, the order was given by Mrs. Maxwell
to unmask.
Clytie drew off her visor immediately. As Grant-
hope watched her he felt the quality of his excitement
change, transmuted to a higher psychic level. Some-
how, with her whole face revealed, with her serene
eyes shining on him, he was less in the grip of that
craving which had held him prisoner. It fled, leav-
ing him more calm, but with a deepened, more vital de-
sire. The completed beauty of her face now thrilled
him with a demand for possession, but the single note
of passion was richened to a fuller chord of feeling.
The mole on her cheek made her human, and almost
attainable.
That feeling gave him a new and potent stimulus, as,
under his hostess' direction, he offered Clytie his arm
into the supper-room, and took a place beside her.
It buoyed him with pride when he looked about at the
gaily clad guests and noticed, with a quickened eye,
the distinction of her face and air, comparing her with
the others. That dreamy, detached aspect in which
he had seen her before had given way now to a fine
196 THE HEART LINE
glow of excitement which stirred her blood. How far
she responded to his enthusiasm he could not tell ; she
was, at least, inspired with the novelty of the scene
the gaudy dresses, the warm red lights of monstrous
paper lanterns, the odors of burning joss-sticks, the
table, flower-bedecked and set out with strangely dec-
orated dishes, and the monotonous, hypnotic squeak
and clang and rattle of a Chinese orchestra half-way
up the stairs.
All trace of her annoyance had gone from her now,
and that unnamable, untamed spirit, usually dormant
in her, had retaken possession of her body. She was
more jubilantly alive than he had thought it possible
for her to be. He dared not attribute her animation
to his presence, however, gladly as he would have
welcomed that compliment. It was the spell of
masquerade, no doubt, that had liberated an unusual
mood, emboldening her to show those nimble flashes
of gallantry. At any rate, that revelation of her
under-soul was a piquant subject for his mind to think
on ; there was an evidence of temperament there which
tinctured her fragile beauty with an intoxicating sug-
gestion. It was a sign of unexpected depths in her,
a promise of entrancing surprises.
For the first time in his life he lacked the audacity
to woo a woman boldly. There had never been enough
at stake before to make him count his chances. There
had been everything to win, nothing to lose. Women
had solicited "his favor, but there was something differ-
ent in Clytie's approaches toward familiarity. She
spoke as with a right-royal and secure from suspicion,
with a directness which of itself made it impossible
for him to take advantage of her complaisance. He
SIDE LIGHTS 197
was put, in spite of himself, upon his honor to prove
himself worthy of her confidence. There was, besides,
a social handicap for him in her assured pbsition he
could see what a place she held by the treatment she
received from every one while he was in his novitiate
at such a gathering, newly called there, his standing
still questionable. But, most of all, to make their
powers unequal, was his increasing fear of her as an
antagonist with whom he could not cope intellectually.
He, with all his clever trickery and his practical know-
ledge of psychology, was like a savage with bow and
arrow ; she, with her marvelous intuition, like a god-
dess with a bolt mysteriously and dangerously effect-
ive.
Already his instinct accepted this relation, but his
brain was still stubborn, seeking a refuge from the
truth. He was to have, even as he sat there with
her, another manifestation.
* Clytie sat at his left hand. Mrs. Page, at his right,
had been assigned to the bald, red-faced gentleman
with white mustache, who had so profanely refused
to make a fool of himself by wearing a Chinese cos-
tume. His sprightly, flamboyant partner was ill-
pleased with her lot. She proceeded to spread an
airy conversational net for Granthope, endeavoring
to trap him into her dialogue, with such patent art
that every woman at the table noticed her tactics.
Granthope, however, shook her off with a smile and
a joke, as if she were an annoying, buzzing fly. Still
she hummed about him, leaving her partner to him-
self and his food. However clever and willing Grant-
hope might have been, ordinarily, at such an exchange
of persiflage, it was all he could do to parry her
198 THE HEART LINE
thrusts and at the same time keep up with Clytie.
But she, noticing Mrs. Page's game, was mischievous
enough, or, perhaps, annoyed enough, to give the wom-
an her chance and submit to a trial of strength. So,
as if to give Granthope the choice between them, she
turned to her left-hand neighbor, Fernigan, who, in his
female costume, had kept that end of the table, by his
wit, from interfering with her colloquy.
Granthope was in a quandary, fearing to be inex-
tricably annexed. Mrs. Page at this moment increased
his dilemma by casting a languishing look at him and
pressing his foot with hers under the table.
All that was flirtatiously adventurous in him boiled
up; for Mrs. Page was, in her own way, a beauty,
and, as he had reason to know, amiable.
He drew away his foot, however, and as he did so,
gave a quick inward glance at himself, wondering, and
not a little amused, at the change that had taken place
in him. Novelty is, in such dalliance, a prime factor
of temptation it was not a lack of novelty, however,
which made her touch unwelcome, for he was, in his
relations with the woman, at what would be usually
a parlous stage. He had already been gently reproved
for his weakness but it was not the smart of that
disapproval that withheld him. He had begun to fear
Clytie's vision yet he was not quite ready to admit
her infallible. His self-denial, then, was indicative of
an emotional growth. He smiled to himself, a little
proud of the accompaniment of its tiny sacrifice.
Clytie, turning to him, rewarded him with a smile,
and, leaning a little, said under her breath :
"I'm so glad that you find me more worth your
while."
SIDE LIGHTS 199
He could but stare at her. Mrs. Page was quick
enough to see, if not hear, what had happened; she
turned vivaciously to the gentleman in evening dress.
Granthope exclaimed, "You knew that?"
"Ah, it is only with you that I can do it." She
seemed to be more confused at the incident than he.
"I know so much more than I ever dare speak of,"
she added.
This did not weaken her spell.
She continued : "Do you remember what you said,
when you read my palm, about my being willing to
make an exaggerated confession of motives, rather
than seem to be hypocritical, or unable to see my own
faults?"
He did not remember, but he dared not say so.
He waited a fraction of a second too long before he
said:
"Certainly I remember."
She looked hard at him and mentally he cowered
under her clear gaze. Then her brows drew slightly
together with a puzzled expression, as if she wondered
why he should take the trouble to lie about so small
a matter. But this passed, and she did not arraign his
sincerity.
"Well, what I want you to know now is that I
don't consider myself any better than she is. Do you
know what I mean ? I don't condemn her. Oh, dear,
I'm so inarticulate ! I hope you understand !"
"I think I do," he answered, but he could not help
speculating as to the definiteness of her perception.
She answered his question unasked.
"I get things only vaguely that's one reason why
I could not judge a person upon the evidence of my
200 THE HEART LINE
intuition I couldn't tell you, for instance, exactly
what happened between you two just now. I know
only that I was disturbed, and that you, somehow,
reassured me."
"But you were more precise about what happened
up-stairs." He was still at a loss to fix her limitations.
"Oh, there I pieced it out a little. Shall I confess?
I knew you well enough to fill in the picture. I know
something of her, too."
"Witch!"
"You're a wizard to make me confess !" she replied,
brightly shining on him. "I don't often speak. It's
usually very disagreeable to know so much of people
indeed, I often combat it and refuse to see. But
with you it's different."
"It's not disagreeable?"
"No, it is disagreeable usually. It makes me feel
priggish to mention it, too, but, with you, the impulse
to speak is as strong as the revelation itself; that's
the strangest part of it."
This confession gave him a new sense of power, for
he saw that, sensitive as was her intuition, he con-
trolled and appropriated it. It had already occurred to
him what splendid use he might make of her, com-
pelling such assistance as she could render. Vistas
of ambition had opened to his fancy. For him, as a
mere adventurer, her clairvoyance might reinforce his
scheming most successfully. With her he could play
his game as with a new queen on the chess-board. But
he saw now how absurd was the possibility of har-
nessing her to such projects. He was, in fact, a little
dazzled by the prospect she suggested. As he corrected
that mistake with a blush for his worldly innocence, he
SIDE LIGHTS 201
saw what the game with her alone could be his game
transferred from the plane of chicanery to the level
of an intimate friendship or even love. He saw how
she would play it, how she would hold his interest,
keeping him intellectually alive with the subtlety of
her character.
So far he had not taken her seriously ; he had
reveled in the possibility of a love affair, but he had
not even contemplated the possibility of a permanent
alliance. As Madam Spoil had said, he had had his
pick of women and each had ended by boring him.
Granthope, besides, with all his delight in strategy,
was modest, and desire for social establishment had not
entered into his plans. He had accepted Clytie as one
of a different world, desirable and even tempting, but
not at all as one who would change either his theory or
his mode of life. But now, with a sudden turn, his
thoughts turned to marriage with her. Madam Spoil's
words leaped to his memory she had said that it was
possible. This idea came as the final explosion of a
long, tumescent agitation. He looked at Clytie with
new eyes. His ambition soared.
The meal went on in a succession of bizarre courses
seaweed soup, shark's fins, duck's eggs, fried goose
and roasted sucking pig, boiled bamboo sprouts to
bird's nests and mysterious dishes with rice gin and
citron wine. The company was rollicking now ; even
the gentleman in black evening dress was laughing,
and, goaded on by the irrepressible Mrs. Page, had
taken a large crown of gold paper, cut into rich pat-
terns and decorated with colored trimmings, from its
place in the center of the table and had set it upon
his bald head. The walls of the dining-room were
202 THE HEART LINE
covered with a row of paper costumes, elaborate robes
used by the Chinese tongs in their triennial festival
of the dead. They were of all colors, decorated with
cut paper or painted in dragon designs with rainbow
borders and gold mons. Mrs. Page tore one from
the wainscot and wrapped it about her partner's
shoulders. Fernigan gibbered a fantastic allegiance
before him; Keith, he of the white nose, called for
a speech. Over all this mirth the clashing cymbals,
the rattling tom-toms and squeaking two-stringed rid-
dles kept up an uncouth accompaniment. Granthope,
so far, had been a quiet observer, but when at Clytie's
request he removed his wig and false mustache, he
was recognized by Frankie Dean, who sat further
up the table.
"Oh, Mr. Granthope," she cried out. "Won't you
please read my hand?"
Every one turned to him. Clytie watched him to
see what he would do. Mrs. Maxwell, at the head of
the table, obviously annoyed at this indelicacy, sought
to rescue him.
"I promised Mr. Granthope that he wouldn't be
asked," she interposed, smiling with difficulty.
"Office hours from ten till four," Fernigan an-
nounced. The guests tittered.
Granthope arose calmly and walked up to the young
lady's side, taking her hand. Then he turned to his
sarcastic tormentor.
"This is one of the rewards of my profession," he
said, smiling graciously. "I assure you I don't often
get a chance to hold such a beautiful hand as this."
Clytie got a glance across to him, and in it he read
her approval. He bent to the girl's palm gravely :
SIDE LIGHTS 203
"I see by your clothes-line," he said, "that you have
much taste and dress well. Your fish-line shows that
you have extraordinary luck in catching anything you
want. There are many victories along your line of
march. There is a pronounced line of beauty here;
in fact, all your lines are cast in pleasant places. You
will have a very good hand at whatever game you
play, and whoever is fortunate enough to marry you
will surely take the palm."
He retired gracefully, followed by laughter and
applause, and was not troubled by more requests.
Clytie whispered to him:
"I think you saved yourself with honor. It was
a test, but I was sure of you!"
Mrs. Maxwell, immensely relieved, almost immedi-
ately gave the signal for the ladies to leave. After
the men had reseated themselves, heavy Chinese pipes
with small bowls were passed about. Most of the
guests tried a few puffs of the mild tobacco, and then
reached for cigarettes or cigars. As the doors to
the drawing-room were shut they drew closer together
and began to talk more freely.
Blanchard Cayley came over and sat down beside
Granthope in Cly tie's empty chair. He, too, had taken
off his wig. His smile was ingratiating, his voice
was suave, as he said:
"I don't want to make you talk shop if you don't
care to, Granthope, but I'd like to know if you ever
heard of reading the character by thumb-prints. I
don't know exactly what you'd call it papilamancy,
perhaps."
"I don't think it has ever been done, but I don't
see why it shouldn't be," said Granthope, amused.
204 THE HEART LINE
"What is necessary to make it a science?"
Granthope, quicker with women than with men,
was at a loss to see what Cayley was driving at, but
he suspected a trap, and foresaw that his science was
to be impugned. He countermined:
"Oh, first of all, a classification and a terminology,"
he suggested. Cayley was caught neatly. He was
more ignorant than he knew.
"Why don't you classify the markings then? I
should think it might be considered a logical develop-
ment of chiromancy."
"One reason is, because they have already been clas-
sified by Galton. I've forgotten most of it, but I
remember some of the primary divisions. Have you
a pencil?"
Cayley unbuttoned and threw open his plum-colored,
long-sleeved 'dun/ disclosing evening dress under-
neath, and produced a pencil which he gave to the
palmist. Granthope smoothed out his paper napkin,
and, as he talked, drew illustrative diagrams upon it.
"You see, the identification of thumb-prints is made
by means of the characteristic involution of the
nucleus and its envelope. One needs only a few
square millimeters of area. There are three primary
nuclei arches, whorls and loops. Each has variously
formed cores. The arch, for instance, may be tented
or forked so. The whorls may be circular or spiral.
The loops may be nascent, invaded or crested, and
may contain either a single or several rods, as they are
called. Let me see your thumb, please. You have a
banded, duplex, spiral whorl. It was there when you
were born, it will be the same in form when you die.
Mine is an invaded loop with three rods."
SIDE LIGHTS 205
He saw by Cayley's face that he had scored. Such
technical detail was, in point of fact, Cayley's penchant,
and he was interested. Granthope proceeded:
"Almost every distinguishing characteristic of the
human body has been used at one time or another
for divination or interpretation, as I suppose you
know."
Cayley saw an opening. "But what do you think
the reading of moles, for instance, amounts to, really ?"
"The reading of them, 'very little, of course. But
the location of them, a good deal."
"Ah," said Cayley, "I thought so. Then you affirm
an esoteric basis with regard to such interpretations?
You think that a mass of absolute knowledge has been
conserved, coming down from no one knows where,
I suppose?"
"There are several ways of looking at it," Grant-
hope answered him. He threw himself back in his
chair and gathered the company in with his eyes.
"One theory, as you know, is that palmistry derives its
authority from the fact that the lines are produced by
the opening and closing of the hand originally, at
least the fundamental markings being inherited, as
are our fundamental mental characteristics and that
such alteration of the tissue is directly affected by the
character. One stamps his own particular way of
doing things upon his palm. Using the right hand
most, more is shown there that is individually charac-
teristic. Of course this theory will not apply to the dis-
tribution of moles upon the body. But it seems to me
that every part of an organic growth must be consistent
with the whole, and with what governs it. Everything
about a person must necessarily be characteristic of the
206 THE HEART LINE
individual. There are really no such things as ac-
cidents, if we except scars. We recognize that in
studying physiognomy, and, to a certain extent, in
phrenology. It is suggested less intelligibly in a per-
son's gait, gesture and pose. Everything that is
distinctive must be significant, if only we have the
power of interpreting it. Of course we have not that
power as yet. Palmistry, being the most obvious and
striking method, has been more fully developed. A
great amount of data has been collected upon the
subject, and every good palmist is continually adding
to that material. But I believe that, to a possible
higher intelligence, any part of a man's body would
reveal his character since every specialized partial
manifestation of himself must be correlated with every
other part and the whole. How else could it be?
Ail infinite experience would draw a man's mental
and physical portrait, for instance, from a single toe,
as it is possible for a scientist to portray a whole ex-
tinct animal from a single bone. I think that there can
be, in short, no possible divergence from type without
a reason for it; and that reason is the same one that
molded his character."
"But that doesn't explain prognostication of the fu-
ture." By this time the animus of Cayley's attack
had died out. He was now impersonally interested.
. "No scientific palmist attempts to give more
than possibilities. He must combine with the
signs in the hands a certain amount of psychology
a knowledge of the tendencies of human nature
in order to predict. But, after all, his diagnosis, when
it is logical, is as accurate as that of the ordinary phy-
sician, and the risk is less serious. How many doctors
SIDE LIGHTS 207
look wise and take serious chances or prescribe bread-
pills? There's guess-work enough in all professions."
By this time the two had been joined by several
others who hung over them in a group, listening. Fer-
nigan interjected:
"That's right! Even Blanchard has to guess what
he's talking about most of the time !"
"And you have to guess whether you're sober or
not!" said slim Keith with the white nose.
"When you talk about the probable tendencies of
human nature, you don't know what you're up
against," said Cayley, retreating. "San Francisco is
a town where people are likely to do anything. There's
no limit, no predicting for them. They were buying
air-ship stock on the street down at Lotta's fountain,
the last thing I heard."
The old gentleman in evening dress, still wearing
his Chinese paper crown, took him up enthusiastically.
"You can be more foolish here without getting into
the insane asylum than any place on earth, but you
have to be a thoroughbred spiritualist before you can
really call yourself bug-house. Look at old man Ben-
nett! You couldn't make anything up he wouldn't
believe !"
"What about him?" said Cayley. "I would like to
have him for my collection of freaks."
"Oh, he was a furniture manufacturer here. I
knew him well, but I forget the details. It was some-
thing fierce though, the way they worked him."
Granthope smiled. "I can tell you something about
Bennett," he offered. "I happened to hear the whole
story nearly at first hand."
"Let's have it," Cayley proposed.
THE HEART LINE
Granthope leaned back in his chair and began, rather
pleased at having an audience.
"Why, he went to investigating spiritualism and fell
into the hands of a man named Harry Wing and a
gang of mediums here. They won Bennett over to a
firm belief, step by step, till he was the dupe of every
ghost that appeared in the materializing circles, which
cost him twenty-five dollars an evening, by the way.
One man that helped Wing out, played spirit, pre-
tended to be his dead son, and used to ask him for
jewelry so that he could dematerialize it, and then
rematerialize it for identification. If Bennett went
down to Los Angeles he'd take the same train and
turn up at a circle there, proving he w r as the same spirit
by the rings that had been given him up here. Well,
Bennett got so strong for it that after a while they
didn't bother with cabinets and dark seances the
players used to walk right in the door. Then they'd
tell him that, as partly materialized spirits, they ought
to have dinner to increase their magnetism, and he'd
send out for chicken and wine. Finally they got him
so they'd point out people on the street and assert that
they were spirits. The prettiest test was when they
materialized Cleopatra. I've never seen the Egyptian
queen, but she certainly wasn't a bit prettier than the
girl who played her part. Bennett, as an extraordinary
test of her strength, was allowed to take her out to the
Cliff House in a hack. The curtains of the carriage
had to be pulled down to keep the daylight from
burning her."
"Oh, Cliff House, what crimes have been committed
in thy name!" Fernigan murmured.
"Next, they made Bennett believe that his influence
SIDE LIGHTS 209
was so valuable in accustoming spirits to earth-con-
ditions, that they were going to reveal a new bible to
him, with all the errors and omissions corrected, and
he would go down to posterity as its author. In
return, he was to help civilize the planet Jupiter. You
see, Jupiter being an exterior planet was behind the
earth in culture. Bennett contributed all sorts of agri-
cultural implements and furniture to be dematerialized
and sent to Jupiter, there to be rematerialized and used
as patterns. Wing even got him to contribute a five
hundred dollar carriage for the same purpose. It
was sold by the gang for seventy-five dollars, and even
when it was shown to Bennett by his friends, who were
trying to save him, he wouldn't believe it was the same
one. They milked him out of every cent at last, and
he died bankrupt."
Granthope had scarcely finished his story when the
drawing-room doors were half opened and Mrs. Page
appeared on the threshold pouting.
"Aren't you ever coming in here?" she exclaimed
petulantly. "You might let us have Mr. Granthope,
at least."
The men rose and sauntered in, one by one.
Granthope had but a moment in which to reflect
upon what he had done, but in that moment he regret-
ted his indiscretion in telling the Bennett story. He
had not been able to resist the opportunity to make
himself interesting and agreeable; now he wondered
what price he would have to pay for it. The next
moment his speculations vanished at the sight of
Clytie.
He went directly to her and sat down. Although
the party was dispersed in little groups, the conversa-
210 THE HEART LINE
tion had become more or less general, and he had no
chance to talk to her alone. He received her smile,
however, and she favored him with as much of her
talk as was possible.
As she sat there, with relaxed grace that was almost
languor, she made the other women in the room look
either negligently lolling or awkwardly conscious. He
noticed how some of them showed the fabled western
influence of environment by the frank abandon of their
pose, how others held themselves rigidly, as if aware
of their own lack, and sought, by stern attention, to
conceal it. Clyde's head was poised proudly, her hands
fell from her slender wrists like drooping flowers.
Her whole body was faultlessly composed, unified
with harmonious lines, as if a masterly portrait were
gently roused into life.
Fernigan now began, upon request, a Chinese par-
ody, accompanied by absurd pantomime. Granthope
could not bear it, and, seeing Clytie still busy with her
admirers, slipped out of the room and went up to the
library.
Mr. Maxwell's books were rare and carefully select-
ed, a treat for such an amateur as Granthope. He
went from case to case fingering the volumes, opening
and glancing through one after another. The pursuit
kept him longer than he had intended.
There was a smaller room off the library, used as
a study and shut off by a portiere. Granthope, stand-
ing near the entrance, suddenly heard the sound of
swishing skirts and footsteps, then the subdued, modu-
lated voices of two women. With no intention at first
of eavesdropping, he kept on with his perusal of the
book in his hand. The first part of the conversation he
SIDE LIGHTS 211
remembered rather than listened to, but it soon at-
tracted his alert attention.
"I think it's a rather extraordinary thing, Mrs.
Maxwell's asking him, though, don't you?" one of
the ladies said.
The reply was in a gentle and more sympathetic
voice: "Oh, she wanted an attraction, I suppose, and
he's really very good-looking, you know."
"He's handsome enough, but he's too much like a
matinee hero for me ; my dear, he's absolutely impos-
sible, really! He's not the sort of person one cares
to meet more than once. He's beyond the pale."
"It's rather cruel to invite him just to show him
off, I think. In a way, he had to accept."
"Oh, I expect he's only too glad to come."
"I wonder how he feels ! Do you suppose he has
any idea that he's out of his element? It must be
strange to be willing to accept an invitation when you
know you are, after all, only a sort of freak."
"Don't worry. A charlatan has to have a pretty
thick skin no doubt he'll make use of all of us, and
brag about his acquaintance. That's his business, you
know ; he has to advertise himself."
"I know ; but every man has his own sense of dig-
nity, and it must be somewhat mortifying no self-
respecting coal-heaver would accept such an invitation
his pride would keep him from it."
