Harold King was walking in the clouds. He had received a letter from
J.C. Welty asking him to come to the capital at once. He stated that he
was going to build a large hotel, work to begin as soon as the plans
were drawn, and that King had been recommended to him as an architect.
Harold decided that in order to make the right kind of impression he
must have some new clothes, consequently he waived his objections to
going in debt for clothes and that evening visited Jackson's clothing
store where he was fitted out.
He had made the drawings and drawn up most of the specifications for a
big hotel when he was an employee in an architect's office, and these
he now got together. It was fortunate he had saved them. This done he
called Ruth over the 'phone and secured her permission to call in the
evening.
About three o'clock in the afternoon Golter entered Ruth's office.
"Miss Ruth," he said, "don't you want to take a ride?" Ruth had
declined many invitations to ride with Golter and refused many requests
to call.
"I would prefer riding to pounding this typewriter this time in the
afternoon, but the chances are I will have to continue to pound it
until four o'clock."
"I am going to Zala and thought you might enjoy going along for the
ride."
"I would like to go to Zala. I haven't been there for so long. When are
you going to start?"
"Right away."
"I wouldn't want to ask to quit work early."
"I'll ask Uncle Jim for you, if you will go."
"I don't want to go if Mr. Stover needs me."
Golter stepped into the president's office and soon returned with
the information that Uncle Jim said that she could go as soon as she
finished the letter she was writing.
"How long will you be gone?" she asked.
"Oh, we should be back by six or six-thirty. You know it is only
twenty-four miles from here to Zala, and it will only take a few
minutes to attend to the business."
Ruth called her aunt and told her that she was going with Mr. Golter to
Zala.
On the way going he asked, "What do you think of the Ku Klux Klan by
this time?"
She replied, "It seems to be doing some good."
"Perhaps a little good but much more harm."
"How do you know that it's doing harm?"
"I know by what I read. Besides you can't expect anything but trouble
from the class of people that belong."
"What do you know about the class of people who belong?" she asked.
"They are mostly crooks and ne'er-do-wells like that fellow King, who
goes around with his coat frayed at the cuff."
"Mr. King has more to him than a whole lot of fellows who are better
dressed; but how do you know who belongs?"
"You see that that class of people have little principle and many of
them give away their membership."
"I don't believe it," she said with spirit. "I think that there are
unprincipled people who work some of their bunch into the Klan for the
purpose of giving it away."
"It certainly ruins one's standing in society when it is found out
that he belongs to the hooded bunch. I wouldn't want to associate with
anyone who was connected with these midnight marauders."
"I believe in the principles of the Klan; I believe that a good class
of men belong; that they are doing many charitable acts, and in many
places have created more respect for law and order. If I were a man I
would join this order of real red-blooded Americans."
Golter decided that he was not getting anywhere in the direction which
he desired to go; he tried a new tack.
"I was reading a new book the other day, the title of which is, 'The
Quest for Happiness'."
"Is it good?"
"Yes. It is so much more practical than many books along that line. I
suppose you would call the author a materialist, but then you know that
everything in this world that has any value has a material basis."
"I am not so sure of that."
"Well, if you will read this book you will see that his philosophy is
good common sense. He shows that no matter what enjoyment one seeks
one must possess material wealth to secure the means of gratification.
If one desires music, he needs money to attend the concerts or provide
the instruments for himself. If he loves art he is all the worse if he
hasn't money with which to buy pictures or visit art galleries. Man may
develop an appetite for orange sundaes but he is miserable because of
this fondness if he lacks the price. He knocked the doctrine of 'love
in a cottage' into a cocked hat. He says, how absurd to think a couple
could be happy in this day and age in a little stuffy cottage without
any of the modern conveniences, unable to entertain, no automobile, no
money to take a trip, etc. Isn't he right?"
"No, he isn't. Of course money has its place, and it might be very
difficult to be happy in penury; but love is not dependent on rugs,
furs, pianos and automobiles, which are all well enough in their place.
Honesty and all of the Christian virtues are not dependent on material
things. It is true that the one with the artistic taste may desire
fine pictures, but if he is a true artist he will not be more miserable
with the love of the beautiful within him and no money with which to
purchase pictures than he would be without the aesthetic talent. Quite
the opposite. He can behold the beauties of the heavens at night, the
wild flowers and the birds; he can appreciate the pink hue of the dawn
and the golden glow of the sunset, and enjoy the forests and ferns
that jack frost paints on the window panes. To be sure, nobody wants
to starve, but I am of the opinion that love will flourish no better
on roast turkey and maple syrup than it will on bacon and sorghum
molasses."
