IV

It is fitting and fortunate that a young woman in a large city, who has

given her happiness into the keeping of a man with his own way to make,

should be ignorant of her peril, and that charmed by love she should

take for granted that he will succeed. But the rest of the world has

no excuse for being equally blind, since the rest of the world is aware

that there is no recipe by which a girl of twenty can secure a guaranty

either of domestic happiness or ability on the part of her lover to

hold his own in the competition for a livelihood. It is easy for the

moralist of society, writing at his desk, to utter the solemn truth

that young people should not rush hastily into matrimony. Assuredly

they should not. But after all, is it to be wondered at that so many

of them do? Love is the law of life. The renewal of the race through

the union of the sexes is an instinct which asserts itself in spite of

code and thesis, and the institution of lawful wedlock is the bit by

which civilization regulates it. Let us, says the modern scientist,

isolate the degenerate members of society, the diseased, the vicious,

and the improvident, and prevent them from having offspring. But still

the priest of Rome, eager for fresh converts, but wise, too, in his

knowledge of the law of sex, whispers to his flock "marry early," and

adds under his breath, "lest ye sin." It is a part of religion,

perhaps, for the daughters of the well-to-do, who have been screened

from contact with the rough world, and who sit in judgment on several

lovers in the paternal drawing-room, to weigh and ponder and to call in

the brain to assist, or if needs be, silence the heart. Yet even they

sometimes elope instead with the wrong man against whom they have been

warned, and are unhappy--or happy--ever afterward. But when we turn

from these privileged young persons--the pretty, daintily dressed young

women in their Easter bonnets, who worship at our fashionable

churches--and from some height look out over wide stretches of streets

with every house alike, the homes of the average working population,

and reflect that every house shelters the consequences of a marriage,

shall we ask pitilessly, "How came ye so?" And if the answer of some

be "we met and loved and married, and now we are miserable," shall we

draw ourselves up and tell them that the fault is theirs, that

marriages are (or should be) made in heaven, and that they ought to

have discovered before they plighted their troth that John would be a

rascal or Mary a slattern? Is it not the privilege and the blessing of

the young to trust? Shall we blame them if, in the ignorance of youth

and under the spell of the law of their beings, they mistake unworthy

souls for their ideals?

The firm of Stuart & Robinson, dealers in lumber, had started with a

small capital, but the senior partner had confidence in his capacity to

do a large business. His late employers, Toler & Company, according to

his opinion, had been old fogies in their methods. To adopt his own

metaphor, instead of getting up early and shaking the trees, they

expected to have ripe peaches served to them on Sevrès china, or, in

other words, they let great opportunities slip through their fingers.

He proceeded during the first year to carry out several enterprises

which he had vainly called to their attention while in their service,

and he had the satisfaction of proving his wisdom and of doubling the

firm's assets at the same time. Emil's plans were essentially on a

large scale, and he was confessedly cramped even after this success.

He explained to his wife that if only he had the necessary capital, he

would be able at one fell swoop to control the lumber yards and lumber

market of Benham. As it was, he must wait and probably see others

appropriate ideas which he had suggested by his novel and brilliant

operations. The prophecy indeed proved true, and Emil saw with a

morose eye what he called his harvest gleaned by others. This

vindictive attitude toward the successful was the invariable frame of

mind into which he relapsed when he was not carrying everything before

him, and as a result those in the trade presently began to speak of him

as a crank. His quick comprehension was admitted, but his associates

shook their heads when his name was mentioned, and hinted that he was a

dangerous man, who would bear watching. It was almost inevitable that

a lean period should follow Emil's series of clever undertakings.

Toward the end of the second year, he found himself in a position where

he had not the means to enlarge the scope of his operations. His

working capital was locked up in sundry purchases which he had expected

would show quick profits, but which hung fire. If he liquidated, it

must be at a loss, and the idea of a loss was always bitter to him.

During a number of months he was obliged to renounce certain plans

which he had in view and to remain inactive. A falling lumber market

added to his complications. Prompt to act when he was convinced of

error, he sold out at last his accumulated stock at a loss, which would

have been much greater had he delayed a week longer. But he was left

almost in the same position as when he started; the previous profits

had been cut in two. This was wormwood to his restless soul. It made

him moody and cynical at home, where one child and the near advent of

another foreshadowed increasing expenses. He had expected by this time

to be on the high road to fortune, and to be imitating the swift

progress of certain individuals in Benham, who even in the short period

since he had been a citizen, had risen by their superior wits from

poverty to affluence and power.

