She
motioned
Jane back to her chair, and herself ad-
vanced to the roomier sofa.
vanced to the roomier sofa.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v11 - Fro to Gre
Every
one of them had come up to bear witness against their murderer;
out of sea and river had come the trout and salmon, the soles
and turbots, the ling and cod, the whiting and mackerel, the
smelts and whitebait, the oysters, the crabs, the lobsters, the
shrimps. They seemed literally to be in millions, and I had eaten
them all. I talked of wages. These had been my wages. At
this enormous cost had my existence been maintained.
A stag
spoke for the rest: "We all," he said, "were sacrificed to keep
this cormorant in being, and to enable him to produce the mis-
erable bits of printed paper which are all that he has to show
for himself. Our lives were dear to us. In meadow and wood,
in air and water, we wandered harmless and innocent, enjoy-
ing the pleasant sunlight, the light of heaven and the sparkling
We were not worth much; we have no pretensions to high
qualities. If the person who stands here to answer for himself
can affirm that his value in the universe was equivalent to the
value of all of us who were sacrificed to feed him, we have no
more to say. Let it be so pronounced. We shall look at our
numbers, and we shall wonder at the judgment, though we shall
waves.
――
## p. 6100 (#70) ############################################
6100
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE
withdraw our complaint. But for ourselves we say freely that we
have long watched him,-him and his fellows, and we have
failed to see in what the superiority of the human creature lies.
We know him only as the most cunning, the most destructive,
and unhappily the longest lived of all carnivorous beasts.
delight is in killing. Even when his hunger is satisfied, he kills.
us for his mere amusement. "
-
I
The oxen lowed approval, the sheep bleated, the birds screamed,
the fishes flapped their tails. I, for myself, stood mute and self-
condemned. What answer but one was possible? Had I been
myself on the bench I could not have hesitated. The fatal sen-
tence of condemnation was evidently about to be uttered, when
the scene became indistinct, there was a confused noise, a change
of condition, a sound of running feet and of many voices.
awoke. I was again in the railway carriage; the door was thrown
open; porters entered to take our things. We stepped out upon
the platform. We were at the terminus for which we had been
originally destined. Carriages and cabs were waiting; tall pow-
dered footmen flew to the assistance of the duke and duchess.
The station-master was standing hat in hand, and obsequiously
bowing; the minister's private secretary had come to meet his
right honorable chief with the red dispatch box, knowing the im-
patience with which it was waited for. The duke shook hands
with the archbishop before he drove away. "Dine with us to-
morrow? " he said. "I have had a very singular dream. You
shall be my Daniel and interpret it for me. " The archbishop
regretted infinitely that he must deny himself the honor; his
presence was required at the Conference. "I too have dreamt,
he said; "but with your Grace and me the realities of this world
are too serious to leave us leisure for the freaks of imagination. ”
## p. 6101 (#71) ############################################
6101
HENRY B. FULLER
(1859-)
EW ENGLAND blood reveals itself in certain characteristics of
Mr. Henry B. Fuller's fiction, though his grandfather took
root in Chicago even after its incorporation in 1840. Born
in the "windy city," of prosperous merchant stock, he is of the intel-
lectual race of Margaret Fuller; and the saying of one of his charac-
ters, "Get the right kind of New England face, and you can't do
much better," shows his liking for the transplanted qualities which
began the good fortunes of the Great West.
Family councils decreed that he should fill an important inherited
place in the business world; but temperament was too strong for
predestination. He might have been an architect, he might have
been a musician, had he not turned out a novelist. But a creative
artist he was constrained by nature to become. His first story, un-
acknowledged at first, and entitled 'The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani,'
attracted little notice until it fell by chance under the eye of
Professor Norton of Cambridge, who sent it with a kindly word to
Lowell. This fine critic wrote a cordial letter of praise to the
author, and the book was republished by the Century Company of
New York in 1892 and widely read. The Chatelaine of La Trinité,'
his next venture, appeared as a serial in the Century Magazine during
the same year. Both of these stories have a European background;
in both a certain remoteness and romantic quality predominates, and
both have little in common with this workaday world.
To the amazement of his public, Mr. Fuller's next book-pub-
lished as a serial in Harper's Weekly, during the summer of the
World's Fair, and called 'The Cliff-Dwellers - pictured Chicago in
its most sordid and utilitarian aspect. King Money sat on the throne,
and the whole community paid tribute. The intensity of the struggle
for existence, the push of competition, the relentlessness of the real-
ism of the book, left the reader almost breathless at the end, un-
certain whether to admire the force of the story-teller or to lament
his mercilessness.
In 1895 appeared 'With the Procession,' another picture of Chicago
social life, but painted with a more kindly touch. The artist still
delineates what he sees, but he sees more truly, because more sym-
pathetically. The theme of the story is admirable, and it is carried
out with a half humorous and wholly serious thoroughness. This
## p. 6102 (#72) ############################################
6102
HENRY B. FULLER
theme is the total reconstruction of the social concepts of an old-
fashioned, rich, stolid, commercial Chicago family, in obedience to
the decree of the modernized younger son and daughters.
The pro-
cess is more or less tragic, though it is set forth with an artistic
lightness of touch. With the Procession' is such a story as might
happen round the corner in any year. Herr Sienkiewicz's Polanyet-
skis are not more genuinely "children of the soil" than Mr. Fuller's
Marshalls and Bateses. In these later stories he seems to be asking
himself, in most serious words, what is to be the social outcome
of the great industrial civilization of the time, and to demand of his
readers that they too shall fall to thinking.
AT THE HEAD OF THE MARCH
From With the Procession. ' Copyright 1894 by Henry B. Fuller, and re-
printed by permission of Harper & Brothers, publishers, New York
"WELL
ELL, here goes! " said Jane half aloud, with her foot on
the lowest of the glistening granite steps. The steps
led up to the ponderous pillared arches of a grandiose
and massive porch; above the porch a sturdy and rugged bal-
ustrade half intercepted the rough-faced glitter of a vast and
variegated façade; and higher still, the morning sun shattered its
beams over a tumult of angular roofs and towering chimneys.
"It is swell, I declare! " said Jane, with her eye on the
wrought-iron work of the outer doors, and the jewels and bevels
of the inner ones.
"Where is the thingamajig, anyway? " she inquired of her-
self. She was searching for the door-bell, and she fell back on
her own rustic lingo in order to ward off the incipient panic
caused by this overwhelming splendor. "Oh, here it is! There! "
She gave a push. "And now I'm in for it. " She had decided
to take the richest and best known and most fashionable woman
on her list to start with; the worst over at the beginning, she
thought, the rest would follow easily enough.
