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Show ! ‘2 say, go!" his wife was command. | “except about her. She shrugged her shoulders. “What ! | | does it matter? It bores me to think ing. “And I say, I “I must plied was my fault. I sneak away? | nor afraid.” will not,” Morrill re | of going almost as much as it bores bear it with you. It me to think of sitting at home alone. Besides why should I It seems to me that life is a terribly am neither ashamed There is farce and io or something that Garlan drew himself to a sitting poan nothing. Everyseems worse sition, and, with his handkerchief, thing looks so well and tastes so flat wiped away the dampness of the cold or bitter' But 1 suppose you don't understand or sympathize—you have | water that had been put on his fore| your work, your career, your great | head. “You are right,” he said, gently, to Morrill; “stay! There is no projects and tri umphs cause for shame or fear to anyone nd on the pretext of He winced here— except—me.” Then he turned Nghting a cigarette, moved where she to his wife. “Will you leave us? could not see his faee | “Busy—always busy!” she inter- Don't think I'm reproaching you. A few weeks ago—yes, a few days ago, | rupted, holding out her wrap to him. “You have time for everybody except 1 should have—have—but no matter. Please leave me, until to-morrow, | your friends—and your wife.” As he won't you?” He got upon his feet a put the wrap about her shoulders and little unsteadily. kissed her gently on the hair, she She came near him and looked up turned and looked up at-him. “Won't at him anxiously, very pale and wide| you come?” she pleaded. “I need you | this evening; and, if you will, ’l eut eyed. “Frederick—you don't believe | that I—I—” | the supper at Mrs. Preston's and No, dear; no.” j come home with you.” | “BUT—I—YOU KNOW HOW | CARE FOR YOU.” | THRO 'GH FIRE By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS TUVT LTITNTIY (Copyright, by | Joseph B, Bowles.) In New York, the wine ef prosperity fan in the streets, and the intoxica tion of audacious adventure saturated the air. Lean years and their lessons were forgotten; the talk was all of making and spending large sums of money. The market places were yielding rich spoils, which were being poured out for new and grander pal aces, for pictures and statuary and tapestries, for splendid entertainments, and for equipages, gowns, and jewels. Out-oftown people stood here, he'd be the first man to indorse what I'm doin’, You've sinned away yer day o' grace. An’ ye don't get none .o’ my hard-earned money to throw after yer father’s fortune an’ his name—yes, you young spendthrift, an' my name, too.” The old man’s English returned to ! the dialect of his youth as his temper | rose. Garlan quivered, and drew himself up haughtily. “You are insulting! I have disgraced noone, sir.” prodigal luxury. This was the hour chosen by Fate for an ironic blow at Garlan and Com- “No, I don't suppose you do call it disgrace. But what is disgrace, I want to know, if bankruptcy ain't, if wastefulness ain't, if squanderin’ other people’s money in gamblin' an’ high livit’ pany. ain't? agape before the endless panorama of Young Garlan, the senior part- ner by inheritance, had foreseen the coming good times, He cast aside the maxims of prudence on which his father built up the great firm. Drag- ging his disheveled but exhilarated older partners with him, he ventured boldly. In his overconfidence he miscalculated, and what should have been a dazzling success proved a hopeless failure. [ He was on his way up Fifth avenue to play his last card. If he could tide over the next five days, he would win, and the stock certificates and bonds on the seat of the carriage beside him You, with that horde of houses an’ servants, an’ that there wife o' your’n bein’ gabbled about in the papers for parties and clothes an’ diamon’s! Disgrace! No, I don’t suppose either one 0’ you calls it disgrace.” Garlan stalked from the room to escape from the insults to his wife, and heard the last sentence as he was deseending. Yet, at the foot of the at stairs, the horror of his situation swept over him, and he paused, debating whether or not to return and make one last effort. “It’s no use,” he decided, and pride had no part in the conclusion, Jeast; if not, they would be worth several hundred thousand less than nothfing at all. Surely old Masham would whirled up the avenue, Arriving home, he locked himself would be worth three millions, see the advantages