The Best Short Stories of 1915

pe to his Aunt Lucretia. She received it with her slow

t was William's." She stared at it with the pitiful look the eyes of the old show at reawakening memories

questioned, and Miss Lucret

idn't y

lison in love wi

ia answered

e was a child. Sh

later on, have

shook h

n up with her own household. They were very

face," Mark said, looking

g, only seventeen, when he died. When he came home, he knew he had not long to live. He used to sit out here and watch her a

Miss Allison Clyde herself standing besid

r? That funny little old ambrotype!

ined, with her gentle melancholy. "Mark fo

but found none. Her kindly smile had not faded or changed excep

he said. "I remember it so well. It w

, her frail hands bu

n with the green plu

he wondered, that she had never known in its fullness the meaning of love and home? Or was she happy burning wit

a interrupte

this evening, and we old people shall have t

ea-cup and set it down agai

ing to stay and have some

, almost crude, like the modern furniture in the drawing-room beside

e his last, that, when their music was over, he ha

liked it,

cript of the fifth song of his cycle, "Evening," and he had dedi

too kind. But you must

d, with

drew out the package of letters. "And these," he said in a l

over the package

the daguerreotype. When you o

he always afterward remembered her, standing by the tall mantel in the can

Century Co. Copyright, 191

IG[

AMIN RO

The B

neighbors. "He never spends a cent; and he belongs nowheres." For "to belong," on New York's East Side, is of no slight importance. It means being a member in one of the numberless congregations. Every decent Je

y ever glancing about him. The workmen despised him, for during a strike he returned to work after two days

hing, he looked like a blind Samson. His gray hair was long, and it fell in disheveled curls on gigantic shoulders somewhat in

bled. Yet he chose to stay in his native village at all hazards, and to die there. One day, however, a letter arrived from the son that he was sick; this sad news was followed by words of a more cheerful nature-"and your grandson Moses goes to public school. He

ir he regarded the Pandemonium, and a petrifaction of his inner being seemed to take place. He became "a barrel with a stave missing." No spark of animation visited his eye. Only one thought survived in his brain, and one desire pulsed in his heart: to save money enough for himself and family to hurry back to his native village. Blind and

en employed there, only one person had the distinction of getting fellowship from old Zelig. That person was the Gentile watchman or janitor of the shop, a little blond Pole with an open mouth and fr

y is his blood. He starves himself to have enough dollars to go back to his home: the Pole told me all about it. And why should he stay here? Fr

f his eyes, as if in the act of ejaculation; but he would soon contract his heavy

and window-the only one remaining in his shop that day was old Zelig. His fellow-workmen did not call upon him to join the procession. They felt the incongruity of "this brute" in line with mourners in muffled tread. And the Gentile watchman reported the next day that the moment the funeral dirge of t

e dark of night by the silhouette of old Zelig in nightdress, sitting up in bed and counting a bundle of bank notes which he always replaced under his pillow. She frequently upbraided him for his niggardly nature, for his ward

and our grandson is no more a baby; he'll soon need money for

ion. The poor woman thought herself successful, but t

he ascended the stairs of his home, a neighbor shouted: "Run for a doctor; the patient cannot

ed from the roots of his hair to the tips of his fingers. Then the neighbors heard his sepulchral mumble: "I'll have to borrow somewheres, beg some one," as he retreated down the stairs. He

il issuing from old Zelig's apartment; an

ed way. Mechanically he performed the Hebrew rites for the dead, which his neighbors taught him. He took a knife and made a deep

kles contracted his features, and his muscular frame appeared to shrink even as one looked. From that day on, he began to starve himself more than ever. The passion for sa

he kept on saving! Age gained on him with rapid strides. He had little strength left for work, but his dream of home seemed nearing its realization. Only a few more weeks, a few more months! And the thought se

en argued, pointing to the almost grown grandson. "Since h

r. His answers touching the grandson were abrupt, incoherent, as of one who replies to a que

s quietly preparing himself for college. In his eagerness to accumulate the required sum, Zelig paid little heed to what was going on around him; and now, on the point of victory, he became aware with growing dread of something abrewing out of the common. He sniffed

ou will continue your studies in Russia, durak, stupid." His timid wife, however, seemed suddenly to gather courage and she exploded: "

ain. Then he rushed madly, with a raised, menacing arm, at the boy i

shriek: "You madman, look at the sick child; you forget f

it dawned upon him what his wife meant by pointing to the sickly appearance of the ch

d down his cheeks, his beard. He stood pale and panting. Like a startling s

ting cough. The grizzled old man bestirred himself, and with hasty steps he tiptoed to the place where the boy lay. For a time he stood gazing on the pinched features, the under-sized body of the lad; then he

nded like that of the child's awaking in the night. The boy made no answer; but the old

the ear of the boy and whispered hoarsely: "You are weeping, eh? Granpa is your enemy, you stupid! T