But Emil's fits of depression were invariably succeeded by intervals of

buoyancy. Though he still talked bitterly at home of the methods by

which cold-hearted capital squeezed the small man to the wall and

robbed him of his gains, he began to scheme anew, and to argue that the

assets in his control were still ample for a great success if shrewdly

handled. The lumber market was in the doldrums, dull and drooping. It

began to look as though some of the industries of Benham had been

developed too rapidly, and as though a halt, or what financiers call a

healthy reaction in values, were in order. Could it be possible that

all prices in Benham were inflated? The idea occurred to Emil one day,

and he jumped at it eagerly. It took possession of him. He feverishly

began to examine statistics, and found that Benham had experienced only

one period of depression since its birth as a city at the close of the

Civil War. It was time for another, and the men who were clever enough

to anticipate it would reap the reward of their sagacity. What were

the staples of Benham? Oil, pork, and manufactured iron. These were

the industries which had given the chief impetus to the city's growth,

and were its great source of wealth. Emil pondered the situation and

decided to sell pork short. If a general shrinkage in values was

impending, the price of pork was certain to decline. He had hitherto

felt so confident of making money in his own line of business that he

had never done more than cast sheep's eyes at the stock market or the

markets in grain, oil, and pork futures. It had been his expectation

to try ventures of this sort as soon as his capital was large enough

for important transactions. It was a favorite notion of his that after

he had acquired the first one hundred thousand dollars, he would be

able to quadruple it in a very short time by bold dealings in stocks or

commodities. He knew now that he had merely to step into a broker's

office and sell pork in Chicago by wire. It was a simple thing to do

and the shrewd thing, considering his own business offered no

opportunity at the moment for brilliancy.

To speak to his partner seemed to Emil unnecessary. He promised

himself that after he had put the firm on its feet again he would deal

generously with Robinson. Since their late reverses the partnership

was not borrowing much money, so its credit was not exhausted. Emil

obtained from his bank as large a loan as he dared to ask for, and

began to sell pork short on the strength of the proceeds. It was a

process which requires small capital at the outset. That is, he had

simply to keep his margin good in case the pork which he sold rose in

value. To begin with he sold only a few hundred barrels, and within a

fortnight the price fell smartly. Not only the price of pork, but of

stocks, grain, and merchandise. Emil congratulated himself. Evidently

he was correct in his judgment that a period of lower speculative

values was at hand. The proper thing would be to sell everything and

reap a huge fortune before the dull general public awoke to the truth.

His own limited resources forbade this, which was irritating. Still,

he could go on selling pork short, and this he continued to do.

The proceeding elated him, for the sudden and large profit was in a

sense a revelation. He regretted that he had never before tried this

method of demonstrating his business shrewdness. He felt that it

suited him admirably. He would be no rash-headed fool; he would sell

boldly, but intelligently; he would keep his eye on the general market,

and not cover his shorts until the general situation changed. If a

serious decline in the prices of everything were in store for

Benham--and the indications of this were multiplying from week to

week--the price of pork might drop out of sight, so to speak, and he

win a fortune as a consequence. It was the chance of a lifetime. He

reasoned that he would keep cool and make a big thing of it; that a

small fellow would be content with a few thousands and run to cover,

but he intended to be one of the big fellows. Why take his profit when

the whole financial horizon was ominous with clouds, and money was

becoming tighter every day?

Emil's reasoning was perfect. The course of prices was exactly as he

had predicted; that is, the price of everything except pork. The

unexpected happened there, and this from a cause which no shrewd person

could have foreseen. One day when, in the parlance of trade, the

bottom seemed to be dropping out of all the markets, a despatch

appeared in the newspapers stating that a peculiar disease had broken

out among the hogs in Western Illinois. The pork market stiffened, but

became flat at the advance after somebody declared the story to be a

canard invented by the bulls to bolster up their holdings. Emil,

adopting this explanation, and certain that this cunning stratagem to

check the decline would prove unavailing, sold more pork.

