No More Learning

"Some of the strikers? " asked Beaton.
The policeman nodded.
"Any trouble yet? "
"There won't be any trouble till we begin to move the cars,"
said the policeman.
Beaton felt a sudden turn of his rage toward the men whose
action would now force him to walk five blocks and mount the
stairs of the Elevated station. "If you'd take out eight or ten of
those fellows," he said ferociously, "and set them up against a
wall and shoot them, you'd save a great deal of bother. "
"I guess we shan't have to shoot much," said the policeman,
still swinging his locust. "Anyway, we shan't begin it. If it
comes to a fight, though," he said, with a look at the men under
the scooping rim of his helmet, "we can drive the whole six
thousand of 'em into the East River without pullin' a trigger. "
"Are there six thousand in it? "
« About. "
"What do the infernal fools expect to live on? "
"The interest of their money, I suppose," said the officer, with
a grin of satisfaction in his irony. "It's got to run its course.
Then they'll come back with their heads tied up and their tails
between their legs, and plead to be taken on again. "
"If I was a manager of the roads," said Beaton, thinking of
how much he was already inconvenienced by the strike, and ob-
scurely connecting it as one of the series with the wrongs he had
suffered at the hands of Mrs. Horn and Mrs. Mandel, "I would
see them starve before I'd take them back-every one of them. "
"Well," said the policeman, impartially, as a man might whom
the companies allowed to ride free, but who had made friends.


## p. 7670 (#484) ###########################################

7670
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
with a good many drivers and conductors in the course of his
free riding, "I guess that's what the roads would like to do if
they could; but the men are too many for them, and there ain't
enough other men to take their places. "
"No matter," said Beaton, severely. "They can bring in men
from other places. "
"Oh, they'll do that fast enough," said the policeman.
A man came out of the saloon on the corner where the strik-
ers were standing, noisy drunk, and they began, as they would
have said, to have some fun with him. The policeman left Bea-
ton, and sauntered slowly down toward the group as if in the
natural course of an afternoon ramble. On the other side of
the street Beaton could see another officer sauntering up from
the block below. Looking up and down the avenue, so silent of
its horse-car bells, he saw a policeman at every corner. It was
rather impressive.
THE strike made a good deal of talk in the office of Every
Other Week - that is, it made Fulkerson talk a good deal. He
congratulated himself that he was not personally incommoded by
it, like some of the fellows who lived up-town and had not every-
thing under one roof, as it were. He enjoyed the excitement of
it, and he kept the office-boy running out to buy the extras
which the newsmen came crying through the street almost every
hour with a lamentable, unintelligible noise. He read not only
the latest intelligence of the strike, but the editorial comments
on it, which praised the firm attitude of both parties, and the
admirable measures taken by the police to preserve order. Ful-
kerson enjoyed the interviews with the police captains and the
leaders of the strike; he equally enjoyed the attempts of the
reporters to interview the road managers, which were so graphi-
cally detailed, and with such a fine feeling for the right use of
scare-heads, as to have almost the value of direct expression from
them, though it seemed that they had resolutely refused to speak.
He said, at second-hand from the papers, that if the men behaved
themselves and respected the rights of property, they would
have public sympathy with them every time; but just as soon as
they began to interfere with the roads' right to manage their
own affairs in their own way, they must be put down with an
iron hand: the phrase "iron hand" did Fulkerson almost as much


## p. 7671 (#485) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7671
good as if it had never been used before. News began to come
of fighting between the police and the strikers when the roads
tried to move their cars with men imported from Philadelphia,
and then Fulkerson rejoiced at the splendid courage of the police.
At the same time he believed what the strikers said, and that
the trouble was not made by them, but by gangs of roughs act-
ing without their approval.
In this juncture he was relieved by the arrival of the State
Board of Arbitration, which took up its quarters with a great
many scare-heads, at one of the principal hotels, and invited the
roads and the strikers to lay the matter in dispute before them;
he said that now we should see the working of the greatest piece
of social machinery in modern times. But it appeared to work
only in the alacrity of the strikers to submit their grievance.
The roads were as one road in declaring that there was nothing
to arbitrate, and that they were merely asserting their right to
manage their own affairs in their own way. One of the presi-
dents was reported to have told a member of the Board, who per-
sonally summoned him, to get out and to go about his business.
Then, to Fulkerson's extreme disappointment, the august tri-
bunal, acting on behalf of the sovereign people in the interest
of peace, declared itself powerless and got out, and would no
doubt have gone about its business if it had had any. Fulker-
son did not know what to say, perhaps because the extras did
not; but March laughed at this result.
"It's a good deal like the military manœuvre of the King of
France and his forty thousand men.
suppose somebody told
him at the top of the hill that there was nothing to arbitrate,
and to get out and go about his business, and that was the rea-
son he marched down after he had marched up with all that
ceremony. What amuses me is to find that in an affair of this
kind the roads have rights and the strikers have rights, but the
public has no rights at all. The roads and the strikers are
allowed to fight out a private war in our midst, as thoroughly
and precisely a private war as any we despise the Middle Ages
for having tolerated, as any street war in Florence or Verona,-
and to fight it out at our pains and expense; and we stand by
like sheep and wait till they get tired. It's a funny attitude for
a city of fifteen hundred thousand inhabitants. "
"What would you do? " asked Fulkerson, a good deal daunted
by this view of the case.
―――
――


