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Show fo "CT- O Q. TV o? D 3a v w o bq oir Jhilip ij lhtxr I (Continued from Last Week.) Ccprrlrh' br Ike rTir ..!i'r 0nitnT. l U (All Klrtau Reaerrad.) ' ' CHAPTER IX. (Continued.) I f HE knowledge of a lore nf I I fair between bis father ana Miss Lavenham, a knowi edgo which grew with every little secret sign between them, wlto many an Interchange of glance which Mck had orerseen. and with certain small episodes whlc'i told him that his father had that feeling of elrango exhilaration exhilara-tion and mental uplifting which had startled Nick in his own being when Joan had come to Bar-banipton, Bar-banipton, made him suspicious of her and shy of her. Ho wanted to halo her There were times when he bellovr-d that he detested her. But she an so kind, so patient with all his moods, so quick to understand un-derstand him, that his attempt it hatred (ailed utterly, and he was almost won over to be her wor-m& wor-m& shipper, like Bristles and the Mer man and the Admiral He could not escape from h r Influence. At", long us his life would last he would be in her debt (or two of the best gifts of llfo, a love of poetry and a love of art. It was her readings of 8helloy and Keats which first taught him tho magic of word-music, word-music, and revealed to him the high peaks of mystical nature It jwas In her room, on Winter evenings, eve-nings, that ho was first spellbound by tho divlno harmonies of the poets bo that when ber low, thrill ing voice recited their lines in her quiet room, whero twt candles shone like stars in the surrounding dusk, it seemed that his own dreams and instincts, and faint Images Im-ages of beauty, were being called up In his spirit, and made real and perfect; ns when, without her book, sho looked up at him, and spoke tho words of Shelley's "Sleep." r ti sleep! O comfortable blid. That broadest o'er the troubled so?, or the mind Till I ll hushed and smooth! O nr. confined Bealruiatl imprisoned liberty! I key To golden, palaces, strange- mln-Btn mln-Btn Isp', Fotin' imy grotesque, new trees, bo-spangled bo-spangled cares, dicing grottoes, full of tumbling waves And moon right aye, to all tho mazy world Of silvery enchantment! Who, unfurled un-furled Ben- ho dewy wing of a triple hour, But renovates and lives? There was a hush after she had spoken those lines, and then, ns Nick gavo unconsciously a low, quivering 6lgh, she put her hand j upon him. and said: "It is good to understand things like that You understand, Nick, Ibecaiifro you, too, have the poet's mind Beauty comes to you in itrumi waking :.nd sleeping. So I I gue.is, at least." I And she did uot know how truly I 6hc had guessed, not knowing that I Beauty came to him with a woman's I face. I It was Mary Lavenham who first I light' d the little flame In his heart I which afterward caught him up iu I a great Are of enthusiasm It was I when sho gavo him his first lessons ! in drawing, and said one day: I "Soon you will be teaching me, I for rven now you get something ' Into your work which I strive for I but cannot reach You understand I the heart of things, tho secret, liv- I lng character of things, that to I most people seem dead. That old I tree! You havo got its tragic I loneliness, standing solitary on the I riverside. That ruin of a boat You I have made nv pity it. because It is I J rotting to death on the mud. Those bits of washing on the ine. How I grotesque they seem, bellying in L tho wind! How do you see the human character of things like I that? . . . Nick, if you liked. I you could be an artist." I Those words were a crisis lu bi.i I life, because after all his gropings In the dark toward a d'-Pnite goal they were like a flashlight, revealing reveal-ing the straight path to his supremo I ambition. Yes! he would he an I artist That had been destined even I fiom those days when, as a baby nt I Battersea, he had scribbled bis I quaint imaginations on paper, try- I lng to draw the noiso of the ducks I and tho scent of the flowers, and trying to put on paper tho character char-acter of the familiar objects In that top-floor flat, which spoke to him in a secret language which he un- Jt derstood the hassock with two ears, tho wide-ombrnclog choir, tho laughing lions on the sideboard, tho kettle on tho kitchen fire, tho teapot tea-pot with the broken spout. But it was Mary Lavenham who revealed his destiny, by her words of praise and by her never-falling encouragement, encourage-ment, even when his pencil failed and w hen in the passion of a boy's despair ho flung his brushes in'.o ' the sea and bought another set next day. Hit She was his mistress of ai t. teach Ing him the mysteries of pcrspee tive, the greater mysteries of color. showing by br own example how