"I don't see how a man like that can have much
pride. A coal-heaver has, after all, a dignified way of
earning his living. This man hasn't. His trade can't
permit him to be self-respecting. It's more undignified
than any honest labor would be. Why, he lives by
trickery and flattery, and now he's beginning to toady,
212 THE HEART LINE
too. Just look at the way he is after Clytie Payson,
already."
"Yes, I can't see why she permits it, but she seems
to be positively fascinated by him. Isn't it strange
how a fine girl like that is usually the most easily
deceived? Did you see the way she was looking at
him at supper? That told the story. Of course, you'd
expect it of Mrs. Page, but not of Cly."
"Don't you believe it! Cly's no- fool she sees
through him. He's interesting, you can't deny that ;
and you know that a clever man can get about any-
thing he wants in this town. There are too few of
them to go round, and so they're all spoiled. But
Cly's only playing him."
"You don't think she's deliberately fooling him, do
you ?"
"Nonsense! I know Cly as well as you do. She
would always play fair enough, of course, but that
doesn't prevent her wanting to study a new specimen,
especially one as attractive as Granthope. But it won't
last long. Cly's too honest. It's likely that he'll go
too far and take advantage of her then she'll call him
down and dismiss him."
"Do you think he imagines that he could really
began the other.
"Oh, he's no fool either! He knows perfectly well
where he belongs, but he's working his chances while
they last."
Granthope had been deliberately listening and, as
the last words came to his ears, his emotion burst into
flame. This, then, was how he was regarded by the
new circle into which he had been admitted. He was a
curiosity, handsome, but beyond the pale even Clytie,
SIDE LIGHTS 213
it was probable, was willing to amuse herself with
him. The illumination it gave him as to his status was
vivid, its radiance scorched him.
He had never caught this point of view before. He
had been too interested in his emergence from obscuri-
ty, he had even congratulated himself upon his increas-
ing success. Now he saw that the further he went
on that road the further away from Clytie he would
be he saw the chasm that separated them. His undig-
nified profession appeared to him for the first time in
its true aspect. The humiliation and mortification of
that revelation was sickening. He had not believed
that it was possible for him to suffer over anything so
keenly. The insults he had received, produced, after
a poignant moment of despair, an energetic reaction.
His fighting instinct was awakened. He had achieved
a certain control of himself, he had a social poise and
assurance that kindled his mind at the prospect of
an encounter.
He drew aside the portiere and walked boldly into
the little room.
Two ladies were sitting there, picturesque in their
costumes. Their rainbow-hued garments showed a
bizarre blotch of color in the quiet monochrome of the
place. Their faces were whitened with powder, their
eyebrows blackened to the willow-curve, their lips
lined with red they looked, in the half-light, like
fantastic, exotic Pierrettes. As they caught sight of
him they started up with surprise, almost with fear.
Granthope bowed with a quiet smile, perfectly master
of himself.
"I want to apologize for having overheard your
conversation," he said. "I must confess that I was
2i 4 THE HEART LINE
eavesdropping. My business is, you know, to read
character for others, and I don't often have a chance
to hear my own so well described. I'm much obliged
to you, I'm sure."
He had the whip-hand now. There was nothing for
them to say; they said nothing, staring at him, their
lips parted.
He walked through to the door of the hall and there
paused like an actor making his exit from the stage.
A cynical smile still floated on his lips. He had never
looked more handsome, with his black hair, his clean-
cut head, and his fine, deep eyes that looked them
over calmly, without haste. His costume became him
and he wore it well. Now, as he raised his hand, the
long sleeve of his olive green coat fell a little away
from his fingers. Below, his lavender trousers
gleamed softly. It was a queer draping for his serious
pose. It was a strangely figured pair that he addressed
as they sat, embarrassed, immovable in their splendid
silken garments.
He added more gently, with no trace of sarcasm
in his smooth voice : "I would like to tell you, if it is
any satisfaction for you to know, that your operation
has been successful. It was rather painful, without
the anesthetic of kindness, but I shall recover. I think
I may even be better for it, perhaps restored to health
who knows!" Then his smile became enigmatic;
he left them and went down the stairs.
He made his way to Clyde with a new assurance;
inexplicably to him, some innate power, long in re-
serve, had risen to meet the emergency. He was
exhilarated, as with a victory. She looked up at him
puzzled.
SIDE LIGHTS 215
"I wonder if you know what has happened this
time?" he said.
"Oh, if I only did! Something has you have
changed, somehow."
"Is it an improvement?"
"You know, it is my theory that you're going to
She gave up her explanation her lips quivered.
"Well, yes ! You have been embarrassed ?"
"I suppose it was good for my vanity."
"Then you have heard something unpleasant."
"The truth often is."
"Was it true?"
He laughed it off. "It was nothing I mightn't have
known."
"Then it is for you to make it false, isn't it?"
"If I can."
"I think there is nothing you couldn't do if you
tried."
"There is nothing I couldn't do if I had your help,"
he answered.
For answer, she took the little gold heart-shaped
bottle from its mesh-work and handed it to him.
"You must learn but perhaps this may help you.
Will you keep it?"
He took it and thanked her with his eyes. Then,
their dialogue being interrupted, he moved off. He
wandered about, speaking to one and another for a
few moments, gradually drifting toward the hall.
As he stood just outside the reception-room he
glanced up the broad stairs carelessly, thinking of the
two ladies to whom he had spoken. He smiled to him-
self, wondering if they had yet come down. While he
was watching, he saw a woman at the top of the
THE HEART LINE
stairs, looking over the rail. A second glance showed
her to be a servant. She descended slowly, and, in a
moment, beckoned stealthily. He paid no attention.
She came nearer, and, finally, seeing no one with
him, called out to him in a whisper. It was Lucie,
Mrs. Maxwell's maid. The moment Granthope recog-
nized her, he walked into the parlors again, as if he
had not noticed her.
Soon after that he paid his farewell amenities to
his hostess and went up to where he had left his hat
and coat. Lucie was in the upper hall waiting for
him.
"Mr. Granthope," she whispered, "may I speak to
you a moment? I have something."
"Not now," he said, passing on.
She plucked at his sleeve. "I've got a great story,"
she insisted.
He shook his head.
"Shall I come down to your office?"
"Be quiet!" he said under his breath, and went
in for his things.
She was waiting for him when he emerged.
"I'll come down as soon as I can get off," she con-
tinued.
He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her,
and went down-stairs, and out.
CHAPTER VII
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB
Madam Spoil was sitting in her study on Eddy
Street, awaiting her victim, when Francis Granthope,
immaculate as usual, appeared in her doorway, having
been admitted by Spoil. She was in front of the
glass, pinning on a lace collar.
"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her
shoulder, "you're a sight for sore eyes! We don't
see much of you, nowadays."
"I've been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting
down and looking about with an expression of ill-
concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded room seemed
more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the
Maxwells'. Madam Spoil seemed more gross. Every-
thing that had been familiar to him had somehow
changed. He seemed to have a different angle of vis-
ion. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of
dust.
"You ain't a-going to forget your old friends, now
you've got in with the four hundred, are you, Frank?"
she said earnestly.
He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette.
As he struck the match he answered:
"Not if they don't meddle in my affairs." He gazed
at her coolly as he inhaled a puff of smoke and sent
a ring across the room.
Madam Spoil's face grew stern. "That's no way to
talk, Frank. I've been the same as a mother to
217
THE HEART LINE
you, in times past, ever since you went into business,'
in fact. It looks like you was getting too good for us."
"Why, what's the matter now ?"
"Oh, you're so stand-off, nowadays."
He laughed uneasily. "You always said I was
spoiled."
"Well, who's spoiling you now? Miss Payson?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, well enough! Lord, why don't you
come out with it! It's all in the family, ain't it?
You've got her on the string, all right, ain't you ?"
"I have not." The frown grew deeper in his fore-
head.
"H'm!" She drew a long breath. "Well, that
means we'll have to begin at the beginning, then, I
expect. I had a sort of an idea that you had got her
going, and wouldn't mind saying so, but if you're
going to go to work and be mysterious, why, I'll have
to talk straight business." She pointed at him with
her pudgy finger. "Now, see here, she's been writing
to you, anyways. You can't deny that"
"What makes you think so?"
"I don't think anything at all about it; I know.
What d'you take me for? A Portugee cook? It's my
business to know all about the Paysons, that's all.
Very good."
Granthope looked more concerned, and eyed her sus-
piciously.
"There's only one way for you to have found that
out," he said. "And that reminds me. I want to
get those notes I gave you about her when you were
up at my place. I didn't keep a copy, and I've forgot-
ten some of the details that I need."
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 219
Madam Spoil raised her eyebrows, also her shoul-
ders, and made an inarticulate noise in her throat.
"Funny you need them so bad all of a sudden. Not
that they done us much good we've found out a lot
for ourselves ; about all we need for the present"
"Well, I haven't interfered with your game, and
I don't see why you should interfere with mine. Only,
I'd like those memoranda back, please." His tone was
almost peremptory.
"I'm sorry, but I ain't got 'em/'
"Where are they?"
"Why, I give 'em to Vixley."
Granthope saw that it was no use to go further.
He had, in spite of his precautions, already aroused
her suspicions, and so he pretended to consider the
matter of no moment. Madam Spoil, however, was
now thoroughly aroused.
"What I want to know, Frank, is whether you're
with us or not."
"I thought the understanding was that we were to
work separately,"
"Separately and together. Mutual exchange and
actual profit, for each and for all. We got a mighty
good thing in Payson, me and Vixley have, and we
propose to work it for all it's worth. It'll be for your
interest to come in and help us out. True, you have
done something, but now you're lallagagging, so to
speak, when you might be making a big haul. Pay-
son's easy, and we can steer the girl your way, through
him. He'll believe anything. All we got to do is
to say my guides want him to have yon for a son-in-
law, and the trick is as good as turned. I agree to
get him started this afternoon, He's a ten-to-one shot,
220 THE HEART LINE
I can see that with half an eye. It'll only be up to
you to make good with the girl, and Lord knows that'll
be easy for you. Now is that straight enough for
you?"
Granthope rose and began to pace the floor nerv-
ously. He paused to straighten some magazines upon
the table, he adjusted a photograph upon the wall, he
moved back a chair ; then he turned to her and said :
"I don't see how there's anything in this for me.
I'm through with all that sort of thing, and I think,
on the whole, I'll stay out. I'm going in for straight
palmistry and well, another kind of game altogether.
You wouldn't understand it even if I explained. I've
got a good start, now, and I don't want to queer
myself."
Madam Spoil made a theatrical gesture of surprise.
"Lord, Frank, who would have thought of you doing
the Sunday-school superintendent act on me ! A body
would think you'd never faked in your life ! My Lord,
I'm trying to lead you astray, am I ?"
"That's all right. I don't pretend to be very virtu-
ous, but some of this is getting a little raw for me."
Madam Spoil opened her eyes and her mouth.
"What's got into you, anyway?"
"Something's got out, perhaps," he said, frowning.
"At any rate, I don't care to make use of Miss Payson
to help you rob her father."
"Rob her father !" Outraged innocence throbbed in
Madam Spoil's voice. "Lord, Frank, you're plumb
crazy ! Why, he won't spend no money he don't want
to, will he ? He can afford it well enough ! He'll
never miss what we get out of him. You might think
I was going to pick his pockets, the way you talk."
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 221
She took him by the arm. "See here! You ain't
really stuck on that Payson girl, are you? Why, if
I didn't know you so well, I'd be almost ready to sus-
pect you of it ! But land, you've had women running
after you ever since you went into business! But I
notice you don't often stay away from the office more'n
two days running."
"I don't know that my private affairs are any of
your business," he said curtly. He was rather glad,
now, of the chance for an outright quarrel.
But she would not let it come to that, and continued
in a wheedling tone: "Well, this happens to be my
business, and I speak to you as a friend, Frank, for
your own good as well as mine. You can take it or
leave it, of course; I ain't a-going to try and put
coercion on to you, and there's time enough to decide
when we get Payson wired up. Then I'll talk to you
just once more. You just think it over a while, and
don't do nothing rash."
Granthope arose to leave. He was for a more
romantic game, himself. The vulgarity here offended
him esthetically rather than ethically, and yet he
winced at the insinuations Madam Spoil had made.
"I think I can go it alone," he said ; "as for rash-
ness, I won't promise."
He had gone but a few minutes when Professor
Vixley entered and shook a long lean claw with
Madam Spoil, took off his coat and sat down. "Well,"
he said affably, "how're they coming, Gert?"
"Oh, so-so; Frank Granthope's just been here."
"Is that so! Did you get anything out of him?"
"No. And he wants his Payson notes back again.
What d'you think of that !"
THE HEART LINE
Vixley crossed his legs, and whistled a low, aston-
ished note. "We're goin' to have trouble with Frank,
I expect."
Madam Spoil's smooth forehead wrinkled. "Frank's
a fool ! He's leary of us, and I believe he'll throw us
down if we don't look out."
"Most time to put the screws on, ain't it?"
"I don't know; we'll see. We can go it alone for
a while* Wait till we really need him and I'll guaran-
tee to make him mind. He's got the society bug so
bad I couldn't do anything with him."
"The more he gets into society the more use he is
to us," said Vixley. "He's a pretty smooth article."
"Do you know, I have an idea he's getting stuck on
that Payson girl."
Vixley cackled.
"You never can tell," said Madam Spoil. "I believe
Frank's got good blood in him. Sooner or later it's
bound to come out."
"Well, if he's after the girl, it'll be easier for us to
bring him around. He won't care to be gave away."
"That's right, and we'll use it. I can see that girl's
face when she hears about him crawling through the
panel at Harry Wing's to play spook for Bennett."
"Not to speak of Fancy," Vixley added, grinning.
To them, Ringa entered. He slunk into a chair
beside Vixley, smoothed down his tow hair, stroked
his bristling mustache, and allowed his weak gray eyes
to drift about the room.
"Well ?" Madam Spoil queried, giving him a glance
over her fat shoulder.
"I found him all right, and I've got something. I
guess it's worth a dollar, Madam Spoil."
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 223
"Let's hear it, first," said Vixley.
"I done the insurance agent act, and I jollied him
good." Ringa grinned, showing a hole in his mouth
where two front teeth should have been.
"You jollied him," Vixley showed his yellow teeth.
"Lord, you don't look it!"
"I did though," the pale youth protested. "I conned
him for near an hour."
"You're sure he didn't get on to you ?" Madam Spoil
asked, regarding her head sidewise in the glass and
patting the blue bow on her throat.
"Sure! I was a dead ringer for the real-thing
agent, and I had the books to show for it. I worked
him for an insurance policy."
"Well? What did he say?" Madam Spoil turned
on him like a mighty gun.
"He was caught between two trains once on the
Oakland Mole, and I guess he was squeezed pretty bad.
He said it was a close call."
"That's all right," said Vixley; "we can trim that
up in good shape, can't we, Gert?"
"It'll do for a starter. Give him a dollar."
"Anything more to-day?" Ringa asked, rising
slowly.
"No; I'll let you know if I want you," said the
Madam.
Ringa slouched out.
"I'd let that cool off a while till he's forgotten it,"
Vixley suggested.
"I'll make him forget it, all right," Madam Spoil
returned. "That's my business. You do your part as
well as I do mine and you'll be all right."
"It's only this first part that makes me nervous,"
224 THE HEART LINE
"Oh, he ain't going to catch me in a trap. I got
sense enough to put a mouse in first to try it."
She stood in front of the mirror in the folding-bed,
arranging her hair, which had been wet and still
glistened with moisture, holding her comb, meanwhile,
in her mouth. Professor Vixley tilted back in his
plush chair, his head resting against the grease-spot
on the wall-paper which indicated his habitual pose.
"Now don't you go too fast," he said, pulling out a
square of chewing-tobacco and biting off a corner.
"This here is a-goin' to be a delicate operation. Pay-
son ain't so easy as Bennett was. Bennett would
believe that cows was cucumbers, if we told him so,
but this chap is too much on the skeptic. We got to
go slow."
"You leave me alone for that" Madam Spoil replied
easily. "I guess I know how to jolly a good thing
along. Has he got the money? That's all I want to
know about him."
"He's got money all right. That's a cinch. I'm
not in this thing for my health. What's more, he's
got the writin' bug, and I can see a good graft in that."
"Well, I'll give it a try."
"No, you better keep your hands off that subject,
Gertie. I can work that game better'n you. I got it
all framed up how I can string him good. I'm goin'
to make that a truly elegant work of art. All you got
to do is to get him goin', and then steer him up against
me."
The door-bell rang noisily up-stairs and Mr. Spoil's
footsteps were heard going to answer the summons.
"I guess that's my cue," said Madam Spoil, smiling
affably. "I wish I had more magnetism to-day." She
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 225
shook her hands and snapped her fingers. "I can't
stand so much of this as I used to. I can remember
when I could get a name every time without fishing
for it. But what I've lost in one way I have learned
in another. I'm going to give him a run for his
money, and don't you forget it."
Vixley smiled and rubbed his hands. "Go in and
win., Gert. I guess I'll take a nap here on the lounge
while I'm waitin' for you, and see if the Doc doesn't
come in."
"All right," she replied; then marched up-stairs
and went into action.
The upper parlor, where she received her patrons
for private sittings, was a large room separated from
the back part of the house by black walnut double
doors. Upon the high-studded walls were draperies
of striped oriental stuffs, caught up with tacks and
enlivened by colored casts of turbaned Turks' heads,
most of which were chipped on cheek and on chin,
showing irregular patches of white plaster. Upon the
mantel chaos reigned, embodied in a mass of minor
decorations of all sorts, such as are affected by those
who deem that space is only something to be as closely
filled as possible. The furniture was cheaply elaborate
and formally arranged, running chiefly to purple
stamped plush and heavy woolen fringe. The silk
curtains in the windows were severely arranged in
multitudinous little pleats, fan shaped, drawn in with
a pink ribbon at the center. There was scarcely a
thing in the room, from the fret-sawed walnut what-
not in the corner to the painted tapestry Romeo upon
the double doors, that an artist would not writhe at
and turn backward. A little ineffective bamboo table
226 THE HEART LINE
in the center was made a feature of the place, but
supported its function with triviality.
Mr. Pay son had just entered, cold and blue from
the harsh air outside. He bowed to the seeress.
She began with the weather, referring to it in
obvious commonplaces, eliciting his condemnation of
the temperature. She offered to light the gas-log and
succeeded, during the conversational skirmish, in draw-
ing from him the fact that he suffered from rheu-
matism, especially when the wind was north.
Madam Spoil allowed the ghost of a smile to haunt
her face for a brief moment. "Lucky you ain't got
my weight, it gets to you something terrible when
you're fat. I ain't quite so slim as I used to be." She
looked up from the grate coquettishly, marking the
effect of her words.
"Now let's set down and get ready," she said, going
over to the frail table and pressing her hands to her
forehead. "I ain't in proper condition to-day; I've
been working hard and my magnetism's about wore
out. But I'll see what I can do."
He took a seat opposite her and waited. His atti-
tude was benignly judicial; his eyes were fixed upon
her, through his gold-bowed spectacles.
"Funny thing how different people are," she began.
"Now, I get your condition right off. You ain't at
all like the rest of the folks that come here. I get
a condition of study, like. I see what you might call
books around you everywhere not account-books,
but more on the literary. Books and sheep, you under-
stand. Not live ones! I would say they was more
on the dead sheep. Flat ones, too, with hair, like
queer, ain't it? Sounds like nonsense I suppose, but
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 227
that's just what I get. They must be some mistake
somehow." She drew her hand across her forehead
and snapped the electricity off her finger-tips. Then
she rubbed her hands and twisted her mouth. "Do
you know what I mean?"
"Why, it might be wool perhaps ; I have something
to do with wool," he offered.
"Now ain't that strange ? It is wool, as sure's you're
born ! I can see what you might call skins and bales
of wool. And I get a condition of business, too but
not what you might call a retail business. Seems like
it was more on the wholesale."
"Yes, that's right," he assented, nodding.
"What did I tell you !" she exclaimed. "I do believe
I may get something after all, though very often the
first time ain't what you might call a success, and
sitters are liable to get discouraged. I can tell you
only just what my guides give me, you know, and
sometimes Luella is pernickerty. She's my chief con-
trol. You know how it is yourself, for you'll be a
man that knows women right down to the ground,
and you've always been a favorite with the ladies, too."
"Oh, I never knew many women," he said modestly.
"It ain't the number I'm speaking of. It's the hold
you had over 'em, specially when you was a young
man. They was women who would do anything you
asked them and be glad of the chance ; now, wasn't
they ? Did you ever know of a party, what you might
call a young woman, though not so very young, with
the initial C?" She mumbled the letter so that it was
not quite distinguishable.
"G?" he said. "Why, yes! was that the first name
or the last?"
228 THE HEART LINE
"It seems like it was the first name, the way I get
it would it be Grace?"
This was, of course, a random "fishing test," and
she got a bite.
"My wife's name was Grace."
She hooked the fact, noticing the tense, and let her
line play out to distract his attention temporarily.
"It don't seem quite like your wife. Seems like it
was another woman who you was fond of. Maybe it
was meant for the last name. Sometimes my control
does get things awfully mixed. Or, it might be a
middle initial. You wait a minute and maybe I'll
get it stronger."
"Oh, if it was the last name, I think I recognize it."
She had another line out and another bite, now, and
played to land both, coaxing the truth gently from him.
"Yes, it's a last name, and she was terrible fond of
you. She was in love with you for some time, you
understand? And there was some trouble between
you."
"There was, indeed!" Mr. Payson shook his head
solemnly.
The hint now made sure of, she heightened it to
make him forget that he himself had given the clue.
"I get a feeling of worry, and what you might call a
misunderstanding. You didn't quite get along with
each other and it made a good deal of trouble for you.
You was what I might call put out, you understand?
She's in the spirit now, ain't she?"
"Yes ; she died a good many years ago."
Madam Spoil returned to her first fish and began to
reel in. "Your wife's passed out, too, and Luella tells
me she's here now. She says Grace was worried, too.
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 229
But she's happy now and wants you to be. You was
a young man then, and yet you have never got over it.
You wasn't rightly understood, was you?"
Mr. Payson shook his head again. He was listening
attentively.
"But it wan't your fault, do you understand? It
was something that couldn't be helped. And some-
times when you think of this other lady you say to
yourself, 'If she only knew ! If she only knew !' ''
"Yes, I wish she did. It really wasn't my fault."
Madam Spoil cast more bait into the pool.
"Now, would her given name be Mary, or something
like that?"
"No it was an uncommon name."
The medium persisted stubbornly.
"That's queer. I get the name of Mary very plain."
"My mother's name was Mary; perhaps you mean
her?"
