24 Hope returned for a few days late in August. Invitations were just issued for the harvest dance at Rickards. �You must take her!� said Uncle Eb the day she came. �She�s a pretty dancer as a man ever see. Prance right up and tell her she must go. Don�t want to let anyone get ahead of you! �Of course I will go!� she said in answer to my invitation. �I shouldn�t think you were a bow worth having if you did not ask me.� The yellow moon was peering over Woody Ledge when we went away that evening. I knew it was our last pleasure seeking in faraway, and the crickets in the stubble filled the silence with a kind of mourning. She looked so fine in her big hat and new gown with its many dainty accessories of lace and ribbon, adjusted with so much padding and pulling that as she sat beside me, I hardly dared touch her for fear of spoiling something. When she shivered a little and said it was growing cool, I put my arm about her, and as I drew her closer to my side she turned her hat obligingly and said it was a great nuisance. I tried to kiss her then, but she put her hand over my mouth and said sweetly that I would spoil everything if I did that. �I must not let you kiss me, William� she said. �Not, not for all in the world.� �I�m sure you wouldn�t have me do what I think is wrong, would you? There was but one answer to such an appeal, and I made myself as happy as possible, feeling her head upon my shoulder and her soft hair touching my cheek. As I think of it now, the trust she put in me was something sublime and holy. �Then I shall talk about our love,� I said. �I must do something.� �Promised I wouldn�t let you,� she said. Then she added, after a moment of silence, �I�ll tell you what you may do. Tell me what is your ideal in a woman, the one you would love best of all. I don�t think that would be wicked, do you? �I think God would forgive that,� I said. �She must be tall and slim, with dainty feet and hands, and a pair of big eyes, blue as a violet, shaded with long dark lashes. And her hair must be wavy and light with a little tinge of gold in it. And her cheek must have the pink of the rose and dimples that show and laughter. And her voice, that must have music in it and the ring of kindness and good nature.  Then we gave each other such a kiss as may be known once and only once in a lifetime. �What would you do for the love of a girl like that?� she whispered. �I thought a moment,� sounding depths of undiscovered woe, to see if there were anything I should hesitate to suffer, and there was nothing. �I�d lay me down and die,� I said. �And I well remember how, when I lay dying, as I believed, in rain and darkness on the bloody field of bull run, I thought of that moment and of those words. �I cannot say such beautiful things as you� she answered, when I asked her to describe her ideal. He must be good, and he must be tall and handsome and strong and brave.� Then she sang a tender love ballad. �I have often shared the pleasure of thousands under the spell of her voice, but I have never heard her sing as to that small audience on faraway turnpike. As we came near Rickards Hall we could hear the fiddles and the calling off. The windows on the long sides of the big house were open. Long shafts of light shot out upon the gloom. It had always reminded me of a picture of Noah�s Ark that hung in my bedroom, and now it seemed to be floating, with resting oars of gold, in a deluge of darkness. We were greeted with a noisy welcome at the door. Many of the boys and girls came from all sides of the big hall and shook hands with us. Enos Brown, whose long forelocks had been oiled for the occasion and combed down so they touched his right eyebrow, was panting in a jig that jarred the house. His trouser legs were caught on the tops of his fine boots. He nodded to me as I came in, snapped his fingers, and doubled his energy. It was an exhibition both of power and endurance. He was damp and apologetic when, at length, he stopped with the mighty bang of his foot and sat down beside me. He said he was badly out of practice when I offered congratulations. The first fiddler was a small man with a short leg and a character that was minus one dimension. It had length and breadth, but no thickness. He sat with his fellow player on a little platform at one end of the room. He was an odd man who wandered all over the township with his fiddle. He played by ear and I have seen baby smile and old men dance when his bow was swaying. I remembered that when I heard it for the first time I determined that I should be a fiddler if I ever grew to be a man.  One is lucky I have since learned if any dream of yesterday shall stand the better light of today or the more searching rays of tomorrow. Choose your partners for money musk, the caller shouted. Hope and I got into line. The music started, the circles began to sway. Darwin Powers, an old but frisky man, stood up beside the fiddlers whistling with sobriety and vigor as they played. It was a pleasure to see some of the older men in the neighborhood join their dizzy riot by skipping playfully in the corners. They tried to rally their unwilling wives and generally a number of them were dancing before the night was over. The life and color of the scene, the fresh, young faces of the girls, some of them models of rustic beauty, the playful antics of the young men, the merry-making of their fathers, the laughter, the heirs of gallantry, the glances of affection. There is a magic in the thought of it all that makes me young again. There were teams before and behind us when we came home, late at night, so sleepy that the stars went reeling as we looked at them. "'This night is the end of many things,' I remarked. "'And the beginning of better ones, I hope,' was her answer. "'Yes, but they are so far away,' I said. "'You leave home to study, and I am to be four years in college. Possibly I can finish in three.' "'Perfectly terrible,' she said, and then she added the favorite phrase and tone of her mother. We must be patient.' "'I am very sorry of one thing,' I said. "'What's that?' "'I promised not to ask you for one more kiss.' "'Well, then,' said she, "'you—you needn't ask me.' And in a moment I helped her out at the door. End of Chapter 24. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 25 of Eben Holden. This Libervocht recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Eben Holden. A Tale of the North Country by Irving Batchelor. Chapter 25 David Brower had prospered, as I have said before, and now he was chiefly concerned in the welfare of his children. So that he might give us the advantages of the town, he decided either to lease or sell his farm, by far the handsomest property in the township. I was there when a buyer came in the last days of that summer. We took him over the smooth acres from Lone Pine to Woody Ledge, from the top of Bowman's Hill to Tinky Brook and the Far Valley. He went with us through every tidy room of the house. He looked over the stock and the stables. "'Well, what's it worth?' he said at last, as we stood looking down the fair green acres, sloping to the sugar-bush. David picked up a stick, opened his knife, and began to whittle thoughtfully, a familiar squint of reflection in his face. I suppose he thought of all that had cost him, the toil of many years, the strength of his young manhood, the youth and beauty of his wife, a hundred things that were far better than money. "'Fifteen thousand dollars,' he said slowly, not a cent less. The man parleyed a little over the price. "'Don't care to take any less today,' said David calmly. No harm done. "'How much down?' David named the sum. And possession? Next week. Everything as it stands? Everything as it stands, except the beds and bedding. "'Here's some money on account,' he said. "'Will close to-morrow?' "'Close to-morrow,' said David, a little sadness in his tone as he took the money. It was growing dusk as the man went away. The cricket sang with a loud, accusing clamor. Slowly we turned and went into the dark house, David whistling under his breath. Elizabeth was resting in her chair. She was humming an old hymn as she rocked. "'Zole the farm, mother,' said David. She stopped singing, but made no answer. In the dusk, as we sat down, I saw her face leaning upon her hand. Over the hills and out of the fields around us came many voices, the low chant and the stubble, the baying of a hound in the far timber, the cry of the tree-toad, a tiny drift of odd things like that one sees at sea on the deep eternal silence of the heavens. There was no sound in the room save the low creaking of the rocker in which Elizabeth sat. After all the going and coming and doing and saying of many years here was a little spell of silence and beyond lay the untried things of the future. For me it was a time of reckoning. "'Ben hard at work here all these years, mother,' said David. ought to be glad to get away.' "'Yes,' said she, sadly. It's been hard work. Years ago I thought I never could stand it, but now I've got kind of used to it.' "'Time you got used to pleasure and comfort,' he said. "'Come kind of hard at first, but you must try to stand it. If we're going to have such flin in heaven as Deacon Hospital's on, we ought to begin to practice or we'll be shamed of ourselves.' The worst was over. Elizabeth began to laugh. At length a strain of song came out of the distance. "'Max Welton's braze or bonny, where early falls the dew.' "'It's Hope and Uncle Ebb,' said David, while I went for the lantern. Wonder what kept them so late?' When the lamps were lit the old house seemed suddenly to have got a sense of what had been done. The familiar creek of the stairway as I went to bed had an appeal and a protest. The rude chromo of the voluptuous lady, with red lips and the name of Spring, that had always hung in my chamber, had a mournful, accusing look. The stain upon her cheek that had come one day from a little leak in the roof looked now like the path of a teardrop. And when the wind came up in the night, and I heard the creaking of lone pine, it spoke of the doom of that house and its own that was not far distant. We rented a new home in town that week and were soon settled in it. Hope went away to resume her studies the same day I began work in college. End of Chapter 25, Recording by Roger Moline Chapter 26 of Ebb and Holden This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Moline Ebb and Holden, a tale of the North Country, by Irving Bachelor Chapter 26 Not much in my life at college is essential to this history, save the training. The students came mostly from other and remote parts of the North Country, some even from other states. Coming largely from towns and cities they were shorn of those simple and rugged traits that distinguished the men of far away and made them worthy of what poor fame this book may afford. In the main they were like other students the world over, I take it and mostly as they have shown capable of wiling their own fame. It all seemed very high and mighty and grand to me, especially the names of the courses. I had my baptism of sophomoric scorn and many a heated argument