of “tiding him over”’—if not as a business proposi- tion, then, certainly, as a matter of sentiment. It seemed absurd to think of sentiment in connection with the coldest as well as richest money-lend- er in New York; but was not Frederfick Masham Garlan his namesake? Had not his father and Masham been “Nat” and “Joe” together in the village up on the Canadian border? Had they not come to New York together and for half a century fought side by side, or back to back, as the posture of the battle made expedient? After announcing himself and being He entered his carriage, and it in his study—immediately behind the small reception room to the left, on the entrance floor. Αἱ eight, he had part of the dinner brought to him; at half past eight, he rang for the servant to take away the tray. Then he resumed his “work” —toiling away at a turmoil of memories and forebodings, wandering aimlessly and drearily from mighthave-beens to must-bes and back again. The burden of it all was how to tell her, how she would “take” it, and what could be done for or with her in that impossible hereafter. He had not given her or permitted her to peated in the cheerless looking hall, get the slightest hint of what was he coming. Poverty for himself was tragic enough. Poverty for her—or anything but luxury that would leave heard old Masham’'s voice—it came from above with a fateful, sepul- chral echo, and said: “H'm! That young gambler!—show him up.” ᾿ “T've brought some securities on which I wish to borrow half a million.” Garlan tried to keep despair and desperation out of his voice. He extended the bundle toward Masham. Masham looked sourly at him for several seconds before reaching out his yellow, claw-like hand. He ran his eyes over the titles. “Securities?” he sneered, handing them back; “you may call them securities, but I call them dead cats. Not a penay! Is that all?” Garlan’s face was gray, his lips pur- ple, and there were deep circles under his eyes. He stood there, young and straight, with imagination and sentiment as well as shrewdness and boldness, and sensitiveness also, in the Jines of his features. So crushed was he that the insult made no impression upon him. “I must have the money, or we are ruined,” he said. “You know that, in any other than the extraordinary circumstances of the moment, I could easily realize on these. You knowthat, within a week, they will be worth more than their face.” “Ruined, eh?” Masham's voice was hard and triumphant. For two years he had been prophesying ruin -for young Garlan, and he felt and showed the pious joy of a vindicated prophet. “Ruined, eh? I thought so; and you want me to foot the bills of your little fling.” His dry, crackling laugh Was as sure and merciless in its reach as the knife of a skilled vivisectionist. Garlan’s athletic shoulders drooped. He was staring over the old man’s head into a black abyss. He felt the ground sinking beneath his feet. He tried to wet his dry lips with his dry tongue. Then he succeeded in articulating the words that cut into the very heart of his pride—“For my “Impossible!” he exclaimed. The very idea of facing all those people in the opera house gave him a. shock, ‘Go and enjoy yourself while you can.” A reckless look came into her eyer: Good night,” she said ‘Don't forget you wouldn’t come, though I begged you. Good night I'm going where I'm welcome Alone again, | turned down the| ] ts and threw hin ‘If on the divan igainst the folding doors that separatd the study from the reception room, lis brain was aching, and pain and veariness throhbbed through his veins He lay for » every part of his body. or more without motion, and hen f aslee] He was awakened voices heard faintly but clearly through the thick door between him and the reception room “But—I—you know howI eare for you—more than anyone else—so much that I think only of you—” It was a man’s voice, Morrill’s. He had been at the house a great deal of late. “Harriette—dear!" At these words, uttered by Morrill in a tone that certainly seemed sincere, Garlan made ready to leap up and drive him from the house; but he sank back, as his wife replied: “I suppose I ought to silence you or send you away. But—I wonder—do you really care? No, I don’t Want you to protest. But oh, I don’t know what I want.” “You're everything to me, It breaks my heart to have you so lonely and sad. I know you've never felt or received real love—the love that understands, that is always about one like air. Had you shown anyone else (“I'm ‘anyone