"It might be your mother, and yet it seems like it
was a younger woman. Now, this lady I spoke of had
dark hair, didn't she? or you might call it medium
sort of half-way between light and dark."
"No ; she had white hair."
Another fish was on the hook. Madam Spoil had got
what she wanted. This admission of Mr. Payson's,
coupled with the fact Granthope had discovered, that
Clytie had visited the crazy woman, identified the old
man's first love, she thought, effectually. She kept this
for subsequent use, however. It would not do, as
Vixley had said, to go too fast.
"Then this Mary must be some one else," she said.
"You may not recognize her now, but you probably
will. I can't do your thinking for you, you know. It
230 THE HEART LINE
may possibly be that you'll meet her some day; at
any rate, my guides tell me you must be careful and
don't sign no papers for Mary. I don't know whether
she's in the spirit or not. You may understand it and
you may not. All I can do is to give you what I get."
Madam Spoil now became absorbed in a sort of
reverie. When at last she emerged it was with this:
"I see your mother and your wife now, and I get
the words, 'It's a pity Oliver couldn't marry her/ I
don't know what they mean at all."
"I understand. I was intending to marry another
woman, the one you spoke of just now, but some-
thing prevented."
"That must be it. My guide tells me that something
dreadful happened, and it was what you might call
hushed up and you separated from her."
"It was not my fault."
"I get a little child, too" Mr. Payson grew still
more absorbed. The medium noticed his instant
reaction in eyes, mouth and hands. On the strength
of that evidence, she took the risk of saying:
"The child was the lady's with the white hair."
"What about it?" demanded Mr. Payson.
"I see the child standing by a lady who grew gray
very young, you understand. And now they're both
gone. Was you ever interested in Sacramento or
somewhere east of here?"
"Stockton?" he asked. "I lived there for a while."
"That's it. I see a river, and steamboats coming in,
and there's the child again."
"A boy or a girl?"
She hesitated for a moment to dart a glance at him
as swift as an arrow. Then she risked it. "A girl."
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 231
He drew a long breath. "I don't quite understand."
"It certainly is a little girl, and she's with the lady
with the gray hair. But wait a minute. Now I get a
little boy, and he's crying."
"Where is he?" came eagerly from Payson's lips.
"He's on this side. He's alive. I'll ask my guide."
She plunged into another stupor, then shook herself,
rubbed her forehead, wrung her hands.
"I can't get it quite strong enough to-day, but I'll
find out later. He seems to be mixed up with you,
some way, not in what you might call business, but
more personally. You're worried about him."
Mr. Payson, with a shrug of his shoulders, appeared
to disclaim this.
"Yes, you are! You may not realize it, but you
are. The time will come when you understand what
I mean. Now you're too much interested in other
things. Your mind is way off toward New York,
like, or in that direction."
He looked puzzled.
"Maybe it ain't as far as New York, but it's some-
where around there, and I see books and printing
presses. Do you have anything to do with printing?"
This he also disclaimed.
"Funny !" she persisted. "I get you by a printing-
press looking at a book and then I see you at a table
writing."
"I have done some writing, but it has never been
printed."
"Well, it will be ! My guide tells me that you have
a great talent for literary writing, and it could be
developed to a great success.
"Now," she added, "you let me hold your hands a
232 THE HEART LINE
while till I get the magnetism stronger. Just hold
them firm that's right. Lord, you needn't squeeze
them quite so hard!" She beamed upon him with
obvious coquetry. "Now I'm going into a trance. I
don't know whether Luella will come, or maybe little
Eva. Eva's the cunningest little tot and as bright as
a dollar. She's awful cute. You mustn't mind any-
thing she says or does, though. Sometimes, I admit,
she mortifies me, when sitters tell me what she's been
up to. I've known her to sit on men's laps and kiss
'em and hug 'em, like she was their own daughter,
but Lord, she don't know any better. She's innocent
as a baby."
His face grew harder as she said this, but she
proceeded, nevertheless, with her experiment, closing
her eyes and sitting for a while in silence. Then her
muscles twitched violently ; she squirmed and wrig-
gled her shoulders. Finally she spoke, in a high,
squeaky falsetto, a fair ventriloquistic imitation of a
child's voice.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Payson, I'm little Eva! I
brought you some flowers, but you can't see 'em,
'cause they're spirit flowers. You don't look very
well. Ain't you feelin' well to-day? I'm always well
here, and it's lovely on this side."
He made no response. Madam Spoil's soft hand,
obviously controlled by her spirit guide, moved up
Mr. Payson's arm and patted his cheek. He drew
back suddenly.
"My!" little Eva exclaimed. "You frightened me!
What a funny man you are ! Won't you just let me
smoove your hair, once? I'd love to. Oh, I think
you're horrid! I'm just doin' to slap your face
there!" Which she did quite briskly.
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 233
Mr. Payson loosened his hold with some annoyance.
"Well, I ain't doin' to stay if you don't love me,"
the shrill voice went on. "I don't like men who don't
love me. Good-by, old man, I'm doin'."
There was another wriggle on the part of the
medium, after which a lower-toned voice said:
"How do you do ! I'm Luella."
He watched the medium's blank, expressionless face
as she spoke.
"Say, you ain't well, I can see that. Haven't you
got a pain in your leg? Excuse me saying it, but I
can feel it right there."
She touched him gently on the thigh.
"Oh, that's only a touch of rheumatism," he replied.
"No, it ain't," she said, "it's more serious than that.
It's chronic, and it's growing worse. Sometimes it's
so painful that you almost die of it, isn't it? I know
where you got it; it come of an accident. I can see
you in a big crowded house, like, and there's railroad
trains coming and going, and you're crowded and
jammed. You got internal injuries and a complica-
tion. You didn't realize it at the time, but it's grow-
ing worse every day. If you don't look out you'll
pass out through it, but if you went right to work, you
could be cured of it, before it gets too bad."
"What could I do about it?" he asked. "The doc-
tors don't help me much."
"Of course they don't. You haven't been to the
right ones. I was an Indian doctor, and I can see
just what's the matter with you. You need a certain
kind of herb I used to use when I was on the flesh-
plane in Idaho."
"Can't you help me, then ?"
"Oh, I've got to go now, they're calling to me. So
234 THE HEART LINE
good-by." Another wriggle and Madam Spoil was
herself again.
"Well, what did you get?" she asked when she
recovered.
"Why, don't you know?"
T 'No more'n a babe unborn," she said. "I was in a
dead trance, and I never remember anything that hap-
pens. I hope little Eva didn't tease you any."
"Who is the other one Luella?"
"Why, she's an Indian princess that passed out
about ten years back. She's got a great gift of diag-
nosing cases. She's helped my sitters a good deal."
"She told me something about my trouble."
"You mean about the gray-haired lady or the child?"
"Oh, no, about my leg!"
"Did she, now ? Well, what did I tell you ! Seems
to me you do look peaked and pale, like you was
enjoying poor health. I noticed it when you first
come in. I don't believe your blood's good. Luella
don't prescribe ordinarily, but she can diagnose cases
something wonderful. If I should tell you how many
doctors in this town send their patients to me to be
diagnosed before they dare to treat them themselves,
you'd be surprised. Why, only the other day a lady
come in here that was give up by four doctors for
cancer, and Luella found it was only a boil in her
kidney. She went to a magnetic healer and was cured
in a week. Now she's doing her own work and
taking care of her babies, keeping boarders and plans
to go camping this very month."
"Who was the doctor?" Mr. Payson asked, much
impressed.
"Doctor Masterson. He's up on Market Street
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 235
somewhere. Perhaps I've got a card of his around.
I'll see if I can find it."
She walked over to the mantel and fussed among
its dusty ornaments, saying, with apparent concern, as
she rummaged:
"I don't know as I ought to send you to Doctor
Masterson, after all. You see, he ain't a man I like
very much, and few do, I find. He don't stand very
well with the Spiritual Society, nor with anybody
else that I know of. He ain't quite on the square,
do you understand what I mean? To be perfectly
frank, I think he's a rascal. He has a bad reputation
as a man, but all the same, he's a good medium, no-
body denies that, and he does accomplish some mar-
velous cures! If Luella said your complaint was
serious, she knows, and it looks to me like you must
go to Doctor Masterson or die of it, for if he can't
cure you, nobody can. He's certainly a marvelous
healer."
She found the card at last, and brought it over to
Mr. Payson.
"Here it is, but you better not tell him I give it
to you, for we ain't on very good terms, and I wouldn't
want him to know that I was sending him business."
As Mr. Payson rose to go, the medium stopped him
with a gesture.
"Wait a minute," she said, passing her hand across
her forehead. "Grace is here again and she says : 'Tell
him that we're doing all we can on the spirit plane
to help him and we want him to cheer up, for con-
ditions are going to be more favorable in a little while,
say, by the end of September.' '''
She paused a moment and then added :
236 THE HEART LINE
"Who's Clytie? Would that be the gray-haired
lady?"
"What about Clytie?" He was instantly aroused.
"It don't seem to me like she's in the spirit, exactly.
She's on the material plane. Let's see if I can get
it more definite. Oh, Grace says she's your daughter."
"That's true."
"What do you think of that? I get it very plain
now. Grace says she's watching over Clytie and will
help her all she can."
"Can't she tell me anything more ?"
The medium became normal. "No, I guess that's
about all I can do for you to-day. I think you got
some good tests, specially when you consider it was
the first time. When you come again I expect we
can do better, and I'm sure we can find that little boy
you was interested in."
Mr. Payson rose and stood before her, sedate, dig-
nified, and said, in his impressive platform-manner:
"I don't mind saying that I consider this very
remarkable, Madam Spoil, very remarkable. I shall
certainly call again sometime next week. I am much
interested. Now, what is the charge, please?"
"Oh, we'll only call this three dollars. My price
is generally five, but I'm sort of interested in your
case and I want you to be perfectly satisfied. You
can just ring me up any time and make an appoint-
ment with me."
She bowed him out with a calm, pleasant smile.
Down-stairs, Professor Vixley was awaiting her.
With him was a shrewd-eyed, bald-headed, old man,
with iron spectacles, his forehead wrinkled in hori-
zontal lines, as if it had been scratched with a sharp
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 237
comb. He had a three days' growth of red beard on
his chin and cheeks, and his teeth, showing in a rift
between narrow, bloodless lips, were almost black. He
wore a greasy, plaid waistcoat, a celluloid collar much
in need of the laundry and a ready-made butterfly
bow.
"Why, how d'you do, Doctor Masterson?" said
Madam Spoil. "I was hoping you would get around
to-day, so's we could talk business. I suppose you
put him wise about Payson, Vixley?"
"Certainly," said the Professor. "We're goin' to
share and share alike, and work him together as long
as it lasts. How did you get on with him to-day ?"
"Oh, elegant," was the answer, as she took a seat
on the couch and put up her feet. "I don't believe
we're going to be able to use Flora, though."
Professor Vixley's black eyes glistened and he
grinned sensuously. "Why, couldn't you get a rise out
of him?"
Madam Spoil shook her huge head decidedly. "No,
that sort of game won't work on him. He ain't that
kind. I went as far as I dared and give him a good
chance, but he wouldn't stand for it."
"That's all right, Gert," said Vixley, "I ain't sayin'
but what you're a fine figure of a woman, but he's
sixty and he might prefer somebody younger. You
know how they go. Now, Flora, she's a peach. She'd
catch any man, sure ! She knows the ropes, too, and
she can deliver the goods all right. Look at the way
she worked Bennett. Why, he was dead stuck on her
the first time he seen her. She put it all over Fancy
at the first rattle out of the box."
Again Madam Spoil's crisp, iron-gray curls shook a
238 THE HEART LINE
denial. "See here, Vixley!" she exclaimed, "I ain't
been in this business for eighteen years without get-
ting to know something about men. Bennett was a
very different breed of dog. I can see a hole in a
ladder, and I know what I'm talking about. Pa,yson
ain't up to any sort of fly game. He's straight, and
he's after something different, you take my word for
that. If there was anything in playing him that way,
I'd be the first one to steer him on to Flora Flint,
but he'd smell a mice if she got gay with him and
he'd be so leary that we couldn't do nothing more
with him."
"Well, what did you get, then ?" Vixley asked.
"Did you wire it up for me?" Doctor Masterson
added.
"Oh, I fixed you all right, Doc. He'll show up at
your place, sure enough. That accident tip worked
all right and I got him going pretty good about his
leg. He's got your card and I give you a recom-
mendation, I don't think ! You want to look out about
what you say about me. We ain't on speaking terms,
you understand, and you're a fakir, for fair. You can
get back at me all you want, only don't draw it hard
enough to scare him away."
Doctor Masterson grinned, showing his line of black
fangs, and stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets
placidly. "Oh, I'm used to being knocked, don't mind
me. I'll charge him for it. If I'm going to be the
villain of this here drama, I'll do it up brown."
"Let's see now. I s'pose you can probably hold
him about two months, can't you ?" said Vixley, strok-
ing his pointed black beard arid spitting into the fire-
place.
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 239
"Oh, not so long as that," said Madam Spoil. "We
want to get to work on that book proposition. A
month's plenty long enough. They ain't much money
in it."
"I don't know." Doctor Masterson shook his head.
"I've strung 'em for six months many's the time."
"Women, perhaps, but not men," said the Madam.
"Well, maybe. Men are liable to be in more of
a hurry, of course."
"And women ain't so much, with you, are they?"
The two men laughed cynically.
"Oh, they's more ways to work women than men,
that's all," the doctor replied. "They're more inter-
ested in their symptoms, and they like to talk about
'em. Then, again, they's a more variety of com-
plaints to choose from. I don't say I ain't had some
pretty cases in my day."
"Say!" Madam Spoil interposed. "Who's having
a circle to-night Mayhew?"
"Let's see it's Friday, ain't it? Yes, Mayhew and
Sadie Crum," Vixley replied.
"Well, I s'pose we got to put 'em wise about Pay-
son," said the Madam. "He's got the bug now and
he's pretty sure to make the rounds."
"Can't we keep him dark?" said Vixley. "He's our
game and they might possibly ring him in."
"No, that won't do," she answered emphatically.
"We got to play fair. They've always been square
with us, and they won't catch him, I'll see to that.
Mayhew's straight enough and if Sadie tries to get
gay with us, we can fix her and she knows it. And the
more easy tests he gets, the better for us. It'll keep
him going, and so long as they don't go too far, it'll
240 THE HEART LINE
help us. The sooner he gets so he don't want to
impose test conditions, the better, and they can help
convert him for us. I'll ring up Mayhew now. I've
got a good hunch that Payson will show up there
to-night."
She raised her bulk from the couch and went to the
telephone by the window, calling for Mayhew's num-
ber. When she had got it, she said:
"Is this number thirty-one ? . . . Yes, I'm number
fifteen. . . . Sure ! Oh, pretty good ! . . . I got
a tip for you. I'm playing a six-year-old for the handi-
cap, named Oliver. Carries sixty pounds, colors blue
and gray, ten hands, jockey is Payson. He's a ten-
to-one shot. My wife Grace lived in Stockton. Do
what you can for me, but keep your hands off, do
you understand ? Numbers forty and thirteen are with
me in this deal and we'll fix it for you if you stand
in ... yes, all right! If he shows up let me know
to-morrow morning, sure."
She turned to the two men. "I guess that's all
right now."
"What's all that about Stockton?" Vixley asked.
"He lived there once and there's something more
about his wife or something. Mayhew may fish it out
of him, and if he does I'll put you on."
"I ain't seen him yet," said the doctor, "but I
guess I'll recognize him. Sixty years old, Oliver Pay-
son, one hundred and sixty pounds, blue eyes and gray
hair, six feet tall. Are you sure he's a ten-to-one,
though? That cuts more ice than anything."
"Oh, sure!" said Madam Spoil. "Why, he swal-
lowed the whole dose. He ain't doing no skeptic busi-
ness. He thinks he's an investigator. Wait till you
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 241
hear him talk and you'll understand. Not religious,
you know, but a good old sort. He's caught all right,
and if we jolly him along, we can polish him off good."
"They ought to be some good materializin' graft in
that wife proposition. Grace, was it? We might turn
him over to Flora for that." This from Vixley.
"I've been thinking of that," said Madam Spoil,
"but I don't know whether he'll stand for it or not. It
won't be anywheres near the snap it was with Bennett,
in full daylight, and we'll have to have special players.
I believe I can put my hands on one or two that can
help us out, though. Miss French for one; she's got
four good voices. Then there's a young girl I got
my eye on that'll do anything I say. She's slim and
she can work an eight-inch panel as slick as soap;
and she's got a memory for names and faces that beats
the directory. Besides, I believe she's really psychic.
I've seen her do some wonderful things at mind-read-
ing."
"No, can she really!" said Vixley.
"Oh, I used to be clairaudient myself when I begun,"
said Madam Spoil a little sadly. "I could catch a
name right out of the air, half the time. I've gave
some wonderful tests in my day, but you can't never
depend upon it, and when you work all the week,
sick or well, drunk or sober, you have to put water in
the milk and then it's bound to go from you. You
have to string 'em sooner or later. This girl's a dandy
at it, though, but that'll all wait. There's enough to
do before we get to that part of the game. I expect
I had better go out and see Sadie Cmm myself. I
don't trust her telephone. She's got a ten-party line,
what do you think of that?"
242 THE HEART LINE
"A ten-party line don't do for business/' said Vixley,
"but it's pretty good for rubberin'. I've got some
pretty good dope off my sister's wire. She spends
pretty near all her time on it and it does come in
handy."
"Oh, pshaw!" Madam Spoil looked disgusted. "I
ain't got time to spend that way. What's the use
anyway ? They ain't but one rule necessary to know in
this business, and that is: All men is conceited, and
all women is vain,"
'That's right!" Vixley assented. "Only I got an-
other that works just as good; all women want to
think they are misunderstood, and all men want to
think they understand. Ain't that right, Doc ?"
Masterson grinned. "I guess likely you ought to
know, if anybody does. But I got a little one of my
own framed up, too. How's this? All men want to
be heroes and all women want to be martyrs."
The three laughed cynically together. They had
learned their practical psychology in a thorough school.
Madam Spoil chuckled for some time pleasantly.
"You're the one had ought to write a book, Master-
son. I'll 'bet it would beat out Payson's !"
"Lord!" said Vixley. "If I was to write down the
things that have happened to me, just as they
occurred "
"It wouldn't be fit to print," Madam Spoil added.
Vixley looked flattered.
"How about that pickle-girl?" he asked next.
"What's that ?" said Doctor Masterson.
"Oh, a new graft of Gertie's. Did she come, Gert?"
"I should say she did," Madam Spoil replied. "And
I got her on the string staking out dopes, too. Why,
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 243
she's mixed up with a fellow at the Risdon Iron Works,
and she don't dare to say her soul's her own since
she told me."
"Nothin' like a good scandal to hold on to people
by," Masterson remarked. "Where'd you get her?"
"Oh, she floated in. I give her a reading and found
out she worked in a pickle factory down on Sixth
Street where there are fifty or more girls. Soon as
I found out the handle to work her by, I made her
a proposition to tip off what's doing in her shop. She
makes her little report, steers the girls up here, and
then she comes round and tells me who they are and
all about 'em."
"That's what I call a good wholesale business," said
Vixley enviously. "I wish I could work it as slick as
that. She uses the peek-hole in the screen, I suppose ?"
"Sometimes, and sometimes she sits behind the win-
dow curtain up-stairs."
"You have to give yourself away, that's the only
trouble," said Doctor Masterson.
"Oh, no," Madam Spoil remarked easily, "I just tell
her that I can't always get everybody's magnetism,
though of course I can always get hers. That gives
her an idea she's important, don't you see? Then I
can always lay anything suspicious to the Diakkas.
Evil spirits are a great comfort."
"And anyways, if she should want to tell anything,"
Vixley suggested, "you can everlastingly blacklist her
at the factory with what you know."
"Yes," Madam Spoil assented ; "she's got a record
herself, only she hasn't got sense enough to realize on
it the way I do on mine. Is they any bigger fool than
a girl that's in love?"
244 THE HEART LINE,
"Only a man that is," Vixley offered sagely.
"Oh, men!" she exclaimed contemptuously. "I
believe they ain't more'n but three real ones alive
to-day!"
The Professor's eyes snapped. "Well, they's women
enough, thank the Lord !"
"Well," said Doctor Masterson, "I got to go to
work; I'm keeping office hours in the evening now
and I have to hump. So long, Gertie, I'll be all ready
for Payson, but you and Vixley have got to keep
jollying him along. You want me to hold him about
a month? I'll see what I can do, and if I get a lead,
I'll let you know." He shook hands and left them.
"I ain't so sure of the Doc as I'd like to be," said
Madam Spoil after he had gone.
"Nor me neither," Vixley replied. "We've got to
watch him, I expect, but he'll do for a starter and we
can fix him if he gets funny. There ain't nothin' like
cooperation, Gertie."
As Madam Spoil sat down again to open a bottle
of beer she had taken from beneath the wash-stand,
Professor Vixley began to twirl his fingers in his lap
and snicker to himself.
"What are you laughing at, Vixley?" she asked,
pouring out two frothing glasses.
"I was just a-thinkin' about Pierpont Thayer. Don't
you remember that dope who went nuts on spiritualism
and committed suicide?"
"No, I don't just recall it; what about it?"
"Why, he got all wound up in the circles here Sadie
Crum, she had him on the string for a year, till he
didn't know where he was at. He took it so hard
that one day he up and shot hisself and left a note
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB 245
pinned on to his bed that said : 'I go to test the prob-
lem/ Lord! I'd 'a' sold every one of my tricks and
all hers to him for a five-dollar bill ! Why didn't
he come to me to test his problem? He'd 'a' found
out quick enough."
"Yes, and after you'd told him all about how it wa~
done, I'll guarantee that I could have converted him
again in twenty minutes."
"I guess that's right," said Vixley. "Them that
want to believe are goin' to, and you can't prevent
'em, no matter what you do. They're like hop fiends
they've got to have their dope whether or no, and
just so long as they can dream it out they're happy."
CHAPTER VIII
ILLUMINATION
It is easy to imagine the virtuous pride with which
the civil engineer, Jasper O'Farrell, set about the lay-
ing out of the town of San Francisco in 1846. Here
was the ideal site for a city a peninsula lying like
a great thumb on the hand of the mainland, between
the Pacific Ocean and a deep, land-locked bay, an area
romantically configured of hills and valleys, with pic-
turesque mountain and water views, the setting sun
in the west and Mount Diablo a sentinel in the east ; to
the northward, the sea channel of the Golden Gate
overhung by the foot-hills of Tamalpais.
