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Alice breathed hard as I finished, and stood straight with her chin held high.

“That was fine!” said she. “I want to see that man!”

CHAPTER IV.

Jim Discovers his Coral Island.

There has long been abroad in the world a belief that events which bear some controlling relation to one’s destiny are announced by premonition, some spiritual trepidation, some movement of that curtain which cuts off our view of the future. I believe this notion to be false, but feel that it is true; and the manner in which that adventure of mine in the old art gallery and at Auriccio’s impressed my mind, and the way in which my memory clung to it, seem to justify my feeling rather than my belief. Whenever I visited Chicago, I went to the gallery, more in the hope of seeing the girl whose only name to me was “the Empress” than to gratify my cravings for art. I felt a boundless pity for her—and laughed at myself for taking so seriously an incident which, in all likelihood, she herself dismissed with a few tears, a few retrospective burnings of heart and cheek. But I never saw her. Once I loitered for an hour about the boarding-house with the vine-clad porch, while the boarders (mostly students, I judged) came and went; but though I saw many young girls, the Empress was not among them. And all this time the years were rolling on, and I was permitting my once bright political career to blight and wither by my own neglect, as a growth not worth caring for.

I became a private citizen in due time, but found no comfort in leisure. I was in those doldrums which beset the politician when rivals justle him from his little eminence. One who, for years, is annually or biennially complimented by the suffrages of even a few thousands of his fellow citizens, and is invited into the penetralia of a great political party, is apt to regard himself, after a while, as peculiarly deserving of the plaudits of the humble and the consideration of the powerful. Then comes the inevitable hour when pussy finds himself without a corner. The deep disgust for party and politics which then takes possession of him demands change of scene and new surroundings. Any flagging in partisan enthusiasm is sure to be attributed to sore-headedness, and leads to charges of perfidy and thanklessness. Yet, for him, the choice lies between abated zeal and hypocrisy, inasmuch as no man can normally be as zealous for his party as the fanatic into which the candidate or incumbent converts himself.

Underlying my whole frame of mind was the knowledge that, so far as making a career was concerned, I had wasted several years of my life, and had now to begin anew. Add to this a slight sense of having played an unworthy part in life (although here I was unable to particularize), and a new sense of aloofness from the people with whom I had been for so long on terms of hearty and back-slapping familiarity, and no further reason need be sought for a desire which came mightily upon me to go away and begin life over again in a new milieu. In spite of the mild opposition of my wife, this desire grew to a resolve; and I came to look upon myself as a temporary sojourner in my own home.

Such was the state of our affairs, when a letter came from Mr. Elkins (in lieu of the promised visit) urging me to remove to the then obscure but since celebrated town of Lattimore.

“I got to be too rich for Charley Harper’s blood,” said the letter, among other things. “I wanted as much in the way of salary as I could earn, working for myself, and Charley kicked—said the directors wouldn’t consent, and that such a salary list would be a black eye for the Frugality and Indemnity if it showed up in its statements. So I quit. I am loan agent for the company here, which gives me a visible means of support, and keeps me from being vagged. But, in confidence, I want to tell you that my main graft here is the putting in operation of my boom-hatching scheme. Come out, and I’ll enroll you as a member of the band once more; for this is the coral atoll for me. You ought to get out of that stagnant pond of yours, and come where the natatory medium is fresh, clean, and thickly peopled with suckers, and a new run of ’em coming on right soon. In other words, get into the swim.”

After reading this letter and considering it as a whole, I was so much impressed by it that Lattimore was added to the list of places I meant to visit, on a tour I had planned for myself.

In the West, all roads run to or from Chicago. It is nearer to almost any place by the way of Chicago than by any other route: so Alice and I went to the city by the lake, as the beginning of our prospecting tour. I took her to the art gallery and showed her just where my two lovers had stood—telling her the story for the first time. Then she wanted to eat a supper at Auriccio’s; and after the play we went there, and I was forced to describe the whole scene over again.

“Didn’t she see you at all?” she asked.

“Not at all,” said I.

“You are a good boy,” said my wife, judging me by one act which she approved. “Kiss me.”

This occurred after we reached our lodgings. I suggested as a change of subject that my next day’s engagements took me to the Stock Yards, and I assumed that she would scarcely wish to accompany me.

“I think I prefer the stores,” said she, “and the pictures. Maybe I shall have an adventure.”

At the big Exchange Building, I found that the acquaintance whom I sought was absent from his office, and I roamed up and down the corridors in search of him. As usual the gathering here was intensely Western. There were bronzed cattlemen from every range from Amarillo to the Belle Fourche, sturdy buyers of swine from Iowa and Illinois, sombreroed sheepmen from New Mexico, and vikingesque Swedes from North Dakota. Men there were wearing thousand-dollar diamonds in red flannel shirts, solid gold watch-chains made to imitate bridle-bits, and heavy golden bullocks sliding on horse-hair guards. It pleased me, as such a crowd always does. The laughter was loud but it was free, and the hunted look one sees on State Street and Michigan Avenue was absent.

“I wish Alice had come,” said I, noting the flutter of skirts in a group of people in the corridor; and then, as I came near, the press divided, and I saw something which drew my eyes as to a sight in which lay mystery to be unraveled.

Facing me stood a stout farmer in a dark suit of common cut and texture. He seemed, somehow, not entirely strange; but the petite figure of the girl whose back was turned to me was what fixed my attention.

