"I should, indeed," said Samuel.

"Come and I'll show it to you--that is, If you're able to walk after
the meal."

The meal did not trouble Samuel, and they went out and took a stroll.
And so the boy met with yet another revelation of the possibilities of
existence.

If there was anything in the world he would have supposed he
understood, it was farming; but here at "Fairview" was farming as it
was done by the methods of Science. At home they had had some lilac
bushes and a row of peonies; here were acres of greeneries, filled
with flowers of gorgeous and unimaginable splendor, and rare plants
from every part of the world. At home it had been Samuel's lot to milk
the cow, and he had found it a trying job on cold and dark winter
mornings; and here was a model dairy, with steam heat and electric
light, and tiled walls and nickel plumbing, and cows with pedigrees in
frames, and attendants with white uniforms and rubber gloves. Then
there was a row of henhouses, each for a fancy breed of fowl--some of
them red and lean as herons, and others white as snow and as fat and
ungainly as hogs. And then out in front, at one corner of the lawn,
was the aviary, with houses for the peacocks and lyre birds, and for
parrots and magpies and innumerable strange birds from the tropics.
Also there were dog kennels with many dozens of strange breeds.

"Father got those for me," said young Lockman. "He thought I'd be
interested in agriculture."

"Well, aren't you?" asked Samuel.

"Not very much," said the other carelessly. "Here's Punch--what do you
think of him?"

The occasion for this was a dog, the most hideously ugly object that
Samuel had ever seen in his life. "I--I don't think I'd care for him,"
he said hesitatingly.

"He's a Japanese bulldog," observed the other. "He cost three thousand
dollars."

"Three thousand dollars!" gasped the boy in horror. "Why should anyone
pay so much for a dog?"

"That's what he's worth," said the other with a laugh.

They went to see the horses, which were housed in a palace of their
own. There were innumerable rows of stalls, and a running track and
endless acres of inclosures. "Why do you have so many horses?" asked
Samuel.

"Father ran a stock farm," said the other. "I don't have much time to
give to it myself."

"But who rides the horses?" asked Samuel.

"Well, I go in for sport," replied Lockman. "I'm supposed to be quite
a dab at polo."

"I see," said the boy--though to tell the truth he did not see at all,
not having the least idea what polo was.

"If you're interested in horses, I'll have them find you something to
do here," Lockman went on.

"Oh, thank you," said the boy with a thrill. "That will be fine!"

He could have spent all day in gazing at the marvels of this place,
but his host was tired now and started back to the house. "It's lunch
time," he said. "Perhaps you are hungry again!"

They came out upon the piazza and sat down. And then suddenly they
heard a clatter of hoofs and looked up. "Hello!" exclaimed the host.
"Here's Glad!"

A horse was coming up the road at a lively pace. The rider was seated
a-straddle, and so Samuel was slow to realize that it was a woman. It
was only when he saw her wave her hand and call to them that he was
sure.

She reined up her horse, and a groom who followed her took the rein,
and she stepped off upon the piazza and stood looking at them. She was
young and of extraordinary beauty. She was breathing fast, and her
hair was blown about her forehead, and the glow of health was in her
cheeks; and Samuel thought that she was the most beautiful object that
he had ever beheld in all his life. He stared transfixed; he had never
dreamed that anything so wonderful could exist in the world. He
realized in a sudden glow of excitement what it was that confronted
him. She was the female of this higher species; she was the superior
and triumphant woman.

"Hello, Bertie!" she said.

"Hello!" the other replied, and then added. "This is my cousin, Miss
Wygant. Glad, this is Samuel Prescott."

The girl made a slight acknowledgment, and stared at Samuel with a
look in which curiosity and hauteur were equally mingled. She was a
brunette with dark hair, and an almost Oriental richness of coloring.
She was lithe and gracefully built, and quick in her motions. There
was eager alertness in her whole aspect; her glance was swift and her
voice imperious. One could read her at a glance for a person
accustomed to command--impatient and adventurous, passionate and
proud.

"I've had an adventure," said her cousin by way of explanation.
"Samuel, here, saved my life."

And Samuel thrilled to see the sudden look of interest which came into
the girl's face.

"What!" she cried.

"Yes," said the other. "Spitfire ran away with me."

"You don't mean it, Bertie!"

"Yes. The rein broke. He started near the gate here and ran three or
four miles with me."

"Bertie!" cried the girl. "And what happened?"

"Samuel stopped him."

"How?"

"It was splendid, Glad--the nerviest thing I ever saw. He just flung
himself at the rein and caught it and hung on. He saved my life,
beyond question."

And now Samuel, burning up with embarrassment, faced the full blaze of
the girl's impetuous interest. "How perfectly fine!" she exclaimed;
then, "Where do you come from?" she asked.

"He's just off a farm," said Lockman. "He was on his way to New York
to make his fortune. And think of it, Glad, he'd been robbed, and he'd
been wandering about town begging for work, and he was nearly
starving."

"You don't say so!" gasped the girl.

She took a chair and indicated to Samuel to sit in front of her. "Tell
me all about yourself," she said; and proceeded to cross-question him
about his life and his adventures.

Poor Samuel was like a witness in the hands of a prosecutor--he became
hopelessly confused and frightened. But that made no difference to the
girl, who poured a ceaseless fire of questions upon him, until she had
laid his whole life bare. She even made him tell about Manning, the
stockbroker, and how the family had lost its money in the collapse of
Glass Bottle Securities. And then her cousin put in a word about his
adventure with "Old Stew," and Samuel had to tell that all over again,
and to set forth his sociological convictions--Miss Wygant and her
cousin meantime exchanging glances of wonder and amusement.