There was still chance to amend and improve the
old town site of Yerba Buena, the little Spanish set-
tlement by the cove in the harbor, whose straight, nar-
row streets had been artlessly ruled by Francisco de
Haro, alcalde of the Mission Dolores. He had marked
out upon the ground, northerly, La Calle de la Fun-
dacion and the adjacent squares necessary for the
little port of entry in 1835. Four years later, when
Governor Alvarado directed a new survey of the place,
Jean Vioget extended the original lines with mathe-
matical precision to the hills surrounding the valley ;
and it would have been possible to correct that artistic
blunder of the simple-minded alcalde. But Jasper
O'Farrell had seen military service with General Sut-
ter; his ways were stern and severe, his esthetic
impulses, if he had any, were heroically subdued
ILLUMINATION 24?
Market Street, indeed, he permitted to run obliquely,
though it went straight as a bullet towards the Twin
Peaks. The rest of the city he made one great checker-
board, in defiance of its natural topography.
As one might constrict the wayward fancies of a
gipsy maiden to the cold, tight-laced ethics of a puri-
tanical creed, so O'Farrell bound the city that was to
be for ever to a gridiron of right-angled streets and
blocks of parallelograms. He knew no compromise.
His streets took their straight and narrow way, up
hill and down dale, without regard to grade or expense.
Unswerving was their rectitude. Their angles were
exactly ninety degrees of his compass, north and south,
east and west. Where might have been entrancingly
beautiful terraces, rising avenue above avenue to the
heights, preserving the master-view of the continent,
now the streets, committed to his plan, are hacked out
of the earth and rock, precipitous, inaccessible, gro-
tesque. So sprawls the fey, leaden-colored town over
its dozen hills, its roads mounting to the sky or div-
ing to the sea.
So the stranger beholds San Francisco, the Improb-
able. Its pageantry is unrolled for all to see at first
glance. Never was a city so prodigal of its friendship
and its wealth. She salutes one on every crossing, wel-
coming the visitor openly and frankly with her western
heart. In every little valley where the slack, rat-
tling cables of her car-lines slap and splutter over the
pulleys, some great area of the town exhibits a rising
colony of blocks stretching up and over a shoulder of
the hill to one side and to the other. Atop every crest
one is confronted with farther districts lying not only
beneath but opposite, across lower levels and hollows,
248 THE HEART LINE
flanking one's point of vantage with rival summits.
San Francisco is agile in displaying her charms. As
you are whirled up and down on the cable-car, she
moves stealthily about you, now lagging behind in
steep declivities, now dodging to right or left in
stretches of plain or uplifted hillsides, now hurrying
ahead to surprise you with a terrifying ascent crowned
with palaces. Now she is all water-front and sailors'
lodging-houses ; in a trice she turns Chinatown, then
shocks you with a Spanish, Italian or negro quarter.
Past the next rise, you find her whimsical, fantastic
with garish flats and apartment houses. She lurks
in and about thousands of little . wooden houses, and
beyond, she drops a little park into your path, discloses
a stretch of shimmering bay or unveils magnificently
the green, gently-sloping expanse of the Presidio.
No other city has so many points of view, none
allures the stranger so with coquetry of originality and
fantasy. Some cities have single dominant hills; but
she is all hills, they are a vital part of herself. They
march down into the town and one can not escape
them, they stride north and west and must be climbed.
The important lines of traffic accept these conditions
and plunge boldly up and down upon their ways. And
so, going or returning from his home, the city is always
with the citizen from Nob Hill he sees ships in the
harbor and the lights of the Mission; from Kearney
Street he keeps his view of Telegraph Hill and Twin
Peaks the San Franciscan is always in San Francisco,
the city of extremes.
Of all this topographical chaos, the most spectacular
spot is Telegraph Hill. To the eastward on the har-
bor side, it rises a sheer precipice over a hundred feet
ILLUMINATION 249
high, where a concrete company has quarried stone for
three decades despite protest, appeal, injunction and
the force of arms. To the north and west the hill falls
away into a jumble of streets, cliff ed and hollowed like
the billows of the sea, crusted with queer little houses
of the Latin quarter.
Francis Granthope, after the Chinese supper, had
found himself swayed by an obsession. The
thought of Clytie Payson was insistent in his mind.
She troubled him. He recognized the symptom with
a grim sense of its ridiculousness. It was, according
to his theory, the first sign of love ; but the idea of
his being in love was absurd. Certainly he desired her,
and that ardently. She stimulated him, she stirred his
fancy. But he was jealous of his freedom; he would
not be snared by a woman's eyes. Marriage, indeed,
he had contemplated, but, to his mind, marriage was
but a part of the game, a condition which would insure
for him an attractive companion, a desirable standing;
in short, a point of vantage. What had begun to chafe
him, now, was a sort of compulsion that Clytie had
put upon him. Somehow he could not be himself with
her he was self-conscious, timid he was sensitive to
her vibrations, he was swayed by her fine moods and
impulses. Though the strain was gentle, still she
coerced him. He felt an impulse to shake himself
free.
In this temper, he decided, while he was at dinner,
to see her, and, if he could, regain possession of the
situation, master her by the use of those arts by
which he had so often won before. He would, at
least, if he could not cajole her, assert his independence.
250 THE HEART LINE
No doubt he had been misled by her claims of intuitive
power. He would put that to the test, as well.
It was already after sunset when he started across
Union Square. Kearney Street was alight with elec-
tric lamps and humming with life. He walked north,
passing the gayer retail shopping district towards the
cheaper stores, pawnshops and quack doctors' offices
to where the old Plaza, rising in a green slope to
Chinatown, displayed the little Stevenson fountain
with its merry gilded ship. Here the waifs and the
strays of the night were already wandering, and he
responded to frequent appeals for charity.
Beyond was the dance-hall district, where women of
the town were promenading, seeking their prey; sail-
ors and soldiers descended into subterranean halls of
light and music. Then came the Italian quarter with
its restaurants and saloons.
He paused where Montgomery Avenue diverged,
leading to the North Beach, consulted his watch, and
found that it was too early to call. He decided to
kill time by going up Telegraph Hill, and kept on up
Kearney Street.
Across Broadway, it mounted suddenly in an incline
so steep, that ladder-like frameworks flat upon the rib-
bed concrete sidewalks were necessary for ascent. Two
blocks the hill rose thus, encompassed by disconsolate
and wretched little houses, with alleys plunging down
from the street into the purlieus of the quarter; then
it ran nearly level to the foot of the hill. The track
there was up steps and across hazardous platforms,
clambering up and up to a * steep path gullied by the
winter rains, and at last, by a stiff climb, to the summit
of the hill
ILLUMINATION 251
From here one could see almost the whole penin-
sula, the town falling away in waves of hill and valley
to the west. The bay lay beneath him, the docks flat
and square, as if drawn on a map, red-funneled steam-
ers lying alongside. In the fairway, vessels rode at
anchor, lighted by the moon. The top of the hill was
commanded by a huge, castellated, barn-like white
structure which had once been used as a pleasure pavil-
ion, but was now deserted, save by a rascally herd of
tramps. At a near view its ruined, deserted grandeur
showed unkempt and dingy. By its side, a city park,
crowning the crest, scantily cultured and improved,
indicated the first rude beginning of formal arrange-
ment. Moldering, displaced concrete walls and seats
showed what had been done and neglected.
He skirted the eastern slope of the hill, went up
and down one-sided streets, streets that dipped and
slid longitudinally, streets tilted transversely, keeping
along a path at the top till he came to the cliff.
Here was the prime scandal of the town, naked in all
its horror. The quarrymen had, with their blasting,
robbed the hill inch by inch, foot by foot and acre by
acre. Already a whole city block had disappeared,
caving gradually away to tumble to the talus of gravel
at the foot of the steep slope. For years, the neigh-
borhood had been terrorized by this irresistible, ever-
approaching fate. The edge of the precipice drew
nearer and nearer the houses, bit off a corner of the
garden here, ate away a piece of fence there, till the
danger-line approached the habitations themselves.
Nor did it stop there ; it crept below the floors, it
sapped the foundations till the house had to be aban-
doned, Then with a crash, some afternoon, the whole
252 THE HEART LINE
structure would fall into the hollow. House after
house had disappeared, family after family had been
ruined. The crime was rank and outrageous, but it
had not been stopped.
As Granthope walked, he saw bits of such deserted
residences. Here a flight of stone steps on the verge
of the height, there fences running giddily off into the
air or drain-pipes, broken, sticking over the edge. The
hazardous margin was now fenced off at any moment
a huge mass might slip away and slide thundering
below. At the foot of the cliff stood the lead-colored
building housing the stone-crusher, whose insatiate
appetite had caused this sacrifice of property. It was
ready to feed again on the morrow.
He walked to the edge and looked down a sharp
incline, a few rods away from the most dangerous
part of the cliff. He was outside the fence, now, with
nothing between him and the slope. As he stood there,
a dog barked suddenly behind him. He turned his
foot slipped upon a stone, twisted under him, and he
fell outward. He clutched at the loose dirt, but could
not save himself and rolled over and over down the
slope. Forty feet down his head struck a boulder and
he lost consciousness.
He came to himself with a blinding, splitting pain in
his head ; his body was stiff and cold in the night
air. He lay half-way down the slope, his hands and
face were scratched and bleeding, his clothes were torn.
He was motionless for some time, endeavoring to
collect his senses, wondering vaguely what to do.
Then he stirred feebly, tried his limbs to see what
damage had been done and found he had broken no
ILLUMINATION 253
bones. His ankle, however, was badly strained, and
it ached severely. As he sank back again, far down
the hill towards the crusher building, a voice came up
to him:
"Francis ! Francis !"
It penetrated his consciousness slowly. Still a little
dazed, he rolled over and looked down to the deserted
street below. He tried to rise and his ankle crumpled
. under him. He answered as loud as he could cry, then
lay there watching.
Sansome Street lay bare in the moonlight. On the
near side the hill sloped up to him from the rock
crusher. On the other side was a row of gaunt build-
ings a pickle factory, a fruit-canning works, and so
on, to the dock. An electric car flashed by and, as it
passed, he saw a woman moving to and fro at the foot
of the talus.
He sat up as well as he could on the slope and
again shouted down to her. She stopped instantly.
Then, waving her hand, she started to scramble up the
slippery gravel of the hill.
As she ascended, she had to zigzag this way and
that to avoid sliding back. Part of the time, she was
forced to go almost on hands and knees. The moon
was behind her, throwing her face into shadow. She
climbed steadily without calling to him again. When
she was a few yards away, he cried to her:
"Miss Payson! Is that you?"
"Yes! Don't try to move, I'm coming."
She reached him at last and knelt before him
anxiously. Her tawny, silken hair was loosened under
her hat and streamed down into her eyes. She had
on a red cloth opera cloak with an ermine collar; this
254 THE HEART LINE
was partly open, showing, underneath, a white silk
evening dress cut low in the. neck. Her hands were
covered with white suede gloves to the elbow they
were grimy and torn into ribbons. Her white skirt,
too, was ripped and soiled. She put her hand to her
hair and tossed it back, then took his hands in hers.
"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.
"Not much. I believe I was stunned. I have no
idea how long I've been here. What time is it?"
"It is almost eleven. Oh, I'm so glad I found you !
I'm going to help you down." She stooped lower to
assist him.
"But I don't understand," he said in astonishment.
"How in the world did you happen to come? What
does it all mean?" His bewilderment was comic
enough to draw forth her flashing smile.
"We'll talk about that afterwards. We must get
down this hill first Oh, I hope there are no bones
broken."
"Oh, no, I'm all right," he insisted, "but it's like a
dream! Let me think I was up on Telegraph Hill,
and I slipped and fell over then I must have been
unconscious until you came. How did you happen to
come? I don't understand. It's so mysterious."
"You must get up now. See if you can walk." She
gently urged him. "I'll explain it all when you're safe
down there where we can get help."
With her assistance he raised himself slowly, but the
pain in his ankle was too great for him to support
his own weight. He dropped limply down again and
smiled up at her.
"I think I might make it if I had a crutch of some
kind any stick would do."
ILLUMINATION 255
"Wait, I'll see if I can find one."
She left him, to go down, slipping dangerously at
times, using her hands to save herself. Part-way down
she found an old broom the straw was worn to a mere
stub, and this she brought back.
With its aid and that of her steady arm, he hobbled
down foot by foot. He slid and fell with a suppressed
groan more than once, but she was always ready to lift
him and support his weight in the steeper descents.
The lower part of the hill fanned out to a more grad-
ual slope, where it was easier going. They reached
the sidewalk at last and he sat down upon a large rock
almost exhausted.
Just then an electric car came humming down San-
some Street. In an instant she was out on the track
signaling for it to stop.
"If you pass a cab or a policeman, please send them
down here!" she commanded. "This gentleman has
met with an accident and we must have help to take
him home."
The conductor nodded, staring at her, as she stood
in her disheveled finery, splendidly bold in the moon-
light, like a dismounted Valkyr. The car plowed on
and left them. Calmly she stripped off her slashed
gloves and repaired the disorder of her hair. A long
double necklace of pearls caught the moonlight, and in
the front breadth of her gown, a rent showed a pale
blue silken skirt beneath. Granthope, bedraggled and
smeared with blood and dust, was as grotesque a figure.
The humor of the picture struck them at once, and
they burst into laughter.
Then, "How did you know?" he said.
She became serious immediately. "It was very
256 THE HEART LINE '
strange. I was at a reception with Mr. Cay ley. I
happened to be sitting on a couch by myself, when I
don't know how to describe the sensation but I saw
you, or felt you, lying somewhere, on your back. I
was so frightened I didn't know what to do. I knew
something had happened, yet I didn't know where to
find you. I gave it up and tried to forget about it,
but I couldn't it was like a steady pain then I knew
I had to come. It seemed so foolish and vague that I
didn't want to ask Mr. Cayley to go on such a wild-
goose chase with me. Father understands me better
and if he'd been there I would have brought him along.
So I slipped out alone, put on my things and took a
car down-town. I seemed to know by instinct where to
get off you should have seen the way the conductors
stared at me ! and I turned right down this way,
trusting to my intuitions. I seemed to be led directly
to the foot of the cliff here where I first called you."
"Yes, you called 'Francis,' didn't you ?" he said, look-
ing up at her in wonder.
"Did I? I don't know what I said if I did it was
as instinctively done as all the rest. We'll have to go
into business together." Her laugh was nervous and
excited.
He frowned. "Miss Payson, I don't know how to
thank you it was a splendid thing to do."
"Oh, it has been a real adventure almost my first.
But it's not over yet. I must take you home now.
What a sight I am! You, too! Wait let me clean
you off a little."
She stooped over him and, with a lace handkerchief,
lightly brushed his face free of the dust, wiped the
blood away, then, with gentle fingers, smoothed his
ILLUMINATION 257
black hair. Both trembled slightly at the contact. She
stopped, embarrassed at her own boldness, then stood
more constrained and self-conscious, till the rattling
wheels of a carriage were heard. A hack came clatter-
ing up over the cobble-stones and drew up at the curb.
The driver jumped down from his seat.
There were a few words of explanation and direc-
tion, then the man and Clytie, one on either side, helped
Granthope into the vehicle. She followed and the
cab drove off up-town. For a few moments the two
sat in silence, side by side. An electric lamp illumi-
nated her face for an instant as the carriage whirled
past a corner. Her eyes were shining, her lips half
open, as she looked at him.
The sight of her, and the excitement of her roman-
tic intervention, made him forget his pain. He felt
her spell again, and now with this appearance how
much more strongly ! There was no denying her magic
after such a bewildering manifestation. The event had,
also, brought her humanly more near to him he had
felt the strong- touch of her hand, her breath on his
face the very disorder of Jher attire seemed to increase
their intimacy. He leaned back to enjoy the full flavor
of her charm. He was suddenly aroused by her
placid, even voice:
"Mr. Granthope, there's one thing you didn't tell me
the other day, when you described that scene at Madam
Grant's."
He caught the name with surprise, remembering that
he had never spoken it to her. In her mention of it
he felt a vague alarm.
"What?" He heard his voice betray him.
"That there was a little boy with her, that day."
258 THE HEART LINE
Clytie turned to him, and for the first time he felt
a sudden fear that she would find him out.
"Was there a little boy there ? How do you know ?"
She kept looking at him, and away, as she spoke. In
the drifting of her glances, however, her eyes seemed
to seek his continuously, rather than continually to
escape. "Quite by accident never mind now. But
this is what is most strange of all I didn't tell you,
before while I was there, that time, so many years
ago you know what strange fancies children have
you know how, if one is at all sensitive to psychic influ-
ence, how much stronger and how natural it seems
when one is young well, all the while, I seemed to
feel there was some one else there some one I couldn't
see !"
She was too much for him, with such intuition. His
one hope was, now, that she would not plumb the
whole depth of his deceit. He managed his expression,
drawing back into the shadow.
"Did you know who it was, there?"
"No only that I was drawn secretly to some one
who was there, near me, out of sight. Of course, I've
forgotten much of the impression, but now, as I remem-
ber it, it almost seems to me as if this little boy who-
ever he was must be related to me in some vague
way as if we had something in common. I wish I
could find out about it. You know better the rationale
of these things they come to me only in flashes of
intuition, suddenly, when I least expect them."
He sought desperately to divert her from the sub-
ject, summoning to his aid the tricks experience had
taught him. First to his hand came the ruse of per-
sonality.
ILLUMINATION 259
"You called me 'Francis' before that was strange,
for few people call me that or Frank nowadays only
one or two who have known me a long time."
"Ah, I didn't know what I was saying. It was
strange, wasn't it? But you won't accuse me of
coquetry at such a time, will you? You were in dan-
ger I thought only of that."
"Oh, I don't mind," he said playfully.
"Nor do I."
"You'll call me Francis?"
She smiled. "Every time I rescue you."
There was evidently no lead for him there. He had
to laugh, and give it up. Clytie's mood grew more
serious.
"Mr. Cayley was telling me how interesting you
were after the ladies had left; really, he was quite
complimentary. He told me all about that absurd
Bennett affair you talked about."
"Yes, it was an extraordinary case." He wondered
what was coming.
"I mean the story was absurd to hear, but I can't
help wondering what sort of people they were who
would deceive an old man like that. It seems pitiful
to me that any one could have the heart to do it and
for money, too."
Granthope cursed his indiscretion. Must she find
this out, too ? Was no part of his life, past or present,
safe from her? If so, he might as well give her up
now. It seemed impossible to conceal anything from
her clear vision. But he still strove to put her off.
"Oh, these people were weak and ignorant we
haven't all the same advantages or the same sensitive-
ness to honor and truth. They were used to this sort
2<5o THE HEART LINE
of thing, hardened to it, and perhaps unconscious of
their baseness by a constant association with such
deceptions."
"But didn't Mr. Bennett have any friends to warn
him to show these people up in their true light?"
"Oh, that was no use. It was tried, yes; that is,
he was shown his carriage, for instance, after it was
sold, but he refused to believe it was the same one.
He confessed that it was just like it, but he knew
that his was then on the planet Jupiter. I don't think
the mediums themselves could have convinced him."
"Think of it ! It makes their swindling even worse.
If he had doubted, if he had tried to trap them, it
wouldn't be quite so bad, it would have been a battle
of brains but to impose on such credulity, to make
a living by it oh, it's unthinkable !"
"Well, after all, they made him happy. In a way,
they were telling him only pleasant lies, as a parent
might tell a child about Santa Claus and the fairies."
He could not keep it up much longer. It was too
perilous ; and he played, for her sympathy. "After all,
I suppose my business is about as undignified."
"But it's really a science, isn't it? Mr. Cayley gave
me to understand that you had a convincing theory to
explain all personal physical characteristics."
"There's a little more to palmistry than that, I think
an instinctive feeling for character."
"Of course. You must have felt my personality
intuitively, or you would never have been able to get
it so well. But it was most extraordinary of all, I
think, the way you got my name. How do you account
for that?"
He felt the net closing about him.
ILLUMINATION 261
"Oh, I'm sometimes clairaudient."
She took it up with animation. "Are you? I must
try to send you a message !"
"Haven't you?" he said, still attempting to keep
the talk less serious. "All day I have heard you say-
ing, 'You must learn.' But learn what?"
"It seems so queer to me that you shouldn't know,
yourself."
"Then tell me. Explain."
"No, you'll find out, I think."
He waited a while, for a twinge of pain gave him all
he could do to control himself. Somehow it sobered
him. "I wish I dared to be friends with you."
She gave him her hand simply and he returned its
cordial pressure. He was sincere enough, now. He
was not afraid of mere generalities.
"I'm not worthy of your friendship," he said. "I'd
hate to have you know how little I am worth it. If
you knew how I have lived what few chances I have
had to know any one really worth while. I've never
yet had a friend who was able to understand me."
"I have given you my hand," she replied, "and I
shall not withdraw it. It is my intuition, you see, and
not my reason, that makes me trust you."
They relapsed for a while into silence. Then, as the
cab turned up into Geary Street, past the electric
lights, she went on as if she had been thinking it out
to herself.
"You know what I said the other day about its
being easier to say real things at the first meeting. I
am afraid I said too much then. But I was impatient.
I felt that I might never see you again and I wanted
to give you the message. Now, when I feel sure that
262 THE HEART LINE
we're going to be friends, I am quite willing to wait
and let it all come about naturally. The only thing
I demand is honesty."
"Is that all?" he asked, with a touch of sarcasm.
She laughed unaffectedly. "Are you finding it so
hard?"
The cab drew up to the curb at the door of his
rooms. Immediately she became solicitous, helping
him to alight. He used the broom for a crutch, and,
scratched and torn, his clothes still stained with clay,
she in her harlequin of dirt and rags, they presented
an extraordinary spectacle under the electric light, to
a man on the sidewalk who was approaching leisurely,
swinging his stick. As they reached the entrance he
drew nearer, making as if to speak to them; instead,
he lifted his hat, stared at them and passed on. It
was Blanchard Cayley.
Clytie's face went red. Cayley turned for an instant
to look at them again and then proceeded on his way.
Granthope did not notice him.
Clytie disregarded his protest, and, saying that she
would see him safely to his room, at least, accompanied
him up-stairs.
As he fumbled for his key in his pocket, the office
door was suddenly opened and Fancy Gray appeared
upon the threshold.
Her eyebrows went up and Granthope's went down.
Her eyes had flown past him to stare at Clytie. The
two women confronted each other for a tense moment
without a word.
Fancy had taken off her jacket ; her hair was braided
down her back. She wore an embroidered linen blouse
turned away at the neck, and pinned over her heart
ILLUMINATION 263
was a little silver chatelaine watch with a blue dial.
It rose and fell as she drew breath suddenly.
