This story epitomizes, in the life
of one big man, his big foes and
big friends, the strife, the hopes,
and the aspirations of modern
America. Involved with his ambi-
tion is the ambition of the laborer,
of the capitalist, of the progres
sive, of the humanitarian, of the
socialist, of the society woman,
and of the woman who gives all
for love.
CHAPTER I
Dreams.
He drifted into the delectable land
that lies between sleep and waking,
tasting the fleeting savor of his dreams
—the epic visions of full-blooded youth.
They had passed just beyond memory,
leaving a confused yet glowing eense
of sharp combats waged, of victories |
won. A golden haze enveloped him. |
Through it flitered a dwindling reso-
nance, as of some noble processional
sung by a departing far-distant choir.
A wave of delight rippled over him. |
Then the thought that, not sharing his |
slumber, had painted his colorful |
dreams, worked to the surface.
“My last day here!”
He awoke slowly. Before him, seen |
through the unshuttered window, lay a |
world somber enough to one tugging!
against its restraints, lovely when it |
was to be left behind. He saw
September sun peep over the hills at |
the head of the valley, rise majestic
ally and sewing clear, a golden disk
hung in the sky, symbol of the reward |
of men's struggles; its radiance,
streaming into the little room,
the |
dis-
he could almost feel. The matin
sounds arose, according finely with the
lingering echoes of his dream music. |
He reveled in a new. perception.
He was twenty years old
He was not one to loll. He sprang
from bed and stood naked; supple
beautiful youth, too slender for great
strength but with the unconscious
grace of the wild animal.
He dressed and stood by the window |
in the attitude of a listener. Intently
he sought to define the faint other\
world resonance that still seemed to
vibrate about him. But theme |
eluded him
His illusion was effectually shat
tered. Into the subdued melody of the
Sabbath morning thrust a profanc in
truder, the jerky wheezing notes of a
cabinet organ in the day's hymns,
played by some one who aspired be |
yond endowment,
He frowned, then threw
head and laughed silently
had sometimes
climax.
“I'm still in Bethel
from here to-—there.”
deep breath.
A question
where?”
He shook his head vigorously, as
though to throw off the query, and
went down to the kitchen
The odor of frying ham saluted his
nostrils; he sniffed it hungrily. A man,
apparently old, was placing heavy,
chipped ifronware dishes on the table
He nodded briefly in response to the
youth's blithe greeting !
“I'll be ready.” he said in a dull flat
voice, “time ye're back from the
stable,” and continued his slow precise
setting of the table.
In a few minutes the other returned,
the horses fed and his own hands and
face scrubbed In cold water from the |
cistern. They sat down without speak-
ing. The youth ate eagerly, gulpingly
When the first keennese of appetite
was gone, burning to talk of the great
hour at hand, he broke the silence
“Well, father, this is my last day in |
Bethel.” i
The old man merely nodded, keeping |
his eyes on his plate.
Boyishly the son began to set forth
his plans and hopes and expectations:
they were not small. But the old man
maintained his silence. The youth con-
ceived him to be an unaympathetic au-
dience,
“Guess you're not Interested”
sald a trifle sulkily.
“Yes, I'm Interested, Mark,” the fa-
ther answered, “but there ain't any-
thing to say.” He raleed his glance to
the window. “Guess | couldn't say
anything that'd help much.”
The sweep of the youth's antieipa
tion faltered before a quality in the
old man's words. Old, “old Simon.”
#0 his neighbors called him. Yet he
was not really old, but in the noonday
of life wore the gray mantle of age.
For he, too, had dreamed his big gold-
en dreams. Below the village stood a
dismantled rotting forge, monument
to thelr futility. After Eis failure he
had returned to his shop and trade,
shoeing his neighbors’ horses, mend.
ing their wagons and plows, a dull
eyed, taciturn, spiritiess plodder,
Simon Truitt rose and began to
clear the table. The son moved toward
the door. There he paused, vaguely
sensible of a sorrow to which some
poothing word was to be said. But
the word would not come to lips un
schooled In such tender office, He went
the
back his
a trick he!
at the absurd anti
It's a long way |
He drew a long |
him
halted “There— |
he
slowly out into the sunshine.