She wore a smart traveling-gown of some pretty gray fabric, and bore herself gracefully and with the air of dominating the group of commission men among whom she stood. I noted the incurved spine, the deep curves of the waist, and the liberal slope of the hips belonging to a shapely little woman in whom slimness was mitigated in adorable ways, which in some remote future bade fair to convert it into matronliness. Under a broad hat there showed a wealth of red-brown hair, drawn up like a sunburst from a slender little neck.

“I have provided a box at Hooley’s,” said the head of a great commission firm. “Mrs. Johnson will be with us. We may count upon you?”

“I think so,” said the girl, “if papa hasn’t made any engagements.”

The stout farmer blushed as he looked down at his daughter.

“Engagements, eh? No, sir!” he replied. “She runs things after the steers is unloaded. Whatever the little gal says goes with me.”

They turned, and as they came on down the hall, still chatting, I saw her face, and knew it. It was the Empress! But even in that glimpse I saw the change which years had brought. Now she ruled instead of submitting; her voice, still soft and low, had lost its rustic inflections; and in spite of the change in the surroundings—the leap from the art gallery to the Stock Yards—there was more of the artist now, and less of the farmer’s lass. They turned into a suite of offices and disappeared.

“Well, Mr. Barslow,” said my friend, coming up. “Glad to see you. I’ve been hunting for you.”

“Who is that girl and her father?” I asked.

“One of the Johnson Commission Company’s Shippers,” said he, “Prescott, from Lattimore; I wish I could get his shipments.”

“No!” said I, “Not Lattimore!”

“Prescott of Lattimore,” he repeated. “Know anything of him?”

“N-no,” said I. “I have friends in that town.”

“I wish I had,” was the reply; “I’d try to get old Prescott’s business.”

“There’s destiny in this,” said Alice, when I told her of my encounter with the Empress and her father. “Her living in Lattimore is not an accident.”

“I doubt,” said I, “if anybody’s is.”

“She looked nice, did she?” Alice went on, “and dressed well?” and without waiting for an answer added: “Let’s leave Chicago. I’m anxious to get to Lattimore!”

CHAPTER V.

We Reach the Atoll.

So we journeyed on to Duluth, to St. Paul and Minneapolis, and to the cities on the Missouri. It was at one of those recurrent periods when the fever of material and industrial change and development breaks out over the whole continent. The very earth seemed to send out tingling shocks of some occult stimulus; the air was charged with the ozone of hope; and subtle suggestions seemed to pass from mind to mind, impelling men to dare all, to risk all, to achieve all. In every one of these young cities we were astonished at the changes going on under our very eyes. Streets were torn up for the building of railways, viaducts, and tunnels. Buildings were everywhere in course of demolition, to make room for larger edifices. Excavations yawned like craters at street-corners. Steel pillars, girders, and trusses towered skyward—skeletons to be clothed in flesh of brick and stone.

Suburbs were sprouting, almost daily, from the mould of the market-gardens in the purlieus. Corporations were contending for the possession of the natural highway approaches to each growing city. Street-railway companies pushed their charters to passage at midnight sessions of boards of aldermen, seized streets in the night-time, and extended their metallic tentacles out into the fields of dazed farmers.

On the frontiers, counties were organized and populated in a season. Every one of them had its two or three villages, which aped in puny fashion the achievements of the cities. New pine houses dotted prairies, unbroken save for the mile-long score of the delimiting plow. Long trains of emigrant-cars moved continually westward. The world seemed drunk with hope and enthusiasm. The fulfillment of Jim’s careless prophecy had burst suddenly upon us.

Such things as these were fresh in our memories when we reached Lattimore. I had wired Elkins of our coming, and he met us at the station with a carriage. It was one sunny September afternoon when he drove us through the streets of our future home to the principal hotel.

“We have supper at six, dinner at twelve-thirty, breakfast from seven to ten,” said Jim, as we alighted at the hotel. “That’s the sort of bucolic municipality you’ve struck here; we’ll shove all these meals several hours down, when we get to doubling our population. You’ll have an hour to get freshened up for supper. Afterwards, if Mrs. Barslow feels equal to the exertion, we’ll take a drive about the town.”

Lattimore was a pretty place then. Low, rounded hills topped with green surrounded it. The river flowed in a broad, straight reach along its southern margin. A clear stream, Brushy Creek, ran in a miniature canyon of limestone, through the eastern edge of the town. On each side of this brook, in lawns of vivid green, amid natural groves of oak and elm, interspersed with cultivated greenery, stood the houses of the well-to-do. Trees made early twilight in most of the streets.

People were out in numbers, driving in the cool autumnal evening. As a handsome girl, a splendid blonde, drove past us, my wife spoke of the excellent quality of the horseflesh we saw. Jim answered that Lattimore was a center of equine culture, and its citizens wise in breeders’ lore. The appearance of things impressed us favorably. There was an air of quiet prosperity about the place, which is unusual in Western towns, where quietude and progress are apt to be thought incompatible. Jim pointed out the town’s natural advantages as we drove along.

“What do you think of that, now?” said he, waving his whip toward the winding gorge of Brushy Creek.

“It’s simply lovely!” said Alice, “a little jewel of a place.”

“A bit of mountain scenery on the prairie,” said Jim. “And more than that, or less than that, just as you look at it, it’s the source from which inexhaustible supplies of stone will be quarried when we begin to build things.”

“But won’t that spoil it?” said Alice.