## p. 7672 (#486) ###########################################

7672
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
"Do? Nothing. Hasn't the State Board of Arbitration de-
clared itself powerless? We have no hold upon the strikers; and
we're so used to being snubbed and disobliged by common car-
riers that we have forgotten our hold on the roads, and always
allow them to manage their own affairs in their own way, quite
as if we had nothing to do with them, and they owed us no serv-
ices in return for their privileges. "
"That's a good deal so," said Fulkerson, disordering his hair.
"Well, it's nuts for the Colonel nowadays. He says if he was
boss of this town he would seize the roads on behalf of the peo-
ple, and man 'em with policemen, and run 'em till the managers
had come to terms with the strikers; and he'd do that every time
there was a strike. "
"Doesn't that rather savor of the paternalism he condemned
in Lindau? " asked March.
"I don't know. It savors of horse-sense. "
"You are pretty far gone, Fulkerson. I thought you were the
most engaged man I ever saw; but I guess you're more father-
in-lawed. And before you're married too. "
"Well, the Colonel's a glorious old fellow, March. I wish he
had the power to do that thing, just for the fun of looking on
while he waltzed in. He's on the keen jump from morning till
night, and he's up late and early to see the row. I'm afraid he'll
get shot at some of the fights; he sees them all: I can't get any
show at them; haven't seen a brickbat shied or a club swung
yet. Have you? "
“No: I find I can philosophize the situation about as well
from the papers, and that's what I really want to do, I suppose.
Besides, I'm solemnly pledged by Mrs. March not to go near any
sort of crowd, under penalty of having her bring the children and
go with me. Her theory is that we must all die together; the
children haven't been at school since the strike began. There's
no precaution that Mrs. March hasn't used. She watches me
whenever I go out, and sees that I start straight for this office. "
Fulkerson laughed, and said, "Well, it's probably the only
thing that's saved your life. Have you seen anything of Beaton
lately? "
"No. You don't mean to say he's killed! "
«< Not if he knows it. But I don't know- What do you say,
March? What's the reason you couldn't get us up a paper on
the strike? ”
-


## p. 7673 (#487) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7673
"I knew it would fetch round to Every Other Week some-
how. "
"No, but seriously. There'll be plenty of newspaper accounts.
But you could treat it in the historical spirit-like something
that happened several centuries ago; Defoe's 'Plague of London'
style. Heigh? What made me think of it was Beaton. If I
could get hold of him, you two could go round together and take
down its æsthetic aspects. It's a big thing, March, this strike is.
I tell you it's imposing to have a private war, as you say, fought
out this way, in the heart of New York, and New York not
minding it a bit. See? Might take that view of it.
With your
descriptions and Beaton's sketches-well, it would be just the
greatest card! Come! What do you say? "
"Will you undertake to make it right with Mrs. March if I'm
killed, and she and the children are not killed with me?
>>
"Well, it would be difficult. I wonder how it would do to get
Kendricks to do the literary part? "
"I've no doubt he'd jump at the chance. I've yet to see
the form of literature that Kendricks wouldn't lay down his life
for. "
"Say! " March perceived that Fulkerson was about to vent
another inspiration, and smiled patiently. "Look here! What's
the reason we couldn't get one of the strikers to write it up for
us ? »
"Might have a symposium of strikers and presidents," March
suggested.
"No: I'm in earnest. They say some of those fellows-
especially the foreigners-are educated men. I know one fellow,
a Bohemian, that used to edit a Bohemian newspaper here. He
could write it out in his kind of Dutch, and we could get Lin-
dau to translate it. "
"I guess not," said March, dryly.
"Why not? He'd do it for the cause, wouldn't he? Suppose
you put it up on him, the next time you see him. "
"I don't see Lindau any more," said March. He added, "I
guess he's renounced me along with Mr. Dryfoos's money. "
"Pshaw! You don't mean he hasn't been round since? "
"He came for a while, but he's left off coming now. -I don't
feel particularly gay about it," March said, with some resentment
of Fulkerson's grin. "He's left me in debt to him for lessons to
the children. "


