Kennedy Square

KENNEDY

: (3

BOOKS BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

KENNEDY SQUARE, Illustrated $1.50

PETER. Illustrated 1.50

THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT. Illustrated . . . 1.50

THE FORTUNES OF OLIVER HORN. Illustrated 1.50
THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED

GENTLEMAN. Illustrated 1.50

COLONEL CARTER'S CHRISTMAS. Illustrated . 1.50

FORTY MINUTES LATE. Illustrated 1.50

THE WOOD FIRE IN No. 3. Illustrated ... 1.50

THE VEILED LADY. Illustrated 1.50

AT CLOSE RANGE. Illustrated 1.50

THE UNDER DOG. Illustrated 1.50

KENNEDY SQUARE

" You'll take it, won't you — just once?"

KENNEDY SQUARE

BY

F. HOPKINSON SMITH

ILLUSTRATED BY

A. I. KELLER

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1911

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BT
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

Published August, 1911

£4

Author's Preface:

" Kennedy Square, in the late fifties, was a place of
birds and trees and flowers; of rude stone benches,
sagging arbors smothered in vines, and cool dirt paths
bordered by sweet-smelling box. Giant magnolias
filled the air with their fragrance, and climbing roses
played hide-and-seek among the railings of the rot-
ting fence. Along the shaded walks laughing boys
and girls romped all day, with hoop and ball, attended
by old black mammies in white aprons and gayly col-
ored bandannas; while in the more secluded corners,
sheltered by protecting shrubs, happy lovers sat and
talked, tired wayfarers rested with hats off, and staid
old gentlemen read by the hour, their noses in their
books.

"Outside of all this color, perfume, and old-time
charm; outside the grass-line and the rickety wooden
fence that framed them in, ran an uneven pavement
splashed with cool shadows and stained with green
mould. Here, in summer, the watermelon man
stopped his cart; and there, in winter, upon its bro-
ken bricks, old Moses unhooked his bucket of oysters
and ceased for a moment his droning call.

" On the shady side of the square, and half hidden
in ivy, was a Noah's Ark church, topped by a quaint
belfry holding a bell that had not rung for years, and

faced by a clock-dial all weather-stains and cracks,
around which travelled a single rusty hand. In its
shadow to the right lay the home of the archdeacon, a
stately mansion with Corinthian columns reaching to
the roof and surrounded by a spacious garden filled
with damask roses and bushes of sweet syringa. To
the left crouched a row of dingy houses built of brick,
their iron balconies hung in flowering vines, the win-
dows glistening with panes of wavy glass purpled by
age.

"On the sunny side of the square, opposite the
church, were more houses, high and low: one all gar-
den, filled with broken-nosed statues hiding behind
still more magnolias; and another all veranda and
honeysuckle, big rocking-chairs and swinging ham-
mocks; and still others with porticos curtained by
white jasmine or Virginia creeper."

— From " The Fortunes of Oliver Horn"

ILLUSTRATIONS

"You'll take it, won't you — just once f" . . Frontispiece

Facing Page

So far the young fellow had not moved nor offered a

word in defence 26

But it was the Colonel who took possession of her

when she reached the floor of the great hall . . 54

Grasped the back of the chair reserved for him . . 222

With a sudden cry of joy stretched out his hand and

motioned him nearer 408

"Take me everywhere and show me everything " . . 500

KENNEDY SQUARE

KENNEDY SQUARE

CHAPTER I

On the precise day on which this story opens — •
some sixty or more years ago, to be exact — a bullet-
headed, merry-eyed, mahogany-colored young darky
stood on the top step of an old-fashioned, high-stoop
house, craning his head up and down and across Ken-
nedy Square in the effort to get the first glimpse of his
master, St. George Wilmot Temple, attorney and coun-
sellor-at-law, who was expected home from a ducking
trip down the bay.

Whether it was the need of this very diet, or whether
St. George had felt a sudden longing for the out-of-
doors, is a matter of doubt, but certain it is that some
weeks before the very best shot in the county had
betaken himself to the Eastern Shore of Maryland,
accompanied by his guns, his four dogs, and two or
three choice men of fashion — young bloods of the time
— men with whom we shall become better acquainted
as these chronicles go on — there to search for the
toothsome and elusive canvas-back for which his State
was famous.

That the darky was without a hat and in his shirt-
sleeves, and it winter — the middle of January, really —

3

KENNEDY SQUARE

the only warm thing about him being the green baize
apron tied about his waist, his customary livery when
attending to his morning duties — did not trouble him
in the least. Marse George might come any minute,
and he wanted to be the first to welcome him.

For the past few weeks Todd had had the house to
himself. Coal-black Aunt Jemima, with her knotted
pig-tails, capacious bosom, and unconfined waist, forty
years his senior and ten shades darker in color, it is
true, looked after the pots and pans, to say nothing of
a particular spit on which her master's joints and
game were roasted; but the upper part of the house,
which covered the drawing-room, dining-room, bed-
room, and dressing-room in the rear, as well as the
outside of the dwelling, including even the green-
painted front door and the slant of white marble steps
that dropped to the brick sidewalk, were the especial
property of the chocolate-colored darky.

To these duties was added the exclusive care of the
master himself — a care which gave the boy the keenest
delight, and which embraced every service from the
drawing off of St. George Wilmot Temple's boots to
the shortening of that gentleman's slightly gray hair;
the supervision of his linen, clothes, and table, with
such side issues as the custody of his well-stocked
cellar, to say nothing of the compounding of various
combinations, sweet, sour, and strong, the betrayal of
whose secrets would have cost the darky his place.

"Place" is the word, for Todd was not St. George's
slave, but the property of a well-born, if slightly impov-

4

KENNEDY SQUARE

erished, gentleman who lived on the- Eastern Shore,
and whose chief source of income was the hiring out
to his friends and acquaintances of just such likely
young darkies as Todd — a custom common to the im-
pecunious of those days.

As Mr. Temple, however, did not come under either
one of the above-mentioned classes — the " slightly im-
poverished gentleman" never having laid eyes on him
in his life — the negotiations had to be conducted with
a certain formality. Todd had therefore, on his ar-
rival, unpinned from the inside of his jacket a por-
tentous document signed with his owner's name and
sealed with a red wafer, which after such felicitous
phrases as — " I have the distinguished honor," etc. —
gave the boy's age (21), weight (140 pounds), and
height (5 feet 10 inches) — all valuable data for identi-
fication in case the chattel conceived a notion of mov-
ing further north (an unnecessary precaution in Todd's
case). To this was added the further information
that the boy had been raised under his master's heels,
that he therefore knew his pedigree, and that his sole
and only reason for sparing him from his own imme-
diate service was his own poverty and the fact that
while under St. George's care the boy could learn how
" to wait on quality."

As to the house itself — the "Temple Mansion," as
it was called — that was as much a part of Kennedy
Square as the giant magnolias gracing the park, or
the Noah's Ark church, with its quaint belfry and
cracked bell, which faced its shady walks. Nobody,

5

KENNEDY SQUARE

of course, remembered how long it had been built —
that is, nobody then alive — I mean the very date.
Such authorities as Major Clayton were positive that
the bricks had been brought from Holland; while
Richard Horn, the rising young scientist, was sure
that all the iron and brass work outside were the prod-
uct of Sheffield; but in what year they had all been
put together had always been a disputed question.

That, however, which was certain and beyond
doubt, was that St. George's father/ old General Dor-
sey Temple, had purchased the property near the close
of the preceding century; that he had, with his char-
acteristic vehemence, pushed up the roof, thrust in
two dormer windows, and smashed out the rear wall,
thus enlarging the dining-room and giving increased
space for a glass-covered porch ending in a broad
flight of wooden steps descending to a rose-garden
surrounded by a high brick wall; that thus encour-
aged he had widened the fireplaces, wainscoted the
hall, built a new mahogany spider-web staircase lead-
ing to his library on the second floor, and had other-
wise disported himself after the manner of a man who,
having suddenly fallen heir to a big pot of money, had
ever after continued oblivious to the fact that the more
holes he punched in its bottom the less water would
spill over its top. The alterations complete, balls,
routs, and dinners followed to such distinguished peo-
ple as Count Rochambeau, the Marquis de Castellux,
Marquis de Lafayette, and other high dignitaries,
coming-of-age parties for the young bloods — quite

6

KENNEDY SQUARE

English in his tastes was the old gentleman — not to
mention many other extravagances which were still
discussed by the gossips of the day.

With the general's death — it had occurred some
twenty years before — the expected had happened.
Not only was the pot nearly empty, but the various
drains which it had sustained had so undermined the
family rent-roll that an equally disastrous effect had
been produced on the mansion itself (one of the few
pieces of property, by the way, that the father had
left to his only son and heir unencumbered, with the
exception of a suit in chancery from which nobody
ever expected a penny), the only dry spots in St.
George's finances being the few ground rents remain-
ing from his grandmother's legacy and the little he
could pick up at the law.

It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that certain
changes and deteriorations had taken place inside and
out of the historic building — changes which never in
the slightest degree affected the even-tempered St.
George, who had retained his own private apartments
regardless of the rest of the house — but changes which,
in all justice to the irascible old spendthrift, would
have lifted that gentleman out of his grave could he
have realized their effect and extent. What a shock,
for instance, would the most punctilious man of his
time have received when he found his front base-
ment rented for a law office, to say nothing of a dis-
reputable tin sign nailed to a shutter — where in the
olden time he and his cronies had toasted their shins

7

KENNEDY SQUARE

before blazing logs, the toddies kept hot on the hearth!
And what a row would he have raised had he known
that the rose-garden was entirely neglected and given
over to the dogs and their kennels; the library in the
second story stripped of its books and turned into a
guest-chamber, and the books themselves consigned to
the basement; the oak-panelled dining-room trans-
formed into a bedchamber for St. George, and the
white-and-gold drawing-room fronting the street re-
duced to a mere living-room where his son and heir
made merry with his friends! And then the shrink-
ages all about! When a room could be dispensed
with, it was locked up. When a shingle broke loose,
it stayed loose; and so did the bricks capping the
chimneys, and the leaky rain-spouts that spattered the
dingy bricks, as well as the cracks and crannies that
marred the ceilings and walls.

And yet so great was Todd's care over the outside
fittings of the house — details which were necessarily
in evidence, and which determined at a glance the
quality of the folks inside — that these several crum-
blings, shake-downs, and shrinkages were seldom
noticed by the passer-by. The old adage that a well-
brushed hat, a clean collar, polished shoes, and im-
maculate gloves — all terminal details — make the well-
dressed man, no matter how shabby or how ill-fitting
his intermediate apparel, applied, according to Todd's
standards, to houses as well as Brummels. He it was
who soused the windows of purple glass, polished the
brass knobs, rubbed bright the brass knocker and

8

KENNEDY SQUARE

brass balls at the top and bottom of the delightful iron
railings, to say nothing of the white marble steps,
which he attacked with a slab of sandstone and cake
of fuller's-earth, bringing them to so high a state of
perfection that one wanted to apologize for stepping
on them. Thus it was that the weather-beaten rain-
spouts, stained bricks, sagging roof, and blistered win-
dow-sashes were no longer in evidence. Indeed, their
very shabbiness so enhanced the brilliancy of Todd's
handiwork that the most casual passers-by were con-
vinced at a glance that gentlefolk lived within.

On this particular morning, then, Todd had spent
most of the time since daylight — it was now eight
o'clock — in the effort to descry his master making his
way along the street, either afoot or by some convey-
ance, his eyes dancing, his ears alert as a rabbit's, his
restless feet marking the limit of his eagerness. In
his impatience he had practised every step known to
darkydom in single and double shuffle; had patted
juba on one and both knees, keeping time with his
heels to the rhythm; had slid down and climbed up
the railings a dozen times, his eyes on the turn in the
street, and had otherwise conducted himself as would
any other boy, black or white, who was at his wits' end
to know what to do with the next second of his time.

Aunt Jemima had listened to the racket until she
had lost all patience, and at last threw up the basement
window:

"Go in an' shet dat do' — 'fo' I come up dar an*
9

KENNEDY SQUARE

smack ye — 'nough ter make a body deef ter hear ye,"
she called, her black shining face dividing the cur-
tains. "How you know he's a-comin'?"

Todd leaned over the railing and peered down:
"Mister Harry Rutter done tol' me — said dey all 's
a-comin' — de jedge an' Doctor Teackle an' Marse
George an' de hull kit an' bilin'. Dey's been gone
mos' two weeks now, — dey's a-comin' I tell ye — be
yere any minute."

" I b'liebe dat when I sees it. Fool nigger like you
b'liebe anything. You better go inside 'fo' you catch
yo' dea'f. I gin ye fair warnin' right now dat I ain't
gwineter nuss ye, — d'ye yere? — standin' out dar like a
tarr-pin wid yo' haid out. Go in I tell ye!" and she
shut the window with a bang and made her way to
the kitchen.

Todd kept up his double shuffle with everything
going — hands, feet, and knees — thrashed his arms
about his chest and back to keep up the circulation
and with a final grimace in the direction of the old
cook maintained his watch.

"I spec's it's de fog dat's kep' 'em," he muttered
anxiously, his feet still in action. "Dat bay boat's
mos' allus late, — can't tell when she'll git in. Only
las' week — Golly! — dar he is — dat's him!"

A mud-bespattered gig was swinging around the
corner into the Square, and with a swerve in its course
was heading to where Todd stood.

The boy sprang down the steps:

"Yere he is, Aunt Jemima!" he shouted, as if the
10

KENNEDY SQUARE

old cook could have heard him through three brick
walls.

The gig came to a stand-still and began to unload:
first the dogs, who had been stowed under their mas-
ter's feet since they left the steamboat wharf, and who
with a clear bound to the sidewalk began scouring in
mad circles, one after another, up and down Todd's
immaculate steps, the four in full cry until the entire
neighborhood was aroused, the late sleepers turning
over with the remark — "Temple's at home," and the
early risers sticking their heads out of the windows to
count the ducks as they were passed out. Next the
master: One shapely leg encased in an English-made
ducking boot, then its mate, until the whole of his
handsome, well-knit, perfectly healthy and perfectly
delightful body was clear of the cramped convey-
ance.

"Hello, Todd!" he burst out, his face aglow with
his drive from the boat-landing — "glad to see you!
Here, take hold of these guns — easy now, they won't
hurt you; one at a time, you lunkhead! And now
pull those ducks from under the seat. How's Aunt
Jemima? — Oh, is that you aunty?" She had come
on the run as soon as she heard the dogs. "Every-
thing all right, aunty — howdy — " and he shook her
hand heartily.

The old woman had made a feint to pull her sleeves
down over her plump black arms and then, begrudg-
ing the delay, had grasped his outstretched hand,
her face in a broad grin.

11

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes, sah, dat's me. Clar' to goodness, Marse
George, I's glad ter git ye home. Lawd-a-massy, see
dem ducks! Purty fat, ain't dey, sah? My! — dat
pair's jes' a-bustin'! G'long you fool nigger an' let
me hab 'em! G'way f'om dere I tell ye!"

" No, — you pick them up, Todd — they're too heavy
for you, aunty. You go back to your kitchen and
hurry up breakfast — waffles, remember, — and some
corn pone and a scallop shell or two — I'm as hungry
as a bear."

The whole party were mounting the steps now, St.
George carrying the guns, Todd loaded down with
the game — ten brace of canvas-backs and redheads
strung together by their bills — the driver of the gig
following with the master's big ducking overcoat and
smaller traps — the four dogs crowding up trying to
nose past for a dash into the wide hall as soon as Todd
opened the door.

"Anybody been here lately, Todd?" his master
asked, stopping for a moment to get a better grip
of his heaviest duck gun.

"Ain't nobody been yere partic'ler 'cept Mister
Harry Rutter. Dey alls knowed you was away.
Been yere mos' ev'ry day — come ag'in yisterday."

" Mr. Rutter been here!— Well, what did he want ?"

"Dunno, sah, — didn't say. Seemed consid'ble
shook up when he foun' you warn't to home. I done
tol* him you might be back to-day an' den ag'in you
mightn't — 'pended on de way de ducks was flyin'.
Spec' he'll be roun' ag'in purty soon — seemed ter hab

12

KENNEDY SQUARE

sumpin' on his min'. I'll tu'n de knob, sah. Yere —
git down, you imp o' darkness, — you Floe! — you
Dandy! Drat dem dogs! — Yere, yere!" but all four
dogs were inside now, making a sweepstakes of the
living-room, the rugs and cushions flying in every
direction.

Although Todd had spent most of the minutes since
daylight peering up and down the Square, eager for
the first sight of the man whom he loved with an idol-
atry only to be found in the negro for a white man
whom he respects, and who is kind to him, he had not
neglected any of his other duties. There was a roar-
ing wood fire behind brass andirons and fender.
There was a breakfast table set for two — St. George's
invariable custom. "Somebody might drop in, you
know, Todd." There was a big easy-chair moved up
within warming distance of the cheery blaze; there
were pipes and tobacco within reach of the master's
hand; there was the weekly newspaper folded neatly
on the mantel, and a tray holding an old-fashioned
squat decanter and the necessary glasses — in fact, all
the comforts possible and necessary for a man who
having at twenty-five given up all hope of wedded life,
found himself at fifty becoming accustomed to its loss.

St. George seized the nearest dog by the collar,
cuffed him into obedience as an example to the others,
ordered the four to the hearth rug, ran his eye along
the mantel to see what letters had arrived in his ab-
sence, and disappeared into his bedroom. From
thence he emerged half an hour later attired in the

13

KENNEDY SQUARE

costume of the day — a jaunty brown velveteen jacket,
loose red scarf, speckled white waistcoat — single-
breasted and of his own pattern and cut — dove-gray
trousers, and white gaiters. No town clothes for St.
George as long as his measure was in London and his
friends were good enough to bring him a trunk full
every year or two. " Well-cut garments may not make
a gentleman," he would often say to the youngsters
about him, "but slip-shod clothes can spoil one."

He had drawn up to the table now, Todd in white
jacket hovering about him, bringing relays of waffles,
hot coffee, and more particularly the first of a series of
great scallop-shells filled with oysters which he had
placed on the well-brushed hearth to keep hot while
his master was dressing.

Fifty he was by the almanac, and by the old family
Bible as well, and yet he did not look it. Six feet and
an inch; straight, ruddy-cheeked, broad-shouldered,
well-rounded, but with his waist measure still under
control; slightly gray at the temples, with clean-
shaven face, laughing eyes, white teeth, and finely
moulded nose, brow, and chin, he was everything his
friends claimed — the perfect embodiment of all that
was best in his class and station, and of all that his
blood had bequeathed him.

And fine old fellows they were if we can believe
the historians of the seventeenth century: "Wearing
the falchion and the rapier, the cloth coat lined with
plush and embroidered belt, the gold hat-band and
the feathers, silk stockings and garters, besides signet

14

KENNEDY SQUARE

rings and other jewels; wainscoting the walls of their
principal rooms in black oak and loading their side-
boards with a deal of rich and massive silver plate upon
which was carved the arms of their ancestors; — drink-
ing, too, strong punch and sack from ' silver sack-cups '
— (sack being their favorite) — and feasting upon oys-
ters and the most delicious of all the ducks of the
world."

And in none of their other distinguishing qualities
was their descendant lacking. In the very lift of his
head and brace of his shoulders; in the grace and ease
with which he crossed the room, one could see at a
glance something of the dash and often the repose of
the cavalier from whom he had sprung. And the
sympathy, kindness, and courtesy of the man that
showed in every glance of his eye and every movement
of his body — despite his occasional explosive temper —
a sympathy that drifted into an ungovernable impulse
to divide everything he owned into two parts, and his
own half into two once more if the other fellow needed
it; a kindness that made every man his friend, and a
courtesy which, even in a time when men lifted their
hats to men, as well as to women, had gained for
him, the town over, the soubriquet of "Gentleman
George"; while to every young girl and youth under
twenty he was just "dear Uncle George" — the one
man in all Kennedy Square who held their secrets.

But to our breakfast once more. All four dogs were
on their feet now, their tails wagging expectantly, their

15

KENNEDY SQUARE

noses at each of his knees, where they were regaled at
regular intervals with choice bits from his plate, the
snapping of their solemn jaws expressing their thanks.
A second scallop-shell was next lifted from the hearth
with the tongs, and deposited sizzling hot on a plate
beside the master, the aroma of the oysters filling the
room. These having disappeared, as had the former
one, together with the waffles and coffee, and the
master's appetite being now on the wane, general con-
versation became possible.

"Did Mr. Rutter look ill, Todd?" he continued,
picking up the thread of the talk where he had left it.
" He wasn't very well when I left."

" No, sah, — neber see him look better. Been up a
liT late I reckon, — Marse Harry mos' gen'ally is a HT
mite late, sah—" Todd chuckled. "But dat ain't
nuthin' to dese gemmans. But he sho' do wanter see
ye. Maybe he stayed all night at Mister Seymour's.
If he did an' he yered de rumpus dese rapscallions
kicked up — yes — dat's you I'm talkin' to" — and he
looked toward the dogs — "he'll be roun' yere 'fo' ye
gits fru yo' bre'kfus'. Dey do say as how Marse
Harry's mighty sweet in dat quarter. Mister Lang-
don Willits's snoopin' roun' too, but Miss Kate ain't
got no use fer him. He ain't quality dey say."

His master let him run on. Aunt Jemima was
Todd's only outlet during his master's absence, and as
this was sometimes clogged by an uplifted broom, he
made the best use he could of the opportunities when
he and his master were alone. When "comp'ny"

16

KENNEDY SQUARE

were present he was as close-mouthed as a clam and
as noiseless as a crab.

"Who told you all this gossip, Todd?" exclaimed
St. George with a smile, laying down his knife and fork.

"Ain't nary one toF me — ain't no use bein' tol'.
All ye got to do is to keep yo' eyes open. Be a weddin'
dar 'fo' spring. Look out, sah — dat shell's still
a-sizzlin'. Mo' coffee, sah ? Wait till I gits some hot
waffles — won't take a minute!" and he was out of the
room and downstairs before his master could answer.

Hardly had he slammed the kitchen door behind
him when the clatter and stamp of a horse's hoofs
were heard outside, followed by an impatient rat-a-tat-
tat on the knocker.

The boy dropped his dishes: "Fo' Gawd, dat's
Mister Harry!" he cried as he started on a run for the
door. "Don't nobody bang de do' down like dat but
him."

A slender, thoroughly graceful young fellow of
twenty-one or two, booted and spurred, his dark eyes
flashing, his face tingling with the sting of the early
morning air, dashed past the obsequious darky and
burst into Temple's presence with the rush of a north-
west breeze. He had ridden ten miles since he vaulted
into the saddle, had never drawn rein uphill or down,
and neither he nor the thoroughbred pawing the
mud outside had turned a hair.

" Hello, Uncle George! " Temple, as has been said,
was Uncle George to every girl and youth in Kennedy
Square.

17

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Why, Harry!" He had sprung from his seat,
napkin in hand and had him by both shoulders, look-
ing into his eyes as if he wanted to hug him, and
would the first thing he knew. " Where are you from
— Moorlands? What a rollicking chap you are, and
you look so well and handsome, you dog! And now
tell me of your dear mother and your father. But
first down with you — here — right opposite — always
your place, my dear Harry. Todd, another shell of
oysters and more waffles and coffee — everything,
Todd, and blazing hot: two shells, Todd — the sight
of you, Harry, makes me ravenous again, and I could
have eaten my boots, when I got home an hour ago,
I was so hungry. But the mare" — here he moved to
the window — " is she all right ? Spitfire, I suppose —
you'd kill anything else, you rascal! But you haven't
tied her!"

"No — never tie her — break her heart if I did.
Todd, hang up this coat and hat in the hall before
you go."

"That's what you said of that horse you bought of
Hampson — ran away, didn't he?" persisted his host,
his eyes on the mare, which had now become quiet.

"Yes, and broke his leg. But Spitfire's all right —
she'll stand. Where will I sit — here ? And now what
kind of a time did you have, and who were with you ?"

" Clayton, Doctor Teackle, and the judge."

"And how many ducks did you get?" and he
dropped into his chair.

"Twenty-one," answered St. George, dry-washing
18

KENNEDY SQUARE

his white shapely hands, as he took his seat — a habit
of his when greatly pleased.

"All canvas-backs?"

"No — five redheads and a mallard."

" Where did you put up ? " echoed Harry, loosening
his riding-jacket to give his knife and fork freer play.

"I spent a week at Tom Coston's and a week at
Craddock. Another lump of sugar, Todd."

The boy laughed gently: "Lazy Tom's?"

"Lazy Tom's — and the best-hearted fellow in the
world. They're going to make him a judge, they say
and "

" — What of — peach brandy? No cream in mine,
Todd."

" No — you scurrilous dog — of the Common Court,"
retorted St. George, looking at him over the top of
his cup. "Very good lawyer is Tom — got horse
sense and can speak the truth — make a very good
judge."

Again Harry laughed — rather a forced laugh this
time, as if he were trying to make himself agreeable —
but with so anxious a ring through it that Todd
busied himself about the table before going below for
fresh supplies, making excuse of collecting the used
dishes. If there were to be any revelations concern-
ing the situation at the Seymour house, he did not
intend to miss any part of them.

" Better put Mrs. Coston on the bench and set Tom
to rocking the cradle," said the young man, reaching
for the plate of corn pone. " She's a thoroughbred if

19

KENNEDY SQUARE

ever I saw one, and does credit to her blood. But go
on — tell me about the birds. Are they flying high ?—
and the duck blinds; have they fixed them up ? They
were all going to pot when I was there last."

" Birds out of range, most of them — hard work
getting what I did. As to the blinds, they are still
half full of water — got soaking wet trying to use one.
I shot most of mine from the boat just as the day
broke," and then followed a full account of what the
party had bagged, with details of every day's adven-
tures. This done, St. George pushed back his chair
and faced the young man.

"And now you take the witness-stand, sir — look
me in the eyes, put your hand on your fob-pocket and
tell me the truth. Todd says you have been here
every day for a week looking as if you had lost your
last fip-penny-bit and wild to see me. What has
happened?"

"Todd has a vivid imagination." He turned in
his seat, stretched out his hand, and catching one of
the dogs by the nose rubbed his head vigorously.

"Go on — all of it — no dodging the king's counsel-
lor. What's the matter?"

The young man glanced furtively at Todd, grabbed
another dog, rubbed their two ears together in play,
and in a lowered voice, through which a tinge of sad-
ness was only too apparent, murmured:

" Miss Kate — we've had a falling out."

St. George lowered his head suddenly and gave a
low whistle:— "Falling out?— what about?"

20

KENNEDY SQUARE

Again young Rutter glanced at Todd, whose back
was turned, but whose ears were stretched to splitting
point. His host nodded understandingly.

" There, Todd — that will do ; now go down and get
your breakfast. No more waffles, tell Aunt Jemima.
Bring the pipes over here and throw on another log . . ..
that's right." A great sputtering of sparks followed —
a spider-legged, mahogany table was wheeled into
place, and the dejected darky left the room for the
regions below.

" So you two have had a quarrel ! Oh, Harry ! — when
will you learn to think twice before you speak ? Whose
fault was it?" sighed St. George, filling the bowl of
his pipe with his slender fingers, slowly tucking in
each shred and grain.

"Mine."

" What did you say ? " (Puff-puff.)

" Nothing — I couldn't. She came in and saw it all.""
The boy had his elbows on the table now, his cheeks
sunk in his hands.

St. George looked up :" Drunk, were you ? "

"Yes."

"Where?"

"At Mrs. Cheston's ball last week."

" Have you seen her since ? "

"No — she won't let me come near her. Mr. Sey-
mour passed me yesterday and hardly spoke to me."

St. George canted his chair and zigzagged it toward
the blazing hearth; then he said thoughtfully, without
looking at the young man:

21

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish! Have you
told your father?"

"No — he wouldn't understand."

"And I know you didn't tell your mother." This
came with the tone of positive conviction.

"No — and don't you. Mother is daft on the sub-
ject. If she had her way, father would never put a
drop of wine on the table. She says it is ruining the
county — but that's mother's way."

St. George stooped over, fondled one of the dogs
for a moment — two had followed Todd out of the
room — settled back in his chair again, and still look-
ing into the fire, said slowly:

"Bad business — bad business, Harry! Kate is as
proud as Lucifer and dislikes nothing on earth so much
as being made conspicuous. Tell me exactly what
happened."

"Well, there isn't anything to tell," replied the
young fellow, raising his head and leaning back in his
chair, his face the picture of despair. "We were all
in the library and the place was boiling-hot, and they
had two big bowls, one full of eggnog and the other
full of apple-toddy: and the next thing I knew I was
out in the hall and met Kate on the stairs. She gave
a little smothered scream, and moaned — 'Oh, Harry!
— and you promised me!' — and then she put her
hands to her face, as if to shut me out of her sight.
That sobered me somewhat, and after I got out on
the porch into the night air and had pulled my-
self together, I tried to find her and apologize, but

22

KENNEDY SQUARE

she had gone home, although the ball wasn't half
over."

"Then this was not the first time?" He was still
gazing at the hot coals, both hands outfanned, to
screen his face from the blaze.

"No — I'm sorry to say it wasn't. I told her I
would never fail her again, and she forgave me, but I
don't know what she'll do now. She never forgives
anybody who breaks his word — she's very queer about
it. That's what I came to see you about. I haven't
slept much nights, thinking it over, and so I had the
mare saddled, as soon as it got light, hoping you would
be home. Todd thought you might be — he saw Dr.
Teackle's Joe, who said you were all coming to-day."

Again there was a long pause, during which Tem-
ple continued to study the coals through his open
fingers, the young man sitting hunched up in his
chair, his handsome head dropped between his shoul-
ders, his glossy chestnut hair, a-frouze with his
morning ride, fringing his collar behind.

"Harry," said St. George, knocking the ashes
slowly from his pipe on the edge of the fender, and
turning his face for the first time toward him, — " didn't
I hear something before I went away about a ball at
your father's — or a dance — or something, when your
engagement was to be announced ? "

The boy nodded.

"And was it not to be something out of the ordi-
nary?" he continued, looking at the boy from under
his eyelids — " Teackle certainly told me so — said that

23

KENNEDY SQUARE

your mother had already begun to get the house in
order "

Again Harry nodded — as if he had been listening to
an indictment, every word of which he knew was true.

St. George roused himself and faced his guest:
"And yet you took this time, Harry, to —

The boy threw up both hands in protest:

"Don't!— don't! Uncle George! It's the ball that
makes it all the worse. That's why I've got no time
to lose; that's why I've haunted this place waiting for
you to get back. Mother will be heart-broken if she
finds out and I don't know what father would do."

St. George laid his empty pipe on the table and
straightened his body in the chair until his broad
shoulders filled the back. Then his brow darkened;
his indignation was getting the better of him.

" I don't know what has come over you young fel-
lows, Harry!" he at last broke out, his eyes searching
the boy's. "You don't seem to know how to live.
You've got to pull a shoat out of a trough to keep it
from overeating itself, but you shouldn't be obliged
to pull a gentleman away from his glass. Good wine
is good food and should be treated as such. My cellar
is stocked with old Madeira — some port — some fine
sherries — so is your father's. Have you ever seen him
abuse them? — have you ever seen Mr. Horn or Mr.
Kennedy, or any of our gentlemen around here, abuse
them? It's scandalous, Harry! damnable! I love
you, my son — love you in a way you know nothing of,
but you've got to stop this sort of thing right off. And

24

KENNEDY SQUARE

so have these young roysterers you associate with. It's
getting worse every day. I don't wonder your dear
mother feels about it as she does. But she's always
been that way, and she's always been right about it,
too, although I didn't use to think so." This last
came with a lowered voice and a deep, indrawn
sigh, and for the moment checked the flow of his
wrath.

Harry hung his head still lower, but he did not
attempt to defend himself.

"Who else were making vulgarians of themselves
at Mrs. Cheston's?" St. George continued in a calmer
tone, stretching his shapely legs until the soles of his
shoes touched the fender.

"Mark Gilbert, Tom Murdoch, Langdon Willits,
and "

"Willits, eh?— Well, I should expect it of Willits.
He wasn't born a gentleman — that is, his grandfather
wasn't a gentleman — married his overseer's daughter,
if I remember right: — but you come of the best blood
in the State, — egad! — none better! You have some-
thing to maintain — some standard to keep up. A Rut-
ter should never be found guilty of anything that would
degrade his name. You seem to forget that — you —
damn me, Harry! — when I think of it all — and of Kate
— my sweet, lovely Kate, — and how you have made
her suffer — for she loves you — no question of that — I
feel like wringing your neck! What the devil do you
mean, sir?" He was up on his feet now, pacing the
room, the dogs following his every movement with

25

KENNEDY SQUARE

their brown agate eyes, their soft, silky ears straighten-
ing and falling.

So far the young fellow had not moved nor had he
offered a word in defence. He knew his Uncle George
— better let him blow it all out, then the two could
come together. At last he said in a contrite tone —
his hands upraised:

" Don't scold me, Uncle George. I've scolded my-
self enough — just say something to help me. I can't
give Kate up — I'd sooner die. I've always made a
fool of myself — maybe I'll quit doing it after this.
Tell me how I can straighten this out. She won't see
me — maybe her father won't. He and my father — so
Tom Warfield told me yesterday — had a talk at the
club. What they said I don't know, but Mr. Sey-
mour was pretty mad — that is, for him — so Tom
thought from the way he spoke."

"And he ought to be mad — raging mad! He's only
got one daughter, and she the proudest and loveliest
thing on earth, and that one he intends to give to you"
— Harry looked up in surprise — "Yes — he told me
so. And here you are breaking her heart before he
has announced it to the world. It's worse than damna-
ble, Harry — it's a crime!"

For some minutes he continued his walk, stopping
to look out of the window, his eyes on the mare who,
with head up and restless eyes, was on the watch for
her master's return; then he picked up his pipe from
the table, threw himself into his chair again, and broke
into one of his ringing laughs.

26

So far the young fellow had not moved nor offered a word
in defence

KENNEDY SQUARE

" I reckon it's because you're twenty, Harry, I forgot
that. Hot blood — hot temper, — madcap dare-devil
that you are — not a grain of common-sense. But
what can you expect ? — I was just like you at your age.
Come, now, what shall we do first?"

The young fellow rose and a smile of intense relief
crept over his face. He had had many such over-
haulings from his uncle, and always with this ending.
Whenever St. George let out one of those big, spon-
taneous, bubbling laughs straight from his heart, the
trouble, no matter how serious, was over. What some
men gained by anger and invective St. George gained
by good humor, ranging from the faint smile of tolera-
tion to the roar of merriment. One reason why he had
so few enemies — none, practically — was that he could
invariably disarm an adversary with a laugh. It was
a fine old blade that he wielded; only a few times in
his life had he been called upon to use any other —
when some under-dog was maltreated, or his own good
name or that of a friend was traduced, or some wrong
had to be righted — then his face would become as hot
steel and there would belch out a flame of denunciation
that would scorch and blind in its intensity. None of
these fiercer moods did the boy know; — what he knew
was his uncle's merry side — his sympathetic, loving
side, — and so, following up his advantage, he strode
across the room, settled down on the arm of his uncle's
chair, and put his arm about his shoulders.

"Won't you go and see her, please?" he pleaded,
patting his back, affectionately.

27

KENNEDY SQUARE

"What good will that do? Hand me a match,
Harry."

"Everything — that's what I came for."

" Not with Kate! She isn't a child — she's a woman,"
he echoed back between the puffs, his indignation again
on the rise. "And she is different from the girls about
here," he added, tossing the burned match in the fire.
"When she once makes up her mind it stays made up."

" Don't let her make it up! Go and see her and tell
her how I love her and how miserable I am. Tell her
I'll never break another promise to her as long as I
live. Nobody ever holds out against you. Please,
Uncle George! I'll never come to you for anything
else in the world if you'll help me this time. And I
won't drink another drop of anything you don't want
me to drink — I don't care what father or anybody
else says. Oh, you've got to go to her! — I can't stand
it any longer! Every time I think of Kate hidden
away over there where I can't get at her, it drives me
wild. I wouldn't ask you to go if I could go myself
and talk it out with her — but she won't let me near
her — I've tried, and tried; and Ben says she isn't at
home, and knows he lies when he says it! You will
go, won't you?"

The smoke from his uncle's pipe was coming freer
now — most of it escaping up the throat of the chimney
with a gentle swoop.

"When do you want me to go?" He had already
surrendered. When had he ever held out wh*n a love
affair was to be patched up ?

28

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Now, right away."

"No, — I'll go to-night, — she will be at home then,"
he said at last, as if he had just made up his mind, the
pipe having helped — " and do you come in about nine
and — let me know when you are there, or — better still,
wait in the hall until I come for you."

"But couldn't I steal in while you are talking?"

"No — you do just as I tell you. Not a sound out
of you, remember, until I call you."

"But how am I to know? She might go out the
other door and '

"You'll know when I come for you."

"And you think it will be all right, don't you?" he
pleaded. "You'll tell her what an awful time I've
had, won't you, Uncle George?"

"Yes, every word of it."

"And that I haven't slept a wink since '

"Yes — and that you are going to drown yourself
and blow your head off and swallow poison. Now off
with you and let me think how I am to begin straight-
ening out this idiotic mess. Nine o'clock, remember,
and in the hall until I come for you."

" Yes — nine o'clock ! Oh ! — you good Uncle George !
I'll never forget you for it," and with a grasp of St.
George's hand and another outpouring of gratitude,
the young fellow swung wide the door, clattered down
the steps, threw his leg over Spitfire, and dashed up
the street.

29

CHAPTER II

If Kate's ancestors had wasted any part of their
substance in too lavish a hospitality, after the manner
of the spendthrift whose extravagances were recounted
in the preceding chapter, there was nothing to indicate
it in the home of their descendants. No loose shut-
ters, crumbling chimneys, or blistered woodwork de-
faced the Seymour mansion : — the touch of the restorer
was too apparent. No sooner did a shutter sag or a
hinge give way than away it went to the carpenter or
the blacksmith; no sooner did a banister wabble, or a
table crack, or an andiron lose a leg, than up came
somebody with a kit, or a bag, or a box of tools, and
they were as good as new before you could wink your
eye. Indeed, so great was the desire to keep things
up that it was only necessary (so a wag said) to scratch
a match on old Seymour's front door to have its panels
repainted the next morning.

And then its seclusion: — while its neighbors — the
Temple mansion among them — had been placed boldly
out to the full building line where they could see and
be seen, the Seymours, with that spirit of aloofness
which had marked the family for generations, had set
their dwelling back ten paces, thrown up a hedge of
sweet-smelling box to screen the inmates from the

30

KENNEDY SQUARE

gaze of passers-by, planted three or four big trees as
protection for the upper windows, and, to insure still
greater privacy, had put up a swinging wooden gate,
kept shut by a ball and chain, its clang announcing
the entrance of each and every visitor.

And this same spirit was manifest the moment you
stepped into the wide hall, glanced at the old family
portraits marching steadily, one after another, up the
side of the spacious stairs (revarnished every other
year) — entered the great drawing-room hung with yel-
low satin and decorated with quaint mirrors, and
took a seat in one of the all-embracing arm-chairs, there
to await the arrival of either the master of the house
or his charming daughter.

If it were the master to whom you wished to pay
your respects, one glance at the Honorable Howard
Douglass Seymour would have convinced you that
he was precisely the kind of man who should have had
charge of so well-ordered a home: so well brushed was
he — so clean-shaven — so immaculately upholstered —
the two points of his collar pinching his cheeks at the
same precise angle; his faultless black stock fitting
to perfection, the lapels of his high-rolled coat match-
ing exactly. And then the correct parting of the thin
gray hair and the two little gray brush-tails of love-
locks that were combed in front of his ears, there to
become a part of the two little dabs of gray whiskers
that stretched from his temples to his bleached cheek-
bones. Yes — a most carefully preserved, prim, and
well-ordered person was Kate's father.

31

KENNEDY SQUARE

As to the great man's career, apart from his service
in the legislature, which won him his title, there was
no other act of his life which marked him apart from
his fellows. Suffice it to say that he was born a gen-
tleman without a penny to his name; that he married
Kate's mother when she was twenty and he forty (and
here is another story, and a sad one) — she the belle
of her time — and sole heir to the estate of her grand-
father, Captain Hugh Barkeley, the rich ship-owner
— and that the alliance had made him a gentleman of
unlimited leisure, she, at her death, having left all her
property to her daughter Kate, with the Honorable
Prim as custodian.

And this trust, to his credit be it said — for Seymour
was of Scotch descent, a point in his favor with old
Captain Barkeley, who was Scotch on his mother's
side, and, therefore, somewhat canny — was most re-
ligiously kept, he living within his ample means — or
Kate's, which was the same thing — discharging the
duties of father, citizen, and friend, with the regular-
ity of a clock — so many hours with his daughter, so
many hours at his club, so many hours at his office;
the intermediate minutes being given over to resting,
dressing, breakfasting, dining, sleeping, and no doubt
praying; the precise moment that marked the begin-
ning and ending of each task having been fixed years
in advance by this most exemplary, highly respectable,
and utterly colorless old gentleman of sixty.

That this dry shell of a man could be the father of
our spontaneous lovely Kate was one of the things that

32

KENNEDY SQUARE

none of the younger people around Kennedy Square
could understand — but then few of them had known
her beautiful mother with her proud step and flashing
eyes.

But it is not the punctilious, methodical Prim
whom St. George wishes to see to-night; nor does he
go through any of the formalities customary to the
house. There is no waiting until old Ben, the family
butler in snuff-colored coat and silver buttons, shuf-
fles upstairs or into the library, or wherever the in-
mates were to be found, there to announce "Massa
George Temple." Nor did he send in his card, or
wait until his knock was answered. He simply swung
back the gate until the old chain and ball, shocked at
his familiarity, rattled itself into a rage, strode past
the neatly trimmed, fragrant box, pushed open the
door — no front door was ever locked in the daytime
in Kennedy Square, and few at night — and halting
at the bottom step, called up the silent stairs in a voice
that was a joyous greeting in itself:

"Kate, you darling! come down as quick as your
dear little feet will carry you! It's Uncle George,
do you hear ? — or shall I come up and bring you down
in my arms, you bunch of roses? It won't be the
first time." The first time was when she was a year
old.

" Oh ! — is that you, Uncle George ? Yes, — just as
soon as I do up my back hair." The voice came from
the top of the stairs — a lark's voice singing down from

high up. "Father's out and "

33

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes — I know he's out; I met him on his way to
the club. Hurry now — I've got the best news in the
world for you."

"Yes — in a minute."

He knew her minutes, and how long they could be,
and in his impatience roamed about the wide hall ex-
amining the old English engravings and colored prints
decorating the panels until he heard her step over-
head and looking up watched her cross the upper hall,
her well-poised, aristocratic head high in air, her full,
well-rounded, blossoming body imaged in the loose
embroidered scarf wound about her sloping shoulders.
Soon he caught the wealth of her blue-black hair in
whose folds her negro mammy had pinned a rose that
matched the brilliancy of her cheeks, two stray curls
wandering over her neck; her broad forehead, with
clearly marked eyebrows, arching black lashes shad-
ing lustrous, slumbering eyes ; and as she drew nearer,
her warm red lips, exquisite teeth, and delicate chin,
and last, the little feet that played hide and seek be-
neath her quilted petticoat: a tall, dark, full-blooded,
handsome girl of eighteen with an air of command
and distinction tempered by a certain sweet dignity
and delicious coquetry — a woman to be loved even
when she ruled and to be reverenced even when she
trifled.

She had reached the floor now, and the two arm in
arm, he patting her hand, she laughing beside him, had
entered the small library followed by the old butler
bringing another big candelabra newly lighted.

34

KENNEDY SQUARE

"It's so good of you to come/' she cried, her face
alight with the joy of seeing him — "and you look so
happy and well — your trip down the bay has done
you a world of good. Ben says the ducks you sent
father are the best we have had this winter. Now tell
me, dear Uncle George" — she had him in one of the
deep arm-chairs by this time, with a cushion behind
his shoulders — "I am dying to hear all about it."

"Don't you 'dear Uncle George' me until you've
heard what I've got to say."

" But you said you had the best news in the world
for me," she laughed, looking at him from under her
lashes.

"So I have."

"What is it?"

"Harry."

The girl's face clouded and her lips quivered. Then
she sat bolt upright.

" I won't hear a word about him. He's broken his
promise to me and I will never trust him again. If I
thought you'd come to talk about Harry, I wouldn't
have come down."

St. George lay back in his chair, shrugged his shoul-
ders, stole a look at her from beneath his bushy eye-
brows, and said with an assumed dignity, a smile
playing about his lips:

"All right, off goes his head — exit the scoundrel.
Much as I could do to keep him out of Jones Falls
this morning, but of course now it's all over we can
let Spitfire break his neck. That's the way a gentle-

35

KENNEDY SQUARE

man should die of love — and not be fished out of a
dirty stream with his clothes all bespattered with
mud."

" But he won't die for love. He doesn't know what
love means or he wouldn't behave as he does. Do
you know what really happened, Uncle George?"
Her brown eyes were flashing, her cheeks aflame with
her indignation.

" Oh, I know exactly what happened. Harry told
me with the tears running down his cheeks. It was
dreadful — inexcusable — BARBAROUS! I've been
that way myself — tumbled half-way down these same
stairs before you were born and had to be put to bed,
which accounts for the miserable scapegrace I am to-
day." His face was in a broad smile, but his voice
never wavered.

Kate looked at him and put out her hand. "You
never did — I won't believe a word of it."

"Ask your father, my dear. He helped carry me
upstairs, and Ben pulled off my boots. Oh, it was
most disgraceful ! I'm just beginning to live it down,"
and he reached over and patted the girl's cheek, his
hearty laugh ringing through the room.

Kate was smiling now — her Uncle George was al-
ways irresistible when he was like this.

" But Harry isn't you," she pouted.

"Isn't me! — why I was ten times worse! He's only
twenty-one and I was twenty-five. He's got four years
the better of me in which to reform."

" He'll never be like you — you never broke a promise
36

KENNEDY SQUARE

in your life. He gave me his word of honor he would
never get — yes — I'm just going to say it — drunk —
again: yes — that's the very word — Drunk! I don't
care — I won't have it! I won't have anything to do
with anybody who breaks his promise, and who can't
keep sober. My father was never so in his life, and
Harry shall never come near me again if he

"Hold on! — hold on! Oh, what an unforgiving
minx! You Seymours are all like tinder boxes — your
mother was just like you and so was "

" Well, not father," she bridled, with a toss of her
head.

St. George smiled queerly — Prim was one of his
jokes. "Your father, my dear Kate, has the milk of
human kindness in his veins, not red fighting blood.
That makes a whole lot of difference. Now listen to
me: — you love Harry "

"No! I despise him! I told him so!" She had
risen from her seat and had moved to the mantel, where
she stood looking into the fire, her back toward him.

" Don't you interrupt me, you blessed girl — just you
listen to Uncle George for a minute. You do love
Harry — you can't help it — nobody can. If you had
seen him this morning you would have thrown your
arms around him in a minute — I came near doing it
myself. Of course he's wild, reckless, and hot-headed
like all the Rutters and does no end of foolish things,
but you wouldn't love him if he was different. He's
just like Spitfire — never keeps still a minute — restless,
pawing the ground, or all four feet in the air — then

37

KENNEDY SQUARE

away she goes! You can't reason with her — you don't
wish to; you get impatient when she chafes at the bit
because you are determined she shall keep still, but
if you wanted her to go like the wind and she couldn't,
you'd be more dissatisfied than ever. The pawing
and chafing is of no matter; it is her temperament
that counts. So it is with Harry. He wouldn't be the
lovable, dashing, high-spirited young fellow he is if he
didn't kick over the traces once in a while and break
everything to pieces — his promises among them. And
it isn't his fault — it's the Spanish and Dutch blood in
his veins — the blood of that old hidalgo and his Dutch
ancestor, De Ruyter — that crops out once in a while.
Harry would be a pirate and sweep the Spanish main
if he had lived in those days, instead of being a gentle-
man who values nothing in life so much as the woman
he loves."

He had been speaking to her back all this time, the
girl never moving, the outlines of her graceful body in
silhouette against the blaze.

"Then why doesn't he prove it?" she sighed. She
liked old hidalgos and had no aversion to pirates if
they were manly and brave about their work.

" He does — and he lives up to his standard except
in this one failing for which I am truly sorry. Abomi-
nable I grant you — but there are many things which
are worse."

" I can't think of anything worse," she echoed with
a deep sigh, walking slowly toward him and regaining
her chair, all her anger gone, only the pain in her heart

38

KENNEDY SQUARE

left. "I don't want Harry to be like the others, and
he can't live their lives if he's going to be my husband.
I want him to be different, — to be big and fine and
strong, — like the men who have made the world better
for their having lived in it — that old De Ruyter, for in-
stance, that his father is always bragging about — not a
weak, foolish boy whom everybody can turn around
their fingers. Some of my girl friends don't mind
what the young men do, or how often they break their
word to them so that they are sure of their love. I
do, and I won't have it, and I have told Harry so over
and over again. It's such a cowardly thing — not to
be man enough to stand up and say ' No — I won't drink
with you!' That's why I say I can't think of his
doing anything worse."

St. George fixed his eyes upon her. He had thought
he knew the girl's heart, but this was a revelation to
him. Perhaps her sorrow, like that of her mother,
was making a well-rounded woman of her.

" Oh, I can think of a dozen things worse," he re-
joined with some positiveness. "Harry might lie;
Harry might be a coward; Harry might stand by and
hear a friend defamed; Harry might be discourteous
to a woman, or allow another man to be — a thing he'd
rather die than permit. None of these things could
he be or do. I'd shut my door in his face if he did
any one of them, and so should you. And then he is
so penitent when he has done anything wrong. 'It
was my fault — I would rather hang myself than lose
Kate. I haven't slept a wink, Uncle George.' And

39

KENNEDY SQUARE

he was so handsome when he came in this morning —
his big black eyes flashing, his cheeks like two roses —
so straight and strong, and so graceful and wholesome
and lovable. I wouldn't care, if I were you, if he did
slip once in a while — not any more than I would if
Spitfire stumbled. And then again" — here he moved
his chair close to her own so he could get his hand on
hers the easier — " if Spitfire does stumble, there is the
bridle to pull her up, but for this she might break her
neck. That's where you come in, Kate. Harry's in
your hands — has been since the hour he loved you.
Don't let him go headlong to the devil — and he will
if you turn him loose without a bridle."

" I can't do him any good — he won't mind anything
I say. And what dependence can I place on him after
this ? " her voice sank to a tone of helpless tenderness.
"It isn't his being drunk altogether; he will outgrow
that, perhaps, as you say you did, and be man enough
to say no next time; but it's because he broke his
promise to me. That he will never outgrow! Oh, it's
wicked! — wicked for him to treat me so. I have
never done anything he didn't want me to do! and he
has no right to — Oh, Uncle George, it's —

St. George leaned nearer and covered her limp fin-
gers with his own tender grasp.

"Try him once more, Kate. Let me send him to
you. It will be all over in a minute and you will be
so happy — both of you! Nothing like making up —
it really pays for the pain of a quarrel."

The outside door shut gently and there was a slight
40

KENNEDY SQUARE

movement in the hall behind them, but neither of them
noticed it. Kate sat with her head up, her mind at
work, her eyes watching the firelight. It was her
future she was looking into. She had positive, fixed
ideas of what her station in life as a married woman
should be; — not what her own or Harry's birth and
position could bring her. With that will-o'-the-wisp
she had no sympathy. Her grandfather in his early
days had been a plain, seafaring man even if his an-
cestry did go back to the time of James I, and her
mother had been a lady, and that too without the ad-
mixture of a single drop of the blood of any Kennedy
Square aristocrat. That Harry was well born and
well bred was as it should be, but there was something
more; — the man himself. That was why she hesi-
tated. Yes — it would "all be over in a minute,"
just as Uncle George said, but when would the next
break come ? And then again there was her mother's
life with all the misery that a broken promise had
caused her. Uncle George was not the only young
gallant who had been put to bed in her grandfather's
house. Her mother had loved too — just as much
as she loved Harry — loved with her whole soul — until
grandpa Barkeley put his foot down.

St. George waited in silence as he read her mind.
Breaches between most of the boys and girls were
easily patched up — a hearty cry, an outstretched hand
— " I am so sorry," and they were in each other's arms.
Not so with Kate. Her reason, as well as her heart,
had to be satisfied. This was one of the things that

41

KENNEDY SQUARE

made her different from all the other girls about her,
and this too was what had given her first place in the
affections and respect of all who knew her. Her heart
he saw was uppermost to-night, but reason still lurked
in the background.

"What do you think made him do it again?" she
murmured at last in a voice barely audible, her fingers
tightening in his palm. " He knows how I suffer and
he knows too why I suffer. Oh, Uncle George! —
won't you please talk to him! I love him so, and I
can't marry him if he's like this. I can't! — I can't!"

A restrained smile played over St. George's face.
The tide was setting his way.

" It won't do a bit of good," he said calmly, smother-
ing his joy. " I've talked to him until I'm tired, and
the longer I talk the more wild he is to see you. Now
it's your turn and there's no time to lose. I'll have
him here in five minutes," and he glanced at the clock.
She raised her hand in alarm:

" I don't want him yet. You must see him first —
you must

"No, I won't see him first, and I'm not going to
wait a minute. Talk to him yourself; put your arms
around him and tell him everything you have told me
— now — to-night. I'm going for him," and he sprang
to his feet.

"No! — you must not! You shall not!" she cried,
clutching nervously at his arm, but he was out of the
room before she could stop him.

In the silent hall, hat in hand, his whole body
42

KENNEDY SQUARE

tense with expectancy, stood Harry. He had killed
time by walking up and down the long strip of car-
pet between the front door and the staircase, meas-
uring his nervous steps to the length of the pattern,
his mind distracted by his fears for the outcome — his
heart thumping away at his throat, a dull fright grip-
ping him when he thought of losing her altogether.

St. George's quick step, followed by his firm clutch
of the inside knob, awoke him to consciousness. He
sprang forward to catch his first word.

"Can I go in?" he stammered.

St. George grabbed him by the shoulder, wheeled
him around, and faced him.

" Yes, you reprobate, and when you get in go down
on your knees and beg her pardon, and if I ever catch
you causing her another heartache I'll break your
damned neck! — do you hear?"

With the shutting of the swinging gate the wily old
diplomat regained his normal good-humored poise, his
face beaming, his whole body tingling at his success.
He knew what was going on behind the closed cur-
tains, and just how contrite and humble the boy would
be, and how Kate would scold and draw herself up —
proud duchess that she was — and how Harry would
swear by the nine gods, and an extra one if need be —
and then there would come a long, long silence, broken
by meaningless, half-spoken words — and then another
silence — so deep and absorbing that a full choir of
angels might have started an anthem above their heads

43

KENNEDY SQUARE

and neither of them would have heard a word or
note.

And so he kept on his way, picking his steps between
the moist places in the path to avoid soiling his freshly
varnished boots; tightening the lower button of his
snug-fitting plum-colored coat as a bracing to his waist-
line; throwing open the collar of his overcoat the wider
to give his shoulders the more room — very happy-
very well satisfied with himself, with the world, and
with everybody who lived in it.

44

CHAPTER III

Moorlands was ablaze!

From the great entrance gate flanked by moss-
stained brick posts capped with stone balls, along the
avenue of oaks to the wide portico leading to the great
hall and spacious rooms, there flared one continuous
burst of light. On either side of the oak-bordered
driveway, between the tree-trunks, crackled torches
of pine knots, the glow of their curling flames bringing
into high relief the black faces of innumerable field-
hands from the Rutter and neighboring plantations,
lined up on either side of the gravel road — teeth and
eyeballs flashing white against the blackness of the
night. Under the porches hung festoons of lanterns
of every conceivable form and color, while inside the
wide baronial hall, and in the great drawing-room
with the apartments beyond, the light of countless
candles, clustered together in silver candelabras, shed
a soft glow over the groups of waiting guests.

To-night Colonel Talbot Rutter of Moorlands, direct
descendant of the house of De Ruyter, with an an-
cestry dating back to the Spanish Invasion, was to bid
official welcome to a daughter of the house of Seymour,
equally distinguished by flood and field in the service
of its king. These two — God be thanked — loved each

45

KENNEDY SQUARE

other, and now that the young heir to Moorlands was
to bring home his affianced bride, soon to become his
wedded wife, no honor could be too great, no expense
too lavish, no welcome too joyful.

Moreover, that this young princess of the blood
might be accorded all the honors due her birth, lineage,
and rank, the colonel's own coach-and-four, with two
postilions and old Matthew on the box — twenty years
in the service — his whip tied with forget-me-nots, the
horses' ears streaming with white ribbons — each flank
as smooth as satin and each panel bright as a mirror —
had been trundled off to Kennedy Square, there to
receive the fairest of all her daughters, together with
such other members of her royal suite — including His
Supreme Excellency the Honorable Prim — not forget-
ting, of course, Kate's old black mammy, Henny, who
was as much a part of the fair lady's belongings when
she went afield as her ostrich-plume fan, her white
gloves, or the wee slippers that covered her enchant-
ing feet.

Every detail of harness, wheel, and brake — even the
horn itself — had passed under the colonel's personal
supervision; Matthew on the box straight as a hitch-
ing-post and bursting with pride, reins gathered, whip
balanced, the leaders steady and the wheel horses in
line. Then the word had been given, and away they
had swept round the circle and so on down the long
driveway to the outer gate and Kennedy Square. Ten
miles an hour were the colonel's orders and ten miles an
hour must Matthew make, including the loading and

46

KENNEDY SQUARE

unloading of his fair passenger and her companions,
or there would be the devil to pay on his return.

And the inside of the house offered no less a wel-
come. Drawn up in the wide hall, under the direct
command of old Alec, the head butler, were the house
servants; — mulatto maids in caps, snuff -colored second
butlers in livery, jet-black mammies in new bandannas
and white aprons — all in a flutter of excitement, and
each one determined to get the first glimpse of Marse
Harry's young lady, no matter at what risk.

Alec himself was a joy to look upon — eyeballs and
teeth gleaming, his face one wide, encircling smile.
Marse Harry was the apple of his eye, and had been
ever since the day of his birth. He had carried him
on his back when a boy; had taught him to fish and
hunt and to ride to hounds; had nursed him when
he fell ill at the University in his college days, and
would gladly have laid down his life for him had any
such necessity arisen. To-night, in honor of the oc-
casion, he was rigged out in a new bottle-green coat
with shiny brass buttons, white waistcoat, white gloves
three sizes too big for him, and a huge white cravat
flaring out almost to the tips of his ears. Nothing was
too good for Alec — so his mistress thought — and for
the best of reasons. Not only was he the ideal ser-
vant of the old school, but he was the pivot on which
the whole establishment moved. If a particular
brand or vintage was needed, or a key was missing,
or did a hair trunk, or a pair of spurs, or last week's
Miscellany, go astray — or even were his mistress's

47

KENNEDY SQUARE

spectacles mislaid — Alec could put his hand upon
each and every item in so short a space of time that the
loser was convinced the old man had hidden them on
purpose, to enjoy their refinding. Moorlands with-
out old Alec would have been a wheel without a hub.

As a distinct feature of all these preparations — and
this was the best part of the programme — Harry was
to meet Kate at the outer gate supported by half a
dozen of his young friends and hers — Dr. Teackle,
Mark Gilbert, Langdon Willits, and one or two others
—while Mrs. Rutter, Mrs. Cheston, Mrs. Richard
Horn, and a bevy of younger women and girls were
to welcome her with open arms the moment her dainty
feet cleared the coach's step. This was the way
princesses of the blood had been welcomed from time
immemorial to palaces and castles high, and this was
the way their beloved Kate was to make entry into
the home of her lord.

Soon the flash of the coach lamps was seen outside
the far gate. Then there came the wind of a horn —
a rollicking, rolling, gladsome sound, and in the wink
of an eyelid every one was out on the portico straining
their eyes, listening eagerly. A joyous shout now
went up from the negroes lining the fences; from the
groups about the steps and along the driveway.

"Here she comes!"

The leaders with a swing pranced into view as
they cleared the gate posts. There came a moment's
halt at the end of the driveway; a postilion vaulted
down, threw wide the coach door and a young man

48

KENNEDY SQUARE

sprang in. It was Harry! . . . Snap! ! Crack! ! Toot —
toot! ! — and they were off again, heading straight for
the waiting group. Another prolonged, winding note —
louder — nearer — one of triumph this time! — a galloping,
circling dash toward the porch crowded with guests —
the reining in of panting leaders — the sudden gather-
ing up of the wheel horses, back on their haunches —
the coach door flung wide and out stepped Kate —
Harry's hand in hers, her old mammy behind, her
father last of all.

"Oh, such a lovely drive! and it was so kind of
you, dear colonel, to send for me! Oh, it was splen-
did! And Matthew galloped most all the way." She
had come as a royal princess, but she was still our
Kate. "And you are all out here to meet me!" Here
she kissed Harry's mother — "and you too, Uncle
George — and Sue — Oh, how fine you all look!" — and
with a curtsy and a joyous laugh and a hand-clasp
here and there, she bent her head and stepped into
the wide hall under the blaze of the clustered can-
dles.

It was then that they caught their breaths, for no
such vision of beauty had ever before stood in the
wide hall of Moorlands, her eyes shining like two
stars above the rosy hue of her cheek; her skin like
a shell, her throat and neck a lily in color and curves.
And her poise; her gladsomeness; her joy at being
alive and at finding everybody else alive; the way she
moved and laughed and bent her pretty head; the
ripples of gay laughter and the low-pitched tone of
the warm greetings that fell from her lips!

49

KENNEDY SQUARE

No wonder Harry was bursting with pride; no
wonder Langdon Willits heaved a deep sigh when he
caught the glance that Kate flashed at Harry and went
out on the porch to get a breath of fresh air; no wonder
St. George's heart throbbed as he watched them both
and thought how near all this happiness had come to
being wrecked; no wonder the servants tumbled over
each other in their eagerness to get a view of her face
and gown, and no wonder, too, that the proud, old
colonel who ruled his house with a rod of iron, deter-
mined for the first time in his life to lay down the
sceptre and give Kate and Harry full sway to do
whatever popped into their two silly heads.

And our young Lochinvar was fully her match in
bearing, dress, and manners, — every inch a prince
and every inch a Rutter, — and with such grace of move-
ment as he stepped beside her, that even punctilious,
outspoken old Mrs. Cheston — who had forgiven him
his escapade, and who was always laughing at what she
called the pump-handle shakes of some of the under-
done aristocrats about her, had to whisper to the near-
est guest — " Watch Harry, my dear, if you would see
how a thoroughbred manages his legs and arms when
he wishes to do honor to a woman. Admirable! —
charming! No young man of my time ever did better."
And Mrs. Cheston knew, for she had hobnobbed with
kings and queens, her husband having represented his
government at the Court of St. James — which fact,
however, never prevented her from calling a spade
a spade; nor was she ever very particular as to what
the spade unearthed.

50

KENNEDY SQUARE

Yes — a very gallant and handsome young man was
our prince as he handed Kate up the stairs on her way
to the dressing-room, and looked it in his pearl-gray
coat with buttons of silver, fluffy white silk scarf,
high dog-eared collar, ivory-white waistcoat, and tight-
fitting trousers of nankeen yellow, held close to the
pumps with invisible straps. And a very gallant and
handsome young fellow he felt himself to be on this
night of his triumph, and so thought Kate — in fact
she had fallen in love with him over again — and so too
did every one of the young girls who crowded about
them, as well as the dominating, erect aristocrat of a
father, and the anxious gentle mother, who worshipped
the ground on which he walked.

Kate had noted every expression that crossed his
face, absorbing him in one comprehensive glance as
he stood in the full blaze of the candles, her gaze lin-
gering on his mouth and laughing eyes and the soft
sheen of his brown hair, its curved-in ends brushing
the high velvet collar of his coat — and so on down his
shapely body to his shapely feet. Never had she seen
him so adorable — and he was all her own, and for
life!

As for our dear St. George Temple, who had never
taken his eyes off them, he thought they were the
goodliest pair the stars ever shone upon, and this his
happiest night. There would be no more stumbling
after this. Kate had the bridle well in hand now; all
she needed was a clear road, and that was ahead of
both horse and rider.

51

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Makes your blood jump in your veins, just to
look at them, doesn't it, Talbot?" cried St. George to
Harry's father when Kate disappeared — laying his
hand as he spoke on the shoulder of the man with
whom he had grown up from a boy. " Is there any-
thing so good as the love of a good woman? — the
wise old prophet places her beyond the price of
rubies."

"Only one thing, St. George — the love of a good
man — one like yourself, you dear old fellow. And
why the devil you haven't found that out years ago is
more than I can understand. Here you are my age,
and you might have had a Kate and Harry of your
own by this time, and yet you live a stupid old—

"No, I won't hear you talk so, colonel!" cried a
bride of a year. " Uncle George is never stupid, and
he couldn't be old. What would all these young girls
do — what would I have done" (another love affa
with St. George as healer and mender!) — " what woul
anybody have done without him? Come, Miss La-
vinia — do you hear the colonel abusing Uncle George
because he isn't married? Speak up for him — it's
wicked of you, colonel, to talk so."

Miss Lavinia Clendenning, who was one of St.
George's very own, in spite of her forty-odd years,
threw back her head until the feathers in her slightly
gray hair shook defiantly:

" No — I won't say a word for him, Sue. I've given
him up forever. He's a disgrace to everybody who
knows him."

52

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Oh, you renegade!" exclaimed St. George in
mock alarm.

" Yes, — a positive disgrace! He'll never marry any-
body, Sue, until he marries me. I've begged him on
my knees until I'm tired, to name the day, and he
won't! Just like all you shiftless Marylanders, sir —
never know when to make up your minds."

"But you threw me over, Lavinia, and broke my
heart," laughed Temple with a low bow, his palms flat-
tened against his waistcoat in assumed humility.

"When?"

" Oh, twenty years ago."

" Oh, my goodness gracious ! Of course I threw
you over then; — you were just a baby in arms and I
was old enough to be your mother — but now it's differ-
ent. I'm dying to get married and nobody wants me.
If you were a Virginian instead of a doubting Mary-
lander, you would have asked me a hundred times and
kept on asking until I gave in. Now it's too late. I al-
ways intended to give in, but you were so stupid you
couldn't or wouldn't understand."

"It's never too late to mend, Lavinia," he prayed
with hands extended.

"It's too late to mend you, St. George! You are
cracked all over, and as for me — I'm ready to fall to
pieces any minute. I'm all tied up now with corset
laces and stays and goodness knows what else. No
— I'm done with you."

While this merry badinage was going on, the young
people crowding the closer so as not to lose a word,

53

KENNEDY SQUARE

or making room for the constant stream of fresh ar-
rivals on their way toward the dressing-rooms above,
their eyes now and then searching the top of the
stairs in the hope of getting the first glimpse of Kate,
our heroine was receiving the final touches from her
old black mammy. It took many minutes. The curl
must be adjusted, the full skirts pulled out or shaken
loose, the rare jewels arranged before she was dismissed
with — " Dah, honey chile, now go-long. Ain't nary one
on 'em ain't pizen hongry for ye — an' mos' on 'em '11
drown derselves 'fo' mawnin' becos dey can't git ye."

She is ready now, Harry beside her, her lace scarf
embroidered with pink rosebuds floating from her
lovely shoulders, her satin skirt held firmly in both
hands that she might step the freer, her dainty silk
stockings with the ribbons crossed about her ankles
showing below its edge.

But it was the colonel who took possession of her
when she reached the floor of the great hall, and not
her father nor her lover.

"No, Harry — stand aside, sir. Out with you! Kate
goes in with me! Seymour, please give your arm to
Mrs. Rutter." And with the manner of a courtier
leading a princess into the presence of her sovereign,
the Lord of Moorlands swept our Lady of Kennedy
Square into the brilliant drawing-room crowded with
guests.

It was a great ball and it was a great ballroom —
in spaciousness, color, and appointments. No one

54

KENNEDY SQUARE

had ever dreamed of its possibilities before, although
everybody knew it was the largest in the county. The
gentle hostess, with old Alec as head of the pulling-
out-and-moving-off department, had wrought the
change. All the chairs, tables, sofas, and screens,
little and big, had either been spirited away or pushed
back against the wall for tired dancers. Over the
wide floor was stretched a linen crash; from the ceil-
ing and bracketed against the white walls, relieved here
and there by long silken curtains of gold-yellow, blazed
clusters of candles, looking for all the world like so
many bursting sky-rockets, while at one end, behind a
mass of flowering plants, sat a quartette of musicians,
led by an old darky with a cotton-batting head, who
had come all the way from Philadelphia a-purpose.

Nor had the inner man been forgotten: bowls of
hot apple toddy steamed away in the dining-room;
bowls of eggnog frothed away in the library; ladlings
of punch, and the contents of several old cut-glass de-
canters, flanked by companies of pipe-stem glasses,
were being served in the dressing-rooms; while relays
of hot terrapin, canvas-back duck, sizzling hot; olio,
cold joints; together with every conceivable treatment
and condition of oysters — in scallop shells, on silver
platters and in wooden plates — raw, roasted, fried,
broiled, baked, and stewed — everything in fact that
could carry out the colonel's watchword, " Eat, drink,
and be merry," were within the beck and call of each
and every guest.

And there were to be no interludes of hunger and
55

KENNEDY SQUARE

thirst if the host could help it. No dull pauses nor
recesses, but one continued round, lasting until mid-
night, at which hour the final banquet in the dining-
room was to be served, and the great surprise of the
evening reached — the formal announcement of Harry
and Kate's engagement, followed by the opening of
the celebrated bottle of the Jefferson 1800 Monticello
Madeira, recorked at our young hero's birth.

And it goes without saying that there were no inter-
ludes. The fun began at once, a long line of merry
talk and laughter following the wake of the procession,
led by the host and Kate, the colonel signalling at last
to the cotton-batting with the goggle spectacles, who
at once struck up a polka and away they all went,
Harry and Kate in the lead, the whole room in a whirl.

This over and the dancers out of breath, Goggles
announced a quadrille — the colonel and St. George
helping to form the sets. Then followed the schot-
tische, then another polka until everybody was tired
out, and then with one accord the young couples
rushed from the hot room, hazy with the dust of lint
from the linen crash, and stampeded for the cool wide
stairs that led from the great hall. For while in summer
the shadows on some vine-covered porch swallowed
the lovers, in winter the stairs were generally the tryst-
ing-place — and the top step the one most sought —
because there was nobody behind to see. This was
the roost for which Kate and Harry scampered, and
there they intended to sit until the music struck up
again.

56

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Oh, Kate, you precious darling, how lovely you
look!" burst out Harry for the hundredth time when x
she had nestled down beside him — " and what a won-
derful gown! I never saw that one before, did I?"

"No — you never have," she panted, her breath
gone from her dance and the dash for the staircase.
" It's my dear mother's dress, and her scarf too. I had
very little done to it — only the skirt made wider.
Isn't it soft and rich? Grandpa used to bring these
satins from China."

"And the pearls — are they the ones you told me
about?" He was adjusting them to her throat as he
spoke — somehow he could not keep his hands from
her.

"Yes — mother's jewels. Father got them out of
his strong-box for me this morning. He wanted me
to wear them to-night. He says I can have them all
now. She must have been very beautiful, Harry — and
just think, dear — she was only a few years older than
I am when she died. Sometimes when I wear her
things and get to thinking about her, and remember
how young and beautiful she was and how unhappy
her life, it seems as if I must be unhappy myself —
somehow as if it were not right to have all this hap-
piness when she had none." There was a note of in-
finite pathos in her voice — a note one always heard
when she spoke of her mother. Had Harry looked
deeper into her eyes he might have found the edges
of two tears trembling on their lids.

"She never was as beautiful as you, my darling —
57

KENNEDY SQUARE

nobody ever was — nobody ever could be!" he cried,
ignoring all allusion to her mother. Nothing else
counted with the young fellow to-night — all he knew
and cared for was that Kate was his very own, and
that all the world would soon know it.

"That's because you love me, Harry. You have
only to look at her portrait in father's room to see how
exquisite she was. I can never be like her — never so
gracious, so patient, no matter how hard I try."

He put his fingers on her lips: "I won't have you
say it. I won't let anybody say it. I could hardly
speak when I saw you in the full light of the hall.
It was so dark in the coach I didn't know how you
looked, and I didn't care; I was so glad to get hold
of you. But when your cloak slipped from your
shoulders and you — Oh! — you darling Kate!" His
eye caught the round of her throat and the taper of her
lovely arm — "I am going to kiss you right here — I
will — I don't care who "

She threw up her hands with a little laugh. She
liked him the better for daring, although she was
afraid to yield.

"No — no — Harry! They will see us — don't — you
mustn't!"

"Mustn't what! I tell you, Kate, I am going to
kiss you — I don't care what you say or who sees me.
It's been a year since I kissed you in the coach — forty
years — now, you precious Kate, what difference does
it make? I will, I tell you — no — don't turn your
head away."

58

KENNEDY SQUARE

She waa struggling feebly, her elbow across her face
as a shield, meaning all the time to raise her lips to
his, when her eyes fell on the figure of a young man
making his way toward them. Instantly her back
straightened.

"There's Langdon Willits at the bottom of the
stairs talking to Mark Gilbert," she whispered in
dismay. "See — he is coming up. I wonder what
he wants."

Harry gathered himself together and his face clouded.
"I wish he was at the bottom of the sea. I don't
like Willits — I never did. Neither does Uncle George.
Besides, he's in love with you, and he always has been."

"What nonsense, Harry," she answered, opening
her fan and waving it slowly. She knew her lover
was right — knew more indeed than her lover could ever
know: she had used all the arts of which she was mis-
tress to keep Willits from proposing.

" But he is in love with you," Harry insisted stiffly.
"Won't he be fighting mad, though, when he hears
father announce our engagement at supper?" Then
some tone in her voice recalled that night on the sofa
when she still held out against his pleading, and with
it came the thought that while she could be persuaded
she could never be driven. Instantly his voice changed
to its most coaxing tones: "You won't dance with
him, will you, Kate darling? I can't bear to see you
in anybody else's arms but my own."

Her hand grasped his wrist with a certain meaning
in the pressure.

59

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Now don't be a goose, Harry. I must be polite to
everybody, especially to-night — and you wouldn't have
me otherwise."

" Yes, but not to him."

"But what difference does it make? You are too
sensible not to understand, and I am too happy, any-
way, to want to be rude to anybody. And then you
should never be jealous of Langdon Willits."

"Well, then, not a round dance, please, Kate."
He dare not oppose her further. "I couldn't stand
a round dance. I won't have his arm touch you,
my darling." And he bent his cheek close to hers.

She looked at him from under her shadowed lids
as she had looked at St. George when she greeted him
at the foot of the stairs; a gleam of coquetry, of allure-
ment, of joy shining through her glances like delicate
antennae searching to feel where her power lay.
Should she venture, as her Uncle George had sug-
gested, to take the reins in her own hands and guide
this restive, mettlesome thoroughbred, or should she
surrender to him? Then a certain mischievous co-
quetry possessed her. With a light, bubbling laugh
she drew her cheek away.

"Yes, any kind of a dance that he or anybody else
wants that I can give him," she burst out with a
coquettish twist of her head, her eyes brimming with
fun.

" But I'm on your card for every single dance," he
demanded, his eyes again flashing. "Look at it — I
filled it up myself," and he held up his own bit of paste-

60

KENNEDY SQUARE

board so she could read the list. " I tell you I won't
have his arm around you!"

"Well, then, he sha'n't touch even the tips of my
fingers, you dreadful Mr. Bluebeard." She had sur-
rendered now. He was never so compelling as when
determined to have his own way. Again her whole
manner changed; she was once more the sweetheart:
"Don't let us bother about cards, my darling, or
dances, or anything. Let us talk of how lovely it is
to be together again. Don't you think so, Harry?"
and she snuggled the closer to his arm, her soft cheek
against his coat.

Before Harry could answer, young Willits, who had
been edging his way up the stairs two steps at a time,
avoiding the skirts of the girls, reaching over the knees
of the men as he clung to the hand-rail, stood on the
step below them.

" It's my next dance, Miss Kate, isn't it ?" he asked
eagerly, scanning her face — wondering why she looked
so happy.