to bint and suggest, without too much detail, how to build up an effect by simple lines, how to see the essential things, and to turn a blind eye to the unessential. She taught htm the tricks and technique of her own method, but scoffed at them and said, "You can do much better. This is Just elementary school style. You must put yourself your-self Into your work and get away from all this old maid trumpery." Afterward he knew that she spoke the truth about her own work, though It seemed wonderful to him in those early days of hi. appr ;i tlceshlp, but looking back on Ills career lie knows even now that the best lessons of his life were when he sat drawing or painting by the side of the Lonely I-ady, getting Inspiration In-spiration from her enthusiasm, and correcting his faults by her advice, and developing a steady purpose and ambition, because the sav great virtues in his early efforts. He worked hard now, getting up early to make a sketch of the sun rise over the sand-dunes, sketching all day long In color, or pencil, or charcoal, and even in his sleep painting Imaginary pictures with strange effects of mist and light, which seemed to him next mornlnir more perfect than ever he could paint in his waking hour. Tbia new ambition, this Incessant labor for a real purpose, was a curious relief to him. It wns nn outlet for energies becoming too strong for the dreamy idleness of his younger days, and it gavo scope to the restlessness rest-lessness of body and spirit which had made him fretful and uneasy, like a wild animal In too small x cage. Now he filled his sketchbooks sketch-books with nn attempt to express hi (deals of beauty, aud his imaginative im-aginative adventures. He drew grotesque tilings, quaint characters, fairy-tale creatures, which seemed to grow beneath his pencil without the dictation of his mind, and uu-aginary uu-aginary scenes, with Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled be-spangled caves, Echoing grottoes, full of tumbling waves And moonlight . . . and In the evenings it was drawing draw-ing now, and not reading, which filled the long, dark hours. But though Mary Luvenbam was his mistress in art, it was L'dward Krampton, whom he had called the Merman, who was his master of phi-ln-oph lietween that strange mae and young Nicholas Barton there was a romantic friendship, ar be-tween be-tween Jonnthan and David, and the) older man leaned upon the boy. It seemed as though he saw In this boy himself, at the same age as Nick, with tho samo imaginative nature, quick temper and restlessness, restless-ness, and as though ho desired that Nick should gain all the things which lm himself had missed honor, fame, Lielf-respect; above all, self control. It was upon those subjects that he harped continually, though roaming roam-ing In a wide field of knowledge, for his examples and models and ho held himself up as a horrible In stance of what to avoid. "I'm a failure, Nick; a damned waster, a broken derelict cast upon the shore. Take warning from my tragedy. Tho truth Is that I was spoiled at the beginning of thlng3 I began rich, and I heve ended poor. You havo the ndvantago of starting in right at the bottom rung of the ladder. All the fun is in climbing up. Now I havo been climbing down ever sinco I left Oxford twenty-five years aso, as the son of a rich father, with the world at my feet," He put down his failure to the lack of an honest friend, at tho time when he needed one most. "There were plenty of men who called themselves my friends, but they only spoaged on me when I had plenty of money In my pockets, pock-ets, and flattered me In my self conceit, and preyed upon my weak good nature, and were boon companions com-panions In my foolish bourr. 0 Summer friendship, Whose flattering loaves that shadowed us in Our prosperity, with the least gust drop off In Ih' Autumn of adversity! Edward Frampton Indulged in a reverie of self pity. He seemed to find 60mo bitter-sweetness In tho contemplation of his own failure, and a strange satisfaction In scourging himself with his own scorn, "I was a fool of fools Because 1 was popular, because I could sing a good song aud make an after-dinner after-dinner speech, and because I was born with a straight nose instead of a crooked one a handsome fellow fel-low they called nie then, Nick I believed that I was destined to bo a leader of men. Perhaps I might have boen who knows? But whenever I hid a chanco of leadership, leader-ship, I throw it away, because It entailed hard work nnd a hard life, and I shirked work and wanted an easy life. My lad, that is the secret sec-ret of my moral shipwreck taking tho line of least resistance. You me afraid for you. Thero is only w J -. the vague momorlea of his chlld- " hood, the falry-talo