The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 7, 1902, Page 3

brown and sear under the summer sun, she caught & ggngle of tall buildings and & flagstaff. The whole place had a vaguely public, educational appearance, and Min- ne guessed, from certain notices affixed to the trees, warning the public against the picking of flowers, that she had found her way into the grounds of the State University. She went on a little further. The path she was following led her, at length, into a grove of gigantic live oaks, whose lower branches all but swept the iround. Here the grass was green, the ew flowers in bloom, the shade very thick. A more lovely spot she had seldom seen. Near at hand was a bench, built around the trunk of the largest live oak, and here, at length, weak from hunger, exhausted to the limits of her endurance, despairing, abandoned, Minna Hooven sat down to inquire of herself what next she ~ould do. But once seated, the demands of the enimal—so she could believe—became more clamorous, more insistent. To eat, to rest, t) be safely Loused against another night, ebove all else, these were the things she craved; and the craving within her grew 50 mighty that she crisped her poor, starved hands into little fists, in an agony of desire, while the tears ran from her eyes,.and the sobs rose thick from her breast &nd struggled and strangled in her eching throat. But in a2 few moments Minna was aware that & woman, apparently of some 30 years of age, had twice passed along the walk in front of the bench where she sat, and now, as she took more notice of her, the remembered that she had seen her on the ferry-boat coming over from the city. The woman was gowned in silk, tightly corseted, and wore a_hat of rather osten- tatious ‘smartness. Minna became con- vinced that the person was watching her, but before she had a chance to act upon this conviction she was surprised out of ell countenance by the stranger coming up to where she sat and speaking to her. “Here is a coincidence.” exclaimed the new-comer as she sat down; “surely you are the young girl who sat opposite me on the boat. Strange I should come across vou again. I've had you in mind ever since.” On this nearer view Minna observed that the woman’s face bore rather more than a trace of enamel and that the at- mosphere about was impregnated with sachet. She was not otherwise conspicu- ous. but there was a certain hardness &bout her mouth and a certain droop of fatigue In her eyelids which, combined with an indefinite self-confidence of man- ner. held Minna’s attention. “Do you know,” continued the woman, I believe you are in trouble. 1 thought so when I saw you on the boat, and I think so_now. Are you? Are you in trouble? You're from the country, ain't you? Minna, glad to find a sympathizer, even in this chance acquaintance, admitted that she was in distress; that she had be- come separated from her mother, and that she was indeed from the country. “I've been trying to find a_situation,” shé hazarded in conclusion, “but I don’t seem to succeed. I've never been in a city before, except Bonneville.” “Well, it is a coincidence,” said the other. “I know I wasn't drawn to you for nothing. I am looking for just such a young girl as you. You see, I live alone a good, deal and I've been wanting to find a nice, bright, sociable girl who will be a sort of companion to me. Understand? And there's something about you that I like. T took to you the moment I saw you on the boat. Now, shall we talk this over?™" Toward the end of the week, cne after- nodn, as Presley was returning from his clup, he came suddenly face to face with Minna upon a street corner. “Ah,” he cried, coming toward her joy- fdlly. “Upon word, 1 had almost given you up. been looking every- where for you. 1 was afraid you might not be getting along, and 1 wanted to see if ‘there was anything I could do. How ere your mother and Hilda? Where are you stopping? Have you got a good plfce?” “I_don’t know where mamma is,” an- swered Minna. ‘“We got separated. and I never have been able to find her again.” Meanwhile, Presley had been taking in with a quick eye the details of Minna's silk dress, with its garniture of lace, its edging of velvet, its silver belt-buckle. Her hair was arranged in a new way and on her head was a wide hat with a flare o one side. set off with a gilt buckle and 2 puff of bright blue plush. He gianced at_her sharply. “Well, but—but how are you getting on?” he demanded. Minna laughed scornfully. “I7" ghe cried. “Oh, I've gome to hell. It was either that or starvation.” Presley regained his room at the club, white and trembling. Worsé than the worst he had feared had happened. He had not been soon enough to help. He had failed again. A superstitious fear as- seiled him that he was, in a manner, marked ; at he was foredoomed to fai Minna had come—had been driven to this; and he, acting too late upon his tardy resolve, had not been able to prevent it Were the horrors. then, never to end? Was the grisly specter of consequence to forever daice in his vision? Were the re- sults, the far-reaching results of that bat- tle at the irrigating ditch to cross his path forever? When would the affair be terminated, the incident closed? Where was that £pot to which the tentacle of ster couid not reach? By now, he was sick with the dread of it 1 wanted to get away, to be free from that endiess misery, so that he not see what he could no longer help. Cowardly he now knew himseif to be. He thought of himseif only with 1y self-contemptuous that he could imself to a participation in such he began to dress to keep his t to dine with the Cedarquists. He arrived at the house nearly half an hour late, but before he could take off his overcoat, Mrs. Cedarquist appeared in the doorway of the drawing-room at the end of the hall. She was dressed as if to go out. “My dear Presley,” she exclaimed, her stout, overdressed body bustling toward him with a great rustie of silk. “I never was so glad. You poor, dear poet, you are thin as a ghost. You need a better dinner than 1 can give you, and that is just what you are to have.” “Have 1 blundered?” Presley hastened to exclaim. “Did not Mr. Cedarquist men- tion Friday evening?” “No, no, no,” she cried; “it was he who blundered. You blundering in a social amenity! Preposterous! No; Mr. Cedar- quist forgot that we were dining out our- selves to-night, and when he told me he had asked you here for the same evening, 1 fell upon the man, my dear, I did ectually, tooth and nail. But I wouldn't hear of