"Mr. Granthope has met with an accident," Clytie
announced, the first to recover from the shock of
surprise.
"I should say he had," was her comment, "and you,
too?" Then she laughed nervously. "It must have
been a draw."
Clytie did not catch the allusion. "I happened to
find him and brought him back," she explained. "He
had fallen down the cliff on Telegraph Hill."
As Granthope limped in, Fancy put a few more won-
dering inquiries, which he answered in monosyllables.
Seeing Fancy so disconcerted, Clytie left Granthope in
a chair and turned directly to her with a conciliatory
gesture.
"We always seem to meet in queer circumstances,
Miss Gray, don't we?" she said kindly. "It's really
most fortunate that you happened to be here at work.
I don't quite know what I should have done, all alone,
but I'm sure you will do all that's necessary for Mr.
Granthope, better than I. I must hurry home ; father
will be expecting me."
During this speech, Fancy's eyes had filled, and now
they shone soft with gratitude.
"Oh," she said, "I can fix him up all right. It's only
a bad strain, I guess."
Granthope watched the two women in silence.
"Well, then, I'll go." Clytie walked to the mirror,
smiled with Fancy at the image she saw there, touched
her hat and rubbed her face with her handkerchief.
Then she held out her hand with a charming sim-
plicity.
264 THE HEART LINE
"I do wish you'd come and see me sometime, Miss
Gray!" she said.
Fancy choked down something in her throat before
she replied.
"I will sometime sure. If you really want to see
me."
"Yes, I really do." Clytie smiled again. Then she
went up to Granthope. "Good night, Mr. Granthope,
I'm sure I'm leaving you in kind hands. I hope it
won't prove a serious injury. And remember!"
Then, bowing to both, she left the room and went
down to her cab.
Two vertical lines were furrowed in Granthope's
brow. He turned to Fancy with a look that barely
escaped being angry.
"God! I'm sorry you were here!"
"Yes ? That's easily remedied ; you only have to say
the word."
"Too late, now!" His tone was sad rather than
cruel.
"I hardly expected you to bring home company "
she began.
"I'm sure it was as much a surprise to me "
"I'm sorry, Frank, but I had to see you Vixley was
here after you left."
He groaned with the pain his ankle gave him and
she flew to him and knelt before his chair.
"Oh, Frank, I'm so sorry. What can I do for you ?
First, let me take off your shoe and attend to your foot.
I can run out and get something to put on it. It was
awkward, my being here but I don't mind on my
own account, so much. If it embarrassed you, forgive
- ILLUMINATION 265
"It's worse than that," he said.
"You mean that you care for her?"
"I don't know what I do mean but you'll have to
go."
She looked up at him for a moment, searching his
drawn face.
"I will, just as soon as I've bound up your ankle and
got your couch ready. It won't take long."
"No, I can attend to that myself. I'll telephone for
a doctor and have him fix me up. You must go now."
"All right. Just wait till I put on my jacket and do
up my hair."
Walking off, proudly, she opened the door of the
closet and stood before the mirror there, while he, a
limp, relaxed figure in the arm-chair, watched her as
she unbraided her hair and combed it out in a magnifi-
cent coppery cascade to her waist. Tossing her head,
she said:
" Vixley's laying for you, Frank ! You'd better watch
out for him. It's something shady about the old man's
past, I believe. Anyway, I hope you'll fool 'em,
Frank!"
With this complication of his position, he bent his
head on his hand as if he were weary. "I don't know
what I'm going to do," he said. "It's too much for
me, I'm afraid."
"What's the matter?" said Fancy solicitously.
"Didn't I work it right? Honest, Frank, I didn't give
you away a bit I didn't tell him a word. You know
my work isn't lumpy I just pumped him. I beat him
at his own game, and it didn't taste so good, either.
Oh, I'm so sorry if I did anything' to hurt you. I'd
die first!"
266 THE HEART LINE
As he did not answer her she came over to him and
knelt on the floor, seizing his hand. Her tears fell
upon it.
"You've been mighty good to me, Frank, you sure
have ! You took me off the streets when I was starv-
ing. I don't know whatever would have become of
me. I suppose I'd gone right down the line, if it hadn't
been for you. You're the only friend I've got, and I
only wish I could do something to prove how grateful
I am. Honest, I thought I was helping you out when
I kept Vixley here. You don't think you don't
think I like him do you? Don't say that, Frank!"
She was speaking in gasps now ; her tears were un-
restrained. Her hand clutched his so fiercely that he
could scarcely bear the pain. He did not dare to look
at her.
"I've always been square with you, Frank, haven't
I?"
He patted her hand softly.
"We've kept to the compact, haven't we ? The com-
pact we made at Alma ? You trust me, don't you ?"
"Of course! You're all right you're true blue.
I couldn't distrust you. You'll always be the
Maid of Alma. It was a game thing you did for me.
Nobody else would have done it. You have helped me,
but I can't tell you what a corner I'm in." He paused
and looked at her intensely. "Fancy you haven't
forgotten have you?"
She forced a trembling smile, as she said bravely:
" 'No fair falling in love' ?"
"Yes."
She shook out a laugh and stroked his hand, looking
up at him through her tears. "Oh, no danger of that,
ILLUMINATION 267
Frank. You don't know me. I'm all right, sure!
Only and I owe you so much! You've taught me
everything. If I could only do something to prove
that I'm worth it."
"You can that's the trouble. I believe I'm almost
cur enough to ask it of you."
"What is it? Tell me, quick! You know I'd black
your boots for you. I'd do anything."
"Did you notice Miss Payson's face when she saw
you?"
"Yes." Fancy dropped her head.
"I'd hate to have her suspect if she thought "
"Oh!" She sprang to her feet and stood as proud
as a lioness. "Is that it? You want me to go for
good?" Even now there was no anger in her look or
tone. The little silver watch heaved up and down
on her breast.
He sought for a kind phrase. "I'm afraid it would
be better it makes me feel like a beast of course,
you understand " his eyes went to her, pleading.
"Then it is Miss Payson? Oh, Frank, why didn't
you tell me ! You might have trusted me ! You ought
to have known better! Haven't I always said that
when the woman who could make you happy did come,
how glad I'd be for you?"
"You're really not hurt, then? I was afraid "
"Poor old Frank! You goose! Of course not it
makes me sorry to think of leaving you, that's all.
Never mind there's nothing in the race but the finish !
I'm all right." She had become a little hysterical in
her actions, but he was too distracted to notice it.
"I'll let you have all the money you want I'll get
you a good place " he began.
268 THE HEART LINE
She shook her head decidedly. "Cut that out, please,
Frank; but thanks, all the same. If I ever want any
money, I'll come to you. Why shouldn't I ? But not
now. Don't pay me to go away that sounds rotten.
I'll get a position all right. Didn't I turn down that
secretary's place only last week? But I guess I'll travel
on my looks for a while. I'm flush."
"I hope I can tell her all about this, sometime," he
said wearily.
"Bosh ! What's the use ? Thank God some women
know that some women are square without being told.
Men seem to think we're all cats. Even women talk
of each other as if they were a different sort of human
animal. But not Miss Payson she's a thoroughbred.
I can see that all right. You can't fool Fancy Gray
about petticoats. I take off my hat to her. She's got
every woman you ever had running after you beaten
a mile. Don't you worry she'll never be surprised
to find that a woman can be square. Well, I'll fade
away then."
As she talked she buttoned up her jacket and stuck
the hat pin in her hair. Now her eyes grew dreamier
and she went over and sat on the arm of his chair and
put her hand on his hair affectionately, saying :
"Say, Frank, I don't know after all, perhaps some-
time you might just tell her this sometime when the
thing's all going straight, when she's got over well,
what I saw in her eyes to-night when she finds out
what you're worth when she really knows how good
you are you just tell her this say : 'There's one thing
about Fancy Gray, she always played fair!' She'll
know then ; but just now, you can be careful of her
watch out what you do with her, she's going to suffer
ILLUMINATION 269
a whole lot if you don't. You know something about
women, but you'll find out that when you're sure
enough in love you'll need it all, and what you know
isn't a drop in the bucket to what you've got to learn.
I hope you'll get it good and hard. It'll do you good.
You only know one side now. You'll learn the rest
from her. She's not the sort to do things half-way.
When she begins to go she'll go the limit."
She leaned over him. "You might give me one kiss
just to brace me up, will you ? It may take the taste of
Vixley off my lips. Well, so long. Don't take any
Mexican money ! If there's anything I can do, let me
know." She rose and tossed a smile at him with her
old jaunty grace. Then she patted him "on the cheek
and went swiftly out.
CHAPTER IX
COMING ON
By artful questions, and apparently innocent remarks
to lure his confidence, by a little guess-work, more
observation, and a profound knowledge of the frail-
ties of human nature, Madam Spoil had plied Oliver
Payson to good advantage.
She got a fact here, a suggestion there, and, one at
a time, she arranged these items in order, and with
them wove a psychological web strong enough to work
upon. It was partly hypothetical, partly proved, but,
slender and shadowy as it was, upon it was portrayed
a faint image of her victim a pattern sufficient for
her use. Every new piece of information was deftly
used to strengthen the fabric, until at last it was
serviceable as a working theory of his life and could
be used to astonish and interest him. Of this whole
process he was, of course, unaware, so cleverly dis-
guised was her method,-so skilful was her tact. She
never frightened her quarry, never permitted him to
suspect her. Her errors she frankly acknowledged
and set down to the ignorance of her guides. She
had, indeed, many holes by which she could escape
set formulae for covering her petty failures.
After two or three interviews, she had filled up
almost all the weak spots in her web, and was prepared
to encompass her victim by wiles with which to bleed
him.
Mr. Payson had gone away from his first interview
270
COMING ON 271
limping slightly more than usual, and had talked con-
siderably about his ailment to his daughter. Clyde,
not knowing what had increased his hypochondria,
was inclined to laugh at his fears and complaints. He
found a more sympathetic listener in Blanchard Cay-
ley, who took him quite seriously and discoursed for
an hour in Payson's office upon the possibilities of
internal disorders, such as the medium had mentioned.
The result was a visit to Doctor Masterson.
The healer's quarters were two flights up in one
of the many gloomy buildings on Market Street, half
lodging-rooms, half offices, inhabited by chiropodists,
cheap tailors, "painless" dentists and such riffraff.
The stair was steep and the halls were narrow. The
doctor's place was filled with a sad half-light that
made the rows of bottles on the shelves, the skull in
the corner and the stuffed owl seem even more mys-
terious. The room was dusty and ill-kept; the floor
was covered with cold linoleum.
The magnetic healer's shrewd eyes glistened and
shifted behind his spectacles; the horizontal wrinkles
in his forehead, under his bald pate, drew gloomily
together as Mr. Pay son poured out the story of his
trouble. For a time the doctor said nothing. Then he
took a vial full of yellow liquid from his table, car-
ried it to the window, held it to the light, examined
it solemnly and put it back. He sat down again and
looked Mr. Payson over. Then he tilted back in his
chair, stuck a pair of dirty thumbs in the armholes of
his plaid waistcoat, and said, "H'm!" Finally, his
thin lips parted in a grisly smile showing 1 his blackened
teeth.
His victim watched, anxiously waiting, with his two
272 THE HEART LINE
hands on the head of his cane. The gloom appeared
to affect his spirits; he seemed ready to expect the
worst.
Doctor Masterson took off his spectacles and wiped
them on a yellow silk handkerchief. "It looks pretty
serious to me/' he said, "but I calculate I can fix you
up. It'll cost some money, though. Ye see, it's this
way : I'm controlled by an Indian medicine-man named
Hasandoka and his band o' sperits. Now, in order to
bring this here psychic force to bear on your case,
it's bound to take considerable o' my time and their
time, and I'll have to go to work and neglect my reg'-
lar patients. It takes it out o' me, and I can't do but
just so much or I peter out. I'll go into a trance and
see what Hasandoka has to say, and then you'll be
in a condition to know what to decide. O' course, you
understand, I ain't no doctor and don't claim to be,
but I got control of a powerful psychic force that
guides me in my treatment, and I never knew it to
fail yet. If my band o' sperits can't help you, nobody
can, and you better go to work and make your will
right away. See?"
- Mr. Payson saw the argument and manifested a
desire to proceed with the investigation.
The doctor loosened his celluloid collar and closed
his eyes. In a minute or two he appeared to fall
asleep, breathing heavily.
Then, through him, the great Hasandoka spoke, in
the guttural dialect such as is supposed to be affected
by the American Indian, using flowery metaphors
punctuated by grunts.
The tenor of his communication was that Mr. Pay-
son was undoubtedly afflicted with something which
Doctor Masterson was prepared for his victim Page 273
COMING ON 273
was termed a "complication." He went into fearsome
prophecies as to its probable progress downward to
the feet, upward to the brain and forward to the
kidney, with minor excursions to the liver and lights.
The patient's spine was preparing itself for paralysis ;
it seemed that death was imminent at any moment.
Hasandoka expressed his willingness to accept the
case, however, and promised to effect a radical cure
in a month at most, if treatment were begun immedi-
ately, before it was too late. The cure would be
accomplished by massage, used in connection with a
potent herb, known only to the primitive Indian tribes.
After this message Hasandoka squirmed out of the
medium's body and the soul of Doctor Masterson
squirmed in again. There were the customary spas-
modic gestures of awakening before he opened his
eyes.
"Well, what did he tell you?" he asked.
Mr. Payson repeated the communication in a dis-
pirited tone.
"Bad as that, is it?" said Masterson. "One foot in
the grave, so to speak. Well, I tell you what I'll do.
I'm interested in your case, for if I can go to work
and cure you it'll be more or less of a feather in my
cap. See here ; I won't charge you but fifty dollars a
week till you're cured, and if you ain't a well man in
thirty days, I'll hand your money back. That's a
fair business proposition, ain't it? I guarantee to put
all my time on your case."
Mr. Payson gratefully accepted the terms. A meet-
ing for a treatment was appointed for the next day.
This time Doctor Masterson was prepared for his
victim.
274 THE HEART LINE
"I've been in direct communication with Hasan-
doka," he said, "and I'm posted on your case now, and
have full directions what to do. The first thing is a
good course of massage. Now, which would you pre-
fer to have, a man or a woman? I got a girl I some-
times employ who's pretty slick at massage. She's
good and strong and willing and as pretty as a peach,
if I do say it she's got a figger like a waxwork I
think p'raps Flora would help you more'n any one "
Mr. Payson shook his head coldly, saying that he
preferred a man.
"Oh, o' course," Doctor Masterson said apologeti-
cally, shrugging his shoulders, "if you don't want her
I guess I better go to work and do the rubbing myself,
if you'd be better satisfied."
The Indian herb prescribed by Hasandoka was, it
appeared, a rare, secret and expensive drug. The
doctor's price was ten dollars a bottle, in addition to
his weekly charge for treatment. He presented Mr.
Payson with a bottle of dark brown fluid of abomin-
able odor.
The treatment went on thrice a week, the massage
being alternated with trances in which the doctor,
under the cogent spell of the medicine man, uttered
many strange things. The whole effect of this was to
reassure Mr. Payson upon the fact that powerful
influences were at work for his especial benefit.
Whether induced by Hasandoka's aid or by Doctor
Masterson's suggestion, an improvement in the patient's
mind, at least, did come. He was met, the following
week, by the magnetic healer in his rooms with a con-
gratulatory smile. Doctor Masterson inaugurated the
second stage of his campaign.
COMING ON 275
"Say, you certainly are looking better, ain't you?
How's the pain, disappearing, eh ? I thought we could
bring you around. Yesterday I was in a trance four
hours on your case and it took the life out o' me
something terrible. I knew then that I was drawing
the disease out o' you. You just go to work and walk
acrost the room, and see if you ain't improved. We
got you started now, and all we got to do is to keep
it up till you're absolutely well."
Blanchard Cayley also seemed interested when Mr.
Payson told him of the improvement.
"You certainly are growing younger every day,"
said Cayley. "I don't know how you manage it at
your age, in this vile weather, too, but I notice you've
got more color and more spring in you. You're a
wonder !"
One afternoon, during the third week of his treat-
ment, as Mr. Payson was seated in his own office, the
door opened and a chubby, roly-poly figure of a
woman, with soft brown eyes and hair, came in timidly
and looked about, seemingly perplexed and embar-
rassed. She walked up to his desk.
"I beg your pardon," she said, "but could you tell
me where Mr. Bigelow's office is, in this building?
I thought it was on this floor, but I can't find his
name on any door."
He replied, scarcely glancing at her: "Down at the
end of the corridor, on the left."
She stood watching him for a moment as he con-
tinued his writing, and then ventured to say:
"I beg your pardon, sir, but ain't you the gentle-
man that come to me some time ago to have your life
read?"
276 THE HEART LINE
He looked up now and recognized her as the one
who had initiated him into the occult world, through
the medium of the "Egyptian egg."
"Why, yes." He smiled benevolently. "You're
Miss Ellis, aren't you?"
She seemed pleased. "Yes," she answered ; "I hope
you don't mind my reminding you of it, but I took an
interest in your case more than usual, on account of
your reading being so different, and I was surprised to
see you here. You're looking much better than you
did then. When you come into my place, I said to
myself, 'There's a man that'll pass out pretty soon
if he don't take care of himself.' You seemed so
miserable. Why, I wouldn't know you now, you're
so much improved. You must have gained flesh, too.
Well, I congratulate you. If you ever want another
reading, come around here's my card, but perhaps
you've tried Madam Spoil since. She's the best in
the business. I go to her myself sometimes."
He walked to the door with her and bowed her
out politely.
A week after he made another visit to Madam Spoil.
The medium was gracious and congratulatory.
"Why, you look like a new man, that's a fact!" she
said. "Between you and me, I never really expected
that you could recover, but I knew if anybody could
help you it would be Masterson. I suppose he come
pretty high, didn't he ? Two hundred ! For the land
sake ! I'm sorry you had to fall into the hands of that
shark, but, after all, it's cheaper than being dead,
ain't it? A desperate disease requires a desperate
remedy, they say. I wouldn't take you for more than
forty years old now, in spite of your gray hairs.
COMING ON 277
"Now," she continued, "you've had experience and
you're in a position to know whether there's any
truth in spiritualism or not. No matter what anybody
tells you about fakes or tricks and all that nonsense
I don't say some so-called mediums ain't collusions
you've demonstrated the truth of it for yourself, and
you've found out that we can do what we say. You
can afford to laugh at the skeptics and these smart-
Alecs who pretend to know it all. What we claim can
be proved and you've proved it. Lord, I'd like to know
where you'd be now if you hadn't. I've always said:
'Investigate it for yourself, and if you don't get satis-
faction, leave it alone for them that do. Go at it in a
frank and honest spirit and try to find out the truth,
and you'll generally come out convinced/ I don't
believe in no underhanded ways of going to work at it
neither. If you was going to study up Christian Sci-
ence, or Mo-homedism, we'll say, you wouldn't be
trying to deceive them and giving false names and all,
and why should you when you want to find out about
the spirit world? What you want to do is to depend
upon the character of the information you get, to test
the truth of what we claim. You treat us square and
we'll treat you square. We ain't infalliable, but we
can help. Whatever is to be had from the spirit plane
we can generally get it for you."
"I'm very much interested," Mr. Payson said.
"There does seem to be something in it, and I want
to get to the bottom of it. There are several things
I'd .like to get help on, too."
"Do you know, I knew they was something worry-
ing you," she replied, smiling placidly. She laid her
fingers to her silken thorax. "I felt your magnetism
278 THE HEART LINE
right here when you came in, and I got a feeling of
unpleasantness or worry. It ain't about a little thing
either; it's an important matter, now, ain't it?"
Mr. Payson, affected by her sympathy, admitted
that it was. Under his shaggy eyebrows, his cold eyes
watched her anxiously, as if gazing at one who might
wrest secrets from him. His belief in her had in-
creased with every sitting, so that now the old man,
gray and bald, in his judicial frock-coat, lost some-
thing of his influential manner and became more like
a child before his teacher, swayed by every word that
fell from her lips.
Her manner was half patronizing, half domineer-
ing. "What did I tell you? You feel as if, well,
you don't quite know what to do, and you're saying to
yourself all the time, 'Now, what shall I do?' That's
just the condition I get."
"Do you think you could help me ?"
"I don't know ; I'll try. I ain't feeling very recep-
tive to spirit influence to-day; I guess I overeat my-
self some ; but then again, I might be very successful ;
there's no telling. You just let me hold your hands
a few minutes and I can see right off whether con-
ditions are favorable or not."
He did so. Suddenly she turned her head to one
side and spoke as if to an invisible person beside her.
"Oh, she's here, is she? What is it? She says she
can't find him? Well, what about him? What?
Shall I tell -him that?"
She opened her eyes and drew a long breath.
"Luella is here and she says to tell you that Felicia
wants to give you a message, Do you understand who
1 mean?"
COMING ON 279
"Yes, I know. She's the lady you spoke to me
about before, with the white hair."
"Would her name be Felicia Grant?"
He assented timidly, as if fearing to acknowledge it.
"Well, Felicia says she has found the child her
child, the one that was lost. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes. Goon!"
"Really, I don't like to tell you this, Mr. Payson "
"Tell anything."
Madam Spoil dropped her voice, as if fearful of
being overheard. "You was in love with her."
"Yes." He eyed her glassily.
"And you was the father of the child?"
He nodded, still staring.
Madam Spoil smiled complacently. "Well, Felicia
says she has found the boy, and she's going to bring
him to you as soon as conditions are favorable. She
can't do it yet; the time ain't come for it. That's all
I can get from her. But Luella says you're worried
about a book, and she wants to help you."
"How can she help?"
"Wait a minute." Madam Spoil smoothed her fore-
head with both hands for a while, then went on : "It
seems that she can't work through me so well, it being
what you might call a business affair, and she rec-
ommends that you try some one else, while I'll try
to get the boy. I think a physical medium could help
you more. There's Professor Vixley; he's something
wonderful in a business way. I confess I can't com-
prehend it. Are you selling books?"
"Not exactly."
"Well, whatever it is, Vixley's the one to go to.
He'll do well by you and you can trust him. I'll just
2 8o THE HEART LINE
write down his address ; you go to see him and tell
him I sent you, and I guarantee he'll give satisfaction.
About the child, now, we'll have to wait. I shouldn't
wonder if you could be developed so you could handle
the thing alone. You've got strong mediumistic
powers, only they're what you might call asleep and
dormant. If you could come to me oftener we might
be able to produce phenomena, for you're sensitive,
only you don't know how to put your powers to the
right use. You could join a circle, I suppose, but
the quickest way is to have sittings with me, private."