over my title to life, liberty, and the pursuit of learning. It became necessary to establish it by force of arms, which I did decisively and with as little delay as possible. I took much interest in athletic sports and was soon a good ball-player, a boxer of some skill, and the best wrestler in college. Things were going on comfortably when an upperclassman met me and suggested that, on a coming holiday, the freshman ought to wear stovepipe hats. Those hats were the seed of great trouble. Stovepipe hats, I said thoughtfully. They're a good protection, he assured me. It seemed a very reasonable, not to say a necessary precaution. A man has to be young and innocent some time or what would become of the devil. I did not see the stovepipe hat was the red rag of insurrection, and when I did see it, I was up to my neck in the matter. You see, the sophomore apt to be very nasty that day, he continued. I acknowledged they were quite capable of it. And they don't care where they hit, he went on. I felt of my head that was still sore from a forceful argument of the preceding day and admitted there was a good ground for the assertion. When I met my classman that afternoon, I was an advocate of the stovepipe as a means of protection. There were a number of husky fellows in my class who saw its resisting power and seconded my suggestion. We decided to leave it to the ladies of the class, and they greeted our plan with applause. So, that morning, we arrayed ourselves in high hats, heavy canes, and fine linen, marching together up College Hill. We had hardly entered the gate before we saw the soffs forming in a thick rank outside the door, prepared, as we took it, to resist our entrance. They outnumbered us and were, in the main, heavier, but we had a foot or more of good stiff material between each head and arm. Of just what befell us when we got to the enemy, I have never felt sure. Of the total inefficiency of the stovepipe hat as an article of armor, I have never had the slightest doubt since then. There was a great flash and a rattle of canes.  In the heat of it all, prudence went to the winds. We hid out right and left on both sides, smashing hats and bruising heads and hands. The canes went down in a jiffy, and then we closed with each other, hip and thigh. Collars were ripped off, coats were torn, shirts were gory from the blood of noses, and in this condition the most of us were rolling and tumbling on the ground. I had flung a man heavily and broke away and was tackling another when I heard a hush in the tumult and then the voice of the President. He stood on the high steps, his gray head bare, his right hand lifted. It must have looked like carnage from where he stood. Young gentleman, he called, cease, I command you. If we cannot get along without this thing, we will shut up shop. Well, that was the end of it, and came near being the end of our careers in college. We looked at each other, torn and panting and bloody, and at the girls who stood by, pale with alarm. Then we picked up the shapeless hats and went away for repairs. I had heard that the path of learning was long and beset with peril, but I hoped, not without reason, the worst was over. As I went off the campus the top of my hat was hanging over my left ear, my collar and cravat were turned awry, my trousers gait over one knee. I was talking with a fellow sufferer and patching the skin in my knuckles when suddenly I met Uncle Ebb. By the Lord Harry, he said, looking me over from top to toe, teacher up there must be pretty harsh. It wasn't the teacher, I said. Must have fit, then. Fid hard, I answered, laughing. Try to walk on you? Tried to walk on me. Took several steps, too, I said, stooping to brush my trousers. Ah, guess he found it rather bad walking, didn't he, my old friend inquired. Little bit rough in spots. Little bit rough, Uncle Ebb. That's certain. Better not go home, he said, a great relief in his face. Looks as if you've been chopped down and sawed and split and thrown in a pile. I'll go and bring over some things for you. I went with my friend who had suffered less damage and Uncle Ebb brought me what I needed to look more respectable than I felt. The President, great and good man that he was, forgave us, finally, after many interviews and such wholesome reproof as made us all ashamed of our folly. In my second year at college, Hope went away to continue her studies in New York. She was to live in the family of John Fuller, a friend of David, who had left far away years before and made his fortune there in the big city. Her going filled my days with a lingering and pervasive sadness. I saw in it sometimes the shadow of a heavier loss than I dared to contemplate. She had come home once a week from Augansburg, and I had always had a letter between times. She was ambitious, and I fancy they let her go so that there should be no danger of any turning aside from the plan of my life or of hers, for they knew our hearts as well as we knew them and possibly better. We had the parlor to ourselves the evening before she went away, and I read her a little love-tale I had written, especially for that occasion. It gave us some chance to discuss the absorbing and forbidden topic of our lives. He's too much afraid of her, she said. He ought to put his arm about her waist in that love scene. Like that, I said, suiting the action to the word. About like that, she answered, laughing, and then he ought to say something very, very nice to her before he proposes, something about his having loved her for so long, you know. And how about her, I asked, my arm still about her waist. If she really loves him, hope answered, she would put her arms about his neck and lay her head upon his neck, and lay her on his shoulder, so. And then he might say, what is in the story? She was smiling now as she looked up at me. And kiss her? And kiss her, she whispered, and let me add that that part of the scene was in no wise neglected. And when he says, will you wait for me and keep me always in your heart, what should be her answer? I continued. Always, she said. Hope, this is our own story, I whispered. Does it need any further correction? It's too short, that's all, she answered, as our lips met again. Just then Uncle Eb opened the door suddenly. Tot, tot, he said, turning quickly about. Come in, Uncle Eb, said Hope, come right in, we want to see you. In a moment she had caught him by the arm. Don't want to break up the meeting, said he, laughing. We don't care if you do know, said Hope, we're not ashamed of it. He ain't got no cause to be, he said. Go it while you're young and full of vinegar, that's what I say every time. It's the best fun there is. I thought I'd like to have you both come up to my room for a minute, for your mother and father come back, he said in a low tone that was almost a whisper.  He knelt by the bed and pulled out the old skin-covered trunk that David Brower had given him soon after we came. He felt a moment for the keyhole, his hand trembling, and then I helped him open the trunk. From under that sacred suit of broadcloth, worn only on the grandest occasions, he fetched a bundle about the size of a man's head. It was tied in a big red handkerchief. We were both sitting on the floor beside him. Heft it, he whispered. I did so, and found it heavier than I expected. What is it, I asked. Spondulix, he whispered. Then he untied the bundle, a close-packed hoard of bank bills, with some pieces of gold and silver at the bottom. He never had no use for it, he said, as he drew out a layer of green backs and spread them with trembling fingers. Then he began counting them slowly and carefully. There, he whispered, when at length he had counted a hundred dollars. There's hope. Take that and put it away in your wallet. Might come handy when you're away from home. She kissed him tenderly. Put it in your wallet and say nothing, not a word to nobody, he said. Then he counted over a like amount for me. Say nothing, he said, looking up at me over his spectacles. You'll have to spoil a suit of clothes pretty often if them fellows keep a fighting of you all the time. Father and mother were coming in below stairs, and hearing them, we helped Uncle Eb tie up his bundle and stow it away. Then we went down to meet them. Next morning we bade hope goodbye at the cars and return to our home with a sense of loss that for long lay heavy upon us all. End of Chapter 26 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 27 of Eben Holden This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Eben Holden A Tale of the North Country by Irving Batchelor Chapter 27 Uncle Eb and David were away buying cattle half the week, but Elizabeth Brower was always at home to look after my comfort. She was up at times in the morning and singing at her work long before I was out of bed. When the breakfast was near ready she came to my door with a call so full of cheerfulness and good nature it was the best thing in the day. And often at night I have known her to come into my room while I was lying awake with some hard problem to see that I was properly covered or that my window was not open too far. As we sat alone together of an evening I have seen her listen for hours while I was committing the odes of oris with a curiosity that finally gave way to resignation. Sometimes she would look over my shoulder at the printed page and try to discern some meaning in it. When Uncle Eb was with us he would often sit a long time his head turned attentively as the lines came rattling off my tongue. Curious talk! he said one evening as I paused a moment while he crossed the room for a drink of water. Don't seem to make no kind of sense. I can make out a word here and there but for good sound common sense I call it a pretty thin crop. Hope wrote me every week for a time. A church choir had offered her a place soon after she went to the big city. She came home intending to surprise us all the first summer but unfortunately I had gone away in the woods with a party of surveyors and missed her. We were a month in the wilderness and came out a little west of Albany where I took a boat for New York to see Hope. I came down the North River between the great smoky cities on either side of it one damp and chilly morning. The noise, the crowds, the immensity of the town appalled me. At John Fullers I found that Hope had gone home and while they tried to detain me longer I came back on the night boat of the same day. Hope and I passed each other in that journey and I did not see her until the summer preceding my third and last year in college, the faculty having allowed me to take two years and one. Her letters had come less frequently and when she came I saw a grand young lady of fine manners, her beauty shaping to an ample mold, her form straightening to the dignity of womanhood. At the depot our hands were cold and trembling with excitement. Neither of us, I fancy, knowing quite how far to go in our greeting. Our correspondence had been true to the promise made her mother. There had not been a word of love in it, only now and then a suggestion of our tender feeling. We hesitated only for the briefest moment. Then I put my arm about her neck and kissed her. I am so glad to see you, she said. Well, she was charming and beautiful, but different and probably not more different than was I. She was no longer the laughing, simple-mannered child of Faraway, whose heart was as one's hand before him in the daylight. She had now a bit of the woman's reserve, her prudence, her skill in hiding the things of the heart. I loved her the more than ever, but somehow I felt it hopeless that she had grown out of my life. She was much in request among the people of Hillsborough and we went about a good deal and had many collars. But we had little time to ourselves. She seemed to avoid that and had much to say of the grand young men who came to call on her in the great city.  