" What is it to be, Mr. Willits ? " she rejoined in per-
functory tones, glancing at her own blank card hang-
ing to her wrist: he was the last man in the world she
wanted to see at this moment.

"The schottische, I think — yes, the schottische,"
he replied nervously, noticing her lack of warmth and
not understanding the cause.

"Oh, I'm all out of breath — if you don't mind,"
she continued evasively; "we'll wait for the next one."
She dared not invite him to sit down, knowing it would

61

KENNEDY SQUARE

make Harry furious — and then again she couldn't
stand one discordant note to-night — she was too bliss-
fully happy.

" But the next one is mine," exclaimed Harry sud-
denly, examining his own dancing-card. He had not
shifted his position a hair's breadth, nor did he intend
to — although he had been outwardly polite to the
intruder.

" Yes — they'd all be yours, Harry, if you had your
way," this in a thin, dry tone — " but you mustn't for-
get that Miss Kate's free, white, and twenty-one, and
can do as she pleases."

Harry's lips straightened. He did not like Willits's
manner and he was somewhat shocked at his expres-
sion; it seemed to smack more of the cabin than of
the boudoir — especially the boudoir of a princess like
his precious Kate. He noticed, too, that the young
man's face was flushed and his utterance unusually
rapid, and he knew what had caused it.

" They will be just what Miss Seymour wants them
to be, Willits." The words came in hard, gritting
tones through half-closed lips, and the tightening of
his throat muscles. This phase of the Rutter blood
was dangerous.

Kate was startled. Harry must not lose his self-
control. There must be no misunderstandings on this
the happiest night of her life.

"Yes," she said sweetly, with a gracious bend of
her head — " but I do want to dance with Mr. Willits,
only I don't know which one to give him."

62

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Then give me the Virginia reel, Miss Kate, the
one that conies just before supper, and we can go all
in together — you too, Harry," Willits insisted eagerly.
"See, Miss Kate — your card is still empty," and he
turned toward her the face of the one hanging to her
wrist.

"No, never the reel, Kate, that is mine!" burst
out Harry determinedly, as a final dismissal to Willits.
He lowered his voice, and in a beseeching tone said —
"Father's set his heart on our dancing the reel to-
gether— please don't give him the reel!"

Kate, intent on restoring harmony, arched her neck
coyly, and said in her most bewitching tones — the
notes of a robin after a shower: "Well, I can't tell
yet, Mr. Willits, but you shall have one or the other;
just leave it to me — either the reel or the schottische.
We will talk it over when I come down."

"Then it's the reel, Miss Kate, is it not?" he cried,
ignoring Harry completely, backing away as he re-
traced his steps, a look of triumph on his face.

She shook her head at him, but she did not answer.
She wanted to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
Willits had spoiled everything. She was so happy
before he came, and Harry was so adorable. She
wished now she had not drawn away her cheek when
he tried to kiss her.

"Don't be angry, Harry, dear," she pleaded coax-
ingly, determined to get her lover back once more.
" He didn't mean anything — he only wanted to be
polite."

63

KENNEDY SQUARE

" He didn't want to be polite," the angry lover re-
torted. " He meant to force himself in between us; that
is what he meant, and he's always at it, every chance
he gets. He tried it at Mrs. Cheston's the other night
until I put a stop to it, but there's one thing certain —
he'll stop it when our engagement is announced after
supper or I'll know the reason why."

Kate caught her breath. A new disturbing thought
entered her mind. It was at Mrs. Cheston's that both
Willits and Harry had misbehaved themselves, and it
was Harry's part in the sequel which she had forgiven.
The least said about that night the better.

"But he is your guest, Harry," she urged at last,
stilt determined to divert his thoughts from Willits and
the loss of the dance — " our guest," she went on — " so
is everybody else here to-night, and we must do what
everybody wants us to, not be selfish about it. Now,
my darling — you couldn't be impolite to anybody —
don't you know you couldn't? Mrs. Cheston calls you
'My Lord Chesterfield' — I heard her say so to-night."

"Yes, I know, Kate"— he softened— " that's what
father said about my being polite to him — but all the
same I didn't want Willits invited, and it's only be-
cause father insisted that he's here. Of course, I'm
going to be just as polite to him as I can, but even
father would feel differently about him if he had
heard what he said to you a minute ago."

"What did he say?" She knew, but she loved to
hear him defend her. This, too, was a way out — in
a minute he would be her old Harry again.

64

KENNEDY SQUARE

"I won't even repeat it," he answered doggedly.

"You mean about my being twenty-one? That
was rather ungallant, wasn't it?"

Again that long look from under her eyelids — he
would have succumbed at once could he have seen it.

"No, the other part of it. That's not the way to
speak to a lady. That's what I dislike him for. He
never was born a gentleman. He isn't a gentleman
and never can be a gentleman."

Kate drew herself up — the unreasonableness of the
objection jarred upon her. He had touched one of
her tender spots — pride of birth was something she
detested.

"Don't talk nonsense, Harry," she replied in a
slightly impatient voice. Moods changed with our
Kate as unexpectedly as April showers. "What
difference should it make to you or anybody else
whether Langdon Willits's grandmother was a count-
ess or a country girl, so she was honest and a lady?"
Her head went up with a toss as she spoke, for this
was one of Kate's pet theories.

" But he's not of my class, Kate, and he shouldn't
be here. I told father so."

"Then make him one," she answered stoutly, "if
only for to-night, by being extra polite and courteous
to him and never letting him feel that he is outside of
what you call 'your class/ I like Mr. Willits, and
have always liked him. He is invariably polite to me,
and he can be very kind and sympathetic at times.
Listen! they are calling us, and there goes the music

65

KENNEDY SQUARE

— come along, darling — it's a schottische and we'll
dance it together."

Harry sprang up, slipped his arm around Kate's
waist, lifted her to her feet, held her close, and kissed
her squarely on the mouth.

" There, you darling ! and another one — two — three !
Oh, you precious! What do I care about Willits or
any other red-headed lower county man that ever
lived? He can have fifty grandmothers if he pleases
and I won't say a word — kiss me — kiss me again.
Quick now or we'll lose the dance," and, utterly
oblivious as to whether any one had seen them or not,
the two raced down the wide stairs.

66

CHAPTER IV

While all this gayety was going on in the ballroom
another and equally joyous gathering was besieging
the serving tables in the colonel's private den — a room
leading out of the larger supper room, where he kept
his guns and shooting togs, and which had been
pressed into service for this one night.

These thirsty gentlemen were of all ages and tastes,
from the young men just entering society to the few
wrinkled bald-pates whose legs had given out and
who, therefore, preferred the colonel's Madeira and
terrapin to the lighter pleasures of the dance.

In and out of the groups, his ruddy, handsome face
radiant with the joy that welled up in his heart, moved
St. George Temple. Never had he been in finer form
or feather — never had he looked so well — (not all
the clothes that Poole of London cut came to Moor-
lands). Something of the same glow filtered through
him that he had felt on the night when the two lovers
had settled their difficulties and he had swung back
through the park at peace with all the world.

All this could be seen in the way he threw back his
head, smiling right and left; the way he moved his
hands — using them as some men do words or their
eyebrows — now uplifting them in surprise at the first

67

KENNEDY SQUARE

glimpse of some unexpected face, his long delicate
fingers outspread in exclamations of delight; now
closing them tight when he had those of the new
arrival in his grasp — now curving them, palms up,
as he lifted to his lips the fingers of a grande dame.
"Keep your eyes on St. George," whispered Mrs.
Cheston, who never missed a point in friend or foe
and whose fun at a festivity often lay in commenting
on her neighbors, praise or blame being impartially
mixed as her fancy was touched. "And by all means
watch his hands, my dear. They are like the baton of
an orchestra leader and tell the whole story. Only
men whose blood and lineage have earned them free-
dom from toil, or men whose brains throb clear to
their finger-tips, have such hands. Yes! St. George
is very happy to-night, and I know why. He has
something on his mind that he means to tell us
later on."

Mrs. Cheston was right: she generally was — St.
George did have something on his mind — something
very particular on his mind — a little speech really
which was a dead secret to everybody except prying
Mrs. Cheston — one which was to precede the uncorking
of that wonderful old Madeira, and the final announce-
ment of the engagement — a little speech in which he
meant to refer to their two dear mothers when they
were girls, recalling traits and episodes forgotten by
most, but which from their very loveliness had always
lingered in his heart and memory.

Before this important event took place, however,
68

KENNEDY SQUARE

there were some matters which he intended to look
after himself, one of them being the bowl of punch
and its contiguous beverages in the colonel's den.
This seemed to be the storm centre to-night, and here
he determined, even at the risk of offending his host, to
set up danger-signals at the first puff of wind. The
old fellows, if they chose, might empty innumerable
ladles full of apple toddy or compounds of Santa Cruz
rum and pineapples into their own persons, but not
the younger bloods! His beloved Kate had suffered
enough because of these roysterers. There should be
one ball around Kennedy Square in which everybody
would behave themselves, and he did not intend to
mince his words when the time came. He had dis-
cussed the matter with the colonel when the ball
opened, but little encouragement came from that
quarter.

"So far as these young sprigs are concerned, St.
George," Rutter had flashed back, "they must look
out for themselves. I can't curtail my hospitality to
suit their babyships. As for Harry, you're only wast-
ing your time. He is made of different stuff — it's
not in his blood and couldn't be. Whatever else he
may become he will never be a sot. Let him have his
fling: once a Rutter, always a Rutter," and then,
with a ring in his voice, " when my son ceases to be a
gentleman, St. George, I will show him the door, but
drink will never do it."

Dr. Teackle had also been on the alert. He was a
young physician just coming into practice, many of

69

KENNEDY SQUARE

the younger set being his patients, and he often acted
as a curb when they broke loose. He, with St. George's
whispered caution in his ears, had also tried to frame
a word of protest to the colonel, suggesting in the mild-
est way that that particular bowl of apple toddy be
not replenished — but the Lord of the Manor had
silenced him with a withering glance before he had
completed his sentence. In this dilemma he had
again sought out St. George.

" Look out for Willits, Uncle George. He'll be stag-
gering in among the ladies if he gets another crack
at that toddy. It's an infernal shame to bring these
relays of punch in here. I tried to warn the colonel,
but he came near eating me up. Willits has had very
little experience in this sort of thing and is mixing his
eggnog with everything within his reach. That will
•split his head wide open in the morning."

" Go and find him, Teackle, and bring him to me,"
cried St. George; "I'll stay here until you get him.
Tell him I want to see him — and Alec" — this to the
old butler who was skimming past, his hands laden
with dishes — "don't you bring another drop of punch
into this room until you see me."

" But de colonel say dat '

" — I don't care what the colonel says; if he wants
to know why, tell him I ordered it. I'm not going to
have this night spoiled by any tomfoolery of Talbot's,
I don't care what he says. You hear me, Alec ? Not
a drop. Take out those half-empty bowls and don't
you serve another thimbleful of anything until I say

70

KENNEDY SQUARE

so." Here he turned to the young doctor, who seemed
rather surprised at St. George's dictatorial air — one
rarely seen in him. " Yes — brutal, I know, Teackle,
and perhaps a little ill-mannered, this interfering with
another man's hospitality, but if you knew how Kate
has suffered over this same stupidity you would say I
was right. Talbot never thinks — never cares. Be-
cause he's got a head as steady as a town clock and
can put away a bottle of port without winking an eye-
lid, he believes anybody else can do the same. I
tell you this sort of thing has got to stop or sooner or
later these young bloods will break the hearts of half
the girls in town. . . . Careful! here comes Willits —
not another word. . . . Oh, Mr. Willits, here you are!
I was just going to send for you. I want to talk to
you about that mare of yours — is she still for sale?"
His nonchalance was delightful.

"No, Mr. Temple; I had thought of keeping her,
sir," the young man rejoined blandly, greatly flattered
at having been specially singled out by the distin-
guished Mr. Temple. "But if you are thinking of
buying my mare, I should be most delighted to con-
sider it. If you will permit me — I will call upon you
in the morning." This last came with elaborate effu-
siveness. "But you haven't a drop of anything to
drink, Mr. Temple, nor you either, doctor! Egad!
What am I thinking of! Come, won't you join me?
The colonel's mixtures are "

"Better wait, Mr. Willits," interrupted St. George
calmly and with the air of one conversant with the

71

KENNEDY SQUARE

resources of the house. "Alec has just taken out a
half-emptied bowl of toddy." He had seen at a
glance that Teackle's diagnosis of the young man's
condition was correct.

"Then let us have a swig at the colonel's port —
it's the best in the county."

"No, hold on till the punch comes. You young
fellows don't know how to take care of your stomachs.
You ought to stick to your tipple as you do to your
sweetheart — you should only have one."

" — At a time," laughed Teackle.

"No, one all the time, you dog! When I was your
age, Mr. Willits, if I drank Madeira I continued to
drink Madeira, not to mix it up with everything on
the table."

" By Jove, you're right, Mr. Temple ! I'm sticking
to one girl — Miss Kate's my girl to-night. I'm going
to dance the Virginia reel with her."

St. George eyed him steadily. He saw that the
liquor had already reached his head or he would not
have spoken of Kate as he did. " Your choice is most
admirable, Mr. Willits," he said suavely, "but let
Harry have Miss Kate to-night," adding, as he laid
his hand confidingly on the young man's shoulder —
"they were made to step that dance together."

"But she said she would dance it with me!" he
flung back — he did not mean to be defrauded.

" Really ? " It was wonderful how soft St. George's
voice could be. Teackle could not have handled a
refractory patient the better.

72

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Well, that is," rejoined Willits, modified by Tem-
ple's tone — "she is to let me know — that was the bar-
gain."

Still another soft cadence crept into St. George's
voice: "Well, even if she did say she would let you
know, do be a little generous. Miss Seymour is al-
ways so obliging; but she ought really to dance the
reel with Harry to-night." He used Kate's full name,
but Willits's head was buzzing too loudly for him to
notice the delicately suggested rebuke.

" Well, I don't see that, and I'm not going to see it,
either. Harry's always coming in between us; he tried
to get Miss Kate away from me a little while ago, but
he didn't succeed."

"Noblesse oblige, my dear Mr. Willits," rejoined
St. George in a more positive tone. " He is host, you
know, and the ball is given to Miss Seymour, and
Harry can do nothing else but be attentive." He felt
like strangling the cub, but it was neither the time
nor place — nothing should disturb Kate's triumph if
he could help it. One way was to keep Willits sober,
and this he intended to do whether the young man
liked it or not — if he talked to him all night.

" But it is my dance," Willits broke out. " You ask
him if it isn't my dance — he heard what Miss Kate
said. Here comes Harry now."

Like a breath of west wind our young prince blew
in, his face radiant, his eyes sparkling. He had
entirely forgotten the incident on the stairs in the
rapture of Kate's kisses, and Willits was once more

73

KENNEDY SQUARE

one of the many guests he was ready to serve and be
courteous to.

"Ah, gentlemen — I hope you have everything you
want!" he cried with a joyous wave of his hand.
"Where will I get an ice for Kate, Uncle George?
We are just about beginning the Virginia reel and she
is so warm. Oh, we have had such a lovely waltz!
Why are you fellows not dancing? Send them in,
Uncle George." He was brimming over with happi-
ness.

Willits moved closer: "What did you say? The
Virginia reel? Has it begun?" His head was too
muddled for quick thinking.

" Not yet, Willits, but it will right away — everybody
is on the floor now," returned Harry, his eyes in search
of something to hold Kate's refreshment.

"Then it is my dance, Harry. I thought the reel
was to be just before supper or I would have hunted
Miss Kate up."

"So it is," laughed Harry, catching up an empty
plate from the serving table and moving to where the
ices were spread. " You ought to know, for you told
her yourself. It is about to begin. They were taking
their partners when I left."

"Then that's my reel," Willits insisted. "You
heard what Miss Kate said, Harry — that's what I told
you too, Mr. Temple," and he turned to St. George
for confirmation.

" Oh, but you are mistaken, Langdon," continued
Harry, bending over the dish. "She said she would

74

KENNEDY SQUARE

decide later on whether to give you the reel or a schot-
tische — and she has. Miss Kate dances this reel with
me." There was a flash in his eye as he spoke, but he
was still the host.

" And I suppose you will want the one after supper
too," snapped Willits. He had edged closer and was
now speaking to Harry's bent back.

" Why, certainly, if Miss Kate is willing and wishes
it," rejoined Harry simply, still too intent on having
the ice reach his sweetheart at the earliest possible
moment to notice either Willits's condition or his
tone of voice.

Willits sprang forward just as Harry regained his
erect position. "No you won't, sir!" he cried angrily.
"I've got some rights here and I'm going to protect
them. I'll ask Miss Kate myself and find out whether
I am to be made a fool of like this," and before St.
George could prevent started for the door.

Harry dropped the plate on the table and blocked
the enraged man's exit with his outstretched arm. He
was awake now — wide awake — and to the cause.

"You'll do nothing of the kind, Langdon — not
in your present state. Pull yourself together, man!
Miss Seymour is not accustomed to be spoken of in
that way and you know it. Now don't be foolish —
stay here with Uncle George and the doctor until you
cool down. There are the best of reasons why I
should dance the reel with Miss Kate, but I can't
explain them now."

"Neither am I, Mr. Harry Rutter, accustomed to
75

KENNEDY SQUARE

be spoken to in that way by you or anybody else.
I don't care a rap for your explanations. Get out of
my way, or you'll be sorry," and he sprang one side
and flung himself out of the room before Harry could
realize the full meaning of his words.

St. George saw the flash in the boy's eyes, and
stretching out his hand laid it on Harry's arm.

"Steady, my boy! Let him go — Kate will take
care of him."

"No! I'll take care of him! — and now!" He was
out of the room and the door shut behind him before
Temple could frame a reply.

St. George shot an anxious, inquiring look at
Teackle, who nodded his head in assent, and the
two hurried from the room and across the expanse
of white crash, Willits striding ahead, Harry at his
heels, St. George and the doctor following close be-
hind.

Kate stood near the far door, her radiant eyes fixed
on Harry's approaching figure — the others she did
not see. Willits reached her first:

"Miss Kate, isn't this my dance?" he burst out —
"didn't you promise me?"

Kate started and for a moment her face flushed.
If she had forgotten any promise she had made it
certainly was not intentional. Then her mind acted.
There must be no bad blood here — certainly not be-
tween Harry and Willits.

" No, not quite that, Mr. Willits," she answered in
her sweetest voice, a certain roguish coquetry in its

76

KENNEDY SQUARE

tones. "I said I'd think it over, and you never came
near me, and so Harry and I are "

"But you did promise me." His voice could be
heard all over the room — even the colonel, who was
talking to a group of ladies, raised his head to listen,
his companions thinking the commotion was due to
the proper arranging of the dance.

Harry's eyes flashed; angry blood was mounting to
his cheeks. He was amazed at Willits's outburst.

"You mean to contradict Miss Kate! Are you
crazy, Willits?"

" No, I am entirely sane," he retorted, a.n ugly ring
in his voice.

Everybody had ceased talking now. Good-natured
disputes over the young girls were not uncommon
among the young men, but this one seemed to have
an ominous sound. Colonel Rutter evidently thought
so, for he had now risen from his seat and was crossing
the room to where Harry and the group stood.

" Well, you neither act nor talk as if you were sane,"
rejoined Harry in cold, incisive tones, inching his way
nearer Kate, as if to be the better prepared to defend
her.

Willits's lip curled. "I am not beholden to you,
sir, for my conduct, although I can be later on for my
words. Let me see your dancing-card, Miss Kate,"
and he caught it from her unresisting hand. " There
— what did I tell you!" This came with a flare of in-
dignation. " It was a blank when I saw it last and
you've filled it in, sir, of your own accord ! " Here he

77

KENNEDY SQUARE

faced Harry. "That's your handwriting — I'll leave
it to you, Mr. Temple, if it isn't his handwriting."

Harry flushed scarlet and his eyes blazed as he
stepped toward the speaker. Kate shrank back in
alarm — she had read Harry's face and knew what
was behind it.

"Take that back, Langdon — quick! You are my
guest, but you mustn't say things like that here. I
put my name on the card because Miss Kate asked
me to. Take it back, sir — now! — and then make an
humble apology to Miss Seymour."

"I'll take back nothing! I've been cheated out of a
dance. Here — take her — and take this with her!"
and he tore Kate's card in half and threw the pieces
in his host's face.

With the spring of a cat, Harry lunged forward
and raised his arm as if to strike Willits in the face:
Willits drew himself up to his full height and con-
fronted him: Kate shrivelled within herself, all the
color gone from her cheeks. Whether to call out for
help or withdraw quietly, was what puzzled her. Both
would concentrate the attention of the whole room on
the dispute.

St. George, who was boiling with indignation and
disgust, but still cool and himself, pushed his way into
the middle of the group.

"Not a word, Harry," he whispered in low, frigid
tones. "This can be settled in another way." Then
in his kindest voice, so loud that all could hear —
"Teackle, will you and Mr. Willits please meet me

78

KENNEDY SQUARE

in the colonel's den — that, perhaps, is the best place
after all to straighten out these tangles. I'll join you
there as soon as I have Miss Kate safely settled."
He bent over her: "Kate, dear, perhaps you had bet-
ter sit alongside of Mrs. Rutter until I can get these
young fellows cooled off" — and in a still lower key —
"you behaved admirably, my girl — admirably. I'm
proud of you. Mr. Willits has had too much to
drink — that is what is the matter with him, but it will
be all over in a minute — and, Harry, my boy, suppose
you help me look up Teackle," and he laid his hand
with an authoritative pressure on the boy's arm.

The colonel had by this time reached the group
and stood trying to catch the cue. He had heard the
closing sentence of St. George's instructions, but he
had missed the provocation, although he had seen
Harry's uplifted fist.

"What's the matter, St. George?" he inquired
nervously.

" Just a little misunderstanding, Talbot, as to who
was to dance with our precious Kate," St. George an-
swered with a laugh, as he gripped Harry's arm the
tighter. "She is such a darling that it is as much as
I can do to keep these young Romeos from running
each other through the body, they are so madly in
love with her. I am thinking of making off with her
myself as the only way to keep the peace. Yes, you
dear girl, I'll come back. Hold the music up for a
little while, Talbot, until I can straighten them all
out," and with his arm still tight through Harry's, the

79

KENNEDY SQUARE

two walked the length of the room and closed the far
door behind them.

Kate looked after them and her heart sank all the
lower. She knew the feeling between the two men,
and she knew Harry's hot, ungovernable temper —
the temper of the Rutters. Patient as he often was,
and tender-hearted as he could be, there flashed into
his eyes now and then something that frightened her
— something that recalled an incident in the history of
his house. He had learned from his gentle mother
to forgive affronts to himself; she had seen him do it
many times, overlooking wrhat another man would
have resented, but an affront to herself or any other
woman was a different matter: that he would never
forgive. She knew, too, that he had just cause to be
offended, for in all her life no one had ever been so
rude to her. That she herself was partly to blame
only intensified her anxiety. Willits loved her, for he
had told her so, not once, but several times, although
she had answered him only with laughter. She
should have been honest and not played the coquette:
and yet, although the fault was partly her own, never
had she been more astonished than at his outburst.
In all her acquaintance with him he had never lost
his temper. Harry, of course, would lay it to Willits's
lack of breeding — to the taint in his blood. But she
knew better — it was the insanity produced by drink,
combined with his jealousy of Harry, which had caused
the gross outrage. If she had only told Willits herself
of her betrothal and not waited to surprise him before

80

KENNEDY SQUARE

the assembled guests, it would have been fairer and
spared every one this scene.

All these thoughts coursed through her mind as with
head still proudly erect she crossed the room on the
colonel's arm, to a seat beside her future mother-in-
law, who had noticed nothing, and to whom not a
syllable of the affair would have been mentioned, all
such matters being invariably concealed from the dear
lady.

Old Mrs. Cheston, however, was more alert; not
only had she caught the anger in Harry's eyes, but she
had followed the flight of the torn card as its pieces
fell to the floor. She had once been present at a
reception given by a prime minister when a similar
fracas had occurred. Then it was a lady's glove and
not a dancing-card which was thrown in a rival's face,
and it was a rapier that flashed and not a clenched fist.

"What was the matter over there, Talbot?" she
demanded, speaking from behind her fan when the
colonel came within hearing.

"Nothing! Some little disagreement about who
should lead the Virginia reel with Kate. I have
stopped the music until they fix it up."

"Don't talk nonsense, Talbot Rutter, not to me.
There was bad blood over there — you better look after
them. There'll be trouble if you don't."

The colonel tucked the edge of a rebellious ruffle
inside his embroidered waistcoat and with a quiet
laugh said: "St. George is attending to them."

"St. George is as big a fool as you are about such
81

KENNEDY SQUARE

things. Go, I tell you, and see what they are doing
in there with the door shut."

" But, my dear Mrs. Cheston," echoed her host with
a deprecating wave of his hand — "my Harry would
no more attack a man under his own roof than you
would cut off your right hand. He's not born that
way — none of us are."

"You talk like a perfect idiot, Talbot!" she retorted
angrily. " You seem to have forgotten everything you
knew. These young fellows here are so many tinder
boxes. There will be trouble I tell you — go out there
and find out what is going on," she reiterated, her
voice increasing in intensity. "They've had time
enough to fix up a dozen Virginia reels — and besides,
Kate is waiting, and they know it. Look! there's
some one coming out — it's that young Teackle. Call
him over here and find out!"

The doctor, who had halted at the door, was now
scrutinizing the faces of the guests as if in search of
some one. Then he moved swiftly to the far side of
the room, touched Mark Gilbert, Harry's most inti-
mate friend, on the shoulder, and the two left the floor.

Kate sat silent, a fixed smile on her face that ill
concealed her anxiety. She had heard every word of
the talk between Mrs. Cheston and the colonel, but
she did not share the old lady's alarm as to any actual
conflict. She would trust Uncle George to avoid that.
But what kept Harry? Why leave her thus abruptly
and send no word back ? In her dilemma she leaned
forward and touched the colonel's arm.

82

KENNEDY SQUARE

"You don't think anything is the matter, dear
colonel, do you?"

"With whom, Kate?"

"Between Harry and Mr. Willits. Harry might
resent it — he was very angry." Her lips were quiver-
ing, her eyes strained. She could hide her anxiety
from her immediate companions, but the colonel was
Harry's father.

The colonel turned quickly: "Resent it here! un-
der his own roof, and the man his guest ? That is one
thing, my dear, a Rutter never violates, no matter
what the provocation. I have made a special excep-
tion in Mr. Willits's favor to-night and Harry knows it.
It was at your dear father's request that I invited the
young fellow. And then again, I hear the most de-
lightful things about his own father, who though a
plain man is of great service to his county — one of Mr.
Clay's warmest adherents. All this, you see, makes it
all the more incumbent that both my son and myself
should treat him with the utmost consideration, and,
as I have said, Harry understands this perfectly.
You don't know my boy; I would disown him, Kate,
if he laid a hand on Mr. Willits — and so should you."

83

CHAPTER V

When Dr. Teackle shut the door of the ballroom
upon himself and Mark Gilbert the two did not tarry
long in the colonel's den, which was still occupied by
half a dozen of the older men, who were being beguiled
by a relay of hot terrapin that Alec had just served.
On the contrary, they continued on past the serving
tables, past old Cobden Dorsey, who was steeped to
the eyes in Santa Cruz rum punch; past John Pur-
viance, and Gatchell and Murdoch, smacking their
lips over the colonel's Madeira, dived through a door
leading first to a dark passage, mounted to a short
flight of steps leading to another dark passage, and so
on through a second door until they reached a small
room level with the ground. This was the colonel's
business office, where he conducted the affairs of the
estate — a room remote from the great house and never
entered except on the colonel's special invitation and
only then when business of importance necessitated
its use.

That business of the very highest importance — not
in any way connected with the colonel, though of the
very gravest moment — was being enacted here to-
night, could be seen the instant Teackle, with Gilbert
at his heels, threw open the door. St. George and
Harry were in one corner — Harry backed against the

84

KENNEDY SQUARE

wall. The boy was pale, but perfectly calm and silent.
On his face was the look of a man who had a duty
to perform and who intended to go through with it
come what might. On the opposite side of the room
stood Willits with two young men, his most intimate
friends. They had followed him out of the ballroom
to learn the cause of his sudden outburst, and so far
had only heard Willits's side of the affair. He was
now perfectly sober and seemed to feel his position,
but he showed no fear. On the desk lay a mahogany
case containing the colonel's duelling pistols. Harry
had taken them from his father's closet as he passed
through the colonel's den.

St. George turned to the young doctor. His face
was calm and thoughtful, and he seemed to realize
fully the gravity of the situation.

" It's no use, Teackle," St. George said with an ex-
pressive lift of his fingers. "I have done everything
a man could, but there is only one way out of it. I
have tried my best to save Kate from every unhappi-
ness to-night, but this is something much more im-
portant than woman's tears, and that is her lover's
honor."

"You mean to tell me, Uncle George, that you
can't stop this!" Teackle whispered with some heat,
his eyes strained, his lips twitching. Here he faced
Harry. "You sha'n't go on with this affair, I tell
you, Harry. What will Kate say ? Do you think she
wants you murdered for a foolish thing like this! —
and that's about what will happen."

85

KENNEDY SQUARE

The boy made no reply, except to shake his head.
He knew what Kate would say — knew what she would
do, and knew what she would command him to do,
could she have heard Willits's continued insults in
this very room but a moment before while St. George
was trying to make him apologize to his host and so
end the disgraceful incident.

" Then I'll go and bring in the colonel and see what
he can do!" burst out Teackle, starting for the door.
"It's an outrage that "

" You'll stay here, Teackle," commanded St. George
— "right where you stand! This is no place for a
father. Harry is of age."

"But what an ending to a night like this!"

"I know it — horrible! — frightful! — but I would
rather see the boy lying dead at my feet than not de-
fend the woman he loves." This came in a decisive
tone, as if he had long since made up his mind to this
phase of the situation.

" But Langdon is Harry's guest," Teackle pleaded,
dropping his voice still lower to escape being heard
by the group at the opposite end of the room — "and
he is still under his roof. It is never done — it is
against the code. Besides" — and his voice became
a whisper — " Harry never levelled a pistol at a man in
his life, and this is not Langdon's first meeting. We
can fix it in the morning. I tell you we must fix it."

Harry, who had been listening quietly, reached
across the table, picked up the case of pistols, handed
it to Gilbert, whom he had chosen as his second, and

86

KENNEDY SQUARE

in a calm, clear, staccato tone — each word a bullet
rammed home — said:

" No — Teackle, there will be no delay until to-mor-
row. Mr. Willits has forfeited every claim to being"
my guest and I will fight him here and now. I could
never look Kate in the face, nor would she ever speak
to me again, if I took any other course. You forget
that he virtually told Kate she lied," and he gazed
steadily at Willits as if waiting for the effect of his
shot.

St. George's eyes kindled. There was the ring of a
man in the boy's words. He had seen the same look
on the elder Rutter's face in a similar situation twenty
years before. As a last resort he walked toward
where Willits stood conferring with his second.

"I ask you once more, Mr. Willits" — he spoke in
his most courteous tones (Willits's pluck had greatly
raised him in his estimation) — "to apologize like a
man and a gentleman. There is no question in my
mind that you have insulted your host in his own house
and been discourteous to the woman he expects to
marry, and that the amende honorable should come
from you. I am twice your age and have had many
experiences of this kind, and I would neither ask you
to do a dishonorable thing nor would I permit you to
do it if I could prevent it. Make a square, manly
apology to Harry."

Willits gazed at him with a certain ill-concealed
contempt on his face. He was at the time loosening
the white silk scarf about his throat in preparation

87

KENNEDY SQUARE

for the expected encounter. He evidently did not
believe a word of that part of the statement which
referred to Harry's engagement. If Kate had been
engaged to Harry she would have told him so.

"You are only wasting your time, Mr. Temple,"
he answered with an impatient lift of his chin as he
stripped his coat from his broad shoulders. "You
have just said there is only one way to settle this — I
am ready — so are my friends. You will please meet
me outside — there is plenty of firelight under the trees,
and the sooner we get through this the better. The
apology should not come from me, and will not.
Come, gentlemen," and he stepped out into the now
drizzling night, the glare of the torches falling on his
determined face and white shirt as he strode down
the path followed by his seconds.

Seven gentlemen hurriedly gathered together, one a
doctor and another in full possession of a mahogany
case containing two duelling pistols with their ac-
companying ammunition, G. D. gun caps, powder-
horn, swabs and rammers, and it past eleven o'clock
at night, would have excited but little interest to the
average darky — especially one unaccustomed to the
portents and outcomes of such proceedings.

Not so Alec, who had absorbed the situation at a
glance. He had accompanied his master on two such
occasions — one at Bladensburg and the other on a
neighboring estate, when the same suggestive tokens
had been visible, except that those fights took place at
daybreak, and after every requirement of the code

88

KENNEDY SQUARE

had been complied with, instead of under the flare
of smoking pine torches and within a step of the con-
testant's front door. He had, besides, a most intimate
knowledge of the contents of the mahogany case, it
being part of his duty to see that these defenders of
the honor of all the Rutters — and they had been in fre-
quent use — were kept constantly oiled and cleaned.
He had even cast some bullets the month before under
the colonel's direction. That he was present to-night
was entirely due to the fact that having made a short
cut to the kitchen door in order to hurry some dishes,
he had by the merest chance, and at the precise psy-
chological moment, run bump up against the warlike
party just before they had reached the duelling ground.
This was a well-lighted path but a stone's throw from
the porch, and sufficiently 'hidden by shrubbery to be
out of sight of the ballroom windows.

The next moment the old man was in full cry to the
house. He had heard the beginning of the trouble
while he was carrying out St. George's orders regard-
ing the two half-emptied bowls of punch and under-
stood exactly what was going to happen, and why.

"Got de colonel's pistols!" he choked as he sped
along the gravel walk toward the front door the quicker
to reach the ballroom — "and Marse Harry nothin'
but a baby! Gor-a-Mighty! Gor-a-Mighty!" Had
they all been grown-ups he might not have minded —
but his " Marse Harry," the child he brought up, his
idol — his chum! — "Fo' Gawd, dey sha'n't kill 'im —
dey sha'n't!— dey sha'n't! !"

89

KENNEDY SQUARE

He had reached the porch now, swung back the
door, and with a sudden spring — it was wonderful how
quick he moved — had dashed into the ballroom,
now a maze of whirling figures — a polka having
struck up to keep everybody occupied until the reel
was finally made up.

"Marse Talbot!— Marse Talbot!" All domestic
training was cast aside, not a moment could be lost —
"All on ye! — dey's murder outside — somebody go git
de colonel! — Oh, Gawd! — somebody git 'im quick!"

Few heard him and nobody paid any attention to
his entreaties; nor could anybody, when they did
listen, understand what he wanted — the men swearing
under their breath, the girls indignant that he had
blocked their way. Mrs. Rutter, who had seen his
in-rush, sat aghast. Had Alec, too, given way, she
wondered — old Alec who had had full charge of the
wine cellar for years! But the old man pressed on,
still shouting, his voice almost gone, his eyes bursting
from his head.

"Dey's gwineter murder Marse Harry — I seen 'em!
Oh! — whar's de colonel! Won't somebody please —
Oh, my Gawd! — dis is awful! Don't I tell ye dey's
gwineter kill Marse Harry!"

Mrs. Cheston, sitting beside Kate, was the only one
who seemed to understand.

"Alec!" she called in her imperious voice — "Alec!
— come to me at once! What is the matter?"

The old butler shambled forward and stood trem-
bling, the tears streaming down his cheeks.

90

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes, mum — I'm yere! Oh, can't ye git de colo-
nel— ain't nobody else'll do "

"Is it a duel?"

"Yes, mum! I jes' done see 'em! Dey's gwineter
kill my Marse Harry!"

Kate sprang up. " Where are they ? " she cried, shiv-
ering with fear. The old man's face had told the story.

" Out by de greenhouse — dey was measurin' off de
groun' — dey's got de colonel's pistols — you kin see 'em
from de winder!"

In an instant she had parted the heavy silk curtains
and lifted the sash. She would have thrown herself
from it if Mrs. Cheston had not held her, although it
was but a few feet from the ground.

"Harry!" she shrieked — an agonizing shriek that
reverberated through the ballroom, bringing every-
body and everything to a stand-still. The dancers
looked at each other in astonishment. What had
happened? Who had fainted?

The colonel now passed through the room. He
had been looking after the proper handling of the
famous Madeira, and had just heard that Alec wanted
him, and was uncertain as to the cause of the disturb-
ance. A woman's scream had reached his ears, but
he did not know it was Kate's or he would have
quickened his steps.

Again Kate's voice pierced the room:

"Harry! Harry!" — this time in helpless agony.
She had peered into the darkness made denser by the
light rain, and had caught a glimpse of a man stand-

91

KENNEDY SQUARE

ing erect without his coat, the light of the torches
bringing his figure into high relief — whose she could
not tell, the bushes were so thick.

The colonel brushed everybody aside and pulled
Kate, half fainting, into the room. Then he faced
Mrs. Cheston.

" What has happened ? " he asked sharply. " What
is going on outside?"

"Just what I told you. Those fools are out there
trying to murder each other!"

Two shots in rapid succession rang clear on the
night air.

The colonel stood perfectly still. No need to tell
him now what had happened, and worse yet, no need
to tell him what would happen if he showed the
slightest agitation. He was a cool man, accustomed
to critical situations, and one who never lost his head
in an emergency. Only a few years before he had
stopped a runaway hunter, with a girl clinging to a
stirrup, by springing straight at the horse's head and
bringing them both to the ground unhurt. It only re-
quired the same instantaneous concentration of all his
forces, he said to himself, as he gazed into old Alec's
terror-stricken face framed by the open window.
Once let the truth be known and the house would be
in a panic — women fainting, men rushing out, taking
sides with the combatants, with perhaps other duels
to follow — Mrs. Rutter frantic, the ball suddenly
broken up, and this, too, near midnight, with most of
his guests ten miles and more from home.

92

KENNEDY SQUARE

Murmurs of alarm were already reaching his ears:
What was it? — who had fainted? — did the scream
come from inside or outside the room ? — what was the
firing about?

He turned to allay Kate's anxiety, but she had
cleared the open window at a bound and was already
speeding toward where she had seen the light on the
man's shirt. For an instant he peered after her into
the darkness, and then, his mind made up, closed the
sash with a quick movement, flung together the silk
curtains and raised his hand to command attention.

"Keep on with the dance, my friends; I'll go and
find out what has happened — but it's nothing that need
worry anybody — only a little burnt powder. Alec,
go and tell Mr. Grant, the overseer, to keep better
order outside. In the meantime let everybody get
ready for the Virginia reel; supper will be served in a
few minutes. Will you young gentlemen please choose
your partners, and will some one of you kindly ask
the music to start up?"

Slowly, and quite as if he had been called to the
front door to welcome some belated guest, he walked
the length of the room preceded by Alec, who, agonized
at his master's measured delay, had forged ahead
to open the door. This closed and they out of sight,
the two hurried down the path.

Willits lay flat on the ground, one arm stretched
above his head. He had measured his full length, the
weight of his shoulder breaking some flower-pots as
he fell. Over his right eye gaped an ugly wound from

93

KENNEDY SQUARE

which oozed a stream of blood that stained his cheek
and throat. Dr. Teackle, on one knee, was searching
the patient's heart, while Kate, her pretty frock soiled
with mud, her hair dishevelled, sat crouched in the
dirt rubbing his hands — sobbing bitterly — crying out
whenever Harry, who was kneeling beside her, tried to
soothe her: — "No! — No! — My heart's broken—
don't speak to me — go away!"

The colonel, towering above them, looked the scene
over, then he confronted Harry, who had straightened
to his feet on seeing his father.

"A pretty piece of work — and on a night like this!
A damnable piece of work, I should say, sir! ... Has
he killed him, Teackle?"

The young doctor shook his head ominously.

" I cannot tell yet — his heart is still beating."

St. George now joined the group. He and Gilbert
and the other seconds had, in order to maintain
secrecy, been rounding up the few negroes who had
seen the encounter, or who had been attracted to the
spot by the firing.

"Harry had my full consent, Talbot — there was
really nothing else to do. Only an ounce of cold lead
will do in some cases, and this was one of them."
He was grave and deliberate in manner, but there was
an infinite sadness in his voice.

"He did — did he?" retorted the colonel bitterly.
" Your full consent ! YOURS ! and I in the next room ! "
Here he beckoned to one of the negroes who, with
staring eyeballs, stood gazing from one to the other.

94

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Come closer, Eph — not a whisper, remember, or I'll
cut the hide off your back in strips. Tell the others
what I say — if a word of this gets into the big house
or around the cabins I'll know who to punish. Now
two or three of you go into the greenhouse, pick up one
of those wide planks, and lift this gentleman onto it
so we can carry him. Take him into my office, doc-
tor, and lay him on my lounge. He'd better die there
than here. Come, Kate — do you go with me. Not a
syllable of this, remember, Kate, to Mrs. Rutter, or
anybody else. As for you, sir " — and he looked Harry
squarely in the face — "you will hear from me later on."

With the same calm determination, he entered the
ballroom, walked to the group forming the reel, and,
with a set smile on this face indicating how idle had
been everybody's fears, said loud enough to be heard
by every one about him:

" Only one of the men, my dear young people, who
has been hurt in the too careless use of some fire-
arms. As to dear Kate — she has been so upset — she
happened unfortunately to see the affair from the
window — that she has gone to her room and so you
must excuse her for a little while. Now everybody
keep on with the dance."

With his wife he was even more at ease. "The
same old root of all evil, my dear," he said with a dry
laugh — " too much peach brandy, and this time down
the wrong throats — and so in their joy they must cele-
brate by firing off pistols and wasting my good ammu-
nition," an explanation which completely satisfied the

95

KENNEDY SQUARE

dear lady — peach brandy being capable of producing
any calamity, great or small.

But this would not do for Mrs. Cheston. She was
a woman who could be trusted and who never, on
any occasion, lost her nerve. He saw from the way
she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, instead of framing
her question in words, that she fully realized the
gravity of the situation. The colonel looked at her
significantly, made excuse to step in front of her, his
back to the room, and with his forefinger tapping his
forehead, whispered:

"Willits."

The old lady paled, but she did not change her ex-
pression.

"And Harry?" she murmured in return.

The colonel kept his eyes upon her, but he made
no answer. A hard, cold look settled on his face —
one she knew — one his negroes feared when he grew
angry.

Again she repeated Harry's name, this time in alarm:

"Quick!— tell me— not killed ?"

"No — I wish to God he were!"

96

The wounded man lay on a lounge in tne office room,
which was dimly lighted by the dying glow of the out-
side torches and an oil lamp hurriedly brought in.
No one was present except St. George, Harry, the
doctor, and a negro woman who had brought in some
pillows and hot water. All that could be done for him
had been done; he was unconscious and his life hung
by a thread. Harry, now that the mysterious thing
called his "honor" had been satisfied, was helping
Teackle wash the wound prior to an attempt to probe
for the ball.

The boy was crying quietly — the tears streaming
unbidden down his cheeks — it was his first experience
at this sort of thing. He had been brought up to
know that some day it might come and that he must
then face it, but he had never before realized the hor-
ror of what might follow. And yet he had not reached
the stage of regret; he was sorry for the wounded man
and for his suffering, but he was not sorry for his own
share in causing it. He had only done his duty, and
but for a stroke of good luck he and Willits might
have exchanged places. Uncle George had expressed
his feelings exactly when he said that only a bit of cold
lead could settle some insults, and what insult could

97

KENNEDY SQUARE

have been greater than the one for which he had shot
Willits ? What was a gentleman to do ? Go around
meeting his antagonist every day? — the two ignor-
ing each other? Or was he to turn stable boy, and
pound him with his fists? — or, more ridiculous still,
have him bound over to keep the peace, or bring an
action for — Bah! — for what? — Yes — for what? Wil-
lits hadn't struck him, or wounded him, or robbed him.
It had been his life or Willits's. No — there was no
other way — couldn't be any other way. Willits knew
it when he tore up Kate's card — knew what would
follow. There was no deception — nothing underhand.
And he had got precisely what he deserved, sorry as
he felt for his sufferings.

Then Kate's face rose before him — haunted him.
Why hadn't she seen it this way ? Why had she re-
fused to look at him — refused to answer him — driven
him away from her side, in fact ? — he who had risked
his life to save her from insult! Why wouldn't she
allow him to even touch her hand? Why did she
treat Willits — drunken vulgarian as he was — differently
from the way she had treated him ? She had broken
off her engagement with him because he was drunk at
Mrs. Cheston's ball, where nobody had been hurt but
himself, and here she was sympathizing with another
drunken man who had not only outraged all sense of
decency toward her, but had jeopardized the life of
her affianced husband who defended her against his
insults; none of which would have happened had the
man been sober. All this staggered him.

98

KENNEDY SQUARE

More astounding still was her indifference. She
had not even asked if he had escaped unhurt, but had
concentrated all her interest upon the man who had
insulted her. As to his own father's wrath — that he
had expected. It was his way to break out, and this
he knew would continue until he realized the enormity
of the insult to Kate and heard how he and St. George
had tried to ward off the catastrophe. Then he would
not only change his opinion, but would commend him
for his courage.

Outside the sick-room such guests as could be trusted
were gathered together in the colonel's den, where
they talked in whispers. All agreed that the ladies
and the older men must be sent home as soon as pos-
sible, and in complete ignorance of what had occurred.
If Willits lived — of which there was little hope — his
home would be at the colonel's until he fully recovered,
the colonel having declared that neither expense nor
care would be spared to hasten his recovery. If he
died, the body would be sent to his father's house
later on.

With this object in view the dance was adroitly
shortened, the supper hurried through, and within an
hour after midnight the last carriage and carryall of
those kept in ignorance of the duel had departed,
the only change in the programme being the non-
opening of the rare old bottle of Madeira and the an-
nouncement of Harry's and Kate's engagement — an
omission which provoked little comment, as it had
been known to but few.

99

KENNEDY SQUARE

Kate remained. She had tottered upstairs holding
on to the hand-rail and had thrown herself on a bed
in the room leading out of the dressing-room, where
she lay in her mud-stained dress, the silken petticoat
torn and bedraggled in her leap from the window.
She was weeping bitterly, her old black mammy sit-
ting beside her trying to comfort her as best she
could.

With the departure of the last guest — Mr. Seymour
among them; the colonel doing the honors; standing
bare-headed on the porch, his face all smiles as he
bade them good-by — the head of the house of Rutter
turned quickly on his heel, passed down the corridor,
made his way along the long narrow hall, and entered
his office, where the wounded man lay. Harry, the
negro woman, and Dr. Teackle alone were with him.

"Is there any change?" he asked in a perfectly
even voice. Every vestige of the set smile of the host
had left his face. Harry he did not even notice.

" Not much — he is still alive," replied the doctor.

"Have you found the ball?"

"No — I have not looked for it — I will presently."

The colonel moved out a chair and sat down beside
the dying man, his eyes fixed on the lifeless face.
Some wave of feeling must have swept through him,
for after a half-stifled sigh, he said in a low voice, as
if to himself:

" This will be a fine story to tell his father, won't it ?
— and here too — under my roof. My God ! — was there
ever anything more disgraceful!" He paused for a

100

KENNEDY SQUARE

moment, his eyes still on the sufferer, and then went
on — this time to the doctor — " His living so long gives
me some hope — am I right, Teackle?"

The doctor nodded, but he made no audible reply.
He had bent closer to the man's chest and was at the
moment listening intently to the labored breathing,
which seemed to have increased.

Harry edged nearer to the patient, his eyes seeking
for some move of life. All his anger had faded.
Willits, his face ablaze with drink and rage, his eyes
flashing, his strident voice ringing out — even Kate's
shocked, dazed face, no longer filled his mind. It was
the suffering man — trembling on the verge of eternity,
shot to death by his own ball — that appealed to him.
And then the suddenness of it all — less than an hour
had passed since this tall, robust young fellow stood
before him on the stairs, hanging upon every word
that fell from Kate's lips — and here he lay weltering
in his own blood.

Suddenly his father's hopeful word to the doctor
sounded in his ears. Suppose, after all, Willits should
get well! Then Kate would understand and forgive
him! A«s this thought developed in his mind his
spirits rose. He scanned the sufferer the more in-
tently, straining his neck, persuading himself that a
slight twitching had crossed the dying man's face.
Almost instantaneously the doctor rose to his feet.

"Quick, Harry! — hand me that brandy! It's just
as I hoped — the ball has ploughed outside the skull
— the brain is untouched. It was the shock that

101

KENNEDY SQUARE

stunned him. Leave the room everybody — you too,
colonel — he'll come to in a minute and must not be
excited."

Harry sprang from his chair, a great surge of thank-
fulness rising in his heart, caught up the decanter, filled
a glass and pressed it to the sufferer's lips. The colo-
nel sat silent and unmoved. He had seen too many
wounded men revive and then die to be unduly ex-
cited. That Willets still breathed was the only feat-
ure of his case that gave him any hope.

Harry shot an inquiring glance at his father, and
receiving only a cold stare in return, hurried from
the room, his steps growing lighter as he ran. Kate
must hear the good news and with the least possible
delay. He would not send a message — he would go
himself; then he could explain and relieve her mind.
She would listen to his pleading. It was natural she
should have been shocked. He himself had been
moved to sympathy by the sufferer's condition — how
much more dreadful, then, must have been the sight of
the wounded man lying there among the flower-pots
to a woman nurtured so carefully and one so sensitive
in spirit! But it was all over — Willits would live —
there would be a reconciliation — everything would be
forgiven and everything forgotten.

All these thoughts crowded close in his mind as
he rushed up the stairs two steps at a time to where
his sweetheart lay moaning out her heart. He tapped
lightly and her old black mammy opened the door on
a crack.

102

KENNEDY SQUARE

"It's Marse Harry, mistis," she called back over
her shoulder — "shall I let him come in?"

"No! — no! — I don't want to see him; I don't want
to see anybody — my heart is broken!" came the re-
ply in half-stifled sobs.

Harry, held at bay, rested his forehead against the
edge of the door so his voice could reach her the
better.

" But Willits isn't going to die, Kate dear. I have
just left him; it's only a scalp wound. Dr. Teackle
says he's all right. The shock stunned him into un-
consciousness."

"Oh, I don't care what Dr. Teackle says! It's
you, Harry! — You! You never once thought of me
—Oh, why did you do it?"

" I did think of you, Kate! I never thought of any-
thing else — I am not thinking of anything else now."

"Oh, to think you tried to murder him! You,
Harry — whom I loved so!" she sobbed.

"It was for you, Kate! You heard what he said —
you saw it all. It was for you — for nobody else —
for you, my darling! Let me come in — let me hold
you close to me and tell you."

"No! — TIO — NO! My heart is broken! Come to
me, mammy!"

The door shut gently and left him on the outside,
dazed at the outcry, his heart throbbing with tender-
ness and an intense, almost ungovernable impulse to
force his way into the room, take her in his arms, and
comfort her.

103

KENNEDY SQUARE

The closed door brought him to his senses. To-
morrow, after all, would be better, he confessed to
himself humbly. Nothing more could be done to-
night. Yes — to-morrow he would tell her all. He
turned to descend the stairs and ran almost into Alec's
arms. The old man was trembling with excitement
and seemed hardly able to control himself. He had
come in search of him, and had waited patiently at
Kate's door for the outcome of the interview, every
word of which he had overheard.

"Marse Talbot done sont me fer ye, Marse Harry,"
he said in a low voice; "he wants ye in his li'l' room.
Don't ye take no notice what de young mistis says; she
ain't griebin' fer dat man. Dat Willits blood ain't no
'count, nohow; dey's po' white trash, dey is — eve'ybody
knows dat. Let Miss Kate cry herse'f out; dat's de
on'y help now. Mammy Henny '11 look arter her
till de mawnin* " — to "none of which did Harry make
answer.

When they reached the bottom step leading to the
long hall the old man stopped and laid his hand on his
young master's shoulder. His voice was barely audi-
ble and two tears stood in his eyes.

" Don't you take no notice ob what happens to-night,
son," he whispered. "'Member ye kin count on ol'
Alec. Ain't neber gwineter be nothin' come 'twixt me
an' you, son. I ain't neber gwineter git tired lovin' ye
— you won't fergit dat, will ye ? "

"No, Alec, but Mr. Willits will recover. Dr.
Teackle has just said so."

104

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Oh, dat ain't it, son — it's you, Marse Harry.
Don't let 'em down ye — stand up an' fight 'em
back."

Harry patted the old servant tenderly on the arm
to calm his fears. His words had made but little
impression on him. If he had heard them at all he
certainly did not grasp their import. What he was
wanted for he could not surmise — nor did he much
care. Now that Kate had refused to see him he al-
most wished that Willits's bullet had found its target.

"Where did you say my father was, Alec?" he
asked in a listless voice.

"In his liT room, son; dey's all in dar, Marse
George Temple, Mister Gilbert — dem two gemmans
who stood up wid Mister Willits — dey's all dar.
Don't mind what dey say, honey — jes' you fall back
on ol' Alec. I dassent go in; maybe I'll be yere in
de pantry so ye kin git hold o' me. I'se mos' crazy,
Marse Harry — let me git hold ob yd' hand once mo',
son. Oh, my Gawd! — dey sha'n't do nothin' to ye!"

The boy took the old man's hand in his, patted it
gently and resumed his walk. The least said the
better when Alec felt like this. It was Kate's voice
that pierced his ears — Kate's sobs that wrenched his
heart: "You never thought of me!" Nothing else
counted.

Harry turned the handle of the door and stepped
boldly in, his head erect, his eyes searching the room.
It was filled with gentlemen, some sitting, some stand-
ing; not only those who had taken part in the duel,

105

KENNEDY SQUARE

but three or four others who were in possession of the
secret that lay heavy on everybody's mind.

He looked about him: most of the candles had
burned low in the socket; some had gone out. The
few that still flickered cast a dim, ghostly light. The
remains of the night's revel lay on the larger table
and the serving tables: — a half empty silver dish of
terrapin, caked over with cold grease; portion of a
ham with the bone showing; empty and partly filled
glasses and china cups from which the toddies and
eggnog had been drunk. The smell of rum and
lemons intermingled with the smoke of snuffed-out
candle wicks greeted his nostrils — a smell he remem-
bered for years and always with a shudder.

There had evidently been a heated discussion, for
his father was walking up and down the room, his
face flushed, his black eyes blazing with suppressed
anger, his plum-colored coat unbuttoned as if to give
him more breathing space, his silk scarf slightly awry.
St. George Temple must have been the cause of his
wrath, for the latter's voice was reverberating through
the room as Harry stepped in.

"I tell you, Talbot, you shall not — you dare not!"
St. George was exclaiming, his voice rising in the in-
tensity of his indignation. His face was set, his eyes
blazing; all his muscles taut. He stood like an aveng-
ing knight guarding some pathway. Harry looked on
in amazement — he had never seen his uncle like this
before.

The colonel wheeled about suddenly and raised his
106

KENNEDY SQUARE

clenched hand. He seemed to be nervously unstrung
and for a moment to have lost his self-control.

"Stop, St. George!" he thundered. "Stop in-
stantly! Not another word, do you hear me ? Don't
strain a friendship that has lasted from boyhood or I
may forget myself as you have done. No man can
tell me what I shall or shall not do when my honor is
at stake. Never before has a Rutter disgraced him-
self and his blood. I am done with him, I tell you!"

"But the man will get well!" hissed St. George,
striding forward and confronting him. "Teackle has
just said so — you heard him; we all heard him!"

"That makes no difference; that does not relieve
my son."

Rutter had now become aware of Harry's presence.
So had the others, who turned their heads in the boy's
direction, but no one spoke. They had not the lifelong
friendship that made St. George immune, and few -of
them would have dared to disagree with Talbot Rut-
ter in anything.

"And now, sir" — here the colonel made a step tow-
ards where Harry stood, the words falling as drops
of water fall on a bared head — "I have sent for you
to tell you just what I have told these gentlemen. I
have informed them openly because I do not wish
either my sense of honor or my motives to be misun-
derstood. Your performances to-night have been so
dastardly and so ill-bred as to make it impossible for
me ever to live under the same roof with you again."
Harry started and his lips parted as if to speak, but

107

KENNEDY SQUARE

he made no sound. "You have disgraced your blood
and violated every law of hospitality. Mr. Willits
should have been as safe here as you would have been
under his father's roof. If he misbehaved himself
you could have ordered his carriage and settled the
affair next day, as any gentleman of your standing
would have done. I have sent for a conveyance to
take you wherever you may wish to go." Then, turn-
ing to St. George, " I must ask you, Temple, to fill my
place and see that these gentlemen get their proper
carriages, as I must join Mrs. Rutter, who has sent
for me. Good-night," and he strode from the room.

Harry stared blankly into the faces of the men about
him: first at St. George and then at the others — one
after another — as if trying to read what was passing
in their minds. No one spoke or moved. His father's
intentions had evidently been discussed before the
boy's arrival and the final denunciation had, therefore,
been received with less of the deadening effect than
it had produced on himself. Nor was it a surprise to
old Alec, who despite his fears had followed Harry
noiselessly into the room, and who had also overheard
the colonel's previous outbreak as to his intended dis-
position of his young master.

St. George, who during the outburst had stood
leaning against the mantel, his eyes riveted on Harry,
broke the silence.

"That, gentlemen," he exclaimed, straightening to
his feet, one hand held high above his head, "is the
most idiotic and unjust utterance that ever fell from

108

KENNEDY SQUARE

Talbot Rutter's lips! and one he will regret to his dy-
ing day. This boy you all know — most of you have
known him from childhood, and you know him, as I
do, to be the embodiment of all that is brave and
truthful. He is just of age — without knowledge of
the world. His engagement to Kate Seymour, as
some of you are aware, was to be made known to-night.
Willits was drunk or he would not have acted as he
did. I saw it coming and tried to stop him. That
he was drunk was Rutter's own fault, with his damned
notions of drowning everybody in drink every minute
of the day and night. I saw the whole affair and
heard the insult, and it was wholly unprovoked.
Harry did just what was right, and if he hadn't I'd
either have made Willits apologize or I would have
shot him myself the moment the affair could have
been arranged, no matter where we were. I know
perfectly well " — here he swept his eyes around — " that
there is not a man in this room who does not feel as I
do about Rutter's treatment of this boy, and so I shall
not comment further upon it." He dropped his
clenched hand and turned to Harry, his voice still
clear and distinct but with a note of tenderness through
it. "And now, that pronunciamentos are in order,
my boy, here is one which has less of the Bombastes
Furioso in it than the one you have just listened to —
but it's a damned sight more humane and a damned
sight more fatherly, and it is this: — hereafter you be-
long to me — you are my son, my comrade, and, if I
ever have a dollar to give to any one, my heir. And

109

KENNEDY SQUARE

now one thing more, and I don't want any one of
you gentlemen within sound of my voice ever to for-
get it: When hereafter any one of you reckon with
Harry you will please remember that you reckon with
me."

He turned suddenly. "Excuse me one moment,
gentlemen, and I will then see that you get your
several carriages. Alec ! — where's Alec ? "

The old darky stepped out of the shadow. "I'm
yere, sah."

"Alec, go and tell Matthew to bring my gig to the
front porch — and be sure you see that your young
master's heavy driving-coat is put inside. Mr. Harry
spends the night with me."

110

CHAPTER VII

The secrecy enjoined upon everybody conversant
with the happenings at Moorlands did not last many
hours. At the club, across dinner tables, at tea, on
the street, and in the libraries of Kennedy Square,
each detail was gone over, each motive discussed.
None of the facts were exaggerated, nor was the
gravity of the situation lightly dismissed. Duels were
not so common as to blunt the sensibilities. On the
contrary, they had begun to be generally deplored and
condemned, a fact largely due to the bitterness result-
ing from a famous encounter which had taken place a
year or so before between young Mr. Cocheran, the
son of a rich landowner, and Mr. May — the circum-
stances being somewhat similar, the misunderstand-
ing having arisen at a ball in Washington over a reign-
ing belle, during which Mr. May had thrown his card
in Cocheran's face. In this instance all the require-
ments of the code were complied with. The duel
was fought in an open space behind Nelson's Hotel,
near the Capitol, Mr. Cocheran arriving at half-past
five in the morning in a magnificent coach drawn by
four white horses, his antagonist reaching the grounds
in an ordinary conveyance, the seconds and the two
surgeons on horseback. Both fired simultaneously,

111

KENNEDY SQUARE

with the result that May escaped unhurt, while Coch-
eran was shot through the head and instantly killed.

Public opinion, indeed, around Kennedy Square,
was, if the truth be told, undergoing many and seri-
ous changes. For not only the duel but some other of
the traditional customs dear to the old regime were
falling into disrepute — especially the open sideboards,
synonymous with the lavish hospitality of the best
houses. While most of the older heads, brought up
on the finer and rarer wines, knew to a glass the limit
of their endurance, the younger bloods were constantly
losing control of themselves, a fact which was causing
the greatest anxiety among the mothers of Kennedy
Square.

This growing antipathy had been hastened and
solidified by another tragedy quite as widely discussed
as the Cocheran and May duel — more so, in fact, since
this particular victim of too many toddies had been
the heir of one of the oldest residents about Kennedy
Square — a brilliant young surgeon, self-exiled because
of his habits, who had been thrown from his horse on
the Indian frontier — an Iowa town, really — shattering
his leg and making its amputation necessary. There
being but one other man in the rough camp who had
ever seen a knife used — and he but a student — the
wounded surgeon had directed the amputation him-
self, even to the tying of the arteries and the bandages
and splints. Only then did he collapse. The hero —
and he was a hero to every one who knew of his cool-
ness and pluck, in spite of his recognized weakness

112

KENNEDY SQUARE

— had returned to his father's house on Kennedy
Square on crutches, there to consult some specialists,
the leg still troubling him. As the cripple's bedroom
was at the top of the first flight of stairs, the steps of
which — it being summer — were covered with China
matting, he was obliged to drag himself up its incline
whenever he was in want of something he must fetch
himself. One of these necessities was a certain squat
bottle like those which had graced the old sideboards.
Half a dozen times a day would he adjust his crutches,
their steel points preventing his slipping, and mount
the stairs to his room, one step at a time.

Some months after, when the matting was taken
up, the mother took her youngest boy — he was then
fifteen — to the steps:

" Do you see the dents of your brother's crutches ?
— count them. Every one was a nail in his coffin."
They were — for the invalid died that winter.

These marked changes in public opinion, imper-
ceptible as they had been at first, were gradually pav-
ing the way, it may be said, for the dawn of that new
order of things which only the wiser and more far-
sighted men — men like Richard Horn — were able to
discern. While many of the old regime were willing
to admit that the patriarchal life, with the negro as the
worker and the master as the spender, had seen its
best days, but few of them, at the period of these
chronicles, realized that the genius of Morse, Hoe, and
McCormick, and a dozen others, whose inventions
were just beginning to be criticised, and often con-

113

KENNEDY SQUARE

demned, were really the chief factors in the making
of a new and greater democracy: that the cog, the
drill, the grate-bar, and the flying shuttle would ere
long supplant the hoe and the scythe; and that when
the full flood of this new era was reached their old-
time standards of family pride, reckless hospitality,
and even their old-fashioned courtesy would well-
nigh be swept into space. The storm raised over this
and the preceding duel had they but known it, was
but a notch in the tide-gauge of this flood.

"I understand, St. George, that you could have
stopped that disgraceful affair the other night if you
had raised your hand," Judge Pancoast had blurted
out in an angry tone at the club the week following.
" I did raise it, judge," replied St. George, calmly draw-
ing off his gloves.

" They don't say so — they say you stood by and en-
couraged it."

"Quite true," he answered in his dryest voice.
" When I raised my hand it was to drop my handker-
chief. They fired as it fell."

"And a barbarous and altogether foolish piece of
business, Temple. There is no justification for that
sort of thing, and if Rutter wasn't a feudal king up
in his own county there would be trouble over it. It's
God's mercy the poor fellow wasn't killed. Fine be-
ginning, isn't it, for a happy married life?"

" Better not have any wife at all, judge, than wed
a woman whose good name you are afraid to defend
with your life. There are some of us who can stand

114

KENNEDY SQUARE

anything but that, and Harry is built along the same
lines. A fine, noble, young fellow — did just right and
has my entire confidence and my love. Think it over,
judge," and he strolled into the card-room, picked up
the morning paper, and buried his face in its columns,
his teeth set, his face aflame with suppressed disgust at
the kind of blood running in the judge's veins.

The colonel's treatment of his son also came in
for heated discussion. Mrs. Cheston was particularly
outspoken. Such quixotic action on the ground of
safeguarding the rights of a young drunkard like Wil-
lits, who didn't know when he had had enough, might
very well do for a self-appointed autocrat like Rutter,
she maintained, but some equally respectable peo-
ple would have him know that they disagreed with
him.

" Just like Talbot Rutter," she exclaimed in her out-
spoken, decided way — " no sense of proportion. High-
tempered, obstinate as a mule, and a hundred years —
yes, five hundred years behind his time. And he —
could have stopped it all too if he had listened to me.
Did you ever hear anything so stupid as his turning
Harry — the sweetest boy who ever lived — out of doors,
and in a pouring rain, for doing what he would have
done himself! Oh, this is too ridiculous — too farcical.
Why, you can't conceive of the absurdity of it all — no-
body can ! Gilbert was there and told me every word
of it. You would have thought he was a grand duke
or a pasha punishing a slave — and the funniest thing
about it is that he believes he is a pasha. Oh — I

115

KENNEDY SQUARE

have no patience with such contemptible family pride,
and that's what is at the bottom of it."

Some of the back county aristocrats, on the other
hand — men who lived by themselves, who took their
cue from Alexander Hamilton, Lee, and Webb, and
believed in the code as the only means of arbitrating
a difficulty of any kind between gentlemen — stoutly
defended the Lord of Moorlands.
• "Rutter did perfectly right to chuck the young
whelp out of doors. Outrageous, sir — never is done —
nothing less than murder. Ought to be prosecuted for
challenging a man under his own roof — and at night
too. No toss-up for position, no seconds except a
parcel of boys. Vulgar, sir — infernally vulgar, sir. I
haven't the honor of Colonel Rutter's acquaintance
— but if I had I'd tell him so — served the brat right —
damn him!"

Richard Horn was equally emphatic, but in a far
different way. Indeed he could hardly restrain him-
self when discussing it.

" I can think of nothing my young boy Oliver would
or could do when he grows up," he exclaimed fiercely
— his eyes flashing, "which would shut him out of
his home and his dear mother's care. The duel is a
relic of barbarism and should be no longer tolerated;
it is mob law, really, and indefensible, with two per-
sons defying the statutes instead of a thousand. But
Rutter is the last man in the world to take the stand
he has, and I sincerely regret his action. There are
many bitter days ahead of him."

116

KENNEDY SQUARE

Nor were the present conditions, aspirations, and
future welfare of the two combatants, and of the lovely
girl over whom they had quarrelled, neglected by the
gossipers. No day passed without an extended dis-
cussion of their affairs. Bearers of fresh news were
eagerly welcomed both to toddy and tea tables.

Old Morris Murdoch, who knew Willits's father
intimately, being a strong Clay man himself, arrived
at one of these functions with the astounding informa-
tion that Willits had called on Miss Seymour, wearing
his hat in her presence to conceal his much-beplastered
head. That he had then and there not only made her
a most humble apology for his ill-tempered outbreak,
which he explained was due entirely to a combination
of egg-and-brandy, with a dash of apple-toddy thrown
in, but had declared upon his honor as a gentleman
that he would never again touch the flowing bowl.
Whereupon — (and this excited still greater astonish-
ment)— the delighted young lady had not only ex-
pressed her sympathy for his misfortunes, but had
blamed herself for what had occurred!

Tom Tilghman, a famous cross-country rider, who
had ridden in post haste from his country seat near
Moorlands to tell the tale — as could be seen from his
boots, which were still covered with mud — boldly
asserted of his own knowledge that the wounded
man, instead of seeking his native shore, as was gener-
ally believed, would betake himself to the Red Sulphur
Springs (where Kate always spent the summer) — ac-
companied by three saddle horses, two servants, some

117

KENNEDY SQUARE

•

extra bandages, and his devoted sister, there to re-
gain what was left of his health and strength. At
which Judge Pancoast had retorted — and with some
heat — that Willits might take a dozen saddle horses
and an equal number of sisters, and a bale of ban-
dages if he were so minded, to the Springs, or any
other place, but he would save time and money if he
stayed at home and looked after his addled head, as
no woman of Miss Seymour's blood and breeding
could possibly marry a man whose family escutcheon
needed polishing as badly as did his manners. That
the fact — the plain, bold fact — and here the judge's
voice rose to a high pitch — was that Willits was boiling
drunk until Harry's challenge sobered him, and that
Kate hated drunkenness as much as did Harry's
mother and the other women who had started out to
revolutionize society.

What that young lady herself thought of it all not
even the best-posted gossip in the club dared to vent-
ure an opinion. Moreover, such was the respect and
reverence in which she was held, and so great was the
sympathy felt for her situation, that she was seldom
referred to in connection with Harry or the affair ex-
cept with a sigh, followed by a "Too bad, isn't it?—
enough to break your heart," and such like expres-
sions.

What the Honorable Prim thought of it all was
apparent the next day at the club when he sputtered
out with:

"Here's a nice mess for a man of my position to
118

KENNEDY SQUARE

find himself in! Do you know that I am now pointed
out as the prospective father-in-law of a young jacka-
napes who goes about with a glass of grog in one hand
and a pistol in the other. I am not accustomed to
having my name bandied about and I won't have it —
I live a life of great simplicity, minding my own busi-
ness, and I want everybody else to mind theirs. The
whole affair is most contemptible and ridiculous and
smacks of the tin-armor age. Willits should have
been led quietly out of the room and put to bed and
young Rutter should have been reprimanded publicly
by his father. Disgraceful on a night like that when
my daughter's name was on everybody's lips."

After which outburst he had shut himself up in his
house, where, so he told one of his intimates, he in-
tended to remain until he left for the Red Sulphur
Springs, which he would do several weeks earlier
than was his custom — a piece of news which not only
confirmed Tom Tilghman's gossip, but lifted several
eyebrows in astonishment and set one or two loose
tongues to wagging.

Out at Moorlands, the point of view varied as the
aftermath of the tragedy developed, the colonel alone
pursuing his daily life without comment, although
deep down in his heart a very maelstrom was boiling
and seething.

Mrs. Rutter, as fate would have it, on hearing that
Kate was too ill to go back to town, had gone the next
morning to her bedside, where she learned for the first
time not only of the duel — which greatly shocked her,

119

KENNEDY SQUARE

leaving her at first perfectly limp and helpless — but of
Harry's expulsion from his father's house — (Alec owned
the private wire) — a piece of news which at first terri-
fied and then keyed her up as tight as an overstrung
violin. Like many another Southern woman, she
might shrink from a cut on a child's finger and only
regain her mental poise by a liberal application of smell-
ing salts, but once touch that boy of hers — the child
she had nourished and lived for — and all the rage of
the she-wolf fighting for her cub was aroused. What
took place behind the closed doors of her bedroom
when she faced the colonel and flamed out, no one but
themselves knew. That the colonel was dumfounded —
never having seen her in any such state of mind — goes
without saying. That he was proud of her and liked
her the better for it, is also true — nothing delighted
him so much as courage; — but nothing of all this,
impressive as it was, either weakened or altered his
resolve.

Nor did he change front to his friends and acquaint-
ances: his honorable name, he maintained, had been
trailed in the mud; his boasted hospitality betrayed;
his house turned into a common shamble. That his
own son was the culprit made the pain and mortifica-
tion the greater, but it did not lessen his responsibility
to his blood. Had not Foscari, to save his honor, in
the days of the great republic, condemned his own
son Jacopo to exile and death? Had not Virginius
slain his daughter? Should he not protect his own
honor as well ? Furthermore, was not the young man's

120

KENNEDY SQUARE

father a gentleman of standing — a prominent man in
the State — a friend not only of his own friend, Henry
Clay, but of the governor as well? He, of course,
would not have Harry marry into the family had there
been a marriageable daughter, but that was no reason
why Mr. Willits's only son should not be treated with
every consideration. He, Talbot Rutter, was alone
responsible for the honor of his house. When your
right hand offends you cut it off. His right hand hud
offended him, and he had cut it off. Away, then,
with the spinning of fine phrases!

And so he let the hornets buzz — and they did swarm
and buzz and sting. As long as his wrath lasted he
was proof against their assaults — in fact their attacks
only confirmed him in his position. It was when all
this ceased, for few continued to remonstrate with him
after they had heard his final: "I decline to discuss
it with you, madame," or the more significant: " How
dare you, sir, refer to my private affairs without my
permission?" — it was, I say, when all this ceased,
and when neither his wife, who after her first savage
outbreak had purposely held her peace, nor any of the
servants — not even old Alec, who went about with
streaming eyes and a great lump in his throat — dared
renew their entreaties for Marse Harry's return, that
he began to reflect on his course.

Soon the great silences overawed him — periods of
loneliness when he sat confronting his soul, his con-
science on the bench as judge; his affections a special
attorney: — silences of the night, in which he would

121

KENNEDY SQUARE

listen for the strong, quick, manly footstep and the
closing of the door in the corridor beyond: — silences of
the dawn, when no clatter of hoofs followed by a cheery
call rang out for some one to take Spitfire : — silences of
the breakfast table, when he drank his coffee alone,
Alec tip-toeing about like a lost spirit. Sometimes
his heart would triumph and he begin to think out
ways and means by which the past could be effaced.
Then again the flag of his pride would be raised aloft
so that he and all the people could see, and the old
hard look would once more settle in his face, the lips
straighten and the thin fingers tighten. No — no! No
assassins for him — no vulgar brawlers — and it was at
best a vulgar brawl — and this too within the confines
of Moorlands, where, for five generations, only gentle-
men had been bred!

And yet, product as he was of a regime that wor-
shipped no ideals but its own; hide-bound by the tra-
ditions of his ancestry; holding in secret disdain men
and women who could not boast of equal wealth and
lineage; dictatorial, uncontradictable; stickler for ob-
solete forms and ceremonies — there still lay deep under
the crust of his pride the heart of a father, and, by his
standards, the soul of a gentleman.

What this renegade son of his thought of it all ; this
disturber of his father's sleeping and waking hours, was
far easier to discover. Dazed as Harry had been at
the parental verdict and heart-broken as he still was
over the dire results, he could not, though he tried, see
what else he could have done. His father, he argued

122

KENNEDY SQUARE

to himself, had shot and killed a man when he was but
little older than himself, and for an offence much less
grave than Willits's insult to Kate: he had frequently
boasted of it, showing him the big brass button that
had deflected the bullet and saved his life. So had
his Uncle George, five years before — not a dead man
that time, but a lame one — who was still limping
around the club and very good friends the two, so
far as he knew. Why then blame him? As for the
law of hospitality being violated, that was but one
of the idiosyncrasies of his father, who was daft on
hospitality. How could Willits be his guest when he
was his enemy ? St. George had begged the wounded
man to apologize; if he had done so he would have
extended his hand and taken him to Kate, who, upon
a second apology, would have extended her hand, and
the incident would have been closed. It was Willits's
stubbornness and bad breeding, then, that had caused
the catastrophe — not his own bullet.

Besides no real harm had been done — that is, nothing
very serious. Willits had gained strength rapidly — so
much so that he had sat up the third day. More-
over, he had the next morning been carried to one of
the downstairs bedrooms, where, he understood, Kate
had sent her black mammy for news of him, and
where, later on, he had been visited by both Mrs.
Rutter and Kate — a most extraordinary condescen-
sion on the young girl's part, and one for which Willits
should be profoundly grateful all the days of his life.

Nor had WTillits's people made any complaint; nor,
123

KENNEDY SQUARE

so far as he could ascertain, had any one connected
with either the town or county government started
an investigation. It was outside the precincts of Ken-
nedy Square, and, therefore, the town prosecuting at-
torney (who had heard every detail at the Chesapeake
from St. George) had not been called upon to act, and
it was well known that no minion of the law in and
about Moorlands would ever dare face the Lord of
the Manor in any official capacity.