The old man took off his spectacles and wiped off
a mist. His hand was trembling. "I might want to
try it later," he said at last, "but I'm not quite ready
to, yet I want to think it over. If you really think
that this Vixley can help about the book, I'll look him
up first. I want it to be a success, and I am a bit
worried about it."
When he reached home he went into the living-
room, to find Blanchard Cayley sitting there at ease,
bland, suave and nonchalant. Clytie had not yet re-
turned for dinner. Mr. Payson shook his hand cor-
dially.
"I'm glad to see you, Blanchard. Been looking over
that last chapter of mine? What do you think of it?"
"I haven't had time to read it yet. I've been expect-
ing Cly home any minute."
"How are you getting on with her? Is she still
skittish?"
"Oh, it'll come out all right, I expect," the young
man said carelessly.
"I hope so! She's a good girl. I know she'll see
COMING ON 281
it my way in the end you just hold on and be nice
to her. You know I'm on your side. I'd give a good
deal to see Cly married to a good man like you.
Strange, she doesn't seem to take any interest in my
work at all. If I didn't have you to talk to, I don't
know what I'd do. Suppose I read you that last chap-
ter while we're waiting for her. I'd like to get your
criticism of it. That trade dollar material has
helped me immensely."
For half an hour, while Mr. Payson read the driest
of dry manuscripts, Blanchard Cayley yawned behind
his hand or nodded wisely, with an approving word
or two. The old man had pushed up his spectacles
over his forehead and held the sheets close to his eyes.
He read in a mellow, deep voice, but it was the voice
of a pedant.
"There," he said at last, stacking up the scattered
papers. "I guess that will open their eyes, won't it?"
"It's great ; that book will make a sensation."
"Well, it isn't finished yet, and what's to come will
be better than what I've done. I'm on the track of
something that may help it a good deal."
"What's that?" said Cayley perfunctorily.
"See here," Mr. Payson drew his chair nearer and
shook his pencil at the young man. "I've had some
wonderful experiences lately. You may not believe it,
but I tell you there's something in this spiritualistic
business. I've been investigating it for a month now
all alone, and I'm thoroughly convinced that these
mediums do have some sort of power that we don't
understand."
"Really?" Cayley was beginning to be interested.
"I knew you had always been an agnostic, but I had
282 THE HEART LINE
no idea that you had gone into this sort of thing.
Have you struck anything interesting?"
"I certainly have. I went into it in a scientific spirit,
as a skeptic, pure and simple, but I've received some
wonderful tests. Why, they told me my name the
very first thing and a lot about my life that they had
no possible way of finding out. The trouble is, they
know too much."
Cayley laughed. "Found out about your wild oats,
I suppose?"
Mr. Pay son frowned at this frivolity. "There are
things they've told me that no one living could pos-
sibly know. Whether it's done through spirits or not,
it's mysterious business. You ought to go to a seance
and see what they can do."
"I'd hate to have them tell my past," Cayley said
jocosely, "but I don't take much stock in them.
They're a gang of fakirs."
"They're pretty sharp, if they are. I haven't lived
fifty years in the West to be taken in as easily as that.
I ought to know something about men by this time.
Why, see here! You know what trouble I had with
my leg? It was something pretty serious. Well, look
at me now. You've noticed the change yourself. I
went to a medium and now I'm completely cured.
That's enough to give any one confidence, isn't it?
It's genuine evidence."
Cayley agreed with a solemn nod. "But what about
the book?"
"Why, if they can influence the right forces so that
it'll be a success, why shouldn't I give them a trial?
Look at hypnotism! Look at wireless telegraphy!
For that matter, look at the telephone! Fifty years
COMING ON 283
ago no one would believe that such things were pos-
sible. It may be the same with this power, whatever
it is, spirits or not. I'm an old man, but I keep up with
the times. I'm not going to set myself up for an
authority and say, because a thing hasn't seemed
probable to me, that I know all about the mysterious
forces of nature. I've come to believe that there are
powers inherent in us that may be developed success-
fully."
The incipient smile, the attitude of bantering pro-
test had faded from Cayley's face, as the old man
spoke. He listened sedately. Oliver Payson was a
rich man. He had an attractive, marriageable daugh-
ter. Blanchard Cayley was poor, single and without
prospects.
"Of course, there's much we don't yet understand,"
he said gravely. "One hears all sorts of tales there
must be some foundation to them."
"That's so why, just look at Cly! She's had
queer things happen to her ever since she was a child."
"Yes, I suppose that's why she's so interested in
this palmist person; though I confess I don't take
much stock in him."
"What do you mean?" Mr. Payson demanded.
"Why, I thought of course you knew. Granthope,
the palmist you know, the fellow everybody's taking
up now he has been here, hasn't he? I had an idea
that Cly had taken rather a fancy to him."
"He was here?" Mr. Payson seemed much sur-
prised.
"Why, I wouldn't have spoken of it for the world
if I had known you didn't know but I've seen her
with him several times ? and I thought, of course "
284 THE HEART LINE
Cayley threw it out apologetically in apparent con-
fusion at his indiscretion.
Mr. Payson stared. "Granthope, did you say? I
believe I have heard of him. Cly and a common
palmist? I can't believe it. What can she want of a
charlatan like that?"
"I was sorry to see it myself," Cayley admitted,
"but I suppose she knows what she's doing. The
man's notorious enough. Only, she ought to be care-
ful."
"I won't haveit!" Mr. Payson began to storm.
"Reading palms for a lot of silly women is a very dif-
ferent thing from spiritualism. I don't mind her
going to see him once for the curiosity of the thing,
but I won't have him in the house. I'll put a stop to
that in a hurry. You say you've seen them together?
Where?"
"Oh, I think it was probably an accidental meeting,"
he said. "I wish you wouldn't say anything about it,
Mr. Payson. Very likely it doesn't mean anything
at all. Tell me about this fellow you spoke of going
to. Do you think he's all right?"
"I'll soon find out if he isn't trust me !" Mr. Pay-
son wagged his head wisely. "His name is Professor
Vixley, and I've heard he's a very remarkable man.
I'm going to see him next week and see what he can
do for me. I'm not one to be fooled by any claptrap ;
I intend to sift this thing to the bottom."
"How do you intend to go about it?" Cayley asked.
"I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd ask him to answer a
few definite questions. If he can do that, ^t'll be a
pretty good test, even if it is only thought-reading."
"If there's anything in thought transference there
COMING ON 285
may be something in spiritualism, too. One's as tin-
explainable as the other. See here! Suppose I ask
him something that I don't know the answer to myself
- wouldn't that prove it is not telepathy?"
"I should say so; but what could you ask?"
Mr. Payson had arisen, and was walking up and
down the room with his hands behind his back. He
stopped to deliberate beside the bookcase, then he
took down a volume at random. "Suppose I ask him
what the first word is on page one hundred of this
book."
He looked over at Cayley, then down at the title of
the book.
"The Astrology of the Old Testament queer I
should put my hand on that! I'll try it. I won't
look at the page at all." He put the book back on the
shelf. "Can't you suggest something? Suppose you
give me a question that you know the answer of and
I don't."
Blanchard Cayley sought for an idea, his eyes fixed
on the ceiling. Then he said slowly: "I used to know
a girl once in Sacramento who lived next door to me.
Try Vixley on her name, why don't you ?"
"Good ! I'll do it. Now one more."
"You might ask him the number of your watch."
"That's a good idea; then I can corroborate that
on the spot."
"You'd better let me see if there's one there,
though," Cayley suggested. "I believe sometimes they
are not numbered. Just let me look."
Mr. Payson took out his watch and handed it to the
young man, who opened the back cover and inspected
the works. He noted the number, took a second
2 &6 THE HEART LINE
glance at it and then snapped the cover shut. "All
right, if he can tell that number, he's clever." He
handed it back to Mr. Payson. "When did you say
you were going to see him ?" he asked.
"Next Tuesday or Wednesday, I expect," was the
reply. "I've got to go up to Stockton to-morrow,
and I may be gone two or three days attending to
some business. By the by, Cayley, I heard rather a
queer story last week when I was up there. You're
interested in these romantic yarns of California; per-
haps you'd like to hear this."
"Certainly, I should. It may do for my collection
of Improbabilities."
"Well, I met the cashier of the Savings Bank up
there he's been with the bank nearly thirty years and
he told me the story. It seems one noon, about twenty
years ago, while he was alone in the bank, a little boy
of seven or eight years of age came in, and said he
wanted to deposit some money. The cashier asked
him how much he had, thinking, of course, that he'd
hand out a dollar or two. The boy put a packet
wrapped in newspaper on the counter, and by Jove !
if there wasn't something over five thousand dollars,
in hundred-dollar greenbacks! What do you think
of that? The cashier asked the boy where he got so
much money, suspecting that it must have been stolen.
The boy wouldn't tell him. The cashier started round
the counter to hold the boy till he could investigate,
and, if necessary, hand him over to the police. The
little fellow saw him coming, got frightened, and ran
out the door, leaving the money on the counter. He
has never been heard from since."
"Well, what became of the money, then?"
COMING ON 287
"Why, it had to be entered as deposited, of course.
The boy had written a name the cashier doesn't
know whether it was the boy's own name or not on
the margin of the newspaper, and the account stands
in that name, awaiting a 'claimant."
"What was the name?"
"The cashier wouldn't tell me, naturally. It has
been kept a secret. With the compound interest, the
money now amounts to something like double the
original deposit."
"It's a pity I don't know the name ; I might prove
an alibi."
"Oh, I forgot and it really is the point of the
whole story. The package was wrapped in a copy of
Harper's Weekly, and the boy, whose hands were
probably dirty, had happened to press a perfect thumb-
print on the smooth paper. Of course, that would
identify him, and if any one could prove he was in
Stockton at that time, give the name and show that
his thumb was marked like that impression, the bank
would have to permit him to draw that account."
"That lets me out," said Cayley, "unless that par-
ticular thumb-print happens to show a banded, duplex,
spiral whorl."
"What in the world do you mean?" Payson asked.
"Why, you know thumb-prints have all been classi-
fied by Galton, and every possible variation in the form
of the nucleal involution and its envelope has been
named and arranged."
"I didn't know that," said Payson. "But I did know
there were no two thumbs alike. That's the way they
identified my partner when he was drowned. He was
interested in the subject, having read of the Chinese
288 THE HEART LINE
method, and he happened to have a collection of
thumb-prints, including his own, of course, done in
India ink. His body was so disfigured and eaten by
fishes that he couldn't be recognized until, suspecting
it might be he, we proved it by his own marks."
"I didn't know you ever had a partner."
"Oh, that was years ago, soon after Cly was born.
His name was Ichabod Riley. That was a queer story,
too. His wife was a regular Jezebel, Madge Riley
was, and there's no doubt she poisoned her first two
husbands. She was arrested and tried for the murder
of the second, but the jury was hung, and she wasn't.
Ichabod was supposed to have been accidentally
drowned off Black Point, but I have good reason to
believe that he committed suicide on account of her.
He was afraid of being poisoned as well. She is sup-
posed to have killed her own baby, too.
"Well," Mr. Payson added, rising, "I've got to go
up-stairs and get ready for dinner. You'll stay, won't
you ?"
"I'll wait till Cly gets home, at any rate, but I'll not
promise to dine."
The old man went up-stairs, leaving Cayley alone
beside the bookcase.
When he returned he found Cayley, cool and suave
as ever. Clytie was with him, standing proudly erect
on the other side of the room, a red, angry spot on
either cheek. She held no dreamy, listless pose now ;
something had evidently fully awakened her, stinging
her into an unaccustomed fervor. Her slender white
hands were clasped in front of her, her bosom rose
and fell. Her lips were tightly closed.
Mr. Payson, near-sighted and egoistic, was oblivious
COMING ON 289
of these stormy signs, and remarked genially: "You're
going to stay to dinner, aren't you, Blanchard?"
Blanchard Cayley drawled, "I think not, Mr. Pay-
son; I'll be going on, if you'll excuse me," smiling,
"and if Cly will."
"Don't let us keep you if you have another appoint-
ment," she said, without looking at him.
He left after a few more words with the old man,
who began at last to smell something wrong.
"What's the matter, Cly?" he asked.
She had sat down and was pretending to read. Now
she looked up casually:
"Oh, nothing much, father, except that he was im-
pertinent enough to question me about something that
didn't concern him."
"H'm !" Mr. Payson took a seat with a grunt and
unfolded his newspaper. "I'm sorry you two don't
get on any better."
"We'd get on well enough if he'd only believe that
when I say 'no' I mean it."
He stared at her, suddenly possessed by a new
thought "Is there anybody else in the field, Cly?"
"There are many other men that I prefer to Blanch-
ard Cayley."
"What is this about your being with this palmist
chap?"
"Did Blanchard tell you that?" she asked with ex-
quisite scorn.
"Have you seen much of this Granthope ?"
"I've seen him four times."
"And you have invited him to my house?"
"He has been here."
Mr. Payson rose and shook his eye-glasses at her.
THE HEART LINE
"I must positively forbid that!" he exclaimed. "I
won't have you receiving that fellow here. From what
I hear of him he's a fakir, and I won't encourage him
in his attempts to get into society at my expense."
"Do you mean to say that you forbid him the house,
father? Isn't that a bit melodramatic?- I wouldn't
make a scene about it. I am twenty-seven and I'm
not absolutely a fool. I think you can trust me."
"Then what have you been doing with him ? What
does it all mean, anyway?"
"As soon as I know what it means, I'll tell you.
At present, I think we had better not discuss Mr.
Granthope."
He blustered for a while longer, iterating his re-
proaches, then simmered down into a morose con-
dition, which lasted through dinner. Clytie knew
better than to discuss the subject with him. Her
calmness had returned, though she kept her color and
did not talk. The two went into the library and read.
Shortly after eight o'clock the door-bell rang. As
it was not answered promptly, Mr. Payson, still nerv-
ous, irascible and impatient, went out into the hall,
growling at the servant's delay.
He opened the door, to see Francis Granthope,
rather white-faced under his black hair, supporting
himself on crutches.
"Is Miss Payson at home?" he asked, Uking off
his hat.
"Yes, she is. Won't you step in ? What name shall
I give her, please?" Mr. Payson spoke hospitably.
"Thank you. Mr. Granthope," was the answer.
The old man turned suddenly and returned his visi-
tor's hat.
COMING ON 291
"I beg your pardon," he said sternly, "but Miss Pay-
son is not at home for you and I don't intend that
she ever shall be. I have heard enough about you,
Mr. Granthope, and I desire to say that I can not
consent to your being received in my house. You're
a charlatan and a fakir, sir, and I do not consider you
either my daughter's social equal nor one with a char-
acter respectable enough to associate with her. I
must ask you to leave this house, sir, and not to come
again."
Granthope's eyes glowed, and his jaws came to-
gether with determination. But he said only:
"Very well, Mr. Payson, I'm sure that I do not
care to call if I'm not welcome. This is, of course,
no place to discuss the subject, but I shall not come
here again without your consent. As to my meeting
her again, thatJies wholly with her. You may be sure
that I shall not annoy her with my attentions if she
doesn't care to see me. But I ask you, as a matter of
courtesy, to let Miss Payson know that I have called."
"See that you keep your word, sir that's all I have
to say," was Mr. Payson's reply, and he stood in the
doorway to watch his visitor down the garden walk.
He remained there until Granthope had descended
the steps, then walked down after him and watched
him to the corner.
Mr. Payson returned to the library sullenly.
"That palmist of yours had the impertinence to
come here and ask for you," he informed Clytie, "but
I sent him about his business, and I expect he won't
be back in a hurry."
Clytie looked up with a white face. "Mr. Grant-
hope, father?" She rose proudly and faced him. "Do
292 THE HEART LINE
you mean to say that you were rude enough to turn
him away? It's impossible!"
Mr. Pay son walked up and down the room in a
dudgeon.
"I certainly did send him away, and what's more, I
told him not to come back."
Clytie, without another word, ran out into the hall.
The front door was flung open and her footsteps could
be heard on the gravel walk. Mr. Pay son seated him-
self sulkily.
In five minutes more she had returned, slowly, her
hair blown into a fine disorder, the color flaming in
her cheeks, her eyes quickened.
"What in the world have you been doing?" her
father demanded.
"I wanted to apologize for your rudeness," she an-
swered, "but I was too late."
CHAPTER X
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR
"He gives exact and truthful revelations of all
love affairs, settles lovers' quarrels, enables you to
win the affection and esteem of any one you desire,
causes speedy and happy marriages "
Granthope put down the paper with a look of dis-
gust. It was his own advertisement, and it had
appeared daily for months. He took up his desk tele-
phone with a jerk, and called up the Chronicle busi-
ness office.
"This is Granthope, the palmist. Please take out
my displayed ad., and insert only this: 'Francis Grant-
hope, Palmist. 141 Geary St., Readings, Ten Dollars.
Only by Appointment. Ten till Four/ "
There was now a red-headed office boy in the cor-
ner where Fancy Gray used to sit. Granthope missed
her jaunty spirit and unfailing comradeship. Not
even his endeavor to give his profession a scientific
aspect amused him any longer. He had lost interest
in his work. He was uneasy, dissatisfied, blue. He
went into his studio listlessly, with a frown printed
on his brow. Until his first client appeared he lay
upon the big couch, his eyes fixed upon the light.
He had been there a few moments when his office
boy knocked, and opening the door, injected his red
head.
"Say, dere's a lady in here to see you, Mr. Grant-
hope!"
293
294 THE HEART LINE
"Who is she?"
The boy grinned. "By de name of Lucie. Says
you know her."
"Tell her I can't see her."
Granthope turned away, and the boy left.
The room was as quiet as a padded cell, full of a
soft, velvety blackness, except where the single drop-
lamp lighted up the couch. Ordinarily the place was,
in its strange dark emptiness, a restful, comforting
retreat. Now it imprisoned him. Above his head
the great ring of embroidered zodiacal signs shone
with a golden luster. They were the symbols of the
mysterious dignity of the past, of the dark ages of
thought, of priestcraft and secret wisdom of the blind
centuries that had gone. But, a modern, incongru-
ously set about with such medieval relics, he felt for
the first time, undignified. In their time these em-
blems had represented all that existed of knowledge.
Now, to him they stood for all that was left of ignor-
ance and superstition; and it was upon such instru-
ments he played.
He read palms perfunctorily that Saturday. He
seemed to hear his own voice all the while, and some
dissociated function of his mind scoffed continually at
his chicanery. It was the same old formula : "You are
not understood by those about you. You crave sym-
pathy, and it is refused. You are extraordinarily
sensitive, but when you are most hurt you often say
nothing. You have an intuitive knowledge of people.
You have a wonderful power of appreciation and
criticism. People confide in you. You are impulsive,
but your instinct is usually sure" the same profes-
sional, easy rigamarole, colored with what hints his
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 295
quick eyes gave him or his flagging imagination sug-
gested.
Women listened avidly, drinking in every word.
How could he help telling them what they loved so to
hear ? They asked questions so suggestive that a child
might have answered. They prolonged the discussion
of themselves, obviously enjoying his apparent interest.
He caught himself again and again playing with their
credulity, their susceptibility, and hated himself for it.
They lingered, smiling self-consciously, and he delayed
them with a look. In very perversity, he began delib-
erately to flatter their vanity in order to see to what
inordinate pitch of conceit their minds would rise.
He affected indifference, and even scorn they fol-
lowed after him still more eagerly. He grew, at last,
almost savagely critical, an instinct of cruelty aroused
by such complacent, egregious egoism. They fawned
on him, like spaniels under the lash.
After a solitary dinner he returned to his rooms.
For an hour or two he tried to lose himself in the
study of a medical book. Medicine had long been his
passion and his library was well equipped. Had he
been reading to prepare himself for practice he could
not have been more thorough. To-night, however,
he found it hard to fix his attention, and in despair he
took up a volume of Casanova's Memoirs. There was
an indefatigable charlatan! The fascinating Cheva-
lier had never wearied in ill-doing; he kept his zest
to the last. He skipped to another volume to follow
the pursuit of Henriette, of "C. V.," of Therese.
The perusal amused him, and he got back something
of his cynical indifference.
It was after eleven o'clock when he laid down the
296 THE HEART LINE
book and rose to look, abstractedly, out of the office
window. He longed for an adventure that should
reinstate him as his old careless self.
He left his rooms, went up to Powell Street and
finally wandered into the noisy gaiety of the Techau
Tavern. The place was running full with after-theater
gatherings, and he had hard work to find a table. All
about him was a confusion of excited talk, the clatter
of dishes, the riotous music of an insistent orchestra.
Parties were entering all the while, beckoned to places
by the head waiter. The place was garish with lights
and mirrors.
Granthope had sat there ten minutes or so, sipping
his glass, noticing, here and there, clients whom he
had served, when, between the heads of two women,
far across the room, he recognized Mrs. Page. It was
not long before she saw him, caught his eye, and
signaled with vivacity. The diversion was agreeable ;
he rose and went over. A glance at her table showed
him a company most of whose members he had met
before, but with whom, only a few months since, he
would have counted it a social success to be considered
intimate. While not being quite of the elect, they held
the key of admission to many high places in virtue of
their wit and ingenious powers to please. They were
such as insured amusement. Granthope himself was
this evening desirous of being amused.
With Mrs. Page was Frankie Dean, the irrepressible,
voluble, sarcastic, a devil in her black, snapping eyes,
as cold-blooded as a snake. It was she who had so
nearly embarrassed him at the Chinese supper at the
Maxwells'. She eyed him now, dark, feline, whim-
sically watching her chance to make sport of him.
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 297
With them was a young girl from Santa Rosa, newly
come to San Francisco, an alien in such a company.
She was slight and dewy, vivid with sudden color,
with soft, fervent eyes that had not yet learned to
face such audacity as her companions practised. Keith
and Fernigan were there, also, like a vaudeville team,
rollicking with fun, playing into each other's hands,
charging the company with abandon. Lastly, "Sully"
Maxwell sat, silent, happy, indulgent, with his pockets
filled with twenty dollar gold-pieces, which he got rid
of at every opportunity. He spoke about once every
fifteen minutes, and then usually to the waiter. "A
good spender" was Sully that quality and his un-
failing good-nature carried him into the gayest circles
and kept him there unnoticed, until the bills were to
be paid.
To Granthope, tired with his day's work, in conflict
with himself, morbidly self-conscious, the scene was
stimulating. There was an atmosphere of inconse-
quent mirth in the group, which dissolved his mood
immediately. The women, smartly dressed, bubbling
with spirit, quick with repartee Keith and Fernigan,
their sparkling dialogue interrupted, waiting for an-
other auditor even Sully, prosperous, good-natured,
hospitably making him welcome the group attracted
him, rejuvenated him, enveloped him with their friv-
olity. The party was in the first effervescence of its
enthusiasm. Mrs. Page was at her sprightly best,
impellent, a gorgeous animal. Even Frankie Dean,
whom he did not like, was temptingly piquant and
brisk. The little girl had a novelty and virginal charm.