Bellman Company. Copyright,

URVIV

rial D

IE SIN

The O

de but Adam Foust, who, slipping away, joined himself to the troops of his mother's Southern State. It could not have been any great trial for Adam to fight against most of his companions in Fosterville, for there was only one of them with whom he did not q

lame, and he had lost two fingers of his left hand. He got down from the train at the station, and found himself at once in a great crowd. He knew no one, and no one seemed to know him. Without asking any questions, he started up

all but one, he had never liked. There was Newton Towne, with a sergeant's stripe on his blue sleeve; there was Edward Green, a captain; there was Peter Allinson, a color-bearer. At their head, taller, handsomer, dearer than ever to A

the day, Adam put on a gray uniform and walked from one end of the village to the other. These were people who had known him always; the word flew from step to step. Many persons spoke to him, some laughed, and a few jeered. To no one did Adam pay any heed. Past the ho

am!" cr

n and Newton Towne, and even Ed Green, on Henry's por

t?" said h

shake han

said

you c

ev

enry pe

ight do you

em!" sa

alone. Adam walked a

his gray suit became gradually so familiar to the village that no one turned his head or glanced up from book or paper to see him go by. He had from time to time a new suit, and he ordered from somewhere in the South a succession of gray, bro

m," they would say.

dam would answer. "They haven't changed t

ght make up

dy's busines

dren you were never sep

s me, I'll help

r need you. Look

away. He went back to his saddler shop, where he sat all day

e business and a fine house and fine children, and I have nothing. But I have m

ed him for anything. Henry tried again and again to make friends, but Adam wo

him to knock down, that much littler he was than me. Stepped out of the race when I found

t strong men, and weaknesses established in prisons and on long marches asserted themselves. Fifteen times the Fosterville Post p

l its enterprises Henry Foust was at the head. He enlarged his house and bought farms and grew handsomer as he grew older. Everybody love

mself, as though he could never accustom his eyes to

paraded each year with more ceremony; it importe

on post evenings walked Adam, head in air, hands clasped behind his back. There was Edward Green, round, fat, who puffed and panted; there was Newton Towne, who walked, in spite of palsy, as though he had won the battle of Gettysburg; there was, last of all, Henry Foust, who at seventy-five was hale and strong. Usually a tall son wa

d Green was terrified, though he considered himself

ry," he would say. "Don't let anything

him. Only one look at Henry, and the m

to march alone,"

Band practiced elaborate music, the children were drilled in marching. The children were to precede the veterans to the cemetery and were to scatter flowers over the gr

sterville that the parades of vet

les," said he, with grim setting of his lips. "I

carriages were provided to bring them home. Fostervil

" said Adam proudly. "I could march out and back. Per

ly warm, the heat and excitement accelerated his already rapid

ward, in whom the spir

aid the

I will

y in bed," sa

th his flag on his breast and his bouquet in his hand. On each side of him walked a tall, middle-aged son, who seemed to hand him over reluctantly to the marshal, who was to escort him to his place. Smilingly he spoke to the marshal, but he was the only one who smiled or

-those who looked at him closely saw with astonishment that it was a new

citizen of Fosterville to anot

"Used to carry him pick-a-back! Used to go halves

ng "Marching Through Georgia," which he hated; every

t! Lazy! Didn't have a wound. Dare

then all the musicians swung round the corner. After them came

reen next," s

ne say that Edward Green was sick, that the doctor had forbidden him to march, or eve

he magn

s! His grandchildren alwa

r first

m wanted to cry

ry was, in truth, magnificent, not only in himself, but in what he represented. He seemed symbolic of a gre

aid old Adam a

own house was a mass of color-red, white, and blue over windows and doors, gay dresses on the porch. On each side the pavement w

ppeared suddenly upon it an expression of intolerable pai

r it down, he called out, "Wait! wait!" Frightened women, fearful of some sinister purpose, tried to grasp and hold him. No man was