“Well, yes; and down on that bottom we’ve found as good clay for pottery, sewer-pipes, and paving-brick as exists anywhere. Back there where you saw that bluff along the river—looks as if it’s sliding down into the water—remember it? Well, there’s probably the only place in the world where there’s just the juxtaposition of sand and clay and chalk to make Portland cement. Supply absolutely unlimited! Why, there ought to be a thousand men employed right now in those cement works. Oh, I tell you, things’ll hum here when we get these schemes working!”

We laughed at him: his visualization of the cement works was so complete.

“I suppose you know where all the capital is coming from,” said I, “to do all these things? For my part, I see no way of getting it except our old plan of buccaneering.”

“Exactly my idea!” said he. “Didn’t I write you that I’d enroll you as a member of the band? Has Al ever told you, Mrs. Barslow, of our old times, when we, as individuals, were passing through our sixteenth-century stage?”

“Often,” Alice replied. “He looks back upon his pirate days as a time of Arcadian simplicity, ‘Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin.’ ”

“I can easily understand,” said Jim reflectively, “how piracy might appear in that roseate light after a few years of practical politics. Now from the moral heights of a life-insurance man’s point of view it’s different.”

So we rode on chatting and chaffing, now of the old time, now of the new; and all the time I felt more and more impressed by the dissolving views which Jim gave us of different parts of his program for making Lattimore the metropolis of “the world’s granary,” as he called the surrounding country. As we topped a low hill on our way back, he pulled up, to give us a general view of the town and suburbs, and of the great expanse of farming country beyond. Between us and Lattimore was a mile stretch of gently descending road, with grain-fields and farm-houses on each side.

“By the way,” said he, “do you see that white house and red barn in the maple grove off to the right? Well, you remember Bill Trescott?”

Neither of us could call such a person to mind.

“Well, it’s all right, I suppose,” he went on in a tone implying injury forgiven, “but you mustn’t let Bill know you’ve forgotten him. The Trescotts used to live over by the Whitney schoolhouse in Greenwood Township—right on the Pleasant Valley line, you know. He remembers you folks, Al. I’ll drive over that way.”

There were beds of petunias and four-o’clocks to be seen dimly glimmering in the dusk, as we drove through the broad gate. Men and women were gathered in a group about the base of the windmill, as Jim’s loud “whoa” announced our arrival. The women melted away in the direction of the house. The men stood at gaze.

“Hello, Bill!” shouted Jim. “Come out here!”

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Elkins,” said a deep voice. “I didn’t know yeh.”

“Thought it was the sheriff with a summons, eh? Well, I guess hardly!” said Jim. “Mr. Trescott, I want you to shake hands with our old friend Mr. Barslow.”

A heavy figure detached itself from the group, and, as it approached, developed indistinctly the features of a brawny farmer, with a short, heavy, dark beard.

“Wal, I declare, I’m glad to see yeh!” said he, as he grasped my hand. “I’d a’most forgot yeh, till Mr. Elkins told me you remembered my whalin’ them Dutch boys at a scale onct.”

I had had no recollection of him; yet form and voice seemed vaguely familiar. I assured him that my memory for names and faces was excellent. After being duly presented to Mrs. Barslow, he urged us to alight and come in. We offered as an excuse the lateness of the hour.

“Why, you hain’t seen my family yet, Mr. Barslow,” said he. “They’ll be disappointed if yeh don’t come in.”

I suggested that we were staying for a few days at the Centropolis; and Alice added that we should be glad to see himself and Mrs. Trescott there at any time during our stay. Elkins promised that we should all drive out again.

“Wal, now, you must,” said Mr. Trescott. “We must talk over ol’ times and—”

“Fight over old battles,” replied Jim. “All the battles were yours, though, eh, Bill?”

“Huh, huh!” chuckled Bill; “fightin’s no credit to any man; but I ’spose I fit my sheer when I was a boy—when I was a boy, y’ know, Mrs. Barslow, and had more sand than sense. Here, Josie, here’s Mr. Elkins and some old friends of mine. Mr. and Mrs. Barslow, my daughter.”

She was a little slim slip of a thing, in white, and emerged from the shrubbery at Mr. Trescott’s call. She bowed to us, and said she was sorry that we could not stop. Her voice was sweet, and there was something unexpectedly cool and self-possessed in her intonation. It was not in the least the speech of the ordinary neat-handed Phyllis or Neæra; nor was her attitude at all countrified as she stood with her hand on her father’s arm. The increasing darkness kept us from seeing her features.

“Josie’s my right-hand man,” said her father. “Half the business of the farm stops when Josie goes away.”

My wife expressed her admiration for Lattimore and its environs, and especially for so much of the Trescott farm as could be seen in the deepening gloaming. The flowers, she said, took her back to her childhood’s home.

“Let me give you these,” said the girl, handing Alice a great bunch of blossoms which she had been cutting when her father called, and had held in her hands as we talked. My wife thanked her, and buried her face in them, as we bade the Trescotts good-night and drove home.

“That girl,” said Jim, as we spun along the road in the light of the rising moon, “is a crackerjack. Bill thinks the world of her, and she certainly gives him a mother’s care!”

“She seems nice,” said Alice, “and so refined, apparently.”

“Been well educated,” said Jim, “and got a head, besides. You’ll like her; she knows Europe better than some folks know their own front yard.”

“I was surprised at the vividness of my memory of Bill’s youthful combats,” said I.

Jim’s laugh rang out heartily through the Brushy Creek gorge.

“Well, I supposed you remembered those things, of course,” said he, “and so I insinuated some impression of the delight with which you dwell upon the stories of his prowess. It made him feel good. … I’m spoiling Bill, I guess, with these tales. He’ll claim to have a private graveyard next. As harmless a fellow as you ever saw, and the best cattle-feeder hereabouts. Got a good farm out there, Bill has; we may need it for stock yards or something, later on.”