A week later--one Saturday preceding a Monday which was to be a

holiday--there were rumors in Chicago, just before the close of the

Exchange, that the disease among the hogs was no mere local

manifestation; that it was spreading rapidly, and had already shown

itself in Indiana and Ohio. Pork in the last fifteen minutes bounded

upward and closed ominously strong. Before the market opened on the

following Tuesday it was definitely known that the hogs of the country

were in the grasp of an epidemic, the precise character of which, to

quote the press, was not yet determined, but which, in the opinion of

those most competent to judge, would render the flesh of the animals

attacked by the dread disease unfit for food, and their lard

unwholesome. When the market opened, the price of pork was so high

that Emil's margin of protection was wiped out as thoroughly as the

tide wipes out the sand dyke which a child erects upon the beach. He

was unable to respond to the demand made on him for money to keep his

account with his broker good, and was sold out before night at a

loss--a loss which left him in debt. He went home knowing that he was

bankrupt, and that his firm must fail the moment his note at the bank

became due, even if the broker to whom he owed five thousand dollars

over and above his margins did not press him. There was no escape from

ruin and humiliation.

He disclosed the truth to Constance with the repressed bitterness of a

Prometheus. He explained to her with the mien of a wounded animal at

bay the cruelty of the trick of destiny which had crushed him. How had

he been at fault? He had been shrewd, far-seeing and prompt to act.

The wisdom of his course had been demonstrated by the fall in prices.

He was on the high road to fortune, and fate had stabbed him in the

back. Could any intelligent man have foreseen that the hogs of the

country would be stricken with disease? And more galling still, why

had luck played him false by singling out the only possible combination

of events which could have done him harm?

"An all-wise Providence!" he ejaculated with a scornful laugh. "A man

looks the ground over, uses his wits and is reaping the benefit of his

intelligence when he is struck in the head with a brick from behind a

hedge, and is then expected to glorify the hand which smote him. How

could it have been helped? How was I to blame?" he reiterated with a

fierce look at his wife.

Constance could not answer the question. The details of business were

a sealed book to her. The brief account of the disaster in pork, which

he had just given, was confusing to her, and had left her with no

conviction save pity for her husband. She was ready to take his word,

and to believe that this overwhelming misfortune was the result of

ill-luck which could not have been guarded against. What was uppermost

in her mind was the impulse to help and comfort him. It pained her

that he should inveigh against fate, though she recognized that the

provocation was severe. But he needed her now more than ever. She

would be brave and let him see that her love was at his command.

"You mustn't mind too much, Emil," she said. "We have to start again,

that's all. I can economize in lots of ways, and we shall manage

somehow, I'm sure. We have the house, you know. If it's necessary--in

order to set you up in business--we can mortgage that. We've always

had that to fall back on."

She knew as she spoke that from the standpoint of prudence the offer of

the house was unwise. If that were gone, what would become of her

children? Yet she felt a joy in tendering it. Why did her husband

look at her with that malevolent gaze as though she had contributed to

his distress?

"If you had put a mortgage on the house when I first started in

business, and had given me the benefit of a larger capital, then we

shouldn't be where we are to-day. I wanted it at the time, but you

didn't offer it."

"Oh, Emil. I never dreamt that you wished it. To mortgage our home

then would have been rash, surely. Besides, if I had given it to you,

wouldn't it have been lost with the rest now?"

"Don't you understand," he said, roughly, "that if I had not been

hampered at the start by my small capital, I should never have been

forced to go outside the lumber business in order to support my family?

Another five thousand dollars would have made all the difference."

His glowering look seemed to suggest that he had persuaded himself that

she was partly to blame for what had happened. Constance was ready to

make every allowance for him, but his mood offered fresh evidence of

the crankiness of his disposition, a revelation to which her devotion

could not altogether blind her.

"I don't understand anything about the business part," she answered,

putting her arm around his neck. "Oh, Emil, Emil, I'm so sorry for

you! I wish to do everything I can to help you and show my love for

you. This is a dreadful sorrow for you to bear--for us both to bear.

But it has come to us, and we mustn't be discouraged. God will give us

strength to bear it if we let him."

"God?" he blurted. "You may leave God out of the question so far as I

am concerned."

"Oh, Emil, it grieves me to hear you talk like that."

"And it grieves me that you should aggravate my trouble by cant which I

thought you had outgrown."