Why, then, had he been so severely punished ?

124

CHAPTER VIII

While all this talk filled the air it is worthy of com-
ment that after his denunciation of Pancoast's views
at the club, St. George never again discussed the duel
and its outcome. His mind was filled with more im-
portant things: — one in particular — a burning desire
to bring the lovers together, no matter at what cost
nor how great the barriers. He had not, despite
his silence, altered a hair-line of the opinion he had
held on the night he ordered the gig, fastened Harry's
heavy coat around the young man's shoulders, and
started back with him through the rain to his house
on Kennedy Square; nor did he intend to. This,
summed up, meant that the colonel was a tyrant,
Willits a vulgarian, and Harry a hot-headed young
knight, who, having been forced into a position where
he could neither breathe nor move, had gallantly
fought his way out.

The one problem that gave him serious trouble was
the selection of the precise moment when he should
make a strategic move on Kate's heart; lesser prob-
lems were his manner of approaching her and the
excuses he would offer for Harry's behavior. These
not only kept him awake at night, but pursued him
like an avenging spirit when he sought the quiet paths

125

KENNEDY SQUARE

of the old square, the dogs at his heels. The greatest
of all barriers, he felt assured, would be Kate herself.
He had seen enough of her in that last interview, when
his tender pleading had restored the harmonies be-
tween herself and Harry, to know that she was no
longer the child whose sweetness he loved, or the girl
whose beauty he was proud of — but the woman whose
judgment he must satisfy. Nor could he see that any
immediate change in her mental attitude was likely
to occur. Some time had now passed since Harry's
arrival at his house, and every day the boy had begged
for admission at Kate's door, only to be denied by
Ben, the old butler. His mother, who had visited her
exiled son almost daily, had then called on her, bear-
ing two important pieces of news — one being that
after hours of pleading Harry had consented to return
to Moorlands and beg his father's pardon, provided
that irate gentleman should send for him, and the
other the recounting of a message of condolence and
sympathy which Willits had sent Harry from his sick-
bed, in which he admitted that he had been greatly to
blame. (An admission which fairly bubbled out of
him when he learned that Harry had assisted Teackle
in dressing his wound.)

And yet with all this pressure the young girl had
held her own. To every one outside the Rutter clan
she had insisted that she was sorry for Harry, but that
she could never marry a man whose temper she could
not trust. She never put this into words, in answering
the well-meant inquiries of such girl friends as Nellie

126

KENNEDY SQUARE

Murdoch, Sue Dorsey, and the others; then her eyes
would only fill with tears as she begged them not to
question her further. Nor had she said as much to
her father, who on one occasion had asked her the
plump question — "Do you still intend to marry that
hot-head?" — to which she had returned the equally
positive answer — "No, I never shall!" She reserved
her full meaning for St. George when he should again
entreat her — as she knew he would at the first oppor-
tunity— to forget the past and begin the old life once
more.

At the end of the second week St. George had made
up his mind as to his course; and at the end of the
third the old diplomat, who had dared defeat before,
boldly mounted the Seymour steps. He would appeal
to Harry's love for her, and all would be well. He
had done so before, picturing the misery the boy was
suffering, and he would try it again. If he could only
reach her heart through the armor of her reserve she
would yield.

She answered his cheery call up the stairway in
person, greeting him silently, but with arms extended,
leading him to a seat beside her, where she buried her
face in her hands and burst into tears.

"Harry has tried to see you every day, Kate," he
began, patting her shoulders lovingly in the effort to
calm her. "I found him under your window the
other night; he walks the streets by the hour, then he
comes home exhausted, throws himself on his bed,
and lies awake till daylight."

127

KENNEDY SQUARE

The girl raised her head and looked at him for a
moment. She knew what he had come for — she knew,
too, how sorry he felt for her — for Harry — for every-
body who had suffered because of this horror.

" Uncle George," she answered, choking back her
tears, speaking slowly, weighing each word — "you've
known me from a little girl — ever since my dear mother
died. You have been a big brother to me many,
many times and I love you for it. If I were deter-
mined to do anything that would hurt me, and you
found it out in time, you would come and tell me so,
wouldn't you?"

St. George nodded his head in answer, but he did
not interrupt. Her heart was being slowly unrolled
before him, and he would wait until it was all bare.

"Now," she continued, "the case is reversed, and
you want me to do something which I know will hurt
me."

"But you love him, Kate?"

"Yes — that is the worst part of it all," she answered
with a stifled sob — "yes, I love him." She lifted her-
self higher on the cushions and put her beautiful arms
above her head, her eyes looking into space as if she
was trying to solve the problem of what her present
resolve would mean to both herself and Harry.

St. George began again: "And you remember
how "

She turned impatiently and dropped one hand until
it rested on his own. He thought he had never seen
her look so lovely and never so unhappy. Then she

128

KENNEDY SQUARE

said in pleading tones — her eyes blinded by half-
restrained tears:

"Don't ask me to remember, dear Uncle George —
help me to forget! You can do no kinder thing for
both of us."

"But think of your whole future happiness, Kate
— think how important it is to you — to Harry — to
everybody — that you should not shut him out of your
life."

" I have thought! God knows I have thought until
sometimes I think I shall go mad. He first breaks
his promise about drinking and I forgive him; then
he yields to a sudden impulse and behaves like a mad-
man and you ask me to forgive him again. He never
once thinks of me, nor of my humiliation!" Her lips
were quivering, but her voice rang clear.

"He thinks of nothing else but you," he pleaded.
" Let your heart work — don't throw him into the street
as his father has done. He loves you so."

"/ — throw him in the street! He has thrown me
— mortified me before everybody — behaved like a —
No, — I can't — I won't discuss it!"

"May I "

"No — not another word. I love you too much to
let this come between us. Let us talk of something
else — anything — anything"

The whole chart of her heart had been unrolled.
Her head and not her heart was dominant. He felt,
moreover, that no argument of his would be of any use.
Time might work out the solution, but this he could

129

KENNEDY SQUARE

not hasten. Nor, if the truth be told, did he blame
her. It was, from the girl's point of view, most un-
fortunate, of course, that the two calamities of Harry's
drunkenness and the duel had come so close together.
Perhaps — and for the first time in his life he weak-
ened before her tears — perhaps if he had thrown the
case of pistols out of the window, sent one man to his
father and the other back to Kennedy Square, it
might all have been different — but then again, could
this have been done, and if it had been, would not
all have to be done over again the next day ? At last
he asked hopelessly:

"Have you no message for Harry?"

"None," she answered resolutely.

"And you will not see him?"

" No — we can never heal wounds by keeping them
open." This came calmly, and as if she had made up
her mind, and in so determined a tone that he saw it
meant an end to the interview.

He rose from his seat and without another word
turned toward the door. She gained her feet slowly,
as if the very movement caused her pain; put her
arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, fol-
lowed him to the door, waved her hand to him as she
watched him pick his way across the square, and threw
herself on her lounge in an agony of tears.

That night St. George and Harry sat by the smoul-
dering wood fire; the early spring days were warm and
joyous, but the nights were still cool. The boy sat

130

KENNEDY SQUARE

hunched up in his chair, his face drawn into lines from
the anxiety of the past week; his mind absorbed in
the story that St. George had brought from the Sey-
mour house. As in all ardent temperaments, these
differences with Kate, which had started as a spark,
had now developed into a conflagration which was
burning out his heart. His love for Kate was not a
part of his life — it was all of his life. He was ready
now for any sacrifice, no matter how humiliating.
He would go down on his knees to his father if she
wished it. He would beg Willits's pardon — he would
abase himself in any way St. George should suggest.
He had done what he thought was right, and he would
do it over again under like circumstances, but he
would grovel at Kate's feet and kiss the ground she
stepped on if she required it of him.

St. George, who had sat quiet, examining closely
the backs of his finely modelled hands as if to find
some solution of the difficulty written in their delicate
articulated curves, heard his outburst in silence. Now
and then he would call to Todd, who was never out
of reach of his voice — no matter what the hour — to
replenish the fire or snuff the candles, but he answered
only in nods and monosyllables to Harry. One sug-
gestion only of the heart-broken lover seemed to
promise any result, and that was his making it up
with his father as his mother had suggested. This
wall being broken down, and Willits no longer an in-
valid, perhaps Kate would see matters in a different
and more favorable light.

131

KENNEDY SQUARE

"But suppose father doesn't send for me, Uncle
George, what will I do then?"

"Well, he is your father, Harry."

"And you think then I had better go home and
have it out with him?"

St. George hesitated. He himself would have seen
Rutter in Hades before he would have apologized to
him. In fact his anger choked him so every time he
thought of the brutal and disgraceful scene he had
witnessed when the boy had been ordered from his
home, that he could hardly get his breath. But then
Kate was not his sweetheart, much as he loved her.

"I don't know, Harry. I am not his son," he an-
swered in an undecided way. Then something the
boy's mother had said rose in his mind: "Didn't your
mother say that your father's loneliness without you
was having its effect ? — and wasn't her advice to wait
until he should send for you ? "

"Yes — that was about it."

"Well, your mother would know best. Put that
question to her next time she comes in — I'm not com-
petent to answer it. And now let us go to bed — you
are tired out, and so am I."

132

CHAPTER IX

Mysterious things are happening in Kennedy Square.
Only the very wisest men know what it is all about
— black Moses for one, who tramps the brick walks
and makes short cuts through the dirt paths, carrying
his tin buckets and shouting: "Po' ole Moses — po'
ole fellah! O-Y-S-T-E-R-S! O-Y-STERS!" And
Bobbins, the gardener, who raked up last year's au-
tumn leaves and either burned them in piles or
spread them on the flower-beds as winter blank-
ets. And, of course, Mockburn, the night watch-
man: nothing ever happens in and around Kennedy
Square that Mockburn doesn't know of. Many a
time has he helped various unsteady gentlemen up
the steps of their houses and stowed them carefully
and noiselessly away inside, only to begin his rounds
again, stopping at every corner to drone out his "All's
we-1-1!" a welcome cry, no doubt, to the stowaways,
but a totally unnecessary piece of information to the
inhabitants, nothing worse than a tippler's tumble
having happened in the forty years of the old watch-
man's service.

I, of course, am in the secret of the mysterious
happenings and have been for more years than I care
to admit, but then I go ten better than Mockburn.

133

KENNEDY SQUARE

And so would you be in the secret had you watched
the process as closely as I have done.

It is always the samel

First the crocuses peep out — dozens of crocuses.
Then a spread of tulips makes a crazy-quilt of a flower-
bed; next the baby buds, their delicate green toes
tickled by the south wind, break into laughter. Then
the stately magnolias step free of their pods, their satin
leaves falling from their alabaster shoulders — grandcs
dames these magnolias! And then there is no stopping
it: everything is let loose; blossoms of peach, cherry,
and pear; flowers of syringa — bloom of jasmine, honey-
suckle, and Virginia creeper; bridal wreath in flowers
of white and wistaria in festoons of purple.

Then come the roses — millions of roses; on single
stalks; in clusters, in mobs; rushing over summer-
houses, scaling fences, swarming up trellises — a riot-
ous, unruly, irresistible, and altogether lovable lot
these roses when they break loose!

And the birds! What a time they are having —
thrush, bobolinks, blackbirds, nightingales, wood-
peckers, little pee-wees, all fluttering, skimming, chirp-
ing; bursting their tiny throats for the very joy of liv-
ing. And they are all welcome — and it wouldn't
make any difference to them if they hadn't been; they
would have risked it anyway, so tempting are the shady
paths and tangled arbors and wide-spreading elms
and butternuts of Kennedy Square.

Soon the skies get over weeping for the lost winter
and dry their eyes, and the big, warm, happy sun sails

134

KENNEDY SQUARE

over the tree-tops or drops to sleep, tired out, behind the
old Seymour house, and the girls come out in their
white dresses and silk sashes and the gallants in their
nankeens and pumps and the old life of out-of-doors
begins once more.

And these are not the only changes that the coming
of spring has wrought. What has been going on deep
down in the tender, expectant hearts of root and bulb,
eager for expression, had been at work in Carry's own
temperament. The sunshine of St. George's com-
panionship has already had its effect; the boy is
thawing out; his shrinking shyness, born of his recent
trouble, is disappearing like a morning frost. He is
again seen at the club, going first under St. George's
lee and then on his own personal footing.

The Chesapeake, so St. George had urged upon
him, was the centre of news — the headquarters, really,
of the town, where not only the current happenings
and gossip of Kennedy Square were discussed, but
that of the country at large. While the bald-heads,
of course, would be canvassing the news from Mexico,
which was just beginning to have an ugly look, or
having it out, hammer and tongs, over the defeat of
Henry Clay, to which some rabid politicians had never
become reconciled, the younger gentry — men of Har-
ry's own tastes — would be deploring the poor showing
the ducks were making, owing to the up-river freshets
which had spoiled the wild celery; or recounting the
doings at Mrs. Cheston's last ball; or the terrapin

135

KENNEDY SQUARE

supper at Mr. Kennedy's, the famous writer; or per-
haps bemoaning the calamity which had befallen some
fellow member who had just found seven bottles out
of ten of his most precious port corked and worthless.
But whatever the topics, or whoever took sides in their
discussion, none of it, so St. George argued, could fail
to interest a young fellow just entering upon the wider
life of a man of the world, and one, of all others, who
needed constant companionship. Then again, by
showing himself frequently within its walls, Harry
would become better known and better liked.

That he was ineligible for membership, being years
too young, and that his continued presence, even as
a guest, was against the rules, did not count in his
case, or if it did count, no member, in view of what the
lad had suffered, was willing to raise the question.
Indeed, St. George, in first introducing him, had re-
ferred to " my friend, Mr. Rutter, " as an " out of town
guest," laughing as he did so, everybody laughing in
return, and so it had gone at that.

At first Harry had dreaded meeting his father's and
his uncle's friends, most of whom, he fancied, might
be disposed to judge him too harshly. But St. George
had shut his ears to every objection, insisting that the
club was a place where a man could be as independent
as he pleased, and that as his guest he would be entitled
to every consideration.

The boy need not have been worried. Almost every
member, young and old, showed by his manner or some
little act of attention that their sympathies were with

136

KENNEDY SQUARE

the exile. While a few strait-laced old Quakers main-
tained that it was criminal to blaze away at your
fellow-man with the firm intention of blowing the
top of his head off, and that Harry should have been
hung had Willits died, there were others more discern-
ing— and they were largely in the majority — who stood
up for the lad however much they deplored the cause
of his banishment. Harry, they argued, had in his
brief career been an unbroken colt, and more or less
dissipated, but he at least had not shown the white
feather. Boy as he was, he had faced his antagonist
with the coolness of a duellist of a score of encounters,
letting Willits fire straight at him without so much as
the wink of an eyelid ; and, when it was all over, had been
man enough to nurse his victim back to consciousness.
Moreover — and this counted much in his favor — he
had refused to quarrel with his irate father, or even
answer him. " Behaved himself like a thoroughbred,
as he is," Dorsey Sullivan, a famous duellist, had re-
marked in recounting the occurrence to a non-witness.
" And I must say, sir, that Talbot served him a scurvy
trick, and I don't care who hears me say it." Further-
more— and this made a great impression — that rather
than humiliate himself, the boy had abandoned the
comforts of his palatial home at Moorlands and was
at the moment occupying a small, second-story back
room (all, it is true, Gentleman George could give
him), where he was to be found any hour of the day
or night that his uncle needed him in attendance upon
that prince of good fellows.

137

KENNEDY SQUARE

One other thing that counted in his favor, and this
was conclusive with the Quakers — and the club held
not a few — was that no drop of liquor of any kind had
passed the boy's lips since the eventful night when
St. George prepared the way for their first reconcilia-
tion.

Summed up, then, whatever Harry had been in the
past, the verdict at the present speaking was that he
was a brave, tender-hearted, truthful fellow who, in the
face of every temptation, had kept his word. More-
over, it was never forgotten that he was Colonel Tal-
bot Rutter's only son and heir, so that no matter what
the boy did, or how angry the old autocrat might be,
it could only be a question of time before his father
must send for him and everything at Moorlands go
on as before.

It was on one of these glorious never-to-be-forgotten
spring days, then, a week or more after St. George had
given up the fight with Kate — a day which Harry re-
membered all the rest of his life — that he and his uncle
left the house to spend the afternoon, as was now their
custom, at the Chesapeake. The two had passed the
early hours of the day at the Relay House fishing for
gudgeons, the dogs scampering the hills, and having
changed their clothes for something cooler, had entered
the park by the gate opposite the Temple Mansion, as
being nearest to the club; a path Harry loved, for
he and Kate had often stepped it together — and then
again, it was the shortest cut to her house.

138

KENNEDY SQUARE

As the beauty and quiet of the place with its mottling
of light and shade took possession of him he slack-
ened his pace, lagging a little behind his uncle, and
began to look about him, drinking in the loveliness of
the season. The very air breathed tenderness, peace,
and comfort. Certainly his father's heart must be
softening toward him; surely his bitterness could not
last. No word, it is true, had yet come to him from
Moorlands, though only the week before his mother
had been in to see him, bringing him news of his
father and what her son's absence had meant to every
one, old Alec especially. She had not, she said, re-
vived the subject of the boy's apology; she had
thought it better to wait for the proper opportunity,
which might come any day, but certain it was that his
father was most unhappy, for he would shut himself
up hours at a time in his library, locking the door and
refusing to open it, no matter who knocked, except
to old John Gorsuch, his man of business. She had
also heard him tossing on his bed at night, or walking
about his room muttering to himself.

Did these things, he wondered on this bright spring
morning, mean a final reconciliation, or was he, after
all, to be doomed to further disappointment? Days
had passed since his mother had assured him of this
change in his father, and still no word had come from
him. Had he at last altered his mind, or, worse still,
had his old obstinacy again taken possession of him,
hardening his heart so that he would never relent?
And so, with his mind as checkered as the shadow-

139

KENNEDY SQUARE

flecked path on which they stepped, he pursued his
way beneath the wide-spreading trees.

When the two had crossed the street St. George's
eye rested upon a group on the sidewalk of the club.
The summer weather generally emptied the coffee-
room of most of its habitue's, sending many of them to
the easy-chairs on the sprinkled pavement, one or two
tipped back against the trees, or to the balconies and
front steps. With his arm in Harry's he passed from
one coterie to another in the hope that he might catch
some word which would be interesting enough to in-
duce him to fill one of the chairs, even for a brief half-
hour, but nothing reached his ears except politics and
crops, and he cared for neither. Harding — the pessi-
mist of the club — a man who always had a grievance
(and this time with reason, for the money stringency
was becoming more acute every day), tried to beguile
him into a seat beside him, but he shook his head.
He knew all about Harding, and wanted none of his
kind of talk — certainly not to-day.

"Think of it!" he had heard the growler say to
Judge Pancoast as he was about to pass his chair —
" the Patapsco won't give me a cent to move my crops,
and I hear all the others are in the same fix. You
can't get a dollar on a house and lot except at a fright-
ful rate of interest. I tell you everything is going to
ruin. How the devil do you get on without money,
Temple?" He was spread out in his seat, his legs
apart, his fat face turned up, his small fox eyes fixed
on St. George.

140

KENNEDY SQUARE

"I don't get on," remarked St. George with a dry
smile. He was still standing. "Why do you ask?"
Money rarely troubled St. George; such small sums
as he possessed were hived in this same Patapsco
Bank, but the cashier had never refused to honor one
of his checks as long as he had any money in their
vaults, and he didn't think they would begin now.
"Queer question for you to ask, Harding" (and a
trifle underbred, he thought, one's private affairs not
being generally discussed at a club). "Why does it
interest you ? "

"Well, you always say you despise money and yet
you seem happy and contented, well dressed, well
groomed" — here he wheeled St. George around to look
at his back — " yes, got on one of your London coats —
Hello, Harry! — glad to see you," and he held out his
hand to the boy. " But really, St. George, aren't
you a little worried over the financial outlook ? John
Gorsuch says we are going to have trouble, and John
knows."

"No"— drawled St. George— "I'm not worried."

"And you don't think we're going to have another
smash-up?" puffed Harding.

"No," said St. George, edging his way toward the
steps of the club as he spoke. He was now entirely
through with Harding; his financial forebodings were
as distasteful to him as his comments on his clothes
and bank account.

" But you'll have a julep, won't you ? I've just sent
John for them. Don't go — sit down. Here, John,

take Mr. Temple's order for "

141

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No, Harding, thank you." The crushed ice in the
glass was no cooler nor crisper than St. George's tone.
"Harry and I have been broiling in the sun all the
morning and we are going to go where it is cool."

"But it's cool here," Harding called after him,
struggling to his feet in the effort to detain him. There
was really no one in the club he liked better than St.
George.

"No — we'll try it inside," and with a courteous
wave of his hand and a feeling of relief in his heart,
he and Harry kept on their way.

He turned to mount the steps when the sudden
pushing back of all the chairs on the sidewalk at-
tracted his attention. Two ladies were picking their
way across the street in the direction of the club.
These, on closer inspection, proved to be Miss La-
vinia Clendenning and her niece, Sue Dorsey, who
had been descried in the offing a few minutes before
by the gallants on the curbstone, and who at first had
been supposed to be heading for Mrs. Pancoast's front
steps some distance away, until the pair, turning
sharply, had borne down upon the outside chairs with
all sails set — (Miss Clendenning's skirts were of the
widest) — a shift of canvas which sent every man to
his feet with a spring.

Before St. George could reach the group, which he
did in advance of Harry, who held back — both ladies
being intimate friends of Kate's — old Captain War-
field, the first man to gain his feet — very round and
fat was the captain and very red in the face (1812 Port)
— was saying with his most courteous bow:

142

KENNEDY SQUARE

" But, my dear Miss Lavinia, you have not as yet
told us to what we are indebted for this mark of your
graciousness; and Sue, my dear, you grow more like
your dear mother every day. Why are you two angels
abroad at this hour, and what can we do for you?"

"To the simple fact, my dear captain," retorted
the irresistible spinster, spreading her skirts the wider,
both arms akimbo — her thin fingers acting as clothes-
pins, " that Sue is to take her dancing lesson next door,
and as I can't fly in the second-story window, having
mislaid my wings, I must use my feet and disturb
everybody. No, gentlemen — don't move — I can pass."

The captain made so profound a salaam in reply
that his hat grazed the bricks of the sidewalk.

" Let me hunt for them, Miss Lavinia. I know where
they are!" he exclaimed, with his hand on his heart.

"Where?" she asked roguishly, twisting her head
on one side with the movement of a listening bird.

"In heaven, my lady, where they are waiting your
arrival," he answered, with another profound sweep
of his hand and dip of his back, his bald head glisten-
ing in the sunlight as he stooped before her.

" Then you will never get near them," she returned
with an equally low curtsy and a laugh that nearly
shook her side curls loose.

St. George was about to step the closer to take a
hand in the badinage — he and the little old maid were
forever crossing swords — when her eyes fell upon him.
Instantly her expression changed. She was one of the
women who had blamed him for not stopping the duel,

143

KENNEDY SQUARE

and had been on the lookout for him for days to air
her views in person.

"So you are still in town, are you?" she remarked
frigidly in lowered tones. " I thought you had taken
that young firebrand down to the Eastern Shore to
ceol off."

St. George frowned meaningly in the effort to ap-
prise her ladyship that Harry was within hearing dis-
tance, but Miss Lavinia either did not, or would not,
understand.

"Two young boobies, that's what they are, breaking
their hearts over each other," she rattled on, gath-
ering the ends of her cape the closer. "Both of
them ought to be spanked and put to bed. Get them
into each other's arms just as quick as you can. As
for Talbot Rutter, he's the biggest fool of the three,
or was until Annie Rutter got hold of him. Now I
hear he is willing to let Harry come back, as if that
would do any good. It's Kate who must be looked
after; that Scotch blood in her veins makes her as
pig-headed as her father. No — I don't want your arm,
sir — get out of my way."

If the courtiers heard — and half of them did — they
neither by word or expression conveyed that fact to
Harry or St. George. It was not intended for their
ears, and, therefore, was not their property. With
still more profound salutations from everybody, the
three bareheaded men escorted them to the next stoop,
the fourth going ahead to see that the door was prop-
erly opened, and so the ladies passed on, up and inside

144

KENNEDY SQUARE

the house. This over, the group resumed its normal
condition on the sidewalk, the men regaining their
seats and relighting their cigars (no gentleman ever
held one in evidence when ladies were present) — fresh
orders being given to the servants for the several in-
terrupted mixtures with which the coterie were wont
to regale themselves.

Harry, who had stood with shoulders braced against
a great tree on the sidewalk, had heard every word of
the old maid's outburst, and an unrestrained burst
of joy had surged up in his heart. His father was
coming round! Yes — the tide was turning — it would
not be long before Kate would be in his arms!

145

CHAPTER X

St. George held no such sanguine view, although
he made no comment. In fact the outbreak had
rather depressed him. He knew something of Tal-
bot's stubbornness and did not hope for much in that
direction, nor, if the truth be told, did he hope much
in Kate's. Time alone could heal her wounds, and
time in the case of a young girl, mistress of herself,
beautiful, independent, and rich, might contain many
surprises.

It was with a certain sense of relief, therefore, that
he again sought the inside of the club. Its restful
quiet would at least take his mind from the one sub-
ject which seemed to pursue him and which Miss
Clendenning's positive and, as he thought, inconsider-
ate remarks had so suddenly revived.

Before he had reached the top step his face broke
out into a broad smile. Instantly his spirits rose.
Standing in the open front door, with outstretched
hand, was the man of all others he would rather
have seen — Richard Horn, the inventor.

"Ah, St. George, but I'm glad to see you!" cried
Richard. "I have been looking for you all the af-
ternoon and only just a moment ago got sight of
you on the sidewalk. I should certainly have stepped

146

KENNEDY SQUARE

over to your house and looked you up if you hadn't
come, I've got the most extraordinary thing to read
to you that you have ever listened to in the whole
course of your life. How well you look, and what a
fine color you have, and you too, Harry. You are in
luck, my boy. I'd like to stay a month with Temple
myself."

"Make it a year, Richard," cried St. George, rest-
ing his hand affectionately on the inventor's shoulder.
"There isn't a chair in my house that isn't happier
when you sit in it. What have you discovered? —
some new whirligig?"

"No, a poem. Eighteen to twenty stanzas of glo-
rious melody imprisoned in type."

"One of your own?" laughed St. George — one of
his merry vibrating laughs that made everybody hap-
pier about him. The sight of Richard had swept all
the cobwebs out of his brain.

" No, you trifler! — one of Edgar Allan Poe's. None
of your scoffing, sir! You may go home in tears be-
fore I am through with you. This way, both of you."

The three had entered the coffee-room now, Rich-
ard's arm through St. George's, Harry following close.
The inventor drew out the chairs one after another,
and when they were all three seated took a missive
from his pocket and spread it out on his knee, St.
George and Harry keeping their eyes on his every
movement.

" Here's a letter, St. George" — Richard's voice now
fell to a serious key — " which I have just received from

147

KENNEDY SQUARE

your friend and mine, Mr. N. P. Willis. In it he sends
me this most wonderful poem cut from his paper —
the Mirror — and published, I discover to my astonish-
ment, some months back. I am going to read it to
you if you will permit me. It certainly is a most re-
markable production. The wonder to me is that I
haven't seen it before. It is by that Mr. Poe you met
at my house some years ago — you remember him? —
a rather sad-looking man with big head and deep
eyes?" Temple nodded in answer, and Harry's eyes
glistened: Poe was one of his university's gods.
"Just let me read to you what Willis says" — here he
glanced down the letter sheet: '"Nothing, I assure
you, my dear Horn, has made so great a stir in literary
circles as this "Raven" of Poe's. I am sending it to
you knowing that you are interested in the man. If
I do not mistake I first met Poe one night at your
house.' And a very extraordinary night it was, St.
George," said Richard, lifting his eyes from the sheet.
" Poe, if you remember, read one of his stories for us,
and both Latrobe and Kennedy were so charmed that
they talked of nothing else for days."

St. George remembered so clearly that he could still
recall the tones of Poe's voice, and the peculiar lambent
light that flashed from out the poet's dark eyes — the
light of a black opal. He settled himself back in his
chair to enjoy the treat the better. This was the kind
of talk he wanted to-day, and Richard Horn, of all
others, was the man to conduct it.

The inventor's earnestness and the absorbed look
148

KENNEDY SQUARE

on St. George's and Harry's faces, and the fact that
Horn was about to read aloud, had attracted the at-
tention of several near-by members, who were already
straining their ears, for no one had Richard's gift for
reading.

In low, clear tones, his voice rising in intensity as the
weird pathos of the several stanzas gripped his heart,
he unfolded the marvellous drama until the very
room seemed filled with the spirit of both the man
and the demon. Every stanza in his clear enunciation
seemed a separate string of sombre pearls, each syl-
lable aglow with its own inherent beauty. When he
ceased it was as if the soul of some great 'cello had
stopped vibrating, leaving only the memory of its mel-
ody. For a few seconds no one moved nor spoke.
No one had ever heard Richard in finer voice nor had
they ever listened to more perfect rhythmic beauty.
So great was the effect on the audience that one old
habitue, in speaking of it afterward, insisted that
Richard must have seen the bird roosting over the
door, so realistic was his rendering.

Harry had listened with bated breath, absorbing
every tone and inflection of Richard's voice. He and
Poe had been members of the same university, and
the poet had always been one of his idols — the man
of all others he wanted most to know. Poe's former
room opening into the corridor had invariably attracted
him. He had frequently looked about its bare walls
wondering how so great an inspiration could have
started from such meagre surroundings. He had,

149

KENNEDY SQUARE

too, with the romantic imagination of a boy, pictured
to himself the kind of man he was, his looks, voice,
and manner, and though he had never seen the poet
in the flesh, somehow the tones of Richard's voice re-
called to him the very picture he had conjured up in
his mind in his boyhood days.

St. George had also listened intently, but the impres-
sion was quite different from the one made on the
younger man. Temple thought only of Poe's despond-
ency, of his striving for a better and happier life; of
his poverty — more than once had he gone down into
his own pockets to relieve the poor fellow's urgent
necessities, and he was still ready to do it again — a
readiness in which he was almost alone, for many of
the writer's earlier friends had of late avoided meet-
ing him whenever he passed through Kennedy Square.
Even Kennedy, his life-long friend, had begun to look
upon him as a hopeless case.

This antipathy was also to be found in the club.
Even with the memory of Richard's voice in their ears
one of the listeners had shrugged his shoulders, remark-
ing with a bitter laugh that musical as was the poem,
especially as rendered by Richard, it was, after all, like
most of Poe's other manuscripts, found in a bottle, or
more likely "a bottle found in a manuscript," as that
crazy lunatic couldn't write anything worth reading
unless he was half drunk. At which St. George had
blazed out:

"Hush, Bowdoin! You ought to be willing to be
blind drunk half your time if you could write one

150

KENNEDY SQUARE

stanza of it! Please let me have it, Richard," and he
took the sheet from his friend's hand, that he and
Harry might read it at their leisure when they reached
home.

Harry's blood had also boiled at the rude thrust.
While under the spell of Richard's voice a cord in bis
own soul had vibrated as does a glass globe when it
responds in perfect harmony to a note from a violin.
He too had a Lenore whose loss had wellnigh broken
his heart. This in itself was an indissoluble bond be-
tween them. Besides, he could understand the poet
as Alec and his mother and his Uncle George under-
stood himself. He had begun now to love the man
in his heart.

With his mind filled with these thoughts, his hun-
ger for Kate aroused tenfold by the pathos and weird
beauty of what he had just heard, he left the group of
men who were still discussing the man and his verses,
and joined his uncle outside on the top step of the
club's high stoop, from which could be seen the full
length of the sun-flecked street on which the club-
house stood, as well as the park in all its spring love-
liness.

Unconsciously his eyes wandered across the path
where Kate's house stood. He could see the tall chim-
neys and the slope of the quaint roof, and but that the
foliage hid the lower part, could have seen Kate's own
windows. She was still at home, he had heard, al-
though she was expected to leave for the Red Sulphur
any day.

151

KENNEDY SQUARE

Suddenly, from away up the street, past the corner
of the park, there reached his ears a low winding note,
which grew louder as it turned the corner, followed by
the rattle of wheels and the clatter of horses' feet. He
leaned forward and craned his head in the direction
of the sound, his heart in his throat, the blood mounting
to his cheeks. If that was not his father's horn it was
wonderfully like it. At the same moment a coach-and-
four swept in sight, driven by a man in a whitev-brown
coat and stiff furry hat, with two grooms behind and
a coachman next to him on the box. It was heading
straight for the club.

Every man was on his feet.

" By Jove ! — it's Rutter. Bowdoin ! — Clayton I — here
comes the colonel!"

Again the horn gave out a long withering, wiry note
ringing through the leaves and along the brick pave-
ment, and the next instant the leaders were gathered
up, the wheel-horses hauled taut, the hub of the front
wheel of the coach halting within an inch of the horse-
block of the club.

"Bravo, Rutter! Best whip in the county! Not
a man in England could have done it better. Let me
help you down!"

The colonel shook his head good-humoredly, rose in
his seat, shifted a bunch of violets to his inner lapel,
slipped off his driving-coat, threw it across the rail,
dropped his whip in the socket, handed his heavy gloves
to his groom, and slid gracefully to the sidewalk.
There he shook hands cordially with the men nearest

152

KENNEDY SQUARE

him, excused himself for a moment until he had in-
spected his off leader's forefoot — she had picked up a
stone on the way in from Moorlands — patted the nigh
wheel-horse, stamped his own feet lustily as if to be
sure he was all there, and, with a lordly bow to those
about him, slowly mounted the steps of the club.

Harry had already risen to his feet and stood trem-
bling, one hand clutching the iron railing that guarded
the marble steps. A great throb of joy welled up in
his throat. His mother was right — the loneliness had
overpowered his father; he still loved him, and Miss
Clendenning's prediction was coming true! Not only
was he willing to forgive him, but he had come himself
to take him home. He could hardly wait until his
father reached his side, so eager was he to open his
arms and hands and his lips in apology — and Kate! —
what joy would be hers!

St. George had also gained his feet. What had
brought the colonel into town, he said to himself, and
in such state — and at this hour of the day, too?
Could it be that Harry was the cause?

"How were the roads, Talbot?" he called out in
his customary cheery tones. He would start fair,
anyway.

The colonel, who, head down, had been mounting
the marble steps one at a time, inspecting each slab
as he climbed, after the manner of men thoroughly
satisfied with themselves, and who at the same time
are conscious of the effect of their presence on those
about them, raised his head and gazed in astonish-

153

KENNEDY SQUARE

ment at the speaker. Then his body straightened up
and he came to a stand-still. He looked first into St.
George's face, then into Harry's, with a cold, rigid stare;
his lips shut tight,* his head thrown back, his whole
frame stiff as an iron bar — and without a word of
recognition of any kind, passed through the open door
and into the wide hall. He had cut both of them
dead.

Harry gave a half-smothered cry of anguish and
turned to follow his father into the club.

St. George, purple with rage, laid his hand on the
boy's arm, so tight that the fingers sank into the flesh:
there were steel clamps inside these delicate palms
when occasion required.

"Keep still," he hissed — "not a word, no outburst.
Stay here until I come for you. Stop, Rutter: stand
where you are!" The two were abreast of each other
now. " You dare treat your son in that way ? Horn
— Murdoch — Warfield — all of you come out here!
What I've got to say to Talbot Rutter I want you to
hear, and I intend that not only you but every decent
man and woman in Kennedy Square shall hear!"

The colonel's lips quivered and his face paled, but
he did not flinch, nor did his eyes drop.

"You are not a father, Talbot — you are a brute!
There is not a dog in your kennels that would not treat
his litter better than you have treated Harry! You
turned him out in the night without a penny to his name ;
you break his mother's heart; you refuse to hear a
word he has to say, and then you have the audacity to

154

KENNEDY SQUARE

pass him on the steps of this club where he is my guest
— my guest, remember — look him squarely in the face
and ignore him. That, gentlemen, is what Talbot
Rutter did one minute ago. You have disgraced your
blood and your name and you have laid up for your
old age untold misery and suffering. Never, as long as
I live, will I speak to you again, nor shall Harry,
whom you have humiliated! Hereafter I am his
father! Do you hear?"

During the whole outburst the colonel had not
moved a muscle of his face nor had he shifted his
body a quarter of an inch. He stood with his back
to the door through which could be seen the amazed
faces of his fellow-members — one hand tight shut be-
hind his back, the other loose by his side, his eyes
fixed on his antagonist. Then slowly, one word at a
time, as if he had purposely measured the intervals
of speech, he said, in a voice hardly heard beyond the
door, so low was it:

"Are— you— through— St. George?"

"Yes, by God! — I am, and forever!"

"Then, gentlemen" — and he waved his hand cour-
teously to the astounded listeners — "may I ask you
all to join me? John, bring the juleps!"

155

CHAPTER XI

All the way back to his house St. George's wrath
kept him silent. He had rarely been so stirred. He
was not a brawler — his whole life had been one of
peace; his whole ambition to be the healer of differ-
ences, and yet there were some things he could not
stand. One of these was cruelty to a human being,
and Rutter's public disowning of Harry was cruelty
of the most contemptible kind. But one explanation
of such an outrage was possible — the man's intolerable
egoism, added to his insufferable conceit. Only once
did Temple address Harry, walking silently by his side
under the magnolias, and then only to remark, more
to himself than to his companion — "It's his damned,
dirty pride, Harry — that's what it is!"

Harry also held his peace. He had no theories
regarding his father's conduct: only facts confronted
him, one being that he had purposely humiliated
him before the men who had known him from a boy,
and with whom his future life must be cast. The end
had come now. He was adrift without a home. Even
Kate was lost. This last attack of his father's would
widen the breach between them, for she would never
overlook this last stigma when she heard of it, as she
certainly must. Nobody would then be left on his

156

KENNEDY SQUARE

side except his dear mother, the old house servants,
and St. George, and of these St. George alone could
be of any service to him.

It had all been so horrible too, and so undeserved —
worse than anything he had ever dreamed of; infi-
nitely worse than the night he had been driven from
Moorlands. Never in all his life had he shown his
father anything but obedience and respect; further-
more, he had loved and admired him; loved his
dash and vigor; his superb physique for a man of his
years — some fifty odd — loved too his sportsmanlike
qualities — not a man in the county was his equal in
the saddle, and not a man in his own or any other
county could handle the ribbons so well. If his father
had not agreed with him as to when and where he
should teach a vulgarian manners, that had been a
question about which gentlemen might differ, but to
have treated him with contempt, to insult him in
public, leaving him no chance to defend himself —
force him, really, into a position which made it im-
possible for him to strike back — was altogether a
different thing, and for that he would never, never
forgive him.

Then a strange thing happened in the boy's mind.
It may have been the shifting of a grain of gray matter
never called into use before; or it may have been due
to some stranded red corpuscle which, dislodged by
the pressure he had lately been called upon to endure,
had rushed headlong through his veins scouring out
everything in its way until it reached his thinking ap-

157

KENNEDY SQUARE

paratus. Whatever the cause, certain it was that the
change in the boy's view of life was as instantaneous
as it was radical.

And this was quite possible when his blood is
considered. There had been, it is true, dominating
tyrants way back in his ancestry, as well as spend-
thrifts, drunkards, roysterers, and gamesters, but so
far as the records showed there had never been a
coward. That old fellow De Ruyter, whose portrait
hung at Moorlands and who might have been his
father, so great was the resemblance, had, so to speak,
held a shovel in one hand and a sword in the other
in the days when he helped drown out his own and
his neighbors' estates to keep the haughty don from
gobbling up his country. One had but to look into
Harry's face to be convinced that he too would have
followed in his footsteps had he lived in that ancestor's
time.

It was when the boy, smarting under his father's
insult, was passing under the blossoms of a wide-
spreading magnolia, trying to get a glimpse of Kate's
face, if by any chance she should be at her window,
that this grain of gray matter, or lively red corpuscle —
or whatever it might have been — forced itself through.
The breaking away was slow — little by little — as an
underground tunnel seeks an opening — but the light
increased with every thought-stroke, its blinding inten-
sity becoming so fierce at last that he came to a halt,
his eyes on the ground, his whole body tense, his mind
in a whirl.

158

KENNEDY SQUARE

Suddenly his brain acted.

To sit down and snivel would do no good ; to curse
his father would be useless and wicked ; to force him-
self on Kate sheer madness. But — but — BUT — he
was twenty-two! — in perfect health and not ashamed
to look any man in the face. St. George loved him —
so did his precious mother, and Alec, and a host of
others. Should he continue to sit in ashes, swaddled
in sackcloth — or should he meet the situation like a
man ? Then as his mental vision became accustomed
to the glare, two things stood out clear in his mind —
to win Kate back, no matter at what cost — and to
compel his father's respect.

His mother was the first to hear the music of this
new note of resolve, and she had not long to wait.
She had come to town with the colonel — indeed it was
at her request that he had ordered the coach instead
of coming in on horseback, as was his custom — and
was at the moment quietly resting on St. George's big
sofa.

"It is all over, mother," Harry cried in a voice so
firm and determined that his mother knew at once
something unusual had happened — "and you might
as well make up your mind to it — I have. Father
walked into the club five minutes ago, looked me
square in the face, and cut me dead; and he insulted
Uncle George too, who gave him the greatest dressing
down you ever heard in your life." He had learned
another side of his uncle's character — one he should

159

KENNEDY SQUARE

never cease to be grateful for — his outspoken defence
of him before his equals.

Mrs. Rutter half rose from her seat in blank aston-
ishment. She was a frail little woman with pale-blue
eyes and a figure like a curl of smoke.

"Your — father — did not — speak — to — you!" she ex-
claimed excitedly. "You say — your father — But how
dare he!"

" But he did ! " replied Harry in a voice that showed
the incident still rankled in his mind — "and right in
the club, before everybody."

"And the other gentlemen saw it?" She stood
erect, her delicate body tightening up. There was a
strain of some old-time warrior in her blood that would
brook no insult to her son.

"Yes, half a dozen gentlemen saw it. He did it
purposely — so they could see. I'll never forgive him
for it as long as I live. He had no business to treat
me so!" His voice choked as he spoke, but there was
no note of surrender or of fear.

She looked at him in a helpless sort of way. " But
you .didn't answer back, did you, my son?" This
came in a tone as if she feared to hear the details,
knowing the boy's temperament, and his father's.

"I didn't say a word; Uncle George wouldn't let
me. I'm glad now he stopped me, for I was pretty
mad, and I might have said something I would have
been sorry for." The mother gave a sigh of relief,
but she did not interrupt, nor did she relax the taut-
ness of her body. "You ought to have heard Uncle

160

KENNEDY SQUARE

George, though!" Harry rushed on. "He told him
there was not a dog at Moorlands who would not have
treated his puppy better than he had me — and another
thing he told him — and that was that after to-day I
was his son forever!"

St. George had been standing at the front window
with his back to them, looking out upon the blossoms.
At this last outburst he turned, and said over his
shoulder:

"Yes — that's true, Annie — that's what I said and
what I mean. There is no use wasting any more
time over Talbot, and I don't intend to."

"But Mr. Rutter will get over his temper." (She
never called him by any other name.)

"Then he will have to come here and say so. I
shall never step foot in his house until he does, nor
will Harry. As to his forgiving Harry — the boot is
on the other leg; it is Talbot, not the boy h«i outraged,
who must straighten out to-day's work. There was
not a man who heard him who was not ashamed of
him. Oh! — I have no patience with this sort of thing!
The only son he's got — his only child! Abominable
— unforgivable! And it will haunt him to his dying
day! Poor as I am, alone in the world and without
a member of my family above ground, I would not
change places with him. No — Annie — I know how
you feel, and God knows I have felt for you all
these years, but I tell you the end has come! It's
finished — over — I told him so to his face, and I
mean it!"

161

KENNEDY SQUARE

The slight body sank back into her chair and her
eyes filled with tears. Harry knelt beside her and
put his arms about her. This mother, frail as she was,
had always been his refuge and comfort: now he must
do the comforting! (Keep moving, old red corpuscle,
there is a lot of work ahead of you!)

"Don't worry, you dear little mother," he said
tenderly. "I don't know how it's coming out, but it
will come out somehow. Let father go: Kate is the
only thing that counts now. I don't blame her for
anything she has done, and I don't blame myself
either. All I know is that everything has gone wrong.
But, wrong or right, I'm going to stay here just as long
as Uncle George will let me. He's been more of a
father to me than my own. It's you I can't get along
without, you precious little mother," and he patted her
pale cheeks. "Won't you come in every day — and
bring Alec too?" then, as if he had not yet asked her
consent — "You don't mind my being here, do you?"

She drew his head close to her lips and kissed his
cheek. " No, my son, I don't mind — I'm glad. Every
night of my life I thank my Maker that you are
here." She raised her eyes to St. George, who stood
looking down upon them both, and in a voice barely
audible, an unbidden sob choking her utterance, fal-
tered— "It's only one more proof of your goodness,
St. George."

He raised his hand in protest and a faint smile
crossed his face. " Don't talk that way, Annie."

"I will — it's true. It is a proof of your goodness.
162

KENNEDY SQUARE

I have never deserved it. I don't now — but you never
fail me." Her voice was clearer now — her cheeks, too,
had regained some of their color. Harry listened
wonderingly, his arm still around her.

"I couldn't do anything else, Annie — nobody could
under the circumstances." His voice had dropped
almost to a whisper.

" But it was for me you did it, St. George. I would
rather think of it that way; it makes it easier. Say
you did it for me."

St. George stooped down, raised her thin white hand
to his lips, kissed it reverently, and without a word
of any kind walked to the door of his bedroom and
shut it behind him.

Mrs. Rutter's hand dropped to her lap and a smile
of intense relief passed over her face. She neither
looked after St. George, nor did she offer any explana-
tion to Harry; she merely bent forward and continued
her caresses, stroking the boy's glossy hair, patting
the white temples with her delicate fingers, smooth-
ing the small, well-set ears and the full brown throat,
kissing his forehead, her eyes reading his face, wonder-
ing if she had spoken too freely and yet regretting
nothing: what she had said had come straight from
her heart and she was not ashamed of it.

The boy lay still, his head against her breast. That
his mother had been stirred even in a greater degree
over what St. George had said to her than she had been
by his father's treatment of him was evident in the trem-
bling movement of the soft hands caressing his hair

163

KENNEDY SQUARE

and in the way her breath came and went. Under
her soothing touch his thoughts went back to the
events of the morning: — his uncle's defiant tones as
he denounced his father; his soft answer to his mother;
her pleading words in reply, and then the reverent
kiss.

Suddenly, clear as the tones of a far-off convent bell
sifting down from some cloud-swept crag, there stole
into his mind a memory of his childhood — a legend
of long ago, vague and intangible — one he could not
put into words — one Alec had once hinted at. He
held his breath trying to gather up the loose ends — to
make a connected whole; to fit the parts together.
Then, as one blows out a candle, leaving total dark-
ness, he banished it all from his mind.

"Mother dear! — mother dear!" he cried tenderly,
and wound his arms the closer about her neck.

She gathered him up as she had done in the old days
when he was a child at her breast; all the intervening
years seemed blotted out. He was her baby boy once
more — her constant companion and unending com-
fort: the one and only thing in her whole life that
understood her.

Soon the warmth and strength of the full man began
to reach her heart. She drew him still closer, this
strong son who loved her, and in the embrace there
grew a new and strange tenderness — one bom of con-
fidence. It was this arm which must defend her now;
this head and heart which must guide her. She was
no longer adrift.

164

KENNEDY SQUARE

The two had not moved when St. George re-entered
the foom some moments later. Harry's head still
lay on her breast, the thin, transparent hands tight
about his neck.

165

CHAPTER XII

The colonel's treatment of Harry at the club had
cleared the air of any doubt that either the boy or St.
George might have had concerning Rutter's frame of
mind. Henceforth the boy and the man would conduct
their lives as if the Lord of Moorlands did not exist.

So the boy unpacked the things which Alec had
brought in, and with his mother's assistance — who
came in once a week — hung up his hunting-clothes in
the closet, racked up his guns and fishing-rods over
the mantel, and suspended his favorite saddle by a
stirrup on a hook in the hall. Then the two had set
out his books and miniatures; one of his mother, which
he kissed tenderly, with the remark that it wasn't half
as pretty as the original, and then propped up in the
place of honor in the middle of his desk, and another
of his father, which he placed on an adjoining table
— as well as his few belongings and knickknacks.
And so the outcast settled down determined not only
to adapt himself to the comforts — or want of them — to
be found under St. George's roof, but to do it cheer-
fully, gratefully, and like a man and a gentleman.

To none of all this did his father offer a single ob-
jection. " Make a clean sweep of Mr. Harry Rutter's
things," he had said to Alec, " so that I may be relieved
from the annoyance of a second delivery."

166

KENNEDY SQUARE

Alec had repeated the order to Harry word for word,
adding: "Don't you sass back, Marse Harry — let him
blow hisse'f out — he don't mean nothin'. He's dat
mad he's crazy — gits dat way sometimes — den purty
soon he's fit to bust hisse'f wide open a-cryin'! I see
him do dat once when you warn't mo'n so high, and
de doctor said you was daid fo' sho'."

Harry made no reply, but it did not ruffle his tem-
per. His duty was no longer to be found at Moorlands ;
his Uncle George claimed him. All his hours would
now be devoted to showing him how grateful he was
for his protection and guidance. Time enough for his
father, and time enough for Kate, for that matter,
should the clouds ever lift — as lift they would — but
his Uncle George first, last, and all the time.

And St. George appreciated it to the full. Never
had he been so happy. Even the men at the club saw
the change, and declared he looked ten years younger
— fifteen really, when Harry was with him, which was
almost always the case — for out of consideration for
St. George and the peculiar circumstances surround-
ing the boy's condition, his birth and station, and the
pride they took in his pluck, the committee had at
last stretched the rule and had sent Mr. Henry Gilmor
Rutter of Moorlands — with special reference to " Moor-
lands," a perennial invitation entitling him to the club's
privileges — a card which never expired because it was
systematically renewed.

And it was not only at the club that the two men
were inseparable. In their morning walks, the four

167

KENNEDY SQUARE

dogs in full cry; at the races; in the hunts, when some
one loaned both Harry and his uncle a mount — at
night, when Todd passed silently out, leaving all the
bottled comforts behind him — followed by — "Ah,
Harry! — and you won't join me? That's right, my
son — and I won't ask you," the two passed almost
every hour of the day and night together. It was host
one minute and father the next.

And this life, if the truth be told, did not greatly
vary from the one the boy had always led, except that
there was more of town and less of country in it than
he had heretofore been accustomed to. The freedom
from all care — for the colonel had trained Harry to
neither business nor profession — was the same, and
so was the right to employ his time as he pleased. At
Moorlands he was busy over his horses and dogs,
his sporting outfits, riding to hounds, cock-fights —
common in those days — and, of course, assisting his
father and mother in dispensing the hospitality of the
house. In Kennedy Square St. George was his chief
occupation, and of the two he liked the last the best.
What he had hungered for all his life was sympathy
and companionship, and this his father had never
given him; nor had he known what it was since his
college days. Advice, money, horses, clothes, guns —
anything and everything which might, could, or would
redound to the glory of the Rutters had been his for
the asking, but the touch of a warm hand, the thrill
in the voice when he had done something to please
and had waited for an acknowledgment — that had

168

KENNEDY SQUARE

never come his way. Nothing of this kind was needed
between men, his father would say to Harry's mother
— and his son was a man now. Had their child
been a daughter, it would have been quite another
thing, but a son was to be han'dled differently —
especially an only son who was sole heir to one's
entire estate.

And yet it must not be thought that the outcast
spent his time in sheer idleness. St. George would
often find him tucked away in one of his big chairs
devouring some book he had culled from the old gen-
eral's library in the basement — a room adjoining the
one occupied by a firm of young lawyers — Pawson
& Pawson (only one brother was alive)— with an
entrance on the side street, it being of "no use to
me" St. George had said — "and the rent will come
in handy." Tales of the sea especially delighted the
young fellow — the old admiral's blood being again in
evidence — and so might have been the mother's fine
imagination. It was Defoe and Mungo Park and
Cooke who enchained the boy's attention, as well as
many of the chronicles of the later navigators. But
of the current literature of the day — Longfellow, Mar-
garet Fuller, Hawthorne, and Emerson — no one ap-
pealed to him as did the man Poe. He and St. George
had passed many an hour discussing him. Somehow
the bond of sympathy between himself and the poet
had become the stronger. Both had wept bitter tears
over the calamities that had followed an unrequited
love.

169

KENNEDY SQUARE

It was during one of these talks — and the poet was
often under discussion — that St. George had suddenly
risen from his chair, lighted a candle, and had betaken
himself to the basement — a place he seldom visited
— from which he brought back a thin, crudely bound,
and badly printed, dust-covered volume bearing the
title "Tamerlane: — by a Bostonian." This, with a
smile he handed to Harry. Some friend had given him
the little book when it was first published and he had
forgotten it was in the house until he noted Harry's
interest in the author. Then again, he wanted to see
whether it was the boy's literary taste, never much in
evidence, or his romantic conception of the much-
talked-of poet, which had prompted his intense in-
terest in the man.

"Read these poems, Harry, and tell me who wrote
them," said St. George, dusting the book with a thrash
of his handkerchief and tossing it to the young fellow.

The boy caught it, skimmed through the thin vol-
ume, lingered over one or two pages, absorbing each
line, and replied in a decided and delighted voice:
" The same man who wrote ' The Raven/ of course —
there can't be any doubt of it. I can hear Mr. Horn's
voice in every line. Why didn't you let me have it
before?"

"Are you sure?" asked St. George, watching him
closely.

" Am I sure ? — of course I am ! Listen to this :

"'We grew in age — and — love — together,

Roaming the forest and the wild '

170

KENNEDY SQUARE

That's Kate and me, Uncle George," and he smiled
sadly. "And then this line:

"'I saw no heaven but in her eyes.'

And then these lines in 'The Raven' — wait — I will
read them." He had the sheet of paper in his pocket
which Richard Horn had read from at the club, and
knew the poem now by heart:

" 'Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels call Lenore' —

That's me again. I wish I could read it like Mr.
Horn. What a voice — so deep — so musical — like a
great organ, or, rather, like one of the big strings on
his violin."

" And what a mind, too, Harry," rejoined St. George.
" Richard is a long way ahead of his time. His head is
full of things that few around here understand. They
hear him play the violin or read, and some go away
calling him a genius, but when he talks to them about
the way the railroads are opening up, and the new tele-
graph this man Morse is at work on, and what is going
to come of it — or hear him discuss the development
of the country along scientific lines, they shrug their
shoulders and tap their foreheads. You want to talk
to him every chance you get. That is one reason I
am glad they let you permanently into the club, for
he is too busy in his work-shop at home to speak to
anybody. Nobody will do you so much good — and he
likes you, Harry. He said to me only the other night

171

KENNEDY SQUARE

when I was dining with him — the night you were at
Mrs. Cheston's — that he felt sorry for you; that it
was not your fault, or the fault of your father — hut
that you both had been caught in the ebb-tide of a
period."

Harry laughed: "What did he mean by that?"

"I'll be hanged if I know. You made so good a
guess on the Tamerlane, that it's just occurred to me
to try you on this," and St. George laughed heartily.
(St. George was adrift on the ebb-tide himself did he
but know it.)

Harry thought earnestly for a moment, pondering
upon what the inventor could have had in his mind.
It couldn't have been politics that Mr. Horn meant;
nor failure of the crops; nor the way the slaves were
treated. None of these things affected him. Indeed
none of them did he know anything of. Nor was he
an expert on duelling. It must have been Kate. Yes
— of course — it was Kate and her treatment of him.
The "tide" was what had swept them apart.

" Oh, I know," he cried in an animated tone. " He
meant Kate. Tell me — what did he say about her?"
He had searched his books for some parallel from which
to draw a conclusion, but none of them had given him
any relief. May be Mr. Horn had solved the problem.

"He said she was the first of the flood, though he
was mighty sorry for you both; and he said, too, that,
as she was the first to strike out for the shore, Ken-
nedy Square ought to build a triumphal arch for her,"
and St. George looked quizzically at Harry.

172

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Well, do you think there is any common sense in
that?" blurted out the boy, twisting himself in his
chair so he could get a better look at his uncle's face.

"No — it doesn't sound like it, but it may be pro-
found wisdom all the same, if you can only see it from
Richard's point of view. Try it. There's a heap of
brains under his cranium."

Harry fell to tapping the arm of his chair. Queer
reasoning this of Mr. Horn's, he said to himself. He
had always thought that he and his father were on the
tip-top of any kind of tide, flood or ebb — and as for
Kate, she was the white gull that skimmed its crest!

Again Harry dropped into deep thought, shifting
his legs now and then in his restless, impatient way.
If there was any comfort to be gotten out of this new
doctrine he wanted to probe it to the bottom.

"And what does he say of Mr. Poe? Does he
think he's a drunken lunatic, like some of the men
at the club?"

"No, he thinks he is one of the greatest literary
geniuses the country has yet produced. He has said
so for years — ever since he began to write. Willis
first became acquainted with Mr. Poe through a letter
Richard gave him, and now that the papers are full
of him, and everybody is talking about him, these
backbiters like Bowdoin want to get into line and
say they always thought so. But Richard has never
wavered. Of course Poe loses his balance and topples
backward once in a while — but he's getting over it.
That is his mistake and it is unfortunate, but it isn't a

173

KENNEDY SQUARE

crime. I can forgive him anything he does so he keeps
to his ideals. If he had had a better bringing up and
knew the difference between good rain-water Madeira
and bad pump water and worse whiskey he would
keep as straight as a church deacon. Too bad he
doesn't."

" Well," Harry answered at last, rising from his chair
and brushing the ashes of his pipe from his clothes —
"I don't know anything about Mr. Horn's tides, but
he's right about Mr. Poe — that is, I hope he is. We've
both got a ' Lost Lenore,' " and his voice quivered.
All Harry's roads ended at Kate's door.

And so with these and other talks, heart-burnings,
outings, sports, and long tramps in the country, the
dogs scampering ahead, the summer days slipped by.

174

CHAPTER XIII

Such were the soft, balmy conditions in and around
the Temple Mansion — conditions bringing only peace
and comfort — (heart-aches were kept in check) — when
one August morning there came so decided a change
of weather that everybody began at once to get in out
of the wet. The storm had been brewing for some
days up Moorlands way, where all Harry's storms
started, but up to the present moment there had been
no indications in and about Kennedy Square of its near
approach, or even of its existence.

It was quite early in the day when the big drops be-
gan to patter down on Todd's highly polished knocker.
Breakfast had been served and the mail but half
opened — containing among other missives a letter
from Poe acknowledging one from St. George, in
which he wrote that he might soon be in Kennedy
Square on his way to Richmond — a piece of news
which greatly delighted Harry — and another from
Tom Coston, inviting them both to Wesley for the
fall shooting, with a postscript to the effect that Willits
was "still at the Red Sulphur with the Seymours" —
(a piece of news which greatly depressed him) — when
Todd answered a thunderous rat-a-tat and immediately
thereafter recrossed the hall and opened the dining-

175

KENNEDY SQUARE

room door just wide enough to thrust in first his scared
face — then his head — shoulder — arm — and last his
hand, on the palm of which lay a small, greasy card
bearing the inscription:

JOHN GADGEM, AGENT.

The darky, evidently, was not in a normal condition,
for after a moment's nervous hesitation, his eyes over
his shoulder as if fearing he was being followed, he
squeezed in the rest of his body, closed the door softly
behind him, and said in a hoarse whisper to the room
at large:

"Dat's de same man been here three times yister-
day. He asked fust fer Marse Harry, an' when I done
tol* him he warn't home — you was 'sleep upstairs,
Marse Harry, but I warn't gwineter 'sturb ye — he say
he come back dis mawnin'."

"Well, but what does he want?" asked Harry,
dropping a lump of sugar in his cup. He had been
accumstomed to be annoyed by agents of all kinds
who wanted to sell him one thing or another — and so
he never allowed any one to get at him unless his busi-
ness was stated beforehand. He had learned this from
his father.

"Idun'no, sah."

" What does he look like, Todd ?" cried St. George,
breaking the seal of another letter.

"Wall, he ain't no gemman — he's jus' a pusson I
176

KENNEDY SQUARE

reckon. I done tol' him you warn't out o' bed yit,
but he said he'd wait. I got him shet outside, but I
can't fool him no mo'. What'll I do now?"

"Well, what do you think he wants, then?" Harry
burst out impatiently.

"Well," said Todd— "ef I was to tell ye God's
truf, I reckon he wants money. He says he's been to
de big house — way out to de colonel's, and dey th'owed
him out — and now he's gwineter sit down yere till some-
body listens to him. It won't do to fool wid him,
Marse Harry — I see dat de fus' time he come. He's
a he-one — and he's got horns on him for sho'. What'll
I do?"

Both Harry and St. George roared.

"Why bring him in, of course — a 'pusson* with
horns on him will be worth seeing."

A shabby, wizened-faced man; bent-in-the-back,
gimlet-eyed, wearing a musty brown coat, soiled black
stock, unspeakable linen, and skin-tight trousers held
to his rusty shoes by wide straps — showing not only
the knuckles of his knees but the streaked thinness of
his upper shanks — (Cruikshank could have drawn
him to the life) — sidled into the room, mopping his
head with a red cotton handkerchief which he took
from his hat.

"My name is Gadgem, gentleman — Mr. John Gad-
gem, of Gadgem & Combes.

"I am looking for Mr. Harry Rutter, whom I am
informed — I would not say positively — but I am in-
formed is stopping with you, Mr. Temple. You for-

177

KENNEDY SQUARE

get me, Mr. Temple, but I do not forget you, sir.
That little foreclosure matter of Bucks vs. Temple —
you remember when "

" Sit down," said St. George curtly, laying down his
knife and fork. " Todd, hand Mr. Gadgem a chair."

The gimlet-eyed man — and it was very active —
waved his hand deprecatingly.

"No, I don't think that is necessary. I can stand.
I prefer to stand. I am accustomed to stand — I have
been standing outside this gentleman's father's door
now, off and on, for some weeks, and "

"Will you tell me what you want?" interrupted
Harry, curtly. References to Moorlands invariably
roused his ire.

" I am coming to that, sir, slowly, but surely. Now
that I have found somebody that will listen to me —
that is, if you are Mr. Harry Rutter — The defer-
ential air with which he said this was admirable.

" Oh, yes — I'm the man," answered Harry in a
resigned voice.

" Yes, sir — so I supposed. And now I look at you,
sir" — here the gimlet was in full twist — " I would
make an affidavit to that effect before any notary."
He began loosening his coat with his skinny fingers,
fumbling in his inside pocket, thrusting deep his hand,
as if searching for an elusive insect in the vicinity of
his arm-pit, his talk continuing: "Yes, sir, before any
notary, you are so exactly like your father. Not that
I've seen your father, sir, very many times" — the elu-
sive had evidently escaped, for his hand went deeper.

178

KENNEDY SQUARE

"I've only seen him once — once — and it was enough.
It was not a pleasant visit, sir — in fact, it was a most
•unpleasant visit. I came very near having cause for
action — for assault, really. A very polite colored man
was all that prevented it, and — Ah — here it is!"
He had the minute pest now. " Permit me to separate
the list from the exhibits."

At this Gadgem's hand, clutching a bundle of papers,
came out with a jerk — so much of a jerk that St. George,
who was about to end the comedy by ordering the
man from the room, stopped short in his protest, his
curiosity getting the better of him to know what the
fellow had found.

"There, sir." Here he drew a long slip from the
package, held it between his thumb and forefinger,
and was about to continue, when St. George burst out
with:

" Look here, Gadgem — if you have any business with
Mr. Rutter you will please state it at once. We have
hardly finished breakfast."

"I beg, sir, that you will not lose your temper. It
is uh&wsinesslike to lose one's temper. Gadgem &
Combes, sir, never lose their temper. They are men
of peace, sir — always men of peace. Mr. Combes
sometimes resorts to extreme measures, but never Mr.
Gadgem. I am Mr. Gadgem, sir," and he tapped his
soiled shirt-front with his soiled finger-nail. "Peace
is my watchword, that is why this matter has been
placed in my hands. Permit me, sir, to ask you to
cast your eye over this."

179

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry, who was getting interested, scanned the long
slip and handed it to St. George, who studied it for a
moment and returned it to Harry.

"You will note, I beg of you, sir, the first item."
There was a tone of triumph now in Gadgem's voice.
"One saddle horse sixteen hands high, bought of
Hampson & Co. on the" — then he craned his neck
so as to see the list over Harry's shoulder — "yes — on
the second of last September. Rather overdue, is it
not, sir, if I may be permitted to remark ? " This came
with a lift of the eyebrows, as if Harry's oversight
had been too naughty for words.

"But what the devil have I got to do with this?"
The boy was thoroughly angry now. The lift of Gad-
gem's eyebrows did it.

" You rode the horse, sir." This came with a cer-
tain air of "Oh! I have you now."

"Yes, and he broke his leg and had to be shot,"
burst out Harry in a tone that showed how worthless
had been the bargain.

"Exactly, sir. So your father told me, sir. You
don't remember having paid Mr. Hampson for him
before he broke his leg, do you, sir?" He had him
pinned fast now — all he had to do was to watch his
victim's struggles.

"Me? No, of course not!" Harry exploded.

" Exactly so, sir — so your father told me. Forcibly,
sir — and as if he was quite sure of it."

Again he looked over Harry's shoulder, following the
list with his skinny finger. At the same time he low-

180

KENNEDY SQUARE

ered his voice — became even humble. "Ah, there it
is — the English racing saddle and the pair of blankets,
and the — might I ask you, sir, whether you have
among your papers any receipt for ?"

" But I don't pay these bills — I never pay any bills."
Harry's tone had now reached a higher pitch.

".Exactly so, sir — just what your father said, sir,
and with such vehemence that I moved toward the
door." Out went the finger again, the insinuating
voice keeping up. "And then the five hundred dol-
lars from Mr. Slater — you see, sir, we had all these
accounts placed in our hands with the expectation
that your father would liquidate at one fell swoop —
these were Mr. Combes's very words, sir: 'One fell
swoop.' ' This came with an inward rake of his
hand, his fingers grasping an imaginary sickle,
Harry's accumulated debts being so many weeds
in his way.

"And didn't he? He always has," demanded the
culprit.

" Exactly so, sir — exactly what your father said."

"Exactly what?"

"That he had heretofore always paid them."

"Well, then, take them to him!" roared Harry,
breaking loose again. " I haven't got anything to do
with them, and won't."

"Your father's precise words, sir," purred Gadgem.
"And by the time he had uttered them, sir, I was
out of the room. It was here, sir, that the very
polite colored man, Alec by name, so I am informed,

181

KENNEDY SQUARE

and of whom I made mention a few moments ago,
became of invaluable assistance — of very great assist-
ance, sir."

" You mean to tell me that you have seen my father
— handed him these bills, and that he has refused to
pay them?" Harry roared on.

" I do, SIT." Gadgem had straightened his withered
body now and was boring into Harry's eyes with all
his might.

"Will you tell me just what he said?" The boy
was still roaring, but the indignant tone was missing.

" He said — you will not be offended, sir — you mean,
of course, sir, that you would like me to state exactly
what your father said, proceeding as if I was under
oath." It is indescribable how soft and mellifluous
his voice had now become.

Harry nodded.

" He said, sir, that he'd be damned if he'd pay an-
other cent for a hot-headed fool who had disgraced
his family. He said, sir, that you were of age — and
were of age when you contracted these bills. He said,
sir, that he had already sent you these accounts two
days after he had ordered you from his house. And
finally, sir — I say, finally, sir, because it appeared to
me at the time to be conclusive — he said, sir, that he
would set the dogs on me if I ever crossed his lot again.
Hence, sir, my appearing three times at your door
yesterday. Hence, sir, my breaking in upon you at
this unseemly hour in the morning. I am particular
myself, sir, about having my morning meal disturbed ;

182

KENNEDY SQUARE

cold coffee is never agreeable, gentlemen — but in this
case you must admit that my intrusion is pardonable."

The boy understood now.

" Come to think of it I have a bundle of papers up-
stairs tied with a red string which came with my boxes
from Moorlands. I threw them in the drawer with-
out opening them." This last remark was addressed
to St. George, who had listened at first with a broad
smile on his face, which had deepened to one of
intense seriousness as the interview continued, and
which had now changed to one of ill-concealed rage.

"Mr. Gadgem," gritted St. George between his
teeth — he had risen from the table during the colloquy
and was standing with his back to the mantel, the
blood up to the roots of his hair.

"Yes, sir."

" Lay the packages of bills with the memoranda on
my desk, and I will look them over during the day."

" But, Mr. Temple," and his lip curled contempt-
uously— he had had that same trick played on him
by dozens of men.

" Not another word, Mr. Gadgem. I said — I — would
look — them — over — during — the — day. You've had
some dealings with me and know exactly what kind of
a man I am. When I want you I will send for you.
If I don't send for you, come here to-morrow morn-
ing at ten o'clock and Mr. Rutter will give you his
answer. Todd, show Mr. Gadgem out."

" But, Mr. Temple — you forget that my duty is

to "

183

KENNEDY SQUARE

"I forget nothing. Todd, show Mr. Gadgem
out."

With the closing of the door behind the agent, St.
George turned to Harry. His eyes were snapping fire
and his big frame tense with anger. This phase of
the affair had not occurred to him — nothing in which
money formed an important part ever did occur to
him.

"A cowardly piece of business, Harry, and on a
par with everything he has done since you left his
house. Talbot must be crazy to act as he does.
He can't break you down in any other way, so he in-
sults you before his friends and now throws these in
your face" — and he pointed to the package of bills
where Gadgem had laid it — "a most extraordinary
proceeding. Please hand me that list. Thank you.
. . . Now this third item . . . this five hundred dol-
lars— did you get that money?"

"Yes — and another hundred the next day, which
isn't down," rejoined the young man, running his eye
over the list.

"Borrowed it?"

"Yes, of course — for Gilbert. He got into a card
scrape at the tavern and I helped him out. I told my
father all about it and he said I had done just right;
that I must always help a friend out in a case like that,
and that he'd pay it. All he objected to was my
borrowing it of a tradesman instead of my coming to
him." It was an age of borrowing and a bootmaker
was often better than a banker.

184

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Well — but why didn't you go to him ? " He wanted
to get at all the facts.

" There wasn't time. Gilbert had to have the money
in an hour, and it was the only place where I could
get it."

"Of course there wasn't time — never is when the
stakes are running like that." St. George folded up
the memorandum. He knew something of Talbot's
iron will, but he never supposed that he would lose
his sense of what was right and wrong in exercising it.
Again he opened the list — rather hurriedly this time,
as if some new phase had struck him — studied it for
a moment, and then asked with an increased interest
in his tones:

" Did Gilbert give you back the money you loaned
him?"

"Yes — certainly; about a month afterward." Here
at least was an asset.

St. George's face lighted up. "And what did you
do with it?"

"Took it to my father and he told me to use it;
that he would settle with Mr. Slater when he paid his
account; — when, too, he would thank him for helping
me out."

" And when he didn't pay it back and these buzzards
learned you had quit your father's house they em-
ployed Gadgem to pick your bones."

"Yes — it seems so; but, Uncle George, it's due
them!" exclaimed Harry — "they ought to have their
money. I would never have taken a dollar — or bought

185

KENNEDY SQUARE

a thing if I had not supposed my father would pay
for them." There was no question as to the boy's
sense of justice — every intonation showed it.

"Of course it's due — due by you, too — not your
father; that's the worst of it. And if he refuses to
assume it — and he has — it is still to be paid — every
cent of it. The question is how the devil is it to be
paid — and paid quickly. I can't have you pointed
out as a spendthrift and a dodger. No, this has got
to be settled at once."

He threw himself into a chair, his mind absorbed
in the effort to find some way out of the difficulty.
The state of his own bank account precluded all re-
lief in that direction. To borrow a dollar from the
Patapsco on any note of hand he could offer was out
of the question, the money stringency having become
still more acute. Yet help must be had, and at once.
Again he unfolded the slip and ran his eyes over the
items, his mind in deep thought, then he added in an
anxious tone:

"Are you aware, Harry, that this list amounts to
several thousand dollars?"

"Yes — I saw it did. I had no idea it was so much.
I never thought anything about it in fact. My father
always paid — paid for anything I wanted." Neither
did the young fellow ever concern himself about the
supply of water in the old well at Moorlands. His
experience had been altogether with the bucket and the
gourd: all he had had to do was to dip in.

Again St. George ruminated. It had been many
186

i,

KENNEDY SQUARE

years since he had been so disturbed about any matter
involving money.

"And have you any money left, Harry?"

"Not much. What I have is in my drawer up-
stairs."

"Then I'll lend you the money." This came with
a certain spontaneity — quite as if he had said to a
companion who had lost his umbrella — "Take mine!"

" But have you got it, Uncle George?" asked Harry
in an anxious tone.

"No — not that I know of," he replied simply, but
with no weakening of his determination to see the boy
through, no matter at what cost.

"Well — then — how will you lend it?" laughed
Harry. Money crises had not formed part of his
troubles.

"Egad, my boy, I don't know! — but somehow."

He rang the bell and Todd put in his head.
" Todd, go around outside, — see if young Mr. Pawson
is in his office below us, present my compliments and
say that it will give me great pleasure to call upon him
regarding a matter of business."

"Yes, sah "

" — And, Todd — say also that if agreeable to him,
I will be there in ten minutes."

Punctually at ten o'clock on the following morning
the shrivelled body and anxious face of the agent was
ushered by Todd into St. George's presence — Dandy
close behind sniffing at his thin knees, convinced that

187

KENNEDY SQUARE

he was a suspicious person. This hour had been
fixed by Temple in case he was not sent for earlier,
and as no messenger had so far reached the bill
collector he was naturally in doubt as to the nature
of his reception. He had the same hat in his hand
and the same handkerchief — a weekly, or probably a
monthly comfort — its dingy red color defrauding the
laundry.

" I have waited, sir," Gadgem began in an unctuous
tone, his eyes on the dog, who had now resumed his
place on the hearth rug — " waited impatiently, relying
upon the word and honor of "

"There— that will do, Gadgem," laughed St. George
good-naturedly. Somehow he seemed more than
usually happy this morning — bubbling over, indeed,
ever since Todd had brought him a message from the
young lawyer in the basement but half an hour be-
fore. "Keep that sort of talk for those who like it.
No, Todd, you needn't bring Mr. Gadgem a chair,
for he won't be here long enough to enjoy it. Now
listen," and he took the memorandum from his pocket.
"These bills are correct. Mr. Rutter has had the
money and the goods. Take this list which I have
signed to my attorney in the office underneath and
be prepared to give a receipt in full for each account
at twelve o'clock to-morrow. I have arranged to have
them paid in full. Good-morning."

Gadgem stared. He did not believe a word about
finding the money downstairs. He was accustomed
to being put off that way and had already formulated

188

KENNEDY SQUARE

his next tactical move. In fact he was about to name
it with some positiveness, recounting the sort of papers
which would follow and the celerity of their serving,
when he suddenly became aware that St. George's eyes
were fixed upon him and instantly stopped breathing.

"I said good-morning, Mr. Gadgem," repeated St.
George sententiously. There was no mistaking his
meaning.

"I heard you, sir," hesitated the collector — "/
heard you distinctly, but in cases of this kind there
is "

St. George swung back the door and stood waiting.
No man living or dead had ever doubted the word of
St. George Wilmot Temple, not even by a tone of the
voice, and Gadgem's was certainly suggestive of a
well-defined and most offensive doubt. Todd moved
up closer; Dandy rose to his feet, thinking he might
be of use. The little man looked from one to the
other. He might add an action for assault and battery
to the claim, but that would delay its collection.

"Then at twelve o'clock, to-morrow, Mr. Temple,"
he purred blandly.

"At twelve o'clock!" repeated St. George coldly,
wondering which end of the intruder he would grapple
when he threw him through the front door and down
the front steps.

"I will be here on the stroke of the clock, sir — on
the stroke," and Gadgem slunk out.