“Why not hire a corps of landscape-gardeners, and make a park of it?” I inquired sarcastically. “We’ll certainly need breathing-spaces for the populace.”

“Good idea!” he returned gravely. And as he halted the equipage at the hotel, he repeated meditatively: “A mighty good idea, Al; we must figure on that a little.”

We were tired to silence when we reached our rooms; so much so that nothing seemed to make a defined and sharp impression upon my mind. I kept thinking all the time that I must have been mistaken in my first thought that I had never known the Trescotts.

“Their voices seem familiar to me,” said I, “and yet I can’t associate them with the old home at all. It’s very odd!”

As Alice stood before the mirror shaking down and brushing her hair, she said: “Do you suppose he thought you in earnest about that absurd park?”

“No,” I answered, “he understood me well enough; but what puzzles me is the question, was he in earnest?”

In the middle of the night I woke with a perfectly clear idea as to the identity of the Trescotts! Prescott, Trescott! Josie, Josephine the “Empress”! And then the voice and figure!

“Why are you sitting up in bed?” inquired Alice.

“I have made a discovery,” said I. “That man at the Stock Yards meant Trescott, not Prescott.”

“I don’t understand,” said she sleepily.

“In a word,” said I, “the girl who gave you the flowers is the Empress!”

“Albert Barslow!” said Alice. “Why—”

My wife was silent for a long time.

“I knew we’d meet her,” she said at last. “It is fate.”

CHAPTER VI.

I am Inducted into the Cave, and Enlist.

“Here’s the cave,” said Jim, at the door of his office, next morning. “As prospective joint-proprietor and co-malefactor, I bid you welcome.”

The smiles with which the employees resumed their work indicated that the extraordinary character of this welcome was not lost upon them. The office was on the ground-floor of one of the more pretentious buildings of Lattimore’s main street. The post-office was on one side of it, and the First National Bank on the other. Over it were the offices of lawyers and physicians. It was quite expensively fitted up; and the plate-glass front glittered with gold-and-black sign-lettering. The chairs and sofas were upholstered in black leather. On the walls hung several decorative advertisements of fire-insurance companies, and maps of the town, county, and state. Rolls of tracing-paper and blueprints lay on the flat-topped tables, reminding one of the office of an architect or civil engineer. A thin young man worked at books, standing at a high desk; and a plump young woman busily clicked off typewritten matter with an up-to-date machine.

“You’ll find some books and papers on the table in the next room,” said Jim, as I finished my first look about. “I’ll ask you to amuse yourself with ’em for a little while, until I can dispose of my morning’s mail; after which we’ll resume our hunt for resources. We haven’t any morning paper yet, and the evening Herald is shipped in by freight and edited with a saw. But it’s the best we’ve got—yet.”

He read his letters, ran his eyes over his newspapers and a magazine or two, and dictated some correspondence, interrupted occasionally by callers, some of whom he brought into the room where I was whiling away the time, examining maps, and looking over out-of-date copies of the local papers. One of these callers was Mr. Hinckley, the cashier of the bank, who came to see about some insurance matters. He was spare, aquiline, and white-mustached; and very courteously wished Lattimore the good fortune of securing so valuable an acquisition as ourselves. It would place Lattimore under additional obligations to Mr. Elkins, who was proving himself such an effective worker in all public matters.

“Mr. Elkins,” said he, “has to a wonderful degree identified himself with the material progress of the city. He is constantly bringing here enterprising and energetic business men; and we could better afford to lose many an older citizen.”

I asked Mr. Hinckley as to the length of his own residence in Lattimore.

“I helped to plat the town, sir,” said he. “I carried the chain when these streets were surveyed—a boy just out of Bowdoin College. That was in ’55. I staged it for four hundred miles to get here. Aleck Macdonald and I came together, and we’ve both staid from that day. The Indians were camped at the mouth of Brushy Creek; and except for old Pierre Lacroix, a squaw-man, we were for a month the only white men in these parts. Then General Lattimore came with a party of surveyors, and by the fall there was quite a village here.”

Jim came in with another gentleman, whom he introduced as Captain Tolliver. The Captain shook my hand with profuse politeness.

“I am delighted to see you, suh,” said he. “Any friend of Mr. Elkins I shall be proud to know. I heah that Mrs. Barslow is with you. I trust, suh, that she is well?”

I informed him that my wife was in excellent health, being completely recovered from the fatigue of her journey.

“Ah! this aiah, this aiah, Mr. Barslow! It is like wine in its invigorating qualities, like wine, suh. Look at Mr. Hinckley, hyah, doing the work of two men fo’ a lifetime; and younge’ now than any of us. Come, suh, and make yo’ home with us. You nevah can regret it. Delighted to have you call at my office, suh. I am proud to have met you, and hope to become better acquainted with you. I hope Mrs. Tulliver and Mrs. Barslow may soon meet. Good-morning, gentlemen.” And he hurried out, only to reappear as soon as Mr. Hinckley was gone.

“By the way, Mr. Barslow,” he whispered, “should you come to Lattimore, as I have no doubt you will, I have some of the choicest residence property in the city, which I shall be mo’ than glad to show you. Title perfect, no commissions to pay, city water, gas, and electric light in prospect. Cain’t yo’ come and look it ovah now, suh?”