, you gees

d them or outdistanced them. He strode across an open space with a surety which gave no hint of the terrible bea

ping, "Henry, do you

to seize Adam, he saw most clearly of all the tearful eyes under t

said he to the mar

m. "I said, 'Henry needs me.' I

on his, a blue arm linked tightly in his gray arm, he

!" said Henry. "I've

ves immortal, united, to be divided no more, amid an ever-

Outlook Company. Copyright, 1

LLOW C

UR DANI

rper's

od fortune" because it has left me the memory of a singular impression. I have felt a ghost of th

er sailing that one could lay a finger upon as wrong. And yet, passing that schooner at two miles, one knew, somehow, that no hand was on her wheel. Sometimes I can imagine a vessel, stricken like that, moving over the empty spaces of the sea, c

r name-the Marionnette it was, of Halifax. I remember how it made me shiver, there in the full blaze of the sun, to hear her going on so, railing and screaming in that stark fashion. A

es. Nowhere in the vessel was there any sign of disorder, except one sea-chest broken out, evidently in haste. Her papers were gone and the stern davits were empty. That is how the case stood that day, and that is how it has stood to this. I saw this same

sort crossing the ocean paths, and then in a single season perhaps several of them will turn up: vacant waif

k edges and smelling of landsman's ink-this thing that had to do essentially with air and vast colored spaces. I forget the exact words of the head

us manner. A boat-party sent aboard found the schooner in perfect order and condition, sailing under four lower sails, the topsails being pursed up to the mastheads but not stowed. With the exception of a yellow cat, the vessel was found to be utterly deserted, though her small bo

vailable with a knowledge of the fore-and-aft rig was Stewart McCord, the second engineer. A seaman by the name of Bj?rnsen was sent with him. McCord arrived this noon, after a very heavy voyage

the old days-that is, to the extent of drinking too many beers with him in certain hot-country ports. I remembered him as a stolid and deliberate sort of a person, with an amazing hodge-podge of learning, a stamp collection, and a the

ys, but I have always been a conscientious reader of the weather reports; and I could remember no weather in the past

rowed me out on the upper river. He had been to sea in his day. He knew enough t

appened to them four ch

the gloom ahead, passed to the left, lofty and silent, and merged once more with t

e called 'im. Now that story sounds to me kind of-" He feathered his oars with

way,"

squint ahead. "There she is," he announc

rd had not stowed his topsails. I could make them out, pursed at the mastheads and hanging down as far as the cross-trees, like huge, over-ripe pears. Then I recollected that he had found them so-p

there-ah-" There was a note of querulous uneasiness the

y," I ex

peering down at us. "Oh! By gracious!" he exclaimed, abruptly. "I'm glad to see you, Ridgeway. I ha

McCord lent me a hand on my wrist. Then when I stood squarely on the deck beside him he appeared

ing him out of the blank, for he fell immediately to puffing strongly at his cigar and explaining

rged with an abrupt heartiness

McCord had made rather a fetish of touching nothing stronger than beer. Neither ha

but there was nothing for it now but to follow him into the afterhouse. The cabin itself might have been nine feet square, with thr

nce. Then, hardly knowing why I did it,

ounded very small, as though something

ked. "I'll get

my match back at me from every wall of the box-like compartment. Even McCord's eyes, in the doorway, were large and round and shining. He probab

from this-er-say a parrot-or something, McCor

I got myself back into the comfortable yellow glow of

anything about this cra

e you talkin

t time she's-well, damn it all, fourteen years ago I helped pick up this whatever-she-is off the Vi

me I could mark how shockingly it had changed. It was almost colorless. The jaw had somehow lost its old-time security and

've seen and heard-". He lifted his fist and brought it do

tting the glasses down, he held up the bottle between his eyes and the lamp, and its shadow, falling across his face, green and luminous at the core, gave him a ghastly look-like a mutilati

color creeping into his cheeks. "No, this time

p. "What's happened-w

her since night before last, when I

y. "McCord, you're drunk-drunk, I tell you. A cat! Let a cat throw you off your he

the damned. "I guess you don't realize how many times I've been ov

e. "Like this fellow Bj?rnsen. By the way, McCord-".