else,’” thought Garlan, in a fury at the youth and ardor and conviction in Morrill’s voice.) even what you've shown me of your true self, I should never have had the chance—for it is a chance isn’t it?” “I—I don’t know. I think not.” Harriette spoke regretfully, as if she wished she could say that she thought “yes.” He recognized did not answer. “But she will never desert you in those circumstances!” Morrill exclaimed. Garlan looked at him coldly. “I propose to free her,” he repeated. Morrill looked at him in a puzzled weay. Suddenly he grew pale. “You don't mean—” he said slowly. “Happy?” she interrupted, and her voice was so sad that it arrested her husband's rising anger. “If I could your own sake as well as for hers, believe that, or half of it! I thought ence before that I was to be happy, for I was promised happiness just as faithfully as you seem to be promising it now. Don't think I blame anyone, (“I’m ‘anyone!'” thought Gar- lan.) for I don't. It must be my temperament—or something else. All I knowis that I'm so bored all the time, and miserable most of the time, that I think I must fly!” “IT can and will make you happy.” Morrill spoke with enthusiasm. “Free would be a relief for her to begin the talk he was dreading and postponing. He opened the door. “You?” he exclaimed feigning surprise. “Yes—may I come in—for a mo ment only?” asked his wife, advancing into the room. As he asked the question. it flashed into his Masham’s wayof be- before—and yet he used it even toward his wife. “I don't want anything,” she said, impatiently; “at least"—with a smile —“only a compliment. How do you like me in your present?” she inquired turning round and round to exhibit the beautiful wrap of chiffon lined with ermine that enswathed her from neck to heels. To be brief, I rill. “I shall wait and hope and try to deserve you; and I shall win you! I want to make you happy—honorably happy.” it, but ginning a conversation had become his own. He had not thought of this I had the chance with her, but I threw it away. propose to free her.” went on, in a monotonous voice, looking straight ahead of him, “that you should happen to have the chance to make some woman happy, I hope, for away when I pretend not to hear,” he said to himself. But the knock came again—timid, yet persistent. “Perhaps she suspects—has heard something somewhere.” He felt that it mind that old account. “There is a chance,” insisted Mor- “Usually she goes “What can I do for you?” “Thankgg, no,” said Morrill, and he 1 for the other to begin [ shan't detain you long,” Garlan begar “T merely wish to reassure myself about you.” He studied Morrill’s face carefully and calmly. “I’ve always had a good opinion of you,” he went on , “and, listening to you a few minutes ago”’—this with a trace of irony in his cold voice—‘I got a still more favorable impression, not of you, but of your sincerity. My wife encouraged you, and I drove my wife away from me. As you've seen during the last few months—and [ must say you showed it plainly in your face all along —TI've been a very poor excuse of a husband.” Morrill shifted uneasily in his chair. Had Garlan gone mad? “I see you don't understand,” Garlan continued. “The point is that I am a ruined man. To-morrow we go into bankruptey—a ghastly wreck. I do not wish my wife to suffer on my Garlan seemed not to have heard him. “If it should ever happen,” he no fancy ungratified—was unthinkable. Toward nine o'clock there was a faint knock. He smiled, sadly. “Indeed I don’t. I would have trusted you, | do trust you, absolutely.” He lifted her right hand to his lips and led her to the door. Morrill nerved himself for a storm; he felt that Garlan had been merely d ying unusual capacity for self' | What an influence she must ha over him,” he thought, “that he is i to restrain himself!” When she had gone, Garlan, who had been ing aft her down the hall, clos docr, and, with his face still inscrutable, e said “Be seated, please find cigars and cigarettes al SA Poverty for Her. yourself, Harriette! A year—less, even—and you can befree; free to start life again. No matter what you decide to do afterwards, you owe it to yourself to free yourself. You cannot, you ought not, to live on in this way.” A train of thought, like powder on fire, flashed across Garlan’s mind. ‘Tm ruined. She will desert me; and you won't forget this lesson. The time may come, the time will come, dishonor—”" Didn't you There isn't put back my any share, toc? “How could 1°" He looked away and grew red. “That's