He had been out of his element all day. Here, he
could be himself. He could take things easily and
298 THE HEART LINE
jocosely, and have no thought of consequences. His
mood disappeared like a shattered soap-bubble, and he
was caught into their jubilant atmosphere.
He was introduced to the girl from Santa Rosa,
who looked up at him timidly but with evident curi-
osity, as at a celebrity, and sat down between her and
Mrs. Page. Sully Maxwell took advantage of the
new arrival to order another round of drinks club
sandwiches, golden bucks till he was stopped by
Frankie Dean. Keith and Fernigan recommenced
their wit. Mrs. Page looked at him with all kinds of
messages in her eyes, as if she were quite sure that
he could interpret them. The girl from Santa Rosa
said nothing, but, from time to time, gave him a shy,
curious glance from her big brown eyes. Granthope's
spirits rose steadily, but his excitement had in it
something hectic. In a sudden pause he seemed to
remember that he had been speaking rather too loudly.
After the party had refused, unanimously, further
refreshment, Sully proposed that they should all drive
out to the Cliff House, and they left the restaurant
forthwith to set out on this absurd expedition. It was
already long past midnight ; the adventure was a char-
acteristic San Francisco pastime for the giddier spirits
of the town.
Sully was for hiring two hacks; Mrs. Page, gig-
gling, vetoed the proposition, and Frankie Dean sup-
ported her. Decidedly that would be commonplace;
why break up the party? The girl from Santa Rosa
looked alarmed at the prospect. Granthope smiled
at her ingenuousness, and liked her for it. The result
of the sidewalk discussion was that Sully obligingly
mounted beside the driver, and the six others squeezed
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 299
into the carriage, the door banged, and they proceeded
on their hilarious way toward the "Panhandle" of the
Park. On the rear seat Granthope sat with Mrs.
Page and Frankie Dean on either hand, protesting
that they were perfectly comfortable. Opposite him
the girl from Santa Rosa leaned forward on the edge
of the cushion, shrinking away from the two men
beside her.
Mrs. Page made an ineffectual search in the dark
for Granthope's hand. Not finding it, she began to
sing, under her breath :
"It was not like this in the olden time,
It was not like this, at all !"
and Frankie Dean, quick-witted enough to understand
the situation, remarked, "Oh, Mr. Granthope doesn't
read palms free, Violet; you ought to know that!"
She darted a look at him.
So it went on frothily, with chattering, laughter,
snatches of song, jests and stories, punctuated occa-
sionally by the rapping of Sully's cane on the window
of the carriage, as he leaned over in a jovial attempt
to participate in the fun. Granthope, for a while,
led the spirit of gaiety that prevailed, told a story
or two, "jollied" Mrs. Page, laughed at Keith's in-
consequence, accepted Frankie Dean's challenges.
But the frank, bewildered eyes of the little girl from
Santa Rosa, fixed upon him, disconcerted him more
than once.
The carriage soon entered Golden Gate Park. The
night was warm and still, the dusk pervaded with
perfumes. Under the slope of Strawberry Hill Max-
300 THE HEART LINE
wjell stopped the carriage and ordered them all out to
invade the shadowy stillness with revelry. The night
air was that of belated summer, full of a languor that
comes seldom to San Francisco which has neither real
summer nor real winter, and the wildness of the place,
remote, unvisited, was exhilarating. A mock minuet
was started, races run, even trees climbed by Frankie
Dean the audacious, with shrieks and laughter, all
childishly with the sheer joy of living. Granthope and
the girl from Santa Rosa, after watching the sport
with amusement for a while, left the rest and walked on
past a turn of the road, to stand there, discussing the
stars, while the cries of the two women came softened
along the sluggish breeze. The girl took off her hat
and breathed deeply of the night air. They walked on
farther through the gloom, till only an occasional
faint shout reached them from the party. Granthope
put the girl at her ease, pointed out the planets and the
constellations and explained the principles of ancient
astrology. They had begun to forget the rest when
they were overtaken and captured again and the
Crowded carriage took its way towards the sea.
Upon a high ledge of rock jutting out into the
Pacific, at the very entrance to the Bay of San Fran-
cisco, stands the Cliff House, a white, wooden,
many-windowed monstrosity with glazed verandas,
cupolas, frivolous dormers, cheap, garish, bulky, gay,
seemingly almost toppling into the water. Here come
not only such innocently holidaying folk as Fancy
Gray and Gay P. Summer, not only jaded tourists and
the Sunday-outing citizens who lie upon the warm
beach below and doze away a morning in the sun and
wind. It was patronized of old by the buggy-riding
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 301
fraternity, the smokers, the spenders, with their lights-
o'-love, as the most popular of road-houses. The cable-
cars and the two "dummy" railroad lines have changed
its character somewhat, but it is still a show-place of
the town. There is good eating, a gorgeous view of
the Pacific, and the sea-lions on the rocks below.
Here Mrs. Page's party alighted, near three o'clock
in the morning. The bar only was open, its white-
frocked attendant sleeping behind the counter. This
they entered, yawning from their ride. The barkeeper
was awakened, peremptorily, and was ordered to pre-
pare what he had for refreshment. With hot beans
from the heater, tamales, potato salad, cold cuts,
crackers and cheese, he laid a table in a small dining-
room. Sully Maxwell undertook all the arrangements,
fraternized with the barkeeper, selected beverages,
not forgetting ginger ale for the girl from Santa Rosa.
Mrs. Page and Frankie Dean, somewhat disheveled,
retired, to appear trig and trim and glossy in the gas-
light, ready for more gaiety. Granthope, meanwhile,
had wandered out upon the veranda to watch the surf
dashing on the rocks, to note the yellow gleam from
the Point Bonita light, and smell the salt air; to get
his courage up, in short, for another round of anima-
tion. The instant he returned Mrs. Page went at
him.
"Now, Frank," she said, "it won't do to sulk or to
flirt with Santa Rosa. What's got into you, anyway?
You must positively do something to amuse us."
"Office hours from ten till four," Keith murmured
audibly.
Frankie Dean turned on him: "They never let you
out of your cage at all !"
302 THE HEART LINE
Fernigan, thereat, began an absurd pantomime that
half terrified the girl from Santa Rosa. He pretended
to be a monkey behind the bars of a cage, eating pea-
nuts and worse. It was shockingly funny. The
company roared, all but Granthope. He was at the
point of impatience, but replied with what sounded
like ennui:
"I'm a bit stale, Violet ; you'll have to excuse me if
I'm stupid to-night. I came to be entertained."
Frankie Dean looked at him mischievously. "Never
mind, Mr. Granthope, she'll come back."
It was obviously no more than a cant phrase, in-
tended for a witticism. Mrs. Page, however, took it
up with mock seriousness.
"Who's 'she', now ? I'm back in the chorus again !
There was a time, Frank" Her voice was sentimen-
tal ; she tilted her head and looked at him, under half-
closed eyelids, across the table.
"I say, Granthope, you ought to publish an illus-
trated catalogue of 'em. There's nothing doing for
amateurs, nowadays. When women pay five dollars to
have their hands held what chance is there for us?"
This from Keith, with burlesque emphasis.
Mrs. Page would not be diverted. "No, but really,
Frank ; who is she ? I've quite lost track of your con-
quests."
"Oh, you know I'm wedded to my art," he said
lightly.
"Yes, and it's the art of making love, isn't it?"
* 'No further seek his merits to disclose,' " said
Keith, and Fernigan added, " 'Nor draw his frailties
from their dread abode.' "
The girl from Santa Rosa looked suddenly bursting
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 303
with intelligence, recognizing the quotation. She
started to finish it, then stopped; her lips moved si-
lently. Granthope smiled.
Frankie Dean had been watching her chance for
another at his expense. Now she asked, with apparent
frankness: "Mr. Granthope, can you tell character by
the lines on the soles of the feet?"
"Science of Solistry," murmured Keith to the Santa
Rosa girl.
"Let's try it!" Mrs. Page exclaimed. "I will, for
one ! Do you know my second toe's longer than my
great toe? I'm awfully proud of it. I can prove it,
too !"
"Go on !" Frankie Dean dared her.
The girl from Santa Rosa stared, her lips apart.
"Why, every one's is, aren't they?"
"No such thing!" Mrs. Page stopped and almost
blushed. A chorus of laughter.
"Oh, there are a good many better ways of telling
character than that," said Granthope.
"Yes," Keith put in. "Indiscreet remarks, for in-
stance."
Mrs. Page bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, if I were going in for indiscreet remarks I might
make a few about you !"
Here Sully interposed. "Isn't this conversation
getting rather personal? I move we discard all these
low cards. This is no woman's club. The quiet life
for mine."
The hint was taken by Keith, who began an English
music-hall song, to the effect that "John was a nice
good 'usband, 'e never cared to roam, 'e only wanted
a quiet life, 'e only wanted a quiet wife ; there 'e would
304 THE HEART LINE
sit by the fireside, such a chilly man was John
where he was joined in the chorus by Fernigan "Oh,
I 'opes and trusts there's a nice 'ot fire, where my old
man's gone !" Maxwell pounded in time upon the
table. The girl from Santa Rosa hazarded a laugh.
Granthope looked on listlessly, ever more detached
and introspective. This was what he had been used to,
since he could remember, but now, in the stuffy little
room, with its ghastly yellow gas-light, the smell of
eatables and wine, the pallor of the women's faces, the
flush of Maxwell's, the desperate frivolity, the artifi-
ciality of it all bored him. He wondered, whimsically,
why he had ever looked forward to being the com-
panion of such a society as this. It was all harmless
enough, unconventional as it was, but he tasted the
ashes in his mouth. Perhaps, after all, he was only
not in the mood for it. He tried to smile again.
Fernigan seized a small Turkish rug from the floor
and hung it in front of him, like a chasuble. Standing
before the company he intoned a sacrilegious parody,
like everything he did, funny, like everything he did,
atrocious :
"0, sanctissimus nabisco in Colorado maduro domino
te deum, e pluribus unum vice versa et circus hippo-
criticam, mephisto apollinaris nux vomica dolores
intimidad mores; rara avis per diem cum magnum
vino et sappho modus vivendi felicitas" to the droned
"A men."
Keith then enlivened the company with what quaint
parlor tricks he knew, or dared, from making of a
napkin a ballet dancer pirouetting upon one toe, to
limericks that were suppressed by Sully Maxwell.
Mrs. Pag*e laughed prodigiously, showing all her
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 305
teeth, staring with her great eyes, vivid in her every
expression, flamboyant, sleek and glossy, abounding
in temperament. Frankie Dean smiled maliciously
and plied the performers with her acrid wit. The
girl from Santa Rosa listened, her cheeks burning.
At six they went outside for fresh air and prome-
naded the glazed veranda until the sun rose. In front
of them was the broad Pacific, stretching out to the
Farralones, even to Japan. To the north, across the
bar, yellowed with alluvium from the San Joaquin and
Sacramento Rivers, a mountainous coast stretched to
far, misty Bolinas. Southward ran the broad, wide
beach exposed by the ebb tide. It was damp and cool ;
the last spasm of summer had given way to the brisk,
stimulating weather that was San Francisco's usual
habit. Granthope buttoned his. light overcoat tightly
over his rumpled evening dress and walked with the
girl from Santa Rosa, enjoying the scene quietly,
speaking in monosyllables. The others had a new
burst of effervescence, still more desperate than ever;
their hilarity was indefatigable. Keith walked along
the tops of the tables, leading Mrs. Page. Frankie
Dean and Fernigan two-stepped the length and
breadth of the wide platform, joking incessantly.
A walk up the beach was then suggested, and, after
a preliminary furbishing of faces and hair, they went
down the steep rocky road to the wide strand, and
proceeded along the shore.
Granthope, falling behind, saw that the girl from
Santa Rosa alone had waited for him. She gazed at
him steadily with grave eyes.
"Well," he said kindly, "what d'you think of San
Francisco?"
306 THE HEART LINE
She looked down at the sand and drew a circle
with her toe before she answered.
"It's pretty gay here, isn't it?"
"Oh, well, if you call this sort of thing gay !"
The girl looked immensely relieved, gave him a
quick, searching glance, and said shyly : "Do you know,
Mr. Granthope, I have an idea that you didn't enjoy
it any more than I did!"
He smiled at her, then silently grasped her hand.
She blushed and turned away.
"I thought it was going to be great fun," she said,
as they walked on. "I never was up all night before.
It's awfully exciting. But people do look awful in the
morning, don't they?"
She herself was like a blossom wet with dew, but
Granthope knew what she meant, well enough. He
had watched the lines come into Mrs. Page's face and
her mouth droop at the corners; he had noticed the
glitter fade from Frankie Dean's black eyes, and her
lids grow heavy.
"You ought never to have come," he said. "I think
you'd better go home and get to bed. Suppose we
leave them and walk across to the almshouse and take
the Haight Street cars?"
"Oh, d'you think they'd mind, if we did?"
"They'd never notice that we were gone, I'm sure."
"I'm afraid you'll find me awfully stupid. Miss
Dean is very witty, isn't she?"
"I'd rather be stupid."
"You're sure I won't bore you?"
"I don't feel much like talking, myself. I have
plenty to think about. Suppose we don't say anything,
unless we have something to say."
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 307
"Oh, I didn't know you could do that in San
Francisco !"
He laughed sincerely for the first time that night.
As they came to the place where the beach road
turned off for Ingleside, the rest of the party was some
distance ahead. They were sitting upon some rocks,
and, as Granthope looked, he saw Mrs. Page rise, lift
her skirts and walk barefooted across the sands, down
to the water's edge. She turned and waved her hand
to him. He took off his hat to her and pointed inland
in reply. Then he climbed the low sand-hills with his
companion and struck off southward, along the road.
The girl had colored again.
Her confidence in him was soothing. She was so
serious and innocent, so quick with a country girl's
delicate observation of nature, that he fell into a more
placid state of mind. She became more friendly all
the while, till, despite her confession of shyness, she
fairly prattled. He let her run on, scarcely listening,
busy with his own thoughts. And so, up the long
road to the almshouse, resting in the pale sunshine
occasionally, through the Park to the end of the Haight
Street cable-line they walked, and talked ingenuously.
She lived in "The Mission," and there, having
nothing better to do, he escorted her, and at last, in
that jumble of wooden buildings so multitudinously
prosaic, between the Twin Peaks and the Old Mission,
he left her.- She bade him good-by apparently with
regret. Widely different as they were in mind and
temperament, they had, for their hour, come closely to-
gether. Now they were to recede, never again, per-
haps, to meet.
He walked in town along Valencia Street, through
308 THE HEART LINE
that curious "hot belt" which defies the town's normal
state of weather, turned up Van Ness Avenue, still
too busy with his reflections to shut himself up in his
studio. It was Sunday morning he had almost for-
gotten the day and he turned up his collar, to con-
ceal what he could of his evening attire and its wilted,
rumpled linen, somewhat uncomfortable in the pres-
ence of the church-going throngs which pervaded the
avenue.
He had reached the top of the long slope leading
to the Black Point military reservation, and was paus-
ing upon the corner of Lombard Street, when, looking
up the hill, he saw Clytie Payson coming down the
steep, irregular pathway that did service for a side-
walk. He stepped behind a lamp-post and watched
her, uncertain whether or not to let her see him.
She came tripping down, picking her way along
the cleated double plank, too intent upon her footsteps
to look far ahead. The sight of her made him a little
trepid with excitement; it focused his dissatisfaction
with himself. He knew, now, what had disturbed him.
It was the thought of her. She had forced him to
look at himself from a new point of view, with a
new, critical vision. He longed for her approval. Her
gentle coercion was drawing him into new channels
of life, and he felt a sudden need for her help. He
was losing his whilom comrades, his old familiar asso-
ciations repelled him. He had nothing to sustain him
now, but the thought of her -friendship.
But, in his present state, he had not the courage to
address her. As a child plays with circumstances and
makes his own omens, he left the decision to chance.
If she turned and saw him, he would greet her and
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 309
throw himself on her grace. If not, he would pass on
without speaking, much as he longed to speak.
She came down to the corner diagonally opposite
and paused for a moment, looking off at the mountains
and the waters of the Golden Gate. He saw her make
a sudden movement, as if waking from her abstraction,
then she walked over in his direction. He came out
from his cover and went to meet her.
"Good morning, Mr. Granthope !" She was smiling,
holding out her hand. "I thought I recognized you!
Something told me to stop a moment, and wait. Then
suddenly I saw you. You see, you can't escape me !"
He was visibly embarrassed, conscious of his signifi-
cantly unkempt appearance. She, however, did not
show that she noticed it.
"How is your ankle?" was her first inquiry. He
assured her that it had given him no trouble for a
week, and he expressed his thanks to her for her help.
"I've been hoping I might see you," she said, "to
apologize for the reception you received the last time
you called. . I can't tell you how unhappy it made me,
nor how I regret it."
"Mayn't I see you a while now?" He felt at
such a disadvantage in his present condition that
it was embarrassing to be with her, and yet he longed
for another hour of companionship.
"Let's walk down to the Point," she said. "I can
get in the reservation, and it will be beautiful."
As they walked down across the empty space at
the foot of the avenue and along the board-walk over
the sand, she talked inconsequently of the day and the
scene, evidently attempting to put him at his ease.
The little girl from Santa Rosa had given him a
3 io THE HEART LINE
passive comfort. Clytie's companionship was an ac-
tive and inspiring joy. His depression ceased ; a sane,
wholesome content rilled him. He watched her grace-
ful, leopard-like swing and the evidences of vitality
that impelled her movements.
They passed the sentry who nodded to her at the
gate, went past the officers' quarters, down a little
path lined with piled cannon-balls, out to a small
promontory that overlooked the harbor. Here there
was an old Spanish brass cannon in its wooden mortar-
carriage, and a seat on the very edge of the bluff.
The harbor extended wide to the southeast. Inshore
was a covey of white-sailed yachts in regatta, just tack-
ing, to beat across to Lime Point, opposite.
As they sat down, Clytie said, "Now do tell me
about Miss Gray. How is she?"
"She's not with me any more."
She lifted her brows. "Where is she?"
"I don't know, quite."
"You haven't seen her since she left?"
"No, not for two weeks."
Clytie frowned and bit her lip, then shook her head
silently. Then she remarked, as if to herself, "I like
her. I'm sure she's fine."
"She likes you, too."
"I wish I might see her," she went on, her eyes
fixed on the mountains. "I'd like to do something
for her. I might get her a position in my father's
office, I'm sure, if she'd take it. I have a curious
feeling, though, that it is she who will be more likely
to do something for me."
"If she ever can, you may be sure she will. Fancy
is true blue,"
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 311
"You didn't have any misunderstanding with her,
did you?"
"Oh, no."
She seemed to notice his reluctance to explain, and
did not pursue the subject.
She turned and her eyes fell upon his hand, which
lay carelessly upon his knee. "Let me see your palm,"
she said impulsively. "I've never looked at it care-
fully. I suppose you've told your own fortune often
enough."
He gave his left hand to her. She barely touched
it, holding it lightly, but he felt the magnetism of the
contact almost as a caress. "You'll find my line of
fate shows that I'm to change my career," he re-
marked. "It's broken at the head line, you see, and
begins over again."
"Now, let me look at your right hand."
She looked at it, and her expression changed subtly.
It was as if she had found some secret satisfaction
in his palm, some answer to her desires.
"What d'you see?"
"The heart line."
In his left hand it began near the root of the second
finger, at the mount of Saturn, not, as he would have
preferred, farther toward the index finger, at the
mount of Jupiter. He wondered if that meant to her
what it did, in his professional capacity, to him an
indication of more sensual tastes. Half its length
was cobwebbed with tiny branches, and punctuated
with islands ; then it ran, deep and clear to the edge
of the palm, almost straight. In his right palm the
line was cleaner, simpler, undivided.
She had begun to color, faintly ; she had turned her
312 THE HEART LINE
eyes from him. Into her loveliness had come a new
element of charm. There was something special in it,
something for him alone; it was as if she had been
signaling to him, and he had not, till now, understood.
Instantly every line in her body seemed to be imbued
with a new grace, a new meaning, translating her
spirit. He was too full of the inspiration to speak;
he could only look at her, irradiated, as if he had
never seen her before. To his admiration for her
beauty, his respect for her character, his interest in her
mind, there was added something more ; the total was
not to be accounted for by the sum of these. And
the wonderful whole satisfied the divine fastidiousness
of his nature. She was for him the supreme choice.
Her mind worked like his. Her very size pleased him.
He seemed to know her for the first time. He had
desired her, before, for her beauty and her intelli-
gence; he had thought calmly of love and marriage.
But now he felt the supreme demand for possession,
because only because he must have her because
nothing else in his life mattered.
A secret ray of thought seemed to carry the message
back to her, for, apparently embarrassed by the inten-
sity of his silence, she rose and walked a few paces,
with her hands behind her back, gazing off at the
harbor. It was not thought that he sent, however,
for he could not think; it was a new function of his
soul aroused, excited, thrilling him with the power
of its vibration.
When that wave broke, he was at a loss for words.
How could he say how much he wanted her? How
could he ask if she, too, felt that same thrill, while
he winced under this new, mortifying- sense of the
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 313
cheapness and falsity of his life? He could not yet
bring himself to confess the miserable truths; it was
not the larger, more obvious things he was afraid of,
for she knew well enough of these but one or two
shameful details came into his mind and made him
shrink from himself.
She turned to him again, composed, though still she
showed elation.
"I'm sorry Fancy had to go," she said earnestly.
Her eyes were steady, though her lips were still quiv-
ering.
"It was too bad. But it was necessary."
She gave him a swift, searching look.
"Oh! Then you are finding out?"
"I'm being pushed on, somehow. It's really queer,
as if the force came from outside of myself "
"Oh, no! I'm sure not!"
"Something is working out in me "
Clytie smiled rarely, her face illuminated. "Oh, fate
deals the cards, but we have to play them ourselves.
And I think you've taken several tricks already."
"You mean about Fancy Gray?"
"No that I can/t judge I never have judged.
Your advertisement in the papers."
He was immensely surprised, pleased. "You have
noticed that already? Why, this is only the very first
day"
"I have watched for it every day."
There was another pause. Her remark was reveal-
ing yet he dared not hope too far. He felt so near
to her, so intimate in that revelation that he feared
to deceive himself. Oh, he was for her, now! His
heart clamored for possession, yet he could not declare
314 THE HEART LINE
himself. They were upon different spiritual altitudes.
