IVTHE MATCH-MAKER

IVTHE MATCH-MAKER

MEN—and women—who restrain sentiment to an obscure, uneffectual part in their own lives take enormous interest in it everywhere else. They have melting eyes and troublesome noses and throats at sentimental plays. They give to street beggars and patronize the literature of slop. They are assiduous matchmakers and want every one—except their own sons and daughters—to marry for love alone.

There was not a little of this in the composition of Harvey Sayler, the interesting boss of the Middle West—more interesting than the ordinary purely commercial bossbecause he was at heart a bold and reckless gambler, one who had less interest in the stakes than in the game. He was in a sentimental mood about George Helm and Eleanor Clearwater. George Helm, the lean and lank, countrified new orator whom Sayler’s secret lieutenant, the Democratic state boss Hazelrigg, had discovered in the State Senate; Eleanor Clearwater, heiress to the notorious—that is, famous—lumber king and Senator, a lady to her finger tips, fond of playing with “fine ideas” of all kinds, but helplessly dependent upon the culture and the luxury that can be got only by acts which proceed from anything but “fine ideas.” A love affair, an engagement, a marriage between these two appealed to Sayler’s love of the sentimentally romantic.

Also, Sayler had a streak of sardonic humor in him. He liked the mischievous pranks of fate—with the persons and propertyand destiny of others. And it seemed to him that the coming together of these two would be one of fate’s masterpieces at the practical joke. And how old Clearwater, the risen from farm hand, the intoxicated aristocrat, the unending snob, would rage and rave!

Also—and this was the most important of all, for Sayler never did anything that wasn’t a move in his game— Also—he wanted George Helm.

For purposes that need not here be gone into, Sayler had ordered the Democrats to make a furious assault upon his protégé and ally and master, the plutocracy. Hazelrigg, obeying orders, had selected Helm to lead the attack, because Helm was about the only available man not publicly suspected of crookedness and hypocrisy, was an earnest, sincere and effective speaker, shrewd and sane. After Sayler heard Helm speak,Hazelrigg hunted him up at the University Club. Those clubs to which men of all political faiths can and do belong are most useful for meetings of this sort. Said Hazelrigg:

“What do you think of him, Senator?”

“Of Helm?” said Sayler. A non-committal smile—and that was all.

“A dangerous man, I’d say,” proceeded Hazelrigg. “He looks like a farmer and he’s homely as a horse. But there’s nothing of the jay about that brain of his. And how he does wake up, and wake things up, when he gets that lanky form of his straight on his big feet.”

Sayler smiled again. He was a loquacious man, like all men of abounding mentality All lakes that are copiously fed must copiously overflow. But he had the big man’s usual false reputation for taciturnity. He was never anything but silent, or atmost terse, with understrappers. That sort of cattle had to be dealt with carefully.

“He’s doing what I asked him to do, too damn well,” said Hazelrigg. “I’ll have to choke him off.”

Sayler, however, was resolved to give his clients of the plutocracy a thoroughgoing scare. Said he:

“Oh, why not let him alone for the present, Hazelrigg?” Sayler was one of those who give orders in the form of interrogative suggestions.

“But he makes me nervous,” objected the Democratic boss. “He’s spreading like wildfire. I may have to nominate him for governor.”

“Why not?” said Sayler. A sentimental smile; he was thinking of the “match.”

“But—damn it, he’d likely be elected.”

“Well—a good beating might do myparty a world of good. We’ve been in too long.”

“But—I’m afraid I can’t get anyholdon him.”

Sayler deigned no answer but a satirical smile.

“He’d probably make four years of merry hell. A governor can do a lot in this state. He cando; so he doesn’t dare talk without doing, like most governors.”

“He’d make a good governor,” said Sayler.

“Yes—if I could get someholdon him.”

Sayler’s eyes were amused. Said he—and he had the habit of being intensely relevant while seeming to be most irrelevant:

“Curious jaw, that young fellow’s got. Did you notice how long it is from ear to chin? There’s a foolish notion about that—a long chin is a sign of strength. It means nothing—nor does a short chin. It’s thelength of the jaw that makes persistence—endurance—and the unafraidness that advances without a tremor where even courage hesitates. An interesting young man.”

Hazelrigg had never heard so long—or so puzzling—a speech from his secret chieftain. He said desperately:

“I give you fair warning, Senator, he may make it damned interesting forusif we aren’t careful.”