At last, however, they tired of him and fell to talking of a dance
they were to attend and a tennis tournament in which they were to
play. And so Samuel had a chance to gaze at Miss Wygant and to feast
his eyes upon her beauty. He could have dreamed of no greater joy in
all this world than to watch her for hours--to study every detail of
her features and her costume, and to see the play of laughter about
her mouth and eyes.

But then came the butler announcing luncheon; and Samuel rose in a
panic. He had a sudden vision of himself being asked to the table, to
sit under Miss Wygant's merciless survey. "I think I'd better go now,"
he said.

"All right," said young Lockman. "Will you come to-morrow morning, and
we'll fix things up?"

"I'll come," said Samuel.

"What are you going to do with him?" asked the girl.

"He likes to take care of horses," said Lockman.

"No," exclaimed the other promptly, "that won't do."

"Why not?" asked he.

"Because, Bertie, you don't want to make a stable boy out of him. He
has too many possibilities. For one thing, he's good looking."

Samuel flushed scarlet and dropped his eyes. He felt again that
penetrating gaze.

"All right," said Lockman. "What can you suggest?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But something decent."

"He doesn't know enough to be a house servant, Glad--"

"No--but something outside. Couldn't he learn gardening? Are you fond
of flowers, Samuel?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Samuel quickly.

"Well, then, make a gardener out of him," said Miss Wygant; and that
settled Samuel's destiny.

The boy took his departure and went home, almost running in his
excitement. He was transported into a distant heaven of bliss; he had
been seated among the gods--he was to dwell there forever after!

His new patron had given him a five-dollar bill; and before he
reached the Stedman home he stopped in a grocery store and loaded up
his arms with bundles. And then, seized by a sudden thought, he went
into a notion store and set down his bundles and purchased a clean,
white linen collar, and a necktie of royal purple and brilliant
green--already tied, so that it would always be perfect in shape.

Then he went into the Stedmans, and the widow and the youngest
children sat round and listened open-eyed to his tale. And then came
Sophie, and he had to tell it all over again.

The girl's eyes opened wide with excitement when he came to the end of
his recital. "Miss Wygant!" she exclaimed. "Miss Gladys Wygant?"

"Yes," said Samuel. "You've heard of her?"

"I've seen her!" exclaimed Sophie eagerly. "Twice!"

"You don't mean it," he said.

"Yes. Once she came to our church festival at Christmas."

"Does she belong to your church?"

"It's the mission. Great folks like her wouldn't want us in the church
with them. She goes to St. Matthew's, you know--up there on the hill.
But she came to the festival at the mission and helped to give out the
presents. And she was dressed all in red--something filmy and soft,
like you'd see in a dream. And, oh, Samuel--she was so beautiful! She
had a rose in her hair--and such a sweet perfume--you could hardly
bear it! And she stood there and smiled at all the children and gave
them the presents. She gave me mine, and it was like seeing a
princess. I wanted to fall down and kiss her feet."

"Yes," said Samuel understandingly.

"And to think that you've met her!" cried Sophie in ecstasy. "And
talked with her! Oh, how could you do it?"

"I--I don't think I did it very well," said Samuel.

"What did you say to her?"

"I don't remember much of it."

"I never heard her voice," said Sophie. "She was talking, the other
time I saw her, but the machinery drowned it out. That was in the
mill--she came there with some other people and walked about, looking
at everything. We were all so excited. You know, her father owns the
mill."

"No, I didn't know it," replied Samuel.

"He owns all sorts of things in Lockmanville. They're very, very rich.
And she's his only daughter, and so beautiful--everybody worships her.
I've got two pictures of her that were in the newspapers once. Come--
you must see them."

And so the two rushed upstairs; and over the bed were two faded
newspaper clippings, one showing Miss Gladys in an evening gown, and
the other in dimity en princesse, with a bunch of roses in her arms.

"Did you ever see anything so lovely?" asked the girl. "I made her my
fairy godmother. And she used to say such lovely things to me. She
must be very kind, you know--no one could be so beautiful who wasn't
very, very good and kind."

"No," said Samuel. "She must be, I'm sure."

And then a sudden idea came to him. "Sophie!" he exclaimed--"she said
I was good looking! I wonder if I am."

And Sophie shot a quick glance at him. "Why, of course you are!" she
cried. "You stupid boy!"

Samuel went to the cracked mirror which hung upon the wall and looked
at himself with new and wandering interest.

"Don't you see how fine and strong you are?" said Sophie. "And what a
bright color you've got?"

"I never thought of it," said he, and recollected the green and purple
necktie.

"And to think that you've talked with her!" exclaimed Sophie, turning
back to the pictures; and she added in a sudden burst of generosity,
"I tell you what I'll do, Samuel--I'll give you these, and you can put
them in your room!"

"You mustn't do that!" he protested.

But the girl insisted. "No, no! I know them by heart, so it won't make
any difference. And they'll mean so much more to you, because you've
really met her!"




CHAPTER X


Samuel presented himself the next morning and was turned over to the
head gardener and duly installed as an assistant. "Let me know how
you're getting along," was young Lockman's last word to him. "And if
there's anything else I can do for you come and tell me."

"Thank you very much, sir," said the boy gratefully; but without
realizing how these magic words, pronounced in the gardener's hearing,
would make him a privileged character about the place--an object of
mingled deference and envy to the other servants.