In the stable he curried the horses,
lingering over the pretty brown mare
latest and finest trophy of his horee-
trading—until her coat shone satiny.
This labor of love ended, he lighted a
pipe and sat in the stable doorway.
He sat there until from across the
town came a flat unmusical clamor,
the cracked church bell calling the
faithful-—that is to say, all Bethel save
to worship. He rose reluctantly.
Soon he emerged from the little house,
shaved to the blood and clad in the dis-
comfort of Sunday clothes
one
on the stoop, and always facing the
south,
cracked bell tolled In vain;
supposed to be an atheist.
“Goin to church?’ he asked in the
expressionless tone that was his habit
“l guess 80,” answered Mark. “Un
jess,” with sudden
“you'd like me to stay.”
Simon hesitated, then shook
head. “No, ye'd better go same as al
ways. Courtney'd want ye to.”
“l owe him a lot.”
Simon nodded. "More'n to—any
else here. Think a good deal ¢o' him
don’t ye?”
“Yes
though.’
Simon nodded
asked unexpectedly, “d'ye believe what
he preaches?”
“Why,
8} 80,” 1
Th ull gl
The dull g!
he
ne
again “ya
Mark. “Yes,
yes
ance momentarily
ened *Not very much, 1 expect
ter belleve it hard—or not all
at
time fur church.”
Mark swung heavily down
father's eyes followed
straggling proces
tiffly decorous, to
p. Once, dur
sion { IV 4
ward the bh of worshli
k and
rear seat turned and
a i i
passed him; a girl in the
nodded. A
his dark face. Until
into the
of red surged into
the wagon
his glance
hair
ly his step quickened,
He Aan
door, and entering,
closing his eyes. H
gEregation as it
and prayer and |
hanically, withou
His glanc
where a
drove churchyard,
11g to the
CIMNE 10 Lhe
mass of yellow
under the pink hat. Unconscious
empty pew near
back,
oliowed the con
leaned
shaft
had set a mass ios
nering The aight and
dreams gave him a new and daring re
solve. The hour sped swiftly
He went quietly
the yard took a
the farmer folk must pass to their ve
hicles and there, had ived,
all
aii, ne
from the
church; In
he station by which
as he res
boldly, i {
her
the eyes (
She appeared, a slender girl whe
und the
}, As
slowly rch
trousered por.
“To the City? For Good?”
tion of Bethel, even where she had not
the subtle ald of dreams. She was not
small, but, neatly made, gave an effect
of daintiness not characteristic of the
maids of that valley. Unity was sup
posed to be “delicate,” hence was
spared those arduous tasks that leave
go little time 490 study of beauty hints
and fashions. If there were some to
suggest that “Squire Martin's family
let Unity make fools of ‘em.” at least
no males were among these critics,
Self-conscious to the fingertips but
not betraying it, she picked her dainty
way amoung the gossiping groups, toss.
ing gay little smiles to this and that
intoxicated youth, blissfully deaf to an
occasional feminine titter in her wake.
She came to a halt beside Mark,
looking up with a smile that made him
forget curious observers,
“Good morning, Mark!”
"Unity!" His volece was low, tense,
as though he announced some tragic
happening. “I'm going away tomor
row.”
The vivacity fell from her face, leav-
ing it very serious.
“To the city? For good?”
“To the city,
“1 am glad.”
“Glad!” "he stammered,
I wanted you to be sorry.”
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically.
“I'm glad—for you,” she added more
softly.
He remained silent, an unreasoning,
indefinite disappointment lingering.
Something he wanted—he could not
say what-——was lacking in her words.
“Aren't you glad?"
“Yes, but He
Hig eagerness returned.
driving this afternoon.”
For good.”
“1 thought
dismissed the
“I'm
BOIng
She became girlish again,
an Invitation?” with a demure
smile,
“If you want to go.”
“Of course, Mister Solemn!
you She stopped, apparently over-
“Say it!” he besought thirstily.
There was a delicious moment of un
certainty, a breathless little laugh.