Sayler laughed pleasantly. “I wish he would. I’m tired of fighting mere cranks—or knaves attacking us simply to shake us down. Why is it, Hazelrigg, that the best can be changed into the worst? To find an absolutely abandoned woman, don’t look among the girls from the lower classes. Find one born a lady, bred a lady. To get a chap who’ll swallow any insult with gusto, who’ll do any kind of dirty work with pleasure—goamong the fallen gentlemen. Several in this club.”

Sayler strolled away. Hazelrigg was laughing—uncomfortably. He said to himself, “Well, if the Senator was rapping me, he was banging his own conk, too.”

Sayler had brought Helm and Miss Clearwater together at his house the night before—had arranged it as soon as their chance meeting in his presence had revealed to his shrewd eyes that there was something peculiar in their relations, something unwarranted by so casual an acquaintance as theirs apparently had been. And when, after he had seen to it that they were left alone together, he had found them in a state of nervousness that indicated anything but a smooth session, he had decided that Helm had made the mistake of proposing too precipitately—and had been refused.He now went down to the Capitol to hunt Helm up.

An extraordinary amount of trouble for so distinguished a man to take about an almost obscure youth of rugged appearance, one he knew hardly at all. But Sayler was a profound man. It had been said of him that he had ruined more young men than any man of his time. It was his habit to seek out any youth who showed, to his acute insight into human nature, indications of unusual abilities. As there are not many such under our system of crushing in infancy or near it, all but a very few of the very strongest or luckiest, he had plenty of time left over for his other affairs. When he had won the personal liking of such a young man, he proceeded to show him—by ways of most delicate subtlety—how wise and sensible and just it was for a man of ambition to come in with the triumphantclasses, and not let any academic sentimentality attach him to the lost and hopeless and morally doubtful cause of the masses.

For a few years Sayler had drawn about himself, had drawn to the support of his policy of the earth for the strong and the sly, scores of the brightest young men of the Middle West. They served him well. They imbibed his genial philosophy of mingled generosity and cynicism. And in exchange for the support and the power they gave him, he gave them office and money and fame. He regarded himself as a benefactor. His young men regarded him as a benefactor. Only cranks denounced him as a procurer and a rake of the vilest description.

He had seen great possibilities in this big, unformed, young state senator, with the gift for eloquent clear statement and withthe voice and the eyes that captivated. He purposed to be his benefactor.

Helm was alone in one of the committee rooms, absorbed in the agitated composition of a letter. There were all the obvious signs that much time and paper were being consumed in vain. Sayler paused a moment to look well at his proposed next “victim,” as the cranks would have put it. That long, lean, powerful form, uncouth yet curiously graceful—and somehow so intensely magnetic! That huge, rough-looking head, the strong features, the out-door skin. But Sayler saw only the superb line of the head, the long reach of the jaw. Said he to himself: “This fellowlooksmore worth getting than any I’ve ever tried for.”

He advanced and laid his hand on Helm’s shoulder. Said he, as Helm looked up, startled:

“I’m going to take a great liberty with you, Helm. I’m somewhat older—but not old enough to be out of your class. And I’m a friend of—ofhers—and I want to be a friend of yours.”

The color flooded poor George’s face. He did not know what to do. The man-and-woman game was as strange to him as sailor life to the plainsman. And Sayler had adroitly leaped over the barrier of sensitiveness which Helm had begun to build about his inmost self as soon as he had begun to talk.

“I know you’re writing to her,” proceeded the frank and simple Sayler, “and I’m sure it’s something foolish. The thing to do is to go and face her. She’s leaving this afternoon.”

“To-day!” exclaimed Helm, puzzled. “She said last night she was staying a week.”

“She’s leaving—because of you. When a woman thinks highly enough of a man to fly from him, all he needs do to get her is run her down.”

“She’s leaving?” said Helm. He began to tear up the paper. “Leaving on my account.” He gave a laugh of relief. “Then it’s all settled, and I don’t need to write.” He tore the paper into little bits and sent them to join the mass of similar little bits in the basket. “Evidently she got her head back this morning—just as I did. I wonder what there is about night time that makes people so excited and——”

“And courageous,” said Sayler. “I wish I’d had the daring to do the things the night has urged me to do.”