It was a little world all in itself, the "Fairview" menage. Without
counting the stable hands, and the employees of the different farms,
it took no less than twenty-three people to minister to the personal
wants of Bertie Lockman. And they were divided into ranks and classes,
with a rigid code of etiquette, upon which they insisted with
vehemence. A housekeeper's assistant looked with infinite scorn upon a
kitchen maid, and there had to be no less than four dining rooms for
the various classes of servants who would not eat at the same table.
All this was very puzzling to the stranger; but after a while he came
to see how the system had grown up. It was just like a court; and the
privileged beings who waited upon the sovereign necessarily were
esteemed according to the importance of the service they performed for
him and the access which they attained to his person.

A good many of these servants were foreigners, and Samuel was pained
to discover that they were for the most part without any ennobling
conception of their calling. They were much given to gluttony and
drinking; and there was an unthinkable amount of scandal and
backbiting and jealousy. But it was only by degrees that he realized
this, for he had one great motive in common with them--they were all
possessed with a sense of the greatness of the Lockmans, and none of
them wanted anything better than to talk for hours about the family
and its wealth and power, and the habits and tastes of its members and
their friends.

It was Katie Reilly, a bright little Irish damsel, the housekeeper's
sewing girl, who first captured Samuel with her smile; she carried him
off for a walk, in spite of the efforts of the second parlor maid, and
Samuel drank up eagerly the stream of gossip which poured from her
lips. Master Albert--that was what they all called him--was said to
have an income of over seven hundred thousand dollars a year. What he
did with such a sum no one could imagine; he had lived quite alone
since his father's death. The house had always been run by Miss
Aurelia, old Mr. Lockman's sister, a lady with the lumbago and a
terrible temper; but she had died a couple of years ago. Mr. Lockman
had taken great interest in his stock farm, but very little in his
house; and Master Albert took even less, spending most of his time in
New York. Consequently everything was at sixes and sevens, and he was
being robbed most terribly. But in spite of all his relatives'
suggestions, he would not have anyone to come and live with him.

Master Albert was still a minor, and his affairs were managed by Mr.
Hickman, the family lawyer, and also by his uncle, Mr. Wygant. The
latter was a manufacturer and capitalist--also a great scholar, so
Katie said. It was he Samuel had seen that afternoon in the
automobile, a tall and very proud-looking man with an iron-gray
mustache. He lived in the big white house just after you climbed the
ridge; and Miss Gladys was his only daughter. She had been old Mr.
Lockman's favorite niece, and he had left her a great deal of money.
People were always planning a match between her and Master Albert, but
that always made Miss Gladys very angry. They both declared they were
not in love with each other, and Katie was inclined to think this was
true. Miss Gladys had been away to a rich boarding school, and she
wanted to visit some friends at Newport; but her father wanted her to
stay with him, and that made her discontented. She was very beautiful,
and everybody was her slave. "But oh, I tell you, when she's angry!"
said Katie with a shake of her head.

This little Irish girl was a rare find for Samuel, because her brother
was the "fellow" to Miss Gladys's maid, and so there was nothing she
could not tell Samuel about his divinity. He learned about Miss
Gladys's beautiful party dresses, and about her wonderful riding
horse, and about her skill at tennis, and even her fondness for
chocolate fudge. Miss Gladys had been to Paris the summer before; and
her family had a camp in the Adirondacks, and they went there every
August in an automobile and flew about on a mountain lake in a motor-
boat the shape of a knife blade. Katie wanted to talk about Samuel a
part of the time, and even, perhaps, about herself; but Samuel plied
her with questions about Miss Wygant.

He had her two pictures folded away in his vest pocket; and all the
time that he trimmed the hedges he listened for the sound of her
horse's hoofs or for the chug of her motor. And then, one blissful
morning, when he was carrying in an armful of roses for the
housekeeper, he ran full upon her in the hall.

His heart leaped so that it hurt him; and instead of passing straight
on, as he should have done, he stood stock still, and almost spilled
his roses on the floor.

Miss Gladys's face lighted with pleasure.

"Why, it's Samuel!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said he.

"And how do you like your position?"

"Very well, Miss Gladys," he replied; and then, feeling the inadequacy
of this, he added with fervor, "I'm so happy I can't tell you."

"I'm very glad to hear it," she said. "And I'm sure you fill it very
well."

"I've done the best I can, Miss Gladys," said he.

There was a moment's pause. "You find there is a good deal to learn?"
she inquired.

"Yes," he answered. "But you see, it's about flowers, and I was always
interested in flowers."

And again there was a pause; and then suddenly Miss Wygant flung a
question at him--"Samuel, why do you look at me like that?"

Samuel was almost knocked over.

"Why--why--" he gasped. "Miss Gladys! I don't--!"

"Ah!" she said, "but you do."

Poor Samuel was in an agony of horror. "I--I--really--" he stammered.
"I didn't mean it--I wouldn't for the world---"

He stopped, utterly at a loss; and Miss Wygant kept her merciless gaze
upon him. "Am I so very beautiful?" she asked.

This startled Samuel into lifting his eyes. He stared at her,
transfixed; and at last he whispered, faintly, "Yes."

"Tell me about it," she said, and her look shook him to the depths of
his soul.

He stood there, trembling; he could feel the blood pouring in a warm
flood about his throat and neck. "Tell me," she said again.

"You--you are more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen," he panted.

"You are not used to women, Samuel!"

"No," said he. "I'm just a country boy."

She stood waiting for him to continue. "The girls there"--he
whispered--"they are pretty--but you--you---"

And then suddenly the words came to him. "You are like a princess!" he
cried.

"Ah, if you ever find your tongue!" she said with a smile; and then
after a pause she added, "You don't know how different you are,
Samuel."