For some minutes St. George continued to walk up
and down the room, stooping once in a while to caress

189

KENNEDY SQUARE

the setter; dry-washing his hands; tapping his well-
cut waistcoat with his shapely fingers, his thumbs in
the arm-holes; halting now and then to stretch him-
self to the full height of his body. He had outwitted
the colonel — taught him a lesson — let him see that he
was not the only "hound in the pack," and, best of
all, he had saved the boy from annoyance and possi-
bly from disgrace.

He was still striding up and down the room, when
Harry, who had overslept himself as usual, came down
to breakfast. Had some friend of his uncle found a
gold mine in the back yard — or, better still, had Todd
just discovered a forgotten row of old " Brahmin Ma-
deira" in some dark corner of his cellar — St. George
could not have been more buoyant.

" Glad you didn't get up any earlier, you good-for-
nothing sleepy-head!" he cried in welcoming, joyous
tones. "You have just missed that ill-smelling buz-
zard."

"What buzzard?" asked Harry, glancing over the
letters on the mantel in the forlorn hope of finding
one from Kate.

"Why, Gadgem — and that is the last you will ever
see of him."

"Why? — has father paid him?" he asked in a list-
less way, squeezing Dandy's nose thrust affectionately
into his hand — his mind still on Kate. Now that
Willits was with her, as every one said, she would
never write him again. He was a fool to expect it,
he thought, and he sighed heavily.

190

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Of course he hasn't paid him — but I have. That
is, a friend of mine has — or will."

"You have!" cried Harry with a start. He was in-
terested now — not for himself, but for St. George: no
penny of his uncle's should ever go to pay his debts.
" Where did the money come from ? "

"Never you mind where the money came from.
You found it for Gilbert — did he ask you where you
got it? Why should you ask me?"

"Well, I won't; but you are mighty good to me,
Uncle George, and I am very grateful to you." The
relief was not overwhelming, for the burden of the
debt had not been heavy. It was only the sting of
his 'father's refusal that had hurt. He had always be-
lieved that the financial tangle would be straightened
out somehow.

" No! — damn it! — you are not grateful. You sha'n't
be grateful!" cried St. George with a boyish laugh,
seating himself that he might fill his pipe the better
from a saucer of tobacco on the table. " If you were
grateful it would spoil it all. What you can do, how-
ever, is to thank your lucky stars that that greasy red
pocket-handkerchief will never be aired in your pres-
ence again. And there's another thing you can be
thankful for now that you are in a thankful mood, and
that is that Mr. Poe will be at Guy's to-morrow, and
wants to see me." He had finished filling the pipe
bowl, and had struck a match.

The boy's eyes danced. Gadgem, his father, his
debts, everything — was forgotten.

191

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Oh, I'm so glad! How do you know?"

" Here's a letter from him." (Puff-puff.)

"And can I see him?"

" Of course you can see him! We will have him to
dinner, my boy! Here comes Todd with your coffee.
Take my seat so I can talk to vou while I smoke."

192

CHAPTER XIV

Although St. George dispensed his hospitality with-
out form or pretence, never referring to his intended
functions except in a casual way, the news of so unusual
a dinner to so notorious a man as Edgar Allan Poe
could not long be kept quiet.

While a few habitue's occupying the arm-chairs on
the sidewalk of the club were disappointed at not
being invited, — although they knew that ten guests had
always been St. George's limit, — others expressed their
disapproval of the entire performance with more than
a shrug of the shoulders. Captain Warfield was most
outspoken. "Temple," he said, "like his father, is a
law unto himself, and always entertains the queerest
kind of people; and if he wants to do honor to a
man of that stamp, why that, of course, is his busi-
ness, not mine." At which old Tom Purviance had
blurted out — "And a shiftless vagabond too, War-
field, if what I hear is true. Fine subject for St.
George to waste his Madeira on!" Purviance had
never read a dozen lines of anybody's poetry in his
life, and looked upon all literary men as no better
than play actors.

It was then that Richard Horn, his eyes flashing,
had retorted:

193

KENNEDY SQUARE

"If I did not know how kind-hearted you were,
Purviance, and how thoughtless you can sometimes
be in your criticisms, I might ask you to apologize to
both Mr. Poe and myself. Would it surprise you to
know that there is no more truth in what you say than
there is in the reports of that gentleman's habitual
drunkenness ? It was but a year ago that I met him
at his cousin's house and I shall never forget him.
Would it also surprise you to learn that he has the ap-
pearance of a man of very great distinction ? — that he
was faultlessly attired in a full suit of black and had
the finest pair of eyes in his head I have ever looked
into ? Mr. Poe is not of your world, or of mine — he is
above it. There is too much of this sort of ill-con-
sidered judgment abroad in the land. No — my dear
Purviance — I don't want to be rude and I am sure you
will not think I am personal. I am only trying to be
just to one of the master spirits of our time so that I
won't be humiliated when his real worth becomes a
household word."

The women took a different view.

"I can't understand what Mr. Temple is thinking
of," said the wife of the archdeacon to Mrs. Cheston.
" This Mr. Poe is something dreadful — never sober, I
hear. Mr. Temple is invariably polite to everybody,
but when he goes out of his way to do honor to a man
like this he only makes it harder for those of us who
are trying to help our sons and brothers — " to which
Mrs. Cheston had replied with a twinkle in her mouse
eyes and a toss of her gray head: — "So was Byron,

194

KENNEDY SQUARE

my dear woman — a very dreadful and most disrepu-
table person, but I can't spare him from my library,
nor should you."

None of these criticisms would have affected St.
George had he heard them, and we may be sure no
one dared tell him. He was too busy, in fact — and
so was Harry, helping him for that matter — setting
his house in order for the coming function.

That the table itself might be made the more worthy
of the great man, orders were given that the big silver
loving-cup — the one presented to his father by no less
a person than the Marquis de Castellux himself —
should be brought out to be filled later on with Cloth
of Gold roses so placed that their rich color and fra-
grance would reach both the eyes and the nostrils of
his guests, while the rest of the family silver, bright-
ened to a mirror finish by Todd, was either sent down
to Aunt Jemima to be ready for the special dishes for
which the house was famous, or disposed on the side-
board and serving-table for instant use when required.
Easy-chairs were next brought from upstairs — tobacco
and pipes, with wax candles, were arranged on teak-
wood trays, and an extra dozen or so of bubble-blown
glasses banked on a convenient shelf. The banquet
room too, for it was late summer, was kept as cool as
the season permitted, the green shutters being closed,
thus barring out the heat of early September — and
the same precaution was taken in the dressing-room,
which was to serve as a receptacle for hats and canes.

And Todd as usual was his able assistant. All the
195

KENNEDY SQUARE

darky's training came into play when his master was
giving a dinner: what Madeira to decant, and what
to leave in its jacket of dust, with its waistcoat of a
label unlaundered for half a century; the tempera-
ture of the claret; the exact angle at which the Bur-
gundy must be tilted and when it was to be opened—
and how — especially the "how" — the disturbing of a
single grain of sediment being a capital offence; the
final brandies, particularly that old Peach Brandy
hidden in Tom Coston's father's cellar during the war
of 1812, and sent to that gentleman as an especial
" mark of my appreciation to my dear friend and kins-
man, St. George Wilmot Temple," etc., etc. — all this
Todd knew to his finger ends.

For with St. George to dine meant something more
than the mere satisfying of one's hunger. To dine
meant to get your elbows next to your dearest friend-
half a dozen or more of your dearest friends, if possible
— to look into their faces, hear them talk, regale them
with the best your purse afforded, and last and best
of all to open for them your rarest wines — wines bred
in the open, amid tender, clustering leaves; wines
mellowed by a thousand sunbeams; nurtured, cared
for, and put tenderly to sleep, only to awake years
thereafter to warm the hearts and cheer the souls of
those who honored them with their respect and never
degraded them with their debauchery.

As for the dishes themselves — here St. George with
Jemima's help was pastmaster: dishes sizzling hot;
dishes warm, and dishes stone cold. And their several

196

KENNEDY SQUARE

arrivals and departures, accompanied by their several
staffs: the soup as an advance guard — of gumbo or
clams — or both if you chose; then a sheepshead
caught off Cobb's Island the day before, just arrived
by the day boat, with potatoes that would melt in your
mouth — in gray jackets these; then soft-shell crabs —
big, crisp fellows, with fixed bayonets of legs, and
orderlies of cucumber — the first served on a huge silver
platter with the coat-of-arms of the Temples cut in the
centre of the rim and the last on an old English cut-
glass dish. Then the woodcock and green peas — and
green corn — their teeth in a broad grin; then an olio
of pineapple, and a wonderful Cheshire cheese, just
arrived in a late invoice — and marvellous crackers —
and coffee — and fruit (cantaloupes and peaches that
would make your mouth water), then nuts, and last a
few crusts of dry bread! And here everything came
to a halt and .all the troops were sent back to the bar-
racks— (Aunt Jemima will do for the barracks).

With this there was to follow a change of base —
a most important change. Everything eatable and
drinkable and all the glasses and dishes were to be
lifted from the table — one half at a time — the cloth
rolled back and whisked away and the polished ma-
hogany laid bare; the silver coasters posted in ad-
vantageous positions, and in was to rattle the light
artillery:— Black Warrior of 1810— Port of 1815— a
Royal Brown Sherry that nobody knew anything
about, and had no desire to, so fragrant was it. Last
of all the notched finger-bowls in which to cool the

197

KENNEDY SQUARE

delicate, pipe-stem glasses; and then, and only then,
did the real dinner begin.

All this Todd had done dozens and dozens of times
before, and all this (with Malachi's assistance — Rich-
ard Horn consenting — for there was nothing too good
for the great poet) would Todd do again on this event-
ful night.

As to the guests, this particular feast being given to
the most distinguished literary genius the country had
yet produced, — certainly the most talked of — those
who were bidden were, of course, selected with more
than usual care: Mr. John P. Kennedy, the widely
known author and statesman, and Mr. John H. B.
Latrobe, equally noteworthy as counsellor, mathema-
tician, and patron of the fine arts, both of whom had
been Poe's friends for years, and who had first recog-
nized his genius; Richard Horn, who never lost an
opportunity to praise him, together with Judge Pan-
coast, Major Clayton, the richest aristocrat about
Kennedy Square and whose cellar was famous the
county over — and last, the Honorable Prim. Not be-
cause old Seymour possessed any especial fitness one
way or the other for a dinner of this kind, but because
his presence would afford an underground communi-
cation by which Kate could learn how fine and splen-
did Harry was — (sly old diplomat St. George!) — and
how well he had appeared at a table about which were
seated the best Kennedy Square could produce.

" I'll put you right opposite Mr. Poe, Harry — so you
can study him at your leisure," St. George had said

198

KENNEDY SQUARE

when discussing the placing of the guests, "and be
sure you look at his hands, they are just like a girl's,
they are so soft and white. And his eyes — you will
never forget them. And there is an air about him too
— an air of — well, a sort of haughty distraction — some-
thing I can't quite explain — as if he had a contempt
for small things — things that you and I, and your
father and all of us about here, believe in. Blood or
no blood, he's a gentleman, even if he does come of
very plain people; — and they were players I hear. It
seems natural, when you think it over, that Latrobe
and Kennedy and Horn should be men of genius, be-
cause their blood entitles them to it, but how a man
raised as Mr. Poe has been should — well — all I can
say is that he upsets all our theories."

" But I think you are wrong, Uncle George, about
his birth. I've been looking him up and his grand-
father was a general in the Revolution."

"Well, I'm glad of it — and I hope he was a very
good general, and very much of a gentleman — but
there is no question of his descendant being a wonder.
But that is neither here nor there — you'll be right oppo-
site and can study him in your own way."

Mr. Kennedy arrived first. Although his family
name is the same as that which dignifies the scene of
these chronicles, none of his ancestors, so far as I
know, were responsible for its title. Nor did his own
domicile front on its confines. In fact, at this period
of his varied and distinguished life, he was seldom

199

KENNEDY SQUARE

seen in Kennedy Square, his duties at Washington
occupying all his time, and it was by the merest chance
that he could be present.

"Ah, St. George!" he exclaimed, as he handed his
hat to Todd and grasped his host's hand. "So very
good of you to let me come. How cool and delicious
it is in here — and the superb roses — Ah yes! — the
old Castellux cup. I remember it perfectly; your
father once gave me a sip from its rim when I was a
young fellow. And now tell me — how is our genius ?
What a master-stroke is his last — the whole country
is ringing with it. How did you get hold of him ? "

" Very easily. He wrote me he was passing through
on his way to Richmond, and you naturally popped
into my head as the proper man to sit next him," re-
plied St. George in his hearty manner.

" And you were on top of him, I suppose, before he
got out of bed. Safer, sometimes," and he smiled
significantly.

"Yes, found him at Guy's. Sit here, Kennedy,
where the air is cooler."

" And quite himself ? " continued the author, settling
himself in a chair that St. George had just drawn out
for him.

" Perhaps a little thinner, and a little worn. It was
only when I told him you were coming, that I got a
smile out of him. He never forgets you and he never
should."

Again Todd answered the knocker and Major Clay-
ton, Richard Horn, and Mr. Latrobe joined the group.

200

KENNEDY SQUARE

The major, who was rather stout, apologized for his
light seersucker coat, due, as he explained, to the heat,
although his other garments were above criticism.
Richard, however, looked as if he had just stepped
out of an old portrait in his dull-blue coat and white silk
scarf, St. George's eyes lighting up as he took in the
combination — nothing pleased St. George so much aS
a well-dressed man, and Richard never disappointed
him, while Latrobe, both in his dress and dignified
bearing, easily held first place as the most distinguished
looking man in the room.

The Honorable Prim now stalked in and shook
hands gravely and with much dignity, especially with
Mr. Kennedy, whose career as a statesman he had
always greatly admired. St. George often said, in
speaking of this manner of the Scotchman's, that
Prim's precise pomposity was entirely due to the fact
that he had swallowed himself and couldn't digest
the meal; that if he would once in a while let out a
big, hearty laugh it might split his skin wide enough
for him to get a natural breath.

St. George kept his eyes on Harry when the boy
stepped forward and shook Prim by the hand, but
he had no need for anxiety. The face of the young
prince lighted up and his manner was as gracious as
if nothing had ever occurred to mar the harmony be-
tween the Seymour clan and himself.

Everybody had seated themselves now — Malachi
having passed around a course of palm-leaf fans —
Clayton, Latrobe, and Horn at one open window over-

201

KENNEDY SQUARE

looking the tired trees — it was in the dog days — Sey-
mour and the judge at the other, while St. George
took a position so that he could catch the first glimpse
of the famous poet as he crossed the Square — (it
was still light), the dinner hour having arrived and
Todd already getting nervous.

Once more the talk dwelt on the guest of honor —
Mr. Kennedy, who, of all men of his time, could best
appreciate Poe's genius, and who, with Mr. Latrobe,
had kept it alive, telling for the hundredth time the
old story of his first meeting with the poet, turning
now and then to Latrobe for confirmation.

" Oh, some ten or more years ago, wasn't it, La-
trobe? We happened to be on the committee for
awarding a prize story, and Poe had sent in his ' Man-
uscript in a Bottle' among others. It would have
broken your hearts, gentlemen, to have seen him. His
black coat was buttoned up close to his chin — seedy,
badly worn — he himself shabby and down at the heels,
but erect and extremely courteous — a most pitiable
object. My servant wasn't going to let him in at first,
he looked so much the vagrant."

"And you know, of course, Kennedy, that he had
no shirt on under that coat, don't you?" rejoined
Latrobe, rising from his seat as he spoke and joining
St. George at the window.

"Do you think so?" echoed Mr. Kennedy.

" I am positive of it. He came to see me next day
and wanted me to let him know whether he had been
successful. He said if the committee only knew how

202

KENNEDY SQUARE

much the prize would mean to him they would stretch
a point in his favor. I am quite sure I told you
about it at the time, St. George," and he laid his
hand on his host's shoulder.

"There was no need of stretching it, Latrobe,"
remarked Richard Horn in his low, incisive voice, his
eyes on Kennedy's face, although he was speaking to
the counsellor. "You and Kennedy did the world a
great service at the right moment. Many a man of
brains — one with something new to say — has gone to
the wall and left his fellow men that much poorer
because no one helped him into the Pool of Healing
at the right moment." (Dear Richard! — he was al-
ready beginning to understand something of this in his
own experience.)

Todd's entrance interrupted the talk for a moment.
His face was screwed up into knots, both eyes lost in
the deepest crease. "Fo' Gawd, Marse George," he
whispered in his master's ear — "dem woodcock'll be
sp'iled if dat gemman don't come!"

St. George shook his head: "We will wait a few
minutes more, Todd. Tell Aunt Jemima what I
say."

Clayton, who despite the thinness of his seersucker
coat, had kept his palm-leaf fan busy since he had taken
his seat, and who had waited until his host's ear was
again free, now broke in cheerily:

"Same old story of course, St. George. Another
genius gone astray. Bad business, this bee of litera-
ture, once it gets to buzzing." Then with a quizzical

203

KENNEDY SQUARE

glance at the author: "Kennedy is a lamentable ex-
ample of what it has done for him. He started out
as a soldier, dropped into law, and now is trying to
break into Congress again — and all the time writes —
writes — writes. It has spoiled everything he has tried
to do in life — and it will spoil everything he touches
from this on — and now comes along this man Poe,

" — No, he doesn't come along," chimed in Pan-
coast, who so far had kept silence, his palm-leaf
fan having done all the talking. "I wish he
would."

" You are right, judge," chuckled Clayton, " and that
is just my point. Here I say, comes along this man
Poe and spoils my dinner. Something, I tell you,
has got to be done or I shall collapse. By the way,
Kennedy — didn't you send Poe a suit of clothes once
in which to come to your house?"

The distinguished statesman, who had been smil-
ing at the major's good-natured badinage, made no
reply: that was a matter between the poet and
himself.

"And didn't he keep everybody waiting?" persisted
Clayton, "until your man found him and brought him
back in your own outfit — only the shirt was four sizes
too big for his bean-pole of a body. Am I right?"
he laughed.

"He has often dined with me, Clayton," replied
Kennedy in his most courteous and kindly tone, ignor-
ing the question as well as all allusion to his charity

204

KENNEDY SQUARE

— " and never in all my experience have I ever met a
more dazzling conversationalist. Start him on one of
his weird tales and let him see that you are interested
and in sympathy with him, and you will never forget
it. He gave us parts of an unfinished story one night
at my house, so tremendous in its power that every one
was frozen stiff in his seat."

Again Clayton cut in, this time to St. George.
He was getting horribly hungry, as were the others.
It was now twenty minutes past the dinner hour and
there were still no signs of Poe, nor had any word
come from him. " For mercy's sake, St. George, try
the suit-of-clothes method — any suit of clothes — here
• — he can have mine! I'll be twice as comfortable
without them."

"He couldn't get into them," returned St. George
with a smile — "nor could he into mine, although he
is half our weight; and as for our hats — they wouldn't
get further down on his head than the top of his
crown."

" But I insist on the experiment," bubbled Clayton
good-naturedly. "Here we are, hungry as wolves
and everything being burned up. Try the suit-of-
clothes trick — Kennedy did it — and it won't take your
Todd ten minutes to go to Guy's and bring him back
inside of them."

" Those days are over for Poe," Kennedy remarked
with a slight frown. The major's continued allusions
to a brother writer's poverty, though pure badinage,
had begun to jar on the author.

205

KENNEDY SQUARE

For the second time Todd's face was thrust in at
the door. It now looked like a martyr's being slowly
roasted at the stake.

"Yes, Todd — serve dinner!" called St. George in
a tone that showed how great was his disappointment.
"We won't wait any longer, gentlemen. Geniuses
must be allowed some leeway. Something has de-
tained our guest."

"He's got an idea in his head and has stopped in
somewhere to write it down," continued Clayton in his
habitual good-natured tone: it was the overdone wood-
cock— (he had heard Todd's warning) — that still filled
his mind.

"I could forgive him for that," exclaimed the
judge — "some of his best wrork, I hear, has been
done on the spur of the moment — and you should
forgive him too, Clayton — unbeliever and iconoclast
as you are — and you would forgive him if you knew
as much about new poetry as you do about old
port."

Clayton's stout body shook with laughter. "My
dear Pancoast," he cried, " you do not know what you
are talking about. No man living or dead should be
forgiven who keeps a woodcock on the spit five min-
utes over time. Forgive him! Why, my dear sir,
your poet ought to be drawn and quartered, and
what is left of him boiled in oil. Where shall I sit,
St. George?"

"Alongside of Latrobe. Kennedy, I shall put you
next to Poe's vacant chair — he knows and loves you

206

KENNEDY SQUARE

best. Seymour, will you and Richard take your places
alongside of Pancoast, and Harry, will you please sit
opposite Mr. Kennedy?"
And so the dinner began.

207

CHAPTER XV

Whether it was St. George's cheery announcement:
"Well, gentlemen, I am sorry, but we still have each
other, and so we will remember our guest in our hearts
even if we cannot have his charming person," or
whether it was that the absence of Poe made little
difference when a dinner with St. George was in ques-
tion— certain it is that before many moments the de-
linquent poet was for the most part forgotten.

As the several dishes passed in review, Malachi in
charge of the small arms — plates, knives, and forks —
and Todd following with the heavier guns — silver
platters and the like — the talk branched out to more
diversified topics: the new omnibuses which had been
allowed to run in the town; the serious financial situ-
ation, few people having recovered from the effects
of the last great panic; the expected reception to Mr.
Polk; the new Historical Society, of which every one
present was a member except St. George and Harry;
the successful experiments which the New York
painter, a Mr. Morse, was making in what he was
pleased to call Magnetic Telegraphy, and the absurd-
ity of his claim that his invention would soon come
into general use — every one commenting unfavorably
except Richard Horn: — all these shuttlecocks being

208

tossed into mid-air for each battledore to crack, and
all these, with infinite tact the better to hide his own
and his companions' disappointment over the loss of
his honored guest — did St. George keep on the move.
With the shifting of the cloth and the placing of the
coasters — the nuts, crusts of bread, and finger-bowls
being within easy reach — most of this desultory talk
ceased. Something more delicate, more human, more
captivating than sport, finance, or politics; more satis-
fying than all the poets who ever lived, filled every-
body's mind. Certain Rip Van Winkles of bottles
with tattered garments, dust-begrimed faces, and cob-
webs in their hair were lifted tenderly from the side-
board and awakened to consciousness (some of them
hadn't opened their mouths for twenty years, except
to have them immediately stopped with a new cork),
and placed in the expectant coasters, Todd handling
each one with the reverence of a priest serving in a
temple. Crusty, pot-bellied old fellows, who hadn't
uttered a civil word to anybody since they had been
shut up in their youth, now laughed themselves wide
open. A squat, lean-necked, jolly little jug without
legs — labelled in ink — "Crab-apple, 1807," spread
himself over as much of the mahogany as he could
cover, and admired his fat shape upside down in its
polish. Diamond-cut decanters — regular swells these
— with silver chains and medals on their chests — went
swaggering round, boasting of their ancestors; saying
"Your good health" every time any one invited them
to have a drop — or lose one — while a modest little

209

KENNEDY SQUARE

demijohn — or rather a semi-demi-little-john — all in his
wicker-basket clothes, with a card sewed on his jacket
— like a lost boy (Peggy Coston of Wesley did the
sewing) bearing its name and address — "Old Peach,
1796, Wesley, Eastern Shore," was placed on St.
George's right within reach of his hand. " It reminds
me of the dear woman herself, gentleman, in her
homely outside and her warm, loving heart underneath,
and I wouldn't change any part of it for the world."

"What Madeira is this, St. George?" It was the
judge who was speaking — he had not yet raised the
thin glass to his lips; the old wine-taster was too ab-
sorbed in its rich amber color and in the delicate
aroma, which was now reaching his nostrils. Indeed
a new — several new fragrances, were by this time
permeating the room.

"It is the same, judge, that I always give you."

"Not your father's Black Warrior?"

"Yes, the 1810. Don't you recognize it? Not
corked, is it?"

" Corked, my dear man! It's a posy of roses. But
I thought that was all gone."

"No, there are a few bottles still in my cellar —
some — How many are there, Todd, of the Black
Warrior?"

"Dat's de las' 'cept two, Marse George."

"Dying in a good cause, judge — I'll send them to
you to-morrow."

"You'll do nothing of the kind, you spendthrift.
Give them to Kennedy or Clayton."

210

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No, give them to nobody!" laughed Kennedy.
"Keep them where they are and don't let anybody
draw either cork until you invite me to dinner again."

"Only two bottles left," cried Latrobe in conster-
nation! "Well, what the devil are we going to do
when they are gone? — what's anybody going to do?"
The "we" was the key to the situation. The good
Madeira of Kennedy Square was for those who honored
it, and in that sense — and that sense only — was com-
mon property.

" Don't be frightened, Latrobe," laughed St. George
— "I've got a lot of the Blackburn Reserve of 1812
left. Todd, serve that last bottle I brought up this
morning — I put it in that low decanter next to — Ah,
Malachi — you are nearest. Pass that to Mr. Latrobe,
Malachi — Yes, that's the one. Now tell me how
you like it. It is a little pricked, I think, and may be
slightly bruised in the handling. I spent half an
hour picking out the cork this morning — but there is
no question of its value."

"Yes," rejoined Latrobe, moistening his lips with
the topaz-colored liquid — "it is a little bruised. I
wouldn't have served it — better lay it aside for a month
or two in the decanter. Are all your corks down to
that, St. George?"

"All the 1810 and '12 — dry as powder some of
them. I've got one over on the sideboard that I'm
afraid to tackle" — here he turned to Clayton: "Ma-
jor, you are the only man I know who can pick out a
cork properly. Yes, Todd — the bottle at the end,

211

KENNEDY SQUARE

next to that Burgundy — carefully now. Don't shake
it, and "

" Well — but why don't you draw the cork yourself,
St. George?" interrupted the major, his eyes on
Todd, who was searching for the rarity among the
others flanking the sideboard.

"I dare not — that is, I'm afraid to try. You are
the man for a cork like that — and Todd! — hand Major
Clayton the corkscrew and one of those silver nut-
picks.'*

The Honorable Prim bent closer. "What is it,
St. George, some old Port?" he asked in a perfunc-
tory way. Rare old wines never interested him.
"They are an affectation," he used to say.

"No, Seymour — it's really a bottle of the Peter
Remsen 1817 Madeira.

The bottle was passed, every eye watching it with
the greatest interest.

"No, never mind the corkscrew, Todd, — I'll pick
it out," remarked the major, examining the hazardous
cork with the care of a watchmaker handling a broken-
down chronometer. "You're right, St. George — it's
too far gone. Don't watch me, Seymour, or I'll get
nervous. You'll hoodoo it — you Scotchmen are the
devil when it comes to anything fit to drink," and he
winked at Prim.

" How much is there left of it, St. George ? " asked
Latrobe, watching the major manipulate the nut-
pick.

"Not a drop outside that bottle."
212

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Let us pray — for the cork," sighed Latrobe.
"Easy — e-a-sy, major — think of your responsibility,
man!"

It was out now, the major dusting the opening with
one end of his napkin — his face wreathed in smiles
when his nostrils caught the first whiff of its aroma.

"By Jupiter! — gentlemen! — When I'm being
snuffed out I'll at least go like a gentleman if I have
a drop of this on my lips. It's a bunch of roses —
a veritable nosegay. Heavens! — what a bouquet!
Some fresh glasses, Todd."

Malachi and Todd both stepped forward for the
honor of serving it, but the major waved them aside,
and rising to his feet began the round of the table,
filling each slender pipe-stem glass to the brim.

Then the talk, which had long since drifted away
from general topics, turned to the color and sparkle of
some of the more famous wines absorbed these many
years by their distinguished votaries. This was fol-
lowed by the proper filtration and racking both of
Ports and Madeiras, and whether milk or egg were
best for the purpose — Kennedy recounting his ex-
perience of different vintages both here and abroad,
the others joining in, and all with the same intense
interest that a group of scientists or collectors would
have evinced in discussing some new discovery in
chemistry or physics, or the coming to light of some
rare volume long since out of print — everybody, indeed,
taking a hand in the discussion except Latrobe, whose
mouth was occupied in the slow sipping of his favorite

213

KENNEDY SQUARE

Madeira — tilting a few drops now and then on the end
of his tongue, his eyes devoutly closed that he might the
better relish its flavor and aroma.

It was all an object lesson to Harry, who had never
been to a dinner of older men — not even at his father's
— and though at first he smiled at what seemed to him
a great fuss over nothing, he finally began to take a
broader view. Wine, then, was like food or music, or
poetry — or good-fellowship — something to be enjoyed
in its place — and never out of it. For all that, he had
allowed no drop of anything to fall into his own glass
— a determination which Todd understood perfectly,
but which he as studiously chose to ignore — going
through all the motions of filling the glass so as not to
cause Marse Harry any embarrassment. Even the
"1817" was turned down by the young man with a
parrying gesture which caught the alert eyes of the
major.

"You are right, my boy," the bon vivant said sen-
tentiously. "It is a wine for old men. But look
after your stomach, you dog — or you may wake up
some fine morning and not be able to know good
Madeira from bad. You young bloods, with your
vile concoctions of toddies, punches, and other Satanic
brews, are fast going to the devil — your palates, I am
speaking of. If you ever saw the inside of a distillery
you would never drink another drop of whiskey.
There's poison in every thimbleful. There's sunshine
in this, sir!" and he held the glass to his eyes until the
light of the candles flashed through it.

214

KENNEDY SQUARE

" But I've never seen the inside or outside of a dis-
tillery in my life," answered Harry with a laugh, a
reply which did not in the least quench the major's
enthusiasms, who went on dilating, wine-glass in hand,
on the vulgarity of drinking standing up — the habitual
custom of whiskey tipplers — in contrast with the re-
finement of sipping wines sitting down — one being
a vice and the other a virtue.

Richard, too, had been noticing Harry. He had
overheard, as the dinner progressed, a remark the boy
had made to the guest next him, regarding the peculiar
rhythm of Poe's verse — Harry repeating the closing
lines of the poem with such keen appreciation of their
meaning that Richard at once joined in the talk, com-
mending him for his insight and discrimination. He
had always supposed that Rutter's son, like all the
younger bloods of his time, had abandoned his books
when he left college and had affected horses and
dogs instead. The discovery ended in his scrutinizing
Harry's face the closer, reading between the lines —
his father here, his mother there — until a quick knitting
of the brows, and a flash from out the deep-brown eyes,
upset all his preconceived opinions; he had expected
grit and courage in the boy — there couldn't help
being that when one thought of his father — but where
did the lad get his imagination? Richard wondered
— that which millions could not purchase. "A most
engaging young man in spite of his madcap life," he
said to himself — "I don't wonder St. George loves
him."

215

KENNEDY SQUARE

When the bell in the old church struck the hour of
ten, Harry again turned to Richard and said with a
sigh of disappointment:

"I'm afraid it's too late to expect him — don't you
think so?"

" Yes, I fear so," rejoined Richard, who all through
the dinner had never ceased to bend his ear to every
sound, hoping for the rumble of wheels or the quick
step of a man in the hall. "Something extraordinary
must have happened to him, or he may have been
called suddenly to Richmond and taken the steam-
boat." Then leaning toward his host he called across
the table: "Might I make a suggestion, St. George?"

St. George paused in his talk with Mr. Kennedy
and Latrobe and raised his head:

"Well, Richard?"

" I was just saying to young Rutter here, that per-
haps Mr. Poe has been called suddenly to Richmond
and has sent you a note which has not reached you."

" Or he might be ill," suggested Harry in his anxiety
to leave no loophole through which the poet could
escape. ^

"Or he might be ill," repeated Richard — "quite
true. Now would you mind if I sent Malachi to Guy's
to find out?"

"No, Richard— but I'll send Todd. We can get
along, I expect, with Malachi until he gets back.
Todd!"

"Yes, sah."

" You go to Guy's and ask Mr. Lampson if Mr. Poe
216

KENNEDY SQUARE

is still in the hotel. If he is not there ask for any letter
addressed to me and then come back. If he is in,
go up to his room and present my compliments, and
say we are waiting dinner for him."

Todd's face lengthened, but he missed no word of
his master's instructions. Apart from these his mind
was occupied with the number of minutes it would
take him to run all the way to Guy's Hotel, mount the
steps, deliver his message, and race back again. Mal-
achi, who was nearly twice his age, and who had had
twice his experience, might be all right until he reached
that old Burgundy, but "dere warn't nobody could
handle dem corks but Todd; Malachi'd bust 'em
sho' and spile 'em 'fo' he could git back."

" 'Spose dere ain't no gemman and no letter, den
what?" he asked as a last resort.

"Then come straight home."

"Yes, sah," and he backed regretfully from the
room and closed the door behind him.

St. George turned to Horn again : " Very good idea,
Richard — wonder I hadn't thought of it before. I
should probably had I not expected him every minute.
And he was so glad to come. He told me he had never
forgotten the dinner at Kennedy's some years ago,
and when he heard you would be here as well, his
whole face lighted up. I was also greatly struck with
the improvement in his appearance, he seemed more
a man of the world than when I first knew him — car-
ried himself better and was more carefully dressed.

This morning when I went in he "

217

KENNEDY SQUARE

The door opened silently, and Todd, trembling all
over, laid his hand on his master's shoulder, cutting
short his dissertation.

"Marse George, please sah, can I speak to you a
minute?" The boy looked as if he had just seen
a ghost.

"Speak to me! Why haven't you taken my mes-
sage, Todd?"

"Yes, sah — dat is — can't ye step in de hall a min-
ute, Marse George — now — right away?"

"The hall! — what for? — is there anything the mat-
ter?"

St. George pushed back his chair and followed
Todd from the room: something had gone wrong —
something demanding instant attention or Todd
wouldn't be scared out of his wits. Those nearest
him, who had overheard Todd's whispered words,
halted in their talk in the hope of getting some clew
to the situation; others, further away, kept on, uncon-
scious that anything unusual had taken place.

Several minutes passed.

Again the door swung wide, and a man deathly
pale, erect, faultlessly dressed in a full suit of black,
the coat buttoned close to his chin, his cavernous eyes ,
burning like coals of fire, entered on St. George's arm
and advanced toward the group.

Every guest was on his feet in an instant.

"We have him at last!" cried St. George in his
cheeriest voice. "A little late, but doubly welcome.
Mr. Poe, gentlemen."

218

KENNEDY SQUARE

Kennedy was the first to extend his hand, Horn
crowding close, the others waiting their turn.

Poe straightened his body, focussed his eyes on Ken-
nedy, shook his extended hand gravely, but without
the slightest sign of recognition, and repeated the
same cold greeting to each guest in the room. He
spoke no word — did not open his lips — only the
mechanical movement of his outstretched hand — a
movement so formal that it stifled all exclamations of
praise on the part of the guests, or even of welcome.
It was as if he had grasped the hands of strangers be-
side an open grave.

Then the cold, horrible truth flashed upon them:

Edgar Allan Poe was dead drunk!

The silence that followed was appalling — an expect-
ant silence like that which precedes the explosion of
a bomb. Kennedy, who had known him the longest
and best, and who knew that if his mind could once be
set working he would recover his tongue and wits, hav-
ing seen him before in a similar crisis, stepped nearer
and laid both hands on Poe's shoulders. Get Poe to
talking and he would be himself again; let him once
be seated, and ten chances to one he would fall asleep
at the table.

"No, don't sit down, Mr. Poe — not yet. Give us
that great story of yours — the one you told at my house
that night — we have never forgotten it. Gentlemen,
all take your seats — I promise you one of the great
treats of your lives."

219

KENNEDY SQUARE

Poe stood for an instant undecided, the light of
the candles illumining his black hair, pallid face, and
haggard features; fixed his eyes on Todd and Mal-
achi, as if trying to account for their presence, and
stood wavering, his deep, restless eyes gleaming like
slumbering coals flashing points of hot light.

Again Mr. Kennedy's voice rang out:

"Any one of your stories, Mr. Poe — we leave it to
you."

Everybody was seated now, with eyes fixed on the
poet. Harry, overcome and still dazed, pressed close
to Richard, who, bending forward, had put his elbow
on the table, his chin in his hand. Clayton wheeled
up a big chair and placed it back some little distance
so that he could get a better view of the man. Sey-
mour, Latrobe, and the others canted their seats to
face the speaker squarely. All felt that Kennedy's
tact had saved the situation and restored the equilib-
rium. It was the poet now who stood before them
— the man of genius — the man whose name was known
the country through. That he was drunk was only
part of the performance. Booth had been drunk
when he chased a super from the stage; Webster made
his best speeches when he was half-seas-over — was
making them at that very moment. It was so with
many other men of genius the world over. If they
could hear one of Poe's poems — or, better still, one
of his short stories, like " The Black Cat" or the " Mur-
ders in the Rue Morgue" — it would be like hearing
Emerson read one of his Essays or Longfellow recite

220

KENNEDY SQUARE

his " Hyperion." This in itself would atone for every-
thing. Kennedy was right — it would be one of the
rare treats of their lives.

Poe grasped the back of the chair reserved for him,
stood swaying for an instant, passed one hand nerv-
ously across his forehead, brushed back a stray lock
that had fallen over his eyebrow, loosened the top but-
ton of his frock coat, revealing a fresh white scarf tied
about his neck, closed his eyes, and in a voice deep,
sonorous, choked with tears one moment, ringing clear
the next — word by word — slowly — with infinite tender-
ness and infinite dignity and with the solemnity of a
condemned man awaiting death — repeated the Lord's
Prayer to the end.

Kennedy sat as if paralyzed. Richard Horn, who
had lifted up his hands in horror as the opening sen-
tence reached his ears, lowered his head upon his chest
as he would in church. There was no blasphemy in
this! It was the wail of a lost soul pleading for mercy!

Harry, cowering in his chair, gazed at Poe in amaze-
ment. Then a throb of such sympathy as he had
never felt before shook him to his depths. Could that
transfigured man praying there, the undried tears
still on his lids, be the same who had entered on his
uncle's arm but a few moments before?

Poe lifted his head, opened his eyes, walked in a
tired, hopeless way toward the mantel and sank into
an easy-chair. There he sat with bowed head, his
face in his hands.

221

KENNEDY SQUARE

One by one the men rose to their feet and, with a
nod or silent pressure of St. George's palm, moved
toward the door. When they spoke to each other it
was in whispers: to Todd, who brought their hats and
canes; to Harry, whom, unconsciously, they substi-
tuted for host; shaking his hand, muttering some
word of sympathy for St. George. No — they would
find their way, better not disturb his uncle, etc. They
would see him in the morning, etc., and thus the
group passed out in a body and left the house.

Temple himself was profoundly moved. The utter
helplessness of the man; his abject and complete sur-
render to the demon which possessed him — all this
appalled him. He had seen many drunken men in
his time — roysterers and brawlers, most of them — but
never one like Poe. The poet seemed to have lost
his identity — nothing of the man of the world was left
— in speech, thought, or movement.

When Harry re-entered, his uncle was sitting beside
the poet, who had not yet addressed him a word; nor
had he again raised his head. Every now and then
the sound of an indrawn breath would escape Poe, as
if hot tears were choking him.

St. George waved his hand meaningly.

"Tell Todd I'll ring for him when I want him,
Harry," he whispered, " and now do you go to sleep."
Then, pointing to the crouching man, " He must stay
in my bed here to-night; I won't leave him. WTiat a
pity! O God! what a pity! Poor fellow — how sorry
I am for him!"

222

Grasped the back of the chair reserved for him

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry was even more affected. Terrified and awe-
struck, he mounted the stairs to his room, locked his
chamber door, and threw himself on his bed, his
mother's and Kate's pleadings sounding in his ears,
his mind filled with the picture of the poet stand-
ing erect with closed eyes, the prayer his mother had
taught him falling from his lips. This, then, was what
his mother and Kate meant — this — the greatest of all
calamities — the overthrow of a man.

For the hundredth time he turned his wandering
search-light into his own heart. The salient features
of his own short career passed in review: the flutter-
ing of the torn card as it fell to the floor; the sharp
crack of Willits's pistol; the cold, harsh tones of his
father's voice when he ordered him from the house;
Kate's dear eyes streaming with tears and her uplifted
hands — their repellent palms turned toward him as
she sobbed — " Go away — my heart is broken ! " And
then the refrain of the poem which of late had haunted
him night and day:

"Disaster following fast and following faster,
Till his song one burden bore,"

and then the full, rich tones of Poe's voice pleading
with his Maker:

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who
trespass against us."

"Yes: — Disaster had followed fast and faster. But
why had it followed him ? What had he done to bring
all this misery upon himself? How could he have

223

KENNEDY SQUARE

acted differently? Wherein had he broken any law
he had been taught to uphold, and if he had broken it
why should he not be forgiven ? Why, too, had Kate
turned away from him? He had promised her never
to drink again; he had kept that promise, and, God
helping him, he would always keep it, as would any
other man who had seen what he had just seen to-night.
Perhaps he had trespassed in the duel, and yet he
would fight Willits again were the circumstances the
same, and in this view Uncle George upheld him. But
suppose he had trespassed — suppose he had commit-
ted a fault — as his father declared — why should not
Kate forgive him ? She had forgiven Willits, who was
drunk, and yet she would not forgive him, who had
not allowed a drop to pass his lips since he had
given her his promise. How could she, who could do
no wrong, expect to be forgiven herself when she not
only shut her door in his face, but left him without a
word or a line ? How could his father ask forgiveness
of his God when he would not forgive his son ? Why
were these two different from his mother and his
Uncle George, and even old Alec — who had nothing
but sympathy for him? Perhaps his education and
training had been at fault. Perhaps, as Richard Horn
had said, his standards of living were old-fashioned
and quixotic.

Only when the gray dawn stole in through the small
window of his room did the boy fall asleep.

224

CHAPTER XVI

Not only Kennedy Square, but Moorlands, rang with
accounts of the dinner and its consequences. Most
of those who were present and who witnessed the dis-
tressing spectacle had only words of sympathy for the
unfortunate man — his reverent manner, his contrite
tones, and abject humiliation disarming their criticism.
They felt that some sudden breaking down of the bar-
riers of his will, either physical or mental, had led to
the catastrophe. Richard Horn voiced the sentiments
of Foe's sympathizers when, in rehearsing the episode
the next afternoon at the club, he had said:

"His pitiable condition, gentlemen, was not the re-
sult of debauchery. Poe neither spoke nor acted like
a drunken man; he spoke and acted like a man whom
a devil had overcome. It was pathetic, gentlemen,
and it was heart-rending — really the most pitiful sight
I ever remember witnessing. His anguish, his strug-
gle, and his surrender I shall never forget; nor will his
God — for the prayer came straight from his heart."

"I don't agree with you, Horn," interrupted Clay-
ton. "Poe was plumb drunk! It is the infernal corn
whiskey he drinks that puts the devil in him. It may
be he can't get anything else, but it's a damnable
concoction all the same. Kennedy has about given

225

KENNEDY SQUARE

him up — told me so yesterday, and when Kennedy
gives a fellow up that's the last of him."

"Then I'm ashamed of Kennedy," retorted Horn.
"Any man who can write as Poe does should be for-
given, no matter what he does — if he be honest.
There's nothing so rare as genius in this world, and
even if his flame does burn from a vile-smelling wick
it's a flame, remember! — and one that will yet light the
ages. If I know anything of the literature of our time
Poe will live when these rhymers like Mr. Martin
Farquhar Tupper, whom everybody is talking about,
will be forgotten. Poe's possessed of a devil, I tell you,
who gets the better of him once in a while — it did the
night of St. George's dinner."

" Very charitable in you, Richard," exclaimed Pan-
coast, another dissenter — " and perhaps it will be just
as well for his family, if he has any, to accept your
view — but, devil or no devil, you must confess, Horn,
that it was pretty hard on St. George. If the man
has any sense of refinement — and he must have from
the way he writes — the best way out of it is for him
to own up like a man and say that Guy's barkeeper
filled him too full of raw whiskey, and that he didn't
come to until it was too late — that he was very sorry,
and wouldn't do it again. That's what I would have
done, and that's what you, Richard, or any other gen-
tleman, would have done."

Others, who got their information second hand, fol-
lowed the example of St. George's guests censuring
or excusing the poet in accordance with their previous

226

KENNEDY SQUARE

likes or dislikes. The " what-did-I-tell-yous " — Bow-
doin among them — and there were several — broke into
roars of laughter when they learned what had happened
in the Temple mansion. So did those who had not
been invited, and who still felt some resentment at
St. George's oversight.

Another group; and these were also to be found
at the club — thought only of St. George — old Murdock,
voicing their opinions when he said: "Temple laid
himself out, so I hear, on that dinner, and some of
us know what that means. And a dinner like that,
remember, counts with St. George. In the future it
will be just as well to draw the line at poets as well
as actors."

The Lord of Moorlands had no patience with any
of their views. Whether Poe was a drunkard or not
did not concern him in the least. What did trouble
him was the fact that St. George's cursed independence
had made him so far forget himself and his own birth
and breeding as to place a chair at his table for a man
in every way beneath him. Hospitality of that kind
was understandable in men like Kennedy and Latrobe
— one the leading literary light of his State, whose
civic duties brought him in contact with all classes —
the other a distinguished man of letters as well as
being a poet, artist, and engineer, who naturally
touched the sides of many personalities. So, too,
might Richard Horn be excused for stretching the
point — he being a scientist whose duty it was to wel-
come to his home many kinds of people — this man

227

KENNEDY SQUARE

Morse among them, with his farcical telegraph; a
man in the public eye who seemed to be more or less
talked about in the press, but of whom he himself
knew nothing, but why St. George Temple, who in
all probability had never read a line of Poe's or any-
body else's poetry in his life, should give this sot a
dinner, and why such sane gentlemen as Seymour,
Clayton, and Pancoast should consider it an honor to
touch elbows with him, was as unaccountable as it was
incredible.

Furthermore — and this is what rankled deepest in
his heart — St. George was subjecting his only son,
Harry, to corrupting influences, and at a time, too,
when the boy needed the uplifting examples of all
that was highest in men and manners.

"And you tell me, Alec," he blazed out on hearing
the details, " that the fellow never appeared until the
dinner was all over and then came in roaring drunk ? "

"Well, sah, I ain't yered nothin' 'bout de roarin',
but he suttinly was ' how-come-ye-so ' — fer dey couldn't
git 'im upstairs 'less dey toted 'him on dere backs.
Marse George Temple gin him his own baid an' sot
up mos' ob de night, an' dar he stayed fur fo' days till
he come to. Dat's what Todd done tol' me, an' I
reckon Todd knows."

The colonel was in his den when this conversation
took place. He was generally to be found there since
the duel. Often his wife, or Alec, or some of his
neighbors would surprise him buried in his easy-chair,
an unopened book in his hand, his eyes staring straight

228

KENNEDY SQUARE

ahead as if trying to grasp some problem which re-
peatedly eluded him. After the episode at the club
he became more absorbed than ever. It was that
episode, indeed, which had vexed him most. Not that
St. George's tongue-lashing worried him — nor did
Harry's blank look of amazement linger in his thoughts.
St. George, he had to confess to himself as he battled
with the questions, was the soul of honor and had not
meant to insult him. It was Temple's love for Harry
which had incited the quixotic onslaught, for, as he
knew, St. George dearly loved the boy, and this in itself
wiped all resentment from the autocrat's heart. As
to Harry's attitude toward himself, this he continued
to reason was only a question of time. That young
upstart had not learned his lesson yet — a harsh lesson,
it was true, and one not understood by the world at
large — but then the world was not responsible for his
son's bringing up. When the boy had learned it, and
was willing to acknowledge the error of his ways, then,
perhaps, he might kill the fatted calf — that is, of course,
if the prodigal should return on all fours and with no
stilted and untenable ideas about his rights — ideas
that St. George, of course, was instilling into him every
chance he got.

So far, however, he had had to admit to himself that
while he had kept steady watch of the line of hills
skirting his mental horizon, up to the present moment
no young gentleman in a dilapidated suit of clothes, in-
verted waist measure, and lean legs had shown himself
above the sky line. On the contrary, if all reports were

229

KENNEDY SQUARE

true — and Alec omitted no opportunity to keep him
advised of Marse Harry's every movement — the young
Lord of Moorlands was having the time of his life,
even if his sweetheart had renounced him and his
father forced him into exile. Not only had he found
a home and many comforts at Temple's — being treated
as an honored guest alongside of such men as Kennedy
and Latrobe, Pancoast, and the others, but now that
St. George had publicly declared him to be his heir,
these distinctive marks of his approbation were likely
to continue. Nor could he interfere, even if he wished
to — which, of course, he did not, and never could so
long as he lived. . . ."Damn him!" etc., etc. And with
this the book would drop from his lap and he begin
pacing the floor, his eyes on the carpet, his -broad
shoulders bent in his anxiety to solve the problem
which haunted him night and day: — how to get Harry
back under his roof and not yield a jot or tittle of his
pride or will — or, to be more explicit, now that the
mountain would not come to Mahomet, how could
Mahomet get over to the mountain ?

His friend and nearest neighbor, John Gorsuch, who
-was also his man of business, opened the way. The
financier's clerk had brought him a letter, just in by
the afternoon coach, and with a glance at its con-
tents the shrewd old fellow had at once ordered his
horse and set out for Moorlands, some two miles dis-
tant. Nor did he draw rein or break gallop until he
threw the lines to a servant beside the lower step of the
colonel's porch.

230

KENNEDY SQUARE

"It's the Patapsco again! It will close its doors
before the week is out!" he cried, striding into the
library, where the colonel, who had just come in from
inspecting a distant field on his estate, sat dusting his
riding-boots with his handkerchief.

"Going to stop payment! Failed! What the devil
do you mean, John?"

"I mean just what I say! Everything has gone to
bally-hack in the city. Here's a letter I have just re-
ceived from Harding — he's on the inside, and knows.
He thinks there's some crooked business about it;
they have been loaning money on all sorts of brick-
bats, he says, and the end has come, or will to-morrow.
He wanted to post me in time."

The colonel tossed his handkerchief on his writing-
table: "Who will be hurt?" he asked hurriedly, ig-
noring the reference to the dishonesty of the directors.

" Oh ! — a lot of people. Temple, I know, keeps his
account there. He was short of cash a little while ago,
for young Pawson, who has his law office in the base-
ment of his house, offered me a mortgage on his Ken-
nedy Square property, but I hadn't the money at the
time and didn't take it. If he got it at last — and he
paid heavily for it if he did — the way things have been
going — and if he put that money in the Patapsco, it
will be a bad blow to him. Harry, I hear, is with him
— so I thought you ought to know."

Rutter had given a slight start at the mention of
Temple's name among the crippled, and a strange
glitter still lingered in his eyes.

231

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Then I presume my son is dependent on a beggar,"
he exclaimed, rising from his seat, stripping off his
brown velveteen riding-jacket and hanging it in a closet
behind his chair.

"Yes, it looks that way."

Gorsuch was watching the colonel closely. He had
another purpose in making his breakneck ride. He
didn't have a dollar in the Patapsco, and he knew
the colonel had not; he, like himself, was too shrewd
a man to be bitten twice by the same dog; but he had
a large interest in Harry and would leave no stone
unturned to bring father and son together.

The colonel again threw himself into his chair,
stretched out his slender, well-turned legs, crooked
one of his russet-leather riding-boots to be sure the
spurs were still in place, and said slowly — rather
absently, as if the subject did not greatly interest
him:

"Patapsco failed and St. George a beggar, eh? —
Too bad! — too bad!" Then some disturbing sus-
picions must have entered his head, for he roused
himself, looked at Gorsuch keenly, and asked in a
searching tone: "And you came over full tilt, John,
to tell me this?"

"I thought you might help. St. George needs all
the friends he's got if this is true — and it looks to me as
if it was," answered Gorsuch in a casual way.

Rutter relaxed his gaze and resumed his position.
Had his suspicions been correct that Gorsuch's in-
terest in Harry was greater than his interest in the

232

KENNEDY SQUARE

bank's failure, he would have resented it even from
John Gorsuch.

Disarmed by the cool, unflinching gaze of his man
of business, his mind again took up in review all the
incidents connected with St. George and his son,
and what part each had played in them.

That Temple — good friend as he had always been
— had thwarted him in every attempt to bring about a
reconciliation between himself and Harry, had been
apparent from the very beginning of the difficulty.
Even the affair at the club showed it. This would
have ended quite differently — and he had fully in-
tended it should — had not St. George, with his cursed
officiousness, interfered with his plans. For what he
had really proposed to himself to do, on that spring
morning when he had rolled up to the club in his
coach, was to mount the steps, ignore his son at first,
if he should run up against him — (and he had selected
the very hour when he hoped he would run up against
him) — and then, when the boy broke down, as he
surely must, to forgive him like a gentleman and a
Rutter, and this, too, before everybody. Seymour
would see it — Kate would hear of it, and the honor
of the Rutters remain unblemished. Moreover, this
would silence once and for all those gabblers who had
undertaken to criticise him for what they called his
inhumanity in banishing this only son when he was
only trying to bring up that child in the way he should
go. Matters seemed to be coming his way. The fail-
ure of the Patapsco might be his opportunity. St.

233

KENNEDY SQUARE

George would be at his wits' end; Harry would be
forced to choose between the sidewalk and Moorlands,
and the old life would go on as before.

All these thoughts coursed through his mind as he
leaned back in his chair, his lips tight set, the jaw firm
1 and determined — only the lids quivering as he mastered
the tears that crept to their edges. Now and then,
in his mental absorption, he would absently cross his
legs only to straighten them out again, his state of
mind an open book to Gorsuch, who had followed the
same line of reasoning and who had brought the news
himself that he might the better watch its effect.

"I'm surprised that Temple should select the Pa-
tapsco. It has never got over its last smash of four
years ago," Gorsuch at last remarked. He did not
intend to let the topic drift away from Harry if he
could help it.

"I am not surprised, John. St. George is the best
fellow in the world, but he never lets anything work
but his heart. When you get at the bottom of it you
will find that he's backed up the bank because some
poor devil of a teller or clerk, or may be some director,
is his friend. That's enough for St. George, and fur-
ther than that he never goes. He's thrown away two
fortunes now — his grandmother's, which was small
but sound — and his father's, which if he had at-
tended to it would have kept him comfortable all
his life."

"You had some words at the club, I heard," in-
terjected Gorsuch.

234

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No, he had some words, I had a julep," and the
colonel smiled grimly.

" But you are still on good terms, are you not ? "

" I am, but he isn't. But that is of no consequence.
No man in his senses would ever get angry with St.
George, no matter what he might say or do. He hasn't
a friend in the world who could be so ill bred. And
as to calling him out — you would as soon think of
challenging your wife. St. George talks from his heart,
never his head. I have loved him for thirty years and
know exactly what I am talking about — and yet let me
tell you, Gorsuch, that with all his qualities — and he is
the finest-bred gentleman I know — he can come closer
to being a natural born fool than any man of his years
and position in Kennedy Square. This treatment of
my son — whom I am trying to bring up a gentleman —
is one proof of it, and this putting all his eggs into one
basket — and that a rotten basket — is another."

" Well, then — if that is your feeling about it, colonel,
why not go and see him ? As I have said, he needs all
the friends he's got at a time like this." If he could
bring the two men together the boy might come home.
Not to be able to wave back to Harry as he dashed past
on Spitfire, had been a privation which the whole set-
tlement had felt. "That is, of course," he continued,
" if St. George Temple would be willing to receive you.
He would be— wouldn't he ? "

" I don't know, John — and I don't care. If I should
make up my mind to go — remember, I said ' IF ' — I'd
go whether he liked it or not."

235

KENNEDY SQUARE

He had made up his mind — had made it up at the
precise moment the announcement of the bank's fail-
ure and St. George's probable ruin had dropped from
Gorsuch's lips — but none of this must Gorsuch sus-
pect. He would still be the doge and Virginius; he
alone must be the judge of when and how and where
he would show leniency. Generations of Rutters were
behind him — this boy was in the direct line — connect-
ing the past with the present — and on Colonel Talbot
Rutter of Moorlands, and on no other, rested the re-
sponsibility of keeping the glorious name unsmirched.

Todd, with one of the dogs at his heels, opened the
door for him, smothering a " Gor-a-Mighty ! — sumpin's
up fo' sho'!" when his hand turned the knob. He
had heard the clatter of two horses and their sudden
pull-up outside, and looking out, had read the situa-
tion at a glance. Old Matthew was holding the reins
of both mounts at the moment, for the colonel always
rode in state. No tying to hitching-posts or tree-boxes,
or picking up of a loose negro to watch his restless
steed when he had a stable full of thoroughbreds and
quarters packed with grooms.

"Yes, Marse Colonel — yes, sah — Marse George is
inside — yes, sah — but Marse Harry's out." He had
not asked for Harry, but Todd wanted him to get all
the facts in case there was to be another such scene as
black John described had taken place at the club on
the occasion of the colonel's last visit to the Chesa-
peake.

236

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Then I'll go in unannounced, and you need not
wait, Todd."

St. George was in his arm-chair by the mantel look-
ing over one of his heavy ducking-guns when the Lord
of Moorlands entered. He was the last man in the
world he expected to see, but he did not lose his self-
control or show in any way his surprise. He was
host, and Rutter was his guest; nothing eke counted
now.

St. George rose to his feet, laid the gun carefully on
the table, and with a cold smile on his face — one of
extreme courtesy — advanced to greet him.

"Ah, Talbot — it has been some time since I had
this pleasure. Let me draw up a chair for you — I'll
ring for Todd and "

"No, St. George. I prefer to talk to you alone."

"Todd is never an interruption."

"He may be to-day. I have something to say to
you — and I don't want either to be interrupted or mis-
understood. You and I have known each other too
many years to keep up this quarrel ; I am getting rather
sick of it myself."

St. George shrugged his shoulders, placed the gun
carefully in the rack by the door, and maintained
an attentive attitude. He would either fight or make
peace, but he must first learn the conditions. In the
meantime he would hold his peace.

Rutter strode past him to the fireplace, opened his
riding-jacket, laid his whip on the mantel, and with
his hands deep in his breeches pockets faced the room

237

KENNEDY SQUARE

and his host, who had again taken his place by
the table.

"The fact is, St. George, I have been greatly dis-
turbed of late by reports which have reached me
about my son. He is with you, I presume?"

St. George nodded.

Rutter waited for a verbal reply, and receiving none,
forged on: "Very greatly disturbed; so much so that
I have made an especial trip from Moorlands to call
upon you and ascertain their truth."

Again St. George nodded, the smile — one of ex-
treme civility now — still on his face. Then he added,
flicking some stray grains of tobacco from his sleeve
with his fingers: "That was very good of you, Talbot
— but go on — I'm listening."

The colonel's eyes kindled. Temple's perfect repose
— something he had not expected — was beginning to
get on his nerves. He cleared his throat impressively
and continued, his voice rising in intensity:

" Instead of leading the life of a young man brought
up as a gentleman, I hear he is consorting with the
lowest class of people here in your house — people
who "

" — Are my guests," interrupted St. George calmly
— loosening the buttons of his coat in search of his
handkerchief — there being more tobacco on his clothes
than he had supposed.

"Yes, you have hit it exactly — your guests — and
that is another thing I have come to tell you, for
neither I nor your friends can understand how a

238

KENNEDY SQUARE

man of your breeding should want to surround him-
self with "

— " Is it necessary that you should understand, Tal-
bot?" — same low, incisive but extremely civil voice,
almost monotonous in its cadences. The cambric was
in full play now.

"Of course it is necessary when it affects my own
flesh and blood. You know as well as I do that this
sot, Poe, is not a fit companion for a boy raised as my
Harry has been — a man picked out of the gutter —
his family a lot of play-actors — even worse, I hear.
A fellow who staggers into your house dead drunk and
doesn't sober up for a week! It's scandalous!"

Again St. George shrugged his shoulders, but one
hand was tight shut this time, the steel claws pro-
truding, the handkerchief alone saving their points
from pressing into the palms.

"And is that what you came from Moorlands to
tell me, Talbot?" remarked St. George casually, ad-
justing the lapels of his coat.

"Yes!" retorted Rutter — he was fast losing what
was left of his self-control — "that and some other
things! But we will attend to Harry first. You gave
that boy shelter when '

"Please state it correctly, Talbot. We can get on
better if you stick to the facts." The words came
slowly, but the enunciation was as perfect as if each
syllable had been parted with a knife. "I didn't
give him shelter — I gave him a home — one you denied
him. But go on — I prefer to hear you out."

239

KENNEDY SQUARE

The colonel's eyes blazed. He had never seen St.
George like this: it was Temple's hot outbursts that
had made him so easy an adversary in their recent
disputes.

"And you will please do the same, St. George,"
he demanded in his most top-lofty tone, ignoring his
opponent's denial. "You know perfectly well I turned
him out of Moorlands because he had disgraced his
blood, and yet you — my life-long friend — have had
the bad taste to interfere and drag him down still
lower, so that now, instead of coming to his senses and
asking my pardon, he parades himself at the club and
at your dinners, putting on the airs of an injured man."

St. George drew himself up to his full height.

" Let us change the subject, Talbot, or we will both
forget ourselves. If you have anything to say to me
that will benefit Harry and settle the difficulty between
him and you, I will meet you more than half-way, but
I give you fair warning that the apology must come
from you. You have — if you will permit me to say it
in my own house — behaved more like a brute than a
father. I told you so the night you turned him out
in the rain for me to take care of, and I told you so
again at the club when you tried to make a laughing-
stock of him before your friends — and now I tell you
so once more! Come! — let us drop the subject — what
may I offer you to drink ? — you must be rather chilled
with your ride in."

Rutter was about to flare out a denial when his
better judgment got the best of him; some other tactics

240

KENNEDY SQUARE

than the ones he had used must be brought into play.
So far he had made but little headway against Tem-
ple's astounding coolness.

"And I am to understand, then, that you are going
to keep him here?" he demanded, ignoring both his
host's criticisms and his proffered hospitality.

"I certainly am" — he was abreast of him now, his
eyes boring into his — "just as long as he wishes to
stay, which I hope will be all his life, or until you
have learned to be decent to him. And by decency,
I mean companionship, and love, and tenderness —
three things which your damned, high-toned notions
have always deprived him of!" His voice was still un-
der control, although the emphasis was unmistakable.

Rutter made a step forward, his eyes flashing, his
teeth set:

"You have the impertinence, sir, to charge me
with "

" — Yes! — and it's true and you know it's true!" —
the glance, steady as a rifle, had not wavered. "No,
you needn't work yourself up into a passion — and as
for your lordly, dictatorial airs, I am past the age
when they affect me — keep them for your servants.
By God ! — what a farce it all is ! Let us talk of some-
thing else — I am tired of it!"

The words cut like a whip, but the Lord of Moor-
lands had come to get his son, not to fight St. George.
Their sting, however, had completely changed his
plans. Only the club which Gorsuch had put into
his hands would count now.

241

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes — a damnable farce!" he thundered, "and one
played by a man with beggary staring him straight
in the face, and yet to hear you talk one would think
you were a Croesus! You mortgaged this house to
get ready money, did you not?" He was not sure,
but this was no time in which to split words.

St. George turned quickly: "Who told you that?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes! Do you suppose I would let Harry sneak
around corners to avoid his creditors?"

The colonel gave an involuntary start, the blood
mounting to the roots of his hair, and as suddenly
paled :

"You tell me that — you dared to — pay Harry's
debts?" he stammered in amazement.

"Dared!" retorted St. George, lifting his chin con-
temptuously. " Really, Talbot, you amuse me. When
you set that dirty hound Gadgem on his trail, what
did you expect me to do? — invite the dog to dinner?—
or have him sleep in the house until I sold furniture
enough to get rid of him ? "

The colonel leaned back against the mantel's edge
as if for support. All the fight was out of him. Not
only was the situation greatly complicated, but he
himself was his host's debtor. The seriousness of
the whole affair confronted him. For a brief instant
he gazed at the floor, his eyes on the hearthrug, " Have
you any money left, St. George?" he asked. His
voice was subdued enough now. Had he been his
solicitor he could not have been more concerned.

242

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes, a few thousand," returned St. George. He
saw that some unexpected shot had hit the colonel,
but he did not know he had fired it.

"Left over from the mortgage, I suppose? — less
what you paid out for Harry?"

"Yes, left over from the mortgage, less what I paid
Gadgem," he bridled. "If you have brought any
more of Harry's bills hand them out. Why the devil
you ask, Talbot, is beyond my ken, but I have no
objection to your knowing."

Rutter waved his hand impatiently, with a depre-
cating gesture; such trifles were no longer important.

"You bank with the Patapsco, do you not?" he
asked calmly. "Answer me, please, and don't think
I'm trying to pry into your affairs. The matter is
much more serious than you seem to think." The
tone was so sympathetic that St. George looked closer
into his antagonist's face, trying to read the cause.

"Always with the Patapsco. I have kept my ac-
count there for years," he rejoined simply. "Why
do you want to know?"

"Because it has closed its doors — or will in a few
hours. It is bankrupt!"

There was no malice in his tone, nor any note of
triumph. That St. George had beggared himself to
pay his son's debts had wiped that clear. He was
simply announcing a fact that caused him the deepest
concern.

St. George's face paled, and for a moment a pecu-
liar choking movement started in his throat.

243

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Bankrupt! — the Patapsco! How do you know?"
He had heard some ugly rumors at the club a few
days before, but had dismissed them as part of Hard-
ing's croakings.

"John Gorsuch received a letter last night from
one of the directors; there is no doubt of its truth.
I have suspected its condition for some time, so has
Gorsuch. This brought me here. You see now how
impossible it is for my son to be any longer a burden
on you."

St. George walked slowly across the room and
drawing out a chair settled himself to collect his
thoughts the better; — he had remained standing as the
better way to terminate the interview should he be
compelled to exercise that right. The two announce-
ments had come like successive blows in the face. If
the news of the bank's failure was true he was badly,
if not hopelessly, crippled — this, however, would wait,
as nothing he might do could prevent the catastro-
phe. The other — Harry's being a burden to him —
must be met at once.

He looked up and caught the colonel's eye scrut-
inizing his face.

"As to Harry's being a burden," St. George said
slowly, his lip curling slightly — "that is my affair.
As to his remaining here, all I have to say is that if
a boy is old enough to be compelled to pay his debts
he is old enough to decide where he will live. You
have yourself established that rule and it will be
carried out to the letter."

244

KENNEDY SQUARE

Rutter's face hardened: "But you haven't got a
dollar in the world to spare!"

"That may be, but it doesn't altar the situation;
it rather strengthens it." He rose from his chair:
"I think we are about through now, Talbot, and if
you will excuse me I'll go down to the bank and see
what is the matter. I will ring for Todd to bring
your hat and coat." He did not intend to continue
the talk. There had just been uncovered to him a
side of Talbot Rutter's nature which had shocked him
as much as had the threatened loss of his money.
To use his poverty as a club to force him into a posi-
tion which would be dishonorable was inconceivable
in a man as well born as his antagonist, but it was
true: he could hardly refrain from telling him so.
He had missed, it may be said, seeing another side —
his visitor's sympathy for him in his misfortune.
That, unfortunately, he did not see: fate often plays
such tricks with us all.

The colonel stepped in front of him: his eyes had
an ugly look in them — the note of sympathy was gone.

" One moment, St. George ! How long you are go-
ing to keep up this fool game, I don't know; but my
son stays here on one condition, and on one condition
only, and you might as well understand it now. From
this time on I pay his board. Do you for one instant
suppose I am going to let you support him, and you a
beggar?"

St. George made a lunge toward the speaker as if
to strike him. Had Rutter fired point-blank at him

245

KENNEDY SQUARE

he could not have been more astounded. For an in-
stant he stood looking into his face, then whirled sud-
denly and swung wide the door.

" May I ask you, Talbot, to leave the room, or shall
I? You certainly cannot be in your senses to make
me a proposition like that. This thing has got to
come to an end, and now! I wish you good-morning."

The colonel lifted his hands in a deprecatory way.

"As you will, St. George."

And without another word the baffled autocrat
strode from the room.

246

CHAPTER XVII

There was no one at home when Harry returned
except Todd, who, having kept his position outside
the dining-room door during the heated encoun-
ter, had missed nothing of the interview. What had
puzzled the darky — astounded him really — was that
no pistol-shot had followed his master's denounce-
ment and defiance of the Lord of Moorlands. What
had puzzled him still more was hearing these same
antagonists ten minutes later passing the time o' day,
St. George bowing low and the colonel touching his
hat as he passed out and down to where Matthew
and his horses were waiting.

It was not surprising, therefore, that Todd's recital
to Harry came in a more or less disjointed and dis-
connected form.

"You say, Todd," he exclaimed in astonishment,
"that my father was here!" Our young hero was
convinced that the visit did not concern himself, as
he was no longer an object of interest to any one at
home except his mother and Alec.

" Dat he was, sah, an' b'ilin' mad. Dey bofe was,
on'y Marse George lay low an' de colonel purty nigh
rid ober de top ob de fence. Fust Marse George sass
him an' den de colonel sass him back. Purty soon

247

KENNEDY SQUARE

Marse George say he gwinter speak his min' — and
he call de colonel a brute an' den de colonel riz up
an' say Marse George was a beggar and a puttin' on
airs when he didn't hab 'nough money to buy hisse'f
a 'tater; an* den Marse George r'ared and pitched—
Oh! I tell ye he ken be mighty sof and persimmony
when he's tame — and he's mos* allers dat way — but
when his dander's up, and it suttinly riz to-day, he
kin make de fur fly. Dat's de time you wanter git
outer de way or you'll git hurted."

"Who did you say was the beggar?" It was all
Greek to Harry.

" Why, Marse George was — he was de one what was
gwine hongry. De colonel 'lowed dat de bank was
busted an' "

"What bank?"

"Why de 'Tapsco — whar Marse George keep his
money. Ain't you see me comin' from dar mos' ebery
day?"

" But it hasn't failed, has it ? " He was still wonder-
ing what the quarrel was about.

"Wall, I dunno, but I reckon sumpin's de matter,
for no sooner did de colonel git on his horse and ride
away dan Marse George go git his hat and coat hisse'f
and make tracks th'ou' de park by de short cut — and
you know he neber do dat 'cept when he's in a hurry,
and den in 'bout a ha'f hour he come back ag'in lookin'
like he'd seed de yahoo, only he was mad plump
th'ou'; den he hollered for me quick like, and sont me
down underneaf yere to Mr. Pawson to know was he

248

i

KENNEDY SQUARE

in, and he was, and I done tol' him, and he's dar now.
He ain't neber done sont me down dar 'cept once
sence I been yere, and dat was de day dat Gadgem
man come snuffin' roun'. Trouble comin'."

Harry had now begun to take in the situation. It
was evidently a matter of some moment or Pawson
would not have been consulted.

"I'll go down myself, Todd," he said with sudden
resolve.

" Better lem'me tell him you're yere, Marse Harry."

"No, I'll go now," and he turned on his heel and
descended the front steps.

On the street side of the house, level with the bricks,
was a door opening into a low-ceiled, shabbily fur-
nished room, where in the old days General Dorsey
Temple, as has been said, shared his toddies with his
cronies. There he found St. George seated at a long
table piled high with law books and papers — the top
covered with a green baize cloth embroidered with
mice holes and decorated with ink stains. Beside
him was a thin, light-haired, young man, with a long,
flexible neck and abnormally high forehead, over-
doming a shrewd but not unkindly face. The two
were poring over a collection of papers.

The young lawyer rose to his feet, a sickly, defer-
ential smile playing along his straight lips. Young
aristocrats of Harry's blood and breeding did not
often darken Pawson's door, and he was extremely
anxious that his guest should in some way be made
aware of his appreciation of that fact. St. George

249

KENNEDY SQUARE

did not move, nor did he take any other notice of
the boy's appearance than to fasten his eyes upon
him for a moment in recognition of his presence.

But Harry could not wait.

"Todd has just told me, Uncle George, that"-
he caught the grave expression on Temple's face —
"Why! — Uncle George — there isn't anything the mat-
ter, is there? It isn't true that the—

St. George raised his head: "What isn't true,
Harry?"

"That the Patapsco Bank is in trouble?"

"No, I don't think so. The bank, so far as I
know, is all right; it's the depositors who are in
trouble," and one of his quaint smiles lighted up his
face.

"Broken! — failed!" cried Harry, still in doubt as
to the extent of the catastrophe, but wishing to be
sympathetic and proportionably astounded as any
well-bred young man should be when his best friend
was unhappy.

"I'm afraid it is, Harry — in fact I know it is —
bankrupt in character as well as in balances — a bad-
smelling, nasty mess, to tell you the truth. That's not
only my own opinion, but the opinion of every man
whom I have seen, and there was quite an angry mob
when I reached the teller's window this morning.
That is your own opinion also, is it not, Mr. Paw-
son? — your legal summing up, I mean."

The young attorney stretched out his spare colorless
hands; opened wide his long, double-jointed fingers;

250

KENNEDY SQUARE

pressed their ten little cushions together, and see-
sawing the bunch in front of his concave waistcoat,
answered in his best professional voice:

"As to being bankrupt of funds I should say there
was no doubt of that being their condition; as to any
criminal intent or practices — that, of course, gentle-
men"— and he shrugged his shoulders in a non-com-
mittal, non-actionable way — " is not for me to decide.'*

"But you think it will be months, and perhaps
years, before the depositors get a penny of their money
— do you not?" persisted St. George.

Again Pawson performed the sleight-of-hand trick,
and again he was non-committal — a second shrug
alone expressing his views, the performance ending by
his pushing a wooden chair in the direction of Harry,
who was still on his feet.

Harry settled himself on its edge and fixed his eyes
on his uncle. St. George again became absorbed in
the several papers, Pawson once more assisting him,
the visitor having now been duly provided for.

This raking of ashes in the hope of finding some-
thing of value unscorched was not a pleasant task
for the young lawyer. He had, years before, con-
ceived the greatest admiration for his landlord and
was never tired of telling his associates of how kind
and considerate St. George had always been, and of
his patience in the earlier days of his lease, Mr. Tem-
ple often refusing the rent until he was quite ready
to pay it. He took a certain pride, too, in living under
the same roof, so to speak, with one universally known

251

KENNEDY SQUARE

as a gentleman of the old school, whose birth, educa-
tion, and habits made him the standard among his
fellows — a man without pretence or sham, living a
simple and wholesome life; with dogs, guns, priceless
Madeira and Port, as well as unlimited clothes of
various patterns adapted to every conceivable service
and function — to say nothing of his being part of the
best society that Kennedy Square could afford.

Even to bow to his distinguished landlord as he was
descending his front steps was in itself one of his
greatest pleasures. That he might not miss it, he
would peer from behind his office shutters until the
shapely legs of his patron could be seen between the
twisted iron railing. Then appearing suddenly and
with assumed surprise, he would lift his hat with so
great a flourish that his long, thin arms and body were
jerked into semaphore angles, his face meanwhile
beaming with ill-concealed delight.

Should any one of St. George's personal friends
accompany him — men like Kennedy, or General Har-
disty, or some well-known man from the Eastern Shore
— one of the Dennises, or Joyneses, or Irvings — the
pleasure was intensified, the incident being of great
professional advantage. "I have just met old Gen-
eral Hardisty," he would say — "he was at our house,"
the knowing ones passing a wink around, and the
uninitiated having all the greater respect and, there-
fore, all the greater confidence in that rising young
firm of "Pawson & Pawson, Attorneys and Counsel-
lors at Law — Wills drawn and Estates looked after."

252

KENNEDY SQUARE

That this rarest of gentlemen, of all men in the
world, should be made the victim of a group of
schemers who had really tricked him of almost all
that was left of his patrimony, and he a member of
his own profession, was to Pawson one of the great
sorrows of his life. That he himself had unwittingly
helped in its culmination made it all the keener. Only
a few weeks had passed since that eventful day when
St. George had sent Todd down to arrange for an
interview, an event which was followed almost imme-
diately by that gentleman in person. He remembered
his delight at the honor conferred upon him; he re-
called how he had spent the whole of that and the
next day in the attempt to negotiate the mortgage on
the old home at a reasonable rate of interest; he re-
called, too, how he could have lowered the rate had
St. George allowed him more time. "No, pay it and
get rid of them!" St. George had said, the "them"
being part of the very accounts over which the two
were poring. And his patron had showed the same
impatience when it came to placing the money in the
bank. Although his own lips were sealed profession-
ally by reason of the interests of another client, he
had begged St. George, almost to the verge of inter-
ference, not to give it to the Patapsco, until he had
been silenced with: "Have them put it to my credit,
sir. I have known every member of that bank for
years."