Helm shook his head laughingly. “The night’s insane, the day’s sane,” retorted he. “I went crazy last night, Mr. Sayler. I’ve got so little that I have to skimp to getalong at all—and my prospects of any more money are mighty poor, I can tell you.” With a humorous twinkle, “You see, I’m not on your side—the buttered side. I’m on the other side where there isn’t any butter. Anyhow, I’ve no use for a wife—especially such a wife as that sort of a woman would be. And she— Why, she wouldn’t want me as a husband if I was the last man on earth.”

“Nonsense!” said Sayler. “Under all that trumpery flummery she’s just a woman, and wants what any other woman wants—aman. And I think, my friend, that you come pretty near to sizing up to that description.”

“She don’t want me, nor I her,” insisted Helm. “It was nothing but plain lunacy, my asking her to marry me and her accepting.”

Sayler was so astounded that he almostbetrayed himself. His eyes sparkled sentimentally, and he gave the younger man a resounding clap on the shoulder. Why, the conquest was as good as made! “She accepted you, Helm, because she wants you. Last night she knew her real mind. By daylight, she’s full of—of all sorts of pitiful fears. Go save her, Helm. Go to her. As soon as she’s told her father, and he begins to fight you, everything’s safe. I know her. She isn’t a quitter, and her father will say things that will make her wild with rage—and with love for you.”

By this time neither of these men, drawn together by their many traits of mind and character in common, had the slightest sense of strangeness. They felt like old friends. Helm said:

“ButIdon’t wanther, Sayler. I’ve got no money for her—no time for her—no place for her.”

“You love her—don’t you?” said Sayler audaciously.

Helm slowly collapsed into one of his uncouth poses.

“You see—you do. That means—what? Why, that you’ve got to have her. A man of your sort is no good with a thing like that unsettled.”

Helm reflected. “No,” he finally said. “I’ve put her out of my mind before, and I can do it again. Whenever I don’t want to think of anything, I get together so many other things to worry about that there isn’t room or time to worry about it. She’s flying. Let her fly. That settles it.”

“Didn’t you tell me you proposed to her?”

Helm nodded.

“And that she accepted you?”

“But it’s all over,” said Helm.

“By no means,” declared the adroiterman. “She has given you her promise. She will say nothing because she will not wish to hurt you. But she’ll keep to her promise until you release her.”

Helm looked dismal. “Is that the way those things are managed?”

“You’ll ruin her life, Helm. You’ve got to go to her—like a man. Don’t do a cowardly thing—such as silence, or writing a foolish note. Face her. It’s the only square thing.”

And to Helm it seemed so. He groaned.

“Come along. I’ll go with you, and see that you and she have a chance for an undisturbed talk.”

“Wait a minute. I want to think.” Helm went to the window and stared out into the capitol grounds. Sayler seated himself, lit a cigar and read a newspaper. Never had cake of his been spoiled by messing at the baking but unbaked dough.Helm took much more than the one minute he had asked for. When he turned, it was to say with the composure of a man under control:

“Thank you, Sayler—you’ve done me a good turn. I am nothing of a lady’s man. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d have done something that as you say would have been contemptible. I’m ready when you are.”

Rarely is there a successful man—even the crude seeker of petty power rising to foreman of the gang of laborers—who has not, however tough his skin or hide may seem to be, a supersensitive nervous system, more acute than that of ordinary men and women, though they may pretend to the most delicate sensitiveness. Sayler was as sensitive as he seemed phlegmatic. He never failed to sense the mood of the person he was with. Therefore, he dropped the subject of Eleanor and talked speeches.

Helm, another man of that same acute sensibility, responded as if he had no concern in the world beyond discussion of how speeches should be worked up and delivered. Sayler, deeply interested in the subject and in the man, led him on to describe his own method, this so sympathetically—rather than adroitly—that Helm took from his pocket an old letter on the blank side of whose single sheet he had outlined the “backbone” of a speech he was to make against a perpetual grant of a big trolley franchise. The franchise meant, of course, the creation of a huge mass of stocks and bonds which would enable many generations of a certain group of the upper class to live luxuriously by taking impudent toll from the masses in exchange for no service rendered.

“I shall take up the franchise in a series of speeches,” explained Helm. “In eachspeech I’ll make one point and only one. That’s always my method. If you want to dazzle a crowd, you make a speech full of good points. But if you want to convince them, you take one point and drive it home with a succession of blows, all on the head of that same nail.”

Sayler nodded. “Won’t you let me see that ‘backbone’ as you call it?” he asked.