"Different?" he echoed.

"Yes. You are so fresh--so young. You would do anything for me,
wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he said.

"You'd risk your life for me, as you did for Bertie?"

And Samuel answered her with fervor that left no room for doubt.

"I wish there was a chance," she laughed. "But there's only this dull
every-day round!"

There was a pause; the boy dropped his eyes and stood trembling.

"Where are you going with the roses?" she asked.

"I'm to take them to the housekeeper."

"Let me have one."

She took one from the bunch, and he stood watching while she pinned it
to her dress. "You may bring me some, now and then," she said with one
of her marvelous smiles. "Don't forget." And then, as she went on, she
touched him upon the hand.

At the touch of her warm, living fingers such a thrill passed through
the boy as made him reel. It was something blind and elemental,
outside of anything that he had dreamed of in his life. She went on
down the hall and left him there, and he had to lean against a table
for support.

And all that day he was in a daze--with bursts of rapture sweeping
over him. She was interested in him! She had smiled upon him! She had
touched his hand!

He went home that evening on purpose to tell Sophie; and the two of
them talked about it for hours. He told the story over and over again.
And Sophie listened, with her eyes shining and her hands clasped in an
ecstasy of delight.

"Oh, Samuel!" she whispered. "I knew it--I knew she'd appreciate you!
She was so beautiful--I knew she must be kind and good!"




CHAPTER XI


A week passed, and Samuel did not see his divinity again. He lived
upon the memory of their brief interview, and while he trimmed the
hedges he was dreaming the most extravagant dreams of rescues and
perilous escapes. For the first time he began to find that his work
was tedious; it offered so few possibilities of romance! If only he
had been her chauffeur, now! Or the guide who escorted her in her
tramps about the wilderness! Or the man who ran the wonderful motor-
boat that was shaped like a knife blade!

Samuel continued to ponder, and was greatly worried lest the
commonplace should ingulf him. So little he dreamed how near was a
change!

Bertie Lockman had been away for a few days, visiting some friends,
and he came back unexpectedly one afternoon. Samuel knew that he had
not been expected, for always there were great bunches of flowers to
be placed in his room. The gardener happened to be away at the time
the motor arrived, and so Samuel upon his own responsibility cut the
flowers and took them into the house. He left them in the
housekeeper's workroom and then set out to find that functionary, and
tell her what he had done. So, in the entrance to the dining room, he
stumbled upon his young master, giving some orders to Peters, the
butler.

As an humble gardener's boy, Samuel should have stepped back and
vanished. Instead he came forward, and Bertie smiled pleasantly and
said, "Hello, Samuel."

"Good afternoon, Master Albert," said Samuel.

"And how do you like your work?" the other asked.

"I like it very well, sir," he replied; and then added apologetically,
"I was bringing some flowers."

The master turned to speak to Peters again; and Samuel turned to
retire. But at that instant there came the sound of a motor in front
of the house.

"Hello," said Bertie. "Who's that?" and turned to look through the
entrance hall. Peters went forward to the door; and so Samuel was left
standing and watching.

A big red touring car had drawn up in front of the piazza. It was
filled with young people, waving their hands and shouting, "Bertie!
Oh, Bertie!"

The other appeared to be startled. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered
as he went to meet them.

Of course Samuel had no business whatever to stand there. He should
have fled in trepidation. But he, as a privileged person, had not yet
been drilled into a realization of his "place." And they were such
marvelous creatures--these people of the upper world--and he was so
devoured with the desire to know about them.

There were two young men in the motor, of about his master's age, and
nearly as goodly to look at. And there were four young women, of a
quite extraordinary sort. They were beautiful, all of them--nearly as
beautiful as Miss Gladys; and perhaps it was only the automobile
costumes, but they struck one as even more alarmingly complex.

They were airy, ethereal creatures, with delicate peach blow
complexions, and very small hands and feet. They seemed to favor all
kinds of fluffy and flimsy things; they were explosions of all the
colors of the springtime. There were leaves and flowers and fruits and
birds in their hats; and there were elaborate filmy veils to hold the
hats on. They descended from the motor, and Samuel had glimpses of
ribbons and ruffles, of shapely ankles and daintily slippered feet.
They came in the midst of a breeze of merriment, with laughter and
bantering and little cries of all sorts.

"You don't seem very glad to see us, Bertie!" one said.

"Cheer up, old chap--nobody'll tell on us!" cried one of the young
men.

"And we'll be good and go home early!" added another of the girls.

One of the party Samuel noticed particularly, because she looked more
serious, and hung back a little. She was smaller than the others, a
study in pink and white; her dress and hat were trimmed with pink
ribbons, and she had the most marvelously pink cheeks and lips, and
the most exquisite features Samuel had ever seen in his life.

Now suddenly she ran to young Lockman and flung her arms about his
neck.

"Bertie," she exclaimed, "it's my fault. I made them come! I wanted to
see you so badly! You aren't mad with us, are you?"

"No," said Bertie, "I'm not mad."

"Well, then, be glad!" cried the girl, and kissed him again. "Be a
good boy--do!"

"All right," said Bertie feebly. "I'll be good, Belle."

"We wanted to surprise you," added one of the young fellows.

"You surprised me all right," said Bertie--a reply which all of them
seemed to find highly amusing, for they laughed uproariously.

"He doesn't ask us in," said one of the girls. "Come on, Dolly--let's
see this house of his."

And so the party poured in. Samuel waited just long enough to catch
the rustle of innumerable garments, and a medley of perfumes which
might have been blown from all the gardens of the East. Then he turned
and fled to the regions below.