"I suppose the 'maid' will wear a cap and a silver tray,"
she observed further. "Or will it be a gold one, with diamonds
around the edge? "
The door-knob turned from within. "Is Mrs. Bates
began.
The door opened half-way. A grave, smooth-shaven man ap-
peared; his chin and upper lip had the mottled smudge that
-
» she
## p. 6103 (#73) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6103
shows in so many of those conscientious portraits of the olden
time.
"Gracious me! " said the startled Jane to herself.
She dropped her disconcerted vision to the door-mat. Then
she saw that the man wore knee-breeches and black-silk stockings.
"Heaven be merciful! " was her inward cry. "It's a foot-
man, as I live. I've been reading about them all my life, and
now I've met one. But I never suspected that there was really
anything of the kind in this town! "
She left the contemplation of the servant's pumps and stock-
ings, and began to grapple fiercely with the catch of her hand-
bag.
The man in the meanwhile studied her with a searching grav-
ity, and as it seemed, with some disapproval. The splendor of
the front that his master presented to the world had indeed
intimidated poor Jane; but there were many others upon whom
it had no deterring effect at all. Some of these brought art-
books in monthly parts; others brought polish for the piano legs.
Many of them were quite as prepossessing in appearance as Jane
was; some of them were much less plain and dowdy; few of
them were so recklessly indiscreet as to betray themselves at the
threshold by exhibiting a black leather bag.
"There! " remarked Jane to the footman, "I knew I should
get at it eventually. " She smiled at him with a friendly good-
will: she acknowledged him as a human being, and she hoped to
propitiate him into the concession that she herself was nothing
less.
The man took her card, which was fortunately as correct as
the most discreet and contemporaneous stationer could fashion.
He decided that he was running no risk with his mistress, and
"Miss Jane Marshall" was permitted to pass the gate.
She was ushered into a small reception-room. The hard-wood
floor was partly covered by a meagre Persian rug. There was a
plain sofa of forbidding angles, and a scantily upholstered chair
which insisted upon nobody's remaining longer than necessary.
But through the narrow door Jane caught branching vistas of
room after room heaped up with the pillage of a sacked and rav-
aged globe, and a stairway which led with a wide sweep to
regions of unimaginable glories above.
"Did you ever! " exclaimed Jane. It was of the footman that
she was speaking; he in fact loomed up, to the practical eclipse
## p. 6104 (#74) ############################################
6104
HENRY B. FULLER
of all this luxury and display. "Only eighty years from the
Massacre, and hardly eight hundred feet from the Monument! "
Presently she heard a tapping and a rustling without. She
thought that she might lean a few inches to one side with no
risk of being detected in an impropriety, and she was rewarded
by seeing the splendid vacuity of the grand stairway finally filled
-filled more completely, more amply, than she could have im-
agined possible through the passage of one person merely. A
woman of fifty or more was descending with a slow and some-
what ponderous stateliness. She wore an elaborate morning-
gown with a broad plait down the back, and an immensity of
superfluous material in the sleeves. Her person was broad, her
bosom ample, and her voluminous gray hair was tossed and
fretted about the temples after the fashion of a marquise of the
old régime. Jane set her jaw and clamped her knotty fingers to
the two edges of her inhospitable chair.
"I don't care if she is so rich," she muttered, "and so famous,
and so fashionable, and so terribly handsome; she can't bear me
down. "
The woman reached the bottom step, and took a turn that
for a moment carried her out of sight. At the same time the
sound of her footsteps was silenced by one of the big rugs that
covered the floor of the wide and roomy hall. But Jane had had
a glimpse, and she knew with whom she was to deal with one
of the big, the broad, the great, the triumphant; with one of a
Roman amplitude and vigor, an Indian keenness and sagacity,
an American ambition and determination; with one who baffles
circumstance and almost masters fate-with one of the con-
querors, in short.
"I don't hear her," thought the expectant girl, in some trepi-
dation; "but all the same, she's got to cross that bare space just
outside the door before—yes, there's her step! And here she is
herself! »
Mrs. Bates appeared in the doorway. She had a strong nose
of the lofty Roman type; her bosom heaved with breaths deep,
but quiet and regular. She had a pair of large, full blue eyes,
and these she now fixed on Jane with an expression of rather
cold questioning.
"Miss Marshall ? >>> Her voice was firm, smooth, even, rich,
deep. She advanced a foot or two within the room and remained
standing there.
## p. 6105 (#75) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6105
"My father," Jane began again, in the same tone, "is David
Marshall. He is very well known, I believe, in Chicago. We
have lived here a great many years. It seems to me that there
ought to ->
"David Marshall? " repeated Mrs. Bates, gently. "Ah, I do
know David Marshall-yes," she said; "or did a good many
years ago. " She looked up into Jane's face now with a com-
pletely altered expression. Her glance was curious and search-
ing, but it was very kindly. "And you are David Marshall's
daughter? " She smiled indulgently at Jane's outburst of spunk.
"Really - David Marshall's daughter? "
"Yes," answered Jane, with a gruff brevity. She was far
from ready to be placated yet.
"David Marshall's daughter! Then, my dear child, why not
have said so in the first place, without lugging in everybody and
everything else you could think of? Hasn't your father ever
spoken of me? And how is he, anyway? I haven't seen him
to really speak to him—for fifteen years. It may be even more. '
She seemed to have laid hands on a heavy bar, to have
wrenched it from its holds, to have flung it aside from the foot-
path, and to be inviting Jane to advance without let or hin-
drance.
-
>>
But Jane stood there with pique in her breast, and her long
thin arms laid rigid against her sides. "Let her 'dear child'
me, if she wants to; she sha'n't bring me around in any such
way as that. »
ner.
All this, however, availed little against Mrs. Bates's new man-
The citadel so closely sealed to charity was throwing itself
wide open to memory. The portcullis was dropped, and the late
enemy was invited to advance as a friend.
Nay, urged. Mrs. Bates presently seized Jane's unwilling
hands. She gathered those poor, stiff, knotted fingers into two
crackling bundles within her own plump and warm palms,
squeezed them forcibly, and looked into Jane's face with all
imaginable kindness. "I had just that temper once myself," she
said.
The sluice gates of caution and reserve were opening wide;
the streams of tenderness and sympathy were bubbling and fret-
ting to take their course.
"And your father is well? And you are living in the same
old place? Oh, this terrible town! You can't keep your old
## p. 6106 (#76) ############################################
6106
HENRY B. FULLER
friends; you can hardly know your new ones. We are only a
mile or two apart, and yet it is the same as if it were a hun-
dred. "
Jane yielded up her hands half unwillingly. She could not,
in spite of herself, remain completely unrelenting, but she was
determined not to permit herself to be patronized. "Yes, we
live in the same old place. And in the same old way," she
added in the spirit of concession.