All these things were, of course, unknown to Harry,
the ultimate beneficiary. Who had filled the bucket,

253

KENNEDY SQUARE

and how and why, were unimportant facts to him.
That it was full, and ready for his use, brought with
it the same sense of pleasure he would have felt on a
hot day at Moorlands when he had gone to the old well,
drawn up the ice-cold water, and, plunging in the
sweet-smelling gourd, had drank to his heart's con-
tent.

This was what wells were made for; and so were
fathers, and big, generous men like his Uncle George,
who had dozens of friends ready to cram money into
his pocket for him to hand over to whoever wanted it
and without a moment's hesitation — just as Slater
had handed him the money he needed when Gilbert
wanted it in a hurry.

Nor could it be expected that Harry, even with the
examination of St. George's accounts with the Patapsco
and other institutions going on under his very eyes,
understood fully just what a bank failure really meant.
Half a dozen banks, he remembered, had gone to
smash some few years before, sending his father to
town one morning at daylight, where he stayed for a
week, but no change, so far as he could recall, had
happened because of it at Moorlands. Indeed, his
father had bought a new coach for his mother the
very next week, out of what he had " saved from the
wreck," so he had told her.

It was not until the hurried overhauling of a mass
of papers beneath his uncle's hand, and the subsequent
finding of a certain stray sheet by Pawson, that the
boy was aroused to a sense of the gravity of the situa-

254

KENNEDY SQUARE

tion. And even then his interest did not become
acute until, the missing document identified, St. George
had turned to Pawson and, pointing to an item half-
way down the column, had said in a lowered tone,
as if fearing to be overheard:

"You have the receipts, have you not, for every-
thing on this list? — Slater's account too, and Hamp-
son's?"

"They are in the file beside you, sir."

"Well, that's a comfort, anyhow."

"And the balance" — here he examined a small
book which lay open beside him — "amounting to" —
he paused — " is of course locked up in their vaults ? "

Harry had craned his head in instant attention.
His quickened ears had caught two familiar names.
It was Slater who had loaned him the five hundred
dollars which he gave to Gilbert, which his father had
commended him for borrowing; and it was Hamp-
son who had sold him the wretched horse that had
stumbled and broken his leg and had afterwards to
be shot.

"Slater, did you say, Uncle George — and Hamp-
son? Aren't they my old accounts?"

"Quite right, Mr. Rutter — quite right, sir." St.
George tried to stop him with a frown, but Pawson's
face was turned towards Harry and he failed to get
the signal. "Quite right, and quite lucky; they were
both important items in Mr. Gadgem's list, and both
cheeks passed through the bank and were paid before
the smash came."

255

KENNEDY SQUARE

The tones of Pawson's voice, the twisting together
of his bony hands in a sort of satisfied contentment,
and the weary look on his uncle's face were the open-
ing of so many windows in the boy's brain. At the
same instant one of those creepy chills common to a
man when some hitherto undiscovered vista of im-
pending disaster widens out before him, started at
the base of Harry's spine, crept up his shoulder-blades,
shivered along his arms, and lost itself in his benumbed
fingers. This was followed by a lump in his throat
that nearly strangled him. He left his chair and
touched Pawson on the shoulder.

"Does this mean, Mr. Pawson — this money being
locked up in the bank vaults and not coming out for
months — and may be never — does it mean that Mr.
Temple — well, that Uncle George — won't have enough
money to live on?" There was an anxious, vibrant
tone in Harry's voice that aroused St. George to a
sense of the boy's share in the calamity and the pri-
vations he must suffer because of it. Pawson hesitated
and was about to belittle the gravity of the situation
when St. George stopped him.

"Yes — tell him — tell him everything, I have no
secrets from Mr. Rutter. Stop!— I'll tell him. It
means, Harry" — and a brave smile played about his
lips — "that we will have to live on hog and hominy,
may be, or pretty nigh it — certainly for a while — not
bad, old fellow, when you get accustomed to it. Aunt
Jemima makes very good hominy and "

He stopped; the brave smile had faded from his face.
256

KENNEDY SQUARE

"By Jove! — that's something I didn't think of! —
What will I do with the dear old woman — It would
break her heart — and Todd?"

Here was indeed something on which he had not
counted! For him to forego the luxuries that en-
riched his daily life was easy — he had often in his
hunting trips lived for weeks on sweet potato and a
handful of cornmeal, and slept on the bare ground
with only a blanket over him, but that his servants
should be reduced to similar privations suggested
possibilities which appalled him. For the first time
since the cruel announcement fell from Rutter's lips
the real situation, with all that it meant to his own
future and those dependent upon him, stared him in
the face.

He looked up and caught Harry's anxious eyes
scanning his own. His old-time, unruffled spirit came
to his assistance.

"No, son!" he cried in his cheeriest voice, spring-
ing to his feet — " no, we won't worry. It will all come
out right — we'll buckle down to it together, you and I.
Don't take it too much to heart — we'll get on some-
how."

But the boy was not reassured; in fact, he had be-
come more anxious than ever. Not only did the chill
continue, but the lump in his throat grew larger every
minute.

"But, Uncle George — you told me you borrowed
the money to pay those bills my father sent me.
And will you now have to pay that back as well?"

257

KENNEDY SQUARE

He did not ask of whom he had borrowed it, nor
on what security, nor would either Pawson or his
uncle have told him, that being a confidential
matter.

"Well, that depends, Harry; but we won't have to
pay it right away, which is one comfort. And then
again, I can go back to the law. I have yet to make
my maiden speech before a jury, but I can do it.
Think of it! — everybody in tears, the judge mop-
ping his eyes — court-room breathless. Oh, you just
wait until your old uncle gets on his feet before a
bench and jury. Come along, old fellow — let us go
up into the house." Then in a serious tone — his
back to Harry — "Pawson, please bring the full
accounts with you in the morning, and now let me
thank you for your courtesy. You have been ex-
tremely civil, sir, and I appreciate it most highly."

When they had reached the front walk and were
about to climb the immaculate steps, St. George, still
determined to divert the boy's thoughts from his own
financial straits, said with a laugh:

"Todd told you, of course, about your father
paying me a visit this morning, did he not?"

"Oh, yes! — a most extraordinary account. You
must have enjoyed it," replied Harry, trying to fall
into his uncle's mood, his heart growing heavier
every moment. "What did he want?"

One of St. George's heat-lightning smiles played
over his face: "He wanted two things. He first
wanted you, and then he wanted a receipt for a

258

KENNEDY SQUARE

month's board — your board, remember! He went
away without either."

A new perspective suddenly opened up in Harry's
mind; one that had a gleam of sunshine athwart it.

"But, Uncle George!" he burst out— "don't for-
get that my father owes you all the money you paid
for me! That, of course, will eventually come back
to you." This came in a tone of great relief, as if
the money was already in his hand.

St. George's face hardened : " None of it will come
back to me," he rejoined in a positive tone. "He
doesn't owe me one single penny and he never will.
That money he owes to you. Whatever you may
happen to owe me can wait until you are able to pay
it. And now while I am talking about it, there is
another thing your father owes you, and that is an
humble apology, and that he will pay one of these
days in tears and agony. You are neither a beggar
nor a cringing dog, and you never will be so long as I
can help it!" He stopped, rested his hand on the
boy's shoulder, and with a quiver in his voice added:

"Your hand, my son. Short commons after this,
may be, but we will make the fight together."

When the two passed through the front door and
stepped into the dining-room they found it filled with
gentlemen — friends who had heard of the crash and
who had come either to extend their sympathy or
offer their bank accounts. They had heard of the
catastrophe at the club and had instantly left their
seats and walked across the park in a body.

259

KENNEDY SQUARE

To one and all St. George gave a warm pressure
of the hand and a bright smile. Had he been the
master of ceremonies at a state reception he could not
have been more self-possessed or more gallant; his
troubles were for himself, never for his guests.

"All in a lifetime — but I am not worrying. The
Patapsco pulled out once before and it may again.
My only regret is that I cannot, at least for a time,
have as many of you as I would wish under my ma-
hogany. But don't let us borrow any trouble; cer-
tainly not to-day. Todd, get some glasses and bring
me that bottle of Madeira — the one there on the side-
board!" Here he took the precious fluid from Todd's
hand and holding high the crusted bottle said with a
dry smile — one his friends knew when his irony was
aroused: "That wine, gentlemen, saw the light at a
time when a man locked his money in an iron box to
keep outside thieves from stealing it; to-day he locks
his money in a bank's vault and locks the thieves
in with it. Extraordinary, is it not, how we gentle-
men trust each other? Here, Todd, draw the cork!
. . . Slowly. . . . Now hand me the bottle — yes —
Clayton, that's the same wine that you and Kennedy
liked so much the night we had Mr. Poe with us.
It is really about all there is left of my father's Black
Warrior of 1810. I thought it was all gone, but Todd
found two more the other day, one of which I sent
to Kennedy. This is the other. Kennedy writes me
he is keeping his until we can drink it together. Is
everybody's glass full? Then my old toast if you

260

KENNEDY SQUARE

will permit me: ' Here's to love and laughter, and every
true friend of my true friend my own!' '

Before the groups had dispersed Harry had the
facts in his possession — principally from Judge Pan-
coast, who gava him a full account of the bank's
collapse, some papers having been handed up to him
on the bench that morning. Summed up, his uncle
was practically ruined — and he, Harry, was the cause
of it — the innocent cause, perhaps, but the cause all
the same : but for his father's cruelty and his own debts
St. George would never have mortgaged his home.
That an additional sum — his uncle's entire deposit —
had been swallowed up in the crash was but part of
the same misfortune. Poe's lines were true, then —
never so true as now:

"Some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and /ollowed faster ..."

This, then, was ever after to be his place in life —
to bring misery wherever he went.

He caught up his hat and walked through the park
beside the judge, hoping for some further details of his
uncle's present plight and future condition, but the
only thing his Honor added to what he already knew
was his wonderment over the fact that St. George,
having no immediate use for the money except to pay
his bills, should have raised so large a sum on a mort-
gage instead of borrowing it from his friends. It was
here that Harry's heart gave a bound : — no one, then,

261

KENNEDY SQUARE

but his uncle, Pawson, and himself knew that he
alone was responsible for the catastrophe! That
his father should have learned of his share in it did
not enter the boy's head.

Todd answered his knock on his return, and in
reply to his inquiry informed him "that he must not
sit up, as " Marse George" had left word that he would
be detained until late at a meeting of the creditors of
the bank.

And so the unhappy lad, his supper over, sought
his bed and, as had occurred more than once before,
spent the earlier hours of the night gazing at the ceiling
and wondering what would become of him.

262

CHAPTER XVIII

With the breaking of the dawn Harry's mind was
made up. Before the sun was an hour high he had
dressed hurriedly, stolen downstairs so as to wake
no one, and closing the front door softly behind him
had taken the long path through the park in the
direction of the wharves. Once there, he made the
rounds of the shipping offices from Light Street wharf
to the Falls — and by the time St. George had finished
dressing — certainly before he was through his coffee
— had entered the name of Henry Rutter on two sets
of books — one for a position as supercargo and the
other, should nothing better be open, as common
seaman. All he insisted upon was that the ship
should sail at once. As to the destination, that was
of no consequence, nor did the length of the voyage
make any difference. He remembered that his in-
timate friend, Gilbert, had some months before gone
as supercargo to China, his father wanting him to
see something of the world; and if a similar position
were open he could, of course, give references as to his
character — a question the agent asked him — but, then,
Gilbert had a father to help him. Should no such
position be available, he would ship before the mast,
or serve as cook or cabin-boy, or even scullion — but
he would not live another day or hour dependent on

263

KENNEDY SQUARE

his dear Uncle George, who had impoverished himself
in his behalf.

He selected the sea instead of going into the army
as a common soldier because the sea had always ap-
pealed to him. He loved its freedom and its dangers.
Then again, he was young and strong — could climb
like a cat — sail a boat — swim — Yes! — the sea was
the place! He could get far enough away behind its
horizons to hide the struggle he must make to ac-
complish the one purpose of his life — the earning of
his debt.

Filled with this idea he began to perfect his plans,
determining to take no one into his confidence until
the day before the ship was ready to sail. He would
then send for his mother and Alec — bring them all
down to St. George's house and announce his in-
tention. That was the best and wisest way. As for
Kate — who had now been at home some weeks — he
would pour out his heart to her in a letter. This was
better than an interview, which she would doubtless
refuse: — a letter she would be obliged to read and,
perhaps, answer. As for his dear Uncle George — it
would be like tearing his heart out to leave him, but
this wrench had to be met and it was best to do it
quickly and have done with it.

When this last thought took possession a sudden
faintness crept over him. How could he leave his
uncle? What St. George was to him no one but him-
self knew — father, friend, comrade, adviser — stand-
ard of men and morals — all and more was his beloved

264

KENNEDY SQUARE

uncle. No thought of his heart but he had given
him, and never once had he been misunderstood. He
could put his arm about his uncle's neck as he would
about his mother's and not be thought effeminate or
childish. And the courtesy and dignity and fairness
with which he had been treated; and the respect St.
George showed him — and he only a boy: compelling
his older men friends to do the same. Never letting
him feel that any foolish act of his young life had been
criticised, or that any one had ever thought the less of
him because of them.

Breakfast over, during which no allusion was made
either to what St. George had accomplished at the
conference of creditors the night before, or to Harry's
early rising — the boy made his way into the park and
took the path he loved. It was autumn, and the mild
morning air bespoke an Indian summer day. Pass-
ing beneath the lusty magnolias, which flaunted here
and there their glossy leaves, he paused under one
of the big oaks, whose branches, stripped of most of
their foliage, still sheltered a small, vine-covered arbor
where he and Kate had often sat — indeed, it was
within its cool shade that he had first told her of his
love. Here he settled himself on a small wooden bench
outside the retreat and gave his thoughts full rein —
not to repine, nor to revive his troubles, which he
meant to put behind him — but to plan out the letter he
was to write Kate. This must be clear and convinc-
ing and tell the whole story of his heart. That he
might empty it the better he had chosen this place

265

KENNEDY SQUARE

made sacred by her presence. Then again, the park
was generally deserted at this hour — the hour between
the passing of the men of business and the coming of
the children and nurses — and he would not be inter-
rupted— certainly not before this arbor — one off by
itself and away from passers-by.

He seated himself on the bench, his eyes overlook-
ing the park. All the hours he had passed with Kate
beneath the wide-spreading trees rose in his mind;
the day they had read aloud to each other, her pretty
feet tucked under her so that the dreadful ants couldn't
touch her dainty stockings; the morning when she
was late and he had waited and fumed stretching
minutes into hours in his impatience; that summer
night when the two had hidden behind the big oak
so that he could kiss her good-night and none of the
others see.

With these memories stirring, his letter was forgot-
ten, and his head dropped upon his breast, as if the
weight of all he had lost was greater than he could
bear. Grasping his walking-stick the tighter he be-
gan tracing figures in the gravel, his thoughts follow-
ing each line. Suddenly his ears caught the sound
of a quick step — one he thought strangely familiar.

He raised his eyes.

Kate had passed him and had given no sign of her
presence!

He sprang from his seat:

"Kate! — Kate! — Are you going to treat me as my
father treated me! Don't, please! — You'll never

266

KENNEDY SQUARE

see me again — but don't cut me like that: I have
never done anything but love you!"

The girl came to a halt, but she did not turn her
head, nor did she answer.

"Please, Kate — won't you speak to me? It may
be the last time I shall ever see you. I am going
away from Kennedy Square. I was going to write
you a letter; I came out here to think of what I ought
to say "

She raised her head and half turned her trembling
body so that she could see his face, her eyes reading
his.

" I didn't think you wanted me to speak to you or
you would have looked up."

"I didn't see you until you had passed. Can't we
sit down here? — no one will see ris."

She suffered him to take her hand and lead her to
the bench. There she sat, her eyes still searching
his face — a wondering, eager look, discovering every
moment some old remembered spot — an eyebrow, or
the line at the corner of the mouth, or the round of the
cheek — each and every one bringing back to her the
days that were past and gone never to return.

"You are going away?" she said at last — "why?
Aren't you happy with Uncle George? He would
miss you, I am sure." She had let the scarf fall from
her shoulders as she spoke, bringing into view the
full round of her exquisite throat. He had caught
its flash, but he could not trust himself to look the
closer.

267

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Not any more than I shall miss him," he rejoined
sadly; "but he has lost almost everything he had in
the bank failure and I cannot have him support me
any longer — so I am going to sea."

Kate started forward and laid her hand on his
wrist: "To sea! — in a ship I Where?" The inquiry
came with such suddenness and with so keen a
note of pain in her voice that Harry's heart gave a
bound. It was not St. George's losses then she was
thinking of — she was thinking of him! He raised
his eyes quickly and studied her face the closer; then
his heart sank again. No! — he was wrong — there
was only wonder in her gaze; only her usual curiosity
to know every detail of what was going on around her.

With a sigh he resumed his bent position, talking
to the end of his walking-stick tracing figures in the
gravel: "I shall go to Rio, probably," he continued
in the same despondent tone — "or China. That's
why I called after you. I sail day after to-morrow —
Saturday at the latest — and it may be a good many
years before I get back again, and so I didn't want to
go, Kate, without telling you that — that — I forgive
you for everything you have done to me — and whether
you forgive me or not, I have kept my promises to
you, and I will always keep them as long as I live."

" What does dear Uncle George think of it ? " She
too was addressing the end of the stick; gaining time
to make up her mind what to do and say. The old
wound, of course, could not be opened, but she might
save him and herself from fresh ones.

268

KENNEDY SQUARE

"He doesn't know I am going; nobody knows but
you. I have been a curse to every one who has been
kind to me, and I am going now where there will be
nobody but strangers about me. To leave Uncle
George breaks my heart, but so does it break my heart
to leave my precious mother and dear old Alec, who
cries all the time and has now taken to his bed, I hear."

She waited, but her name was not added to the list,
nor did he raise his head.

"I deserve it all, I suspect," he went on, "or it
wouldn't be sent to me; but it's over now. If I ever
come back it will be when I am satisfied with myself;
if I never come back, why then my former hard luck
has followed me — that's all. And now may I talk to
you, Kate, as I used to do sometimes?" He straight-
ened up, threw down his cane, and turned his shoul-
ders so he could look her squarely in the eyes. " If I
say anything that offends you you can get up and walk
away and I won't follow you, nor will I add another
word. You may never see me again, and if it is not
what I ought to say, you can forget it all when I am
gone. Kate!" — he paused, and for a moment it was
all he could do to control himself. " What I want to
tell you first is this — that I haven't had a happy day
or hour since that night on the stairs in my father's
house. Whether I was right or wrong I don't know;
what followed is what I couldn't help, but that part I
don't regret, and if any one should behave to you
as Willits did I would do it over again. What I do
regret is the pain it has caused you. And now here

269

KENNEDY SQUARE

comes this awful sorrow to Uncle George, and I am
the cause of that too."

She turned her face quickly, the color leaving her
cheeks as if alarmed. Had he been behaving badly
again ? But he swept it away with his next sentence

" You see, my father refused to pay any of the bills
I owed and Uncle George paid them for me — and I
can't have that go on a day longer — certainly not now."

Kate's shoulders relaxed. A sigh of relief spent it-
self; Harry was still an honest gentleman, whatever
else he might have done!

" And now comes the worst of it, Kate." His voice
sank almost to a whisper, as if even the birds should
not hear this part of his confession: "Yes — the worst
of it — that I have had all this to suffer — all this mis-
ery to endure — all these insults of my father to bear
without you! Always, before, we have talked things
out together; then you were shut away and I could
only look up at your windows and rack my brain
wondering where you were and what you were doing.
It's all over now — you love somebody else — but I
shall never love anybody else: I can't! I don't want
to! You are the last thing I kiss before I close my
eyes; I shut them and kiss only the air — but it is
your lips I feel; and you are the first thing I open
them upon when I wake. It will always be so, Kate
—you are my body, my soul, and my life. I shall
never have you again, I know, but I shall have your
memory, and that is sweeter and more precious to me
than all else in the world!"

270

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Harry!" There was a strange cadence in her
voice — not of self-defence — not of recrimination — only
of overwhelming pity: "Don't you think that I too
have had my troubles ? Do you think it was nothing
to me to love you as I did and have — " She stopped,
drew in her breath as if to bolster up some inward
resolution, and then with a brave lift of the head
added: "No, I won't go into that — not to-day."

"Yes — tell me all of it — you can't hurt me more than
you have done. But you may be right — no, we won't
talk of that part of it. And now, Kate, I won't ask
you to stay any longer; I am glad I saw you — it was
better than writing.'' He leaned forward: "Let me
look into your face once more, won't you ? — so I can
remember the better. . . . Yes — the same dear eyes —
and the hair growing low on the temples, and the beau-
tiful mouth and — No — I sha'n't forget — I never have."
He rose from his seat and held out his hand : " You'll
take it, won't you? — just once — Good-by!"

She had not moved, nor had she grasped his hand;
her face was still towards him, her whole frame tense,
the tears crowding to the lids.

"Sit down, Harry. I can't let you go like this.
Tell me something more of where you are going.
Why must you go to sea ? Can't you support yourself
here? — isn't there something you can get to do? I
will see my father and find out if "

"No, you won't." There was a note almost of
defiance in his voice — one she had never heard before.
"I am through with accepting favors from any liv-

271

KENNEDY SQUARE

ing man. Hereafter I stand in my own shoes, inde-
pendent of everybody. My father is the only person
who has a right to give me help, and as he refuses
absolutely to do anything more than pay my board, I
must fall back on myself. I didn't see these things
in this same way when Uncle George paid my debts,
or even when he took me into his home as his guest,
but I do now."

Something gave a little bound in Kate's heart. This
manly independence was one of the things she had
in the old days hoped was in him. What had come
over her former lover, she wondered.

"And another thing, Kate" — she was listening eag-
erly— she could not believe it was Harry who was
speaking — " if you were to tell me this moment that
you loved me again and would marry me, and I still
be as I am to-day — outlawed by my father and de-
pendent on charity — I would not do it. I can't live
on your money, and I have none of my own. Fur-
thermore, I owe dear Uncle George his money in such
a way that I can never pay it back except I earn it,
and that I can't do here. To borrow it of somebody
else to pay him would be more disgraceful still."

Again her heart gave a bound. Her father had
followed the opposite course, and she knew for a cer-
tainty just what some men thought of him, and she
could as easily recall half a dozen younger men who
had that very summer been willing to play the same
game with herself. Something warm and sympathetic
struggled up through her reserve.

272

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Would you stay, Harry, if I asked you to?" she
said in almost a whisper. She had not meant to put
the question quite in that way, but somehow it had
asked itself.

He looked at her with his soft brown eyes, the long
lashes shading their tender brilliancy. He had guessed
nothing of the newly awakened throb in her heart;
only his situation stared him in the face, and in this
she had no controlling interest; nor could she now
that she loved somebody else.

"No, Kate, it wouldn't alter anything. It would
be putting off the day when it would all have to be
done over again; and then it would be still worse be-
cause of the hopes it had raised."

"Do you really mean, Harry, that you would not
stay if I asked you ? " It was not her heart which was
speaking, but the pride of the woman who had always
had her own way.

" I certainly do," he answered emphatically, his voice
ringing clear. " Every day I lose is just so much taken
from a decent, independent life."

A sudden revulsion of feeling swept through her.
This was the last thing she had expected from Harry.
What had come over him that he should deny her
anything? — he who had always obeyed her slightest
wish. Then a new thought entered her head — why
should she humble herself to ask any more questions ?
With a quick movement she gained her feet and stood
toying with her dress, arranging the lace scarf about
her throat, tightening the wide strings that held her

273

KENNEDY SQUARE

teacup of a bonnet close to her face. She raised her
eyes and stole a glance at him. The lips were still
firmly set with the resolve that had tightened them,
but his eyes were brimming tears.

As suddenly as her pride had risen did it die out.
All the tenderness of her nature welled up. She made
one step in his direction. She was about to speak,
but he had not moved, nor did his face relax. She
saw that nothing could shake his resolve; they were
as far apart as if the seas already rolled between them.
She held out her hand, and with that same note of
infinite pathos which he knew so well when she spoke
straight from her heart, said as she laid her fingers
in his:

" Good-by, and God bless you, Harry."

"Good-by, Kate," he murmured in barely audible
tones. "May I— may I — kiss you on the forehead,
as I always used to do when I left you —

She bent her head: he leaned over and touched the
spot with his lips as reverently as a sinner kisses the
garment of a saint, then, choking down her tears, all
Iier body unstrung, her mind in a whirl, she turned and
passed out of the park.

That same afternoon Kate called her father into
her little sitting-room at the top of the stairs and shut
the door.

"Harry Rutter is going to sea as a common sailor
on one of the ships leaving here in a couple of
days. Can you find out which one? — it may be

274

KENNEDY SQUARE

one of your own." He was still perfunctory agent
of the line.

"Young Rutter going to sea!" — the nomenclature
of "my dear Harry" had ended since the colonel had
disinherited him. "Well — that i? news! I suspect
that will be the best place for him; then if he plays any
of his pranks there will be somebody around with a
cat-o'-nine-tails to take it out of him. Going to sea,
is he?"

Kate looked at him with lowered lids, her lips
curling slightly, but she did not defend the culprit.
It was only one of what Prim called his "jokes:"
he was the last man in the world to wish any such
punishment. Moreover, she knew her father much
better than the Honorable Prim knew his daughter,
and whenever she had a favor to ask was invariably
careful not to let his little tea-kettle boil over.

" Only a short time ago, father, you got a berth
as supercargo on one of my grandfather's ships for
Mark Gilbert. Can't you do it for Harry?"

"But, Kate, that was quite a different thing.
Mark's father came to me and asked it as a special
favor." His assumed authority at the shipping office
rarely extended to the appointing of officers — not
when the younger partners objected.

"Well, Harry's father won't come to you, nor will
Harry; and it isn't a different thing. It's exactly
the same thing so far as you are concerned, and
there is a greater reason for Harry, for he is' alone
in the world and he is not used to hard work of

275

KENNEDY SQUARE

any kind, and it is cruel to make a common sailor
of him."

" Why, I thought Temple was fathering him."

"So Uncle George has, and would always look
after him, but Harry is too brave and manly to live
upon him any longer, now that Uncle George has
lost most of his money. Will you see Mr. Pendergast,
or shall I go down to the office?"

Prim mused for a moment. "There may not be
a vacancy," he ventured, "but I will inquire. The
Ranger sails on Friday for the River Plate, and I will
have Mr. Pendergast come and see me. Supercargoes
are of very little use, my dear, unless they have had
some business training, and this young man, of course,
has had none at all."

"This young man, indeed!" thought Kate with a
sigh, stifling her indignation. "Poor Harry! — no one
need treat him any longer with even common courtesy,
now that St. George, his last hold, had been swept
away."

"I think on the whole I had better attend to it
myself," she added with some impatience. " I don't
want anything to go wrong about it."

"No, I'll see him, Kate; just leave it all to me."

He had already decided what to do — or what he
would try to do — when he first heard the boy wanted
to leave the country. What troubled him was what
the managing partner of the line might think of the
proposition. As long as Harry remained at home and
within reach any number of things might happen —

276

KENNEDY SQUARE

even a return of the old love. With the scapegrace
half-way around the world some other man might
have a chance — Willits, especially, who had proved
himself in every way worthy of his daughter, and who
would soon be one of the leading lawyers of the State
if he kept on.

With the closing of the door upon her father, Kate
threw herself upon her lounge. One by one the sa-
lient features of her interview with Harry passed in
review: his pleading for some word of comfort; some
note of forgiveness with which to cheer the hours of
his exile. — " You are the last thing I kiss before I close
my eyes." Then his open defiance of her expressed
wishes when they conflicted with his own set purpose
of going away and staying away until he made up
his mind to return. While the first brought with it
a certain contented satisfaction — something she had
expected and was glad of — the last aroused only indig-
nation and revolt. Her brow tightened, and the de-
termination of the old seadog — her grandfather Bar-
keley — played over her countenance. She no longer,
then, filled Harry's life, controlling all his actions; she
no longer inspired his hopes. Rather than marry her
he would work as a common sailor. Yes — he had
said so, and with his head up and his voice ringing
brave and clear. She was proud of him for it — she
had never been so proud of him — but why no trace
of herself in his resolve, except in his allusion to the
duel, when he said he would do it again should any
one insult her? It was courteous, of course, for him

277

KENNEDY SQUARE

to feel that way, however much she abhorred the
system of settling such disputes. But, then, he
would do that for any other woman — would, no
doubt, for some woman he had not yet seen. In
this he was the son of his father and the same Harry
—but in everything else he was a changed man —
and never more changed than in his attitude tow-
ard her.

With these thoughts racking her brain she rose
from the lounge and began pacing the floor, peering
out between the curtains of her room, her eyes wan-
dering over the park as if she could still see him be-
tween the branches. Then her mind cleared and the
true situation developed itself: — for months she had
hugged to herself the comforting thought that she had
only to stretch out her hand and bring him to her
feet. He had now looked her full in the face and pro-
claimed his freedom. It was as if she had caged a
bird and found the door open and the prisoner sing-
ing in a tree overhead.

That same night she sat by her wood fire in her
chamber, her old black mammy — Mammy Henny —
bending close, combing out her marvellous hair. She
had been studying the coals, watching the little cas-
tles pile and fall; the quick smothering of slowly
fading sparks under a blanket of gray ashes, and the
wavering, flickering light that died on the curling
smoke. She had not spoken for a long time, when
the old woman roused her.

278

KENNEDY SQUARE.

" Whar was you dis mawnin', honey chile ? Mister
Willits done wait mo'n ha'f a hour, den he say he
come back an' fetch his sorrel horse wid him dis arter-
noon an' take ye ridin'. But he ain't come — dat is,
Ben done tol' me so."

"No, mammy," she answered wearily — "I sent him
word not to — I didn't feel like riding to-day."

279

CHAPTER XIX

Over two years have passed away since that mourn-
ful night when Harry with his hand in St. George's,
his voice choking, had declared his determination to
leave him the next day and seek his fortunes across
the seas.

It was a cruel blow to Temple, coming as it did on
the heels of his own disaster, but when the first shock
had passed he could but admire the lad for his pluck
and love him the better for his independence.

"All right, my son," he had said, concealing as
best he could his intense suffering over the loss of his
companion. " I'll try and get along. But remember
I am here — and the door is always open. I don't
blame you — I would do the same thing were I in
your place. And now about Kate — what shall I say
to her?"

" Nothing. I said it all this morning. She doesn't
love me any more — she would have passed me by
without speaking had I not called to her. She'll
be married to Willits before I come back — if I ever
do come back. But leaving Kate is easier than leav-
ing you. You have stuck to me all the way through,
and Kate — well — perhaps she hasn't understood—
perhaps her father has been talking to her — I don't

280

KENNEDY SQUARE

know. Anyhow, it's all over. If I had had any
doubts about it before, this morning's talk settled it.
The sea is the best place for me. I can support my-
self anyway for a while until I can help you."

Yes! the boy was right, St. George had said to
himself. It was all over between them. Kate's rea-
son had triumphed at last. She, perhaps, was not to
blame. Her experiences had been trying and she
was still confronted by influences bitterly opposed to
Harry, and largely in favor of Willits, for, weak speci-
men as Prim was, he was still her father, and in so im-
portant a step as her marriage, must naturally exer-
cise authority. As for his own influence, that, he
realized, had come to an end at their last interview:
the whole thing, he must admit, was disappointing —
cruelly so — the keenest disappointment of his life.

Many a night since he bid Harry good-by had he
sat alone by that same fire, his dogs his only com-
panions, the boy's words ringing in his ears: "Leav-
ing Kate is easier than leaving you!" Had it been
the other way and he the exile, it would have been
nearer the truth, he often thought, for nothing in his
whole life had left so great a void in his heart as the
loss of the boy he loved. Not that he was ever com-
pletely disheartened; that was not his nature; there
was always daylight ahead — the day when Harry would
come back and their old life begin again. With this
in store for him he had led his life as best he could,
visiting his friends in the country, entertaining in a
simple, inexpensive way, hunting at Wesley, where he

281

KENNEDY SQUARE

and Peggy Coston would exchange confidences and
funny stories; dining out; fishing in the early spring;
getting poorer and poorer in pocket, and yet never
complaining, his philosophy being that it would be
brighter in the morning, and it always was — to him.

And yet if the truth be told his own situation had not
improved — in fact, it had grown steadily worse. Only
one payment of interest had been made on the mort-
gage and the owner was already threatening foreclosure
proceedings. Pawson's intervention alone had staved
off the fatal climax by promising the holder to keep the
loan alive by the collection of some old debts — bor-
rowed money and the like — due St. George for years
and which his good nature had allowed to run on in-
definitely until some of them were practically outlawed.
Indeed it was only through resources like this, in all of
which Pawson helped, and with the collecting of some
small ground rents, that kept Todd and Jemima in
their places and the larder comfortably filled. As to
the bank — there was still hope that some small per-
centage would be paid the depositors, it being the
general opinion that the directors were personally liable
because of the irregularities which the smash had un-
covered— but this would take months, if not years, to
work out.

His greatest comfort was in the wanderer's letters.
These he would watch for with the eagerness of a girl
hungry for news of her distant lover. For the first
few months these came by every possible mail, most
of them directed to himself; others to his mother, Mrs.

282

KENNEDY SQUARE

Rutter driving in from Moorlands to compare notes
with St. George. Then, as the boy made his way fur-
ther into the interior the intervals were greater— some-
times a month passed without news of him.

" We are short-handed," he wrote St. George, " owing
to fever on the voyage out on the Ranger, and though
I am supercargo and sit at the captain's table, I have
to turn to and work like any of the others — fine exer-
cise, but my hands are cracked and blistered and
full of tar. I'll have to wear gloves the next time I
dine with you."

Not a word of this to his mother — no such hardships
for her tender ears:

"Tell me about Kate, mother" — this from Rio —
" how she looks; what she says; does she ever mention
my name? My love to Alec. Is Matthew still car-
ing for Spitfire, or has my father sold her?" Then
followed the line: "Give my father my respectful re-
gards; I would send my love, but he no longer cares
for it."

The dear lady did not deliver the message. Indeed
Harry's departure had so widened the breach between
the colonel and herself that they practically occupied
different parts of the house as far removed from each
other as possible. She had denounced him first to his
face for the boy's self-imposed exile, and again be-
hind his back to her intimates. Nor did her resolve
waver even when the colonel was thrown from his
horse and so badly hurt that his eyesight was greatly
impaired. " It is a judgment on you," she had said,

283

KENNEDY SQUARE

drawing her frail body up to its full height. "You
will now learn what other people suffer/' and would
have kept on upstairs to her own room had not her
heart softened at his helplessness — a new role for
the colonel.

He had made no answer at the time: he never
answered her back. She was too frail to be angry
with, and then she was right about his being the
cause of her suffering — the first cause of it, at least.
He had not yet arrived at the point where he cen-
sured himself for all that had happened. In fact
since Harry's sudden exit, made without a word to
anybody at Moorlands except his mother and Alec,
who went to town on a hurry message, — a slight
which cut him to the quick — he had steadily laid
the blame on everybody else connected with the affair;
— generally on St. George for his interference in his
peace-making programme at the club and his refusal,
when ruined financially, to send the boy back to him
in an humble and contrite spirit. Neither had he
recovered from the wrath he had felt when, having
sent John Gorsuch to ascertain from St. George the
amount of money he had paid out for his son, Temple
had politely sent Gorsuch, in charge of Todd, down-
stairs to Pawson, who in turn, after listening to
Todd's whispered message, had with equal politeness
shown Gorsuch the door, the colonel's signed check —
the amount unfilled — still in Gorsuch's pocket.

It was only when the Lord of Moorlands went into
town to spend an hour or so with Kate — and he was

284

KENNEDY SQUARE

a frequent visitor prior to his accident — that his old
manner returned. He loved the girl dearly and was
never tired of talking to her. She was the only woman
who would listen when he poured out his heart.

And Kate always welcomed him gladly. She liked
strong, decided men even if they sometimes erred
in their conclusions. Her grandfather, old Captain
Barkeley, had had the same masterfulness. He had
been in absolute command in his earlier years, and he
had kept in command all his life. His word was
law, and he was generally right. She was twelve
years old when he died, and had, therefore, ample
opportunity to know. It was her grandfather's strong
personality, in fact, which had given her so clear an
idea of her father's many weaknesses. Rutter, she
felt, was a combination of both Barkeley and Prim —
forceful and yet warped by prejudices; dominating
yet intolerant; able to do big things and contented
with little ones. It was forcefulness, despite hie many
shortcomings, which most appealed to her.

Moreover, she saw much of Harry in him. It was
that which made her so willing to listen — she con-
tinually comparing the father to the son. These com-
parisons were invariably made in a circle, beginning
at Rutter's brown eyes, taking in his features and
peculiarities — many of them reproduced in his son's
— such as the firm set of the lips and the square line
of the chin — and ending, quite naturally, with the
brown orbs again. While Harry's matched the color
and shape, and often the fierce glare of the father's,

285

KENNEDY SQUARE

they could also, she said to herself, shine with the soft
light of the mother's. It was from the mother's side,
then, that there came the willingness to yield to what-
ever tempted him — it may be to drink — to a false sense
of honor — to herself: Harry being her slave instead of
her master. And the other men around her — so far
as yielding was concerned (here her brow would
tighten and her lips straighten) — were no better.
Even Uncle George must take her own "No" for an
answer and believe it when she meant quite a different
thing. And once more would her soul break out in
revolt over the web in which she had become entangled,
and once more would she cry herself to sleep.

Nobody but her old black mammy knew how tragic
had been her sufferings, how many bitter hours she
had passed, nor how many bitter tears she had
shed. Yet even old Henny could not comfort her,
nor was there any one else to whom the girl could pour
out her heart. She had, it is true, kept up her in-
timacy with her Uncle George — hardly a week passed
that she was not a visitor at his house or he at hers
— but they had long since refrained from discussing
Harry. Not because he did not want to talk about
him, but because she would not let him — Of course
not!

To Richard Horn, however, strange to say, she
often turned — not so much for confidences as for a
broader understanding of life. The thoughtful in-
ventor was not so hedged about by social restrictions,
and would break out in spontaneous admiration of

286

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry, saying with a decisive nod of his head, "A
fine, splendid young fellow, my dear Kate; I recog-
nized it first at St. George's dinner to Mr. Poe, and if
I may say so, a much-abused young man whose only
sin is that he, like many another about us, has been
born under a waning star in a sky full of murky
clouds; one that the fresh breeze of a new civiliza-
tion will some day clear away" — a deduction which
Kate could not quite grasp, but which comforted her
greatly.

It delighted her, too, to hear him talk of the notable
occurrences taking place about them. "You are
wonderfully intelligent, my dear," he had said to her
on one occasion, " and should miss nothing of the de-
velopments that are going on about us;" and in proof
of it had the very next day taken her to an exhibition
of Mr. Morse's new telegraph, given at the Institute,
at which two operators, each with an instrument, the
men in sight of each other, but too far apart to be in
collusion, were sending and answering the messages
through wires stretched around the hall. She, at
Richard's suggestion, had written a message herself,
which she handed to the nearest operator who had
ticked it to his fellow, and who at once read it to the
audience. Even then many doubting Thomases had
cried out " Collusion," until Richard, rising in his seat,
had not only endorsed the truth of the reading, but
explained the invention, his statement silencing all
opposition because of his well-known standing and
knowledge of kindred sciences.

287

KENNEDY SQUARE

Richard's readings also, from which .Kate was never
absent, and which had now been resumed at his own
house, greatly interested her. These of late had been
devoted to many of Poe's earlier poems and later tales,
for despite the scene at St. George's the inventor had
never ceased to believe in the poet.

And so with these occupations, studies, investiga-
tions, and social pleasures — she never missing a ball
or party (Willits always managing to be with her) —
and the spending of the summer months at the Red
Sulphur, where she had been pursued by half a dozen
admirers — one a titled Englishman — had the days
and hours of the years of Harry's absence passed
slowly away.

At the end of the second winter a slight change
occurred in the monotony of her life. Her constant,
unwavering devotee, Langdon Willits, fell ill and had
to be taken to the Eastern Shore, where the same old
lot of bandages — that is of the same pattern — and
the same loyal sister were impressed into service to
nurse him back to health. The furrow Harry's bul-
let had ploughed in his head still troubled him at
times, especially in the hot weather, and a horseback
ride beside Kate one August day, with the heat in
the nineties, had started the subsoil of his cranium
to aching with such vehemence that Teackle had
promptly packed it in ice and ten days later its
owner in blankets and had put them both aboard the
bay boat bound for the Eastern Shore.

Whether this new irritant — and everything seemed
288

KENNEDY SQUARE

to annoy her nftw — had begun to tell on our beautiful
Kate, or whether the gayety of the winter both at
home and in Washington, where she had spent some
weeks during the season, had tired her out, certain it
was that when the spring came the life had gone out
of her step and the color from her cheeks. Mammy
Henny had noticed it and had coddled her the more,
crooning and petting her; and her father had noticed
it and had begun to be anxious, and at la'st St. George
had stalked in and cried out in that breezy, joyous
way of his that nothing daunted :

"Here, you sweetheart! — what have you been doing
to your cheeks — all the roses out of them and pale as
two lilies — and you never out of bed until twelve
o'clock in the day and looking then as if you hadn't
had a wink of sleep all night. Not a word out of
you, Seymour, until I've finished. I'm going to take
Kate down to Tom Coston's and keep her there till
she gets well. Too many stuffy balls — too many late
suppers — oyster roasts and high doings. None of
that at Tom's. Up at six and to bed at ten. I've
just had a letter from him and dear Peggy is crazy
to have us come. Take your mare along, Kate, and
you won't lack fresh air. Now what do you say,
Seymour?"

Of course the Honorable Prim bobbed his honorable
head and said he had been worried himself over Kate's
loss of appetite, and that if Temple would, etc., etc. —
he would — etc., etc. — and so Mammy Henny began to
get pink and white and other fluffy things together,

289

KENNEDY SQUARE

and Ben, with Todd to help, led Joan, her own be-
loved saddle horse, down to the dock and saw that
she was safely lodged between decks, and then up
came a coach (all this was two days later) and my lady
drove off with two hair trunks in front and a French
bonnet box behind — St. George beside her, and fat
Mammy Henny in white kerchief and red bandanna,
opposite, and Todd in one of St. George's old shooting-
jackets on the box next the driver, with his feet on two
of the dogs, the others having been loaned to a friend.

And it was a great leave-taking when the party
reached the wharf. Not only were three or four of her
girl friends present, but a dozen or more of the old
merchants forsook their desks, when the coach unlim-
bered, most of them crossing the cobbles — some bare-
headed, and all of them in high stocks and swallow-tail
coats — pens behind their ears, spectacles on their
pates — to bid the young princess good-by.

For Kate was still "our Kate," in the widest and
broadest sense and the pride and joy of all who knew
her, and many who didn't. That she had a dozen
beaux — and that some of them had tried to bore holes
in each other for love of her; and that one of them
was now a wanderer and another in a state of collapse,
if report were true — was quite as it should be. Men
had died for women a hundred times less worthy and
a thousand times less beautiful, and men would die of
love again. When at last she made up her mind she
would choose the right man, and in the meantime God
bless her for just being alive.

290

KENNEDY SQUARE

And she was never more alive or more charming
than to-day.

"Oh, how delightful of you, Mr. Murdoch, and
you too, Mr. Bowdoin — and Max — and all of you,
to cross those wretched stones. No, wait, I'll come
to you — " she had called out, when with a stamp
of her little feet she had shaken the pleats from her
skirt — adding when they had all kissed her hand in
turn — "Yes — I am going down to be dairy-maid at
Peggy Coston's," at which the bald-headed old fel-
lows, with their hands upraised in protest at so great
a sacrilege, bowed to the ground, their fingers on their
ruffled shirt-fronts, and the younger ones lifted their
furry hats and kept them in the air until she had crossed
the gang-plank and Todd and Mammy Henny,
and Ben who had come to help, lost their several
breaths getting the impatient dogs and baggage
aboard — and so she sailed away with Uncle George as
chaperon, the whole party throwing kisses back and
forth.

291

CHAPTER XX

Their reception at Wesley, the ancestral home of
the Costons, although it was late at night when they
arrived, was none the less joyous. Peggy was the first
to welcome the invalid, and Tom was not far behind.

" Give her to me, St. George," bubbled Peggy, en-
folding the girl in her arms. "You blessed thing!
Oh, how glad I am to get hold of you! They told
me you were ill, child — not a word of truth in it!
No, Mr. Coston, you sha'n't even have one of her little
fingers until I get through loving her. What's your
mammy's name — Henny? Well, Henny, you take
Miss Kate's things into her room — that one at the
top of the stairs."

And then the Honorable Tom Coston said he'd be
doggoned if he was going to wait another minute, and
he didn't — for Kate kissed him on both cheeks and
gave him her father's message, congratulating him
on his appointment as judge, and thanking him in ad-
vance for all the kindness he would show his daughter.

But it was not until she awoke next morning and
looked out between the posts of her high bedstead
through the small, wide-open window overlooking the
bay that her heart gave the first bound of real gladness.
She loved the sky and the dash of salt air, laden now

292

KENNEDY SQUARE

with the perfume of budding fruit trees, that blew
straight in from the sea. She loved, too, the stir and
sough of the creaking pines and the cheery calls from
the barnyard. Here she could get her mind settled;
here, too, she could forget all the little things that had
bothered her — there would be no more invitations to ac-
cept or decline; no promises she must keep. She and
her Uncle George could have one long holiday — she
needed it and, goodness knows, he needed it after all his
troubles — and they would begin as soon as breakfast
was over. And they did — the dogs plunging ahead,
the two hand in hand, St. George, guide and philoso-
pher, pointing out this and that characteristic feature
of the once famous estate and dilating on its past
glory.

" Even in my father's day," he continued, his face
lighting up, "it was one of the great show places of
the county. The stables held twenty horses and a
coach, besides no end of gigs and carryalls. This
broad road on which we walk was lined with flower-
beds and shaded by live-oaks. Over there, near
that little grove, were three great barns and lesser out-
: buildings, besides the negro quarters, smoke-houses,
and hay-ricks. Really a wonderful place in its day,
Kate."

Then he went on to tell of how the verandas were
shaded with honeysuckles, and the halls, drawing-
rooms, and dining-room crowded with furniture; how
there were yellow damask curtains, and screens, and
hair-cloth sofas and a harmonicon of musical glasses

293

KENNEDY SQUARE

which was played by wetting one's fingers in a bowl
of water and passing them over the rims — he had
played on it himself when a boy; and slaves galore —
nearly one hundred of them, not to mention a thousand
acres of tillable land to plough and harrow, as well as
sheep, oxen, pigs, chickens, ducks — everything that
a man of wealth and position might have had in the
old days, and about every one of which St. George had
a memory.

Then when Tom's father, who was the sole heir,
took charge (here his voice dropped to a whisper)
dissolution proceedings set in — and Tom finished
them! and St. George sighed heavily as he pointed out
the changes: — the quarters in ruins, the stables falling
to pieces, the gates tied up with strings or swinging
loose; and the flocks, herds, and live-stock things of
the past. Nor had a negro been left — none Tom
really owned : one by one they had been sold or hired
out, or gone off nobody knew where, he being too lazy,
or too indifferent, or too good-natured, to hunt them
up. The house, as Kate had seen, was equally neg-
lected. Even what remained of the old furniture was
on its last legs — the curtains patched, or in shreds —
the carpets worn into holes.

Kate listened eagerly, but she did not sigh. It was
all charming to her in the soft spring sunshine, the
air a perfume, the birds singing, the blossoms burst-
ing, the peach-trees anthems of praise — and best of
all her dear Uncle George strolling at her side. And
then everything was so clean and fresh and sweet in

294

KENNEDY SQUARE

every nook and corner of the tumble-down house.
Peggy, as she soon discovered, looked after that — in
fact Peggy looked after everything that required look-
ing after — and everything did — including the judge.
Mr. Coston was tired, Peggy would say, or Mr. Cos-
ton had not been very well, so she just did it her-
self instead of bothering him. Since his promotion
it was generally "the judge" who was too tired, being
absorbed in his court duties, etc., etc. But it always
came with a laugh, and it was always genuine, for to
wait upon him and look after him and minister to
him was her highest happiness.

Good for nothing as he would have been to some
women — unpractical, lazy — a man few sensible wives
would have put up with — Peggy adored him; and so
did his children adore him, and so, for that matter, did
his neighbors, many of whom, although they ridiculed
him behind his back, could never escape the charm
of his personality whenever they sat beside his rocking-
chair.

This chair — the only comfortable chair in the house,
by the way — had, in his less distinguished days, been
his throne. In it he would sit all day long, cutting
and whittling, filing and polishing curious trinkets
of tortoise-shell for watch-guards and tiny baskets
made of cherry-stones, cunningly wrought and finished.
He was an expert, too, in corn-cob pipes, which he
carved for all his friends; and pin- wheels for every-
body's children. When it came, however, to such
matters as a missing hinge to the front door, a brick

295

KENNEDY SQUARE

under a tottering chimney, the straightening of a fall-
ing fence, the repairing of a loose lock on the smoke-
house— or even the care of the family carryall, which
despite its great age and infirmities was often left out
in the rain to rust and ruin — these things must, of
course, wait until the overworked father of the house
found time to look after them.

The children loved him the most. They asked for
nothing better than to fix him in his big chair by the
fender, throw upon the fire a basket of bark chips
from the wood-yard, and enough pitch-pine knots to
wake them up, and after filling his pipe and lighting
it, snuggle close — every bend and curve of the wide-
armed splint-bottomed comfort packed full, all wait-
ing to hear him tell one of his stories. Sometimes it
was the tale of the fish and the cuff-button — how he
once dropped his sleeve-link overboard, and how a
year afterward he was in a shallop on the Broadwater
fishing for rockfish when he caught a splendid fellow,
which when Aunt Patience cleaned — (here his voice
would drop to a whisper) — "What do you think! —
why out popped the sleeve-link that was in his cuff
this minutel" And for the hundredth time the bit of
gold would be examined by each child in turn. Or
it was the witch story — about the Yahoo wild man
with great horns and a lashing tail, who lived in the
swamp and went howling and prowling about for
plunder and prey. (This was always given with a
low, prolonged growl, like a dog in pain — all the
children shuddering.) And then followed the oft-

296

KENNEDY SQUARE

told tale of how this same terrible Yahoo once came
up with Hagar, who was riding a witch pony to get
to the witches' dance in the cane-brake, and how
he made off with her to the swamp, where she had
had to cook for him — ever — ever — ever since. (Long-
drawn breath, showing that all was over for that day
at least.)

Todd got the true inwardness of the situation before
he had been many days at Wesley: for the scene with
the children was often repeated when court was not
in session.

"Fo' Gawd, Marse George, hab you had time to
watch dat gemman, de jedge? Dey do say he's
sumpin' great, but I tell ye he's dat lazy a fly stuck in
'lasses 'd pass him on de road."

St. George' laughed heartily in reply, but he did
not reprimand him.

"What makes you think so, Todd?"

"Can't help thinkin' so. I wuz standin' by de
po'ch yisterday holdin' Miss Kate's mare, when I
yere de mistis ask de jedge ter go out an' git 'er some
kindlin' f'om de wood-pile. He sot a-rockin' hisse'f
in dat big cheer ob his'n an' I yered him say — ' Yes,
in a minute,' but he didn't move. Den she holler
ag'in at him an' still he rock hisse'f, sayin' he's comin'.
Den, fust thing I knowed out she come to de wood-
pile an' git it herse'f, an' den when she pass him wid
'er arms full o' wood he look up an' say — 'Peggy,
come yere an' kiss me — I dunno what we'd do wid-
out ye — you'se de Lawd's anointed, sho'.' "

297

KENNEDY SQUARE

Kate got no end of amusement out of him, and
would often walk with him to court that she might
listen to his drolleries — especially his queer views of
life — the simplest and most unaffected to which she
had ever bent her ears. Now and then, as time went
on, despite her good-natured toleration of his want of
independence — he being always dominated by his wife
— she chanced, to her great surprise, upon some nug-
gets of hard common-sense of so high an assay that
they might really be graded as wisdom — his analysis
of men and women being particularly surprising.
Those little twinkling, and sometimes sleepy, eyes of
his, now that she began to study him the closer, re-
minded her of the unreadable eyes of an elephant she
had once seen — eyes that presaged nothing but inertia,
until whack went the trunk and over toppled the boy
who had teased him.

And with this new discovery there developed at last
a certain respect for the lazy, good-natured, droll old
man. Opinions which she had heretofore laughed at
suddenly became of value; criticisms which she had
passed over in silence seemed worthy of further con-
sideration.

Peggy, however, fitted into all the tender places of
her heart. She had never known her own mother;
all she remembered was a face bending close and a
soft hand that tucked in the coverlet one night when
she couldn't sleep. The memory had haunted her
from the days of her childhood — clear and distinct,
with every detail in place. Had there been light

298

KENNEDY SQUARE

enough in her mother's bed-room, she was sure she
could have added the dear face itself to her recollec-
tion. Plump, full-bosomed, rosy-cheeked Peggy (fif-
teen years younger than Tom) supplied the touch
and voice, and all the tenderness as well, that these
sad memories recalled, and all that the motherless
girl had yearned for.

And the simple, uneventful life — one without re-
straints of any kind, greatly satisfied her: so different
from her own at home with Prim as Chief Regulator.
Everybody, to her delight, did as they pleased, each
one following the bent of his or her inclination. St.
George was out at daybreak in the duck-blinds, or,
breakfast over, roaming the fields with his dogs, Todd
a close attendant. The judge would stroll over to
court an hour or more late, only to find an equally
careless and contented group blocking up the door —
" po' white trash " most of them, each one with a griev-
ance. Whenever St. George accompanied him, and
he often did, his Honor would spend even less time on
the bench — cutting short both ends of the session,
Temple laughing himself sore over the judge's de-
cisions.

"And he stole yo' shoat and never paid for him?"
he heard his honor say one day in a hog case, where
two farmers who had been waiting hours for Tom's
coming were plaintiff and defendant. " How did you
know it was yo' shoat — did you mark him?"

"No, suh."

"Tie a tag around his neck?"
299

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No, suh."

" Well, you just keep yo' hogs inside yo' lot. Too
many loose hogs runnin' 'round. Case is dismissed
and co't is adjourned for the day," which, while very
poor law, was good common-sense, stray hogs on the
public highway having become a nuisance.

With these kindly examples before her, Kate soon
fell into the ways of the house. If she did not wish to
get up she lay abed and Peggy brought her breakfast
with her own hands. If, when she did leave her bed,
she went about in pussy-slippers and a loose gown of
lace and frills without her stays, Peggy's only protest
was against her wearing anything else — so adorable
was she. When this happy, dreamy indolence began
to pall upon her — and she could not stand it for long
— she would be up at sunrise helping Peggy wash and
dress her frolicsome children or get them off to school,
and this done, would assist in the housework — even
rolling the pastry with her own delicate palms, or sitting
beside the bubbling, spontaneous woman, needle in
hand, aiding with the family mending — while Peggy,
glad of the companionship, would sit with ears open,
her mind alert, probing — probing — trying to read the
heart of the girl whom she loved the better every day.
And so there had crept into Kate's heart a new peace
that was as fresh sap to a dying plant, bringing the
blossoms to her cheeks and the spring of wind-blown
branches to her step.

Then one fine morning, to the astonishment of
every one, and greatly to Todd's disgust, no less a

300

KENNEDY SQUARE

person than Mr. Langdon Willits of " Oak Hill " (dis^
tant three miles away) dismounted at Coston's front
porch, and throwing the reins to the waiting darky,
stretched his convalescent, but still shaky, legs in the
direction of the living-room, there to await the arrival
of "Miss Seymour of Kennedy Square," who, so he
informed Todd, "expected him."

Todd scraped a foot respectfully in answer, touched
his cocoanut of a head with his monkey claw of a
finger, waited until the broad back of the red-headed
gentleman had been swallowed up by the open door,
and then indulged in this soliloquy:

"Funny de way dem bullets hab o' missin* folks.
Des a leetle furder down an' dere wouldn't 'a' been
none o' dis yere foolishness. Pity Marse Harry hadn't
practised some mo'. Ef he had ter do it ag'in I reckon
he'd pink him so he neber be cavortin' 'roun' like he
is now."

Willits's sudden appearance filled St. George with
ill-concealed anxiety. He did not believe in this pa-
rade of invalidism, nor did he like Kate's encourag-
ing smile when she met him — and there was no ques-
tion that she did smile — and, more portentous still,
that she enjoyed it. Other things, too, she grew to
enjoy, especially the long rides in the woods and over
to the broad water. For Willits's health after a few
days of the sunshine of Kate's companionship had un-
dergone so renovating a process that the sorrel horse
now arrived at the porch almost every day, whereupon
Kate's Joan would be led out, and the smiled-upon

301

KENNEDY SQUARE

gentleman in English riding-boots and brown velvet
jacket and our gracious lady in Lincoln green habit
with wide hat and sweeping plume would mount their
steeds and be lost among the pines.

Indeed, to be exact, half of Kate's time was now
spent in the saddle, Willits riding beside her. And
with each day's outing a new and, to St. George, a
more disturbing intimacy appeared to be growing be-
tween them. Now it was Willits's sister who had to
be considered and especially invited to Wesley — a thin
wisp of a woman with tortoise-shell sidecombsand
bunches of dry curls, who always dressed in shiny
black silk and whose only ornament was her mother's
hair set in a breastpin; or it was his father by whom
she must sit when he came over in his gig — a bluff,
hearty man who generally wore a red waistcoat with
big bone buttons and high boots with tassels in front.

This last confidential relation, when the manners
and bearing of the elder man came under his notice,
seemed to St. George the most unaccountable of all.
Departures from the established code always jarred
upon him, and the gentleman in the red waistcoat and
tasselled boots often wandered so far afield that he
invariably set St. George's teeth on edge. Although
he had never met Kate before, he called her by her
first name after the first ten minutes of their acquaint-
ance— his son, he explained, having done nothing but
sound her praises for the past two years, an excuse
which carried no weight in gentleman George's mind
because of its additional familiarity. He had never

302

KENNEDY SQUARE

dared, he knew, to extend that familiarity to Peggy
— it had always been "Mrs. Coston" to her and it
had always been "Mr. Coston" to Tom, and it
was now "your Honor" or "judge" to the dispenser
of justice. For though. the owner of Oak Hill lived
within a few miles of the tumble-down remnant that
sheltered the Costons; and though he had fifty ser-
vants to their one, or half a one — and broad acres in
proportion, to say nothing of flocks and herds — St.
George had always been aware that he seldom crossed
their porch steps or they his. That little affair of
some fifty or more years ago was still remembered,
and the children of people who did that sort of thing
must, of course, pay the penalty. Even Peggy never
failed to draw the line. " Very nice people, my dear,"
he had heard her say to Kate one day when the sub-
ject of the younger man's family had come up. " Mr.
Willits senior is a fine, open-hearted man, and does
a great deal of good in the county with his money
— quite a politician, and they do say has a fair chance
of some time being governor of the State. But very
few of us about here would want to marry into the
family, all the same. Oh no, my dear Kate, of course
there was nothing against his grandmother. She was
a very nice woman, I believe, and I've often heard my
own mother speak of her. Her father came from
Albemarle Sound, if I am right, and was old John
Willits's overseer. The girl was his daughter."

Kate had made no answer. Who Langdon Wil-
lits's grandmother was, or whether he had any grand-

303

KENNEDY SQUARE

mother at all, did not concern her in the least. She
rather admired the young Albemarle Sound girl for
walking boldly into the Willits family — low born as
she was — and making them respect her.

But none of Peggy's outspoken warnings nor any
of St. George's silent acceptances of the several situa-
tions— always a mark of his disapproval — checked the
game of love-making which was going on — the give-
and-take stage of it, with the odds varying with each
new shifting of the cards, both Peggy and St. George
growing the more nervous.

"She's going to accept him, St. George," Peggy
had said to him one morning as he stood behind her
chair while she was shelling the peas for dinner. " I
didn't think so when he first came, but I believe it
now. I have said all I could to her. She has cuddled
up in my arms and cried herself sick over it, but she
won't hold out much longer. Young Rutter left her
heart all torn and bleeding and this man has bound up
the sore places. She will never love anybody that way
again — and may be it is just as well. He'd have kept
her guessing all her life as to what he'd do next. I
wish Willits's blood was better, for she's a dear, sweet
child and proud as she can be, only she's proud over
different things from what I would be. But you can
make up your mind to it — she'll keep him dangling
for a while yet, as she did last summer at the Red Sul-
phur, but she'll be his wife in a year or less — you mark
my words. You haven't yet heard from the first one,
have you? — as to when he's coming home?"

304

KENNEDY SQUARE

St. George hadn't heard — he sighed in return —
a habit of his lately: No, not for two months or
more — not since the letter in which Harry said he had
left the ship and had gone up into the interior. He
had, he told her, mentioned the boy's silence to Kate
in a casual way, watching the effect the news pro-
duced upon her — but after the remark that the mails
were always irregular from those far-away countries,
she had turned the conversation into other channels,
she having caught sight of Willits, who had just dis-
mounted from his horse.

As to St. George's own position in the affair he felt
that his hands were still so firmly tied that he could
do nothing one way or the other. His personal inter-
course with Willits had been such as he would always
have with a man with whom he was on speaking
terms, but it never passed that border. He was cour-
teous, careful of his speech, and mindful of the young
man's devotion to Kate, whose guardian for the time
being he was, but he neither encouraged nor thwarted
his suit. Kate was of age and was fully competent
to decide for herself — extremely competent, for that
matter.

How little this clear reader of women's hearts —
and scores had been spread out before him — knew of
Kate's, no one but the girl herself could have told.
That she was adrift on an open sea without a rudder,
and that she had already begun to lose confidence both
in her seamanship and in her compass, was becoming
more and more apparent to her every day she lived.

305

KENNEDY SQUARE

All she knew positively was that she had been sailing
before the wind for some weeks past with everything
flying loose, and that the time had now come for her
either to "go about" or keep on her course.

Her suitor's family she had carefully considered.
She had also studied his environment and the impres-
sion he made upon those who had known him long-
est:— she must now focus her mental lenses on the man
himself. He had, she knew, graduated with honors,
being the valedictorian of his class; had risen rapidly
in his profession, and, from what her father said, would
soon reach a high place among his brother lawyers.
There was even talk of sending him to the legis-
lature, where her own father, the Honorable Prim, had
achieved his title. She wished, of course, that Mr.
Willits's hair was not quite so red; she wished, too, that
the knuckles on his hands were not so large and bony
— and that he was not always at her beck and call;
but these, she was forced to admit, were trifles in
the make-up of a fine man. There was, however, a
sane mind under the carrot-colored hair and a warm
palm inside the knotted knuckles, and that was in-
finitely more important than little physical peculiar-
ities which one would forget as life went on. As to
his periods of ill health, these she herself could have
prevented had she told him the whole truth that
night on the stairs, or the day before when she had
parried his direct proposal of marriage — a piece
of stupidity for which she never failed to blame
herself.

306

His future conduct did not trouble her in the least.
She had long since become convinced that Willits
would never again become intemperate. He had kept
his promise, and this meant more to her than his hav-
ing given way to past temptations. The lesson he
had learned at the ball had had, too, its full effect.
One he had never forgotten. Over and over again he
had apologized to her for his brutal insolence in laying
his profane hands on her dancing-card and tearing it
to bits before her eyes. He had, moreover, deeply
regretted the duel and had sworn to her on his
honor as a gentleman that he would never fight
another.

Each time she had listened quietly and had told
him how much she was pleased and how grateful she
was for his confidence and how such fine resolutions
redounded to his credit, and yet in thinking it over the
next day she could not help comparing his meek out-
bursts of sorrow with Harry's blunt statement made to
her the last time she saw him in the park, when, instead
of expressing any regret for having shot Willits, he had
boldly declared that he would do it again if any such
insult were repeated. And strange to say — and this
she could not understand in herself — in all such com-
parisons Harry came out best.

But: — and here she had to hold on to her rudder
with all her might — she had already made one mis-
take, tumbling head over heels in love with a young
fellow who had mortified her before the world when
their engagement was less than a few months old,

307

KENNEDY SQUARE

making her name and affections a byword, and she
could not and would not repeat the blunder. This
had shattered her customary self-reliance, leaving her
wellnigh helpless. Perhaps after all — an unheard-of
thing in her experience — she had better seek advice
of some older and wiser pilot. Two heads, or even
three — (here her canny Scotch blood asserted itself)
— were better than one in deciding so important a
matter as the choosing of a mate for life. And yet —
now she came to think it over — it was not so much a
question of heads as it was a question of shoulders on
which the heads rested. To turn to St. George, or to
any member of the Willits kin, was impossible.
Peggy's views she understood. Counsel, however, she
must have, and at once.

Suddenly an inspiration thrilled her like an electric
shock — one that sent the blood tingling to the very
roots of her hair. Why had she not thought of it be-
fore! And it must be in the most casual way — quite
as a matter of general conversation, he doing all the
talking and she doing all the listening, for on no ac-
count must he suspect her purpose.

Within the hour she had tied the ribbons of her wide
leghorn hat under her dimpled chin, picked up her
shawl, and started off alone, following the lane to the
main road. If the judge, by any chance, had ad-
journed court he would come straight home and she
would meet him on the way. If he was still engaged
in the dispensation of justice, she would wait for him
outside.

308

KENNEDY SQUARE

She had judged wisely. Indeed she might have
waited for days for some such moment and not found
so favorable an opportunity. His Honor had already
left the bench and was then slowly making his way
toward where she stood, hugging the sidewalk trees the
better to shade him from the increasing heat. As the
day had promised to be an unusually warm one, he
had attired himself in a full suit of yellow nankeen,
with palm-leaf fan and wide straw hat — a combination
which so matched the color and texture of his placid,
kindly face that Kate could hardly keep from laugh-
ing outright. Instead she quickened her steps until
she stood beside him, her lovely, fresh color height-
ened by her walk, her eyes sparkling, her face wreathed
in smiles.

"You are lookin' mighty cute, my Lady Kate, in
yo' Paisley shawl and sarsanet pelisse," he called out
in his hearty, cheery way. "Has Peggy seen 'em?
I've been tryin' to get her some just like 'em, only my
co't duties are so pressin'. Goodness, gracious me! —
but it's gettin' hot!" Here he stopped and mopped
his face, then his eyes fell upon her again: "Bless
my soul, child ! — you do look pretty this mornin' — jest
like yo' mother! Where did you get all those pink and
white apple-blossoms in yo' cheeks?"

" Do you remember her, Mr. Coston ? " she rejoined,
ignoring his compliment.

"Do I remember her! The belle of fo' counties,
my dear — eve'ybody at her feet; five or six gentlemen
co'tin' her at once; old Captain Barkeley, cross as a

309

KENNEDY SQUARE

bear — wouldn't let her marry this one or that one —
kep' her guessin' night and day, till one of 'em blew
his brains out, and then she fainted dead away.
Pretty soon yo' father co'ted her, and bein' Scotch,
like the old captain and sober as an owl and about
as cunnin', it wasn't long befo' everything was settled.
Very nice man, yo' father — got to have things mighty
partic'lar; we young bucks used to say he slept in
a bag of lavender and powdered his cheeks every
mornin' to make him look fresh, while most of us
were soakin' wet in the duck-blinds — but that was only
our joke. That's long befo' you were born, child.
But yo' mother didn't live long — they said her heart
was broken 'bout the other fellow, but there wasn't
a word of truth in that foolishness — couldn't be. I
used to see her and yo' father together long after
that, and she was mighty good to him, and he was
to her. Yes — all comes back to me. Stand still,
child, and let me look at you — yes — you're plumper
than yo' mother and a good deal rosier, and you
don't look so slender and white as she did, like
one of those pale Indian pipes she used to hunt in
the woods. It's the Seymour in you that's done that,
I reckon."

Kate walked on in silence. It was not the first
time that some of her mother's old friends had told her
practically the same story — not so clearly, perhaps,
because few had the simple, outspoken candor of the
old fellow, but enough to let her know that her father
was not her mother's first love.

310

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Don't be in a hurry, child, and don't let anybody
choose for you," he ran on. "Peggy and I didn't
make any mistakes — and don't you. Now this young
son of Parker Willits's" — here his wrinkled face tight-
ened up into a pucker as if he had just bitten into an
unripe persimmon — "good enough young man, may
be; goin' to be something great, I reckon — in Mr.
Taney's office, I hear, or will be next winter. I
'spect he'll keep out of jail — most Willitses do — but
keep an eye on him and watch him, and watch yo'self
too. That's more important still. The cemetery is
a long ways off when you marry the wrong man, child.
And that other fellow that Peggy tells me has been
co'tin' you — Talbot Rutter's boy — he's a wild one,
isn't he? — drunk half the time and fightin' every-
body who don't agree with him. Come pretty nigh
endin' young Willits, so they say. Now I hear he's run
away to sea and left all his debts behind. Talbot
turned him neck and heels out of doors when he found
it out, so they tell me — and served the scapegrace right.
Don't be in a hurry, child. Right man will come
bime-by. Just the same with Peggy till I come along
— there she is now, bless her sweet heart! Peggy,
you darlin' — I got so lonely for you I just had to 'journ
co't. I've been telling Lady Kate that she mustn't
be in a hurry to get married till she finds somebody
that will make her as happy as you and me." Here
the judge slipped his arm around Peggy's capacious
waist and the two crossed the pasture as the nearest
way to the house.

311

KENNEDY SQUARE

Kate kept on her way alone.

Her only reply to the garrulous judge had been one
of her rippling laughs, but it was the laughter of
bubbles with the sediment lying deep in the bottom
of the glass.

312

CHAPTER XXI

But all outings must come to an end. And so when
the marsh grass on the lowlands lay in serried waves
of dappled satin, and the corn on the uplands was
waist high and the roses a mob of beauty, Kate threw
her arms around Peggy and kissed her over and over
again, her whole heart flowing through her lips; and
then the judge got his good-by on his wrinkled cheek,
and the children on any clean spot which she found
on their molasses-covered faces; and then the caval-
cade took up its line of march for the boat-landing,
Willits going as far as the wharf, where he and Kate
had a long talk in low tones, in which he seemed to
be doing all the talking and she all the listening — " But
nuthin' mo'n jes' a han'shake" (so Todd told St.
George), "he lookin' like he wanter eat her up an*
she kinder sayin' dat de cake ain't brown 'nough
yit fur tastin' — but one thing I know fo' sho' — an*
dat is she didn't let 'im kiss 'er. I wuz leadin' his
horse pas' whar dey wuz standin', an' de sorrel var-
mint got cuttin' up an' I kep' him prancin' till Mister
Willits couldn't stay wid her no longer. Drat dat
red-haided "

"Stop, Todd — be careful — you mustn't speak that
way of Mr. Willits."

313

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Well, Marse George, I won't — but I ain't neber like
him f'om de' fust. He ain't quality an' he neber kin
be. How Miss Kate don' stan' him is mo'n I kin tell."

Kate drove up to her father's house in state, with
Ben as special envoy to see that she and her belong-
ings were properly cared for. St. George with Todd
and the four dogs — six in all — arrived, despite Kate's
protestations, on foot.

Pawson met him at the door. He had given up his
boarding-house and had transferred his traps and par-
cels to the floor above — into Harry's old room, really
— in order that the additional rent — (he had now
taken entire charge of Temple's finances) — might
help in the payment of the interest on the mortgage.
He had thought this all out while St. George was at
Wesley and had moved in without notifying him, that
being the best way to solve the problem — St. George
still retaining his bedroom and dining-room and the
use of the front door. Jemima, too, had gone. She
wanted, so she had told her master the day he left
with Kate, to take a holiday and visit some of her
people who lived down by the Marsh Market in an
old rookery near the Falls, and would come back when
he sent for her; but Todd had settled all that the
morning of his arrival, the moment he caught sight
of her black face.

"Ain't no use yo' comin' back," the darky blurted
out. " I'm gwineter do de cookin' and de chamber-
wo'k. Dere ain't 'nough to eat fo' mo'n two. When

314

KENNEDY SQUARE

dem white-livered, no-count, onery gemmens dat stole
Marse George's money git in de chain-gang, whar dey
b'longs, den may be we'll hab sumpin' to go to market
on, but dat ain't yit; an' don't ye tell Marse George
I tol' yer or I'll ha'nt ye like dat witch I done beared
'bout down to Wesley — ha'nt ye so ye'll think de
debble's got ye." To his master, his only explanation
was that Jemima had gone to look after her sister,
who had be^n taken "wid a mis'ry in her back."

If St. George knew anything of the common talk
going on around him no one was ever the wiser. He
continued the even tenor of his life, visiting and re-
ceiving his friends, entertaining his friends in a simple
and inexpensive way: Once Poe had spent an evening
with him, when he made a manly, straightforward
apology for his conduct the night of the dinner, and
on another occasion Mr. Kennedy had made an es-
pecial point of missing a train to Washington to have
an hour's chat with him. In the afternoons he would
have a rubber of whist with the archdeacon who lived
across the Square — a broad-minded ecclesiastic, who
believed in relaxation, although, of course, he was
never seen at the club; or he might drop into the
Chesapeake for a talk with Richard or sit beside him
in his curious laboratory at the rear of his house where
he worked out many of the problems that absorbed
his mind and inspired his hopes. At night, however
late or early — whenever he reached home — there was
always a romp with his dogs. This last he rarely
omitted. The click of the front-door latch, followed

315

KENNEDY SQUARE

by his firm step overhead, was their signal, and up
they would come, tumbling over each other in their
eagerness to reach his cheeks — straight up, their paws
scraping his clothes; then a swoop into the dining-
room, when they would be "downed" to the floor, their
eyes following his every movement.

Nor had his own financial situation begun as yet to
trouble him. Todd and Pawson, however, had long
since become nervous. More than once had they put
their heads together for some plan by which sufficient
money could be raised for current expenses. In this
praiseworthy effort, to Todd's unbounded astonish-
ment, Pawson had one night developed a plan in
which the greatly feared and much-despised Gadgem
was to hold first place. Indeed on the very morning
succeeding the receipt of Pawson's letter and at an
hour when St. George would be absent at the club,
there had come a brisk rat-a-tat on the front door
and Gadgem had sidled in.

Todd had not seen the collector since that eventful
morning when he stood by ready to pick up the pieces
of that gentleman's dismembered body when his mas-
ter was about to throw him into the street for doubt-
ing his word, and he now studied him with the great-
est interest. The first thing that struck him was the
collector's clothes. As the summer was approaching
he had changed his winter suit for a combination of
brown linen bound with black — (second hand, of
course, its former owner having gone out of mourn-
ing) and at the moment sported a moth-eaten, crape-

316

KENNEDY SQUARE

encircled white beaver with a floppy, two-inch brim, a
rusty black stock that grabbed him close under the
chin, completely submerging his collar, and a pair of
congress gaiters very much run down at the heel. He
was evidently master of himself and the situation, for
he stood looking from Todd to the young lawyer, a
furtive, anxious expression on his face that betokened
both a surprise at being sent for and a curiosity to
learn the cause, although no word of inquiry passed
his lips.

Pawson's opening remark calmed the collector's
suspicions.

" Exactly," he answered in a relieved tone, when the
plot had been fully developed, dragging a mate of the
red bandanna — a blue one — from his pocket and
blowing his nose in an impressive manner. " Exactly
— quite right — quite right — difficult perhaps — enor-
mously difficult but — yes — quite right."

Then there had followed a hurried consultation, dur-
ing which the bullet-headed darky absorbed every
word, his eyes rolling about in his head, his breath
ending somewhere near his jugular vein.

These details duly agreed upon, Gadgem bowed
himself out of the dining-room, carrying with him a
note-book filled with such data as:

2 fowling pieces made by Purdey, 1838.

3 Heavy duck guns.
2 English saddles.

1 silver loving cup.

2 silver coasters, etc, etc.,

317

KENNEDY SQUARE

a list which Todd the night before had prompted and
which Pawson, in his clear, round hand, had trans-
ferred to a sheet of foolscap ready for Gadgem in the
morning.