A better lover than I would have made an end of dallying and got at the truth come what might. But I was of the Puritans and not of the Cavaliers and my way was that which God had marked for me, albeit I must own no man had ever a keener eye for a lovely woman or more heart to please her. A mighty pride had come to me and I had rather have thrown my heart to vultures than see it in unwelcome offering. And I was quite out of courage with hope. She, I dare say, was as much out of patience with me. She returned in the late summer and I went back to my work at college in a hopeless fashion that gave way under the whip of a strong will. I made myself as contented as possible. I knew all the pretty girls and went about with some of them to the entertainment of the college season. At last came the long look for day of my graduation, the end of my student life. The streets of the town were thronged, every student having the college colors in his coat lapel. The little company of graduates trembled with fright as the people crowded into the church, whispering and faring themselves in eager anticipation. As the former looked from the two-side pews where they sat, many familiar faces greeted them, the faces of fathers and mothers aglow with the inner light of pride and pleasure. The faces of many they loved come to claim a share in the glory of that day. I found my own, I remember, but none of them gave me such help as that of Uncle Ebb. However I might fair, none would feel the pride or disgrace of it more keenly than he. I shall never forget how he turned his head to catch every word when I ascended the platform. As I warmed to my argument I could see him nudging the arm of David who sat beside him, as if to say, There's the boy that came over the hills with me in a pack basket.  It was all the assistance he could give me. When the exercises were over I found Uncle Ebb by the front door of the church waiting for me. Willie, you've done noble, said he. Did my very best, Uncle Ebb, I replied. Liked it grand, I did, certain. Glad you liked it, Uncle Ebb. Showed great learning. Who was the man that gave out the pitchers? He meant the president who had conferred the degrees. I spoke to him, and he said to me, Deceiving looking man, ain't he? Seen him often, but never took no particular notice of him before. How deceiving, I inquired. Talked so kind of plain, he replied. I could understand him as easy as though he had been swapping husses. But when you got up, Bill, why, you just rise right up in the air, and there couldn't no dumb fool tell what you was talking about. Where at, I concluded that Uncle Ebb's humour was as deep as it was kindly. But I have never been quite sure whether the remark was a compliment or a bit of satire. CHAPTER XXVIII. Chapter XXVIII. The folks of Faraway have been carefully, if rudely, pictured, but the look of my own person, since I grew to the stature of manhood, I have left wholly to the imagination of the reader. I will wager he knew long since what manner of man I was, and has measured me to the fraction of an inch, and knows even the color of my hair and eyes from having been so long in my company. If not, well, I shall have to write him a letter. When Uncle Ebb and I took the train for New York that summer, in 1860, some fifteen years after we came down Paradise Road with the dog and wagon and pack-basket, my head, which in that far day came only to the latitude of his trouser pocket, had now mounted six inches above his own. That is all I can say here on that branch of my subject. I was leaving to seek my fortune in the big city. Uncle Ebb was off for a holiday, and to see hope and to bring her home for a short visit. I remember with what sadness I looked back that morning at mother and father, as they stood by the gate slowly waving their handkerchiefs. Our home at last was emptied of its young, and even as they looked, the shadow of old age must have fallen suddenly before them. I knew how they would go back into that lonely room and how, while the clock went on with its ticking, Elizabeth would sit down and cover her face a moment, while David would make haste to take up his chores. We sat in silence a long time after the train was off, a mighty sadness holding our tongues. Uncle Ebb, who had never ridden a long journey on the cars before, had put on his grand suit of broadcloth. The day was hot and dusty, and before we had gone far he was sadly soiled. But a suit never gave him any worry once it was on. He sat calmly, holding his knee in his hands and looking out of the open window, a squint in his eyes that stood for some high degree of interest in the scenery. What do you think of this country? I inquired. Looks pretty fair, said he, as he brushed his face with his handkerchief and coughed to clear his throat of the dust. But take quite so pleasant to the taste as some other parts of the country. I rather like the flavor of St. Lawrence all through, but Jefferson is a little gritty. He put down the window as he spoke. A little tobacco will improve it some, he added, as his hand went down for the old silver box. The way these cars do rip along. Concerned if it ain't like flying. Kind of makes me feel like a bird. The railroad was then not the familiar thing it is now in the North Country. The bull in the fields had not yet come to an understanding of its rights, and was frequently tempted into argument with the locomotive. Bill Fountain, who came out of a back township, one day had even tied his faithful hound to the rear platform. Our train came to a long stop for wood and water near midday, and then we opened the lunch basket that Mother had given us.  Do you think the cars are again the Bible? Do you think a Christian ought to ride on them? Certain, said Uncle Ebb, lest the constables after him, then I think he ought to be on a bulky horse. Wife and I had just talked it over a good deal, said the man. Some says it's again the Bible. The minister at preachers over in our neighborhood says if God had wanted men to fly, He'd had given them wings. Suppose if He'd ever wanted him to skate, He'd had him born with skates on, said Uncle Ebb. Don't know, said the man. It behooves us all to be careful. The Bible says go not after new things. My friend, said Uncle Ebb, between bites of a donut. I don't care what I ride in so long as taint a hearse. I want something that's comfortable and pretty middle and spry.  Keep our joints limber. We'll live longer for it, and that'll please God, sure, because I don't think he's hankering for our society, not a bit. Don't make no difference to him whether we ride in a spring wagon or on the cars, so long as we're right side up and moving. We need more steam.  Kind of think a little more steam in our religion wouldn't hurt us a bit. It's pretty far behind. We got to Albany in the evening, just in time for the night boat. Uncle Ebb was a sight in his dusty broadcloth when we got off the cars, and I know my appearance could not have been prepossessing. Once we were aboard the boat and had dusted our clothes and bathed our hands and faces, we were in better spirits. Consarnate! said Uncle Ebb as we left the washroom. Let's have a darn good supper. I'll stand treat. Comes a little bit high, he said as he paid the bill, but I don't care if it does. For we left, I says to myself, Uncle Ebb says I, you go right in for a good time, and don't you count the pennies. Everybody's a right to be reckless once in seventy-five year. We went to our stateroom a little after nine. I remember the berths had not been made up, and removing our boots and coats, we lay down upon the bare mattresses. Even then I had a lurking fear that we might be violating some rule of steamboat etiquette. When I went to New York before, I had dozed all night in the big cabin. A dim light came through the shutter door that opened upon the dining saloon, where the rattle of dishes for a time put away the possibility of sleep. I'll be awful glad to see hope, said Uncle Ebb as he lay gaping. Guess I'll be happier to see her than she will to see me, I said. What put that in your head, Uncle Ebb inquired? Afraid we've got pretty far apart, said I. Shame on you, Bill, said the old gentleman. If that so ye ain't done right, hadn't ordered a letter girl like that get away from you. They ain't another like her in this world. I know it, I said, but I can't help it. Somebody's cut me out, Uncle Ebb. Tain't so, he said emphatically. You wanna prance right up to her. I'm not afraid of any woman, I said, with a great air of bravery. But if she don't care for me, I ought not throw myself at her. Jerusalem, said Uncle Ebb, rising up suddenly. What have I gone and done? He jumped out of his berth quickly, and in the dim light I could see him reaching for several big sheets of paper adhering to the back of his shirt and trousers. I went quickly to his assistants and began stripping off the broad sheets, which, covered with some strongly adhesive substance, had lain a firm hold upon him. I rang the bell and ordered a light. Concerned at all. What be they, plasters? said Uncle Ebb, quite out of patience. Pieces of brown paper, covered with West India molasses, I should think, said I. West India molasses, he exclaimed. By mighty, that makes me hotter in a pancake. What's it on the bed for? To catch flies, I answered. And catched me, said Uncle Ebb, as he flung the sheet he was examining into a corner. My extra good suit, too. He took off his trousers, then, holding them up to the light. There spoiled, said he mournfully. Had him for more than ten years, too. That's long enough, I suggested. Got kind of attached to him, he said, looking down at them and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then we had a good laugh. You can put on the other suit, I suggested. And when we get to the city, we'll have these fixed. Little sorry, though, said he, because that other suit don't look real grand. This here one has been pretty scrumptious in its day, if I do say it. You look good enough in anything that's respectable, I said.  