“Nail is a better name,” said Helm.

“Nail for the lid of the coffin of the trolley franchise grab,” said Sayler.

“I hope so,” said Helm.

“So do I,” rejoined Sayler.

Helm gave him the sheet of paper and Sayler read in Helm’s minute hand this series of notes:

Luxurious idlers.Ladies and gentlemen. The more of them we have the poorer we become.Proof:Comfortmeans wealth and leisure to enjoy—that is, comfort in the lady and gentleman’s sense of the word.Leisure to enjoy means little or no labor.But wealth can be created only by laboring; wealth is nothing but the proceeds of labor.Therefore,To havecomfort, in the lady and gentleman sense, in the sense in which our new luxury-mad upper class is determined to have it, means that one must “appropriate”—that is, steal—the proceeds of the labor of others.First corollary: That the more “comfortable” the upper class becomes, the more of the proceeds of the labor of others it must be stealing.Second corollary: Since the amount of labor a man can do is necessarily limited byhis strength, then the more of the proceeds of his labor is stolen from him, the less there is left for him and the worse off he becomes.General conclusion: The more ladies and gentlemen we have, the harder we must work and the poorer we must become.

Luxurious idlers.

Ladies and gentlemen. The more of them we have the poorer we become.

Proof:

Comfortmeans wealth and leisure to enjoy—that is, comfort in the lady and gentleman’s sense of the word.

Leisure to enjoy means little or no labor.

But wealth can be created only by laboring; wealth is nothing but the proceeds of labor.

Therefore,

To havecomfort, in the lady and gentleman sense, in the sense in which our new luxury-mad upper class is determined to have it, means that one must “appropriate”—that is, steal—the proceeds of the labor of others.

First corollary: That the more “comfortable” the upper class becomes, the more of the proceeds of the labor of others it must be stealing.

Second corollary: Since the amount of labor a man can do is necessarily limited byhis strength, then the more of the proceeds of his labor is stolen from him, the less there is left for him and the worse off he becomes.

General conclusion: The more ladies and gentlemen we have, the harder we must work and the poorer we must become.

Sayler read this document through twice. Then he handed it back to Helm. He was smiling cynically to himself. Said he:

“Q. E. D. But—why did you show it tome?”

Helm’s gaze rested gravely upon that of the plutocratic chieftain for the Middle West. He replied:

“I see that you want to be friends with me. Why, I don’t know. I am willing—more than willing to be friends with you. But I want you to have no delusions. I want you to know just where I stand—where I shallalwaysstand.”

“I hope so,” lied Sayler, with a generous manliness that half fooled himself. “I’m not a zealot like you. I don’t believe in men, in human nature. I think progress comes through the fierce struggle of brutality and cunning against the stupid shiftlessness and indolence of mankind. I admit there are arguments for another view. They happen not to convince me. But, believing as I do, I am more interested in the game than in principles. To me it is simply a game. And so, I like to see good players on both sides. I’d hate to have you come over to our side. God knows, your side is badly enough off for good players.”

Helm’s smile put into his rugged face a touch of fanaticism—as tremendous earnestness is called in these days when to be interested in anything but accumulation and appetite is regarded as eccentric. Said he:

“My side, as you call it, doesn’t need anyplayers at all. It is simply—to change the figure—the irresistibly sweeping current. I am swimming with it, you against it.”

Sayler surprised him by saying reflectively:

“I’ve thought of that. Sometimes I believe it.”

“The right thing—the thing that’s in accord with progress,” said Helm, “doesn’t need champions. The rainstorm doesn’t need umbrellas. But the men who’ve got to go out in it—they do.”

Sayler was admiring Helm’s manner. It was not the manner of the condemned man—at least, if it was, it was that of a condemned man of the type that tranquilly accepts the inevitable. Yet Sayler knew that Helm was moving consciously toward one of those crises that put the souls of men to the cruelest test. Sayler understood him thoroughly now, understood the strong andtenacious emotions that lay hid, or rather lay unexposed to any but expert eyes, beneath the surface look of the homely provincial man—provincial now, rather than bucolic, as he had been when he first burst upon the astonished and amused town of Harrison, with his strange red beard, and his much-tailed cheap broadcloth. “How this man could love a cause or a woman!” thought the sentimental overlord of bosses and machines. “But,” he added, “neither is appreciative—or worth loving.”