which had been ' ' woven like a golden thread In the texture of bis life, seemed broken ei v ' . by a great shock of emotion which ' iKm Tk . swept through him with a cold, iWH rushing wind Then, after the mo- t-v, ' mnt ' dazed surprise and pain, ho i ,.. BF-frfip' He Jerked out tho words in a half- '.i- y yv a jjffi ";'v ' jf' ji strangled voice, and. then, without TOMHE , fi- looking at his father, whn was '-' ,HSjLLSTfr "7 ' H stricken speechless by his violent V , ' protest, seised bti .; Uid marched - x ? out of the collage, and went for a j long, lonely walk .'' ; , v V .'Ct .; ' ft y on the cliffs, in .. .Y. ; " ' I the buffets of the wind, which did not cool the rago ' , n kbs heart, un til at last his emotion waa 1 v & spent and he came home . , ' agaiu with a whlpped-dog ; .! 9Hi look. During the evening meal Bristles and he sat i- ' i verj 6Nent 39 though an '' v i t 3f invisible barrier were be- ,. 2,' tween them. Onco or twice Bristles looked at his 6on, furtively and timidly, as "It made me rage though ho were afraid of him, and once or twice ho inwardly, and get made a poor attempt at conversation about Nick's sullen and sulky . - studies and the weather and tho health of the old with her when she Admiral, who was laid up with the gout, but after a exhibited herself "Yes" or "No" from Nick relapsed into a gloomy il i w vn me stage and acted love-scenes with impertinent young fools." can't win your way to any high place and hold it unless you are ready to eschew delights and llvo laborious days I gave up a career in the army because I thought it was infernal drudgery- 1 wandered wan-dered : out tho world, as a coffee-planter, coffee-planter, as a palm-oil ruffian, as a captain of South African horse, as a trooper in the Bechuanaland Border Bor-der Police, and failed every time I got a chance. Why? Becauso I shirked hard labor. Now look at me a man idling his life away in futile regrets, subsidized by rich relations, who despise him" Having lingered over his self-abasement, self-abasement, piling up denunciations upon his owu head, he then built up a picture of Nick's rapid advancement ad-vancement to fame and honor. "Nick, dear boy, I covet onor for you. as though you were my own son. I shall not bo satisfied to pec out until you havo gained all thoso things 1 missed. Your success suc-cess will be a Joy to me, as though I had a sharo in the making of it. And, Indeed, I think I may claim a share, for In these long talks wo have had together I have pointed out the perils of life, and upheld tho true Ideals, and helped you to play (ho game as It should bo played by any gentleman. Ubing my own weakness as a moral tag. There is only one thing that makes 1 it k . lb t . , ; - ! i J j& one creature on God's earth that can spoil your chances." "What is that?" askeu Nick, startled by this new hint of peril. "A woman," 6aid Edward Frampton Framp-ton solemnly. And after a Utile while, with his hand on Nick's shoulder, not much lower than his own now. though he was a tall man. he explained himself. "You have got an emotional heart, with which a woman may play the very devil If she once gets her fingera to work at your heart strings If she Is one of tho cruel kind, she mav spoil all your future. Keop awa7 from women as muofl as posslblo, Mck. Keop your work, at least, clear from thoLr impertinent Intru slons For Art is an austere mistress, and 19 Jealous of all rivals." Nick was silent, and pondered over these words. They were reminiscent of similar waruiogs he had had from Mary Lavenham, Laven-ham, and they filled him with a vague alarm, because they coincided with certain Blgns that his father's work was being disturbed dis-turbed by a woman who was Mary Lavenham herself. For some timo Bristles had been restless and unable to settle to a new novel. Instead of writing In the mornings he went out for lonely walks, and did not ask Nick to Join him, nnd came back with a queer shining light in his eyes, as though tie had seen a happy vision. Nick watched bim, and wondered, and was afraid, because ho knew that his father was hiding from him the secret of a love which could have nothing but an unhappy end ing, because in Nick's philosophy and faith, his mother still claimed his father's loyalty. One sentence, Just a few words In length, was an epoch In his life. It was when his father said vcrv quietly ono day: "Nick, old man, how would you like it if I married again?" In the moment that followed that question all the secret, hidden things in the heart of the boy, all Biience. It was only when the 6upper had be-, n cleared away by Polly, who noticed that something was "amiss" between tho father and son whom she loved with the fidelity of a house-dog, that Nick broke the spell of sllonco by an