Hope she's terrible proud, and if they should have a little fiddling and dancing some night, we'd want to be as stylish as any on them. Believe I'll go and get me a spang brand new suit anyway, before we go up to Fullers. As we neared the city, we both began feeling a bit doubtful as to whether we were quite ready for the ordeal. I ought to, I said. Those I'm wearing aren't quite stylish enough, I'm afraid. They're handsome, said Uncle Ebb, looking up over his spectacles. But maybe they ain't just as splendid as they ought to be. How much money did David give you? One hundred and fifty dollars, I said, thinking at a very grand sum indeed. Tamed enough, said Uncle Ebb, bolting up at me again. Least way is not if you're going to have a new suit. I want you to be spick and span.  Lock the door, he whispered. Pop goes the weasel, he exclaimed, good-naturedly, and then he began counting the bills. I'm not going to take any more of your money, Uncle Ebb, I said. Tut, tut, said he. Don't you try to interfere? What do you think they'll charge in the city for a real splendid suit? He stopped and looked up at me. Probably as much as fifty dollars, I answered. Phew! he whistled. Pretty steep, at is certain. Let me go as I am, said I, time enough to have a new suit when I've earned it. Well, he said as he continued counting, I guess you've earned it already. You've studied hard and took first honors, and you're going where folks are pretty middle and proud and haughty.  There, he whispered as he handed me the money. Take that, and don't you never tell it, I'm giving it to you. I could not speak for a little while, as I took the money, for thinking of the many, many things this grand old man had done for me. Do you think these boots'll do? he asked, as he held up to the light, the pair he had taken off in the evening. They look all right, I said. Ain't got no decent squeak to them now, and they seem to look kind of clumsy. How are your'n? he asked. I got them out from under the berth, and we inspected them carefully, deciding in the end they would pass muster. The steward had made up our berths when he came and lit our room for us. Our feverish discussion of attire had carried us far past midnight, when we decided to go to bed. Suppose we mustn't talk to no strangers there in New York, said Uncle Eb, as he lay down. I've read in the Tribune how they'll pretend to be friends, and then grab your money and run like Sam Hill. If I meet any of them fellers, they're going to find me pretty middle and poor company. We were up and on deck at daylight, viewing the palisades. The lonely feeling of an alien hushed us into silence, as we came to the noisy and thickening river-craft at the upper end of the city. Countless window-panes were shining in the morning sunlight. This thought was in my mind that somewhere in the innumerable host on either side was the one dearer to me than any other. We inquired our way at the dock and walked to French's Hotel on Printing-House Square. After breakfast we went and ordered all the grand new things we had planned to get. They would not be ready for two days, and after talking it over we decided to go and make a short call. Hope, who had been up and looking for us a long time, gave us a greeting so hearty we began to get the first feeling of comfort since landing. She was put out about our having had breakfast, I remember, and said we must have our things brought there at once. I shall have to stay at the hotel a while, I said, thinking of the new clothes. Why, said Mrs. Fuller, this girl has been busy a week fixing your rooms and planning for you. We could not hear of your going elsewhere. It would be downright ingratitude to her. A glow of red came into the cheeks of hope that made me ashamed of my remark. I thought she looked lovelier in her pretty blue morning gown, covering a broad expanse of crinoline than ever before. And you've both got to come and hear me sing tonight at the church, said she. I wouldn't have agreed to sing if I had not thought you were to be here. We made ourselves at home, as we were most happy to do, and that afternoon I went downtown to present to Mr. Greeley the letter that David Brower had given me. End of Chapter 28 Recording by Roger Moline Chapter 29 Of Eben Holden This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Moline Eben Holden A Tale of the North Country By Irving Batchelor Chapter 29 I came down Broadway that afternoon aboard a big white omnibus that drifted slowly in a tide of many vehicles. Those days there were a goodly show of trees on either side of the thoroughfare. Elms, with here and there a willow, a sumac, or a mountain ash. The walks were thronged with handsome people, dandies with high hats and flunting neckties and swinging canes, beautiful women, each covering a broad circumference of the pavement, with a cone of crinoline that swayed over dainty feet. From Grace Church down it was much of the same thing we see now, with a more ragged skyline. Many of the great buildings of white and red sandstone had then appeared, but the street was largely in the possession of small shops, oyster houses, bookstores, and the like. Not until I neared the sacred temple of the Tribune did I feel a proper sense of my own littleness. There was the fountain of all that wisdom which had been read aloud and heard with reverence in our households since a time I could but dimly remember. There sat the prophet who had given us so much, his genial views of life and government, his hopes, his fears, his mighty wrath at the prospering of cruelty and injustice. I would like to see Mr. Horace Greeley, I said, rather timidly, at the counter. Walk right up those stairs and turn to the left, said a clerk as he opened a gate for me. Ascending I met a big man coming down hardly and with heavy steps. We stood dodging each other a moment with that unfortunate coordination of purpose men sometimes encounter when passing each other. Suddenly the big man stopped in the middle of the stairway and held both of his hands above his head. In God's name, young man, said he, take your choice. He spoke in a high squeaky voice that cut me with the sharpness of its irritation. I went on past him and entered an open door near the top of the stairway. Is Mr. Horace Greeley in? I inquired of a young man who sat reading papers. Back soon, said he, without looking up, take a chair. In a little while I heard the same heavy feet ascending the stairway two steps at a time. Then the man I had met came hardly into the room. This is Mr. Greeley, said the young man who was reading. The great editor turned and looked at me through gold-rimmed spectacles. I gave him my letter out of a trembling hand. He removed it from the envelope and held it close to his big, kindly, smooth-shaven face. There was a fringe of silky, silver hair streaked with yellow about the lower part of his head from temple to temple. It also encircled his throat from under his collar. His cheeks were full and fair as a lady's, with rosy spots in them, and a few freckles about his nose. He laughed as he finished reading the letter. Are you David Brower's boy? he asked in a drawing falsetto, looking at me out of gray eyes and smiling with good humor. By adoption, I answered. He was an almighty good rassler, he said deliberately as he looked again at the letter. What do you want to do? he asked abruptly. Want to work on the Tribune? I answered. Good Lord! he said. I can't hire everybody. I tried to think of some argument, but what with looking at the great man before me, and answering his questions, and maintaining a decent show of dignity, I had enough to do. Do you read the Tribune? he asked. Read it ever since I can remember. What do you think of the administration? A lot of dough-faces, I answered, smiling as I saw he recognized his own phrase. He sat a moment, tapping the desk with his pen holder. There are so many liars here in New York, he said. There ought to be room for an honest man. How are the crops? Fair, I answered. Big crop of boys every year. And now you're trying to find a market, he remarked. Want to have you try them? I answered. Well, said he, very seriously, turning to his desk that came up to his chin as he sat beside it. Go and write me an article about rats. Would you advise, I started to say, when he interrupted me. The man that gives advice is a bigger fool than the man that takes it. He flared impatiently. Go and do your best. Before he had given me this injunction, he had dipped his pen and begun to write hurriedly. If I had known him longer, I should have known that, while he had been talking to me, that tireless mind of his had summoned him to its service. I went out in high spirits and sat down a moment on one of the benches in the little park nearby to think it all over. He was going to measure my judgment, my skill as a writer, my resources. Rats, I said to myself thoughtfully. I had read much about them. They infested the ships. They overran the wharves. They traversed the sewers. An inspiration came to me. I started for the waterfront, asking my way every block or two. Near the East River I met a policeman, a big husky, good-hearted Irishman. Can you tell me, I said, who can give me information about rats? Rats, he repeated. What do you want to know about them? Everything, I said. They've just given me a job on the New York Tribune, I added proudly. He smiled good-naturedly. He had looked through me at a glance. Just say Tribune, he said. You don't have to say New York Tribune here. Come along with me. He took me to a dozen or more of the Doc Masters. Give him a lift, my hearty, he said to the first of them. He's a green. I have never forgotten the kindness of that Irishman, whom I came to know well in good time. Remembering that day and others, I always greeted him with a hearty, God bless the Irish, every time I passed him, and he would answer, Amen and save your reverence. He did not leave me until I was on my way home, loaded with fact and fable and good dialect with the savor of the sea in it. Hope and Uncle Ebb were sitting together in his room when I returned. Guess I've got a job, I said, trying to be very cool about it. A job, said Hope eagerly as she rose. Where? With Mr. Horace Greeley, I answered, my voice betraying my excitement. Jerusalem, said Uncle Ebb. Is it possible? That's grand, said Hope. Tell us about it. Then I told them of my interview with the great editor and of what I had done since. You done wonderful, said Uncle Ebb, and Hope showed quite as much pleasure in her own sweet way. I was forgoing to my room and beginning to write at once, but Hope said it was time to be getting ready for dinner. When we came down, at half-past six, we were presented to our host and the guests of the evening. Handsome men and women in full dress, and young Mr. Livingstone was among them. I felt rather cheap in my frock coat, although I had thought it grand enough for anybody on the day of my graduation. Dinner announced the gentleman rose and offered escort to the ladies, and Hope and Mrs. Fuller relieved our embarrassment by conducting us to our seats. Women are so deft in those little difficulties. The dinner was not more formal than that of every evening in the Fuller home, for its master was a rich man of some refinement of taste, and not all comparable to the splendid hospitality one may see every day at the table of a modern millionaire. But it did seem very wonderful to us, then, with its fine mannered servants, its flowers, its abundant silver. Hope had written much to her mother of the details of deportment at John Fuller's table, and Elizabeth had delicately imparted to us the things we ought to know. We behaved well, I have since been told, although we got credit for poorer appetites than we possessed. Uncle Ebb took no chances and refused everything that it a look of mystery and a suggestion of peril, dropping a droll remark, be times, that sent a ripple of amusement around the table.  