Ruth visited with a few of her friends in Zala while Golter attended
to his business. They remained in Zala a little longer than Ruth had
thought they would.
When they started home Ruth remarked, "It is later than I had thought
we would be here."
Golter looked at his watch. "It's only six o'clock. If we have no bad
luck we will be home by seven. We could drive it in much less than an
hour if it weren't for that five miles of bad road."
"I hope we can get home by seven," said Ruth.
"Anything of importance?"
"Yes, there is. I had a date with Mr. King tonight." Ruth was not only
anxious to keep the engagement with her friend but was also anxious to
show Golter that his slurs and innuendos had made no other impression
on her than to create a stronger desire to be more loyal to her
friend. She was filled with a feeling of disgust for Golter.
This information was evidently not very pleasing to Golter. He became
less talkative and the conversational atmosphere became rather chilly.
They had driven but a few miles when Golter stopped the car.
"What is the trouble?" Ruth asked.
"Something wrong with the engine." He got out and worked for fifteen
minutes. Ruth felt relieved when he closed down the hood. He got into
the car and they started. They had not gone far when he stopped the
engine again and remarked, "There is something wrong yet with the
engine."
"Oh, I wish I were an automobile mechanic for a little while so that I
could know whether there is really anything wrong with that engine,"
thought Ruth.
* * * * *
Harold King's heart was singing a joyful melody as he went to the home
of his friend, Ruth Babcock. He was happy because he had a chance at a
big job. He felt more efficient because he was wearing a neat suit of
clothes. There is a psychological value in clothes. A man who is poorly
and shabbily clad may be ever so brilliant and honorable a man, but the
shabby clothes detract from his confidence and power.
When Harold reached the Babcock home he was met at the door by Aunt
Clara who informed him that Miss Ruth had gone to Zala with Mr. Golter.
She did not know when she would be back but presumed that it would be
late, as it was a long drive to Zala, and Ruth had so many friends
there that she would want to see.
Harold was not in a pleasant frame of mind when he returned to his
room. He threw himself down in a chair with a woe-begone look on his
face. What a difference a half hour may make in one's spirits! How
quickly the sunshine can vanish and darkness envelope us! Harold
wondered whether or not Ruth really cared a great deal for Golter. He
couldn't understand how a girl with the ideals and good sense that
Ruth possessed could care very much for a snob like Golter. However,
she must think a great deal of him when she broke her engagement with
himself and went to another town with Golter.
He would not let her know that he cared, except to show her he was
independent. He would leave on the five o'clock train the next morning
for the state capital. She wouldn't know of his chance for this good
job nor would she see him in his new suit. Every man desires to appear
well before the woman he admires. "She owes me an explanation, and I
shall stay away from her until she makes it," he thought. He was not
only disappointed but his pride was hurt as well.
When Ruth reached home at 8:30 she was informed by her aunt that Mr.
King had called. She went at once to the 'phone and called him up.
"Mr. King? This is Ruth Babcock speaking. I am very sorry that I was
not at home when you called."
"If it will not inconvenience you I would like to have you come
tonight."
"No, it isn't too late."
"I don't like to bother you if you are busy, but I would like very much
to talk to you."
"Of course if you don't want to come----"
"I'll expect you in a few minutes."
She ate a lunch and was in readiness to receive him when he called. She
noticed that he carried an injured air, and proceeded to explain at
once why she was not back early as she expected. (After her explanation
his feelings were considerably mollified.)
"Ruth," he said, "I am leaving on the four-forty train in the morning.
I am going to the state capital."
"Will you be gone long?"
"Only a day or so. I have a chance for a big job there--a hotel. If I
am fortunate enough to land it, I shall have to make several trips up
there."
"I certainly hope you land it. You richly deserve to."
"Thank you."
"Pardon the intrusion," said Mr. Babcock, as he entered. "How are you,
Mr. King? You are certainly looking fine." Ruth had thought so too but
had not told him.
"I am feeling fine. I hope you are feeling better."