“Who is this Captain Tolliver, Jim,” I asked as we went out of the office together, “and what is he?”

“In other words, ‘Who and what art thou, execrable shape?’ Well, now, don’t ask me. I’ve known him for years; in fact, he suggested to me the possibilities of this burg. In a way, the city is indebted to him for my presence here. But don’t ask me about him—study him. And don’t buy lots from him. The Captain has his failings, but he has also his strong points and his uses; and I’ll be mistaken if he isn’t cast for a fairly prominent part in the drama we’re about to put on here. But don’t spoil your enjoyment by having him described to you. Let him dawn on you by degrees.”

That day I met most of the prominent men of the town. Jim took me into the banks, the shops, and the offices of the leading professional gentlemen. He informed them that I was considering the matter of coming to live among them; and I found them very friendly, and much interested in our proposed change of residence. They all treated Jim with respect, and his manner toward them had a dignity which I had not looked for. Evidently he was making himself felt in the community.

When we returned to the Centropolis at noon, we found Mrs. Trescott and her daughter chatting with my wife. The elder woman was ill-groomed, as are all women of her class in comparison with their town sisters, and angular. I knew the type so well that I could read the traces of farm cares in her face and form. The serving of gangs of harvesters and threshers, the ever-recurring problems of butter, eggs, and berries, the unflagging fight, without much domestic help, for neatness and order about the house, had impressed their stamp upon Mrs. Trescott. But she was chatting vivaciously, and assuring Mrs. Barslow that such a thing as staying longer in town that morning was impossible.

“I can feel in my bones,” said she, “that there’s something wrong at the farm.”

“You always have that feeling,” said her daughter, “as soon as you pass outside the gate.”

“And I’m usually right about it,” said Mrs. Trescott. “It isn’t any use. My system has got into that condition in which I’m in misery if I’m off that farm. Josie drags me away from it sometimes; and I do enjoy meeting people! But I like to meet ’em out there the best; and I want to urge you to come often, Mrs. Barslow, while you’re here. And in case you move here, I hope you’ll like us and the farm well enough so that we’ll see a good deal of you.”

I was presented to Mrs. Trescott, and reintroduced to the young lady, with whom Alice seemed already on friendly terms. I was surprised at this, for she was not prone to sudden friendships. There was something so attractive in the girl, however, that it went far to explain the phenomenon. For one thing, there was in her manner that same steadiness and calm which I had noticed in her voice in the dusk last night. It gave one the impression that she could not be surprised or startled, that she had seen or thought out all possible combinations of events, and knew of their sequences, or adjusted herself to things by some all-embracing rule, by which she attained that repose of hers. The surprising thing about it, to my mind, was to find this exterior in Bill Trescott’s daughter. I had seen the same thing once or twice in people to whom I thought it had come as the fruit of wide experience in the world.

While Miss Trescott was slim, and rather below the medium in height, she was not at all thin; and had the great mass of ruddy dark hair and fine brown eyes which I remembered so well, and a face which would have been pale had it not been for the tan—the only thing about her which suggested those occupations by which she became her father’s “right-hand man.” There was intelligence in her face, and a grave smile in her eyes, which rarely extended to her handsome mouth. If mature in face, form, and manner, she was young in years—some years younger than Alice. I hoped that she might stay to dinner; but she went away with her mother. In her absence, I devoted some time to praising her. Jim failed to join in my pæans further than to give a general assent; but he grew unaccountably mirthful, as if something good had happened to him of which he had not yet told us.

“I have invited a few people to my parlors this evening,” said he, “and, of course, you will be the guests of honor.”

My wife demurred. She had nothing to wear, and even if she had, I was without evening dress. The thing seemed out of the question.

“Oh, we can’t let that stand in the way,” said he. “So far as your own toilet is concerned, I have nothing to say except that you are known to be making a hurried visit, and I have an abiding faith, based on your manner of stating your trouble, that it can be remedied. I saw your eye take on a far-away look as you planned your costume, even while you were declaring that you couldn’t do it. Didn’t I, now?”

“You certainly did not,” said Alice; and then I noticed the absorbed look myself. “But even if I can manage it, how about Albert?”

“I’ll tell you about Albert. I’ll bet two to one there won’t be a suit of evening clothes worn. The dress suit may come in here with street cars and passenger elevators, but it lacks a good deal of being here yet, except in the most sporadic and infrequent way. And this thing is to be so absolutely informal that it would make the natives stare. You wouldn’t wear it if you had it, Al.”

“Who will come?” said Mrs. Barslow.

“Oh, a couple of dozen ladies and gentlemen, business men and doctors and lawyers and their women-folks. They’ll stray in from eight to ten and find something to eat on the sideboard. They’ll have the happiness of meeting you, and you can see what the people you are thinking of living among and doing business with are like. It’s a necessary part of your visit; and you can’t get out of it now, for I’ve taken the liberty of making all the arrangements. And, as a matter of fact, you don’t want to do so, do you, now?”

Thus appealed to, Alice consented. Nothing was said to me about it, my willingness being presumed.

The guests that evening were almost exclusively men whom I had met during the day, and members of their families. In the absence of any more engaging topic, we discussed Lattimore as our possible future home.

“I have always felt,” said Mr. Hinckley, who was one of the guests, “that this is the natural site of a great city. These valleys, centering here like the spokes of a wheel, are ready-made railway-routes. In the East there is a city of from fifty thousand to three times that, every hundred miles or so. Why shouldn’t it be so here?”