Where Sayler fell short of greatness was in that near-sightedness which prevented him from seeing the big truths that dominate the horizon of life—such truths as that the high happiness is not of the give-and-take variety but is the capacity for sheer giving. The deep and serene joy of Helm, secure from all surface storms, was thepossession of a nature capable ofgiving.

Helm had not accomplished his only object. He had simply convinced Sayler of his value, not in the least of his inflexibility. Sayler prided himself on thorough knowledge of human nature. Convictions were, in his opinion, merely the creatures of circumstances. Change Helm’s circumstances, change his outlook upon the world from the uncomfortable to the comfortable, and he would become a tower of strength for the existing order, for the guardianship of the masses by the upper class—a service for which the masses ought to be glad to pay with part of their only asset, their labor.

At the suburban house he had taken for that legislature session, Sayler put Helm—not into the library; he was too tactful to make such a blunder as to give him the reminiscent surroundings of the previousevening—but into a home-like little smoking-room, next to the billiard room. Then he went in search of Eleanor.

Not often is a man able to gratify so many widely differing tastes as was Sayler by bringing together Helm and Eleanor. It pleased his natural amiability, his sentimentality, his love of mischief, his passion for political scheming, his impatience with the pompous and wearisome pretensions of her father, and several other minor tastes. Perhaps, as he entered the upstairs sitting-room where Eleanor was giving orders to her maid, amiability was uppermost in his mind. Amiability was one of his strongest traits; it is always a strong trait in the characters of politicians, and expands with use and with pretense. Said he when the maid had gone:

“George Helm is down stairs.”

Before she could control herself, she hadbetrayed herself by looking wildly round to escape.

Sayler ignored and went tranquilly on:

“I told him I was sure you’d be glad to see him. I know what a good judge of character you are. You must have seen what a remarkable man he is—about the strongest I’ve come across, among the younger men. He’ll be nominated for governor next fall—and elected, I suspect. And he’ll go up—and up.There’sthe sort of man you ought to marry, Eleanor.”

“I don’t want to marryanybody,” cried she with the pettish anger of a child.

Sayler made mental note of this sign of nervous tension, and proceeded:

“You are always saying that a husband who had already arrived would be uninteresting in comparison with one who had the makings of a career in him, and whom the wife could help—could work with, and goup with. Here’s your chance—and as good a one as ever was offered a woman.”

Eleanor was listening—was looking at the wily schemer with wistful eyes. “You’re not joking?” said she.

“I’m disappointed in you,” said Sayler. “You’re not so big or so clever as I fancied. You’re just ordinary woman, after all.”

Eleanor blushed, and her eyes sank.

“I thought you were big enough to seehim,” proceeded Sayler. “But you saw only what you shallow women are able to see—the fit of his clothes, the absence of a valet, the lessons in manners he has yet to learn and will learn soon enough. You don’t want the man with the career to make. You want the ready-made man. You want to have nothing to do but shine by his light, be his trivial ornament and plaything. Oh, you women!” He laughed with good-humoredmockery. “What frauds you are—and how little you count for.”

“I am engaged to him,” said Eleanor quietly—with a look that ludicrously mingled pride and fear and apology.

Sayler shrugged his shoulders. “An impulse you’ve repented,” said he.

“I think I must have been crazy,” said she.

“I thinkhemust have been crazy,” retorted Sayler. “But he has come to his senses. He’s here to release you.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed.

“He was caught for the moment by your looks,” Sayler went on, with quick raillery. “But he is too intelligent to be ruled by such an impulse. Shallow men are, but not such men as George Helm. They assign women their proper place in the life of a man with something to do in the world and the ability to do it.” Sayler’s raillery veeredto a sarcasm none the less stinging for its cloak of politeness and good humor. “Yousizedhimup—and accepted him. As soon ashesizedyouup—you under the glamor of that charming exterior of yours and that very deceptive cleverness—as soon as he sawyou, he wanted to release you.”

