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THE BARRIER
A Novel
by
ALLEN FRENCH
Author of "The Colonials"
[Illustration]
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1904
Copyright, 1904, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
Published, May, 1904
To
C. E. S. AND S. P. S.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Statement of the Case 3
II. Which Enlarges the Stage 10
III. Sets the Ball to Rolling 21
IV. An Understanding 26
V. Various Points of View 32
VI. Introducing an Eccentric 41
VII. Chebasset 52
VIII. The Progress of Acquaintance 65
IX. New Ideas 75
X. Drawn Both Ways 83
XI. An Incident at the Mill 92
XII. Forwards Various Affairs 102
XIII. Which Is in Some Respects Unsatisfactory 114
XIV. Mr. Pease Intrudes Upon a Secret 123
XV. Which Develops the Colonel's Financial
Strategy 130
XVI. Something New 145
XVII. Which Deals with Several of Our
Personages 155
XVIII. Judith Buys a Typewriter 163
XIX. "Put Money in Thy Purse" 175
XX. The Power of Suggestion 182
XXI. Ellis Takes His Last Step but One 194
XXII. Haroun Al Raschid 206
XXIII. Plain Language 218
XXIV. Bringing About an Understanding 224
XXV. The Colonel Gives Up His Luxuries 235
XXVI. In which Judge Harmon Enters the Story 242
XXVII. In which Judge Harmon Leaves the Story 250
XXVIII. Judith Binds Herself 255
XXIX. Knowledge of New Things 263
XXX. Time Begins His Revenges 275
XXXI. Brings About Two New Combinations 286
XXXII. Which Is in Some Respects Satisfactory 295
XXXIII. Contains Another Proposal of Marriage,
and Settles an Old Score 307
LIST OF CHARACTERS
_IN THE ORDER OF THEIR MENTION_
STEPHEN F. ELLIS, promoter and political boss.
GEORGE MATHER, a young business man.
JUDITH BLANCHARD, of the social set.
MRS. HARMON, who has risen by her marriage.
JUDGE ABIEL HARMON, advanced in years.
COLONEL BLANCHARD, Judith's father.
BETH, his remaining daughter.
MR. PRICE, the fashionable jeweller.
MR. FENNO, head of one of the old families.
MR. PEASE, a banker.
JIM WAYNE, of the social set.
MR. DAGGETT, a supporter of Ellis.
MISS JENKS, Mather's stenographer.
STOCK, a labor agitator.
THE BARRIER
CHAPTER I
THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE
There is a certain circle so well-to-do that it is occupied chiefly in
guarding its property and maintaining its exclusiveness. There is a city
so small, politically, that it is buttoned in one man's pocket. The
second of these is the direct consequence of the first. Leading families
lead little except the cotillion, parvenus crowd in, and things are done
at which no gentleman will soil his gloves.
In the course of time, such a community might develop a strong active
class and a superb set of figureheads, if only the two sorts would let
each other alone. But the one will envy and the other sneer; the one
will long for ornament and the other will meddle. A desire to sparkle
meets the desire to appear to do, or at times encounters the genuine
longing to do. Dirty hands will wish to be clean; clean hands must have
a little honest dirt.
The city of Stirling lies in New England; it is one among those which
look to Boston for supplies and to New York for fashions. Its history
goes back to colonial times: hence those beautiful estates in the
residential section and the air of pride in the scions of the old
families. These said scions collect much rent and control much
water-power, yet an inquirer imbued with the modern spirit might ask
them to give an account of themselves. Their forefathers settled the
country, fought in the Revolution, and helped to build the nation and
the State, but now people whisper of degeneration. In the old city
modern men have risen to power, control the franchises, manage the local
government, and are large in the public eye.
Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that one man does this. Ellis the
promoter, Stephen F. Ellis, has grown from nothing to everything, has
consolidated businesses, mastered the city affairs, holds all the reins,
pulls all the wires. The reform politicians have never harmed him. The
fashionable people, according to their wont, for years have avoided
publicity and let things go. The man among them who, in a generation,
alone has ventured into the field of thoroughly modern enterprise, has
failed signally, though most gallantly, and in the prime of his youth
stands amid the ruins of a career. The very honour which was his
inheritance brought him low.
He had been a contrast to Ellis in the openness of his methods and the
rapidity of his success. To organise all the street-railways of his
city, to force his personality upon the stockholders of three lines, and
to weld the old clumsy systems into one efficient whole--that was George
Mather's achievement. To be head and shoulders above all others of his
years as the street-railway president, yes, and as the man in whom the
reform politicians built their best hopes--that was his pride, and his
class was proud of him. But his strength was his weakness, for he used
no trickery and he kept his word. Therefore by a business stroke
undertaken against him in the face of an agreement, a method not so
analogous to a stab in the back as to the adroit administering of poison
in a loving-cup, Mather was upon a certain spring morning, at a certain
stock-holders' meeting, by a small but neat majority voted out of
office, and stood robbed of the best fruits of his labours.
Those who saw him that afternoon upon the golf-course marvelled as he
played his match with the precision of a machine. Had the man no nerves?
But though thus he proved--to others, not to himself--that he could bear
misfortune without flinching, it was with unspeakable relief that at
last he slipped away into an empty corner of the club-house, whence he
could hear only the buzz of the Saturday crowd on the grounds outside.
The tension of the last few hours relaxed suddenly, and now that he was
freed from the gaze of others he gave way almost to despair.