Mrs. Bates studied her face intently. "Do you look like him.
-like your father? "
"No," answered Jane. "Not so very much. Nor like any of
the rest of the family. " The statue was beginning to melt. "I'm
unique. " And another drop fell.
"Don't slander yourself. " She tapped Jane lightly on the
shoulder.
Jane looked at her with a protesting, or at least a question-
ing, seriousness. It had the usual effect of a wild stare. “I
wasn't meaning to," she said, shortly, and began to congeal
again. She also shrugged her shoulder; she was not quite ready
yet to be tapped and patted.
"But don't remain standing, child," Mrs. Bates proceeded,
genially.
She motioned Jane back to her chair, and herself ad-
vanced to the roomier sofa. "Or no; this little pen is like a
refrigerator to-day; it's so hard, every fall, to get the steam heat
running as it should. Come; it ought to be warmer in the music-
room. "
"The fact is," she proceeded, as they passed through the hall,
"that I have a spare hour on my hands this morning-the first
in a month. My music teacher has just sent word that she is
down with a cold. You shall have as much of that hour as you
wish. So tell me all about your plans; I dare say I can scrape
together a few pennies for Jane Marshall. "
"Her music teacher! " thought Jane. She was not yet so far
appeased nor so far forgetful of her own initial awkwardness as
to refrain from searching out the joints in the other's armor.
"What does a woman of fifty-five want to be taking music les-
sons for? »
-
The music-room was a lofty and spacious apartment done com-
pletely in hard-woods; its paneled walls and ceilings rang with a
magnificent sonority as the two pairs of feet moved across the
mirror-like marquetry of the floor.
## p. 6107 (#77) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6107
To one side stood a concert-grand; its case was so unique and
so luxurious that even Jane was conscious of its having been
made by special order and from a special design. Close at hand
stood a tall music-stand in style to correspond. It was laden with
handsomely bound scores of all the German classics and the usual
operas of the French and Italian schools. These were all ranged
in precise order; nothing there seemed to have been disturbed
for a year past. "My! isn't it grand! " sighed Jane. She already
felt herself succumbing beneath these accumulated splendors.
Mrs. Bates carelessly seated herself on the piano stool, with her
back to the instrument. "I don't suppose," she observed, casually,
"that I have sat down here for a month. "
"What! " cried Jane, with a stare. "If I had such a lovely
room as this I should play in it every day. "
"Dear me," rejoined Mrs. Bates, "what pleasure could I get
from practicing in this great barn of a place, that isn't half full
until you've got seventy or eighty people in it? Or on this big
sprawling thing? "-thrusting out her elbow backward towards
the shimmering cover of the keyboard.
"So then," said Jane to herself, "it's all for show. I knew it
was. I don't believe she can play a single note. "
"What do you suppose happened to me last winter? " Mrs.
Bates went on. "I had the greatest set-back of my life. I asked
to join the Amateur Musical Club. They wouldn't let me in. "
"Why not? "
"Well, I played before their committee, and then the secre-
tary wrote me a note. It was a nice enough note, of course, but
I knew what it meant. I see now well enough that my fingers
were rather stiffer than I realized, and that my Twinkling
Sprays' and 'Fluttering Zephyrs' were not quite up to date.
They wanted Grieg and Lassen and Chopin. Very well,' said I,
'just wait. ' Now, I never knuckle under. I never give up. So
I sent right out for a teacher. I practiced scales an hour a day
for weeks and months. Granger thought I was crazy. I tackled
Grieg and Lassen and Chopin,—yes, and Tschaikowsky, too.
going to play for that committee next month.
Let me see if
they'll dare to vote me out again! "
I'm
"Oh, that's it! " thought Jane. She was beginning to feel
desirous of meting out exact and even-handed justice. She found
it impossible to withhold respect from so much grit and deter-
mination.
## p. 6108 (#78) ############################################
6108
HENRY B. FULLER
"But your father liked those old-time things, and so did all
the other young men. " Mrs. Bates creased and folded the end of
one of her long sleeves, and seemed lapsing into a retrospective
mood. "Why, some evenings they used to sit two deep around
the room to hear me do the 'Battle of Prague. ' Do you know
the 'Java March'? " she asked suddenly.
"I'm afraid not," Jane was obliged to confess.
"Your father always had a great fondness for that. I don't
know," she went on, after a short pause, "whether you under-
stand that your father was one of my old beaux-at least, I
always counted him with the rest. I was a gay girl in my day,
and wanted to make the list as long as I could; so I counted
in the quiet ones as well as the noisy ones. Your father was one
of the quiet ones. "
"So I should have imagined," said Jane. Her maiden deli-
cacy was just a shade affrighted at the turn the talk was taking.
"When I was playing he would sit there by the hour and
never say a word. My banner piece was really a fantasia on
'Sonnambula a new thing here; I was the first one in town
to have it. There were thirteen pages, and there was always a
rush to see who should turn them. Your father didn't often
enter the rush, but I really liked his way of turning the best of
any. He never turned too soon or too late; he never bothered
me by shifting his feet every second or two, nor by talking to
me at the hard places. In fact, he was the only one who could
do it right. "
"Yes," said Jane, with an appreciative sigh; "that's pa-all
over. "
Mrs. Bates was twisting her long sleeves around her wrists.
Presently she shivered slightly. "Well, really," she said, "I don't
see that this place is much warmer than the other; let's try the
library. "
In this room our antique and Spartan Jane was made to feel
the need of yet stronger props to hold her up against the over-
bearing weight of latter-day magnificence. She found herself
surrounded now by a sombre and solid splendor. Stamped hang-
ings of Cordova leather lined the walls, around whose bases ran
a low range of ornate bookcases, constructed with the utmost
taste and skill of the cabinet-maker's art. In the centre of the
room a wide and substantial table was set with all the parapher-
nalia of correspondence, and the leathery abysses of three or
—
## p. 6109 (#79) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6109
four vast easy-chairs invited the reader to bookish self-abandon-
ment.
"How glorious! " cried Jane, as her eyes ranged over the
ranks and rows of formal and costly bindings. It all seemed
doubly glorious after that poor sole book-case of theirs at home-
a huge black-walnut thing like a wardrobe, and with a couple of
drawers at the bottom, receptacles that seemed less adapted to
pamphlets than to goloshes. "How grand! " Jane was not exi-
gent as regarded music, but her whole being went forth towards
books. "Dickens and Thackeray and Bulwer and Hume and
Gibbon, and Johnson's 'Lives of the Poets,' and -»
"And twenty or thirty yards of Scott," Mrs. Bates broke in
genially; "and enough Encyclopædia Britannica to reach around
the corner and back again. Sets-sets-sets.