his wiring you. 1 just dropped a note to our hostess, asking if I could not bring you, end when I told her who you were, she received the idea with, oh, empressement. So, there it is, all settled. Cedarquist and the girls are gone on shead, and you are to take the old lady like a dear, dear poet. I believe I hear the carriage. Allons! En voiture!” Once settled in the cool gloom of the coupe, odorous of leather and upholstery, Mrs. Cedarquist exclaimed: “And I've never toid you who you were to dine with; oh, a personage, really. Fancy, you will be in the crmp of your dearest foes. You are to dine with the Gerard people, one of the vice presidents of )('lour bete noire, the P. and 8. W. Rall- road.” - Presley started, his fist clenching so ab- ruptly as to all but split his white gloves, He was not conscious of what he said in reply, and Mrs. Cedarquist was so taken up with her own endless stream of talk that she did not observe his confusion. “Their daughter Honora is going to Europe next week; her mother is to take her, and Mrs. Gerard is to have just a few people to dinner—very informal, you know—ourseives, you and, oh, I don't know, two or three others. Have you ever seen Honora? The prettiest little thing, end will she be rich? Millions, I wouid not dare say bow many. Tiens. Nous voiel.” The coupe drew up to thé curb, and Presley followed Mrs, Cedarquist up the steps to_the massive doors of the great , golden chariots and the like, about with clouds and gar- lands of roses. Between the pillars around the sides of the room were hangings of silk, the design—of a Louis Quinze type —of beautiful simplicity- and faultless taste. The fireplace was a marvel. It reached from fioor to ceiling; the lower parts, black marble, carved into crouch- ing Atlases, with great muscles that up- bore the superstructure. The design of this latter, of a kind of purple marble, shot through with white velinings, was in the same style as the design of the silk hangings. In its midst was a bronze escutcheon, bearing an undecipherable monogram and a Latin motto. Andirons of brass, nearly six feet high, flanked the hearthstone. 3 The windows of the room were heavily draped in somber brocade and ecru lace, in which the Initials of the family were very beautifully worked. But djrectly op- posite the fireplace, an extra window, lighted from the adjoining conservatory, threw a wonderful rich. light into the apartment. It was a . Gothic window of stained glass, very large, the center figures being armed war- riors, Parsifal and Lohengrin; the one with a banner, the other with a swan. The effect was exquisite, the window a veritable masterpiece, glowing, flaming, and burning with a hundred tints and colors—opalescent, purple, wine-red, cloud- ed pinks, royal blues, saffrons, violets 80 dark as to be almost black. Under foot, the carpet had all the soft- ness of texture of grass; skins (one of them of an enormous polar bear) and rugs of silk velvet were spread upon the floot. A repaissance cabinet of ebony, many feet talier than Presley’s head, and in- laid with ivory and silver, occupied one corner of the room, while in its center stood a vast table of Flemish oak, black, heevy as iron, massive. A faint odor of sandalwood pervaded the air. From the conservatory near by came the splashing of a fountain. A row of electric bulbs let into the frieze of the walls between the golden capltals, and burning dimly. behind hemispheres of clouded giass, threw a subdued light over the whole scene, Mrs. Gerard came forward. “This is Mr. Presiey, vt course, our new poet of whom we are all so proud. I was So afraid you would be unable to come. You have given me a real pleasure In al- lowing me to welcome you here.” The footman appeared at her elbow. “Dinner is served, madame,” he an- nounced. ‘When Mrs, Hooven had left the board- ing house on Castro street, she had taken up a position on a neighboring corner, to wait for Minna's reappearance. Little Hilda, at this time hardly more than six years of age, was with her, holding to her hand. Mrs, Hooven was by no means an oid woman, but hard work had aged her. She no longer had any claim to good looks. She no longer took much interest in her personal appearance. At the time of hef evictioa from the Castro street boarding- house she wore a faded black bonnet, gar- nished faded -zrtificial flowers of dirty pink. A piaid shawl was about her shoulders. But this day of misfortune had set Mrs, Hooven adrift in even worse condition than her daughter. Her purse, containing a miserable handful of dimes and nickels, was in her trunk, and her trunk was in the hands of the landlady. Minna had been allowed such reprieve as her 3% cents would purchase. The destitu- tion of Mrs. Hooven and her little girl had l{_exun from the very moment of her evic- ion. While she waited for Minna, watching every street car and every approaching pedestrian, a policeman appeared and asked what she did, and, receiving no sat- isfactory reply, promptly moved her on. Minna had had litt'e assurance in facing the life struggle of the city. Mrs. Hooven had absolutely none. In her, grief, dis- tress, the pinch of poverty, and, above all, the nameless fear of the turbulent, fierce life of the streets, had produced a numbness, an embruted, sodden, silent, speechless condition of dazed mind, and clogged, uninteiligent -speech. She was dumb, bewildered, stupid, animated but by a single impulse. She clung to life, and to the life of her little daughter Hil- da, with the blind tenacity of purpose of a drowning cat. Thus, when ordered to move on by the officer she had silently obeyed. not even attempting to explain her situation. She walked away to the next street-crossing. Then, in a few moments, returned, taking up her place on the corner near the board- ing-house, spying upon the approaching cable cars. peeping anxiously down the length of the sidewaiks. Once more the officer ordered her away, and once more, unprotesting, she com- plied. But when for the third time the policeman found her on the forbidden spot he had lost his temper. This time when Mrs. Hooven had departed he had fol- lowed her, and when, bewildered. persist- ent, she had attempted to turn back, he caught her by the shoulder. “Do you want to get arrested, hey?” he demanded. ‘Do you want me to lock you up. Say. do you, speak up?” ‘The ominous words at length reached Mrs. Hooven’s comprchension. Arrested! She was to be arrested. The countrywo- man’s fear of the jail nipped and bit eagerly at her unwilling heels. She