"I shall never outgrow that," she murmured, appreciating suddenly that

the substitute which he offered her for spiritual resignation was a

cell bounded by four stone walls. She had reached the limit of her

apostacy, and she shrank irrevocably from the final step.

"Of course the rich and the powerful and the fortunate," he was saying,

"encourage the delusion that if a man's knocked out as I am he ought to

believe it's for the best, because rubbish of that sort keeps together

the social system on which they fatten. Do the poor in the tenements

in Smith Street over there," he asked with a wave of his hand, "believe

it's for the best that they should go hungry and in rags while Carleton

Howard and his peers imitate Antony and Cleopatra? Ask the operatives

in the factories across the river what they think of the justice of the

millionaire's God? The time has passed when you can fool the

self-respecting workingman with a basket of coals and a tract on the

kingdom of heaven. They may have their heaven, if they'll give us a

fair share of this earth." Emil folded his arms as one issuing an

ultimatum.

Constance realized that he was in no mood to be reasoned with. She had

made clear that she could not subscribe to his doctrine of despair, and

save in that respect she was eager to be sympathetic. She could not

deny the inequalities and apparent injustice of civilization, and

Emil's plea that he had been crushed by an accident which he could not

have avoided not only wrung her heart, but filled it with a sense of

hostility to an industrial system which permitted its deserving members

to be crushed without fault of their own. But she felt instinctively

that the best sort of succor which she could bring was of the practical

kind. To-morrow was before them, God or no God, and they must adjust

themselves to their altered circumstances, take thought and build their

hopes anew.

She put her arm around his neck again and kissed him silently. Then

she began with quiet briskness to make preparations for the evening

meal. It was the maid's afternoon out, and Constance moved as though

she were glorying in the occupation. Presently she said:

"Of course I'll dismiss Sophy to-morrow. I am proud to be a

workingman's wife, Emil. We'll soon be on our feet again, never fear."

The suggestion of the servant's dismissal deepened the gloom on Emil's

face. "I've half a mind to pull up stakes and move to New York," he

muttered.

"And give up our home?"

He frowned at the involuntary concern in her voice. "What use is a

home in a place where a man is cramped and circumvented in every big

thing he attempts? I ought to have moved long ago."

"I am ready to live wherever you think best, Emil. And you mustn't

forget, dear, that my trust and faith in you are as great as ever."

Despondent as he was, his habit of buoyancy was already groping for

some clue to a brighter vision, to which his wife's words of

encouragement now helped him. He was sitting with his elbows resting

on the table and his head clasped between his hands. "I'll make a

fresh start--here," he said. "They've got me down, but, damn them,

I'll show them that they can't keep me there."

Presently he arose, and walking out to the kitchen reappeared with a

goblet and two bottles of beer. One of these he uncorked and poured

the contents ostentatiously so that the froth gathered. Raising the

glass he buried his mouth in the beer and eagerly drank it off. He set

down the goblet with a sigh of satisfaction.

"And what's more," he said, "they can't deprive me of that."

Constance watched him with a troubled look. She shrank at this time of

his distress from intimating that she regarded the indulgence of this

appetite as a poor sort of solace. Besides, a glass of beer was in

itself nothing, and he might well take offence at her solicitude as an

invasion of his reasonable comfort. Yet observation had taught her

that he was becoming more and more fond of seeking a respite from care

in liberal potations of this sort.

She restrained her inclination to interfere, but she saw him with

concern consume four bottles in the course of the evening. The

serenity of temper which this produced--the almost indifferent calm

following the storm--was by no means encouraging. To be sure his ugly

side seemed entirely in abeyance. Indeed, he took down his fiddle and

played on it seductively until he went to bed, as though there were no

such things as business troubles. But somehow the very mildness of his

mood, gratifying as it was to her from the momentary personal

standpoint, disturbed her. Was this good nature the manly, Christian

resignation of the victim of misfortune putting aside his grief until

the morrow? It suggested to her rather the relaxation of a baffled

soul exchanging ambition for a nepenthe of forgetfulness--a fuddled

agitator's paradise--and her heart was wrung with dread.