"What a lovely chair to sit and study in! " cried Jane, not at
all abashed by her hostess's comments. "What a grand table to
sit and write papers at! " Writing papers was one of Jane's chief
interests.
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Bates with a quiet toleration, as she
glanced towards the shining inkstand and the immaculate blot-
ting-pad. "But really, I don't suppose I've written two lines at
that table since it was put there. And as for all these books,
Heaven only knows where the keys are to get at them with. I
can't do anything with them; why, some of them weigh five or
six pounds! "
Jane shriveled and shivered under this. She regretted doubly
that she had been betrayed into such an unstinted expression of
her honest interest. "All for show and display," she muttered,
as she bowed her head to search out new titles; "bought by the
pound and stacked by the cord; doing nobody any good-their
owners least of all. " She resolved to admire openly nothing
more whatever.
Mrs. Bates sank into one of the big chairs and motioned Jane
towards another. "Your father was a great reader," she said,
with a resumption of her retrospective expression.
"He was
very fond of books - especially poetry. He often read aloud to
me; when he thought I was likely to be alone, he would bring
his Shakespeare over. I believe I could give you even now, if
I was put to it, Antony's address to the Romans. Yes; and
almost all of Hamlet's soliloquies, too. "
Jane was preparing to make a stand against this woman; and
here apparently was the opportunity. "Do you mean to tell
## p. 6110 (#80) ############################################
6110
HENRY B. FULLER
me," she inquired, with something approaching sternness, “that
my father-my father. was ever fond of poetry and -— and
music, and-and all that sort of thing? "
"Certainly. Why not? I remember your father as a high-
minded young man, with a great deal of good taste; I always
thought him much above the average. And that Shakespeare of
his I recall it perfectly. It was a chubby little book bound in
brown leather, with an embossed stamp, and print a great deal
too fine for my eyes. He always had to do the reading; and he
read very pleasantly. " She scanned Jane closely. "Perhaps you
have never done your father justice. "
-
――
Jane felt herself driven to defense-even to apology.
"The
fact is,” she said, "pa is so quiet; he never says much of any-
thing. I'm about the only one of the family who knows him
very well, and I guess I don't know him any too well. " She
felt, though, that Mrs. Bates had no right to defend her father
against his own daughter; no, nor any need.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Bates slowly. She crossed over to
the radiator and began working at the valve. "I told Granger I
knew he'd be sorry if he didn't put in furnace flues too. I really
can't ask you to take your things off down here; let's go up-
stairs-that's the only warm place I can think of. "
She paused in the hall. "Wouldn't you like to see the rest
of the rooms before you go up? "
"Yes I don't mind," responded Jane. She was determined
to encourage no ostentatious pride; so she made her acceptance
as indifferent as she felt good manners would allow.
Mrs. Bates crossed over the hall and paused in a wide door-
way. "This," she indicated, in a tone slightly suggestive of the
cicerone, "is the-well, the Grand Salon; at least, that's what
the newspapers have decided to call it. Do you care anything
for Louis Quinze ? "
Jane found herself on the threshold of a long and glittering
apartment; it was full of the ornate and complicated embellish-
ments of the eighteenth century-an exhibition of decorative
whip-cracking. Grilles, panels, mirror frames, all glimmered in
green and gold, and a row of lustres, each multitudinously can-
dled, hung from the lofty ceiling.
Jane felt herself on firmer ground here than in the library,
whose general air of distinction, with no definite detail by way
of guide-post, had rather baffled her.
## p. 6111 (#81) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6111
"Hem! " she observed critically, as her eyes roamed over the
spacious splendor of the place; "quite an epitome of the whole
rococo period; done, too, with a French grace and a German
thoroughness. Almost a real jardin d'hiver, in fact. Very hand-
some indeed. »
Mrs. Bates pricked up her ears; she had not expected quite
such a response as this. "You are posted on these things,
then? »
"Well," said Jane, "I belong to an art class. We study the
different periods in architecture and decoration. "
"Do you? I belong to just such a class myself and to three
or four others. I'm studying and learning right along; I never
want to stand still. You were surprised, I saw, about my music
lessons. It is a little singular, I admit-my beginning as a
teacher and ending as a pupil. You know, of course, that I was
a school-teacher? Yes, I had a little class down on Wabash Ave-
nue near Hubbard Court, in a church basement. I began to be
useful as early as I could. We lived in a little bit of a house a
couple of blocks north of there; you know those old-fashioned
frame cottages
one of them. In the early days pa was a car-
penter-a boss carpenter, to do him full justice; the town was
growing, and after a while he began to do first-rate. But at the
beginning ma did her own work, and I helped her. I swept and
dusted, and wiped the dishes. She taught me to sew, too; I
trimmed all my own hats till long after I was married. "
Mrs. Bates leaned carelessly against the tortured framework
of a tapestried causeuse. The light from the lofty windows shat-
tered on the prisms of her glittering chandeliers, and diffused
itself over the paneled Loves and Graces around her.
"When I got to be eighteen I thought I was old enough to
branch out and do something for myself - I've always tried to
hold up my own end. My little school went first-rate. There
was only one drawback-another school next door, full of great
rowdy boys. They would climb the fence and make faces at my
scholars; yes, and sometimes they would throw stones. But that
wasn't the worst: the other school taught book-keeping. Now, I
never was one of the kind to lag behind, and I used to lie awake
nights wondering how I could catch up with the rival institu-
tion. Well, I hustled around, and finally I got hold of two or
three children who were old enough for accounts, and I set them
to work on single entry. I don't know whether they learned
-
## p. 6112 (#82) ############################################
6112
HENRY B. FULLER
anything, but I did - enough to keep Granger's books for the
first year after we started out. "
Jane smiled broadly; it was useless to set a stoic face against
such confidences as these.
(
"We were married at the most fashionable church in town—
right there in Court-house Square; and ma gave us a reception,
or something like it, in her little front room. We weren't so very
stylish ourselves, but we had some awfully stylish neighbors - all
those Terrace Row people, just around the corner.
'We'll get
there too, sometime,' I said to Granger. This is going to be a
big town, and we have a good show to be big people in it. Don't
let's start in life like beggars going to the back door for cold
victuals; let's march right up the front steps and ring the bell
like somebody. ' So, as I say, we were married at the best church
in town; we thought it safe enough to discount the future. "
"Good for you," said Jane, who was finding her true self in
the thick of these intimate revelations; "you guessed right. "
"Well, we worked along fairly for a year or two, and finally
I said to Granger: Now, what's the use of inventing things
and taking them to those companies and making everybody rich
but yourself? You pick out some one road, and get on the in-
side of that, and stick there, and — › The fact is," she broke off
suddenly, "you can't judge at all of this room in the daytime.