riend and his jumping shadow. He stopped and bent forward to examine a Sunday-supplement chromo tacked on the wall, and the two heads drew to

ened up and tur

ow about Bj?rns

had you saying in the

ng the affair aside. "I found her log,

om what I read in the pape

m knocking things over in the dark and mumbling at them. After a moment he came out and threw on the table a long, cloth-covered ledger

call it a personal record. Here's his picture, somewhere-". He shook the book by its back and a common kodak blueprint fluttered to the table. It w

om the nose up, he will 'tend to his own bu

black and white how intolerably he hates the Chinaman, and yet he must sneak off to his cubby-hole and suck his pencil, and-and how is it S

oke in. "I think you said

. Probably clapped on to him by the owners-shifted from one of their others at the last moment; a q

rate southwesterly breeze-' and s

l. In special to a Chinyman, who is of no account to

the reserve in that 'even a funeral?' An artist, I t

ned round and found him standing right to my back this morning. Could have stuck a knife into me easy. "Look here!" says I, an

, I should say. Can you ima

e can't quite understand this 'barbarian,' who has him beaten by about thirty centuries of civilizatio

claiming he caught the Chink making passes over the chowder-pot with his thumb. Can you believe it, Ridgeway-in this very cabin here?" Then he went on with a suggestion of

n his bunk, turned the other way. "Why don't you go aboard of him," says I. The Dutcher says nothing, but goes over to his own bunk and feels under the straw. When he comes back he's loo

ted. "Consciences gone

f heathen fanatics crazy from fright, looking around for guns and so on. Don't you believe you'd keep an eye around the corners, kind of-eh? I'll bet a hat he was

and key, by God! I been talking with Bach this morning. Not to let on, I had

book and dropped

id. "The rest

st. "There's one 'mystery of the sea' gone to pot, at any rate. And n

corners of the room, like an incorruptible sentinel. I forgot to take up my gin, watching him. Afte

of the sea' hasn't been scratched yet-not even scratched, Ridgeway." He sat

'barbarian' got them, wh

-remains ove

ould

barbarian' and let him over the side,

childish resentment at this catechising of hi

over the side, as we have said. And then, a

had stil

the skipper did not happen to mention a

ease drop it. Why in thunde

e reasons why he should not mention a cat is because

I took out my watch. "If you don't mind," I suggested, "I think we'd better be goin

d dropped. He leaned back and stared straight int

alking to himself. "There's a considerable sprinkling of the belief down

table for the bottle. I picked it up hastily and let it go through the open

you come ashore with me or you go in there and get under

suddenly, jumped up, pounded the legs of his chair on the decking, and shouted at me: "And you say that, you-you landlubber, you office coddler! You're so comfortably sure that everything in the world is cut and dried. Come back to the water again a

most of the afternoon-off and on, that is, because she sails herself uncommonl

w," I

t all. He took the wheel to stand till midnight, and I turned in, but I didn't drop off for quite a spell. I could hear his boots wandering around over my head, padding off forward, coming back again. I heard him whistling now and then-an outlandish air. Occasionally I could

ed with his finger where the i

heard him fiddling around out here in the cabin, and then he said something in a whisper, just to find out

uldn't get a little more sail on her.' Only I can't give you h

something outside. 'Scat, you-!' Then: 'This cat's going to set me crazy, Mr. McCord,' he says, 'following me around everywhere.' He gave a kick, an

the table with his fist, as though to br

rned over and settled to go off again, and then I got a little more awake and thought to myself it must be pretty near time for me to go on deck. I scratched a match and looked at my watc

paused for a long moment, one hand shiel

nch. Not a trace. I went out aft again. The cat sat on the wheel-box, washing her face. I hadn't noticed the scar on her head before, running down between her ears-rather a new scar-three or four days old, I should say. It looked ghastly and blue-white in the flat moonlight. I ran over and grabbed her up to heave her over the side-you understand how upse

a sudden heat, leaned over and

I'd just like to see you out there, alone, with the moon setting, and all the lights gone tall and queer, and a shipmate-" He lifted his