I could not get over the impression that I had seen him before, a feeling I have had often facing men I could never possibly have met. No word came out of his firm mouth unless he were addressed, and then, all in hearing, listened to the little he had to say. It was never more than some very simple remark. In his face and form and voice there was abundant heraldry of rugged power and ox-like vitality. I have seen a bronze head of Daniel Webster, which, with a full-blonde beard and an ample covering of gray hair, would have given one a fairly perfect idea of the look of John Trumbull. Imagine it on a tall and powerful body, and let it speak with a voice that has in it the deep and musical vibration one may hear in the looing of an ox, and you shall see, as perfectly as my feeble words can help you to do, this remarkable man who must, hereafter, play before you his part, compared to which mine is as the prattle of a child in this drama of God's truth. You have not heard, said Mrs. Fuller addressing me, how Mr. Trumbull saved Hope's life. Saved Hope's life, I exclaimed. Saved her life, she repeated. There isn't a doubt of it. We never sent word of it for fear it would give you all needless worry. It was a day of last winter. Fell crossing Broadway, a dangerous place. He pulled her aside just in time. The horse's feet were raised above her. She would have been crushed in a moment. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sidewalk, not a bit the worse for it. Seems as if it were fate, said Hope. I had seen him so often, and wondered who he was. I recall a night when I had to come home alone from rehearsal. I was horribly afraid. I remember passing him under a street lamp. If he had spoken to me then, I should have dropped with fear, and he would have had to carry me home that time. It's an odd thing a girl like you should ever have to walk home alone, said Mr. Fuller. Doesn't speak well for our friend Livingston, or Burnham there, or Dobbs. Mrs. Fuller doesn't give us half a chance, said Livingston. She guards her day and night. It's like the monks and the holy grail. Hope is independent of the young men, said Mrs. Fuller, as we rose from the table. If I cannot go with her myself in the carriage, I always send a maid or a man-servant to walk home with her. But Mr. Fuller and I were out of town that night, and the young men missed their great opportunity. Had a different way of sparking years ago, said Uncle Eb. Didn't ever have if please anybody but the girl then.  And that settled it, one way or another. And her mother, she stepped in the next room, with the door half open and never paid no tension. Recollect one cold night when I was sparking, the mother hollered out of bed, Lucy, have you got anything round you? And she hollered back. Yes, mother. And she had, too, but torn nothing but my arm. They laughed merrily over the quaint reminiscence of my old friend, and the quainter way he had of telling it. The rude dialect of the back woodsman might have seemed oddly out of place there, but for the quiet, unassuming manner, and the fine old face of Uncle Eb, in which the dullest eye might see the soul of a gentleman. What became of Lucy? Mr. Fuller inquired, laughingly. You never married her? Lucy died, he answered soberly. That was long, long ago. Then he went away with John Trumbull to the smoking-room, where I found them talking earnestly in a corner, when it was time to go to the church with hope. End of Chapter 29 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 30 of Eben Holden This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Eben Holden, a tale of the North Country, by Irving Batchelor Chapter 30 Hope and Uncle Eb and I went away in a coach with Mrs. Fuller. There was a great crowd in the church that covered with sweeping arches, an interior more vast than any I had ever entered. Hope was gowned in white silk, a crescent of diamonds in her hair, a birthday gift from Mrs. Fuller. Her neck and a part of her full breast unadorned by anything save the gifts of God, their snowy whiteness, their lovely curves. First Henry Cooper came on with his violin, a great master as I now remember him. Then Hope ascended to the platform, her dainty kid slippers showing under her gown, and the odious Livingston escorting her. I was never so madly in love or so insanely jealous. I must confess it, for I am trying to tell the whole truth of myself.  And it is the greater folly that one says ever I was and never I am in that plea. I could even see it myself, then and there. But I was so great a fool I smiled and spoke fairly to the young man, although I could have wrung his neck with rage. There was a little stir and a passing whisper in the crowd, as she stood waiting for the prelude. Then she sang the ballad of old Robin Gray, not better than I had heard her sing it before, but so charmingly there were murmurs of delight going far and wide in the audience when she had finished. Then she sang the fine melody of Angel's Ever Bright and Fair, and again the old ballad she and I had heard first from the violin of poor Nick Goodall. By Yon Bonny Bank and by Yon Bonny Bonny Brie, the sun shines bright on La Clemande, where me and me true love, wherever won't if gay, on the Bonny Bonny Bank of La Clemande. Great baskets of roses were handed to her, as she came down from the platform, and my confusion was multiplied by their number, for I had not thought to bring any myself. I turned to Uncle Ebb, who now and then had furtively wiped his eyes. My stars, he whispered, ain't it remarkable grand? Never heard nor seen nothing like that in all my born days, and to think it's my little hope. He could go no further. His handkerchief was in his hand while he took refuge in silence. Going home the flowers were heaped upon our laps, and I, with hope beside me, felt some restoration of comfort. Did you see Trumbull, Mrs. Fuller asked?  He was almost cheerful. Tell me about Mr. Trumbull, I said. He is interesting. Speculator, said Mrs. Fuller. A strange man, successful, silent, unmarried, and, I think, in love. Has beautiful rooms, they say, on Gramercy Park. Lives alone with an old servant. We got to know him through the accident. Mr. Fuller and he have done business together, a great deal of it, since then. Operates in the stock market. A supper was waiting for us at home, and we sat a long time at the table. I was burning for a talk with hope, but how was I to manage it? We rose with the others, and went, and sat down together in a corner of the great parlor. We talked of that night at the White Church and far away, when we heard Nick Goodall play, and she had felt the beginning of a new life. I've heard how well you did last year, she said, and how nice you were to the girls. A friend wrote me all about it.  But decently polite, I answered, one has to have somebody or be a monk. One has to have somebody, she said quickly, as she picked up the flower on her bosom and looked down at it soberly. That is true, one has to have somebody, and, you know, I haven't had any lack of company myself. By the way, I have news to tell you. She spoke slowly and in a low voice, with a touch of sadness in it. I felt the color mounting to my face. News, I repeated. What news, hope? I am going away to England, she said, with Mrs. Fuller, if mother will let me. I wish you would write and ask her to let me go. I was unhorsed. What to say? I knew not. What it meant I could vaguely imagine. There was a moment of awkward silence. Of course, I will ask her if you wish to go, I said. When do you sail? They haven't fixed the day yet. She sat looking down at her fan, a beautiful filmy thing between braces of ivory. Her knees were crossed, one dainty foot showing under ruffles of lace.   I am almost afraid of you now. She was still looking down at the fan, and that little foot was moving nervously. Now was my time. I began framing in a vowel. I felt a wild impulse to throw my strong arms about her, and draw her close to me, and feel the pink velvet of her fair face upon mine. If I had only done it. But what with the strangeness and grandeur of that big room, the voices of the others who were sitting in the library nearby, the mystery of the spreading crinoline that was pressing upon my knees, I had not half the courage of a lover. My friend writes me that you are in love, she said, opening her fan, and moving it slowly as she looked up at me. She is right, I must confess it, I said. I am madly, hopelessly in love. It is time you knew it, hope, and I want your counsel. She rose quickly and turned her face away. Do not tell me, do not speak of it again, I forbid you, she answered coldly. Then she stood silent. I rose to take her hand and ask her to tell me why, a pretty rankling in my heart. Soft footsteps and the swish of a gown were approaching. Before I could speak Mrs. Fuller had come through the doorway. Come, hope, she said.  Then hope baited us both good night and went away to her room. If I had known as much about women then as now, I should have had it out with short delay to some understanding between us. But in that subject one loves and learns, and one thing I have learned is this, that jealousy throws its illusions on every word and look and act. I went to my room and sat down for a bit of reckoning. Hope had ceased to love me, I felt sure, and how was I to win her back? After all my castle building, what was I come to? I heard my door open presently, and then I lifted my head. Uncle Ebb stood near me in his stocking feet and shirt sleeves. In trouble, he whispered. In trouble, I said. About hope? It's about hope. Don't be hasty. Hope'll never go back on you, he whispered. She doesn't love me, I said impulsively. She doesn't care the snap of her finger for me. Don't believe it, he answered calmly. Not a single word of it. That woman, she's trying to keep her away from you, but won't make no difference. Not a bit. I must try to win her back, some way, somehow, I whispered. Ginnah the Mitten, he asked. That's about it, I answered, going possibly too far in the depth of my feeling. Phew! he softly whistled. Well, it takes two mittens to make a pair. You'll have to ask her again. Yes, I cannot give her up, I said decisively. I must try to win her back. It isn't fair. I have no claim upon her, but I must do it. Concern it. Women like to be chased, he said. It's their nature. What do they fix up so for? Diamonds and silks and satins, if it ain't a set of men chasing of them. Y'all to enjoy it.  