hypocrisy,” he said I might as well make a ciean breast of it. Night before last, | was down there, going over everything, and looking about fer straws to clutch at. I thought of your box of securities, and I—I went into the safe, and well, I opened the box and took them out. But I put them back again; and,—yesterday morning I got to thinking about it. I was a little afraid could not join them at the wreck until | to trust myself, for the temptation noon. It was half past ten when his | might have come in stronger form. wife came down, dressed for a drive, | So I gave the box over to old Prawher maid following her with her furs, | ley, and he'll see that it’s not dia. and the butler and two footmen wait- | turbed.” ‘But—it would—” she hesitated, and ing in the hall with lap-robes and extra wraps and foot-warmers and car- seemed to be thinking deeply. Presriage boots. Harriette always drove ently she went to her desk and seated herself. “You're sure you can do in a victoria, no matter how cold it nothing to save us?” she said, her pen might be. suspended over the paper. “May I drive with you?” he said, He was staring gloomily at the coming suddenly from his study. floor. “Nothing; it’s as I’ve told you. She was pale and worn, but at sight of him her face brightened. I've nothing left but the debts. The assignee’s in charge by this time.” He “Why!” I inquired early this morning, and they told me you had gone.” started up, trembling, impatient, looking wildly about ‘But why am I “I did not wish you to be disturb here?” He could see in imagination, ed,” he said. “You are not well—I the offices—the crowd outside—the can see that; perhaps the drive will the angry creditors he partners, do you good.” His manner and tone were gentle and most friendly, but humiliated, apologetic cursing him for Pr “IT must go at once! seserting t m she could not decide whether he was sincere or was feigning for the benehe exclaimed “Just a few minutes, please!” she fit of the servants. pleaded, looking ip from her writing. They drove up the east side to Cen tral park and halfway back without He sat again, and his mind wandered off in another direction He could not understand her manner, her tone, Why did she not grasp the situation? = | ͵ It’s all my fault—! with your money | Vanity, folly, stupidity . He went to his desk and drew out the top drawer as far as possible From the last | compartment he took a pistol “Why not?” he said. “Yes—it is the sensible way. Everyone will ap prove, and the whole score will be wiped out And—I shall not have | to tell her—to see her.” At this he put the pistol back into the drawer. “It would be sheer cowardice to do it to-night,” he caid. “But to-morrow—” At nine o'clock, the next morning, | he telephoned to his partners that he It was unlike her to be thus slow, Vhy did not the reproaches, the tears, the exclamations of despair begin? At length she finished, and rang for a servant. When he came, she said: ‘Take a cab—no, the elevated railroad, for it’s quicker—and deliver these notes ‘at once, please.” The servant hurried away, and she stood at the mantel, looking down at. him. He glanced at her, when he became conscious of the intent gaze, and was amazed to see that she was smiling, not in madness or in folly, but with eyes that made her seem to him almost divine. “No,” she said, He Kissed Her Again. speech beyond a few commonplaces. As they neared the Fifty-ninth street entrance, he said to the coachman: “Home, John!” then to her, in a low voice: “I have some news, some very bad news, indeed. I can spare you— or, rather, myself—no longer.” She looked at him appealingly, but, before she could speak, he added: “It concerns myself—my own affairs. Only I—I—it will be a surprise to you. But I will tell you when we are in the house.” As the carriage door, a boy with a went by, shouting: and Company's big stopped at their bundle of papers ‘“Uxtree! Garlan smash!” She had just risen from the seat. She fell back into it. The servants, amazed, terrified by that stentorian shout, had eyes only for the boy. ~ “My dear—remember!” Garlan’s voice was gentle and calm. It reminded her, at once, that the world was watching. She recovered herself instantly, and smiled brightly at him. “Buy a paper, Frederick,” she said. “No, let one of the servants bring it.” Then she walked up the steps as unconcernedly as if the routine of her life was undisturbed. ruined. softly, “we're not You were mistaken.” He started up. had she done? Those notes? What In her ignorance of business, had she made some appeal that would put him in a false light? “What do you mean?” he demanded. *“What have you done?” “Oh!