One of the young men, he learned from the talk in the servants' hall,
was Jack Holliday, the youngest son of the railroad magnate; it was
his sister who was engaged to marry the English duke. The other boy
was the heir of a great lumber king from the West, and though he was
only twenty he had got himself involved in a divorce scandal with some
actor people. Who the young ladies were no one seemed to know, but
there were half-whispered remarks about them, the significance of
which was quite lost upon Samuel.

Presently the word came that the party was to stay to dinner. And then
instantly the whole household sprang into activity. Above stairs
everything would move with the smoothness of clockwork; but downstairs
in the servants' quarters it was a serious matter that an elaborate
banquet for seven people had to be got ready in a couple of hours.
Even Samuel was pressed into service at odd jobs--something for which
he was very glad, as it gave him a chance to remain in the midst of
events.

So it happened that he saw Peters emerging from the wine cellar,
followed by a man with a huge basket full of bottles. And this set
Samuel to pondering hard, the while he scraped away at a bowl of
potatoes. It was the one thing which had disconcerted him in the life
of this upper world--the obvious part that drinking played in it.
There were always decanters of liquor upon the buffet in the dining
room; and liquor was served to guests upon any--and every pretext. And
the women drank as freely as the men--even Miss Gladys drank, a thing
which was simply appalling to Samuel.

Of course, these were privileged people, and they knew what they
wanted to do. But could it be right for anyone to drink? As in the
case of suicide, Samuel found his moral convictions beginning to
waver. Perhaps it was that drink did not affect these higher beings as
it did ordinary people! Or perhaps what they drank was something that
cheered without inebriating! Certain it was that the servants got
drunk; and Samuel had seen that they took the stuff from the decanters
used by the guests.

It was something over which he labored with great pain of soul. But,
of course, all his hesitations and sophistries were for the benefit of
his master--that it could be right for Samuel himself to touch liquor
was something that could not by any chance enter his mind.

The dinner had begun; and Samuel went on several errands to the room
below the butler's pantry, and so from the dumb-waiter shafts he could
hear the sounds of laughter and conversation. And more wine went up--
it was evidently a very merry party. The meal was protracted for two
or three hours, and the noise grew louder and louder. They were
shouting so that one could hear them all over the house. They were
singing songs--wild rollicking choruses which were very wonderful to
listen to, and yet terribly disturbing to Samuel. These fortunate
successful ones--he would grant them the right to any happiness--it
was to be expected that they should dwell in perpetual merriment and
delight. But he could hear the champagne corks popping every few
minutes. And COULD it be right for them to drink!

It grew late, and still the revelry went on. A thunderstorm had come
up and was raging outside. The servants who were not at work, had gone
to bed, but there was no sleep for Samuel; he continued to prowl
about, restless and tormented. The whole house was now deserted, save
for the party in the dining room; and so he crept up, by one of the
rear stairways, and crouched in a doorway, where he could listen to
the wild uproar.

He had been there perhaps ten minutes. He could hear the singing and
yelling, though he could not make out the words because of the noise
of the elements. But then suddenly, above all the confusion, he heard
a woman's shrieks piercing and shrill; and he started up and sprang
into the hall. Whether they were cries of anger, or of fear, or of
pain, Samuel could not be certain; but he knew that they were not
cries of enjoyment.

He stood trembling. There rose a babel of shouts, and then again came
the woman's voice--"No, no--you shan't, I say!"

"Sit down, you fool!" Samuel heard Bertie Lockman shout.

And then came another woman's voice--"Shut up and mind your business!"

"I'll tear your eyes out, you devil!" shrilled the first voice, and
there followed a string of furious curses. The other woman replied in
kind and Samuel made out that there was some kind of a quarrel, and
that some of the party wanted to interfere, and that others wanted it
to go on. All were whooping and shrieking uproariously, and the two
women yelled like hyenas.

It was like the nightmare sounds he had heard from his cell in the
police station, and Samuel listened appalled. There came a crash of
breaking glass; and then suddenly, in the midst of the confusion, he
heard his young master cry, "Get out of here!"--and the dining room
door was flung open, and the uproar burst full upon him.

A terrible sight met his eyes. It was the beautiful and radiant
creature who had kissed Bertie Lockman; her face was now flushed with
drink and distorted with rage--her hair disheveled and her aspect
wild; and she was screaming in the voice which had first startled
Samuel. Bertie had grappled with her and was trying to push her out of
the room, while she fought frantically, and screamed: "Let me go! Let
me go!"

"Get out of here, I say!" cried Bertie, "I mean it now."

"I won't! Let me be!" exclaimed the girl.

"Hurrah!" shouted the others, crowding behind them. Young Holliday was
dancing about, waving a bottle and yelling like a maniac, "Go it,
Bertie! Give it to him, Belle!"

"This is the end of it!" cried Bertie. "I'm through with you. And you
get out of here!"

"I won't! I won't!" screamed the girl again and again. "Help!" And she
flung one arm about his neck and caught at the doorway.

But he tore her loose and dragged her bodily across the entrance hall.
"Out with you!" he exclaimed. "And don't ever let me see your face
again!"

"Bertie! Bertie!" she protested.

"I mean it!" he said. "Here Jack! Open the door for me."

"Bertie! No!" shrieked the girl; but then with a sudden effort he half
threw her out into the darkness. There was a brief altercation
outside, and then he sprang back, and flung to the heavy door, and
bolted it fast.

"Now, by God!" he said, "you'll stay out."