That's my advice. Hope has got too far ahead of me, I said. She can marry a rich man if she wishes to, and I don't see why she shouldn't. What am I, anyhow, but a poor devil just out of college and everything to win? It makes me miserable to think here in this great house how small I am. There's things going, if happen, Uncle Ebb whispered. I can't tell you what or when, but they're going if happen, and they're going if change everything. We sat thinking a while then. I knew what he meant, that I was to conquer the world somehow, and the idea seemed to me so absurd I could hardly help laughing as melancholy as I felt. Now you go of bed, he said, rising and gently touching my head with his hand. There's things going to happen, boy. Take my word for it. I got in bed late at night, but there was no sleep for me. In the still hours I lay quietly, planning my future. For now I must make myself worth having, and as soon as possible. Some will say my determination was worthy of a better lover, but, bless you, I have my own way of doing things, and it has not always been so unsuccessful. CHAPTER 31 HOPE WAS NOT AT BREAKFAST WITH US The child is worn out, said Mrs. Fuller. I shall keep her in bed a day or two. Couldn't I see her a moment, I inquired. Dear, no, said she. The poor thing is in bed with a headache. If Hope had been ill at home, I should have felt free to go and sit by her, as I had done more than once.  Having no children of her own, she had assumed a sort of proprietorship over Hope that was evident, that probably was why the girl had ceased to love me and to write to me as of old. A troop of mysteries came clear to me that morning. Through many gifts and favors she had got my sweetheart in a sort of bondage and would make a marriage of her own choosing, if possible. Is there anything you would like particularly for your breakfast, Mrs. Fuller inquired? Ain't no way particular, said Uncle Eb. I generally eat buckwheat pancakes and maybe sugar with a good strong cup of tea. Mrs. Fuller left the room a moment. Don't know, but I'll go out in the bar in a minute and take a look at the hausses, he said when she came back. The stable is a mile away, she replied, smiling. Grand good team you drove us out with last night, he said, had a chance to look him over a little there at the door. The off-hass has puffed some forward, but if your husband will put on a cold bandage every night, it'll make them legs smoother in a hound's tooth. She thanked him and invited us to look in at the conservatory. Where's your husband, Uncle Eb inquired? He's not up yet, said she. I fear he did not sleep well. Now Miss Fuller, said Uncle Eb as we sat waiting. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know what is. She said there was nothing. Presently Uncle Eb sneezed so powerfully that it rattled the crystals on the chandelier and rang in the brass medallions. The first and second butlers came running in with a frightened look. There was also a startled movement from somebody above stairs. I do sneeze powerful sometimes, said Uncle Eb from under his red bandana. It's enough if scare anybody. They brought in our breakfast, then, a great array of tempting dishes. Just have four pancakes and a boiled egg, said Uncle Eb as he sipped his tea. Grand tea, he added, strong enough to float in a silver dollar, too. Mrs. Fuller, I said, rising when we had finished. I thank you for your hospitality, but as I shall have to work nights, probably, I must find lodgings near the office. You must come and see us again, she answered cordially. On Saturday I shall take hope away for a bit of rest to Saratoga, probably. And from there I shall take her to Hillsborough myself for a day or two. Thought she was going home with me, said Uncle Eb. Oh, dear, no, said Mrs. Fuller. She cannot go now. The girl is ill and at such a long journey. The postman came, then, with a letter for Uncle Eb. It was from David Brower. He would have to be gone a week or so, buying cattle, and thought Uncle Eb had better come home as soon as convenient. They're lonesome, he said thoughtfully, after going over the letter again. Dain't no wonder. They're getting old. Uncle Eb was older than either of them, but he had not thought of that. Let's see, about eight o'clock, said he presently. I've got to go and tend to some business of my own. I'll be back here some time of day, Miss Fuller, and I'll have to see that girl. You mustn't never try to keep me away from her.  We arranged to meet there at four. Then a servant brought us our hats. I heard hope calling as we passed the stairway. Won't you come up a minute, Uncle Eb? I want to see you very much. Then Uncle Eb hurried upstairs and I came away. I read the advertisements of board and lodging, a perplexing task for one so ignorant of the town. After many calls I found a place to my liking on Monkey Hill, near Printing House Square. Monkey Hill was the east end of William Street and not in the least fashionable. There were some neat and cleanly looking houses on it of wood and brick and a brownstone inhabited by small tradesmen, a few shops, a big stable, and the chalet sitting on a broad flat roof that covered a portion of the stable yard. The yard itself was the summit of Monkey Hill. It lay between two brick buildings and up the hill from the walk one looked into the gloomy cavern of the stable and under the low roof, on one side, there were dump carts and old coaches in varying stages of infirmity. There was an old iron shop that stood flush with the sidewalk, flanking the stable yard. A lantern and a mammoth key were suspended above the door and hanging upon the side of the shop was a wooden stair ascending to the chalet. The ladder had a sheathing of weather-worn clapboards. It stood on the rear end of the brick building, communicating with the front rooms above the shop. A little stair of five steps ascended from the landing to its red door that overlooked an ample yard of roofing adorned with potted plants. The main room of the chalet, where we ate our meals and sat and talked of an evening, had the look of a ship's cabin. There were stationery seats along the wall covered with leather cushions. There were port and starboard lanterns and a big one of polished brass that overhung the table. A ship's clock that had a noisy and cheerful tick was set in the wall. A narrow passage led to the room in front and the ladder had slanting sides. A big window of little panes on its further end led in the light of William Street. Here I found a home for myself, humble but quaint and cleanly. A thrifty German, who having long followed the sea, had married and thrown out his anchor for good and all, now dwelt in the chalet with his wife and two boarders, both newspaper men. The old shopkeeper in front, once a sailor himself, had put the place in ship-shape and leased it to them. Mine host bore the name of Opper and was widely known as All Right Opper from his habit of cheery approval. Everything and everybody were All Right to him, so far as I could observe. If he were blessed or damned he said All Right. To be sure he took exceptions on occasions, but even then the affair ended with his inevitable verdict of All Right. Every suggestion I made as to terms of payment and arrangement of furniture was promptly stamped with this seal of approval. I was comfortably settled and hard at work in my article by noon. At four I went to meet Uncle Ebb. Hope was still sick in bed and we came away in a frame of mind that could hardly have been more miserable. I tried to induce him to stay a night with me in my new quarters. I mustn't, he said cheerfully. For long I'm coming down again but I can't fool around no longer now. I'll just go and get my new clothes and put for the steamboat. Want you to go and see Hope tomorrow? She's coming up with Miss Fuller next week. I'm going to find out what's the matter of her then. Something's wrong somewhere. Don't know what is. She's all upset. Poor girl! It had been almost as heavy a trial to her as to me cutting me off as she had done. Remembrances of my tender devotion to her in all the years between then and childhood must have made her sore with pity. I had already determined what I should do, and after Uncle Ebb had gone that evening, I wrote her a long letter and asked her if I might not still have some hope of her loving me. I begged her to let me know when I might come and talk with her alone. With what eloquence I could bring to bear I told her how my love had grown and laid hold of my life. I finished my article that night and in the morning took it to Mr. Greeley. He was at his desk writing and at the same time giving orders in a querulous tone to some workman who sat beside him. He did not look up as he spoke. He wrote rapidly his nose down so close to the straggling wet lines that I felt a fear of its touching them. I stood by, waiting my opportunity. A full bearded man in his shirt sleeves came hurriedly out of another room. Mr. Greeley, he said, halting at the elbow of the great editor. Yes, what is it? The editor demanded nervously, his hand wobbling over the white page as rapidly as before, his eyes upon his work. Another man garred it this morning on South Street. Better write a paragraph, he said, his voice snapping with impatience as he brushed the full page aside and began sewing his thoughts on another. Warn our readers! Tell them to wear brass collars with spikes in them till we get a new mayor. The man went away, laughing. Mr. Greeley threw down his pen, gathered his copy, and handed it to the workman who sat beside him. Proof ready at five! he shouted as the man was going out of the room. Hello, Brower! he said, bending to his work again. Thought you'd have blown out the gas somewhere. Waiting until you reject this article, I said. He sent a boy for Mr. Otterson, the city editor. Meanwhile, he had begun to drive his pen across the broadsheets with tremendous energy. Somehow it reminded me of a man plowing black furrows behind a fast walking team in a snow flurry. His mind was straddle the furrow when Mr. Otterson came in. There was a moment of silence in which the latter stood scanning a page of the herald he had brought with him. Otterson, said Mr. Greeley, never slacking the pace of his busy hand as he held my manuscript in the other, read this, tell me what you think of it. If good, give him a show. The staff is full, Mr. Greeley, said the man of the city desk. His words cut me with disappointment. The editor of the Tribune halted his hand an instant, read the last lines, scratching a word and underscoring another. Don't care, he shrilled as he went on writing. Used to slide downhill with his father. If he's got brains, we'll pay him eight dollars a week. The city editor beckoned to me and I followed him into another room. If you will leave your address, he said, I will let you hear from me when we have read the article. With the hasty confidence of youth I began to discount my future that very day. Ordering a full dress suit of the best tailor, hat and shoes to match and a compliment of neck-wear that would have done credit to Beau Brummel. It gave me a start when I saw the bill would empty my pocket of more than half