—the notes,” she said, following his train of thought. “No—that is not what I mean. I haven't sent out any hysterical appeals for help. The notes were only to correct an error. I wrote Prawley to turn over, to whoever was in charge, the securities you put aside for me; and the other note was to the firm—very formal and business-like—giving direc. tions to include my securities in the assets.” He looked at her, stupified. “Are you mad?” he asked. “It is not neeessary; the law does not call for any such sacrifice.” Then he seated himself at the telephone. “But I can save you,” he said. She laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t!” she said. gently. The look tn her eyes reminded him of the first time she had said to him, “I love you” —and how he had thought that such sincerity and constancy had never before been expressed by human voice and human features. “There is a Frederick waited at the door while law,” she went on, in a lively tone crisis shall come—and it comes to which only accentuated the serlousthe butler bought the paper. A crazy- | every man, sooner or later—if you ness of her words; “it isn’t any of looking man, with long, ragzed wh heed this lesson, you may find what those silly old rigmaroles you men ers, paused and shook his fist at the I reach out my hands for—in vain put in big, yellow-backed books. It’s group—the servants in livery surIf you do not, you'll have only yourthe law wetry to live by—you and I. rounding the tall, distinguished young self to blame.” That Jaw ordered me to do it, under ex-millionaire. “Look at him! Look Morrill’s eyesfilled with tears. “You the heaviest penalty known. Rememat the impudence of him!” shrieked ch older than I to-night,” | ber, we have failed.” sae Τ Ε σεἰψμ,, ΜΙ the “crank” to the gathering crowd. said, “but you're not; and I can't “I have failed,” he corrected, “There he is—the robber—the tramphelp saying that I don't think you “and—" ler of the poor—the miserable Wall ought to let yourself be crushed by “We have failed,” she insisted, “an@ street gambler and thief! See his this one blow. Other men have fail(She put her arms about his neck.) carriage and all these pampered meed and recovered. You will recover nials. Bah!"—and he showed his I’m glad of it!” She burst into tears, and be stronger and better than ever but they were not tears of sorrow. teeth and shook his fisis in fantastic before.” He put her gently into a chair. “You fury. “You are very kind.” Garlan’s sarare hysterical,” he said, “and no wonThe crowd laughed “Goit, old casm was not concealed. “And now, der. I must not let you act on these man!” shouted one—‘“soak him!" The I shall not detain you any longer.” impulses.” newsboy, scenting business, redoubled He accompanied Morrill to the front She dried her eyes. “Don’t misunhis cries. “All about it! Only one door. “Good night!” he said. derstand, please. I am not a child. eent! Here’s yer ux-tree!” “One moment, please!” Morrill You used to say I was a remarkably Garlan entered his door and the spoke earnestly, impulsively. “It’s intelligent woman. You used, not very servants closed it. He was calm, but she; what you overheard, I'm sure. [ long ago, to pretend to ask my advice they were so unnerved that they dropmust say it; it’s only honorable that about things. Now I'll tell you why I should. I'm convinced, now, by a ped in succession his hat, coat and I'm glad. Haven't I been wretched? gloves. He went into his study, where thousand things I didn’t think imporHaven't you seen how empty mylife his wife was waiting. tant before, that she has never cared was—full of everything I cared noth“Is that the news?” she began, her ing about, empty of all I longed for, and never could care for me, but that tone as if the door were still open and it's you she cares for; that it's been all I dreamed of—all we dreamed of the servants listening. your neglect—” once?” “Yes.” He glanced at the huge, Garlan shut the “Yes—yes,” he said. “Good night!” when all the material things, the things men most value and seek, will fall to pieces, when you will turn for support to the things that have seemed weak and small, the sentimental things to which, it may be, in your pride and ‘arrogance, you have thought yourself superior. When that black herdlines—“A Two-Million-Dol- door sharply. When back in his study, the young man locked