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"There's a good deal in the bread and b.u.t.ter interpretation of history.
The push of life, its pressure, drives us to think. Out of thought grow new hopes and a broader vision."
"And then?"
"Pretty soon the thought will flood the world that we make our own poverty, that G.o.d and nature have nothing to do with it. After that we'll proceed to eliminate it."
"By means of Mr. Marchant's perfect state?"
"Not by any revolution of an hour probably. Society cannot change its nature in a day. We'll pa.s.s gradually from our present state to a better one, the new growing out of the old by generations of progress. But I think we will pa.s.s into a form of socialism. It will be necessary to repress the predatory instinct in us that has grown strong under the present system. I don't much care whether you call it democracy or socialism. We must recognize how interdependent we are and work together for the common good."
They had come to the car line that would take her home. Up the hill a trolley car was coming.
"May I not see you home?" Jeff dared to ask.
"You may."
They left the car at Lakeview Park and crossed it to The Brakes. Every step of that walk led Jeff deeper into an excursion of endearment. It was amazingly true that he trod beside her an acknowledged friend, a secret lover. The turn of her head, the shadowy smile bubbling into laughter, the gracious undulations of the body, indeed the whole dear delight of her presence, belonged for that hour to him alone.
CHAPTER 21
Many a man has kept his self-respect through a long lifetime of decalog breaking, only to go to smash like a crushed eggsh.e.l.l when he commits the crime of being found out.
--From the Note Book of a Dreamer.
THE HERO IS PAINED TO FIND THAT EVEN IN A WELL-REGULATED WORLD THE G.o.dS ARE JUST, AND OF OUR PLEASANT VICES MAKE INSTRUMENTS TO PLAGUE US
Going back across the park Jeff trod the hilltops. He was not thinking about society, except that small unit of it represented by a slender, golden girl who had just bidden him good-bye. And because his heart sang within him his footsteps turned toward the office of his cousin. There had been between them of late an estrangement. Since the lawyer had been appointed general attorney for the Transcontinental and had formed a partnership with Scott, thus bringing to the firm the business of the public utility corporations, James had not found much time for Jeff. He was a member of the most important law firm on the Pacific Coast, judged by the business it was doing, and he had definitely cut loose politically from his former a.s.sociates. His cousin blamed himself for the change in their personal relations, and he meant to bring things back to the old basis if he could.
It was past office hours, but a light in the window of the junior member's private office gave promise that James might be in. Leaving the elevator at the fourth floor, he walked down the corridor toward the suite occupied by the firm.
Before he reached the door Jeff stopped. Something unusual was happening within. There came to him the sounds of shuffling feet, of furniture being smashed, of an angry oath. Almost at once there was a thud, as if something heavy had fallen. The listener judged that a live body was thrashing around actively. The impact of blows, a heavy grunt, a second stifled curse, decided Farnum. Pushing through the outer office, he entered the one usually occupied by James.
Two men were on the floor, one astride of the other. The man on top was driving home heavy jarring blows against his opponent's face and head.
Jeff ran forward and dragged him away.
"Good heavens, Sam! What's the matter?" his friend demanded in surprise.
Miller waited panting, his fists still doubled, the l.u.s.t of battle in his eyes.
"The d.a.m.ned cad! The d.a.m.ned cad!" was all he could get out.
From the floor James Farnum was rising. His forehead, his cheek, and his lips were bleeding from cuts. One of his eyes was closing rapidly. There was a dogged look of fear in the battered face.
"I tripped over a chair, he explained, glaring at his foe.
"d.a.m.n you then, stand up and fight!"
Disgust and annoyance were pictured on the damaged countenance of the lawyer. "I don't fight with riff raff from the streets."
With a lurch Miller was free from Jeff and at him again. James lashed straight out and cut open his lip without stopping him. Jeff wrenched the furious man back again. A moment later he made a discovery. The fear of his cousin was not physical.
"Here! Stop it, man! What's the row about?" Jeff hung on with a strangle hold while he fired his questions.
Sam turned a distorted face toward him. "Nellie."
The truth crashed home like a bolt of lightning. James was the man who had betrayed Nellie Anderson. The thing was incredible, but Jeff knew instantly it was so.
Except where the blood streamed down it the face of the lawyer was colorless. His lips twitched.
"Is this true, James?"
The sullen eyes of the detected man fell. "It will ruin me. It will ruin my career. And all because in a moment of fearful temptation I yielded, G.o.d help me."
"G.o.d help you!" The angry scorn in Miller's voice burned like vitriol.
"G.o.d help you! you selfish villain and coward! You pursued her! You hounded her. You made your own temptation--and hers. And afterward you left her to bear a lifetime of shame--to kill herself if she couldn't stand it. When I think of you, smug liar and h.e.l.l hound, I know that killing isn't good enough for you."
"Steady, old man," counseled Jeff.
Miller began to tremble violently. Tears gathered in his eyes and coursed down his fat cheeks. "And I can't stamp him out. I can't expose him without hurting her worse. I've got to stand it without touching him."
Faintly Jeff smiled. James did not look quite untouched. He was a much battered statue of virtue, his large dignity for once torn to shreds.
Miller flung himself down heavily in a chair and buried his face in his hands. James began to talk, and as he talked his fluency came back to him.
"It's the only stain on my life record... the only one. My life has been an open book but for that. I was only a boy--and I made a slip. Ought that to spoil my whole life, a splendid career of usefulness for the city and the state? Ought I to be branded for that one error?"
Miller looked up whitely. "Shut up, you liar! If it had been a slip you would have stood by her, you would have married the girl you had ruined.
But you left her--to death or worse. She was loyal to you. She kept your secret, you d.a.m.ned villain. I wrung it out of her to-day when I went home only by pretending that I knew.... And you let Jeff bear the blame of it without saying a word. I know now why her name wasn't unearthed by the reporters. You killed the story because you were afraid the truth would leak out. You haven't a straight hair in your head. You sold out Jeff's bill. You're for yourself first and last, no matter who pays the price."
"That's your interpretation of my career. But what does Verden think of me? No man stands higher among the best people of the community."
"To h.e.l.l with you and your best people. I say you're nothing but a whited sepulchre," snarled Miller.
Suddenly he reached for his hat and left the office. He was stifling.
He knew that if he stayed he could not keep his hands from his enemy's throat.
James wrung his hands. "My G.o.d, Jeff, it's awful! To think that a little fault should come out now to ruin me. After I've gone so far and am on the way to bigger things. It's ghastly luck. Can't you do something?
Can't you keep the fellow quiet? I'll pay anything in reason."
Jeff looked at him steadily. "I wouldn't say that to him if I were you."
"Oh, I don't know what I'm saying." He mopped the blood from his face with a handkerchief. "I'm half crazy. Did he mark me up badly?" James examined himself anxiously in the gla.s.s. "He's just chopped my face to pieces. I'll have to get out of the city to-night and stay away till the marks are gone. But the main point is to keep him from talking. Can you do it?"
For once Jeff's toleration failed him. "He's right. You are a selfish beggar. Don't you ever think of anyone except yourself?"