The girl’s beautiful face, frankly expressing her emotions, gave Sayler the pleasure of delighting in his skill as a player upon that interesting instrument, human nature. A woman—especially a young woman—brought up in the false education custom imposes upon our comfortable classes, rarely has the intelligence clearly to distinguish a formable man in his early formative period. Or, if her woman’s instinct for the real thing in manhood does by chance lead her aright, the courage to act is lacking. Eleanor had seen the man in George Helm—a degree, a kind even, ofmanliness which she recognized as unique. But she had acted upon, had yielded to only his peculiar, his irresistible physical charm for her. Who, looking at his rough and rugged exterior and hers so fine and delicate, would have suspected the possibility of the existence of such a charm? She would not have admitted to any one—least of all to herself—that the male exterior that best pleased her was not the “polished gentleman,” the flower of culture, but one exactly its opposite—primitive, rough of skin, direct and crude of manner. If Helm had been brutal she would have loathed him. But he was so gentle and tender—and what wonderful eyes, and what a magic voice!

Sayler laughed to himself. Here again was an instance of a phenomenon he amused himself by observing as he strolled through life. Time spent by a man in primping to catch a woman, unless she had been thoroughlyvulgarized and snobified, was time wasted. He would better have spent it on training his voice.

Said Eleanor: “Of course I’ll release him. I was going to write him from home. Do you think I’d best see him? Won’t I spare him pain—” She flushed, as Sayler began to smile—“I don’t mean that he especially cares about me. Simply that he’ll be terribly embarrassed.”

“Oh, if you’reafraid,” said Sayler, “you can send down some excuse.”

“That would be cowardly,” said Eleanor promptly, “and insulting to him.”

“He’s in the little room off the billiard room,” said Sayler, departing.

Curiously enough, it was not Helm but Eleanor who was embarrassed when they were face to face. Her lips were burning—the lips he had kissed so tenderly yet so passionately. What a strong, simplemanof a man! If she had given way to her impulse, she would have burst out crying and flung herself into those long arms of his that had seemed to enfold her against all the ills of life. She could not meet the gentle, sad look those magnetic eyes of his bent upon her.

Said he:

“Miss Clearwater, I’ve come to do what I know you want me to do. I’ve come to release you.”

“Thank you,” she said stammeringly, without looking up.

“I don’t know what possessed me. I took advantage of—of your kindness and liking. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I knew you didn’t mean what you said,” murmured she, meaning nothing but simply trying to prevent a painful silence.

“You’re mistaken there, ma’am,” said he. “I spoke from my heart. I love youvery dearly. I don’t see how I’m going to get along without you. There’s only one thing in the world that’d be harder.”

She was looking at him now—was looking at his rugged, kind face—the face of a man born to suffer and born to bear without crying out. Such a lonely man—one of those large, simple, lonely souls. Said she:

“I meant what I said too. Just as much as you did. But—I—I—didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt me, Miss Clearwater,” protested he earnestly. “You’ve done me only good—given me only happiness. I’ll always remember—last night—and it’ll make me happy. I oughtn’t to have said what I did about your letting me take advantage of your liking. It wasn’t the truth, and I knew it. You are honest and good—and what you did was from the heart.”

“As nothing I ever did before,” said she.

“But you know as well as I do, that the hardest thing of all would be for us to be together. We ain’t in any way suitable to each other. You’re too fine and delicate for me.”

“Please don’t say that sort of thing,” cried she. “It isn’t like you—those snobbish ideas.”

A puzzled expression came into his face. Then he smiled slightly. “You misunderstood,” said he. “I didn’t mean exactly that. I meant that you hadn’t been brought up right—according to my notion. So—you’d be miserable as my wife, and a burden on me. Anyhow, it always seemed to me that I wasn’t made to be a married man. The ladies never seemed to care much about me, and I guess that got me into the way of arranging to get along without them.”

As he stood there, rugged and powerful,his sincere face made tragic by the look of lonely melancholy that was habitual to it in repose, she was so moved that she knew she ought not to trust herself to speak. But she did—and her voice was shaking with sobs as she said:

“I know I’m not worthy of you. I’m so poor that I haven’t anything that you need. I’m only fit for a very inferior sort of man. Oh, how vain and silly I’ve been—to imagine I was worth a man’s while.”

“Now, I didn’t meanthat—not at all,” cried he. “I don’t know how to talk to women.”

“Indeed you don’t!” retorted she. “You don’t understand them, at all.”

“I see I’ve offended you, Miss Clearwater. I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’tcall me Miss Clearwater,” cried she desperately. He had not moved, but she had—unconsciously—drawn much nearerto him—almost within his reach. “And don’t—” with a hysterical little laugh—“don’tcall me ma’am.”

He smiled with a kind of grim humor. “I don’t see that it matters what I call you,” said he, “as long as I can’t call you mine.”