You must see it lighted and filled with people.
one of them had come up to bear witness against their murderer;
out of sea and river had come the trout and salmon, the soles
and turbots, the ling and cod, the whiting and mackerel, the
smelts and whitebait, the oysters, the crabs, the lobsters, the
shrimps. They seemed literally to be in millions, and I had eaten
them all. I talked of wages. These had been my wages. At
this enormous cost had my existence been maintained.
A stag
spoke for the rest: "We all," he said, "were sacrificed to keep
this cormorant in being, and to enable him to produce the mis-
erable bits of printed paper which are all that he has to show
for himself. Our lives were dear to us. In meadow and wood,
in air and water, we wandered harmless and innocent, enjoy-
ing the pleasant sunlight, the light of heaven and the sparkling
We were not worth much; we have no pretensions to high
qualities. If the person who stands here to answer for himself
can affirm that his value in the universe was equivalent to the
value of all of us who were sacrificed to feed him, we have no
more to say. Let it be so pronounced. We shall look at our
numbers, and we shall wonder at the judgment, though we shall
waves.
――
## p. 6100 (#70) ############################################
6100
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE
withdraw our complaint. But for ourselves we say freely that we
have long watched him,-him and his fellows, and we have
failed to see in what the superiority of the human creature lies.
We know him only as the most cunning, the most destructive,
and unhappily the longest lived of all carnivorous beasts.
delight is in killing. Even when his hunger is satisfied, he kills.
us for his mere amusement. "
-
I
The oxen lowed approval, the sheep bleated, the birds screamed,
the fishes flapped their tails. I, for myself, stood mute and self-
condemned. What answer but one was possible? Had I been
myself on the bench I could not have hesitated. The fatal sen-
tence of condemnation was evidently about to be uttered, when
the scene became indistinct, there was a confused noise, a change
of condition, a sound of running feet and of many voices.
awoke. I was again in the railway carriage; the door was thrown
open; porters entered to take our things. We stepped out upon
the platform. We were at the terminus for which we had been
originally destined. Carriages and cabs were waiting; tall pow-
dered footmen flew to the assistance of the duke and duchess.
The station-master was standing hat in hand, and obsequiously
bowing; the minister's private secretary had come to meet his
right honorable chief with the red dispatch box, knowing the im-
patience with which it was waited for. The duke shook hands
with the archbishop before he drove away. "Dine with us to-
morrow? " he said. "I have had a very singular dream. You
shall be my Daniel and interpret it for me. " The archbishop
regretted infinitely that he must deny himself the honor; his
presence was required at the Conference. "I too have dreamt,
he said; "but with your Grace and me the realities of this world
are too serious to leave us leisure for the freaks of imagination. ”
## p. 6101 (#71) ############################################
6101
HENRY B. FULLER
(1859-)
EW ENGLAND blood reveals itself in certain characteristics of
Mr. Henry B. Fuller's fiction, though his grandfather took
root in Chicago even after its incorporation in 1840. Born
in the "windy city," of prosperous merchant stock, he is of the intel-
lectual race of Margaret Fuller; and the saying of one of his charac-
ters, "Get the right kind of New England face, and you can't do
much better," shows his liking for the transplanted qualities which
began the good fortunes of the Great West.
Family councils decreed that he should fill an important inherited
place in the business world; but temperament was too strong for
predestination. He might have been an architect, he might have
been a musician, had he not turned out a novelist. But a creative
artist he was constrained by nature to become. His first story, un-
acknowledged at first, and entitled 'The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani,'
attracted little notice until it fell by chance under the eye of
Professor Norton of Cambridge, who sent it with a kindly word to
Lowell. This fine critic wrote a cordial letter of praise to the
author, and the book was republished by the Century Company of
New York in 1892 and widely read. The Chatelaine of La Trinité,'
his next venture, appeared as a serial in the Century Magazine during
the same year. Both of these stories have a European background;
in both a certain remoteness and romantic quality predominates, and
both have little in common with this workaday world.
To the amazement of his public, Mr. Fuller's next book-pub-
lished as a serial in Harper's Weekly, during the summer of the
World's Fair, and called 'The Cliff-Dwellers - pictured Chicago in
its most sordid and utilitarian aspect. King Money sat on the throne,
and the whole community paid tribute. The intensity of the struggle
for existence, the push of competition, the relentlessness of the real-
ism of the book, left the reader almost breathless at the end, un-
certain whether to admire the force of the story-teller or to lament
his mercilessness.
In 1895 appeared 'With the Procession,' another picture of Chicago
social life, but painted with a more kindly touch. The artist still
delineates what he sees, but he sees more truly, because more sym-
pathetically. The theme of the story is admirable, and it is carried
out with a half humorous and wholly serious thoroughness. This
## p. 6102 (#72) ############################################
6102
HENRY B. FULLER
theme is the total reconstruction of the social concepts of an old-
fashioned, rich, stolid, commercial Chicago family, in obedience to
the decree of the modernized younger son and daughters.
The pro-
cess is more or less tragic, though it is set forth with an artistic
lightness of touch. With the Procession' is such a story as might
happen round the corner in any year. Herr Sienkiewicz's Polanyet-
skis are not more genuinely "children of the soil" than Mr. Fuller's
Marshalls and Bateses. In these later stories he seems to be asking
himself, in most serious words, what is to be the social outcome
of the great industrial civilization of the time, and to demand of his
readers that they too shall fall to thinking.
AT THE HEAD OF THE MARCH
From With the Procession. ' Copyright 1894 by Henry B. Fuller, and re-
printed by permission of Harper & Brothers, publishers, New York
"WELL
ELL, here goes! " said Jane half aloud, with her foot on
the lowest of the glistening granite steps. The steps
led up to the ponderous pillared arches of a grandiose
and massive porch; above the porch a sturdy and rugged bal-
ustrade half intercepted the rough-faced glitter of a vast and
variegated façade; and higher still, the morning sun shattered its
beams over a tumult of angular roofs and towering chimneys.
"It is swell, I declare! " said Jane, with her eye on the
wrought-iron work of the outer doors, and the jewels and bevels
of the inner ones.
"Where is the thingamajig, anyway? " she inquired of her-
self. She was searching for the door-bell, and she fell back on
her own rustic lingo in order to ward off the incipient panic
caused by this overwhelming splendor. "Oh, here it is! There! "
She gave a push. "And now I'm in for it. " She had decided
to take the richest and best known and most fashionable woman
on her list to start with; the worst over at the beginning, she
thought, the rest would follow easily enough.
"I suppose the 'maid' will wear a cap and a silver tray,"
she observed further. "Or will it be a gold one, with diamonds
around the edge? "
The door-knob turned from within. "Is Mrs. Bates
began.