its cash. But I had a stiff pace to follow and every reason to look my best. CHAPTER 32 I took a walk in the long twilight of that evening. As it began to grow dark, I passed the Fuller House and looked up at its windows. Standing under a tree on the opposite side of the avenue, I saw a man come out of the door and walk away hurriedly with long strides. I met him at the next corner. Good evening, he said. I recognized then the voice and figure of John Trumbull. Ben to Fuller's, said he. How is hope? I asked. Better, said he. Walk with me? With pleasure, said I, and then he quickened his pace. We walked a while in silence, going so fast I had hardly time to speak and the darkness deepened into night. We hurried along through streets and alleys that were but dimly lighted, coming out at length on a wide avenue, passing through open fields in the upper part of the city. Lights in cabin windows glowed on the hills around us. I made some remark about them, but he did not hear me. He slackened pace in a moment and began whispering to himself. I could not hear what he said. I thought of bidding him good night and returning. But where were we, and how could I find my way? We heard a horse coming presently at a gallop. At the first loud whack of the hoofs he turned suddenly, and laying hold of my arm began to run. I followed him into the darkness of the open field. It gave me a spell of rare excitement, for I thought at once of highwaymen, having read so much about them in the Tribune. He stopped suddenly and stooped low, his hands touching the grass, and neither spoke until the horse had gone well beyond us. Then he rose stealthily and looked about him in silence, even turning his face to the dark sky where only a few stars were visible. Well, said he with a sort of grunt, beats the devil. I thought it was a wonderful thing was happening in the sky. A great double moon seemed to be flying over the city hooded in purple haze. A little spray of silver light broke out of it as we looked, and shot backward, and then floated after the two shining discs that were falling eastward in a long curve. They seemed to be so near I thought they were coming down upon the city. It occurred to me they must have some connection with the odd experience I had gone through. In a moment they had passed out of sight. We were not aware that we had witnessed a spectacle the like of which had not been seen in centuries, if ever, since God made the heavens the great meteor of 1860. Let's go back, said Trumble. We came too far. I forgot myself. Dangerous here, I inquired. Not at all, said he, but a long way out of town. Tired? Rather, I said, grateful for his evident desire to quiet my alarm. Come, said he as we came back to the pavement, his hand upon my shoulder. Talk to me. Tell me. What are you going to do? We walked slowly down the deserted avenue, I, meanwhile, talking of my plans. You love hope, he said presently. You will marry her? If she will have me, said I. You must wait, he said, time enough. He quickened his pace again as we came inside of the scattering shops and houses of the upper city, and no other word was spoken. On the corners we saw men looking into the sky and talking of the fallen moon. It was late bedtime when we turned into Gramercy Park. Come in, said he as he opened an iron gate. I followed him up a marble stairway and a doddering old English butler opened the door for us. We entered a fine hall, its floor of beautiful parquetry muffled with silk and rugs. High and spacious rooms were all aglow with light. He conducted me to a large smoking-room, its floor and walls covered with trophies of the hunt, antlers and the skins of carnivora.  He stroked the fur fondly with his hand. Hello, jock! he said, a greeting that mystified me. Try to eat me, he added, turning to me.  I besought him to tell the story. Killed him, he answered. With a gun? No, with my hands. And that was all he would say of it. He lay facing a black curtain that covered a corner.  It was so weird I felt some wonder of it. Presently I could tell it came from behind the curtains, where also I heard an odd rustle like that of wings. I sat in a reverie looking at the silent man before me, and in the midst of it he pulled a cord that hung near him and a bell rang. Lunching, he said to the old butler who entered immediately, then he rose and showed me odd things carved out of wood by his own hand as he told me and with a delicate art. He looked at one tiny thing and laid it aside quickly. Can't bear to look at it now, he said. Give it, I inquired. Give it, he answered. It was a little figure bound hand and foot and hanging from the gallows tree.  Lunching had been set between us the while, and as we were eating it the butler opened a big couch and threw snowy sheets of linen over it and silken covers that rustled as they fell. You will sleep here, said my host, as his servant laid the pillows, and well, I hope. I thought I had better go to my own lodgings. Too late, too late, said he, and I, leg weary and half asleep, accepted his proffer of hospitality. Then, having eaten, he left me and I got into bed after turning the lights out. Something woke me in the dark of the night. There was a rustling sound in the room. I raised my head a bit and listened. It was the black curtain that hung in the corner. I imagined somebody striking it violently. I saw a white figure standing near me in the darkness. It moved away as I looked at it. A cold wind was blowing upon my face. I lay a long time listening, and by and by I could hear the deep voice of Trumbull as if he were groaning and muttering in his sleep. When it began to come light I saw the breeze from an open window was stirring the curtain of silk in the corner. I got out of bed, and, peering behind the curtain, saw only a great white owl, caged and staring out of wide eyes that gleamed fiery in the dim light. I went to bed again, sleeping until my host woke me in the late morning. After breakfasting I went to the chalet. The postman had been there, but he had brought no letter from hope. I waited about home, expecting to hear from her all that day, only to see it end in bitter disappointment. That very night I looked in at the little shop beneath us and met Riggs. It was no small blessing, just as I was entering upon dark and unknown ways of life, to meet this hoary-headed man with all his lanterns. He would sell you anchors and fathoms of chain and rope enough to hang you to the moon, but his lights were the great attraction of Riggs's. He had every kind of lantern that had ever swung on land or sea. After dark, when light was streaming out of its open door and broad window, Riggs looked like the side of an old lantern itself. It was a door, low and wide, for a time when men had big round bellies, and nothing to do but fill them, and heads not too far above their business. It was a window gone blind with dust and cobwebs, so it resembled the dim eye of age. If the door were closed, its big brass knocker and massive iron latch invited the passer. An old ship's anchor and a coil of chain lay beside it. Blocks and heavy bolts, steering wheels, old brass compasses, coils of rope, and rusty chain lay on the flooring benches inside the shop. There were rows of lanterns hanging on the bare beams. And there was Riggs. He sat by a dusky desk and gave orders in a sleepy drawing-tone to the lad who served him. An old Dutch lantern, its light softened with green glass, sent a silver beam across the gloomy upper air of the shop that evening. Riggs held an old urn lantern with little streams of light bursting through its perforated walls. He was blind. One would know it at a glance. Blindness is so easy to be seen. Riggs was showing it to a stranger. Turn down the lights, he said, and the boy got his step ladder and obeyed him. Then he held it aloft in the dusk and the little lantern was like a castle tower with many windows lighted. And when he set it down there was a golden sprinkle on the floor as if something had plashed into a magic pool of light there in the darkness. Riggs lifted the lantern presently and stood swinging it in his hand. Then its rays were sewn upon the darkness, falling silently into every nook and corner of the gloomy shop and breaking into flowing dapples on the wall. See how quick it is, said he as the rays flashed with the speed of lightning. That is the only traveler from heaven that travels fast enough to ever get to earth. Then came the words that had a mighty fitness for his tongue. Hail, holy light! Offspring of heaven, first born. His voice rose and fell, writing the mighty rhythm of inspired song. As he stood swinging the lantern then he reminded me of a chanting priest behind the censor. In a moment he sat down and holding the lantern between his knees opened its door and felt the candle. Then as the light streamed out upon his hands he rubbed them a time silently as if washing them in the bright flood. One dollar for this little box of daylight, he said. Blind, said the stranger as he paid him the money. No, said Riggs, only dreaming as you are. I wondered what he meant by the words dreaming as you are. Went to bed on my way home to marry. He continued, stroking his long white beard, and saw the lights go out and went to sleep, and it hasn't come morning yet. That's what I believe. I went into a dream. Think I'm here in a shop, talking, but I'm really in my bunk on the Good Ship Ariel coming home. Dreamed everything since then. Everything a man could think of. Dreamed I came home and found Annie dead. Dreamed of blindness, of old age, of poverty, of eating and drinking and sleeping, and of many people who pass like dim shadows and speak to me. You are one of them. And sometimes I forget I am dreaming and am miserable, and then I remember and am happy. I know when the morning comes I shall wake and laugh at all these phantoms, and I shall pack my things and go up on deck, for we shall be in the harbor probably. I, maybe Annie and Mother, will be waving their hands on the dock. The old face had a merry smile as he spoke of the morning and all it had for him. Seems as if it had lasted a thousand years, he continued, yawning and rubbing his eyes. But I've dreamed the light before, and my God, how glad I felt when I woke in the morning. It gave me an odd feeling, this remarkable theory of the old man. I thought then it would be better for most of us, if we could think all our misery a dream and have his faith in the morning, that it would bring back the things we have lost. I had come to buy a lock for my door, but I forgot my errand, and sat down by rigs, while the stranger went away with his lantern. You see no reality in anything but happiness, I said. It's all a means to that end, he answered. It is good for me, this dream. I shall be all the happier when I do wake, and I shall love Annie all the better, I suppose. I wish I could take my ill luck as a dream and have faith only in good things, I said. All that is good shall abide, said he, stroking his white beard, and all evil shall vanish as the substance of a dream. In the end, the only realities are God and love and heaven. To die is just like waking up in the morning. But I know I'm awake, I said. You think you are. That's a part of your dream. Sometimes I think I'm awake. It all seems so real to me. But I have thought it out, and I am the only man I meet that knows he is dreaming. When you do wake in the morning, you may remember how you thought you came to a certain shop and made some words with a man as to whether you were both dreaming, and you thought you were dreaming, and a man as to whether you were both dreaming, and you will laugh and tell your friends about it. Hold on, I can feel the ship lurching. I believe I'm going to wake. He sat a moment, leaning back in his chair with closed eyes, and a silence fell upon us in the which I could hear only the faint ticking of a tall clock that lifted its face out of the gloom beyond me. You there? he whispered presently. I am here, I said. Odd, he muttered. I know how it will be. I know how it has been before. Generally come to some high place, and a great fear ceases me. I slip, I fall, fall, fall, and then I wake. After a little silence I heard him snoring heavily. He was still leaning back in his chair. I walked on tiptoe to the door where the boy stood looking out. Crazy, I whispered. Don't know, said he, smiling. I went to my room above and wrote my first tale, which was nothing more or less than some brief account of what I had heard and seen down at the little shop that evening. I mailed it next day to the knickerbocker, with stamps for return if unavailable.


