Chapter 3

"'Well, you begun it,' I says. 'Don't judge me hastily. I'm a philanthropist. I'm goin' to leave you yer liberty an' a hundred dollars. You take it an' get. If you ever return to Connecticut I'll arrest you at sight.'

"I gave him the money an' called the officer, who had just come up. A traveller in a large tourin'-car had halted near us.

"'Put him into that car an' take him to Chesterville,' I said.

"He limped to the car an' left without a word.

"I returned to my friends an' gently broke the news.

"Sam blubbered 'Education done it,' says he, as he mournfully shook his head.

"'Yes,' I says. 'Education is responsible for a damned lot of ignorance.'

"'An' some foolishness,' says Sam, as he scraped the mud out of his hair. 'Think of our goin' like that. We ought to have known better.' "'We knew better,' I says, 'but we had to keep up with Lizzie.'

"Sam turned toward Lizzie an' moaned in a broken voice, 'I wish it had killed me.'

"'Why so?' I asked.

"'It costs so much to live,' Sam sobbed, in a half-hysterical way. 'I've got an expensive family on my hands.'

"'You needn't be afraid o' havin' Lizzie on your hands,' says Dan, who held the girl in his arms.

"'What do you mean?^ Sam inquired.

"'She's on my hands an' she's goin' to stay there,' says the young man. 'I'm in love with Lizzie myself. I've always been in love with Lizzie.'

"'Your confession is ill-timed,' says Lizzie, as she pulled away an' tried to smooth her hair. She began to cry again, an' added, between sobs: 'My heart is about broken, and I must go home and get help for my poor father.'

"'I'll attend to that,' says Dan; 'but I warn you that I'm goin' to offer a Pettigrew for a Henshaw even. If I had a million dollars I'd give it all to boot.'

"Sam turned toward me, his face red as a beet.

"'The money!' he shouted. 'Get it, quick!'

"'Here it is!' I said, as I put the roll o' bills in his hand.

"'Did you take it off him?'

"'I took it off him.'

"'Poor Aleck!' he says, mournfully, as he counted the money. 'It's kind o' hard on him.'

"Soon we halted a passin' automobile an' got Sam up the bank an' over the wall. It was like movin' a piano with somebody playin' on it, but we managed to seat him on the front floor o' the car, which took us all home.

"So the affair ended without disgrace to any one, if not without violence, and no one knows of the cablegram save the few persons directly concerned. But the price of Alecks took a big slump in Pointview. No han'some foreign gent could marry any one in this village, unless it was a chambermaid in a hotel.

"That was the end of the first heat of the race with Lizzie in Pointview. Aleck had folded up his bluff an' silently sneaked away. I heard no more of him save from a lady with blond, curly hair an' a face done in water-colors, who called at my office one day to ask about him, an' who proved to my satisfaction that she was his wife, an' who remarked with real, patrician accent when I told her the truth about him: 'Ah, g'wan, yer kiddin' me.'

"I began to explore the mind of Lizzie, an' she acted as my guide in the matter. For her troubles the girl was about equally indebted to her parents an' the Smythe school. Now the Smythe school had been founded by the Reverend Hopkins Smythe, an Englishman who for years had been pastor of the First Congregational Church--a soothin' man an' a favorite of the rich New-Yorkers. People who hadn't slept for weeks found repose in the First Congregational Church an' Sanitarium of Pointview. They slept an' snored while the Reverend Hopkins wept an' roared. His rhetoric was better than bromide or sulphonal. In grateful recollection of their slumbers, they set him up in business.

"Now I'm agoin' to talk as mean as I feel. Sometimes I get tired o' bein' a gentleman an' knock off for a season o' rest an' refreshment. Here goes! The school has some good girls in it, but most of 'em are indolent candy-eaters. Their life is one long, sweet dream broken by nightmares of indigestion. Their study is mainly a bluff; their books a merry jest; their teachers a butt of ridicule. They're the veriest little pagans. Their religion is, in fact, a kind of Smythology. Its High Priest is the Reverend Hopkins. Its Jupiter is self. Its lesser gods are princes, dukes, earls, counts, an' barons. Its angels are actors an' tenors. Its baptism is flattery. Poverty an' work are its twin hells. Matrimony is its heaven, an' a slippery place it is. They revel in the best sellers an' the worst smellers. They gossip of intrigue an' scandal. They get their lessons if they have time. They cheat in their examinations. If the teacher objects she is promptly an' generally insulted. She has to submit or go--for the girls stand together. It's a sort of school-girls' union. They'd quit in a body if their fun were seriously interrupted, an' Mr. Smythe couldn't afford that, you know. He wouldn't admit it, but they've got him buffaloed.