hur- ried off. thinking to return to her post after the policeman should have gone away. But when, at length, turning back, she tried to find the boarding-house, she suddenly discovered that she was on an unfamil’ar street. Unwittingly, no doubt, she had turned a corner. She could not lrurace her steps. She and Hilda were ost. “Mammy. I'm tired,” Hilda complained. Her mother picked her up. ammy, where're we gowun, mam- g my Where, indeed? Stupefied, Mrs. Hooven looked about her at the endless blocks of buildings, the endless procession of ve- ricles in the streets, the endless march of edestrians on the sidewalks. Where was inna: where was she and her baby to ;‘:ie’“ that night? How was Hilda to be ed? She could not stand still. There was no place to it down; but one thing was left, walk. Ah, that via dolorosa of the destitute, that chemin de Ja croix of the homeless. Ah, that mile after mile of granite pave- ment that must be. must be traversed. Walk ‘they must. Move, they must; on- ward, forward, whither they cannot tell; why, they do not know. Walk. walk, walk with bleeding feet and smartin joints; walk with aching back and trem- bling kn:es; walk, though the senses grow giddy with fatigue, though the eyes droop with sicep, though every nerve, de- manding rest, sets in motion its tiny alarm of rain. Death is at the end of that devious. winding maze of paths, crossed and recrossed and crossed again. ‘There is but one goal to the via dolorosa; there is no escape from the central cham- ber of the labyrinth. Fate guides the feet of them that are set therein. Double on their steps though they may, weave in and out of the myriad corners of the city’s streets. return, go forward, back, from side to side, here, there, anywhere, dodge, twist, wind, the central chamber where Death sits is reached inexorably at the end. Sometimes leading and sometimes carry- ing Hilda Mrs. Hooven set off upon her objectless journey. Block after biock she walked, street after street. She was afraid to stop, because of the policemen. As often as she so'much as slackened her pace she was sure to see one of these ter- rible figures in the distance, watching ker, 80 it seemed to her, walting for her to hait for the fraction of a second, in order ;:hm Le might have an excuse to arrest er. Hilda fretted incessantly. “Mammy, where's we gowun? Mammy, I'm tired” Then, at last. for the first time, that plaint that stabbed the moth- er's heart: R “Msmmy, I'm hungry.” UBe qui-ut, den,” said Mrs. Hooven. ‘Bretty soon we'll have der subber.” Passers-by on the sidewalk, men women in the great § o'clock homeward march, jostled them as they went along. With dumb, dull curiousness. she looked into one after another of the limitless stream of faces, and she she saw in them every emotion but pity. The faces were gay, were anxious, were sor- rowful, were mirthful, were lined with thoughit, or were merely flat and expres- slonless, but not oné was turned toward her in compassion. The expressions of the faces might be various, but an under- lying _callousness was discoverable . be- neath every mask. The peogh seemed re- moved from her immeasurably; they were infinitely above her. What was she to to them, she and her b-bx. the cri) rd, the unnl.'m outcasts of the human he; to ':?urvlve. thrust out on the heath to, beg from these people did not yet cur to her, There was no pride, 4 .o: in the matter. She would gnve as asked alms of so many sphinxes. - Y She went on. Without willing 1it, her :;t arrhamlur in a wide circle, 'Soon began recognize the houses; sh had been in that street before. Souuhw. at it les, she w: t be- fore for over a dozen bloc! now, it was growing darker. The sun set. The of a clock on the power-house ‘was bitter hard. e S of a cable line. pointed to 7. No:doubt; Minna had come.long befors: this u:e. had found hef mother gone, had—just what had she done, just What could she do? Where was . her . di T . now? Walking the streéts hers # no " do ‘What was to become »q{t { .preti irl that she was, lost, ‘rlendless in the. maze of 1y -eau-ee i3 Mrs. Hooven, roused rro? 1 s could not repress an.excl -mgmh - guish. ere was misfortun deed; was calamity. 8he bestir] hagflt and remembgred the address of the boarding- house. She might inquire her way back thither. No doubt, by mow the cemian would be gone home for: the nlsht.' She looked about. She was in the district of medest residences, and a young man was coming toward her. cai n"‘. new gar- den hose looped around his shoulder. “Say, Meest'r; say, blease—"" . The young man gave her a quick look and passed orn, hitching' the coil ‘of hose over his shoulder. But a few paces dis- tant, he slackened-in his walk and fum- bled in his vest pocket with gfi nn:gl—l: + Hooven dnd Then he came: “to” Mrs put 4 quarter int6 hef hand. ' & Mis, Hooger std d'at-the coln stitpetied. The young man ru‘iu whose husband. acres of wheat land, a beggar. A flush of shame gHot to her face. She was abput:to threty the mon after its giver. But at the moment, Hil- da again exclaimeéd: on il “Mammy, I'm hungry,” then, that. Was beg ,"e“&%qn 0 . that she 6, 3 ink | loe:Ihlt; slf 5 ln% fie#'r‘d!"“hdf “lite, L d held, five hundred had beelr faken. for and resigned acceptance of the situation, Mrs. Hooven pus the coin in her pocket. She had no, right to be proud any longer. Hilda must have food. 3 That evening, she and her child bad sup- per at a cheap restaurant in a poor, guast- ter -of the towh, and passed the m{m on the benches:.of a little uptown par! Unused to the ways of the town, 18- norant as to the customs and possibili- with Market street. June turned m‘ é averue, andiwent on rd the bay, painfully traversing block after b of al ng of all. whom she met (for lnnleg :)pde any distinction among i rs-by). = ,-8ay, den, blease hellup a boor wo- DI my, mammy, I'm hungry.” ;—:"“-’-i L T . _avenue was alre: dack. ‘A sea fog was scudding overheu{ al . degrees descending lower... The warmth was of the meagerest, and the street lamps, birds of fire in cages of lass, fluttered and danced in the pro- onged gusts of the trade wind that thfeshéd and weltered in the city streets from off the ocean. Presley entered the dining-room of the Gerard mansion with little Miss Gerard on: his arm. The other guests cedéd them—Cedarquist with Mrs. Gerard a pale-faced, languid you: man . (intro- duced to Presley as Julian mbert) with Presley’s cousin Beatrice, one of the tw! d&h ers of Mr. and Mrs. Cedarquis /" brother- Stephen, whose hair was straight as an Indian’s but of a