," I t

e lay dead most of the day, without a streak of air. But that night-! Well, that night I hadn't got over being sure yet. It takes quite a jolt, you know, to shake loose several dozen generati

emember I heard something fiddling around in the galley, and I hollered 'Scat!' and everything was quiet again. I rolled over and la

n," I

e upper side of the companion-way, there came down very gradually the shadow of a tail. I watched it streaking out there across the deck, wiggling the slightest bit now and then. When it had come

edge of the table and puddled it a

my eyes on that shadow. Now I swear I didn't make the sound of a pin dropping, but I had no more than moved a muscle when that shadowed thing twisted

front of the state-room door, where

lintered scar on the boards. "You wouldn't think

back and

that helped. Oh yes, I got out of here quick enough. I stood there, half out of the companion, with my hands on the hatch and the gun between them, and my shadow running off across the top of the house shive

to see black-powder smoke in the moonlight? It puffed out perfectly round, like a big, pale balloon, this did, and for a second something was bounding through it-without a sound, you understand-something a shade

id. "What did

e the table. "You're-" He hesitated, his lips working vacantly. A forefinger came out

eated. "What d

along. Every shadow I wasn't absolutely sure of I made sure of-point-blank. And I rounded the thing up at the very stem-sitting on the butt of the bowsprit, Ridgeway, washing her yellow face under the moon. I didn't mak

e stayed for upwards of an hour, without moving. Finally she went over and stuck her paw in the water-pan I'd set out for her; then she raised her head a

considered me with a

ts, keeping your eyes open by sheer teeth-gritting, until they got used to it and wouldn't shut any more. When I tell you I found that yellow thing snooping around the davits, and three bights of the boat-fall loosened out, plain on deck-you grin behind your collar. When I tell you she padded off f

hulk with a foot-rule. There's not a cubic

stood with his head bent forward and slightly to the side. After wha

and then the silence of the night river came down once more, profound and in

ack. He lifted a cautious

ody. L

I became intensely irritated with him; within my mind I cried out against this infatuated pantomime of his. And then, of a sudden, there w

hea

leisurely seconds, while McCord's fingernails gnawed at the palms of his hands. The man

the opening; he followed far enough to lean his elbows on the ha

My wave of assurance was p

king his head toward the shore

orner of the hou

I argued. "The

. Look be

t there was something in the quality of that voice beyond my shoulder that brought th

hatch, expressionless a

ding on the farther side of the table. After a moment or so the cat followed an

something to eat,

he threw it into the farther corner. The cat went over and began to tear at it

and her ears flattened. I looked at McCord and found him brooding at the animal with a sort of listless

rstand," he mumbled. "I

the cat was already amidships, a scarcely discernible shadow at the margin of our lantern's ring. She stopped and looked back at us with her luminous eyes, appeared to hesitate, uneasy at our pur

ind me, still protesting that it was of no use. Abreast of t

uminated deck. "I tell you, Ridgeway, this thing-" But my eye

to the core," I cried a

d the lantern and was after her. I watched him go up above my head-a ponderous, swaying climber into the sky-come to the cross-trees, and squat there with his knees clamped around the mast. The clear star of the lantern shot this way and that for a moment, then it disappeared and in its place there sprang out a ba

ed with some woven straw stuff and soled with a matted felt, perhaps a half-inch thick. Another struck somewhere abaft the mast, and then McCord reappeared above and be

ome back again. You know I'd come to the place where I really believed that about the c

wn at the table as we had been.

ared to death. Over toward the gas-tanks, by the way he was swimming. By gracious! now that the world's

the ship's papers with him He would have attached some profound importance to them-remember, the 'barbarian,' eight thousand miles fro

ouldn't have taken

I can say it now-there's another

fted his

undled up in his top and not know it. When I think of him peeking down at me-and playing off that damn cat-probably without

think yo

did not

bout Bj?rnsen, McCord-that is, his fooling with the f

surprised, and found his head hanging back over h

er and Brothers. Copyright,

NTY-JUM

ARY

ibner's

that in the mire w

at las

desolate, the

ows dim

ruins around, t

gardful

beauty once, wit

the runes

Burden of L

mberg might never have wedged into the affairs of nations and the destinies of James Thorold. Marines in the navy do not intrigue with chances of knee-breeches at the Court of St. Jerome. More than miles lie

m with a natural bent for public life. Marrying late in life, he seemed to have found his bent more tardily than did other men. But he had invested wealth, influence, and wisdom in the future of men who, come to power, were paying him with this grant of his desire. The news, coming to him unofficially but authoritatively from Washington, set him

day, he reasoned, finding Isador Framberg already the fly in the amber of his contentment. To change the current of his thought he read over Peter's telegram, smiling at the exuberant message of joy in which the boy had vaunted the family glory. The yellow slip drove home to James Thorold the realization of how largely Peter's young enthusiasm was responsible for the whetting of