The door opened half-way. A grave, smooth-shaven man ap-
peared; his chin and upper lip had the mottled smudge that
-
» she
## p. 6103 (#73) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6103
shows in so many of those conscientious portraits of the olden
time.
"Gracious me! " said the startled Jane to herself.
She dropped her disconcerted vision to the door-mat. Then
she saw that the man wore knee-breeches and black-silk stockings.
"Heaven be merciful! " was her inward cry. "It's a foot-
man, as I live. I've been reading about them all my life, and
now I've met one. But I never suspected that there was really
anything of the kind in this town! "
She left the contemplation of the servant's pumps and stock-
ings, and began to grapple fiercely with the catch of her hand-
bag.
The man in the meanwhile studied her with a searching grav-
ity, and as it seemed, with some disapproval. The splendor of
the front that his master presented to the world had indeed
intimidated poor Jane; but there were many others upon whom
it had no deterring effect at all. Some of these brought art-
books in monthly parts; others brought polish for the piano legs.
Many of them were quite as prepossessing in appearance as Jane
was; some of them were much less plain and dowdy; few of
them were so recklessly indiscreet as to betray themselves at the
threshold by exhibiting a black leather bag.
"There! " remarked Jane to the footman, "I knew I should
get at it eventually. " She smiled at him with a friendly good-
will: she acknowledged him as a human being, and she hoped to
propitiate him into the concession that she herself was nothing
less.
The man took her card, which was fortunately as correct as
the most discreet and contemporaneous stationer could fashion.
He decided that he was running no risk with his mistress, and
"Miss Jane Marshall" was permitted to pass the gate.
She was ushered into a small reception-room. The hard-wood
floor was partly covered by a meagre Persian rug. There was a
plain sofa of forbidding angles, and a scantily upholstered chair
which insisted upon nobody's remaining longer than necessary.
But through the narrow door Jane caught branching vistas of
room after room heaped up with the pillage of a sacked and rav-
aged globe, and a stairway which led with a wide sweep to
regions of unimaginable glories above.
"Did you ever! " exclaimed Jane. It was of the footman that
she was speaking; he in fact loomed up, to the practical eclipse
## p. 6104 (#74) ############################################
6104
HENRY B. FULLER
of all this luxury and display. "Only eighty years from the
Massacre, and hardly eight hundred feet from the Monument! "
Presently she heard a tapping and a rustling without. She
thought that she might lean a few inches to one side with no
risk of being detected in an impropriety, and she was rewarded
by seeing the splendid vacuity of the grand stairway finally filled
-filled more completely, more amply, than she could have im-
agined possible through the passage of one person merely. A
woman of fifty or more was descending with a slow and some-
what ponderous stateliness. She wore an elaborate morning-
gown with a broad plait down the back, and an immensity of
superfluous material in the sleeves. Her person was broad, her
bosom ample, and her voluminous gray hair was tossed and
fretted about the temples after the fashion of a marquise of the
old régime. Jane set her jaw and clamped her knotty fingers to
the two edges of her inhospitable chair.
"I don't care if she is so rich," she muttered, "and so famous,
and so fashionable, and so terribly handsome; she can't bear me
down. "
The woman reached the bottom step, and took a turn that
for a moment carried her out of sight. At the same time the
sound of her footsteps was silenced by one of the big rugs that
covered the floor of the wide and roomy hall. But Jane had had
a glimpse, and she knew with whom she was to deal with one
of the big, the broad, the great, the triumphant; with one of a
Roman amplitude and vigor, an Indian keenness and sagacity,
an American ambition and determination; with one who baffles
circumstance and almost masters fate-with one of the con-
querors, in short.
"I don't hear her," thought the expectant girl, in some trepi-
dation; "but all the same, she's got to cross that bare space just
outside the door before—yes, there's her step! And here she is
herself! »
Mrs. Bates appeared in the doorway. She had a strong nose
of the lofty Roman type; her bosom heaved with breaths deep,
but quiet and regular. She had a pair of large, full blue eyes,
and these she now fixed on Jane with an expression of rather
cold questioning.
"Miss Marshall ? >>> Her voice was firm, smooth, even, rich,
deep. She advanced a foot or two within the room and remained
standing there.
## p. 6105 (#75) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6105
"My father," Jane began again, in the same tone, "is David
Marshall. He is very well known, I believe, in Chicago. We
have lived here a great many years. It seems to me that there
ought to ->
"David Marshall? " repeated Mrs. Bates, gently. "Ah, I do
know David Marshall-yes," she said; "or did a good many
years ago. " She looked up into Jane's face now with a com-
pletely altered expression. Her glance was curious and search-
ing, but it was very kindly. "And you are David Marshall's
daughter? " She smiled indulgently at Jane's outburst of spunk.
"Really - David Marshall's daughter? "
"Yes," answered Jane, with a gruff brevity. She was far
from ready to be placated yet.
"David Marshall's daughter! Then, my dear child, why not
have said so in the first place, without lugging in everybody and
everything else you could think of? Hasn't your father ever
spoken of me? And how is he, anyway? I haven't seen him
to really speak to him—for fifteen years. It may be even more. '
She seemed to have laid hands on a heavy bar, to have
wrenched it from its holds, to have flung it aside from the foot-
path, and to be inviting Jane to advance without let or hin-
drance.
-
>>
But Jane stood there with pique in her breast, and her long
thin arms laid rigid against her sides. "Let her 'dear child'
me, if she wants to; she sha'n't bring me around in any such
way as that. »
ner.
All this, however, availed little against Mrs. Bates's new man-
The citadel so closely sealed to charity was throwing itself
wide open to memory. The portcullis was dropped, and the late
enemy was invited to advance as a friend.
Nay, urged. Mrs. Bates presently seized Jane's unwilling
hands. She gathered those poor, stiff, knotted fingers into two
crackling bundles within her own plump and warm palms,
squeezed them forcibly, and looked into Jane's face with all
imaginable kindness. "I had just that temper once myself," she
said.
The sluice gates of caution and reserve were opening wide;
the streams of tenderness and sympathy were bubbling and fret-
ting to take their course.
"And your father is well? And you are living in the same
old place? Oh, this terrible town! You can't keep your old
## p. 6106 (#76) ############################################
6106
HENRY B. FULLER
friends; you can hardly know your new ones. We are only a
mile or two apart, and yet it is the same as if it were a hun-
dred. "
Jane yielded up her hands half unwillingly. She could not,
in spite of herself, remain completely unrelenting, but she was
determined not to permit herself to be patronized. "Yes, we
live in the same old place. And in the same old way," she
added in the spirit of concession.
Mrs. Bates studied her face intently. "Do you look like him.
