The Web of Life. Robert Herrick

still slurred the present participle and indulged in other idiomatic freedoms that endeared her to Sommers. These two, plainly, were not of the generation that is tainted by ambition. Their story was too well known, from the boarding-house struggle to this sprawling stone house, to be worth the varnishing. Indeed, they would not tolerate any such detractions from their well-earned reputation. The Brome Porters might draw distinctions and prepare for a new social aristocracy; but to them old times were sweet and old friends dear.

      As the guests gathered in the large "front room," Alexander Hitchcock stood above them, as the finest, most courteous spirit. There was race in him—sweetness and strength and refinement—the qualities of the best manhood of democracy. This effect of simplicity and sweetness was heightened in the daughter, Louise. She had been born in Chicago, in the first years of the Hitchcock fight. She remembered the time when the billiard-room chairs were quite the most noted possessions in the basement and three-story brick house on West Adams Street. She had followed the chairs in the course of the Hitchcock evolution until her aunt had insisted on her being sent east to the Beaumanor Park School. Two years of "refined influences" in this famous establishment, with a dozen other girls from new-rich families, had softened her tones and prolonged her participles, but had touched her not essentially. Though she shared with her younger brother the feeling that the Hitchcocks were not getting the most out of their opportunities, she could understand the older people more than he. If she sympathized with her father's belief that the boy ought to learn to sell lumber, or "do something for himself," yet she liked the fact that he played polo. It was the right thing to be energetic, upright, respected; it was also nice to spend your money as others did. And it was very, very nice to have the money to spend.

      To-night, as Sommers came across the hall to the drawing-room, she left the group about the door to welcome him. "Weren't you surprised," she asked him with an ironical laugh, "at the people, I mean—all ages and kinds? You see Parker had to be appeased. He didn't want to stay, and I don't know why he should. So we gave him Laura Lindsay." She nodded good-naturedly in the direction of a young girl, whose sharp thin little face was turned joyfully toward the handsome Parker. "And we added our cousin Caspar, not for conversation, but to give an illusion of youth and gayety. Caspar is the captain of the polo team. By the way, what do you think of polo?"

      "I never had occasion to think," the young doctor replied, scrutinizing a heavy, florid-faced young man whom he took to be Caspar Porter.

      "Well, polo is with us at breakfast and dinner. Papa doesn't approve, doesn't believe in young men keeping a stable as Caspar does. Mamma doesn't know what she believes. I am arbitrator—it's terrible, the new generation," she broke off whimsically.

      "Which has the right of it?" Sommers asked idly. "The fathers who made the money, or the sons who want to enjoy it?"

      "Both; neither," she laughed back with an air of comfortable tolerance. She might have added, 'You see, I like both kinds—you and Parker's set.'

      "Do you know, Dr. Lindsay is here?"

      Sommers smiled as he replied—

      "Yes; was it arranged?"

      The girl blushed, and moved away.

      "He was anxious to meet you."

      "Of course," the doctor replied ironically.

      "I could tell you more," she added alluringly.

      "I have no doubt. Perhaps you had better not, however."

      Miss Hitchcock ceased to smile and looked at him without reply. She had something on the tip of her tongue to tell him, something she had thought of pleasantly for the last three days, but she suspected that this man was not one who would like to take his good fortune from a woman's hand.

      "Dr. Lindsay is an old friend; we have known him for years." She spoke neutrally. Sommers merely nodded.

      "He is very successful, very," she added, giving in to her desire a little.

      "Chicago is a good place for a throat specialist."

      "He is said to be the most—"

      "What?"

      "You know—has the largest income of any doctor in the city."

       Sommers did not reply. At length the girl ventured once more.

      "I hope you will be nice to him."

      "There won't be any question of it."

      "You can be so stiff, so set; I have counted a great deal on this."

      "Politics, politics!" Sommers exclaimed awkwardly. "Who is the man with Mr.

       Porter?"

      "Railway Gazette Carson? That's what he is called. He swallows

       railroads—absorbs 'em. He was a lawyer. They have a house on the North

       Side and a picture, a Sargent. But I'll keep the story. Come! you must meet

       Mrs. Lindsay."

      "Politics, politics!" Sommers murmured to himself, as Miss Hitchcock moved across the room.

CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

      At the table there were awkward silences, followed by spasmodic local bursts of talk. Sommers, who sat between Miss Hitchcock and Mrs. Lindsay, fell to listening to his host.

      "I was taken for you to-day, Brome," Mr. Hitchcock said, with a touch of humor in his voice.

      Porter laughed at the apparent absurdity of the accusation.

      "I was detained at the office over at the yards. The men and the girls had pretty nearly all gone. I was just about to leave, when a fellow opened the door—he looked like a Swede or a Norwegian.

      "'Is the boss here?' he asked.

      "'Yes,' said I; 'what can I do for you?'

      "'I wants a yob, a yob,' he shouted, 'and no foolin'. I worked for de boss ten years and never lost a day!'

      "I thought the man was drunk. 'Who did you work for?' I asked. 'For Pullman, in de vorks,' he said; then I saw how it was. He was one of the strikers, or had lost his job before the strike. Some one told him you were in with me, Brome, and a director of the Pullman works. He had footed it clear in from Pullman to find you, to lay hands on you personally."

      Porter laughed rather grimly.

      "That's the first sign!" Carson exclaimed.

      "They'll have enough of it before the works open," Porter added.

      Parker Hitchcock looked bored. Such things were not in good form; they came from the trade element in the family. His cousin Caspar had Miss Lindsay's attention. She was describing a Polish estate where she had visited the preceding summer.

      "Did you send him round to our office?" Porter asked jokingly.

      Sommers's keen eyes rested on his host's face inquiringly.

      "No-oh," Alexander Hitchcock drawled; "I had a talk with him."

      "They are rather dangerous people to talk with," Dr. Lindsay remarked.

      "He was a Norwegian, a big, fine-looking man. He was all right. He couldn't talk much English, but he knew that his folks were hungry. 'You gif me a yob,' he kept saying, until I explained I wasn't in the business, had nothing to do with the Pullman works. Then he sat down and looked at the floor. 'I vas fooled.' Well, it seems he did inlaying work, fine cabinet work, and got good pay. He built a house for himself out in some place, and he was fired among the first last winter—I guess because he didn't live in Pullman."

      "That's the story they use," Brome Porter said sceptically. "You should call the watchman; they're apt to be dangerous."

      "A crowd of 'em," put in Carson, "were at the Pullman