“My lover. There! [Ili
you, just after dinner.”
be
And the
He went from
the street past
returned to its native
weed flanked, country pike.
the road
Mounting
himself on
Richard
come on the after
the
of
He
rose
state
t place where
and fell
crest,
and waited;
would
walk that w
sharply
again.
he threw the
roadside thither
irtney
as his custom
'p t}
p tl}
1e¢ rise, village-bound, leisurely
t top buggy In it
ddle-aged man upon
written hum and
he had
it wd just en His horse la
+
creaked an anclent
slouched a m
’
were wr
patience, which
gre
bored head
in
puffed r or hard
he crest it stopped without
heavily task, Ang
Hows Simon
loude
frowned mpatier
» and a grin displaced the frown
“Hear going
Hedges “For
you're away,”
the
remarked.
nodded,
you'd
good
the town
Mark
“Mavbhe
the
like
grin widening
to help
fare?”
“1 have helped,” the doctor rejoined
“Going to get rich,
They all think that”
“It happens sometimes.’
You might, though
get rich that i!
uld you call {it
‘Hmm!"”
*
pel] this
a hore
Mark considered
“Well, it
could me
>
the . 4
Lhe ans
IAB
ire use to me, too.”
it for, then?”
Pretty
grin returned
Mark modestly
I can
admitted,
ple
he doctor agreed.
take for the brown mare?™
¢ brown mare isn't for sale”
horae for sale.” the
in at the right price
a hundred and fifty.”
ia
ted,
gell her for two fifty.”
sighed
horse
“1 wouldn't
The
the weary
doctor
Out of the dusty cloud trailing be
poping figure, clad in the rusty black
the country clergyman. He walked
effort;
physically
a slight
a frail man
between breaths
Just waiting for you.”
preacher smiled faintly:
ris
asked
: No
The the
tle. He turned his glance to the val
‘It's worth a farewell Youll
homesick for ft
be
At his lagging pace they tramped
along the road, constantly rising and
a higher level. They kept the
companions often
Ten years before Richard Courtney
had resigned the city congregation
that was steadily withering under his
ministry and had come to shepherd the
little flock of Bethel. It proved to be a
life sentence, but in the end he stayed,
if not gladly, at least with such Chris.
soul could summon; having found-—so
he put it—a need to which he could
minister. In the early days of his new
service he had discovered a neglected,
unlettered, moody youngster suffer
ing under the blight of his relation to
Simon Truitt, who, for his supposed
atheism, was accounted a little less
than respectable. Some quality in the
boy caught the preacher's fancy. Tact
fully he sought to win into Mark's
heart, not a very difficult task once the
jad learned that ministerial conversa.
tion was not confined to graphic ple
tures of eternal torment. And then,
not quite realizing how this new inter.
est sked out the Christian fortitude
just mentioned, he set about to make
Mark over. From Richard Courtney
the blacksmith’'s son had had his Ver.
gil and Xenophon and Homer, his
Euclid and Quackenbos. What may
ard Courtney.
In the intense, imaginative,
cerned a rare spirit fitted to
chevalier of the Lord, a fighter of
others’ battles, & bearer of others’ bur
dens; thus we may read what Richard
Courtney would have made his
life. He, the exile, had failed; but in
banished he would live again and
felt through a fine strong man of his
making. For ten
toiled and prayed that it might be,
But now, when the
he
was not
tT
Where the Doctor Wants to
Build His Sanatorium.”
The questior
With suddeniy cl
: }
reaches of his soul as yet
by
the
unlighted by purpose, unwarmed
»
After ten
4
inspiration years he was
Bley
scoured the
light,” thought
preacher
He
sadly
became Mark had
you a
that
silence Fo]
Aware
the owe
had sald
very much)”
he
“Not
ney sighed
were more-—much
it i# much. You've taught
and talk and-—and think”
unhappy smile
big
from
more.”
“Oh, yes
“You've made me-—see
me ready to RO away
I—--1 appreciate it.”
here
“T'd rather you could see
you go™
he
true.
must
knew ita
“There's a life to be lived
by a man who sees big. 1
uselogsness
here, even
“No, | must go now. I've a reason
you don't know.”
The preacher felt a jealous pang
After a while he sald. “Did you by
my sermon this morn.
Mark looked
“Only part of it
hard.”