Hello everybody, E here. Welcome back to another book haul video. This one is for March. I'm also going to be doing my March wrap up, which is going to be super, super succinct. It is, I read Your Life is Mine by Nathan Ripley. Reviews already up on the channel. I read Lot by Brian Washington, which I'll have a review of very shortly. I also listened to Becoming by Michelle Obama, and I will be putting a kind of review. Anytime I do nonfiction, I like to talk about personal experience more than the actual book. So that will be up sometime this week or next week. Don't hold me to that. There is another one that I have read that should be getting a review for I think on Monday, the last by Hannah Jamison. So most of these books are on my book haul, this book haul video also, so we'll get to those in turn.  Fantastic book, even if you hate self-help books. This is a great book. There's a part in here. I'm going to go ahead and read it because it's the part I was talking about last time. So I'm going to read the exact part I was talking about.   You will exit the physical plane, whether it's tomorrow or 20 years from now, it's going to happen. We are all mortal. There's no escaping it. You might find discomfort in these words or resist the notion of your demise, but if it's truth you're after, that's the one truth you just cannot argue with.   Sometimes I just fight my way through and I don't think about that, but ever since I've read this book, that's almost the exact sentence that I think of when I wake up in the morning is you are going to die. That might depress some of you, but for me it's a hell of a motivator because we're not promised tomorrow. Next we have a book that I grabbed at the library. They had one of those bag of book sales again for a dollar. Let's see here. What else did I get? I didn't get too much. I only got three books, so it's more than a quarter a piece. The Nest, because it looked interesting, I don't know. I've seen this everywhere. It was on Goodreads in my Goodreads free fee for the longest time. It's by Cynthia, Diaprix, Diapri, I don't know, Diapri, Sweeney. It's another family saga that's super short by comparison to what I consider a saga. It's only 340-some-odd pages, 350 pages, and it's a saga? I don't know. We've had this discussion before, but down there in the doobly-doo, let me know what you consider a saga. I even went and looked it up and it was a long body of work, and now they're calling these short 200-400-page books sagas, so I guess it doesn't matter the course of time, or do you think, I want your opinion, do you think it's the course of time that it spans in the novel, or do you think it's more about the size of the book, the length of the experience? Let me know. The next three are going to be advanced review copies that I got from Atria Publishing. Your life is mine, which I've already talked about on the channel. They sent me this one. They sent me American Magic by Zach Feist. I don't know, Zach, I'm sorry. They sent me this one. I actually don't know if I'm interested in this one whatsoever. It seems like a bit of urban fantasy and I don't care too much for urban fantasy, so I'll try it. I try everything that I get a review copy of, but it's definitely not in my wheelhouse. Next one, one that I'm reading now is The Obsolete by Simeon Mills. I think it's the name, yeah, Simeon Mills. This is a book that has a metaphor for, they use robots instead of any other non-American entity. It basically, the whole book's a metaphor for, what is it, a xenophobia. So how they treat robots differently than, you know, actual human beings. It's not a new concept. I am enjoying the book. I do like the writing more than anything else. I'm 50 pages into it. I'm enjoying myself. I don't know if it'll be a favorite read, but so far I am enjoying it. Next up we have one that I read ages ago. I was sent a bound manuscript from the PR person that works for Atria, David Brown, and I read it. I didn't quite enjoy it as much at the time that I read it, but then it started, as I thought about it more, the more it grew on me. So we'll talk about this more in detail, but the last by Hannah Jamison that you sent me a hardcover because the bound manuscript that he sent me has a cover that they are not going to be using and I don't want to show that off in this video, but this is a pretty, pretty cool cover. I will be showing in my spoiler, the spoiler section of my review, which is always after the good, the outro toward the end of the video. I will show that bound manuscript. I actually like the bound manuscript a lot more than I like this cover, but it is a pretty cover. I mean, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's really good. I just prefer the other one. So that's all of my ARCs. And then to go along with the library stuff that I got, I got Nick Tosh's, Tosh's, whatever, The Devil and Sunny Liston. I've never read a book about boxing, so I'm going to give this one a chance. The whole reason I got that. Next up, Cody, my friend Cody Tidwell, if you're watching this man, this is because of you. You told me if I'm tired of horror and thrillers and whatnot pick up some Jodie Pekult, so I picked up small great things. Basically, I paid $0.33 for it because it was in a pack of books that I paid a dollar for out of the three books. So $0.3333333333333333 3 cents. But yeah, I have no idea. I've never read a Jodie Pekult book. I believe she's contemporary fiction. I don't know. Is she literary? I have no idea. I will get into it last, but certainly not least. This was my faith. I read a lot of terrific books last month, but I think the book that I adored, and this is a weird word to use, but I had a very close connection with this book, and I'll get to that when I talk about it in my review, but that's a lot by Brian Washington, which is, of course, a Book of the Month Club. I didn't bring out the other Book of the Month Clubs books that I got. I got The Woman in the Window by A.J. Flynn, and what else? Daisy and the Six. It's a book about a band. I got that one also, but you guys watched the Book of the Month Club video, so I didn't bring those out. But yeah, this is a terrific book. That's the TLDR, but you'll get a further analysis and a more in-depth review later on, either this week or next week. But that's my book haul for March and my wrap-up for last month. I'm not going to do a TBR this month because I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to be reading. I did one last month, and guess what? I didn't read a single thing on that TBR.  I just can't, and I just don't enjoy it. I feel like, you know, I'm stuffed into a box that I can't work my way out of. And in Rebellion, I didn't read, like I said, I didn't read a single thing off of my TBR from last month. But if you have a book haul video, some of my favorite content, even if you just want to leave a list of the books that you bought for yourself or for other people or whatever, down there in the doobly-doo, that's great. But my favorite content here on YouTube, some of my favorite content, is book haul videos. So please leave links to your own book haul videos down there in the doobly-doo. But until next time, I have been E, you have been U. This has been another book haul video. I'll talk to you guys later. Bye-bye!


Good morning, everyone, Basel Chapman here. This is the 9 o'clock Tiger Financial News Network market update on this Friday, the 12th of April. We're looking at the Dow down 300 points. At 38,435, the Dow has been in a cell mode for a couple of weeks. The S&P, let's go to the futures. The S&P futures are down 43 at 5200. They are in a cell signal at this point, but we'll have to wait for the end of the day to see if they get upgraded, or there's a sudden turn. The QQQ, let's go to the NQ. The NQ is trading down 18305. Held pretty well so far. I'm watching that 18000 level. If it closes under that, by Monday, that's a problem. Weekly charts are still very good. RTY, which is the Russell 2000 futures in a cell mode right now. It's down 18 at 2039. Let's go to the gold. Gold is up huge. It's up 43 at 2416. I've been talking about this for a while, saying I believe this has to do more with the Middle East than anything else. That's the flight of money that goes to gold in times of geopolitical tension. I got a feeling that this is a big part of it. That's why you haven't had any real pullback. Real pullback has been no pullback in the gold. Looking at crude oil, that's another issue. Also the Middle East problem. We've got $1.84 up at 86.62. It looks like it really wants to get to the 88.89 area. Looking at the bonds, and he has another issue. Bonds are actually up 2830 seconds today, but while the damage has already been done, it's been a straight line down to 116. We'll see where this balance goes to. This is due to the VIX index before we get started. I'm going to be doing Tommy's show before he comes back. Today I'm doing the morning market kickoff. That'll be at 906. I'll be right back for that. The VIX index is at 16.99. The high yesterday was up in the 17s. But what's happened is that the VIX index has had steadily, not incrementally, but a stair step move to the upside with higher highs and higher lows. Will that stay through the rest of the day? And we're watching the semiconductor index. I'll be back. Basel Chapman coming in from the 9 o'clock. I'll be here from 9 to 11 if the voice holds out. Of course, Larry right now is about to start his show. Should be fantastic. Not his show. His day is intraday trading live. And I hope to be there in a little