The girl beat and kicked frantically upon the door. But Bertie turned
his back and staggered away, reeling slightly. "That'll settle it, I
guess," he said, with a wild laugh.

And amidst a din of laughter and cheers from the others, he went back
to the dining room. One of the other women flung her arms about him
hilariously, and Jack Holliday raised a bottle of wine on high, and
shouted: "Off with the old love--on with the new!"

And so Bertie shut the door again, and the scene was hid from Samuel's
eyes.




CHAPTER XII


For a long while, Samuel stood motionless, hearing the swish of the
rain and the crashing of the thunder as an echo of the storm in his
own soul. It was as if a chasm had yawned beneath his feet, and all
the castles of his dreams had come down in ruins. He stood there,
stunned and horrified, staring at the wreckage of everything he had
believed.

Then suddenly he crossed the drawing-room and opened one of the French
windows which led to the piazza. The rain was driving underneath
 the shelter of the roof; but he faced it, and ran toward the door.

The girl was lying in front of it, and above the noise of the wind and
rain he heard her sobbing wildly. He stood for a minute, hesitating;
then he bent down and touched her.

"Lady," he said.

She started. "Who are you?" she cried.

"I'm just one of the servants, ma'am."

She caught her breath. "Did he send you?" she demanded.

"No," said he, "I came to help you."

"I don't need any help. Let me be."

"But you can't stay here in the rain," he protested. "You'll catch
your death."

"I want to die!" she answered. "What have I to live for?"

Samuel stood for a moment, perplexed. Then, as he touched her wet
clothing again, common sense asserted itself. "You mustn't stay here,"
he said. "You mustn't."

But she only went on weeping. "He's cast me off!" she exclaimed. "My
God, what shall I do?"

Samuel turned and ran into the house again and got an umbrella in the
hall. Then he took the girl by the arm and half lifted her. "Come," he
said. "Please."

"But where shall I go?" she asked.

"I know some one in the town who'll help you," he said. "You can't
stay here--you'll catch cold."

"What's there left for me?" she moaned. "What am I good for? He's
thrown me over--and I can't live without him!"

Samuel got the umbrella up and held it with one hand; then with his
other arm about the girl's waist, he half carried her down the piazza
steps. "That she-devil was after him!" she was saying. "And it was
Jack Holliday set her at it, damn his soul! I'll pay him for it!"

She poured forth a stream of wild invective.

"Please stop," pleaded Samuel. "People will hear you."

"What do I care if they do hear me? Let them put me in jail--that's
all I'm fit for. I'm drunk, and I'm good for nothing--and he's tired
of me!"

So she rushed on, all the way toward town. Then, as they came to the
bridge, she stopped and looked about. "Where are you taking me?" she
asked.

"To a friend's house," he said, having in mind the Stedmans.

"No," she replied. "I don't want to see anyone. Take me to some hotel,
can't you?"

"There's one down the street here," he said. "I don't know anything
about it."

"I don't care. Any place."

The rain had slackened and she stopped and gathered up her wet and
straggled hair.

There was a bar underneath the hotel, and a flight of stairs led up to
the office. They went up, and a man sitting behind the desk stared at
them.

"I want to get a room for this lady," said Samuel. "She's been caught
in the rain."

"Is she your wife?" asked the man.

"Mercy, no," said he startled.

"Do you want a room, too?"

"No, no, I'm going away."

"Oh!" said the man, and took down a key. "Register, please."

Samuel took the pen, and then turned to the girl. "I beg pardon," he
said, "but I don't know your name."

"Mary Smith," she answered, and Samuel stared at her in surprise.
"Mary Smith," she repeated, and he wrote it down obediently.

The man took them upstairs; and Samuel, after helping the girl to a
chair, shut the door and stood waiting. And she flung herself down
upon the bed and burst into a paroxysm of weeping. Samuel had never
even heard the word hysterics, and it was terrifying to him to see
her--he could not have believed that so frail and slender a human body
could survive so frightful a storm of emotion.

"Oh, please, please stop!" he cried wildly.

"I can't live without him!" she wailed again and again. "I can't live
without him! What am I going to do?"

Samuel's heart was wrung. He went to the girl, and put his hand upon
her arm. "Listen to me," he said earnestly. "Let me try to help you."

"What can you do?" she demanded.

"I'll go and see him. I'll plead with him--perhaps he'll listen to
me."

"All right!" she cried. "Anything! Tell him I'll kill myself! I'll
kill him and Dolly both, before I'll ever let her have him! Yes, I
mean it! He swore to me he'd never leave me! And I believed him--I
trusted him!"

And Samuel clenched his hands with sudden resolution. "I'll see him
about it," he said. "I'll see him to-night."

And leaving the other still shaking with sobs, he turned and left the
room.

He stopped in the office to tell the man that he was going. But there
was nobody there; and after hesitating a moment he went on.

The storm was over and the moon was out, with scud of clouds flying
past. Samuel strode back to "Fairview," with his hands gripped
tightly, and a blaze of resolution in his soul.

He was just in time to see the automobile at the door, and the company
taking their departure. They passed him, singing hilariously; and then
he found himself confronting his young master.

"Who's that?" exclaimed Bertie, startled.

"It's me, sir," said Samuel.

"Oh! Samuel! What are you doing here?"

"I've been with the young lady, sir."

"Oh! So that's what became of her!"

"I took her to a hotel, sir."

"Humph!" said Bertie. "I'm obliged to you."

The piazza lights were turned up, and by them Samuel could see the
other's face, flushed with drink, and his hair and clothing in
disarray. He swayed slightly as he stood there.