pallid § r? “color, ‘with Beatrice's sister; Ger- ai imself; - taciturn, bearded, Joud ;0f breath, escorted Mrs. Cedarquis Besides. thesé there were one or two other Ccouple#; whose names Presley did not re- member. The dining-room was superb in its ap- . polfitments. On three sides of the. room, 10 ?el;ht of some. ten feet, ran a con- 1 4§ ‘picture, an .oil painting, divided into 1ong - sections . by narrow -panels. of With 4 fovement of infinite lassitude - black oak. The pamting represented the persofiages in the Romaunt de-la Rose, and was conceived in an atmosphere of the most delicate, most ephemeral_alle- gory: Une saw young chevalfers,. blue- eyed, of elemental beauty gnd Durfiy; Wo- men Wwith crowns, gold girdles, and cloudy wi les; young-giris, entrancing in.their lovéliness, wearing snow-white kerchiefs, their “golden hair unbound and flowin ‘dressed in white samite, bearing armfuls ties of eating houses, she spent the whole Of flowers; the whole procession’defiling of her quarter upon supper for henself Hilda, and had nothing left wherewith to buy a lodging. g Tl X The night was dreadful; Hilda sobbed herself to sleep on her mother's shoulder, waiking thereafter from hour to-houf, to protest, though wrapped in her mother’s shawl, that she was ‘céld, and to.inquire why they did not go to bed. Drunken snored and sprawled rear at hand. ward morning, a-loafér, reeking of alcb-. ,h hot, sat down beside hér, and indulged m an incoherent soliloquy, punctual oath and obscnities. Tt was not till far along toward daylight that she fell asleep. She awoke to find it broad day. Hilda— mercifully—slept. Her mother's * limbs were stiff and lame with cold and damp; her head throbbed: She moved to another bench which stood'in the rays of the sun; and for a long two hours sat theré in th thin warmth, till the molsture of the night that clung to. her clothes were evaporated. . 3 A policeman came into view. Shé woke Hilda, and carrying her in her arms, took herself away. 8 “Mammy,” began Hilda as soon as she was well awake; “Mammy, I'm hungry. 1 want mein bréakfast.” 4 “‘Sure, sure, soon now, leedle tochter.” She herself was hungry, but she had but little thought of that. How was Hilda to be fed? She remembered héer experience of the previous day, when the young man with the hose had given her money. Was it so easy, then, to beg? : Could charity be had for the asking? So it seemed; but all that was left of her.sturdy. indepen- dence revolted at the thought. . She beg! She hold out the hand to strangers! _ “Mammy, I'm hungry.” ¢ There was no other way. It must come to that in the end. Why temporige, why put off the inevitable? She sought out a frequented street where men and women were on their way to work. One after ancther, she let them go by, _searching their faces deterred at’ the verv last moment by some trifing variation of expression, a firm set mouth, a_serious, level eyebrow, an ad- vancing chin. Then, twice, when she had made a choice, and brought her resolution to the point of speech, she quailed, shrink- ing, her ears tingling, her whole being protesting against the degradation. Every one must be looking at her. Her shame was no doubt the object of a hundred eyes. "‘Mammy. I'm hungry,” protested Hilda again, < She made up her mind. . What, though, was she to say? In what words did beg- gars ask for assistafice? She tried to remember how tramps who had agpeared at her back door on Los Muertos had ad- dressed her; how and with what formula certain mendicants of Bonneville had up- pealed to her. Then, having séttled upon a phrase, she approached a "whiskered gentleman with a large stomach, walking briskly in the direction of the town. “Say, den, blease hellup a boor womun."” The gentleman passed on. ““Perhaps he doand hear me,” she mur- mured. Two well-dressed womeén advanced, chattering gayly. “‘Say, say, den, bledse hellup a boor womun.” One of the women paused, murmuring to her compunion, and from her purse ex- tracted a yellow ticket which she gave to Mrs. Hooven with voluble explanations. But Mrs. Hooven was confused, she did not understand. What could the ticket mean? The women went on their way. The next person to whom she applied was a young girl of about eighteen, very prettily dressed. “Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun. In evident embarrassment, the young girl paused and searched in her little pocketbook. “1 think I have—I tnink—I have just ten cents here somewhere,” she murmured again and again, - In the end, she found a dime, and drop- ped it into Mrs. Hooven's palm. That was the beginning. The first step once taken, the others became easy.. All day long, Mrs. Hooven and Hilda_fol- lowed the streets, begging, begging. Here it was a nickel, there a dime, here a nickel again. But she was not expert in the art, nor did she know where to buy food the cheapest; and the entire day's work Te- suited only in barely enough for two m ais of bread. milk, and a_wretchedly cooked stew. Tuesday night found thé pair ofice more shelterless. y 7 Once more, Mrs. Hooven and her baby passed the night on the park ben: But early on Wednesday ‘morning, Mrs. Hooven gound her'uelg.‘ assalled by sharp pains and cramps in her stom; \ Fis e tange e con Aot A Durhs the day went on, the pains increased, al- ternating with hot flushes over all her body, and a certain weakness and faint- ness. .As the day went on, the pain and the weakness increased. When she tried to';ralk, she found she could do so only with the greatest difficulty. Here was fresh misfortune. To beg, she must walk. Dragging herself forward a half-block at a time, she regained the street once more, She succeéded in begging a couple of nickels, bought a bag of appies from a vender, and, returning to the park, sank exhausted upon a bench, Here she rémained all day until evening, Hilda alternately whimpering for her bread and milk, or piaying languidly in the gravel walk at her feet.