the door and dropped into a chair near the fire. Hope? Recovery? With everything he and she had lived for since childhood swept away? Impossible. He had played the game and lost. He had manhood enough, surely, not to stake his wife —his wife who was longing to be free. “It is very becoming,” he said, in a When sho fnewthe truth concerning strained, absent voice. She thought him, learned of the bankruptcy, the his mind was on his business, but he why not? What right have I to hoid destruction of the great name his was thinking of her—fragile, yet her back. It is all my fault—all—all!” father had built up, the wiping out of healthy, her skin clear and dark, her He realized that, while he had been the great fortune, and that nothing features, especially her eyes and foredeceiving himself into believing he was left but a long and bitter strughead, sensitive and intelligent. The did not look to her in this crisis, he gle in poverty and obscurity— blue veins showed in a faint, fascinat- in reality had been relying upon her— He was interrupted by a knock at ; ing tracery on her cheeks, shoulders, her love, her sympathy—as the last, the door. How well he knewit! How | and bosom. “A typical product of lusbut the strong bulwark between him manytimes he had answered its timid 1 rv. utterly unfit for adversity,” he and utter despair. It seemed to him insistence with an impatient, almost said to himself, sick at heart. “Only | that there was an explesion in his discourteous intimation that he did a hothouse could produce or preserve head, as if the fiery powder-train had not wish to be disturbed. He turned, | such a plant. She will pine, she will touched the great central magazine. opened his lips to answer, sighed, and | die—and die hating me.” The knock He gave a loud ery and became un- turned again to the fire There was an uneasy silence. He conscious. ; came once more, and, after an interfather’s sake.” longed for her to go. He was still | When he returned to his senses, he yal, a third time. A long pause enMasham lifted himself in his chair standing near the door, and said: again heard voices—his wife's and eued and then he heard a faint rustand began shrieking at him. “For “Won't you be very late for the op- | Morrill’s. But the voices were near ling, as of a woman moving reluctantyour father’s sake? You impudent era?” But she threw back her wrap | him and the room was flooded with ly, and there was silence. young puppy! If your father were | and seated herself. light. “Masham was right,” he reflected, lar Smash!” ete., etc., then tossed the paper on the table. “The newspapers anticipated me.” He threw himself into a chair. “Ruin!” he said; ‘it’s all gone—everything—everything.” “Ali?” “Yes—all. If 1 start again, it must be from the bottom—no, below it. There'll be several hundred thousands of debts; but, thank God, it’s fixed so that no one except me will be smashed.” “Don't you understand, dear? What has this—monster down-town been but my worst enemy? Hasn't it taken you away from me? Hasn't it made you force upon me a mode of life that revolted all my better instincts, that would have changed me finally into a cold, heartless, wretched creature, cut off from all the real joy there is in life? And I'm glad—glad—glad the monster is dead, is floating out of our lives like the great polluting, hideous thing that it is.” “You'd be sure to see to that.” “Yes—yes,” he repeated, looking at He looked at her, wondering at her | her eagerly. tranquil tone. “Of course it's only | words to her,” he thought. “She “No, we're not ruined; we're saved.” “Saved?” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. yet.” Then he began to talk The light he saw there soon began “Are you sure?” he slowly, much as if he were ex- | to dawn in his plaining an intricate matter to a | said. “Do you feel it deep down— as deep as the place it seems to be child. “It’s not easyto tell you. You'll coming from in your eyes?” have to give up all—this—except, of course, your personal effects, and your | “Saved!” she repeated. “Garlan property that I had charge of. I took | and Company, down-town, has failed, it out of the business as soon as I | But there’s a new Garlan and Com: | pany, up-town. And I'm the ‘Com saw there was an uncertainty.” pany.’” “But I theught you said everything He kissed her again and again. was gone.” He flushed. “And so it is. But—I “No,” he eat, “but you are the senior didn’t mean that I'd been speculating partner.* doesn’t in the least understand, |