"Master Albert," said Samuel very gravely, "May I have a few words
with you?"

"Sure," said Bertie. He looked about him for a chair and sank into it.
"What is it?" he asked.

"It's the young lady, Master Albert."

"What about her?"

"She's very much distressed, sir."

"I dare say. She'll get over it, Samuel."

"Master Albert," exclaimed the boy, "you've not treated her fairly."

The other stared at him. "The devil!" he exclaimed.

"You must not desert her, sir! It would be a terrible thing to have on
your conscience. You have ruined and betrayed her."

"WHAT!" cried the other, and gazed at him in amazement. "Did she give
you that kind of a jolly?"

"She didn't go into particulars"--said the boy.

"My dear fellow!" laughed Bertie. "Why, I've been the making of that
girl. She was an eighteen-dollar-a-week chorus girl when I took her
up."

"That might be, Master Albert. But if she was an honest girl--"

"Nonsense, Samuel--forget it. She'd had three or four lovers before
she ever laid eyes on me."

There was a pause, while the boy strove to get these facts into his
mind. "Even so," he said, "you can't desert her and let her starve,
Master Albert."

"Oh, stuff!" said the other. "What put that into your head? I'll give
her all the money she needs, if that's what's troubling her. Did she
say that?"

"N--no," admitted Samuel disconcerted. "But, Master Albert, she loves
you."

"Yes, I know," said Bertie, "and that's where the trouble comes in.
She wants to keep me in a glass case, and I've got tired of it."

He paused for a moment; and then a sudden idea flashed over him.
"Samuel!" he exclaimed "Why don't you marry her?"

Samuel started in amazement. "What!" he gasped.

"It's the very thing!" cried Bertie. "I'll set you up in a little
business, and you can have an easy time."

"Master Albert!" panted the boy shocked to the depths of his soul.

"She's beautiful, Samuel--you know she is. And she's a fine girl, too-
-only a little wild. I believe you'd be just the man to hold her in."

Bertie paused a moment, and then, seeing that the other was
unconvinced, he added with a laugh, "Wait till you've known her a bit.
Maybe you'll fall in love with her."

But Samuel only shook his head. "Master Albert," he said, in a low
voice, "I'm afraid you've not understood the reason I've come to you."

"How do you mean?"

"This--all this business, sir--it's shocked me more than I can tell
you. I came here to serve you, sir. You don't know how I felt about
it. I was ready to do anything--I was so grateful for a chance to be
near you! You were rich and great, and everything about you was so
beautiful--I thought you must be noble and good, to have deserved so
much. And now, instead, I find you are a wicked man!"

The other sat up. "The dickens!" he exclaimed.

"And it's a terrible thing to me," went on Samuel. "I don't know just
what to make of it--

"See here, Samuel!" demanded the other angrily. "Who sent you here to
lecture me?"

"I don't see how it can be!" the boy exclaimed. "You are one of the
fit people, as Professor Stewart explained it to me; and yet I know
some who are better than you, and who have nothing at all."

And Bertie Lockman, after another stare into the boy's solemn eyes,
sank back in his chair and burst into laughter. "Look here, Samuel!"
he exclaimed. "You aren't playing the game!"

"How do you mean, sir?"

"If I'm one of the fit ones, what right have you got to preach at me?"

Samuel was startled. "Why sir--" he stammered.

"Just look!" went on Bertie. "I'm the master, and you're the servant.
I have breeding and culture--everything--and you're just a country
bumpkin. And yet you presume to set your ideas up against mine! You
presume to judge me, and tell me what I ought to do!"

Samuel was taken aback by this. He could not think what to reply.

"Don't you see?" went on Bertie, following up his advantage. "If you
really believe what you say, you ought to submit yourself to me. If I
say a thing's right, that makes it right. If I had to come to you to
have you approve it, wouldn't that make you the master and me the
servant?"

"No, no--Master Albert!" protested Samuel. "I didn't mean quite that!"

"Why, I might just as well give you my money and be done with it,"
insisted the other.

"Then you could fix everything up to suit yourself."

"That isn't what I mean at all!" cried the boy in great distress. "I
don't know how to answer you, sir--but there's a wrong in it."

"But where? How?"

"Master Albert," blurted Samuel--"it can't be right for you to get
drunk!"

Bertie's face clouded.

"It can't be right, sir!" repeated Samuel.

And suddenly the other sat forward in his chair. "All right," he said-
-"Maybe it isn't. But what are you going to do about it?"

There was anger in his voice, and Samuel was frightened into silence.
There was a pause while they stared at each other.

"I'm on top!" exclaimed Bertie. "I'm on top, and I'm going to stay on
top--don't you see? The game's in my hands; and if I please to get
drunk, I get drunk. And you will take your orders and mind your own
business. And what have you to say to that?"

"I presume, sir," said Samuel, his voice almost a whisper, "I can
leave your service."

"Yes," said the other--"and then either you'll starve, or else you'll
go to somebody else who has money, and ask him to give you a job. And
then you'll take your orders from him, and keep your opinions to
yourself. Don't you see?"

"Yes," said Samuel, lowering his eyes--"I see."

"All right," said Bertie; and he rose unsteadily to his feet. "Now, if
you please," said he, "you'll go back to Belle, wherever you've left
her, and take her a message for me."

"Yes, sir," said Samuel.

"Tell her I'm through with her, and I don't want to see her again.
I'll have a couple of hundred dollars a month sent to her so long as
she lets me alone. If she writes to me or bothers me in any way,
she'll get nothing. And that's all."

"Yes, sir," said Samuel.