- In the even- ing, she started out again. This time, it to give. Twice she was “moved L policemen. Two hours’ ging el cu’es but a single dime. - With this, she bought Hi:da’s bread and miik, and refusing her- self to eat, returned to the bench—the oniy home she knew—and spent the night shivering with cold, burning with fever. From Wednesday morning till Friday evening, with the exception of the few apples she had bought, and a quarter of a loaf of hard bread that she found in a greasy newspaper—scraps of a workman's dinner—Mrs. Hooven had nothing to eat. In her weakened condition, begging be- came hourly more difficult, and such lit- tle money as was given her, gshé resolutély spent on Hilda's bread and milk in the mor! -and evening. p By iday afternoon, she was very weak, . Her eyes troubled her, She could no longer see distinctly, and "‘fi"‘“ there appeared to hgr curious figures, e crystal goblets of the most graceful shapes. floating and swaying in the air in front of her, almost within arm’s reach. Vases of elegant forms, made mer] glasg, bowed and courtesied to- ward her. Giass bulbs took graceful and varying shapes before her vision. now und! into bes, volving g ?gfi m:mo:: sin o prediel e , m hllntry," 1!!“-‘ fl~ ' fir hands nvnuhnl-‘fua. ooven started and wol ‘was. evening. Already the street lam t, ‘away from late.” She would try some other of the town. After a we came out upon Van'Ness avi s Nobody seemed inclined i@’ against a background of forest glades, of asphodel and roses. 3 § ise the room was'simple. Against the sifle of .the wall unoccipled by the W" stood a sidéboard of gigantic size, 'y ;3?26;1 le pAks. half hidden fountains, and oncé had adorned the banquet hall of 0 palace of ‘the late Renaissance. black*'with age, and against its ber surfaces gliftered oq array of silver dishes and heavier cut-glass bawls and goblets. Thé: company sat down to the first coursé of raw Blue Point oysters, served upon little pyramids of shaved ice, and the two butlers at once began filling ‘the gln:es of the guests with cool Haut Sau- It Mrs. Gerard, who was very proud of her dinners and never 'able to resist the temptation of commenting upon them to her guests, leaned across to Presley and Mrs. Cedarquist, murmuring, “‘Mr. Pres: ley, do you find that Sauterne too cold? T aiways believe it is so bourgeois to keep such a delicate wine as Sauterne on the ice, and to ice Bordeaux or Burgundy—oh, it is nothing short-of .a crime.” . . “This is’from your own vineyard, is it not?”’ ‘asked Jullan Lambertd “I think T ‘regognize the bouquet.” ~ » i He'8trove to maintain an attitude of fin gourmet, unable to refrain from comment upon the courses as they ‘succeeded one ‘another. ¥ - Little Honora Gerard turned to Presley: “You know,” she explained, “papa has his own vineyard in southern France.. He is €o particular about his wines; turns up his nose at California wines. . And+f am to g0 there next summer. Ferrieres is the name of ‘the place ‘where ourvineyards are, the dearest village!” She' ‘was a beautiful little girl 'of a dainty porcelain type, her coloring low in tone.” She wore no jewels, but her little, urideveloped neck and shoulders, of an ex- quisite immaturity, rose from the tulle bodice of her first decollete gown. “Yes,” she continued, “I'm to go to Eu- Tope for the first time. Won't it be gay? And I am to have my own bonne, and mamma and 1 are to travel—so man places, Baden, Homburg, Spa, the Tym{ ‘Won't it be gay?” 7 Presley assented in meaningless, words, He sipped his wine mechanically, looking about the marvelous room, with its sub- dued saffron lights, its glitter of glass and. silver. its beautiful women in their elabo- rate foilets, its deft, correct servants; its array of tableware—cut glass, chased sil- ver,” and Dresden crockery. s wealth, in all its outward and visible forms, the signs of an opulence so great that it need never be husbanded. Tt was 'the home of a rallway “magnate,” a rail- road king. For this, then, the farmers d. 1t was for this that tul the screw, g vise. bt e i e e e oL Lyman Derrick had beerr bought, the or ruined and _broken, ter shot down, Hooven killed. The soup, puree a la Derby, was served, and at the same time, as hors d'ceuvres, ortolan patties, together with a tiny sand- wich of browned toast and thin slices of ham, sprinkied over = with Parmesan heese. 'The wine, so Mrs. Gerard caused it to be'understood, was Xeres, of the §15 vintage. Sl Mrs. Hooven crossed the avenue. It was growing late. Without knowing it; she Bad come to a part of the eity that expe- rienced beggars shunned. There was no- ody about. Block after block of resi- dences stretched away on either hand, lighted, full of people. But the sidewalks were desarted. ““Mammy,” .whimpered Hilda, “I'm tired; carry me. ! . Using all her strength, Mrs. Hooven picked her up and moved on aimlessly. Then again that terrible cry, the cry of the humngry child appealing to the helpless mother: . “Mammy, I'm hungry.” “‘Ach, Gott, leedle girl,” exclaimed Mrs. Hooven, holding her close to her shoul- der, the tears starting from her eyes. “Ach, leedle tochter. Doand. doand, doand. You pralk my hairt. I can't vind any subber. We got noddings to eat, nod- dings, noddings.” “When do we have those bread 'n’ milk again, mammy 7" A “To-morrow—soon—py-and-py, Hilda. T doand know what pecome oaf ug now, what pecome oaf m?r leedle bnbbyj' She went on, holding Hilda against her shoulder with ‘one arm as best she might, one hand steadving herself against. the fencé railings along the Sidewalk. At last a solitary pedestrian came into view, a young man in a top coat and overcoat, walking rapidiy. rs. Hooven held out a t:suh'erlnl !:’and as hi pa;?ed her. “Say, say, den, meest'r, blease hellup a béor {4 Rl ge. hellu The other hurried on. The fish Eourse was grenadins of bass and small salmon, the latter stuffed, and cdoked in white wine and mushroom sauce, 5 . g “I have read your poem, of course, Mr. Pro . rved iMrss. Georagd. - ‘he Toilers,” I“mean. What a sermon_you read us, you dreadful young man. 1 felt that T ought at once to ‘sell all that I have and give to the poor.’ Pos'tively, it did stir me up. You may congratulate yourself upon making at least one con- vert. Just because of that poem Mrs. Cedarquist and 1 have started a move- mert to send a who'e shipload of wheat to the starving peopie in India. Now, vou horrid reactionnalire, are you satisfied?” - “I am very glad.””’ murmured Presiey. ‘But 1 am afraid.”” observed Mrs, Ce- darquist, “that we may be too late. They are-dying so-fast, those poor people. This Sunday’s Call completes . Frank Norris’ great American ' fiovel, “The Octopus.” Get The Sunday Calls of ‘November 9, 16, 23, 30 and December 7 (five cents each) and you have the complete ‘novel—the mnearest approach ' to the. “Great Americar | trailed unintel She was': not, es were open. had begun_to pain and cramps of her stom- ach, gven the hunger was ceasing to bite. artichokes are delicious, urmured young. Lambert, Rjs lips with a corner of his kin. - “Pardon me for mentionin, your ‘dinner must be my excuse.” ‘‘And ‘this aspar: Mr. bért has set the pl rquist, “‘so delicaté, such an ex- ow do you manage?”’ from one par- M Gerard. time our &hip “may be all over. iches:Indla the fam- ‘‘One need never be afralt l‘;hl “volce ce nleepf-.fi{cn' ey re always a ye have always with w very clever that t ta the table itnpt,” | Wiy W‘ her daughter, at sation with the norg, entends-tu, notre jeune Lami n Veuric 45 ¢ Mrs. Hooven weén s raneh,” eX| to it that it is putign a speéfal train. stevs 4t this ranc it on, Mh .hbldg_'lfl wed i just to take on Extravagant, isn’t it, L at ssparagus that a . ed Julfan Lambert, who “I can tell to an ?."“n ‘how long asparagus has been “Fancy eating ordinary ot T T nger v ow sered by heaven knows many turn upon her -grown iwomat tha was, what must" stomach of hi ‘ol mouthful, oune liftle ni all her wrecked body ishment; anything to numb those gn: ing teeth—an abandoned loaf, hard, moul- dered; a half-eaten fruit, yes, even the refuse of the gutter the ‘ash heap. -On s for :one “little e - Food, food, sred for .nour- Hilda, trying to pusi into eyelids, at last closed., ‘You're just tr: Feebly Hild: pen Mrs. Hooven's “‘Mammy, don’t. o frighten me.” 00k her by the shoul- der. At last Mrs.. Hooven's lips st rds: returned. Hilda’s Go to schleep. Sick. - Nod- dings, to eat.” The dessert was a wonderful p tdon, of altérnate 'layers of- biscuit igecream and candied chestnuts. is..it not?’ observed Jullan once a great gid- eeling - faintness all da, however, wa$ wake her would-only mean ber’to the consciousnéss of hun- er; ‘yet how to carry hey furt] n r child in“her “drm: llapse:’ “unde R ith fog-damp equal. * She rallled all return using & ‘momen! er baby to the mjofe set off through the A little while later she found. diness; ‘a_certai but overcame her < “Delictous, Lambert, partly to himself, partly to Miss :Moscovite fouette— those upon my ‘word, I have.never tasted its Should Know, shouldn’t you?” ed- the'young lady. Cedarquist. .+ ““This cold. pavemen roused - her: she et through the - ried T'm frightened.” the * Repeatedly -she shook her; e of the.sidewalk the péeling of a she tried to raise the inert eyelids wi den upon and it the point of her finger. e up. mo loriger stirred. But hex mother The gaufit; fean body, face and- sunken eye-sock- edings to ets, lay back, prone upon the ground, the 3 Dat's gaod, ain't it? feét upturned and showing the ragged, 3 worn soles of ‘the shoes, the forehea But it could not be eaten. Decayed, gray hair beaded with fog, the poor, faded dirty, all but rotten, ‘the stomach turned bonnet awry, the pdor faded dress soiled Hilda drew cldse to. her mother, kiss- f me ing her face, twining her arms around her neck. For a lon, 3 ey alternately sobbing and By now the guests of Mrs. Gérard had Then, after a long time, there was a stir. She woke from a doze to find a police dg banana, It had been 1 , but joyfully she éaught’ she icried, “‘wake oop, leedle with its bony See, loog de Look den, hey Zum bunaner.” £ m the refuse, nauseated. o 'No, no;” cried Hilda; “that's not goed. I can’t eat it. Oh, mammy, please those bread 'n’ mill time she lay that come to thé entrees—Londonderry pheas- ants, escallops of duck and rissolettes a officer and two or three men bending over Some one carried a lantern. rified, smitten dumb, she was unable to answer the questions put to her. ‘wines had. woman, ‘evidentl n_the top of t ‘la ‘pompadour. ;Latour, . * 5 All around the table conversations were oing forward. gayly. The ht restraint of the early o part of the evening and a_ spirit of gdod humor and good ~fellowship “Young Lambert and Mr,. Gerard dences of cértain mutual The wine was Chauteau a mistress of the house e-hill,- arrived and took Hilda in her arms and cried over her. “T'll takKe the Httl ‘e the police officer. you save her? Is erar: “TI've sent for a doctor,” a novel—a other. ditions— Just before the ladies left the table, young: Lambert raised his glass of Ma- Stephen Lambert; and Beatrice deira. ;‘Turning toward the wife of the over the merits of 'a Scotch col- _railroad king, h just_given to the youl e scéne was gay, she said to “But the mother, can e too far gone?* ingling of d just been translated from the “My best compliments for a ddjightful bplbs spar- ‘dinner.” N the wine flashing back ‘the light. e entire table was, a vague glow of white napery, delicate china and glass as ‘brilliant as erystal. The doctor, who had beer bending over Mrs. Hooven, rose: Behind - the guests " “It's no use,” rving men came ‘and went, filling ‘dead some time—exhaustion and starva- the glasses continually, changing the cov- dinner without interr ‘the slightest unnecessary noise. 1d find no. enjoyment in Mu From that picture of feast- ‘“she has been tion, confusion or IX. On Division Number Three of the Los ertos ranch the wheat had already been cut, and S. Behrman on a certain ing, that sceme of luxury, that atmos- morning in the first week of August drove here of decorous, well bred refinement, across the open expanse of stubble to- is thoughts went back to Los MuertoS ward the southwest, his eyes searching and Quien Sabe and the irrigating ditch the horizon for the feather of smoke that at Hooven's. 1He saw them fall, one by would mark the location of the steam one—Harran, Annixter, Osterman, Brod- The clink of the :the occasion. harvester. However, he wine The stubble extended onward apparently glasses was drowned in the explosion of tg the very margin of the world. At length S. Behrman halted his buggy and brought out his field glasses from be- He stood up in his place and, adjusting the lenses, swept the pros- pect to the south and west. same as though the sea of land were, in possible this very 'reality, the ocean, and he, lost in an open boat,” were scanning the waste through beggared, Gerard his glasses, looking for the smoke of a steamer, hull down, below the _horizon. " he muttered, ¥if they’'re work- ing on Four this morning?" At length he murmure terrible. Bécause the jsfaction. Far to the south into the white iilled at the irrigating sheen of sky. Immediately over the hori- zon, he made out a faint smudge—the har- vester beyond doubt. 2 Thither S. Behrman turned his horse’s It was all of an hour's drive over erson, ‘Hooven. The railroad might a force only, which no man could con- .trol and for.which no m; but his friends had n of | extortion Was respon- neath the seat. id_oppression had the San Joaquin, und himself. ‘cause Magnus had become * king; farmers of the valley were men were rich.. ° The fancy grew big in his mind, ds- torted, caricatured, farmers had been ditch, these others, fed ful the people, on the bl been killed at the ditch. 