## p. 7674 (#488) ###########################################

7674
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
Fulkerson laughed out.
"Well, he is the greatest old fool!
Who'd 'a' thought he'd 'a' been in earnest with those 'brincibles'
of his ? But I suppose there have to be just such cranks; it
takes all kinds to make a world. "
"There has to be one such crank, it seems," March partially
assented. "One's enough for me. "
"I reckon this thing is nuts for Lindau, too," said Fulkerson.
"Why, it must act like a schooner of beer on him all the while,
to see 'gabidal' embarrassed like it is by this strike. It must
make old Lindau feel like he was back behind those barricades
at Berlin. Well, he's a splendid old fellow; pity he drinks, as I
remarked once before. "
When March left the office he did not go home so directly as
he came, perhaps because Mrs. March's eye was not on him. He
was very curious about some aspects of the strike, whose import-
ance as a great social convulsion he felt people did not recog-
nize; and with his temperance in everything, he found its negative
expressions as significant as its more violent phases. He had
promised his wife solemnly that he would keep away from these
and he had a natural inclination to keep his promise; he had no
wish to be that peaceful spectator who always gets shot when
there is any firing on a mob. He interested himself in the ap-
parent indifference of the mighty city, which kept on about its
business as tranquilly as if the private war being fought out in
its midst were a vague rumor of Indian troubles on the frontier;
and he realized how there might once have been a street feud
of forty years in Florence without interfering materially with the
industry and prosperity of the city. On Broadway there was a
silence where a jangle and clatter of horse-car bells and hoofs
had been, but it was not very noticeable; and on the avenues
roofed by the elevated roads this silence of the surface tracks
was not noticeable at all, in the roar of the trains overhead.
Some of the cross-town cars were beginning to run again, with
a policeman on the rear of each; on the Third Avenue line, oper-
ated by non-union men, who had not struck, there were two
policemen beside the driver of every car, and two beside the con-
ductor, to protect them from the strikers. But there were no
strikers in sight, and on Second Avenue they stood quietly about
in groups on the corners. While March watched them at a safe
distance, a car laden with policemen came down the track, but
none of the strikers offered to molest it. In their simple Sunday


## p. 7675 (#489) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7675
best, March thought them very quiet, decent-looking people, and
he could well believe that they had nothing to do with the riot-
ous outbreaks in other parts of the city. He could hardly believe
that there were any such outbreaks; he began more and more to
think them mere newspaper exaggerations, in the absence of any
disturbance or the disposition to it that he could see. He walked
on to the East River: Avenues A, B, and C presented the
same quiet aspect as Second Avenue; groups of men stood on
the corners, and now and then a police-laden car was brought
unmolested down the tracks before them; they looked at it and
talked together, and some laughed, but there was no trouble.
March got a cross-town car, and came back to the west side.
A policeman, looking very sleepy and tired, lounged on the plat-
form.
"I suppose you'll be glad when this cruel war is over," March
suggested as he got in.
The officer gave him a surly glance and made him no answer.
His behavior, from a man born to the joking give-and-take
of our life, impressed March. It gave him a fine sense of the
ferocity of the French troops' putting on toward the populace
just before the coup d'état: he began to feel like populace; but
he struggled with himself and regained his character of philo-
sophical observer. In this character he remained in the car, and
let it carry him by the corner where he ought to have got out
and gone home, and let it keep on with him to one of the fur-
thermost tracks westward, where so much of the fighting was
reported to have taken place. But everything on the way was
as quiet as on the east side.
Suddenly the car stopped with so quick a turn of the brake
that he was half thrown from his seat, and the policeman jumped
down from the platform and ran forward.
DRYFOOS sat at breakfast that morning, with Mrs. Mandel as
usual to pour out his coffee. Conrad had already gone down-
town; the two girls lay abed much later than their father break-
fasted, and their mother had gradually grown too feeble to come
down till lunch. Suddenly Christine appeared at the door. Her
face was white to the edges of her lips, and her eyes were
blazing.
"Look here, father! Have you been saying anything to Mr.
Beaton? "
4
1