abrupt challenge. "I want you to tell me about Beauty about my mother. It's time I knew " Bristles had been waiting for that question for years. Ho knew that it was bound to come. Ho knew that one day ho would havo to give an account to his son of the tragedy which had made this boy motherless. mother-less. And ho had always been afraid of that day when the tale must bo told, because It would bo difficult to toll It truly, to apnortloc the blame, to Justify himself, to explain tho hcartlessness of a woman wo-man of whom, as he know, this boy cherished an exquisite memory. Now the timo had come when Nick must know. "It's time I knew," he said, and Bristles must open the old wound that had seemed quite healed. He walked to tho mantel sholf and filled his pipe, and loaded It with more than usual care to give himself him-self time to think out his defense For It was clear to him that Nick was an accuser, and that be would ha o to defend himself for the 1083 of tho boy's mother. "What do you want to know'" he said, guardedly. "I want to know why sho ran away from you." Bristles lit his pipo and puffed out a long coil of smoke. "I want to be fair to your mother. Nick. It would be easy for me to call her names, to dlcmles the whole thine by calliug her a hussy and a bad woman . . ." ilo had not finished his sentence, but Nick's face flushed painfully and he drew a quick breath. H "But you WOUH not believe that and you would hate mo for abusing H a woman whom you remember as H Beauty, tho well-beloved. My dear L old man, It is not easy to explain. H Sho had a restless nature, fond ot H gaiety and pleasure, and I was too poor to satisfy all hor desires la "But that wasn't her only reason H for running away, was H "The only reason?" said Bristles. H lOked his pipe, and for a few minutes brooded back into tho past. H "Tboro wero thousands of reasons. Little things, all adding up to a big sum ot wretchedness. From the H very tlrst our tempeiamonts clashed. Although we loved each other in the beginning, we got upon each H other's nerves most damnably. We H wcr. always quarrelling over small u D ditiee, things thai didn't matter mat-ter tuppence, really, but which seemed to ua, at the time, to matter enormously. I hated to see her reading foolish novelettes. She disliked my tnste lu ties, my style of collars, said that I was stamped j all over with the brnud of the city 1 clerk Ridiculous things like that, leading to continual bickerings, scornful words, sneers. 1 wanted to mould her to my way of thinking, think-ing, and sho would not bo moulded. She tried to break down my serl- j ous convictions, laughed at my I senso of propriety, ridiculed my j conventionality. I hated her play- acting business. It made me rage Inwartlly, and Ket sullen and sulky with her when she exhibited herself her-self on the stage and acted love- i scenes with impertinent young 1 fools, and let herself be iondled publicly by coarse and elderly act- 1 ors playing tho lead in melodrama. It made me shiver. It seemed to me an outrage that my wife should bo handled by fellows of loose morals. So that was another causa J of quarrel. She was In her element f at tho theatre. Her mother had ,f been an actress, her grandmother had been an actress, the profession I was In her blood. Sho could not understand my objections to stage I life, and thought I must be a morose, mo-rose, narrow-minded Puritan In a way I was. I havo got the I'uri- tanlcal strain in me, but that Is tho fault of my ancostors. Any- j how, It seemed to Beauty that I disliked to seo her gay, that I was most gloomy when she was most jj high-spirited, that I was a wet 1 blanket, damping all her Joyous-ness. Joyous-ness. You see, I try to be fair to "I don't seo why you should have j been so hard on her!" said Nick. it seemed to him that all this was a proof that, his father had been to blame. Everything that Bristles had said was a confession of Beauty's gaiety, of her laughter-loving laughter-loving spirit, Just as he remem- j "Hard on her!" That stung tho man. It hurt him 1 frightfully that Nick should take I bis 6taad by the side of tho woman I who had abandoned both of them, I and against the man whom she had " cruelly betrayed. And yet he had expected that. He had known ail I along that the time would come when TNick would be against him, because a son always takes the mother's part. i "She was hard on me, Nick Bo- I neath all her galoty there was the hardness of an utterly Belflsh hearL fl I elaved for her in a city office, but j do you think sho cared because I was wearing myself out so that I might get promotion for her sake? Why, she despised me for It. She 1 would havo had more respect for mo if I had run Into debt and played a flash game, like one of heV actor