On reaching the front door the collector stopped
and looked furtively up the stairs. He was wonder-
ing with professional caution whether St. George had
returned and was within hearing distance. If so much
as a hint should reach Temple's ears the whole
scheme would come to naught. Still in doubt, he
called out in his sharpest business voice, as if pro-
longing a conversation which had been carried on
inside:

"Yes, Mr. Pawson, please say to Mr. Temple that
it is Gadgem, of Gadgem & Coombs — and say that
I will be here at ten o'clock to-morrow — sharp — on the
minute; I am a/ways on the minute in matters of
this kind. Only five minutes of his time — five min-
utes, remember — " and he passed out of hearing.

Todd, now duly installed as co-conspirator, opened
the ball the next morning at breakfast. St. George
had slept late, and the hands of the marble clock
marked but a few minutes of the hour of Gadgem's
expected arrival, and not a moment could be lost.

" Dat Gadgem man done come yere yisterday," he
began, drawing out his master's chair with an extra
flourish to hide his nervousness, " an' he say he's comin'
ag'in dis mornin' at ten o'clock. Clar to goodness it's
dat now! I done forgot to tell ye."

318

KENNEDY SQUARE

"What does he want, Todd?" asked St. George,
dropping into his seat.

" I dunno, sah — said he was lookin' fo' sumpin' fo' a
frien' ob his — I think it was a gun — an' he wanted to
know what kind to buy fur him — Yes, sah, dem
waffles 's jes' off de fire. He 'lowed he didn't know
nuffin' 'bout guns — butter, sah ? — an' den Mister Paw-
son spoke up an' said he'd better ask you. He's
tame dis time — leastways he 'peared so."

"A fine gun is rather a difficult thing to get in these
days, Todd," replied St. George, opening his napkin.
"Since old Joe Manton died I don't know but one
good maker — and that's Purdey, of London, and he,
I hear, has orders to last him five years. No, Todd —
I'd rather have the toast."

"Yes, sah — I knowed ye couldn't do nuffin' fur
him — Take de top piece — dat's de brownest — but he
seemed so cut up 'bout it dat I tol' him he might see
ye fur a minute if he come 'long 'bout ten o'clock, when
you was fru' yo' bre'kfus', 'fo' ye got tangled up wid
yo' letters an' de papers. Dat's him now, I spec's.
Shall I show him in?"

" Yes, show him in, Todd. Gadgem isn't a bad sort
of fellow after all. He only wants his pound of flesh,
like the others. Ah, good-morning, Mr. Gadgem."
The front door had been purposely left open, and
though the bill collector had knocked by way of warn-
ing, he had paused for no answer and was already in
the room. The little man laid his battered hat silently
on a chair near the door, pulled down his tight linen

319

KENNEDY SQUARE

sleeves with the funereal binding, adjusted his high
black stock, and with half-creeping, half-cringing
movement, advanced to where St. George sat.

"I said good-morning, Mr. Gadgem," repeated St.
George in his most captivating tone of voice. He had
been greatly amused at Gadgem's antics.

"I heard you, sir — I heard you distinctly, sir — I
was only seeking a place on which to rest my hat, sir —
not a very inspiring hat — quite the contrary — but all
I have. Yes, sir — you are quite right — it is a very
good morning — a most de%Mul morning. I was
convinced of that when I crossed the park, sir. The
trees "

"Never mind the trees, Gadgem. We will take
those up later on. Tell me what I can do for you —
what do you want?"

"A gun, sir — a plain, straightforward gun — one
that can be relied upon. Not for myself, sir — I am
not murderously inclined — but for a friend who has
commissioned me — the exact word, sir — although the
percentage is small — commissioned me to acquire
for him a fowling piece of the pattern, weight, and
build of those belonging to St. George W. Temple,
Esquire, of Kennedy Square — and so I made bold,
sir, to "

"You won't find it, Gadgem," replied St. George,
buttering the toast. "I have two that I have shot
with for years that haven't their match in the State.
Todd, bring me one of those small bird guns — there,
behind the door in the rack. Hand it to Mr. Gadgem.

320

KENNEDY SQUARE

Now, can you see by the shape of — take hold of it,
man. But do you know anything about guns?"

"Only enough to keep away from their muzzles,
sir." He had it in his hand now — holding it by the
end of the barrel, Todd instinctively dodging out of
the way, although he knew it was not loaded. " No,
sir, I don't know anything — not the very smallest thing
about guns. There is nothing, in fact, I know so lit-
tle about as a gun — that is why I have come to you."

St. George recovered the piece and laid it as gently
on the table beside his plate as if it had been a newly
laid egg.

"No, I don't think you do," he laughed, "or you
wouldn't hold it upside down. Now go on and give
me the rest."

Gadgem emitted a chuckle — the nearest he ever
came to a laugh: "To have it go on, sir, is infinitely
preferable than to have it go off, sir. He-he! And
you have, I believe you said, two of these highly val-
uable implements of death?"

"Yes, five altogether — two of this kind. Here,
Todd" — and he picked up the gun — " put it back be-
hind the door."

Gadgem felt in his inside pocket, produced and
consulted a memorandum with the air of a man who
wanted to be entirely sure, and in a bland voice said:

" I should think at your time of life — if you will per-
mit me, sir — that one less gun would not seriously
inconvenience you. Would you permit me, sir, to

hope that "

321

KENNEDY SQUARE

St. George looked up from his plate and a peculiar
expression flitted across his face.

"You mean you want to buy it?"

The bill collector made a little movement forward
and scrutinized St. George's face with the eye of
a hawk. For a man of Temple's kidney to be with-
out a fowling piece was like a king being without a
crown. This was the crucial moment. Gadgem
knew Temple's class, and knew just how delicately he
must be handled. If St. George's pride, or his love
for his favorite chattels — things personal to himself —
should overcome him, the whole scheme would fall
to the ground. That any gentleman of his standing
had ever seen the inside of a pawn-shop in his life
was unthinkable. This was what Gadgem faced.
As for Todd, he had not drawn a full breath since
Gadgem opened his case.

" Not exactly buy it, sir," purred Gadgem, twisting
his body into an obsequious spiral. "Men of your
position do not traffic in such things — but if you would
be persuaded, sir, for a money consideration which you
would fix yourself — say the origins], cost of the gun —
to spare one of your five — you would greatly delight
— in fact, you would overwhelm with gratitude — a
friend of mine."

St. George hesitated, looked out of the window
and a brand-new thought forced its way into his mind
— as if a closet had been suddenly opened, revealing a
skeleton he had either forgotten or had put perma-
nently out of sight. There was need of this " original

322

KENNEDY SQUARE

cost" — instant need — something he had entirely for-
gotten. Jemima would soon need it — perhaps needed
it at that very minute. He had, it was true, often
kept her waiting: but that was when he could pay at
his pleasure; now, perhaps, he couldn't pay at all.

"All right, Gadgem," he said slowly, a far-away,
thoughtful look on his face — "come to think of it I
don't need two guns of this calibre, and I am quite
willing to let this one go, if it will oblige your friend."
Here Todd breathed a sigh of relief so loud and deep
that his master turned his head in inquiry. "As to
the price — I'll look that up. Come and see me again
in a day or two. Better take the gun with you
now."

The fight had been won, but the risk had been
great. Even Pawson could hardly believe his ears
when Gadgem, five minutes later, related the out-
come of the interview.

"Well, then, it will be plain sailing so long as the
rest of the things last," said Pawson, handling the
piece with a covetous touch. He too liked a day off
when he could get it. " Who will you sell the gun to,
Gadgem?"

"God knows — I don't! I'll borrow the money on
it somehow — but I can't see him suffer — no, sir — can't
see him suffer. It's a pleasure to serve him — real
gentleman — real — do you hear, Pawson ? No veneer
— no sham — no lies! Damn few such men, I tell you.
Never met one before — never will meet one again.
Gave up everything he had for a rattle-brain young

323

KENNEDY SQUARE

scamp — beggared himself to pay his debts — not a drop
of the fellow's blood in his veins either — incredible —
incredible! Got to handle him like gunpowder or
he'll blow everything into matchsticks. Find out the
price and I'll bring the money to-morrow. Do you
pay it to him; I can't. I'd feel too damn mean after
lying to him the way I have. Feel that way now.
Good-day."

The same scene was practically repeated the fol-
lowing month. It was an English saddle this time,
St. George having two. And it was the same unknown
gentleman who figured as " the much-obliged friend,"
Pawson conducting the negotiations and securing the
owner's consent. On this occasion Gadgem sold the
saddle outright to the keeper of a livery stable,
whose bills he collected, paying the difference be-
tween the asking and the selling price out of his own
pocket.

Gradually, however, St. George awoke to certain
unsuspected features of what was going on around
him. The discovery was made one morning when
the go-between was closeted in Pawson's lower office,
Pawson conducting the negotiations in St. George's
dining-room. The young attorney, with Gadgem's
assistance, had staved off some accounts until a legal
ultimatum had been reached, and, having but few
resources of his own left, had, with Todd's help, de-
cided that the silver loving-cup presented to his client's
father by the Marquis de Castullux could alone save
the situation — a decision which brought an emphatic

324

KENNEDY SQUARE

refusal from the owner. This and the discovery of
Pawson's and Gadgem's treachery had greatly in-
censed him.

"And you tell me, Pawson, that that scoundrel,
Gadgem, has — Todd go down and bring him up here
immediately — has had the audacity to run a pawn-
shop for my benefit without so much as asking my
leave? — peddling my things? — lying to me straight
through ?" Here the door opened and Gadgem's face
peered in. He had, as was his custom, crept upstairs
so as to be within instant call when wanted.

"Yes — I am speaking of you, sir. Come inside and
shut that door behind you. You too, Todd. What
the devil do you mean, Gadgem, by deceiving me
in this way? Don't you know I would rather have
starved to death than "

Gadgem raised his hand in protest:

"Exactly so, sir. That's what we were afraid of,
sir — such an uncomfortable thing to starve to death,
sir — I couldn't permit it, sir — I'd rather walk my feet
off than permit it. I did walk them off "

" But who asked you to tramp the streets with my
things uuder your arm ? And you lied to me about it
— you said you wanted to oblige a friend. There
wasn't a word of truth in it, and you know it."

Again Gadgem's hand went out with a pleading
"Please-don't" gesture. "Less than a word, sir — a
whole dictionary, less, sir, and wwabridged at that,
if I might be permitted to say it. My friend still has
the implement of death, and not only does he still

325

KENNEDY SQUARE

possess it, but he is enormously obliged. Indeed, I
have never seen him so happy."

"You mean to tell me, Gadgem," St. George burst
out, " that the money you paid me for the gun really
came from a friend of yours ? "

" I do, sir." Gadgem's gimlet eye was worming it-
self into Temple's.

"What's his name?"

"Gadgem, sir — John Gadgem, of Gadgem &
Coombs — Gadgem sole survivor, since Coombs is with
the angels; the foreclosure having taken place last
month: hence these weeds." And he lifted the tails
of his black coat in evidence.

" Out of your own money ? "

"Yes, sir — some I had laid away."

St. George wheeled suddenly and stood looking first
at Gadgem, then at Pawson, and last at Todd, as if
for confirmation. Then a light broke in upon him —
one that played over his face in uncertain flashes.

"And you did this for me?" he asked thoughtfully,
fixing his gaze on Gadgem.

" I did, sir," came the answer in a meek voice, as if
he had been detected in filching an apple from a stand ;
"and I would do it again — do it over and over again.
And it has been a great pleasure for me to do it. I
might say, sir, that it has been a kind of extreme bliss
to do it."

"Why?" There was a tremor now in Temple's
voice that even Todd had never noticed before.

Gadgem turned his head away. "I don't know,
326

KENNEDY SQUARE

sir," he replied in a lower tone. " I couldn't explain
it on oath; I don't care to explain it, sir." No lie
could serve him now — better make a clean breast of
the villany.

" And you still own the gun ? " Todd had never
seen his master so gentle before — not under a provo-
cation such as this.

"I do, sir." Gadgem's voice was barely audible.

"Then it means that you have locked up just that
much of your own money for a thing you can never
use yourself and can't sell. Am I right?"

Gadgem lowered his head and for a moment studied
the carpet. His activities, now that the cat was out
of the bag, were fair subjects for discussion, but not his
charities.

"I prefer not to answer, sir, and — " the last words
died in his throat.

"But it's true, isn't it?" persisted St. George. He
had never once taken his eyes from Gadgem.

"Yes, it's true."

St. George turned on his heel, walked to the mantel,
stood for an instant gazing into the empty fireplace, and
then, with that same straightening of his shoulders and
lift of his head which his friends knew so well when
he was deeply stirred, confronted the collector again :

"Gadgem!" He stopped and caught his breath.
For a moment it seemed as if something in his throat
choked his utterance. "Gadgem — give me your
hand! Do you know you are a gentleman and a
thoroughbred! No — don't speak — don't explain. We

327

KENNEDY SQUARE

understand each other. Todd, bring three glasses and
hand me what is left of the old Port. And do you
join us, Pawson."

Todd, whose eyes had been popping from his head
during the entire interview, and who was still amazed
at the outcome, suddenly woke to the dangers of the
situation: on no account must his master's straits be
further revealed. He raised his hand as a signal to
St. George, who was still looking into Gadgem's eyes,
screwed his face into a tangle of puckers and in a husky
whisper muttered, so low that only his master could
hear:

"Dat Port, Marse George" — one eye now went en-
tirely out in a wink — "is gittin' a leetle mite low"
(there hadn't been a drop of it in the house for six
months) "an' if "

"Well, then, that old Brown Sherry — get a fresh
bottle, Todd — St. George was quite honest, and
so, for that matter, was Todd: the Brown Sherry had
also seen its day.

" Yes, sah — but how would dat fine ol' peach brandy
de jedge gin ye do? It's sp'ilin' to be tasted, sah."
Both eyes were now in eclipse in the effort to apprise
his master that with the exception of some badly
corked Madeira, Tom Coston's peach brandy was
about the only beverage left in the cellar.

" Well, the old peach brandy, then — get it at once
and serve it in the large glasses."

328

CHAPTER XXII

St. George had now reached the last stage of his
poverty. The selling or pawning of the few valuables
left him had been consummated and with the greatest
delicacy, so as best to spare his feelings. That he
had been assisted by hitherto unknown friends who
had sacrificed their own balances in his behalf, added
temporarily to his comforts but did not lessen the
gravity of the present situation. The fact remained
that with the exception of a few possible assets he was
practically penniless. Every old debt that could be
collected — and Gadgem had been a scourge and a
flaming sword as the weeks went on in their gather-
ing— had been rounded up. Even his minor interests
in two small ground rents had, thanks to Pawson, been
cashed some years in advance. His available re-
sources were now represented by some guns, old books,
bridles, another saddle, his rare Chinese punch-bowl
and its teakwood stand, and a few remaining odds
and ends.

He could hope for no payment from the Patapsco
— certainly not for some years; nor could he raise
money even on these hopes, the general opinion being
that despite the efforts of John Gorsuch, Rutter, and
Harding to punish the guilty and resuscitate the inno-

329

KENNEDY SQUARE

cent, the bank would finally collapse without a cent
being paid the depositors. As for that old family
suit, it had been in the courts for forty-odd years and
it was likely to be there forty-odd years more before a
penny would be realized from the settlemnet.

Had he been differently constructed — he a man
with scores and scores of friends, many of whom
would gladly have helped him — he might have made
his wants known; but such was not his make-up.
The men to whom he could apply — men like Horn, the
archdeacon, Murdoch, and one or two others — had
no money of their own to spare, and as for wealthier
men — men like Rutter and Harding — starvation itself
would be preferable to an indebtedness of that kind.
Then again, he did not want his poverty known.
He had defied Talbot Rutter, and had practically
shown him the door when the colonel doubted his
ability to pay Harry's debts and still live, and no hu-
miliation would be greater than to see Rutter's satis-
faction over his abject surrender. No — if the worst
came to the worst, he would slip back to Wesley, where
he was always welcome and take up the practice of the
law, which he had abandoned since his father's death,
and thus earn money enough not to be a burden to
Peggy. In the meantime something might turn up.
Perhaps another of Gadgem's thumb-screws could be
fastened on some delinquent and thus extort a drop or
'two; or the bank might begin paying ten per cent.;
or another prepayment might be squeezed out of a
ground rent. If none of these things turned out to

330

KENNEDY SQUARE

his advantage, then Gadgem and Pawson must con-
tinue their search for customers who would have the
rare opportunity of purchasing, direct " from the pri-
vate collection of a gentleman/' etc., etc., "one first-
class English saddle," etc., etc.

"The meantime," however, brought no relief. In-
deed so acute had the financial strain become that
another and a greater sacrifice — one that fairly cut his
heart in two — faced him — the parting with his dogs.
That four mouths besides his own and Todd's were
too many to feed had of late become painfully evi-
dent. He might send them to Wesley, of course, but
then he remembered that no one at Tom Coston's
ever had a gun in their hands, and they would only
be a charge and a nuisance to Peggy. Or he might
send them up into Carroll County to a farmer friend,
but in that case he would have to pay their keep, and
he needed the money for those at home. And so he
waited and pondered.

A coachman from across the park solved the diffi-
culty a day or two later with a whispered word in
Todd's ear, which set the boy's temper ablaze — for he
dearly loved the dogs himself — until he had talked it
over with Pawson and Gadgem, and had then broken
the news to his master as best he could.

"Dem dogs is eatin' dere haids off," he began,
fidgeting about the table, brushing the crumbs on to a
tray only to spill half of them on the floor — "an*
Mister Floyd's coachman done say dat his young
marster's jes' a-dyin' for 'em an' don't cyar what he

331

KENNEDY SQUARE

pay for 'em, dat is if ye— '' but St. George cut him
short.

"What did you say, Todd?"

"Why dat young marster dat's jes' come up f'om
Ann'rundel — got mo' money den he kin th'ow 'way I
yere."

" And they are eating their heads off, are they ? — and
he wants to swap his dirty money for my — Yes — I
know. They think they can buy anything with a
banknote. And its Floe and Dandy and Sue and
Rupert, is it? And I'm to sell them — I who have
slept with them and ate with them and hugged them
a thousand times. Of course they eat their heads off.
Yes — don't say another word. Send them up one at
a time — Floe first!"

The scene that followed always lingered in his
mind. For days thereafter he could not mention their
name, even to Todd, without the tears springing to
his eyes.

Up the kitchen flight they tumbled — not one at a
time, but all in a scramble, bounding straight at him,
slobbering all over his face and hands, their paws
scraping his clothes — each trying to climb into his
lap — big Gordon setters, all four. He swept them off
and ranged them in a row before his arm-chair with
their noses flat to the carpet, their brown agate eyes
following his every movement.

"Todd says you eat too much, you damned ras-
cals!" he cried in enforced gayety, leaning forward,
shaking his finger in their faces. " What the devil do

332

KENNEDY SQUARE

you mean, coming into a gentleman's private apart-
ments and eating him out of house and home! — and
that's what you're doing. I'm going to sell you! —
do you hear that? — sell you to some stingy curmud-
geon who'll starve you to death, and that's what you
deserve! . . . Come here, Floe — you dear old doggie,
you — nice Floe! . . . Here, Dandy — Rupert — Sue!"
They were all in his arms, their cold noses snuggled
under his warm chin. But this time he didn't care
what they did to his clothes — nor what he did to them.
He was alone; Todd had gone down to the kitchen
— only he and the four companions so dear to his
heart. "Come here, you imp of the devil," he con-
tinued, rubbing Floe's ears — he loved her best —
pinching her nose until her teeth showed; patting
her flanks, crooning over her as a woman would over
a child, talking to himself all the time. "I wonder
if Floyd will be good to them ! If I thought he wouldn't
I'd rather starve than — No — I reckon it's all right —
he's got plenty of room and plenty of people to look
after them." Then he rose from his chair and drew
his hand across his forehead. " Got to sell my dogs,
eh ? Turned traitor, have you, Mr. Temple, and gone
back on your best friends? By God! I wonder what
will come next?" He strode across the room, rang
for Todd, and bending down loosened a collar from
Dandy's neck, on which his own name was engraved,
"St. George Wilmot Temple, Esquire." "Esquire,
eh?" he muttered, reading the plate. "What a
damned lie! Property of a pauper living on pawn-

333

KENNEDY SQUARE

shops and a bill collector! Nice piece of business,
St. George — fine record for your blood and breed-
ing! Ah, Todd — that you? Well, take them down-
stairs and send word to Mr. Floyd's man to call for
them to-night, and when you come back I'll have a
letter ready for you. Come here, you rascals, and let
me hug one or two of you. Good Floe — good doggie."
Then the long-fought choke in his throat strangled
him. "Take them away, Todd," he said in a husky
voice, straightening his shoulders as if the better to
get his breath, and with a deep indrawn sigh walked
slowly into his bedroom and shut the door behind
him.

Half an hour later there followed a short note, written
on one of his few remaining sheets of English paper,
addressed to the new owner, in which he informed
that gentleman that he bespoke for his late compan-
ions the same care and attention which he had always
given them himself, and which they so richly de-
served, and which he felt sure they would continue to
receive while in the service of his esteemed and hon-
ored correspondent. This he sealed in wax and
stamped with his crest; and this was duly delivered
by Todd — and so the painful incident had come to
an end.

The dogs disposed of, there still remained to him
another issue to meet — the wages he owed Jemima.
Although she had not allowed the subject to pass her
lips — not even to Todd — St. George knew that she
needed the money — she being a free woman and her

334

KENNEDY SQUARE

earnings her own — not a master's. He had twice
before determined to set aside enough money from
former cash receipts to liquidate Jemima's debt —
once from the proceeds of Gadgem's gun and again
from what Floyd paid him for the dogs — but Todd
had insisted with such vehemence that he needed it
for the marketing, that he had let it go over.

The one remaining object of real value was the
famous loving-cup. With this turned into money he
would be able to pay Jemima in full. For days he
debated the matter with himself, putting the question
in a dozen different lights: it was not really his cup,
but belonged to the family, he being only its custo-
dian; it would reflect on his personal honor if he traded
so distinguished a gift — one marking the esteem in
which his dead father had been held, etc. Then the
round, good-natured face and bent figure of his old
stand-by and comfort — who had worked for him and
for his father almost all her life — rose before him,
she bending over her tubs earning the bread to keep
her alive, and with this picture in his mind all his
fine-spun theories vanished into thin air. Todd was
summoned and thus the last connecting link between
the past and present was broken and the precious
heirloom turned over to Kirk, the silversmith, who
the next day found a purchaser with one of the
French secretaries in Washington, a descendant of the
marquis.

With the whole of the purchase money in his hands
and his mind firmly made up he rang for his servant:

335

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Come along, Todd — show me where Aunt Jemima
lives — it's somewhere down by the market, I hear —
I'm going now."

The darky's face got as near white as his skin would
allow: this was the last thing he had expected.

"Dat ain't no fit place for ye, Marse George," he
stammered. "I'll go an' git her an' bring her up;
she tol' me when I carried dat las' washin' down she
wuz a-comin' dis week."

"No, her sister is sick and she is needed where
she is. Get your basket and come along — you can
do your marketing down there. Bring me my hat
and cane. What's the matter with her sister, do you
know?"

Again the darky hedged: "Dunno, sah — some
kin' o' mis'ry in her back I reckon. Las' time Aunt
Jemima was yere she say de doctor 'lowed her kittens
was 'fected." (It was another invalid limping past
the front steps who had put that in his head.)

St. George roared: "Well, whatever she's got, I'm
going to pay my respects to her; I've neglected Aunt
Jemima too long. No — my best hat — don't forget
that I'm going to call on a very distinguished colored
lady. Come, out with it. How far does she live
from the market?"

" Jes' 'bout's far's from yere to de church. Is you
gwine now? I got a heap o' cleanin' ter do — dem
steps is all gormed up, dey's dat dirty. Maybe we
better go when '

"Not another word out of you! I'm going now."
336

KENNEDY SQUARE

He could feel the money in his pocket and he could
not wait. "Get your basket."

Todd led the way and the two crossed the park and
struck out for the lower part of the city, near Jones
Falls, into a district surrounded by one- and two-story
houses inhabited by the poorer class of whites and the
more well-to-do free negroes. Here the streets, es-
pecially those which ran to the wharves, were narrow
and ill-paved, their rough cobbles being often ob-
structed by idle drays, heavy anchors, and rusting
anchor-chains, all on free storage. Up one of these
crooked streets, screened from the brick sidewalk by
a measly wooden fence, stood a two-story wooden
house, its front yard decorated with clothes-lines
running criss-cross from thumbs of fence-posts to
fingers of shutters — a sort of cat's-cradle along whose
meshes Aunt Jemima hung her wet clothes.

On this particular day what was left of St. George
Temple's wardrobe and bed linen, with the exception
of what that gentleman had on his back, was either
waving in the cool air of the morning or being clothes-
pinned so that it might wave later on.

Todd's anxious face was the first to thrust itself
from around the corner of a sagging, sloppy sheet.
The two had entered the gate in the fence at the same
moment, but St. George had been lost in the maze of
dripping linen.

" Go' way f'om dar, you fool nigger, mussin' up my
wash! Keep yo' black haid offer dem sheets, I tell
ye, 'fo' I smack ye! An' ye needn't come down yere

337

KENNEDY SQUARE

a-sassin' me 'bout Marse George's clo'es, 'cause dey
ain't done — " (here Temple's head came into view, his
face in a broad smile). "Well, fer de lan's sakes,
Marse George. What ye come down yere fer?
Here — lemme git dat basket outer yo' way — No, dem
hands ain't fit fer nobody to shake — My! — but I's
mighty glad ter see ye! Don't tell me ye come fer
dat wash — I been so pestered wid de weather — nothin'
don't dry."

He had dodged a wet sheet and had the old woman
by the hand now, her face in a broad grin at sight
of him.

" No, aunty — I came down to pay you some money."

" You don't owe me no money — leastwise you don't
owe me nothin' till ye kin pay it," and she darted an
annihilating glance at Todd.

" Yes, I do — but let me see where you live. What
a fine place — plenty of room except on wash-days. All
those mine ? — I didn't know I had that many clothes
left. Pick up that basket, Todd, and bring it in for
aunty." The two made their way between the wet
linen and found themselves in front of the dwelling.
"And is this all yours?"

" De fust flo' front an 'back is mine an' de top fiV
I rents out. Got a white man in dere now dat works
in de lumber yard. Jes' come up an' see how I fixed
it up."

"And tell me about your sister — is she better?" he
continued.

The old woman put her arms akimbo: "Lawd
338

KENNEDY SQUARE

bress ye, Marse George! — who done tol' ye dat fool
lie! I ain't got no sister — not yere!"

" Why, I thought you couldn't come back to me be-
cause you had to nurse some member of your family
who had kittens, or some such misery in her spine —
wasn't that it, Todd?" said St. George trying to con-
ceal a smile.

Todd shot a beseeching look at Jemima to confirm
his picturesque yarn, but the old woman would have
none of it.

" Dere ain't been nobody to tek care ob but des me.
I come yere 'cause I knowed ye didn't hab no money
to keep me, an' I got back de ol' furniture what I had
fo' I come to lib wid ye, an' went to washin', an' if
dat yaller skunk's been tellin' any lies 'bout me I'm
gwineter wring his neck."

" No, let Todd alone," laughed St. George, his heart
warming to the old woman at this further proof of her
love for him. "The Lord has already forgiven him
that lie, and so have I. And now what have you got
upstairs?"

They had mounted the steps by this time and St.
George was peering into a clean, simply furnished
room. "First rate, aunty — your lumber-yard man
is in luck. And now put that in your pocket," and he
handed her the package.

" What's dis?"

"Nearly half a year's wages."

" I ain't gwineter take it," she snapped back in a
positive tone.

339

KENNEDY SQUARE

St. George laid his hand tenderly on the old woman's
shoulder. She had served him faithfully for many
years and he was very fond of her.

" Tuck it in your bosom, aunty — it should have been
paid long ago."

She looked at him shrewdly: "Did de bank pay
ye yit, Marse George?"

"No."

" Den I ain't gwineter tech it — I ain't gwineter tech
a fip ob it!" she exploded. "How I know ye ain't
a-sufferin' fer it! See dat wash? — an' I go,t anudder
room to rent if I'm min' ter scrunch up a leetle mo'.
I kin git 'long."

St. George's hand again tightened on her shoulder.

"Take it when you can get it, aunty," he said in
a more serious tone, and turning on his heel joined
Todd below, leaving the old woman in tears at the
top of the stairs, the money on her limp outspread
fingers.

All the way back to his home — they had stopped to
replenish the larder at the market — St. George kept
up his spirits. Absurd as it was — he a man tottering
on the brink of dire poverty — the situation from his
stand-point was far from perilous. He had discharged
the one debt that had caused him the most anxiety—
the money due the faithful old cook; he had a basket-
ful of good things — among them half a dozen quail
and three diamond-back terrapin — the cheapest food
in the market — and he had funds left for his immediate
wants.

340

KENNEDY SQUARE

With this feeling of contentment permeating his
mind something of the old feeling of independence,
with its indifference toward the dollar and what it
meant and could bring him, welled up in his heart.
For a time at least the spectre of debt lay hidden.
A certain old-time happiness began to show itself in
his face and bearing. So evident was this that before
many days had passed even Todd noticed the return
of his old buoyancy, and so felt privileged to discuss his
own feelings, now that the secret of their mode of
earning a common livelihood was no longer a bugbear
to his master.

" Dem taters what we got outer de extry sterrups of
dat ridin'-saddle is mos' gone," he ventured one morn-
ing at breakfast, when the remains of the cup money
had reached a low ebb. " Shall I tote de udder saddle
down to dat Gadgem man" — (he never called him any-
thing else, although of late he had conceived a marked
respect for the collector) — " or shall I keep it fer some
mo' sugar?"

"What else is short, Todd?" said St. George, good-
naturedly, helping himself to another piece of corn
bread.

" Well, dere's plenty ob dose decanter crackers and
de pair ob andirons is still holdin' out wid de mango
pickles an' de cheese, but dat pair ob ridin'-boots is
mos' gone. We got half barrel ob flour an' a bag o'
coffee, ye 'member, wid dem boots. I done seen
some smoked herrin' in de market yisterday mawnin'
'd go mighty good wid de buckwheat cakes an*

341

KENNEDY SQUARE

sugar-house 'lasses — only we ain't got no 'lasses.
I was a-thinkin' dem two ol' cheers in de garret 'd
come in handy; ain't nobody sot in 'em since I
been yere; de bottoms is outen one o' dem, but
de legs an' backs is good 'nough fer a quart o'
'lasses. I kin take 'em down to de same place dat
Gadgem man tol' me to take de big brass shovel
an' tongs "

"All right, Todd," rejoined St. George, highly
amused at the boy's economic resources.. "Anything
that Mr. Gadgem recommends I agree to. Yes — take
him the chairs — both of them."

Even the men at the club had noticed the change
and congratulated him on his good spirits. None of
them knew of his desperate straits, although many of
them had remarked on the differences in his hospital-
ity, while some of the younger gallants — men who
made a study of the height and roll of the collars of
their coats and the latest cut of waistcoats — espe-
cially the increased width of the frogs on the lapels —
had whispered to each other that Temple's clothes
certainly needed overhauling; more particularly his
shirts, which were much the worse for wear: one
critic laying the seeming indifference to the carelessness
of a man who was growing old; another shaking his
head with the remark that it was Poole's bill which was
growing old — older by a good deal than the clothes,
and that it would have to be patched and darned with
one of old George Brown's (the banker's) scraps
of paper before the wearer could regain his reputa-

342

KENNEDY SQUARE

tion of being the best-dressed man in or out of the
club.

None of these lapses from his former well-to-do
estate made any difference, however, to St. George's
intimates when it came to the selection of important
guests for places at table or to assist in the success of
some unusual function. Almost every one in and
around Kennedy Square had been crippled in their
finances by the failure, not only of the Patapsco, but
by kindred institutions, during the preceding few years.
Why, then, they argued, should any one criticise such
economies as Temple was practising? He was still
living in his house with his servants — one or two less,
perhaps — but still in comfort, and if he did not enter-
tain as heretofore, what of it ? His old love of sport,
as was shown by his frequent visits to his estates on the
Eastern Shore, might account for some of the changes
in his hospitable habits, there not being money enough
to keep up establishments both in country and town.
These changes, of course, could only be temporary.
His properties on the peninsula — (almost everybody
had "properties" in those days, whether imaginary or
real) — would come up some day, and then all would
be well again.

The House of Seymour was particularly in the dark.
The Honorable Prim, in his dense ignorance, had even
asked St. George to join in one of his commercial en-
terprises— the building of a new clipper ship — while
Kate, who had never waited five minutes in all her
life for anything that a dollar could buy, had begged a

343

KENNEDY SQUARE

subscription for a charity she was managing, and which
she received with a kiss and a laugh, and without a
moment's hesitation, from a purse shrinking steadily
by the hour.

Only when some idle jest or well-meant inquiry
diverted his mind to the chain of events leading up to
Harry's exile was his insistent cheerfulness under his
fast accumulating misfortunes ever checked.

Todd was the cruel disturber on this particular day,
with a bit of information which, by reason of its source,
St. George judged must be true, and which because
of its import brought him infinite pain.

"Purty soon we won't hab 'nough spoons to stir
a toddy wid," Todd had begun. "I tell ye, Marse
George, dey ain't none o' dem gwine down in dere
pockets till de constable gits 'em. I jes' wish Marse
Harry was yere — he'd fix 'em. 'Fo' dey knowed whar
dey wuz he'd hab 'em full o' holes. Dat red-haided,
no-count gemman what's a-makin up to Miss Kate is
gwineter git her fo' sho "

It was here that St. George had raised his head, his
heart in his mouth.

" How do you know, Todd ?" he asked in a serious
tone. He had long since ceased correcting Todd for
his oustpoken reflections on Kate's suitor as a useless
expenditure of time.

" 'Cause Mammy Henny done tol' Aunt Jemima
so — an' she purty nigh cried her eyes out when she
said it. Ye ain't beared nothin' 'bout Marse Harry
comin' home, is ye?"

344

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No — not a word — not for many months, Todd.
He's up in the mountains, so his mother tells me."

Whereupon Todd had gulped down an imprecation
expressive of his feelings and had gone about his duties,
while St. George had buried himself in his easy-chair,
his eyes fixed on vacancy, his soul all the more a-hun-
gered for the boy he loved. He wondered where the
lad was — why he hadn't written. Whether the fever
had overtaken him and he laid up in some filthy hos-
pital. Almost every week his mother had either come
herself or sent in for news, accompanied by messages
expressing some new phase of her anxiety. Or had
he grown and broadened out and become big and
strong ? — whom had he met, and how had they treated
him ? — and would he want to leave home again when
once he came back? Then, as always, there came a
feeling of intense relief. He thanked God that Harry
ivasn't at home; a daily witness of the shrinkage of his
resources and the shifts to which he was being put.
This would be ten times worse for him to bear than
the loss of the boy's companionship. Harry would
then upbraid him for the sacrifices he had made for
him, as if he would not take every step over again!
Take them! — of course he would take them! — so would
any other gentleman. Not to have come to Harry's
rescue in that the most critical hour of his life, when
he was disowned by his father, rejected by his sweet-
heart, and hounded by creditors, not one of whom did
he justly owe, was unthinkable, absolutely unthink-
able, and not worth a moment's consideration.

345

KENNEDY SQUARE

And so he would sit and muse, his head in his
hand, his well-rounded legs stretched toward the fire,
his white, shapely fingers tapping the arms of his
chair — each click so many telegraphic records of the
workings of his mind.

346

CHAPTER XXIII

With the closing in of the autumn and the com-
ing of the first winter cold, the denizens of Kennedy
Square gave themselves over to the season's enter-
tainments. Mrs. Cheston, as was her usual custom,
issued invitations for a ball — this one in honor of
the officers who had distinguished themselves in the
Mexican War. Major Clayton, Bowdoin, the Mur-
dochs, Stirlings, and Howards — all persons of the
highest quality — inaugurated a series of chess tourna-
ments, the several players and those who came to
look on to be thereafter comforted with such tooth-
some solids as wild turkey, terrapin, and olio, and
such delectable liquids as were stored in the cellars
of their hosts. Old Judge Pancoast, yielding to the
general demand, gave an oyster roast — his enormous
kitchen being the place of all others for such a func-
tion. On this occasion two long wooden tables were
scoured to an unprecedented whiteness — the young
girls in white aprons and the young men in white
jackets serving as waiters — and laid with wooden
plates, and two big wooden bowls — one for the hot,
sizzling shells just- off their bed of hickory coals
banked on the kitchen hearth, and the other for the
empty ones — the fun continuing until the wee sma'
hours of the morning.

347

KENNEDY SQUARE

The Honorable Prim and his charming daughter,
not to be outdone by their neighbors, cleared the front
drawing-room of its heavy furniture, covered every
inch of the tufted carpet with linen crash, and with
old black Jones as fiddler and M. Robinette — a
French exile — as instructor in the cutting of pigeon
wings and the proper turning out of ankles and toes,
opened the first of a series of morning soirees for the
young folk of the neighborhood, to which were in-
vited not only their mothers, but their black mammies
as well.

Mr. and Mrs. Richard Horn, not having any blithe-
some daughter, nor any full-grown son — Oliver being
but a child of six — and Richard and his charming wife
having long since given up their dancing-slippers —
were good enough to announce — (and it was astonish-
ing what an excitement it raised) — that " On the Mon-
day night following Mr. Horn would read aloud, to
such of his friends as would do him the honor of be-
ing present, the latest Christmas story by Mr. Charles
Dickens, entitled 'The Cricket on the Hearth/"
For this occasion Mr. Kennedy had loaned him his
own copy, one of the earliest bound volumes, bearing
on its fly-leaf an inscription in the great master's own
handwriting, in which he thanked the distinguished
author of "Swallow Barn" for the many kindnesses
he had shown him during his visit to America, and
begged his indulgence for his third attempt to express
between covers the sentiment and feeling of the Christ-
mas season.

348

KENNEDY SQUARE

Not that this was an unusual form of entertain-
ment, nor one that excited special comment. Almost
every neighborhood had its morning (and often its
evening) "Readings," presided over by some one
who read well and without fatigue — some sweet old
maid, perhaps, who knew how to grow old gracefully.
At these times a table would be rolled into the library
by the deferential servant of the house, on which he
would place the dear lady's spectacles and a book, its
ivory marker showing where the last reading had ended
— it might be Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella," or
Irving's "Granada," or Thackeray's "Vanity Fair,"
or perhaps, Dickens's " Martin Chuzzlewit."

At eleven o'clock the girls would begin to arrive,
each one bringing her needle-work of some kind —
worsted, or embroidery, or knitting — something she
could manage without discomfort to herself or any-
body about her, and when the last young lady was in
her seat, the same noiseless darky would tiptoe in and
take his place behind the old maid's chair. Then he
would slip a stool under her absurdly small slippers
and tiptoe out again, shutting the door behind him
as quietly as if he found the dear lady asleep — and so
the reading would begin.

A reading by Richard, however, was always an
event of unusual importance, and an invitation to be
present was never declined whether received by letter
or by word of mouth.

St. George had been looking forward eagerly to the
night, and when the shadows began to fall in his now

349

KENNEDY SQUARE

almost bare bedroom, he sent for Todd to help him
dress.

"Have you got a shirt for me, Todd?"

"Got seben ob 'em. Dey wants a liT trimmin'
roun' de aidges, but I reckon we kin make 'em do —
Aunt Jemima sont 'em home dis mawnin'. She's been
a-workin' on 'em, she says. Looks ter me like a goat
had a moufful outer dis yere sleeve, but I dassent tell
'er so. Lot o' dem butters wanderin' roun' dat Marsh
market lookin' fer sumpin' to eat; lemme gib dem
boots anudder tech."

Todd skipped downstairs with the boots and St.
George continued dressing; selecting his best and
most becoming scarf; pinning down the lapels of his
buff waistcoat; scissoring the points of his high collar,
and with Todd's assistance working his arms between
the slits in the silk lining of the sleeves of his blue
cloth, brass-buttoned coat, which he finally pulled
into place across his chest.

And a well-dressed man he was in spite of the frayed
edges of his collar and shirt ruffles and the shiny spots
in his trousers and coat where the nap was worn
smooth, nor was there any man of his age who wore
his clothes as well, no matter what their condition, or
one who made so debonair an appearance.

Pawson was of that opinion to-night when St. George,
his toilet complete, joined him at the bottom of the
stairs. Indeed he thought he had never seen his client
look better — a discovery which sent a spasm of satis-
faction through his long body, for he had a piece of

350

KENNEDY SQUARE

important news to tell him, and had been trying all
day to make up his mind how best to break it.

"You look younger, Mr. Temple," he began,
"and, if you will allow me to say so, handsomer, every
day. Your trip to the Eastern Shore last spring did
you no end of good," and the young attorney crooked
his long neck and elevated his eyebrows and the cor-
ners of his mouth in the effort to give to his sinuous
body a semblance of mirth.

"Thank you, Pawson," bowed St. George, gra-
ciously. "You are really most kind, but that is be-
cause you are stone blind. My shirt is full of holes,
and it is quite likely I shall have to stand all the eve-
ning for fear of splitting the knees of my breeches.
Come — out with it" — he laughed — " there is something
you have to tell me or you would not be waiting for
me here at this hour in the cold hall."

Pawson smiled faintly, then his eyebrows lost their
identity in some well-defined wrinkles in his fore-
head.

" I have, sir, a most unpleasant thing to tell you —
a very unpleasant thing. When I tried this morning
for a few days' grace on that last overdue payment,
the agent informed me, to my great surprise, that Mr.
John Gorsuch had bought the mortgage and would
thereafter collect the interest in person. I am not
sure, of course, but I am afraid Colonel Rutter is be-
hind the purchase. If he is we must be prepared to
face the worst should he still feel toward you as he did
when you and he" — and he jerked his thumb mean-

351

KENNEDY SQUARE

ingly in the direction of the dining-room — " had it out
— in there."

St. George compressed his lips. "And so Rutter
holds the big end of the whip after all, does he ? " he
exclaimed with some heat. " He will find the skin on
my back not a very valuable asset, but he is welcome
to it. He has about everything else."

"But I'd rather pay it somehow if we could," re-
joined Pawson in a furtive way — as if he had some-
thing up his sleeve he dare not spring upon him.

"Yes — of course you would," retorted St. George
with a cynical laugh, slipping on his gloves. "Pay it?
— of course pay it. Pay everything and everybody I
What do you think I'd bring at auction, Pawson?
I'm white, you know, and so I can't be sold on the
block — but the doctors might offer you a trifle for
cutting-up purposes. Bah ! Hand me my coat, Todd."

A deprecatory smile flitted across the long, thin
face of the attorney. He saw that St. George was in
no mood for serious things, and yet something must
be done; certainly before the arrival of Gorsuch him-
self, who was known to be an exact man of business
and who would have his rights, no matter who suffered.

" I had a little plan, sir — but you might not fall in
with it. It would, perhaps, be only temporary, but
it is all I can think of. I had an applicant this morn-
ing— in fact it came within an hour after I had heard
the news. It seemed almost providential, sir."

St. George was facing the door, ready to leave the
house, his shoulders still bent forward so that Todd

352

KENNEDY SQUARE

could adjust his heavy cloak the better, when for the
first time the anxious tone in Pawson's voice caught
his attention. As the words fell from the attorney's
lips he straightened, and Todd stepped back, the
garment still in the darky's hands.

"An applicant for what?" he inquired in a graver
tone. He was not surprised — nothing surprised him
in these days — he was only curious.

"For the rooms you occupy. I can get enough
for them, sir, not only to clear up the back interest,
but to keep the mortgage alive and

St. George's face paled as the full meaning of
Pawson's proposal dawned in his mind. That was
the last thing he had expected.

"Turn me into the street, eh?" There was a note
of pained surprise in his voice.

"I don't want you to put it that way, sir." His
heart really bled for him — it was all he could do to
control himself.

"How the devil else can I put it?"

"Well, I thought you might want to do a little
shooting, sir."

"Shooting! What with ? One of Gadgem's guns ?
Hire it of him, eh, and steal the powder and shot!"
he cried savagely.

"Yes — if you saw fit, sir. Gadgem, I am sure,
would be most willing, and you can always get plenty
of ammunition. Anyway, you might pass a few months
with your kinsfolk on the Eastern Shore, whether you
hunted or not; it did you so much good before. The

353

KENNEDY SQUARE

winter here is always wearing, sloppy and wet. I've
heard you say so repeatedly." He had not taken his
eyes from his face; he knew this was St. George's
final stage, and he knew too that he would never again
enter the home he loved; but this last he could not tell
him outright. He would rather have cut his right
hand off than tell him at all. Being even the humblest
instrument in the exiling of a man like St. George Wil-
mot Temple was in itself a torture.

"And when do you want me to quit?" he said
calmly. "I suppose I can evacuate like an officer
and a gentleman and carry my side-arms with me —
my father's cane, for instance, that I can neither sell
nor pawn, and a case of razors which are past sharp-
ening ? " and his smile broadened as the humor of the
thing stole over him.

" Well, sir, it ought to be done," continued Pawson
in his most serious tone, ignoring the sacrifice — (there
was nothing funny in the situation to the attorney) —
"well — I should say — right away. To-morrow, per-
haps. This news of Gorsuch has come very sudden,
you know. If I can show him that the new tenant
has moved in already he might wait until his first
month's rent was paid. You see that " ^

" Oh, yes, Pawson, I see — see it all clear as day,"
interrupted St. George — " have been seeing it for some
months past, although neither you nor Gadgem
seem to have been aware of that fact." This came
with so grave a tone that Pawson raised his eyes in-
quiringly. "And who is this man," Temple went

354

KENNEDY SQUARE

on, " who wants to step into my shoes ? Be sure you
tell him they are half-soled," and he held up one
boot. He might want to dance or hunt in them — and
his toes would be out the first thing he knew."

" He is Mr. Gorsuch's attorney, sir, a Mr. Fogbin,"
Pawson answered, omitting any reference to the boots
and still concerned over the gravity of the situation.
" He did some work once for Colonel Rutter, and that's
how Gorsuch got hold of him. That's why I suspect
the colonel. This would make the interest sure, you
see — rather a sly game, is it not, sir? One I did not
expect. "

St. George pondered for a moment, and his eye
fell on his servant.

"And what will I do with Todd?"

The darky's eyes had been rolling round in his head
as the talk continued, Pawson, knowing how leaky
he was, having told him nothing of the impending
calamity for fear he would break it to his master in
the wrong way.

" I should say take him with you," came the posi-
tive answer.

"Take him with me! You didn't think I would be
separated from him, did you?" cried St. George, in-
dignantly, the first note of positive anger he had yet
shown.

"I didn't think anything about it, sir," and he
looked at Todd apologetically.

"Well, after this please remember, Mr. Pawson,
that where I go Todd goes."

355

KENNEDY SQUARE

The darky leaned forward as if to seize St. George's
hand; his eyes filled and his lips began to tremble.
He would rather have died than have left his master.

St. George walked to the door, threw it open, and
stood for an instant, his eyes fixed on the bare trees
in the park. He turned and faced the two again :

"Todd!"

"Yes, Marse George — Two hot ragged tears
still lingered on the darky's eyelids.

"To-day is Monday, is it not? — and to-morrow is
boat day?"

"Yes, Marse George," came the trembling answer.

"All right, Pawson, I'll go. Let Talbot Rutter
have the rest — he's welcome to it. Now for my cloak,
Todd — so — and my neckerchief and cane. Thank
you very much, Pawson. You have been very kind
about it all, and I know quite well what it has cost
you to tell me this. You can't help — neither can I —
neither, for that matter, can Gorsuch — nor is it his
fault. It is Rutter's, and he will one day get his reck-
oning. Good-night — don't sit up too late. I am go-
ing to Mr. Horn's to spend the evening. Walk along
with me through the Park, Todd, so I can talk to
you. And, Todd," he continued when they had en-
tered the path and were bending their steps to the
Horn house, "I want you to gather together to-mor-
row what are left of my clothes and pack them in one
of those hair trunks upstairs — and your own things in
another. Never mind about waiting for the wash.
I'm going down to Aunt Jemima's myself in the morn-

356

KENNEDY SQUARE

ing and will fix it so she can send the rest to me later
on. I owe her a small balance and must see her once
more before I leave. Now go home and get to bed;
you have been losing too much sleep of late."

And yet he was not cast down, nor did his courage
fail him. Long before the darky's obedient figure had
disappeared his natural buoyancy had again asserted
itself — or perhaps the philosophy which always sus-
tains a true gentleman in his hour of need had come
to his assistance. He fully realized what this last
cowardly blow meant. One after another his sev-
eral belongings had vanished: his priceless family
heirlooms; his dogs; and now the home of his an-
cestors. He was even denied further shelter within
its walls. But there were no regrets; his conscience
still sustained him; he would live it all over again.
In his determination to keep to his standards he had
tried to stop a freshet with a shovelful of clay; that was
all. It was a foolhardy attempt, no doubt, but he
would have been heartily ashamed of himself if he
had not made the effort. Wesley, of course, was not
a very exciting place in which to spend the winter,
but it was better than being under obligations to
Talbot Rutter; and then he could doubtless earn
enough at the law to pay his board — at least he
would try.

He had reached the end of the walk and had already
caught the glow of the overhead lantern in the hall of
the Horn mansion lighting up the varied costumes of
the guests as Malachi swung back the front door,

357

KENNEDY SQUARE

revealing the girls in their pink and white nubias, the
gallants in long cloaks with scarlet linings, the older
men in mufflers, and the mothers and grandmothers
in silk hoods. There was no question of Richard's
popularity.

" Clar to goodness, Marse George, you is a sight
for sore eyes," cried Malachi, unhooking the clasp of
the velvet collar and helping him off with his cloak.
"I ain't never seen ye looking spryer! Yes, sah,
Marse Richard's inside and he'll he mighty glad ye
come. Yes — jedge — jes's soon as I — Dat's it, mistis
— I'll take dat shawl — No, sah, Marse Richard ain't
begun yit. Dis way, ladies," and so it had gone on
since the opening rat-a-tat-tat on the old brass knocker
had announced the arrival of the first guest.

Nor was there any question that everybody who
could by any possibility have availed themselves of
Richard's invitation had put in an appearance. Most
of the men from the club known to these pages were
present, together with their wives and children — those
who were old enough to sit up late; and Nathan Gill,
without his flute this time, but with ears wide open —
he was beginning to get gray, was Nathan, although
he wouldn't admit it; and Miss Virginia Clendenning
in high waist and voluminous skirts, fluffy side curls,
and a new gold chain for her eyeglasses — gold rims, too,
of course — not to mention the Murdochs, Stirlings, Gat-
chells, Captain Warfield and his daughter, Bowdoin,
and Purviance. They were all there; everybody, in
fact, who could squeeze inside the drawing-room;

358

KENNEDY SQUARE

while those who couldn't filled the hall and even the
stairs — wherever Richard's voice could be heard.

St. George edged into the packed room, swept his
glance over the throng, and made his way through the
laughing groups, greeting every one right and left,
old and young, as he moved — a kiss here on the up-
turned cheek of some pretty girl whom he had carried
in his arms when a baby; a caressing pat of approba-
tion on some young gallant's shoulder; a bend of the
head in respectful homage to those he knew but slightly
— the Baroness de Trobiand, Mrs. Cheston's friend,
being one of them; a hearty hand held out to the men
who had been away for the summer — interrupted now
and then by some such sally from a young bride as —
"Oh, you mean Uncle George! No — I'm not going
to love you any more! You promised you would come
to my party and you didn't, and my cotillon was all
spoiled!" or a — "Why, Temple, you dear man! — I'm
so glad to see you! Don't forget my dinner on Thurs-
day. The Secretary is coming and I want you to sit
between him and Lord Atherton" — a sort of trium-
phal procession, really — until he reached the end of
the room and stood at Kate's side.

"Well, sweetheart!" he cried gayly, caressing her
soft hand before his fingers closed over it. Then his
face hardened. "Ah, Mr. Willits! So you, too, must
come under the spell of Mr. Horn's voice," and with-
out waiting fora reply continued as if nothing had
interrupted the joy of his greeting. " You should sit
down somewhere, my dear Kate — get as near to Rich-

359

KENNEDY SQUARE

ard as you can, so you can watch his face — that's
the best part of it. And I should advise you, too, Mr.
Willits, to miss none of his words — it will be some-
thing you will remember all your life."

Kate looked up in his face with a satisfied smile.
She was more than glad that her Uncle George was so
gracious to her escort, especially to-night when he was
to meet a good many people for the first time.

"I'll take the stool, then, dear Uncle George," she
answered with a merry laugh. "Go get it, please,
Mr. Willits — the one under the sofa." Then, with a
toss of her head and a coquettish smile at St. George:
"What a gadabout you are; do you know I've been
three times to see you, and not a soul in your house and
the front door wide open, and everything done up in
curl papers as if you were going to move away for
good and all and never coming back? And do you
know that you haven't been near me for a whole week ?
What do you mean by breaking my heart? Thank
you, Mr. Willits; put the stool right here, so I can look
up into Mr. Horn's eyes as Uncle George wants me to.
I've known the time, sir" — and she arched her brows
at St. George — " when you would be delighted to have
me look my prettiest at you, but now before I am half-
way across the park you slip out of the basement door
to avoid me and — No! — no — no apologies — you are
just tired of me!"

St. George laughed gayly in return, his palms flat-
tened against each other and held out in supplication;
but he made no defence. He was studying the couple,

360

KENNEDY SQUARE

his mind on the bearing and manner of the young
man toward the woman he was pursuing so relent-
lessly. He saw that he had completely regained his
health, his clear eyes and ruddy skin and the spring
with which he moved denoting a man in perfect
physical condition. He discovered, too, that he was
extremely well dressed and his costume all that it
should be — especially the plum-colored coat, which
fitted his shoulders to perfection; his linen of the
whitest and finest, each ruffle in flutes; the waist-
coat embroidered in silk; the pumps of the proper
shape and the stockings all that could be desired —
except perhaps — and a grim smile crossed his face —
that the silk scarf was a shade out of key with the pre-
vailing color of his make-up, particularly his hair;
but, then, that was to be expected of a man who had
a slight flaw in his ancestry. He wondered if she had
noticed it and studied her face for an answer. No!
She had not noticed it. In fact there were very many
things she was overlooking in these last days of his
wooing, he thought to himself.

Suddenly he became occupied with Kate's beauty.
He thought he had never seen her so bewitching or in
such good spirits. From his six feet and an inch of
vantage his eyes followed her sloping shoulders and
tapering arms and rested on her laughing, happy face
— rose-colored in the soft light of the candles — a film
of lace looped at her elbows, her wonderful hair caught
in a coil at the back: not the prevailing fashion but
one most becoming to her. What had not this ad-

361

KENNEDY SQUARE

mixture of Scotch and Virginia blood — this intermin-
gling of robust independence with the gentle, yielding
feminine qualities of the Southern-born woman — done
for this girl?

Richard clapped his hands to attract attention, and
advancing a step in front of the big easy-chair which
Malachi had just pulled out for him, raised his fingers
to command silence.

All eyes were instantly turned his way. Alert and
magnetic, dignified and charming, he stood in the full
glow of the overhead chandelier, its light falling upon
his snuff-brown coat with its brass buttons, pale-yellow
waistcoat, and the fluff of white silk about his throat —
his grave, thoughtful face turned toward Kate as his
nearest guest, his glance sweeping the crowded room
as if to be sure that everybody was at ease; Malachi
close behind awaiting his master's orders to further
adjust the chair and reading-lamp.

In the interim of the hush Kate had settled herself
at Richard's feet on the low stool that Willits had
brought, the young man standing behind her, the two
making a picture that attracted general attention;
some wondering at her choice, while others were out-
spoken in their admiration of the pair who seemed so
wonderfully suited to each other.

" I have a rare story," Richard began " to read to
you to-night, my good friends, one you will never for-
get; one, indeed, which I am sure the world at large
will never forget. I shall read it as best I can, begging
your indulgence especially in rendering the dialect

362

KENNEDY SQUARE

parts, which, if badly done, often mar both the pathos
and humor of the text." Here he settled himself in
his chair and picked up the small volume, Malachi,
now that his service was over, tiptoeing out to his place
in the hall so as to be ready for belated arrivals.

The room grew silent. Even Mrs. Cheston, who
rarely ceased talking when she had anything to say —
and she generally did have something to say — folded
her hands in her lap and settled herself in her arm-
chair, her whole attention fastened on the reader.
St. George, who had been talking to her, moved up
a chair so he could watch Kate's face the better.

Again Richard raised his voice:

"The time is of the present, and the scene is laid
in one of those small towns outside London. I shall
read the whole story, omitting no word of the text, for
only then will you fully grasp the beauty of the au-
thor's style."

He began in low, clear tones reciting the contest
between the hum of the kettle and the chirp of the
cricket; the music of his voice lending added charm
to the dual song. Then there followed in constantly
increasing intensity the happy home life of bewitch-
ing Dot Perrybingle and her matter-of-fact husband,
John the Carrier, with sleepy Tilly Slowboy and the
Baby to fill out the picture; the gradual unfolding of the
events that led up to the cruel marriage about to take
place between old Tackleton, the mean toy merchant,
and sweet May Fielding, in love with the sailor boy,
Edward, lost at sea; the finding of the mysterious deaf

363

KENNEDY SQUARE

old man by John the Carrier, and the bringing him
home in his cart to Dot, who kept him all night be-
cause his friends had not called for him; the rapid
growth of a love affair between Dot and this old
man, who turned out to be a handsome young fellow;
the heart-rending discovery by John, through the spy-
ing of Tackleton, that Dot was untrue to him, she
meeting the man clandestinely and adjusting the dis-
guise for him, laughing all the while at the ruse she
was helping him to play; the grief of John when
he realized the truth, he sitting all night alone by the
fire trying to make up his mind whether he would
creep upstairs and murder the villain who had stolen
the heart of his little Dot, or forgive her because he
was so much older than she and it was, therefore, nat-
ural for her to love a younger man; and finally the
preparations at the church, where Tackleton was to
wed the beautiful May Fielding, who, broken-hearted
over the death of her sailor boy, had at last suc-
cumbed to her mother's wishes and consented to join
Tackleton at the altar.

For an hour Richard's well-modulated, full-toned
voice rolled on, the circle drawing closer and closer
with their ears and hearts, as the characters, one after
another, became real and alive under the reader's
magical rendering. Dot Perrybingle's cheery, laugh-
ing accents; Tackleton's sharp, rasping tones; John
the Carrier's simple, straightforward utterances and
the soft, timid cadence of old Caleb, the toy maker
—(drowned Edward's father) — and his blind daughter

364

KENNEDY SQUARE

Bertha were recognized as soon as the reader voiced
their speech. So thrilling was the story of their several
joys and sorrows that Kate, unconscious of her sur-
roundings, had slipped from her low stool, and with
the weight of her body resting on her knees, sat search-
ing Richard's face, the better to catch every word that
fell from his lips.

To heighten the effect of what was the most dramatic
part of the story — the return of the wedding party to
the Carrier's house, where Dot, Caleb, and his blind
daughter awaited them — Richard paused for a moment
as if to rest his voice — the room the while deathly still,
the loosening of a pent-up breath now and then show-
ing how tense was the emotion. Then he went on:

" Are those wheels upon the road, Bertha ? " cried Dot. " You've
a quick ear, Bertha — And now you hear them stopping at the
garden gate! And now you hear a step outside the door — the
same step, Bertha, is it not — And now "

Dot uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight, and running
up to Caleb put her hand upon his eyes, as a young man rushed
into the room, and, flinging away his hat into the air, came sweep-
ing down upon them.

"Is it over?" cried Dot.

"Yes!"

"Happily over?"

"Yes!"

"Do you recollect the voice, dear Caleb? Did you ever hear
the like of it before?" cried Dot.

"If my boy Edward in the Golden South Americas was alive — "
cried Caleb, trembling.

"He is alive!" shrieked Dot, removing her hands from his
eyes and clapping them in ecstasy; "look at him! See where

305

KENNEDY SQUARE

he stands before you, healthy and strong! Your own dear son!
Your own dear, living, loving brother, Bertha!"

All honor to the little creature for her transports! All honor
to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked in one
another's arms! All honor to the heartiness with which she met
the sunburnt, sailor-fellow, with his dark, streaming hair, half-
way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but suffered
him to kiss it freely, and to press her to his bounding heart!

"Now tell him (John) all, Edward," sobbed Dot, "and
don't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his
eyes ever again."

"I was the man," said Edward,

"And you could steal disguised into the home of your old
friend," rejoined the carrier . . .

" But I had a passion for her."

"You!"

"I had," rejoined the other, "and she returned it — I heard
twenty miles away that she was false to me — I had no mind to
reproach her but to see for myself."

Once more Richard's voice faltered, and again it
rang clear, this time in Dot's tones:

"But when she knew that Edward was alive, John, and had
come back — and when she — that's me, John — told him all —
and how his sweetheart had believed him to be dead, and how she
had been over-persuaded by her mother into a marriage — and
when she — that's me again, John — told him they were not mar-
ried, though close upon it — and when he went nearly mad for
joy to hear it — then she — that's me again — said she would go
and sound his sweetheart — and she did — and they were married
an hour ago! — John, an hour ago! And here's the bride! And
Gruff and Tackleton may die a bachelor! And I'm a happy
little woman, May, God bless you!"

Little woman, how she sobbed! John Perrybingle would have
caught her in his arms. But no; she wouldn't let him.

366

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Don't love me yet, please, John! Not for a long time yet!
No — keep there, please, John! When I laugh at you, as I some-
times do, John, and call you clumsy, and a dear old goose, and
names of that sort, it's because I love you, John, so well. And
when I speak of people being middle-aged and steady, John, and
pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot
sort of way, it's only because I'm such a silly little thing, John,
that I like, sometimes, to act a kind of play with Baby, and all
that, and make believe."

She saw that he was coming, and stopped him again. But she
was very nearly too late.

"No, don't love me for another minute or two, if you please,
John! When I first came home here I was half afraid I mighn't
learn to love you every bit as well as I hoped and prayed I might
— being so very young, John. But, dear John, every day and
hour I love you more and more. And if I could have loved you
better than I do, the noble words I heard you say this morning
would have made me. But I can't. All the affection that I
had (it was a great deal, John) I gave you, as you well deserve,
long, long ago, and I have no more left to give. Now, my dear
husband, take me to your heart again! That's my home, John;
and never, never think of sending me to any other."

Richard stopped and picking up a glass from the
table moistened his lips. The silence continued.
Down more than one face the tears were trickling,
as they have trickled down millions of faces since.
Kate had crept imperceptibly nearer until her hands
could have touched Richard's knees. When Willits
bent over her with a whispered comment a slight
shiver ran through her, but she neither answered nor
turned her head. It was only when Richard's voice
finally ceased with the loud chirp of the cricket at the
close of the beloved story, and St. George had helped

367

KENNEDY SQUARE

her to her feet, that she seemed to awake to a sense of
where she was. Even then she looked about her in
a dazed way, as if she feared some one had been
probing her heart — hanging back till the others had
showered their congratulations on the reader. Then
leaning forward she placed her hands in Richard's as
if to steady herself, and with a sigh that seemed to
come from the depths of her nature bent her head
and kissed him softly on the cheek.

When the eggnog was being served and the guests
were broken up into knots and groups, all discussing the
beauty of the reading, she suddenly left Willits, who
had followed her every move as if he had a prior right
to her person, and going up to St. George, led him out
of the room to one of the sofas in Richard's study,
her lips quivering, the undried tears still trembling
on her eyelids. She did not release his hand as they
took their seats. Her fingers closed only the tighter,
as if she feared he would slip from her grasp.

"It was all so beautiful and so terrible, Uncle
George," she moaned at last — " and all so true. Such
awful mistakes are made and then it is too late.
And nobody understands — nobody — nobody!" She
paused, as if the mere utterance pained her, and then
to St. George's amazement asked abruplty "Is there
nothing yet from Harry?"

St. George looked at her keenly, wondering whether
he had caught the words aright. It had been months
since Harry's name had crossed her lips.

"No, nothing," he answered simply, trying to
368

KENNEDY SQUARE

fathom her purpose and completely at sea as to her
real motive — "not for some months. Not since he
left the ship."

" And do you think he is in any danger ? " She had
released his hand, and with her fingers resting on the
sleeve of his coat sat looking into his eyes as if to
read their meaning.

" I don't know/' he replied in a non-committal tone,
still trying to understand her purpose. "He meant
then to go to the mountains, so he wrote his mother.
This may account for our not hearing. Why do you
ask ? Have you had any news of him yourself ? " he
added, studying her face for some solution of her
strange attitude.

She sank back on the cushions. "No, he never
writes to me." Then, as if some new train of thought
had forced its way into her mind, she exclaimed sud-
denly: " What mountains ?"

"Some range back of Rio, if I remember rightly.
He said he "

"Rio! But there is yellow fever at Rio!" she cried,
with a start as she sat erect in her seat, the pupils of
her eyes grown to twice their size. " Father lost half
of one of his crews at Rio. He heard so to-day. It
would be dreadful for — for — his mother — if anything
should happen to him."

Again St. George scrutinized her face, trying to probe
deep down in her heart. Had she, after all, some af-
fection left for this boy lover — and her future hus-
band within hearing distance! No! This was not

369

KENNEDY SQUARE

his Kate — he understood it all now. It was the spell
of the story that still held her. Richard's voice had
upset her, as it had done half the room.

"Yes, it is dreadful for everybody," he added.
And then, in a perfunctory manner, as being perhaps
the best way to lead the conversation into other
channels, added: "And the suspense will be worse
now — for me at any rate — for I, too, am going away
where letters reach me but seldom."

Her hand closed convulsively over his.

"You going away! You!" she cried in a half-
frightened tone. "Oh, please don't, Uncle George!
Oh! — I don't want you away from me! Why must
you go? Oh, no! Not now — not now!"

Her distress was so marked and her voice so plead-
ing that he was about to tell her the whole story, even
to that of the shifts he had been put to to get food for
himself and Todd, when he caught sight of Willits
making his way through the throng to where they sat.
His lips closed tight. This man would always be a
barrier between him and the girl he had loved ever
since her babyhood.

"Well, my dear Kate," he replied calmly, his eyes
still on Willits, who in approaching from the other
room had been detained by a guest, " you see I must go.
Mr. Pawson wants me out of the way while he fixes
up some of my accounts, and so he suggested that I
go back to Wesley for a few months." He paused for
an instant and, still keeping his eye on Willets, added :
"And now one thing more, my dear Kate, before

370

KENNEDY SQUARE

your escort claims you" — here his voice sank to a
whisper — "promise me that if Harry writes to you
you will send him a kind, friendly letter in return.
It can do you no harm now, nor would Harry misun-
derstand it — your wedding is so near. A letter would
greatly cheer him in his loneliness."

"But he won't write!" she exclaimed with some
bitterness — she had not yet noticed Willits's approach
— "he'll never write or speak to me again."

"But you will if he does?" pleaded St. George,
the thought of his boy's loneliness overmastering every
other feeling.

"But he won't, I tell you — never — never!"

" But if he should, my child ? If "

He stopped and raised his head. Willits stood
gazing down at them, searching St. George's face, as
if to learn the meaning of the conference: he knew
that he did not favor his suit.

Kate looked up and her face flushed.

"Yes — in one minute, Mr. Willits," and without
a word of any kind to St. George she ros? from the
sofa and with her arm in Willits's left the room

371

CHAPTER XXIV

One winter evening some weeks after St. George's
departure, Pawson sat before a smouldering fire in
Temple's front room, reading by the light of a low
lamp. He had rearranged the furniture — what was
left of it — both in this and the adjoining room, in
the expectation that Fogbin (Gorsuch's attorney)
would move in, but so far he had not appeared, nor
had any word come from either Gorsuch or Colonel
Rutter; nor had any one either written or called upon
him in regard to the overdue payment; neither had
any legal papers been served.

This prolonged and ominous silence disturbed him;
so much so that he had made it a point to be as much
in his office as possible should his enemy spring any un-
expected trap.

It was, therefore, with some misgivings that he an-
swered a quick, impatient rap on his front door at the
unusual hour of ten o'clock. If it were Fogbin he
had everything ready for his comfort; if it were any
one else he would meet him as best he could: no
legal papers, at any rate, could be served at that hour.

He swung back the door and a full-bearded, tightly-
knit, well-built man in rough clothes stepped in. In
the dim light of the overhead lamp he caught the

372

KENNEDY SQUARE

flash of a pair of determined eyes set in a strong,
forceful face.

" I want Mr. Temple," said the man, who had now
removed his cap and stood looking about him, as if
making an inventory of the scanty furniture.

"He is not here," replied Pawson, rummaging the
intruder's face for some clew to his identity and pur-
pose in calling at so late an hour.

"Are you sure?" There was doubt as well as
marked surprise in the man's tone. He evidently
did not believe a word of the statement.

"Very sure," rejoined the attorney in a more positive
tone, his eyes still on the stranger. "He left town
some weeks ago."

The intruder turned sharply, and with a brisk in-
quisitive movement strode past him and pushed open
the dining-room door. There he stood for a moment,
his eyes roaming over the meagre appointments of
the interior — the sideboard, bare of everything but a
pitcher and some tumblers — the old mahogany table
littered with law books and papers — the mantel
stripped of its clock and candelabras. Then he stepped
inside, and without explanation of any kind, crossed
the room, opened the door of St. George's bedroom,
and swept a comprehensive glance around the de-
spoiled interior. Once he stopped and peered into
the gloom as if expecting to find the object of his
search concealed in its shadows.

"What has happened here?" he demanded in a
voice which plainly showed his disappointment.

373

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Do you mean what has become of the rest of the
furniture?" asked the attorney in reply, gaining time
to decide upon his course.

"Yes, who is responsible for this business?" he
exclaimed angrily. "Has it been done during his
absence?"

Pawson hesitated. That the intruder was one of
Gorsuch's men, and that he had been sent in advance
on an errand of investigation, was no longer to be
doubted. He, however, did not want to add any fuel
to his increasing heat, so he answered simply:

"Mr. Temple got caught in the Patapsco failure
and it went pretty hard with him, and so what he
didn't actually need he sold."

The man gave a start, his features hardening; but
whether of surprise or dissatisfaction Pawson could
not tell.

"And when it was all gone he went away — is that
what you mean ? " This came in a softened tone.

"Yes — that seems to be the size of it. I suppose
you come about — some" — again he hesitated, not
knowing exactly where the man stood — "about some
money due you ? — Am I right ? "

" No, I came to see Mr. Temple, and I must see him,
and at once. How long will he be gone?"

"All winter — perhaps longer." The attorney had
begun to breathe again. The situation might not be as
serious as he had supposed. If he wanted to see Mr.
Temple himself, and no one else would do, there was
still chance of delay in the wiping out of the property.

374

KENNEDY SQUARE

Again the man's eyes roamed over the room, the
bareness of which seemed still to impress him. Then
he asked simply: "Where will a letter reach him?"

"I can't say exactly. I thought he had gone to
Virginia — but he doesn't answer any of my com-
munications."

A look of suspicion crept into the intruder's eyes.

"You're not trying to deceive me, are you? It is
very important that I should see Mr. Temple, and at
once." Then his manner altered. "You've forgot-
ten me, Mr. Pawson, but I have not forgotten you
— my name is Rutter. I lived here with Mr. Temple
before I went to sea, three years ago. I am just home
— I left the ship an hour ago. I'll sit down if you
don't mind — I've still got my sea-legs on and am a
little wobbly."

Pawson twisted his thin body and bent his neck,
his eyes glued to the speaker's face. There was not
a trace of young Harry in the features.

"Well, you don't look like him," he replied in-
credulously— "he was slender — not half your size,
and "

"Yes — I don't blame you. I am a good deal
heavier; may be too a beard makes some change
in a man's face. But you don't really doubt me, do
you ? Have you forgotten the bills that man Gadgem
brought in ? — the five hundred dollars due Slater, and
the horse Hampson sold me — the one I shot?" and
one of his old musical laughs rose to his lips.

Pawson sprang forward and seized the intruder's
375

KENNEDY SQUARE

hand. He would recognize that laugh among a thou-
sand:

" Yes — I know you now! It's all come back to me,"
he cried joyously. "But you gave me a terrible
start, Mr. Rutter. I thought you had come to clear
up what was left. Oh! — but I am glad you are back.
Your uncle — you always called him so, I remember
— your uncle has had an awful hard time of it — had
to sell most of his things — terrible — terrible! And
then, too, he has grieved so over you — asking me,
sometimes two or three times a day, for letters from
you — asking me questions and worrying over your not
coming and not answering. Oh, this is fine. Now
may be we can save the situation. You don't mind
my shaking your hand again, do you ? It's so good
to know there is somebody who can help. I have
been all alone so far except Gadgem — who has been
a treasure. You remember him. Why didn't you
let Mr. Temple know you were coming?"

"I couldn't. I have been up in the mountains of
Brazil, and coming home went ashore — got wrecked.
These clothes I bought from a sailor," and he opened
his rough jacket the wider.

"Yes — that's exactly what I heard him say — that's
what he thought — that is, that you were where you
couldn't write, although I never heard him say any-
thing about shipwreck. I remember his telling Mr.
Willits and Miss Seymour that same thing the morn-
ing he left — that you couldn't write. They came to
see him off."

376

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry edged his chair nearer the fireplace and
propped one shoe on the fender as if to dry it, although
the night was fair. The mention of Kate's and her
suitor's names had sent the blood to his head and he
was using the subterfuge in the effort to regain control
of himself before Pawson should read all his secrets.

Shifting his body he rested his head on his hand,
the light of the lamp bringing into clearer relief his
fresh, healthy skin, finely modelled nose, and wide
brow, the brown hair, clipped close to his head, still
holding its glossy sheen. For some seconds he did
not speak: the low song of the fire seemed to absorb
him. Now and then Pawson, who was watching him
intently, heard him strangle a rebellious sigh, as if
some old memory were troubling him. His hand
dropped and with a quick movement he faced his
companion again.

"I have been away a long time, Mr. Pawson," he
said in a thoughtful tone. "For three months — four
now — I have had no letters from anybody. It was
my fault partly, but let that go. I want you to answer
some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth —
all the truth. I haven't any use for any other kind
of man — do you understand ? Is my mother alive ? "

"Yes."

"And Alec? Is he all right?"

Pawson nodded.

"And my uncle? Is he ruined? — so badly ruined
that he is suffering? Tell me." There was a pecu-
liar oathos in his tone — so much so that Pawson, who

377

KENNEDY SQUARE

had been standing, settled into a chair beside him that
his answers might, if possible, be the more intimate
and sympathetic.

" I'm afraid he is. The only hope is the postpone-
ment in some way of the foreclosure of the mortgage
on this house until times get better. It wouldn't
bring its face value to-day."

Harry caught his breath: "My God! — you don't
tell me so ! Poor Uncle George — so fine and splendid
— so good to everybody, and he has come to this!
And about this mortgage — who owns it?"

"Mr. Gorsuch, I understand, owns it now: he
bought it of the Tyson estate."

"You mean John Gorsuch — my father's man of
business?"

"Yes."

"And was there nothing left? — no money coming
in from anywhere?"

Pawson shook his head: "We collected all that
some time ago — it came from some old ground
rents."

" And how has he lived since ? " He wanted to hear
it all; he could help better if he knew how far down
the ladder to begin.

"From hand to mouth, really." And then there
followed his own and Gadgem's efforts to keep the
wolf from the door; the sale of the guns, saddles, and
furniture; the wrench over the Castullux cup — and
what a godsend it was that Kirk got such a good price
for it — down to the parting with the last article that

378

KENNEDY SQUARE

either or both of them could sell or pawn, including
his four splendid setters.

As the sad story fell from the attorney's sympathetic
lips Harry would now and then cover his face with his
hands in the effort to hide the tears. He knew that
the ruin was now complete. He knew, too, that he had
been the cause of it. Then his thoughts reverted to the
old regime and its comforts: those which his uncle
had shared with him so generously.

"And what has become of my uncle's servants?"
he asked — "his cook, Aunt Jemima, and his body-
servant, Todd?"