V

The firm of Stuart & Robinson, lumber dealers, was hopelessly insolvent

and did not attempt to resume business. The partners separated with

sentiments of mutual disdain. To the junior--the dummy--the failure

had come as a cruel surprise. He refused to regard Emil's conduct as

reasonable or honorable, despite the assurance that the speculation in

pork had been for their common benefit, and that, but for an untoward

accident, the result would have been a fortune for the firm. On the

other hand, Emil expressed scorn for a nature so pusillanimous that it

saw only the outcome and failed utterly to appreciate the brilliancy of

his undertaking. As Emil explained to his wife, the decision of the

partners in regard to the future was typical of their respective

dispositions; Robinson, having lost his money, was soliciting a

clerkship--a return to servitude; whereas Emil intended to strike out

for himself again.

In what field of energy were his talents to be exercised next? This

was for Emil the first and most important consideration. His new

employment must be of a kind which would provide him with bread and

butter until he was on his feet again, but would not deprive him of

scope and independence. It must be something which would not require

capital. Yet this did not mean that his talent for speculation was to

be neglected, but merely to be kept in abeyance until he saw just the

opportunity to use to advantage the three thousand dollars which he

promptly raised by a second mortgage on his wife's house. His failure

had left him more than ever confident of his ability to achieve success

by bold and comprehensive methods. But in the meantime, while he was

spinning the web of fresh enterprises which were to make him

prosperous, he must support his family somehow.

He concluded to become a newspaper reporter and writer of articles for

the press. This would provide an immediate income and would not

interfere unduly with other projects. Besides it would enable him to

give public expression to some of his opinions, which would be an

æsthetic satisfaction. He also engaged desk-room in an office shared

by four men independent of one another and interchangeably petty

lawyers, traders and dealers in mortgages and land. On the glass door

one read "Real Estate and

Mortgages--Investments--Collections--Loans--Notary Public." Below were

the names of the occupants, followed by the titles of several wildcat

companies, the dregs of oil and mining ventures in the neighborhood of

Benham, of which one of them was the promoter and treasurer. It seemed

to Emil a location where he, hampered by circumstances from jostling

elbows with men of means, might use his wits profitably until he could

see his way to more imposing quarters. Here he would be unobserved and

yet not wholly out of touch with what was going on. On the same floor

of the building, which was a hive of small concerns, there was a

broker's office which had a wire to Chicago and knowing correspondents

in New York. That it was described as a "bucket shop" by more

prosperous banking firms prejudiced Emil in its favor; he ascribed the

stigma to capitalistic envy and social ostracism. He became friendly

with the proprietor, discussed with him the merits of the wares on his

counter, and presently, acting on "tips" obtained from this source,

captured on several occasions sums ranging from ten to fifty dollars by

the purchase of ten shares of stock or an equivalent amount of grain,

requiring an advance on his own part of not more than three per cent.

of the purchase price--a mere bagatelle. This as a beginning was

satisfactory. It eked out his journalistic income; and the skill with

which he plied the process, contrasted with the folly displayed by most

of the customers, flattered the faith which he had in his sound

judgment. This broker's shop was the resort of scores of people of

small means, trades-folk, clerks, salaried dependents and some women,

keen to acquire from the fluctuations of the speculative markets a few

crumbs of the huge gains garnered by the magnates of Wall Street, of

which they read emulously in the newspapers. To put up one's thirty

dollars, and to have one's margin of venture or profit wiped out within

twenty-four hours, was the normal experience, sooner or later, of

ninety per cent. of these unfortunates. The remainder were shrewder

and longer lived, and to this remnant Emil indisputably belonged.