## p. 7676 (#490) ###########################################

7676
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
The old man looked up at her across his coffee-cup through
his frowning brows. "No. "
Mrs. Mandel dropped her eyes, and the spoon shook in her
hand.
"Then what's the reason he don't come here any more? "
demanded the girl; and her glance darted from her father to
Mrs. Mandel. -"Oh, it's you, is it? I'd like to know who told
you to meddle in other people's business? "
"I did," said Dryfoos savagely. "I told her to ask him what
he wanted here, and he said he didn't want anything, and he's
stopped coming. That's all. I did it myself. "
"Oh, you did, did you? " said the girl, scarcely less insolently
than she had spoken to Mrs. Mandel. "I should like to know
what you did it for? I'd like to know what made you think I
wasn't able to take care of myself? I just knew somebody had
been meddling, but I didn't suppose it was you. I can manage
my own affairs in my own way, if you please, and I'll thank you
after this to leave me to myself in what don't concern you. "
"Don't concern me? You impudent jade! " her father began.
Christine advanced from the doorway toward the table; she
had her hands closed upon what seemed trinkets, some of
which glittered and dangled from them. She said, "Will you
go to him and tell him that this meddlesome minx here had no
business to say anything about me to him, and you take it all
back? "
་
"No! " shouted the old man.
"And if -"
"That's all I want of you! " the girl shouted in her turn.
"Here are your presents.
" With both hands she flung the jewels
-pins and rings and earrings and bracelets-among the break-
fast dishes, from which some of them sprang to the floor. She
stood a moment to pull the intaglio ring from the finger where
Beaton put it a year ago, and dashed that at her father's plate.
Then she whirled out of the room, and they heard her running.
up-stairs.
The old man made a start toward her, but he fell back in
his chair before she was gone, and with a fierce, grinding move-
ment of his jaws controlled himself. "Take-take those things
up," he gasped to Mrs. Mandel. He seemed unable to rise again
from his chair; but when she asked him if he were unwell, he
said no with an air of offense, and got quickly to his feet. He
mechanically picked up the intaglio ring from the table while


## p. 7677 (#491) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7677
he stood there, and put it on his little finger; his hand was not
much bigger than Christine's. "How do you suppose she found
it out? " he asked after a moment.
"She seems to have merely suspected it," said Mrs. Mandel
in a tremor, and with the fright in her eyes which Christine's
violence had brought there.
"Well, it don't make any difference. She had to know some-
how, and now she knows. " He started toward the door of the
library, as if to go into the hall, where his hat and coat always
hung.
"Mr. Dryfoos," palpitated Mrs. Mandel, "I can't remain here,
after the language your daughter has used to me - I can't let
you leave me I-I'm afraid of her- »
"Lock yourself up, then," said the old man rudely. He
added, from the hall before he went out, "I reckon she'll quiet
down now. "
He took the Elevated road. The strike seemed a very far-off
thing, though the paper he bought to look up the stock market
was full of noisy typography about yesterday's troubles on the
surface lines. Among the millionaires in Wall Street there was
some joking and some swearing, but not much thinking about
the six thousand men who had taken such chances in their at-
tempt to better their condition. Dryfoos heard nothing of the
strike in the lobby of the Stock Exchange, where he spent two
or three hours watching a favorite stock of his go up and go
down under the betting. By the time the exchange closed it had
risen eight points, and on this and some other investments he
was five thousand dollars richer than he had been in the morn-
ing. But he had expected to be richer still, and he was by no
means satisfied with his luck. All through the excitement of his
winning and losing had played the dull, murderous rage he felt
toward the child who had defied him, and when the game was
over and he started home, his rage mounted into a sort of frenzy:
he would teach her, he would break her.
He walked a long way
without thinking, and then waited for a car.
hailed a passing coupé.
None came, and he
"What has got all the cars? " he demanded of the driver, who
jumped down from his box to open the door for him and get his
direction.
"Hasn't been any car along
"Been away? " asked the driver.
for a week.
Strike. "