Women, before, had come at his whistle. Now he
was awkward, timid, excited with expectancy, his
heart going hard.
"There is a reason why I was glad to see that
change, Mr. Granthope," she continued. He waited
for her words eagerly. She looked away, her eyes
following the sails in mid-channel. "I'm thinking of
leaving town."
The announcement fell upon him like a blow. "You
are going away!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying
him.
"Not for a week or two, perhaps."
"A week!" The words stung him. "Don't go-
yet!" he exclaimed faintly.
"I don't want to go yet. My aunt in the East
has invited me to visit her for six months." She
spoke calmly, but did not look at him.
"I'll have to hurry, won't I ?" he said with a desper-
ate, whimsical inflection.
"Yes. You'll have to hurry."
For a while he was too agitated to speak. If there
had needed anything more to convince him of his state
of mind, this sufficed. He was aware, by the sense
of shock, how much he cared.
"Before I go, I'd like to ask a favor of you, Mr.
Granthope."
It almost comforted him. "What is it of course,
I'll do anything."
"Will you see if you can find out something about
that little boy who lived with Madam Grant?"
There it was again! This blow turned his mind
black. She was gazing at him earnestly he could
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 315
hardly bear her look, so placid, so sincere. "You
mean clairvoyantly ?" he stammered.
"Yes. I think we might do it, together."
He rose to walk up and down. the top of the bank
for a few minutes. Once he stopped and gazed at
her fiercely, under tensely set brows. Finally he re-
turned hopelessly.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
"Why not?"
He hesitated. "I know I couldn't get anything."
"But you did before?"
He longed desperately to confess everything, but
he could not speak. He felt her recede from him;
their delightful intimacy was broken. She did
not insist further, and self-contempt kept him silent,
till he broke out, "Oh, it's you who must help me!"
"I've done all I can for you. You must find out
the rest for yourself."
"I don't dare to think how much you have to find
out about me."
"Tell me!"
"I haven't the courage."
She let her hand fall lightly upon his for an instant.
"Well, that only proves, doesn't it, that, so long as
there's anything insurmountable in the way of direct-
ness and simplicity, you haven't gone all the way?
I'll wait."
"I'm so afraid of losing your sympathy and your
respect."
"But you can't stop still !"
"I'm afraid of losing you!"
He saw the tears come into her eyes. "Ah, there's
only one way you can lose me," she said deliberately.
316 THE HEART LINE
"How?" He was eager.
She did not answer, but arose slowly. "I think I
must be going."
He followed her, thoroughly dissatisfied with him-
self at having let his moment pass. He understood
her well enough. It was only by stopping still, as she
had said, that he could lose her. She had started a
change in him, and it must go on. Something which
tied his hands, his mind, must be cut; he must be
free of that before he could speak.
They retraced their steps, she talking, as when they
had come, inconsequently ; he, moody, troubled in-
wardly, self-conscious. She was to give him one more
hope, however. As she left him, on the avenue, she
offered her hand, and smiled.
"Don't give it up," she said, and turned away, leav-
ing him standing alone, stiL fighting his battle with
himself.
He had enough to think of, as he strode home,
ill-satisfied with himself and in a turmoil of thought
in regard to her. There was no question of mastery,
now; she had beaten him at his own game. It was
only a question of surrender.
He went up into his office and stood, looking about.
The row of plaster casts confronted him. He took
one from the row and examined it. There, too, was
a heart line split up with divergent branches, punctu-
ated with little islands, beginning at the Mount of
Saturn, herring-boned to the end, at the double crease
which signified two marriages. The fingers were short
and fat, the thumb being far too small. Small joints,
broad lines, deep cushions at the Mounts of Venus and
Mercury, deep bracelets at the wrist Granthope's
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 317
eyes read the signs as if the hand were a face, or a
whole body.
As he turned the cast over thoughtfully, to look
at the back, it dropped from his grasp and fell to the
floor, breaking into a dozen pieces. Bits of wire pro-
jected humorously from the stump. He smiled.
"Kismet!" he said to himself. "Adieu, Violet!"
He was stooping to clear away the fragments when
he heard a knock upon the door. Going to answer it,
he found Professor Vixley waiting.
"Hello, Frank/' said the slate-writer. "Can I see
you for a few minutes ?"
"Come in." Granthope drew up a chair, but stood
himself with his hands in his pockets while his visitor
made himself comfortable.
Vixley's shrewd eyes roved about the room and
rested upon the broken cast. "Hello," he said, "cat
got into the statuary?"
"Accident," said the palmist.
"Plenty more where they come from, I s'pose. Say,
Frank, let's see the Payson girl's hand, will you ?"
"I haven't it."
"You mean a cast, of course, eh? I expect youVe
pretty near got the original, ain't you?"
"Not yet." Granthope frowned.
"But soon"
Granthope shrugged his shoulders.
"It was about Payson I wanted to see you," the
Professor went on. "Seems to me you ain't standin'
in like you agreed to. Gert claims you got cold feet
on the proposition. I thought I'd drop in and chew
it over."
Granthope did not answer, and the' frown on his
3 i8 THE HEART LINE
forehead persisted. Vixley took out a cigar and lighted
it, threw his match on to the desk, looked about again,
and grinned. "Then you have got cold feet, eh?" he
remarked, crossing his legs.
Granthope looked the Professor squarely in the eye
for a moment. Then he said deliberately: "Vixley,
what will you take to leave town?"
Vixley showed his astonishment in the stare with
which he replied. His lip drew away from his yellow
fangs, and a keen light came into his black eyes.
"Oho! That's the game, is it? Somethin' doin',
after all, eh? Well, well!" He mouthed his cigar
meditatively and twirled his thumbs in his lap.
"Come, name your price," said Granthope sharply.
"I'd like a few details first."
"What's the figure?"
Vixley was in no hurry, and enjoyed his advantage.
"I thought you was up to something, Frank. Gert's
pretty sharp, but Lord, she's only a woman. You
fooled her a bunch. She reely thought you'd got a
change of heart. So you want to cut up the money
all by your lonely, eh? Well, now, what'll you give
to have me pull out of it ?"
"I'll give you five hundred dollars," said Granthope.
"Nothin' doin'," said Vixley decidedly. "Why, it's
worth more than that to me just as it stands, and I
ain't but just begun. If you can't do better than that,
why, it's no use talkin'."
"I asked you what you wanted. Let's have it, and
I'll talk business."
"Payson's pretty well fixed," .said Vixley. "I
s'pose if you marry the girl you'll get a good wad of
his money."
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 319
"Never mind the girl. I want to buy you out."
"Well, I'd have to think it over. You know we got
a great scheme, and if it works it'll mean a steady in-
come. But I don't mind turnin' over money quick.
You make it a thousand dollars and I'll agree to leave
you alone, and pull off Gert into the bargain. You'll
have to fix Masterson yourself. I don't trust him."
Granthope began to walk the room again, thinking.
He returned finally, to say: "It won't do merely for
you to agree to keep out of it. I know you too well.
This is a business agreement. If I give you a thou-
sand, will you leave town? That's my offer."
Vixley reflected. "That ain't so much. I dunno as
I could afford to spoil my whole business for that."
"Pshaw. You don't make that in a year!"
"Not last year, perhaps, but I expect to this."
"Then you refuse?"
"Wait a minute. Have you got the money on hand ?"
"No, I haven't." Granthope's face clouded. "But
I have an idea I might raise it. I could pay you in
instalments. But you'd have to be outside of Califor-
nia to get it. That's understood."
Vixley rose. "Well, when you've got the money
you can begin to talk. If you can raise it, as you
say, I may agree. After all, I could use a thou' just at
present, and I s'pose I could operate in Chicago till
you let me come back. Say I accept."
"All right. As soon as I can raise five hundred,
I'll see you, and buy your ticket. Until then, I expect
you to leave Payson alone."
"Will you leave him alone? That's the question!
I don't propose to have no interference until you make
good with the money."
320 THE HEART LINE
"I'll make good, all right," said Granthope.
"Very well, then." Vixley rose and buttoned what
buttons were left on his coat. "When you're ready to
do business, I'm ready. But you see here!" He
shook a long, bony finger at the palmist. "If you go
to work and try any gum-games with the old man be-
fore then, Frank, I'll break you like that there hand."
He pointed down to the cast on the floor. Then he
added easily : "Not that it would do you any good if
you did, though. I'll attend to that. I got to protect
myself. It'll be easy enough to fix it so the old man
won't take much stock in what you tell him."
"I expect that's so," Granthope shrugged his shoul-
ders. "I don't mind saying that if I thought I could
do anything that way, I would."
"So long, then. The sooner you make your bid,
the cheaper it'll be." He turned from the door and
looked the palmist over. "You're a good one, Frank.
I don't deny you got brains. I wouldn't mind knowin'
just what you was up to. It must be something ele-
gant." He came up to Granthope and gestured with
both hands. "Say why don't you let me in? We
could work it together, and I'll lose Gertie. I ain't
no fool, myself, when it comes right down to business."
Granthope laughed sarcastically. "I hardly think
you can help much in this. It's a rather delicate prop-
osition, and I'll have to go it alone. Just as soon as I
get the cash I'll let you know."
For an hour after that Granthope sat in his office
thinking it over. His offer to Vixley had come on the
spur of the moment, and, although he did not regret
it, he was at a loss to know how he could make it good.
He went over his accounts carefully, inspected his
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 321
bank-book, made a valuation of his property. He
could see no way, at present, to raise sufficient money
to buy Vixley off, and yet to sit still and let him go on
with Clytie's father was intolerable. He had seen men
ruined by such wiles, and his own conscience was not
clean in this matter. There seemed no way of escape.
Late that afternoon he decided to call on Fancy
Gray. He had hardly seen her since the night she
left, and he was troubled in her regard, also. He
dreaded to know just what she was doing, and how
she stood it. He had long attempted to deny to him-
self that she cared too much for him, and always
their fiction had been maintained that fiction which,
during their pretty idyl at Alma, so long ago, had
crystallized itself into their whimsical motto: "No
fair falling in love !" He had kept their pact well
enough. He dared not answer for her.
Fancy lived in a three-story house on O'Farrell
Street, near Jones Street, a place back from the side-
walk, with a garden in front and on one side. Fancy
had a room on the attic floor, with two dormer win-
dows giving upon the front yard. As Granthope
turned in the gate and looked up at her windows, he
was surprised to see one of them raised. Fancy's arm
appeared, a straw hat in her hand. The next instant
the hat sailed gracefully out into the air, curving like
an aeroplane. It dropped nearly at his feet. He
picked it up, thinking that she would look out after it,
but instead, the sash was lowered.
A minute afterward a young man, bareheaded, and
apparently violently enraged, appeared at the front
door. Granthope walked up and presented the hat to
322 THE HEART LINE
Mr. Gay P. Summer, who took it, staring, without a
word of thanks, and stalked sulkily away.
The door being left open, Granthope walked up
three flights of stairs and knocked at Fancy's room.
There was no reply. He called to her. The door was
instantly flung open.
"Why, hello, Frank! Excuse me. I thought it
was my meal-ticket coming back to bore me to death
again." Fancy began to laugh. "You ought to have
seen him. He simply wouldn't go, after I'd given
him twenty-three gilt-edged tips, and so I had to
throw his hat out of the window to get rid of him."
"I saw him. I think he won't come back. He
looked rather uncomfortable."
Fancy sat down on the bed unconcernedly, clasping
her hands on her crossed knees, while Granthope
took a seat upon a trunk.
"Say, Frank, these people who expect to annex all
your time and pay for it in fifty cent table d'hotes are
beginning to make me tired. There's nothing so ex-
pensive as free dinners, I've found! The minute you
let a man buy you a couple of eggs, he thinks he's in
a position to dictate to you for the rest of eternity.
Why, one dinner means he's hired you till eleven
o'clock, and I run out of excuses long before that.
No, you don't get anything free in this world, and
many a girl's found that out !"
Granthope smiled. Fancy was at her prettiest, with
a whimsical animation that he knew of old. Nothing
delighted him so much as Fancy in her semi-philo-
sophic vein.
She ran on : "Gay has just proposed to me again
I've lost 'tally, now. 'The one good thing about him
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 323
is that he's always ready to make good with the ring
whenever I say the word. He takes me seriously just
because I never explain. But all the encouragement
I've ever given him is to accept. Gay's the kind that
always calls you 'Little girl,' no matter how high you
are, and tells you you're 'brave'! There's no one
quite like you, Frank "
As she spoke, her gaiety slowly oozed away, till she
sat almost plaintively watching him. Then she smiled
and shook her head slowly. "Don't get frightened,
I won't do anything foolish." She sprang up and
tossed her head. Then, turning to him, she said : "Say,
Frank, do you know Blanchard Cayley ?"
"Why, I've just heard of him, that's all. He's a
friend of Miss Payson's."
"She isn't fond of him, is she?" Fancy demanded.
"Oh, I hope not! Why?"
"Nothing. Only, I met him, one night, at Car-
minetti's. Gay had just thrown me down hard. He
came round, afterward, and apologized." Fancy
looked across the room abstractedly as she talked.
Upon the wall were strung a collection of empty chianti
bottles in their basket-work shells, a caricature by
Maxim, a circus poster and other evidence of her
recent conversion to the artistic life. She spoke with
a queer introspective manner. "I had a queer feeling
about Mr. Cayley. You know, for all I'm such a
scatterbrain, I do like a man with a mind. I like to
look up to a man. He's awfully well-read. Of
course, he isn't as clever as you, but he sort of fas-
cinates me I don't know why. He interests me,
although I can't understand half he says. I suppose
he makes me forget. There's nothing like knowing
324 THE HEART LINE
how to forget. But you're sure Miss Payson isn't too
fond of him?"
"I'd like to be surer," said Granthope. He, too,
was looking fixedly across the room at the mottoes
and texts upon the wall, on the mantel, and over her
bed "Do it Now!" "Nothing Succeeds like Suc-
cess" and such platitudes as, printed in red and
black, are sold at bookshops for the moral education of
those unable to think for themselves.
Fancy slid gently off the bed, and dropped to the
floor in front of him. Her hand stole fondly for his,
and clasped it, petting it.
"How is she, Frank?"
He put his hand on her hair and smoothed it af-
fectionately. "Fine, Fancy, fine."
"Oh I hope it's all right, Frank."
"I don't know, Fancy. You'd hardly recognize me,
these days. I'm losing my sense of humor. I'm be-
coming a prig, I think."
Fancy laughed. "Well, there's plenty of room in
that direction. But I don't think she'd mind your
being a devil occasionally. Women don't have to be
saints to be thoroughbreds. And there's many a saint
that would like to take a day off, once in a while !"
"Have you seen Vixley, lately?"
Fancy grew serious. "No. Is he still working the
old man?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I saw him to-day. I offered
him a thousand dollars to leave town, Fancy."
Fancy looked up at him with wonder in her eyes.
"Why, Frank! What do you mean? A thousand
dollars? Why, you haven't got that much, have you?"
"No, Not yet, But I'll get it, somehow."
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 325
"You mean that you're trying to save Payson
on her account, Frank?"
He avoided her glance. "On her account and per-
haps my own."
Fancy rose impulsively and put her arms about him.
"Do let me hug you, Frank, just once !"
He saw her eyes grow soft. She released herself
quickly, as if the embrace, simple as it was, hurt her.
She stood in front of him and watched him soberly.
"Frank, 7 never could make you " She stopped,
the tears welling in her eyes. Then she turned and
ran out of the room.
He rose, too, and paced up and down, wondering at
her mood. His track was short, for the roof sloped on
one side, and the place was encumbered with Fancy's
paraphernalia and furniture. His eyes fell, after a
while, upon a cigar box on her bureau. It stood
upright, under the mirror, and had little doors, glued
on with paper hinges, so that the two opened, like the
front of a Japanese shrine of Buddha. He went to
it and looked at it. Thoughtlessly, with no idea of
committing an indiscretion, little suspecting that it
could hold anything private or sacred, he swung the
little doors open. Then he shut them hastily and
walked to the window with a clutch at his heart. In-
side he had seen his own photograph. Before it was
a little glass jar with a few violets. They were fresh,
fragrant. Lettered upon a strip of paper pasted on
the inside was the inscription:
No Fair Falling In Love.
He walked away hurriedly to stare hard out of
the window.
3*6 THE HEART LINE
She came into the room again as he composed him-
self, and her face, newly washed, was radiant. She
reseated herself upon the bed, and, taking up a pair of
stockings, proceeded to darn a small hole in the heel.
"Have you got a position, Fancy?"
She laughed. "Vixley wrote me a note and told
me he had a job for me if I wanted it, but I turned
him down. You couldn't guess what I am doing,
Frank."
"What?"
"Detective." She looked up innocently.
"You don't mean "
"No! Just little jobs for the chief of police, that's
all. I'm investigating doctors who practise without
a license, that's all. I say, Masterson had better look
out or he'll get pulled."
"I'm sorry you haven't anything better, Fancy.
Miss Payson said she'd get you a place in her father's
office if you'd go. Would you ?"
"No." Fancy's eyes were upon her needle.
"Why not?"
"Frank," she said, "do you remember asking me
to inquire about that soldier the little girl with freckles
wanted to find ?"
"Yes. I thought you said that the ticket agent at
the ferry had left, and so you couldn't get anything."
"He was only off on a vacation. He's come back,
and I saw him yesterday. He remembered that soldier
perfectly I don't see how anybody could fail to
he must look awful. He said he bought a ticket for
Santa Barbara."
"That's good. I hope she'll come in again," said
Granthope. "She was a nice little thing."
A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR 327
"She was real, Frank, and that's what few people
are, nowadays."
He looked at her for a minute. "There's no doubt
that you are, Fancy."
"1 wish I were. I'm only a drifter, Frank." She
kept on with her darning, not looking up.
v "Fancy, I want to do something for you. Won't
you let me help you?"
"I'm all right, Frank. I told you I wanted to have
some fun before I settled down again. But if I ever
do need anything, I'll let you know."
"Promise me that that whenever you want me,
you'll send for me, or come to me, Fancy !"
She looked up into his eyes frankly. "I promise,
Frank. When I need you, I'll come."
She was a blither spirit after that, till he took his
leave. It had been an eventful day for Francis Grant-
hope. He had swung round almost the whole circle of
emotions. But not quite.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT
At five o'clock the next afternoon Blanchard Cayley
was sitting at a window of his club, opening the letters
which he had just taken from his box in the office.
He had his hat on, a trait which always aroused the
ire of the older members. Beside him, upon a small
table, was a glass of "orange squeeze," which he
sipped at intervals.
At this hour there were some twenty members in the
large room reading, talking or playing dominoes.
Others came in and went out occasionally, and of these
more than half approached Cayley to say effusively:
"Hello, old man, how goes it?" or some such simi-
larly luminous remark. This was as offensive to Cay-
ley as the wearing of his hat in the club was to the old
men. Nothing annoyed him so much as to be inter-
rupted while reading his letters. Yet he always
looked up with a smile, and replied:
"Oh, so-so what's the news?"
To be sure, Cayley's mail to-day was not so im-
portant that these hindrances much mattered. The
study of Esperanto was his latest fad. With several
Misses, Frauleins and Mademoiselles on the official list
of the "Esperantistoj," and whom he suspected of
being young and beautiful, he had begun a systematic
correspondence. The greater part of the answers he
received were dull and innocuous, written on pic-
ture post-cards. From Odessa, from Siberia, Rio de
328
THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT 329
Janeiro, Cambodia, Moldavia and New Zealand such
missives came. Those which were merely perfunctory,
or showed but a desire to obtain a San Francisco
post-card for a growing collection, he threw into the
waste-basket. Others, whose originality promised a
flirtation more affording, he answered ingeniously.
A man suddenly slapped him on the shoulder.
"Hello, Blanchard, have a game of dominoes ?"
"No, thanks."
"Come and have a drink, then."
"No, thanks, I'm on the wagon now."
"Go to the devil."
"Same to you."
The man grinned and dropped into a big chair op-
posite Cayley and lighted a cigar. Then his glance
wandered out of the window. Cayley put the bunch of
letters in his pocket and yawned.
"By Jove, there's a peach over there," said the man.
Cayley turned and looked.
"In front of the shoe store. See ?"
She was standing, looking idly into the show win-
dow a figure in gray and red. Scarlet cuffs, scarlet
collar, scarlet silk gloves. Her form was trim and
her carriage jaunty.
It was Fancy Gray drifting. She stood, hesi-
tating, and shot a glance up to the second story of
the club house where the men sat. She caught Cay-
ley's eye and smiled, showing her white teeth. Her
eyebrows went up. Then she turned down the street
and walked slowly away.
"Say," said the man, "was that for you or for me,
Blan?"
"I expect it must have been for me. Good day."
330 THE HEART LINE
"Something doing? Well, good luck!"
Cayley walked briskly out of the room, got his hat,
and ran down the front steps. Fancy was already
half a block ahead of him, nearing Kearney Street.
He caught up with her before she turned the cor-
ner.
"I've been looking for you for three weeks," he
began.
She paused and gave him a saucy smile. "You
ought to be treated for it," was her somewhat ellipti-
cal reply.
"I'm afraid I am pretty slow, but I've got you now.
It seems to me you're looking pretty nimble."
"Really? I hope I'll do."
"Fancy Gray, you'll indubitably do. Won't you
come to dinner with me somewhere, where we can
talk?"
"I accept," said Fancy Gray.
"Are you still with Granthope?"
She hesitated for a second before replying. "No,
I .left last week."
"What's the row?"
"Oh, nothing, I got tired of it."
"That's not true," he said, looking into her eyes,
which had dimmed.
"Cut it out then, I don't care to talk about it."
"I bet he didn't treat you square. He's too much
of a bounder."
At this her face flamed and she stopped suddenly on
the sidewalk, drawing herself away from him.
"Don't," she pleaded, "don't, please, or I can't go
with you "
He saw now what was in her eyes and put his hand
THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT 331
into her arm again. "Come along, little girl, I won't
worry you," he said gently. And they walked on.
She recovered her spirits in a few moments, but the
sparkling of her talk was like the waves on the sur-
face of an invisible current sweeping her toward him.
It was too evident for him, used as he was to women,
not to notice it. She was a little embarrassed, and such
self-consciousness sat strangely on her face. Behind
that flashing smile and the quick glances of her eye
something slumbered, an emotion alien to such deb-
onair moods as was her wont to express, and as foreign
to the deeper secret feelings she concealed. Her
eyes had darkened to a deeper brown, the iris almost
as dark as the pupils. Cayley did, as she had said,
fascinate her. Whether the charm was most physical
or mental it would be hard to say, but her demeanor
showed that it partook of both elements. She gave
herself up to it.
He began to