1f ludicrous, half horrible “‘dog eat the uneven ground Har- crackling stubble, but at length he reach- He found, nowever, The sack sew- an “ah” of sat- ard’ and his fam- ened on_the blood 06d of the men It was head. dog,” an unspeakable can ran, Annixter and Hooven were bein voured there under his eyes. ty women, his cousin Miss Gerard, frail, ladies with their small fingers and slen- der necks suddenly his tortured mind into the- harvester. that {t.had been halted. Beatrice and little ers, together with the header man, were delleate; all these. fine stretehed on the ground in the shade of the machine, while the engineer and sep- re transfigured in arator man were pottering about a por- tion of the works. “What's the matter. Billy?” demanded ehrfman, reining up. rples-tearing hu- His head swam_ with the hor- wor of it. the terror of it.. Yes, the people g, would turn some day, and turning rend . .The engineer turned about. those who now . preyed upon them. ““The grain is heavy in here. We thought would be ‘“‘dog eat dog” again, with po- we'd better increase the speed of the cup- carrier and pulled up to put in a smaller ndid house sacked sprocket.” tables overturned. ngs blazing, man in the ¢ wder smoke, foul yelling, torch in reversed, and he saw for one in- of time that to itr foundations, ctures torn, iberty, the red- the gutter, r hand, through every door. At 10 o'€lock«Mrs. Hoo: fell. Luckily she was leading H'lda by hund at the t'me and the little girl was thr. not hurt. Ir vain had Mrs. Hooven, h after hour, walked tl while: shé no longer to beg: nobady was strring, nor @ ith the st; ¥ fué,;_' the patk in’order ‘fo 8! but she had ‘of s jehrman ncdded to say that was all and added a question. “How: Is she > = “Anywheres five to thirty sacks to the acre tight along here; noth- Ing the matter with that T guess.” ‘in the world, Bill.” e sack sewers interposed: the last half hour ng off three bags to the minute.” ““That’s good, that's goo It was more than good; it was manza,” and all that division of the great ranch was thick with just such wonder- ‘Never had Los Muertos been rom twenty-i we've been ade any attempt éven try to hunt for food ‘dogs and cal mind to retu #it upon the benches thére, 1 mistaken the airection. and fillowing up was had come out al just US. never a season more . 8.-Behrman drew a long breath He Knew just how great Jands which had en’ absorbed by the corporation he but upon a served. just how many thousands of bush- great vacant. lot at the very top of the els of this marvelous crop were his prop- erty, Thtough all these years of confu- js share in Sacramento length, not upon. the park, Clay-street hill. The ground was un- <& 4Dove “heér to fArm'*tHe " gjon of the hill, all overgrown with bushes a few stunted live oaks. trying to cross this 1. She got upe: last, actual warfare he had waited. nurs- ing his patience. calm with the firm_as- ece of ground that surapce of ultimate success. “her feet again. y, did you hurt yourself?” he had entered into 'ward and saw himee'f as last in- ed in the nlace,he had so long, so tly covéted: saw himself chief of ‘a prireipality, (the master of the wheat. The - sprocket adjusted. the garg and the men The fireman stoked vigor- n the summit of {he hill In swmsly. the two sack sewers resumed their posts on the sacking platform. putting on dere aindt no braid end miluk. the goggles that kept the chaff from their eyes. ' The separator man and header man grirped thelr levers. The haryester. h bhad come; *‘Ach, mamm; 0. o t house where we get those bread to a single r e in the nigl the engineer ing. just visll their ‘places. leedle tochter.” 1 ‘Hilda once more began to sob. “Ach, mammy. pluase, please; I want led merves spapped at ladt ui d_Mrs. ‘Hooven, sul ’ shooting a column of thick S$moke straight upward. vibratin; “to the ton of the stack. hissed, clanl and lurched forward. ‘sprang te life in all its component pa the header knives, cutting a thirty-six foot swath gnashed like teeth; beltings slid and moved streams; the. separator whirred. the agi- wn upon her knees, putting her tator jarred ard crashed: cylinders, aug- J .ers, fans., seeders and elevators, drapers clattered, rumbled, steam hissed ground reverberated a thousands uj der the tensfon. Instantly motion D! u ‘kill me yet,"” upon_this ¢ame the reaction. caught hér little g'rl to -her, sto! My Gott, By MBuf quick like _smooth The mother d her, holding her close, ro; gry all so mudge es you want. and chaff carrlers fay ut egen, buzzed and clanged. . poor. starfing. leedle babby. ped hollow note. and the poor, leedle tochter. - My Gott, oh sands of wheat stafks sliced an _ I cen’t .in the clashing shears of the header rat- _noddings to tled lil 104 P:!l’l.flnr ‘arms roundt oy . dry rushes in a hurricane as féll inward and were caught. up by to disappear into the of the vast brute that devoured the eetl’?u. mo:lner. in- . gnashing e flelds of standin; g a'ways, never glutted, lowing an entire har- da, feedi: ‘We satiable, . thres] warm _vapor, acrid clouds ‘I?:l chaff. ose popotamus, half mired In a ri rushes, snorting, ‘wallowing “overhead whi loping la i For full amnouncement of ‘ A T gush of grain, winnowed, cleaned, thresh- ed,: ready for the mill. . The pour from the chute of the cleaner Fottion Syivhont an hatants pouse, & faction. ut an a thick mh&no( wheat rolled and dashed tumultuous, into the sack. In half a min- ute—sometimes in twenty seconds—the sack was full, was passed over to the second sewer, the mouth reeved up and the sack dumped: out upon the ground to be picked up by the wagons and ‘hauled to the rallroad. hypnotized, sat that river of grain. All that shrieking, bellowing machinery, all that gigantic or- ganism, all the months of labor, the plowing, the plamting, the pn{m, for rain, the years of preparation, the heart- aches, the anxietyj.the foresight, all the whole' business of ‘the ranch, the work of horses, of steam, of men and boys, looked to this spot~the grain chute from the harvester into the sacks. Its volume was ‘the index of Jallure or success, of riches or poverty. “And at this point the labor of the rancher ended. Here, at the lip .of the chute, he parted company with his . grain, and fr here the wheat streamed ‘forth to the world. The yawning mouths of the sacks might well stand for. the unnumbered mouths of the people, all agape for food; and here, into these sacks, at first so