"I don't know what has become of the cook, but
he took Todd with him."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. If Todd was with
him life would still be made bearable for his uncle.
Perhaps, after all, a winter with Tom Coston was the
wisest thing he could have done.

One other question now trembled on his lips. It
was one he felt he had no right to ask — not of Paw-
son — but it was his only opportunity, and he must
know the truth if he was to carry out the other plans he
had in view the day he dropped everything and came
home without warning. At last he asked casually:

"Do you know whether my father returned to
Uncle George the money he paid out for me?" Not
that it was important — more as if he wanted to be
posted on current events.

"He tried, but Mr. Temple wouldn't take it. I
had the matter in hand, and know. This was some

379

KENNEDY SQUARE

three years ago. He has never offered it since — not
to my knowledge."

Harry's face lightened. Some trace of decency was
still left in the Rutter blood! This money was in all
honor owed by his father and might still become an
asset if he and his uncle should ever become rec-
onciled.

" And can you tell me how they all are — out at Moor-
lands? Have you seen my father lately?"

" Not your father, but I met your old servant, Alec,
a few days ago."

"Alec! — dear old Alec! Tell me about him. And
my mother — was she all right? What did Alec say,
and how did the old man look?"

" Yes; your mother was well. He said they were all
well, except Colonel Rutter, whose eyes troubled him.
Alec seemed pretty much the same — may be a little
older."

Harry's mind began to wander. The room and
his companion were forgotten. He was again at
Moorlands, the old negro following him about, his
dear mother sitting by his bed or kissing him good-
night.

For an intant he sat gazing into the smouldering
embers absorbed in his thoughts. Then as if some new
vista had opened out before him he asked suddenly:

"You don't know what he was doing in town, do
you? Was my mother with him?"

"No, he was alone. He had brought some things
in for Mr. Seymour — some game or something, if I

380

KENNEDY SQUARE

remember right. There's to be a wedding there soon,
so I hear. Yes, now I think of it, it was game — some
partridges, perhaps, your father had sent in. The old
man asked about you — he always does. And now,
Mr. Rutter, tell me about yourself — have you done
well?" He didn't think he had, judging from his
general appearance, but he wanted to be sure in case
St. George asked him.

Harry settled in his chair, his broad shoulders fill-
ing the back. The news of Kate's wedding was what
he had expected. Perhaps it was already over. He
was glad, however, the information had come to him
unsought. For an instant he made no reply to Paw-
son's inquiry, then he answered slowly: "Yes, and
no. I have made a little money — not much — but
some — not enough to pay Uncle George everything I
owe him — not yet; another time I shall do better.
I was down with fever for a while and that cost me a
good deal of what I had saved. But I had to come
back. I met a man who told me Uncle George was
ruined; that he had left this house and that some-
body had put a sign on it. I thought at first that
this must refer to you and your old arrangement in
the basement, until I questioned him closer. I knew
how careless he had always been about his money trans-
actions, and was afraid some one had taken advan-
tage of him. That's why I was so upset when I came
in a while ago: I thought they had stolen his furniture
as well. The ship Mohican — one of the old Barkeley
line — was sailing the day I reached the coast and I

381

KENNEDY SQUARE

got aboard and worked my passage home. I learned
to do that on my way out. I learned to wear a beard
too. Not very becoming, is it?" — and a low, forced
laugh escaped his lips. "But shaving is not easy
aboard ship or in the mines."

Pawson made no reply. He had been studying
his guest the closer while he was talking, his mind
more on the man than on what he was saying. The
old Harry, which the dim light of the hall and room
had hidden, was slowly coming back to him: — the
quick turn of the head; the way his lips quivered
when he laughed; the exquisitely modelled nose and
brow, and the way the hair grew on the temples. The
tones of his voice, too, had the old musical ring. It
was the same madcap, daredevil boy mellowed and
strengthened by contact with the outside world. Next
he scrutinized his hands, their backs bronzed and
roughened by contact with the weather, and waited
eagerly until some gesture opened the delicately turned
fingers, exposing the white palms, and felt relieved
and glad when he saw that they showed no rough
usage. His glance rested on his well-turned thighs,
slender waist, and broad, strong shoulders and arms —
and then his eyes — so clear, and his skin so smooth
and fresh — a clean soul in a clean body! What joy
would be Temple's when he got his arms around this
young fellow once more!

The wanderer reached for his cap and pushed back
his chair. For an instant he stood gazing into the
smouldering coals as if he hated to leave their warmth,

382

KENNEDY SQUARE

his brow clouded, his shoulders drawn back. He had
all the information he wanted — all he had come in
search of, although it was not exactly what he wished
or what he had expected: — his uncle ruined and an
exile; his father half blind and Kate's wedding ex-
pected any week. That was enough at least for one
night.

He stepped forward and grasped Pawson's hand,
his well-knit, alert body in contrast to the loosely
jointed, long-legged, young attorney.

" I must thank you, Mr. Pawson," he said in his old
outspoken, hearty way " for your frankness, and I must
also apologize for my apparent rudeness when I first
entered your door; but, as I told you, I was so as-
tounded and angry at what I saw that I hardly knew
what I was doing. And now one thing more before I
take my leave: if Mr. Temple does not want his
present retreat known — and I gather from the mys-
terious way in which you have spoken that he does
not — let me tell you that I do not want mine known
either. Please do not say to any one that you have
seen me, or answer any questions — not for a time, at
least. Good-night!"

With the closing of the front door behind him the
exile came to a standstill on the top step and looked
about him. Across the park — beyond the trees, close
sheltered under the wide protecting roof, lay Kate.
All the weary miles out and back had this picture
been fixed in his mind. She was doubtless asleep as
it was now past eleven o'clock: he would know by

383

KENNEDY SQUARE

the lights. But even the sight of the roof that sheltered
her would, in itself, be a comfort. It had been many
long years since he had breathed the same air with her;
slept under the same stars; walked where her feet
had trodden. For some seconds he stood undecided.
Should he return to the Sailors' House where he had
left his few belongings and banish all thoughts of her
from his mind now that his worst fears had been con-
firmed ? or should he yield to the strain on his heart-
strings? If she were asleep the whole house would
be dark; if she were at some neighbor's and Mammy
Henny was sitting up for her, the windows in the bed-
room would be dark and the hall lamp still burning
— he had watched it so often before and knew the
signs.

Drawing the collar of his rough peajacket close
about his throat and crowding his cap to his ears, he
descended the steps and with one of his quick, decided
movements plunged into the park, now silent and
deserted.

As he neared the Seymour house he became con-
scious, from the glow of lights gleaming between the
leafless branches of the trees, that something out of
the common was going on inside. The house was
ablaze from the basement to the roof, with every win-
dow-shade illumined. Outside the steps, and as far
out as the curb, lounged groups of attendants, while
in the side street, sheltered by the ghostly trees, there
could be made out the wheels and hoods of carryalls
and the glint of harness. Now and then the door

384

KENNEDY SQUARE

would open and a bevy of muffled figures — the men in
cloaks, the girls in nubias wound about their heads
and shoulders — would pass out. The Seymours were
evidently giving a ball, or was it — and the blood left
his face and little chills ran loose through his hair —
was it Kate's wedding night? Pawson had said that
a marriage would soon take place, and in the imme-
diate future. It was either this or an important
function of some kind, and on a much more lavish
scale than had been old Prim's custom in the days
when he knew him. Then the contents of Alec's
basket rose in his mind. That was why his father
had sent the pheasants! Perhaps both he and his
mother were inside!

Sick at heart he turned on his heel and with quick-
ened pace retraced his steps. He would not be a
spy, and he could not be an eavesdropper. As the
thought forced itself on his mind, the fear that he
might meet some one whom he would know, or who
would know him, overtook him. So great was his
anxiety that it was only when he had left the park far
behind him on his way back to the Sailors' House,
'hat he regained his composure. He was prepared
to face the truth, and all of it whatever it held in
store for him; but he must first confront his father
and learn just how he stood with him; then he would
see his mother and Alec, and then he would find St.
George: Kate must come last.

The news that his father had offered to pay his debts
— although he did not intend that that should relieve

385

KENNEDY SQUARE

him in any way of his own responsibility to his uncle
— kindled fresh hopes in his heart and buoyed him up.
Now that his father had tried repeatedly to repair the
wrong he had done it might only be necessary to throw
himself on his knees before him and be taken back
into his heart and arms. To see him, then, was his
first duty and this he would begin to carry out in the
morning. As to his meeting his mother and Alec —
should he fail with his father — that must be under-
taken with more care, for he could not place himself
in the position of sneaking home and using the joy his
return would bring them as a means to soften his
father's heart. Yes, he would find his father first,
then his mother and Alec. If his father received him
the others would follow. If he was repulsed, he must
seek out some other way.

This over he would find St. George. He knew exact-
ly where his uncle was, although he had not said so to
Pawson. He was not at Coston's, nor anywhere in
the vicinity of Wesley, but at Craddock, on the bay —
a small country house some miles distant, where he
and his dogs had often spent days and weeks during
the ducking season. St. George had settled down
there to rest and get away from his troubles; that was
why he had not answered Pawson's letters.

Striding along with his alert, springing step, he
swung through the deserted and unguarded Marsh
Market, picked his way between the piles of prod-
uce and market carts, and plunging down a narrow
street leading to the wharf, halted before a door over

386

KENNEDY SQUARE

which swung a lantern burning a green light. Here
he entered.

Although it was now near midnight, there were
still eight or ten seafaring men in the room — several
of them members of his own crew aboard the Mohican.
Two were playing checkers, the others crowded about a
square table where a game of cards was in progress;
wavy lines of tobacco smoke floated beneath the dingy
ceiling; at one end was a small bar where a man in
a woollen shirt was filling some short, thick tumblers
from an earthen jug. It was the ordinary sailors'
retreat where the men put up before, between, and
after their voyages.

One of them at the card-table looked up from his
game as Harry entered, and called out:

"Man been lookin' for you — comin' back, he says.
My trick! Hearts, wasn't it? "(this to his compan-
ions).

"Do I know him?" asked Harry with a slight
start, pausing on his way to his bedroom upstairs,
where he had left his bag of clothes two hours before.
Could he have been recognized and shadowed?

"No — don't think so; he's a street vendor. Got
some China silks to sell — carries his pack on his back
and looks as if he'd took up a extry 'ole in his belt.
Hungry, I wouldn't wonder. Wanted to h'ist 'em
fur a glass o' grog an' a night's lodgin', but Cap
wouldn't let him — said you'd be back and might help
him. Wasn't that it, Cap?" — this to the landlord,
who nodded in reply.

387

KENNEDY SQUARE

"How could 7 help him?" asked Harry, selecting a
tallow dip from a row on a shelf, but in a tone that
implied his own doubt in the query, as well as his
relief, now that the man was really a stranger.

" Well, this is your port, so I 'ear. Some o' them
high-flyers up 'round the park might lend a hand,
may be, if you'd tip 'em a wink, or some o' their
women folks might take a shine to 'em."

"Looked hungry, did you say?" Harry asked,
lighting the dip at an oil lamp that swung near the
bar.

"Yes — holler's a drum — see straight through him;
tired too — beat out. You'd think so if you see him.
My play — clubs."

Harry turned to the landlord : " If this man comes
in again give him food and lodging, " and he handed
him a bank bill. "If he is here in the morning let
me see him. I'm going to bed now. Good-night,
men!"

388

CHAPTER XXV

Should I lapse into the easy-flowing style of the
chroniclers of the period of which I write — (and how
often has the scribe wished he could) — this chapter
would open with the announcement that on this par-
ticularly bleak, wintry afternoon a gentleman in the
equestrian costume of the day, and mounted upon a
well-groomed, high-spirited white horse, might have
been seen galloping rapidly up a country lane leading
to an old-fashioned manor house.

Such, however, would not cover the facts. While
the afternoon was certainly wintry, and while the
rider was unquestionably a gentleman, he was by no
manner of means attired in velveteen coat and russet-
leather boots with silver spurs, his saddle-bags strapped
on behind, but in a rough and badly worn sailor's
suit, his free hand grasping a bundle carried loose
on his pommel. As to the horse neither the immortal
James or any of his school could truthfully picture
this animal as either white or high-spirited. He
might, it is true, have been born white and would
in all probability have stayed white but for the many
omissions and commissions of his earlier livery stable
training — traces of which could still be found in his
scraped sides and gnawed mane and tail; he might also

389

KENNEDY SQUARE

have once had a certain commendable spirit had not
the ups and downs of road life — and they were pretty
steep outside Kennedy Square — taken it out of him.

It is, however, when I come to the combination
of horse and rider that I can with entire safety lapse
into the flow of the old chroniclers. For whatever
Harry had forgotten in his many experiences since he
last threw his leg over Spitfire, horsemanship was
not one of them. He still rode like a Cherokee and
still sat his mount like a prince.

He had had an anxious and busy morning. With
the first streak of dawn he had written a long letter to
his Uncle George, in which he told him of his arrival ;
of his heart-felt sorrow at what Pawson had imparted
and of his leaving immediately, first for Wesley and
then Craddock, as soon as he found out how the land
lay at Moorlands. This epistle he was careful to enclose
in another envelope, which he directed to Justice Cos-
ton, with instructions to forward it with "the least
possible delay" to Mr. Temple, who was doubtless
at Craddock, "and who was imperatively needed at
home in connection with some matters which re-
quired his immediate personal attention," and which
enclosure, it is just as well to state, the honorable jus-
tice placed inside the mantel clock, that being the
safest place for such precious missives, at least until
the right owner should appear.

This duly mailed, he had returned to the Sailors'
House, knocked at the door of the upstairs room in
which, through his generosity, the street vendor lay

390

KENNEDY SQUARE

sleeping, and after waking him up and becoming
assured that the man was in real distress, had bought
at twice their value the China silks which had caused
the disheartened pedler so many weary hours of
tramping. These he had tucked under his arm and
carried away.

The act was not alone due to his charitable instincts.
A much more selfish motive influenced him. Indeed
the thought came to him in a way that had determined
him to attend to his mail at early dawn and return at
sunrise lest the owner should disappear and take the
bundle with him. The silks were the very things he
neede^ to help him solve one of his greatest difficulties.
He would try, as the sailor-pedler had done, to sell
them in the neighborhood of Moorlands — (a common
practice in those days) — and in this way might gather
up the information of which he was in search. Pawson
had not known him — perhaps the others would not:
he might even offer the silks to his father without
being detected.

With this plan clearly defined in his mind, he had
walked into a livery stable near the market, but a
short distance from his lodgings, with the silks in a
bundle and after looking the stock over had picked out
this unprepossessing beast as best able to take him to
Moorlands and back between sunrise and dark.

As he rode on, leaving the scattered buildings of the
town far behind, mounting the hills and then striking
the turnpike — every rod of which he could have found
in the dark — his thoughts, like road-swallows, skimmed

391

KENNEDY SQUARE

each mile he covered. Here was where he had stopped
with Kate when her stirrup broke; near the branches
of that oak close to the ditch marking the triangle of
cross-roads he had saved his own and Spitfire's neck by
a clear jump that had been the talk of the neighborhood
for days. On the crest of this hill — the one he was
then ascending — his father always tightened up the
brakes on his four-in-hand, and on the slope beyond
invariably braced himself in his seat, swung his whip,
and the flattened team swept on and down, leaving a
cloud of dust in its wake that blurred the road for
minutes thereafter.

When noon came he dismounted at a farmer's out-
building beside the road — he would not trust the
public-houses — fed and watered his horse, rubbed him
down himself, and after an hour's rest pushed on tow-
ard the fork in the road to Moorlands. Beyond this
was a cross-path that led to the outbarns and farm
stables — a path bordered by thick bushes and which
skirted a fence in the rear of the manor house itself.
Here he intended to tie his steed and there he would
mount him again should his mission fail.

The dull winter sky had already heralded the dusk
— it was near four o'clock in the afternoon — when he
passed some hayricks where a group of negroes were
at work. One or two raised their heads and then,
as if reassured, resumed their tasks. This encouraged
him to push on the nearer — he had evidently been
mistaken for one of the many tradespeople seeking his
father's overseer, either to sell tools or buy produce.

392

KENNEDY SQUARE

Tying the horse close to the fence — so close that
it could not be seen from the house — he threw the
bundle of silks over his shoulder and struck out for
the small office in the rear. Here the business of the
estate was transacted, and here were almost always to
be found either the overseer or one of his assistants —
both of them white. These men were often changed,
and his chance, therefore, of meeting a stranger was
all the more likely.

As he approached the low sill of the door which
was level with the ground, and which now stood wide
open, he caught the glow of a fire and could make
out the figure of a man seated at a desk bending
over a mass of papers. The man pushed back a green
shade which had protected his eyes from the glare of
a lamp and peered out at him.

It was his father!

The discovery was so unexpected and had come
with such suddenness — it was rarely in these later
days that the colonel was to be found here in the after-
noon: he was either riding or receiving visitors — that
Harry's first thought was to shrink back out of sight,
or, if discovered, to make some excuse for his intru-
sion and retire. Then his mind changed and he
stepped boldly in. This was what he had come for
and this was what he would face.

"I have some China silks to sell," he said in his
natural tone of voice, turning his head so that while
his goods were in sight his face would be in shadow.

"Silks! I don't want any silks! Who allowed you
393

KENNEDY SQUARE

to pass in here? Alec!" He pushed back his chair
and moved to the door. "Alec! Where the devil is
Alec! He's always where I don't want him!"

"I saw no one to ask, sir," Harry replied me-
chanically. His father's appearance had sent a chill
through him; he would hardly have known him had
he met him on the street. Not only did he look ten
years older, but the injury to his sight caused him
to glance sideways at any one he addressed, completely
destroying the old fearless look in his eyes.

"You never waited to ask! You walk into my
private office unannounced and — " here he turned the
lamp to see the better. "You're a sailor, aren't you ?"
he added fiercely — a closer view of the intruder only
heightening his wrath.

" Yes, sir — I'm a sailor," replied Harry simply, his
voice dying in his throat as he summed up the changes
that the years had wrought in the colonel's once hand-
some, determined face — thinner, more shrunken, his
mustache and the short temple-whiskers almost white.

For an instant his father crumpled a wisp of paper
he was holding between his fingers and thumb; and
then demanded sharply, but with a tone of curiosity,
as if willing the intruder should tarry a moment while
he gathered the information:

"How long have you been a sailor?"

" I am just in from my last voyage." He still kept
in the shadow although he saw his father had so far
failed to recognize him. The silks had been laid on a
chair beside him.

394

KENNEDY SQUARE

"That's not what I asked you. How long have
you been a sailor?" He was scanning his face now
as best he could, shifting the green shade that he
might see the better.

" I went to sea three years ago."

"Three years, eh? Where did you go?"

The tone of curiosity had increased. Perhaps the
next question would lead up to some basis on which
he could either declare himself or lay the foundation
of a declaration to be made the next day — after he
had seen his mother and Alec.

"To South America. Para was my first port," he
answered simply, wondering why he wanted to know.

"That's not far from Rio?" He was still looking
sideways at him, but there was no wavering in his gaze.

"No, not far — Rio was our next stopping place.
We had a hard voyage and put in to —

" Do you know a young man by the name of Rut-
ter — slim man with dark hair and eyes ? " interrupted
his father in an angry tone.

Harry started forward, his heart in his mouth, his
hands upraised, his fingers opening. It was all he
could do to restrain himself. "Don't you know me,
father?" was trembling on his lips. Then something
in the sound of the colonel's voice choked his utter-
ance. Not now, he thought, mastering his emotion —
a moment more and he would tell him.

"I have heard of him, sir," he answered when he
recovered his speech, straining his ears to catch the
next word.

395

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Heard of him, have you ? So has everybody else
heard of him — a worthless scoundrel who broke his
mother's heart; a man who disgraced his family — a
gentleman turned brigand — a renegade who has gone
back on- his blood! Tell him so if you see him! Tell
him I said so; I'm his father, and know! No — I don't
want your silks — don't want anything that has to do
with sailormen. I am busy — please go away. Don't
stop to bundle them up — do that outside," and he
turned his back and readjusted the shade over his
eyes.

Harry's heart sank, and a cold faintness stole through
his frame. He was not angry nor indignant. He was
stunned.

Without a word in reply he gathered up the silks
from the chair, tucked them under his arm, and re-
placing his cap stepped outside into the fast approach-
ing twilight. Whatever the morrow might bring forth,
nothing more could be done to-day. To have thrown
himself at his father's feet would only have resulted
in his being driven from the grounds by the overseer,
with the servants looking on — a humiliation he could
not stand.

As he stood rolling the fabrics into a smaller com-
pass, a gray-haired negro in the livery of a house
servant passed hurriedly and entered the door of the
office. Instantly his father's voice rang out:

"Where the devil have you been, Alec? How
many times must I tell you to look after me oftener.
Don't you know I'm half blind and — No — I doo'±

396

KENNEDY SQUARE

want any more wood — I want these vagabonds kept
off my grounds. Send Mr. Grant to me at once, and
don't you lose sight of that man until you have seen
him to the main road. He says he is a sailor — and
I've had enough of sailors, and so has everybody
else about here."

The negro bowed and backed out of the room. No
answer of any kind was best when the colonel was in
one of his " tantrums."

"I reckon I hab to ask ye, sah, to quit de place —
de colonel don't 'low nobody to — " he said politely.

Harry turned his face aside and started for the
fence. His first thought was to drop his bundle and
throw his arms around Alec's neck; then he realized
that this would be worse than his declaring himself
to his father — he could then be accused of attempting
deception by the trick of a disguise. So he hurried
on to where his horse was tied — his back to Alec, the
bundle shifted to his left shoulder that he might hide
his face the better until he was out of sight of the office,
the old man stumbling on, calling after him:

"No, dat ain't de way. Yer gotter go down de
main road; here, man — don't I tell yer dat ain't de
way."

Harry had now gained the fence and had already
begun to loosen the reins when Alec, out of breath and
highly indignant over the refusal to carry out his
warning, reached his side.

" You better come right back f 'om whar ye started,"
the old negro puffed; "ye can't go dat way or dey'll

397

KENNEDY SQUARE

set de dogs on ye." Here his eyes rested on the
reins and forelock. "What! you got a horse an*

you '

Harry turned and laid his hand on the old servant's
shoulder. He could hardly control his voice:

"Don't you know me, Alec? I'm Harry!"

The old man bent down, peered into Harry's eyes,
and with a quick spring forward grabbed him by both
shoulders.

"You my Marse Harry! — you!" His breath was
gone now, his whole body in a tremble, his eyes bulg-
ing from his head.

"Yes, Alec, Harry! It's only the beard. Look at
me! I didn't want my father to see us — that's why I
kept on."

The old servant threw up his hands and caught his
young master around the neck. For some seconds he
could not speak.

"And de colonel druv ye out!" he gasped. "Oh,
my Gawd! my Gawd! And ye ain't daid, and ye
come back home ag'in." He was sobbing now, his
head on the exile's shoulder, Harry's arms about him
— patting his bent back. " But yer gotter go back,
Marse Harry," he moaned. M<He ain't 'sponsible these
days. He didn't know ye! Come 'long, son; come
back wid oP Alec; please come, Marse Harry. Oh,
Gawd ! ye gotter come!"

"No, I'll go home to-night — another day I'll—

"Ye ain't got no home but dis, I tell ye! Go tell
him who ye is — lemme run tell him, I won't be a

398

KENNEDY SQUARE

minute. Oh! Marse Harry, I can't let ye go! I
been dat mizzable widout ye. I ain't neber got over
lovin' ye!"

Here a voice from near the office broke out. In the
dusk the two could just make out the form of the colo-
nel, who was evidently calling to some of his people.
He was bareheaded and without his shade.

"I've sent Alec to see him safe off the grounds.
You go yourself, Mr. Grant, and follow him into the
highroad; remember that after this I hold you re-
sponsible for these prowlers."

The two had paused while the colonel was speak-
ing, Harry, gathering the reins in his hand, ready to
vault into the saddle, and Alec, holding on to his coat-
sleeves hoping still to detain him.

"I haven't a minute more — quick, Alec, tell me
how my mother is."

"She's middlin' po'ly, same's ever; got great rings
under her eyes and her heart's dat heaby makes abody
cry ter look at 'er. But she ain't sick, jes' griebin'
herse'f to death. Ain't yer gwineter stop and see 'er?
May be I kin git ye in de back way."

" Not now — not here. Bring her to Uncle George's
house to-morrow about noon, and I will be there.
Tell her how I look, but don't tell her what my
father has done. And now tell me about Miss Kate
— how long since you saw her? Is she married?"

Again the colonel's voice was heard; this time
much nearer — within hailing distance. He and the
overseer were evidently approaching the fence; some

399

KENNEDY SQUARE

of the negroes had doubtless apprised them of the
course of Harry's exit.

Alec turned quickly to face his master, and Harry,
realizing that his last moment had come, swung him-
self into the saddle. If Alec made any reply to his
question it was lost in the clatter of hoofs as both
horse and man swept down the by-path. In another
moment they had gained the main road, the rider never
breaking rein until he had reached the farm-house
where he had fed and watered his horse some hours
before.

Thirty-odd miles out and back was not a long
ride for a hired horse in these days over a good turn-
pike with plenty of tjme for resting — and he had as
many breathing spells as gallops, for Harry's moods
really directed his gait. Once in a while he would
give him his head, the reins lying loose, the horse
picking his way in a walk. Then the bitterness of
his father's words and how undeserved they were, and
how the house of cards his hopes had built up had
come tumbling down about his ears at the first point
of contact would rush over him, and he would dig his
heels into the horse's flanks and send him at full gallop
through the night along the pale ribbon of a road
barely discernible in the ghostly dark. When, however,
Alec's sobs smote his ear, or the white face of his
mother confronted him, the animal would gradually
slacken his pace and drop into a walk.

Dominated by these emotions certain fixed resolu-
400

KENNEDY SQUARE

tions at last took possession of him: He would see
his mother at once, no matter at what cost — even if
he defied his father — and then he would find his uncle.
Whether he would board the next vessel leaving poll
and return to his work in the mountains, or whether
he would bring his uncle back from Craddock and
the two, with his own vigorous youth and new experi-
ence of the world, fight it out together as they had
once done before, depended on what St. George ad-
vised. Now that Kate's marriage was practically de-
cided upon, one sorrow— and his greatest— was settled
forever. Any others that were in store for him he
would meet as they came.

With his mind still intent on these plans he rode at
last into the open door of the small courtyard of the
livery stable and drew rein under a swinging lantern.
It was past ten at night, and the place was deserted,
except by a young negro who advanced to take his
horse. Tossing the bridle aside he slipped to the
ground.

"He's wet," Harry said, "but he's all right. Let
him cool off gradually, and don't give him any water
until he gets dry. I'll come in to-morrow and pay your
people what I owe them."

The negro curry-combed his fingers down the horse's
flanks as if to assure himself of his condition, and in
the movement brought his face under the glare of
the overhead light.

Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him
round.

401

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Todd — you rascal! What are you doing here?
Why are you not down on the Eastern Shore ? " His
astonishment was so intense that for an instant he
could not realize he had the right man.

The negro drew back. He was no runaway slave,
and he didn't intend to be taken for one — certainly
not by a man as rough and suspicious looking as the
one before him.

"How you know my name, man?" He was ner-
vous and scared half out of his wits. More than one
negro had been shanghaied in that way and smuggled
off to sea.

"Know you! I'd know you among a thousand.
Have you, too, deserted your master?" He still held
him firmly by the collar of his coat, his voice rising
with his wrath. " Why have you left him ? Answer
me."

For an instant the negro hesitated, leaned forward,
and then with a burst of joy crid out:

"You ain't! — Fo' Gawd it is! Dat beard on ye,
Marse Harry, done fool me — but you is him fo' sho.
Gor-a-mighty! ain't I glad ye ain't daid. Marse
George say on'y yisterday you was either daid or sick
dat ye didn't write an' "

"Said yesterday! Why, is he at home?"

"Home! Lemme throw a blanket over dis hoss
and tie him tell we come back. Oh, we had a heap o'
mis'ry since ye went away — a heap o' trouble. Nothin'
but trouble! You come 'long wid me — 'tain't far;
des around de corner. I'll show ye sompin' make ye

402

KENNEDY SQUARE

creep all over. An' it ain't gettin' no better — gettin'
wuss. Dis way, Marse Harry. You been 'cross de big
water, ain't ye ? Dat's what I beared. Aunt Jemima
been mighty good, but we can't go on dis way much
longer."

Still talking, forging ahead in the darkness through
the narrow street choked with horseless drays, Todd
swung into a dingy yard, mounted a flight of rickety
wooden steps, and halted at an unpainted door.
Turning the knob softly he beckoned silently to Harry,
and the two stepped into a small room lighted by a
low lamp placed on the hearth, its rays falling on a
cot bed and a few chairs. Beside a cheap pine table
sat Aunt Jemima, rocking noiselessly. The old woman
raised her hand in warning and put her fingers to her
lips.

On the bed, with the coverlet drawn close under his
chin, lay his Uncle George!

403

CHAPTER XXVI

Harry looked about the room in a bewildered way
and then tiptoed to St. George's bed. It had been a
day of surprises, but this last had completely upset
him. St. George dependent on the charity of his old
cook and without other attendant than Todd! Why
had he been deserted by everybody who loved him?
Why was he not at Wesley or Craddock? Why
should he be here of all places in the world ?

All these thoughts surged through his mind as he
stood above the patient and watched his slow, labored
breathing. That he had been ill for some time was evi-
dent in his emaciated face and the deep hollows into
which his closed eyes were sunken.

Aunt Jemima rose and handed the intruder her
chair. He sat down noiselessly beside him. Once
his uncle coughed, and in the effort drew the coverlet
close about his throat, his eyes still shut; but whether
from weakness or drowsiness, Harry could not tell.
Presently he shifted his body, and moving his head on
the pillow, called softly:

"Jemima?"

The old woman bent over him.

"Yes, Marse George."

" Give me a little milk — my throat troubles me."
404

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry drew back into the shadow cast over one end
of the cot and rear wall by the low lamp on the hearth.
Whether to slip his hand gently over his uncle's and
declare himself, or whether to wait until he dozed
again and return in the morning, when he would be
less tired and could better withstand the shock of the
meeting, was the question which disturbed him. And
yet he could not leave until he satisfied himself of
just what ought to be done. If he left him at all it
must be for help of some kind. He leaned over and
whispered in Jemima's ear:

"Has he had a doctor?"

Jemima shook her head. " He wouldn't hab none;
he ain't been clean beat out till day befo' yisterday,
an' den I got skeered an' — " She stopped, leaned
closer, clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from
screaming, and staggered back to her chair.

St. George raised his head from the pillow and
stared into the shadows.

"Who is talking? I heard somebody speak? Je-
mima— you haven't disobeyed me, have you?"

Harry stepped noiselessly to the bedside and laid
his fingers on the sick man's wrist:

"Uncle George," he said gently.

Temple lowered his head as if to focus his gaze.

"Yes, there is some one!" he cried in a stronger
voice. "Who are you, sir? — not a doctor, are you?
I didn't send for you! — I don't want any doctor,
I told my servant so. Jemima! — Todd! — why do

you "

405

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry tightened his grasp on the emaciated wrist.
"No, Uncle George, it's Harry! I'm just back."

"What did he say, Todd? Harry !— Harry ! Did
he say he was Harry, or am I losing my mind ? "

In his eagerness to understand he lifted himself to
a sitting posture, his eyes wandering uneasily over the
speaker's body, resting on his head — on his shoulders,
arms, and hands — as if trying to fix his mind on some-
thing which constantly baffled him.

Harry continued to pat his wrist soothingly.

"Yes, it's Harry, Uncle George," he answered.
"But don't talk — lie down. I'm all right — I got
in yesterday and have been looking for you every-
where. Pawson told me you were at Wesley. I
found Todd a few minutes ago by the merest acci-
dent, and he brought me here. No, you must lie
down — let me help — rest yourself on me — so." He
was as tender with him as if he had been his own
mother.

The sick man shook himself free — he was stronger
than Harry thought. He was convinced now that
there was some trick being played upon him — one
Jemima in her anxiety had devised.

" How dare you, sir, lie to me like that! Who asked
you to come here? Todd — send this fellow from the
room!"

Harry drew back out of his uncle's vision and care-
fully watched the invalid. St. George's mind was
evidently unhinged and it would be better not to
thwart him.

406

KENNEDY SQUARE

Todd crept up. He had seen his master like this
once before and had had all he could do to keep him
in bed.

"Dat ain't no doctor, Marse George," he pleaded,
his voice trembling. "Dat's Marse Harry come back
agin alive. It's de hair on his face make him look
dat way; dat fool me too. It's Marse Harry, fo' sho'
—I fotch him yere myse'f. He's jes' come from de
big ship."

St. George twisted his head, looked long and ear-
nestly into Harry's face, and with a sudden cry of
joy stretched out his hand and motioned him nearer.
Harry sank to his knees beside the bed. St. George
curved one arm about his neck, drew him tightly to
his breast as he would a woman, and fell back upon
the pillow with Harry's head next his own. There the
two lay still, St. George's eyes half closed, thick sobs
stifling his utterance, the tears streaming down his pale
cheeks; his thin white fingers caressing the brown hair
of the boy he loved. At last, with a heavy, indrawn
sigh, not of grief, but of joy, he muttered:

"It's true, isn't it, my son?"

Harry hugged him the tighter in answer.

"And you are home for good?"

Again the pressure. "Yes, but don't talk, you
must go to sleep. I won't leave you." His own tears
were choking him now.

Then, after a long pause, releasing his grasp: "I
did not know how weak I was. . . . Maybe I had
better not talk. . . . Don't stay. Come to-

407

KENNEDY SQUARE

morrow and tell me about it. ... There is no bed
for you here ... I am sorry . . . but you must go
away — you couldn't be comfortable. . . . Todd —

The darky started forward — both he and Aunt
Jemima were crying:

"Yes, Marse George."

"Take the lamp and light Mr. Rutter downstairs.
To-morrow — to-morrow, Harry. . . . My God —
think of it! — Harry home! Harry home! My Harry
home!" and he turned his face to the wall.

On the way back — first to the stable, where he
found that the horse had been properly cared for and
his bill ready and then to his lodgings, — Todd told him
the story of what had happened: At first his master
had firmly intended going to the Eastern Shore — and
for a long stay — for he had ordered his own and Todd's
trunks packed with everything they both owned in
the way of clothes. On the next day, however —
the day before the boat left — Mr. Temple had made
a visit to Jemima to bid her good-by, where he learned
that her white lodger had decamped between suns,
leaving two months board unpaid. In the effort to
find this man, or compel his employer to pay his bill,
out of some wages still due him — in both of which he
failed — his master had missed the boat and they were
obliged to wait another week. During this interim,
not wishing to return to Pawson, and being as he said
very comfortable where he was with his two servants
to wait upon him, and the place as clean as a pin —
his master had moved his own and Todd's trunk from

408

With a sudden cry of joy stretched out his hand and motioned
him nearer

KENNEDY SQUARE

the steamboat warehouse where they had been stored
and had had them brought to Jemima's. Two days
later — whether from exposure in tramping the streets
in his efforts to collect the old woman's bill, or whether
the change of lodgings had affected him — he was
taken down with a chill and had been in bed ever since.
With this situation staring both Jemima and himself
in the face — for neither she nor Mr. Temple had much
money left — Todd had appealed to Gadgem — (he
being the only man in his experience who could always
produce a roll of bills when everybody else failed) —
who took him to the stableman whose accounts he col-
lected— and who had once bought one of St. George's
saddles — and who then and there hired Todd as night
attendant. His wages, added to what Jemima could
earn over her tubs, had kept the three alive. All this
had taken place four weeks or more ago.

None of all this, he assured Harry, had he told
Gadgem or anybody else, his master's positive direc-
tions being to keep his abode and his condition a
secret from everybody. All the collector knew was
that Mr. Temple being too poor to take Todd with
him, had left him behind to shift for himself until he
could send for him. All the neighborhood knew, to
quote Todd's own hilarious chuckle, was that "Miss
Jemima Johnsing had two mo' boa'ders; one a sick man
dat had los' his job an' de udder a yaller nigger who
sot up nights watchin' de bosses eat dere haids off."

Since that time his master had had various ups and
downs, but although he was still weak he was very

409

KENNEDY SQUARE

much stronger than he had been any time since he had
taken to his bed. Only once had he been delirious;
then he talked ramblingly about Miss Kate and Marse
Harry. This had so scared Aunt Jemima that she had
determined to go to Mammy Henny and have her
tell Miss Kate, so he could get a doctor — something
he had positively forbidden her to do, but he grew
so much better the next day that she had given it up;
since that time his mind had not again given way.
All he wanted now, so Todd concluded, was a good
soup and "a drap o' sumpin warmin' — an' he'd pull
thu'. But dere warn't no use tryin' ter git him to
take it 'cause all he would eat was taters an' corn pone
an' milk — an' sich like, 'cause he said dere warn't
money 'nough fer de three — " whereupon Todd turned
his head away and caught his breath, and then tried
to pass it off as an unbidden choke — none of which
subterfuges deceived Harry in the least.

When the two arrived off the dimly burning lantern
— it was past ten o'clock — and pushed in the door of
the Sailors' House, Todd received another shock — one
that sent his eyes bulging from his head. That Marse
Harry Rutter, who was always a law unto himself,
should grow a beard and wear rough clothes, was to be
expected — " Dem Rutters was allus dat way — do jes's
dey mineter — " but that the most elegant young man
of his day "ob de fustest quality," should take up
his quarters in a low sailors' retreat, and be looked
upon by the men gathered under the swinging lamp
around a card table — (some of whom greeted Harry

410

KENNEDY SQUARE

familiarly) — as one of their own kind, completely
staggered him.

The pedler was particularly gracious — so much so
that when he learned that Harry was leaving for good,
and had come to get his belongings — he jumped up
and insisted on helping — at which Harry laughed and
assented, and as a further mark of his appreciation
presented him with the now useless silks, in addition to
the money he gave him — an act of generosity which
formed the sole topic of conversation in the resort for
weeks thereafter.

Board and lodging paid, the procession took up its
return march: Harry in front, Todd, still dazed and
still at sea as to the meaning of it all, following be-
hind; the pedler between with Harry's heavy coat,
blankets, etc. — all purchased since his shipwreck — the
party threading the choked-up street until they reached
the dingy yard, where the pedler dumped his pack
and withdrew, while the darky stowed his load in the
basement. This done, the two tiptoed once more up
the stairs to where Aunt Jemima awaited them, St.
George having fallen asleep.

Beckoning the old woman away from the bedroom
door and into the far corner of the small hall, Harry
unfolded to her as much of his plans for the next day
as he thought she ought to know. Early in the morn-
ing— before his uncle was astir — he would betake
himself to Kennedy Square; ascertain from Pawson
whether his uncle's rooms were still unoccupied, and
if such were the case — and St. George be unable to

411

KENNEDY SQUARE

walk — would pick him up bodily, wrap him in blankets,
carry him in his own arms downstairs, place him in a
carriage, and drive him to his former home where he
would again pick him up and lay him in his own bed:
This would be better than a hundred doctors — he had
tried it himself when he was down with fever and
knew. Aunt Jemima was to go ahead and see that
these preparations were carried out. Should Alec be
able to bring his mother to Kennedy Square in the
morning, as he had instructed him to do, then there
would indeed be somebody on hand who could nurse
him even better than Jemima; should his mother not
be there, Jemima would take her place. Nothing of
all this, he charged her, was to be told St. George until
the hour of departure. To dwell upon the intended
move might overexcite him. Then, when everything
was ready — his linen, etc., arranged — (Jemima was
also to look after this) — he would whisk him off and
make him comfortable in his own bed. He would,
of course, now that his uncle wished it, keep secret
his retreat; although why St. George Wilmot Temple,
Esq., or any other gentleman of his standing, should
object to being taken care of by his own servants was
a thing he could not understand : Pawson, of course,
need not know — nor should any outside person — not
even Gadgem if he came nosing around. To these
he would merely say that Mr. Temple had seen fit to
leave home and that Mr. Temple had seen fit to re-
turn again: that was quite enough for attorneys and
collectors. To all the others he would keep his coun-

412

KENNEDY SQUARE

sel, until St. George himself made confession, which
he was pretty sure he would do at the first oppor-
tunity.

This decided upon he bade Jemima good-night,
gave her explicit directions to call him, should his
uncle awake (her own room opened out of St. George's)
spread his blanket in the cramped hall outside the
sick man's door — he had not roughed it on shipboard
and in the wilderness all these years without knowing
something of the soft side of a plank — and throwing
his heavy ship's coat over him fell fast asleep.

413

CHAPTER XXVII

When the first glimmer of the gray dawn stole
through the small window at the end of the narrow
hall, and laid its chilled fingers on Harry's upturned
face, it found him still asleep. His ride to Moorlands
and back — his muscles unused for months to the exer-
cise— had tired him. The trials of the day, too, those
with his father and his Uncle George, had tired him
the more — and so he had slept on as a child sleeps —
as a perfectly healthy man sleeps — both mind and
body drinking in the ozone of a new courage and a
new hope.

With the first ray of the joyous sun riding full tilt
across his face, he opened his eyes, threw off the cloak,
and sprang to his feet. For an instant he looked won-
deringly about as if in doubt whether to call the watch
or begin the hunt for his cattle. Then the pine door
caught his eye and the low, measured breathing of his
uncle fell upon his ear, and with a quick lift of his
arms, his strong hands thumping his broad chest, he
stretched himself to his full height: he had work to
do, and he must begin at once.

Aunt Jemima was already at her duties. She had
tiptoed past his sleeping body an hour before, and
after listening to St. George's breathing had plunged
into her tubs; the cat's cradle in the dingy court-yard

414

KENNEDY SQUARE

being already gay with various colored fragments, in-
cluding Harry's red flannel shirts which Todd had
found in a paper parcel, and which the old woman
had pounced upon at sight. She insisted on making
him a cup of coffee, but he had no time for such lux-
uries. He would keep on, he said, to Kennedy Square,
find Pawson, ascertain if St. George's old rooms were
still unoccupied; notify him of Mr. Temple's return;
have his bed made and fires properly lighted; stop at
the livery stable, wake up Todd, if that darky had
overslept himself — quite natural when he had been up
almost all night — engage a carriage to be at Jemima's
at four o'clock, and then return to get everything ready
for the picking-up-and-carry ing-downstairs process.

And all this he did do; and all this he told Jemima
he had done when he swung into the court-yard an
hour later, a spring to his heels and a cheery note in
his voice that had not been his for years. The re-
action that hope brings to youth had set in. He was
alive and at home; his Uncle George was where he
could get his hands on him — in a minute — by the
mounting of the stairs; and Alec and his mother within
reach !

And the same glad song was in his heart when he
opened his uncle's door after he had swallowed his
coffee — Jemima had it ready for him this time — and
thrusting in his head cried out:

" We are going to get you out of here, Uncle George ! "
This with a laugh — one of his old contagious laughs
that was music in the sick man's ears.

415

KENNEDY SQUARE

"When?" asked the invalid, his face radiant. He
had been awake an hour wondering what it all meant.
He had even thought of calling to Jemima to reassure
himself that it was not a dream, until he heard her
over her tubs and refrained from disturbing her.

" Oh, pretty soon ! I have just come from Pawson's.
Fogbin hasn't put in an appearance and there's no-
body in the rooms and hasn't been anybody there
since you left. He can't understand it, nor can I
— and I don't want to. I have ordered the bed made
and a fire started in both the chamber and the old
dining-room, and if anybody objects he has got to say
so to me, and I am a very uncomfortable person to
say some kinds of things to nowadays. So up you
get when the time comes; and Todd and Jemima
are to go too. I've got money enough, anyhow, to
begin on. Aunt Jemima says you had a good night
and it won't be long now before you are yourself
again."

The radiant smile on the sick man's face blossomed
into a laugh: "Yes — the best night that I have had
since I was taken ill, and — Where did you sleep,
my son?"

"Me! — Oh, I had a fine time — long, well-ven-
tilated room with two windows and private staircase;
nice pine bedstead — very comfortable place for this
part of the town."

St. George looked at him and his eyes filled. His
mind was neither on his own questions nor on Harry's
answers.

416

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Get a chair, Harry, and sit by me so I can look at
you closer. How fine and strong you are my son —
not like your father — you're like your mother. And
you've broadened out — mentally as well as physically.
Pretty hard I tell you to spoil a gentleman — more
difficult still to spoil a Rutter. But you must get that
beard off — it isn't becoming to you, and then somebody
might think you disguised yourself on purpose. I
didn't know you at first, neither did Jemima — and
you don't want anybody else to make that kind of a
mistake."

"My father did, yesterday — ' Harry rejoined
quietly, dropping into Jemima's chair.

St. George half raised himself from his bed : " You
have seen him?"

"Yes — and I wish I hadn't. But I hunted every-
where for you and then got a horse and rode out home.
He didn't know me — that is, I'm pretty sure he didn't
— but he cursed me all the same. My mother and old
Alec, I hope, will come in to-day — but father's chap-
ter is closed forever. I have been a fool to hope for
anything else."

"Drove you out! Oh, no — no! Harry! Impossi-
ble!"

" But he did — " and then followed an account of all
the wanderer had passed through from the time he
had set foot on shore to the moment of meeting Todd
and himself.

For some minutes St. George lay staring at the ceil-
ing. It was all a horrid nightmare to him. Talbot

417

KENNEDY SQUARE

deserved nothing but contempt and he would get it so
far as he was concerned. He agreed with Harry that
all reconciliation was now a thing of the past; the only
solution possible was that Talbot was out of his senses
— the affair having undermined his reason. He held
heard of such cases and had doubted them — he was
convinced now that they could be true. His answer,
therefore, to Harry's next question — one about his
lost sweetheart — was given with a certain hesitation.
As long as the memory of Rutter's curses rankled
within him all reference to Kate's affairs — even the
little he knew himself — must be made with some cir-
cumspection. There was no hope in that direction
either, but he did not want to tell him so outright; nor
did he want to dwell too long upon the subject.

" And I suppose Kate is married by this time, Uncle
George," Harry said at last in a casual tone, "is she
not ? " (He had been leading up to it rather skilfully,
but there had been no doubt in his uncle's mind as to
his intention.) "I saw the house lighted up, night be-
fore last when I passed, and a lot of people about, so
I thought it might be either the wedding or the recep-
tion." The question had left his lips as one shoots
an arrow in the dark — hit or miss — as if he did not
care which. He too realized that this was no time
to open wounds, certainly not in his uncle's heart;
and yet he could wait no longer.

"No — I don't think the wedding has taken place,"
St. George replied vaguely. "The servants would
know if it had — they know everything — and Aunt

418

KENNEDY SQUARE

Jemima would be the first to have told me. The house
being lighted up is no evidence. They have been
giving a series of entertainments this winter and there
were more to come when I last saw Kate, which was
one night at Richard Horn's. But let us close that
chapter too, my boy. You and I will take a new
lease of life from now on. You have already put fresh
blood into my veins — I haven't felt so well for weeks.
Now tell me about yourself. Your last letter reached
me six months ago, if I remember right. You were
then in Rio and were going up into the mountains.
Did you go?"

"Yes — up into the Rio Abaste country where they
had discovered diamonds as big as hens' eggs — one
had been sold for nearly a quarter of a million dollars
— and everybody was crazy. I didn't find any dia-
monds nor anything else but starvation, so I herded
cattle, that being the only thing I knew anything
about — how to ride — and slept out on the lowlands
sometimes under a native mat and sometimes under
the kindly stars. Then we had a revolution and cattle
raids, and one night I came pretty near being chewed
up by a puma — and so it went. I made a little money
in rawhides after I got to know the natives, and I'm
going back to make some more; and you are going
with me when we get things straightened out. I
wouldn't have come home except that I heard you had
been turned out neck and crop from Kennedy Square.
One of Mr. Seymour's clerks stopped in Rio on his
way to the River Plate and did some business with an

419

KENNEDY SQUARE

English agent whom I met afterward at a hacienda,
and who told me about you when he learned I was
from Kennedy Square. And when I think of it all,
Uncle George, and what you have suffered on account
of me!" — Here his voice faltered. "No! — I won't
talk about it — I can't. I have spent too many sleep-
less nights over it: I have been hungry and half dead,
but I have kept on — and I am not through: I'll
pull out yet and put you on your feet once more if
Hive!"

St. George laid his hand tenderly on the young man's
wrist. He knew how the boy felt about it. That was
one of the things he loved him for.

"And so you started home when you heard it," he
went on, clearing his throat. " That was just like you,
you dear fellow! And you haven't come home an hour
too soon. I should have been measured for a pine
coffin in another week." The choke was quite in evi-
dence now. "You see, I really couldn't go to Coston's
when I thought it all over. I had made up my mind
to go for a week or so until I saw this place, and then
I determined I would stop with Jemima. I could eke
out an existence here on what I had left and still feel
like a gentleman, but I couldn't settle down on dear .
Peggy Coston and be anything but a poltroon. As to
my making a living at the law — that was pure moon-
shine. I haven't opened a law book for twenty years
and now it's too late. People of our class" — here he
looked away from his companion and talked straight
at the foot of the bed — "People of our class my boy,"

420

KENNEDY SQUARE

he repeated slowly — " when they reach the neck and
crop period you spoke of, are at the end of their rope.
There are then but two things left — either to become
the inmate of a poorhouse or to become a sponge. I
prefer this bare room as a happy medium, and I am
content to stay where I am as long as we three can
keep body and soul together. There is — so Pawson
told me before I left my house — a little money com-
ing in from a ground rent — a few months off, perhaps,
but more than enough to pay Todd back — he gives
Jemima every cent of his wages — and when this does
come in and I can get out once more, Fm going to
order my life so I can make a respectable showing
of some kind."

He paused for a moment, fastened his gaze again
on Harry, and continued:

"As to my going back to Pawson's, I am not al-
together sure that that is the wisest thing to do. I
may have to leave again as soon as I get comfortably
settled in my bed. I turned out at his bidding before
and may have to turn again when he says the word.
So don't kindle too many fires with Pawson's wood
— I hadn't a log to my name when I left — or it may
warm somebody's else's shins besides mine," and a
merry twinkle shone in his eyes.

Harry burst out laughing.

" Wood or no wood, Uncle George, I'm going to be
landlord now — Pawson can move out and graze his
cattle somewhere else. I'm going to take charge of the
hut and stock and the pack mules and provisions —

421

and with a gun, if necessary — " and he levelled an
imaginary fowling-piece with a boyish gesture.

"Don't you try to move anybody without an order
of the court I" cried St. George, joining in the merri-
ment. ("What a boy he is!" he thought to himself.)
"With that mortgage hanging over everything and
Gorsuch and your father cudgelling their brains to
foreclose it, you won't have a ghost of a chance.
Come to think of it, however, I might help — for a
few weeks' expenses, at least. How would this do ? "
Here he had all he could do to straighten his face:
"'Attention now — Hats off in the court-room. For
sale or hire! Immediate delivery. One first-class
gentleman, in reasonable repair. Could be made
useful in opening and shutting doors, or in dancing at-
tendance upon children under one year of age, or in
keeping flies from bedridden folk. Apply, and so forth/
Gadgem could fix it. He has done the most marvel-
lous things in the last year or two — extraordinary,
really! AskTodd about it some time — he'll tell you."

They were both roaring with laughter, St. George
so buoyed up by the contagious spirit of the young
fellow that he insisted on getting out of bed and sit-
ting in Aunt Jemima's rocking chair with a blanket
across his knees.

All the morning did this happy talk go on: — the
joyous unconfined talk of two men who had hungered
and thirsted for each other through weary bitter days
and nights, and whose coming together was like the
mingling of two streams long kept apart, and now

422

KENNEDY SQUARE

one great river flowing to a common outlet and a com-
mon good.

And not only did their talk cover the whole range
of Harry's experiences from the time he left the ship for
his sojourn in the hill country and the mountains be-
yond, and all of St. George's haps and mishaps, with
every single transaction of Gadgem and Pawson —
loving cup, dogs and all — but when their own personal
news was exhausted they both fell back on their friends,
such as Richard Horn and old Judge Pancoast; when
he had seen Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Latrobe — yes, and
what of Mr. Poe — had he written any more? — and
were his habits any better? — etc., etc.

"I have seen Mr. Poe several times since that un-
fortunate dinner, Harry; the last time when he was
good enough to call upon me on his way to Richmond.
He was then particularly himself. You would not
have known him — grave, dignified, perfectly dressed
— charming, delightful. He came in quite late — in-
deed I was going to bed when I heard his knock and,
Todd being out, I opened the door myself. There
was some of that Black Warrior left, and I brought
out the decanter, but he shook his head courteously
and continued his talk. He asked after you. Won-
derful man, Harry — a man you never forget once you
know him."

St. George dragged the pine table nearer his chair
and moistened his lips with the glass of milk which
Jemima had set beside him. Then he went on:

v You remember Judge Giles, do you not ? Lives
423

KENNEDY SQUARE

here on St. Paul Street — yes — of course you do — for
he is a great friend of your father's and you must have
met him repeatedly at Moorlands. Well, one day at
the club he told me the most extraordinary story
about Mr. Poe — this was some time after you'd gone.
It seems that the judge was at work in his study late one
snowy night when his doorbell sounded. Outside
stood a man with his coat buttoned close about his
throat — evidently a gentleman — who asked him po-
litely for a sheet of paper and a pen. You know the
judge, and how kind and considerate he is. Well, of
course he asked him in, drew out a chair at his desk
and stepped into the next room to leave him undis-
turbed. After a time, not hearing him move, he
looked in and to his surprise the stranger had disap-
peared. On the desk lay a sheet of paper on which
was written three verses of a poem. It was his
1 Bells.' The judge has had them framed, so I hear.
There was enough snow on the ground to bring out the
cutters, and Poe had the rhythm of the bells ringing
in his head and being afraid he would forget it he
pulled the judge's doorbell. I wish he'd rung mine.
I must get the poem for you, Harry — it's as famous
now as 'The Raven.' Richard, I hear, reads it so
that you can distinguish the sound of each bell."

" Well, he taught me a lesson," said Harry, tucking
the blanket close around his uncle's knees — "one I
have never forgotten, and never will. He sent me to
bed a wreck, I remember, but I got up the next morning
with a new mast in me and all my pumps working."

424

KENNEDY SQUARE

"You mean — " and St. George smiled meaningly
and tossed his hand up as if emptying a glass.

"Yes — just that — " rejoined Harry with a nod.
"It's so hot out where I have been that a glass of
native rum is as bad as a snake bite and everybody
except a native leaves it alone. But if I had gone to
the North Pole instead of the equator I would have
done the same. Men like you and father, and Mr.
Richard Horn and Mr. Kennedy, who have been
brought up on moderation, may feel as they choose
about it, but I'm going to let it alone. It's the devil
when it gets into your blood and mine's not made for
it. I'd like to thank Mr. Poe if I dared, which I
wouldn't, of course, if I ever saw him, for what he
did for me. I wouldn't be surprised if he would give
a good deal himself to do the same — or has he pulled
out?"

" He never has pulled in, Harry — not continuously.
Richard has the right of it. Poe is a man pursued
by a devil and lives always on the watch to prevent the
fiend from getting the best of him. Months at a time
he wins and then there comes a day when the devil
gets on top. He says himself — he told me this the last
time I saw him — that he really lives a life devoted to
his literary work; that he shuts himself up from every-
body; and that the desire for society only comes upon
him when he's excited by drink. Then, and only
then, does he go among his fellows. There is some
truth in that, my son, for as long as I have known him
I have never seen him in his cups except that one night

425

KENNEDY SQUARE

at my house. A courteous, well-bred gentleman, my
boy — most punctilious about all his obligations and
very honest about his failings. All he said to me
the next day when he sobered up — I kept him all that
night, you remember — was: 'I was miserably weak
and inexcusably drunk last night, Mr. Temple. If
that was all it would make no difference; I have been
very drunk before, and I will be very drunk again;
but in addition to my being drunk I insulted you and
your friends and ruined your dinner. That makes
every difference. Don't let it cause a break between
us. Let me come again. And now please brush it
from your mind. If you knew how I suffer over this
fiend who tortures and gloats over me you'd only have
the greatest pity for me, in your heart.' Then he
wrung my hand and left the house."

" Well, that's all any of us could do," sighed Harry,
leaning back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling. " It
makes some difference, however, of whom you ask for-
giveness. I've been willing to say the same kind of
thing to my father ever since my affair with Mr. Willits,
but it would have fallen on deaf ears. I had another
trial at it yesterday, and you know what happened."

" I don't think your father knew you, Harry," pro-
tested St. George, with a negative wave of his hand.

" I hope he didn't — I shouldn't like to think he did.
But, by heaven! it broke my heart to see him, Uncle
George. You would hardly know him. Even his
voice has changed and the shade over his eyes and the
way he twists his head when he looks at you really

426

KENNEDY SQUARE

gave me a creepy feeling," and the young man passed
his fingers across his own eyes as if to shut out some
hideous object.

"Was he looking straight at you when he ordered
you from the room?"

"Straight as he could."

" Well, let us try and think it was the beard. And
that reminds me, son, that it's got to come off, and
right away. When Todd comes in he'll find my razors
and "

" No— I'll look up a barber."

" Not down in this part of the town," exclaimed St.
George with a suggestive grimace.

"No — I'll go up to Guy's. There used to be an
old negro there who looked after us young fellows when
our beards began to sprout. He'll take care of it all
right. While I'm out I'll stop and send Todd back.
I'm going to end his apprenticeship to-day, and so
he'll help you dress. Nothing like getting into your
clothes when you're well enough to get out of bed;
I've done it more than once," and with a pat on his
uncle's shoulder and the readjustment of the blanket,
he closed the door behind him and left the room.

"Everything is working fine, auntie," he cried
gaily as he passed the old woman who was hanging
out the last of her wash. "I'll be back in an hour.
Don't tell him yet — " and he strode out of the yard
on his way uptown.

427

CHAPTER XXVIII

Intruders of all kinds had thrust their heads between
the dripping, slightly moist, and wholly dry installments
of Aunt Jemima's Monday wash, and each and every
one had been assailed by a vocabulary hurled at them
through the creaky gate, and as far out as the street
— peddlers; beggars; tramps; loose darkies with no vis-
ible means of support, who had smelt the cooking in
the air — even goats with an acquired taste for stocking
legs and window curtains — all of whom had either been
invited out, whirled out, or thrown out, dependent
upon the damage inflicted, the size of the favors asked,
or the length of space intervening between Jemima's
right arm and their backs. In all of these instances
the old cook had been the broom and the intruders
the dust. Being an expert in its use the intruders had
succumbed before they had gotten through their first
sentence. In the case of the goat even that privilege
was denied him; it was the handle and not the brush-
part which ended the argument. To see Aunt Je-
mima get rid of a goat in one whack and two jumps
was not only a lesson in condensed conversation, but
furnished a sight one rarely forgot — the goat never!

This morning the situation was reversed. It was
Aunt Jemima who came flying upstairs, her eyes pop-

428

KENNEDY SQUARE

ping from her head, her plump hands flattened against
her big, heaving bosom, her breath gone in the effort
to tell her dreadful news before she should drop dead-

"Marse George! who d'ye think's downstairs?'*
she gasped, bursting in the door of his bedroom, with-
out even the customary tap. "Oh, bless Gawd! dat
you'se outen dat bed! and dressed and tryin' yo' po'
legs about the room. He's comin' up. Got a man
wid him I ain't neber see befo'. Says he's a-lookin' fer
somebody! Git in de closet an' I'll tell him you'se
out an' den I'll run an' watch for Marse Harry at de
gate. Oh, I doan' like dis yere bus'ness," and she
began to wring her hands.

St. George, who had been listening to the old woman
with mingled feelings of wonder and curiosity, raised
his hand to silence her. Whether she had gone daft
or was more than usually excited he could not for the
moment decide.

" Get your breath, Jemima, and tell me what you're
talking about. Who's downstairs?"

"Ain't I jes' don' tol' yer? Got a look on him
make ye shiver all over; says he's gwineter s'arch de
house. He's got a constable wid him — dat is, he's
got a man dat looks like a constable, an' "

St. George laid his hands on the old woman's shoul-
ders, and turned her about.

" Hush your racket this instant, and tell me who is
downstairs ? "

" Marse Talbot Rutter," she wheezed; "come f'om
de country — got mud all ober his boots."

429

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Mr. Harry's father?"

Aunt Jemima choked and nodded: there was no
breath left for more.

"Who did he ask for?" St. George was calm
enough now.

"Didn't ask fer nobody; he say, 'I'm lookin' fer a
man dat come in yere las' night/ I see he didn't
know me an' I neber let on. Den he say, 'Hab you
got any boa'ders yere?' an' I say, 'I got one/ an'
den he 'tempted ter pass me an' I say, ' Wait a minute
'til I see ef he's outen de bed.' Now, what's I
gwineter do ? He doan' mean no good to Marse Harry
an' he'll dribe him 'way ag'in, an' he jes' come back
an' you gittin' well a-lovin' of him — an'-

An uncertain step was heard in the hall.

"Dat's him," Jemima whispered hoarsely, behind
her hand, "what'll I do? Doan' let him come in.
I'll "

St. George moved past her and pushed back the
door.

Colonel Rutter stood outside.

The two men looked into each other's faces.

"I am in search, sir," the colonel began, shading his
eyes with his fingers, the brighter light of the room
weakening his sight, " for a young sailor whom I am
informed stopped here last night, and who . . . St.
George! What in the name of God are you doing in
a place like this ? "

"Come inside, Talbot," Temple replied calmly,
his eyes fixed on Rutter's drawn face and faltering

430

KENNEDY SQUARE

gcaze. "Aunt Jemima, hand Colonel Rutter a chair.
You will excuse me if I sit down — I am just out of
bed after a long illness, and am a little weak," and

• O - *

he settled slowly into his seat. " My servant tells me
that you are looking for a "

St. George paused. Rutter was paying no more at-
tention to what he said than if he had been in the next
room. He was straining his eyes about the apartment;
taking in the empty bed from which St. George had
just arisen, the cheap chairs and small pine table and
the kitchen plates and cup which still held the re-
mains of St. George's breakfast. He waited until
Jemima had backed out of the door, her scared face
still a tangle of emotions — fear for her master's safety
uppermost. His eyes again veered to St. George.

"What does it all mean, Temple?" he asked in a
dazed way.

"I don't think that subject is under discussion,
Talbot, and we will, therefore, pass it. To what do
I owe the honor of this visit?"

"Don't be a damned fool, St. George! Don't you
see I'm half crazy ? Harry has come back and he is
hiding somewhere in this neighborhood."

"How do you know?" he inquired coolly. He
did not intend to help Rutter one iota in his search
until he found out why he wanted Harry. No more
cursing of either his son or himself — that was another
chapter which was closed.

"Because I've been hunting for him all day. He
rode out to Moorlands yesterday, and I didn't know

431

KENNEDY SQUARE

him, he's so changed. But think of it! St. George, I
ordered him out of my office. I took him for a road-
peddler. And he's going to sea again — he told Alec
as much. I tell you I have got to get hold of him!
Don't sit there and stare at me, man! tell me where
I can find my son!"

"What made you suppose he was here, Talbot?"
The same cool, measured speech and manner, but with
a more open mind behind it now. The pathetic aspect
of the man, and the acute suffering shown in every
tone of his voice, had begun to tell upon the invalid.

" Because a man I've got downstairs brought Harry
here last night. He is not positive, as it was quite
dark, but he thinks this is the place. I went first to
the Barkeley Line, found they had a ship in — the
Mohican — and saw the captain, who told me of a man
who came aboard at Rio. Then I learned where he
had put up for the night — a low sailors' retreat — and
found this peddler who said he had 'sold Harry the
silks which he offered me. He brought me here."

"Well, I can't help you any. There are only two
rooms — I occupy this and my old cook, Jemima, has
the other. I have been here for over a month."

"Here! in this God-forsaken place! Why, we
thought you had gone to Virginia. That's why we
have had no answers to our letters, and we've hunted
high and low for you. Certainly you have heard about
the Patapsco and what "

"I certainly have heard nothing, Talbot, and as I
have just told you, I'd rather you would not discuss

432

KENNEDY SQUARE

my affairs. The last time you saw fit to encroach
upon them brought only bitterness, and I prefer not
to repeat it. Anything you have to say about Harry
I will gladly hear. Go on — I'm listening."

"For God's sake, St. George, don't take that tone
with me! If you knew how wretched I am you'd be
sorry for me. I am a broken-down man! If Harry
goes away again without my seeing him I don't want
to live another day. When Alec came running back
last night and told me that I had cursed my son to
his face, I nearly went out of my mind. I knew when
I saw Alec's anger that it was true, and I knew, too,
what a brute I had been. I ran to Annie's room,
took her in my arms, and asked her pardon. All
night I walked my room; at daylight I rang for Alec,
sent for Matthew, and he hooked up the carryall and
we came in here. Annie wanted to come with me, but
I wouldn't let her. I knew Seymour wasn't out of bed
that early, and so I drove straight to the shipping office
and waited until it was open, and I've been hunting
for him ever since. You and I have been boys to-
gether, St. George — don't lay up against me all the
insulting things I've said to you — all the harm I've
done you! God knows I've repented of it! Will you
forgive me, St. George, for the sake of the old days
— for the sake of my boy to whom you have been a
father ? Will you give me your hand ? What in the
name of common sense should you and I be enemies
for? I, who owe you more than I owe any man in
the world! Will you help me?"

433

KENNEDY SQUARE

St. George was staring now. He bent forward,
gripped the arms of his chair for a better purchase,
and lifted himself to his feet. There he stood swaying,
Rutter's outstretched hand in both of his, his whole
nature stirred — only one thought in his heart — to wipe
out the past and bring father and son together.

"Yes, Talbot — I'll forgive you and I'll help you —
I have helped you! Harry will be here in a few
minutes — I sent him out to get his beard shaved off
— that's why you didn't know him."

The colonel reeled and but for St. George's hand
would have lost his balance. All the blood was gone
from his cheeks. He tried to speak, but the lips re-
fused to move. For an instant St. George thought
he would sink to the floor.

"You say — Harry . . . is here!" he stammered out
at last, catching wildly at 'Temple's other hand to
steady himself.

" Yes, he came across Todd by the merest accident
or he would have gone to the Eastern Shore to look
me up. Listen! — that's his step now! Turn that
door knob and hold out your hands to him, and after
you've got your arms around him get down on your
knees and thank your God that you've got such a son!
I do, every hour I live!"

The door swung wide and Harry strode in: his eyes
glistening, his cheeks aglow.

"Up, are you, and in your clothes!" he cried joy-
fully, all the freshness of the morning in his voice.
"Well, that's something like! How do you like me

434

KENNEDY SQUARE

now ? — smooth as a marlinspike and my hair trimmed
in the latest fashion, so old Bones says. He didn't
know me either till he got clear down below my mouth
and when my chin began to show he gave a — —

He stopped and stared at his father, who had been
hidden from sight by the swinging door. The surprise
was so great that his voice clogged in his throat.
Rutter stood like one who had seen an apparition.

St. George broke the silence:

" It's all right, Harry — give your father your hand."

The colonel made a step forward, threw out one
arm as if to regain his equilibrium and swayed toward
a chair, his frame shaking convulsively, wholly un-
strung, sobbing like a child. Harry sprang to catch
him and the two sank down together — no word of com-
fort— only the mute appeal of touch — the brown hand
wet with his father's tears.

For some seconds neither spoke, then Rutter raised
his head and looked into his son's face.

"I didn't know it was you, Harry. I have been
hunting you all day to ask your pardon." It was
the memory of the last indignity he had heaped upon
him that tortured him.

" I knew you didn't, father."

"Don't go away again, Harry, please don't, my
son ! " he pleaded, strangling the tears, trying to regain
his self-control — tears had often of late moistened
Rutter's lids. "Your mother can't stand it another
year, and I'm breaking up — half blind. You won't
go, will you?"

435

KENNEDY SQUARE

"No — not right away, father — we'll talk of that
later." He was still in the dark as to how it had come
about. All he knew was that for the first time in all
his life his father had asked his pardon, and for the
first time in his life the barrier which held them apart
,had been broken down.

The colonel braced himself in his seat in one supreme
effort to get himself in hand. One of his boasts was
that he had never lost his self-control. Harry rose
to his feet and stood beside him. St. George, trem-
bling from his own weakness, a great throb of thank-
fulness in his heart, had kept his place in his chair, his
eyes turned away from the scene. His own mind had
also undergone a change. He had always known
that somewhere down in Talbot Rutter's heart — down
underneath the strata of pride and love of power,
there could be found the heart of a father — indeed he
had often predicted to himself just such a coming
together. It was the boy's pluck and manliness that
had done it; a manliness free from all truckling or
cringing. And then his tenderness over the man who
had of all others in the world wronged him most! He
could hardly keep his glad hands off the boy.

"You will go home with me, of course, won't you,
Harry ? " He must ask his consent now — this son of
his whom he had driven from his home and insulted in
the presence of his friends at the club, and whom he
could see was now absolutely independent of him —
and what was more to the point absolutely his own
master.

436

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes, of course, I'll go home with you, father,"
came the respectful answer, "if mother isn't coming
in. Did she or Alec say anything to you about it
before you left?"

" No, she isn't coming in to-day — I wouldn't let her.
It was too early when I started. But that's not what
I mean," he went on with increasing excitement. " I
want you to go home with me and stay forever; I
want to forget the past; I want St. George to hear
me say so! Come and take your place at the head of
the estate — I will have Gorsuch arrange the papers
to-morrow. You and St. George must go back with
me to-day. I have the large carryall — Matthew is
with me — he stopped at the corner — he's there now."

"That's very kind of you, father," Harry rejoined
calmly, concealing as best he could his disappointment
at not being able to see his mother.

"Yes! of course you will go with me," his father
continued in nervous, jerky tones. " Please send the
servant for Matthew, my coachman, and have him
drive up. As for you, St. George, you can't stay here
another hour. How you ever got here is more than
I can understand. Moorlands is the place for you
both — you'll get well there. My carriage is a very
easy one. Perhaps I had better go for Matthew
myself."

"No, don't move, Talbot," rejoined St. George in
a calm firm voice wondering at Talbot's manner.
He had never seen him like this. All his old-time
measured talk and manner were gone; he was like

437

KENNEDY SQUARE

some breathless, hunted man pleading for his life.
"I'm very grateful to you but I shall stay here.
Harry, will you kindly go for Matthew?"

"Stay here! — for how long?" cried the colonel in
astonishment, his glance following Harry as he left
the room in obedience to his uncle's request.

"Well, perhaps for the balance of the winter."

"In this hole?" His voice had grown stronger.

"Certainly, why not?" replied St. George simply,
moving his chair so that his guest might see him the
better. "My servants are taking care of me. I can
pay my way here, and it's about the only place in
which I can pay it, and I want to tell you frankly,
Talbot, that I am very happy to be here — am very
glad, really, to get such a place. No one could be
more devoted than my Todd and Jemima — I shall
never forget their kindness."

"But you're not a pauper?" cried the colonel in
some heat.

" That was what you were once good enough to call
me — the last time we met. The only change is that
then I owed Pawson and that now I owe Todd," he
replied, trying to repress a smile, as if the humor of
the situation would overcome him if he was not care-
ful. "Thank you very much, Talbot — and I mean
every word of it — but I'll stay where I am, at least for
the present."

" But the bank is on its legs again," rebounded the
colonel, ignoring all reference to the past, his voice
gaining in volume.

438

KENNEDY SQUARE

"So am I," laughed St. George, tapping his lean
thighs with his transparent fingers — " on a very shaky
pair of legs — so shaky that I shall have to go to bed
again pretty soon."

"But you're coming out all right, St. George!"
Rutter had squared himself in his chair and was now
looking straight at his host. "Gorsuch has written
you half a dozen letters about it and not a word from
you in reply. Now I see why. But all that will
come out in time, I tell you. You're not going to
stay here for an hour longer." His old personality
was beginning to assert itself.

"The future doesn't interest me, Talbot," smiled
St. George in perfect good humor. "In my experi-
ence my future has always been worse than my past."

" But that is no reason why you shouldn't go home
with me now and let us take care of you," Rutter
cried in a still more positive tone. "Annie will be
delighted. Stay a month with me — stay a year.
After what I owe you, St. George, there's nothing I
wouldn't do for you."

"You have already done it, Talbot — every obliga-
tion is wiped out," rejoined St. George in a satisfied
tone.

"How?"

"By coming here and asking Harry's pardon —
that is more to me than all the things I have ever
possessed," and his voice broke as he thought of the
change that had taken place in Harry's fortunes in the
last half hour.

439

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Then come out to Moorlands and let me prove
it!" exclaimed the colonel, leaning forward in his
eagerness and grasping St. George by the sleeve.

"No," replied St. George in appreciative but posi-
tive tones — showing his mind was fully made up. " If
I go anywhere I'll go back to my house on Kennedy
Square — that is to the little of it that is still mine. I'll
stay there for a day or two, to please Harry — or until
they turn me out again, and then I'll come back here.
Change of air may do me good, and besides, Jemima
and Todd should get a rest."

The colonel rose to his feet: "You shall do no
such thing!" he exploded. The old dominating air
was in full swing now. "I tell you you will come
with me! Damn you, St. George! — if you don't I'll
never speak to you again, so help me, God!"

St. George threw back his head and burst into a
roar of laughter in which, after a moment of angry
hesitation, Rutter joined. Then he reached down
and with his hand on St. George's shoulder, said in
a coaxing tone — "Come along to Moorlands, old fel-
low— I'd be so glad to have you, and so will Annie,
and we'll live over the old days."

Harry's re-entrance cut short the answer.

" No father," he cried cheerily, taking up the refrain.
He had seen the friendly caress and had heard, the
last sentence. "Uncle George is still too ill, and too
weak for so long a drive. It's only the excitement
over my return that keeps him up now — and he'll
collapse if we don't look out — but he'll collapse in a

440

KENNEDY SQUARE

better place than this ! " he added with joyous empha-
sis. "Todd is outside, the hack is at the gate, and
Jemima is now waiting for him in his old room at
home. Give me your arm, you blessed old cripple,
and let me help you downstairs. Out of the way,
father, or he'll change his mind and I'll have to pick
him up bodily and carry him."

St. George shot a merry glance at Harry from under
his eyebrows, and with a wave of his hand and a dep-
recating shake of his head at the colonel said:

"These rovers and freebooters, Talbot, have so
lorded it over their serfs that they've lost all respect
for their betters. Give me your hand, you vagabond,
and if you break my neck I'll make you bury me."

The colonel* looked on silently and a sharp pain
gripped his throat. When, in all his life, had he ever
been spoken to by his boy in that spirit, and when in
all his life had he ever seen that same tenderness in
Harry's eyes ? What had he not missed ?

"Harry, may I make a suggestion?" he asked
almost apologetically. The young fellow turned his
head in respectful attention: "Put St. George in my
carriage — it is much more comfortable — and let me
drive him home — my eyes are quite good in the day-
time, after I get used to the light, and I am still able
to take the road. Then put your servant and mine
in the hack with St. George's and your own luggage."

"Capital idea!" cried Harry enthusiastically "I
never thought of it! Attention company! Eyes to the
front, Mr. Temple ! You'll now remain on waiting or-

441

KENNEDY SQUARE

ders until I give you permission to move, and as this
may take some time — please hold on to him, father, un-
til I get his chair" (they were already out on the land-
ing— on the very plank where Harry had passed the
night) "you'll go back to your quarters . . . Here
sir, these are your quarters," and Harry dragged the
chair into position with his foot. "Down with you
. . . that's it ... and you will stay here until the
baggage and hospital train arrives, when you'll occupy
a front seat in the van — and there will be no grum-
bling or lagging behind of any kind, remember, or
you'll get ten days in the calaboose! "

Pawson was on the curbstone, his face shining, his
semaphore arms and legs in action, his eyes searching
the distance, when the two vehicles came in sight.
He had heard the day boat was very late, and as there
had been a heavy fog over night, did not worry about
the delay in their arrival.

What troubled him more was the change in Mr.
Temple's appearance. He had gone away ruddy,
erect, full of vigor and health, and here he was being
helped out of the carriage, pale, shriveled, his eyes deep
set in his head. His voice, though, was still strong
if his legs were shaky, and there seemed also to be no
diminution in the flow of his spirits. Wesley had
kept that part of him intact whatever changes the
climate had made.