"Not much change in my condition. I am reading 'Macbeth.' I just
stepped in to get a commentary on Shakespeare. 'Macbeth' is a great
play. Duncan and I had very bitter experiences with the man whom we
trusted. Duncan was murdered by his kinsman, Macbeth, whom he had
honored and in whom he had implicit confidence. I was robbed by a
man whom I trusted and to whom I was foolish enough to teach the
combination to my safe."
When he had left the room Ruth remarked, "Poor, dear father, he tries
so hard to remember. The other night when he was reading 'Macbeth' he
looked up from his reading and remarked, 'It seems to me I have read
this play before.' He was only in the second act then and he laid
the book down and spent the rest of the evening trying to recall the
remainder of the play. He worried about it and I had a hard time to
persuade him to give it up and retire at eleven-thirty. I am so anxious
to take him to Dr. Lilly, and it's only going to be a little while
until we can go. I have two hundred dollars in my special fund now, and
when I save fifty more I am going to take him."
"I sincerely hope Dr. Lilly can help him."
"Don't you think he can, Harold?"
Harold had but little hopes of Dr. Lilly's being able to help her
father and feared Ruth would be disappointed in the end, yet her heart
was so set on it that he did not have the heart to discourage her. "It
may be he can. I have read of some wonderful cures he has made," he
replied.
"What do you think of the coming election?" she asked.
"I think that the Klan is going to be an important factor. It will not
have as much influence as it would have had if that Rastus Jones affair
had not happened."
"You think that negro affair is hurting the Klan's influence?"
"I am sure it is. I heard a good man say the other day that he intended
to vote for Dan Brown, the Klan candidate for sheriff, until this
affair came up. I am convinced that Klansmen did not have anything to
do with it, but it is hurting the Klan influence, nevertheless."
"I am certainly sorry if it does hurt the Klan," she said, her
conscience smiting her.
"There is no question about it hurting; it has already hurt. You see
there are so many who want to believe things of that kind about the
Klan, and they use this episode to work on the fears of others."
"Excuse me a moment, please." She left the room and soon called him to
come into the dining room. "I ate a lunch very hurriedly tonight and
am hungry; won't you eat a lunch with me?"
"With the greatest of pleasure."
They sat down to the table together, and while they ate Harold did most
of the talking. Ruth's mind was preoccupied. When they had finished
eating Ruth picked up the wish bone and held a prong of it toward
Harold. "Let's wish," she said, "the one who gets the biggest piece
wins, and gets his wish."
"All right," he replied, taking hold of the prong.
"I tell you, let's have it that the one who wins shall have his three
best wishes."
"Could one little chicken wishbone secure so much desire?" he asked.
"Yes, if we both agree to it, it can."
They both pulled and the bone broke close to his fingers. "There, I
won. I'll get my wishes!" she exclaimed.
"Tell me what you wished?"
"Oh, no; they wouldn't come true if I were to tell."
"Won't you ever tell me?" he asked.
"Yes, when they come true."
When he had told her good-night she called after him, "Good luck on the
trip."
His spirits were all together different when he entered his room for
the second time that night. He set his alarm so that he might not miss
the early train. Harold had a habit of reading something every night
before retiring. He picked up a volume of "The Rhymes of Ironquill"
and read a few short poems, selecting them at random. He turned to
Ironquill's version of Aesop's Fables. He read "The Swell," Fable No. 9.
"On the walk a hat did lie,
And a gallus chap sailed by,
And he cut a lively swell--
He was clerk in a hotel."
"So, he gave that hat a kick,
And he came across a brick--
Now upon a crutch he goes,
Minus half a pound of toes."
Moral.
"When you see a person thrown
By misfortune or by vice,
Help him thrice or seven times thrice;
Help him up or let alone.
If you give the man a kick
You may stumble on a brick,
Or a stone.
Fate is liable to frown,
And the best of us go down;
And in just a little while
She is liable to smile.
And the bad luck and the vice
Seem to scatter in a trice,
And to hunt their holes like mice.
And the man you tried to kick
Now has changed into a brick."
"I believe Fate is beginning to smile," he mused, "and here's hoping
that the bad luck will scatter in a trice, and it may be that some of
these fellows will find some day that the man they tried to kick has
turned into a brick." With this pleasing thought on his mind he retired
and was soon fast asleep.