"Lizzie no sooner got through than she set out with her mother to find the prince. She struck Aleck in Italy."

Socrates leaned back and laughed.

"Now, if you please, I'll climb back on my pedestal," he said.

"Thank God! Lizzie began to rise above her education. She went to work in her father's store, an' the whole gang o' Lizzie-chasers had to change their gait again. She organized our prosperous young ladies' club--a model of its kind--the purpose of which is the promotion of simple livin' an' a taste for useful work. They have fairs in the churches, an' I distribute a hundred dollars in cash prizes--five dollars each for the best exhibits o' pumpkin-pie, chicken-pie, bread, rolls, coffee, roast turkey, plain an' fancy sewin', an' so on. One by one the girls are takin' hold with us an' lettin' go o' the grand life. They've begun to take hold o' the broom an' the dish-cloth, an' the boys seem to be takin' hold o' them with more vigor an' determination. The boys are concluding that it's cheaper to buy a piano-player than to marry one, that canned prima-donnas are better than the home-grown article, that women are more to be desired than playthings.

IV

IN WHICH THE HAM WAR HAS ITS BEGINNING

"One day in the old time a couple of industrious Yankees were hard at work in a field," Socrates continued. "Suddenly one said to the other:

"'I wish I was worth ten thousand dollars.'

"An' the other asked:

"'What would ye do with it?'

"The wisher rested on his shovel an' gave his friend a look of utter contempt.

"'What would I do with it?' he said. 'Why, you cussed fool, I'd set down--an' without blamin' myself.'

"By-and-by the Yankee got to settin' down without blamin' himself, an' also without the ten thousand. Here in Pointview we're learnin' how to stand up again, an' Lizzie is responsible. You shall hear how it happened.

"First I must tell you that Dan had been makin' little progress in the wooin' o' Lizzie. Now she was inclined to go slow. Lizzie was fond o' Dan. She put on her best clothes when he came to see her of a Sunday. She sang to him, she walked him about the place with her arm in his, but she tenderly refused to agree to marry him. When he grew sentimental she took him out among the cucumbers in the garden. She permitted no sudden rise in his temperature.

"'I will not marry,' she said, 'until I have done what I can to repay my father for all that he has tried to do for me. I must be uneducated and re-educated. It may take a long time. Meanwhile you may meet some one you like better. I'm not going to pledge you to wait for me. Of course I shall be awfully proud and pleased if you do wait, but, Dan, I want you to be free. Let's both be free until we're ready.'

"It was bully. Dan pleaded with the eloquence of an old-fashioned lawyer. Lizzie stood firm behind this high fence, an' she was right. With Dan in debt an' babies comin', what could she have done for her father? Suddenly it seemed as if all the young men had begun to take an interest in Lizzie, an', to tell the truth, she was about the neatest, sweetest little myrmidon of commerce that ever wore a white apron. The light of true womanhood had begun to shine in her face. She kept the store in apple-pie order, an' everybody was well treated. The business grew. Sam bought a small farm outside the village with crops in, an' moved there for the summer. Soon he began to let down his prices. The combine was broken. It was the thing we had been waitin' for. People flocked to his store. The others came down, but too late. Sam held his gain, an' Lizzie was the power behind the fat. Dan finished his course in agriculture an' I bought him a farm, an' he went to work there, but he spent half his time in the store of his father tryin' to keep up with Lizzie. Suddenly Dan started a ham war. He cut the price of hams five cents a pound. Ham was one of our great staples, an' excitement ran high. Lizzie cut below him two cents a pound. Dan cut the price again. Lizzie made no effort to meet this competition. The price had gone below the wholesale rate by quite a margin. People thronged to Dan's emporium. Women stood on the battle-field, their necks blanched with powder, their cheeks bearin' the red badge o' courage, an' every man you met had a ham in his hand. The Pettigrew wagon hurried hither an' thither loaded with hams. Even the best friends of Sam an' Lizzie were seen in Dan's store buyin' hams. They laid in a stock for all winter. Suddenly Dan quit an' restored his price to the old figure. Lizzie continued to sell at the same price, an' was just as cheerful as ever. She had won the fight, an' ye wouldn't think that anything unusual had happened; but wait an' see.