She trembled. “Oh,won’tyou understand?” cried she. And she looked at him with eyes shining with passion.

He shook his head slowly. “Well—I must be going.” With a sudden change to a look of terrific power. “If I stay here a minute longer, I’ll not be able to keep my hands off you. I love you, Ellen—and it’s stronger than I am.”

“Why should you go?” said she, boldly. Her glowing heart told her it was no time for trifling, for maidenly pretense of coyness. That sort of game was all very well, with men who understood it—and men one didn’t especially care about. But this mandidn’t understand it—and he was tremendously worth-while. Plain speaking, or he would be lost forever. She did not see how she was to marry him; but to lose him—that would be frightful. “Why should you go?” she said boldly. “Don’t you want me, George?”

He put his hands behind his back. He grew pale; his eyes seemed deeper set than ever.

“No man ever made me feel, but you,” she went on. “I belong to you. If you cast me off——”

He had her in his arms—not because of what she had said but because he could withstand no longer. “I’ve gone crazy again,” he said, as he kissed her—as she kissed him—“but you know as well as I do that we can’t be anything to each other.”

“Don’t think of that,” pleaded she.“Let’s be happy while we can—and let’s hope.”

“There’s nothing to hope for,” said he, drawing away from her. “I’m ashamed of myself. I love you, but it isn’t the kind of love a man gives a woman that he wants to live his life with.”

“Take me, George,” said she. “I’ll be what you want. You can teach me. I’ll learn. Don’t shut affection and love out of your life. You can’t be half the man without them that you’ll be with them. Oh, you don’t understand women. You don’t know what women are for—what a woman is for—what your woman is for in your life.”

The look of resolution had gone; the look of melancholy had come in its place.

“I know we can’t marry right away,” she went on. “I’ve got a lot to do, first. You are poor in one way, and I in another. We’ve got to wait and work.” She lookedup at him, smiling, pleading, her hand touching his arm. “Don’t you think it’s worth doing, dear?”

He dropped to a chair. “I’ve fooled myself,” he said gloomily. “I thought I was coming here to give you up. Instead, I came to get you.”

She laughed merrily, her delicate hand tingling as it touched his shock of hair that grew in such disorderly fashion yet exactly suited the superb contour of his head. Said she:

“Well, you’ve got what you came for.”

He smiled grimly. “How am I going to think straight and do what’s right for both of us, with you touching me?”

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

With a strong sweeping gesture, he drew her against him, as she stood beside him, he sitting.

“You know we might as well say we’regoing to wait for each other,” proceeded she. It is astonishing—and enlightening—how well women argue when they wish to. “You know we’ll do it, anyhow. You won’t marry any other woman?”

“There isn’t but one woman for me,” said he, with an accent that thrilled her.

“Do you thinkIcould let any other mantouchme?” demanded she.

There was a delightfully ferocious jealousy in the sudden tightening of the arm about her waist. He said:

“I guess we’re in for it, Ellen.”

Her arm went round his shoulders. Said she laughingly: “Women aren’t soveryhard to understand—are they?”

He eyed her shrewdly. “Not when they’re willing to be understood.... You aresureyou want to wait?”

“I’m sure I’vegotto,” replied she, simply.

He suddenly stood up, drawing away from her. She was in a tremor of alarm—which was not decreased by his resolute expression, until he said:

“I must get to work. I’ve got to hurry things. You understand, you’re entirely free until I’m able to come for you?”

“If it helps you to think so,” she answered. “But—I’m not that kind of girl, George.”

A look of tenderness flooded her and he said: “I didn’t mean that. Of course you aren’t. You’re—mine.”

And she was crying with happiness.

Sayler understood as soon as he saw her face. And he felt that he had won. George Helm, on his way to the triumphant class—was it not a fundamental law of human nature that a human being could not beina class without becomingofit, of its ideas,feelings, attitude toward other classes? George Helm, marrying a girl of the triumphant class. Could he, however tenacious, resist the influences, the subtle influences, insistent, incessant, unconsciously exerted, unconsciously yielded to—the influences of a loved wife of the triumphant class from birth?

“He shall be the next governor of this state,” Sayler said to himself; and a smile more amiably generous than his never glorified human visage.