s own day for Judge Adams's friendship with Abraham Lincoln and the history-making sessions that the little group of Illinois idealists had held within its walls, loomed gray above the flowering shrubs, a saddening reminder of days

resent, that wide street of the high skyline that fronted the world as it faced the Great Lakes, squarely, solidly, openly. They were the means, too, by which James Thorold had augmented his fortune until it had acquired the power to send him to Forsland. To him, however, they represented not ladders to prosperity but a social condition of a passing generation, the Chicago of the seventies, a city distinctively American in population and in ideals, a youthful city of a single standard of endeavor, a pleasant place that had been swallowed by the Chicago of the present, that many-tentacled monster of heteroge

pressed back against the curbstones. The thought that they were waiting the coming of the body of that boy who had died in Mexico added to his annoyance the realization that he would have to fight his way through another crowd at the station if he wished to reach the train-shed where Peter's train would come

he swarthier peoples of Palestine, Poles, Finns, Lithuanians, Russians, Bulgars, Bohemians, units of that mass which had welded in the city of the Great Lakes of America, looked out from behind the iron fence. The tensity written on their faces, eager yet awed, brought back to James Thorold another time when men and women had stood within a Chicago railway terminal waiting for a funeral cortège, the time when Illinois waited in sorrow to take Abraham Lincoln, dead, to her hea

d was the fi

the quality of their temperaments accoladed the boy. It was not only that his voice thrilled with the higher enthusiasms of youth. It held besides an inflexibility of tone that James Thorold's lacked. Its timbre told that Peter Thorold's spirit had been tempered in a furnace fierier than the one which had given forth the older man's. The voice rang out now in excited pleasure as the bo

an said, "there is no titl

dad, isn't it the greatest thing in the world that

it wonderful to think that it's all the same old America, 'the land of the free and the home of the brave?' Gee, but it's good to be back in it again. I came up into New York alongside the battleship that brought our boys home from Mexico," he went on, "and, oh, say, dad, you should have seen that harbor! I've seen a lot of things for a fellow," he pursued with a touch of boyish boastfulness, "but

to the customhouse. He lived over on Forquier Street, one of the men was telling me-there are six of them, the guard of honor for him, on the trai

ury taught us in Greek last year, something in a funeral oration that a fellow in Athens made on the men who died in the Peloponnesian War. 'Such was the end of these men,'" he quoted slowly, pausing now and then for a word while his father looked wonderingly upon his rapt fervor, "'and they were worthy of Athens. The living need not desire to have a more heroic spirit. I would have you fix your eyes upon the greatness of Athens, until you become filled with the love of her; and, when you are impressed by the spectacle of her glory, reflect that this empire has been acquired by men who knew their duty an

forward toward the gates and the silent crowd beyond. Almost unwillingly James Thorold doffed his hat. The words of Peter's unexpected declamation o

you knew Abraham Lincoln." His tone betokened an impression of having been cheated of some joy th

ke, and to James Thorold and Peter, reverently following. Then it closed in upon the cortège, urging it silently down the broad stairways and out into the street where other crowds fell in with the strange procession. Surging away after the shabby hearse, drawn by its listless horses and attended by the marines, the crowd left the Thorolds, father and son, on the pavement beside the station. "Don't you wan

not guess; but he found that he was pouring salt in a wound when he went back to comment upon Isador Framberg's death. "Why make so much of a boy who happened to be at Vera Cruz?" the older man said at last, nettled that even his son found greater occasion for commendation in the circumstance of the Forquier Street hero than in his

left James Thorold's smoothly diplomatic fingers wandering over its surface, unable to hold it within his grasp. He had a story to tell Peter-some time-a story of Judge Adams, of the house among the lilacs, of days of war, of Abraham Lincoln; but the time for its telling must wait upon circumstance that would make Pe

ugh which James Thorold and his son entered. Through a wide corridor of bronze and marble they found their way, passing a few stragglers from the great crowd that had filled the lower floors of the huge structures when Isador Framberg's body h

r man's look dilate with the strained horror of one who gazed back through the dimming years to see a ghost. He would have seen sorrow, and grief, and a great remorse rising to James Thorold's eyes. He might even have seen the shadow of another bier cast upon the retina of his father's sight. He might have seen through his father's watching the memory of another man who had once lain on the very s