He obtained a position on the _Star_, a sensational, popular one-cent

paper. The _Star_ was read both by the workingmen in the manufacturing

plants, of whose interests it was a zealous champion, and by a large

class of business men and trades-people, who found its crisp paragraphs

and exaggerated, inaccurate reports of current horrors and scandals an

agreeable form of excitement. Emil's employment was to make the round

of the dealers in grain, lumber, wool and other staples and report

trade prices and gossip, which under the control of the financial

editor he was allowed to expand into commercial prognostications or

advice. To the Sunday edition he began to contribute special articles

exploiting the grievances of the proletariat, which the management of

the _Star_ accepted and presently invited as a weekly feature. They

were written with a sardonic acerbity of touch, which afforded him an

outlet for his disgruntled frame of mind and free scope for his

favorite theories. He also renewed his attendance at the Socialistic

Club which he had frequented before his marriage, and became one of the

orators there. It occurred to him that a political office would be

acceptable while he was husbanding his resources. Why not become

alderman on the workingman's ticket? There was a salary of five

hundred dollars attached, and as a city father he would have

opportunities to know what was going on in municipal affairs, and to

get an inkling of some of the big schemes projected by capitalists, for

the furtherance of which his vote would be required. He would be able

also--and this was an exhilarating consideration--to hold the whip-hand

over the arrogant moneyed men seeking franchises for next to nothing,

by which to extort millions from the guileless common people. While

Emil, with recovered buoyancy, readjusted his plans to meet his

circumstances and set his wits to work, his wife met the necessity of

strict economy with absorbed devotion. She signed the mortgage with a

pang, but without hesitancy. She appreciated the necessity of the

contribution. Without ready money Emil would be powerless--must become

a mere clerk or subordinate, and his ambition would be crushed. She

would have preferred perhaps that he should resign himself to the

situation, and without imperilling their home, support his family on a

modest footing by a salary or by the journalistic work for which he had

an aptitude. But she recognized that his heart was set on independent

success on a large scale, and that Emil thwarted or repressed would

become an irritable and despondent malcontent. His shrewdness had

nearly gained him a fortune, and apparently a cruel freak of chance had

been solely responsible for his discomfiture. She did not pretend to

criticise the nature of his business dealings. He had explained to her

that capital was indispensable to the realization of his aims. She

must trust him. She did suggest that he should use the proceeds of the

mortgage for the payment of his debts. The thought of doing so was

bitter, and she was thankful when Emil assured her with a protesting

scoff that such a proceeding would be Utopian. "What," he asked, "was

the sense of insolvent laws, if, when a man failed in business, his

wife was to cast her little all, her own patrimony, into the common pot

for the enrichment of his creditors? Business people understood that

they were taking business chances, and did not expect to gobble up the

home of a wife bought with her own genuine means. If she were rich,

generosity might be honesty, but in the present instance, it would be

sentimental folly." This was convincing to Constance, for she felt

instinctively that her children must have rights as well as the

creditors. A woman's whimsical conception of business honor might well

be at fault. She had made her offer, and she was glad to abide by her

husband's superior knowledge.

Her duty obviously was to reduce the scale of family living without

interfering with Emil's reasonable comfort or wounding his

self-respect. She gave herself up to her work of domestic economy with

fresh zeal, doing the manual labor of the household with enthusiasm.

By steady industry and thoughtful care, she was able not only to

minimize expenses, but to produce presentable results from a small

outlay. Her heart was in it; for was not Emil at work again and

hopeful? She was proud of his newspaper articles and regarded his

small gains from shrewd speculations as new proof of his capacity for

financial undertakings.

The end of a year found Emil rather more than holding his own

pecuniarily. He had obtained commissions as a broker from the

successful negotiation of a few small real-estate transactions, his

ventures on a cautious scale in the stock market had been almost

invariably fortunate, and his earnings as a newspaper writer had been

sufficient with these accretions to cover his household expenses, pay

the interest on the mortgage, and add slightly to his capital. He felt

that he was on his feet again, and was correspondingly bumptious; yet

he realized that his recuperation regarded as progress was a snail's

pace, which must be greatly accelerated if he would attain wealth and

importance. In this connection the idea of becoming an alderman kept

recurring to him with increasing attraction. At present he was nobody.

His name was unfamiliar and his position obscure. This irritated him,

for he craved recognition and publicity. To be sure, while capital was

at his disposal, he had seen fit to address his efforts solely to the

accumulation of a fortune as the passport to power, but even then he

had been at heart a sworn enemy of the moneyed class. And now that he

had resumed his old associations, his theories had developed fresh

vitality and aroused in him the desire to vindicate them by action.

Since fate had condemned him to attain financial prominence slowly, why

should he not secure recognition in the best way he could? As an

alderman he would be a local power, and once in the arena of politics

and given the opportunity to make himself felt, why might he not aspire

to political prosperity?