The silver cup which he had won he tossed upon the table, and dropping
his clubs upon the floor he threw himself into a chair. Beaten! To have
stood so high in the little city, to fall so suddenly, and to lose so
much! True, he had made money; he had gained the support of the rich men
of his class, who had assured him that they would wait their chance to
set him again in his place. But it was Ellis who had seized that place:
when had Ellis ever given up anything which he had gained? Yet it was
not Mather's fall, nor the hurt to his pride, nor even the loss of the
chance to carry out his plans, which shook him most, but the danger to
still dearer hopes. And the young man, almost groaning, dropped his head
upon his breast.
A girl entered the room suddenly, and stood startled at the sight of
him, but she was not heard. She wished to withdraw, yet feared to rouse
him, and his deep frown fascinated her. Staring downward, scowling with
his thoughts, his face had at first expressed anger, but now showed
pain. Judith, too, he was thinking--had she changed to him? When he
hurried to her after this morning's meeting, so soon as he could free
himself from his friends, already she had heard the news. She had not
let him speak with her alone, but though she must have known his wish
she kept her father in the room. If with her ambitions she felt
disappointed in him, if she rejected him--well, he could bear even that!
The girl who was watching saw his expression change to determination,
and then suddenly he roused himself. No one should find him brooding. As
he raised his eyes from the carpet she turned to escape, but he saw her
and sprang to his feet.
"Judith!" She stopped; perceiving her desire he added: "Don't let me
keep you."
Then she came to him directly. "I thought you were outdoors. Every one
was congratulating you; the club has never seen such golf. It was
splendid!"
He smiled, indifferent to the praise, and picking up the cup from the
table, looked at it carelessly. "Only for that."
"And Jim Wayne would give his head for it," she said.
Disdainfully, he shifted the cup into his palm, and with a single effort
crushed it out of shape. "See," and he meant to personify himself, "it
is only silver; it lacks strength."
"Ah," she answered, "don't be bitter. Come, forget the street-railroad,
forget you ever were its president, forget everything except your
friends."
"Judith," he returned with meaning, "can _you_ forget what I have lost?"
She drew back, flushing. "George!"
"Oh," he cried, "I know I am rude! But to-day when I came to see you,
you knew what had happened to me. If ever I needed comfort it was then,
and you knew it. There was only one consolation that would help me, and
you knew that, but you denied me. Judith, have I lost my chance with
you?"
She flushed, as if conscience drove home a rebuke. "I did not mean to be
unkind." But then she looked about uneasily, at the door at her back,
and at the curtains which shut off the adjoining room. "I--I think I
must go."
"No," he protested. "Let us have it out; no one is near. Give me my
sentence, Judith. You know I've loved you for years. It was for you I
built up the railroad; you are the impelling cause of all my work. This
winter I thought I had pleased you. Is there any hope for me?"
He spoke without a tremor of the voice, but he clenched his hands as he
waited for her answer, and his eyes were eager. Before them she dropped
her own. "Not now," she answered.
"Tell me," he asked almost gently, "why you have changed."
She stood silent, with her eyes still downcast, but her mouth grew
harder.
"No, don't explain," he said quickly. "I understand. I understood when I
left your house to-day. Judith, don't you know that I have learned to
read you? This morning I was beaten, and you require of a man that he
shall succeed."
Her eyes flashed up at him. "Well," she demanded, "and if I do? Can I be
different from what I am?"
"We make ourselves," he replied.
Her defiance was brief, and she asked earnestly: "Why have you let me
plague you so? Choose again, some softer woman."
"My choice is fixed," he answered simply.
"Then at least," she said, "we will remain friends?"
His face cleared, and he smiled. "So far as you permit."
"But without enthusiasm," she reproached him.
"Ah, Judith," he answered, "you know you don't require it."
"And we won't speak of this again?" she asked.
"Just these last words," he said. "Remember that this defeat is not the
end of me; I shall yet give an account of myself." She saw how resolute
were his eyes, but then his look again became gentle as he added: "And
this, too. The world fascinates you. But Judith, it is very big, and
strong, and merciless!"
Was it not a beaten man who spoke? She answered, "I do not fear it," and
studied him to find his meaning.
But with a steadiness which allowed no further show of feeling he
replied: "If ever you do, then turn to me."
They finished without words of parting; she quitted him abruptly, he
took up the caddy-bag and stuffed the ruined cup in among the clubs.
Though she paused an instant at the door, there was nothing more to be
said. Regretfully he watched her go: bright, fearless, and inquisitive
as she was, where was her nature leading her? He knew her restless
energy, and at the moment feared for her more than for himself.
As for her, he had pricked her deeply by his warning. The world would
never be too much for her. Let it be however big and strong, she admired
it, must learn about it! She would never cry for mercy. The thought did
not cross her mind that he knew the world better than she, that although
defeated he was more its master. At twenty-three one is confident.
And as for his charge that she thought less of him, she told herself
that it was not his disaster that separated them. Rather it was the
quality which the disaster had but emphasised in him--the
self-confidence, real or counterfeit, with which he had always assumed
that he could go his own way in making a home in which to take care of
her. How he mistook her! She did not ask for safety from the world; it
was the key to her whole character that she wished to be more than a
mere comfort to a man. Should she ever accept a husband, she must be an
active rather than a passive element in his strength, counselling,
inspiring, almost leading him. Between herself and Mather there was an
unremitting conflict of will. She left the club-house, and went out upon
the lawn with her cheeks a little redder than usual, her black eye
brighter, her head held still more high.
Men came instantly about her--young men eager to please. But with her
thoughts still busy, she measured them and found them lacking; they had
never done anything--they had not yet arrived. The most masterly of them
all she had left in the club-house, and he, after climbing to high
place, had fallen. Was it possible that the only men of power were older
still? Then she progressed to a still more searching question. Could
this vapid and ambitionless assembly produce real men?