"Ah, Pawson — glad to see you!" the invalid called
gaily extending his hand as soon as he stood erect on

442

KENNEDY SQUARE

the sidewalk. " Back again, you see — these old derel-
icts bob up once in a while when you least expect
them." And he wrung his hand heartily. " So the
vultures, it seems, have not turned up yet and made
their roost in my nest. Most kind of you to stay
home and give up your business to meet me! You
know Colonel Talbot Rutter, of Moorlands, I presume,
and Mr. Harry Rutter — Of course you do! Harry
has told me all about your midnight meeting when
you took him for a constable, and he took you for a
thief. No — please don't laugh, Pawson — Mr. Rutter
is the worst kind of a thief. Not only has he stolen
my heart because of his goodness to me, but he threat-
ens to make off with my body. Give me your hand,
Todd. Now a little lift on that rickety elbow and I
reckon we can make that flight of steps. I have come
down them so many times of late with no expectation
of ever mounting them again that it will be a novelty
to be sure of staying over night. Come in, Talbot,
and see the home of my ancestors. I am sorry the
Black Warrior is all gone — I sent Kennedy the last
bottle some time ago — pity that vintage didn't last
forever. Do you know, Talbot, if I had my way, I'd
have a special spigot put in the City Spring labelled
'Gift of a once prominent citizen/ and supply the in-
habitants with 1810 — something fit for a gentleman
to drink."

They were all laughing now; the colonel carrying
the pillows Todd had tucked behind the invalid's
back, Harry a few toilet articles wrapped in paper, and

443

KENNEDY SQUARE

Matthew his cane — and so the cortege crawled up the
steps, crossed the dismantled dining-room — the colo-
nel aghast at the change made in its interior since last
he saw it — and so on to St. George's room where Todd
and Jemima put him to bed.

His uncle taken care of — (his father had kept on
to Moorlands to tell his mother the good news) —
Harry mounted the stairs to his old room, which Paw-
son had generously vacated.

The appointments were about the same as when he
left; time and poverty had wrought but few changes.
Pawson, had moved in a few books and there was a
night table beside the small bed with a lamp on it,
showing that he read late; but the bureau and shabby
arm-chair, and the closet, stripped now of the young
attorney's clothes to make room for the wanderer's —
(a scant, sorry lot) — were pretty much the same as
Harry had found on that eventful night when he had
driven in through the rain and storm beside his Uncle
George, his father's anathemas ringing in his ears.

Unconsciously his mind went back to the events of
the day; — more especially to his uncle's wonderful
vitality and the blissful change his own home-coming
had wrought not only in his physique, but in his
spirits. Then his father's shattered form, haggard
face, and uncertain glance rose before him, and with it
came the recollection of all that had happened dur-
ing the previous hours: his father's brutal outburst in
the small office and the marvellous effect produced
upon him when he learned the truth from Alec's lips;

444

KENNEDY SQUARE

his hurried departure in the gray dawn for the ship
and his tracing him to Jemima's house. More amaz-
ing still was his present bearing toward himself and
St. George; his deference to their wishes and his wil-
lingness to follow and not lead. Was it his ill-health
that had brought about this astounding reformation in
a man who brooked no opposition ? — or had his heart
really softened toward him so that from this on he
could again call him father in the full meaning of the
term? At this a sudden, acute pain wrenched his
heart. Perhaps he had not been glad enough to see
him — perhaps in his anxiety over his uncle he had
failed in those little tendernesses which a returned
prodigal should have shown the father who had held
out his arms and asked his forgiveness. Why was
he not more affected by the sight of his suffering.
When he first saw his uncle he had not been able to
keep the tears back — and yet his eyes were dry
enough when he saw his father. At this he fell to
wondering as to the present condition of the colonel's
mind. What was he thinking of in that lonely drive.
He must be nearing Moorlands by this time and Alec
would meet him, and later the dear mother — and the
whole story would be told. He could see her glad
face — her eyes streaming tears, her heart throbbing
with the joy of his return.

And it is a great pity he could not have thus looked
in upon the autocrat of Moorlands as he sat hunched
up on the back seat of the carryall, his head bowed,

445

KENNEDY SQUARE

the only spoken words being Matthew's cheery hasten-
ing of his horses. And it is even a greater pity that
the son could not have searched as well the secret
places of the man's heart: such clearings out of doubts
and misgivings make for peace and good fellowship
and righteousness in this world of misunderstanding.

That a certain rest had come into Rutter's soul
could be seen in his face — a peace that had not settled
on his features for years — but, if the truth must be told,
he was far from happy. Somehow the joy he had
anticipated at the boy's home-coming had not been
realized. With the warmth of Harry's grasp still
lingering in his own and the tones of his voice still
sounding in his ears, try as he might, he yet felt aloof
from him — outside — far off. Something had snapped
in the years they had been apart — something he knew
could never be repaired. Where there had once been
boyish love there was now only filial regard. Down
in his secret soul he felt it — down in his secret soul he
knew it ! Worse than that — another had replaced him !
"Come, you dear old cripple!" — he could hear the
voice and see the love and joy in the boy's eyes as he
shouted it out. Yes, St. George was his father now!

Then his mind reverted to his former treatment of
his son and for the hundredth time he reviewed his
side of the case. What else could he have done and
still maintain the standards of his ancestors? — the
universal question around Kennedy Square, when ob-
ligations of blood and training were to be considered.
After all it had only been an object lesson; he had

446

KENNEDY SQUARE

fully intended to forgive him later on. When Harry
was a boy he punished him as boys were punished;
when he became a man he punished him as men were
punished. But for St. George the plan would long
since have worked. St. George had balked him
; twice — once at the club and once at his home in
Kennedy Square, when he practically ordered him
from the house.

And yet he could not but admit — and at this he sat
bolt upright in his seat — that even according to his
own high standards both St. George and Harry had
measured up to them! Rather than touch another
penny of his uncle's money Harry had become an
exile; rather than accept a penny from his enemy, St.
George had become a pauper. With this view of the
case fermenting in his mind — and he had not realized
the extent of both sacrifices until that moment — a
feeling of pride swept through him. It was his boy
and his friend, who had measured up ! — by suffering,
by bodily weakness — by privation — by starvation!
And both had manfully and cheerfully stood the test!
It was the blood of the DeRuyters which had put
courage into the boy; it was the blood of the cavaliers
.that had made Temple the man he was. And that
old DeRuyter blood! How it had told in every glance
of his son's eyes and every intonation of his voice!
If he had not accumulated a fortune he would — and
that before many years were gone. But! — and here a
chill went through him. Would not this still further
separate them, and if it did how could he restore in

447

KENNEDY SQUARE

the shortest possible time the old dependence and the
old confidence ? His efforts so far had met with al-
most a rebuff, for Harry had shown no particular
pleasure when he told him of his intention to put him
in charge of the estate: he had watched his face closely
for a sign of satisfaction, but none had come. He had
really seemed more interested in getting St. George
downstairs than in being the fourth heir of Moor-
lands— indeed, it was very evident that he had no
thought for anybody or anything except St. George.

All this the son might have known could he have
sat by his father in the carryall on this way to Moor-
lands.

448

CHAPTER XXIX

The sudden halting of two vehicles close to the
horse-block of the Temple Mansion — one an aristo-
cratic carryall driven by a man in livery, and the other
a dilapidated city hack in charge of a negro in patched
overcoat and whitey-brown hat, the discharge of their
inmates, one of whom was Colonel Talbot Rutter of
Moorlands carrying two pillows, and another a strange
young man loaded down with blankets — the slow
disembarking of a gentleman in so wretched a state
of health that he was practically carried up the front
steps by his body-servant, and the subsequent arrival
of Dr. Teackle on the double quick — was a sight so
unusual in and around peaceful Kennedy Square
that it is not surprising that all sorts of reports — most
of them alarming — reached the club long before St.
George had been comfortably tucked away in bed.

Various versions were afloat: "St. George was
back from Wesley with a touch of chills and fever — '
"St. George was back from Wesley with a load of
buckshot in his right arm — " " St. George had broken
his collar-bone riding to hounds — " etc.

Richard Horn was the first to spring to his feet —
it was the afternoon hour and the club was full — and
cross the Square on the run, followed by Clayton,

449

KENNEDY SQUARE

Bowman, and two or three others. These, with one
accord, banged away on the knocker, only to be met
by Dr. Teackle, who explained that there was nothing
seriously the matter with Mr. Temple, except an at-
tack of foolhardiness in coming up the bay when he
should have stayed in bed1 — but even that should cause
his friends no uneasiness, as he was still as tough as a
lightwood knot, and bubbling over with good humor;
all he needed was rest, and that he must have — so
please everybody come to-morrow.

By the next morning the widening of ripples caused
by the dropping of a high-grade invalid into the still
pool of Kennedy Square, spread with such force and
persistency that one wavelet overflowed Kate's dress-
ing-room. Indeed, it came in with Mammy Henny
and her coffee.

"Marse George home, honey — Ben done see Todd.
Got a mis'ry in his back dat bad it tuk two gemmens
to tote him up de steps."

"Uncle George home, and ill!"

That was enough for Kate. She didn't want any
coffee — she didn't want any toast or muffins, or hom-
iny— she wanted her shoes and stockings and — Yes
everything, and quick! — and would Mammy Henny
call Ben and send him right away to Mr. Temple's and
find out how her dear Uncle George had passed the
night, and give him her dearest love and tell him she
would come right over to see him the moment she could
get into her clothes ; and could she send anything for him
to eat; and did the doctor think it was dangerous — ?

450

KENNEDY SQUARE

Yes — and Ben must keep on to Dr. Teackle's and
find out if it was dangerous — and say to him that Miss
Seymour wanted to know immediately, and — " (Here
the poor child lost her breath, she was dressing all
the time, Mammy Kenny's fingers and ears doing
their best) "and tell Mr. Temple, too/' she rushed
on, " that he must send word by Ben for anything and
everything he needed" (strong accent on the two
words) ... all of which was repeated through the
crack of the door to patient Ben when he presented
himself, with the additional assurance that he must
tell Mr. Temple it wouldn't be five minutes before
she would be with him — as she was nearly dressed, all
but her hair.

She was right about her good intentions, but she
was wrong about the number of minutes necessary
to carry them out. There was her morning gown to
button, and her gaiters to lace, and her hair to be brai-
ded and caught up in her neck (she always wore it that
way in the morning) and the dearest of snug bonnets
— a "cabriolet" from Paris — a sort of hood, stiffened
with wires, out of which peeped pink rosebuds quite
as they do from a trellis — had to be put on, and the
white strings tied "just so" — the bows flaring out
and the long ends smoothed flat; and then the lace
cape and scarf and her parasol; — all these and a dozen
other little niceties had to be adjusted before she
could trip down her father's stairs and out of her
father's swinging gate and on through the park to her
dear Uncle George.

451

KENNEDY SQUARE

But when she did — and it took her all of an hour —
nothing that the morning sun shone on was quite
as lovely, and no waft of air so refreshing or so
welcome as our beloved heroine when she burst in
upon him.

"Oh! — you dear, dear thing!" she cried, tossing
her parasol on Pawson's table and stretching out her
arms toward him sitting in his chair. "Oh, I am
so sorry! Why didn't you let me know you were ill?
I would have gone down to Wesley. Oh! — I knew
something was the matter with you or you would have
answered my letters."

He had struggled to his feet at the first sound of
her footsteps in the hall, and had her in his arms long
before she had finished her greeting; — indeed her last
sentence was addressed to the collar of his coat against
which her cheek was cushioned.

"Who said I was ill?" he asked with one of his
bubbling laughs when he got his breath,

"Todd told Ben — and you are! — and it breaks my
heart." She was holding herself off now, scanning his
pale face and shrunken frame — "Oh, I am so sorry
you did not let me know!"

"Todd is a chatterer, and Ben. no better; I've only
had a bad cold — and you couldn't have done me a
bit of good if you had come — and now I am entirely
well, never felt better in my life. Oh — but it's good
to get hold of you, Kate, — and you are still the same
bunch of roses. Sit down now and tell me all about
it. I wish I had a better chair for you, my dear, but

452

KENNEDY SQUARE

the place is quite dismantled, as you see. I expected
to stay the winter when I left."

She had not given a thought to the chair or to the
changes — had not even noticed them. That the room
was stripped of its furniture prior to a long stay was
what invariably occurred in her own house every
summer: it was her precious uncle's pale, shrunken
face and the blue veins that showed in the backs of
his dear transparent hands which she held between
her own, and the thin, emaciated wrists that ab-
sorbed her.

"You poor, dear Uncle George!" she purred —
" and nobody to look after you." He had drawn up
Pawson's chair and had placed her in it beside the
one he sat in, and had then dropped slowly into his
own, the better to hide from her his weakness — but it
did not deceive her. "I'm going to have you put
back to bed this very minute; you are not strong
enough to sit up. Let me call Aunt Jemima."

St. George shook his head good-naturedly in denial
and smoothed her hands with his fingers.

"Call nobody and do nothing but sit beside me
and let me look into your face and listen to your voice.
I have been pretty badly shaken up; had two weeks
of it that couldn't have been much worse — but since
then I have been on the mend and am getting stronger
every minute. I haven't had any medicine and I
don't want anj now — I just want you and — " he hesi-
tated, and seeing nothing in her eyes of any future
hope for Harry, finished the sentence, with "and one

453

KENNEDY SQUARE

or two others to sit by me and cheer me up; that's
better than all the doctors in the world. And now,
first about your father and then about yourself."

" Oh, he's very well," she rejoined absently. "He's
off somewhere, went away two days ago. He'll be
back in a week. But you must have something to eat
— good things!" — her mind still occupied with his con-
dition. " I'm going to have some chicken broth made
the moment I get home and it will be sent fresh every
day: and you must eat every bit of it!"

Again St. George's laugh rang out. He had let her
run on — it was music to his ears — that he might later
on find some clue on which he could frame a question
he had been revolving in his mind ever since he heard
her voice in the hall. He would not tell her about
Harry — better wait until he could read her thoughts
the clearer. If he could discover by some roundabout
way that she would still refuse to see him it would be
best not to embarrass her with any such request; es-
pecially on this her first visit.

"Yes — I'll eat anything and everything you send
me, you dear Kate — and many thanks to you, provided
you'll come with it — you are the best broth for me.
But you haven't answered my question — not all of it.
What have you been doing since I left?"

" Wondering whether you would forgive me for the
rude way in which I left you the last time I saw you, —
the night of Mr. Horn's reading, for one thing. I
went off with Mr. Willits and never said a word to
you. I wrote you a letter telling you how sorry I was,

454

KENNEDY SQUARE

but you never answered it, and that made me more
anxious than ever."

" What foolishness, Kate! I never got it, of course,
or you would have heard from me right away. A
number of my letters have gone astray of late. But
I don't remember a thing about it, except that you
walked off with your — " again he hesitated — "with
Mr. Willits, which, of course, was the most natural
thing for you to do in the world. How is he, by the
way?"

Kate drew back her shoulders with that quick
movement common to her when some antagonism in
her mind preceded her spoken word.

" I don't know — I haven't seen him for some weeks."

St. George started in his chair: "You haven't!
He isn't ill, is he?"

"No, I think not," she rejoined calmly.

" Oh, then he has gone down to his father's. Yes,
I remember he goes quite often," he ventured.

" No, I think he is still here." Her gaze was on the
window as she spoke, through which could be seen
the tops of the trees glistening in the sunlight.

"And you haven't seen him? Why?" asked St.
George wonderingly — he was not sure he had heard
her aright.

"I told him not to come," she replied in a positive
tone.

St. George settled back in his chair. Had there
been a clock in the room its faintest tick would have
rung out like a trip-hammer.

455

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Then you have had a quarrel: he has broken his
promise to you and got drunk again."

"No, he has never broken it; he has kept it as
faithfully as Harry kept his."

"You don't mean, Kate, that you have' broken off
your engagement?"

She reached over and picked up her parasol : " There
never was any engagement. I have always felt sorry
for Mr. Willits and tried my best to love him and
couldn't — that is all. He understands it perfectly; we
both do. It was one of the things that couldn't be."

All sorts of possibilities surged one after the other
through the old diplomat's mind. A dim light in-
creasing in intensity began to shine about him. What
it meant he dared not hope. " What does your father
say ? " he asked slowly, after a pause in which he had
followed every expression that crossed her face.

" Nothing — and it wouldn't alter the case if he did.
I am the best judge of what is good for me." There
was a certain finality in her cadences that repelled
all further discussion. He remembered having heard
the same ring before.

"When did all this happen? — this telling him not
to come?" he persisted, determined to widen the in-
quiry. His mind was still unable to fully grasp the
situation.

" About five weeks ago. Do you want to know the
very night?" She turned her head as she spoke and
looked at him with her full, deep eyes.

"Yes, if you wish me to."
456

KENNEDY SQUARE

"The night Mr. Horn read 'The Cricket on the
Hearth/ " she answered in a tone of relief — as if
some great crisis had marked the hour, the passing
of which had brought her infinite peace. " I told him
when I got home, and I have never seen him since."

For some seconds St. George did not move. He
had turned from her and sat with his head resting
on his hand, his eyes intent on the smouldering fire:
he dare not trust himself to speak; wide ranges
opened before him; the light had strengthened until
it was blinding. Kate sat motionless, her hands in
her lap, her eyes searching St. George's face for some
indication of the effect of her news. Then finding
him still silent and absorbed in his thoughts, she
went on:

"There was nothing else to do, Uncle George. I
had done all I could to please my father and one or two
of my friends. There was nothing against him — he
was very kind and very considerate — but somehow
I — " She paused and drew a long breath.

"Somehow what?" demanded St. George raising
his head quickly and studying her the closer. The
situation was becoming vital now — too vital for any
further delay.

" Oh, I don't know — I couldn't love him — that's
all. He has many excellent qualities — too many may-
be," and she smiled faintly. "You know I never
liked people who were too good — that is, too willing
to do everything you wanted them to do — especially
men who ought really to be masters and — " She

457

KENNEDY SQUARE

stopped and played with the top of her parasol, smooth-
ing the knob with her palm as if the better to straighten
out the tangle in her mind. " I expect you will think
me queer, Uncle George, but I have come to the con-
clusion that I will never love anybody again — I am
through with all that. It's very hard, you know, to
mend a thing when it's broken. I used to say to my-
self that when I grew to be a woman I supposed I
would love as any other woman seemed content to
love; that no romance of a young girl was ever realized
and that they could only be found in love stories. But
my theories all went to pieces when I heard Mr. Horn
that night. Dot's love for John the Carrier — I have
read it so often since that I know the whole story by
heart — Dot's love for John was the real thing, but
May Fielding's love for Tackleton wasn't. And it
seemed so wonderful when her lover came home and
— it's foolish, I know — very silly — that I should have
been so moved by just the reading of a story — but it's
true. It takes only a very little to push you over
when you are on the edge, and I had been on the edge
for a long time. But don't let us talk about it, dear
Uncle George," she added with a forced smile. " I'm
going to take care of you now and be a charming old
maid with side curls and spectacles and make flannel
things for the poor — you just wait and see what a com-
fort I will be." Her lips were trembling, the tears
crowding over the edges of her lids.

St. George stretched out his hand and in his kindest
voice said:

458

KENNEDY SQUARE

" Was it the carrier and his wife, or was it the sailor
boy who came back so fine and strong, that affected
you, Kate? — and made you give up Mr. Willits?"
He would go to the bottom now.

"It was everything, Uncle George — the sweetness
of it all — her pride in her husband — his doubts of her
— her repentance; and yet she did what she thought
was for the best; and then his forgiveness and the way
he wanted to take her in his arms at last and she would
not until she explained. And there was nothing really
to explain — only love, and trust, and truth — all the
time believing in him — loving him. Oh, it is cruel
to part people — it's so mean and despicable! There
are so many Tackletons — and the May Fieldings go
to the altar and so on to their graves — and there is
often such a very little difference between the two. I
never gave my promise to Mr. Willits. I would not!
— I could not! He kept hoping and waiting. He was
very gentle and patient — he never coaxed nor pleaded,
but just — Oh, Uncle George ! — let me talk it all out —
I have nobody else. I missed you so, and there was
no one who could understand, and you wouldn't an-
swer my letters." She was crying softly to herself,
her beautiful head resting on her elbow pillowed on
the back of his chair.

He leaned forward the closer: he loved this girl
next best to Harry. Her sorrows were his own.
Was it all coming out as he had hoped and prayed
for? He could hardly restrain himself in his eager-
ness.

459

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Did you miss anybody else, Kate?" There was
a peculiar tenderness in his voice.

She did not raise her head nor did she answer. St.
George waited and repeated the question, slipping his
hand over hers, as he spoke.

" It was the loneliness, Uncle George," she replied,
evading his inference. " I tried to forget it all, and I
threw open our house and gave parties and dances —
hardly a week but there has been something going
on — but nothing did any good. I have been — yes —
wretchedly unhappy and — No, it will only distress
you to hear it — don't let's talk any more about it. I
won't let you go away again. I'll go away with you
if you don't get better soon, anywhere you say. We'll
go down to the White Sulphur — Yes — we'll go there.
The air is so bracing — it wouldn't be a week before
all the color would come back to your cheeks and you
be as strong as ever."

He was not listening. His mind was framing a
question — one he must ask without committing him-
self or her. He was running a parallel, really — read-
ing her heart by a flank movement.

"Kate, dear?" He had regained his position al-
though he still kept hold of her hand.

"Yes, Uncle George."

"Did you write to Harry, as I asked you?"

"No, it wouldn't have done any good. I have
had troubles enough of my own without adding any
to his."

"Were you afraid he would not answer it?"
460

KENNEDY SQUARE

She lifted her head and tightened her fingers about
his own, her wet eyes looking into his.

"I was afraid of myself. I have never known my
own mind and I don't know it now. I have played
fast and loose with everybody — I can't bind up a broken
arm and then break it again."

"Wouldn't it be better to try?" he said softly.

"No, I don't think so."

St. George released her hand and settled back in his
chair; his face grew grave. What manner of woman
was this, and how could he reach the inner kernel of
her heart? Again he raised his head and leaning
forward took both her hands between his own.

" I am going to tell you a story, Kate — one you have
never heard — not all of it. When I was about your
age — a little older perhaps, I gave my heart to a woman
who had known me from a boy; with whom I had
played when she was a child. I'm not going into the
whole story, such things are always sad; nor will I
tell you anything of the beginning of the three happy
months of our betrothal nor of what caused our sepa-
ration. I shall only tell you of the cruelty of the end.
There was a misunderstanding — a quarrel — I begging
her forgiveness on my knees. All the time her heart
was breaking. One little word from her would have
healed everything. Some years after that she married
and her life still goes on. I am what you see."

Kate looked at him with swimming eyes. She
dimly remembered that she had heard that her uncle
had had a love affair in his youth and that his sweet-

461

KENNEDY SQUARE

heart had jilted him for a richer man, but she had
never known that he had suffered so bitterly over it.
Her heart went out to him all the more.

"Will you tell me who it was?" She had no right
to ask; but she might comfort him the better if she
knew.

" Harry's mother."

Kate dropped his hands and drew back in her seat.

"You — loved — Mrs. — Rutter — and she — refused you
for — Oh! — what a cruel thing to do! And what a
fool she was. Now I know why you have been so
good to Harry. Oh, you poor, dear Uncle George.
Oh, to think that you of all men! Is there any one
whose heart is not bruised and broken ?" she added in
a helpless tone.

" Plenty of them, Kate — especially those who have
been willing to stoop a little and so triumph. Harry
has waited three years for some word from you; he
has not asked for it, for he believes you have forgotten
him; and then he was too much of a man to encroach
upon another's rights. Does your breaking off with
Mr. Willits alter the case in any way? — does it make
any difference ? Is this sailor boy always to be a wan-
derer— never to come home to his people and the
woman he loves?"

" He'll never come back to me, Uncle George," she
said with a shudder, dropping her eyes. " I found that
out the day we talked together in the park, just before he
left. And he's not coming home. Father got a letter
from one of his agents who had seen him. He was look-

462

KENNEDY SQUARE

ing very well and was going up into the mountains
— I wrote you about it. I am sorry you didn't get the
letter — but of course he has written you too."

"Suppose I should tell you that he would come
back if he thought you would be glad to see him —
glad in the old way?"

Kate shook her head : " He would never come.
He hates me, and I don't blame him. I hate myself
when I think of it all."

"But if he should walk in now?" — he was very
much afraid he would, and he was not quite ready for
him yet. What he was trying to find out was not
whether Kate would be glad to see Harry as a relief
to her loneliness, but whether she really loved him.

Some tone in his voice caught her ear. She -turned
her head quickly and looked at him with wondering
gaze, as if she would read his inmost thoughts.

" You mean that he is coming, Uncle George — that
Harry is coming home!" she exclaimed excitedly, the
color ebbing from her cheeks.

"He is already here, Kate. He slept upstairs in
his old room last night. I expect him in any minute."

"Here! — in this room!" She was on her feet in an
instant, her face deathly pale, her whole frame shak-
ing. Which way should she turn to escape? To
meet him face to face would bring only excruciating
pain. "Oh, why didn't you tell me, Uncle George!"
she burst out. "I won't see him! I can't! — not now
— not here! Let me go home — let me think! No —
don't stop me!" and catching up her cape and parasol

463

KENNEDY SQUARE

she was out the door and down the steps before he
could call her back or even realize that she had gone.

Once on the pavement she looked nervously up and
down the street, gathered her pretty skirts tight in her
hand and with the fluttered flight of a scared bird darted
across the park, dashed through her swinging gate,
and so on up to her bedroom.

There she buried her face in Mammy Kenny's lap
and burst into an agony of tears.

While all this had been going on upstairs another
equally important conference was taking place in
Pawson's office below, where Harry at Pawson's re-
quest had gone to meet Gadgem and talk over certain
plans for his uncle's future welfare. He had missed
Kate by one of those trifling accidents which often
determine the destiny of nations and of men. Had
he, after attending to the business of the morning — (he
had been down to Marsh Market with Todd for sup-
plies)— mounted the steps to see his uncle instead of
yielding to a sudden impulse to interview Pawson first
and his uncle afterward, he would have come upon
Kate at the very moment she was pouring out her
heart to St. George.

But no such fatality or stroke of good fortune —
whatever the gods had in store for him — took place.
On the contrary he proceeded calmly to carry out the
details of a matter of the utmost importance to all
concerned — one in which both Pawson and Gadgem
were interested — (indeed he had come at Pawson's

464

KENNEDY SQUARE

suggestion to discuss its details with the collector and
himself) : — all of which the Scribe promises in all honor
to reveal to his readers before the whole of this story
is told.

Harry walked straight up to Gadgem:

" I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gadgem," he said
in his manly, friendly way. "You have been very
good to my uncle, and I want to thank you both for
him and for myself," and he shook the little man's
hand heartily.

Gadgem blushed. St. George's democracy he could
understand; but why this aristocrat — outcast as he
had once been, but now again in favor — why this
young prince, the heir to Moorlands and the first young
blood of his time, should treat him as an equal, puzzled
him; and yet, somehow, his heart warmed to him as
he read his sincerity in his eyes and voice.

"Thank you, sir — thank you very much, sir," re-
joined Gadgem, with a folding-camp-stool-movement,
his back bent at right angles with his legs. " I really
don't deserve it, sir. Mr. Temple is an extraordinary
man, sir; the most extraordinary man I have ever met,
sir. Give you the shirt off his back, sir, and go naked
himself."

"Yes, he gave it to me," laughed Harry, greatly
amused at the collector's effusive manner: He had
never seen this side of Gadgem. "That, of course,
you know all about — you paid the bills, I believe."

"Precisely so, sir." He had lengthened out now
with a spiral-spring, cork-screw twist in his body, his

465

KENNEDY SQUARE

index finger serving as point. " Paid every one of them.
He never cared, sir — he gloried in it — gloried in being
a pauper. Unaccountable, Mr. Rutter — enormously
unaccountable. Never heard of such a case; never
will hear of such a case. So what was to be done,
sir ? Just what I may state is being done this minute
over our heads wpstairs": and out went the index
finger. "Rest and recuperation, sir — a slow — a very
slow use of available assets until new and further
available assets could become visible. And they are
here, sir — have arrived. You may have heard, of
course, of the Patapsco where Mr. Temple kept the
largest part of his fortune."

"No, except that it about ruined everybody who
had anything to do with it."

"Then you have heard nothing of the resuscita-
tion!" cried Gadgem, all his fingers opened like a fan,
his eyebrows arched to the roots of his hair. "You
surprise me! And you are really ignorant of the
phoenix-like way in which it has men from its ashes ?
I said risen, sir, because it is now but a dim speck in
the financial sky. Nor the appointment of Mr. John
Gorsuch as manager, ably backed by your distin-
guished father — the setting of the bird upon its legs —
I'm speaking of the burnt bird, sir, the phoenix. I'm
quite sure it was a bird — Nor the payment on the first
of the ensuing month of some eighty per cent of the
amounts due the on'grinal depositors and another
twenty per cent in one year thereafter — The cancelling
of the mortgage which your most fcenevolent and hon-

466

KENNEDY SQUARE

orable father bought, and the sly trick of Gorsuch —
letting Fogbin, who never turned up, become the sham
tenant — and the joy "

"Hold on Mr. Gadgem — I'm not good at figures.
Give me that over again and speak slower. Am I to
understand that the bank will pay back to my uncle,
within a day or so, three-quarters of the money they
stole from him?"

"Stole, sir!" chided Gadgem, his outstretched fore-
finger wig- wagging a Fie! Fie! gesture of disapproval
— " Stole is not a pretty word — actionable, sir — danger-
ously actionable — a question of the watch-house, and,
if I might be permitted to say — a bit^ of cold lead —
Perhaps you will allow me to suggest the word ' manip-
ulated,' sir — the money the bank manipulated from
your confiding and inexperienced uncle — that is safer
and it is equally ^repressive. He! He!"

"Well, will he get the money?" cried Harry, his
face lighting up, his interest in the outcome outweigh-
ing his amusement over Gadgem's antics and expres-
sions.

" He will, sir," rejoined Gadgem decisively.

" And you are so sure of it that you would be willing
to advance one-half the amount if the account was
turned over to you this minute?" cried Harry eagerly.

" No sir — not one-half — all of it — less a trifling com-
mission for my services of say one per cent. When
you say ' this minute,' sir, I must reply that the brevity
of the area of action becomes a trifle acute, yes, alarm-
ingly acute. I haven't the money myself, sir — that

467

KENNEDY SQUARE

is, not about my person — but I can get it in an
hour, sir — in less time, if Mr. Temple is willing.
That was my purpose in coming here, sir — that was
why Mr. Pawson sent for me, sir; and it is but fair to
say that you can thank your distinguished father for it
all, sir — he has worked night and day to do it. Colo-
nel Rutter has taken over — so I am informed — I'm not
sure, but I am informed — taken over a lot of the secu-
rities himself so that he could do it. Another ex-
traordinary combination, if you will permit me to say
so — I refer to your father — a man who will show you
his door one minute and open his pocketbook and his
best bottle of wine for you the next," and he plunged
himself down in his seat with so determined a gesture
that it left no question on Harry's mind that he in-
tended sitting it out until daylight should there be the
faintest possibility of his financial proposition being
accepted.

Harry walked to the window and gazed out on the
trees. There was no doubt now that Mr. Temple
was once more on his feet. "Uncle George will go
now to Moorlands," he said, decisively, in a low tone,
speaking to himself, his heart swelling with pride at
this fresh evidence of his father's high sense of honor
— then he wheeled and addressed the attorney:

"Shall I tell Mr. Temple this news, about the Pat-
apsco Bank, Mr. Pawson?"

"Yes, if you think best, Mr. Rutter. And I have
another piece of good news. This please do not tell
Mr. Temple, not yet — not until it is definitely settled.

468

KENNEDY SQUARE

That old suit in Chancery has been decided, or will
be, so I learned this morning and decided in favor of the
heir. You may not have heard of it before, Gadgem,"
and he turned to the collector, "but it is one of old
General Dorsey Temple's left-overs. It has been in
the courts now some forty years. When this decision
is made binding," here he again faced Harry — "Mr.
Temple comes in for a considerable share."

Gadgem jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers
rapidly. Had he sat on a tack his rebound could not
have been more sudden. This last was news to him.

"Shorn lamb, sir!" he cried gleefully, rubbing his.
palms together, his body tied into a double bow-knot.
" Gentle breezes ; bread upon the waters! By jiminy^
Mr. Rutter, if Mr. Temple could be born again — figura-
tively, sir — and I could walk in upon him as I once did,
and find him at breakfast surrounded by all his com-
forts with Todd waiting upon him — a very good nigger
is Todd, sir — an exceptionally good nigger — I'd — I'd
— damn me, Mr. Rutter, I'd — well, sir, there's no
word — but John Gadgem, sir — well, I'll be damned
if he wouldn't — " and he began skipping about the
room, both feet in the air, as if he was a boy of twenty
instead of a thin, shambling, badly put together bill
collector in an ill-fitting brown coat, a hat much the
worse for wear, and a red cotton handkerchief addicted
to weekly ablutions.

As for Harry the glad news had cleared out wide
spaces before him, such as he had not looked through
in years; leafy vistas, with glimpses of sunlit meadows;.

469

KENNEDY SQUARE

shadow-flecked paths leading to manor-houses with
summer skies beyond. He, too, was on his feet, walk-
ing restlessly up and down.

Pawson and Gadgem again put their heads together,
Harry stopping to listen. Such expressions as "Cer-
tainly," " I think I can " : " Yes, of course it was there
when I was last in his place," "Better see him first,"
caught his ear.

At last he could stand it no longer. Dr. Teackle or
no Dr. Teackle, he would go upstairs, open the door
softly, and if his uncle was awake whisper the good
news in his ear. If anybody had whispered any such
similar good news in his ear on any one of the weary
nights he had lain awake waiting for the dawn, or at
any time of the day when he sat his horse, his rifle
across the pommel, it would have made another man
of him.

If his uncle was awake!

He was not only awake, but he was very much alive.

"I've got a great piece of news for you, Uncle
George!" Harry shouted in a rollicking tone, his joy
increasing as he noted his uncle's renewed strength.

" So have I got a great piece of news for you ! " was
shouted back. " Come in, you young rascal, and shut
that door behind you. She isn't going to marry
Willits. Thrown him over — don't want him — don't
love him — can't love him — never did love him! She's
just told me so. Whoop — hurrah ! ! Dance, you dog,
before I throw this chair at you! !"

There are some moments in a man's life when all
470

KENNEDY SQUARE

language fails; — pantomime moments, when one stares
and tries to speak and stares again. They were both
at it — St. George waiting until Harry should explode,
and Harry trying to get his breath, the earth opening
under him, the skies falling all about his head.

"She told you so! When!" he gasped.

" Two minutes ago — you've just missed her ! Where
the devil have you been? Why didn't you come in
before?"

"Kate here — two minutes ago — what will I do?"
Had he found himself at sea in an open boat with both
oars adrift he could not have been more helpless.

"Do! Catch her before she gets home! Quick!
— just as you are — sailor clothes and all ! "

"But how will I know if ?"

"You don't have to know! Away with you, I tell
you!"

And away he went — and if you will believe it, dear
reader — without even a whisper in his uncle's ears of
the good news he had come to tell.

471

CHAPTER XXX

Ben let him in.

He came as an apparition, the old butler balancing
the door in his hand, as if undecided what to do, try-
ing to account for the change in the young man's
appearance — the width of shoulders, the rough clothes,
and the determined glance of his eye.

"Fo} Gawd, it's Marse Harry!" was all he said
when he could get his mouth open.

"Yes, Ben — go and tell your mistress I am here,"
and he brushed past him and pushed back the draw-
ing-room door. Once inside he crossed to the mantel
and stood with his back to the hearth, his sailor's cap
in his hand, his eyes fixed on the door he had just
closed behind him. Through it would come the begin-
ning or the end of his life. Ben's noiseless entrance
and exit a moment after, with his mistress's message
neither raised nor depressed his hopes. He had known
all along she would not refuse to see him: what would
come after was the wall that loomed up.

She had not hesitated, nor did she keep him wait-
ing. Her eyes were still red with weeping, her hair
partly dishevelled, when Ben found her — but she did
not seem to care. Nor was she frightened — nor eager.
She just lifted her cheek from Mammy Kenny's cares-
sing hand — pushed back the hair from her face with

472

KENNEDY SQUARE

a movement as if she was trying to collect her thoughts,
and without rising from her knees heard Ben's message
to the end. Then she answered calmly:

" Did you say Mr. Harry Rutter, Ben ? Tell him
I'll be down in a moment."

She entered with that same graceful movement which
he loved so well — her head up, her face turned frankly
toward him, one hand extended in welcome.

"Uncle George told me you were back, Harry.
It was very good of you to come," and sank on the
sofa.

It had been but a few steps to him — the space be-
tween the open door and the hearth rug on which he
stood — and it had taken her but a few seconds to cross
it, but in that brief interval the heavens had opened
above her. The old Harry was there — the smile — the
flash in the eyes — the joy of seeing her — the quick
movement of his hand in gracious salute; then there
had followed a sense of his strength, of the calm poise of
his body, of the clearness of his skin. She saw, too,
how much handsomer he had grown, — and noted the
rough sailor's clothes. How well they fitted his robust
frame! And the clear, calm eyes and finely cut fea-
tures— no shrinking from responsibility in that face;
no faltering — the old ideal of her early love and the
new ideal of her sailor boy — the one Richard's voice
had conjured — welded into one personality!

" I heard you had just been in to see Uncle George,
Kate, and I tried to overtake you."

473

KENNEDY SQUARE

Not much: nothing in fact. Playwriters tell us
that the dramatic situation is the thing, and that the
spoken word is as unimportant to the play as the foot-
lights— except as a means of illuminating the situation.

"Yes — I have just left him, Harry. Uncle George
looks very badly — don't you think so ? Is there any-
thing very serious the matter? I sent Ben to Dr.
Teackle's, but he was not in his office."

He had moved up a chair and sat devouring every
vibration of her lips, every glance of her wondrous
eyes — all the little movements of her beautiful body—
her dress — the way the stray strands of hair had
escaped to her shoulders. His Kate! — and yet he
dare not touch her!

" No, he is not ill. He took a severe cold and only
needs rest and a little care. I am glad you went
and — " then the pent-up flood broke loose. "Are
you glad to see me, Kate?"

" I am always glad to see you, Harry — and you look
so well. It has been nearly three years, hasn't it?"
Her calmness was maddening; she spoke as if she
was reciting a part in which she had no personal in-
terest.

" I don't know — I haven't counted — not that way. .
I have lain awake too many nights and suffered too
much to count by years. I count by —

She raised her hand in protest: "Don't Harry —
please don't. All the suffering has not been yours!"
The impersonal tone was gone — there was a note of
agony in her voice.

474

KENNEDY SQUARE

His manner softened: "Don't think I blame you,
Kate. I love you too much to blame you — you did
right. The suffering has only done me good — I am a
different man from the one you once knew. I see life
with a wider vision. I know what it is to be hungry;
I know, too, what it is to earn the bread that has kept
me alive. I came home to look after Uncle George.
When I go back I want to take him with me. I won't
count the years nor all the suffering I have gone
through if I can pay him back what I owe him. He
stood by me when everybody else deserted me."

She winced a little at the thrust, as if he had touched
some sore spot, sending a shiver of pain through her
frame, but she did not defend herself.

"You mustn't take him away, Harry — leave Uncle
George to me," not as if she demanded it — more as if
she was stating a fact.

" Why not ? He will be another man out in Brazil
— and he can live there like a gentleman on what he
will have left— so Pawson thinks."

"Because I love him dearly — and when he is
gone I have nobody left," she answered in a hope-
less tone.

Harry hesitated, then he asked: "And so what
Uncle George told me about Mr. Willits is true?"

Kate looked at him furtively — as if afraid to read
his thoughts and for reply bowed her head in assent.

" Didn't he love you enough ? " There was a certain
reproach in his tone, as if no one could love this woman
enough to satisfy her.

475

KENNEDY SQUARE

"Yes."

"What was the matter then? Was it—" He
stopped — his eagerness had led him onto dangerous,
if not discourteous, grounds. "No, you needn't
answer — forgive me for asking — I had no right. I
am not myself, Kate — I didn't mean to —

"Yes, I'll tell you. I told Uncle George. I didn't
like him well enough — that's all." All this time she
was looking him calmly in the face. If she had done
anything to be ashamed of she did not intend to conceal
it from her former lover.

"And will Uncle George take his place now that
he's gone? Do you ever know your own heart,
Kate?" There was no bitterness in his question.
Her frankness had disarmed him of that. It was more
in the nature of an inquiry, as if he was probing for
something on which he could build a hope.

For a brief instant she made no answer; then she
said slowly and with a certain positiveness:

" If I had I would have saved myself and you a great
deal of misery."

"AndLangdon Willits?"

" No, he cannot complain — he does not — I promised
him nothing. But I have been so beaten about, and I
have tried so hard to do right; and it has all crumbled
to pieces. As for you and me, Harry, let us both for-
get that we have ever had any differences. I can't
bear to think that whenever you come home we must
avoid each other. We were friends once — let us be
friends again. It was very kind of you to come.

476

KENNEDY SQUARE

I'm glad you didn't wait. Don't be bitter in your
heart toward me."

Harry left his chair and settled down on the sofa
beside her, and in pleading, tender tones said:

"Kate — When was I ever bitter toward you in my
heart? Look at me! Do you realize how I love
you ? — Do you know it sets me half crazy to hear you
talk like that? I haven't come here to-day to re-
proach you — I have come to do what I can to help
you, if you want my help. I told you the last time
we talked in the park that I wouldn't stay in Kennedy
Square a day longer even if you begged me to.
That is over now; I'll do now anything you wish me
to do; I'll go or I'll stay. I love you too much to do
anything else."

"No, you don't love me! — you can't love me! I
wouldn't let you love me after all the misery I have
caused you! I didn't know how much until I began
to suffer myself and saw Mr. Willits suffer. I am
not worthy of any man's love. I will never trust
myself again — I can only try to be to the men about
me as Uncle George is to everyone. Oh, Harry! —
Harry! — Why was I born this way — headstrong —
wilful — never satisfied? Why am I different from
the other women ? "

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away.

"No! — not that! — not that! Let us be just as we
were when — Just as we used to be. Sit over there
where I can see you better and watch your face as you
talk. Tell me all you have done — what you have seen

477

KENNEDY SQUARE

and what sort of places you have been in. We heard
from you through —

He squared his shoulders and faced her, his voice
ringing clear, his eyes flashing: something of the old
Dutch admiral was in his face.

"Kate — I will have none of it! Don't talk such
nonsense to me; 1 won't listen. If you don't know
your own heart I know mine; you've got to love me!
— you must love me! Look at me. In all the years I
have been away from you I have lived the life you
would have me live — every request you ever made of
me I have carried out. I did this knowing you would
never be my wife and you would be Willits's! I did
it because you were my Madonna and my religion and
I loved the soul of you and lived for you as men live
to please the God they have never seen. There were
days and nights when I never expected to see you
or any one else whom I loved again — but you never
failed — your light never went out in my heart. Don't
you see now why you've got to love me ? What was
it you loved in me once that I haven't got now ? How
am I different? What do I lack? Look into my
eyes — close — deep down — read my heart! Never, as
God is my judge, have I done a thing since I last kissed
your forehead, that you would have been ashamed of.
Do you think, now that you are free, that I am going
back without you ? I am not that kind of a man."

She half started from her seat: "Harry!" she
cried in a helpless tone — "you do not know what you

are saying — you must not

478

KENNEDY SQUARE

He leaned over and took both her hands firmly in
his own.

"Look at me! Tell me the truth — as you would
to your God! Do you love me?"

She made an effort to withdraw her hands, then she
sank back.

" I — I — don't know — " she murmured.

" You do — search again — way down in your heart.
Go over every day we have lived — when we were
children and played together — all that horror at Moor-
lands when I shot Willits — the night of Mrs. Cheston's
ball when I was drunk — all the hours I have held you
in my arms, my lips to yours — All of it — every hour
of it — balance one against the other. Think of your
loneliness — not mine — yours — and then tell me you
do not know! You do know! Oh, my God, Kate! —
you must love me ! What else would you want a man
to do for you that I have not done ? "

He stretched out his arms, but she sprang to her
feet and put out her palms as a barrier.

" No. Let me tell you something. We must have
no more misunderstandings — you must be sure — I
must be sure. I have no right to take your heart in
my hands again. It is I who have broken my faith
with you, not you with me. I was truly your wife
when I promised you here on the sofa that last time.
I knew then that you would, perhaps, lose your head
again, and yet I loved you so much that I could not
give you up. Then came the night of your father's
ball and all the misery, and I was a coward and shut

479

KENNEDY SQUARE

myself up instead of keeping my arms around yom
and holding you up to the best that was in you, just
as Uncle George begged me to do. And when your
father turned against you and drove you from your
home, all because you had tried to defend me from in-
sult, I saw only the disgrace and did not see the man
behind it; and then you went away and I stretched
out my arms for you to come back to me and only your
words echoed in my ears that you would never come
back to me until you were satisfied with yourself.
Then I gave up and argued it out and said it was.
all over —

He had left his seat and at every sentence had tried
to take her in his arms, but she kept her palms tow-
ard him.

"No, don't touch me! You shall hear me out; I
must empty all my heart! I was lonely and heart-
sore and driven half wild with doubts and what people
said, my father worse than all of them. And Mr.
Willits was kind and always at my beck and call — and
so thoughtful and attentive — and I tried and tried —
but I couldn't. I always had you before me — and
you haunted me day and night, and sometimes when
he would come in that door I used to start, hoping
it might be you."

"It is me, my darling!" he cried, springing toward
her. "I don't want to hear any more — I must — I
will "

"But you shall! There is something more. It
went on and on and I got so that. I did not care,.

480

KENNEDY SQUARE

and one day I thought I would give him my prom-
ise and the next day all my soul rebelled against
it and it was that way until one night Mr. Horn read
aloud a story — and it all came over me and I saw
everything plain as if it had been on a stage, and myself
and you and Mr. Willits — and what it meant — and
what would come of it — and he walked home with me
and I told him frankly, and I have never seen him
since. And now here is the last and you must hear
it out. There is not a word I have said to him which
I would recall — not a thing I am ashamed of. Your
lips were the last that touched my own. There, my
darling, it is all told. I love you with my whole heart
and soul and mind and body — I have never loved
anybody else — I have tried and tried and couldn't.
I am so tired of thinking for myself, — so tired, — so
tired. Take me and do with me as you will!"

Again the plot is too strong for the dialogue. He
had her fast in his arms before her confession was
finished. Then the two sank on the sofa where she
lay sobbing her heart out, he crooning over her — pat-
ting her cheeks, kissing away the tears from her eye-
lids; smoothing the strands of her hair with his strong,
firm fingers. It was his Kate that lay in his grasp —
close — tightly pressed — her heart beating against his,
her warm, throbbing body next his own, her heart
swept of every doubt and care, all her will gone.

As she grew quiet she stretched up her hand, touch-
ing his cheek as if to reassure herself that it was
really her lover. Yes! It was Harry — her Harry —

481

KENNEDY SQUARE

Harry who was dead and is alive again — to whom
she had stripped her soul naked — and who still trusted
and loved her.

A little later she loosened herself from his embrace
and taking his face in her small, white hands looked
long and earnestly into his eyes, smoothing back the
hair from his brow as she used to do; kissing him on
the forehead, on each eyelid, and then on the mouth
— one of their old-time caresses. Still remembering the
old days, she threw back his coat and let her hands
wander over his full-corded throat and chest and arms.
How big and strong he had become! and how hand-
some he had grown — the boy merged into the man.
And that other something! (and another and stronger
thrill shot through her) — that other something which
seemed to flow out of him; — that dominating force
that betokened leadership, compelling her to follow
— not the imperiousness of his father, brooking no
opposition no matter at what cost, but the leadership
of experience, courage, and self-reliance.

With this the sense of possession swept over her. He
was all her own and for ever! A man to lean upon;
a man to be proud of; one who would listen and under-
stand: to whom she could surrender her last strong-
hold— her will. And the comfort of it all; the rest,
the quiet, the assurance of everlasting peace: she who
had been so torn and buffeted and heart-sore.

For many minutes she lay still from sheer happiness,
thrilled by the warmth and pressure of his strong arms.
At last, when another thought could squeeze itself

482

KENNEDY SQUARE

into her mind, she said: "Won't Uncle George be
glad, Harry?"

"Yes," he answered, releasing her just far enough
to look into her eyes. " It will make him well. You
made him very happy this morning. His troubles
are over, I hear — he's going to get a lot of his money
back."

" Oh, I'm so glad. And will we take him with us ? "
she asked wonderingly, smoothing back his hair as
she spoke.

"Take him where, darling?" he laughed.

"To where we are going — No, you needn't laugh
— I mean it. I don't care where we go," and she
looked at him intently. "I'll go with you anywhere
in the world you say, and I'll start to-morrow."

He caught her again in his arms, kissed her for
the hundredth time, and then suddenly relaxing his
hold asked in assumed alarm: "And what about
your father ? What do you think he will say ? He
always thought me a madcap scapegrace — didn't he?"
The memory brought up no regret. He didn't care
a rap what the Honorable Prim thought of him.

"Yes — he thinks so now," she echoed, wondering
how anybody could have formed any such ideas of her
Harry.

" Well, he will get over it when I talk with him about
his coffee people. Some of his agents out there want
looking after."

"Oh! — how lovely, my precious; talking coffee
will be much pleasanter than talking me! — and yet

483

KENNEDY SQUARE

we have got to do it somehow when he comes
home."

And down went her head again, she nestling the
closer as if terrified at the thought of the impending
meeting ; then another kiss followed — dozens of them
— neither of them keeping count, and then — and
then

And then — Ben tapped gently and announced
that dinner was served, and Harry stared at the
moon-faced dial and saw that it was long after two
o'clock, and wondered what in the world had become
of the four hours that had passed since he had rushed
down from his uncle's and into Kate's arms.

And so we will leave them — playing housekeeping
— Harry pulling out her chair, she spreading her dainty
skirts and saying "Thank you, Mr. Rutter — ' and
Ben with his face in so broad a grin that it got set that
way — Aunt Dinah, the cook, having to ask him three
times "Was he gwineter hab a fit" before he could
answer by reason of the chuckle which was suffocat-
ing him.

And now as we must close the door for a brief space
on the happy couple — never so happy in all their lives
— it will be just as well for us to find out what the mis-
chief is going on at the club — for there is something
going on — and that of unusual importance.

Everybody is out on the front steps. Old Bowdoin
is craning his short neck, and Judge Pancoast is say-

484

KENNEDY SQUARE

Ing that it is impossible and then instantly changing
his mind, saying: "By jove it is!" — and Richard
Horn and Warfield and Murdoch are leaning over the
balcony rail still unconvinced and old Harding is
pounding his fat thigh with his pudgy hand in ill-con-
cealed delight.

Yes — there is no doubt of it — hasn't been any doubt
of it since the judge shouted out the glad tidings which
emptied every chair in the club: Across the park,
beyond the rickety, vine-covered fence and close be-
side the Temple Mansion, stands a four-in-hand,
the afternoon sun flashing from the silver mountings
of the harness and glinting on the polished body and
wheels of the coach. Then a crack of the whip, a
wind of the horn, and they are off — the leaders stretch-
ing the traces, two men on the box, two grooms in
the rear. Hurrah! Well, by thunder, who would have
believed it — that's Temple inside on the back seat!
"There he is waving his hand and Todd is with him.
And yes! Why of course it's Rutter! See him clear
that curb! Not a man in this county can drive like
that but Talbut."

Round they come — the colonel straight as a whip —
dusty-brown overcoat, flowers in his buttonhole —
bell-crowned hat, brown driving gloves — perfectly
appointed, even if he is a trifle pale and half blind.
More horn — a long joyous note now, as if they were
heralding the peace of the world, the colonel bowing
like a grand duke as he passes the assembled crowd —
a gathering of the reins together, a sudden pull-up at

485

KENNEDY SQUARE

Seymours', everybody on the front porch — Kate
peeping over Harry's shoulder — and last and best of
all, St. George's cheery voice ringing out:

"Where are you two sweethearts!" Not a weak
note anywhere; regular fog-horn of a voice blown to
help shipwrecked mariners.

"All aboard for Moorlands, you turtle-doves —
never mind your clothes, Kate — nor you either, Harry.
Your father will send for them later. Up with you."

"All true, Harry," called back the colonel from the
top of the coach (nobody alighted but the grooms —
there wasn't time — ) "Your mother wouldn't wait
another hour and sent me for you, and Teackle said
St. George could go, and we bundled him up and
brought him along and you are all going to stay a
month. No, don't wait a minute, Kate; I want to
get home before dark. One of my men will be in
with the carryall and bring out your mammy and
your clothes and whatever you want. Your father is
away I hear, and so nobody will miss you. Get your
heavy driving coat, my dear; I brought one of mine in
for Harry — it will be cold before we get home. Mat-
thew, your eyes are better than mine, get down and
see what the devil is the matter with that horse. No,
it's all right — the check-rein bothered him."

And so ended the day that had been so happily
begun, and the night was no less joyful with the
mother's arms about her beloved boy and Kate on a
stool beside her and Talbot and St. George deep in
certain vintages — or perhaps certain vintages deep

486

KENNEDY SQUARE

in Talbot and St. George — especially that particular
and peculiar old Madeira of 1800, which his friend
Mr. Jefferson had sent him from Monticello, and which
was never served except to some such distinguished
guest as his highly esteemed and well-beloved friend
of many years, St. George Wilmot Temple of Kennedy
Square.

487

CHAPTER XXXI

It would be delightful to describe the happy days at
Moorlands during St. George's convalescence, when
the love-life of Harry and Kate was one long, uninter-
rupted, joyous dream. When mother, father, and son
were again united — what a meeting was that, once
she got her arms around her son's neck and held him
close and wept her heart out in thankfulness! — and
the life of the old-time past was revived — a life softened
and made restful and kept glad by the lessons all had
learned. And it would be more delightful still to carry
the record of these charming hours far into the summer
had not St. George, eager to be under his own roof
in Kennedy Square, declared he could stay no longer.

Not that his welcome had grown less warm. He
and his host had long since unravelled all their diffi-
culties, the last knot having been cut the afternoon
the colonel, urged on by Harry's mother — his dis-
appointment over his son's coldness set at rest by
her pleadings — had driven into town for Harry in his
coach, as has been said, and swept the whole party,
including St. George, out to Moorlands.

Various unrelated causes had brought about this
much-to-be-desired result, the most important being
the news of the bank's revival, which Harry, in his

488

KENNEDY SQUARE

mad haste to overtake Kate, had forgotten to tell his
uncle, and which St. George learned half an hour
later from Pawson, together with a full account of what
the colonel had done to bring about the happy result
— a bit of information which so affected Temple that,
when the coach with the colonel on the box had
whirled up, he, weak as he was, had struggled to the
front door, both hands held out, in welcome.

" Talbot — old fellow," he had said with a tear in his
voice, "I have misunderstood you and I beg your
pardon. You've behaved like a man, and I thank
you from the bottom of my heart!"

At which the stern old aristocrat had replied, as he
took St. George's two hands in his: "Let us forget
all about it, St. George. I made a damned fool of my-
self. We all get too cocky sometimes."

Then there had followed — the colonel listening wTith
bated breath — St. George's account of Kate's con-
fession and Harry's sudden exit, Rutter's face bright-
ening as it had not done for years when he learned
that Harry had not yet returned from the Seymours',
the day's joy being capped by the arrival of Dr.
Teackle, who had given his permission with an "All
right — the afternoon is fine and the air will do Mr
Temple a world of good," and so St. George was
bundled up and the reader knows the rest.

Later on — at Moorlands of course — the colonel,
whose eyes were getting better by the day and Gor-
such whose face was now one round continuous smile,
got to work, and had a heart-to-heart — or rather a

489

KENNEDY SQUARE

pocket-to-pocket talk — which was quite different in
those days from what it would be now — after which
both Kate and Harry threw to the winds all thoughts
of Rio and the country contiguous thereto, and deter-
mined instead to settle down at Moorlands. And
then a great big iron door sunk in a brick vault was
swung wide and certain leather-bound books were
brought out — and particularly a sum of money which
Harry duly handed over to Pawson the next time
he drove to town — (twice a week now) — and which,
when recounted, balanced to a cent the total of the bills
which Pawson had paid three years before, with interest
added, a list of which the attorney still kept in his
private drawer with certain other valuable papers tied
with red tape, marked "St. G. W. T." And still
later on — within a week — there had come the news of
the final settlement of the long-disputed lawsuit with
St. George as principal residuary legatee — and so our
long-suffering hero was once more placed upon his
financial legs: the only way he could have been placed
upon them or would have been placed upon them — a
fact very well known to every one who had tried to
help him, his philosophy being that one dollar bor-
rowed is two dollars owed — the difference being a
man's self-respect.

And it is truly marvellous what this change in his
fortunes accomplished. His slack body rounded out;
his sunken cheeks plumped up until every crease and
crack were gone, his color regained its freshness, his
eyes their brilliancy; his legs took on their old-time

490

KENNEDY SQUARE

spring and lightness — and a wonderful pair of stand-
bys, or stand-ups, or stand-arounds they were as
legs go — that is legs of a man of fifty-five.

And they were never idle, these legs : there was no
sitting cross-legged in a chair for St. George : he was
not constructed along those lines. Hardly a week had
passed before he had them across Spitfire's mate;
had ridden to hounds; danced a minuet with Harry
and Kate; walked half-way to Kennedy Square and
back — they thought he was going to walk all the way
and headed him off just in time; and best of all — (and
this is worthy of special mention) — had slipped them
into the lower section of a suit of clothes — and these
his own, although he had not yet paid for them — the
colonel having liquidated their cost. These trousers,
it is just as well to state, had arrived months before
from Poole, along with a suit of Rutter's and the colonel
had forwarded a draft for the whole amount without
examining the contents, until Alec had called his at-
tention to the absurd width of the legs — and the
ridiculous spread of the seat. My Lord of Moor-
lands, after the scene in the Temple Mansion, dared
not send them in to St. George, and they had accord-
ingly lain ever since on top of his wardrobe with
Alec as chief of the Moth Department. St. George, on
his arrival, found them folded carefully and placed on a
chair — Todd chief valet. Whereupon there had been
a good-natured row when our man of fashion appeared
at breakfast rigged out in all his finery, everybody clap-
ping their hands and saying how handsome he looked

491

KENNEDY SQUARE

— St. George in reply denouncing Talbot as a brigand
of a Brunimel who had stolen his clothes, tried to
wear them, and then when out of fashion thrown
them back on his hands.

All these, and a thousand other delightful things,
it would, I say, be eminently worth while to dilate
upon — (including a series of whoops and hand-springs
which Todd threw against the rear wall of the big
kitchen five seconds after Alec had told him of the
discomfiture of "dat red-haided gemman," and of
Marse Harry's good fortune) — were it not that cer-
tain mysterious happenings are taking place inside and
out of the Temple house in Kennedy Square — hap-
penings exciting universal comment, and of such
transcendent importance that the Scribe is compelled,
much against his will — for the present installment is
entirely too short — to confine their telling to a special
chapter.

492

CHAPTER XXXII

For some time back, then be it said, various strollers
unfamiliar with the neighbors or the neighborhood of
Kennedy Square, poor benighted folk who knew noth-
ung of the events set down in the preceding chapters,
had nodded knowingly to each other or shaken their
pates deprecatingly over the passing of " another old
landmark."

Some of these had gone so far as to say that the
cause could be found in the fact that Lawyer Temple
had run through what little money his father and
grandmother had left him; additional wise-acres were
of the opinion that some out-of-town folks had bought
the place and were trying to prop it up so it wouldn't
tumble into the street, while one, more facetious than
the others, had claimed that it was no wonder it was
falling down, since the only new thing Temple had
put upon it was a heavy mortgage.

The immediate neighbors, however, — the friends
of the house — had smiled and passed on. They had
no such forebodings. On the contrary nothing so
diverting — nothing so enchanting — had happened
around Kennedy Square in years. In fact, when one
of these humorists began speaking about it, every lis-
tener heard the story in a broad grin. Some of the

493

KENNEDY SQUARE

more hilarious even nudged each other in the waist-
coats and ordered another round of toddies — for two
or three, or even five, if there were that number of en-
thusiasts about the club tables. When they were asked
what it was all about they invariably shook their
heads, winked, and kept still — that is, if the question
were put by some one outside the magic circle of Ken-
nedy Square.

All the general public knew was that men with
bricks in hods had been seen staggering up the old
staircase with its spindle banisters and mahogany rail;
that additional operatives had been discovered cling-
ing to the slanting roof long enough to pass up to fur-
ther experts grouped about the chimneys small rolls
of tin and big bundles of shingles; that plasterers in
white caps and aprons, with mortar-boards in one
hand and trowels in the other, had been seen chink-
ing up cracks; while any number of painters, car-
penters, and locksmiths were working away for dear
life all over the place from Aunt Jemima's kitchen to
Todd's bunk under the roof.

In addition to all this curious wagons had been seen
to back up to the curb, from which had been taken
various odd-looking bundles; these were laid on the
dining-room floor, a collection of paint pots, brushes,
and wads of putty being pushed aside to give them
room — and with some haste too, for erery one seemed
to be working overtime.

As to what went on inside the mansion itself not the
most inquisitive could fathom: no one being permitted

494

KENNEDY SQUARE

to peer even into Pawson's office, where so large a col-
lection of household goods and gods were sprawled,
heaped, and hung, that it looked as if there had been
a fire in the neighborhood, and this room the only
shelter for miles around. Even Pawson's law books
were completely hidden by the overflow and so were
the tables, chairs, and shelves, together with the two
wide window-sills.

Nor did it seem to matter very much to the young
attorney as to how or at what hours of the day or
night these several articles arrived. Often quite late
in the evening — and this happened more than once
— an old fellow, pinched and wheezy, would sneak in,
uncover a mysterious object wrapped in a square of
stringy calico, fumble in his pocket for a scrap of paper,
put his name at the bottom of it, and sneak out again
five, ten, or twenty dollars better off. Once, as late
as eleven o'clock, a fattish gentleman with a hooked
nose and a positive dialect, assisted another stout
member of his race to slide a very large object from
out the tail of a cart. Whereupon there had been an
interchange of wisps of paper between Pawson and the
fatter of the two men, the late visitors bowing and smil-
ing until they reached a street lantern where they di-
vided a roll of bank-notes between them.

And the delight that Pawson and Gadgem took in it
all ! — assorting, verifying, checking off — slapping each
other's backs in glee when some doubtful find was
made certain, and growing even more excited on the
days when Harry and Kate would drive or ride in from

495

KENNEDY SQUARE

Moorlands — almost every day of late — tie the horse
and carry-all, or both saddle-horses, to St. George's
tree-boxes, and at once buckle on their armor.

This, rendered into common prose, meant that
Harry, after a prolonged consultation with Pawson
and Gadgem, would shed his outer coat, the spring
being now far advanced, blossoms out and the weather
warm — and that Kate would tuck her petticoats clear
of her dear little feet and go pattering round, her
sleeves rolled up as far as they would go, her beautiful
arms bare almost to her shoulders — her hair smothered
in a brown barege veil to keep out the dust — the
most bewitching parlor-maid you or anybody else
ever laid eyes on. Then would follow such a carry-
ing up of full baskets and carrying down of empty
ones; such a spreading of carpets and rugs; such an
arranging of china and glass; such a placing of and-
irons, fenders, shovels, tongs, and bellows; hanging
of pictures, curtains, and mirrors — old and new; mov-
ing in of sofas, chairs, and rockers; making up of
beds with fluted frills on the pillows — a silk patch-
work quilt on St. George's bed and cotton counter-
panes for Jemima and Todd!

And the secrecy maintained by everybody! Pawson
might have been stone deaf and entirely blind for all
the information you could twist out of him — and a
lot of people tried. And as to Gadgem — the dumbest
oyster in Cherrystone Creek was a veritable magpie
when it came to his giving the precise reason why the
Temple Mansion was being restored from top to bot-

496

KENNEDY SQUARE

torn and why all its old furniture, fittings, and trap-
pings— (brand-new ones when they couldn't be found
in the pawn shops or elsewhere) — were being gathered
together within its four walls. When anybody asked
Kate — and plenty of people did — she would throw her
head back and laugh so loud and so merrily and so
musically, that you would have thought all the birds
in Kennedy Square park were still welcoming the
spring. When you asked Harry he would smile and
wink and perhaps keep on whispering to Pawson or
Gadgem whose eyes were glued to a list which had its
abiding place in Pawson's top drawer.

Outside of these four conspirators — yes, six — for
both Todd and Jemima were in it, only a very few were
aware of what was really being done. The colonel
of course knew, and so did Harry's mother — and so did
old Alec who had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep
from snickering out loud at the breakfast table when he
accidentally overheard what was going on — an unpar-
donable offence — (not the listening, but the laughing).
In fact everybody in the big house at Moorlands knew,
for Alec spread it broadcast in the kitchen and cabins
— everybody except St. George.

Not a word reached St. George — not a syllable. No
one of the house servants would have spoiled the fun,
and certainly no one of the great folks. It was only
when his visit to Moorlands was over and he had
driven into town and had walked up his own front
steps, that the true situation in all its glory and brill-
iancy dawned upon him.

497

KENNEDY SQUARE

The polished knobs, knocker, and the perfect level
and whiteness of the marble steps first caught his
eye; then the door swung open and Jemima in white
apron and bandanna stood bowing to the floor, Todd
straight as a ramrod in a new livery and a grin on
his face that cut it in two, with Kate and Harry
hidden behind them, suffocating from suppressed
laughter.

"Why, you dear Jemima! Howdy — . . . Why,
who the devil sent that old table back, Todd, and the
hall rack and — What!" Here he entered the dining-
room. Everything was as he remembered it in the
old days. "Harry! Kate!— Why— " then he broke
down and dropped into a chair, his eyes still roaming
around the room taking in every object, even the lov-
ing cup, which Mr. Kennedy had made a personal
point of buying back from the French secretary, who
was gracious enough to part with it when he learned
the story of its enforced sale — each and every one of
them — ready to spring forward from its place to wel-
come him!

"So this," he stammered out — "is what you have
kept me up at Moorlands for, is it ? You never say a
word to me — and — Oh, you children! — you children!
Todd, did you ever see anything like it? — my guns
— and the loving cup — and the clock, and — Come
here you two blessed things and let me get my arms
around you! Kiss me, Kate — and Harry, my son —
give me your hand. No, don't say a word — don't

mind me — I'm all knocked out and "

498

KENNEDY SQUARE

Down went his face in his hands and he in a heap
in the chair; then he stiffened and gave a little shiver
to his elbows in the effort to keep himself from going
completely to pieces, and scrambled to his feet again,
one arm around Kate's neck, his free hand in Harry's.

"Take me everywhere and show me everything.
Todd, go and find Mr. Pawson and see if Mr. Gadgem
is anywhere around; they've had something to do
with this — " here his eyes took in Todd — "You
damned scoundrel, who the devil rigged you out in
that new suit?"

" Marse Harry done sont me to de tailor. See dem
buttons? — but dey ain't nuthin' to what's on the top
shelf — you'll bust yo'self wide open a-laughin', Marse
George, when ye sees what's in dar — you gotter come
wid me — please Mistis an' Marse Harry, you come
too. Dis way "

Todd was full to bursting. Had his grin been half
an inch wider his ears would have dropped off.

"An' fore ye look at dem shelves der's annuder thing
I gotter tell ye; — an' dat is dat the dogs — all fo' ob
'em is comin' in the mawnin'. Mister Floyd's coach-
man done tole me so," and with a jerk and a whoop,
completely ignoring his master's exclamation of joy
over the return of his beloved setters, the darky threw
back the door of the little cubby-hole of a room
where the Black Warrior and his brethren had once
rested in peace, and pointed to a row of erect black
bottles backed by another of recumbent ones.

"Look at dat wine, will ye, Marse George," he
499

KENNEDY SQUARE

shouted, "all racked up on dem shelves? Dat come
f om Mister Talbot Rutter wid dis yere cyard —
and he handed it out.

St. George reached over, took it from his hand, and
read it aloud:

" With the compliments of an old friend, who sends
you herewith a few bottles of the Jefferson and some
Sercial and old Port — and a basket or two of Royal
Brown Sherry — nothing like your own, but the best
he could scare up."

Soon the newly polished and replated knocker began
to get in its liveliest work: "Mrs. Richard Horn's
compliments, and would St. George be pleased to ac-
cept a basket of Maryland biscuit and a sallylunn
just out of the oven." Mrs. Bowdoin's compliments
with three brace of ducks — "a little late in the season,
my dear St. George, but they are just up from Curry-
tuck where Mr. Bowdoin has had extremely good luck
— for Mr. Bowdoin." "Mrs. Cheston's congratula-
tions, and would Mr. Temple do her the honor of
placing on his sideboard an old Accomack County ham
which her cook had baked that morning and which
should have all the charm and flavor of the State which
had given him birth — " and last a huge basket of
spring roses from Miss Virginia Clendenning, accom-
panied by a card bearing the inscription — " You don't
deserve them, you renegade," and signed — " Your de-
serted and heart-broken sweetheart." All of which
were duly spread out on the sideboard, together with
one lone bottle to which was attached an envelope.

500

'Take me everywhere and show me everything "

KENNEDY SQUARE

Before the day was over half the club had called —
Richard acting master of ceremonies — Kate and old
Prim — (he seemed perfectly contented with the way
everything had turned out) — doing the honors with
St. George. Pawson had also put in an appearance
and been publicly thanked — a mark of St. George's
confidence and esteem which doubled his practice
before the year was out, and Gadgem

No, Gadgem did not put in an appearance. Gad-
gem got as far as the hall and looked in, and, seeing
all the great people thronging about St. George, would
have sneaked out again to await some more favorable
occasion had not Harry's sharp eyes discovered the
top of his scraggly head over the shoulders of some
others, and darted towards him, and when he couldn't
be made to budge, had beckoned to St. George, who
came on a run and shook Gadgem's hand so heartily
and thanked him in so loud a voice — (everybody in
the hall heard him) — that he could only sputter —
" Didn't do a thing, sir — no, sir — and if I — " and then,
overwhelmed, shot out of the door and down the steps
and into Pawson's office where he stood panting,
saying to himself — " I'll be tuckered if I ain't happier
than I — yes — by Jingo, I am. Jimminy-Cnmminy
what a man he is!"

And so the day passed and the night came and the
neighbors took their leave, and Harry escorted Kate
back to Seymours' and the tired knocker gave out
and fell asleep, and at last Todd said good-night and
stole down to Jemima, and St. George found himself

501

KENNEDY SQUARE

once more in his easy chair, his head in his hand, his
eyes fixed on the dead coals of a past fire.

As the echo of Todd's steps faded away and he be-
gan to realize that he was alone, there crept over him
for the first time in years the comforting sense that he
was once more under his own roof — his again and all
that it covered — all that he loved; even his beloved
dogs. He left his chair and with a quick indrawing
of his breath, as if he had just sniffed the air from
some open sea, stretched himself to his full height.
There he stood looking about him, his shapely fingers
patting his chest; his eyes wandering over the room,
first with a sweeping glance, and then resting on each
separate object as it nodded to him under the glow
of the candles.

He had come into his possessions once more. Not
that the very belongings made so much difference as
his sense of pride in their ownership. They had, too,
in a certain way regained for him his freedom — free-
dom to go and come and do as he pleased untrammelled
by makeshifts and humiliating exposures and conceal-
ments. Best of all, they had given him back his
courage, bracing the inner man, strengthening his be-
liefs in his traditions and in the things that his race
and blood stood for.

Then as a flash of lightning reveals from out black
darkness the recurrent waves of a troubled sea, there
rushed over him the roll and surge of the events which
had led up to his rehabilitation. Suddenly a feeling of
intense humiliation and profound gratitude swept

502

through him. He raised his arms, covered his face
with his hands, and stood swaying; forcing back his
tears; muttering to himself: "How good they have
been — how good, how good! All mine once more —
wonderful — wonderful!" With a resolute bracing of
his shoulders and a brave lift of his chin, he began a
tour of the room, stopping before each one of his be-
loved heirlooms and treasures — his precious gun that
Gadgem had given up — (the collector coveted it
badly as a souvenir, and got it the next day from St.
George, with his compliments) — the famous silver
loving cup with an extra polish Kirk had given it; his
punch bowl — scarf rings and knick-knacks and the
furniture and hangings of various kinds. At last he
reached the sideboard, and bending over reread the
several cards affixed to the different donations — Mrs.
Cheston's, Mrs. Horn's, Miss Clendenning's, and the
others. His eye now fell on the lone bottle — this he
had not heretofore noticed — and the note bearing Mr.
Kennedy's signature. " I send you back, St. George,
that last bottle of old Madeira, the Black Warrior of
1810 — the one you gave me and which we were to
share together. I hadn't the heart to drink my half
without you and so here is the whole and my warmest
congratulations on your home-coming and long life
to you!"

Picking up the quaint bottle, he passed his hand
tenderly over its crusted surface, paused for an in-
stant to examine the cork, and held it closer to the
light that he might note its condition. There he

503

KENNEDY SQUARE

stood musing, his mind far away, his fingers caressing
its sides. All the aroma of the past; all the splendor
of the old regime — all its good-fellowship, hospitality,
and courtesy — that which his soul loved — lay im-
prisoned under his hand. Suddenly one of his old-
time quizzical smiles irradiated his face : " By Jove ! —
just the thing!" he cried joyously, "it will take the
place of the one Talbot didn't open!"

With a mighty jerk of the bell cord he awoke the
echoes below stairs.

Todd came on the double quick:

"Todd."

"Yes, Marse George."

"Todd, here's the last bottle of the 1810. Lay it
flat on the top shelf with the cork next the wall. We'll
open it at Mr. Harry's wedding."

[THE END]

504

Books by F. HOPKINSON SMITH

PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

FORTY MINUTES LATE

Illustrated. 1 2mo. $ 1 .50

" They have all the charm of the best impromptu
speech. Inns, artists, lectures, and kindly human
nature are mixed up in the stories."

— New York Globe.

PETER

Illustrated. 1 2 mo. $1.50

" Old Peter Grayson is a charming character with
his old-fashioned virtues, his warm sympathies, and
his readiness to lend a hand."

— Springfield Republican.

THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-
FASHIONED GENTLEMAN

Illustrated in Color. 12mo. $1.50

"A breath of pure and invigorating fragrance out
of the fogs and tempests of the day's fiction."

— Chicago Tribune.

THE VEILED LADY

Illustrated. 12 mo. $1.50

" These little stories are as entertaining as any he
has written and we can recommend them confidently
to his many admirers." — New York Sun.

THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT

Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50

" The book is well named, not only in reference
to the story's scene of action but to its variety,
movement, charm, and beneath all these its effort-
less strength." — New York Times.

Books by F. HOPKINSON SMITH
THE WOOD FIRE IN No. 3

Illustrated in Color. 12mo. $1.50

" There are rollicking humor, pathos, romance,
and dramatic quality in the stories, whose themes
are sufficiently varied to suit all tastes."

— Chicago Evening Post.

AT CLOSE RANGE

Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50

" He has set down with humorous compassion
and wit the real life that we live every day."

— The Independent.

COLONEL CARTER'S
CHRISTMAS

Illustrated in Color. 12mo. $1.50

" The dear old colonel claims our smiles and our
love as simply and as whole-heartedly as ever, and
we thank the author for another glimpse of him."

—Life.

THE UNDER DOG

Illustrated. 1 2mo. $ 1 .50

" Mr. Hopkinson Smith's genius for sympathy
finds full expression in his stories of human under
dogs of one sort and another. . . . Each serves as
a centre for an episode, rapid vivid story telling."

— The Nation.

THE FORTUNES OF OLIVER
HORN

Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50

" Full of warmth and life, while its characters,
especially the Southern ones, find a place quickly in
one's heart." — Chicago Record-Herald.

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

PS Smith, Francis Hopkinson

2S64. Kennedy Square

U

1911