Helm saw “Ellen” only three times in the remainder of that week, and then for but a few minutes. He set to work with an energy that made his previous toiling seem a species of languor. He decided that Ellen had been right when she told him he did not appreciate the part of woman in the life of man. And when the legislature adjourned he went on a tour of the cities andtowns and villages as a lecturer, and built for himself that only solid fame—a personal fame which future assaults from a subsidized hostile press could not destroy. The people would have seen him, heard him, looked into his eyes, touched his hand. Sayler, away from the scene, and kept informed of events by lieutenants with lieutenant-brains, did not get the true meaning of Helm’s tour, but assumed that making a living was his sole object. However, if Sayler had known—had even been able to read Helm’s thoughts, he would not have been disturbed. Circumstances of class-association had made George Helm what he was; circumstances of class-association would re-make him.

Nor was Hazelrigg moved to suspicion by the enthusiasm with which the boom of Helm for governor was received, as soon as launched—nor by Helm’s memorablecampaign—nor by the overturn on election day that swept Helm into office by a majority such as the Democrats had never dreamed of. In Hazelrigg’s opinion it was all clever machine manipulation by Sayler’s men of the Republican machine and by himself and his lieutenants. Helm had shown himself sensible and manageable in everything pertaining to the practical side of the campaign work; Hazelrigg began to suspect there was a secret understanding between him and Sayler. “That man Sayler,” said Hazelrigg to himself, with a grin, “he’s a deep one. He’s the best in the country at the game.”

Helm was, of course, at home in Harrison for the election—was at Mrs. Beaver’s boarding-house, in the attic room still, though he had nearly thirty-five hundred dollars, the savings from the lecture tour. Mrs. Beaver had tried to induce him to takethe best room in the house, at the attic price if that would be an inducement.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” said Helm. “I’m very comfortable. Why should I move?”

Many people thought this sticking to his attic was shrewd politics. It may be that a desire to showhisclass that he was still with them had something to do with his refusal to move. But the chief, the deciding reason was the one he gave. He had lived in that little room long. He had got used to it. He liked it, felt at home in it, would have felt strange without it to come home to and live in. Helm was one of those men—and Sayler, had he been entirely great, would have looked into this before completing his estimate of his character—Helm was of those men—and there are women of the same sort—who care nothing for luxury, even for the comforts that soonseem necessary to people who get the smallest chance to expand.

To him heat and cold were matters of indifference. He had ploughed and mowed in the broiling sun; he had slept under thin covers, with snow sifting through the roof, had brushed the snow off his skin when he got ready to rise. He had eaten all kinds of difficult, not to say impossible, fried food—and had not known what he was eating, or cared. He was so profoundly inured to hardship that he was unaware of it—and was unaware of comfort when he, by chance, got it. Hardened against hardship; hardened also against comfort and luxury. That last peculiarity was probably the most significant factor in his make-up. Yet no one had noted it; he himself not only had not noted it but never would. When one considers how powerful in effect upon human character is love of the softer side of life,and desire for it and clinging to it and respecting it and its possessors, one begins to comprehend how far-reaching was the importance of George Helm’s unique hardiness.

Eleanor Clearwater was visiting in the hill top part of Harrison—was visiting the Hollisters, where she could stop whenever she wished, and as long as she wished, without any one’s thinking of the matter. Helm—regarded with respect by the better class at Harrison, now that he was so high in public life—had arranged to receive the returns at Hollister’s. Bart Hollister, without a suspicion that Eleanor had “managed” him, invited Helm—and was as astonished as pleased by his prompt acceptance. So sweeping was the victory that his election was conceded by the Republicans before he finished supper at Mrs. Beaver’s.

“A governor gets eight thousand a year, doesn’t he?” said Miss Shaler, the sentimental, be-wigged old maid of the boarding-house circle. “You’ll certainly pick on some nice girl and be getting married now, Mr. Helm.”

“GovernorHelm,” corrected Mrs. Beaver, proudly.

“Yes, I’m sure there’ll soon be a Mrs. Governor Helm,” said Miss Shaler, with the soft hysterical giggle with which she accompanied all her frequent remarks on the one subject that interested her.

Helm surprised them all—threw them into a ferment of curiosity—by saying with bold, emphatic, even noisy energy, unbelievable in so shy a man:

“Yes, indeed, ma’am. She and I’ll be inaugurated together.”

He laughed with a gayety that seemed a little foolish in a grave governor-elect. Hegave them no chance to devise ways round the inflexible rule against direct questions as to that one subject. He rose and went forth to claim his bride.

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