“Suh,” said Captain Tolliver, “the thing is inevitable. Somewhah in this region will grow up a metropolis. Shall it be hyah, o’ at Fairchild, o’ Angus Falls? If the people of Lattimore sit supinely, suh, and let these country villages steal from huh the queenship which God o’dained fo’ huh when He placed huh in this commandin’ site, then, suh, they ah too base to be wo’thy of the suhvices of gentlemen.”

“I’ve always been taught,” said Mrs. Trescott, “that the credit of placing her in this site belonged to either Mr. Hinckley or General Lattimore.”

“Really,” said Miss Addison to me, “I don’t see how they can laugh at such irreverence!”

“I think,” said Miss Hinckley in my other ear, “that Mr. Elkins expressed the whole truth in the matter of the rivalry of these three towns, when he said that when two ride on a horse, one must ride behind. Aren’t his quotations so—so—illuminating?”

I looked about at the company. There were Mr. Hinckley, Mrs. Hinckley, their daughter, whom I recognized as the splendid blonde whose pacers had passed us when we were out driving, Mrs. Trescott and her daughter, and Captain and Mrs. Tolliver. Those present were plainly of several different sets and cliques. Mrs. Hinckley hoped that my wife would join the Equal Rights Club, and labor for the enfranchisement of women. She referred, too, to the eloquence and piety of her pastor, the Presbyterian minister, while Mrs. Tolliver quoted Emerson, and invited Alice to join, as soon as we removed, the Monday Club of the Unitarian Church, devoted to the study of his works. Mr. Macdonald, red-whiskered, weather-beaten, and gigantic, fidgeted about the punch-bowl a good deal; and replying to some chance remark made by Alice, ventured the opinion that the grass was gettin’ mighty short on the ranges. Miss Addison, who came with her cousins the Lattimores, looked with disapproval upon the punch, and disclosed her devotion to the W. C. T. U. and the Ladies’ Aid Society of the Methodist Church. The Lattimores were Will Lattimore and his wife. I learned that he was the son of the General, and Jim’s lawyer; and that they went rarely into society, being very exclusive. This was communicated to me by Mrs. Ballard, who brought Miss Ballard with her. She asked in tones of the intensest interest if we played whist; while Miss Ballard suggested that about the only way we could find to enjoy ourselves in such a little place would be to identify ourselves with the dancing-party and card-club set. I began to suspect that life in Lattimore would not be without its complexities.

Mr. Trescott came in for a moment only, for his wife and daughter. Miss Trescott was not to be found at first, but was discovered in the bay-window with Jim and Miss Hinckley, looking over some engravings. Mr. Elkins took her down to her carriage, and I thought him a long time gone, for the host. As soon as he returned, however, the conversation again turned to the dominant thought of the gathering, municipal expansion. And I noted that the points made were Jim’s. He had already imbued the town with his thoughts, and filled the mouths of its citizens with his arguments.

After they left, we sat with Jim and talked.

“Well, how do you like ’em?” said he.

“Why,” said Alice, “they’re very cordial.”

“Heterogeneous, eh?” he queried.

“Yes,” said she, “but very cordial. I am surprised to feel how little I dislike them.”

As for me, I began to look upon Lattimore with more favor. I began to catch Jim’s enthusiasm and share his confidence. As we smoked together in his rooms that evening, he made me the definite proposal that I go into partnership with him. We talked about the business, and discussed its possibilities.

“I don’t ask you to believe all my prophecies,” said he; “but isn’t the situation fairly good, just as it is?”

“I think well of it,” I answered, “and it’s mighty kind of you to ask me to come. I’ll go as far as to say that if it depends solely on me, we shall come. As for these prophecies of yours, I am in candor bound to say that I half believe them.”

“Now you are shouting,” said he. “Never better prophecies anywhere. But consider the matter aside from them. Then all we clean up in the prophecy department will be velvet, absolute velvet!”

“I can add something to the output of the prophecy department,” said Alice, when I repeated the phrase; “and that is that there will be some affairs of the heart mingled with the real estate and insurance before long. I can see them in embryo now.”

“If it’s Jim and Miss Trescott you mean, I wish the affair well,” said I. “I’m quite charmed with her.”

“Well,” said Alice, “from the standpoint of most men, Miss Hinckley isn’t to be left out of the reckoning in such matters. What a face and figure she has! Miss Addison is too prudish and churchified; but I like Miss Hinckley.”

“Yes,” said I; “but Miss Trescott seems, somehow, to have been known to one, in some tender and touching relation. There’s that about her which appeals to one, like some embodiment of the abstract idea of woman. That’s why one feels as if he had risked his life for her, and protected her, and seen her suffer wrong, and all that—”

“That’s only because of that affair you told me of,” said my wife. “Since I’ve seen her, I’ve made up my mind that you misconstrued the matter utterly. There was really nothing to it.”

In a week I wrote to Mr. Elkins, accepting his proposal, and promising to close up my affairs, remove to Lattimore, and join with him.

“I do not feel myself equal to playing the part of either Romulus or Remus in founding your new Rome,” I wrote; “but I think as a writer of fire-insurance policies, and keeping the office work up, I may prove myself not entirely a deadhead. My wife asks how the breathing-spaces for the populace are coming on?”

And the die was cast!

CHAPTER VII.

We make our Landing.

Had I known how cordially our neighbors would greet our return, or how many of them would view our departure with apparently sincere regret, I might have been slower in giving Jim my promise. I proceeded, however, to carry it out; but it was nearly six months before I could pull myself and my little fortune out of the place into which we had grown.