## p. 7678 (#492) ###########################################

7678
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
"Oh yes," said Dryfoos. He felt suddenly giddy, and he re-
mained staring at the driver after he had taken his seat.
The man asked, "Where to? "
Dryfoos could not think of his street or number, and he said
with uncontrollable fury, "I told you once! Go up to West
Eleventh, and drive along slow on the south side; I'll show you
the place. "
He could not remember the number of Every Other Week
office, where he suddenly decided to stop before he went home.
He wished to see Fulkerson, and ask him something about
Beaton: whether he had been about lately, and whether he had
dropped any hint of what had happened concerning Christine;
Dryfoos believed that Fulkerson was in the fellow's confidence.
There was nobody but Conrad in the counting-room, whither
Dryfoos returned after glancing into Fulkerson's empty office.
"Where's Fulkerson? " he asked, sitting down with his hat on.
"He went out a few moments ago," said Conrad, glancing at
the clock. "I'm afraid he isn't coming back again to-day, if you
wanted to see him. "
Dryfoos twisted his head sidewise and upward to indicate
March's room. "That other fellow out, too? "
"He went just before Mr. Fulkerson," answered Conrad.
"Do you generally knock off here in the middle of the after-
noon? " asked the old man.
"No," said Conrad, as patiently as if his father had not been
there a score of times, and found the whole staff of Every Other
Week at work between four and five. "Mr. March, you know,
takes a good deal of his work home with him, and I suppose
Mr. Fulkerson went out so early because there isn't much doing
to-day. Perhaps it's the strike that makes it dull. "
"The strike-yes! It's a pretty piece of business to have
everything thrown out because a parcel of lazy hounds want
a chance to lay off and get drunk. " Dryfoos seemed to think
that Conrad would make some answer to this, but the young
man's mild face merely saddened, and he said nothing. "I've
got a coupé out there now that I had to take because I couldn't
get a car. If I had my way I'd have a lot of those vagabonds
hung. They're waiting to get the city into a snarl, and then
rob the houses-pack of dirty, worthless whelps. They ought to
call out the militia and fire into 'em. Clubbing is too good for
them. "


## p. 7679 (#493) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7679
Conrad was still silent; and his father sneered, "But I reckon.
you don't think so. "
"I think the strike is useless," said Conrad.
"Oh, you do, do you? Comin' to your senses a little. Gettin'
tired walkin' so much. I should like to know what your gentle-
men over there on the east side think about the strike, any-
way. "
The young fellow dropped his eyes. "I am not authorized to
speak for them. "
"Oh, indeed! And perhaps you're not authorized to speak for
yourself? "
"Father, you know we don't agree about these things. I'd
rather not talk -»
"But I'm goin' to make you talk this time! " cried Dryfoos,
striking the arm of the chair he sat in with the side of his fist.
A maddening thought of Christine came over him. "As long as
you eat my bread, you have got to do as I say. I won't have
my children telling me what I shall do and shan't do, or take on
airs of being holier than me. Now you just speak up!
Do you
think those loafers are right, or don't you? Come! "
Conrad apparently judged it best to speak. "I think they
were very foolish to strike at this time, when the elevated
roads can do the work. "
«< Oh, at this time, heigh! And I suppose they think over
there on the east side that it 'd been wise to strike before we
got the Elevated? »
Conrad again refused to answer; and his father roared, "What
do you think? »
"I think a strike is always bad business. It's war; but some-
times there don't seem any other way for the workingmen to
get justice. They say that sometimes strikes do raise the wages,
after a while. "
-
"Those lazy devils were paid enough already," shrieked the
old man. "They got two dollars a day. How much do you
think they ought to 'a' got? Twenty? "
Conrad hesitated, with a beseeching look at his father. But
he decided to answer. "The men say that with partial work,
and fines, and other things, they get sometimes a dollar, and
sometimes ninety cents a day. "
"They lie, and you know they lie," said his father, rising and
coming toward him. "And what do you think the upshot of it


## p. 7680 (#494) ###########################################

7680
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
all will be, after they've ruined business for another week, and
made people hire hacks, and stolen the money of honest men?
How is it going to end? "
They will have to give in. "
"Oh, give in, heigh! And what will you say then, I should
like to know? How will you feel about it then? Speak! "
"I shall feel as I do now. I know you don't think that way,
and I don't blame you-or anybody. But if I have got to say
how I shall feel, why, I shall feel sorry they didn't succeed; for
I believe they have a righteous cause, though they go the wrong
way to help themselves. "
His father came close to him, his eyes blazing, his teeth set.
"Do you dare to say that to me? "
"Yes. I can't help it. I pity them; my whole heart is with
those poor men. "
"You impudent puppy! " shouted the old man. He lifted his
hand and struck his son in the face. Conrad caught his hand
with his own left, and while the blood began to trickle from
a wound that Christine's intaglio ring had made in his temple,
he looked at him with a kind of grieving wonder, and said,
"Father! "
The old man wrenched his fist away, and ran out of the
house. He remembered his address now, and he gave it as he
plunged into the coupé. He trembled with his evil passion, and
glared out of the windows at the passers as he drove home; he
only saw Conrad's mild, grieving, wondering eyes, and the blood
slowly trickling from the wound in his temple.
Conrad went to the neat set bowl in Fulkerson's comfortable
room and washed the blood away, and kept bathing the wound
with the cold water till it stopped bleeding. The cut was not
deep, and he thought he would not put anything on it. After a
while he locked up the office, and started out, he hardly knew
where. But he walked on, in the direction he had taken, till he
found himself in Union Square, on the pavement in front of Bren-
tano's. It seemed to him that he heard some one calling gently
to him, "Mr. Dryfoos! "