-like your father? "
"No," answered Jane. "Not so very much. Nor like any of
the rest of the family. " The statue was beginning to melt. "I'm
unique. " And another drop fell.
"Don't slander yourself. " She tapped Jane lightly on the
shoulder.
Jane looked at her with a protesting, or at least a question-
ing, seriousness. It had the usual effect of a wild stare. “I
wasn't meaning to," she said, shortly, and began to congeal
again. She also shrugged her shoulder; she was not quite ready
yet to be tapped and patted.
"But don't remain standing, child," Mrs. Bates proceeded,
genially.
She motioned Jane back to her chair, and herself ad-
vanced to the roomier sofa. "Or no; this little pen is like a
refrigerator to-day; it's so hard, every fall, to get the steam heat
running as it should. Come; it ought to be warmer in the music-
room. "
"The fact is," she proceeded, as they passed through the hall,
"that I have a spare hour on my hands this morning-the first
in a month. My music teacher has just sent word that she is
down with a cold. You shall have as much of that hour as you
wish. So tell me all about your plans; I dare say I can scrape
together a few pennies for Jane Marshall. "
"Her music teacher! " thought Jane. She was not yet so far
appeased nor so far forgetful of her own initial awkwardness as
to refrain from searching out the joints in the other's armor.
"What does a woman of fifty-five want to be taking music les-
sons for? »
-
The music-room was a lofty and spacious apartment done com-
pletely in hard-woods; its paneled walls and ceilings rang with a
magnificent sonority as the two pairs of feet moved across the
mirror-like marquetry of the floor.
## p. 6107 (#77) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6107
To one side stood a concert-grand; its case was so unique and
so luxurious that even Jane was conscious of its having been
made by special order and from a special design. Close at hand
stood a tall music-stand in style to correspond. It was laden with
handsomely bound scores of all the German classics and the usual
operas of the French and Italian schools. These were all ranged
in precise order; nothing there seemed to have been disturbed
for a year past. "My! isn't it grand! " sighed Jane. She already
felt herself succumbing beneath these accumulated splendors.
Mrs. Bates carelessly seated herself on the piano stool, with her
back to the instrument. "I don't suppose," she observed, casually,
"that I have sat down here for a month. "
"What! " cried Jane, with a stare. "If I had such a lovely
room as this I should play in it every day. "
"Dear me," rejoined Mrs. Bates, "what pleasure could I get
from practicing in this great barn of a place, that isn't half full
until you've got seventy or eighty people in it? Or on this big
sprawling thing? "-thrusting out her elbow backward towards
the shimmering cover of the keyboard.
"So then," said Jane to herself, "it's all for show. I knew it
was. I don't believe she can play a single note. "
"What do you suppose happened to me last winter? " Mrs.
Bates went on. "I had the greatest set-back of my life. I asked
to join the Amateur Musical Club. They wouldn't let me in. "
"Why not? "
"Well, I played before their committee, and then the secre-
tary wrote me a note. It was a nice enough note, of course, but
I knew what it meant. I see now well enough that my fingers
were rather stiffer than I realized, and that my Twinkling
Sprays' and 'Fluttering Zephyrs' were not quite up to date.
They wanted Grieg and Lassen and Chopin. Very well,' said I,
'just wait. ' Now, I never knuckle under. I never give up. So
I sent right out for a teacher. I practiced scales an hour a day
for weeks and months. Granger thought I was crazy. I tackled
Grieg and Lassen and Chopin,—yes, and Tschaikowsky, too.
going to play for that committee next month.
Let me see if
they'll dare to vote me out again! "
I'm
"Oh, that's it! " thought Jane. She was beginning to feel
desirous of meting out exact and even-handed justice. She found
it impossible to withhold respect from so much grit and deter-
mination.
## p. 6108 (#78) ############################################
6108
HENRY B. FULLER
"But your father liked those old-time things, and so did all
the other young men. " Mrs. Bates creased and folded the end of
one of her long sleeves, and seemed lapsing into a retrospective
mood. "Why, some evenings they used to sit two deep around
the room to hear me do the 'Battle of Prague. ' Do you know
the 'Java March'? " she asked suddenly.
"I'm afraid not," Jane was obliged to confess.
"Your father always had a great fondness for that. I don't
know," she went on, after a short pause, "whether you under-
stand that your father was one of my old beaux-at least, I
always counted him with the rest. I was a gay girl in my day,
and wanted to make the list as long as I could; so I counted
in the quiet ones as well as the noisy ones. Your father was one
of the quiet ones. "
"So I should have imagined," said Jane. Her maiden deli-
cacy was just a shade affrighted at the turn the talk was taking.
"When I was playing he would sit there by the hour and
never say a word. My banner piece was really a fantasia on
'Sonnambula a new thing here; I was the first one in town
to have it. There were thirteen pages, and there was always a
rush to see who should turn them. Your father didn't often
enter the rush, but I really liked his way of turning the best of
any. He never turned too soon or too late; he never bothered
me by shifting his feet every second or two, nor by talking to
me at the hard places. In fact, he was the only one who could
do it right. "
"Yes," said Jane, with an appreciative sigh; "that's pa-all
over. "
Mrs. Bates was twisting her long sleeves around her wrists.
Presently she shivered slightly. "Well, really," she said, "I don't
see that this place is much warmer than the other; let's try the
library. "
In this room our antique and Spartan Jane was made to feel
the need of yet stronger props to hold her up against the over-
bearing weight of latter-day magnificence. She found herself
surrounded now by a sombre and solid splendor. Stamped hang-
ings of Cordova leather lined the walls, around whose bases ran
a low range of ornate bookcases, constructed with the utmost
taste and skill of the cabinet-maker's art. In the centre of the
room a wide and substantial table was set with all the parapher-
nalia of correspondence, and the leathery abysses of three or
—
## p. 6109 (#79) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6109
four vast easy-chairs invited the reader to bookish self-abandon-
ment.
"How glorious! " cried Jane, as her eyes ranged over the
ranks and rows of formal and costly bindings. It all seemed
doubly glorious after that poor sole book-case of theirs at home-
a huge black-walnut thing like a wardrobe, and with a couple of
drawers at the bottom, receptacles that seemed less adapted to
pamphlets than to goloshes. "How grand! " Jane was not exi-
gent as regarded music, but her whole being went forth towards
books. "Dickens and Thackeray and Bulwer and Hume and
Gibbon, and Johnson's 'Lives of the Poets,' and -»
"And twenty or thirty yards of Scott," Mrs. Bates broke in
genially; "and enough Encyclopædia Britannica to reach around
the corner and back again. Sets-sets-sets.