He proceeded to seek the nomination. But he found that there were

other aspirants, and that he must be stirring. In Benham the district

system of election was in vogue. That is, the city was divided into

municipal districts, and each district chose its own alderman. In that

where Emil lived the workingman's candidate, so called, was almost

invariably successful against the representative of the more

conservative element of the two wards concerned, and a nomination was

regarded as equivalent to election. Now there were two factions of

voters belonging to the dominant party in the district, one in each

ward, and for three successive years the alderman had come from the

ward other than that in which Emil dwelt. This was a plausible

argument why the next candidate should be selected from his ward. The

faction which Emil hoped to represent contained a considerable number

of Germans with socialistic affiliations, and it was agreed by a

conference of the rival cliques on the eve of the canvass that their

turn had come to nominate a candidate. This was fortunate for Emil, as

some of the members of the social debating club to which he belonged

were of this body. He had already been prominent at the meetings of

the club, prompt and aggressive in the expression of his opinions on

his feet, and prone to linger over his beer until late at night

agitating the grievances of the under dogs of industrial competition.

The suggestion of his name, backed by a vote of his associates,

received respectful consideration from the political managers, and he

at once became a prominent candidate. The last three aldermen from the

district had been of Irish extraction, and he was an American. His

grandfather on his mother's side had been a German; hence his name

Emil. He was an undoubted advocate of the rights of the laboring

class, and a foe of capitalistic jobbing. These were signal points in

his favor. But the victory would remain to the aspirant who could

obtain a majority of the delegates to the aldermanic convention, and

the battle would be fought out at the preliminary caucus where the

delegates were chosen by the voters of the two wards. Accordingly the

contest became a house-to-house canvass of the district by the

respective candidates, each of whom had an organization and

lieutenants. There was speech-making at halls hired for the occasion,

and some treating incident to these rallies. Poster pictures of the

candidates were requisite for use in saloons and on bill-boards. All

this demanded expenditure. Emil realized presently that, if he wished

to succeed, he could not be niggardly with his money. Men would not

work for nothing, and spontaneous enthusiasm was only to be had for

remuneration. He drew upon his funds, exhausting the little he had

saved the previous year, and trenching slightly on the mortgage money.

He hoped to win. The contest practically was between him and a German

beer manufacturer, who happened also to be the president of a small

bank. The third candidate was already out of the running. Emil in his

capacity as tribune of the people made the most of his opponent's

connection with the moneyed interests. His satire on this score offset

the advantage which his rival received from his trade as a brewer, and

turned the scale. On the night of the caucus, the voting booths were

crowded to repletion. A stream of excited citizens struggled to the

rail to deposit their ballots. There was imprecation and several

resorts to fisticuffs. Not until after midnight was the result known.

Emil won by a liberal margin in both wards, and his nomination was

assured. He was escorted home jubilant and beery by a detachment of

his followers, whose cat-calls of triumph thrilled the listening ears

of Constance. She met him at the door, and when he was safely inside

she threw her arms about his neck and exclaimed, "Oh, Emil. I'm so

glad!"

His small dark eyes were scintillating, his hair stood up from his brow

like a bird's crest, the curl of his short mustache, odorous of malt,

bristled awry, his speech was thick.

"Didn't I tell you they couldn't keep me down? I shall get now where I

belong," he exclaimed as he strode into the sitting-room and dropped

into a chair with the air of a fuddled but victorious field-marshal.

Constance recognized that he was exhilarated by drink. The

associations of the last few weeks had awakened in her vague doubts as

to the sort of influence which the career of an alderman was likely to

exercise upon him. But she shrank from harboring criticism. She

yearned to be happy, and her happiness was to see her husband

successful and prosperous. So she put away the consciousness that his

breath was tainted, his manner boastful and jarring, and gave herself

up to the joy which sprang from beholding him a self-satisfied victor.

Emil's self-satisfaction was short lived. It chanced that some of the

wealthy citizens of Benham were interested in the establishment of an

electric street-car system for the city and its suburbs, and were

laying their wires to secure the co-operation of the Board of Aldermen.

The project had been kept concealed, and not until the campaign for the

city election was well under way were the machinations of those

interested apparent. First as an underground rumor, then as a

well-credited report from diverse sources, the news reached Emil that

the nominee of the other party had the backing of a powerful syndicate.