fellows, who run up bills j and say, 'Damn the consequences.' Because I was honest bhe thought me a poor-spirited drudge." "But she was earning her own living," 6aid Nick. "Sho paid for herself, didn't she?" "Yes, sho paid for herself." said Bristles bitterly. He rapped his pipe sharply against the mantle-shelf and then leaned forward and said, with a kind of passion In his voice. "I would rather see you dead than niafril i a wife who pays for herself, li puts a mau into a falso position. It robs him of all authority. It gives a woman an independence which is not ,; ,d for her." "I don't see why." said Nick stub bornly. He could not follow his father's reasoning at all. Ho was thinking only of Beauty, who had I laughed and danced through his childhood. His father's defense seomod to him pitiful. Surely ho could have saved Beauty from run- l uing away. If he had behaved V properly to her she would not havo run away. "Why shouldn't sho havo paid for herself?' "I will tell you why," said Brls- I ties harshly. "Because when sho wastes her money on foolish and dangerous things, she says, 'I can do what 1 like with my own. can't ,1 I?' And when her husband remon- (Continued on Next Page.) I il I (Continued from Preceding Page.l strates with her Tor piling up expenses ex-penses which are beyond both their incomes, she says. 'I don't cost you a halfpenny, do I? Surely you don'l begrudge me some little luxuries lux-uries which I can earn by hard work?' That's what Beauty used to say. She was so independent that I could not safeguard her from the dangers of Independence. She would go gaddinp: off with people peo-ple who had no scruples of honor, no care for my good name, no thought for my existence, and he-cause he-cause she could say. 'I pay," I had no check upon her. But she didn't pay In the long run I paid, with a broken life. You paid, Nick, my poor motherless son." "Perhaps if you had bem more kind with her she would not have jgone padding off," said Nick. Bristles 6tarcd at him. This father was stricken because out of his past a ghost had come to claim Ms Bon. The law had given him the custody of the child, but Nature, Na-ture, greater than the law, had allowed al-lowed the memory of the mother to wrest Nick's heart from him. and poison Nick's mind against him. He had been the comrade of his eon for more than ten years now, ,, elnce his wife had deserted them. J He had watched over him, tended m him. civen him all that was bes m something in the line of his mouth, something about his eyes which reminded re-minded Bristles of Beauty in one of her tempers, when yhe lost control con-trol of herself, and said bitter, cruel things, which stabbed him like daggers. dag-gers. This strange likens to the-woman the-woman who had been hi? wife was so vivid, so startling at that mo nint that the man seemed to set the woman's spirit suddenly stare nt him through the mask of the boy's face. He knew that the words trembling up to the boy's lips would be cruel words Before they were spoken he shrank from them. "You are brutal," said Nick, through his clenched teeth "I think you were a brute to Beauty, and I'm nott surprised she ran away from you ' Bristles sprang up from his chair, as whitp as Nick, and the father and son stood facing each other, staring into each other's eyes, breathing Jerkily. It was a moment mo-ment of enormous tragedy Outside Out-side the open window there was the whisper of th? great sea, as its calm waves ruffled apon the moist sands. Inside the room the clock ticked with a steady J$ Ilk JsW clock swung from one side to the other. Then Bristles spoke, and lits voice was hollow and lifeless: "One dav you will be sorry for having said" those words." That was all. Then he moved un certainly across the room, fumbled with the matches on the sideboard and lit a candle. It was early for bed, but he went upstairs into his bedroom with a heavy (road If Was the first time In Nick's memory tha' his father had not said good nigh I In the days that followed neither or them alluded by any word to that conversation. The name of Beauty did not pass their lips. Thf emo lion that had stirred each of them to the depths seemed forgotten and buried beneath new interests Their old relations of comradeship seemed re-established. They laughed . and chatted, discussed plans fc: the future, went on long, lonely walks, when Nick spoke of his ambitions with apparent candor, and received I In his heart and brain, out all that counted for nothing now, and ih-woma ih-woma who had abandoned the duties of her motherhood, who had forsaken the child of hor flesh, had stretched out an unseen hand to capture the hoy. Nick's last words whipped him into a sudden anger, not against Nick, but against (his crueliy. "My