"What a lovely chair to sit and study in! " cried Jane, not at
all abashed by her hostess's comments. "What a grand table to
sit and write papers at! " Writing papers was one of Jane's chief
interests.
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Bates with a quiet toleration, as she
glanced towards the shining inkstand and the immaculate blot-
ting-pad. "But really, I don't suppose I've written two lines at
that table since it was put there. And as for all these books,
Heaven only knows where the keys are to get at them with. I
can't do anything with them; why, some of them weigh five or
six pounds! "
Jane shriveled and shivered under this. She regretted doubly
that she had been betrayed into such an unstinted expression of
her honest interest. "All for show and display," she muttered,
as she bowed her head to search out new titles; "bought by the
pound and stacked by the cord; doing nobody any good-their
owners least of all. " She resolved to admire openly nothing
more whatever.
Mrs. Bates sank into one of the big chairs and motioned Jane
towards another. "Your father was a great reader," she said,
with a resumption of her retrospective expression.
"He was
very fond of books - especially poetry. He often read aloud to
me; when he thought I was likely to be alone, he would bring
his Shakespeare over. I believe I could give you even now, if
I was put to it, Antony's address to the Romans. Yes; and
almost all of Hamlet's soliloquies, too. "
Jane was preparing to make a stand against this woman; and
here apparently was the opportunity. "Do you mean to tell
## p. 6110 (#80) ############################################
6110
HENRY B. FULLER
me," she inquired, with something approaching sternness, “that
my father-my father. was ever fond of poetry and -— and
music, and-and all that sort of thing? "
"Certainly. Why not? I remember your father as a high-
minded young man, with a great deal of good taste; I always
thought him much above the average. And that Shakespeare of
his I recall it perfectly. It was a chubby little book bound in
brown leather, with an embossed stamp, and print a great deal
too fine for my eyes. He always had to do the reading; and he
read very pleasantly. " She scanned Jane closely. "Perhaps you
have never done your father justice. "
-
――
Jane felt herself driven to defense-even to apology.
"The
fact is,” she said, "pa is so quiet; he never says much of any-
thing. I'm about the only one of the family who knows him
very well, and I guess I don't know him any too well. " She
felt, though, that Mrs. Bates had no right to defend her father
against his own daughter; no, nor any need.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Bates slowly. She crossed over to
the radiator and began working at the valve. "I told Granger I
knew he'd be sorry if he didn't put in furnace flues too. I really
can't ask you to take your things off down here; let's go up-
stairs-that's the only warm place I can think of. "
She paused in the hall. "Wouldn't you like to see the rest
of the rooms before you go up? "
"Yes I don't mind," responded Jane. She was determined
to encourage no ostentatious pride; so she made her acceptance
as indifferent as she felt good manners would allow.
Mrs. Bates crossed over the hall and paused in a wide door-
way. "This," she indicated, in a tone slightly suggestive of the
cicerone, "is the-well, the Grand Salon; at least, that's what
the newspapers have decided to call it. Do you care anything
for Louis Quinze ? "
Jane found herself on the threshold of a long and glittering
apartment; it was full of the ornate and complicated embellish-
ments of the eighteenth century-an exhibition of decorative
whip-cracking. Grilles, panels, mirror frames, all glimmered in
green and gold, and a row of lustres, each multitudinously can-
dled, hung from the lofty ceiling.
Jane felt herself on firmer ground here than in the library,
whose general air of distinction, with no definite detail by way
of guide-post, had rather baffled her.
## p. 6111 (#81) ############################################
HENRY B. FULLER
6111
"Hem! " she observed critically, as her eyes roamed over the
spacious splendor of the place; "quite an epitome of the whole
rococo period; done, too, with a French grace and a German
thoroughness. Almost a real jardin d'hiver, in fact. Very hand-
some indeed. »
Mrs. Bates pricked up her ears; she had not expected quite
such a response as this. "You are posted on these things,
then? »
"Well," said Jane, "I belong to an art class. We study the
different periods in architecture and decoration. "
"Do you? I belong to just such a class myself and to three
or four others. I'm studying and learning right along; I never
want to stand still. You were surprised, I saw, about my music
lessons. It is a little singular, I admit-my beginning as a
teacher and ending as a pupil. You know, of course, that I was
a school-teacher? Yes, I had a little class down on Wabash Ave-
nue near Hubbard Court, in a church basement. I began to be
useful as early as I could. We lived in a little bit of a house a
couple of blocks north of there; you know those old-fashioned
frame cottages
one of them. In the early days pa was a car-
penter-a boss carpenter, to do him full justice; the town was
growing, and after a while he began to do first-rate. But at the
beginning ma did her own work, and I helped her. I swept and
dusted, and wiped the dishes. She taught me to sew, too; I
trimmed all my own hats till long after I was married. "
Mrs. Bates leaned carelessly against the tortured framework
of a tapestried causeuse. The light from the lofty windows shat-
tered on the prisms of her glittering chandeliers, and diffused
itself over the paneled Loves and Graces around her.
"When I got to be eighteen I thought I was old enough to
branch out and do something for myself - I've always tried to
hold up my own end. My little school went first-rate. There
was only one drawback-another school next door, full of great
rowdy boys. They would climb the fence and make faces at my
scholars; yes, and sometimes they would throw stones. But that
wasn't the worst: the other school taught book-keeping. Now, I
never was one of the kind to lag behind, and I used to lie awake
nights wondering how I could catch up with the rival institu-
tion. Well, I hustled around, and finally I got hold of two or
three children who were old enough for accounts, and I set them
to work on single entry. I don't know whether they learned
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## p. 6112 (#82) ############################################
6112
HENRY B. FULLER
anything, but I did - enough to keep Granger's books for the
first year after we started out. "
Jane smiled broadly; it was useless to set a stoic face against
such confidences as these.
(
"We were married at the most fashionable church in town—
right there in Court-house Square; and ma gave us a reception,
or something like it, in her little front room. We weren't so very
stylish ourselves, but we had some awfully stylish neighbors - all
those Terrace Row people, just around the corner.
'We'll get
there too, sometime,' I said to Granger. This is going to be a
big town, and we have a good show to be big people in it. Don't
let's start in life like beggars going to the back door for cold
victuals; let's march right up the front steps and ring the bell
like somebody. ' So, as I say, we were married at the best church
in town; we thought it safe enough to discount the future. "
"Good for you," said Jane, who was finding her true self in
the thick of these intimate revelations; "you guessed right. "
"Well, we worked along fairly for a year or two, and finally
I said to Granger: Now, what's the use of inventing things
and taking them to those companies and making everybody rich
but yourself? You pick out some one road, and get on the in-
side of that, and stick there, and — › The fact is," she broke off
suddenly, "you can't judge at all of this room in the daytime.
You must see it lighted and filled with people.