Mr. Elkins kept me well informed regarding Lattimore affairs; and the Herald followed me home. Jim’s letters were long typewritten communications, dictated at speed, and mailed, sometimes one a day, at other times at intervals of weeks.

“This is a sure-enough ‘winter of our discontent,’ ” one of these letters runs, “but the scope of our operations will widen as the frost comes out of the ground. We’re now confined to the psychical field. Subjectively speaking, though, the plot thickens. Captain Tolliver is in the secondary stages of real-estate dementia, and spreads the contagion daily. There’s no quarantine regulation to cover the case, and Lattimore seems doomed to the acme of prosperity. This is the age of great cities, saith the Captain, and that Lattimore is not already a town of 150,000 people is one of the strangest, one of the most inexplicable things in the world, in view of the distance we are lag of the country about us, so far as development is concerned. And as our beginning has been tardy, so will our progress be rapid, even as waters long dammed up rush out to devour the plains, etc., etc.

“In this we are all agreed. We want a good, steady, natural growth—and no boom.

“When a boom recognizes itself as such, it’s all over, and the stuff off. The time for letting go of a great wheel is when it starts down hill. But our wheels are all going up—even if they are all in our heads, as yet.

“You will remember the railway connection of which I spoke to you? Well, that thing has assumed, all of a sudden, a concreteness as welcome as it is unexpected. Ballard showed me a telegram yesterday from lower Broadway (the heart of Darkest N. Y.) which tends to prove that people there are ready to finance the deal. It would have amused you to see the horizontality of the coat-tails of the management of the Lattimore & Great Western, as they flaxed round getting up a directors’ meeting, so as to have a real, live directorate of this great transcontinental line for the wolves of Wall Street to do business with! Things like this are what you miss by hibernating there, instead of dropping everything and applying here for your pro rata share of the gayety of nations and the concomitant scads.

“I was elected president of the road, and as soon as we get a little track, and an engine, I expect to obtain an exchange of passes with all my fellow monopolists in North America. I at once fired back an answer to Ballard’s telegram, which must have produced an impression upon the Gould and Vanderbilt interests—if they got wind of it. If the L. & G. W. should pass the paper stage next summer, it will do a whole lot towards carrying this burg beyond the hypnotic period of development.

“The Angus Falls branch is going to build in next summer, I am confident, and that means another division headquarters and, probably, machine-shops. I’m working with some of the trilobites here to form a pool, and offer the company grounds for additional yards and a roundhouse and shops. Captain Tolliver interviewed General Lattimore about it, and got turned down.

“ ‘He told me, suh,’ reported the Captain, in a fine white passion, ‘that if any railway system desiahs to come to Lattimore, it has his puhmission! That the Injuns didn’t give him any bonus when he came; and that he had to build his own houses and yahds, by gad, at his own expense, and defend ’em, too, and that if any railroad was thinkin’ of comin’ hyah, it was doubtless because it was good business fo’ ’em to come; and that if they wanted any of his land, were willing to pay him his price, there wouldn’t be any difficulty about theiah getting it. And that if there should arise any difference, which he should deeply regret, but would try to live through, the powah of eminent domain with which railways ah clothed will enable the company to get what land is necessary by legal means.’

“ ‘I could take these observations,’ said the Captain, ‘as nothing except a gratuitous insult to one who approached him, suh, in a spirit of pure benevolence and civic patriotism. It shows the kind of tyrants who commanded the oppressors of the South, suh! Only his gray hairs protected him, suh, only his gray hairs!’ ”

“It’s a little hard to separate the General from the Captain, in this report of the committee on railway extensions,” said my wife.

“The only thing that’s clear about it,” said I, “is that Jim is having a good deal of fun with the Captain.”

This became clearer as the correspondence went on.

“Tolliver thinks,” said he, in another letter, “that the Angus Falls extension can be pulled through. However, I recall that only yesterday the Captain, in private, denounced the citizens of Lattimore as beneath the contempt of gentlemen of breadth of view. ‘I shall dispose of my holdin’s hyah,’ said he, with a stately sweep indicative of their extent, ‘at any sacrifice, and depaht, cuhsin’ the day I devoted myself to the redemption of such cattle.’

“But, at that particular moment, he had just failed in an attempt to sell Bill Trescott a bunch of choice outlying gold bricks, and was somewhat heated with wine. This to the haughty Southron was ample excuse for confiding to me the round, unvarnished truth about us mudsills.

“Josie and I often talk of you and your wife. I don’t know what I’d do out here if it weren’t for Josie. She refuses to enthuse over our ‘natural, healthy growth,’ which we look for; but I guess that’s because she doesn’t care for the things that the rest of us are striving for. But she’s the only person here with whom one can really converse. You’d be astonished to see how pretty she is in her furs, and set like a jewel in my new sleigh; but I’m becoming keenly aware of the fact.”

We were afterwards told that the trilobites had shaken off their fossilhood, and that the Angus Falls extension, with the engine-house and machine-shops, had been “landed.”

“This,” he wrote, “means enough new families to make a noticeable increase in our population. Things will be popping here soon. Come on and help shake the popper; hurry up with your moving, or it will all be over, including the shouting.”