The true explanation of this mystery followed, and with it the

statement that Emil's radical utterances had drawn upon his head the

ire of the capitalists with a mission, who were giving their moral and

financial support in every district to the one of the two candidates

best suited to their necessities regardless of party. In place of the

walk-over he had expected, Emil found himself in the midst of a contest

of the fiercest description. He was furious, and his exultation was

turned to gall. Why had he not discovered the street-car company

projects in advance and made friends with the promoters? This was his

first and secret reflection, which added rancor to his public

declaration that he would bury at the polls the candidate of these

plunderers. But how? Where were his funds to come from? There had

been plenty of offers of ready money when it was supposed that his

election was assured. But now the tone of his supporters was less

confident, and ugly rumors reached him of defections among the Irish in

the other ward. He was in the fight to stay. So he declared on the

stump and in his home. He could not afford to be defeated. It was a

case of hit or miss, win or lose. Maddened, desperate, and excited, he

threw prudence to the winds and scattered dollars freely for

proselytizing expenses until the morning of the election. Each side

claimed the victory until the polls were closed. The result was

close--a matter of one hundred and fifty ballots--but Emil proved to be

the loser, and at a cost of over three thousand dollars. The fund

which he had borrowed from his wife was exhausted, and he had incurred,

besides, a batch of unpaid bills for refreshments, carriages, and other

incidental expenses.

He awoke at dawn from a nap at a table in a saloon from which the last

of his followers had slipped away. Slouching into his kitchen, where

his wife was kindling the fire, he tossed his hat on the table and said

with a malignant sneer:

"The jig's up."

Constance was pale. She had been watching for him all night, and had

heard from a neighbor the dismal result. Her heart was wrung with pity

and distress, but she perceived that it was no time for consolatory

words. She busied herself in preparing a cup of coffee, which

presently she placed before him, stooping as she did so to kiss him

softly on the forehead. He was sitting by the table with his legs

thrust out and his hands sunk in his trousers pockets, chewing an

unlighted cigar, one of those left from the supply he had bought for

political hospitality. His wife's action seemed to remind him of her

presence. He looked up at her viciously, showing the white of his eye

like a surly dog.

"What do you want?"

"Your coffee, Emil."

He glared at the smoking cup, then with a sweep of his arm dashed it

away:

"To hell with you and your messes, you--you fool!"

The crash of the crockery was followed by silence. It seemed to

Constance that she had been struck by a bullet, so confounding were his

words. Her husband address her like that? What did it mean?

"Emil," she gasped--"you are ill!"

"Not ill, but tired of you."

"Of me? Your wife? What have I done?"

"Why didn't you consent to move to New York when I wished to go?" he

snapped. "If you had, I wouldn't be in this fix, sold out by a pack of

filthy Hibernian cut-throats."

"I was ready to go if you wished it, Emil. We will go now--if only you

do not speak to me so unkindly."

"It's too late," he replied with a sneer. "What use would it be,

anyway? We look at everything differently. We always have."

"You do not realize what you are saying. You do not know what you are

saying."

"Crazy, am I? The best thing for you to do is to ask some of your

church philanthropists to supply you with laundry work. You're likely

to need it. The jig's up, I tell you. We haven't a dollar left."

"Very well."

"The mortgage money with the rest." He threw the chewed cigar on the

floor and ground it with his foot.

"Very well. I can bear anything except that you should speak to me so

cruelly. Have I been afraid of work? Whatever has happened we mustn't

forget the children, Emil. We must keep up our courage on their

account at least."

He scowled at the reference. "I'll look out for the children. Is

there any beer in the house?"

"No." Then after a moment's hesitation she added, "May I ask you

something, Emil? Won't you give up beer? It is hurting your life. I

am sure of it. I have felt so for some time, and you have known that I

have hated your fondness for it. Give it up altogether and--and we

will go to New York or anywhere you wish and make a fresh start."

In her dismay at his brutality she was eager and thankful to throw the

responsibility for his conduct on his propensity for drink. She felt

the obligation to speak fearlessly on this score, even though she

irritated him. Her gentle remonstrances had been of no avail, and she

must struggle with him now against himself or lose him altogether.

Emil heard her appeal with a deepening scowl. For a moment it seemed

as though he were about to strike her. Then, as what he evidently

considered the audacity of her expostulation worked on his mind,

self-pity was mingled with his anger.

"You'd deprive me of my beer, would you? The only solace I've got.

Why don't you go smash my fiddle, too? That's the way with you pious

women; a man gets down on his luck and you stop his comforts and drive

him into the street. Very well, then, if I can't get beer in this

house, little saint, there's lots of places I can. This is the last

straw." Thereupon he strode out of the house, closing the kitchen door

behind him with a vicious bang.