kindness to her was thrown away on a llghl-of-love The woman wo-man w as vile to the core." Nick rose from his chair, white I to the lips- "Vou mustn't say that," he said, staring at his father with burning eyes. Bristles was reckless now. His son had demanded the truth, and he must learn it. "Sho was eaten up with vanity a colossal, devilish vanity which destroyed an faint touch of moral decency which may have been in her nature at the beginning. Any scoundrel who pandered to her appetite ap-petite for adulation made her forget for-get her honor as a wife. That man, that beast with whom she went away, was not the first to temp' her to betray me. not the first to succeed. By God! I was patient with her and forgiving! God knowj I warned her, and pleaded with her, and pardoned her, until her last treachery. She walked open-eyed into the spider's web Nick, my boy, your mother was as false as hell." Nick did not answer for a mo-tnent. mo-tnent. Ho was standing very straight and still, with that while face of his and burning eyes. His mouth had hardened There was beat, more noisy than the world beyond be-yond the cottage The night was so quiet, the silence brooding over .sea and shore was so intense, that the open window seemed like a great ear listening to this quarrel between the man and boy and the moon which shoe- like a lantern within the square window frame seemed to stare cuiiously at the two human hu-man beings w hose comradeship had ! en smashed by a woman's sin. In that moment when the father faced his sou. when the son faced his father, with an emotion not less passionate because it was of a deadly dead-ly quietude, cadi knew that this was a moral earthquake whlob had shaken the foundations upon which, until now, thev seemed to have stood so securely Each knew that " gulf had opened up between Hi tu for which, as yet, the bridge had not been "built It seemwl 10 Nick that all his life since Beauty had gone away had been leading up to this crisis, when he stood as the accuser and judge of the man from whom she had fled His wakin : dreams of her. the fragrant memories which had haunted him. his yearnings. hl9 secret tears, his unuttered cries of childhood, his passionate regrets, had been storing up fact.: upon which his father was condemned. Because the only farts which counted count-ed with him were those witnesses in his own heart which spoke on behalf of Beauty, and pleaded as counsels iu her defense. It seemed like an hour that the father stood faring his son. It was just the time in which the heavy pendulum of the grandfather' the warm encouragement and anxious anx-ious hopefulness of the man who had been his counsellor and guide from babyhood. But they knew that neither of thrm would ever l'O'-get the words spoken in the silence si-lence of the world, when the sea lay calm outside the window, and that a gulf was letwec-n them, even when they walked should, r by shoulder, across the sand-dunes. It was Mary Lavenham who the deciding voice in the councils which were held on the subject of Nick's career, shared by Edward Frampton, Captain Muffett and Polly, with Bristles in the back ground anxious, balancing the pros and cons, hesitating in his approval of any definite plan. Mary Lavenham's first expression Of opinion had been uttered in her forcible way. when she had stood behind Nick's shoulder when he was sitting down by the estuary doing i charcoal sketch of some boats 1 on the mud and of some sailors mending their nets "Do you think it comes all light?" said Nick. "It is better than all righ: ! said Miss Laenhain. "It is so good that It is a crime for you to be pottering pot-tering away here when you on to be getting the best training and beginning a great career. I havi nothing more to teach you. You have left me behind month's ago. The Academy Schools are tho plai for yon, Nick " "Think so1" said Nick very ralm ly. although his heart gave a -reat leap at her words. "Perhaps I have as much chance of gelling to the moon " "You will never get to tb moon if you look no higher than the earth," said Miss Lavenham. "I want you to look as high as tho stars and to reach up to them. You can do that If you like." "Unfortunately I am the son of a poor man." said Nick "Rubbish!" said Miss Lavenham. "It's only poverty that gets the gold In the stars. If your father were a rich man you would never be anything any-thing buf a silly amateur You've got to be an artist, Nick, which means a man who lives for and by his craft." "By Jove!" said Nick. "If only I had the chance of doing It!" "You have a man's chance," said Miss Lavenham. "We will see that you have it." That "we" embraced the little group of people wlio had constituted consti-tuted Ihemselves Into a committee for the honor and glory