"And as for you, this was all right for a joke, but it wouldn't bear
repeating. From now on, you're the gardener's boy, and you'll not
forget your place again."

"Yes, sir," said Samuel once more, and stood watching while his young
master went into the house.

Then he turned and went down the road, half dazed.

Those had been sledge-hammer blows, and they had landed full and hard.
They had left him without a shred of all his illusions. His work, that
he had been so proud of--he hated it, and everything associated with
it. And he was overwhelmed with perplexity and pain--just as before
when he had found himself in jail, and it had dawned upon him that the
Law, an institution which he had revered, might be no such august
thing at all, but an instrument of injustice and oppression.

In that mood he came to the hotel. Again there was no one in the
office, so he went directly to the room and knocked. There was no
answer; he knocked again, more heavily.

"I wonder if she's gone," he thought, and looked again at the number,
to make sure he was at the right room. Then, timidly, he tried the
door.

It opened. "Lady," he said, and then louder, "Lady."

There was no response, and he went in. Could she be asleep? he
thought. No--that was not likely. He listened for her breathing. There
was not a sound.

And finally he went to the bed, and put his hand upon it. Then he
started back with a cry of terror. He had touched something warm and
moist and sticky.

He rushed out into the hall, and as he looked at his hand he nearly
fainted. It was a mass of blood!

"Help! Help!" the boy screamed; and he turned and rushed down the
stairs into the office.

The proprietor came running in. "Look!" shouted Samuel. "Look what
she's done!"

"Good God!" cried the man. And he rushed upstairs, the other
following.

With trembling fingers the man lit the gas; and Samuel took one look,
and then turned away and caught at a table, sick with horror. The girl
was lying in the midst of a pool of blood; and across her throat, from
ear to ear, was a great gaping slit.

"Oh! oh!" gasped Samuel, and then--"I can't stand it!" And holding out
one hand from him, he hid his face with the other.

Meantime the proprietor was staring at him. "See here, young fellow,"
he said.

"What is it?" asked Samuel.

"When did you find out about this?"

"Why, just now. When I came in."

"You've been out?"

"Why of course. I went out just after we came."

"I didn't see you."

"No. I stopped in the office, but you weren't there."

"Humph!" said the man, "maybe you did and maybe you didn't. You can
tell it to the police."

"The police!" echoed Samuel; and then in sudden horror--"Do you think
_I_ did it?"

"I don't know anything about it," replied the other. "I only know you
brought her here, and that you'll stay here till the police come."

By this time several people had come into the room, awakened by the
noise. Samuel, without a word more, went and sank down into a chair
and waited. And half an hour later he was on his way to the station
house again--this time with a policeman on either side of him, and
gripping him very tightly. And now the charge against him was murder!




CHAPTER XIII


The same corpulent official was seated behind the desk at the police
station; but on this occasion he woke up promptly. "The chief had
better handle this," he said, and went to the telephone.

"Where's this chap to go?" asked one of the policemen.

"We're full up," said the sergeant. "Put him in with Charlie Swift.
The chief'll be over in a few minutes."

So once more Samuel was led into a cell, and heard the door clang upon
him.

He was really not much alarmed this time, for he knew it was not his
fault, and that he could prove it. But he was sick with horror at the
fate of the unhappy girl. He began pacing back and forth in his cell.

Then suddenly from one corner growled a voice: "Say, when are you
going to get quiet?"

"Oh, I beg pardon," said Samuel. "I didn't know you were here."

"What are you in for?" asked the voice.

"For murder," said Samuel.

And he heard the cot give a sudden creak as the man sat up. "What!" he
gasped.

"I didn't do it," the boy explained hastily. "She killed herself."

"Where was this?" asked the man.

"At the Continental Hotel."

"And what did you have to do with it?"

"I took her there."

"Who was she?"

"Why--she called herself Mary Smith."

"Where did you meet her?"

"Up at 'Fairview.'"

"At 'Fairview'!" exclaimed the other.

"Yes," said Samuel. "The Lockman place."

"ALBERT Lockman's place?"

"Yes."

"How did she come to be there?"

"Why, she was--a friend of his. She was there to dinner."

"What!" gasped the man. "How do you know it?"

"I work there," replied Samuel.

"And how did she come to go to the hotel?"

"Master Albert turned her out," said Samuel. "And it was raining, and
so I took her to a hotel."

"For the love of God!" exclaimed the other; and then he asked quickly,
"Did you tell the sergeant that?"

"No," said the boy. "He didn't ask me anything."

The man sprang up and ran to the grated door and shook it. "Hello!
Hello there!" he cried.

"What's the matter?" growled a policeman down the corridor.

"Come here! quick!" cried the other; and then through the grating he
whispered, "Say, tell the cap to come here for a moment, will you?"

"What do you want?" demanded the policeman.

"Look here, O'Brien," said the other. "You know Charlie Swift is no
fool. And there's something about this fellow you've put in here that
the cap ought to know about quick."

The sergeant came. "Say," said Charlie. "Did you ask this boy any
questions?"

"No," said the sergeant, "I'm waiting for the chief."

"Well, did you know that girl came from Albert Lockman's place?"

"Good God, no!"

"He says she was there to dinner and Lockman turned her out of the
house. This boy says he works for Lockman."

"Well, I'm damned!" exclaimed the sergeant. And so Samuel was led into
a private room.

A minute or two later "the chief" strode in. McCullagh was his name
and he was huge and burly, with a red face and a protruding jaw. He
went at Samuel as if he meant to strike him. "What's this you're
givin' us?" he cried.