“Of yellow braids and a pretty com
plexion,” Courtney said to himself! bit.
away, uncomfortable
Mark was frowning in an effort to
recall and plece together detached
had floated to him
ing the eervice and then, finding no
welcome, floated away. “It was about.”
man finding his big idea”
“1 am flattered.” The dry droll in.
flection was a concealment.
“The big idea.” sald Mark vaguely,
“does it mean-—God?”
forward. It's"
abruptly, with a hopeless smile
looked away across the hills
Suddenly, with an oddly appealing
He
the Intense longing of the man who
has dreamed and failed and yet clung
to some fragment of his hopes, paint
ing his vision, breathed In his words.
“Some day you may remember |
told you It's the big purpose that
sometimes comes to the big, passion
ate man, to accomplish some work for
him, makes him ruthless to his own
desires, forgetful of his failures and
blind to everything but his task: that
transforms him into a narrow zealot,
a fanatic, but a power—always a
power, because he is his purpose in-
carnate., It is that without which the
big man is wasted, because he is that
dangerous, useless thing, a force un
controlled, It's what | wanted
you to have”
Mark stared.
understand.”
“And 1,” Courtney cried, “I can’t
make you understand! But you will
know, when it comes to you.” The
fire began to die from his eyes and
voice. “If It comes,” he added,
For a while Mark considered per
plexedly this outburst. ‘Then he dis
missed it as one of the incomprehen:
sible moments of a man whom, de
apite oddities, ho liked very much. He
“I—I'm afraid I don’t
A little timidly he made the offer.
“It's good of you to think of it.
you can sell her well
“1 know. But I want you to
her. 1 traded to get her for you.”
Courtney would not spoll his pleas
ure. “Of course, I—" His acceptance
halted. “No, give her to Dr, Hedges.”
Mark shook his head.
to have her.”
“He needs a good horse.
he has—"
“It was a fair trade,
defensively.
A turn of the road
within eight of a great
across the valley. Over its level
swept breezes filtered pure
many leagues of forest
The one
"
Mark asserted
brought
Courtney pointed. “That
to build
for consumptives."”
“1 know He's cracked
never do it.”
“Perhaps not, It would be too bad
it, Courtney added quietly, “ls
his sanato
rise
over that
looked
from
Mark long at the hill,
the site of the
Would
rather he'd have the mare?”
After a while he sald slowly, “
you really
CHAPTER IL.
The Path of Youth.
Had Richard Courtney thought to
back to his own adolescence, he
have understood his fallure,
Mark, whose life, the preacher sup
posed, was to be made over by many
books and serm
clean living, was ir
ishness and
¢
Be¢ a miracle of
ing
nfold
once sought,
» distasteful
wandering alone
gun on shoulder,
1 his canoe
in
period,
during which
11 height, w
udy busied
Richard Courtney
up its fu
and gt
thoughts and
“Oh, Unity, how can you. love me
|
|
i
She was able to answer him on this
him and yet
grateful for his
point in a way
humbly
fortune
ehadows were quite long when
a great flat rock in a
clearing a little from the road.
And there, in a delicious intimacy that
to satisfy
vast good
The
erplied
Way
8
se} tn
thoughtful Susan,
rapturous
to
remembers eat the
they
lunch put up by the
they spent a
glide down
broke a long silence
“You're going to
aren't you?”
laughed. “Maybe.
Ways Bo easy lo get rich,
“But everybody says you w
“Everybody-—-in Bethel-—may not
Then he added firmly, “But 1
for you. And then
got down from the
She 0
be
Bay,
very
rich,
He It isn’t al-
you ow.”
He rock and
She stood un-
m The
1 upon
glow,
at 1
looking down !
was ti
the
:
3
i
another
of sunset
her; in her
from within,
She
eyes
for
measured
-it was almost her own height
with a gasp for her daring, she
sprang into his arms He caught her
and her, kissing her again and
again, thirstily, She began to respond;
her arms tightened around his neck;
she very close
cried tremul
was
tH
he distance to the
then
held
clung
She “Ob, Mark,
won't forget there. 1-1
bear——that,
“1 will not forget.”