of Nicholas Barton. It included Polly, who, when this idea of the Acaderav Schools had become a fixed idea, discussed separately and collectively, collec-tively, drew Nicholas aside one day and said in a whisper: 'Masier Nick, I have got a little bit to help you Into them schools. It ain't much, dear heart, but you know mv love oes with it " She thrust Into his hand an old leather purse which bulged out aa though it were full of coins. lit'- i ' & .' '..'r'- ' ' - - '. you a half- -slEw penny, do I? Surely you don't ftf begrudge me some little luxuries which I can earn by hard work?" f f Nick stared at the purse in his baud, not knowing what to do with it "What's all this. Polly? Do you think I want to sponge on you?" Polly gave a ferocious dab at the piece of pastry "It's my savings." she said, "If you must know, and a precious lot of good they are, unless they're put to a better use than I i an mal of 'em!" "Good Lord. Polly!" said Nick. "I woulo hang myself before I took your hard-earned money. Onr of these days you will want ii tor yourself." ' Want it for what?" asked Polly, rolling the pastry into a Ihin Strip. "Surely your Pa will give me a decent de-cent funeral when I drop down dead in bis service." She prtend.-d to grt angry, and spoke with r great deal of indignation. indig-nation. "Surely your Pa won't throw out like an old shoe, after all ihese years, after looking after him in his absent mindedness, and him as helpless as a babe unborn!" "Of course he won't. Polly. What a ridiculous idea!" said Nick. "As if we could ever do without you"' "Well, then!" said Polly trium-phanlly, trium-phanlly, lifting up thft niece of dough, and flinging it down on the board again. "As long as I'm drawing my wages what more do I want? I can't eat more than three meals a day. can I? You don't want me to lake a Jaunt over to Paris and indulge in an orgy of wickedness do you?" "No." said Niclt. laughing at the preposterous idea. "I shouldn't think of your doing such a thing. But I can't take your money, all the same. Polly." Polly left her pastry, and flung her floury arms round Nick. "Dear poppet, though you're too old to be called a poppet, but always al-ways will be to me, just take it toward the expenses of them schools, and don't say another word to your poor old nurse that would let you tread over her body if It would be any good to you Your Pa is a poor man, but every bit of them savings have come out of the sweat of his brow, so that it's only giving back what's his and yours." Nick kissed her, as he used to in his baby days, though now he was so tall that he looked down upon her "I will take the purse." he said, "but only as a loan, Polly " She was satisfied with that, though she muttered something about "loan be hanged." and she resumed her attack upon the unfortunate un-fortunate piece of dough with renewed re-newed energy and great cheerfulness cheerful-ness of spirits. Polly's generosity was equaled, though not surpassed, except ir. money valhes, by Nick's other friends, and when i; was definitely arranged that he -should go to Lou don to attend (the Academy Schools, Miss Lavenham, Edward Frampton and Captain Muffelt made themselves them-selves jointly responsible for his fees, his father agreeing to this arrangement ar-rangement because it was made clear to him, after many argu ments, that they all desired a share in Nick's glory. During those last days in the cottage by the sea, when he stocd on the threshold of young manhood, facing at last the great adventure when he would go forth lo seek his fortune, to stand alone, to put himself to the le.-t of life, he was overwhelmed wltn a sense of thankfulness for these good friends who believed In him, more than he believed in himself, nnd he realized with humility and self-abasement how often he had taken their favors for granted and bchav"d with tho selfishness ani arrogance of boyhood. He did not understand that he had given back more than he received. That the child who had grown into a boy and Ihe boy who v. ns fast growing Jntb a man, had filled up a gap in the hearts of these middle-aged people by the spirit of youth, and that his companionship had kept them from growing old and rusty before their time To Mary Lavenham Laven-ham he had been like one of her dream children, and she had mothered him. in spite of his shyness shy-ness of her To Edward Frampton he had been the image of his owu unspoiled youth, and a young knight wiili untarnished armor. To Captain MulTett. the okl "Admiral." "Ad-miral." he had been a comrade with whom he had grown young again They had carved out many boats together! They had sailed up Mir esluary on many breezy days. Tho withered old heart .of a man who had known tragedy had flowered Into a second