We were not entirely dependent upon Jim’s letters for Lattimore news. Mrs. Barslow kept up a desultory correspondence with Miss Trescott, begun upon some pretext and continued upon none at all. In one of these letters Josie (for so we soon learned to call her) wrote:

“Our little town is changing so that it no longer seems familiar. Not that the change is visible. Beyond an unusual number of strangers or recent comers, there is nothing new to strike the eye. But the talk everywhere is of a new railroad and other improvements. One needs only to shut one’s eyes and listen, to imagine that the town is already a real city. Mr. Elkins seems to be the center of this new civic self-esteem. The air is full of it, and I admit that I am affected by it. I have

“ ‘A feeling, as when eager crowds await,

Before a palace gate,

Some wondrous pageant.’

“You are indebted to Captain Tolliver for the quotation, and to Mr. Elkins for the idea. The Captain induced me to read the book in which I found the lines. He stigmatizes the preference given to the Northern poets—Longfellow, for instance—over Timrod as ‘the crowning infamy of American letters.’ He has taken the trouble to lay out a course of study for me, the object of which is to place me right in my appreciation of the literary men of the South. It includes Pollard’s ‘Lost Cause’ and the works of W. G. Simms. I have not fully promised to follow it to the end. Timrod, however, is a treat.”

That last quiet winter will always be set apart in my memory, as a time like no other. It was a sitting down on a milestone to rest. Back of us lay the busy past—busy with trivial things, it seemed to me, but full of varied activity nevertheless. A boy will desire mightily to finish a cob-house; and when it is done he will smilingly knock it about the barn floor. So I was tearing down and leaving the fabric of relationship which I had once prized so highly.

The life upon which I expected to enter promised well. In fact, to a man of medium ability, only, and no training in large affairs, it promised exceedingly well. I knew that Jim was strong, and that his old regard for me had taken new life and a firm hold upon him. But when, removed from his immediate influence, I looked the situation in the face, the future loomed so mysteriously bizarre that I shrank from it. All his skimble-skamble talk about psychology and hypnotism, and that other rambling discourse of pirate caves and buccaneering cruises, made me feel sometimes as if I were about to form a partnership with Aladdin, or the King of the Golden Mountain. If he had asked me, merely, to come to Lattimore and go into the real estate and insurance business with him, I am sure I should have had none of this mental vertigo. Yet what more had he done?

As to the boom, I had, as yet, not a particle of objective confidence in it; but, subconsciously, I felt, as did the town “doomed to prosperity,” a sense of impending events. In spite of some presentiments and doubts, it was, on the whole, with high hopes that we, on an aguish spring day, reached Lattimore with our stuff (as the Scriptures term it), and knew that, for weal or woe, it was our home.

Jim was again at the station to meet us, and seemed delighted at our arrival. I thought I saw some sort of absent-mindedness or absorbedness in his manner, so that he seemed hardly like himself. Josie was there with him, and while she and Alice were greeting each other, I saw Jim scanning the little crowd at the station as if for some other arrival. At last, his eye told me that whatever it was for which he was looking, he had found it; and I followed his glance. It rested on the last person to alight from the train—a tall, sinewy, soldierly-built youngish man, who wore an overcoat of black, falling away in front, so as to reveal a black frock coat tightly buttoned up and a snowy shirt-front with a glittering gem sparkling from the center of it. On his head was a shining silk hat—a thing so rare in that community as to be noticeable, and to stamp the wearer as an outsider. His beard was clipped close, and at the chin ran out into a pronounced Vandyke point. His mustaches were black, heavy, and waxed. His whole external appearance betokened wealth, and he exuded mystery. He had not taken two steps from the car before the people on the platform were standing on tiptoe to see him.

“Bus to the Centropolis?” queried the driver of the omnibus.

The stranger looked at the conveyance, filled as it was with a load of traveling men and casuals; and, frowning darkly, turned to the negro who accompanied him, saying, “Haven’t you any carriage here, Pearson?”

“Yes, sah,” responded the servant, pointing to a closed vehicle. “Right hyah, sah.”

My wife stood looking, with a little amused smile, at the picturesque group, so out of the ordinary at the time and place. Miss Trescott was gazing intently at the stranger, and at the moment when he spoke she clutched my wife’s arm so tightly as to startle her. I heard Alice make some inquiry as to the cause of her agitation, and as I looked at her, I could see in the one glance her face, gone suddenly white as death, and the dark visage of the tall stranger. And it seemed to me as if I had seen the same thing before.

Then, the negro pointing the way to the closed carriage, the group separated to left and right, the stranger passed through to the carriage, and the picture, and with it my odd mental impression, dissolved. The negro lifted two or three heavy bags to the coachman, gave the transfer man some baggage-checks, and the equipage moved away toward the hotel. All this took place in a moment, during which the usual transactions on the platform were suspended. The conductor failed to give the usual signal for the departure of the train. The engineer leaned from the cab and gazed.

Jim’s eye rested on the stranger and his servant for an instant only; but during that time he seemed to take an observation, come to a conclusion, and dismiss the whole matter.

“Here, John,” said he to the drayman, “take these trunks to the Centropolis. We’d like ’em this week, too. None of that old trick of yours of dumping ’em in the crick, you know!”

“They’ll be up there in five minutes all right, Mr. Elkins,” said John, grinning at Jim’s allusion to some accident, the knowledge of which appeared to be confined to himself and Mr. Elkins, and to constitute a bond of sympathy between them. Jim turned to us with redoubled heartiness, all his absent-mindedness gone.

“I’ll drive you to the hotel,” said Jim. “You’ll—”

“Miss Trescott is ill—” said Alice.

“Not at all,” said Josie; “it has passed entirely! Only, when you have taken Mr. and Mrs. Barslow to the hotel, will you please take me home? Our little supper-party—I don’t feel quite equal to it, if you will excuse me!”