A last bright shaft
the crimson flooded
clearing,
the
couldn't
from
lite
And that was
“out
glow,
love, de-
reflected
west their
fell upon her
of her
the
picture he
carried
there” in
Unity
and
sunset
eyes cheeks aflame with
snd not that he would
*
greet
f proof
he as-
his son's
Mark
f no emall importance to man)
Un
meron dd Cy i & . ’ 11 1
proud possessor of a dip
‘tien of Bethel
those who cared to
ad mastered
to exhibit
un the product of education
ris
be
4 ail
in ail
late from aft
woods
a0
*n he unexpected
one autumn day
I a little knob, gaz
into the fading sky His
touched
ing abeently
imagination
dusk, th
her, her pensiveness and
frality gave her a seem
ness that abashed hb
n strangely He
For y
ral di
Was
in the
ds
e pale glow of the d;
i pOon
parent
thought
finer an urer
creatures
She saw
ut
awkwardness
to de
walking he
she
over his shot
he
I
nd
now how
VIII
when prafsed
easants slung
a sudden glad impulse
juite
¥
his bh
her
and she
trophy of
natu
the
prophecy, but he was no seer
It was long before
the
he
of her,
the dusk, even though
tance might have taught
was indeed a dweller upon
He whispered her name to
thinking it finest poetry. His
do thing” became a
g impatience to large and
lendid that would prove his
ttie. He was, in a word, a boy who
hought himself in love
Came a night, a still winter's night
when moonlight gleamed on the snow
and the gleighbells added
the enchantment, when he kissed
¢ £1
fA
she
the earth
egire to some
do
i deeds
3
§
chimes of
to
did not resist
No
preached purpose in vain! His pupil's
horizon was filled with a purpose not
his own. Even the preacher's incom-
prehensible outburst was forgotten, as
For a mile he drove carefully and
then, letting out the mare, with a
flourish of speed drew up before the
house of Squire Martin. It was the
most pretentious in the valley.
Soon Unity appeared, fresh and
dainty in her white dress and pink
hat, followed by her sister Susan
bearing a heavy pasteboard box. While
Mark awkwardly heiped his lady into
the buggy, Susan slipped the box un-
der the seat. Mark got in and the
brown mare, needing no command,
started away.
“1 put up some lunch,” Susan called
after them. "Don’t forget to eat it!”
“And #0,” breathed Unity, “you're
really going away--at last! How did
you happen to decide to go just now?
“1 don’t know. It just came to me
the other day that I couldn't stay here
any longer. Somehow, ever since we
began to talk of the city, this place
has seemed so small and shut in—until
this morning.”
“Until this morning?
alarm.
“Then it seemed kind o' cozy and
and protected. [ hate to leave it. 1
hate to leave you, Unity.”
“And I'll hate to have you go. But,
of course, you must. And then, bé
fore very long, you'll come back-—and
take me away with you.”
For a while In silence they gave
this prospect the consideration it de
served. Then:
i
Simon rose and wer
try He returtied, cs
of milk and
answered
sow he
ie drew
“if You Ever Get Rich—Come Back
Here and Build a Steel Plant"
pocketbook of leather. Mark opened
it and glanced at its contents.
He looked up questioningly. “Why,
there must be 'most a thousand dol
lars!"
“Jest that. I've been savin' it fur
yo.”
impulsively Mark pushed it back
toward Simon. “But 1 can't take it
It won't leave you anything and I
don't need it. I've got more'n five
hundred of my own.”
“I'd ruther ye'd take it,” Simon in-
eisted heavily. “It'll come in handy.
If ye don't need it, ye can find a safe
place fur it. An’ ye can pay it back,
if ye ever git rich. LI” he repeated,
“I've be'n savin’ it fur ye. 1 knowed
ye'd go away some day an’ | wanted
ye to take somethin'-—frum me.”
Mark's hand went slowly to the
pocketbook. “All right, father” The
words fell awkwardly. "Tl pay It
back some day. And-thank you"
“Ye're quite welcome,” answered
Simon with quaint formality,
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Fishes That Emit Sounds.
There is a fish in the Tagus that
emits sounds resembling the vibra
tions of a deeptoned bell, gong or
pedal pipe of an organ. Herrings,
when the net has been drawn around
them, have been observed to do the
same, and similar accounts are given
of the river bullhead. An amphibious
silurold fish on being taken into the
hand, is sald to shriek, and certain of
the blennles emit similar sounds.—-
Feld,