lean, so flaccid, attenuated like starved stomachs, rushed the livii stream of' food, insistent, in- terminable, filling the empty, fattening the lhfl:il—élcd, making 1t sleek and heavy and soli « Half an hour later the harvester stop- ped again. The men on the uckmg plat- form had used up all. the sacks. But S. uBehrmu'l lorlemn. & new man '10& lmm. uertos, put in an appearance report t'.'hnt the w. bringing a fresh su as_approaci “pl?loy' is lb‘vtrlln jevator at Port Cos- ta getting on, sir?” “Finished,” refllod Behrman. The new master decided upon accumulating his in bulk in a great elevator at the tide- water port, where the grain ships for Liverpool and the East took on thelr car- goes. To this end he‘had bought and greatly enlarged a b ing at Port Cos- ta, that was already in use for that pur- m, and to this elevator all the ¢ of Muértos was to be carried. P. and 8. W. made S. Behrman s special rate. § “By the way,” sald 8. Behrman to his superinténdent, “we'rs in luck. Fallon's buyer was in Bonnevills yesterday. He's buying for Fallon and.for Holt, too. I happened to run into him, and I've sold a shipload.” “A shipload!” “Ot Los Muertos wheat. He's acting for some Indian famine relief committes —lot of women. people up in the city— and wanted a whole cargo. I made a deal with him. There's about fitty thou- sand tons of disengaged shipping in San Francisco Bay right now, and ships are ting for charters, I wired McKissick and got a .long-distance telephone from him .this_morning., He got me a bark, the Swanhilda. e’ll dock day after to- merrow and begin leading.” . ““Hadn’t I better take a run up,” ob- served the superinfendent, “and keep an eye on things?” “No,” answered S. Behrman; “I want you to stor, down here and see that those carpenters hustle the work in the ranch house. Derriek will be out by then. You see this deal is peculiar. I'm not selling to any middle man—not to Fallon’s buyer. He only put. me on to the thing. actis direct with these women people, nndngve. got_to have some hand in_ship- ping this stuff myself. But I've made my selling figure cover the price of a charter. It's & queer, mixed-up dcal, and I don't fancy it much, but there’s boodle in it. T'll go to Port Costa myself.” A little later on‘in the day, when S. Bekrman had satisfled himself that his harvesting was going forward favorably, he re-entered his buggy, and driving to the county road turned scuthward toward the Los Muertos rarch house. He had not gone far, however, before he aware of a familiar figure on horseback jogging slowly along ahead of him. He recognized Presley; he shook the reins over his hcrse’s back and very soon, ranging up by the side of the young man, passed the time of day with him. “Well, what brings you down hers again, Mr. Presley?” he observed. *“I thought we had seen the last of you.” “] came down to say good-by to my friends,” answered Presley, shortly. “Golng away? “Yes—to India "‘z_eu, upon my word., For your health, Fesr “You look knocked up.” asserted the other. “By the way,” he added, “I sup- pose you've heard the news?” Presley shrank a little. Of late the re. ports. of disasters had followed so swift- iy upon one another that he had begun to tremble and to quail at every bit of unexpected information. ‘“What do you mean?” he asked. ‘“About Dyke. He has been convicted. The Judge sentenced him for life.” For life! Riding on by the side of this man through the ranches by the county road Presley repeated these words to him- selt till the full effect of them burst at lasgt upon him. Jalled for life! No outlook. No hope for the.future. Dav after day, year after yéar, to tread the rounds of the same gloomy monotony. He saw the gray stone alls, the iron doors; the flagging of the yard,” bare of grass or trees—the cell, narrow, bald, cheerless; the prison garb, the ‘)rlmn fare, and round all the grim granite of insuperable barriers, shuttin, out the world, shutting in the man wit outcasts, with the parial dogs of society, thieves, murderers, men helow the beasts, lost to all decency, drugged with oplum— utter reprobates. To this Dyke had been brought—Dyke, than whcm no man had been mcere honest, more c.urageous, more jovial.” This was the cnd of him—a rison; this was his final estate—a crim- nal. Presley found an excuse for riding o leaving S. Behrman behind him. He. di not stop at Caraher’s saloon, for the heat of his rage had long since begun to cool, and dispassionately he saw things in their true light. For all the tragedy of his wife's death Caraher was none the less an_ evil influence among the ranchers, an influence that worked only to the incitn of crime. Unwilling to venture himself, to risk his own life, the anarchist saloon- keeger had goaded Dyke and Presley both to murder; a bad man, a plague spot in the world of the ranchers, poison- ing the farmer’'s bodies with alcohol and their minds with discontent. At last Presley arrived at the ranch house of Los Muertos. The place was si- lent; the grass on the lawn was half and over a foot high: the besinnii o; weeds sFoweq here and there in the drive- way He tied his horse to a ring in the trunk of one of the I T eucalyptus trees an dentered the house. Mrs. Derrick met him in the dining- room. The old look of uneasiness, aimost of terror. had gone from her brown eyes. There was in them instead the expression of one to whom a con- tingency, long feared, has arrived and passed. The stolidity of a settled grief, of an irreparable mity, of a despair from which there was no escape, was in her , her manmer, her voice. She qmle:;. Ipl(haue.h:‘il;l with the calmness of a woman w! 9ws she can suffer no further. “We are going away,” sha told Pres- la(. as the two sat down at o thlef mfi"’& nb;:‘ “Jut‘! myself—al ere is left of us. There is very little money left; Magnus can hardly . take care of himself, to- nothing of - ltm\at look";mqr him now. We are ing to Marysville.” *Why there?” ‘You see,” she explained, “it happens that my old place i{s vacant In the semi- “hary there. I am g back to teach— lterature.” She sm! wearily. “It beginning all over again. isn't Only there hfmmmx to look fmmw'ra now. she sald slowly; “you nave not seen Magnus lately.” b".'h'!:.—bowdom-mfl Isn't he any 'myou like to see hh?_.&h. the You right in. Presley rose. eig ‘O-t-ted a moment, “‘Mrs. Annixter,” he ll..%. “Hilma—is she still with you? I should like to ses her before I go.” YGo In and see Magnus,” said Mrs. ST will tell l.ur m';'.l: Here.”™ ¥ with the glass roof, and after times at the office door f