he tide of his thought overflowed the shore of prose and landed his expression high on a cliff of poetry. No ch

your guil

ntolerable

ly its anger

in that dis

discern

tardily.-O

e h

orgive, but basene

a year nearly a half century agone, the words flung anathema. He leaned back against the bronze grating of the shaft with a sudde

ntil they came to the room where he had reigned for twenty years. It was a room that had always mirrored James Thorold to his son. Tall bookcases, stiff, old-fashioned, held long rows of legal works, books on history, essays on ethical topics, and bound volumes of periodicals. Except for its maps, it was a lawyer's room, although James Thorold never claimed either legal a

canned it for a moment, then flung it upon the floor. Then he began to pace the room till in his striding he struck his foot against the paper he had cast aside. He picked it up, tossing it toward Peter. The boy turned

"there's something you'll have to know before I go to Forsland-if ever I go to Forsland. You'll have to decide." The boy shrank from the ominou

the end felt when they heard he had died. I knew a great man once, Peter. I went his way for a little while, then I took my own. I saw them bring him, dead, over th

, always as if urged by some force that was driving him from silence. The boy, leaning forward at the edg

pper, too. Judge Adams was my hero in those troublous times of the fifties. I knew him only by sight for a long time, watching him go in and out of the big white house where he lived. After a time I c

ad said, 'is the holding of a great dream, not for yourself, but for others. Abraham Lincoln has the dream. He has heard the voi

the room through which he paced, "when some one said, 'Mr. Lincoln.' I looked up to see a tall, awkward man standing in the arched doorway. Other men have

dooryards where lilacs were blooming, keeping together till we crossed the river. There our ways parted. I told him a little of what Judge Adams had said of him. He laughed at the prais

my hand to h

ere drilling. You remember Ellsworth's story, Peter? He was the first officer to die in the war." The

s he seemed to keep up his story with difficulty. "He came often to Judge Adams's house. There were evenings when the three of us sat in the parlor with the dusk drifting in from the lake, and spoke of the future of the nation. Ju

and the Zouaves had merged with another regiment. I didn't go with them in the beginning because I told myself that I wanted to b

office and struck out for myself. Chicago was showing me golden opp

upted his father for the first ti

t. I would have gone anyhow, but I thought that I might just as well take the money. I was giving up so much to go, I reasoned. And so I took the bou

have stood the test. But when I came to Tennessee the regiment had gone stale. We waited, and waited. Every day I lost a little interest. Every day the routine dragged a little harder. I had time to see what opportunities I had left back here in Chicago. I wasn't afraid of the fighting. But the sheer h

at the realization of the older man's admission, fixed their gaze accusingly

bounty-

ry whom he had especially despised. Again, in a home where he had visited, he had heard another old man use the phrase in contempt for some local personage who had attempted to seek public office. Bounty-jumper! Its province expressed to the lad's mind

s thought of the past that he could not bridge the gap to Peter now. With some thought of c

rold and started in business as an army contractor. I made money. The money that's made us rich, the money that's sending me to Fors

Chattanooga after my colonel came back, dead. I went out of Chicago when his body was brought in. Then Turchin took command of the brigade. The Nineteenth went into the big fights. They were at Chickamauga. Benton fell there. He

indow. James Thorold met his look with sombre sorrow. "Don't think I've had no puni

came in protest. "If you'd really cared

was dead," he said. "They brought him back and set his bier in the old court-house. The night he lay there I went in past the guards and looked long upon the face of him who had been my friend. I saw the sadness and the sorrow, the greatness and the glory

e. I never sought public office or public honors till I thought you wanted me to have them, Peter." He turned directly to the boy, but the boy did not move. "I was so glad of Forsland-yesterday. Through all these years I have told myself that, after all, I had done no great wrong. But sometimes, when the bands were playing and the flags were flying, I knew that I had turne

try," the boy

torch shone far down their lands. His message brought them here. They have known him even as I, who walked with him in life, did no

he breathed, touching the paper on the table. "I gave up Forsland," James Thorold said, "when I saw you at Isador Framberg's side. I knew that I was not worthy to represent your America-and his." He held out his hands to Peter lon

arles Scribner's Sons. Copy

AMERICAN SHORT STO

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AVERAGE

plete files for the period covered were placed at my disposal. One, two, and three asterisks are emplo

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reprints 169

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Companion 4

the eighteen periodicals coming within the scope of my examination which have published during the past year over t

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