"Every day boys an' girls were droppin' out o' the clouds an' goin' to work tryin' to keep up with Lizzie. The hammocks swung limp in the breeze. The candy stores were almost deserted, an' those that sat by the fountains were few. We were learnin' how to stand up.

"One day Dan came into my office all out o' gear. He looked sore an' discouraged. I didn't wonder.

"'What's the matter now?' I says.

"'I don't believe Lizzie cares for me.'

"'How's that?' I says.

"'Last Sunday she was out riding with Tom Bryson, an' every Sunday afternoon I find half-a-dozen young fellows up there.'

"'Well, ye know, Lizzie is attractive, an' she ain't our'n yit--not just yit,' I says. 'If young men come to see her she's got to be polite to 'em. You wouldn't expect her to take a broom an' shoo 'em off?'

"'But I don't have anything to do with other girls.'

"'An' you're jealous as a hornet,' I says. 'Lizzie wants you to meet other girls. When Lizzie marries it will be for life. She'll want to know that you love her an' only her. You keep right on tryin' to catch up with Lizzie, an' don't be worried.'

"He stopped strappin' the razor of his discontent, but left me with unhappy looks. That very week I saw him ridin' about with Marie Benson in his father's motor-car.

"Soon a beautiful thing happened. I have told you of the melancholy end of the cashier of one of our local banks. Well, in time his wife followed him to the cemetery. She was a distant relative of Sam's wife, an' a friend of Lizzie. We found easy employment for the older children, an' Lizzie induced her parents to adopt two that were just out of their mother's arms--a girl of one an' a boy of three years. I suggested to Lizzie that it seemed to me a serious undertaking, but she felt that she ought to be awfully good by way of atonement for the folly of her past life. It was near the end of the year, an' I happen to know that when Christmas came a little sack containing five hundred dollars in gold was delivered at Sam Henshaw's door for Lizzie from a source unknown to her. That paid for the nurse, an' eased the situation."

V

IN WHICH LIZZIE EXERTS AN INFLUENCE ON THE AFFAIRS OF THE RICH AND GREAT

A year after Socrates Potter had told of the descent of Lizzie, and the successful beginning of her new life, I called again at his office.

"How is Pointview?" I asked.

"Did ye ever learn how it happened to be called Pointview?" he inquired.

"No."

"Well, it began with a little tavern with a tap-room called the Pointview House, a great many years ago. Travellers used to stop an' look around for the Point, an', of course, they couldn't see it, for there's none here; at least, no point of land. They'd go in an' order drinks an' say:

"'Landlord, where's the point?'

"An' the landlord would say: 'Well, boys, if you ain't in a hurry you'll probably see it purty soon.'

"All at once it would appear to 'em, an' it was apt to be an' amusin' bit o' scenery.

"We've always been quick to see a point here, an' anxious to show it to other people."

He leaned back and laughed as one foot sought the top of his desk.

"Our balloons rise from every walk o' life an' come down out o' ballast," he went on. "Many of 'em touch ground in the great financial aviation park that surrounds Wall Street. In our stages of recovery the power of Lizzie has been widely felt."

Up went his other foot. I saw that the historical mood was upon him.

"Talk about tryin' to cross the Atlantic in an air-ship--why, that's conservative," he continued. "Right here in the eastern part o' Connecticut lives a man who set out for the vicinity of the moon with a large company--a joint-stock company--in his life-boat. First he made the journey with the hot-air-ship of his mind, an' came back with millions in the hold of his imagination. Then he thought he'd experiment with a corporation of his friends--his surplus friends. They got in on the ground floor, an' got out in the sky. Most of 'em were thrown over for ballast. The Wellman of this enterprise escaped with his life an' a little wreckage. He was Mr. Thomas Robinson Barrow, an' he came to consult me about his affairs. They were in bad shape.

"'Sell your big house an' your motor-cars,' I urged.

"'That would have been easy,' he answered, 'but Lizzie has spoilt the market for luxuries. You remember how she got high notions up at the Smythe school, an' began a life of extravagance, an' how we all tried to keep up with her, an' how the rococo architecture broke out like pimples on the face of Connecticut?'