## p. 7681 (#495) ###########################################

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
7681
CONRAD looked confusedly around, and the same voice said
again, "Mr. Dryfoos! " and he saw that it was a lady speaking to
him from a coupé beside the curbing, and then he saw that it
was Miss Vance.
She smiled when he gave signs of having discovered her, and
came up to the door of her carriage. "I am so glad to meet
you. I have been longing to talk to somebody; nobody seems to
feel about it as I do. Oh, isn't it horrible? Must they fail? I
saw cars running on all the lines as I came across; it made me
sick at heart. Must those brave fellows give in? And everybody
seems to hate them so-I can't bear it. " Her face was estranged
with excitement, and there were traces of tears on it. «You
must think me almost crazy to stop you in the street this way;
but when I caught sight of you I had to speak. I knew you
would sympathize. I knew you would feel as I do. Oh, how
can anybody help honoring those poor men for standing by one
another as they do? They are risking all they have in the world
for the sake of justice! Oh, they are true heroes! They are
staking the bread of their wives and children on the chance
they've taken! But no one seems to understand it. No one
seems to see that they are willing to suffer more now, that other
poor men may suffer less hereafter. And those wretched creat-
ures that are coming in to take their places—those traitors! ”
"We can't blame them for wanting to earn a living, Miss
Vance," said Conrad.
"No, no! I don't blame them. Who am I, to do such a
thing? It's we-people like me, of my class-who make the
poor betray one another. But this dreadful fighting- this hideous
paper is full of it! »
She held up an extra, crumpled with her
nervous reading. "Can't something be done to stop it? Don't
you think that if some one went among them, and tried to make
them see how perfectly hopeless it was to resist the companies
and drive off the new men, he might do some good? I have
wanted to go and try it; but I am a woman, and I mustn't! I
shouldn't be afraid of the strikers, but I'm afraid of what people
would say! " Conrad kept pressing his handkerchief to the cut
in his temple, which he thought might be bleeding, and now
she noticed this. "Are you hurt, Mr. Dryfoos? You look so
pale. »
"No, it's nothing a little scratch I've got. "
XIII-481
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## p. 7682 (#496) ###########################################

7682
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
"Indeed you look pale. Have you a carriage? How will you
get home? Will you get in here with me, and let me drive
you? »
"No, no," said Conrad, smiling at her excitement. "I'm per-
fectly well- »
"And you don't think I'm foolish and wicked for stopping you
here, and talking in this way? But I know you feel as I do! "
"Yes, I feel as you do. You are right-right in every way.
I mustn't keep you. Good-by. " He stepped back to bow, but
she put her beautiful hand out of the window, and when he took
it she wrung his hand hard.
"Thank you, thank you! You are good, and you are just!
But no one can do anything. It's useless! "
The type of irreproachable coachman on the box, whose
respectability had suffered through the strange behavior of his
mistress in this interview, drove quickly off at her signal, and
Conrad stood a moment looking after the carriage. His heart
was full of joy; it leaped; he thought it would burst. As he
turned to walk away, it seemed to him as if he mounted upon
the air. The trust she had shown him, the praise she had given.
him, that crush of the hand-he hoped nothing, he formed no
idea from it, but it all filled him with love, and cast out the pain
and shame he had been suffering. He believed that he could
never be unhappy any more; the hardness that was in his mind
toward his father went out of it: he saw how sorely he had tried
him; he grieved that he had done it: but the means, the differ-
ence of his feeling about the cause of their quarrel,- he was
solemnly glad of that since she shared it. He was only sorry for
his father. "Poor father! " he said under his breath as he went
along. He explained to her about his father in his revery, and
she pitied his father too.
He was walking over toward the west side, aimlessly at first,
and then at times with the longing to do something to save those
mistaken men from themselves, forming itself into a purpose.