childhood when Nick came to ask his questions Nick did not know those things then. He only felt fearful lest he might not prove himself worthy of their faith in him And on the last night, whn they assembled In his father's sitting room, when the Admiral made a prayer over a bowl of punch, and alter drinking to Nick's health and toyhis prosperous voy-age voy-age on a fair sea. ended with an Amen, and wiped his eyo with his bandanna handkerchief; when Ed ward Frampton. not touching the punch, made a fine speech in which he quoted many lines from the poets upon honor and glory, and the splendor of youth; when Miss Lavenham sat very still and quiet until her turn came to speak and she made a fairy-tale of Nicks way through the worlds of art. tin-ill tin-ill he rearhed the high peaks of ctorual bnauty after many strug- :j . if gles, many failures, many moments of despair, and lastly when Bristles was left alone with him, and kissed him before tho last good night in this cottage by the sea, and said. "I shall miss you horribly, old man. I must join you as soon as possible," possi-ble," then Nick's heart was filled :o overflowing, so that his eyes were moisl with tears, and he could not speak, in the loneliness of his little room that uight he sat ou the side of his bed until the candle flickered out. and even then he sat in the darkness thinking of the boyhood that was passing and of the manhood that was comlug The thrill of the groat adventure had already stirred him. Ambition, the colossal ambition of youth, quickened bis pulse, and the thought of going back to Londou, which had haunted his imagination, the mists of memory, excited him like a powerful drug. For in London Lon-don were the two dream faces which had haunted his imagination, and in the crowd he might find them again once before, when he lay down to sleep, the face ot Beauty and the face of Joan came to liini and intermingled, so that they seemed one face, with a little t M teasing smile about the lips. CHAPTER X. Nicholas in London. QUITE a number of actors and playgoers in London became familiar with Ihe face of a young man, hardly more than a boy, who was often to be seen waiting in the queues outside the galleries, or - landing at a little k distance from the stage doors nth an fag-r ami searching look when the actresses came hurrying up be-foro be-foro a performance Suburban girls who were devotees of popular play-f play-f rs noticed this young man partly because he did not seem to notice them. If he happened to be standing stand-ing near them in a queue he paid no atteniion to their chatter, and did not tuin his head whon they gigglpd, and did not vouchsafe a glance at thei- prettiness, but stood self-absorbed, intensely introspective, introspec-tive, with a dreaminess in his eyes. Now and again one of these girls would nudge her companion, and whisper, "There's that handsome boy again! Do you remember, we saw him at the first night of the nw Gaiety piece?'' or when they passed him, standing a little aloof, outside a stage door, they would smile at each other and say, "He always seems looking for some una, 1 I expect he's fallen In lov Wt wiih an actress girl's fac on a picture postcard I V wish I had her luck!'' J I It was Nicholas Barton, V who. after his dys of study at the Academy Schools, came like a moth tq the candle, to every new play produced in Lon don. After a year of Plays many of them bored ! lum unutterably Often he Aould sic in the gallery taring down upon some new musical comedy, or some new problem plav, with unseeing eyes, after he had scanned the faces of the ao Iresses, without finding the ft face of his desire, through a pair of opera glasses which he had bought by economizing over 1 his meals. For a time the glitter glit-ter and glare of the musical comedies had been wonderful to Mm, as all this now life in London Lon-don was wonderful. For a time each new problem plav fUIed " J,th w Perplexities, opened his eyes to new trage dies in bC - scions between men and women, and stiried up uneasy thoughts about his o, temperament and Instincts. Bnt the -me came when he became almos as blase as most regular plaveoe,B d critical facult,e.Peo5 he Sharp of Ws apPetite for drama so that he ,,, no CJted bj a droa,;, pIw Qi P'ay of ptuniu giria in ' a13 frocks as in ,hV xt-avagant simplicity, VeienhJr f his H Dbts when h w " Kn work iu the littl- 7tl - ha:,J at one great comrade .S r hU rn" Honorable John-S uln,Jas uad not yielded 1 ?' e ot tha, reckllV eifUUon8 I low to dine oi the i v vacan' fe - or hes be w LS?5j? ? long lonely war, ' ' adng o-i i and about London 2j n 'n b human drama or ,i " bing t;,e "oarchlng into life withV1 liable curiosity with - m V ills-been ills-been bon, th ,vhlc ae hzd (To Dc CominueJ I |