"I smiled an' nodded.

"'Well, it was you, I hear, that helped her back to earth and started her in the simpleton life. Since then she has been going just as fast, but in the opposite direction, and we're still tryin' to keep up with her. Now I found a man who was going to buy my property, but suddenly his wife decided that they would get along with a more modest outfit. She's trying to keep up with Lizzie. Folks are getting wise.'

"'Why don't you?'

"'Can't.'

"'Why not?'

"'Because I'm a born fool. We're fettered; we're prisoners of luxury.'

"Only a night or two before I had seen his wife at a reception with a rope of pearls in her riggin' an' a search-light o' diamonds on her forward deck an' a tiara-boom-de-ay at her masthead an' the flags of opulence flyin' fore an' aft.

"'If I were you,' I said, 'I'd sell everything--even the jewels.'

"'My poor wife!' he exclaimed. 'I haven't the heart to tell her all. She don't know how hard up we are!'

"'I wouldn't neglect her education if I were you,' I said. 'There's a kindness, you know, that's most unkind. Some day I shall write an article on the use an' abuse of tiaras--poor things! It isn't fair to overwork the family tiara. I suggest that you get a good-sized trunk an' lock it up with the other jewels for a vacation. If necessary your house could be visited by a burglar--that is, if you wanted to save the feelin's of your wife.'

"He turned with a puzzled look at me.

"'Is it possible that you haven't heard of that trick?' I asked--'a man of your talents!'

"He shook his head.

"'Why, these days, if a man wishes to divorce the family jewels an' is afraid of his wife, the house is always entered by a burglar. My dear sir, the burglar is an ever-present help in time of trouble. It's a pity that we have no Gentleman's Home Journal in which poor but deservin' husbands could find encouragement an' inspiration.'

"He looked at me an' laughed.

"'Suppose you engage a trusty and reliable burglar?' he proposed.

"'There's only one in the world.' I said.

"'Who is it?'

"'Thomas Robinson Barrow. Of course, I'm not sayin' that if I needed a burglar he's just the man I should choose, but for this job he's the only reliable burglar. Try him.'

"He seemed to be highly amused.

"'But it might be difficult to fool the police,' he said, in a minute.

"'Well, it isn't absolutely necessary, you know,' I suggested. 'The Chief of Police is a friend of mine.'

"'Good! I'm engaged for this job, and will sell the jewels and turn the money over to you.'

"'I do not advise that--not just that,' I said. 'We'll retire them from active life. A tiara in the safe is worth two in the Titian bush. We'll use them for collateral an' go to doin' business. When we've paid the debts in full we'll redeem the goods an' return them to your overjoyed wife. We'll launch our tiara on the Marcel waves.'

"Tom was delighted with this plan--not the best, perhaps--but, anyhow, it would save his wife from reproach, an' I don't know what would have happened if she had continued to dazzle an' enrage his creditors with the pearls an' the tiara.

"'It will not be so easy to sell the house,' Tom went on. 'That's our worst millstone. It was built for large hospitality, and we have a good many friends, and they come every week and jump on to the millstone.'

"'If one has to have a millstone he should choose it with discretion,' I said. 'It doesn't pay to get one that is too inviting. You'll have to swim around with yours for a while, and watch your chance to slip it on to some other fellow's neck. You don't want your son to be a millstonaire. Some day a man of millions may find it a comfortable fit, an' relieve you. They're buyin' places all about here.'

"Tom left an' began work on our programme. The burglary was well executed an' advertised. It achieved a fair amount of publicity--not too much, you know, but enough. The place was photographed by the reporters with the placard 'For Sale' showin' plainly on the front lawn. The advertisin' was worth almost as much as the diamonds. Tom said that his wife had lost weight since the sad event.

"'Of course,' I said. 'You can't take ten pounds of jewelry from a woman without reducin' her weight. She must have had a pint o' diamonds.'

"'Pictures an' glowin' accounts of the villa were printed in all the papers, an' soon a millionaire wrote that it was just the place he was lookin' for. I closed the deal with him. It was Bill Warburton, who used to go to school with me up there on the hills. He had long been dreamin' of a home in Pointview.

"They used to say that Bill was a fool, but he proved an alibi. Went West years ago an' made a fortune, an' thought it would be nice to come back an' finish his life where it began, near the greatest American city. I drew the papers, an' Bill an' I got together often an' talked of the old happy days, now glimmering in the far past--some thirty-five years away,

"Well, they enlarged the house--that was already big enough for a hotel--an' built stables an' kennels an' pheasant yards an' houses for ducks an' geese an' peacocks. They stocked up with fourteen horses, twelve hounds, nine collies, four setters, nineteen servants, innumerable fowls, an' four motor-cars, an' started in pursuit o' happiness.

"You see, they had no children, an' all these beasts an' birds were intended to supply the deficiency in human life, an' assist in the campaign. Well, somehow, it didn't succeed, an' one day Bill came into my office with a worried look. He confided to me the well-known fact that his wife was nervous and unhappy.

"'The doctors don't do her any good, an' I thought I'd try a lawyer,' said he.

"'Do you want to sue Fate for damages or indict her for malicious persecution?' I asked.

"'Neither,' he said, 'but you know the laws of nature as well as the laws of men. I appeal to you to tell me what law my wife has broken, and how she can make amends.'

"'You surprise me,' I said. 'You an' the madame can have everything you want, an' still you're unhappy.'

"'What can we have that you can't? You can eat as much, an' sleep better, an' wear as many clothes, an' see an' hear as well as we can.'

"'Ah, but in the matter of quality I'm way behind the flag, Bill. You can wear cloth o' gold, an Russian sables, an' have champagne an' terrapin every meal, an' fiddlers to play while ye eat it, an' a brass band to march around the place with ye, an' splendid horses to ride, an' dogs to roar on ahead an' attract the attention of the populace. You can have a lot of bankrupt noblemen to rub an' manicure an' adulate an' chiropodize ye, an' people who'd have to laugh at your wit or look for another job, an' authors to read from their own works--'

"Bill interrupted with a gentle protest: 'Soc, how comforting you are!'

"'Well, if all that is losin' its charm, what's the matter with travel?'

"'Don't talk to me about travel,' said Bill. 'We've worn ruts in the earth now. Our feet have touched every land.'

"'How many meals do you eat a day?'

"'Three.'

"'Try six,' I suggested.

"He laughed, an' I thought I was makin' progress, so I kept on.

"'How many motor-cars have ye ?'

"'Four.'

"'Get eight,' I advised, as Bill put on the loud pedal. 'You've got nineteen servants, I believe, try thirty-eight. You have--twenty-one dogs--get forty-two. You can afford it.'

"'Come, be serious,' said Bill. 'Don't poke fun at me.'

"'Ah! but your wife must be able to prove that she has more dogs an' horses an' servants an' motor-cars, an' that she eats more meals in a day than any other woman in Connecticut. Then, maybe, she'll be happy. You know it's a woman's ambition to excel.'

"'We have too many fool things now,' said Bill, mournfully. 'She's had enough of them--God knows!'

"Something in Bill's manner made me sit up and stare at him.

"'Of course, you don't mean that she wants another husband!' I exclaimed.

"'I'm not so sure of that,' said Bill, sadly. 'Sometimes I'm almost inclined to think she does.'

"'Well, that's one direction in which I should advise strict economy,' said I. 'You can multiply the dogs an' the horses, an' the servants an' the motor-cars, but in the matter o' wives an' husbands we ought to stick to the simple life. Don't let her go to competing with those Fifth Avenue ladies.'

"'I don't know what's the matter,' Bill went on. 'She's had everything that her heart could wish. But, of course, she has had only one husband, and most of her friends have had two or three. They've outmarried her. It may be that, secretly, she's just a little annoyed about that. Many of her old friends are consumed with envy; their bones are rotten with it. They smile upon her; they accept her hospitality; they declare their love, and they long for her downfall. Now, my wife has a certain pride and joy in all this, but, naturally, it breeds a sense of loneliness--the bitter loneliness that one may find only in a crowd. She turns more and more to me, and, between ourselves, she seems to have made up her mind that I don't love her, and I can't convince her that I do.'

"'Well, Bill, I should guess that you have always been fond of your wife--and--true to her.'

"'And you are right,' said Bill. 'I've loved with all my heart and with a conscience. It's my only pride, for, of course, I might have been gay. In society I enjoy a reputation for firmness. It is no idle boast.'